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thewintersoldierdisaster · 3 days ago

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a/n: i love a good wedding fic and ive been excited to share this one! 🤍 not too much to say except i loved writing this and i hope you guys love reading it 🥰

word count: 7.5k

tw: unprotected sex, dirty talk, disgusting amount of domestic fluff,

summary: on a cold february day on long island, you and mat make it official surrounded by your friends and family

You’re awake before your eyes open, the baby fluttering around wakes you most days now, an excited roll in your stomach that gets you smiling before you’re even really conscious.

Watery February sunlight leaks in around the edges of your bedroom curtains, doing nothing to cut the Long Island winter chill. You curl up closer against Mat’s side, the round swell of your stomach pressed against his ribs, one of your legs thrown over his thigh.

Mat’s arm is around your back, his hand splayed over your hip, and he shifts to drag you closer even though there’s barely an inch of space between your bodies. He mumbles something, but doesn’t wake up, and you press your nose against his chest to soak up his warmth. Your usual blanket-hog fiancé has been surprisingly generous with sharing ever since you told him you were pregnant. Of course, now you rarely want the blanket since your body feels like a furnace half the time. But it’s the thought that counts.

The baby flutters again and you grin sleepily into the fabric of Mat’s shirt, patting the side of your stomach and murmuring, “morning to you too.”

You get an answering nudge and giggle, waking Mat in the process.

“Wha’s a matter?” He mumbles, voice slurred with sleep. He’s been back home for a couple of days now, the two week break already half over, but Mat’s always loved catching up on his sleep when he gets the chance.

“Sorry,” you murmur, “just talking to the baby. We’re okay. Go back to sleep.”

He hums and stretches, pulling you even tighter against his side and making you laugh a little. “Nah, I’m awake,” he says, sounding clearer. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Slept through the night, huh?”

“Nope,” you laugh, tangling your legs with his and enjoying the feeling of Mat’s muscled thigh between yours, “I got up to pee, but you slept through it.” You rock a little against his leg, barely aware you’re doing it.

Mat chuckles a bit and his hand slides over your ass lazily, palming it before giving it a brief squeeze. You lean into him, arm over his stomach, cheek against his heart, just quietly breathing together. You know he was bummed not to be picked for the All-Star Game this year, but you have to admit that selfishly you’re glad he’s home and you can relax together before the baby comes this summer. The season’s been a whirlwind and you’ve been busy planning your summer wedding, so it’s nice to just be quiet together. Not that today’s going to be quiet.

“Ready to get married?” You ask, tipping your head up and resting your chin on Mat’s chest. He looks deliciously sleep tousled, hair sticking up in all directions and a small smile ticking at his lips.

“Hell fucking yes,” he grins fully now, entire face scrunched up. His hand shifts from your ass to stroke at the side of your stomach, tickling lightly. “Baby daddy to husband, pretty solid upgrade.”

You snort a laugh and shift a little, hips aching from being on your side all night. “I’m looking forward to the wife upgrade,” you tease back. “I’m tired of the nurse at my OB/Gyn giving me dirty looks because I got knocked up out of wedlock.”

You’re not expecting Mat to have such a reaction to your throwaway comment, but he jolts and half-sits, forcing you to shift away from his side. Your head lands on your own pillow and you squeak from the surprise and sudden movement.

“Wait seriously?” He narrows his eyes at you, a concerned frown turning his lips down at the corners. “You never said anything, that’s bullshit.”

“She’s never said anything to my face,” you wave him off with a shrug. “I’m not overly concerned about it, Mat.”

“Well, I care!” He scoots back up against the headboard, pillows bunched up behind his back and you can see he’s getting worked up on your behalf, which is sweet, but right now all you really want is a cuddle and a back massage. “What right does she have to be judging you? Doesn’t that go against all the like medical codes and shit?”

You roll onto your back briefly to stretch while you answer him, “I think it only goes against medical ethics if she says something or like reports me to CPS? I don’t know, Mat. But after today it’s a non-issue. So, as adorable as you are when you’re defending me, can you please just rub my back and maybe give me one more engaged woman orgasm before they become married woman orgasms?”

That’s been a major perk of the second trimester - after your morning sickness and general all-day nausea had faded, you’d been wildly horny for Mat. Not that you weren’t before you were pregnant, but now everything feels heightened and luckily, Mat’s more than happy to indulge in your pouted pleas when he’s home.

Sure enough, Mat laughs and leans down to kiss you sweetly, tongue tracing over your lower lip, while he nudges you onto your side. “What baby mama wants, baby mama gets,” he teases, slotting himself in behind you so your ass is tucked up against his hardening cock. You hum happily and wiggle a bit, letting the hem of your oversized shirt ride up on your hip. Despite the chill, you more barely able to sleep in shorts because you’re running so hot lately. It’s definitely easier for Mat to indulge in your extra horny desires though.

“Making my job really easy over here,” Mat groans a little, his fingers digging into your hip. “Can feel how wet you are, babe.”

“Good,” your voice hiccups into a whine when Mat’s fingers slip under the edge of your panties, tracing around your clit delicately. “Harder, Mat, please.”

You wiggle your hips again and Mat presses a kiss to the back of your neck, murmuring for you to be patient.

His hips rock into yours and you feel his hands at your ass, moving fabric and caressing your skin until the hot ridge of his cock is pressed against your skin, making you hiccup a gasp. You’re soaked, ready for him and Mat is too gentle when he shifts you into position, lifting your leg so it’s pulled back a little, giving him room to slide his cock into you easily. He groans into your hair as he slides home, buried deep in your cunt.

“Feel so good, baby,” he mumbles, holding your leg up for you and starting to move. His cock glides easily, slicked up from your arousal, and you angle your hips backwards to take more of him.

You whine his name, needy and greedy as he fucks you slowly.

“I got you, I got you,” he chants, kissing your neck and behind your ear. One of your hands reaches back and buries in Mat’s hair, tugging gently, while the other digs at his wrist, holding his fingers in place while he toys with your swollen clit. You rock against his hand as best as you can, belly making smooth movement difficult.

“There we go,” he coos in your ear. “Almost there, can feel you clenching around me.”

Mat’s dirty talk is what finally pushes you over the edge, orgasm hitting like a truck, sparks flashing at the corner of your vision. You’re breathless, moaning his name and burying your face in your pillow as you come around his cock, Mat following you over the edge a few thrusts later. He fills you and you shiver, going limp in his arms.

You’re overly warm now, hot from the inside, and your shirt sticks to your back. Sweat beads at your hairline and you wince when Mat brushes his nose against your temple. “I’m gross now,” you complain, the baby rolling in your womb from the increase in your heart rate.

“Never,” Mat nips at your earlobe, slipping out of you and using his hand to wipe at the come splattered on your inner thighs before shifting your panties back into place. “You’re gorgeous, my fucking perfect wife-to-be.”

“Flatterer,” you accuse, curling up in his embrace with a tiny yawn. “Next time I want it harder,” you say, biting gently at his forearm where it’s banded over your chest.

You can feel his smirk when he replies, “if that’s what wifey wants.” He says it, but you know he won’t go as hard as you’d like because he doesn’t want to hurt the baby. Which is sweet, but you’re definitely trying to change his mind on that.

Mat lets you cuddle with him for a little bit longer, until you really start to feel gross and need a shower before you start getting ready for the day.

While you use the big shower in your en-suite, Mat showers in the guest bathroom and changes the sheets so you emerge from the Sol de Janiero scented steam to a clean fiancé and a freshly-made bed.

“I’m going to make sure everything’s set up downstairs,” Mat says, watching you slather your body in lotion. He reaches out to tap the bump, pressing his palm flat against the curve. You grin, willing the baby to kick so he can feel it. Nothing.

“Okay,” you nod, pulling on a pair of his sweats. Comfort is key right now. “It should all be ready to go.”

You’re having a little ceremony in the house before going out for the reception/dinner. It’s low key and easy, two things that you’re very happy for right now. The bigger party will be this summer, baby in tow. But it had been important to you that you and Mat were married before the baby comes. So, living room ceremony, officiated by your dad in the middle of Mat’s February break it is.

You’d picked up the marriage license yesterday, had the flowers delivered last night.

Your parents and Mat’s parents had flown in earlier in the week, Liana following two days ago. Beau and Emma arrived yesterday afternoon, ignoring your invitation to use the guest room in favor of a hotel, explaining that as much as they loved you both, listening to your sex life wasn’t something they wanted to do again, not after the tropical vacation where your rooms had shared a wall.

It’s not like you can blame them, not when you consider what you and Mat had gotten up to less than a hour ago.

“Last chance to make me go get ready at Bo’s,” Mat teases, pushing his hair off his face.

You shoot him a wry look, cupping the lower curve of your belly. “Hmm, I think we’ve blown that superstition out the window,” you reply. “Besides, you don’t have any plans to pull a runner, right?”

“Not a chance,” Mat says firmly, as if you could ever think otherwise. “You got me for life, Squeaksy.”

“Good,” you tilt your head up for a kiss, smiling against his mouth.

——

Mat disappears for a bit, but you can hear him rattling around downstairs and you assume he’s moving chairs and flower arrangements, so you’re not concerned.

While he does whatever he’s doing, you prop your phone up against the mirror on your vanity, thumbing open Tik Tok with the intention of creating a video diary of the day. Maybe you’ll edit it for Instagram, but right now it’s just for you.

“Well, it’s February fifteenth,” you smile into the camera, “and Mat and I are getting married.”

You shake your head, feeling a little silly for talking to the screen, and continue, “Dad’s officiating and we’re getting married in the living room. A fancy shotgun wedding.”

“I’m so excited to be Mat’s wife,” you can’t help the giant smile that spreads across your face, digging out your Dyson to dry your hair. “I’m so excited to be this little bug’s mom,” you pat your stomach and giggle, thinking about how much your life has changed in the last few years.

“Let’s get this party on the road,” you say, stopping the recording so you can fix your hair.

An hour later, you’re sweating slightly and a little out of breath, but your hair is dry and twisted into a casual up-do. It looks worse than the inspo pic, but better than you thought you’d be able to manage. So you’re treating it as a win.

Mat reappears and you catch sight of him in the mirror. “Hey!” You smile at him. “Did you fall into Narnia or something? What happened?”

“Had to make sure everything was set up,” he shrugs. And then his hands appear from behind his back, a pastry box in one and a smaller wrapped box in the other. “Plus I had a quick errand to run.”

Tears prick at your waterline, heart melting at Mat’s sweet surprise. “You got breakfast?” You ask, voice wavering. “How didn’t I hear you leave?”

“I’m a super spy,” Mat sets both boxes in front of you and takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Got you a ham and cheese croissant so eat at least a few bites of that for protein before you go right for the sugar.”

“Yes, dad,” you tease, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. Mat’s eyes twinkle and you roll yours at him before pinching off a corner of the ham and cheese, nibbling at it slowly. Morning sickness is in the rear view, but you don’t want to tempt it today. Your eyes keep flicking over to the smaller wrapped box, about the size of one of those perfume sets with lotion and a rollerball along with the full sized bottle and wrapped in, of all things, birthday paper.

Around a mouthful of chocolate croissant, Mat says, “in my defense, I thought it was going to come wrapped and I couldn’t find wedding paper last minute.”

A laugh bubbles in your chest and you pick up the box. It’s lighter than you expected. “Yours is in my night table drawer,” you say, rubbing your stomach for exaggerated effect. “Can you go get it for your pregnant fiancée?”

Instead of getting up, Mat rolls backwards on the bed and reaches for the drawer, withdrawing the small wrapped box. Navy blue paper, because you have nothing but time on your hands.

“You go first,” you encourage him, tipping your chin at the box, wiggling excitedly in your seat. You’re not sure who originally brought up the idea of wedding day gifts, but once you’d decided to do it after Valentine’s Day, it was easy to fold the gifts into one and you’re excited for Mat to see his gift. “From me and Baby B.”

Mat’s jaw drops when he opens the Rolex, its royal blue and gold face twinkling under the overhead lights. “Shit, babe, this is so cool,” he turns it in his hand, thumb brushing over the face. He gives you a beaming smile and leans in to kiss you deeply.

“It’s vintage, 1997,” you say. “And I stole one of your other watches to get the band on this one adjusted, so you can wear it today.”

Mat’s already got the watch on his wrist before you even finish your sentence, turning it so he can see what it looks like from all angles. “Shit, I love it. You shouldn’t have spent so much,” he says, eyebrows drawing together.

“It’s from me and the baby,” you shrug, laughing a little. Your fingers play at the messy edges of the wrapping paper on your gift. “Besides, you deserve it. We love you.”

He shakes his head and tells you to open your gift, wrapping paper falling away to reveal two black velvet jewelry boxes nestled inside an old Amazon box. Mat’s wrapping abilities, or lack thereof, never fail to make you smile. It’s your turn for your jaw to drop when you pop open the boxes to find a huge emerald cut amethyst cocktail ring and a matching necklace, the amethyst set horizontally on the chain.

“Oh, Mat,” you gasp, blinking rapidly to clear your vision. Tears are your new best friend, crying at the drop of a hat lately, but especially when Mat’s being sweet. “These are…”

He ruffles a hand through his hair, looking a little sheepish. “I, uh, talked to the girls. Amethyst is the February birthstone and obviously a wedding isn’t a birth, but I thought it would be a cool thing,” he explains. “And I’ve never seen you say no to a ring.”

You both look down at your hands, dainty gold stackable bands on most of your fingers, and you huff a little laugh. “Yeah, I need to take a few of these off for today,” you say, already pulling a few off so you can slide the cocktail ring onto your right ring finger. It’s a perfect fit.

Mat stands up and takes the necklace, clasping it around your neck and brushing his lips over your temple. The amethyst settles nicely into the notch between your collarbones, the setting cool against your skin. “Glad you like them,” he whispers.

“You’re such a sap,” you wipe at the tears again. “I love you, like a stupid amount, Mat Barzal.”

——-

Mat watches you finish getting ready, flopped on his back on your bed and commenting on your makeup choices until you threaten to spray him with the glittery hairspray left over from Halloween.

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, hands up in surrender as he backs off into the walk-in. “No glitter bombs.”

“That’s what I thought,” you stick your tongue out at him, laughing. Mat shoots an innocent, boyish grin at you and disappears to his side of the closet to get dressed. He shuffles around and you hear him bang into the wall, mutter a curse, and open a drawer. “You okay in there?”

“Fine,” he calls back. “Wall’s in a different spot than I remember.”

You laugh faintly at his terrible joke and smooth your palm over your stomach, murmuring to the bump, “your daddy is terrible at telling jokes.”

“I heard that,” Mat shouts out, laughing too. You don’t bother replying, instead propping your phone up and changing quickly into your dress. It’s a white cashmere sweater dress, comfortable and warm for the cold February day. The soft material stretches over your bump, highlighting the rounding swell and making you smile when you turn to the side and cup your hand under the bump.

A giddy bubble of excitement fills your chest, the baby rolling around and nudging up against your stomach. You’re so excited to make your little family with Mat official.

“You decent out there?” Mat calls.

“When has that ever stopped you?” You shout back, only slightly sad that you’re not having a traditional wedding experience. There’s no reason for Mat to not see you in your dress before the ceremony, not since it’s a simple, little thing.

Your fiancé steps back into the room, looking handsome as sin in his dark navy suit, hair brushed off his forehead. No tie, because why be so formal when you’re just getting married in the house? Selfishly, you love the peek of his chest and collarbones through the unbuttoned collar, the glimpse of his chain around his neck. He’s adjusting his cuffs and when he looks up at you, his jaw drops a little and his eyes twinkle.

“Hey,” Mat grins.

“Hey, yourself,” you reply, feeling giddy.

“You look,” Mat pauses, coming closer and letting his hands rest on the swell of your stomach, thumbs brushing over your belly button, “gorgeous.”

A warm flush heats your face and your smile softens. “Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself,” you tease lightly.

Mat’s hands roam over your stomach, heating your skin through the cashmere, and sending the baby on a wild movement. He hasn’t been able to feel the kicks yet, but you’re hoping it’ll be any day now.

“Never gets old,” he says, dropping a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth before finishing, “seeing you full with my baby.”

“You’re a caveman,” you shake your head, shrieking a giggle when Mat pulls you against at his chest, your stomach bumping against his, and kisses you hungrily. One hand rests in the curve of your lower back, but the other is splayed protectively over the bump.

“Just wait,” he mutters against your mouth, voice a rough growl, “gonna put another baby in you as soon as I can.”

You brush the tip of your nose against Mat’s, pretending you’re unaffected by his words, even as your stomach flips with excitement. “Mhm,” you hum, lips brushing against his cheek, while your hands wander under his jacket and around to his back, “a little hockey team of mini-Mats? Don’t have to work too hard to convince me.”

“Next year we can get started on the twenty-three man roster,” Mat jokes, hugging you to his chest. You snuggle up to him, making sure not to smudge your makeup on his shirt, and relax into his embrace.

“Lets hold off on baby-making until this one’s here,” you grin against his chest and hold your left hand up in front of his face where your engagement ring twinkles in the bedroom lighting, “and until you’ve made an honest woman of me.”

Mat snorts a laugh and you nudge his stomach before stepping back and rolling your eyes at him. He smirks, “babe, that ship is so far sailed it’s in Australia.”

“Mean,” you pout, tugging at the lapel of his jacket. “You can make it up to me by joining me for a little video. Wedding day fit check?”

“Whatever you want,” he replies, brushing a kiss to your temple. You beam and shift so you can set up the recording on your phone, Mat settled in at your back, chin resting on your shoulder and palms splayed over your stomach.

You wave at the camera, smiling, and start narrating, “hi everyone! I’m posting on a delay, but today this guy,” you jab your thumb over your shoulder at Mat and he gives a little wave too, “and I are getting married.”

After a brief pause, you continue, “little bit of a shotgun situation and I’ll give some more details later, not all of them, but some. For now, how about a quick fit check?”

Mat’s hands shift to your disappearing waist, holding you steady so you can lift your foot and show off the navy velvet heels you’re wearing. “Sam Edelman,” you explain. “A perfect match to Mat’s suit.”

“The unconventional wedding dress,” you cover Mat’s hands with yours and smooth them over the bump, “is Tom Ford.”

The dress isn’t technically maternity, just sized up a bit, and it fits over the bump and your pregnancy boobs like a glove. The hem flutters around your shins, long sleeves and mock turtleneck making it a little more modest. But Mat presses his lips to your exposed shoulder blade and you’re reminded of the triangle shaped cut out on the back.

“Mat’s also in Tom Ford,” you step slightly to the side, so his suit is fully visible. He gives the camera a smirk and tugs you back into place so you can finish and get downstairs.

You show off your new jewelry, described as gift from Mat without mentioning that he got it from Anthony, his private jeweler in the city. A quick mention of the Tom Ford Rose d’Amalfi perfume you’d bought especially for the wedding and don’t plan on using unless it’s a special occasion.

“And finally,” you giggle, turning to the side and outlining the bump, “baby bump courtesy of Mat Barzal, baby daddy and soon-to-be husband.”

Mat cradles the bump and tugs you back against his chest, looking right at the camera to say, “off to make an honest woman out of Squeaks, see you guys!”

“Joke thief,” you accuse, wincing as the baby gives a particularly forceful kick to your side. Behind you, Mat gasps a little into your hair, his palm flattening and pressing harder against the spot where the baby just kicked. “Wait—“ you murmur, eyes wide. “Did you -?”

“I just felt a kick!” Mat yelps, excitement radiating off of him. He turns you in his arms, a huge grin splitting his face. His hands never leave your stomach, pressing against the spot. Baby kicks again and Mat’s smile seems to grow impossibly wider. “Holy shit, she did it again!”

His eyes are a little glassy, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

“She?” You hiccup, emotion clogging at your throat. You’ve been waiting so long for Mat to feel the baby kick and it just seems like the little bug was waiting for the perfect moment. You press your thumb against the inner corner of your eye, trying to stem the tears that are gathering.

Mat shrugs. “Just a feeling,” he says. “Could be a boy with that strong kick. Shit, I don’t care one way or the other, I just want to feel the kick again.”

You hold your breath, waiting. Mat taps the side of your stomach, but the baby seems to be done for now, settled into a comfortable position.

“Later,” you promise him, watching his smile fade slightly. “Give me a full fat Coke at dinner and bug will be rolling around like a lunatic.”

“I’m holding you to that,” he laughs, giving your stomach one last tap before kissing your forehead and letting you slip away to grab your phone. You tap the screen to stop the recording, thrilled that you got Mat’s reaction to feeling his first kick on video. That one will be just for you.

—-

Mat leaves you sequestered upstairs so you’ll be surprised by the way the living room has been transformed, his words, and you’re briefly bored until you hear the front door open.

Suddenly, there’s plenty of noise and commotion. downstairs. You can pick out Liana’s voice and your mom’s. Then the chatter of children signalling that your friends are here too, all on time for the relaxed ceremony.

Soon enough, you’re joined upstairs by Liana, Sydney, and Holly, all three of them showering you in compliments before passing over your bouquet of pale roses and eucalyptus.

“Mat said he felt a kick?” Liana exclaims, pulling you into a hug. “I want to feel!”

You laugh and guide her hand to the spot where you’d been elbowed a few minutes ago. “Maybe here? Bug is chilled out in there.”

After a few seconds, when it becomes clear Liana won’t feel anything, she frowns and pulls her hand away. “Kid’s already being difficult, like their dad,” she shakes her head.

Bo appears in the doorway, grinning at you, with Tulsa held in his arms. “I think everything’s ready down there,” he says. “I was sent to retrieve the bride. Also,” he adds, “you look beautiful.”

“Consider the bride retrieved,” you joke, following everyone out of your bedroom and out onto the second floor landing. “And thank you.”

They all traipse back downstairs and you’re left alone for a few minutes, completely calm and more than excited to get downstairs to Mat.

You stroke the curve of your stomach and whisper, “let’s go down to Daddy, huh, Bug?”

The baby rolls around in agreement and then the music starts and in a blink you find yourself downstairs, barely registering the transformation of your living room and all your excited guests. Your only focus is Mat, standing by your fireplace, a soft, goofy grin on his face.

He mouths “hi” at you as you come to stand in front of him, immediately grabbing your hand and leaning in to try and kiss you. Everyone laughs, including your dad, who, as a retired Nassau County judge, is officiating the ceremony.

“Save that for later,” he jokes, getting laughter from the crowd again.

Mat grins and says, “sorry, can’t help it,” before letting your dad take over again.

The ceremony is a blur, you cry your way through your vows and through Mat’s, wiping delicately at the tears gathering. You’re grateful that everyone is taking pictures and video, because you’re barely able to process Mat’s vows as he says them.

Mat’s hand is steady as he slides the pavè diamond band on your ring finger, but yours shakes while you push the gold band over his.

Your dad announces you as husband and wife and Mat doesn’t wait for his cue, wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you close so he can cradle your cheek in his other hand and kiss you deeply, dipping you back slightly and chuckling into your mouth. You gasp a little as your back arches, giggling against his lips while you return the kiss.

He pulls back a little and kisses you again, your friends and family whooping and cheering for you.

“Ma belle femme,” Mat whispers against your mouth when he pulls back again, the French endearment hitting right in the chest and making your stomach flutter with joy. “Je t’aime.”

“I love you, husband,” you reply, equally quiet, barely audible over your dad announcing you as Mr and Mrs Mathew Barzal. It barely feels real, but the baby kicks and your hand is at the side of your stomach, a huge grin hurting your cheeks.

Mat kisses you again and you wave your bouquet a little, immediately bombarded by your mom and Nadia and Liana, three sets of arms wrapping you up in hugs. It’s not a typical wedding, so everything is a little chaotic, with all of your guests happy to smother you and Mat in love. His hand never seems to leave your body though - fingers laced through yours when he accepts a hug from Syd, pressed up against your side when Bo gives him a handshake and back-slapping hug.

Your face hurts from smiling, the pure excitement at finally being Mrs. Mathew Barzal making you a little dizzy.

Holly presses a bottle of water into your hand and grins, “drink, girl. You look a little pale.”

After sucking back half of the bottle, you shrug sheepishly. “It’s been a minute since I had anything to drink,” you admit, “between the baby and the excitement I didn’t want to have to run off to the bathroom, mid-vows.”

Mat’s hand is on your lower back, fingers absently stroking as he chats with Marty, Casey, and Beau. You look over your shoulder at him and feel your grin go stupid. He must feel your gaze, because without looking away from his conversation, he taps at your lower back and says, “we’re heading out to Primehouse in a few, Squeaks, but do you need to eat something before then?”

“No, I’m okay,” you assure him and wrinkle your nose at Holly when she starts teasing you about how cute you and Mat are.

——-

The party moves to Primehouse for dinner, Mat’s Defender leading the parade of cars to the steakhouse. You giggle when you see it, paint-markered words across the back window proclaiming you and Mat ‘Just Married’ with little doodles on the back passenger windows that look like they were courtesy of the kids. Someone even tied a string of cans to the back bumper and your dad shakes his head, cutting them off before you can drive away.

“That’s a traffic hazard and I’d like you three to get to the restaurant in one piece,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“Don’t worry,” Mat assures him. “I never would’ve driven with that on.”

“Liar,” you whisper to your husband - husband! - knowing he had mentioned adding cans to the back of the limo for your summer wedding, claiming they looked cool.

Mat nudges you into the car, giving your dad a winning smile until he pulls the door shut behind him and leans over the center console to grip your chin in one hand and lean his face down to yours for a kiss. You hum into his mouth and then one of the cars behind you honks, startling you away from Mat, laughing loudly.

“Get a room!” Noah and Beau shout simultaneously, laughing while Marty hits his palm on the back window. Mat flips them all off and gets the car started, leaving his hand on your stomach after he’s shifted into gear. The baby kicks at Mat’s palm and he grins widely.

“Shit, I love that,” he laughs, tickling your stomach gently with the tips of his fingers while he drives. You squirm and press your hand on top of his, flattening his fingers in place.

“Stop that,” you grumble, “I’m going to pee my pants if I laugh.”

Mat grins at you and shakes his head, flipping his hand over and lacing his fingers with yours. “Got it, first stop at Primehouse is definitely the bathroom,” he wiggles his eyebrows as he talks and you shake your head at him.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, Mister Barzal,” you retort primly, sticking your nose up in the air with a faint giggle. “I’m a married woman now, I’m keeping it classy.”

“You’re my married woman, Mrs. Barzal,” he shoots back, eyes twinkling delightedly. “I like you a little dirty.”

You wink at him, smile splitting your face. “I’ve heard married sex can get stale, let’s make sure that never happens to us, okay?” You squeeze his fingers lightly and he squeezes back.

“Babe,” Mat replies seriously, turning to look at you as he pulls to a stop at a red light, “that is never going to happen. I can promise you that.”

Mat’s serious expression makes your heart skip a beat and your throat clog a little with emotion. Damn pregnancy hormones. You only manage a little nod in response and Mat holds your hand for the rest of the short drive.

He opens the door for you after he parks and helps you down from the seat, closing the door quickly and pressing your back against it, so he can crowd you against the side of the car and cup your cheek to angle your mouth up to his for a kiss. You grin against his mouth, your belly pressed up against his making the baby kick wildly.

You lean happily into the kiss, melting under Mat’s touch. His free hand is warm on your waist, thumb stroking gently at your ribs. His leg tries to wiggle its way between yours, but is stopped by the knitted fabric of your dress and he grunts a little into your mouth, frustrated. You giggle.

“Love you,” he mumbles against your lips when the kiss breaks apart.

“Love you more,” you reply, breathless from the kiss and pregnancy. Your lips feel swollen and you swipe at Mat’s mouth the pad of your thumb to get rid of a smudge of lipstick. Ever the menace, your husband darts his tongue out to lick at your thumb before capturing it with his teeth and sucking at it gently. You press your fingers against his cheek and shake your head against the flood of warmth between your legs, clit twitching. “Stop that, we’re respectable married people now, and we’re in public.”

He lets go of your thumb with a little pop and wipes off his spit for you. “The only respectable thing about us is that we’re married,” he laughs, placing his hand on your lower back and guiding you into Primehouse. To the hostess, who smiles widely at you, clearly recognizing Mat, he says, “is everything all set up?”

You look back at Mat slightly, wondering what exactly he has planned. You’d just booked the private room for dinner with everyone. He just winks at you.

“Yes, sir,” she confirms, nodding. “Everything is ready for your party and you and Mrs. Barzal can head right down to the Reserve Room.”

She gestures down a hallway and you let Mat nudge you along with a press of his knuckles against your lower back. The hostess calls out a ‘congratulations’ as you head off and you turn your head back to smile a thanks at her.

Mat holds open the door to the Reserve Room and you step inside, gasping when you see how he’s had it transformed. The room is covered in the same flower arrangements that decorated your house and there’s a flower wall installed against the back wall, a neon sign spelling out your new last name. Tears flood your eyes and you turn to face Mat, completely speechless.

He smiles softly at you and wraps his hands around your wrists to bring one of your hands to his mouth so he can kiss your palm. Your heart kicks into overdrive and you feel the tears slip down your cheeks. “Like it?” He asks, pulling you to his chest.

You nod against him, tucking your nose against the notch of his collarbone. “You’re the best,” you whisper against his skin. “Seriously, I wasn’t expecting it to be decorated here too.”

“I know,” he strokes his hands up and down your back. You can feel his chest vibrate under yours when he laughs. “I wanted to surprise you with a reception that looks a little more like a reception.”

You didn’t quite realize just how much you wanted a reception until you saw the decorated room and now you can’t stop crying, overwhelmed by Mat’s thoughtfulness and how well he knows you. He keeps rubbing your back, holding you in place, while you cry. You’ll be doing a bigger party over the summer, but something about having the private room decorated means more than all the other planning that’s happening. Especially since it was all Mat’s idea to surprise you.

“Everyone’s going to be here in a bit,” Mat whispers in your ear. “I told them to give us some time, but I think you might want to clean up. Not that I don’t love the raccoon look…” He trails off with a laugh and you give him a watery one in return, swiping underneath your eyes.

“You are the sweetest man alive,” you murmur, leaning up on your toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I can’t wait to see you be a dad.”

He waves you off to the bathroom with a wide smile that betrays his nonchalance at your comment and a love tap to the ass.

By the time you come back, all tidied up and ready to party, the rest of your family and friends have arrived and appetizers are making the rounds. You snag a spring roll and accept a hug from Liana.

“Big sis!” She teases, planting a kiss on your cheek. “Finally official. How does it feel to know you’re never getting rid of my brother?”

“Oh, he was already baby trapped,” you deadpan, breaking into a smile when you spot Mat across the room, thumb wrestling Jack for the last pig in a blanket on the tray. Jack wins and you can hear him chirping Mat, your husband laughing delightedly. Your heart squeezes, just a few more months and you’ll get to see Mat with your baby.

“Ugh, god,” Liana groans good-naturedly, “you have such a gooey look on your face. You guys are so gone for each other, it’s literally disgusting.”

You smirk at her, waggling your eyebrows like Mat, and lay it on thick, “he is literally the best man I know. Handsome, smart, funny, and the biggest d-“

Liana smacks her hand over your mouth before you can finish, your laughter cut off by her palm. She narrows her eyes at you, smothering laughter even as she scowls, “do not finish that sentence.”

Your lips curl up into a grin under her hand and your shoulders shake with muffled laughter until Liana releases you with a dirty look. “I’m sorry,” you gasp out, “I couldn’t resist.”

“I’m taking back everything I’ve ever said about how glad I am that you’re my sister,” Liana bumps your hip with hers. “You’re just as bad as he is.”

“They one hundred percent match crazy for crazy,” Emma teases, coming up behind you to loop her arms around your shoulders in a hug. Beau presses a kiss to your cheek and nods his agreement.

“I’ve never met someone who could out-yap Mat, but here we are,” he grins at you.

You lean back against Emma and chew at the inside of your cheek, a thought occurring to you. “Definitely going to bust out the Harley Quinn and Joker costumes for next Halloween,” you tease and pat your stomach. “Bug can be Batman, or Batgirl. But I’m kind of hoping for a little Batman.”

A mini-Mat would be fun, you think. But you waffle back and forth on whether you want a girl or a boy, mostly you’re just praying they’re healthy.

“No one needs another Mat,” Liana shakes her head before getting pulled into a different conversation.

You spend time wandering around and chatting, your mom or Nadia or Mat popping up at your side to make sure you eat and drink enough. You end up with Alice Martin on your lap at one point, eating your steak over her head while she goes to town on a lamb chop. There’s a smudge of sauce on your skirt and your shoes have long been tossed in a corner. You can’t stop smiling.

Mat loses his jacket, his sleeves get rolled up, and he makes a quick toast with Winnie Martin hanging off one arm and Tulsa Horvat dancing around his legs. Jack flicks a few peas off his plate at Reese and she shrieks, ready to start a food fight before Kristy snatches her hand up and pulls her onto her lap, keeping her contained.

It’s loud and it’s chaotic and it’s perfect.

Dessert is served and Mat pulls you onto his lap, one arm wrapped around your waist, palm resting on the side of your stomach. He strokes it lazily, absently, while he talks with your dad and his about the season. You poke at your brownie, uninterested, and look over at Mat’s cheesecake. He’s got his fork in his other hand, gesturing wildly, and you take the risk of taking a bite off his plate with your fork. He doesn’t notice, but Nadia does and she laughs faintly, shooting you a little wink.

Mat finally notices your dessert theft when half the slice is gone and he looks up at you, betrayal written on his face. “Squeaks! You ate my cheesecake?” He knocks your fork out of the way with his.

“What happened to what’s mine is yours?” You defend yourself, pushing your plate towards him in exchange.

“That doesn’t apply to dessert,” Mat retorts, incapable of keeping the serious expression on his face. He leans in and kisses you, in front of all your parents, which still makes your blush even though you’re five months pregnant and you’ve been dating for years. “Taste sweet,” he mumbles against your lips. He tastes a little bit like whisky, even though his last drink had been hours ago.

You shift on his lap, leaning harder against his chest, and let your fingers card through his hair. Mat leans into your touch and returns to his conversation as if the dessert theft hadn’t happened.

The party is slowly winding down now, everyone with kids having left, and you wonder briefly how long Mat reserved the room for.

“Hey,” Mat whispers in your ear, both hands on your stomach now. The baby’s rolling around, hopped up on your excitement and dessert. His thumb rubs against a spot where a tiny foot jabs you. The gold band on his left ring finger glints under the lights and you smile, tracing the tip of your index finger over the metal.

“Hey,” you whisper back.

“Wanna dance with me?” He asks. Mat’s fingers tap lightly at your stomach and the baby reacts, rolling and jabbing. “We never had a first dance.”

“No, we didn’t,” you reply, letting Mat set you on your feet and take your hand. “I don’t even know what song this is.”

The room isn’t really set up for dancing, not that had stopped the kids from finding a corner earlier and rocking out on their own. You’d joined in on the fun briefly too, shimmying until something in your hip had popped slightly painfully.

Mat tucks you up against his chest, holding your hand over his heart. “Me either. But I still think we’re supposed to dance at our wedding. For luck or something,” he jokes, swaying back and forth.

His cheek rests on top of your head and you lean into his warmth, feeling the baby nudge at your stomach. All three of you, together. Not quite the wedding you had pictured back when Mat proposed in June, but it might just be better.

Mat’s free hand roams over your back and you inhale the spicy scent of his cologne, happier than you’ve ever been.

“Or something,” you agree.

#mat barzal #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal x you #mat barzal fic #nhl fic

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n0tamused · 3 days ago

Note

How elves deal or even feel jealous? What/how easy is to make them jealous?

A/n: Hello, yes I can! You didn't specify which elves you wanted this for, so I just picked a few of the ones I thought would go nicely with this idea. Also, I am trying these different styles of hcs, so let me know if you prefer lenghtier headcanons or shorter ones like these? I'm trying to find some balance with requests and my ability to write them in time.

Contents: (all separate) Thranduil, Legolas, Lindir, Haldir, Glorfindel x GN! Reader. Jealousy hcs, not proof read lol

⋆𓄃Thranduil

-Thranduil can be quite jealous and, more so, protective over his beloved and he does not care to ever admit it. He is quite avoidant of his subjects and feels a bit shocked (or looks like it, he did expect you to point it out eventually tbh) when you point it out to him

-Would make sliding comments about your attention lingering too long on someone, or even something at times.

-A play of words is sure to ensue if you keep pressing him for his reasons, and throughout he never raises his voice or anything of that sort, he is rather calm and eventually you come to understand that he is enjoying this, both the banter and the attention. This can be sometimes flustering or frustrating when he begins to smirk and offer sass and teasing words.

-The Elven king has seldom ever expected to ‘fall into’ love like this, or to behave like this while loving someone, but even through his long years of living he is still learning some things.

-Thranduil is quite wary of others, especially outsiders even if they are his distant kin. So he may keep you away from meetings or tedious dinners with any delegates or visitors that may seem like ‘too much’ for you to be exposed to them.

-He is stubborn, so chances are it would take a long time for him to let up on his views, as he deems it all necessary for your protection and happiness

-But even he cannot deny that he does carry a great weight on his heart and consciousness, and long, late night conversions are not something rare with him. He enjoys them more than anything else because he feels more justified to be vulnerable when the rest of the world falls asleep. He is more open to physical touch as well, and he tells you his worries and his feelings clearly then.

🍃Legolas

-The prince of Mirkwood is still quite green in the area of emotions and how one deals with them, despite his years. But he is notably much softer in comparison to his father.

-He would find it odd that he feels this way and would hide it away from you for the longest time until he can bear it no longer. It is like poison to him

-Although you would be able to see it all happening and coming down on him with the way he stares out at nothing, sometimes at the people besides you, the way his lips pull into a deep carved frown and how his jaw sets, almost uncomfortably, even for an elf - especially for an elf. His shoulders are so tense you can put a table on him

-Once he expresses his feelings to you he does apologize as well, he doesn’t want you thinking that he doesn’t trust you or that he believes you’d go behind his back and take the offer of another heart - he truly can’t explain the feelings and where they stem from.

-It’s multiple things all at once - he wants you safe and happy, and the people around may not have the purest intentions, but at the same time he feels odd that you sometimes seem to be having much more fun with someone else than him. So there’s quite a lot to unpack with him, but he is not impatient or unwilling to learn.

♬Lindir

-Lindir is more prone to fits of jealousy that strike seemingly out of nowhere, he is quite dense with it too although not nearly as secretive as he would like himself to be. He may be quiet, but the face he stays quiet with is a completely different story..

-His jealousy does stem from a sense of insecurity in his own ability to be a good partner for you, it eats away at him at times and he can take up to saying witty responses to the individual/s that he perceives as sources of his feelings. He is never malicious of course, neither to you or them, as he understand these feelings can quickly turn to poison

-He may require some more support from you at times like these, and in private he feels utterly defeated in face of his own jealousy. He is not the one to openly ask for attention from you, but at times like these he may ask you questions that may reassure him again. Hold his face in your hands and just kiss the elf, that would be my advice, plainly delivered

-He would grow flustered at such actions, and he may even give you some sass for it, but he is never refusing your advances at pouring some more of your love on him

°˖➴Haldir

-The Marchwarden of Lorien is not the most open when it comes to his own emotions and it can be difficult to read his exact trail of thoughts at times. But jealousy is not foreign to Haldir, he knows how it feels and he has long since come to truly dislike(hate) it.

-It is unbecoming of his station and just of his own character in general. Nonetheless, this jealousy he feels holds its roots in worry for your safety rather than any kind of distrust of you, and it's greatly amplified by the distance between the two of you when he is away on duty.

-Haldir doesn’t act out on his jealousy, although he makes his opinion known if he agrees or disagrees with you on your choice of companions. If he is at home with you, he would also tag along with you, if you so desired or if he just really, really did not like the company you’re going to be with. He knows nearly everyone in Lorien, and so he knows who to be wary of. That is not to say anyone from there would be a liability when it comes to physical harm, he knows that much is less likely to happen, but when it comes to needs that are more from within, love, need for attention - then he is not so sure. He cannot read the minds of others, and everyone changes over time, even elves.

-His jealousy does lessen up when he is with you, as he is not as worried when he has you in his eye. If there is danger, Haldir would do whatever was in his power to eradicate the source of it.

-You may notice this particular mood on him by the stiffness of his jaw and the hard look he sometimes directs at no one in general, as if holding an internal monologue with himself over what he’s experiencing and feeling

☼Glorfindel

-The Slayer of Balrogs is not susceptible to jealousy, and he was never a jealous individual to begin with. And that’s also without mentioning that he trusts his partner as well, otherwise he would not be with someone he did not trust.

-After his re-embodiment he may come off as a little clingy - he stays with you for as long as he can, not letting any moment go to waste, even if you are an immortal being as he is. He leaves kisses on your hands and your forehead when no one is around to see, it is intimate and he simply wants you to know that you will always have his love and support

-He is also very clear in his communication with you, and trusts that you’ll tell him if anything is bothering you, although sometimes he does know to postpone telling you something if he believes it could put a strain on you.

-He is quite free spirited though and open minded at that, just a chill guy, the chillest on this list I dare say

-All in all.. 10/10, would recommend

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janeyseymour · 16 hours ago

Text

Second Chances

Summary: Melissa isn't so sure about you- until you convince her to give you a second chance.

WC: ~2.35k

“Just try it!” Jacob Hill is currently pestering Melissa Schemmenti. “You never know what you might find on there.”

“If I say I’ll give it a shot, will you leave me the hell alone?” the redhead rolls her eyes from the other side of the couch.

“Yes!” the social studies teacher exclaims. “All of the men and women that you bring here for a one night stand always end up eating my cereal…” he mumbles.

“Fine. But if I have to do this, then you have to help me set it up.”

“Gladly.”

So that’s how the two unconventional roommates end up spending that Thursday night- setting up a dating profile for Melissa on Hinge.

“You can’t say that!” Jacob cuts in when the second grade teacher wants to write ‘Fuck the Cowboys’.

“I am not using that picture,” Melissa refuses when the man wants her to put a picture of herself in a rather provocative position. “I have standards, Hill.”

“Do you really think that’s the best thing to say?” Jacob can be heard asking at yet another questionable response to one of the prompts.

But finally, a relatively agreed on account is made. And then the daunting task of swiping left and right is upon the two of them. They seem to agree on what is suitable for the bachelorette and what isn’t- for the most part.

“You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Melissa mumbles at one point.

Jacob’s brows lift. “What? What’s wrong?”

“That’s my ex-husband,” the redhead mumbles. “Dumb ass.”

The social studies man thumbs through the profile. “Seriously, Mel Mel? You could’ve done so much better.”

“And that’s why we divorced.”

Eventually though, there are a few solid contenders. And you just so happen to be one of them.

On the other side of the screen, you come across Melissa’s profile. And wow- she’s- she’s gorgeous. You end up sending her a rose in hopes of your chances of her seeing you growing.

And she does see you. You can see that she ends up swiping right on you, and you take it upon yourself to attempt to start the conversation. You look through her account and see that one of her prompts leads her to admit that although she owns a guitar, she doesn’t really know how to play it. So, going off of that one little bit, you strike up conversation.

What if I told you that I’d teach you guitar? I’ve been playing for a while now.

“Jake,” Melissa sighs once he’s moved back to his spot.

“What? Did you get a match?”

“I got more than a match,” the redhead grins. “You know I still got it- Philly 11 and all. But… that one girl that we both agreed was beautiful swiped right and messaged.”

“What?!” the man gasps in his own trademarked way. “Well? What did she say?!”

The second grade teacher tosses her phone towards the social studies teacher. He just barely manages to catch it with a smile. And when he see the message, he begins to type.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Melissa’s eyes widen. “You gotta tell me what you’re typing before you se-” She hears the sent ringtone. “Jacob.”

“My finger slipped?” the man grins innocently as he tosses back the phone.

Green eyes look at the message, and Melissa has to admit that it isn’t nearly as bad as she was expecting. And with his witty remark, conversation between the two of you flows nicely.

It even carries into the next day, and then the day after that.

So, we’ve been talking for a few days now, you type out during your lunch break at work. And I usually suck at replying on this app.

Well, you’ve been doing a pretty good job with me, Melissa responds.

I’ve found that you’re the exception, you reply wittily. If you’d like, I can give you my number. But if you’re not ready for that, I respect it and can wait until I get to take you out to dinner to get your number.

Well, when and where are we going to dinner?

By the end of your lunch (and apparently her lunch period too, as you’ve learned she’s a teacher), you have a date planned for tomorrow for a happy hour.

I’m here, you text. Got us a table by the windows.

Just parked, Melissa tells you. Be there in a minute.

You clock her as soon as she comes into the restaurant. And she’s even more stunning in person than she was in the pictures. You didn’t think that was going to be possible.

“You made it,” you reply cheekily.

“You knew I was coming,” the redhead rolls those striking green eyes of her. It’s in this moment that you realize how sparkly her eyes are- how they’re filled with so many feelings, the golden speckles in her eyes appearing to shine brighter. Then she smiles brightly at you, and- wow. That smile could stop the world if it wanted to with the amount of charm it has to it.

The two of you end up talking for hours. She’s hilarious, and smart, and witty, and everything you could ever want in a partner. Not only is she absolutely beautiful, she has the brains to back it all up. And you let her know that.

“Well,” you chuckle as you’re getting ready to leave for the night. “I don’t know about you, but I had a really nice time tonight.”

“Same,” Melissa smiles at you.

“And if you would be up for it, I’d really like to see you again.”

When you think she’s about to agree with you, her lips quirk to the side a bit awkwardly. “I’m going to be upfront with you hun. I… I don’t know if I see this going anywhere romantically.”

“Oh.” You aren’t quite sure what to say.

“Don’t get me wrong hun. You’re great, and I really did have a nice time with you tonight. I just… I think I see you as more of a friend right now than a romantic partner.”

You take in a deep breath. You know you have to shoot your shot. “I respect that, but… hear me out?”

“Shoot.”

“I- I don’t make a lot of connections with people. And I think you’re… you’re really cool. You’re really pretty, and you have the brains to back it up. I haven’t met anyone like you in- in a really long time. So, give me one more chance- for you to realize that I’m the best date that you’re going to get off of Hinge,” you joke.

Green eyes look into your own. She holds her hands up. “Alright, you sold me on one more date.”

“Well, do you think I could get your number now? Or do I have to keep messaging you on Hinge?”

A perfectly manicured hand reaches for your phone and dials her number.

“Perfect,” you chuckle as you help her into her jacket and guide her out the door. “Where are you parked?”

“Down that way.” She points in the opposite direction of your car. “You?”

“Other side,” you laugh. “But I can walk you to your car if you want?”

Melissa shakes her head though. “I got it. Thanks though, hun.”

“Alright, Miss Independent,” you quip with a smirk. “Get home safe?”

“You do the same.”

And with that, the two of you part ways.

As you pull into your driveway, you text Melissa. Hey, I really did have a nice time tonight. That being said, if you really don’t want to go out a second time and were just saying okay to get me off your back, we don’t have to. I respect your decision.

No, I am a woman of my word, is the response you get back. I’ll give you one more chance- because I had a nice time tonight too.

Okay, you type. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t feeling pressured.

Trust me. If I didn’t want to go out with you again, I would’ve shot you down.

“So?” Jacob is eagerly waiting at the door to hear all about how her date with you went. “You were out with her for a while! That’s a good thing, right?”

“Yeah,” Melissa smiles. “She’s cool. I don’t know if I really seeing it going anywhere more than friends, but… she’s cool. And hot as hell.”

“Well, is there going to be a second date?” the social studies teacher prompts.

The woman laughs. “She practically begged for one.”

“And you said?” Jacob singsongs.

“I said I’d give it one more chance.”

You end up getting to see the redhead that you’ve been talking to about a week later. Meeting at the same restaurant makes you chuckle, but it’s nice. It’s a place that both of you are comfortable.

The date ends up being just as long as your first. And as things are winding down, you can’t stop yourself from asking the question that you’ve been wanting to ask since hour two.

“So, do you still see me as ‘just a friend’, or have I convinced you?” you tease with a warm smile.

“Honestly?” Melissa sighs out, and you feel like you know where this is going. “I don’t know how you did it, but you convinced me.”

You have to stop your jaw from dropping. “Really?”

“Really,” the redhead chuckles. “Why? Does that surprise you?”

“It does,” you admit.

“I’ll be really honest, I wasn’t expecting to still be here. I expected to be here an hour at most before letting you down easily, but… I don’t know. There’s something about you, and I can’t quite place it, but: yes, you changed my mind.”

“I mean, hey… I’ll take what I can get,” you giggle.

The redhead rolls her eyes playfully as she smirks at you. “Yeah, you do that. Don’t let it get to your head.”

The two of you leave the restaurant, and this time she actually allows you to walk her back to her car.

When you go to walk away though, that low, gruff voice that you’ve become almost infatuated with calls back for you. You turn sharply.

“Did you seriously park on the other side of the strip?”

You shrug.

“Come here,” Melissa tells you. “Dumb ass.”

You jog your way back to her car.

“Get in.”

“What?”

“I’m not letting you walk three blocks in this freezing cold weather,” the redhead tells you. “So get in.”

You listen to her order- of course you do.You would be foolish not too. And besides, her ordering you around like this? It’s hot.

You direct her to your car, and before you can climb out you turn to face her. “Thank you.”

“Whatever,” the teacher chuckles. “Maybe next time just park where you know I always park.”

“Noted,” you smile. And then in a bold move, you ask, “Can I- Would it be alright if I kissed you?”

Instead of answering your question, the redhead pulls you in herself. And… wow. When the two of you pull away, you can’t help the smile that washes over your face. You pull her in for yet another kiss, and it quickly turns into something a little more. Her hands begin to wander your body, and when you feel her fingers begin to play with the hem of your jeans, you know you have to put a stop to this.

“Mel,” you husk out as you pull away. “Mel.”

“What?”

“Not that I’m not enjoying this, but… I don’t want to be someone that you just hook up with on the second date,” you whisper.

Her hands retract themselves from your body immediately.

“I- I actually like and respect you,” you tell her. “I don’t want to- I mean, I do want to… but… uh…”

“I know what you’re trying to say,” Melissa chuckles. “I- I guess I just thought this was what you wanted, and I- I’m used to being used for my body.”

“No, no, no,” you rush out quickly. “I am not using you for your body. I meant what I said when I told you that yes, you’re beautiful, but you also have the brains to back it up, and I- I really like that.”

“I appreciate that,” the redhead tells you quietly. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” you give her a sad smile back. “I’m sorry that you feel that people only use you for your body, but I promise you- that’s not me.”

“I believe you.”

“Good,” you reply shortly. “On that note-” you lean in and give her another quick kiss as you reach for the door. “Let me know when you get home? And when we can maybe see each other again?”

“I think I’d like that,” Melissa smiles.

“You’re home late,” Jacob quips as he sits in the living room. “I thought you said you weren’t planning on staying out late with Y/N.”

“Well, plans change, Jacob,” the redhead mutters.

“So… you changed your mind about her?”

The second grade teacher smiles at the thought of what had taken place in her car about ten minutes ago. “Yeah.”

Melissa pulls out her phone to text you. Home. Thank you again for dinner tonight.

My pleasure, you reply. Glad you got home safe. Let me know when you can squeeze me into your schedule so I can see you again.

Will do.

“What’s got you smiling?” the history teacher inquires.

Green eyes go to glare at her roommate. “Nothin’. Just letting Y/N know I got back safely.” And when the man starts to ask another question, Melissa cuts him off. “No more questions. Goodnight.”

As the redhead prepares herself for bed that night, she can’t help but giggle with glee at how well the second date had went. She went from not being so sure about you, to almost being enamored with you and your charm and wit.

She sends one final text of the night. Without seeming too eager, I’m free next Tuesday.

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead @schemmentits @morgananyx

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #lisa ann walter #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfiction

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simpjaes · 15 hours ago

Note

kinda need you to always write about jayhoon fucking and if its not on here PLEASE link where you write it I NEED THESE BISEXUAL MEN TO FUCK

warning: masturbation. jay wants to bottom for his horny friend who can't land a girl. sunghoon is kinda weird about it, like if he's gonna fuck a guy the least he can do is moan like a bitch. they don't fuck in this. not proof read. IF YOU HAVE AN ISSUE WITH SHIP FICS OR MXM THAT'S FINE. Don't hate on me because i like to have fun with fiction. none of this is real, and no, i don't ship them in real life.

"I'm just so frustrated, Jay, you have no idea." Sunghoon whines for the billionth time tonight, rock hard in his pants as he lounges around a bedroom that isn't his own. "Imagine if I have to graduate without fucking a single girl here?! Fucking embarrassing." Jay, well aware that Sunghoon really is just a little dumb sometimes, notes how his rock-hard friend never picked up on the fact that he's complaining about never getting his dick wet to a bisexual man, who very much has a crush on him.

"So, what're you going to do then?" Jay grumbles, kicking his socked foot into the rug on his floor, slouching against his bed and pretending like he doesn't have the hottest man on campus lounging on his bed right now. "I don't know-" Sunghoon huffs. "I think I'd do just about anything." He trails off now, lifting his arms in the air and grabbing a pair of imaginary ass cheeks. "What'd I'd do to get some ass in my face at this point. I'm going insane." "You'd do anything?" Jay turns on the floor, peeking above his bed at his friend, eyes trailing down to the tent in his pants only briefly. "Anything." Jay turns back now, staring at his closed bedroom door and feeling his face go hot. There's no way he's about to approach Sunghoon with this. No fucking way. "Sunghoon, have you ever like-" He stops himself, embarrassed, feeling like he's the desperate one at this point. "Hm?" Sunghoon half moans, throwing his hips up against the inseam of his pants, eyes closed as he still imagines that imaginary ass in his grasp. "Let me rephrase." Jay stumbles in his words, trying to think of how to ask him. "Are you looking for a pretty face, or like, just a hole?" Sunghoon pauses, opening his eyes and immediately shooting to the end of the bed, looking down at Jay. "Honestly? I'd probably fuck a bowl of macaroni at this point. My balls hurt." Jay doesn't dare look up at his friend, already feeling smaller compared to him as he sits on the floor embarrassed about his own lust. "What about a guy?" He blurts now, knowing that if he doesn't just ask, he never will. Meaning, he'll never have the chance to know himself just how deep Sunghoon's desperation goes compared to his own. "Hm." Sunghoon pauses, looking up to the ceiling in thought before throwing himself back on the bed. "You know? Yeah, maybe." He says, knowing that at the end of the day, a hole is a hole. Casual sex is casual sex. Guy, girl. Either option is better than a bowl of macaroni. "Oh?" Jay perks up, turning again to look at him. "Why maybe?" "Well, given my luck with girls, I doubt I can just walk up to some guy and be like 'hey bro, can i put my dick in you?' Plus, he's gotta be like, pretty, I guess." Jay's face heats more, knowing for a fact that if Sunghoon said those words to him, he would be on the floor spreading his cheeks in an instant. "Pretty like how?" "I don't know. I've never thought about it before. Shorter than me, nice ass, shaved face. Preferably can moan kinda girly..." Well. Jay just so happens to be shorter. He's shaved (everything), He- Jay tries to moan out quietly, just to see if his voice reaches a feminine pitch, very quietly. "Was that you?" Sunghoon suddenly asks, once again throwing himself back over to the edge of the bed, intentionally rubbing his cock against it because honestly, he needs some fucking hole. "Huh?" Jay asks dumbly. "Was what me?" "Moaning. Did you just moan?" Sunghoon narrows his eyes. "I-" "That sounded kinda hot," Sunghoon now encourages him, staring down at his friend and thinking...maybe..."Can you do it again?" And so, Jay moans awkwardly, trying to reach that same pitch, trying to impress him, really. "Holy shit, you sound so..." Sunghoon trails off, closing his eyes and rubbing his cock against the mattress again. "slutty." "Really?" Jay's eyes practically sparkle, blinking up at Sunghoon in a somewhat submissive way which kind of floors his friend. "Oh." Sunghoon sighs at the image, feeling his cock pulse, practically beg for the man on the floor. "You said they have to be pretty too though." The shorter man pushes the subject, not quite asking, but implying. It's silent now as Jay starts to spiral further and further into embarrassment. He can hear nothing but his own heartbeat threatening to kill him off and get him out of this situation and, well, the rubbing sounds of Sunghoon up there semi-masturbating on his bed.

"Who said you aren't pretty?" Sunghoon mutters, seemingly finding who it is he can release all of this sexual frustration out on. - part two

#enhypen smut #jay smut #sunghoon smut #park jongseong smut #park sunghoon smut #enhypen hard hours

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po3tbbygirl · 2 days ago

Text

We’ve built a home

Spencer Reid x fem!reader (oneshot)

desc: In a place that never felt like home, reader’s grown tired of explaining herself—until someone finally listens.

content warnings: pre-established relationship, emotional distress, crying, cultural differences.

a/n: your girlie is OUT of her home country and you can tell 😖😖 I lowk cried a lot writing this…

Italicization = foreign/your language

She hated Virginia.

She hated how far she had to drive just to get to work, wishing she could go back to the days when her commute was a simple 15-minute bus ride.

She hated how every craving for her favorite foods came with the bitter truth that she’d have to make them herself. No restaurant around here could even come close to capturing the flavors of her culture.

She hated how much of herself she had to explain to people. Why she talked the way she did. Why she did certain things that felt so natural to her but seemed strange here. She was always defending or translating her life, just to avoid being misunderstood as weird, rude, or too nice.

Her days felt heavy, and even her dream job wasn’t enough to make up for how lonely and out of place she felt. Virginia wasn’t home. It never would be. But then Spencer came along.

He was lanky, with messy brown hair and a quiet awkwardness that made her smile despite herself. At first, he was just someone she met by chance. But over time, he became the one thing that made everything easier. Brighter. Lighter.

Of course, she still had to explain some things to him—he didn’t know her culture at first. But it was different with Spencer.

When she told him she needed lime with almost every meal, he didn’t question her. Instead, he made sure their kitchen was always stocked with it. Sometimes he’d even bring home extra, just to be safe.

When after playing chess or watching movies they’d accidentally pass the 3 a.m. mark and she just had to stay up until 4 a.m. for no real reason other than luck, he stayed up with her. No complaints. No judgment.

When Christmas came, and she explained how her family celebrated—eating pork, drinking fruit punch, praying together, singing songs, and breaking piñatas—he didn’t hesitate to join in. He did everything he could to honor her traditions, even when they were completely new to him.

And when she cried while setting up the ofrendas for her loved ones who had passed, Spencer didn’t try to fix it. He simply sat beside her, holding her hand and letting her cry, showing her she wasn’t alone.

Spencer wasn’t just good to her. He was perfect for her. He made her feel understood in a way she hadn’t thought was possible.

But there were still some things even Spencer couldn’t fix—or so she thought.

౨ৎ

“Ugh,” she groaned as she walked through the door, tossing her keys into the bowl by the door.

Spencer looked up from the couch, where he’d been reading a book. He frowned, setting it aside. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

She sighed, staying silent as she kicked off her shoes and leaned against the wall. Her face looked tense, like she was fighting back tears.

“I’m just tired,” she finally said, her voice strained.

Spencer straightened, concern etched across his face. “Tell me.”

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

She hesitated, standing frozen in the middle of the kitchen. She looked up, a single tear slipping down her cheek.

“I’m tired of explaining myself,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’m tired of people staring at my food at lunch. I’m tired of explaining why I talk the way I do, why I act the way I do.” She paused, her tears falling faster now. “And I’m especially tired of people thinking I’m dumb or slow just because I need a second to find the right word. They don’t realize I’m not thinking in the language they are speaking. I’m not stupid—I just need time. But no one seems to get that, and I’m so tired of it!”

Her voice cracked as she let out a sob, her body shaking with all the emotions she had kept bottled up for so long. “I can’t take it anymore. It’s driving me crazy!”

“Love…” Spencer’s voice was soft, steady.

She froze. The sound of his voice saying that one word in her language stopped her in her tracks.

He stood from the couch, walking toward her. Her tears slowed as she watched him approach, her shock keeping her in place.

“I know it’s hard,” Spencer said, his hands gently taking hers. “I know you hurt. And it kills me to see you like this. Every time you have to explain yourself to some ignorant person who will just shut you down, who doesn’t deserve to understand you, I become the saddest man alive.”

She stared at him, the warmth of his hands grounding her as her tears continued to fall.

“I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you this,” he said, dropping down onto both knees in front of her. “I know we have only been dating for a little over a year and know this isn’t a proposal because you deserve so much more than me kneeling in the living room in my ugly pajamas,”

Her breath hitched as she watched him, her heart pounding in her chest.

“But I promise you—no, I swear to you—that as long as you’ll have me, you’ll never have to explain yourself again. Not to me. You won’t have to feel like you need to translate your heart or your soul to me because I’ll keep learning. I’ll keep trying. All I need from you, my love, is to be you. The raw, beautiful, unfiltered version of you. And I’m ready for that. I’m ready for you.”

Her jaw dropped, and for a moment, she couldn’t move. No one had ever made this much effort for her before. No one had ever tried to understand her this deeply.

Without thinking, she knelt down in front of him, cupping his face in her hands. “I’m so sorry this isn’t a proposal, Spencer,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Because after what you just said… I don’t think I can do anything but want to marry you.”

They both laughed through their tears, and Spencer playfully shifted onto one knee. They stayed like that for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes.

Finally, Spencer spoke, his tone serious. “I mean it, love. From now on, if you don’t ever want to speak a word of English to me again, you don’t have to. I’m ready for that part of you. You don’t have to hide it anymore.”

Her tears flowed freely again, but this time, they were tears of joy. Relief. Love. “Spencer… thank you,” she whispered. “I love you.”

He smiled, his eyes shining. “I love you.”

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid hurt/comfort #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #Spencer Reid x foreign!reader #spencer reid one shot #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid angst

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hivemuthur · 2 days ago

Text

What was that? - Ch. 1.

viktorxfemale!OFC mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes

friends to lovers, co-workers, sexual tension up to the wazoo, pinning and banter that got me frustrated when I was writing it, attempt at humour, some angst and a slow burn with a happy ending and a classic Viktor for once

Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6 | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12. | Ch.13. | Ch.14. | Ch.15.

word count: 4,6K

tag: #what was that

summary: A romance that explores two insecure people growing closer together through snippets of their time at work.

author’s note: Can I post three things a day? Yes. This is the first fic I've written and I love it dearly. It connected me with @rennethen who has been beta reading it patiently and helped me create significant parts of it, and for that connection alone it was worth to write it.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“Renly, are you being serious right now?” John stormed into the lab’s kitchen visibly flushed with anger. Renly only blinked at him, a question in her eyes.

“I guess? Didn’t you get my note?” She definitely remembered sending the note asking John to take a raincheck. She even made a song about it to not forget, like the last time. Viktor had mocked the song at first but later grew annoyed with it.

”Please stop, this song is now rotting my brain. I get it, John is a nice guy,” Viktor rotated on his chair with a groan that has clearly been building up for at least one minute.

“Sorry, it’s the only way I don’t get distracted and forget!” to Viktor’s demise, Renly sang this line as well.

“Well, didn’t you get my note?” John said, already huffing, seemingly offended. He did get her note, he did see the little heart she drew on it and a coffee stain that suggested she wrote it hastily, while doing something else with her other hand. So, he sent a passive aggressive jokey note back stating that it’s tomorrow or he doesn’t know when, because he is also oh-so-busy.

“I can’t make it otherwise,” he laid his hands apart in apologetic gesture.

“Like… this week? Or ever?” light mockery in her voice, she said with her back to John, while pouring coffee into two cups. “It’s okay, we can have breakfast here. Do you want coffee?” Renly pulled out the third cup from the sink and waved it at John expectantly.

At which point, Viktor entered their tiny lab kitchen, scrunching his wet hair with a damp towel, his cheeks flushed and clothes slightly dishevelled, clinging to his hot-after-shower body. “Do I smell coffee? Hi John,” he said, waving at the doorway.

“Nothing will hide from you. Crisis averted?” Renly asked referring to fifteen minutes ago, when Viktor banged viciously on the bathroom door, demanding shower access immediately, as he spilled suspicious fluid from Renly’s workstation all over himself.

She said it was punishment for snooping. He said she’d taken his favourite pen, and her workstation was planned ridiculously, making moving around risky. Also, she took showers that lasted forever. She said her shower was only fifteen minutes, which is perfectly within bounds of morning toilet routine. He said she should shower at home and sleep at home; otherwise, she would end up a social pariah like him and Jayce. She said it’s a bit late for that as night is a perfect time for quiet work and she is one person away from the social pariah status. She meant John. So right now, it really did look like she was close to adding it to her work signature. She had to evacuate from the bathroom before she had the chance to dry off completely, which is why her hair was wet.

“Did you shower together?” John’s tone gained additional pitch to it as he asked his ridiculous question, visibly getting more and more distressed.

“Yes, John. We also have occasional orgies that I forgot to mention,” Renly couldn’t help about the snarky comment but when she turned around to take a look at her… boyfriend? They went out about ten times and slept together twice, so she guessed he was her boyfriend already. Well, he looked hurt, and she immediately wished she didn’t say it, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

“Please, don’t be like that. I pulled an all-nighter again, and it was too late to go home. We showered separately, obviously,” she said in a softer voice as the cups were placed on the tiny table in the middle of the kitchen, only three chairs.

“I will give the two of you some space,” Viktor swept his cup with Jayce’s face on it and gave both of them polite smile as he walked out faster, than Renly thought he was able to.

“So… are you very cross with me?” she waited for Viktor to leave the area and asked reaching out to place her palm on top of John’s forearm, but he winced away.

John had always been good at making himself seem indispensable. When they first started seeing each other, his charm felt effortless—little gestures like remembering her favourite tea or distracting her with a ridiculous joke when she was too stressed to focus. She had let her guard down with him in a way she rarely allowed herself to. It had felt safe, comforting even. But lately, the cracks in that façade were harder to ignore. He got offended easily and threw some stupid accusations at her when he was out of arguments. She did admit, she was quite oblivious to some of relationship savoir-vivre, but it was also discussed priorly! And he said he doesn’t mind, so the next part caught her off-guard.

“I… don’t think this will work out this way,” he said with a sigh and waved his hand around making her question if he meant them, or breakfast with Victor in near vicinity. “I didn’t know this is what I was signing up for frankly,” he finished and gave her a sad puppy glance. This made her… angry? Of course, he knew what he was signing up for. She told him from the very beginning how important her work was. And how bad she was at this, but he just called her cute. Surely, this was enough of a warning. Or maybe it wasn’t but John really didn’t seem like he heard anything of what she ever said in the long run.

He was a Piltie, and she was from Zaun. He liked posh places that were trying to pass as casual, she liked to hang out by the riverbank in the evenings and sneak into The Undercity to look at street art and eat street food. He always seemed to pay attention to what she was telling him about her lab work and how many lives it could potentially change but at the end of every test presentation and heated one-sided conversation (it was hot on her side only) when she looked at him expectantly, he praised her with a you are so smart or you look pretty when you get excited about science and it left her empty of all air like a sad balloon in the aftermath of a party. He probably had a politician’s career ahead of him, so in the future, he would be the person to decide whether she does or doesn’t get funding for her research and in her mind’s eye John was a person that would probably happily fund something else than the medicine for long term Grey exposure symptoms. But he was a good practice for that. And despite everything else, she did like him. He had his moments, as they say.

In a few seconds, that took very long in the pocket dimension of her brain, Renly tried to calculate how much fault in this situation was hers and if it was worth to back down and give him a peace offering in form of a dinner at her place, that she would cook, and they would be alone, and it would be romantic, and he would probably get to fuck her on the dinner table.

The plan started forming itself, when John said “I mean… you spend all your free time here, or you drag me around the lanes. Also, this Viktor guy? I got over Jayce, recently he is barely here. So…” he dragged his huge eyes across her face looking for a sign of understanding that wasn’t there “…you understand how I feel when you spend most of your time with another man.” It came out weak, but he decided to stand by it.

“Another man? It’s Viktor,” she scoffed. “Not even a day ago he stated how much I disgust him with Zaunian food in fridge. He works all the time. We sleep in separate rooms. He…” Renly inhaled, exasperated by this accusation. It’s ridiculous, how insecure John was to even suggest that.

“He is a friend. And that’s all. I assure you he is not interested in me.” She had a dead serious certainty about this. If something was fixed in this universe, it was the fact that Viktor wasn’t interested in her. And she didn’t think of him that way either. Except the one time she let her mind wander, and she did. Which was a lie, because she thought that at least twice.

Once, when they met for the first time. She already knew Jayce, who made her gasp the first time she saw him. The impression passed, but friendship remained. Jayce and Viktor, freshly acquainted, were passing her classroom when a quake shook The Uppercity. It caused one of her test tubes to fall into the vial she was working on, breaking and triggering a teeny-tiny exoenergic reaction (it exploded). The hero within Jayce’s body drove him straight in to help any casualties, of which the only one was Renly, face full of colourful goo. From the floor, she glanced at Viktor walking in shortly after his partner, and she gasped, even more than when she had met Jayce. She immediately knew it was wrong to look for so long. Her suspicion was confirmed when Viktor’s expression shifted from amusement to the realization that his brief chance to present himself as more than the guy with a cane had passed. From that point forward, he was very formal with her, though he occasionally joked about history repeating itself within the academy walls.

It was a lie though, as well. She first saw Viktor by the riverbank in Zaun, as a child. She had been maybe seven, and he could have been slightly older. Her eyes, round and curious, followed him trying to chase down his mechanical ship taken by the stream. She tried to shadow him that day, but he disappeared in the mouth of a cave she was afraid to walk into. He had a smaller cane then and she thought him a magician. So, she only lingered in disbelief that their paths crossed once more and that he was, indeed, real. And also, in awe of how beautifully he has grown up. But overall, Renly counted it as a one time.

Second time, after she decided to stay at university to continue her research and teach students, they were copying the notes together and Jayce was growing more and more bored, so he kept trying to start random topics.

"I wonder if all of them are as pretty as Mel,” he said, trying to trace down beautiful Mel Medarda’s heritage while fishing for reassurance from his friends about their imminent romance.

“But maybe it’s not a rule. I mean, looking at the both of you I would say the rule for Zaun is to be full of attractive people as well,” Jayce was waffling on, and Renly grew tired of it.

“And ugly people. And short people. And tall people. And fat people, and skinny people, Jayce. It’s all just people, like in Piltover, there is no rule to here or Zaun. Initially, it’s the same city, and we all come from different places,” she said harshly not lifting her sight from the notes she was copying.

“Oh relax, it was a compliment! And I am looking for reassurance from you guys, yes,” he traced his finger down the blackboard, wiping some of the old equations away.

“Not very progressive of you, the Man of Progress. I can give you reassurance – Mel seems fine. You will be fine. You are a big boy, Jayce. But I do not need compliments, not because I’m from The Undercity, nor because I’m a woman,” Renly’s dead stare made Jayce look for help from Viktor. She gave him a pass and went back to scribbling.

“Vik, any help?”

“I’m afraid with this one I have to place myself in Renly’s corner. Even though of the two of us, I probably am the one that needs compliments,” Viktor also didn’t glance up from above his paperwork.

“No, you don’t,” Renly didn’t notice she now got the attention of both of her friends.

“You are, yourself, quite…” her mind was absent at this moment, so it was probably the other part of her that spoke the rest “…dreamy.” A second past, in which her brain caught up with her mouth and a deep shade of red bled into her cheeks and chest. She cleared her throat, stood up quickly and threw barely audible excuse me leaving the boys to exchange their looks and make their fun of her. Jayce snorted when Renly was out of hearing range and Viktor only mouthed a what was that? That was the second time, infinitely more mortifying than the first one.

“You put a lot of effort into assuring me of this, but you never once said if you are not interested in him. From where I’m standing, you are definitely not interested in me,” John’s voice broke her out of reminiscing.

Renly’s face went into stupid mode, twisting her features with disbelief. How dare he.

“Are you really saying what I’m hearing? Are you accusing me of infidelity based on your own insecurity? Have I truly given you any reason to believe I’m involved with anyone else but you? When do you think I would have time for that? Or do you actually not listen to me when I tell you about what I’m doing here and how much of my time and energy it consumes?” John’s expression grew more and more panicked as he saw how far he has overstepped.

“This is not… I didn’t…”

“What you didn’t do is think. You are the one who is not interested in me, John. You listen to me, but you do not register, nor remember anything I tell you. What do you want from me? Should I drop everything I’m doing just to dangle from your shoulder at the parties? Should I change the way I speak? Should I cut all my friends and relatives loose because they are from The Undercity? Would that make you feel secure enough?” she spat at him, becoming more and more angry with every sentence, self-winding regret fuelling her.

“Gods, this is not what I want, and you know it,” John brought his hand to the back of his neck, his voice gentler this time. “I just don’t feel like you want me around, is all,” he whispered, his words making Renly’s shoulders drop and her chest sink.

His fingers tapped an idle rhythm on the table, his eyes darting toward the adjoining lab room. It wasn’t the first time she’d caught him stealing glances at her colleagues’ workspaces, but she had always dismissed it as idle curiosity or stupid jealousy, first over Jayce, then over Viktor. Now, though, every stolen glance felt like a clue she should have picked up on sooner.

“I do,” she hesitated. “I did. I invited you to meet my people, come to my home, my work, my bed,” at which point, in the other room, Viktor—who was doing his absolute worst not to listen—squeezed a piece of chalk a little too hard, causing half of it to disintegrate into dust with a loud, whiny, bone-chilling sound that gave him goosebumps at the back of his neck. So, they slept together, great. Just great. It didn’t bother him at all, and yet… it bothered him greatly for some reason. Probably just because she will be a nightmare to be around for the next week or so.

Ridiculous, Viktor thought, though the word didn’t carry the weight he wanted it to. What did it matter who she invited into her bed? It certainly wasn’t his concern. The tightening in his chest wasn’t jealousy—it couldn’t be. No, it was irritation, that’s all. Irritation because she was so impulsive, so reckless, letting herself be distracted by someone so undeserving of her attention.

Why did it bother him? It wasn’t the first time she’d been entangled in some personal drama, and usually, he had the patience to tune it out. Yet here he was, bristling at every raised word, every pointed jab from John. It wasn’t his place to care. He had told himself years ago that people like Renly—bright, chaotic, and distractingly beautiful—were nothing but a complication. And yet, he found himself gripping his cane tighter every time John’s voice rose.

“Just realistically, I don’t think this is what you want. So, the obvious choice would be to put a pin in it until we both decide what we want,” her voice faltered. Breaking things off with John hadn’t been part of her plans for the day, and she could never have been emotionally prepared for this—especially not before breakfast. She wasn’t really breaking things off with him, either. Maybe a short, temporary break would do them good, cool things off. She fidgeted with her fingers under the table, becoming increasingly self-conscious about how much of the conversation Viktor had overheard.

“Really? So now it’s about me not respecting your Zaunian heritage, instead of you blowing me off at every opportunity?” at this point John knew that guilting her into giving it one more shot was probably his only chance. His father really wanted those hextech blueprints, and he would be very disappointed if John didn’t manage to get them. “Look, I don’t mind if we hang out here at all. But truth be told, you don’t really invite me here very often,” John said, his voice softer now, but there was an edge beneath it, like a scalpel disguised as a pen.

He had a way of twisting her words, making her feel like the selfish one for not prioritizing him more. It was a skill he wielded well, and for a moment, it almost worked. But the memory of all those little disappointments—the times he had brushed off her work as "just another experiment" or barely listened when she explained her progress—bubbled up like a pressure valve ready to burst. He did actually like her. She was his type – pretty, quirky, talented and driven. She could be a bit more elegant, but that would be polished with time. “We could make a schedule, meet here when nobody is around? Maybe you could even show me some hextech, hm?” with this, he knew he probably pushed a little bit too far, as her expression grew weary.

There it was again, that same calculated curiosity masked as casual conversation. At first, she had chalked it up to natural interest—what Piltover scholar wouldn’t want to know more about hextech? But now, with his eyes lingering too long on the blueprints and his questions steering the conversation in predictable directions, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was about more than idle fascination.

“I… you know I don’t work with hextech,” she shook her head while her brain was glueing the pieces together. “Why would you…,” and it hit her gently, prompted by the guilt painting her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend’s face. Unbelievable. When she thought about it longer, he did usually snoop around innocently while waiting for her to wrap up work. He would wander between the lab rooms, seemingly just killing time, but she saw him linger on the blueprints more than once. When she told him about her experiments, he always drove the discussion towards Viktor and Jayce’s work. How are they doing? So does this hextech actually work? And what do they want to use it for again? And he tried to pin it on her sleeping with Viktor. The audacity.

Renly wanted to believe the relationship had been real, that it hadn’t just been about her work or her connections. But as she stared at him now—his charming smile just a little too polished, his words just a little too well-placed—she realized how many times she had ignored her instincts. How often she had pushed aside the nagging thought that he didn’t see her, not really. Just the parts of her that were useful.

“So… you come here and make a scene about the note that you seemingly wrote for me and that I didn’t get. You accuse me of cheating on you with my colleague,” at which point Viktor scoffed to himself in the other room. The idea of Renly and him being a thing was laughable. She was too stubborn, too unpredictable, too... distracting. And yet, John’s misplaced jealousy had struck an uncomfortable chord. Absurd, Viktor reassured himself. If anything, she deserves better than someone like me. She deserves better than both of us.

“You propose a solution – let’s hang out here,” Renly exhaled, and her eyes rested on her hands with the realization of being used all this time hitting her hard. She didn’t think she cared that much. Frankly, having a normal secure relationship also with someone normal and secure was a hope she didn’t dare to entertain very often. It was mostly work and friends for her. So, when John came along, she just let it happen, as maybe, she thought, it was a good thing happening to her. Realizing there was no love in it, left her feeling numb.

In the other room, Viktor stopped pretending to work and simply sat on a stool, his hands and chin resting on his cane. That was new territory, a kind of danger they hadn’t anticipated. Also, he did feel angry for Renly – annoying as she was, she really didn’t deserve this. He wondered if he should intervene and kick John out, but the act would have to be based on his authority, which as a fellow Zaunian in John’s eyes he had none. Any show of force would need to be purely verbal—calculated and precise enough to leave the boy speechless and make him back down without a fight. While he was negotiating the terms of this heroic act with himself, he heard Renly’s voice echoing across the corridors: “I think it’s best you go.”

“Can we talk this through?” one last desperate attempt on John’s side as he covered Renly’s palm with his. She slid her hand from underneath his, threw a quick no over her shoulder and stepped through a heavy metal door that separated living area form the laboratory. She locked it behind her with a loud crank and immediately sank to hug her knees. Well, shit. This wasn’t part of her plan for today. And she didn’t want to cry in front of Viktor. If Jayce was here, he’d make it better, but he was with the beautiful Mel Medarda having breakfast in her quarters, which was a secret. Viktor would make fun of her—or worse, he’d get cross for endangering their life’s work. On one side of the door, her mean ex-boyfriend, on the other her mean niggling friend. She could just stay here.

“Do you need help getting up?” Viktor’s voice made her gasp and release the tears that were gathering under her eyelids, now streaming down her cheeks. And just to be clear, they were angry tears, not sad pathetic tears.

“Maybe,” Renly said, wiping her face with a sleeve, unable to bring herself to look him in the eye. She accepted his offered hand, which was about to pull her up. Unfortunately, the sudden movement sent a cramp shooting down Viktor’s calf, leaving Renly standing while he folded in half.

“Oh shit, Viktor I’m sorry, let me grab a stool!”

“Ah, no need. It’s fine. Just a cramp, it’ll stretch,” he panted, sliding down the corridor wall. She crouched down by him, question in her eyes about what to do.

“Well, where is it? I can… rub it out?” she heard herself saying and a darker shade of pink flushed her already enflamed cheeks. Viktor noticed. Her hands were faster than her brain this time and she already had his calf in her grasp, looking for the knot.

The warmth of her hands startled him, a flicker of something unwanted creeping into his thoughts. He shut it down immediately. She’s just helping. Don’t make it into something it isn’t. But the gentleness of her touch lingered longer than it should have, and when she looked up at him, her face flushed with concentration, he had to look away. Focus, Viktor. This means nothing.

“How did you get this so bad, Viktor?” she gasped at the state of her friend’s muscle, contracted like a rusty hinge. Her eyes full of concern, and some guilt. She made him uncomfortable in his own lab, because of some stupid drama. Stupid, yet it tore a hole in her heart.

Viktor remembered this look. He remembered the way she had looked at him back when they first met—not the awestruck gaze she reserved for Jayce, but something deeper, sharper. It had unnerved him. People always noticed the cane first; it was a fact he had come to accept. But she had looked past it—no, she had lingered on it, and he wasn’t sure whether it was curiosity, pity, or something else entirely. It didn’t matter now. He had decided long ago to keep her at a polite distance.

“Too much sitting down, ah!” he gasped when more pressure was applied “I tried to work through your… quarrel,” Viktor’s voice grew breathier, his eyebrows pinching together. Absent-mindedly, he placed his right hand on Renly’s shoulder and closed his eyes, letting his body relax into her touch. She was very careful, almost… affectionate.

“I guess this would fuel John’s theory,” he chuckled slightly, forgetting himself. Did he just admit that something was possible? Renly was too focused on getting rid of the knot to notice the awkward grunt following this sentence, and without much thought to it she said, “don’t be ridiculous.”

Something sunk in Victor’s chest hearing that. Of course, it was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. All of it. He was about to figure out how to run away, take his leg with him and tell her this is good enough, when she continued.

“I mean, we are not responsible for someone’s insecurities. I refuse to be. Also, as I presume you heard all of it, you will know that it was all a play,” she put so much attention into rubbing Viktor’s calf that the words just went out of her mouth. “Just to get his hands on hextech. So, I’m guessing this accusation was also fabricated to guilt me. Or he was obsessed with you. Which I understand… gotcha!” she exclaimed as the muscle relaxed under her fingers, and Viktor gave an involuntary moan, making both of them flush slightly.

The tension in his calf eased, but his chest felt impossibly tight. He was about to thank her—briefly, formally—when the look on her face stopped him. She was glowing, not with the self-satisfaction he often associated with Jayce, but with genuine care. It was infuriating. No, not infuriating—irrelevant. Why do you even notice these things? he scolded himself, rising awkwardly to his feet and turning away before the warmth in her eyes could undo him further.

“Forgive me, I… thank you,” was all he was able to say.

“That’s… it’s nothing, no worries.”

“I believe you know this, but in case you don’t—he’s a donkey, and you’re brilliant, yes?” Viktor tossed over his shoulder. “Ah, I’m not… thank you,” she said, standing in the corridor, confused, her face burning. What was that?

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #what was that

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quirekey · 2 days ago

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pretty please write more abt d-16 and megatron im THIRSTY for more of him

Okay so anything about D16 / Megatron? Aight bet lets do this….. I MADE IT ANGST AAAAA

[ D16 / MEGATRON ] x [ GN!READER ]

[ d16 / megatron x cybertronian!gn!poet!reader ]

READER INTRO

You were a famous Cybertronian, known for your poetry. You loved to write about melodramatic stories that would give deep and unheard meanings. You are graceful and seemingly magical, being able to put somebody at ease with a few simple words. Your poems consisted of many types of romance because you thought that romance is something that really digs deep into somebody’s spark. You never had many friends because you weren’t social, but you did admire others that could socialise. Many cybertronians look up to you and you stay humble, including D16. Just to mention, you did have a cog.

HEADCANONS

- D16 has many idols that vary and one of them is you. He admires your fantastic vocabulary and the amount of emotional depth you are able to add to your poems. You looked so dreamy, the way you spoke, walked and wrote. D16 may or may not have a small crush on you.

- D16 was one persistent fan and his relentless want for your attention did give him a wanted ending. When you are out, many Cybertronians are talking to you and are wanting to receive writing tips, signatures or even just small glances and waves. D16 knew this so he made a gift (a little piece of energon and a letter) and was able to give it to you despite the crowd.

- You opened your gift when you got to your quarters and this warmed your spark so much. His gift was so miniture and cute. You then read his letter and it felt like you melted on the spot.

“From- D16 To- (Y/N)”

“Hi, I really wanted to talk to you in person but you seem out of my league so I thought a letter would fit best. I made this letter to tell you that you have inspired me to start writing myself. Your poems are so nice to read after every mining shift and I hope you make more in the future.”

- After you read the poem, this tiny miner has been lingering in your mind. You thought you had these thoughts because of his tiny gift, but they have gotten pretty far. You wanted this tiny bot in your arms, you wanted to show him the love and affection he deserves. You made a personal poem about how a mere gift has grown into undefined feelings.

- When you see him, you would talk straight to him first. This did catch him off-guard every time because his idol was talking to him. You would bring him gifts that you thought he would like and you would also give him one of your treasured pens. Though it was hard for him to take care of these gifts, he did try pretty hard to keep them clean and in-quality.

- You guys eventually became close friends and he does confess his love for you. He tried his best to be stoic but it was hard to keep his fluster away. You couldn’t resist him but decided that it’s best to be friends due to his and your part in society. You did like him back so there was still a chance.

- One day you were able to build the courage and tell the cogless bot how much you loved him. How you yearned to have him in your arms and for you to whisper words of sweet affirmation into his audio receptors. You had a serious problem with this lingering love so you had to spill it.

- Fortunately, you two started dating in secret. To make it short, it was very wholesome. Though you two were constantly distanced, you both knew that you were in each other’s processors.

- When he went from being D16 to Megatron, this conflicted you. Your brain told you to stay in Iacon with the autobots and Optimus Prime. Your spark told you to leave with the bot you have loved from the beginning and join the Decepticons with Megatron. Your spark that has been growing and blooming took over and you left Iacon for Megatron’s love.

- Megatron still had love for you and gave you a special role that did not require you to do any work. You wanted you to be happy. Just because he changed, doesn’t mean his spark has changed.

- All you do is write poems in your spacious and dim quarters. It's hard to feel comfort due to the yelling outside your room and it’s hard to get inspiration for your poems because all you are doing is evil. Sure, it isn’t impossible but it feels like it is in the situation you were in.

#transformers #transformers one #tfone #d16 #transformers x reader #megatron #megatron x reader #d16 x reader #d 16 #tfo

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syoddeye · 2 days ago

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Hiii I'm dont do tells very often cause I'm a little on the shyer side but I just had to when I came across your page and works! I love love love everything your works and I love that you have darker fics and I just adore your writing style! I can feel the emotions in your stories and I love them so much. I have an obsession with Price and Ghost I can never really find good dark fics since people tend to lean away from those tags but I've found a really nice space on your page :)

Just wanted to say that i love all that you do and you should keep up the amazing work 💛

hello! thank you! 🧡 i really appreciate the support and encouragement.

i'd like to recommend some more price and ghost fic. chances are you've read these, but just in case you haven't - all of these are dark/lean dark/have dark themes etc:

all of early's (@/391780) price works

@/ohbo-ohno's run until you feel your lungs bleeding

@/bi-writes's anatomy of us

@/pricegouge's haul (141 x reader but one of my favessss)

@/yeyinde's victory lap and dogmeat series

@/dragonnarrative-writes's slasher handler

@/ceilidho's sirius c (ghoap x reader)

@/peachesofteal's the house

@/moondirti's birdhouse

@/alnilaem's coyote head and the body of a man

and like a billion more i'm forgetting but we are very spoiled here.

i also tag my fic recs.

#sy asks #fic recs

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littlestarbigsky · 2 days ago

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soda sickfic for the curtis bros fic prompts 💕

back on my curtis brother’s bs gang !!!! i missed writing these hooligans💕 lol this ended up being much longer than i thought but who’s complaining there lol.

this is a few years pre-canon, i’m gonna say darry is around 15 which would put pony and soda at 9 and 11 ;)

hope this is okay🩷

“hey, pepsi, i brought you some more medicine,” mama pushed the door open, cold medicine and some water in her hands. she was in her hospital scrubs and needed to leave soon, but she wanted to see her baby first.

the flu had finally hit their home, cycling through everyone over christmas, and soda was the last to get it, and his bout was proving to be easily the worst. the boys were still on winter break from school, but their parents still needed to work, and with no sick days left, they didn’t have many options.

as she sat down next to him on the bed, she couldn’t figure out if he was asleep or not. she didn’t particularly want to wake him up, lord knows he had enough trouble falling asleep any old day. with soda being sick, ponyboy had been sleeping in darry’s room to keep the two of them from getting sick, and they always had an even harder time sleeping when they were apart.

just when she was about to leave the room to let him sleep a little longer, he stirred next to her, rolling over and blinking his glassy brown eyes up at her.

“there he is,” she smiled, smoothing his hair back, briefly pausing on his forehead to check his temperature. “how about some more medicine?”

soda didn’t give much of a response beside a big yawn and a lazy shrug. it was so strange to hear him so quiet. it made her heart ache to know how lousy he had to be feeling to not be chatting away every chance he got.

she helped him sit up in bed, giving him the medicine and his water, which he took quickly and shuddered at the taste. mama moved to sit next to him and he snuggled down into her side. he seemed to notice her scrubs, which could only mean she was going to work, and he looked up at her, panicked.

“i have to go to work today, baby,” she frowned. “but darry is gonna take care of you today. your dad and i are both gonna try so hard to get home early for you tonight, but we don’t have any more sick days until the new year.”

soda blinked sadly at her, cuddling closer for a few more minutes of his mama holding him tight to her before she had to take off.

“that’s it,” she rubbed his back and kissed his head. “go back to sleep, you’ll feel better when you wake up.”

it didn’t take long for him to fall asleep, barely five minutes had gone by before she was ready to leave for work, but her baby boy was limp and fast asleep against her. she slid out and tucked the blankets back around him, kissing his feverish head quickly before leaving him to sleep.

the sun was high in the sky when soda woke up again, and at first, he couldn’t even move with how tightly he was tucked in. someone had obviously come in and readjusted his blankets while he was still out cold.

it was nice for a few minutes, before he realized how hot he was. he started squirming and trying to get himself free, but his sleep addled brain couldn’t seem to figure a way out of his predicament, so he settled to thrash around unsuccessfully until he felt someone grabbing his shoulders to settle him down. he didn’t know who it was, but he felt the blankets loosening, so he wasn’t about to start complaining.

“stay still, kiddo, let me get you out of this,” it was darry’s voice, of course it was. soda stayed put while darry untangled his arms and torso from his confines, and the second he felt free, he launched himself into darry’s arms.

“hey, sleepyhead, you sleep okay?”

soda nodded mutely into darry’s shoulder. truthfully, he hadn’t really seen darry or ponyboy in a few days while he’d been sick, their parents not wanting all three of them to be sick.

eventually, soda let go of darry and pulled back, asking sheepishly, “where’s pony?”

“he’s in the living room watching astro boy, you wanna come watch with us?” darry asked.

soda looked longingly at the door before he nodded slowly, wincing slightly from the ache in his head. darry frowned and checked the clock on the bedside table.

“it’s been long enough, do you want some more medicine?” darry asked gently, turning to grab the bottle from the dresser along with his water before soda could even answer. when he turned back around, he was met with soda’s big brown eyes full of tears.

“oh, baby,” he set the bottles down quickly and sat down next to his little brother on the bed. “mama said you took it so well this morning, what’s going on?”

“i don’t know…” soda cried, his shoulders shaking as darry pulled him close. “it just… it’s not mama…”

of the three of them, soda had always been the one who was good at taking medicine and was fondly regarded as “the easy one” when it came to being sick. for him to refuse to take medicine could only mean that he was feeling pretty nasty. darry felt like he should be hurt by soda’s words, but they made sense. he would be upset if mama wasn’t taking care of of him, how could he hold that against soda? he rubbed soda’s back, running a hand through his hair and taking deep breaths to keep him calm and grounded.

“i know i’m not mama, but could you please try to take it, honey?” darry quietly pleaded with soda. “it’ll help you feel better faster, it might help you sleep, too.”

soda sniffled, a few tears sliding down his cheeks. darry wiped them away quickly with the sleeves of his sweatshirt before turning around and grabbing the medicine and pouring him a dose. soda took a steadying breath and downed the medicine in one swig, snatching the water and gulping it down even faster.

darry watched almost as if in slow motion as his brother’s chest started to contract and he gagged and his eyes went glassy and terrified. for a moment, he really thought soda was going to be sick. darry reacted as fast as he could in the on way he knew how. he placed a hand on soda’s chest and gently blew on his face, and watched as his eyes focused, and his breathing managed to calm down.

soda took a deep breath and fell into darry’s arms, shaking and breathing heavily.

“good job, baby,” he whispered. “you did it, i’m so proud of you.”

soda curled up against darry, his face buried in his brother’s shoulder as he tried to pull himself together.

darry squeezed him gently, “you wanna go watch some tv with pony, kiddo?”

soda sniffled, “yeah…”

“okay, i think we can make that happen,” darry smiled, scooping up soda with his blanket still wrapped around him and kicking open the bedroom door, carrying his little brother down the hallway to the living room.

pony was on the couch, fully focused on his show, which had changed from astro boy to mickey mouse. he looked up when darry set soda down next to him, a smile growing on his face. without word or warning, pony crawled over and curled up next to soda the moment he was settled on the couch.

"honey, i know you missed soda, but we don't need you getting sick, too," darry tried to say, but pony just snuggled in further.

"hey, pony," soda smiled, throwing an arm over his baby brother and pulling him into the blanket.

pony looked up at darry with his big green eyes and darry knew he was helpless to separate them. pony and soda had always been two peas in a pod in a way darry had never been able to touch. before soda could get too invested in the show, darry asked quietly, "mama left some soup for you to have, you feeling up to eating something, bud?"

soda seemed to shrink slightly. he shook his head nervously, "can we try later?"

darry bit the inside of his cheek, but nodded, he had already gotten some water in him, that should be alright for a little while. what soda probably needed more than anything was rest. pony seemed to read his mind, because the moment darry was about to suggest that soda try to sleep, he reached out his hand, inviting darry onto the couch with them.

he grinned and smiled sheepishly at soda, "not sure if i can say no to him."

soda grinned and reached out his own hand, silently asking him to join them. darry sighed and fell down next to soda, letting his little brother curl up next to him. darry threw his arm over soda's shoulders, reaching to rest his hand against the back of pony's head. soda sniffled, his stomach growling loudly. he buried his face in darry's neck, breathing deeply. darry just smiled and ran a hand through soda's messy hair.

he pressed a kiss to soda's forehead and whispered, "get some sleep, kiddo."

when darry woke up, the sky had gone dark outisde and his parents were lifting both of his sleeping baby brothers off the couch.

"he feels warm..." his dad, who was cradling a sleeping ponyboy in a blanket, whispered to mama.

she frowned, readjusting soda in her arms, "he's probably just hot from laying up against this one all afternoon. i'm gonna wake him up and get some food and more medicine in him, i'll probably stay with him tonight."

he nodded, carrying ponyboy back to his room. mama stood for a moment, sadly looking at soda and brushing his hair back.

darry sat up, “mama?”

mama whipped around and smiled at him, “hi, sweetheart, you feeling okay? you have a good nap?”

“is pony sick? i’m sorry…” he mumbled, his exhausted brain not fully processing much of anything.

“oh, no, baby, he’s alright,” she leaned down and kissed his forehead. “just a little warm from being all snuggled up with soda all day. are you feeling alright?”

darry took a moment to decide if he was okay. he was tired, but that was just because he had just woken up, nothing new was hurting, nothing felt funny. he nodded.

“good,” mama smiled. “i’m gonna go get this one some food and medicine and back to bed, daddy’s getting pony to bed, if you hurry you can listen to the end of his bedtime story.”

darry smiled and rolled his eyes, it had been a long time since he’d needed a bedtime story, but he stood up from the couch and started toward his room. mama caught his arm before he could get too far, and he turned around.

“thank you for taking care of them today, honey, you didn’t have to do that.”

darry just shrugged and smiled, “they’re my brothers, i’d do anything for them.”

#this was so special to me ugh #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis #mama curtis #the outsiders #the outsiders fic #star’s writing #star answers

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skyfallscotland · 3 days ago

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Twisted Love, by Ana Huang 📷

“I never claimed to be Prince Charming, and my love isn’t a fairy-tale type of love. I’m a fucked-up person with fucked-up morals. I won’t write you poems or serenade you beneath the moonlight. But you are the only woman I have eyes for."

I was so close to DNF'ing this, and honestly, I hate-read my way to the end. It's a shame really, because I feel like Huang isn't a bad writer per se, but her characters are completely intolerable (to me) and she needed to make better choices about what was included in this book.

Firstly, this book has every trope you could possibly imagine and I am not exaggerating. This is every wattpad story ever written crammed into one (too long tbh) book. Brother's best friend, grumpy-sunshine, billionaire CEO who doesn't like anyone else, crazy ex-boyfriend, one bed, family members out for your money, family members who wanted to kill you, oh shit actually you're adopted—everything. EVERYTHING. It's too much.

And even if we put that aside...let's move onto the characters.

Ava: the girl with so much trauma she has night terrors and a mysterious past she can't remember, whose father acts like he hates her, whose ex stalks and manhandles her, and oh yeah, she's SO nice and SO happy and just the BEST PERSON EVER all the fucking time, because none of that affected her. At all. ✔️ Check.

Alex: What isn't Alex Volkov? No seriously, what can't he do? And that's not a compliment.

He drove the same way he walked, talked, and breathed—steady and controlled, with an undercurrent of danger warning those foolish enough to contemplate crossing him that doing so would be their death sentence.

Alex’s parents had died when he was young and left him a pile of money he’d quadrupled the value of when he came into his inheritance at age eighteen. Not that he’d needed it, because he’d invented a new financial modeling software in high school that made him a multimillionaire before he could vote. With an IQ of 160, Alex Volkov was a genius, or close to it. He was the only person in Thayer’s history to complete its five-year joint undergrad/ MBA program in three years, and at age twenty-six, he was the COO of one of the most successful real estate development companies in the country. He was a legend, and he knew it.

“I’m not bragging. I have hyperthymesia, or HSAM. Highly superior autobiographical memory. Look it up.”

Stop. Please, I'm begging you.

And if you thought that might have just been her thoughts about him, well...

I didn’t do sweet nothings or lovemaking. I fucked a certain way, and only a specific type of woman was into that shit. Not hard-core BDSM, but not soft. No kissing, no face-to-face contact. Women agreed, then tried to change it up halfway through, after which I’d stop and show them the door.

You like to take a woman from behind and throw in some dirty talk and degradation babe, it's really not that deep 🥴

It's giving ✨i'm not like other guys✨

So anyway after we filter through at least 3178920 predictable plots and sideplots and just sideways journeys that didn't really need to be in here, finally we get to a third-act breakup (his choice) after which he decides he doesn't like (his choice) and decides to stalk her. For over a year.

“I’ll file a restraining order against you. Have you arrested for stalking.” “You can try, but I can’t guarantee my friends in the British government will comply.” His face darkened. “And if you think I’m leaving you alone and unprotected anywhere, you don’t know me at all.”

Ummm bro, the only danger to her here is you, are you kidding me? And sunny old Ava who was literally stalked by her last boyfriend (and it was a whole damn plot point) is like you know what, I love this guy who's stalking me! I'll give him another chance! Sure!

But wait, wait, wait, only after he serenades her with a love song. I'm not kidding. Oh, and you guessed it—voice of an angel, because there's nothing Alex Volkov can't do.

Personally I feel like ten years have passed since I picked up this book yesterday and some chick was stranded in the rain on the side of the road.

Also, minus ten points for

thick, and hard as a steel pipe—

Just...no. Just no.

I'd love to have something more positive to say but I really don't have anything. The side characters were more tolerable than the main characters and that's the only reason I'm wondering if I should subject myself to the next book in the series, but honestly? I really don't think I can. I wish I'd picked up one of the fanfics on my TBR instead 😶

#read with amy 🤓#twisted love by ana huang #twisted love spoilers

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zepskies · 2 days ago

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Awww that makes me so happy, friend! 🥰 There's definitely MORE coming soon. 💜💜💜

i’m usually a bit squeamish when it comes to anything that involves hunting, but the opening scene was written so nicely, it was the perfect amount of descriptive without being like, graphic? if that makes sense :) and although I feel sad for the lion (major cat person, lol) i’m glad dean was able to prove himself, even without the child’s bow :p💘

Ooh I totally get that, but thank you so much for that compliment. 😊 I tried not to make it too graphic (I love cats too! 😭). Dean will have the chance to master the bow soon enough though! 🏹

i’m also glad mila’s words got through to šóta and he showed dean some grace and kindness 😭🤍 it’s what my boy deserves <33

He needed that proverbial kick in the pants, didn't he?! And Dean finally gets someone on his side besides Mila, poor guy lol.

meanwhile otaktay youuu trifling miserable conniving bitter bitchhhh :| pardon my language lol i’m so glad he got the whoopin he deserved! the absolute audacity of that dude. 🤦🏽‍♀️ — got ahead of myself cause I like to review in order of events lol but he really grinded my gearss [insert arthur fist meme]

Oh Otaktay IS a trifling ass bitch. 😤 Even his own people are looking at him sideways for what he's done (or what he tried to do). Lolll totally understandable. Otaktay grinded my gears just writing him. 🤣

i loved all the little insights into how dean is with mila :’)🩵 they are so sweet to each other 😭 love them <3 it’s also nice that various people (minus one ofc) were seeing how well he treats his wife and how respectful he is 🙂‍↕️

Aww honestly I loved trying to figure out their dynamic as a married couple. I also feel like this was a time where a man like Dean would've been raised to respect the women in his life, especially his wife. 💜💜

checking in with her beforeeee getting down to business 🫠 [he’s a good man savannah 😔💖]

Damn right. 😏 Dean is gonna handle his business, but first, needs to check in with his girl.

aaand this is when I knew otaktay was in dangerrr lol

oh 100%. Guy's marked now. 😅

ohhhhhhh 😭😂 when I read this i thought to myself, dang maybe the fight wasn’t so bad in comparison to what’s coming to him 🤣 mama is nottttt gonna be happy

lmaooooo you know what, you're probably right! A little reveal there that Eyota is Otaktay's mother--and he's about to get another whoopin'. 😂

I adoreee this ♥️ and he’s worthyyyy🥺🤍 I loved the respect everyone finally showed him <3 the circumstances were not the greatest of course, but he has more than earned that respect by now :’) also when he was called honorable I thought of THC which i’m not sure if it was intentional or not, but either way, so cute!🧡

Aw thank you, my lovely. 🥹 Dean IS worthy, and finally getting the respect he deserves from everyone involved. 💗

Omg I hoped readers would notice that connection to THC! It was very intentional. 😘

i’m also glad they had that talk! it was so important, i’m glad it was reassuring for them🫶🏽

Oh yeah, Otaktay didn't put the thoughts in Mila's head about her and Dean's long-term struggles, and their future kids, but it sure did fan the flames. It was an important convo for her and Dean to have and get through together. 🫶🏽

meltinggg this was the sweetest thing🥺💗 home is where the heart is indeed<3 overall another amazing chapter lovely!💞

Aww thank you, my lovely. 🥹 That was probably my favorite line for this mini series, let alone this chapter. I'm so glad you enjoyed that part, and this chapter overall!! 💕

p.s. not entirely sure who’s in the teaser buuut i’m holding out hope for a certain someonee🤠 the anticipation buildss

Ooh you know what, I'm sure you've already figured it out. 😏 But until then...

Outlander - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC

Summary: Dean Winchester has been stripped of his military rank, but he’s living happier with his new wife, trying to adjust to a new life in her tribe. What will it take for her people to accept him, especially when the battle for her heart might not be completely won?

AN: Here we go! Diving deeper into Dean's (mis)adventures, plus a big Protective Dean moment...

Disclaimer: I first got inspired to write The Honorable Choice for @jacklesversebingo after a recent rewatch of Spirit: The Stallion of the Cimarron (with a tinge of Yellowstone in the mix). I’ve done a fair bit of research for this now ongoing series, both on the Native American Lakota tribe, and on American history during this time in the late 1800s; AKA: the Old West, during the American Indian Wars.

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Western AU

Song Inspo: The Spirit Soundtrack

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. Mentions of attempted sexual assault (not graphic). Protective Dean, survival situations, derogatory name-calling, hunting (in the traditional sense), angst, blood and violence, hurt/comfort, and romantic fluff and spice.

🐎 Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 2: What is Home

No matter how Dean tries, somehow he never makes his mark with the arrow. His boot even slips on the tree branch he was perched on, and he falls straight into the mud from this morning’s rain shower.

The other six men wait for him on the ground, and they laugh at him.

Otaktay is the ringleader today, as he is whenever Šóta isn’t here.

“Get up, wašíču. Watch close,” Otaktay says, in his limited English. He and Takoda smoke their long pipes leisurely and blow smoke rings up in the air.

Wašíču.

Fat taker. Greedy White. By now, Dean knows what that means, and it’s worse than Outlander. It makes his jaw clench and his temper spike.

Otaktay gives Takoda his pipe to hold, then reaches behind his back for his bow and an arrow from his quiver. Dean has noticed that the other men’s bows look a bit bigger than his, but Otaktay called it a “training bow.”

He notches his arrow, pulls it back and lets it fly. It hits up into the tree and spears an apple, pinning it to the trunk.

It’s an impressive move, but Dean just picks himself up and cleans most of the mud from his hands. He knows Mila will have something to say about making a mess of the clothes she made for him.

“All right, fine. I am what I am,” Dean says. He meets Otaktay’s gaze head-on. “But I’ve still been hunting all my life.”

Dean used to keep his knife on his belt, but now he wears the pants and tunics the other men wear, and they either strap their weapons in a leather holster around their thigh or to their ankles. Dean unsheathes the knife he keeps strapped to his thigh.

And he throws it hard. It cuts straight through a branch and brings an entire bunch of apples to the ground by Takoda’s feet; he even has to jump to avoid them landing on his head. The others murmur to each other, begrudgingly impressed.

Except for Otaktay. His face remains stoic.

A whistle breaks the tension in the forest clearing. It’s Šóta, who joins them, coming through on his horse.

“How is the hunt going?” he asks in English, raising a brow over at the wild boar that lies in the grass. Otaktay and the others killed it this morning, so he’s the one who speaks first.

“The Outsider will bring a whole bunch of apples to feed his wife. How satisfying,” Otaktay says, with a dry edge of mocking. Dean’s jaw clenches, but he tries not to rise to the bait.

“Maybe he satisfies her in other ways, brother,” Šóta says. “Maybe that’s why he has a wife, and you don’t.”

His tone is teasing, but is there a reproaching edge there too? Dean’s lips tug upwards, slightly; he sees that Otaktay simmers at the dig, but he doesn’t dare say anything against Šóta.

“Hey!” Takoda calls out. He points at the boar they mean to take back to the village. A mountain lion slips closer down from a tree. He sinks his teeth into the boar’s thigh and begins to drag it away, farther into the forest.

The sight of the wild cat spooks the men’s horses grazing nearby. Even Baby scatters along with them, braying in distress. But the men hustle into action. Even with mud still clinging to his clothes and his skin, Dean grabs up his bow and arrow and runs to grab his fallen knife. He whistles to Baby and calms her down enough to climb up onto her back.

The others have already done the same with their horses and are chasing the mountain lion into the woods. It zips up a tree, and Šóta, Otaktay, and the others aim their arrows high. They wait and listen.

Otaktay releases his arrow first. The cat’s angry shriek fills the clearing from above.

“You got him,” Šóta says.

“Winged him. He’s not dead,” Otaktay says. His brows furrow as he listens closer.

The cat jumps from the tree and takes Dean to the ground. Baby brays and stamps around, and Dean has to both avoid her hooves and try to keep the mountain lion from sinking his claws or his teeth into his neck.

Šóta’s eyes widen, but he springs into action by whistling to the men and raising his bow. Before he can shoot, he has to stop short at what he sees.

A moment later, Dean rolls over and heaves the lion’s dead body off of him. His knife comes out of the animal’s chest, slick and crimson with blood. It runs down his muddy shirt as he pants and heaves for breath.

Šóta gets down from his horse, running his disbelieving eyes over the scene.

Dean looks up and finds a hand offered to him. His gaze travels up further and meets Šóta’s. His eyes are an even darker brown than Mila’s. Dean takes his hand and accepts the help to his feet.

The other men hesitate, stunned into silence, but they get down from their horses and help Dean and Šóta heft the dead animal onto the latter’s horse. They will take it, along with the boar they retrieve from up in the tree, back to camp.

Mila returns to camp not long before the men. She meant to start prepping for supper, but she becomes sidetracked while playing Chase with the children. As one of the few young women still without children of her own, she tries her best to give the mothers a break in the afternoon, so they can finish washing, mending, cooking, or even just having a rest for themselves.

Watching their joy, and even helping them up when they fall and cry, makes her wonder when she will finally be blessed with a child. She hopes they will have Dean’s eyes, so pretty and green.

When the men return, she raises her head breathlessly and smiles. It soon dims, however, as she catches sight of Dean. She gets to her feet and ushers the children back to their mothers before she goes to meet him.

He gives her a sheepish look when he gets off his horse. Her mouth drops open at seeing him covered in mud and sweat and blood.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he says, trying to placate her with raised hands. She ignores that and touches his chest, her palms splaying down his stomach as she tries to find a wound. She finds more tears and scratches through his soiled clothes, but no real wounds. Still, she’s not satisfied yet.

“What happened?” she asks.

“Just a little trial by fire, sweetheart,” Dean says. He grasps her arms to placate her. “Everything’s okay.”

Otaktay pointedly looks away from the scene and moves on along with the other men. Šóta notices, but he goes to his cousin.

“We encountered a thief,” he says, gesturing to the body of the mountain lion they brought back for tonight’s meal. “Dean Winchester not only caught the thief, but made an example of him.”

Mila raises her brows and looks to Dean, as if to say, Is this true? He offers a smile and a shrug. She smiles back.

Šóta rides on, but he glances back and sees how Mila dotes on her husband, touching a gentle hand to his cheek.

In return, Dean holds her by the waist and talks to her with a warmth in his eyes that he only has for her. Or at least, that’s what Šóta finally sees.

Mila and Dean head back to their tipi, where she grabs a fresh change of clothing for him.

“I could’ve gotten it,” he says.

“You’ll track mud inside,” she points out wryly. She holds the bundle of clothes for him on their way to the river. “All you do is give me mending to do. You can’t keep clean, can’t keep from hurting yourself, can you?”

Dean knows her well enough now to realize her griping isn’t all that serious. She was just worried.

“I guess not,” he says, trying to hide his amusement.

She gives him a stern look, but with that cheeky look of his, she can’t stay upset for long. Her face softens into an exasperated smile, and she gestures towards the river. “Go. Wash yourself up. I will have supper ready soon.”

Dean grabs her hand and makes her drop the change of clothes in the grass.

“Only if you come with me,” he says. He grabs her and aims to toss her over his shoulder, but she squeals in protest.

“Dean Winchester! I’ll have nothing to wear if you drop me in the water!”

Dean pauses, his lips tugging at a smirk. “You make a decent point, but I’m just wondering, do I really care if you’ve gotta walk back naked?”

“Dean!” she giggles, hitting his shoulder.

He chuckles and sets her down, but he still doesn’t let her leave. By now, she doesn’t want to. He starts helping her undress, followed by him peeling off his disgusting clothes. He hooks an arm around her waist and hauls her with him into the water. She laughs and tries to escape him by splashing water in his face, but he just spits it out. He chuckles and wipes the excess droplets.

He slips his arms around her waist, holds her tight and floats with her for a bit. He takes in a deep breath and finds peace here with her here in the sun-warmed water. She’s become his peace.

Mila takes his face in her hands and kisses him slowly. When she pulls away and their eyes meet again, she smiles.

“I am proud of you,” she says. “Not just for today, but for every day that you stand strong.”

Dean’s lips quirk with a reluctant smile. He doesn’t take praise very well, but her words make the weight on his shoulders feel a little bit lighter. Holding her flush against his chest, every soft, familiar curve is pressed against him. He leans in and captures her lips again.

That evening, the tribe gathers for a feast prepared by the Chief’s wives, Mila, and her mother Weaya to celebrate the warriors’ highly successful hunt.

Šóta watches his cousin with her Outlander husband. Dean follows her lead in divvying out portions of the meal, but still at times with a supportive hand on the small of her back. He even takes the large, hot bowl out of her hand to help serve her and her family—including Chatan, who accepts the offered bowl without a word.

Dean Winchester doesn’t sit until Mila does. They talk together with her mother and the others, though Dean mostly keeps to himself while the women chat. He occasionally responds to a direct question or comment, but overall, he seems content to listen. He’s starting to follow more bits of conversation in their language.

At the end of the meal, he stands with Mila and helps her collect bowls that will be washed. The man is confident, but not prideful. He’s hardworking, self-reliant, and has the makings of a warrior.

However, Šóta is not the only one who watches his cousin and the Outlander.

Šóta pulls Dean aside after breakfast the next morning. He takes Dean back to the forest, beyond where the horses are kept in their pen, and puts his own hunting bow in Dean’s hands.

“Feel the weight of it,” Šóta says. “Does it seem like yours?”

Dean considers it, testing out the strength of the bowstring. “No. It feels heavier.”

“Because it is. We gave you a training bow for children,” Šóta says. He takes the bow from Dean and brings him the one he had tied to a satchel on his horse. “I will give you this one. It belonged to my half-brother, Takoda, before he made his own. I made it for him, and now I give it to you.”

Dean takes the bow. Šóta’s right, it’s taller and heavier than the first one they gave him. Of course they tried to trick him by giving him a kid’s bow. He tries not to be too annoyed about it, because it looks like Šóta’s warming up to him, at least enough to actually train him.

“Thanks,” Dean nods. He runs a hand over the bow and admires the craftsmanship of the wood, smooth and chestnut colored. He already has a quiver full of arrows he’s made himself, but first, Šóta corrects his stance and his posture.

“Your body knows the movements of hold, aim, and shoot, but you think too much,” he says. “How you shoot an arrow is not so different from a gun.”

Dean raises a brow. He begs to fucking differ.

Reading the skeptical look on his face, Šóta smiles.

“My father once told me, ‘A weapon is a weapon is a weapon,’” Šóta continues. “The way you use it might be different, but your mind is the same. Think like the river. Calm and free, yes?”

He throws Dean a thumbs up—something Dean taught him a week ago. Šóta just hasn’t gotten it quite right yet.

“A river ain’t always calm,” Dean points out. He should know. He almost died on the river in his journey here.

Šóta thinks for a second, tilting his head. “That is fair. Here, let me think of something better—��

“It’s okay, I think I get it. I just gotta relax a bit, is that it?”

“Yes, but stay focused.”

“I can focus. I just need you to back up a little.”

Šóta raises his hands in surrender. He takes a couple of steps back and gestures at a tree to use for target practice. Dean centers himself.

“Remember to breathe,” Šóta says.

Dean shoots him a glance. Again, Šóta holds up his hands, then crosses his arms, pressing his lips together. Dean shifts his gaze back to the target, and he lets out a deep breath. Then he lets the arrow fly.

It hits just shy of the tree’s center.

Šóta smiles, giving him another “thumbs up.”

“Good. Now, again,” he says.

The morning slowly dips behind the clouds into a golden afternoon. Šóta helps Dean catch and roast a couple of fish by the river, which cuts through the forest. Its waters are choppy and shimmering with the light.

This forest used to run almost all the way to the Black Hills, before the U.S. government began its work on the railroad. The tribe has had to move their village more than once out of self-preservation, like they did when Dean came to them.

He felt bad for it at the time, but he’s also grateful they made that precaution. The last thing he needs is to run into his old unit, let alone for the army to find out he’s still alive. And the last thing he wants is to endanger these people, especially his wife and her family.

He finishes off his second fish and glances over at Šóta.

“Look, I appreciate your help, but…I’ve gotta wonder why,” Dean says. “You don’t like that I’m here either.”

Šóta pauses in his chewing. He swallows before he answers, looking over at Dean in the eyes.

“It doesn’t matter if I like you,” he says. “You are the man who brought Kimmímila home alive. So, I help you.”

Dean nods. He can respect that. He looks down at the half-eaten meal, then at his hands, calloused and worn. They hold the weight of his past, his choices, and also the man he’s trying to be.

“I won’t hurt her,” he says.

The simple truth is that he’d give his life for hers. No hesitation.

“I know that, Dean Winchester. That is the other reason you are still alive,” Šóta says, with a slight smile. “You are brave. I will give you that.”

Dean smiles. “I guess there’s no winning over the others, is there?”

At that, Šóta pauses. “You are doing better than you think. The others see you aren’t afraid. They see you work hard, and you try to respect our ways. You just don’t know them. They don’t know you.”

“I get it,” Dean says, nodding. “Like, uh, Otaktay. Right?”

“Ah,” Šóta rubs his clean-shaven chin. “You will have a harder time with him.”

Dean quirks a rueful smile. “What’s his deal?”

“His deal?” Šóta questions.

“His problem,” Dean elaborates, “with me.”

Šóta sighs sharply. “Our men are warriors bred. Otaktay. His name means, ‘kills many.’”

Dean raises his brows. He slowly inclines his head.

“Riiiight. Of course.”

“Names have power, Dean Winchester. Otaktay takes his name like a challenge he will win, but he does it to protect our tribe above all else,” Šóta says.

If that weren’t enough, the man levels Dean with a more serious look.

“But there is something else you should know.”

Dean doesn’t think he’s going to like whatever’s coming next. He nods, wordlessly urging Šóta to continue.

“Otaktay has always watched my cousin, admired her spirit and her beauty,” he says. “Mila has known this, and maybe she would have accepted him, had she known…but he planned to ask Chatan, my uncle, for Mila’s hand.”

Dean’s chest tightens, as does his frown. “What happened?”

“She disappeared,” Šóta replies. “When Mato was taken, she couldn’t accept it. She left the village to find him against my uncle’s command. Then she found you.”

Dean isn’t exactly surprised by that. His wife is many things, defiant chief among them. Also, it makes a lot of things make even more sense. It explains her father’s tough outer shell, and clearly, it means he’ll have to keep a sharper eye on Otaktay.

She had been successfully avoiding him, until now.

Mila had just left the horses after helping Takoda feed and brush them, and she was planning to wash up before helping her mother and some of the other women cook for the entire tribe again this evening. Today is the last moon of the summer months, and so they’ve been preparing the wild game that the men had hunted for the past two days. Tonight, they will have an even greater feast.

She feels a shadow at her feet as she ventures through the village. They’re getting bigger as a tribe, harder to move when they need to, and it’s more mouths to feed, but it’s also a good thing. Despite all the challenges the past few decades have brought, their people are enduring.

However, Mila pushes these thoughts to the back of her mind when she feels a prickling down the back of her neck. It’s followed shortly by the strong hand that closes on her wrist, and the man that calls her name.

She gasps and whips around. He’s there, gently shushing her. She glares at him and tries to pull her hand out of his grip.

“Ota,” she snaps. “What are you doing?”

“I just want to talk to you,” Otaktay says. His brown eyes are earnest, but he doesn’t let go of her hand. “You have been avoiding me.”

“I can’t be any more honest than I have been,” Mila says, and finally she manages to free herself from his grasp with a sharper tug. “Enough of this.”

She begins to walk away from him. The distance between the horses’ corral and the village is short, just over the gentle slope of a grassy hill and down below…but her cousin isn’t here. Her husband isn’t here. Otaktay believes this is his only chance—his chance to make her see reason. He stops her again, this time with his words.

“Do you think it will be that easy?” he says. “The Outlander will bring death upon us all.”

Mila stops short. She turns on her heel to meet him with a glare.

“His people think he’s dead,” she says.

Otaktay approaches her with slow, measured steps. “And what if they find him here? Every day their iron caravans invade our lands. Every day their patrols come to take from us, to destroy us. How many of his own do you think he will kill for you?”

He raises a pointed finger. “And your children. Your children with that man will be cursed. Forever in the shadow of two worlds, forced into one, and hated by the other.”

His words pin Mila to the ground by her toes. Her body stills, because she’s shaken deep within. She doesn’t want to believe him, but she also won’t admit that these are the thoughts she’s tried to push from her mind. What she wants most of all is a family of her own. She wants it with her husband.

But is it fair?

To them.

To him.

To her people.

She doesn’t know, and for that, her lips tremble. Her eyes burn with tears and she raises a trembling hand to her mouth.

Otaktay draws closer and attempts to hold her hands, but her brows crunch in anger. You!

She pushes him in the dead center of his chest, so hard that it unbalances him. He’s surprised by her ire, and that satisfies her. She shoves him again, more forcefully this time, but he manages to hold his ground.

“Kimmímila—”

She doesn’t give him the chance to try and placate her. With a cry of effort and frustration, she slaps at his face with all of her strength. It whips the man’s face to the side and even makes him stumble. He raises a hand to his cheek in disbelief. Already his tan skin is reddening, both from the mark of her anger, and from his own.

When she goes to shove him again, he grabs her by the arms to try and subdue her. Her tears are beginning to blind her, but she doesn’t care. The way he holds her tightly makes a flash of dread coil in her stomach.

In her distant mind, she knows Otaktay wouldn’t willingly hurt her. But his grip reminds her of Roman, the officer at Fort Laramie, who took advantage of the way she was tied to a post in their camp. She remembers his rough hands, the wood pressing into her spine. She remembers his hot breath and his chapped lips trying to claim her, his knee pressing between her legs.

Her own breaths come out in shallow gasps as that well of dread grows in her chest, rising into her throat to choke her. Mila punches wildly at Otaktay’s chest and rakes him with her nails. He finally grits his teeth and grabs her tightly by the hair.

“Enough!” he shouts in her face.

She matches him, her voice echoing in the clearing. “Let me go!”

“Not until you calm down!”

He takes her face in his hands. Looking down into her tear-filled eyes, wild and devastated, he begins to feel remorse; but there too is desire and jealousy, deep and twisted together in the oily dark of his soul. Otaktay believes he’s only been selfish once in his life. Kimmímila is that one.

“Let go!” she shakily demands. She struggles against his hold and tries to run away from him, even though she used to run with him, ride with him through the forest on horseback and across the grassy plains instead of doing their chores. He tries to remind her of it now when he bows his head to kiss her.

He finds himself ripped away—shoved hard enough to land stumbling into the sun-hot grass.

“Dean!” Mila gasps. She reaches for her husband, even though the clenched set of his jaw and the tightness in his broad shoulders make her wary. She’s not afraid of him though. She just has a terrible feeling that she knows what’s coming next.

Dean turns his attention to her first, a firm, but gentle grasp of her shoulder.

“You okay?” he asks gruffly.

She nods, brushing away tears from her cheek. She holds onto his hand. “Yes.”

“Okay, stay back,” he says, releasing her.

She tries to stop him from advancing on Otaktay, but Šóta holds her shoulders with a grim look on his face. He guides her back and at his side. He and Dean have come on horseback. They jumped down to help her. She doesn’t know that they heard her and Otaktay shouting from several yards away, their voices carried on the wind.

Dean hadn’t been able to understand the words, but Šóta’s sense of urgency and the shrill, angry panic in Mila’s voice spurred him on, urging Baby to a full gallop down the hill. Seeing her tears was one thing, but while he saw Otaktay, in his mind, Dean also saw the night that Roman tried to force himself on her.

The rage that compels Dean now is different from the anger he had then. Back at the camp, he was just doing what he felt was right. Today, this is a protective call for blood.

Otaktay had barely gotten back to his feet, but the upward swing of Dean’s fist cracks across his chin and sends him back down to the ground. He seethes, with blood in his teeth, but he angrily swipes Dean’s legs from underneath him. It becomes a grapple for leverage as the men tussle in the grass, trading swift punches. Otaktay kicks Dean hard in the stomach to gain some distance, rocking back onto his feet. Dean stumbles slightly, but he does the same.

“Stop!” Mila shouts in protest. Šóta holds her back. Despite her wildness before, she doesn’t want either of them dead. She fears more for her husband, but not because she doesn’t believe in him. She’s afraid of what will happen if Otaktay is killed.

He plays dirty, spitting in Dean’s face. Dean matches by throwing an elbow into the other man’s throat, grabs his arm, then pivots and heaves him over his shoulder onto the ground. For a moment, Otaktay lies there winded on his back. Dean pins him there with his heavier weight bearing down on him.

Otaktay sneaks a hand from the sheath strapped to his thigh and twists a knife into his hand. Šóta and Mila both see it, him with a tight frown and her with widening eyes.

She calls out in alarm, but Dean reacts fast. He strikes at Otaktay’s wrist and grabs his arm. A swift elbow and Otaktay’s knee in Dean’s gut forces him to the side, heaving a grunt. Otaktay gains the better position as he presses a knee right over Dean’s chest. He grunts at the impact; it threatens to break a rib. The knife becomes poised over Dean’s face in the struggle, nearing his neck.

“Otaktay!” Mila calls out sharply, a warning and a plea all at once.

He hears her. For just a second, he allows himself to glance up at her and see what lies in her eyes. He knows her fear is not for him.

Still, anger overcomes his heart. He calls out a battle cry and puts his entire strength into bringing the knife down. Dean allows it with gritted teeth, but he positions his hands in just the right way to guide the man’s arm just to the right of his neck, slicing shallowly into his skin. The knife sinks into the earth.

Dean throws a punch that lands across the Lakota’s cheek, then another, and it allows him to kick the man in his ribs, sending him backwards with a heavy grunt. Dean grabs the knife out of the ground, and when he rolls onto his feet, he slashes at the other man’s chest. It isn’t deep enough to be fatal, but it’s enough to make him bleed red rivulets.

Otaktay works harder than ever, trading blows and kicks that Dean can’t always dodge. But eventually, Dean hooks a boot behind the other man’s ankle and unbalances him enough to drive him to the ground. He shifts the position of the knife and brings it flush to Otaktay’s throat.

His eyes widen; he never expected to be bested by the Outlander. The sharp edge of the blade bites into his skin, cutting a thin line of blood dripping down to his collarbone.

They’re both heaving for breath, sweaty, bloody, and bruised. It’s then that Dean realizes that they’ve attracted a small crowd. At the center of it is Chief Tahatan. He’s watching closely, his face unreadable, along with one of his wives. A few men stand beside him, namely Mila’s father, Chatan, Takoda, and some of the women too. Šóta whispers to them, explaining why the men are fighting.

Even Dean knows that by the customs of their tribe, he’s well within his rights to end this the way his hand in itching to—by sinking the blade into Otaktay’s jugular. Maybe it will finally earn him respect. Maybe it won’t.

He glances up and finds Mila’s eyes. She stands frozen with her heart in her throat. All she sees is him. And she’s the only one Dean means to answer to.

He raises the knife—and he brings it down into the earth beside Otaktay’s head.

The warrior inhales sharply, his brows furrowing in shock and confusion. He stares up at Dean, who looks down at him with the remnants of jaw-clenching anger. In that moment, they come to an understanding.

Dean pulls back and straightens up, with just a small shake in his bowed legs. His gait steadies as he makes his way back to his wife.

Šóta lets go of Mila so she can go to meet Dean. She runs her hands over his chest and arms, trying to find injuries she may not have seen before. Her fingers trace around places that are already becoming bruises, but Dean just holds her, taking pains to soften himself. His arms around her are secure, but not too strong. She’s just grateful that he isn’t hurt too badly.

“You okay?” he makes sure.

Mila nods, despite the tears shining in her eyes. “Yes.”

Her parents watch them closely, even though the couple doesn’t realize it.

Behind them, Takoda shakes his head at his friend, but he dutifully helps Otaktay to his feet. Šóta crosses his arms and levels him with a cold look.

“Take him to Eyota,” he says.

“Yes,” Tahatan agrees, his voice deep and grave. “Tell her what her son has done here.”

The rest of Otaktay’s anger drains when he looks up at his chief. He says nothing, and can’t hold the older man’s gaze for long. He reluctantly leans on his friend to help him up and over the grassy hill, down to the village. The others gathered there wait to see what Tahatan will do next. He approaches Mila and Dean.

“A good man protects his family above his own life. A warrior protects his tribe, even at the cost of blood,” Tahatan says. He looks directly at Dean. “But an honorable man knows when to show mercy.”

Dean’s heart begins to beat fast again. He hadn’t known that his choice was the right one, until now. He’s able to keep his head high without being arrogant. He just isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say.

“Dean Winchester, you will be called Ikíphi,” Tahatan declares.

Dean blinks in surprise, and also confusion when he notices the way Mila begins to weep silent tears. He tightens his arm around her waist in a wordless question, but she just smiles at him.

“Uh, what does that mean?” he whispers the question to her.

She opens her mouth to respond, but her father is the one who answers. Chatan rests a hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“Worthy,” he says.

He meets Dean’s gaze and holds it, giving him a nod of acknowledgement. Dean gives the gesture back to him in kind, and to Tahatan as well. Then Chatan takes his leave, walking back to camp with Weaya, Šóta, and the Chief. The others whisper Ikíphi, offering their nods of respect to Dean before they follow suit, until it’s only Mila and Dean left in the clearing.

She pulls out of his hold just to take his hand. She looks ahead rather than at him.

“Come,” she says.

Something’s wrong. Dean knows it in his gut.

He and Mila bathe together in the river again, but even though she helps him by washing his back, she’s quiet and distracted. He asks her if she was hurt. She tells him she wasn’t. That’s the only time she looks him in the eyes.

Later, they return home thoroughly exhausted. Dean starts up a small fire for the coals to help dry them off the rest of the way.

“There is a feast tonight,” Mila reminds him while she sits on the bedding, brushing through her long, damp hair. Dean sits near the fireplace and uses his knife to shave. He glances her way and lets out a deep breath.

“I don’t know if I’m up for a party,” he admits.

She surprises him by agreeing. “I’m tired too. I think Tahatan will understand if we stay in.”

Dean quirks a brow. She loves it when the tribe comes together for mealtimes. For days, she’s been telling him about moon feasts—the music, the games, the antics her cousins get up to, performing stories for the children and whoever else indulges them.

So Dean gets up and goes over to her. He swipes her hair aside and lays a kiss on her shoulder. She keeps brushing her hair, so he keeps up his path of kisses along her neck, nibbling her ear. She laughs a little and flinches at the ticklish feeling, making him smile. He wraps his arms around her from behind, and she sighs, succumbing to the feeling of him warm at her back. She settles against his chest.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks.

Her smile fades, though he can’t see it. “I should ask you that.”

“I’m fine, baby,” he says, shaking his head.

“Well, maybe you should not be fine,” she says in a smaller voice.

Dean pauses, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean by that?”

Mila gently pushes his arms away from her. She stands up and creates distance between them. She crosses her arms to hold herself, not even daring to look back at him.

“I mean that…maybe you should go home, back to your people,” she says. She manages to keep her voice steady, even though she’s breaking her own heart.

Dean gets up to his feet, alarm and unease coiling in his stomach. He grasps her elbow and comes around to see her face, and when he does, he sees the truth. Tears shine in her eyes, slipping down with every blink. His furrowed brows ease somewhat, but he still needs answers. He holds her by her arms and stares into her soulful brown eyes.

“Mila, what’s going on? Your family, the Chief, even your dad—they’re all starting to accept me now. Isn’t that what you wanted?” he asks. “What happened today, it’s a one-off, okay? For damn sure, Otaktay’s not touching you again—”

“It’s not that,” Mila says with a sniffle. She holds herself tighter, trying not to let Dean’s concern, his touch, or the intensity of his green eyes affect her so much.

“Today we have peace, but how long will that last?” she says. “And…and our children. Will they be accepted too? Or will they never find their place, caught between two worlds, but never belonging to either one.”

Mila succumbs to quiet, shuddering sobs. Her trembling hands try to cover her face from him.

Dean’s face gentles. He feels like he’s been kicked in the chest (again). He gathers her to his chest and holds her closely. In the entire month he’s been living here, he hasn’t thought too much about kids. Not in any real way…

Well, okay. Maybe he has, whenever he sees Mila caring for the children of the village for their mothers. Or when they run past him, laughing, playing imaginary games. He would smile, remembering how he and Sam used to drive their mom crazy tearing around the farm when they were little.

In fact, the thought warms him now. Dean cradles the back of Mila’s head and runs his fingers through her hair. He imagines her holding a little boy who has her dark hair and eyes, and maybe Dean’s chin. He thinks she’d be a good mom.

I wish Mom could meet her, he thinks.

“Sweetheart, look at me,” he says. He pulls away so he can see Mila’s eyes again, honey-brown and shiny with tears. “I can’t go home. I’m already here.”

Mila can’t help but soften, her lower lip trembling. He caresses her cheek; a gentle thumb brushes away stray tears.

“So it might get harder,” he says. “Maybe we are doomed to fail. Or just maybe, our kids are the ones who are gonna make the peace stick.”

Mila’s fingers curl into his shirt. She holds onto him, and he can see that her reservations are finally breaking down. He squeezes her waist and earns her gaze on him.

“All I know is, you’re my wife ‘til the day I die,” he says, more firmly. “I’m not going anywhere without you. You understand me?”

Another watery path finds its way down Mila’s cheek, but she wipes it away. Her sweeter smile peaks through, along with the amused gleam in her eyes.

“I understand,” she replies. Her voice is mostly steady; the small quake is no longer uncertainty, just heartfelt emotion. “You take your vows seriously.”

“That’s right,” Dean nods, his lips hinting at a smile. “And you promised me something too last night, remember?”

Her brows furrow as she considers the question. But then, it dawns on her.

You will never be alone.

Her small smile returns, and she nods.

“Yes. I’m sorry…I should not let fear blind me to the truth.” She takes his hand from where it lies on her waist, and she guides it to rest over her heart. “You live here now, in my spirit.”

Dean has never heard the words I love you said quite like that before. It warms places inside him that he didn’t know were all that cold and dark. For her, he could try to put into words what that means to him, but words aren’t his strong suit. He’s never been that good at letter writing or giving speeches. That, he always left to Sam, or Benny.

Above all, Dean is a man of action.

He takes her face gently in his calloused hands, and he kisses her. He gives her everything in that all-consuming kiss, and he hopes she understands what he’s trying to say.

I’m home.

AN: This might feel like the end, but we have two more parts left! As you can see, Dean's doing his best lol. Do you think he made the right choice with Otaktay? There might be more drama ahead, plus, a special guest finally joins the cast...

Next Time:

Her smile drops with a sharp inhale of breath.

She hears hoof falls on the earth. A horse treads nearby.

Slowly, she lowers the wet clothing back into the basin. She sees two reflections growing on the water: a horse and a man. The man gets down from his horse first.

“Hey there, miss—”

Mila swiftly turns and unsheathes the knife she keeps strapped to her ankle.

Pronunciation Guide:

Wašíču ("wash-ee-jew") Šóta ("sho-tah") Chatan ("chat-tan") Tahatan ("ta-hat-tann") Otaktay ("ogh-tac-tay") Weaya ("we-ayy-ya") Takoda ("ta-koda") Mato ("matt-toe") Misae ("mee-sah-eh")

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