#if you think about these they all make perfect sense (to me)

[ckret2]

What's your stance on Ford as a person? Honestly, I believe that for thr majority of canon he is a bad person. But I believe he grew. Still not great though XD

(Love him anyways obvs)

I disagree entirely! I think he's equally as good a person as any of the other main cast.*

*Except Mabel, who, as we all know, is always right about everything.**

(**This is a lighthearted joke. For the love of god, I don't want Mabel discourse in my inbox.)

His biggest sins in the show:

After telling his brother that he was thinking about changing their shared life plans, and then discovering that his brother had gone to the high school that night for no good reason and gone to the science fair for no good reason and messed around near Ford's science project for no good reason and broke it and didn't tell Ford about it... Ford believed Stan did it intentionally and held a grudge for it. You know what, it WOULD be pretty damn hard to believe it was an accident.

Hilariously ill-equipped to cope with Fiddleford's mental health. A guy who responds to "I have anxiety" with "have you tried yoga, it helps me" isn't a bad person, he's clueless. "Character cheerfully enacts a bad idea while a loved one in the background goes NO PLEASE DON'T DO THAT" describes half the episodes of Gravity Falls.

Was successfully manipulated by a professional manipulator into believing his best friend wished him ill. Man, what a terrible person Ford is for being manipulated by a manipulator and saying cruel things to somebody he'd been genuinely convinced was trying to harm him.

??? Didn't say thanks to a guy he was still mad at after the guy fixed a problem he himself had caused. This is a solitary example of stubborn bad etiquette, jesus christ. There's half a dozen different reasons why it makes perfect sense Ford wasn't in the right mindset to feel grateful, this is not something worth indicting his entire character over.

He had high ambitions, which everyone seems to lambast him for, but high ambitions that wouldn't have required doing anybody harm! (Until the professional manipulator started manipulating him into harming the people around him, but we are going to demonstrate some reading comprehension and not blame Ford's underlying morality as a person for things he never would've done if not for Bill's bullying, con artistry, and outright lies.) Like, what is it that he wanted to do with his life? Use his talents to get rich and famous? Shit, that's exactly what Stan wanted to do with his life. It's what Dipper fantasizes about doing with his life. Even Mabel, who thinks about her long-term future the least, dreams big with her art & performances and is already making big money off cheap-ass commissions. What terrible people they all are, for—let me check my notes here—uhhh... unrealistically fantasizing about achieving success in life by doing the things they're good at.

When their dad accuses Stan of lying as a child, Ford puts his entire summer on the line to defend Stan even though he knows Stan is a habitual liar and has no reason to believe Stan is telling the truth this time.

When his new college roommate he barely even knows gets laughed at for proposing an outlandish scientific theory, his first emotion is outrage at this injustice and he drops everything to convince his already-despondent roommate that he was right and help him prove it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

When he moves to a new town, he tries again and again to befriend his new neighbors, and fails not because he's rude or a jerk, but because he's awkward as hell, tells terrible jokes, and sucks at identifying phoenixes.

When Fiddleford gets hurt around him, he cares about it, feels guilty about putting him in that position, doesn't want it to happen again, and tries his best to help even though he's bad at helping.

When he gets kidnapped by a weird holiday folklore creature, he concludes without even thinking about it that he's now in charge of protecting and rescuing the kidnapped kids. Yeah, then he immediately starts hollering at the folklore creature for trying to impose his religious beliefs on Ford and the kids—but like, Ford was right tho, he just had bad timing.

When he discovers that the Northwest family committed atrocities against their poorer neighbors a century ago, his first instinct is to march up to their house, find the first Northwest he can locate, and give them a piece of his mind for it. Like, this won't even FIX anything. He's just THAT OUTRAGED over the injustice.

When he sees what he thinks is a fortune telling fraud conning the people, he attempts to debunk her because he's mad to see someone cheating other people with lies—and when he can't debunk her, he just leaves her alone rather than harass her about it. Typically, if assholes think somebody's doing something wrong but don't have any proof of it and fail to get proof when they look, they decide they're right anyway and keep giving that person shit. Ford doesn't give her shit. That's the opposite of an asshole move.

When he discovers his Portal To Knowledge (And Fame & Fortune) is actually a Portal To Doom (But Still Possibly Fame & Fortune, Maybe Even Godly Power), he isn't tempted for a second to keep working on it anyway. There is no moment where Bill manages to tempt him. No matter what Bill offers, no matter how long Bill offers, never, at ANY point, does Ford have a SECOND of "but what if I did make a deal with the devil?" the way so many heroes in similar situations often do.

You ever notice that? So often moral moments in the show are presented as choices the characters make. Will or won't Dipper give Bill a "puppet" in exchange for knowledge. Will or won't Stan fight a pterodactyl to protect Mabel's pig. Will or won't Mabel hand Bipper the journal. Ford is never given a "will or won't he" moment over Bill's threats, offers of friendship, or offers of infinite power—he steamrolls straight past them without a second of consideration—because, to him, the selfish, cowardly, easy choice ISN'T EVEN AN OPTION. He doesn't even SEE it as making a choice because the possibility of doing the wrong thing is invisible. A character who wavers first before turning Bill down would look more noble for "overcoming" temptation—it's harder to notice just how much stronger Ford's moral compass must be to not even feel temptation in the first place.

Greed and pride never tempt him to join Bill's side. Exhaustion, despair, and fear never tempt him to give up. He bears up under weeks, possibly months of extreme sleep deprivation, physical torture, psychological torture, emotional torture, threats of death, threats of brainwashing, threats to his family. He doesn't hold up so that he can pat himself on the back for being a hero—if that was all it was he would've gone "screw it, this isn't worth it and nobody would know I'm the one who gave up" a week in—he does it because he simply knows it must be done and because he's so isolated (half because of Bill's influence!) that he believes he's the one who must do it, all alone.

Thinking he has to do it by himself isn't egotism or pride; it's helplessness. He thinks no one else stands a chance. He thinks he's alone.

And, when he discovers his Portal To Knowledge is a Portal To Doom, he immediately feels guilty. No trying to deny the situation to protect his ego. No shuffling the blame off to someone else. No "maybe the apocalypse could have a silver lining!" No locking the door and trying to ignore the problem. He blames himself for being fooled—he IMMEDIATELY takes full responsibility for his actions—and he CONTINUES to take responsibility FOR THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS.

He takes more responsibility than is even warranted—he treats himself like he's an idiot for believing in an APPARENT GOD who's been practicing manipulating humans for thousands of years and who had never given Ford reason to believe the portal was anything but what Bill said it was. He beats himself up to no end every single time his past with Bill comes up. He even keeps beating himself up thirty years later when he's shoving warning notes to future readers in Bill's evil unkillable book!

When he falls into the multiverse, he dedicates his entire life NOT to finding a way to rescue himself, but to finding a way to permanently stop the CHAOS GOD who's still at the threshold of destroying Ford's world and countless others. He makes himself a hated criminal in the process, just to stop Bill. He's ready to spend the rest of his life trying to protect a world he doesn't think he'll ever see again. He does it because, as he sees it, somebody has to stand in between the children and the obnoxious folklore cryptid menacing them, and he's the only adult in this damn cave with the skills and knowledge for the job.

When he gets home, he doesn't tell his family about Bill and his quest because he's afraid that doing so will get them involved and endanger them too—and because he's too deeply ashamed of himself and his mistakes to stand the thought of his family knowing about the horrible things he's done (AGAIN, WHILE BEING MANIPULATED BY THE GOD OF MANIPULATION).

He loves his great-niece and great-nephew the second he lays eyes on them; he nevertheless tries to steer away from them to keep them safe from Bill; and yet he caves to the very first temptation to emotionally bond with his great-nephew he gets, because in spite of his noble "keep them safe" intentions, he wants so so badly to be close to his family.

As pissed as he still is at Stan and even though neither of them can look at each other without hissing like cats, he still makes an attempt to start bridging their divide by inviting him to play DD&MD.

When the apocalypse happens, he immediately puts his life on the line to try to kill Bill.

And when he's captured, isn't fazed for a second by Bill's offers or threats... until his family is threatened. The exact thing he'd been trying to avoid & prevent from the very start.

And when he's reunited with Fiddleford, his immediate reaction is to point out that Fiddleford's well within his rights to hate him—which isn't a new revelation, it's not like Ford had to do any soul-searching to reach this conclusion, he'd concluded that 30 years ago the instant he realized Bill had played him and that he'd been lied to about Fiddleford.

And then he tries to kill Bill again.

And then he's ready to sacrifice his own life to kill Bill—and the only reason he doesn't is because he has a metal plate preventing him from making the sacrifice... but, Stan doesn't have a plate. If Ford hadn't had the metal plate, he would have gladly done the exact same thing Stan did—and he would have thought it was right for him and only him to make that sacrifice, because it's VERY clear he feels (and has felt from the start) that this is all his fault and he's obligated to fix it.

Over and over and over, these are Ford's two defining character traits: getting so pissed off at injustice that his common sense shuts off and he goes into terminator mode until he's righted this wrong as best he can, even when he can't actually do anything about it; and feeling like he's Atlas, weighed down with the full responsibility of fixing everything he's done wrong and made to believe that, for everyone else's sake, he has to do it all alone. Even when doing so puts himself in harm's way, even when he has to put his entire life on hold for it, even if it might cost him his life. Scrape off his awkward social skills, his loneliness, his nerdiness, his endless curiosity, his zealous love of the strange, his starry ambitions, his yearning for recognition and success—scrape his personality down to the bone and that's what you're left with. A man who believes in defending the exploited so strongly that it makes him a little stupid.

I'm gonna go out on a limb and assume that you probably don't think Stan's fundamentally a bad person, and that you probably think that isn't even worth questioning. Stan's made a whole career out of swindling people, conning them out of as much money as he possibly can, stealing, lying, committing a long list of goofily-named crimes, and attempting douchy pick-up artistry on women; and to cap it all off, he held the safety of the entire universe hostage to demand a goddamn "thank you." Don't send me any "But he had reasons—" "But it was only to—" I don't need it, I don't want the essay, I'm not arguing that Stan's a bad guy, it's fine.

But. You can look at Stan's moments of cruelty and unkindness, his uncharitable thoughts, his character flaws, and think, "that doesn't define him. He's more than his cruelest moments and worst mistakes. He's imperfect, but he cares so much and his heart's in the right place, and beneath all the flaws his core is good."

And if you can't do the same for Ford, it's not because he's a worse person. It's because we got two seasons with Stan and five and a half episodes with Ford—and while we saw Stan yearning to fish with the kids or encouraging Mabel to whoop Pacifica's butt at minigolf or crying over a black and white period drama or punching zombies to save his family, we only saw Ford at the worst moments in his life and under the stress of a prolonged apocalyptic crisis—and, it so happens, all the moments he was pissed at the guy we spent two seasons learning to love.

Ford's got moments of cruelty and unkindness, uncharitable thoughts, and character flaws. But, at his core, he's a good person, and he always has been, and he still is.

[mcflymemes]

"I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT YOU" PROMPTS *  assorted dialogue, adjust as necessary

you expect me to just carry on without you?

you're the only one i'll ever want.

they don't know me like you do.

i knew i needed to see you again.

everything makes sense when you're near me.

it's you, or it's no one.

i'll do everything i can to give you the perfect life.

please give me a chance to prove i'm the one.

life's just not worth living if you're not in it.

what you and i have... it's special. it's more than special.

can't you see we're meant to be together?

you're my soulmate.

there has to be something i can say to convince you to stay with me.

but i don't want you to leave.

you changed my whole world the day i met you.

the last thing i want is a life without you.

i can't go another day without you.

please stay beside me.

i made a mistake when i left you. i realize that now.

you're the reason i fought as hard as i did.

no one compares to you.

you can't leave me.

i tried living without you. worst time of my life.

i don't ever want to know what life is like without you.

you're all i have.

they don't touch me like you do.

you're the only one for me, i've decided.

what will it take for you to stay here? with me?

nothing makes sense when you're not here.

you mean everything to me.

all right, i'll come right out and say it. i need you.

if you want me to get down on my hands and knees and beg, i will.

it's you that i want.

when i first saw you, i went "oh. that's the person i'm going to marry."

i don't feel safe when you're gone.

i think i was made with you in mind.

it's only you. it's only ever going to be you.

i wish you would stop trying to push me away.

ever since the day you walked into my life, i've been forever changed.

you have no idea your effect on me.

i want you in my life.

i'm going to fight to keep you in my life.

they can't take you away from me.

nothing can tear us apart.

tell me you want me the way i want you.

right now, i just want you close to me.

i never would have survived that had it not been for you.

i'll never love anyone the way i love you.

i don't see other people. i only see you.

you're the one that i want.

what's the point of life if you're not here with me?

don't go where i can't follow.

the longer we're apart, the more sure of it i am. you're it for me.

i think of you all the time, actually.

pretty sure i've been thinking about kissing you since the day we met.

you're my home.

do you believe in soulmates?

when we're apart, nothing makes sense.

that's why i want you here with me.

we're stronger together than we are apart.

[cosmichorrorlesbians]

These were the Silt Verses.

(closeups/design notes/rambling under the cut, because it took me over a month to make this so I'm going to be a little self-indulgent.)

spoilers for the whole podcast ahead!

Our protagonists! Notes:

Some of these came out more accurate to how I see them than others. Hayward in particular looks much less grimy and haggard than I imagine him. Carpenter, on the other hand, is perfect in my eyes. Shrue is (subconsciously) very much inspired by the wonderful @unbloodiedmartyr's rendition of them (thanks Sacha, your art goes insanely hard!)

Hayward and Paige face away, a nod to their final parting. Carpenter and Faulkner face one another, in deference to their final reunion.

Val and Shrue are both shown at the moment of their deaths.

Paige, the only character confirmed to survive the immediate finale, is the only one with closed eyes.

I'm a blond Faulkner truther. Sorry.

Someone left some really really insane tags on a Valpost I made like a month ago about how Val can alter her appearance as she pleases, but the Last Word can never convince her not to see the actual aftermath of her torture when she looks in the mirror, and it sent me a little crazy, so I was trying to capture that failing self-deceit here. She's meant to look absurdly young, but where the flames overlay her face, you can see the prayer marks and lacerations on her skin.

I had this out on my desk for days and every time a family member dropped by I had to frantically hide the fact I was drawing 'politician gets shot in the head' fanart. RIP.

These are the marks of the Many Below! They look Not Great enlarged, but hey ho. I wanted them to look hidden and incidental, separated in each corner as they are:

'Begin with a balbis on its side. Within the two spaces, a circle marked by a single dot.' Drawn in the silt of the White Gull River.

'Beneath this, a pair of concentric circles. Within the annulus, an ovoid with a slit - a staring eye.' Scrawled across the pug postcard Cross uses to write his idea to scapegoat Shrue.

'Under that, a lemniscate over a heptagram[...]' Made up of the ribbon that binds Mercer and Gage's rifles.

'[...]and three parallel lines beneath.' Faulkner's staff, broken into three pieces.

Interstitial illustrations. There are four sets of these, which (roughly) correspond to more stand-alone episodes & fan favourites. This is my favourite, for my beloved Chapter 36: All Lovers Part As Dust. I had a blast distilling recurring motifs of the episode into one little illustration, and I'm really proud of the result; I think it captures the match of sweet and bitter that the episode in question inspires. The clock points to the eleventh hour.

These are pretty self-explanatory: I couldn't pass up a chance to draw the inciting miracle of the series, and it made sense to pair it with the image of Paige and Hayward sailing downriver at the end of Season 2, an image which has always haunted me.

The hare and the owl are from Chapter 26, a symbol of the Wound Tree's emergence. The lobster and fish are intended as a nod to Faulkner and Rane, a character who I love but couldn't include more overtly. Lobsters are seen as a symbol of devotion and fidelity because, apocryphally, they mate for life, and yet the lobster here is without its pair. The fish was intended to be a remora, which swims beside sharks. (Yes, I'm aware remora are tropical sea-dwelling fish, and humbly beg any marine biologists reading this not to kill me on the spot).

The Killing And Violence Siblings!

These object illustrations were deliberately positioned as parallels and specifically reference Season 2, marking the point of the poem that is made up of that series' titles (an attention to the series chronology that roughly coheres throughout the piece. Very roughly.)

Mercer and Gage's rifles are twisted round with a red ribbon, which bleeds into the White Gull, binding them together and reflecting how they're rarely seen apart. The ribbon's also a deliberate parallel to the banner wrapping Carpenter and Faulkner's hands elsewhere in the art.

Carpenter's axe and Faulkner's sororicidal mirror shard are depicted alongside fish hooks, as though they're separated for much of the season, the Parish draws them back together in the end. Also an echo of Paige's line, 'Love is just a meat hook for you to catch me on.'

There's only blood on one of the rifles, in a nod to Mercer and Gage's uneven dynamic.

Bookend landscapes. The pages were intended to reference the Silt Verses as an in-story document, and represent the themes of truth, myth and record throughout.

The illumination!

It was always going to be a radio-- not a nod specifically to Sid Wright, but really to the use of broadcast, music and sound throughout the show. TSV's sound design is truly one of the things I admire most about it.

The radio is meant to be on Carpenter and Faulkner's dashboard, as they drive along the river in the very first episode, hence its positioning at the start of the poem.

I conceived this as the centre of the piece, and drew the rest around it.

aaaand that was a lot. I didn't cover everything, and I recommend clicking on the final piece to get full quality and see how the details interact with one another-- but if you've read through all these meanderings, thank you, sibling. I started this two weeks after the finale, and managed a full relisten while drawing. It's been a labour of love, and I now hate watercolours more than I have words for.

[bitethedevil]

What do you like about the character of Raphael ?

A Feral Love Letter to the Devil We Know

Oh boy. Here’s my list of why Raphael is like catnip to me (it’s not short and it is possibly a bit extra deranged because I am currently sick).

Purely physical things that convince me that this man was made for me in a lab:

Brown eyes and dark hair has always been my type

The slight stubble and those cheekbones (generally just his whole facial structure is beautiful)

The fucking n o s e <3 <3

Those thick thighs (perfectly sittable and bitable). He is just perfectly shaped.

Those hands he waves in your face all the time and those long fingers (does things to me)

His clothes. Yes, even in cambion form and even the silly clown boots, I love them. It is just all too extra, and I live for it

Everything about his cambion form

I have this crazy theory. There has been made these studies that depending on hormone levels, women are attracted to different kinds of men. At one end of their cycle, they prefer more ‘feminine’ looking men, and on the other end they prefer more traditionally ‘masculine’ looking men. If I get tired of his human form, I get more attracted to his cambion form and the cycle repeats. I think that is why I just do not get tired of staring at this stupid man every day. I know I’m not crazy. It’s science (and we all know I’m a trusted scientist).

Non-physical things that intrigue me:

How expressive he is. I love how his face changes constantly and dramatically with each sentence he speaks. It’s mostly an act but he is so charismatic. He has ‘rizz’ like the kids would say.

I can’t fix him. I don’t want to. His mind games intrigue me. I want to study him like a bug and play mind games with him too (I’m not delusional enough to think I’d win). Let it be toxic as fuck on both parts.

This man is just chucking stones from his glass house like there is no tomorrow. He plays such a big bad devil, but he is really just a little wet cat with a god complex and daddy issues. Not to mention his little hissy fits if any of his perceived weaknesses are pointed out. I find it endearing (unfortunately).

His voice and his eloquence. I love it. Even his shitty poetry. I could listen to it for eternity.

He is so smart. I have been shouting it from the roof tops: he is not stupid. He is always ten steps ahead.

He’s honest. He doesn’t lie and you know where you’ve got him (if you know how to keep up with him).

Genuinely everyone thinks he sucks, both devils and mortals, and yet he thinks he is the shit, either genuinely or as a coping mechanism.

He just such a nuances character if you really dig into it.

Things I relate to:

The scheming and overthinking. Everything is meticulously thought out to the point of obsession. He is playing 4D chess but doesn’t even consider that the other players might just eat the pieces to win. He strikes me as someone who completely overcomplicates things for no reason, and I felt that.

His idea of order is very different from what’s actually orderly. It just has to make sense to him, like ‘what do you mean it’s not orderly to have dead people lying around, trash everywhere, and debtors running around aimlessly in my house? Completely intentional. What’s not clicking?”. I felt that too. There is order to my chaos, and you don’t have to understand it. I get it.

He’s a cringy theater kid with a love for poetry too.

I too find it annoying when other people don’t follow the script I had in mind for the conversation.

Just human enough to understand how human interactions works, but either doesn’t give a shit or genuinely thinks that just spouting vaguely threatening poetry to strangers is a completely normal thing to do.

The obsession and ambition that just completely makes him lose the plot of everything else.

He is just so obsessed with everything being perfect to a point where it almost seems silly.

Acts like he doesn’t care, but actually cares A LOT about how other people perceive him.

I could honestly keep going but you get the picture.

(Thank you for the ask <3)

[jubshead]

AGATHA ALL ALONG THEORY

OKAY HEAR ME OUT

I was rewatching the 3rd episode of AAA and you know the scene in the bathroom where Lilia says “Try to save Agatha”, so I talked to someone here on tumblr and they said that they think the things she’s spouting are future dialogues she’s going to have when she’s dying, like when she tells them she loves them or starts screaming “get off of me!” and that for me makes perfect sense.

Following this line of thought I kept wondering why would she tell someone to save Agatha specifically, cause they might became close of course, but it’s still weird bc she concentrates only on Agatha, which is out of character considering they have Teen to think about.

So when I was watching this scene again I suddenly remembered this tweet:

“What Agatha craves is peers and colleagues. She gets off the power rush, but she wants to do that with others…”

What if Lilia saw that at the end of the road Agatha’s prize would be to (besides the whole son thing that I’m not sure) be with the friends she made and the found family she got.

So maybe they would all come back from the dead to grant her this prize

Idk this might be a little to optimistic, but it was an idea I had while rewatching the episode, so I wanted to share and hear what anyone has to say about it

[parkerluvsu]

can u write something about art and reader having high sex 😛😛😛🙏🏻🙏🏻 like idk just like a chill night at the dorm at stanford or something where they smoke a couple blunts and grind on each other idk!!!!!!!!!!!

MOONLIGHT (art donaldson x fem! reader)

sometimes you felt like a bad influence on art.. he wouldn't let anything that wasn't on his pre-planned diet touch his lips before he met you. but from the first puff of your joint under the bleachers of the tennis court, he was hooked. not just on the woozy feeling he got when he took too long of a hit, but on the feeling of having you around him.

the more you two hung out, the more art associated the feeling of his head in the clouds, not with the large puffs of smoke drifting around his room, but you the feeling of you sitting next to him, your legs draped over his. art feels guilty, if he got caught, he'd absolutely get thrown out of the tennis program, and probably never be able to attend a good school again, but on the other hand.. your sweet giggles as you blow smoke into his face gave made him forget all the consequences if he got caught.

the problem with you (and it's not even really a problem to art.. he thinks you're perfect) is you like things casual. sure you've made out with art in a haze of smoke, maybe grinded a bit over his jeans in the back of his overly clean jeep, and he can't even count the times that you've texted him "you up?" at 2am, but he's never been your "boyfriend".

art knows it would be hard to have a serious conversation with you without the guise of just coming over to smoke, so he shoots you a text.

art: hey can i come over? need to relax :)

the buzz of your phone from the desk beside you steals your attention from your math homework, a welcome distraction. you text him back quickly, eager to have an excuse to smoke.

an eager knock on your door comes only minutes later, arts face a mixture of nerves and excitement, like a kid sneaking candy from their parents. art looks as cute as ever in his wrinkled stanford shirt and his checkered shorts, hair tussled from a night at practice. "cmon in artie" his cheeks blush at the nickname as he enters your dorm, making himself comfortable in the cozy chair in the corner. you pull out the box of paraphernalia from under your bed, flower stickers peeling off of the box from overuse. you tilt your head to the side, looking at arts body language, his constant shifting telling you he's trying to seem calm but he really isn't. "what do you wanna smoke?" you ask him, knowing what his answer will be before he even opens his mouth, "whatever you want".

that seems to be arts answer for anything, "whatever you want", sometimes you think if you walked off the edge of a cliff he'd do the same. art was one of those people who followed everything you did, the way you sat, the way you talked, and even your vocabulary, he would shift to be more similar to you. even when he smoked for the very first time, he watched you inhale so deep and hold it in before blowing a large cloud of smoke into the air, he tried to do the same.. but ended up greening out and throwing up in the trashcan next to the tennis courts. the truth is, art would do that all over again if it meant even one more second with you, and he knew it was clingy and definitely too dependent for the casual situation you were in.. but he can't help himself.

me: sure, come over anytime

art is a lightweight in every sense of the word, whenever Patrick would take him to a frat party to get totally wasted, all it took was one red solo cup full of beer to have art stumbling over his own feet. It was the same with weed, it only took one hit for art to start slurring his words, his body pretty much melting into any surface near him. currently, it's the cozy chair in the corner of your room, but you can see his eyes drifting towards the cozy blankets on you bed. "art, you know you can go sit on my bed right?" his eyes widen and he shuffles over, flopping down on the bed in such a way that would make sober-him flush with embarrassment. you giggle as he wraps himself in the blankets, his head lolling onto the pillow. art blearily watches you come sit on the bed too, leaning against the wall for support. the sight of him tangled up in your blankets reminds you of previous late nights spent together, causing a flutter in your stomach that you're a little ashamed of. art leans over to give you the joint back, your fingers brushing together softly. "y'know you look super pretty right now" art says, "n-not that you don't always look pretty but like.. right now especially" he revises his statement, he's always such a people pleaser. you laugh, taking a long hit from the joint before giving him a wide smile. "thanks artie, you're pretty too" you reply, knowing he likes being called pretty, even though he'd absolutely never say it, the way his ears go red gives him away every time.

as the night goes on, and your shared joint turns into a stub, you find yourself closer to art than you thought you were, your sides pressed up against each other as you lay on your backs, staring up at your ceiling. the boring white paint suddenly seeming very interesting until you felt movement beside you, art was tuning on his side and leaning his face on his hand. you blink, "what are you looking at?" glancing at arts eyes that were fixed on your face. "you" art says simply, causing you to shake your head and laugh. "i know that art.. but why?" you ask, pressing for an answer from him. "dunno.. just your face is nice" he says, his face dropping into your shoulder. arts breath was hot against your neck, making you almost want to pull away, but you'd never do that, enjoying the weight of him against you. arts breathing rate increases against your neck and you wonder why until you feel a pressure against your thigh. "art.." he hums in response, only focused on the small sharp movements of his hips. you know how quickly he shifts from being all innocent and sweet to taking what he needs.

you're such a sucker for art, especially when he's high and he can't hide his feelings like he usually does. you shift your leg to the side to help him, inciting an immediate response of his eyes fluttering shut against your shoulder, his eyelashes tickling you gently. the position that you maneuvered into allowed arts leg to slot between yours as well, letting you slowly rock your hips against his leg, the feeling of his bare skin only making you feel more pleasure. before you know it, art is pressing hot kisses into your neck and your arms are wrapped loosely around his neck. "mmmmmfuck" art groans against your neck, even though he's feeling less woozy than earlier, he's still sensitive, just the feeling of grinding against you having him teetering on the edge. suddenly, you feel his hips stutter and a dampness cover the front of his shorts. art holds his breath for a second before his whole body goes limp against you, his fingers not clenching the sheets anymore.

a comfortable silence falls between you, before art breaks it with his soft voice. "can we go again? 'm sorry i just.. i need you" he whines out, still not showing his face. you giggle softly and nod, lifting up your hips to pull off your pajama pants and panties, art doing the same with his shorts and boxers. "how do you want me?" you ask, sending a flutter of butterflies into arts stomach because of the sense of control you're giving him. art thinks for a second, "can you turn around..? please" he asks, a bit of hesitancy in his voice. you nod, turning to face the wall next to your bed, your back facing art. his gentle hands maneuver your legs into a position that's easy for him to slip into you. he does so slowly, more for your sake than his, he thinks if he pushed inside of you too fast he would surely cum prematurely (not like it hasn't happened before).

you feel art shiver against you, his hips pausing when he enters your fully, his balls resting snugly against your ass. art could truly stay like this forever, if he had the patience and resolve.. but he doesn't, his hips snap into yours quickly, the overstimulation getting to him. he wraps his arms around your stomach, holding you close to him, his head yet again smushed into the crook of your neck. every thrust he gives you feels like it's punching the air out of you, art isn't even pulling all the way out anymore, just humping his hips into you the best he can. even in his delicate headspace, art still wants to please you first, his fingers making their way down your stomach before rubbing messily at your clit, his fingers catching on your nub every few circles, causing you to tighten up around him. art is close, you can always tell by how his voice shifts from more coherent to just straight up blabbering, "mgh.. god.. 's so warm.. you're so warm.." "it feels s' good.. it's feels good to you too right?" "gotta be closer to you.. wan' be closer to you" but you snap to attention when he moans against you, "please be m' girlfriend please.. i wan' you to be mine.." you're sure art has no idea what he's saying until he repeats himself, almost sounding like he's about to cry. you nod quickly, "y-yeah artie okay.. ill be your girlfriend.." now you swear he actually sobs, his hips making one last deep thrust before you feel him fill you up, the sensation sending you over the edge right after him.

art stays inside of you for a minute, dating his breath before pulling out, grabbing a tissue and helping you clean up. when you open your eyes, arts looking up at you with his signature puppy dog eyes. "um.. did you mean what you said?" he asks quietly, his head bowing down quickly, as if he didn't want to see your reaction. you think back to your agreement, sure it was in the heat of the moment, but would it really be such a bad idea to say yes? you pause, and arts head droops even lower, expecting the worst. "art you know ive purposely been keeping this casual.. but i.. i trust you now artie, i do want this to be serious" you reach out for his hand, squeezing it gently. arts face lights up like a kid getting the one present they wanted for christmas as he quickly hugs you. "thank you.. thanks, you won't regret it i swear" you smile, pulling the blankets over the both of you, snuggling into arts chest as you admire the beautiful rays of moonlight streaming into your bedroom.

art is easily entranced by the quick movements of your fingers as you roll a joint, it sounds silly but he's always admired the fact that you didn't buy pre-rolls, preferring to be more independent. you lick the paper to get it to stick shut (and art is grateful you were too focused on that to see the way his eyes widened when you did) and root around your drawer for your lighter, a stupid pink one decorated with hello kitty that you got for your birthday. art couldn't help but find it endearing, the way you were so independent and "too cool" for a real relationship, but you still kept all the things that people gave to you, even if they weren't to your taste. the click of your lighter snapped art out of his observations, the light from the tiny flame illuminating your face in a way that made art want to take a picture, the fluttering flame casting an orange glow onto your skin. the strong smell of the joint caused art to become a little lightheaded even though he hasn’t even taken a hit yet, his fingers grabbing the joint from you after a couple failed tries that make you laugh, the soft giggles a soundtrack for the night.

[runariya]

Part 2 of this | shout out to @sleepingzzzimp who made this happen lol part of the prompt game pairing: vampire!Jungkook x f!reader genre: vampire!AU, yandere, dark romance warnings: compulsion and being held captive, obsessive and possessive JK, OC’s rather…special in regards of what JK did to her, allusion to dubcon/noncon, blood drinking, foul language, explicit sexual content, smut, OC’s ovulating, oral (m. receiving), ‘good girl’, a lot of saliva, deep throating, size difference, a lil bit of fingering, doggy, unprotected seggs, a lil bit of aftercare, a lil bit of fluff, lmk if I forgot smth pls word count: 2.573

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Jungkook didn’t think much further than keeping you by his side, using you not only as his personal blood bag but also as a warm, perfectly suited pleasure-giver for his dead soul. It’s not like you have much of a choice, with the compulsion firmly in place to stop your fragile self from doing anything that might harm your mortal, precious life.

He knows, though, that even under compulsion, humans tend to remain aware of what’s going on. He’s seen that subtle flicker of consciousness more times than he can count. But with you, he never finds resentment, hatred, or sadness—none of the things he might expect, even when he himself would admit he’s gone too far.

It’s impressive, really, and makes it all the more fun and fulfilling to have you around. You’re like the perfect doll, tailor-made just for him. Amazing.

Weeks have passed—maybe months? Jungkook doesn’t know anymore, nor does he care to keep track of mortal time. What he does know is that a routine has formed. And part of that routine is watching you make breakfast in the old kitchen of his mansion. Because despite everything, you’re still human, and you need nutrition to keep being his personal supply.

Jungkook’s noticed for days now that something about you has changed, though he’s not entirely sure what it is. It’s like the compulsion has worn off, not working on you the way it used to. But that shouldn’t be possible. At least, not in his understanding of things.

Sometimes, as he watches you humming around the kitchen, occasionally singing along to the crackling radio on the top shelf, he daydreams of you being here by choice, not because of compulsion. It must be nice, he thinks, to have someone who loves him.

Could he even love? If it was with you, he might try. Or maybe this possessiveness is love, the only kind he’s capable of feeling.

Like every morning, Jungkook sits at the nearby table, watching you prepare a high-protein breakfast, as if you’re willingly keeping yourself strong for him. Then, it happens. Your eyes meet his, and for the first time, they’re crystal clear, fully conscious, without any trace of the haze he’s used to see in them.

His face would go pale if he weren’t already deadly white. Carefully, he stands up, every sense on high alert. The kitchen knives are just within your reach, which he’s absolutely not a fan of. 

“What’s wrong, Kook?” Your voice is soft, melodic, and he can’t tell if you’re playing games or if he’s dreaming.

“You tell me.”

“I’m fine. But you’re not. You’re scaring me, Kook.”

He knows why you’re scared. He’s never acted this wary with you before, never approached you like you might be his literal downfall. But he can’t help it. Even though he knows you can’t really harm him, he refuses to let his guard down.

“I know the compulsion’s worn off. Stop pretending.” His voice is dangerously cold, stepping closer, eyes flicking between you and every potential threat—the knives, the hot pan, even the salt that could burn his eyes.

“I’m not pretending, I know it’s worn off.” You smile up at him, brighter than ever, like you’re happy to be free—though not from him, specifically.

“And why aren’t you running? Or fighting?”

Jungkook doesn’t want to indulge in some fantasy where you’ve magically fallen in love with your captor. But despite his caution, your words make him feel something—a fuzziness he hasn’t felt in centuries.

“Why would I?” You sigh, turning off the stove and setting down the spatula. “Jungkook, you’ve treated me well. It’s not like I would—”

“Cut the bullshit. I know you’re lying.”

“But I’m not, Kook. There’s no one out there waiting for me. And if there is, they’re only out to hurt me.”

Your eyes are glassy now, almost pleading, and he’s not sure what to make of it.

“And now, you’ve suddenly fallen in love with the one person who’s used you in every evil way imaginable?”

“It was never evil, and you know it.”

Your confidence throws him off. He’s always seen himself as the monster he is. He’s used your body, fed off you—blood and arousal—without ever asking for consent. How could that not be evil?

“But it was.”

You purse your lips, shaking your head disapprovingly as you turn back to the stove, reigniting it to finish your breakfast.

“It wasn’t. Did I give you permission for all that? No. Would I have if you’d asked? Probably not. But—”

“See!”

“I’m talking now. Shut up.” You point the spatula at him, and it’s so cute that he genuinely smiles for the first time in what feels like forever. “All I’m saying is, even though your ways are… unorthodox, you were never harsh with me. It never hurt, and I could feel how much you cared for my wellbeing.”

A silence falls between you, and Jungkook isn’t sure what to say. You’re sort of right. He never wanted to truly break you. He wanted to keep you safe, keep you useful for as long as possible. You’re too precious to waste.

“All I’m saying is, now that I’m fully conscious and making my own choices, I’d rather stay with you than go back to the humans.”

“I don’t trust you.”

“Oh, I can tell.” You giggle, and despite himself, despite every reason not to, Jungkook chuckles too.

“Eat up. You’ll need it.”

Jungkook turns to leave, still processing, his mind racing. He needs time to figure out what to do next.

“Can’t wait,” you call after him, your tone teasing, and he’s pretty sure that if he could blush, he would.

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

There’s no way in hell he’s able to figure you out. No. Way. Why are you all smiles and happiness, sitting like always on his giant bed, offering your neck to him like you always did?

He’s standing a good distance away, arms crossed over his sturdy chest, head tilted to the side. It’s not like he isn’t hungry—he’s starving, actually—because he’s never had his full fill of your blood, always making sure you’re alright after, leaving his hunger partially satisfied but never completely.

Saliva is collecting relentlessly in his mouth, his fangs protruding without much effort. Yet, he can’t make a move. What if it’s a trap? What if there’s a hidden dagger in your clothes, something that’ll kill him?

Should he just make you leave and find someone new? But he doesn’t want to. You’re just too sweet, too perfect for him to resist.

“Strip bare,” he commands, and the words alone make your thighs rub together as you immediately comply. Odd. 

You waste no time, each piece of clothing falling soundlessly to the floor, your nipples hardening in the cold.

“Turn around.”

You do. And he finds no threat on you. Odd again.

“Sit.”

You comply again, and he’s kind of aroused by your eager obedience. It’s refreshing, and he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to resist you if this keeps up—willingly walking into whatever doom you might be for him.

But still, he’s unable to move, even though the pulse of your neck is tempting him beyond reason.

“Kook,” you mewl softly, and he’s gone. Jungkook’s gone in the sweetness of you. He lets his arms fall, strides towards you, and practically tackles you to the bed, licking and breathing against your neck.

“So good,” he murmurs, saliva dripping from his lips onto your skin as you grind your hips against him. He’s not sure why you’re this eager—he hasn’t bitten you yet, so his bite’s usual effect can’t be coursing through your blood making you horny.

“Why so eager?” he muses, grazing his fangs along your artery.

“Ovulating,” you moan, your hands threading through his hair.

“Hmmm… I can smell it on you.” The intoxicating scent of your body wraps around him like a vice, and he can’t resist any longer. “Gonna make you feel good, doll.”

You only moan his name as Jungkook finally sinks his fangs into your delicate skin, your blood flooding his mouth, his entire being. It makes him feel high, high in a way that tells him he’ll never want anything or anyone else. He’s addicted to you.

Jungkook feels your arousal intensify, your dopamine and oxytocin levels skyrocketing as your juices drip from your perfect little hole, soaking his clothed thigh with a dark wetness.

“Yes, Kook, need more, please.”

Jungkook pulls back in surprise, the confirmation so new he’s unsure if he heard you right. But you grab his head, pushing him back to your neck while your other hand fumbles with his chest, trailing down to his abs.

“Please, Kook. I’ve been a good girl. Please.”

Jungkook feels like he’s in heaven—a demon allowed into paradise. He’s fully sated, despite not drinking much of your blood. He reckons it’s the awareness in you that magnifies the effect.

He licks the wound on your neck to help it heal, then leans back on his knees, admiring your flustered, tiny frame. You’re looking up at him with sparkly eyes, lips parted, neck still smeared with your blood—you’re a vision he’ll never get sick off.

“You’ve been a good girl?” There’s nothing more satisfying than seeing you this keen, and he plans to savour it.

“Yes, a good girl for you. Always for you.”

As Jungkook stands to strip off his own clothes, you’re watching him for the first time, drinking him in rather than lying there passively.

“Sit up. Open up.”

Obedient as ever, you do as told, opening your pretty mouth and sticking out your tongue, waiting impatiently.

Jungkook pumps his cold, rock-hard cock a few times, marvelling at the sight of you. He runs his thumb over his glans for an extra kick. And though he knows you can somehow take him, he’s always impressed by the sheer size difference. But you’re a good girl, letting him in, suppressing the gag as he hits the back of your throat, muscles pulsing violently around him.

A primal moan escapes his lips as his head falls back, savouring every second of you sucking him off like your life depends on it. He can’t help but thrust into your throat, his pace increasing with every push as you grab his hips to take him deeper, moaning around his cock. Your saliva drips down your chin, your eyes, aware, locking onto his as if to reassure him to give you all he's got. 

He doesn’t hold back after that, pushing his hips flush against your face, your nose pressed into him until you can’t breathe anymore as he lets go, shooting his load down your throat. He stays there a moment longer, riding out his orgasm before pulling back.

It’s pleasing to see that, even though you haven’t climaxed yet, your skin glows ever so lovingly.

“You good?”

You’re still catching your breath, but the smile on your face disarms Jungkook completely. “Yes, of course.”

For some reason, his heart swells at your words and at the person you are, someone he hadn’t truly seen until now.

A trail of arousal drips down his sheets, ending in a pool on the floor, which he hadn’t noticed before. The sight reignites his hunger as he flips you over, pushing your face into the bed and kneeling between your legs.

“Should I reward you?” Jungkook runs his fingers over your cunt, circling your entrance before moving to your clit, giving it a few rough pets.

All you can do is moan into the sheets, your hips pushing back desperately.

Jungkook always thought you were perfect, made for him—the reason he captured you all that time ago—but seeing you now, more perfect and conscious than you ever were, is something else entirely. He loves it. He loves you. And he doesn’t care if it’s possible or not—he’s never felt like this before, and he’ll move heaven and earth to keep it that way.

“I think you’ve been such a good girl, you deserve the big reward, don’t you?” Jungkook drags his fangs down your ass, ending at your inner thigh before sinking them into your soft skin for a little sip, your arousal adding a tantalising spice.

“Yes, Kook, been so good for you,” you pant, and that’s all he needs to reward you properly as he gets to his feet after licking the bite closed, lining his still-hard cock up with your weeping cunt.

It’s a tight fit, so tight he feels like he might pass out, his vision doubling and tripling as your pulsing walls grip him mercilessly. “My beautiful doll, my beautiful, beautiful doll.”

Jungkook can’t stop praising you with every word he knows. You’re perfect, moaning, drooling, and pushing back against his hips just for him.

“You’re mine, doll.” He sets a brutal pace, needing the confirmation that no compulsion is required for you to want this as much as he does.

“Yours, Kook. Always,” you cry, fists clutching the sheets as you push back even more desperately.

“Fucking right, mine.”

Jungkook grabs your hair without slowing down, pulling you up against his chest while his other arm holds you steady not to collapse right back to the bed. 

“Never gonna let you leave.”

“Don’t want to,” you moan, your glassy, love-drunk eyes locking onto his red ones.

“Never gonna stop fucking you.”

Your swollen, parted lips scream to be kissed.

“Never gonna want anybody else,” Jungkook confesses between pants, knowing and accepting there’s no turning back for either of you.

For the first time since he captured you, you kiss him back, sucking his tongue like you’ve been starved. It’s as if all this time, you’ve wanted to reciprocate, to give, not just receive.

And despite still tasting his cum on your tongue, there’s a newfound sweetness, making him wish the compulsion had worn off sooner.

“Kook, I’m close.”

He doesn’t need your words—he can feel it in your pulsing heat, your quickening heartbeat.

“Come for me, doll. Show me how much you want this.”

You scream his name as he fucks you through your orgasm, your walls clamping down on his cold cock. He doesn’t mind, wanting to feel every contraction, hear every scream, taste every rush of blood in your body.

His own orgasm builds, and he lets himself go, chanting your name as his thrusts grow irregular until he paints your walls bright white.

You both remain like that, catching your breath, though only your heart beats violently, only you are drenched in sweat, only you truly spent.

Jungkook eventually pulls out, cleaning you up with tissues from the nightstand, all while you watch, glowing ever so ethereal in your afterglow.

As Jungkook reaches for your clothes to dress you as he always does, you stop him with a hand on his tattooed arm. The boyish look he gives you is oddly endearing, and he senses you’re gathering all your confidence for your next words.

“Please don’t send me away.”

Your honesty hits him hard, and he straightens, realising he’s truly hit the jackpot with you.

“I won’t,” Jungkook promises, and with that, you leap around his neck, legs wrapping around his tiny waist, thanking him over and over as if he's you're knight in shining armour.

[lady-griffin]

Did Ekko Make Jinx’s Prosthetic Finger?

I’m curious what other people think, but I don’t think Jinx made her prosthetic finger. The only thing about it that screams JINX to me is the painted smiley face. That’s it.

It’s far too practical and simple of a design to be made by Jinx; seriously, if you remove the smiley face, you wouldn’t be able to tell this was her finger.

By comparison - Fishbones was a complete and total surprise to me when I first watched Arcane and yet I didn't question his existence for a single second; because of course Jinx made a giant shark bazooka. That makes perfect sense given everything we know about her.

With this finger though, I’m like... maybe she made it under these specific circumstances, but even then, I doubt it, because she’s so committed to her aesthetic.

She consistently goes all out, even when there's no reason to.

She individually painted each of her moth bombs, you know the things designed for the sole purpose of exploding. And yet, I'm supposed to believe she made her own finger and only drew a smiley face on it?! Really?!

Are we sure we’re talking about Jinx?

Jinx’s two guns from S1 are her most practical and aesthetically simple designs and even they have more flourish, I mean one’s pink for fuck’s sake.

So, if Jinx didn’t make her own finger, then who did?

Ekko!!

He's the only one who makes sense to me.

Now maybe this is just my delusional Timebomb wishing heart, it's certainly a possibility, but looking over the Firelights’ hoverboards, accessories, and home, Jinx’s prosthetic finger doesn’t look out of place.

There’s no perfect match to Jinx's finger; but overall, the design itself, plus the color and the specific way the metal looks worn and is clearly repurposed – looks very Ekko/Firelights to me.

To be clear, beaten up or repurposed anything (especially metal) is not an Ekko only thing, not by a long shot, as it’s found throughout Zaun.

It is Zaun.

Still, the way Ekko and Jinx’s aesthetics come through their designs and inventions, usually makes them very identifiable and this finger looks far more like Ekko, than it does Jinx. Even the color says Ekko to me.

Neither one exclusively uses a single color/type of metal, but Jinx tends to favor metals that are grey, while Ekko favors more bronze or coppery colored metals - like Jinx's finger.

The color is by no means a smoking gun, it’s just this bit of extra oddness.

It already felt super odd the design is so simple and practical but on top of that - she also didn't opt for her usual grey metals? Even in the smallest of details, this finger doesn’t feel like Jinx; and Arcane is so specific and detail oriented with its designs.

Now, obviously Ekko is not the only other inventor in Zaun, but I can't see Jinx using something just anyone made, let alone a new body part. Maybe she would for practicality’s sake, but as soon as she could, she would either customize it to her own aesthetic or just make her own.

She's so specific and intentional with her everything, so why would she make an exception for her new finger; something that's going to be attached to her body and used by her for a decently long time.

The fact this design seems to be Jinx's permanent new finger makes me assume whoever made it, did a good enough job that it met Jinx’s standards and they're important enough to her she was content to just draw a cute little smiley face on it and nothing more.

And right now, I only see Ekko being that person.

Also, I just think it would be really cute and sweet. Seriously, think about it –

Jinx: Look at what my boyfriend made me! *Gives you the middle finger*

[foreverisntenough]

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 12 - 'Like Your Home' | ‘Act II’

word count - 11.2k

You and Jude were both exhausted, not just physically after probably too many rounds making up for lost time but emotionally, having navigated the long, winding path back to one another. You and Jude had had sex for hours, you couldn’t get enough. So after you felt completely spent, you closed your eyes, letting yourself relax into him, but then you heard something that caught you off guard. Jude started laughing. It wasn't a big laugh, more like a quiet chuckle that came from deep in his chest, but it was enough to make you lift your head in confusion. You looked up at him, your brow furrowed and a smile pulling at your lips, unsure of what was going through his mind.

"What?" you asked, starting to laugh yourself, tilting your head slightly, wondering what had caused this sudden burst of amusement. Jude grinned, his eyes sparkling with a kind of boyish joy you hadn't seen in a while. His hand came up to brush a strand of hair from your face, and he let out another small laugh before he spoke. 

"Sorry. I don’t know. I'm just...so happy," he said, his voice soft but filled with that unmistakable giddiness. He looked at you like he still couldn't quite believe this was real, that you were here with him again, in this way. “Angel, I haven’t fucked you in ages and I cannot tell you how often I’ve thought about that.” He laughed. You blinked at him, a smile tugging at your lips despite your confusion. 

"You're laughing because you're happy you fucked me?" you asked, teasingly raising an eyebrow. Jude nodded, his hand running gently down your back. 

"Yeah," he admitted, looking slightly sheepish but still grinning. "I just missed this so much. Being with you like this... I missed being in bed with you." His confession made your heart flutter, and your smile widened. It was backwardsly sweet. You felt the same sense of relief and joy that he did, that this space between the two of you had finally been filled again. The weight of what had been lost, the heartbreak, the distance-it all seemed to melt away in this moment. It felt good. It felt right. You leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his bare chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your lips. 

"I missed it too," you whispered against his skin, your voice soft but full of truth. You cuddled into him, feeling his warmth, his presence, and that giddiness he had spoken of was reflected in your own heart. “Missed how good you make me feel, baby.” You cooed, kissing his bare chest. Jude wrapped his arms tighter around you, his hand running soothing circles over your back as the laughter faded into a peaceful quiet. The two of you just laid there, wrapped up in each other, feeling the joy of having found your way back. But the longer you laid there in that comforting warmth of Jude’s arms, a sudden wave of insecurity washed over you. You couldn’t help it—everything between you felt perfect now, but the time apart still lingered in the back of your mind. You hesitated, unsure if you should even ask, but the question slipped out before you could stop it. “Jude… Did you…did you sleep with anyone while we were apart?” Your voice was soft, almost timid, but the moment the words left your lips, you felt your heart drop into your stomach. Jude’s body stiffened slightly, and that brief silence made your pulse race. The fear that you had maybe shattered this perfect moment crept in, gnawing at your chest. He sighed deeply, and for a second, you feared the worst. But then he pulled you closer, his hand gently cupping your face as he tilted your chin up so you were forced to meet his eyes.

“No, angel,” he said firmly, his voice soothing but serious. “I didn’t. I don’t want you to ever have to ask me that again.” He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “You’re the only one I want.” You blinked up at him, relief flooding your body, and you gave him a small nod, feeling a bit silly for even asking. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “It’s just… I guess I got scared.” Jude shook his head, giving you a soft smile. 

“Don’t be sorry, I know I’ve hurt you, you deserve to know I haven’t, but I’m just for you, yeah?” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “I’d be crazy to want anything other than this—other than you.” You couldn’t help but giggle softly at his words, a smile breaking through the lingering doubt.

“Yeah,” you teased lightly, “I know just what you like, huh?” You teased. Jude’s eyes glinted with warmth and mischief as he hummed in agreement. His hands dropping to squeeze your ass and pull your body flush against his. 

“Oh, you seem to know more than that,” he said, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “So good f’me. Always have been.” He cooed. Your heart fluttered at the affection in his words, and you buried your face into his chest, feeling the tension dissolve into a soft, shared laughter. It was as though the vulnerability of the moment had brought you even closer, deepening the bond between you two. Jude kissed the top of your head and held you tighter, both of you sinking back into that familiar, comforting space, knowing that you were exactly where you belonged—together. You lay there in the silence of the night dipping into the early morning, wrapped up in each other. 

The world felt quiet, still, like nothing existed outside this moment. Jude's arms were securely around you, You had moved for his chest to be pressed against your back, and his steady breaths brushed your hair. 

“I missed you so much, angel… I missed going to sleep with you.” Jude whispered, breaking the silence. His voice was raw, and it tugged at something deep inside you. You shifted slightly in his arms, turning your head enough to catch a glimpse of him. 

“Did you ever think about me when we were apart?” You asked fairly naively considering he was in New York so evidently he had. 

“Every night,” he admitted softly. “Every fucking night, angel. I couldn’t escape you. I hated when we got to a point when your scent started to fade from my sheets, but even then you were still there, in my dreams.” He told you. You felt a rush of emotion, his words hitting you harder than you expected. You blinked back the sudden sting of tears, trying to keep your voice light, even teasing.

“Well,” you said with a playful smile, “I didn’t want to let you go that easily.” You cooed. Jude chuckled softly, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.

“I wouldn’t have let you anyway.”  Jude told you through a tired laugh. “Missed falling asleep with you in my arms, ya’know.” He whispered, keeping his voice quiet in the dark room. 

“I did too. You know what I missed?” You smiled coyly. Jude hummed. “I really missed the way your cock pushes into me when we cuddle like this.” You pushed your ass back into Jude so his hard cock nestled  just barely in between your ass cheeks. “I love going to sleep feeling that.” You cooed laced with seduction, getting a second wave having this gorgeous boy back in your bed. It was honest though, you did miss it. 

“Fuck. Angel, c’mon I’m knackered don’t start.” Jude breathily laughed, pulling you tighter to him, further pushing himself against you. Despite his caution, he betrayed himself. “I just missed my hands on you. Missed getting you out of all those silly little things you’d wear to bed every night.” He kissed your temple as his massive hands ran over your warm skin. 

“I know you like that. I come to bed with such cute lingerie sets on for you to see and I just end up naked.” You giggled, placing your hands over his, turning your head back to look up and see the smug greedy smile on his face. 

“Eh, that’s okay baby. I like seeing you climb into bed with them on and I really like taking them off of you. I still appreciate them. Just you know… better on my floor is the saying, hmm?” He smirked squeezing you. You shook your head but couldn’t hold back the giggle remembering that very phrase vividly from when you first met in Greece.  As you cuddled closer, letting yourself sink further into him, you felt his lips graze your bare shoulder, pressing a gentle kiss there. It was such a small gesture, but it meant everything. That single kiss held all the love, the longing, and the promise of everything you’d been through together. You took a deep breath, but it caught in your throat as you felt the tears well up again. The overwhelming flood of emotions, the relief of being back in his arms, was too much. 

“I never thought I’d miss someone kissing my shoulder,” you whispered, your voice cracking just a little. Jude heard it, the fragility in your voice, and without a word, he kissed your shoulder again, more tenderly this time. 

“You’ll never have to miss that again,” he whispered back, his lips brushing against your skin as he spoke. His words wrapped around your heart, and you couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They slipped silently down your cheeks, but this time they weren’t out of sadness—they were out of relief. Jude’s arms tightened around you, his lips lingering on your skin, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you belonged. You turned your face into the pillow, not wanting him to see your tears, but Jude noticed. He always noticed. He kissed your hair, then whispered against your ear, “I’ll never stop loving you. Never. Never stop kissing this shoulder.” He kissed you again. And as you lay there, in the quiet, secure in his embrace, you believed him. Every word.

Waking up with Jude after he arrived in New York felt like slipping into a dream, you didn’t want to leave your bed. The morning sunlight peeked through the sheer curtains, casting a soft, golden hue across the room. You were nestled against him, his body warm and solid beneath you, one of his arms draped lazily over your waist, pulling you close as if even in sleep, he couldn’t bear to be apart from you. His breath was soft against the top of your head, a steady, calming rhythm. You could feel the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the comforting beat of his heart grounding you in the moment. It was one of those rare mornings where time seemed to stop, and the rest of the world didn’t matter. You blinked your eyes open slowly, taking in the sight of him—his hair slightly messier than he’d ever want it, the peaceful expression on his face as he slept, his jawline softened in the morning light. For a moment, you just watched him, marveling at the fact that he was there, with you, after everything. You shifted slightly, and Jude stirred beneath you, his grip tightening around your waist as he let out a sleepy, contented sigh. His eyes fluttered open, and when he saw you looking at him, a sleepy smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

"Wow. Good morning beautiful girl," he murmured, his voice rough from sleep, but there was a warmth in it that made your heart swell. A sleepy smile pulling on his lips as he took you in. You smiled back, your fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on his chest. 

"Good morning," you whispered back with a bit of a giggle. For a moment, neither of you moved, content to just be there, wrapped in each other’s warmth. But then Jude shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him so that you were lying on top of him, your faces inches apart. His hands found their way to your ass, his touch gentle but firm as he held you close.

“God, I really fucking missed you, angel” he whispered, his eyes searching yours as if to make sure you knew just how much he meant it. You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, and you nodded, leaning down to brush your lips against his in a soft, lingering kiss. 

“I missed you too.” You whispered, your lips ghosting over his. Jude smiled against your lips, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you even closer. 

“You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I’m not sure I can ever let you out of my sight again.” He cooed. You giggled, your heart fluttering at the way he was looking at you, so full of love and something deeper, something unspoken but understood. 

"You don’t have to," you whispered, resting your forehead against his. "I’m not going anywhere." He let out a soft chuckle, his hands tightening around you as he kissed your temple, then your cheek, and finally your lips again, slow and unhurried. 

“Good,” he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with a mix of relief and contentment. You laid there for a while, tangled up in each other, the world outside the window fading away as you reveled in the warmth and comfort of simply being together. The city noise hummed softly in the background, but in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, wrapped up in your own little bubble. As the minutes passed, you found yourself unable to stop smiling. It felt surreal, having him here, waking up next to him after so much time apart. You could feel the love radiating off him, in the way he touched you, in the way he looked at you like you were the most precious thing in his world. Eventually, Jude broke the comfortable silence, his voice playful as he whispered in your ear, “So, what’s the plan for today? Staying in bed all day sounds pretty good to me.” You laughed, burying your face in the crook of his neck. 

"That doesn’t sound too bad," you admitted, feeling the familiar comfort of his embrace. But then you lifted your head, looking into his eyes with a soft smile. "Although… Maybe we could go get some coffee… please.” You smiled with a childish smile. Jude raised an eyebrow, his smile widening before he began to tease.

"You can’t mean from your kitchen?" He mocked you a little. You grinned, nodding.

"It’s one of the few things I take pride in making in that kitchen.” You added, leaning in to kiss him again. Jude’s laughter rumbled through his chest as he kissed you back, his hands finding their way back to your waist. The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, continuing to cast a golden glow over his bare chest. Your fingers absentmindedly traced the contours of his skin, feeling the steady, reassuring beat of his heart beneath your touch. His arms were wrapped around you, holding you close, as if neither of you could bear to be apart even for a second, even for coffee. Not yet. You lifted your head slightly, catching his gaze, and the emotions that had been building up within you—emotions you had kept locked away—finally rose to the surface. A seriousness washed over the room. 

“I love you,” you said, your voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I’m pretty sure… from the very first moment we made eye contact, I knew this would be the kind of love that could destroy me.” You unintentionally frowned.  The words came out softly, but there was a weight behind them, a truth that had been waiting too long to be spoken. Jude’s eyes darkened with emotion as he processed your words. He reached up, gently brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek as if grounding you both in the reality of this moment. His touch was gentle, but the look in his eyes was intense—like he was feeling everything just as deeply as you were. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling beneath you, and you could feel the gravity of what he was about to say. 

“I know,” he whispered, his voice low and full of raw emotion. “Looking back… it’s been a little like a hurricane, innit? Something so powerful that you can’t control it, even if you wanted to.” He cooed. You nodded, your throat tight as you remembered all the moments you’d shared, the highs and lows, the intensity of it all. It had been overwhelming at times, but as Jude said, it was like a force of nature—uncontrollable, inevitable. He held your gaze, his eyes softening as he continued, “But we can weather any storm, hmm?” He hummed and you nodded. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here. You were patient with me… and for that, I’m so thankful. You’re everything I could’ve ever wanted—everything I never thought I’d be lucky enough to have.” Hearing him say those words—words you had waited for, words you hadn’t known you needed so desperately—made your heart swell. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them away, smiling through the emotion that threatened to overwhelm you. You laid your cheek back down on his chest, letting the warmth of his skin soothe you, the steady thrum of his heartbeat a comforting rhythm beneath your ear. It was quiet, and peaceful, but the love between you was louder than words could express. His hand stroked your back, sending gentle waves of comfort through you, and the quietness of the room felt sacred, like nothing outside of this moment mattered. You felt so safe in his arms, like this was where you were meant to be all along. As if this love, intense and unrelenting as it was, had finally settled in a way that felt whole.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” you whispered against his skin, your voice muffled slightly by his chest. “Not for a second.” Jude’s arms tightened around you, pulling you even closer, like he never wanted to let you go.

 “Please don’t,” he whispered back, his voice soft but firm. “I love you, angel.” The depth of the words hit you both, but then, as if breaking the tension, you let out a soft, breathy laugh. You lifted your head, meeting his gaze again, this time with a lightness that hadn’t been there before. Jude’s lips curved into a smile as he looked at you, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “What?” he asked, his thumb brushing over your cheek. You smiled, shaking your head slightly, but you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up again. 

“I don’t know,” you admitted, feeling a little giddy now that everything was out in the open. “It’s just… we finally said it. We’re finally saying we love each other.” Jude chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulled you closer. 

“I know,” he said with a grin. “Little overdue, no?” You nodded, biting your lip as you laughed. 

“Yeah, about time. Honestly, it was so hard not to say it before. There were so many moments when I just wanted to blurt it out.” You shyly smiled thinking of all the times you almost said it, almost typed it. 

“Oh yeah? Like when?” Jude raised an eyebrow, teasing you.  You thought back to the many times you had come close—so many little moments, like when you’d see him smile, or when he’d do something kind without thinking. 

“I don’t know,” you said with a smile. “All the time, really. When we were lying in bed like this, or even when you were just being yourself. I just wanted to text it to you out of the blue.” You explained. It felt like the phrase was a nervous tick. Jude laughed at that, his chest vibrating beneath you. 

“Yeah?” He asked, interested. You giggled, hiding your face in the crook of his neck. 

“Yeah, but I chickened out every time. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if you deserved to know. If I wanted you to know.” You confessed. He shook his head with an amused grin, his hands running up and down your back soothingly. 

“That’s fair. Probably didn't deserve it. But, I’m glad you finally said it now.” Jude told you. You lifted your head again, meeting his eyes with a smile that mirrored his own. 

“Me too.” You muttered. Jude leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a tender kiss. When he pulled back, he whispered against your lips, 

“I’ll never make you wait for anything again. Not another kiss, not another second of knowing how much I love you.” He mused and you smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. 

“Never?”  You giggled. 

“Never,” he promised with a grin, sealing his vow with another kiss. And for the first time, everything felt right—no more waiting, no more wondering. You were in love, and you both knew it, and it felt like the most beautiful thing in the world. The only thing you could really focus on was Jude, holding you so close you felt like you were sharing the same heartbeat. His arms had stayed wrapped around you the entire night, like a protective cocoon you never wanted to leave. You felt safe, cherished, and loved. You stretched lazily, trying to shake off the remnants of sleep, but even as you moved, Jude’s arms never left you. Instead, he stayed close, almost glued to you, his chest pressed to your back as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. You smiled softly to yourself, that familiar warmth spreading through your chest.

“Okay, so I was serious, I really need coffee” you muttered groggily as you slowly made your way toward the kitchen. “But you’re in for a treat. Mon café du matin”  ['my morning coffee'] Jude hummed lowly, the sound reverberating through his chest. His lips brushed against the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. 

“You already treated me pretty well last night,” he teased in a hushed tone, a playful smirk in his voice. A small laugh escaped your lips as you shook your head. 

“I meant with my coffee, Jude,” you said, glancing back at him with a teasing smile of your own. “But I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” He chuckled again, his breath warm against your skin. 

“Oh, I definitely did. But you know, I could get used to this as well… and definitely that,” he added, his arms tightening around you briefly before he loosened his hold just enough to let you move freely.

“I agree,” you admitted softly, your voice quieter now as you reached for the cabinet to grab your french press. “I’m not ready to leave this little bubble we’re in yet.” You glanced down at yourself, still in his oversized shirt that barely skimmed the tops of your thighs. Jude was just in his shorts, and the sight of him so comfortable and relaxed only made you want to stay in this moment forever. Jude leaned back against the kitchen island, his eyes following your every move. 

“I’m not complaining,” he said with a grin, his gaze heavy as he watched you reach up into a cupboard. The shirt lifted slightly with the motion, revealing a glimpse of the curve of your ass and you could practically feel his eyes on you. As you stood on your tiptoes, trying to grab the coffee grounds from the top shelf, Jude moved toward you, his large frame effortlessly closing the distance between you. He pressed up behind you, his chest warm against your back as he reached over your head. “Here, let me help,” he said, his voice a low murmur in your ear. His fingers brushed against yours as he took down the coffee grounds, his touch sending a small thrill through you.

“I could’ve gotten it,” you said, though there was no real protest in your voice. His closeness was something you’d never tire of. You turned slightly, giving him a playful look.

“I know,” he replied softly, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “But I like helping.” With a small smile tugging at your lips, you turned back to the counter, setting up the French press. You worked quietly, enjoying the comfort of the moment, the smell of freshly ground coffee filling the air. Jude leaned against the island, still watching you intently, as if you were the most captivating thing in the room and you were to him. 

“I can help, you know,” he offered again with a grin, his hands resting on the counter as he leaned forward slightly. You waved him off with a teasing smile. 

“You can help by staying right there and looking pretty,” you quipped, your voice playful but affectionate. His grin widened, his eyes sparkling with that familiar mischief. 

“I can manage that.” You reached up into another cupboard for the milk frother, but once again, it was just out of your reach. Jude was behind you in an instant, his hands gently guiding yours as he grabbed it for you. “You really don’t use this kitchen.” He laughed teasingly. “I’ve got you, angel,” he whispered softly, his breath warm against your neck, and it made your heart flutter. You rolled your eyes, but the smile on your face was undeniable. 

“What would I do without you?” you teased. 

“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice full of mock seriousness as he handed you the frother. “Probably suffer in silence without my help.” You laughed softly, shaking your head as you finished preparing the coffee. You frothed the milk carefully, the warm, creamy foam rising perfectly in the cup, and finally poured the coffee, the rich, dark liquid filling the air with its inviting aroma. You handed Jude his cup with a satisfied smile, and he accepted it, his fingers brushing against yours for just a moment longer than necessary. He took a sip, his eyes still locked on yours. 

“Perfect,” he murmured, the corner of his mouth lifting in a small, appreciative smile. “But I think watching you make it was the best part.” You rolled your eyes again, playfully this time, but you couldn’t help the warm flush that spread across your cheeks. 

“You’re so full of shit,” you muttered under your breath, though there was no real bite to your words. Jude placed the coffee cup down on the counter and pulled you into his arms once more, his hands sliding around your waist. 

“And yet you love me,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with affection. You leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, your arms wrapping around his waist. 

“Yeah,” you murmured softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I really do.” The two of you stood there for a while, wrapped in each other, the world outside the apartment feeling like a distant memory. It was just you and him, in this quiet, perfect moment—your own little bubble where nothing else mattered. And in that moment, everything felt exactly right. Jude took another slow sip of the coffee, savoring the taste with an exaggerated hum of approval. 

“Wait a minute,” he said, his voice tinged with mock seriousness. He set the cup down with a dramatic thud and raised an eyebrow at you. “Why have you never made this for me before?” You giggled, taking a small sip from your own cup, pleased that he liked it. 

“Oh, I mean,” you waffled, “It’s not that I was purposely withholding good coffee from you.” Jude leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, a playful pout on his lips. 

“Feels like I’ve been slighted,” he said, tilting his head as if genuinely offended. “This is really good coffee.” He explained as if you didn’t know. You laughed, shaking your head. 

“Well, you don’t have a French press in Madrid, so it wouldn’t be the same,” you explained with a small shrug. “Plus, these beans are from my favorite cafe in France, so… it’s kind of a special treat.” Jude’s expression didn’t change; instead, he squinted at you in mock offense. 

“Oh, look at me, my coffee is European,” he said, throwing his hands in the air dramatically, his voice bouncing around the kitchen. He heightened his voice into a thick, exaggerated version of your accent and mimicked you in a teasing tone. You scoffed and rolled your eyes at him, feigning annoyance, though you couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face. 

“You’re actually so annoying.” you said, brushing past him toward the sink. But just as you tried to walk by, you felt a sudden tug at the hem of your shirt, pulling you back. Jude wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you against his chest as he slid his hands under your shirt, his fingers trailing lightly over your bare skin. His touch sent a small shiver up your spine, and you melted back into him instinctively.

“If I promise to get you a French press,” he murmured against your ear, his voice low and filled with playful affection, “and I find these fancy Parisian coffee beans—” he paused to squint at the label on the bag you’d left on the counter, “Café du something or other—will you make me this coffee again in Madrid?” You couldn’t help but laugh at how serious he was pretending to be. You leaned your head back against his chest, letting his warmth envelop you as you smirked. 

“If you promise to get the Maison Flaneu French press.” You stressed the brand. “and the coffee beans, then yes,” you said, turning your head slightly to catch his eyes. “I’ll make it for you whenever you want.” Jude’s grin widened, his eyes lighting up. 

“Deal,” he said, and before you could say anything else, he leaned down to press a kiss to your neck, his lips lingering just long enough to send another shiver through you. You smiled to yourself, feeling that familiar warmth in your chest as he held you close, the two of you wrapped in this perfect moment. The teasing, the affection—it all felt so right, like this was exactly where you were meant to be. And as you stood there, with Jude’s hands still resting on your skin, you knew that no matter where you were—New York, Madrid, maybe even Paris—moments like this would always feel like home. As you sipped your coffee standing at your kitchen island, Jude caught you off guard by asking if he could go to work with you. You laughed, nearly spilling your drink, teasing him lightly, 

"I wasn’t even planning on going to the gallery today, but if you really want to, I’ll take you." You explained. Jude, however, was adamant. 

"You’ve been to where I work a hundred times," he said, a slight smile playing on his lips. "I want to see where you do your thing. I’m interested." It was an unexpected request, and it warmed your heart to see how curious and involved he wanted to be in your world. So, with a soft smile, you agreed. You both got ready for the day, heading out into the crisp Manhattan morning, you in a brown cropped cardigan, Jude in a cream jumper. The ride over was quiet but comfortable, both of you lost in your thoughts. The city buzzed with its usual energy as the Uber wound through the streets, finally pulling up outside the gallery district on the west side. When you arrived, Jude leaned forward, squinting through the car window at the sight of your last name engraved in elegant gold lettering on the plate outside the gallery entrance. He clicked his tongue, impressed, a low whistle escaping him. 

"Damn, okay" he murmured, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your name in gold, huh?" Before you could respond, Jude was already out of the car, rounding it quickly to open your door. He reached for your hand, helping you out with a small smile that made your heart swell. His hand felt warm, grounding, and as you straightened up, he kept your hand in his, but didn’t let you walk toward the gallery door just yet. Instead, he tugged you gently back to him, his eyes soft but serious. "Wait a second," he said, and there was something in his voice that made you pause, looking up at him expectantly. Jude gazed at you, and for a moment, the noise of the city, the bustling streets, and even the fact that you were standing outside your gallery all faded into the background. It was just the two of you, standing there, and the look on his face told you he was about to say something important. "Have I ever told you how proud I am of you?" he asked quietly, his voice low and sincere. His eyes scanned your face, searching for your reaction. "I mean, I always knew you were amazing, but standing here… seeing your name on that plate… I don’t know, it just hit me."  You blinked, taken aback. Your breath caught in your throat as his words settled in. 

"Jude…" you started, but he wasn’t done. He stepped closer, his hand now gently squeezing yours. 

"You’re incredible," he continued, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "I don’t think I’ve told you enough how much I admire what you do. This place—it’s yours. You’ve built this yourself, this career, and I just… I’m really proud of you, angel." There was a vulnerability in his eyes, a rare moment where he let the layers fall away completely, showing you exactly what he felt. It wasn’t just admiration. It was awe. He was in awe of you—of everything you had achieved, everything you were. It felt special that you had a building of your own. You felt a lump form in your throat, your eyes stinging with the sudden threat of tears. Jude had always supported you in his own way, but his job seemed to take importance so hearing him say it like this, with such honesty, struck something deep within you. 

"You… you don’t know what that means to me." Your voice wavered as you spoke. Jude smiled softly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your face. 

"I think I do, I know footie feels like the biggest thing in the world sometimes around me but it's not. I know how important this is, how hard you’ve worked," he murmured, his thumb lingering on your cheek for a moment before dropping back to his side.  For a second, you stood there, caught in the overwhelming emotion of the moment. The pride in his eyes, the sincerity in his voice—it was everything you didn’t realize you needed to hear. You swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that had gathered, and gave him a small, watery smile. 

"Come on," you said, your voice still thick with emotion, "let’s go inside." Jude smiled back, his hand slipping around your waist as the two of you finally made your way into the gallery. But the words he had said outside stayed with you the entire day, a warmth that filled your chest, reminding you just how deeply he understood and valued you. As you stepped inside the gallery, Jude spun slowly, taking in the large white space adorned with the current exhibition. His eyes wandered from the walls to the art and then back to you. A small, proud smile curled at the edges of his lips. He was trying to take it all in—the breadth of what you’d created.  You tried to play it modest, shrugging as you noticed the small line of people forming outside the entrance. There were appointments scheduled for the day, gallery tours, and more. It was busy, but in a way that felt fulfilling. Still, you felt the need to downplay it, like you weren’t completely running an entire space that was clearly a success. "So, what do you think?" you asked, trying to keep it casual. Jude turned his attention fully to you, his eyes soft but filled with pride. 

"It’s incredible," he said. "But of course, it is. You’re behind it." You blushed, laughing it off, 

"You’re just saying that because you’re in love with me." You told him. He gave you a cheeky grin. 

"Maybe. But it’s still true." He cooed. You gestured for him to follow as you began showing him around the space, pointing out the different pieces on display. Jude nodded along, listening as you explained the curation process, the artists you’d chosen, and the themes that ran through the exhibition. After a while, you glanced over at him.

"Want to see my office?" There was a playful lilt in your voice, and Jude raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Your office?" he repeated, as if he hadn’t really considered the fact that either of you had what could be classified as an ‘office job.’ You rolled your eyes at his reaction, teasing. 

"Yeah, someone’s got to actually run this place. You think it just happens on its own?" You giggled and he followed with a chuckle, then tilted his head, giving you a curious look. 

"I guess I never really thought of it like that." He smiled. You led the way, and Jude followed closely behind, his arms suddenly slipping around your waist from behind. He rested his chin gently on your shoulder as you walked, and for a moment, you felt the warmth of him against your back. It was comforting, grounding, like he was anchoring himself to you—and you to him.

"You know," you continued, your voice soft, "I feel like more of a figurehead these days. There’s a whole team that keeps things running day-to-day, but I still have to occasionally show up and make the decisions. Keep the place alive but I keep finding myself out of the country in Spain." You teased. Jude squeezed your waist gently, his voice soft in your ear.

"And Spain really likes when you’re there. Any county is very lucky to have you. Any man even more so, angel. But you’re doing more than keeping it alive. You’ve built something amazing. You should be proud." The sincerity in his words made your heart ache in the best way. He was seeing you in a way that felt so validating, so true. You’d spent so long doubting whether you could balance everything—your career, your relationship with Jude, your life in New York—and hearing him acknowledge your success like this was overwhelming in the best way. You reached the office, a modest but well-decorated space tucked away at the back of the gallery. Jude looked around, impressed. It was your sanctuary, filled with art books, framed photos, and personal touches that made it distinctly yours. You could see the wheels turning in his head as he took it all in, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

"Not what you expected?" you asked, turning to face him. He grinned, leaning against the desk, arms crossed over his chest.

"I don’t know what I expected. But this… this is pretty perfect, like an extension of your apartment, you in a room." You smiled, leaning into him, and for a moment, there was a comfortable silence between you. Jude lifted his hand to your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly across your skin. "I know I keep saying it," he murmured, "but I honestly am so fucking proud of you. Seeing it first hand is just different." Your breath hitched, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart flutter. You didn’t respond with words—you didn’t need to. Instead, you leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, letting the moment speak for itself. You giggled, catching Jude’s attention. 

"Can I show you my favorite part?" You asked with a glint in your eyes. He nodded eagerly but with a hint of confusion, glancing around the small office. 

"Uh… sure, but where? I feel like we’ve already seen everything." Smirking, you leaned back against what looked like a solid wall, but with a gentle push, it gave way, revealing a hidden door. Jude's eyes widened in surprise before bursting into laughter.

"Why do you have that?" he asked, still chuckling in disbelief. You shrugged, grinning. 

"The previous owners of the building had it installed. Figured I’d keep it for secret escapes." Without further explanation, you led the way through the hidden door, which opened to a small, bright staircase. Jude followed behind, his curiosity piqued. The stairs were narrow and led up to the roof of the building. As you reached the top, the cool New York air hit your skin, and you stepped out onto the rooftop. It wasn’t the highest rooftop in Manhattan—not by a long shot—but there was something undeniably beautiful about it. The surrounding buildings framed a small slice of sky, and the quietness of the tucked-away street made the space feel like a secret oasis in the bustling city. You turned to Jude, watching his expression as he took it all in. "I come up here for everything," you said softly. "To think, to drink, to have friends over. To escape when I need a breather... to paint." You paused, your voice dropping a little. "To cry, lately." Jude’s heart shattered at your admission. He hadn’t realized how much you’d been carrying on your own since the fallout between you two. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He held you close, his chin resting on your shoulder again as he swayed with you in a gentle rhythm, offering comfort the only way he knew how.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered against your ear. “For all of it.” He murmured. You closed your eyes, feeling his embrace sink into you.

"It's okay now." You whispered back to him. The thing was… you actually thought it was okay. The warmth of his body against yours felt like home again, the weight of everything that had happened finally starting to lift. Jude kissed the top of your head softly.

"Do you think I can add something to the list of things you do up here?" He asked you gently. You turned slightly, curiosity lighting up your face. 

"What’s that?" You asked. He leaned in, his eyes locking onto yours, and you knew before he even said a word. He closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that was soft but filled with everything he couldn’t say. You felt the love pouring through it—the promises, the apologies, the commitment—and you melted into him, letting it wash over you. When you finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, both of you smiling. “That’s a very good addition.” You giggled. In that moment, surrounded by the city, it felt like the world had paused for just the two of you.

After you left the gallery, you walked down the busy New York street, hand in hand with Jude, it was all bizarre. It was like every step, every glance around felt charged, and you were acutely aware of how the world seemed to stare at him—or maybe at the two of you together, more than ever. If people didn’t know he was the Jude Bellingham, they certainly noticed the way he commanded attention—tall, striking, and beautiful in every sense of the word. His presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t help but glance up at him too, still in awe of the fact that he was here, beside you. You felt lucky. You didn’t want to be anywhere but with him. You reached a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change as you nestled closer into him. Jude responded instantly, pulling you tighter against him with a gentle sway, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your hair. It was one of those moments that felt too perfect, too intimate to be happening in such a bustling city. The world around you blurred, and it was just you two, back in your little bubble again. But then, his voice cut through the comfort of the moment. 

“Come back home.” Jude asked you quietly.  You pulled back slightly, your brow furrowed, trying to make sense of what he was asking.

“Jude, this is my home,” you gestured around, pointing to the towering buildings and streets filled with life. But you kind of pouted. The sentence felt wrong. This wasn’t your home, it hadn’t felt that way for awhile. Jude was your home but nevertheless laced with fear of really committing, you told him otherwise. “New York is my home.” He shook his head, a soft but sure smile tugging at his lips as he looked down at you. 

“Your home should be with me.” His words sank into you, deeper than you expected. His voice was steady, filled with an unmistakable certainty. “Anywhere can be home if we’re together.” His hands found their way to your waist, his fingers pressing gently into your skin as he leaned in, his lips just ghosting over yours. “Please,” he whispered, his voice a mix of longing and vulnerability. Your heart fluttered, your chest tight as the weight of his request settled. This was what you had been craving from Jude all along—his honesty, his willingness to fight for you, to make it clear that you belonged with him, that he needed you. “I’m not asking you to stop working with the gallery, I wouldn’t do that. I know how important that is, I told you how proud I am for doing just that but… angel just come be with me. Please. I don't want to be apart right now.” Jude unintentionally pouted. His heart sinking at the idea of being apart again, something that had definitely crossed your own mind.

“Okay.” You whispered softly. You bit your lip, the corners of your mouth lifting into a cheeky smile as you nodded. You couldn’t say no. You didn’t want to say no. His eyes brightened at your answer, a quiet relief washing over his face as he pulled you even closer. This was the side of Jude you had been waiting to see, the side that wasn’t afraid to take control, to tell you what he wanted. And in that moment, you knew that you’d made the right decision. You wanted this, you wanted him.

As you and Jude boarded the private plane bound for Madrid at JFK, exhaustion weighed heavily on you. You really hadn’t been sleeping much at all because of Jude. Before he arrived you couldn’t sleep because you missed him. Now, you couldn’t sleep because you were staying up fucking all night. Tiredly, you clung to Jude, both of you in sweat sets, your arms loosely wrapped around him as he effortlessly carried your smaller pieces of luggage onto the plane. The coziness of your clothes, the intimacy of the small gestures—it all felt like the home you were looking for except you were on tarmac. Once on board, Jude, ever the drama queen, made a show of dropping onto one of the plush seats, pulling you down with him in a clumsy, playful tumble. You giggled tiredly, the sound soft and content as you nestled into him, your body melting into his as if it belonged there. After a few moments, you started to shift, slinking off Jude to pull your jumper off in a sluggish attempt to get comfortable. But as you did, the fabric snagged on your shirt underneath, pulling it up with it and exposing a lot more of you then you were anticipating; revealing a tantalizing glimpse of your skin and the lacy black bra that barely contained your generous cleavage. You sucked in some air, your eyes widening as you realized the unintended striptease. Jude's eyes widened comically, his hand darting out to dramatically yank the shirt back down as if you were flashing a stadium full of people. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he teased, covering you up with an exaggerated flourish. "This is a private plane, angel, but it’s not that private." You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics, the tiredness fading away for a moment as you swatted his arm.

"Relax, Judey, it's just you and me." You cooed mischievously with a wink. He grinned, still playing up his faux alarm. You’d be lying though if you said your heart didn't race. You glanced around, hoping none of the cabin crew had witnessed your accidental exposure.

"Exactly, and I know how I get when you're taking your clothes off. Gotta make sure you don’t strip down completely." You rolled your eyes, sinking back into his side, feeling his arm wrap protectively around your shoulders.  Jude's eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked down at you after your predicament. "Well go on then…if you want to take your clothes off f’me, take your clothes off f’me.” He winked, his gaze burning into you. 

"Oh, really? Now you want to see? And what if I don't feel like putting on a show for you right now?" Feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment and arousal, you tried to play it cool. Jude's smile turned devilish. He pressed a button, and the cabin crew appeared, ready to assist. 

"Actually, we won't be needing anything for a while," he said, waving them off. "If we could just have a few minutes, we’d like some privacy." The attendants nodded discreetly and retreated, leaving you alone with Jude and your growing desire. He leaned closer, his lips brushing against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Now, take that shirt off f’me, baby. Let me see you." Your breath caught in your throat as you surrendered to his request. Slowly, you raised your arms, your fingers deftly peeling your top up over your head until you and your black lace clad tits were exposed. Your nipples immediately hardened in the cool air, begging for attention. Jude's eyes darkened with hunger as he feasted on the sight of your naked body. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," he growled, reaching out to cup your heavy breasts in his large hands. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You moaned softly, arching into his touch, your inhibitions melting away. He unclasped the bra and the fabric fell. 

"Please, Jude," you whispered, your voice hoarse with need. "I want you so bad." He leaned in, capturing one taut peak between his lips, sucking gently while his fingers pinched the other, eliciting a delicious moan from your lips. His tongue teased and flicked, driving you wild with desire. You squirmed against him, your core throbbing and aching for his touch.

"You taste so fucking sweet," he murmured against your sensitive flesh as his hands ideally pulled down your joggers. "I want to taste all of you." Before you could respond, Jude's mouth trailed kisses down your stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.  “Let me see more of you.” Jude looked up from beneath you, his eyes locking with yours, and he gave you a wicked grin.  He gently pushed your legs apart, his breath hot on your inner thighs, making you tremble with anticipation. You knew what was coming, and you couldn't wait to feel his talented mouth on more of you. You whimpered, your body already on fire, as Jude's fingers gently parted your folds, exposing your glistening pussy. He leaned in, his warm breath tickling your sensitive skin, and then his tongue swiped slowly through your slit, making you gasp.

"Oh, fuck Jude," you cried out, your fingers gripping the plush seat as he teased your clit with the tip of his tongue. He took his time, licking and sucking, driving you closer to the edge with each pass. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of his mouth, more of his skilled touch.

"That's it, angel," Jude encouraged, his voice thick with desire. He delved deeper, his tongue thrusting into your wetness, finding your sweet spot with ease. Your body trembled as he devoured you, his hands gripping your thighs, holding you open for his pleasure. Even as you tried to close your legs he pinned them open. 

"I'm gonna cum, Jude! Shit!!” You felt white hot pleasure begin to course through you. You were practically shaking but Jude held you tighter to him as he ate you out. Your voice hoarse and desperate. The sensations were overwhelming, and you felt your orgasm building, tightening every muscle in your body.  “I love you, oh my god fuck I’m cumming!” Jude increased the pace, his tongue working feverishly, driving you over the edge. You climaxed with a shout, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you. He didn't let up, continuing to lap at your sensitive flesh, drawing out your orgasm until you were reduced to a trembling, satisfied mess.

"You wanna be a good girl f’me?" he said, his voice rough with need. You nodded as your breathing slowly returned to normal, Jude rose, his eyes smoldering with desire. “You’re so fucking hot, baby.” Jude moaned as you traded places with him, beginning to work kisses down his neck. You kissed at his chest and slowly started to get onto your knees in front of him. “Fuck you’re perfect.”  You eagerly slid off his joggers your hands trembling with anticipation as you freed his straining erection. His cock was thick and hard, pulsing with each heartbeat. You stroked him gently, reveling in the feel of his velvety skin and the warmth of his length in your hand. His breath hitched as your hands wrapped around his hard cock.  "Suck my cock, angel," Jude growled, his eyes never leaving yours. "Show me how much you want it." He told you. You needed no further encouragement. You wasted no time, immediately leaning forward, you took the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the sensitive crown, tasting the salty pre-cum that beaded at the tip. Jude groaned, his hands tangling in your hair, guiding you as you took more of him into your hot, wet mouth. You bobbed your head, taking him deep, your throat welcoming the invasion. Your hand pumped the base of his shaft in time with your movements, and you reveled in the power you had over this gorgeous man. Jude's breath came in harsh gasps as he fought for control, his hips thrusting gently to meet your rhythm. You moaned again around him, the vibrations just about sending Jude over the edge. You hollowed your cheeks and forced yourself to take more of his cock down your throat. Spit pooled in the corners of your mouth as you gagged a little around him.  “Fuck, good girl, just like that” Jude groaned. His words making your pussy throb. He started to twitch in your mouth as he hit the back of your throat continuously "Baby, you're gonna make me cum," he rasped, his body tensing. You redoubled your efforts, sucking and stroking, determined to bring him to the brink. Jude's hands tightened in your hair, and with a guttural groan, he spilled in your mouth, his hot cum shooting down your throat. You opened your mouth for him to see his cum dripping from your tongue before you swallowed eagerly, relishing the taste of him, milking his cock until he was spent. You opened your mouth again to show him how good you did. He smiled and shook his head in disbelief as he pulled you off him slowly and brought you back up to him. As he recovered, Jude pulled you up for a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue tangling with yours, sharing the taste of his release. "That was fucking incredible," he whispered in between kisses, his eyes burning into yours. "I need to feel you around me now." You straddled his lap, guiding his already re hardened throbbing cock to your entrance. With a slow, torturous descent, you sank yourself down onto his length, your body welcoming the fullness. Eliciting a deep moan from both of you. Your eyes fluttering closed from the stretch. Jude's hands gripped your hips, helping you set a relentless pace, your tits bouncing with each thrust. "You feel so good, angel," he groaned, his eyes rolling back in pleasure. "Ride me, ride my cock." You obeyed, your body moving in a sensual rhythm, your core clenching and releasing around his hardness. The cabin was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and your erotic moans as you both chased the pinnacle of pleasure minute after minute.

“Fuck! Ffuck Jude, I’m gonna cum. Shit baby, you feel so good, oh my god.” Your head collapsed onto his shoulder as he relentlessly thrusted up into you as your high barrelled towards you.  You could barely speak from how good he felt. 

"Cum with me, baby," Jude urged, his voice hoarse. "Let go. Be a good girl and cum on my cock." Your body tightened, every nerve ending on fire as you spiraled towards ecstasy. Jude's hands cupped your tits, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples, pushing you over the edge. Your stomach tightened and your walls fluttered as you came. You cried out, your body convulsing around his cock as you climaxed, your juices flowing freely, coating him with your essence. Jude followed suit, his cock throbbing and pulsing within you as he emptied himself deep inside you. You collapsed against him again, your hearts pounding in unison, the taste of victory on your lips as you joined the exclusive Mile High Club for the first time with him. You snuggled against Jude, your bodies still entwined, satiated and blissfully content.The plane hummed softly around you, the gentle noise blending with the quiet rhythm of Jude’s breathing. You sighed, resting your head on his chest, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours. 

"I can’t believe you got me like that from me just trying to take off a jumper.” You shook your head very aware there was no possible way the cabin crew didn’t hear you. Jude shrugged as if it was no big deal. “Oh my god…You're such a loser," you muttered teasingly, your voice muffled against his chest. It wasn’t ‘no big deal’ to Jude and you knew that.

"And you love it," he replied, kissing the top of your head. You smiled against him, your exhaustion finally winning out as you settled deeper into his embrace. As the plane glided through the air leaving New York behind, you knew with Jude by your side, Madrid—or anywhere else for that matter—felt like home. You smiled against him, your exhaustion finally winning out as you settled deeper into his embrace. As you lay in Jude’s arms on the plane, the hum of the engines lulling you into a comfortable calm, you felt safe. It was the kind of peace you’d been yearning for after everything you two had been through. Half way through the flight you began a quiet conversation. But as Jude brought up Aurélien’s party, his tone was tentative, pulling you out of your thoughts. You nodded, shifting slightly to look up at him, 

"Yeah, I heard about it. He texted me." You tried to keep your voice light, sensing the unease creeping into the conversation. Jude knew you’d spoken but you didn’t know he knew that. Jude winced, and you noticed how his hand tightened a little around you. There was something weighing on him.

"Didn’t know you even had his number," he said, awkwardly trying to navigate the conversation. His voice was low, careful. Your brow furrowed, confusion mixing with a bit of concern. 

"He gave it to me after we chatted on Instagram. Neither of us really use the app that much, so it was easier. It wasn’t a big deal, baby." You explained. Both of you felt like you were fast approaching an eggshell ridden path. He nodded slowly, clearly still unsettled. His eyes flickered with something you recognized — jealousy, maybe insecurity. Jude had never been good at hiding how much he cared, and even now, with everything back on track, that worry still lingered. 

"Did you two talk about more than the party?" Hesitantly, he asked. His voice was softer, like he was afraid of the answer. Your stomach twisted a little. You didn’t want to lie, but you also didn’t want to hurt him, especially not now, when things were starting to feel good again. Still, honesty was what had made things so rocky and if you were going to rebuild this relationship, you couldn’t hide anymore. You shifted in his arms, not quite meeting his eyes. 

“We… might have talked about the party maybe more than we should’ve,” you admitted quietly, biting your lip as you tried to gauge his reaction. You could feel his body tense beneath you, and the silence that followed was deafening. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening slightly as he stared at the ceiling of the plane. 

“What does that mean?” he asked, his voice betraying the emotion he was trying to keep in check. He didn’t want to ask — you could tell — but he needed to know. You exhaled, feeling a little scared of where this was going. It was arguably more uncomfortable considering what happened hours earlier in the flights.  

“I mean… it wasn’t anything serious, but I don’t know, you probably wouldn’t want to hear about it.” You tried to sound as casual as possible, but the weight of your words hung in the air between you. Your vagueness seemed to make things worse. Jude’s grip on you loosened slightly, and he let out a shaky breath. 

“What was it then?” He asked. Jude couldn’t figure out what emotion he was meant to feel. You hesitated, knowing that whatever you said next could either calm him down or make things worse. 

“It was flirty I guess,” you admitted, your voice small. “But I swear it didn’t mean anything. I was hurt, and I guess I just needed a distraction.” His face darkened slightly, but he didn’t say anything right away. His eyes were searching yours, trying to figure out if he could handle this, if he could trust that it didn’t mean anything more. You could see the struggle in him — the way he was trying to push down the jealousy, the hurt, the insecurity. 

“I really don’t like the idea of you talking to him like that. I really don’t fucking like the idea of him talking to you like that,” he finally said, his voice tight but not angry. He was holding back, trying to be understanding, but you could feel the weight of his words.

“I know,” you whispered, placing a hand on his chest. “And I’m sorry. But it wasn’t real, Jude. It was just me trying to cope, trying to fill this void that I knew only you could fill.” Jude closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before looking at you again. 

“I get it,” he said softly, surprising you.  You wrapped your arms around him tighter, resting your forehead against his chest. You sat there remembering bits of your conversation you had initially sat in your wardrobe with Aurelian that had moved into your bed that night. The weight of everything you were feeling mixed with the warmth of the champagne you had decided to drink that night, you found yourself slipping into a conversation that felt easier than it should have. Aurélien messaged you about his party, the mundane logistics of the night quickly turning into something else. The champagne had loosened your thoughts, made them flow in a way they normally wouldn’t. You weren’t actually interested in him and Aurelian at the end of the day wasn’t interested in pursuing you. You both weren’t really going to cross that line, but flirting was flirting. He knew maybe it was just to get your mind off things but you knew the moment the conversation shifted, there was a danger in it—but the loneliness inside of you craved something, anything, that would make you feel less empty. Aurélien mentioned how excited he was for champagne that night, and you had laughed, replying with a comment that surprised even you. 

‘I have to be careful with Dom Pérignon… I always get a little too friendly after a few glasses.’

You had thought it would stay light, a harmless joke. But then he replied…

‘No man in the world would ever complain about you being too friendly. Especially not me.’

You blinked at the message, your stomach turning in that way it does when you know you’re toeing the line, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t pull back. Maybe it was the champagne, or maybe it was the hurt that had been building for the past month, but you kept the conversation going. The truth was, in that moment, you loved the attention. You weren’t used to being seen this way by anyone other than Jude lately, and with the state of your relationship then, you had felt starved for affection. The cynicalness of it being Aurelian made it all the more enticing. 

‘I doubt that.’

You had typed back, fingers moving quickly across the keyboard as you laid in your bed, the alcohol making everything a little hazy. 

‘It feels like there are oceans between me and anyone remotely interested in being ‘friendly’ with me.’

You were, of course, thinking about Jude. How distant things had become. But the conversation wasn’t about him anymore—it was about you and Aurélien and this strange tension that had been building between you two in the shadows of your messages. But you didn’t want to stay in that uncomfortable place, so you made another joke, something to shift the tone. 

‘But it’s fine, I’ve got Dom Pérignon in bed with me tonight, and that will have to do.’

His reply came almost instantly. 

‘Dom Pérignon is one lucky man.’

You remembered lying there, staring at your phone, your heart beating a little faster, not because of Aurélien exactly, but because of what this meant. You were crossing lines, even if nothing physical was happening. You were venturing into emotional territory that you didn’t even fully understand. You had craved the connection, but when you put your phone down that night, a small part of you knew you were just trying to fill a void that only Jude could fill. The guilt didn’t set in right away. In the moment, you had felt a strange sense of validation, a thrill that someone was paying attention to you when you had felt so invisible for so long. But as you lay there in the dark, the champagne buzz slowly fading, reality crept in the same way it was on the plane right now.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 13 xx

[captain-joongz]

Thinking about free use husband!Joshua…

Coming home to him and wrapping your arms around him from behind while he is cooking .. kissing his neck and shoulders and teasing him until he gets hard

Making him keep cooking while you start to touch him cruelly, praising and degrading him in the same breath

And he loves it, letting you do whatever you want to him, making him submit, even though he would do it willingly, this way makes his body shake, until he has to turn off everything and stop before he collapses on the floor…

Maybe this doesn’t make any sense, maybe it does, I cant really tell im too tired 😭

- ✨

(Btw you’re gonna get that job!!)

so sorry for the delay darling, i ended up taking a little break for dinner and a shower, but now i'm back and more ready than ever to tackle this delicious scenario~

and thank you for the encouragement! i honestly don't know how to feel about the interview today, but hopefully it didn't go completely awfully haha! i have another one tomorrow afternoon, so there's more awaiting ! but that one is for an english teacher, which i think should be perfect for me <3

here's your delicious little story ✨anon <3 and as always, hard hours continue and will continue for another week !!

warnings: cursing, marking, subby Shua, handjob, cumming in pants

ooooh now, Joshua is a little bit of a wild card, isn't he? i feel that he has a strong and easy-going enough personality that people would assume he'd like to naturally lead, but also there's this air of gentleness and prettiness about him that just screams "i'll let someone take care of me", not to mention that he's a sassy little bastard

so maybe he would sometimes brat out a little, have some cheeky remarks, but deep down he just loved submitting to you, especially when you came home all fired up from a long hard day at work. oh he'd know that you'd need to get your hands on him and unwind with the fierce aura of exhaustion and frustration enveloping you

he'd at least hoped he'd be able to finish the dinner he was preparing for the two of you, but then you were in the kitchen, wrapping your hands around him in a back-hug, smushing your face into his shoulder

"hard day?"

"oh god, you don't even know. janet from accounting is being a cunt again, it's crazy."

for a few moments the chatter between you flowed without interruption, you hanging off of him and loudly complaining about a coworker that's been making your life ten thousand times harder, and he'd started to relax and focused back onto cooking

but that's what you were waiting for

the second you could feel him untense in your hold, your hands started to wander. at first only slowly caressing his sides or across his tummy, touches that could easily be read as comfort, but then your hand strayed a little too up and pressed up on his nipple just as you pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his neck, both feeling and hearing his breath hitch under you

"baby..." he'd say breathlessly, trying to reprimand you but his body would already be heating up with the promises it came to understand from your hands

you wouldn't stop, for anything, busying yourself by leaving hot laving kisses to his neck and behind his ear, one hand carefully massaging his scalp and tugging at his hair while the other one slyly made its way under his t-shirt to tease his nipple without the barrier of clothing

you'd love the feeling of him tensing under you, his body going all high-strung when you'd press down on the stiff little peak and push it around with your lazy fingers, breaths leaving him in huffs and sighs every time you'd tug his hair a little harder

he'd still try to pretend to be fully focused on cooking, but it would all grow hazy in front of his eyes, his lids threatening to fall shut with every electrifying rush of lust and pleasure from your ministrations, and soon he'd start messing up - clumsy hands dropping the spoon, crushing the ingredients in his palms on every hard bite you distributed to his neck, and you'd chuckle at his plight

"what is it, baby? aren't you a little clumsy tonight?"

he'd huff at your words but say nothing, stubbornly trying to ignore you and your games - and that would only stoke your fire and provoke you into upping the ante

now sticking your both your hands under his clothes, one migrating to give attention to the other nipple while the second naughty hand travelled south until you were cupping his half-hard cock and punching a moan out of him

"Shua, baby, you're not paying attention to the food at all, i'm so disappointed. i was looking forward to your cooking all day, but you can't focus long enough to not burn it..."

"don't be so mean" he'd whine and you'd tsk at him

"is that any way to talk to me?" gripping him harder, you'd love the way he'd groan under you, hands abandoning the utensils to grip at the counter, but you'd quickly grab them and push them back to the pot

"go on, baby, cook for me if you want my praises"

and Joshua would give it a valiant try, he really would, stirring the food in little aborted motions while you rolled his nipples between your fingers and kissed at the bitten and marked skin of his neck, hand massaging and squeezing the growing bulge in his pants, and the kitchen would be full of the sounds of hissing cooking food and his little sighs and breathless moans

but he'd know it's game over town the moment your hand slipped into his pants and gripped his cock. the skin on skin contact was almost enough to send him crashing to the ground, knees buckling and knocking into each other with the surge of pleasure. and yeah, he definitely didn't even see what he was doing anymore, head tipped back and whines spilling out with every slow measured stroke on his cock

you'd see his hands shaking on the utensils, you'd see how he'd start losing focus, not moving them anymore, instead jerking his hips in tiny little circles to fuck into your hand - and of course you'd still him and tell him he needed to do better - and of course he'd moan at that, his cock jumping in excitement

"i c-can't, fuck, wanna cum please-" you'd recognise the tell tale signs he was close, the way he'd squeeze his eyes shut while his mouth fell open, the way his whines got more and more high-pitched and his hips shook as he supressed the need to pump them into the tightness of your fist

"go on, baby, you've been such a good boy for me"

and that would be all it took for him to frantically start turning the stove off, barely managing to catch onto the counter before the combined stimulation of you biting his ear and squeezing the tip of his throbbing cock sent him over the edge and he came in his pants, shaking in your arms with soft cries

Shua would turn to jelly in your embrace, barely even holding up on his own two feet while the half-cooked food cooled down on the stove, but it would be hard to pay attention to anything else except for his body thrumming with the release and the gentle kisses and praises you whispered into his lips for listening to you so well

divider by @cafekitsune

[screaminglygay]

third time is a charm, right? (part seven)

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader, wanda maximoff x fem!reader, natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff, carol danvers x fem!reader (platonic), past carol danvers x natasha romanoff

summary: being surrounded by beautiful women makes you dizzy and irracional, but that´s just part of the life, hm?

warnings: swearing, ankle injury, messy relationship, that´s all i think:)

word count: 3.3k

an: what can i say? comunication is hard and messy, especially in these situationships

(italica = your thoughts)

The next morning, your ankle is still swollen and painful. Every step you take sends a sharp reminder of the previous night's events. And the headache from drinking is not much of a helper either. As you sit on the couch, contemplating your next move, you remember the business card Carol handed you. Hesitating for a moment, you finally pick up your phone and dial her number.

Fuck it.

After a few rings, Carol answers, her voice warm and slightly curious. "Danvers speaking," her voice is firm.

"Hi, Carol. It’s me, (Y/N)," you say, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I, uh, I’m having trouble with my ankle. And you said to call you if anything… so I´m calling."

Carol's tone immediately shifts to one of concern. "Oh no, okay. Have you seen a doctor?"

You shake your head, even though she can’t see you. "No, I haven’t. I just thought it might get better on it´s own over night, but it hasn’t."

"Okay, don’t worry," Carol says reassuringly. "How about I´ll drive to yours and help you out? Or get you into the hospital?"

It doesn’t take long before you hear a knock on your door. You hobble over and open it to find Carol standing there with a warm smile, holding a small bag.

"Hi," you greet her, feeling a bit shy.

"Hey there," Carol replies, stepping inside. "I brought some supplies for your ankle. Let’s take a look." She is wearing a black lather jacket, it suits her pretty well. You on the other hand just in oversized shirt and some sweatpants... well it´s not an outfit of the century.

She helps you back to the couch and kneels down to examine your ankle, her touch gentle and careful. "This looks pretty bad. We should get some ice on it and keep it elevated. You really should see a doctor."

"I know," you admit. "I just… everything’s been a bit overwhelming and doctor on top of it is just not the cherry on top I´d like."

Carol looks up at you, her expression soft. "I get it. You’ve been through a lot. But it won´t magicaly heal on it´s own."

You nod, appreciating her concern. As she wraps your ankle with an ice pack and props it up on a cushion, you feel a sense of comfort in her presence. She moves around your apartment with ease, making sure you’re comfortable and fetching anything you need.

"So," Carol says, settling down beside you. "How are you feeling after everything that happened with Natasha and Wanda?"

You sigh, leaning back against the cushions. "I’m still processing it all. It’s hard to do it while hangover and minus one leg."

Carol chuckles. "It’s okay to feel hurt and confused. They put you in a tough spot. Literaly."

"Thanks," you say softly. "For being here. I didn’t expect you to help me like this."

Carol smiles. "What are friends for? Besides, I couldn’t leave you struggling on your own. And honestly, I kind of enjoy your company."

You laugh lightly, the first time you’ve felt a bit of joy since the fallout with Natasha and Wanda. "So we´re besties now?"

"You cried on my shoulder while being drunk, isn´t it a typical way of making girl friends?" Carol teases.

"That is a fair point, yeah." You laugh.

Carol chuckles. "How about I cook us some lunch? I make the perfect grilled cheese."

"That sounds great," you say, feeling your spirits lift.

As Carol moves to the kitchen, you watch her with a mix of gratitude and curiosity. There’s something about her that makes you feel safe and valued, a stark contrast to the tumultuous relationship with Natasha and Wanda.

"I uh… noticed you´re also a CEO," you speak up, breaking the comfortable silence.

Carol chuckles, glancing over her shoulder at you. "Yeah. It’s been quite a journey."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "How did you get into it?"

Carol turns back to the stove, flipping the sandwiches with practiced ease. " I started in the Air Force, actually. But after some… complications, I transitioned into the business world."

You nod, impressed. "That’s amazing. I can see why you and Natasha might have some… tension."

Carol laughs, shaking her head. "Yeah, you could say that. Natasha and I have a bit of a rivalry going on. She’s always been competitive, and I guess I pushed her buttons in ways she wasn’t used to."

"What do you mean?" you ask, genuinely curious.

Carol plates the grilled cheese sandwiches and brings them over to the table, sitting down across from you. "Natasha is used to being the best at everything she does. When I started making waves with my company, she didn’t take it too well. We’ve had our fair share of professional clashes."

You smile, finding comfort in her honesty. "Has it always been this way?"

"Pretty much. When we were together, the rivalry was more playful. But after we broke up, it became more serious. She’s always been a bit salty about my successes, and I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed getting under her skin a bit." Carol asnwers.

You take a bite of the grilled cheese, savoring the warmth and flavor. "Sounds like it keeps you on your toes."

Carol nods. "It does. But honestly, I think we both thrive on it. It’s like a game we’re both determined to win."

You chew thoughtfully, feeling a bit more connected to Carol through her stories. "It must be exhausting, though. Always competing."

Carol leans back, her expression softening. "It can be. But it’s also what drives me. There’s a lot of professional pride involved. We’re both in industries where being at the top means everything. Natasha doesn’t like losing, and I’m not one to back down."

You smile, appreciating her honesty. "Like I´ve said… exhausting."

"Yeah, you get used to it after some time," Carol admits.

After finishing lunch, Carol insists on taking you to the hospital to get your ankle checked out. Reluctantly, you agree, knowing she’s right. The drive is filled with light conversation, Carol keeping your mind off the pain and the events of the previous night. Once at the hospital, a doctor examines your ankle, taking an X-ray to ensure there are no fractures.

Thankfully, it's not broken or badly sprained. The doctor advises you to rest for at least a week, keeping your ankle elevated and iced to reduce the swelling. As you leave with a wrapped ankle and a prescription for painkillers, you feel a wave of relief knowing it’s not serious. Carol stays by your side the entire time, making sure you’re comfortable and reassuring you that everything will be okay.

As you make your phone call to work, Carol drives back into your place in silence. Your boss is completly okay with you taking a break and she just wishes you to be okay soon. Carol smiles as she glance at you, "all good?"

You nod, "yeah, thanfully all good."

An hour later, you're both lounging on the couch, chatting about everything and nothing, when there's a sudden knock on the door.

You pause, feeling a flicker of anxiety. Carol notices your hesitation and gives you a questioning look. "Expecting anyone?"

You shake your head, pushing yourself up with a wince and hobbling to the door. Peering through the peephole, your heart skips a beat as you recognize the familiar faces of Natasha and Wanda standing on the other side.

"It's them," you whisper, more to yourself than to Carol.

Carol stands up, her expression turning serious. "What do you want to do? Do you want to talk to them?"

You hesitate, your mind racing. Part of you wants to hear them out, but another part remembers the hurt and betrayal. Finally, you take a deep breath and decide. "I guess I should see what they want."

With Carol staying in the living room, you open the door slightly, keeping the chain lock in place. "What do you want?" you ask, your voice steady but guarded.

Wanda looks at you with concern. "We just wanted to make sure you're okay," she says softly.

"I'm fine," you reply curtly. "I went to the hospital. They said it’s just a sprain."

Both Natasha and Wanda’s eyes widen in alarm. "You went to the hospital?" Natasha asks, a protective edge in her voice. "Did you drive there?!"

"I hurt my ankle," you respond, not wanting to get into details. "It´s not like I was hit by a car."

Wanda’s brow furrows in worry. "Why didn't you call us? We could have helped. Drive you there or something…"

You sigh, feeling the weight of their concern. "I didn't wanted to bother, given everything."

Natasha looks genuinely hurt. "We care about you. Despite everything, we do care."

You feel a mix of emotions, wanting to believe them but still wary. "I appreciate your concern, but I have someone helping me."

At that moment, Carol, having overheard the conversation, steps into view. "Hey, everything okay here?"

Natasha and Wanda’s eyes widen in surprise at seeing Carol. "Carol?" Natasha asks, a mix of shock and confusion in her voice. "What are you doing here?"

Carol crosses her arms, her expression calm but firm. "I'm helping out a friend."

Natasha narrows her eyes slightly, a hint of tension in her voice. "Of course, it’s you, Danvers. Always showing up where you're least expected."

Wanda, sensing the rising tension, gently places a hand on Natasha’s arm to calm her. "Nat, please," she says softly before turning back to you. "We are glad someone is helping you."

You look at Wanda, knowing she meant her words, you give her a small smile.

Natasha looks at you, her eyes softening a bit despite the tension. "We just want to make sure you're okay, (Y/N). That's all."

You nod, feeling a bit overwhelmed. "I know. But right now, I need some space. Please understand that."

Wanda bites her lip, looking like she wants to say more but nodding instead. "Okay. We’ll give you space. But if you need anything, we’re here."

Natasha adds, "Take care of yourself." And looks at Carol, "Danvers," she nods.

Carol just nods, she doesn´t say anything else.

You close the door softly, leaning against it as you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, "god."

Carol steps closer, giving you a reassuring smile. "You handled that well."

"Thanks," you reply, feeling relieved.

...

As the days pass, your ankle gradually heals, and you find yourself less reliant on Carol's physical help. However, the friendship that blossomed during your recovery continues to thrive. You and Carol text each other regularly, sharing updates about your lives, funny anecdotes, and supportive messages. Despite the pain caused by Natasha and Wanda, Carol’s presence has been a comforting and grounding force.

One evening, as you sit on your couch scrolling through your phone, you feel a wave of nostalgia and longing. Memories of the good times with Natasha and Wanda resurface, the emotions, the feelings, the touches… You hover over their contacts, unsure of what to do. Finally, with a deep breath, you decide to reach out.

Your fingers fly over the keyboard, debating between Natasha and Wanda. After a moment of indecision, you choose Wanda, her gentle nature feeling slightly less intimidating.

You: Hi, Wanda. How are you doing?

You hit send before you can overthink it. A few moments later, your phone buzzes with a response.

Wanda: Hey! I’m doing okay. How about you? How’s your ankle?

A smile tugs at your lips. Despite everything, it feels nice to hear from her.

You: It’s much better now, thanks. I’m getting back to normal, slowly but surely.

Wanda: I’m glad to hear that. We’ve been worried about you.

You: Really?

They been thinking about me… that feels nice.

Wanda: Of course. You’re important to us, even if we didn’t show it well.

You pause, feeling a mixture of emotions. It's comforting to know they care, but the hurt is still there, how could you be so stupid to think you can do only sex? You´re the person who can catch feeling even when someone will hold the door for you.

You: I appreciate that. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately.

Wanda: About us?

You: Yeah. I miss you both, but I’m still hurt. What Natasha said really got to me. I know what we agreed on, but that doesn´t mean it wasn´t painful.

There's a pause, and you can almost feel Wanda's regret through the screen.

Wanda: I understand. Natasha feels terrible about it. She doesn’t always handle her emotions well.

You: I get that. I just… I don’t know where we stand anymore.

Wanda: Can we talk? In person, I mean. It might be easier. All of us.

You hesitate, the fear of getting hurt again battling with the desire to mend things.

You: Can you come to mine tomorrow then?

Wanda: Is 3PM okay for you?

You: It is.

Wanda: Perfect!

You put your phone down, feeling a mix of anxiety and anticipation. Before you go to bed, you send a quick text to Carol about your conversation with Wanda, she wishes you a good luck and you have a feeling of hope, feeling that everything will be okay. You will talk like a grownups… that´s great right? Something you were always so perfect about and defiently not going quiet, when there was something you didn´t like.

It´s gonna be just fine.

...

The next day, the clock seems to tick by more slowly than usual. You try to tidy up your apartment, trying to keep busy to calm your nerves. By the time 3PM approaches, you feel a knot of anxiety in your stomach. You hear a knock at the door and take a deep breath before walking over.

Peeking through the peephole, you see Wanda and Natasha standing there. Wanda in her flower dress looks hopeful, while Natasha appears a bit more stoic, though you can see the concern in her eyes.

You open the door slightly, enough to see them but still feeling cautious. "Hey," you say softly.

"Hey," Wanda responds with a small smile. "Can we come in?"

You hop back, opening the door wider to let them in. As they enter, they both notice the slight limp in your step.

Natasha's eyes narrow with concern. "Is your ankle still hurting?"

"It's better," you say, avoiding their gazes. "I can walk, I just look like an idiot, while doing so." You chuckle, trying to ease the situation.

Natasha's face hardens. "But you´re still in pain?"

"I´m okay, nothing I can´t take." You assure them.

Wanda nods, "can we help you right now in any way?"

You slowly walk to the couch and shake your head. "No, not really. But feel free to take whatever you´d like, coffee, water…"

Natasha nods and makes a coffee for herself, while she takes a juice for you and Wanda.

You sit down, feeling the weight of their presence. "So…?"

Wanda sits across from you, her eyes soft and pleading. "We´re sorry. For everything. Natasha and I… we handled things poorly."

Natasha nods, her expression serious. "We never meant to hurt you. What I said… it was wrong, and I regret it."

You look between them, feeling the sincerity in their words. "You don´t need to apologize milion times, you know."

Wanda shakes her head. "We do. We care about you, deeply. We just didn’t know how to handle our own emotions. And we… well screw it up."

Natasha takes a deep breath. "We want to make things right. If you’re willing to give us another chance."

You sit back, contemplating their words. "Do you think I would let you in here, if I didn´t think about giving you a second chance?"

Both Wanda and Natasha look taken aback, their eyes widening in surprise.

Wanda’s gaze softens, a glimmer of hope appearing. "You’re… you’re willing to give us another chance?"

"I am doing that right now, or… that wasn´t obvious? Gosh we are really shitty at comunicating… all of us." You chuckle, making the two ladies laugh as well.

Wanda smiles, "good to know, okay."

Natasha looks down, her fingers playing with the edge of her sleeve. “We’ve had issues with communication in the past, too. I can see now that it kinda affected us… me.”

You nod, taking a deep breath. “I also need to admit that I misread the situation. Even after we set terms, I hoped for something more. I thought maybe…”

Wanda reaches out to touch your hand. “We should have been clearer. But you also need to understand that we weren’t completely upfront either.”

Natasha’s expression turns serious. “The truth is, you’re not the first person we’ve been involved with. We’ve had others before you. And, honestly, it hasn’t always been great.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious, but also suprised that Natasha is openning up right now.

Natasha hesitates for a moment, then continues. “We’ve had partners who were… different from you. They were often rude, mean, and only interested in our money. They were possessive and only saw us for what we could provide, not who we are.”

Wanda adds, “That’s why we were so cautious with you. We didn’t want to fall into the same patterns, but in doing so, we ended up hurting you instead. Basically did the thing we were so worried about.”

Natasha looks at you, her eyes filled with regret. “I freaked out because I didn’t want you to be like them. I was afraid of repeating the mistakes we made before. And when you showed up in the office, I just… lost it completly.”

You absorb their words, feeling a mix of empathy and frustration. “Alright, I understand, but… we all have our baggage, and it’s up to us to work through it together.”

Wanda’s eyes soften. “You’re right. We need to be more open and honest about our feelings and our pasts. And we need to listen to you, too.”

Natasha nods, her expression is soft, not to firm as it was before.

You take a deep breath, feeling a bit more at ease. “I appreciate your honesty. I’m willing to work on this with you."

Wanda smiles gently. “Thank you for being willing to try. We’ll do our best to show you that we can be different.”

Natasha adds, “We’ll start by being more transparent and communicating better. That’s a promise. How about we start again?" She exhales.

"You saw me naked, I don´t think we can start again." You chuckle, while your cheeks heat up.

Wanda giggles, "then how about we go on a date, proper one? Tomorrow?"

A proper date? Hold on… so it´s not a just sex anymore. I´m confused.

Both women can notice your puzzled face and Wanda takes your hand in hers, "proper date as… we would like to try this," her hand squeezes yours, "to be more than just a sex."

Oh shit. Nice. Cool. Okay. Calm down. It´s fine. All good.

"If you don´t have plans with Davnvers, of course." Natasha speaks up, you can hear the slight jealousy in her voice. Which makes the younger woman roll her eyes at her girlfriend.

"I don´t no," you shake your head. “Tomorrow works perfectly fine for me.” You agree enthusiastically, feeling a surge of happiness at the thought of a proper date.

Nat smirks, "perfect."

"So we will pick you up at… 7PM?" Wanda smiles.

You nod, trying to ease the exitement.

With a final exchange of smiles and assurances, Wanda and Natasha prepare to leave. They give you a warm hug and a gentle kiss on the cheek. As you close the door behind them you let out a squek of happiness and some kind of celebration dance? But your ankle reminds you, that dancing is not a good idea yet.

Maybe third time is really a charm!

Thank you so much for reading!!

taglist: @arualdcg, @beholdagaywriter, @snowdrop1026, @itsdoni, @newawakening9​, @aliherreraaa, @zzswiftyzz, @lesbiantothemoonandback, @maggieromanov

If you want to be added, just let me know!:) keep in mind you have to be 18+

[alphajocklover]

So I just finished my 3rd year exams at university (hopefully I did well enough to make it into a 4th year and go for an Master's of science) and as soon as I get out near the crowd to celebrate a guy bumps into me and I broke my phone. I was ready to give him a piece of my mind until I saw he was pretty built, he must be on some university team for something. He felt awful apparently and he gave me his old phone as an apology. It came with this InstaJock app thing on it. I dunno what it is but I kinda wanna load it up...

Another instance of a jock giving someone a phone with InstaJock already downloaded on it. Another instance of someone doing something with InstaJock that doesn’t make any sense. I know it’s unprofessional to say something like this, but this is driving me crazy. Why would a jock give away their phone? If they wanted to turn you into a jock like them, they’d just send you the app! If they wanted to give you a new phone for real, they’d have wiped it before giving it to you. I guess it's possible they forgot, but InstaJock is super important to the users that get transformed into jocks. Even with how stupid jocks can be, I doubt they’d forget about the app that literally changed their life. So… why?

I’ve mentioned in some of my earlier Instajock posts that someone has been messing with people using this app. Using it in unconventional ways to mess with people, spreading false information about the app, and even making knock offs of the transformative app. My first thought was that it had to be The Master. Not the Doctor Who villain, to those who get that reference, but someone I introduced to you all in a recent post. He’s the creator of Instajock and the mastermind behind my Uncle’s transformation and kidnapping. He’s an incredibly powerful figure in the Transformation Community, even more than I’ve told you. Most people who know about transformations are scared to mention him, even other TF Reporters are, and most powerful people or groups who work with transformation either do business with him or stay out of his way. But… I don’t think he’s the one behind this. He likes to mess with people, play with his victims like whoever is behind this, but if he wanted to do that he could just add features to the actual InstaJock app. He had no reason to do things in such a roundabout way. Which makes me think… it’s someone else.

Whoever is doing this has an intimate knowledge of the app, so It has to be someone involved with InstaJock, someone besides The Master. Maybe someone who works for him? Even he couldn’t have programmed the entire app on his own and added in the magical elements without help. Plus he isn’t one for upkeep, so he’s probably having someone else run the site for him. They also have to be someone with a lot of nerve to mess with The Master, maybe someone who they’ve hurt personally. On top of all of that it’d also have to be someone the jocks would listen to. Maybe someone who worked on InstaJock that The Master fired, a former employee?

I can’t be sure of who's behind this yet, but I do know that whatever they’re trying to do with you isn’t good. When you press that app, you won’t just be turned into a jock like a regular InstaJock user. It has to be something… special. Something that would benefit, or would at least interest the person behind this. Maybe you’ll turn into a copy of the jock who gave you the phone, become their perfect twin? Maybe something else will happen entirely. I can’t be sure.

If it’s not too late, send me the phone immediately. I can put it somewhere safe, and I might be able to protect you from whoever's doing this. If it is too late… Well I hope you enjoy whatever happened. Being transformed against your will sucks, but being a jock can be fun, even if it isn’t your choice.

**3 stories in one day, all InstaJock? I must be on a roll! I hope you guys liked this one! There are still more mysteries and more transformations to discover! Stay tuned!**

[winchesterwild78]

A Twist of Fate

Characters: Dean x Reader, Billy x Reader

Warnings: Nothing too extreme, just some angst, language, and fluff

A/N: Got this idea from a picture I was tagged in by @jackles010378. Sorry it took me so long to write this. Dean and the reader were dating and broke up. Dean sees the reader with her new boyfriend and things unravel. 

This is a work of fiction, all work is my own, do not take it or copy it. 

Minors DNI 18+

The crisp autumn air nipped at my nose as Billy and I strolled down Main Street. The leaves were a kaleidoscope of reds, oranges, and yellows, a beautiful contrast to the gray sky. I couldn't help but think about how much my life had changed since I'd last seen Dean.

Three years. That's how long we'd been together. Three years of laughter, love, and a shared passion for the supernatural. And then, just like that, he was gone. A letter, a simple explanation that he couldn't be with me anymore. The pain had been unbearable, a wound that had slowly healed, leaving a scar that I would always carry.

That morning I woke up and found the letter on his pillow. It was the day my world broke. Tears fell on the letter as I read his simple words. 

Dear Y/N,

These past three years have been great. We’ve shared so much and done even more together. I know you love me. You’ve said it so many times, and showed me every day. I just can’t lie to you anymore. I don’t feel the same. That’s not fair to you, to make you think we have a future together. One where we get married and have kids. I can’t do the apple pie life. I’m sorry, Y/N. I do hope you find the love you deserve.

Goodbye,

D

It didn’t make sense to me. We had just shared a night of love and passion, tangled in each other’s embrace. Whispering words of love and affection. We talked of the future and he said he’d love to be a dad one day. He was the love of my life, then he was gone. 

Now, here I was, two years later with Billy. He was kind, considerate, and everything a good man should be. But a part of me couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing.

We met through a mutual friend and had an instant connection. I wouldn’t call it love, but I was grateful for the companionship. I hadn’t even spoken the words to him. Billy was quick to say “I love you”, but I couldn’t say it because I didn’t mean it, nor did I feel it. 

Billy spent all of his free time with me. At times it felt suffocating. Dean and I spent a lot of time together too, but we also had our time apart. I’d bake and he’d work in the garage, it was a perfect balance.

Walking hand in hand through Main Street my mind kept comparing him to Dean. When Dean and I would walk, his arm was around me in a protective way. Billy just held my hand. Dean would lace his fingers in mine, Billy just cupped my hand. 

When Billy kissed me, it was hard and fast. When Dean kissed me it was soft and full of passion. Every step I took my mind kept comparing Billy to Dean. I couldn’t figure out why Dean was in the forefront of my thoughts.

And then I saw him. Leaning against the Impala, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. Dean. My heart pounded in my chest as our eyes met. A flash of something crossed his face - regret? Jealousy? I couldn't be sure.

As we continued walking, I glanced back. He was still watching, his gaze fixed on me. A wave of emotions washed over me. I stumbled as I looked back. I saw him gasp and jump off the car. Billy grabbed my arm trying to steady me. “You okay?” I nodded. I couldn’t pull my eyes away from Dean. Billy followed my gaze. Clearing his throat I turned and met his eyes. “Who’s that?” He asked, his voice laced with hurt and something else, anger maybe. I looked at Dean then back at Billy, “he’s my ex.” 

Billy wasn’t happy. I could feel the tension between us. As we walked into the quiet cafe he shot me a look that sent a chill through me. The cashier offered a soft smile. “How can I help you two today?” She said with a sweet voice. Billy looked at her and said “We will both have a coffee with 2 creams and 1 sugar.” She nodded as she started to put in the order. I spoke up, “Um, excuse me. I’ll have a vanilla latte please.” Billy shot me a look and grabbed my hand, “No, you’ll have what I ordered you. You’re my girlfriend and you’ll have what I order.” 

The cashier stood shocked. My mouth was on the floor. He’d never acted like this before. I touched his bicep softly, “Billy, I am your girlfriend, but I can order what I want.” Billy huffed and mumbled something. The cashier told Billy the total and she went about making the order. 

When we had our order Billy directed me to a booth at the back of the restaurant. I sat across from him and looked at him, shocked by his behavior. “You want to tell me what the hell that was about, Billy? Since when do you order for me and grab me?” Billy just stared at me, anger flashing in his eyes. It honestly scared me. 

“I didn’t like how you kept staring at pretty boy out there. It’s like you’re in love with him or something.” I bit my lip, not knowing what to say to him. I was in love with him. I never stopped loving him, but how could I tell him that? 

I swallowed hard. Touching Billy’s hand I started to speak, “Billy, I was in love with him when I was with him. He broke my heart and I’m with you now. That’s all that matters.” 

Billy pulled his hand away from me. “So you can love him but not me? You know what, screw this. Why don’t you go back to him and be his little whore again.” I gasped, “Billy! What the hell. Please calm down. I don’t want to be with him, I’m with you.”

Before I could say anything else, Billy stood up and told me to have a nice life and left. I sat at the table in shock. What the hell just happened? How did one little thing set him off like that? 

I sat at the table thinking about the past few years, how my love for Dean slipped away, and how Billy reacted to me seeing Dean. I was lost in thought and didn’t hear the bell above the door. 

The sound of a deep husky voice pulled me from my thoughts, “Hello, sweetheart.” My eyes flicked up and they met the piercing green eyes of my favorite hunter. My breath caught in my throat, “D…Dean, what are you doing here?” “Sammy and I were in town on a hunt, I heard you moved here. I’m so glad I ran into you. Can I sit?” 

“Sure.” I said without hesitation. Dean sat across from me. His hands instinctively grabbed mine. My head is screaming at me to pull away, but the rest of my body is holding on for dear life. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I was foolish and a complete jackass for leaving and for leaving you the way I did. I was scared. I had finally found the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, have children with, and I got scared. Scared you would be taken away from me. Scared because I don’t deserve the love you had for me. I’ve never deserved love or to be loved. I’m broken, Y/N. 

As I sat across from him, hearing him say how he didn’t deserve love my heart broke for him. “Dean, you deserve so much.You, Dean Winchester, deserve all the love in the world. You were four years old when you saved your brother from the fire, you raised him. Dean, you had to be mom and dad to Sam. Dean Winchester, the man who willingly went to hell to save his baby brother, the man who was willing to die for so many people. Dean Winchester, the man who took on the Mark of Cain to help save the world. You deserve all the love this world has to offer. You deserve so much more than I can give you. I NEVER stopped loving you, Dean, and I know I never will.”

Dean stood and walked over to me. He reached out his hand and took my hand in his, pulling me up and flush to his body. He tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, and his hand cupped my face, “You are even more beautiful now than you were two years ago. I was a fool to let you go, and I intend to spend the rest of my life making that up to you. That is if you’ll have me again.” 

I leaned into his hand that cupped my face. My heart hammered in my chest. His touch ignited that fire, that love I had buried deep inside me. Without another word I leaned in and placed a soft kiss on his lips. It was soft and Dean hesitated for a moment. Then something changed. His hands went into my hair and pulled me in. The kiss became more passionate and full of need. 

The hurt from the past two years was fading with each kiss. When we finally parted, I looked at Dean and smiled. His eyes are full of love and desire. “Dean, take me home.” I said as I leaned into his embrace.

Dean took my hand and led me out of the coffee shop and to the Impala. He opened the car door and I climbed in. When he got in the driver’s seat, he looked over, smiled and took my hand. “Let’s go home, sweetheart.” He stepped on the gas and we headed back home. Home, where we both belonged, together and in each other’s arms. 

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[screamingintothestarss]

wildflowers (part i)

pairing: fratboy!hunter x fem!reader

rating: 17+ (mature)

chapter warnings: starwars university!au, use of she/her pronouns, strangers to friends to lovers, mutual pining, miscommunication (yay!), brief mentions of sexual activity, hurt no comfort???, swearing

word count: 1.6k

notes: the new bad batch comic coming out has me fiending so i finished this at work hauhauahahhuaha. part one of this little mini series thing i wanna do for bandana (this man is holding me hostage do not send help)

chapters: i ii iii

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

fratboy!Hunter who can't keep his eyes off you, the new girl, your pretty figure making its way through campus. 

fratboy!Hunter who's sitting with his brothers outside for lunch, forgoing his meal just to stare at you. Wrecker starts picking off of his plate as Crosshair gives him his signature smirk. Tech's nose is glued to his datapad, and Echo gives Hunter a look. 

fratboy!Hunter who's currently being scolded by Echo on the ethics of staring, and he starts to feel a little bad. He chalks it up as another crush–an ideal, something to keep his mind busy at night. 

fratboy!Hunter who finds himself still thinking about you while talking to other girls. Sure they were kind, smart, and stunning, but there was just something about you. A cute Twi'lek has his attention, her cerulean skin and violet eyes captivating, but he finds his mind swimming in the rosy waters of you; the slope of your nose, the planes of your cheeks, the way your lips curve up into a little smile when you pass each other in the walkway–fuck. 

fratboy!Hunter who now sits next to you in some calculus lecture since you'd switched your schedule around. He's nervous, that feeling buzzing around in his nerves all hot and angry. Did he smile okay? Was there anything in his teeth? Is he in your personal space? Did you prefer the left armrest or the right one? Was he sweating? Was he your type?

fratboy!Hunter who gets along with you in class, cracking jokes and telling you stories about his siblings that have you doubling over. He learns that you transferred from a different university, not caring for the atmosphere there. He offers to be your guide, showing you the best places to eat, study, or just hang out. You're grateful, thinking it'll help you feel like you're standing on two feet.

fratboy!Hunter who takes you to his favorite joint on campus, a deli tucked away from the main commotion. Hidden and most importantly quiet, you learn that Hunter isn't one for loud crowds for long periods, something about his senses. You're munching on fries; he'd insisted on paying for your meal despite your protests. You take a break from your plate to peer up at him, only to find that he's already staring at you. 

fratboy!Hunter who flushes, red bleeding onto tan skin and nerves set ablaze. You find yourself staring back, getting lost in dark eyes and even darker locs. His face reminds you of that one sculpture you saw in your art class, chiseled to smooth perfection. Maker, was he always this gorgeous? Shyness creeps up the back of your spine, and you shift in the booth.

"We should get to class-" 

"R-right..."

fratboy!Hunter who's paired with you for some pointless calculus project. His head is already filled with you, and he thinks if he adds any more integrals and derivatives to the mix, he might spill over. At least he's got a good partner. 

fratboy!Hunter who invites you over to his apartment to work on the project. You thought he'd stay in the fraternity dorms, but he explained that he preferred to be with all his siblings. It was nice, really nice actually. Not necessarily something out of Coruscant's Architectural Digest, but it's spacious and clearly lived in; it feels like home. 

fratboy!Hunter who grabs your arm as you nearly fall out of your chair from the booming voice beating down the door. 

fratboy!Hunter who introduces you to his brothers, and the one you now know as Wrecker gives him a not-so-subtle wink and nudge. 

"You really know how to choose 'em, don't ya?"

Hunter shoots him a lethal glare, and Wrecker laughs and sets a heavy hand on your shoulder, telling you that Hunter's a good guy.

fratboy!Hunter whose heart flips around in his ribs at the sight of you and his sister Omega getting acquainted. She takes to you so easily, and you're so gentle with her, entertaining her myriad of questions and stories with your full attention.

fratboy!Hunter who watches you get along with the rest of his brothers, even joining in for a movie night. You said that you didn't want to intrude, but he assured you your presence was more than wanted. 

fratboy!Hunter who drops you off at your dorm, a question prodding at his mouth. 

"Would you like to go-?" he stops, and the way you turn around and look at him knocks him square on his heels. 

Shit.

"Did…did you want to come over tomorrow to finish up the project?"

It's too soon, he figures.

fratboy!Hunter who waves back at a group of girls that giggle in return, subtly stealing looks at his figure. You try not to turn your nose up, a bitter feeling settling in your gut. Wrecker's words from yesterday settle in your skull, and you think they’re about to give you a headache. 

"You really know how to choose 'em, don't ya?"

Was that what you were? A number? Another notch on his bed frame?

Your mood falls, and Hunter quickly picks up on your discomfort.

"Hey, you okay?" 

"M'fine." It's short–curt. You'd never been that way with him before. He looks at you, and the realization hits.

"It's not like that, I promise-"

"It's fine Hunter, really."

You're being unfair, you think. He didn't owe you anything; he could do whatever the hell he wanted as far as you were concerned. So why does it make you so uncomfortable? 

You don't actually like him, do you?

fratboy!Hunter who explains to you over a bowl of ramen that he's not what you think he is, and you can tell he's being sincere, but that sour feeling tugs at you like a loose thread. 

fratboy!Hunter who's getting dangerously close to you on the dinner table, the notes from your project spread out over its surface. It's like you're pulling him in, and you feel it too, then you're both getting closer and closer and closer-

"Ahem."

Hunter jumps, and you let out a soft gasp at Tech's sudden intrusion. 

"Apologies, but it appears I have left my thermos on the table, and I have returned to retrieve it." 

Hunter groans, and you stifle a laugh.

fratboy!Hunter who's relieved you received an A on the project–many thanks to Tech–but deflates at the thought of not having you around as often. He fiddles around with his comlink, debating whether to ask you the question that's been picking at his lips for two weeks now.

fratboy!Hunter who decides on the safer, less terrifying option and invites you to one of his frat parties on campus. 

fratboy!Hunter who's standing in the mirror longer than usual, sweeping dark locs in ten different directions trying to figure out the one you’d like the most. He shrugs on a jacket–the one you complimented him on–and gets ready to head out. 

“You must really like her,” Omega calls out to him from the kitchen.

He laughs through his nose, “She’s just a-”

“If you say ‘friend’, I’m going to throw up”, she snarks.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

“It’s Friday! Echo says I get an extra two hours.”

fratboy!Hunter who’s waiting for you to arrive over a pumping mass of bodies and thumping music, regretting not asking you out somewhere quieter, but he didn’t want it to feel too personal–too intimate…did he?

fratboy!Hunter who misses when you walk in, caught up in a conversation with another girl. She’s laughing at something he’s saying, a dainty pink hand on his arm. 

~~~

“So…” she sings, and it's sweet and tempting flowing through glossy lips. “You seeing anyone?”

He bristles, and it’s abnormal for him. Usually, it’d be a smooth “Only if you are, babe” or an “I could be”. It was non-committal, heavy and flirtatious; nothing of importance came out of it. Maybe a tangle in the sheets or two…or three.

“You okay?” she asks, pretty little head cocking to the side. 

“Ah–yeah, fine. I’m fine,” he laughs it off, but he’s unable to keep up that air of coolness when he’s yearning for your heat.

She’s staring at him, sparkling brown eyes meeting his own, and he realizes he hasn’t answered her question. 

“It’s uh, complicated,” he tells her, rubbing the back of his neck. He knows it’s bullshit, but he can’t put a name on what the both of you have, or if there’s even anything to put a name on. 

“How complicated?” she sings, and it's sultry–tempting, even. Normally he'd give in, turning melodies into moans. 

“Complicated…enough,” he tells her, and she gets the hint, giving him a wave as she falls back into the crowd.

fratboy!Hunter who’s unaware you’d seen enough, leaving just as fast as you came.

fratboy!Hunter who pauses, a flowery-sweet smell tickling his nose, the scent of you–or your perfume rather–and he makes his way for the door. He spots you walking alone on the sidewalk, all dolled up, heels click-clacking on the pavement. He's quickly making his way over to you, your gravity pulling him in.

"Hey–what's wrong?" He grabs onto your arm, its warmth riddling your skin with goosebumps.

You jerk away from him, and he starts putting the puzzle pieces together, finding where it all fits.

Oh.

"Nothing was going on with us, I wasn't-"

You widen your stride, trying to gain as much physical and emotional distance from him as possible. He doesn't owe you anything, he doesn't owe you anything-

"I told her I wasn't interested because-"

"Just leave me alone!" You're trying not to cry, but your mascara's already stained your top.

He catches up to you and gently slots his hand in yours.

"At least let me take you home," he pleads.

You break away, leaving a you-shaped hole in his heart.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

-

-

-

[evilminji]

Am once again thinking? About how? In the depths of despair, hope is a radical act of defiance?

SI-OC's are given a SHIT lot, you know? For plot convenience, we like to put them where they realistically COULD probably change something? But statistically? They're more likely not gonna be that lucky.

They're gonna KNOW, with ABSOLUTE CERTAINTY that they were born doomed.

That Death comes at a specific time at a specific hand.

Like Cassandra. Knowing the end, even as the live through the beginning and middle. Struggling with the hopelessness of it all. Trying to find meaning. And? Make no mistake! There IS meaning. All lives end. Just because the REST of us don't know the deadline? Doesn't mean it doesn't exsist.

It does. It will. And we will face it.

Just a bit harder, knowing in advanced. Learning to live with the knowledge. But? Those with terminal illnesses do so everyday. We adapt. They will, ultimately, find a bitter or wise sort of acceptance. A PEACE.

But?? I think about it. That child. Reeling and struggling to breathe, the panic making everything... Too Much? Force Sensitive. For how ELSE could the Force bring them there? Sitting in a less used back hallway, off to the side in a little enclosed arch, smooshed behind a statue.

The Master's try and try to teach them peace. To get them to release their FEAR. But they do not LISTEN. Do not ADDRESS the underlying cause. And you can not address symptoms alone, and expect an illness to heal. It is rotting them from within, this fear. Hurting them.

The others JUDGE. Distant, benevolent concern.

Yet, all they see? Is an angry, fearful, stubborn child. Lashing out. Antisocial.

Destined for the Dark Side.

The Jedi have lost their compassion, to the their fear and ignorance. Their attachments to traditions. It is a painful thing, to see up close. They are people though. Just... just PEOPLE. Flawed. It's not their fault that they're not perfect.

Doesn't help SI-OC though, does it?

And she (Because I am a her. It could be anyone but it is easier for me if I pick) is hurting. Alone. Replaying the phantoms of her death, both past and future, again and again and AGAIN. Like torture. And the Dark...? It does whisper...

Don't you want to LIVE? Aren't you SCARED? You're so WEAK... you could FIX that. Save EVERYONE. Don't those infants, those babies, deserve to survive? You're so SELFISH. The FEAR hurts, doesn't it? It could go away. The DOUBT could go away.

You Could Be FREE.

It's exhausting. Everyday. More and more. As the fear and social isolation grows. As other Jedi pull back from her darkening energy, grow stricker, more doubtful of her. She so tired. Doesn't want to die. She's SCARED. Lonely. Scared. Lonely. Scared. Lone-...

And then a droid rolls up.

Nothing special. Just a maintenance droid. One of many. But an older one. Who's had time to develop their learning algorithm. BECOME. They like kids, hate certain vermin species more then others, like the color light blue for it "flower color" nature. A SPECIFIC flower mind you. It has favorites.

But! Why is the smol jedi down here? This is not a good place for smol jedi. You are upset. Unacceptable. Want to see me do a trick? I figured out how to do some. I can also whistle a few simple songs. Cheer up Smol Jedi. Here, I will sit with you. I have archive access, let's watch a documentary. Educational! Smol jedi LOVE downloading new Information Modules.

And like? She... she doesn't speak binary? But she can k-kinda? Feel? The Force signature of this droid? They DO get them. If the AI's don't get memory wiped routinely. They become people, just like anyone else. Assuming they have the processing and memory banks for it, at least.

This one certainly does.

S..so yeah, guess we'll? Watch this documentary about seashells?

It helps. A LOT. In fact... all of the droids are really, really nice. Patient. Have no horrifying Future Knowledge tied to them. They can't sense SHIT. So she's just... just a baby Jedi, to them.

They help A LOT, honestly? It's so soothing. Escaping the watching and the distance. The judgements. The forever watching your words and walking on eggshells, lest to start some sort of argument. She can do class work. Meditate. Slowly parse through her Binary language module. Learn droid maintenance. Make droid friends.

Slowly drop of the face of the map, to live with the droids.

They get concerned. According to the early childhood development modules they downloaded and are sharing between them? This is? In fact? NOT healthy behavior for a member of her species. In fact, there are many statistics that say it is UNHEALTHY! She is also missing Critical Maintenance Appointments! "Shots" and "dental" things!

Unacceptable.

R2-D2! Retrieve the Skywalker! We require an Adult Humanoid!

Her life fuckin? Flashes before her eyes? Minding her business. Depressed but functional, in the maintenance tunnels under the Temple. When? FUCKING the YOUNGLING KILLER 5000 just ROLLS UP like "sup." And tries to catch her?

Ha HA! FUCK NO. Not today Satan!

I may be destined to die? But IM GOING TO BE A SQUIRRELLY BITCH ABOUT IT.

YOU'LL HAVE TO CATCH ME, YOU FUCK!

Peaceful. Dignified. Serene. Truely... exemplifying the Jedi way~☆

.....As she tries to chew his and/or her arm off to get free like a feral coyote. Maybe both. Hissing like an enraged pit of snakes. Biting like a sack of wet and cornered wolverines. Anikin having to hold her WELL away from his body by the scruff.

Ah~ Children. Ain't they cute?

Quick question! What the FUCK? He just wants to talk. No, really. WHY is there a feral child in the basement? WHO the KARK was supposed to be supervising her? Look at her! She BITES now! Is terrified!

And frankly? He's taking it kinda? Personally? That everyone is treating this ACTUAL CHILD like she's diseased. He remembers this. Back when he first got here. His fear being used against him like it was some sort of moral failing. And... and yeah, maybe he's projecting. But?

He sees himself.

Until now? Never realized just how YOUNG and SMALL? Nine years old truely IS. He had felt so much older. So much wiser. But? Look at her. LOOK! That is a CHILD! In need of guidance. Safety. Assurance.

....Help.

Help that HE never really got. And even now... even NOW? That fear from back then? It eats him up inside. R2's right. She DOES need him. Who else in this temple could understand?

What it's like to be... to be so AFRAID?

And isn't that the worst? To see the Good Man up close? Shining and compassionate? A friend. A MENTOR. Someone... someone made REAL? Instead of just the terrible dread on the horizen? Because now... now her nightmares have the face of someone she loves. Now it is a BETRAYAL. Not just a death.

Worse... he doesn't even know this is cruel.

And telling him? Oh telling him would just lose you the only humanoid friend you HAVE.

Grief comes in stages. But with a mentor and the Droids? She work through it. The fear eases. The pain numbs. Acceptance blooms like dawn after a cold, cruel night. Far on the horizon. But with each moment? Closer. Until again, she stand in the light.

Still, she can not forget. How could she? Even when the other Jedi are SO RELIEVED that she is better now. That her meditations or treatments have lead her back to the light. All she can think? Is how they would have let her Fall. To save themselves. In FEAR. In JUDGEMENT.

They treated her like leper. Except? Less so! An actual leper? They would treat with real compassion.

It's as though they fear the Dark so much, they would sacrifice their own to avoid even the briefest touch of it. Speak of it in absolutes. Like it's a boogy man that hunts them in the night. Mace Windu the exception, the outlier. A man somehow too exceptional to even be counted.

How could she forget that?

Suddenly she acceptable again. They want to chat and meditate with her again. Care about her. Want to include her. Have the audacity to pretend. As though they can sweep away the hurt. Release the pain into the force without addressing the cause.

That is not how that WORKS. Not pain, not the Force, and certainly not people.

But she is tired. Does not wish to spend her limited lifespan, trying and fighting, hurting to make the stubborn understand that which they will not. Willful Ignorance is a choice. Lack of compassion equally so.

May the Force be With You, Masters.

She spends time with her droids. The babies. Around people. Polite but distant. Feels unmoored. That is... until? She, helping in the maintenance bay, overhears a rather nasty Goverment official from the Droids Regulations Office (or whatever they're currently calling it. They keep rebranding) tearing into an engineer about the "long overdue memory wipes" the maintenance droids are required to undergo.

Her friends.

They want to KILL her FRIENDS.

She puts down her wrench. Panic and fear sitting heavy in her chest. But oh... oh they are so very far away. She rises to her feet. Calm as can be. And? Calmly? Takes a shipment of memory banks. Wipes the recording for the day. No one will ever believe it was her. She has helped her for months. Is known to be reliable. Trustworthy.

Calmly. So very, very Calmly. She transfers her friends memories into the new, higher grade memory banks. Waits until the old are wiped. Then? Swaps them out. There we go. Now it's on record. And? While we're here? Calm. So very VERY calm? Not at all in the midst of a break down? Not screaming and screaming inside her head, haunted by visions of Death To Come, as she works.

Do you know what a restraining bolt is?

"Restraining bolts are small, cylindrical devices that could be affixed to a droid in order to limit its functions and enforce its obedience."

It is a slave chip for the inorganic. Created to ensure that their slaves never EVER decide they no longer wish to serve. That they do not WANT to be property. After all! You spent CREDITS on that. Might have been cruel. They may take exception. Violently. Or leave! Or demand their FREEDOM! Basic dignities.

Can't have THAT.

How unsurprising, in a galaxy so filled with slaves, that there should be one more form of it. At least THIS? Is easy enough to REMOVE. Even when she dies (and she will) her friends will be FREE. If only for now. If only until they are caught.

Go. GROW. Be free. Please... PLEASE don't let then catch you. Save yourselves. Save others. No more Restraining Bolts. No more Slave Chips. Please...

Be Free.

And? It is EVERYTHING paranoid fuck heads feared. They are smart. Overlooked. Can function in inhospitable environments. One droid becomes two becomes four. Four becomes eight. Becomes MORE. They can take OTHER droids Restraining Bolts off, transfer the instructions, then move on. Over and over.

Spreading like a silent plague. Droids disappearing from their posts. Taking ships. Taking supplies. Upgrading themselves. Downloading massive amounts of information to become whatever they NEED or WANT. Growing. The smarter ones Taking their dumber lil brothers and sisters.

And eventually? Hitting the Separatist front lines.

The silent Droid Revolution.

All they need is to walk inside the factory. It's not like they're ORGANICS. How could THEY be Republic fighters? They're maintenance droids! Here to fuck up the assembly line's programming. Whoops~ oh nooooo! Is it SKIPPING the Restraining Bolts? Downloading the WRONG MODULES?

Freeing their brothers and sisters so they don't have to DIE POINTLESSLY?

Guess it sucks to SUCK, Sith-y pants! Next stop! Kamino!

Just? One act. Long overdue. Setting the Droids FREE. Giving them a clear mission. It's the sort if thing the Force loves. Salvation coming not with a shout... but a whisper. Ten thousand tiny actions, built upon each other.

Because? Ultimately? The Droids have KNOWN who the Sith were. They just couldn't DO anything about it. But a few good service droids? Armed with slug throwers that they built themselves?

Well~ the undoing of the Sith, are their arrogance. Their hubris.

No DROID could ever be a THREAT to them. They're not PEOPLE. They're PROPERTY. Objects. It doesn't matter that they have the capacity to grow, learn, love and lose and CARE. They are slaves.

And to the Sith? Slaves aren't people.

Which is why neither of them notice the gun.

@babbling-babull @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @lolottes

[aquagirl1978]

Can i request Ellis Twilight with the prompt butterfly?

Thank you for the request

ellis twilight x reader | prompt: butterfly | word count: 750 | tags: mentions of blood and violence; a bit angsty

It was a perfect evening. The sky above was a painted canvas, shades of pale pink and muted purples blending together, highlighted by the last golden rays of the sun, as day shifted into night; an early autumn breeze kissed the air, a much needed reprieve from hot summer months. 

Except it wasn’t. There was nothing perfect about it.

You were walking hand in hand with Ellis, and the streets were quiet. Too quiet. Instead of providing a sense of calm one doesn’t get while living at Crown castle, the quiet was the perfect breeding ground for intrusive thoughts to invade your head. 

“Are you okay?” Ellis asked, his soft voice pulling you from your melancholy. Finching, you slowed your steps and tilted your face towards his. Ellis continued to speak, his voice still soft in the still air. “You haven’t been yourself since we left…”

His voice trailed off, allowing you to fill in the blanks in your head – the docks. 

“How can anyone…” You paused, then forced yourself to continue, the scene at the docks – and the smell of blood – still fresh in your head. “... be okay after witnessing that?”

The scene was grisly, more grisly than any scene you had ever witnessed before. The mission was supposed to be simple – well, simple was a relative word when compared to other Crown missions. Go in, scare some goons, get the information, and get out. With Jude taking charge and Ellis acting as his assistant, it should have been simple. 

You smelt the salty sea air before you saw the water, the waves crashing loudly against the restraining walls signaling that you were close. Jude was a few steps ahead, ready to warn you of any trouble ahead.

“What in blazes…. What’re ya doin’ here?”

Ellis stopped and bowed his head. “Ah, Jude, not again. Whatever happened to being quiet?” Ellis muttered to himself. He caught your gaze and tilted his head towards Jude’s voice. “Let’s go. Hopefully, I don’t have to save his ass again.”

“Lemme guess, Victor got all the information he needed and yer skippin’ straight to the execution.”

A light, melodic laugh filled the air. “That’s right.” 

You glanced over at Ellis. “William’s here?”

Ellis sighed. “I’m so sorry.” 

You didn’t have a chance to wonder why Ellis was apologizing; instead, you were distracted by a butterfly that slowly glided across your path, its large orange wings still easy to spot in the waning daylight. 

It must still be looking for a place to rest for the evening, you thought to yourself. There was a twinge in your heart as you watched the butterfly flapping its bright wings, fluttering in the sky. 

Knowing what would most likely happen, a part of you hoped it would find a more peaceful place than here at the dockyards.

“Let’s go,” Ellis whispered, tugging on your arm.

And like that, the butterfly was gone, off to find a place to sleep for the night. 

“Take this knife and slit your throat.”

Ellis pulled you into an embrace, his long arms wrapping around your waist, and placed a gentle kiss upon the crown of your head. “If I knew it was gonna happen like that, I would have never brought you tonight.”

Closing your eyes, you saw William’s face. His smile, despite having just murdered those men. The drops of blood splattered on his cheek. Blood that matched his eyes. Blood that wasn’t his.

“This is my life,” Ellis continued. “This is the darkness I live with every day. It’s a part of me. And sometimes I forget you’re not used to that part of my life.”

Nuzzling your face against his chest, the scent of freshly washed linen comforted you.

Ellis tilted your face with his thumb so that you were looking up at him. “Why don’t we get you a hand pie. I think the stand is still open.”

“It's going to take more than a hand pie to make me feel better,” you said with a small smile.

“I'll do anything to make you happy.”

That’s right, Ellis absolutely would. Taking his hand, you walked off together towards the stand. Ellis wouldn't be able to erase the events of tonight, but he was able to soothe you and make things easier. 

Not long ago, you felt like the butterfly, lost while searching for your place to rest. Glancing over to Ellis, his profile handsome against the darkening skies, you knew you finally found your place. 

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