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cyberslvts · 1 year ago

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PHONE | w. maximoff

summary: You call your wife and decided to show her just how much you miss her

warnings: 18+ MDNI phone sex, guided masterbation, fingering, only thing on my wishlist this year is nasty phone sex with wanda

word count: 3k

It had been about five days since your wife left for her business trip, and to say you missed her was an understatement.

The house held a heavy silence as you settled into bed for the night, pulling the comforters up to your waist, feeling a subtle emptiness creep up when you looked at the empty bed space next to you. Prompting restless tossing and turning until you ended up facing your nightstand, the soft glow of your digital clock highlighted a jumble of trinkets: a small bowl cradling Wanda's extensive collection of rings, and a few pairs of earrings, a forgotten mug of now-cold tea, a petite bottle of hand cream, and a book precariously hanging off the edge

Your eyes continued to run along the smooth wood until they landed on a framed photo of you and Wanda, Captured during last year's anniversary celebration, Wanda had taken you into the city your faces slightly pushed together, painted with toothy grins as you both bundled up in thick winter coats leaning into each other for warmth.

Your heart swelled as you looked at the photo. Wanda's bright grin and sparkling eyes, filled with so much love, only made the ache you felt for her at that moment worse. She truly was the best partner you could ever ask for, always so attentive and devoted to you, making you feel like the most important person in the world, and in her eyes you were.

She was so sweet to you, calling and texting you whenever she got the chance, in between meetings or as she was leaving the hotel. Always eager and enthusiastic just to hear your voice on the rare occasions your timings synced up. Given the distance, Wanda was behind by two hours, leaving your calls awkward to match up, always missing each other by a few minutes. When Wanda was just waking up you were stepping into the office, and when she was leaving work you were already asleep.

You supposed she was eating dinner right now, probably with her co-workers or indulging in takeout from the Italian place she had previously mentioned. You felt silly, missing her this much when she had only been gone for a few days.

As you continued to look at the photograph you felt something blossom inside you, shifting slightly, your foot began to run up and down the side of your leg as your thumb swiped over her face in the picture. It felt like it had been an eternity since she last touched you, which you knew wasn't true as she had made sure to give you an extra memorable morning before she left for her flight, fucking you into oblivion before giving your limp body a sweet kiss goodbye.

You returned the photograph to the nightstand and rolled over in the bed until you were pressed against Wanda's pillow, you shamelessly dug your nose into the fabric, the scent of her shampoo and perfume invaded your senses and made you feel like she was right there with you. Your body temperature increased and your clothes started to feel a little too tight around your body.

Before you could rile yourself up anymore, your phone lit up the room with a loud ring. You smiled when you saw Wanda's contact name appear on the screen,

“Hi honey” your tone comes out huskier than you expected, you hear the sound of a door shutting from the other side of the call,

“Hi sweetheart, I didn't wake you did I?” Wanda attentively asks, feeling an immediate warmth as your voice reaches across the distance.

“No, not at all” You answer, readjusting yourself so your back is propped up against your headboard “Did you just get back?”

“Yeah, we got out early today,” She tucks the phone between her neck and shoulders, and you can hear the sounds of ruffling clothes, as both her hands are occupied with unbuttoning her suit jacket.

You bite your lip, imagining Wanda coming home in her work clothes. her hair messy from the walk home, the collar of her white shirt undone, looking so sexily disheveled. You sat up straighter in your bed, not wanting to get too carried away.

As the minutes passed you fell into your usual routine, exchanging the details of your day, from the mundane to the extraordinary, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Wanda listened attentively, her genuine interest was evident in the thoughtful questions she posed and the occasional chuckle at your natural charm. In turn, you hung on every word as she recounted her workday. The familiar cadence of her voice brought comfort, making it feel as if she were right there in bed with you.

Eventually, she tossed her jacket over the back of her chair, flopping down onto the bed in exhaustion, letting out a breathy sigh that you didn't miss.

“You sound tired, are you sleeping okay?” you questioned, whilst massaging the divit of your palm against the top of your thighs, trying to dry the sweat that had formed.

“No,” she huffed out, rolling onto her back, and placing one hand over her stomach. “The bed is terrible, the sheets are so scratchy and the mattress is too hard, I'd much rather be back in our bed, with you.”

Her unfiltered honesty made you giggle and you smiled, knowing that Wanda had a tendency to not receive a good night's sleep if it wasn't spent wrapped up against your side.

“I wish you were here too, I miss you.”

"I miss you too," she replied honestly, staring up at the popcorn ceiling, picturing you doing the same. Your back is flat against the mattress, hair sprawled out along the pillows, your shirt slightly riding up your torso, exposing your skin. Her thoughts began to slip, and it was becoming harder to focus on the conversation. The sultry tone of your voice played in her mind, and she couldn't help but imagine the sensation of her fingertips tracing patterns on your skin.

“Yeah?” you purred, your voice smoothe against Wanda's ears. She didn't fail to recognize the familiar switch in your tone, and she felt a rush of excitement start to fill her.

“Yes baby, so much, I hate being away from you.” She rasped out, closing her eyes when she heard your breathing start to pick up. The atmosphere between you two shifted, becoming heavier and more intimate.

“What do you miss about me?” You pressed, wanting her to fall into the same lusted haze you were trapped in.

“Everything” She immediately responded, as if she had been waiting all week to answer this question. Wanda's fingers absentmindedly traced circles on the edge of the bedsheet as she continued, “I miss touching you, and feeling you against me, I can't stop thinking about it”

A quiet sigh escaped her lips, her imagination running wild with the vivid memories of you together.

“Tell me more” you bit your lip, pressing and rubbing your thighs together in anticipation. Your head felt fuzzy, and your arousal swelled, a throbbing pulse resonating from your core, working yourself up so much you felt as if you were going to explode, You weren't sure if it was because you haven't seen your wife in almost a week, the distance amplifying your neediness for her. Regardless, every word exchanged over the phone was igniting a spark in you that needed to be taken care of.

Wanda's voice dipped even lower, as she happily obliged to your request “I keep thinking about that morning before I left, how loud you were and how pretty you sounded”

“My strap couldn't even stay inside you, it kept slipping out because your pussy was so wet” she teased you, already knowing your cheeks were flushing a vibrant red in embarrassment. She ran a hand down her stomach, her skin felt ablaze, a heat coursing through her that made every inch of her body tingle. She slowly unbuttoned her dress shirt, the cloth splitting apart and falling down the opposite sides of her torso, until only a black bra remained covering her upper half. Her hand fell down her breasts, lightly squeezing them and letting out a moan right into your ear.

You sighed, listening to her husky voice, the vibrations from the phone tickling your jaw. You felt a familiar wetness start to pool and you sunk lower into the bed until you were flat against the sheets. Wanda hears you rustling around the bed and presses the phone harder into her ear.

“Fuck baby, I miss you so much” You let a moan escape your lips, your hands slipping under the blankets to begin stroking yourself over your underwear. “I've made myself cum twice since you left, just thinking about you”

A throaty moan escaped her lips involuntarily, immediately painting a vivid picture of you in her head. You, alone in your bed, your hand buried between your legs, moaning her name. The sound echoed in her ears, remembering nights when she made you sound just like that. Your voice, now a seductive whisper, only fueled her daydream, making her cheeks flush as she felt a wave of desire wash over her.

“God, you're really turning me on right now” You heard the metal clicks of Wanda fumbling with her belt, with an alarming speed, she shed the rest of her clothes throwing them across the room so they were out of her way. She pushes herself farther up the bed and slides under the covers, her hand immediately finding her wetness, where she starts rubbing gentle circles to her clit.

Your hand slides under your panties, running a finger through your pussy and spreading it all over your folds and clit. The whine that reverberates inside your bedroom encourages wanda to do the same. “What are you wearing right now?”

You don't even open your eyes, which were squeezed shut, already knowing exactly what you had on “Just my underwear. the red ones”

Her grip on the phone tightened and she let out a string of curses, she knew exactly what you were talking about. The pressure she has on her bud gets harder imagining you in her favorite pair of panties, how pretty and fuckable she knew you looked right now, and how she couldn't do anything about it.

You slowly push a finger into your slippery walls, and an immediate sense of disappointment washes over you. A frustrated whine escapes your lips as you miss the expertise of your wife's fingers, vivid memories playing in your mind of how Wanda's touch could make you scream and cum within minutes.

"I need you so bad, Wanda," you confess, the desperation evident in your voice. Tightening your hold on the phone, as if it were your only lifeline to her. "It doesn't feel as good when I do it.".

Wanda's heart beats faster, hearing your desperate little whines, trying to find any hint of pleasure to relieve the ache she wasn't there to take care of. Wanda promised her self as soon as she arrived home she would fuck you so good, long and hard, taking you in every position possible, just what you deserved for being her good, patient wife.

"I know, baby," she purrs, her words weaving a tapestry of lust. "Just close your eyes and imagine my touch, my fingers doing all the work." Wanda's explicit instructions and encouragement make you throb, and you start to squirm against the bed eagerly awaiting her next command.

"Go slow, baby," Wanda instructs, her voice a sultry whisper through the phone. "Add another finger and curl it, just like how I do it." You let out a low moan, attempting to replicate her movements. Though it's not quite the same, it's undeniably better than before. Sliding in another finger, you leave it there for a moment, feeling your walls squeeze and flutter around it.

Gently curling your fingers, flashes of Wanda flood your thoughts. Pushing them deeper, you can almost feel her presence, as if she's right there with you, guiding your every move. In your mind, Wanda is on top of you, deep inside your pussy, praising you as a good girl. The image is so clear you start to feel twirls of pleasure forming in your stomach.

“That's right, honey, just like that” Wanda's voice is shaky, listening to you wholeheartedly follow her commands.You were so obedient, her precious girl. “Now, arch your back”

You do exactly as she says, the tip of your head falls back against your pillow and your ass digs itself into the mattress. Your pleasure immediately deepens and you start to move your fingers faster,

Wanda mirrors her instructions, pumping two fingers in and out of herself, letting out deep groans right into the phone. As she listens to you on the other end, pleasure-laden sounds and breathy moans fill the air. She can hear your pussy making the dirtiest sounds, loudly squelching everytime you jut your fingers in. She wishes she were there to witness it in person. Frustration builds as she hears the most beautiful sounds escaping your lips, and the fact that she can't do a single thing about it heightens the tension.

"I can hear you, how wet you are," she moans out, beginning to lose herself in the pleasure. "Is that all for me?

“Yes, all for you,” you breathlessly respond, your hips bucking up to match the rhythm of your fingers, desperately chasing your high. “you're making me feel so good”

The once-pristinely ironed sheets are now a tangled, wrinkled mess as Wanda's whole body squirms and writhes against the bed. She uses her thumb to rub at her clit, her mouth falling open at the sensation. Her eyes lock shut, entirely focused on creating vivid mental images of you that bring her closer and closer to the edge.

She felt her pussy tighten around her fingers, thinking about all the times she had made you cum, your adorable face scrunching up into an expression exclusively reserved for her played vividly in her mind. The memory of your eyebrows sewing together, your thighs wrapping around her, and your desperate attempts to cling to any part of her body for comfort lingered in her thoughts. On those particularly heated nights, she would work you up to a point where deep red lines would be etched into the skin of her back. stinging and aching so deliciously the next day.

When she tells you to go faster, you feel your orgasm rapidly build and the room starts to feel hazy. Thick with heat and the sounds of your and wanda's moans. You pump your fingers faster, and you can see them glistening with your juices everytime they pull out, just to be greedily plunged back in.

"Fuck, say my name,” she commanded, her final plea as she felt her self getting so close, needing to hear you scream her name while you both came on your fingers

You meet her request immediately, "Louder," she insists, and you obediently start repeating her name over and over again, getting whiner everytime. Your head was emptied of all thoughts other than Wanda as your fingers repeatedly hit that spot inside you.

“Wanda, oh god wanda”

Your voice started getting higher and louder. Wanda could tell you were about to cum, she started fucking herself harder wanting to be right there with you when you fell apart. She felt the phone start to fall out of her grip and just before she was about to fall over the edge she switched on the speaker button and let the phone fall out of her hand and next to the side of her head.

“Is my messy girl gonna cum? just from my voice.”

You parted your lips to respond but your mouth fell open wider when your orgasm suddenly ripped through you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as her name spilled off your lips in sharp moans and gasps. Your hips bucked up and down trying to prolong the sensation for as long as possible

Hearing all of this, Wanda fell into her orgasm with a matching intensity. Her thighs shook around her hand and she tossed her head to the side. One hand gripped the pillow to her face, muffling the loud moan of your name. Trying her best to keep quiet since the hotel walls were known for being thin.

Your breathing slowed, feeling your orgasm begin to subside, your back fell limp against the bed listening to wanda do the same.

“Well, that was certainly different” Wandas voice returned, although much deeper and huskier as she struggled to catch her breath, You could practically hear her smile as she relaxed into her post orgasmic bliss

“In a good or bad way” you questioned, sitting up on one elbow and throwing your frazzled hair over your shoulder.

“A good way, a very good way,” she assured, letting out a satisfied sigh. Her eyes grew heavy, and you could hear the rustling of the bed as she began pulling the comforters up past her shoulders, tucking herself in. She let out murmurs, whispering about how much she loved you and that she would be home soon.

You smiled knowing how tired she gets after sex, part of you dimming with the realization that you weren't there to hold her to sleep. Yet, you reassured yourself—she would be back home with you by the end of the week, just as she promised

Opting to stay on the call tonight, you recharged your phone and placed it on top of your pillow, close enough to hear Wanda's tired breathing, a comforting sound that soothed you to sleep. Just before you fell asleep, her voice broke the silence.

“Let's Facetime instead tomorrow”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #fanfic #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff smut #wanda x reader #elizabeth olsen

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mothekko · 1 day ago

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Her woman.

Where Ambessa demands your attention after a long trip.

Ambessa Medarda x fem!reader Warnings: alcohol drinking, buff reader, reader is implied to be lesbian, slightly sub!ambessa, fluff, no-smut, kisses<3 mwah mwah. Word count: 968.

notes: ambessa my beloved (not just mine but of course my best friend's beloved too), i had this idea yesterday when she cried cause every reader is always the girly girl type, never a big woman with big everything (including her arms 😛), anyway, enjoy reading as I did writing :3 xoxo

MEN AND MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Ambessa was not a fragile lady, no. She was far from this. First, she was the type of mercilessly war dog everyone heard about. Her fingers were not as delicate as some women tried to imagine.

Oh, and you knew it. You knew her hands were stronger than any other woman you ever had an affair with. She was delicate, but rough. She was firm and strong, and for God’s sake, you could listen to all the girls and boys in the whole Noxus almost moaning for her, just by seeing her walk on the streets. She didn't pay too much attention, she had her business with you. She came back from war, her fatigue was noticeable in her letters, and you analyzed them perfectly, all of them.

As much as you knew about her weariness, she always asked you for a visit, and how could you deny the woman who gave you your position as high guard in Noxus? The more time passed, your attention was drawn to the dark streets of Noxus, scantily clad women didn't attract you, even though it was the complete opposite for you and they sometimes tried to attach themselves to your belt, along with the axe and sword that were in the hem of your pants and back. The icy wind touched your hair, two braids made by the war general framed your face. It wasn't usual for you to leave your hair loose, but after weeks, or months, without seeing each other, the braids were Ambessa's only request.

You looked across the horizon, all the tents closed and quiet, but that one... that central one, which you knew who was inside; the candles flickering in the air were warming someone. Ambessa was waiting for you. As you approached the place, your muscles tensed in suspicion as you entered the tent. You sighed and Ambessa looked back, a smile from her brightened up her face. A woman like her? Smiling? You're lucky.

“Night, ma’am…” You said, the smell of alcohol around the place was a little too much this time, but well, it’s Ambessa, after all. “Too much to handle this time? Or drinking for fun?”

She didn’t answer you, not like she usually does. She silently invited you to sit next to her, moving the wine bottle to the side on the floor. Cautiously you walked through the tent, until you reached her side, and before you could even sit down, she settled her head on your waist. Her mind was heavy with thoughts.

Ambessa without her usual clothes, smiling, and laying her head on you? Of course something was wrong. But this kind of wrong is not so bad, not at all. At least she was showing some affection.

“Listen, darling… don’t ask any questions today… I just want you to be good for me.” She said, she doesn’t look drunk. Does she? “These months without you made me so bored, you know…”

You kindly touched her hair, asking yourself what you should do in that situation.

“Ma’am, you’re not drunk, are you?” You laughed, looking a little closer. You touched her face, checking her eyes, and suddenly, she removed your hand and sighs deeply.

“You know me too well, sugar. Maybe I should pretend harder next time…” You finally felt like everything was okay, she was lying and that’s all. “Are you gonna sleep here tonight?” she took a sip of wine “Or will I wake up with a boy calling me out for being too sleepy?”

A sigh escaped your lips, a frustrated sigh now. You looked straight at her, sitting by her side.

“Listen, ma’am, I always told them to send a woman to wake you up, look at me, do I look like someone who likes any kind of boy here?” She shook her head. “That’s what I thought. And, who said you’re too sleepy? These boys around here have no fucking respect for you…”

You pulled the woman closer, holding her tightly. She was warmer than you, obviously because you were outside thirty minutes ago, but still, that makes your heart skip a beat. Again you move your hands to her cheek, and she looks at you with those shining eyes.

“What a beautiful woman I see…” You said. And then, you gently kissed her lips, in a simple way. You used to kiss each other, nothing new. But it was definitely special this time. You felt like it was. Her hands, which had been resting on her thigh, now moved up so that they could rest on your waist. “Won’t you tell me about your…”

She shut you with a finger to your lips, kissing you again calmly, caressing your war scarred face. Your arms, which were a bit stronger than hers, held her against your body, feeling how fast her heart was beating.

“I have to be careful… or you’ll become stronger than me, imagine if they put you in my place?” She made you chuckle softly, moving a hand down to rest on her back.

“You’re making no sense, ma’am. I could never replace you. But I’m happy you noticed…”

“Well… I always notice, sweetheart.” She gave you a peck on the lips, snuggling into your chest. “You’re my woman, and I know when you get stronger.”

She said it so casually, with her closed eyes as if she was almost asleep; you wouldn’t doubt it. She had just arrived from a long trip after all.

“Your woman…? Mhm… yeah, you’re definitely sleepy. Goodnight, ma’am… I’ll wake you up tomorrow…”

You could hear a “finally” coming from her as she snuggled into your body. You picked her up, taking the woman to the bed, blowing the candles, pulling the blankets over you, finally spooning her from behind and nuzzling her neck.

#ambessa medarda x reader #Ambessa Medarda #Arcane #Ambessa x fem reader #arcane ambessa #ambessa league of legends #Ambessa Arcane #Ambessa x reader #Ambessa fluff #ambessa x you #arcane2 #arcane series #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 #arcane league of legends #league of lesbians

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not-neverland06 · 3 days ago

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𝚆𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚂𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙶𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚕

Pairing ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ Arthur Morgan x fem!reader

Next Part - Hell Hath No Fury Series

Summary: While the two of you might think whatever could have been is irreparable, one very meddling old man has other plans. Hosea sends Arthur and you on a hunting trip that ends with blood on your hands once more. Despite the mangled mess of it all, you still find yourself drawn to the hope of something more between you and Arthur.

Arthur stayed up most of the night, waiting for you and Charles to come stumbling back into camp. He expected drunken revelry, he thought he might have to corral you into bed. The same tedious tasks he went through with anyone who stayed out as late as you both did. He didn’t expect both of you to be stone-cold sober and in different clothes. He hadn’t paid too much attention to what Charles had been wearing, but he was certain that you had changed before you came back to camp.

He can’t imagine what would have called for that or why you were both out so long. He’s not sure he likes the few explanations he can come up with. He’s got a nasty look on his face as he watches Charles lead you over to the ladies' tent. His hand hovers over your waist, nearly touching but not quite. His mouth is pressed to your ear, whispering a secret between the both of you.

Arthur wasn’t jealous. That wouldn’t make any sense. The two of you barely knew each other. And he was still recovering from what was the entire mess with Mary. He didn’t think there was a part of him that was still capable of feeling like that. But he’s not comfortable with secrets in the camp, especially with newcomers. It just seems like bad luck. If you can’t trust the gang, who can you trust?

Charles nods his head in a farewell and heads back to his own tent. Arthur watches as you rub your tired eyes. Your shoulders go up to your ears, back hunching over itself, and you have the countenance of a woman worn down. He frowns, eyes narrowed in suspicion as you collapse onto the bedroll beside Mary-Beth. John clears his throat as he walks past Arthur, giving him an odd look when he sees how intensely he’s glaring at your sleeping form. Arthur frowns at Marston, shooing him off and closing the flaps of his tent. He hadn’t realized just how focused on you he had been.

The others don’t share his suspicions. They only saw him making you cry earlier. In their minds, he’s probably no better than Micah. He hates that thought but he’s sure it’s not too far from the truth. Neither of them are good men, but Arthur would never hurt you. He would never willingly hurt any of the women. He’s only worried about you.

He takes his hat off, tossing it beside the picture of Mary on his table. It knocks into the edge of the frame, sending it tumbling into the dirt. “Dammit,” Arthur mutters. He bends, scooping it off the grass and checking for any cracks in the glass. He lets out a heavy sigh and brushes the dirt off the grooves of the frame.

Arthur pulls the picture back and stares down at it. Mary wasn’t smiling in this one. He’s sure he has another one of the two of them around somewhere. He knows they’re smiling in that one. But after a while, he stopped liking to see himself in pictures and she stopped looking so happy. Arthur slumps down onto his cot and rubs a weary hand over his face. Mary’s stern eyes glare at him from the worn photo.

He can’t do this again. He can’t watch another bright woman lose their flame because they chose to love him. Loving him is always a mistake. First, it was his son and his mother, then it was Mary. He can’t ruin you too. He won’t be able to live with himself if it’s your life in his hands.

Arthur places the picture back on the table. He flips the frame face-down so he doesn’t have to sleep feeling eyes on his back. He rolls over and stares up at the canvas roof of his home. He wishes he could see the stars through the fabric. His fingers itch to draw the night sky, just from memory. But he forces himself still, makes himself sleep.

Arthur’s up before most of the camp, as he normally is. Dutch sits by his tent, reading, and just barely lifts his head in greeting before going back to his book. Pearson never seems to stop making that damn stew and Arthur doesn’t think it’s ever improved in taste. Mrs. Grimshaw isn’t even awake as he goes around camp. He can’t imagine why he’s surprised that you’re still sound asleep.

He resents the little ache that festers in his stomach. It feels too much like disappointment. He can’t imagine what he would say to you were you awake. There’s no apologizing for yesterday. You’d made it clear how you feel about him and he should honor that.

Besides, he knows he needs to keep away from you. He’d done both of you a favor by making it clear how much of a bastard he was so early on. He lets out a rough sigh and forces himself away from your tent. He’s sure he’s got something he can find to occupy his time with.

Arthur’s cleaning his rifle when he hears her start huffing and puffing. Mrs. Grimshaw lingers by the edge of his tent, arms crossed and foot tapping faster than he can keep up with. “Thinks she’s so much better than the rest of us,” she grumbles under her breath. “Just because she married into money-”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Arthur demands, trying to suppress the amused smile on his face. He’s sure he doesn’t need her to see it, she’s already in a mood, might as well not have it turn on him.

Mrs. Grimshaw throws her hands up in the air, whipping around and glaring at him like she’s been waiting for him to ask the entire time. “That,” she sucks in a sharp breath, clearly struggling to bite her tongue, “woman,” she finally spits out. “Mrs. Rowe,” Arthur straightens up at the mention of your name, eyeing her suspiciously.

Mrs. Grimshaw ignores him and turns back towards you. He gets up as she starts walking towards the barrel of water by Charles's tent. “She thinks just because she’s a lady, she can laze around and let the rest of us work for her?” She grabs a bucket and drops it in the barrel. Arthur’s sure the only reason she manages to heft it back out is because the woman runs off pure spite.

“We’ll see about that,” she snaps, marching towards you, arms poised to give you a cold awakening. Arthur chuckles a little, he follows behind her, prepared to stop her. But Charles steps out of his tent and catches on quickly to her plan. Before Arthur can intervene Charles is taking hold of Mrs. Grimshaw’s wrist and tugging her back.

“Leave her alone,” he commands.

“Excuse me? This is my camp-”

“I won’t repeat myself,” he tells her, taking the bucket out of her hand. “Let her rest.” Mrs. Grimshaw wants to say more, they can both see it written plainly on her face. But she also won’t argue with one of the men in camp. She just throws her arms in the air in defeat and storms off, still grumbling under her breath as she goes.

Charles looks back at you and Arthur narrows his eyes at him. Something is tickling in the back of his mind, a thought that’s taking too long to form. The answer for this odd kinship between the two of you is somewhere inside his head but he’s too stupid to work it out.

“What’s goin’ on?” Charles turns back towards Arthur with a questioning look and he nods towards you. “You got a thing for her or somethin’?” Arthur laughs but he knows Charles sees right through it. That insufferable look of his gives it away.

“Do you?” Charles asks, crossing his arms and smirking at Arthur. Arthur glares at him and rolls his eyes.

“��Course not.” Charles doesn’t say anything. Something lurks between the two men, a tension only shared by Arthur. After a moment of silence, neither of them willing to give in, Charles surrenders.

“You’re an idiot, Morgan,” he walks past him, patting his shoulder and laughing under his breath. Arthur wasn’t even sure the man was capable of smiling. But here he is, managing a laugh at Arthur’s expense.

It feels like the day is passing by incredibly slow. He feels like he’s been in camp for hours and it’s not even noon yet. Everyone seems to be avoiding him, either for how he acted last night or because of the way he’s pacing like he’s a caged lion.

He’s not sure what he’s been waiting for all day until he hears it, “Sorry, I hadn’t meant to sleep so long.” Arthur damn nearly takes out Pearson and that god-awful stew with how fast he whips around.

You’re sitting up, rubbing at your face and trying to shield your eyes from the sun as Sadie stands over you. “Just don’t go botherin’ Mrs. Grimshaw, she’s after you.” Your face screws up and you let out a heavy sigh.

“Dammit, why didn’t anyone wake me up?”

Sadie rolls her eyes with a huff and Arthur takes a step closer. “You’ve got a goddamn guard dog.” Arthur tenses up, thinking she’s talking about him for a moment. He’s gotten used to that comparison, especially when it comes to you. You had been pretty reliant on him for a while. Instead, she points to Charles.

He’s trying not to hate the man but it’s getting hard.

Charles sits on a nearby boulder, fastening together some arrows and watching everyone out of the sides of his eyes. Arthur looks back at you and sees you smiling at your guard dog. “Sorry, Sadie. I’ll do laundry tomorrow, how’s that?”

“Damn right,” she sniffs, nose pointed to the air and walks away. Shaking your head and closing the tent flaps, you come out a minute later in one of the outfits you must have bought last night. Arthur tries not to stare but it is odd to see one of the women in camp wearing pants.

Arthur runs through everything he’s wanted to say to you as you move closer to him. He goes through every shitty apology and winces when he realizes what a fool he's going to sound like. It’s a stupid idea, to even try, but he just feels awful that you’d had to be on your own all day yesterday. You at the very least deserve a real explanation.

He half expects you to pivot at the last minute, to head towards Charles and ignore him the rest of the time you’re with the gang. But you keep coming towards him, something clutched in your hand that he can’t quite see.

You stop a few feet away from him, arms tucked behind your back and lips pressed into a thin line. Arthur has an odd urge to close the distance. “Arthur,” you say his name tersely and he tries not to let his disappointment show.

He might not want to be involved with you, but he likes you. You’re smart, smarter than him, and you’re funny. He wouldn’t hate being friendly with you. But he can tell, just from how you’re standing, that you’re not interested. “Yes, Mrs. Rowe?”

“Here,” you hold something out to him but he’s more focused on the fact that you didn’t even correct him on your name. He’s got no chance with you now, that’s for sure. You shake your hand impatiently and he finally bothers to look at what it is.

It’s a bunch of crumpled bills, the same ones he gave you yesterday. Though, after your day of interrupted purchases it’s quite a bit lighter than it had been. “Dont-”

“Please,” you stop him before he tries to convince you to keep the money. You take a step forward and he matches you. You don’t look too concerned by the proximity so he risks another step. You lean forward, take his hand and gently coax his fingers open. Your hands are warmer, softer than his own. A life of having servants and maids has kept you away from the harshness of work like his.

He doesn’t know if he appreciates the softness you provide or resents you for it. “I feel guilty. I shouldn’t have spent it so freely. Buying the horse was a foolish, impulsive purchase.” Your hand lingers on his a moment longer before you slowly pull away.

Arthur shakes his head but he puts the money back in his satchel. He knows, from the way you’re looking at him, he’s got no chance of getting you to keep this. “Wasn’t impulsive,” he argues. “Those damn O’Driscolls,” the mention of their name causes you to wince and he sighs. “Those men,” he corrects, “took everything from you. And you needed the horse.”

“I suppose I did,” you concede but you don’t sound sure of yourself. Still, Arthur will consider it a win. You look like you’re ready for the conversation to end but Arthur isn’t sure he is.

“You give her a name yet?”

Your brows furrow and you shake your head. “What do you mean?”

He laughs a little and nods towards the mare standing beside Diablo. She’s pretty big, not nearly as tall as his horse, but larger than some of the others in camp. “She’s gotta have a name. Can’t just go round callin’ her horse.”

You roll your eyes in indignation and Arthur shakes his head. He truly does not know why you hate horses so much. But considering it’s the only form of travel for a couple of hundred miles, he thinks it’s pretty ridiculous. “Can’t I?” You sound so much like a petulant child, he has to bite his tongue not to laugh.

“Really don’t like ‘em huh?”

The hardened look on your face softens slightly and you smile. “That obvious?”

“Little bit,” you chuckle and Arthur grins. “Doesn’t have to be anything fancy,” he concedes.

“Oh,” you toss your hands in the air, glancing around like someone might be holding up a sign with a name. “Fine,” you sigh, “how about Lady?”

“Lady?”

“Lady,” you growl the name out, glaring at him. “I’m not gonna come up with anything better than that.”

Arthur looks over at your mare and huffs out a laugh. She did look a little uppity. Nose in the air, looking away from the other horses hitched by her. She didn’t even seem to want to eat the same grass as the others. “Yeah, Lady works,” he chuckles, looking back over at you and trying to spot the similarities.

It’s no secret you were used to a life of luxury. Sadie wasn’t a friend, she was a former employee. You’re used to wearing fine jewelry and finer clothes. This life, sleeping on the ground, shooting off bullets at anyone that pisses you off, isn’t made for you. You don’t seem like you should fit into this mold.

But he’s never seen you complain about your chores around camp. And you might not be happy about it, but you’ve never tried to get anyone in the gang to turn away from their violent tendencies. You don’t stick out like a Lady forced into rags, you could well have been born into this life if it weren’t for that smooth skin of yours. He wonders why you seem to fit so well when so many others in your place have failed.

“Right,” the easy banter fades into a tense silence. You cross your arms behind your back, taking a step away from him and refusing to meet his eye. “I’ve, um,” you trail off and Arthur takes a step towards you as you stumble away. “Thank you, again.” You turn, refusing to let him speak as you rush towards Mrs. Grimshaw.

Arthur grimaces as she begins to lay into you, her voice carrying throughout the camp about not letting your former status get so far into your head. You’d rather take a whooping from her than have to talk to him any longer.

Arthur takes his hat off, running a hand through his hair and glaring down at the mud under his boots. He’s never going to be able to bridge this distance. And he shouldn’t be trying to. You both know that nothing good can ever happen between you. There’s no point in torturing himself with something impossible.

He shoves his hat back on and storms towards the horses. A few people glance his way, but for the most part, they know to ignore him when he gets like this. He takes Diablo’s reins and leads him toward the forest. He doesn’t have a destination in mind but he needs to see the stars tonight. He can’t be stuck in the canvas tent anymore, he’s been cooped up for too long.

It’s been a week since you’ve killed your husband. A week since you fed his body to the hogs. And a week since you’ve talked to Arthur. You can’t meet his eye, too ashamed of what you’ve done.

You’re sure the man has killed more men than you can count on both your hands. Yet, you’re still worried he’ll think less of you for what happened. Maybe it’s because you know how the others see you. Everyone else in camp thinks you’re soft. At least Sadie was a working woman before all this happened, she helped her husband keep up some rich employer's estate. And you were the rich employer.

They think that you’re soft, and better off than they are. They also seem to think that you’re constantly looking down your nose at them. Every time Dutch says, “I know you’re not used to having to live like this, Mrs. Rowe,” you feel like the entire camp turns and glares. Or anytime Mrs. Grimshaw yells at you not to let your former status get to your head, she has to remind you you’re just as bad as the rest of them now.

You don’t judge them for how they live. You know they do it out of necessity, some for pleasure. You don’t care. Outlaws have always been a part of this country and you’re not looking to fix that, but they don’t seem to understand you. All they see when they look at you is the same type of person who’s kept them down all their life.

You know that the second the rest of them find out what you’ve done, you’ll never hear the end of it. It’ll be held over your head for the rest of your time with the gang. And Arthur, you know he’ll stop looking at you like you’re something to be protected.

You don’t know if you’d love it or hate it. You’d no longer be soft to him, wouldn’t be this pretty new thing to play with. You’d be like every other woman he’s surrounded by. And what does it matter? He’s already got a proper lady.

You don’t know how you missed it before. You’ve seen the pictures he keeps at his bedside. But part of you had always hoped it was a sister, or as wicked as it sounds, a dead lover. You feel like a proper fool. There was never any way this infatuation of yours was going to go that would be healthy for either of you.

You place your book to the side, something Mary-Beth had lent you that only makes your heart ache something fierce. You wished she had something other than romance. You hate reading about how happy they are at the end. It feels like a slap in the face to what your marriage had been and the thought of what you and Arthur might have been.

You need something to keep your mind busy. You’re not confident enough to go on horseback alone. And no one in camp, except, of course, Arthur, is willing to take a woman out for a ride. They seem to think you’re all better off being cooped up here in camp. You don’t have any chores left. Much to Mrs. Grimshaw’s chagrin, she has nothing to hound you about today.

Your eyes dart back to the book but the thought of suffering through another sappy scene makes you leap to your feet. You pace around camp for a few minutes, trying to find anyone who looks like they could entertain you.

Tilly and Lenny are both playing Dominoes, but you’ve never been a fan of the game. It wouldn’t do anything but drive your mind further towards the outlaw you’re avoiding. You skirt around Dutch’s tent, not even wanting to attempt to speak with him. He’s been growing bored of Molly, and you’ve felt a little of his gaze drift towards you. You’d rather not tempt him further.

You’re considering just attempting a ride on your own when you spot Charles moving away from Pearson’s table. He has new arrows in his hand and his bow is on his back. He’s moving towards his horse like a man on a mission and you finally see your opening.

“Charles!” You shout, trying to catch him before he leaves. You draw a few eyes towards you but manage to ignore them for the most part. One pair feels particularly intense but you do your best not to meet it.

He’s got one hand on Taima, slightly turned towards you as he waits for you to catch up. You slide to a stop in front of him, the sun glaring into your eyes over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”

“Going hunting,” he answers bluntly, shifting slightly so you’re less blinded by the bright light of the early morning. Well, that had been obvious. But you’d been hoping for something more inviting.

“Mind if I come?” You ask, rocking on the heels of your feet impatiently.

Charles doesn’t usually mind you hanging around him. You’re not sure if he likes it, but he certainly doesn’t object. He seems less sure now, though. His face pinches and he tilts his head, already preparing to say no. You feel whatever hope you’d had sink to your feet. It’s going to be another day of staring at a tree and hoping something interesting happens.

“Charles!” Hosea calls his name before he can tell you no. You both turn towards the old man, furrowed brows on your faces. “Need your help with something today.” Charles sighs and shoots you a bothered look. You wince, mouthing an apology as he brushes past you. You’re sure if he hadn’t been held up by you he would already have been on his way.

“I was going hunting. Pearson needs more meat for camp.” Charles argues as he comes up to the fire. Hosea shakes his head, taking a long sip of his coffee. Something curls at the edge of his lips that feels remarkably familiar to you.

“Don’t bother. Arthur will go.” Arthur looks up from his journal, flipping it closed and frowning as Hosea volunteers him. “And he’ll take the lady with him.”

“No-”

“Why-”

You and Arthur both shoot each other sheepish looks, cutting each other’s objections off. You know why you’re saying no, but it doesn’t make his rejection sting any less. He wasn’t exactly slow to protest against time alone with you.

Hosea holds his hands up, shooting both of you sharp glares. “I need Charles's help with some herbs,” Charles lets out a little huff but Hosea continues on. “Arthur’s our next best hunter and I do believe Mrs. Rowe needs to learn how to hunt. Are you saying that you don’t think she should know how to take care of herself, Arthur?”

Arthur’s jaw hinges and closes like a fish as he sets Hosea with a narrowed-eyed look. “Now, you know I ain’t sayin’ that. I’m just thinkin’ someone else can take her.”

You try not to let that hurt but it does. He has every reason to avoid you, you haven't exactly been welcoming. But it hurts to see how much you’ve messed this all up. “I don’t see any volunteers, Arthur.” Hosea pretends to search around camp but he just shakes his head and shrugs. “Going to have to be you. I think you both can handle some time alone. You’re adults aren’t you?”

You and Arthur share a look over Hosea’s head. One of shared suspicion that the old man has more than just simple hunting up his sleeve. You both grit out a reluctant, “Fine.”

Hosea smiles and takes Arthur’s map. “Wonderful, here, I’ve marked a spot on here for where you should go hunting.”

Arthur snatches it back and lets out a loud sigh. “Hosea, this is gonna take us two damn days.”

“Well then, I guess you best get riding.”

You know Arthur wants to laugh at you. You don’t blame him, you’re sure you look like a clown on top of Lady. She’s not working with you and you’re slipping and sliding along the saddle. You can’t get comfortable, constantly fidgeting and lifting yourself up and down. It’s making her twitchy.

You can see her flicking her tail in irritation every time you fidget. “Comfortable?” Arthur calls out.

You look over at him and glare. He’s so wonderfully content on top of his perfect Diablo. “Just fine,” you grit out, trying not to be jealous of how much more his horse likes him than yours likes you.

Lady seems to have been appropriately named. She’s got all the stuck-up makings of one. You shift again and she flicks her head, whinnying and nearly scaring you off her damn back. “You need to calm down,” Arthur instructs, riding a little closer.

“I’m trying to get her to,” you argue, tone broaching the line between sharp and petulant.

“Not the horse,” he chuckles and reaches over, covering your hands with one of his own. He forces you to look up at him and you’re caught wholly off guard by how close he is. You’re practically sharing breaths as he keeps up stride with you.

“You need to calm down,” his voice is low in your ear, you can feel the rumble of it down your spine. “She can tell you don’t trust her,” he slowly releases your hands in favor of placing them on your back. “Just take a deep breath,” you have to fight the urge to close your eyes and lean into the warmth of his voice. “There you go, good girl,” your eyes shoot open but he’s talking to the horse now.

You’re ashamed to say you’re jealous of the damn horse.

He pulls Diablo back and nods towards Lady, “She won’t trust you if you don’t trust her.”

“How am I meant to?” You grouse, but she’s already calmed down a bit just from Arthur pacifying you.

“Sometimes you just gotta open yourself up to something, even if it might hurt.”

You want to point out the irony of him telling you that but it doesn’t feel appropriate. “Thank you,” you mutter. You risk leaning forward slightly, running your hand through Lady’s soft mane. You think she makes something of an appreciative noise but you can’t be sure.

He nods his head, humming an affirmative and keeping his eyes strictly on the scenery around you. You try to think of something else to say to him, but every train of thought leads to confessing your guilt about your husband. Forced to keep your mouth shut, you train your eyes forward and keep your attention on calming Lady.

Above you, the sun peeks through the canopy of leaves, its golden light reflecting off the early morning dew. When you suck in a deep breath, you can still smell the rain in the air, remnants of the night before. Through columns and rows of light, the warmth of the sun manages to reach you.

Ignoring the tension between you and Arthur, this is possibly one of the most peaceful mornings you’ve had since your home was turned over to the O’Driscolls. You can’t help but appreciate the beauty and the freedom of the world around you.

You're on your own horse, wearing pants, without a chaperone as you ride beside a man. You don’t have to sit here and fret over whether or not he’ll still want you if you speak out of turn. There’s no society to be shunned from here. It’s just you and nature. If you listen close enough you can hear mourning doves and the rustle of creatures in the underbrush beyond you.

Lady keeps her steady trot, letting you leisurely take in all you can. You’re not sure how long you’ll stay with the gang. You don’t know how long before Dutch will decide you’re dead weight. But you know that life will never get any simpler than this. Anything you manage to find outside the gang will just be the same suffocating, dull monotony of your past life.

You have to appreciate the beauty of moments like these while you still have them.

“How are you likin’ it?” Arthur’s rough voice breaks the tranquility of the moment. You open your eyes from where you’d been absorbing the warmth of the sun and turn towards him. Your brows furrow in question and he smiles slightly, though it seems strained. “The life of an outlaw,” he clarifies, arms out as he gestures to the world around you.

You laugh a little and shrug. “I don’t know. It’s a little more boring than I had expected,” except of course for you murdering your husband.

He barks out a laugh and it makes a smile spread over your cheeks. He’s got a contagious laugh, you’ve discovered. It fills your stomach with a warmth that makes your legs tingle. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, for the most part, all you’re doing is sitting around camp. You just wait for something to happen.” You stretch your truth, teasing him a little to try and get another loud laugh out of him.

Sadly, he only shakes his head with a little amused huff of breath. “Suppose it’s easy to think like that when we’re like this.”

“Hunting?”

He shakes his head and gazes off at something you can’t see in the distance. “On the run, laying low. We’re not exactly goin’ to run around robbin’ branks when we’re tryin’ to keep the law off our back.” His voice grows quieter, more sentimental, “Not when we’ve already lost too much.”

You feel something like shame clogging your throat and wish you’d never said anything at all. It was easy to forget just how much loss they’d all experienced. They didn’t wear it on their sleeves like others might. Just carried it with them in their heavy hearts.

You’d noticed that Arthur, especially Arthur, tended to turn it all inwards. He blamed himself for any loss or death that occurred within the gang. He never actually blames the person who truly deserves it. You wish you could help him, but you can’t keep trying to fix broken things; you only end up cutting yourself in the process.

“We’re gettin’ close,” he speaks before the silence can reach any further. His voice is a little rougher now, slightly closed off from you. He turns towards a thicker grove of trees and you try and nudge Lady to follow him.

She keeps going straight and you tug a little harder on the reins. “Come on,” you mutter, trying to tilt her towards Arthur. You look over your shoulder and see he’s already hitched Diablo and is retrieving his bow from the saddle. “Oh, this is just embarrassing, you wicked beast.”

She knickers in discontent and you roll your eyes. Of course, out of all the horses you picked, it had to be the most stubborn one. You nudge your heel into her ribs and she comes to a complete stop. Her tail flicks with irritation and you throw your hands up in defeat. “I absolutely despise you-”

A sharp whistle rings through the air and cuts you off. Both you and Lady whip towards the noise. Arthur is leaning against a tree, fingers still hovering over his mouth. He pauses, making eye contact with Lady, and whistles again.

You startle as she takes off in a trot. You grapple for the reins and glare down at her in confusion. “How in the world did you do that?” You call out as Lady approaches Arthur. He chuckles and reaches for the reins in your hand. You give them over willingly, not wanting to try and reason with the stubborn bastard any longer.

“Got years of wranglin’ these things under my belt. You’ll get there one day.” He comes back around to your side of the saddle and holds his hands out for you.

“I’m not sure I want to,” you grouse as you slip your hands in his. He eases you off of Lady’s saddle and helps you gently onto the soft grass below.

Arthur pulls out his map and turns towards the clearing a little way before you. You hear the rushing of water in the distance and figure this is where the deer come for a reprieve from the day. You don’t have to imagine how exhausting it is to always be running from predators. You know what it’s like living your life by taking soft steps and trying to make sure you’re never seen. You’d never go back to that if you had the choice.

“The place Hosea wanted me to look at isn’t too far out. Couple minutes walk, probably.”

Arthur starts off without looking back and you frown at him. “Hey,” you call out, “shouldn’t I have a bow, too?”

Arthur’s brow quirks up and he’s silent for a moment before he barks out a loud laugh. You roll your eyes and let out a heavy sigh. He’s got a big grin on his face that’s making it hard to actually be mad, but you’re trying.

“You ever shot a bow before?”

You tuck your tongue in your cheek and frown. You’ve used rifles and pistols plenty of times. Of course, then you had really just been shooting at bottles. But you can’t say you’ve ever experienced a bow. You’re slow to answer, “No.”

“How ‘bout we see how you do today? I’d rather not have you shoot my damn eye out.”

He starts walking back towards you and you practically stomp your foot. “Oh, Arthur, that’s ridiculous-”

He cups your elbow in his hand and forces you forward. “Trust me, sweetheart, I’ve seen it happen. It ain’t pretty.” You can’t find it in yourself to argue anymore. You’re too caught off guard by how tender he’d sounded when he’d called you that.

Sweetheart. You wonder if he ever calls Mary that.

The thought leaves a sour taste on your tongue. You jerk your arm out of his hold and do your best to ignore the surprised look he sends you. He should be more careful how he acts around you, especially if he’s got a woman of his own.

You and Arthur drift into another tense silence, one of your own creation, yet again. You follow along whatever path Hosea’s created on his map and let your mind drift away. You try not to linger on any passing thoughts. Instead, you want to focus on the world around you.

You take in the sounds of bird song and try to memorize the melody. You never want to lose this feeling of being so wholly encapsulated by the world around you. Walking along quietly behind Arthur feels like you’ve become just another slinking animal in the forest.

A sound breaks through your thoughts of nothing. Something like the wet squelch of blood. It reminds you of how your husband’s brain had sounded under your boot. You come to a stop that goes unnoticed by Arthur. He continues ahead but you’re stuck in a memory.

There’s a low growl like the click of your gun’s hammer as you’d pulled it back. A fierce bark rings through the treetops like a gunshot. You whip around to face the sound and find nothing but the bright green of the forest.

As though pulled forward by a rope, you find yourself walking without thought. You step carefully over roots and push through brambles. You follow a red trail dotting along the leaves on the ground until you manage to push your way into a small clearing.

The trees are thinner here. They carry less leaves and occupy less space. They give you just enough room to see what has drawn you forward like a siren’s call.

A wolf dangles from another wolf’s bloody maw. She’s panting, eyes practically red with bloodlust as she crunches down on the neck of the wolf beneath her. There’s a pathetic whimper, quickly followed by the low gurgle of death. The second wolf hangs limply from her jaws and you’re reminded even more of your marriage.

But you’re not the bleeding, weak, shadow of a creature on the ground. You’ve turned into the hunter, the defiler. You won’t ever let yourself be cowed by someone weaker than you are. You’ve forced yourself into the role of an animal, blood on your maw and righteous fury in your eye.

The wolf hasn’t noticed you yet, but you feel as though you’ve seen this animal before. A shadow pacing before your home’s door. The howl outside the camp in the dead of night. She’s haunted you for so long and has only allowed you this one glimpse now. Why?

Something clamps down on your shoulder, heavy, hard, and calloused. It takes everything in you to tamp the scream in your throat down. “What the hell were you thinkin’? Could you stop runnin’ off all the damn time?”

Arthur glares down at you. He hasn’t seen the wolf yet, he’s only just found you. Your eyes widen and you turn slightly towards her. His brows furrow in confusion but he follows your gaze and you watch as his face pales. His hand immediately drifts to the revolver on your hip but you lunge forward, stopping him before he can fully grab it.

“What’re you doin’?”

“Stop,” you plead, voice heavy with emotions he’ll never truly understand. “Don’t.”

His eyes dart between you and the wolf. You can see the battle waging within him. He doesn’t want to upset you but he can’t risk turning his back and having the wolf on him. You squeeze his hand, eyes big and pleading as you stare up at him. Finally, he relents with a sigh, grip going lax on the handle of the revolver.

You let out a breath of relief and he takes your hand in his, tugging you back a little. The wolf doesn’t feast on her kind, she just stands over him, lips curled back and ears pinned. You keep your eyes firmly on her as Arthur guides you both out of the clearing.

Once you’re safely out of earshot, Arthur starts grumbling under his breath. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he says vaguely. You frown and catch up with him, shrugging your shoulders in confusion. “There’s plenty of prey in the area,” he clarifies. “It shouldn’t be killin’ its own.”

You look over your shoulder, as though you might see the wolf again, but she doesn’t come back. “Maybe she had to,” you muse. “Maybe he had it coming.”

You don’t miss the odd look Arthur gives you and you don’t blame him. You don’t quite understand yourself sometimes. But you do know you were meant to see that. Whether as a reminder of your sin or a confirmation you did the right thing, you don’t know.

You’re crouched behind a fallen tree as Arthur shows you how to properly nock an arrow. A herd of deer graze along the grass only a few feet ahead. Arthur’s got his sights set on the biggest one and you can already feel your stomach squirming at the thought of watching the beast hit the ground.

You’d just seen a wolf ripping another wolf to shreds, but the thought of a buck dying makes you nauseous. You need to get your priorities straight.

Arthur lifts the bow and pulls the string back. He’s facing away from the herd for now, still trying to get you to understand the basics. “Alright, you want your arm level, one finger above the arrow,” he wiggled one of his fingers on the string and you smiled slightly, “two below.” He brought the bow back down and shrugged. “Ain’t too hard, you’ll have to get used to the effort of keeping the string back. Beyond that, point and shoot.”

You roll your eyes with a scoff, “Really? It’s that easy?”

“Well,” he smiles slightly and shakes his head. “Nah, it’ ain’t that easy. You gotta consider the wind, how far the arrow needs to travel, and you gotta be steady.” He pauses and runs his tongue over his lips, struggling for words. You tilt your head in question, letting him find them. “You haven’t been steady in a while, sweetheart.”

There’s that name again. You’d be pleased if it weren’t for what he just said. “Steady?”

“Calm,” he clarifies. “You can’t even ride your horse.”

“I don’t like horses,” you try and defend yourself but it sounds weak, even to you.

“You and I both know it’s not just that.” He moves a little closer. He leans over you, blue eyes imploring you to just tell the truth. You want to, every part of you is screaming just to give in, but you can’t.

“Arthur, not now, please,” you’re practically begging. You can’t meet his eye any longer, looking at the ground instead and praying he just drops it.

He lingers behind you for a moment longer before letting out a low breath. “Alright, fine. We’ll just hunt. I mean it, though, eventually you’ll just have to let go of whatever it is that’s buggin’ you.”

That won’t be happening anytime soon, but there’s no point in telling him that. Instead, you turn back to the herd of deer. It’s thinned slightly, a few of them having run towards the fields beyond. But the big one remains, antlers decorated with moss as he cranes his lithe neck for a drink in the river.

Arthur passes you the bow and you shoot him a concerned look. “Just give it a try, like I showed you.” When you don’t move, he wraps his palms around yours and forces the bow and arrow into your hands. He lifts them, leveling your arm with your chin and pulling it back until the string is just by your ear. “Come on, you’ve got it,” the whispered instructions should have you melting into him but you can’t. You can’t bring yourself to loose the arrow.

Your arms drop to your sides and you shake your head. “I can’t,” you utter, sounding completely defeated. “I can’t shoot.”

Arthur mistakes your reluctance for insecurity and smiles slightly. He slips behind you, his chest pressed against your back, and lifts your hands again. “‘Course you can,” he encourages. “I’ll help you.”

Once more, he guides you into the right position. Except, this time, he doesn’t let go. He keeps his palms firmly wrapped around your fists and guides you until your aim is just right. He waits for the breeze to stop blowing, forcing you to keep your tight grip even as your bicep begins to tremble with strain.

“Hold on,” he mutters, eyes narrowed as he focuses on the buck. Your heart kicks up a beat the longer you watch it move. As much as you’d like to relax into Arthur’s warmth, you can’t. You’re watching this animal move and live its life. And you’re about to kill it like it’s nothing. What right do you have to claim it’s blood?

“There,” Arthur lets you go before you can stop him. Your hands naturally follow his guidance and the arrow whistles through the air. The deer notices it too late. You can hear the thud as it embeds into his neck. It lets out a loud, dying, bleat that alerts the rest of the herd of danger. They jump around for a moment before racing off.

Your arms sink to your sides and Arthur squeezes your shoulders. “There ya go! Told you, you could do it!” He grins down at you, waiting for you to celebrate along with him. You can’t, all you hear is that awful noise the animal had let out as you killed it.

Arthur pauses, finally seeing the downtrodden expression on your face. “Hey,” he cuts himself off as the first tear falls. You can’t help it. It’s like a dam has burst with that deer’s death. You crumple into yourself, hands rubbing your eyes raw as you try and stem the tears. “Dammit,” he hisses, “how do I keep doin’ this?”

You laugh wetly at that, sniffling as you wipe your nose against your sleeve. “It’s not you,” you promise him.

“Then what’s wrong?” His voice has lost any tenderness it once held. It’s rough, and commanding, as he tries to force some answers out of you. You don’t blame him for being upset. He’s right, you really aren’t steady right now.

“I can’t-”

He cuts you off with a rough shake of his head. His hands find their way on your shoulders and he forces you to turn towards him. You try and slip out of his grip but he grabs your chin and ticks your face up. “Look, I know you and Charles are hidin’ somethin’. I may be a fool but I’m not blind. I’ve also never seen someone cry so hard over a damn deer. You gotta give me somethin’ here.”

You can’t tell him the truth, you know that much. Besides, you’d be implicating Charles in your crime as well. You don’t need to drag him down along with you. But Arthur seems so desperate. You know, deep down, that all he wants is to help, to finally get you to stop crying. And you suppose you owe him something after breaking down on him so many times.

“I did something,” you whisper, staring down at your hands and for a moment seeing blood on them. “Something awful, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be forgiven for it.”

Arthur’s brows furrow and he rubs the back of his neck. “Forgiven by who?”

You shouldn’t be surprised that he didn’t ask what you did. You know he’s used to all sorts of awful things in his life. You suppose he probably thinks your definition of awful is simply killing a deer- not the man you’d promised the rest of your life to.

“I don’t know,” you shrug and attempt to collect yourself. “God. Myself. I feel like I’m tainted,” you clench your hands shut and take in a shuddering breath. “Like I’ll never be able to cleanse myself of this.”

Arthur’s silent for a while and you worry that you’ve lost him. There’s a shuffle of feet and you force yourself to finally look up.

Arthur's eyes soften with concern, but his face is still tainted with a slight suspicion. “Look, I don’t know what happened and I won’t pry. But you’re a good person. I haven’t known you very long,” he amends, a little sheepishly. “But I know you well enough to see just how kind you are. There’s a lot of good inside of you. A lot more than what’s left in me or any of the rest of the gang.”

You sniffle, wiping away a stray tear, and offer him a shaky smile. “You sell yourself too short, Arthur Morgan. You’re a good man, one of the finer ones I’ve met, that’s for sure.”

You swear you almost see a blush on his cheeks as he looks away. “Ah, I wouldn’t go that far. Can’t seem to stop makin’ you cry, anyway.” You laugh a little at that and he finally looks at you again. He gets to his feet and holds his hand out, “Come on, it’ll be dark soon, we gotta get a move on.”

You nod, slipping your hand in his and letting him help you to your feet. He doesn’t let go of you right away, instead, he lets you lean on him as he leads you forward. You appreciate his strength and, as selfish as it is, you relish in the feeling of his body against yours as you walk together.

You try not to think of his lady or your husband or even the dead buck ahead of you. Instead, you hold onto Arthur’s words. If he believes there’s good left, then maybe there is.

Arthur told you the ride back would be too long and that you probably wouldn’t do well with Lady at night. You’re sure he’s right but part of you thinks he’s just not ready to be back at camp yet. You can’t blame him, you’re not either.

It’s nice to get away from the noises of others. Surrounded by the tranquility of nature is the sort of calming environment you need right now. You hadn’t realized just how frayed your nerves had been until you broke down on Arthur for the second time.

Arthur finally gets the tent set up and comes to sit beside you on the ground. You throw another branch onto the fire and watch as the sparks float up towards the stars. You don’t know why the thought of his woman flits into your mind again. It could be because of how close you both are or simply because she’s lingered in your thoughts since you discovered her.

You find yourself prying into a man you’re sure would be happier left alone. “How do you think your lady would feel about you sitting so close to me?” You try to give him a teasing smile but you know it only seems strained.

Arthur’s face drops before it pinches quickly in confusion. He lets out a very ungraceful, “Huh?” And you can’t help but snort slightly in laughter. “The hell are you talkin’ ‘bout woman?” He demands, turning towards the fire and tossing some more sticks on it.

“The woman in Valentine,” you clarify, still laughing a little. “Oh, I’m sure you remember abandoning me in town for her,” you remind him airily. He lets out a heavy sigh but you keep on. “Doubt she’d appreciate us being so close.”

“No,” he rubs the back of his neck and gives you a sardonic smile. “She wouldn’t, but it don’t matter much now. We haven’t been together for a while.”

“Oh,” you keep your face schooled but there’s a little bit of giddiness bubbling in your gut. But that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you leave me in town alone to go be with her all day if you’re not together?”

“I-” he starts and stops himself a few times before giving you a defeated shrug. “Suppose I owe her. I dragged her down into this life, tainted her with my love, I guess I owe her a few favors.”

“Tainted her?” You scoff and wave him off. “I doubt a day goes by where she doesn’t count herself lucky to have been loved by you.”

His face takes on that familiar flush you saw earlier. It could easily be dismissed as heat from the fire but you know better. He’s not used to such blatant honesty, especially not when it compliments him. “Really?” He scoffs and shakes his head. You roll your eyes, already knowing what he’s going to say.

“I doubt it,” he drawls, rubbing the back of his neck with a stubborn refusal to meet your gaze. You know it’s only because he wouldn’t be able to handle the truth staring back at him. “What about you then, what about your husband?” He easily deflects, throwing you for a curve as you rip your eyes off him.

You focus on the flames of the fire until it makes your eyes burn. You know he doesn’t know anything about the truth, but you still have to be careful about what you accidentally let slip. “Oh,” you let out a short dismissive chuckle. “Neither of us were lucky. Certainly not me.”

“Why not?” Arthur sounds genuinely curious, not the sort of patronizing inquisitiveness you’ve heard from others in camp. You realize that you’ve not talked about your marriage much. You’ve done your damn best to keep it off the minds of everyone in camp. Starting a new life means not constantly dredging up the old one. But you suppose you owe Arthur just a little bit of honesty.

“He never loved me the way a man is supposed to love his wife. I count myself lucky to have gotten away from him.”

“He wasn’t kind to you?” Arthur asks, but you both know the answer.

You finally let your gaze drift off the fire and shake your head. “Not in any aspect of the word. The only part of our marriage that was real was the papers. And now he’s lost and so are they.” You suck in a deep breath and force a smile, turning to face him once more. “I’m finally a free woman.”

Arthur meets your eyes with a startling intensity. There’s something pinched on his face, a thought that’s just taking too long to form. You see the internal battle with himself as he debates whether or not to open his mouth. Your fingers dig into the softened material of your pants, fidgeting as you wait restlessly for his question.

“Would you ever want that again?” He asks slowly. “Not marriage, but to be with someone like that.”

You look off to the edge of the clearing you’re camping in. The trees provide you both with a thick cover, the tips of them nearly reaching the stars. You’re used to a clear view like this from your home in the mountains. But you never realized just how much you were missing being locked up in that house. There are so many things you thought you’d never have the chance for, so many new opportunities to make.

“I used to think to myself that if I ever got away from him, I would never be involved with a man ever again.” You wonder if you make up the way his shoulders stiffen slightly. “I had thought they were all just as cruel, just as useless as he was.” His gaze rips away from you and he stares pointedly towards the wildflowers in front of you. You let out a breathy laugh and lean back on your hands, shrugging. “I’m starting to think I might have been wrong.”

Arthur turns towards you and you wonder if you’re imagining the hope in his gaze. Is it just a projection of your own wishes, or is it the truth? “What about you?” You deflect, not willing to hold the weight of the conversation anymore.

“With the right person. With someone who understood that this is just who I am.” Someone who won’t try to change him, you finish his unspoken thought and nod your head. He hesitates for a moment on his next question. “You think you’ll ever find the right man?” You feel your cheeks pull up unwittingly. Your fingers drift across the grass, just barely brushing against his. He doesn’t pull away from you or frown at the touch. Instead, you feel the warmth of his palm covering your hand. “I think I might be starting too.”

Next Part

Hell Hath No Fury Taglist: @buckysblondie @littlebirdgot @heloixe @summerdazed @committingcrimes-2047

@m1stea

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #arthur morgan fanfiction #arthur morgan imagine #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 x you #rdr2 fanfiction #red dead redemption #red dead 2 #red dead redemption x reader #Hell Hath No Fury #rdr2

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goldfades · 1 month ago

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KNOCK-THE-WIND-OUT-OF-ME-GORGEOUS ─── JOE BURROW

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 967

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | request: can I request a Joe x shy reader? Maybe something similar to Cinderella in a sense she’s wearing an amazing outfit and he’s just so smitten by her and absolutely infatuated. Any compliment and act of affection has shy reader in a tumble of blushes and butterflies?

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | sweet joe! shy reader, just tooth rotting fluff!

The faint hum of soft music drifts through your bedroom, setting the tone for the evening as you lean closer to the mirror. The silver clasp of your earring catches the light, a tiny flicker against the elegant sweep of your outfit. You’d spent the better part of the week talking yourself into wearing it, a bold choice for someone like you. The fabric clings in all the right places but not too tightly, cascading down your frame like it was made for you—and maybe, for once, it’s okay to feel that way.

Your hands tremble slightly as you adjust the neckline, the sheen of your necklace resting perfectly against your collarbone. It’s a small thing, but it feels like armor, like maybe you can stand a little taller tonight. "Deep breath," you whisper to your reflection, offering a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. But that’s okay—it’s a start.

The thought of him flickers through your mind as you reach for your perfume. Joe. You bite your lip as a warmth blooms in your chest, a mix of excitement and nerves that feels impossible to shake. You can picture him now—broad shoulders filling out a suit, his sharp features softening when he sees you. It’s ridiculous, you think, how easily your heart trips over itself just imagining it.

The soft mist of your perfume lingers in the air as you step back for one last look. You don’t feel like yourself, not exactly. You feel...more. Like someone who could actually walk into a room and not disappear into the edges. Someone who might be brave enough to meet his gaze and hold it, even for a moment.

The click of the front door echoes faintly down the hall, and your chest tightens. You’d been so focused on perfecting your eyeliner—steady hand, just a little wing—that you didn’t even hear Joe come home. The subtle rustle of his keys on the counter and the low murmur of his voice as he calls out, “Babe? You ready yet?” send a ripple of nerves through you, as though this isn’t the same man you’ve woken up next to a hundred times.

You glance at the mirror, a little unsure. The dress hugs you just so, the fabric catching the light in all the right places, but there’s still that little voice in the back of your mind telling you it’s too much. You smooth your hands over the material one more time, as though that will calm the fluttering in your chest.

“Still getting ready?” Joe’s voice is closer now, and when you glance over your shoulder, he’s leaning against the doorframe of your bedroom. The sight of him almost steals your breath. He’s already dressed, his black suit perfectly tailored, the crisp white shirt open at the collar just enough to make you wonder if he did it on purpose. His hair is slightly tousled, that easy, confident grin tugging at his lips as his eyes—bright, sharp, and undeniably focused on you—take in the sight before him.

“Wow,” he says, low and drawn out, like the word physically pulled itself from his chest. “Look at you.”

Your cheeks burn instantly. “Joe, stop,” you mumble, looking down at your hands as you fuss with the edge of your dress. The fluttering in your stomach turns into a full-blown hurricane when he steps into the room, closing the distance between you with an ease that’s almost unfair.

“Stop?” he echoes, his voice laced with teasing disbelief. He’s right in front of you now, one hand gently catching yours to still your nervous fidgeting. “How am I supposed to stop when you look like this? Damn, baby. I’m gonna have to keep you glued to my side tonight. Don’t want anyone else getting ideas.”

You can’t help it; you laugh softly, a mix of flustered and giddy as you try to shake your head. “You’re exaggerating,” you say, though the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to hold onto even a shred of doubt.

Joe’s thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles, his grin softening into something that makes your heart ache in the best way. “Not even a little bit. You’re gorgeous,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less certain. “Like, knock-the-wind-out-of-me gorgeous. You’re gonna be the best-looking person there by a mile.”

Your heart stumbles over itself, and your breath catches as he leans in, pressing a featherlight kiss to your temple. “You nervous?” he asks softly, his lips brushing against your skin.

“A little,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You can’t meet his gaze, not when you’re sure your face is the color of a ripe tomato.

He tilts your chin up gently, forcing your eyes to meet his. There’s nothing teasing about his expression now, just that steady, unwavering sincerity that makes you feel like maybe you could conquer the world if he was by your side. “You don’t have to be,” he says, and it’s not a platitude. It feels like a promise. “Just be you, alright? That’s more than enough.”

The warmth in his words wraps around you, quieting the nerves in a way you didn’t think possible. When he finally steps back and offers you his arm, the boyish grin returning to his face, you take it without hesitation.

“Ready to make everyone else jealous?” he teases, his tone light and playful as you walk toward the door.

You roll your eyes, but the smile on your face gives you away. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re perfect,” he counters easily, giving your hand a quick squeeze as he holds the door open for you.

By the time you step into the car, your heart is still racing, but it’s not from nerves anymore. It’s from him. Always him.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

#nfl fic #nfl football #nfl imagine #joe burrow #joe burrow bengals #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #joe burrow smut #joe burrow fan fic #joeyb #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow fanfic

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holylulusworld · 10 months ago

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A perfect gentleman

Summary: Your trip to Great Britain changed your life forever.

Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!Reader

Warning: bitchy friends, mentions of anxiety, meet cute, sex with a stranger, smut, protected sex, unprotected sex, public sex, shower sex

You bobbed your head to the song blaring from the loudspeakers. It was the only thing you could do. That, and watching the others dance with men they just met. Grinding into them – their intentions clear.

Maybe you are not the most social person, but being in a place with so many people spiked your anxiety.

You shuddered and ripped your gaze from your friends to order another drink. Something light. You never were much into alcohol.

“You don’t look like you’re enjoying yourself,” a man plopped down next to you and dipped his head. “How can I help you relax?” He purred and moved his hand to your thigh.

“You could start by stopping to touch her,” another man suddenly stood behind your back. He pushed the other guy off you and glared at the stranger touching you. “Is that the way to welcome tourists now?”

“Man, she looked lonely,” the man grunted but made space for the second guy. “Didn’t know you called dips on her already, Raymond.”

“Get lost,” Raymond snapped at the man. You flinched and tried to make yourself as small as possible while the men fought. “We don’t harass ladies at my favorite place.”

“Alright, alright,” the man huffed. “She’s not worth the effort. You can have her.”

“Hey, are you okay,” Raymond softly asked. He must’ve been from around, because of his sexy accent. You always had a thing for men with an accent. “I hope he didn’t hurt you. Some guys shouldn’t drink too much.”

“Uh-thank you,” you murmured and finally looked at the man. Raymond looked like you imagine a British gentleman, but with a dash of roughness and something hidden behind his neat appearance.

He was wearing a navy-blue corduroy waistcoat, a slim tie with the same color, and a light blue and white striped button-down over dark wash slim-fit stretch jeans. His hair was neatly gelled back, and his beard was long but well-trimmed. Orange-rimmed clear lens glasses framed his handsome face.

“That was very nice of you.”

“A gentleman must protect a lady in need,” he grinned and sat next to you. “Let me buy you a drink for the inconvenience, and for not stepping in sooner.”

“You came the moment the man put his hand on my thigh,” you shyly glanced at Raymond. He offered his name to you and held out his hand. You placed your hand in his, feeling another shudder run through your body. This man was unlike any guy you ever met.

He screamed danger but acted like a gentleman. You could smell weed on his clothes when he leaned closer to ask you for your name.

“Y/N,” you replied and allowed him to hold your hand for a little longer than needed. He ran his thumb over your skin, causing a tiny whimper to escape your lips. “Thank you again.”

“What brings you here, love?” Raymond leaned impossibly closer, letting you feel his warmth. “I assume you are a tourist.”

You chuckled. “What gave me away?”

“Your accent, and I know every pretty girl in town.”He laid it on thick when he purred your name and told you that you look beautiful in your dress. He already had you when he saved you from the grabby guy, but you wanted to bask in his compliments for a little longer.

“Every single one,” you chuckled. “You’re a very busy man in that case.”

He adjusted his glasses and smirked. “I don’t know every woman like that.” Raymond gave you a wink. “But I’d like to get to know you better.”

“My friends are still somewhere at this place,” you leaned closer to drink his appearance and scent in. You were enchanted by this man. “Probably rubbing themselves against the guys they just met.”

His eyes sparkled at your words. You were about to do the same with him. Why – you had no clue. He was handsome and charming. But there was something else drawing you in like the moth to the flame.

“Do you want to leave this place?” A question was not in his words when he got up, still holding your hand. “I promise to be a gentleman.”

You didn’t make it far. Before you knew it, you left the bar with Raymond. You ended up pressed into the wall in the dark alley behind the bar.

He was all over you, lips devouring your mouth the moment you were out of sight. His hand slipped between your thighs, finding your panties soaked. He teased you for your floral cotton panties, moving the fabric aside to shove a finger inside your soaked cunt.

Raymond lifted you off of your feet, and you ended up in his arms, your pussy stuffed to the brim with his thick cock.

“Fuck, this is a tight little cunt,” he puffed into your neck. Hot breath fanning over your skin. “You’ve been a good girl, huh? How many guys did you fuck behind a bar so far?”

“No one,” you held tight onto Raymond as he slowly rocked into you. “Only you.”

“You’re so good for me, love,” he whispered in your ear as he mercilessly battered your cunt. He was not a gentle lover any longer. Raymond fucked up into you, all the while holding your body safe in his arms. “I’m gonna ruin you.”

“Aw, baby love,” he crashed his lips onto yours to silence your moans. “You met the right man to ruin you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and started to move your hips.

“Ruin me. Do it. I’m done being the good girl.”

“Why did you leave without us?” One of your friends asked. Janice walked inside your shared hotel room, smirking as you were reading another book. “Y/N we are on vacation. Stop reading and go out there. There is a whole new world to explore.”

“Yeah. Maybe you’ll get some dick too if you stop hiding,” your other friend snapped at you. She didn’t get lucky last night and tried to let her anger out on you. Chanel always gets lucky. Just not last night.

“Oh, I think you will have enough fun for all of us,” you hid that you were the one getting a perfect dick last night. Well, they wouldn’t have believed you. You never take a risk. This includes fucking a stranger behind a bar. “Don’t forget to wrap it before you let any dick get near you.”

“It’s their job,” Janice huffed. “I only need my lipstick and nothing else.”

You bit your tongue. Last night you were the one making sure that you didn’t take a bigger risk. Raymond was all too eager to fill you, but you insisted on protection. Even though you were a horny mess wanting nothing more than to feel him bare inside of you.

“Have fun reading,” Janice snapped at you. “We are going to meet up with some girls we met last night and tonight, we’re going back to the bar. Tonight, I’ll get lucky and fuck a British guy!”

“Don’t wait for us to come back today. You’re no fun to be around since you and Ransom broke up,” Chanel added. A low blow to your fragile heart.

With your friends gone, you had the time to enjoy the city. You explored the usual spots tourists would seek out and ended up in a nice little café to have a break.

It was close to your hotel, and you could enjoy the sun as long as you wanted to.

At least no one tried to hit on you here or called you boring for enjoying your tea and biscuits.

“This must be fate,” a familiar voice said. Raymond stopped short in his tracks when he recognized you. “What brings you here?”

“I was—” You licked your lips at the sight of Raymond. Today he was wearing a soft camel tan shawl cardigan and a skinny burgundy tie over his dark wash jeans. He looked as perfect as ever when he claimed the empty chair on your table, “having a break from exploring town.”

“Sightseeing,” he nodded thoughtfully. “I see.” Raymond eyed you up and down in your simple shirt, cardigan, and a pair of worn-out jeans. “I could give you the Smith tour to show you all the secret spots no tourist ever saw.”

“Smith tour?” You wrinkled your forehead.

“That’s my surname, sweetness,” he smirked and nodded at the waitress to order tea and biscuits himself. “Do you want to go on that tour with me?”

“Sure,” you said a little too fast. He was still a stranger, but you let him fuck you twice last night. What else could he want? You were sure he wouldn’t hurt you and having the chance to fuck him again had you already dripping. “I’d love to see more than the usual spots.”

You didn’t see much of town. All Raymond showed you was his large, luxurious estate where he lives by himself. And you didn’t see much of it either.

Raymond had you pinned to his mattress; his cock buried balls deep inside of your dripping cunt moments after he guided you inside his home.

“Shit, look at you,” he purred before he claimed your lips in a heated kiss. “I could get used to having you like this. Underneath me, filled with my cock.” He kissed you again, softer this time. “Bare.”

He rocked his hips at a slow pace, dragging his thick cock along your walls. Raymond smirked as you dug your fingertips into his back.

“Raymond,” you whimpered his name. “Please.”

“Fuck, say my name again,” he buried his face in your neck to nip at your soft spot. “Now,” Raymond growled your name and gave you a particularly hard thrust. “Sweetness.”

“Raymond.”

“Again,” he snapped his hips into yours. “NOW!”

“RAYMOND!” You screamed his name on the top of your lungs. “RAYMOND!” You chanted it like a prayer. “Please.”

“Fucking take it,” Raymond whispered in your ear. “You’re meant to lie underneath me, my cock in your sweet pussy.” He slowly fucked into you, taking his time to enjoy having you again. “All I was thinking about was your cunt. I could smell you on me all day.”

Your arousal coated his cock with every thrust. It soaked the sheets underneath you, ruining the fine fabric you admired before you ended up on his bed.

“You’re mine now,” he threatened, his voice a deep growl as he kept on fucking you into the mattress. “Say it.”

He stopped moving and stared at you underneath him. “Say it!”

“’m yours, Ray…”

He kissed you again, sweet but dirty. His tongue delved into your mouth, tasting the strawberries you ate earlier.

“Yes. Fuck.” You started to clench around him and tremble underneath Raymond. “Please.”

“Ohhh…fuck,” he thrusted into you, ignoring that you cried out his name. Raymond simply fucked you through your high, rhythm never faltering as you threw your head left and right. It sounded cliché, or like bad porn. But right at that moment it was all you could do because he just felt too good inside of your body. “That’s it.”

“Come inside of me, please,” you pleaded. “NOW!”

Fuck…He thought and exploded inside of your quivering cunt. Raymond didn’t stop. He trusted in and out of you, making an even bigger mess of his sheets.

“That was,” you sighed when he slipped out of you to lie next to you. Raymond panted, and you patted his chest when he gasped for air.

“I know, sweetness.”

“Thank you for making my vacation much more interesting,” you laughed as he crawled back on top of you to kiss you softly and gently.

“Thank you for making my shitty week better.”

“You’re very welcome, Mr. Smith.”

His shower was amazing. Just like the rest of his home. It was huge, and the rain showerhead was something else.

Not that you got the chance to enjoy it much. The warm water barely had the time to run down your body before Raymond was all over you again.

He stood behind you to nip at your earlobe with his teeth. His skilled hands cupped your tits, and you fell back against his chest.

“Still not enough?” He chuckled at your words. “You're insatiable.

“You’re just too cute to ignore.” He watched you turn around to cup his face to kiss him. “What are you up to, sweetness?”

“I’d love to fuck you again,” you purred his name and ran your hands over his chest. “What are you up to?”

Raymond smirked, and you knew you were in for a rougher treatment. He twirled you around, barking orders at you. “Hands against the wall.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he was on you again, to manipulate your body. He gripped your hip with one hand and guided his weeping cock into your dripping pussy. “But I’ll not stop you from being a perfect little cockslut for me.”

You hissed but welcomed his length like an old friend. “You feel too good inside of me, is all.”

“Yeah,” he kissed your neck. “How good? Good enough to spend the rest of your vacation with me.”

“Yes.” You said without hesitation. To hell with your friends, sightseeing, and biscuits. All you wanted to do is spend time impaled on Raymond’s cock.

“I knew it,” he breathed into your neck. “You’re perfect.”

Raymond nipped at your neck while slinging his arms around your waist.

“My little lost tourist.” He slowly but steadily pumped into you. “Lucky me getting inside this sweet body.”

“Oh, yes,” The warm water gently rained down on you and Raymond, and your wet bodies slid easily against one another. “Fuck, please.”

“Same, sweetness,” he growled as you started to push back onto his length. Raymond was close to losing all control. He pressed you against the wall, pumping into you with all the strength he had left in him.

You slammed the palms of your hand against the shower wall feeling your high ripple through your body. You were panting heavily, and your knees buckled when he emptied himself inside of you.

“No, you don’t understand,” Raymond grunted into the phone. He watched you turn around in your sleep to snuggle into his pillow. “I want you to tell me where to pick her things up. Y/N wants to spend the rest of her vacation with me, not you.”

He groaned as your friends bombarded him with questions. His patience was wearing thin, and he was close to sending one of his problem solvers to get your belongings.

“Listen, all you need to know is that she’s safe with me. No…I won’t send you a picture of her.” Cursing loudly, he looked at you.

“Give me the phone,” you yawned, and rubbed your tired eyes. “They won’t believe you, Ray.”

“Fine,” he handed you your phone, waiting for you to confirm that he’s not some psycho kidnapper holding you hostage. Even though, his cock twitched when he imagined keeping you at his home forever.

“Janice, relax,” you tried to calm your friend. “I met Raymond two days ago at the bar. Yeah, where you left me all alone. We met again at a café, and I spent the last two days with him at his home. I texted and called you, but you didn’t answer so, I believed you don’t give a shit about me and if I’m still alive.”

Janice muttered into the phone, but you didn’t care. You told her to pack your things and hand them to whoever Raymond will send to them.

One week later you sat on his couch, snuggled into one of the blankets he offered to you. “You’ve got a nice home,” you said and smiled. It pained you that in not a week you had to leave this wonderful place and the man owning it. “Maybe I can come back here one day.”

“Or,” he sat down next to you and placed his hand on your thigh, “I just keep you here forever.” Raymond nuzzled his face in your neck. “I heard you quit your job, left your boyfriend, and are looking for adventure.”

“What? I-“ you spluttered. “How did you find out?”

“Your friends are rather talkative,” he shrugged and moved his hand between your legs. “I got a big home, and a good job waiting for you. I know this is sudden, but I’d love to keep you around. What do you say?”

Part 2

Tags in reblog.

#raymond smith #raymond smith x reader #raymond smith x female reader #raymond smith x you #A perfect gentleman #raymond smith x y/n #raymond smith smut #smut

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wandamaximoffsbadgirl · 10 months ago

Text

Submission

Photography Professor!Fem!Reader x subby!student!Wanda

Word count: 1,060

Warnings: student teacher relationship, established relationship, W submits to R

Her eyes watched you from afar twice a week. Green emeralds trained on you as you walked back and forth talking about various photography methods. Today was specifically about filling a frame and how to do so properly.

As you continued to impart your knowledge on framing techniques, you couldn't help but notice how Wanda's dedication shone through her unwavering focus. Her presence in the classroom was a testament to her commitment to the craft. Her every movement calculated and deliberate, as if each second spent in your lecture, was a precious opportunity not to be squandered.

You knew some of these students were taking this class as an art elective, but this semester you had a good amount of actual photography majors one of them being Wanda Maximoff whose eyes don’t leave you the entire three hours of your lecture.

During the breaks, while other students dispersed, Wanda remained rooted in her seat, her gaze fixed on you with an intensity that bordered on fascination. It wasn't just admiration; there was something deeper in those emerald eyes, a hunger for knowledge, perhaps, or maybe a recognition of a kindred spirit in the realm of photography.

You looked through your papers and notes while snacking on something that required one hand. Today, you had a small bag of popcorn, and you noticed she had some apple slices today, which made you smile. She was behaving and listened to you when you told her that she should have healthier snacks during classes.

As it came up to the last hour of class, you began talking about a photo contest that everyone was welcome to enter into. You always loved contests and competitions. You especially loved seeing everyone’s submissions and the different approaches they would each take to different competitions.

“Alright class I think I’ve kept you waiting long enough. I’ll be passing out flyers for you to look over. The deadline is next Friday for the Fine Art Photography Competition. So, if you wish to participate, please hand in your photo to me before then, and if you’re picked, we will be going to Germany on an all expense paid trip. Your photo to be displayed for art critics and lovers alike to take notice of you. If you are chosen for some of you, this could be your big break into the art world.” You tell them, your heels clicking as you walk back and forth, your dark grey cardigan flowing behind you.

“Is there any specific theme we need to work with?” One of your students, Jean Gray, asked with a raised hand.

“No, so please, I implore you to work with your strong suits if you want to enter. The sky is the limit on this. Your eye and imagination are what will hold you back, but I believe in all of you.” You told them confidently and finished up answering any other questions before dismissing them for the day. “I will see you all on Tuesday. Have a good weekend, everyone.”

They all filed out as you sat back at your desk, pushing your glasses up on top of your head as you look at the papers on your desk, reading through the students latest works and quizzes from Tuesday that needed to be done by next Tuesday along with ones needed tomorrow for your Monday, Wednesday, Friday classes. You hear a pair of boots walking towards you. You don’t have to look up to know who is standing in front of you,

“Yes Wanda can I help you?” You say keeping your gaze on the papers in front of you, marking them as you go and looking at the photographs that go with the assignments. Grading art, even after going through getting your Master of Fine Arts and teaching for a few years now, grading artwork wasn’t always so easy.

“Ms. Y/L/N...” You flick your eyes up just enough to see she’s playing with the hem of her skirt, pulling it up ever so slightly as she does so. You take your eyes off her thighs that you just want to bury your face in. You know better, though; not here, never here. Now she’s pulling her sleeves over her hands as she begins. “I...I want to enter the competition, but...” Her words trail off as you finally huff out, tearing your eyes away from your paperwork.

“Wanda. Words. Use them.” You say a little frustrated with her. You see her bite her lip, and for you that’s strike three of her anxious habits. “Come here.” You command, moving yourself back from the desk, turning your chair to the side so she can stand in front of you, which she does without need for more words. “Kneel.” You tell her, and she does so. You smile at her easy submission to you. She had always been so pliable for you. “There now that you’re where you belong. Do you feel better?” You ask, tilting her chin up so her eyes meet with your own.

“Yes.” She smiles up at you, you can see how she’s calmed just from the small form of dominance over her, sometime it was all she needed for her head to clear up and the thoughts to quiet down even if it’s only for a little bit.

“Good now, what is it about the photo competition that’s bothering you so much, sweet girl?” You ask, running your fingers through her hair as she sets her chin against your thighs. She gently tilts her head so she can look up at you.

“Well my specialty like yours is boudoir photography. Is it okay to submit something like that?” You smirk, continuing to run your fingers through her hair, letting your nails scratch gently at her scalp. She closes her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling.

“Yes just not too risky, okay, pretty girl? Also, the picture better not be of you. Your body is my eyes only.” You tell her, and she smiles with a nod. “I need to get back to these papers and you,” You boop her nose, “need to get to your next class so off you go little one. I’ll see you tonight.” She smiles, getting up. You pull her back in for a chaste kiss before letting her head off with the promise of seeing you later.

#ley speaks #ley writes #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda x reader #wanda x you #subby!wanda #professor!reader #professor!au #wanda maximoff x female reader

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hispg · 1 year ago

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My love mine All mine

Pairings: DI! Leon X Fem! Reader

Summary: Your husband returned from his mission, the house was quiet until he heard your daughter's commotion.

Wc: 2.4k

Warnings: comfort, domestic things, established relationship, mention of pregnancy, mild angst, Leon mentioning some of his traumas, bit of fluffy.

Leon was tired, months away traveling back and forth, doing missions that seemed endless. That last mission was hell, coming back from Alcatraz was like a light at the end of the tunnel.

And he couldn't stop dreaming about this damn vacation that he needed so badly, he didn't have the same stamina to keep going back and forth.

He was completely exhausted, he didn't even know how he'd got home. The fatigue in his body simply alerted him that all he needed was a hot bath and a soft bed.

But nothing mattered more to him than getting home, seeing his beloved family. You, his wife, together with your little daughter. His little family, one of the only reasons he woke up every day.

And once he opened the door to your shared house, and smelled that sweet scent he missed so much, something in him woke up.

Of course all the tiredness was still there, but he was at peace, he was finally home.

With his family. With his two girls.

He silently entered the house, placing his heavy bag on the floor, making a small noise. The silence was comforting, but at the same time he was missing something.

Then he took off his boots and put them in the corner. He didn't realize how much he missed home until he saw the picture frames scattered around the living room.

The photos of when the two of you met on a trip to Paris, he was there on business, and didn't expect to meet the love of his life right there.

Or even the photo of when he proposed to you, your bright smile as you looked at the ring on your fingers, or the way Leon looked at you with such tenderness.

In the next photo it was you dressed all in white, him dressed in a suit that was strangely out of his usual, he felt like a clown every time he wore a suit, even though he looked beautiful in it. In the photo, your hands were occupied with a bouquet, while he held you in his arms like a princess.

There was the photo of when you were pregnant, the first picture of your daughter, so many picture frames all over the living room. Leon loved every one of them and would remember them for the rest of his life.

Just as he couldn't help but notice the Polaroids you put up on the wall, with recent photos of your little family, even though Leon wasn't a very smiley man, he always smiled in the photos he took with you and your daughter.

Because he was always happy in the presence of his own small family.

He felt his heart fill with joy as soon as he saw a baby playpen in the living room, the hello kitty teddies resting inside the pink playpen, along with dolls and small toy cars.

The environment made him feel so real, so normal. Being at home made him forget who he really was, made him forget his messy life. Because this was the place where he belonged, the place he would never leave, never forget. His precious little place, where he was happier than he could have dreamed.

His family, his wife, his daughter. Phrases he spoke with pride, without having to think twice.

The silence in the house was almost soothing, nothing but his breathing in there. But soon the calm was interrupted by a familiar whimper, coming from your daughter's room.

He hurried a little, looking through the crack in the door to see you rocking the little one gently back and forth.

You had told him that the little one had recently caught a cold because of the low temperatures. You had even said that she had high irritability and the usual flu symptoms, as well as a slightly higher body temperature, but nothing more.

But he couldn't have imagined finding you crying with her, the dark circles in your eyes showing him that you hadn't slept much recently.

You looked so much like him, both of you tired, the expression of someone who hadn't had a minute's rest in the last few days.

You were so focused on putting the little girl to sleep that you didn't even notice that Leon had arrived, you didn't even hear when he opened the door to enter the house.

Your senses only returned when the little girl stopped crying for a brief moment, a faint smile forming on her lips as she looked up at her father, stretching out her arms for him to pick her up.

"Shh, Daddy's here..." He whispers, rocking the little one gently, looking at you as he does so.

"I'm sorry." The first thing you manage to sob out, he didn't know who was crying more, the little one or you.

He nodded, giving you a soft kiss on the forehead, "No, love, it's okay."

"I don't know what to do... She doesn't stop crying. She can't sleep for more than five minutes..." You say, gently stroking the little girl's hair, trying to calm her down somehow.

Leon sighed, giving your daughter a kiss on the forehead, looking at her with gentle eyes, as if her constant crying was tugging at his heartstrings.

There wasn't much he could do. Just try to make the little one comfortable in this difficult phase.

He knew you were upset at not being able to welcome him in a better way, with a nice dinner as usual. But he would never judge you for taking care of your family, he knew how difficult the last few days had been for you.

His eyes fell on the coffee cup on the bookshelf, the children's books spread out on the floor. You should have read all the stories to her by now, hoping that the girl would go to sleep or calm down.

Which apparently didn't work.

"Go and rest, love. I'll take care of her." Leon tells you with a half-smile, singing a soft lullaby.

You frown, looking at him calmly. You were both tired, but for now he wanted to take responsibility for your daughter.

The baby girl was still whimpering on Leon's chest, her little hands clutching Leon's shirt, holding on so tightly that it felt like she would pull it off him.

As he hummed a little lullaby, the child put her arms around Leon's neck, hiding her red, swollen face from crying in his arms.

Seeing you also crying from exhaustion at not being able to do anything, he kissed your forehead, giving you a small smile.

"Rest, sweetpea." He didn't care how tired he was, he'd spent days in worse situations. A few more hours awake wouldn't make any difference.

You reluctantly went to your shared room, mentally promising yourself that you would only sleep for a few hours. You were just as tired as he was.

As soon as Leon heard the door close, he looked at the little girl with a smile, kissing her forehead gently.

"Shhh... I know it hurts, but Daddy's here." He said, and she looked at him with a pout for a moment, stopping crying briefly.

Leon's heart calmed down for a while, seeing that she had stopped crying a little. Only for her to start whimpering once more, burying her face in his chest.

"Shhh shhh..." He soothed, carrying her into the bathroom of her room.

Perhaps a fresh shower along with clean clothes would calm her down a bit, or at least bring her a little comfort.

He turned on the hot water to fill the tub a little, while he sat the baby on the edge of the tub and began to gently remove her clothes. It hurt his heart to hear her sobs, seeing how hoarse her little voice was getting with how much she had already cried.

You had told him that because of the flu, the little one had acquired a small irritation in her throat, causing you to go to the doctors and start treatment with some medication. And he knew that the fact that she was crying so much didn't help the irritation one bit.

But as if by some quirk of fate, when Leon put her in the water, she relaxed a little. She closed her eyes and leaned against his chest.

Her golden strands were so reminiscent of Leon's that every time he looked at his little girl, he saw himself.

A being full of innocence and purity, an angel in his eyes. It's a pity that unlike her, he wasn't lucky enough to have a good life, or a less turbulent one.

His innocence was taken away early on, giving way to a terrible bitterness that he only cultivated over the years.

But it would be different with her, he swore he would protect her with his life. She was his daughter, the treasure of his life, along with you.

Sometimes he finds himself wondering what things would have been like if he hadn't met you? If he hadn't taken a turn. If you hadn't shown him that he was still worthy of being loved.

That he wasn't bad. You showed him the light, and it was still hard to believe that the honor of having a family with you was his.

All this happiness was his, all his.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the tiny girl yawn, which for him was a sign that his plan had worked. He gently wrapped her in a towel and carried her in his arms, taking her to the changing table and putting on a new diaper.

Soon he spotted a pair of pink onesies, which looked comfortable enough for her to sleep in, so he started to put them on her.

Gently placing his hand on her chest to calm her down, a habit he always did with her, just putting a little pressure so she wouldn't move, and she would always stay quiet. Sometimes with a smile on her face.

When he had finished, he took her to bed and put her under the covers, making her warm and comfortable. He even put her various plush toys around her.

She was already feeling sleepy, her little blue eyes were threatening to close slowly, she wasn't crying anymore, just hiccupping every now and then. Her fever was better too, at least Leon didn't feel her body getting so hot.

Leon picked up a children's storybook, Sleeping Beauty, her favorite. When he lay down next to her, he began to read the story quietly.

"Once upon a time..." He began, until he was interrupted by her protesting in a low voice.

"Use your princess voice, Daddy." She says, a pout forming on her small lips.

Leon had to bite his lip to keep from smiling, trying to take the proposal as seriously as possible.

"Right, right. Let's start again.'" He murmurs, giving her a kiss on the forehead before starting again.

This time he's done it right, starting in a soft voice, trying to imitate a princess voice somehow. And he couldn't have been prouder when he got a small laugh out of her, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

From the yawns she was giving, it wouldn't be long before she fell asleep. And neither would Leon, he didn't know how he was still awake. He already knew that he would soon fall asleep with her.

So he kept reading until she eventually fell asleep, and he did the same, sleeping surrounded by her soft toys, feeling her little legs on his torso as she slept.

Both sleeping peacefully after a restless night.

......

Hours later, you wake up from your peaceful slumber, feeling a little better that you've at least had some rest. And from the silence in the house, you could tell that Leon had managed to put your daughter to sleep.

The sun was already rising, its warm rays beginning to illuminate the house, along with the birdsong that filled your ears. You thought about getting up to make breakfast, after all Leon must have been starving.

So you got up and decided to check on them before going into the kitchen, and you headed for your daughter's room. As soon as you open the door, you see one of the cutest images you could imagine.

Leon was lying in bed, pretending to still be asleep while your daughter was putting make-up on him. You had to stop yourself from laughing at the absurd amount of blush on his cheeks.

She had even put a little princess crown on his head, she was really dolling Leon up.

You could see from the smile he was tugging at the corner of his lips that he was enjoying this immensely. He was the type who would do anything for his little girl.

And you couldn't contain the laugh that escaped your lips when the little girl took a section of his hair and tied it into a pigtail, one on each side of his head.

When he heard your laughter, he opened his eyes, smiled softly and mouthed a silent 'good morning' to you.

You did the same, entering the room and approaching the two of them.

"I bet you'd make a great Sleeping Beauty." You tease, looking at your husband with amusement.

And he looks back at you, a smile forming and his mouth opening to let out a cheesy joke. But your daughter's cute, croaky voice echoes through the room:

" No, 'cause Daddy snores a lot." She says, the little gummy smile that made you crack up, showing her little teeth.

The next thing that was heard in the room was your laughter, along with your daughter's sweet giggles.

Leon snorted, crossing his arm and looking at the two of you. He even tried to make an angry face, but the moment he saw his two girls smiling at nothing, he couldn't help himself and let out a smile too.

He propped himself up on his elbows, pulling the little girl towards him and starting to tickle her.

"That's no way to talk to Daddy, young lady." He says, trying to keep his tone serious, but your daughter's giggle is simply infectious.

"Daddy!" she squeals, bouncing her little legs with laughter.

You were grateful for the family you had formed. Grateful for the kind of lazy mornings that were so enjoyable. Maybe breakfast can wait a bit, can't it?

The calm, happy atmosphere there. It was something that Leon had cherished and acclaimed so many times. A haven where he could forget his own demons.

A place where he could relax and forget about the world outside, a place where he could be himself. The person, not the agent.

And he was grateful for his two girls.

For his life, because nothing would make sense without you.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #leon x y/n #leon x you #leon resident evil #re leon #di leon #resident evil leon #death island leon #leon scott kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #dad! Leon

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strniohoeee · 4 months ago

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ahhh you’re my favorite writer!! can you write something about dad!matt please!! maybe something about the whole family going to the cape

Warm Summers

Pairing: Matt Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Fourth of July Weekend calls for fireworks, barbecues and most importantly family. Matt, Y/N and their twins take a trip to the Cape for the holiday weekend☀️

Warnings⚠️: None, this one was kinda cute. Might make more dad Matt fics in the future 😌 to the person that requested this thank you for the support I LOVE YOUUUU😭🖤

Song for Imagine: Tell Me I’m Dreaming- Los Yesterdays

The star make diamonds

Upon your face

The moon smiles down

From outer space

“And the Princess was so so sad because she thought her Prince didn’t want to be with her. He said he was afraid that he would hurt her” I said as I slid the sock on my daughters foot

“No! Mommy… the Princess needs her Prince” She said getting sad

“But then on a rainy cold night the Princess sat in her room, crying and holding her pillow close to her chest. Oh how she wished her Prince would come back” I said as I finished slipping her sneakers on, scooting over to put the socks and sneakers on her twin sister

“And then what?” She practically screeched

“Suddenly a soaking wet Prince ran up her castle stairs and bursted into her room. He fell to his knees crying with a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Begging the Princess to take him back and saying how foolish he had been. He said he wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her and to make her his Queen” I said watching as her and her sisters eyes lit up

“Did she take him back? Mommy please tell me she took him back” They both screeched as they clung onto their pink stuffed bunnies

“The Princess did! She got up and grabbed the Prince sooo tight and she kissed him” I replied

“Ewwww” they started scrunching their faces up as I laughed

“And they stood there hugging forever. And next thing you know they became King and Queen, they got married and had two twin girls” I replied as I smiled

“Twin girls? Like us!” They said as their eyes lit up

“Just like you both” I responded winking

“Mommy, is that a real story?” they asked

“Yes it is and your daddy was the stupid Prince who almost made the worst decision of his life” Matt suddenly spoke from the bedroom door frame

“DADDYYYYYY” they yelled as they jumped off their beds and into Matt’s embrace. Which caused me to smile

“Daddy you almost didn’t marry mommy? How could you? That’s so silly… she’s the best mama ever” Our daughter asked him

“I know daddy wasn’t so smart when he was younger. I’ll never forget that rainy night. You know that’s why your name is Lluvia. It’s Spanish for rainy season and you so happened to be born during a rainy season” Matt said kissing her on the forehead

“And what about me?” My other daughter asked him

“You’re Luna which is Latin for the moon, the night you both were born it happened to be a full moon and raining” I responded as I took Luna from Matt’s arm

“Mommy and Daddy are so cool” Lluvia squealed as she giggled

“We’re the coolest” I said winking at them

“Now who’s ready for that trip” Matt asked them as they started to jump around in our arms

“MEEEEE” they both yelled

We put them down and let them run down the stairs. Watching to make sure they got to the bottom we both let out a sigh.

Matt looked over at me and pulled me into a hug. Pulling back slightly I leaned in and planted a kiss to his lips.

“I can’t believe we’re 26 with a house and kids” I said reminiscing on our teenage years

Matt and I had been together since we were 18 and friends our whole life. It’s so crazy that this gross sticky boy I used to be neighbors with is the father of my kids and my husband….full circle moment

“Twins at that…. Want one more?” He asked me as he cocked an eyebrow

“With our luck I’d pop out another set of twins or even triplets” I said laughing as I grabbed the girls mini suitcases

“We’d have a herd of Sturniolos” he said giggling

“A herd is insanity, the girls are 4… so another one or two wouldn’t hurt” I said looking over at him

“Good thing we’re all going to be in separate rooms up in the Cod” he responded winking at me

“You are sickkk” I said smacking him playfully

Loading up the car we buckled the girls in. Matt and I’s family always went to Cape Cod during the summer months. It has been a tradition since before we were born. So naturally we thought now was the perfect time to start taking them.

Lucky for us Matt purchased a cabin out there near his parents and my parents so we’d be able to have family get togethers and always be around one another.

Given it was Fourth Of July weekend we thought it was perfect for a whole family get together.

Our hour and a half drive flew by as we spent most of it listening to Disney hits and stopping the girls from fighting with one another. They were just like Matt and his brothers.

We arrived after everyone and settled our stuff into our cabin. Taking the short walk over to his parents where everyone was at.

“Yooooo” Chris said as we walked out back to where everyone was sitting

“Hey guys” I said as I put the girls down

One ran to my mom and the other ran to Mary-Lou. As they hugged their grandparents I said hi to mine and my in laws.

“How was the ride out here?” Jimmy asked Matt

“Not too bad for holiday weekend to be honest” he said opening up the cooler and getting a juice pouch out for each of the girls

“Y/N how are you? Matt driving you crazy?” Justin asked me

“I’m good and honestly he’s been better” I said winking at Matt

Nick came over to play with the girls as I chatted with everyone.

“Okay but who’s the best uncle?” Chris asked Luna

“You both are” Luna said

“What? Not fair I’m better” he said crossing his arms over his chest

“I like Nick the best” Lluvia said as she hugged Nicks arm

“Only because he lets you do whatever you want” Chris said

“nuh uh” she said shaking her head

“Yuh huh” Chris said shaking his head

“He went from fighting with us like a child to fighting with our kids like a child” Matt said laughing

“You’re a meany uncle Chris” Lluvia said sticking her tongue out

“La La La La I can’t hear you” he said covering his ears and sticking his tongue out at her

“Will you quit being a child” Nick said smacking Chris

Giggling at them it was closer to dinner time. We all sat at the large table outside as we chatted.

The girls sat on my lap and Matt sat next to me. Turning our chairs towards each other Matt was feeding the girls while I ate.

Cutting up their hotdogs into bite size pieces he fed them as I held on to them. Wiping their mouth and giving them a sip of their waters

“Babe do you want the rest of my burger”I asked Matt

“Yeah, leave it there I’ll finish it” He said nodding his head

“All done” Matt said in his baby voice as the girls finished eating

“Grandma” Luna said as she began to slide out my arms

“You want to go with grandma” Matt asked her

She nodded her head and rubbed her eyes, anytime Mary Lou was around Luna had to lay on her and fall asleep. Lluvia reached out to my dad and so I gave her to him. Somehow within 10 minutes she landed in Justin’s arms and was dozing off.

Matt sat down and began to eat, standing up I headed over to the cooler and grabbed him a root beer. Opening it up for him I placed it next to his plate.

“Thank you baby” he responded winking at me

“You’re welcome, thank you for feeding them and letting me eat” I said blowing him a kiss

“Always my love” he said taking a sip of his soda

“It’s so funny to me watching you all grow up together. Sitting here at this table since birth and now two of our babies are married with babies” My mom said

“It’s so interesting to watch. I for sure thought Y/N hated all of them. I never imagined Matt and her to end up together” Justin said giggling

“I always thought yall had cooties and that’s why I never liked hanging out with you guys till we got older. I never thought Matt and I would need up together it’s so funny” I responded

“You guys just work so well together, I love you guys” Chris said reaching over and hugging Matt

Laughing at this we all finished our dinner. Having dessert with coffee as we watched the fireworks. The girls enjoy all the pretty colors.

We laid in the grass with the girls as we watched the fireworks. Reminiscing about our past.

We spent the rest of the weekend there jumping between houses for hangouts. And even getting alone time with Matt’s brothers as our parents took the kids. It was beautiful and peaceful, and I loved Matt and the girls with all my heart…

The End

Idk how I feel about this, but I hope you enjoyed it!!!! Can't wait to post more akekekek. Love yall dearly I’m almost at 2,640 followers which is insanity to me. Thank you sooo much🥹🖤🖤

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets imagines #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo imagines #matthew sturniolo imagines

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amaranthineghost · 1 year ago

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| DARLING, OUR STARS ARE DYING, BUT WE'VE STILL YEARS LEFT TO BURN ( lando norris. ) |

ꕥ pairing: lando x reader

ꕥ parts: 2

ꕥ summary: their relationship is dying while their love burns strong, yet they're unsure if they can save themselves.

ꕥ authors note: I have an idea for a part two, so if anyone wants a continuation of what happens, let me know :3

ꕥ warnings: it's just sad. minor implications of sex, but mostly angst and heartbreak.

SOMETHING WAS WRONG. they hadn't known what, but something was off in their relationship. for years, they'd loved each other, and no doubt they still did. they'd spent every waking moment they could with each other, but they hadn't realized their relationship had grown stale, unchanging for years.

it puzzled them because the love they had for each other still burned strong, but their relationship is dying.

they'd find themselves spending less time with their lover, more time with their friends in separate nightclubs across monaco. though their relationship lacked excitement, they would never seek it out in other people. because at the end of the day, they'd find their way home, drunkenly stumbling through the door of their apartment and back into each other's arms.

they found themselves depending less on the other for entertainment and companionship. their love wasn't dead, but their relationship felt like it.

when sitting right next to each other at the dinner table changed to sitting at opposite ends. when they'd make a mess in the kitchen to cook a dinner to share between them changed to making separate meals at different times.

though they were still young, it felt like life had finally caught them as they got entangled in their careers. he traveled the world, she stayed in the comfort of their apartment. maybe it was lacking. lacking the naivety of their youth that created the spark of their relationship.

because when he was home for odd weeks during the year, he was always out. from the crack of dawn till the sun set on the other side of the sky, he'd be out exercising with his trainer, having dinners with his team, or just clubbing.

and she'd barely attend his races now, her presence unseen in the paddock, causing numerous rumors to surface and plague the internet. because when they'd be seen in public together, which was a rare occurrence now, they wouldn't have a single touch to connect them.

the internet had realized their status before they had. nobody knew why they'd changed, not even the couple that had been through thick and thin. they couldn't imagine being apart, but it was like they were bored.

they didn't know what to do. they'd been through countless struggles together, finding solutions in the dark. but they had no flame to light their path this time.

it killed them. they wanted so badly to revive their love, but they didn't know how. they knew they needed to talk, but they were never around anymore. they didn't even sleep in the same bed as one another.

it was often they could find themselves with eyes wandering their wall with pictures framed, a few crooked that she would pester and nag him to no end to fix. he never would. the imperfect perfectness every time he looked between their faces, eyes crinkled with smiles caused a sad one to take it's form on his face.

he missed the memories between them because they were that, memories. they'd never do anything like that now. no ski trips where he'd spray her with snow with every stop, with her cursing him out all in good fun. because she'd do it right back.

no more lying on beach towels next to each other in the sun, getting tan, though she told lando he never needed to. and every time without fail, he'd take her sunscreen, squirting odd shapes onto her back that'd be displayed for weeks. she'd always slap him for it.

they didn't go out anymore. any attempts to relive what they once experienced were futile. they tried fancy restaurants, but silence with high tension plagued the air around them as they ate awkwardly.

because now it felt like they were back to square one. when he claimed to know her like the back of his hand, he wouldn't be so sure now. it was like they didn't know who they were anymore. they stopped talking to each other because they'd given up. there wasn't anything they could do.

she'd been on their couch, aimlessly flicking through countless tv channels. her eyes weren't even on the screen, and her hand was on autopilot while she channel-surfed. she'd let out another sigh, her eyes rolling over to his office door.

it was ajar, she could see movement from inside the room. she looked longing at it. she remembered when she'd distract him from his work, placing herself in different spots around the room, but ultimately ending up on his desk.

her eyes adjusted back to the tv, shutting it off and tossing the remote somewhere on the couch. she sat in silence for a while, listening to the sounds of him living in another world just ten steps away. because their relationship had gotten to the point where it felt like they were living in different time periods that crossed each other's lives.

they'd barely focus on each other because they didn't have the time. they were never alone together anymore, always in separate rooms, or surrounded by friends.

it pained her, guilt building in her body with every step. her stomach churning with every creak in the floorboards. she walked on the tips of her toes to his office. she hovered over the door handle, despite the door being slit open.

part of her hesitated because she didn't want to do this. she didn't want to leave him, to lose him, but it felt as if she didn't have a choice. remaining a couple benefit neither of them, it only hurt what remained and what remained was merely nothing.

but he was her first love, and first everything. it felt like betrayal to turn her back now, but she's afraid their backs have been turned for months because she can't recall the last time she thought of him as her soulmate. she loved him, but was love simply enough to save them?

when she pushed open that door, she knew she'd never be the same. they wouldn't be the same and part of her was okay with that because nothing's changed. she couldn't keep living like this, she was still young. young enough to meet another person to settle with, which seemed crazy to her to think about. she'd never thought about anyone but him.

"lando, can we talk?"

the hair on the back of his neck rose, dread filling his heart. he'd been waiting to hear those words for months, every conversation, they loomed in the back of his mind. though he hated how much he expected to hear it, he knew it had to happen.

he'd turn in his swivel chair, pen nervously pushed between his lips. he looked at her sadly, already feeling the words yet to leave her lips.

"I think we should break up," her voice broke, caused by the tears that streaked down her face. she hated herself for breaking down, being vulnerable when they both knew it was coming to an end. it still hurt because despite her words, she loved him. she knew he did too.

he didn't know what to say, a simple 'okay' felt too harsh, but the tears in his eyes would've spilled if he spoke any more.

so he simply nodded, muttering something completely inaudible to her, and himself.

she shook her head, gazing at him through her hazy, tear-stained vision, her voice high in a struggled whisper, "what's wrong with us?"

"i wish i knew, darling," he slowly stood, his feet dragging across the carpet on the wooded floors. he stopped in front of her, a sad look across his face as he stared down at her. he noticed how she no longer wore his hoodies, or any of his clothes.

hesitantly, his arms wrapped around her, pulling her into his chest, he knew for the final time. he bit his tongue in hopes of not showing weakness because he didn't want to make her feel worse than she already did.

"i know i promised us we would fix this, but I don't know what to do." he muttered into her hair as he shook against her, " 'm sorry i broke my promise, love."

" 'ts okay."

"but it's not."

"i know." she pulled away, wiping her tears on her hoodie. she sniffled, her nose and eyes red while she gazed up at him, "i'll pack my things, 'ts your apartment after all."

he was quick to shut her down, shaking his head, nearly breaking down as he spoke, "no, I couldn't kick you out." because what boyfriend—ex-boyfriend would he be if he kicked her out onto the blazing streets of monaco? he couldn't do that to the girl he loved so deeply, but he knew he couldn't stay. he had to let her go and he despised it because he knew it was for the best.

"I'll stay with max," he said simply, looking at her desperately with sad eyes, "please, let me just take care of you, financially at least."

"it feels wrong to depend on you."

"i know, but 'ts the one thing I can do for us."

so he left, packed his bags and drove his mclaren far from their apartment, now hers. he looked in the rearview mirror sadly, seeing her standing in the only hoodie he'd left for her. he couldn't see the tears in her eyes, but he knew they were there like they were in his.

he nearly turned around. he wanted to fix this because he didn't want to leave her. she was all he knew and it was like starting over. it felt like betrayal to leave her and find himself in a random club across the city.

but he'd been doing that for months with no issue. it only hurt now that he didn't have an apartment to go back to with her presence residing in it.

he punched the glass of his rearview mirror because it felt like the past staring him in the face. because she should've been in his future.

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anonymityisfunwriter · 10 months ago

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bad idea right?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: It's a bad idea. He's a bad idea. A walking red flag - if your friends are right about him. It's really too bad red was always your favorite color.

bad idea right? | get him back! | love is embarrassing

"This is an intervention."

You sputter, almost choking on your wine, "What?"

Nat crosses her arms, her eyes boring into you as she speaks, "A Bucky Barnes intervention."

"What are you talking about?" you hedge.

"You've been seeing him again." It's not a question, but a statement of fact. You don't know how exactly she found out, but you don't doubt that somehow she knows everything. You've been caught red handed.

You had two choices here. Come clean to your two best friends. Or lie through your teeth. You choose the second. "No, I-"

"You left your location on," Wanda explains, stopping you before you try to lie your way out of this conversation. "You were at his apartment two nights ago. You didn't leave until the next morning."

You hold your head in your hand, still curled up on the couch, "Can't two people reconnect?"

"He's your ex for a reason."

You knew that. You knew that there was a reason you and Bucky broke up all those months ago.

And you certainly didn't plan on getting involved with him again. It just sort of happened.

If you thought about it, really, you were blameless.

You hadn't heard from him since you broke up three months ago.

Three weeks ago, you found yourself out and drunk.

Calling him was just a drunken accident.

Bucky coming to pick you up and take you back home was not at all your plan.

Leaving your bag in his car was just a funny coincidence.

How else were you supposed to get your things unless you saw him the very next day?

And was it your fault that he invited you inside to catch up? No, of course not, you were just being polite!

Really, who could blame you? It just happened.

"I only see him as a friend." It's definitely the biggest lie you've ever told your friends.

"So you just tripped and fell into his bed?"

Your jaw drops as your cheeks flame, "It's not like that!"

"Well, clearly you think you're doing something wrong when you're lying to us about seeing him," Nat accuses.

"I haven't lied to you guys about anything!"

"So two weeks ago you didn't lie to us when you were actually with him?"

"I never lied. I told you I was asleep." You just never said where. Or in whose sheets. "Alright, fine, I might have omitted, but that's just because I know how you guys feel about him."

"Because you could do so much better!"

You shrug, knowing Wanda is probably right. You could find someone so much better for you. Someone who you probably wouldn't have to sneak around with. Someone you hadn't already broken up with, but something about Bucky Barnes makes your brain a little fuzzy. You can't think straight when you think about him. And you most certainly can't be trusted around him.

Even now, just thinking about him, you're spiraling back to a place where a bad idea turns into the best one you've ever had.

You know've probably seen much hotter men, but then you think back to two nights ago, and you suddenly can't remember when.

Not when Bucky stood at his door with his sweatpants slung so sinfully low on his waist. Not when he wore that henley that left so little to the imagination - and he wore it so well. His arms crossed over his chest. Leaning against the doorway, one hand clutching the top of the door frame, as he waited for you. That teasing, challenging smirk. Those mischievous blue eyes. That vibranium arm glinting in the moonlight.

Could you really be blamed for appreciating what was right there? Of course not. Or at least, that's what you told yourself.

Natasha waves her hand in front of your face, "Are you even listening?"

Your eyes shift back to her, your mouth inexplicably dry, "Huh?"

"I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but it's a bad idea," Nat emphasizes. "A terrible, stupid idea."

"What I think Natasha is trying to say," Wanda gently interjects, "Is that we love and respect you too much to watch you get hurt all over again."

Natasha was right. You knew that.

Your impromptu girl's night came to a close with her reminding you one last time. It was a bad idea.

Seeing him tonight is a bad idea. It's most definitely a bad idea. You knew it the moment your phone lit up with a text from Bucky.

"I want to see you."

You could almost picture the disappointment in their faces. You should turn around and go back to your room and forget about Bucky Barnes. Never speak to him again. Block his number. Forget he exists.

It's a bad idea to grab your keys and hop in your car to go see him.

It's a bad idea to drive to his apartment right now in the dead of the night.

And it was definitely a bad idea to wake up twisted in his sheets again.

It's a bad idea, right?

But you're standing in your room all alone - with no one telling you that it was indeed a bad idea. And it sounds like a fantastic idea to you. Yes, he's your ex, but can't two people reconnect? And if you trip and fall into his bed, really, what's the harm?

You shrug your shoulders, snatching up your car keys.

Fuck it, it's fine.

Part 2 - get him back!

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

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oh-stars · 10 months ago

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Lilies & Lavender

Lavender

a Stobin Month 2024 prompt | 712 words | CW: assumed cheating, lavender marriage, nosy neighbors | Rating: G

“Mrs. Grayfield thinks you’re cheating on me,” Robin says as she hands him another bag of soil.

Steve snorts, swiping at his face with the back of his gloved hand to brush off the dirt he knows he feels on his face. “She always thinks someone’s cheating,” he says. He rips open the bag of soil and starts adding it to the new pots they just bought for the porch. “Remember when she made that big fuss about the Levinsons? Turns out, they had their extended family living with them for some time.”

“Yeah, but this time she has, like, actual evidence,” Robin says, grunting with the effort of moving the new lilies they’d picked up that morning. “Tell me again why we’re not putting these beautiful plants in our actual garden?”

“Our flower beds get too much shade,” Steve says. “I want to see how they do in the pots out here first before we commit to rearranging the back flower beds.” He squints up at her. “You were the one who said the porch was missing something.”

She shrugs. “I was more so thinking we could freshen up the upholstery on the bench.”

Steve waves her off. “This is better.” He takes the flower from her and together they replant it in its new home, a massive flower pot that’ll take up a good chunk of space on their porch. “What evidence does she have?”

“Evidence?”

“You said she had evidence I was cheating?”

“Oh!” Robin giggles. “She saw Chrissy leaving the other morning.”

Steve laughs and shakes his head. “This is why I think Ed and Chris should just move into the place around the corner. Then we wouldn’t have to explain the cars to anyone.”

“But then Chrissy would lose her bay window,” Robin says, “and I am not prepared to deal with her losing that window.”

“I think you both would live.”

“And can you imagine if Eddie has to deal with noise complaints every other day?”

Steve groans and grabs the next plant to place beside the first lily. “You’re right, it's a horrible idea.”

Robin’s quiet while they finish transferring the lilies to their new pots, all eight of them neatly planted in the two pots to frame their porch steps where they can get the most sun possible. “Should we get a divorce?”

“We could, but what’s the point? It’s not legal to marry who we actually want to marry and the benefits we get from being married are too good to pass up on. And personally,” Steve says as he takes off his gloves to actually scratch at his face, “I don’t feel like dealing with the headache of splitting our assets unless we need to.”

“Good point.”

“Plus,” Steve smirks, “if we’re divorced, we can’t use the spouse excuse.”

Robin beams. The spouse excuse is something all four of them use to get out of things, sure, but for Steve and Robin, they like to remind their partners of who they’re actually married to from time to time. It’s the best way to keep their sacred sleepovers – no one can argue that a husband and wife are meant to spend the night together.

She looks at their hard work. The lily pots still need to be moved to where they’ll actually be sitting, the white flowers bright against the terracotta pots. “Do you think it clashes with the lavender?” She motions to the lavender plants lining their flower bed and the paved path that connects to their driveway.

Steve shakes his head. “And even if it did, it’s only temporary.”

“What time’s Eddie coming over?”

“Three. We have to leave by four to get to the concert though. You sure you two don’t want to come with?” Steve asks.

Robin hums. “I think we’ll pass. I want some quiet one-on-one time with her before the anniversary trip, you know?”

Steve nods, but out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mrs. Grayfield watching from her own garden. He leans over and kisses her cheek. “Sounds wonderful, dear,” he says a little louder. “My dearest wife, would you mind grabbing the hose so we can water the flowers?”

She catches on quick, grin impossibly wider. “Anything for you, darling husband of mine.”

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

#ohstars fic #steve harrington #stranger things #robin buckley #stobin month 2024 #ohstars posting challenge #platonic soulmates stobin #platonic stobin #stobin

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stylesonfilms · 13 days ago

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ink & innocence - 15

word count: 7.1k

Aspen hurried home after her last class, her bag slung over one shoulder as she practically sprinted up the stairs to her apartment. Her heart raced, not just from the exertion but from the bubbling anticipation that had been simmering all day. Once inside, she dropped her things by the door and immediately headed to her room, her mind spinning with thoughts of the evening ahead. This wasn't just any evening—it was their first real date.

She turned to her small mirror, her hands resting on the edge of the desk as she studied her reflection. Her cheeks were already pink from excitement, and she let out a soft sigh, smoothing a stray strand of hair back. Focus, Aspen, she told herself. She grabbed her claw clip and released her hair, shaking it out before heading to the bathroom. A quick shower was her first order of business, and as the warm water cascaded over her, she let her thoughts wander to Harry. She couldn't help but smile as she imagined his crooked grin, the way his green eyes seemed to pierce right through her.

Wrapped in a towel, Aspen padded back to her room and opened her closet. She had already decided on her outfit—a pair of denim overalls paired with a fitted black long-sleeve—but she pulled it out and laid it on the bed with care. She took her time with her makeup, dabbing a bit of concealer under her eyes and blending it carefully. She opted for soft, natural tones—a hint of blush, some mascara to define her lashes, and a swipe of tinted lip balm that made her lips look just kissed. Her hair was next, and after some deliberation, she decided to pull it back into a loose claw clip, a few face-framing strands falling softly around her cheeks.

By the time she finished getting ready, her nerves had kicked up a notch. She glanced at the clock—4:55 p.m. Harry would be here any minute.

Aspen fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, taking a deep breath as she looked at herself in the mirror one last time. Her black long-sleeve hugged her frame just right, and the denim overalls gave her a playful, effortless charm. She debated for a fleeting moment whether to add a necklace or keep things simple, ultimately deciding on a dainty silver chain her mom had given her years ago. It felt like a small piece of home, grounding her amid the whirlwind of emotions.

Her thoughts drifted to Harry, and a soft smile curved her lips. She hadn't dated much—well, at all—and the idea of going out with someone as effortlessly confident and magnetic as Harry was both thrilling and terrifying. But then she remembered the way he looked at her, how his teasing words always held an undercurrent of warmth, and how safe he made her feel despite her awkwardness. It was Harry, she reminded herself. She didn't have to pretend or perform. He liked her for her, even if she didn't entirely understand why.

Still, the butterflies in her stomach wouldn't settle. What if she said the wrong thing? Or worse, tripped over her own feet? She shook her head at the thought, laughing softly at herself. "Stop overthinking," she whispered. "It's just Harry."

But that was the thing—it wasn't just Harry. He had quickly become someone special, someone who saw her in a way she hadn't been seen before. The thought made her chest tighten, but it was a good kind of ache, one filled with possibility.

She spritzed a light vanilla-scented perfume, the familiar scent giving her a small boost of confidence. As she set the bottle down, her phone buzzed on the dresser. It was a text from Harry:

Harry ⭐: Outside, love. No rush. Take your time.

Her heart skipped a beat at the simple message, his casual thoughtfulness wrapping around her like a warm hug. She slipped on her favorite pair of white sneakers, grabbed her small crossbody bag, and paused by the door. Her hands hovered over the handle as she took one final steadying breath. This was it. Their first real date.

Harry stood outside Aspen's apartment door, the bouquet resting against his forearm as he adjusted his grip. For the first time in a long while, he felt the kind of nervous energy that made his heart thrum faster than usual. He wasn't sure what it was about her that did this to him. Normally, confidence came easily—effortlessly even—but around Aspen, it was different. She made him feel like he wanted to try, to get it right, to be someone worthy of the way her eyes lit up when she smiled.

His free hand ran through his hair, still slightly damp from his earlier shower. He'd styled it loosely, letting the natural curls fall where they wanted. His usual black t-shirt and jeans were tempting, but he knew tonight was special. That dark green button-up he'd chosen clung comfortably to his frame, and the rolled-up sleeves gave just the right balance between casual and effort. He tugged the edge of his shirt down absently, double-checking himself in the reflection of a nearby window.

He sighed, catching the ghost of his nervous expression. What was wrong with him? He had done plenty of casual outings, flirted a hundred times without a second thought. But this wasn't like any of that. Aspen wasn't like any of that. She was... different. Gentle in a way that felt grounding but exhilarating all at once. It left him a little off-kilter, like he was navigating new waters he didn't quite understand yet.

The bouquet had been another decision he'd agonized over, spending more time in the florist's shop than he cared to admit. Roses felt a bit too traditional, but lilies seemed perfect—delicate, understated, and quietly beautiful, just like her. He could already picture the soft flush that would color her cheeks when she saw them, and the thought alone tugged a small, lopsided smile to his lips.

Harry's thumb brushed over the stems as he raised his fist to knock, hesitating for a split second. She deserves this, he told himself firmly. She deserves the best, and I'm going to make sure she gets it. His nerves still hummed under the surface, but his determination won out. Whatever doubts lingered in his mind, they didn't matter now. Aspen had chosen him—him—and he wasn't going to waste a second of it.

The soft rap of his knuckles against the door seemed to echo louder in his ears than it should have. He stepped back, adjusting his posture and pushing his sunglasses up onto his head. His jaw tightened briefly, not in frustration, but as a final act of steeling himself.

When the door finally opened, Harry's breath hitched ever so slightly. There she was, standing there in her denim overalls and a black long-sleeve, her hair clipped back in a way that framed her face perfectly. She looked up at him, her wide eyes catching the soft evening light, and the corners of his mouth quirked up instinctively.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, she forgot how to speak. Harry stood there, leaning slightly against the doorframe with a bouquet of roses and white lilies in his hand. His dark green shirt made his eyes stand out, the subtle glint of his lip ring catching the evening light. The familiar crooked smile on his face was softened by something tender, and she could see just a hint of nerves in the way he shifted his weight.

"Hi," he said, his voice low and warm but with a shy edge she hadn't heard before.

"Hi," Aspen replied, her voice barely above a whisper as her eyes dropped to the flowers. Her lips curved into a smile. "Are those for me?"

Harry gave a small nod, holding the bouquet out toward her. "Roses and lilies," he said, his voice softening even further. "Thought they'd suit you."

Aspen's cheeks burned as she reached out to take them, her fingers brushing against his briefly. The petals were delicate under her touch, and the sweet scent of the flowers filled the space between them. She brought the bouquet closer, her smile growing. "They're beautiful, Harry. Thank you. No one's ever brought me flowers before."

He raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he took her in. "What? Tha's criminal. Glad I could fix that." His gaze flickered over her, from the way the black long-sleeve hugged her frame to the casual charm of her denim overalls. "You look amazing, Asp. Absolutely perfect."

Aspen's stomach flipped at his words, her fingers nervously playing with the edge of her overalls. "You're not so bad yourself," she said, trying to sound casual, but her voice wavered slightly, giving her away.

Harry chuckled, his grin turning playful as he stepped aside to give her room. "Come on, lock up b'fore you 'ave me standing here all night, staring at you like a fool."

She laughed softly, the sound light and genuine as she grabbed her keys from the small hook by the door. Her fingers shook just a little as she locked up, the reality of their first date settling in with a mix of excitement and nerves.

When she turned back around, Harry extended his arm to her, his smile softening into something that felt almost reverent. "Shall we?"

Aspen hesitated for a heartbeat, not because she didn't want to but because the gesture felt so deliberate, so thoughtful. Sliding her arm through his, she let herself relax into his warmth, her heart racing in the best way possible. "We shall," she said, her voice carrying a hint of teasing as she glanced up at him.

As they walked down the path to his car, the world around them seemed to fade into the background. The cool evening air was filled with the faint rustle of leaves and the rhythmic sound of their steps, but Aspen barely noticed. She was too focused on the way Harry's arm felt against hers, the way his thumb brushed her hand occasionally as if he couldn't help himself.

For Harry, each small touch sent a quiet thrill through him. He had been confident in the shop, telling himself he could pull this off, but now, with Aspen beside him, her laughter bubbling up at his quiet joke about tripping on the uneven pavement, he felt uncharacteristically vulnerable. She made him feel seen in a way he wasn't used to, and he didn't want to mess it up.

When they reached his car, he let go of her arm to step ahead, opening the passenger door for her. "Your chariot awaits," he said with a slight bow, his grin returning.

Aspen giggled, the sound light and unguarded. "Thank you, kind sir." She climbed in carefully, her heart doing flips as he closed the door behind her.

Harry took a deep breath as he rounded the car, running a hand through his curls. He wasn't one for nerves, but something about Aspen made him want to get everything right tonight. When he slid into the driver's seat and glanced over at her, she was arranging the bouquet on her lap, her fingers delicately straightening the stems. The sight of her, sitting there in his car with flowers he'd chosen for her, made his chest ache in a way he wasn't sure he could explain.

"Ready?" he asked, his voice softer now, the teasing edge replaced with something more genuine.

Aspen turned to him, her eyes bright and filled with something that looked like hope. "Ready," she said, her smile easing his nerves just a little.

As he started the car and they pulled away, the atmosphere between them was light but charged with anticipation. Neither of them said it out loud, but both were thinking the same thing: tonight could be the beginning of something extraordinary.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The pottery studio was warm and cozy, the kind of place that invited calm with its earthy tones and gentle atmosphere. The faint hum of spinning wheels and the soft strains of acoustic guitar music created a soothing backdrop. Aspen and Harry had claimed a booth near the back, tucked away from the bustling center where most of the other participants worked. The relative quiet of their corner felt like its own little bubble, and the low murmur of their voices blended seamlessly with the surrounding ambiance.

Aspen sat with her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, her fingers coated in streaks of damp clay as she hunched over the spinning wheel in front of her. Despite her determined expression, there was a light dusting of pink on her cheeks—partly from the warmth of the room, but mostly from the presence of the man sitting just a foot away. Harry, relaxed and slightly leaned back in his chair, moved with practiced ease as he shaped his own clay. His rolled-up sleeves revealed toned forearms that flexed subtly with every movement, and Aspen had to remind herself not to stare.

She leaned forward slightly, biting her lip as she concentrated on the uneven lump in front of her. Her brows furrowed in frustration as the clay wobbled precariously, threatening to collapse into a shapeless heap.

Harry glanced over, catching the way her tongue peeked out in concentration, and smirked. "Careful, love," he teased, his voice low and warm. He nodded toward her clay, his emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. "Too much pressure, and you'll end up with a pancake instead of a bowl."

Aspen huffed a small laugh, her blush deepening as she stole a glance at him. "It's harder than it looks," she admitted, her voice tinged with frustration. Her hands hovered uncertainly over the spinning clay. "You make it look so easy."

"Years of practice," Harry replied with a grin, holding up his own clay-covered hands as if to demonstrate his supposed expertise. "And by 'years,' I mean this one time Zayn dragged me here last year for his birthday. Turns out it's not that different from sketching—just messier."

Aspen's lips curved into a smile, the tension in her shoulders easing a little. "Well, I guess I'll take all the tips I can get, Mr. Expert."

Harry chuckled, the sound low and easy, and for a moment, the room seemed even quieter, like the world outside their little booth had faded. They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes, the rhythmic whir of the spinning wheels filling the space between them. Aspen couldn't help sneaking glances at him, her heart doing little flips every time he caught her gaze and smiled. She felt her nerves begin to settle, replaced by the comforting realization that this was Harry—funny, thoughtful, frustratingly charming Harry. The same Harry who had a knack for making her feel seen in a way no one else ever had.

"Where are y'from?" Harry asked suddenly, his tone casual but curious. He wasn't looking at her, his attention seemingly focused on his clay, but Aspen could tell he was waiting for her answer.

She paused, her hands stilling as she considered the question. "I grew up in a small town about two hours from here," she said, her voice soft but steady. "It was... quiet. Nice in some ways, I guess, but it wasn't really a place I felt like I belonged."

Harry turned his gaze to her, his expression open and attentive. "What about your parents? They still live there?"

The question made Aspen's fingers falter, and the clay beneath her hands wobbled precariously. She caught it just in time, smoothing the edge with deliberate movements as she pressed her lips together. "They do," she said finally, her voice quieter now. "But... we're not very close. It's, um... complicated."

Harry's chest tightened at the hesitant way she spoke, like she was carefully choosing each word. He noticed the way her shoulders tensed slightly, the way her fingers moved more deliberately as if the clay could offer her some sort of grounding. He didn't press for more, sensing the discomfort behind her words, but the thought of her growing up feeling distant from her family tugged at something deep in him. He didn't want to push her further than her limit or make her uncomfortable by pressing the question of 'how so?", so he left it for now.

"That sounds hard, Asp," he said gently, his voice low and sincere. "I'm sorry."

She glanced at him, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile. There was something in his eyes—something soft and understanding—that made her heart ache in the best way. "It's okay," she murmured, her fingers smoothing the rim of her bowl. "It's better now that I'm here. Away from all of that."

The words lingered in the air between them, and for a moment, Harry felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch her hand, to offer her more comfort than his words could. But he stayed where he was, his jaw tightening as he swallowed the swell of sadness that had risen in his chest.

"What about you?" Aspen asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Her eyes lifted to meet his, her curiosity genuine. "Where are you from?"

Harry leaned back slightly, his hands pausing as he considered how to answer. "London," he said after a beat, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I lived there 'til I was fifteen. Then m'parents decided to move t'the States for work."

"Was it hard to leave?" Aspen asked, tilting her head slightly. Her voice was soft, careful, like she didn't want to pry too much.

"Not really," Harry admitted, his smile growing a little. "I mean, my parents are amazing—married for thirty years, still act like teenagers in love. My sister's great too, though she was always the golden child. I had a good childhood, y'know? But... I never really felt like I fit in."

Aspen tilted her head, her hands pausing on her clay. "Why not?"

Harry shrugged, his fingers absently tapping the edge of his bowl. "I don't know. Maybe it was me being a moody teenager, or maybe it was just... I wanted something different. My parents are very by-the-book—doctor, lawyer, corporate type of life. I think they hoped I'd follow that path. But I hated school, acted out, got into trouble. I wasn't all too much 'f a fan of people breathing down my neck with some expectation for me to do better, even at my best I could offer, y'know?"

She nodded, taking in his words. "And tattooing?" Aspen prompted, her lips curving into a small smile.

"That was my escape," Harry said, his voice softening. "I started sketching designs in high school, maybe even b'fore we moved, and when I turned eighteen, I got my first tattoo that my parents knew of. They were horrified." He chuckled, shaking his head. "My first one was actually four months after we moved out here. It was a shitty stick-and-poke that I done myself after a classmate raved on 'bout them. Was somethin' like a stupid skull with flames around it. It's long faded now, hence the shitty job. But eventually, they came around. They didn't understand it, but they supported me anyway."

Aspen's smile widened, and she looked at him with something close to admiration. A soft giggle fell from her lips at his first tattoo. "That's nice. That they supported you, I mean."

Harry met her gaze, his own smile softening. "Yeah. They did. And they're proud of me now, even if they still cringe when I add something new to my arms."

The moment lingered between them, warm and filled with quiet understanding. Harry watched Aspen as she turned back to her clay, her expression thoughtful, and felt that familiar tug in his chest—the one that only seemed to come when he was around her. She had a way of making him feel like he wanted to be better, like he could be better. And for the first time in a long time, Harry felt like he might actually be enough.

Aspen's eyes fiddled back to his arms, his hands still working over the clay which had now formed what looked to be a mug. She took notice of every scattered piece on his arms, from what she could see, a soft curve of a smile still on her lips.

"I'll let you look over them one day, if y'want." Harry's voice broke her semi-trance and she looked back up to him with flushed red cheeks. He laughed softly at her embarrassed stutter. "Sorry, love. Jus' felt you lookin', but nothing wrong with it. I look at you more than you realize."

His comment made her stomach flip and she took in a small breath, biting back a grin. He always knew what to say, always found a way to make her comfortable and not feel wrong for her words or her actions. He always understood. It wasn't like he gave a great deal of a speech on why she shouldn't be embarrassed, but the way with his words was a way Aspen understood perfectly well and it eased her mind.

"Do you have a favorite?" Aspen quipped, going back to fixating on her lump of clay that was more structured into a bowl now. With a satisfied hum, she softened out the edges. Harry let out a sound that implied he was thinking, his eyes darting over his own tattoos now. "'m not too sure, really. I have a few chest pieces, maybe those. Or the tiger." Harry etched patterns into the clay to attach the handle he had molded.

Aspen looked up with furrowed brows. "Chest pieces? The tiger? Do I even know you, Harold?" She teased, a small giggle breaking her once more. He followed suit, a chuckle as he looked over at her. "Yeah, 's just a few scattered. And the tiger is on m'thigh. Maybe I'll have t'show you one day, hm?" A smirk flashed over his lips, one that had Aspen's stomach coil and heat rise along the back of her neck and the tips of her ears.

She nodded shyly, pulling her eyes back to her clay bowl. "You're silly, you know?"

Harry raised a brow, his turn table coming to a slow stop, followed by Aspens halting as well. "Silly? What about handsome? Charming? Daring? Sexy?"

Aspen only giggled and rolled her eyes, shaking her head in amusement. Oh, he was definitely all of those, so she shrugged and nodded. "Only if you tag silly onto that list!"

Harry chuckled softly, pulling the thin wire under his piece to remove his work from the table. "I will, but only if you put silly into your list of absolutely beautiful, and kind, and so sweet, and--."

"Harry!", she squeaked out and laughed, her foot reaching over to gently knock the side of his leg. Aspen's cheeks flared with a hot red now, her front framing pieces doing absolutely nothing to help her.

The pottery studio was beginning to empty out, the hum of conversation softening as people wrapped up their creations. Aspen and Harry carefully lifted their clay pieces—her bowl and his mug—and walked over to the shelving unit near the ovens where the drying process would begin. Each step felt measured and deliberate, as if the weight of their work reflected the care they'd put into it. Aspen gently placed her bowl on the tray, stepping back to admire how smooth the edges had turned out.

"You're sure you don't want to sign it?" Harry asked, tilting his head as he placed his mug down beside her piece.

Aspen shrugged, a shy smile playing on her lips. "I don't think it's that good. Yours turned out way better."

Harry smirked, reaching out to gently nudge her shoulder with his own. "Yours is great, Asp. Don't sell yourself short." His voice held no trace of teasing, just a quiet sincerity that made her stomach flutter.

She glanced at him, her lips curving into a soft smile. "Thanks, Harry."

The instructor confirmed they could return the next day to retrieve their dried pieces, and with that, they left the studio. The evening air was cool against Aspen's flushed cheeks, and as they walked to Harry's car, she couldn't help but feel lighter, more at ease than she had in a long time.

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

The next day, Aspen stood in front of her mirror, smoothing down the fabric of her outfit. She chose a simple white Brandy Melville milkmaid top, its soft fabric brushing against her skin, paired with her grey fold-over flared leggings. It was a comfortable choice, but there was something about it that felt effortlessly put together, like she'd struck the perfect balance between casual and intentional. She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and took a deep breath, excitement curling in her chest. The spring air outside was crisp yet warm, the kind of weather that promised new beginnings. She made a mental note to savor the sunshine whenever she could.

When Harry arrived, he leaned casually against his car, sunglasses perched on his nose. His maroon plaid flannel hung open, revealing a loosely fitted white tee underneath, the sleeves rolled just enough to hint at the tattoos scattered along his forearms. His black jeans clung to his legs in a way that looked lived-in, and his boots gave his stance an easy confidence. He didn't have to try—Harry simply existed in a way that commanded attention without asking for it.

He grinned at her as she approached, the kind of lopsided grin that made her stomach flutter. "Ready to see how our masterpieces turned out?" he asked, his tone playful, but his eyes carried something warmer, like a quiet excitement that mirrored her own.

Aspen nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "I just hope mine didn't crack or something." She couldn't hide the way her hands fidgeted slightly, betraying the nerves she didn't want to admit to feeling.

"Doubt it," Harry said as he opened the car door for her. His voice was low and steady, grounding her in that moment. He slid into the driver's seat with a practiced ease, his hand resting loosely on the gear shift. "Y'put too much care into it for that to happen."

The sincerity in his words made her chest tighten in a way she couldn't explain, like he saw something in her work—something in her—that she hadn't even let herself see yet.

They arrived at the studio, the familiar earthy scent of dried clay mingling with the faint sweetness of paint. Aspen's heart picked up as they made their way to the back table where their pieces rested. Her bowl sat there, fully dried, its shape slightly imperfect but undeniably hers. She picked it up gently, tracing her fingers over the smooth surface and smiling at the way it had held together.

Harry's mug sat beside it, the handle firmly attached, its edges rustic in a way that made it feel personal. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands with a look of quiet pride. "Not bad," he said, his lips curving into a smirk. "This might actually hold coffee."

Aspen laughed softly, holding her bowl close to her chest as if it were a fragile treasure. "Yours turned out great. Look at the handle—it's perfect!"

His grin widened, his eyes darting from his mug to her. "Told you," he teased. "Y'just gotta trust the process, love."

They decided together to skip the long glazing and firing process. "I don't think I can wait another week to see these done," Aspen admitted, running her fingers over her bowl again, imagining the colors she could bring to it.

Harry nodded, already reaching for brushes and palettes. "Same. Let's get creative, yeah?"

Their booth had become their spot, a quiet corner that felt tucked away from the rest of the world. Aspen stared at her bowl, her mind awash with ideas as she loaded her palette with soft pastel colors—blush pinks and muted blues. Across from her, Harry worked with the same easy confidence as before, layering a deep emerald green onto his mug.

"What're you thinking?" he asked, his gaze flicking up to hers as he dipped his brush into the paint.

"Maybe some light pinks and blues," she murmured, focusing on the smooth strokes of her brush. "Something soft and simple."

Harry tilted his head slightly, his lips curving into a small smirk. "Like you." His tone was light, but there was an undeniable sincerity in the way he looked at her, like he'd just spoken the most obvious truth.

Aspen's cheeks flushed instantly, and she ducked her head, her lips curling into a smile she couldn't hide. "And you? Green? That's your go-to, isn't it?"

He chuckled, pausing his work to glance down at his palette. "It's lucky, I guess. Plus, it goes with everything. Kind of like you and your books—always a good match."

Her laughter came soft and genuine, easing the tension she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The quiet rhythm of their brushes filled the space between their words, punctuated by the occasional clink of their palettes.

Harry found himself glancing at her more than he cared to admit, his heart catching at the way her brows furrowed slightly when she concentrated, or the way she bit her lip while deciding between shades. She had a way of losing herself in her work, and it was mesmerizing to him.

For Aspen, the sight of Harry so focused on his mug was something new, something she couldn't look away from. He wasn't the cocky guy she'd met at Zayn's party in this moment. He was patient, deliberate, and wholly engaged, a side of him she hadn't seen before but found herself wanting to know better.

As the afternoon stretched on, the clay transformed under their brushes, vibrant colors and patterns blooming on their once-plain surfaces. The pieces felt like more than pottery now; they carried the weight of laughter and quiet moments shared, the unspoken connection building between them.

"You know," Harry said as he cleaned his brush, his voice softer now, "you're pretty good at this, Asp."

Aspen looked up, her cheeks still warm from the afternoon sun streaming through the studio window. Her lips curved into a shy smile, her voice just above a whisper. "Thanks, Harry. So are you."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the world seemed to blur, leaving only the quiet understanding that had grown between them. Neither spoke, but the look they shared said enough.

As the afternoon sun filtered through the studio's wide windows, painting soft streaks of gold across the room, Aspen fiddled nervously with the hem of her shirt. The faint scent of paint and dried clay lingered in the air, grounding her even as her heart raced. She glanced at her bowl, which now sat complete and drying on the table before her. The pastel hues of pink and faint blue felt almost too revealing, like they carried all of the emotions she hadn't yet been brave enough to voice aloud.

In the bowl's center was a simple yet deliberate design: a baby pink conversation heart with soft light blue edging, bearing the words "BE MINE?" written in delicate, careful strokes. Around the rim were tiny white daisies, their petals soft and hopeful, and at the bottom, nestled subtly on the curve, were their initials: "h & a," etched in lowercase cursive. It felt deeply personal, yet it was playful, a reflection of her timid but growing confidence to ask Harry the question she'd been holding onto for days.

She'd agonized over the idea with Isobel, turning it over in her mind a hundred times. "What if it's too soon?" Aspen had asked, clutching her phone in one hand and pacing her small bedroom as she spoke to her friend. "I don't even know if he feels the same way."

"Are you kidding me?" Isobel had replied, her tone brimming with exasperation and certainty. "He's head over heels for you, Aspen. Anyone with eyes can see that. And even if—if—he said no, you know Harry. He'd never hurt you. But trust me, he's going to say yes."

Aspen had spent that night nervously sketching her idea on paper, imagining how it would look once painted on the bowl. Even as her nerves prickled at her, a part of her was hopeful—Isobel was right. Harry had been nothing but kind and understanding, even with her shyness. If anyone deserved her vulnerability, it was him.

Now, sitting across from Harry, she could barely meet his eyes. He was finishing his mug, a simple yet bold design in Green Bay Packers green and gold. Harry leaned back in his chair, setting his brush down with a satisfied grin as he surveyed his work. "Done," he announced, his voice cutting through her thoughts. "What do you think, Asp?"

Aspen glanced over at his mug, and a laugh bubbled up despite her nerves. "It's so... you," she said, her lips curving into a small smile. "It's perfect. The colors are so clean, and that handle—it's like a real pro made it."

Harry chuckled, tilting his head as he watched her. "Y'really think so? I just slapped some paint on and called it good." His green eyes sparkled, the warmth in them enough to make Aspen's heart flutter. "What about yours? Let's see it."

Aspen froze for a moment, her cheeks flushing a soft pink. She shook her head quickly, her fingers wrapping protectively around the edge of her bowl. "It's not ready," she stammered, trying to find a way to delay the inevitable. "Yours is much better."

Harry raised an amused brow, leaning forward slightly. "Asp," he said gently, his voice laced with patience but a playful edge, "you've been working on that bowl like it's the crown jewel. C'mon, lemme see."

Her lips parted to argue, but the soft persistence in his gaze disarmed her. She sighed, biting her lip as she gave him a nervous glance. "Fine," she whispered, her hands trembling slightly as she turned the bowl around. Then, as quickly as she revealed it, she hid her face behind it, her cheeks burning crimson. "Don't laugh!" she squeaked.

Harry's grin melted into something softer as his eyes landed on the delicate design. The pastel heart in the center caught his attention first, its message immediately sinking in. "BE MINE?" The words seemed to echo in his mind, the simplicity and vulnerability of them striking something deep within him. His gaze traced the daisies along the rim, each petal meticulously painted, before settling on the initials at the bottom. It wasn't just a bowl—it was a piece of Aspen, every stroke filled with her thoughtfulness and care.

Harry's chest tightened, a warmth spreading through him that he couldn't quite explain. He felt his heart stutter, his usual confidence giving way to something softer, more reverent. For a moment, he didn't say anything, letting the weight of her question settle around them.

When Aspen peeked out from behind the bowl, her expression was a mix of nerves and hope. "It's okay if you don't—" she started, her voice barely audible.

But Harry cut her off, his voice soft and full of something she hadn't heard before. "Really? You really want m'to be yours?" His eyes searched hers, his tone laced with wonder and disbelief. "'M so lucky, Asp. Of course, I'll be yours."

Her breath hitched, relief and joy flooding her all at once. Before she could respond, Harry reached across the table, taking her hand in his. His thumb brushed over her knuckles as he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss there. Harry intertwined their fingers and set them in her lap, thumb tracing small patterns on the back of her hand. "You've no idea how much this means t'me," he murmured, his voice steady but filled with emotion.

Aspen's heart raced, her cheeks still flushed as she managed a shy smile. "Really?"

"Really," Harry said, his grin returning, though it was softer now, tinged with affection. "And for the record, your bowl's not jus' good—it's perfect. Jus' like you."

Aspen ducked her head, laughing softly as her fingers tightened around his. In that moment, the rest of the studio faded away, leaving only the two of them and the quiet promise shared between them.

Harry let his fingers trace over the rim of the bowl, feeling the soft curves of the painted daisies and the faint grooves where her brush had left its mark. His chest ached with something indescribable—an overwhelming tenderness he hadn't anticipated. He glanced back at Aspen, who was biting her lip and nervously watching him from under her lashes, as if bracing for his reaction. The shyness in her posture made his heart squeeze, and he couldn't stop the soft laugh that escaped his lips.

"Asp," he said, his voice low and warm, shaking his head slightly as if trying to process what was in front of him. "This is... I don't even have the words. I's the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone's ever done for me."

Her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of pink, and she looked down at her hands, fidgeting with the fabric of her shirt. "You really like it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, laced with vulnerability.

"Like it?" Harry repeated, his voice growing softer as he leaned in just slightly. "I love it. Absolutely love it. But you didn't have t'do this, y'know. You didn't have to ask me first." His words were gentle, but they carried a quiet intensity. "I mean, don't get me wrong—I'm so glad you did. It's just... Aspen, I've been yours for a while now. I would've asked eventually. Felt like an unspoken rule that we were each others," he smiled that lopsided grin that always lingered in her mind, "but now i's... cemented. Explicitly each others."

Aspen's fingers froze their restless movement, and she dared to look up at him. Her gaze was filled with a mix of emotions—nervousness, hope, and something fragile yet resilient. She took a shaky breath, her voice trembling as she spoke. "I know," she murmured, her words so soft he almost had to strain to hear them. "I knew you probably would've asked, but... I wanted to do it."

Harry's brows furrowed slightly in confusion, his emerald eyes searching hers. "Why, love? You didn't have to put yourself out there like this." The girl could tell Harry had no tinge of criticism, just that he was curious and genuine.

She hesitated, the weight of her own feelings pressing down on her. Her gaze flickered back to the bowl, her fingers brushing against the edge as if it were a lifeline. "Because," she began, her voice steadying slightly as she forced herself to speak, "you've done so much for me, Harry. You're always the one who makes the effort, who makes sure I'm okay. You've been so... patient. And safe. I've never felt that way with anyone before."

Her fingers curled around the edge of the table, and she glanced up at him again, her cheeks still burning but her words steady now. "I wanted to give you something—a memory. Something real that you could hold onto. You deserve that. And..." She trailed off, her lips curving into a faint, nervous smile. "I wanted you to know how much you mean to me."

Harry's throat tightened, and for a moment, he didn't know what to say. He could feel the sincerity radiating from her, the courage it had taken for her to make this gesture. Aspen wasn't someone who put herself out there easily, and the fact that she had done this for him made him feel like the most fortunate man in the world.

"Aspen," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He reached for her hand, his fingers curling gently around hers. "That's... the most thoughtful thing anyone's ever done for me. I don't even know what to say."

Her eyes flickered to their joined hands, and she gave a small, nervous laugh. "You don't have to say anything, really. I just... I wanted to do it."

Harry shook his head, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he brought her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles once again. He kept his gaze on her as he pulled back, his voice quiet but steady. "You didn't have to, but I'm so glad you did. And for the record? You make me feel the same way—safe, cared for, all of it. You've no idea how lucky I feel."

Her heart swelled at his words, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "Really?" she asked, her voice barely audible in its squeak.

"Really," he affirmed, his grin soft and full of warmth. "You're amazing, Asp. You've been my girl for a while now, you just made it official."

Aspen ducked her head, her smile shy but radiant, her heart fluttering in a way she hadn't felt before. "I'm glad," she whispered, her words almost swallowed by the warmth between them.

Harry gave her hand another gentle squeeze, his voice laced with quiet affection. "You've given me a memory I'll never forget, love. Not just this bowl, but this moment." He paused, his smile growing. "I'm yours, Asp. Always."

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

When they got back to their car, ceramic pieces wrapped in brown paper wrappings and tucked into her tote bag that rested at her feet, Harry took a squick glance around at the quiet, empty secluded area before leaning over the center console to cup the girls cheek and pull her in for a kiss.

Aspens cheeks tinted their usual pink again at the sudden movement that caught her off guard. Nonetheless, she loved kissing Harry. She was grateful how he always took the time to make sure she was comfortable before initiating anything. Her dainty fingers wrapped around his wrist gently while she leaned up into the kiss. He always met her, whether it was him leaning over or him tilting down. A smile curled onto her lips against Harry's.

His lips lingered, working once or twice with hers before he sat back down with another lopsided grin splattered on his face. "Sorry, baby. Couldn't wait."

She giggled softly, shaking her head as he started up the car and buckled himself in. The hand that came to rest on her thigh gently patted the covered skin before Aspen got the hint and intertwined her fingers into his. Her eyes scanned over where they connected. The girls hand was much smaller than his, yet fit so well. Aspen's brown eyes traveled up to his wrist, taking in each etch of the tattoos, some messier than others but thats what made Harry Harry.

Aspen relaxed back into her seat as the car rumbled to life and Harry began backing out the space. With a shy smile of her own, she looked over at him and back to the road ahead. "I can't believe I have a boyfriend." With a content sigh and a kiss from Harry to her hand, she felt at peace. Excitement still bubbled in her chest and she swore to bother Isobel about it until her ears fell off.

"First and only, angel."

#harry styles #fanfic #one direction #zayn malik #niall horan #fanfiction #wattpad fanfiction #wattpad #louis tomlinson #harry styles fanfiction #smut #harry smut #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing

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pedroshotwifey · 4 months ago

Text

Trouble in Paradise (Part One)

Pairing: DBF!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Of all the things you thought you might be doing on your summer break, falling in love with your father's best friend in Hawaii wasn't one of them.

Tags/Warnings: Nothing crazy yet! Some kind of maybe tension, pet names, talk of Joel knowing reader since she was small, reader has a dad, mom is not mentioned, yadayada

A/N: Hello my friends! I'm terribly sorry I've been away for so long. There have been a lot of...unsavory happenings lately. Want to say sorry in advance because I know this isn't my best writing, but i'm trying to get back into the groove of things. I'm hoping I'll be back to my scheduled programming (TTF, FB, answering requests) by the time this short series is done. Expecting it to be around 3-5 parts. Thank you so much for sticking with me <3

*******

You’ve been laying in your bed blasting your “chill” playlist through your earbuds since you got home from school around five. The last exhausting day of your freshman college year. Lana Del Rey, Cigarettes After Sex, Hozier, and the like have been floating lazily through your head as you watched the sun go down.

After a long day, you’d hung your head off the foot of your bed, intent to bask in the golden glow of the evening in a baggy T and your underwear until your eyes shut for the night. You were almost asleep when you were interrupted by a sound that didn’t quite go with “Wicked Game”.

You yank your earbuds out, sitting up on your bed. You don’t remember it getting so dark. Your cracked window allows the late summer breeze in to gently rustle the curtains framing it. Crickets and cicadas chirp loudly outside, creating a symphony to compliment the stars shining through the inky sky.

“Sweetheart?”

Your head swivels to look accusingly at your closed door. The name was shouted from the stairway. Definitely your dad.

You roll your eyes but get out of bed. The clock on your nightstand tells you it’s 8:02pm, so he’s probably calling you for dinner. You’ve told him before that it’s easier just to call your cell, but when has he ever listened? You pad to your door, crack it, and shout back.

“Be down in a minute!”

Getting no response, you can only assume he heard you. You close your door back and pick up the polka-dotted pajama pants crumpled into a pile beside your bed. You tug them on through a yawn, almost tripping a few times before they’re on all the way.

You check your mirror before heading down. You look sleepy, not like it really matters. Your door creeks as you push it open again and make your way down the stairs. The soft carpet laid in the middle of the hardwood keeping your steps quiet. It’s about halfway to the kitchen that you hear a second voice to your father’s. It sounds vaguely familiar, and your heart skips a beat. Surely it’s not—

You climb down a few more steps and stop in your tracks at the sight of Joel Miller sitting at your dinner table. You haven’t seen him since at least your high school graduation. You’d harbored a small crush on him then, but that had to have been nothing compared to whatever the hell you’re feeling now. Your entire body seems to glow with some mix of embarrassment and surprise.

You really thought you’d gotten over this silly little crush. Then again, it’s hard to get over something like Joel Miller. High school boyfriends? Sure, no problem. But the classic DILF next door of a best friend your dad has isn’t so easy. He’s been a constant in your childhood, always kind and there for you even when your dad wasn’t. So, in other words, highly inappropriate for you to be so attached to.

It’s easy to say the years have been kind to him. He’s a few years older than your father, so probably about mid-forties now. He’s started to gray, a fine amount of silver peppered into his mousy brown hair. That beard of his has taken the brunt of it, though. That beard you’ve imagined between your thighs so many times.

His dark eyes seem to have become kinder thanks to the crow’s feet carefully etched into the corners. He’s wearing his signature T-shirt and worn jeans, his brown leather jacket and work boots likely disposed of near the front door.

He smirks as his brown eyes fall on your disheveled form, halted on the bottom step. You, in contrast to the god-like figure he’s sporting, must look like an absolute mess. Despite that fact, he looks at you almost in a different way than he used to. More intensely. It makes you resist the urge to squirm.

“Joel,” you finally manage to choke out. “Hi.”

Smooth, you think.

“Hey, trouble,” he returns, light amusement lacing his tone. It makes you nervous, like he’s clocked your little secret.

He gets up from his seat, and you can tell he’s going for a hug. You shock yourself into action and take the few steps to reach him. He envelops you in his strong arms just like he used to, and you take the opportunity to breathe in his scent. Smokey pine, whiskey, and a hint of mint—just like you remember.

You’re smiling like an idiot despite yourself as you pull away. Luckily, your dad makes an appearance before you say something embarrassing.

“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he teases. “You remember my buddy Joel, dontch’a?”

Joel scoffs before you can answer. “‘Course she remembers me, Scott, known her since she was damn near in diapers.”

Your dad rolls his eyes. “Well, just to ask,” he argues.

You shake your head. Same banter between those two for as long as you can remember. They’ve been friends since your dad’s freshman highschool year, and Joel’s senior. Everyone who knows Joel and Scott considers them to be brothers as much as Joel and Tommy.

Cheeks heated, you make your way to the bathroom to freshen up while they’re distracted. You shut the door and comb through your hair with your fingers, straighten your tank top, and wipe away the smudged mascara you didn’t care to wash off earlier.

When you look half-decent, you wash your hands and walk back to the dining room, choosing to ignore the fact that you just tidied yourself for your dad’s best friend. Totally normal thing to do, right?

Joel is sitting back in the same spot as you found him the first time, your dad in the seat opposite of him. There are three bowls of spaghetti served, one in front of each man, and one beside Joel. You’re not going to complain about that.

You slide into the seat next to him, flashing him a quick smile when he turns his head to acknowledge you. You swear his gaze lingers for a second, but it’s probably just wishful thinking.

You look away and dig into your food, zoning out as Joel and your dad talk about work. Joel’s presence beside you fuels your daydreaming, his deep, drawling voice keeping it running. You wish so badly to lean into him, feel the comfort of his embrace. Maybe more. You wish, not for the first time, that he would look at you the way you looked at him. You wish he would—

You jolt when you hear your name in conversation, your spaghetti-filled fork halfway to your mouth.

“No, I don’t think she’d mind at all, would’ya, honey?”

Your dad looks expectantly at you. Your eyes dart between him and Joel.

“Uh, sorry, what?” You ask, your cheeks heating for the second time tonight.

“Helping Joel out. I know it’s been some years, but it’s just basic stuff. Plus, it’ll be in—”

“Really, Scott, you don’t have to volunteer her if she don’t want to—”

“No, no,” you interrupt. “I don’t mind at all.”

In all honesty, you didn’t think your answer through. You have no idea what you just signed up for. Though, if it’s with Joel, it can’t be too bad.

“No, really, sweetheart,” Joel interjects. “I wouldn’t wanna have a pretty ‘lil’ thing workin’ away on her summer vacation.”

You turn to look at him, flashing him your sweetest eyes. He called you pretty—you feel like you might explode. “I really don’t mind.”

He waits for a moment before he clears his throat and turns back to your dad. “Alright then,” he says before taking a sip of his drink. “We leave for Hawaii next Tuesday.”

You just about choke on your dinner. Your dad laughs.

“Told you, Joel, she doesn’t listen to a damn thing we say.”

*****

Hawaii? For two weeks? With Joel? What do you even pack?

You stare at your suitcase, waiting for your closet to help you out and throw something in there. Should you bring sundresses or work clothes? Both, right? Probably both. Maybe more work clothes. You said you’d be helping, after all. But with what?

God, you should have just paid attention to that damn conversation.

It’s late Monday night, and you haven’t been able to pick up on enough over-the-phone conversation to get the gist of it. You need to stop being such a wuss and just ask. But that would mean calling Joel. Do you really want to call Joel?

Well, yes, of course you do. But do you really want to sound awkward around Joel? No, no you don’t. And you know that’s exactly what would be happening over the phone with a man you’ve never talked over the phone with.

You groan, flopping yourself onto your bed to stare at your ceiling and overthink. You don’t want to overpack, because you don’t want Joel to see that you overpacked. But you also don’t want to underpack, because you don’t want Joel to see that you underpacked, either. This really shouldn’t be that hard. You’re about to get back up, say screw it, and throw a mixture in there, when you hear a knock on your door.

“Come in,” you call, unmoving.

“Hey, honey,” your dad says as he creeps in. “Just got off the phone with Joel.”

You sit up at this. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, he figured you might want some advice on what to pack.”

Oh thank God.

“Said he’s gonna be puttin’ you to work, but to bring some pretty clothes if you want. There’s a pool at the place you’ll be workin’ at, and a beach nearby.”

You nod along, thanking all that is holy that Joel had the idea to give you some input.

Your dad eyes your empty suitcase and raises a brow in your direction.

“He’ll be here around 4:00am, so be ready by then.” He looks back at you. “I love you, sweetheart, I’ll see you when you get back.”

He gives you a hug and closes your door.

You take Joel’s advice and pack mostly for work—with a few pretty things just in case.

*****

As expected, Joel’s truck is in your driveway at 4:00am on the dot. You’re in the passenger seat and headed for the airport by 4:03.

The ride is less tense than you thought it would be, mostly because the two of you are so tired. You’re practically in a coma against the window, the dull classic country music playing quietly from the old truck’s speakers lulling you to sleep. Joel is in about the same mindset, the lazy drumming of his fingers against the wheel the only thing convincing you he’s still awake.

Buildings pass in a dark blur, everything mushed together into one big half-dream. Joel’s scent fills the cab, sealing the state you’re in. You glance at the clock: 4:48. You blink, and it’s 5:20, the truck is stopped at the airport, and Joel is gently nudging you awake. You squint at him, the cab light rudely intruding, and you can just barely make out the faint smile on his lips. You have a strong urge to lean forward and kiss him, but thankfully you’re conscious enough to not make a complete fool of yourself right now.

“C’mon, darlin’, we got a plane to catch.”

You nod, trying to get your bearings. Joel slides out of his side of the truck, and you follow out of yours, getting a good stretch in before leaning back into the cab and retrieving your suitcase from the narrow backseat. When you make your way around the truck to Joel, he gently grabs it from your hand.

You look at him, mouth open and ready to argue, but he gives you a look that makes you shut it just as quick. Your stomach flutters at the gesture, and you kind of want to slap him for it. Or maybe yourself. Either way, you keep close to him until you’re entering through the sliding doors out front.

It only takes about an hour to get through TSA and in line to board the plane, but you’re wide awake by then. And hungry.

“Hey Joel,” you whisper. He hums at you but doesn’t look down.

“I’m hungry.”

Now he looks at you. “I don’t think we got time to grab anything now, darlin’, but we should have a layover at LAX in about three hours. Think you can hold tight ‘till then?”

You nod, trying not to overthink the conversation. It was literally a few words exchanged between the two of you, but it might be the first time you’ve conversed alone outside of your dad’s house. It felt domestic to you in a way that makes you feel like an idiot. It was one conversation.

Of course, you have to ruin the moment by humming “Party in the USA”. I mean, it’s Joel’s fault. He was the one to mention LAX.

He laughs and nudges you. “Quit that,” he commands, though you can tell he thinks it’s funny. You giggle but indulge him.

“Fine,” you draw out. “Somebody hates fun.”

He scoffs another laugh, but says nothing.

Finally, the two of you are next to board. You stop around the middle of the plane, and Joel hoists your bags into the compartment above your seats. Then, he moves aside to let you in first.

“By the window, darlin’,” he says.

You smile with excitement and settle in, Joel sitting next to you a second later.

“Your dad said somethin’ about it bein’ your first time flyin’, so I figured you might want a window seat,” he explains.

Your heart warms at this. Why does he have to be so thoughtful?

“Thank you, Joel,” you say genuinely, flashing him a smile. It may be the lighting, but you swear you see his cheeks pink up just a little before he nods and faces forward.

The flight goes by relatively quickly. Joel does some sort of paperwork on the little desk in front of him, and you pop your earbuds in and listen to a downloaded playlist while you read. The light romance you chose was cute, but it failed to distract you completely from the hunk of man beside you.

You’re not sure how many times you caught yourself staring at the flex of his wrist as he wrote whatever down. It was maybe once or twice that your eyes found their way up to his bicep, possibly a few times that they landed on his lower lip, his teeth bitten into it in concentration. You definitely got heated more times than you would’ve liked. And as your book started heating as well, you had to put it down. You really hope it’s not just you that feels this new tension.

For the last twenty minutes or so, you’ve been looking out the window, content to listen to your music and watch the land go by. For the last five, you’ve felt Joel’s eyes on you. You refuse to look back at him, though, just in case it’s your imagination.

But you swear you can feel the weight of his stare. You fidget, trying to ignore the feeling as you stare out the window and at the clouds. Then you hear a sharp sound from the speakers

through your earbuds.

You take them off and look back at Joel as the pilot informs you that you should be landing in about ten minutes.

He was staring at you, and he didn’t look away. You don’t look away now, either. You don’t say anything.

“Thank you for comin’ with me, darlin’.”

You’re taken aback. Of course you would go with him.

“It’s no problem, Joel,” you say. He gives you a short smile. “I mean, really,” you joke. “You’re the one taking me on a free vacation.”

He smiles fully this time and rolls his eyes. He tends to do that a lot with you. It makes you smile too.

The speaker dings again:

“Should be some light turbulence, but we’ll be on the ground soon, folks.”

Joel looks away after the announcement, gathering his work to put back into his bag. You shake yourself off and choose not to acknowledge whatever the hell that was.

******

You knew LAX would be busy, but. Holy shit. This place is insane.

You keep close to Joel as he navigates the two of you through the crowds and to your next gate. He keeps slightly in front of you, and you keep getting the urge to grab his hand to keep up, but you don’t. You don’t think you’ve ever seen this many people in one place—and you thought the Austin airport had been overwhelming.

There are a million shops and restaurants and gates as you make your way down the massive hallways, up and down the escalators, and through trains. It takes an hour and fifteen before you can even see the sign for your gate. Your legs hurt from walking, and your head hurts from all the noise.

You keep an eye on some of the closer restaurants you pass so that you can backtrack to them and grab a bagel or something before you have to get on your plane. You catch a glimpse of a Burger King when you’re suddenly slammed into.

You gasp as you’re sent flying onto your ass by a man who couldn’t be bothered to glance your way to see if you’re alright. Joel whips around and sets the bags down, quickly helping you up.

“Shit, are you alright, darlin’?” he asks, a deep concern in his eyes. Your cheeks are burning with embarrassment even though it wasn’t your fault.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Joel looks you up and down to make sure as you stand on your own two feet. He turns around, trying to scope out the man who bumped into you, and turns back when he finds that he’s long gone.

“I’m sorry, honey,” he finally says. “People don’t give a rat’s ass here.”

You nod, smiling at his choice of words. “I’m alright, Joel.”

He sighs and picks his bag back up, slinging the large weight over his shoulder, and then picks your suitcase up in one hand. WIth the other, he grabs onto yours. His hand is rough but warm and comforting.

“Just stay close ‘till we get to the gate.”

Practically glowing, you hold onto him and let him lead the way. It only takes a few more minutes before he’s telling you to sit down at the waiting area.

“I’m gonna grab you somethin’ to eat, ‘nd I’ll be right back.”

You decide to read while he’s on his errand, picking your book back up to a particularly smutty part. You’re not going to pretend like you aren’t picturing the characters as you and Joel as he eats her out on a countertop. You bite your lip, consuming each word with fervor.

You’re just finishing the chapter when Joel strolls up with two breakfast sandwiches, a coffee, and an orange juice. He hands you a sandwich and the latter drink, and takes the seat next to you with a groan.

“Probably have at least thirty minutes,” he grumbles.

You nod as you thank him and unwrap your sandwich. It’s silent for a few minutes, before you can’t bear it and break the peace.

“What all are we going to be doing?”

Joel looks at you, almost flustered. He must have misheard you. “Huh?”

“Like when we get there, what are we going to be working on?”

“Oh, uh,” he clears his throat and takes a sip of his coffee. “Mostly flooring ‘nd some drywall, but there should be somethin’ to do in the kitchen if I’m hearin’ right.”

You nod and take a bite of your sandwich. Joel continues.

“Should have a few days to relax, though, if we get everythin’ done in time.”

Your stomach flips at the thought. A few days to relax with Joel.

“Sounds easy enough,” you say.

Joel nods again. “Atta girl.”

“Flight 332 is ready to begin boarding.”

You and Joel take the last bites of your sandwich in silence and stand up to get in line once again. This flight is going to be longer, about six hours.

Joel throws your trash away and comes back to grab your bags. Same as last time, you have a seat by the window. Not like it matters much in the long run, because just after Joel takes his seat and the plane takes off, your head falls onto his shoulder, and you promptly fall asleep.

******

Thank you for reading!! Part two should be coming soon.

Itty bitty mini taglist: @callachloe @kewwrites @casa-boiardi @pastawench (love you guys)

Pls let me know if you would like to be tagged in pt. 2!

#pedro pascal #fan fiction #ao3 #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel the last of us #the last of us hbo #fluff #x reader #dbf joel miller #dbf pedro pascal #dbf!joel

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