#i really should just wait to post the entire thing on ao3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

britcision · 5 months ago

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FRIENDS IT IS HERE. As promised even! We are technically just under 20k for this chapter, but still not small enough that cutting it in half has stopped it from brutally murdering the app, so…. We’ll see how this posts! 😅

I did myself a whole honkin’ reread on the whole thing too, refreshed my lil reminders of what I named things and all the lil threads I was playing with… and hot damn it’s a beast huh?

The good news is, although we are getting into plot, we are getting out of the heavy stuff, at least for the next little bit! Back to our silly happy fun times with the boys 🥰

And, y’know, dealing with Jason’s death and first transformation and all. Totally all fine! Nothing to worry about! 😇

Today’s chapter is a lil Bruce-heavy in this front half because the main thing stopping me was that I got most of the way through before I realized I needed to rewrite Jason’s entire first scene, but I’m a lot happier with it now 😁

First Chapter and AO3:

Previous Chapter:

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The Finished Core part 1

When it finally happened, Jason’s core coming in was pretty anticlimactic. For all they’d worried it might trigger a transformation, rile up the pit, or even have a physical shockwave… the event itself was almost disappointing. Buried busily in some paperwork for the library, Jason himself hadn’t actually noticed.

He’d already started feeling what he thought might be his core over the past few days; like a vibrating ball of energy, usually in the middle of his chest (although it wandered in all directions). Which would make the knot of tension that sometimes sat in his gut and sometimes went as far up as his throat… probably Pitty.

Not fun having a distinct sensation that went along with everything else the Pit was. Did nothing at all to ease his worries about what the hell would happen when they were both actually completed.

But when the day finally came… yeah, nothing. The soft, warm glow in his chest when he thought about the project had grown steadily stronger over the week and a bit he’d known Danny at that point, so he hadn’t really paid enough attention to notice a change.

They’d still been seeing each other every day, although now that the new school semester had started up it had slowed down to a couple hours in the evening. Jason had dived headlong into his restoration project both on Frostbite’s advice, and to keep himself from counting the hours. Which, apparently, worked?

The biggest disruption was actually Danny blasting in through the wall not a minute later, invisible until he dived through one of Jason’s freshly legal goons and almost knocked the table over. Luckily there were no actual Red Hood links lying around - Catherine’s name was staying clean, which was for the best since Jason still hadn’t thought of a way to bring it up.

Even now, back from another appointment with Frostbite to confirm all was well, Jason didn’t actually feel any different? It was official though; both cores were complete, and now all they had to do was wait until the pit matured enough to actually leave Jason’s body and do its own thing.

Now that he didn’t have any choice but to confront it, he couldn’t have said what he’d expected anyway, but… well, surely there should have been something? More energy? More corruption? Hell, even increased ghost senses or some indication that the powers would be coming in.

According to Danny, intangibility usually came with the pit dropping out of your stomach and feeling floaty. Accidental floating came with a head rush or feeling like falling. Invisibility just fucking happened.

All he felt was weirdly normal? The fancy ecto ice was working, and his little ghost succulent - that or all the time with Danny; even Pitty’s flares of emotion were manageable. The green haze hadn’t come back since meeting Lady Gotham.

And okay, maybe he was pushing that by going right back to the manor the next day, but listen. Frostbite had reminded him to do calming tasks, since Pitty should start being more aware of their surroundings now.

Baking with Alfred was as calming and soothing as Jason could imagine, without stapling himself to Danny in classes. And sure, he’d helped with Danny’s homework the past couple nights, but the guy would get sick of him eventually. Faster if they stayed attached at the hip.

(And that had been another “fun” tidbit Frostbite had dropped on them; if they were actually making their own ghost baby, they’d have been able to trade the core off between them. Jason hadn’t thought anything could make that idea sound appealing, but if he coulda just stuffed Pitty into someone else… well, he probably wouldn’t actually wish its corruption and constant tantrums on anyone else, but having a break woulda been nice.)

Now that his core was done, technically the daily hanging out probably wasn’t as necessary. So long as Jason had some backup plans to keep himself calm and in control. Which should mean that they could go from hanging out as a necessary chore to just… friends.

And since no one in the city wound Jason up like Bruce, if he happened to also be at the manor he’d have a trial-by-fire for his shiny new core. He’d kept his word and tapped out of patrol since meeting Lady Gotham (and apparently Harley had taken the manor in fire and glory the night after and locked Bruce… somewhere for two full days), so he’d not heard from B since.

According to Tim, Constantine hadn’t returned to Gotham at all.

The thought of their names only stirred angry bubbles from Pitty, and Jason absolutely wasn’t self destructive or a masochist, so he was just testing to see how far that’d last. How careful he’d need to be, and how aware the little guy was.

So obviously he wasn’t even all the way into the manor before he ran into the man himself.

Stopping short, Jason’s fist clenched more from force of habit than any actual desire. Sucking in a deep breath, he thought of his ghost succulent (which had started glowing faintly blue a couple nights ago, which was hopefully a good thing?) and carefully unclenched. Nodded a little stiffly.

This would be the first time they’d been alone together since… shit, he didn’t even know. He hadn’t seen the guy without the buffer of at least one other bat in months.

“Bruce,” he said warily, half hoping the man could just… be normal. For once. Nod, say hi, fuck off about his own business. He couldn’t still be on his anti-Danny crusade, could he?

The man actually flinched, face twitching through a couple of expressions Jason couldn’t even guess at. A sudden urge between his shoulder blades did nothing to help, distracting him long enough for everything to be smoothed under the usual masks.

If Bruce just had a damn aura… okay, that’d be one change with the completed core. All of his attempts to reach out with his own aura before had basically involved his whole body actually leaning in the same direction.

That… urge, itch between his shoulders, if that had been his aura trying to reach out, felt more like an entirely new muscle group. Curiosity won and Jason focused, trying to follow the urge and reach out… and wasn’t sure it had worked at all.

Because all he could feel was sorrow and regret, and that didn’t sound like B. At all. His compartmentalizing was out the ass, sure, but what the hell would he actually feel sorry for?

“Jason?” And from the sound of it, not the first time he’d said his name. Great.

Shelving the apparently-faulty aura for now, Jason frowned back.

“I’m here to see Alfred.” It wasn’t exactly a warning. Wasn’t exactly a threat, although it carried the possibility. Meant that if B pissed him off enough to leave, he’d face some British disapproval.

Bruce’s shoulders sagged just a little, and then he drew himself up, his face firm and resolved. Jason tensed automatically; if he actually tried to bar him from seeing Danny face to face, would he still be able to walk away?

That was why he’d brought the glacierfrost. Slipping a hand into his back pocket, he crushed a crystal quickly before the man could open his mouth. Wintergreen mint burst across the back of his tongue, another brief flicker of distraction that, for some reason, came with another pang of sorrow.

“I’m sorry.”

Jason nearly stumbled, and he hadn’t even been moving. Bruce looked… tired, all of a sudden. More tired than he could remember ever seeing him.

“Wait… what?”

Bruce gave him a sad smile.

“It’s been brought to my attention… multiple times… that you should have heard that from me alone first. And then I kept adding more and more to be sorry for. And I know you don’t want to see me, so now seems like the best time to start.” It was jerky, and awkward, and probably the most uncomfortable Jason had ever seen Bruce in a conversation.

Which only served to confuse him further. Bruce overplanned everything; he never acted without at least two layers of backups. It was why he had a million plans for every possible micro-scenario. He didn’t do spontaneous.

“What are you even talking about?” He asked, half exasperated, and Bruce’s smile widened a fraction. That only made it more self deprecating.

“There are too many things to count, but… Jason, I’m sorry I sprung the apology on you at the gala. I thought having the world as my witnesses would show you I meant it, but I should have asked first. I should have apologized first, to you. Alone. I’m… aware what it says about me that I couldn’t.” He was almost wearing one of Brucie’s self-deprecating smiles now, but the edges were raw. Unpolished. Certainly not camera ready.

Real?

Jason’s mouth opened and closed a few times, his brain entirely short-circuited. Of all the things Bruce could have said to him… of all the things the man might apologize for, he’d honestly forgotten all about the damn gala speech.

Forcing himself to focus, he folded his arms and regarded his former father figure warily.

“Sure, that’s a place to start,” he agreed, more sarcastically than he’d meant to. But he couldn’t take it back.

There was another moment of stiffness, and then Bruce’s shoulders sagged as well as he breathed out, still looking… well, so much more human. More breakable, more fallible. Or was that just from hearing him admit he’d been wrong?

“I do mean it, Jason. I did mean it,” he said softly, piercing blue eyes unusually gentle as he looked him over, and suddenly Jason knew what was bothering him.

The mask. The iron mask of Batman, the bumbling shield of Brucie. B always had a mask, over every interaction. Every situation, every possible scene, B always had a character to play. And he played them well.

That was what looked wrong about him. He wasn’t… intentional. His posture was open and unthreatening, his face lax in a way it never was while he held every muscle in check.

This was just actual, sincere B.

Jason wasn’t completely sure why that made him want to run or cry, but it said a fuck of a lot about him too.

More that he just couldn’t bring himself to return it.

Sucking in a sharp breath, seriously considering grabbing for another crystal, he nodded sharply.

“Okay. Now what.” Because that was the thing; Jason had never wanted B to be sorry that he hadn’t come for Jason. That he finally hadn’t been on time to save him from himself.

He didn’t want the apology, he wanted things to change. To be better. For Bruce to accept that it had happened, and Jason was who he was now because he’d decided to be, not the pits or Tallia or the Joker.

He wanted so many things.

Bruce was searching his face, eyes sharp even as he consciously kept the rest of the expression open. Jason could see the tick of muscle in his cheek. Fuck, was it that hard for Bruce not to put on the act?

After a moment, he spread his hands. A gesture of peace? Not holding a weapon, not tensed for an attack?

“That’s all. For now. I just… wanted you to know. I’m sorry. And I’m…” the expression pulled a little, becoming pained, “I have been told I am overreacting to the news from Amity Park as well. I should trust your judgement. So I’m pulling myself from the case to focus on the Anti-Ecto Acts.”

This time Jason’s jaw just dropped. B… Bruce never. Never pulled himself from a case. Not for broken bones, ruptured organs, not even if he’d died.

It was almost worse than the rage; all of a sudden he was lost at sea, the one grounding, immovable rock in his life swept away. Part of him was even angry at that - at B suddenly deciding that now, this time he was going to be reasonable.

When all Jason expected from him was judgement, antagonism, stupid overbearing demands and being held at arm’s length, now all of a sudden the Bat was human.

It was too late to pretend the moment hadn’t happened, to completely hide his shock, but he also couldn’t stop the bluster from rising. Not the way his eyes narrowed suspiciously, even when every part of him that had been Robin desperately hoped this was real.

“And what the hell brought that on?” Not the accusation in his voice, although for once Bruce didn’t rise to it. He just chuckled dryly, like he’d been expecting Jason’s reaction.

“Because you were right.”

And now Jason was fully on edge again, scanning the man more closely for any signs of hypnotism, mind control, that this was a clone or a replacement. A trap or a trick. Because B… Bruce would never…

Bruce raised both hands quickly, possibly expecting Jason to just… jump him. Which, to be fair, would have been a more normal interaction.

“You were the one who brought the Amity Park situation to our attention. And you’re right, that I can’t expect your doctor or any other ghost to come here to help you until it is safe for them to do so,” he added quickly, and Jason rocked back onto his heels.

Of course, the caveat. That made sense, bitter in the back of his throat as it was. Just an inarguable set of facts.

Not like he’d ever actually admit that Jason’s judgement was reliable or anything. Folding his arms again (partly to stop his fists from clenching), he gave Bruce a sceptical look.

“Right, so what finally yanked your head out of your ass about it?” He asked sharply. Bruce gave him that same wry smile.

“Diana. And Harley. And Alfred. And Selena. I have been… extensively informed I had my head up my ass. So. I’m sorry for that too. I just wanted to tell you before I left, since I don’t know when we’ll see each other again.”

And it shouldn’t have been funny that he actually looked more pained talking about this, admitting a mistake, than he had when nursing broken ribs in the infirmary. Than he’d looked during any of their fights, than when Jason had all but grabbed his face and forced him to see that it really was him, that his dear little Robin came back wrong.

But dark humour was a refuge for all the bats, and if Jason didn’t laugh he had a horrible feeling he’d cry. All that tension, all those days he’d worried about what he’d say or do when they came face to face again… he’d never have imagined any of this.

Could imagine another bloody battle before imagining Bruce saying sorry.

All of a sudden he was just tired. Ha. Dead tired.

Nothing drained the life out of him like dealing with Bruce.

“Great. So where are you going?” It was almost a rhetorical question; he didn’t really expect an answer.

Should have, though. Obviously B had to stick his foot in it again.

“Amity Park. As Bruce Wayne, not Batman,” he added quickly when Jason’s head snapped up, glare sharpening, “it seems the logical place to begin work on the acts.”

And alright, Bruce didn’t sound defensive. He never did; just obstinate, which meant so many things that guessing when it meant what was a losing game.

Jason groaned loudly, raising both hands to scrub down across his face. Because of course all that weirdness hadn’t changed a damn thing. B was gonna B, creepy and intrusive and all.

“And look into Danny.” He said flatly, locking eyes with Bruce in time to see his expression twitch. Was he actually gonna lie?

Apparently not. Bruce sighed and nodded.

“My focus will be on establishing a connection between “Brucie” and the Anti-Ecto Acts, and investigating the GIW. Danny has been involved in both, and Zatanna has requested the elder Fentons provide me with protection,” he said like it was anything but a weak excuse.

Jason stared at him for a long moment, and then figured fuck it. Actually telling them before he left was technically still an improvement, and Danny and Jason were both well aware that there was gonna be some nosy bullshit.

He’d warned Danny this was gonna happen, and Danny had said it was fine. That he didn’t care about anything Batman might find… and knowing just how badly the Justice League had fucked up was going to eat the asshole alive. Which he could have avoided just by listening.

About to just walk away, Jason hesitated. There was actually one thing… technically not a necessary for a halfa, but fuck it. Might as well get B used to some ghostly etiquette early.

“Have you asked Danny?”

Bruce stilled, giving Jason a complicated look that mostly felt like judgement. Like Jason should know better than to ask.

“I was under the impression that removing the Anti-Ecto Acts is a priority?” He said stiffly, all awkward tension again.

Jason really did roll his eyes this time.

“Sure, but you’re going to his haunt. You text Superman before investigating in Metropolis.” Which technically hadn’t even been true when Jason was actually Robin, but B did text Clark before getting caught investigating in Metropolis. By anything but Kryptonian hearing.

The protocol basically only applied whenever another hero wanted to operate within Gotham because only Batman cared, but it was on the League’s books.

Bruce had picked up the wording though, because of course he had.

“His haunt?” He asked carefully, that tiny tick between his brows that meant he was processing starting up.

Jason rolled his eyes harder. For emphasis. Had JL Dark actually missed this part of the briefing? He was so not writing up Ghost Etiquette 101 for the league. No way.

But. It. Might be kinda cool. To have for himself. Especially since it was gonna be increasingly relevant.

“He’s a ghost hero, B. He died there, he protects the city. He’s like, the only one who’ll actually get your territorial crap, because in his case it’s part of his makeup.”

Actually, might be part of B’s too. Danny hadn’t said how liminal Bruce in particular was, but it really wouldn’t surprise Jason if claiming a haunt was part of it. Or if Lady Gotham had already picked out a spot for him.

That thought stung, so he dismissed it immediately and turned towards the kitchen. Hell with the brownies he’d been planning, he was gonna need something much more complicated to keep his mind off the latest wave of bullshit.

Alfred liked soufflés. Jason could activate the house defences to keep the little gremlins out until they were done.

“Just fucking text him, B. Entering a ghost’s haunt without permission is declaring intent to throw down, and that’s a fight none of us need.” No matter how much he might like to watch B go up against the ridiculous power-set Danny was packing.

Sure, the Bat went toe to toe with the gods, but that was with plans, tech, and often, backup. Apparently he still didn’t know shit about ghosts, so it’d be fun to watch him try and adapt on the fly… especially when even Danny wasn’t sure how many actual powers were on the table.

Bruce hesitated for a long moment, looking at Jason’s retreating back.

That had gone… frankly he did not trust his own read on Jason enough to tell. Neither of them had yelled. He’d said what he was prepared to; he was still working on the appropriate format for the rest.

Jason… hadn’t reacted. Not with anger, which was a blessed relief, but not with anything else either. Except disbelief. Exasperation. Shock.

Not really any aggression, though. That had to be a decided improvement. And while part of Bruce suspected he’d been told to inform Danny so the boy could hide anything unsavoury….

He’d known that was likely to happen when he told Jason his plans. Jason would tell Danny; his allegiances there were firmly (and worryingly quickly) established.

Telling Danny himself… there was a chance that Jason had been serious about it being a matter of protocol. A formal request, for contact with an inter-dimensional entity.

Despite that entity being present and active in Bruce’s own city without so much as a nod to the Bat. But then, Batman was not a ghost, despite what the goons liked to suppose.

Firmly marshalling his own suspicions, Bruce pulled out his phone to message the youngest Fenton.

Stopped.

Bruce Wayne didn’t have the boy’s number. But Danny knew at least Nightwing’s identity; it was possible he knew them all.

He was going to Amity Park as Brucie Wayne, not Batman. But Brucie Wayne had no way to get the correct phone number. Unexpected contact from Batman was… well, expected, to an extent.

And his investigations would be handled and presented as Batman. Surely no one would challenge Brucie Wayne to a fight?

Mind made up, Bruce took his vigilante phone out and did a quick scan through his childrens’ updated contact lists. Most of them seemed to have been enjoying the company of the Amity Parkers; it wouldn’t be hard to get Danny’s contact information.

So. New year, new problems. Danny used to say it as a joke, but this year it was looking pretty darn literal.

Last year, for example, he hadn’t had to worry about his parents finding out about his supposed “love life” from a magazine (that Jazz must have sent them after they’d gone back to Amity Park, the traitor), and calling to hound him for details.

He’d managed to talk them out of driving the GAV straight to Gotham to threaten Jason into “treating him right”… which Jason thought was funny solely because he still didn’t actually know how large Jack Fenton was, nor how intense Maddie could be.

He still thought of them as civilians, and maybe a little less than competent, thanks to the database and their zero capture record.

Maybe Danny was cultivating that ignorance specifically so he could watch the moment of truth in person. Sue him, it was funny.

Unfortunately, since the magazine had also included that the gala they’d been “hooking up” at had been to celebrate Jason’s return from the dead, his mom had reached the halfa conclusion on her own. Danny had wanted to let Jason decide when to tell her, but that very first phone call the first words out of her mouth had been “Daniel James Fenton, have you met another halfa without telling us?”

And Danny had been so taken aback by them actually noticing anything (it was to do with ghosts, of course they’d noticed, he’d kicked himself for days after) that she’d taken his speechlessness as confirmation.

So.

They had that out of the way before they even said hi.

Despite Danny’s firm assurances that he and Jason weren’t actually dating, the papers were making the whole thing up (the photos hadn’t helped, but his dad seemed to buy that he’d been. Trying to help Jason fix his shirt. After the rogue attack, y’know), his parents had insisted on another call with Jason.

And Jazz. Because he had to introduce his sister to his new boyfriend too.

Jason had… taken it well? Hadn’t gotten much of a word in edgewise, around Jack Fenton’s boisterous laughter and insistence that he come around some time soon. He’d agreed with Danny that they definitely were not dating, which.

They weren’t.

They just weren’t.

They were just. Friends. Who hung out after classes in the evening. And texted all day. And told each other their deepest darkest soul secrets in like, a week after they’d met.

Danny’s mom had seemed a little more convinced by the end of the call, but still insisted Jason should come down to Amity Park anyway, to get to know the family.

Danny was still in denial about it being even a little bit helpful, but Jason had decided to drop the Fright Knight bomb right away. It was the actual real reason they were so close now, so it made sense as an explanation that wasn’t them being partners or whatever.

(Danny still hated it. Resented he couldn’t be trusted to just… have a friend. It always had to be something stupid and dramatic.

And he was totally offended by how immediately relieved his mom had been that he’d have someone “looking after him”. Like he wasn’t a whole ass adult for years already, and the king of a realm for longer than that.)

And now he was gonna have to call them back, and probably get a message to Fright Knight, because Danny’s newest problem was that Batman now had his phone number.

And was asking his permission to go to Amity Park to deal with the Anti-Ecto Acts.

(“Brucie Wayne” was officially the one going for the Acts, the message only said that Batman would be escorting the billionaire and gathering evidence separately, but Danny wasn’t fucking buying it.

And since Batman had his phone number and had used it, Tucker could technically get into Batman’s phone and prove it. Like Constantine showing up at Wayne Manor left a shadow of a doubt.

But noooo, Danny knew all about dramatics and billionaires and their sketchy underground labs. He could play along.)

Which, technically, might wind up solving one of his biggest problems.

It was also gonna completely ruin all the work he and Jason had done persuading the Fentons they weren’t dating; he could already hear his dad booming delightedly about meeting future in-laws. Because why else would Jason’s dad go to visit?

Not like there were actual laws on the books declaring Danny as a mandatory extermination target. Or like the Justice League might finally have gotten their thumbs out of their asses and want to check in.

Clearly Danny’s love life was the only thing that mattered.

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about that crap from Frighty; all the ghosts were gonna know all about Danny and Jason’s soul resonance (be still his beating fucking heart that was still ridiculous). He would have to let him know a superhero was gonna be in town though.

Actual ghosts weren’t likely to mistake Batman for one of their own and these days most of Danny’s rogue gallery was cool about not picking fights with humans without Fenton tech, but Danny figured better safe than sorry.

And.

Maybe.

Really wanted to see Batman and Fright Knight hang out. They were gonna totally love or totally hate each other, and either way he was a little sorry he was gonna miss it.

Unless he gave in and took time off class, kidnapped Jason from whatever work he did, and made the trip home… because he’d been direly warned that if he did show up without Jason, Jack Fenton would drive him back to Gotham personally. So, no. Nope. Not happening.

The long and the short of it was that instead of being blissfully free of his parents nagging him to visit until the summer, he was now fielding calls and texts demanding he come back home for March Break, at the latest. And bring Jason.

Mom wanted to “assess him”, which was fucking terrifying and the more Jason didn’t take it seriously the more Danny was tempted to actually make the trip. It would at least come with a defined end date. And force Jazz to take a break if she wanted to come too.

She at least had been less insistent on calling him every single day to bug him about it; probably because she was busy frying herself to death at university. She’d apologized for missing the group chat too, and the first family phone call, but it wasn’t a huge surprise.

Jazz had had the helicopter parent firmly knocked out of her by double majors, which Danny used to think was a good thing. Now he considered it might actually be a sign she was… not cracking under the pressure? But not taking care of herself.

Hopefully it wouldn’t return full force once she got some actual sleep and decent food in her.

Honestly, Danny wasn’t unaware that this was the most normal his problems had ever been. Just a few years ago he’d have done anything but wish to Desiree that his biggest problem would be “my parents think I’m dating one of my friends”.

Right now it was looking pretty good too, actually. Because at this precise second, Danny’s biggest problem was that he was running out of excuses not to talk to Nocturn.

***

Tim was beginning to think he had a bit of a crush on Tucker Foley. It was a surprise to him as much as anyone else; normally the kind of fawning adoration that tech geeks usually followed him with was an instant turn off. There was just… no point getting close to people who saw him as an idea, not a person.

And, frankly? The mere existence of Timblr probably would have been a red flag for anyone else. Sure, Tucker had closed it down, but it still existed - and Tucker Foley could have taken care of that easily.

The thing was… even under the hero worship he’d caught in Tucker’s eyes when they were first introduced… well, Tucker wasn’t exactly respectful to his heroes. That did tend to follow along with a friend in a teen hero career; everyone else was instantly less cool by association.

Tucker just plain wasn’t a good fanboy. He hung on Tim’s every word, right up until they started talking tech - the subject he most admired Tim for. Didn’t admire him enough not to cut him off half way through an explanation, call an idea “archaic”, or ask if Tim was serious.

(And okay, once or twice he hadn’t been; just testing his technical chops.)

The thing was, Tucker wasn’t only a genius with regular technology, he was a prodigy in an entirely new field of software and occult collusion, and he knew it. He was delighted to upgrade Tim’s systems (although Danny would still need to do the full ecto-infusions; Tucker could interface, but didn’t produce his own ectoplasm), and more than happy to point out everywhere they needed improving.

Tim genuinely respected his opinion, which wasn’t a distinction he gave to many people who’d never worn a cape; he’d already cc’d the other, Lucius Fox, into his and Tucker’s email chains. (Lucius was very enthusiastic about the oncoming apprenticeship - for him.)

And Tucker was funny, allergic to personal privacy, and… well, Tim was pretty sure he’d felt those first twinges when, as promised, he tagged Tucker in to help interrogate the Riddler.

Digitally, obviously. With Tucker’s classes starting back up and the New Years hangovers finally clearing the board, the next time they saw each other in person might be upsettingly far out. But Tucker had cheerfully hacked his way into Gotham PD’s systems and made himself comfortable while Red Robin and Batwoman waited for Riddler to be brought in.

Tim had so few pure pleasures in his life, but watching Kate try to keep a straight face when the interrogation room’s speakers began blasting what was essentially a stripper theme perfect for Eddie Nygma the second the door closed?

Riddler had been utterly baffled as well, talking over the beginning until they reached the chorus, where the singer practically spelled out his name. His stunned silence had given way to a burst of offended protest that was entirely undercut by the way his fingers kept time.

As the teen hero in the room, Red Robin was allowed to snicker at him, but Batwoman had to pretend to be an adult about it.

And when the first song ended, silence had fallen for what must have been a perfectly calculated fifteen seconds, and then the Jeopardy theme began playing.

Of course, soundtracking hadn’t been Tucker’s only contribution to the interrogation, just Tim’s favourite. Red Robin had the tablet from the gala back from evidence, from which Tucker had cheerfully admitted in Matrix style scrolling green text that he’d been the one back-hacking Nygma’s files… and locking him out of them.

And replacing every single link Nygma had clicked from the night of the gala to the day Batwoman hauled him in to a random page from Riddles.com, which Riddler had declared a new vendetta against every time anyone would listen. It was beautiful.

Robins were professionally annoying, it was part natural talent on all of their parts (except Damian) and part intensive training on how to disrupt thought patterns and push people into mistakes. Tucker could have led the class, and Tim had been overtaken by a powerful urge to kiss the smug grin he could feel through Tucker’s text straight off his face.

Of course, Tim had a boyfriend. And had been overtaken more than once by similar urges for almost every one of his friends, when they did something brilliant.

Steph called it oral fixation, Tim preferred positive reinforcement. Conner found the whole thing extremely funny, especially since Tucker still stumbled over his words if Conner was so much as looking at him.

Which made all of his siblings trying to tease him about Tucker’s “crush” on Tim look ridiculous, by the way. Tucker Foley was not a subtle man; he couldn’t even string a sentence together around someone he actually liked.

He could string plenty of sentences together around Tim, the two of them could finish each others’ half the time.

(He wasn’t upset about Tucker’s obvious interest in Conner either; Tim knew damn well his boyfriend was an incredible catch and he was lucky to have him. Tucker’s crush was just… peer review.)

Already he was counting down the days until March Break, when Tucker was going to visit in person again. Honestly, he might push to get a zeta put in nearer to MIT in the meantime.

It wasn’t like the institute was never targeted by supervillains, it would just be practical.

But Tim himself couldn’t suggest that now, because then all of his siblings would jump on the Tucker thing and he’d never hear the end of it. It was a dilemma… because even if Conner or Danny could just go and pick him up again, zeta was just faster.

It had nothing to do with missing time that Conner and Tucker were bonding, or being a puppy waiting for his master to come home, whatever Steph said.

(And honestly, Tucker Foley? Not exactly commanding “master” material. Until he was talking about his area of expertise. Then he was certain and confident and got this really attractive gleam in his eye…)

The quickest solution would be getting all of Team Phantom officially involved in the Justice League, of course. Then he wouldn’t even need to suggest it; close zeta access was vital for all of the heroes.

But Team Phantom couldn’t join the League until Phantom’s existence was no longer illegal. So they had to dismantle the Anti Ecto Acts. Bruce was investigating the GIW, and planning what he probably thought was a secret trip to Amity Park, but none of it was happening fast enough for Tim… because it probably wouldn’t be done by March Break. In two months.

He’d broken more than just the American government in two months; all it took was the right leverage. And a complete lack of self restraint.

So, y’know, Tim had a new side project in and around his other Gotham cases. All he needed was a house and then senate majority, and they could get those laws repealed the second the government came back from break.

Lois Lane was already working on the story, Clark would probably join Bruce in Amity Park (whether he knew Bruce was there or not) for interviews. There was only so much public pressure could do though, and that never worked fast enough either.

Not compared to Tim’s preferred methods. He liked the personal touch.

****

Fun fact, slower core formation? Had not meant slower ghost powers. Not in Jason’s case, anyway; not even a week after his core came in, a coffee cup had slipped straight through his hand and shattered on the floor.

He’d stopped handling Alfred’s good china that day, mindful of Danny’s many horror stories about the school lab’s glassware. Alfred hadn’t actually questioned it, although he’d gotten a couple of raised eyebrows when he slid a junk mug toward the kettle.

It was just a good thing he’d already cut down patrolling; he’d been planning to take a step back anyway for a while. Just until he got the balance right between being Red Hood and the newly resurrected Jason Todd.

He’d had to stop entirely, at least until he got the intangibility under control. Sure, becoming temporarily impervious to weapons would be convenient when he got to choose when it switched off or on. Phasing various limbs half way through solid surfaces and getting stuck though?

No.

Not a chance in Hell. That was not an acceptable risk.

Invisibility had started not long after, which had definitely complicated his trips to the manor; all the bats were good, but vanishing completely out of the blue? That would raise comment.

The good news was that the glacierfrost seemed to be helping there too; either because of the ecto in the ice, or just keeping his emotions regulated, which kept the powers from acting up. Jason wasn’t taking unnecessary risks, but he’d noticed that for at least a couple hours after a hit, he was in more control.

Intentionally turning the powers on was still a struggle, but apparently that’d just get better with time. And probably fighting - that was the common denominator under all his ghost problems.

Ghost Fight Club was officially starting the second he’d got the transformation down, but how exactly they were going to try and trigger that in a controlled environment was still… less clear than Jason would like.

They’d have to work it out soon though; the only other ability that was likely to kick in before he could transform was flight, according to Danny. Time was a-tickin’.

And… alright. It wasn’t like Jason was sat at home every night; that was what he and Danny were doing after school now that they’d cut back to at least a couple days a week. A little practice on budding ghost powers, with backup.

“Surveying his haunt” was what Danny called it, but it basically meant Danny going ghost and Jason putting on a domino he claimed he borrowed from Dick, and the two of them bouncing around the Alley. And occasionally Danny pushing him off roofs to see if flight had kicked in yet.

(It hadn’t, but he still had his grapples, and refused to let Danny rescue him from his own bullshit.)

Sensing the city’s natural ecto had gotten much easier with his core fully developed, and Danny was teaching him how to mark it with his own. Pitty’s ongoing corruption was fucking it up though; it was still producing corrupted ectoplasm, and actually more of it now that they were both whole.

(Jason had started sleeping with Frostbite’s ghost succulent next to his pillow. That was how he’d noticed the new blue glow, which he still meant to ask about. It was still firm and strong, and it… didn’t feel sick?)

Corrupted ecto reeked so strongly of that corruption that it was completely useless for anything else, apparently. So until they finally finished purging Pitty, what all their little adventures actually amounted to was tagging.

Danny made them special ecto-spray-paint, and they spent the nights finding weirder and weirder corners to spray a little mark onto. Jason would have liked to use something to do with Red Hood, for the symmetry, but. Well. He hadn’t worked out how to have that conversation yet.

He’d been making do with little ghost doodles. It had been years since he’d done any real graffiti art, but it was like riding a bike, and the ecto sprayed really well. A cartoon ghost wasn’t all that hard anyway; an elongated little blob, occasionally with little fangs or unattached clawed hands.

He’d been going for something like an Among Us bean, but Danny had declared that he was drawing Pitty, and well… it stuck. Doodling little Pit ghosts was the order of the day, ranging from cute little Pittys (modelling good behaviour, Danny called it) or vicious little bastards, depending on how both Jason and Pitty had been that day.

Because that was definitely one piece of good news, in with all the bullshit new ghost powers was causing. Before he’d felt surges of rage, the moments where the Pit was reaching out and trying to affect him. Universally bad, aggressive, and violent, pre-Danny.

He could kinda feel it all the time now, like a heated scarf draped over his body, or the constant breathing of a dog just behind his ear. It was quiet mostly, and he was beginning to suspect it had cost more energy than he’d ever expected for it to reach out to him at all.

For all that he’d worried about it being too much like raising a kid, it… well, the nice way to say it was probably that it wasn’t that bright. It could talk to him in ghostspeak, kind of; most of what he actually heard felt like emotional reactions, closer to speaking through auras than words despite how much it’d felt like it was crawling up his throat.

The Pit could handle basic concepts, recognised Danny’s name, but other than that? It mostly seemed to follow Jason’s emotional lead… and then dial it up to eleven. Which, yeah, was exactly what he’d been scared of when he thought it might be like, a whole ass person. Toddlers were terrifying little sponges.

Jason’s experience of kids wasn’t exactly what he’d call normal, sure, but Pitty was reminding him less of a kid and more and more of some kind of small and bitey animal.

Which, y’know, was a relief. Sort of. It wasn’t like he could fuck up an animal in the same way as he could a kid. Nowhere near the same level of responsibility.

Just. When he thought about the pit rage, the idea of it being attached to something which literally had fangs and claws was not exactly reassuring. Even at the size of a chihuahua.

A little impromptu art therapy while they marked his haunt wasn’t exactly helping with that part, but it wasn’t hurting. And he was trying to explain that feeling bad was not actually dangerous or harmful… via spray paint.

He was only about 70% sure that Pitty could see.

But it got him out and about, kept him in shape at least for swinging from roof tops, and gave him an excuse to hang out with Danny. It did involve actively avoiding anything he’d normally investigate (at least until he had a reasonable explanation… or brought up the Red Hood thing)… but it felt good. It was soothing.

Even knowing full well he’d made plans, prepared extensively, still had his guys making sure the Alley was safe and all was well, he still found himself itching to patrol on the nights he stayed in.

He could only assume that was part of the whole Haunt thing; he had good people working under him, and a couple of bright lieutenants that while he’d never let them wear the hood, he was comfortable giving them some solo enforcement missions to keep the fear of Red Hood in everyone’s hearts. All relevant parties, anyway.

Luckily he still had the library project as a convenient excuse for the bats. It kept them off his ass, and Jason could admit that it probably wouldn’t have taken much to persuade him to take a night run.

And get his ass stuck half way through some fucking wall somewhere, or lose a foot to a rooftop, and need to break himself free or call Danny in the fucking suit. Nope.

(He’d been tempted to let his family think he was saving his nights for Danny, which wasn’t even completely untrue; Danny wasn’t over every night anymore, not with his school schedule, but if he wasn’t over they texted.

Jason had begun saving a meme folder just for things to show Danny, which had quickly absorbed his full folder for death jokes and just kept going. Danny was going to be a very supportive “father” for their fake pit-kid, and had clearly been stockpiling dad jokes to send back.)

Honestly though, Jason was just relieved he’d already planned to slow the vigilante side for a while in the wake of his official revival; there was a lot that had to be done to come back from the dead, and a lot more he could do with official Wayne backing for areas of Crime Alley that Hood couldn’t touch.

He’d even let some of the bats in on those plans before Danny showed up; it wasn’t a surprise that he wasn’t patrolling. They were mostly leaving him alone about it, although Dick had offered to pop his Red Hood gear on and run a couple of patrols if things got too rowdy.

Jason had told him to fuck off, then got his street kids spreading the rumour that Hood was gearing up for something big. Let people think that the momentary quiet was just the first rumbles for an oncoming storm.

Hell, let them think Hood was in cahoots with Jason Todd-Wayne; that or preparing to run him out of the Alley. Let both of his lives work together for a while. The rumours shut half the fucking low-level dealers up; no one was pushing anything within three blocks of his territory, in case Hood was planning an expansion.

That’d boil over after a while and bite him in the ass if he didn’t go and kick something down, but for now it worked. He had so much to do for the library, for the new shelters from the Wayne foundation, for the soup kitchens. He actually was pretty busy, even on his nights in.

Fuck, he’d even taken time to hang out with the actual Alley kids, as Jason and Hood. The mouthy little shits kept him grounded, and maybe he’d tried it as a trial run for Pitty, but since that wasn’t gonna be the same problem he’d kept it up as a test of his own patience.

Which had. Very abruptly. Become the cause of one of his biggest concerns. Because the biggest change since his core came in had actually taken him a couple more days to notice.

Because now, Jason could see the fingerprints of the new entity.

That hadn’t been fun to work out; he’d been intentionally taking it slow until his core formed. Part of him had been sorta hoping to be able to just avoid anything that might set them both off until the Pit was ready to pop out on its own. Nothing related to the new case he couldn’t start, nothing related to the Joker or pits or any of that shit.

So when some of the kids had been showing up with some weird shadowy smudge on their clothes, he’d assumed it was the usual Gotham grime. They claimed not to see it, he threw them at the laundry room and cussed them out, it always came off.

Now the Curse, the Curse was staying out of Crime Alley entirely. He’d seen it during the day once or twice, a shadow attached where it shouldn’t be, a flicker over Damian or Tim’s shoulder. He always knew when the Curse was around now, a frosty fog filled his lungs whenever it was close.

(Danny had called it his “ghost sense”, which was lame but Jason didn’t have a better idea.)

And those smudges didn’t have the same kind of ozone-aftertaste that the Curse left in his mouth.

And then one of his girls, maybe seven years old, had come in with that same kind of smeared shadow sticking through soft black hair. He’d had some sharp fucking words with the older kids about that, he didn’t expect them to stay pristine at all times, but for fucks sake it was clumping.

Basic hygiene fucking mattered on the street, none of them could afford a proper de-matting or even a decent razor to shave their heads, so Jason had instilled the importance of bare-minimum finger combing in every one of them years ago. You could live with a fucking rug dragging at your skull, but it made absolutely everything harder.

He’d sat the girl on a stool and washed her hair in a bucket himself, while repeating the same fucking lecture to the other girls. Noticed half way through that while the sticky shit was indeed washing out of her hair, it wasn’t being broken down by the soap.

It was clinging to him instead, seeping into the creases of his fingers and under his nails. He’d tried not to visibly react, giving her a last rinse and wrapping her hair in a towel-hat that she didn’t stop touching for the next forty minutes, fucking it up a dozen times.

The smudgy crap had washed off his hands eventually, but when he saw Danny the next day he’d visibly backed up a few steps, then given Jason about six shots of ecto because his was apparently rancid again. No prizes for spotting the connection, and from there it was obvious.

And then he’d seen Harley the next day, that same smudgy crap a handprint around her fucking throat, and he’d seen red. Hot, angry, blood red, and it not being green had startled the life out of him.

(Harley noticed. Duh. It was her thing. And while Jason couldn’t just tell her some malevolent fucking entity made from her shitty ex was crawling through the city, he’d been as honest as he could be.

Harley definitely couldn’t see the smudges. Danny hadn’t had any answers or way to make it stop fucking touching people.)

Hypothetically, this was all gonna be good in the end. It’d make things easier, being able to see and track this shitstain’s work.

It did not feature in his “don’t get pissed off or think about work” plan.

It was just faintly possible that obsession, self flagellation, and a desire to be personally responsible for fucking everything might be more than just Bruce’s problem. Could maybe be a family affair.

Jason made more pies. Occasionally narrating what he was doing aloud, half for Pitty’s benefit and half for Danny’s when the little shit was crashing on his couch.

It was fine. He was coping. Another couple weeks, Danny reckoned, and Pitty would be out of his body and he could get back to his fucking life.

With a pet Pit ghost in tow, apparently, but if the worst came to the worst he could fucking soup the thing once it was outside him.

(He was also going to teach Danny to make soup. Proper soup. On principle.)

Preparing for his trip to Amity Park had taken longer than Bruce had expected. Not least because Alfred had finally run out of patience, and sentenced him to bedrest for the next 12 hours after he returned from the Justice League meeting lest he unlock the tranquilizer guns and give his children free reign.

In the old days, when he’d just become Batman, Bruce had assumed Alfred would never be able to catch him anyway. He’d been cocky and confident in his skills, and often ignored Alfred’s demands.

And yet the man always seemed to know, raising a disapproving eyebrow at Bruce every time he’d slipped back into the room just before Alfred made his rounds.

And then Steph came into his life, and Bruce learned all too fast that Alfred had merely been waiting for appropriate safeguards. That was three kids along of course, but by now Bruce knew exactly why it had been Steph Alfred had waited for.

His relationship with Dick was too tumultuous. While Dick never feared Bruce and was perfectly happy to join Alfred in nagging and bossing him around, by the time Dick moved out Bruce had half expected to only see his son at Justice League meetings, if at all.

They were different men, and Dick had always had an anger in him that Bruce couldn’t fathom. He’d mastered it, his control very rarely slipping, but… Bruce had trained Dick himself, and he was one of a very short list of people that Bruce had no concrete backup plan for.

Nothing but hope to make him cocky with the first attack, and pray the second caught him off guard.

His relationship with Dick hadn’t improved until Tim came into his life… and helped him get his head out of his ass.

Jason? Jason had been an angel. A scruffy, beaten down angel with badly bruised wings when Bruce first picked him up, but he’d flourished in Wayne Manor. He’d taken to Robin with joy and enthusiasm, but had more devotion to his studies than any of Bruce’s kids before or since.

He’d even stay in to study for tests, and if things had been different… perhaps he’d have been the one to break Bruce’s obsession with his night life.

But Bruce had begun taking that good heart for granted, pushed when he should have listened, and sent Jason to his death.

Tim had a hard enough time keeping Bruce from killing himself, along with anyone who stood in the way of his mission. He was a solemn, serious little boy from the start, and though Dick took a more active role this time around and declared himself a big brother (possibly to spite Bruce)… well.

It had to be Steph.

Steph, who would vehemently deny being one of his from whoa to go, was just like all of his children; a feral little gremlin. But Steph had that one more element too, the one which young Dick had had in spades but pulled back from with Bruce years before.

Steph liked to have fun.

Tim treated Bruce as a mission just as much as Gotham was Bruce’s, and Dick had never forgiven him for Jason. Or the fights that went before. Neither could pick up a Nerf gun and hunt him through the city in pure play in those days.

Until Steph gave them the guns, of course. Now any and every one of his children would happily take a tranq gun from Alfred and merrily stalk him through the manor and city at large, and even to the Watchtower if he tempted fate (and Tim).

Bruce was powerless against them, although pride warred with frustration every single time one of them managed to drug him to sleep. He’d trained them well. Well enough that they’d put what was right over what he wanted, that none of them were even a little afraid of him.

He’d planted the seeds of his own destruction.

So when he’d seen Duke and Dick hanging “casually” around the halls while Alfred escorted him to bed, he’d resigned himself to twelve hours of rest.

He’d slept for sixteen. And woke feeling much better, to his own chagrin. His head felt clearer, the migraine almost gone, and the sudden swoops of nausea had finally begun to pass.

He still had odd moments, especially when he’d been on the computer planning the trip to Amity Park for too long, but he’d reluctantly agreed with Alfred. He needed to fully recover from his concussion; that meant rest. And taking days and weeks instead of hours.

Amity Park would still be there, after all. He couldn’t get back the years they’d been late. He’d had to concede another two weeks.

Zatanna had also demanded an explanation for why he was suddenly interested in the town - luckily the Anti-Ecto Acts provided a sufficient cover. They were even most of the reason he was going.

She could also see the gravity of the situation, and offered to put him in touch with some local specialists who claimed to have tech that would keep him from being possessed. Specialists named “Fenton”. Because of course they were.

She’d offered him a ward as well, but mostly in jest. She knew how Bruce felt about magic, and had told him science was on the table almost immediately.

Bruce knew full well it wasn’t a coincidence. Formerly regarded as quacks, the Fentons had been featured prominently in all of their Amity Park news sources. Usually as menaces and a hazard to society, which aligned with what the Mansons had told him.

Still, their actions had nothing to do with the character of their son. Danny Phantom had been Amity Park’s protector for six years, although he’d not had many serious ghosts to fight for the last three.

As Foley had claimed, the ghosts seemed to have settled into a status of local nuisance that was oddly aligned with the Fentons senior; loud, intrusive, and often an inconvenience to your day, but not the threats to life, limb, or infrastructure that had characterised the first years after the portal opened.

Amity Park’s general consensus seemed to be that Danny Phantom had tamed the ghosts, won over the Fentons, and quite efficiently saved the day. He hadn’t been sighted there much in the past year, but that was because he’d been in Gotham.

In school. Finally being able to study and look towards his future.

His main heroic endeavours in the last three years of his career had involved the same GIW, the Ghost Investigation Ward that Foley had told Tim about. They unfortunately had not followed the general trend of de-escalation… although they had been rather subdued in the last year.

It felt different to Bruce, though. Incidents were less frequent, but those occurrences where they did find a ghost had become markedly more violent. The decreased frequency seemed to have lulled the townsfolk into believing they were also less of a threat, but the problem with pushing your enemies into a corner was how much more dangerous a cornered animal became.

There was something worrying happening with the GIW, that would have borne looking into even if he wasn’t also looking to understand Danny better. Preparing everything he’d need for the official investigation was most of what had slowed him down.

Of course, he was going to Amity Park as Brucie Wayne, not as Batman. Vlad Masters’ friendship was going to help him there; the man had been delighted to invite him down for the weekend when Bruce had reached out.

A little faked enthusiasm for football and interest in Vlad’s favourite team and he was a seemingly completely open book. He was more than happy to give Brucie the grand tour of his little town, and even promised a personal escort from the airport.

Bruce was beginning to suspect that getting away from the man might be more of a challenge, although he was another potentially useful source of information on the Amity Park situation.

Not that Masters was a particularly high priority source. But Bruce could admit he may have been hasty to dismiss his views on Danny as being biased, and as mayor he should know something about the GIW operations in his city… and given how many contracts with the agency could be traced back to his companies in the early days of the agency’s formations, he would be a much more serious subject for investigation than a source.

The good news was, everything was now in place. He had Danny’s permission and would be flying down to Amity Park in a matter of hours, and had already bought out the entire top floor of a local hotel, so he should have plenty of privacy to operate from.

With any luck, being able to set things in motion to repeal the Anti-Ecto Acts could also be a first step towards patching things up with Jason… and with Danny. No matter what conclusions Bruce came to in Amity Park, the Justice League owed Danny Phantom a serious apology, and the Infinite Realms some swift action.

Their negligence could have sparked an inter-dimensional war, and nearly had cost a young man his future. Bruce was self aware enough to admit that the guilt of that knowledge was a major factor in why he hadn’t spoken to Danny face to face again.

Yet.

At least Danny had given him permission to visit and explore his haunt. That had to count for something.

He was going to apologize. Probably after giving Jason the proper apology his son so richly deserved. Perhaps Jason would even be willing to help him work out how to properly apologize to Danny too; Bruce wasn’t good at apologies at the very best of times, but Harley had made it explicitly clear that he was going to be getting in a lot of practice.

Now, ya can call Harley Quinn a lot of things (and people definitely have), but one thing she ain’t despite the goofball act? Stupid.

Somethin’ was up in Gotham, somethin’ one heck of a lot weirder than all the weird shit that had marked her time in the city.

Oh, she’d gone an’ had another word with Brucie after Waylon told her how Jason’d had to leave through the roof after his talk with Constantine.

(She’d hunt Johnny-boy down later too, probably just after he decided she wasn’t gonna come for ‘im and stopped hiding, but odds on? Brucie’s fault, and Connie was just his unfortunate messenger.)

The thing was, he’d decided to sicc Johnny on poor Jason before they’d had their little talk, so by the time she caught him again he was already all downcast and shamefaced. Already admitting he done fucked up.

And it just wasn’t satisfyin’ to kick him while he was down, an’ while he was already tryin’. He’d even decided on his own to leave both boys alone for now, to let things cool down before tryin’ again.

Now, Mama Quinzel didn’t raise no dummy, she could see a million ways ol’ Brucie’s plan to go and try an’ fix Amity Park for Danny was gonna go wrong. But she wasn’t an expert at this ghost business, so she didn’t pretend to be.

She did exactly what she’d told Brucie to do; consulted an actual expert.

She asked Sammy and Jazzy, Danny’s big sis who was just a real darlin’, in their group chat (which had been popping off since Sammy was a lil sweetheart and set it up for ‘em; Jazzy-boo was of doin’ all kinds of neurological shit but she’d read some psych textbooks in her day, and Harley loved watching a self taught student grow). An’ then she hunted down Jason and Danny, to ask ‘em directly.

Which had been when she’d got her first clue that somethin’ was up; when Jason looked at her like she was still wearin’ a certain other clown’s paint, all stiff and locked up and full of anger.

See, that’d happened before. When they first met, him fresh outta the grave, her fresh outta Hell. When he’d asked if she and Joker were really through, an’ she’d told him hell yeah.

When he’d asked if she’d get in his way of killing the asshole.

That anger, all tight an’ tense an’ burstin’ had been wrapped around his throat then, chokin’ him on it. It was cooler now, more human, more like somethin’ the sweet lil sunshine child who could melt her heart with his tears could feel.

It still wasn’t, ya’know, in the vague vicinity of healthy, but she’d seen Jason Todd about to lose his shit before. An’ his hands shook when he touched her, when he asked what the hell she’d done to her neck.

Harley’d taken a good long look in several bathroom mirrors since. There was nothin’ she could see there, but Harley Quinn had been a short term guest in more than one Hell. There was plenty of shit she was all too happy not ta see.

Then there was ol’ Harvey. She’d run him down faster’n the bats, because she wasn’t also chasin’ Riddler, Great White Shark, at least three new plots from ol’ Pengy, or a suspiciously quiet and freshly escaped Scarecrow.

Two-Face had been all quiet an’ polite since his heist on the young Mr Todd’s party went tits up, so he’d flown under their radar.

Not hers.

Harley always made time for her old friends.

And Harvey had been weird too. Twitchy, on edge, jumpin’ at shadows. That happened if he thought the ol’ Bat was after ‘im, but he’d had no reason to think that. An’ for all he’d flipped his little coin and played up the bit, Harley knew when her friends were off.

Something had put Harvey on edge. Stuffed a bee up his ass and made him all snappy.

He’d even tried to pull a gun! On her! His sweet, darlin’, perfectly loveable and innocent Harleen!

So, ya’know, when she’d touched ground again an’ he’d run outta bullets, she’d knocked it outta his hands before he could reload and reminded him there were more than just Bats to fear. There was also her bat.

An’ by the time they were both all tired out and slumped against each other to order smoothies, he’d admitted he didn’t know why he’d decided to go fer young Jason. To attack their buddy Brucie’s boy.

Now, Harley wasn’t sure Harvey knew silly ol’ Brucie was the Big Bad Bat. She suspected he did, somewhere, in the part of him he hid from all the unpleasantness.

If he knew, he was repressin’ it real deep.

But he’d seen word of the gala, an’ something inside him went dark, and he’d flipped a coin. Got all sorts of plastic explosive of all things ready to really give Gotham a show they wouldn’t forget.

An’ then when it was time to roll out, nunna his cars’d start. An’ he’d flipped the coin again. And stayed home.

She snagged the detonators on his explosives on the way out, on principle. There were some rules after all, and while the Bats could certainly handle anythin’ ol’ Harvey could build, he shouldn’a shot at her.

Harley Quinn was officially out of the rogue game, but that had nothin’ ta do with shit disturbing. She was beginning to wonder though.

Somethin’ was weird in Gotham, a kinda energy in the streets that wasn’t the same black stubbornness she’d known and loved. Somethin’ that felt a little nastier. A little closer to biting.

Now, Harley Quinn was a lotta things. She also wasn’t a lotta the things everyone else thought she was.

She was no quitter. She was no fool. She was no coward to turn tail from some nasty vibes. She might still be a teensy weensy bit mentally disturbed, as you say, but she had her shit together.

An’ she knew when somethin’ else was tryin’ ta play with her head.

Much as she loved Gotham like a second home, she was beginnin’ ta wonder if she shouldn’t head back to Pammy an’ let their mystery of who was givin’ Coney Island a hard time sit with the Bats.

——————

The song Tucker’s playing for Tim and Nygma is here:

Tag List - @welcometosasakiworld @someonebored0100 @stealingyourbones @starkcravingmad @frostedthroughghost @akikkobara @rainbowbunny0159 @littlefeather345 @violet-catsarelife @serasvictoria02 @wolfjackle @blacksea21090 @secretdestinywerewolf @anime-hipster-the-amazing @undead-essence e @skitscratched @blackroserelina a @snoodly-boop @mayoota-blog @xysidhe @little-apricot-the-writer @chaoticmistake @the-legal-shipper @bun-fish @aroranorth-west @demon-cat-goes-woof @perfectwastelandcreation @onyxlightdragon @larks-and-katydids @peachesandcreamfemboy @jesus-camp-the-sequel @may-rbi @mothman-the-mothman87 @viyatrix @stargirl1331 @idfk-man10 @thedepressedrobin n @skulld3mort-1fan @rootsmudge @ravenshadow17 7 @cankoking @phantom-dc @mentalcarebear @magic-pincushion @redamancyardor @lyra689 @itsparadoxlacuna @alcorbearson n @asphyxia778 @why-must-i-be-like-this s @tkiesai @greenpyrowolf @frivolous-pastel @honeysuckletook @adorkable1291

IMPORTANT NOTE! Since about half the tag list no longer links to a blog, I will probably be retiring it for chapter 20, so either comment and let me know you still wanna be on it, or proceed on over to AO3 for alerts!

Part two:

#dfdali #danny fenton dead and loving it #dead on main ship #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #chapter 19 part 1 #the finished core

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sleepynoons · 4 months ago

Text

Unconditional

Were you worthy of someone as irreplaceable as him?

ooc!gojo x f!reader, sfw

word count: ~2,300

cw: explicit language, body image issues + insecurities, anxiety attacks

notes: wrote this before gojo got... uh... :)) i also wrote this last year when i had a very different understanding of gojo's character than i do now (cross-posted from my ao3), which is why i labeled him as ooc. anyway, this is my love letter to those who struggle with feeling mediocre and insignificant and unneeded.

TO BE clear, it wasn’t like Satoru was never explicit in his affections for you. In fact, it was the entire opposite – he would plant a disgustingly wet kiss on your forehead every morning, dog whistle when you changed for work, and treat your body like a temple as soon as dusk hit. He drowned you in praises whenever he could, but perhaps that was the issue.

Were you worthy of someone as irreplaceable as him? Gojo Satoru may stroke his own ego by calling himself “the blessed one,” but it wasn't like he was wrong for it. In the jujutsu world, he was the industry’s ultimate weapon. Outside, he was a very striking and sexy man – tall, lean, born with the bluest eyes –, and while he was annoying, grating, and reckless at times, he had awareness and compassion that made him personable and trustworthy.

As a matter of fact, that’s what made you take the leap to become his. You're no jujutsu sorcerer, and you learned just how dangerous Satoru’s job was before you even began to develop feelings for him. Yet the self-assuredness he radiated when he spoke convinced you to trust him. You wouldn’t be able to lose him, even if you wanted to – he is the strongest, and he will continue to be so until he dies.

On the other hand, you were… well, you were just you. You weren’t ugly, but you weren’t stunning or gorgeous. You were neither thin nor thick, and you weren’t especially gifted in any particular intellectual matter. At times, you think, had you been specially endowed or gifted in one way or another, you wouldn’t have this internal turmoil. But in reality, your mediocrity was all you had to work with, and you’re not sure if Satoru’s love for you will last once he realizes that you have little to offer him.

“Hon, you’ve been in there for a long time! Is everything alright?” Satoru’s voice and his knocks on the fitting room door break you out of your trance.

You’ve been standing in front of the mirror in the same dress for a few minutes now. The way the dress sits on your frame dissatisfies you, and you realize that that was probably what triggered your spiraling in the first place.

You quickly respond. “Sorry for making you wait! Let me get changed.”

Right. There was no need to get into your head. It doesn’t matter if you were dating Satoru or someone else; relationships, even marriages and years-long friendships, are fragile in nature, so the only thing you should focus on is appreciating the present.

You unlock the door and let Satoru help you gather your things.

“Anything catch your eye?” he asks as he slips your bag onto his shoulder.

“Not really,” you say. “Let me return the clothes first. Meet you at the store entrance?”

He pouts and peers at you over his sunglasses. “Not even the dress I picked out for you?”

Ah, there was more to it. It was because Satoru had specifically picked out that dress that made you hope it would suit you. You smile apologetically at him before heading out.

The car ride is quiet, aside from the occasional hum that Satoru lets out as the speakers play your playlist. You would have felt much more relaxed, too, had you not noticed your boyfriend’s intense gaze on you. He has been looking at you since the two of you left the store, and while you know he has no bad intentions, his stare is only getting more pointed by the second. To any onlooker, they would think you're overthinking it – and maybe they’re right. After all, Satoru’s posture is still casual, and it’s not like there’s electrifying tension in the air. But still, you have been with Satoru for two years now, and your gut is telling you that if you looked back at him right now, it would only prompt a conversation that you weren’t ready to have. So you don’t return his gaze and, instead, pretend to be distracted by the streetlights and waning moon.

It isn’t until the two of you return to your shared home that he breaks the silence.

“What’s on your mind, hon?” His voice is gentle, laced with concern, gentleness, and curiosity. His tone is coaxing you to be truthful, but a discomfort sits at the bottom of your stomach that holds you back.

You don’t say anything as you take off your shoes, aligning your heels next to each other on the shoe rack. It’s only when you stand back up that you say, “I… I’m not sure if I want to talk right now, Satoru."

He stills behind you, a second longer to tell you that he’s thinking, before he gives you a brief back hug.

“That’s alright. Take your time,” he whispers. You lean into his touch before he pulls away.

Then, he begins to whistle and muses on about dinner as he strides towards the living room. All you can do is follow as you shake your head and chuckle under your breath.

The evening is spent with warm food and a drama playing in the background. The two of you cackle at the silly antics of the characters (“I could probably bench press the antagonist,” Satoru groans) and talk about how the jujutsu students are doing (“You should find some time to let the first- and second-years actually enjoy the amusement park,” you chide).

However, the insecurities never quite leave you. When your boyfriend moves to wrap his arm around your waist, you immediately lean forward, away to grab the remote control to turn the TV volume up. When he tries again – this time, resting his hand over your knee – you switch your posture and adjust the cushion in your lap. You hear Satoru grumble with displeasure but elect to ignore it.

Eventually, after several more attempts of trying to initiate any semblance of physical affection, Satoru finally groans aloud. He reaches over you to grab the remote, turns the TV off, and takes your face in his hands. Now you’re forced to look at him, and without his sunglasses to mute the blue of his eyes, his stare sends a jolting shock through your body.

“Hon, I know I said I would be patient, but this is getting out of hand.” You squirm a little, but his hands are sturdy in cupping your face in place. Like a child, you simply huff and close your eyes. “Oh, c’mon! At least look at me!”

You huff again. “No, I don’t want to.”

It’s silent.

Another moment passes, and Satoru lets go of your face.

It’s too silent.

You wonder if Satoru has teleported away. You’re sure he’s playing with you, but what if he just… gave up? Just like that? Maybe something just clicked in his brain, and he left because he realized you were too naïve and boring and normal for him?

You’re stubborn, but the urge to know overwhelms you and you open your eyes.

He’s still there. Satoru immediately falls back, laughing and rolling on the floor.

You grimace. “I wish you would be that quiet on a daily basis.”

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Satoru’s laughing so hard, he’s beginning to clutch his sides.

You roll your eyes and begin to stand up. You feel a hand clutch at your wrist, and you glare down at the man(child). “I’m going to clean things up here while you waste away on the floor.”

“That was hilarious!”

“The only thing that’s hilarious here is your shit sense of humor.”

You don’t resist as Satoru pulls you down, wrapping you in his arms as you both lie on the floor. He’s still chuckling, but he’s turned his attention towards soothing you, running one of his hands through your hair and fiddling with the hem of your shirt with the other.

“Are you ready to tell me what’s on your mind?”

You hum, your smile melting off. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and mutter, “Why do you love me, Satoru?”

“I don’t know, there’s too much to love.”

“Cheesy. Bad answer. Give me actual reasons.”

“Where’s this coming from?”

You let out a strangled, muffled cry. “I asked first, Satoru.”

“I'll only answer if you give me context.”

You peer at him, and you see a patient and loving look settle on his face. You don’t want his expression to turn into one of hurt.

Finally, you admit, “I don’t know, I just don’t really get why… you’d date someone like me. It’s not like I’m useful in any way.”

Satoru’s hands continue their motions. He’s unfazed, almost as if he expected you to say this.

“Do you think people love others based on their utility?” he asks.

“To a certain degree, yeah.”

“Okay, so you’re saying you don’t add any value to my life?”

“Well, I hope I do. I just… don’t really know what that value is exactly.” Satoru sighs before lifting both of you into a sitting position, though you’re mostly in his lap. “Listen, I can’t speak for others, but I know I don’t love others just because they do things for me. Hell, Megumi was literally a child when I took him in. What could he have possibly done for me?”

“Be an adorable, chubby baby?”

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes. “Not the point.” You acquiesce. “All I’m trying to say is that our relationship isn’t transactional.”

You huff again. You know you’re acting childish. “But that doesn’t explain why you chose me. Like I’m not special, Satoru. I feel so… unworthy.”

Satoru’s face immediately drops, and he’s holding you tightly. “Why do you feel that way, hon? Am I not loving you properly?”

“No, not at all!” you say. “Satoru, no, sweetheart, this has nothing to do with you. You’re just so good to me. I-I don’t know what I did to deserve all of this.”

You sigh and slump into his hold. Tears are prickling in your eyes, and you feel your face heat up as you overwhelm with a discouraging mixture of shame, embarrassment, and guilt. Yet you hold back because this conversation is already as humiliating as it can get.

“But that’s what I’m trying to say, hon.” Satoru is cradling your head as he speaks to you softly. “My love for you is unconditional. I love you because I am in love with you.”

You shake your head and ask, “In love with what? Mediocrity?” Satoru takes a sharp inhale.

You continue, “Satoru, I’m no model. I’m also not a genius. I’m not particularly talented in anything or especially beautiful, and I’m not even a part of your world. Literally, what is there to love –”

“No one else has loved me for who I am until I met you.”

You look up at him quizzically.

“Listen.” Satoru readjusts your position so that the two of you are sitting facing each other. This time, he's not looking at you. Rather, he looks down at where your knees touch and interlaces your hands with his. “To the higher-ups, I am just the pillar that maintains balance. To the kids, I’m their mentor. And to the others, I’m just a colleague. Not a single person in my life has loved me so deeply before.”

“But what if you had met someone before me who could love you just as deeply, if not more?”

“But I didn’t. And that’s all that matters now.” Satoru takes your hands fully into his. Staring straight at you, he says, “You took me in, knowing all the dangers that come with being my partner. Maybe in another timeline, another universe, you aren’t my lover. But in this one, you are, and I have no intention of letting you go.” He pauses for a brief second before muttering, voice cracking, “I can’t lose you.”

The tears you had held back come streaming down, and you have to bite down on your lip to stifle your sobs. You manage to whisper back, “I can’t lose you, either.”

Satoru kisses you once, twice, thrice. Gentle touches on your lips, only filled with adoration and longing. He continues to press his lips around your face, mumbling praises between each of his actions.

“Beautiful.” Kiss on your forehead. “Compassionate.” Kiss on your nose. “Thoughtful.” Kiss on your temple. “Bright.” And his flurry of kisses and compliments don’t stop until you stop crying. Eventually, you start giggling at the light, feathery sensation, and when he is about to mutter something else, you take the chance to kiss him back.

It’s nothing sensual or breathtaking – just your lips slotted firmly and perfectly against his. But you feel so grounded and content, and the insecurities and anxiety that have been bothering you all day finally fade away. When you break away, Satoru gleams at you with pride and admiration, and you beam back at him.

“Feeling better?” he asks. You nod fervently before giving your boyfriend another quick peck.

“Thank you. Always,” you say.

His eyes crinkle at the sight of you happy and energetic again. “Of course, hon. Anything for you.”

It’s difficult to not fluster at his words sometimes, so you turn away and hide your face behind your arm, denying him any satisfaction.

Satoru whines and says, “Hey, lemme see you. I deserve it for being such a good boyfriend.”

You respond cheekily, “I’ll only admit that you’ve been a good boyfriend if you also wash the dishes.”

“Hey, that’s not fair!”

You giggle as you slide off the couch. “I’ll leave it to you!”

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byslantedlight · 8 months ago

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Hello OFMD Tumblr thingie, and all the amazing people who are out there, and especially the ones who've been making all the posts that have made me so happy over the last few months. 💖💖💖 First and most importantly, thank you, thank you, thank you, to anyone who sees this!

This is my first post to Tumblr (probably pretty obvious from my huge lack of Tumblr sophistication! And the length of this post...) If you don't count reblogging things that I wanted to be able to find again. I've braved up to comment thank you to people a couple of times, but that's been it so far. I must admit it all looks a bit scary from this side of the glass, even though I can also see how friendly people mostly are.

But OFMD fandom is big! And you've been here a long time! I loved Series 1 when I watched it, and knew I wanted to watch out for Series 2, but it wasn't until I re-watched it when the Series 2 trailer came out on BBC iPlayer that I fell veeeery in love with it! And by then you were already here, and there was a language and debates about things I'd barely even noticed, and it's mostly me staring with big eyes thinking wow, and sometimes huh? and... well, you know. Plus there's trying to work out Tumblr, which I definitely haven't actually managed to do yet, and possibly never will, so... I decided to just jump in and post summat. Even just rambling, which is a bit of a specialty of mine... I mean - what's the worst that can happen, right? 😬

So... how come now? Well, I can't make art or gorgeous screenshots or gifs. I do write, but I'm still hanging out to get the right voices in my keyboard... I know them when I hear them, but you've gotta get the right rhythm going, and I'm not quite there yet, I don't think. Although really, I should probably just sit down and try (and stop waiting for work to shut up and give me time - I should be a pirate and take it!)

Anyway (told you about the rambling...) what I'm mostly doing apart from rewatching the eps on a constant loop is reading the fic. I'm picking it according to kudos on AO3, and according to recs that I see on Tumblr, and it's occured to me that alot of the stories I'm loving must have been recced looong ago, and that newbies like me totally missed them, and so maybe I could do my own recs, even if they are of older stories, and someone might find them useful. You know, if I work out how anyone else might ever see my posts. 😁 And if people aren't put off by my probably age-revealing use of emojis. (But I am entirely age-appropriate for Ed and Stede, and if I had to look up what zaddy meant too, well, that just means I matched Rhys Darby's expression in the bts, right? 🤨)

So it's not much, but I'd like to contribute even just a tiny bit to OFMD fandom in return for everything it gives me, so... yeah. That's my plan. I'll start in a bit, but this post is probably already too long since it's just rambling. And kind of dull. I should probably have said tl:dr at the top, shouldn't I, but then maybe anyone who actually saw this wouldn't, so... See, I kind of live in hope. 😊

Okay. Tags next, right? ... ack ... why won't it let me create new tags instead of just using ones from the drop down...? Well, those will have to do for now... maybe someone who sees this will have mercy and tell me how? I'll just be over here being a slight failure at Tumblr... And if you've made it this far (how long is an acceptable post over here?! Not this long, I don't think...) - thank you hugely for just that, and may your dreams be OFMD and joyous!

#ofmd #ofmd fanfic

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lesbicosmos · 5 months ago

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day 6 of @painlandweek !!

day 6 prompt: free day!!

summary:

after edwin's confession, charles has a lot to think about. he finds himself watching edwin even closer than usual, and realisations happen. or a series of moments post-s1 that gave charles rowland a bit of a crisis

notes:

title from not a lot, just forever by adrianne lenker

this fic was also a collaboration with the amazing @every-moment-a-different-sound !! they made these gorgeous gifs based on my fic <33

also on ao3!!

through your eyes i see a smile you bring to me

He’d been thinking. A lot. Charles Rowland didn’t do that. He was more of a ‘do first, think later’ kind of guy. He said what was on his mind, about most things at least. He made most decisions in a spur of the moment. He wouldn’t think twice before jumping in front of danger for someone he cared about – usually Edwin. And Edwin Payne was exactly the catalyst for Charles’s current intense thinking.

There were four facts he definitely knew:

Edwin was the person he loved most in the entire world.

Edwin was in love with him.

Charles’s instincts were, and had been for years, to make Edwin happy no matter what.

Charles didn’t want to do anything that might eventually hurt him if he was wrong.

Perhaps the third fact ought to have started some conversation about his own self-worth issues, but Charles decided to file that away for later. All he knew now was that he had to think this through. He had to be sure before he made a decision that could end up being stupid in the long run.

All this thinking had led Charles to focus on Edwin somehow even more than he had before. If he was in the room while Charles was supposed to be doing something, he would be distracted. If Charles was alone while he was supposed to be doing something, he would be distracted. It seemed that if Charles wanted to think through this as much as he should, he’d have to sacrifice his productivity in the agency. And as long as no one noticed or mentioned it, he was more than willing to do so.

In his staring, Charles had come to realise some tiny things about Edwin that he may have perhaps noticed before, but never really noticed. Like the way he would tap his notebook with the pencil while thinking about what to write; the way he would run his hands through his perfectly slicked hair whenever he was confused, or stressed, or embarrassed; the way his eyes would light up whenever Niko suggested they watch another episode of Scooby Doo. The one thing that wouldn’t leave Charles’s mind, however, is something he had noticed Edwin did around him.

He'd noticed it after the Night Nurse’s most recent visit. She was still bitter that she was being forced to oversee the agency in the first place, so had been her usual snarky self.

“I don’t know why I even agreed to help you two insolent boys. Oh wait, I didn’t agree to this! Please deal with this yourselves, I have a lot of paperwork to do!” she had said before she left the office.

She hadn’t physically used the door, but the annoyed way in which she disappeared from sight gave the implication of slamming it in their faces.

Immediately after she’d left, Charles had turned to look at Edwin, pursing his lips and looking down his nose at him in an attempt to recreate her bitchy expression.

“You two insolent boys,” he said imitating her high-pitched voice. “I have a lot of paperwork!”

And Edwin laughed. A real, genuine, from-the-chest laugh. And he smiled. It was exactly that smile that flicked some switch inside Charles’s brain.

Whenever he smiled around most people, it would be visible more in his eyes than anywhere else, his mouth only curling up slightly, his lips pressed tightly shut. Sometimes however, oh how his face brightened. Occasionally he would smile with his eyes and his mouth, showing his teeth in a glowing grin. It was beautiful.

It hit Charles that the only times he’d ever seen Edwin smile like that was when he was around him and him alone. It was as though that beaming grin was reserved just for him, and Charles savoured it every single time. He made it his death’s mission to make Edwin smile as often as physically possible. Every time he managed it, he felt like he had won.

Was it normal to think that way about your best mate’s smile? Was it normal to be elated to discover he seemingly has a smile especially for you? These were the thoughts that were currently doing laps around Charles’s brain.

The next time Charles found himself in crisis mode over Edwin was a few weeks later. They’d had a walk-in potential client, a young woman whose family had kept meeting unfortunate accidents in their house, who, after dying of a fall on their staircase, had discovered the house was actually haunted by a creature she suspected to be a poltergeist. They had heard her case, and were just onto the topic of payment when she pulled out an amulet, offering it with the explanation that it glowed in the presence of anything that had been in the presence of a demon. Notably, it was not glowing in the presence of either of the boys.

“Danielle,” Edwin began, in the tone Charles recognised as the way he always spoke when he was about to make a point and prove himself right. “You brought your case to us and we listened and agreed to take it, so clearly you trust us and our reputation. Hence, you should also have assumed that we, as supernatural detectives, have come into contact with demonic forces before. And if you hadn’t noticed, there is no glow in that amulet. It is clearly a fake. You really should have thought about that before bringing it to us as payment.”

Charles just stared at him, in awe. Edwin had done this many times, caught tricky clients in their lies as easy as anything. He’d done it with Emma when she’d brought Crystal’s case to them, claiming not to have any form of payment at all. Charles had always admired him when he did that, but now he really thought about it, the way he mesmerised him might have been for a reason deeper than simply ‘my best friend is so cool’.

“What?” the client gasped.

“The amulet is just a piece of jewellery. You knew that, didn’t you?”

“No?” she said, tearing up.

“Oh,” Edwin immediately softened. “Well, let me apologise for the last thirty seconds. It has happened a surprising amount of times over the last thirty-three years that we’ve had clients con us with claims they have a magical item to give as payment.”

“I didn’t know, I swear. It was the only thing I could think of to give because it was a family heirloom and my grandma had always told me it was magic. I’m just trying to help my family, please, my twins, they’re only four, they get into enough accidents as it is, I couldn’t bear for them to go through what I did because of that thing-”

“Danielle,” Edwin’s voice was so different from how it had been previously, no longer sharp and quick-witted but now soft and comforting. “I promise we will do everything we can to rid your home of whatever spirit it is that is lurking there.”

“But I don’t have anything else to give you-”

“We do occasionally take cases without payment, if the situation is dire. This counts. Do not worry about it.”

“Really? Thank you so much!”

“We are happy to help.”

Charles would have said something too, reassured her that they’d do the best job they could, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from Edwin. Somehow, the switch to his comforting, encouraging voice had even more of an effect on him.

When Edwin turned to Charles after Danielle left and asked if everything was okay since he’d been oddly quiet throughout the interview, he just smiled, claiming he was aces. Technically, it wasn’t a complete lie, just perhaps not the entire truth. He didn’t really know how to say ‘yeah, I’m fine, I just can’t seem to stop staring at you lately no matter what you’re doing,’ without it sounding at least a little strange.

The staring thing didn’t go away.

It had been a very warm day – not that the boys could actually tell, obviously. They’d only assumed since Niko had sauntered into the office in a flowy pink and orange summer dress with her bright pink heart sunglasses perched on her head, closely followed by Crystal in a purple mesh top and brown shorts. Their assumption had then been confirmed by the hour of complaining that followed.

While Edwin insisted on staying at the office to finish researching about demonic fungi, Charles tagged along with the girls when they eventually got too tired of the heat and decided to go and get ice-cream. He knew he couldn’t eat any himself, but he liked going into town with them, it made him feel a tiny bit like a normal living teenager for a little while. He’d gone into town to the cinema or to the arcade with his friends often when he was alive – even if those memories now left a sour taste in his mouth despite the fact taste was one of the senses he’d lost years ago.

The girls had nearly finished their ice-creams by the time they returned, Crystal giggling quietly when she noticed Niko had gotten some on the tip of her nose. Charles was just thinking about how much he loved seeing Crystal so happy as they re-entered the office.

Charles immediately noticed the change in Edwin’s outfit. When they’d left, he’d been wearing his matching pinstripe blue-grey blazer and trousers, his bow-tie perfectly tied and straight. Now, he’d lost the blazer, and his bow-tie was nowhere to be seen, the top few buttons of his shirt undone just enough to reveal his collarbones. The shirt, Charles also noted, had short sleeves. He’d never known Edwin to wear a short-sleeved shirt. He’d roll the sleeves up occasionally when they were working in the office, but it was always the same white long-sleeve.

Edwin had been more experimental with his clothing choices since his change of outfit in Port Townsend had gained him compliments from both Niko and Charles, but it had still always been some variation of his usual get-up – only slight changes to the colour scheme, or the fabric, or exchanging his blazer for a jumper. Charles had never seen him dressed this casually.

“Cool shirt, mate,” he said, unable to keep the smile off his face. Perhaps it was a strange thing to say about a plain white shirt, but he didn’t know how else to mention it nonchalantly. He was already using enough of his brainpower to focus on stopping himself staring at Edwin’s arms.

"Thank you, Charles,” Edwin said, looking down momentarily in that awkward yet endearing way he did whenever anyone complimented him.

“Oh, good,” Crystal said, halfway through retying her hair in a bun. “I know you guys don’t feel the heat but just seeing you in that jacket was making me sweat buckets.”

“Yes, well, I figured I might as well dress for the occasion, as it were.”

“It looks great!” Niko said excitedly.

Edwin smiled at her. It was different to the smile he gave most people, his eyes brightening even more than usual, like they always did around Niko. It still wasn’t the beaming grin he reserved just for Charles, though.

“How’s the research going?” Charles asked, trying to change the subject.

“Well. I believe I have all the information we need to identify which type of infernal fungus it is that is plaguing our client."

“Brills!”

With that, Edwin stood up from the desk, walking around it to put the book back in its very specific spot on the shelf. It was only then that Charles noticed it wasn’t only his shirt Edwin had changed – he was now wearing shorts, too. They were still the same blue-grey pinstripe, still the same formal style as his usual trousers, only now they ended just above his knee. He walked around the room as confidently as always, and Charles desperately tried to tear his eyes away from Edwin’s legs. But it seemed something had short-circuited in his brain, because he couldn’t think about anything else.

“Hey,” Crystal nudged him. “You good there?”

Charles snapped his head around to look at her.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Crystal just raised her eyebrows at him, then turned back to Niko.

He’d been thinking his love for Edwin might not be entirely platonic for a while, but the realisation well and truly hit him after they’d just wrapped up a particularly hard-hitting case.

A 14-year-old boy had come to the office. He’d recently died but had no idea how, his only memory being coming home from a friend’s house, walking into the living room to find his mother sitting on the sofa watching TV, then feeling a sharp pain on the back of his head. When he woke up, he was in an ambulance, and was now detached from his physical form.

After some investigation of the boy’s house, they’d found a metal rod in the back of the shed in the garden. And they’d caught someone going there once every couple of days to check it was still hidden. It had been the boy’s father.

Edwin had felt horrible having to drag Charles away from hugging the sobbing boy as Death arrived for him.

Charles had been quiet ever since. Edwin hadn’t asked if he was okay – he already knew the answer. He’d dropped onto the sofa as soon as they got back to the office, his head in his hands. Edwin had given him a moment, before he slowly sat beside him, giving him as much space as possible.

“Charles?” he asked quietly, tapping his shoulder so gently it was barely even a touch.

Rather than push him away like he had back near the lighthouse in Port Townsend, Charles leaned into the touch. Edwin tentatively shuffled closer to him until Charles barely had to move to lean further into his space. Edwin just pulled him close.

“Whatever you need, I’m here,” he whispered. “I’m always here.”

Charles let out a sob into Edwin’s chest, and he only held him closer.

And in amongst all the anger, all the pain, all the tears, the love he felt was overwhelming. He was breaking down, sobbing, finally letting out emotions he felt like he’d been locking away for years, and instead of turning away from him, instead of judging him or telling him to ‘man-up’ like his friends or his father would have, Edwin Payne just held him. And Charles couldn’t contain the intense love he felt for him. He’d do anything for this to never end, for Edwin to always be there for him and for him to always be there for Edwin in return. He wanted to stay in Edwin’s arms forever. And luckily for him, they had just that. They had forever, eternity.

They held each other until the sun rose, and talked about it in the morning.

Charles was reeling after his realisation. He was confident now. He just had to find a way to tell him.

The four of them were walking down the street together, finally just hanging out as a group outside of a case. He’d zoned out watching Edwin once again, his mouth slightly agape, this time imagining different scenarios where he confessed that he was wrong on that staircase while Edwin was several paces ahead, having been dragged towards a Scooby-Doo themed shop window display by Niko.

Crystal nudged him in the side from her spot beside him.

“You sure you’re okay? You’ve been weirdly…spacey recently,” she said, a concerned look on her face.

Charles turned to her, voicing the only coherent thought he had.

“I think I’m in love with Edwin.”

#i cant believe payneland week is nearly over woah :((#ive been busy this week so i still need to actually write tomorrows oops #dead boy detectives #edwin payne #charles rowland #payneland #painland week #painlandweek #my dbda posts

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ritzylate · 8 months ago

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@saradika-graphics made the lovely dividers and also taught me what dividers were.

This is from a huge fic I'm writing and I'm posting entirely out of order. I plan on posting the whole thing on a different AO3 eventually. this is just the start of just one part of the story. I cut out the worst of the NSFW content. I'm saving that for AO3. Kinda wanna feel out the crowd to see if my writing is something people would enjoy reading.

"Caught" A Harvey x reader fic - NSFW

NSFW 18+ MDNI MDNI MDNI MDNI I literally cannot say this enough. This is not for you.

Super dialog heavy.

Content warnings: Past relationship trauma, trauma and sadness in general, established relationship, adult entertainment, getting off. You get the idea.

AFAB!reader.

Word count: 3200 ish

I have trouble with tenses so I'm sorry if this is ass to read. I tried.

“So you're staying at Harvey’s then?” Robin asked.

“Yeah,” you say, slinging your bag over your shoulder.

“That's great,” she says with a smile. “How are things going between you two? Good then?”

“Yeah,” you say with a little more conviction. “It's going really well, actually.”

You feel a smile spread across your face.

You hide your embarrassment by staring intently down at the pebble under the toe of your boot.

“That's so great!” Robin cheers. “Harvey is such a great guy, and he's not too bad to look at either,” she says with a wink.

You let yourself get lost in the thought of him for a moment before clearing your throat.

“I best be off,” you say. “I don’t want to get there too late. I don’t want to keep him from opening shop too late.”

Robin laughs to herself.

“Of course. Well, have fun. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“Robin, you're too young to lecture me on what to do,” you joke.

Robin throws her head back in a laugh and waves goodbye.

The short drive to Harvey’s place allows you time enough to think of how you want to thank him. A few obvious ideas cross your mind, but you shake them free, wanting to offer something special and more thoughtful than just that.

“Hey!” Harvey stands out front of his office, the morning sun bright and beaming.

You hop out and sling your arms around his shoulders.

“How are you doing darling?” he asks, holding you in a tight warm hug. The fall air smells of sweet leaves and honey.

“I’m good,” you smile. “Robin’s started on the renovations. Should be done in a few days. It really means a lot to me that you wanted me to stay.”

Harvey chuckles.

“Are you kidding? Of course I want you to stay. I’ve been waiting for today all week.”

Harvey leads you inside and up the stairs to his flat.

“You can put your bag anywhere. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll make us some coffee.”

As nice as a good breakfast or coffee sounded, you had to get back to work.

“You’re so sweet,” you say. “But I need to get to work, I have a long day ahead of me.”

“You need to eat,” Harvey said, flatly. “You can’t work if you don’t have enough energy. So sit. I have some pancake mix. I bought it just for today so if you don’t have any I’ll be sad.”

Harvey tosses you a sarcastic smile as he reaches into the cupboard.

“Okay, okay,” you say reluctantly, sliding onto the bar stool at the counter.

“So,” Harvey starts. “What do you have planned today?”

You sigh.

“A lot. I have some weeding to do, probably cut some trees down. Could use the firewood.”

Harvey nods as he listens to you spell out your mundane day.

“What about you?” you ask him over the rim of your coffee mug.

“Not much, honestly,” he says. “I have a few patients. But nothing big.”

A timer dings signifying the pancakes are ready.

“Here you are, dear,” he said, sliding the pancakes onto a plate.

“Thank you, Harvey,” you say earnestly. Your stomach rumbles at the idea of a pancake breakfast.

Harvey takes your plate and throws it in the sink as you finish your last bite.

“I’ll get to it later,” he says with a shrug.

“That was really kind of you,” you say shyly. It was hard for you to accept such kindness.

“Happy to do it.” Harvey watches you for a moment before drawing his attention to the clock.

“I better get down there,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Or Maru is going to tear me to shreds.”

You wipe the syrup off your lips with the back of your hand.

“Breakfast was lovely, Harvey, thank you,” you say again. You feel like there isn’t enough thanks in the world to express how much his gestures meant to you.

Harvey places his hand on the small of your back.

“Don’t work too hard today,” he says as he nudges you, giving you a kiss on your cheek.

When you arrive back at the farm, Robin is knee deep in her project. It’d only take three days, she said, but you have trouble imagining how such work could be done so quick.

You set to work at the farm. Your cows needed milking, your chickens needed feeding, there were new fruits found in the cave. But your mind wandered.

Wonder what Harvey is doing right now?

If Robin was paying any attention to you, she’d laugh at how blissfully unaware you were of your surroundings.

The sun sits high in the sky when you lean down to start plucking at the weeds biting at the base of your crops.

You yank at the greenery when you feel a tightening in your calf, followed by a sharp, sudden pain.

The pain catches you off guard, and you reach down to grasp at your leg.

You fight to stay on your feet, but before you know it you fall to the dirt.

“Are you okay??” Robin calls out. You hear her boots hitting the metal on her ladder.

“Oh what happened?”

“I don't know,” you say honestly. “I think I pulled something. I stood wrong or something. I'm fine.”

“Well. It's a good thing you're fucking the doctor, huh?”

You try to laugh, but the grimaced pain on your face won't go away.

Robin rubs your back.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't joke. When a farmer stops working because of pain, you know it's serious.”

“It's not serious,” you say. “I'm fine. But…maybe it wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to stop early.”

Robin wraps an arm under you and lifts you up. You hobble to your car, Robin helping you open the door to shuffle you in.

“I can drive you,” she offers.

“No no, I'm fine, I can make it. It's all good.”

Robin looks after you with a worried, motherly look on her face as you wave to her through your open window.

You pull up to Harvey’s clinic. The windows darkened except for a distant light shining through the hallway door leading to the stairs. .

The pain comes and goes, but either way, you really weren't getting that much work done. And you’re already here. No sense in returning only to have the pain spike again. You might as well call it a night.

You push the front door open into a near silent office. The only sound being a slight hum from the heater.

“Harvey?” But no one answers.

You close the door quietly, locking it behind you.

There are slight sounds emanating from beyond the stairs but nothing too distinct. Just enough to let you know he's home.

You climb the stairs, holding onto the wall for extra support.

The handle to Harvey’s flat sticks slightly, but gives way to a click with enough force.

“Harvey?” you ask again.

You move to peer round the door, not wanting to spook him. You press your knuckle to the door to give it a knock, but take pause when your brain catches up to what you're hearing.

Heavy breathing, soft moaning, the creak of Harvey’s leather chair.

You peek your head around the door just long enough to see Harvey at his desk. His laptop opened, the screen obscured by his bare chest.

Harvey’s head rests on the back of his chair, knees barely visible on either side of him.

“Oh fuck,” he breathes.

Your eyes widen from the shock. From this angle, you can't see much, but you still feel your cheeks flush.

You can see enough to watch him bring a hand to his forehead, running his fingers through his hair. He grabs a fistfull of his auburn locks, tightening them into a fist.

You shut your eyes, turning from the door. But the sounds of Harvey still wash over you like a wave.

You feel breathless yourself. What do you do? Do you say something? Interrupt? Do you turn and leave? And even then, what next? Wait a few minutes, then come back? Do you pretend you only just arrived, give him a shout up the stairs to give him warning? Do you lie and pretend you didn't see anything?

You decide that leaving would offer the most ideal situation for him. Leave, wait downstairs for a little bit, then come back up. He doesn’t have to know you were here. You pull the door towards you to slowly shut the door. As it swings shut, your boot catches the edge, causing the door to bounce off the rubber. The hollow squeak sounded louder than church bells in the current situation.

Harvey’s head whips around, his eyes widening in horror.

“Oh Yoba!” Harvey shouts, fumbling with his laptop screen. His hurried, frightened movements cause him to trip over himself, nearly knocking over the bookcase and all of its contents.

“I- it- oh my- I can't believe, I-” Harvey’s panicked voice rushing over his words.

“Hey, hey, it's okay!! Harvey, it's fine!” Your race to issue as much reassurance as you can through the half closed door.

“I wasn't, I mean, I was but, shit this is so embarrassing oh Yoba I don’t know what to say.”

You close the door over and hide even further behind it, teetering on the edge of the stairs.

You can barely make out Harvey's figure as he fumbles to pull his pants up around his hips before the door shuts completely. You hold onto the handle with one hand, your knuckles turning white from sheer panic.

“Harvey, really, you're fine! It's okay!!” you call through the door. “I'm so sorry I didn't mean to walk in on you, this is my fault, I'm so sorry.”

“You're just here earlier than I expected, I’m so sorry, I can’t believe-” Harvey pulls the door open, looking at you with a beet red face. You stumble over your feet to catch your footing.

Harvey narrows his eyes.

“Are you okay?” The panic in his voice fading immediately.

You don't say anything, feeling your own embarrassment sneak in.

“Your leg? What happened?” Harvey's voice shifts from anxious to concerned medical professional immediately.

You didn't realize you were still rubbing your calf.

“What?” You almost forgot. “No, I'm fine, I think I just strained it or maybe a charley horse, I'm fine. I thought maybe it was my sign to come back a little early. I should have texted you, I'm sorry.”

“Yes you should have!”

You feel a wash of shame at his voice being raised. This was all your fault, none of this had to happen if you had just been responsible and texted him first.

“You shouldn't have walked on it, I could have come and gotten you. That's what I'm here for. To help you.”

His words softened and by the end his voice was soft like satin.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have just let myself in. There’s nothing wrong really. I can go,” you offer.

You stand up straight, putting your weight mostly on the other leg.

The pain fades into a dull ache that feels more like a memory of an injury.

Harvey walks to you, placing a finger under your chin. He pulls your eyes to meet his.

“Hey, no, stay here. You don't have to leave. Let's get you off your feet.”

Reluctantly you follow Harvey into his flat, feeling a flush of panic and shame for having created such an uncomfortable situation.

“You don't have to do everything yourself, you know,” Harvey said.

You laugh to yourself, thinking of all the times you were really injured, and probably should have called upon him for help, but didn't. Of all injuries this was hardly the one you'd bother him with.

“I've been through so much worse,” you say, before realizing that was probably the last thing Harvey wanted to hear you say.

“It's just a muscle cramp. Really.”

You try your best to assure him, but the worry still sticks to his face.

Harvey runs his hand down your arm.

“Why don't we get you some water, sit down, relax a bit. If you're getting Charley horses you might be dehydrated. Or you're overworking yourself, but either way, water isn't a bad idea.”

You feel yourself blushing at how Harvey rushes to take care of you.

You don't say anything out loud at first; you just take a seat on your favorite stool.

“It seems we're both not used to having someone else fuss over us.”

Harvey reaches for a glass, his pj's riding down on his hip slightly.

“Whatever would give you that idea?” Harvey jokes.

Harvey’s voice returned to normal, but his eyes still held worry. His brows stitched together in concern. Concern for which one of tonight's events was a toss up. Probably both, realistically speaking.

As much as you hated to admit it, taking a load off felt nice.

The two of you fixate your gazes on the tap filling the glass. You wondered which one of you would break the silence first.

Harvey turns the tap off and leans over the counter to slide you your drink.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You take a modest sip trying to draw out the silence until one of you finds the strength to speak.

To your surprise, it’s Harvey.

“Listen,” Harvey starts. “I-I would feel better if we just…forgot about what you saw. I honestly-I can honestly say I have never been more embarrassed by anything in my entire life.”

Harvey fixes his gaze on the floor, wearing away at an already thread barren towel sitting on the sink.

“Harvey.” You try to soften your voice as much as you can without sounding like you're patronizing him. You want to tell him you’ll forget all about it. You want to tell him there’s nothing to be embarrassed about, but you know that won’t help the situation.

“I've always felt this weird, I don't know, shame? About that." Harvey makes a wide motion with his hands towards the corner of his room with his desk.

“I know all the facts, I know it's not weird and it’s common for a lot of people. I hear the shame and fear from patients myself, all the time! And I reassure them that, scientifically, it's not only safe but healthy. And if that doesn’t help and they still have concerns, I’ll suggest a therapist I know out of town, and they’ll come back to me telling me how much it’s helped them. I know all that. But…” Harvey trails off, tracing a finger along the edge of the counter.

“I find myself feeling weird about it too. Like, I don't…” Harvey shifts from foot to foot.

“Like you don't what?” You reach out, taking his hand in yours.

“I feel like I don't deserve it. I feel like, okay, sex, at least someone else is getting something. I'm serving a purpose. But by myself it's just me, and I struggle with the idea that I deserve it.”

You sit in silence, letting Harvey take his time and say whatever he feels comfortable saying.

“I'm sorry,” he said. “I don't know why I'm telling you all this. This just made this even more embarrassing.”

You take a beat before speaking again.

“Thank you for telling me. You can always tell me whatever you want, and I want you to know how much I appreciate you sharing that with me. I know it can be hard.”

You reach a hand towards him, inviting him to your touch. He obliges, leaning into your cupped hand. You gently stroke his cheek, feeling the flush of his skin.

“But we don't have to ever talk about this again if you don’t want to. You have my word. I will speak of it no more.”

Harvey went quiet for several minutes. The only sounds coming from the ticking grandfather clock and the hum from the radiator.

You don't look away, keeping a soft gaze on his face.

“You don't think I'm weird for it?” Harvey’s voice was small, almost weak.

“Yoba no!” You exclaim. “I'd be a hypocrite if I did. My vibrator gets more use than my farm tools. My bottom drawer is as colorful as a rainbow.”

You offer him a lighthearted smile as your eyes search his face.

Harvey closed his eyes and nervously tapped his foot against the linoleum floor.

“That's really a relief to hear,” he says with a nervous chuckle. “My biggest fear was that you’d be upset.”

“Upset?” You tilted your head to the side. Upset? Upset about what? The very idea would never have crossed your mind.

“Yeah,” Harvey drawls. “One of my past partners felt a certain way about it. Certainly didn't help me with my own hang ups.”

“I'm really sorry to hear that.”

“Eh,” Harvey shrugged. “We were young. I wasn't exactly the most reasonable person either. It was just a bad time.”

You nod. We've all been there you want to say.

But instead you say, “just know that I’m here to listen. And if you want to stop, we stop. But I’m here to listen for as long as you want.”

This time Harvey is the one to nod. You can practically see his thoughts racing behind his eyes.

“It’s okay. We can keep talking. This is good.”

You settle into your seat and take a breath in. You open your mouth to speak, but just offer a smile, a nod, and a small squeeze of his hand instead.

“So you don’t think it’s weird?” he asks again, continuing to nervously shift around.

“I think it's hot,” you say with a shrug.

“Really?” Harvey’s surprise both visible and audible.

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “I would have been open to watching if that had been something you wanted. I panicked, and I didn't know whether to say something, leave and come back, pretend I didn't see anything and call out like I had only just arrived…”

“I would have picked the last one if you gave me the option,” Harvey said, putting his head down laughing.

“I'm so sorry,” you plead. “I was turning to leave, but I made too much noise. I’m truly sorry, I wasn't there for more than 5 seconds, I swear. I wasn't even sure what I was seeing at first, it was that quick a glace. If that helps.”

Harvey inhaled deeply.

“That actually does help,” Harvey chuckled.

“But-” he stuttered. “I'm kinda glad you didn't. Leave, that is. I'm kinda glad we're talking about this. Really glad, actually. Not just to clear the air, but because this feels like a really good conversation for us to have.”

Your heart beats out of your chest, you feel so warm and fuzzy.

“I really like you,” he says softly. Harvey looks up at you over the rim of his glasses.

“I like you a lot, so, this feels like something I should share with someone who I really, really like.”

“Oh Harvey,” you say, placing your hand over your heart. You had a million things you would have liked to say. But all you could do was sit there, staring at the man you were falling in love with, thinking about all the ways you wanted to kiss him.

“This is, I guess, my first real, mature, established relationship since college. And even then, I don't know if I can call any of those relationships mature or real.”

“I'm really honored to hear you say that,” you say in a voice closer to a whisper. You can barely hear him over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

Harvey closed his eyes and took in another deep breath.

“I guess that's the plus side of dating in your 30s, huh? We're all a little experienced.”

“A little traumatized,” you add. You sound like you're joking, and even though you both throw your heads back in a laugh, you both know you're right.

There's some more silence between you, but the air feels lighter.

Harvey rounds the corner of the counter and wraps his arms around you. He holds you in a tight hug. His heart sounded like a war drum.

“Thank you,” he says. His voice deep and echoing in his chest.

“You deserve to be happy, Harvey.” you say, absentmindedly running your fingertips down his back.

“I’m starting to believe that, now,” he said, pressing his lips to your forehead.

#Harvey x reader #the harvey brainrot is real #stardew valley harvey #Harvey smut #Harvey sdv fanfic #fanfic #harvey x farmer

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whatifitookalilnap · 6 months ago

Text

The Magic of Makeup

(Kyoshi x Rangi)

(A/N: EVERYONE PLS THERE IS A SMUT SCENE HERE! WE GET PORN WITH PLOT SO LIKE AVERT YOUR EYES IF THATS NOT YOUR THING!!!!! Also don't judge me cause IDK how diplomacy or nobility stuff works I'm here for drama. Anywho I already made a couple posts about this but I thought it was so funny that I decided to make a whole fic. The ao3 link will be posted right after this for those who prefer it. Anywho, pls enjoy!)

Kyoshi was jolted awake by Jinpa roughly shaking her entire body. The Avatar immediately sat up and grabbed her fans placed right beside her bed.

“Who’s dying?!” Kyoshi exclaimed as she jumped out of bed.

“No one, but the Fire Nation nobility are here! Like, they are waiting in front of the gates as we speak!” Jinpa hissed.

“What do you mean they’re already here?! They were supposed to arrive at lunch!” Kyoshi yelled.

“That’s what I was told. I think this is some kind of power play. Just get dressed,” Jinpa insisted.

“Damn! Do you think I can get away with not wearing any of my usual makeup? There’s no way I’m going to have the time but I still need to look intimidating! It’s part of my whole shtick!” Kyoshi asked.

“You’re six and half feet tall, I think you can make it work. Now get changed, woman! We got people to argue with! I'll meet you there!” Jinpa said before rushing out the door.

Kyoshi cursed before springing out of bed to put on her usual business attire. Alright, the green outfit? Check. The headdress? Check. The fans? Check. Big ass gloves? Ah shit, they're not here. Whatever, it’s not that important. Well, that’s all Kyoshi has time for.

The Avatar quickly threw open the door to her bedroom and began speed walking down the hall. Kyoshi already hated leaving her room without makeup. Nowadays, putting on her makeup is step one of her morning routine. She can't remember the last time she handled Avatar business with a bare face. It made her feel vulnerable. Exposed. This meeting needs to end quickly.

As she was speed walking to the conference room where this meeting is to be held, Kyoshi spotted her girl briskly walking in halls. The Avatar couldn’t resist perking up at the sight of her girlfriend coming to meet her. Of course, Rangi had already been awake for an hour before the stupid nobles arrived. She’s always been an early riser.

“Did you have any clue they were coming in so early?” Rangi asked once they met up.

“No, Jinpa had to wake me. I had zero time to get ready,” Kyoshi sighed as the two fell into step with each other.

“I assume that’s why you’re not wearing any makeup,” Rangi very correctly guessed.

“Yeah, there’s just no way I could have made it happen,” the tall woman confirmed.

“I think that’s for the best, honestly. Being punctual should take priority in this scenario,” Rangi nodded.

Kyoshi felt a surge of pride course through her when Rangi approved of her plans. If only the world knew how weak the Avatar is for her girlfriend. She’d be killed within a week.

“Let’s get this over with. Hopefully the little bastards are more agreeable this time around,” Kyoshi sighed.

How Kyoshi despises the damn Fire Nation nobles sent into the damn peace agreement. Kyoshi’s had like five other meetings with them and has been unable to come to an agreement all parties are happy with.

The names of the three nobles that have been utterly torturing Kyoshi for weeks are Akira, Nao, and Chari. Akira does most of the talking, Nao and Chari are really just her yesmen. They're all simply unbearable. The three of them were around her age of twenty two, which is probably what makes them so insufferable. They’re young, spoiled, rich, think they know everything under the damn sun, and worst of all, they don’t have the good sense to fear her.

Anyone with half a brain should be terrified of Kyoshi! It’s like Jinpa said, she’s six feet and six inches tall! She towers over everyone she meets! Plus the makeup! Ghostly white face and bloody red eyes?? That’s the perfect recipe for fear! How can anyone not be terrified of her?

Maybe it’s wrong to feel so upset that some people aren’t scared of her, but Kyoshi can’t help it. People not having a healthy amount of fear when interacting with her makes her uneasy. If the literal Avatar can’t freak someone out, what can?

“Wait, one more thing before we go in there,” Rangi said as she stopped right outside the door of the meeting room.

“What? Did I forget something?” Kyoshi frowned.

“You did,” Rangi confirmed.

Kyoshi furrowed her brows and went back through her mental checklist involving her attire. Outside of the makeup and gloves, Kyoshi is pretty positive she had everything she needed.

Naturally, Rangi proved her wrong. The firebender cupped Kyoshi’s face in her hands and gave her a light kiss on the lips. At once, Kyoshi’s arms went to Rangi’s hips in order to deepen the delightful sensation. Sadly, Rangi pulled away.

“You’re going to do great. Stop worrying so much. That’s supposed to be my job,” Rangi smirked.

“Kay,” Kyoshi said. You know, like an idiot.

Rangi should never have kissed her right before such an important meeting. Now all Kyoshi can think about is the next opportunity for those lips to be back on her. Kyoshi is so in love with her it physically hurts.

Okay, time to get the love struck look off her face before facing the nobles. Kyoshi took in a deep breath before nodding to Rangi. With that, her loyal bodyguard opened the doors to where Jinpa and the nobles sat.

The Fire Nation nobles were muttering amongst themselves as they had during every single one of the past meetings. Typical. Kyoshi had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. However, once the three nobles looked at her, they immediately shut up. That was a surprise.

During the past meetings, even when Kyoshi made her presence known, the little trolls still blabbed on and acted as though she didn't even exist. They would only stop talking when Kyoshi started to speak. However, today she didn’t need to say a word before all eyes were on her. All of the nobles were looking at Kyoshi with shocked expressions, flushed faces, and one of them had their lips parted slightly open in what she can only assume is shock.

This is suspicious as fuck.

“Apologies, everyone. I hadn’t realized we would be meeting so soon. Please accept my tardiness,” Kyoshi said respectfully with a bow.

What she really wanted to say was ‘couldn’t you have given a girl a heads up before meeting me at the crack of dawn’ but that didn’t seem appropriate.

Akira then sprung up out of her seat to pull out a chair for Kyoshi to sit. Kyoshi quickly glanced at Rangi and Jinpa in wonder to see if she's seeing the same thing. Now why on Earth would Akira do that?

“Of course, we certainly didn’t mean to inconvenience such a beautiful woman as yourself. Please, allow me,” Akira said.

Rangi looked like she wanted to set Akira on fire. Kyoshi shared the sentiment. What is she playing at? Less than a minute in and it's rather obvious they are sucking up to her. Ultimately, Kyoshi did sit down on the seat Akira pulled out for her in the name of civility. But that doesn't mean Kyoshi had to like it.

“If you don’t mind me asking, where’s Avatar Kyoshi?” Nao asked.

Kyoshi shot Rangi and Jinpa yet another look. Are these idiots being serious right now?

“I didn’t realize I was so unrecognizable without my makeup,” was all Kyoshi said.

Granted, that is a lie, but she really didn't know what else to say that's a polite statement. Whenever Kyoshi goes into town with a bare face, many do not make the connection despite her rather noticeable height.

“What? You’re Avatar Kyoshi? Really?” Chari blurted out.

Oh, this is going to be a long meeting.

“Yes, I am,” Kyoshi nodded.

“I didn't realize you were hiding freckles under all that makeup. You wear them well,” Nao smiled.

Is Kyoshi drunk? Did somebody slip her something when she wasn't paying attention? What in all Four Nations is happening right now? They must want something from her if they're being this nice.

“I think we need to get started with this meeting,” Jinpa rushed out hastily. It was almost as if he was in a panic. Odd.

“Of course. Please, start us off. Your voice is quite soothing, Avatar Kyoshi,” Akira smiled, chin resting in the palm of her left hand.

Kyoshi actually thinks she’s experiencing whiplash right now. In past meetings, when the discussion gets opened up on a subject, the nobles immediately try arguing for their side. It takes ages for them to be willing to hear Kyoshi out. Something is so wrong here. It's best to ignore that compliment for now.

The more the negotiations progressed, the weirder everything got. The three nobles, mainly Akira, kept blatantly sucking up to her by praising everything she did. While it's true her reputation has improved as the Avatar the past couple years, it certainly wasn't enough to warrant this kind of reaction.

Even one of the people on her side was acting strange. Jinpa, who's usually a man of patience and serenity, seemed very antsy to move things along. He would often try to steer the conversation away from the nobles when their compliments became too excessive.

Rangi was the only one who was making sense right now. As per usual, she took her role as a bodyguard very seriously. She stood there, stoic as a statue, ready to defend Kyoshi should any dangers arise.

Kyoshi stole a quick glance at her girl to find her looking ever so slightly more irritated than usual. Who can blame her, honestly? Kyoshi wants this to be over just as much as Rangi does.

About one hour in and Kyoshi is bored out of her mind. She propped her chin on the palm of her left hand. It's really not proper etiquette and she might get scolded for it later, but Kyoshi is not at a point where she cares. She then felt an itch on her nose, so she used her right hand to scratch it.

Akira was speaking like she always did, but her voice died down when she took a good look at Kyoshi's hands. This woman literally could not get any more strange.

“Is something the matter, Lady Akira?" Kyoshi asked.

"Apologies, Avatar Kyoshi. I hope I did not offend you, I was simply caught off guard. You just have the most beautiful hands," Akira said earnestly.

Did Jinpa squeak? Huh.

Well, Kyoshi had to fight the urge to laugh. Man, they are really grasping at straws here. She must have run out of things to stroke Kyoshi's ego about. The Avatar is well aware of the state of her hands. Beauty is not on the list.

"Please, no need to fill my head with empty compliments," Kyoshi insisted.

"I assure you, my compliments are nothing but sincere. You have the most wonderful hands I've ever seen," Akira said seriously.

Huh, weird. It honestly did seem like the noblewoman was telling the truth. Maybe she is. It could very well be that she's borderline insane, but that's not really the topic here.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but my hands are pretty banged up with all the scars. Consequences of those battles, I suppose," Kyoshi awkwardly laughed in order to lighten the mood.

"The way I see it, the scars you adorn are a testament to your bravery and honor. Courageous is the most beautiful thing a person can be," Akira said. Her two noble goons nodded their agreement.

She had to admit, Kyoshi feels moved. It's no wonder Akira is the spokesman of the group. That is a noblewoman who really knows how to sweet talk a girl. She did wonder why Jinpa squeaked again, though.

Okay, Kyoshi needs to think this through. The odd behavior of the three nobles is a mystery Kyoshi has the desperate urge to crack. The compliments, the pleasantries, the agreeability, there has to be a reason why.

Seeing the three Fire Nation nobles stare at her scars with that look in their eyes made the answer hit Kyoshi like a boulder. Finally, the Avatar understood the out of character actions. Those three are absolutely terrified of her.

It all made perfect sense. Scars in general can look pretty scary. Not only does Kyoshi have a rather large amount of them, the implications of what she experienced also must be freaking out the nobles. The scars show that Kyoshi has lived through much more powerful and intimidating foes than the ones who sit before her. It's visual proof that Kyoshi is the strongest person in this room. And they're terrified of that.

It has to be why Akira made such a point to compliment them. She's well aware of the battles Kyoshi fought to gain her scars.

The makeup and gloves were hiding the scars which must be why the nobles haven't seemed scared of her until now. Turns out, Kyoshi just had her approach all wrong. They did not fear scary makeup or a tall stature, they fear scars and Kyoshi's true face.

Their behavior makes complete sense now.

It's probably wrong that Kyoshi is so excited that she finally found a way to scare these people. They have been grating on her nerves for weeks and she finally has the upper hand. The Avatar is in full control now.

Kyoshi is absolutely going to milk this.

"It feels as though we've been stuck in this room for ages. It's getting quite hot in here," Kyoshi lied.

With that, the Avatar rolled up her sleeves where even more scars decorated her arms. Kyoshi was even bold enough to undo her collar a touch to reveal the scar on her neck. She snapped open one of her fans and fluttered it to gently brush against the neck scar.

Her actions had the desired effect. All three nobles immediately began intensely studying Kyoshi's scars, especially the one on her neck. They were red, evidently nervous, and now incapable of looking her in the eye. They finally feel terrified by Kyoshi. This is a memory she will cherish for years to come.

Kyoshi saw Rangi in her peripheral vision sitting with crossed arms and a deep scowl. The Avatar felt as though she was beaming with pride. Of course Rangi caught onto the fact that Kyoshi is working on her intimidation tactic and is playing the role of scary bodyguard to add to it. Rangi is just so smart.

"Avatar Kyoshi! Would you like me to, uh, open up some windows? I had no idea you were feeling so hot," Jinpa nervously rushed out.

"Please do," Kyoshi smiled.

Jinpa nodded and hurriedly opened up a couple windows as Kyoshi put her fan back at her side. She did what she needed to do to strike fear in their hearts.

"I must say, Avatar Kyoshi, you wield your fans as though they're part of you. It's quite impressive. You have very skilled hands," Nao pointed out.

"Well, I'm sure you've heard of the other things my hands can do, haven't you?" Kyoshi asked with narrowed eyes.

If her reputation precedes her, then stories resembling her scuffle with Xu Ping An would have certainly reached the Fire Nation. She would make it very clear that compliments should not distract from how truly terrifying Kyoshi really is.

"I, well yes. Many have heard stories of your, um, abilities," Nao rushed out.

"Many stories indeed," Akira mumbled.

Chari just sat there looking like an imbecile. Kyoshi wasn't really expecting much else from the lump.

"Alright, I'm going to cut to the chase. What is it that you want from me?" Kyoshi asked in a low voice to add to her intimidation.

Obviously, for them to be this scared of her, she must also have some kind of leverage they need. Apparently, Kyoshi would have to wait to find out.

"Avatar Kyoshi, I insist upon a recess at once!" Jinpa practically shrieked while standing up.

Everyone in the room was visibly shocked at the monk's outburst except for Rangi. Kyoshi's never known the man to raise his voice in such a manner, especially not in a meeting like this one. Whatever had Jinpa so panicked must be important.

"Of course. You don't mind a small break, do you?" Kyoshi grinned, knowing damn well they won't say no to her.

"Please, take all the time you need. We'll wait as long as it takes," Akira managed to rush out.

Hah, the annoying noble still looks flustered. Kyoshi could not be happier. They finally fear her. It feels so good to win.

Kyoshi left the room, quickly followed by Rangi and Jinpa. Once the door closed behind them, Rangi grabbed Kyoshi's arm and pulled her to the left.

"Make sure we're not followed, Jinpa," was all Rangi muttered out.

"Y-yes of course," Jinpa hastily agreed.

"Rangi, what's-" Kyoshi started to say.

"One more word and I'm putting you into horse stance for so long your successor will feel it," Rangi hissed.

Okay, so clearly she's not happy. Kyoshi can't imagine why though. That meeting is going spectacularly. The nobles are significantly more cooperative, they actually listen to what Kyoshi has to say, and they're now willing to give into her demands. She can't understand what Rangi could possibly be so upset about.

Maybe Kyoshi didn't notice something during the discussions? Is it possible the Fire Nation nobles are playing her and Rangi is going to let her know? It's certainly not the first time Kyoshi has made a major blunder like that. There really wasn't much time to contemplate this because in less than a minute the two women apparently arrived at their destination.

The spot Rangi led her to was a tiny hallway that had a single window at the end of it but nothing else. There are no doors or chairs, so no one really spends much time in this area of the building. This is a very interesting spot to talk about any potential issues from the meeting.

Kyoshi looked at Rangi and raised an eyebrow, still very unwilling to speak in risk of horse stance punishment. Rangi didn't say anything. No she did not. Instead, she yanked on Kyoshi's collar and crashed their lips together. Before she even had time to blink, Rangi had pinned her against the wall of the tiny hallway.

Is that what Kyoshi was expecting to happen? It most certainly was not. Is Kyoshi mad about it? She most certainly is not.

Kyoshi quickly put one hand on Rangi's shoulder while the other cupped the back of Rangi's neck to deepen the kiss. The bodyguard moved on from kissing her lips to slowly trail her mouth down Kyoshi's neck.

"There's other ways to rile me up, you know," Rangi mumbled into her skin.

That is something that Kyoshi will be noting for later. Especially if this is the result.

The Avatar gasped as Rangi began pressing hot kisses on the scar at the base of her neck. A low moan rumbled from Kyoshi's throat against her will. Fuck, that firebender knew exactly what she was doing. Rangi knows Kyoshi's body like the back of her hand.

Therefore, she knows that kissing Kyoshi's neck scar will automatically turn her on. Kyoshi can feel herself getting wetter by the second. Her cunt began clenching around nothing, practically begging to be stimulated.

That's when she felt Rangi's hand slowly creep down to the very top of her long skirt. Then, her fingertips ever so slightly went beneath the skirt where Kyoshi's underwear resided.

Holy shit. Is Rangi trying to do what Kyoshi thinks she's trying to do? Now? Of all the times?

"Rangi, we have a meeting," Kyoshi gasped.

"Just say the word and I'll stop," Rangi whispered into her ear.

A better Avatar would be able to resist. A better Avatar would be able to tell their girlfriend it's a bad idea to have sex when they're in the middle of an important meeting.

It would appear that Kyoshi is not a better Avatar.

"We need to be quick," Kyoshi hissed.

"Well who am I to defy the Avatar?" Rangi grinned.

With that, Rangi's hands slipped past the waistband and lightly brushed against Kyoshi's clit. The taller woman gasped once more and bit her lip to prevent the sound from coming out.

"Fuck, Kyoshi. I've barely even touched you," Rangi mumbled lowly.

The poor Avatar didn't even have time to respond before one of Rangi's fingers slowly entered her. Kyoshi gasped and clenched tightly around her finger. It's when Rangi started slowly moving her finger that Kyoshi let out a high pitch whine.

Embarrassingly enough, Kyoshi's always been rather vocal during sex. This really is not the time to be vocal.

"You know I love the sounds you make, but unless you want those Fire Nations nobles to see the Avatar getting fucked by her bodyguard, you're gonna need to be quiet for me," Rangi smirked.

The prospect of that scenario playing out is enough for Kyoshi's entire body temperature to increase. It's just not fair how sexy her girlfriend is or how her melodic voice gets Kyoshi all riled up.

The Avatar had gotten so wet that Rangi had no issues slipping a second finger inside of her. Kyoshi buried her face in Rangi's shoulder to muffle her moans. The way her fingers furiously thrusted inside Kyoshi brought her closer and closer to her breaking point.

While Rangi continued to fuck Kyoshi with her fingers, the bodyguard decided to continue her onslaught of kisses on the side of Kyoshi's neck. The sensation made the Avatar so weak in the knees that she's basically leaning on Rangi for support.

Kyoshi knew she wouldn't last much longer. Rangi's fingers were relentless and every spot her lips touched set Kyoshi's skin on fire. Then Rangi's fingers hit that perfect sweet spot that made Kyoshi want to cry out from pure bliss. The firebender's precise fingers hit that same spot over and over again, causing Kyoshi to arch into Rangi, desperate to be as close as possible to her.

Once Rangi's thumb began hastily circling Kyoshi's clit, it was over for her. The Avatar had to physically bite her lip to prevent her moan from coming out as she finally reached her climax. Evidence of Kyoshi's wetness was coated over Rangi's fingers as she slowly pulled them out of her. Rangi made direct eye contact with her as she licked Kyoshi's arousal right from her own fingers. Kyoshi's face burned at the sight.

Kyoshi was too busy reeling from her orgasm to mentally process the fact that Rangi had dropped to her knees. The bodyguard began to slowly lift up Kyoshi's shirt. The Avatar's eyes widened when she realized Rangi was not, in fact, done with her yet.

"Do you think you have one more left in you?" Rangi asked.

"No Rangi, we need to get back to the negotiations where literal nobility is waiting for us!"

Is what Kyoshi WOULD have said if she wasn't such a whore.

"Rangi please," Kyoshi begged in reality.

The Fire Nation woman grinned and threw Kyoshi's right leg over Rangi's shoulder while the other leg stayed planted firmly on the ground. Rangi rolled up Kyoshi's skirt to her waist.

"Be a good girl and hold this for me," Rangi whispered.

It was like Kyoshi's body had a mind of its own with how quickly she fulfilled such a command. Kyoshi used both hands to keep her skirt up as Rangi moved the Avatar's underwear to the side. Now her bodyguard got a full view of Kyoshi's aching cunt.

"Your pussy is just as pretty as you are," Rangi praised.

Kyoshi blushed at such a sincere and lewd compliment. A split second later, Rangi's mouth made contact where Kyoshi needed it most. The Avatar couldn't help but allow a low moan to slip out.

Rangi dragged her tongue along Kyoshi's entrance. Yet again, the Avatar had to bite her lip to stop any noises of pleasure from coming out. The bodyguard decided to focus on giving Kyoshi light kisses onto her clit before starting to suck it.

Kyoshi's pants and muffled moans increased as she was being brought closer to the edge in absolutely no time. The first orgasm already made her incredibly sensitive, she would come to her peak much faster now.

Rangi's tongue began circling faster around Kyoshi's clit in a way that made her vision blur. Kyoshi began helplessly grinding her cunt against Rangi's face to get even more stimulation as fast as possible. It all felt too good. Rangi is just too good.

Once again, the bodyguard has to essentially hold up Kyoshi's entire bodyweight. The way her tongue makes Kyoshi feel is just so intense she can barely think. Thank the spirits for the wall behind her.

Rangi's skilled tongue brings Kyoshi closer and closer to her breaking point. Kyoshi's hands squeezed her skirt as she felt herself approach her release. The bodyguard's hands gripped Kyoshi's thighs as she continued eating her out. Finally, finally, Kyoshi got to experience the sweet release she had been craving. For a second time, that is.

Kyoshi really couldn't stop herself from letting a breathy moan escape her lips. Rangi pulled back with Kyoshi's wetness all over her face. The Avatar blushed as Rangi had to pull out a small handkerchief from her pocket to clean herself from the mess Kyoshi made.

With the same amount of care one would use to handle a delicate vase, Rangi gently moved Kyoshi's leg off her shoulder. Kyoshi pouted, feeling the warmth of her girl leave her, but dropped her skirt once her underwear was readjusted.

Rangi finally stood up and peppered Kyoshi's face with light, playful kisses. The Avatar giggled as her touch began to tickle.

"We really should get back to the negotiations meeting," Rangi sighed while pulling away.

"Wait, what about you?" Kyoshi asked.

Kyoshi does her best to be a good girlfriend. It's only natural she'd want to return the favor.

"Don't worry about me. Knowing you came on my face was more than enough satisfaction. For now, at least," Rangi grinned.

Kyoshi blushed brightly and looked away from her lover's gaze. It always sounds so much more dirty saying it out loud than when they actually do it.

"Rangi?" Kyoshi asked once she felt her blush die down.

Rangi hummed in response. Kyoshi smiled and gave Rangi a quick but intense kiss.

"I love you," Kyoshi smiled.

At once, it was as though every hard exterior Rangi possessed automatically softened. It was a statement they both already knew, but it was always so good to say.

"I love you, too. Let's go, Jinpa's probably having a heart attack as we speak," Rangi said.

Kyoshi nodded and followed her girl back to the meeting room. Jinpa looked at them in pure relief once he saw them again.

"Everything okay you two? What took you guys so long?" Jinpa asked.

"Oh, we're perfectly fine. Just had to tend to the Avatar's needs," Rangi shrugged.

Kyoshis misses her makeup so much. She had to hold her fan in front of her face to hide the red blush spreading all over it. This meeting needs to be over five minutes ago. How is Kyoshi supposed to survive when the love of her life does things like this?

Please, for the love of all that is good in this life and the next, let this damned meeting end quickly.

****************

The rest of the meeting went surprisingly well and without a hitch. All that was left to do was finalize the paperwork tomorrow and they would be out of Kyoshi's hair. Thank the spirits for that.

Now that the day is over, Kyoshi has the opportunity to have even more sex with her girlfriend. Life truly is good.

Once the Fire Nation nobles left the premises, Kysohi turned to her girl and gave her a smile of pure relief. The relief of finally being done with the most grueling task imaginable, talking to other people. Usually, Rangi returned her smile. Instead, the firebender simply pursed her lips and avoided Kyoshi's face.

Is she feeling okay? Rangi seemed distracted, which is very unlike her. Maybe all the recent negotiations have been getting to her?

"We need to talk," was all Rangi said before walking back into their home.

In no universe is the phrase 'we need to talk' a good thing to hear from the woman you're dating. Kyoshi felt like she was walking to the gallows as she followed Rangi back to their shared bedroom. Once they reached said room, Kyoshi sat on the edge of the bed. Rangi did not sit beside her. Instead, she chose to stand right in front of her.

Well now Kyoshi is slightly terrified for their relationship. She simply waited for the bodyguard to speak.

"Look, next time you use such a tactic to get your way in negotiations, at least warn me first. I realize sometimes a more, unconventional approach is necessary, but I was completely blind sided," Rangi frowned

"What are you talking about? That was the most conventional strategy," Kyoshi replied, very confused.

Intimidation tactics in general are very common to use. In fact, Kyoshi would say it's her favorite tactic of all time. How she loves striking fear into people's hearts.

Yikes, it sounded really bad when she put it that way.

"You're kidding me, right? There's absolutely nothing conventional about what happened back there!" Rangi snapped, voice laced with hurt.

Kyoshi has no idea why Rangi is so upset. Could it be Kyoshi had done something to offend her?

"Look, I honestly don't understand why you're so upset. I did what I always do. I scare the life out of them, they give us what we want. Simple math," Kyoshi insisted.

Rangi did not look amused at all.

"Scared them? You're claiming to have scared them? You have to be joking," Rangi scoffed.

"Uh, no. No I'm not," Kyoshi honestly told her.

Rangi stared at her for a moment before her entire expression changed.

"Holy shit, you're not joking," Rangi mumbled.

"Why would I?" Kyoshi asked with a raised eyebrow.

Rangi merely continued to stare at her for a moment. Then, she buried her face in her hands. She let out a strangled, almost choking sound and Kyoshi feared her girl was crying. Then she looked up and found Rangi laughing.

The fuck is so funny?

"I could not be more lost right now," Kyoshi bluntly stated.

Rangi, still laughing her ass off, walked over and sat next to Kyoshi on the bed. Once she was finished with her little giggles, Rangi let out a long, drawn out sigh.

"Spirits, I fell in love with a moron," Rangi said.

"I mean, you're probably not wrong, but why?" Kyoshi exclaimed.

She is just so confused. For once, Kyoshi thought she knew what she was doing!

"I swear, you're denser than the rocks you bend. Kyoshi, those nobles weren't scared of you, they were flirting with you," Rangi told her.

Kyoshi blinked twice. Then immediately rolled her eyes. That's what she thought was going on? Seriously?

"C'mon Rangi, there's no way. I think I would know if I was getting hit on," Kyoshi drawled.

"I had a crush on you for two years before you confessed," Rangi very rudely reminded her.

"That's true, but be realistic Rangi. I'm well aware of what I look like," Kyoshi scoffed.

"Believe me, so am I. What exactly are you trying to say?" Rangi glared.

Boy, her girl is not going to like this one. Along with being the Avatar's bodyguard, it was Rangi's life mission to build Kyoshi's confidence. The Avatar never really excelled in that department.

"No need for the looks, Rangi. It's not like I think I'm some hideous troll or anything. But, well, I'm crazy tall and have a lot of scars. It's not exactly an ideal look. Neither are the freckles, I've come to learn. Besides, it's like you said. I had nice hands before they got all scarred, but now," Kyoshi sighed while trailing off.

Rangi frowned before holding both of Kyoshi's hands in her own. She soothingly rubbed her thumbs against the back of Kyoshi's hands.

"I'm sorry I made you feel as though a part of you was undesirable. That's really not what I was trying to say. I've always found your hands pretty, I just conveyed my feelings poorly. I admit, I have very complicated feelings about your scars," Rangi sighed.

She thinks that deep down, Kyoshi knew that already. Unfortunately, her self esteem has never really been sky high. Hearing Rangi say those words out loud was a bigger comfort than Kyoshi thought it would be.

"Oh? Like what?" Kyoshi asked curiously.

"On one hand, I hate that you had to experience so much pain. They're reminders that I wasn't able to protect you. You never deserved such horrible treatment. But on the other hand," Rangi said. "Spirits, Kyoshi, your scars are so attractive. The way they decorate your skin makes you look like a damn masterpiece. It's like lightning running across your body. I've never seen anyone so beautiful."

Rangi was staring at Kyoshi with so much love that it actually stole the air from her lungs. Immediately, the Avatar's cheeks were burning so badly they had to resemble the deep red of a fire lily.

"So you think I'm attractive," Kyoshi mumbled with a dopey grin.

Rangi gave her a look and lightly kicked her leg. Kyoshi let out a small giggle at her girlfriend's action.

"Of course I think you're attractive, you big oaf. We are in a romantic relationship," Rangi snorted.

Kyoshi giggled and pressed a small kiss atop Rangi's forehread. Her girl blushed a bit before leaning her head on Kyoshi's shoulder.

"You know, in the Fire Nation, scars really are considered to be a very beautiful addition to the human body. I hate to agree with that stupid Akiko or whatever, but your scars are so pretty. They're like little trophies of battles you survived. Let me tell you, they'd have gone ballistic if they knew about your stretch marks. They're a sign of growth and health back. Just another part of you so attractive it drives me insane," Rangi told her.

Kyoshi blushed once more at the mention of said marks. Her stretch marks mainly littered around her breasts and thighs. Now that Kyoshi thinks about it, Rangi's always given them special attention.

"Also, fuck Yokoya beauty standards. I adore your freckles. The jackass nobles certainly did too," Rangi huffed.

Kyoshi giggled and kissed her girl's nose. Then, realization dawned on her.

"Oh spirits, does that mean me showing off my scars," Kyoshi trailed off.

"Yeah, you were basically seducing them. It was very effective," Rangi confirmed.

"That's so humiliating! Now everything I threatened just sounds sexual!" Kyoshi groaned while flopping on the bed.

Rangi laughed and laid down next to her. Kyoshi adjusted herself so that they were eye level. Spirits, Rangi has the prettiest eyes.

"That may or may not be why I dragged you out of the meeting. I get that people flirt with you, I do. But it just seemed like you were flirting back this time," Rangi admitted quietly.

Kyoshi frowned at the realization that it definitely seemed like she was flirting. She cringed remembering the comment about what her hands had done. That really sounds sexual and Kyoshi absolutely hates it.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to," Kyoshi honestly told her.

"Now I know you didn't. I'm not upset since you were unaware. I guess I just got too jealous. I wasn't too much during that meeting, was I? I hope I didn't pressure you into anything," Rangi worriedly stated.

It shouldn't be possible to be this in love with someone, yet here Kyoshi is. The amount of love she has for Rangi is far too much to be contained in this world.

"Of course I wanted everything you gave me. I'll sleep good tonight knowing that my stoic, calm, and collected bodyguard fucked me in the middle of a negotiations meeting because she was jealous," Kyoshi teased.

Rangi groaned and playfully shoved Kyoshi's shoulder. The Avatar merely laughed and scooted closer to her.

"You're not the only one who gets jealous, you know. I swear countless people have tried hitting on you. I never feel too upset about it because you shut them down so quickly it baffles them," Kyoshi smiled.

Rangi merely kissed Kyoshi on the lips in response. Kyoshi was more than happy to feel her love's lips on her once more.

"I still can't believe you didn't notice, they were being so obvious about it. I really shouldn't be surprised. Not like this is the first time you were flirted with and were completely oblivious," Rangi sighed.

"What? What other times are there?" Kyoshi frowned.

"My point exactly. Nothing to worry your pretty little head about," Rangi teased as she kissed her cheek.

Kyoshi just smiled and observed Rangi's face for a moment. Truly, has there ever been a more beautiful woman? Kyoshi doubts it.

The Avatar was going to change the subject and suggest the two get a quick nap in, but stopped herself. There's just one detail that still doesn't make sense about today.

"Oh, quick question. Do you know what was up with Jinpa during the meeting? I've never seen him so antsy," Kyoshi asked.

Rangi's face turned bright red and she avoided Kyoshi's gaze. It took her a couple moments, but Rangi finally gave her an answer.

"That was unfortunately my fault. I'm not as calm and collected as I look. Seeing someone flirt with my girlfriend kind of makes me seethe with rage. When they started hitting on you, I thought I was gripping the chair but I was really digging into Jinpa's arm. He told me it was fine so pretty much every time you were hit on, I squeezed his arm. I'm pretty sure I ended up burning it at some point. So, uh, please remind me to apologize to him tomorrow," Rangi sheepishly told her.

Wow.

"Between the two of us, that poor bastard needs the biggest raise in all Four Nations."

"Agreed."

#rangi x kyoshi #kyoshi x rangi #the shadow of kyoshi #kyoshi #the rise of kyoshi #avatar kyoshi #kyoshi novels #rangi #shadow of kyoshi #rangi sei'naka #rangshi #rangi avatar #smut

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bambooswordwielder · 29 days ago

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I come here to beg for any MDZS fics set Post-Burial Mounds Siege where Jiang Cheng is/or at least believes he's being haunted by Wei Wuxian.

Just the imaginary of Jiang Cheng staring out in the distance of the Lotus ponds and rivers only to see in the distance a lone boat with a suspiciously familiar red ribbon tied on it, the nearby lotuses peeled and left on the sides like someone had been planning to share them with friends. Someone must have terrible humour because majority of people know damn well who used to where a red ribbon and eat Lotus seeds like there wasn't training waiting for him. No, someone was just messing with him.

Imagining Jiang Cheng walking outside Wei Wuxian's old room and swearing he hears laughter from it before the sounds of footsteps running down the hallway only for when he goes inside to see no one. Must just be the wind, or maybe he's just hearing things due to the stress.

Imagining Jiang Cheng snapping at anyone who plays a dizi/flute near the Yunmeng Jiang before banning them entirely, only to hear in the middle of the night a singular piercing melody that seems to haunt with how familiar it sounds. He gets out of his room to yell at whoever broke the rules, only to be met with an empty courtyard. He refuses to think of the fact that the majority of cultivators who weren't Lans didn't use instruments in their cultivation or day to day lives. Must've just been some reckless disciple who decided to prank everyone.

Imagine Jiang Cheng trying to teach Jin Ling some basic Jiang sword stances, but having to stop midway as Jin Ling keeps staring off in the distance towards the docks. Jiang Cheng is about to scold him, but he feels his blood grow cold as he hears the words leave Jin Ling's mouth.

"JiuJiu, why is there a man crying there?"

Jiang Cheng turns immediately, Zidian pulsing with electricity as he prepares to confront this stranger who got so close to his last family member, when all he is met with is wind and silence. No one is on the docks.

He bans Jin Ling from that day on from ever going near the docks and requests for a group of Lan Elders to come and 'cleanse' the docks. Just in case. Perhaps some restless ghost of a young Yunmeng Jiang disciples during the Lotus Pier Massacre didn't get to rest. Yes. He should focus on getting their soul to rest.

I really want to read about Jiang Cheng going back at forth between resentment, rage, and anger before shifting to sadness, fear, and guilt. I saw a beautiful drawing here on tumblr about an idea of Jiang Cheng patrolling the Lotus ponds and seeing the ghostly remains of Wei Wuxian's dead body appear every night, and I'm just so fascinated in the idea of Jiang Cheng being forced to confront the fact that he very much did 'kill' (not directly but still contributed in causing his death) Wei Wuxian in the very direct way of being haunted by him.

Feeling the lack of presence of someone who's dead is vastly different from being haunted by them, the idea that they were so filled with rage in death that they refuse to rest and instead haunt you. You refuse to even think of the idea that they can't rest.

In short, Jiang Cheng would've suffered greatly if Wei Wuxian in some way or form haunted him — even if it's most likely caused by his guilt.

I might write a few short oneshots on AO3, but if anyone has recs, please comment!

#mdzs #jiang cheng #wei wuxian #dead wei wuxian #ghost wei wuxian #wei wuxian haunts jiang cheng #please tell me theres a fic like this #mdzs fic #looking for a fic #fic ideas #I swear Jiang Cheng is one of my fav characters but I love seeing fics filled with regret and guilt #Theres just a level that cant be matched with the trope 'We fought #and you died before we got to reconcile and now I just have regrets'

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newpathwrites · 9 months ago

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I Love it All (Din x f!reader)

“My body is just so…” you closed your eyes, disgusted with yourself. “It’s so… soft… and saggy… literally everywhere…”

He huffed in response, clearly expressing his disagreement. “You mean you’re middle aged…”

Summary: You’re unhappy with your body, and Din is having none of that.

Notes: I don’t know if this is any good - I got this idea and wrote it in a rush instead of working on my WIPs 🤫. It was supposed to be a chaste thing, but for some reason I couldn’t stop it from heading the sexy route. I’m still not very comfortable writing smut, so this is very vague and nondescriptive, and I may have rushed a bit through those parts. This is absolutely not my best work, but I’m trying to follow the advice of all those reassuring Tumblr posts and put it up here, anyway.

Warnings: Non-descriptive sexual content, negative thoughts about one’s body.

Word Count: 1.1k

Read on AO3

Main Masterlist

————————————————————

“Why are you so focused on my worst features?”

Din froze, hand halting its gentle exploration over the skin of your stomach, eyes searching your face.

“What does that mean?” he asked in an unexpectedly dark tone.

Did you really think any of your features were anything less than perfect? Or did you think he believed so? That idea was downright offensive.

“It’s just…” you started hesitantly. “Your hands always seem to gravitate toward the ugliest parts of me…”

“You have no ‘ugly’ parts, Cyar’ika,” he replied quickly.

“We both know I do…”

He looked at you with a mixture of concern and confusion. “I do not… I think every inch of you is perfect.”

“Well, maybe you only think that because it’s me…”

“Yeah. Is that not the same thing?”

Stars. He could be so sweet sometimes without even trying, but he was missing the point.

“You know what I mean, Din,” you sighed, pulling the robe tightly around your body, clearly trying to hide yourself.

“I really don’t, actually.” His hand snaked around your shoulder to rub your back over the fabric. “Explain it to me.”

“My body is just so…” you closed your eyes, disgusted with yourself. “It’s so… soft… and saggy… literally everywhere…”

He huffed in response, clearly expressing his disagreement. “You mean you’re middle aged…”

You opened your eyes to look at him. “It’s not attractive. Don’t try to tell me it is.”

“Alright, look,” he began, pulling your hands away from the fastenings of your robe and exposing your upper half. “I appreciate the softness…a lot...” He squeezed once before running his fingers over your breast, thumb passing over your nipple and eliciting a small gasp. “Sure, you look a little different now than fifteen years ago, but… I like that we’ve aged… it means we managed to survive this long together…”

You craned your neck up to kiss him once in agreement. “That is true, but…”

He cut you off abruptly with his mouth once again on yours. “Let me finish, Cyare. I’ve got your whole body to cover here.”

He didn’t wait for a response before adjusting your bodies so that you lay flat on your back below him. He peeled off your robe entirely and ran his mouth down your neck and chest while gently groping your breasts.

And then he moved on, kissing down your abdomen until he reached the soft rolls of your stomach. “It makes me happy to see that you’re not skin and bones like you were when we met. We’ve done well for ourselves - we’ve never gone hungry since, and we should be proud of it.” He ran his hand softly over your stomach. “This is evidence that you’re healthy and nourished, and it’s beautiful on you. I’d like to remind you that I have plenty of this, too.”

He smirked as he laid his lips there, and you allowed a small giggle to escape. It was true - and you loved that little bit of fat he’d accumulated there.

His mouth continued down until he reached the band of your underwear, eyes looking up at you for permission.

You nodded, and he peeled them down your legs. “You worry about this, too… don’t you?” he questioned as he ran his fingers through the soft curls of hair there.

You looked mildly but genuinely pained as you responded with mock despair, placing a dramatic hand over your eyes. “Even my vulva is sagging, Din!”

He laughed. At least your mood had improved. “It’s just aging, Cyar’ika. A similar part of me is sagging, too.”

Your eyes sparkled with amusement. “It’s not the same. Those sag at baseline…”

He laughed again as he lowered himself to the floor at the foot of the bed, kneeling as he pulled your body closer to the edge of the mattress..

“I love all of it exactly as it is. Okay?”

You nodded. He’d made his point.

But he was not done. His fingers had continued to caress the sensitive skin there, heightening your slowly building arousal.

He placed light kisses on your thighs, purposely focusing on the parts he knew you disliked, hoping to prove to you that he really did care for every part of you, wrinkles and sags and all.

Meanwhile, his thumb found the most sensitive part of you as he reluctantly pulled his mouth away to move back up to the head of bed.

You immediately reached for his face, kissing him deeply through whimpers of pleasure. “I like your sagging parts, too…”

His chuckle was soon replaced by a low groan as your own hands clumsily reached down into his sleep pants to return the favor.

Your efforts were uncoordinated as you fought his clothing, but as the waves of your orgasm abated, he took it upon himself to kick off the offending items, readying himself over you.

“Slow,” you told him emphatically as he filled you. “I want to tell you everything I love about you, too.”

“If you say so…” he huffed with strained humor.

You reached up to run your hands through his curls as you spoke against his mouth, delighting in his slow and gentle movements. “You’re self-conscious about the gray… and the creases on your forehead… and the patches in your beard, but it all looks so good on you, Din. You’ve only gotten more handsome with age.”

He could only groan against your lips. He wasn’t sure he believed that, but stars did he appreciate that you thought so.

“And your scars - they tell your story, and I’ll never tire of tracing them to remember that you came out on the other side to me.” Your fingers found the well-healed gash on his neck. He hated that one in particular, but you loved it because he survived.

You were becoming a bit breathless now, too, the pleasure building again as he kept to your instruction to go slow. It was a wonderful kind of torture.

“And that little roll of fat on your stomach… I’m the only one privileged to even know it exists… and I love that…” you said between small gasps.

He was really straining with effort now, your words having their intended effect. His forehead pressed against yours as his thrusts became a bit more forceful even at this languid pace. “I don’t think I can hold back anymore, Cyar’ika…”

“Then don’t, love.”

This was one of your favorite parts of him - the one that allowed himself to lose control with you.

No more words were spoken as you moved together at a more steady rhythm, and the release was that much more incredible because every bit of self-consciousness about your aging bodies had melted away in the process.

“Do you really like my scars?” he whispered against your neck when he finally went slack against you. Ah, so he was insecure, too.

You pulled back to look at this face, smiling adoringly.

“I love your scars.”

____________________

Thank you for reading!

#soft din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #body positivity #newpathwrites

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strangersteddierthings · 2 months ago

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Gut Instinct: Chapter 6 - Saturday

[Art] [Ao3] [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Interlude] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four] [Chapter Five] [Chapter Six]

[This chapter is mature. MDNI. It does fade to black though because I got too shy about writing and posting smut]

Munson follows him upstairs. It'll be nice to have the help now, as much as he wanted space back in the kitchen. Munson can carry the pillows while Steve gathers bedding. The couches in the rec room are comfortable but the room itself gets colder than the rest of the house at night. Due to the proximity to the garage.

He enters his room with the intention of just pulling his comforter off and stealing the pillows, and Eddie follows after.

"Jesus, Harrington! What in plaid hell?"

Steve takes in his walls, the realization that it's been a long while since someone else besides him was in it. Well, Robin's been up here a few times, but they prefer to hang out in the living room.

"I didn't pick the wallpaper, man," Steve says even as he frowns at the walls, "but, uh, yeah. I really should move to a different room, huh."

Munson barks a laugh. "Just gonna move into one of the guest rooms instead of deal with this?"

"Sure," Steve agrees, amused, "I'll just shut this door and tape a sign up that just says Torture Chamber on it. Lock any of the gremlins in here for being too annoying or something."

That gets him a real laugh from Munson, who also looks surprised that he laughed. Which reminds him.

"Did you get to look at the note?"

Munson looks at him, confusion clear on his face.

“The one I gave you after the basketball game?”

The confused look clears and Munson says, "oh, uh, no. It's- I think it's in the van?"

"Your van!" Steve exclaims, suddenly remembering the abandoned vehicle. Macx had said she say Eddie flee in it. They should go get it before someone finds it. "we should go get it, while it's dark out. Where did you-"

Steve, who had turned on heel and was heading to the door, is stopped by Munson, a hand landing solidly on his chest even as he also moves to block the door. "Dude! No! It's hidden, and nowhere near your house. People are gonna know I'm here if they see it."

"Did you miss the empty three car garage we parked in somehow? No one will see it. Especially not if we go get it right now, in the dark."

Munson doesn't look convinced, as his eyes flick away from Steve to his window and back. It would have been missable, the tension in Munson suddenly, except his hand is still on Steve's chest and he feels the twitch of it as Munson seems to steel himself against his own thoughts and- oh.

Munson's entire life has been upended and it's just now coming up on the 24-hour mark. It was just last night that he watched Chrissy die. God, Steve's an idiot. Of course, he doesn't want to go on a midnight adventure to retrieve his van. He probably just wants to try and get some sleep.

Steve brings one of his own hands up to cover Munson's, and aims for reassuring and calm as he says, "Hey. Yeah, it can wait. We got more important things to do tonight."

That brings Munson's eyes back to his face, when they had previously been staring at Steve's hand covering Munson's own. Steve can see some of the old fight and fire back in Munson's eyes. It makes him look less like a traumatized man and more like the person he was when Steve was in school with him, ranting on cafeteria tables and unafraid of anything.

It makes Steve want to kiss him.

He pulls away before he acts on that urge and moves to his dresser. "I'll just get changed and then we can get cozy."

"What side do you normally sleep on? Or, do you have a favorite pillow I shouldn't use?" Eddie asks once Steve's retrieved his own pair of sweats and turned back around. Eddie is eyeing the bed but turns his gaze to Steve while he waits for an answer.

"Uh, no favorite pillow. Just, pick whatever. I'll be right back. Gotta brush my teeth," Steve dips out the room and down the hall to the bathroom.

He's not in the bathroom long. Brushes his teeth and changes, throwing the day’s clothes into the pile he made by the door earlier. He realizes he didn't bring a t-shirt and debates putting the polo back on but decides he doesn't need it. He can sleep without a shirt, it's not like Munson's never seen a guy without a shirt on.

“Okay, so I’ve got more blankets in the-” Steve starts to say as he enter his room, cutting himself off as he loses his train of thought. Munson has not stripped the bed, as Steve thought he would, but instead has crawled into it.

He’s on the far side of the bed, laying on his back, but his face is turned towards the door when Steve enters. He’s under the covers, his own shirt removed if the bare arms and shoulders he can see are any indication. His eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see that Steve is staring at him.

It occures to Steve only now that Munson might have misunderstood where Steve meant for them to sleep.

“Are you going to actually get in the bed, or stare all night?” Munson grumbles without opening his eyes.

Steve should probably clear up the misunderstanding. He should.

Except that he doesn’t feel bad about not doing it. There’s no churning in his gut that says this is a bad idea. Munson seems alright with sharing a bed, and Steve’s slept in the same bed with friends before.

Steve flicks off the light and crosses the room, crawling into his bed and settling on his back, mirroring Munson.

It’ll be fine.

It’s about fifteen minutes of what feels like awkward silence when Munson rolls over in the dark, and Steve does his best to not move. He's probably just rolling in his sleep. It’s been long enough to fall asleep, right? And Munson’s probably exhausted.

Fingers brush his side and goosebumps break out in their wake. Those fingers retreat, and Steve thinks perhaps it was an accident, Munson reaching for something in his sleep that isn't there. But then, the fingers return, press more firmly to his side, sliding along the waistband of his sweats. He feels his muscles spasm beneath Munson's hand and he doesn't know if he wants to pull away or push into it.

"Eddie?" he whispers into the darkness.

"Is this- do you not want...?" Munson whispers back, trailing off his question. He doesn't move his hand away but he does halt its movement.

Does Steve want? Yes, of course he does. He's been simmering on just this side of horny since Munson manhandled him into the wall of the boathouse, bottle to his neck notwithstanding. However, Munson's had a shit 24 hours and needs decent sleep, not Steve being a horndog.

Although.

Steve knows a good orgasm can help with falling asleep. And if Munson is wound up, he's more than willing to help.

He's been silent too long, it seems, because Munson's hand starts to retreat.

"No, no, I do want," Steve breathes out in a rush, bringing his far hand to land atop Munson's -Eddie's- hand, because if he’s going to get off with him, he’s no longer going to be just ‘Munson’ in Steve’s mind. Steve placing his hand on Eddie’s does halt Eddie, so Steve trails his fingertips up Eddie's arm to his elbow and back down to his hand. "But, do you? It's been a long day for you, I think, and we can just sleep."

Eddie let's out a harsh breath, "I'm in thee Steve Harrington's bed and the only thing that's going to be happening is sleep?"

Steve doesn't know what to say to that. Doesn't get why Eddie said his name like that or what he means. Is he being sarcastic? Is he teasing? "I mean, yeah. Beds are for sleeping."

"Do you want this or not?" Eddie asks, slipping a couple fingers beneath his waistband.

Yes, Steve thinks, but you do? His stomach clenches, not really nausea but certainly not the good feeling of the Just Knowing he's gotten used to. He grabs onto Eddie's hand, lifting it from his body and shifting it so they're palm to palm. Steve links his fingers with Eddie's but he doesn't fully return the grip. He hears Eddie's soft gasp as he scoots closer, rolling over and propping himself up at the last moment, taking the hand intertwined with Eddie's as he goes, pressing that hand into the pillow near Eddie's head so that Steve is somewhat hovering over him now. The light is dim but it's enough that Steve can see Eddie's face, see that his eyes are open and wide. "Do you want this?"

He watches as Eddie's brow furrows, like Steve's asked a complex question and not for simple consent. "I- isn't this what you wanted?"

"What?"

"You!" Eddie basically shouts, and if Steve didn't currently have one of Eddie's hands pinned to the bed and the other trapped between their bodies, he's certain Eddie would have thrown them in the air. "You've been, like, super suggestive all fucking night, dude, and I thought- it seemed like you were implying a certain way you'd like to end the night! I... Did I get the wrong read here?"

Steve's a little embarrassed that he's been this obvious. He did try to keep his attraction under wraps, if only to not make Eddie uncomfortable. But he doesn't seem uncomfortable about realizing Steve's little crush on him. And he reached out first. "Yes. Or, no, you didn't read this, me, wrong, but I wasn’t trying to- it's late and you just learned monsters exists, so we can-"

"Great. You want, I want, can we get on with it? You said there were plenty of ways to distract from the horrors. So, distract me, or whatever," Eddie huffs and Steve feels him half roll towards him, hooking a leg over Steve's before falling back to the mattress, a move which pulls Steve closer, his leg slotting in between Eddie's, who now rolls his hips to rub against his leg.

A grin spreads across Steve's face slowly. "Oh, I can distract." He shifts, clasping tighter at the hand already holding Eddie's, gets his leg into a better position for Eddie to roll his hips against and leans down to nose at Eddie's neck, drags his lips along its wake. He's pleased by the soft sigh Eddie lets out, head falling to the side to allow Steve more access. His hair, wild and curly, is in the way, so Steve places his weight on his elbow and uses his free hand to sweep the hair away before dropping a kiss on his shoulder, then another further up, and another. "You okay with biting?"

"Fuck, yeah," Eddie hisses out and Steve grins against his neck, placing a few more kisses there before opening his mouth to nip playfully. Never fully biting down, not in the way Eddie seems to want if the hand that's freed itself from between them and found purchase on the back of his head, trying to push Steve closer is any indication. But that's not what Steve meant by biting; he's more a 'little love nips' kind of man, soothing them quickly with kisses and licks.

"I thought you were going to bite," Eddie groans, sounding annoyed even as he rolls his hips against Steve's thigh.

"I am biting," Steve ends the sentence by nibbling up and down Eddie's neck quickly, which earns him an honest to God giggle from Eddie, who frees his hand from Steve's grasp to shove it into Steve's face, pushing him up and away from his neck. Muffled by Eddie's palm now, Steve adds, "what, too much?"

"Jesus Christ, you are the biggest dork on the planet," Eddie mutters but from between Eddie's spread fingers, Steve can see he looks almost fond. "is this how you treat everyone you bring to bed?"

"Hmm, no," Steve mumbles into the palm still in his face before pressing a kiss there, "just the ticklish ones."

"I am not ticklish!" Eddie squawks indignantly, dropping the hand from Steve's face down to Steve's shoulder. "It just felt weird."

"Pretty sure weird feelings that make you laugh means you're ticklish."

"Yeah, well, you promised biting. Not... whatever the fuck that was," Eddie rolls his eyes.

"Just getting a nibble," Steve grins down at him before grinding his leg against Eddie's cock. God, the feel of him. Steve wants to touch him so bad suddenly. The desire to feel the weight of him in his hand, the velvety feeling along his palm, how his cock might feel in Steve's mouth, how a different a dick not his own in his hand might feel, all of it hits Steve hard.

“Jesus Christ, you’re such a dork,” Eddie says, in a tone of breathless disbelief. Steve thinks the two, the breathlessness and the disbelief, are seperate from each other but he has no real way of knowing. “Have you always been a dork? Does this work for you?”

“It’s working on you right now isn’t it?” Steve lowers his head to whisper the words into Eddie’s ear, “you still want me to touch your dick, right?”

Eddie’s silence is enough to tell Steve that he’s right.

He turns his face into Eddie’s neck and presses his lips to the skin there once more. He drags his lips down to where neck and shoulder meet, pressing a kiss there and trailing them a bit across his shoulder before he finally bites down, pulling a pleased sounding his from Eddie then.

“Can I leave a mark?” Steve asks. He wants to, the possessive part of him wanting to leave a large hickey on Eddie’s neck for people to see and question. Nevermind that the only people who will be seeing him for an unknown amount of time is pretty limited.

“No,” Eddie is quick to say. Steve tries not to let it sting. It makes sense, after all. How would they explain the hickey when the only person Eddie’s been around is Steve? And no matter how much Steve trusts everyone, he still hasn’t come out to them. He wants to do it on his terms, and not because they put two and two together.

Also, Eddie definitely gets a say in whether or not anyone knows about him.

“Well,” Eddie adds, softer than his ‘no’ was, “I guess if it’s somewhere it’ll be hidden by clothing that’s fine.”

That sounds like a good compromise. “Good to know.”

Eddie’s snorted half-laugh turns into a groan as Steve’s hand, which he’d been slowly moving closer to Eddie’s dick, finally makes contact, rubbing teasingly through the boxers for just a moment. Steve adjusts his weight to get more space between his thigh and where he’s trying to slide his hand beneath Eddie’s boxers, tipping his head to look down between their bodies.

Turns out holding someone else’s dick in his hand does feel different. Everything he thought Eddie’s dick would feel like in his hand is true, though; the velvety skin, the weight of it, the warmth. The length is a pleasant surprise. Steve’s not going to whip his own dick out to measure right now, because he wants to focus on making Eddie feel good, but he would place good money on Eddie’s dick being a bit longer than his own.

Steve hopes that this isn’t a one-night, distract-from-the-horrors-only thing, because he really wants to have this dick inside him at some point. Despite the fact that all of Steve’s sexual experience has been woman, he’s experimented. He likes a dildo up the ass, so he thinks he’ll really like Eddie’s dick there.

“Fuck,” Eddie curses, reminding Steve that more than just Eddie’s dick is here in bed with him. A bit embarrassing to have forgotten the rest of the guy. “You’re quite a good distraction.”

Steve looks back up to Eddie’s face and gives a smirk. “I’m just getting started babe.”

#gut instinct #my fic #steddie #steddiebang24

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spaceman-earthgirl · 1 year ago

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Supercorptober 2023 Day 3: Kara

As I mentioned on the previous post and on ao3, I won't be doing all the prompts this year but I will do my best to do a decent amount of them! I'll be posting them all both on here and ao3. Enjoy!

ao3 fic link. series link.

Alex knows something is wrong. She knows her sister, has been watching her all night, and something is definitely up.

The whole night her movements have looked controlled, like she’s holding herself together, or holding herself back. Which is entirely confusing because she also can’t stop smiling. Yes, on movie nights like this, Kara is usually happy, spending time with her two favourite people, but this is different.

It’s not until halfway through the movie that Kara pauses it before excusing herself to the bathroom, and Alex takes her chance. If she doesn’t have the opportunity to talk to Kara alone, then Lena is the next best thing.

Alex waits until she hears the lock click on the bathroom door, then waits a few more seconds before she uses the chance while she has it.

When she looks back at Lena, she finds her smiling down at her phone. Alex knows that smiles, and it almost derails her Kara questioning just so she can find out who Lena is texting because that’s definitely the smile of someone with a crush. But that can wait, she needs to check on her sister first.

“Is Kara ok?”

Lena startles at the question, dropping her phone. Something flickers across her face before Lena schools her features. “What do you mean?”

“She doesn’t seem different tonight? She hasn’t stop smiling,” Alex gestures to the other side of the couch Lena is on, to where Kara has spent the evening sitting on her own. “But she also isn’t sitting curled up beside you like she usually would.” Alex frowns. “Has something happened between the two of you?”

Lena’s eyes widen in alarm, but Alex’s mind is already spinning through other scenarios, so she misses it.

Is that what this is? Alex has always wondered if Kara may have a little crush on Lena. Despite Alex’s teasing, Kara has always denied it. But if Lena is seeing someone, then maybe Kara is probably upset about that.

But that doesn’t explain the smiling.

“No that can’t be it, she seems too happy for you guys to be fighting.”

Lena hesitates. “Maybe you should just talk to Kara.”

Alex is frowning again. “So, she hasn’t spoken to you either?”

Lena pauses. “No, she has, but she’ll want to talk to you about it herself.”

Alex is stopped from continuing her questioning when the bathroom door open and Kara returns, retaking her seat far too far away from Lena to be normal.

Kara pauses when she realises they’re both silent and watching her. “Are you two okay?”

Alex opens her mouth but she’s beaten to answering by Lena.

Except Lena doesn’t answer out loud, she leans forward and whispers something to Kara.

There’s a long moment where they share hushed whispers, Alex wishing she was the one with super hearing because the confusion is killing her.

“What’s going on?” Alex finally asks, the wait getting the best of her.

Kara and Lena both turn to face Alex. “So,” Kara starts. “I have something to tell you.” Kara takes Lena’s hand, threads their fingers together. “Or we have something to tell you.” Kara’s grinning again. “Lena and I are dating.”

Alex’s mouth drops open. Of all the things Alex had expected it to be, it wasn’t this.

“It’s new, we wanted to keep it to ourselves for a bit, but we were going to tell you soon.”

“Well, trying to stay away from Lena was dumb if you were trying to act normal, you two can’t stay away from each other.” Alex pauses. “Which suddenly makes a lot of sense, maybe I should have seen this coming.”

Alex stands, reaching out to pull Kara up too, wrapping her in a big hug. “I’m so happy for you.” She tugs Lena in too. “I’m so happy for you both.”

Kara’s absolutely beaming when they all release each other, but then she looks at Lena and Alex really feels dumb for missing this because she’s never seen two people look so in love as Kara and Lena do looking at each other right now.

“No kissing in front of me though please, I don’t think I could handle that,” Alex adds. She truly is happy for them both, but Kara is still her sister.

“No promises,” Lena winks and suddenly Alex wishes she hadn’t pried.

#supergirl #supercorp #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp fanfic #supercorptober202

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korpuskristae · 8 months ago

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Jasmine and Rose - The Air Tastes Just Like You

Warnings: Severus being a moody grump, reference to cannon death, foreshadowing, set during Philosopher’s Stone but no specific references are made, Religious references and guilt

Pairing: Severus Snape x Female Reader, reader uses she/her pronouns

Word Count: 800+

Summary: Severus brews amortentia with his students only to find the scent has changed.

Part 2 Part 3

AN: This is my first time posting fanfiction on this account and to my surprise, I really enjoyed writing this. Ignore any grammar and spelling mistakes, I glanced over this before posting. I wrote this little drabble (it's now much longer than I anticipated and will be split into multiple parts) while listening to Jasmine and Rose by Clan of Xymox so I guess you could consider this a borderline song fic. Here's the song if you’re interested in listening, if you like it you should check out my Sev playlist on Spotify. (Also give me Sev smut ideas, I’m ITCHING to write smth, no teacher-student stuff)

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿ ☆ ‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

Read on AO3

Hunched over a cauldron, Severus stood in the middle of his dark classroom, his face illuminated only by a candle he’d lit hours ago which had been reduced to a mere stub at this point.

Grumbling to himself, he meticulously cut up some herbs and threw them into the cauldron with a flourish and a flick of his wand to clear off his workbench. Impatiently waiting for the potion to finish brewing, he attempted to busy himself with something, anything, to get his mind off of his current predicament.

A few moments of contemplation passed before that same scent, that damnable scent, snapped him out of his thoughts.

He had to have been insane.

Perhaps he was losing his touch? Even the most knowledgeable scholars have been known to have days where even the simplest of tasks elude them… it was true he hadn’t slept in a while, maybe he was simply imagining things.

Yes, he was just imagining things.

That was the only logical conclusion. He found comfort in the fact that It wasn’t a problem with him but rather his sleep schedule, for once, just maybe, something wasn’t his fault.

His momentary relief of guilt came crashing down upon smelling the scent, your scent, yet again, only this time much stronger.

Still refusing to believe it, he reasoned it must have been some mistake on his part. Maybe he was daft. Furiously waving his wand, he cleared the cauldron of its contents and extinguished the flame underneath.

“Evanesco,” he muttered bitterly as he dramatically spun on his heel before marching over to the potions storeroom.

He was going to settle this once and for all.

He had to be doing something wrong. Maybe the herbs were stored improperly and therefore lost their potency, maybe he measured out the wrong amount of one of the ingredients, maybe…

It didn’t matter in the end.

The possibilities of potential errors were endless. In the art of potioneering, even the smallest of errors could result in entirely different outcomes, perhaps this was one of those cases.

In reality, he didn’t care why or how, he already knew he must’ve, no, definitely, made a mistake somewhere during the brewing process. He had to have…

For the last fifteen years of his miserable life, his Amortentia had smelt like the same thing, lilies. Lilies with a hint of willow bark and the overwhelming smell of vanilla.

Unmistakably Lily’s scent.

Every. year. Every single year he had to teach those insufferable brats how to brew the cursed potion he was tormented by the memory of Lily. Reminded of how he had failed to protect her, reminded of how he had hurt her, and reminded of how one stupid mistake landed him a life sentence of servitude to not one but two wizards. Trapping him right in the middle of a war, ensuring his life would forever be dedicated to finding redemption.

Knowing one day, he’d give his life to atone for his mistake.

He carried with him the burden of his guilt three hundred sixty five days a year, twenty four seven, and he would carry it until the end of his days.

But that day, as if to rub salt in the wound, was his own personal hell, personally delegated to him by God, if there even was one, dedicated to guilt and self hatred.

Severus was God’s very own crowned patron saint of guilt and he felt it necessary for his saint to be subject to his very virtue.

Today was that day, his saintly day if you will, or rather, was supposed to be that day.

While everyone usually tended to give Severus a wide berth, students and staff alike avoided the potions master like the plague whenever the Amortentia lesson drew near. Already known for his intimidating demeanor and hot-headed attitude, the week of the lesson was among the worst for those unfortunate enough to be in his presence.

Even the smallest of provocations would cause Severus to fly off the handle and berate whoever was unlucky enough to be within his general vicinity.

Naturally, Hogwarts’s rumor mill was working overtime to come up with a plausible explanation for the Potions Master’s increased irritability.

But no one rumor stuck around for too long, and eventually, students would grow bored after a week or two, moving on to the next piece of hot gossip, of which there was no shortage.

Nevertheless, Severus never paid any mind to the school’s gossip, at least not since he was a student. He found it endearing how valiantly you defended him in front of students who dared to bad mouth him around you, he’d never admit it, but knowing someone didn’t see him as an emotionless bat of the dungeons made him feel just a little bit better about himself.

(Sorry for abrupt ending, will be a part 2 :p)

#pro severus snape #severus snape #severus x reader #severus x you #snape x reader #harry potter #Spotify #snape fandom #pro severus #i love severus #snape fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction

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theewokingdead · 1 year ago

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Breaking Free - Francisco "Catfish" Morales x Plus Size f!Reader

Pairing: Francisco “Catfish” Morales x Plus Size f!Reader Summary: You’ve always felt insecure about your body, especially since your last relationship. It isn’t until you meet Frankie that you wonder if there is more to life than worrying about your appearance. He tells you he loves your body, worships it, makes you feel things you've never felt before. Can you finally feel confident in your own skin? Can you finally break free from your body-hating demons and let yourself love who you are - and let Frankie love you? Word Count: 8.8k+ Rating: Mature – 18+ ONLY POV: First Person Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. A/N: I took over the following ask received by @musings-of-a-rose: "Frankie and the reader (Fem) has been dating for a year and they are completely in love especially Frankie, but the reader is extremely insecure about her body, even if Frankie says he love her body and everything about her, so every time they are in private they have to do it with the lights off but Frankie doesn't really matter about, he give you the time you need, until one night you decide to face your insecurities and surprise Frankie, please do it with all the smut you can." I’ve never answered an ask before because I’m terrified of disappointing people. I guess this is me, like Reader, facing some of my insecurities. I hope you enjoy! Hope this is enough smut! **Reader is plus sized with stretch marks and cellulite, but is otherwise not described. **Post-Triple Frontier but no mention if he has a child or not Please follow @theewokingdeadwrites to get notifications when I post new fics

Masterlist

“What?” I question, leaning towards Frankie, who’s standing next to me with a wide smile and a look of absolute adoration in his eyes while looking at me. The crowded bar bustles around us, filled with people and music and chatter, an atmosphere of excitement filling the room with Christmas just around the corner.

“Nothing,” he replies, practically having to shout over the noise of the bar. He seems embarrassed that I caught him admiring me, but he wasn’t exactly being subtle. He never is. “It’s just…you look incredible tonight. I mean, you always look incredible, but…” He awkwardly rubs at the back of his neck, his cheeks flushing. “I just can’t believe you’re mine.”

I dip my head, hiding a shy smile, never one to easily accept a compliment. “Thanks,” I say softly but sincerely before sipping the drink in my hand.

It’s odd, hearing someone compliment my appearance. I’ve given up on ever finding myself beautiful; it’s never crossed my mind that other people could still find me attractive. I’ve never heard as many positive things as I’ve heard from Frankie these last few weeks. It feels strange and wonderful, but I can’t help but wonder if I’ll ever be able to believe him.

Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that this is normal. This is how a relationship should be, how a boyfriend should treat his girlfriend. Just because I can’t see my body through his eyes doesn’t mean I shouldn’t trust his words.

Slowly, I tilt my head back up, my eyes meeting his gaze. I can feel the corner of my mouth curving into a sly smile. “I’m pretty sure you don’t own me though,” I reply teasingly, my voice playful. My heart is pounding in my chest as I bask in the thrill of our interaction, waiting for his response. Though we are just two people standing in a bar, it feels like we are each other’s entire universe.

As he stands there before me, I am struck by how the light catches in his deep brown eyes, causing them to twinkle like stars. His broad shoulders fill out his shirt perfectly, making him look both strong and gentle at the same time.

Frankie laughs, his eyes sparkling with joy. “No, I don’t own you…” he says, his voice trailing off as he leans in closer to me. “But say the word and I’ll make you mine.”

I smile, mischievously. “I thought I was already yours, Francisco?”

He chuckles, the sound deep and warm. “I meant in a different way, bebita,” he whispers. “I want to make you mine in every way possible.”

A shiver runs down my spine at his words, my heart pounding faster as I look up at him.

The corner of his mouth twitches with a smirk as he leans in closer, his warm breath fanning across my cheek. His hand slides down to rest on the small of my back. He leans in closer, brushing his lips against my ear. “I want to take you home with me,” he murmurs.

My eyes go wide, my cheeks flush as I realize the heated implication behind his words. My body is already responding to his touch. I lean in closer to him, the noise of the bar fading into the background as I focus solely on him.

“I want to worship you,” he continues. His voice is low and raspy, sending a shiver through my body. “I want to make you feel so good that the only name you remember is mine.”

My heart races at his words, my stomach clenching with anticipation. I never thought I could feel this way about someone, never thought I could be so deeply in – dare I say it? - love. But with Frankie, everything feels different.

“Okay,” I reply, my voice quiet. “Make me yours, Francisco.”

The ride to his place is silent, but my mind is racing. Anticipation bubbles up from my stomach and makes its way through the rest of my body, like a hot drink sloshing in a cup. I steal glances at Frankie, drinking in his rugged features and muscular build. The way his hand grips the steering wheel makes me ache for him, imagining those strong hands on my body, the rough skin sliding against the softness of mine. I almost tremble with need for him. But I’m also afraid that he’ll take my clothes off and doesn’t like what he sees.

It's been longer than I care to admit since I’ve been completely nude in front of anyone. And Frankie has told me that he loves my body, but until now, I haven’t been comfortable enough with him to take my clothes off. We’ve never done anything more than making out and heavy petting before, and I’m terrified.

As we step inside his apartment, I can feel my nerves intensifying. I take a deep breath, steadying myself before turning to face him. He stands before me, his eyes roaming over me hungrily, making my heart race with a mixture of fear and excitement. His gaze lingers on my curves, and for a moment, I feel self-conscious, but then he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out to brush my hair from my face.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, his lips closing in on mine. I melt into his kiss, my arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him closer to me. His tongue sweeps into my mouth, his hands roaming over my body, igniting every nerve in me. I moan against his lips, unable to resist his touch any longer.

Frankie breaks away from the kiss, his eyes dark and lustful. “I need to have you,” he growls, his hand sliding down to grip my ass, pulling me closer to him.

I can feel the sharp jut of his erection pressing against me, and the thought that he wants me makes me burn with desire. Somehow, we reach his bedroom, Frankie kicking the door closed behind him. He turns to reach for the light switch on the wall, but I quickly grab ahold of his wrist, stopping him.

“Don’t,” I blurt out, my voice echoing through the room. The light filters through the blinds from the moonlight and streetlights outside – enough so that it isn’t pitch black, but the shadows still lurk in every corner. It’s all we need – I don’t want him to see my flaws, to see my heart racing like a wild animal inside my chest. I want, more than anything, to share a passionate night with Frankie, but I can’t let him see me – not when my body is the way it is.

I stand there frozen, watching as he moves closer, a small part of me knowing that he’s not looking at my imperfections. He sees something else entirely. Something that makes me feel seen for the first time in years.

“Are you okay with this?” Frankie questions, concern laced in his voice. “I don’t expect anything from you just because you got this far. If you’re not ready-”

“I’m fine,” I reply as casually as possible, but my words come out almost a bit harsh. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m here because I want this,” I say with more conviction. “It’s just…” I hesitate, thinking about how to explain the truth without revealing too much of myself. “It’s been a while for me.”

“How long?”

“I-I don’t know,” I respond with a shrug. “I stopped counting. At least a year.”

“No pressure then, right?” he jokes, his eyebrows raised and cheeks puffed out in a boyish smile. He reaches for my hand, his fingers warm on mine as he grips them. “I really want this. I want you.” He smiles shyly. “I, uh…” His throat bobs and his cheeks flush. “I think I’m falling for you.”

Smiling softly, I reply, “I think I’m falling for you too.”

Frankie’s lips boldly meet mine as his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me close. His tongue slips into my mouth and swirls around mine. I can feel the heat radiating from his body as it crowds mine, both arousing and protecting me at once, making me feel like nothing else in the world matters. The smell of him invades my senses, a mix of musk and sandalwood that makes my knees weak. I’m too lost in temptation to think straight at the moment and waste no time in removing my clothes, Frankie following my lead. I barely get a moment to get a good look at him before his lips are back on mine.

The air around us crackles with an electric intensity as our naked bodies come together for the first time, my breasts brushing against his chest. His hands roam over me with fervor, memorizing every curve of my body as we move together. The feeling of his bare skin against mine raises goosebumps all over my flesh. And for one shining moment, nothing else exists but the two of us, lost in each other's embrace.

Frankie runs his fingertips across my sides, tickling me slightly before moving down to my waist. The sensation shoots sparks of pleasure throughout my body. He lets out a low growl in the back of his throat, tangling his fingers in my hair as he kisses me. I moan into his mouth, my body aching for more.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to taste you. I bet you taste so fucking good.”

His words only make me want him more. I can feel myself dripping as his hands caress my body. His lips meet my neck, and I can feel his hot breath against the skin of my throat. He gently scrapes his teeth against the tender flesh, and I can feel it throbbing beneath his touch. I could come just from his kisses and soft touches. Moaning, kissing, I rub my slick pussy up and down his leg, my clit practically ready to burst.

A high-pitched whine fills the air, and it’s an embarrassingly long minute before I realize I made that sound. I haven’t felt this turned on in – well, fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on. As the thought hits me, I lose the feeling, lose the edge I’m riding.

The man I was with prior never made me feel special, never made me feel beautiful. He never pulled out the stops to make me feel appreciated—instead, he treated me as an object of his physical desires. Tears start to well up in my eyes, but I try to hold them back.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, baby,” Frankie says suddenly, and I realize he’s stopped kissing me.

“It’s nothing,” I reply, an obvious lie.

“Bebita, please,” Frankie begs. “Tell me. What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?”

I snort at his statement. My cheeks burn with fury and humiliation. I feel tears pressing against the backs of my eyes, wanting to break out. Every time I take a breath, it hurts, like I’ve torn something inside me that shouldn’t have been torn. It hadn’t been just one man who had reduced me to this; the last was just the worst. I’m angry at myself for not loving my body the way I should, but mostly, I’m angry that I ever let anyone tear me down the way they did, to reduce me to a shell of who I was or could be.

Putting both of his hands on my face, Frankie forces me to look at him. My vision is blurred from the tears I won’t allow to fall, but I can see the worry in his eyes.

“What do you see in me, Frankie?” I question, my voice a whisper. “I’m not in shape…I’m not pretty…I-”

His lips seal themselves around mine before I can say anything more, causing me to gasp in surprise. His tongue slips into my mouth, tenderly. I relax into the kiss, and after a moment, he pulls away.

“Are you crazy?” Frankie questions. “Each and every single thing about your body is beautiful.” His hands fall to the slope of my waist. “You are so fucking gorgeous that it hurts how gorgeous you are.”

I let out a sound that’s a mixture of a laugh and a sob. “That’s cheesy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Frankie chuckles. “But it’s true. My dick is so hard it feels like it could burst. That’s what you do to me.”

I smile.

“Do you believe me?”

“I want to.” I mean.

Frankie holds my face once more, his eyes staring at me softly. “You. Are. Beautiful.”

Who is this man? I wonder as I stare at him, pleasure blurring the edges of my vision. He wants me. He desires me. It’s clear in his face, in his eyes as they smolder with desire. His full lips are parted as he breathes more heavily, his broad chest rising and falling as he devours the sight of me standing before him. We’ve only been dating for a few weeks now but it feels like this is where I have always belonged, like this is what I am supposed to be doing. Is this real? Am I dreaming? Is this only going to lead to more hurt?

I don’t know…but a part of me wants to find out.

He pulls me in for a kiss, his lips soft and gentle against my mouth. Our teeth click together as he kisses me more fully, sweeping his tongue into my mouth to taste me again and again. His warm scent fills my head as our tongues find each other. When I break away, trying to catch my breath, his mouth immediately moves to my throat, kissing a hot trail to the spot behind my ear, where my pulse leaps madly.

“You deserve to be adored and worshiped,” he murmurs into my ear. “I look at you and I can’t believe how lucky I am to have found you.” He nibbles on my lobe before growling. “Can you feel how much I want you? Can you feel what you’re doing to me right now?”

“Yes,” I breath.

“I want you so fucking bad.” His teeth grab onto my lower lip and tug, making me moan again. Then he spends some time kissing along the line of my jaw before returning to ravage my mouth with his tongue. “Do you know the things I want to do with you? Do to you?”

“Tell me.”

“I want to lay you on the bed, spread your legs, bury my face in your pussy, and eat you out until you can’t remember you name. I want to make you come on my mouth, around my cock…”

My eyes go wide and I feel my cheeks flush with color. He isn’t even touching me and I’m so turned on I can feel my body clenching, wetness pooling between my legs. He makes me want him so much I think I can explode from the intensity of it. I’m shaking now, trembling with need and anticipation, and a little fear.

Frankie moves down to my neck, his lips and teeth working against my skin. His fingertips gently cup my breasts, pulling at my nipples. “I want you to scream my name.”

“Fuck,” I whimper, my hands clutching his back. “Touch me.”

“Greedy girl,” Frankie teases, grinning. He presses warm kisses against my throat and chest, moving slowly down my body.

“Please,” I whimper, taking his hand and gently guiding it down my body. “I want you to make me feel good. Please.” His fingers slip between my lips

Frankie groans as his fingers sink into my wetness, teasing my clit lightly before he gently makes contact with it. I shudder as my legs move apart, my fingers tangling in his dark hair, my pussy practically screaming with pleasure. It’s so intense I can’t even think straight.

He slips a finger inside of me and I let out a gasp, the sensation sending a wave of pleasure through my body. Frankie’s lips trail up my neck, pressing against my ear, and his voice is harsh, but gentle. “I’m going to make you feel so fucking good.”

Shivers run down my spine. I sink against him, capturing my lower lip between my teeth.

I whine when he removes his fingers from me, his hands returning to my face, lips crashing to mine. He backs me up until the back of my legs hit the bed and I fall onto the soft mattress. He climbs on top of me, his body weight pressing me down, a delicious feeling of submission washing over me.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes. Always.”

“Close your eyes.”

My eyes search his, a soft smile forming on my lips before doing as he commands.

“I need you to relax. To just feel. Can you do that for me?”

“Mhm.” I’m nervous, but I do as he says, my body sinking into the mattress as I try to relax. I sense him drop to his knees at the foot of the bed. He plants a kiss on my thigh, and I shudder beneath the feel of his warm, soft lips on my skin. I breath in deeply, the shakiness apparent.

“You are breathtaking,” Frankie praises between kisses. His hands grab either side of my hips, pulling me towards his face. He gently nuzzles my mound, inhales my scent. “And you smell like heaven. I can only imagine what you taste like. Fuck, I need to taste you.”

Need. Not want, but need. Fuck, yes.

“Taste me, Frankie. Please.”

My breath hitches when he licks his tongue against my clit. My hand fists the sheets, my thighs already shaking from the rush of sensation pouring through them.

“Oh, God!”

“You taste so good,” Frankie rasps. His deep voice sends a shiver over my skin. “I could eat you for breakfast, lunch, dinner and still not have enough of you.”

As I writhe, he slides a finger inside me, then a second, reaching the spot that helps lead me to detonation. My stomach clenches, the muscles in my legs tight.

“Frankie, yes! I’m…I…”

With all sense of rhyme and reason lost, I begin to shudder. He presses his fingers deep inside me, thrusting them slowly in and out. His tongue laps against me relentlessly, taking everything I have to give him. The cry of pressurized release that escapes my mouth is startling and loud.

“There it is,” I vaguely hear Frankie praise. “Good girl.”

He crawls on top of me, wiping the wetness from his facial hair with one hand as he hovers above me. God, I love the way his skin feels pressed against mine. “You did beautifully.”

“F-fuck. Fuck me,” I plead between pants.

“No,” Frankie states, planting a gentle kiss on my collarbone. “I don’t want to fuck you, baby. I want to make love to you. Please.” He is sincere. Desire burns in his eyes, free of the disgust of my last partner. “Please, let me have you.”

I nod, unable to speak. He kisses me, and I allow his tongue to seek mine, but he’s soon gone.

Frankie leans toward the nightstand and opens a drawer, pulling out a condom. Quivering in the dim light, I watch him tear the wrapper with his teeth and then roll the condom over his cock. It’s the first time I get a good look at it. Long, thick, and smooth – just like I’d pictured him.

He lines himself up at my entrance, looking me deep in the eyes as he pushes inside. It’s been so long since I’ve had a man inside me that I’m not sure I can take him all the way in, but he pushes in slow, giving me time to adjust.

“Frankie,” I gasp in surprise.

He groans, face nuzzled into my neck. “You feel incredible. So warm and tight.”

“Please, stop torturing me and move,” I beg, loving the feel of him stretching me but needing more. “Move!”

He grins and pulls out slowly, teasing me with just the tip before plunging back in. My back arches off the bed as I moan in pleasure. He kisses me, swallowing my moan as he pulls out once more then thrusts harder into me. Each thrust he makes shoots waves of pleasure through my body. I can feel the buildup of pleasure again, like it’s a ticking time bomb about to go off. He sets a steady rhythm. My nails dig into his back, urging him on.

“Fuck,” he moans. “I love your pussy. I love the way you feel. I love…I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I manage to utter before his lips crash against mine.

As he picks up the pace, I feel my body begin to tighten. I’m almost there, but I want him to come with me. I wrap my legs around his waist, urging him deeper. He groans and pumps into me faster, his breathing ragged.

“Come for me,” he breathes. “I’m close, but I need you there first.”

With one hand, I reach down and circle my clit. He kisses my neck, opening his mouth and swirling his tongue on the skin. I come so hard, screaming and going boneless. He slams into me one last time, burying his face into my neck, groaning long and low before collapsing beside me on the bed.

Once his breathing slows, he moves from the bed, leaving me with insecurities. Did I do something wrong? Did he not enjoy himself?

“I’ll be right back,” he utters then stumbles off to what I assume is the bathroom.

My heart races in my chest as my thoughts turn to everything we just did. I’ve never felt so adored, so appreciated, so loved. No one has ever made love to me like he did or talked to me the way he did. My ex-boyfriend hated how I looked and would insist that I cover up because of his discomfort with my body. I remember one night vividly – the night that absolutely broke me. I put on a sexy lingerie set hoping it would help make me feel beautiful. The moment he saw me, his face twisted in disgust.

“Can you put on a shirt or something?”

I try to shake the memory from my head, not wanting to taint the moment I just shared with Frankie. But it’s too late. The tears are already falling from my eyes. I turn onto my side, pulling a blanket over my body as I do. Then I cover my face with my hands, trying to will them away before Frankie returns.

Moments later, I feel the bed shift as Frankie climbs back in behind me, beneath the blanket. The warmth of him presses up behind me, holding me tight against him, his hands warm yet damp. It didn’t cross my mind until then that maybe he was going to get a wet towel to clean up – after-care another thing I’ve never experienced – but he no longer seems concerned about cleaning up.

“Hey. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

I shake my head. “No. I’m fine.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I just…I thought…” I close my eyes tight, wishing I could will the tears away. As much as it hurts, I want to be completely honest with him. “I’ve never been comfortable in my skin, Frankie. I mean, cellulite? I’m gross. Stretch marks? I’m not beautiful. Thigh gap? What the hell’s that?” I huff, a tear rolling down my cheek. “Loving myself has always been hard. Nobody has ever tried to make me feel good. Then, the last time I tried a relationship with a guy… He never wanted to have sex with me with the lights on. He made me wear a shirt so he wouldn’t have to see me. He made me feel disgusting.”

I turn onto my back, allowing myself to look at him. “I know I shouldn’t let it get to me, but I can’t help it.”

Rage flashes in his eyes. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips, but it disappears as quickly as it came. “He wasn’t the first, Francisco, and I don’t know that he’ll be the last.”

“He’ll be the last,” Frankie promises. His lips press against mine, his grip on my waist like a brand. I know he means it. He won't treat me that way because he’s nothing like the men I've dated in the past. Frankie will protect me from them.

“I’m sorry,” I say, my voice choked with emotion as I reach up to wipe away the trail of fallen tears on my face. “I know you didn’t sign up for all this baggage. I know I need some serious therapy. But I don’t know if I’ll ever be comfortable enough to have sex with the lights on. And it's not you that makes me feel this way - it's all me. Knowing my body is on full display… I just can’t focus, be present in the moment.”

I sigh, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders as I speak the truth. The darkness of a room is comforting, a soothing balm against the anxieties that plague me. My skin prickles at the thought of being seen under harsh lights, every imperfection laid bare for scrutiny.

Silence stretches between us before he speaks again, his voice gentle but firm.

“You’re right. I didn’t sign up for baggage. I signed up for you, and if that means helping you sort through your shit, then so be it. We’ll work through it together.”

“And if I can’t work past it?”

Frankie slides his hand up and cups the side of my face. “I don’t care about the lights. If I have to move into a cave just to be able to fuck you whenever I want, I’ll do it. I’ll install dimmer switches in every damn room of the apartment so you can find the level of light you feel comfortable with. And, if you didn’t already know, I really fucking love lingerie.”

“Yeah?” I question, raising an eyebrow while I roll onto my side and lay on an elbow.

“Yes. Fuck, yes. Just thinking about you in some little lace number is making me hard again.” He throws back his head and groans. “God, I’d come on sight.”

I giggle. I’d be lying if I said that doesn’t give me a little confidence boost.

“My point being…,” Frankie continues, looking at me again. “We can work together to find ways to make you comfortable.”

I melt at the thought that he’s already thinking about ways we can make this work, that he’s not pressuring me to do something that would make me uncomfortable for his pleasure. “Thank you for understanding, Frankie.”

He pulls me to him, and I rest my head between his collar and his jaw, my hand splaying out on his naked chest.

“I love you,” Frankie says, echoing the words he spoke early.

“I love you too.”

He kisses the top of my head. “I’ve got a lot of insecurities, too, you know.” His voice is quiet.

“Hm?” I question, rubbing my hand along his chest. “Like what?”

“Like the fact I can’t grow a facial hair for shit,” Frankie responds, sounding a bit grouchy about it. “It’s all patchy - like I’m a dog with mange or something.”

I can’t help the laughter that escapes my mouth, knowing he looks absolutely nothing like a mangey animal. I look up at him and cup his cheek, feeling his stubble prick my fingertips. “Are you serious? I think your patches are adorable. One of my favorite things about you.” I kiss the bare spot on the cheek closest to me.

He smiles. “And in case you didn’t notice, I have worse scars than a few stretch marks.”

“I have more than a few,” I point out. “Also, your scars are sexy. They’re proof of your bravery, your sacrifice, your honor. You should be proud of them.”

Frankie’s chest heaves as he scoffs. “Not all of them.” He falls silent for a moment, his gaze drifting away as if contemplating whether he should say more. And then, as if making up his mind, he gently takes my hand and guides my fingers to his left cheek. Beneath my fingertips, I can feel the roughness of scar tissue along his cheekbone, harder than the smooth skin that surrounds it. The warm touch of his skin sends shivers down my spine and I realize that I have noticed the scar there before but never questioned its appearance. It’s like an old friend who is always there but never talked about.

“I got this in a helicopter crash a few years ago – in Colombia.”

I can tell by the way he says the words, by the look on his face as he says them, that he hates remembering that time in his life.

“What happened?” I question, gently encouraging him to continue. To my surprise, he does, and it was unlike anything I’d ever expected.

Frankie tells me the whole story – how Santiago talked him and the others into conducting a reconnaissance of a Colombia drug kingpin’s compound on the pretext that they were aiding the government, then how they ended up deciding to raid the compound themselves, killing the narcos and leaving with the hundreds of millions of dollars hidden there. How Tom, who I've heard mention of before, became greedy and forced Frankie to take more money than their escape helicopter could carry, resulting in the crash. But he doesn’t end there. He tells me about the hostile cocaine farmers, about Tom’s death, the car chases and gunfights they endured transporting their friend’s body and whatever was left of the money back to his family.

A job that spiraled out of control into a mission from hell that cost lives.

“Jesus, Frankie…,” I utter when he finishes, shocked that he has been carrying the weight of that secret, but even more surprised that he felt comfortable enough to share that with me. “That… That’s a lot. Thank you for sharing that with me.”

Frankie’s eyes are focused on the ceiling. He closes them, inhales deeply. “I’ll understand if you want to walk out the door and never come back. I won’t blame you.”

I lay my hand back on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks at me, resting a large hand on top of mine. “Neither am I.”

I offer him a smile. “What happened in Colombia…it wasn’t your fault. You did what you had to do to survive. I hope you know that.”

Frankie nods, like he wants to believe me. “Anything bad that anyone has ever said about you or your body – it’s bullshit. You’re beautiful. And I don’t care how long it takes; I’ll spend every waking moment trying to make you believe that I need and love every inch of your body.”

My heart swells in my chest as he leans in and seals his promise with a kiss.

Frankie’s head turns, as if he can sense me watching him from across the room. The moment our eyes meet, his lips curl up in a mischievous grin. I smile back at him, unable to wrap my head around the fact that he has been mine for just over a year. A year filled with hurt and pain as we’ve dealt with our demons, far outweighed by all the laughter and love. A year where I finally understand what it means to be in a healthy relationship. A year where I’m finally starting to learn how to love myself – all thanks to the wonderful, patient, handsome man across the room.

I watch as he exchanges a few words with Benny before making his way toward me, patting his good friend on the shoulder with his beer-free hand as he passes him.

“You can’t just eye fuck me from across the room,” Frankie teases when he reaches me. “It’s Christmas, and there are children present.”

“Technically, it’s not Christmas,” you point out, the Miller brothers having gathered all their friends and family for a party the weekend before the holiday. “And unborn children don’t count,” I add, gesturing to Will’s girlfriend. “Which means I can eye fuck you all I want.” I gently jam a finger into his chest. “And don’t you dare act like you haven’t been undressing me with your eyes all damn night.”

“Well, it isn’t a surprise that I want to unwrap you when you look like the most tempting damn gift under the tree.”

I giggle to myself then take a sip of wine. If he only knew that I'm internally begging him to remove my clothing when we get back home. He has no idea about what I have underneath my dress or the things I have in store for him – it’s been a year in the making.

“I didn’t know you have a fetish for nicely wrapped presents. Probably something you should explore in therapy,” I tease.

It’s no secret that we both have entered therapy in the last year, Frankie for his PTSD and me for my body image issues. It was time. Frankie has been nothing but patient and understanding of my insecurities—and our sex life certainly isn’t lacking thanks to creative positions, blindfolds, and Frankie’s obsession with lingerie—but I realized I couldn’t ignore my demons forever. There is more to life than worrying about my appearance. I’m ready to experience it…tonight. I feel just bold and confident to finally give all of myself to him.

He just doesn’t know it.

“I only have a fetish for you,” Frankie playfully replies.

“Ugh! So cheesy!” I groan, playfully rolling my eyes. “You really think you’re going to get me in bed tonight with a line like that?"

Frankie chuckles, but takes it as a challenge. “You know, I told Santa not to even bother with Christmas gifts this year – because you look better than any present I could ever hope to open.”

I laugh. “Cheesier. Want to go for three?”

“Alright.” Frankie takes a step closer to me, bending close to my ear so only I can hear. “I hope you’re ready for a not-so-silent night”-I bite down on my lip, hiding my smile, anticipating whatever ridiculous thing is about to come out of his mouth-“because when we get home, I’m going to fuck you so long and so hard that you’ll be hoarse from screaming my name.”

I gasp, my eyes going wide, wearing a combination of surprise and excitement on my face. My heartbeat is erratic.

Frankie smirks, knowing exactly what his words are doing to me.

I can’t help but laugh. “I’m not going to let you get away with saying something like that in public.”

I feel the tip of his nose graze me, his lips moving closer to my ear.

“I’m counting on it,” he whispers, his words sending a shiver down my spine.

I turn my head to face him, and our eyes lock. I see the mischief and desire in his gaze, and I can't help but feel drawn to him.

“Think anyone will notice if we get out of here?” I question.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Without another word, he takes my hand and leads me out of the crowded house and onto the quiet street, leaving our drinks behind. The cool air hits us as we step outside, the night sky sparkling with stars above us. We walk in silence, the tension between us growing with each passing moment. Finally, he stops and pulls me close, his arms wrapping around my waist. I can feel the heat of his body against mine, and I know I won't be able to resist him for much longer.

He leans in and kisses me, his lips soft and gentle at first, then growing more urgent and demanding. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and the passion between us ignites.

We stumble back against his truck, our bodies pressed tightly together. Frankie’s hands roam over my body, teasing and tantalizing me, and I can’t help but moan in pleasure, my skin tingling from his touch. The stubble along his jaw rubs my chin raw, but I hardly notice – I’m addicted to kissing him, and I want nothing more than to kiss and kiss and kiss for the rest of our lives. He tastes so good, and just the touch of his tongue against mine is enough to make my entire body tingle with lust. His erection presses into me, hot and throbbing even through the rough denim of his jeans, and I grind against him.

“Baby, if you don’t stop, I’m going to come.”

I dip my head back and moan, thinking how hot it would be if he came in his jeans right here, right now.

“Don’t tempt me,” I say as I grab his shirt and pull him in for another kiss, making sure I brush against his cock one last time before we break apart. “Alright. Fine. Let’s go.”

Frankie groans, then opens up the door of his truck and helps me inside. I scoot across the bench seat, wanting to be as close to him as possible. The entire drive home, our bodies are pressed up against each other, his hand on my thigh, rubbing my skin. I want him so bad, and it’s all I can do to not rip his fucking clothes off and fuck him right here in the truck.

Frankie pulls into the driveway of our home, one I moved into just weeks after he bought this past summer, then cuts the ignition and switches off the headlights. He hops out then grabs my hand, leading me into the house, straight to the bedroom. As soon as we reach the room, he kisses me like he needs me more than air. I could spend eternity kissing this man, and it would never be enough. But I want to feel him, his skin on mine, his lips on my body. I break the kiss, breathing hard, my lips tingling.

Frankie watches me, his eyes fixed on my every movement. He swallows, his throat moving with the action. I kiss his stubbled cheek and move to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them one by one. I push his shirt off, then help him remove the t-shirt beneath it, staring at his muscular arms and bronze skin. I trail my fingers down his stomach, following the trail of hair that disappears beneath his jeans, helping him unbuckle his belt and push his pants down.

“Your turn,” he says.

Smirking, I turn my back to him. “Turn on the lights, then help me with my dress.” I brush my hair to the side, allowing him easier access to my zipper, then look over my shoulder. His eyes are wide, his lips slightly parted. He stands there for a moment, as if trying to process what I just said.

I nod, letting him know it’s okay. “I trust you.”

My words force him to spring into action, flipping on the light and dimming it just enough to not be too bright and overstimulating. Then he steps behind me. His warm breath caresses my skin, his fingers nimbly lowering the zipper of my dress painfully slowly. He skims his fingers down my spine, making me come alive with sensation. My eyes flutter shut as he presses of series of tender kisses to my exposed skin.

Finally, my dress slides off me, leaving me in the satin and lace bustier set I had purchased especially for tonight, complete with garters holding up my stockings. I knew this set would drive him wild.

“Let me look at you,” Frankie says, helping me step out of the fabric pooled at my feet, then turning me towards him. He steps back, and I am suddenly feeling self-conscious as he devours me with his eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” he utters. He grips my hips, bringing me close to him, then falls to his knees. “Fuck, baby. Do you know what you do to me?” He plants a kiss to my covered stomach.

I smirk, reaching down to tip his chin up toward me. “How bad do you want me?”

He looks up at me, desire and need in his luminous eyes. “Bad. So fucking bad. I need you.”

I bite my lip, not quite ready to give myself to him yet. “You know, you never told me what you want for Christmas.”

“You,” he growls, planting a kiss on my thigh. “I only want you.”

“You can’t unwrap me,” I point out.

“I could. Will you let me?”

“It’s not Christmas,” I remind him, trying my best to sound stern.

“Baby, please, let me unwrap you.” He breathes heavily against my thigh while planting wet kisses, his hands gripping my hips. It’s clear he wants me desperately. How can I say no?

“Merry Christmas, Frankie,” I say, giving him all the permission he needs.

“Fuck yes.” He slowly runs his hands up my thighs, causing me to sway. Unhooking one of my stockings, he slides it down and kisses my thigh inch by inch, lifting my foot to slide my stiletto then stocking. He continues with the same action on the other leg, then places his hands on my hips. His fingers hook around the elastic of my panties and pulls them down, his eyes locked on mine as he does so.

When my panties join the floor, he is back at my center, his breath hot on my skin. I don’t dare move. Don’t dare say a word. I simply wait for his next move while reminding myself how to breath.

“So beautiful,” he mumbles.

“Wait. One more thing,” I manage to say, reaching back to unclasp my bra. I allow the final piece of my undergarments to fall to the floor, and, for the first time, I am completely on display for him to see.

Frankie looks up at me, his eyes dark. He is trembling with desire. “You’re perfect…but you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

I blush, feeling self-conscious, but I’m not going to let my thoughts consume me. My body is worthy of love and respect as it is. Frankie is right: I am perfect.

“I want to. Now, fuck me with your mouth, Francisco.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

My muddled brain screams as he gently runs the tip of his nose up my center. His grip strengthens on my hips, kneading my flesh beneath his fingers. Then his mouth meets my lower lips. A gentle, wet kiss. Then another and another. His tongue darts out and flatters against my seam as he slowly licks up my center. He hands cup my ass and tug me closer, bringing me to the center of his mouth, his tongue licking up my lips again, tasting me with unmatched hunger, flicking at the small bundle of nerves.

My breath escapes in small gasps. I can no longer think. My brain has shut down, only allowing me to feel, and he feels incredible.

“You taste so fucking good,” Frankie groans.

“Don’t stop,” I gasp out, gripping his head with both hands and rocking my hips toward his face. “It feels too fucking good.”

I buck against him, pushing his face harder and harder against me. His breath is hot as he moans into me, sending vibrations through my sensitive flesh. His stubble scrapes against my skin as he presses harder and harder into me. The tip of his nose nudges me, just beyond the hooded flesh. It’s too much and not enough. My orgasm refuses to crest over the edge, an elusive peak that lies just before I can feel happiness wash over me in a torrential wave of pleasure.

“Frankie,” I pant. “I need your cock.”

“No,” he growls, his eyes intense when he gazes up at me. He slips a finger inside me and watches as it slides in and out of me, thrusting through the hot wetness with practiced ease until I’m soaking wet with need for him.

“Please,” I beg, my frustration growing as the tension builds inside me, refusing to snap.

“I want you to come,” Frankie says, looking up at me. “You deserve it.”

“I-I can’t,” I admit, ready to throw in the white flag. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” he assures me. “You’re doing so well. You’re so close, but you’re holding back. I know this is scary for you, but you can do it. Just focus on what you feel. Okay?”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Let go, baby, and I promise I’ll give you what you want.”

I nod, and Frankie dives back in, assaulting my clit while fucking me with his fingers. He swirls his tongue around my clit before sucking it into his mouth and lightly biting down on the tiny nub. I cry out as waves of pleasure start to sweep over me. The heat between my legs is spreading, pooling outward until there's a tingling in my chest that makes me huff for breath before I moan.

“Frankie… I’m gonna… I…”

“Come on, baby… There it is…”

“Yes!”

My entire body tightens, stills, melts all at once. My fingers dig into his shoulder blades, scrabbling for purchase in case I fall over with the pleasure of it all.

I am completely unaware of my surroundings until I feel my back hit the bed, Frankie crawling up my body and spreading my legs with his knees. He kisses up my throat, stopping at my chin.

“How do you want it?”

“Ride you,” I breath. “I want to ride you.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Frankie, please. Let me ride your cock.”

He nips my chin one last time. “You’re so pretty when you beg.”

Frankie rolls off me then pulls himself up the bed to rest his back against the headboard. He holds out his hand and I take it, helping me climb on top of him so that I'm straddling his thighs. I push up on my knees and grip his cock, positioning it near my opening.

“Look down while you take it,” Frankie commands. “Watch as your beautiful pussy swallows my cock.”

I rest my hands on his shoulders for balance, then look down, my eyes locked on where our bodies join while slowly sinking down. Our skin is wet with sweat, and I can smell the sweet scene of my pussy and a hint of Frankie mixed in with the salt and musk. He fills me like our bodies are meant for one another. For a moment, I imagine that this is all either one of us will ever need; there is no doubt that we were made for each other, and we have more love for each other than most couples ever know.

Frankie’s groan echoes off the walls. “Fuck…” His head falls back against the headboard. He rests his hands on my hips and holds me there. “You’re killing me. You feel so good.”

“You sure you can handle me, Frankie?” I ask with a smirk, running a hand over his chest.

“Your pussy is like fucking magic.” He squeezes my hip with one hand then cups my breast with the other, like he wants to touch me everywhere all at once. “Let me see you ride me, baby. I want to watch you ride my cock.”

I stop torturing us both and work my hips in slow circles, adjusting to the feel and fullness of him. I look into his heavily lidded eyes, watching as he winces in ecstasy with every slow and sensual roll of my hips. He keeps his gaze on my face, never moving his attention as I ride his cock.

My gaze drops, landing on my body as it ripples and jiggles with the movement of my hips. The pleasure rises within me, but I am embarrassed at the sight of my own flesh moving to that rhythm. God, is this how he sees me? I want to hide. Would it be ridiculous to reach for the sheets and cover myself?

“Eyes on me, bebita.”

Immediately, my eyes meet his. His gaze burns into me as if nothing else matters, and I don't care about anything except him and how much he loves me, how good he makes me feel.

“You ride my cock so well and look amazing doing it. Think you can come on my cock?”

Heat pools inside me. I move faster, shamelessly grinding myself against him.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Take what you need from me.”

My nails score his skin as I ride him fast, like we’re in a race to the finish line. Breath rasping, teeth clenched, a wild determination fuels my movements.

“Take it, baby,” Frankie encourages, giving me all the power, making this all about my pleasure, my enjoyment. “Use me to get where you need to go.”

He presses a palm flat against my lower stomach. The extra pressure sends a sharp ribbon of euphoria spiraling through me. My movements grow erratic, and I babble absolute nonsense. All the tension inside me explodes, rippling and spreading to every nerve ending.

“Yes, baby. That’s my girl.” He drives himself up into me, brutal thrusts that draw out my own pleasure. He curses and thrusts again, once, twice, then his body stills. He groans, releasing inside me.

Frankie brushes my hair back, pulls my head to his, and captures my lips with his as my jumbled brain regains consciousness. After having his fill, he releases my lips and smiles at me.

“Hi.”

I return his smile. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?”

I nod, my smile widening. “Yeah. I-I did it.”

“You did it,” he echoes. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”

I move off him and lay beside him, tucked safely in his arms, not knowing what to say next. He pulls a sheet on top of us and we lay in silence for some time, enjoying the feel of the gentle rhythm of his breathing.

“I love you,” I finally say, breaking the silence.

“I love you too.”

I nestle in closer to him, loving the way his voice rumbles though his chest to mine when we’re this close.

“What are you thinking?” I question, sensing that his mind is running a million miles a minute.

“About how I wasn’t lying when I said I only want you for Christmas. Nothing you can buy me will be better than the last year with you, and I want more. So much more.”

I hum, completely blissed out. “Me too.”

“Marry me then.”

I laugh, then move my head to look up at him. “I swear to God, Francisco, if this is another Christmas pun-”

“It’s not.” His face reflects his seriousness. “I’m asking you to marry me.”

I push myself up in bed, my mind reeling, wondering if I came so hard that I passed out and I’m dreaming.

“I was going to wait until Christmas morning,” he continues. “Had this whole thing planned out. But I can’t wait anymore.”

My mouth falls open, and I try to wrap my head around his words. “You’re serious?”

“I’m serious.” Frankie reaches out, laying a hand on top of mine. “If I could have picked the woman I wanted to spend my life with, I never would have been able dream up you. You’re kind, beautiful, gorgeous, funny, you have a heart of gold, and most importantly, you love me for who I am despite my imperfections.”

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, seeming to watch the flickering emotions that must be passing across my face.

Emotion tears through his throat, causing his voice to become husky. “I love you, and I want to spend every second of the rest of my life reminding you just how beautiful and amazing you are. I want you to be the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night – always. Will you marry me?”

Tears course down my face as I shift to my knees and throw my arms around his neck. My lips meet his, giving him his answer. I’m insecure and hesitant about a lot of things in life, but there is not a single doubt in my mind about this.

I pull back, my hands cupping his neck. “Is this real? Like, really real?”

A small laugh escapes his lips before nodding. “It’s real. I have a ring. It’s hidden in the branches of the tree in the living room.”

My heart pounds with happiness. “I don’t need the ring. I only need you.”

A chuckle rumbles through him, and he kisses me with a greedy kind of joy that makes my toes curl. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes."

#frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #francisco morales #pedro pascal #triple frontier #pedro pascal characters #triple frontier fanfiction #pedrostories #catiewrites #triple frontier fanfic #frankie catfish morales #pedro pascal smut

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bhaal-battle-beer-bard · 4 months ago

Text

Astarion x Tav

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

request: for @aristenfromwarsaw

Fangtastic days of our lives

➹summary: a comforting day/evening in the life of Astarion and his love Aristen after post-game settling down, takes an unexpected turn as Astarion while enjoying his new found life and love, sees something of interest…

➹pairing: Spawn Astarion x F!Tav (Aristen by @aristenfromwarsaw)

➹content/tags: fluff, comfort, romance, smuty flirting, fun, slice of life, little tiny bit of angst and guilt

➹word count: 5,036 ➹ao3

➹cameos: @evander-jane Devana Lysander @alpydk Ragnar @goromimii @pinkberrytea (by order)

➹a/n: another belated birthday present for @aristenfromwarsaw Thank you very much for all the great photoshoots you always did for me, just like that. Such things really fill my heart with joy. I hope you like it. Thank you for trusting me with your Tav Aristen. I take writing other OCs really serious, because an OC is very personal thing and it is way harder to get them in character. I used the infos/backstory you gave me once about Aristen for the best I could.

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

Fangtastic days of our lives

Teak, mahogany, oakwood, dried tobacco with the hidden essence of vanilla. From somewhere the sweetness of honey and roasted nutmeg.

These were impressions of antique wood, boiling kettles, clanging beer mugs and laughing voices that filled the Elfsong tavern.

It was like a honey-colored, subterranean, starless sea.

A sea of people, scents, voices and music.

A sea of life that would envelop the coming evening when the sun would have completely disappeared, making way for the aurora again after the starry night.

Astarion was acutely aware of his surroundings. Perception meant survival.

But not today…not anymore.

He could simply explore and enjoy his surroundings while he waited for his beloved:

Aristen the storm sorceress and former daughter of Bhaal. She was able to walk in the sun and as a vampire spawn he had to wait until the sun had made the rays that were fatal to him disappear.

That didn't matter to Astarion. He was used to the night.

But he never wanted to go back to that cold, lonely life.

The Sorceress, along with the other companions, had freed him from slavery once and for all. But it was she alone who had given him back the vision of his eyes, of his entire senses. Astarion could sit in the tavern and just be, taking in the surroundings of life.

No more looking for victims. No more fear. Never again.

The Elfsong Tavern was full of life and he was part of it.

So after hundreds of years, Astarion could finally taste life again. See it. Hearing it with his pointy ears and feeling and smelling it warmly with the scent of pumpkin, butterscotch and spicy beer.

A quite pretty bard with white freckly tattoos on her face and braided crimson hair beneath her Tiefling horns played the lyre on the Elfsong stage. Astarion noticed dagger-shaped earrings on her pointed ears. The Avernus fire of her origins blazed in her blue eyes as she sang:

“Empty kisses, shallow words,

Fiery passion only hurts

When the sorrow takes an oblivion hint

Will you cure and begone with the wind…”

Astarion continued to look around while the sadly whispering voice reached his elf ears.

“I hope someone sings a song like that for me too. Such expressions of love really manage to make me weak,” sighed a tall black-haired woman, whose face bore at least as many tales of adventure as freckles.

"Me too. But I really hope that the ballad has a happy ending,” replied a long-haired beauty at her table. The human woman's wavy, light hair framed a gentle face with captivating blue eyes.

“Oh you heard that? Oh no! ", the adventuress, ashamed, put her hands on her head with her side-braided hair and covered cringing with embarrassment one of the green eyes. "I should stop talking loudly to myself."

The other woman laughed a little and her wavy hair swayed on the shoulders of the long, light dress with floral embroidery: “It’s all good. I won’t tell anyone else.”

She winked briefly.

“But tell me…” she took her hands away from her face with the little different eyes, “…you’re not from Baldur’s Gate either, right? You also speak with a different accent than me.”

"Correct. I come from the East..."

“What did she say? Sêlune guide me?”

Astarion was distracted by an almost desperate voice that sounded at least as concentrated and angry as it was beer-soaked.

He saw a barbarian sitting at the next table, holding his beer mug almost too tightly.

The raised dark blonde hair did not distract from the piercings and black war paint, which Lae'zel would certainly have approved of.

“Okay, can I memorize this Sêlune prayer or not?” he muttered to himself and downed the beer in one gulp.

Astarion had seen him before and that evening he had stared at Shadowheart the whole time. Was the barbarian building up – or drinking up - the courage to speak to Shadowheart next time?

The vampire was distracted from the barbarian when a pale woman walked past his table accompanied by a brown-haired man. He noticed them because they both had scars on their faces. But no, that wasn't it at all. Something else drew his attention to them...they smelled somehow, almost reeked of...swamp? No magic.

That same hidden scent of feymagic that came from the black haired adventuress with the freckles.

The woman's pale face was friendly, almost cheerful. She enjoyed the music and the sad ballad. Did she know the feelings and sad love that the Tiefling woman sang about?

Astarion was all the more struck by the face of the dark-clothed man with the scarred hands who accompanied her: he was rigid and joyless and his eyes had an almost malicious shimmer. He didn't seem to suit her. He walked rigidly like an aristocrat or a trained soldier, or was he rigid because of the blade - that was clearly visible to the Rogue - that he wore under his clothes?

The man's gaze fell on the bard's dagger earrings. But not only the brown-haired human looked at the earrings, but also a white-skinned, tall elf who walked behind him. Astarion didn't know what was more noticeable: his large deadly sword, the long white hair, the black tattoos on his face, or...or the earrings in the shape of a dagger that hung from his ears.

He nodded almost imperceptibly to the bard and she returned his nod briefly.

Frowning, Astarion averted his gaze and looked around the taproom.

Many of the guests listened attentively to the ballad. Couples in love held each other tightly and some wiped a tear from their face.

“…in the dark of the night I see your tears

Rubies glisten full of pain

Rage and misery

Don’t get lost in brandy, bergamot and rosemary”

The ballad finished gently and the bard stood up.

"Thanks! And now for the bard duet!”

With a wave of her hand, she invited her partner onto the stage.

Wild white hair adorned the scarred drow face. It looked like survival for Astarion.

She could be young and old at the same time, that's how it was always with the elves. Young pretty faces and centuries behind them. Sorrow, suffering, joy. Everything was possible.

The narrow waist with the subsequent curved hips and thighs with short pants was adorned with a weapon belt with a sword and a flute.

The skilled hand whirled out a shiny silver flute and the duo began to play:

„Two bards do the trick, because bards do it better

Drow or Tiefling, it doesn’t matter

Shiny white hair, or wagging tail

Their persuasion will never fail“

They quickly changed the melancholic mood and the silver flute had a captivating sound, as if it were a homage to a goddess.

“One plays the flute, the other smashes lutes

Buy us a drink and we’ll tell you who is who“

A Tiefling whose rosé colored hair matched her white pink frilly clothing cheered enthusiastically to the tavern song.

Astarion heard her applaud with a giggling laugh. Cute little laughs with a sweet smile upon her light face.

It was that kind of sweet laugh that told the vampire how innocent, unspoiled, kind and naive the person was.

Yes, the delicate Tiefling woman was a sweet, innocent thing, Astarion could tell that with just a sideways glance of his red eyes. The sweet and naive kind of girl that immediately fell for him. Who he easily ensnared and seduced for Cazador. Or was she one of the people he would have avoided because they were so naive...innocent, undeserving of it? He would probably have avoided her if possible because such a sweet, lovely person didn't deserve to fall victim to the vampires.

Astarion closed his eyes briefly and grimaced at the emerging memories that he immediately wanted to repress.

Thanks to his beloved Aristen, he no longer had to do this.

He was free.

Cazador dead.

All of Baldur's Gate saved, saved from the Empire of the Netherbrain and the Mind Flayers.

Yes, thanks to the blonde adventuress whose fate was forever intertwined with his and all her other companions, he had escaped his fate as a slave. Their courage and their determination, with the help of the other fighters, allowed him to defeat Cazador.

But not only that, the storm sorceress had also given him love and patience. And the confidence to be better than Cazador. He didn't need blood-soaked, soul-eating power to be safe, to be worth anything.

Astarion would never have to hurt innocent people against his will again.

All thanks to her.

And yet Aristen did not consider herself to be good, nor to be lovable.

She loathed herself for her actions as a born Bhaalspawn, which she only dimly remembered. No one could hate her more than she hates herself.

And perhaps it was even worse for her, imagining every day what atrocities she had committed in the name of the God of Murder instead of knowing for sure.

She didn't see herself as a lovable hero, a savior. Astarion wished so much that she could see herself through his eyes just once. Then she would finally forgive herself.

The problem was that the sarcastic vampire had never said that to her and perhaps never would. There would always be something gnawing inside him, at his battered heart, that would prevent him from casually revealing his innermost, deepest feelings. What if he did lose her to someone else one day? If it would not be an arrow or observer to steal her from him? How could he then pretend that his vain heart had not been destroyed for all eternity?

Darkness crossed Astarion's face at all the thoughts and he shook his head with his white curls to drive them away.

Once again he let his gaze wander over the audience, while his pointy elven ears only casually listened to the singing of the bards. It was only thanks to his beloved Aristen that he was able to recognize the diversity of the guests gathered. To be recognized again.

It had once been a faceless mass. At some point, after all the years of slavery under Cazador, the people in the taverns had become nothing more than a uniform mush to him. Victims, cattle like sheep, to his master. Criminals who hurt him and whom he hurt in return and they became victims of the vampire lord.

Dark, blank faces.

Without eyes, without soul. Just like Astarion himself had felt.

But after Aristen came into his life - with the craziest tentacle adventure of his life - everything had gradually changed.

First he recognized her blue eyes, then her face. The smile of her lips plagued by guilt and bloody ghosts of the past. The same smile as his own.

Then he saw all the faces, the people, their stories and lives again.

He saw the colors. The differences and the similarities. He heard the voices, the laughter, the music. He noticed the scents and smells again. Astarion saw joy and life again.

A scent that stood out from the rest of the tavern's smells suddenly tickled Astarion's nose.

Orchid drifted discreetly from the front door.

A slightly tickling shiver ran over the tips of his elf ears, while Astarion was already peering towards the door with large, round eyes.

Like the true epiphany she was, a blonde woman made her way through the elven song. Her appearance truly stood out from the rest of the tavern's audience:

Her delicately pinned hair and a ladylike, sweeping blue dress made her truly look like a lady of name and rank.

Astarion smiled as he looked at Aristen's appearance.

She always made an effort to look chic and beautiful, no matter what the circumstances. Like a true lady who belonged in a ballroom and not a tavern.

A ballroom, not a bhaalroom.

But Aristen loved all facets of life and also sat in the meadow under a tree in the forest with her fancy dress on.

If Astarion had his way, then very soon she would be pressed into the grass beneath him with the dress rumpled.

He chuckled dirtyly to himself as he couldn't help but think of that thought. And before he even thought about the first visit to his grave together, he shook his head and pushed it all away from his white curls.

"Darling..." Astarion stood up after Aristen made her way to him, having spotted him with a smile beaming with joy, "...you give me all sorts of ideas as always."

“What do you mean?” the high elf asked in surprise and blinked in confusion because she couldn’t follow him.

“Nevermind little love,” Astarion grinned mischievously and briefly kissed her delicate hand in greeting. He gently stroked Aristen's hand again as he slowly lowered it.

“The sun has already set enough for you to go out, Astarion,” his lover informed him. She would pick him up when it was safe for him outside.

"I've already run errands from a few merchants," Aristen spoke as the two left the tavern.

"Nice. Then we can now buy the rest together. Have you got everything so far?” asked Astarion.

The blonde nodded as they stepped outside.

Astarion sucked the air outside the elfsong into his lungs. Had breathing changed since he became a vampire? After all, he was undead.

Astarion didn't know. He couldn't remember, it had been too long.

In addition, the past no longer counted - smiling, he glanced furtively at Aristen who was carrying the basket with the purchases - only the present and the future counted.

“Yes, I did the grocery shopping that wasn’t of interest to you,” the blonde laughed and winked knowingly. “There was wonderful blossom honey, I couldn't resist,” enthused the sorceress, rolling her eyes heavenly at the thought of it and licking her lips in anticipation of the taste of the honey.

“Then I can taste it from your lips and tongue,” Astarion whispered seductively.

"What?"

“Oh, nothing…” the pale elf just grinned again.

His pointed ears were suddenly tickled by the brush of her lips as she leaned in very close to him.

“I heard you very well, my dear,” she whispered to him, her blue eyes sparkling meaningfully at him after she leaned back and gave him a knowing smile.

The vampire laughed. It was a serious laugh. It went from its sonorous, seductive, dirty murmur to a deep rumble before dying out in a high-pitched spike.

“I saw such a beautiful pair of earrings in the window at the Glitter Gala,” sighed Aristen languidly after she continued the story.

“So why didn’t you buy it, darling?”

Aristen shook her head: “Because it’s not necessary. I prefer to save our money for important things. After all, magical artifacts are expensive and the most important thing is that we find something that makes you immune to the sun.”

Yes, that was the ambition and current mission of Aristen and Astarion: to find a way for the vampire spawn to walk in the sun again.

Their friends also kept their ears and eyes open.

Gale read every book that might contain useful information.

Shadowheart, as well as Lae'zel on her travels through the astral planes, always sent them messages when they heard about mysterious artifacts.

And Halsin and Jaheira also reached out to all their acquaintances from near and far.

"If you hadn't used so much of our gold to rebuild the city and help its people, then you could afford any jewelry you wanted," Astarion nudged her with his shoulder and winked knowingly. The slightly accusatory tone was just an act.

“You know I wanted to try to somehow make amends for my actions when I was under Bhaal's control. This will never work, I know that. I can't bring back the people I killed. But I can at least try to help those left behind. It's too little. It’s no consolation…but at least it’s something.”

There was sadness in the blonde's voice. The look in her blue eyes was sincere before they slid slightly to the ground.

Astarion didn't like that, so he decided to cover up the whole thing: "I don't know what you're doing with this penance and compensation anyway."

He casually folded his arms behind his head and sounded as indifferent as he could.

“But…” he grinned playfully at the blonde Sorceress, “we could visit The Counting House again with Minsc. Then we have enough money to play benefactors and buy jewelry and beautiful clothes.”

Aristen raised an eyebrow with an amused grin: "You want to volunteer to do something with Minsc, really?"

“Now that you mention it…argh…better not. You may find him amusing, but he's always bursting in to chatter about his hamster at the most inopportune times. The guard almost caught me picking the lock of the Tabernacle when he suddenly stood loudly behind me, screaming my name and his hug almost broke every bone in my body.”

“What did you want at the Stormshore Tabernacle outside of opening hours?” Aristen asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, nothing!” Astarion quickly dismissed the topic. Too fast.

“What’s next on the list for today?”

“We really have to go to the Devil's Fee. It has finally opened since the devastating battle against the Netherbrain and the reprocessing. If there are special artifacts or information about them anywhere, it’s there!”

Astarion nodded eagerly and the two elves walked quickly through the streets of Baldur's Gate.

"Oh no! No no no!” Helsik shouted from afar as her eyes saw Aristen.

The Sorceress blinked in confusion at the violent reaction and she looked around to see if anyone else was behind her, as the shopkeeper thought she might be.

“Not you!”

"I? But…"

“Nothing but!” Helsik cut her off. “After last time, I already told you that it was too hot to be seen with you and that the store was off limits for now. After the fuss you caused with your little friend and the black-haired fuzzy head.”

Astarion grinned briefly. He knew exactly who the saleswoman was talking about. After all, they had learned of Bhaal's daughter's past and how she had been involved in the Grand Design.

“I have new business partners, so I don’t need loud attention, after all, hell operates quietly.”

“We don’t want to cause any problems, I swear!”

The vampire let his eyes wander over the lavish and devilishly mysterious display while Aristen soothed Helsik.

“We just want to buy an artifact or information. Nothing improper, nothing complicated, nothing dangerous. Just good old Mammon.”

“Child, you will never have as much gold as I want from you so that I can burn my fingers again because of you.”

"Are you sure? I'll pay any price...whether it's gold or otherwise. We're just looking for a way to break the vampire curse of being vulnerable to the sun. Please."

Helsik laughed briefly, compassionately, not maliciously: “Deary, at the Devil’s Fee we don’t break curses, it’s more about the other way. That should be clear to you from the name.”

“My Love…” Astarion slowly tore his eyes away from the display cases and stood next to Aristen again, “…let me talk to her. I think I can convince them better with less…emotional involvement based on old stories.”

“Are you sure?” Aristen asked, unconvinced.

“Of course, baby…” he was already pushed the Sorceress toward the exit, “…you go do the other errands in the meantime and leave this to me.”

Aristen left the devilish business and made her way to the large square of the lower city wall. She visited the arms dealers and her thoughts continued to dwell on the fact that if even devils couldn't find a way to free Astarion from his curse, who would?

She would never give up hope. Anyway, Helsik was probably right: if it was about help, then hell wouldn't be a good negotiating partner.

Maybe they should trust in nature, magic and clerics. The gods may not have heard Astarion then, but perhaps they could now request divine intervention?

The vampire could walk in the light of the Moon Maiden, perhaps Dame Aylin and Shadowheart could ask even more of Sêlune. Maybe she could expand her moonlight.

Perhaps…

“STOP IMMEDIATELY!”

Aristen was snapped out of her thoughts and the blacksmith who was stationed across from Sorcerous Sundries just handed her back Astarion's freshly sharpened dagger.

“COME BACK IMMEDIATELY!”

From the direction of the Devil's fee came rumbling, loud voices and, above all, lightning and sparks.

“Stop the criminal scum!” shouted a city guard. “Subject, let him stand still!”

“Where for?”

“That way!”

“Or rather there?”

“I thought I saw something in that direction…”

“Then I here, you there,” the steel armored guards rumbled.

The clatter of steel armor slowly faded from the blonde Sorceress's ears, but a perfume that differed from her own scent of orchid and rose reached her nose.

Aristen smelled cherries, musk, palmarosa, black pepper and…

“Does this belong to you, little mouse?”

…sulfur.

Raphael's slightly tanned complexion stood before her. His brown hair was done to perfection with meticulous work, as were his clothes. Large, sparkling brown eyes regarded her, both sublime and mischievous.

The devil in human disguise had the white-haired vampire in tow, holding him by the collar like a naughty schoolboy.

"Raphael..."

“So you still know my name. Ah…very good. Tell the wizard of yours that too. Hopefully he’s still looking for my crown?”

Aristen nodded: “We defeat the brain. The crown will then be at your disposal. That’s how it was settled.”

“Excuse me…” the vampire groused

The devil released Astarion, who grumbled and moved his shoulders.

“Stealing from a shop that has connections straight to hell, very very naughty.”

As was his style, Raphael moved his hands theatrically while his voice whispered mellifluously. The reprimand was more than just played as amusing.

“Anyway, you were there in vain. There is nothing to buy there that could solve the vampire's little “problem”. Otherwise they would all be walking around here freely in the sunlight. Or not?”

The devil made a sweeping gesture and looked around ostentatiously before laughing.

“I'll talk to Helsik and smooth things over, after all you don't sleep well in unmade beds like in clover. But tell your wizard that it is my crown. When he finds it, he has agreed to hand it over to me immediately. Not to Mystra and he certainly shouldn’t get the foolish idea of using it himself.”

“He is not my wizard,” Aristen clarified briefly, “Gale belongs to no one but himself. Mystra also has nothing to command him.”

“Does he see it that way too? Or does he like to be walked on a leash? He always just does what others tell him. After all, his own decisions are the stupidest I've ever seen...and I've literally seen it all."

“You mean as stupid as wanting to rule the crown of Karsus?”

“Haha…careful, little mouse,” laughed Raphael. “Just make sure I get the crown as quickly as possible.”

“When Gale finds it, you get the crown. That was the deal. We stick to that. But you'll have to be patient. It wasn't intended that the crown and the stones would be lost again, but it was hard to prevent it when the Netherbrain fell into the sea during the fight."

“I'm surprised you're so relaxed about this. You can't put me on a leash as easily as you can put the vampire spawn on a leash. Or was it rather the other way around and you Astarion put the former Bhaalspawn on a docile short leash?”

Mischief sparkled in the brown eyes of the human-shaped Cambion. There was a subtle, biting, malicious provocation in his words, which he spoke with a sonorous purr, as always.

Astarion's face contorted a little and the vampire barely suppressed a roll of his ruby-colored eyes. For a moment he seemed like a disgruntled cat.

"I think I liked you better when you just rhymed all the time," Astarion replied sassy.

Raphael laughed briefly, unimpressed: “Whatever. Less dawdling and making long fingers, but more diving for the crown,” reprimanded the devil with a raised eyebrow.

The devil wrinkled his nose slightly at the vampire spawn before turning back to Aristen and giving her his full attention.

“By the way, greetings from your fiery friend Karlach and her rapier-wielding colleague Wyll Ravengard.”

“Why are you ordering greetings from Karlach and Wyll? Have you met them?”

“Well, those two made themselves quite a name all around Avernus,” Raphael smiled in his smug way, “furthermore, I greatly welcome their actions against Zariel’s forces.”

He made one of his swinging hand movements with his manicured fingers: “I would like to invite you all to my House of Hope to linger, relax and chat. So you can catch up. You know, the Crown of Karsus is the key that grants you access. And until that happens…fare thee well, little mouse. I hope I will see you soon, knocking on the door of my house.”

As was his style, Raphael bowed expansively and his scent of leather, cedar, lily, rose, oud, vanilla and sandalwood disappeared into a swirl of sparks and sulphur.

“He hasn’t forgotten his flair for great performances. I don't know whether I should admire it or whether he's starting to get on my nerves with it," Astarion sighed briefly before straightening his shoulders and straightening his doublet with a quick tug.

"Anyways..." the vampire turned to another topic, "...I think it would be a good idea if we get out of the immediate area while the city guards are wandering around here."

The elf touched Aristen's elbow to encourage her to leave.

“What did you want to take from the store anyway, in the first place?” Aristen wanted to know from Astarion, curious and skeptical.

“Well…” he started to press and scratched the back of his white curls, “…I saw something…”

"And what was so terribly interesting that you would risk to be arrested by the Flaming Fist?"

“Well...it reminded me of you...and...I thought you should have it. But Helsik is really a cutthroat bitch with exorbitant prices.”

Aristen smiled good-naturedly: “Oh Astarion…”

“However…here…”

The vampire held out a white silk scarf to the storm sorceress.

Aristen's eyes widened. You could see from the shimmer and the way the fabric fell that it wasn't just silk that was woven there. It was definitely the weave itself and more that was at work there. Depending on how it fell and how you moved it, a golden blue shimmered.

“The scarf reminded me of the one you told me about. You know, the scarf with your name on it that you were found wearing as a baby in the Bhaal Temple. It’s one of the few memories you have left.”

The vampire took out a borealis blue thread from his pocket and began to embroider “Aristen” into the scarf.

“I wanted you to have something that you could never lose, that could never be destroyed, that had your name on it. Because if something ever happened again that made you forget...that made you forget yourself, at least you would always have your name with you. Then you know that you are Aristen. Not the daughter of the murder god. Not the chosen one of Bhaal. No Bhaalspawn. Just you. You are Aristen.”

The vampire began to embroider an “&” sign into the scarf.

“And well…” Astarion began to shuffle uncomfortably again and focused entirely on his work so that he didn’t have to look his lover in the eyes, “…if you ever forget something again, then you’ll know that we belong together. I don't want you to ever forget me. And so you also always carry my name with you.”

The vampire finished his work and the white scarf now embroidered with new memories read: "Aristen & Astarion"

“There is nothing in the world that would ever make me forget you, Astarion,” the high elf spoke softly.

She closed the distance between the two of them and kissed Astarion. The elf slowly closed his eyes as their lips met. His cool, hers warm. He felt her breathing life into him as they kissed.

"Thank you so much," the blonde said after they pulled away from each other, "you can't imagine how much this means to me. I love you, Astarion."

Aristen held the silky, white and blue scarf in her hands, stroked the pale elf's blue embroidery and smiled. "I think this used to be the color of your eyes too."

She smiled softly, as soft as the silky fabric of the scarf felt on her soft hands. Hands too soft for the crimes they had probably committed earlier in the name of Bhaal. In a previous life.

Aristen raised her eyes, which were also blue, and caught Astarion by surprise. Speechless.

That rarely happened.

Very rarely did the vampire find himself without words.

“Ah, I…” he took a breath to say something, but he lacked a suitable response, so he could only hold his breath, taken aback.

The gentle look in his lover's eyes and her words had triggered something in Astarion that he still couldn't handle: affection, sincere love.

Towards him and in his own heart.

The white-haired vampire exhaled and smiled just as gently at his beloved Aristen.

He reached out his cool hand to her and placed it against her rosy cheek. The blonde nestled herself a little in the vampire's hand and her gaze lingered lovingly in Astarion's now ruby-colored eyes.

“You never stop surprising me,” his whispering voice sounded sincere and just as genuine was the smile he continued to give her.

It was a smile that acknowledged how happy he was, partly surprised, partly just realizing that he wasn't really surprised anymore. And perhaps that was what surprised Astarion the most.

It was a day like any other.

A day like any other.

One day in the rest of their life.

Their life together.

And it was beautiful.

And he would never want it any other way.

📜🪶📜🪶💙🎻🫧🌹🌸🌹🫧🎻💙🪶📜🪶📜

➹a/n: i just gave my own Tav Saulus a little cameo guest appearance 😉 in the style of AU I also inserted aristenfromwarsaws other OC Devana, like a little, what are all the other tavs doing when not being the main character

the great Tavs of my lovely mutuals also did a tiny cameo:

Nala Hartwick of @evander-jane

Thomas Rosewood and Nana of @alpydk

Lovely Vierith of @goromimii jamming with my Saulus, best bardic duo

Mavka of @pinkberrytea

I hope I did the slice of life good justice and you all could taste, feel, smell, hear the life through all the description of scents, etc.

#is anyone else hungry after the description of the tavern? 🥵#can someone please tell me how to tap with long nails on y keyboard?! please!#i decided to let my nails grow a few month ago and it seems i have not written very much since than #i always tap the UP/hold button when tapping the str/up putton for the quoting marks that make me hold my fingers otherwise now and it hurt #and when I say long I do not mean very long only a little bit longer than manly short #and when a lovely writer can finally tell me and give me advices and layouts to bring my ff on tumblr in form that would be very nice #fun fact:it is crazy to play the game in your nat language and than have to google what da fuck is the store called in english?no clue #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate #bhaal battle beer bard #astarion #me #mine #bg3 tav #astarion ancunin #astarion x tav #astarion x aristen #Tav: Aristen #Aristen: aristenfromwarsaw #aristenfromwarsaw #judasiskariot #my writing #writing #fanfiction #ff #fanfic #my fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x f!tav

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pjowasmy1stfandom · 23 days ago

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This is something I should probably save for when I'm not supposed to be asleep. Ce' la vie or whatever

I've been wondering about what exactly Morro did to deserve getting banished to the Cursed Realm bc why not. Anyway, I have a headcanon as to how he got there exactly (taken from an amazing fic I'll probably talk about later) but I wanted to know if there was a canon reason so I went to the wiki

I guess this turned into an essay of sorts so I added a cut bc it got long what the heck

Summary isn't proving helpful. What 'previous actions'? Cause if you're talking about his being willing to defy fate, I think that could honestly be taken as either arrogance or desperation

Again with the arrogance vs desperation. He's been told by Wu for years or however long he's trained that he's the Green Ninja. He essentially was taught to associate his self-worth and competency with being the Green Ninja. And then that got taken away from him

Audacity??? Really?? Did the person who wrote the wiki watch the same episode as me?? He hadn't even hit his growth spurt yet, he still had the tiny legs! Okay, yes, waking a Grundle. Not smart. He's what, a preteen/teenager? That's kinda what they're known for

Okay, now we're getting somewhere! Aaaand nevermind. The link just took me to the summary of the episode where they do the whole entire exposition dump. From Wu's perspective. Hmmm. I wonder how the way the story was written would change if we heard it from Morro instead?? Anyway, they say he's committed atrocities, but the only atrocities I've actually seen any real proof for are the things he did during Possession, not before he ended up in the Cursed Realm. I'm not saying he didn't commit them, I'm just saying if they want me to believe he actually deserved to get cursed, they needed to give me a better idea of what he did wrong. So far, I'm just seeing a kid with an identity crisis

Oof. Awful way to go out. I mean, it could have been worse, but still. The fact that the Master of Wind died underground... Yeah, that's all sorts of levels of irony this post isn't about. Anyway, still haven't gotten any clear idea of what his 'actions' were and why they were so horrible

And honestly, I'm not even gonna touch what the wiki's saying about his personality rn. Let me just summarize it as 'literally everything is negatively spun, even the good things'. Which, yes, I get bc he is a literal antagonist, but at the same time...

Okay, moving on! Trivia!

I mostly knew this already but. Wow. That's a teenager. I'm somewhere around that age and yeah, being that age is hard. Having an extra identity/existential crisis on top of all that and having no way to actually healthily deal with that... Yep, I can see why he went evil

Okay, that's it? Just 'some bad act'??? Wait, as he perished?!? But he was in an explosion... We don't see any other skeletons around him, right? I think that'd be mentioned/shown at least ONCE. So I don't think he killed anyone...

Anyway, cool cool cool. I learned... Pretty much nothing I didn't already know. Nice. I wanna fist fight the wiki now

If anyone's curious, my headcanon is based off Land of the Living on Ao3 by CaptainBrookeworm. Basically, Morro accidentally managed to curse himself just by saying the wrong thing at the wrong time (and I highly recommend reading the fic if you haven't already, it's one of my absolute favorites)

#my thoughts #whoops this got long #morro wu #morro ninjago #ninjago morro #an essay #i guess #mainly this is me heavily critizing how one-sided the wiki feels #yes he's a villain #but can we have a bit of his perspective on this beyond what he says??#some internal processes would be nice #and people tend to lie #like a lot #so i dont trust him to actually say what he means #i dont trust anyone to say what they actually mean #one of the downsides of being a writer: overthinking #one of the upsides of being a writer: overthinking comes in handy for worldbuilding 👌🥳

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lucimarinee · 10 months ago

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Pushover | dbf!Joel x f!Reader

Pairing: dbf!Joel x f!Reader

Summary: God knows you were born either with a spine made out of bubble wrap, or just spineless entirely, it's honestly kind of sad. It bothers you, of course, how everyone else seems to know that too. Quiet, pliable and unconfrontational, you were raised to occupy the least amount of space possible, and be out of the way most, if not all, of the time, and that's not really the recipe for an assertive, self-assured woman, now, is it? No, it's not, and you are painfully aware of that. And you become even more aware of that when you go back to Texas to visit your estranged dad, on your summer break from a college course you don't really want to pursue, to spend what was supposed to be a time of relaxation surrounded by people that seem to think it's funny to push your buttons, it annoys you to no end. But no one seems to get on your nerves more than that asshole your father calls his "best friend", Joel Miller, one of those old school kinds of men who have an irreverent attitude, a bite to their sense of humor, perceptive eyes, an unwavering voice to declare his will, and a penchant for provoking you.

Warnings: NO OUTBREAK, age gap (Joel is in his late-forties/early-fifties, reader is in her early twenties), praise kink, annoyance as foreplay /hj, fingering.

Word Count: 14,756

a/n: this was posted on ao3 first, you can find it here, but I thought that I should use my Tumblr too. This one-shot has a funny story, that being I woke up in the dead of night to write it because I "dreamed about it" when I was half asleep, I like to joke that I was possessed, I didn't stop writing until it was posted. Anyway, my first Tumblr post in this style, I hope you enjoy it :).

__________________________________________________________

You had a feeling the day was going to go badly, or at least less than ideal, but it's getting a bit too much, now.

It was just a combination of small things piling up on you.

It started in your plane, you had just boarded, barely even sat down, and a woman approached you with an attitude that reeked of veiled aggressiveness, asking you if "you'd be so kind to change seats" with her, so she could sit next to her husband. Unsure if it was the pressure of her gaze on you, or just the fact you're not very good at saying "no" , you obliged, moving from your nice window seat at the front of the plane — that you chose and paid for specifically —, to a middle seat further back.

No big deal, you thought, it was just a couple wanting to sit together, sure, they should have planned their trip better and booked their seats properly, like you did, but it would be, at the very least, unpolite if you said no. What reason did you have to deny her request, after all? "No, ma'am, I paid for this seat, I'd like to stay here" ? Sounds selfish, and you're not selfish.

Of course, the change to an uncomfortable seat, squished between two strangers, made the trip a lot longer, but eventually you landed, and it was all over. Until you heard there was a mishap with the luggage, so your baggage would be delayed, making you have to wait for God knows how long for the airline to get their shit together. Still, you sighed and nodded, there was no need to complain and go on a tirade about costumer's rights, gross neglect and incompetence on the part of the company, there were people doing that already, so you didn't have to join the misery party, you just had to wait.

You were tired, hungry, sore, and just wanted to rest, let this day be over. You just got back home — well, "home" — for summer break.

Coming back to Texas on any circumstance was a fucking chore, and it didn't help you felt obligated to, either. You were just fine out of state, as fine as you can be while pursuing a degree you didn't want, putting effort and energy on a thing your heart wasn't set on, but at least you were some place else , some place other than Austin, where you could let yourself be a little more. You were planning on going on a trip to somewhere nice, you had been saving a bit of money from your internship and side gigs with the intent of treating yourself — for once —, but your father had other plans.

He got in touch with you a few months ago, going on a rant about how you don't call or get in touch at all anymore, how you've been growing distant ever since you moved out to study, forgetting that you had a father that did everything for you, gave everything to you, that it was an ungrateful look, and how it didn't suit you.

It was his own special way of saying he missed you, and wanted you to visit.

Easy to say, you thought it was best to smooth out the situation and appease him by promising to come back on summer break, basically ruining your own plans because daddy sent you a strong worded text.

What a joke, you don't want to be there.

Another sigh leaves you, this one slightly more exasperated than the last. You hate that weather, you can feel that awful hot, humid air even when surrounded by the airport's heavy-duty air conditioning, the uncovered skin of your arms feels chilly, but it's like an uncomfortable, stuffy bubble of hot air hugs you without your permission, the phantom feeling of it makes you feel like a kid again, and you don't like it.

Some more minutes pass by, you sit down on a chair with a cold backrest after having filled a form at the airline's desk and leave it at that, swallowing back your annoyance and hoping for the best, and the best case scenario was just that your bag was misplaced in another flight, and would be hopefully arriving soon, worst case scenario, they lost the damn thing, and then — just then — it would be time to get openly upset.

But you hope it won't come to that.

"Hey." a gravely voice calls loud and clear beside you, "I thought I recognized ya."

You turn to look, and have to make a physical effort not to groan and keep yourself from making a face. God fucking damn it, it's Joel fucking Miller. He looks just like you remember him from, you don't know, a couple of years ago, from the last time you dropped by on vacation, the same rugged appearance, rough around the edges, with that same annoying, rustic charm, a bit different, though.

His hair was a bit longer, the few gray hairs you remember had grown into proper gray locks, sprinkling his head here and there, same with the beard, fuller, grayer, but somehow softer looking. But that was it for the differences, he still had the same direct and piercing eyes, like he had an aim that never missed its target, and, much to your chagrin, that same infuriating grin that you never quite understood what it meant, despite him always having it on his lips every time you were around.

"Hi." you say, getting up from your seat just out of politeness, you weren't on a hug or even a handshake basis, so you just stood there, awkwardly, stuffing your hands in your pockets like you had no idea what to do with them, "What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you, too, doll." he huffed a little chuckle, and had it been any other person, you would have blushed a few shades redder than his flannel shirt and apologized for your lack of respect, but it was just Joel, he seemed to enjoy being aggravating like that with you, "It's been a while hasn't it? What? Couple o' years?"

Fair enough, you muster a small diplomatic smile and nod, he's right, it had been a hot minute, but if it were up to you, it would have been even longer. Joel wore a pair of jeans and a flannel that you swear you've seen him wear before, it rings so familiar in your head, like the world's most irritating alarm clock, he's a physical, walking reminder that you're back in Texas, because he's always around you whenever you're there, courtesy of your father.

The two of them are friends, and have been for the longest time, ever since you were a tween, not that you can understand why, exactly, and for once it wasn't Joel's fault, it was your father's. It just didn't make sense that your father had friends, let alone in someone like Joel, you couldn't understand for the life of you what they had in common, and how the fuck did they meet and bond. Maybe you just didn't think of your father as someone pleasant enough to befriend or keep company, in fact, you sure don't, that's why you've been avoiding coming back for as long as you did.

But he's older, so is your dad, and maybe that's why the two of them clicked, and started doing whatever they do when they're together, you're sure they must have gone out to a bar and done things old men do.

"Yeah, it really has, huh?" you say back, looking to the side, as if it was embarrassing to even make eye contact for longer than a few seconds, "It's good to see you, though, Mr. Miller."

"Mm, don't you start with the mister thing." he raised an eyebrow, still looking at you, it made your neck burn, you weren't sure why, maybe just out of awkwardness, you never really knew how to act around him, especially not alone, and he always had such an intense stare, "Makes me sound old."

"Okay then, Mr. Miller." you can't help a little, shy grin, the kind that doesn't last for long.

He looked a bit amused, if anything, not in the same way he had back when you were in high school, it wasn't so much as the cockiness that seemed to radiate off him, he just seemed genuinely impressed with you, like he figured your insistence on being respectful to your elders was your own little way of standing up for yourself, and he didn't seem to want to fight that.

"As for your question," he continues, ignoring your teasing, "I spoke to your old man earlier, he said you'd be arriving today, but that something came up at his work, and he wouldn't be able to come and pick you up, so I offered myself to fetch ya, seemed rude to let you get a taxi or something after coming home after so long, figured I'd come to give ya a proper Texan welcome."

Oh.

He must have noticed your change in expression, your polite smile faltered to give place to a confused, if not hurt, grimace, his face mimicked yours in an involuntary display of empathy, you see his strong brows knitting together like he's trying to read you and figure out what was wrong, and how to fix it.

"Oh, I..." you hesitate, you're thinking lots of things, all of a sudden, but you've always struggled to put your feelings and thoughts into words, "Sorry, I... I'm just a bit surprised. He didn't tell me anything about being held back."

You feel stupid, hadn't Joel come up to the airport and found you, you'd have been waiting for your father to show up until you realized he wouldn't come. You pick up your phone from your back pocket to check if maybe you missed a text or a phone call, but no, there was nothing, the last thing you heard from your dad was him reacting to your text telling him your flight was taking off, and at what time it was supposed to arrive, with a thumbs up.

Nothing more.

You just sigh, yet again, you had an inkling feeling this vacation wasn't going to go smoothly, but this was just the cherry on top. Joel is quiet, letting you have a moment of peace to process, but he's staring, again, he doesn't even try to hide it, his eyes, a nice shade of brown, not unlike caramel, are softer than the rough exterior he keeps up, he seems sympathetic.

"It must've slipped his mind," Joel says with a shrug of his shoulder, not dismissive, just trying to soften the situation, make you feel less bad about it, not that you really cared at that point, this was just another instance of him not showing up in twenty-something years, "You know how he can be sometimes, hardworking fella, just focused on his job and doesn't think of anything else."

He's not wrong, but you'd still think a simple text wouldn't have hurt to send. You want to be angry, at the very least a bit miffed, but you can't muster that, instead, it's just resignation and frustration that makes you feel heavy and tired, it's hard to be mad, for some reason. You never had much practice.

"Thanks, I appreciate it." you force yourself to say, even if it sounds halfhearted and a little defeated.

"You don't sound very thrilled." he snorts a little, it sounds playful, he's not being rude, just lightheartedly ribbing you.

"Sorry, I just, uhm..." you swallow and bite down a sigh, you know exactly what's going on, he doesn't need to know, "It's fine."

You weren't about to get emotional over being slighted by your own dad in front of Joel, even if you're pretty sure he was fully aware of the dynamic between the two of you.

"Well, I'm here." the man declared, his voice always had this very firm tone of finality, you figure it's probably impossible to argue with Joel, "And I'm gonna get you home all the same, ya can talk to him then. Ready to go? Didn't bring any bags?"

It takes you an embarrassing long second to figure out what he's doing, hands on his hips, looking at and around your figure for any luggage, when he doesn't see it, he quirks a brow.

"Oh, no, I did, it's just..." you start, and you can see very clearly how he takes a long, deep breath, letting his arms go slack on his sides, and you hate when he does that, because he always does it when you let it show that something is wrong, but this time you didn't even get to explain, he must know you quite well at this point, or you just do this a lot, "There was a problem with the luggage transport, it's all been delayed, so I'm waiting on that."

His posture shifts while you speak, Joel crosses his arms in front of his chest, making him look like a solid brick wall, a strong and unyielding presence in front of you, his muscles flex and push against the fabric of the sleeves, and you don't understand why, but your neck starts burning again.

"Shit, you gotta be kiddin' me." his jaw tightens and he closes his eyes, a hand moves up to rub his temple, the wrinkles that formed on his forehead when he grimaced almost seemed to highlight the greying of his hair, he's got a very rugged look to him, but it fits, you can't say it's a bad look, "Well, alright. Have you spoken to anyone 'bout this?"

"Yeah, I filled a form at the desk just a moment ago, they told me to wait." you explain.

"'Kay, but what did they say 'bout compensation? Did they offer you anything? They owe you that, y'know that, right?" Joel goes on, almost talking over you, the man seems to be taking this issue personally, too.

"Yeah, I know that."

His brows shoot up when you don't follow that with anything else, and suddenly, all his indignation seems to turn to you, "You didn't say a thing, did ya?"

You stand there, guilty as charged, pursing your lips in a thin line, because you have nothing to say in your defense, you did mention something about compensation to the guy working at the desk, but he brushed you off with some bullshit about company policy and technicalities, and you just took it like a loser, so you guess that doesn't count.

"Fuckin' Christ, alright." Joel groans, his hand flies from his temple to his forehead, where he rubs the wrinkles in frustration, it makes you feel awful, it's always like this, especially with him, he never really tried to hide that he thinks you don't have a backbone, "I'm gonna go take care o' this. Don't you go anywhere."

"What— no, Joel, wait! " you reach out for his arm, your palm touches hard, solid muscle under the flannel sleeve, and your skin feels like it's being singed even with the protection of the fabric, "Don't make it a big deal, please, they say it must be arriving soon, it's fine—"

"Hey." he interrupts your plea with his own gruff voice, but not unkindly, in fact, you're a little shocked to see how his face is so relaxed, not a trace of anger or annoyance in his features, only calmness, "I got this."

The hand on his sleeve goes slack, but your heart starts beating like crazy once he resumes his march to the airline desk you had pointed to earlier, you trail behind him like a desperate, lost puppy, your nerves firing as you try to figure out a way to avoid a conflict or any amount of confrontation, especially on your behalf, there was no need to make a fuss over you.

It's so easy to feel small next to Joel Miller, he's a whole head, and then some, taller than you, not only is he broad, his gait and demeanor are those of a man who can take whatever the world throws at him and still be standing at the end of the day, it's kind of surprising the attendant didn't burst out laughing when you just stood next to him like an anxious shortstack, while the man comfortably leaned over the counter and spoke in his raspy voice.

He had some things to say about the matter, the two men seem to engage in some back and forth you were barely listening to, Joel would speak in his booming voice and point vaguely at you, his tone was always so resolute and determined, his words were never minced, and he always knew what to say, in a usual day, you'd judge him for being too confrontational, even abrasive, but maybe it was the combination of having him standing up for you without a moment's hesitation and the way his biceps bulged whenever he made an angry gesture or placed his hands on the desk and leaned in, that made that hot bubble of air around you feel even hotter.

"Sir, the last flight just arrived, it's likely that your luggage is on the way, you're free to check—" the man behind the desk says, and you loudly breathe out in relief.

"See, Joel, it's here, let's just grab it and go." you blurt out like your life depends on it, touching his arm again, a physical plea, trying to convince him, you can't tell if it's just your mind playing tricks on you, but the touch actually makes him pause.

"This ain't done." Joel points a finger at the workers, but his body is already turning in your direction, even if his gaze doesn't immediately follow, "But it can wait. Come on, doll, let's see if we can get ya out of this place."

It's embarrassing, it really is, it makes your heart jump to your throat, you feel the burn from earlier crawl all the way to your ears, you want to sink through the ground and disappear. There was no need for this, it was ridiculous and overkill, and it was happening all for your sake.

You don't take another good luck at him until he seats himself behind the wheel of his truck, after finally loading your long awaited suitcase in the back. You're sulking on the passenger's seat, head resting on your palm, elbow on the door, staring out the window, just waiting for him to start the damn thing and drop you off, you're just so, so done with this whole airport saga, it was complete shit, from beginning to end.

While he drives, Joel looks over at you, once, twice, maybe thrice, each time just a beat longer than the last, from your peripheral vision, you catch his jaw tightening up a bit, he seems to be contemplating something, the man knows you're moody, and it isn't like you're hiding your displeased pout, but he also knows that, if he doesn't say anything, you won't either.

"It will get sorted out." he tells you, after a moment of consideration. The man leans back comfortably as a long breath leaves him, not unlike the stress sighs you're always letting out as well, he keeps just one hand low on the wheel, and he's tapping a finger to the rhythm of the music, you have to wonder how much of that he can actually hear.

"It's fine." you say, it's your mantra. It's a half lie, "Those things happen."

"Those things aren't supposed to happen, doll." he makes a point of stressing his words, a low and firm sound coming from deep inside his chest, you see his profile from the side, and you can see him pressing his lips together, the man is probably annoyed at the way you're trying to blow it all off, he doesn't like to see people walk all over you, and he doesn't like that you let them, "There's a reason why there are policies and laws and shit like that, for this exact reason."

The way you just raise your palms in the air in a clear sign of resignation tells him that's a discussion you really don't want to have, you almost expect him to push you further, like he's always done, to probe and poke at you, and lecture you on the importance of standing up for yourself like you are a child, but by then Joel already knows he's preaching to a deaf choir, so he gives it a rest.

"I'm just sayin'..." he trails off, clearing his throat.

Your gaze focus on the scenery passing you by, trees and buildings going by so fast it almost looks like they're flying, the man next to you was always a fast driver, you remember that much from a few other times he took it upon himself to be your chauffeur throughout your life, usually when your father couldn't find the time or patience to do so.

"Thanks, anyway, I mean, for... yeah, thanks." you decide to say, still not looking at him.

You can hear him grin, that's how infuriating it is, "Don't mention it."

You just scoff, a hint of a smile making the corner of your mouth twitch upwards, that was so characteristic of him, so Joel Miller, and so stupid, "Don't act like you did nothing. That was..." you roll your eyes, but you don't notice you're shaking your head, he does, though, and that only serves to amuse him even further, "Something else, man. Thanks for... making that guy shit his pants, I guess."

You snort at your own little joke, he doesn't follow, but doesn't seem displeased, either.

The landscape is so familiar, and his presence is so familiar too, the drive is long and quiet, the kind that gives you space to breathe, but never enough to let your thoughts take a more unpleasant turn.

You try not to think about the way Joel always takes care of you, in his own little way.

"How is dad?" the question falls from your mouth.

Joel turns his head to you with a certain look in his eyes, it's quite meaningful, actually, a whole conversation happens with just the two of you making eye contact, it's silent and intense, you almost feel compelled to avert your eyes and stare at the road in front of you.

He looks like he's holding back a comment.

"Same as usual. Busy, focused." his voice is dry, no emotion to it, it's hard to tell whether he's pleased by this or not, "But we keep in touch."

It's odd that Joel seems to know more about your father's well-being than you do, but he has the decency to not say anything else about the matter, if he didn't already know from his friendship with your dad, your question made it very clear that you two don't talk much, if at all, which made this whole thing even more stupid, because you still went out of your way, postponing and cancelling plans, to accommodate a father that only seemed to get in touch with you to make you feel bad about being a "bad daughter".

"Sarah is excited to see you again," Joel added, trying to change the topic, or let you know that at least one person was actually happy with the prospect of seeing you, "When I told her I was coming to pick you up, she got real hyped about it."

That brings a smile to your face.

Sarah, Joel's daughter, was just a few months older than you, that was something else your dad and Joel had in common, besides being divorced, grumpy men in their fifties, now that you think about it. Growing up, the Millers lived close to your house, close enough for Sarah to become your playmate, you'd drop by with your father to play with her, while the adults did their own thing, and vice versa.

The memory of their house is very vivid, even after not having thought about it for the longest time, you still remember the nice hardwood floors, the narrow staircase, and how on every wall — especially in Sarah's room — there were plenty of pictures of her and her dad, on her soccer practices, after championships, or just pictures they took together for the sake of it, always very happy photos, very lively. Your room never had pictures like that.

Sarah was confident, lively and funny, pretty much everything you weren't, and still aren't, she was always more extroverted than you, carrying your whole friendship almost entirely by herself, you just tagged along, ever the dedicated follower, never the leader, it never bothered her, but it bothered you.

You were never quite able to pinpoint what exactly you felt whenever you looked at the pictures on her walls, or witnessed her and Joel interacting in a lighthearted, playful manner, or even just watched her be, but now, as an adult, you can.

It was bitterness.

You were always a very bitter child, the way she could just smile, joke, talk back at Joel, make fun of him, the way he never failed to be warm, receptive, affectionate, a perfect example of a single father raising a lovely kid on his own, the juxtaposition with your home life, which was, well, less than that, was too much sometimes, the unfairness of it all, the stark, blinding contrast that always made you feel inadequate.

Inadequate, bitter, envious .

Eventually you just stopped showing up to hang out, and you two drifted apart quietly, not unlike you and your father.

You discreetly turn your eyes to the man beside you, watching him silently drive, so relaxed, so confident, his posture said it all. Joel rested a hand on top of the wheel, and his other hand on the seat beside him, not even realizing he's drumming his fingers along the tune, not even knowing his hand was right next to your leg, if he did, would he move it, or just let it stay?

His hands looked very large and firm, his fingers were thick and strong, the back of his hand had some prominent veins that moved with every subtle motion of his arm, and you found yourself wondering about the rest of his body. You're no longer a little girl, but still, there are certain things that are better left unthought about.

"How are things goin' for ya, by the way?" he asks, voice suddenly softer, "In college, and all."

"It's fine."

There he goes again, that same long, deep breath he took at the airport, that same long, deep breath he took every time he clocked you shrugging things off, trying to put no importance into them, the look he gives you along with is loud as words, he knows you too well for you to pull that card on him.

"Don't bullshit me." he deadpans.

You're about to fire back a comment about how it's not a bullshitty thing, college really was fine, you were doing well, passing all your classes, and the courses themselves were fine, nothing to complain about, not even your colleagues or professors, you have nothing bad to say about them, or at least, that's what you like to believe, the same way you like to believe you're doing great on your own, and you like to pretend there's nothing you need or want for.

"I'm not!" you protest, he doesn't buy it, you can tell by his doubtful smirk, "I'm really not, okay? Everything is going well, my classes are good, and so are my grades, the city is pretty nice, and... and... I guess, people are fine too?"

"So what's wrong, then?"

It takes a moment for you to reply.

"I don't really want to be a lawyer, okay?" your voice is low, even shy, you can feel your face getting warmer, it's such a relief to finally tell someone this, and, if not a relief, it feels good to not have it stuck in the back of your head all the time, "I never really did. I'm just... kind of going along with it, dad wants it, and at the end of the day, I don't really mind it."

Joel considers your words carefully.

"You do know," he starts, "That to be a lawyer you'll actually have to stand up to people, for once?"

There it was, the Joel Miller you knew and didn't really like, always prodding, always trying to provoke you, always trying to rile you up, always trying to force you out of your comfort zone, to get a reaction, or at least get you to feel something.

"Oh, fuck off."

You're the one to roll your eyes, you're the one to let out an exaggerated groan, because, sure, that's how things would go with him, every time you decided to let him in and let him have a little look into your world, the world inside your head, the real, raw feelings that lay beneath the surface, and you should know that better than anyone, it's just in his nature, it's not even mean spirited, he's just an asshole.

"Nah, I'm being completely fuckin' serious right now," he says, a hint of a chuckle on his voice, but he really wasn't laughing, and, much like a father who knows exactly what he's talking about, he explains himself, "You'd be swallowed whole in a courtroom, doll, and you know that too."

He has a point, unfortunately.

"I guess. That's the kind of person I am, I suppose."

Joel shakes his head.

"Don't be stupid."

You raise a hand to him, to tell him not to patronize you.

He seems like he wants to keep going, to keep yapping about how your spine has the consistency of wet spaghetti, about how you should grow a pair already and stop acting so fucking scared all the time, that you're always hiding, you're always keeping your mouth shut, that it's not the way, but he bites his tongue and decides against it, opting for a less aggravating follow up, "What would ya like to do, then? If not law."

"I don't know. I like to paint. But I know I'm not good enough."

"Says who? Yourself?" he sounds sarcastic, and that gets you even more flustered and frustrated.

"Yes, I do, because it's true," you explain, you've told this to many other people, so many times, and none of them understood, Joel isn't going to be an exception, "And it doesn't pay really well as a career, like, at all."

"Well, now you just sound like your father."

Your cheeks flush, you can feel your entire face burning now, he has no idea how much of a dickhead he's being. You're starting to regret having told him anything about it.

"Fuck off."

You say it again, in a quiet, unintimidating way. He laughs.

"If you talked to people like you're talkin' to me right now, you'd be an okay lawyer, you know that, right?" his smile is cocky, it's so stupid, but so characteristic of him, to get under your skin like this, he was the only one that could, "Not good, but okay."

"Whatever, Joel. Shut up."

It's hard not to look at the way his neck and shoulders tense when he laughs, you catch yourself looking more than you should, he has the nerve to let his hand move towards you and he pats the top of your knee, he pats your leg twice, slowly and softly.

You surprise yourself with how your stomach seems to shrink and turn at his touch.

His fingers are firm, and you feel the strength on them, you try to ignore the tingly feeling that runs up and down your leg, like some weird, unexplainable electrical charge, and how it seems to only spread from his hand. You pretend the contact isn't affecting you, it's an easy thing to do.

He lets his hand linger there, resting on your knee for a while, and you don't fucking move a muscle, and, for once, it's a deliberate choice, you're not letting him keep his hand there, you want him to keep it there, too afraid that if you move, say something, or even breathe weird, he might just take it away from you, and you'd never forgive yourself for that.

But he interprets your stillness, and your silence — and the fact you stopped breathing for a hot second, as discomfort, and Joel promptly moves his hand from your leg, placing it back on the steering wheel, like he should, he knew you enough to know you wouldn't speak up on your discomfort, but didn't know you well enough now to know why exactly you were letting him touch you like that in the first place, but the answer is very simple:

You liked it .

And it disappoints you that he withdrew it, even though that was probably for the best.

"If you ask me," the man cleared his throat, taking it upon himself to clear the air, you couldn't say he wasn't considerate when he wanted to, "Which I know ya didn't, but that ain't gonna stop me, ya should talk to your dad about this."

You give a halfhearted laugh, not really looking at him.

"What's so funny?" Joel asks.

"It won't do anyone no good, Joel," you declare, your resigned, dejected tone seems to upset him, or maybe it's the way you sound so comfortable with that tone that upsets him, "I'm almost in my senior year, anyway, a lot of money was invested in this, and besides, he wouldn't get it."

You have nothing more to say about the topic.

Joel seems like he has plenty to say, though, like he always did, "I don't think so. In my own experience, ain't a man in this world that loves a girl more than her own father, doll."

It was meant to sound like some profound advice, like Joel always did, but to you, it felt like a blow straight to your stomach.

His experience was nothing like yours, he was nothing like your dad, far from it.

But that was a good thing.

Joel parks in front of your childhood home not much later, it's been at most two, maybe three years since you were here the last time, the sight of that house shouldn't be making you feel so uncomfortable and anxious, but it did.

He gets off the car first, while you stay stuck in your uncomfortable stupor, you only come back to reality when Joel opens your door for you, a nice, chivalrous smile — as chivalrous Joel Miller can be — on his lips, making way for you.

"Welcome home, doll."

It's so hard not to blush when he says stuff like this.

Joel carries your bags inside, even though you tell him that you can take care of them yourself. He tells you not to worry. You follow him quietly, the only sounds filling the hallway are his heavy footsteps, the clanking of keys against the wooden door, and the loud tick-tocking of the old grandfather clock, you used to be kind of scared of that clock as a little girl, it made such an intimidating, imposing noise.

The house was empty, that's what you first assumed, at least, judging by how dark and neat everything was, smelling strongly of furniture polish, not a thing out of place, it felt like it was just you and Joel, in your childhood home, you tried not to let your mind wander to what would happen if it were really just you and him.

He carried your bags so easily, he must be so strong. You know he works in construction, that's why his hands look so rough, and probably feel rough, too, you didn't get to feel it on your leg thanks to the fabric of your jeans, but you're sure of it, you can almost imagine the coarseness on your skin, the warmth, he could pick you up so easily if he wanted to—

Heavy, hurried footsteps making their way down from the second floor startle you out of your thoughts, you know those steps far too well, you grew up trying to listen for them whenever the house went too silent, or when you were laying in your bed, staring at the plaster-white ceiling of your room, trying to gauge if it was safe to get out yet, or if he was in a bad mood and you should wait.

Those are your father's footsteps.

He comes down the steps in a frenzy, and his feet almost don't respond to his brain's command to stop when he finally spots you and Joel, he seemed distracted by something on his phone.

"Oh, shit— I didn't hear you enter." he says with a slightly awkward laugh, but still unabashed, it's not directed to you, however, his attention is on his friend, "Can you believe they're not going to pay me for the overtime I had to do at the office? That's ridiculous, isn't it?"

He wasn't paying attention to you, and, for a reason you don't understand, you can't help but feel relieved and happy, not like he'd actually have any energy to spare for his daughter.

Joel shook his head, a sort of smirk on his face, the way they're standing makes them look like the best of friends, and yet, something about how Joel stuffs his hands in his pockets and shifts his body slightly to your direction tells you he's unimpressed, "Hey, now." he points at you with his head, his command is clear, and you didn't think you— or your dad — would live long enough to see someone bossing him, "I brought your princess, didn't I?"

Your dad only now notices you, his face lights up, though not really in a heartwarming way, and not in a manner that you could find even remotely appealing or warm.

It was a look and reaction of a man who just remembered he forgot to pick up his child, which, in a way, he kind of did.

"There's my baby girl," he walks up to you and engulfs you in a bear hug, it's very sudden and awkward, he's squeezing you a little too tight, you never really fit in his hugs, but you hug him back nonetheless, "How was the trip?"

"It was fine." you say.

It rolls off your tongue so easily, sounds almost so beautifully rehearsed, automatic, like an answering machine, because it really is.

Joel gives you a weird look, you're not looking at him, but you can feel it burning on your nape, like he can't seem to figure out why the fuck you'd say that, when it would take at most thirty seconds to tell your father, with enough detail, what a mess it was. Your dad was a lawyer, if someone would know how to deal with an incompetent airline who almost lost your luggage, made you wait for a long time, inconvenienced you, and wouldn't budge about compensation, that someone was your dad, why wouldn't you tell him about it? Why would you opt for the almost political, statesmanlike "fine", when it's so clear by how you said it that it wasn't, in fact, "fine"?

Your dad chuckles, letting go of you, his arms move away from your shoulders and back, "I'm glad to hear that."

He says, you smile, Joel coughs.

Then it's complete silence for a second or two. No one really knows what to say, and you almost think it's your fault for answering noncommittally, but your father speaks up, before Joel does.

"It's so good to have you back, baby girl, this house has been so empty." your father says, a weird, forced chuckle at the end, Joel is starting to see where you got your awkwardness from, "I just got home from the law firm, but it was just to grab some papers, I should be heading back, but, uhm, let's have dinner later, yeah?" he was making a move for the front door, the one you closed behind you not even a few minutes ago, his eyes going back to his phone, "Joel, you and Sarah should join us, I'm sure she—"

"Now, hang on a minute," Joel cuts in, he's quick, that man never misses a beat, "You gotta go back right now? What, can't ya stay just a few more minutes? Catch up with your girl, and whatnot?"

It was very obvious — to you — what he's trying to do, Joel Miller is tactful enough to not cut a leg off just because it's bruised, but he's still a man who likes to brute force some things, and right now, he is trying to brute force you an opportunity, because Joel Miller seems to enjoy taking things upon himself that he had no business interfering in.

Your father stops in his tracks, hand frozen on the doorknob, mid-turn, he looks confused, if anything, speechless, like he couldn't think of a single possible thing to say right now, looking between his friend and you, uninterested, unfazed.

"How's... How's college?" he eventually asks, it sounds impersonal, but Joel sighs like he just won a jackpot.

He did it, he gave you a very clear opportunity, and Joel was right there beside you to support you, you could say — even if briefly, superficially — what you were thinking, what you were feeling, just to get a word out, and then maybe talk through it over dinner, with some good father-daughter quality time, a desperately needed heart-to-heart, that's what he hoped for, that was his intention behind doing that, it had to be.

"It's fine." you say, a short answer, nothing too detailed, and a complete lie.

A look of exasperation and confusion crosses Joel's eyes.

Your father, though, smiles, that same diplomatic, polite smile you always give people, and he nods, "I'm glad to hear, dear."

You three stand still where you are, you because it's routine, your father because he's confused and awkward, and Joel because he's too fucking astonished to move a fucking muscle.

"Well, we can talk more about it when I get back." your dad declared, the door lock clicked and he was about to leave, "Dinner tonight, guys."

Your dad is out the door not long after that, it closes with a slam behind him, leaving you and Joel in a cold, stale-smelling home.

For a long time, nothing is said between the two of you.

"Alright." you mutter, almost as if to yourself, taking your bag in your hand, the wheels clattering against the floor, and Joel moves behind you, following you upstairs to your room.

"Are you— You can't be serious right now," he says, trying to mask his complete bewilderment, and doing a shit job at it, " 'It's fine' ?!"

He tries to say it like you would say, a high, mocking, shaky voice, his arms open in a defeated, almost hopeless, manner.

"Joel, not now," you tell him, walking down the long hallway, and not looking back at him, "I'll be sleeping."

"What— no."

You try closing the door to your room, but it slams loudly on Joel's open palm with a lot of force, you're pretty sure you didn't close it that hard, that was his doing, you still can't help, though, to feel more worried about your door than about his hand. He pushed it wide open again, towering on your door frame, but didn't cross the threshold, you felt weirdly trapped, your bag and your body feel heavy, you set the luggage down.

Joel's expression is unlike any other you've ever seen, and the look in his eyes is so intense, full of indignation, your knees wobble a bit under his scrutiny, you hate yourself for that, you don't want him to notice that, he shouldn't be seeing you so affected.

"Y'know, I used to think you were just a very weird kid," he starts, Joel sounds legitimately, personally offended, his outrage is palpable, it's like he can't barely keep it in, but it's trying to so very hard, "Just— painfully shy, didn't know how to talk to no one, didn't really talk at all, went along with everything, and everything was fine, 'cause that's what you always said, all the fuckin' time, and I really thought it was, for the longest time."

"Joel—"

"No." his tone leaves no room for discussion, his expression hard, but when you immediately shut up, it almost seems to upset him more, "I really thought you'd grow out of the pushover phase, I even thought I could help it by urging you a little—"

"I'm not a pushover!" you frown, trying to sound strong and firm, but it was clear the words had no bite to them.

"Oh, bull-fucking-shit, doll, you're the biggest pushover I've ever met," he scoffs at you, still leaning against the frame of your bedroom door, "As a kid, you'd go along with whatever Sarah wanted to do, as a teen, I had to witness you going out with the most stupid looking boys I've ever had the displeasure of setting my eyes on, now you're a grown-ass pushover!"

"Why are you mad at me?" you ask, you're so fucking confused, you feel attacked, really, literally cornered by the man. On any other day, you'd be bawling your eyes out, but Jesus fucking Christ, you were so done with today, you have been bottling up so much shit you could feel your bile taint your mouth with its bitter taste, you were furious.

"I'm not mad at you, doll, I'm mad for you."

After he says that, there's a pause, he didn't mean to get into a yelling match with you, and he looked disheartened. Joel rubbed one of his big palms over his face, like he's suddenly feeling so much more tired than before.

He was such a caring man, and it makes your chest feel warm, even though his concern for you wasn't your idea of a nice conversation.

"I'm mad for you, because this sucks, girl," he says, sounding tired, he takes a deep breath, and then his voice gets more serious, lower, calmer, and you know he's getting his emotions in check, "Your dad is a good friend, though I'm starting to question how good of a father he is, if even he pushes you 'round like this, but c'mon, doll, you ain't a little girl anymore."

"Oh, shut up." you scoff, this time your tone has more venom behind it, your voice gets higher, but still doesn't come out as a scream, and your body is shaking from rage, "You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, don't I?" he scoffs back, but on his lips a smirk appears, fuck, he's doing it again, he's playing with you, just like he always did to urge you, to get on your nerves, to see how far he could push you until you blow up, but the only reason you never blew up was because no one would be there to pick up the pieces.

"Let us see if I don't, then," Joel continues, just his head trespasses the threshold of your room, like the rest of his body is being held back by some invisible force, he wants to provoke you, but at the same time seems to have no intention of violating your space, it was a weird mix of things, you never understood him, "You're a fine, grown woman, studying something ya don't wanna study, going places ya don't wanna go, talking to people ya don't wanna talk to, hell, doll, what else is being shoved down your throat, and you just take it without a peep? Do the guys you go out with also trample all over you?"

"Just shut up." you repeat yourself, and he smirks wider, because it's working, he can see it in how tensed your posture became, he could feel it, and the worst part is that it was true, every word of it.

"What is it that you want, huh? I ain't ever heard that combination of words come out o' your mouth, ‘I want’ , even as a kid, I have no fuckin' idea of what you really want, of what you'd ask of someone, and it's starting to look like you don't either."

"Oh, my God— I want you to shut the fuck up, Joel, and close the goddamn door! How 'bout that?!" you explode, yelling, it wasn't even a particularly high or loud voice, but your outburst was unexpected, you couldn't hold back, your anger had nowhere else to go but forward, you didn't mean to yell, but you did.

It came out of your chest with so much force you could feel your face going red from embarrassment.

He blinked.

Once, twice.

You'd have thought you broke him, the look of surprise in his face, and the silence that fell upon the two of you was unnerving, but at least you made him stop talking, at least the constant, buzzing noise in the back of your mind is no longer there, it's blissfully quiet.

"Very well." he nods decidedly, and closes the door.

Joel closes the door behind him, finally stepping into your room, the heavy lock clicks, the air feels thicker, like he's somehow managed to take the whole thing up a notch, and, to be fair, he fucking did.

"That's a good start." it sounds like praise, because it is praise, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates inside your stomach and shoots directly down between your legs.

It's the kind of voice that has no business existing outside of a bedroom, you think, his southern drawl dripping on each of the words like hot, sticky honey, and you could just fucking cry from how arousing it actually was.

He walks in further in slow, careful steps, like you're some kind of wild animal, Joel's body moves towards you, eyes fixed, never breaking the staring contest you two started.

Joel Miller's presence was already overwhelming on itself, his physical height, his build, the way he looked like he could easily snap you in half, but you've seen this man care for his daughter more times than you can remember, you've seen him go out of his way for people who couldn't stand him, his family, and most importantly, you, the kid he babysat whenever your dad just had to stay late somewhere.

He wasn't scary, quite the opposite, he was magnetic, upsettingly so.

"So, doll," Joel continues, "How's it going to be?"

His eyes are intense, his presence is so, so big, you're feeling smaller by the minute, and yet he still didn't even get that close, still didn't try to touch you, he was waiting for an answer.

"What?"

"'Cause I ain't goin' to ask again, I don't like to repeat myself," he said, the tone was softer than what the words sounded like, almost reassuring, it was so different to what you're used to, his face gets closer, you could see his beard better now, and his eyes were unbearably dark, "I ain't doin' a damn thing, unless you tell me what ya want."

What a low blow, but that's how Joel Miller was, the man never played fair.

"I can't." you tell him, voice soft and weak, but there was an undertone of rage to it, the fact that you knew exactly what you wanted to say and how, and he knew that, too, it was maddening.

He has the gall to roll his eyes and click his tongue at you, like he's annoyed at having to repeat himself for a third time, you can't believe it, and his hands come to rest on his hips, his body open, so you can clearly see, read him like a fucking open book.

"I ain't going nowhere, I ain't leaving this room, unless you say something," Joel starts again, a very deep frown between his brows, you'd even dare say that he's frustrated, and then it comes again, his voice, so low, it was nothing more than a rumble, and yet the hairs of your arm and neck are raised, you shudder, "Now, how is it gonna be, sweetheart? I'm all ears."

It was a clear invitation, he wasn't asking you again, the question had an ultimatum, and it wasn't hard to tell that this is Joel's idea of giving you the push you need to break free.

A breath you didn't realize you were holding came out shakily, a lot of pent-up emotions coming up to the surface, but Joel waited, you were the one in charge, you were the one setting the pace here.

And if there was something you knew about him, it was just how stubborn he could be, growing up with that fucking asshole pushing your damn buttons all the time taught you that much, but the intent behind his attitude was never really clear— until now. He was an asshole, but he was an asshole of his word, once you took control of the wheel, there would be no going back, but you do have a choice — which was his point all along —, you can either tell him to leave, or tell him what you really want, but you have to say it like you mean it.

"I don't want you to leave." you say, your voice is low, but that's just because you don't trust what kinds of sound could escape from your mouth if you tried to talk louder.

"Okay." Joel nods at you, his smirk is a full smile now, a proud grin on his lips, but that wasn't good enough for him, not the answer he wanted to hear, and he tells you so, "You're doing good, doll, but let's be more positive, aight? I wanna hear you say what you want ."

Fuck, you're trembling, he's close, so close to you, your sense of smell is so heightened, you think, because the scent of his cologne is the only thing you can smell in that small room of yours, the deep breath you take is not even voluntary, your body is reacting on its on, the tingling, fluttering feeling you felt through your body sets and pools in your lower tummy, it's an all too familiar sensation, the arousal is undeniable.

You got all wet just with some soft words and his smell, and you know he's noticing it, it was clear, not even in a million years would Joel miss how his proximity is affecting you, his gaze is unbearable.

You'd rather not say it, but there's no other choice, your words have to come out crystal clear, otherwise he's just going to stay there and make you wait for him, that was also part of his little game, so, for fuck's sake, you take the bull by the horns, and you take another step.

"I want you to stay." Your chest heaves with your breathing, but your tone is unmistakable, he wanted to hear your voice, so there you go, saying exactly what's on your mind, your real thoughts, the ones you wouldn't dare saying aloud.

Joel looks impressed.

"Atta girl." there's a new intensity in his gaze, the smugness and pride is still there, but you've seen that kind of look before on other men, that glint of thirst, it's the most dangerous one, "Then I'll stay, darlin'. See? Wasn't it easy?"

" No. " you find it in yourself to huff, your newfound braveness is a surprise even to you, but it's hard to be anxious and self-conscious when he's moving closer to you so decidedly, "Nothing is ever easy with you."

He tilts his head to the side briefly, a small gesture of agreement, his steps are slow, but not as calculated anymore, they're shorter now, his eyes are still locked on yours, but the tension that you felt so keenly in the beginning, that air of challenge was gone, his entire focus was now solely on you.

"Guilty as charged," Joel chuckles, a hand reaching to your cheek, and the moment his thumb makes contact with your skin, you lean into the touch, it feels cold against your burning face, and it's probably the only thing keeping you from melting completely, "But doesn't it feel good, to finally let out the truth?"

His thumb moves along the softness of your cheek, he caresses the apple of it, his eyes darting down to look at your lips, his smile gets even softer, and then he says, "To finally be honest with yourself and say what you want."

His hand slides from your cheek down to the curve of your chin, and then, he cups it with a gentleness that surprised you, but then you remembered, this was no stranger, this was Joel, and the knowledge of knowing this is the same man who has watched you grow up made something hot and sticky build up in the pit of your belly, a desire so powerful that it has your brain go all mushy, your words stuck in the back of your throat, it was a pain to get them out.

" Touch me. "

Joel Miller has no right being that attractive, he shouldn't look this good, he should not have this effect on you, he had no right on having you in such an infuriating and sudden chokehold, he wasn't even trying.

You couldn't find the words to describe exactly what you’re feeling, they were all lost in a muddle of lust, it's an unbearable, mind-numbing kind of horny that had your whole body reacting so quickly to such simple actions, it was a mix of things that were starting to make you feel out of sorts.

It's not just the arousal, nor just the fact that he's here with you, so close to you that you could feel the warmth emanating from his big body, nor even just the fact that, since you're on a roll of being honest and letting loose of your inhibitions, this was your long time crush touching you, hooking his hands below your ass to lift you up as easily as he picked up your luggage from the airport.

The yelp you let out is far from the most graceful noise you ever made, your arms shoot around his neck to steady yourself, but aside from the abrupt rising, you were never at risk of falling, his arms are so solid under your thighs, more solid than the floor that was under your feet just a few seconds ago, you feel. Your core is pressed flush against his abdomen, you can feel his body warmth, and you've never been so glad to be wearing good denim pants, otherwise you would have made a mess on him just by being held.

"No need to be scared." Joel snarks, carrying you somewhere.

"A little word of warning would've been nice, though," you say back, his nose is so close to yours, and it makes your face feel warm, even the tip of his beard tickled the side of your cheek, he smelled so nice, you really are a mess.

"Oh, sorry, princess, next time, I'll do just that, just let me put you where you want first." his drawl is the last drop, his smirk is so self-assured, he knows he's dangling a treat over your head.

Joel sets you down on your room's desk, the man sets his hands firmly on top of your thighs and unceremoniously spreads them wide, making room for his body, and your eyes are just glued to the view, looking down at the show he was putting on of how your bodies seemed to be aligned to fit so perfectly together, your imagination ran wild trying to picture just how obscenely hot it would be to watch yourself get stretched out by his cock from that angle.

You set your own hand on his chest, and you don't know if it's his cologne, or if it's him, but he smells so nice, he has a musky, earthy scent of man that had you dizzy and out of focus.

"Hey, look at me." he commanded you, lifting your chin up with his fingers, "I ain't doin' anything until ya tell me, remember? How's it gonna be, darlin'?"

"Oh, you're unbelievable..." you shake your head, your words come out riding a laugh, he had you just where he wanted, the only thing stopping you was just your clothes, but he still was dead set on making you spell it all out for him.

"C'mon, doll," Joel insists, a smirk pulling the side of his mouth up, his fingers digging deeper into your thighs, you could see the shape of his dick pressing hard against the front of his pants, his other hand moving up, ghosting over your waist and chest, "It's an easy question, ya just gotta say the word, what's the holdup?"

The holdup was your pride, and maybe some remnants of shame you felt, you were never the bold kind, or the kind that openly spoke of her sexual desires and wants, that's the kind of person you never saw yourself as, even as an adult with an active sex life, so when faced with Joel, his hard-set insistence, the challenge in his dark, lust filled eyes and his soft, deep voice presented to you, the request seemed out of character.

Your words are there, but it was so difficult to bring them to light, they're at the tip of your tongue.

"We gotta practice that assertiveness, if you're really going through law school." Joel quips, and he knows exactly what he's doing, it was just the final push of well-meaning annoyance to get you talking, because how could you put up with his teasing and mocking you and not tell him to just shut the fuck up and kiss you already.

"Shut up."

He did shut up.

Joel shut the fuck up, and closed the short distance between your lips and his.

The first brush of lips was a question, barely touching yours, but it was enough to make you let out a pathetic, expectant little sigh. The second one, you met him in the middle, unwilling to let him keep toying with you like that, finding a place for your lips between his.

Joel was kissing you.

You've been waiting for that kiss for years now.

Well, maybe two, max, but that was more than enough for you.

Growing impatient with those sweet pecks, you're the first to part your lips, you brush your tongue over his bottom lip sheepishly, but with an eagerness of a person who has been denied something she wanted for such a long time, he pulls back slightly just to spite you, but Joel is far gone at this point, too. One of his hands shoots up to grab hold of your face with such despair it almost hits you, "Sorry.", he tries to murmur, but it gets lost in your mouths as soon as the apology comes out. Lord, his tongue, though.

Joel tastes like nothing else, a combination of scotch and a very distinct, personal taste that had you salivating for more. Your teeth click, a mess of lips and tongue, his beard scratching you, and it's probably the hottest fucking thing in the whole world to feel. His breath comes out harshly through his nostrils, and he lets out a guttural groan as the hand on your face goes down, exploring your neck and shoulders, keeping you still by your throat, a cheeky thumb pressing down on the hollow that your pulse ran through, just enough to feel it.

He's showing off, that much is clear to you, by the way he's so unabashed about how his tongue is in your mouth and yours is in his, the wet sounds you make echo through the room, the quiet sighs, moans and hums he's drawing out of you, it makes you feel suddenly bashful.

"Oh, don't go shy on me now, doll, c'mon." Joel pulls back, his breath fanning hot on your lips, the thumb at your neck moves down and rubs circles on your collarbones, he's got this smug smirk on his face, you've always wanted to wipe it off.

"Jesus— shut the fuck up, Joel." it comes out so much easier now that you've got a taste of him, it was all too clear to you what you really want.

He smiles, he smiles that smile you know means he's about to be a jackass, and the look on his face was pure sin.

"Keep him out o' this, princess." his low laugh rumbles through his chest, his mouth is so close to yours, he was clearly teasing you, testing your resolve, his grip on your thigh was so hard that it had a delicious sting, it had you all aflame inside and out, the tension between you so palpable, so thick you could cut it with a knife, "Ain't nothing holy 'bout what I wanna do to ya."

The next thing that came out of your mouth was just an unintelligible whimper, the way his lips and beard pressed and rubbed against the soft skin of your throat felt heavenly, it tickled just the slightest, but it wasn't enough to make you pull away. You tipped your head to the side and offered your neck to him, giving him space to do as he pleased, and Joel, like a moth to a flame, moved quickly.

His mouth was so hot, his teeth biting a mark onto the crook of your neck, making you let out a soundless, shuddery breath, a sharp, small gasp followed after a second of realization, that's gonna leave a mark, and you have no idea how to explain that to your father, hiding it just doesn't seem like a reliable option, but then you feel it, Joel's lips curling up in a smile against your flesh, that fucking bastard , he did it on purpose.

With a kiss and a long swipe of his tongue over the bite, he appeases you, the worry and surprise wear off as he licks the salt off your skin, Joel is relentless in his pursuit, he's trying to take everything off of you, your taste, your breath, your moans and sighs, he's set out on devouring you.

"God, ya look so good, darlin'. Look at you." he murmurs into your neck, his voice is strained, the drawl he puts on the pet names so obvious, and so incredibly sexy, it has a direct link to the growing dampness that has taken over the seat of your panties, his eyes move up slowly, the appreciation he's making it very obvious that he sees you as nothing less than a feast.

You could barely take it.

"Fuck." your voice comes out strangled, a newfound boldness fills your mind, the warmth in your body making you brazen. Your hands shot down to the fly of your jeans, "Stop looking at me like that, for fuck's sake—"

The sight of your hands going for your pants had a riveting effect on Joel, he went from teasing and self-satisfied to horny in an instant, and he seemed to have forgotten everything he was doing and that idiotic fucking game he was playing with you, he watched, rapt and eager as you unbuttoned and unzipped a way for him, and he's not very patient, not right now.

Joel doesn't wait for you to try and get the damn thing off your body before he pulls — better yet, yanks you — to him by your nape for another kiss, and presses his other hand on your tummy with clear intent, sliding a tantalizing trail down, until he can stuff his fingers right down your jeans and the seat of your panties.

"Wait—" you gasp, not able to fight off his iron grip on you, but it's not like you want to, "Let me get them off—"

"Ain't no need for that." Joel denies, shaking his head slightly, the hand in the back of your neck keeps you from pulling away from him, the kiss that he plants on your lips is rough, it's bruising in the best of ways, you feel it on your cheeks, but most importantly, you feel his fingertips slide easily past the waistband of your panties, just then he allows you to lean back ever so slightly, probably with the selfish motivation of being able to touch you better — as selfish as that can be.

God , you're a mess, you can feel it as his finger first touches you, sliding down your folds, just how obscenely wet it feels, the shuddering breath you let out when his digit meets your clit is just embarrassing. You have never, ever been so horny in your life.

Joel chuckles, not mockingly, he just thinks your reactions are the most adorable fucking thing, his voice is muffled when he talks into your neck, you can barely feel it as he moves to whisper in your ear, his finger tracing lazy, tight circles over your clit, "You're so fuckin' wet, sweetheart," he groans, your fingers have a vice grip on his arms, "That for me?"

Yes, yes, yes . Fucking yes, that's all because of him, and you got like that even before that motherfucker laid a finger on you, but he didn't need to know that, the last thing Joel Miller needed was that big of an ego boost, or else you were gonna find yourself a real problem to deal with.

"Fuck—" you bite back a sob, but can't hold back how your body jolts as a reaction to his touch, those fucking little circles, the slickness makes his finger glide over your sensitive little nub, he's barely even applying pressure, just taking his time getting acquainted with how you like it, he's mapping your actions and reactions like he hasn’t known you for pretty much forever, his beard and teeth and lips still kissing and biting a hot trail from one side of your neck to the other, you'll be a mess once this is over, and you hope it never ends, "C'mon— Joel— I thought we were getting to the good part?"

He lets out an indignant little snort, the sound he makes as he nips at the hinge of your jaw is something you have no way to describe, he wants a fucking piece of you, he wants it all, the thought sends your heart fluttering, you had no way to know, but this was just the appetizer of the main course.

Joel hums, he hums into the space between your jaw and ear, his finger not leaving the top of your cunt, and it's starting to get really frustrating, you could feel a spark, something that could've become something, if only he put some actual work into it.

"Ya got somewhere to go?" he teases, "So impatient..."

"C'mon, Joel, please ..." your plea clearly has an effect, you can feel the low rumble in his chest, he can't stop himself, even though you could see the glint of something devious in his dark brown eyes, a cheeky finger moving lower, searching, rubbing down your pussy, Joel is taking his sweet, sweet time with it all," Please, I want you insi—"

His thick, rough digit easily pushes past the wet, tight rim of your opening, his fingertip sinks inside, just the barest of it, but it's enough for you to lose it for a second, his touch has a jolt shooting up your whole body, your nails digging into his shoulders, the surprised moan you let out makes your cheeks burn hotter than before, it's so different to be touched by someone else, it feels like he could do whatever he wanted to you, and he'd make you take it.

There's absolutely no way anyone else could touch you like he does.

No man in this world would ever be as good as him, it was that simple, it was a truth you knew well and true.

Joel was a force of nature, you could never understand it, not even if you tried.

Your breath catches in your throat, a sharp gasp follows his finger pressing further in, it's just so fucking good to have something filling you in, filling up that insane emptiness you were feeling just a second before, it slides in so easily, making squelching sounds as your wet cunt opens up around it, taking it all, as much as he can give it to you, sliding in and out, just to test how wet and pliant your cunt is for him.

"Oh, fuck... God, yes, yes , Joel, like that." the praise, the satisfaction that's coming from your words seem to do things to Joel, too. His body moves forward, trying to press closer to yours, his face buries deep into the crook of your neck, the scent of his hair, the scent of his cologne, the sweat he's breaking, his warm breath fanning out and spreading a hot, wet wave on your skin, you hug him for dear fucking life, if the desk under you gives in, you at least know you can hang onto him, your nails latch on the fabric of his red flannel, desperate.

"You're doin' so good, baby," you hear him speak against your throat, he kisses you there, right below your ear, the vibration of his deep voice is something you'll feel in your core, forever, it'll never go away, it'll follow you, it'll stay in your memory and will come back every time you think of him, of the moment you got fingerfucked by him on top of your desk, "So fuckin' good , look at you."

God, how are you going to forget about that? It was going to drive you crazy for days, months, years to come, just thinking about Joel praising you and fingering you at the same time was almost too much. You felt his fingers wrap around a fistful of your hair, his lips on yours again, just as he slides another finger in. Fuck, if he could keep doing that— if you two could keep that up for the rest of your break, Texas would never be so fucking awful anymore, you'd come back again every time, at every opportunity, just for him.

It's just too good, the friction, the growing moans and whines that spill from your mouth are swallowed by him, and they just seem to make him go on, go harder and deeper, a curl of his fingers hits something so right that a full-bodied shudder passes through you on a round trip, a sob wrenched from your throat. He smirks, and keeps hitting the spot over and over, until he has you squirming and bucking your hips up in his direction, grinding, riding his fingers like a desperate girl, so filthy.

"Fuck— please, Joel— god, right there—!" you hiccup, your mouth hangs open as you squeeze your eyes shut, for a moment the only sounds that can be heard are his breathing, the quiet muttered praises he showers you in that you can't quite make out right now, and that wet symphony of your pussy around his thick fingers, your voice seems to clog and get stuck on your throat, your tummy tightens up, like a coil, the pleasure so overwhelming.

One of your hands slams loudly on the wood under you, just holding on to him isn't enough anymore, the firmness of the desk provides you with just enough support to brace for what it felt like imminent impact.

"C'mon, doll," he urges you, he can feel you fluttering and clenching around his fingers, holding on to his knuckles, God, it's one of his favorite feelings now, no pussy ever felt like yours, and he didn't even get to see the damn fucking thing yet, just fingering you under your beat up jeans was more fun and satisfying than most sex he'd had as of recently, "Show me— c'mon, that's it," he speaks lowly, "I want you to cum for me, alright, sweetheart, cum for me."

Your voice breaks free in a mellow shriek, a gasp for air, a loud sigh of relief as it washes over you like a tidal wave.

"fuckJoelyesyesyesYESpleaseitfeelssofuckinggood—"

What comes out of your mouth is just a string of undecipherable, desperate, whiny moans, your whole body jerks forwards, and it almost feels like falling, but he's there right in front of you, strong as ever, more than anyone you've ever met, to hold on to you, kissing soothing patches on the little skin your t-shirt offers him, but he'll take it, he'll take everything he can get, he'll kiss you forever, if he can.

Joel only lets go of you — barely — back on the desk when your whole being relaxes from the sudden tension, you had gone slack in his arms, but that's not new. His hands come back out of the confines of your pants, and the wetness he found inside makes your thighs shiver, a faint silky, translucent trail connects you for a moment, before it's gone as quickly as it came.

God, your legs feel like jelly, you don't think you have it in you to walk, but it can't stop you from trying. What can stop you from trying, however, is the man in front of you.

"Nah, ah, slow down." he reprimands, pulling you back up before the tip of your toes could even touch the floor, though his tone isn't stern, and he has a grin on his face when he simply sticks his fingers, all coated in your arousal, inside your mouth, "Don't go runnin' off on me."

There's no energy left in you, or will, to fight him, he can call you a fucking pushover if he wants to, but you do as he clearly commanded, sucking his digits clean, eating your own release straight from his fingers.

He's pleased, with you, with your blatant display of compliance, of eagerness and how willing you were to be so goddamn dirty in a heartbeat. Joel is pleased with you.

"There's a good girl," Joel mumbles, his dark eyes fixed on yours, he looks like he's not able to take them off you, like if he blinks, he'll miss something really, really good, "Just perfect, darlin’, you’re perfect."

The words sound like a lull, his thumb moves to trace the line of your bottom lip, your eyes flutter close, and the weight of your own exhaustion presses on you. A soft smile curls his lips, it's warm and sincere, you feel like melting in a puddle at the sight, it was hard not to give into it.

"Hey..." he calls out for you, pulling you a bit closer, just so he can brush your nose with his.

You blink, a little lost, you could get so lost in him.

"Fuck, did I knock you out?" he chuckles, lovingly pulling you against him, you rest your chin on his shoulder, and let him do what he wants with your hair, run his clean hand through your locks, he's kissing the shell of your ear again.

"Maybe." Joel can hear the smile on your voice as you say it, you take in a deep breath, almost as if you didn't get enough air throughout all this, "This was... insane."

"Is that a compliment?" his laugh, so clear, and his breath tickling the side of your neck has a warmth spread on your chest.

"Absolutely." you nod, your arms come to lock around his frame, almost like a hug. It's funny, that's probably the first time you ever hugged him, "Don't get too used to it, if you don't start changing up your attitude a bit."

His response is an annoyed grunt meant only halfheartedly, you almost think it's a threat of a laugh, actually, "I'll take what I can get, then."

Joel pushes you away a little, just so he can get a good look at you, his eyes roam your current less than regal state with an almost worried glint to them, trying to gauge if you're okay, or if there was something else you needed. He's always been very attentive to details, after all, his eyes linger a bit on your hair, a little longer than what you think it should.

"So," he starts, not knowing if he should bring this up, but, well, the thought had already crossed his mind, so he just let the question come out, "Was it worth it? Using your words?"

"It... was. I liked it a lot, honestly, you— you did great, I wasn't expecting... you know."

"Uh, yes, I was not expecting it either."

A soft laugh leaves your mouth, a smile plays on your lips.

"Oh, so it wasn't a plan of yours all along? Some machination of yours?" your tease earns you a very dragged out eye roll, it takes another laugh out of you.

"What do ya think I am? Some kind of mastermind?" he scoffs, shaking his head, and looking a little bit hurt, like you'd offended him, "You know, not everythin' that I say has some kinda double meanin'. Not everyone's like that."

"No, no, I get it," you assure, patting him in the shoulder, "Not everything you say is some secret agenda."

Joel's frown and slightly pinched expression dissolves with that, a tiny sigh leaving his lips, and he takes a few steps backwards, to give you space enough to put yourself, "Think ya can fix yourself up? Take a nice shower, put on some clothes that don't smell like fuckin' Boston?"

You cock your head to the side, and look down at yourself, then at him, "What about you, though?"

"Me?" Joel seems legitimately confused for a second, until he follows your gaze down, his hard on is still there, hard as ever, straining the denim of his pants. He looks back at you, a brow raised, arms crossed, you know that posture, some stupid fucking quip is about to come out of his mouth, "Think you can take it?"

The idea has a shiver running through you, you felt the dull ache on your inner walls, even as your breathing steadied.

"I don't think you can, not right now." he says before you can get a word in, and he grins at you, it's different that his other grins he'd always give you before, but it has the same fondness, "I'll be fine, I'm a grown man, I can handle it."

He could say that all he wanted, but you still see the discomfort, the little fidgety moves he does to find a good way to position his junk.

You could do it, though. If it came to that.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure you need a fucking shower." he claps back instantly, not giving into your offer, "I made a mess all over you."

"So crude, Jesus..." you scoff, but your feet dangle under you, completely carefree, the edge of the desk is digging on to your flesh, you think it'll bruise a bit, you can feel it in your ass, it was worth it, "You kiss your daughter with that mouth?"

"Sure, all the time." Joel grins, and takes the liberty of starting to tuck in his flannel back into the hem of his jeans, "And do even worse shit to you."

"Wow, real fucking classy." your voice is laced with sarcasm, though it lacks bite, your legs sway left to right as you watch him put himself back in order. It's such a mundane task, really, and you feel a little dumb for not realizing how you pulled and tugged at him, though he doesn't seem to mind.

Silence falls over you both as he finishes putting himself back in order, it's a comfortable kind of silence, for once, but Joel is still the first one to break it.

"If ya need me to, I'll stay a bit longer until after you shower, help you put your things in place..." he's interrupted by a buzz, Joel reaches a hand to his front pocket for his phone, an iPhone half a dozen generations old, checks the screen, and stuffs it back in, unbothered, "That kind of thing."

Your brows shoot up in curiosity, he didn't even pay whatever it was on his phone half his mind, his attention never faltered from you, his offer still hangs in the air, you want him to stay, but—

"Don't you have... things to do?" you ask, genuinely curious, "I mean, someone rang you up."

"It's just Sarah textin' me, askin' if I picked you up from the airport already, because I seem to be takin’ a long time to come back." Joel explains it to you, his gaze sweeps your desk and the floor, where the little chaos your activities had brought to it was. The laptop's screen has gone dark, so it probably died, but it's the only thing he could see out of order, "Should I tell her?"

He smiles at how you laughed, the affection in his gaze makes you feel warm inside.

"Don't you dare," you reply, jumping from the desk, your knees a little wobbly, and you fall right into his arms. Joel doesn't mind holding you, keeping you close to him, you feel like the luckiest woman in the whole state, maybe in the world, "But you should go back to her, y'know? She's your daughter."

"Yeah, I didn't forget that." he seems to not have forgotten how to be sarcastic, either, "But I know she's fine, you sure you don't want me to stay."

"It's fine." you say with a shake of your head.

Joel, like you were watching an old scene from an old movie, takes that characteristic deep breath of his, the trigger seems to be your tagline, it riles him up so much, apparently. You think it's funny.

"Fine— girl, didn't we have a whole conversation about this? I had to finger more words into your vocabulary, do I have to fuck this one out of you?" his exasperation, like his smile, is soft and tender, the scowl on his face, though, it's almost intimidating, if it wasn't because you already had him all figured out.

"You can try." your words have a double meaning, a playful note, but you meant every word. You'd let him have your body if he so much as asked for it, Joel already knows that, however.

"I mean it, it's alright."

"Do you?" he presses you further, he wants to make sure you're not just saying that for the sake of it, brushing his offer off just because it could apparently inconvenience him, you forgot, for a moment, how that man was stubborn as a fucking mule.

"I do." your tone is decided, "Besides, you two will come for dinner with my dad and I, right? He invited you."

"Yeah, he did." Joel muses, a bit lost on his thoughts, "Think ya can keep your trap shut around him for dinner about this?"

"Think you can look him in the eye during dinner after this?" is your rebuttal, Joel looks a little embarrassed, a little bashful smile pulls on his mouth, his gaze flutters down, looking for something that's not on the floor, on the walls, anything to keep himself from meeting your eyes.

"Guess I'll figure it out." his hand finds your cheek, caresses the curve of your face, he sighs, a sound of longing. Joel pulls away from you, the distance already making his body ache, it's not lost on you, you kinda feel the same way.

But it's fine, it really is. You'll see him and Sarah later today, still, this is not over, whatever this is.

The man opens the door to your room, opening it so he can leave, "I'll see you later, then, doll." he says, but then he shoots you a glance of mock sternness to you, over his shoulder, "I'll still fuck the 'fine' outta you, ya hear?"

You laugh, shaking your head.

"Alright, old man."

And before he closes the door, you catch one last glance of him, for now.

You hope he does.

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