#substantial furniture

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Step Back in Time: Tudor Home Interior Design

[sweeterelease]

boy next door james potter who finds a best friend in his long haired energetic neighbor, someone that keeps up with his energy and even indulges him further. james potter who notices this guy’s family scene isn’t ideal, so he does everything in his hands to shield him from the cruelty of it all.

james succeeds in letting sirius know he’s arrived fairly quickly, it only takes a couple rocks into the window for a hand to come through and unlock it for him. james climbs up swiftly, too busy going on about how they're sneaking out tonight to notice the furniture arrangement isn't the one he remembers, did sirius always have a whole library in his room? james stops and looks around, seeking out long hair framing a grin but instead he's meet with gray eyes and freckles. He startles, frozen in place as he stares into the boy's calculating gaze.

"wrong room, you're his friend aren't you?" the boy asks, head resting on his knees where they curl up in front of him.

james feels strangely restless, his hand twitch and he can't quite find his voice, "is sirius home?"

the calculating gaze softens, barely, "yes, he's expecting you."

faintly, james can begin to hear rock music coming from outside, no doubt his best friend getting ready for a night out.

"i'm sorry, where am i?"

the boy tilts his head in question, like he doesn't think james is asking completely substantial questions. a line creases between his eyebrows, james fights the urge to flatten it with his thumbs.

"his brother's room, don't fret he's just across the hall" he nods towards the door, gesturing for him to move along.

"right—" james pads across the room, still looking at black curls, much like the ones he knows but shorter. james somehow thinks these look softer.

"well then?" gray eyes look around, waiting for james to leave or trying to figure out what else he needs.

james blinks, "just— what's your name?" he can't help himself.

pale hands reach for the book he'd put aside and bring it back to his lap. gray eyes finally drop, james' surprised to notice he misses their gaze.

"regulus."

[kurare13]

Outdoor Kitchen (Birmingham)

[sunlightmurdock]

Hey, Neighbour! | DBF!Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Jake’s been having a problem recently, and when the power goes out next door, everything quickly comes to a head.

Warnings: dad’s best friend trope. Age gap. Reader is in her mid-20s, Jake’s around 40. Obviously unbalanced power dynamic. No use of Y/N. Reader’s dad has a name. Mention of reader having a piercing. Smut. Pure filth and pining. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Unprotected pinv. Creampie. Jake has no respect for his best friend’s furniture. Choking briefly. Please comment / Reblog, it’s greatly appreciated. Wc: 8.5k. Minors dni, you will be blocked.

…

Jake clicks the television off and pushes himself up from the couch, joined by his shadow of a German shepherd called Ace. They walk together to the sound of the meek little knock at his front door, Jake’s gym socks padding along his dark wood floors along the way.

It’s late. Too late for whoever is at his front door to be bearing good news. He twists the door handle and pulls it open, rolling back his aching shoulders. This late at night, he has a good idea of who’s going to be standing on his porch.

As expected, standing there and shivering in your dad’s coat and a pair of slippers, is exactly the last person that Jake was hoping to see.

You see, Jake has had a bit of a problem since he moved in to this neighbourhood.

Quite a substantial one, in the grand scheme of things, and one that seems to just be getting worse by the minute.

Suburbia was meant to be Jake’s reprieve from his bachelor lifestyle. His escapades have been worrying his mother to death for going on two decades now, and it came time that even Jake agreed that it was time to wisen up about his love life. With all of the deployments, and all of the time away from home, it had been beyond easy to never fall into anything serious. By the time he was twenty-nine, Jake’s longest ever relationship was two and a half months, which was alarming given the number of women he had encountered by then.

Two things happened that sent Jake here, to this cute little cul-de-sac in suburban San Diego, one — Jake’s job became more secure, and guaranteed that he would spend at least ninety percent of his remaining career here on the west coast. Second, he proposed to a woman. A beautiful woman, that he was so sure he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

She liked his house, it looked like the one her parents had raised her in. So, he bought the house and he bought a dog, and swore that he was going to try to settle down. Six months later, it was just him and the dog. Payton apologised profusely, and she’d apologise even more if he ever ran into her again, he just wasn’t right for her.

Things weren’t so bad though. Jake and Ace liked the peace and quiet, and the guy next door was actually pretty cool. Jack, the airline pilot with a mean golf swing and a great nose for the best sports bars in town. He’s a little older than Jake, with a hell of a lot more to show for it, including three grown up kids.

It’s been a couple of years now, and Jake’s practically part of the family. He knows everything there is to know. He’s there on birthdays, holidays, emergencies — he loves this family. But he has a problem.

His problem was manageable at first. So, Jack’s youngest daughter might have caught Jake’s attention at first. You were visiting home from college and you had stepped out of the car in a tight little pair of shorts and a tank top, and Jake just happened to be standing in Jack’s garage, helping him with a little project, when he first saw you.

And you were funny. Right away cracking some joke about Jake’s less than adept approach to projects around the house. Jake had laughed out loud without even meaning to, and then you’d turned your head and hit him with that mega-watt smile. Bringing new meaning to the term beaming.

God, that pretty fucking smile.

Your humour dances lightly on the nerves of others, like Jake’s, but sweeter. You’re well behaved and back then you had had a dreamy boyfriend who was in pre-med. Perfect in every way.

Even more reason for Jake to keep his hands to himself.

You were Jack’s kid. Jake wouldn’t ever cross that line. It’s just that sometimes… he had to remind himself of this boundary.

He hadn’t ever been close friends with someone where that was even a concern, and truthfully, he had been unprepared for meeting you. In all of the stories Jack told him, you were this cute little kid. Standing before him, you didn’t quite match the image he had of you in his head. This was truly uncharted territory.

Truth be told, there were times when Jake wasn’t so sure you wanted him to hang back. Even when you were still bringing that boyfriend of yours around, Jake caught the way you looked at him.

The way you tug those glossed lips between your teeth and grin around the straw of your drink.

If he was a better friend, or a stronger man, he might have been able to nip his little problem in the bud right away. He had tried, and you were living away from home then, so it was easier. But last month, you had moved back in with your parents and Jake’s life has been nothing but stress ever since.

On occasion, Jake thinks of how he would have to plead his case if someone discovered how he felt. You just don’t know what it’s like when she’s looking at me, man. I swear, I tried to stay away from her, I did.

It’s not his fault that Jack asked him to watch you while your folks were away on that cruise.

Jake’s gaze finally flickers back up to your wounded, hurt baby bunny, expression.

“What’s the matter, cutie? — You alright?” He reaches for you with one hand, gently grabbing at the crook of your elbow and guiding you towards him. That sad little look on your face tugs at his heart strings every time.

“Yeah, I just — I plugged in my phone charger and all the lights went out. I think I tripped a fuse,” All exasperated and frustrated at once, you push your hair back off of your face and frown at him. “Could you come take a look at it for me?”

Jake’s throat grows thick. Under your dad’s heavy work coat, Jake can see the thin white tank top you’re wearing and the blue checkered, boxer style pyjama shorts. But Jack asked him to take care of you.

“Yeah. Of course I can,” Jake nods his head and reaches down to tug at Ace’s black woven collar. “Come in a sec. I just need some shoes.”

There haven’t been too many occasions where you have been inside Jake’s place. Your dad comes here a lot and you’ve been sent over to collect him before dinner on occasion, or to deliver Jake some leftovers.

It’s warm inside, and it smells like woodsmoke and leather. He’s been burning the candle that you got him for his last birthday. You inhale softly, shrugging the coat closer to your body.

In the times that you have been over here, you’re always surprised by how tidy he keeps the place. It’s not what you would have expected of a single guy living all alone.

Jake pulls some sneakers from a tidy shoe organizer disguised to look like an end table and crouches down to put them on his feet. Leaning over, something catches his eye between the heavy fleece of your dad’s unzipped work jacket.

“Did you get your bellybutton pierced?”

The question startles you, drawing attention to the fact that you had been craning your neck and trying to get a look into Jake’s living room. You turn your head, blinking as Jake straightens up and takes a step towards you.

He reaches out and before you know it, his warm fingers are stretching out across your chilled, just exposed navel. His thumb brushes over your soft skin, brows drawing together as he examines the dainty jewelry pushed through your skin.

Swiftly, you take a step back and his hand drops away from your body. “I’ve had it for years.”

There’s a silence between the two of you. Jake’s going to be kicking himself for that for weeks to come. He shouldn’t have reached out and touched you like that. He shouldn’t be commenting on things your father wouldn’t approve of. You’re too grown up for that.

“Huh,” He clicks his tongue, reaching just past your side to grab his house keys from the dish by the door. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go take a look at those lights.”

The shuffle of your slippers cuts through the awkward silence as you cross Jake’s front yard and into yours. It’s late November, and a cold night in particular too. Standing in just a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, the evening chill makes Jake’s arm hair stand on end. As you walk ahead, your back to him, Jake wonders if it has the same effect on you.

Thinking about his best friend’s daughter’s tits. He wishes the shame alone was enough to knock the thought out of his head. He wishes you hadn’t moved home. He wishes you weren’t leading him into your dark, empty house right now.

The entire house is pitch black, but Jake tests the hallway lightswitch in passing anyway. He notes the dubious look you shoot him back over your shoulder. Then, he passes by you as you stop to take off that big coat. It’s not something he wants to hang by and watch.

It’s cold as his shoulder brushes yours, and not just because it’s November. You swallow thickly, staring after him until he disappears into the dark. Your feelings towards Jake are complicated.

Well, they’re not. Your crush on him isn’t the innocent middle school crush that you used to have on an older figure, like a teacher. No, this is far from doodling his name in your journal. This man, and his thick, ridged abs and golden chest hair, is working his way into your dreams.

After the break-up, you had sworn off men for a while — and that was the right decision for you. But, it left certain parts of you yearning. And Jake’s right next door. From your bedroom window, you’ve got the perfect view into his backyard. The same backyard where he’ll work out in the blazing heat, sweat glistening along his tanned skin, along the ridges and valleys of his muscles.

No, this crush is far from innocent. It crossed the border into indecent weeks ago, the first time that you touched yourself thinking about him. It wasn’t your fault; he was tempting you.

You had returned home from work to find Jake hanging out in the living room with your father, not unusual, and you had joined the two of them. Your dad had started with a playful comment about Jake. Jake had returned the favour with a witty remark about your dad. You were just joining in on the fun, poking playfully at Jake’s age.

All too suddenly, he had turned sharply to you and pinched the soft skin between your ribs and hip, leaning dangerously close with a smirk on his face that made your head spin. In fact, you still remember the way your mouth had hung open as Jake had breathed out a chuckle and shot you that playfully warning look.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” He’d challenged, that eager look in those wild green eyes, his cheeks dimpling just slightly, fingers pressing into your side.

Since then, you can’t help but think of him closer, and closer.

“Jake, wait!” You call, dropping the coat onto a hook and kicking off your slippers, starting to rush after him. Jake cranes his neck to look back at you over his shoulder. “You should probably show me what you’re doing. Y’know, in case it happens again.”

“Sure. Come here,” Jake jerks his head for you to join him, extending his hand for you in the dark of the utility room. You swat around until your fingers graze his, falling silent at the brash way he grabs hold of your hand and drags you closer. Your ass briefly brushes his thigh as he guides you in front of him. Jake steps back, clearing his throat. The little red dot on the fuse box illuminates his fingertips as he reaches past you. “This is the switch you want, don’t mess with anything else or your dad’ll kill you.”

The corners of your lips twitch. There are plenty of things your dad would be furious with, if he knew you had done them.

Jake’s fingers curl around the switch. His cologne fills your nose. His massive bicep is inches from your cheek, and everything feels like electric as his other hand comes to rest on the bare space between your shirt and your shorts. You’re trapped between him and the wall in front. If you would push your hips back just an inch or two…

“So, you flip the switch off to reset it,” Jake’s voice is all gravel from yelling at the young pilots he instructs, and shouting over the top of loud music in bars. It drifts past your ears and makes you want to shiver as his fingers curl around the plush of your hip. “And then you flip it back on for the power.”

Suddenly, the lights come back on in the hall outside of the utility room. Jake’s got you cornered against the fuse box really, and with the washer and dryer to your side, the only escape would be to rush out into the hall. You’re not quite ready to make that move. You can hear the amusement in his voice. He can feel the way you’re burning with awkward embarrassment in front of him.

“Oh.” You say quietly. Jake chuckles from behind you, his hand trailing about an inch higher, taking some of the fabric from your tank top with it, pinching playfully at your newly exposed waist.

“Happy to help, kid.” He’s already drawing back, his hand pulling away from your electrified skin, the sound of his shoe hitting the floor and alerting you to the fact that he’ll be leaving before you even know it.

“Could I ask you for one more favour?” You turn to face him, biting sheepishly on your bottom lip.

“Sure. What is it?” He’d retile your entire bathroom for you if you asked him to. That’s what makes him wish he was a better friend.

There’s an art to the way you bat your lashes at him, knowing better than to get too close or put your hands on him. Just that deep, pleading look in your eyes is more than enough. “Will you finish watching my scary movie with me? — Kinda… freaked me out a little bit when the lights went out, is all.”

“… Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can hang out for a little.” You’re a good kid, and it’s just a movie. He can’t leave you over here all by yourself, scared out of your mind, now, can he?

Jake wonders if this is what your father had in mind when he had asked his most trusted friend to just be there for his daughter while they were away.

That same, trusted best friend, sitting on the couch with his chin propped up against his palm, and that daughter’s head resting against his shoulder. You could have sat over on the other end of the couch, or even in your dad’s armchair, but that defeats the purpose of asking Jake to stay.

“Fill me in. What am I missing here?” Jake asks, mostly to fill the silence. His arm stretches along the back of your couch, his knees parted obnoxiously and his neck awkwardly straight to minimise risk of him laying his head against yours.

Your hand comes to rest against his middle, eyes focused calmly on the screen. “So there are two timelines. The present, and flashbacks to like… maybe ten years ago. Ten years ago, the family bought this mirror, and…”

Jake’s fingers inch their way into your hair, trailing softly over your scalp. Your fingers brush over his middle as he massages your scalp. He listens to you explain the plot of the movie like he isn’t thinking about the way your nipples are pressing through the white fabric of your tank top.

“Freaky mirror…” Jake muses over the concept of the plot, squinting his eyes at the screen, his fingers slowing to a halt in your hair as he turns his head to look at you. “You gonna be able to sleep okay tonight if we watch this?”

You meet him back with a sheepish grin and an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “Well, I already started, so I need to see that it ends okay, or I’ll be freaked out.”

“Alright. Just making sure you’re not gonna try crawling into my bed tonight after you have a nightmare.” Jake teases, pushing his knees further apart and sinking down into the comfort of the grey fabric couch he helped the movers bring in here last August.

He didn’t push you away when you sat right next to him and curled against his side. He reached out himself and stroked his fingers along your stomach.

Confidence surges through you like a wave, swelling big enough for you to giggle and press closer to him. “Come on, would that be such a bad thing?”

“What did you say?”

The swell has passed and the wave crashes just like all the others do, breaking over an otherwise calm sea. You swallow softly, growing exceptionally still.

“I was just kidding—“

Jake’s fingers leave your hair and curl instead around the nape of your neck. He turns his head, attempting to get a look at your face. “No, no. Say it again. What did you say?”

You shake your head, pressing it closer against his toned stomach. “I was just joking. You wouldn’t mind it that much if I had a bad dream and had to come sleep in your bed.”

He’s quiet for a moment and the movie draws tense. The main character is creeping around in the dark, the music is building, and Jake’s far too quiet for your liking.

“Don’t joke about that.” Jake says quietly.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” You answer him, hugging your cheek into the dark fabric of his t-shirt. That way, there’s no chance of him seeing the shame on your face. Going after your dad’s best friend— you should be ashamed of yourself.

Jake rubs a palm over the stubble on his jaw, trying to focus on the screen in front of him. This movie can’t possibly take much longer.

He knows he has upset you. You’re uncharacteristically quiet, and he can feel you trying to sit still. He shifts his hips a little, reaching out and resting his palm against your waist.

Your brows draw together as the main character bites into the apple she was eating and glass shards drop to the floor in front of her. Jake feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. Sweat beads on the nape of his neck.

His thumb swipes back and forth over the inch of bare skin on your hip.

Jake glances down at you. Laying against his middle like this. It feels all too natural. He isn’t even paying attention to the movie. Truthfully, the only thing on Jake’s mind is how soft your skin feels against the pad of his thumb.

Imagining how soft your body would feel in his palms, every inch of your skin in his capable hands.

You gasp as the camera pans to the main character’s bleeding mouth, and the shattered lightbulb in your hands, twisting your head and burying your face in Jake’s shirt.

Jake flinches, his attention drawn back to the screen as his fingers curl into your skin. His face twists in distaste, groaning at the gore on the screen.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding about this being freaky.” Jake mutters with a soft shake of his head, shifting uncomfortably as his fingers massage at the pillowy skin of your waist. He swallows thickly, eyes dropping down to the way you’re nestled just above his waistband. He tries a weak chuckle, mind racing for something to lighten the mood. “What am I meant to do if I’m up all night after this, huh?”

You laugh softly against his stomach, pressing closer to the warmth of his rigid torso. Jake stares at the screen as he feels your open palm brush over his abdomen, fingertips grazing the waistband of his sweats by mere millimeters. He strokes your skin, setting his knees further apart by an inch.

Even with the score of the movie in front of you, everything feels so quiet. Even with the floor lamp to your right and the table lamp to your left, it all feels so dark. It all feels so slow. Truthfully, you imagine this is as close as you’ll get to understanding what it feels like to tightrope across Niagara Falls.

One misstep, a strong gust, the loss of balance in any capacity and its all over. The best friendship that your father has ever had, thrown away because you made a pass at a man far too old for you to begin with.

Then, Jake’s fingers break their almost surgically precise pattern. The tips stretch just slightly under the fabric of your tank top, reaching for the silken skin of your stomach. It’s brief, before they retreat to the safety of circling the skin that you’ve chosen to expose. You drop your gaze, watching all five of his digits follow their intricate pattern, and stretch under the cotton white of your top once again.

Maybe Jake notices that you’re watching him, or maybe he finally notices it himself, but he stops all at once. Fingers pulling back to rest platonically against your hip, green eyes trained seriously on the television, his lips stretched into a flat line.

“It’s okay,” You whisper without turning your gaze away from the screen. Jake doesn’t look at you. He feels your fingers brush across the top of his, curling through the digits, linking them together. “It’s okay, Jake. You can. I won’t say anything.”

Your parents aren’t going to be home for another eleven days. What’s Jake supposed to do until then, ignore your existence? — Avoid you entirely?

He wants this, and you’re on to him, giving him permission.

“Honey,” It’s caught somewhere between a sigh and a groan, an exhale of restraint and desperation all at once. He wishes he could at least pretend he’s half interested in this movie. “Don’t talk like that.”

Your brows draw together, eyes going wide as a child in the movie creeps through the house, headed for the master bedroom. Bloody sheets on the bed. A smashed plate on the floor. Jake’s hand gripping your hip. The child inches forwards, the music swells, a chill rushes down your back. In frame, the little girl rounds the edge of the bed and someone leaps out, bloodied and frenzied. Jake hasn’t been paying enough attention to gather who.

Neither one of you will care in a few moments.

The surprise makes you jolt, leaping up from your spot against Jake’s stomach, sitting upright all of a sudden, grabbing onto his forearm for support.

“It’s alright, cutie,” Jake breathes out in soft amusement, rubbing a heavy circle on your back. That’s the first thing he called you. When he’d seen you struggling to lift the icebox in the garage. Let me get that for you, cutie. And now, he has the nerve to pretend like it’s just you that has led the two of you here. “Maybe we should turn it off now, huh?”

Your heartbeat is already thudding in your ears and there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep after any of this. Fuck it. You turn, brace your palm against his shoulder, and take the dive.

Jake has thought about what those pretty lips feel like. Every time they stretch upwards into those pretty smiles, each time you sink your teeth into the bottom one. He should be prepared, in theory. Is there any way to prepare for something like this?

“Sweetheart…” Jake mutters against your lips, eyes screwed shut, hands reaching out for your hips. Pained, he gives a slow shake of his head. “Come on, we can’t do this.”

“But do you want to?” Your lips graze his. He feels the way you arch your back, knocking your chest into his, angling yourself in a way that just begs him to grab hold of your waist and drag you into his lap. You close your mouth, pecking softly at his still lips once more. “If you didn’t know my dad… you would. Right?”

Yes. Of course he would. He would be insane not to. He’s driving himself insane trying not to.

“But I do, and… and he trusts me.” Jake turns his head just slightly, but his hands reach for you. His big hands find your hips and grab onto them tight, hard. He just holds you right there. There’s got to be some kind of way he can regain some of the power here.

“I trust you.” You tell him, kissing his jaw tentatively. Delicate fingertips skim along the throbbing vein on the left side of Jake’s throat, reaching for the nape of his neck. Soft, slow kisses lead a trail to his earlobe, passing plains of stubble and angled bone. “I know you won’t hurt me, and I know you want me. It’s okay, Jake, I want you too.

“Fuck.” Jake swears, dropping his head forwards to rest against the curve of your shoulder. His fingers dig into your hips harder and harder. By the time Jake drags you forwards, his grip is so tight that you would have no choice but to follow. You fall into his lap, lips parted and eyes wide as Jake’s deep pine coloured eyes study your face.

You wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t. Not for a long time. His fingers stretch up from your hips, reaching under the fabric of your tank top, extending across your bare abdomen. He stretches the brushed cotton further, taking it up with a gentle touch.

“Your father would kill me.” Jake muses as his fingertips graze the underside of your breasts, his eyes solely on your face. You smile back at him, only partly because your father is an airline pilot who couldn’t bench half of what Jake does on a good day.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

Jake grits his teeth. It has started to rain outside now. That storm that channel four had promised is starting to roll in. The movie will be over soon. The rain will be the only sound on this entire street. This house is completely empty, beside the two of you. He exhales through his nose and pushes his hips up. He’s half-hard under you, and giving you another disapproving shake of his head.

“Little fuckin’ minx…” Jake curses you, his words fanning out across the span of your exposed neck, hot and cold all at once. “You get off on teasing me like this, or something?”

A smile works its way across those pretty lips. Jake could see more of that smile than he sees sunsets and he would still be pretty damn content. Your nails rake softly through the almost buzzed fade at the back of his head as you give a shake of your head.

“Well, it’s not teasing if we take care of it,” Your shoulders rise and fall in a soft shrug as Jake’s fingers trail further upwards, taking your tank top with them and exposing your breasts to the cool autumn air. The rattle of the air conditioning unit that your dad tells you not to mess with reminds you of the real culprit as your nipples harden and perk with the exposure. You lean back, bracing each of your hands on Jake’s knees, arching your chest out, letting Jake see the newly exposed skin. “If you’ll let me.”

His eyes are pretty when he smiles. When he’s staring at your tits, they’re hooded and hungry, a shade of green that threatens to draw you in and hold you captive. What a happy captive you would be. His hands grab at both of them at once, squeezing roughly at the supple flesh.

All at once, his mouth is on yours too. He’s sucking at your bottom lip, growling into your mouth. He smells of smoked wood and he tastes of scotch. It paints half of a picture. A lonely man sitting in his home alone on a Saturday night, burning a candle given to him by a girl half his age and drinking liquor older than he is himself.

You’re straddling his hips now, your bare thighs squeezing into the fabric of his grey sweatpants, pulling yourself closer with each hungry kiss. Jake’s touch is experienced, expert; he pinches softly at your nipple, anticipates the way your mouth will draw open in a soft gasp, and licks into your mouth the second that it does. He sucks softly at the tip of your tongue, revelling in the feeling of your soft breasts in his hands.

“Arms up.”

You’re such a good girl. The way that you comply with a wordless grin and bite at your lip once the tank top hits the floor has Jake in even more trouble than he was before. He kisses softly at the space between your tits, pushing them together in his hands, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue into your skin.

Men like boobs. Big boobs, small boobs — your shared gossip sessions with friends in college always led to the same conclusion, men don’t care. They bite, suck, grab regardless of size. It shouldn’t be anything new. But then Jake reaches your left nipple. His right hand palms at the underside as his tongue swipes in a circular motion, just before his lips clasp around the sensitive bud.

You know he’s watching you through those esurient green eyes, but you find yourself playing right into his capable hands anyway. Any leverage you may have had in seeming like his charms don’t work on you are washed away with the dulcet tone of your first moan. It spills from your lips, your nails pressing into the nape of his neck as Jake sucks expertly at the sensitive skin.

He pulls away with another ravenous exhale, something between a sigh and a groan. His hands feel heavy on your body as they paw at your chest with a capability you’ve never encountered before. His cologne is expensive and mature, a smokey blend that has you intoxicated and enthralled. His mouth is wet and eager, but oh, so slow as it explores the areas of you he has dreamt about.

The rain outside is growing heavier, like it’s learning to mimic the deepness of each of your breaths. The movie must have finished by now. Neither one of you is going to check.

His stubble prickles, rough and masculine, abrasive compared to the adept caress of his tongue. His right hand grabs forcibly at the nape of your neck, drawing the sweetest little squeak from your already open lips. You knew he would be better than the guys you’ve been with before, but not like this. He hasn’t even touched you yet.

Jake’s lips seem to pinpoint each and every nerve ending in your chest, sucking and licking at your skin through feverish kisses. The tenderness seeping away each time a breathy moan falls from your mouth, fanning out against his clothed shoulder. He pulls away from the top of your breast with his teeth, already knowing, in his years of experience, that that’s going to bruise.

Jake lifts his head, letting his eyes drift shut as you lean forwards and press your mouth to his neck. He can feel your nerves in your trembling fingertips, in the way your chest shivers when it brushes his, in the way your lips suck at his pulse point. But you’re doing so well. Dragging your lips along the length of his neck, biting softly at the skin just above his collarbone, feeling him shiver at the sensation.

“Off.” You demand, grabbing at the bottom of his t-shirt, feeling him grin against your jaw. He complies wordlessly, grabbing at the back of his shirt and yanking it over his head.

You’ve seen Jake shirtless plenty of times, wandering around his property or opening the front door without shame. You’ve always wondered what those muscles, that dusting of golden chest hair, would feel like up close. Forgetting that you’re being watched, your hands explore his toned torso. The line down the middle of his stomach, the sharp divide of his collarbones, the swell of his pecs.

“What’re you thinking?” Jake asks, brushing your hair back from your face tenderly, concern coating his features.

A bashful smile spreads across your cheeks as you watch your fingers ghost along the thick muscle of his shoulder. “That you’re really hot.”

Jake breathes out a chuckle, reaching up and grabbing at the back of your neck to cradle you against him as he pushes up from the couch and turns quickly, planting you on your back and covering your body with his.

“That smile is gonna get me in big trouble, sweetheart,” Jake wastes no time in pressing his mouth to your stomach, holding you by your waist as he sucks filthy kisses into your skin to mark his path downward. “You know that?”

“I know.” You answer back, just to tease him this time. Jake stops at your waistband as you giggle, looking up at you through hooded eyes with a devilish grin on his face. He drags his teeth across your hip, hooking his fingers into the sides of your shorts and tugging them down your legs.

“God, honey, you weren’t wearing panties this entire time?” Jake exhales, eye-level with the most intimate part of you and completely unashamed. Your mind fumbles for an answer, lips getting into position to finally respond when he leans forwards and licks a stripe through your soaked core. Then, he moans. His hands grab fistfuls of your soft waist and he goes in again, lapping hungrily at your excitement, groaning against your sensitive skin.

“O-Oh… Jake.” Your voice trembles, knees trying to press shut around Jake’s broad shoulders. He grabs firmly at your thigh, closing his lips loosely around your clit, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud and making you jolt against him.

“Yeah, honey?”

“That feels really fucking good.” You tell him, closing your eyes finally.

“Attagirl. Just hold on, girlie, I’m gonna get you there.” He promises without once diverting from his apparent mission. If he’s as devoted to the Navy as he is to making you cum at this exact moment in time, the military is lucky to have him. You’re soaked, excitement pooling between your legs. Jake already knows he’s going to spend tomorrow cleaning this couch, and he wishes he cared enough to make better decisions.

“Look at this,” Jake breathes out as his gaze falls back down to rest between your legs. He couldn’t care less about the fucking couch. You swallow hard, practically aching for his touch. You’ve waited so long already. His index finger dips between your folds, his brows raise as he gathers your excitement on the tip of it. “Making such a fuckin’ mess for your old man’s best friend. Dirty fucking girl.”

He can’t see the way his words make you grin, but he can feel the way you reach for his hair and tug softly at those blonde roots, begging for more. He’s more than happy to give it to you. Jake groans against you, working his tongue in soft circles around the throbbing bundle of nerves. His eyes are still on you. Your eyes are closed — if you look him in the eyes then you’re going to get all embarrassed, and you’ll be damned before you let someone ruin how good this feels. Especially not yourself.

Jake’s hand trails up your naked torso, pawing at your rising and falling tits as you pant into the chilled air, sweat beading on your skin.

He’s gentle between your legs. More gentle than he could be. Pressing his stubbled mouth firmly against your core and working his tongue against you, each languid movement making you keen into him. The tip of his nose bumps your clit periodically. It feels like your head is spinning.

Dragging his mouth back up to your sensitive, throbbing clit, his free hand slides between your legs, he dips the tip of his index finger into you, then slides it in up to the knuckle and curls. Just testing the waters. It’s enough to earn him a moan, enough to have you grab a fistful of his short blonde hair, ensuring that he doesn’t get ahead of himself and lose pace with his mouth.

He slips his ring finger into you alongside his middle whilst his tongue works confidently along your core and back up to your clit. He lets go of your thigh and rests his forearm across your stomach, keeping you nice and still for him. Maybe he should feel ashamed of himself for how much he’s enjoying this.

All of those times he enjoyed the sound of your laugh, and sat with the afterthought of how much he’d enjoy the sound of your moans. It’s hard to be ashamed when it turns out he was right.

He scissors his fingers inside of you, making you gasp louder this time, pulling against him. You tug at his roots, he moans against your clit. You both shiver, and not because of that now thundering storm. Jake’s tongue flattens as he drags it along your core. He pulls his fingers from you and puts them immediately to work, taking over the pace on your clit, burying his face between your legs, curling his tongue into you.

Jake growls against you, his cock growing now uncomfortably hard in the confines of his sweats and his fingers and mouth switch places once again. After all the time he has waited, he doesn’t deny himself the pleasure of looking up at you, writhing at the feeling of him between your legs. All that does is make his sweats feel even tighter again. His fingers fuck into you mercilessly, curling and twisting, making you keen into his touch and arch your back and gasp all at once.

You cum with his name on your tongue and your fingers in his hair. The comedown feels like weightlessness. Jake doesn’t bother to ask if that’s the first time a man has made you feel like that, the adoration in your eyes as he comes in to kiss your mouth tells him everything he needs to know.

His mouth tastes like you, his chin is wet with your slick and his cock is straining against the grey cotton of his sweats, pressing in to your stomach. Jake’s fingers brush your hair back softly from your forehead, a sudden calmness in the green of his eyes as he studies the peaceful euphoric smile on your face.

“We don’t have to go any further—“

“Stop trying to be a gentleman.” You huff, lifting your head and kissing him hard, hooking your legs around his waist. Drawing him closer, you’re both painfully aware that the only thing stopping him from touching you is his sweats. “I want you.”

Jake pauses for a moment. Rain slams against the windows, and the television goes dark as it passes into standby mode. His hands squeeze softly at your waist, eyes darting downward at your naked body under his. He would be a damn idiot to say no to everything he has been fantasising about.

“You keep condoms here?” He breathes out.

Your eyes light up before him, gleaming with mischief. You give a confident nod of your head as a cunning little smirk spreads across your lips.

“There are some in my parents’ bathroom,” You can tell right away that he doesn’t like that idea, but that’s okay, option two was by far your favourite anyway. “Or, you could just cum in me. I won’t tell.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jake drops his head forwards to rest against your naked chest, panting out a dry laugh. His fingers bruise into your middle as he starts to consider the choices that have led him here. Once he feels composed enough to look you in the eye again, he lifts his head and squints seriously. “You did not just say that.”

“I want you to. I’m on birth control anyway.” Long gone is the nervous girl standing on his porch and asking him to fix her lights. There’s a devious, lustful look in your eye and Jake’s pretty damn sure there’s magic in that look. All he knows is that it could make him do just about anything you asked of him. “Please?”

Jake swipes his thumb along the curve of your jaw, studying the depths of your irises for just a moment. He leans forwards and kisses your bottom lip, sucking at the plush skin, pulling away with his teeth. You swallow as he sits back, pushes his sweats down his legs and frees his swollen cock. From under him, you’ve got the perfect view.

Every ridge and valley in those impossible abs, each follicle of hair that lines his tanned chest, trailing down below his navel and sitting neatly around his pubic bone, trimmed just as neatly as his navy-standard hair cut. His cock is a good size, considerable even when he’s got one of his large hands wrapped around its base. Wide too, throbbing red at the tip, bending just slightly to the left.

Just looking has your mouth running dry.

Fisting his cock, Jake sits back on his heels and lets his gaze fall down to your glistening core once again. He looks down at your pretty face, then lowers himself between your legs, pressing his chest into yours, kissing you dizzyingly hard.

“You want it?” Jake asks one last time.

“I want it.” You answer him, smiling softly back at him, squeezing your thighs around his hips.

You’re looking up at him with such trust in your eyes that Jake can barely stand it. His heart thuds in his chest as he guides the tip of his cock between your folds, hesitating just briefly. There’s already no coming back from this. There’s no way to make up for the things he has already done. You’re so special, and he wants this so bad.

Your mouth sucks softly at his throat, quiet, pleased sounds spilling from your lips as he grinds the tip of his cock against your sensitive clit. Jake kisses your shoulder softly, then lowers his head to rest there as he drags his cock down to your warm entrance. You gasp softly as he presses into you, pushing forwards until he’s buried and stretching you open completely.

“Oh,” You whimper against his earlobe, pressing your nails into the swell of his shoulder blade. “You feel really fucking big.”

“So fuckin tight.” Jake grunts, his throat thick with desire as he stills inside of you, thumbs bruising into your hips. “Sweet fucking girl. Feel like you’re made just for me.”

This makes you smile into the curve of his jaw, humming in soft agreement as he starts to slowly rock his hips. Lightning flashes outside of the window, and it doesn’t matter one bit. The rest of the world is a million miles away. In here, it’s just the two of you.

“Oh fuck,” Jake shivers, eclipsing your throat with his hand, pulling you in for a heavy kiss, licking into your mouth as he drags his hips back until it’s just the tip. You gasp sharply against him as he snaps his hips forwards until he’s buried into you completely once. “Fuck. You like that?”

“Yeah. I want it like that.” You whimper into his skin, hugging your legs tight around his hips. You moan eagerly against his lips, the sound catching in your throat as he squeezes at the sides of your neck and drives his hips forwards sharply, drawing an excited squeak from your parted lips.

Jake grunts, rocking himself into you hard and fast. He’s waited so long for this, and so have you. The way you’re clawing at his back makes him want to give it all to you. Leaving feverish kisses along your collarbones, he fills you over and over. You curl both legs tighter around his waist, leaning your head back as far as you can against the couch cushion to give his lips better access to your throat.

The living room is filled with the sounds of your sex. Your desperate moans, panting and hard. Jake’s pleasured grunts, muffled softly by the curve of your shoulder. His skin slapping yours. It smells like him, smoky and mature. Sweat beads along his back and his forehead as he keeps up that merciless pace, fucking you so hard that you couldn’t tell him your own name anymore.

Jake pulls back just enough to grab the backs of your thighs and pin them to your chest, hooking your knees over his shoulders, filling you even deeper than before, making you cry out.

“Jake!” You beg, babbling incoherently into the curve of his shoulder as he goes right back to the pace he set before. Fucking you hard and fast, scrambling your brain to the point that the only thing on your mind is the ravenous way he’s staring down at you.

Your walls are squeezing around him perfectly and the sounds you’re making are just driving him insane. It’s been a long time since Jake felt as crazy about someone as he feels about you. He pants into the crook of your neck as his fingers tug at your hair, making you moan out even louder.

“I’m gonna cum — fuck, honey,” Jake grunts out like he’s been punched, his eyes screwing shut as he reaches between your bodies and rubs uniformed circles around your clit. “Are you close? — Can you cum one more time for me?”

“Yeah,” You breathe out, already trembling as you squeeze your thighs tighter around him. “Just—“ You don’t have the words, so you just reach out and grab his hand. Jake swallows hard as you wrap his open hand around the column of your throat and look up at him with that big, trusting look in your eyes again.

He grits his teeth as he squeezes at the sides of your throat, watching your sweet face contort in pleasure. Your hand dips between your legs and replaces where Jake’s had been, rubbing feverish patterns on your clit. Your stomach tightens in knots, your breathing grows heavy and Jake’s cock drives into you at just about the perfect angle each time. You open his mouth to warn him, but it’s already too late. You couldn’t find the words if you tried.

All you can do is grab onto those thick shoulders and cry out his name against the salty skin of his neck. Jake slows just slightly, offering you some reprieve through your sensitivity. Trying to be a gentleman once again. The brain fog starts to clear, you lift your head and press your lips to your earlobe.

“Cum in me,” You pant out, grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. Jake groans against your chest, nodding his head feverishly. “Just like that, Jake, please.”

He’s relentless, fucking your through the sensitivity of your post-orgasm haze hard enough that grabbing onto those broad shoulders is the only thing that keeps you down to earth with him. Jake groans desperately. He wraps an arm under your back and pulls you as tight against him as physics will allow. You gasp softly, taking your lip between your teeth as he fills you, his cock throbbing against your walls. He seeks out your lips and kisses you hard, somehow more desperate now.

“Fuck, honey…” Jake breathes out, pressing a lazy kiss to the curve of your jaw. He makes no effort to move at first. “You alright?”

“Better than alright.” You answer contentedly, a soft smile toying at your lips as lightning flashes outside once again. Jake chuckles tiredly, lifting his head and kissing your lips.

He sighs, moving slow as he slips out of you and looks down at his cum dripping from between your legs.

“Oh, shit!” You realize, sitting up quickly and trying to reach around Jake for something to clean it with. He hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you tight against him. Truthfully, from the moment that you had laid your head on Jake’s abs, you hadn’t thought once about the consequences of fucking him right here in this spot.

“Forget it, I’ll — I’ll fix this,” He tells you calmly, already regretting that he’s going to have to live with what he has done on this couch. “Come on, cutie. Let’s go take a shower.”

It’s clear that this is foreign territory for you. Not the sex, but what comes after. He didn’t get up and leave. He didn’t run away with regret for what he did. He ran soap across your body and found your pyjamas for you.

You swallow softly, walking to sit on the edge of your bed. Jake runs a hand along his stubbled jaw as he lingers in the doorway to you room. You can’t help but notice that he got dressed again. Including his shoes. He looks you over, sitting there in fresh pyjamas, staring at him with that worried little look on your face.

He hasn’t ever seen your room here. It’s probably the one room in the house he has never been in. He’s been wondering what it’s like.

But that isn’t why he’s standing there. He sighs softly and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I should go — I mean, Ace is over there by himself.” Jake says quietly. You nod at him. You should probably say something too, but truthfully, not all of your words seem to have come back into your mind yet. “Are you coming with me?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I don’t wanna leave you over here by yourself after that weird ass movie.” Jake answers you with a shrug of his shoulders. “I figured you could just spend the night. If you want.”

Your mouth twitches at the corners as you push yourself up from the edge of your bed, nodding eagerly at him. You’ve got eleven days until your parents get back in town, and Jake permitting, you’re planning on making the most of that.

…

[stvharrngton]

Ooh requests? Literally anything mushy-gushy lovey-dovey romantic with Steve! Like cuddling under blankets on movie nights that get a bit handsy? Or romantic getaway weekends where it's just you and him? Or god-forbid wedding night sex? That man would be on cloud nine on his wedding day?? The sex would be SO incredibly sweet and tender I just know it!

i love all of these ideas but i went with wedding night i hope that's ok!! <3 ps I'm sorry this took so long :(

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: smut, 18+ minors dni, fingering, unprotected p in v, steve is a lil cocky but v sweet

word count: 3.1k

requests are open!

You reached the top floor of the hotel, the floor where the Honeymoon Suite resided. You and Steve walked hand in hand, fingers interlocked together before he abandoned that, scooping you up in his arms.

“Steve!” you squealed, clutching onto him for dear life as he carried you the rest of the way down the hall.

“What?” he asked innocently, warm honey eyes glancing down at you, “It’s tradition, I have to carry you over the threshold as the new Mrs. Harrington.”

You swooned at hearing that for the millionth time tonight but it never got any older. Your wedding wasn’t big, nor fancy, by any means but it was what you wanted. All your closest friends and family by your side as you married the love of your life.

Watching from his arms as Steve struggled to get the key in the lock of the door, you hid your giggles behind pursed lips before he finally managed to turn the lock. 

The room was beautifully put together, the big, soft, four poster bed the centrepiece. Big windows and plush furniture, complete with champagne on ice for you both. It wasn’t the fanciest, but it was everything you could have dreamed of. You both insisted on paying for the wedding yourselves, denying help from friends and family. But you knew Steve’s Mom couldn’t take no for an answer, depositing a substantial amount of cash in her only son’s bank account.

“Here,” Steve hummed, setting you down on the edge of the bed, kneeling to the floor so he could unbuckle the small strap on your shoes. He set them aside, taking both your hands in his much larger ones, placing a kiss to each knuckle before squeezing them tight.

Steve stood up straight now, leaning into you to brush his lips against yours, ever so softly. The kiss was sweet and heartfelt, his palm cupping your cheek as your lips moved against each other. Your noses brushed against one another’s when you pulled apart, the tip of Steve’s sculpted nose trailed along the slope of your own.

“I still can’t believe we’re married,” he whispered, voice sincere as he spoke, “I know it’s been hours but I’m so lucky.”

His words made your heart flutter. The soft look in his eyes, orbs of warm honey so loving and wet, his thumb soothing over the apple of your cheek, you felt so in love. You blinked up at him with big doe eyes before he went back in for another kiss.

Steve soon switched your positions with him sitting on the bed and you between his legs. He coaxed you into his lap, your knees pressing into the bed either side of Steve’s thighs and you were grateful the skirt of your dress allowed for ample movement. Steve’s large hands caressed your back, moving up and down over the lace bodice whilst his lips never left yours.

“Let’s get this off, yeah?” he whispered against your lips, fingers working delicately to undo your dress, allowing you to step out of the material. Once your dress was safety away, you stepped back between Steve’s spread legs, his large palms immediately clutching at your waist.

“There’s my gorgeous girl,” he cooed, pressing featherlight kisses to your stomach as his fingers explored the white lace that covered the intimate parts of your body, “my beautiful wife.”

You swooned at his words, the butterflies swarming in your stomach as your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of his lips on your skin. You were soon back in Steve’s lap, your lips colliding once more in a heated kiss. His hands found your back again, travelling down until they reached the globes of your ass, squeezing at the flesh. Steve licked into you all pretty, all tender and sweet as your fingers rushed to unbutton his shirt, his jacket and waistcoat abandoned long ago.

You couldn’t help but grind your hips over Steve, already feeling too good and he’d barely got started. You hummed in content as his lips found your neck, teeth nipping at the sweet spot behind your ear, his tongue darting out to soothe the bite. 

Steve flipped you over, your back hitting the bed with a soft thud. He soon rid himself of his shirt, situating himself rightfully between your legs. His hands trailed over your body, large hands squeezing at your tits, his lips following with kisses in their wake. You sighed out your husband’s name in response.

“Tell me what you want, honey,” he whispered. His mouth made its way down your body until his lips reached your heat, leaving wet, open mouthed kisses over the material of your panties.

You whimpered as you leaned up on your elbows, eyes wet and pleading with your husband. You couldn’t think straight, didn’t know what you wanted, all you knew is that you wanted Steve, in any way he could give.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” you breathed, back aching as Steve was still making work of soaking your panties, in more ways than one, “your fingers! Fuck, I want your fingers, Steve.”

Steve could only chuckle as you squealed out your answer, one that he was surely satisfied with. “Anything for you, my beautiful wife.” He spoke against your skin, fingers hooking beneath your panties, pulling the lace down your legs, careful not to displace the frilly garter that was snug around your thigh.

The words made you hide a blush behind your arm as you slumped back against the bed. You felt his fingers curl around your wrist, moving your arm away from your face as Steve’s lips found your neck. Whispering against your skin, leaving wet kisses in their wake, “Come on, baby. Let me see you.”

Steve peppered kisses all over your face until you couldn’t help but let a smile creep back on your face. His fingers headed south, the pads of his fingertips ghosting over your tits, circling the peaks of your nipples before brushing over your stomach and finally reaching your pussy.

Your legs moved farther apart by instinct, letting Steve’s fingers explore your pussy; your throbbing clit, your sopping wet hole. He hummed against your skin as he felt you, your wetness coating his fingers as he spread it around. Your skin went hot as he spoke once more, “You’re already so wet, baby, hm? Such a perfect, little pussy.”

A low moan tumbled from your lips at his words, your eyes fluttering shut as he finally slipped a finger inside. Just a single digit but it was enough to have you falling apart beneath him. He pumped it slowly, fucking his finger in and out of your cunt as his lips wrapped around your nipple, tongue swirling around the pert bud.

Your back arched from the bed as Steve brushed his thumb over your puffy clit, smirking as you moaned his name.

“Want another, honey? Is that it?” he asked, his finger picking up the pace, curling at the knuckle, “Think you can handle it? Doing so good for me.”

You couldn’t help but whine, clutching at the sheets as your other hand found Steve’s soft locks. You did your best to nod your head, mumbling something that resembled a please.

So Steve plunged a second finger inside your hole, scissoring and stretching you open as your noises only got louder. The pace of Steve’s fingers grew gradually, his thumb rubbing at your clit harsher. Your slick leaked down his fingers and Steve only grew stiffer at the sound of his fingers fucking your wet pussy.

He watched as your eyes went glassy, barely able to keep them open. Steve towered over you, hooking his leg over your own to keep your thighs spread, his crotch subtly rutting against your soft, doughy thigh. His fingers were fucking you at speed now, Steve liked to be soft and gentle mostly, but he knew how you liked it when it came to having his fingers inside you. And that was hard, fast and deep.

“Are you gonna cum for me, honey? Go on,” he cooed in your ear, tongue licking at the shell, “make a mess all over my fingers, baby, want you to feel all kinds of good.”

You whimpered as your walls clenched around Steve’s fingers, a few more circles of your clit and you were a goner. Back arching off the bed you saw stars, nails digging into Steve’s scalp as you lost yourself all over Steve’s fingers. You cried his name like a banshee and Steve was totally in awe of you.

“Oh, that’s a good girl,” he mused, slowing his fingers to work you through your climax, “there you go, honey.”

Steve was peppering kisses all over your face when you came back to reality, his fingers still inside you but not moving, keeping you full up for just a moment longer. Only when he brushed his lips against yours did he remove them, a whimper escaping your lips when he did so. One that Steve gladly ate up.

You curled your fingers through his soft tresses as he kissed you slowly, almost as if he was savouring every minute of this moment with you. He pulled away from you for only a second, a second to pull his fingers to his lips, the same fingers that were inside your pussy not moments again. You stepped in quickly though, before Steve could slip his fingers in his mouth, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and bringing them to your own lips. Your tongue swirled around his digits, tasting yourself on him. 

Steve groaned as he watched, eyes hooded and dark, bottom lip snug between his teeth. You released his fingers with a pop, a faint smirk tugging at your lips as you did. He pulled you up into his lap, not caring about any wet patches you may leave on his pants, wrapping his arms around your waist as he caressed your back.

“Oh, my wife’s such a little minx.” Steve teased, moving his hands down to your ass, large palms groping at the supple flesh. You could only giggle in response, the heat creeping up your cheeks as your fingers ran through the hair on Steve’s chest, moving down his stomach to where his belt buckle sat.

He helped you out, undoing the buckle and shoving the black material down his legs, leaving him in just his boxers. Your hand reached further south, ghosting over his length over the boxers. Stroking and squeezing, ever so lightly. Steve let out a loud, deep, guttural groan in response.

“Fuck,” he hummed, letting his eyes flutter closed. Your fingers dipped beneath the elastic of the waistband, your nails raking through the neatly trimmed hair there, delving further until they could wrap around Steve’s thick cock. You felt his grip tighten, his fingers digging into your skin with every move, every stroke.

His boxers soon joined his pants and his shirt, scattered somewhere on the plush carpet of the Honeymoon Suite. You tried to crawl off of him, to get on your knees before him, tongue out ready and waiting but Steve had other ideas.

“Baby, no, I–” he stammered, holding you at your waist to keep you in place in his lap. Those big brown eyes bore into your own, warm and inviting as they always were.

“But, what about–” but Steve cut you off before you could finish. One of his large hands came to cup your cheek as he spoke, his voice quiet and soothing.

“We’ve got the rest of our lives for that,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. His other hand reached for his cock, holding it at the base as he slid it between your folds, teasing, smearing the wetness that was already there, “I jus’ need to feel you, honey, please?”

The desperation that laced his voice sent your head spinning. The butterflies erupted in your lower stomach at the thought, the fact he was eager to have you sink down on his cock, to fill you up really had you reeling.

So you nodded, bracing yourself on Steve’s shoulders as he guided his cock inside. You sank down on him to the hilt, taking all of him at once, an impressive feat to say the least. You both moaned out at the feeling, your walls wrapped around him, his cock throbbing deep inside you.

You took a minute to drink it in, the feeling of being full up, the pretty picture of Steve below you. His hair was perfectly messy, his cheeks a little rosy, his eyes a little hazy. His pretty pink lips were parted just slightly, his jaw slack as he held you close.

Slowly but surely, you started to roll your hips, back and forth, Steve’s cock sliding in and out of your pussy. Your nails digging into his broad shoulders as you rode him, Steve’s face buried in the crook of your neck, wet, open mouthed kisses being left in his wake as he groaned lowly.

“God, fuck,” he whined, revelling at the feeling of your body pressed against his, your tits rubbing against his chest with every roll of your hips, “you feel so good, honey. So fuckin’ good.”

Your head rolled back in pleasure as you began to move faster now, grinding on Steve’s cock with vigour as you mewled at his words of praise. Steve sat back on his hands now, watching you make work of him and his cock. He was in awe of you, as he often was, the way your hips moved in a tantalising motion, the way your hands moved over his body before moving to your own. Fingers dancing over your skin, up your stomach and over your tits, squeezing and rubbing at your nipples.

Steve looked at you like you held the world in your hands, the moon and stars cascading through your fingertips. Every mole, freckle or blemish on your skin is a fine piece of art, the glint in your eyes a stroke of your character, the cute blush on your cheeks a cause to admire. He had never been so in love, drowning in his own happiness and pleasure simultaneously.

But as much as he was revelling in having you perched in his lap, cock sliding in and out of your pussy, there was always that underlying feeling that had Steve urging to take control. So he gripped your hips and flipped you on your back for the second time that night.

He gripped your thighs and spread them wide, his gaze falling to where you were connected. Where his thick cock was splitting you in two, stretching your pussy out wide. His length was slick with your juices, the creamy ring forming at the base of his cock. Steve slowed the pace, his hips moving at a deliciously slow pace.

“Oh, look at her, baby,” he cooed, his eyes flitting up to you through the hair that had fallen into his face, “she’s so wet, and it’s all for me? Fuck, pussy was just made for my cock, I just know it.”

“Steve,” you whimpered, arching your back and reaching out to clutch at any part of him your fingers could reach.

“I know, baby, I know,” he mused, leaning down to grab at your hands, threading his fingers through your own as he continued to roll his hips against your own, thrusting slow and deep, “I’ll take care of you, yeah? I’ll always take care of my girl.”

You wrapped your legs around him, your feet crossing at his tailbone as you pushed him closer to you. Steve let out this groan, one that was all pretty and deep, his eyes rolling back as he felt your walls clench around him. He squeezed your hands in his, his thrusts became more erratic, his rhythm slightly off the pace.

You could tell he was close, the way the tips of his ears bloomed red, the way the cute, pink flush crept up higher on his neck. Steve dropped your hands, opting instead to cup your cheek, his forehead pressed against yours as the other slithered between your bodies, his fingers soon finding your clit. He rubbed softly, a movement that matched the way his cock was fucking in and out of you, pulling a wailing moan from you.

“Oh, please,” you cried, your eyes squeezing shut, “please don’t stop, Steve, pleasepleaseplease.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, honey,” Steve chuckled, peppering kisses all over your face, “you want it, huh? Want me to fill up this pretty little pussy, is that it? Been such a good girl f’me. God, I can’t believe I get you all to myself for the rest of my life.”

Your pussy fluttered around Steve’s cock at his words, the pressure building in your lower stomach as his fingers on your clit, his cock in your cunt became a little too overwhelming. “Want it so bad, Steve, baby, please. Oh, please fill me up.”

You pleaded with him and who was Steve to deny you? He groaned as you begged him and Steve only doubled down. Even though the speed he was fucking you was slow, it was enough to have you both ticking over the edge.

“Oh, fuck—,” he whined, “cum with me, honey, yeah?” His thumb stroked over your cheek as his eyes looked into yours deeply, fingers still rubbing at your clit. You felt the beginnings of your orgasm start to build, your skin tingled white hot as your legs began to shake.

Steve called out your name like a song, musings of praise falling from his lips over and over again. High-pitched whines mewled in your ear as Steve filled you up, his cock still fucking in and out of your spent hole, doing all he could to keep his cum deep inside you for as long as possible.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of his neck, his lips placing sloppy kisses to the skin there as you both mellowed from your high. Your chests heaved against one another as you caught your breath, your fingers still tangled in Steve’s hair. He pulled out of you with a whine, eyes catching a quick glimpse of his cum seeping from your pussy.

Steve leaned over you as he rolled over next to you, cradling your face in his palm as he brushed his nose against yours, the tip of his own running down the slope of yours, ending with a sweet kiss to your lips. 

“That was–”

“Amazing? Out of this world?” Steve cut you off with a smirk, “Best sex of your life? Just to name a few.”

“You’re an idiot.” You giggled, swatting at his shoulder as you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah,” Steve hummed, pressing one last kiss to your lips, “but you’re stuck with this idiot for the rest of your life.”

[hayatheauthor]

Everything You Need To Know About Writing Bruises 

Welcome to the latest instalment in my ongoing series on crafting realistic wounds in fiction. After delving into stab wounds, burns, and gunshot wounds, we're turning our attention to another crucial element in bringing your characters and their stories to life: bruises.

Bruises are possibly the most common miswritten injury in fiction. As tempting as it might be to make the protagonist's skin bruise when the morally grey characters clutches her wrist, scenes like this only serve to ruin immersion and make your readers wonder whether this could realistically happen. 

Unlike the other wound types I've covered in this series, the internet doesn't seem to have a lot of writing advice for bruises. So, here's my comprehensive guide to writing bruises. 

Types of Bruises

Understanding Bruise Formation:

Bruises are a common occurrence in everyday life, from the accidental bump into a table corner to the aftermath of an intense sporting event. But before we dive into the art of crafting realistic bruises in your writing, let's start by understanding how bruises form.

Bruises, also known as contusions, result from the rupture of blood vessels beneath the skin's surface, typically veins and capillaries. When these vessels break, blood leaks into the surrounding tissue. The body's natural response to this injury is to initiate the healing process, causing inflammation and discolouration.

Differentiating Types of Bruises:

Not all bruises are created equal. Understanding the various types of bruises will help you describe them accurately in your writing. Here, we'll explore the common distinctions among bruise types.

Contusions: Contusions are the most typical type of bruises. They often occur due to blunt force or trauma, resulting in pain and discolouration.

Subcutaneous Bruises: These are the most typical bruises resulting from blunt force trauma. Subcutaneous bruises appear as dark, discoloured areas under the skin and can change in colour as they heal, starting with red or purple and transitioning to green, yellow, and eventually fading away.

Hematoma: A hematoma is a more severe type of bruise caused by the collection of blood outside of blood vessels. Hematomas often appear as a raised lump under the skin and can take longer to heal.

Petechiae: Petechiae are tiny, red or purple pinpoint spots that can form when small blood vessels near the skin's surface break. These are often a sign of more severe underlying medical conditions.

Ecchymosis: Ecchymosis is a large bruise that covers a wider area, typically caused by substantial trauma or medical conditions. These bruises tend to be darker and may require more time to heal.

Tattoo Bruises: Sometimes, an object's pattern or texture may leave a distinct mark, resembling a tattoo. These can occur when someone is subjected to direct pressure from an object with an intricate or textured surface.

These distinctions will enable you to convey the type of bruise accurately in your storytelling, reflecting the nature and severity of the injury your character has endured. So, when crafting a scene in which your character sustains a bruise, you can choose the type that best suits your narrative.

Causes of Bruises:

Bruises can occur for various reasons, and knowing these causes will help you craft believable narratives. It's important to note that not every physical interaction results in a bruise, and your characters shouldn't bruise from actions that typically don't lead to bruising. For instance, someone holding another person's arm tightly is unlikely to cause a bruise.

Common Causes of Bruises:

Blunt Force: The most common cause of bruises is blunt force trauma. This can occur from falls, accidents, or impacts, such as bumping into furniture or being struck by an object.

Pinching or Squeezing: Intense pinching or squeezing, especially on delicate skin areas, can lead to bruises. For example, if a character pinches their arm or thigh too hard in frustration, a bruise may develop.

Repetitive Motion: Overusing or repeatedly striking a particular area, like through strenuous exercise or certain work activities, can cause tiny blood vessels to rupture and lead to bruising.

Medical Conditions: Some medical conditions, like blood disorders or certain medications, can make a person more prone to bruising.

Ageing: As skin becomes thinner and more fragile with age, it's more susceptible to bruising even from minor bumps or impacts.

It's crucial to consider the appropriateness of a bruise in your story. Understanding when and how a character can realistically develop a bruise will help maintain the credibility of your narrative.

Characteristics of Bruises:

Accurately depicting bruises in your writing involves considering various characteristics, such as:

Colour Changes: Bruises typically undergo a series of colour changes during the healing process. They usually start with shades of red, purple, or blue due to the initial bleeding under the skin. As the bruise heals, it can turn green, yellow, or brown before fading entirely. These colour shifts can be an essential detail when describing the progression of a character's injuries.

Size and Shape: The size and shape of a bruise depend on the impact's force and the underlying blood vessels' distribution. Bruises can be small, like a fingertip mark, or large, covering a significant portion of the body. Irregularly shaped bruises may indicate multiple impacts or trauma.

Tenderness and Swelling: A fresh bruise is often tender to the touch, and the area around it may be swollen. Describing your characters' reactions to this tenderness and swelling can make the injuries feel more lifelike.

Pain and Discomfort: Bruises can be painful, and the level of pain may vary depending on their size and location. Detailing your character's pain and discomfort can enhance the realism of your narrative.

Itching and Healing: As a bruise heals, it may become itchy. This can be an interesting detail to add, showing the progress of the injury and your character's recovery.

Duration: Mention the duration of a bruise. Some may heal relatively quickly, while others can linger for weeks. Knowing how long a character's bruise lasts can impact their daily life and the story's timeline.

Factors Affecting Bruise Appearance and Healing:

Bruises aren't one-size-fits-all injuries. Their appearance and healing process can vary based on several factors:

Location: Bruises can look different depending on where they occur on the body. For instance, a bruise on a bony area, like the shin, might appear more pronounced compared to a bruise on a fleshier part, like the thigh.

Age and Health: The age and overall health of your character play a significant role. Younger, healthier characters may heal faster and have bruises that change colour and fade more quickly. Conversely, older characters or those with health issues might have bruises that take longer to heal.

The severity of the Injury: The force and severity of the impact determine the size, shape, and colours of the bruise. Consider whether the injury was caused by a minor bump, a hard fall, or a violent struggle.

Character's Skin Tone: The appearance of a bruise can be affected by the character's skin tone. It might be more challenging to spot a bruise on darker skin, and the colours may appear differently.

Treatment and First Aid: The way a character treats a bruise can affect its healing. Mention how characters apply ice, warmth, or topical remedies to their bruises.

Character's Pain Tolerance: Some characters may have a higher pain tolerance and can bear a bruise without much discomfort, while others might find even a small bruise painful.

Clothing and Cover-Up: Characters may conceal bruises with clothing or makeup. This can impact how they are perceived by others.

By understanding these factors, you can tailor your descriptions to create a more authentic portrayal of bruises in your writing.

Healing Process of Bruises:

A key element in writing realistic bruises is depicting their healing process. Here's how to effectively describe it:

Gradual Changes: Highlight the evolving nature of the bruise over time. The progression of colours—red to blue, green, and yellow—is a visual cue that indicates the bruise's age. This chronological shift in colour offers readers insights into the passage of time within your narrative.

Concealment and Exposure: Address the issue of concealing or revealing the bruise. Depending on its location, characters may need to don concealing clothing, apply makeup, or use other means to hide or reveal their injuries. Such choices can significantly impact the character's interactions and relationships.

Medical Care: Mention whether the character seeks medical attention for their bruise. Medical professionals can provide insights into the severity of the injury and the potential complications that might arise during the healing process. Additionally, you can explore any treatments, remedies, or advice offered by healthcare providers.

Impact on the Character: Describe how the presence of a bruise affects the character's daily life, activities, and interactions with others. A prominent facial bruise, for instance, can influence the character's self-esteem, social interactions, or how they are perceived by those around them. Emotions and psychological effects should not be overlooked.

Varied Healing Timelines: Recognize that the healing process can vary from one character to another. Factors such as age, overall health, and the severity of the injury can affect how quickly the bruise fades. This variation can add depth and authenticity to your character's experiences.

Scarring and Discoloration: Note that severe injuries may leave lasting scars or discolouration on the skin. Explore any permanent marks or changes that remain after the bruise has healed.

By incorporating these aspects into your narrative, you can create a nuanced portrayal of the healing process of bruises and its impact on your characters.

I hope this blog on Everything You Need To Know About Writing Bruises will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Interesting 1989 home in Northbrook, IL. 6bds, 6ba, 4,666 sq ft, $1.199m.

If you like an artsy home, this one really fits the bill.

It gets lots of natural light and the architectural features are out of the ordinary.

It's a very large home and has great marble flooring.

The kitchen really has the wow factor.

Without this fabulous desk, the home office is pretty plain.

A nice shower room.

And, there's this big room for the hot tub.

Wow, this is like the hall of mirrors maze in here. But, it's very cool.

The primary bedroom is large, but it's decorated in a minimalist manner.

Behind the bed there's some storage.

And, there's also a huge closet.

The closet opens to the en-suite.

The walkway to the bedrooms.

There are a lot of bedrooms, 6 of them. This one's large and sunny. The home also has lots of glass block.

Love the sink and mirror in this bath.

Very nice bedroom. I like the furniture.

Has a cool en-suite, too.

This bedroom has a version of the same furniture. It doesn't look built-in, so I guess it will go w/the owner.

There's a gigantic basement and quite a large home gym.

If this isn't a bar, it can be used as one.

Nice patio and free-form pool.

It looks like there's also a substantial yard on the .78 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/2100-Pfingsten-Rd-Northbrook-IL-60062/3341059_zpid/

[goldenamaranthe-blog]

Child Support

Shroud: Meow! (Jumps up onto Blake’s bed and sits on Blake’s stomach) MeooooooooOoOow!

Blake: Ugh! Alright! Alright! I'm up! Just get your fluffy butt off of me. I swear. You've put on some weight recently, and it's making those ice picks you call legs dig deeper than normal.

Shroud: (hops off the bed and licks her paw nonchalantly before following Blake to the kitchen)

Blake: (puts a kettle of water on the stove and starts getting Shroud's breakfast ready. She glances at the sleek, black feline waiting patiently, amber eyes falling on the slight barrel in her belly) I don't know if you even need this. (cracks open can of wet catfood) You're getting chubby.

Shroud: (meows indignantly and visually huffs)

*Ding-Dong*

Blake: (Raises an eyebrow, glances at the apartment door, and back at Shroud) Did you invite someone over?

Shroud: (eyes glued to the bowl of food) Prrrrrrrrr.

Blake: (rolls eyes and places the cat's food bowl on the specialty feeding mat before answering the door) Hello?

Yang: (standing in the hallway confidently in a pair of orange cargo pants and white tank top, an absolute unit of a fluffy ginger tabby tucked under her arm) Hey! I'm Yang! Your new neighbor from down the hall. And this is Ember.

Ember: (purring contently as he's being carried around like a bag of feed)

Blake: Oh. Um. Hello. (Mentally: Oh, fuck! My new neighbor is hot!) My name is Blake.

Yang: Blake! Nice ta meetcha. Soooo... This is going to sound strange, but does a little black cat live here? Maybe female type?

Blake: (blinks and glances back into the apartment at Shroud eating peacefully) Y-Yes.... Why?

Yang: (shuffles and laughs awkwardly) Well, you see. A couple of weeks ago, I was out in the back courtyard with Ember here and got distracted. When I saw him next, he was...well...he was mounted up on a black cat. I tried to break them up, but she got away and scaled the fire escapes to a balcony on this side of the complex.

Blake: .....Mounted up?

Yang: They were fucking.

Blake: (jaw drops as she stares at the Goliath tabby and back at her substantially smaller black cat) Shroud! You little whore. I thought you were fixed! Is that why you're getting fat?

Shroud: (licks her chops before trotting over to the door) Meow.

Yang: Yeah, I thought Ember was neutered, too. He never sprayed or scratched at furniture or was ever aggressive!

Blake: (groans and covers her eyes) I'm more wondering how that miniature tiger of yours didn't smother her. No offense.

Yang: None taken. He's a big boy. (Whips Ember around so he's cradled in her arms but is still spilling over)

Blake: (sighs) Well, thank you for letting me know I have to deal with kittens in the coming months. I thought she was just getting fat.

Yang: Oh! There's more! (Slings Ember over her shoulder like a feather boa, reaches towards the wall, and pulls out a 50-pound bag of kitten food) Child support!

Blake: Oh, my. (Takes the bag with some difficulty) Um. Thank you. I appreciate it.

Yang: No problem! It's the least I can do considering my boy (pats Ember's side with solid thuds) got your little lady pregnant. (Reaches down and scritches Shroud under the chin)

Blake: (shocked)

Yang: So, I was thinking maybe we could check in with each other every once in a while? For the kittens! I'm willing to help.

Blake: (trying not to stare at Yang’s muscles) Right! For the kittens! That would be nice! Thank you.

Yang: Don't mention it! But I'll get out of your hair. My apartment is just down the hall, third door on the left, if you or Little Mama need anything. See ya around, Blake!

Blake: I'll see you around (closes the door and stares at Shroud in disbelief) You had to get knocked up by a damn near domesticated tiger whose owner is also a blonde bombshell?

Shroud: Meow (purrs and rubs up against Blake’s legs)

Blake: (sighs and picks up Shroud before moving to the couch) Let's get you a vet appointment.

Yang: (quickly sprints back to her apartment, locks the door, and holds Ember up to eye level) You just had to knock up the pretty little black cat who just so happens to have a hot owner, didn't you?

Ember: Mow

Yang: I am not a disaster!

[would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend]

How about Typhlosion?

I’m afraid this one isn’t going to come as much of a surprise for anyone, but a typhlosion would not make a good pet for a vast majority of owners. Like many large fire-type pokémon, Typhlosion require a very specific environment to thrive without posing a threat to themselves or any humans or pokémon around them. As much as I like this pokémon, I can’t deny that it is perhaps the epitome of a walking fire hazard.

Before we even get into the fire risks inherent with adopting a typhlosion, I must address the species’ size. Typhlosions are quite large at five and a half feet tall. These pokémon would not be comfortable in a smaller home where they don’t have plenty of room to run around and play. Typhlosions are able to get around both quadrupedally and bipedally, indicating to me that they like to move around and might behave somewhat like real-world bears, who need large territories to thrive. At over 175 pounds, transporting them might be a little difficult without the use of pokéballs: its not like this is a pet you can easily carry around or even lead with a leash without some real effort. While a pokémon of this size isn’t necessarily disqualified from being a good pet, it will put them out of the running for many owners.

Since the evolution line that typhlosion comes from is commonly used as starter pokémon for trainers in the Johto region, we know that typhlosions respond well to training and are generally friendly creatures. They have a documented history of getting along with humans, which is a huge plus. However, training to take part in Pokémon battles with a trainer and training to live inside a human home are very different things.

This species’ biology, unfortunately, makes them a very poor candidate for pethood. These pokémon appear to have a large, open flame on the back of their necks, which alone can pose a fire risk in a smaller home. This flame is actually blazing-hot fur (Silver), which can, in certain circumstances, burn so hot that “anything that touches it will instantly go up in flames” (Gold). In the wild, typhlosions use this natural heat to hide themselves in battle with other pokémon: according to the pokédex, typhlosions “[obscure themselves] behind a shimmering heat haze that [they] create using intensely hot flames” (Ruby/Sapphire). When this pokémon gets angry, they burn even hotter. In order to safely keep a typhlosion in your home, you will need to invest quite a bit into flame resistance furniture that won’t cause a blaze as soon as an energetic typhlosion rubs up against it, either when play-fighting or agitated by whatever stressors may appear. This is, obviously, beyond the means of some owners.

The danger of keeping a typhlosion doesn’t end with the risk to your home, it includes a substantial risk to you. Keeping a typhlosion requires a keen awareness of their mood. As previously mentioned, when these pokémons’ tempers flare, the heat they generate can be extremely dangerous. In the hopefully low likelihood that your typhlosion lashes out and attacks you, you might be in very big trouble. They can use several moves that could easily pose lethal, like Flame Charge, Lava Plume, Flamethrower, Inferno, and Overheat. Additionally, the pokédex warns of this pokémon having an ominous “secret, devastating move” that may have something to do with their ability to cause explosions by rubbing their fur together (Silver). While there is a way to tell when a typhlosion will attack by observing the way their rising heat affects the air around them (Crystal), the safety risk of living with a typhlosion is simply too great for me to recommend them as a pet.

Safely adopting a typhlosion would require a large living space and costly investment in fireproofing, and the additionally safety risk they could pose to you and others is immense. As popular as this pokémon is, I cannot in good conscience recommend them as a pet to anyone but the most dedicated fire-type carers.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

Vidas Pasadas (Past Lives)

PART THREE: THE HERO ALWAYS GETS THE GIRL

Also on AO3

Part One // Part Two // Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Latina!Reader (Spanish speaking)

WC: 5.9k words

Chapter Summary: It was always meant to end up this way, wasn't it? Some things never changed.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, canon typical violence, reader kidnapped by raiders, the ghoul being the ghoul, cursing, some injuries (very mild whump), mentions of death/loss, heavyyyy angst (happy ending tho!), only a little Spanish dialogue, love confession, smut, unprotected p in v, oral (fem receiving), irradiated creampie (with RadAway after lol), aaaaand that's all I can think of but please lmk if I missed anything!

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

In the Past….

You had been restless all day, unable to explain why. Something just didn’t feel right, and not knowing what it was made you feel even worse.

Your house had felt large and empty as you paced around it, smoking. All those long hours, you were acutely aware of the clock’s ticking — Time relentlessly marching on, waiting for no one.

 Once you’d actually gone to bed, you’d tossed and turned long into the night. The moon shone faintly through a gap between the curtains, barely illuminating your bedroom. You could not face the yawning void of solitude you found at that hour, so you got up. 

Things had gotten much trickier in a short amount of time. There had been many more bomb drills, more fear and paranoia, and substantially fewer job opportunities.

Cooper was no longer acting. He simply wouldn’t get cast anymore, so he had to look in other directions. The loss was tremendous, for yourself and the industry. Moviemaking didn’t quite feel the same anymore, its luster having faded.

You saw him much less, but you still tried to keep in touch. You’d even helped him care for Janey a few times when he had to take an odd gig that would run late. Slowly, he was becoming a shell of the man he formerly was, and you felt helpless to stop it.

But that night, you couldn’t hold yourself back, leaving your house in just a coat and your night dress, like a ghostly apparition. The drive there was nebulous, like you were moving on autopilot. You drifted up the steps and pressed the buzzer to his apartment a few times.

When he came down to see who was at the door, he looked a little worse for wear, like he’d been having a hard time sleeping, too. He ushered you inside, not wanting you to be out in the cold.

“What happened?” Cooper said, worriedly searching you for any sign of injury. “It’s the middle of the night, why didn’t you telephone?”

“I’m so sorry, Coop,” you said, as if waking up from a trance. “Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head, leading you to the old, rickety elevator and pressing the button to his floor. 

“No, I was up. Lucky you didn’t wake Janey, though. She’s with me this weekend.”

You covered your face with your hands, ashamed. “Oh God, I’m a mess, aren’t I?”

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, worrying even more at your clear distress. He guided you to his unit, which was smaller than you’d imagined. It’d been a while since Cooper and Barb’s sudden divorce, but he barely seemed to be settling in. The walls were mostly bare, and the sparse furniture seemed to have been included with the unit. There were only a few pictures, mostly of him and Janey, but a few of just his daughter. 

He had never really told you what happened, but the change had seemingly occurred overnight. He simply said he was done, that he couldn’t even look at her anymore. You were still pretty baffled about the whole thing, but it wasn’t your business to pry about. You simply supported him however you could.

Barb had not gone easy on him, having the best lawyers Vault-Tec could afford. He had Janey some weekends, but he didn’t get to see her nearly enough. It was a bad situation altogether, and you were sad for everyone involved.

“Cozy,” was all you could whisper after a moment of silence, to which he snorted derisively.

You went to sit on the couch, arms around yourself. The two of you kept your voices soft so as not to wake Janey, and you felt a pang in your chest knowing she was near. She was such a bright ray of sunshine, and you were glad that she and Cooper had each other despite everything.

And especially on a night like that one, when the world seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation of something.

“Drink?” He offered, already pouring himself a glass of scotch in the small kitchen.

You nodded, sniffling, trying to keep the tears that threatened to crawl up your throat at bay. He shuffled back over to you, a frown still on his face.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” He encouraged, handing you the glass and sitting next to you on the couch. 

How could you possibly explain the feeling of grief you had, when you hadn’t really lost anyone? 

Not yet, at least.

“I don’t know, I just… I had to see you,” you said, taking a sip of your drink. “I didn’t even think about it, I just got in the car and drove.”

“Well, ain’t that sweet,” he chuckled, the sound a little awkward. “But it couldn’t wait until morning?”

“No, Coop, I can’t even explain it. If I tried, I’m sure you’d think I’m crazy.”

“Try me,” he said. “You know you can trust me.”

You set your glass down and scanned his features for a moment, committing them to memory. Then, without a word, you leaned in and brought your lips to his chastely.

 You had kissed dozens of times in the past, but for the first time, it was as yourselves. Love was the only thing you could give him then. Years worth of it had accumulated inside of you, with nowhere to go… until that moment. 

But your heart was breaking at the same time. Instinctively, you realized this would be your only opportunity to do so. Tears swam in your vision, but you turned your face away before he could see the one that escaped.

Cooper blinked, too stunned to react. You sniffled, pulling back, hands wringing anxiously. He shook his head, snapping out of it.

“Why are you crying?” He asked, hands cupping your face. “I ain’t that bad of a kisser, am I?”

You let out a sad little chuckle, which sounded more like a sob.

I love you, you wanted to say. I love you, I love you, te amo con todo mi corazón*. Please find a way to live, whatever happens.

(*I love you with all my heart)

“Please, take care of yourself,” you pleaded softly instead. “Give little Janey a kiss from me.”

And with that, you got up from the couch and left him like a thief in the night. He’d called for you, but you’d been faster, running down the stairs and heading back to your car. You simply couldn’t handle it anymore. The waiting, the fretting, feeling so fucking helpless…  Wouldn’t it be better just to get it all over with?

The rest of the night blurred into a gouache rendition of melancholy and self pity. In the morning, as soon as you were able, you phoned Bud Askins — the Vault-Tec executive who had organized your admission into Vault thirty one — to ask for an expedited entry.

And just as he picked up the phone, you looked out the window and saw the enormous, fiery mushroom cloud rising as if from the depths of hell itself.

——————————————

The Present….

“There she is,” one of the raiders pointed at the old TV screen, where one of your movies was playing. “No wonder she looked so goddamn familiar. Got ourselves a movie star, boys.”

“Gotta be a clone or somethin’, no way she’s lived this long,” another one said.

“What does it matter? Whoever buys her won’t be able to tell the difference. Fresh meat’s hard to come by, and this is the luxury kind,” the first one gruffed, looking back at you over his shoulder. “Isn’t that right, baby?”

You could only glare at him from your spot against the wall. You were gagged, your ankles and wrists bound by old rope. Two days had passed, in which the raiders hadn’t done much other than tie you up and haul you around. You’d gotten a few scraps of food, but not nearly enough to even be considered a snack. Thirst and hunger clung to your very bones, but you were lucky that your survival instincts had kept you going so far. 

You might not have been a fighter before, but now you were determined to keep yourself alive at all costs. It hadn’t taken long for you to realize that things were truly ruthless in the wasteland, and it all basically narrowed down to kill or be killed. 

You weren’t sure yet if you’d be able to go through with something like that, but you had no other choice but to try if it came down to it.

You were still holding out hope that the ghoul would come find you, but you were well aware that you couldn’t just rely on that possibility. You were running low on time, unsure of how long exactly the potential transaction would take to complete. Or if they would grow tired of searching for buyers and try to possess you themselves. 

You would not let it get to that, though. You were just trying to devise the least recklessly foolish escape plan possible.

The raiders had holed up in an old supermarket, which seemed to be their usual base. Most of the empty, broken shelves had been pushed against the walls to make space for whatever furniture they had managed to find. A few shelves surrounded the space like a makeshift barrier, shielding the rest of the building from view.

Rations, old clothes and other miscellaneous objects were scattered about carelessly, but you didn’t notice many weapons, which was potentially a good sign. More valuable loot was stashed in empty freezers, and you were frankly surprised they hadn’t tried to shove you in one, too.

The raiders went back to watching the movie, your own voice sounding strange and faraway to your ears. And then… you heard Cooper’s voice, that southern drawl bringing your attention to the screen. It was the scene of his Feo, Fuerte y Formal speech, when his enemy was at his feet.

Though the screen was riddled with static, you could still see the determined look on his face. Hearing his voice again gave you strength, but it also gave you pause. Why did it feel like it hadn’t been that long since you’d last heard it?

You thought back to the day you’d been abducted, still unsure if you had hallucinated the ghoul screaming your name. Even his voice had sounded different there, but not unfamiliar – more like a dream that had slowly devolved into a nightmare.

 There was a nagging feeling at the back of your head that wouldn’t let you rest until you had some answers, but it would all have to wait for a later time. 

For the next hour or so, you slowly moved your wrists back and forth in an attempt to loosen the ropes. You went still whenever any of them looked at you – like a deer in headlights, sweat trickling down your spine – but luckily, none of them seemed aware of your actions.

At some point, you had to fully stop as most of them prepared to go out scavenging, leaving only one man behind to guard you.

“Shouldn’t give you much trouble, but you know what to do if she does,” the leader had said, looking right at you with a shit-eating grin. 

But the raider left in charge hadn’t seemed too worried about you being a threat, falling asleep on one of the couches soon after they had left. When your wrists were rubbed raw and bloody by the rope, you soldiered through the pain until adrenaline kicked in, and you managed to loosen the knots enough to free one of your hands.

You swallowed down the nausea that crawled up your throat at the sight of your mangled skin. Keeping one eye on the sleeping raider, you began to attempt untying your ankles, but then you heard a crash at the front of the building. The raider woke up with a start and you had a millisecond to hide your hands behind your back once more. 

“What the fuck was that?” he muttered, looking around frenziedly.

You shrugged helplessly, your heart nearly leaping out of your chest. He narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he stood, grabbing a weapon. You whimpered, momentarily fearing he might use it to prod you further, but he stayed put.

“You better not try any stupid shit, alright?” He said, pointing it at you in warning. 

You nodded quickly and he crept around a shelf, disappearing from view. It was eerily silent after that, except for your blood thundering in your ears. You waited for him to return, unmoving, for what seemed like an eternity. 

There were a few more sounds somewhere out front, but you couldn’t quite discern what they were. Still, you didn’t really want to wait around and find out. Who knew if you’d get another opportunity like this?

But just as you decided to push your luck and reached for your ankles, you heard footsteps. And with those footsteps, there was the familiar, faint clinking of spurs that you had come to know.

The ghoul suddenly rounded the corner, holding the raider’s bloodied machete, which matched the blood spattering his clothes. Talk about a guardian angel, you thought, somehow finding humor to keep yourself from absolute hysteria – even as your eyes welled with overwhelmed tears. A muffled sound escaped your throat, but there was still tape covering your mouth, so all you could do was widen your eyes.

“There y’are,” he said with what seemed to be a relieved grin, but it was short-lived. “Oughta kill you myself for makin’ me go through all that trouble to find you…”

He crouched in front of you to free you from your binds, tossing the weapon aside. You gasped as he ripped the tape from your face, momentarily glaring at him for his lack of gentleness. But your own relief outweighed any frustration you felt, and without thinking you threw yourself at him, your arms wrapping around his neck. 

He froze, feeling the jackrabbit pace of your heart against his chest. The breathed-out thank you in his ear almost gave him goosebumps, but he kept himself composed. You yourself couldn’t believe that you were so elated to see him, having been terrified of him only a week prior.

But now it didn’t seem to matter, because even if he groused about having to do the work, he had still come to find you. 

“Alright, alright, that’s enough of that,” he said, shoving you back. “Get up, we gotta get outta here before the rest of ‘em come back.”

He hauled you onto your feet, steadying you when you almost stumbled into him. You glanced at the TV, where the movie had been paused on a close-up shot of Cooper.

You hesitated, suddenly transfixed by an emotion that was getting close to realization. The ghoul followed your line of sight and grimaced, averting his gaze. 

“You feel it too, don’t you?” You said, the words spilling before you’d even thought them through. “How ironically familiar it all is, in a fucked up way.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. When you looked over at him, something ill-concealed in his expression confirmed things without him having to say anything.

His eyes hadn’t changed… how did you not see it before?

You took a step closer and that seemed to snap him out of it.

“No idea what you’re goin on’ about,” he gruffed, turning away. “Now get movin’ or I’ll tie you to my belt and herd you like cattle. Andale!”

You pursed your lips at his stubbornness but trailed after him. You watched his back, hunting for more details to further reassure yourself you weren’t crazy — His posture, the way he walked, his strong shoulders squared proudly, as if in preparation for whatever came.

There was still so much to say, but first, you had to get as far away from this serpent’s nest as possible. 

On the way, he found an old tire iron, tested its heft, and then handed it to you. At least, it seemed less daunting than a knife or a machete, and arguably less bloody. The world might be a cruel place, but he would try to help minimize the blow as much as he could. In his own way, of course.

 He pushed out of the secret entrance at the side of the building, and you almost slammed into his back as he abruptly stopped. 

“Well, fancy seeing you here boys,” he said before you could even ask what was wrong, and a stone seemed to drop into your stomach. “Jus’ came to collect what’s rightfully mine. We’ll be on our way now.”

“Like hell you are,” came the barked reply.

You peered around him and saw only a handful of the raiders, the leader nowhere in sight. Somehow, that made you relax a little, the odds slightly more favorable. Not that you didn’t believe the ghoul could handle the whole group, but you just didn’t want to take your chances.

“Oh, yeah? And who’s gonna stop me? You?” The ghoul drew his revolver before anyone else could react, firing a shot directly at the raider’s head. “Whoops, I guess it ain’t gonna be him, after all.”

A stunned moment passed before the raiders were all launching themselves at him. You pressed back against the wall, watching how the ghoul moved with a swift, deadly grace. Two were down before they even knew what was happening. 

You moved from your spot to try to find some cover in case any stray bullets flew by you. Crouching by some rusted oil barrels, you kept your eyes on the action, listening to the ghoul laughing at a failed attack.

Then you noticed movement elsewhere. While he was facing off another three of them, a raider that had broken off from the rest was slowly inching closer behind the ghoul’s back.

Yelling out a warning would probably hinder more than help him, so you took a deep, fortifying breath and crept behind the raider. You tried to keep control of your breathing as you got closer, taking deliberate steps. You adjusted your grip on your weapon a few times, your palms sweating like never before.

But just as you closed the distance between you and raised the tire iron over your head, one of the other raiders yelled Watch out!

Still, you swung, striking him right across the temple with a sickening crack. He crumpled, knocked out cold, and everything moved quickly after that.

 In all the distraction, the ghoul dove forward and sank his knife into the nearest raider’s stomach. Then he turned them both around, using him as a shield before he shot the other two raiders.

Once they were all on the ground, he looked at you over his shoulder and grinned. 

“Well, well, look at you watchin’ my back for me,” he said, seemingly impressed. “Doesn’t make us quite even, but getting closer.”

You let out a breathy laugh, but your mouth suddenly filled with saliva, and you had to keep yourself from throwing up. All of the day’s events were starting to catch up to you, and adrenaline could only keep you on your feet for so long.

“Can we just uh… please?” You said, gesturing into the distance vaguely. “If I don’t eat something soon, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

He sighed, jerking his head to one side in a motion for you to follow. “Better hope there’s still rations in your pack, then, ‘cus I ain’t a free meal ticket.”

———————————————-

You slept for what felt like days, waking up disoriented to find the afternoon sun high in the sky. You rolled onto your back, wiping away the drool that had trickled out of the corner of your mouth. You were sure you looked just as terrible as you felt, but it was the least of your worries at that moment.

The abandoned parking structure you’d camped out at was cool and shaded, the wind blowing through it. It’d been dark by the time the two of you had found it, and you could only remember wolfing down some food before promptly passing out. 

Your wrists had been bandaged at some point, a small courtesy from the ghoul. Proof once again that he cared, despite his tough, biting exterior. The warmth you felt in your chest reminded you of what was still pending between you, and how it could wait no longer. 

You sat up and looked around, gathering your bearings. He wasn’t too far away, standing at the other end of the lot with his back to you. He was looking off into the distance, lost in thought. 

You watched him for a moment, wondering what was going through his mind. Wondering if maybe, just maybe, your thoughts were running parallel. 

Only one way to find out.

You got up, wincing at the deep ache in your muscles. You started to shamble over to him, but you only reached halfway before you were no longer brave enough to get any closer. 

“Cooper,” you called, voice tremulous. “… It is you, isn’t it?”

The ghoul turned around slowly, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. He was quiet for a moment, for once seemingly afraid to meet your gaze.

“Still stubborn as a mule, aren’t’cha?” he said, trying to mask the nostalgia in his voice with wry humor. 

You let out an amused huff. “Always drove the producers crazy.”

“Well, it wasn’t just them.”

Finally, he looked up at you, his gaze much softer than they’d been the past few days. At that moment – despite the ravages of time, radiation, and even misery – you could still see the Cooper you had always known. And while you were elated by the revelation, your heart also hurt to think he had undergone so much by himself, losing who he was in the process. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked, knowing it was likely a selfish question. “From the beginning?”

“I never… thought you would see me like this,” he said, swallowing hard. “After that night, when the bombs were dropped, I didn’t know what happened to you. I just assumed you were…”

“Dead,” you finished for him. “I thought the same about you.”

Silence hung heavily for a moment, and you weren’t sure if you should move or not. 

“What about your family?” You asked, bracing for the worst.

“Lost,” he said simply, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “I got Janey to one of the vault’s on time, but there was no space left for me.”

His pain was palpable, making your heart shatter anew. But how to take it away from him? It was impossible to just erase all that had happened, but you could at least help him shoulder the burden.

“Cooper…” you breathed, finally closing the remaining distance between you.

He shifted uncomfortably, angling his head away. You reached up to gently cup his face, making him look at you.

“A face not even a mother could love, ain’t it?” He murmured, braced for whatever reaction you’d have to him now. 

He expected disgust and rejection, but that was far from what you felt then – A yearning so deep you feared it would fully consume you. The world had fucking ended already, so why not confess how you felt? Nothing worse could happen if you did. 

“My feelings for you have remained intact for more than two hundred years, Cooper. You really think this is going to change my mind?”

He blinked in surprise, his eyes searching your face for any sign that you were lying. You merely smiled, open and earnest, letting him digest your words.

“That night, when you kissed me… My mind was all over the place. I didn’t know what to think, what to say, but you ran away before I could even try.” He chuckled weakly at the memory. “Somehow, I felt it was a long time comin’, but a part of me never thought it was possible.”

“I’m sorry it was all I could give you then,” you whispered, and he placed a hand over one of yours. “If only we had known…”

“Say the words for me, will you?” He rasped, face inching closer to yours. “I won’t believe it until you say it.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I love you, Cooper Howard. I loved you before, and I love you now, just as you are.” 

“You sure about that?” He said, but his resolve was crumbling.  “Not much room for love in places like this, especially with folks like me.”

“We’ll just have to make room for it then.”

He raised his hairless eyebrows, both pleased and amused at your conviction.“Just like that, hmm?” 

One of his arms snaked around your waist slowly, pressing you closer to him. Your eyes dropped to his mouth, desirous. The fire he saw in them ignited him as well — A long lost feeling that was returning to the surface with a vengeance.

“Bésame,” you sighed, mere seconds before his lips were melding against yours. 

You kissed with an almost frantic desperation, tightly clinging onto each other. It was the kind of kiss you had always dreamt of — devouring and insatiable, eager to fuse together.

His hands were curious but hesitant, roaming up to your ribcage and down to your hips, but no further. You grabbed one of his hands and placed it on your chest, not only as permission, but also so he could feel how your heart pounded for him. 

His own longing overflowed, clouding his senses. A part of him had still been unwilling to believe you could actually love — much less tolerate — what he had become. But when you moaned softly into his mouth, he knew he was a lost cause.

Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t very good with words that weren’t scripted. But fortunately for you, there were other ways he could demonstrate his devotion.

You arched into his touch as he palmed one of your breasts, a low sound in his throat. He moved to kiss your neck, lavishing your collarbone with his tongue. He wanted to kiss you all over, but he would need to get you bare first. 

You let him tug your blouse over your head, his gloves subsequently coming off. His hands were calloused as they returned to touch your skin. The tips of his fingers teased the waistband of your pants, and he smirked as you frowned up at him. 

“What? I wanna enjoy every moment of this,” he drawled, eyes dipping lower to watch your chest heave. “So many times I tried to imagine how I would do this. Sometimes I would unwrap you like a present… Others, well, let’s jus’ say I was like a coyote getting ahold of a chicken.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the morbid description, strangely not put off by it. “How romantic. I’m still trying to decide how I’ll take yours off.”

He shifted, something like panic flashing in his eyes for the briefest second. “Hold your horses, sweetheart. I ain’t done with you yet.”

You understood his hesitance immediately, deciding not to push it for the time being. You had years of patience under your belt, and his trust was something you did not mind earning again. He removed only his duster, draping it on the floor. 

He undid your belt and knelt in front of you as you wiggled your hips to help him take your pants off. There was a puff of warm breath against your navel a second before he planted a kiss on it. You shuddered as his teeth snagged the hem of your panties, pulling them down.

There was a noticeable wet spot on the fabric, which made him groan. His cock was straining against his pants already, but he wanted to focus on you first. 

“Come here, you,” he rasped, grasping your hips and bringing you down with him. 

As soon as you were on your back, his mouth was on you again. He’d wanted to feast his eyes first, to take you in in your full glory, but he found he couldn’t keep himself detached from you for too long. 

He kept his promise, slowly working his way around. You surrendered to his adoration with ease, every caress and every kiss awakening every part of you. At some point, you reached a level of sensitivity that had you whimpering at the slightest touch. The light sting of his teeth on your nipples sent electricity straight to your core. 

He lost himself in your smell and your warmth and your softness – a supplicant finally worshiping at his sacred temple. When his mouth finally sealed over your clit, your back arched off the floor, taut as a bow. 

“Cooper,” you gasped, delirious with lust. “Please, I-I need… Let me touch you, something, please!”

He shushed you gently, arms wrapping around your legs. “Just lie back and let me take care of you, darlin’.”

You wished you could say you lasted some time under his ministrations, but you came with embarrassing ease. That first orgasm hit you like an avalanche, sweeping throughout your whole body. You clapped a hand over your mouth as you cried out, not wanting to be too loud and potentially attract unwanted attention. 

He let out a faint chuckle, lapping up your release with gusto and nearly making you come a second time. He found he especially liked teasing your clit with quick little flicks of his tongue, your moans higher pitched. You tried squirming away from him, nearing overstimulation.

“You’re killing me, Coop!” You couldn’t help but giggle hysterically, pushing at his head. “Por favor!”

He pulled back, grinning roguishly as he licked his glistening lips. “What can I say? Seems I can’t get enough of you.”

“Then take me already,” you pleaded. “I can’t wait any longer.”

He needed no further convincing. He unhooked his arms from your legs and his body slid upwards until your faces were level. He was quick to undo his pants and push them down, bending down to kiss you as he took his cock in one hand, stroking it. 

You brought your knees up to his sides as you tasted yourself on his tongue. Slowly, he pushed inside of you, leaning his forehead against yours so he could see your reactions. Brows furrowed, mouth slack, cheeks flushed – you were the prettiest picture, in his eyes. 

“That’s it,” he exhaled as he buried himself to the hilt. “Takin’ me so good, like you were made just for me.”

“You’ve a-already made it clear th-that I’m yours,”  you said with a teasing little smile that you could barely hold as he started to move. 

He remembered his words to the raiders, letting out a breathy chuckle. “I did say somethin’ like that, didn’t I? Guess it must be true, then.”

His strokes were long and slow at first, letting you feel every inch as he stretched you. His eyes were fixed on your face, drinking in your features and reassuring himself that it was not a dream. He knew he wouldn’t last too long either, for all he teased you about it.

He started going faster, the snap of his hips harsher, as you begged for it. Pleasure was overtaking him, wiping his mind clear of everything that wasn’t the present moment. Your name left his lips like a prayer, his eyes heavy lidded and glazed over with ecstasy. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he moaned. “I-I love you. Fuck, I love you.”

You clung to him, afraid that if your heart went any faster, it might stop altogether. Soon enough, he felt you tightly squeezing around him, and he knew you were close once again. He was right there with you, driven by your pleasure, and then you pulled him in for a kiss. 

He felt you tremble under him as you came, the intensity not letting you make more than a small, choked sound. With a long, rough groan and a deep thrust, he spilled inside of you. Lost in a feverish oblivion, having forgotten when the last time he’d experienced it was… if at all. No drop was wasted, in the end.

During the comedown, you lay there panting, his added weight on top of you comforting. You looked at each other and laughed, elated at the whole thing. It felt like no time had passed at all, somehow. 

“Tryin’ to steal my soul already,” he said, a fondness in his voice that made your stomach flutter. “Hold on, I need to get some RadAway in ya.”

Breathing heavily, he slowly pulled out of you and got to his knees. He tucked himself away and reached for his pack. He pulled out a yellow IV bag, which you recognized from Bud’s few lessons about the wasteland. You hadn’t even thought about it until then, but you were immensely grateful he had been prepared. 

He hooked you onto it delicately and slumped back down beside you, lying sideways. You grinned, snuggling closer to him. His fingers traced lazy circles on your belly as he looked down at you, adoring. 

The real world slowly crept into the edges of your mind, anxiety at being separated from him suddenly spiking. Now that you had him, there was no way you would just let him go. 

“I don’t know what I should do now,” you confessed, voice low. “I know I want you, and I want to be with you, but what about New Vegas? Do you think they’d send someone to look for me?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Maybe. It’s very possible, you never know. You’re more valuable than you realize, and I ain’t just sayin’ that ‘cus I’m biased.”

You snorted, shoving him playfully, but he continued. “But… I think I should still take you there. My sort of lifestyle in the wasteland ain’t for you, darlin’. I almost lost you once already, very stupidly.”

“That was my fault, though,” you said, pained at the guilt in his voice for not being able to protect you.

“Everybody makes mistakes. You could make a hundred more, but one of ‘em might just cost you everythin’. I ain’t takin’ those chances.”

“Well, you’re certainly more forgiving now…” you muttered, rolling your eyes. “But then what? You’re not just gonna drop me off at twenty one for safe keeping, are you? I would kill you.”

He laughed. “Oh, I don’t doubt it. But it won’t come to that, we ain’t stayin’ in the vault.”

“Oh? We aren’t?” 

“There’s a few settlements out there that are safe and, uh, friendly to my kind.” He cleared his throat, not wanting to bring much attention to his current state of being. You took his hand, squeezing his fingers, and he returned the gesture.

One day, you would make sure he would never doubt his worth ever again. You admired his strength and perseverance, soldiering through an unforgiving environment, continuing to live. He was certainly different from the hero that he always played in the movies, but he was a hero nonetheless. In your eyes, at least.

“Well, well… That’s all it took to bring you to your knees, huh?” You teased, raising an eyebrow. “You really thinking of settling down?”

“Oh, I ain’t retirin’, sweetheart,” he said with a huff. “But if you’re askin’ if I’m thinking of going steady with you, well…”

The two of you shared a knowing look, smiling at that echo from the past. At that moment, you felt that things might just be okay after all. You had been through worse things, jumped through bigger hurdles, and yet you had still arrived there. Who was to say you couldn’t handle more?

“Kiss me then, and let’s seal the deal.”

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

[ahhhwomen]

Not A Toy?

Trigger Happy AU

Part 3

Pairing: Dark!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

A/N: Ik ik, everything has been written in very excruciating detail so far, this one being no exception, but I promise I'm going to up the speed and intensity very soon. Also, I am sorry if this one is a bit rushed, I just wanted to get it out there. Def not my favorite chapter...

Disclaimer: English is not my first language; all mistakes are my own.

AU Warnings: Kidnapping, murder, Mommy kink, smut, pet play, death (not main characters), framed murder, violence, drugging, angst, obsession, dub-con/rape-con | Minors DNI 18+

Warnings Part 3: Mommy kink, stalker Wanda, kidnapping (?), slightly stupid reader

Summary: Maybe you are more to Wanda than just a Toy.

Word Count: 1157

Your apartment had never been the best. When you moved in, months prior, that much became apparent. It was filthy, small, and there were large gaps between some of the floorboards. However, money was tight after you were cut off from your family, and the neighborhood wasn’t the worst. So, you took what you could.

You had lived there for all of 2 weeks before you got a roommate. In those 2 weeks, you tried to make it more pleasant and feel more like home. You got a carpet to hide the large gaps, you moved the furniture to make it feel like more space, and you deep cleaned.

As you came to learn, Jessica didn’t care much for that sort of stuff. Between college, working a part-time job, having a boyfriend, and loving parties, Jessica was barely even there. She had never bothered to do much around the apartment, she never cleaned, and never took any interest in changing things around.

It's therefore safe to say you are a bit confused as you take in the scene in front of you.

Why is your coach upside down?

You have no clue how you didn’t see it until now. It wasn’t like you, you had always praised yourself on your observation skills.

That damn policewoman was doing a number on you.

You are just about to pull your phone out when you hear a creak, another issue with the floorboards. The sound came from Jessica's room.

Your apartment has felt off ever since you came home, but now it feels like you are somewhere else entirely. Suddenly everything was colder, and your skin prickles with chills.

Your feet slowly inch closer to Jessica's door, trying to stay silent, and your hands push gently on the handle. Sweat runs down your back and you hold your breath, the tension is heavy in the air. With the handle down, you being to put a slight weight into the door. The door creaks open to reveal….

Nothing.

Your eyes scan the room, everything the same as when you left this morning. You let out a shaky breath, relieved, you close the door again.  

You remind yourself to send a quick text to your roommate about the furniture rearrangement before you walk back to the bathroom.

///////

Wanda bites back a groan as the door presses lightly against her. She can hear your hands shaking against the handle.

She had meant to get out before you came home, but you turn out to be a fast walker.

After her work was done for the day Wanda had spent a substantial amount of time tracking this roommate of yours. She was a busy girl. She worked at a local diner most of the week but had Mondays and Wednesdays off. She hung out with her boyfriend, that lived 2 blocks away, almost every day. She took a liking to people, always having to be around someone. She seemed to be your complete opposite.

By what intel Wanda gathered, you were a quiet girl, who liked to keep to yourself. You were sweet and always willing to help, but large groups of people made you uncomfortable.

You were perfect. Well-mannered, sweet, lonely. A good girl.

Hers.

Wanda is good at hiding her less savory side. Obsessive behavior never looked good on paper. She had only ever allowed herself to indulge in smaller doses. However, Wanda couldn’t just fuck this urge out with a random pretty girl she picked up like she was used to.

No.

Wanda needed you.

She needs to have you, nurse you, fuck you. She needs to hold you, have you wrapped around her like the little kitten you are. Hers, and only hers.

She just needed to push you a little.

So, she did what anyone would do, and began staging her crime scene.

Your apartment wasn’t exactly big, so how would a big fight play out in such a small space? Wanda was testing your living room when she heard your keys jingle in the hallway.

“I’m home!”

Wanda smiled a little.

You must have been so sleepy. There was a little crack in the door Wanda could look at you through, and you walked right passed the flipped coach and started getting your dinner ready. Wanda had to hold back a disapproving sigh as you picked up a microwavable dinner.

You were a growing girl who requires proper sustenance. Not, whatever was in those plastic tubs.

As the timer on the microwave counted down, you looked lost in thought. Wanda wondered what you were thinking about as your teeth sank into your lip, your scrunched-up nose indicating you were worried. Wanda's hands griped the door, if something was bothering her girl, it bothered Wanda.

Luckily you snapped out of it rather fast and got to eating.

You occur to be quite the messy eater. It was adorable the way you would huff in annoyance as the table became smothered in your mess.

Wanda made a mental note to always feed you on a mat. She didn’t want her floors to be stained like your table was.

You stood up.

Wanda couldn’t get a proper view of the bathroom from where she stood. She had intended on moving just a little bit to the left when her foot hit a loose tile.

Shit!

Wanda could hear you try to sneak over to the door, and she saw the handle slowly move downwards. If she made even the tiniest of noises Wanda knew the gig would be over. She pressed herself into the wall and held her breath.

You paused for a second when the door was almost all the way open. Wanda could hear you sigh. Then close the door again.

You make your way back to the bathroom.

Wanda stands there baffled for a second before sneaking out when she picks up the water running.

Who doesn’t open the door all the way when they think an intruder is in the house?

You just have to be happy it was only Wanda.

///////

“SOMEONE PLEASE!” The filth sobs as her voice echoes back to her.

Wanda smirks.

Don’t worry, it will all be over very soon.

[dr-demi-bee]

Should've Noticed You Sooner

It's here! 🎉After some frantic typing and generous sillies, @lastlight-inn's reward for the 200 followers give-away is finished! She requested a literary reward, and dictated my next 8k - choosing to request a brand new oneshot. And I went substantially overboard!

I'm pleased to present: Should've Noticed You Sooner

A Miri x Gale Modern AU College Roommates Romance Friends -> Lovers ~ Modern AU ~ Primalweave ~ Self-indulgent af

Pairing: Gale x f!Tav - NSFW Word Count: 18k ------------------------------------------------------------------------------Summary:

Gale and Miri, international students in America, moved in together for their last year after forging a strong friendship early in their college careers. They've been close for years now, and despite a lot of banter and some generous flirting, they've never really tried to be anything more. Despite both being wildly interested in one another.

One late evening (well, morning, really) the tension finally simmers to a boiling point. ----------------------------Read on A03-----------------------------------

Miri closes her laptop with a heavy sigh. That was enough staring at her notes for one day. She wasn’t going to accomplish anything more at this point. Leaning back in her desk chair, she rakes clawed fingers through her long red hair.

She glances at the clock on her nightstand - 2:30. It would be 8:30 at home - the farm work would already be in motion, her siblings would be sitting down for breakfast. Even after more than two years in the US, Miri’s body still wanted to follow that same routine. Or maybe it was all the night shifts catching up to her.

Either way she should be asleep and cashing in on the fact that it’s a Friday night and she’s off tomorrow. But instead she’d buried herself in biochemistry notes for entirely too long. Miri scrubs a hand over her face as she stands from her desk. She stretches slightly, popping her back with a groan.

With a sigh, she trudges from her room and towards the kitchen. Nights like these she was exceptionally grateful she didn’t have to live in the on-campus international housing. Having her own space - albeit shared with her roommate, Gale- made being something of an irregular sleeper much more tolerable.

It made a handful of other things more difficult... Like staying focused when they were both in the same room.

Gale Dekarios was unreasonably handsome - and it seemed like every year he only became more so.

Miri and Gale had met during international student orientation a few years ago - her from Germany and him from England- and formed a fast friendship sharing classes. It was an easy decision to share rent on an apartment close to campus (that accepted international visas). They had loaded the apartment with thrifted and gifted furniture, and given their similar preferences around cooking and cleaning, generally got along really well as roommates.

This was their third semester living together. Gale had left briefly over the summer to visit his mother, and it had been a bit unsettling to not have him around, if she were honest. The two of them had developed a lot of pleasant routines. Breakfast and coffee before classes or work most days. They took turns making dinner (with Gale insisting on taking more turns, but Miri wasn’t going to argue when he was so good at it.) And most weekends they would do something together or with their other friends.

What she hadn’t expected when they moved in together was how often Gale was up in the middle of the night — either reading or working on some assignment or other. This semester they were both applying to grad school and Gale was already a bit...frantic. Despite more or less having his choice of programs

When Miri flips the switch for the kitchen (which, theoretically was unnecessary given her darkvision) there’s a surprised squawk from where Gale was apparently sitting in the living room. In the dark. Staring at his laptop. Again.

He rubs his sore eyes and turns to look at her, a bit sheepish. She stares back in surprise.

"I haven't kept you up, have I?" Gale asked.

"No," Miri returns with a soft smile and a huffed laugh, "Sorry, I didn't realize you were still out here."

"Ah, it's alright," Gale shook his head. He let out a weary yawn, the bags under his eyes a sign of lack of sleep. "I shouldn’t be - but I had to get this essay out while I had the inspiration."

Gale closes his laptop, stretching his arms and his back. Then rubbing the back of his neck as he sits up straight - clearly stiff from hunching over his computer too long.

"And why are you awake?" He watches her with a curiously. "Unless you're trying to pull an all-nighter like me, you should really be sleeping."

"Just restless," Miri replies as she makes her way into the small kitchen.

"Restless?" Gale's eyebrows raised, but he didn't press further.

Miri could be exceptionally hard to read. Coming into the kitchen well past midnight could mean she’s in a mood or she’s hungry or genuinely just can’t sleep. He knew better than to prod her to say more - he’s just as likely to get a growl in response as a conversation.

And it’s hard to guess which from her expression. Miri’s piercing green eyes paired with the German stare had a way of arresting him. It felt like she could see through to his very soul. But she was also witty and playful in unexpected ways. Not to mention absurdly beautiful.

So if Miri didn't want to talk about it, Gale wouldn't pry.

"Can't get my brain to turn off," Miri replies after a yawn. She covers her mouth with the back of her hand as she does it and Gale has to look pointedly away. The sight of her sharp teeth shouldn’t intrigue him as much as it does. But it’s rare and novel and something about it is a little too exciting.

"Maybe some tea will help ease you," Gale says, rising to his feet to join her in the kitchen. He’s the resident tea-steeper - a self-professed expert. He stretches his arms overhead, revealing the bare skin of his stomach where his top rides up. "Chamomile, perhaps?"

She gives a non-committal hum. Miri glances a bit surreptitiously at him as he stretches before opening the fridge. She’s not especially subtle with those bright eyes though, and Gale notices. He can’t but feel a little pleased at the way her cheeks flush slightly. He tries to act casual, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorway, but her attention definitely has a way of stroking his ego.

"Sounds like you have a lot on your mind," Gale says as he watches her rummage around the fridge.

Miri huffs a laugh, stooping to reach for one of her sparkling juices. Gale leans forward to see what she’s doing. And partly to avoid looking at her rear in those shorts. His eyebrows went up when he saw what was in her hand.

"Sparkling juice? At this time of night? Seems a little..." Gale pauses as he tries to think of the right word. "Unhealthy."

"It's juice, Gale." She gives him a skeptical brow raise. "Made of fruit."

"Sure, but it's still high in sugar, even if it is just fruit." He shrugged, his tone a tad judgmental. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s made a less than wise choice about food or drink. Gale personally found the American sweetness of things a bit grating, but Miri seemed to have quite the sweet tooth.

Miri looks at the can in her hand, turning to read the label. "That's not that much sugar," she grouses.

Gale pushed off the doorframe and walked to her side, curious and pre-emptively a bit disapproving. He peers down at her, crossing his arms and raising a brow as she shuts the fridge with her hip.

There’s a sizable height difference between them, but Gale always does his best not to loom over her. Except when she needs someone to reassess her choices.

Gale rolls his eyes and takes the can from her to read the label for himself.

"It probably tastes like the equivalent of a lollipop—" A pause. A glance at the nutritional information. "Oh."

Gale closes his mouth, a little sheepish as he puts the can back into her hand.

“I stand corrected."

"See?" Miri returns, "Juice."

"Fine, you win," Gale admits, though he does roll his eyes again. "Now why are you really drinking this? Unless you have a craving for some orange-flavored bubbles at..." he trails off to glance at the clock on the microwave. "...Nearly 3 am?”

Miri cracks open the can and glances at the clock before giving a slight shrug. "Sounded good."

"You don't seem like the type to be up in the middle of the night, let alone drinking orange juice at 3am." Gale chuckles as he leans against the counter beside her.

He gives her another look - one she’s all too familiar with at this point. Knowingly skeptical. Miri rolls her eyes at his pointed look to the lean muscles of her frame.

"And yet," Miri returns with a playful grin.

"Quite the conundrum," Gale teases back, returning a grin of his own.

Gale has a hard time not staring as she moves idly from the ball of one foot to the other. Her hair's messy and loose, out of it's usual style and braids, and she's wearing an oversized shirt and small pair of shorts for bed. He can’t stop his eyes from glancing at her legs as she moves, watching the muscles of her thighs flex.

“Did you go to the gym this morning?” The question blurts out of him before he can think it through. Thankfully she doesn’t seem to think anything of it as she replies casually.

“Yeah. It was swarming with first years, though... Fooling themselves into thinking they’ll stick to a routine if they start now.”

Gale chuckles at that. The cycle at the gym on campus was like clockwork. The beginning of every semester always had an increase in activity, and by the time the semester ended, there would hardly be anyone going not on a sports team. Save for Miri and her unwavering routine. How anyone could run and lift weights so often was a mystery. He certainly had his own routine, but it paled in comparison to hers. Maybe it was a lythari thing. Or a German thing. Hard to tell.

"Now that I think about it,” Gale muses, his tone a bit teasing, “You look like you could probably deadlift me.”

Despite the humor in his tone, Miri glances at him contemplatively. Oh gods she’s taking it seriously.

"How much do you weigh?"

Gale tilted his head back slightly, a smirk playing at his lips. He has to guess from what he remembers from last he weighed himself at the gym.

"Oh, almost 13 stone. So about... 82 kilos?" He answers, “Plus or minus one or two.”

"Then yes, I can."

Gale's smirk widens at her confidence. But it falters when she seems entirely serious. He pushes off the counter, straightening as he gives her a skeptical brow raise.

"Forgive me if I find that a bit hard to believe," he replies incredulously. "I don't think you could just pick me up like that."

"Picking you up is much easier than deadlifting."

Miri's lips split with a grin and she sets her juice down on the counter. The smirk fades from Gale's lips to be replaced with a slight look of wary surprise. When she doesn’t back down at all from her rather smug expression, Gale huffs a short laugh.

"Well then. By all means," He gestures towards himself with his hands. "Prove it."

"Alright," she returns playfully. As usual, he’s underestimating her. She’d hate thought after moving all that furniture in here he would’ve known by now she’s far from weak. (Though a part of her is convinced Gale used magic to lift his sides).

Miri moves beside him, slowly, allowing him time to reconsider - and when he doesn’t, she wraps her arms around his waist. Then she squeezes and pushes up with her legs, easily hefting him off his feet.

Gale let out a surprised laugh, his eyes wide with shock and his hands shooting up to grip her shoulders as his feet leave the floor. On instinct, he wraps his legs around her torso in a bid to avoid falling. Miri bursts out laughing as he clings on.

"I didn't think you'd hold on like a koala!"

Miri grins and Gale's face flushes a little red. When he glances down at her the position - and the feel of her arms snugly around him- only makes the redness grow worse.

"Of course I'm going to hold on," He retorts, "I don't want to fall. I like my spine not shattered..."

"What, you think I'll drop you?"

"Well I sure as hells am not going to find out," Gale grumbles, though it lacks any bite.

He tightens his legs slightly when she shifts, his hands clutching onto her. Miri watches his expression with a smug smile that broadens into a full grin. At this point he's clinging tight enough she hardly has to work to support his weight.

"Comfortable?"

Gale shoots her a glare as her smug smile grew. He knows she’ll never let this go. Any witty retort dies in his throat at how easily Miri can hold him up. Briefly, the thought flashes through him that he likes her holding him like this. And the red flush of his cheeks spreads up to his ears.

"Shut up..." He mumbles, avoiding her gaze.

"You realize you can just... put your legs down, right? I'm much shorter than you."

Gale glances down, realizing just how easy it would be for him to put his feet back on the ground, but he makes no attempt to do so.

"I don't...uh..." He tries to think of a good reason, but there really wasn't one. Only the fact that simply didn't want to let go yet. Sheepishly, he mumbles "...I like it up here.”

Miri huffs a cheerful laugh, grinning wide enough to show those lupine teeth. "I didn't peg you for the snuggly type."

Gale looks down at her his eyes narrowing playfully and his cheeks red. It's not as though Miri's made an effort to put him down or force him off either. Maybe she’s enjoying this a bit too?

Gale decides to push his luck a bit.

"Oh come on, it's not every day a pretty girl picks you up like you weigh no more than a box of feathers. Can you blame me for wanting to savor the moment?"

"Well, you're not the first to challenge me to lift them," she muses, with a smirk, "But you are the first to cling on like this."

Gale chuckles, still clinging to her letting a smug smile of his own grace his lips.

"Of course no one else has clung on like this," he answers as he rested his chin on her shoulder. He lets his voice drop a bit lower as he adds, "I'm also guessing none of them were as handsome as me."

"Mm. None come to mind," she returns playfully, turning her face to give him a coy smile, "A pretty lady or two, but no dashing gents like you."

"Good," Gale mumbles against her shoulder.

Something about knowing few have ever held her like this - that she thinks him dashing has his heart thumping. He smirks, and his arms wrapping around her shoulders a bit tighter. Emboldened a little further, his fingers cautiously trace the muscles of her shoulders. Almost reverently feeling the strength of her hidden beneath the baggy fabric of her well-worn shirt.

"If I ever do get down,” he murmurs a bit cheekily, “I expect a round of applause for being the only guy with the courage be carried by the muscle lady."

"'The muscle lady'?" Miri repeats a bit incredulously. She barks a laugh.

Gale chuckles along, a cheeky smile on his lips. He lets his fingers continue to trace the muscles in her shoulders, feeling the hard strength they held. Miri tries not to let out a sigh at the feel of it - surprisingly tender and affectionate. Something she’s not had in a long time.

"Well, forgive me, but you are pretty strong," Gale returns, giving her bicep a little squeeze. "And I'm not exactly light, so the fact you hauled me up like I weighed nothing... Pretty impressive, Miss Muscle Lady."

"Pfft. You're not heavy." Miri laughs heartily again, and the sound makes his stomach tighten.

"Hey, I'm not light either," Gale retorts, resting his chin on her shoulder again. He’s growing rather greedy to feel her warm touch. They’ve hugged plenty of times, sat close together before. Nothing quite like this.

He can’t help but notice that if he shifts his weight at all, Miri doesn’t seem phased by it. Strong as an ox...

"I feel like you're underappreciating my weight a little," he continues to tease, still clinging to the contact but trying to diffuse his nerves with humor, "I think I should be getting a bit more credit than just ‘not heavy’."

"You're lighter than I squat." Miri can’t help but tease him back, amused that his weight of all things could be a point of pride like this.

Gale huffs a short breath - momentarily silenced. His eyes widened and his brows furrow as his brain tries to work that out.

"Excuse me? You squat with my weight?"

"More than." She shifts so they're further away from the counter. "Watch-"

Gale's hands and legs tighten cautiously as she moves, his face going white with a mixture of shock and nerves.

"Y-you're not going to... drop me, right?" His voice fills with worry as she moves them towards the middle of the kitchen and away from the support of the counter.

"Hah! No."

Miri’s hands shift to grip him by his thighs, strengthening her hold. Gale only just manages to clamp down a rather undignified noise. The lythari takes a steadying breath and shifts her legs into proper position, then dips low and lifts them back up again.

Gale is almost completely speechless as she does a squat. With him clinging to her. Well. He’s certainly never had anyone do that to him before. His grip around her tightens from both concern and astonishment.

"Holy shit," he breathes. "How much weight can you squat?"

"210."

Gale's jaw drops. Miri appropriately returns the look with a smug grin.

"You can squat two hundred and ten pounds?"

Where the hells does she hide all that strength? She’s barely over five feet tall. He couldn't even begin to imagine...well, no, now he’s definitely imaging it. A bit too vividly. She could absolutely just heft him up and press him against the wall...

Miri laughs a bit smugly. It’s not often she could stun or surprise the magnificent Wizard of Waterdeep. She can’t help but picture how she could leverage her strength to her advantage. Maybe pin him underneath her and-

No, no, no, don’t go there.

"Yeah!" She glances at him with a surreptitious grin. "I should just haul you around the flat, then I wouldn't have to go to the gym."

A small part of Gale's mind wouldn't hate that. To be carried around and lifted by a gorgeous, strong woman? That's almost a dream come true. Especially if it were Miri. He swallows hard as he quickly pushes that thought out of his head.

"That'd be a bit extreme," he replies, trying his best to sound casual as he looks back at her.

"Mm. I guess." Miri looks thoughtful. IT would be nice to not have to go to the on campus gym... "I should get a pull up bar..."

"You could, or maybe just pick me up for your training instead." The offer slips out before he could stop himself, his mouth moving before his brain could register what was happening. Realizing what he'd said, Gale flushes a little pink again, his head bowing to rest his forehead against her shoulder and hide his face.

"You're a bit smart for a dumbbell," Miri teases back, unable to suppress a soft laugh at his reaction. Gale lets out a longsuffering sigh, burying his head further against her shoulder.

"At least make me your kettlebell," He mumbles, though there's an amused tone in his voice.

"How would that work?" Miri returns with a grin. "You're way too big."

"You could hold me by my ankles and swing me around," Gale suggests sarcastically. He tamps down the rather unhelpful thoughts his brain supplies after that. He smirks and suggests something else. "Or I could sit on your back and hold a weight while you do pushups."

Miri laughs heartily, her head tipped back. Gale smiles at the sound of her laughter, amused at his own stupid suggestions and the fact they made her laugh so much. It was often a goal of his to get her to break that stoic front and bring out the goofy streak beneath.

"Or maybe-" he pauses with another idea, a cheeky smile growing on his lips as he moves to wrap his arms more loosely around her neck once more and leaning back slightly "-you could do pull ups with me hanging on like this."

"Not sure they sell pull up bars for at home that could hold both our weight," Miri returns with a smirk, "At least, not that wouldn't violate the lease."

"Damn lease regulations," He returns with a chuckle and a commiserating grin. "They ruin everything."

"I know," she huffs, "The absolute tyranny."

"Utter tyranny," He agrees, shifting slightly as he tried to get more comfortable in his koala position. "Damn landlords have no compassion for those who wish to train their strength by pulling each other up."

Miri grunts slightly as he shifts his weight. She quirks a brow at him. Gale smirks as he adjusts himself, tightening his legs around her waist. She has to ignore the way that damned smirk never fails to make her chest warm.

"Staying are you?"

"What can I say? It's quite comfortable up here," Gale teases, clasping his hands behind her neck. With her unbothered reaction to all of it thus far, he grows increasingly bold. His fingers play idly with the soft strands of her long hair, twirling them between his fingers.

"Needy," Miri returns with a soft smile and playfully disapproving brows. The smile turns a bit mischievous as she continues, "Then at least pull your own weight."

Using her grip beneath his thighs, she pulls him closer so his weight is balanced more over her hips. Caught off guard, Gale makes a high sound of surprise. His legs reflexively lock behind her back and his arms tighten around her neck and shoulders.

With the adjustment she can have a hand free to grab her juice and take a swig.

"H-hey!" Gale protests. His counter point dies on his tongue when he realizes this new position was more comfortable for both of them. Although with the way his groin now pressed against her lower stomach... "You did that on purpose."

"Yeah?" Miri grins and quirks a brow up at him. Gale huffs, a hint of a pout on his lips. How cute... Miri can’t pass up an opportunity like this. To finally have Gale close. Even if it’s a bit awkward. She’s wanted to touch and feel his body for...well, entirely too long.

"Don't gimme that look," Gale grumbles, resting his head against her shoulder again. He’s silent for a moment, his hands shifting to trace idle patterns against the strong muscles of her back. Finally he murmurs softly in her ear - his tone caught somewhere between embarrassment and desire, "So...how long can you carry me for?"

Hearing that tone from Gale just makes her want to press her luck a little further.

"Oh, I dunno," Miri replies sounding playfully thoughtful, "Just standing here, probably a while."

"Oh really?" Gale says, lifting his head to give her a disbelieving look. A slow smirk returns to his lips, before he asks, “How long exactly is a while?"

He quirks a brow in challenge before shifting his upper body, pushing slightly away from her shoulders so some of his weight hangs away from her. Gale’s still holding tight with his legs, so it’s only a small fraction he’s moved - but it’s enough she has to adjust. Miri leans back slightly to counterbalance, tightening her core to hold steady.

“Hard to say. It's not exactly in my usual routine," she quips back with a gsrin.

Gale lets out a chuckle, tightening his grip around her shoulders with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Not? Maybe I should be added to your routine then," he teases.

"I'll be sure to pencil in 'Gale carries' for leg-day."

"Hey! That sounds like I’m the one doing the carrying," he quips back, shifting his weight again to hand even further away. Miri grunts again as he makes it more difficult. "Seems to me like it's more like 'Miri carries Gale'."

"Oh, forgive me, how unclear of me. I'll amend the record," she retorts, playing up her accent. Miri pretends to erase and write with one hand. Gale laughs as she 'writes down' the correction, his smirk growing even as his legs tighten around her waist at the feel of her hand leaving his thigh.

"And here I thought I was the smartass in this house," he teases, keeping up his playful tone while shifting once more in an attempt to push her limits. How long could she really hold him for? How long would she hold him...?

"I thought you didn't want me to drop you?" Miri grits with a grin.

Gale chuckles as he continues to press his luck and push her tolerance. The lilt of his lips is decidedly mischievous.

"What's the matter, worried I'll wear you out?"

Miri snorts. "Oh, excuse me. I didn't know I'd be getting an extra set in at 2:30 in the morning."

"Oh, I'm pretty light for someone your size," Gale teases back with a grin, "Shouldn't be too much of a strain for how strong you are."

"'My size' he says." Miri huffs a laugh, though it’s starting to sound a bit strained.

"I'm not wrong though," he replies, grinning as he continues to shift against her. Doing his best to feel the strength in her body for as long as she’ll let him. "You're only a few inches shorter than me, but you've absolutely got me beat in the muscle department."

"A few? Like 10."

Gale's grin widens.

"I stand corrected then," he replies cheekily, "You're a very short, very strong muscle lady."

Miri’s retort is cut short when Gale deliberately presses his hips against her - absolutely pressing his luck as far as it could go. This can either go very right, or they could pretend it never happened. They’ve flirted plenty before, right?

Miri arches a brow at him, noting his very intentional movement - and the very obvious way it presses his groin against her lower stomach. There’s no way that was an accident. She can feel her cheeks heating. And other things. Gale smirks back at her catching onto his not-so-subtle gesture.

"What can I say?” Gale murmurs with an air of smugness in the lilt of his lips. Despite his hard to suppress desire surging to the forefront in his probably too-tired mind, he can’t quite avoid the urge to mask it with humor. To hide in this usual dance of theirs. “I have a gorgeous, incredibly strong woman holding me up, it's kind of hard not to want to take advantage of the moment."

"Kind of hard, is it?"

Miri fingers grasp a bit more tightly to the meat of his thighs, sharp nails pressing gently into his skin through his shorts. Maybe he’s just joking. Maybe he’s teasing her. But that is not nothing...and neither is the flush of his cheeks. Bright green eyes roam his face curiously, searching.

Gale chuckles at her equally playful response - that she so quickly latched onto his little innuendo. The feel of her hands against him is nothing short of electric, and he’ll use any excuse to keep this going.

"You have a dirty mind," he teases, shifting once more. This time he presses hips pushed against her a little more firmly.

"Yes, I'm sure the fault lies entirely with me," Miri returns sarcastically. She pulls him closer - just a fraction.

"Of course it does," he agrees with an amused grin. "I don't know what you're talking about, I've done nothing wrong here."

Gale shifts once more - adjusting to how she pulls him against her. Decidedly a bit more than half hard now, his breath catches a little as he presses against her stomach a bit more. She feels so warm through that ratty old shirt. The plane of her stomach so firm.

"Mhmm." Miri arches her brow at him again. Two can play this game you absolute tease.

She grasps him more firmly by the thighs and bends forward intentionally, lowering his upper body towards the ground. Gale's smirked fades and his eyes widen at the sudden shift to almost parallel to the ground. He instinctively tightens his arms around her neck to keep himself from dangling, his thighs wrapping around her more firmly.

"F-fucking hells," he breathes.

"Something wrong?" Miri replies with a grin. She shakes slightly with the effort, but manages to hold him steady. Not like he has very far to fall if she did accidentally lose her grip.

Gale's heart hammers in his chest as he tries to remain as calm and collected as possible at the sudden and unexpected angle. Not to mention the way this puts her face rather close to his chest and her chest... He swallows, trying to ignore the growing tightness in his pants.

"Nothing's wrong," he says as casually as he can, his voice faltering slightly.

"Good," Miri says with a smirk.

Tightening her core to keep them steady, she slowly bends further, until Gale's shoulders finally make gentle contact with the floor. He lets out a small sound of surprise as the back of his shoulders finally touch the tile, his legs and upper body nearly vertical. If she weren’t straining Miri would be tempted to laugh at the small jolt of surprise that runs through him.

Gale slowly lowers his head to the floor, his hair a mess of tresses splaying out beneath him and he looks up at her wide-eyed and blushing. It’s rather adorable.

Being held almost upside-down the blood rushes to his face. Miri’s smirk widens into a full grin. Now he’s not just lightheaded from the angle, but also the way she looks at him. It’s almost predatory.

"F-fuck..." he whispers.

She huffs from the exertion. But with his shoulders finally on the ground, some of his weight is taken off her frame. It’s something of a relief to have some of his weight transferred off her waist. She lowers him a bit more so his back is on the ground. She's surprised when he keeps clinging to her.

"I've put you down," she pants, "You can let go."

A part of him wants to - to release his limbs from where they were tightly wrapped around her but...he was enjoying this too much. With an amused but slightly flustered expression, he tightens his legs around her instead.

"Why would I let go when I'm having so much fun?"

"I think I'm done carrying you, koala," Miri returns with a soft huff. His limbs around her keep her stuck in place.

"Oh, come on," Gale replies, a pout in his voice. "Just a few minutes longer? I'm not that heavy."

Miri barks a laugh. He tightens his grip, refusing to let her get away now that they’re in this new position. She has to plant her hands on the floor beside his shoulders to support herself with the way he still hangs on. And she vehemently ignores the little voice in her head pleading for her to just push him the rest of the way to the floor and climb on top. The singing tension in her back is enough to remind her not to.

"Gods, you're as bad as my nieces and nephews," she huffs, then playfully imitates a child's voice, "Five more minutes, Aunt Miri."

It earns her a hearty chuckle from the man-child over staying his welcome in her arms. She can’t tell if the reddening of his cheeks is from the blood flow or from the way he keeps pressing his hips upward.

"Your nieces and nephews have good taste," he quips, "Being carried like a baby in your very strong, very capable arms isn't a bad experience."

"Not quite how I'd hold a baby," she muses breathlessly, "But sure."

"Oh? How would you hold a baby then?" Gale’s eyes narrow playfully as he arches a brow. He shifts his legs middle again, trying to get a little more comfortable. But his efforts only seem to bring their hips closer together. Not that he minds.

"Usually cradled, or on one hip," Miri snorts, "Y'know, how babies are held."

"Am I not good enough to be held as a baby? Is cradling a 22-year-old man too hard for you?"

Gale smirks as he continues to shift his body against her, his legs squeezing around her waist. Miri laughs. She adjusts her arms slightly, trying not to let him pull her down on top of him. Gale grins at the sound of her laughter, his hands clutching tight to her shoulders.

"I'm starting to see more parallels," she teases back. When he shifts his hips again, Miri intentionally squeezes the meat of his thighs, drawing a gasp from him. The quick aversion of his eyes suggests he hopes she didn’t hear it. But he knows better.

“Is that so?” Gale certainly won’t let that go unchallenged. If they’re to dance, he’ll gladly escalate. He shifts his lower body against her, leveraging his legs around her waist to pull her tighter against his hips. “What parallels might those be?"

"Clingy. Needy." Miri smirks. "A bit fussy?"

"Me? Fussy? I beg your pardon," he replies, feigning offense. With another cheeky smirk and wiggle of his hips his presses his significantly less than half hard need against her. Breathless and teasing, he adds, "I prefer the term attention seeking.”

"Same thing," Miri returns shaking her head. She groans slightly, long canines biting at her lip as she strains. "Alright, I think my back is starting to get pretty mad at me."

"Alright, alright," he sigh reluctantly. He tries to ignore the sharp twist in his stomach at the thought that this might just end without anything more happening between them.

Gale unwinds himself from around her, letting go of her shoulders and transferring his weight to the floor. Miri pries his legs off and when she stands upright it’s with a loud groan. She leans back the opposite way with her hands on her lower back.

"Fucking hells," she grumbles before her back pops. Gale sit up and watches her with a soft smirk, wincing at the sound.

"Remind me to never make you angry," he teases, "I don't want to find out what a punch from those muscles would feel like."

“Hah! A good life lesson," she returns with a smirk. Miri rotates her upper body back and forth a few times to loosen the tension in her back.

"I suppose so," he murmurs, eyes lingering on what muscles he could make out in her arms past the sleeves of her oversized shirt. As she shifts the hem of that oversized shirt lifts to show more of those ridiculous little shorts, and those even more ridiculous thighs-

Having felt them supporting him, carrying him all too effortlessly, Gale found it impossible to tear his eyes away. Miri's small and lithe, but every inch of her frame is densely corded with muscle. The quiet intensity of her strength is somehow simultaneously terrifying and incredibly attractive.

She huffs and shakes her arms out before going to retrieve her juice. Gale's eyes can’t help but follow, his gaze lingering. If it were anyone else she would be intimidating. But it’s Miri. And if he’s honest he’s never had such a good friendship - such a good bond with just about anyone.

And yet here he is again, on his ass in their kitchen, just staring. His mind positively buzzing with questions. With images. Again. Is she leaning over the counter like that intentionally? Did that mean anything to her? Miri noticed, she grinned, she liked it...

Maybe he could do more-

What would she do if they finally kissed-

How would she sound if-

Miri leans over the counter, trying to steady the thundering of her heart. She’s grateful for the moment to turn away - to look away from his face. His perfect, smug, bearded face and those plush lips-

Her face is burning hot - though she can’t decide if it’s hotter than the churning in her stomach. Why had she done that? She shouldn’t have picked him up in the first place, let alone all of...that.

Miri takes a long swallow of her juice before scrubbing a hand over her face. This can is just about the same width as-

STOP.

Gale lets out a sigh, as he shakes his head, trying in vain to clear away the myriad images his mind unhelpfully supplies of Miri. Seen and unseen. But when his eyes finally drift back up to her, trailing up the thick, silky length of her wine dark hair they snag on her ears. One long tip exposed as he head tilts to one side.

And it’s pink.

Flushed enough it makes his heart stutter in his chest.

Miri only blushes like that for two reasons. She’s either drunk or someone she likes is flirting with her. Both rare, only one definitely not applicable here.

“Miri,” Gale blurts out her name - unable to mask the shock or the enthusiasm in his tone. And when she turns to look at him with an arched brow he realizes with a jolt his mouth has moved before his brain can catch up.

What on Toril is that look for? Miri’s grateful for the can still at her lips when she meets his gaze. There’s something there she’s never seen - his pupils are wide and his cheeks are still flushed, but she can’t put her finger on what that expression is. Whatever it is makes her breath catch.

“What?”

It’s there. Clear as day on her face. As they stare at one another a bit wide-eyed Gale sees that flush across the bridge of her nose and over her cheeks.

She liked it.

Likes him?

Gods damn him, he needs to find out. Just that little dusting of pink is enough to make his ego swell. Gale lifts a knee to prop up one of his arms, and doesn’t fail to notice the way her eyes flicker over the movement and across his chest before they’re back on his face. His lips quirk up slowly into a confident grin.

“Think you’d ever do that again?”

"Careful what you wish for," Miri returns with a laugh, brushing it off.

"Oh, don't worry," He chuckles, that damn confident smirk on his lips. "I'm not afraid of a little manhandling."

"Clearly," Miri retorts from over her can. She looks away briefly as she finishes her juice. That look in his eyes...

Gale nods. That’s all the confirmation he needs before he’s standing and swaggering his way to her side.

"In fact, I think I'm in the mood right now," he purrs, his eyes filled with mischief. Delighted at the way that’s enough to bring her eyes snapping back to him.

Miri quirks a brow at him as he approaches. His grin widens when she straightens in response to him moving closer. A thrill runs through them both when he places his hands on her hips.

"A mood?" Miri questions softly, looking up at him.

"Mhmm," he hums, running his hands down her hips in a way that could only be described as possessive. "I’d like to see how much you can handle..."

Gale leans closer, slowly guiding her - always gently and soft enough she could easily break away if she wanted. But she never once breaks eye contact as backs her out of the kitchen and towards the nearest wall.

Miri's brows raise with surprise as he steers her backwards. Her pulse skyrockets at the look in his eyes. That lilt of his lips is nearly wicked.

"Do you?"

"Oh, definitely," he replies with a smirk as he crowds her back against the wall.

Large, warm hands knead a path down her sides and over her hips, before grasping her thighs. It’s almost too easy to lift the lythari off the ground. Miri squeaks with surprise at the sudden move.

"Gotcha," he teases lowly, his grin thoroughly self-satisfied. His fingers knead the plush muscle of her thighs as he holds her up, leaning her back firmly against the wall.

"No escaping now," Gale murmurs firmly.

Miri laughs a bit nervously. Her hands grip onto his shoulders - hesitantly at first, always mindful of her sharp nails - before she squeezes a bit more firmly. Gale chuckles back, positively thrilling at having her pinned where he could do as he liked. His grip on her thighs tightens and he pushes himself against her, their bodies flush.

Tentatively, Miri wraps her legs around his waist. Her cheeks flush a darker pink, and Gale's smirk widens. The feel of her legs over his hips, of her wrapping herself around him, drives him to new heights. Gods above.

"Comfortable?" He asks in a tauntingly cheeky tone.

"Getting there," she returns softly.

"Just getting there?" He echoes with an arched brow. He shifts his body against hers again, his hands on her thighs pulling them apart slightly. Miri gasps. She reflexively tightens her grip around his shoulders. A wicked spike of heat pulses through his stomach at the sound, a raw sort of pride welling up inside him from her reaction. His voice low and sultry, he teases in her ear, "I could make her more than comfortable, if you want...”

Hearing that little sound of surprise and feelin her clutching onto him makes him want to tease her even further. Bold, he presses his hips more firmly against hers and leans his head slightly to breathe a dark murmur in her other ear.

"That little gasp you made was cute," he purrs.

"Cute?" Miri breathes back. Her face gets a bit redder as he presses against her and he chuckles huskily at the sight.

"Yeah, really cute," he repeats. He leans in even closer, his lips just inches from the sensitive skin of her long ear. He practically growls his next words, his tone dripping with the lust he can’t hold back anymore. "I could see myself getting really addicted to that sound."

Gods above, Miri, how did you get here ? And since when is Gale Dekarios this masterful at flustering you to all hells?

"Aren't you greedy?" Miri huffs back. She smirks slightly, but she's red to the tips of her long ears now.

"Definitely," he replies without shame, grinning as her tries to act cheeky despite being flustered. He rolls his hips against hers slowly, making sure to keep his body tight against hers.

Miri bites her lip slightly at the feel of him pressing his excitement against her - hot through the thin fabric of their shorts. Her breath catches.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to have you trapped like this," he murmurs huskily.

"Oh-" she gasps again.

The sound is extremely satisfying, rushing straight between his legs, and he savors every little reaction from her. His hands knead her thighs, gripping and squeezing reflexively as he pushes himself against her again.

"Do you feel that?" he asks in a low, sultry tone.

"Ah- yes." Her voice sounds reedy even to her own ears. How could she not?

"That's all because of you," he whispers, his voice raw and deep. He groans softly as he continues to press against her, the feeling of her soft, warm body flush against his making him even harder. "You have no idea what kind of effect you have on me, Miri...”

Miri groans softly, the friction teasing her.

"Is this...new?"

His tilts his head and presses his lips tentatively to her neck, kissing at the skin there gently as he continues his agonizingly slow, rhythmic movements against her.

"No," he mutters between kisses, "Definitely not new."

Miri gasps another soft sound, her legs twitching slightly. She tilts her head for him, her long hair shifting out of the way.

"I've thought about this for a long time," he confesses in a low tone, his breaths coming hot and ragged against her neck.

"You have?" Miri questions softly.

“I have. A lot," he replied, his lips leaving a few more kisses along her skin before he continues.

"Every time you show off how strong you are, or when I see your muscles after you finish a workout-" Gale groans quietly against her throat, his hips continuing to press against her with a slow, rhythmic motion. Desperately fighting to maintain control now. "When I hear you growl when you're annoyed-"

His lips continue to tease at her throat, unable to stop himself from nibbling along the skin as he continues to speak. The friction and heat between them just seems to grow more and more.

"Mmhh-" Miri’s breath leaves her in a sharp exhale when she feels his teeth make contact with her skin. Her stomach feels practically molten under his attentions.

"You have no idea how many dreams I've had about you," he confesses, his voice low and sultry, "About your strong hands all over me, pinning me down..."

"Ah- really?" Miri’s voice is rough and low when she replies.

"I dream about you all the time," he continues in a whisper, his lips moving further down into the crook of her neck, "About all the things I want to do to you-"

"I didn't realize -" Miri pauses with a soft, breathless moan. Her hands squeeze a bit more firmly against his shoulders before one shifts to tangle in his hair. Something to ground herself and prove she didn’t actually fall asleep at her desk. He feels warm and real against her skin... "Like what?"

A satisfied smirk pulls his lips from her skin - the delicious sparks along his scalp as she plays with his hair is the cherry on top of the signs of her enjoyment. His hips continues to move against hers, continuing to tease her with that delicious friction. Gale moves back up to her ear, his lips ghosting over the sensitive skin there.

"You want me to go into specifics?"

"Yeah," she returns, hooking an arm around his shoulders. Miri tugs softly at his hair with the other hand, eliciting a soft groan that makes her smirk. "Give me a specific example."

"You really want to know that badly?" he teases, nipping at her ear before continuing, absolutely delighting in the soft sound she makes. "Alright, then..."

He leans back just far enough to meet her gaze, feeling the heat sparking between them.

"Remember when we watched that action movie last week?"

"Ugh that movie was terrible."

“Yes, it was. But that's not what I'm talking about," He chuckles lowly, a hint of amusement in his tone. "I'm referring to when you got frustrated by that rather asinine character being dense."

"What about it?" Miri's brows furrow with confusion. Gale chuckles again at her confusion, amused by her obliviousness.

"You got all annoyed and grumbly. I had to stop for a minute and remember to breathe," he confesses, his voice a low murmur against her ear, "I spent the whole damn night thinking about those little growls you made when you were pissed off."

"My growling?" Miri huffs a soft laugh, incredulous. "That's what you're dreaming about?"

"Yes," he answers simply, his breath hot against her skin, "I’m not sure what it is, but hearing you growl like that just makes me want you more."

Miri's lips tip up with a bemused smile - such a commonplace thing to be excited by. But it quickly turns mischievous. She leans in closer to his ear, making sure her chest is pressed flush against his.

"This growl?" She asks softly. The soft purr of her voice makes his breath hitch. Miri rumbles a low growl of irritation in her chest - just like what he would’ve heard that night. Gale stiffens against her as her growl vibrates through him. A shiver of pure desire runs through him.

"F- fuck," he curses softly, his grip on her thighs tightening on reflex.

"Ooh, it is," she murmurs smugly. Miri’s grin widens and she lets out another lower, more predatory growl.

He lets out a shaky breath, the effects of that low, guttural sound sending a shiver of pleasure straight to his core. Gale shifts against her, the friction between their bodies becoming downright intoxicating. Miri's confidence is bolstered by his response - especially the lack of verbal riposte.

"You know," she murmurs, pulling her fingers through his hair and drawing a soft shiver and another delightful groan from him, "Lythari don't only growl when they're mad."

His eyelids flutter slightly. Gale’s hips continues to grind against her - feeling practically on fire with desire. She seems bent on driving him absolutely mad.

"They don't?" he asks with a low, ragged breath. "What are other reasons they growl?"

"Lots of reasons," she returns, "Dominance, possession, passion, pleasure..." She leans in to press a kiss just below his ear. "Play your cards right and you can even make a lythari purr."

His breath hitches again, his heart racing in his chest. He was already hanging onto her every word, but at that last little tidbit he groans involuntarily, a shiver running through his body.

"Oh, please," he breathes, already delirious from her touch and her tone.

"Sorry, that's the only one I can't do on command," Miri says softly, lips a torturously smug expression showing a hint of those sharp teeth.

"Damn it," he curses under his breath, groaning again as his head involuntarily tilts to the side, giving her more access to his neck. "Why'd you have to say it now? I'll never be able to stop thinking about it."

Miri groans softly when he exposes his neck. She leans in but hesitates - even as Gale lets out a soft sound between whine and groan. She can't let that be first contact. So she pulls back, moving her hand to his face, tilting it towards hers.

"Consider it a goal," she breathes, before tugging him in - finally- for a kiss.

The moment her hand touches his face and tugs him closer, he eagerly follows her lead, practically meeting her halfway. This is what he'd dreamed of, what he'd hoped and longed for, for so long. She is soft and warm and perfect. Having her here in his arms, pressed up against him like this - it’s something out of his best fantasies.

Gods he’s wanted to kiss Miri for longer than he can recall. Maybe always. He responds immediately, his lips moving hungrily against hers, seeking more of her touch, of her taste, of her.

This she's dreamed of. He's good- or maybe she's just wildly out of practice- it's delightful. He’s heat and tenderness and need. Miri moans softly against his lips, tugging his hair softly to keep him close.

Gale groans into the kiss, the sound quickly turning into a quiet, throaty moan as she tugs at his hair. He practically melts beneath her touch, his brain going fuzzy with his desire.

Miri nips his bottom lip gently, drawing a gasp, before licking it with the tip of her tongue. The feeling of her tongue has his knees practically buckling. He returns the favor, his lips seeking hers again, his tongue delving into her mouth, tasting every inch of her he could reach. Gale's hands on her thighs grips tighter, the fingers of one hand slowly creeping up and under the hem of her shorts.

Miri whimpers softly, stroking her tongue against his when it comes between her lips. Her legs tighten around his waist and Gale grips at them reflexively. His hands run up the back of her thighs, slipping under her shorts and reaching the soft, sensitive skin of her rear.

His fingers dug into her flesh, firmly gripping her in his hands, pulling her closer against him even as he presses firmly against her. Miri jolts slightly with surprise, breaking their kiss with a gasp. But it melts into delight and she's kissing him again.

It’s all consuming - lips and tongue and teeth moving fiercely - taking, needing, feeling. Exploring one another at long last.

He needs more of her, practically craving her like a drug.

She can’t get enough needs him closer.

Miri tugs at his hair again and he moans. Her other hand trails nails over his back where she can reach - gentle, teasing. His body arches under her touch. He loves it, the little hint of pain and pleasure making him shiver as his hands grips her ass even tighter.

"I want you so badly," he breathes between kisses, his words a ragged gasp against her lips.

"Your room or mine?" Miri breathes back.

"Mine," he answers immediately, his voice a low, urgent murmur against her lips. "I want you in my bed-" He breaks off, one of his hands leaving her shorts to travel her back, his fingers tracing along her spine as he pulls her into him and away from the wall. "I need you in my bed-"

Her back arches at the touch and she shivers. She kisses over his face, and squeezes her legs a little tighter around his waist, locking her ankles together. He groans again, the feeling of being caught so completely by her making his head spin.

"Then let's go," she murmurs.

Her response had him practically growling, his lips moving on instinct against the skin of her face, seeking her mouth again, wanting more of her.

" Gods-, " he gasps. "I'm not sure I can make it down the hall like this-"

"I bet you can," Miri purrs. A huff of a laugh escapes him, a mix of amused and aroused, and he quickly shifts his arms under her body, lifting her up against him.

"You're a hell of a handful, y'know that?" he teased, starting his way toward his bedroom with her wrapped around him.

"What'd you say the other day?" Miri teases, tightening her arms around his neck, "'The best things in life are the most challenging'?"

Gale laughs softly, the sound rough and a little breathless as his body thrums with the desire to have her. At the feel of being so fucking close.

"Are you trying to turn me on even more than you already have?" he asks, turning the corner and striding toward his room.

"Maybe?" She nips at his earlobe.

He groans, the sound low and throaty. Between her teeth against his skin and her legs wraps around him, he is nearly aflame. Gale practically stumbles into his room, throwing the door open. He all but throws her down onto the bed, drawing a surprised shrieking laugh from her. It dies quickly as he climbs on, and she snakes her arms around him when he lays over top of her.

"I would've worn something nicer if I knew I was going to make it to your room," she murmurs with a soft grin.

"You're kidding, right?" he asked, his brow raising slightly. "You already look sexy as hell."

He leans forward and nuzzles at her hair, breathing in the scent of her, letting his body press down against hers. He shifts one of his legs between hers, pressing his knee up against her, wanting to feel more of her. Miri groans softly, her head tipping back.

"I'm not going to need anything else," he whispers against her ear.

"But it's pajamas-" she counters, "And not even cute ones."

He chuckles, his lips finding the exposed skin of her throat, pressing tender kisses all the way up.

"As if that matters," he breathes against her skin. With a smirk, his hands move to the hem of her shirt, sliding it up to bare the skin of her stomach. "I'm undressing you anyway."

Miri huffs, but feels some of the anxiety fizzling away with his reassurances. The muscles of her stomach tense and shift beneath the warmth of his hands . Her breath hitches in her throat as he makes his way higher.

His hands trail higher up along the skin of her stomach, his lips peppering her neck with kisses. When he reaches the bottom of her sports bra, his hands pause, his fingers playing with the elastic. He pulls back from her neck to look down at her, a smirk on his lips.

"May I?" he asked, his voice a low, eager murmur.

"Yeah," she answers breathlessly.

Gale smiles that charming grin of his and quickly peels her shirt and bra off, pausing to admire the sight of her, half naked, laid out beneath him on his bed. Gods it’s a dream come true - he fights the urge to pinch himself. His eyes roam over her form, taking in every detail, every freckle, the sharp planes of her body.

Miri shivers under his gaze, her chest moving with shallow breaths. Her flush spreads from her cheeks to her chest. She knows she's fit, sure, but she's self-conscious about being small and a bit flat (hard not to get in one's own head growing up with several very attractive sisters). She can't help but feel nervous to be appraised. At least, by someone she truly wants.

He notices her nerves, the little shiver that runs through her, the way her gaze flickers away under his gaze, and it almost breaks his heart. He can't fathom why she would feel nervous - she’s strong, and lean, and absolutely gorgeous. As he's concerned, Miri is perfect. Better than he had even imagined.

Holding her gaze, Gale leans down to press a kiss to the skin between her breasts. His hands shift to hold her sides as his lips continue to trail lower. It’s almost easy to get lost in her, the constellations on her skin, the smooth warmth of her. Miri’s fingers card through his hair and he lifts his gaze to hers, his lips still pressed to the skin of her stomach.

"You're adorable," he whispers, his voice filled with affection.

"Adorable?" She repeats. Her brows steeple. Not exactly the praise she had been hoping for. A bit...diminutive.

"Adorable, sexy, I would tell you you're beautiful too-” His lips go back to her skin, continuing the trail downwards, blazing a path down her torso. “-but I'm also in the middle of something very important-"

His hands slide down her sides, exploring every inch. Miri barks a laugh at his reply.

"Oh, sorry to interrupt," Miri returns sarcastically.

He laughs under his breath, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm trying to focus here," he protests in mock irritation, his hands still caressing her sides, his thumbs tracing small circles on her hips. Gale teases her with a playful expression, his fingers playing with the hem of her shorts. "How am I supposed to tell you how gorgeous you are when I'm trying to get you out of these damn shorts?"

"I thought you liked these?" Miri returns playfully.

"Oh, I do," he admits, "But they're in my way right now." He hooks his fingers into the waist of her shorts, slowly beginning to pull them down over her hips. Those large brown eyes are pleading and dark as he meets her gaze. "I'm more interested in what's under them-"

"So impatient," she returns with a smirk. Miri lifts her hips slightly to help.

"You’re damn right I am.” Gale watches enraptured as her shorts come off. Leaving her in just her underwear. Lying on his bed. Beneath him. And more radiantly beautiful than he ever imagined. His eyes drink her in, hungrily roving over her body, taking in every bit of her, and he groans in delight.

His words are a ragged murmur when he can finally speak. "You're gorgeous- More than- Divine...."

"Seems a bit unfair," Miri returns softly, gesturing towards him. She’s only ever afforded glimpses. The chance to see more - feel more- has her heart pounding and her core starting to ache.

He looks down at himself, realizing he's still fully clothed, and he chuckles.

"I suppose it is," Gale agrees. But he's not in a big rush to fix it, not when he has her like this, beneath him on his bed. Until he imagines her seeing him equally undressed, looking up at him like this-

That’s enough to make his body thrum with anticipation.

"Wanna take it off for me?" he teased, his eyes on hers, a smirk on his lips.

"Hells yeah," Miri replies with a grin. Miri holds her arms out and beckons with her fingers. "C'mere."

Gods- he loves how eager she is. The way she looks at him with those dark, hungry eyes - the sound of her voice as her arms are held out for him. He moves closer, leaning down over her and bracing his hands bracing on either side of her.

"Now what?" Gale asks with a smile, his voice low and playful.

"Now it's my turn," Miri replies with a grin. She wraps her arms around his middle, and with a twist rolls them both over so she's straddling his hips.

"Well," he says, his voice breathless with laughter, "You're not wasting any time, are you?"

"Your impatience is contagious," she returns playfully. "And I've been curious for ages about what you keep hidden under those baggy shirts."

Her hands find their way under his shirt, nimble fingers exploring the planes of his stomach as she works the fabric up. His breath hitches in his throat as her hands make their way under his shirt, her fingers tracing over his skin and making him shiver from her touch.

"You do realize I sleep topless right?" Gale teases, shifting under her touch, moving to help her pull his shirt off. Miri huffs a laugh.

"How would I know that?" She pulls his shirt the rest of the way off and tosses it towards his hamper.

"Fair point-" he admits, watching as the shirt goes flying.

He lays there, shirtless, his chest and stomach bare under her gaze, and suddenly, he feels vulnerable. Gale looks up at her, trying to see the look on her face, trying to figure out what she’s thinking.

"So, what do you think?" he asks, a hint of insecurity creeping into his voice.

"Absolutely ridiculous-" Miri returns, her eyes roaming him with a dark gaze, "That you've been keeping this to yourself." She looks up at him with an accusatory expression. "You're even hotter than I thought, and that's hardly fair."

A flush spreads across his cheeks and down his neck at her words, but the sight of her gaze roaming his body and the look on her face have his heart racing, his nerves replaced by a rush of heady arousal. He swallows hard, trying to collect his thoughts, his words.

"It- it's not my fault you never asked-" he protests faintly.

"Oh, yeah, I'm just supposed to waltz in, and 'hey Gale, you should take her shirt off'-" Miri blow a soft dismissive sound. She leans in to trail kisses down the side of his neck.

"Ridiculous," she breathes, her kisses moving lower, "Fucking Adonis..."

Gale laughs softly, the sound turning shaky as her lips move across his neck, her kisses sending jolts of electricity down his spine and straight to his groin. He arches slightly beneath her, the feeling of her body against his sending waves of heat through him. His hands move, resting on her hips, his fingers tracing over her bare skin.

"Are you really complaining?" he asks breathlessly as her kisses trail lower.

"Yes," she returns with mock severity. Her tongue flits out to taste his skin as she kisses her way down his chest. Her hands smooth down his sides before she hooks her fingers in the waistband of his shorts.

He can't help but groan in response to her ministrations, the feeling of her hands roaming and her tongue on his skin and her hands roaming over him nearly short-circuiting his brain completely. The sound of her voice calling him 'Adonis' is going to be on repeat in his mind for weeks, he just knows it.

His breath is quick and heavy when he answers her, though the words come out as a ragged gasp.

"Why the hells are you complaining if you think I'm hot?"

He laughs softly underneath her, but his laughter is cut off by a soft gasp as her teeth graze his chest. She alternates between teasing gentle kisses and the occasional sharp nip and it’s driving him mad.

"Because you've been keeping this to yourself," Miri purrs back nipping his chest. "Very selfish."

Gale watches her with half lidded eyes, his mind swimming in sensation, his thoughts filled with nothing but her, her body above his, the feeling of her tongue, her hands.

Miri’s words make his imagination start to run wild(er). He can’t help but picture the many ways she might 'punish' him for being so... selfish. He shifts slightly, his hands moving from her hips to the outsides of her thighs, his fingers playing with the edges of her underwear.

"You want me to make it up to you?" he whispers, his voice low and eager.

Miri looks up at him from where she's licking a path down his sternum with a quizzical expression.

"Make it up to me?" She repeats.

"You said I was being selfish-" he responds, breathing in deeply as she continues her path down his chest, his stomach, the muscles of his abdomen tensing under her lips.

"I should make it up to you-" he repeats, his hands tracing up her legs, his fingers reaching the edges of her underwear.

Miri huffs a soft laugh. "I'm joking, Gale."

Her fingers tug softly at the waistband of his shorts. Gale groans, his hips shifting instinctively underneath her, the feeling of her hands there making him shiver.

He gazes at her, ochre eyes dark and fixed on her face, not even trying to hide how much he wants her right now, not even trying to hide how badly he wants her. Miri can’t suppress the growl that rumbles through her at the sight of him - wanton and flushed beneath her.

"You might be joking-" he says, his voice ragged. "but I'm not-"

"No?" Miri gives him a cheeky, lopsided smile in response, some confusion evident in her tone.

She slides his shorts down and off when he lifts his hips slightly. She takes a moment to admire him - marveling at his tanned skin, his strong physique. He clearly takes care of himself...

And he clearly wants her. Gods, that much is very clear through the thin fabric of his boxer briefs. She almost startles herself at the feel of her hungry growl vibrating in her chest.

Gale watches, his breaths quick and heavy, as she looks over his body, admiring him, taking him in. He groans as those bright green eyes rove over him, that familiar flush of embarrassment returning, even as his desire for her just continues to soar higher and higher.

He can feel her eyes on him, there, as he strains against the fabric of his underwear, positively aching in his need for her.

"No," he breathes. "I'm entirely serious-"

That's...oh, that's a lot. Miri can feel her core throbbing at the very idea of it. But she's not even sure the last time she... Gods that's big. How...?

Miri's startled out of her thoughts at his words and looks up. Fuck that expression. Lips a little kiss swollen, cheeks flushed, eyes dark. Absolutely debauched before they’ve even really started.

He groans again at the way she bites her lip as she look at him. He wants to know what those lupine teeth feel like on his lips.

He can practically see the heat building inside her, the way her breath starts to hitch, how her face flushes, the way those sharp pupils round and grow. It only serves to make him want her more.

Months of dreaming and aching for her.

There's a hint of nervousness in his voice when he speaks this time, his words a low, ragged murmur.

"You okay up there, Mir...?"

"Ah- yeah!" She flushes a bit more, embarrassed by her reaction. "Yes, I'm good."

Her fingers trace idle patterns against his hips where she holds him. He laughs softly, the sound breathless.

"You sure...?" Gale asks, watching her, the nervousness still present in his voice. "I didn't break you, did I?"

It's a very real concern, a very real fear. As much as his body aches for her, as much as he wants her, he doesn't want to push her too far, to push her to do something she isn’t comfortable with.

Miri shakes her head with a soft grin. "Not yet, no."

A shudder runs down his spine. Yet. His mind swims once more with the possibilities, the way he wants her and the things he wants to do to her. The thought of how desperately he wants to make her come undone-

His fingers squeeze and flex against her thighs. Gale's not sure how much longer he's going to be able to hold back, how much longer he'll be able to control himself-

Miri leans forward, running her hands up his sides, and presses a few kisses to his chest. She needs to feel him. All of him. More than she can manage.

He shudders at the feeling of her hands on his skin, the kisses sending sparks down his spine that only increase his already unbearable arousal. Gale feels nearly breathless from the desperate need for her to be bare, the need to feel her skin against his everywhere-

"Can I-" he manages to gasp out, one hand moving to the edge of her underwear.

Miri shivers slightly, the request making her stomach clench with a coiling heat.

"O-okay," she breathes.

He almost stops in surprise as she agrees, her tone shaky and breathless. It’s almost too good to be true. He's careful, almost unsure he heard her correctly, his fingers tracing lightly over the edge of her underwear, hesitating.

"You- are you sure...?" Gale’s voice leaves him in a near reverent whisper. He needs to make sure he's not pushing her too far. Wants to be absolutely certain that she really want this. He couldn’t live with himself otherwise.

"Yes," Miri nods, more vehemently when she notices his hesitation. She’s not uncertain about him. Not even a little bit. Only of herself. So, softly, she adds, "I want you."

It's a simple three words. A simple admission of want.

And yet they affect him like nothing else.

With that simple phrase, the damn of his restraint breaks.

All of Gale’s need comes rushing free. His arms come around her, pulling her against him and rolling them back over so she’s once more beneath him, his body pressing against hers.

"Gods, I want you too," he breathes, his voice shaking with pure, unbridled need.

The heat in her stomach flares hotter with him above her. Looking at her with those dark, needful eyes. When he steals a heady kiss she moans. But he’s gone all too soon, sitting up and straddling her thighs.

He looks down at her beneath him, his eyes tracing over her body, taking in the sight of her, his body pressed up against hers. He's nearly trembling with his need for her. As if by finally letting it free Gale’s months long need for Miri is consuming him. And he feels ready to drown beneath it.

‘I want you’ echoes on repeat. He’s never felt so insatiable before.

His hands move to her hips, his fingers playing again with the edge of her underwear, wanting to pull them off, wanting to feel her against him bare-

Miri watches him with a dark, heated gaze. Equal parts curious and hungry. Her heart is hammering against her chest with anticipation.

Gale’s hands are trembling as they move to the sides of her underwear, slowly, carefully pulling them down over her hips, down her legs. He groans softly at the sight of her obvious desire.

His eyes are dark as he looks down at her, his eyes following his hands as they continue pulling the fabric away, his breaths coming in quick, shuddering rasps.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he whispers, as he pulls the garment completely off, tossing it to the floor. Heated gaze takes her in before looking up to lock on hers.

Miri’s breath catches at his reaction. His gaze is so intense it feels almost like a touch, leaving her skin feeling warm and tingling. And when it meets her gaze she feels frozen to the spot. She’s never felt more wanted more seen than under his unbelievably dark and hungry gaze.

He can't look away from her, can't tear his eyes away from the sight of her bare body beneath him, the sensation of her skin against his palms, the feel of her so close. He runs a hand down her side, the touch of his fingers soft and gentle. Reverent.

Miri sighs softly under his touch, her eyelids fluttering softly.

"Can I-" he breathes a ragged whisper, his eyes tracing over her, wanting more, desperate for more, "Can I taste you?"

Her eyes snap back open with surprise at his request. Pupils snapping tight before blowing wide once more. It feels like her whole body throbs with the very idea of it. Picturing it...

"You...want to?" Miri whispers back.

"Oh, gods yes," he replies, his voice shaking. His breath comes in quick puffs, his body practically aching to taste her. He leans in, pressing a trail of kisses down her neck, and shoulders.

She gasps at his answer - that husky, rough tone of his need, how fervently he wants it. Her head tilts back to give him better access and she's squirming slightly beneath him, her hands clutching at his waist.

"I want to taste all of you-" he whispers, his teeth nipping at her skin.

When he bites - oh, she growls.

The sound of her growl, the feeling of her hands on him, the sight of her beneath him, wanting, has his heart racing. He runs his hands over her hips, over her stomach, his fingers tracing over her skin, finding every spot that makes her gasp and shiver, every spot that makes her moan. And all the while, he kisses and nips at her skin, moving down, down, down-

Miri's a chorus of sounds under his attention. Panting with need, gasping and moaning at touch, growling at bites. Her eyes want to close with pleasure, but she can't tear her gaze away from the sight of him practically worshipping her body.

And Gale is. He is worshiping her, with every bite, every kiss, his very goal the sounds she makes as he moves his way down her body, loving the feel of her body shuddering beneath him, the way she gasps and moan.

And as he moves lower, Gale groans at the sight of her, his heart rate thundering as his mouth finally reaches her core, and he gently runs his tongue across it-

Miri jolts at the feeling - a sudden punched-out moan leaving her lips.

The sound of her moan filling his ears as her taste coats his tongue sends a wave of heat through him.

He takes his time, starting slow, his tongue gently exploring her sensitive flesh, savoring her taste, listening to the sounds she’s making, his hands moving over her hips, pulling her closer to him.

"Ohhh fuck-"

His eyes look up to watch her face as she curses, feeling the word like a bolt of heat straight to his own core. He continues his ministrations, his tongue running over her wet heat again and again.

Gale works slowly, wanting to thoroughly savor her, wanting to keep going until she can't even form words-

Miri whines - her back arching and her body writhing with the pleasure of it. One hand fists in the sheets, the other moves to his hair, pushing it back out of his face.

When their eyes meet she shivers. He's not just doing it performatively - gods the look in his eyes - he's enjoying it. Wants it. Fucking hells.

The feeling of her hand in his hair and the blissful look in her eyes is driving him insane, his own body aching with need as he continues his attention on her core. Gale loves the way she looks, the sounds she makes, the way she whines, how her body is twitching and writhing beneath his touch.

He responds to her look, his eyes darkened, dilated, practically devouring the way she looks right now. He hums a deep moan against her.

"Ahn gods Gale-"

She can't look away, completely captivated by him. By the raw, unfettered need in his eyes. Gale buries his face a little deeper, grasping her by the hips to hold her against his mouth. He grinds his own neglected, aching need into the bed absently as he savors her.

He flicks his tongue against her swollen bud and she bucks with a sharp gasp.

He shivers at the sound of her gasping his name, the feel of her bucking beneath him, every response from her driving him even more wild.

He loves this. Has maybe never loved anything mor than this. Seeing her like this - his strong, ferocious love completely at his mercy, practically writhing with pleasure.

And the taste of her, gods-

He focuses his attention on that sensitive spot, his tongue moving over it again and again in quick little laps.

Miri makes a stuttering series of high moans, each one spurred by the movement of his tongue. Her back bows and her hips jolt.

Gods how loves these sounds. Her every arch and gasp and twitch. He continues without pause, without slowing, savoring every second of driving her wild with his mouth. His tongue continues its relentless rhythm, his arms moving under her thighs to wrap around and grasp her hips, holding her open and in place against him even as she bucks and writhes beneath him-

Miri's legs start to tremble, toes curling. She's nearly dizzy with the effect of his mouth on her.

"Ah- ah! Gale!" She moans again, her hand in his hair tightening. "That's-! I'm-"

The sound of her practically whining his name, the way her legs are shaking, how she arches and gasps, it's all almost overwhelming, how she sounds, the way she looks right now, the way she’s shivering-

He keeps going, his tongue unrelenting, and one hand moves from her hip, sliding down to gently tease at her entrance.

Miri cries out, high and loud - she's so close.

The sound has his heart stuttering, the knowledge that she’s right on the edge-

He keeps his focus on her delicious little clit, his tongue continuing its relentless attention as he slides one finger into her, gods-

The tension in her core snaps. Her back bows up off the bed, every muscle tremoring and bunching. Miri can hardly catch her breath as she sees stars.

Gale moans a ragged sound in the back of his throat. It's everything he could have ever hoped for, the way she thrashes beneath him, the way she clenches around his finger and he can feel the wave of her climax as it overcomes her. Tasting her ecstasy on his tongue.

He continues his attention for a few more seconds, watching her expression as he works her through it, loving the way she looks as she rides out the wave, his heart hammering in his chest as he does.

Miri feels like boneless liquid as she comes back down. Soft shivers of aftershocks roll through her. One lick too many and she has to tug at Gale's hair to make him stop.

It's a struggle for him to tear himself away, the taste and sounds of her almost too enticing to resist.

But he does, reluctantly. Gale watches her with a satisfied grin as he slowly withdraws his finger, watching her as she shudders with aftershocks. Miri practically glows with pleasure. From him.

Miri lets out a soft groan that devolves into a low growl. She's not sure she's ever climaxed so hard. And he looks so pleased with himself. (And he should. Fuck.)

"Hells," she breathes, throwing one arm over her eyes as her chest heaves, "Where did you learn how to do that?"

He lets out a breathless laugh, his own heart still hammering in his chest. Gale can’t help but preen a bit at her praise. He savors licking his lips, almost mourns wiping her from his beard. His body aches for her.

"Lots of practice," he replies, the tone of his voice still ragged, still needy, "Paying attention to the responses you get from a person..."

He pulls himself up, crawling up her body and leaning over her to nuzzle at her hair. Miri huffs a soft laugh, a witty reply ready, but it dries up on her tongue when he whispers in her ear like sultry silk as he breathes her in, “And a lot of imagination involving a certain someone."

"What...?"

She turns to look at him with surprise. Her hands automatically find their way to his skin, holding him close to her. His breath catches as she touches him, his heart skipping a beat at the feel of her hands, how she holds onto him like she don't want to let go.

His own hands move to her waist, his thumbs tracing gentle little circles on her skin as he resumes nuzzling her hair, his lips at her ear.

"You wouldn't believe the things I've imagined doing to you..." he whispers, his voice low and rough.

Miri groans, feeling the embers of her arousal quickly sparking back to a roaring blaze.

"I had no idea," Miri murmurs back.

The sound of her voice, gods, the way she groans. Miri’s responses make his heart pound a fury against his ribs. He needs to hear more, needs to continue.

Gale hums a low sound, moving in closer still, his voice a low whisper, "How about I tell you some of the things I've thought of...?"

"Are you trying to drive me mad?" Miri returns.

"Oh, absolutely." There's a wicked grin on his face as he replies, his hands moving over her again. Over her breasts, her stomach, her hips. "Imagining all the ways I want to make you scream-"

Miri growls softly. Her own hands roam, exploring chest and stomach, the arches of his hips...

"I wish I'd known sooner," Miri returns with a breathless playfulness, "Could've saved me a few online purchases..."

He shivers at the feel of her hands, groans at her words. The very hint of what she might mean having his heart and mind racing, his tongue licking at his lips as he looks down at her-

"A few?" Gale asks, arching a brow at her. "How many online purchases are we talking, here?"

"Uh-" Miri bites her lip for a moment, "Just a few."

The sight of has his thoughts running away from him. He leans in, nuzzling her neck, letting his voice drop back to a murmur against her skin.

"A few purchases?" Gale repeats, needing to know. "Or a few boxes?"

"I mean, no one delivers things efficiently any more," Miri counters, "I don't think number of boxes is a fair question -"

His breath catches at her reply, his heart drumming in his chest as his imagination goes wild with the possibilities. The things she might have bought to satisfy those thoughts she was having...

His mind is filled with images, imagining her lying in bed, trying out each new acquisition on herself - the sounds she would make, how she would look.

Gale groans softly. He presses a few kisses to her neck, nuzzling her skin while he continues to speak, his voice still low, "And you're telling me you've used and enjoyed every single one of these purchases...?"

"It's silly to buy something and not try it. Not everything-" Miri pauses for a moment. Her cheeks flush a bit more, realizing she's probably said too much. "How did we even get here? I was trying to make a different point-"

Gale can't help the deep chuckle that escapes his lips at how flushed she is.

"And what was this ‘different point’, Miri?" He huffs a soft breath out of his nose with amusement as he presses more kisses to her neck, "Because I think this new topic of discussion is much more interesting."

"That I wouldn't've needed those things if I'd known you were not only willing," Miri breathes, "But quite skilled."

He lifts his head to look down at her, a slightly cheeky smile on his face, a hint of playfulness in his voice. "Did you just imply that I'm better than your online purchases?"

"Maybe-"

"Careful, Mir," he says, his voice low and rough as he barely suppresses a shiver of excitement and a smug grin, "Or I might get a bit full of myself and start demanding we demonstrate just how much better I am than all your toys."

Miri groans. "You don't need the ego boost."

He grins down at her, unable to stop himself as his pride swells and smugness practically bubbling out of him.

"Perhaps not," he agrees, still in that low, rough voice, "But I do need something right now-"

"Yeah?" Miri smiles sultrily up at him, one hand finding its way into his hair again. The other slides down to his hip and tugs him forward to press against her.

A soft gasp escapes his lips when their hips press together and he can feel the heat of her against him. Gale leans in closer, covering her body with his and nuzzling against her neck. His hands continue to roam, one grasping at her thigh, the other cupping a breast, his thumb rubbing the tight peak of her nipple.

"There are two very specific things I need right now..." he murmurs between kisses.

"Two?" Miri returns, puzzled. It’s hard to think with the way he explores her - touches so warm and inviting, soft and hard, sweet and amorous. Gods those kisses are like the lines of a litany. She always knew Gale was thorough - in just about everything he does- but this is a whole other level.

"The first," he murmurs, moving his lips to her ear, "Is that I need you. Right here, right now-"

He presses her down against the bed, wanting her to feel his need, the ache of his body drawn out inexorably by her every breath, her every movement.

Miri moans softly and parts her legs further to feel him pressing directly against her core. The room fills with the soft sound of their ragged breaths as they cling to one another.

Gale is positively aching at the feeling. He can’t decide whether he is grateful or vexed by the briefs that still cling to him. Entirely too small, but keeping him from rushing too quickly.

"The second...?"

"The second," he whispers at her ear when he manages to catch his breath, "Is that I need to hear you screaming my name."

Miri moans softly at the feel of him - hot and hard- sliding against her still sensitive flesh. Her breath catches at his whisper. The fabric of his briefs does little to dull the feeling - only adding friction despite the growing wetness of the fabric.

"I'm sure you can earn it," Miri purrs back, tugging softly at his hair.

Miri is trying to drive him insane with raw need, she must be. He aches and throbs for her. All he can do to respond is a low groan, heat rushing through his body at the mere suggestion.

"Challenge accepted," Gale breathes with a cheeky grin.

Miri grins back wolfishly. "Good."

She tugs him in for a kiss, moaning softly at the taste of herself on his lips. He returns the kiss with an fervor to match, the feel of her pressed against him, her hands in his hair, the taste of her... all of it makes his head spin with need and desperation.

Gale presses forward, leaning his weight against her. His hips grind against hers more purposefully, the ache in his body almost overwhelming him.

"Need you, Miri-" he whispers hoarsely between kisses, "Need you so badly-"

"I'm ready for you, Gale," Miri answers softly between kisses. Her fingers trail down to tug at the fabric of his briefs and his breath stutters.

The sound her voice, breathless and panting wrapped around his name fuels the fire burning in him. He needs to hear her scream it - but he doesn't want to rush, he wants to savor this moment. Savor every touch and taste of Miri he can have.

"Are you sure?" Gale’s voice is equal parts concern and barely constrained desire as he asks. "I don't want to rush-"

Miri huffs a soft laugh.

"Yes, I'm sure," she answers earnestly. She hooks one leg over his hips and tugs gently. His hips automatically move forward in response, and he moans at the friction. Then teasingly, she adds, "At this point you're being a tease."

"I'm just trying to be patient-" he gasps.

"And you're very good," Miri murmurs, pressing kisses to his jawline. Every tender kiss makes his heart pound. "But I'm not stopping you."

"I-I just don't want to-" his voice is laced with a soft whine as he responds. It breaks with another soft moan as his hips move against her again. His voice grows more pleading "-don’t want to hurt you."

Miri cups his jaw in one hand, tilting his face to hold her gaze. "You won't."

Her confidence sends a shiver down his spine and his heart aching in his chest. He swallows, his voice still pleading.

"But- but you just came-"

"And I would very much like to do it again."

Miri’s smirk is almost wicked, flashing a hint of those sharp teeth. His heart skips a beat and he groans, his body aching and his control hanging by a thread.

"Miri..." His voice is thick with desire. The sound of her name on his lips is almost a plea, "Miri- if you keep saying things like that-"

"What?" Miri murmurs with a grin, "Will you fuck me?"

Her leg tugs at his hip again, her fingers trailing sharp nails gently down his back. It draws another deep, low groan from him, his hips moving forward against her instinctively, needy and seeking friction. Miri groans appreciatively at the friction as he grinds against her again. Gale buries his face against her neck, his breath ragged.

The sound of her pleading for him, the friction as he grinds against her, the aching need to feel her, for her to feel pleasure-

"M-Miri, I swear to the gods-" his voice is low and shaky.

"Come on, Gale," she whispers, a gentle plea in his ear, "I need you. Please."

Gale’s pushed to the edge, teetering at the point of no control, and he lets out another groan, his voice almost shaking as he speaks. "Miri, I'm trying to hold back-"

"Why?" Miri cups his face between both hands now, forcing him to hold her gaze. "I’ve wanted you for months, Gale. Don’t make us wait a moment more when we both want this. Don't make me beg."

Miri tilts back to kiss him gently on the forehead before pressing hers to his. This tender affection has his heart in his throat. Gale wants nothing more than to give her everything. To please her.

And his body sings a near painful accord as he tries futilely to hold onto the last bit of his self-control. He swallows, and answers in a hoarse murmur, "Because I don't want to hurt you-"

"Gale, please," she returns, stroking his cheeks. "If it hurts I'll tell you."

Miri kisses his nose, his cheeks, his chin. He's so unbelievably sweet and good. And she adores that about him - always has. But gods, he's driving her mad.

"I know my body. I couldn't be much more ready. You have absolutely made sure of that."

"Gods-" he moans, "Miri-"

"Mmm," Miri hums low in approval when he moans her name. She can't hold back the passionate growl that rumbles in her chest. "Yes, Gale."

The sound of that growl goes straight through him, stirring up the fire raging inside him, adding to the maelstrom of need that consumes him. He has to give her what she wants, what she needs-

His hips move forward again, rubbing against her, teasing, his voice rough and strained, "You sure? You promise you'll tell me if it hurts?"

"Yes, gods, Gale, please-"

The way she’s pleading finally breaks his resolve, leaving only the raw need, the desperate ache to have her. Gale frees himself of his briefs in a quick movement, settling over her once more.

His knees shift her legs apart, his body thrumming with need as one hand moving to guide himself to her entrance. Miri moves eagerly at his touch, she threads her fingers into his hair, letting her gaze roam his face. Beauty and devotion both.

He lets out a low, shaky gasp, his head tilting back involuntarily as her fingers weave into his hair. The feeling of her hands against his scalp is sending shudders through him, his eyes searching hers with a mixture of desire and awe.

"A-anything-" he hesitates, his voice barely more than a husky whisper. Their gazes lock.

"I promise, Gale," Miri breathes, her hands clutching tightly to him.

He can't help but shiver at the sound of his name, his body thrumming with anticipation and need. Feeling her breath against his lips, her body pressed against his, her words making his heart skip a beat...

He begins to push into her, slowly, gently, his breath catching in his throat at the feel of her. It’s excruciating and euphoric all at once - hot, slick, tight, perfect.

"You... you feel so... so good," he manages to get out between quickened breaths, his voice tight and rough with the effort of holding himself back.

Miri moans a ragged reply, her head falling back onto the bed. The feel of it is overwhelming - a dull ache that quickly ebbs to pleasure. Fullness well before he's made any progress. The stretch is enough to drive the wind from her.

"Ahn fuck, Gale," Miri moans again.

He moans in response, gripping at the sheets beneath them as he continues. Gale moves slowly, gently, inching deeper and trying to give her time to adjust even as his need burning inside him like a wildfire.

Seeing her like this, the sight of her arching her back and tipping her head back, makes his grip on her hips tighten, his fingers digging into her skin.

Gale tries to hold himself back, to keep from drowning in her completely. He presses a messy kiss to her neck, his teeth nipping at the skin as he sucks and bites at it, wanting to leave his mark on her, wanting to claim her as his own. She growls and sighs with ecstasy. And when her hips finally meet his she moans again.

"Oh gods, Miri, oh gods-"

Miri lets out a breathy whine, her fingers flexing against him. He burns hotter, brighter as he pushes deeper. The pressure and the pleasure build in her like a tidal wave. He buries his face against her neck, breathing ragged, low hoarse moans escaping his lips in ragged gasps.

"Oh gods, Miri, you're so tight-"

"Ah- gods-" Miri's panting as she adjusts. "You're - ahn- fuck- so big-"

The sound of her struggling for breath, speaking in between gasps - the feeling of her so tight and warm around him - Gale feels unmoored at sea, lost in sensation and pleasure. The heat and pressure building in his stomach like a raging inferno as he continues to push deeper. Miri’s eyes roll with a cry and his heart stutters.

"Oh gods, I'm not- I'm not hurting you, am I? You feel so perfect-"

"N-nnnnnghh ah no-"Gods she can barely form words. That gasp and moan is like music to his ears, better than anything he’s ever heard. His heart thunders in his chest, every delicious squeeze like lightning up his spine.

"Are you sure-?”

"Ohhhh ffffuck. Yes, I'm sure-"

His hips move against her again, deeper, just a little bit deeper, a low moan coming up from his throat. His voice is little more than a low, ragged growl as he finally pushes all the way in.

Miri gasps at the stretch - so good but so much. It quickly dissolves into a satisfied moan. The sound breaks into a heated growl. Gale can't help the guttural moan that he lets out as she growls, the sound making his blood run hot.

The feel of her hips against his sends sparks through his body, the pleasure and sensation almost overwhelming. His hands let go of her hips, one of them moving up to grip the back of her neck as he pulls her in for a messy, hungry kiss, desperate to taste every moan and growl and gasp she makes.

"Oh dear gods, Mir-" he gasps out, his voice shaking, "You feel so- good-"

He tightens his grip on her hips, trembling as he holds back, desperate to move, but holding himself back to let her adjust.

Miri can barely think from the sensation - sharp pressure ebbing to delightful fullness. She gasps and whines while for a moment they simply cling to one another and all she can feel is him - Gale surrounding her, filling her. His warmth as he presses tender kisses to her crown as he holds her.The intimacy of this moment is like nothing he's ever felt before. He’s had partners sure. But he’s never wanted anyone quite the way he wants Miri. Never wanted to be with someone so wholly. And when he presses their foreheads together and their eyes meet - he can see it reflected in her gaze.

"Can I- move-?" he gasps out desperately.

She moans again at the way he shifts and presses against her so deep.

"Ah-" Miri gasps again, head tilting back, "Please."

He barely manages to hold back a whine as she gasps out that please. Gale lets out another groan, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips a bit harder, holding her tight against him.

He lets out a soft hiss of breath before he speaks. "Gods, you feel...perfect, love. You take me so... so well."

"Ah- please-" Miri pants, "Gale-"

"Yes, love?" he gasps out shakily, his fingers digging into her waist. "Is this alright? Does this feel good-"

"Yes! Gale-" Miri moans, "Move please, move," she practically whines. Her hips shift against him desperately.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath before he slowly, carefully, withdraws, shifting his grip to keep her still. Gale groans low in his throat, before he slowly pushes back in, taking every ounce of effort to keep control. Miri whimpers and whines at the torturously slow pace. Her fingers clutch at the sheets. His head dips, nuzzling his face against her neck. Gale starts to move, slowly at first, still trying to be gentle, still trying to hold back, all the while whispering hoarse, ragged moans against her neck.

He surges in to capture her lips as he rocks slowly against her. His pace increases slightly as her hands tug against his hips. When Miri growls impatiently against his mouth and nips his bottom lip he finally relents. With a whine of his own he picks up his pace.

"Gods, love...," he gasps out, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. "You just... Mir, you feel so... so good."

"Hells Gale," she breathes, burning at the thrill that races down her spine and coils in her stomach with every thrust. "You’re incredible-"

Gale’s so vocal, so torturously attentive - and when he makes eye contact, all flushed, dark need, Miri feels like she might melt entirely. She can feel the smoldering embers of her desire roaring like a furnace now.

His hands tighten, as if trying to press her impossibly closer and his lips leaving small, sucking kisses at every bit of skin he can reach. His motions pick up speed, his breaths and moans coming in short gasps and pants. Miri mewls, every time their hips connect sending a bolt of white hot pleasure up her spine.

Miri's legs tremble softly as she rocks her hips against his. Every few strokes they surge together to kiss again. All teeth and desire and sound. Full of their shared delight and hunger. Wet and needy.

His hands move over her body, caressing and touching her, his touches desperate and hungry, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of her skin. Gale traces the curves and lines of her figure, feeling her muscles, desperate and eager to touch her.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers between harsh breaths. “I want you to be mine, Miri...”

Miri's head tips back with a long, reedy moan. Her hands clutch at his arms as she trembles. He watches in fascination, his eyes tracing over the line of her throat, desperate to kiss and taste and bite the skin exposed to him.

“Gods, Miri, the way you sound-” he pants, "You're so responsive," he whispers, his voice low and thick with need, "I can't get enough of you."

She cries out softly, losing herself in his need, his touch, his heat. Miri moans at the snaps of his hips against hers, breathless bolts of lightning arcing up her spine. His touch is hot fire on her skin, his voice like honey in her ears.

"Gale...!"

The sound of his name on her lips makes something shiver and shiver within him. His touch traces paths of fire on her skin, mapping every curves and slopes wanting to know her body as well as his own.

"Say my name again," he whispers against her neck, his voice gruff and raw, "say it again."

"Gale!"

He lets out a low hiss, burying his face into the curve of her neck. Every movement of their hips adds fuel to the fire, every touch and caress and kiss sending sparks and shivers through his body.

"I love how you respond to me," he moans against her skin, "the sounds that you make when I touch you... I need more. I need to hear you moan my name like that again."

Miri hardly feels able to breathe - she can feel the hot tension spooling in her stomach, closer to bursting with every delicious snap of his hips, hitting that perfect spot.

"Ahhhn- Gale please- ah-" The sound of her speech breaking into moans, her voice becoming shaky and fragmented, sends a thrill through him that he can't even put into words. He lets out a low, almost animalistic noise from low in his throat, desperate and pleading.

"Gods, yes, just like that," he whispers, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, "Keep making those sounds for me, Miri. Let me hear how good I make you feel."

Gale loses himself in the feel of her - perfect in every way, soft and pliant and hot beneath him. He can’t hold back anymore, and the sounds she’s making only make it clear she feels good.

She's almost dizzy with the frantic pace he sets - and gods it feels so good. Her back arches up into him and she whines before gasping his name again.

He can feel the pleasure building deep within, the need coiling low and tight and hot within his gut. He runs his hands down her body, his touch growing more and more frantic, desperate to bring her to the edge with him, to make her say his name like a prayer, a plea.

She gasps a high cry when he adds that sharp, bright pleasure, fingers playing her like a virtuoso. Her claws dig at his back with only half a mind to be gentle against his skin. Green eyes roll with sensation and she trembles beneath him.

"Gale!"

The feel of her nails against his skin grounds him, the sharp and stinging pain adding to the pleasure, keeping him at that almost delirious edge, riding on the pleasure. He bites at her neck, his teeth pressing hard enough to leave a mark, desperate and rough and hungry, desperate to make her feel everything, all the pleasure and need and heat thrumming inside him.

"Again, Miri, please! I want to hear you say my name again, I want to hear you say it until your voice is hoarse," he gasps against her skin, his voice thick with need.

"Ahn! Gale!" This time it's a sharp cry, a shout. Plea and prayer both. She feels full of molten heat - a bowstring overdrawn and ready to snap. His bite rips a growl from her - one of untempered pleasure. "Gale!"

His breath hitches at the sound of his name, at the feel of her voice saying his name, the way the words fall from her lips in gasps and moans and pleas. He feels like he's drowning in her, in the heat and in the pleasure, barely holding on to his control.

"Like that, gods, just like that," he growls, his voice thick with heat, raw with the need to make her feel good, to give her more, more and more and more.

Miri's voice is ragged with harsh breaths as she pleads with him. She's unbearably close. So near to that precipice, feeling almost all liquid in his arms as his touch renders her to pure sensation.

His mind is a haze of sensations, of the feel of her, of the sound of her voice and the way she calls out his name, how she makes him feel wanted and needed and like the most important person in the world. His own control is almost slipping, almost reaching his own edge, and he can only hold on tighter, pull her closer, his touch becoming almost frantic as he tries to bring her as much pleasure as he can.

"Say my name, love, gods- say my name again," he begs, his voice strained and tight with the effort to hold himself back.

That touch - delicious and demanding - wrings pleasure from her very bones. Miri gasps out a moan like a howl, her spine arching. As her body starts to tremble and writhe she cries out his name.

There's a feeling like sparks blazing over his skin at the sound of her cry, the raw pleasure in her voice, her body arching and writhing beneath him, and then, before he can think, before he can even catch his breath, he lets himself slip over the edge, riding the wave of pleasure that washes over him in overwhelming spikes. He buries his face into the curve of her neck, his name on her lips the sweetest sound he's ever heard.

She clutches him to her as they float in that nebulous space between dream and reality together. Her head tips back with heaving breaths and soft shivers. She mumbles out soft phrases, praise and adoration, bleary and love drunk.

Gale clings to her, his head buried in the crook of her shoulder, breathing in deep as he tries to come down from that overwhelming wave. Her words, spoken in that soft, dreamy, and love-drunk tone, wash over him like a soothing balm.

He presses a soft, almost lazy kiss to the skin of her neck, too sated and relaxed to do anything else. Her hair is tousled and messy where he ran his hands through it, her neck and shoulders bearing the red marks and indents of his mouth and teeth, and her eyes are still hazy and almost delirious with pleasure. He runs a hand over her jaw, tracing it with his thumb.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice low and soft.

Miri grins back at him, blinking slowly. His own hair is disheveled, down from it’s usual half bun and sticking to him with the sweat of his efforts. But he’s never looked more beautiful.

“Takes one to know one,” she murmurs back with a smirk. Gale snorts and shoves lightly at her.

They laugh together, still a tangled heap of limbs. When they settle, their gazes meet again. Soft, soothing touches exchanged slowly. Uncaring for the time or the mess or the world outside.

“We should’ve done this sooner,” Miri muses softly. Her smile is nothing short of radiant, full of a soft affection Gale’s only ever dreamed of until now. And he matches it with one of his own.

“We should have yes,” he returns, “But I am more than happy to make up for lost time.”

Gale pulls her closer, rolling onto his back and pulling her on top of him to a chorus of giggles.

“So am I,” Miri agrees softly, pressing a tender kiss to his lips. “And then some.”

[growingstories]

Side business

Gianni, a 23-year-old marketeer that recently graduated, landed a job as a junior press officer at a prestigious Italian fashion brand. As he embarked on his exciting new career, he began sharing his adventures on social media. His Instagram account quickly gained popularity, attracting an audience of over 50,000 followers.

His boss discovered Gianni's growing online influence and recognized its potential. Impressed by his ability to engage with an audience, Gianni was promoted to a senior position within the company. His boss even suggested a plan for Gianni to collaborate with other influencers and showcase outfits before they hit the stores. This strategy greatly boosted the brand's sales and left everyone involved thrilled with the results.

Gianni's online presence caught the attention of travel brands, who saw a perfect opportunity to collaborate with him. Combining his passion for travel with his current job seemed like a dream come true. Eventually, Gianni was offered a different position that allowed him to travel the world as a brand ambassador and head of social media. This proved to be a tremendous success, as he earned money by partnering with other brands and posting about their products. His healthy lifestyle and fitness journey also made him a sought-after expert, leading to features in renowned publications like Vogue, Vanity Fair, and G.Q Gianni's popularity continued to rise, and he enjoyed the luxury of a lavish lifestyle, complete with a glamorous personal trainer, Francesco. Francesco drives a Porsche and loves fancy watches.

For many years, Gianni thrived, giving Ted talks and attending exclusive parties, collaborating with numerous companies and earning substantial amounts of money. He even purchased a grand house in Tuscany and shared the renovation process online, engaging his followers with step-by-step updates and showcasing furniture brands.

Eventually, Gianni decided to leave his day job and focus solely on endorsement deals. He started offering online courses, recording podcasts from his home studio, and hosting, pay exclusive-per-view live Q&A sessions for his subscribers. While Gianni received many tempting offers of a sexual nature, he always declined. However, one evening, after consuming a few drinks, he engaged in a private, sexually explicit Q&A session with a follower named Franco89. This opened the door to more explicit conversations and eventually led Gianni to create a secret OnlyFans account. There, he redirected fans who desired sexually oriented content, including Franco89.

FitFrank, who Gianni initially didn't recognize, messaged him one day. Their conversations quickly evolved, and they eventually engaged in virtual intimate encounters. Although Gianni had his reservations, FitFrank eventually persuaded him to participate in paid jerk-off sessions, which they conducted weekly.

Amidst his immense success, Gianni received fan mail, flowers, and outfits from well-known brands. Due to his excellent physique, he could easily request any outfit he desired. One day, he found a box of cupcakes and received message a from FitFrank insinuating that he knew about the cupcakes. Initially Gianni dismissed, it, assuming it was a coincidence. However, after tasting and enjoying the cupcakes during one of his live sessions, FitFrank sent him a message, revealing that he was aware of Gianni’s indulgence. Intrigued, Gianni engaged in a conversation with FitFrank, who made an unusual offer: €100 for each cupcake Gianni ate during a live session. Although Gianni hesitated at first, FitFrank increased the offer to €1000 for two live eating sessions per month. Succumbing to the allure of the lucrative deal, Gianni agreed to indulge himself weekly.

Gianni's popularity continued to soar, and endorsement offers poured in, particularly for swimwear. Whenever he posted about a particular brand, it sold out immediately. His fit body, dedication to fitness, and healthy eating habits had transformed him into a lifestyle specialist, attracting media attention from magazines such as Vogue, Vanity Fair, and GQ.

However, as Gianni's workload increased, he found less time for travel and decided to reduce his trips. Instead, he focused on providing online courses and hosting events exclusively in Italy. He also introduced paid subscriptions for his live Q&A sessions, further boosting his income.

Despite his success, Gianni couldn't help but notice his clothes becoming tighter. Concerned about his appearance, he decided to end his deal with FitFrank and ignored his messages. However, FitFrank responded by sending cupcakes every morning, tempting Gianni to continue their arrangement. Eventually, FitFrank offered even more money, €1000 per cake. Gianni decided to extend the deal for one more month.

The cakes became larger and more challenging to consume, but Gianni managed to complete each one. FitFrank saw Gianni's dedication and increased the offer to €5000 per month after the last cake. Although the cakes grew in size, Gianni determination remained unwavering.

Despite his success, Gianni's lifestyle began to take a toll on his physique. Personal trainer Francesco expressed concern and suggested a diet to help Gianni lose weight. Francesco feared that having a visibly overweight ambassador would harm his own reputation. Gianni understood the need for change and revealed his to followers that he had gained weight during a renovation project. He created a weight loss program with Francesco for his fans, which received a positive response during the pre-sale phase.

However, Gianni's weight gain continued, exacerbated by his ongoing indulgence in FitFrank's cakes and cupcakes. Francesco confronted Gianni during a live session, shocked by his additional weight gain. Promising to do better, Gianni continued his collaboration with Francesco, now paying for the fitness program.

After two weeks, Gianni realized that his efforts were futile, and he had only gained more weight. Francesco, furious with Gianni's lack of progress, demanded that he publicly announce the end of their collaboration or face legal consequences. Gianni reluctantly complied, confessing to his followers that he was too weak to continue the program. He stepped on the scale and broke down in tears at realization that he the had gained a significant amount of weight.

Confused and desperate, Gianni questioned why he had continued the eating sessions despite having no financial need. Was it simply for attention? FitFrank, aware of Gianni's struggles, initiated a deep conversation that evening, forming a strong connection between them.

As Gianni's weight continued to increase due to FitFrank's challenges and his own overulindgence, he embarked on a four-week, all-inclusive trip to various resorts. The luxurious accommodations offered exquisite indulgences, leaving little time for exercise and fitness. He found himself in a predicament when thewear swim brands he had collaborated with realized his significant weight gain, causing them to distance themselves from him. Gianni grew about anxious his future and impact the his weight gain would have on his career.

During this uncertain time, FitFrank remained a constant presence, sending messages and offering support. Feeling a sense of care and connection, Gianni appreciated FitFrank's attention. They grew closer, building a relationship that felt as though they had known each other for years.

 To salvage his career, Gianni had to lose weight, but the temptation of indulgent food and alcohol endorsements made it difficult to stick to his diet. In a desperate move, he accepted a deal with a champagne brand to become their brand ambassador for a year. This involved a week-long trip to a champagne mansion to sample the entire range and create content. The trip consisted of lavish tastings and extravagant meals, leaving Gianni hungover and on the brink of failure. He returned home feeling exhausted and defeated.

Gianni's weight became a source of worry, both for himself and the brands he had collaborated with. FitFrank continued to send him chocolates, and Gianni, feeling discouraged, started eating them. When FitFrank reached out, Gianni confessed his struggles, and their conversation became progressively intimate. However, during one chat, a technical glitch revealed FitFrank's identity, leaving Gianni enraged.

Confronting Francesco at the gym, Gianni discovered his personal trainer's secret life as a creator of weight gain content. Francesco had been secretly livestreaming and profiting from Gianni's weight gain journey, while driving an extravagant lifestyle. Francesco confessed to making over €450,000 from donations by viewers fascinated with Gianni's transformation.

 Feeling betrayed by Francesco, Gianni hatched a plan to regain control. He proposed a new arrangement to FitFrank, demanding a majority of the revenue, FitFrank's authentic appearance and FitFrank joins in on food challenges. If FitFrank refused, Gianni threatened to expose him to his clients. Relantly, Francesco agreed, realizing that he had little choice if he wanted to maintain his luxurious lifestyle.

Together, Gianni and FitFrank continued their indulgent food challenges, delighting their followers with their ever-expanding physiques. FitFrank's following and body grew, and their loyal fans paid top dollar for their content. The money poured in, but Gianni couldn't help but wonder if his obsession with food and attention had gone too far. And how far will he go?

[gargusscp]

When She Was Just-

(More fanfic of @zal-cryptid's Misfits in Toyland comic. Contains size stuff, so reader beware.)

“So you just sit on down, get yourself comfy, and I’ll be right back to start our playdate!”

Easier said than done, Beau thought to herself, squirming on the spot for a decent position on the couch as Dolly flop-skipped out the room, singing a tuneless babble.  If Toyland had one notable disadvantage - once you exhausted the obvious grievances with losing your old life and existing as a plaything for probably all eternity - it was the lack of halfway decent furniture. Chairs and beds made to fit a doll weren’t exactly designed with human comforts in mind.  Little give to their rigid wood and plastic frames, cushioning a sliver-thin strip of foam at best, too often ever so slightly disproportionate for all except one user.  Beau herself could hardly roll half a turn either way in her own bed without risking falling out, let alone find a non-cramped spot on Dolly’s ratty wool sofa.

Granted, Beau took issue with her proportions in nearly all matters.  A porcelain-figurine of a shepherdess, she towered over most other folk in Toyland.  The Barbie doll down the lane claimed she felt no perspective different at twelve inches from her 5’6” human height; Beau, once 4’11”, felt quite the substantial difference at eighteen.  That Barbie girl barely measured to the bottom of Beau’s chest.  Her life as a vanishing slip ended the day she kicked her way from her arrival box and felt the dimensions of her new form , a figurine sculpted for detail over function, garbed in a needlessly voluminous lace gown triple her natural width.  Actions major and minor all the day came with overbearing reminder she was, all told, huge.

Waking in the morning?  Bumps and bonks reaffirming her playset of a home was hastily retro-fitted to just barely accommodate her bulk.  Passing other toys in the public square?  Snickers about her heavy trod and long shadow.   Chatting with friends after a day in the fields?  Oh God, how her voice so easily overwhelms the group.

One such chat started her path to this damnably undersized couch, why oh why won’t her dress gather without bunching and bulging in the small of her back?  “You seem real tense lately, Beau.”  “You spend too much time tending your flock, Beau.”  “I didn’t know you could micromanage sheep.”  They had a point, she did feel wound up, and without any mechanism to blame.  Absolutely nothing to do with her work, they simply didn’t understand how much it meant to her, but a point on the mark is a point on the mark.  Even so, she felt reticent about visiting Dolly when the subject inspired some… less than altogether pure remarks.  “Oh, a playdate with Dolly is just what you need, big girl!”  “Yeah, I hear she’s got the magic touch, pushes all your buttons if you got ‘em.”  “I dunnow, seems more adventurous than Beau’s used to.”

She sulked in her home for some hours after, twiddling the too-small business card in her spindly fingers, torn between offense at their implications and genuine curiosity.  The language Dolly used in advertising her services left anyone a smidgen past pure childhood innocence little room to ignore the barely-hidden meaning.  Chance was right, she generally wouldn’t entertain those sorta transactions.  On the other hand (flicking the card from one to the other), despite the crude jokes around “playing with Dolly,” the ragdoll seemed plenty friendly whenever Beau had occasion for brief exchanges to and from work, and those who did partake never so much as hinted at anything untoward.  Just the surface-level meaning any halfway literate could take from the text.

Which posed some trouble when Beau hoped the rumors were true.  Knew her frustrations ran deeper than simply too much time in the Arctic sun standing over sheep who, strictly speaking, needed no herding.  Wanted to come right out and ask for the weirdest sort of help resolving her deepest set issue with life in Toyland.  Yet if she guessed wrong, if Dolly’s play sessions were half so wholesome as suspected, there’d be zero chance of looking her straight in the button eye for a long time coming.  Beau felt flushed, but her skin remained its neutral painted shade as she fiddled and twiddled, thinking long into the night.

After a week’s protracted thought, Beau had worked a free afternoon into her schedule, left a note on Dolly’s doorstep announcing her visit and available hours, spent a sleepless night cursing the inventor of packing foam, and squeezed into Dolly’s residence at the appointed time.  The way she figured, best to play it cool, wend her way to the point roundabout as she can manage, and hope against hope Dolly gets the idea, and moreover, approves.  If not… well, running away isn’t exactly difficult at her size.  Though she may crack a doorframe or two in the rush.

So she sat, or rather shifted and bounced in vain with sitting a fleeting incidental matter, trying to distract herself from a welling panic in her breast by focusing on the details of Dolly’s foyer.  No need to run if she busied her eyes studying the cardboard cutout of a flame in the fireplace, crayon scribblings of yellows and oranges subtly shifting in a dance implying warmth she could not feel.  Why question her purpose in coming here when she could examine the conversation pieces on the coffee table, seemingly alphabet blocks with notably peeling paint and assorted accessories from mismatched doll lines chipped in odd places?  Oh God, this was a bad idea, but don’t think about that, think about the imitation-wood wallpaper, or the paper-printout throw rug in the corner, or the approaching sound of rags on smoothed balsa wood!

Beau templed her hands over her face, pinching her nose so hard she risked shattering it and index fingers alike.  You can do this, she thought, screwing her eyes shut.  Just ask like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

“Alrighty!  I’m… ready!  How ‘bout… you?”

She blinked, turned, and looked down.  Dolly shuffled backwards through the entryway, dragging a gallon-size ziplock full to bursting with cotton balls in her wake.  “Sorry I took my time!  Had to think’ve… something we could use for… sheep!” she beamed.  “Didn’t… phew… didn’t want to ask yours to come in!  Gotta keep things private, y’know!”

Funny the things you notice when forcing your thoughts away from undesired conclusions.  As Beau sat ramrod stiff, hands still hovering before her mouth, her gaze darted all over Dolly, taking in aspects of her person as substitute for the chant oh, Oh no, oh no no no, she really does just want to play at counting sheep, this is bad, get out, abort, abort!  The polished button eyes which twisted about and pressed on her face ever so slightly to distort the surrounding area into expressions.  The rosy patch circles on her cheeks Beau swore sometimes grew and shrank in size with Dolly’s mood.  The faded candystripe pattern of her burlap dress - shorter than her usual outfit, or just Beau’s imagination?  The… well, the slightness.  Dolly stood somewhat taller than most humanoid toyfolk (if still a few inches shy of Beau’s height), but being a cotton-stuffed ragdoll made her seem so insubstantial.  Hardly any klumphing from her step, a wavering quality to her gestures, so light that the occasional jostle when passing her could knock her several body lengths away.  Not a rigid or heavy thing about her.

“Sooooo…?”

Beau flinched.  She should probably say something.

“I’m… sure they wouldn’t mind, if you asked…”

“Naaaah, don’t be silly!”  Dolly waved off the notion, wrist bouncing every which way.  “I see you in the fields, acting all Miss Bossy Lady with ‘em, hardly having any fun!  All they’d do is get you doing that again!  Sure, if you wanna invite, I won’t say no, but as Toyland’s first ‘n’ best professional playmate, I gotta say you’re better off with THESE sheep today!”

She hefted an armful of cotton balls, cradling them back and forth while bleating, “Baaa!  Baaa!”

Beau coughed.  “Well, you know, I… it’s the right way of doing things.  A shepherd, well… she tends her flock and… makes sure they go where they need to…”

“Plus!”  Dolly scampered over and tugged at Beau’s voluminous dress folds, encouraging her to come over to the “flock.”  “Plus, I’ve heard you talkin’ all the time!  Who could miss it?  You’re usually SUPER confident and forward.  Don’t give anyone a turn until you’re done!  Being all ‘uh’ and ‘err’ and ‘well..’ ain’t like you!  Trust me, if you’re here and being Miss Hem Haw instead of Miss Bossy Lady, you NEED this!”

For her stature and composition, Dolly pulled surprisingly hard, prompting Beau to rise and at least begin hesitantly stepping towards the cotton pile, lest her dress tear under enthusiastic hands.  “Right, but the thing is… I don’t exactly w-”

“So!”  Dolly plopped herself down on the floor, busied beyond hearing with her ideas for the next few hours.  “We got your sheep here, right?  And you’ve got your you, and since you’re the shepherdess, you’re gonna do shepherdess things for them!  EXCEPT!  We aren’t gonna do your boring herding stuff, we’re gonna have fun!  Name the sheep, get to know them, let ‘em scamper around, jump some fences, do some counting, maybe a nap in the middle if it makes us sleepy!”

“Dolly…”

“That’s all for later, though!  What’d you think THIS little sheepie’s name should be?”

“Dolly, may I please say something before we start?”

She wished she still had a tongue to bite.  The request wasn’t meant to come out quite so impatient, barking.  If Dolly minded the sudden shot of aggression, it only evidenced through her face going neutral for a moment or two before breaking back into a wide smile.  “Sure thing!  Whatcha got?”  And then her head lolled to the side, resting angled cross her shoulder in a way Beau always found offputting.  No matter how much she knew this as Dolly’s I’m Listening I’m Hearing Honest pose, the limp stillness in her manner creeped a body out.

With a heavy sigh, Beau gathered her skirts and lowered herself cross-legged to the floor, intent on getting this right.  Steady and honest, she reminded herself, tucking and checking the fabric for comfort.  Wend your way in, give the full picture, keep your head, hope for the best.  Right.  Here goes.

“I am sure you have heard me tell how I came to the island, or at least heard from another who has,” she began, voice low and level as manageable.  “Short, skinny little Beau used to flying under everyone’s notice, suddenly so big a toy she’s practically eight feet tall compared to all the rest.  I am not stupid, I took one look at myself and figured a good rough version of why I came here - and a bit of talking to my neighbors cemented it.  All those years dodging attention, dodging responsibility, shirking duties for increasingly ephemeral reasons until I wasn’t taking proper care of my own health, let alone the people I might have helped if I took a tiny bit of interest in my life?  And now I’m a shepherd in Toyland with a flock waiting?  The message was pretty clear: shape up, adopt this duty, learn some discipline and make some proper commitments for once.”

A pause, to glance at Dolly for response.  Absolutely none, as expected, blank-eyed and still.  When she listens, she does literally nothing else.

“So I did what was expected.  And it helped, it really has, I like being shepherd for the sheep.  I do not know if they’re toyfolk themselves or just extensions for my punishment, but I get up, I tend them however long they need tending, and then I go home.  That is my life, and I think it a good life.  I live on a clock where I let hours slip, I’m assertive where I let others step on me, I’m a responsible person with a point to her life instead of a slacker doormat of no worth or use.  All to say… I just do not think playing cotton ball sheep is what I need here.  My job is playing the person I’m supposed to be, so there is no need to replicate it.  Right?

Expecting Dolly’s continued silence and mentally readying a third leg to her spiel, Beau jolted hard when the ragdoll’s head shot up and said, “Okay!  We don’t gotta play sheep!  What do you wanna play, then?”

With a shudder, Beau steered towards her main point.  “Right.  The reason I came here today… the REASON I came here today is because I have felt one.. one major problem the entire time I have lived here.”  Good Lord, could her speech be more stilted?  “Not something you would expect most to complain about, probably too silly for consideration, I should just g…” She promised herself.  No running until outright rejection.  Say it.  “I do not like… I want… well…”

“Your clothes?  Do you wanna play dress-up?  I’ve got some-”

There go the floodgates.

“I hate being so much taller than everyone!  It’s not just bumping my head and knocking people over and never finding anything in my size, that all sucks but I’m sick of being so BIG overall!  I woke up in my box and I looked around and I thought oh my God, it finally happened!  Because I was always short, right, and I had a THING for it and wanted to be even smaller, smaller than possible, and here I was under two feet and telling myself well, you’re not a person anymore, but you’ve got your dream, that’s something at least.  And then I wander into town and what do you know, they’re all shrimps compared to me, I’m practically a living colossus compared to everyone, and I have to learn how to be responsible and punctual and outward while living in THIS body?  THIS gigantic freak of a thing?  I’m the runt I always fantasized about and I can’t even feel it and it’s just too much and I want.. I want… I…”

Beau could not remotely account how, lacking lungs and all, she winded herself spilling her secret in one prolonged babble.  Regardless mechanics, she sat there on the floor, huffing for breath, fully aware she looked an enormous fool in figurative and literal terms.  Somewhere in her rant, Dolly’s head had lolled to the side again, which gave Beau the impression she could, perhaps, sneak out without further embarrassment.  The other toys sometimes said Dolly’s true self fugued away years ago; maybe if she made the door before Dolly straightened out, she wouldn’t be mis-

“Oh!  Ohhhhhhh!  I get it now!  You wanna play Big Girl/Little Girl!”

-ssssssssssssssssssssssss-

“You be the little girl and I be the big girl, right?”

-sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-

“I can do that easy!  You shoulda said when we came in, we coulda been at it ages by now!  C’mon, up, up, just gotta use your imagination for this one!”

-sed.  Through mentally sibilating, Beau let Dolly’s mitten-like hands grasp her overlarge yet slender digits and guide the towering shepherdess to her feet, passively swaying on the spot.  From where she stood, she could not possibly imagine how Dolly meant to fulfill the roles as proposed.  Half due to still whirling through panic at her shame being so readily accepted, half due to standing some six inches higher than the doll’s crown.  Gazing through doubled vision at the knots and kinks of black yarn hair, Beau tried to picture Dolly as the taller of the two, and failed as her mind blanked.

“It’s alright!” Dolly piped up, rags still grasping porcelain.  “This is to help you relax, but you gotta do that at least a little to get going!”  She stood there, neck considerably craned and mouth brightly curved until Beau adjusted her stance, an honest effort at playing willing participant rather than shellshocked statue.  “Great!  Now, I’m just gonna…” Dolly shuffled herself back and forth, producing a light scuffing whenever she bumped Beau’s dress. “...and a bit of…” Her head bounced about, hair bobs threatening to shake from their bows.  “...aaaaaaand!”

A rag foot went lightly fwuph upon the floor.  “Hi there, little girl!” she giggled, looking down.  “I’m big girl!”

The air in the room hung still as seconds tip-toed by.  Beau measured her options.  Responding as Dolly clearly expected didn’t feel right.  Walking out ran the risk of Dolly telling someone later.  Screaming felt undignified.  She settled, somewhat reticently, on polite suggestion.

“Uh, Dolly?  I am not entirely sure if you have noticed but… I am… I’m up here?  Would it help if I laid down?  You might look pretty tall then…”

“Huh!”  Dolly kept her eyes fixed firm on the floor between them.  “That’s weird!  I definitely see little girl Beau down there!  She’s sooo tiny!  Hi there, lil’ Beau!”  Her hand waved carelessly about for a few pendulations, until her forehead wrinkled, her arm slowed, and she asked, “Wait… you’ve never played like this before, have you?”

“Well, I might have roleplayed online some in college, but… look, are you sure I should be standing for this?  I don’t want to tell you how to do your job or anything, but if we’re being open and honest about this, you could try uh… stepping on me to get the point across?”

“Nahhhh, that’s Dommy Mommy, we don’t need to make pretend for that! I mean like… really played!  Like when you’re a kid.  Tried and tried and tried until you actually believed for a little bit!  Here, look, close your eyes and think, ‘I’m real real real real little right now, and Dolly’s suuuuper big,’ and then when I stomp, look up!  Give it a try!”

Features blank and uncomprehending, Beau did as she was told anyhow.  It felt stupid: if she looked up, she might see the poorly painted roof to Dolly’s foyer a few inches from her face, lit by a weak heat lamp behind a fake cardboard fire, standing on cheap balsa wood, but not Dolly.  She was down there, Beau was up here.  At the least, she could humor her host.  So she leaned her head back and set a mental intonation.  I’m small.  I have been small since I got here.  I am like… like a minifig.  Everyone look like mountains.  I need friends to carry me everywhere.  I can’t tend the sheep because they’re practically mattress warehouses compared to me.  That’s me, a pipsqueak, a speck, the smallest girl in Toyland.  And I like it this way.

“Okay!”  One more, Dolly’s foot went fwuph, signaling Beau to open her eyes.  Only this time, several factors shifted radically.

The ceiling, seconds ago so close she might reach to scrape away the peeling paint, now seemed a mile off, details lost in the distance.  A steady crackle sung from the fireplace, which flooded the room with a warmth before sorely lacking.  Those flimsy strips of balsa felt firm and sturdy as proper oaken hardwood.

And Dolly’s stomp made the whole house shake.

Beau stumbled off her feet and hit the ground hard, yet kept staring upward, mouth agape, verbal expression utterly useless to capture the sight before her eyes.  Impossible though it ought’ve been, she now splayed before a great black mound, dust particles still settling round its base.  Another, twin to the first, lay some distance to her right, and from both jutted pillars of pure brown fabric, stitchings the length of Beau’s entire body at quick estimate running along the sides of each into… void.  No, not a void, merely deep shadow; scootching herself back some, Beau noted a ring of alternating off-whites and dulled-reds, which in turn coalesced into candy cane striping drawing her higher, higher, higher.  Past trunklike arms, past a flowered ruff that could drown her home, up to a familiar mouth quirked into a smile, cheek patches glowing more intensely than she’d ever known, button eyes wide, magnified beyond all reason, and trained directly on her.

“There you are, little girl!  Told ya you were down there!  Hee hee!”

Shrank me.  She actually shrank me, Beau thought.  Inching back further for a better view, however, she found her understanding of the situation very quickly challenged via her back striking something.  What, she couldn’t tell, for when she twisted herself about to check she found only the open expanse of the floor, her frame so small as to readily slide under the couch.  Yet, from the scratchy coarseness against her back, tangible even through her considerable layers, Beau knew for a fact she was now pressed firm into Dolly’s sofa.

A deafening coo from above forced her eyes Dollyward again.  “Hey, hey, don’t worry!  Gonna seem a bit weird, but it’s all part of playing pretend!  Long as you and me both think you’re tiny, you actually are, sorta!  Big Beau’s still here, she didn’t go anywhere.  It’s just you’re ALSO Little Beau now, which means I can do-”

Scrabbling for comprehension, Beau experienced two wholly contradictory sensations at once.  In the back of her mind, she dimly perceived Dolly crouching down, scooping both arms underneath Beau, and hefting her up with considerably less difficulty than she handled the far-lighter bag of cotton balls.  In active sight, though, clear as day and solid as anything, she watched helpless as Dolly crouched, gently slid a single mitt towards her, brushed her aboard with the other, and tenderly rose back to her full stature.  The rush of air nearly knocked Beau flat once more, but she held her ground best she could, no matter how much said ground felt like ever-shifting cotton stuffing just beneath a layer of old cloth.  Maybe the existence of proper flooring in top-side reality helped her stay balanced?

Only, no, Dolly didn’t have proper flooring, she lived in a bargain bin dollhouse!  That stuff practically bounced under every step on the way in!

But, if Beau was still standing on flimsy balsa wood, how did she keep her footing s-

No, wrong, she wasn’t even standing, she was in Dolly’s arms.  On Dolly’s palm.  In Dolly’s house, which Dolly now vastly outsized.  Only it wasn’t Dolly who was big; Beau was just very, very small.  Except…

“-THIS!” Dolly triumphed, shaking Beau from her reverie.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” she murmured to herself, irrespective her lack of stomach.

“Well if you WANT to while playing pretend, you can!  Though I wouldn’t like it very much, so please don’t unless you REALLY need to!”

“Okay… okay, okay, alright, so…” Beau did her best to gather her thoughts.  Dolly made this somewhat difficult as her enormous hand hovered nearby, gently prodding the miniature shepherdess to and fro (or at least tapping her regular-sized face for similar effect), though Beau found no will to ask Dolly stop.  With every bump and subsequent stumble, it became marginally easier to tune out what was really happening, stop thinking of it in such terms.  While she could still see and feel the awkward weight lifting job necessary to simulate her palm-bound station, the sink of her feet into the hidden fluff seemed softer, the slight must inherent to ragdolls of Dolly’s vintage permeated deeper, the boom of Dolly’s giggles and the warmth in the room and the sense of having dwindled next to nothing inching towards total believability as her only reality.

“Tiny.  Tiny like I always wanted.”

“Yep!”

“On your hand.  Like some kind of bug.”

“Uh-huh!”

“Except n-”  No, actually.  Beau bit back the words, acceptance and embrace seeming easier than interrogating denial.  If she pushed too hard, the perceptive spell might break, and she might not find the will to go back.  Instead, she shuffled on the spot until Dolly asked a question of her own.

“How do you like it?”

The answer came far easier than expected.  “I- I think it’s wonderful.  Can all the toyfolk do this?”

“Oh yeah, all the time!  For sleeping and eating and washing and all sorts of stuff!  But fun stuff like this, you do need two making believe together at least!  It can’t do stuff like make you hhhhmmmmmmmmnnngngn, but you can see and feel and do all sorts of things!  It’s really really neato!”

Beau opted against asking about the sudden mushmouthing, and instead asked, “And… do you like it?  Me like this and you like that?”

Dolly tossed her head in a prideful swish, enough yarn to smother the town square flouncing in reply.  “As Toyland’s first and best professional playmate, I like anything my guests wanna do!”  Then she leaned in close, so close Beau almost scented something like candy-sweet breath, and added in whisper, “But also you’re SUPER cute like this!  Hee!”

With those words, whatever reticence Beau felt melted entirely.  She pulled herself to her feet, rushed forward, slammed herself into Dolly’s cheek, and spread her arms to squeeze them against the ragdoll’s cushy face wide and tight as she could manage.  “Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you so much I love it I should have come here months ago!”  Mid-nuzzle with a stitch broader than her torso, she caught herself, realizing what must have happened topside with her sudden movement, and coughed, “Oh, uh… sorry if I, you know… bulldozed you there.”

“Don’t worry!  I put you down while we were talking!  You’re just standing there, still ‘n’ sturdy!  Didn’t move an inch!  Not that you can unless I want you to~.”

Beau blinked.  She achieved total immersion and hadn’t realized.  A broad smile lit her face.  “Oh, this is going to be so much-”

“FUN!!!”

Dolly’s exclamation sent Beau tumbling backward head over heels.  And so - with the quick establishment of safe words and signals - they were off.

As show of gratitude, Beau let Dolly take first point with whatever sorts of games she’d normally prefer.  To no surprise, her instincts trended towards childish games, though the sheer size disparity made these more engaging and enjoyable for Beau than had they tried beforehand.  Marveling at the seemingly overlarge ragdoll’s deftness as they played patty-cake, bulk slab hands gently bumping against her own and clapping just softly enough to only produce a minor sonic boom.  Now and then, Dolly timed her claps to close around Beau, enveloping her playmate in muffling dark and snickering as Beau squirmed within, doing her level best to keep the rhythm while ensnared.

Jumping rope wouldn’t work quite so well under normal circumstances - Beau had no chance of clearing Dolly’s skips, and the idea of Dolly registering Beau’s twirls was laughable.  Instead, she placed her mite of a partner in her hair, and told Beau to hang on while she tried at besting her record.  At first, Beau found the rapid swish of corded rope overhead and the wild tangle of Dolly’s hair a little frightening, but after the first fifty skips she came to appreciate the experience as a kind of thrill ride.  With the right wriggling, she could tuck herself between a few yarn strands, ensure a secure position, and appreciate the doll’s talent for speed step and criss-cross.

All the same, she asked for a game more accommodating her size next, inspiring Dolly to a round of hide ‘n’ seek.  This suited Beau quite nicely, though not because she proved a particularly adept hider.  She found her options severely limited by where Dolly placed her and how far she could scurry within even a deliberately molasses countdown, which made her discovery inside a minute practically inevitable.  Rather, it made a delightful opportunity for exploring the room from her miniaturized vantage point, breath taken away by the cavernous space under the couch, the monolithic quality of knick-knacks on the mantle, the all-swallowing dark of an otherwise light shadow in the connecting hallway, all of it so incredibly convincing through new eyes.  If she woke up here with no further context, there wouldn’t pass a second she thought it anything other than a full-scale home.

(One round did go in her favor.  She tip-toed her way under the slight heel rise in Dolly’s shoe, and spent several minutes shuffling along with its tread while snickering to herself, grateful Dolly found the act of pretending so natural she never once thought to nudge Beau’s actual body for a hint.)

I Spy proved mainly an excuse for Dolly to walk about the room humming and erring to herself in mock consternation over what to choose, her path always hewing within relative inches of catching Beau underfoot, then spinning about in “sudden” inspiration with, “I spy a cutie pie!”  Obviously Beau could not replicate the same effect, especially not while blushing from the compliment (actually, properly blushing, she realized, real heat from her cheeks gone flush); she instead alternated between playing legit and spying “the biggest doll ever.”  Either way, Dolly knew her home and herself too well to fail a guess.

They did find time for a brief round of play sheep tending at Dolly’s suggestion, a transitory game to ease Beau into control of their activities.  True to her word, Dolly made sure Beau kept from her usual controlling, overly-mannered habits, prodding verbally and physically if she showed signs of slipping.  Really, it only took a few of these before Beau conceded entirely and the game turned into one of plonking into cotton balls thrice her height for warmth while Dolly shuffled the others about, generating heat and bleating to herself.

Maybe I should just relax with the sheep from time to time, Beau pondered, her face sinking another half-step into the fluff.  If their wool feels half so cozy as I’m imagining, it might do us all some good…

The task of calling time suddenly fell to Beau, alongside Dolly’s head when she slumped face-first into the cotton pile, having put herself to sleep counting cotton ball sheep.  A gentle smile on her face despite the sudden jar, Beau pattered on over to shove at Dolly’s cheeks in hopes of rousing the giant.  No good, alas.  Rule of play made counting sheep dangerous business if one believed in its narcoleptic sway, and nobody on the island adhered to its tenets firmer.  Girl was plain out like a light.

Beau contemplated her options.  She COULD will her perspective back to normal and wake Dolly in her full-sized body.  Or…

She had a much, much better idea.  Scuttling at top speed, Beau made a beeline for Dolly’s thigh, half-exposed beneath the folds of her dress.  Fortunately the doll’s awkward pose compressed her dimensions somewhat, else Beau would have quite the long run before her.  As it were, a mere minute’s running brought her before her destination, a great unmoving wall.  The sight could take her breath away, were she not already winded from the sprint over - voluminous dresses did not make good exercise gear.  After affording herself a moment’s awe at the sheer expanse of something she thought remarkably slender and floppy just this morning (and to catch her breath), Beau cracked her fingers best she could without breakage, and set to dancing them across Dolly’s rags in a tickle.

At first, no result.  Not shocking, for even imagining Dolly’s leg as smooth warm flesh rather than sewn cloths, Beau could only stimulate so much surface area.  Movement was necessary, which meant sidling her way inwards, towards hopefully more sensitive patches.  Gliding her arms up, down, and in circles on her approach, the hem of Dolly’s dress passing by overhead and necessitating a small adjust in step underfoot, Beau half-hoped Dolly would wake before she pressed too much further… then mentally slapped herself for such idiocy.

“Just snooze long as you like…” she grinned, sliding one step further in, and then another, and another, and another, closer and closer and closer to…

Exactly how deep she went, Beau could not say.  When Dolly finally registered the caressing strokes, the lack of unfiltered light and those enormous pillars kicking all about conspired into complete disorientation as Beau was mercilessly thrown about, eventually tumbling out the dress between Dolly’s feet.  In spite of the indignity of her situation, Beau found herself laughing alongside the giantess, pounding the floor some at the thought of what she just did until Dolly scooped her back up, and kept on for some time after at that.

“Guess.. hahaha… I guess there goes any formality about my taking point!” she chirped, spreading out on her back and gazing up at Dolly’s staring face.

“Hee, yeah!  Being spontaneous can be just as fun as planning things out!”

“...Dolly, did you put yourself to sleep on purpose to see what I’d do on my own?”

“Won’t tell!  But it felt good anyways!”

Beau stuck out her tongue, marveled at the fact she could, then stretched and heaved a long sigh.  “Do you know, since we went there, I have wondered something about this whole imagination distorting reality thing since we started.”

“Oh?”

“We can make me smaller after a fashion by making believe, but… can we also make you bigger?  If both of us pretend really, really hard, like you said?”

Hardly a moment after she posed the question, Beau got her answer, as Dolly simply expanded outward.  Attention still fixed on the mini-toy in her hand, smile unwavering as ever, the ragdoll became, unceasingly, more and more.  All in their imagination, of course, but Beau’s shrinking happened instantly and involved no changes beyond herself; this was Dolly’s legs crowding her furniture against the wall, Dolly’s back blocking the entryway and sliding along the ceiling as she hunched over, Dolly’s free hand covering and smothering the fireplace in a groping quest for free space.  The fact of a process Beau could stand and witness in real time made the already impressive growth near-overwhelming.

As she kept on, the room groaned and the foundations creaked.  Beau distantly recalled her observation about Dolly’s weight as insubstantial, realized her contribution to this particular bit of make-believe rendered the ragdoll just so heavy as her size implied, and felt her higher functions black out.  From feeling like a mite to a veritable dust speck, she rode out the change, reveling a little every time Dolly shifted on the spot to gain more room or produced a worrying crack at her feet.  Whatever this looked like in proper reality, Beau couldn’t give two spits.  This was glorious, and that was enough.

If Dolly wasn’t quite human-sized within a minute, she certainly challenged the room’s maximum mass capacity as she tapered off, grunting some in mild discomfort from awkward positioning.  Surprising for her composition, yet Beau supposed someone so bendy and soft must too have their limits.  Or rather, she would suppose, were her eyes not lit with the delighted sparkling of an entire night’s sky.

“Oh my God, you can, you can actually get bigger, cripes, no, wait, this changes everything, I was expecting you to say no, oh my fffff… Dolly, Dolly how much bigger can you get?  Let’s do it, let’s keep going, I want to see it, I wanna climb in your collar and watch you burst this stupid house and go stomping around the island, give everyone the shock of their lives, bigger shock than coming here ever was.  Oh, oh, hey, if we get more toys to see you like this does that make it realer?  Can we make it more real than your actual body, can we make this permanent?  Get you like, fifty feet tall, or whatever that would be proportionate to us?  First and best and BIGGEST playmate, can you imagine it?  Oh my God oh my God oH MY GOD!!!”

Hyperventilating, Beau let her thoughts run wild in a way she hadn’t entertained since college.  She woke up this morning expecting humiliation and disappointment, and now THIS door opened wide just for her?  Heaven from straight out hell!

Tragedy, alas, came crashing about her head when Dolly spoke, alongside serious earache from the raw volume of her voice.

“I can, actually!  Although, even if it is all pretend, there’s still enough really happening to be uh… a little bit worried?  I’m trying super hard to not crush my couch right now.  And if I keep growing, I might just sorta appear outside without any damage, or I might break my roof.  So… can, but prooooobably shouldn’t?”

 Beau sat there, contemplating.  She came dangerously close to suggesting all caution go stuff itself in the wind, consumed by overwhelming desire to glut on her deepest fantasies and see this place smashed to splinters as revenge for their inhuman state.  Thankfully, a new life of self-discipline paid dividends beyond dragging herself out from bed in the morning, and cooler-headed reasoning prevailed.  To face the entity responsible for repairing any beyond-the-pale damage and explain WHY Dolly’s house had a great big Dolly-sized hole in would prove too too much.

“Mmnnnnngh, alright, fine!  No ragdoll rampage unless we start another one of these playdates outside.  Just… can I have a uh… a kiss before you shrink back d-”

“SURE!”

Escape velocity g-force didn’t compare with the pressure pinning Beau to the spot as Dolly pressed hand to face.  Any chance to account why she asked for a kiss when she knew perfectly well Dolly’s mouth was a pasted-on detail with no depth or lips vanished the instant she smashed directly against the red semi-circle.  Mwah!’s of thunderous amplitude boomed from every direction, Dolly indulging the request many times over, giving Beau the space necessary to conjure something other than fabric around her person.  Same basic principles as all other forms of play, of course, just a matter of picuting what you want to see and feel…

With some effort, the rags morphed.  Warmth crept into their fibers, their flat surface splitting and expanding into new volume, a texture like the finest gloss spread over naturally smooth flesh.  Beau imagined the twitch of tiny facial muscles pursing and puckering, stretching across micrometers that may so well be miles at her scale, to catch her in the cleft and pull her vacuum tight with the slightest suction.  A pop louder than any sound in history as she’s released, only for the phantom process to repeat again, and again, and again. 

She leaned into it, thrilling at the tangible contrast between present and imaginary, the hints of plain stitching on those lips and the taste of proper breath intermingling with cotton.  Some small (VERY small, all told) part of her wondered again how far she could push this, whether imagining Dolly sucking an infinitesimal bit harder to trap the shepherdess in her mouth would actually transport Beau inside the doll’s head, to mingle with nonexistent teeth and tongue and saliva, the threat of swallowing looming ever closer.  And then to properly go through with it - impossible when this wasn’t her real body, but if it WERE, lost in Dolly’s stuffing, forgotten and insignificant as any other piece of debris.

Eaten by a ragdoll.  Wouldn’t that plain beat all?

Fortunately, Dolly had her fill of mock-smooching a practically empty palm before Beau could make serious headway on imagining an unaware vore scenario.  Or seemingly unaware, as it were.  With their minds modestly intermingled for the game’s sake, Dolly sensed Beau’s intentions, and figured it best they move on before she took any rash actions requiring surgical intervention.

“While you recover down there,” she said, voice returning to mere deafening rumbles as she imagined herself back to a sensible size, “we can do something a little like me being big big big BIG girl!  Only gotta go the other way round!”

For her part, Beau was less recovering than indulging a passing sulk.  Can’t watch Dolly wreck the town, can’t feed herself to Dolly, and now the colossal palm upon which she laid shrank back to mere enormity.  S’not fair, this was supposed to be the part where she got to do whatever she liked.  If they had to obey rationality and precaution, where was the f- f- ffffffff-

Beau’s mind once again stumbled on drawn-out consonants as she noticed the spatial distortion of her immediate environment reversing polarity.  Dolly resumed her usual size, yet her hand, which had seemingly collapsed in on itself, now stretched away from Beau’s central location, at rapid speed and seemingly more gigantic than before.  She was shrinking again, in moments as tall to her first shrunken height as it stood against Dolly, and then the same for her second tier, down down down…

“WE CAN GO A LOT MORE EXTREME LIKE THIS, I THINK!”

Porcelain chipped from Beau’s face, the statement slammed her so hard.  Yeah.  Yeah, that’d do as compensation.

To her mind, she lost days wandering the now-continent of Dolly.  Because none of this was strictly happening, her waves and foot-taps for attention were always met with an obliging pinch ride, her requests for another location heard and fulfilled without trouble; but even so, on deposit at her new destination, Beau let time slough clean away.  Those candycane stripes represented plains a dozen miles wide and countless miles along, ideal for thoughtless wandering as Dolly lay upon her back.  The simple curve of black leather on her shoes became ascent up a slope worthy any seasoned mountaineer, magnificently challenging for a size-obsessive like Beau.  She walked the shadow of a single stitch, her hand run along its rim to enjoy the microscopic imperfections bumping through her fingers; she had Dolly bend the flowery ruff round her neck to transform it into the ultimate downhill zip-ride a few too many times over; she closed her eyes, let Dolly select a random patch of rags within the dress, challenged herself to figure where she stood, and blushed quite ferociously when the answer coalesced.

(She figured it only proper to not ask after the meaning behind the massive “S” on a field of red.  Breast tats are a private matter, after all.)

The head alone offered endless possibilities.  Eyes like a frozen sea on a moonless night, so dark they swallowed all ambient light, so slick Beau practically glid over their surface, the thread holes chasms into an underworld.  The forest of yarn-hair at her old size now an endless Amazonian expanse, the weave’s logic lost to miniscule chaos of discarded fuzz and imperceptible shifts, like the environment malforming itself into a maze just to challenge Beau.  Bows of a silky softness approaching angelic, tempting sleep everlasting in their flamingo tuck and fold.  Cheek patches, radiating mid-summer desert heat, near-intolerable at this size past a single minute, yet how delightful and special a thing to roast in the glow of another’s affection.  As to the mouth… well, Dolly wouldn’t let Beau near the mouth again.

A thousand locales upon a doll scarcely over a foot high, so many seemingly identical, yet all stirring in their own unique ways.  Between major hot spots, Beau simply stood, immersed, let herself be.  By the loose reckoning of time in her head, she must have spent so long upon Dolly that her host got up to attend other matters, looked after her own feeding, sleep, other clients, whole daily cycles interrupted every so often by her adorable germ asking for a new location.  Sense dictated Beau should detect Dolly moving about while curled in the crook of her knee, feel gravity shift as the doll changed positions.  To think elsewise would render Dolly more than a mere continent - an entire world unto herself, population Beau and no other.  Clung to a thin cloth skin, needing and knowing nothing save her new home.  Such thoughts flitted through her hollow head, then vanished into wordless euphoria.

As with all things, it soon came to an end.  Happily, this ending announced itself via a pleasing rumble.

“HEY, CUTIE!  HATE TO SAY WHEN YOU’RE SO COZY, BUT WE ARE ALMOST AT YOUR THREE HOUR LIMIT.  YOUR NOTE SAID YOU NEED TO CHECK ON YOUR SHEEP AFTER THAT, SO WE’VE GOTTA GROW YOU BACK.  SORRY!”

Though too at peace for the words to seriously disturb her, Beau felt minor confusion at the reminder.  “Drat, you’re right, I did set a limit.  Except, wow, has it really only been three hours?”

“CLOCK SAYS TEN MINUTES TO GO.  I JUST THOUGHT YOU’D NEED SOME TIME TO ADJUST BACK INTO BIG BEAU.”

“Feels as though I spent a lifetime down here…”

“Aw, that’s just how playing pretend gets!”  Already Dolly’s voice softened to near-intolerable levels, in tandem with Beau regaining her starting shrunken size.  “So, if you close your eyes and picture it real hard, we’ll bring you back up to full size, and then-”

“W-wait!”  Beau cried, flailing her arms in a desperate bid for reprieve.  “Ten minutes can be practically forever in playtime, right?  We have enough left for one last thing!”

Dolly tapped her chin in consideration.  “Oh yeah!  When you thought we were playing Dommy Mommy, you asked me to step on you!  I can do that, hang on!”

“ACTUALLY!”  She coughed, shuffling on the spot, eyes cast downward, goading herself into asking plain ‘n’ direct.  “It is… it’s a little more than that.  Would you mind… if it’s not too much… I mean…”  Beau gestured uselessly towards the couch, then groaned.  “Dolly, can you sit on me?”

The smile that followed could turn deepest midnight to a midday blaze.  “I thought you’d never ask~!”

Imagination served Beau’s reactions well.  Breath caught in her chest as Dolly carried her to the couch.  Skin ran with prickling goosebumps as Dolly set her down perfect center.  Nerves screamed in anticipation as Dolly turned about.  Sweat pricked her forehead at the sight of Dolly gathering her dress to draw it tight about her backside.  An entire nonexistent system of biological impulses and reactions took in the sight of a perfectly flat, rectangular spread of cotton-stuffed fabric leaning back over her position, compared it against the expected list of sexually exciting imagery, ruminated for the briefest of instants, and ran back a report: “Yeah, no, this is still stupid fucking hot to us too.”

Beau squeaked.

WUMPH.

All shape and sense fell away.  No chance she’d ever think Dolly slight after this.  The only sensation Beau processed was unrelenting weight - Dolly’s complete nothing of a frame crushing her into a flat surface whose wool texture vanished beneath the fact of a single pound turned poundage uncountable by a simple difference in scale.  Some part of her wanted to believe Dolly shifted herself back and forth some, rubbing in her position of dominance, but in the moment, the difference between supposition and reality was practically nil.  Dolly might do anything up there, and all Beau would know is compression, and paralysis, and weight.

A particularly eager voice in the back of her head had demanded she repeat something like her trick during the earlier kiss, summon up the sensation of a proper person’s rear to enhance the sensation.  Run it through a dozen dozen body types to smother herself beneath every manner of human Dolly she could imagine.  Completely impossible, now, stupid to have assumed any choice.  She was undoubtedly underneath a doll, at the mercy of as sexless a humanoid thing as you please, impressions of curved flesh totally denied by hand-sewn, unendowed textiles.  And God help her if the alienation from anything like the human form didn’t make this ten times better, just by mere association with Dolly.

She tried to squirm.  She tried to struggle.  No use.  If Dolly fell inanimate right now, they’d blow clean past her stopping time, perhaps leave her trapped by this wonderfully unbearable pressure all day, all night, however long until someone thought to check on the ragdoll.  And if they did check, rouse her or pull her from the couch, would they care to notice the speck she ground into its seating?  Could they notice?  Beau wanted to shudder at the thought, but could not.  She did not kick, nor flail, nor much of anything else.  She took the weight, for there was nothing else to do.

(Except, briefly, ponder whether that Barbie doll and her bendy girlfriend might like to try this.  Hard plastic held an appeal all its own…)

And then it was over.  Light and sound flooded from above as Dolly hoped from her spot, leaving Beau to reel back into normal consciousness.  “Alright, we’re inching pretty close here, so we really gotta finish off!  Your sheepies are gonna get lonely if you don’t head out soon!”

Denied the ability so thoroughly for so long, Beau fidgeted on the spot.  “I mean… you did say I work myself and them alike too hard.  Who’s to say staying longer won’t help?”

“Naaaaaah.  Besides, I got me-things to do still! Can’t give Little Beau my attention all day!”

“Little Beau can just sit in your collar while you work!  Or get put on your shelf and abandoned until…”

“Hey.”  Dolly knelt down by the couch, positioning her face on even level with the shrunken shepherdess.  “I get it.  You wanna play all the time, never stop being Little Beau.  And I do too!  It’s lots and lots and lots of fun being the first and best professional playmate in Toyland!  But you gotta stop sometime, right?  Do what you gotta do outside playtime.”

Beau stood, turned her back, crossed her arms, huffed.  “But we agreed being Big Beau is bad for me.  I haven’t felt this happy and relaxed since I came to Toyland!  Why should I go back to acting stuck-up and high-strung all the time?”  To her surprise, the last part came out with a slight whine round the edge.

Her ears heard the rough scrape of fabric on fabric as Dolly rubbed her chin in contemplation.  “Maybe you’re only like that as Big Beau because you never take the time to be Little Beau.  Maybe you spent so much time doing what you think you need to do, you don’t turn off and be what you want.  So Big Beau is bossy and stiff, and Little Beau overdoes it and doesn’t wanna stop.  Maybe you just gotta find the right balance!”

Beau sniffled, reluctant to turn about.

Arms scooped around her, both miniaturized self and true self, the latter invisible to her eye yet right next to her on the couch.  The vertigo of existing across two perspectives clouded her head again as Dolly hefted her high for one last hug.  “You can always come by again whenever you got time in your schedule, yeah?”  She gave a gentle squeeze, warming Beau to her core.  “Little Beau ain’t going away; she’s sleeping so Big Beau can have her turn.  They’re not different people!  Just, y’know… sides!”

Beau did her best to hug back, simultaneously too small and too big to do so properly.  Although she suspected Dolly did not quite take her own advice… “You are right, Dolly.  I will keep an eye open for when I have time.  And cherish what we have done already.  Thank you, so very, very much.”

“No problem!”

The spell broke.

Dolly’s legs wobbled.  Without the power of play rendering Beau’s body lighter than a feather, her cotton-stuffed limbs were not equipped to hold a doll half her height over and thrice her weight so high aloft.  The pair teetered for a moment, then went crashing to the floor.

“...is there any chance you are into being sat on yourself?” Beau joked.

“Not really!  Can you pretty please get up?”

“Fair.”  Uncrumpling her dress and unsnagging strands of hair from the floor, she rose back up, steadying against the suddenly unfamiliar yet already normalizing vantage point of her normal toy self.  “Do I owe you anything for the service?  I know most toyfolk avoid financial exchange unless they have a fondness for Monopoly money, but I figure it best to ask in case…”

“Lemme hang out with your flock sometime and we’re evens Stevens!”

***

Later in the evening, Beau lay awake in bed, echoes of the day’s experiences ringing in her head.

For the remainder of the afternoon, she'd done as she’d planned: stand over her flock, moving them from one end of the pasture to another and back again.  Absent the ordinary pressures and obligations of tending livestock, she spent years engaged in this on the daily out of obligation, obligation and belief fastidious attendance might purify her wrongdoings.  With Dolly’s session at her back, however, today she took a different set of words to heart and tried to have fun with the job.  It was not easy, divorced from such immense gratification (and immense presence…), and she was not sure she did it right, but her sheep seemed appreciative when she let them run free from her command for a time.  Bleated approval and followed when she broke into a spontaneous run.  Stood willingly as she hugged them at day’s end, imagining each a cotton ball.

Her friends took immediate notice at dinner.  Genuine notice, no snark or innuendo, which characterized their original suggestions.  “Good one, Beau!”  “Can’t believe what a difference I’m seeing, you MUST tell me what she did in there.”  “I have never seen you this laid back, it’s a miracle.”  When they partook in a night-closing chaser, Beau actually deigned to stay and take a drink herself - for the first time, she felt the slightest buzz from sipping the empty cup, prompting cheers and claps on the back.

Tipsiness wasn’t the only novel sensation in the hours since.  Her own home seemed friendlier.  The lights provided proper illumination where once they offered dim, faltering glow; the personal effects on her dresser seemed almost serviceable makeup options rather than cheap plastic imitations; the floor no longer groaned under her step, the doorframes accommodated her figure a little more willingly.

Her pillow felt of soft down, her blankets a comfortable fleece.  The rickety, long-hated foam strip masquerading as a mattress: just like the one she remembered back home.

How had she gone this long without a spark of vibrancy in her life?  Convinced Toyland was this dead, unchanging place, cut off from the joys small and large which made a life worth living?  In honesty, likely the same way she went her human life convinced of the same.  Self-isolation, presumption of living as an inherent misery, refusal to look up and see what’s actually there without turning about and running.  She wanted to feel shame at the thought it took effectively a private kink roleplay session to realize one only need want the full scope of offerings to find them all around… but in the name of balance, swatted the thought aside.  Take the good where you can, she thought, that is the real important thing.

And besides.  If she learnt of this aspect to the rule of play any other way, she’d never think to do this.

Eyes laid gently closed, Beau rearranged her perspective.  While the sensation could not match the strength possible with Dolly’s cooperation, she did not need full intensity in her sleep.  Even the faintest impression of her body dwindling until the bed felt sensibly proportioned would help.  Somewhere between the extremes, just enough to fit, and settle in, and snooze.  If Big Beau and Little Beau needs must cooperate to improve both their lots, they can start by making sure Beau Beau gets some good rest.

Beau rolled on her side, and, for the first time since her arrival, felt at peace in Toyland.

[stusbunker]

Spotless: Portato

Chapter Thirty Seven

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader

Other characters: Pamela, Charlie, Jesse, Benny, Kevin and Sam

Word Count: ~3250 with other media

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, still unbeta'd, Tricia did read through the first scene, but all mistakes are still on me, Dean goes to confession, our reader's self esteem overrides all logic and prodding.

Series Masterlist

There have always been certain women in your life that you just didn’t click with. Some you wanted to, badly. Others you admired from afar, too shy or self conscious to really try to form any kind of bond, be it professional, educational or friendly. There were some you wanted nothing to do with. 

And then there was Pamela.

She was someone you had always admired, still slightly feared, but had resigned yourself to maintaining a simple and mildly judgemental, professional relationship. So when she woke you up, hungover and definitely disheveled as you were, on the bus to Phoenix, you were wary.

“Hey, sorry, but uh— could you come with me? Please?” She looked a little spooked and not exactly as apologetic as she sounded, but you nodded and tried to rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“What’s going on?” You said quietly, aware of all the other people around you as you shuffled after her to the actual bunk room in the back of the bus. Except no one back there was even asleep.

“Tell her what you told me. Or everything. Whatever comes last.” Pamela seemed pissed as she snapped at Dean and a sudden dread flooded your senses.

He sat on a bottom bunk, fingers rubbing over his lips in consideration as he glared at Pamela’s demands.

You knew something was up with the buddy system after the last show, but neither you nor Charlie had found anything substantial online. Which left in person or direct phone call threats. You’d been with the band long enough to have seen some shit, from overzealous fans to crazy ex’s and even a few stalkers. Benny’s team didn’t mess around when something had weight behind it. Outside of Vegas, you thought it was over.

By the look in Dean’s eyes, it was worse than you had guessed.

“Who died?” Was possibly the worst thing you could have said to Dean, by the journey his face went through.

He just gaped at you before Pamela dove back in.

“Wait— did someone actually die?”

“Will you let me speak for my damn self?! Christ, Pammy. Sorry, Trouble, this is not how I wanted you to find any of this out. Sit down.”

“Oh boy.”

There wasn’t any furniture back there and it felt oddly intimate to sit next to Dean on a borrowed bed like that. Every other bed was too far away. Instead, you slinked down to the floor and popped your knees up in front of you, like a child during circle time, but with something to hold onto.

“What’s going on? Is this about that guy outside of Wednesday’s show?”

“Kind of.”

Pamela exhaled and uncrossed her arms. “I’m gonna go– I don’t think I’m needed and it’s just gonna rile me up if I hear it all over again. But I’ll be up front if either of you need me, got it?”

“Good call— and, uh, thanks.” Dean looked up at her. Pamela nodded and left you and Dean alone.

The air grew thick and you had to get something off your chest before Dean got into whatever had Pamela so on edge. “Are you okay?”

Dean sighed and picked at the seam of his jeans. “I thought I was, you know? I’ve been putting in the work, but being back there, and then seeing Alastair— Having Cain at the fucking show. Really messed with my head.”

“Who are they?”

“Well, you’ve heard about Cain, Cain Charles. I used to box at his gyms all the time.”

You nodded into the pretzel of your arms.

“Well, I wasn’t really boxing— not most of the time. I was fighting in underground MMA type bouts. And Alastair, the slimy looking dude outside the first show? He was my trainer.”

Dean let that sit, but it didn’t take long for the pieces to start to fall together.

“The bruises— I remember how you were always hurt or stiff all the time.”

“Yeah, don’t miss that one bit either.” Dean rested his elbows on his knees and looked down at you, hunched as if he’s expected to get yelled at.

“So, what do they want? Why’s Benny got the guys on high alert?”

“Me.”

It was almost comical the way your mind looped around that simple word. Lots of people wanted Dean. And you couldn’t blame them, but those connotations didn’t quite fit the conversation so far.

“For what?”

“Back in the ring, at their beck and call, probably licking their boots while I’m at it.”

You straightened up, urgency starting to get the better of you. “Dean, I need more information here. Were you, like, an indentured servant? Do you owe them money? Why are they after you for real?”

“No, I, uh— I was there willingly. Started off with a fight at a club and when one of the goons came over to break it up, the guy didn’t kick me out. Instead he gave me a card, told me I had ‘promise’.”

“So you just decided one day to be a cage fighter? Being a rockstar wasn’t enough or something?” You balked, trying to figure out what drove Dean to that place. 

“Look, I’m not perfect, okay? And neither are you, so please, let me explain myself a little?”

You folded back in on yourself. “Yeah, of course, sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that— just give me the benefit of the doubt here, at least in the beginning.”

You twisted your fingers in front of your lips and tossed an imaginary key behind your back. Dean huffed out a laugh and cleared his throat.

“So, uh, do you remember before the fourth album we were kind of burnt out and Pamela and Lee were going through the last divorce and Bobby was kind of still AWOL because he’d just gotten married himself and Sam was fine by then and Adam was getting all those scholarships and shit?”

“You’re talking, like, almost back to the summer before the shit with Cas, right?”

  “There abouts, yeah.”

“Okay, vaguely. I remember being busy, Zacarriah had just been promoted and he was doing a lot of poking around. So I wasn’t doing much with you guys in person— since it was between tours.”

“Yeah, makes sense. Charlie and I played a lot of Call of Duty that break.”

“Okay?”

“I just— I was low. And then, finally, we got back into the studio and I could do something, be useful. I was able to sort of bury the darkness.”

“But it didn’t go away?”

Dean shook his head.

“Fast forward and I get this mafia-looking dude telling me I was worth more than just what my dad wanted me to be.”

“Dean—”

“It’s okay. I’ve been over that with Missouri too, just sayin’ why it was such a compliment.”

 Dean rubbed his palms against each other and kind of looked behind you as he kept talking. “So I checked it out, the fights were underground but not, like, dirty. I mean, they fought dirty as hell, but I didn’t feel like I was getting an STD just by walking in.”

“Okay, so you’re no Tyler Durden. What made you stay?”

Dean rolled his eyes.

“The rush of a fight. And you know— I’m hard up for praise— it’s why I love the spotlight and the fans. But it wasn’t like it is with the band. I didn’t even have to work as hard at it as I do with the music— it was only me up there. I didn’t have to answer to anybody else. It was just my hands and the other guys’ that I had to worry about. No harmonies, no compromises. It was easy. And I thought it made me free.”

Dean didn’t meet your eyes, he looked at the wall behind you or the floor. You had never seen him so ashamed, or so outright confessional.

 You inched forward, the need to comfort him tingled along your arms and into your useless hands. “What made you stop? Besides the last tour, obviously, you couldn’t be in two places at once.”

“Uh, so, Cas must have been following me because there was one night where it got really bad. I got really bad— just pummeled a guy to the mat. They— there’s not really refs, more like bouncers to hold back the crowds. But it took three of them to haul my ass to the showers. Cain has doctors on retainer, nobody was gonna call an ambulance and rat the place out. But, he wasn’t moving the last time I got a look at him.”

Dean looked up and into your eyes.

“I still don’t know if that guy is okay or anything. That was my last fight before we hit the road. And Cas called me out, eventually. Let me stew with the unknown and the guilt for a good month first. I didn’t know he needed me. He had his own shit with the kid and stuff then. I just thought— I don’t know. Anyway, you probably got a good handle on what happened after that.”

“So, they’re blackmailing you? Cain and Allistair?”

“Alastair.”

“Him.”

“No, but they’re watching you. They know— they know everyone I care about. Cain thinks I’m letting you guys save me from my true nature. He’s big on instinct and fight or flight crap. But he’s very logical about it all. Alastair—,” Dean blew out the breath he had been holding and dropped onto the floor in front of you, back against the drawers beneath the beds. “He’s a fucking sadist. He wants people to hurt, it’s not just about power—- it’s torture.”

You swallowed. “Don’t you think we need to go to the authorities? They sound dangerous. Really dangerous.”

Dean shook his head. “That’s not an option. Cain is too good, his business is airtight. Nobody talks or walks away. That’s why he’s so insistent. He thinks he can bring me back.”

You didn’t want to know, but you needed to know, so you asked, “do you— would you?”

“No. Not anymore. I’ve come too far. There’s days when I think about it. When it would be easier to just be the beast again. But I’ve got too much to lose. I have the band family, Charlie, Gibson, you—- So no, Trouble, I ain’t going back.”

You smiled at him, softly, not really letting him see how that sent your face burning with all the worry still hanging in the air.

“How can I help? Do I need to enlist Charlie and get our devices better hidden? Change reservations to keep people off our trail? The tour is set, we can’t cancel any dates—- but we can be more careful.”

“Uh, wow, I guess check in with Bobby and Benny? They’re already on top of things, but more eyes on it couldn’t hurt. I— is there anything you want to know? I feel like you’re taking this really well. Like instant problem solving mode. Not even flinching over what— the things I did.”

Dean leveled you with an unimpressed glare and cleared his throat. “Hit me. I can take it.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes as you resituated your legs and propped yourself up on your right hand. “It’s a lot, you know? We knew you were struggling. And we all had been on the receiving end of your temper enough to know not to poke the bear.---- But, I guess, it’s nice knowing, for sure. Like there was something there—- Someones there holding you back, keeping you from us. I’m sorry you had to go through that all alone.”

Dean bumped your knee with his. “Don’t need your pity. But, maybe, your forgiveness. Because I was fucking rotten to you—- more than once.”

“You sure were.” You looked him dead on.

“You’re a part of this band. Whether we say it or not. Even Kevin knows you’re in charge.”

“Pam’s in charge, she just lets everyone run things,” you quipped, an old Bobby line.

Dean chuckled. “Fine. But I am sorry for the things I called you. And how much I leaned on you after Sam and Bobby pulled my head out of my ass.”

“Don’t be.” Dean gave you a face. “Okay, the first part, yes. Be. But the after– that was— it meant a lot. It gave me something to look forward to. Made me feel like I was doing actual friend things instead of work things. Kind of miss the calls— the check-ins. It was a good part of my routine.”

“Yeah, me too.” He sounded so soft, like a favorite blanket waiting for you on the back of the couch. He was right there spilling his guts out and all you wanted to do was crawl into his lap and tell him it was going to be alright. 

You stayed put.

“Thank you— you’ve been— Christ, I couldn’t have done this without you, you know? You pulled me through— in so many ways.”

“Of course. You’d do the same for any one of us. Hell, you did it for Sam more times than I can count.”

“Yeah, but he’s my kid brother. It’s not the same.”

You hummed. “Yeah, but still. Anytime.”

“Hopefully not too soon.”

You huffed a laugh. “Agreed.”

You stretched and sat up on your knees, groaning at being on the floor for so long. “Okay— well, we’ve got like an hour before we get to the hotel. Do you need anything from me before we get to our rooms?”

Dean shook his head and stood up, quickly leaning down to help you the rest of the way. “I should be good, but yeah, check with Benny for the details. And, please, just watch out for Donna and the girls? They’ll be guarded, but I don’t want them thinking we’re neglecting them while we circle the wagons for our own.”

“On it.”

Dean put his hand on the ball of your shoulder and squeezed. You cupped his forearm and caught his weighted stare. It was like he was looking for something behind your eyes, or something there confused him, but either way he didn’t mention it. Instead, he just squeezed your arm again, gave you a guilty smile, and headed back to the front of the bus.

Charlie was invested in Operation Anti-Fight Club, her words not yours. Once you explained, very briefly, what had been going on, she immediately fell into a rabbit hole online. You even had to drag her out of her hotel room to get her to the venue in time for rehearsal the next morning in preparation for the Phoenix show. 

Somehow, she got sound and lights set up with a new venue in what felt like a flash, but was really two hours of back and forth with the band setting up cues and verifying the setlist. 

So when she started texting you during SPS’ set that night, about your conversation with Dean, you were a little worried she was distracted again.

You didn’t reply. From the moment you told her about Dean’s little heart-to-heart she had been asking leading questions and giving you knowing looks. Too worried she was either teasing you or getting your hopes up over nothing, you tried not to overthink it. Sure, Dean had broken things off with Bela with someone in mind. And it maybe, kinda, sorta seemed like he was waiting for you to do something before he left the bunkroom yesterday. But you could have been reading it all wrong. 

It was an emotional conversation.

It didn’t mean he wanted to kiss you.

Right?

Right.

Except now all you could think about was New Year’s. And how you wished you were sober enough to really remember what Dean’s lips felt like against yours.

You had never let yourself want him, not truly. You couldn’t help loving him, you were only human. But admitting to yourself that you wanted him and wanted him to want you back was a death sentence. There was no hope after that. There was not a chance Dean Winchester could be with you, or even someone like you. 

So why were you letting yourself think about it now?

You weren’t, you decided, and made small talk with Jesse instead. 

“You excited to get some days off at home next week?”

“You know it. I miss ridin’, miss sleepin’ somewhere far enough out, the city lights don’t keep me up.”

You smiled and nodded, you grew up somewhere close enough to the country to know what he meant. “Well, one of these days you’ll have to let us swing by. I’d love to see your land.”

The hulking man looked so fond as he reasoned out an uncertain invitation, “well, Matty keeps the place running while we’re on the road, so I’ll have to ask him how’s it all looking for the whole band to swing by for an afternoon. If not this trip, definitely after the tour.”

“Fine! But I won’t forget you said that.”

He chuckled. “Of course you wouldn’t.”

You turned back to the stage as Jodi wailed on their cover of ‘Crazy on You’. Donna was front and center giving it her all. You were once again mesmerized by their talent. Some people were just unreal, having both beauty and brains, strength and kindness. That old, familiar hollowness inched up your throat and twinged the corners of your eyes. You were surrounded by amazing people and all you could do was hover in their shadows. You were a supporting character, you could never exist at that level.

You were a fool to think you ever could.

SPS was phenomenal and they finished their set to whistles and cheers from both the fans and those of you in the wings. They beamed as they marched off stage, heading back to the dressing rooms for a breather before the main event. You cheered them on, knowing you were doing a bad job of masking the way your thoughts had plummeted. Luckily for you, Jesse was a professional and he said nothing as he ducked away to help with PT’s set up.

You rolled your eyes and punched out an annoyed ‘fine’ in the chat. You didn’t want to think about Dean singing about somebody at that moment. What you wanted was a stiff drink and maybe a foot massage. You thought about pulling up your hotel’s amenities, but were caught off guard by Sam and Kevin bellowing your name like a pair of foghorns.

“TROUBBBBBLLLLLLEEEEEE.”

“TRRRRRRRRRRROUBLLE!”

You turned while still looking down at your phone. “Uh, what’s up?” 

But as you glanced up, you got silly string-ed straight to the face. 

“MOTHER FUCKERS!” That had you spitting out air because the foamy substance had grazed your lips. Yuck! With one eye open you charged the overgrown idiots, forcing them to run behind the closest obstacles, gear cases and Benny, respectively.

Benny muttered over his shoulder to a crouching Kevin, “it’s your funeral, cher.”

“Thanks, Benny,” you huffed out as you dodged around the head of security and almost had a hand on Kevin’s collar. “You little shit!”

Kevin cackled as he ran away, too worried about busting your shit in your concert heels, you watched him go. Sam was smart enough to leave quietly amongst the fray, but you promised yourself some revenge down the line. You even knew who you could enlist for help, the last person they would ever expect…

Tagging:

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[barbielore]

The National Barbie Doll Collectors Convention in 2024 took place over July 30th - August 3rd in Palm Desert California.

I've talked before about Barbie board games: well, if you enjoyed that, you'd be delighted to hear that the theme for the NBDCC for 2024 was Mystery on Dreamhouse Drive.

If the name and the reference to board games didn't spell it out for you... yes, they did a Clue(do) themed convention game.

It was not about murder, if you are curious. The mystery is the mystery of the missing Dreamhouse blueprint and who lost it where in the house behind what furniture item.

If I understand the rules of the game, anyway. Unfortunately as an Australian who can't justify trying to get a ticket or taking the substantial time off work to attend, I've never been to and doubt I ever will be to a Barbie convention. (Although to be fair I have really thought about the ABC Doll Club Convention in 2025.)

Anyway! Despite the fact that it wasn't murder themed, some of the suspects are really charming in a fun way.