#she won’t be used and will do her own thing

[jazziejax]

𝐉𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐧’ 𝐈𝐈𝐈

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Modern AU | Elias ‘Stack’ Moore x Black!OC & Elijah ‘Smoke’ Moore | Modern AU

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - A simple day turns into something much more. Tension brews, words are exchanged, and things begin to shift between old friends.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Mild language, romantic tension, use of a gun, emotional vulnerability, slight suggestiveness.

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - Part 1 of this is series is the very first time a post of mine has gotten that many likes. I’m mind blown, excited, thrilled and juts so grateful that you guys are liking this idea i literally just threw together. I’ll have to make a special chapter to express my gratitude but i hope you guys truly enjoy this, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH!!! Sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes!!!

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 13,018+

The girls had barely gotten the bags set down when a knock sounded at the door. Sinclair, baby Ryan perched on her hip, answered it with a small smile. Standing there was Smoke, Stack hanging back in the car. Smoke was looking stoic as ever, and Stack waved and offered a sheepish grin as he looked at the baby in her arms.

“Uh, left my wallet.” Stack said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Think I dropped it in one of the bags.”

Sinclair didn’t miss a beat. “Perfect. Y’all can help me real quick too.” She said, shifting Tyson to her other hip. Before Smoke could protest, she nodded toward the driveway. “Car won’t start. I was gon’ get Juicy to call Keith to take care of it, but since y’all are here…”

Juicy groaned softly behind her sister as she came from putting some of the things away in the kitchen. The last thing she wanted was to owe these two anything — they had just gotten back into town, and she wasn’t tryna look helpless. But Sinclair had already ushered them inside, thanking them sweetly before disappearing down the hall with the baby.

“I can call a tow or something.” Juicy tried weakly, crossing her arms as she followed Smoke outside. “Ain’t no need to trouble y’all—”

Stack waved her off, already heading for the hood of the car. “Ain’t no trouble. We bored anyway.” He said, flashing her a wink as he popped the latch.

Smoke was quieter, surveying the car with narrowed eyes. He glanced at Juicy once, reading her reluctance, but didn’t say anything. Just lifted the hood and started working with the tool bag so close placed on the porch before running back into to Tyson. Mary flopped down onto the porch swing beside Juicy, nudging her shoulder into her leg with a grin.

Juicy exhaled loudly and joined her, watching as the twins tinkered with the car. Occasionally, Sinclair peeked out from the doorway, shouting little updates or asking if they needed anything.

After a while, Stack called over his shoulder, “Y’all just gon’ sit there and stare?”

Juicy, ever the quick one, shrugged, trying to mask her real reason for watching. “The view ain’t so bad.” She quipped, flashing a cute, closed-lip smile.

Both men chuckled. Stack shook his head while Smoke smirked under his breath, glancing back at her with an amused, almost… intrigued look. Juicy could feel her cheeks heat up, but she played it cool, sitting back and licking at her slowly melting strawberry ice cream.

“Girl.” Mary leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper only Juicy could hear. “I’m sorry, but if that was me? I’d hop on that so fast.”

Juicy frowned, glancing sideways at her. “Huh?”

Mary gave her a look like it was obvious. “Come on, Ju. You see how they lookin’ at you. Both of ’em. Like they tryna figure out who’s gon’ get the first move. You or one of them.”

Juicy shook her head, lips pressed tight to hide a smile. “You trippin’.”She mumbled, though her heart picked up in her chest.

“Nah, you just blind.” Mary laughed, licking her own ice cream cone. “I’m just sayin’ — if you don’t do something about it, I might.” She said suggestively, nudging in the arm. Juicy just rolled her eyes, pretending she wasn’t affected, but her eyes wandered back to the driveway, watching the way Smoke leaned over the hood with his sleeves pushed up, the muscles in his forearms flexing with each turn of a wrench. Stack was no better, lounging against the side of the car, wiping sweat from his forehead with the hem of his shirt, flashing a glimpse of his abs.

Damn. She thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Mary wasn’t crazy.

After a while, since Juicy wasn’t about to let the twins work themselves to death, she brought the men out something to drink. Slipping back inside the house, she returned with a small tray balanced in her hands, setting down a cold pitcher of lemonade and a stack of bottled waters on the porch railing. She also dragged out an old, battered radio, plopping it near the steps and fiddling with the dial until it landed on a station spinning smooth R&B tracks.

Stack caught the change in atmosphere first, glancing over his shoulder and giving a low chuckle when he saw Juicy setting everything up like a little hostess. Or a nice housewife. Smoke didn’t say anything — just wiped his hands on a rag and nodded his thanks before ducking back under the hood of gray ‘96 Buick LeSabre.

Juicy and Mary settled on the porch again, bare legs swinging lightly above the ground, chatting and laughing while the twins worked. Every so often, Stack would pop his head up, teasing them about being lazy, and Juicy would shoot something back just as quick, the easy back-and-forth slipping into something more familiar. Something warmer.

“You gon’ sit there and watch all day?” Stack called out as he tightened a bolt.

Juicy rolled her eyes as she sipped at her lemonade through a straw, the corner of her mouth twitching up in a smile. “I’m minding my business, which just so happens to be that car, and making sure y’all don’t make it worse. Now get back to work, handsome.” She tossed back sweetly, flashing him a playful grin.

Both twins barked a laugh at that — Smoke shaking his head with a smirk while Stack grinned wider, flashing those gold fronts that caught the sunlight.

They were almost finished when a group of girls strutted up the sidewalk, all lip gloss and cut-off shorts, waving excitedly at Juicy and Mary.

“Y’all coming to the rink tonight?” One called, Sharee, bouncing on her toes. “It’s ladies night — free entry. And DJ Sammie’s on the music so you know it’s gon’ be poppin’!”

Juicy hesitated, letting out a questioning him and glancing sideways at Mary, who immediately nodded like a bobblehead. Juicy couldn’t help but laugh as she stood up from the wing and moved over to the porch railing.

Sensing the pause, another girl chimed in, grinning mischievously. “Keith’s gonna be there…”

That name got both Stack and Smoke’s attention. Stack looked up from under the car, wiping his hands on his jeans, while Smoke just leaned an elbow against the hood, eyes narrowed slightly as he listened.

Juicy groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t fall out. “We ain’t goin’ for Keith.” She said firmly, crossing her arms. “We goin’ for the music. And the skating.” The group of girls just giggled, but the twins kept their reactions to themselves, although the way Stack shook his head and muttered something under his breath wasn’t lost on anyone paying attention.

Just then, Smoke stepped out from under the car, grabbing the hem of his white muscle shirt and dragging it up to wipe the sweat off his face and neck. The move revealed a long stretch of carved abs and broad chest, glistening slightly under the sun.

The girls on the sidewalk went still, staring, barely trying to hide it. Mary leaned over to Juicy and whispered something that made her snort.

Smoke’s arms, chest, and abs were cut and gleaming, every muscle shifting as he moved. His expression was calm, like he didn’t even notice the sudden heavy air. But the girls noticed.

They tried — tried — to stay cool, fake texting on their phones, fiddling with their hair, pretending to stretch like they weren’t sneaking glances at every inch of him. One girl tilted her head, lips parting slightly before she caught herself and quickly turned to whisper something to her friend, who was already elbowing her back.

The whole group looked like they wanted to fan themselves but knew better than to make it obvious.

Smoke ignored the attention entirely as she turned and waked towards the porch. His focus stayed locked on Juicy as he strolled up to the porch, a confident stride. Without a word, he picked up one of the glasses she had set out and drained it in a few long gulps.

When he finished, he lowered the glass, standing close enough that Juicy had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze. The other girls might as well have disappeared.

“Can I get some more ice, please?” Smoke asked, his voice deep and steady. Juicy blinked, a little caught off guard by the way he said it — by the slow, deliberate way he spoke, like every word was dipped in syrup.

“Of course.” She said, a little softer than before, reaching out to take the empty glass from his hand.

“Thanks, ma.” He added, flashing a rare, almost boyish grin that somehow made him even more dangerous.

Juicy barely managed a nod before spinning on her heel quickly and disappearing into the house with the glass, feeling the heat creep up her neck.

Smoke watched her go for a second longer than necessary before heading back to the car without a word, his expression unreadable. Stack only laughed lowly, shaking his head as he tightened another bolt. “You got her flustered, boy.”

Smoke just smirked under his breath and leaned back under the hood. “Shut up and fix the damn car.” He muttered, but even then, there was a certain lightness to him that hadn’t been there before.

Meanwhile, on the sidewalk, the group of girls tried desperately to collect themselves, sneaking peeks at each other like who the hell are they and why haven’t we seen them before? Their excitement was bubbling under the surface, barely contained, especially knowing there was still another fine man half-hidden under the car.

Juicy came back out seconds later, filling the ice cup with water and said it down, waiting for the man to come get whenever he wanted. She saw the looks on the girls faces, and before the girls could even chime in about the fine men fixing the car, Juicy suddenly rethought what Mary had just said, realizing she didn’t like the way the newcomers were looking at Smoke and Stack. She blinked, glancing between the ogling group.

The girls were too busy stealing glances to notice Juicy’s mood shift, or even her arrival, especially as Stack slid out from under the car, sweat dripping down his bronze skin. Without a second thought, he tugged his white muscle shirt off completely, exposing his toned body to the beaming sun. He used the shirt to wipe his face, running a hand down his cornrows before slipping right back under the car like he hadn’t just stopped half the sidewalk.

Juicy felt something twist in her chest. She didn’t like this one bit. Straightening up, she forced a polite smile, her arms folding over her chest tightly.

“Okay, I’ll see y’all at the rink.” She said, voice tight but sweet.

The girls, slow to pull their attention away from the men, nodded distractedly. One of them even started to raise a finger, angled towards the men and probably about to ask something Juicy had no patience for. Before she could get a word out, Juicy was already coming down the porch steps, keeping her arms folded as she approached.

“I have to go help Mary pick out an outfit. We’ll see y’all there.”She said firmly, her tone leaving no room for further conversation.

Her smile stayed taut and polite, but her eyes sharpened a bit as she looked at the girl who’d been about to speak. The girl simply blinked and nodded. Maybe they caught on to the shift in attitude, maybe they didn’t. Either way, Juicy didn’t care.

She waved them off, watching with a hard stare until they turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

When she turned back toward the house, Mary was sitting on the porch, one brow raised knowingly. Juicy rolled her eyes at her friend’s silent teasing.

“Come on.” She huffed. “We gotta find you something to wear.”She stayed planted on the sidewalk, not bothering to head back inside since they were about to walk to Mary’s house anyway.

Mary scoffed as she stood up, amusement all over her face as she made her way down the porch. “Don’t be mad at me ’cause you’re conflicted.”

“I’m not conflicted.” Juicy snapped, arms still crossed over her chest, her bottom lip pushed out in a pout. It was a look Stack, still under the car, caught from the corner of his eye — a look that he and Smoke both secretly adored.

Stack rolled out from under the car and looked between the girls. “Where y’all going?” He asked, already pretty sure he knew from the bits of conversation he’d heard. “To Mary’s.” Juicy replied quickly, still sounding a little ticked off without even knowing why.

Stack stood up, stretching his arms over his head lazily before wiping his sweat away with the shirt still in his hand. “Okay, well, you’re not gonna walk. I’ll take you.”

Juicy frowned, confused. “Why? What about the car?”

Stack looked down at her, his gold skin glinting in the sun, cool and unaffected. “Smoke got it.” He said, simple and sure. Juicy opened her mouth, ready to argue, but Stack cut her off, stepping closer and towering over her just slightly.

“And he don’t care. He’ll be a’ight. Now walk on over to that car so we can get you girls ready for the rink tonight.” He said, more a command than a suggestion.

Juicy bit the inside of her cheek, arms pressing tighter against her stomach, trying to ignore the way her body responded to the authority in his voice. When she didn’t move, too caught up in her spiraling thoughts, Stack quirked a brow at her, waiting.

That little flick of his eyebrow snapped her out of it. She blinked, glancing away quickly, then shoved her hand out toward him. “I need the key.” She said sassily, shifting her weight onto one leg, her chin tilted up in challenge.

Stack smirked slightly and pulled the key from his low-hanging pants, dropping it into her palm. Their fingers brushed, and Juicy had to bite back a shiver at the sudden spark that zipped up her arm.

“Go.” Stack said again, his voice low, almost amused.

Juicy scoffed, even though she was already moving toward the parked car across the street. Mary fell into step beside her, grinning devilishly. “Girl, if he talked to me like that, you don’t even wanna know the things I’d be calling him. Shit you only hear in pornos.” She said, her voice loud enough to make Juicy’s face heat up.

Juicy scoffed softly but said nothing, sliding into the back seat with Mary right behind her.

“Girl, you say things you hear in pornos in regular conversation.” Juicy shot back once they were both buckled in.

Mary laughed so hard she snorted. “Exactly! That’s why I said you don’t even know what I could pull out. I got a Rolodex of words that would taint the whole Hall household if I even thought of ’em.”

Juicy scrunched up her nose playfully, a look of exaggerated disgust crossing her face. “Yo freaky ass.” She muttered. The girls’ laughter echoed in the car as Stack disappeared inside briefly, grabbing one of Martin’s spare shirts to tug on and fixing himself a glass of lemonade before joining them.

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The drive to Mary’s house didn’t take long—it never did. Just a few blocks through the old neighborhood, past houses that still had their porch swings and clotheslines, windows cracked open to let the breeze in. Stack drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the gear shift. Mary sat up from the back seat, chatting about outfit options for the rink while Juicy stayed quiet in the back seat, arms still folded, her mind split between Stack’s voice in her ear and the way her body still buzzed from it.

When Stack pulled up in front of Mary’s house, he barely shifted the car into park before he popped open his door. Juicy blinked, confused, leaning forward from the back seat. “Where are you going?” She asked, watching as Stack stepped out, the driver’s side still wide open. Her brows were drawn together, confused by his quick exit.

He paused, glancing back at her with that same half-annoyed, half-amused look that always made her want to slap him—and maybe kiss him, too, if she’d ever admit it.

“You thought I was about to sit in this hot ass car while you girls take forever to find one outfit?” He asked, brows raised like she was the one being unreasonable. “Hell no.” Before Juicy could reply, he added with a shrug, “Plus, I gotta speak to Ms. Boothe.”

That caused Juicy to scoff a little and roll her eyes, the corner of her lip twitching into a pout even she didn’t realize was there. “My bad.” She muttered, opening her door. “I was just asking.”

As she began to step out, hand on the car door, he hit her again with that low, level voice.

“Don’t slam my door.”

Juicy paused, one foot on the curb, one hand still gripping the door. She stared at him over the top of the car, unblinking. No sass. Just that locked-in eye contact that always made the air thick between them. He knew her too well. Without a word, she eased the door shut—not too soft, not too rough—just enough pressure to make sure it caught and locked, but nothing close to a slam.

Stack smiled up at her as he got out and rounded the car, locking it behind him. “And I know you’re sorry, baby.” He dded, eyes playful. “I wasn’t yelling at you.”

That smug little smirk made Juicy roll her eyes again, but there was no heat behind it now—just a flutter in her chest that she refused to acknowledge. She turned without another word and made her way up to Mary’s porch, Stack only a few paces behind her.

Mary was already up the steps and in the home, letting herself into the house as if she lived alone as she waked to her on after a quick greeting to her mother. Juicy followed suit, opening the screen door and stepping into the familiar scent of lemon oil and hot grease.

“Hi, Missy.” She called out automatically, slipping off her shoes by the door like she always did.

Missy Boothe, Mary’s mother, was in the kitchen as usual, standing over a simmering skillet and humming something old-school under her breath. At the sound of Juicy’s voice, she turned from the stove with a warm smile.

“Hey, baby.” She said, her voice honeyed and sweet.

But her eyes immediately shifted past Juicy, going wide as she spotted the tall figure behind her.

“Oh, Elias!” She practically sung, her arms already opening as she came toward him. Stack grinned and stepped into the hug with ease, like he’d done it a hundred times before—because he had.

“Hey, Ms. Missy.” He said, wrapping his arms around the petite Southern woman, careful not to smother her with his size.

She pulled back just far enough to look up at him with adoration. “Just look at you.” She fussed, eyes shining. “You’ve grown your hair out again! And that skin is just glowing, boy. You look so handsome. So grown.”

Stack chuckled low in his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’ve just been outside, Ms. Missy. That’s all the glow you’re seeing, sweat.”

“Oh, hush that modesty.” She waved him off. “You and Elijah must be doing something right. Still keeping up with your cousin?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s good.” Stack nodded, his voice softening with respect.

“That’s good. Well, you have got to come sit with me for a spell and tell me what you boys have been up to. Come on in here, let me fix you something.” She was already turning back to the kitchen, hand still gently latched around his wrist like she didn’t want him slipping away.

As she led him deeper into the house, Stack glanced back over his shoulder at Juicy. She hadn’t followed yet. She stood near the front room, watching the exchange with a small, unreadable smile on her lips. One that held warmth… and maybe just a hint of something else. A tenderness that surprised even her.

Missy Boothe was one of those women who made everyone feel like home. She’d known them since they were small children, always feeding them, always welcoming them in like they were her own. But Stack had a particular place in her heart. She’d always doted on him a little extra, claiming it was because he was so well-mannered, but Juicy suspected it was something else. Like the way his father treated him. He’d always been around. Showing up for more than just meals. Fixing things around the house. Walking Mary to the store when Missy couldn’t. Making sure her trash was taken out without even asking. That kind of presence made a mark.

She watched as Stack settled onto one of the barstools at the counter as Missy poured him a glass of sweet tea. She was talking a mile a minute now, and Stack was answering with polite hums and the occasional laugh that made his shoulders shake. Juicy watched them from the kitchen doorway, a soft smile on her face before she walked further into the house, leaving the man with the woman that adored him most.

Upstairs, Mary’s room was still the same explosion of color and chaos it had always been—posters of Dru Hill and B2K on the walls, an old Destiny’s Child CD case cracked open on the nightstand, and a tangled mess of clothes spilling from an overworked dresser. The window was cracked to let in the breeze, the lace curtains fluttering gently as the soft hum of a fan blew from the corner. It was just past noon, and the air smelled faintly of coconut oil and flat iron heat.

Juicy flopped onto Mary’s bed, laying on her stomach as she watched her friend rummage through her closet. Mary, dressed in a pink camisole and cutoff shorts, was talking to herself more than anyone, throwing tops over her shoulder and groaning dramatically.

“I swear I don’t have nothing to wear!” She exclaimed, stepping back and putting her hands on her hips.

“You have too much to wear.”Juicy countered, grabbing a red Baby Phat halter top off the bed beside her and holding it up. “You could pull this with your denim mini.” She suggested.

Mary turned and wrinkled her nose. “Girl, I wore that the last time I went out.”

“And nobody remembers but you.”

“I remember, and that’s what matters.” Mary said, then spun around with a grin. “But I know you’re not talking. You know you gon’ pull out that same lil’ rhinestone tee you always wear when you tryna be cute. The one that say ‘Spoiled’ on it.” She snickered.

Juicy narrowed her eyes, flipping her off playfully before burying her face in the comforter. “The shirts nice. Can’t help it if it makes my boobs look good.” She shrugged. Mary laughed and flopped down beside her. “Yeah, you’re tryna be cute. And make them look good for somebody.”

Juicy raised her head slowly. “What you mean?”

“I mean…” Mary’s grin grew wide and mischievous. “Keith gon’ be there tonight.”

Juicy’s face twitched—but only just. “I don’t care if Keith there.” She muttered.

“Mmmhmm.” Mary sing-songed. “You was all shy when he asked for your number last week. Actin’ like you ain’t like him back.”

“I didn’t give him my number.” Juicy mumbled, face buried in the pillow now.

“Yeah, ‘cause I was standing right there.” Mary laughed. “But I know you wanted to.”

Before Juicy could respond, the floorboards outside the room creaked. They both glanced up at the same time.

Stack leaned against the doorframe, shoulder pressed to the wood, arms folded across his chest. He hadn’t bothered knocking—he never did when it came to Mary’s house. He let his eyes trail lazily across the room until they landed on Juicy still lying on the bed, then flicked toward Mary with a lopsided grin.

“Keith, huh?” He questioned.

Juicy sat up fast, like she’d been caught red-handed. “Were you eavesdropping?” She asked.

“I just walked in.” He said, pushing off the doorframe. “Y’all was talkin’ like I wasn’t even here.”

Mary, unfazed, gave him a look. “Yeah, because you wasn’t here a second ago.”

Stack turned to Juicy, narrowing his eyes a little. “So who this Keith dude?” He asked, going back to the subject.

Juicy avoided his gaze. “Ain’t nobody important.” She shrugged.

“Seem like somebody.” His tone was light, teasing even, but there was a sharpness just beneath the surface. His eyes didn’t leave hers, though she didn’t look at him, Mary, still oblivious, perked up as she sorted through more clothes. “He’s the boy that helped us bring the sodas to some function last week, he went and picked them up for the free. Real polite. And cute too—Juicy even said it.”

“Mary…” Juicy warned, her voice low.

“What?” Mary said with a shrug. “He’s nice. You blushed when he said you smelled good.”

“You know that my favorite compliment.” The darker skinned girl mumbled, crossing her arms. Stack looked at Juicy, face unreadable and jaw ticking ever so slightly. “You like him?” He asked.

Juicy met his eyes but only for a second before glancing away, her voice suddenly clipped. “No.”

Mary snorted. “You do. You just don’t wanna admit it ‘cause he quiet and not all hard like—”

“I don’t like him.” Juicy cut her off sharply, more forcefully this time, her eyes flicking to Stack’s.

He studied her closely now, catching the shift in her tone, the way her shoulders stiffened a bit and how she wouldn’t look at him. Something about her denial felt too practiced, too deliberate. Like she wanted him to hear it, believe it—need him to.

Mary didn’t seem to notice. She was still talking, still pulling tops and jeans and accessories. But Stack… he was locked in on Juicy. And the longer she avoided his gaze, the more his protectiveness stirred.

“Just curious.” He said finally, voice dropping a notch. “I don’t know the dude. If he weird or got a rep, I need to know.”

Juicy shook her head. “He’s not weird. And he don’t got a rep.”

“So he just a regular dude… interested in you.” Stack said, stepping further into the room.

Juicy sat up straighter, furrowing her brows at him. “Yeah?” She said. “Why does that sound like a problem?”

“It doesn’t.” He said simply, but his eyes told a different story. “Just don’t like niggas coming around who ain’t got good intentions.”

“And who’s to say he don’t?”

Stack smirked a little but didn’t answer. His silence said enough.

Mary finally caught the shift in energy, turning from her closet with a raised brow. “Okay, why does it feel like y’all are arguing over a boy that neither of y’all dating?”

“I’m not arguing,” Juicy muttered, sliding off the bed. “Ain’t nobody checking for Keith.”

“Exactly.” Stack said, but softer now. His voice didn’t carry the same edge. He watched her brush past him toward the door, like she needed some air. And when she left, Mary gave Stack a look that held just the slightest suspicion.

“You ain’t never asked me about no other boy before.” She said.

Stack’s jaw flexed. “Cause you can take care of yourself. I taught you that.” He said. “She’s…I have to look out for her.” He said, but even he didn’t believe it. Not all the way.

Because when it came to Juicy, looking out always felt a little too close to holding on.

Mary finally ended up settling on a teal crop top with rhinestone straps and a pair of low-rise jeans that hugged her hips just right. After a playful back-and-forth, Juicy finally came back and Stack was back in the kitchen. Juicy claimed a vintage red mesh top with long sleeves and a white tank underneath that gave just the right ‘03 attitude. The girls had spent the last hour laughing, poking fun, dancing to 106 & Park reruns in the background, and throwing clothes across the room like it was a sport.

Mary’s room looked like a dressing tornado had touched down—tops and skirts strewn across the bed, sneakers tossed into corners, and hangers hooked on anything that could hold them. Juicy stood in front of the mirror, smoothing her hands down the borrowed crop top, a snug baby pink number she’d snagged from Mary’s drawer the moment she saw it.

“You sure you don’t want this one back?” She asked, turning with a sly smile.

Mary grinned from where she knelt on the floor, digging through a pile of shorts. “Nah, it looks better on you anyway. Plus, I’m tryna go a little tomboy cute tonight. Let folks know I got range.”

Juicy laughed and adjusted the hem of the top. “I still can’t believe you keep clothes like this tucked away. What else you got hiding in this closet, Mary Poppins?”

Mary tossed a pair of high-waisted denim shorts at her and stood. “Years of thrift and heartbreak, that’s what. You look cute, girl.” Mary said, admiring Juicy’s reflection in the mirror as she tucked one side of her shirt behind her belt loop.

“You think?” Juicy asked, checking herself out with a slight turn.

“I know. Keith might choke on his words if he see you like that.” Mary teased, bumping her with her hip.

“Don’t start.” Juicy warned, grabbing her flip phone and slipping it into her back pocket. “I’m tryna skate, not entertain.”

By the time they made it downstairs, dusk was slipping through the windows, casting the living room in a warm honey-glow. They laughed all the way down the hall, the sound of their sneakers and flip-flops echoing against the hardwood. The smell of baked chicken and cornbread drifted from the kitchen where Missy was pulling something from the oven. She was a sharp woman, always dressed even when she was home, with earrings in her ears and her hair pinned up with care.

“Where y’all headed?” She asked, glancing over her shoulder. “To the rink.”Mary answered, swinging into the kitchen to grab a bottled water. “Me and Juicy. It’s ladies’ night so we get in for free.”

Missy arched a brow, her lips already curling with suspicion. “Who all gonna be there?”

“Just us.” Mary said with a shrug. Missy turned to look directly at Juicy, a woman-to-woman kind of look, as if she knew her daughter could get a little wild sometimes, but Juicy? She trusted Juicy. Still…

Juicy stepped forward. “We’re not doing anything crazy, Missy. Just skating, maybe a slice of pizza and back before midnight.”

Missy’s eyes narrowed just slightly, still unconvinced.

That’s when Stack’s voice cut in from behind. “Me and Smoke gon’ be there too, Miss Miss.” He said smoothly. “Ain’t nothin’ gone happen to them with us around.” He was lounging against the archway, arms folded and keys twirling on one finger, decided to chime in.

Missy turned to look at him, eyes softening a bit. “You and Elijah?”He nodded, stepping into view and flashing her that easy, boyish smile. “Yes, ma’am. Promise they’ll be good.”

“Well…”She said, resting a hand on her hip and looking from Juicy to Mary and back. “As long as y’all got some backup, I don’t see no problem with it. I know Juicy’s a good girl.”

Mary rolled her eyes dramatically. “Here we go…”

Missy leaned against the counter, folding her arms. “Juicy, baby, what you been up to now that school’s out?”She asked. Juicy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Just… enjoying the break while I can. Taking it easy, having fun, you know?”

“Well, I hope not too much fun.” Missy said with a teasing tilt in her voice. Juicy groaned, throwing her head back while Mary cackled. “Missy…”

“Oh come on.” Mary waved her hand. “You know she’s not that kind of girl.”

“I know, I know.” Missy said with a nod. “But I also know how these boys around here get. They see a sweet girl like you and think they can play you.”

“I’ll be fine.” Juicy said, her tone reassuring but calm.

Missy hummed, then tilted her head. “Speaking of, how’s it goin’ with that Powers boy? What’s his name—Kevin?”

“Keith.” Juicy and Mary corrected at the same time.

Stack raised an eyebrow, cutting a look toward Juicy, as well as Mary, who avoided their eyes. “Mm.” Stack muttered under his breath, eyes sliding over Juicy’s figure.

Missy chuckled. “Right, Keith! How’s he doin’? I know he’s sweet on you. I’ve seen the way that boy look at you when he mowin’ that lawn. Almost broke his neck tryin’ to catch a glimpse.”

Juicy sighed, her smile bashful and soft as she avoided Stack’s gaze. “I think he’s doing fine.”

“You think?” Missy prodded.

Juicy shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, we’re not together. We barely even talk. He’s just… around. I don’t know why everyone’s so pressed about who I’m supposedly dating.”

“Because you’re a nice girl.” Missy said plainly, “And nice girls should have nice young men in their corner.”

“Well, I’m not interested in none of that right now,” Juicy replied gently. “I’m going to school and getting my degree. That’s the goal.”

Missy nodded thoughtfully, her tone softening. “I hear you. But don’t work so hard you forget to enjoy yourself. Everybody needs somebody in their corner. Even the strong girls.”

“I am enjoying myself.” Juicy said, her voice just as gentle.

Their eyes met for a moment, the quiet between them holding weight. Missy smiled then, a glint of pride flashing in her eyes, just before something else crossed then as she looked at the girl.

“Have you talked to your parents?” She asked after a pause.

“Mama.” Mary hissed, shooting her mom a warning look as Juicy stiffened slightly. Stack eyed the women, wondering why was going on.

“What?” Missy said, raising her hands. “I’m just asking. I talked to Serena this morning—”

“It’s okay,” Juicy cut in smoothly. “Uh, no, I haven’t spoken to them in a bit, but it’s just been… you know, school. Finals. Everything’s been a blur. I’ll reach out soon, though.” She reassured, but wanting nothing more than that part of the conversation to be over. Stack eyes the girl, seeing the way she had stiffened at the mention of her parents.

Missy hummed again, slow and understanding. “Alright. Long as you do.”She then clapped her hands once and pointed toward the door. “Now go on. Get dressed, go skate, and have some clean fun. Y’all hear me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Both girls said at the same time, heading for the door.

Missy turned to Stack on their way out. “And you better come visit me again soon. Bring Elijah with you. I got questions for that boy.”

Stack grinned. “Yes, ma’am.”

As the screen door creaked open and the sun spilled across the porch, Juicy caught herself thinking—still feeling the heat of Missy’s words, of Stack’s lingering gaze, and the weight of everything unspoken hanging between them.

════════════ ⭑.ᐟ ════════════

By the time the sun had started its lazy descent behind the neighborhood rooftops, the girls were back at Juicy’s house with Stack pulling into her driveway like he belonged there. He cut the engine, and hopped out of the car, just as Smoke came out of the Hall home, watching as Juicy and Mary dashed past him.

“We taking them to the rink now.” Stack said, watching the girls disappear into the house. He watched as Smoke’s face morphed into one of annoyance, but he continued before his brother could express his discontent verbally. “I promised Missy I’d keep an eye on them. You in? Cause I know you ain’t got none better to do.”

Smoke shot him a look. “Yeah, whatever nigga.” He said.

They crossed the street to their place, casual and unbothered, stepping into the familiar scent of cologne and laundry detergent. The music thumping faintly from Stack’s room gave the air a soft pulse while the boys got changed—nothing fancy, just fresh fits and cologne. They weren’t skating, but they weren’t about to show up looking like they didn’t belong either.

By the time they were back outside, posted in the car and waiting, the sky had shifted to blue, the street lights casting long shadows across the pavement. The car windows were rolled down halfway, the breeze just enough to cool the sweat off their necks. They didn’t say much—just let the music play and kept an eye on the house.

An hour passed before the front door opened again.

Juicy stepped out first, her curves hugged by denim jeans and a tight off-the-shoulder top the color of blush wine. Her skin caught the soft shimmer of the porch light, collarbones on display and hair done up in that effortless way that still looked like it took forever. Mary trailed after her in a cute, more sporty outfit—a cropped tee Juicy had let her borrow and a skirt with built-in shorts underneath.

Smoke leaned forward. “That’s them?” He asked, since he couldn’t quite see the door from the page her seat,

“That’s them.” Stack said with a little smile, unlocking the doors. “Hop in.” He called out to them.

The girls jogged up to the car, Juicy opening the back door on Smoke’s side with a teasing smirk. “Y’all wasn’t gon’ leave without us, right?”

“You know I wouldn’t dream of it.” Smoke said, sliding his phone into his pocket.

The ride to the rink was filled with soft music and low chatter, the windows cracked to let in the cooling night air. The city was still humming—streetlights flickering, kids biking down sidewalks, couples walking hand in hand, and the occasional honk from a car passing through a yellow light. It was summer energy—slow but charged, with laughter always somewhere in the background.

By the time they reached the rink, the parking lot was alive with it. Cars lined up like a pop-up car show—hoods open, music blasting, boys leaned back on their trunks with drinks in hand and girls circling like butterflies. The smell of hot food, cherry slushies, and lit blunts hung thick in the air. Laughter mixed with the low thrum of bass-heavy music and the metallic clang of skates hitting pavement.

Martin and the crew were already there, posted on the hoods of their cars, chopping it up like they ran the block.

“There go our people.” Smoke nodded, gesturing toward them.

“You go on.” Stack said, looking back at the girls. “We’ll meet y’all inside.”

“Say less.”Mary said, hand in hand with Juicy as she led them to the building while the men were already veering toward Martin and the crew.

Juicy and Mary stepped into the rink like they’d done it a thousand times before—confident, cute, and catching attention. Inside, the air was cooler, tinged with sweat and slushie syrup, the wooden floors gleaming under the multicolored lights that spun in slow circles above. The DJ booth was lit up, music flowing loud but smooth, classic 2000s R&B remixes with just enough bass to keep the rhythm.

Near the tables by the rink, Sharee and the girls from earlier were lounging, drinks in hand and skates already laced up, legs stretched across benches. The moment they spotted Mary and Juicy, they perked up.

“Heeyy!” Sharee waved, sliding out from behind the table with practiced ease. “Look who finally showed up.”

“You know we had to get cute first.” Juicy teased, laughing.

“You didn’t have to try that hard.” One of the other girls said, eyes sweeping Juicy’s figure. “Damn, girl.”

Mary bumped her shoulder, grinning. “Told you this top was gon’ cause a problem.”

“Let’s get you laced up.” Sharee said, already pulling them toward the counter. “The floor’s live tonight.”

Back outside, Stack and Smoke dapped up Martin and the others. They leaned against hoods slick with the day’s heat, cooling drinks in hand and shoes crisp as new, now matter the scuffs they faced from the street. A few of the guys had new cuts, fresh white tees, gold glinting under the glow of streetlamps. They talked hoops, girls, and music—nothing deep, just that loud, layered kind of conversation that could only happen between boys who’d grown up together.

“You came out with Juicy?” One of Martin’s homeboys asked them, flicking ash off his blunt. They glanced at Martin, who was too busy rubbing up on some shock to even pay attention to their conversation.

Stack shrugged. “Yeah, she’s with Mary. Promised her mama I’d keep an eye out. Plus, it ain’t nothin’ wrong with a lil rink night.”

Smoke grinned. “Girls look too good to let ‘em come alone anyway.”

Everyone laughed, the night stretching wide in front of them like a scene from a coming-of-age movie, the kind where nothing big had to happen for it to feel unforgettable.

Inside, Juicy stepped onto the rink, her body finding the rhythm easily, hips swaying as she slid across the polished wood. The girls flanked her and Mary, all of them catching the music like they were made for it. Lights danced across their skin, and for a moment, the world outside the rink—the boys, the pressure, the expectations—melted away.

And it felt good.

The rink was buzzing, the air thick with the sugary scent of concession stand snacks and body spray. Colored lights flickered overhead in lazy circles, casting moving shadows over the skating bodies below. Music thumped with a throwback beat, and the floor pulsed under the weight of roller wheels. Girls glided in tight curves, boys tried to show off, and somewhere in the chaos, Mary and Juicy were exactly where they were supposed to be—together, laughing, skating fast and carefree.

But even in the haze of fun, it didn’t take long for the cracks to show

They’d met up with Sharee and the girls by the tables again, and as soon as Juicy and Mary sat down to catch their breath, the gossip started flowing like soda from the fountain machine.

“You see what Jaleesa got on?” One girl leaned over, dragging a French-tipped nail through her hair. “I know she saw that little muffin top when she looked in the mirror.”

“Girl, don’t play.” Another snickered. “She wore that on purpose, swear she thick now ‘cause she got some new jeans.”

Juicy raised her brows, sipping from her slushie with furrowed brows. Mary met her eyes with the same familiar look—Here we go.

They listened, half-engaged, nodding here and there, but it was the same old routine. The moment one of the girls left to go say hey to someone else, she became the next topic.

“Did y’all peep how Destiny keeps skating past Keith like she don’t seem him?”

“Mmhm, and acting like she didn’t cry when he stopped messing with her.”

“She was real loud last week talking about how she ‘don’t care about no boy’—now look.”

Juicy and Mary both leaned back a little. It wasn’t like they were innocent—hell, they had sharp tongues too, but something about the girls’ energy was just off. And it’s something they peered everyone they were asking the girls they considered acquaintances. It was loud and fake and dipped in desperation. The kind of thing you could only stomach in small doses.

Mary leaned over and whispered, “They so fake. And boy-crazy. Like, get a grip.”

“Girl.” Juicy said, voice dry. “You one to talk.”

Mary laughed. “I like men. That don’t mean I’m dumb about it.”

“No,” Juicy agreed, “You just use ‘em.”

“And they love it.” Mary flipped her hair and looked over the rink like a queen surveying her kingdom. “These chicks only keep us around ‘cause dudes still be thinkin’ I’m exotic or whatever.” She said in disgust. “Only white girl they ever seen with a little edge and ass.”

Juicy smirked. “And me?”

“Please. You know why, Miss Juicy. All them boys lookin’ at you like you a prize they ain’t won yet. You know every boy in here waitin’ for you to slip up and let one of ‘em get a taste.

Juicy rolled her eyes. “That’s ‘cause I ain’t let none of ‘em hit.”

“Exactly,” Mary said with a wink. “Mystery makes ‘em drool.” She smirked, taking a sip of her drink before starting again. “And they don’t even like each other for real.”

Juicy laughed low. “Tell me about it.”

“They just keep us around for clout. Me ‘cause dudes still think I’m exotic or some shit.” Mary said, her voice only for Juicy as she scoffed in disgust.

Juicy rolled her eyes but didn’t deny it. She knew how they looked at her—especially now. She’d grown into herself, thick in the right places, cute with a touch of mystery, and still untouched. That part made them more curious. She hated it sometimes.

“You the main one they scared of.” Mary added, nudging her. “They’re trynna peep who you want and act accordingly for themselves.”

“Too bad none of ‘em will get anything from me.” Juicy said sweetly, standing up. “I need me something sweet.”

She rolled off on the carpet, coasting across the floor toward the concession stand. Her body moved with practiced grace, her skates soft against the rhythm of the music. The line was short, just two people in front of her, and soon she was at the counter, fingers tapping lightly as she placed her order.

“One strawberry cotton candy, please.” She said, already fishing out her few crumpled dollars.

And then, rolling up beside her on silent wheels, came Keith.

“Didn’t expect to see you off the floor.” He said with that easy, boyish smile that always lingered too long. Juicy looked over at him, trying not to grin but failing. “Didn’t expect to be stalked at the snack bar either.”

He laughed. “Stalked? I’m offended. This here’s just coincidence.”

“Mhm. Coincidence got you skating all the way over here, huh?” She questioned, waiting for the man to come back with her sweet treat. “I call that audacity.”

Before he could answer, the concession guy came back, handing Juicy her fluffy, pink cotton candy wrapped around a paper cone. Juicy reached into her pocket, but Keith slid his hand in first, already paying.

“Come on, Keith.” Juicy frowned, smacking his shoulder lightly. “I had that.”

“Nah, let me.” He said with a grin. “Sweet stuff for a sweet girl, ain’t that what they say?” He smirked, causing Juicy to side eye him, though the blush was undeniable. “Oh, you are so corny.”

“But you smiled, didn’t you?”

She tried not to, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “Barely.”

“So not funny, but corny and generous.” He said he said with a shrug, plucking a piece of her cotton candy before she could stop him.

“Boy, get your sticky hands out my—!” She laughed, trying to shield the candy, but he grinned through it, teasing her as they shared space there by the counter. “Oh, no sir. You didn’t even ask.”

He popped the bite in his mouth anyway, laughing. “Mmm. Tastes better when it’s yours.”

“You are triflin’.”Juicy muttered, spinning away, but she was grinning. And then, right on cue, Sammie’s voice came over the speakers, smooth as syrup and twice as slick:

“Alright, alright, alright. Y’all know what time it is—it’s 10 o’clock and that means love jams, baby. If you got you a lil somethin’ somethin’ or wanna get you a lil somethin’ somethin’—this is the part where you skate up close. We playin’ them slow ones now. Lovers only.”

The lights dimmed slightly, shifting to a warm red-and-purple glow, and the first slow song came on—“So Into You” by Tamia sliding in soft and sensual.

Keith looked over at Juicy, cotton candy still in hand, his smile tilting into something more. “You wanna skate with me?” He asked.

Juicy blinked, caught off guard. “What, like now?” She asked as she put a piece of cotton in her mouth.

He glanced at her lips as she sat and nodded. “What about my candy?” Juicy said. “I just got it. And I can’t have it in the rink.” She said, giving him a flat look, only for him to grin wider and say. “I’ll buy you another one. Maybe even two more.”

“You makin’ some big promises.” She said, eyes narrowed playfully.

“I’m good for it.” He smirked. And something about the way he said it—smooth, sure, not cocky but real—made her believe it.

She sucked her teeth, laughing. “You are somethin’ else.”

“You like it.” He said simply, holding out his hand.

“Please.” Juicy scoffed. The them look down at his hand, and she hesitated just a beat—long enough to feel that nervous flutter in her chest—but then she set her cotton candy down and took his hand, warm and sure in hers.

“Come on, Miss Hall.” He said, tugging her gently toward the rink as the beat throbbed and couples began pairing off under the dim, romantic glow.

And just like that, they rolled out together, hands locked, the world around them fading for a little while as Tamia sang softly overhead and the air spun slow with sweet summer magic.

Juicy and Keith were giggling like two kids sharing secrets, fingers laced as they rolled in unison across the floor, their skates moving in an easy rhythm.

Juicy’s cheeks were still a little pink, but it wasn’t from skating—it was from Keith leaning in too close, whispering nonsense in her ear that had her biting her lip to keep from smiling too wide. Every now and then, he tugged her hand to spin her, and though she wobbled, she laughed and let him pull her back, their fingers never losing contact.

They ignored the eyes, because there were eyes. Girls posted up by the benches, whispering and frowning behind manicured hands. Boys paused mid-glide to try and piece together who Keith was, and why Juicy—the thicker, glowing, and untouchably pretty girl—was giggling with that square. The looks were hot, heavy, and nosy, but neither of them paid it much mind. Not tonight.

Across the way, Mary had peeled off from the rink, gliding smoothly toward the concession stand with her usual sway, flipping her hair over her shoulder like she was walking a runway. Her eyes scanned the crowd lazily, but they sharpened the second she noticed a familiar figure at the entrance.

Smoke.

He walked in slow, scanning the place like he owned it, his eyes low but alert. He didn’t come to skate, not really. He’d told himself he was just checking in, that maybe Mary or Juicy needed a ride or an excuse to leave if things got too messy. But the truth was more complicated—more annoying to admit. He just wanted to see her. Juicy.

He clocked Mary first, her red lips curved into a knowing smile as she spotted him. She raised her hand and waved, but he barely gave a nod before his gaze drifted past her—to the rink.

And then he saw them.

Juicy.

And some dude.

Holding hands.

Skating like they were in a damn music video.

Smoke’s jaw tightened, not all the way, but enough that Mary caught it when she walked up beside him, sipping from Juicy’s forgotten cotton candy. “Didn’t know you were coming in tonight.” She said casually, leaning one hip against the wall.

Smoke didn’t answer right away. His eyes were locked on the couple on the rink that guy with his laid-back smile and cocky posture, Juicy with her radiant laugh and those soft brown thighs thick in her jeans as she spun around, smiling over her shoulder.

He didn’t recognize the boy. And he didn’t like that he didn’t recognize the boy.

“Who’s that?” He asked, still watching.

Mary licked a bit of cotton candy from her thumb, eyes twinkling. “Keith. We went to school with him, but he and Juicy’s dint started talking until a few months back. He been sniffin’ around since.”

“Yeah?” Smoke muttered, eyes narrowing slightly.

“She ain’t locked down with him or anything.” Mary said, a little too pleased. “Girls gotta skate with somebody.”

Smoke didn’t laugh. He crossed his arms, watching the way Keith spun Juicy one more time, then pulled her close so they glided side by side, nearly shoulder to shoulder, laughing about something only they could hear.

He wasn’t mad. Not really. But something settled low in his gut. Tight. Irritating.

He’d seen Juicy laugh before—she always had a laugh that felt like honey, thick and warm and sweet—but he hadn’t seen her laugh like that for another dude.

That was his girl.

Except she wasn’t.

He had only just gotten back and now he seemed to want this new version of Juicy he was seeing before him. He was just like every other guy, but they had history. He knew her better than she knew herself, and he wanted her before any other guy could come along and ruin the beautiful woman she was becoming.

But since he’s been back, he’s never made a move. Never said anything. Just hovered in her space like a shadow, being there when she needed him, listening when she talked, watching when she wasn’t looking. And now, someone else had slipped into the light.

Smoke’s fingers twitched at his sides.

Mary, sensing the tension, leaned in a bit. “Stack’s been askin’ about her too.“ Smoke’s head turned slowly toward her, a frown tugging at his lip. “Stack?”

She shrugged, smirking. “What can I say? She’s a catch.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared back at the rink where Juicy and Keith moved in sync, the lights reflecting off her skin like she was glowing from the inside out.

Mary nudged him. “You wait too long, Smoke, someone else gon’ scoop her up. That girl is gold. Every boy in this building got their eye on her.”

Smoke didn’t look at Mary, but his voice dropped low, quiet.

“She don’t belong to nobody.”

Mary’s smirk grew. “Not yet.” She said.

They stood in silence for a moment, watching the two on the floor finish the song, Juicy still giggling as Keith led her to the edge of the rink. He said something that made her shake her head and laugh harder, brushing his hand off her shoulder in mock annoyance.

Smoke’s fingers curled loosely into fists at his sides. The lights dimmed again, a new slow jam beginning to play. He watched Keith lean down, whisper something in her ear, and watched her smile, wide and unguarded.

Smoke didn’t move. Didn’t storm over. He wasn’t up for a show like that at the moment. But his jaw locked, and his gaze darkened, his stance quiet and unreadable. Mary tilted her head, watching him. “She ain’t picked yet, y’know.” She said, and Smoke finally glanced her way, catching the grin she was giving him. “But they sure tryna make her.”

And with that, she stepped away, cotton candy in hand, hips swaying back toward the crowd, leaving Smoke alone at the entrance, still watching Juicy like she was his favorite secret.

The music began to fade, the rink’s lights lifting into a lazy spin overhead, casting a golden shimmer across the floor. Juicy and Keith slowed to a halt, still holding hands, breathless from skating and laughing. She gave him a soft smile, her hand slipping from his fingers as they made their way off the rink, shoes tapping back onto solid ground.

Just before they could grab their seats or even decide what came next—maybe snacks, maybe a few more laps—Smoke appeared.

Before Keith could speak, before Juicy could even brace herself, Smoke’s hand wrapped gently but firmly around her wrist. He didn’t say a word, didn’t spare Keith a glance, and pulled her away as if he’d been looking for her all night.

“Hey—” Keith started, but stopped when Juicy gave him a small smile over her shoulder, eyes soft, waving her fingers as if to say, It’s okay. I know him.

She did.

Even if she didn’t always know what to do with him.

“Who is that?” Smoke asked, low and rough, not even glancing back at her as they moved. Juicy stumbled slightly on her wheels, nearly losing her balance.

She huffed. “Smoke—”

But instead of shaking him off, she reached out and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her chin just barely against his shoulder. He didn’t let go right away, but her warmth did something to him—made his grip shift, his hands finding a resting place on her hands that were placed on his abdomen as she coasted behind him. She wasn’t walking. Wasn’t skating. Just letting him pull her along like he was gravity and she was the moon.

“Why is that any of your business?” She asked, voice drowsy with irritation.

Smoke slowed a little but didn’t stop. “Because you are my business.” He said, tone flat but firm. “And I asked politely.”

Juicy sighed, eyes rolling so hard it was a miracle they didn’t fall right out her head. These twins—always in her damn orbit.

“That’s Keith.” She muttered.

Smoke veered toward one of the booths near the edge of the rink, dragging her the last few feet before sliding in without asking. She didn’t sit across from him. Not yet. She stood there, leaning her weight on the table, hovering like some storm he couldn’t ignore. Her brown skin glistened with a thin sheen of sweat, and her denim jeans gripped her thick thighs in a way that made Smoke’s gaze flick there—just for a second—before dragging itself back to her face.

“And who’s Keith?” He asked, tone deceptively neutral. Juicy blinked, arms crossed. “What do you mean, who is he?”

Smoke tilted his head, voice a little sharper now. “Who are his folks? What’s he do? How you know him?”

Juicy raised a brow. “Is he my boyfriend now?”

“That too.” He said, calm, but unblinking.

Juicy took a breath and finally plopped into the booth across from him, sliding in slow, arms still crossed beneath her chest. Her legs stretched out under the table, brushing against his.

“He’s from Clinton. The Powers people.” She began, tone clipped. “His daddy owns that car wash off Main and his mama runs the beauty shop next door. I sweep floors there on Saturdays. He’s got other folks—one granddaddy’s a preacher, the other’s a retried principle, I think. Keith’s a sophomore at Morehouse. Same year as me, but he came back for the summer.”

Smoke listened, his face unreadable, only the slow tightening of his jaw betraying how closely he was taking it all in.

Juicy kept going. “We went to Provine together. Barely talked. He played basketball. His sister was prom queen. But when he came back about a month ago, we started talking a little. Nothin’ serious. He brought his boys down to see what Mississippi life is like.”

Smoke raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“And what?”

“He your boyfriend?”

Juicy gave a dry little chuckle. “No. And I don’t think I’m interested either.”

He leaned back a little, arms stretching over the back of the booth. “What do you mean, you think?”

“I mean what I said.” Juicy’s gaze dipped for a second, her voice losing some of its edge. “He’s cool. Sweet, even. But I don’t know. Something about him feels more… friend-like.”

Smoke nodded slowly, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but didn’t. He looked up at her fully now, meeting her gaze as she halfway sat up on the table, the curve of her body framed by the light above.

Juicy tilted her head, eyeing him.

“Why are you and Stack so interested in who I’m dating, huh?” She asked, a teasing edge returning to her voice. “What? Y’all interested or something?”

Smoke didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink.

“In you?” Be asked, voice low. “Yeah.”

Juicy froze.

For a beat, she wasn’t sure she heard him right. Her lips parted, brows knitting together just slightly. “Huh?” She asked, breath quieter than before.

Smoke licked his lips, never taking his eyes off her. “You heard me.”

The air between them thickened, her heart skipping a beat even though she didn’t want it to. He was sitting there, arms stretched like he wasn’t affected, but his eyes—those deep brown eyes—were watching her like she was the only thing he saw in the whole damn rink.

She stared at him, mouth still slightly open, heart thudding against her ribs like it wanted to leap out and slap her.

And then, softly—so softly—she smiled. Not wide. Not flirty. Just… soft.

Like maybe, just maybe, she’d been waiting for him to say it. “Smoke—” Juicy began, but Mary interrupted, her voice sharp as she rushed over to them.

“Sharee’s fighting some girl outside over Jarod.”

Juicy gasped, her eyes widening. “What?”

Mary grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the large windows overlooking the parking lot. They skated over, their wheels clacking against the floor, and pressed against the glass, trying to get a clear view, Smoke right behind them.

Outside, under the harsh glow of the parking lot lights, a crowd had gathered. Sharee was in the center, her hair wild, arms flailing as she shouted at another girl. The other girl, equally animated, was yelling back, her friends trying to hold her back. The tension was palpable, the crowd’s energy feeding the chaos.

Suddenly, fists flew. Sharee lunged, grabbing the other girl’s hair, pulling her down. The crowd erupted, some cheering, others trying to intervene. Men began to get involved, pushing and shoving, the fight escalating beyond control.

Juicy’s eyes scanned the crowd, her heart pounding. She spotted one of Donavan’s boys throwing a punch at one of Martin’s homeboys. Her stomach dropped. She knew what was coming.

She gasped, stepping back from the glass. Smoke stood behind her, his eyes fixed on the scene outside.

“Where you going?” He asked, his voice low.

“Martin’s out there.” She replied, trying to remove her skates. Smoke grabbed her arm, his grip firm. “You’re not going out into that bullshit.”

“My brother’s out there; something could pop off.”She scoffed, struggling against his hold.

“And he’s a grown-ass man who can make his own decisions.” Smoke hissed, tightening his grip. “What the hell are you gonna do, huh? Stop the fight? Yell?” His voice was as fine as he stare as she looked down at her.

Juicy paused, her eyes meeting his, fire blazing within them. Before she could respond, the sharp crack of gunshots rang out. Three shots, each one louder than the last.

She gasped, turning toward the window, but Smoke pulled her down, shielding her with his body. Mary dropped beside them, her hands over her head.

The rink fell silent, the music cutting off abruptly. Screams echoed from outside and inside as people scrambled for cover. Security rushed toward the exits, trying to restore order.

Amid the chaos, a familiar voice boomed over the commotion.

“Get yo ghetto asses on with this bullshit! Get the fuck outta here before I bust every last one of you!” Stack hollered, his voice cutting through the noise.

Smoke muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. Mary peeked over the window sill, her eyes wide with fear and curiosity.

The night had taken a dark turn, the once vibrant energy now replaced with tension and fear. Juicy clung to Smoke, her heart racing, unsure of what would come next.

The parking lot quieted in slow, tense waves, the smoke of chaos still lingering in the air like the fading scent of gunpowder. Tires squealed in the distance as the last of the scattered crowd peeled off, leaving only a few clusters behind—faces tense, adrenaline high.

Stack stepped through the roller rink doors, his presence commanding even without a word. He adjusted his oversized tee, slipping his piece back into the waistband of his jeans. The music hadn’t resumed. The rink was silent now, a thick hush of unease draped over everyone still inside.

His eyes scanned the crowd until they found Juicy crouched behind one of the snack counters, her curls wild, jaw clenched. Just as he opened his mouth to ask if she was okay, she pushed past him—skates gone, socks damp on the rink floor—and made a beeline for the exit.

Smoke was leaning against the wall nearby, arms folded. He met Stack’s glance and simply shrugged.

Mary, quick to catch on, stumbled after Juicy. “Ju!” she called out, struggling to keep up with her determined pace.

But Juicy had her eyes locked on someone else.

Her feet hit the pavement outside like a warning shot. “Are you fucking crazy?!” She snapped the moment her gaze landed on Martin, who was leaning against a car, arms crossed like he hadn’t just helped set the whole block on fire, cloths a little disheveled from the brief scrap he’d gotten into.

Martin sucked his teeth, clearly over it already. “Not now, Ju.”

“Not now?” She echoed, her voice rising. Her fists were balled at her sides, brows knitted in fury. “Not now?! Nigga, it obviously is now since you and these other dumbass niggas out here startin’ shit!”

Before Martin could even respond, Smoke and Stack jogged up from behind her, Smoke with her shoes in his hands, the gravel crunching beneath their sneakers. The streetlights cast long shadows, and the night felt heavier than ever.

“What the fuck is your problem, Martin?” Juicy went on, unrelenting. “Out here fighting—for fucking what? That shit didn’t even have anything to do with you!”

Martin’s jaw twitched. His hands dropped from his chest as he stepped forward, the tension between them flaring like fire to oil. “And it definitely ain’t got shit to do with you! So just shut the fuck up!” He pulled as she walked up on her.

Juicy reeled her head back, stunned at his tone and the way he was approaching her. The insult didn’t sting so much as the threat behind it did.

“Oh, so what, nigga?” She barked. “You were gonna hit me?!”

Smoke was already stepping between them, one firm hand on Martin’s chest. “Chill, Mar.” He said evenly, nudging him back just enough to plant a line in the dirt.

Martin’s nostrils flared. “All you fucking do is butt into shit that ain’t got shit to do with you! I’m handling my shit like a grown-ass man!”

“Handling it?!” Juicy yelled, the two of them shouting over each other now. “You tryna act hard in front of these broke-ass bitches with no fucking life, huh?! These fucking bums! You gonna put your fucking hands on me, huh?! That’s what you’re doing now?!”

“Juicy,” Mary whispered, catching up and tugging on her arm. “It’s okay.” Her voice was soft, but her grip was steel. She was trying to hold the girl back, to reel her in before it really got out of hand.

But it was already too late.

“Yeah, get your bitch before she gets her ass whooped.” A voice piped up from the sidelines.

Everyone turned.

A light-skinned girl stood next to Martin, arms folded, lip gloss gleaming under the streetlight. No one remembered her name—just that she was Martin’s latest. The flavor of the month. The disrespect in her voice was enough to turn the air toxic.

Juicy’s eyes snapped to her like a trigger being pulled. “Girl, shut the fuck up. Wasn’t nobody talking to you, bitch.” She spat.

The girl straightened. “Who you calling a bitch?”

“You, bitch!”Juicy and Mary said in perfect unison.

“Martin, you better get your sister and her lil’ friend.” The girl sneered. Martin looked at her like she had just spat on his momma’s grave. “Louie, shut the fuck up and mind your damn business.”

The air cracked with tension. The vibe was off, and everyone felt it.

That one sentence set everything off again. A whole new layer of commotion buzzed to life—heated glares, muttered curses, the tension between family and outsiders now reaching a boiling point. The looks from Stack, Smoke, even Mary—all shot straight toward Louie with collective disdain.

Juicy stepped forward again, but this time Smoke grabbed her from the side, lifting her by the waist with practiced ease. “Nah, baby. That ain’t worth it.” He murmured, his voice low and soothing in her ear even as his eyes stayed locked on Martin. He was handling it—but only barely.

“Let me go!” Juicy shouted, still swinging as he hauled her backward toward the car.

Mary wasn’t far behind, shouting over her shoulder, “Nah, you better watch your fucking mouth, you tired-ass hoe!”

“Bitch, who even are you?” Juicy spat over Smoke’s shoulder.

Louie opened her mouth again, but this time Stack got involved, stepping between the girls and throwing up his hands.

“Enough!” He barked, his tone sharp, slicing through the mess. “Y’all out here lookin’ real fucking dumb right now.”

Finally, after enough huffing and yelling and near blows, Smoke and Stack wrangled the two angry girls back into the car they came in. Mary got in first, pulling Juicy in behind her while still shooting death glares at Louie.

Martin, left to handle the foolish woman he was still stupidly sleeping with, didn’t say much else. Just shook his head, muttering something under his breath while Louie scoffed and rolled her eyes, clearly still not getting it.

The parking lot fell back into uneasy silence. Whatever heat had ignited earlier had burned itself down to embers—but the damage had been done. Lines had been drawn. And Juicy, still seething as the car door shut beside her.

The ride to Mary’s place was quiet, tired but quiet, the kind that settled in after long nights full of heat and mess and words better left unsaid. Smoke sat in the backseat, gazing out of the window as he smoked while Stack drove, hands loose on the wheel. Mary leaned forward between the seats from the passenger side, breaking the silence with a soft voice.

“I’m not staying over tonight.” She said. “Gotta be up early to help my mama shop.”

Juicy, nestled in the corner behind Stack, turned her head and smiled. “Call me. I’ll come with. Ain’t got shit better to do tomorrow.”

Mary grinned. “You sure?”

“I mean, I ain’t say I was reliable. But I’ll show up.”

They both laughed, their shared chuckles easing the final moments of the evening. Mary grinned. “Bet. I’ll call you after breakfast.”

When the car pulled up in front of her place, Mary opened the door, but before she stepped out, she and Juicy leaned toward each other, pressing cheek to cheek in their usual goodbye. A sweet ritual. One kiss each side, soft like sisters.

“Be safe.” Juicy murmured.

“You too.” Mary said, her eyes flickering toward Smoke for a second before hopping out. She offered a lazy wave, then disappeared behind her gate.

The silence returned as Stack finished the drive, turning down their block, the tires crunching soft under the gravel. They pulled up in front of their house, and the car shifted into park. Juicy reached for the door handle before Stack even turned off the engine.

“I’m out.” She said, already stepping out.

“I’m gonna walk her.” Smoke told Stack, nodding toward her as he slid across the backseat and stepped out himself. Stack gave a simple nod, already leaning back in the driver’s seat, half-asleep.

It was silent as the pair walked, and it wasn’t until Juicy was halfway up the porch steps when she looked over at him. “You know you didn’t have to walk me. I’m literally right across the street.” She said. The air was cooler than before, the night settling into its stillest hour.

“I know.” Smoke said, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. “But I’m just looking out for you.”

“I don’t need that. I’m fine.” She replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

He glanced at her, lips quirking. “I don’t know. Based on today? I’m sure you can handle yourself, but I don’t know if you should.” He quipped. And Juicy let out a short laugh, her breath fogging up in the night air. “You’re a mess.”

Silence hung between them again, thicker this time. He looked at her, really looked at her—like he could see beneath the tough exterior and find the girl who once used to braid ribbons into her curls and laugh with her whole chest.

“You got a key?” Smoke asked, breaking the quiet.

She blinked, pulled from her thoughts. “Uh, yeah.” She patted down her jean pockets, checking front, then back. ”…Somewhere.”

“If you don’t, you can always crash with us.” He offered casually. “There’s more than enough room, and I don’t want you waking Sinclair trying to get someone to open up.”

She laughed again, patting her back pocket now. “It’s okay. Here it is.”

Smoke watched her pull the key ring free, his mind drifting for a second when she turned around, her figure bending just slightly to line the key up with the locc since she couldn’t see that well in the dark without her glasses.

Couldn’t feel the key with all that ass back there, he thought, mouth twitching before he quickly checked himself, eyes raising the second she turned back to him. She looked soft again. The fire from earlier was gone, her stress dimmed like the rest of the night. Her eyes glimmered in the moonlight, lashes long and glossy lips catching what little light was left. Her voice broke the moment.

“Goodnight.” She said gently.

“Goodnight.” He replied, his voice low and a little rough.

Juicy started to push the door open but hesitated, turning to look back. Smoke was already descending the steps, his shoulders broad, head ducked, like he’d made peace with leaving.

“Smoke.” She called, stopping him.

He paused on about the third step, glancing back. “Yeah?”

Juicy lingered in the doorway. Her lips parted like she had something to say, but nothing came out. Her fingers played with the edge of her jacket sleeve. He noticed her nerves instantly.

“What is it, Ju?” He asked, brow narrowing in concern and stepping one foot up.

She swallowed. “Did you mean what you said?”

Smoke blinked. “What I said?” He questioned.

“Earlier.” She began softly. “At the rink. Did you mean it?”

There was a long pause—pregnant, heavy, something sitting thick between them that neither wanted to name just yet. The kind of silence that tugged on heartstrings and made the air feel full of something tender.

“I did.” He said simply. His voice was honest. Steady.

Juicy’s eyes fluttered once. Then something cracked open inside her, soft and trembling. She stepped forward without thinking, crossing the space between them in two strides and threw her arms around his neck, her lips landing on his in a kiss that felt like a storm giving way to calm. Her feet stayed on the porch while he stood a step below her, but he reached up for her like he’d been waiting.

His hands landed on her waist, a bit of warm skin meeting his fingers where her shirt had lifted. The contact was electric, but the kiss was affectionate—slow, meaningful. Her hand curled behind his head, thumb brushing over the waves at the nape of his neck.

The kiss was tentative. It was full of the quiet ache of wanting someone for a long time but never knowing if you could say it out loud. Her lips pressed against his like they belonged there, her body warm against his as she stood a step above him. His hands found her waist instantly, skin meeting skin where her shirt had ridden up, and he breathed her in.

Juicy’s hand found the back of his head, fingers threading into his waves. The kiss deepened, languid and tender, a slow dance of mouths and want and words they couldn’t say.

When they broke apart, the need for air becoming undeniable, Smoke didn’t move—just stared into her eyes, dazed. Her gloss left a faint trace on his lips, and she looked at it before meeting his gaze again.

“I feel the same.” She whispered, rubbing her nose against his.

He blinked, stunned for a beat. Smoke didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. catching her lips again in a kiss that was heavier, needier. His hands slid lower, resting just above the swell of her ass as her own hand tugged him closer. Juicy hummed into the kiss, and he swallowed the sound like a promise.

When they broke apart again, they couldn’t stop pecking each other’s lips—one, two, three soft kisses shared like a secret. Soft, delayed kisses, forehead to forehead, breath to breath, her eyes closed, and his stayed on her. She looked peaceful, and for a second, it felt like the world had gone quiet just for them.

Finally, Juicy leaned back, her palms resting lightly on his shoulders. “Have a good night, okay?”

Smoke nodded, and so did she. She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, then turned and opened her door. Before disappearing, she looked back over her shoulder.

He was still watching her, eyes tender.

She smiled bashfully, locking the door behind her. Smoke lingered on the steps for a moment, heart still racing, lips still tingling. He exhaled through his nose, smiled to himself, and made his way back home across the street.

Everything felt different now. Everything felt like something had finally begun.

They would’ve stayed like that all night if the world would’ve let them.

But Juicy slowly pulled back, hands drifting to his shoulders. She looked into his face, eyes half-lidded and warm. “Have a good night, okay?”

Smoke nodded, his throat tight. “Yeah. You too.”

She leaned in one last time, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. He didn’t move until she slipped inside, the door closing softly behind her. She paused just before locking it, her bashful smile the last thing he saw before the bolt slid home.

Smoke stood there for a moment longer, staring at the closed door. Then he exhaled through his nose, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, and made his way across the street in silence.

@the2daily4scoop @childishgambinaax @notapradagurl7 @marley1773 @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @synsualsage @wabi-sabi1090 @jackierose902109 @simethingidk @theunsweetenedtruth @blondfortheweekend @nunya7394 @brattyfics @ramp-it-up @afrosandsweatpants @blkandchic @foxybrownsugababe @avoidthings @lovelylocs @thickemadame @greeneggsanpam @blkgirlsneedlove2 @abrienirvana @j0joworld @j0ysyndr0m3 @vile-harlot @inkdrippeddreams @imsohappyilovekbop @bbymuthaaa @susanhill @angryflowerwitch @aliensuperstvr @blackisy2k @the2daily4scoop @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @michifilmz @wabi-sabi1090 @jackierose902109 @ingeniousmindoftune @-harmonytbh @aesthetic-lyssa @yamst3rdamctrl @vaintya1

[jollyhunter]

Shower Reliever

⋆ ˚｡⋆ COUPLE Dean Winchester x f!Reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WARNINGS SMUT 18+ MDNI, established relationship, menstruating (evil cramps!!), tooth-rotting sweet fluff, mention of blood (light), Dean being dorky and cute, guided masturbation in the shower? (idk how to tag this sryyy), Dean’s misuse of a shower head as a magic wand, no use of Y/N, English isn’t my native language

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY It’s that time of the month; Cramps are tormenting you, but Dean’s there to cheer you up and look after you by giving you some relief. ♡ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 4,2k

It’s afternoon. Or maybe it’s evening.

How are you supposed to know when you’re surrounded by the bunker’s concrete and artificial light all day?

A pathetic, writhing-weeping blood sacrifice wrapped up in bed sheets like a burrito. That’s what you are. Ready to be served. Honestly, though? Big Hellhound pupper toying with your guts suddenly seems much more appealing than a day ago. At least the doggo wouldn’t take three damn days to rip your innards out.

But you won’t complain. Because right now? Things seemed oddly… okay? It’s almost suspicious.

A deep sigh of relief falls of your lips and you dare to sprawl out on the mattress. Star-fish formation. Plain ceiling staring back down at you.

You’re maybe 5 seconds into your newfound content - and then the little bitch ruins it by raking her peeler down your walls. A sharp hiss presses past your clenched teeth.

Nevermind. Here she goes again.

Peeling your uterus out from the inside. Like Lilith herself is down there, having a feast on your unborn – and very non-existent – baby.

Muffled by Dean’s pillow, you scream. Fuck that time of the month.

Why’s it always that time of the month? Again and again and again.

Why can’t you just get the period twice a year like a bitch and get on with it? It’s not like you signed up for this. In fact, you’d very much like to file a complaint.

Not that Chuck would care. “That bastard knows why he doesn’t own an uterus...” you grumble.

A hot flush shoots through your body. Wheezing takes over your breathing. The bedsheets go flying along some of the pillows you’d burrowed yourself in.

Burning up. Hot. Your body feels like your ovaries decided to have a meltdown.

You roll around the bed, aimlessly. A ball of messy hair. Entangled in the sweat-drenched pyjama you couldn’t get yourself to change from. Arms clutched around your stomach, fingers clawing at the hot-water bag which so far hasn’t done much more than give you third-degree burns and only add to the feverish heat steaming beneath your skin.

When the door to your and Dean’s bedroom opens, you can’t even bring yourself to lift your head. Instead you’re curled up like a salted snail, squirming, each and every noise escaping from you thick with pain.

“Hey baby, ‘m back…” Dean greets you from across the room, his voice dying down as he spots you on the bed just where he'd left you this morning.

Your face plants into the sheets when you double over from another stab to your uterus.

“It’s trying to kill me, Dean,” you whimper into the mattress. Dean’s face contorts at your strangled sound.

“That bad?” It’s a stupid question, and he realizes it the moment it leaves his mouth. Of course it’s bad. You look like hell.

And worst is, it’s been going like this the entire day already. First time Dean’s witnessing it from the start, too. You’d been together for a couple of months now, but you being you, you’d so far managed to slip away just in time before your period kicked down the door.

Now that you moved in with the boys in the bunker that didn’t seem an option any longer.

You watch Dean’s face harden, the way it always does when he starts to feel helpless.

Indeed, Dean could feel the frustration claw on the inside of his chest. To the point he secretly wished your state would just be the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong.

At least he would know what to do then, y’know? Clean your wounds, stitch you back together if needed – maybe it wouldn’t look as neat as when you did it, but it’d do the job – because that’s what he’s good at.

But this? He didn’t quite know how to work with this.

There’s no injury he could just patch up. No swig of whiskey to dampen the pain. No way for him to help. And watching you writhe like you were being tortured from the inside, was killing him.

He sighs. The shopping bag in his hand gets dropped to the floor and he rounds the bed to your side. A frustrated hand ruffles back his hair. His eyes taking in the battlefield you’ve caused. And they come to rest on your crumpled form, smack in the middle of it all.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart…” He mutters softly. And he means it. You know he does. The words were simple, yet you know that if he could, he’d take your pain away in a heartbeat. But he can’t. Because for some reason, despite all the supernatural crap you get to deal with on a daily basis, this isn’t an option.

Damn you Chuck.

You make a sound between a whine and a sigh at the grave conclusion, at which Dean’s eyebrows pull together.

The bed dips down beside you and next moment the warmth of his body presses against your side. He slowly runs his hand over your shoulders to rub your back in soothing circles.

“Anything I can do to make you feel better..?” he asks.

“Rip it out. Use it for your next blood sacrifice. Sell it to Crowley. I don’t care- I don’t want it no more.” You wail while crawling into his lap, your face burying into his grey shirt and the blue jacket that’s partially covering it.

“Jesus,”– Dean laughs softly, his deep voice rumbling under your cheeks –“Yeah, not happening.”

His arms wrap around you to pull you closer. The familiar smell of his fills your senses when you nuzzle your nose into the fabric of his clothes. A combination of his musk, fresh lemon and a hint of sweetness of his cologne clouds your mind.

Your muscles relax for a fraction. Melting into his heavy embrace. It’s odd how just a smell can have such a calming effect. As of right now, you wished you could just climb into his shirt, buttoned-up, and pressed flush against his body. All safe, warm and fuzzy.

But Uterus-Lilith had different plans. The sharp wince you try to bite back, doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean.

“My poor baby… C’mere…” He leans down to place a tender kiss onto your crown while he cradles you on his lap like a wounded animal.

His chin comes to rest on top of your head. Lips press against your hair. “It’ll pass… You’ll feel better soon… My brave girl…” He murmurs softly and you sigh.

Another twinge to your abdomen. Your body jolts, then caves in. Dean startles for a moment but then tightens his arms around you, pulling you up against his chest.

While he continues to rub your back, his other hand begins to card through the back of your hair. “Shhh, it’s okay… I got you…”

“It’s like the damn thing is committing sepukku.” You lament with fingers curled into his shirt. Nose buried in his chest. Trying everything to physically ground you until the cramp goes by.

At that comparison, Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and his lips twitch into a pressed smirk. “Damn it, don’t make me laugh.” His stomach contracts and shakes beneath you.

In response, a disgruntled noise gets huffed into his chest. And Dean can’t help a short, surprised snort.

“Sepukku?” He tries so hard to sound serious and to hold in his chuckles, but finally loses his battle. “Seriously?” He shakes his head lightly and his green eyes crinkle slightly when he continues to tease you, “You telling me, you got a wee little Samurai down there?”

A wee little Samurai throwing a tantrum in your uterus? Okay, that image carried a smile to your lips. Sounds a lot cooler than Lilith feeding on your unborn child.

Unfortunately the wee little Samurai was not amused and rammed it’s katana once more into your uterus.

Another jolt goes through your body. Another strangled sound follows. You burrow your face even further into his arms in hopes that his smell will just work like some narcotics.

Perhaps it’ll just knock me out when I dig my face deep enough into his shirt? A weird thought. But you guess that’s just what menstrual hormones mixed with pain does.

“Yes.” you wince, “And it failed to conceive a child,” then groan in agony, “So now it wants to punish me for it.”

Now Dean actually has to bite back a hearty laughter. “Oh, sweetie.”– he taps your head lightly with his finger –“Look on the bright side. At least we know I didn't knock you up. It's like a free monthly pregnancy test.“

That jab would have earned him a deadpan glare of yours if it wasn’t for the next attack on your inner walls and your body jerked into his arms this time.

Dean’s light-hearted expression contorts into a pained one. Jaws clenched with a twinge of guilt.

“Want me to get you some painkillers? Or – uh – maybe some whisky?” he inquires, his head tilted down in an attempt to meet your gaze. But your eyes are scrunched up, face still hidden in his bunched up shirt.

“Baby, can you look at me for a sec?” he pleads, while his hands slip underneath to cradle your chin now, coaxing you out of your den. You lift your head, just enough to meet his concerned eyes.

“None of that helps…” You mutter. Although you did wonder whether whiskey might even do the trick. Get the wee little samurai bitch a little tipsy down there, hm? Maybe it would pass out?

No – no, now you’re thinking like Dean. That’s a terrible idea.

“Imagine you’re getting stabbed in the stomach and the blade gets twisted. Repeatedly. For hours.”

Dean winces inwardly at your description. A hand instinctively clutches his stomach. He doesn’t have to imagine what that pain feels like. He knows.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to snap out of some memories from downstairs, his eyes back on you just when you writhe again with a stifled groan.

“Okay, that‘s enough. I‘m getting you off the rack,” he declares and you don’t even get the chance to react when he’s already scooping your curled up form up into his arms.

“W-what? What are you going to do, Dean?” you ask confused while he pulls you to your feet and starts leading you out the bedroom and down the bunker's hallway.

"I'm going to distract you," he replies, glancing back over his shoulder at you while he leads you to the main bathroom, "I did some digging this morning... to see what I could do to help with your period cramps, and it looks like an orgasm might do the trick."

You stop in your tracks. Quick enough for Dean to almost stumble into the bathrooms doorframe.

"N-no," you squeak, eyes wide.

"No, what? No it won't work or no you don't-"

"No, I'm fine."

"So it does work?"

"Well- uh-" you trip over your words when the heat rushes to your cheeks, "It's - it's different when I... uh..."

"Hey, it's okay. Nothing to be ashamed of," he chuckles softly and brings up his hand to cup your cheek, "Is it 'cuz of the blood? You do know I don't care about it, right? You really think I won't touch you just 'cause you're on your period?"

"No, but... it's awkward... and gross..." you mumble, eyes averted as you can feel the heat going both ways now.

Because, even if you wouldn't admit it, you did feel a bit horny. It's just one of those many fluctuating emotions a period entails. In those blessed days, it feels like your mood is being regulated by a pinball machine. And as of right now, it hit the tingling nub at the very bottom.

"Gross? Honey, I've been covered in guts, sludge, crap and all sorts of other nasty stuff. Do you honestly think a little blood's gonna phase me?" He tilts your head up to make you look at him, his lips twitch in amusement but his words are genuine, "You're not gross, sweetheart. Not to me..."

"But-" the next argument forms on your lips when he dives down to muffle them with a kiss. Your cheeks cradled by his large hands. Tender, soft, but enough to shut you up and make you melt into him.

When he finally pulls back, his plump lips still hovering inches from yours, he speaks softly.

“Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

His green eyes flick back and forth between yours, intense and yet calming. And really, how could you ever say no to him when he looks at you like you'll break his heart if you don't let him help you.

A sudden twinge in your stomach has you hunch over, and it's enough to finally convince you to let go of your tribulations with a weak nod of yours.

“Okay," you wince under your sharp exhale. The pain in your voice has Dean's hands dart down, one to your contracted stomach and one to the small of your back.

"Alright then, c'mon, sweetheart..." he mutters. Then gently guides you towards the shower after he closed and locked the door behind you.

When he notices how your teeth pull at your lower lip the way they always do when you're overthinking things, he grabs both of your hands. He squeezes them to get you to look at him, just to bestow you with one of his trademark grins. Confident, cheeky and oh so lovable.

“You trust me, right? It won't be awkward, promise. Nothing wrong with giving my girl some relief. Besides... This is purely therapeutic,” he quips and winks at you.

Once both of your clothes are piled up in a corner, you pad over the cold tiles and into the shower. Dean slides in after you, his naked body flush against your skin, his body heat a warm welcome in the cold air of the large bathroom. His arms envelop you from behind, one hand splayed out on your stomach to try and sooth your cramps, the other reaching for the shower head to pull it from its holder.

“Lean back, I got you baby,” he assures you while tugging you gently further back into his chest.

He turns on the shower, tests the temperature until it's the perfect heat and then slowly brings it down to the level of your stomach with the spray of water still pointed to the floor.

“Spread your legs a bit for me, sweetie,” he gently nudges his knee between your thighs, coaxing you into a wider stance while he continues to hum above you, “Mhm, that's it. Now just relax and lemme take care of you...”

Dean rests his chin on top of your head, the stubbles tingling your scalp as he does so. The air around you slowly begins to mix with steam while his body holds you close. Save and protected. The world reduced to just the two of you and the warmth hugging you from head to toe. Your thoughts and worries are drowned out by the rhythmic pattering of the droplets hitting the smooth shower floor as the sound echoes off of the tiled bunker walls all around you.

You feel yourself relax against him, despite the occasional, small jolts of pain which keep reminding you of that fact.

At last, a heavy sigh drops off your lips. The signal Dean has been waiting for.

He tugs at the hose, just enough to guide the water up your legs, then your thighs...

When the first jet of water hits right on your bundle of nerves, you almost buckle over with a gasped, “Oh shit-”

Your fingernails bite into the skin of his forearms, drawing a hiss from him. He moves his free hand to your hip, his grip on your squishy flesh gentle but strong. Steadying and grounding you.

“Feels good?” he asks while playing with the angle of the shower head.

You nod. Jolting whenever one of the water jets grazes your sensitive spot.

“Want me to keep goin‘?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

The hand on your hips slides over the bump on your bones and dips down between your legs. Next moment, calloused fingers slip along your folds to spread them open.

You shiver under the touch of his rough fingertips and at the feeling of him coating them in some of your arousal.

He angles the shower head slightly lower now, until a row of water jets skim your entrance. Your breath hitches. Then comes out in a shaky whimper.

Your legs start to go weak, feeling like jello.

Dean gently tugs you up again and pulls your back flush into his chest to keep you upright, making sure he's your anchor in this tidal wave of pleasure he's drowning you in.

“Just let go... that’s it…” he coos, now his head angled to nuzzle his nose against your temple.

Another shockwave travels through your body and tightens your coil even more, to the point it feels like it’s going to explode soon.

Your head drops back onto Dean‘s shoulder. Neck draped over his collarbone, just where his anti-possession tat lays. Shaky and ragged breaths mingle in the damp air of the shower.

“Just relax,” he places a kiss to your temple, his stubbles tingling the wet skin as he murmurs, “I got you.”

His fingers spread you further while he brings the shower head closer, allowing some of the water to push past your entrance.

“Oh fuck- Dean-” you gasp and whine at the same time.

„Language, young lady,“ he chides playfully, „This is purely therapeutical, remember?“

You choke on a giggle when he moves the shower head a fraction lower and the water jet grazes your sensitive nub just the right way, enough to send an intense jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Ah, so that's the magic angle, huh?” Dean laughs softly, his chest rumbling against your back.

“Uh-huh,” you manage to get out in a weak whimper as Dean's making sure to keep the right angle.

The intensity has your nerves on fire, like your core's being hooked up to electricity with hundreds of little needles tingling your most sensitive spot.

“M-move - p-please,” you beg in a shaky voice that has Dean's smile next to your cheek widen.

“Guide me,” he prompts softly, the hand on the shower head waiting for your instructions. You slip your hand along his strong arm, over the bump of his wrist, until you cover his hand with your tender fingers.

Slowly you begin to guide his hand into small, circular motions. The water jets brush your nub now from all sides, the overwhelming sensation enough to make you whimper weakly and your head loll to the side to bury your nose under his jaw.

“Too much?” he asks, his head tips to the side to look down into your eyes. You shake your head, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as they meet his. Hair’s stuck to your damp, flushed, skin, pupils blown wide, gaze intoxicated from pleasure.

The corner of his lips tugs into a smirk at your blissful expression. It's such a stark contrast to what you'd looked like moments ago when you were doubling over from pain. And if it wasn’t for the special circumstances, he’d make sure to keep you in this state all day and night. The growing pressure of his own arousal heavy against your back is evidence of his thoughts.

But this is about you now. His needs will just have to wait for – for… how long did a period even last? A day? Two? Hm, maybe if you’d feel comfortable enough, he wouldn’t need to wait this long. But one step at a time.

When your legs begin to shake, Dean presses his lips to your ear, murmuring into it, deep and hoarse from his own arousal.

“You’re doing so well for me… Now close your eyes, sweetheart. I want you to just relax and feel…”

You don't have to be told twice. The intensity is enough to make your eyes flutter close, squinting them even as your face contorts from the jolts of pleasure coursing through your body like a firework.

“Now I want you to imagine it's my mouth down there...”

While he keeps you distracted with the images he's painting in his husky voice, the hand on your folds leaves you and he reaches for the tap, increasing the water pressure.

“Y'know... the way I like to wrap my lips around you… and suck on that cute little bean 'til you're sobbing.”

“O-oh my God-” you mewl after the hard jet of water swallows your pulsing nub, causing your legs to buckle. The feeling's like a lightning bolt has just hit you. And it just keeps striking. Your other hand darts to his thigh behind you, fingernails biting into his skin in an attempt to ground you. But the jolts of pleasure set the nerves down your legs on hot white fire now, with everything from your stomach downwards tingling.

“That’s the reaction I was hoping for…” he chuckles and keeps going with his sweet words of praise somewhere outside of your clouded mind.

Images of Dean kneeling between your legs pulse under your eyelids. How his broad shoulders shove your knees apart, keeping your legs spread as they begin to fight him from the intensity of his mouth on your core. How the soft flesh of your thighs is squished under the force of his fingers, how you witness the veins on his arms pop as his muscles work relentlessly to prevent you from squirming away. How he holds your gaze the entire time, pupils blown up wide from hunger and lust as they eat away the deep emerald pools circling them.

Ragged breaths leave your lips. Another row of jolts has your body shaking in his arms. Each one driving you closer to your climax until you’re teetering on the edge. When your body begins to fight him and thrash around, Dean quickly tightens his grip around your hips to hold you in place.

He moves his lips to your temple, planting a tender kiss there, prickling stubbles brush the side of your face while he continues to talk you through it.

“You're doing so well... Let go for me, sweetheart... I've got you, I'll catch you, promise.”

Just when you feel yourself tip over, his free hand leaves your core to the constant onslaught of the circling water jets and moves it to your hand. His fingers slide between yours, intertwining them.

Then the tidal wave crashes down on you.

Dean's hand squeezes yours. The corner of his lips still pressed to your temple.

A guttural sound leaves the back of your throat when waves after waves of ecstasy course through you, enough for your knees to give in as your body goes limp.

“Oh- we goin' down?” he jokes softly as he follows your movement.

As promised, Dean catches you right after you've dropped some inches. Chuckling lightly above you as he pulls you back to your feet. Legs still shaky like a newborn foal’s.

“C'mon, bambi...” - he teases and slides the shower head back into place before he wraps both of his arms around your waist and turns you to face you with a soft smile - “…there you go.” You smile back at him, your hands finding purchase on his hips, gaze still a bit woozy.

He brushes a damp strand of hair out of your face, head tilted down to your eye-level, “Hey there, sweetie. You feeling better?”

“Yes,” you sigh, one of relief at the missing pain. At least for the moment. You melt into his embrace, feeling how your wet and naked bodies lock together like a perfect puzzle piece. “So much better.”

“Good, that’s good…” he murmurs into your hair after your forehead had dropped to his chest.

After a moment of peaceful silence, a mischievous grin creeps onto his face.

He clears his throat.

“You want me to battle that wee little samurai with my sword now?”

It takes your dazed mind a moment to catch up with his rather creative innuendo.

Once it hits you, you sputter an amused chuckle, “Please don’t.”

Dean huffs through his nose, feigning disappointment.

“Aw c’mon… Y'know, I’ve always wanted to fight a samurai… I’d make a pretty good Nathan Algren, don’t ya think?” he quips, then his lips quirk into a boyish, innocent grin as he adds, “...and my sword wouldn't mind getting bloody either.”

Now this has you raise your head to meet his cheeky expression and burst out in laughter.

“You do us both a favour and keep your mighty sword in your pants for now, you hear me? Idiot-” you playfully slap his chest, the wet sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. Dean’s grin doesn’t waver, instead his hands on your back slide down your spine until they reach your ass cheeks.

He clicks his tongue.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, s’all I’m sayin’,” he jabs softly as he pats both your ass cheeks. His eyes crinkle at the corner, and he's got a secret smile on his face, proud of how he made you not only smile, but laugh, despite the hell trip you’re on. Maybe he’s not as helpless as he thought.

His features suddenly harden, eyes narrowed as they dart down to your stomach, a pointed finger now prodding the spot below your bellybutton.

“Now back to you,” he growls, you giggle, and he has to fight to keep a straight face and his voice especially low and warning as he continues, “You leave my girl alone now. Or else I’ll personally come down there and take care of you, Tom Cruise style. You hear me you evil little bitch?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J/NOTES May Dean bring some relief to all of you poor, fellow victims of Uterus Lilith. <3

And thank you, @ambiguous-avery for your help with the correct name for the shower head lol 😌

Dean Tags List

@aylacavebear @jc-winchester @ambiguous-avery @bettystonewell @lyarr24

@ladysparkles78 @v1v1-3 @maddie0101 @livya99 @supernotnatural2005

@youdontknowe @zepskies @waynes-multiverse @123passwort

@champagnepoets @salemslostwitch @chevroletdean @multiversefanfics @toxicfataldestiny

❀ꗥ Want to join my TAG LIST? Fill out this form!

[alice-angel12x]

The Blue Knight pt. 4

The complicated heart arch

<- Part 3/ Part 5 ->

After exploring the kingdom and gathering all the shards of freedom. Pure Vanilla and co, finally regrouped with Elder fairy and Y/n at White Lily's case.

"Y/n cookie how-," Pure vanilla pauses.

Y/n looked, frazzled a bit. Their eyes stared off at something far away, and they hugged themselves.

"Are you okay? What happened?" Pure vanilla rushes over to Y/n.

"I... We... We should be focusing on the task ahead. I can tell you later," They weakly smile, as they join gingerbrave and his friends.

"Are you sure you're Okay?" Gingerbrave asked.

"I'll be alright," Y/n smiles the best she can.

Pure Vanilla turns his attention to Elder Fearie Cookie, who proceeds to explain how to help White Lily Cookie.

"We need a powerful life force," Elder Fairy Cookie disclosed.

“B-but that would mean… A cookie would have to sacrifice their own life powder?!” Pure vanilla gasps.

“It seems that way,” Y/n says slowly. “Makes sense in a way. A life for a life.”

“Magic so sinister, and yet so just,” Elder Faerie adds. “But because dark entrances cookie exists, White lily will only have half a life. And neither will be whole.”

“How is that a fair exchange?!” Pure Vanilla questions.

“You can’t have your cake and eat it too,” Y/n says as they place a hand on his shoulder.

“When white lily cookie left for the witches Banquet… She said.. If my life is the price… it is a worthy sacrifice. Use my life powder,” Pure Vanilla offers.

“No,” Y/n Cookie says sternly.

“Y/n Cookie is right!” Strawberry cookie adds.

“We need your help to fight dark enchantress cookie!” Wizard cookie jumps in.

“Don’t worry, it won’t crumble me, but only-“

“Absolutely not,” Y/n cuts him off.

“Y/n Cookie,” Pure vanilla sighs, a slight edge to his town. “White lily was willing to do whatever it takes to help cookie kind. And… And as her friend I -“

“You are also a king and a source of hope for cookie kind. You have a kingdom that relies on you. You have friends who will worry about you,” Y/n Cookie stands their ground.

“To tell you the truth, those questions bothered me for a long time. Why was it that White lily cookie had to become dark enchantress cookie. And why was there nothing I can do to help. Whether I should have insisted more on stopping her,” Pure vanilla smiles sadly.

“What white lily cookie really needed… was a friend who understood her,” Pure vanilla finishes.

“Do you understand her? Or do you think you know?” Y/n challenged.

Pure vanilla’s tightens his grip on his staff. Everyone could feel the tension between the king and his knight.

“I have the chance to meet white Lily cookie again. Not as a memory, not as a vision, not as Dark Enchantress cookie, but as the real white lily cookie,” Pure Vanilla said finally, looking Y/n in the eyes. “ This time. I won’t let her g-… I won’t let her down.”

Y/n flinches at his words. Her stubborn stance drops as her eyes threaten to tear up. Breathing in and shoving all her feelings into the basement of her mind. She huffs in as she returns her stare.

“Fine, do whatever you want… Your highness,” Y/n grumbled as they walked away.

Pure Vanilla stands still, his grip loosening. Yet he didn't find any joy this this petty victory. The hero slowly looks back as Y/n crosses their arms and rest against a tree. Their eyes closed tight, Pure Vanilla knew that was Y/n's way of holding back tears.

With a sad frown, Pure Vanilla turns to Elder fairy, ready to offer his life powder once more.

"Your knight is correct. There is still many things left for you to do. And many cookies will be counting on you. I will offer my life powder. Pure vanilla I will hold you to that promise. Don't let her down," Elder fairy interrupts.

Pure vanilla frowns sadly as the fairy king carries out the witch's ritual of life. Waking White Lily cookie from her slumber. Everyone gather in excitement as White Lily opened her eyes. Asking if she is okay, and what she last remembers.

Y/n lingers at the back of the crowd, seeing that she would be well taken care of. They decided to find a place to compose themself.

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

Y/n wandered the Fairy kingdom aimlessly, eventully wandered to the silver tree. They ran their hand against the magical trunk, when.

"Hahaha, I smell some real good Drama," A voice giggled.

Y/n jumps back as they stare in shock at the tree.

"Who was that?! Show Yourself!" Y/n shouted, searching for the source.

"You'll never be enough for that thief. His heart will always be with the white flower," the voice continued to mock.

"Wow, thanks for the sage advice," Y/n spat sarcastically.

"Am I wrong, thou?" The mocking voice chuckled. "He is a greedy little thief."

"Interesting choice of words to describe Pure Vanilla Cookie," Y/n said with an edge. "You must be Shadow Milk Cookie."

"Oooh! You're a smart little cookie, aren't you?" Shadow Milk Cooed. "But you see, Thief is the perfect word to describe that 'hero'. He only got to where he is today cause he stole MY soul jam. "

"I don't know, maybe you shouldn't have lost it," Y/n quips back.

It was silent for a bit, like Shadow Milk needed a minute to take in what was said.

"HAHAHAHA!!! A smart Alec too!! Hahahaha!" He laughs.

Y/n squints slightly, the laugh seemed forced somehow.

"You will be the first one I crumble first," Shadow Milk threatens.

Visions flash across Y/n's eyes. Shutting their eyes tight, suppressing the powers.

"We'll See," I all they say, turing to leave.

"See you soon," the voice promised.

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

continuing their mindless walk, so caught up in thought that they bump into someone.

"Oh, Sorry. I was just," Y/n pauses as they see who it was that they bumped into. "White Lily Cookie? What are you doing here?"

"Umm... Do I know you?" She asked softly.

"No, but I am friends with Gingerbrave. I'm Y/n Knight Cookie," They introduced themselves.

"Nice... To meet you," White Lily said slowly, her mind currently occupied.

"Trying to take in everything?" Y/n asked as they leaned against the bridge railing.

"Very much so. I... I ruined the world," White Lily sniffled.

"What you saw at that banquet must have been horrible," Y/n says slowly.

"Do you know why cookies were first created?" White Lily slowly asked.

"Honestly, I don't know, and it depends on the witch you're talking about." Y/n shrugs.

"Which one?" White Lily asked, confused.

"My mother, Blue Lily Cookie, told me that there are many witches. Each one is unique. Some good, some bad, others too curious." Y/n said as they looked up at the sky. "Each one had their own reason why they made cookies."

White Lily looks to the sky, too, at the endless twinkling sky.

"But that's not entirely important. For as long as I can remember, I never once met a witch to tell me why I was made. So why should I care what some giant says about me?" Y/n says.

White Lily gasped at their words, turning to them as Y/n slowly stood tall.

"What is important right now is that half of you is out there causing harm to many. What do you plan to do about it? Are you going to let Dark Enchantress and the witches determine what cookie kind is, and should be?" Y/n pauses to stare into White Lily cookie's eyes.

White Lily's eyes were filled with sorrow, regret, fear, and some determination.

"Or are you going to protect the cookies you love, and you shape your purpose," Y/n adds.

"I-.. I want-"

BOOM!

It was the tree, and a large gaping hole had formed in the trunk.

"AAAHHHH! Doesn't the fresh air feel DIVINE! I'm so sorry for keeping my audience waiting," A giant cookie said, as he pulls himself out of the hole. " But Know the wait is Over, Your Favorite jester is here. Shadow Milk Cookie."

[b1eedthefreak]

⋆ 𐙚 ̊. Blue Hair

⌇daryl dixon x reader

⌇summary: you loved daryl, he loved you, but he couldn’t let himself feel.

⌇warnings: angst angst angst

⌇word count: ~4.6k

a/n the request i got was if i could write based on the lyrics of blue hair “i guess ill just miss her, even though she isn’t really gone. things are just different.” <3 (notice how i made the title blue instead of pink? haha get it blue hair— ok ill stop..)

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It was supposed to be a simple run. A trip outside the gates for medicine, maybe some canned peaches, and whatever else they could find for the pantry. You and Daryl had done this countless times. He scouted, you kept track, made sure nothing got missed. You loved it. You loved any excuse to be near him, in the woods, on the road, or even driving back in silence with the sun warming his cheek. It was simple with him. Or maybe it used to be.

The day turned on its head somewhere between the old gas station and the back lot of a feed store. You weren’t paying attention, you saw a box of vitamins in a tipped-over cart and bent to grab it. You didn’t even hear them coming. Daryl did.

One guy had a knife pressed to your throat. Another was patting your pockets. It all ended in seconds… blood on the pavement, Daryl breathing hard, crossbow still aimed.

You looked at him with wide eyes, whispering, “I’m okay.”

But he didn’t take your hand. Didn’t ask if you were sure.

Instead, he exploded.

“What the hell were ya thinkin’?!” His voice was sharp, louder than you’d ever heard it. “You don’t ever look around, do ya? Always trailin’ after me like some damn dog. You even know how to protect yourself?”

You stood there, frozen.

“I ain’t always gonna be there, y’know!” he growled. “One day— one day I ain’t gonna make it in time. Then what?”

You said nothing.

And that was the last word between you both until you made it back to Alexandria.

The gates opened with a low groan and Aaron greeted you with a wave. “Hey! You two find anything good?”

You nodded faintly, holding a box of fruit. Daryl said nothing.

As you walked toward the pantry, Aaron clapped Daryl on the shoulder. “Man, I swear. You’re lucky. She’s sunshine.”

Daryl didn’t answer. Just turned and walked off toward the infirmary, needing space, needing anything but the echo of his own anger in his ears.

An hour passed. The sun was lower. And when he made his way back to the house you shared, the silence was deafening.

He climbed the stairs, expecting the quiet hum of your voice, maybe you brushing your hair or folding laundry like you always did when you were trying to settle your nerves.

Instead, he found you packing.

Your dresser drawers were open. Your bag half zipped. Your small stack of books was already tied together with string.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked, voice low, heart thudding in his ears.

You looked at him. Calm. Tired. Empty.

“I’m leavin’,” you said simply.

He frowned. “Leavin’? Where the hell you gonna go?”

“I’m staying in Alexandria,” you clarified softly. “Just not here.”

You picked up a blouse and folded it carefully. “Daryl… I love you. But I’ve spent every day trying to reach a version of you that won’t let me in.”

He shook his head, confused, defensive. “I let you in.”

“No,” you said, gently. “You didn’t.”

You turned to face him fully now, eyes glassy but strong.

“You won’t let yourself feel anything, not really. You carry the whole world on your shoulders and forget that maybe I want to carry some of it too. But every time you push me out. Every time you explode or shut down or pretend I’m not someone you can lean on.”

He tried to step toward you, but you stepped back.

“I understand why you are the way you are. I do. You’ve lost people. You think if you stay hard, you’ll survive. But love isn’t weakness, Daryl. And I can’t keep being a stone next to someone who’s scared to feel.”

His jaw clenched. “I have to be strong.”

“I never asked you not to be.”

“I ain’t the boyfriend you want.”

Tears were slipping down your cheeks now.

“You’re the man I want,” you whispered. “But I can’t beg you to want me the same way back.”

He raised his voice then. “I do! I just— I can’t— You want me to sit here feelin’ everything all the time? People die, alright? Everyone we know — they could be gone tomorrow! So yeah, I shut it off. I have to.”

You stepped toward him, placing your hand on his cheek.

“Then I hope one day, you realize that loving someone doesn’t kill you, Daryl. It saves you.”

You kissed his cheek and walked toward the stairs.

He followed. “Where the hell are ya goin’?!”

“I told you.”

He reached out, fingers brushing your elbow.

“Leave then,” he snapped, more out of fear than anger. “I never needed anyone! Been fine by myself!”

You paused at the door, looking back one last time. “I know.”

Then you left.

The door shut behind you.

And everything fell silent.

Daryl stood there for a long moment. Then something cracked. He stumbled back, hand in his hair, chest heaving, and knocked the side table clean over. A glass shattered. A lamp hit the floor.

He sank to his knees and cried. For the first time in years, he cried.

—

Three months later,

You still lived in Alexandria. You had your own little cottage now near the gardens. You opened a bakery with Carol’s help. Cookies, breads, muffins, it was the coziest thing in the whole community.

People smiled when they saw you. You smiled back. You were okay.

Daryl watched from afar.

He never left Alexandria, but he never tried to talk to you again either. He wasn’t sure you’d want him to. He wasn’t sure he’d even know what to say.

He passed you sometimes. Once you were helping Judith decorate cupcakes. Another time you were sweeping your porch, music playing low from a small solar radio.

You looked happy.

He tried to be happy too.

And then one day, he went on a run again. Alone.

While sitting around a fire with a few good people they’d met, someone asked, “You ever lose someone?”

He stared at the flames for a long moment.

“Yeah,” he said finally. “I did. I miss her.”

“What happened?”

He paused. Picked at the label of a water bottle.

“She ain’t really gone,” he said, voice rough. “But things’re just… different now.”

He didn’t say your name. He didn’t have to.

The fire cracked, and Daryl sat back.

And somewhere, deep down, he wished he’d just let himself feel.

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[millerskitty]

Running If You Call My Name

❥ dbf!joel / f!reader x joel miller

❥ (18+) nsfw

❥ reader insert

❥ medium burn, no outbreak au. some timelines are changed to fit the story.

dividers by @/saradika !

warnings: angst

word count: 1k

author’s note: thank you so much for the love on this story, i’m so excited to share it with you. sorry for the angst ahaha, i love a good cry. let me know if you’d like to be on the tag list for upcoming chapters!

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4

Chapter 5

There were no words to describe everything you were feeling when you’d gotten home. You’d slammed the door behind you, and dropped down onto your bed, sobbing. You took your own advice and felt your feelings. All of them. Jealousy, anger, and disappointment coursed through you.

You hated knowing that he’d been with someone else. You tried not to imagine the woman who was probably not much older than you touching him.

You knew you had no right to judge Joel for having needs, God knew you needed to get laid and soon. You replayed his comment about Caleb. He knew his name, Caleb had been mentioned several times in conversations between you and Pop while Joel was present, trying to pretend he didn’t hear a word you’d said about your new boyfriend. You found it amusing that Joel would go out of his way to say the wrong name. To pretend he didn’t give a shit.

You weren’t officially exclusive with Caleb, but he was the only person you were dating. It was easy with Caleb, he was everything that Joel wasn’t—and yet, that wasn’t enough to make you walk away from this thing you had with Joel. You should have wanted to be with the person who wasn’t afraid of loving you.

Your phone buzzed, snapping you away from your thoughts. “What was that really about?” Sarah asked over text.

“Nothing, just a misunderstanding.”

“Not fair, tell me.”

“Really, nothing to worry about.”

“I just got cheated on.” She said with a puppy face emoji.

You groaned. You couldn’t deny the ‘cheated on’ card. You wondered if you should tell her the truth. You wondered if you had the right to tell her that you’d been slightly involved with her father.

“Fine. Come over in an hour and I’ll take a turn on the soapbox,” you replied, running a bath to soak the heaviness off of yourself.

~

Sarah arrived while you were in the bath, making herself comfortable in the living room, nibbling on a muffin and watching reality TV. When you took a seat beside her, she turned the TV off and faced you, giving you her undivided attention.

“Holy shit, Bug, you’re gonna make me nervous.” You said, chuckling and sitting criss crossed.

“Oh my god. Just tell me!” Sarah said, rolling her eyes and stuffing a chunk of muffin into her mouth.

“It’s complicated.”

“My favorite.” She half smiled with her mouth full.

“Well, your father and I…” You stalled, trying to find the words.

“Uh huh…” Her eyes were now nearly bulging from her head.

“Sarah!” You playfully smacked her knee. “God, I don’t know how to say this.”

“Use words and sentences maybe.” She was her father’s daughter, you had to give her that.

“I sort of developed a crush on your dad. It started almost a year ago.”

Sarah looked completely unfazed. “Okay and then?”

“What? You’re not upset?” You asked, shocked.

“No, that was obvious, but what happened next?” She said, cruising right past your breaking news.

You blinked in confusion, but continued on, “I mean, I was almost sure that he wanted me, but then he rejected me. Twice.”

“Y’ouch. We should kick his ass.” She said, popping the last piece of muffin into her mouth.

“Girl, it's nothing compared to what’s happening to you.”

“Shhh, don’t change the subject.” She said, “Uncle Tommy and I had a bet going that you two would eventually get together.”

“What?” You shouted. “Rude. Who is winning then?”

“No one, we both bet on the same thing.” She shrugged. “So why do you think he rejected you?”

“He said he won’t upset my father by being with me.”

“Pfft, what a cop out,” Sarah said.

“I’m saying! I know my dad is protective, but he cares about my happiness the most.”

“As he should,” Sarah said, turning to face you. “Well, he hasn’t been okay for a few months. He’s been grouchy. I think that’s why he brings that chick over.”

“Do you think they’re serious?” You asked, bracing for a dose of Sarah’s usual brutal honesty.

“No, she’s just some chick he brings over at night and he makes her leave before I wake up. But he doesn’t know that I’m privy to their shenanigans. And I don’t like her. She leaves gross knots of red hair in the shower. I don’t think dad really likes her either. She’s just there when he’s lonely, I guess.”

Your stomach started to hurt, a combination of confusion and jealousy bubbling within you. “I don’t know what to say. I can’t change his mind. And I have Caleb now. I can’t move forward if I’m still looking back.”

“I think you should talk to him.”

“What makes you think he wants to talk to me?”

”Because he kicked that woman out and stormed back into his room and started tossing shit around all loud and moody.” Sarah said, standing to leave.

“I don’t know if we can recover from what just happened.”

You hear Pop pull into the driveway, his truck humming loud followed by the slam of the door. ”Okay, I’ll think about it.” You said, trying to wipe the sadness from your face before Pop saw it and started to pry.

Pop held the door for Sarah as she left, “Good morning Sarah!” He said enthusiastically. Church always put the pep right back in his step after a long week.

“Hi, puppy, what’s wrong?” Pop affectionately asked you.

“Nothing, just had some girl talk with Sarah.”

Pop was holding a paper bag, likely full of sweet breads from the ladies at church. He threw up his free hand in mock surrender. “Don’t wanna know!” He said, heading to the kitchen.

You slumped down into the couch, throwing an arm over your face. You recalled a time when things were much simpler. Before you knew what Joel’s kiss tasted like. Before you knew what his big, strong hands felt like. You turned around, burying your face into a pillow and willing yourself to sleep it off.

tag list: @foxin5billion

[pillow-coded]

To Have and To Hold — Chapter 4

Summary: After weeks of rainchecks, Spencer invites Reader and Maddie to a museum. Flowers, dinosaur facts, and a shared afternoon paintings lead to quiet feelings neither of them are ready to name.

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Slow Burn Series (NSFW, 18+)

Content Warning: A sickening amount of fluff, Emotional vulnerability, brief discussions of fear of commitment, soft angst.

Word Count: 6.2k

A/N: The upcoming week is final exams week, so I probably won’t have any time to write until Friday, so enjoy this one because the next chapter might take a while.

Series Masterlist

I hadn’t meant for it to become a habit.

But over the past few weeks, texting Spencer had become the quiet part of my day I looked forward to the most. Sometimes it was Maddie-related—funny things she said, books she liked, questions she asked that I didn’t know how to answer. Sometimes it was just… thoughts. A passing detail. A photo. A line from something I was reading that I thought he’d appreciate.

He always replied. Not immediately, but reliably. Like clockwork.

Sometimes, he even started the conversation. He’d send a picture of a book and caption it, “This reminded me of Maddie,” or text me out of nowhere just to make plans. And every time my phone lit up with his name, something in me would still flutter a little. Stupid, I know. But it did.

Honestly, I thought that would be the end of it—after that moment.

The woman in the café had smiled at us so innocently when she said it��“You guys make a cute family.” Like it was a compliment. Like she hadn’t just dropped a live grenade on the table between us.

Spencer had gone quiet. I had definitely paled. And Maddie, bless her, just beamed like it was the most obvious truth in the world.

The silence afterward only lasted a couple of days, but it was long enough for me to spiral. I was convinced I’d ruined whatever fragile, gentle thing we were building. That maybe I’d let things feel too comfortable. Let the illusion get too close to something real.

But then he texted.

No mention of it. No awkwardness. Just a quiet message asking if we were free for lunch. Like nothing had happened.

Like he didn’t mind the way Maddie clung to his hand.

Like he hadn’t noticed the way I looked at him a little too long when I thought he wasn’t paying attention.

Since then, we’d gone on a few more outings. Parks. Coffee shops. A kid-friendly restaurant with a giant chalkboard wall Maddie still talks about. She always wanted to come along, and I never had the heart to say no. I couldn’t just leave her behind—wouldn’t leave her behind. Spencer never once asked me to.

Still, it all stayed... spaced out. Like we were dancing around something neither of us could name. Like we were orbiting each other on our own time zones.

And maybe that was okay.

Maybe that was safer.

Because the truth is, I still haven’t learned much about him. He’s good at steering conversations away from himself without ever making it feel like he’s hiding something. But I can feel it—there are parts of him I’m not allowed to see yet. Parts he’s still keeping folded up in the quiet. All I really know is that his name is Spencer, he likes reading, he knows magic tricks, and he wears mismatched socks. Maddie started doing that too, ever since he told her it was lucky.

But I want to know more.

And that… that’s the scary part.

It’s one thing to text. To share pancakes and crayon drawings and small talk.

It’s another thing entirely to let someone in.

And it’s not just me. It’s Maddie too. Bringing someone into our life means giving them a seat at the table we built from scratch. It means risk. Change. The kind of hope that creeps in slowly and then dares to stay.

I don’t know what Spencer wants.

But I know how I feel when I’m around him.

And that’s what scares me the most.

Because I can feel myself inching toward something I haven’t let myself want in a long time. Something soft. Something safe. Something that could break if I held it too tightly—or worse, if I let it go too soon.

And lately, with each little pause between messages, with every canceled plan, I’d started to wonder if maybe I was imagining it. If I’d read too much into a handful of slow afternoons and a few gentle smiles.

After the third reschedule in a row, I’d braced for the silence. I thought maybe that was it. That he’d let things fade the quiet way people do when they don’t know how to say goodbye.

But then, last week, his name lit up my phone.

[21:06] Spencer: I owe you both a raincheck or two…

[21:06] Spencer: Any chance Maddie likes museums?

Maddie had been counting down the days.

Literally. She made me draw boxes on the calendar so she could “X” them out every morning. And today? Today, she was vibrating.

She hadn’t stopped talking since she woke up—about the museum, about what she would wear, about whether Spencer would bring his magic tricks (I told her probably not, but she packed two small toys and a glitter pen in case she could convince him).

Getting her ready was a challenge. Every pair of socks was the wrong socks, every braid was too tight or too fuzzy, and somewhere in between breakfast and the meltdown about her shoes, I’d forgotten to get myself dressed.

By the time I finally did, I had seven minutes to spare, hair still damp, mascara uneven, Maddie sitting cross-legged on the couch in a sparkly skirt and mismatched socks, humming a song I didn’t recognize.

We were waiting in the living room when the doorbell rang.

Not a text. Not a honk. Not a call.

He rang the doorbell.

I blinked—thrown for a second. Every guy I’d ever gone out with sent a “here” text at best. One even asked me to meet him at the curb because he didn’t want to parallel park.

But Spencer? He got out of the car. Came to the door. And waited.

And it sounds stupid—maybe it is stupid—but something about that simple act made my chest tighten. Like I'd spent so long lowering my expectations that I forgot how to react when someone raised them without being asked.

I opened the door, still half-wrestling Maddie into her jacket, and froze.

He was holding flowers.

A handful of them. Nothing showy. Nothing polished. They weren’t wrapped in cellophane or tied with a bow. They looked like he’d picked them carefully, worrying if they said too much—or not enough.

It wasn’t supposed to matter. It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

It mattered more than I wanted to admit.

Because no one brings flowers when they think you’re temporary. No one shows up like this unless they mean it—even if they don’t know they mean it yet.

For a second, my heart was too loud in my ears. I barely heard my own voice when I asked, “Are those for me?”

Spencer looked at the bouquet, like he’d just remembered he was holding them, then back up at me with this almost-bashful expression.

“Uh—they’re for both of you,” he said.

It wasn't smooth.

It wasn't practiced.

But it was real.

And it unraveled something small and secret inside me.

Maddie gasped beside me, clapping her hands. “I love flowers!”

Spencer smiled, relieved. “I hoped you might.”

We stepped out together, closing the door behind us. I held Maddie’s hand in one and the bouquet in the other, feeling strangely, stupidly off-balance.

He opened the passenger door for me. Not in that showy, performative way—just... quietly. Thoughtfully. Like it occurred to him that I might appreciate it, and so he did it.

I helped Maddie into the backseat, buckled her in while she mumbled something about wanting to see “real dinosaur bones,” and handed her the flowers to hold on the ride there. She clutched them carefully with sticky fingers and sleepy reverence, like they were a gift from royalty.

Spencer rounded the front of the car, still fiddling with the keys in his hand. He hadn’t said much since the door. Just smiled that small, nervous smile like he didn’t want to scare the moment away.

I slid into the passenger seat, heart still unsettled. Still processing the fact that someone had shown up for me—not just shown up, but done it kindly. Gently. Like I was someone worth showing up for.

He climbed in a second later and shut the door behind him with a soft click.

The drive was quiet at first.

Not uncomfortable—just… still.

Spencer had one hand on the wheel, the other resting awkwardly on his knee like he wasn’t sure where to put it. He kept his eyes on the road, focused, but every so often I’d catch the flick of his gaze in my direction. Quick, subtle. Like he wanted to say something and wasn’t sure if now was the time.

Maddie was humming in the backseat, still cradling the flowers in her lap like they were made of glass. She’d calmed down a little now that we were on route, her excitement softened by the slow lull of the car.

I’d been too in my head to speak.

Too focused on the weight of the morning—on how different it all felt. On the fact that Spencer had shown up. That he hadn’t honked or texted or waited in the car, but had come to the door, flowers in hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t. Not for me.

People don’t usually show up like that.

Not in my world.

Most of the time, it was all me. Me getting Maddie dressed, packed, calm, fed, out the door. Me smiling through exhaustion. Me covering up the gaps, the silences, the absences. Every date I’d ever gone on before had started with me calculating how much I was going to have to explain—and how little I could afford to feel.

But Spencer didn’t ask for anything. He just… arrived. Quiet. Awkward. Thoughtful. The way someone does when they’re not trying to impress you—just trying to be honest.

And that scared me more than any grand gesture ever could.

I kept staring out the window, pretending I wasn’t overwhelmed, when Maddie’s voice cut through the quiet from the backseat.

"Spencer... have you ever seen real dinosaur bones before?"

He glanced at her in the rearview mirror, smiling faintly. "I have. A long time ago."

Maddie gasped, clutching the bouquet tighter. "Were they huge?"

Spencer chuckled under his breath, the sound low and warm. "Bigger than this car."

Maddie let out a soft whoa, completely awed, and went back to staring out the window like she was preparing herself for greatness.

I watched the exchange quietly, something knotting up and unfurling in my chest at the same time.

He didn’t talk to her like she was a kid he had to tolerate.

He didn’t talk down to her, didn’t correct her, didn’t rush to change the subject back to the adults in the room.

He answered her. Carefully, Thoughtfully. Like her questions deserved real answers. It was such a small thing, barely a ripple in the morning.

But to me... it felt enormous.

Because if there was one thing I'd learned in four years of doing this alone, it was that small things never stay small. They grow roots. They make space.

And somewhere deep inside me, in a place I'd spent a long time pretending wasn't empty, I could feel something beginning to take root.

“Mommy, did you bring my notebook?” Maddie piped up from the backseat, her voice pulling me gently out of my thoughts.

I smiled, twisting slightly in my seat to glance at her. “Yes, sweetheart. And your flower pen too.”

Spencer’s eyes flicked toward me, curious. “Notebook?”

“She likes to take notes,” I explained, trying not to sound as fond as I felt. “Drawings, mostly. But sometimes it’s very important information. Like how many birds she sees at the park, or which dinosaur skeleton is her favorite.”

Maddie beamed like I’d just announced her life's greatest achievements. “I'm gonna write all the dinosaur names today.”

Spencer chuckled, his hands steady on the wheel. “That sounds like serious work.”

“It is,” Maddie said, very seriously. “I’m gonna be a dinoscientist.”

I bit back a laugh. “Paleontologist, baby.”

“That too.”

Spencer smiled wider, a soft huff of breath escaping him. “Dinoscientist has a nice ring to it.”

I leaned my head back against the seat, the corners of my mouth still tugged up, and watched the city slip past the window.

And for the first time in a long time, I let myself be still.

Not anxious. Just... here in this car. With Maddie humming to herself, and Spencer glancing over at me like maybe—just maybe—he was feeling the same thing I was.

The car rolled forward through the city, the hum of the tires against the pavement filling the spaces between us.

Maddie kept herself busy in the backseat, whispering to her notebook, practicing how she was going to introduce herself to the dinosaur bones. Every so often, I'd catch snippets of her "speech" — mostly promises to take good care of them if they needed it, and an offer to let them live in our apartment if they ever got tired of the museum.

Spencer chuckled quietly under his breath once or twice, but he didn’t interrupt her.

He just listened. Like what she was saying mattered.

And every time I caught him smiling to himself, it felt like something small and tender tugging at the edges of my heart.

The city slowly gave way to wider streets, older buildings, familiar signs. We were getting close now. Maddie must've sensed it too, because she started bouncing lightly in her seat, hugging her notebook to her chest.

“We’re almost there, right?” she asked, practically buzzing with excitement.

Spencer glanced at her in the rearview mirror and nodded. “Just a few more minutes.”

She squealed, kicking her feet a little.

“Maddie,” I said, fighting a smile. “Put your seatbelt back on.”

She huffed in that way only a five-year-old could, but obediently clicked the buckle back into place, clutching her notebook tighter like it might launch itself out the window if she let it go.

Spencer glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, his mouth twitching like he was trying not to laugh. Like he was soaking all of it in — the little chaos, the energy, the way the air inside the car felt full in a way that had nothing to do with noise.

And me?

I was soaking him in too.

The careful way he drove. The way he tilted the rearview mirror so he could see her better. The way he didn't act like any of this was too much.

I wasn’t used to that. I wasn’t used to someone easing into my world without me having to make all the room.

He didn’t look out of place here. Not next to me, Not in this car. Not with Maddie babbling about dinosaurs and pens and flower bouquets.

He looked... right. Like he belonged.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, I didn’t feel like I was dragging someone into my life.

It felt like maybe—just maybe—someone was choosing to step into it on their own.

Spencer turned into a side street, the museum parking lot coming into view just ahead.

Maddie gasped the second she saw the giant banners hanging from the front entrance—one with a T-Rex, another with a sprawling star map—and I swear her whole body lit up like a firecracker.

“We’re here!” she cried, already reaching for the door handle.

I laughed again and reached back to steady her. “Hold on, baby. Let’s park first.”

Beside me, Spencer just smiled. Small. Soft. Like maybe he was feeling it too.

Maybe he was a little dazzled too.

As we pulled into the museum parking lot, Maddie’s excitement practically boiled over. She bounced in her seat, craning her neck to look up at the enormous banners fluttering over the entrance.

“There’s a real T-Rex in there!” she squealed.

Spencer chuckled, turning off the engine and shifting in his seat.

I unbuckled and turned around to check her straps, but she was already wriggling free, too excited to stay put.

“Alright, adventurer,” I said, laughing as I grabbed my bag. “Just remember you can’t actually touch the bones, okay sweetie?”

She nodded fiercely, already halfway to the door.

Spencer got out first, rounding the car without hesitation, and opened Maddie’s door for her with the same easy gentleness he’d shown all morning.

No grand gestures. No heavy-handed attempts to impress.

Just a man, showing up.

And somehow, that meant more than anything he could’ve said.

The dinosaur exhibit was exactly the kind of chaos you expect when you mix kids and ancient bones.

Maddie darted from display to display, her notebook clutched to her chest, peppering Spencer with a steady stream of questions he answered with more patience than I thought humanly possible.

We spent nearly two hours winding through towering skeletons, reconstructed habitats, interactive fossil digs. Maddie was determined to "catalogue" every dinosaur in existence, and by the end of it, even Spencer looked a little overwhelmed.

I thought that would be the end of the day—grab a juice box, head back to the car, call it a win.

But just as we were making our way toward the exit, Maddie spotted a set of signs advertising a newly opened exhibition upstairs.

Gustav Klimt.

My heart stuttered a little.

“Mommy that’s your favorite isn’t it?”

Maddie chirped, tugging at my hand.

I froze for half a second, caught between a smile and something heavier.

It wasn’t something I talked about much—art, favorites, the pieces of myself that existed outside of work and grocery lists and getting Maddie to preschool on time.

Spencer looked at me curiously, waiting for me to confirm or deny.

I cleared my throat. “Yeah,” I said, a little more quietly than I intended. “He’s… always been my favorite.”

Spencer’s mouth tugged up at the corner in a soft smile. “Then we should go.”

He glanced at the sign, adjusting the strap of the bag he'd offered to carry without asking, then looked down at Maddie. "You up for one more room, kiddo?"

As soon as we stepped into the Klimt exhibition, Maddie practically vibrated with excitement. She clutched her little notebook to her chest and announced, loud enough to earn a few amused glances, that she was going to copy all the paintings.

"Can I, Mommy? Please?" she asked, already bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The gallery was wide and open, the flow of people calm and easy to track. After a quick sweep of the room, Y/N gave a soft laugh and nodded. "Stay where we can see you."

Maddie took off without hesitation, setting up camp in front of the nearest painting with her crayon poised like a little scholar.

We found a bench nearby, where Y/N and I sat, watching her from a distance. Every few minutes, Maddie would dash to a new painting, plop down cross-legged on the floor, and start scribbling furiously in her notebook — her hair bouncing, her entire body committed to the task like it was the most important thing in the world.

“So,” she said, tilting her head toward the entrance of the exhibit, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “What do you know about Klimt?”

I opened my mouth automatically, ready to recite something — dates, movements, facts. It’s what people expected from me. What I expected from myself. But the truth was, I didn’t know much about him. Not really. Not beyond the basics you could find on a museum plaque.

My hand found the back of my neck, a nervous habit I couldn’t seem to break. “Actually… I’m not too familiar with him,” I admitted.

She blinked at me, visibly surprised. But she didn’t tease. She didn’t laugh.

Instead, she smiled. Something soft flickered across her face—something I didn’t quite know how to name. And for reasons I couldn't fully explain, the way she looked at me in that moment — like my flaws didn’t scare her at all — made something in my chest go strangely, stubbornly warm.

“I have this one book about Klimt,” she said, her voice picking up that soft, thoughtful rhythm that made it impossible for me to think about anything else, “Talking about Klimt’s work, life story, etc… But what I really like about his work, is that he didn’t just paint pretty women with gold leaf. Most of his famous works were about femmes fatales.”

I blinked, trying to keep up, but mostly just stunned by the way she talked. The way her eyes lit up at the sight of the paintings, and talking about how she interpreted them.

“Dangerous women. Women who were beautiful and powerful, beautiful, sensual and a little terrifying.”

I barely heard the rest.

I nodded along, but the truth was—I wasn’t processing most of the words.

Because I was too busy watching her. The way her hands moved when she talked. The way her eyes lit up when she described the paintings, her voice dropping into something soft, almost reverent.

She kept stealing little glances at me like she was trying to see if I cared.

I did.

I cared more than I could explain without embarrassing myself.

I opened my mouth—wanted to say something smart in return, “Did you know—”—but every single fact I had ever known about anything scrambled in my brain like a thousand puzzle pieces tossed into the air.

I swallowed hard. My mouth was dry and I wasn’t even sure I could nod without giving myself away.

She turned toward the biggest painting in the room—the one even people who didn’t know Klimt's name would recognize.

The Kiss.

“Let me guess…” I said, tipping my head. “The Kiss is your favorite?”

“It’s more than just The Kiss being my favorite,” she replied, smiling softly, like she knew a secret I didn’t yet.

“What do you mean?”

“Well... it holds a lot more symbolism than you might think,” she said, her voice warming. “Sure, it’s beautiful. The technique is brilliant. But it’s more than just a beautiful painting.”

“Do explain,” I said, leaning in without meaning to.

She glanced back at the gallery, then at me, her voice dropping a little, like she was letting me in on something sacred.

“My favorite thing about Klimt’s work isn’t just the paintings themselves. It’s the way they fit together. The whole collection tells a story — a subtle one. About the femmes fatales... They keep appearing, over and over again throughout his work.”

I watched her, completely, helplessly captivated. The way her voice curled around each word, the way she tucked a piece of hair behind her ear without even thinking about it.

“Sometimes it’s the same woman, painted in different ways... different poses, different moments. But this one—” she nodded toward The Kiss, her voice dipping even lower, “—this is the only time he shows the woman surrendering.”

She turned back to me then, and there was something unguarded in her face. Something almost reverent.

“But it’s not weakness,” she said. “It’s not defeat.”

Her eyes held mine.

“She’s giving herself to him. Choosing to. Choosing to give yourself completely to someone — whether it’s physical or emotional —” she paused, her smile tilting almost shyly, “—I think it might be the most romantic thing ever.”

And I knew, in that moment, that if I lived to be a hundred years old, I would never—never—recover from her.

My knees felt weirdly, ridiculously weak.

Like if I didn’t keep shifting my weight from foot to foot, I might just sink into the floor and let the museum tiles swallow me whole.

I wanted to say something.

Anything.

But all I could manage was a whisper.

“That’s beautiful…”

She smiled — a little sad, a little knowing — like maybe she could see right through me.

“It is, isn’t it?” she said, voice quieter now. Then, before I could catch my breath, she asked, almost too gently, “It’s also scary. Giving yourself completely... Have you ever felt that way about anyone?”

My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

Have I ever felt that way about anyone?

Yes, my brain supplied instantly. Too fast. Too loud.

Once.

But the words caught somewhere between my chest and my throat — tangled up in everything I was too terrified to admit out loud.

I glanced down at my shoes, like the scuffed leather might offer an answer.

"I... I don't know," I said finally, because anything more honest felt too dangerous. "Maybe. I think... I think I wanted to..." I swallowed hard. "I don’t think she wanted me to, though."

When I looked up, she was already watching me — so intently it made the back of my neck burn.

Not judging. Not pitying. Just seeing me — with all the sharp, unfinished edges I usually tried so hard to hide.

"Wanting to matters," she said quietly.

Her words landed softer than I deserved. Like she wasn’t trying to fix me. Like she wasn’t expecting more than I could give.

I shifted my weight, needing somewhere else to put all the feeling buzzing under my skin.

“What about you?” I asked, before I could think better of it.

She smiled — small, almost bittersweet — and turned her gaze back to The Kiss.

"I have," she said. Her voice was steady, but there was something behind it — something tired and tender and breakable. “To Maddie."

The way she said it — not as a shield, not as an excuse, but as the absolute, sacred truth — cracked something open inside me.

“I have given myself completely, body and mind to her since she was born. She’s my everything.”

I swallowed, struggling to find the right words, because how do you respond to something like that? How do you look at someone who has already poured everything they are into someone else — and still dare to want more from them? I didn’t know if it was admiration or something closer to longing that tightened in my chest, but I knew, without a doubt, that whatever it was, it was irreversible.

"That’s..." I started, my voice rougher than I intended. I paused, searching her face for some kind of anchor, and found nothing but honesty looking back at me. "That’s the bravest thing a person can do."

For a moment, she just looked at me — really looked — and I had the distinct, terrifying feeling that she could see right through me. See the parts of me that wanted things I wasn’t sure I was allowed to want. Things like this. Things like her.

She smiled, a small, worn thing that hit me harder than it should have. "You say that like it's a choice," she said. "It wasn't. Not really. She needed me. That was all it ever took."

I nodded, even though a part of me still marveled at it — the way she said it so simply, like it wasn’t extraordinary. Like giving yourself away so completely was just breathing. And maybe for her, it was. Maybe it was just in her nature to love like that, fiercely, even when the world had given her every reason to guard herself.

"I think that's what makes it so rare," I said after a moment, my voice lower now, quieter. "Most people spend their whole lives afraid of giving too much."

She tilted her head at me, studying me in that way she did sometimes — curious, but patient. Like she wasn’t afraid of whatever answer she might find.

"And you?" she asked. "Are you afraid?"

The question landed heavier than I expected. I shifted my weight, glancing back at The Kiss like maybe it would save me, but all it did was remind me that once, once in all his paintings, Klimt had dared to show someone surrendering — and it had looked like this. It had looked like choosing to fall.

"I think I am," I said honestly. "But... maybe not as much as I used to be."

Her mouth softened at that — not quite a smile, but something close. She turned slightly, facing the painting again, and for a few seconds we just stood there together, shoulder to shoulder, breathing in the same quiet, golden air.

"You know," she said after a moment, almost playfully, "you still haven’t told me what your favorite piece is."

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, grateful for the shift. For the way she gave me room to catch up when my heart was still tripping over itself.

But before I could, Maddie wormed her way between us, her little hand reaching up to grab mine. She squeezed my hand. A simple, tiny squeeze.

My pulse spiked so fast I actually felt it behind my eyes.

I’ve been shot at, drugged, kidnapped, nearly killed… and somehow this—this—is what sends me spiraling.

She reached for her mom’s hand too, linking us together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And maybe it was.

But my heart?

My heart absolutely could not handle it.

I could feel it hammering against my ribs, loud and hot and fast. My whole body went warm—too warm—and suddenly the sweater I was wearing felt like it was trying to suffocate me.

Without thinking, I tugged my cardigan over my head in one quick, awkward movement, ruffling my hair and nearly dropping Maddie’s hand in the process.

I was still trying to recover when Maddie piped up brightly, “I’ll put it in my backpack!”

Before I could object, she yanked the sweater from my hand with surprising strength and stuffed it into the tiny purple bag hanging off her shoulder like it was a prize.

I stared at her, dazed. Then looked up.

And saw Y/N watching me.

Smiling.

Not laughing at me.

Not teasing.

Just—smiling. Soft and a little surprised. Like maybe she was seeing something she liked.

And I stood there, overheating in the middle of an art museum, absolutely done for.

We wandered the Klimt exhibition a little longer after that, Maddie skipping ahead sometimes but never letting go of either of our hands for too long. Every once in a while, Y/N would point out a detail in a painting, her voice low and reverent, and I'd pretend I was listening when really all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears.

By the time we made it to the exit, Maddie was starting to flag—her steps slower, her voice quieter.

We passed by the museum gift shop on the way out, and predictably, she lit up all over again.

"Mommy! Spencer! Look!" she cried, tugging us toward a display of postcards.

There, right in the center, was The Kiss.

She pointed at it like it was a treasure chest. "Can I get this one? Please?"

Y/N started to answer, but I was already moving—reaching for the postcard and bringing it to the register before either of them could argue.

As Y/N wandered the shop with Maddie, I caught her picking up a small Klimt keychain—gold and black, understated, but somehow exactly her.

She turned it over in her hands once, then tucked it back onto the rack like she didn’t really need it.

Before I could stop myself, I grabbed it too.

At the register, I set both the postcard and the keychain down.

The cashier smiled at us warmly. "That'll be it for you three?"

Y/N opened her mouth, already shaking her head. "Actually, it's separa—"

"Yes," I said, before she could finish. "That's it for us."

There was a flicker of something in her eyes.

Surprise. Maybe a little softness too.

She didn’t argue.

The cashier bagged the items with a knowing smile, and I followed them both out into the sunlight, my heart doing something stupid and unmanageable in my chest.

The drive home was quiet.

Maddie fell asleep halfway there, her head tilted awkwardly against her car seat, clutching the little bag from the museum like it was a lifeline.

I stole a few glances at Y/N while I drove. She was staring out the window, one hand resting lightly on her knee, the sunlight catching in her hair.

I didn’t know how to name what I was feeling.

I just knew I didn’t want it to end.

When we finally pulled up outside their apartment, I parked carefully and turned off the engine.

Neither of us said anything right away.

Y/N unbuckled and climbed out, circling around to Maddie's side to lift her out of the seat with a soft, practiced motion. Maddie stirred only a little, murmuring something I couldn't catch before settling back against her mother’s shoulder.

I got out too, awkwardly patting my pockets like I didn’t know what to do with my hands.

When Y/N reached the door, juggling Maddie’s weight and her bag, I hurried to open it for her.

She smiled at me—small. Tired. Soft around the edges.

"I think she had a really good time," she said quietly, adjusting Maddie against her shoulder.

I swallowed, my throat feeling too tight. "I did too."

For a moment, we just stood there — caught in a long, heavy pause where I didn’t know if I was supposed to stay or leave.

Didn’t know if I was allowed to ask if I could come inside. If I even wanted to, considering how flustered I still felt from the museum.

The entire Klimt exhibit was still buzzing under my skin like static, and I knew if I stayed, if I crossed that threshold, I’d probably say something ridiculous.

I might need weeks — months — to recover from today.

Y/N smiled then, just a little. A soft, knowing thing.

Like she could hear every panicked thought rattling around in my head... but decided not to call me on any of it.

She didn’t say anything else.

And neither did I.

I just gave a small, awkward wave — fingers fluttering up and falling almost immediately — before backing away toward the steps, feeling like I was leaving a part of myself behind.

The drive home was agony.

Every song on the radio sounded like her. Every red light stretched too long. I couldn't stop thinking about her — not for a single second.

Her words clung to me, looping through my mind.

Her face — the way she smiled, the way her eyes softened when she talked about surrender and choosing love — made my heart thud so hard it almost hurt.

I kept picturing her painted into one of Klimt’s works — all gold and light, beautiful and powerful and untouchable — like if I reached out, I might smudge her into something even more breathtaking.

By the time I pulled into my driveway, I was convinced I wouldn’t sleep for a week. Maybe longer.

And maybe she was thinking about me too.

Because as soon as I stepped inside, my phone buzzed in my pocket.

[19:34] y/n: Hey, you forgot your sweater in Maddie’s backpack.

[19:34] y/n: We’ll be at home all day tomorrow. Feel free to drop by for your sweater.

I stared at the screen, a smile tugging stupidly at my mouth before I even registered it.

[19:35] Spencer: I’ll stop by :)

I locked my phone and stood there for a long moment, sweaterless and half-delirious, grinning like an idiot in the middle of my empty kitchen.

Tomorrow suddenly felt like the only thing worth waiting for.

Previous Chapter │

taglist : @smithieandy @kspencer34 @person-005 @diffidentphantom @23moonjellies @reidssoulmate @imaginationfever13 @measure-in-pain @Reidrs @un-messed @rhinelivinglife @Skye-westwood @xxfairyqueenxx **@alrat13 @saskiaalonso**

[theegemini92]

So my previous post was about why people compare their real life relationships to these characters. I love the dialogue in the comments section but one

How do you people understand character arch and building? If being a HIGH LORD basically a ruler of a region not the highest status? They being WEALTHY is part of their character build and actually part of the conversations.

I said where are these girlies exes because they must be rich too so I’d take that and be in a manor locked up. Because I am not just comparing their attitudes.

Many of us have also said they’d like to live at the manor so we can read all day and give tam another room for his outburst lol now:

• Rhysand won’t have been able to crown feyre is he didn’t have a penny to his name.

• feyre won’t have chosen him back either. Going back into poverty let’s be real

• feyre has wealth now to not be bothered and empathetic to the plight of her husbands mothers people.

• she is wealthy now that she doesn’t have to hunt for food or cook or do laundry.

•she has a mansion and a studio now.

• she’s wealthy enough to be working and have a baby when many women don’t have help, bills and are only given two months maternity leave.

• feyres love for Tamlin also grew when he had the ability to love her for his love to also change the lives of HER FAMILY. Mind you not many men would’ve done that.

• which girl here will go and fetch her ring because her mother in law ordained it before her death?

• or wear clothing her mother in law left?

Let us stop only comparing JUST emotional things because it’s the easiest to grasp. If you find love and you are poor 9times out of 10 That relationship will fail. Love will not feed you. It will not clothe you.

These fictional men 90% of them are never broke. They are able to fulfill all the needs of the women they are with because they are royalty or something of that sort. I said this before Elain ain’t gonna go back to no struggle love because she’s Lucien’s mate? He has no land or title to his name and back in the human lands eating bland food. And I ain’t mad at her either. 🤣

When I compare characters I don’t pick and choose the parts I want to see and this is why the fandom is divided. No one wants to admit Rhys is very very much as flawed as Tamlin. They are fictional fantastical characters. We all crave that love and understanding we see but we will all never get everything. My fiancé is no Tamlin. He hates reading and calls me crazy for loving Tamlin. Do u compare them? Hell no… tamlin can shapeshift he can’t 🤣 if he could lord have mercy.

Realistically:

• you will love him until he cannot provide what you are use to. It’s normal. No one decides they want to struggle in life. You are the one who chooses your own partner and if you fell for a Tamlin and go in for a Rhys says a lot about you and your mental state of comparing characters we all love and adore.

•many real life actors are so good yet in reality they are mean a cruel to their own staff.

• some people can’t even afford therapy. The whole world isn’t as developed. They don’t even know what therapy is. Feyre was given ample including Rhys D 😂

• some have all the wealth and many women will stay without love to give their kids something better or themselves.

A man’s glory a woman can inherit but never the other way around. Feyre has inherited Rhys crown when she could’ve had the curse breaker because Rhys is rich and has that title.

Don’t come at me making it seem that you have said something clever. There’s always other opinions outside what you think it’s right in your own mind.

[karaaaak]

More specter infodumping‼️🔥

Firstt, I wanna talk about my favorite specter design, Ada’s

(Random but I love the added detail that the border information thingy is different for each character)

I don’t have to much to say about it so I’m just gonna go ahead and list some things, some of speculation, some are just things I noticed

CW for some of these

Due to the fact that her limps are separated in her specter (along with a couple other things I won’t go into) I pretty highly believe that Ada was dismembers after her murder. Mostly liking leaving her body unfound (either because it was unrecognizable or simply because nobody came looking for her

The fact that one of her abilities is her scream also ties in with the way she was murdered. It was planned. She was taken out to the woods/forest specifically, so it highly unlikely that anybody would or could hear her if she did or tried to yell/scream for help

Her specters body seems to be growing moss which relates to the place she died, the forest. Same thing goes for the animal bones.

She seems to be able to summon her specter quickly when ordered too. I’m not to sure why this is. It could just be because without her specter she is “useless”, her specter makes her powerful, makes her wanted, something she isn’t used to being.

Going along with the previous one she quickly untransforms when asks to be someone she wants to appear as neat/good infront of, first Annabel, and later Morella. (It should be noted that she detansforms quicker when asked to my Morella.) this is most likely because of her fear of being seen as unladylike, unattractive, and/or disorganized.

Im not to sure what to add to that, I feel like Im forgetting some things but idk.

Next, I wanted to originally talk about Morella after Ada (totally not because I ship them and wanted to put them in the same post..) but I can’t find much on her specter, so unfortunately I’m doing Monty

Monty, is a Dybbuk, more specifically, a Son of Belial. Which is “a term occurring in the Hebrew Bible/Old Testament which later became personified as the devil”

The Name itself comes from Hebrew and means multiple things depending of how it is translated. Some include “worthless, yokeless, may be have no rising, or never to rise”

In the Bible, Proverbs 16:27-29 (I think) to be more specific, read as follows:

“A man of Belial plots evil, and on their lips it is like a scorching fire. A perverse person stirs up conflict, and a gossip separates close friends. A violent person entices their neighbor and leads them down a path that is not good”.

According to google “In the context of the Bible, "Belial" refers to wickedness, worthlessness, or something that is of no value. A "man of Belial" is someone who is evil and morally corrupt.”

Uhm, I’m not to sure what else to add, since I don’t pay too much attention to Monty’s specter in particular. I would encourage you to do some more on you own, since I can’t provide to much on him :P

If you have any feedback, tips, yada yada, pleaseee comment then, reblog, idc. 😭

[clairewritesfanfics]

Mark Grayson Variants as Husbands

Characters: Cap Mark, Full Mask Mark, Maskless Mark, Shiesty Mark, Sinister Mark, Viltrumite Mark

Cap Mark

The hot husband who gets hit on by everyone. He knows he has a pretty face and has a more detailed skincare routine than you. He is vain and takes great pride in his physical appearance and can be quite the charmer when he needs to be. 

While he likes the attention, he never entertains them. He has eyes only for you after all.

He’s a gossip, too. He knows everything about everyone in the neighborhood, likes to spill the tea while you two are in bed. 

One of the Marks who can cook better than their partner, or at least, without destroying the appliances. He loves feeding you. Gives you snacks almost every two hours. You blame him for your weight gain, but he can’t help it. You’re so cute when you’re eating.

Full Mask Mark

Yearns for a simple, peaceful family life. His biggest dream after marrying you is to give you children, not because that’s “the mission,” but because he genuinely wants to be a good father. 

Because he is (lovingly) a momma’s boy, the two of you spend holidays with Debbie. You don’t mind because hello, it’s Debbie.

He tries so hard to honor his commitments to you, but he is still so soft-hearted, he couldn’t just ignore a little girl crying because her balloon was stuck in a tree or a sweet old lady crossing the road. He is always late to your dates. He always feels guilty, but you reassure him each time, because he was almost never late to the important things.

Almost because he was late once and lost you completely.

Maskless Mark

Total introvert. His friends and teammates don’t worry when he doesn’t look at the messages in their group chats or see him outside of work. He genuinely would rather spend his free time with you, alone, in the house.

Strong cat dad energy. You two adopted a stray momma cat once and he used to sleep on the floor next to her when she was too tired to move.

He wants to learn to cook, but don’t let him. He will set off the fire alarms. One time he tried to make you lasagna and you came home to find fire trucks surrounding the house while your husband hugged a big fat cat and her kittens by the driveway.

Shiesty Mark

A total manchild, but beneath all that roughness, he’s thoughtful and devoted. 

When you express disapproval of certain habits, like leaving the toilet lid up when not in use (gross) or drinking the milk straight out of its carton (again, gross), he will pout but won’t do it ever again.

He is extremely protective, they all are compared to normal, well-adjusted people, but this one will fuck up anyone who looks at you the wrong way. He tends to get angry on your behalf, too, like when you tell him about your abusive boss or annoying co-workers.

He is a touch fiend and always has one hand on you. It doesn’t have to be sexual, sometimes he just likes the feeling of your bare chest and the fat of your thighs between his fingers.

Sinister Mark

Quite the romantic, also super competitive. He laughs at humans who get divorced, because in his eyes, that makes them failures. But that’s not to say that he approves of idiots staying together while they destroy each other. Divorce is funny, but pretending to be in love? That’s downright pathetic.

Love is supposed to be fun, but he also knows that it’s about effort. This man doesn’t believe in letting the flame die. He will bring you flowers everyday after work without fail. He will open doors for you, carry your things even when they’re super light, buy you chocolate, and take you to dinner every week, and it doesn’t have to be fancy, maybe you prefer McDonald’s over a sushi restaurant, that’s cool with him.

Despite his own philosophy, he actually doesn’t expect you to treat him the same way. Just agreeing to spend time with him and accepting his presents are more than enough. All he wants from you is to always have you by his side until the end of time, is that so much to ask?

Viltrumite Mark

Awkward and naive, but always willing to learn. 

Due to his upbringing, he is the typical will fix the problem for you type of guy, which can be annoying when you just want to vent. On the bright side, he is a straightforward fellow. He may not understand why you get mad or frustrated when he offers you solutions, but he will do his best to go against instinct when you tell him your feelings.

He is an attentive husband who quietly helps you around the house. He doesn’t keep track of the chores and just does it when he can, for example, when you leave one used mug in the sink (you swear you’ll deal with it when there are more dishes) he will wash it without saying a word. 

Despite, or perhaps because Viltrum does not share Earth’s marital customs, he was one of the Marks most eager to marry you. He could not picture life without you, and he would sooner bite his tongue off than think of you married to somebody else.

MASTERLIST Husband Headcanons for Emperor Mark, Mohawk Mark, No Goggles Mark, Omni-Mark, Prisoner Mark

[leejenowrld]

Actually rather than back to you y/n, I can imagine Areum being very shy during sex

she doesn’t know how to ask for what she wants. not at first. she kisses like she’s apologising for something. lets her hands linger like she’s waiting to be told she’s allowed. the moment things turn physical, her confidence folds in on itself—shoulders curling in, knees knocking slightly as she hesitates at the edge of the bed like she’s about to get in trouble. it’s not that she’s inexperienced. it’s that she’s never felt like wanting was safe. not like this. not with him.

she flinches when he says she’s pretty. not dramatically. just enough for him to catch it. her breath catches. her eyes dart away. her fingers twist in the hem of her shirt like they’re looking for something to hold onto. “you always say that,” she mumbles. and he says it again—slowly this time, hands on her waist, lips brushing her jaw. “i say it because it’s true.” she’s quiet for a beat. then she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for years.

she undresses in layers. one piece at a time, pausing in between like she’s not sure what part of her will be too much. she covers her chest with her arms when her shirt comes off. bites her lip when her skirt slips down. when mark kisses down her stomach, her thighs tense. he murmurs “breathe, baby” against her skin, and she nods—blush blooming high on her cheeks—but doesn’t answer. she never rushes. but she never lets go all the way, either. not yet.

her body talks louder than her mouth. her moans are quiet, almost involuntary, like she’s surprised by the sounds she’s making. she grips the sheets. curls her toes. arches just slightly when his fingers brush between her legs but she won’t say please. not out loud. she’ll whimper, she’ll shudder, she’ll press her hips toward him like her body’s begging even when her lips won’t. and mark? he learns her language. waits for the exact twitch of her thighs that tells him she needs more. watches the way her brows furrow when she’s close. reads her like a prayer.

when she rides him, it’s with hesitation—not power. she moves slow, hips tentative, eyes wide when he fills her. “too much?” he’ll ask, hands resting gently on her waist. she’ll shake her head—“no, just… give me a second.” and he does. he lets her get used to it. lets her take control in the only way she can—softly, carefully, letting herself get comfortable being on top for once. when she starts to move, it’s cautious, small circles of her hips, her hands braced against his chest, her breath catching every time his cock hits deeper. she’s learning her own rhythm. he’s there to hold her steady.

afterwards, she always hides her face. in his neck, under the covers, anywhere she can. her skin’s still flushed. her pulse still racing. and when he cups her cheek to tell her how good she was, she just shakes her head and laughs, barely above a whisper—“don’t say that. i’ll cry.” and she means it. not from shame. from relief. from the softness of being touched like she’s not being judged. from the newness of feeling safe after. she doesn’t know what to do with that feeling. not yet. but she’ll learn.

[softroundbunny]

Hi, I’ve been long time admirer of your page, and I’ve always been so nervous to say anything but I just really wanted to share my fantasy of you and kind of really what it means to me as a person. 

I know a lot people feel very feral about this kink and breeding and ownership, owning you and how you’re having “MY baby” and I completely get it. But I come from a much softer side of things. I’m a nerdy shy guy and I don’t think I could be that rough. 

I want to treat you so well, pamper you, and make you feel so special. I want this journey to be gentle from the night where we know our passionate love has a chance to make us a family, to the night where you’re swollen and bursting with life ready to introduce our little ones to the world. I’ll be there every step of the way, holding you in my arms as your happy tears flood your face from the positive test, to the look of happy shock at the ultra sound at just -how many- you’re carrying. These aren’t “my babies”, they’re 𝐨𝐮𝐫 babies. We’re a team, we’re mommy and daddy! It takes two of us, and I can’t imagine this family any other way. Not just handsome little goofy boys just like their daddy, but beautiful sweet little girls who are kind just like their momma ❤️. Going to the gym as often as I can, getting stronger and stronger, knowing I have the most beautiful momma-to-be ready to pop at any moment waiting for me at home. I have to protect you AND our family, the little ones soon to come…and the ones after them~, building this beautiful big family with the woman who chose ME to do it. You trust me to be the man, you trust me to be the best that I can. To support you and every loving child that we bring into the world now and in the years to come. Teaching our kids as the years go on, this beautiful cycle and dance between mom and dad, that daddy works hard to protect and mommy works so hard to make sure the babies have a safe and healthy place to grow. Making sure all our kids are gentle with mommy, the innocent curiosity of why mommas getting so big “Be very gentle, mommy’s working very hard to make sure your siblings grow nice and healthy. There’s babies in here *gentle pat to the side of your tummy*” 

I see it, a room full of love. Bouncy happy kids all together, all different ages playing and laughing so well together just like we taught them. I can see the exhaustion on your face, “Alrighty guys, mommy is gonna go take a nap now. She’s very tired from working so hard. Play nice and quiet while daddy goes and helps her lay down.” To a choir of disappointed groans. Our oldest daughter walks over and pats your belly, “You’re doing such a good job mom! We can’t wait!” Even through your exhaustion you muster a bright beautiful smile, “Aw thank you so much sweetie!” You place your hand on the opposite side of your busy globe, feeling a kick, “Oof- And they’re so excited to meet you guys too, mommy promises it won’t be much longer!” We hold hands and interlock fingers as I walk and you waddle to the bedroom. 

I want to see you sit on the edge of the bed, carefully settling with a heavy sigh of relief knowing you can finally set down the weight of your hard work. I’m leaning in the doorway of the bedroom goofily smiling, you smile back with a chuckle knowing exactly what time it is. You spread your thighs apart, letting your poor stretched out belly hang off the edge. You pull up your pajama shirt, which after all this time has left nothing to the imagination anymore after the growth you’ve gone through. You reveal your expanded womb, covered in beautiful stretch marks, bustling with the life from within. I kneel in front of you, worshipping the woman I see before me. Barely able to make eye contact with you, leaning back we meet eyes and can’t help but laugh. I cradle your belly in my hands, like I’m holding your soft cheeks, and place a tender ticklish kiss on your distended belly button. You giggle causing your belly to wobble, placing your hands at the sides to settle the movement within, “Baby stooooop that tickles!” I put my hands over yours and rub big circles to settle the little ones. “Oh I know, I just love seeing you smile, and knowing that the babies get to hear momma laugh. ❤️” You blush and turn “Oh come on that’s so sweet , you’ll make me cry!” My eyes go back to the swell before me “Bun, you are the most beautiful woman to me in the world. I really don’t know how you do it. None of this has ever…scared you. You were confident from the moment I said wanted kids and a big family. You never seem to struggle, you always carried so confidently and strongly. No matter how many were in here *laughing, I cup your belly and give it a gentle bounce, causing a shift from within, you smile*. I am so amazed at you, grateful for you. That we have the most perfect place for our children to grow. Your perfect soft wide hips cradle our babies, and your chubby soft tummy is the perfect pillow for them to sleep. *I trace little circles around your bellybutton* These babies know they’re loved before they’re even here and it’s so beautiful to me.” You’re practically in tears at this point, I pull your shirt back down, and stand up. You try to muster a sentence “I-“ I hold your adorable chubby face welling with tears and give you a deep long kiss. “Shhh, it’s ok. You’re doing such a beautiful job, keep it up momma~, now get some sleep.” I give your belly two loving solid pats, and help you lay down for a hard earned rest.

That’s what I think of a lot. About the things you say and post. I wish and fantasize that that’s what I’m coming home to when I’m on work trips. That a loving beautiful, kind hearted momma is waiting for me. 

I hope someday you get your wish, you deserve it. I think you’d make an excellent momma❤️

Yours truly,

Anonymous admirer 

this is quite possibly the sweetest ask i have every received. i also am quite warmed at the thought that you carry such a loving and romantic mind with this “kink”. sometimes it feels degrading to myself when i use “kink” to describe this desire of mine because it feels more than that, and it feels the same to describe your feelings as part of a “kink”.

this was so beautiful to read and i’m sure you will make the best father and husband. thank you for allowing me to see a glimpse into your heart. 💓

[n0t-evenhere]

Welp, my dear people. We are on the second to last chapter of the series. “The Star at night.” The finale is going to be soon. Probably this week. I will admit, I did t have an idea of what to draw this time for the story. It’s also a lot shorter this time. I hope you enjoy the read all the same.

⚠️ warning ⚠️ death, gore, bones, knives, unusual death.

“The star at night”

Part 4 “you before me”

Ray pov

How sad, the anguish in the poor face of (you). Ray knew she was going to run, the woman named Carol saw it in her mind. There were many things that he saw in Carol's mind in a few different times he read her mind. He knew Carol would try to sacrifice you to him. Even before she actually went through with it. Carol had been out for herself since he showed up, she planned to leave you and everyone else behind. He almost felt bad for you. Almost.

He dragged you by your arm down the hall, even as you resisted. “Please! Please just let us go! We’ll leave a-and we won’t come back I swear!” You pleaded in his arms. Pleaded for your life and who else remained. Ray sighed, no…you get mercy. None of you deserve it. Not after what you unknowingly started. Was it petty? Sure, but Ray had every right in his mind. Trying to steal Steel sheriffs mask. The man who had tormented him day in and day out for too many years of his liking.

Suddenly he yanked you off your feet, not even your feet roughed the ground. “Let you go?” He inquired. “Promising you won’t come back.” Ray feigned consideration before her look you dead in the face. “No.” Venom dripping in his words. A hate rooted so deep, he wasn’t even sure it dealt entirely with any of the people here. “That’s not good enough. I see you dead.”

(You)

Your heart sank at his words, this was doomed from the start. In that moment, looking into binary Star’s eyes, you saw a deep seated hare. An anger that felt consuming, but it felt different. Wasn’t directly at you or anyone here specifically. It’s a hate that marinated over time, or had been sitting deep down until it erupted without warning. Maybe there was hope? Maybe you could reason with him. You want to reason with him, you didn’t get that chance though before the locker room door opened.

When the door opened, you felt your body suddenly fly through the air before colliding with another body knocking the wind out of you. “AH!” Carol cried out, both you on the floor laughing and heaving in pain. There wasn’t a chance to try and get up before being grabbed by the ankle and dragged back. “No! No!” You try and fruitlessly grab and hold onto anything. Anything that could give you leverage. Nothing. Just nothing to hold on to. “Let’s begin our little chat hm? I think we need a little heart to heart. As I said before.” A pressure on your back kept you in place on the floor. No doubt his foot resting on your mid back. Even with little pressure, your failure and effort to get away was useless; he held fast as if your own strength meant nothing.

Binary Star let out a little chuckle. “No, you aren’t going anywhere. As for our Carol here, I have to make sure she doesn’t go anywhere either.” He hummed, thinking. “How should I ever do that? “Ah, I have it. I know exactly what to do.” Just as Carol got to her feet, she suddenly began to rise into the air for a moment before being slammed against the wall, in the next moment crashed to the floor with a gasp. A nearby locker began to groan as it tipped forward before slamming onto Carol’s knees with a nasty crunch. Carol's screams of agony made you cry out for her. You so desperately wished to save her. Even if she meant to lean you behind. Even if she really didn’t care for you at all…it’s hard giving up a love that you have for so long.

The absolute pain etched into her features made your heart ache deeply. “So, let’s start with a bit of truth, seems fair right?” Binary Star pressed his foot a bit more into your back, emphasizing his words, making you whimper a little. “So, Carol. Let’s start with you, yes? I did a little digging if you will. From the moment (you) mentioned the locker room exit, what was the plan, I mean, your plan?” Binary Star asked, an air of arrogance to his question. Carol shook her head, “I don’t- I don’t know what you are talking about.” Binary Star nodded. “So close.” He smiled. “Wrong.”

The locker rose off of her, Carol's knee caps on full bloody display. Torn flesh, exposed bone. Enough to make anyone gag. That’s not what you were worried about right now though. “Stop! Please Stop! Stop! Don’t-“ you screams on protests went unheard as the locker inched up before slamming down on Carol's hips with another sickening crack, Carol shrieked in agony. Binary star crouched down to you. Grabbing a fist full of hair pulling you head back as far as he could manage, just so he could look at you. “I’m doing this for you. You know. My actions aren’t motivated only by anger. I’m exposing more than one crime here. I want to expose as many things as possible, as they come of course.” Binary Star regarded you before standing up again.

He turned his attention to Carol. “Ah, Carol, I haven’t forgotten you. Promise. Let’s try again, yes? I’ll give you a second chance because I am just that nice. When you learned about the locker room. What was your plan?” Carol looked at you, tear filled eyes and guilt. “There it is. That’s what I’m looking for. Knowing and admitting.” Binary Star said quietly above you. “I- I was going to leave.” Carol confessed, Binary Star gasped audibly. “Leave?” He grabbed you by the hair, taking his foot off of you. Lifting you up. His fingers come up to squeeze your cheeks. “But, how could you do that to someone you love?” He asked with fake shock.

He looked at you, he seemed almost…kindly curious. “How could you be so stupid? Loving someone who doesn’t love you? Not for the right reasons. I’ve seen a lot in my life, more than I’d like to admit. I know when people are just using you. These people,” he shook his head. “There’s no real love for you. Only for what you have.” Carol cried out, “that’s not true! I-I love you (you). I love you like your own daughter!” Binary Star’s face dropped into an annoyed look. His attention turned to Carol. “I’ve been in your mind Carol. The minute you learned about that locker room. All you could think about is escaping and going to the beach. Retirement. Lying isnt a good look for you Carol, so shut the fuck up.”

You lip curled,”Don't talk to her that way.” You hissed at him, the anger prevalent in your tone. He laughed, a laugh from down deep. “Are you any place to be making demands sweetie? I don’t think so, why would you care anyway? Hm? She was just leaving you to die.” Your eyes look to Carol, who is still in pain on the floor. “Because I love her. Even if it’s true. I love her. She’s human, she’s scared.” He looked at you, pity. “You naive little thing. No wonder you were so easily exploited.”

A locker closer to Carol's head began to tremble. “No, no, no! Don’t do this! I’ll do anything please!” You knew where this was going. He didn’t even look at you. “No amount of begging will make her live. The best thing you can do? I accept it. No one’s going home. Not tonight.” The locker leaned forward before it slammed down, a wet crunching sound echoing in the room, blood and brain splattering from under the locker on impact. You could help but gag and throw up at the sight.

Suddenly there was a new sound in the sudden quiet, Binary Star’s grip loosened on you, looking to the right, you see it, a knife stabbed into his triceps brachii. “That’s for my wife you sonofabitch.” Joe…it was Joe! He was alive! Joe took the moment to grab your arm pulling you away from Binary star, he pulled you along out of the locker room. You could help but look back. Binary star didn’t scream pain, in fact it’s as if he felt nothing at all. Didn’t even seem bothered. Removed the knife letting it clatter to the floor. That’s all you saw before he was out of view.

“Joe! Joe, you are alive.” You cried tears of relief. “I thought I lost you. I’m-I’m, we lost everyone. I’m so sorry, I tried to-“ Joe stopped you from continuing, strain on his own voice. “I know. Just- let’s just focus on getting out of here.” The front door was down the hall up ahead. Joe who was ahead of you suddenly fell to the floor with a cry of pain, your hand slipping from his. Causing you to screech to halt. Turning back, the knife he used to stab the hero was now lodged into his calf. “Joe!” You rush to his side, taking him under his arms to drag him. “No, we're almost there! Come on!”

The knife pulled from his leg stabbing him in the back causing him to cry out. You look up, Binary Star making his way to you. No, no, no, no. Not Joe. If you could save just one. Only one. “Stop!” You scream at the hero, anger and helplessness. The knife lifted again, you took a hold of it to try and stop it, but it plunged down again, into Joe’s side. Tears prickling in the corner of your eyes. Joe, even face down, took your hand. The knife is still pinging in and out of his body. “Go, you can’t stay.” feverently you shake your head. “No,” you choke out. Joe gave your hand a squeeze. “I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving you. I’m not leaving you.” You chant, it’s as if you lost it. You repeat the phrase over and over as if it gives you comfort.

Joe’s POV

(You)…the young one he helped so long ago. Help give a new life to. One where you would be comfortable. Wouldn’t work like a dog. Sure, at first it was all business. As time went on though, he could help but fall in love with you like his daughter. When his own daughter, Carmilla, left, You filled that hole in his chest. Carol was set on Carmilla, and wouldn’t settle for anything else. Not that Joe settled, he just…he loved you like his own. He ignored the pain that radiated through his body.

Joe slid his hand up to your cheek with a wheeze, “It’s the end of the line, (you). You gotta go. Let me go. Run. Don’t look back.” With one look, one glance into your eyes Joe knew. He knew you wouldn’t run. Didn’t want to leave his side. Couldn’t bear the thought of leaving him behind. You had seen so much tonight. He knew that much. He took a deep wheezing breath. “Just close your eyes kiddo.” He said softly. Joe didn’t want you to see him die. He also knew you were next, maybe Binary star would give him the mercy of giving you a painless death. Quick. The world started to go to black. You had your eyes closed as he began to fade. “I…love…you…s-so…much.” Tears pricked his eyes. “Don’t you…for-get it…”

You POV

His words were choppy, dying. His hand slowly slipped from your grip. You didn't have to open your eyes to know he was gone. Everyone was gone. There was only a beat of silence before you let out a wail of emotional agony. All morning you didn’t get the time to do. It all just exploded, here and now in this moment. You grab Joe and pull him close. Cradling his body to you. He was heavy, still warm. .

[sturniololuvz]

Can you a a very sad one shot where the sister has to go to her bestfriends funeral and when she try’s to do the speech she breaks down the the triplets help her

“When Words Won’t Come”

The church smelled like roses and candle wax.

Y/N stood near the front, stiff in a black dress, her fists clenched around a folded piece of paper that was already wrinkled from how tightly she’d been gripping it.

People were filing in. Some crying, some quiet, some pretending to be okay.

She felt like she was dreaming. Like if she blinked long enough, her best friend would be back beside her, cracking jokes and calling this whole thing stupid.

But she wasn’t. And the casket was real. And Y/N had been asked to speak.

The triplets sat in the second row — Matt in the middle, flanked by Nick and Chris, all of them silent and watching her closely.

When her name was called, she walked up slowly to the podium. The silence was unbearable. It felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out.

She looked down at her speech.

Then up at the crowd.

And then she saw her best friend’s mother — red-eyed, clinging to a tissue — and something inside her cracked.

Her breath hitched. Her lips trembled. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Only a broken sob.

Matt was on his feet first. Then Chris. Then Nick. They didn’t hesitate.

Chris gently took the paper from her hands. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his arm sliding around her shoulder.

Matt stood on her other side, one hand on her back, steady and warm.

Nick stepped up to the mic. His voice was soft but sure.

“Y/N was gonna tell you all about her best friend. How they used to sneak out just to stargaze. How they could spend hours talking about nothing and everything. How she made Y/N laugh harder than anyone else ever could.”

Y/N buried her face in Matt’s chest, tears pouring freely now.

Chris held her hand tightly, grounding her.

Nick continued. “She was brave. She was kind. And she loved Y/N like a sister. That kind of friendship doesn’t end just because someone’s gone. It lives in memories. In late-night songs. In the space they carved into your heart.”

Matt kissed the top of Y/N’s head, whispering, “She’d be proud of you.”

Nick finished the speech for her, reading the final lines she had written in her own handwriting, voice cracking only slightly.

“And I’ll carry you with me. Every day. In every laugh, every tear. I love you. I always will.”

When it was done, they walked her back to the pew — Chris’s arm still around her, Matt’s hand never leaving her back, Nick rubbing her shoulder once they sat.

She didn’t say much the rest of the service. She didn’t have to.

Her brothers said it all without a word — We’re here. You don’t have to do this alone.

And even in the darkest, most hollow moment of her life… she knew they meant it.

⸻

[smilingformoney]

Champagne Problems ~ Lionel/Reader

Chapter 3. Paris

Summary: In 1989, Sinclair reunites with an old friend; in 1971, Lionel has a romantic surprise for you.

Word count: 10.9k

AN: shout out to @evans23 for helping me with the French!

Read on Ao3 or below the cut:

1989

“Hello? Earth to Lionel?”

Sinclair waved his hand in front of his cousin’s face.

“Hm?”

“What’s got into you? You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said all evening.”

“No, of course I have,” Lionel lied.

“Then what was I just talking about?”

“Erm… wedding plans?”

“…Lucky guess,” Sinclair muttered before taking a sip of his beer. “Look, I know you don’t like Natalie very much, but can you at least pretend to be happy for me? I’m finally getting married!”

“Of course I’m happy for you, Sinclair. I’m just preoccupied, that’s all. You’ll never guess who I found selling picture frames on Cornelia Street.”

Sinclair shrugged. “Dunno. James Callaghan?”

“[Y/n] [L/n].”

“…Wait, like your ex [Y/n] [L/n]?” Sinclair gasped. “Oh my god! I had no idea she was in London. What do you mean, she was selling picture frames?”

“Exactly that. She owns a shop that sells picture frames. I hired a PI to find her, it took him over a month, and she was down the road the whole bloody time.”

Sinclair stammered, overwhelmed by questions to ask. “Why did you hire a PI to find her? Did you speak to her? What did she say? Is she —”

Lionel held up a hand to cut Sinclair off before he asked any more questions.

“I wanted to find her because… well, it doesn’t matter now. It was completely foolish. She wasn’t happy to see me.”

“Well… are you surprised? Things didn’t exactly end well, Li.”

“And whose fault is that?” Lionel snapped.

Sinclair frowned and titled his head slightly. “Do you really not know?”

Lionel crossed his arms and sat back in his seat, sulking.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. She kicked me out. I thought that’d be the end of it, but… god, I forgot how invasive she is. Like a weed. Takes root in your mind and stays there. It was the same when we met, do you remember? I knew nothing about her and yet I couldn’t stop thinking about her for weeks.”

Sinclair smiled, a cheeky, knowing smile, and Lionel knew exactly what that look meant.

“No,” he said firmly.

“You’re still in love with her! Oh, Lionel, that is adorable!”

“Fucking pathetic is what it is. I’m a mighty lion, and what is she? A weed. A stubborn bloody weed that won’t leave my head.” He tapped the side of his head to demonstrate the point, as if he could push you out. “Maybe I just need to get laid, put her out of my mind.”

“Absolutely not!” Sinclair said firmly. “You listen to me, Lionel Shabandar. I have never, in all my life, seen you as happy as you were with her, or as miserable as you were when it ended. You were both kids, and you fucked up. But that was almost twenty years ago! You’re different people now! You should try to reconnect with her. At least… at least hash things out. You clearly still have feelings for her, and she must do too if she was so upset at seeing you again. If you got back together, that would be amazing, but at the very least you can talk and get some closure.”

Lionel hesitated, thinking, then shook his head.

“No. No, it’s no use. It’s over.”

- - -

“We’re closed,” you said, not looking up from your stock report as you heard the bell ring. “Sorry, I forgot to lock the door. Come back tomorrow.”

“You know, you’d get more business if you stayed open an hour longer, then you’d get customers coming by after work.”

You looked up, frowning, wondering where the hell the unsolicited business advice was coming from.

Your frown deepened for a moment, then was completely erased and replaced with a joyous grin.

“Oh my god, Sinclair! Hi!”

You tossed your report aside and jumped up from behind the counter, practically running around it to meet him on the shop floor and give him a massive hug.

He laughed and hugged you back, rocking you from side to side slightly in excitement.

“Well, that’s a greeting! I wish everyone was always so happy to see me!”

You pulled back and looked at him. He was older, of course, but he still had a sort of youthful exuberance to him. His smile lit up his face, and he was quite possibly the very antithesis of his cousin.

“Oh, look at you! I missed that smile. How are you?”

“I’m great! I’m working as a business analyst now, which basically means I get to tell people what I think’s going to happen, and they pay me loads for it. And — the best news — I’m getting married soon!”

“Oh wow, that’s amazing! I’m surprised you’re not married already, you’re such a catch. Did things not work out with Emily? You were so enamoured with her!”

“Emily, wow, I haven’t thought about her in ages. No, we broke up during third year. She didn’t like how much time I was spending preparing for my exams instead of with her. Anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about Emily.”

You looked at him suspiciously.

“If Lionel sent you…”

“No, no! I mean, he told me you were here, but he didn’t send me. I sent myself. When he told me he’d found you, I simply had to come and see you! I really missed hanging out with you, you know. I understand why you didn’t want to see me after what happened with Lionel but… it really sucked that I lost a friend.”

You smiled. You’d forgotten just how genuinely endearing Sinclair was.

“Sinclair, you are such a cutie. We should absolutely hang out again.”

“Yes!” Sinclair agreed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. “I’m glad you said that, because I wanted to invite you to a picnic this weekend! I have my own place out in Windsor. It’s got these really big open gardens, and I love hosting picnics. You should come! We can catch up, and you can meet Natalie! Are you with anyone? You can bring a plus one, if you like.”

“No, I’ll come on my own,” you said quickly. “Um — will Lionel be there?”

“Oh — oh, no, Lionel won’t be there. Sorry, I should have mentioned that. No, he’s busy this weekend, so he can’t make it. So you’ll come then?”

“Yes! Yes, of course. Just give me the time and place, and I’ll be there.”

Sinclair grinned. “Great! This is gonna be so fun!”

- - -

Sinclair’s house was absolutely beautiful. It wasn’t quite as massive as his childhood home, but it was still huge, and you could see what he meant about the gardens. He clearly felt safe there, because when you approached the door it was wide open — something that nobody of sound mind would ever do in London.

You followed the sound of voices through the house and found yourself stepping through a very leafy conservatory and emerging in the open garden, which led down to a riverbank.

Sinclair was easy to find. His voice was the loudest, the most animated, and his boisterous laugh was like a homing signal, letting everyone in a two-mile radius know where he was and that he found something very funny.

He was standing with two women and a man, and he jumped slightly when you tapped him on the shoulder, but he grinned when he realised it was you.

“[Y/n], at last!”

He put an arm around your shoulder and pulled you into the little circle.

“Everyone, this is [Y/n]! She and I go way back. [Y/n], this is David and Laura. David works with me, in the finance department. And this lovely lady is my fiancee, Natalie!”

The first thing you noticed about Natalie was that she was very pretty. The second thing you noticed was that she was very clearly nothing like Sinclair. She held herself almost timidly, like she was afraid to take up space; unlike Sinclair, whose energy naturally filled any room he was in.

“Hello,” Natalie said with a polite smile, although you saw her eyes flicker to the arm that Sinclair had flung over your shoulder.

Bless him, he hadn’t changed much. He was still loud, still full of energy, and still totally oblivious. He didn’t think anything of putting his arm around another woman, because the other woman was you, and the possibility of there being anything between you was hardly even an idea in his mind. Even though you were long broken up, you’d always be Lionel’s girlfriend to him, and as far as he was concerned, you were like a sister.

“I was just telling the story of how Natalie and I met! I’ll start again for your sake, [Y/n]. So it was last winter, we were interviewing for new secretaries…”

Eventually, David and Laura managed to extract themselves from the conversation, and Sinclair turned his attention to you.

“Right, [Y/n], now I have you trapped at my home. Ha ha! All part of my evil plot to know every single thing that’s happened in your life in the last seventeen years. Come on, sit down!”

He led you over to the riverbank, and along the way he grabbed a picnic basket to share with you. You weren’t sure he’d even noticed Natalie had wandered off several minutes ago.

“You sit,” he instructed, indicating the edge of the river. “I’ll pour.”

You sat cross-legged by the river, and Sinclair sat with his feet dangling over the edge, the picnic basket between you. He pulled out a bottle of wine and two glasses, and you held the glasses up for him as he poured the wine and rambled on about the vintage.

“Here we are! Cheers!”

“Cheers.”

You clinked glasses and took a sip; Sinclair took a generous gulp.

“Help yourself to some snacks! You can have anything that’s in there. So, come on, tell me! What’s your life been like? How did you end up selling picture frames?”

You looked at him with curiosity. “You know, Lionel asked me the same thing.”

“Well, it’s an interesting question!”

“He made it sound like an insult.”

Sinclair grimaced. “Yeah, I suppose he would… well, I’m just curious, I promise. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with selling picture frames at all. Without people like you, what would he put his art collection in?”

“I suppose that’s true,” you said with a laugh. “Art’s actually how I got into it. My — someone I know is an artist, and we discovered frames are usually just one section of a bigger shop, so the options on display were limited. You could look in a catalogue for more, but you really need to see it in person to get the sense if it’s right or not. Dad’s cafe’s doing really well — he has four branches now — so he was able to give me a business loan to open my own place. I saw frames as a gap in the market, so… here I am.”

“That’s amazing! You always did have a good business sense. And, hey, if you ever need anyone to have a look at the picture frame market and make some predictions, I’m your man!” Sinclair decreed, pointing to himself for emphasis.

“Thanks, Sinclair, I’ll bear that in mind. And, hey, if I’m feeling generous, I might give you some free frames for your wedding photos.”

“Oh, that’d be amazing! But you should offer a discount to friends, not freebies, because then you still get to at least get the base costs back, and they still feel like you’ve done them a favour. So anything else? Like… a boyfriend? Husband? Kids? This is me asking, by the way, not Lionel. He doesn’t even know you’re here.”

You laughed. “No, I’m not married. Turns out I have trust issues, who’d have thought?” You shrugged. “I’m in no rush. I believe in the right thing happening at the right time.”

“Like when Lionel went for a smoke outside the art block at the right time! Or when Mum and I decided to try that cafe in Basingstoke at the right time. ‘Cus then I met you!”

“Oh, how is your mum, by the way?”

“She’s great! She lives in London now. She remarried! Her husband’s great, he’s filthy rich too so we know he’s not using her for her money. They’re always going on cruises. Lionel has the country house, the one you came to, he uses it for his art collection and to host galas and stuff.”

“And Georgina?”

“She’s… okay,” Sinclair said with much less certainty. “She’s in a care home now. Mentally she’s fine, sharp as ever, but she got MS a few years ago so she doesn’t walk anymore. But Lionel and I put her in the best place, she’s basically living in a luxury spa resort. Says she likes it better ‘cus she gets waited on hand and foot, and she doesn’t have to deal with us anymore.”

You reached over and took your hand in his. “I’m sorry, Clair. Even if she’s in a good place, it’s hard to watch someone you love get sick like that.”

Sinclair nodded and gave your hand a grateful squeeze. “Thanks, [Y/n]. You know, I… I really have missed you. I didn’t even realise I did. Does that make sense? It’s like, I got used to you not being there, and you just became an old memory, but as soon as I saw you again it was like no time had passed at all, and I remembered why you were so important to me. That time we spent together, the three of us — it was amazing. I think it really helped shape who I am.”

He sighed and shook his head sadly. “I’m sorry it all got so messy in the end.”

“Nothing that happened was your fault, Sinclair,” you said softly. “It was mine and Lionel’s mess. You just… got caught up in it.”

“But I should’ve —”

“Oh, would’ve, could’ve, should’ve, Clair,” you said dismissively, pulling your hand away from his to open up the picnic basket and root around for a snack. “What’s done is done. Have you got any cheese in here?”

- - -

1971

You’d spent the first few weeks of summer wondering if you’d ever see Lionel again — and now, you were spending every day with him.

You went into London together often, or you’d go to his place, where you were able to spend more time with Sinclair too. Their mums were busy working so you didn’t see them as much, but whenever either of them would come home and find you were there again, they were always glad to see you.

As it turned out, rich people have a lot of parties, and they didn’t mind extra guests coming along. You found yourself at parties every week, sometimes multiple times, hosted by people Lionel hardly even knew, let alone you.

In the middle of August, Lionel called you while you were at home for once on a Thursday and told you to pack a bag for the weekend, and to bring your passport.

“…Why do I need my passport?”

You could practically hear the smug smile he was sporting on the other end of the phone.

“Well, they won’t let you into France without it.”

You couldn’t believe it. He’d actually arranged for you to go to Paris. When you phoned your dad to tell him you couldn’t visit that weekend, he was disappointed, but he was happy for you.

On Friday morning, Lionel met you at your house. You’d agreed to be ready to go at 8 o’clock — but you had no idea he was picking you up himself. He usually sent cars to pick you up, but this time, he knocked on the door at 8 o’clock sharp.

Realising he was actually here himself, you ran down the stairs with your suitcase to try to get to the door yourself, but your mum had already beaten you to it.

“Good morning. I’m here to pick up [Y/n].” Lionel spotted you at the foot of the stairs and his eyes lit up. “Hi, [Y/n].”

“Hi. Mum, you’re in the way.”

“So this is the boyfriend?” your mum said curiously, completely ignoring your attempts to get around her with your bag as she looked Lionel up and down. “You’ve done quite well for yourself there, [Y/n].”

“Mum! That’s so weird! Just — let me through, please.”

She finally backed off, and you practically jumped at the chance to get past her and join Lionel on the doorstep.

“Back on Monday, bye,” you said quickly.

“Be safe!” your mum called after you as you followed Lionel back to the car.

You gave your bag to the waiting driver to put in the boot, then climbed into the back with Lionel.

“Sorry, she is so embarrassing,” you cringed, but Lionel just laughed as he took your hand in his.

“Are you ready for Paris?”

“Oh, I am so ready. Are we still going to the Orsay?”

“Of course. That’s tomorrow’s agenda. I’ve booked us a hotel, so we’ll check in after we land, then we’ll go out for some food and drinks. Tomorrow the Orsay, that’ll take most of the day, I imagine — then we’ll have all of Sunday to ourselves.”

“Have you been to Paris before?”

“Yes, quite a few times, though I’m yet to go to the Orsay. I’ve been wanting to go for a while. I was planning to go by myself this summer, but… I’m happy I get to go with you by my side.”

You smiled and kissed his shoulder. “I’ll be by your side for everything, Li.”

- - -

Your hotel room wasn’t so much a hotel room as an entire apartment. There was a bedroom, a separate living area, a kitchenette, and the bathroom even had a jacuzzi in it.

“Lionel, this is too much!” you gasped as you looked around the apartment. “We don’t need all this for just us.”

“Nonsense. Nothing’s too much for you, and it has a stunning view. Take a look.”

Lionel took your hand and led you to the balcony, which overlooked Paris, and he placed a hand on your waist as he pointed out various landmarks by the Seine.

“It’s a beautiful view,” you agreed.

“It’s even more beautiful from my perspective, because my view has you in it,” Lionel said flirtatiously. He gently pushed your hair away from your neck so he could kiss the bare skin.

“You are such a smooth talker,” you laughed. “You don’t have to seduce me, you know. I’m already — I already like you.”

“I’m just stating facts.”

He kissed further down your shoulder, and you relaxed into his touch.

“When are we having dinner?” you asked.

“Whenever you like. Are you hungry now?”

“Not quite. I’d actually like to try that jacuzzi.”

Lionel grinned. “You read my mind, love. I’ll warn you, though, I haven’t brought any trunks… and I may have omitted to ask you to bring a bikini.”

You laughed and rolled your eyes. “Cheeky. Well, then, I guess we’ll have to go without them, won’t we?”

Lionel growled in excitement, and eagerly led you back into the apartment, already unbuttoning his shirt. He went into the bathroom to fill the jacuzzi up, then came back into the room as he pulled his shirt off.

As he carefully folded it up, you leant against the wall and watched him. He was so gorgeous. He had no hair on his chest, and though the first time you’d seen him shirtless he’d expressed some self-consciousness about it, you assured him that you’d never liked hairy chests, anyway.

“You’re not going into the jacuzzi fully clothed, I hope,” Lionel said with a smirk when he glanced up at you and saw you watching him.

“No, of course not. I just wanted to enjoy the view first.”

“Well, I’d like a view to enjoy in return, please.”

You smiled coyly. You pulled your t-shirt over your head and discarded it; knowing Lionel was always eager to see you get your boobs out, you decided to tease him a little, and left your bra on while you unbuttoned your trousers instead.

“I’ll meet you in there,” you said with a wink, then disappeared into the bathroom before taking your underwear off. The tub was still filling, but you climbed in anyway, letting the hot water climb up your legs as it got higher and higher.

Lionel followed you soon after, lowering himself into the tub with you. He draped an arm over your shoulder and leant down to nuzzle your neck.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he murmured. “I know I say it all the time, but it’s true.”

His other hand slid down your thigh, his fingers teasing your skin as the water lapped higher. You giggled and squirmed a little at the tickling sensation.

“Li, that tickles!”

“Good. I like it when you squirm.”

You felt your heartbeat quicken. His hand was dangerously close now… you placed your hand over his and guided it back towards your knee.

“You know, you didn’t have to do all this, Lionel. I would have been happy with a simple room.”

“You might be, but I’m not. I can afford the best, so why shouldn’t I have it? Besides…” He brought your hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. “I’m not bringing you to Paris to sit in some box of a room with no view. You’ll have the best view, the most comfortable bed, and the most luxurious jacuzzi jets. Speaking of which… I think it’s time we turn them on, don’t you?”

Lionel leaned over to turn the tap off and the jets on. You squealed a little in surprise as the jets of water shot out of the side of the tub, massaging your calves and your back with the water.

“Mhm, that’s better,” Lionel groaned with relief as he sat back on the seat, either arm draped over the edge of the tub. You came closer and cuddled up to him, your head resting on his chest. He smiled and stroked your hair.

“This is nice,” you murmured quietly, your eyes closed as you relaxed. The water was warm, the jets were soothing, and your boyfriend was holding you — you wondered if this was what Heaven felt like.

You sat there in a comfortable silence for a while. Lionel traced lazy shapes on your shoulder, his fingertips absentmindedly exploring your wet skin.

“You’re quiet,” he said softly after a while.

“Just relaxing,” you murmured in reply. “I’m so comfortable with you.”

Lionel smiled and kissed the top of your head.

“Good. I’m comfortable with you, too. Believe me, being with you is exciting in so many ways, but at the same time… you’re the one source of calmness in my life.”

You smiled and looked up at him.

“Have I tamed you?” you teased.

“Oh, nothing will tame this lion, I can assure you,” Lionel said confidently. “I’m a wild beast at heart.”

“Mmm, I bet you are. And I can tell this wild beast is excited about something…”

Lionel opened his mouth to question what you meant, but all he let out was a moan when you dipped your hand into the water and wrapped it around the evidence of his excitement.

Even though Lionel was a virgin, he was still a teenage boy, and he had one thing very prominently on his mind at all times. You knew he wanted to have sex with you. You wanted it too, but your mum’s warning rang in your mind, and you didn’t want to rush into anything and do something stupid.

Lionel respected your boundaries, but you could tell he was struggling. Whenever you made out, when you shared a bed, when he saw you getting dressed — his dick made it very clear what it wanted.

You weren’t being completely prudish. You touched each other sometimes. You were both still learning about your own bodies as well as each other’s, so you could both be clumsy, and sometimes your awkwardness and embarrassment got the best of you. But you were so comfortable together that any embarrassment didn’t last long, and you laughed together at the awkward moments and learnt from one another’s mistakes.

Maybe a romantic trip to Paris was part of Lionel’s plan to get you to put out — and if it was, you weren’t entirely against it working. But most importantly, you were just happy to be alone with him, in an exciting new place, experiencing new things together.

“Does it feel good in the water?” you asked.

Lionel’s reply was just a groan, his head lolling back, his eyes closed as he tried not to cum straight away.

Your wrist couldn’t move as fast as you’d have liked it to in the water, but perhaps that was a good thing. You could see by the strain on his face that Lionel was holding back.

The fact that he was holding back just made you more daring. You moved in the water so that instead of sitting next to him, you were in front of him, floating in the water between his legs as you tugged on him, remembering what he’d told you about focusing on the tip.

“I think — I think you want me to cum in the water,” Lionel panted, finally managing to get some words out.

You pushed yourself up and out of the water slightly so you were level with him. You took his head in your free hand and pulled him closer to allow you to kiss him.

You could feel the water moving around where you were tugging his cock. Your hand movements were still frustratingly slow.

“God, fuck… I can’t…”

Lionel’s cock slipped out of your hand as he pushed himself up and out of the water, and sat himself on the corner of the jacuzzi, his feet resting on the underwater seats, leaving his cock free of the restrictions of the water.

His cock was still standing to attention, and it was directly at eye-level.

You had an idea. It was something Lionel had never asked for, but you knew it was something people did, and you wanted to try it.

You settled yourself between his legs and held the base of his shaft in your hand. Lionel’s grip on the edge of the jacuzzi tightened as he prepared himself for you to start jerking him off faster — what he didn’t expect was for you to open your mouth and to slowly, cautiously, wrap your lips around the tip of his cock.

“Fucking hell, [Y/n],” he hissed.

You knew his cock was big. You knew it was wide. You didn’t think you’d ever get his full length in your mouth — but you didn’t expect to struggle with the width.

You tried to breathe through your nose. Slowly, carefully, bit by bit, you took him further in your mouth. You weren’t making a whole lot of progress, and you knew it would take some practice before you could really take him in your mouth. But you managed to gain enough ground to allow you to bob your head back and forth a little, and the noises Lionel was making made it all worth it.

Lionel placed his hand over yours, the one that was holding him at the base, and gently encouraged you to move it back and forth, allowing you to stimulate his entire length without having to worry about choking yourself.

“Fuck, I… I didn’t think you could get more beautiful, but you’re fucking stunning like this,” Lionel growled through gritted teeth.

You looked up at him, and it took all of his strength not to cum right then. He loved your lips, they were so pretty, so perfectly soft and fun to kiss. They looked even better wrapped around his cock.

Not just that, but he could see your breasts too, nipples just about poking over the water. They were moving slightly with each bob of your head, the water sloshing over them, leaving trails of water that he desperately wanted to lick up.

“Touch yourself,” Lionel ordered between pants. “In the water, touch yourself… I want to see you enjoying this…”

You obeyed, your fingers rubbing at your clit under the water. You knew you wouldn’t cum this way, but just that bit of stimulation gave you at least some relief.

This was what life was about, Lionel thought. People sought joys in all sorts of things — drugs, art, you name it — but sitting here in a jacuzzi in France, jets massaging his legs, and you, the love of his life, touching yourself while you sucked him off… Lionel couldn’t think of anything better — except maybe fucking you. That was a joy he was yet to experience, but he knew it was going to be incredible.

His gaze drifted back to your lips. He wanted to paint them, to cover you with his cum. He grabbed you by the hair and pulled your head back. You came unstuck with a pop, and you gasped for air.

“Touch your tits for me,” Lionel growled as he took his cock in his hand and began pumping it. “But keep your eyes on me.”

You obeyed. You were good like that. You had your boundaries, and he knew you’d say no if something made you uncomfortable. But if you were willing, you always did as he asked.

You massaged your breast with one hand while the other kept rubbing your clit in the water. Your nipples were erect with arousal, and sensitive too. You could feel every squeeze, every pinch, every drop of water. You looked up at Lionel, watching as he jerked himself off in front of you, and when your eyes met, you knew he was moments away.

“I want to cum on you,” Lionel said, his voice high pitched and desperate, nothing like the growling lion he liked to present himself as. “On your face or — or on your tits.”

“On my face,” you replied quickly, not even thinking about it.

“Fuck, yes. Yes, you’ll take my cum on your face. Mmm, good girl… shit… fuck — [Y/n]!”

He let out a loud moan that echoed in the bathroom, and when you saw the sticky, white cum erupting out of his cockhead, you instinctively opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue to catch it.

“Fuck! Fuck, take it… ohh… mhm, [Y/n]…”

He leant his head against the wall, panting for breath, his cock softening in his stilled hand.

You, meanwhile, were still desperately horny.

 Lionel didn’t seem to be moving any time soon — but something else was.

You moved over to one of the jets, which were still shooting out water. You positioned yourself in front of it, resting your feet on the seat as you found just the right position… and the hot, hard jet started massaging against your clit.

When Lionel had recovered somewhat and he opened his eyes, he didn’t expect to see you getting yourself off with one of the water jets.

“Enjoying the jacuzzi?”

“I’m so close,” you moaned.

Lionel sunk himself back into the water and wrapped his arms around you. One hand grabbed at your breast while the other found its way between your legs and started rubbing at your clit.

“I believe this is my job,” he purred in your ear. “But I’ll allow some assistance if my girl enjoys it.”

“Oh my god… it feels so good…” you moaned. The combined sensation of Lionel’s fingers and the water jet rubbing at your clit were bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. You needed something more, just a little bit, just to push you over the edge…

As if he could sense your needs, Lionel took your nipple between his fingers and pinched. He rolled it between his thumb and forefinger, and your legs began to shake as your orgasm began to climb.

“Lionel, I’m — I’m gonna…”

“Cum for me, love,” he growled. “Be a good girl and cum for me.”

“Lionel… oh, god, Lionel… Lionel!”

There was absolutely no dignity in it. Your legs shook, your grip on the edge of the tub slipped, and it was only Lionel’s arms around you that stopped you from slipping into the water as your orgasm shook right through you.

It was the most mindblowing orgasm you’d ever had in your life. As the aftershocks wore off, you gave up on attempting to lean on the tub, and you let yourself relax into Lionel’s arms.

He held you close, his torso pressed against your back, one hand still on your breast as he kissed you all over your neck and jawline, as if he needed to consume you.

“[Y/n]… I am going to fuck you.”

You were too blissed-out to say anything, but his words sent a heat blooming in your core.

“I’ll wait until you’re ready, but it’s going to happen. You can’t make noises like that and not expect me to fuck you. I want to make you cum like that around my cock. I want to feel you trembling beneath me as I bring you that pleasure. I want… fuck, [Y/n]. I want you. All of you.”

You smiled and turned around in the water to face him. You kissed him, and it was wet, and you wondered if he could taste his own seed on your tongue. If he did, it didn’t stop him from kissing you back, slowly but passionately, your limbs entwined under the water.

“I want it,” you whispered as you pulled away. “I want to experience everything with you, Lionel. I want to give you everything. All of me… everything I have to give… I’m yours.”

There were three things Lionel wanted to do on this trip, two of which were certain. The first, the museum, that was certain — tomorrow. The second, that was not so certain — to make love to his girlfriend — but it was looking more and more likely. And the third… the third was certain, but he wanted to do it somewhere romantic. And of all the places in Paris, the jacuzzi wasn’t so romantic, so he held off for now, but he was tempted. He was sorely tempted.

Instead, he placed a soft kiss on the end of your nose.

“I think it’s time for dinner, don’t you?”

- - -

You were very rudely awakened by Lionel pulling the curtains open, causing the early morning Parisian sun to hit you in the face.

“Time to get up, love. The gallery opens at nine.”

“Whassa time?”

“Seven.”

You moaned and pulled the duvet over your head.

“We don’t need to wake up two hours before, it’s right there!” you moaned. “C’mon, come back to bed, babe.”

“We need time for a romantic Parisian breakfast, don’t we?” Lionel said as he pulled the duvet back down. Even sleepy, dishevelled and hungover, he thought you looked beautiful in the morning light.

“How are you so awake? I swear you drank as much as me.”

“Lions don’t get hungover. Come on, if you’re so hungover, you need coffee. A good, strong shot of espresso will have you on your feet in no time. Come on, I’ll get your clothes out your bag, you go to the bathroom and freshen up.”

Reluctantly, and with a yawn, you sat up in the bed.

“You know, sometimes I think you and Sinclair are complete opposites,” you grumbled as you pushed yourself out of the bed while Lionel opened up your suitcase. “And sometimes I think you might as well be twins.”

“I don’t know if I should be offended by that. Why have you packed so many clothes? We’re only here for a few days.”

“I like to have options. It’s hot, I should have a summer dress in there somewhere.”

You trudged into the bathroom to sort yourself out. A quick shower had you feeling a little fresher, but your head was still pounding.

You emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel. Lionel was nowhere to be seen, but he’d left an outfit on the bed, a floral dress with short sleeves and a flowing skirt. You put it on, along with some clean underwear, and you had just finished drying your hair when Lionel returned with two takeaway coffee cups in his hands.

“Here you are. The hotel restaurant does some incredible coffee.”

“Ooh, that is exactly what I need right now, thank you,” you said with a groan of relief. You took the cup gratefully, and smiled when Lionel kissed the top of your head.

“Anything for my girl.”

You smiled coyly. “You like saying that, don’t you? Calling me yours.”

“Well, you are.” Lionel put his coffee cup down and placed his hands on your shoulders as he kissed the top of your head. “Mine, mine, mine,” he growled, punctuating each claim with a kiss. “Tell me now if I’m wrong.”

“Oh, you’re not wrong. I am yours, Li.” You placed your hand over his and leaned into his touch with a smile. “And I am also… very hungover.” You rubbed your temple. “I can’t believe you convinced me to do shots in that bar last night.”

“You’re cute when you’re drunk. Especially when you’re dancing all over me in a nightclub. Come on, are you ready yet? I want to take you to a lovely cafe nearby for breakfast. Food will definitely help your hangover.”

He wasn’t wrong, so you finished getting ready, and just before you took one last drink of your coffee, Lionel handed you some pills.

“For your headache,” he said.

“You think of everything,” you replied. You took the pills, washed them down with the coffee, then held your hand out to Lionel.

“Come on, then. Show me Parisian breakfast.”

Lionel insisted that you get to the Orsay at exactly opening time, but to his annoyance, there was already a queue of people outside.

“Ugh, I hate tourists,” he grumbled as you took your place at the back of the line.

“Hey, we’re tourists.”

“One day, I’ll be so rich, I’ll be able to hire out whole museums so we can visit them in peace. Just you and me, and as much time alone with Monet as we like. We could walk around naked if we wanted.”

You laughed, though you weren’t entirely sure he was joking.

“You’re not rich enough to do that now? Man, you should have said, I wouldn’t have bothered dating you.”

“Watch it, you,” Lionel teased, and you giggled as he tickled your sides. “I only have what Mum gives me.”

“Ohh, poor baby, does Mummy not give you enough money to hire out an entire museum? What a tragedy.”

“I don’t have unlimited access to her bank account, you know. I had to ask her for the money to pay for this trip.”

“Ah, so it’s really Georgina that’s taken me on this romantic trip to Paris. Noted.”

Lionel tried to tickle you again, but you dodged out of the way.

“I told you, I’m going to learn all I can about business at uni, then I’m going to make my own success. I’ll be rich enough to hire this place out, you’ll see.”

“I’m sure I will. Have you any idea what is going to make you so much money? You know, you have to actually do something. You can’t just walk around in a suit and tie pointing at pie charts all day.”

“Dammit, that’s all I thought I had to do. That, and shout at juniors for not getting reports to me in time.”

You laughed. The line began moving steadily as the doors opened and visitors began filing in.

“I’m sure you’ll figure out your path at uni, Li,” you said as you slipped your hand into his. “Maybe you and Sinclair could start your own company together.”

“Mmm, maybe,” Lionel replied noncommittally. “I love him and I’d do anything for him… but I’m not sure I’d trust him with anything financial. Money has a way of slipping through his fingers. I’m not even sure what he spends it on.”

“He probably eats it.”

Lionel guffawed. “You know what, [Y/n], you’re probably right. I’d wager it does all go on food.”

“Where do you guys do your food shopping?”

“How should I know? The staff do the food shopping.”

You had to laugh then.

“Oh my god, Lionel. Do you hear yourself sometimes?” You put on your best imitation of an overly-posh accent. “What do you mean, ‘buy’ food? Does it not simply appear on the table? Mummy told me that if I’m a very good boy this year then Father Christmas might bring me some new Gucci shoes. My driver got sick last week and I had to drive myself around everywhere, it was simply terrible!”

“[Y/n], stop it!” Lionel protested, but he was laughing. “I do not sound like that.”

“You do a little bit.”

“Look, my mother does her best for me, as all mothers do. It’s not my fault she’s filthy rich and spoils me rotten.”

“Ah, so you admit you’re spoiled,” you teased. You were almost at the entrance now, and Lionel reached into his jacket pocket to pull out his wallet to pay your admission.

“Even your wallet’s posh. Is that real leather?”

“[Y/n], shush,” Lionel laughed. “Don’t go blurting it out to the whole world that I’m rich, what if someone tries to mug me?”

“Oh, Li, you don’t need me to do that. Your clothes do that for you.”

Lionel glanced down at his outfit with a frown. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

“Trust me, Li. Just like you can probably tell that I wear cheap clothes, yours scream expensive.”

“I just have good taste,” Lionel said stubbornly.

He approached the counter with a confident, polite smile.

“Bonjour. Deux billets, s'il vous plaît.”

“Ce sera deux euros. Souhaitez-vous faire un don pour soutenir notre travail?”

Lionel opened his mouth to say something, but then he glanced at you, and apparently changed his mind.

“Oui, bien sûr. Voici dix euros en plus.”

“Merci pour votre générosité, monsieur. Voici un guide du musée.”

The man handed Lionel a leaflet. Lionel glanced at it, then said, “Vous l'auriez en anglais?”

The man glanced at you, apparently unimpressed.

“Oui, voici une version anglaise,” he said, and he handed Lionel another leaflet. “Bonne visite, profitez-en bien.”

“Nous le ferons, merci. Bonne journée.”

Lionel placed a hand on the small of your back and ushered you on into the museum as the man behind the counter beckoned over the next visitor.

“Lionel…”

“Mmm?” he responded absentmindedly as he opened one of the leaflets.

“You’re so hot when you speak French.”

He glanced up at you and smirked. “Oh, really? I’ll have to remember that. It’ll be a lot easier to seduce you if I don’t have to actually say anything sexy. I’ll just recite the recipe for a cake in French.”

“Oh, Lionel, don’t be silly. You don’t know the recipe for a cake. Have you ever even stepped foot in a kitchen?”

Lionel smacked you with the leaflet playfully.

“As a matter of fact, I have. I’ll have you know that a few years ago, Sinclair became obsessed with the idea of baking. After his third burnt cake, I had to step in and supervise. It was an awful experience, I hated every second, I have no idea why some people pursue it as a career. Now, do you want to see the Monets first, or save the best until last?”

“Hmm… let’s do them first. Then we won’t be rushing through everything else to get to them.”

“Excellent. Here’s your guide — no, that’s mine. Here’s yours.”

He handed you one of the leaflets, the second one he’d been handed.

“What’s the difference?”

“This one’s French. Come on, it’s this way.”

“Are you completely fluent in French?” you asked as Lionel took your hand and led you in the direction the guide had pointed him.

“I’m fluent in French, Spanish and Italian,” Lionel said as if it was no big deal. “I can speak Dutch and Norwegian too, though not as well. Sinclair, of course, is fluent in all of them. He’s like a human Rosetta Stone. What languages do you speak?”

“English.”

“And?”

“English.”

“Seriously? They don’t even teach French in state schools?”

“We did a bit but it was all, like, basic stuff.  You know — Bonjour. Comment vas-tu? Comment t'appelles-tu? Je m'appelle [Y/n]. Je suis fille unique. J'habite à Winchester. Mon cours préféré est l'art. Où est la bibliothèque? That’s about the extent of my French. Oh, and the lyrics to Frère Jacques.”

Lionel chuckled. “They taught you the important things, then. Did they teach you how to say ‘My boyfriend is very handsome’?”

“No, why would I need to say that? Everyone can see how handsome you are.”

“But can they see that I’m your boyfriend?”

You glanced down at your joined hands.

“Point taken,” Lionel conceded. “Ah — there it is!”

He pointed to a door, which had Exposition Monet written at the top.

Although there’d been a queue to get in, the visitors had all headed in different directions depending on what they wanted to see, and the place was so huge that it was still fairly empty. When you stepped into the Monet Exhibition, you only saw two other people in there, and it was easy to ignore their presence.

There was something peaceful about viewing art with Lionel. He took his time with each piece, admiring it in detail. You’d gone to galleries together before, London had plenty, and every time, it was as if some other side of him came out.

It was easy to think of Lionel as a serious person. He was good at acting the part of the serious, well-educated posh boy you’d expected of him when you knew nothing about him but the college he went to. And next to Sinclair, full of energy and jokes, Lionel might seem, to an outsider, the most serious, unamused person in the world.

But you knew better. You saw him when you were alone, when his facade faded away and he felt comfortable enough to be himself around you. He was funny, he didn’t take himself too seriously, and sometimes he even let you see that he wasn’t always as pretentiously self-confident as he seemed.

But this Lionel, the Lionel even you rarely saw — it was like a third, hidden layer of his personality. He was quiet, but you could sense that internally, he was admiring every brushstroke, every choice of colour, every drop of paint that captured an artist’s vision.

It wouldn’t be until after you left a gallery and you were brought back into the real world that Lionel would say anything about the pieces you’d looked at. You would spend hours talking, discussing your favourite pieces, which ones had moved you, which had moved him, and swapping ideas and interpretations. Sometimes you disagreed, but you found that even more enthralling, because neither of you ever said the other was wrong, and you both loved to hear the other’s interpretation.

You turned into a separate room, and you saw a very familiar painting ahead of you.

“Look, it’s our old friend,” Lionel said, speaking for the first time since you’d entered the exhibition.

He led you by the hand up to Haystacks at Dawn, the very same painting he’d shown you the day you met. The plaque, written in both French and English, told you it was on loan from a private collection.

There was a kind of stillness in him when he was looking at art. But you could feel his thumb moving, gently stroking your hand, as if that one part of him that was connected to you stayed grounded while the rest of him was lost somewhere within the painting.

“Lionel?”

“Hmm?”

He turned his head towards you slightly, but his eyes remained fixed on the canvas.

“I love you.”

It took him a moment to tear his eyes away from the painting, but when he looked at you, it was as if you were the only work of art there.

He didn’t say anything at first. It wasn’t hesitation — more of a basking in the moment, letting the reality of what you’d said set in.

His smile lit up his face in a way you’d never seen before. It was a mixture of relief, of peace and comfort; as if your words had washed all his worries away.

He leant down and kissed you, his lips soft on yours. He usually kissed you so passionately, his tongue pressing into your lips; but now, his lips were softly ghosting yours, as if he were kissing the words that had just left them.

His amber eyes gazed into yours with ardent adoration.

“I love you, too,” Lionel said softly.

You felt a weight lift from your chest, one you hadn’t even known was there, and a feeling of serenity took its place, enclosing your heart in a soft, warm, protective embrace. Nothing could hurt you now.

You wrapped your arms around his torso and held him in an embrace. Lionel hugged you back, his lips ghosting kisses across your forehead. In front of you both, Haystacks at Dawn was still there, a silent observer; its paint had sat on its canvas for eighty years, waiting to connect this, the greatest moment of Lionel’s life, to that morning in Monet’s life all that time ago.

And Lionel knew that he would never look at that painting the same way again.

- - -

“Oh fuck, that feels so fucking good.”

Lionel smirked to himself as he heard your voice from the bathroom. He had every intention of making you repeat that phrase soon for a very different reason; but for now, you were saying it because your feet were on fire from walking around the museum all day, and you’d just lowered them into the scalding hot water of the jacuzzi.

His feet were fine, of course. He’d spent many hours exploring Paris in the past, and he’d invested in some very comfortable shoes for it. You, meanwhile, had worn sandals with your summer dress, and they were definitely not designed for walking around in all day.

After the museum - which had taken you most of the day - Lionel had taken you for an early dinner at a fancy restaurant. Usually, you insisted on ordering for yourself, but since you had no idea what the menu said or how to order it, Lionel had ordered for you. You didn’t complain; it meant you could listen to him speak more French.

Lionel wanted to go out for drinks afterwards, but you wanted to rest your feet, so you agreed to go back to the hotel room for a while first.

While bathing your feet, you came to a decision. You knew what you wanted; and you wanted it now.

You’d already told him you loved him. Now you wanted to show him.

When you emerged from the bathroom, Lionel was sat on the edge of the bed, casually reading the back of a champagne bottle as he sipped on a glass of its contents.

“This stuff’s excellent. Do you want to try some?” Lionel asked, holding up the glass to you.

Your response was to take the bottle from his hand, and the glass, and place them on a nearby cabinet. You turned back to Lionel, who was frowning at his drink being taken away, but his mood quickly changed when you straddled his lap and held his head in your hands to kiss him.

Any thoughts of champagne were suddenly forgotten. All Lionel wanted to taste was you. His arms snaked around your torso, holding you close against him as he kissed you back. Emboldened by the drinks he’d already had at dinner, Lionel let a hand wander down your back, and when it landed on your rear, you didn’t protest. He let his other hand follow the same path, and even when he squeezed both your cheeks, you didn’t stop him. In fact, your reaction was to thrust your hips forward, and Lionel could feel his trousers tightening.

“[Y/n]… I’ve warned you about wriggling on my lap,” Lionel said through gritted teeth as your kisses wandered down his jawline. “Are you trying to get me excited?”

You just kept kissing him until you reached his ear, then said softly, “Are there condoms in your bag?”

Lionel’s breath hitched.

“Why… why would I pack condoms?”

“Hmm, I don’t know… a romantic trip to Paris with your girlfriend… why wouldn’t you pack condoms?”

“I… yes, I brought some. Just — just in case.”

“Good.” You pressed a kiss to the end of his nose. “Better get them out, then.”

Lionel’s eyes went wide for a moment, then narrowed again as he remembered his confidence. You stood to let him up, and he tried to act cool as he went over to his suitcase to dig out the box of condoms he’d packed, hidden from view beneath his underwear.

“I’ve… had these for a few weeks,” he admitted as he turned back to you with the box in hand. You’d sat yourself on the bed and scooted up to sit against the headboard.

“It’s open,” you said curiously as Lionel placed the box on the bedside table and shrugged off his jacket.

“I practised putting it on,” he admitted. “I didn’t want to do it wrong when — when the time came.”

He sat on the edge of the bed and placed his hand over yours.

“Are you sure you want to do this? I don’t want you to feel like you have to because I’ve brought you to Paris.”

You smiled sweetly. “Yes, I’m sure, Li. Anyway, I don’t have much choice after hearing you speak so much French today. Every time your accent changed, I had to resist the urge to drop my knickers right there and then.”

Lionel chuckled and pushed himself onto the bed to straddle your legs. “I didn’t know French had such an effect on you. I’d have started speaking French to you weeks ago if I’d known.”

“I didn’t know either until I heard it from you. You could say anything in French and it’d sound sexy.”

Lionel smirked mischievously. He leaned forward and brought his lips close to your ear, then whispered, “Omelette du fromage.”

You burst out laughing.

“Come on, I know that means cheese omelette!”

Lionel laughed as he pulled away and sat back. He placed his hands on your knees and gently moved them away from each other, smiling as he admired the view of your skirt riding up your thighs.

“I think I’ll start with taking your knickers off,” he said with a growl.

He placed his hands on your hips and pulled you down the bed until you were flat on your back. His thumbs slipped under the waistband of your knickers, and he gently pulled them down your legs and past your ankles, before discarding them on the floor somewhere.

You felt exposed like this, Lionel’s grip on your thighs keeping them firmly in place, so you couldn’t have closed your legs if you wanted to. He was looking between your legs hungrily, his pupils wide and dilated, as he considered his next move.

“Maybe you’re right about calling yourself a lion. You look like you’re about to pounce.”

Lionel’s eyes flickered up to yours, and he smirked.

“I am a lion, darling.” His eyes drifted down again. “I suppose that makes you my gazelle.”

He certainly moved with the swiftness of a pouncing lion going in for the kill, but instead of teeth sinking into the flesh of prey, he dipped his head between your legs and you felt his tongue delve beneath your folds.

You gasped, and that only spurred him on, his tongue exploring your folds as enthusiastically as it had explored your mouth on many occasions. He licked every inch of you he could find, and you were sure he was leaving your clit for last — you knew damn well he knew where it was, his fingers had proven that several times now.

When he finally deigned to show you some attention where it really mattered, he gave you the smallest, slightest lick under the hood, right on it, and you let out a whine.

You could feel him smirking. You could feel his fucking pride against your skin as he licked you again, and you let out another whine.

He was doing it on purpose, you realised as he did it a third time. He was giving you a small but perfect lick, just enough to make you whine, then pausing before doing it again.

“Stop teasing and do it properly, you arsehole,” you said through gritted teeth.

Lionel pulled his head back slightly to look up at you and laughed.

“Anything for you, mon chérie.”

He stopped teasing. He did it properly.

He was a quick learner. It was his first time eating you out, yet somehow he was able to stimulate you in ways you could never do with your own fingers, even though you’d been touching yourself since you were eleven years old.

Then again, a tongue was very different from a finger. It was wetter, softer, and able to change shape. Lionel could also, you discovered with a moan, close his lips around your clit and suck.

That was apparently the last straw. Lionel kept sucking and licking as you came, legs shaking and mouth crying out something that vaguely resembled his name. It was only when you asked him to stop that he stilled his movements and pulled his head back, and the sight of his lips and chin covered in your glistening cum was bested only when you saw him wipe his chin with his thumb, then lick the thumb clean.

“You’d better get those fucking clothes off,” you said as you reached over for the box of condoms.

“Since when does the gazelle give the lion orders?”

Even so, Lionel obeyed, fingers making quick work of his shirt. You pulled your dress over your head, then unclasped your bra and tossed it all aside.

Lionel groaned with relief when he was able to pull his trousers down and free his cock. He kicked away the remainder of his clothing, then took the condom from you. You watched as he rolled it down his shaft, then you wrapped your hand around him and gave it a few experimental tugs to see what it felt like.

“When you practised… did you cum in it?”

“Mmm. It feels different. Less sensitive, perhaps, but that may be a good thing — I might finish too soon otherwise.”

“Did you think about me?” you asked teasingly.

Lionel raised an eyebrow at you. “[Y/n], I have thought about you with every wank since the day we met. I’d hope you’ve been thinking about me too.”

“Oh, I have,” you promised. “Especially since I first touched your cock and realised how big you are… I’ve been wondering what it’ll feel like to have you inside me. If you’ll even fit.”

“Then wonder no more. Lie down, darling.”

You did, and as you adjusted the pillow to support your neck comfortably, Lionel kissed his way up your body, starting from your belly button, all the way up your chest until he was kissing your lips again.

His body was pressed against yours. You could feel the heat radiating from him, and you could definitely feel his cock pressing against you, just one swift movement away from pushing inside.

“You’re shivering,” Lionel said with a small frown when he pulled away from the kiss and noticed you were shaking slightly. “Are you cold?”

“I’m — I’m nervous,” you admitted shyly.

Lionel kissed your lips softly. “So am I,” he admitted.

“I thought lions didn’t get nervous?”

“Perhaps I’m more human than I thought.” He gently stroked a stray strand of hair away from your face. “Are you ready, love?”

You nodded. You’d never been more ready for anything in your life. You didn’t just want him; you needed him.

Lionel pushed his hips forward slightly… and missed, his cock sliding up against your skin instead.

You reached down and took his cock in your hand. You guided him towards your entrance, and when he slipped inside, he let out a low groan.

“Holy shit,” he hissed through gritted teeth.

You pulled your hand away, instead wrapping your arms around his shoulders to pull him close to you as his hips moved further forward.

“Oh my god, [Y/n]. You feel… fucking phenomenal. I had - Christ! - I had no idea it would feel like this. So — so wet and warm. Fuck. How does it feel?”

“I can — I can feel you stretching me out,” you gasped in response. “It’s good — a good stretch. Like my body’s… expanding to fit you.”

“Mmm, yes, you’ll take all of me. And you wondered how I’d fit… the answer is perfectly. You were meant to take me, don’t you think? The gazelle meant to be devoured by the lion.”

He let out a groan as he bottomed out, his hips pushing into your thighs. Lionel took the skin of your neck between his teeth and sucked, as if he really were trying to devour you.

“I’m not… I’m not a gazelle,” you breathed.

Lionel released your neck from his lips so he could look up at you with amusement.

“Oh? Then what are you?”

You kissed him, hard and firm, as if marking your territory, then raised your lips to his ear.

“I’m the fucking lioness.”

Lionel physically shuddered as a wave of arousal swept over him.

“Yes… yes, you fucking are. Of course you are. My lioness. Then I hope you’re ready, love. Because I’m going to fuck you like the mighty fucking lioness you are.”

“Then do it.”

Lionel grinned, and you really hoped the hotel walls were soundproof, because the noise you made when he began slamming his hips into you was ungodly. And he kept going, which only made your sinful moans longer.

“I’m not gonna fucking last long if you - hah - if you moan like that,” Lionel grunted. “Bloody hell, love, I can’t tell you how fucking good you feel. I’m afraid I won’t last a day without fucking you now, not now I know this is how it feels. Even better than I imagined, fuck… fucking hell, [Y/n]. I love you. I really fucking - Christ! - I really love you. Shit, I’m about to cum already…”

“Do it, I want you to,” you gasped. “I want you to cum with your cock inside me, Li…”

“Oh, I will, I promise you that. Fuck, I — [Y/n] — [Y/n]!”

His hips stilled as he came, and that beautiful look on his face of utter ecstasy as he lost control looked even more beautiful from this angle.

Your name melted into a groan, and then a grunt of exhaustion as Lionel’s entire body relaxed and he practically flopped onto you.

“Fucking hell, [Y/n],” he mumbled as he nuzzled your neck and planted soft kisses on your skin. “You’re amazing.”

You smiled and kissed his shoulder.

“I know.”

Lionel laughed breathily, then pulled out of you and managed to sit himself up to pull the condom off.

“Back in a sec.”

He pushed himself off the bed and took himself into the bathroom, where you heard him turn on the tap, no doubt to clean himself up.

You took the opportunity to sit up slightly and look between your legs. To your surprise, there was no blood, just the usual glistening of your own secretions.

When Lionel came out of the bathroom, you took your turn. You returned to him sitting up against the headboard, still stark naked, lighting a cigarette.

“Do you want one?” he asked, pointing to the packet of cigarettes that now sat next to the condoms on the bedside table.

You shook your head as you climbed back onto the bed with him, an arm snaking over his torso as you cuddled up to him. Lionel wrapped his arm around you and cuddled you back.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded and smiled happily.

“I thought there’d be blood. My friends all told me you bleed the first time.”

“Only if your boyfriend doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Lionel said smugly. He took a long drag of his cigarette, then said, “I know that was quick. I knew it’d be good, but I didn’t think it’d be that good. I’ll be ready to go again soon, we can do it again if you want. Tomorrow too. In fact, forget seeing Paris, let’s just stay in here and shag all day.”

You laughed and looked up at him. “Think you’ve got the stamina for that? Lions aren’t known for their endurance.”

Lionel grinned.

“When they’re in heat, they shag about fifty times a day. Think we can match that?”

“I have a feeling you’re gonna try.”

Lionel reached over to stub his cigarette out in the ashtray, then wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you down onto the bed, kissing every inch of you he could find. He growled with arousal as your bodies pressed together, and you could feel him getting erect again.

“You’ve awoken the beast now, love. And I am going to fucking devour you.”

Paris could wait. Your boyfriend had only one thing on his mind, and so did you; you knew you weren’t leaving this hotel room for a long time.

[sonofthedunes]

it’s that time again! happy may the fourth to all my lovely followers :3 this year’s offering is a luke and andrie story, set about a year before the events of return of the jedi. if any of you remember my first angsty headcanons post, this is an expansion of the last bullet point. (and as for luke’s hair, it’s not EXACTLY the rotj hairstyle? it’s shorter on the back and sides and the bangs are higher. he let it grow out a bit on dagobah lol.) warning for language and sexual content, minors DNI.

parting is all we know of heaven and all we need to know of hell

Onboard Home One, 3 ABY

The sensations come to her in fragments: the absence of a warm body beside her, the bedside lamp flicked on, the rustling of fabric. Irritation—did he really think he could sneak away while she slept?—melts into glum acceptance. The moment has arrived; in a few short minutes he’ll be leaving her, going back to Dagobah with Artoo. To finish his training. To become, at last, a Jedi Knight.

Andrie pushes herself upright, brushing wavy red-gold hair back from her eyes, and fixes a bleary glare on the room’s other occupant. Luke meets her eyes over his shoulder, frozen in the act of pulling on his pants. The atmosphere is tense. At length he sighs and breaks eye contact, sliding the pants to his waist. “…I was going to wake you,” he offers by way of excuse. “I wouldn’t have just—“

“Really? ‘Cause that’s what it looks like,” Andrie points out. She kicks the sheets aside and scrambles across the mattress and out of bed, watching Luke as he buttons his fly. “Look, I know this is hard for you,” she adds. “For me too. But…stars, you’ve left me to wake up alone so many times. Don’t do it today.”

Turning to face her fully, he reaches out to gently touch her cheek. “You’ve done it to me too,” he half-smiles.

“Luke…”

“I know,” he sighs, rubbing his thumb across her faint freckles. “But I wasn’t going to this time, I swear.”

“I’m not convinced,” Andrie admits, noting with some surprise that he’s using his prosthetic hand. Even weeks later, Luke still seems uncomfortable with its very presence. Last night in bed, he’d almost been ashamed to use it. Her heart ached for him then. Maybe this, in some small way, is progress. At the very least, he doesn’t remove it when she confesses her doubt.

“I deserve that. But I’m glad you’re awake anyway,” he says. “There’s something I’d like you to do for me.”

Now that gives Andrie pause. What is there left to do? Luke had spent a good part of the previous day packing and ensuring his X-wing was in tip-top shape. He’d sent Artoo off for maintenance as well, and had somehow caught Leia in a rare quiet moment to talk (about what, Andrie hasn’t asked). Very likely he’d meditated too, he often does before a mission. And only when all of this was completed had he joined her for dinner, and then come back to her quarters…no, try as she might, Andrie can’t fathom what might have slipped through the cracks. “I give up. What do you need?” she wonders.

And Luke answers with a very strange question:

“Do you have any scissors?”

—-

They stand in the tiny attached refresher, grouped in front of the sink and its wall-mounted mirror. Though he’d showered earlier, Luke has wet his hair again to make things easier for Andrie; an off-white towel lies draped around his shoulders. Hovering just behind him (they’re nearly the same height—at least that won’t be an obstacle), Andrie fingers a chunk of hair nervously. The scissors are clutched almost painfully in her other hand. “Are you sure you want me to do this?” she inquires.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he replies calmly.

“Do you know how long it’s been since I cut someone’s hair? Besides my own, I mean.”

“And your hair looks great! I’m not worried.”

Andrie huffs. “Bit biased, aren’t you?”

“I only say what I mean,” Luke reminds her, dimple softly shadowing the corner of his mouth. “Anyway, if I tried to do it myself it would look terrible. All uneven and patchy. I trust you.”

You may come to regret those words, Andrie wants to retort. Instead, she bites her tongue and seizes the hair again. She’ll start at the back—that way, if she fucks up the damage will be easier to hide. Theoretically. Slowly she raises the scissors, blades sliding apart…eyes the piece of hair, gripped tight in her fingers, then slots it between the blades and decisively—

Snip. Andrie brings her hand away, a damp hunk of blonde hair along for the ride. Not nearly as much as she thought she’d cut, thank the maker. This is okay. She can manage as long as she follows this pattern; Luke was fairly vague on the style he wanted, only wishing for his hair to be shorter. “You good?” her lover asks, frowning at her in the mirror.

Lowering her hands, Andrie peeks around and nods reassuringly. “Oh yeah! No problem.” Flicking the hair away onto the floor (a problem for her future self), she draws in a breath and selects the next piece.

And so it continues, the minutes ticking away as she works. Snip, snip, snip, the steady rhythm of her scissors as they bite through Luke’s thick, soft hair. Errant locks drift into the sink basin, or catch in the towel he’s wearing, or glide to the tile floor. Gradually Andrie fashions it into a more…she supposes she’d call it conservative shape, leaving more of his neck bare and without quite as much body. It looks more or less even—should be easier to keep clean and tidy on Dagobah. “…all right,” she finally mutters, the first words either of them have spoken in some time. “That’s done. Turn around and I’ll get the front.”

Luke obeys, glancing quickly into the mirror as he rotates. “Hey, not bad!” he exclaims. “Maybe you should set up a salon in the next base.”

If it’s at all possible, he falls even more in love with her when she rolls her eyes and shushes him. “Quiet, you,” she chides him, adjusting his chin as she inspects his bangs. “Let’s see…”

The front of Luke’s hair takes considerably less time than the back. The pair quickly agree that he should keep his bangs, albeit trimmed slightly higher on his forehead; his sidelocks too are shortened, allowing his ears a bit more breathing room. Carefully removing his hair-covered towel cape, Andrie passes Luke a fresh one to dry off. She rinses her scissors, but can’t be bothered to clean up the remnants of her work just now. Her attention is focused on Luke, on what she’s done to him. He looks…different. Not different like the way his facial scars had changed him—this is something more intangible. It’s as if what remained of his youthfulness and innocence now lies in the sink with his hair. As he studies his reflection, turning his head this way and that, she can’t find a trace of the farmboy from Tatooine. There’s a sternness to his jaw now, a sadness in his eyes. For a brief second, Andrie’s anger flares at what this war—at what Vader has taken from him. From all of them.

And now he’ll be taken from her, by his own choice.

A bubble of relief swells in her chest when Luke doesn’t seem to hate his new hairstyle. “Thank you,” he tells her, squeezing her hand before he exits the refresher. Andrie extinguishes the light as she follows, eyes darting to the foot of her bed. There lies Luke’s flightsuit, neatly folded (more or less) and awaiting its owner. With fluid surety born of years summoned to midnight sorties, he shakes it out, shoves limbs into sleeves and legs, draws the zipper up over his fatigues and snaps the collar shut. Then come the flak vest, the life support pack, the harnesses, the smartly polished boots. His bags are already stowed in the X-wing’s cargo hold—all that remain to be retrieved are his gloves and battered helmet. And once he has those…

They’re sitting on her work table, but Luke makes no move to pick them up. Not yet. Instead, he strides to where Andrie stands. Blue contemplates blue as they face one another. Are they memorizing the sight, to sustain them through their separation? Or perhaps reflecting on how much they’ve changed? The naive kids who found themselves caught in a civil war—where have they gone…and what would they think of the man and woman in this room?

Luke swallows, lips thinning. “Andrie, I…” he begins evenly.

But Andrie halts him: “Don’t.” They’ve said the usual platitudes over and over: come back to me, be brave, I love you. She’s sick of them. She wants something solid. Contact. The distance between them closes rapidly, her hands seizing his biceps and their mouths fusing.

Immediately he relaxes into the kiss, hands splaying on her waist; a tiny whimper escapes him. They accept whatever comfort it gives them, this reprieve from the struggle. Last night wasn’t like this, Andrie thinks. Last night, they’d devoured one another. Clothes were torn off and tossed about the room, bruises blossoming from teeth and too-enthusiastic grips…he fucked her from behind, on her hands and knees, hips bucking like an untamed fathier. They’d fallen asleep soon after, still naked, exhausted and exhilarated. The encounter had been good. Very good.

But that wasn’t all last night had been…some time during those long hours, they awoke and turned toward each other again, desire rekindled. Luke shuddered when Andrie touched him, ghosting over his chest. “Please,” he whispered, every inch of him straining with need. The need for so many things. And Andrie knew she couldn’t give him all of them, but she’d give all she could. “Yes” was both reply and entreaty, her body unfolding for him as he surged tidelike against her. This time had been gentler; they made love without urgency, without greed or lingering fear. This time they lay entwined, fingers caressing and mouths falling open in soft sighs and groans; his strokes were slow and deep, his eyes shining as he gazed down at her. She gazed back, a smile creasing her face as she reached up to touch his. How safe she felt in his arms…the Empire’s might could never harm them here. All they wished for in this moment was release—and it was granted to them. The first round of climaxes had crashed in with loud moans and “yes baby, right there”. The second arrived much more unobtrusively: Andrie gasped and dug her nails into Luke’s back, and Luke uttered a soft broken cry into her neck, collapsing onto her as their chests heaved. “Love you,” he managed, holding her tighter. “Love you so much.”

“I love you too,” she answered, and felt the truth of it in her bones. And wondered how many more times she’d get the opportunity to tell him.

Just as she wonders now if this might be their last kiss. It’s over far too soon, his bottom lip sticking slightly to hers as he pulls away. He gives her a smile that’s meant to hearten her, but really just makes her sadder. “Look after Leia for me,” he beseeches.

How could Andrie refuse? Of all the people Luke’s leaving behind, the princess needs support most of all. “Of course,” she vows. “And I know Artoo will look after you for me.”

“Something like that,” Luke chuckles, though their smiles soon fade. The temperamental astromech is probably waiting in the hangar as they speak, grumbling to himself about what’s taking Luke so long.

There can be no more delay.

He walks slowly to the work table, loops his gloves through his belt and tucks his helmet under his arm. Even with his shortened hair, Luke is still a picture-perfect Rebel pilot, and Andrie can’t help but admire him. He’s so beautiful, and so strong, and she misses him already. There’s nothing more to say, no other final reminders to bestow. They’re equipped as best they can be to face the long months ahead, he in his training and she searching for Han. When their friend has been found, Luke will come back to rescue him. At least that was what he’d promised. She prays he’ll be true to his word.

And that makes her realize there IS one thing she hasn’t yet said to him—the blessing a Jedi most needs to hear.

“Luke.” He turns to her, expectant. Andrie inhales, and with all the sincerity she can muster pronounces: “The Force is with you.” Not “may the Force be with you.” It is. It has to be. For all our sakes.

His eyebrows lift in surprise, questions gathering—the subject of the Force has been a thorny one between them for years. But in the next heartbeat he seems to reconsider. There will be time for that someday…when this is over. “Goodbye, Andrie,” he tells her in a low voice, readjusting the helmet.

Even before she turns away, they both know she won’t come to the hangar with him.

She listens to his footsteps, and to the opening and closing of the automatic door, with a trembling chin and smarting eyes. Stars, how it hurts. There has never been a day it hasn’t pained her to send him off, regardless of the destination. But let him she must, just as she must attend to her own duties. Andrie rubs the tears away and heads back to the refresher. After sweeping up the hair, she aims to shower, dress and secure breakfast; then she’ll check in with Rebel command, and if Leia isn’t among them she’ll locate the princess herself. They’re no closer to finding Han, and Andrie will do whatever she can to assist.

When she and Luke reunite, he’ll be a Jedi. Heaven only knows what Andrie will be—but whatever it is, she’ll continue to serve the Rebellion with courage and devotion, and she’ll cling to the loyalty and love that sustain her.

But, she decides, she won’t be cutting anyone else’s hair.

[mostly-marvel-musings]

sitting on logan's lap, both of you sat near the foot of the bed, logan fucking you as tony kneels between your legs and licks and suckles your clit 😮‍💨🤤🥵 and logan would totally just grab tony by the hair and shove his face closer to your pussy, tell tony to make you cum on his cock

The Unholy Trinity - 2

A/N: I can’t stop writing for these two. They’re just 🫠🫠🫠🫠

Pairing: Tony Stark x Logan x F! Reader

Warning: 18+ seven shades of smutty smut. It’s filth.

Logan/Hugh Jackman Masterlist

.

It started slow. It always did with them.

A brush of fingers in the hallway. A look that lingered too long across the dinner table. The sharp scrape of Logan’s jaw against your throat when he cornered you in the kitchen, rough hands splayed over your hips like he was measuring need. Tony had only smirked from the doorway, sleeves rolled up, a glass of scotch in hand, and a dangerous gleam in his eye.

“I leave you two alone for five minutes,” he said, voice all silk and static. “And suddenly I’m the third wheel?”

You didn’t even have time to answer.

Now, the room’s drenched in shadow and want, the sheets kicked down to the floor, and clothes long abandoned in a trail from the hall to the bed. The only things that remain: the pulse between your legs and the way both of them orbit you like you’re something sacred.

Logan’s sitting back against the footboard, thighs spread, holding you like he’s been doing it for a lifetime. His chest is slick against your back, breath hot against your shoulder, arms locked around your waist like he won’t—can’t—let go. Tony’s kneeling between your legs, eyes dark and hungry, arc reactor casting a soft blue glow over your skin. His tongue traces circles that make your thighs twitch, lips wrapping around your clit like he’s memorizing every sound you make.

You’re not even sure who moans first—but it echoes through the room like something primordial.

.

Your back is pressed flush against Logan’s chest, thighs trembling around Tony’s head, the three of you tangled at the foot of the bed like a secret you’d never confess out loud. Logan’s cock thrusts up into you slow but deep, a steady, punishing rhythm that makes your entire body shudder with every drag of him inside you.

Tony’s kneeling between your legs, face buried in your heat, tongue working you over like a man starved—licking, suckling, groaning as he loses himself in your taste. His fingers dig into your thighs, keeping you spread just how he wants you, but Logan… Logan wants more.

With a growl, Logan reaches down, grabs Tony by the hair, and yanks him closer—ruthless, like he owns the moment, and maybe he does.

“C’mon, Stark,” he snarls, his voice low and gravelly against your ear. “Make her cum on my cock. You can do that, can’t you? Smart mouth like yours, use it for something useful.”

Tony moans into you—into you—as if the command alone turns him on, and then he doubles down. Tongue relentless, lips wrapping around your clit like a promise, like he’s desperate to ruin you.

You gasp, fingers clenching uselessly in the sheets as your climax builds fast, sharp, and devastating. Trapped between Logan’s strength and Tony’s hunger, you’re helpless—blissfully, gloriously helpless.

And both of them love it.

Your moan gets swallowed by Logan’s mouth on your neck, his lips hot and possessive as he fucks up into you, each thrust a filthy, deliberate claim. You’re straddling his lap like it was made to fit you, back arched, chest heaving, legs shaking.

Tony’s tongue is sin incarnate, flicking, curling, dragging over your clit like it’s a challenge. His hands grip your thighs, one thumb brushing in counter-rhythm as his mouth devours you like your pleasure is the only thing that matters.

Then Logan growls. It vibrates through your spine.

“She’s close,” he bites out, voice wrecked, possessive. “I can feel it.”

Tony hums against your pussy—cocky little bastard—and Logan doesn’t like that smugness one bit. He grabs a fistful of Tony’s hair and shoves him closer, grinding you down on his own cock as he snarls, “You wanna show off? Then make her cum for me. Wanna feel her fall apart while your mouth’s still on her.”

Tony lifts his head just enough to look up at you, eyes dark, face slick, mouth ruined.

“Yes, sir,” he murmurs, low and wrecked, voice shaking with want. “She tastes like fucking heaven.”

Then he’s back at it—tongue flattening, lips wrapping around your clit with greedy worship, and Logan doesn’t stop moving inside you. It’s overwhelming—the fullness, the heat, the hands, the mouths. Your body’s being played like an instrument by two men who know exactly how to break you apart and savor every shattered piece.

Logan’s mouth presses against your ear again, feral and coaxing.

“Let go, sweetheart. Come for us. Let Tony taste it. Let me feel it.”

And when you do—when you cry out and your walls clench around Logan’s cock and Tony groans like he’s the one coming—it’s devastating. You’re shaking, pulsing, riding out wave after wave of pleasure while Tony keeps licking, keeps feasting, like he wants every drop of you.

Logan holds you tighter, hips still rocking up as he moans into your hair. “Fuck—just like that, baby. Gonna fill you up now. You ready for that? Ready to take all of me?”

And Tony? Tony doesn’t stop. He just looks up, flushed and wrecked and whispering against your cunt, “Good girl. So fucking good for us.”

.

Your body’s still trembling, held between the two of them like a secret. Logan’s breathing heavy against your neck, chest slick with sweat, arms locked around you like he’s trying to slow the world down. Tony leans back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like a man who just had dessert and knows it.

“Well,” Tony says, smug and breathless, arc reactor casting a faint glow over his chest as he smirks up at you, “I’d give myself five stars. Maybe even a Michelin rating.”

“Pretty bold talk for someone who needed a push to do the job right,” Logan grumbles, still buried inside you, voice rough with the edge of leftover hunger.

Tony raises a brow, licking his lower lip lazily. “Didn’t hear you complaining when she nearly screamed your name like it was the second coming.”

You sigh—half wrecked, half amused—and blink at them both. “Are you two seriously having a dick-measuring contest while I’m still impaled?”

“Technically, impaled by me,” Logan mutters, smug as hell, hands gripping your hips again.

“Oh my God,” you groan, “this is hell. Sexy, sweaty, stupid hell.”

Tony reaches up, brushing a thumb over your thigh like he’s touching holy ground. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll redeem ourselves in round two.” His gaze drops, and a dark glint flashes in his eyes. “Maybe it’s time I took a seat.”

You feel Logan’s smirk before you hear it. “Think you can handle that, Stark?”

Tony meets his gaze, cocky and calm. “The real question is—can you?”

You end up on Tony’s lap this time, knees on either side of his thighs, the soft hum of the arc reactor pulsing against your chest as he kisses you slow, hands mapping every inch of you like he’s memorizing. Logan kneels behind you, hands on your hips, his cock already hard again and teasing your slick entrance.

Tony breaks the kiss, lips brushing your jaw as he murmurs, “Let him fuck you while you ride me, baby. I want to feel you fall apart again—right here, in my lap, while I hold you.”

Logan growls low behind you, possessive, hand sliding down to toy with your clit lazily.

“Gonna fuck her slow this time,” he rumbles. “Real slow. Wanna feel her melt while you beg for it.”

You shiver, caught between heat and steel, softness and bite, two men poised to ruin you all over again—but slower, deeper, and with a hell of a lot more filthy devotion.

.

You’re boneless, draped across Tony like your spine forgot how to function. Logan’s behind you, still buried, still catching his breath, but his hand’s already running up and down your side in long, grounding strokes. His thumb brushes the base of your neck like he’s making sure you’re still tethered to this plane.

Tony’s fingers trail along your thigh, gentle, like he’s sketching invisible circuitry on your skin. The cocky smirk is gone—what’s left behind is something devastatingly real.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, head tilted to look up at you. His hand settles over your heart like he’s listening with more than just his ears.

You nod, eyes fluttering shut for a second. “Yeah. I’m more than okay. I’m… thoroughly rearranged.”

Tony snorts. “I do aim to please.”

“Modest, aren’t we?” Logan mutters, but his tone’s warm, teasing—his lips press against your shoulder in a soft, apologetic kiss.

“You need anything?” Logan asks next, the gravel in his voice now melted to velvet. “Water, snack, shower… stretcher?”

Tony lifts a brow. “We do have that medical-grade massage bed downstairs…”

You hum lazily. “I don’t need any of that. Just… stay. Just for a little while.”

Logan shifts slightly, slipping out with a quiet groan and a kiss to your lower back. You whimper at the loss, but he’s already pulling the blankets up, sliding in beside you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Tony adjusts you both, pulling you tighter into his chest, Logan’s heat wrapped around your back. It’s a furnace of affection—two forces of nature pressed against you like shields.

“Your heartbeat’s still going fast,” Tony murmurs, fingers stroking behind your ear. “We short-circuited you, huh?”

You peek open one eye. “You electrocuted me, Tones.”

He grins. “I do have a glowing chest. Comes with certain side effects.”

“You’re both insufferable,” you sigh, melting further between them.

Logan chuckles, lips brushing your hair. “And you love it.”

You don’t respond—not with words, anyway. You just let your fingers find theirs under the blanket, threading them together like it’s muscle memory. And they let you—no jokes, no one-liners. Just silence and shared breath.

For a moment, the world is quiet. And safe. And perfect.

Then Tony speaks again, voice half-asleep and full of mischief.

“Hey, Wolvermean.”

“Yeah?”

“If we do this again…” he pauses, wicked grin returning, “dibs on being in the middle”.