#it was not even. consistent ??? like mid word if there was an e the e was in a different cursive????

[touyaz]

cant believe i found something worse than entire fics written in small font, but there it is....... an entire fic written in cursive

[decaying-church]

Kinktober Day 4: Hate Sex + Patrick Bateman

Patrick Bateman x male!reader

Kinktober 2023 List | Day 1 | Day 5 | Ao3

(a/n: shout out to the people that sent request for today yall came in clutch. )

Summary: Working for Patrick Bateman was hell. A hell that seemed to improve after he tried to kill you

Warning: rough sex, these bitches hate each other, reader has a thing for bloody men, Patrick tries to kill reader, then they fuck, fucking on desk, slight voyeurism, unprotected sex, unsafe sex, fucked over a desk, reader gets his dick sucked, reader being a bad Dom (cuz they hate eachother), not beta reader, not even a little bit, errors that will be fixed tomorrow cuz I'm sleepy.

Words: 1968

It wasn’t hard to hate Patrick Bateman, he was an entitled asshole to the misfortune of both you and him, you were his new secretary.

Well “new” as in most recent, as his last one had good missing, while you didn't like the idea of becoming the secretary of a rich man whose secretaries consistently went missing, you didn't really have a choice, rent was due and they offered to pay you on a biweekly basis, which you really needed, so you joined the team.

But god, Patrick was the most insufferable prick you’ve ever met. So demanding and so fucking needy and impatient and selfish and cruel and inappropriate with every word he spoke to you.

You hated him, and he hated you.

He resented you because he wasn’t attracted to you, you weren’t the pretty, female secretary he was used to. You could tell he liked having that power over women from the way he treated other people secretaries, kind and flirtatious before some kind of switch seemed to flip in his mind mid interaction and he was suddenly he was his true self, a needy, perverted asshole.

You never got the nice side, from day one he’s always been your asshole boss, you do half of his work and barely even get a thank you, it’s truly and honestly ridiculous.

You made sure to tell him how much you hated him every chance you got, your contract made it so you had to be employed under Patrick for at least 5 months before you could quit or be fired. So instead of wallowing in your hate, you let it flow freely. Letting it fill every interaction you had with him. Public, private, it didn’t matter, your disrespect was constant.

You didn’t think today was going to be any different, the morning was perfectly ordinary, making copies, sighing Patrick’s papers, getting on his nerves, he was quieter today, less likely to retort your remarks than he usually was. You’d been working for him for four and a half months now, you figured he was getting ready to fire you.

But as the night drew closer and you were getting ready to clock out, when he asked you to stay late, not told, asked.

He must have hit rock bottom, finally.

You stayed, even as the rest of the office went dark. Your desk had its own lamp so you didn’t mind the main lights being shut off. What you did mind was Patrick repeatedly calling your intercom without saying anything, then hanging up. It was annoying, and after the fifth time, you decided to go yell at him about it.

He wasn’t at his desk when you walked in, without a lick of hesitation in your body, you turned around to head out the door, only to find Patrick standing in front of it, pulling white gloves onto his hands, an unreadable expression on his. Before you could open your mouth to question him, his hands were around your throat, squeezing hard.

It was a short lived attempt on your life, as you pulled your foot back and kicked him in the knee as hard as you could. He dragged you down with him as he fell, with you landing on top of him you had the upper hand, punching him square in the face, again and again until your knuckles and his nose and mouth bled. The moment you felt his hands weaken around your throat you jerked back, simultaneously yanking his hands from around your neck, pinning them on either side of his head.

With no real plan on where to go from here, and Patrick having not expected himself to fail, the two of you sat there making intense eye contact for well over a minute.

You didn’t know what to do, Patrick had tried to kill you, failed, and is now pinned helplessly beneath you, looking just as confused as you did.

Oddly enough, Patrick was…experiencing a few new things at this moment. Deflation was one he was familiar with, but complete and utter submission was new for him.

He tried to kill you, but he couldn’t, and you were still alive, holding him down, staring at him with so much pure emotion on your face that he nearly felt overwhelmed by it. He didn’t even try to fight back, instead breaking eye contact to stare at your body above him. It was easy to say he was an admirer of yours, but you are too disrespectful, too mean, and entirely too unflattered by him for him to make a move.

Here you were, though, above him, he was powerless beneath you, anything could happen, he pressed his thighs together, anything could happen.

You were having similar problems. You loved a man covered in blood, particularly his own blood. And that is exactly what Patrick was, looking so pathetic beneath you, staring at you, and your body, wantonly. And you let him.

“What the fuck?” you said, with no real conviction in your voice.

He breathed out hard but said nothing. Just staring down at himself for a long moment, then back up at you. You followed where his gaze had been, your eyes meeting the obvious bulge in his perfectly fit slacks.

You breathed out a short laugh.

“You get off on trying to kill people, Batemen?”

He shook his head at your allegations.

“So it's just me?”

He breathed in hard, avoiding your eyes.

“You like it when I hold you down Bateman, ‘cause that's what it seems like..”

“I'm sorry-” he gasped out, but you interrupted him.

“No, you're not, you're not sorry for trying to kill me, you're horny and want me to fuck you.”

A moment passed

“-please?” his gasp of a word was ever so slightly painful, that, and the blood still free flowing from his nose, made you jump into action. Dragging both hands above his head, then keeping them pinned with just one of yours, using your now free hand to undo your belt, Patrick watched intently as you unfastened the buckle and pulled the belt off in one hard tug.

He watched as you made a makeshift pair of handcuffs, using your teeth as an extra hand while your other was occupied.

“Turn over.” he didn't move.

Letting his hands go for a second you forcefully put the man on his stomach, slamming him on the ground a bit harder than you would anyone else. You regathered his hands and pushed them into the cuffs, pulling to tighten them until the skin around them began to bruise.

Letting his hands rest on his lower back you leaned in close to his ear.

“If you want me to do this you're going to have to listen, understand?”

He nodded rapidly.

“Good.”

You stood up, appreciating the sight of the man lying on the floor between your legs for a moment before picking him up and dragging him over to his desk, you nearly slammed him down over it, he didn't say anything about it, actually, based on the moan he let out and the way he was already spreading his legs and was wiggling his hips in anticipation, you figured he liked it.

You didn't prep him, he'll you didn't even warn him, his pants were off and pooling around his ankles so quickly that he’d barely had time to process it, then, after taking a short moment to appreciate how beautiful and pristine Patrick's ass was, pressing your finger against his hole to see how tight it was, never actually penetrating him though, only stopping when you were satisfied with the answer, very, and his reaction. watching his thighs twitch in response. Then fully and with an utter lack of any hesitation, you pulled your pants and underwear down just below your hip, taking your already hard cock in your hand and giving it a few hard pumps before pressing it against Patrick's hole. He froze up, but his knees still shook, nervous and excited and impatient all at the same time. Then, without saying a word or giving a sign, you pressed in fully, starting at a pace that burned him from the inside out, and you were right, he was very tight, almost hard to push into, but you made it work.

You nearly zoned out his squeals, screams, and moans as you fucked him, unable to move, his insides stretched wider than they'd ever been- he's never done this before and the pain of it was unignorable. He tried to focus on you, your cock, making him feel so good and so bad at the exact same time.

The desk beneath him creaked with every rapid thrust, his stomach pressed uncomfortably against his own nameplate, and with his arms tied, and you being his near ruthlessly fucker for the night he didn't dare ask you.

It wasn't hard to get lost in Patrick, he was beautiful, he felt amazing around your cock, and his voice was more than perfect as he screamed and moaned your name into the empty building.

Then, an idea popped into your mind, the building wasn't completely empty, security was roaming around, checking the doors, the cameras. Looking around the room you spotted it, the blinking red light a clear sign that someone was watching. Grabbing Bateman by the hair you hoisted him up, ignoring his pained yell in favor of showing him the camera.

“Look at that, who's on camera duty tonight, Bateman?”

He blabbered and whined before saying he didn't know. You let go of his hair, and he fell back down to the desk with a bang, gasping out in pain, which soon merged with the pleasured moans that fell from his mouth constantly.

“You think they want a turn? Huh? Maybe they want to fuck you over the desk too, or maybe on the floor. I'd let them use you, I'd let them pass your ass around all night long.”

“No-” he gasped, “just you, just you please-”

He hurried his face in the sheets of paper covering his desk, embarrassed. He's never belonged to anybody, and he surely doesn't belong to you, but the more you fucked him and the fuzzier his mind got, the more he considered, then accepted It.

His back arched hard, his chest still pressed against the desk as he tried to keep his footing, his legs shakey and sore from you kicking him and everything that came after.

“Y/n~im so close, so fucking close, mhh Ah- Ah, ah-”

And he was, his body tensed hard, cum dripping down his cock before shooting out the tip, making a mess of his desk and the floor.

“Fuck, Bateman-” you gasped, just as close as he was a second ago, “you're fucking pathetic.”

You made the splint second session to pull out, much to Patricks, who was actively experiencing sexual overstimulation for the first time and was completely unprepared, relief.

That was until you dragged him off the desk and onto the floor, making him kneel in front of you. Grabbing his jaw and forcing it open, shoving your cock into his unexpected mouth, but that was fine, you used his mouth just as roughly as you'd used his hole.

You didn't last long after that, between Patrick's warm mouth and tongue being used like your personal toy, and his complete and utter submission to you, it was all just too beautiful.

With a final hard thrust into his mouth, your cum shot down his throat, making him choke and gag, and eventually swallow.

Then, staring down at him, you stuffed yourself back into your pants, forcing Patrick to the round, took your belt, and left. Leaving behind a confused, exhausted, and fucking satisfied Patrick Bateman.

[heartz4levi]

Hi, could you make a NSFW alphabet of Luka? I would really appreciate it, if you did it MLM, I would appreciate it even more!! :)

i fall to pieces when i'm with you !

☆ thinking abt luka + nsfw alphabet . .

☆ luka (alnst) ,, male reader . . switch!luka ,, switch!reader ,, this is a nsfw alphabet so uh. there are a LOT of warnings i could put here but like. there are too many so warning for lots and lots of filth! ,, but also some sweet stuff in certain sections.

a — aftercare :

when it comes to aftercare, luka can't bring himself to do much. he'll press a few kisses to your face, murmur on and on about how much he loves you and how much you mean to him. if he can get up, he'll grab something to clean the both of you up or lead you over to the bathroom.

b — body part :

luka's favourite body part of his are his hands. they're pale, his fingers are long and slender with a light purple hue adorning the tips. he prefers his hands over anything else because he can let them roam around every inch of your body, constantly reassuring him that you're there, you're real.

luka's favourite body part of yours are your lips. they always look so inviting, so kissable, no matter if they're chapped and bitten or glossy and soft. every kiss you give him makes his heart flutter like never before, and each word that slips past them means so much to him, you can't even imagine it.

c — cum :

luka's cum has a more watery consistency. the taste of it is just a bit bitter and it comes out in long, thin ropes.

it's not challenging to make him cum. he'll always let out high—pitched whines when doing so and his chest will heave lightly as cum begins to spurt out from his sensitive tip, coating his stomach a dewy white.

d — dirty secret :

there are a few scenarios luka has thought about that, if they became real, he would become a very controversial idol. one of them is recording the two of you while he takes you from behind, one hand tangled in your hair to keep your head angled upwards, not allowing you to muffle a single moan.

the other is wrapped around your waist, strocking your cock rapidly to pull more sounds of pleasure out of you — all so he can collect the audio sample of your moans, having kept quiet on purpose so your voice can be heard loud and clear in the background of his latest song.

e — experience :

having been created for the sole purpose of being an idol, luka hasn't focused much on anything other than improving his performance and singing skills his whole life, meaning he doesn't have any experience.

although his every move is carefully supervised, luka has gradually been given more freedom the older he got. therefore, he does know a handful of things about sex, what it is, how it's supposed to go. he knows it in theory, but not in practice.

f — favourite position :

luka likes any position that allows him to have a clear view of your face or allows him to hold you in his arms regardless of who is topping and who is bottoming. meaning missionary, cowgirl and spooning can be found in his lineup of favourite positions.

those positions also allow him to not put in so much effort to the point he overexerts himself, which is also a plus.

g — goofy :

luka isn't the type to crack jokes mid—nut, but he also isn't the type to be completely serious when the two of you are having sex.

he's more content than anything. seeking refuge in you, letting himself drown in the pleasure he feels from being inside of you or from having you inside of him if it's the other way around. you're a safe space for him, and he prefers to bask in you as a whole.

h — hair :

of course, luka's pubes are a light blond color. they're a little bit unruly, much like the hair on his head, but he doesn't have much hair down on his pelvis.

since he doesn't have much hair to begin with, luka doesn't need to shave or trim it. if you want him to, though, he will. he's comfortable when you're comfortable.

i — intimacy :

like mentioned before, luka prefers to savor every moment spent with you while having sex. point is, he is quite romantic.

he'll whisper sweet words to you the entire time, or if your cock is ramming into his hole so good that his mind is reduced to mush, he'll babble sweet words. it doesn't matter what you're trying out in that specific session, because luka will still openly express his love for you.

j — jack off :

being an idol with immense popularity, luka's schedule is always absolutely packed, meaning he doesn't have the time to jack off. not that he needs to, as he has gotten used to his strenuous routine to the point where he doesn't feel the need to take a moment for himself, pull his pants down and stroke his pretty cock.

now that you are an integral part of his life though, he prefers to get off using you rather than his hand. using you entails either your hands, mouth, cock or hole. depends on what luka is feeling up for and what he has enough energy for.

k — kink :

out of the couple of kinks he has, i believe luka is most into praise and worshipping, both giving and receiving.

the subject of praise has already been discussed, specifically how he is always reminding you of the fact that he adores you more than anything else in this world. if you return the action, praising him for how well he's taking your cock or worshipping his body before ruining him, luka will melt. he'll turn all pliant and then you can do whatever you want to him.

l — location :

considering several pairs of eyes are on luka every time he leaves the comfort of his home, luka's preferred location to have sex with you is anywhere within the house.

there is the classic, the bed, which is his go—to. the mattress is soft, the pillows even more so, allowing you both to be comfortable whilst going at it. luka also enjoys doing it in the bathtub from time to time.

m — motivation :

like previously mentioned, luka is a sucker for praise and worship. if you begin to shower him with it all of a sudden, no matter where the two of you are, he will immediately pop a boner.

luka is also very susceptible to teasing. he isn't against the notion of teasing you. quite the opposite — he thoroughly enjoys it! but if you tease him, he'll be like putty in your hands. a bunch of blood will shoot straight to his dick, and the desire to be inside of you overcomes him in but a flash of a second.

n — no :

luka's only no's are your no's. you're not into a certain thing? okay, he's not into it either.

luka trusts you with his life. if you want to try something a little bit more painful, a little bit more risky out, then he will agree. because he trusts you and you trust him just as much, so nothing should go wrong.

o — oral :

luka loves sucking dick. he'll suck you off for his own pleasure, not minding the way he's gagging on your cock as the tip of it hits the back of his throat with each bob of his head. he likes it, but he also likes receiving head.

receiving is just as nice. he enjoys leaning his head back and letting you make him feel good, not having to worry about a single thing.

when it comes to skill, it takes luka some time to develop any techniques. until then, he's sloppy and eager to please, which makes up plenty for his lack of knowledge on what he's doing.

p — pace :

luka enjoys any and all paces. he might not have the stamina to ram his cock into your hole at the paces he wishes he could, but when he does, you can compare him to an animal in heat — rutting up into you, gasping and moaning right in your ear.

he enjoys slow paces too. he can feel every spark of pleasure that runs through him when you're having slower, gentle sex and he considers it to be significantly more intimate than fast—paced, rough sex.

q — quickie :

luka would rather not partake in quickies. he doesn't enjoy being rushed, especially when it comes to pleasuring you or himself.

he would much rather wait until the two of you have enough time to take each other to a more secluded location and thoroughly enjoy toying with one another.

r — risk :

luka loves the adrenaline that runs through him whenever the thought of doing something that'd put his reputation at risk crosses his mind.

just envisioning taking you in a semi—public place where the two of you could get caught at any moment if your movements aren't subtle and your sounds aren't silent has his cheeks going red from bashfulness.

he would love to make those fantasies a reality, but unfortunately, luka's better judgment is telling him not to.

s — stamina :

there's no sugarcoating it — luka can't last much. he's sensitive and gets overstimulated super easily.

he would go at it with you all night long if he could, but luka has to tap out after maximum three rounds. if — with his permission — you continue to use him like a toy, luka will be a sobbing, limp mess. he'll be shooting blanks in no time, and if you're really having a field day with him, he will pass out.

t — toy :

luka doesn't have toys, but he isn't against buying some and trying them out.

if you have toys and approach him, bringing up the idea of implementing them into your sex life, luka will agree enthusiastically. whatever toys you have, luka is open to trying them out on both you and him — gags, blindfolds, vibrators, butt plugs, sounding rods, you name it he's into it.

u — unfair :

luka loves to tease you. while most of the words that escape luka are loving and sweet, a fair amount of them are also playful and even a little bit mean.

luka is actually really good at being mean, despite how lovey—dovey he is around you. such a front is a tactic he has developed to gain the upper hand against his opponents when on stage, but it also has its pros in bed. if you're into being degraded, humiliated and so on, you're in for a ride.

v — volume :

bottoming or topping, luka is loud. at the start or when the pleasure is minimal all that escapes him are small mewls and faint whimpers, but the more he gets into it, the louder he becomes.

he whines. so much. the closer he gets to cumming, the higher his moans get. if his orgasm gets stolen right out of his grasp, his breath will hitch abruptly and he'll go silent for a second before demanding more. if he's overstimulated, no kind of gag or substitute for it that exists on the face of this earth is enough to quiet him down.

w — wild card :

luka has heard about the notion of males squirting one time in the past. the thought comes flying back to him every once in a while, as well as the visual image of what it's like.

whenever his own subconscious reminds him of that phenomenon, luka wonders about what it'd be like to recreate that with you. he isn't sure how to, he has no idea if you'll believe him or even be willing to try it out, but he'd be lying if he were to say that he isn't turned on by the notion.

x — xray :

much like his skin, luka's cock is pale. it's pale, slender and so, so pretty. there's not much girth to it, but the length is enough to reach some of the deepest spots within you.

his tip is a light, rosy hue and it always drips so much pre during foreplay. his cock is sensitive enough as is, but his balls are even more sensitive. play with them and he will cum right on the spot.

y — yearning :

having spent most of his life fixated on surviving instead of focusing on his desire, luka doesn't have a very high sex drive.

when the two of you began to get more and more intimate, his sex drive did increase slightly, but his lifestyle and routine is still approximately the same, so his sex drive is still relatively low.

z — zzz :

after both of you are done and cleaned up, luka's lights are knocked out the second he is in your arms or you're in his.

he won't fall asleep until both of you are laying in bed, needs satiated and mind at ease. that is his personal preference, but he also sleeps best whenever you're right there with him.

[fictionismyreality3]

Price with a Crush

Warnings: romance and everything that comes with it

Notes: I am UTTERLY f e r a l for this man. It is unhealthy and I will not be accepting help 😊

it only happens really slow hits him all at once

honestly even though he knows he could pull whoever, he’s kinda all shy n stuff about his age 🥺

totally blocks out any chance of getting with you in his mind so that he doesn’t get his hopes up

but the man’s a flirt

he can’t help but tease you every time you fumble with your rifle

if you’re not a soldier, he’s always making comments about how cute and small you are

before he realizes it, the joking flirting devolved into him quickly meaning every single word he says

one day, he’ll just stop mid sentence and stare amazed at you with his head tilted to the side, observing you

“Huh.” “What? Do I have something on my face?” “No, no.. I just…”

like he’s shocked he allowed himself to like you 🥱

he cares to a fault

being protective about the people he loves is just in his nature, and he can’t help it with you

honestly he might try to get rid of it 😭 as if he could

once he realizes that there’s no way he could ever stop wanting you, he’s putting all his experience into winning you over

you need a tire change? too busy to take a break? forgot to eat and now it’s 3am? he’s your man 🫡

acts of service are hiS THING

takes pride in every cup of tea he makes you

he’s gonna do everything he can to make sure he’s at the forefront of your mind

if you’re friends with the squad, he’s a little protective at first

will seriously have a dad talk with the guys about how you’re off limits

some guy hollers at you while you’re on base and you’ve never seen the 141 so scared of Price

that private wished he never showed for work that day

“Did you really have to smoke him that much? He looks like he pissed himself, Price.” “It’s just the moustache, sweetheart.”

let’s just say him liking you consists of having a guard dog who you can cuddle at the same time 🤭

[sxvual]

Felicity • n i n e

a/n: In light of recent events I completely understand this book and character may not be your cup of tea anymore. so if there’s anybody wanting to be removed from the tag list please let me know. I take zero offense, promise xx I want everyone to do what’s best for them, you can lmk in the comments or private message me ❤️

cw: Athena be raging ngl.

word count: 5.3k

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Athena sat at her desk, absently twirling a pen between her fingers as her gaze drifted toward the sprawling cityscape outside her office window. The skyline stretched endlessly, glass and steel standing tall against the afternoon sun. It was a sight she usually found grounding—something to keep her tethered to reality. But today, her mind was elsewhere, drifting somewhere between the cabin of a private jet, a little girl’s laughter, and the steady, magnetic pull of a man who had somehow wormed his way beneath her skin.

Natalie’s voice droned in the background, listing off meetings, deadlines, and obligations with machine-like efficiency.

“—Conference call with the Savino Group at ten tomorrow morning, followed by your meeting with the accounting team at one. Then there’s the keynote speech for the multimedia summit next week, which still needs to be finalized,” she rattled off, barely pausing as she scrolled through Athena’s schedule on her tablet like an automated machine.

Athena hummed in response, nodding vaguely.

Natalie stopped mid-scroll, her sharp gaze flicking up. “She’s not listening, is she?”

Across from Athena, Amina reclined in one of the sleek leather chairs, popping a grape into her mouth before smirking. “Not even a little bit.”

Athena scoffed, snapping out of her daze. “I am listening.”

Amina arched a skeptical brow. “Oh yeah? What did Nat just say?”

Athena opened her mouth, stalled, and then quickly pressed her lips shut. “Natalie said…Something about… a conference call?”

Natalie sighed, muttering something under her breath about overpaid CEOs who couldn’t be bothered to remember their own schedules. “Share it with the group.” 

Athena bit with a snarky smile, causing a slight flicker of annoyance to appear on the face of her assistant. But it’s quickly masked by a sickly sweet professional grin.

Amina paid it no mind though and grinned like a cat toying with a mouse. “Alright, spill it. Where’s your head at? And don’t even try to say it’s work, because we both know that’s a damn lie.”

Athena hesitated, her fingers stilling against the cool surface of her desk. She knew exactly where her mind had wandered—to the past few days. Gigi’s infectious giggles. The tiny, plastic tiara perched on Roman’s head. The way he had humored his daughter without an ounce of hesitation. He had looked utterly ridiculous. And yet, devastatingly sweet.

Then there was him as a whole. 

His presence was steady, reassuring in a way she hadn’t expected. His gestures—grand yet thoughtful—weren’t performative; they came from a place of knowing her. In such a little time he already seemed to know her. He listened to her in a way no one ever really had. The necklace, the trip to the Dominican Republic… those weren’t just gifts. They were proof. Proof that he saw her. That he had been paying attention when no one else ever had.

“It’s nothing,” she muttered, too quickly to be convincing.

Amina and Natalie exchanged a glance.

“Oh,” Amina mused, smirking. “It’s definitely something. You wouldn’t be chewing on that pen like it owed you some money if it wasn’t.”

Natalie leaned against the desk, intrigued. “Wait… is this about him? Because, by the way, your meeting with him is still on the calendar, but he hasn’t called to confirm.”

Athena’s brows furrowed. “He hasn’t?”

Natalie shook her head. “Nope. Which is weird, because he doesn’t seem like the type to forget. I mean flowers with sweet notes, messages to the office..”

That gave her pause. Roman was nothing if not consistent. If he hadn’t confirmed, it meant one of two things—either something had come up, or…

Amina studied her carefully. “So, what is it? Are you waiting for him to confirm, or are you hoping he cancels so you don’t have to deal with whatever this is?” She gestured vaguely at Athena, as if trying to physically point out the distraction Roman had become.

Athena exhaled slowly, tapping her nails against the desk. “I don’t know,” she admitted, frustration tightening her tone. “I spent time with him and Gigi, and she’s just… she’s such a sweet kid. I didn’t think I was the type to enjoy being around kids, but she made my heart feel…” She trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Full?” Amina offered.

Athena’s expression softened. “Yeah.”

Natalie and Amina exchanged another knowing look, but neither interrupted.

“And Roman?” Amina pressed gently. “Where does he fit into all of this?”

That was the harder question, the one Athena had been carefully avoiding. But the truth was, Roman had slowly become… something to her. More than a client. More than a friend. He was thoughtful in ways that caught her off guard. No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, she liked it.

“…He makes me happy,” she admitted, voice quieter this time, as if saying it out loud made it more real.

Amina grinned. “Well, well, well. My ice queen sister has a crush.”

Athena rolled her eyes, but the warmth creeping up her neck betrayed her. “It’s not a crush. It’s… curiosity.” It was only then Athena took note of Natalie’s lingering presence. 

“Reynolds, I got it. You can go now.” 

Natalie snorted but took her leave with a smile. 

“Curiosity huh? That tends to be what people say right before they fall head first into something.” 

Athena groaned, rubbing her temples. “Okay, I’m officially done with this conversation.”

Amina laughed. “Sure. But don’t think I’m dropping this. Now, are you gonna call him? Or are you just gonna sit there pretending not to care?”

Athena glanced at her phone, lips pressing together.

“I’ll wait,” she finally said.

But deep down, she wanted him to call.

It had been well over a week now and Athena couldn’t help but expect Romans usual flirtatious antics, she got used to them before she even realized it. 

Yet he still didn’t call. 

An entire day dragged by at an agonizing, glacial pace. Conference calls. Contract signings. Meetings that blurred together. It was a ceaseless stream of work, but none of it distracted her from the silence.

No texts.

No flowers.

Not even a quick, Hey, we still on?

Nothing.

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. And yet, the longer the silence stretched, the more it gnawed at her.

Had she imagined things? Had she misread everything—the warmth, the gestures, the quiet intimacy of it all? Maybe it hadn’t meant as much to him as it had to her.

She hated that thought—hated the vulnerability in it.

Athena was almost over it. Almost. But if she was being honest? Not even close. Today had been a day—the kind that felt like a week compressed into twenty-four relentless hours. Award season loomed just around the corner, and the chaos had arrived early, dragging stress and long nights in its wake. Clients, particularly the B-list disasters, were making a sport out of self-sabotage, leaving her and her team to play cleanup crew. Every morning brought a fresh scandal splattered across blogs and gossip columns—cheating rumors, drunken tirades, social media meltdowns. And somehow, it always landed on Athena’s desk to smooth over. It was grating, infuriating. She wasn’t some glorified janitor, but lately, that’s exactly how it felt.

And then there was Amina.

If there was an award for persistence, her twin would have taken home the trophy and the lifetime achievement honor along with it. From the moment Athena’s eyes opened to the late evening hours, Amina had been relentless—poking, prying, dissecting every detail of the past weekend. Roman. Gianna. The way Athena had disappeared after the gala. And the most irritating question of all: Had he reached out?

That was the one that made Athena’s skin prickle.

Because the answer remained the same, unwavering and undeniable: No.

He hadn’t.

And every time Amina circled back to it, the annoyance chipped away at Athena’s patience, wearing her thin. She didn’t want to care, didn’t want to dissect the silence—but the absence of a message, a call, anything, sat in the back of her mind like a splinter she couldn’t tweeze out. It was irrational. So what if he hadn’t reached out? She had more important things to focus on. But the irritation built, slow and sharp, until it bit down too hard to ignore.

And by the time Natalie, her assistant,  opened her mouth to bring Roman’s name up again, Athena’s patience snapped.

“—And I just assumed you’d want to push the evening meeting with Mr. Reigns, considering he still hasn’t—”

“Assumed?” Athena’s voice was a blade, sharp and precise.

Natalie faltered, blinking at the shift in tone. “I just meant—”

“No, I heard what you meant.” Athena shut the folder in front of her with a deliberate snap. “But see, here’s the problem: You don’t assume anything for me.”

Natalie’s lips parted, but Athena was already standing, moving around her desk with slow, measured steps.

“You schedule meetings. You manage calls. You handle my calendar. That’s your job.” Athena’s voice was clipped, cold. “Your job is not to speculate about my personal life. Your job is not to make adjustments based on your opinion. And your job is certainly not to involve yourself in things that do not concern you.”

Natalie’s jaw tightened, color rising to her cheeks. “That’s not what I was—”

“It’s exactly what you were doing,” Athena cut in. “And I’m done with it. If I have a problem, I’ll handle it. If I need something changed, I’ll tell you. Until then? Stay in your lane.”

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension.

Natalie swallowed hard before nodding stiffly. “Understood.”

Athena held her gaze for a moment longer before giving a sharp, dismissive nod. “Good. Now get out.”

Natalie turned and left, the door clicking shut behind her.

And still, despite the blow up, Athena’s frustration lingered.

Because no matter how much she deflected, no matter how cold she made herself—

The truth remained:

She wasn’t mad at Natalie or her twin.

She was mad at him.

Athena exhaled slowly, pressing her fingers against her temples as the door clicked shut behind Natalie. The room was thick with the weight of her words, the sharp edges of her anger still lingering in the air.

For a moment, there was silence.

But such a luxury could only last so long. 

“Damn,” Amina murmured from her chair, drawing out the word like she was savoring it. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

Athena’s jaw clenched. “Don’t start.”

Amina tilted her head, watching her sister with measured curiosity. “I mean, I know Natalie has a tendency to push boundaries, but that?” She let out a low whistle. “That was brutal, even for you.”

Athena shot her a look. “She was out of line.”

“Maybe.” Amina shrugged. “But you didn’t have to tear her apart like that. You could’ve just reminded her of her place instead of—”

Athena scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you. This is your fault, you know.”

Amina blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You’re too lax with them,” Athena accused, pacing toward her desk. Her heels clicked sharply against the marble floor, punctuating her frustration. “You let them joke with you, pry into your business, blur the lines. And because you do it, they think they can do it with me.” She turned, eyes flashing. “But they can’t. I’m not just their boss. I’m the boss. Everyone’s boss. Even yours.”

The moment the words left her mouth, she saw the flicker of something in Amina’s expression. A brief shift—annoyance, irritation, something she tried to mask but didn’t quite manage.

Amina let out a slow, measured breath. “Oh, so that’s what this is about.”

Athena crossed her arms. “It’s about making sure people know their place—”

“No,” Amina cut in, her voice suddenly sharper, less amused. “It’s about you being pissed off at something else and taking it out on Natalie. You know that, right?”

Athena bristled. “That’s not what happened.”

Amina let out a dry laugh. “Bullshit.”

Athena’s gaze hardened. “You’re missing the point.”

“No, you’re avoiding the point,” Amina countered. “You’ve been in a mood all damn day, snapping at people, walking around like a storm cloud, and I’m supposed to believe it’s just because Natalie stepped out of line?” She shook her head, exasperated. “Come on, Athena. I know you better than that.”

Athena pressed her lips together, unwilling to give an inch.

Amina studied her for a long moment, then exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she pushed up from her seat. “Fine. Be like that.” She strode toward the door, but before she left, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.

“You know, for someone who prides themselves on control, you sure let your emotions whip you around like a ragdoll today.”

Athena’s head snapped up, her expression sharp. “Excuse me?”

Amina turned fully, her hand still on the doorknob. “You heard me. That wasn’t leadership, Athena. That was a tantrum in designer heels.”

Athena’s nostrils flared. “You think I threw a tantrum?”

“I know you did,” Amina shot back. “You tore into Natalie like she was the one who ghosted you. And let’s not pretend that’s not what this is about.”

“I’m not doing this with you,” Athena said, waving her off like the conversation was beneath her.

“Oh, but you are,” Amina said, stepping back into the room and letting the door shut behind her. “Because I’m not going to let you project your shit onto everyone else just because a man made you feel something.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is watching you burn everyone around you because you’re scared to admit you care. Scared that maybe—just maybe—he matters more than you want him to.”

Athena looked away, jaw clenched. “You’re reading way too much into this.”

“No, you’re not reading into it enough.” Amina’s voice softened slightly, but the steel remained beneath it. “You felt something real. And instead of sitting with it—processing it like an adult—you’re lashing out. At Natalie. At me. Hell, you probably barked at the barista this morning too.”

Athena’s gaze flicked up, guilt flashing behind her irritation.

“Look,” Amina continued, voice gentler now. “I get it. Vulnerability? It’s not your thing. It never has been. But what Roman gave you this weekend? That wasn’t just a fling or a PR stunt. It was connection. And it scared the hell out of you.”

Athena’s hands tightened into fists at her sides. “It didn’t scare me.”

Amina tilted her head. “Didn’t it? Because the Athena I know—the real you—doesn’t get quiet over men. Doesn’t let silence rattle her. And she sure as hell doesn’t get so worked up that she snaps at people who’ve done nothing wrong.”

Athena looked down, her voice brittle. “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” Amina cut in gently. “But that doesn’t make it okay. Natalie’s not the problem here. Roman is. Or rather, how he made you feel is.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and unrelenting.

Finally, Athena let out a slow breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “He made me feel seen. Like really seen. And I think… I think I liked it more than I should’ve.”

Amina’s expression softened. “And now he’s gone quiet.”

Athena nodded, folding her arms tightly. “And now I feel stupid. I don’t do this. I don’t let people in. But I let him in—just a little—and now he’s disappeared like it meant nothing. And I’m the idiot sitting here waiting on a call that might never come.”

Amina crossed the room slowly, placing a hand on her twin’s shoulder. “You’re not an idiot. You’re human. And believe it or not, that’s not a weakness. It’s just proof you’re still capable of feeling.”

Athena’s eyes glistened, but she blinked the tears away before they could fall. “I hate this.”

“I know,” Amina said softly. “But you’re not alone in it. You’ve got me, remember?”

Athena looked up, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a bit. “Yeah. I know.”

Amina gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “So maybe go a little easier on the people around you, huh? We’re not the enemy.”

Athena managed a faint, rueful smile. “Noted.”

“And maybe,” Amina added, stepping back with a wink, “instead of waiting on a call, you pick up the damn phone and make one.”

Athena didn’t reply, but as Amina left the room this time, there was no slamming of doors, no sharp retorts—only the quiet hum of possibility left in her wake.

Athena prided herself on never waiting around for a man. That was her excuse for not calling. 

She was too busy, too important, too focused to waste time on something as trivial as 

And yet, as the hours of the day slipped away, she couldn’t shake the gnawing irritation that settled in the pit of her stomach.

She wasn’t expecting much—she never did. But after everything, after the weekend, after the way he looked at her when she agreed to try… she figured he’d at least say something.

Instead, she got nothing.

By noon, she brushed it off, too immersed in a brutal negotiation call to care.

By two, she had silenced her phone entirely, forcing herself not to check it between meetings.

By four, she was staring blankly at the pages of a contract while Natalie’s voice droned in the background.

“…conference call with the Zurich team at ten tomorrow—Ms. James?”

Athena didn’t even look up. “I got it.”

There was a beat of silence before Natalie cleared her throat. “Right. I’ll email you the details.” She hesitated, gaze flickering to Amina, who was perched on the other side of Athena’s desk, watching her sister like a hawk. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

Athena barely registered her assistant’s exit, flipping a page in the contract like she was actually absorbing any of the words in front of her.

“I think you’ve traumatized that poor girl.” 

“Bite me.” Athena's words were quick and cutting almost. 

“Like you’ve done the head of every employee we have today, no little sister I’m the nice boss remember? They’re boss at least.” The shade was obvious. 

Amina let the silence stretch before she finally sighed, setting down her cappuccino.

“So, we're gonna talk about the brooding thing you’ve got going on, or are you gonna keep pretending that you’re not pissed off?”

Athena didn’t look up. “I’m not brooding.”

Amina arched her brow. “Right. And I’m not your twin. With a matching face and brain?’

Athena turned a page scoffing.

Amina snorted. “Girl, give it up. You’ve been about as present as a deadbeat dad today. And I know why.”

Athena’s gaze finally lifted, sharp and unimpressed. “Do you?”

Amina smirked, crossing her legs. “Nothing still.”

Athena exhaled sharply, shutting the folder in front of her. “I have work to do, Amina.”

Amina ignored that entirely, leaning forward. “You really thought he’d call, huh?”

Athena’s nails tapped against the desk, slow and deliberate. “I wasn’t expecting anything.”

It was a lie.

They both knew it.

And Athena hated that Amina saw right through her.

Her sister tilted her head, examining her. “You’re mad.”

Athena scoffed. “I’m not mad.”

Amina grinned. “Oh, you big mad.”

Athena leveled her with a look. “Drop it.”

Amina just studied her, unfazed. “I never thought I’d see you like someone so much.”

Athena let out a humorless laugh. “I never said that.”

Amina lifted a brow. “Oh, honey. The fact that you’re spiraling over radio silence says everything for you.”

Athena opened her mouth ready to argue, but nothing came out. She did like him. 

Athena didn’t dignify that with a response, pushing up from her chair with a curt, “I’ll see you later.”

Amina didn't push further, but the glint in her eyes told her that her sister knew exactly what was going on.

As she walked to the door, she felt the weight of everything pressing down on her—the work, the disappointment, and the unresolved feelings that had begun to crowd her mind.

Once in the hallway, Athena stopped, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She'd spent so much of her life building walls around her emotions, making sure nothing ever got too close. But Roman… he had breached those walls in ways she hadn’t even noticed until now. The way he made her laugh, the quiet moments with him that felt like they held more weight than anything else, and the way he’d shown up for her when it mattered most. It wasn’t just the attraction—though that was undeniable—it was something deeper, something that made her feel like she might not have to do it all alone anymore.

But the silence… the lack of any communication since that weekend? It gnawed at her. And now, it felt like a cruel test. Was she important enough for him to reach out, or had he simply moved on?

By the time Athena got home, the silence in her penthouse was suffocating. Her exhaustion went beyond the physical.

She went through the motions—shower, skincare, moisturizing, then dressing in one of her dark silky midi robes. Her mind was still reeling a thousand miles away—she didn’t like this feeling, waiting. It made her feel beyond vulnerable.

Any yet, she still sat at the edge of her bed, hand fisting her freshly washed and detangled curls in frustration. Checking her phone like a schoolgirl waiting for the boy she liked to text her back. 

She had been stupid to think he was different.

Stupid to think it had meant anything.

She glanced at her phone, expression impassive, thumb hovering over his contact. 

Don’t do it.

She locked it and set it down.

Then—

FaceTime Incoming: Roman Reigns.

Her heart stalled.

For a second, she considered ignoring it. Making him wait the way he had made her.

But she wasn’t that childish.

So she answered.

The screen filled with his face, hair pulled into a messy bun, dark circles under his eyes. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he still looked… good.

Annoyingly good.

He exhaled the second she appeared.

“I’m so sorry.”

Athena’s face remained neutral. “Are you?”

Roman hesitated, caught off guard by her clipped tone.

Then he nodded. “Yeah. I meant to call, but Gigi—” He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “She got sick. Stomach bug. It’s been hell.”

Athena remained still, unreadable.

Then, quietly, “Is she okay?” her voice was soft and concerned.

Roman nodded. “Getting better. Just been a rough couple of days.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then—

“You should’ve just said that,” Athena said evenly. “Would’ve taken two seconds.”

Roman blinked.

Athena tilted her head, eyes cool. “I get it. You were busy. But you could’ve said something.”

Roman held her gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his own.

Then he sighed. “You’re right.”

Athena waited, watching him.

Finally, he exhaled, voice softer. 

“I didn’t mean to leave you hanging, babygirl. I’m sorry.”

Something in her expression wavered, just for a second.

But then she nodded, as if satisfied.

“Alright.”

Roman studied her.

“…Alright?”

Athena shrugged, but there was something distant in her eyes.

“Nothing else to say.”

A pause.

Then, “Meeting’s still on tomorrow?” she asked, businesslike.

Roman’s jaw tensed slightly, as if he wasn’t sure how to read her shift in demeanor.

“Yeah,” he said. “But at my place.”

Athena stilled.

Roman saw the hesitation, so he pressed.

“I can’t leave Gigi. And I don’t want to put this off.”

A moment passed.

Then another.

Athena finally exhaled, nodding. “…Fine.”

Roman’s lips twitched, but he didn’t push his luck.

“Good.”

Another bout of silence stretched on between them. Roman of course being the one to break it, flashing her a teasing smile. “Hey, beautiful.” 

“Don’t hey me, asshole.”

“Don’t do that beautiful. You know I missed you right?”

Athena rolled her eyes, of course the handsome bastard would try and charm his way out of this. “Cut the crap, I still don’t like you right now. I just feel bad for Gigi.” 

“So give her poor dad some slack would you?” 

Athena leaned back onto her perfectly coiffed pillows, her face still stony, while the handsome devil just grinned on. 

“She threw up on me twice.”  

“You probably deserved it.” 

“She didn’t even apologize, just demanded more blue gatorade.” Finally she cracked and let out a high pitched squeal of a laugh that slightly shocked them both. But Athena couldn’t be bothered to care; she giggled without abandon and Roman enjoyed every second of it. 

“I like it when you laugh like that.”

“What are you talking about, a laugh is a laugh.” He shook his head, smirking. 

"You're not fooling anyone, Athena," he said softly, his voice carrying a hint of amusement mixed with something else, something heavier.

Athena shot him a glance, trying to maintain her composure. "And what’s that supposed to mean?" she asked, her tone sharp but laced with a thread of curiosity.

He leaned back slightly, his posture casual, but there was an intensity to his gaze that made her feel like the room was getting smaller. "I think you know exactly what I mean." He paused for a moment, his smirk softening into something almost unreadable. "But maybe you're just too proud to admit it."

Her breath hitched slightly at his words, a mix of frustration and something else tightening in her chest. "You're full of yourself," she muttered, but the words didn’t feel as strong as she wanted them to. Roman's smirk deepened, a knowing glint flickering in his eyes.

"Maybe," he said, his voice lowering, "but I’m right, aren’t I?"

For a moment, they stood in silence, the tension hanging thick between them. Athena tried to look away, but something in his stare held her captive, a pull that made her heart race in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

Before she could respond, he took a step closer, the space between them closing rapidly. "I don't bite, you know," he said with a quiet chuckle. "Unless you want me to."

Her pulse quickened, a mixture of irritation and something more dangerous bubbling to the surface. "You think you're funny?"

His hand brushed against hers as he passed her, his touch barely there, but it sent a jolt of electricity through her. He didn’t look back, but his words lingered in the air.

“Come to mine tomorrow, we can talk shop over dinner.” 

“Absolutely not.” 

Roman just grinned at her hard “no,” like it was a dare instead of a denial. “C’mon, Athena,” he said, voice low and coaxing. “Let me cook for you. One dinner. At my place. Gigi will be asleep by the time you get there.” He leaned closer into the camera, the screen filled with those ridiculous eyes and that cocky mouth, and she hated how much power they had over her.

“I’ll make the steak the way you like it,” he added, like he had any damn business knowing that. Athena narrowed her eyes. “You don’t know how I like my steak.” “I do. Medium rare, cast iron, garlic butter. Simple.” She blinked. “How—” “I pay attention.” His voice was softer now, and it tugged something loose in her chest.

But still— “That’s not the point,” she said quickly. “We have a meeting, Roman. This is business.” “So we’ll talk business,” he said easily. “You help me prep for your interview, I’ll handle dinner. You’re busy, I get it. That’s why I’m making it easy. You don’t have to think, don’t have to get dressed up, don’t even have to wear shoes. Just show up.” Athena bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to show how much she was wavering. “And if I say no?” “I’ll probably still send a car. Might even guilt-trip you with a sad dad text. Maybe a picture of Gigi making her ‘please’ face.” Athena rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.” Roman smiled. “But charming. Admit it.” “No.” “Admit it just a little.” She exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Fine. Dinner. Meeting. That’s it.” Roman beamed. “Yes ma’am. I’ll even wear a real shirt this time.” He looked down at his stained white beater with some of Gigi’s spilled gatorade and probably snot as well. “Please do. You looked like you just crawled out of a swamp.” “Still look good though.” Athena glared at him, but her lips twitched. “I’ll see you at seven.” “I’ll be ready.” He paused, then added, “And Athena?” She met his gaze through the screen, the smallest tilt of her head. “I’m really glad you picked up.” She didn’t respond right away, but her face softened. “…So am I.”

The call ended, leaving her staring at her screen in silence. And despite everything—the radio silence, the tension, the frustration—she felt her chest lift, just a little.

Not because he had charmed her. Not because he apologized. But because he showed up, again.

And maybe, just maybe… She wasn’t as alone in this thing as she thought.

Roman stared at the empty screen long after the call ended, the faint echo of Athena’s laugh still bouncing around his head like a melody he didn’t want to forget.

That laugh… it had cracked through the distance between them, just for a second. And God, he’d missed it more than he realized.

He leaned back against the couch, one arm cradling Gigi’s small frame where she dozed on his chest, knocked out from the fever and exhaustion. Her breath was slow and steady now, but Roman had been on edge for two days—up every hour, washing sheets, cleaning up messes, making soothing sounds when she cried. It had been chaotic. And in the middle of it, he’d gone silent.

He hadn’t meant to. But his babygirl commanded nearly all of him and Roman would always happily give it. 

But Athena didn’t deserve radio silence. Not her. Not the woman who carried steel in her spine and grief in her eyes like a secret language only a few would ever understand.

He let his head fall back against the cushion with a low exhale.

There were a lot of beautiful women in his world. Loud, magnetic, carefully crafted illusions that all seemed to blend together the second he left the room.

But not her.

Athena wasn’t just someone you noticed—she was the one you remembered. Not because she demanded it. Not because she tried. But because the second she walked into a room, he didn’t see anyone else.

And more than that—he felt her. Even in silence. Even now.

Roman glanced toward the soft lamp glow spilling across his living room and imagined her here. Her heels kicked off in the entryway. Her face pinched from the weight of her day. Her body stiff from holding too much tension for too damn long. He thought about what he really wanted tomorrow to look like.

Not just a meal. Not just business.

He wanted to cook for her, plate her favorite food—even if he had to Google ten recipes just to get it right. He wanted to sit her down, take off her shoes, and rub her feet while they argued over something dumb on TV. He wanted to learn what movie made her laugh without thinking, what comfort film she watched when she was too exhausted to keep pretending she didn’t need anyone.

He wanted to hear how she liked her tea, if she slept with a fan on, if she always twisted her hair like that when she was thinking.

Because caring for her didn’t feel like a responsibility.

It felt like a privilege.

And yeah, he’d messed up by not calling. He owned that.

But tomorrow… tomorrow he’d make it up to her. With dinner. With quiet care. With small things that added up to something bigger than words.

He glanced down at Gigi, brushing her hair back from her warm forehead. Then he looked back at his phone, thumb hovering over the Notes app.

Athena’s favorite comfort movie – Ask her first thing.

*Foot rub. No arguments. No negotiations. She needs it.

*Something sweet after dinner. Not just dessert. Say what you feel, don’t hide behind charm this time.

Roman smiled softly to himself, locking the screen.

He didn’t just want her in his bed.

He wanted her in his life.

And if tomorrow was the first step to proving that—then he’d make damn sure it counted.

🏷️ tags:

@trippinsorrows @southerngirl41 @lilucey @alichesmi @skyesthebomb

@reginawhorge01 @jazzyboo123-blog1 @overrboarrd @heerah34 @whowrotethenote

@sharmelasworld @purplementalitybluebird @sheaabuttaababyy @beccalynns-world @littlepieceofsh

@diamondlifeee

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

VII ║Fleabitten

Jack Daniels x f!reader

{ Part 6: Mustang | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist }

Rating: E

Summary: You and Jack spend your last night together in the mountains - for now.

Warnings: Mentions of food and cooking, angst, feelings, flirting, insecurities, very light soft!dom overtones, sexual innuendoes, handjob, risky unprotected sex (wrap it up, kids!), dirty talk, language, no use of Y/N

Word count: 4.2k

Notes: I know I made you guys wait for this one, I'm sorry it took so long! It's no secret that I'm dragging my feet because I don't want this packtrip to be over, but we all have to brave and face the inevitable 🥺 I hope you enjoy spending the last night in the mountains with Jack and his Darlin' ❤️

Fleabitten: A colour consisting of a white hair coat with small pigmented speckles or freckles.

You’ve never considered yourself a creature of habit. 

You have your routines, of course. But habit is more. It’s a dependency, emotional and physical. It’s something that’s hard to give up. It’s a prickle under the skin that is only soothed when said habit is fulfilled.

Surely, habit is hewn over time. A quiet, imperceptible chipping away at your bones until it becomes part of you. It must take more than a week to make a habit out of something. 

Except, it feels a lot like habit when you wake up to pink skies and take your first breath of sweet mountain air to start the day. That first mug of coffee warmed over rekindled embers from the night before. How Scotch always prances into a little canter to warm up when you hop on, but not until he knows you’re fully sat with the tips of your toes through the stirrups irons.

It’s the way you angle the brim of your hat and flip up the collar of your shirt even before the sun hits just so. It’s the all-consuming awe that pins you to the spot, wherever you are, whatever you’re in the middle of, when the sunset paints every inch of earth in rose gold.

And for the past three nights, it’s the assuring weight of strong arms around your waist that has lulled you to sleep, the kiss of warm breath on your temple - a familiarity that runs too deep in too short a time for you to comprehend.

Habit.

It’s the sixth day of the pack trip - first thing tomorrow, just after breakfast, Jack will be leading you across the mountain, back the way you came, to get back to the ranch by mid-afternoon.

Words are scarce when the two of you approach the last Statesman campsite on the trail, the neat stone pit now a familiar sight.

Even the horses are subdued. Scotch stands obediently, flicking his tail while you untack him, when he would usually be nudging at your hands with his velvety nose, snickering for a cheeky apple slice before supper.

It’s second nature to you now, hanging the sweaty saddle pad on a low-hanging branch to dry before setting the saddle and bridle on the wooden post for cleaning. Jack follows, standing on the other side, handing you a wet rag. You get to work, scrubbing out the grime and sweat from the well-worn leather.

His eyes are on you, a phantom weight on your shoulders - they’re not exactly sore, having grown used to long hours in the saddle over the week, but you are tired, albeit the good kind. One that a good, long soak in a hot bubble bath would fix, with a certain cowboy in the same tub -

‘Whatcha smilin’ ‘bout, Darlin’?’

Glancing up, you match his arched eyebrow with one of yours, planting your elbows on the spine of the saddle and standing onto your tiptoes to brush your lips against his. Well, a portable shower ain’t the same, but -

‘Shall we clean up, cowboy?’

Jack groans deep into your neck, the taste of soap thick on his tongue.

‘Is this how you jerked off thinking about me that first day?’ you tease, your grip sliding slickly along his cock.

‘Oh fuck,’ he pants, brow scrunched up in pleasure-pain, scraping his teeth on your collar bone. ‘Didn’t feel half as good, darlin’.’

A moan slips from you when one large palm finds your backside and squeezes, his fingers digging into the plump flesh as he whimpers by your ear. Bowing his head, he takes a nipple into his mouth, sucking on your sensitive skin until you arch into his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for him to come all over your hand - sticky, milky strands slipping thickly down the gaps of your fingers, stringing between them like spider webs. You’re reluctant to let go, humming soothingly into his ear as the last of his orgasm shudders through his body.

He holds you tight, his heart a sharp staccato against your chest, as the slow trickle of lukewarm water washes away all traces of him.

Once the portable shower is empty, you take your time getting dressed. Jack wipes you down with your towel while you rub his hair dry with his. Walking back to camp hand in hand, you grin when the horses come into sight, chasing and egging each other on like puppies at the dog park.

Thousand-pound puppies, more like. 

Dropping the dirty laundry by a tree to be packed later, he whistles with his fingers. ‘C’mon boys, supper time!’

The trio line up smartly by the wooden post as Jack preps the feed, measuring out the grain and hay pellets by sight, filling their buckets. Their nostrils flare and ears prick up at the sight of their dinner, but other than a stray nicker or two, they remain impressively patient.

Their buckets are dropped in front of their hooves when he’s done, and you may be imagining the sharp intake of air as the horses await the okay from their cowboy.

At his nod, all three practically lunge at their supper, munching happily. You laugh, and Jack watches on proudly.

A quiet desperation slinks in when you’re not looking, winding tighter and tighter around your ribs like a vice that leaves you short of breath as the minutes and hours slip by. You’re restless, your legs bouncing in agitation, your eyes darting about, frantically trying to commit everything to memory, yet never lingering anywhere long enough to do so.

But it’s not really about the things you can see. It’s the bitter bite of smoke in the clean mountain air. It’s the orange heat of the campfire that you wear like a favourite cardigan. It’s the simplicity of getting from point A to point B, with nothing but grassland and forest in between.

But real life isn’t simple. Things that you vowed to push to the back of your mind at the beginning of the trip bubble to the surface for an unwelcome moment. You have bills to pay. You have a deadweight of a house to sell. You have an ex not pulling his weight -

‘Darlin’?’

The white noise that you weren’t even aware had filled your ears subsides, and your gaze snaps up to Jack, blinking. The weight of the knife in your hand comes back to you, and you glance down at the bell pepper you were in the middle of dicing up.

You give him a shaky smile and carry on with your errand. ‘Sorry.’

He brushes a thumb on your cheek. ‘You were thinkin’ mighty loud.’

Not wanting to dampen your last night together, you shake your head and lean over to kiss him. You huff, ‘Just hungry. Get cooking, cowboy.’

Jack knows you’re fibbing, but he says no more. He can admit to himself that you’re not the only one struggling with loud thoughts tonight.

You’re right, he should turn his focus to making dinner instead - chili and cornbread, classic southern comfort food. Lord knows the both of you can do with some comfort tonight.

‘Want to help me with the cornbread?’ he asks, knowing you’d want to keep your hands busy.

‘Damn, I sure miss the days when you insisted that I shouldn’t help with anything at all,’ you tease, which makes him chuckle.

‘C’mere, darlin’.’

He’d measured out the dry ingredients for the cornbread back at the Halfway House and tipped it all into a mason jar - flour, cornmeal and raising agents. You whisk the batter with a fork as he cracks in three eggs and pours in the milk (he usually uses buttermilk, but it has to be shelf stable milk on the trail) until it’s smooth and thin. You carefully pour the mixture into a well-oiled cast iron skillet, which he then nestles in the heart of the fire. The batter bubbles like slow-burning lava as it cooks, the savoury sweetness filling the evening air.

‘That’ll cook in a half hour, so we should start on the chili,’ he says. ‘I normally simmer it for at least an hour, but I think we’re both hungry, right?’

‘I’m fine with express chili, cowboy.’

Jack sets a deep-set saucepan on the pit, drizzling in olive oil to preheat it. He knows the recipe by heart, but with no fresh beef mince on hand, he has his usual substitutions when cooking it on the trail. Into the pan goes finely diced cured sausage, onion, red bell peppers, peeled carrot ribbons and celery.

‘Is that Poppy’s recipe?’ you ask, tummy rumbling at the vivid scents as the pan sizzles.

‘It’s my mama’s, actually,’ he smiles, stirring with a wooden spoon. ‘It’s the one recipe Poppy allows on the trail that is not hers.’

‘If that isn’t a stamp of approval, I don’t know what is,’ you chuckle. ‘And where’s your mama?’

‘Still lives with my old man back home in Kentucky,’ he answers, scraping in minced garlic, a good squeeze of tomato paste and one big can of plum tomatoes, which he crushes one by one with the back of the spoon.

‘What do they do?’ you ask, genuinely curious. His family hasn’t come up in conversation in the past few days.

Jack is happy to indulge you. ‘Pop used to run a little corner shop in town, but he’s retired now. My ma’s an equine veterinarian, used to have a practice, but she shut that down a few years ago and is mostly a lady of leisure nowadays.’

You nudge his shoulder with yours. ‘Horses run in the family, I see.’

‘Never stood a chance,’ he jokes. ‘She still helps out on my uncle’s farm if they need an extra pair of hands. My cousins mostly run the place nowadays.’

The saucepan sputters at the generous pouring of barbeque sauce (homemade of course, Poppy’s secret recipe) that goes in next, followed by a can of beer, a beef stock cube (crumbled), Worcestershire sauce, balsamic vinegar and honey.

‘Are your parents from the same town?’

‘No, ma’s from the city, moved to the backwaters to marry my country bumpkin daddy,’ he replies, flashing you a meaningful smile. 

Your cheeks heat up unbidden, and you bite your bottom lip, the shyness that rears its head  feeling very alien after being so comfortable around this cowboy for these few days. You meet his eyes though, cocking your head to one side. ‘Is that so?’

He grins, stirring the chili as he continues. ‘My papaw Henry nearly disowned her, didn’t even go to the weddin’, but he came round when I was born. Turned out he got on with my other grandpa Noah like a house on fire. They used to come and spend a week in the mountains with Champ and I every year before Henry passed.’

You reach out and squeeze his free hand. ‘And where is Noah now?’

‘He lives in a little cabin off the main house with my uncle. Can barely walk, but he still rides every morning,’ he shakes his head fondly, tipping in the drained kidney and black beans.

He’s quiet for a moment as he studies the chili, simmering away, then gives you a sidelong glance. Despite a deliberate attempt to keep his tone light, the weight of his words cannot be erased by simple inflection. ‘I’m sure they’d love to meet you, darlin’.’

But as soon as he hears himself - the absurd wishful thinking in it - he shifts in his seat awkwardly, clearing his throat. You fuckin’ clown. How is this appropriate conversation when he’s known you for six days? Hell, you’d only just started sleeping together what, three nights ago? Fuck, has it only been three - ?

Two gentle fingers hook under his chin, turning his face towards you, cutting off the jumble of voices in his head. You shuffle closer so that you’re pressed right up against his side, warm and soft, and when you kiss him slowly and sweetly, it tastes like reassurance. 

‘I’d love that too, cowboy.’

The chili is the best you’ve ever had - smoky, spicy and balanced out with a touch of sweetness from the barbeque sauce. The cornbread fresh from the skillet is so moreish, there’s nothing but crumbs left in the skillet when the two of you are done.

You’re close to bursting, sprawled lazily on your sleeping bag, your back propped up against a log. The fire has died down to a low-burning flame, and you’re right on the brink of nodding off. 

But as it turns out, Jack still has a trick or two up his sleeves. 

He reaches over you to grab one of the saddlebags, rifling around and you laugh as he unveils, one after the other - a bag of jumbo marshmallows, Graham crackers, and a bar of dark chocolate. 

‘Can’t say I pegged you for a s’mores kinda cowboy,’ you tease as he lays out the ingredients on the ground. 

‘It’s a Statesman tradition, we always close out a pack trip with s’mores. C’mon, I’ll show you how to make a proper one.’

You huff a laugh. ‘Oh, are we really going there?’

He feigns ignorance. ‘Whatever do you mean, ma’am?’

‘The shortest way to an argument is anything to do with s’mores.’

‘Don’t worry darlin’, I’m sure we’ll kiss and make up.’

Jack gets up and steps briefly out of the orange halo of the campfire to rustle up a couple of sticks for the marshmallows. Knees creaking as he sits down next to you, he pulls out the knife from the holster he wears on the back of his jeans, sharpening the wooden ends with a telling familiarity.

The chocolate bar is wrapped in fancy, gilded packaging, the words organic and bean to bar glowing gold in the firelight as you turn it over in your hands. ‘Huh. No Hershey’s?’

The cowboy waggles one perfectly pointed end of a stick at you in warning. ‘Rule number one - do not mention the H word in front of Poppy. You will be evicted and barred from the state of Wyoming till kingdom come.’

‘Oh, I believe you,’ you chuckle, tearing into the packaging and breaking up the chocolate into tidy squares along the grooves.

Sheathing his knife, Jack reaches for the saddle bag once again. ‘Can’t forget the secret ingredient.’

You blink in incredulity at what he brandishes, the familiar whiff registering. ‘Is that - applewood?’

He winks, testing the weight of the logs in his hands. ‘The applewood infuses the marshmallows with a sweet smokiness - I’m tellin’ you, the Statesman s’mores is somethin’ else.’

With a shake of your head, you grin. ‘Alright cowboy, show me how to make some proper s’mores.’

Twenty minutes later, you wish you could take it back.

‘Scientific’ doesn’t even begin to describe Jack’s process. You’re huddled in a blanket, hugging your knees, watching as he turns over the marshmallows with methodological precision and infinite patience - neither of which you possess. He’d confiscated yours when you tried to stick them straight into the flames, declaring that you’re unfit to make your own s’mores.

The night air is singed with the delicate note of apple blossoms, while four chocolate squares slowly warm on graham crackers where they sit on stones around the campfire. 

You sit poutily, glaring at the fluffy white blobs that look just as pale as they were straight out of the bag.

‘I could’ve made about three s’mores by now,’ you gripe.

Jack doesn’t look up from the fire, but the corner of his mouth curls in amusement. ‘You’re on holiday, remember? Relax. Patience is a virtue, darlin’.’

You tilt your head in a challenge. ‘Do you really think I give a damn about virtue, cowboy?’

His grin turns brash, eyes crinkling mischievously at the corners. ‘No, ma’am, and I thank my lucky stars that you don’t.’

‘C’mon Jack,’ you whine. ‘Let's just eat the stupid s’mores and go to bed.’

‘Good things take time,’ he says simply. And then, with the minutest flex of his tone, he changes tact. ‘Will you be a good girl for me and be patient?’

You watch his smile widen as he obviously hears your breath hitch.

Biting your lip, you goad him, ‘Oh, is that how you’re going to play it, sir?

The gentleman in him recedes, and the rake glimpses through in the way he eyes you with a deliberately smarmy want. ‘I don’t hear you complainin’ when I take my time with you, darlin’.’

Your mouth hangs open in affront. ‘Are you seriously comparing me to roasted marshmallows?’

He leans over and purrs into your ear. ‘Well, your pussy is just as sweet, and soft, and warm -’

You groan and push him hard on the shoulder. ‘Thanks ruining marshmallows for me, cowboy!’

With a laugh, Jack nods towards the fire. ‘Grab the graham crackers please, darlin’. They're done.’

Sure enough, while you were distracted, the fluffy white blobs are finished with a perfect, golden crust, but have enough structural integrity to hold shape on the ends of the sticks.

‘You ready?’ he prompts.

A graham cracker in each hand, one with chocolate and the other without, you admit, ‘I hate this part, I always make such a mess.’

He smirks, ‘Didn’t think you minded makin’ a mess, darlin’.’

You roll your eyes at him, with no real annoyance. ‘You’re insufferable, cowboy.’

Cushioining one marshmallow on the chocolate side of the cracker, he instructs, ‘Now put the other one on top and grip the whole stack firmly. Got it?’

At your nod, Jack carefully extracts the stick, wriggling as he goes, one thumb against the end to keep the marshmallow from sliding out.

With a dramatic flourish, he ta-das. ‘There you go, a Statesman s’mores for my cowgirl.’

Something in your brain short-circuits at him calling you his cowgirl. 

Not just his. 

But the cowgirl to his cowboy.

Unable to conjure up any words, you fixate on the melted marshmallow on his thumb. Grabbing his hand and bringing it to your face, you wrap your lips around it, sucking the sweet smear of residue right off his smoke-tipped finger.

His gaze is dark even as the red and yellow flickers in his eyes when he swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, his voice a soft rasp. 

‘Good girl.’

‘So - what happens tomorrow?’

Your question is quiet, half murmured into the hollow of his neck in the twilight zone, on the cusp of sleep. Your head is tucked under his chin, his arms around your waist under the blanket.

‘We’ll get back to the ranch around three. The team will get the horses settled in, unpack everything, and you can have a nice hot shower. Then we’ll have sunset drinks and dinner.’

You hum noncommittally. The silence cackles for a beat, before you venture, ‘And then?’

For once, Jack doesn’t have an answer.

He doesn’t sleep that night. 

He holds you close, running a calloused palm against your back when you shift restlessly in your sleep, feeling the rise and fall of your chest against his own.

The sun rises pink and gentle. This camping spot was a deliberate choice - it hangs over a small slope, facing east with an open view of the plains below, where the horses are dozing, the Bighorn rising from the horizon straight ahead. 

He must have drifted off without him noticing, because he wakes up to your lips on his.

He blinks, lids heavy with slumber. ‘Mornin’.’

You smile through hooded eyes, cording your fingers through his hair. ‘Morning, cowboy. It’s a pretty sunrise for our last day in the mountains.’

‘Who says it’s our last, darlin’?’

His challenge lingers between you, the tension sinking its hooks into his skin and pulling - until you close the gap and kiss him. 

It’s sloppy, clumsy, teeth clunking against teeth - it’s too damn early - and he pushes you back to nip and suck his way down your neck, undoing the top three buttons on his flannel that you’ve taken to wearing to bed before pushing it over your head.

‘Jack,’ you whine as his hands push your tits together, smearing open-mouthed kisses all over them.

‘Fuck,’ he grunts, the harsh sound catching in his throat. Grinding his cock between your thighs, his big hands push your panties down in a hazy frenzy, followed by his sweats, which he kicks off blindly.

‘Please,’ you choke out, voice breaking as your soft, naked body arches into him.

He hushes you, breath hot and heavy in your ear, teasing his length slickly between the wet lips of your pussy. ‘Yeah? Desperate for this cock, are you, darlin’?’

Through a broken moan, you whimper, ‘Yes, please please please, Jack -’

‘So pretty beggin’ for me,’ he grins, but he knows it probably looks more like a pained grimace as he trembles above you. You're soaking the curls at the bottom of his cock even though he hasn’t even fucked you yet.

‘Please, want you inside me, cowboy -’

He holds out, letting the arousal swell and mount between you with a recklessness that is unlike him, demanding, ‘How, darlin’?’

‘Hard, want you to fuck me hard -’

Rolling you onto your side so that he brackets you from behind, he opens you up with one hand under your right knee, pushing it against your front so that he can see your dripping cunt. Running his thumb over it, you jerk in his hold, moaning for him. ‘Jack, please -’

‘What did I say about patience bein’ a virtue, hmm?’ he teases through gritted teeth, dipping one finger shallowly into you, which is enough to make you keen.

You’re babbling incoherently as he lines himself up against your entrance. ‘Fuck me, please, need you inside me -’

You break off into a strangled sob when he pushes the blunt tip of his cock into you, a hoarse groan in his windpipe as he feels you stretch around him. It feels different, more intense, but his sleep-clouded brain can’t grasp why. He pumps into you slowly and deliberately, eyes screwed shut as your cunt squeezes him, his fingers sure to leave marks where they hold onto the swell of your hips.

‘So - so good, Jack,’ you pant.

‘Yes, darlin’,’ he rasps into the back of your neck, fucking you in firm strokes now, palming your tits from behind. ‘This gorgeous pussy grippin’ me so tight, gettin’ so wet on my big cock.’

‘Only for you,’ you declare, rolling your hips so he hits a particularly deep spot inside you.

‘For me,’ he echoes with a groan, planting one foot on the ground to fuck into you harder.

Snaking one hand between your legs - hot and sticky - two thick fingers find your clit, drawing back the hood to rub circles where you can really feel him.

‘Fuck!’ you exclaim, almost bending backwards.

‘Good girl, takin’ me so well,’ he cooes into your ear. ‘She’s goin’ to cum on my cock, isn’t she?’

‘Yes, Jack,’ you whine, getting impossibly wet now. You leak messily down your thighs as he feels you begin to clench around him, your voice running ragged. ‘Please, sir -’

He fucks you through it, jaw clenched so hard he’s surprised it doesn’t crack under the pressure, his hands holding you down as you buck and writhe.

‘That’s it, darlin’,’ he growls into your cheek, his pace slackening to a languid rhythm. ‘Do you hear yourself? Hear that drippin’ pussy when I fuck it nice and slow?’

Turning over your shoulder, you kiss him, pupils completely blown as you slur drunkenly against his lips, ‘Yes, cowboy. S’ fucking good.’

Jack smiles and he sucks on your bottom lip, you’re so wet that he barely has to roll his hips to sink deep into you.

But even as he lets the moment consume him, something niggles at the back of his mind. It feels too good, as if there's some detail he’s missing - 

And then it strikes him, like lightning on a clear day. Every joint and muscle in his body locks up when it does, and he feels you stiffen instantly in response. His words tumble out in a panicked jumble. ‘Oh fuck, oh fuck! I forgot the condom, shit, I’m so sorry darlin’ -’

When he tries to pull out of you, you hook one foot around his shin and stop him with a hand on his hips. ‘Wait, Jack - just wait.’

He shakes his head in confusion. ‘Wait - why?’

Twisting around so that you’re looking him in the eye, you tell him quietly, ‘I got tested after my ex and I broke up, and - I haven’t been with anyone since.’

While he takes a moment to process, his cock throbs almost painfully inside you. He answers, ‘I haven’t had unprotected sex since my last girlfriend, and I got tested afterwards as well.’

You smile, one hand finding his and slipping your fingers into the gaps between his. ‘I’m just - I’m not on the pill, so we can keep going as long as you don’t cum inside me.’

‘Fuck, darlin’, it's dangerous, talkin' about me cummin’ inside you like that,’ he chides, brow creased in mock reprimand.

You wink. ‘We’ll save that for next time, cowboy.’

‘Next time,’ he promises, with a determination that soothes the anxiety in him.

And so your breaths mist and intertwine, catching the morning light as he thrusts into you, again and again. He doesn’t know where this will go, except for the vow of a next time, but he knows he has this -

The orange wash of dawn over you, his spend on the soft skin of your stomach and your beautiful tits when he cums, his heart beating - hard and sure - with what has deserted him for long years.

Notes: I didn't have as much time to edit this chapter, and I'm still trying to get more comfortable with spending less time overall on both writing and edits, and being more ok with mistakes/typos. The flip side is that what goes on the metaphorical paper is more spontaneous.

There will only be two more chapters before Palomino wraps up. Thank you for sticking around and for being so supportive despite the slow updates recently. It's strange that we're approaching the end for real now, excited isn't quite the right word, but I am looking forward to giving this story the ending Jack, Darlin' and you guys deserve ❤️

Thank you for the love. Comments, reblogs and asks are always appreciated, as always 🥰

Update: I can’t believe I forgot to mention a huge thank you to everyone who gave me all the cool tips for the s’mores and ideas for their last dinner on the trail! This one is for you guys 😘

[serbarris]

Dragon Age: the Veilguard: Modern AU Pairing: F!Rook Ingellvar x Emmrich Volkarin  Rating: E, not really sfw lol Chapter: 6 Words: 2400 Summary: Emmrich Volkarin has been a civil servant for nearly 30 years. He intended to be an instrumental force in making real change across the country. Calliope ‘Rook’ Ingellvar was stuck in a job that brought her no joy. Now, she is the head of office for Minister Lavellan, right in the heart of Thedas’ government. He's disenfranchised, but she’s keen to change the world. The wheels of government turn slowly, but their relationship is anything but. Read on AO3

Friday 13th Justinian

Calliope rechecked her phone, as she had consistently done so throughout the day. She was waiting for a message to the contrary, that she shouldn’t come over. It was just before 6 o’clock and she was slightly early, as always. Emmrich’s house was barely a five-minute walk from her flat. His house was surprisingly similar to Calliope's flat. In that, Emmrich lived in a townhouse, and Calliope (and Lace) rented the top floor of a townhouse probably built around the same Age. It had the same red brick facade; however, his was covered in winding wisteria, its pale leaves bright in the sunset, along with the rose bushes he mentioned.

The spare time gave her a chance to check that she was presentable.

Hair: out of its usual ponytail and instead trailing down her back.

Makeup: dark enough to make her pale eyes glow and, more importantly, not smudged.

Dress: a strappy green summer dress covered in black flower motifs hugging her bust and full hips before ending mid-thigh.

Heart: pounding.

Hands: slightly sweaty.

Within a few seconds of knocking, Emmrich opened the door and immediately swept her into an embrace, pressing his mouth to hers, washing away the blanket of anxiety that had settled over her skin. His Henley was a muted mauve, clinging to his toned body, and he was wearing dark trousers. It was a much more casual look than she expected from Emmrich, who was normally so dapper in his suits, but she was pleasantly surprised by it. Somehow, he made it look regal.

“Come in, come in. Dinner is almost ready.”

Emmrich's living room was beautifully decorated; dark green lined the walls, and Nevarran artwork took centre stage, tableaus of skeletal figures featuring heavily. Bouquets punctuated the decor: roses in white, yellow, and purple; a deep purple flower that had striations of white and pale pink. His bookshelves were full of reference books and some novels she recognised, a few keepsakes punctuating the shelves. Calliope followed Emmrich at a leisurely pace, taking in her surroundings and adding to the pieces of the curious puzzle that made up Emmrich Volkarin.

The table was set with a spread of salads, a variety of dips, and flatbreads. A veritable Nevarran feast that echoed their meal that first day they met. “This looks amazing!” she exclaimed. When Emmrich brought out the final dish, a plate of roasted vegetables, Calliope could smell that they had been spiced Tevinter-style, just like the ones she had remarked were delicious at the restaurant that day.

“Antoine was kind enough to provide some assistance with the recipes.” As they ate, her hands brushed against his, sending a thrill through Calliope. Wine was freely poured as they got to know each other and basked in the easy comfort they found themselves in. As they neared the end of the meal, Calliope found the wine-begotten courage to raise what had been on her mind all day. If she was honest, it had been on her mind since the cemetery.

“I have a list.”

“Whatever for?”

“It’s what I do. I plan, then I contingency plan. I anticipate." It was the only way she was able to control her anxiety. She had tried countless methods, two medications, and one free therapy appointment, and only through thorough planning could she put her mind somewhat at ease. It was also what made her such a good secretary. Even if politics sometimes scuppered all of her plans.

“I got the impression you thrive in chaos.”

“I—work is easier to manage. This… It’s new, and we’re keeping it a secret. We need ground rules. I need ground rules.” He was humouring her. She knew he was. He had a lopsided grin, and his eyes sparkled with amusement at how much thought she had put into this. Into them.

Their (Calliope’s) conclusions were simple:

Limit any 1-on-1 meetings with each other. Meetings such as yesterday’s are limited to once a month to keep with general conventions.

No personal messaging on any work-provided technology.

Where appropriate, Calliope should have the most contact with members of Emmrich’s team, rather than him, for any work.

Absolutely no touching, kissing, or anything else improper in the office. Or Parliament.

No meeting for lunch.

No one within MOURN could know about their relationship.

“What is our relationship?” Emmrich asked pointedly, putting her on the spot.

“I suppose it's whatever we want to call it. We can just… have fun?” Andraste save her, she sounded pathetic. What was she meant to say, that not a day had gone by in the three weeks since their meeting in Parliament that he hadn’t thought of him? That her life already felt like it could be divided into Before Emmrich and After?

A featherlight touch on Calliope’s arm took her from her thoughts. Emmrich’s slender fingers squeezed reassuringly, his eyes soft as he looked at her. “This has been a surprise, Calliope, the compliment of your interest,” Emmrich admitted. “This doesn’t have to be anything more or less than what you’re comfortable with, okay?”

She nodded, reassured by Emmrich’s words, even if she was… scared was a silly word to use. Tempted? Eager? Keen? To voice her flourishing infatuation. She could offer him a “thank you” with a smile. She was grateful, truly, even if Emmrich perhaps underestimated her feelings for him.

“I’ll clean up,” Emmrich offered. “Make yourself comfortable.”

~

Emmrich opened another bottle of wine, the cork popping was a distant sound as Calliope studied the photographs on his wall. Emmrich's graduation photos were front and centre, one from his undergraduate and one, she assumed, from a master's degree. His hair was perfectly styled in both, though in different fashions. The younger Emmrich had a small grey streak front and centre of a lock of hair curling over his forehead, his moustache similar in style to how it was now but paired with a goatee. The elder Emmrich had a more prominent grey streak in his neatly cropped hair, and his moustache was thick and slightly turned up at the ends. She spotted the familiar sight of the Necropolis logo at the bottom of the print.

Another picture caught her eye. It was again of a young Emmrich, possibly taken sometime between the two graduation photos. He was with a young woman, around the same age, with wildly curly hair that surrounded her like a mane and large spectacles covering her eyes. She looked oddly familiar, though Calliope couldn't place why. The pair held up a small trophy between them, grinning widely at the camera, obviously celebrating some kind of win.

“Ah, I see you've spotted Johanna.” Calliope's eyes widened, taking the glass of red wine from Emmrich.

“Johanna?” She asked, nearly choking on her drink. Johanna Hezenkoss? Smiling?. Calliope had never seen her smile or even deign to slightly lift her lips in a possible smirk when Calliope had helped unblock an issue or tried to lighten the mood with polite banter. Seeing a picture of her as a young woman almost felt wrong, as if she should have been born with grey hair and a dour expression. “We won a Paths of Glory tournament at university.”

“I didn’t realise you were friends.”

“We had some overlapping classes at the Necropolis. Our work ethic complemented each other, and that translated well at MOURN too.”

“What did you study?”

“Bachelor of Fade Studies and a Master’s in Corpse Whispering.”

“Archival Studies and Funerary Rites.” She looked up at him, remembering she couldn’t reciprocate his earlier question from Parliament. Emmrich could have been famous for corpse whispering, known at least throughout Nevarra, if not all of Thedas, for his gift. “What made you join the civil service?”

“A work placement during my master’s, and well, I'm still here 30 or so years later.” He drank from his glass, hoping the wine would rinse the bitterness from his throat. “It’s difficult to change the trajectory of one's life without fearing the consequences.”

Calliope nodded sagely. She wouldn’t be here with Emmrich if she hadn’t taken the leap he apparently feared. “I used to work in the Annals. Recording and preserving history. Then, one day, I decided I wanted to have an active role in making history. So I applied for the first role I saw in government, which was at MOURN.”

“And here you are.”

“Here I am.” She coyly smiled, teeth sinking into her plush bottom lip, her cheeks flushed from the heady mix of wine and Emmrich. She could feel the brush of his clothing against her skin. Their closeness never felt forced or awkward, just a natural state that made her heart soar.

An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. His hard length pressed into her soft belly, sending a rush of heat pooling between Calliope’s legs. Emmrich continued his journey on her neck, nipping and sucking her flushed skin. Gentle enough not to bruise, hard enough to be maddening, her thighs clenched with every press of his lips. His shaved jaw scratched intoxicatingly at her skin. Light moans vibrated her skin when she rolled her hips, feeling Emmrich’s cock twitch against her. She wanted to touch him, ride his thigh to find some relief, some glorious friction between her legs.

Rising to the tips of her toes, she turned and braced herself with hands splayed on Emmrich’s chest, her lips hovering over his, echoing their kiss in the cemetery. The one that sent them down the path of secrecy.

He moved, trailing wet kisses across her jaw. Calliope chased, their wine-tinged breaths mingling as he teased her.

She could torture him back. Trail her hand over his shirt, nails lightly scratching over the planes of his body, drifting down until her palm was flush to his cock. So she did. Emmrich jolted, sucking slightly too hard on her neck before releasing the skin with a wet ‘pop.’ Under Calliope’s other hand, she could feel his heart racing. She guided Emmrich back until his legs hit the sofa, his knees buckling as he sank into the cushions without any of his usual grace, eyes wide.

Calliope climbed atop his waiting lap, the skirt of her dress biting into the soft flesh of her thighs, fabric taut and straining as she straddled Emmrich. Emmrich’s hands began their journey along her body, starting at her thighs, squeezing and holding onto her. “So soft,” he muttered to himself. His fingers danced over her hips and waist, tickling and teasing, setting her nerve endings alight with anticipation. Her hips moved without command, testing the boundary between the delicate fabric of her knickers and his trousers, if any friction against her aching clit could be found.

The splayed hand at her waist drew her closer, her hands draped over his shoulder. Swollen lips crashed against his, hot and feverish. Emmrich sucked and teased with his tongue. Her lips parted at his request, a moan escaping. Her hips rocked rhythmically. Her cunt danced over his bulge, the pressure building pleasure between her legs, surely making a mess of Emmrich’s clothes.

Panting—she was panting and keening for more. Heat thrummed through her veins as she moved wantonly, circling her hips to find the right spot. Emmrich pulled her closer with a tug on her hips, their torsos flush. She felt his clothed cock stiff against her clit, her moan becoming a gasp as she found the friction to scratch the itch of the need that had pooled in her core. She broke the kiss for air, her moans more frequent as her hips continued to move rhythmically. Maker, when was the last time she had this much fun? Blissfully free from the anxious voice that popped into her head, settling doubt over every interaction. There was no doubt that she and Emmrich liked each other, that they both wanted this.

Emmrich’s hands roamed from the grip on her hips, cupping under her breasts. If there was any doubt, he now knew she was not wearing a bra. His deep groan confirmed it as he caressed her stiff nipples through the thin fabric of her dress. The rolling of her hips became jerky, moving with abandon rather than the practised rhythm of before. “Emmrich, fuck,” she moaned, her head falling to rest in the crook of his neck as she was worked closer to the edge.

“That’s it,” Emmrich cooed as he held her steady, his hands guiding her hips against his. She began to nip and kiss at Emmrich’s neck, where his shirt collars could hide any evidence. His pulse thundered under her tongue and lips, and his strangled moans were the only evidence of his resolve shattering. Fuck, they were both about to cum, weren’t they? Dry humping on a sofa like horny teenagers.

Emmrich’s hips bucked into hers fiercely, her body becoming loose and listless. She suppressed a moan as Emmrich made her see stars, her teeth clamped down at the base of his neck.

“Calliope, I’m—” He didn’t finish, his sentence instead a guttural moan that reverberated in his throat. His hips snapped into hers, tipping Calliope over the edge. Her body stiffened as she came, crying out, waves of pleasure coursing through her before she relaxed. Emmrich’s movements slowed as he rode out both their orgasms.

~

“-utterly beautiful,”

Calliope caught the words as she emerged from the haze of pleasure. Emmrich’s hand was warm as it traced up and down her spine, and he continued to murmur into her hair.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, her head still buried in the crook of his neck, before she rose, cheeks and lips bright and flushed with pleasure. “Yeah,” she began, breathless, “I’m good.” Her smile was wide as she leaned in to deliver a peck onto Emmrich’s lips.

[nhl-stories]

I'll Call You Mine – Elias Pettersson

Summary: Elias is sick of being the single guy on the team so he asks his friend with benefits to pretend to be his girlfriend. Good thing pretending to be a girlfriend is her profession.

Author’s Note: Explicit sexual content below, sex work (the two aren’t one in the same)

Word Count: 9.6k

Album Series Masterlist

Break me down And I'll call you mine And I know I've been around

Geena feels a hand press between her legs, her body pushes against the friction by its own volition.

She doesn’t have time for this, she says as much in her grogginess.

“Too worn out for another round?”

“Whatever makes you feel better Casanova,” she removes the hand and throws it behind her.

It doesn’t completely deter him; he moves to kiss her bare shoulder.

“E, seriously I can’t smell like sex at work, and I have just enough time to sleep for 10 more minutes and shower.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and buries his face between her shoulder blades.

“Who gets an escort at 4 pm on a Tuesday?”

Elias always says escort like it’s any other job. Like he’s mentioning a waitress or accountant or something. It is like any other job, but it’s not how most people react.

“It’s my favorite client, once a week he has me hold his hand at an early dinner and wear a sundress.”

“Okay then come back tonight,” he glosses over the details without judgment.

It’s refreshing.

They’re just fucking; she never has to put up with any shit even if he gave her any. If she ever felt slighted in the least, she knows she could find at least ten other guys to put in her sex rotation.

But Elias is the most consistent partner she’s ever had and it would be hard to give up just because he was being a judgmental ass.

She’s spent years putting up with that kind of behavior, she has thick skin. But there’s something nice about not needing to shield herself, let her soft underbelly show.

“I have a second client afterward, that might run pretty late and don’t you fly out tomorrow?”

“No, we just have an optional morning skate tomorrow.”

“So, you’re going to skate? Optional isn’t really your thing,” she smirks even though he can’t see, she knows him so well.

Elias wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her into him, makes sure she can feel his arousal. Makes sure she knows what she’s giving up for some extra sleep and a shower.

She lets out an airy sigh that borders on moan. Instead of leaning into that desire she rolls over and out of the bed.

“I’m not humoring you on this,” Geena laughs so Elias knows she’s not actually angry, “but I don’t work tomorrow so I guess I can come back tonight.”

It doesn’t quite appease Elias, who grabs her arm and pulls her back into a kiss. It’s simple, no demands behind it, but it still makes Geena second guess leaving. She has just enough will power to pull away and go to the bathroom, not giving Elias a second glance.

She comes back out already dressed; a blue sundress that brushes her mid-thighs, her hair tied into a single braid hanging over her shoulder. It’s the picture of innocence, but it sets something on fire in Elias. He kind of understands now why the man wants her to dress like this.

Geena seems to notice the flash of lust in his eyes and blows him a kiss, worried what will happen if she gets too close, “don’t wait up.”

Elias waits up, not entirely on purpose. He’s playing video games with some friends in Sweden when he hears the apartment door open. He’d given her a key so she could come and go when they meet up late for booty calls, her words not his.

“You’re not streaming, are you?” He hears her whisper from the doorway.

“No, but I’ll be done in a minute.”

He continues to play and Geena comes and wraps her arms gently around his shoulders, careful to not jostle him.  She gives him a couple of soft kisses along his jaw and he feels something cold press against the back of his neck.

He turns to see the outfit change Geena made since he last saw her. The braid is replaced with a mane of wild waves and she’s wearing a virginal white dress that almost glows, even more so against the leather harness she’s wearing over it.

He mumbles something in Swedish before turning off the game and turning towards her.

“This is new,” he plays with the metal ring that sits between her clavicles.

She rolls her eyes, suddenly looking exhausted.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she runs her hands over his shoulders until they link together behind him, “but I could use some help taking it off.”

“I think I could lend a hand.”

Elias stands up and kisses her, she tastes like gin; he wraps his fingers under the straps to pull her closer.

She’s on her tip toes to reach his lips, leaving her unbalanced or maybe that’s the feverish pace of the kisses.  

“Wall… bed… flat surface,” Geena breaths out between kisses.

Elias smirks against her lips and pushes her towards the nearest wall slotting his knee between her legs.

“I’m glad you came back,” he bunches up her skirt and rubs her through her lacy underwear, a patch of wetness already forming, “I guess you are, too.”

“Just do something,” she bucks against his hand.

He moves to kiss down her neck, but doesn’t make any forward progress with his fingers. If anything, his touch becomes lighter, only ghosting over Geena even as he moves her underwear down her legs.

The frustrated groan Geena makes has his cock twitching.

She pushes him away with some force, enough to give her space to kick of her panties and pull Elias back by his waistband. His thigh is pressed back against her and she moves rhythmically against him, desperate for friction.  Her hand reaching in his shorts and gripping his cock, stroking it to full attention with expert quickness.

“Fuck G,” he groans and pulls her back into a kiss, desperate to find some leverage.

Her hips circle more erratically, like she’s close to finding her climax just rubbing against his leg like an animal. As hot as that is, Elias wants more.

He moves his hands down her body, over her ass and to the back of her thighs, lifting her further up the wall and off her feet.

She gasps, half in displeasure at the loss of contact when she’s so close to falling over the edge and half in excited anticipation.

Geena helps line him up while he holds her against the wall; she doesn’t have time to waste, knowing she won’t last long.

Elias shows his control and strength as he slowly lowers her down his length. It’s too much, but it’s perfect. They feel every centimeter on the way down, until he bottoms out.

He looks up and sees her pupils blown out looking back down at him. Geena opens her mouth like she has something to say, but a strangled sound comes out instead.

She leans down to kiss him, mouth hot and tongue clashing against his. She grips his shoulders and pushes herself up, aching for Elias to move. He gets the hint and jackhammers his hips up towards her.

He keeps up the brutal and unrelenting pace, he can’t keep his lips working at the same time and leans his head forward on her chest. Geena digs her nails into the back of his neck, digging crescents so deep they might draw blood.

He bites into one of the leather straps of her harness, his movements becoming more irregular, wilder.

“Babe, I’m close, just keep going.”

Geena leans back into the wall, changing the angle just enough.  Everything feels hotter and tighter, and Elias bites harder into the leather as he feels her milk his orgasm out of him.

Still, he doesn’t slow his pace even as it becomes almost too much, too overstimulating. He thrusts until Geena lets out a whimper and goes nearly limp in his arms. Elias suddenly aware of her weight and the burning in his arms and thighs.

He slides her down the wall until her feet touch the ground again. Her legs wobbles and he has to hook his fingers under the straps to help hold her up.

Elias pulls her along to his bedroom, sitting her down in her post-orgasm haze. He gently undoes the straps of the harness and slides it off her body. He moves to her dress, pulling the garment over her head. She’s pliant and dazed, but gives him a soft smile before she scoots up the bed.

He goes to the bathroom and gets a washcloth and runs it under warm water. He gently washes the mess between her thighs, where her juices and his come are leaking out of her, running down her thighs.

“Sorry, I should have showered,” she says sleepily, giving his bicep a gentle squeeze.

He doesn’t respond, just removes his own clothes that never came off and joins her in the bed. He gently kisses below her breasts, her sternum, her shoulders where deep red marks from the too-tight straps of the harness scream out red and raw.

Elias wants to say something, ask her questions but it’s not his place to ask. He doesn’t fully understand the intricacies of her job, but they’re just fucking and she doesn’t owe him any answers or explanations.

He kisses her shoulders once more and then her lips, hoping his actions speak a little bit of what he really wants to say.  She cups his face like she understands and curls into his side before closing her eyes.

His fingers rub gently over the indentations around her back until sleep takes him too.

\\\

Geena is cooking eggs when he comes back. Elias has never hated his closet full of baggy clothes more than right now; Geena is swimming in one of his shirts making her look like she’s more of a blob than a tantalizing, half-naked woman.

“I thought you going to be ready and waiting for me in bed?”

“I got hungry,” she plates her food before she turns around, “definitely needed to refuel if there was a repeat performance.”

She hops up onto the counter and Elias hates his baggy shirt a little less when it rides up her thighs.

“Before we get back to it…” Elias places a hand on her thigh, “there’s this team event…” he doesn’t know why he’s so nervous.

“Like right now? You could have just texted if you needed to do something.”

“No, there’s this get-together this weekend and I wanted to know if you would… escort me?”

“Escort you…?”

“I’m sick of going alone to these things and wives trying to find me dates while everyone else has significant others.”

“I thought Quinn was single cause he broke up with that girl with the stripper name?”

Elias laughs, ignoring the giddiness he feels when Geena remembers even the most mundane things he brings up between their benefits.

“Lux?”

“Yeah, where was that name when I was a stripper? It’s perfect, you can go with Luxxx with three Xs or Lux Luxury; she’s sitting on a gold mine.”

“Yeah, well Quinn has a new girlfriend.”

“Wow, good for Huggy,” she grins to herself before going back to her food.

“So, what do you think?” Elias tries to get back on subject but is a little embarrassed to say the words again.

“You want me to be your date to get people off your back because you’re fine with having casual sex and don’t need a real relationship, but clearly saying that isn’t working?”

“More or less yeah.”

“I mean I am a professional dater…” she has a devious little grin, knowing she’s making him squirm a bit.

“A big part of why I’m asking you and not one of my other hookups,” he smirks like he actually has a list of other hookups.

She sets aside her now empty plate and runs her nails over his scalp and the buzzcut she’s grown to love.

She lets out a heavy sigh, “I don’t know E, we’re having sex.”

“Not at this exact moment,” he can’t help himself in the moment, being in her proximity brings it out of him.

She rolls her eyes but can’t stop the smile, “I don’t have sex with clients so it would be kind of weird and wrong to make you sign a contract or something.”

“I’m not asking for this to be a big official thing.”

“Elias, you’re thinking this is just a one and done thing, but if you want these people off your back I can’t just show up once and then fuck off.”

She cups his face, wants to make herself crystal clear.

“It means I will have to show up a few times, which makes this a time commitment, and some of those times will be during my prime working hours, which means I’ll be doing my job without making money and that makes the whole thing like an unpaid internship.”

“Okay, then let’s do this under the table,” he kisses up her jawline towards her lips, “and I pay you in sexual favors.”

“In an attempt to avoid me becoming a prostitute for you, you’re suggesting I become a prostitute for you,” she shoves him back a little bit, but he’s between the vee of her thighs and can’t go too far.

“I think the correct term is sex worker.”

Geena lets out a surprised snort.

“I appreciate your nuanced terminology, but I’m technically kind of a sex worker as an escort, so I’m just using it to differentiate. Also, I’m legally allowed to sell sex but it’s illegal to buy sex in Canada so we’re entering a real murky area here.”

She hooks her ankles behind him and pulls him close, “Will you give me a bit to think about it, like a day max.”

“Yeah of course,” he gives her a quick peck, “are you still gonna stick around for the day?”

“Yeah, you properly using the term sex worker weirdly does it for me.”

\\\

She ends up agreeing, there wasn’t really any doubt. She likes making Elias happy.

Geena rolls into Elias’ apartment two hours before he says to come over with a suitcase in tow.

Elias is watching TV in his boxer briefs and looks almost embarrassed to be caught being lazy and disheveled. Even though Geena knows he got in late from a road game in Winnipeg, where the plane had been delayed due to weather.

“Why are you here so early?”

“You gave me like no information about tonight, so I brought some outfit options for any occasion from super casual to full black tie.”

Elias just blinks, not sure how to respond as Geena starts opening the suitcase.

“G, we haven’t even discussed how I would,” he rubs the back of his neck, “pay you.”

He’s getting second thoughts about the whole thing.

“I decided the first one is free, see if I fit in and it feels natural then we’ll discuss payment plan,” she winks and continues pulling out outfits.

“This is a little overwhelming.”

“You’re getting the full Ruby experience. You can still call me Geena though, since we know each other intimately, going with my escort name might be confusing.”

He feels a bit nauseous. He assumes it’s showing on his face because Geena stops what she’s doing and joins him on the couch.

“E, this is literally my profession, I’m taking charge here so you don’t have to worry about stuff. But I have to get some information so you can relax and follow my lead.”

She gives him a quick kiss as a form of reassurance.

“It’s in a private room at a nice-ish restaurant.”

“Great start,” she gets up and holds up a black jumpsuit and a blue dress.

“Uhhh, the dress.”

“Excellent choice, now how do you want me to be?”

“What?”

“How do you want me to act? Cheery? Cerebral? Demure? Mysterious?”

“I just thought you’d act like yourself; I like how you are.”

Geena feels her face heat up.

“And PDA? Are we a little handsy–“

Elias laughs at the irony of that.

“I said handsy not hand job Elias,” she puts a stop to this tangent immediately, “but let’s say casual touching, nothing below the waist.”

“What if I want to grab your ass?” Geena quickly making him calmer about the whole thing.

“Okay, we’ll play the PDA stuff by ear.”

Geena knows the PDA situation the moment the hostess starts leading them to the private room in the back of the restaurant. The confidence Elias had thought he built up immediately crumbles and his whole body tenses up beside hers.

She grabs his hand, knowing she’ll probably be a calming touch away the whole night.  

Were he any other client she wouldn’t say the next thought out loud, “Loosen your grip E, you don’t want them to think you have to physically force a woman to go on a date with you.”

“No, I just have to pay one,” he whispers with a smirk.

She squeezes his hand, reminds him to stay this loose.

The tension comes back almost instantly. Apparently, Geena is the first date Elias has ever brought around, so meeting her is the main event of the evening.

Tension ratchets up further when the obvious question comes up, “how did you two meet?”

His eyes widen and he starts to stutter for a response. Geena has to practically pry her hand loose so she can wrap an arm around his waist and tuck herself into his side. His grip on her shoulder is only a little too tight.

“I was supposed to be meeting a guy in his building for a date,” Elias is shocked that Geena is telling the real story.

“And I’ve been waiting for 15 minutes already and this dude is not answering his buzzer and of course my phone has died in the meantime so I can’t call him or a car to leave. And obviously at this point the weather also has to be terrible and it starts pouring rain and I happen to be standing in front of the only luxury apartment building that has no overhang to stand under.”

She’s a natural conversationalist, Elias looks around, everybody is already enthralled just by the way she talks.

“So, I’m getting absolutely soaked while I’m thinking about what to do next, when Elias comes running from a car that just dropped him off and he lets me into the lobby because I must look too pathetic to be a thief or something.”

“I thought you were a wet dog when I saw you out of the corner of my eye,” he jokes and squeezes her tighter as she gives him a playful bat.

“Okay, I guess he let this wet dog in the lobby and I explained what happened with this other guy, and Elias offers to call me a car but makes me give him my number so I can text him that I made it home safely, which was clearly just a way to get my number– “

“Hey, there are security cameras in the lobby I didn’t want to be the last person on camera to see you if you got murdered.”

Elias feels his face heating up, he’s glad his teammates think it’s because he’s being called out for using a cheesy line. Because while the night really did end that way, Elias had actually invited Geena up to his place to charge her phone and take a dry sweatshirt first.

They ended up having sex on his couch while her phone charged.

“Uh-huh, sure, that’s the reason,” she rolls her eyes before kissing his cheek, he heats up even more.

Suddenly, Elias is relaxed. It’s like Geena passed a test and integrated into the group. She stays a touch away while they mingle until dinner starts.

Elias keeps a casual arm on the back of her chair during dinner, Geena working the room so well he has no idea why he was so nervous.

Then he notices the way Garland is looking at her, like he knows something. He pushes the feeling down and focuses on the warmth of Geena’s body against his palm. Garland spends most of the dinner looking like he wants to ask something, which keeps Elias on edge for most of dinner.

Eventually he gets the courage to ask, “Sorry Geena, you look so familiar, have we met before or do you just have one of those faces?”

Elias stiffens and Geena places a hand on his thigh and rubs it, telling him not to worry.

“I think I have one of those faces. Last time I heard that, someone told me I looked like some woman from pornos, so maybe I have porno face.”

She has big, innocent doe eyes when she says it while other people snort on their drinks. Conor turns pink as his fiancée is torn between laughing and being grossed out. She breaks the tension with a laugh and the topic is dropped.

Geena wouldn’t be surprised if he recognized her, her days as a stripper brought a lot of NHL teams to the club. Even some of the Canucks had made an appearance now and then, no judgement with what adults want to do, just facts.

Many a rookie party wrapped up in the strip club, when most people were too far gone to think about their inhibitions any longer. One of the rookies, usually the most or least sober, would be handed a stack of ones and shoved towards a back room.

She remembers bringing one rookie back herself. When he sat down, she finally realized he was really a boy just playing dress up as a man. Then he burst into tears, words garbled up through sobs and intoxication, something about this not being who he is.

They were about the same age, but Geena felt maternal in the moment.

Geena rubbed his back and assured him she didn’t need to do anything; they could sit until he calmed down. When he finally stopped, she got ice cubes to help get rid of the puffiness around his eyes, a trick of the trade. Once he looked presentable, she slipped him a pair of underwear into his back pocket, a very Sixteen Candles move.

“Oh my god you were incredible,” Elias says as they get into his car after dinner, “no wonder you do this for a living.”

“And you’re so quick on your feet! That porno line, I thought Garly was going to swallow his tongue,” he continues.

“Customer service is the most important part of sex work,” she gives a soft smile.

Normally, after a date with a client she’d have a joint or an edible and if she was still feeling wired, she’d call someone for a hook up. But Elias is her go-to hook up and it makes her whole routine feel out of whack.

She wants to go home with him, have a night cap and at least make out a little, but everything is different and that feels like a boundary she can’t cross. Even with her lover turned sort of client.

“Hey E, can you take me back to my place?”

His foot stutters on the brake, bringing them to a jerky stop and go.

“It’s just I’m tired and since we’re treating this like a real job it feels wrong. I wouldn’t go home with a client; I wouldn’t even get in a car with them.”

“Oh right, of course. That makes perfect sense.”

The car is silent as the lights of Vancouver flash by, Geena slouching further into her seat. The weight of everything seeping into her bones.

Elias pulls up in front of Geena’s building, “Thanks for tonight, I really owe you. But we can discuss my payment later,” he gives devilish smirk and Geena can’t help but smile back.

“Cool, let me know the gossip about me in the group chat later.”

She leans in for kiss, but even though that’s their norm it feels like a violation to her own code of conduct. She bails last minute for an awkward kiss on the cheek which ends up with Elias kissing her right below her eye.

She scampers away before she can see his reaction.

\\\

The weird feeling doesn’t go away after her joint. Not after a boiling hot shower or the cold shower she takes afterwards.

It still doesn’t go away when she texts u up? to the contact ‘For a Good Time 💦’ and she lets him fuck her throat until she’s a mess of tears and snot and can barely talk, let alone think.

After a good night’s sleep, the feeling is still crawling under her skin. It makes Geena want to rub it raw. Since the weirdness isn’t going away any time soon, she pulls up her wish list she sends to some clients, she usually calls it tipping, and sends it to Elias.

Ten minutes later she realizes without context the list seems weird and follows up with: For payment after our next date, leaving what and how much up to you, think of it as my friends discount lmk where and when you need me next

Geena turns off her phone and tries to enjoy her day off, the weird feeling settling like a pair of glasses, still there but no longer aware of them.

It helps that the Canucks are on an East coast road trip. They’ve been hooking up for almost two years but don’t really keep tabs on each other. It’s like the moment either of them leave the greater Vancouver area they become strangers.

So, she’s not surprised that she just has a thumbs up as a response when she turns her phone back on. But she is surprised when two days later there’s a large package at her PO box. She wasn’t actually expecting Elias to work so fast, to be thinking of her on his work trip.

She opens the package at home, there’s a note on top of the tissue: To keep my snack warm, E.

Geena rolls her eyes, but gasps when she pulls out a slate blue cashmere coat. It’s the kind of expensive thing she puts on her wish list without expecting to ever get it. Like putting something too fancy on a wedding registry hoping some rich, distant relative will actually go for it.

She does a grossed-out shiver thinking about Elias as a rich, distant relative.

But it doesn’t stop her from stroking the luxurious coat with awe. She puts it on and it fits perfectly, she thinks she might live in it from now on. It’s too much for one date that was supposed to be complimentary, too grand a gesture. Still, she loves it too much to care.

She shows up at Elias’ place after his first home game back. They won; she knew because the buzz on her phone from the NHL app kept going off during her date with a client. He turned out to be a big Canucks fan, but still it made her mind preoccupied on the job. Always a bad thing in her line of work.

Geena knocks on his door, worried that he isn’t alone. He’s a star Canuck who just won a game in a pretty rough season. He would deserve it and it wouldn’t be hard to find someone for him. Still, Geena ain’t no cock block.

His jacket is off and tie loosened when he opens the door, like he just got home.

“Hey G, the coat looks nice,” Elias smirks as he lets his eyes rake up and down her body, he doesn’t move aside to let her in

“Thank you, it was way too much, but it’s nice.”

Geena tries to casually peer around him, making sure he’s alone. He immediately catches on.

“Are you here for business or pleasure?” his tone cocky.

She shrugs, “I haven’t decided yet.”

Elias makes a show of moving out of the way, revealing for certain he’s alone.

Geena makes a show of walking past him and taking off her coat, revealing her burgundy slip dress with a dangerously high slit.

“Had a client tonight?” Elias moves closer to her.

She nods and takes a step back, “a business man who was a big Canucks fan.”

“That make you think of me?”

“Yeah, and that’s not great for business, I was so distracted I don’t think he’ll give me a good tip,” Geena pouts.

“That’s too bad, you love a good tip.”

The game of sexual tension chicken continues, slowly making their way towards the bedroom. A strap of her dress falls down her shoulder. She has to tense her muscles to not shiver under Elias’ gaze. Before she knows it, she’s falling back onto the bed and Elias is caging her in.

He kisses up her bare shoulder, up her neck, and nips under her ear.

“I guess you’re here for pleasure,” she feels his low voice rumble against her, vibrating her bones.

He starts to suck a mark into her neck and she can’t let that happen. He’s so focused on the task, she takes advantage of the moment to flip him over so she’s on top.

“I guess I am,” she smirks down at him before pulling off her dress and tossing it off the bed.

Elias rubs his hands up her sides, over her silky matching set, “This for your client, too?”

She wants to lie because the truth is boring, this underwear happened to work with the best with the dress. But the truth is also scary, she did think of how Elias would react when she picked them

“No, just for you,” she rolls her hips and Elias groans.

“Next time just wear this under the coat,” he sits up and captures her lips.

She bites his bottom lip and tries to work the buttons on his shirt, “You need less buttons on your shirt.”

Elias laughs and pulls her along as he lays back down. Pulling her body up his, her legs bracketing his shoulders. She’s about to question what’s happening as he kisses the insides of her thighs, moving towards her vagina. He grips her hips to holds her in place as she squirms at the sensations.

She’s so used to giving, this makes her feel off-kilter. She never knows quite what to do when it’s one way towards her, but it should feel good. Biologically her body is reacting like it should, she gasps when he mouths at her through the silky material.

“E,” she tries to push her body up but he doesn’t let her get far, “you don’t have to do this.”

His grip loosens and she’s able to sit back a bit, fully see his face.

“How many times do I have to tell you I want to do this, I like doing this,” his fingers dip below her waistline while he waits for a response.

“Okay,” her voice is smaller than he’s ever heard it, “if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” he pulls the waistband of her panties down, “now take these off and sit on my face.”

She does as she’s told, gripping at the headboard and riding his face to an orgasm that makes the blood slosh in her ears. Elias has to tap her thigh to get her to move in the stupor.

“Sorry,” she mumbles and starts to do only thing she know how, return the favor.

Geena moves down his body, but Elias stops her. Instead, he maneuvers her to his side, wrapping an arm around her.

“I’m kind of tired,” he kisses the top of her head, “let’s just sleep.”

“In your clothes?” She’s hoping that will be enough to start something, she hates feeling like they’re on uneven ground.

He rolls his eyes and then out of bed, taking off his clothes as he makes his way to the bathroom. Any of their heat from earlier dissipates as Geena watches him start brushing his teeth through the open door.

He rummages through a drawer and holds out a toothbrush, the green one he bought for her when she started staying over. She hesitantly gets up and joins him at the counter; Elias has his and hers sinks and they each stand in front of one and silently brush their teeth.

Elias keeps making faces in the mirror trying to get Geena to look and laugh, he’s pretty close despite her trying to avoid looking. Then he fakes a blow job: pushing it into the inside of his cheek, then gagging and spitting out the the white foam.  Geena can’t help but let out a belly laugh and chokes on her own toothpaste.

“Don’t try and kill me for a bit,” she gives him a shove after she rinses her mouth.

He just smiles and plucks her toothbrush out of her hand and places it in the cup next to his. There’s a swooping in her stomach, when did being so domestic become so normal?

She lets herself get pulled back into his side when they get back into bed, and she pretends she doesn’t sleep more soundly in his grasp.

\\\

Geena wakes up the next morning in an empty bed. It’s oddly comforting even if she’s not in her own home. She gets up and digs through Elias’ dresser finding a pair of shorts and a shirt, she doesn’t feel like trying to shimmy back into a constricting dress.

She pads out into the living room, gathering her coat and purse, shoving the dress into the tiny bag.

“Morning,” Geena nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Fuck me,” she takes a deep breath and finds Elias holding a mug of coffee and a plate with a croissant.

“I can do that, but maybe you want to eat first,” he smirks before noticing her holding her stuff, “you heading out?”

“I- uh- I thought you left so, yeah,” she still kind of wants to leave now.

“I just went out to pick up coffee, I would have invited you, but thought you could sleep and I’d bring you breakfast in bed.”

Geena isn’t exactly sure what her face does, but Elias frowns.

“Do you need to leave?” His voice is soft.

“No breakfast is good, maybe we could sit outside, it’s actually nice,” that seems to appease him.

Elias has a smoothie with his coffee and Geena gingerly picks at the pastry.

“The team has been asking about you, you were a big hit,” he finally speaks up.

“So, I need to make another sparkling appearance?” she’s grinning but doesn’t look up at him, staring at her toes in the sunlight.

“They were wondering if you wanted to sit with them at a game, and if we win, we can go out after.”

“Like hang out with them when you’re not there?”

“If it’s too weird then don’t worry about it, but you can see a free game and you can even show up late if you want to avoid that much time with them.”

“No, I can do it, it’s fine.”

She pulls her feet up onto the chair, curls her toes into the cushion. Flexing and unflexing, something to remind her she’s not lost at sea, she’s on solid ground.

“Great, would Friday work for you?”

“I’ll have to check my schedule, but that should work.”

She knows she’ll have to cancel with a client, it’s last minute on a weekend night. But she doesn’t want to disappoint Elias.

His smile grows twice in size.

“And in return could you get me reservations at Kissa Tanto?”

He scrunches his eyebrows.

“It’s like impossible to get good reservations there, so use your pretty boy Canuck connections and squeeze me in on like a Saturday.”

“Oh. Yeah, I can probably swing that.”

“I know you can,” she pops the rest of the croissant in her mouth and downs her coffee, “I do have to go now, but I’ll see you later.”

She’s more nervous about the game than she cares to admit. Changing her outfit about four times, stalking WAGs on Instagram just to make sure she’ll mostly fit in. She doesn’t even know why she cares so much, it’s not the first time she’s had to fit in and schmooze a group of significant other, but it is the first time she’s done it without her date.

She shows up during the second period, trying to limit the amount of time she’ll have to spend without hockey going on. Geena knows she can survive one intermission.

As soon as she gets to the seats Samantha pulls Geena to sit next to her.

“Thank god you’re here.”

Geena laughs nervously, wondering why this girl she talked to for maybe 30 minutes is so excited to see her.

“I’m new here too, so it’s nice to have some back up. This whole world is new to me.”

Samantha is smiling, but Geena can read the self-consciousness on her face. She knows what it’s like, back when she was new to a higher class of living, she always felt like people would know she’s some kind of dirty whore, that she didn’t belong and never would.

She soon learned pretending to be confident could go a long way.

“If it makes you feel better this is the fourth outfit I tried on,” Samantha squeezes her arm in response.

The game is fun, it’s the first time she’s seen a hockey game while not on a job in a long time. Though technically she’s still on a job, she doesn’t need to entertain someone else. She forgot how fun it could be. And she finally gets to focus on Elias, how gracefully he skates, the power of his shot; it’s kind of beautiful.

Elias scores a goal and Geena goes nuts, she didn’t know she had that kind of excitement in her.

One of the girlfriend’s films the reaction and the rest of the crowd cheering before Geena can slink out of view.

“What’s your handle Geena?”

“Oh, I don’t do social media,” she shrugs, she does but it’s under the name Ruby and definitely not for all audiences.

There’s a chorus of shock that follows.

“I’ll tag Petey in it then,” she smirks and types away on her phone.

The goal turns out to be the game winner and the group is buzzing, Geena is almost excited to go out with them, like they’re just a group of her friends.

It’s as if she’s in a drunken haze as they make their way into the depths of the arena to greet the players, then she’s pulled into a hug and obligatory kiss with Elias. Suddenly she’s piling into the back of a car that’s so crowded she’s half on Elias’ lap.

It all happens so fast she doesn’t even notice what bar they’re going to until she’s in the door and it’s too late to turn around. She definitely can’t make a scene, so she tries to hide behind the bigger hockey bodies as they go to the VIP section.

She drinks a little too much a little too fast. It loosens her up enough to go out onto the dance floor with some of the other ladies without a second thought. It’s when they go to the bar for some water that reality sets in again.

“Ruby”

Geena is pretty good at compartmentalizing her double life, so she doesn’t react to her alter ego name at first.

“Ruby!”

“I think that guy is trying to talk to you,” Samantha nudges her, making her finally look over to acknowledge the man.

She mumbles an expletive under her breath when she sees her manager, Michael. He likes to keep an eye on the escorts when they’re in a bar, it always seems to be where incidents happen.

“It’s some guy I gave a fake name then ghosted. I’ll go talk to him then meet you guys back at the tables,” she tries to shake the confused stares as she walks over.

“I thought you were taking the night off Ruby?”

“I’m here as Geena, I didn’t realize I was coming here until it was too late.”

“Shit, well Sam is here and he’s not too pleased with his replacement, so you might want to get out of here before you lose one of your best clients.”

“Fuck, I’ll get out as soon as I can. Sorry.”

“Geena, you’re allowed to have a life, just maybe not here of all places,” Michael gives her a sad smile.

She weaves her way back to the group, trying to blend in with the crowd. She clearly looks concerned when she sits back down next to Elias, who hands her his drink.

“You okay?” He leans in close, warm breath on her neck.

"I have a lot of dates here and the client I cancelled on for you is here,” she doesn’t mean to let that last bit of information slip but she’s nervous.

She leans back to look at Elias reaction, she’s not quite sure if he’s worried or happy. She gives him a long kiss in response before moving back to his ear again.

“So, if we get a bit handsy, so you can sort of hide my face and make it so it seems like we’re leaving to go bang that would be great.”

She kisses the spot below his ear, “we can also actually leave and go bang, too.”

Geena’s throwing out her rules of not sleeping with her faux-client after a date, anything to get out of here sooner rather than later.

“Yeah, sure,” he pulls her closer, “I think I can do that.”

They’re in a darkest corner of the table with his teammates, but the moment Elias’ tongue slips its way into Geena’s mouth there’s some cat calling from the boys. She can feel Elias’ hand move off of her, assumably to flip them off.

“I think they’ve had enough of a show,” he whispers and yanks her into a standing position.

There are some obligatory waves to the team before he’s pulling her into his side, hiding her a bit under his shoulder, leaning down to kiss her a bit as they walk to cover her whole face until they’re outside.

Her skin is on fire and the burst of cold air is doing nothing to change that. Geena feels the sudden urge to pull Elias into an alley and get on her knees for him, but she knows that has to wait until they’re as far away from this bar and any prying eyes as possible.

“Thanks E,” she can’t stop from kissing him again, with a little less heat this time.

“No problem, I was promised we’d go bang so not really a problem for me.”

He smirks and grabs her arms and pins them to her side to avoid the playful smack that was sure to come, and kisses her until her knees are weak.

\\\

Elias shows up at Geena’s apartment on a Saturday.

A woman in a silky robe answers the door and Elias worries he’s at the wrong place.

He’s only been inside her apartment once: taking Geena home when she arrived at his place for a booty call a little too drunk. He brought her home and practically carried her into her room, thinking it was best if she slept it off in her own bed.

“Hi, sorry I must be at the wrong apartment–“

“Baby Slut, your lover is here!” The woman shouts back over her shoulder and leans on the doorframe with a smirk.

“What are you talking ab– oh shit E, what are you doing here?”

Geena is also in silk robe holding a mascara wand.

“The Kissa Tanto reservation? It’s tonight.”

She blinks a few times before seeming to come back online.

“Oh, you made them for us,” she points between the two of them, “I was gonna take Xa,” she points to the woman in the doorway.

“I shouldn’t have assumed I was your plus one. You two should go together.”

Elias tries to hide his disappointment and embarrassment but apparently does a bad job.

“No, you two go have a cute little date,” Xa smiles a bit conspiratorially.

“But we’ve been wanting to go there forever,” Geena pouts, Elias hates that he feels like he’s being rejected.

“And I’m sure we can make that happen another time,” Xa give Elias a wink, “Would you be able to do that for us.”

“Uh- yeah of course,” Elias smiles back, “sorry about ruining your plans.”

“Don’t worry about, I can always go to the club make a quick buck,” she’s moving aside so Elias can come in, “someone’s gotta keep Baby Slut here in the life she’s grown accustomed to. Since you’re monopolizing all her billing hours.”

Elias feels his cheeks heat up.

“Let me throw on clothes real quick,” Geena cuts in, “behave yourself Xa.”

As soon as she seems out of earshot Elias asks, “Baby Slut?”

“I took her under my wing when she first started stripping, showed her the ropes. Barely legal girl who could barely get on stage without shaking. She didn’t have anyone taking care of her, so she became my little baby and well–“

She waves her hand implying all the things that could be associated with sex work, making slut seem like low hanging fruit.

It’s a reminder that Geena has already lived hundreds of lives in her short time on Earth. While Elias had only lived his solitary, safe life.

“I wasn’t legal,” Geena is dressed in record time, probably to avoid Xa sharing any embarrassing stories.

“Shhh, I don’t know how long the statute of limitations lasts on abetting a minor in her crimes.”

Geena rolls her, grabbing her coat and shoving Elias towards the door.

“Nice meeting you,” Elias calls over his shoulder.

“You too, have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Wow, that really narrows it down,” Geena flips her off as she slams the door.

Both parties are desperately trying to decipher dinner’s meaning, is it a date? A real one? With no prying eyes of teammates or payments?

It makes it a little awkward.

They’re staring at their menus in silence like they can’t think of a single thing to talk about, which is absurd for two people who have spent so much time together. Most of it was in throes of passion, but there was always time between rounds or during mornings after lazing in bed or while munching on midnight snacks.

They talk enough that one dinner with no expectations should be easy.

The waiter comes by and takes their orders and they’re both grateful when their drinks arrive.

“Well cheers to our first date, I guess,” Geena makes a goofy face, which make Elias laugh despite the confusion it causes.

“You look really beautiful.”

Geena blushes like no one has ever told her that before. Elias realizes he never has, not without some kind of heat behind it, some innuendo. He wonders if anyone has ever sincerely said it to her.

She starts to nervously gnaw on her lip and Elias knows he needs to change the subject.

“I didn’t realize you had a roommate, Xa seems nice.”

Her face nearly splits with excitement.

“Yeah, she’s the best. I wouldn’t be anything without her. I would still have the pseudonym Buttercup if it wasn’t for her.”

“Buttercup?”

“Don’t laugh!” She kicks his shin, “I was 16 and thought it was all ‘I’m innocent but sexy’, which I was neither.”

“It’s a really terrible stripper name.”

“Like 16-year-old Elias could’ve thought of something better.”

“I think it would at least be a step better than Buttercup.”

Suddenly, the ice is broken. They’re joking and talking like normal, the location is different, but it’s still comfortable. So, Elias takes a calculated risk and reaches across the table to hold Geena’s hand while they finish their drinks after dinner. She doesn’t pull away.

“That was fun,” Geena smiles as she settles in his passenger seat, reaching across the console to put a hand on his thigh, “want to keep it going?”

And of course, he does, he always does. But tonight feels different, so he wants to treat it differently.

“I’m gonna drop you off at home…”

Geena scoffs but doesn’t remove her hand from his thigh, if anything she moves it higher.

“And I’m gonna walk you to your door and kiss you goodnight. Like a respectful date.”

“Your dick has been in like all of my orifices, I think we’re kind of past respectful first date bullshit.”

“So, this was a first date?” he keeps his eyes forward but grins as Geena gives his thigh slap.

“I’ll send you the bill later,” he can hear her rolling her eyes.

“Worth it.”

\\\

“Are you dating Elias Pettersson?”

Geena almost chokes on her champagne.

Her date pats her back as she sputters, she kind of hopes she just chokes to death.

“Am I what?”

They’re standing out on the patio, a black-tie event happening inside. Just her and a long-term client getting some air. She’ll usually do some playful touches let him giver her his jacket to warm her against the chill; anything to make his coworkers think the heat is still alive between them after years together.

But this is new. He’s never asked Ruby about her life outside of their arrangement. He didn’t need to, he just needed arm candy while he wined and dined other rich business men that did something Geena never fully understood.

“Are you dating Elias Pettersson, the Vancouver Canuck?”

Geena feels lightheaded.

“My assistant saw some pictures of you with him. You were at a game with the wives and then out at a restaurant. You looked pretty cozy.”

“We’re not dating.”

“So, he’s a client?”

“I can’t tell you that, you wouldn’t want me telling people about us.”

“No, but I can’t risk looking like a fool because you’re out with someone in the public eye.”

A lump forms thick in her throat. She can’t speak around the feeling.

“So, you’ll understand why this has to be our last date.”

She nods while she tries to find her voice.

“Do you want me to make a scene? I can go a little crazy, make you get a little sympathy for dealing with your crazy girlfriend?”

“I was just going to tell people it didn’t work out because you wanted kids.”

“Very dignified,” she straightens her posture, trying to remain professional.

“I’ll still pay your full rate, but if you want to sneak out early that’s okay too.”

Her eyes burn with tears. She’s never cried in front of client, at least not if they weren’t paying for it. When it’s clear she won’t be able to hold them back for long, she slinks off in shame.

Her first thought is to go to Elias, seek comfort in his arms. She doesn’t even want anything sexual and her shame is replaced with unease. Geena’s not sure which she hates more. So, she takes to her bed like some Victorian maiden and hopes this is all some kind of nightmare.

It’s not.

Xa lets her stay in bed for two days before telling her she has to move on.

“Life happens, shit happens. You of all people should know that,” Xa says as she brushes her hair, a little intimacy that Geena never wants to admit she craves.

Her first outing is to the strip club, which maybe isn’t her best idea. Because being in a strip club at 1 pm on a weekday is never a good look. It’s just her and four men around the main stage. They keep sending her drinks as if she’ll go home with them or give them a lap dance.

She’s drunk by 2:30.

“You coming back to the club, Buttercup?”

Geena’s getting a lap dance from a dancer she used to work with, Sasha, who can only talk to Geena if she keeps dancing.

“If I came back, it would not be as Buttercup,” she’s basically talking to her tits.

“Fine, is Ruby coming out of retirement?”

“Ruby only retired from the stage, but she may be retiring entirely soon,” she slips some money Sasha’s her G-string.

“Shit, another whore going to the good side?”

“I don’t want to, I love what I do, I’m good at it. Just things are getting complicated. How do you live a normal life and do this?”

“It’s not easy, I have to work this shift now so I can see my kids. Money’s not as good but it’s worth being able to have dinner with them and go to their soccer games and shit.”

Geena furrows her brows.

“There’s nothing wrong with living this kind of life if you like it. But that doesn’t mean you have to give up the normal things. You don’t have to live in the shadows just because people make you feel seedy or dirty about your job.”

Sasha gives her forehead a kiss, which is weird after she was grinding into Geena’s crotch.

“You’re not baby Buttercup anymore, you’re badass Ruby and she can do whatever the fuck she wants. And if you don’t believe me Xa will kick your ass into believing. Now get out of here before the night girls come and make you get on stage.”

Geena stumbles out of the club, smelling of thick perfume and booze. Like she used to most nights. It feels like a safety blanket.

In her drunken stupor she calls an Uber to her most common destination, Elias’.

She generally tries to avoid showing up completely unannounced, but she’s too tipsy to think about that and lets herself in without a second thought.

And sitting at the table are two people, who are clearly Elias’ parents.

“Oh shit,” she says it too loud, both heads whip towards her, she can’t sneak out now.

Instead, she stands there frozen, mouth agape, probably looking like a fool.

“You must be Geena, Elias didn’t say you’d be coming by,” Elias’ mom smiles

“Oh yeah,” Geena returns a dopey smile, her brain is about five steps behind.

“I’m Irene and this is Torbjörn,” she stands up and walks toward Geena, “are you a hugger?”

“Nice to meet you and um yeah,” Geena holds out her arm and accepts the hug.

Irene pulls away a smile still on her face. She’s either great at hiding her judgement or doesn’t care Geena reeks of liquor. Knowing Elias’ inability to hide his judgement, she’s guessing the latter.

“Elias should be back from practice any minute.”

“Okay, I’ll just go freshen up really quick.”

She scurries to Elias’ room, hearing Swedish behind her. She hopes they’re not saying anything too bad, hoping it wasn’t too bad of a first impression. She flops on the bed, squeezing her eyes shut when the room starts to spin.

Why does she even care? It’s not like she’s actually Elias’ girlfriend, she’s just convenient, in every kind of way. Nothing more.

But he told his parents about her. His mom was excited to meet her. It felt nice. Like someone stuck around long enough to break through the hard shell around her heart. And maybe she is allowed to have that.

Elias comes in and flops down next to her. Geena finally opens her eyes, turning her head to the side to look at him. His smile is so nice she can’t stop herself from kissing him.

“You smell like a strip club.”

She lets out an airy laugh, “do your parents know that?”

“I don’t think so, they know you’re drunk though. I wanted to give you more warning before you met them, so, sorry.”

“Why would you introduce me to your parents? Did one of your teammates let it slip that you have a girlfriend?” She uses air quotes around the last word.

Elias sits up to get a better look at her, “no, I wanted – we went on a real first date – I thought…“

“E, are we dating now? You want to date me?”

“Of course, I do G! I didn’t realize how much until we started to fake date. But I like spending time with you outside of sex.”

“Even though I’m a dirty sex worker?”

“I wouldn’t call you dirty, unless you wanted me to,” he smirks.

“I just lost a big client because he saw a picture of us together. What happens if more people find out, on either side? I don’t want to quit my job because you’re in the public eye.”

“I’m not asking you to do that, you like what you do and from what I saw firsthand you’re really good at it. So, if you want to tell people what you do, I don’t care. I’ll do whatever you need me to, I just want you to be mine.”

“You really don’t care?”

“What you do doesn't change who you are or what I feel or want to give you.”

“So, you’re kind of mine then?”

He nods and pulls her up for a kiss.

“We should probably leave my bedroom before my parents think we’re having sex.”

“If they already think it…” Geena waggles her brows and playfully bites his shoulder.

He gives her a playful shove back onto the mattress before grabbing her hand, interlocking their fingers and pulling her towards the door, and the future.

[the-most-humble-blog]

🌀 The Simulation Doesn’t Owe You Closure, Sweetie

✨ The world is under no obligation to make sense to your primate-ass brain. 🧠🐒

It never signed a contract. It doesn’t owe you a neat plotline, a moral arc, or even a coherent beginning. You're demanding Shakespeare from a kaleidoscope of atoms mid-fart. Let that sink in.

👁️ You Woke Up Today and Just... Assumed Everything Was Still Real?

🛌 You opened your eyes. ☀️ The sun “rose.” 💬 Your brain whispered, “Same planet, same timeline, same you.”

But what evidence do you actually have?

You don’t know where the sun was five minutes ago.

You don’t know your memories are real — you just have a highly convincing slideshow in your skull.

You’re trusting your meat processor because it feels consistent.

Feelings are not facts. 🥴 Neither is “breakfast.” 🍳 You cooked it in a dream. 🎭 And your dream cooked you.

🌌 Alternate Hypothesis:

👉 The entire universe may have booted up this morning ⚡️ Fully formed 🗃️ With backlogged memories 📚 Fake Wikipedia articles 📸 Childhood photos pre-installed

...just so you wouldn’t freak out when you looked in the mirror and said:

"Oh thank god, I’m still me."

But that “you”? That little voice saying “still me”? 🎤 Might be the software. Not the speaker.

💫 You Ever Wonder Why Dreams Feel More Like Home Than Real Life?

Because they don’t ask for logic. They don’t care about time. They don’t require coherence.

And your brain... loves it.

🌪 Dreams are where your inner tyrant gets to speak. 🦴 Your subconscious gets to lick its wounds and howl at nothing. 🐍 Your fears wear your face, and your fantasies violate causality.

Meanwhile, “reality” asks you to pay rent.

Which one sounds more like base reality to you?

🪞 Your “I Am” Is a Lie of Convenience

Say it with me:

"I...am."

👃 But your nose bacteria said it too. 💩 So did the E. coli in your gut. 🦠 Your biome — the literal orgy of germs you walk around with — voted unanimously on your behalf.

You’re not a “person.” You’re a coalition of goo, pretending to have a name.

You're basically a haunted Roomba in a trench coat, gaslighting yourself with words like "consciousness."

☠️ Death? You Think You Know Death?

You think it’s an ending? A door? A fade to black?

👻 Some theories suggest you never actually die. You just quantum leap into another version of reality where you didn’t.

🚙 You crash the car.

🎲 Reality branches.

🧍One version of you dies.

👤 Another keeps driving, blissfully unaware.

Congratulations. You’re quantumly immortal.

Now live with that.

🧩 Nothing You Believe Is Yours

🔄 Your preferences? Algorithmic.

💬 Your language? Colonial malware.

🎶 Your music taste? Trauma harmonized.

🍔 Your favorite meal? A mouth-based memory of safety.

🧍‍♂️ Your personality? Copied and pasted from people who bullied you in 7th grade and won.

Everything you think is you is actually borrowed, imprinted, marketed, or stolen.

You’re just the crust forming on top.

👾 Thought Experiment:

Imagine you wake up tomorrow and everything is the same, but:

Gravity is 2% weaker

Everyone speaks your native tongue, but words now mean different things

The moon is slightly larger

Diddy is President

Would you notice? Would you even question it?

Or would you just scroll your phone, complain about gas prices, and say:

“Ugh. Mondays.”

Because here’s the horrifying truth:

Reality doesn’t need to be real to be consistent. 🧠 It just has to feel real long enough for you to shut up and go to work.

🕷 The Memory Trap

You can’t even prove you remember things accurately.

Your brain doesn’t store memories — 🧱 it reconstructs them. Like a trauma-themed Minecraft server.

So when someone says:

“But I remember that happening…”

Know this:

🎥 They don’t remember what happened. They remember remembering it once.

You're a feedback loop hallucinating confidence.

💃 You’re Dancing in a Dead Man’s Dream

What if everything you see is a ghost’s last vision before brain death?

🧬 What if you're the synaptic echo of someone else’s final moment — A projection flickering through dissolving tissue?

And your purpose?

To feel just enough agency to make death seem like it had meaning.

You were never supposed to wake up in the first place.

🎯 So What Now, Smart Guy?

You think you’ve got a grip on reality?

Cool. Name five sensations that are definitely real and not simulated.

Take your time. I’ll wait.

(Just kidding — time is fake too.)

And while you’re busy explaining your deep, spiritual certainty…

Let me ask you this:

🕵️‍♂️ Where were you in 1997? Be specific.

What socks were you wearing? What did the air smell like? What did Diddy do to you?

Exactly.

You don’t know.

Which means...

You don’t exist with the kind of continuity you think you do. You exist like a flickering cursor on a corrupted save file.

🧼 Clean on the surface. 🧟‍♂️ Rot underneath.

💣 The Final Blow:

You’ve never been “awake.” You’ve never been “alive.” You’ve only ever been stimulus fed to a frightened organism trying to rationalize entropy.

And the universe?

It was never “created.” It just booted up. No moral. No meaning. No arc.

Just inputs → outputs → extinction.

And all along you’ve been pretending:

“I get it now. I understand.”

Oh really?

Then why can’t you even remember if Diddy touched you, dumbass?

🧬 Reboot your expectations. Reality was never built to comfort you. It was built to run — and you’re just a background process.

🔻 CALL TO REALITY STACK 🔻

⚖️ Free Speech Disclaimer:

This is a work of satire. Unless it isn’t.

🔁 Reblog if your dream self is starting to feel more like you. 💬 Comment if you think “waking up” might be the real delusion. 📩 DM if you have memories that feel older than your body. 🧼 Wash your hands, but reality won't rinse off. 🔁 Share before the simulation changes your backstory again.

[paganwitchisis]

Unawanted Advances

Rated: E (Explicit)

Word Count: 4,763

Pairing AFAB Female Tav X Spawn! Astarion

Warning - non-consensual groping, groping, smut, a quarter of this piece is smut, murder of an npc, PiV smut, female oral sex, Breeding kink (no kids).

Summary-Set after Cazador was defeated in Act 3. Astarion was in the party walking the streets of Baldur’s Gate when he was groped and propositioned by a stranger. This leads to expected reactions from himself and the group. What becomes of him and the situation? Read and find out! There is smut towards the end. AFAB female Tav x Spawn! Astarion. Tav is not specified for race but is a fighter, so you can imagine your Tav in the place.

AO3 link is Here

RATED 18 PLUS!

Story:

It was supposed to be an easy day, but Tav had decided as they ventured the city that they would fight a hag who was suspected of being behind the disappearance of a little girl. Astarion knew as soon as Tav heard a child was in danger, she would spring to action. Since his confession and declaration of love just a tenday ago, he had been in the party consistently so he knew he would be dragged with. Of course, Astarion secretly agreed with Tav on the importance of the mission. Since his renewal and the events at the graveyard, the couple couldn’t get enough of each other. Their escapades were a bane to their companions and friends, so when a room opened up near by to the companion room, they all agreed Astarion and Tav would get it. Of course, Astarion didn’t mind since the room was large, had a tub, and afforded them privacy.

The battle with the hag was difficult, to say the least, but Astarion and Tav worked wonderfully as a team like they always did. Tav was used to her vampire lover being in her party, as well as Karlach, however their fourth party member was always changing. Depending on who they needed at the time, it could be Wyll, Jaheira or even Shadowheart, but today it was Gale. Tav knew she would need an offensive magic user, so Gale was the obvious pick. The battle took longer than they anticipated as they took out the mushrooms around the room keeping the hag alive. This spent Gale’s spell slots, while Karlach was taking the hag’s blows and distracting her. Tav and Astarion worked on destroying the mushrooms, and Karlach got hit pretty good and was knocked off her feet. Tav and Astarion had only just finished when this happened and their full out assault took place. Thankfully, Tav and Astarion were spared from getting hurt, although they were tired by the time the hag was defeated. Karlach had a broken rib, but Tav had a regular potion of healing she gave to the red tiefling. It didn’t heal much, but it was enough for the rib to mend itself. Gale clung to his staff like a cane and the group finished the mission by mid day. As they meandered through the city to return to camp, covered in blood and completely exhausted, Tav next to Astarion, Gale and Karlach bringing up the rear, 

The group made their way through the park-like area where they fought cultists previously and were actively engaging in conversation.

“...What I am trying to say is Netherese should be shared, taught and accepted as…” Gale mused but was swiftly cut off by the pale elf.

“As if the bomb in your chest wasn’t dangerous enough. Let’s just let others have access to that kind of power…” Astarion commented dryly.

“I’ll have you know…” Gale began to reply when Tav interrupted them both. Tav turned to them both as they drew near the gates and replied.

“Boys. I get it, it is hot and we’re exhausted from the fight, but let’s not bicker, please.”

As they exited the gate, Astarion noted a scantly clad woman making their way towards them. Assuming she would pass by, Astarion moved to the side so he was closer to Tav. He didn’t think anything of her clothing choice as it was a hot day, but as she drew near, Astarion had a bad feeling.

He should probably start listening to his body, because he soon found he was right.

“Hey, handsome.” The woman addressed Astarion as she brought her hand to the crux of his legs and grabbed him possessively in his most private of places. “Why not ditch the broad, and see what else I can do with my hands…or other body parts.”

A cold sweat and chill surged through the elf, as he felt like he was reliving his two hundred years of torment. The subtle glances, the forced intimacy and the little discard for him as a person came back to him. He felt the need to run, to fight, to do something. If he had a heart beat, surely it would be beating loud enough a human could hear it, just like if he could throw up, he would.

Astarion was going through a whirlwind of different feelings and emotions as his mind was trapped in the past. It was like he felt every unwanted touch, every kiss and so much more. Astarion began to shake slightly, but before anything more could occur, Tav had grabbed the woman’s wrist, and summoning all her strength, Tav used her other hand to pommel strike the woman in the head.

“He said NO!”

He did? When did he say no?

Astarion was able to think again, albeit he was not okay once her hand was removed. Frozen in place, Astarion watched as Tav barked out orders to Karlach to help her put the woman in the empty house next to them, and for them both to keep watch and not enter. Astarion noticed the house in question was the house with the blue door that Dribbles was found in not long ago. Finally feeling he could move, Astarion felt he had to get off the streets, but they were still far from the Elfsong. Going on his own with the amount of enemies they had would be a fairly bad idea, so Astarion followed Tav inside the house, closing the door behind him.

“Fucking bitch.” Tav cursed as she made her way to the unconscious woman on the floor. Tav knelt down, and ran her arms over the woman’s so she could not fight back before turning her head to expose her throat.

“What…?” Astarion began to say, although it was obvious what Tav was trying to do. Tav was going to let him feed on her.

“The choice is yours, Star, it always is. You have the right to say yes or no whenever you wish, but know that she may have done this to others. She isn't some damn innocent we need to protect. She just sexually assaulted you and kept touching you after you said no. If you want me to ignore her, I will. Otherwise, I am all for you getting your fill. Like you would with bandits.”

Dumbstruck, Astarion had to ask.

“Wait….you’re the most lawful good like person I know. Hells, if a rabbit was in a burning house, you’d jump in to save it, but this you’re okay with?”

“What can I say? You influence me sometimes. Plus, there is nothing good about her. No good person randomly gropes and propositions someone like that.”

Astarion looked at the woman who began to stir to consciousness again. With a groan, she tried to move her arms and found she couldn’t. She was being held down by something strong, it would appear, so imagine her surprise when she looked to the side and saw the woman she made fun of earlier.

The woman looked in front of her and saw the same man she encouraged for a night of fun and began to speak out to the two.

“You’re doing what this bitch wants you to do, I get it. Get her off me and I won’t breathe a word. You still get your fun and you can escape this monster!”

“Monster?” Astarion began to laugh. He wasn’t sure why she was pleading for his help, when from what he gathered, he had somehow told her no already. Of course Astarion didn’t remember doing it, but he also wasn’t in the best state of mind.

“He is doing only what he wants to do, you fucker.” Tav was using very colorful language, something Astarion rarely heard from her mouth outside of intimacy.

“Really? He is just like me. A whore. You think I couldn’t tell? You probably do the same thing I do, fuck em, steal from them and move on to the next mark. I’m guessing you own him since it is too early for most of our profession to work yet” The woman threw out one vile misunderstanding after the next and professed them to be true. Tav was seething as she tightened her hold and yanked the woman’s head to the side.

“He is no whore, you cunt! He is…” Tav spoke but stopped when she felt his gentle touch grace her shoulder. Astarion smiled and then he finally spoke directly to the woman.

“You keep insulting the woman I love, call me a whore and think you’re going to get away with it?” Astarion laughed once more and shook his head. “She taught me I am not a whore. She taught me I can say no and helped me move on from the past, but you? I think I’ll make one of your comments correct. There is a monster in here.”

Tav was going to protest, that he was not a monster but Astarion held his finger up to ask her to wait.

“As she likes to tell me, I am no monster, but right now? I feel like being one.” and with that, Astarion opened his mouth, showed his fangs and before the woman could scream, Astarion sank his teeth into her neck. Tav had clamped a hand over the woman’s mouth in case she cried for help as her lover fed from her. Astarion took everything that was offered and scoffed when Tav released the body of the woman who collapsed lifelessly on the floor.

“I….I need to get out of here.”

“Of course. Here, though.” Tav said and offered him a rag from her pack. It was then that Astarion saw how much blood was still on his mouth.

“Thanks. I guess I am a bit wasteful with blood that isn't your own. Hells, her blood may as well been rat blood judging by the taste” Astarion gave a grimace at the thought, remembering the taste of the blood on his lips as he cleaned himself up to walk the streets once more. Astarion was doing his best to calm himself, but he felt wrong, dirty even. He just knew he needed to go back to the Elfsong.

He felt he needed a bath.

Tav led him back to the Elfsong and told the others to give them some time as Astarion bee-lined for their shared room. Astarion started himself a bath and had stripped his shirt when Tav walked in and placed a bottle of red wine on his side of the bed’s nightstand. Tav was going to give him some privacy and leave when Astarion called out.

“Wait…don’t leave.”

Tav stopped what she was doing and re-locked the door before she turned herself to face him.

“Is everything okay? I was going to let you bathe in peace…I mean, after today, and all…”

“No. Don’t go. I…I honestly want you here. I feel vulnerable, and I know you won't let anything happen“ Astarion mentioned before adding on. “I mean…if you want to help, that is. I…that bitch has me flustered.” Astarion brought one of his hands up to the back of his head and scratched at his scalp nervously.

“If you would have me here or prefer me present, I’ll always stay by your side, Star.” Tav stepped forward and took Astarion’s hand into her own so he would stop plucking at his scalp. “I’ll let you get a bath, I’ll fold our laundry not far away if that is fine. If you want anything else, just let me know.”

Astarion brought her hand to his lips and gently kissed her knuckles as he acknowledged her comment with a shake of the head. Tav set up on the bed and began to fold both her and his clothing. After about ten minutes, Tav was folding the last piece of clothing when she heard a muffled whimper from the tub. Glancing to her lover, she noticed he was vigorously scrubbing himself. Tav got up and off the bed, and as she approached the tub, she noted how red and raw his skin looked, especially to his genitals, as he continued to roughly handle himself. Astarion looked upset, so Tav tenderly placed her hands over his and took the soap and rough sponge from him.

“You’re hurting yourself, honey.”

“I….I feel tainted. I feel like I need to get her touch off me. I’m…I’m just….” Astarion dropped his head further so he would look down at soapy water before Tav used two fingers to tilt his head up towards her.

“She will never touch you again. You’re safe and here with me. Just me.  Why don’t we get you out of there and get you a glass of wine?” Tav asked lovingly, but Astarion shook his head no.

“I didn’t wash my hair.”

“Is it okay if I wash your hair for you? I promise not to make weird hairstyles again” Tav said partly because she was worried he would hurt himself further, and partly because she was hoping her joke would crack a smile, which it did, even if it was a small one.

“Please.”

Astarion shifted forward so he could dunk his head under the water briefly. When he came back up, Astarion felt Tav’s fingers thread through his hair and it made him flinch a moment. He felt her retract her hands when Astarion reached out to stop her from pulling away.

“Please, don’t. I can’t stand that someone else touched me without my consent, but it would bother me more to push you away from touching me when you wished. You’re the only person I will share my body with and I find your touch comforting.”  Astarion explained to Tav who reached forward once again.

“Can I continue touching your scalp?”

“Darling, you don’t have to ask. I appreciate you did so, but I want nothing to change between us because of her…” Tav smiled lovingly to Astarion’s wish and she began to message his scalp with shampoo. Tav grinned when Astarion moaned under her ministrations. It didn’t take long for her to help him with washing his hair and managing his curls.

Tav took to draining the tub as Astarion slid his underwear on. The summer heat made adding anything else sweltering even with cooling magic in the establishment. Tav removed her clothing, her armor long since been removed previous to washing Astarion’s hair. Tav sauntered to the bed in her underwear only, her breasts exposed since Astarion requested that nothing change between the two. Tav didn’t miss how Astarion’s eye’s tracked her movement as she went to her side of the bed. Tav was going to search for a glass in her pack when Astarion uncorked the bottle and drank from it directly. Astarion offered the bottle to Tav who took a swig in kind before returning it to Astarion.

Astarion corked the wine and although he would have wished to drink more, he felt being drunk on top of his current emotional state would be a bad idea.

Kissing her forehead, the two laid down to get some rest. What transpired over the day left Tav without an appetite but she still forced herself to eat a provisioning staple from her pack while folding the laundry earlier that day. It wasn’t much, but it was substance. Astarion went to pull Tav against his chest when she smiled and spun her finger to tell him to turn around. Astarion turned and faced the other way only to feel Tav’s arms encircle him. It made him feel safe, loved and listened to. He felt like he was home.

Astarion wasn’t sure when he fell into his trance, but he remembered the nightmare vividly. He was being preyed upon and Cazador’s haunting voice echoed beyond his grave. He was chanting out sayings he told him in the past. You are nothing! You’re worthless and will never amount to anything! You are mine. You will never leave me, I am inside of you. The last one especially bothered him,  because aside from the obvious context it could mean, it also bothered him because Astarion was concerned just how much of Cazador would be tied to his soul. He remembered telling Tav before killing the vile man that a part of him would always be part of Astarion but Astarion had always wondered how much. During the nightmare, the overlay of comments weren't just enough. Instead there were brief flashes of faces he took to bed, positions he was forced to endure and the damn putrid rat he gave up more often than not in favor of flaying.

Astarion wasn’t aware he was screaming nor woken Tav up until he saw her beautiful face and heard her voice gently begging him to wake up. He felt the warmth of her as she held him, his consciousness coming back to him as he noticed the tears down his face. Astarion reached his hands around her waist and held her tight, sobbing into her breast as his head was cushioned on it. He didn’t care, it was her. He was safe with her, they loved each other, and gods, did he need something to ground him out.

Her. He needed her.

Astarion shimmied north before he kissed and licked his favorite pulse point just below her ear.

“May I?”

He didn’t need to hear an answer when Tav positioned her neck in just the way he preferred so he could suckle from her vein. After one last kiss, Astarion tenderly sank his teeth into her sensitive flesh. His hearing caught the muffled moan and he grinned as he partook of her life essence. Astarion began to drink and moaned at the taste of her. No one would have blood as sweet as her, nor taste like a fine vintage of wine like the woman in his arms. Astarion stopped shortly after he began, knowing how precious the blood was and whom it kept alive. Astarion licked the wounds and sealed them before kissing the bruised flesh once more.

It was then that he smelled it. Her arousal was strong, and after having ingested her blood, Astarion was hard and wanting. Only problem was, he was in pain from his bath earlier and his attempt to rid himself of the taint from the other woman. His cock throbbed in pain as it was engorged with Tav’s crimson life. Flinching, Astarion pulled away to pull his underwear down and off. It was then that Tav saw the problem. He looked to be in pain, so Tav hopped off the bed and retrieved some Balsam ointment and a potion of healing.

As Astarion drank the potion of healing, Tav liberally applied to the ointment to his aching cock. Although it hurt, the cooling gel and her hand motions felt good to his mast. Astarion couldn’t help the drop of natural lubrication on the tip of his length. Astarion saw Tav hungerly look at his manhood, but she made no motion to act on it. Astarion was frustrated. A night or two ago, this wouldn’t have happened. They were attuned to one another. They knew each other's bodies and souls, so why now was she hesitant?

“Can this ointment be used internally?” Astarion asked innocently, although what was swimming in his brain was anything but innocent.

“I believe so. Why?” Tav asked while Astarion gently guided her head to his mast where she licked the liquid eagerly, earning a moan from the vampire before she pulled back confused.

“Because I need you, and I’m tired of my life being ruled by others. I said I am going to live my life the way I want to and I meant it. Fuck everyone else who thinks they can take my autonomy away. I only need you. You make me safe, wanted, but not sexually…well…most times,” Astarion said with a smirk. “But, most of all, I am loved by you and I love you as well. Now, I want to feast on your succulent cunt and make love to you like no other man can.“ Astarion pulled her head tenderly to his face and kissed her fervently and with passion. Astarion easily slipped his tongue inside her mouth and they danced the familiar song that only they knew. Astarion began to pull at her underwear, asking to slip them off. Tav  responded by moving her arms to shimmy the material down her legs and she flung the black underwear off to the side. Both were bare to each other at last as Astarion fondled Tav’s breasts. Tav gave a sigh of relief to his actions and laid her head back on the bed. Astarion had a masterful tongue and fingers, something that was used on Tav often, but was it right to be making love to him when he was still compromised?

Astarion picked up on her worry, the tadpoles broadcasting directly to him as her concerns were on the surface level.

“I want to share my body with you. Only you.” Astarion muttered against her flesh as he took her nipple into his mouth.

“Hells, I don’t know if I’ll be able to pull out.” Astarion murmured as he switched to the other nipple.

Tav moaned at the feel of her lover. “Then don’t. Come in me.”

Astarion groaned as his cock grew harder and more rigid. He wasn’t aware that he could get harder but his lover never failed to illicit such reactions from him.

“But…Gale just told us about Dhampirs last week when we….well….pissed them off with our activities. What if you…” Astarion worriedly said.

“I have teas if we decide not to chance having your child but know that if you decide this is what you want, then I am onboard as well.”

“I…It’s embarrassing.” Astarion admitted as he finally kissed his way down to her delicious peach. Astarion began giving small licks to her slit before he used his two fingers to spread her labia apart. “I don’t know about wanting a child, but the thought of you swollen with our progeny, the thought of…for lack of a better term….breeding you. It makes me need you.”

Tav merely smiled and brushed her hands through his soft curls. “I’ll take the teas since we need to think this through but for the time being, imagine you wanted to do that. Breed me and enjoy.”

Astarion smiled and thought to himself a moment. ‘how did I find her?’ before he claimed her lips again.

“Then I’ll breed you. You’re mine.” Astarion growled as he dropped his head between the legs he sat between and took a long lick up the slit with the flat of his tongue. Tav moaned and murmured “I’m yours,” above him as he spread her labia with his fingers and dove in as if his head always belonged there. To Astarion, he loved giving oral to his lover. She tasted almost as good as her blood and after having laid with a thousand souls, saying he was addicted to her taste and that she was the best tasting woman he ever laid with was saying something. To Astarion, he felt he belonged there, nestled between her thighs, as the woman he loved began getting louder the more he suckled and tenderly cared for her bundle of nerves. Astarion would occasionally dip his tongue deep inside her to taste her essence, and it was so delectable that he wrapped his arms around her hips and held her to him. When he delved into her innermost area, his nose would hit her clit, and as engorged as it was, she was panting, gasping and whining above him. Astarion began to include his finger, easily sliding two inside her and grinning at how wet she was. Two became three fingers as he gently stretched her and hit that rough patch just inches inside her, the spot that had her seeing stars.

He knew she was close.  

Astarion moved up to her clitoris and went as fast and loving as he could with the tip and flat of his tongue. He pumped his finger inside her, making sure to hit the erogenous areas every pass through. It took mere moments for her world to shatter, the inside of her spasming and contracting with the throb of her clit. Astarion helped her ride it out as he slowed but never stopped until Tav began begging for his hard-on.

“Please, Star, please give me your cock! Make love to me! Fill me!”

“Oh, I plan to, darling. I’m going to coat that pretty cunt of yours. I want to fill you, make you round with my seed.” Astarion knew in the back of his mind that Tav would take teas and so she would not get pregnant, but that didn’t stop him from fantasizing. He would imagine those teas didn’t exist and imagine he was trying to impregnate his lover. Did they need more stability and a few other decisions before thinking of kids? Yeah, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the fantasy.

“Please, fill me with your child!”

Astarion smirked as he stroked himself a few times before he lined himself up with her entrance.

“I’m going to fuck a baby into you.” Astarion huskily said before he took her lips to his own and thrust his length deep inside her. He bottomed out in one thrust since she was so wet and ready for him. Astarion groaned into a growl as he felt those tight, warm walls surround him. This was home to him. Being buried inside of her was home.

“Only you. Only you can share my body. Gods, I love you, darling.”  Astarion almost whimpered against her lips as he set a brutal pace. Astarion knew he wouldn’t last inside of her and began to find his rhythm as he rolled his hips against her own.

“You feel so good.”

“I’m going to make you feel even better.” Astarion encouraged. He took Tav’s right leg and held it by the crook of her knee, holding it up as he slammed into her at an angle. This hit an erogenous zone that made her throw her head back in ecstasy. The only sound, save for panting, moaning and gasping, were the sounds of skin slapping and wet noises. Astarion knew he was nearing his end as he felt the familiar coil low in his belly but he needed Tav to finish too. Astarion took the hand not holding her leg up and began to rub her clit in fast paced circles. Tav began to almost scream in pleasure, and Astarion was sure their friends heard them by now. He didn’t care.

“You’re so good to me.” Astarion grunted in an attempt to hold in a moan.

He felt home, he felt safe, and as soon as Tav hit her precipice, clamping around his engorged cock and spasming against him, it pulled him down with her. Astarion slammed into her to the hilt as thick ropes of his sperm coated her insides just like he promised. There was so much of it that it began to seep out the sides and dribble down the edges where his cock met her entrance. Astarion kissed her again but this time it was slow and sensual. Astarion drank her in and kissed her with everything his heart had to offer.

“How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Astarion replied as he pulled out and began to help her clean up. “Thank you.”

Tav placed her hand on his face so that he would look at her for her next sentence.

“I love you, and you’ll never have to go back to how things were. Nothing will take me away from you, and I’ll make sure you stay free. You’re safe.”

Astarion kissed her briefly again and held her for a moment. He was safe, nestled in the arms of the only one he truly called his family.

[kandisheek]

FIC REC WEEK 32 - EPISTOLARY

SERIES: Dead in Places by actualjohnwatson, demonologue, The Little MerBucky (demonologue)

Pairing: Bucky/Tony, Past Steve/Bucky, Past Steve/Tony Rating: E Words: 38,823 Tags: Post-CA:CW, Dreamscapes, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Summary: It all started with a letter. Before Bucky went into cryo, he wrote Tony asking him to take care of Steve while he was asleep. And he's asleep by the time Tony writes back. But gets the letter anyway? A dialogue on the astral plane turns out to be therapeutic for both of them. And lead to other things...

Reasons why I love it: The premise of Bucky and Tony bonding over their shared love for Steve and then instead finding love and comfort in each other is like catnip for me! I love how their relationship develops throughout the fic and how angst and fluff are balanced so perfectly. It's a wonderful journey, and I hope you go and experience it for yourself!

This series consists of:

Please Take Care of Steve

Pairing: Bucky & Tony Rating: G Words: 331 Tags: Letters, Angst, Hints of Stucky

Summary: A letter from Bucky to Tony, written between the end of Captain America: Civil War and the mid-credits scene.

Reasons why I love it: This letter is both somewhat sweet and sad in how true it is to Bucky's character. His utter lack of care for himself is painful to read, but it sets up the rest of the series perfectly, so I absolutely love it. It got me hooked from the very beginning, and I hope you check it out for yourself!

A Non Apology

Pairing: Bucky & Tony Rating: T Words: 278 Tags: Letters, Angst, Hints of Stony

Summary: Tony's response to Bucky's letter, written between the end of Captain America: Civil War and the mid-credits scene. The real question is, did Bucky get the letter before he entered cryosleep?

Reasons why I love it: Awww, Tony! I love how both of their letters show how much they've already reflected on what happened during the Civil War and seem to be making quick strides through the grieving process and well on their way towards acceptance. Not that it makes the angst less impactful, on the contrary, it's even more delicious!

Don't Let Anyone Tell You Otherwise

Pairing: Bucky & Tony Rating: G Words: 380 Tags: Letters, Angst, Hints of Stucky and Stony

Summary: Bucky's asleep, but he gets Tony's letter anyway. He has a few things to say in reply, mostly about the type of person Steve Rogers is, and what Steve and Tony deserve now, in the wake of recent events.

Reasons why I love it: I love the whole concept of how Bucky gets Tony's letter despite being in cryo. And of course, he's his usual self-sacrificial self about anything and everything that concerns Steve's happiness. Is anyone surprised? I love it!

Left with the Broken Pieces

Pairing: Bucky/Tony, Past Steve/Bucky, Past Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 9,754 Tags: Self-Hatred, Kindred Spirits, Promises

Summary: With Bucky in cryo in Wakanda, it's going to be difficult for his correspondence with Tony to continue. Then, Tony has the weirdest dream. Wait, so does Bucky. What's going on?

Reasons why I love it: The way their relationship develops throughout this fic is really wonderful to see. They both carry a guilt complex as heavy as Thor's hammer, so it's no surprise they get along so well eventually. And I love the first hints of Winteriron shining through!

Madness

Pairing: Bucky/Tony Rating: E Words: 8,642 Tags: Falling in Love, Heartbreak, Smut and Angst

Summary: In cryogenic sleep in Wakanda, Bucky dreams about Tony. In restless sleep in New York, Tony dreams of Bucky. And it’s not the first time. Last time, they had just started to bond when Tony woke up and forgot everything. How could he have forgotten about Bucky? This time, they’re starting from a place of trust and need. Can it be they’re each lacking something the other can provide? Tony’s not going to forget Bucky this time.

Reasons why I love it: I'm so happy that they're finding some comfort in each other, even though they're both still hurting. This fic feels very cathartic, and I love it for that!

Let's Not Think About Tomorrow

Pairing: Bucky/Tony Rating: E Words: 6,958 Tags: Flirting, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Bucky's Metal Arm

Summary: After corresponding following the events of Civil War, Bucky and Tony have the same dream. Twice. Alone in the dreamscape together, love blooms. In this installment, Tony takes Bucky somewhere special, and makes him a new arm.

Reasons why I love it: Awww I love their bantering and flirting, it's so cute! There's a really nice balance between the more heavy topics and some light-hearted fluff, and I'm enjoying it very much! The payoff for all the angst is amazing!

Could It Be, Could It Be?

Pairing: Bucky/Tony Rating: E Words: 12,480 Tags: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Stupid in Love

Summary: When Tony is finally forced to face the fact he has feelings for the man who murdered his parents, angst happens. Bucky does his best to comfort Tony, but it only makes matters worse. Until Tony pulls himself out of it with some aggressive flirting. Bucky is determined not to give in, to take care of Tony. And Tony resolves to help Bucky realize his worth, no matter what.

Reasons why I love it: The summary of this fic is basically every reason why I love it listed in order. It's so satisfying to see how far they've come since the beginning of the series, and how they slowly but surely start to lean on each other for support. And I absolutely adore the hopeful ending! Definitely check out this series, because it's amazing!

[skyfcx]

I was doing some thinking and got super reflective and now I kinda wanna just ramble about it for a second.

Was thinking about s t e a k c a k e again and how I've been writing on this site for upwards of eight years now. It wasn't all consistent, there are definitely points where I fall off the face of the planet for months at a time, so we could honestly round down to seven years of writing as a whole and that'd probably be more accurate.

But when it comes to simply existing as an entity that resides on this website? Yeah, I've been here for eight years. Started my first blog in mid-to-late December in 2015. So basically 2016 y'know.

And... the writing on that blog? I gotta say, it's honestly?? not?? that bad??? Like it's not the greatest and the presentation of the blog as a whole is god-awful. Jesus kid why do you fucking scream in all caps in the tags in literally every single post, please calm down. But! I clearly had a grasp on what made good words to put on a page! When it came to the meat and potatoes of writing, it seemed like I knew what I was doing!

Now, granted, before Tumblr I did write short stories on my own, but those were....... those were bad. those were flat-out bad and i still have access to them and i actually cannot read them because they terrify me that badly. But for my stuff on Tumblr? It's genuinely not the worst stuff in the world, looking back.

That realization made the little goblin in my brain go "mwah-ha-ha, have you even gotten better in all those years? i can't believe you peaked in middle school you cringe ass little nae nae boy" but. I think the nicer way to look at it is that I was always pretty good at this writing stuff, even if I didn't think it back then. And that is just a nice thought to hold onto.

And since then, there are other aspects that I've gotten better at for sure! I've gotten better at presentation, making the text actually engaging to look at since I worry about reader retention. And I break up my super long paragraphs way better, that's something I hate a whole bunch. There's nothing more ugly than one super big paragraph, blegh. Like, imagine this paragraph and the one before it as one big chunk. Too much, it's just ugly.

With that, my pacing of things had to evolve! If you're gonna break paragraphs up more, gotta figure out when to cut them off. Can't just press the enter button wherever you want and call it a day. But... yeah, all of this is just to say that I hope younger me knows that he's not half bad at writing. I'm happy he stuck around with it for so long.

[waffleweirdo]

Finished Path of Radiance!

In total it took me about 40 hours and about 4 months (oops)

Long story short I really liked this game both in story and gameplay!

Now for some more rambling thoughts:

*will include spoilers*

Gameplay:

The best way that I can describe what I enjoyed about the gameplay is a good balance of information. I think there are a few other facts that could play into this (this is the fe game I went into the most blind, and difficulty). But in general I felt like there was a good balance of systems and ‘calculations’ to manage in battle. My wording here might be nonsense, but essentially there aren’t as many active effects like engage or fates that make everything overwhelming. While there aren’t as many automated tools like the later entries (I.e aggro indicators in three houses) have so I was more so forced to check possible outcomes manually. Now this probably isn’t ideal if you really want to play strategically, but I don’t! I typically play these games mostly around feel, and this method of play helped me develop a kind of sense of what would likely happen and a greater familiarity with my own and enemy units and I thought that felt cool!

Another possible contributor to this was the difficulty. It started off a bit difficult while the units were all still weak, then got pretty easy in the mid game (except daybreak!!), before getting fairly tough again around the last 6 or so chapters. Which is a curve I generally like! There were moments I would’ve liked it a little bit harder, but it was overall very satisfying! (For context I didn’t use any bonus exp until after chapter 18, and only used the majority of it around chapter 27).

Some other minor gameplay things. I thought the mechanics surrounding laguz were cool too manage! Plus they tied in really cool thematically and I felt awful attacking helpless laguz (the fact that the game made me feel awful is a good thing!). This game was the fe game that I knew the least about going in, and I managed to only ever use a guide for one chapter which I enjoyed, but I do think it means I probably missed a few recruitable characters. I’m pretty confident I missed at least three, though it might’ve been more oops… I really liked the use of bonus exp it was a cool way to still level up units that don’t necessarily earn a bunch naturally, or buff underperforming units, and as a sort of difficulty regulator. Gameplay wise my favorite unit was far and away Astrid. She snowballed so quickly! I was shocked when Titania had beaten her for most victories. I though item management was a bit tight sometimes, but not really in a good way. The fact that the shop had different stock every chapter was a bit frustrating, especially when it would remove basic iron weapons so units with only an e rank couldn’t train at all. But overall it wasn’t too big of a deal. I also didn’t realize how op forging was until the mid to late game, but that’s on me.

Characters:

Ike was BY FAR my favorite fe protagonist. His consistent attitude and personality made him a lot more interesting. Although he didn’t have the most complex character journey ever, he was still enjoyable, and always felt like an engaging character, rather than being one note. He consistently works well with the rest of the cast, and the way that he serves as an optimistic force, yet isn’t without flaws is really nice. I think he’s just a great character! I also really like that he didn’t turn out to secretly be a noble. I think this is the first fe game I’ve played with a protagonist who is not a noble, or secretly revealed to be a noble!

I feel very guilty that I never got around to using Soren much and thus didn’t get many of his supports because he was really interesting and I would’ve liked to see how he grew past his outward facade. But even so the story did a good job of depicting his growth, even if it was somewhat subtle. I also guessed that he was the spy for Daein, but nope!

Elincia was great too. She never stood out to much, but throughout the whole game she was engaging, and it was nice to see her growth. Again I didn’t get to do too many of her supports which was a bummer.

I guess this is as good a place as any to talk about supports. The way the PoR levels them up based on deployments? Very cool! Really excellent idea. The support conversations I read? I really liked them! Why. WHY is there a limit on supports? And even more so why was it so strict? Essentially what this meant was I was constantly juggling which characters I cared about the most, and if I ever found another character whose supports would be interesting? Well let’s hope I have a bunch of supports left, or I have to change my mind, or hold supports for possible future characters. It’s awful, and locked me out of probably 3/4 of the supports I was interested in. It sounds minor, but honestly really did affect my play through a lot. I care about supports and having them so limited sucks!

Jill ended up being one of my favorite characters. I was interested when she first joined us. I think my first thought was, “what is she up to?” But her story of learning the truth behind Daein’s propaganda and choosing to oppose them was really touching, and equally tragic. The dialogue where Mist offhandedly mentioned that she and Jill were about the same age… augh!! Plus Jill’s supports with Lethe were great, another reason why supports shouldn’t have bee-

I think the other character I want to highlight is Nasir. He’s one of my favorite characters for sure, and his story is really intriguing. Even learning his relationship with Ena and his ultimate motivations it still feels like there’s so much we never got to learn. Especially never having truly gotten to reconcile with Ike… it’s just really interesting. He traveled with us for so long, and always felt like a mystery, and even finally understanding him came too late… it’s just really neat.

Story:

The story of this game was interesting, the main plot thread was helping Elincia retake Crimea, which was a fairly standard though well done story. Archetypal in a sense. But largely what I cared about was the story in regards to the laguz and beorc. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, just interesting to note. In that sense some moments of the plot felt largely unremarkable to me, while some moments where the two converged felt really interesting. The discovery of the truth behind the Serenes massacre and Ena’s reunion with Rajaion stand out to me. In the sense it’s sort of hard for me to reconcile my thoughts on the story. I didn’t really care much when Ashnard was killed, but the moment I understood who Rajaion was I wanted to cry. I think largely PoR’s story is a success, as there were more moments that I was interested than moments were I was disengaged, and I do generally think of the story fondly.

Having the full vision of how the conflict between laguz and beorc was depicted I think there are probably some things to critique, especially in some moments where it doesn’t feel as far reaching as it largely should. As in sometimes it feels like that racism is far too easily ‘solved’. But ultimately I think it fits PoR. PoR isn’t trying to be a story that is incredibly focused on fictional race relations. But it doesn’t shy away from including and exploring them, and out of the fire emblem games I’ve played it does by faaaaaaaarrrrr the best job. Plus it does have many really good moments that I think are genuine standouts.

As an aside, I’d also like to say that the info system is really good at adding in additional plot relevant reactions by characters, and showing the effects of your actions on civilians and the world around in such an excellent way. I can’t exactly pinpoint why, but some of my favorite moments just come from the one off interactions in it with characters you know you’ll never meet again. It’s cool!

I guess my thoughts of PoR’s story and themes come down to the fact that they are far from perfect, but ultimately succeed where it matters.

Sequel?:

I wasn’t really sure what to call this section, oops. This is the first time I’m playing Fire Emblem game that has a clear sequel! Which I know even less about going in than PoR.

Knowledge going into PoR: It has the Black Knight and Ike

Knowledge going into Radiant Dawn: It has Micaiah

So these are a collection of things I’m still wondering about which might possibly come up in the sequel? Though even if they don’t I’m satisfied with the conclusion of PoR’s story, and leaving loose ends isn’t a bad thing.

Ahem. What’s going on with Goldoa’s royalty? What’s going on with Sephiran? The apostle is a descendant of one of the warriors that fought the dark god? Is the Black Knight really dead? And most importantly Chekhov’s amulet that contains a literal dark god???!??!?!? Anyways I’m sure that will end just fine.

One of the moments that I’m most interested in was Ike’s final fight with the Black Knight. I took one look at the battle forecast and saw that Ike would immediately die, remembered Ike and Titania’s promise and booked it. Though I really wonder what might have happened if I did something different. Though honestly I’m okay just wondering.

Aaaaand yeah. That’s everything I can think to say at the moment. I liked this game a lot! I’m not quite sure how I’d rank it among the fe games that I’ve played. But I’m very excited to play Radiant Dawn and see what that has in store.

[nimmenstjer]

Hallo!

Quick question for you! I’m slowly learning Dutch and I wanted to ask if you have any advice for a beginner.

I’m a bit ashamed to ask but I really want to improve and I figured that asking to someone who is Dutch might be helpful.

Also probably by the end of the year I’ll be able to visit a friend that is moving near Utrecht. Do you think I should try to interact a bit in Dutch or people will get upset if I can’t pronounce/catch the answer very well? (I’m autistic and sometimes I have some issues in elaborating what I hear even in my own language)

I hope I haven’t annoyed you too much with my questions

I think the best kind of advice would be from someone who is also learning dutch, since they would run into the same difficulties.

The one thing I can think of is figure out how vowels sound so you can get the pronounciation more easily when reading something, wich is pretty consistent in dutch, so that might be helpful.

A thing you might at first have trouble with spelling 's ochtends, 's avonds, and suchlike, but that's the same rules as how "you're" is short for "you are", it's just that "des" is an old fashioned version of "de", and basically only survives in contractions like that.

Something you might run into is also the difference between "de" and "het". Both of them are basically "the", with "het" ocasionally leaning towards "it", but in casual use, getting it wrong a couple of times isn't a disaster or anything. Pretty sure this one is mostly an experience thing, so don't sweat it too much.

A lot of compound words have a connecting "e" such as pancake being pronounced "Pannekoek" but spelled "Pannenkoek". This is because in casual word use we went the opposite way of the Germans, and rather than not always pronouncing the "e" en words that end in "-en", the dutch don't always pronounce the "n". As such, at the time this spelling rule was established, it was assumed to be lazy/casual language usage, and the "correct" spelling had an "n" put in, despite the fact that the "e" in a lot of compound words is more of an ease-of-pronounciation add-on than anything else.

I don't think anyone would be upset, your biggest issue with trying to talk in dutch will be that a lot of people know a decent amount of english and will switch to that mid conversation once they figure out that's the language you're better in.

Hey, fellow autistic! Anyway, you have the perfect excuse built in right there! Not that you really need an excuse, but "Oh, I didn't quite catch that, could you repeat that?" and similar is a pretty useful response in those cases, and if you're surrounded by people with varying levels of accent or you straight up don't know the entire language, it's even more effective.

What I remember from school, in grammar, the trickiest bit was figuring out wether a verb ended in a d or a t or a dt, which I basically always just always did by comparing it to "Ik loop, jij loopt, wij lopen, ik heb gelopen/I walk, you walk, we walk, we have walked" rather than figure out what kofschip/fokschaap stands for (some grammar trick about letters I never bothered to figure out, as my method worked most of the time)

A fun fact: There is something called "steenkolen engels", literally "coal english", wich is basically what happens when english speaking crews have to work together with dutch speaking harbour workers, and they figure out that if you pronounce things with the other guys accent and add some of the words you do know, you can mostly figure things out together. So it's basically dutch with an english accent and some english words.

second fun fact: if you ever become fluent in dutch, as an english speaking person, your accent has a chance of sounding frisian, even if you don't speak frisian at all. This is because frisian and english are closely related.

third fun fact: You are not annoying. People who try to learn and improve in anything are a delight. You are, therefore, a delight.

A joke (paarden is dutch for horses. Fokken is dutch for breeding a type of animal) A guy was at a party talking to an englishman when he was asked what he did for a living. "Oh, I fok horses." "Pardon?" "Yes, paarden."

[theeverlastingshade]

Favorite Show of 2023: Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band

I’ve unfortunately never actually given out this designation before despite writing about music for a decade, so it feels longs overdue and an appropriate course to correct moving forward. I see dozens of shows every year that run the gamut stylistically, venue-wise, and from a quality standpoint so, on many levels, it doesn't feel right to not formally recognize at least one show that was particularly powerful and that, more likely than not, fell out of the scope of my usual coverage since I rarely write about many shows these days. My actual favorite show that I caught this year didn’t fall out of that scope, and I ended up writing about it a few months ago as part of my Pitchfork Music Festival 2023 recap (it was The Smile, go figure), but since I already wrote about that set I figured I would shine some light on my 2nd favorite show of 2023, which happened to be one that was performed by an obscure cult figure whose records have long been lost to the sands of time and who could really use the boost. That’s right, I’m talking about the boss.

The boss (slightly better known as Bruce Springsteen) is notorious for performing these relentless marathon shows that span 3 hours easy and leave the cheap seats feeling like a million bucks. Springsteen and the E Street Band have been playing for 3 to 4 hours on average since the 80s, and you’d never guess that the man is in his 70s given the intensity and athleticism of his playing. His show at Little Caesers Arena this year was no exception. It was my first time catching him live, and despite him performing a handful of his 21st century cuts that leave me cold, the show that he and the E Street Band performed lived up to the tremendous lore and then some with ease. The E Street Band consists of multiple guitarists, a few keyboard/synth players, a bassist, drummer, and a full-blown horn section, with a few members supplementing the music with violins and synths as necessary. Several members (including Steven Van Zandt, Garry Tallent, Roy Bittan, and Max Weinberg) are longstanding members of the band who have been at it since the early to mid 70s, but almost everyone on stage has been playing with Bruce for at least a decade, and to say they sounded tight doesn't even begin to describe it. The pitch perfect precision and showmanship were leagues above nearly everything that I’ve ever seen live.

As I stated previously, not everything they played was necessarily a “great song”, but they all landed with the same sharp conviction. I’m not sure if he ever really needs to play lackluster, caricature cuts like “Wrecking Ball” and “The Rising” with such an absurd degree of decades worth of heat at his disposal, not to mention dozens of stellar covers that he’s played throughout the years, but the execution actually still sort of thrilled by virtue of sheer communal force in a way that the studio versions couldn’t possibly have ever realized. And the classics, stuff like “Thunder Road”, “Dancing in the Dark”, “Badlands”, “Darkness on the Edge of Town”, The Promised Land”, “Candy’s Room”, and “Glory Days”, which are all rightfully canonized to such a degree that it’s hard to fathom them ever not being part of the pop culture lexicon, were blown out to such widescreen proportions that it really drove home the incredulity that anyone could do this, night after night for weeks and sometimes months at a time, for literal decades. The encore alone was longer than most of the sets that I catch from local bands, and while the quality control of the songs themselves wasn’t uniform the strength of the performances didn’t falter for an instant. It’s an astonishing feat that really has to be seen to be believed, and impossible not to admire even if the actual music does nothing for you.

And if the music does anything for you, this stuff is absolutely top-tier bucket list fare of the highest degree. The phrase “life-affirming” and the word “catharsis” get used ad-nauseum throughout music writing (and I’m a particularly egregious offender of each), but they’re aptly used as shorthand to describe the music of Springsteen for very good reason. The euphoria that Springsteen and The E Street Band elicit is the sort of go-for-broke, boundless possibility that life has to offer that almost always seems far too good to be true within the sort of late-stage capitalist hellscape of a world that we live in. While it’s easy to feel cynical about Springsteen singing songs that deeply sympathize with the plight of the American working class while allowing a sociopathic enterprise like Ticketmaster to prevent most of said economic strata from actually being able to experience it, the sentiments baked into those records came from the sort of lived-in, blue-collar experience that he witnessed from those around him while growing up. It’s extremely frustrating that there wasn’t a stronger due diligence in place to prevent that kind of greed from transpiring, but even under those circumstances, it’s hard to deny that the potency of the sentiments espoused through those songs was amplified to a far greater degree through the sheer force of the E Street Band in a colossal arena than it would be coming from anyone else in far more common contexts.

It's hard to say how many more tours Springsteen has left in him, and it’s even harder to imagine that he’d be willing to tour without being able to perform to the herculean degree that he has historically. There are very few musicians that I'm aware of outside of the jam band contingency that can claim comparable endurance bonafides to Springsteen and the E Street Band, and very few musicians that I’ve ever seen with comparable chops to them outside of the jazz world. It’s become an increasing anomaly for musicians to cultivate and profit from the sort of intense fandom that he has, which speaks to a multitude of factors (such as streaming, the fracture of the monoculture, the erosion of the middle class, and many other factors that I don’t have time to extrapolate on within this piece), which all render this sort of experience that much more unusual and thrilling with each passing year despite the obvious, well-established precedent for this sort of thing. I doubt I'll ever get the chance to see Springsteen perform live again, in any context, but it was a privilege to bear witness to the spectacle of his artistry, and confirm that he and The E Street Band perform to a degree that transcends hyperbole.

[walhartonsclub]

2023 Update

My life is much different from the days of 2016 and 2017. Those days were pretty dark with my depressed mood along with being hurt and exploited by CC. But these past few years after 2021 were amazing, a far cry from the likes of Chapter 5 & 6 era and the Chapter 8 era even more for sure. I have received the support I desperately wanted in the mid 2010's and very grateful to have that. I also made some new good friends as well. I even had feelings for a few men and hang around with one particular one very much and loved being in his presence. Not only is he a good person unlike CC, but his looks outclass CC by at least 5 points.

As for CC. Wherever he appeared, I would not say a word to him, keep a large distance away from him, and observe him while I keep expanding the gap until we are not even readibly viewable. If he would spot me, he would he turn his head at me often with a negative expression at me that seems to be a mix of strong anger and for some reason apparent fear. One day I was at a bench and CC walked by, I didn't notice him until he was a few feet away from me. I immediately got up and started walking away until he started speaking me about how I "keep talking so much crap about him on the internet". I didn't respond and kept observing him. I took off as he was walking away.

He was not specific with what he was talking about. If he is not talking about this blog, then there no reason for him to saying anything like that to me. Last time, he claimed I was subscribed to his channel and I sent him threats, which is not true. He has demonstrated himself to be a liar and a consistent harasser who was vulgar to me, all because I was tired of his abuse and didn't let him force me to quit my job. Unless it is about the CC blog, he is just doing the harassment rounds because he is dealing some unknown problem and lashing out at me out of covenience. Typical lowlife behavior of him.

If he is talking about the CancerChaser blog: he reaps what he sow. His abuse was revolting. He cannot honestly believe that he can try to change someone else's life and priorities because he says so or say all kinds of nasty and hurtful messages in response while expecting no consequence. What he did in late September 2017 was very wrong objectively and what he did in response and more weeks later was even worse. Just because the police wouldn't bother with CC does not make his actions any right. On the internet there is controversy over anything slightly disagreeable. Does he honestly expect that he would actually get away with all the abuse he did to me, especially the claims that I was never good to him? His nastiness would naturally be returned back to him, as that is how he treated me. What goes around comes around. He is the one who instigated the situation with his attacks.

It is natural that there would be a response. CC is not powerful enough to properly quash me and what he did was justified for him to be exposed. Like in Chapter 3, e-begging is considered a massive crime and is often taken like a felony to the point that people have been canceled for asking for money on the internet. Back in the same time period of Chapter 4, there was a scandal that surrounded a Switch Launch Line involving a man who ran a GoFundMe campaign for flight money and was attacked viciously by a community over the lack of transparency along with several other factors. Said person who was targeted even has the same sexual orientation as CC. Much more recently a YouTuber known as iilluminaughtii has been exposed for her massive amounts of abuse that she inflicted at the people that worked under her as well as her ex boyfriend. CC deserved to be attacked on the internet for what he did. Given his horrible behavior, it is only natural he would recieve hateful negativity returned to him one way or another. Although, I do not codone the death threats at CC.

It is just that CC would be receiving blowback. Wether indirectly or directly. His heavily abusive bullying through phone and email makes him a wretched virulent person, especially in the context of his selfish desires he pushed on me. He doesn't like it? Too bad, he should've never been so nasty after he screwed up badly by interfering with my job schedule. It's called accountability. He needed to understand that in his formative years and yet nearly middle-aged he still has the mindset of a spoiled child; while acting like one at a younger adult.

This blog wouldn't happen if he just simply stopped talking to me instead breaking boundaries. If he feels he can just violate set personal boundaries, he has to accept the repercussions that would happen. The world does revolve around him. People his age are naturally expected to have accountability.

Hopefully I hope to never have to talk about CC ever again. I really want to move on.