#it's not a stretch to say that this game and the series changed my life for the better lol

[gazkamurocho]

I recently got into the series (starting with Yakuza 0) and your art is feeding me every minute I’m away from my console not playing the game uwu

Omggg you don't know how happy I got by reading your comment ;;💕 Thank you so much!! Yakuza 0 is one of the best gaming experiences out there and I hope it hooks you to play the entire series! Enjoy every second of your journey because it's gonna be a blast ❤

[talesofesther]

make it taste like love

Loki x Reader

Summary: You felt him before you even met him. And despite the pain he carried around, his soul was one of the most beautiful you'd ever seen.

A/N: A spur-of-the-moment idea that I simply couldn't ignore. I really hope you guys enjoy it, and yes I'm working on part two of my series with Loki as well. <3

Word count: 6k

Masterlist

The battle had left its mark on everyone, both physically and mentally. All the lives that were lost wouldn't be brought back. But everyone took solace in the fact that Thanos and his army were no longer a threat. And now, it was a time for rebuilding.

Wakanda's grassland was a battlefield. Bodies of both friend and foe lay scattered on the ground. The mourning loomed heavy in the air, you could feel it weighing down on your chest, your throat, and lungs. It was suffocating, prickling into your skin like needles. Yet you still walked, your boots crushing the grass underneath while you avoided stepping on stretched arms and legs, you needed to make sure no one else remained left behind.

A few feet away, the mad titan who once threatened the entire universe lay lifeless on the ground, his head disconnected from his body. For him, you felt no pity.

King T'Challa was both happy and sad to see you and the others leave. Happy, because it meant the end of a war; sad, because of having to say farewell to dear friends. But you, Steve, Natasha, and Banner were needed back in town, back at the Avengers compound; to welcome Tony back on earth, and because Thanos' attack had reverberated in many other places. It seemed like the Avengers were back in the game.

─── ·❆· ───

This morning was a gloomy one. Grey skies peeked behind your curtains in the early hours of the day, maybe it would rain soon. It's been two weeks since the battle, and you were glad to see that most people were recovering; each in their own way, but recovering nonetheless.

You were already up when the clock hit 7:30 AM, holding a warm cup of coffee between your hands, and staring out into the compound's driveway and past the treeline through the big windows of the kitchen. Today would be the day that Thor came back, he'd been helping with the settling of his people in New Asgard until now, but you've heard about him not wanting to be king anymore. You were happy for him, you never did think that a ruler's life suited him anyway—and you missed your friend.

"He gets one chance, Rogers. One chance and that's it." Tony's voice suddenly caught your attention as he stepped into the kitchen, you turned your back to the window so you could watch as your resident Iron Man poured himself a cup of coffee without looking at his mug. Steve was right beside him, his hands on his hips as he sighed quietly, already all too used to Tony's moods.

"Yes, one chance, he proved himself enough by helping us fight against Thanos, I suppose we owe him the benefit of the doubt," Steve agreed, still holding his voice calm.

With a smirk on your lips, you approached your teammates. "What's going on, guys?" You leaned on the kitchen island, taking a sip of your coffee.

Tony ran his tongue over his bottom lip, his expression less than pleased as he took a sip of his own coffee before saying; "point break is bringing his beloved brother to our home." He shrugged, and said in a quieter tone, "Says he changed or something."

"Loki will be staying with us?" You raised an eyebrow. The attack on New York happened before you joined the team, but you were familiar enough with it to be wary of Thor's brother, even if Thor did speak more nicely of him recently. Still, you had never actually met Loki to form your own opinion.

"That's… to be decided," Tony grumbled, shooting a glance toward Steve. "But yes, pretty much. And, by the way, Strange wasn't happy about having reindeer games back in the city either."

"Wow, you guys finally agree on something," you snickered.

Tony mouthed a 'don't' to you, before Steve said; "Strange knows we'll handle it if anything happens, but Thor vouches for him, so…"

You gave Steve a soft smile, and as much as you understood Tony's wariness, you agreed with the Captain. Loki didn't have the best of pasts with the City, but his help in the recent battle was one of many game-changers. He deserved a second chance.

Strangely enough, you found yourself excited to meet the God of Mischief. It was in your nature to analyze people, watch them from afar, and learn about the things they'd rather not say out loud. And someone like Loki, who had both once tried to take over your planet and now helped in saving it, was bound to raise some curiosity.

No more than an hour passed before you heard Thor's strong voice all the way from the living room. A small smile instantly came to your lips as you discarded your book, got up from the couch, and put on your slippers, rushing to the main doors to greet him.

Before you could turn the last corner, however, you came to an abrupt halt. Your breath got caught up in your throat and you had to lean back on the wall for support. Clutching the fabric of your shirt right above your heart, you were glad that this particular hallway was currently empty.

You could hear Thor's voice just around the corner, Tony was there too, but their words were faint and far away. Your vision was suddenly a little blurry, and underneath your palm you could feel your heart beating frantically.

See, this was nothing that hadn't happened before, after all, you are an empath. But a feeling this heavy rarely comes unannounced, unwanted. It briefly reminded you of when you first discovered your power, when you had no control and could pick up on pain, anger, joy, and pleasure that were not your own even if you didn't want to. Yet now, after years of living with it, you had learned to dose your perception of the feelings around you; now, when you weren't willingly focusing, other people's emotions felt more like a gentle whisper, a gush of chilly wind on your skin—something you were able to ignore if you wanted to.

But this overwhelming sadness; this emptiness, and loss, and pain; it came to you with such force that you were not able to block out. Seconds felt like hours, until the surprise of the new feeling passed and you took back control. Whispers of it remained, lurking in your stomach and in the back of your throat, but with a bit of extra focus, you were able to handle it.

And once your mind was finally clear again, it hit you. Who did you catch these feelings from?

You took a step around the corner cautiously, hands buried in your pockets as your eyes roamed your surroundings. There was no one around besides Tony, Thor, and Loki.

You knew it right away. You were familiar with the emotions radiating from Tony and Thor; but him, the raven-haired trickster, he was new, and if you didn't feel empathy for him before, you did now.

Loki held himself immaculately, a straight posture and a serene expression on his face. You had no idea how he did it, how he was able to hold all of those feelings in and still look so well put together; because one glance into his soul and you already felt like crying.

There was a light drizzle falling outside, maybe that's why Loki's black blazer seemed to be shining under the bright lights of the entrance hall. His eyes—bright and ocean-green—were settled on you; the realization got you feeling hyperaware of each movement you made. Even his gaze was heavy.

Thor's booming voice calling your name captured your attention then, he had a big smile on his face and before you knew it he already had your feet off the floor as he held you in a hug.

You laughed against his shoulder, hugging him back just as tight and telling him all about how much you missed him. Still, when you let go, your eyes found Loki's again, he hadn't stopped looking at you once.

─── ·❆· ───

The opinions about Loki's presence in the compound were mixed, but most of your teammates seemed fine with it; truth be told, no one paid much attention to him. As you'd expected, Loki's room was on your floor, because that's where Thor stayed too; as well as Tony, Natasha, and Yelena.

It's been a few days since his arrival, yet you haven't had the opportunity to properly speak with him, alone. But you've been feeling him a lot. Whether it was you subconsciously focusing on him more, or something else, it seemed like your body was more in tune and connected with his than you've ever been with anyone else. You picked up on a few of his emotions even if you weren't actively trying to; you felt his bouts of uneasiness when someone would stare at him for too long, you felt his gentle serenity whenever he'd sit near the windows to read a book, you felt his sparks of joy when people greeted him with a good morning or asked if he'd want coffee; but most of all, you still felt that lingering sadness that followed him everywhere he went, a weight he seemed to be all too used to having around.

In some ways, you felt as if you were invading his privacy, and that bothered you. During the day you tried to keep your mind as busy as you could to keep yourself from feeling him; in the late hours of the night though, when you were trying to sleep, there wasn't much you could do.

You have been tossing and turning in bed for probably about two hours now, drifting in and out of sleep. The crescent moon just outside your window seemed to be taunting you, amused with your misfortune. You scoffed as you glared at the natural satellite—great, now you were arguing with the cosmos.

Loki was having a nightmare. You could tell by the rapid beating of his heart and the cold sweat running down his forehead—your abilities went way beyond simply feeling other people's emotions, but sometimes you wished they wouldn't. It's not the first time that you've felt Loki's restless sleep in the short time he's been here. Your heart ached for him; it got you wanting to alleviate his pain.

But you couldn't do that, so you got up from your bed, put on your fluffy slippers, and made a beeline for the kitchen. The air outside was chilly, biting at your warm skin and making you shiver. At this hour of the night, the compound was completely dark and quiet, a big contrast to how it was when the sun was up. You asked Friday to turn on one of the lights in the kitchen, giving the space a dim-lit look as the single light bled into the adjacent living room.

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, humming the lyrics of the song stuck in your head as you reached for the upper cabinet to grab a mug so you could make yourself some tea. When you turned around again though, a gasp escaped your mouth and you nearly dropped the mug you were holding. You cursed quietly under your breath, placing a hand over your heart; if you weren't fully awake before, you sure were now. "You scared me," you muttered, trying a small smile.

The reason for your lack of sleep stood before you, with dark green slippers that matched his button-up pajama shirt, and his hair the messier you've ever seen it be. "Sorry, it was not my intention," Loki smirked back at you.

It hit you that this was finally the first time you were alone with him, and you'd been caught off guard. You tapped your mug, opening your lips but no words came out. Loki's eyes remained on you, unwavering, yet his gaze was so… soft, gentle even; his eyebrows weren't creased and he patiently waited for you with his hands in the pockets of his checkered pajama pants. He didn't look like the god you usually saw roaming the halls during the day.

"It's alright. I was just making tea," you said finally, gesturing to your mug, "would you like me to make one for you too?"

Loki's surprise at your offer was so great that you felt it in your bones. What was he expecting you to do?

His lips parted only slightly and he straightened his posture before saying; "I would- yes, I would like that."

You couldn't help the full smile that came to your lips and crinkled the side of your eyes, "great, sit down, it'll be ready in just a moment."

The warm mug between your hands warmed up your skin. It felt nice, sitting like this with Loki; in a quiet kitchen with only you and him, and just the lonely light to your left softly highlighting his features in front of you. It was a peaceful silence, and you couldn't help but check if he felt it too.

The rhythm of his heart was calm, his soul felt light and at ease; not completely, but the most you've ever felt from him.

"Why are you here?" His sultry voice snapped you back to reality.

"Uh- I'm sorry?" You frowned.

"Why are you here, if I may ask?" Loki tilted his head amusedly, his fingers tracing the brim of his mug. "Thor mentioned you had… abilities, but he never specified what they are."

Now it was your turn to be surprised by his curiosity for you. "Well, to put it simply, I'm an empath," you told him.

Loki blinked, once, twice, at your response. He looked at you for a moment before inquiring further; "and to put it completely?"

You smirked then, folding your arms over the table. "I can feel people's emotions, if I want to; their anger, happiness, hesitation, fear. But I can also feel their heartbeats, the blood cursing through their bodies. I can tell when they're lying or telling the truth, if they're tired or hurt. And sometimes, I can influence those emotions," you paused, hesitating for a beat, "bring fear, or… take away pain."

Loki grew tense after learning of what you could do. To be fair, most people did at first, you were used to it. Be he felt different, his heartbeat sped up and stayed that way. He'd put his guard up, and it brought a pang of hurt to your chest.

"Are you always feeling everything then?" He narrowed his eyes.

"Gods, no," you breathed, "at first I did, and it was awful. But with time, I learned to control it." You tried smiling at him, but his eyes were downcast, focused on his mug.

You bit your lower lip in nervousness. Looking past Loki and out the window, you could see the first signs of the sunrise peeking over the horizon, dark skies turning a soft lilac and blue; you'd been here longer than you realized.

When Loki glanced up at you again, his bright eyes still held sparks of that same softness from earlier. He pursed his lips in a smile; "thank you for the tea." And with that, he got up and left, leaving you in the company of the first birds who always sang in the mornings.

─── ·❆· ───

You made Loki nervous. It wasn't a bad kind of nervous, it was the kind that sped up his heart and made his cold hands feel clammy.

Out of everyone in the compound, you were the kindest. You'd always shoot him a smile whenever you'd pass by each other in the hallways; you'd always save a seat for him at the table; you always respected his silence whenever you came into the library and caught him reading his book, saying a quiet hello and nothing more, just sitting on one of the armchairs with your own book and allowing him to enjoy his moment, and more recently, your presence too.

When he'd finally learned of your abilities, he got apprehensive, worried even; that you'd pick up on whatever it was that he felt when he was near you, and it would drive you away.

So far, it hasn't happened yet.

The sun was out today, and with it, so was everyone else. In the spacious backyard of the compound, Steve was in charge of the barbecue, and Tony was in charge of the drinks. Natasha had sunglasses covering her eyes while she and Clint bickered over a game of cards; Yelena was sitting beside her sister at the lunch table, however, she seemed to be on Clint's side of the argument. Thor and Banner were laughing together as they made fun of Steve's cooking skills, who tried to defend himself by saying he wasn't actually done yet. Tony looked like he was trying to convince Bucky to drink a dubious-looking beverage, the latter didn't seem too keen on it.

And Loki watched them from afar, from the living room window of his floor. Thor had asked that he join them downstairs, saying something about how he should start trying to fit in and mingle, instead of just existing in the others' presence. Making friends wasn't Loki's forte; as much as he'd fight not to admit it, he was still working up the courage.

With a long sigh, Loki turned around and made his way to the place where he'd been spending most of his free time.

The compound's library was quite huge. One of the few rooms in the whole facility that had warm colors painting the walls and lacked the modern look; tall wooden shelves held thousands of books, a soft beige carpet covered the floor, and there were armchairs and sofas scattered in corners and in-between shelves creating comfortable, isolated nooks for reading. Loki's favorite spot was a worn armchair that stood near one of the big windows, it was surrounded by books that most people didn't read anymore, and the window itself overlooked the treeline in which the sun hid behind at the end of every day; sometimes as he sat there to read, it reminded him of his room back in Asgard.

Loki walked brushing his fingers over the spine of the old books, watching as dust particles danced in the sunlight. But as he rounded the shelf that led to his spot, he abruptly stopped in his tracks, feet glued to the carpet.

You sat cross-legged on the worn armchair, with a thick book lying in your lap that held all of your attention; the sun was shining right behind you, creating a halo above your head and bathing the strands of your hair in golden. You looked like something out of his favorite tale, more enchanting than all of the Midgard poetry books he's ever read.

It seemed like you two were making a habit of bumping into each other unexpectedly.

Loki gulped, squaring his shoulders. A beat passed, and then two, until you finally noticed him from the corner of your eyes. You looked up at him with your eyebrows softly raised in surprise, a gentle smile lifted the sides of your mouth; "Loki, hi."

"Hello," Loki greeted you slowly, his eyes shifting from the book in your lap to your eyes, "shouldn't you be out with the others, enjoying the sun?"

"Should I?" You narrowed your eyes, lazily closing your book and getting up from the armchair. "Shouldn't you?" You asked then, smirking as you raised an eyebrow and took a step towards him.

Loki's heart stumbled inside his chest, he breathed out a laugh. "I'm not big on hangouts."

You hummed, burying your hands in the pockets of your jeans. "Why is that?"

For a moment, Loki dwelled on whether to be honest or come up with an easy lie. But you were looking up at him with such delicacy, such attention, not a trace of hatred or judgment in your warm eyes. It almost looked as if you cared... about him.

Loki breathed in sharply through his nose, the words rolled off his tongue on their own; "I doubt many of your friends would enjoy my presence there."

You blinked up at him, lips parting before you told him quietly; "I would."

There was a distant burning behind Loki's eyes, his mouth felt dry. No one had ever rendered him completely speechless before, yet now, you had done just that. With his silence, you avoided his eyes and ran your tongue over your bottom lip in a motion that he couldn't help but follow.

"And..." You continued, voice sweet as honey, traveling between the bookshelves in the secluded library, "We'll never know if we don't try, right?"

The way you referred to you and him as 'we' got a foreign feeling blossoming inside Loki's chest, all warm and tingly. When you offered him your hand, so you could guide him downstairs to meet the others, he took it.

─── ·❆· ───

After a full week of taking care of the whole city, Saturday nights were a time for having fun and relaxing; aka movie nights with the team. Everyone sat together in the main living room of the compound, Tony had labeled it 'mandatory bonding day'. The room itself was pretty spacious, dimly lit, with two big comfortable couches and a TV that almost covered the whole wall, and a small kitchen right beside it for easy snacks and drinks.

"Right, I'm thinking... Terminator." Tony suggested as he came from the kitchen with an extra large bowl of popcorn in his arms.

"We saw that one already," Steve complained as he fumbled with the remote.

"There are multiple ones," Tony said, smugly, as he plopped himself on the couch and threw popcorn in his mouth.

Thor, who sat beside you, suddenly perked up with a giddy smile on his face; "oh I've always enjoyed that one who has the girl with the long, magic hair." The god gestured to his own hair.

Tony gaped at him, his fingers holding the popcorn were frozen midair. "Tangled?" He exclaimed then, eyebrows raised, "You wanna watch Tangled? in my house?"

You fought to hide a smile. "Technically it's our house," you quipped, after all, you were to blame for Thor's love for the Disney movie.

"Why don't we just watch both? The night is still young," Yelena finally suggested from her spot by the corner of the couch.

As they continued bickering, your eyes finally caught sight of the one you'd been waiting for.

Loki walked into the living room quietly, his socked feet barely making any noise on the expensive flooring. His gaze found yours before he saw anything else in the room, and a gentle, shy smile appeared on his lips.

You'd grown very close, very fast. Loki had started seeking your presence more and more each passing day; during the mornings he'd wait for you with an extra cup of coffee in hand, during the missions it was already routine that you two were a pair, and during the night you never parted ways without him planting a kiss on your forehead first.

Never in your life had you met someone quite like him, who carried such a bruised heart and still managed to be so loving. It made you wonder if anyone had ever bothered to see how beautiful his soul was, for you had fallen in love with it before you even touched his skin.

You gently patted the vacant seat on your left side, lifting the thin blanket covering your legs so Loki could sit down, and once he did you draped part of it over his legs as well.

"What's today's punishment?" Loki smirked, making himself comfortable beside you. His shoulder flush with yours.

"Stop it, movie nights are nice. I know you secretly enjoy them too," you chuckled, bumping his knee with yours. His proximity raised goosebumps all over your skin, and if you weren't so focused on your own feelings, you would've felt how much Loki's heart was racing as well.

"I only come to these because you do too," Loki mumbled, his eyes focused on the TV and a frown appearing on his eyebrows as the first scenes from Tangled played on the screen.

Your breath caught on your throat. He had said it so casually, so easily. You wondered if he had even realized the weight of his own words. "Right," you whispered, a little breathless.

It didn't take long for the only light in the room to be the one coming from the TV. When Tangled hit the 45-minute mark, Tony was already snoring and Thor had finished two bowls of popcorn. You, however, were wide awake and fully aware of Loki's arm resting on the back of the couch. What a cliche move, you thought to yourself, your cheeks burning hot and biting back a smile.

Loki's face as he watched the movie was nothing short of comical, one would think he was watching a period drama; his lips hovering ever so slightly before he'd scoff at a musical scene, his eyes softening as the romance between Rapunzel and Flynn blossomed, the way he mindlessly played with the ends of your hair. You watched him more than you watched the movie, and you didn't miss the way he froze and gulped when you finally rested your head on his shoulder.

─── ·❆· ───

The day had started out fine; a cold yet sunny morning, your fingers brushing Loki's when he handed you your cup of coffee, no eminent trouble in the city, everything was normal and fine; until it took a turn for the worse.

You didn't hear the fight, you didn't know exactly what caused it, but you felt it immediately. Anger, hurt, and pain were suddenly heavy in the air even through the closed door of your bedroom. As soon as a shiver ran up and down your spine you got up and all but ran outside to chase the somber feeling.

The elevator doors of your floor weren't even fully open yet when Loki busted his way through them, Thor hot on his heels.

"I knew it was a mistake coming here," Loki snapped, his steps fast as he put as much distance between himself and Thor as he could, nearly running straight into you in the process.

"You know what, brother," Thor began, he had stopped walking, standing in the middle of the living room, "Maybe it really was a mistake to bring you here, you don't care about anyone but yourself, it's almost as if you enjoy hurting people, you can't help it. It'll always be like this, that's why you're better off on your own." Thor wasn't shouting, but his words rang loudly in the room; his chest heaving when he stopped speaking.

You had held your breath the entire time, gripping the back of a kitchen stool until your knuckles turned white. Thor was angry, you could feel it even without being near him, but he didn't mean what he had said, not entirely. Thor's emotions were a passing wind on your skin though, for who you really felt, stood just a few feet behind you.

Loki had his back turned to his brother when he spoke, and he didn't turn around after. Even without looking at him, you could feel the way he trembled, unsteady hands closed into tight fists to mask his hurt; he gulped back a sob, and kept on walking to his bedroom without a word.

You could choke with the amount of pain radiating off of Loki; heavy, sickening, all-encompassing pain that you felt so vividly in your skin and bones. You only shot Thor an angry glance and muttered; "Damnit Thor," before turning around hastily. You thought you heard Thor calling after you, but you decided to ignore him, your priorities already set.

You ran after Loki, catching up just before his door slammed shut. Taking a deep breath, you walked into his bedroom and softly closed the door behind you with a click.

You'd never actually been in Loki's room before, so you took a single moment to glance around. The room itself was a little bare, with only the necessities such as a double bed, a dresser, a desk, a small bookshelf, and the door that led to his bathroom. You made a mental note to gift him something to liven up his space; maybe a plant.

Loki had his back turned to you still, both his hands resting on his waist as his head hung low. But you knew he knew it was you there with him, by the simple fact that he was allowing you to stay.

The silence was a heavy one, packed with the electricity of two souls tightly holding onto each other. Loki was trying so hard to keep all his pain in control, his shoulders shaking with each breath he took; but you could feel it as if it was your own.

"Loki," you said his name in nothing but breath, testing the waters. You took half a step toward him as you fidgeted with your hands.

He didn't answer. You weren't expecting him to.

You pursed your lips before saying; "he didn't mean it," your voice was choked and took effort to come out, the back of your eyes already burning, "what Thor said. He- he didn't mean it."

A few beats passed, and then; "doesn't matter if he did." Loki's words cracked in the middle, it was the most broken you'd ever heard him sound. "He's right."

"He's not," you told him in the same heartbeat, not a tint of hesitation in your tone.

Loki turned around, his gaze finally finding yours and there were tears pooling at the bottom lid of his bright eyes. "Yes, he is," he took a single big step toward you, nearly closing the distance between you and him. Loki's lips trembled as he struggled to keep talking; "and why is it that you care? What's in it for you?"

He was hurt, and he was frustrated, and he was angry; you knew that. Still, you couldn't help but be taken aback by his question. What could he even mean by that? Did he really believe that all this time that you'd been dancing around each other's feelings, it wasn't real?

"Loki, I-" you stuttered, not knowing how to say it without baring your heart in the process. Your hesitation got Loki avoiding his eyes from yours, and you forced yourself to go on. "There's nothing 'in it for me' I just... care about you."

Still waiting for the other shoe to drop, Loki softly shook his head, scoffing. His tears were a blink away from spilling, he felt as if barbed wire was wrapped around his throat, and his heart threatened to jump from his chest and straight into your hands.

It scared him. How easily you could make his walls crumble like paper in the rain. He flinched slightly when he felt the ghost of your touch on his cheek, blinking multiple times when your thumb brushed away a single tear rolling down his cheek. You touched him as if he were porcelain, and yet it still broke him.

"Is it that hard to believe that you're important to me?" You asked then, voice nothing but a whisper in the short space separating your bodies. With your hand still holding his cheek, you forced his eyes back on yours. "You have a good heart, Loki. I just wish you could see it the way I do. I wish everyone could see it."

The crooked smile he gave you nearly made your own tears fall. "You don't know what you're talking about, you don't know what I've done," he told you quietly, more than anything, he sounded utterly defeated.

"But I do know," your free hand found one of his then, and you tangled your fingers together loosely, "I might not have been with the Avengers when you attacked New York, but I was still in New York. And I still mean it, you could tell me every single bad thing you've ever done and I'd still tell you how good you are, because I see it. Every single day, Loki. I feel you every single day, and I can feel all this-" Your words caught in your throat and you tasted your tears on your lips. "-All this pain that you carry around and you still choose to be good."

Too many emotions swam behind his eyes for you to put a finger in any of them. But tears were running freely down Loki's cheeks now, pooling against your hand resting on his cheek.

"What did you-" he tried, gasping for air as if he was underwater. This was foreign territory. You had a place in his heart no one else could ever have, he realized, and his heart was beating faster than his mind knew what to do with. "You've been prying into my emotions without me knowing?" He sounded more desperate than annoyed.

"I didn't want to," You explained quickly, "I- I never meant to, but for some reason, I can't block you out." Shrugging weakly, you slowly dropped the hand resting on his cheek, missing the way he glanced down in search of your warmth. "I tried. I really tried."

There was a vulnerability in Loki's eyes you'd never seen before. He looked at you as if he'd just realized what love is. You wondered if you mimicked the same gaze—you sure felt it.

Loki shuffled in his stance. His hand, still holding onto yours, tightened its grip. "I'm-" He avoided your eyes, looking somewhere past your shoulder, "I'm sorry you had to feel all that."

You softened at his words, shaking your head and taking another step forward until your sneakers bumped his shoes. "Wasn't your fault," you whispered.

Loki gulped back a sob after you spoke, and that was the last straw for you to let go of his hand and pull his body to yours in an embrace.

He melted into you.

Loki's fingers dug into the fabric of your shirt and he buried his head against your shoulder—you soon felt it becoming damp, yet you only hugged him tighter. With the desperation he was holding you with, you wondered when was the last time someone had held him.

The soft sobs escaping him were muffled against you. And you couldn't help but stroke his back, the tips of your fingers burying into his very soul. "I'm sorry you had to go through all of this alone." You spoke near his ear, feeling the goosebumps that raised on his skin. "You never deserved it," you promised.

You weren't sure how much time passed, you stayed there for as long as Loki needed you to. When he eventually pulled away, he didn't go far, his hands kept holding your body close to him as if he was afraid you'd leave if he let go.

His bright eyes didn't hold a storm anymore, they were more like a calm sea. A soft frown etched itself into his eyebrows, "did you… take away my pain?"

You chuckled quietly, "No, I can't take away people's emotions." You lifted a hand until your fingertips could brush the skin on his forehead, "But I can make them lighter." You traced an invisible line over his eyebrow and until you reached his cheekbone, "Make the weight just a little bit easier to carry."

Loki leaned into your touch, almost closing his eyes. His hands that rested on your back traced your spine and pulled you closer. "Darling, you've been making it easier ever since the first day I met you."

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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[supernovafics]

𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 2.9k words

warnings: explicit language, (slight) jealous!steve, brief mention of blood/injury (reader has a lil fall)

summary: in which everything has changed for steve after that night at the bar and morning in your bed, but he hasn’t admitted that to you yet. being honest is much harder than he thought it would be and no moment feels completely right, so he continues to pretend that nothing has changed. but, a day at the park playing basketball with you makes it feel a thousand times harder to keep the secret

author's note: the slow burn will end one day (eventually) (i promise) i just love dragging things out for absolutely no reason<3 (i’m sorry!)<333 anyways enjoy this very slight jealous!steve moment! he’s a bit of an asshole in this but also like not really and it’s only kinda for a second

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Winter 1986

It actually wasn’t all that surprising when Steve asked you to go to the park— that Saturday marked the first slightly warm day in months. 

And maybe saying that he “asked you” was a bit of a stretch because this felt more like a hostage situation; one that you technically orchestrated since, as one of his Christmas presents, you promised that you would play basketball with him one time. And today, on one of the first few days of March, he decided to drag you out of the apartment and to the park that was a quick drive away and had semi-nice basketball courts. 

You changed out of your typical Saturday attire, which simply consisted of a hoodie and shorts, and into a cream-colored t-shirt that said, “Sports Suck. And you do too” in black lettering, Steve got it for you for your birthday, and it felt almost too fitting for this moment. You also had on a pair of black athletic shorts that had been your usual attire during high school gym class.

“You’re the only person that I would ever subject myself to doing this for,” You said to Steve as you stepped out of his car and grabbed the basketball that had been sitting at your sneaker covered feet during the drive. “So, I hope you understand how huge of a deal this is.” 

Steve laughed a bit. “I know, and I feel honored that you’re risking your life by doing this for me right now.”

“You say that jokingly, but I brought a first aid kit just in case this ends badly,” You said and handed the basketball over to him. “So, what’s first? A riveting round of HORSE?”

“Before we play any games, and I beat you at all of them, let’s just shoot around for a bit so you can get used to it. Was the last time you played basketball really at my eleventh birthday party?” He asked, shooting the ball from a little bit in front of the three-point line as he spoke and making it almost too effortlessly. 

You grabbed the ball as it bounced on the court and then took a shot. You were standing much closer to the basket than Steve had been but still missed. 

“If that didn’t just answer your question, yes, your birthday party was the last time I even thought about playing. I actually think it was that day that made me realize I should stay away from all sports.”

“You hadn’t been that bad back then.”

You gave him a look. “Steve, I hit your grandma with a basketball. I missed a shot so bad that it hit her.”

It was that day that you were banned from using the basketball hoop in Steve’s backyard, rightfully so. 

“Okay, yeah, but she was fine and forgave you immediately. And even made sure you got an extra piece of cake when you started crying because of how bad you felt,” He said, tossing the ball to you so that you could try another shot. 

“Still doesn’t change the fact that I’m horrible at this,” You said before taking a breath and shooting the ball. You missed again, but it at least hit the rim that time. 

“That’s progress,” Steve said and gave you an encouraging smile.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Exactly twenty-three minutes had passed, and the only reason that you were keeping close track of the time was because when Steve had dragged you out of the apartment, you told him that you’d only be playing for an hour; unless you somehow turned into a prodigy. 

You had lost count of how many times you shot the basketball, but you knew that the number of times you successfully made a basket was four. It was an embarrassingly low number, and you definitely were not a prodigy, but each time you surprisingly made a shot, you’d gasp in shock and Steve would whoop happily and give you an enthusiastic high five while saying that the pointers he was giving you were working. You weren’t entirely sure that was true— and it wasn’t because he was a bad teacher, you were just a bad student. You were certain that each shot you made was based on pure luck and simple probability; if you kept shooting the ball, you’d eventually end up making something. 

And when you told Steve exactly that, he only shook his head at you. “No, you made those four shots because you’re good.” 

How happy and positive he was being about this entire thing was the only thing that made it bearable. 

You laughed a bit. “I love you and your encouragement, but that is such an overstatement.”

“For someone that hasn’t even touched a basketball in eight years, you are good.” 

“Thank you,” You said with an amused smile on your face instead of rebutting his statement. “I’ll make sure to try out for the local rec team when the time comes.” 

“That’s a great idea. I’ll coach you to help you prepare,” Steve said jokingly, and you only laughed in response. 

You were about to ask him to toss you the ball, but a group of guys walking past you two, probably headed to the empty hoop on the other side of the court, caught your attention for a second instead. There were four of them and one smiled at you as he passed by you and Steve and he was kind of cute so you smiled back. 

You were completely unaware, but there was something about that smile you gave the guy that made Steve have to look away from the entire nonverbal interaction and focus on the basketball in his hand instead. All too quickly he wanted to blurt it all out, everything that had hit him so abruptly that morning in your bed barely two weeks ago. 

I love you. I’m in love with you.

For the most part, that thought was the only thing that consumed his mind these days, especially when you two were together; which of course was way more often than not. 

There had probably been at least a hundred moments where he almost accidentally let it slip. Hours after it all had hit him, you two were sitting on the couch mindlessly watching some random sitcom and you leaned your head on his shoulder and he was so close to simply whispering it to you. And then when you two were in your Film and TV history class that Tuesday and writing unserious notes back and forth to one another in the margins of his notebook, he wanted to just write the five words down and slide the notebook back over to you. And just last night when you two were driving to the movie theater to see something with Robin and Eddie, he felt the urge to say it when a stupid love song that felt as if it cheesily summed up exactly how he was feeling came on the radio. 

However, he would always bite his tongue right before he told you because he was waiting for that perfect moment to be honest with you, and nothing felt entirely right just yet. And it especially didn’t feel like a good time in this moment where you were smiling at some guy that wasn’t him and a certain feeling that could only be deemed as jealousy sat in the pit of his stomach. 

Steve cleared his throat, bringing your attention back to him and then he tossed the ball to you. “Your turn.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The first round of HORSE was started and finished barely fifteen minutes later, quickly ending with Steve winning. Even though you could tell that he was going very easy on you and trying to let you win, you still somehow managed to lose. 

“This loss feels so much more embarrassing knowing that you were trying to let me win,” You had said after you missed your shot and got an “E.” 

“I wasn’t,” Steve told you with a shake of his head and you only gave him a look that said you didn’t believe him. 

You reached down to grab the ball and stop it from rolling away, but you somehow tripped over nothing but your own feet and landed hard on the ground. 

You yelped as you collided with the concrete. Luckily, you thought fast enough to put your hands out so that you didn’t completely faceplant. “Ouch. Shit.” 

Steve was by your side in an instant and started helping you up. “Are you okay?”

You could only shrug in response to his question at first as you stood up with the help of his hand on your arm. 

“Okay, just kidding, that moment was a lot more embarrassing than losing the game,” You told him. When you looked down and saw the deep scrape on your knee and the blood already starting to rise from the wound, you immediately had to look away from it. “I put the first aid kit in the backseat.”

“What? You actually brought it? I thought you were joking,” Steve said, keeping an arm around you as he helped you walk over to the car and opened the passenger side door so that you could sit down. 

“Of course, I wasn’t joking. It felt inevitable that something like this would happen,” You said as you sat sideways in the passenger seat so that your feet were on the ground, and then you grabbed a couple napkins from the glove compartment to place it on your knee and help stop the bleeding. “Honestly, I’m surprised this didn’t happen in the first five minutes.”  

Steve grabbed the first aid kit before kneeling down in front of you and you looked at the four guys down at the end of the court. They were playing a two against two game and the one that smiled at you earlier just made a shot at the three-point line. 

You stopped looking at him and instead focused on the top of Steve’s head. “Ugh, I can’t believe I just fell in front of that cute guy.” 

“Maybe he didn’t even see,” Steve mumbled with a quick shrug.

“I doubt that,” You said and then sighed. “These last few weeks have been very humbling. First, things immediately going downhill with Jamie, and now this.” 

Steve didn’t know how things had ended with Jamie, you had yet to tell him the exact reasoning, but selfishly he had been glad that they did. Although he couldn’t find it in him to tell you the truth just yet, the thought of now having to see you with anyone else annoyed him. 

You tapped his shoulder so that he would look up at you. “It would be a bad idea if I went up to him and asked for his number, right?” 

“Yeah, it would,” Steve answered, pulling his eyes away from yours and focusing on grabbing something from the first aid kit instead. His words were a lie, for the most part— he personally would’ve thought it was cute if a girl did that to him. He immediately felt like shit for lying to you, but not enough to go back on what he said. 

You nodded at his response. “Okay.”

You kept your eyes away from what Steve was doing as he cleaned up your knee, looking up at the sky instead until he was done and placing the large band-aid over it. 

“Thanks,” You said and smiled at him. 

He looked up at you for a brief moment before standing up and simply giving you a small nod. He went over to grab the basketball, which had rolled into the grass, and then put it in the backseat. 

The drive back to the apartment was quiet and it felt more like Steve’s doing than yours. He suddenly seemed distant, maybe even mad at you, and the abrupt shift felt so odd.

You looked over at him. “What’s wrong?” 

He shook his head. “I’m fine.” 

It felt pretty clear that he wasn’t fine, though. You could tell that he was annoyed at you for reasons that you couldn’t decipher and that only made you annoyed as well. You didn’t even play with the radio during the drive back to the apartment, you just sat there with your arms folded across your chest as you stared out the window. 

You wondered if the prevailing silence bothered him as much as it bothered you, but then that question didn’t even matter because he was pulling into the parking lot of the apartment building and parking in the usual open spot next to your car, and you were unbuckling your seatbelt. 

“What happened with you and Jamie?” Steve asked before you could open the door and step out of his car. “You never really talked about it.” 

The abruptness of the question surprised you; and it wasn’t even the question itself that was the surprising part, it was more so the timing of it. Was that why he decided to randomly get mad at you? Because you never told him what happened on that dumb date? And why the hell would it even matter at this point? 

You weren’t even entirely sure why you hadn’t told Steve the full extent of what happened. When you came back from the date that night, you only said that things had gone badly. 

You turned to look at Steve. “He didn’t like you.” 

His eyebrows furrowed at that. “What?”

“Well, not you necessarily, but us; our friendship,” You said, looking down at your band-aid-covered knee. “When me and him went on the date, he asked about what my emergency was and why I had to cancel the date the first time, and I told him about your accidental phone call and you being drunk at the bar and me having to go get you, and he didn’t see that as much of an emergency; especially since you had wanted Eddie to pick you up. He thought it was a little weird how easily I canceled plans to go do something for you, and the whole night kind of shifted awkwardly from there.”

You remembered that entire conversation perfectly, and you honestly couldn’t even get that annoyed with Jamie when he said any of that because you didn’t think that your priorities would ever be able to change. Steve would probably always be at the top of your unwritten list, and you had come to the conclusion that whoever else wanted to be in your life would just have to deal with that. 

“Oh.”

You looked at him curiously. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve shook his head. “I’m sorry.” 

Hearing him say that only confused you. “Sorry for what?”

He was quiet for a long moment before sighing. “I don’t know…” 

“Is that why you were mad at me just now? Because I didn’t tell you what happened on the date?”

“No, I don’t even know why I brought it up right now, I was just curious,” He said with a shrug before meeting your gaze. “And I’m not mad at you for anything. I promise.” 

“Okay…” You said as you found one of his hands and gave it a light squeeze. “So, what’s up with you? Clearly, something’s wrong, right? Is it something with your parents?”

“No, nothing with them,” He responded, which was an answer that only confused you more. It looked like there were a thousand things going through his head right then, and you couldn’t seem to decipher any of it, which felt foreign to you— you were so used to reading him like a book. “It’s just… it’s kind of hard to explain right now.”

If it really had nothing to do with his parents, you were unsure what else it could be and what else would be difficult to talk to you about. In your head, there wasn’t supposed to be anything that you couldn’t talk to each other about; you were best friends for a reason. It was easy to joke around and playfully banter with one another, but it had also always been easy to have the types of deep and honest conversations that neither of you would ever have with anyone else. 

You decided not to push him further in this moment, though. Whatever was going on with him, you knew that he’d tell you eventually. 

“It’s okay. Tell me whenever you want to,” You said softly and then decided to say your next words jokingly to shift the mood a bit. “But stop being weird about whatever it is, or I will think that you hate me or something.”

Steve only shook his head at your words at first. “I could never hate you.”

Maybe that was when you should’ve seen it, when you should’ve realized how he felt about you. There was something about the way he said his short statement— so certainly, so truthfully— that should’ve made you connect all of the dots. But, that was the last possible thing on your mind. You would’ve thought that he wanted to move out of the apartment for some random reason before you even considered thinking that he had any sort of romantic feelings toward you. You two had been friends for forever so that just didn’t sound like a plausible thought. 

Therefore, instead of any sort of “aha!” moment hitting you right then, you smiled playfully at Steve and said, “Good.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

[littlejuicebox]

Swollen

Summary: This is another addition to my multi-part Dadstarion series. Tav is heavily pregnant and craving touch from Astarion. He's such a good husband, he happily obliges... but not without making it a bit of a game, of course.

Tags/Warnings: Smut 18+, daddy kink, pregnancy is mentioned but I wouldn't call it a pregnancy kink... just an acknowledgement of the belly, Astarion has a foot fetish, light edging, light brat-taming, light spanking, Astarion being a tease what is new

Notes: HAPPY DADSTARION DAY! This started as a gift I was writing for @tragedybunny and took far too long for me to complete! Also, hello tumblr. My first posted piece in a while. I've finished moving and hope to get back into the swing of things here. Hope everyone has been well!

Word Count: 4K

-----

Her feet hurt, her back hurts, and she’s incredibly horny. 

The strange contrast isn’t lost upon Tav in the slightest, but the pregnancy hormones have her libido at an all time high. Seven months in with the twins, a stomach stretched almost to its limits, and yet she cannot get enough of her husband. She craves his touch, the feeling of his skin pressed against hers, the sensation of his cock splitting her open. She hears the whispers of encouragement and adoration that push her towards release in her dreams and longs for the moans of his own ecstasy as he follows her into oblivion. 

Tav is, more than ever, addicted to Astarion. Not that he seems to be complaining. 

But unfortunately for Tav, Astarion is still working in his office at this very moment. It’s midday; she has at least a few more hours until there is any opportunity to find her fix. 

After a quick shower and change into her robe, Tav convinces herself that she can be patient. Her feet are swollen, anyway, after her morning in the park with Gale — the three year old is taking a well-earned nap — so she will simply elevate them and wait for the inflammation to go down. After that, dinner preparations and putting their son to bed. And after that— finally— some well earned mommy and daddy time. 

Tav props her legs up on a pillow, closes her eyes for just a moment and… 

She is stirred awake by the feeling of strong hands gripping the soles of her feet. 

When her eyes flutter open, Astarion, appearing before her with the top buttons of his shirt undone, smiles and affectionately squeezes her feet once again. “Everything alright, little love?”

Tav hums a yes and then brushes a few strands of hair from her face as Astarion continues to massage her feet. She moves to prop herself up just slightly, aided by a few pillows behind her back. Her robe spills open, revealing swollen breasts to match her swollen stomach. Astarion blatantly admires the view, eyebrow arching with interest, as she gathers the fabric back together and tightens the belt with a sigh. 

“I must have fallen asleep for a moment,” she says, allowing her eyes to close again as she focuses on Astarion’s hands kneading the flesh of her sore soles. Gods, the magic of this man’s hands— and not a spell in sight. “Is Gale still napping?”

Astarion hums a yes in response. “We stopped early with the ledgers today — it’s Pascal’s wife’s birthday so I told him we would resume tomorrow. I was hoping to catch you two for lunch but by the looks of the kitchen you’d already eaten. So I made a quick bite for myself and then came looking for you.”

Tav groans, imagining the state of the kitchen, which she left in shambles. The maid won’t be back in until Monday morning. “I’ll clean the kitchen later, I just—“ 

“No need, love. I already tidied it. We can leave what remains for tomorrow,” Astarion cuts in before lifting her foot and placing an affectionate kiss on the outer edge. 

“For once in your life, just rest, woman. Would you like me to leave you so that you can go back to sleep?”

She shakes her head and then smiles softly. “No, I’d like for you to keep doing what you’re doing.”

Astarion chuckles, his eyes flickering across Tav’s face and then glimmering with mischief. He glances back down at her chest, now covered, and hums, his head tilting to the side. 

“Which part, darling?” He asks as he begins squeezing and massaging her calf with his long fingers. “This?” 

He continues kneading a few more times before he stops and moves to kiss Tav’s ankle. He lingers for a moment and then trails a few pecks along the side of her foot. She watches as his lips brush against her sole before he takes two toes into his mouth and sucks them lightly. He keeps his eyes trained on her face as his tongue swirls around the digits, causing her to squeal and squirm. Finally, he releases her toes with a sly smile. 

“Or that?”

“Both,” Tav responds, causing Astarion to rumble a chuckle in response. 

“You’re so needy, darling,” he teases, a dramatic sigh escaping his lips, the heat of his breath grazing against her toes. “But very well, if you insist. How could I say no to my very pregnant wife?”

His mouth his back around Tav’s foot in an instant, his tongue teasing against her toes. She gasps in response, her face flushing crimson at the… raw intensity with which he is worshiping her feet and the consistency of his gaze trained upon her face. The slickness growing between her thighs is, frankly, even more embarrassing. He’s done this before, every once and a while, but perhaps with not quite as much vigor. 

Astarion hums when he releases Tav’s toes for a second time, his lips pressing a trail of kisses against her calf as he quickly spreads her legs open. He’s soon on his stomach, his face just in front of her mound, robe expertly undone by one dexterous hand. 

He trails one hand up the inside of her thigh, his touch tingling along her flesh on his way to spread her folds and admire the wetness of her cunt. His mouth hovers not more than an inch away, lips curling up into a smug smile as he views the glistening arousal he’s coaxed from her. His breath brushes against her clit. So close, and yet so far. 

And entirely purposeful. 

Tav attempts to reach down between her own legs and touch herself, to relieve the nagging need at the apex of her trembling thighs. She groans in dismay and drops her hand, gripping the sheet when she realizes the swell of her abdomen is now too large for her to reach her own drenched folds. 

But gods, she needs relief. 

“Astarion,” she huffs, her voice tipping up into a whine as kisses are trailed along her thigh. “I know what you’re doing and I’m not in the mood for teasing.”

Astarion lifts his lips to chuckle in delight at her little predicament. His head tips up; she can barely see his eyes, shining with mischief, over the swell of her abdomen. 

“Darling, I usually have to physically restrain you so that you cannot touch yourself while I’m playing with your pretty cunt like this,” he purrs, a silver eyebrow cocked as his eyes lift and drag across her barely-clothed body. “This is a delightful development on my part.” 

“Astarion, I swear, if you don’t—“ Tav interrupts her threats with a strangled moan as two of his fingers easily slide into her walls. Her hips eagerly buck in response. 

“What you were saying, darling?” Astarion asks, cockily, as the flat of his palm presses against her clit. 

Tav is barely able to stifle the wanting cry that begs to escape her lips as she struggles to speak.

“What was that?” He teases again, as his fingers slip in and out of her entrance, the lewd sounds of her slickness filling the bedroom. He removes his fingers and trails them up to her clit, pressing down and rubbing forcefully, causing a shocked whine to shoot from Tav’s mouth. He chuckles. “I’m afraid I can’t understand you over all the moaning and whining, love. Did you want something else?”

“No,” Tav finally manages to gasp out through ragged breaths, her hips rolling against Astarion’s fingers as he slides them back inside. 

Astarion hums a contented sound from the back of his throat, entirely pleased with her response. “There’s my good girl. Now, how about you relax and let daddy do all the work, hm?” He asks, his eyes focused on Tav’s arousal dripping itself onto his fingers, beckoning his tongue to taste. 

Tav is left with no choice but to obey the command, and simply nods her head before tossing it backwards as she focuses on the pleasure building between her legs. She moans when Astarion’s lips lock against her flesh and cries out as his tongue slides along her clit. He smirks along her drenched cunt, his tongue lavishing the familiar trails of pleasure that he’s memorized after years of study. 

He takes his time, tracing around her overly sensitive nub in expert circles. He hooks his fingers to stroke along the sensitive spot that makes her toes tingle, grinning when he feels them, strewn over his shoulder and curled up in pleasure against his back. He flicks his tongue in the way he knows she prefers, listening to the muffled cries of pleasure that escape as she attempts to keep her voice down and avoid waking their toddler. He misses the way she used to scream for him. 

But she can still scream for him, can’t she? He’s certain he can make her cry out just the same. 

Astarion licks a final strip against Tav’s clit and then pulls back, his fingers still sunk deep within her, all the way to the third knuckle. He roams his eyes over his little love, up to the curve of her abdomen, stretched taut with the result of their coupling. His heart fills with pride as his free hand moves to rest atop her swollen stomach while his eyes wander and settle upon her face. Her mouth is agape, but there’s no sound coming out apart from a soft gasp or ragged breath every time he slides his fingers in and out of her eager entrance. 

Quite a shame, really. She makes the most beautiful noises when she doesn’t hold back. 

Tav’s eyes open, her face flushed and lids drooping with lust. She’s frustrated, he can tell, by the removal of his tongue. Her lips are dropping into a pout; her only response is a huffy whine. 

Astarion clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Now, now, patience, little love,” he chides, lightly, removing his fingers from the wetness of her folds and licking the slickness from them with a hum, all while ignoring the disappointed groan from Tav. “I’ll give you what you want… you just have to give me what I want first.”

Her eyebrow lifts. “And what is that, exactly?”

He grins playfully and presses himself up to standing. On the way to the door, he unbuttons and shrugs off his shirt. He quickly clicks the lock closed and spins around before lowering his trousers. 

Tav is watching him closely; he makes a show of sliding his bottoms down and freeing his cock. His length is twitching with anticipation, begging to plunge into her depths and spill its seed. And hells, she’s a tempting picture. Almost impossible to resist. The thought alone causes a drop of pre-fluid to bead at the head of his cock; he drops a hand to stroke his length. His mind fills with the urge to stuff Tav full and thrust into her until she is sweaty and dripping with his sticky spend. Until it is leaking from her hole and onto her thighs, spilling into the sheets beneath her. Until she smells only of sex and him. 

But he can wait a while longer, if only to make her just as desperate as he feels. If only to pull those pretty little pleas from her mouth. 

“For a start, use those beautiful hands of yours to cast a silence spell for me, won’t you, my love?”

Tav flushes but obliges, her fingers waving to cast a spell she’s performed hundreds of times before, though perhaps not recently, and certainly not in this context. A shroud of silence surrounds the room, insulating them from anything outside the four walls around them. Astarion smirks as he stalks toward the bed, the corners of his lips pulling up in a vulpine smile, eyes dark with lust but glinting with rougery. Quite like the vampire that used to slip into Tav’s bedroll at night. 

He has Tav right where he wants her, and he knows it. He’s no longer a vampire, of course, but perhaps the animalistic, predatory side of him never truly left. He’d always been one to toy with his food, back then in camp, hadn’t he? 

“Now then, darling,” Astarion purrs as he slides back onto the bed and assumes the position he’d been in moments before, his face nestled between her legs. He smiles smug, fingers spreading her folds, wetness seeping from her entrance. “How about we see if I can still make you scream?”

“You are an arrogant bastard, Astarion An–” Tav huffs, a sharp gasp interrupting her chastisement as Astarion’s tongue presses against her clit. Astarion chuckles in response, the sound causing vibrations to pulse against her sex and she gasps again, her hand instinctively coming to cover her mouth. 

Astarion growls in disapproval, extending his own hand out to yank hers from her face, fingers threading through hers to keep them there. She will scream for him; he will continue his efforts until she does. He presses more insistently into that bundle of nerves, swelling now, the result of his ability to play her body perfectly. Tav bucks and a fresh bit of slickness covers his chin. He dips his head lower, tongue sliding against her slit and down further to lap at the oasis between her legs. 

She always tastes divine. 

His lids flutter closed as he inhales the heady aroma of her arousal and tastes the musky sweetness of her sex. His cock throbs at the familiar combination. He laps eagerly and then returns his attention to her clit, using his free hand to plunge two fingers into her entrance and curl, landing on the spot that makes her cry for him. Tav bucks in response, her hips lifting up and against his face, silently pleading for more.

Silently.

Oh. She’s remaining quiet on purpose, isn’t she?

That won’t do. 

Astarion lifts up and away from Tav, his eyebrow arching in somewhat of a challenge. He unconciously licks at the slickness on his lips as he huffs, “Must you insist on being a brat?”

Tav’s eyebrow lifts in return, her gaze steady as she stares back at him, straining to keep her chest from heaving. “What? You thought this would be easy? That I would be easy? Not the first time you’ve miscalculated, my love.” 

“Really,” Astarion says as his eyes narrow, the hand that had been threaded through Tav’s fingers pulling away. He grips into the plushness of her ass, holding her firmly in place. “Don’t pretend I didn’t have you screaming for me in the Elfsong with nothing more than my tongue, Tav.”

“It’s been so long since then, I can hardly remember— ah—!” 

Astarion laves her clit with renewed vigor, his fingers pumping in and out of her entrance in rapid time. His hand grips into Tav’s flesh, holding her against him and minimizing the movement of her hips. His tongue swirls around and around in steady circles, fingers curled to press back against the spot that makes her gasp with every thrust. He can sense she is holding back, in the trembling of her thighs and the movements of her hands, firmly fisted into the bed sheets. He can also tell she’s not far from reaching her peak.

But far enough. 

He can keep her on the edge, like he used to quite frequently, when the taste of her blood was made better by the taste of her wanton anticipation. Back when he would latch onto her neck and suckle more for comfort than sustenance, keeping himself on the edge just as much as he’d kept her there. 

More, perhaps, in truth. 

Astarion rolls his hips at the thought, stiff cock dragging along silken sheets, and lets out a moan of his own. No longer thirsting for blood, but the memory of the intense, desperate thirst and the feeling of utter satiation still causes his desire to flare. 

Nothing and no one has ever or will ever satisfy him as much as Tav. That much is certain. 

Astarion almost gives in and lets Tav come. Almost gives in to the desire to taste her ecstasy in the only way he can, nowadays. Almost. But just before her thighs are about to clamp around his head, he remembers the game at hand. His pride wins out. He slows his fingers and reduces the pressure from his tongue, grinning when he hears Tav whine. 

“You absolute bastard!” Tav hisses, fist pounding into the mattress. 

He chuckles, fingers lazily dragging in and out of Tav’s entrance as he lifts his head up to once again peer over the swell of her abdomen. His eyes lock onto her exposed chest, tits swollen and stretched, skin glistening with sweat. He licks his lips; he can taste nothing but her. He trails his gaze upward, to the sharp, narrowed eyes glaring down at him and smirks as he slowly lifts himself onto his knees. 

“Is that really any way to speak to the father of your children, my love?”

“Is this really any way to treat the mother of your children, darling?”

Astarion pouts, a fake jut of his lower lip before his expression pulls up into a smile, just a bit arrogant, but mostly sweet. “You know what I want, darling. Stop being stubborn. Just give it to me, and I will give you what you want, hm?” 

“You’re going to have to try harder, then, Astarion,” Tav responds, her eyebrow arching again. She lifts her chin in another bit of a challenge. “Or perhaps you just aren’t as skilled as you once were, hm?”

Astarion’s eyes flash something fierce. “Now, now, darling. I know you don’t mean that. Take it back.”

“Make me,” she replies, the challenge a clear invitation as her face flushes in anticipation, eyes shimmering with desire. 

Oh, so that is how it’s going to be, then. 

He’d been much gentler with Tav, in her first pregnancy, far too unsure about the safety of such activities. But this time around, and after much assurance from both Tav and Shadowheart, Astarion has grown quite used to being a bit more… typical in his activities with his wife. He’s rolling her onto her stomach in an instant, pillows dragged lower to cradle her abdomen, fingers digging into her thighs. 

“Is this what you want, darling? For me to take you from behind and make you scream for me?” he growls, skin flushing hot as he tempts himself with the same words he’s using on Tav. His engorged cock is begging for attention. 

But not yet. 

Not until she gives him what he wants. 

Let it be soon.

“Yes,” Tav responds, voice raspy, no longer able to keep still as her desire takes over. She presses herself back against Astarion, the length of his cock sliding temptingly along her folds. 

“Beg, then,” Astarion demands, one hand trailing up her thigh to sit on the curve of her ass. He lifts his hand and smacks down, reveling in the sound of Tav’s delighted keen. But after that, further fucking silence. Tav continues to roll back against him, trying to tempt him into giving her what she wants. 

Naughty thing. 

He smacks the side of her ass again, harder this time, ripping a startled moan from her throat. His cock begins to leak pre-fluid at the sound of her voice mixed with the rocking of her hips. He’s becoming quite desperate, himself, his ears turning hot, cock throbbing, heart thudding in anticipation. 

Perhaps a bit more enticement, then. 

He presses the tip of his cock forward, almost losing control and thrusting to the hilt when he feels the warm suction of her walls. Tav whines when he pulls away and then holds steady, just pressing the tip of himself into her with barely-there thrusts. He purrs, “Won’t you beg for me, darling? Three little words, that’s all it takes.”

A moment of silence. He trails his fingers across her flesh, over the curve of her ass, up the side of her spine, igniting goosebumps in his wake. He rolls his hips languidly, his cock just filling the very entrance of her hole with each pass. 

And then finally. 

Finally. 

“Please fuck me.”

The plea comes out muffled, Tav’s face pressed into the sheets beneath them. Astarion’s cock jumps. He uses the last of his willpower to pull his tip from Tav and slide instead along her slick folds, coating himself in her arousal. He’s won. And yet, he cannot resist the urge to tease her just a bit further. 

“Mm… what was that, dear? I can’t quite hear you past the pillow.”

Tav lifts and turns her head, her eyes wide and desperate. Face flushed red, sweat glistening down her cheeks. She murmurs her second plea, almost a whine, nearly breathless, “Please fuck me… daddy.”

His cock aches. 

Oh, she knows exactly what she is doing. Little devil. 

Without another word Astarion slams himself into her entrance, immediately taking her to the hilt. Tav’s head rears back as she moans, loudly, at the sensation of being filled. Astarion’s length throbs and threatens to spill on impact. He watches Tav, her eyes still turned toward him as she begins to press back into him again. 

“So very eager, aren’t you, love?” he asks, as his hips begin to roll in time with her movements. Before long, he is picking up the pace and she is following. Her walls clench around him in a steady rhythm. His arm wraps around her waist — not a particularly easy feat nowadays — fingers searching for her clit. He finds the nub and begins working it insistently; Tav emits high keens as he rubs his fingers into her clit. “Do you want to come, darling?”

Tav whines when Astarion thrusts into her quite sharply, hips canting at a near-supernatural pace. The plushness of her ass bounces with each thrust, cushioning the impact of his harsh movements. “Yes!”

“Then won’t you come for me?” Astarion coaxes in a coo, groaning as he feels Tav clench and pulse around him, signaling her imminent release. He adjusts his hips just slightly, aiming for the spot inside her walls that makes her come undone, and knowing he’s found it when she lets out a sound that is something of a whining scream. He grins. “There we go… let me hear you, my sweet.”

Another roll of his hips and Tav is gone, her head tossing back as she braces herself on all fours, no longer able to match Astarion’s movements. Her cunt wraps around him eagerly, pulsing against the engorged length of his cock. She reaches a near-whistling shriek midway through her orgasm and the sound quickly causes Astarion’s resolve to shatter. He utters some sort of incoherent praise as his cock swells and then twitches while he loses himself inside her greedy walls. 

He needed this. She needed this. It had been far too long. 

The two are bound together, each riding the aftershocks of release. Both heaving with exertion and coated in a thin layer of sweat. Finally, Astarion runs a hand up to Tav’s waist, settling gently. “Everything alright, my love?”

Tav nods her response and then groans, chuckling softly. “I think… I think I’m going to need help rolling back over, Astarion.” 

Astarion laughs as he removes himself from Tav, arms moving to support her as she rolls onto her back with a labored huff. She ends the Silence spell with a lazy wave of her hand and yawns. Her eyes flutter closed as a hand trails down to her abdomen and rests upon her bump.

“I’ll need you to start making use of that spell more often, darling,” Astarion murmurs as he presses a kiss into her forehead with a smile. His poor little love is already drifting back into the nap he’d pulled her from. 

“Mmm…” she agrees, already half asleep, her other hand instinctively searching for his. He laces their fingers together as he lays down beside her, pulling the covers over them both, intent on joining her for a nap. Best to get their rest while they both can. 

In a few more weeks, sleep will be nothing but a memory. 

[zepskies]

The Honorable Choice - Part 3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC 

Summary: June 1872. Captain Dean Winchester of the U.S. Cavalry is tasked with one job: break a wild mustang. He just didn’t expect the woman who infiltrates his camp, intent on freeing her tribe’s horse.

AN: The last chapter! Hold on, it's about to get bumpy...

Disclaimer: I got inspired after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (literally a perfect movie), as well as having Yellowstone in the back of my brain. I’ve done extensive research for this one, both on the American Indian Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s (AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars and the Sioux Wars). Of course, one of my main goals is to avoid inaccuracies, both historical and cultural.

**Pronunciation guide at the end!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: @jacklesversebingo Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 5.7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Protective Dean, survival situations, smut (mutual masturbation, fingering, and more), angst, and fluff.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

🎙️ Listen to the podfic version here!

Part 3: Worthy

They travel together for two more days. Dean isn’t really a talkative man, but inevitably, he finds himself speaking to fill the comfortable stretches of quiet plodding across the grasslands.

He tells her about growing up on his family’s farm, where his father was firm but fair, and a larger-than-life presence when Sam and Dean were kids. His mother though, she was the only one who could ever go toe to toe with John Winchester and win.

���She tamed him,” Mila remarks with a smile. Dean’s lips quirk in response.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he chuckles, “but he knew he couldn’t pull a whole lot of shit with Mom. She’s a real pistol when she’s gotta be.”

Talking about them makes his heart heavy and sobers his mood, so he deflects with other stories, other chapters of his life. 

He talks about going through basic training alongside Benny Lafitte. As privates, Dean pranked his friend by filling his lumpy old pillow with raw eggs and chicken feathers. In retaliation, Benny swapped Dean’s morning coffee with actual dirt and hot water. Their boyish games escalated until they were nearly kicked out of the military.

Dean managed to smooth things over though. He’s always had a way of charming people, even the gruff Sergeant Major, Bobby Singer.

Mila admits that she and her cousin Šóta used to sneak out of the village when they were younger. He taught her how to climb trees, how to fight and protect herself, and how to ride a horse astride, like a man. He was the only one who ever encouraged her to have the “free mind” her mother dreamed about.

The more she confides in him, her eyes sparking with life and her hands gesticulating along with her words, the more Dean listens.  

On the third day, it’s nearing mid-afternoon when Dean slows Baby to a stop. After miles and miles of forest and grassland covered, they’ve finally approached a large, wide river. Mila stops beside him.

“My tribe lives beyond the river,” she says, “but the current is strong now.”

Dean looks over at her. A question he hasn’t wanted to ask crops back up. He feels that now is the time to voice it.

“Yeah, about that…I’m thinking your tribe doesn’t take very well to outsiders,” he says. “White men in particular.”

Mila presses her lips together. He can tell she’s been thinking the same thing, but she turns to him with a determined set to her features.

“I will protect you,” she says.

Dean frowns. He doesn’t like the sound of that. On one hand, it warms him that she seems to really mean it. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to know what it’ll take for her to protect him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

She turns her face away and doesn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Mila…”

“The Chief is my uncle,” she says at last. “He will listen to me.”

Dean blinks. Well, that changes things…maybe.

He’s still not convinced, but at this point, he really doesn’t have many options. It’s either take his chances with her tribe, or become a vagabond. He’s not sure how long he could survive in wilds of the West alone, especially while trying to dodge military patrols.

In the past three days, it’s taken Dean all that time to come to terms with a simple fact. He’ll likely never see his brother again, or his mother. It’s a pain that cuts into him deeply, down to his bones. It stings behind his eyes.

But if he only has two choices, then he at least wants to make sure Mila gets home safely…even if that means he won’t be.

He’s come this far. If his career is worth the price of what he feels is right, then his life is worth it too.

With that decision made, Dean expels a long, somewhat faltering breath. He locks away the rest of his uncertainty, his apprehension, and even his grief. He hides deep inside, where she won’t see it. 

“All right, the current doesn’t look too bad over here,” he says, pointing to farther north along the river. “The horses can make it.”

Mila nods in agreement. She still looks uneasy, though she tries to hide it too. She ventures ahead into the river. Dean follows close behind.

The water is shallow at first, but it all too quickly gets deeper. The horses plod over the river stones and vegetation under the surface, and the humans are led deeper, until they’re submerged into the water up to their waists.

It’s good that Mila rides that giant mustang; if she were on a mare, like Dean, she’d already be sunk up to her shoulders. Baby’s a big girl, to be sure, but Mila is nearly a foot shorter than him, with a smaller frame. He watches her carefully as she makes her way ahead of him.

That’s why he’s able to act fast when Mato slips, dunking Mila under the water. She gasps and tries to cling onto him, but the current is fierce. It pushes Mato down the river no matter how much he scrambles and kicks at the water, braying wildly in distress.

Shit! Dean tugs sharply at Baby’s reigns and strives to catch up to them. He grabs Mato’s reigns and pulls and pulls, until he and Baby are able to drag him to the other side of the river where he can get a foothold with his hooves.

Mila is starting to fall off his back. She struggles to cling on while the river pushes at her, with her wet hair falling in her eyes. Dean leans back as far as he can to try and pull her up.

“It’s okay, I’ve gotcha,” he calls out, even though his heart hammers with alarm.

She reaches out for his hand in turn. Just as his fingers begin to close over hers, a wave from the current crashes into her. A short scream tears from her throat after she loses her grip on Mato’s neck. Without her weight, he’s able to pull himself back up onto the bank along with Baby.

Damn it! Gut-wrenching alarm spears Dean into action. He leaps down from Baby and removes his gloves, his hat, and his uniform jacket, so he can dive into the water. Thank God he’s a strong swimmer.

Mila seems to be too. She carves through the water against the current the best she can and tries to keep her head above the waves, but Dean can see it’s a losing battle. He manages to grab hold of her arm, and then wraps an arm around her waist to keep her close. Both of them work together to try and cling to any passing rock or low-hanging vine as the current sweeps them out toward an ultimate end.

A waterfall.

Of course. Goddamn it. Dean doesn’t know how steep it is on the other side, and he doesn’t want to know. All he’s trying to do is keep himself and Mila above the water.

She hooks her hand around a sharp rock. It bites into her hand, making her cry out, but she clings to it for all she’s worth. She holds onto Dean just as tightly, even though the current wants to take him. She tries to pull him closer, close enough for him to get a hold on the rock as well.

This time, it’s Dean who loses his footing. The rocks slip beneath the soles of his feet when he attempts to gain some leverage.

A shout of surprise escapes from him when he fails, and it gets swallowed up by water rushing down his throat.

“Dean!” Mila yells, for the first time using his name. The last thing he registers is the fear in her eyes—afraid for him.

The river takes him over the edge of the abyss, and he falls.

He never expected that he would get to open his eyes again, let alone to the sight that greets him. Mila’s familiar face, framed by the dark, drying waves of her hair, is bright with firelight. It dances in orange-gold across her features. Her eyes are warm like rich molasses when she looks down and finds him awake.

She smiles in relief.

He realizes that he’s lying on soft grass with his head pillowed in her lap. She’s taken off his boots and half of his white undershirt; she tore one of his sleeves to wrap around a mercifully shallow gash in his shoulder.

The horses are drinking from the river nearby, with a pile of apples split between them. There’s a fish roasted over the fire, but all Dean cares about is the way her fingers are running through his hair. She sings a soft song under her breath while she passes her other hand over his injured arm without touching it.

He doesn’t understand the words, but he thinks she might be trying to heal him. He’s heard plenty of stories about the Sioux people, most he’s taken with a grain of salt. He does remember Cas saying that their healers are different from doctors.  

Dean’s never given their hoodoo much thought, but right about now, he hopes it works.

“Mornin’,” he croaks.

Mila’s relieved face becomes touched with amusement.

“It’s night,” she says. “You slept for a long time.”

Dean wants to sit up and take an inventory of his injuries, but he can’t make his body move just yet. He’s too tired and bruised. He also likes being in her arms. He likes her fingers in his hair, now moving to his cheek. He sighs through his nose in contentment as her thumb drifts over his overgrown stubble. 

“Thank you,” she says. Emotion is thick in her voice.

Dean meets her eyes again, and he smiles. He raises the back of his hand to touch her smooth cheek, gently. He lets his fingers glide across her tan skin, down the column of her neck. Her breath hitches.

She takes his calloused hand in her slender one. Her long hair falls like a curtain over her shoulder, almost like it’s shielding them from whatever is left to come for them beyond the forest. Dean wraps an ebony strand around his finger, just to feel it fall loosely again.

“You’re beautiful, you know that?” he says.

Mila graces him with another smile from her lips. He wants to know what they taste like.

“I guess you are pretty, for a White Man,” she says teasingly.

Her fingers trace his brow, his jawline, even the tip of his chin. She seems to be avoiding his plush mouth, even though her gaze keeps dropping there. Dean pretends to frown.

“Sweetheart, that’s not the way you talk about a man,” he says.

Her brows raise. “No?”

“Handsome. Strong. Toothsome, if you will,” he says, enjoying the way she begins to blush. “That’s what you wanna call a man.”

“Toothsome. I don’t know this word,” she admits. “Am I supposed to eat you?”

Dean resists the urge to say the first incorrigible thing that pops into his head. Instead, his body shakes with laughter.

It’s difficult at first, all his muscles pulling at him in protest, but he raises himself into a sitting position. He cups Mila’s cheek, dragging his thumb across her lower lip. Her lashes are dark and long. They move when she looks up at him. He knows the look in her eyes, wanting, desiring, but also unsure of what she should allow him.

Dean leans in slowly, giving her time to decide.

She tilts her face up to his. He noses at her cheek, his eyes falling closed along with hers.

He finds her lips with his own on instinct and feeling alone. Soft and tender movements, testing, asking.

She answers him. Her fingers tangle in the front of his tattered shirt as her lips begin to move against his. Dean wraps an arm around her waist and gathers her against his chest. His other hand glides down her arm, down her side and along every soft curve. Her clothes are still damp, and so are his.

“It’ll be faster to dry our clothes if we’re not wearing ‘em,” Dean rumbles. His voice is deep with desire. He presses kisses along the side of her jaw, behind her ear, down her neck and shoulder. He earns her pleased hum, her heavier breaths, and her fingers once again in his hair.

“I can’t,” she gasps. She says something in her native tongue, too fast for Dean to even register. He slows down so he can meet her eyes.

“What was that?” he asks. Her face falls, and she starts to trip over her words.

“I am not…how you say, married. I have to be…”

Dean smiles ruefully, sliding a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Chaste?” he offers. She nods, her brows furrowed. Her grip on his shirt tightens.

“Yes,” she says. “In the eyes of my people, it is…”

“I get it,” Dean says. When she still seems conflicted, he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Really, I understand,” he says.

His problem is that he stares into her eyes too long, and at her kiss-swollen lips. He dives back in for another taste.

This time, he’s a little less gentlemanly than he promised. His tongue sweeps along her lower lip, begging entrance. She makes a sound of surprise, but she opens up to him. Her gentle hands slide up his chest to hold his face, and her thumbs stroke his cheeks. He holds one of her wrists to keep her there as his tongue dances with hers. She tastes like the river, and like salty tears.

Had she cried for him? How long did she sit with his body, waiting to see if he would wake up?

Despite those worrying thoughts, Dean knows this feels right. More right than he’s ever felt.

It’s harder than he might’ve imagined, but he still pulls away, before he won’t be able to stop himself. Mila pants for breath. She seems to feel she should let him go, but also doesn’t show any sign of wanting to. Smiling, Dean caresses her cheek one more time before he turns to the fish she roasted.

“This looks good,” he says, clearing his throat. “What kinda fish is this?”

With a sigh, she attempts to steady herself and moves to join him by the fire.

That night, Mila dreams.

She dreams of wings, white and beautiful. She hears the cry of an eagle before she sees his great wingspan take off in flight. He soon finds his mate, and they dance together in the sky. 

When she wakes, the fire has gone out and it’s still dark in the night. It takes her a moment to realize that she’s safe. Finally safe.

And she’s lying securely in Dean’s arms.

She’s no longer conflicted when she stares up at his face.

She will bring him home to her tribe, and she will explain. If they still don’t welcome him, then she prays for the strength to keep to her honor. Because now, she begins to realize…

Her heart has already chosen.

“Kimmímila, what have you done?” her uncle asks in the language of their people.

He is Tahatan, Chief of their tribe.

Mila’s father, Chatan, and her cousin Šóta have tied Dean Winchester to a post in the center of the Chief’s large tipi. Dean kneels with his head bowed in respect, even though he keeps sneaking looks at Mila to try and gauge what’s happening. He doesn’t understand a word of any of it.

“You’ve brought this outsider into our village, this White Man!” Tahatan shouts, his voice deep and resounding.

Mila steps forward, despite her mother’s embarrassment and her father trying to grab her shoulder. For the second time in her life, she defies her father for what she believes is right. The first was to rescue a member of their tribe—because even a horse’s spirit should not be broken by greed.

“Uncle, I’ve told you the story, though you don’t want to believe it,” she says. “Dean Winchester saved me when he could have killed me, or worse. He defied his own people. He is dead to his own people, for me, and because of me. You may think they lack all honor, but this man is different.”

She looks over at Dean, and he meets her gaze. He wears an anxious frown as he looks between her and the chief, but she has a feeling that his fear is for her, not for himself.

She kneels beside him, then looks up at her uncle with all the stubbornness she’s ever possessed in her life. She feels it’s led her to exactly this moment.

“And we are one,” she says. Nerves trill up her spine as she says it. She predicts the way shock falls over the room. The way her father curses out loud, angry. The way her mother covers her mouth in dismay. The way the Chief takes a step back, tilting his head at his niece.

“You would take it that far?” he asks.

Her face doesn’t change. “It’s already done.”

Tahatan is beside himself, both angry and perplexed. He goes back to his chair of wicker and wood that lies centered in the room. He drops heavily into it. After a long while, in which he thinks in silence…he releases a heavy sigh. He gestures for his brother and his son to untie Dean. The men do so, but they don’t let him go free. They force him to stand and bring him forward to kneel again before the Chief.

“Dean Winchester,” Tahatan says.

“Yes, sir,” Dean replies.

“You prove yourself to be a man with honor,” he says in English. “Kimmímila has chosen you. She claims you have chosen her in return. Do you deny this?”

Dean glances over at her. She bites the inside of her lip, a bit worried about how he’ll react. She’s not sure he completely understands what Tahatan is telling him, but he nods, regardless.

“No, sir. I don’t deny it,” Dean says.

“Then, you will be allowed to stay, and live among us,” Tahatan declares. "We will see for ourselves what you are. We will see if you are worthy."

Dean gives a nod, crossed with a bow of some kind. He obviously isn’t sure of what he’s supposed to do, but he does say thank you. Mila wraps her hands around his uninjured arm and helps him to his feet. She smiles at him to let him know that the worst is over. He blows out a breath in relief.

“Is that it?” he whispers. He expected more of a thrashing, if he’s honest.

“Almost,” she replies. The two of them stop short before her father, Chatan.

Dean straightens up and holds out his hand. “Sir.”

Chatan glances down at the white hand extended toward him. His gaze raises back up to Dean. 

He grunts in acknowledgement, but he turns on his heels and storms out of the tipi. Her mother comes forward next. She examines Dean from all angles. She takes his face in her hand, somewhat squishing his cheeks, so she can look deeply into his startled eyes.

She seems satisfied by what she finds, and she lets him go. Afterward, she takes Mila’s hand and heaves a deep sigh.

She kisses her daughter’s hand and says nothing else, leaving them to find her husband and calm him down.

Dean turns to Mila with a look that says, please tell me that’s it.

She smiles more genuinely.

“Come,” she says.

She leads him by the hand out of the Chief’s tipi and through the village. Dean takes in the rows of other tall, cone-like structures covered in buffalo skin, as well as all the faces that turn to stare at him in a mix of curiosity, wariness, and even fear. Some of them whisper to each other, taking their children by the hand and keeping them close.

Dean’s still on guard himself, even when Mila takes him to a smaller tipi. It’s been closed up for a while now, by the look of it. Weeds have grown right outside the entrance. 

“This one’s yours?” Dean asks.

She pauses, giving him another small smile. “Ours.”

Dean raises a brow. Ours. Really?

She opens the flap in the front and beckons him inside. There’s still enough daylight to shine through the outer lining. Inside, his gaze flits over the old pile of stones in the center for heating, clothes folded in the corner, some cooking pots and utensils, paintings on wood and clay, and a couple of beaded decorations. Buffalo skin bedding is laid out on the other side with a couple of soft looking furs. 

Son of a gun. Dean doesn’t even blink as he processes it all. He’s in a damn tipi. This is really about to become his life.

Shaking his head a little, he forces himself to focus on Mila. She’s his anchor, and she seems to sense that he’s reeling. She guides him to sit beside her on the bedding, holding his hands in hers. After a moment, he reaches up to tuck a curling strand of hair behind her ear.

“You didn’t get in too much trouble because of me, did you?” he asks.

She shakes her head. “No. My father and uncle are very similar. Strong to anger, but it is quick to run out. At least with me.”

Dean thinks he understands. Short fuse, quick fizzle.

“There is just…one thing,” Mila says. Her eyes fall away from his, like she’s embarrassed. He squeezes her hands.

“What?” he asks, his brows furrowing. It gets her to look at him again, but she seems worried to tell him.

“To convince my uncle to let you stay, I told them that we…” she trails, trying to find the right words in English. “That we are married.”

Dean’s brows raise high. His heart trips up faster. Okay, “ours” makes a lot more sense now.

“I am sorry,” she says quietly. “I didn’t want you hurt—”

“Sweetheart,” Dean says, cupping her cheek. Even with the hammering of his heart, he grins. “I’m pretty sure that’s where this was going anyway.”

In fact, this is a best-case scenario, as far as he’s concerned. He leans in to kiss her, and it doesn’t take long at all for her to sigh in relief, melting against him.

“We’re married, huh?” he asks. “No ceremony? No white dress?”

“We are bonded,” she replies, nodding as she meets every one of his kisses. “Or, we will be.”

She tugs him closer and revels in the feeling of his hands beginning to roam her body, sliding down her waist, her hips and thighs.

“Guess that means we have to seal the deal,” he grins. His lips drift away from hers to burn a familiar path across her cheek. He takes to nibbling her ear, making her flinch and laugh as it tickles.

“Seal-the-deal. What does that mean?” she asks.

Dean chuckles lowly in her ear. “Oh, I think you know.”

He guides her onto her back, over the comfortable mess of furs. He wants to take his time exploring every inch of soft, tan skin, but he first sweeps her hair away from her eyes, the back of his hand brushing against her cheek. She smiles up at him softly.

“Do you regret?” she whispers, reaching up to touch his chin with two slender fingers. “Do you regret helping me?”

Dean considers her question. He knows he’ll carry his family in his heart until the day he dies. His brother, his mother, the memory of his father. Benny and Cas, even Jack, and so many others.

It’s already a heavy burden, but he had always been prepared to lose his life on the battlefield, in service of his country. At least this way, he gains a new life. 

“No. Never did,” Dean replies. “Not even once.”

He bows his head toward hers, and he proves it to her. His lips capture hers, fueled by passion and wanting. Mila’s hands slide over his shoulders and down his back. Maybe without her realizing it, she implores him to let go of the weight heaped on his shoulders.

When he begins to bunch up the hem of her dress, she sits up to help guide his hands. Her quickening breaths mesh with his as the first layer of clothing drops beside the bedding. His tattered shirt joins her dress, along with pants and shoes and boots, until all that’s left is skin against warm, bare skin. He lays on his side right beside her and explores wherever she lets him begin.  

“Beautiful,” Dean murmurs, as his lips follow the column of her neck, down between her breasts. Her breaths rise to meet him, especially when he begins to toy with a dark, pebbled nipple. Her fingers slip through his hair, and his name falls from her lips. He palms one breast while kissing and gently teasing the other, exploring sensitive flesh and grazing her sensitive fleshwith his teeth.

“No man’s ever touched you?” he asks, despite knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, her fingers gripping his hair tighter as his lips and tongue move against her skin.

“No,” Mila gasps a reply. Her hand slides down the back of his neck, and the more he teases her, her nails soon create faint red lines down his back, her thighs squeezing together. She feels a throbbing ache at the very center of her. Despite her inexperience with men, she knows what it means, and she knows what she wants.

Dean’s mouth drags away from her breast. He pulls back so he can meet her eyes. A smile curves his lips, and he takes one of her hands from his shoulders. 

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he asks. He guides her hand down her body, brushing over a wet, sensitive nipple, down her stomach, and between her legs. This time, Mila nods in answer. She stares up at Dean with eyes like molten honey. He leans in to kiss her neck.

“Show me,” he says.

She shudders at the depths in his voice. It increases the flood of wetness she already feels, even before she slips two fingers between the folds of her sex. She gathers some of that slick and circles it over the source of her pleasure, the small nub above her entrance.

Dean takes his hardened length in his hand. While she writhes by her own hand, he drinks her in with his eyes. A soft groan falls from his lips as he pumps himself a few times, sliding a thumb across the weeping head of his cock.

He can’t be a spectator for long though. He nips tantalizingly at her neck, creating a zing of added sensation across her skin. She whimpers, though she tries to stifle it, her knee bending further.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Dean says. “Let me hear you.”

He releases himself and replaces her hand with his own. He slips two long fingers inside her drenched entrance, earning a gasping moan from her. She latches onto his shoulders and buries her face into his neck. She whispers fervent things he doesn’t understand, but it only spurs him on.

His thumb circles insistently over her clit as his fingers pulse inside her. Her hips buck a needy rhythm against his hand, until her thighs begin to shake, and her inner walls squeeze even tighter around his fingers.

“Shit, that’s it, baby,” he pants gruffly against her cheek. “Let go for me.”

Warmth snaps and floods from her throbbing core, and she cries out near his ear, her nails biting into his skin. Her release coats his fingers.

Mila drops her head back against the furs underneath her. Her chest rises and falls quickly while she tries to catch her breath, her eyes tightly shut. Dean surprises her with a soft kiss.

“Mila,” he prods. He wants to see her eyes again, so pretty and wanton when she comes. He veers away from her lips to kiss her cheek, and then the other side of her neck. “Let me see you, sweetheart.”

She huffs a small laugh. Opening her eyes, she gestures to her bare body. “This is not enough?”

Dean’s lips tug at a smile. He shakes his head. “As a matter of fact, no.”

He shifts over her, finding his place between the cradle of her thighs. His elbows come to rest on either side of her head. She feels trapped by his body, even as she welcomes his weight and the feeling of his arousal, long and heavy and hard, trapped between their bodies. This man fills every corner of her world in this moment.

“If I’m your husband now, that means I get all of you,” he says with a grin. She gazes up at him, both in blushing amusement and affection.

“All of me,” Mila repeats. She takes his face in her hands and brings him closer, until her lips are a whisper from his. “Then I want all of you.” 

Dean chuckles. “You sure about that?”

She smiles in satisfaction, and her lips claim him this time. One kiss turns into many, each one mounting in passion and desire. Dean groans into her when she begins to touch him. Her hands are soft, but direct in their seeking; they caress his shoulders, run down his chest and stomach, and then, more tentatively explore the now painfully hard length of him pressing against her.

He makes a grateful sound of pleasure when her hand wraps around his cock, squeezing gently. His fingers bury themselves in her hair.

“I want all of you,” she says, this time a plea and a demand all at once as she strokes him.

Dean nods in agreement. He’s come this far. He can do that for her too.

He spreads her thighs a bit wider and encourages her to adjust the angle of her hips for him. His hand glides down her plush thigh and gets a healthy grip. Then he slides his hand under hers and guides his cock through her folds, first just holding himself at her warm, wet entrance.

He manages to wait for a second, in order to meet her gaze. She’s already holding onto his arms tightly, like he’s become her anchor. Her thighs wrap around his hips and beckon him closer.

Slowly, he pushes inside. He takes care in how he works her open. She winces at the sting of his girth stretching her, but his fingers once again massage her clit, stroking her arousal back into a keening flame. He swallows her gasps and moans as he bottoms out inside her, fully sheathed. Tears prick at her eyes, but not from pain.

Mila’s dream flashes like a waking vision behind her eyes. Wings take flight, along with the gleam of a golden beak and a sharp eye.

She blinks, and the image disappears. She’s left with the man who has become hers, making love to her with every stroke of him deep inside her. She presses grateful kisses across his neck and shoulder, wherever she can reach while she clings to his strong arms.

The thick head of him brushes a sensitive place over and over, one that tightens the coil in her lower belly and makes her core tremble again with warmth, until her body convulses against him, pulsing in pleasure, gripping him tight from the inside. Mila’s fingers clench in his hair just as tightly as her release hits her in a powerful wave; even her voice becomes lost to it.

Gritting his teeth, Dean grips the soft flesh of her hip and chases his own end. The way her inner walls choke his cock, he has no choice but to come hot inside her, his spend mixing with her own release. A strangled shout tears from his throat.

He has to brace himself before he crushes her. With his forearms resting on either side of her head, he lowers his forehead against hers. Her legs slip from where they’ve been tightly molded to his hips, her feet meeting the floor. Eventually he slips out of her. He watches his seed drip out and create a mess on the dark furs. The sight of it satisfies something primal deep inside him.

Later he’ll ask her about washing up (and about supper), but for now, he just turns onto his back beside her. She inches toward him, and he raises an arm so she can splay out against his side. They both lay there for a moment in the quiet, just catching their breath together. It marks the end of a long journey, and yet, the start of one too.

Mila turns to raise onto her elbow. She reaches over to wipe the sweat from his brow in a tender touch. Dean smiles up at her. He takes her hand and presses a kiss into her palm.

“I could get used to this,” he says.

Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she laughs softly. “Yes.”

Her hand moves down to his chest, over his heart. She sobers as she considers her people, and how much trust has yet to be bridged—not only her own father and uncle, but the entire tribe. When she led him through the village, they called him wašíču.

Fat-taker. Greedy White. Not one of us.

“It will be hard for you here,” Mila says. She worries it will be too hard for Dean.  

He just squeezes her hand, earning her attention through tumultuous thoughts.

“I’m not afraid of a little hard work,” Dean replies. His usual confident charm is infused in his smile, but she has a feeling he’s just trying to reassure her.

Sensing she’s not convinced, Dean reaches up to hold her cheek, guiding her to look at him and not the floor.

“Listen. I made my choice, and I’m sticking it out, come hell or high water,” he says.

Mila’s brows knit together. “Hell-or-high… What does that mean?”

Dean sits up on his elbow along with her. He takes her chin between his fingers and meets her gaze.

“It means if you want me, you’ve got me. The rest, we’ll figure out as we go along,” he says.

A smile slowly lightens Mila’s face. She tilts her chin up to meet him with a kiss.

“I will be with you,” she says. It’s a promise.

Dean smiles back.

“Good,” he says. “Because that’s just about all I need.”

AN: There we have it, friends. 💜 I really, truly hope you enjoyed this mini series! To be honest, I have more ideas for this little world (like how Dean might try to assimilate into this culture), but I'll leave it to you guys to let me know if that's something you'd be interested in reading.

Until then, I would love to know what you thought of this chapter! 

Pronunciation Guide:

Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew")

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[appalamutte]

When Eric finally, after three hours of deliberation, decides to take a shower, the oven timer sounds from across the apartment.

"Shoot, hon," he says to a sleeping Deke as he scrambles half-naked down the hall and into the combined kitchen-slash-living room. The dog doesn't even pick his head up—just opens his eyes and raises one ear from the worn-down dog bed in the corner beside the couch. "What is your daddy going to do? Forgetting I put some apple turnovers on, Lord, my mind is plum gone."

A small waft of smoke burns at his eyes when he opens the oven door. The turnovers are a touch too crispy, blackened on the bottoms in a way Eric's always disliked and his family's always preferred. He sets them to cool on top of the stove.

He also lights an apple pumpkin candle, just for the hell of it.

Maybe he even still grabs one to eat.

Some hockey game is playing on the television when he goes to sit on the couch. Eric doesn't even remember turning the television on, let alone deciding to watch the game tonight of all things, but the Falconers are currently losing against the Canucks in the fourth quarter and the turnover tastes like burnt flour in his mouth and Eric was fired from his job, for the first time in his life, earlier that morning.

Deke stands from the dog bed—oh, who is Eric fooling, it's an outdoor patio cushion Eric bought on clearance a few years ago that was the perfect size for Deke to lay on—stretches, yawns, shakes sleep off his body and joins Eric on the couch. Noses his way toward the turnover in Eric's hand, digs his paws into the thin cotton of Eric's underwear to stand up, up, up until Eric's forced to shove the rest of the turnover into his still-full mouth.

"Down," he mumbles out, and Deke doesn't listen, but he does lick at Eric's face and that's okay, too.

"Mashkov chips the puck up the ice into Canuck territory, St. Martin goes to pick it up," the announcer is saying, the bright white light of the game clashing with the soft lamplight of Eric's apartment. "Bit of a struggle with Canuck's number twenty-eight, though St. Martin is able to snatch the puck and send it up to Zimmermann, who—"

"What am I going to do with you?" Eric asks once Deke yawns again and lays halfway onto Eric's lap, belly-side up and ears flopped this way and that.

His phone lights up from the side table, buzzes once, then goes dark again. Eric ignores it for all of two seconds before he snatches it up and unlocks it, seeing seven missed phone calls, fifty-two text messages, three emails, a handful of Twitter notifications, and a reminder from Tinder that his profile will be hidden soon if he doesn't log back in to it. That one is immediately deleted, as well as his emails—all from clients who haven't been told he's no longer with the company—but the Twitter notifications grab his attention long enough that he misses out on the goal the Falconers score until the network starts showing replays.

"What a goal! Wow, Rick, I have to say, despite the rough game they've had up until this point, Zimmermann may have just turned their spirits around. I mean, talk about an all-around masterclass of a shot. He's been quiet all night and then he does this? It's like he's been waiting until this moment to make something happen."

The cameras flick through a series of shots: the full rink from above, panning across the team celebrating at the bench, coming in close to where Robinson's pulling Jack down to Mashkov's wide-open arms for a hug. The joy is palpable. The smiles are wider than Eric would expect for a goal in a lost game. Jack doesn't look so frustrated now, not like he was looking the other night over the phone, and he makes eye contact with the camera as St. Martin comes in to pat against his helmet and Jack winks.

He—he winks.

The screen changes to that of the announcers as soon as Eric registers what he just saw. Surely, that wasn't—he didn't—now, Eric might be a gullible person under the right circumstances, but he's not delusional; he knows Jack doesn't know he's watching the broadcast because they haven't talked since yesterday when Jack was still in Seattle and Eric's life hadn't yet fallen apart and today's game was never mentioned. Jack didn't wink for Eric. He winked for the camera, for all the fans, a culmination of the Falconers' media training and Eric's gentle pushing that he needs to be more personable, more charming, at least for the media.

But—something warm settles inbetween the spaces of Eric's ribs and slowly fills the cavity of his heart.

The Falconers still lose the game. The announcers mention that this is now the fourth game the Falconers have lost in a row. Eric watches until the station starts covering highlights from another game from earlier in the day, and when he turns the television off, he finds the apartment to be silent.

Though, not like before. Not like when he first got home from work six hours too early and turned his phone off and fell face-first on his unmade bed. Deke softly snores in Eric's lap now, hot to the touch. It almost smells like home did when Eric was ten and helping his Mama bake after school. For the first time in years, despite the circumstances, Eric doesn't have to set any alarms for a Thursday morning.

Jack's making a layover in New York tomorrow.

That is enough.

[georgiapeach30513]

Down On My Knees, Part 3

Summary: One. Two. THREE.

Pairings: Jax Teller X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings:  dark, explicit language, explicit sexual content, mentions of punishing oneself, degrading language, violence, death, sex in a chuch, unprotected sex, PIV sex, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 3K

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*dividers created by @firefly-graphics

Jax sits abruptly in bed, scratching his neck, and stretching the twinge of pain in muscles. The night was a living hell. Your scent lingered all in his bed. Your sounds haunted him. He can still taste the kiss of your mouth. It’s like you wanted to inflate every part of his mind and body with you.

He takes a deep breath as he massages the crick in his neck. You felt too good. Your body is sin incarnate. You are a demon to him, and he can’t stop. There isn’t a stopping point now. He has begged with every fiber of his muscles for this ache to have you to stop, and still it continues. It continues to seep into his soul, and he’s gone too far now. He’s tasted and had you.

He grabs a cigarette, and lights it quickly. Staring out into the alleyway at the brick of his nightmares. The flashes of that night. Did he see it happen, and did nothing? Or worse. The compelling thoughts he has towards the swell of your belly. The soft curves that accompany the changes to you. All he wants to do is hold you, and your stomach.

Growing up poor, you don’t have many chances of what you can do. Continue to stay poor, or join the church. He remembers the feeling a woman’s flesh under his fingers. The way their bodies become pliable because of his movements. The soft begging sounds in their voice. He didn’t have to take, they gave freely. It couldn’t have been him in the alley. He was just a coward that didn’t stop a series of misfortunes. He’s a coward. Not a monster.

Jax clenches his eyes close when he hears the rustling of the paper. He prolongs a pull of his cigarette. Trying to avoid whatever devil message awaits him. He misbehaved last night, and his back normally paid for his sins. He would stripe the cords of muscles as he punished himself. But he would prefer your fingernails. He didn’t make his skin pay for his sins. It just didn’t feel right.

“You’re no saint. You’re no angel,” a gruff voice says at the door before loud booms of a man’s gait disappear down the hallway. He knew he wasn’t either of those. He filled your cunt with so much of his seed, he watched it drip down your legs as you hobbled to your room.

Today you were going to be examined by a doctor. Obviously to check and make sure that everything with the baby was growing correctly. He didn’t want the babe to be taken somewhere else, even if he knew it was for the better of yours and the child’s life. You wouldn’t have to live with the shame, and neither would your child. Jax runs a hand harshly down his face before turning towards the door.

He picks the paper up slowly. His eyes fill with rage as he reads the words. A fucking game. A sick, slow, tortuous game.

Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Proverbs 11:2

He crumbles the paper, and lets it fall to the floor. He’s either a madman or a man that will have his soul damned to hell for the things he’s done. And will continue to do. Popping his neck, he determines it’s time to get dressed. He’ll have to escort you to your appointment. He will be the only one with you from now on.

“Jax,” you whisper, and wish you could yell. His hand smooths over your stomach so gently. He dips his fingers low, grazing the digits over your exposed cunt. And his eyes have an eerie emptiness. As if the only thing that mattered were you, and the spawn growing in your belly. An obsession bubbling within him.

“Father Teller,” you speak softly, and those crystal blue eyes turn to look towards you, but his pupils block out most of their beautiful color. Seeming like he’s in a stupor. “Don’t touch me here, and I’ll let you cleanse me again. Right before the eyes of God,” clearing his throat, his pupils fade back to normal, and he yanks his hands away from you.

“You are a filthy little lamb,” you keep your eyes looking forward as he leans towards you. Putting his mouth right on your ear, “My little lamb,” your eyes flutter close with his emphasis of my. Jax flattens his tongue and llicks up your neck, and you purr. “You don’t even know what pleasure is. You don’t even know the ways that I can fuck that tight little cunt,” but he did. He is no angel. And he’s definitely no saint. But he can make you see heaven.

“I want to look at you this time,” his laughter is husky against your sensitive column, and slick pools to your core in the most humiliating way, “Jax, we can’t here.”

“What are they gonna do to me? A priest. They’ll think you’re the one tempting me. And you are. You are a siren, and I am weak to your calls. Look at you with your legs spread open for me. Growing our — your miracle,” a rumble vibrates his chest, and you look up at him. Peering up at him with the most innocent doe eyes, “Don’t be a tease,” he jerks away from your body, and the moment the door opens.

You clear your throat. Fiddling around, and avoiding the doctor’s eyes. He looks between you and Jax before settling himself in a chair. He has to know. Whatever this is between you and Jax is palatable, “Any bleeding?”

“No,” you answer shortly. Keeping your eyes on the ceiling. You don’t think. You don’t feel. You hate feeling invasive people around you, and this doctor wanted to know everything about your body. Growing up you always had someone poking and prodding you.

“Well, it seems your mother won’t have to marry you off. Such a disappointment,” gritting your teeth, your eyes roll closed as a single tear falls from your eyes. Like it was your choice. They were all the same. You’re sure this doctor is far from being an innocent man. Rumor has it he enjoyed his title, which is why Jax didn’t leave you. This doctor wouldn’t hesitate to pressure you into pleasuring him. Acting like he was the epitome of an upstanding citizen.

“That’s enough,” Jax answers, and starts pushing the doctor’s hands away from you. Between his harsh words, and him having his hands on you, Jax has had enough. “That’s enough! Get your fucking hands off her!” The doctor stands abruptly, pushing away from you, and Jax rushes to him. Towering over the sniveling doctor, and he presses his forearm against his neck.

Jax’s neck twists and pops at an awkward angle. Staring wildly at the doctor. He’d said the wrong thing. You lurch up on the table, pushing your dress down and begin cowering away from them as Jax bangs him up against the wall.

“Do you even know who you’re talking to? What is growing in her belly? Do you know who we are?”

“A bastard priest, and a bastard,” Jax slaps him across the face. “In her belly,” grabbing the doctor’s shoulders, he knees him hard in the gut. Letting his groaning body fall to the ground. “I’ll have you arrested, boy.”

“Jax!” You shout, covering your ears. He was going to be thrown under the jail. He was going to leave you, and then you were doubly shamed. His fists pound into the doctor with sickening thuds, “Stop it! Stop!!” Jax stands, panting. And brushing his hair back with bloody hands. He smirks down at the doctor before spitting on him.

”I want to go home now!”

“Does the slut even have a home? Or is she keeping your bed warm, Father Teller,” his laugh is gurgled in blood, and Jax kicks him while you jump off the table. “He will use you, princess.”

“Haven’t you heard?” You stand tall with your chin tilting upwards. “I’m already used up,” you click out of the office. Holding onto the dignity that you have remaining. He can talk about you like you’re nothing more than an object for greedy men. But you’re not. You’re so much more than that. You have a choice.

Jax remains, and he leans down to the doctor’s ear, “Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.”

His eyes go wide as he stares up at him. “No. No!” A revolting crunch stops his screaming instantly. Jax’s head quivers with intense rage before he screams at the limp man on the floor. Disgusting. Vile.

“It isn’t complete!” A nurse screams as she walks into the room. Horrified as she stares at the deceased man. “If you have a problem, you can contact The Society,” she shakes her head, running away from Jax. Jax knows that they will clean this up. They’ll make it all disappear. He didn’t care. But you would not be disrespected. You would not be made to feel less than when you are carrying a miracle.

You would change it all.

Jax runs his fingers through his hair. Slicking back each strand as he watches you cry and pray on your knees. So devout. And yet, you were cast aside like filth. Made to feel that you weren’t being used as a grand design. You were a goddess. Something that people seemed to forget. But he couldn’t forget it. He’s felt your power mingling with his own.

Now all they cared about is the babe in your belly. They didn’t even see you. You are only the vessel, and the couldn’t understand how important you were. Jax sees. But he also knows who you belong to. And it’s not them. Neither does the baby belong to them.

Taking a deep breath, you sit back into the pew. Your hand rubs over your stomach as you stare in awe at the altar. “I never put much thought into religion,” you gaze up at the paintings, sculptures, lights, all the grandeur of the church. Those judging eyes looking at you. Determining your eternal life, “But they’re wrong for casting me out. I didn’t ask for this.”

“You were to be married?” Wiping away your tears, you nod your head, “Did you love him?”

“I didn’t really know him. But I was to lay in the bed while he filled me with his seed, and I produced heirs for him,” you chuckle. What a life this was. You were expected to be the most pure thing, while also becoming a broodmare for the man with the most money. Men that bargained for your virtue like some prize pig.

“I wasn’t anything to my family. Useless really. I can’t carry on their name. I can’t rule over their kingdom. I can’t do anything but incubate a child for a man. And then when the worst thing someone could imagine happens, I became impure. Carrying my shame right under my heart.”

“Do you love the baby?”

You shrug. There is judgment all around you. But what judgment did your family face for throwing you and their grandchild away? “I don’t know. I feel this odd detachment sometimes. But I don’t hate him. Or her,” you chuckle as you rub your hands up and down the baby’s home. Such a small human changed so much. “How many lashes did you give your back for what we did?”

Jax slowly stands up. He turns towards the aisle, and walks right up to the altar. He doesn’t bother with any rituals. He surpassed that when he had you. He doesn’t serve a god. He’s become one. He undoes the buttons of his shirt. Letting it fall on the floor. The shirt is heavy with grief, but Jax is now free. Free from all the humanly bonds that kept him contained.

His eyes flutter closed when your fingers start caressing his scars. Your precious unblemished skin skims over his gnarly back, and you whimper, “None are fresh,” you whisper. His scars look more like the cut wings of a fallen angel. “You’re not sorry for having me in that way?”

“No,” his voice is animalistic. Nostrils flaring as the sanctuary’s candles flare to life. “And I’m going to have you again,” you yip as he pulls you in front of him. His hands coax you to lay flat, and he stalks around your body. Looking around at all the eyes that have judged both of you so harshly.

“She. Is. Mine!” His arms spread out wide. Pacing around. Making eye contact with every saint. “And you can’t do anything about it,” a roll of thunder vibrates through the building, and you inch your dress higher. If sinning was so bad, why did it feel so good? You’d go to the pits of hell if it meant keeping Jax.

“You can’t touch me now! I did this. I did it for all of you!” He rips open his slacks, and steps in between your legs. “I’m going to have you properly this time,” leaning forward, he rips open your dress. Giving you nothing to hide your transgressions. Your sins on display for all the marble eyes in the church. And when you’re bare before him, his hand flattens on your tummy, “And he’s mine, too.”

Kicking his boots aside, he yanks down his pants, revealing his own sins to you. Marks of which you’ve never seen inked on his skin. Runes decorate so much of his body, and you are curious as to what they mean.

“You’re mine,” you nod. Gulping as he kneels to the floor. His cock glistening in the diffused light. Yours. All yours. He could ravish you, and you’d thank him over and over again. You actually study his member for the first time. Desiring to kiss upon the head while you look up at Jax. You had him inside of you. “Growing inside of you” he nods as he settles himself lower.

“Do you hate me?” You shake your head no as he crashes into you. Setting your body on fire as you arch into his embrace. He spreads your cunt so wide that it stings. And you deliciously take every veiny inch of his steel rod, “You could never hate me. I saved you. I saved us!”

You didn’t understand. It feels as if it’s a fever having him like this. The flashes from that night confuse your mind, and you push them away. Replacing them with something completely different. Hand held out for you. Asking if you want to rid yourself from the pain of your family. Break the cycle of being a tool to further men.

“Can I save you?” Your eyes glaze over. Melding tonight with that moment. Was it Jax? Was it your choice? “Do you want your first time to be taken from you? Do you want to live to serve a man that doesn’t love you? I can save you.”

“Save me,” you beg. Jax’s thrusts become harsh as he smiles down at you. He snaps his hips into your body, while all the saints and sinners view everything. You hide nothing now. “Save me!” You screamed as the rain poured down. He covered your mouth, but nobody could hear your screaming. Nobody cared for you. Jax offered you a way out. You just didn’t realize. He was your saving grace. Your sanctuary when there was no other way out.

“Oh god,” your back is so arched that your head tilts backwards. “Oh. God!” This is unlike either time. This is cleansing. It’s heavenly. It’s taking you to a different plane of existence. Finally realizing the divine plan all along. He had you. He had all of you. It was always him. Always your choice. You have him just the way it was intended. The two of you doing what is natural. What your body craves, and is intended to do. The difference being, you want it. You want him. You want this depraved feeling with him.

“I am god. I’m your god. And I will serve you, princess. Mine,” blinding pleasure ripples through your body as Jax takes control. Repeating those four sentences over and over again. “My goddess. Nobody can touch us. They need us,” what God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.

Your pleasure-addled brain fuses the statues into hooded people. Circling around the sanctuary as they watch a heavenly bond between you and Jax. You made this choice. The choice was him. Sinfully it was him. You are free. Free of the life you were bred into.

“One.”

Your eyes close as your body reaches a new peak. A peak you have never been before. The journey wasn’t traditional, but you willfully and blindly followed Jax.

“Two.”

Stepping right to the ledge. You take a deep breath. Readying yourself for the plunge.

”Three!”

You dive into the murky waters as your body sets sail to new heights. And you come undone. Your velvety walls putting Jax in a chokehold. Screaming out, “Oh god,” as Jax’s warmth fills your body, and he pants down at you. Chest heaving as he kisses around the perimeter of your face. Holding himself inside your heat while you come to.

“Shh,” he whispers on your skin. “I won’t let anyone take you from me. Keep your eyes just on me. Just on me, Princess,” that title has never felt right. But it did now. You were his. His princess.

The cloaked man tilts his head as the final hooded figure comes out of the church, and right up to him. Giving him a single nod. “Four, five, six, seven,” he says with a smirk. Then the man cracks his neck as he gets into the carriage.

“She’s ready to meet me. Wonder how Father Teller will react to her attraction to me?” Opie turns and looks at the man. “I’m sure he’ll be green with envy.”

“Where to, Mr. Levinson?”

“Let’s stay close. I’m sure those two are going to be fucking all night long. I do enjoy watching,” with a crack of the whip, the carriage pulls off. “It’s almost done.”

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Next

Masterlist

@tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @peaches1958 @seitmai

@smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @midnightramyeoncravings @kmc1989

@theinheriteddutchess @thedreadandthefugitivemind @rainydayandmondays @welp-heregoessomething @distractingbeth

[foreverisntenough]

‘Act II’

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

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

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

Chapter 5 - Important To Me | ‘Act II’

word count - 10.6k

You swirled the last bit of red wine in your glass, your cheeks flushed from both the alcohol and the warmth of the tiny, dimly lit tapas restaurant. The candlelight flickered between you, casting soft shadows on Jude's face. He watched you intently, his lips curled into a playful smile as you joked about something that happened at the match you attended in Mallorca despite the fall out following it.

"You know," you said, your voice laced with a teasing tone, "I think one of your teammates thinks I'm hot." You raised an eyebrow, waiting for Jude's reaction.

"Oh yeah? Which one?" he asked, though there was a lightness to his tone. Jude chuckled, shaking his head. He had showed his best friends on the team the girl he was ‘seeing’ but he wasn’t sure how you might’ve found out what their remarks were. He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs out beneath the table, his hand absentmindedly brushing against your knee. You took a sip of your wine, drawing out the suspense.

"I think his name is... Aurelien? Tossed me a follow on Instagram and started leaving comments on my posts." you said, your eyes sparkling with mischief. Jude rolled his eyes, though there was a smirk on his lips.

"He’s French," he replied, waving a hand dismissively. "You think he’s flirting but he’s just being French. If leaving comments on Instagram means he’s flirting then I think he has a massive crush on me.” Jude teasingly explained through a smug smile.

“I know he’s French… I’m also French.” You giggled. “And knowing what French people are like I’d say that’s a fair assumption.” You agreed with some cheek. Your grin widening. You leaned forward slightly, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But he’s good looking, no? Would you ever have a threesome with him?" Jude's eyebrows shot up, his mouth opening in surprise. He laughed, caught off guard by your boldness.

"A threesome, huh?" he repeated your words, his eyes narrowing playfully. "Are you serious, or just trying to mess with me?" He let out a breathy laugh. You laughed, enjoying the reaction you were getting.

"I don't know, maybe both?" You teased, biting your lip provocatively. "I mean, wouldn't it be just a little fun?” You asked, scrunching your nose with a smile. You weren’t sure what was in this wine that made you say this. To be honest, you weren’t even sure if you were actually all that game for it but you asked anyway.

"Yeah, fun," he echoed, though the thought didn't sit right with him. Jude's smile faltered slightly, a flicker of something passing through his eyes. He tried to laugh it off, but there was a tinge of discomfort in his voice.

“You don't like the idea?" You asked confused. To be fair, you kind of just assumed most boys jumped at the opportunity, that had been your experience in the past. That had been Jude’s response in the past as well but the idea of sharing you with anyone else, even in a joke, made his chest tighten.

"What's wrong?" you asked softly, leaning closer. You noticed the change in his expression, your teasing smile fading. Jude hesitated, struggling to put his feelings into words. He wasn’t sure how to not sound lame. He was trying to figure out what happened to him that he actively was disinterested in a threesome.

"It's not that," he said slowly, running a hand over his hair. "It's just... I don't know. The idea of sharing you with someone else doesn't exactly thrill me." Your teasing demeanor completely dropped, your eyes searching his.

"Why not?" you asked, genuinely curious. Despite your tiff this week you didn’t really think there was any more clarity given on the status of your situationship but maybe this was Jude trying to say just that.

"Even in a joke, it makes me feel... I don't know, possessive, I guess." Jude looked down at his hands, his fingers tracing the rim of his wine glass. "I guess... I don't like the thought of anyone else having you," he admitted quietly. Your heart swelled at his words, a tender smile spreading across your face. You reached across the table, placing your hand over his.

"Jude," you said softly, "you know l'm just teasing, right? You're the only one I want to fuck." You cooed softly despite it being a very crude sentence. After you saw Jude’s hesitation your own opinion on your unexpected idea became clear, you didn’t really want it either. Jude looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of relief and vulnerability.

"I know.” He said, squeezing your hand. "It's just... I've gotten used to having you all to myself, and the thought of sharing you, even in a hypothetical scenario, makes me a little sad." He looked like a hurt puppy. Your smile widened, your heart melting at his honesty.

"I kind of like that you're possessive," you confessed, your thumb stroking the back of his hand. "It makes me feel... special." You whispered hesitantly, scared you were maybe encroaching on a conversation in dangerous territory.

"You are special, angel," he said softly. "More than you know." Jude chuckled, his smile returning. You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the warmth of the wine and the intimacy of the conversation enveloping you. Jude lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "I don't want to share you," he murmured against your skin. "Not with anyone." Your heart fluttered at his words, a mix of joy and longing flooding through you. You leaned over the table, closing the distance between you, and pressed your lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss.

"Then don't," you whispered against his lips. "I can be all yours, Jude." The tension in Jude's chest eased at your words, his heart filling with a warmth that had nothing to do with the wine. He pulled you closer, his hand resting on the back of your neck as he deepened the kiss, losing himself in the feel of your lips against his, the taste of you mingling with the faint hint of wine. As the kiss broke, you rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling in the small space between you.

"Alright. You’re all mine.” He whispered. Neither of you really knew what that meant but it felt good to say and felt even better to hear. “No more talk of threesomes, yeah?" Jude smiled, a playful glint in his eyes. You giggled, nodding in agreement.

"Okay." You whispered back. You stayed like that for a moment, just enjoying the closeness, the warmth, and the quiet understanding that passed between you. In that tiny Spanish restaurant, surrounded by empty plates and the remnants of your meal, you found a sense of peace, a connection that went beyond words, a bond that neither of you wanted to share with anyone else.

In an exciting turn, Real Madrid had drawn Liverpool in the Champions League so you were thrilled that Whitney and Trent would be coming to Madrid for one of the matches but you weren’t looking forward to explaining your current situation to Whitney when she inevitably asked because you didn’t think you really could. What were you to say… When the game finally arrived and then concluded, the night in Madrid was electric, charged with the afterglow of the Champions League match. The city seemed to pulse with energy as you stepped out of the restaurant where you, Jude, Trent, and Whitney had just finished dinner post match. It had ended in a draw, a result that left both teams hungry for more but didn’t dampen the mood for the night ahead. Trent and Whitney’s love just radiated off of them, their chemistry palpable as they exchanged playful touches and private smiles. You couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly in sync they were, as if the outside world didn’t exist when they’re together. Watching them, you felt a pang of something—maybe envy, maybe longing—settle in your chest. After either minimal persuasion or rather maybe effective persuasion you convinced Trent and Jude to go to a club after your meal.

Jude’s hand found yours as you walked towards the club from the car, his fingers lacing through yours in a way that felt both protective and possessive. You could feel his focus slowly shifting from post game thoughts completely to you now. You glanced up at him, finding his gaze already on you, warm and intense. Despite the chaos and excitement around you, camera flashes and noise of fans recognizing him, in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of you. The exclusive club was packed when you arrived, the thrum of the bass vibrating through the floor and the crowd already thick in the small space. You were escorted in, they ushered your group inside with the kind of deference reserved for royalty, and in Madrid… Jude was. As soon as you were through the doors, you could feel the attention of the room shift toward you all, but most of all to Jude. It was as if a spotlight followed him wherever he went, people subtly—or not so subtly—trying to take a photo or catch his eye, but Jude was only interested in one person. You could feel his gaze on you even when you weren’t looking, a constant heat that made your skin tingle. You, Trent, and Whitney were led to a private booth, drinks already being ordered. The music loud, the beats infectious, and it didn’t take long for the energy of the club to pull everyone in. Trent and Whitney were all over each other as expected within minutes, their bodies moving together in perfect sync. They were lost in each other, completely oblivious to the crowd around them, their connection undeniable until they fell into laughter over something. You watched them giggling for a moment, taking in the way Trent’s hands rested on Whitney’s hips, keeping her close to him. It was all so natural, so effortless, that it made you wonder if you and Jude could ever reach that same level of ease when you hadn’t even defined what you were. You glanced at Jude again, who was leaning back in the booth, his eyes still on you. There was something in his expression that made your breath catch—a mix of admiration, desire, and something deeper, something that looks a lot like love.

“You look so good tonight, angel” he murmured, his voice low in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. You were in black lace long sleeve top, a miniscule pair of shorts in a tiger print with tall black boots. You honestly felt like you looked good tonight so you appreciated the compliment. Jude reached for your hand, pulling you closer until you were nearly in his lap. You whispered a quiet ‘thank you’ leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. Giggling through a compliment of your own. “You know everyone’s watching us, right?” He chuckled softly, his big hand sliding up your thigh, his touch both comforting and possessive.

“They’re watching you,” you corrected him, but Jude shook his head. You smiled, aware of the curious glances being thrown your way from all corners of the club.

“They’re watching us,” he insists, his eyes darkening as they sweep over your face. “But I don’t care about them. I only care about you, angel.” The sincerity in his voice made your heart skip a beat. It was moments like this that made you forget about the doubts and the complications, moments where it was just you and Jude, and everything else faded away.

“Come dance with me.” You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. Jude didn’t hesitate, pulling you up and leading you to the dance floor. It was almost as if the more crowded the place the more Jude was able to blend in so you found comfort lost amongst the crowd together. The music was loud, the bass thumping through your body as you moved. You could feel the heat between you, the tension that was always simmering just below the surface. Jude’s hands were on your waist, pulling you close, his body pressed against yours as you swayed to the rhythm of the music. You lost yourself in the moment, in the feeling of Jude’s body against yours, in the way his eyes never left your face. It was intoxicating, the way he looked at you, more than any liquor ever could get you to feel. It was like you were the only person in the room, the only person who mattered. The club’s music continued vibrating through your body as you and Jude danced, your movements in sync despite the chaos of the packed room. His hands on your body felt like fire in the best way, unable to let go of you. The intensity in his eyes was undeniable.As you danced, you caught the sight of Trent and Whitney again, still wrapped up in each other, completely in their own world. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling a sense of contentment wash over you. Maybe you and Jude weren’t exactly like them, but you had your own rhythm, your own connection, and in this moment, that felt like more than enough. But even as you lost yourself in the moment, that sight of Trent and Whitney kept drawing your attention once. They were laughing and kissing. You want that—of course you do. Who wouldn’t? To be so deeply connected to someone, to feel so loved and supported, it’s what anyone would wish for. Your mind began to drift to a place where you questioned if what you and Jude had created was out of convenience. Both thoughts, connection or convenience terrified you. Whitney had moved countries for Trent, uprooted her entire life. Would you be able to do the same? As if able to sense the shift in your mood, Jude pulled back slightly, just enough to search your face. His brow furrowed in concern. He leaned in closer, his voice a low rumble against your ear, cutting through the pounding bass.

“Ever think you want that?” he asked, his gaze flicking to where Trent and Whitney were still lost in each other. “What they have?” You feel your throat tighten at the question. The real truth was, you probably did. You weren’t sure if you could admit out loud that you want what they have more than anything. The fear of what that could mean for you, for your life, was like a weight pressing down on your chest.

“I mean… They’re so happy. It’s hard to say anyone wouldn’t want that.” You tried to smile, but it felt weak, unconvincing. You just couldn’t get anything more concrete past your lips, not even to yourself, let alone to Jude.

“I’m not talking about anyone else. I’m asking you—do you want that?” Jude didn’t let it go. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. You hesitated, your mind racing. There was a vulnerability in his question that caught you off guard, like he was just as afraid of your answer as you were of giving it. But something about the way he looked at you, the way he held you, made you feel like maybe it would be okay to be honest. To take a chance.

“Yeah... but it’s… it’s scary, Jude. What if it doesn’t work out? We’re not like them?” You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. Jude’s expression softened, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

“It’s scary for me as well though.” he admitted, his voice rough with sincerity. “But I don’t want to keep dancing around this, pretending like what we have is just… casual. It’s not, and we both know it.” The club seemed to fade away, the noise, the people, everything except Jude’s voice and the intensity in his eyes. You could feel your heart pounding, but it wasn’t just from the music. It was from the weight of what he was saying, the seriousness of it.

“I want more, with you. I don’t want to just see where this goes. I think we should date. Give it a go. I want us to… you know…” Jude takes a deep breath, as if gathering his thoughts. “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy,” he continues, “but I’m willing to try if you are. I want to try.” You stare at him, your heart swelling with a mixture of relief and fear. This is what you wanted, isn’t it? To be with Jude in a way that wasn’t just physical, something that you could maybe see out. But hearing him say it out loud, admitting that he wanted the same thing, felt like stepping off a cliff. But then he smiled, and it was like all the fear in your chest melted away.

“Yeah, okay, Jude. I want to try too.” You nodded, finally allowing yourself to smile too, your hand squeezed his. His grin widens, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you closer, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss that felt different from any you’d shared before. It wasn’t just about passion, lust, or desire—it felt like a promise, about starting something real together. When you finally pulled away, breathless, the world around you seems brighter, the future a little less daunting. You don’t know what’s going to happen next, but you were ready to find out—together. The night stretched on, a blur of music, laughter, and stolen moments with Jude. By the time you left the club, the city was quiet, the early morning hours creeping in. You walked hand in hand with Jude, the tension from earlier in the night completely dissolved, replaced by a comfortable silence that spoke volumes.

As you headed back home that night, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Whatever happened next, you knew you were not alone in it. Jude was with you, and that’s all you needed for now. You and Jude stumbled through the door of the house, the city lights of Madrid faded in the distance. The night had been a whirlwind with a few too many drinks but it had been perfect. Giggling as you both tried to stay upright, Jude kicked off his shoes with exaggerated movements, and you followed suit, your laughter echoing off the walls. He grabbed your waist, pulling you in for a kiss, his lips tasting like the remnants of tequila and lime. His touch was gentle yet firm, playful yet intense, and you felt the heat between you growing with every second. He pulled back for a moment, gazing at you with half-lidded eyes, his smile lazy and adoring.

“Come here,” he muttered, his voice low and rough from the night’s excitement. Jude dramatically threw himself onto the big bed, pulling you down with him. You tumbled onto the mattress together, bodies collapsing in a mess of limbs and laughter. After you settled he sat up a little to really look at you. “You know you’re not as tough as you seem.” He gently cooed. The bed enveloped you both, and suddenly, everything felt softer, quieter, more intimate.

“No.” You giggled initially. “So unbelievably soft with you.” You sighed. You lay beside him, your head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow from the buzz of the night. Your breathing began to sync, slow and steady, as the moments passed.

“I like that. I like that you let your guard down with me. That you’re only like that with me.”he gently spoke to you as his arms wrapped tightly around you, as if he didn’t want to let go, like he was holding on to more than just the moment.

“Only with you.” You cooed The room was dark, but the warmth of his skin against yours felt like a glowing ember in the silence. Jude tilted his head down, pressing gentle kisses along your temple, your forehead, and your cheek. You nuzzled into him, hiding embarrassed by your drunken confession.

“What are you getting all shy for? C’mere!” He laughed, pulling your face off his neck. He cupped your face. “I think you like me.” He smugly smirked at you.

“You know that I like you.” You admitted shyly but very sure of your words. His lips lingered on your skin, soft and comforting, like he couldn’t get enough of the closeness

“You know I like you, right?” Jude cooed, holding you tight to him. You hummed with a nod. “You’re beautiful, Y/N. I like when you’re like this.” He told you holding your face in front of his. You mumbled out a ‘thanks.’ “I mean I love how confident and independent you are but I like being the person you… you know … like…” Jude stumbled through his sentence not totally sure how to tell you what he thought:

“Am weak in front of.” You sighed realizing that Jude had all your carefully crafted, reinforced steel walls crumbling down. The alcohol blurring your boundaries and Jude barreling through them.

“You’re not weak, angel… you’re just…” Jude tried to make you feel less vulnerable but he couldn’t think of another word for what you were towards him. A part of him almost liked that you thought you were so swayed by him but he also didn’t want you to view it as a negative.

“I’m comfortable with you, Jude, maybe that's it.” You sighed pushing your cheek against him a bit more relishing in the comfort he provided for you both physically and mentally.

“I like making you comfortable.” He hummed, running his hand over your hair gently. “You know you do that for me as well. Feel like I can just take a breath when I’m with you. Everything just…” Jude paused momentarily.

“Slows down.” You smiled, finishing his sentence.

“Yeah exactly.” Jude cooed, breathing you in, feeling his whole body relax with you in his arms. “You know…This,” Jude whispered against your skin, his breath sending shivers down your spine, “I’ve been waiting for this.”

“For what?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. You closed your eyes, nuzzling deeper into him, feeling the vulnerability rise up in you, a vulnerability you hadn’t shown him until now.

“For you,” he replied, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your arm. “For you to let me in. I’ve been waiting for you to trust me.” His words hit deep, and you felt the weight of them settle into your chest. He wasn’t just talking about tonight. He was talking about everything—the walls you’d built up, the fear of getting too close, the way you had kept him at arm’s length even as things between you deepened.

“I’m trying,” you said softly, your voice barely audible as you pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. “It’s just hard.”

“I know,” Jude said, his voice tender, filled with understanding. “But I told you I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.” He kissed you again, this time slower, more deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment, and you melted into him, allowing yourself to sink further into the closeness. The sensation of his lips against yours, the warmth of his body, the feeling of his arms wrapped around you—it was everything. Jude pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I like this side of you,” he whispered, his fingers lightly tracing your jaw. “The side that’s real, that’s vulnerable. You don’t have to hide from me.”

“You’re important to me, you know that, right?” you admitted, feeling the truth of your words sink in. His words stirred something in you—an ache, a fear, but also a deep sense of comfort. You smiled faintly, resting your forehead against his.

“And you’re important to me,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “More than you know.” Jude’s arms tightened around you, his lips brushing your forehead once more. For the first time, you allowed yourself to believe him fully, and the walls you’d so carefully constructed around your heart began to crumble just a little. In that quiet, intimate moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, you felt closer to Jude than ever before—like maybe, just maybe, this could be something more than either of you had ever expected.

Your Jeff Koons x Louis Vuitton Monet duffle bag would be accurately defined as one of your most prized possessions. It was a gift from your dad for your sixteenth birthday that had only grown more valuable and coveted over time. And although it was two things you loved coming together; art and fashion, it wasn’t just an accessory to you—it held sentimental value, a reminder of a special bond and a moment in time. It was a limited release, making it the kind of item people noticed, especially boys like Jude in the world of football, where luxury bags were often part of the gig especially in their pre-match walks into the stadiums. Jude had caught it when you first came in, of course he did. It was a lavender bag with one of the world's most famous paintings sprayed across it, it was hard to miss. One day though as he was just admiring how much he liked the collection of your belongings strewn across the room, his eyes landed on the duffle, and he paused, raising an eyebrow in appreciation.

“So the bag…” he asked, his voice carrying a mix of admiration and curiosity as he picked it up. “This is insane.” he laughed a little, holding the now unpacked and empty leather up.

“Yeah, my dad gave it to me. It’s kind of special.” You smiled, nodding. Jude’s fingers traced the letters embossed on the front, clearly impressed.

“Would you ever let me borrow this? Like could I… use it? Just for the match this weekend?” The request seemed so simple, yet it held more weight than he realized. You weren’t the type to let just anyone use your things, especially not something as personal and significant as that bag. But with Jude, it was different. It wasn’t just about the bag—it was about letting him into your life, trusting him with something meaningful, even in the smallest of ways.

“Sure,” you said after a moment, your voice soft. “You can use it.” You took a breath feeling like you just officially opened your heart to him.

“Really? You’re the best, baby. I promise I’ll take care of it. Just in and out of the Bernabeu” His smile widened, the excitement evident in his eyes. And while it was just a bag, letting Jude walk into the stadium with it felt like you were giving him a deeper part of yourself. It was a small gesture, but in your world, it was an unspoken way of telling him that you trusted him, that he was more than just someone passing through your life.

“Might land me on Footballer Fits.” Jude laughed. “Are you sure it’s okay for me to use this, angel?” he asked, gently running his hand over the smooth leather. You were in the middle of helping Jude pack, folding his clothes and tucking them neatly into the bag. As he lifted a shirt to place in the bag, he turned to you with a soft smile. You paused for a moment, your eyes meeting his, and you felt a warmth spread through you. The duffel wasn’t just a luxury item—it was a piece of your heart, tied to so many memories. And now, you were sharing it with him.

“Yeah, it’s okay,” you reassured him, but then a thought struck you, and you found yourself wanting to share more. “You know, my dad gave me this bag for my 16th birthday.” Jude glanced up from his packing, curiosity lighting up his expression. You could see how much he wanted to hear the story behind it. “ He had like the OG Louis duffel. My grand-père gave it to him when he first started traveling for work. He said the bag was quality like him.” you continued, your voice softening with nostalgia. “He gave me this one though and told me it was special like me—strong, beautiful, intricate, and full of mystery. He said I was someone to take care of, just like this bag.” You smiled playing with a ring on your finger avoiding eye contact caught in your own feelings of nostalgia recalling the day you got the bag. Jude listened intently, his gaze never leaving you. His attention made you feel like every word you were saying mattered. “This bag was so coveted,” you added, tracing the LV monogram with your fingers. “They were limited as well. My dad told me that it was a reflection of who I was, and how I should value myself—rare, unique, something to treasure.” You sighed a little, starting to question if you really had lived up to all that the bag’s standards. Jude’s face softened at your words, and he placed the shirt he was holding into the duffel with extra care.

“Your dad sounds like a wise man,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. You nodded, smiling at the memory.

“Yeah, he was. He always told me that the quality of Louis Vuitton was like the quality of people. It holds up, no matter where it goes or what it carries. He said I was strong like that, and that I should never settle for anything less than what I deserve.” You softly spoke feeling emotional about your dad. Jude smiled a little taken aback that in Greece you had completely pushed away his question about your dad and now you had told him a whole narrative unprovoked. Jude hesitated before he spoke again for a moment

“Are you sure it’s really okay for me to use it? I feel like it means so much more now.” He asked again, more seriously this time. You looked at him, feeling a rush of affection. He wasn’t just anyone; he was someone you were letting in, someone you trusted with not just the bag, but with your heart. With a smile, you reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“I think my dad would like you. You’re kinda like this bag too, Jude,” you said softly. “You’re strong, rare, and there’s so much more to you than people realize. My dad was right—quality lasts, and I see that in you. So, yeah, it’s okay for you to use it. I trust you with it.”

"I’ll take care of it,” he promised, his voice sincere. “Take care of you too.” Jude’s eyes softened as he leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. And in that moment, you both knew that it wasn’t just about the bag—it was about something deeper, something that made you feel like you were finally letting him into the most personal parts of your life.

Whitney was at her house lounging on her couch, a glass of wine in hand, watching the pre-match coverage of Real Madrid. As the players made their way into the stadium, her eyes widened when she spotted Jude walking in with a very familiar bag slung over his shoulder. The Louis Vuitton duffel— your duffel. There was no mistaking it, especially with the subtle initials engraved on the tag.Without hesitation, she grabbed her phone and called you. The moment you picked up, she didn’t even bother with a greeting.

“Excuse me mam, does Jude Bellingham have your Koons duffle bag right now?” She asked, her tone filled with disbelief.

“Yes Whit,” you replied, trying to sound casual. “I let him borrow it.” You let out a small laugh, already knowing what she was talking about.

“You let him borrow it?” Whitney repeated, her voice teasing but incredulous. “Do you realize what a big deal that is? That’s not just any bag—that’s your dad’s bag. And I saw the tag. Your initials gave it away.” She giggled. You blushed, even though Whitney couldn’t see it through the phone. You knew how much the bag meant to you, and so did she. It wasn’t something you just handed over to anyone. But with Jude, it felt different.

“I trust him,” you said softly, hoping that would be enough to explain the gesture. “It’s not a big deal.” You tried to downplay the situation but there was something about talking with your best friend that just made you want to gush.

“Not a big deal? Please. This is huge for you, and you know it. You don’t just let people use that bag—it’s practically sacred.” Whitney scoffed. You couldn’t help but smile, though you continued to downplay it.

“I guess it just feels right. He respects what it means.” You calmly tried to tell her.

“Girlie, you’re really into him, huh?” Whitney paused for a moment, and you could tell she was processing just how significant this was.

“Yeah… I think I am.” You sighed, a soft smile playing on your lips. When Jude came home after the game, there was a playful glint in his eyes as he held up the Louis Vuitton duffle.

"Look," he said with a teasing grin, "safely returned, completely intact." He cooed. You smiled, grateful for his thoughtfulness. As he handed it over, you unzipped it and noticed something unusual at the bottom—a Louis Vuitton box tucked neatly inside. Curious, you pulled it out and looked up at him.

“What’s this?” you asked, your brow furrowed in surprise.

“It’s for you.” Jude shrugged, trying to play it cool but clearly excited. Sitting on the floor, you carefully opened the box, revealing a wash bag, personalized with your surname painted elegantly across it. He didn’t say it but you knew this was equally as hard to get. You gasped softly, the surprise sending a wave of warmth through you. Jude sat down beside you, watching your reaction with a mix of pride and affection. “It’s a thank you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Not just for letting me use the bag, but for letting me in. For... removing the glass in front of the painting, you know? The one that’s been protecting everything important to you.” He gently spoke. His words touched you in a way you didn’t expect, hitting you square in the chest. You leaned in instinctively, kissing him softly. When you pulled back, you felt overwhelmed by how much he meant to you.

"You’ve always liked hearing about me," you said, almost as if realizing it for the first time, "about the things that matter to me." You tilted your head almost skeptical that Jude actually did.

"Of course. I love hearing what’s important to you." Jude smiled, his gaze steady and warm. You hesitated for a beat, emotions bubbling up.

"Well... you're important to me." You softly smiled at him. His expression shifted, eyes softening as your words sank in.

“You’re important to me too,” he whispered, his voice low, full of meaning. He gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, his thumb grazing your cheek. Sitting there on the floor, side by side, you felt a deeper connection blooming between you—something more solid than words, more tangible than the material gifts exchanged.

“Thank you,” you murmured again, your voice softer now, “for taking care of the bag... and… you know me.” You gently sighed leaning into him.

"I’m always going to take care of both." Jude hummed and pulled you closer, his arm wrapping around you.

“What are you doing tonight besides me?” You giggled coming into the en suite of Jude’s room and wrapping yourself around him as he meticulously did his hair. Things had been good since you took down the glass. Like really good.

“Mmmm as good as that sounds we do have plans.” He hummed craning his neck to the side to kiss you.

“We do?” You questioned him a little confused because usually he’d give you a little more notice if it was something with friends or you would’ve heard from Denise if you all were doing anything. He just hummed once more confirming. “I don’t have anything to wear…” You let go of him and looked up to him with a bit of a panicked expression.

“You do. You didn’t go in the wardrobe I’m assuming?” He cooed with a straight face leaning forward to strategically address one stray curl he was unhappy with.

“Really? Thank you!” You beamed, reaching up to smush a wet kiss on his cheek. Jude unable to hold the straight face after receiving it.

“Don’t say thank you yet, what if you don’t like it?” He deviously smirked through the mirror back at you.

“Okay…What if I don’t like it?” You raised your brow at him leaning back onto the marble counter top waiting for his answer.

“That’s alright, there’s two options anyways.” He said returning to his straight faced expression. You laughed with a shake of the head at Jude’s attempt at acting nonchalant. You said thank you once more but gave him about fifty more sloppy kisses before he finally cracked. Jude laughed to himself when he heard you squeal entering the wardrobe seeing two of your favorite designer garment bags hung. You chose option two; a mauvy pink Oscar de la Renta Bow-Detailed Lace Mini Dress paired with some coordinating heels.

The streets of Madrid were quiet as Jude led you through the darkened city, your footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestones. The night was cool, the kind that made you want to wrap yourself up in someone’s arms, and Jude kept a gentle but firm hold on your hand, guiding you towards your destination with an air of mystery.

“Are you ever going to tell me where we’re going?” You asked, a teasing lilt to your voice as you glanced up at him. The thrill of the unknown sparkled in your eyes, and Jude couldn’t help but smile in response.

“You’ll see,” he replied with a grin, squeezing your hand reassuringly. “Just trust me.” You rounded a corner, and your breath caught as you realized where you were. The imposing façade of the Thyssen loomed before you, its grand entrance closed off to the public for the night.

“Jude, what…?” You turned to Jude, your eyes wide with surprise.

“I pulled a few strings,” Jude said with a shrug, his tone casual, though the pleased smile on his face betrayed his excitement. “I thought you might like to see the museum in a way not many people get to.” He led you to a side entrance, where a discreetly stationed guard nodded and opened the door for you. The cool, quiet halls of the museum greeted you as you stepped inside, the usual crowds and chatter replaced by a serene stillness. You looked around in awe, your hand tightening in Jude’s as you took in the empty corridors, the masterpieces lining the walls illuminated by soft, ambient lighting.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, your voice reverent as you walked slowly through the galleries, the only sound the faint echo of their footsteps. Jude watched you as you took in the artwork, the way your eyes lit up with recognition and admiration for the pieces you loved. He’d seen you happy before, but there was something different about the way you were now—completely in your element, unguarded and deeply absorbed in the art around you. He related to it almost in bizarre way, like this place to you was like a football pitch to him.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost to himself, but you caught it and turned to him with a soft smile. As you walked deeper into the museum, Jude finally led you into one of the larger gallery halls, where a table for two was elegantly set up in the center of the room, surrounded by some of the most iconic paintings in the world. Candles flickered gently on the table, casting a warm glow over the space, and soft classical music played in the background, filling the air with an intimate, romantic ambiance.

“Jude… this is… this is incredible. Are you fucking insane?” You gasped, your eyes widening as you took in the scene.

“I wanted to do something special for you,” he said, pulling out a chair for you. “Somewhere we could talk… and not just about the usual stuff.” Jude smiled, feeling a swell of pride and affection as he watched your reaction. Once you were seated, the dinner was served—a beautifully crafted meal that was just as much a feast for the eyes as it was for the palate. But what Jude enjoyed more than the food was watching you light up as you talked about the art surrounding them. He loved the way your eyes would shine when you discussed a particular painting or artist, the way you spoke with such passion and knowledge. It was like watching you reveal a part of yourself that few people got to see. “You really know your stuff, you know that?” Jude said with a grin after you’d finished explaining the history behind one of the paintings nearby.

“I’ve just always loved art,” you said, a shy smile on your lips. “Always made me feel less alone. It’s like… there’s so much emotion in every brushstroke, thought in every color choice. It’s like the artist is speaking to you, telling you a story without saying a word. I like the incredibly loud silence.” You blushed, glancing down at your plate feeling a bit silly trying to explain.

“I get it. It’s like how I feel about footie, I guess. It’s more than just a game—it’s a way of expressing myself, even if it’s not the same as painting or sculpture.” Jude nodded, his expression thoughtful.

“You’re an artist too, Jude. Just in a different way.” You looked up at him, your eyes softening.

“I don’t know about that,” he said, his tone light. Jude chuckled, shaking his head. “But I do know that you’re one of the most passionate, intelligent people I’ve ever met. And I’m not just saying that because I think you’re stupidly attractive or because, well, you’re amazing in bed.” He flashed you a cheeky grin, but then his expression turned more serious. “I mean it, Y/N. You’ve got this… spark. You see the world in a way that’s different from anyone else, and it’s one of the things I like most about you.” You felt your heart skip a beat at his words, warmth flooding your chest. It wasn’t often that people saw you for more than just your looks or your wit, and hearing Jude speak so sincerely made you feel cherished in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Thank you, Jude,” you said softly, reaching across the table to take his hand. “That means more to me than you know.” You sat in your own incredibly loud silence for a moment, the weight of the art around you seeming to press in on you, filling the space with unspoken emotions. It was a moment out of time, just the two of you, surrounded by beauty and history, sharing something deeper than words could convey. Finally, Jude broke the silence with a smile.

“So, tell me more about this one,” he said, nodding towards a nearby painting. “I want to hear everything.” He winked. Your eyes lit up again, and you launched into a passionate explanation, your words flowing freely as Jude listened intently, hanging on every word. He wasn’t just interested in the art—he was interested in you, in everything that made you who you were. And as the night went on, surrounded by masterpieces and candlelight, Jude realized that this was exactly where he wanted to be—here, with you, in a world that was yours alone, hating the realization that soon the place would flood with people and you would have to leave.

“Wow… I’ve never gotten to see this in person.” You cooed softly, stopping mid stride getting reeled in by a painting in the corridor as you were leaving the museum. You gently pulled Jude’s arm to halt him.

“Yeah? Tell me about it.” He cooed, stopping and coming round you wrapping his arms around your waist tucking his face into the nape of your beck.

“No , no, no it’s stupid I just …you’ve heard enough tonight.” You breathily laughed a little embarrassed you had talked Jude’s ear off for the past couple hours about art.

“I want to hear.” Jude mused kissing up your neck with a hum.

“Okay, so it’s amazing because….” You began to ramble about a painting you’d longed to see in person what felt like your whole life. Jude let go of you and leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on you as you stood in front of the painting, your eyes tracing every brushstroke, every delicate line of the portrait. The Tyssen Museum was hauntingly quiet at this hour, the usual crowds replaced by the silence of the late night.You spoke softly, your voice animated as you explained what drew you to the piece in front of you. Jude could hear the excitement in your tone, the passion in the way you described the artistry, but as he watched you, it all became a blur.

“You’re beautiful.” Jude whispered, telling once more just the same, tucking hair behind your ear. The painting, famous and revered, was no match for the sight of you under the museum's soft lighting. The warm glow illuminating your skin, casting a golden sheen over your features, and Jude found himself mesmerized. The way your lips moved, the way your eyes lit up as you pointed to certain details, had him completely entranced.

“You’re not listening!” you giggled, chastising him for not paying attention to what you were trying to tell him teasingly.

“You’re distracting even in a museum, angel.” To him, you looked like you belonged in a painting yourself, a masterpiece in your own right, standing there rivaling the centuries-old art hung behind you.

“Pay attention!” You laughed a little bit more pinching at his arm. He smiled, still not really listening anymore but completely lost in the way your beauty seemed to fill the room, making everything else fade into the background.

“I was never all that great in school.” Jude explained interrupting you. The museum’s grandeur, the priceless art, the stillness of the night—it all seemed insignificant compared to you. His heart swelled, and he felt this overwhelming sense of awe, not for the art, but for you. You scoffed a little bit jokingly. “I’m listening, I'm listening. Color theory, medium, suicide?” He furrowed his brow trying to recite a shortened version of the historical synopsis you just gave him about the artist You turned to glance at him, catching him staring unapologetically, and smiled in return.

“Yeah well sort of… the thing is…” You began to continue your ramble feeling like it was important for Jude to know. “Can’t you just feel that emotion?” You cooed concluding your soliloquy. Jude nodded his head, his smile falling into a straight face.

“Yeah.” He whispered. Jude wasn’t really sure what you meant regarding the art but he knew he could feel the emotion in his heart about you. That he liked you more than he thought he did. His heart was hammering in his chest despite the calm environment around you. Your scent swirling around him entangling him in an embrace he never wanted to leave. He reached out once more, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment. “I’m serious when I say this,” he continued, his voice a little more sincere. “I could stand here and stare at you all night, and I still wouldn’t get tired of it.” He cooed. You blushed, a bit taken aback by the way he was looking at you—as if you were more than just the girl he was falling for, but something precious, irreplaceable. You turned back to the painting, trying to steady your racing heart, but you felt his eyes still on you, his presence with you, so close you could feel his warmth. Jude leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Keep talking... I love hearing you talk about things you love.” But the way he said it, the depth of his voice, told you that what he really loved might just be you, standing there, completely absorbed in something meaningful to you and you might’ve felt just the same

Later in the week, it was one of those nights when staying in just felt right. You and Jude had originally made plans to go out, but after a quiet dinner with Denise, sipping wine and laughing over simple things, it became clear that tonight was meant for something more intimate. It was an unspoken agreement, a silent confirmation that you were probably more than just “dating.” As the evening stretched, and the wine bottle emptied, Denise headed upstairs, leaving you and Jude alone in the quiet of the house.

"You know how to play pool, angel?" Jude turned to you with a playful smile. The lights were dim, and the air between you was thick with the kind of tension that neither of you was acknowledging—but you both felt it.

“Yeah, I’ve played a few times.” You raised an eyebrow, smirking a little as you casually shrugged. You were majorly downplaying your competence. You strolled into the luxurious game room in the house, the soft carpet cushioning your bare feet as you made your way towards the pool table. The air was heavy with anticipation, a mix of excitement and a hint of nerves fluttering in your stomach. Jude’s brown eyes sparkled with mischief as he caught sight of you. You bit your lip, feigning innocence, and batting your eyelashes.

"Alright, let's see what you’ve got." Jude pulled out the cues, setting up the balls, the soft crack of them breaking against each other echoing in the room. He smiled at you, naively believing that you didn’t play too often and he’d get the chance to teach you. You stepped up to the table, purposefully fumbling with the cue as if you didn’t know quite what to do, all while catching Jude's amused glance. As you leaned against the table, your tight tank top accentuates your generous cleavage, a sight that didn’t go unnoticed by Jude. His gaze lingered for a moment before he cleared his throat, focusing on the task at hand. “Here, let me help you, baby,” he said, sliding in close behind you, his body pressing lightly against yours. His hand rested over yours on the cue, guiding your movements in a way that felt less about billiards and more about closing the space between you.

“You know, you really don’t need to teach me,” you murmured, looking over your shoulder at him with a mischievous grin.

“I’m sure you don’t need help, but where’s the fun in that?” he shot back, his breath brushing your neck, the closeness making the air between you electric. "Alright, let's start with the basics. First, you need to hold the cue stick like this..." He steped closer, his warm breath tickling your ear as he guided your hand, positioning it on the smooth wooden stick. His fingers grazed your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Now, just bend your knees a little f’me slightly and lean forward," he instructed you, his voice husky. You more than happily obliged, bending over the table, your long hair cascading down, providing a teasing glimpse of your body. You couldn’t help but notice as Jude's eyes darkened with desire. "That's it, just like that," he whispers, his warm hands resting on your hips, guiding your movements. He’d said that to you before but in bed and it had you’re heart racing right then. "But remember, it's not just about the posture, you need to stroke it gently, with a firm grip." He cooed. As he demonstrated, his body brushed against yours, and you could feel his hard cock pressing against your lower back. You suppressed a moan, trying to focus on the game, but Jude's touch was electric. "Now, you just line it up and strike," he said, his breath hot on your neck. He leaned in, guiding you to take the shot, but neither of you were really focused on the game anymore. The proximity, the way his hands lingered on yours, the way your bodies fit together so naturally—it was more of a seduction than a lesson. You pulled back the cue stick, your heart racing, and with a smooth motion, you sent the ball rolling across the table. It hit the target with a satisfying click, and you couldn’t help but feel a sense of triumph. Jude let out a low whistle. "Damn baby, you're a natural. We’ll just go shot for shot for a little then we can have a game." He cooed with a greedy smile. Each stroke, the sexual tension between you and Jude grew. You found yourself getting more daring, bending over the table with deliberate seduction, your movements becoming a tantalizing dance. Jude's eyes never leaving you, his gaze burning with desire, missing shots he would never normally miss. "You're driving me wild, you know that?" he chuckled, his voice thick with want. "Play a game with me but how about we make things a little more... interesting?" He asked you. You raised an eyebrow, curiosity and lust warring within you.

"What did you have in mind, baby?" You cooed. With a devilish smile, he stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head, revealing his sculpted chest. Your eyes went wide.

"Let's play a game, just you and me. The rules are simple—the loser strips." Jude’s eyes darkened, that playful smile of his fading into something far more intense. His hand stayed on your waist, fingers lightly tracing the fabric of your shirt. The space between you dissolved, the tension from the night bubbling to the surface. The pool game forgotten, Jude’s hand slid up your back as he pulled you closer, his lips brushing the side of your neck. Your eyes fluttered close. "You don’t want to play a different game with me, hmm?" he whispered against your skin, his voice a low, a sensual hum. You nodded with a smile, your pulse quickening. Jude pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes lingering on your lips.

“No… no I think I do.” You whimpered distracted by him. The heat between you undeniable now. His hand tightened on your waist, and he leaned in closer, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours. Jude’s eyes glinted with mischief as he pulled back slightly, still close enough that you could feel the heat of his breath.

"Alright, angel" He let his fingers trace the outline of your waist, his voice dropping into a playful, low tone. He grinned, stepping back toward the pool table, leaning casually against it as if what he was about to say wasn’t about to send your pulse racing. "How about we make it a bit more... fun though and play shot by shot?" He mused. You tilted your head, catching onto the tone. Jude’s grin deepened, his eyes sparkling with playful intent. "For every shot you make, I take something off. And for every shot I make, you do."

"Okay, I think that sounds fun.” Your lips parted in surprise, and then a slow smile curled at the edges of your mouth. You watch Jude’s eyes light up with confidence. “So do you think you’re going to win?" You asked him with a smirk.

"I mean, either way, it sounds like a win to me." He shrugged, the smile never leaving his face. Despite his competitive nature, Jude felt like this truly was a win win. You laughed softly, a flush of excitement blooming inside you.

"Just so you know, I don’t plan on losing." You stepped back to the pool table and grabbed your cue with a newfound sense of thrill and a wink to him.

“Neither do I. Have a quick google angel, I rarely lose.” Jude cooed. You leaned over the table, lining up your shot, feeling his eyes on you the entire time. The first ball sunk smoothly into the pocket, and you turned to him with a triumphant grin. Now your true capability at billiards was about to come out. Jude’s brow furrowed at the ease at which you hit the shot.

"Looks like you’re already down one," you teased, watching as Jude chuckled, his fingers going to the hem of his joggers. He peeled them off slowly, tossing them aside with a playful smirk, his toned body now on full display."Alright, your turn," you said, stepping back and leaning casually against the wall, enjoying the view a little too much. Jude took his shot, a clean break as the ball rolled effortlessly into another pocket. You swallowed, realizing how real this game was getting now. With a slight smirk, you reached for the hem of your top, pulling it over your head and feeling the cool air of the house hit your skin, revealing your lacy bra. Jude's breath hitched at the sight. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, the tension between you building with each second.

"You’re good. Better than you let on, you know." He grinned. He took his next shot, missing by a fraction, and you stepped up with a sense of victory, sinking another ball into the pocket. You found yourself matching Jude's skill, potting balls with precision. But it's not just the game that has you on edge; it's the way Jude watched you, his eyes burning with a mixture of admiration and raw desire.

"I told you I don’t plan on losing." You teased, leaning back against the table as he pulled off his socks and tossing them aside. You called it a cop out item of choice but he insisted it counted. The game continued, both of you more focused on each other than the actual shots, the room growing warmer with every piece of clothing that hit the floor. The final round was intense, both of you focused and determined. You lined up your shot, your hands steady despite the electric awareness of Jude's gaze on your naked skin. With a smooth stroke, you sank the winning ball, claiming victory. And as that last ball rolled into the pocket, you were both breathless, the intensity of the moment catching up to you. Jude stepped closer, closing the space between you again, his hand finding its way to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him.

"I’ve never been more excited about losing a game." he murmured, his voice husky as his lips hovered just over yours. You smiled, your heart racing, the air between you charged with undeniable tension.

"I think I like it when you lose." You whispered back, feeling the heat of your skin against his. He stepped closer, his eyes locking with yours. In one swift motion, he lifted you onto the pool table, the cool surface contrasting with the heat radiating from your bodies. Your breath came in shallow gasps as Jude kneeled between your thighs, his hands gliding up your legs, pushing your panties aside.

"Yeah? I think you’ll like this better, angel," he growled, his voice hoarse with need. "You're so wet f’me already, lemme taste you." His mouth descended, capturing your sensitive bud between his lips. He teased you with his tongue, licking and sucking, driving to a place of wild pleasure. Your hips arched off the table, seeking more of his delicious torment. Jude's fingers delved into your folds, finding your sweet spot, and he thrusted them inside, curving to hit that magical spot within.

"Oh, fuck Jude!" you cried out, your voice echoing in the room. Your body trembled as he worked his magic, his mouth and fingers bringing you closer and closer to the edge.

"That's it, baby, let go," he urged you, his words sending you spiraling towards ecstasy. With one final flick of his tongue, you shattered crying out his name as your orgasm began. Waves of pleasure rippled through your body, leaving you trembling and sated. You could hear your slickness. He was deeply and messily eating you out, inhaling loudly through his nose.

“Fuck, I’m cumming: Oh my god.” You cried squeezing your eyes shut when you felt white hot pleasure course through you. Your legs twitching in pleasure. Jude continued lapping up your slick arousal that was starting to drip down his chin.

"Jude" You whined, your hands grabbing for him, pulling him up to you, overstimulation starting to come over you as he continued his movements. You were begging for him to fuck you. “Please fuck me.” He stood up, his big dark brown eyes looking into yours made your heart skip a beat. He came closer to you sliding his hands around your body. Your chest still heaving from your orgasm.The grip he had on your waist suddenly became so rough and sensual. Jude, his eyes glittering with satisfaction, leaned in and captured your mouth in a deep, possessive kiss

“Turn around, angel.” He whispered. You listened and jumped off the table eagerly, turning around. He pressed his body against yours behind you. “Bend over f’me.” The cheek behind the smile on this boy's face was insane. Like every moment in his life, he truly looked beautiful. You felt your heart almost stop. pushing your ass back on him leaning over onto the pool table. You hummed feeling his hard cock against you. He dragged his tip leaking precum over your soaked pussy. Feeling him press his cock against your clit had you immediately whining. You moaned involuntarily closing your eyes as he buried himself all the way down to the hilt. “Such a good girl f’me” He cooed as the warm lighting illuminated your soft skin. “Fuck, you’re so fucking tight f’me.” He grunted, spreading your ass cheeks with both hands. He thrusted into you again as you clenched around him tightly. You were babbling as he pounded you from behind. He slapped your ass hard, the sound joining the wet sounds of you connecting filling the room. You whined practically drooling onto the felt. That’s when he hit a spot that made you lose control of your body and words. Another high swiftly crashed over you. You were a trembling mess pressing your hips back into him for more. Jude groaned, throwing his head back, digging his hands into the soft skin of your ass. Your walls pulsating around him. You were dripping down your shaking legs. He thrusted a few more times into you knocking all the air out of your lungs until he spilled into you. “Fuck, f-fuck, fuckk baby.” He grunted as you both felt him pulsing and spurting inside of you. Both of your releases oozing out of you. You both breathed heavily trying to catch your breaths as you slowly came down from your highs. He pulled your body off the table top up to him. He wrapped his arms around you so tightly.

“We need to get upstairs… right now.” You giggled out of breath. The reality of the possibility of Denise coming downstairs was settling in. Jude agreed but only laughed still moving about the room at a leisurely pace whilst you scrambled throwing his clothes back at him trying to get him to hurry.

•

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

Next part - Chapter 6 - Footballers xx

[dancingtotuyo]

3. pick up your clothes and curl your toes

Woman | Joel Miller

Series Rating: Mature/Explicit

Chapter Summary: You and Joel settle into a routine.

Tags: Joel Miller X Female Reader. Age Gap (Reader is 42, Joel is 56). HBO Characters. Mostly cannon compliant for show & game. Timeline is changed.

Chapter Warnings: swearing, talks of & references to grief, death (child and spouse), and suicide. Anxiety. Reader has a panic attack. consumption of alcohol. Angst. Hurt. Comfort. SMUT. Explicit sex (P in V). Unprotected sex. Oral Sex (F receiving). Let me know if I missed anything.

Note: THANK YOU TO MY BEAUTIFUL BETA READERS @planet-marz1 @pamasaur & @kajashe

Words: 8926

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist | Playlist

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT AND IS INTENDED FOR READERS 18 YEARS AND OLDER. MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT OR READ.

Joel Miller is going to hell in a handbasket. He already was, but this is the seal on the envelope, the pretty red ribbon tied neatly around it. He felt relieved that your husband is dead. What kind of person feels relief over someone’s misfortune? Their grief? A bad one. A person headed straight for the gates of hell. 

He lets out a huff of air, staring at the spinning ceiling fan. He tries not to think of you across the street, laying in bed in that fucking matching pajama set, but with most things the harder you try not to think of them, the more it’s at the forefront of your mind. The picture of your legs in those shorts jumps to his mind. He remembers those fleeting charged moments from tonight. Desire stirs in his gut drifting downward. 

He groans, flipping onto his stomach. He buries his head in the twenty-something-year-old pillow as he takes deep steadying breaths. He won’t do this. It can’t happen. You’re a friend. A connection to the past. A connection to his Sarah. He’s not gonna fuck that up. 

He falls asleep definitely not thinking of you and that fucking pajama set. Pictures of you definitely don’t invade his dreams. Joel Miller can only see you as a friend, and friends don’t do the things he does to you behind his eyelids. 

The next evening, Joel finds himself hardly waiting on his steps, worried he missed you until you step out tonight in jeans and a sweater. For that, he’s all too grateful. A smile stretches across your face. He stands his lips tipping upward as he meets you in the middle of the road once again. 

“Howdy, neighbor,” Joel says. 

You push back the small shiver that runs down your spine. You chalk it up to the lower temperatures. “Look at you, adjusting to the Jackson way of life.”

“Learnin from the best, Sweetheart.”

The chills hit again and you chalk it up to the chill. Spring is breaking through, but winter still clings to the darkening air. You settle in your route. The crunch of Joel’s steps is familiar next to you, comforting even in the silence between the two of you. 

It’s Joel who speaks first tonight. “It’s weird,” he says. He’s more eager to talk tonight.  “Being here- safe. I keep expectin’ raiders to ride in or infected to pop out.” He looks over at a small cluster of trees. 

“It takes a long time.” You watch the sun creep down, closing the gap between it and the mountain tops. “I’m not sure when it happened but one morning I just realized I’d stopped looking over my shoulder or listening for footsteps.” 

“It happens though?” He asks. You catch a glimmer of hope in his eyes. It barely peeks through the weariness he wears like a badge. 

“Eventually.”

“Not that I ever thought it was an option, but I’m not sure I wanted to find peace- to be still like this again.”

You cock your head to the side, but you don’t have to shed a word for him to tell you more. 

“Spending life on the run was easy. Always lookin’ toward the next haul, the next run. Didn’t leave any time for thinking.”

You nod. You understand from the other side. You lived alone for years, wild, haunted by your friends, rattling around an empty house with only your thoughts and memories. Somehow, you’d found peace here, a family even. 

“What about now?” You ask. 

On good days, you can push back the when of it all. When will the world take another person from you in a new way crueler than the last? When will your son’s innocence be stripped away? When will it be you who’s taken? On the bad days, you shut yourself in your room, only to be dragged out by Carter’s small voice or Maria cooking in your kitchen. Today is an especially good day. 

Joel studies the horizon. He takes in a hawk riding the air currents. It all mingles together in his chest: the grief, the joy, the pain, the acceptance. It’s hard to put words to it. “It still hurts. Can’t even say it hurts less… but I don’t fight it anymore. I think making room for someone else helped.” 

You bite your lip. A pang shoots through your heart. You fight to push the door to your heart closed. You can allow him to exist in your life, but anything more than neighbors is too much. You think you feel the door latch, but you don’t catch Joel’s foot wedged in the door jam. 

“How did you and Ellie cross paths?”

Joel spends the rest of your walk recounting his and Ellie’s adventures across the United States. You find yourself hanging on every description. You didn’t travel a lot before the world ended. Your parents had been die-hard Texans. You weren’t sure your dad had left state lines before meeting your mom. There were the yearly trips to your grandparents' house in the mountains surrounding Jackson, one trip to Disney World in 8th grade, and you’d gone to Mexico for spring break your junior year of college. That encapsulated your traveling days. 

After Joel tells you about Silver Lake, he stops in his tracks. You look back at him. He’s staring at the darkening horizon again. His eyes gloss over. “When things like that happen- I find myself relieved that she’s not here- that she doesn’t have to go through it- do all the shit we do.”

You suck in a breath. In some ways you understand it. As a parent who willingly brought a child into this world, you often wonder if it was the right choice or just a selfish one. You nod. 

“And then I feel guilty all over again. Because I would give anything to have her next to me, and see her smile. I mean, what kind of parent is relieved their child isn’t alive?” 

You give the words a minute to roll through your head. You’re not sure of the best words because there really are none, but you pull from your own experience. 

“I think that’s the reality of being a parent in this world. You feel guilty if they’re here because the world is fucked up, but you feel guilty if you’re relieved they’re not.”

Joel makes eye contact with you. “Bein’ around you makes me feel closer to her.” 

Joel is not sure where the confession comes from. He barely talked to you before last night and hasn’t seen your face in 20 years, yet the words just slip out. Something in him says you’re safe and he thinks maybe, he might just have room for you too. The air between you charges like it did the night before.

It sends a hum of electricity through your veins. It’s one you recognize all too well. It feels good and exciting, the thrum of desire, but it’s dangerous. It’s something you cannot afford. You look away, breaking the connection, but mellowing currents still wrack over your body in waves.

“You raised a really great kid, Joel.” You force a smile. “and the world fucking sucks.” You kick at the dirt as everyone’s faces flash behind your eyes. 

“You helped.” 

Your head snaps back up, confusion on your brow. “I doubt that.”

“It’s true.” The memories flood to the surface- the ones you forget exist in the depths of your mind drowned by years of survival and trauma. “You helped her with all that stuff I was too awkward to boys, her period, shopping for her 7th grade banquet. I would’ve sent her in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt.”

“I don’t think Sarah would’ve let you do that.” You manage a laugh. You appreciate Joel’s attempts to make you feel better even when he’s hurting. There’s a beauty to the way sadness and laughter coexist in the space the two of you create. 

Joel shrugs. “I’m just saying, you helped. A lot. Even if you don’t realize it.” 

“You should give yourself more credit.”

“So should you,” he says, eyebrows raising. 

You fight against the smile that wants to sprout on your face. He’s just as stubborn as you remember and probably more. 

As your walk draws to an end, you find yourself searching for anything to draw it out. You watch him walk up his porch steps, desperate to keep him in the street with you but his door shuts before you find the words. 

Joel joins you the next night and the night after that, and the night after that it rains. You catch the disappointment, trying to let it go. Carter won’t settle, too intent on watching the rain hit the window. After 30 minutes, you give up, pulling a light sweatshirt over his head. 

“You wanna sit out on the porch?”

Carter nods and you kiss his forehead. You see the sleepiness in his eyes, but you don’t have the energy to force him to sleep tonight. He grabs his two toy cars following behind you. You pull the blanket off the couch, opening the front door. 

“Oh my god.” You jump, heart rate spiking for a second. Carter runs into the back of your legs, promptly falling to his bottom. 

Joel Miller stands in front of you with a sheepish look on his face. “I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to startle you.”

You turn around, picking your toddler off the floor. “You just hanging around on stranger’s porches now?” A grin starts to crowd the edges of your smile. 

“I’d hardly call you a stranger, Sweetheart.” Joel grins. 

That familiar feeling begins to seep through your chest, making you feel like a college student and not a woman in her 40s. Before it can completely overtake you, you push it down, clearing your throat. 

“I don’t think you’ve gotten the chance to meet Carter yet.” You nod toward your son.

Carter waves. “Hi.”

Joel smiles back at him. “Nice to meet you, little man.”

Carter holds out his toy cars for Joel to admire. Joel’s eyes glance over the faded and chipped paint of the old Hotwheels. “Those are very nice.” 

Carter looks toward you with a big grin. He’s a kid of few words but big expressions. You smile back with a nod and he slides out of your arms.

“He wouldn’t go to sleep so we came out to watch the rain.” You hesitate a minute, but the pull of Joel’s familiarity wins out. “You’re welcome to join us. The porch swing is a little rickety, but it does the trick.”

“I was hoping you’d want some company.” Joel pulls a bottle of dark liquor from under his arm. You notice his rain-damp hair and shoulders for the first time. A few droplets slide down his curls.

“You getting used to me, Joel Miller?”

“You could say that.” He cocks his head to the side, smirk playing on his lips. 

You turn your head so he doesn’t catch your own grin, but he does anyway. Spreading the blanket on the porch for Carter to play on, you disappear inside grabbing a couple of glasses. 

When you come back, Joel is on his hands and knees with Carter, both making race car noises with their lips. It knocks the wind from you, and you brace against the door frame. You’d imagined this lost moment a thousand times. Sometimes you swore you could see Gabe sitting on the floor with Carter, the proudest smile on his face, but this is real and it’s not Gabe. 

Carter makes a screeching noise, learning them from some racing movie they showed a few weeks ago, crashing his car into Joel’s. Joel makes his cart flip over and combust into flames. Carter laughs. There’s a piece of your heart that seems to mend, and another that seems to break. Gabe feels further away, a more distant past. Yet, you’re focused on what’s in front of you. 

When Joel catches you watching, he smiles, says something to Carter, and rises to his feet. It feels like a scene from a movie where you don’t hear anything, but the single look is the most significant part. 

Joel says something, taking the glasses from your hands. His lips move but you don’t hear him. His back is turned before you realize it, shaking your head to wake up your senses. “Sorry- what did you say?”

Joel chuckles, pouring a couple of fingers of whiskey into each glass. He hands one to you. “I said, I’m getting too old to get on the ground like that.”

You accept the glass, letting the liquid warm you. This feels so easy, too easy. It sends warning bells through your head, but you don’t want to deal with them. They're too easy to push away in Joel’s familiar presence. 

“You didn’t have to.” You move to the end of your porch, easing onto the swing. 

Joel’s eyes inspect the old swing with years of training before he decides it will hold for one night and settles next to you. “Nah- it was fun. I haven’t played cars in a long time.” 

You take a sip of the whiskey to hide your grin. 

“He doesn’t look a thing like you.” Joel teases. 

“Spitting image of his father.” You laugh. “Gabe always said his genetics would win out. I can only imagine the gloating I would’ve heard from him.” 

“He never knew him?”

You shake your head. “Gabe was infected while out on patrol when I was 7 months pregnant.” 

You leave it at that. You don’t expound on one of the darkest times of your life, and Joel doesn’t ask. He’s being trained for patrol now. He knows a bite earns you a bullet in the head and your body burnt to a crisp. You sip from the glass, taking a little too much whiskey. It burns away the tears. 

“I don’t know how you did it,” Joel says. You turn to meet his gaze, eyebrows raised. “Survive out here all those years alone. I wouldn’t have made it.”

“You did.”

Joel shakes his head. “No, I had Tommy and some friends along the way. And that almo- it wasn’t enough.” 

He turns away subconsciously presenting his profile. You catch the scar on his temple. You’d never given it much stock until now. It hits you like a brick to the chest. Your fingers drift toward it, brushing over the old wound. 

“After Sarah died- I didn’t see much point in going on.” His eyes land on yours again. Your fingers stay. “I flinched when I pulled the trigger. Missed”

He searches your eyes for judgment but finds none. He’s certain all he finds is understanding, a silent assurance that you know that hopeless feeling too. 

Your fingers edge toward his hairline. The rain seems to fall heavier around you, creating a mist under the overhang, but it all seems far away with Joel Miller right in front of you. You’re both still, scared to spook the other, waiting for a sign you refuse to give yourself. 

“Joel!” Clumsy footsteps clamber up the wooden steps to your home. Ellie appears with a lopsided grin and soaked hair. “You’ll never guess what I traded for, morherfucker.”

The tension snaps away until nothing. The space on the porch swing is seemingly greater than ever. 

Joel raises an eyebrow at her, arms crossed over his chest. 

Carter looks up at the intruder, taking stock before returning his attention to his cars. 

“Oh, what? Did I interrupt something?” 

“No,” you say, possibly too fast. You don’t leave time to consider what was potentially interrupted. You latch on to Ellie’s joy instead. “What did you get?” You ease back, casting Joel a teasing look. He doesn’t look your way this time.

“I knew I liked you, Nurse… er- Lady.”

Joel opens his mouth to supply your name but you beat him to it. “That’s me, Nurse Lady.” 

Carter points at you. “Mommy.”

Ellie looks you dead in the eye. “I’m not calling you that.” 

You laugh. 

“What did you get, Ellie?” Joel asks, a little more give in his frame than a few seconds ago. 

Ellie pulls a big, atlas-looking book from under her damp sweatshirt. “It’s pictures of space! Ones I haven’t seen before!” 

“Space?” Carter’s head shoots up and a smile spreads across your face. 

“Yeah!” Ellie exclaims, opening the book toward him. “See! Isn’t it cool?”

Carter ventures toward the new person carrying a book of great interest to him. “You like space too?”

He nods, watching with wide eyes for a few more pages, and then grabs Ellie’s hand, pulling her toward his blanket. “Sit.”

She listens and Carter climbs into her lap. “More.”

Ellie laughs. “Sure thing, bud.”

You go to tell Ellie that she doesn’t have to listen to the two-year-old. She can take her book home and enjoy it in peace, but you stop yourself. Something tells you that Ellie wouldn’t stay if she didn’t want to. She reads the words in the book with the same fascination that shines in Carter's young eyes until he falls asleep. 

Joel stays next to you, the swing creaking rhythmically, the moment hidden away from the rest of Jackson by the cover of rain and a setting sun. 

You and Joel go back to walking the next evening. 

A couple of days later, Maria sits at your kitchen table when you come in from your walk with Joel. A steaming cup of tea sits in front of her and another caddy corner from her. You furrow your brow. The last time she’d greeted you with tea was when she told you she was pregnant. This welcome was usually reserved for serious conversations. 

“Carter wake up?” You slide into the chair, taking the mug into your hands. 

“No, just wanted to talk to you. It’s been a couple of days.” She eases back, hand resting atop her swollen stomach. 

“I saw you at the clinic this morning.” You raise an eyebrow.

Now 7 months pregnant, you’ve monitored Maria and the baby closely. Tommy and Maria are so excited. You see it in their eyes every time it comes up. You’re trying your hardest not to let your fears cloud it, but you won’t be able to make it if something happens to Maria. 

“We haven’t really talked though. Not since Sunday at dinner and Tommy has the guys over for Poker tonight.”

“You miss me after 3 days? I thought I was the codependent one.” You smile up at her with a laugh.

Gabe would have called it a sparkly smile. Maria clocks it immediately, and it stays, lingering across your features. She gasps. She’s seen nothing but glimpses and flickers of it since his death and now here it is on full display.

“Did I grow a third head or something?” 

“No, just haven’t seen you like this in a while.”

“Like what?”

“Happy, Smiling.” Maria tilts her head to the side. “I thought I was imagining it this morning. Tommy mentioned it too.” 

“I smile.”

“Not the sparkly kind.”

You pause, heart clenching at the thought. You know it’s what Gabe would have wanted. He loved your sparkly smile- given it its name. It feels like it should feel wrong for someone else to bring that out of you, but it doesn’t. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy. 

“This have anything to do with your new walking partner?” Maria says over the lip of her mug. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You feign innocence, looking out the window. Joel’s porch light glows across the road. Your wedding band is cool against your fingertips as you twist it. A smile pushes against the borders of your lips. 

“You act like your route doesn’t cut directly through town and past everyone’s houses 3 times.” 

“We just walk together, Maria.” 

She raises a suggestive eyebrow. 

You roll your eyes. “Just walking.”

“More than walking is okay too.”

You cross your arms. “I thought you didn’t like Joel. It was all I heard about after he came through the first time.”

“He’s my brother-in-law. I have to try.” Maria bites her lip. “And he grows on you.”

You sigh trying to push away the thoughts that crowd your restless mind. Your attachment to him is beginning to feel inevitable like you never stood a chance because it had always been there. A holdover from before. It reminds you of the way you and Tommy bonded when he came to Jackson, that invisible tug from a former life tying you together, but there is something different with Joel. The all-encompassing crush from your early ears creeps up like a blush. You won’t say it lingered, but you know something is forming now as much as you try to ignore it. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“This,” you motion around you. “Building a life with someone just for the world to rip it all away.”

“That’s not-“

“Not what, Maria? You know it will happen.”

“Might not.”

“Might happen tomorrow.” You square your shoulders. Joel goes on patrol for the first time tomorrow. It’s a short shift for him to get the lay of the land, but so was Gabe’s. you’re terrified, and you’re terrified to admit you’re terrified. 

She stares into your eyes with a still determination searching for any cracks to slip through as your impenetrable walls rise back up. All evidence of the sparkly smile is gone, erased from your face. Maria sighs, slowly rising to her feet, her cup of tea dried up. 

The two of you say nothing as she moves about your kitchen with easy familiarity. She’s moving slower these days and for good reason. It eases your anxiety to know that she’s listening to you in that department. 

She sets her cleaned mug on the dish wrack, drying her hands with a towel. You sip on your tea letting it warm you from within. It does nothing to ease your racing mind. 

Maria’s firm, caring touch lands on your shoulder, drawing your attention up toward her. You know she can see it behind your eyes. It’s that same wild look she saw in you when she met you. You can only hold her gaze for so long until you have to look away. She can see too much in you. 

Maria squeezes your shoulder. Her hands slide around your shoulders as she pulls your reluctant frame closer to her. She’s warm and comforting like a well-worn sweater. When her warm breath hits your temple followed by the soft kiss of a concerned parent or older sibling, you let your eyes flutter shut and inhale deeply. Your body relaxes as your sympathetic nervous system accepts the easy pressure of her embrace and your mind seems a little more quiet. You lean to the side, temple pressed to your best friend’s forehead. 

“I’ll see you at Sunday Dinner,” Maria says. She’s using her soothing mom voice, and it works. 

“Okay.”

She gives one more squeeze before releasing you. Your hands wrap back around the mug, searching for the warmth you lost. 

Maria grabs her coat. “Oh, I invited Joel and Ellie too.”

You snap your head around. Maria wears a knowing grin but gives you a shrug. “They’re family now.” 

You roll your eyes. Maria’s laugh is the last thing you hear before the front door clicks behind her. Silence falls over your home. When a tear falls from your eye, you swipe it away, stuffing down all the feelings rising to the surface. 

The next evening, Joel isn’t on his porch when you come out. The worry you’ve pushed down all day bubbles over before you can stop it. Your heart beats in your ears as you stare at Joel’s front door, hoping, praying it opens. In the minutes you watch for him, you beg the world for a sign that Joel is okay, nothing happens. The house is still with no signs of life. 

Anticipation melts to dread. They haven’t gotten back yet. That can only mean bad things. The same resolve hits you over and over. You can’t let this happen, not again. Stepping into the street, you try to go on as usual. Same path. Same pace, but the further you get from his front porch, the more you fight against the tug pulling you toward it- toward him. It wraps tight up your ankle like a vine. You think you can snap it with enough force and distance. 

Instead, it climbs your leg further, piercing through your stomach. It constricts around your lungs like a snake and its branches encircle your heart. Your breathing quickens and shortens until you can’t see more than 2 feet in front of you. You can’t do this. Can’t let this happen. Your fingers bite into a tree as you stumble forward, grasping for stability. Bark digs under your fingernails. A sob releases from your throat, the one that sounds otherworldly but you’re all too familiar with, and you realize it’s tears that blind you because you refuse to give the world another person to tear from your arms, yet you fear you already have. 

A warm hand lands on your back. You whip around in a fury of tears and ragged breathing. He recognizes it instantly. It’s the same look he used to see every time he looked in the mirror. He sucks in a breath and takes a step back. 

You think the space will make it easier to breathe, but the panic sets in deeper. You don’t want him to go. It’s not fair. You thought you were stronger, but it only took days for Joel Miller to demolish the walls you worked so desperately to build. He had pinpointed the weakness in them as if he’d built them himself and came in swinging. 

Your hand shoots out, fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. You’re a dear in the headlights, unsure if you should flee for your safety or stay and get hit by what’s coming. 

Joel’s hand slowly covers yours. It’s warm. It settles your breathing. His heart beats under your palm a little faster than his calm demeanor lets on. 

You sniff back the tears. You realize you were so focused on the traps underfoot that you didn’t realize you walked right into the mouth of one from the very beginning. The moment you leaned into Joel’s familiarity, it snapped shut with no way out. Joel cautiously reaches out, swiping away the tears on one cheek. When you don’t shy away from his touch, he wipes away the others.

It’s a spacious trap. There’s room to roam around. You don’t feel confined, and Joel is in it with you. 

“I don’t have to walk with ya tonight.” His voice is quiet. His eyes are soft and understanding. “I understand if you need some space.” 

Despite offering you space, he squeezes your hand tighter and leans in, and godamnit, you like it. 

“No.” You shake your head. “Stay. I like the company.” 

His brow furrows. “You sure, Sweetheart?” 

“Yeah.” You nod. His shirt eases back around his chest now crinkled from your grip, but your hand stays. “Believe it or not, I enjoy having you around.” 

You force a smile. 

“Yeah…” He smiles softly. “Me too.” He takes a step backward. You ignore the soft pang in your chest at the increased distance. 

You and Joel settle back into the path as you have the past two nights, but he’s closer tonight. His shoulder brushes yours every so often. He keeps the conversation light. He doesn’t ask about your anxiety attack. 

At the end of your walk, Joel’s arm slides around your waist pulling you against his chest. Your breath catches as his other hand slides across your shoulder blades leaving a trail of fire behind it, landing at the base of your skull. He comes over you like a wave, heavy and disorienting when it hits but peaceful once it settles. Your eyes close, resting your head against his chest. 

His fingers knead slowly at your skull, releasing built-up tension. Sparks ignite low in your belly. You don’t try to extinguish them this time. 

“Sleep well, Sweetheart.” 

You swear you feel his lips on your forehead, but he’s gone before you have time to consider it further, back behind his door leaving you to wrestle with that moment all night. 

On Thursday morning, Joel works in the barn fixing the big swinging door when Tommy strides in. Joel is so focused on his craft, the long-forgotten feel of wood beneath his touch that he doesn’t catch the grin etched on his younger brother’s face. 

“What’s going on, big brother?” Tommy says with a prying tone.

“Can you hand me that hammer?” Joel says, sweat beading his forehead. 

Tommy chuckles, handing it to Joel. 

Joel turns an eye toward him. “You’re in a good mood.”

“A little birdie told me something.” 

Joel lifts an eyebrow. He doesn’t have time for Tommy’s antics. There’s a door to fix and he knows his brother gets more joy drawing things out. Joel does not. “What?”

“Oh come on- you have to guess.”

“Tommy, since when have I played along with your games?”

Tommy sighs. “Buzz kill.” 

Joel chuckles.

“Rumor has it, you’ve been walking around with a certain babysitter.”

Joel’s face falls stoic. “She’s not the babysitter anymore.” He sets down the tools with a sigh “What’s it to you?”

“Oh come on, Joel. Is that why she’s been smiling so much lately? You giving her a reason to smile?” Tommy grins.

Joel looks at Tommy through the corner of his eye. “You askin’ me if I’m fucking your dead buddy’s widow?”

It flashes across his face, the pain of losing someone so close before his smile is back in place. Joel doesn’t have time to feel bad for it. 

“Not to sound crass, but he’d be happy if you were.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Joel lets the tool drop to the ground, giving in to Tommy. 

Tommy sighs. “When I came to Jackson, she smiled all the time. Reminded me of when we’d get back from a job and she and Sarah were up to no good.” Joel’s nods. He’d felt the same pull toward you. “Gabe- he kept her smiling. I know we’ve all been through some dark shit, but she went at it alone. Since his death, her smiles have been few and far between ‘til now. He didn’t want her to go back to how she was before. Told Maria that much.”

“Maria?”

“Yeah, they were out on patrol together when he got infected.” 

Hit stomach hit the ground. If Maria was with Gabe when-  “Shit,” Joel breathes. “I didn’t realize.”

“Yeah…” Tommy says but doesn’t let the silence linger. Gabe’s demise is still a sore subject for him. “Gabe, all he wanted was for her to be happy, for her to smile. You’re doing that, and it’s a big deal.”

Joel hopes his brother doesn’t catch the stutter in his breathing, the way his thoughts drift back to you. He doesn’t need anyone’s permission. You’re grown adults, but it’s there. Gabe wanted you to be happy- they all want you to be happy and somehow, he’s one of the people that does that. Tommy’s not judging him at the possibility of being interested in a woman 13 years his junior. If anything, he’s encouraging it. Joel feels easier and lighter. In it all, he realizes just how much he wants you. 

The following evening, Joel is almost embarrassed at how quickly he clocks the missing gold band on your left knuckle. His mind races with possibilities. He knows you don’t wear it when you work at the clinic, but he hasn’t seen you without it outside of the clinic. Granted, the only time he’s noticed was on your walks. Did you forget it? His heart leaps a little. Did you do it on purpose? And you’re wearing those damn matching pajamas again. The same ones that got him here in the first place. 

There’s something in the air tonight. The hairs on his arms stand on end. He walks closer to you. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable or make things weird, but the whole time his eyes keep drifting back to your bare knuckle. What does it mean? And he wants to know if you feel the same. 

He can't feel the way your skin burns, heat exploding like fireworks across your body blooming and fizzling one after another. You’re tempted to pull him off your beaten path early, dragging him in front of the whole town across your threshold after just the first lap, but you resist and spend the next lap wondering if he’s walking closer tonight, talking slower tonight. Even the timbre of his voice seems to change, conveying the burning need of desire. Still, you hesitate to confirm it. Maybe you’re wrong about it all. What if you’re wrong about it all? 

Joel follows you to your porch tonight. Maria’s suggestive remarks fill your brain. More than walking is okay. It puts out any doubts filling your head. You glance up at Joel, you read it in his expressive eyes. Eyes you’ve come to know so well. You’re fighting the fire blazing its way through your body with logic and reasoning. Neither is good at fighting fires, and your limbs burn with desire.

Joel waits at the bottom of your porch steps. You rest against the support beam watching him with a careful eye. 

He gives you an easy smile. “I enjoy our walks.”

He makes no moves toward or away from you. He’s leaving this in your hands. You’re not naive. Just sex in this world comes with its own set of risks. It requires trust in a world without STD testing, treatment, and contraceptives. You’re still well within childbearing age. Maria’s pregnancy is a constant reminder, but you trust Joel. You always have.

He stands at the bottom of your porch steps, hands in his pockets as you lean against the support beam. He’s staring at you with that look you’ve caught glimpses of this past week but it’s on full display now, burning into you like a raging wildfire. 

You tip your head up, catching a glimpse of the moon under the awning. A smile plays on your lips. You’re buzzing like you’ve spent the evening sipping on cocktails at the bar. “I shouldn’t tell you this- but here we are.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. “Tell me what?”

His voice is smooth and bold like a cup of morning coffee. You can taste it on your tongue- bitter but full of life. You laugh to cover up the embarrassment flooding to the surface, but you feel alive for the first time in a long time. You wonder if he’s seen the desire in your eyes too. You know it’s been there. You want him, and you intend to have him tonight.

“I had the biggest crush on you in high school and college.” 

Something about putting the words out there doesn’t seem as embarrassing as it did 5 seconds ago. You’re a grown-ass adult and that was 20 years ago. Joel chuckles and you join him again, laughing under the moonlight like he’s dropping you off after a first date and you’re playing with your keys. 

Joel’s boots hit the first step, hand gliding over the worn railing. “You did? Must’ve done a damn good job at hiding it.”

“Or maybe you were just blinder than a bat.” 

“Were you trying to make moves on me then?” Joel comes up the second step. His body heat is just out of reach. 

“No. Wouldn’t have been appropriate. I knew that much.”

Joel rises to your level. You can smell him now- pine. It's one of the three scents you can trade for in this town. You didn’t imagine differently. Joel didn’t strike you as a Lavender or Lemon kind of guy. His hand rests above your head as he invades your space. You feel his body heat close in. You stand straighter, meeting his searing gaze. The air is thick between you as your breathing deepens. 

“And what about now? Would it be appropriate now?” 

His voice is low and husky. Just how you imagined it would be all those years ago, but you still catch the hesitancy in his eyes, the restraint pulling at his throat. It sets a fire burning across your skin.

You step back, ducking out of his space. You miss his proximity immediately. You catch the slight embarrassment that flashes across Joel’s face. He looks around nervously like he didn’t just read the situation completely wrong. You feel almost bad as your hand touches the door knob and you look back at him.

“Are you gonna come in?” You open the door. He looks relieved. “I think the neighbors are gonna talk, but I’d rather keep them talking than put on a show.”

You turn your back to him crossing the threshold. You try to calm your beating heart. His boots are heavy on the porch. Before you can comprehend it, the front door shuts. The hardwood presses against your back, and Joel’s hands rest against the door on either side of your head. You feel the heat radiating off him, but he doesn’t touch you. Your hands hang in fists at your side refusing to touch him first. You meet his wild gaze. 

He leans in and heat rushes through your body settling in your core. You squeeze your legs together and wonder if he catches it. You tilt your chin up to meet his lips. They come so close but circle just out of your reach. His hot breath hits your ear making your toes curl. You want to fuss at him. You almost do, but resist. You’re wet and he has yet to touch you. 

“Tell me this is okay. Tell me you want this.” He’s still hovering, refusing to touch you.

Your head turns to meet his gaze. He thinks he’s doing something wrong. “Joel, I’m a 43-year-old woman, not some naive-”

“Tell me.” There’s a force behind it, a desperation. 

You look at his eyes, blow wide with lust. It shortens your breath. Your limbs feel heavy with need.

“I want you.”

He surges forward, lips crashing into yours. Your teeth nash against each other, but you don’t care. Threading your fingers in his thick curls, you pull him closer, craving him. Desire pumps through every ounce of your being.

His hand settles over your hip slipping under your pajama shirt. Your nipples harden as his hand glides over your skin, going up until he cups your breast. His thumb circles over your clothed nipple and you gasp into his mouth. He smirks pressing you further into the door. Your leg instinctively hooks over his hip and his hard cock presses against your core. 

“Joel.” You moan, moving your hips against him.

A moan falls off his lips as he sucks on your bottom lip. “You’re killing me, Sweetheart.”

He moves to your neck. His fingers wrap around the back of your thigh guiding your other leg around his waist. He squeezes your breast again and your legs squeeze around him. He bucks into you. 

Your head falls back granting him further access to your neck. You need to be out of your clothes. You want Joel out of his. You don’t care if it’s here or in your bedroom or somewhere else. It needs to happen and it needs to happen soon. 

Your fingers find the buttons of his shirt. There’s an urge to rip it open and let the buttons scatter across the floor like you’d seen in movies, but you don’t. Resource management is still essential even in the throws of passion. 

The first two pop open. He’s sucking on your neck, nipping like a herd dog. “You tryin' to mark me, Miller?” He pulls your Texas draw out like honey.

He doesn’t respond, teeth grazing your collarbone, making you gasp. His hips jut forward and his name rolls off your tongue. 

He pulls up your shirt, groaning when your sports bra comes into view. He’s not getting you out of that while you’re against the door. It’s like you can read his mind. “First door at the top of the steps.”

He glances up the staircase behind him. You think he’s gonna let your legs drop to the floor and drag you up the steps. Instead, his fingers dig into your ass. Before he can lift you away from the door, he realizes you’re not wearing underwear under your thin pajama shorts. 

“How long have you been walkin around without panties, Sweetheart?” His cock brushes over your core. You’re sure you’ve left a wet spot on his jeans by now. 

“How long have you known me?” It’s out of your mouth before you have time to think it through. Your cognitive function has been reduced to one goal: getting Joel Miller into your bed. 

Joel considers the implication. For a split second, you think it might make him bolt. Remind him that he knew you as a teenager, but he groans, leaving you putty in his calloused hands. He presses hot, open-mouth kisses on your neck. Your fingers tangle in his hair to keep his mouth on your flesh. His hands adjust under your ass and he’s carrying you up the steps. 

It doesn’t matter how fit survival made you, going up the steps with the extra weight of a toddler was hard enough, much less your entire body. It’s far from effortless on Joel’s part. He gives up on the third step. You applaud his efforts through your laugh. 

“Come on, old man.” You wink, dragging him behind you up the remaining stairs. 

“Who you calling old man?” He growls, crowding behind you. 

He kicks your bedroom door closed and you pray it doesn’t wake your sleeping child. 

You pull off your shirt. Joel backs you onto your soft mattress. Before you have a chance to catch up, his fingers are in the elastic of your flimsy pajama shorts sliding them down your legs in haste. Letting them fly across the room. Your bra joins them in quick succession. 

He’s crawling over you so slowly, eyes raking over your bare body as he does. You burn under his gaze and he’s still not touching you, not in all the places you crave. 

His jean-clad thighs push against yours, spreading your legs slowly. They’re rough against your thighs, but in the way you love. You reach up, allowing your fingers to play in his hair again. He pushes into your touch, eyes fluttering closed as his lips leave soft kisses over your palm. 

His hand starts on your hip. You push into his touch a soft moan vibrating in your throat as you bite your lip. You’ve always loved the feel of your hips being touched. He chuckles, sliding his hand up your sternum. He comes just under your breast before ghosting his fingers back down. He repeats the path but this time with his lip. They leave a fire burning across your body in their wake. You watch him under heavy lids and low hums. 

He doesn’t stop under your breasts this time. His tongue slips out as he makes it to your nipple, going over it with one smooth swipe. It pulls a sweet gasp from you. He repeats the process with your second breast. You roll your hips as his name rolls off your lips. 

He groans nipping up your chest again. Your hands roam up and down his back. You catch the faint catch of scarring every now and then, but it’s all a part of Joel. It tells his story and you’re a part of that now. If it’s just tonight, that’s fine. If it’s more- you won’t think about that. 

His teeth scrape against your collarbone, pulling you back into the here and now. He doesn’t slow down as he ascends your throat crawling higher and higher until his lips are on yours. Your fingers are in his hair. He slides his tongue into your mouth and his hand over your breast, tweaking your tight nipple every third interval. 

You push your pelvis against his. You’re slick and desperate for relief, and his jeans are still on. 

Joel chuckles, squeezing your breast as he devours your mouth. Your hands make their way down his chest to the fly of his pants. You pop open the button before Joel pulls back. You try to capture him again, but he slips away.

You want to whine and throw a temper tantrum. “Joel.” You fuss, pupils blown wide. 

He chuckles deeply. “I know, Sweetheart.” 

He brushes over your hips with his fingers dragging them down your thigh. Before you can spread your legs for him, he pushes your knees up revealing your slick cunt. 

You expect more teasing, for him to lean in and pull back right away, but he doesn’t. He leans in, nose running through your wet folds. You moan out his name trying desperately to get closer to him. 

His hand drags down your stomach, spreading your lips. He eased down again, dragging his tongue through on his second journey. 

Your moans grow louder. You tug on his curls. When he pulls your clit between his lips, your legs snap, trapping his head between your thighs. There’s a tug in your stomach. Joel continues to work the sensitive bundle over and over and over. Your pleas turn to encouragement until they’re no longer words at all. Please. Yes. Yes. More. More. More. The sounds marry together with your body, an extension of sensation until warmth spreads throughout like water soaking through a paper towel across your entire body in a crescendo long laid dormant. 

Joel works his way back up your body with hot opened mouth kisses as you pant, catching your breath. Your fingers brush across his back in smooth trails. He shivers against your touch. 

“So beautiful.”

Heat races toward your cheeks as if the previous minutes weren’t worthy of that. He smiles, dipping down to touch your lips. 

Your hands work toward his waistband. You shove his pants down as best you can. Joel tuts your name softly but helps in your pursuit. His pants and underwear fall to the floor, his cock standing tall. You ogle it like it’s water in the desert.  “Someone’s eager.”

“Wanna take care of you too.” You pant, still fighting for breath. 

Joel's head falls back. “Fuck, not to tonight, Sweetheart.” His hand tangles in your hair. 

He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your jaw and then another and another. “I’m not gonna last long tonight and I wanna make sure I get the chance to be inside you.”

It is the damn truth too. Joel hasn’t been with anyone in almost a year. He hadn’t had the chance for much other relief while traipsing across the western states either. His body is only starting to come down from the constant alertness and tension that came with being on the outside. 

You spread your legs out, your dripping pussy on display for Joel. He swallows, crawling over you. You hook a leg over his waist. Joel takes his time, igniting small fires over your skin. You whimper with impatience, making him laugh. 

“Please, Joel.”

“So goddamn impatient for me.”

Does he know how goddamn patient you’ve been? That this picture embedded itself in your mind 25 years ago? A picture you labeled never gonna happen. 

Finally, he eases into you, slowly, like he’s savoring it. Watching his eyes roll back in his head confirms that he is, sending shivers down your spine. You force your hips toward him, forcing him further into you. You’d forgotten the satisfying stretch of being wrapped around a man. Your moans tangle with Joel’s as he enters you fully, sweat forming across your abdomen.

His fingers intertwine with yours on the mattress. His eyes lock with yours, sending more shock waves across your skin. Your walls clench around him of their own volition. He falls forward with a hiss, catching himself on his forearm. “Fuck, Sweetheart. It’s been a long time. I ain’t gonna last if you keep doing that.”

You squeeze his hand and trail your fingertips down his chest and stomach. He shudders at your touch. It sends another thrill, another wave of electricity straight to your bones. You squeeze him again, and he gasps. You’ve forgotten what it was like to have this effect on a man. 

“You gonna fuck me, old man?”

He groans, burying his face in your neck. Hot breath spreads across your skin in an uncontrollable blaze. Finally, his hips rock against yours, setting sparks off where his skin connects with yours. You moan, arching your back and baring for skin for him to consume. He nips at your neck and collarbone, teeth scraping behind. Your breath catches and Joel notices. His eyes sparkle down at you with mischief. 

He nibbles at your ear lobe. “I’m going to keep that tucked away for later.” and then he picks up the pace, pulling out and pushing in over and over. Your stomach clenches at the promise of more. More than one night. Nights. You shut your brain off there. Any further and you’ll spiral. 

You focus on the thrust of his hips. In and out. In and out. Your hands land on his hips, thumbs caressing the skin there. A bead of sweat falls from Joel’s brown. His lips land on yours again. You can tell he’s close, the tension of your orgasm building. 

You slip a hand to your cunt, reaching for your clit. Joel smacks your hand away, replacing it with his own. “That’s my job, Darlin.” 

Your nipples tighten. Your walls clench around him, your head swimming with incoherent thoughts and words as the sweat builds across your flushed body. Joel barely touches your clit before you’re crying out, muscles tightening before releasing with pleasure. It crashes over your body like much-needed waves after years of drought. 

“Fuck,” Joel hisses, pulling out of you completely. 

His lips connect with yours, soft and tender this time. His calloused hands cradle your face as small cries come from your mouth as words still fail to form. 

“I know, baby. I know.” He kisses your forehead, pushing back your hair until you come back down. 

Your limbs tingle and your body buzzes with a relaxing energy. You’d forgotten what the high was like- the comedown. You feel lighter than you have in months, years even. A smile begins to spread across your face, the bubbling of laughter in your chest. You run your fingers through Joel’s hair and he smiles back. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing really.” But the soft rumble of your chest continues.

“Is that so?” Joel’s crow’s feet crinkle making your heart clench. He presses another soft kiss to your lips, another to your forehead. 

“That’s so,” you hum with contentment. 

He chuckles. “We should get you cleaned up.” 

Joel eases off the bed, entering through the open door of your en-suite bathroom. You take a second to appreciate his bare form before your gaze travels to your own body. Your brain finally registers Joel’s warm semen, sticky across your stomach. 

You send up a prayer that Joel had the wherewithal you didn’t in the moment. You’re almost embarrassed how long it took you to realize he finished on your stomach. 

Joel steps back into the room, washcloth in hand. “Thank god for modern amenities.” He winks at you as he sits on the edge of the bed, bringing the warm cloth to your stomach. 

“I’ve got it,” you say, pushing Joel’s hand away as he tries to clean you up. 

“I don’t mind cleaning up after myself.” A smirk plays in his eyes but flickers away when you don’t reciprocate. 

You lean away from him, shoulders tensing. “I prefer to do it.” 

His fingers glide over your bare thigh as you wipe away the last of him, setting the cloth on your nightstand. Goosebumps raise in salute with each of his motions. Your back rests against the headboard as you both sit in naked silence. 

Not a word passes between you. His fingers continue across your thigh. You watch him, his profile, his fingers until the anxiety sets in. Your stomach twists in knots. Your frame is rigid. You pick at the sheets, unable to look Joel’s way. 

He knows it. He feels your walls go up before you can’t look his way so he withdraws his hand, collects his clothes- all but the flannel lying downstairs- and kisses your forehead. Then he waits. 

He’s waiting for you to look at him. His eyes watch your profile, burning it until you can no longer bear it. You push back the tears, meeting his eyes. 

He smiles softly, understandingly. “Same time tomorrow?” 

Your stomach clenches and turns in a ball of excitement and dread. “Same time tomorrow.”

With the reassurance, he kisses your head for a final time. “Sleep well, Sweetheart.”

Then he leaves for the night like you told yourself you wanted.

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

3 Pink Roses Mean, "I Love You"

- Nanami Kento (ch9)

synopsis: a confession from Nanami sweeps out. Nobara, being the best assistant ever, helps you pursue a new project, and Nanami comes home late one night to reassure you. A romantic date is planned where feelings blossom. Gojo is also a nosy blob.

series masterlist

For as long as he could remember, Nanami Kento had always kept his emotions under check. Never in his life had he had to control his words, except in the case of Gojo where he really, and his therapist agrees, really exhausts his limits.

The businessman keeps his emotions as generalized as he can, relying on facts rather than emotion, it's what you have to do when you're in the corporate world. The world will believe facts over sentiments any day, it's what you can prove on paper what matters. So it became a habit for him. Ever since his university years, his job managed to solidify those beliefs. Mindlessly stimulate his brain with numbers and graphs until he's just too tired to feel at the end of the day.

Too tired to function.

Two days after your progressive 'movie' night with Nanami, he wakes up earlier than usual, assuring to call out from work for a few hours. He could never not take the day off, wouldn't allow himself.

“So, Nanami, I heard you went on vacation. How did that go?” The woman in front of him smiles, resting her bullet point pen against the spine of her notebook. She doesn't write at this moment, and she knows Nanami is observing if whether or not she'll write this conversation down.

"It went well," he replies, noticing her strands of hair are a darker shade than Gojo's. "I... I went to Boston, with my partner."

“A partner?” Her eyebrows raise in surprise, “You never mentioned you were seeing someone. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” 

“How long have you been together? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Two months.”

Technically, it wasn’t a lie. They met in June and July was already here, so that did count as two months.

If you were stretching the truth. 

“What did the two of you do in Boston? My husband and I haven’t been to a red socks game in forever and the lobster at Neptune Oyster is to die for.” 

“We visited the Aquarium,” Nanami focuses on the patchwork of her coat, “and we took a boat tour as well.” 

“Sounds like the two of you are compatible.”

“What makes you say that, Doctor?”

“You strike me as a relaxed fellow, Nanami. I’m sure your partner is the same? Unless she’s more enthusiastic, of course.” she holds a knowing smile, “because I could see that working out.”

“She’s…" Nanami searches for the words, "smart, well intentioned, independent, compassionate...”

“Sounds like a determined woman if you ask me.” the professional points out with a short chuckle. “It also sounds like she’s someone special because I’ve never heard you talk so highly about anyone. Not like your co-worker,” she notices Nanami roll his eyes, making her bite back a smile.

“Has this partner positively affected your day-to-day life?” 

“She makes me look forward to coming back home,” he replies. 

“Oh, so the two of you live together?”

Nanami freezes, fuck. 

“We... uh… we made the decision to move in before Boston…”

“So is that like a honeymoon thing?” she asks, genuinely curious, “Because I know younger people like to skip the-”

“-It was just for fun,” he quickly clarifies, “the trip.” and the word fun rolls off his tongue with such foreignness that even he can feel a shift in the room.

A moment passes by before the woman smiles at him.

“Well, that’s good to hear.” she says before adjusting a photo of her with a young man, Nanami presumes, no older than 21 wearing a cap and gown. 

“That’s my son,” she grins, following Nanami's eyes, unashamed to show off her son, “Michael, 21. Graduated in Economics from NYU. I believe you were a student there as well?”

“Only for Law.”

“Oh, so you’re a Lawyer?”

“No." He shakes his head, "I dropped after my 2nd year.”

“Change of career?”

“More like change of life,” he answers dryly, “My… my father was a Lawyer, and he owned a law firm of his own…”

“Then... what happened?"

"I… I’m not a good person," Nanami's voice feels caught through his windpipes. It is only then when Nanami decides to take the covers off. He thinks that if he were ever to unveil such personal detail of his life, then everyone around him would flee, and see him as the bastard he deserves to be called.

"I’m not a good person because... I ruined someone’s life."

“This is a lovely painting," Nobara sighs in content, "tell me, where in the world did your boyfriend buy this for you?”

As you and your interior designer admired your painting from the living room, you couldn’t help but stiffen as she was not aware of any arrangements you had with Nanami, like the fact the two of you slept in separate bedrooms. Nobara had suggested you hang the painting in your ‘shared’ bedroom', but the idea was immediately thrown out the window along with placing the painting in the hallway. 

“It was at an auction in Boston,” the palm of your hand rests on the back of your neck, “I actually didn’t know it was an auction until Nanami and I reached the end of the art gallery.”

“Wow, so you’re telling me he had to bargain for this baby?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say-”

“-Did he compete with anyone? What was the starting bid?” You could see the apparent interest in her voice that made your cheeks warm. Nobara’s passion for art and design peeked through the cracks of her voice, dying for an answer. 

“It was a starting bid of $12,500 and there was just one bidder apart from him.”

“How much did he pay for it?” she asked. 

“$25,000 dollars.” 

The realization of your confession didn’t sink until after Nobara’s widened eyes. You lucky girl! No wonder why you were so quiet and against putting this baby in your bedroom! You want your guests to see this work! 

Nobara’s hands were freshly moisturized that you could see the glistening lotion through the sun’s rays hitting her skin. The large windows to your shared apartment were expansive, granting you and anyone who stepped foot into your home an impressive view of San Francisco. Large buildings, primarily from tech-related businesses to the view of the Golden Gate Bridge itself. If you tilted your head a little more to the right, you could see the full bridge, but you stood place as you heard Nobara’s words of excitement for you. 

“I can’t believe this marks the end of our project, I was really hoping to do more, but-”

“-wait,” you stop her, “maybe there is. I’ve been wanting to do something, but I’d like your word on it. C-can I take you upstairs? To the rooftop, that is?”

That day, you learned that it was possible to impress Nobara Kugisaki with your words, allowing her into your home was already a delight for her, so you would only hope she would accept your idea as you took her to the rooftop of the building.

“It’s a bit dusty up here,” you admit, “who knows when the last time anyone came up here was, but can we fix this? Maybe add a small furniture piece or even fairy lights?”

“We can do that,” Nobara softly kicked the leg of one of the abandoned plastic chairs with the point of her boot. She turned to you. 

“By when do you want this complete?”

“Before the 4th of July.”

“That’s possible...” she contemplates, “...but I do want one thing.” 

Your eyes widen at her first ever request, “what is it?”

"Take a picture with Nanami outside," she smiles. "I'll check when the best hour for firework sightings is, but I'm pretty sure this rooftop has one of the best views in San Franciso." She suggests, possibly reading your mind, "Plan a picnic with him out here, get all romantic, and enjoy yourself. That's all I want to see- a happy couple in love."

Her words make you blush, filling your heart with hope, and maybe something more. This idea could work. You could do something special for Nanami, make his day worth something, and fulfill your obvious role as his fake girlfriend. But were you taking your role too seriously? You could care less, focusing instead on the details for Saturday. Hopeful for a successful... date?

"A little birdie told me someone's turning a year older todayy," Gojo's words echoed as Nanami worked in his desk, arriving to his desk, Satoru plops down a party hat, a few decorative birthday accessories that were probably way too much, and a birthday candle- the kind that exaggeratingly lights up like a firework.

A few days after Nanami's appointment, he had been extra cordial around you. And as expected, he was not home during the hours you were up, either leaving too early or arriving too late. He was thankful for your understanding, and the lunch break messages would now appear every 2-3 days. Nanami figured you were either giving him the space he needed, or you were too busy to message. Either way, he was grateful no one had made a big deal about this as much.

"So tell me," Gojo leans forward and rests his elbows on top of Nanami's paperwork, "What will Nanami Kento do tonight? Does he have a date? Is he seeing his girlfriend?"

Knowing he was striking a chord, Nanami grunts, giving him a displeased look until he freezes, noting the small loaf of banana bread he would frequent from his favorite bakery. His shoulders visibly relaxed. "How did you know."

"It's easy to figure out your birthday, also Facebook has these crazy reminders- you should try them out. The other day I forgot it was my Grandma's birthday and that website came in clut-"

"-I didn't need to know all of that information," Nanami says, then sighs, "but... thank you."

Astonished by his oddly accepting demeanor, Satoru's eyes widen. "Wait- don't tell me- did something happen with your girlfriend?"

"She's not my girlfr-"

"-Side chick,"

"She's not a side chick."

"Okay... uh... friends with benefits?"

"I'm offended you think I might even consider that,"

"Okay, sheesh." Satoru huffs a piece of stray hair from his forehead, "Lady friend," he hears no complaint from Nanami and Satoru takes this as a silent victory. "I assume you guys are going out?"

"In this weekend?" Nanami questions, "it's a holiday, traffic is horrible, and I'd rather stay in."

"God," Satoru makes a noise of disgust, "I forgot how boring you can be. Let's hope Mrs. Lady-Friend makes something out of this," he says as he now stands, leaning against the desk. A long moment passes as he now eyes the banana loaf.

"Now give me a smile because I've got to take a photo with my best co-worker buddy,"

It isn't until past 11 when Nanami comes home exhausted that he notices you're still miraculously up. With a bun of messy hair, the laptop charger sitting under on the table gives him the impression that you've been here for some time. “You came.”

“I didn’t mean to alarm you.”

“You didn’t.” you exhale, “I figured you’d show up.”

Nanami suddenly feels her stare at him harder, “Whose birthday was it?”

“Huh?" he asks before looking down at his chest, crap. He forgot to take off the decorations Satoru made him wear. Both a party hat and birthday shoulder sling decorate his upper body.

"A-a coworker of mine wanted to celebrate my birthday.” he awkwardly stands.

“It... it’s your birthday?” 

“It’s fine,” he regrets saying it was his birthday now, “I-I even forgot it was my own.”

“But I didn’t know,” she mutters to herself in self-disappointment. “I… I should have asked…”

“It’s fine, we never really got to that part in our relationship.”

“But I should have known,” she defends with a slight frown, “It’s… it’s my job to make this relationship feel easy-” He suddenly cuts you off.

“-This is not a job that should feel like it’s a burden. It’s not your fault. Blame me too, I don’t know your birthday either.”

“But you’re always so busy…”

Not for you, he wants to say. Instead, he takes a step forward, placing his hands at the sides of her arms in reassurance. This is what couples do, right?

“Don’t give yourself a headache over this.” He tells you, your breathing deepens when his hands massage her arms. Nanami notices you're uncertain by the way she turns to her feet.

“Look at me,” he softly says.

“None of this was under your control.”

Taking you by surprise, he presses your body against his, arms wrapping themselves around your waist, and your face buries itself on his chest. 

“I know," you breathe, " ’m sorry.” 

“Why on earth are you apologizing for?”

"I don't know... I feel like I failed you.''

"There's no way you failed me, sweet girl." he says, softly placing a gentle hand on the back of your head as you lean against him, eyes closed and mind too full to notice what was going on right now. "I should've discussed holidays and birthdays with you, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to become so taxing for you." glancing down towards you he speaks once more. "How about we do something this weekend, hm? go out?"

"Mhm," you hum, feeling him pull you closer, not saying anything yet as you had plans and surprises in store for him. ''You came late today."

"I did,"

“Will you be working tomorrow?” a gleam of hope surpasses your eyes, “it’ll be the 4th.”

Nanami shrugs, “I fail to see how that’s a holiday worth celebrating given this country’s historical and current standing.” he pauses, face softening, “but I’ll make an exception. Did you have something planned already?”

“Sorta,” you bite the inside your cheek, “but it doesn’t have to 4th of July focused, we can just celebrate your birthday.”

“Okay,” he breathes, “so what did you have in mind?”

“Can’t tell you,” you smile, “it’s a surprise.”

He chuckles, "Of course. Well... I'll be off tomorrow at 4, will that work for you?"

"It sounds perfect."

"Very well," you can't really see if the corner of his lip tugs upwards in the dim light, but you imagine it does by the sound of his voice. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yes," you breathe, breathless almost. "Don't work too hard, okay?"

As he makes his way towards his room, he thinks, for you? this is nothing.

a/n: I am terrible with taglists. I promise I will redo them. let me know in the comments if you'd like to be tagged/removed.

tag list: @mishroses @musegonemad @sweetteez @kachowness @summerli-u @r0ses4ndlilies @justoutheretrynaread @citrusteaa @fic-for-readers

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[kbirbpods]

Fandom: Danny Phantom x Batman | Tim Drake, Danny Fenton

Rating: Teen & Up Audiences | Length: 4,200 words

Summary:

Is it that Tim Drake & Danny Fenton lead very different lives? Or is it that Tim Drake & Danny Fenton lead lives that mirror one another too closely? These are their stories; or, at least, how their stories begin.

Notes: written for @flowerparrish for the @haunting-heroes-creative-games discord server's one year anniversary gift exchange! This is installment one of my new series the ones who gave me life (my parents' child), inspired fully by prompts listed by Flowerparrish. It is a fae AU, Tim & Danny are both trans, and Danny's canon diverges only slightly up until the college point. I really hope folks enjoy it! Excerpts below the cut.

Excerpt #1: Tim's POV

Tim’s eyes land on the newest Wayne ward, Jason Todd. A kid from Crime Alley, who is two grades ahead of him at school. Tim envies him. He looks… free. On edge, sure. As uncomfortable as Tim is in this crowd, though likely for different reasons. Yet, still, there is a freedom to him that Tim is unable to possess. Like he was born in the right body, a small voice says in the back of Tim’s mind. He shoves that thought down. Or, well, he tries to. But it rises again, unbidden.  The right body. Tim is suddenly so, so aware of how wrong his changing body feels. He tugs again at the pink monstrosity engulfing him. Realizes how desperately he wants out, not just out of the gala but out of this dress. Out of this body. The want—the need— overtakes him. Out, out, out. Tim gasps for air as panic washes over him until, suddenly, the panic becomes a physical thing. His body is aching , feeling stretched and pulled, as though an invisible sculptor is working on the very clay of his existence and forcing his structure to remold.

Excerpt #2: Danny's POV

Dani was a surprise. An enemy, at first. A tool of Vlad’s (the first of Jack Fenton’s ghostly disasters). She terrifies him. “Breathe, Danny,” Jazz tells him, cupping his face in her hands. He looks up at her, vision blurred by tears. “Dysphoria,” is all he manages, voice shaking. She pulls him close and hums an old lullaby, one that calls forward memories of safety. “She’s not you,” Jazz reminds him. But she is, the traitorous voice in his head says. “She’s not,” Jazz says. Did Danny say that out loud?  “She’s your DNA,” Jazz continues and she sounds so much like their mother in this moment. “But she isn’t you, Danny. Vlad wanted a son but he couldn’t replicate you. Dani is a clone of who you would have been, if our parents didn’t love you. If you didn’t know who you truly are and fight to fix your situation, yeah?” “Yeah,” he whispers back, nodding as he wipes his tears. “Danny, what’s important now,” she reminds him, “is that you show her the way.”

[codename-adler]

hi queen what is the aftg x tlou 🧎 my two obsessions <3

this was the fricking hardest to answer bc it goes so deep and my love for tlou runs even deeper, and it's still in the works and very much not written, but at last! i have summoned enough brain power to give you this!

it all started here because of thanks to my love @cielalune and her beautiful beautiful turn out the lights ♥️♥️♥️

now in no particular order nor sense

the final starting lineup:

Wymack as Joel

Kevin as Sarah

Rhemann as Tommy

Abby as Tess

Neil as Ellie

the goal is a Wymack-centric fic. i want him love him need him so bad, i'm gonna dedicate a fic to him and ruin his life. ain't no other love language baby. all of the fic, except specific episode-chapters like Bill & Frank, or Ellie & Riley, will be from Wymack's pov. no unreliable narrator Neil i'm afraid beloved. i fucking challenged myself and i'm beginning to regret it.

Andreil?

perhaps a smidge, that sweet sweet baby carrot dangling before the mule, but it is in no way an Andreil-centric fic. sorries.

what about other ships and characters?

hehe. i am having FUN. i'm breaking glass ceilings, tearing down walls, pushing through barriers. some unique flavors one might say. don't worry you'll have your fill of lengthy cameos. mouth zipped shut for now tho. unless i'm persuaded...

Exy?

i hardly know her... eh tbh i have no idea yet what kind of world pre-Cordyceps i'm going to play with.

game or show?

both. HBO TLoU + game pt. 1 + pt. 2... ouchies. the fic will not be a series however. it's going to be long af, but one fic only. i know the end.

the itinerary?

canon tlou, to the south. 10 locations for now. same route shape. aftg canon relevant. figure it out.

the soundtrack?

BANGER. OMNIPRESENT. you know it. the HBO show soundtrack is my reason to breathe. they get it. they sooooo get it. - teaser 1: the code is 70s for "nothing new" / 80s for "new message" / 90s for "trouble" because that's when all the youngsters of our beloved aftg cast were born ;) (subject to change tho, but as of now the songs and plotlines involving this code work well) - teaser 2: the main/theme song i'm feeling for the fic is

trying to come up with a title around that, so far no luck. the wip title remains "aftg x tlou", sadly... yikes.

coming to ao3 when?

not soon at all. 3 chapters are outlined so far, and they cover three fourths of episode one. each chapter works as an episode. one episode of the HBO show equals to several chapters/episodes of the fic. i'm combining game 1 & 2 into one biiiiiiiig stretch like i said so. i'm screwed.

[boasamishipper]

tagged by @film-in-my-soul and @icemankazansky - thanks guys!! ❤️❤️❤️

Everyone deserves to toot their own horn and be proud of their work! So, this tag game is fairly simple.

Promote 5 works that you're really proud of and share a little about why you're so proud of them! Then tag as many people as you like. You can reblog this post and add on to it (why not create a giant reclist to throw around?) or steal this header (and border if you like) and make your own post.

tagging @bornforastorm @lookforanewangle @apartmentsmoke @maverickcalf @saltyfilmmajor @hacash @academicgangster @onekisstotakewithme and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it

Make A Wrong One Right

Top Gun, Iceman Kazansky/Maverick Mitchell, Goose Bradshaw & Maverick Mitchell

Maverick makes a wish and wakes up thirty years in the past. He reacts accordingly.

I've written a lot of Top Gun fics (sixty-three, to be precise, which is insane all on its own) but this fic is far and away the one I'm most proud of. Not only did I get to throw in all my favorite things (angst with a happy ending!! time travel!! magical realism!! back to the future references!!), I got the chance to explore in a more subtle way just how much Mav loves Ice, and tackle fun existential questions like, Would you change the past if it meant you might lose the future you love? And I feel like I balanced all of the above and stuck the landing really well! (Honestly, the whole story was worth writing just for the bit in chapter three where Mav calls Ice 'baby' without thinking and Ice bluescreens so hard he drops what he's holding.)

there's a raging fire in my heart tonight

Top Gun&MCU, Iceman Kazansky/Maverick Mitchell, Carol Danvers/Maria Rambeau, Carol Danvers & Iceman Kazansky, Iceman Kazansky & Tony Stark, MCU/Coherent Storytelling

“Carol, you can’t bring a civilian into this—” “Civilian?” The temperature in the room seems to drop twenty degrees as Ice steps forward, flinty-eyed and deadly serious. “I’m a captain. And I earned my rank, which is more than I can say for you, Rogers. Thanos killed my husband. You want to stop me from helping you out, you’re going to have to shoot me.” Silence stretches out, long and fraught with tension. Then Stark laughs out loud, and everyone turns to look at him. “What?” he says. “I like this guy.”

This was the first Top Gun fic I ever published, and the first Top Gun fic I wrote on my own. (At the time, I was working on baby, baby, i'd get down on my knees for you with the fantastic @academicgangster, without whom I never would have gotten into Top Gun or on the Tom Cruise train at all.) Naturally my first foray into this fandom ended up being this chaotic, complicated beast of a fic, where I wrote my faves Iceman Kazansky and Tony Stark and Carol Danvers side by side, fixed all my issues with Avengers: Endgame, and gave everyone the happy ending they deserved (especially after all the additional angst I put them through). I had a blast writing this fic and rambling about all the details with Cain (without her support this fic would never have left our tumblr DMs). There were a lot of plot points to juggle, and I managed to juggle them all. So though I've definitely grown as a writer in the (oh god) five years since, I still look back on this fic very fondly, and very proudly. And who knows, maybe someday I'll go back to this series and write more of Ice accidentally acquiring a son in Tony Stark and a granddaughter in Morgan. (Famous last words, I know.)

Judge Leon AU

Night Court (1984) / Night Court (2023), Dan Fielding/Harry Stone, Dan Fielding & Leon, Olivia Moore/Donna "Gurgs" Gurganous, Neil Valluri/Gabby

When his court-assigned public defender quits on his first night as an arraignment judge at Manhattan Criminal Court, Leon decides to reach out to his old foster father, Harry Stone, for advice. He finds Harry's widower, Dan Fielding, instead.

shot:

chaser:

I could not tell you for the life of me why the hands down angstiest fics I've ever written ended up being for an 80s sitcom whose plotlines include a ventriloquist's dummy committing suicide and my blorbo getting so horny he had to fuck a firehose about it, but here we are!! Over sixty-four thousand words later!!

In all seriousness, though, I'm extremely proud of this series. I have a lot of issues with New Night Court (I have a post in my drafts about that), namely that it lacks the edge and darkness that made the original so good, and this series gave me the opportunity to restore that edge and really make us feel Harry's loss, as well as the loss of almost all the other main cast members. I get to be goofy (a man holds the gang hostage on the advice of members of his favorite subreddit) and I get to be angsty (delve deeply into Dan's low self-worth and depression and grief post-Harry's death) and in all the spaces between, I get to write about how much Harry and Dan loved each other (and develop Leon and Dan's growing bond), and I do it all very, very well. (Certainly better than the NNC writers. Let me into the writers' room, guys!! Help me help you!!)

Austin Alone

9-1-1 Lone Star, Billy Tyson/Owen Strand

After the reopening of the 126, Billy and Owen give being friends with benefits a try. Inconvenient feelings ensue. / Season 3 AU, Owen-centric.

I co-wrote this fic with the lovely @lilalbatross while season 3 was still airing, and not only were we so in tune with the characters and the show that our fic accidentally predicted the future (exploration of Owen's abandonment issues! Owen getting trapped in a collapsed building!), but this fic set my standards so high that now the show can no longer reach it. (To be fair, this is largely because Lone Star decided to become the Tarlos and Wyatt Show above all else, but that's a rant for another day.) I'm proud as hell of this fic for a lot of reasons - I got Billy and Owen's voices down pat, put them in mortal peril that was realistic to the show, and wrote some banger lines of dialogue and prose that made me take honest to god victory laps around my house. The entirety of (the very long) chapter 6 might be some of my best work of all time.

For A Minute There I Lost Myself

Ted Lasso, Nathan Shelley & Original Male Character(s), Nathan Shelley & Ted Lasso, Nathan Shelley & Rupert Mannion

Nathan Shelley and the road to redemption.

[sigh] Really it's such a shame that Ted Lasso never got a season three and so we never got to see Nate grow and thrive at West Ham and bond with his players and stand up to Rupert and become more confident in himself and his ability as a coach and apologize to Ted and just in general have a redemption arc that was not centered on some random one-dimensional mean waitress or his ability to play the violin. But at least we have this fic!

I wrote FAMTILM for Yuletide in 2021. I'd never written Nate's POV before - all my Ted Lasso fics up to this point were about Sam and Dani - so I'm proud of myself for being able to capture the nuances of Nate's voice and write the slow growth of Nate's self-esteem and realization that he was in the wrong and his affection for his players (particularly Višnjić and Roubeni, who are in my top ten favorite OCs I've ever created). I'm also very proud of myself for taking what could have been a 30k word story and telling it just as well in under 8k, and writing a full Natedemption arc in less than a month that turned out to be ten times better than what Sudeikis and co accomplished in twelve bloated episodes.

[missholoska]

some new Underswap MH designs! properly showcasing Maddy the Dummy, and introducing Swap MH Ruins Dummy's Mad Mew Mew equivalent form ✨

info about them and design ramblings under the cut!

Dummy:

appears as the tutorial dummy in the Ruins - Asgore encourages Chara to talk to them, but no matter what action the human takes, the Dummy will take offence and leave the room after snapping at them. Asgore then takes the opportunity to tell Chara that even if a monster is rude, showing mercy is still important.

Bored Dummy:

appears as a boss in Waterfall - Mad Dummy told them to get revenge for how they were treated by Chara, but Bored Dummy doesn't really care about fighting and only does so to make their cousin happy.

at the end of their battle with Chara, Happstablook notices the commotion and makes a dramatic entrance with a glitter bomb, inadvertently spooking his cousin out of their body.

Mad Dummy:

offscreen, Alphys asks if they'll model a Mew Mew Kissy Cutie cosplay she'd been working on, as she can't find her usual training dummy to ask. after agreeing and trying on the outfit, Mad Dummy has a Mad Mew Mew-esque identity revelation, and continues wearing the cosplay for the rest of the "game".

if Chara speaks to her in the overworld, she mentions she's considering renaming herself Maddy.

???:

briefly reappears as Bored Dummy again with Maddy after Alphys' hangout event, but soon afterward decides to leave that body behind for good.

after the barrier is broken, Chara can find the uninhabited dummy body in Waterfall, and a barely-visible ghost floating near the snails at Blook Acres.

Maddy the Dummy:

loving life as an adorable mannequin model and one of Napstabot's singers. she frequently changes her look with different wigs and clothes, and has a preference for pinks and pastels, frills, and occasional edgier styles.

still very much the loud, energetic and quick-to-anger type, easily switching from cutesy charm to yelling at someone annoying, and retains her habit of repeating words/phrases three times.

doesn't become Mew Mew like her UT counterpart, but she does have a big soft spot for the Mew Mew Kissy Cutie series, though she prefers Mew Mew 2. she and Alphys have had multiple Undernet arguments about this.

has both friends and knives now!!

Pom Pom:

still lacking a body on the surface, Chara offered to knit them a custom body of their own. they liked the idea of being an animal-like monster, as well as an apple theme based on their favourite saying (that being their UT counterpart's check description). once the body was complete, they soon became corporeal and took on the new name Pom Pom.

they're shy, quiet, easily startled, and especially prone to boredom. they have little tolerance for aimless shenanigans, and will either leave a situation they dislike or just ragdoll on the floor and sleep. they stand like they're about to fall over at all times.

their new body kept some familiar features from their previous, including a cotton heart and button eyes. the heart functions similarly to Napstabot's heart-shaped core.

ghost ages are pretty vague, but they're an adult and the youngest of the ghost cousins.

I've talked about Maddy a couple times in the past, but to reiterate: like Happstablook I want to handle her character with as much respect towards her UT counterpart's story as I can, given that her role swap predates Mad Mew Mew's reveal. had I not designed and gotten attached to my Napstabot in early 2018, just months before UT's Switch port, maybe I would've swapped Mettaton and Mew Mew instead, but it is what it is. think of her as Mew Mew and Glad Dummy combined 💖

as for Pom Pom, with how little canon info there is on Ruins Dummy I just went all-in on what few details I had to work with. admittedly the apple theme is a total stretch from the "apple of my eye" part of their check description, but I liked it too much to not go with it! and them being an animal-like humanoid is to match Mew Mew being a catgirl, so I thought a deer suited their personality.

also, the reason their body was knitted by Chara specifically is I love the headcanon that ghosts can hear the narrator (based on Napstablook responding to their own check description), so after applying it to Swap MH I thought it'd be cute if Chara and Frisk have a close bond with the ghost family post-pacifist :'>

anyway I'm aware that they're pretty much just an OC-ified version of a canon character at this point, but like. people have been doing that with the humans, Gaster, Dess and AU Sanses for years. I am allowed one (1) Basically A Fan Character version of an existing character, as a treat

[andydrysdalerogers]

Cross-Checked ~ Chapter 16

Andy Barber x OFC Leighton "Leia" Andrews

Summary:

Andy Barber is having the best year of his life. His game is on point. It’s gets to play with his best friend and his fiancé just... dumped him?!. 

Reeling from a sudden change in status, Andy decides it’s time to just focus on hockey. Until his best friend's sister comes out with news that rock the entire organizations world., 

Andy has always carried a torch for the untouchable Leighton but in her hour of need, is now the time to shoot and score or risk getting cross - checked again? 

Warnings: Cheating (but not by the MCs); slow burn; friends to lovers eventually; SMUT!; pregnancy; jealousy; handsome goalies, evil exes...

A/N: The tag list is open!

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site, even if you give me credit. DO NOT REPOST MY FICS. Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Banners by me!

Previous: Chapter 15 ~ Unexpected

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 16 ~ A Shower Before A Storm

Leia 

28 weeks 

Have you ever had that dream where you’re running away from something but don’t have shoes on? Its like you can’t escape unless you have the shoes, but you can’t find a pair of them to save your life? 

I feel like I am in that nightmare. And all I want is to escape. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” 

“Hey beautiful.” Ignoring my choice of words, my ex-boyfriend is standing in my doorway with flowers and a smile. Flowers. And a smile. Like he hadn’t ripped my heart out and stomped on it seven months ago. “Can I come in?” 

“No.” I swallowed and tried to stop shaking.  I just keep thinking I need to stay calm. Our baby girl needs me to stay calm just like her daddy asked.  

Bret’s smile fell a little. “Lee, don’t be like that. I know we have a lot of things to talk about.  Please beautiful, just a few minutes?”  

I don’t say anything because Miranda comes around the corner. “Leia, what’s... you!” 

“Hey Miranda,” Bret flashes her his best smile.  

“Don’t,” she says, shooting him a glare. “You need to leave.”  

His face hardens. “No, I need to talk to my girl.”  

“I am NOT your girl,” I growl. I see out of the corner of my eye that Miranda is texting someone. “You need to leave. Go back to Japan, Bret.”  

Bret reached and took my hand. “No, I won’t leave until we talk Lee. I’ll be by my car.” He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles before letting go. He gently dropped the flowers on the door step and went back to his car. He stood and leaned against his car.  

“Fuck, no,” I mumbled. I turned to Miranda.  “He said he won’t leave.”  

“I heard. I texted Stella for reinforcement. She said she would bring someone to help us.” Miranda chewed her bottom lip. “I think we should call Andy and Luke.”  

“No,” I said. “They will just panic and try and leave the team.  They are in a playoff push.  If Stella’s reinforcement doesn’t help, we’ll call the police and then worry about the guys.” I rubbed my belly as my baby kicked. “Let’s just wait.”  

Miranda frowned. “It’s your call Leia. Just be calm, ok?” 

“I’m breathing and counting to relax.  I’m gonna get some water.”  

Twenty minutes later and there is another knock on my door.  Miranda opens the door this time. “Leia, please come over here.”  

I waddled as fast as I could to her. “What is it... Jeremy!” 

Low and behold, Jeremy Swayman is standing at the door with my best friend. Stella smiles. “I was working on stretches with Jeremy when Miranda texted.  What better than a six-foot two hockey player to help?” 

“Hi Leia,” he finally said, looking at my face and then my belly.  

“Hi Jeremy.” I hadn’t seen the man since New Years. I had already stopped working at the arena, so it had been about six weeks. My daughter kicks and I rub my stomach as I steady my voice. “Umm, as you can see,” I look around him, “I have an unwelcome guest in my driveway.”  

“I can’t believe this douche had the nerve to come here,” Stella said. “Can I kick him in the balls?” 

“Relax Warrior Princess,” Jeremy said, his familiar smirk on his lips.  “I’ll handle it.” He turned and walked towards Bret.   

“Stel, what the hell? Was he the best option?” Miranda, Stella and I watch as Jeremy approaches Bret and stops about five feet from him. We can’t hear anything, but we can see Bret’s face turning redder and redder. He stands up straighter, but Jeremy doesn’t move. He points to the car and then away. Bret looks like he’s about to have the vein in his neck burst before he says something else and then points to me.  

I take an involuntary step back and Jeremy sees the fear flash in my eyes.  He grabs Bret’s shirt and hauls him closer to him. Bret blanches before Jeremy lets go with force and he stumbles into the car. “Don’t look at her or come back here or contact her again,” I hear Jeremy growl out.  

Bret scrambles for the car and drives off. Jeremy doesn’t move until he sees the car round the corner and turns to face us. He gives us his signature smile. “He shouldn’t bother you anymore Leia.”  

“Thank you, Jeremy. I’m glad that nothing happened so it wouldn’t aggravate your injury.” A look flickers on his face. “Are you ok?” 

“Yeah, I just...” He ran a hand over his hair. “I know how much of a jerk I’ve been, and you don’t have to accept this right now but I’m sorry Leia. For everything.”  

“Oh.” Was not expecting this on my bingo card this year.  

“Anyways, if he comes back while the boys are gone, just call me.” He gave me his famous smile. “I’m gonna go. You look beautiful, by the way.” He turned and walked before I could get a word out.  He climbed into his car and started it, waiting.  

“He gave me a ride,” Stella says. “I’ll come back in a little bit.” She gave us both a hug and walked to the car. I watched the car go before I turned to Miranda.  

“We saw that she was wearing his sweater, right?” 

“They rushed over here Leia.”  

“I’m not saying anything, just an observation.” I headed in. “When do we tell the boys?” 

“Today.” Miranda frowned. “I’ll tell Luke and he can tell Andy.”  

“Okay.” I resigned to my fate. Andy is going to go nuclear.  

Ring! Ring! 

Miranda waited to call the boys until after the game.  Now at 1130 the next day, Andy is calling, and I don’t want to talk to him.  I know he is mad and frustrated because he wasn’t here when it happened and he’s going to blame himself.  But a teeny part of me thinks he is also mad at me, probably because I didn’t call myself.  I was too chicken to call. The ringing stops and I get a text message.  

Andy: Leia answer the phone.  

Leia: No. 

Ring! Ring! 

Andy: My queen, answer the phone 

Leia: No 

Ring! Ring! 

Andy: Leighton, answer me right now 

Leia: no, you’re gonna yell at me 

Andy: Baby I am not mad. I just need to hear that you are ok.  

Ring! Ring!  I sigh and pick up the phone. “Hello?” 

“Baby, are you ok? Is the baby ok?” 

I chewed my lips. “Yes, we’re ok.”  

I heard him sigh. “Ok, good. Did he touch you?” 

“No Andy,” my voice wobbled. “He didn’t touch me.” A lie to protect his sanity. “When I told him to leave, he said he wouldn’t and I got scared but Miranda called Stella and she was working with Jeremy, and she brought him, and Jeremy got rid of him.”  

“Jeremy? Swayman?” 

“Yeah, I don’t what he told Bret, but he left like there was a fire.”  

Andy was quiet. “That was nice of him,” he finally says. “Has Bret tried to contact you again?” 

“No but I have his number blocked, so I really don’t know.” Silent came through the line and I began to worry. “Are you mad?” 

“At you, of course not, my queen. I’m angry that he showed when I’m on a road trip. Maybe I should come home.” 

“Andy, no. This is not an emergency. I don’t think he will come back, and Jeremy said if he needs to come back, he will and make sure we’re ok. Please, everything is ok, I promise.”  

“If he shows up again while we’re gone, I’m coming home,” he replied. I start to object but he cuts me off. “It's not up for discussion, Leighton. I’m going to protect my family.” His temper was making his voice louder than normal.  

“Andy,” I whimper, the tears threatening to fall.  

“Oh baby, I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, I promise. I love you so much. I just hate that I'm not there.” 

“I know but you have to keep your head in the game ok? I love you.” In the background, I can hear people calling for Andy. He has to get to the bus that takes them to the arena. “Score me a goal, okay?” 

“I’ll do what I can, beautiful. Love you.”  

“Love you.” 

Andy 

I can’t believe that cocksucker had the balls to show up at my house to speak to my girl.  Why the fuck was he back from Japan? He hadn’t cared about Leia’s pregnancy before. Between that dipshit and her mother, I know Leia is starting to be stressed, which is not good. But I needed to deal with one thing at a time.  I pull up my contacts to make a call.  

“Hey Cap.”  

His voice is nervous.  Jeremy Swayman never got nervous, so I know that this is my fault.  “Hey Sway. I just got off the phone with Leia.”  

“Oh. She ok?” 

His tone sounded sincere, like the old Jeremy who cared for his team. It threw me for a sec. “Yeah, she and the baby are fine. Listen, I just wanted to say thank you for helping her with Bret and chasing him off.”  

“It’s not a problem.”  

“No, you didn’t have to do that. Especially with the way I have treated you lately.”  

I heard him sigh. “Look, Andy, I was a jerk and I owe Leia.”  

“Well, anyway, thanks for helping her. I hope we can talk when we get back.”  

“Sure Cap. Have a good game. FYI, Vegas’s goalie favors his left.”  

I chuckled. “Thanks Sway. See you in a few days.” I hung up and looked at Luke and Brad. “I needed to tell him thank you for protecting my girls.”  

“Are we done freezing him out, Cap?” Brad asked.  

“Yeah, we’re done. We need our team back as a family and Jeremy is a big part of that. I’ll talk to the rest of the team after the game.”  

Two Weeks Later – 30 Weeks 

“Miranda, this is amazing!” Leia is gushing at the decorations that Miranda had put up for the baby shower. It was shades of pink and gold in the balloons and streamers. A banner was up with Leia’s name and Baby Barber. I fucking love seeing that. My little girl is two months away from coming home and I couldn’t wait.  

Luke came down dressed and rolled his eyes at the banner.  “Do you know how long it took me to get that thing up? It wasn’t straight for 45 minutes.” He kissed his sister cheek.  You know I would only do this for you, right? Oof,” Miranda elbowed him in the side. “I mean, you and my love.” He smiled at Miranda, who rolled her eyes. 

I covered up a laugh as Leia giggled. “I know Lukey, thank you, it's beautiful.” Leia clapped a little. She turned to me. “Just a couple of beers right?” 

“Yes ma’am.” I kissed her softly. “I’m driving and the rest of the guys will meet me at the Red Line. I’ll be back for some cake. Love you.”  

“Love you,” she replied as Miranda took her hand and guided her into the house. 

“It looks like Barbie’s dream house blew up in here,” I tell Luke.  

“You tell Miranda no,” he replied as he climbed into my car. “Almost lost an eye.”  

I laughed as I pulled away, ready to celebrate my little one with the boys.  

Leia 

The party was in full swing with the WAGs of the team here, other friends that we had and some cousins from both of our families.  Miranda had done just a fantastic job, planning and decorating. It was pink and sparkly, exactly how I wanted it for my baby girl.  

“Have you thought of names?” Moa Ullmark had asked.  

“Names are daunting. So much pressure to get it right,” I said with a laugh. “I've been thinking of some gender-neutral names. Like Avery, James. Bailey, Cameron, Frankie. We thought of them when we didn’t know what the baby was.  I love the name Nora.  But with a girl, I guess we can get more names.” I looked at Miranda and smirked. “At least I can veto the name Luke Jr.”  

Everyone laughed. “I can’t believe your brother suggested that. Like really, this is your sister’s kid.”  

“I personally love Avery,” Katrina Marchand said.  

“And I love Nora,” Kiley McAvoy said. “Maybe you could combine them.”  

“Will it be Andrews or Barber?” Moa asked. Before I could answer I heard the doorbell ring.  “Well, we haven’t...” 

“Leia, there is someone here to see you,” someone said.  

I looked at Stella and Miranda and they both shrugged. I hauled myself to my feet and waddled to the door. As I walked over, I ran the list of people I knew and deducted that everyone that should be here, was and everyone that should have been with Andy, is. As I made it to the foyer, the image in the doorway made my blood freeze.  

“Pink was always your color, beautiful.”  

Bret stood in the doorway, a large teddy bear in and pink dress and flowers.  

I was frozen on the spot. I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. I could feel the panic starting to filter throughout my body. I guess it had been too long because Stella came looking and her face twisted in anger. “What are you doing here?” 

“I just want to talk to Leia. I promise, I’m not here to hurt her,” he said.  His face looked honest.  

I blinked.  “Umm, let’s go into the office.”  I pointed to Luke’s office.  

“Lee,” Stella grasped my elbow. “What...” 

“Call Andy,” I breathed. “Get him here.” I moved to the office. “I’m just gonna listen,” I said out loud, opened the door and waited as Bret entered the office. I closed the door and took a couple of breaths before I turned around. “What do you want, Bret?” 

“I want you and our baby. I want you to come home.”  

NEXT

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[megabuild]

can i ask for ur life series impulse thoughts again because the spirit (bdubs DL watchthrough) is haunting me again. like he doesn't do anything too awful but like. what is his deal man.

hi liau. its very funny to me you are not the first and will probably not be the last to ask me what traffic!impulse's problem is, because i seriously never talk about it or give a remote shit about him, and every time i DO talk about him i am constantly terrified an impulse main will come and get mad at me for being wrong, which i likely am. but anyway, i think you've very succinctly hit the nail on the head in your ask without even meaning it; that impulse's problem is that he doesn't do anything too awful.

3rd life and its sequels are series where all characters are at the very least morally grey. if you're doing analysis you have to take the situation somewhat realistically, and within that you must assume that while they are in a survival situation, they are still killing people or aiming to kill people, so there is never going to be a character who is completely exempt. then, above that, you have characters who closer resemble villains (though i wouldn't personally call them that) due to having more overtly "morally wrong" actions- eg. secret life scar, third life grian, limited life martyn, even last life bdubs. that isn't to say these characters are bad, but rather that their actions stretch a little further, be that due to betrayals, overzealousness, or mockery. and something special about 3rd life is that most of the time they own this. they lean into the villain role, or are self aware enough to recognise their actions are bad, but do it anyway; it gives them complexity! and in a survival game, you can understand why.

so, leading on from this, impulse's problem is precisely as you said: in a game of people who are willing to be awful, he isn't TOO awful, but is still awful enough that it grates. (full disclaimer though it should be obvious this is 100% his character- i don't know if the cc plays it like this intentionally or not, but i don't have any ill feelings towards him regardless.) frankly i think his issue is a total lack of self awareness in general that the others seem to have. impulse, beginning in 3rd life, is traitorous, an ally to all but friend to none, flitting between alliances with the goal of not committing to any of them. other characters do this, but imo they do it better- for example, etho is regularly shown as a character who is absent in his alliances, but often he doesn't pretend to be there, and it's less a goal with the expectation of betrayal but rather a part of his personality. martyn in both 3rd life and limited life is uncommitted to his alliances, but this has a satisfactory ending both times, where in 3rd life he eventually changes his mind to fight alongside ren, and in limited life where he snaps and kills his allies, eventually winning (which also ties into his longer-running lore with e&e quite well imo). impulse, on the other hand... does this okay in 3rd life, and his ending is actually very satisfying- struck down crying that bdubs was a traitor while being a traitor himself. the problem is that this continues on, even once he's moved past the idea of being a traitor, even after he commits to the southlands, into double life where he keeps. bringing it up. impulse's issue isn't that he's a bad guy, it's that he's just mildly annoying enough that it goes against the spirit of the game. in a game of people who own their villainy, not only does he not live up to being a villain, but he can't even own being a Slightly Awful guy, and that grates so much more.

ofc this creates an equally complex and interesting character to analyse but as the local bdubs enjoyer it just frustrated me to no end. a solid 70% of my issue with him probably rises instead from that, because while bdubs is also a pretty awful guy, the character at least seems to have a level of self awareness about it, knows what he wants and how to get it, and doesn't care if he has to tread on others or let himself be tread upon to get there. impulse just sort of... doesn't get that. he doesn't seem to actually act on anything, he just sort of... is. like how in double life he comments on bdubs' traitor behaviour but takes no steps to amend that or actually discuss it (likely because they're jokes from a cc perspective, but within universe, it takes a different meaning). i don't know. i really don't know man. how do i finish this post? i don't even know what the fuck i'm saying. did this make sense to anyone