#this was supposed to be short but NOPE | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunrizef1 · 3 months

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Lost in Japan

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader

Warnings: None, cursing

Authors Note: I was almost done with a max fic and this song overtook my mind until I finished this. Also trust, I will be using bear as a nickname for Oscar in every fic from now on.

Summary: Lost in Japan by Shawn Mendes

Word Count: 5.1k (this was supposed to be short)

Oscar was bored. Lando was off celebrating a successful weekend somewhere out in the city of Shanghai while Oscar was sat alone in his hotel room waiting for the flight McLaren has organized to get him back to England. He hadn’t won. He hadn’t even gotten a podium. So there wasn’t much for him to be exactly thrilled about. So instead, he was just scrolling through his phone, checking various social media apps before he finally landed on Instagram.

He clicked on the first Instagram story at the top of his page, which happened to be Lando’s. He ignored the pictures of him celebrating at some party, tapping through the various shots of him getting more and more inebriated. He was with Max and Charles at the party so Oscar wasn’t too concerned. He clicks through a few more people stories before landing on a specific one that makes him slow down.

Oscar stares at his phone screen, eyes glazing over your Instagram story. He’s clicking through passively, pausing as he gets to one of you at dinner the night before. He lets it play out but quickly clicks back when he notices the Tokyo, Japan tag that you’ve placed near the top of the screen.

As Oscar stares at the picture, trying to take in every detail, he’s struck by an idea. He clicks out of the app, opens up his messages and navigates to your contact, already standing up from his hotel room bed to grab his already packed suitcase.

It didn’t look like he’d be using that plane ticket back to England after all. He clicks the call button under your name, holding the phone between his shoulder and his cheek as he grabs his things, exiting the room after he slides his backpack on.

The phone rings for a bit too long, making Oscar slightly worried that you wouldn’t pick up but it does eventually connect and Oscar is met with the sound of your voice filtering through the phone speaker. The door shuts with a soft click behind the Aussie as he steps into the hallway.

“Hello, Oscar,” you hum through the phone. Oscar can practically hear the smirk on your lips even through the low quality iPhone speaker.

Oscar huffs a laugh at your tone, dragging his suitcase behind him as he walks down the hall, “Hi, y/n.”

"What can I do for you?” you ask and Oscar can hear shuffling from your end of the call. As the words leave your lips, he reaches the elevator, tapping the button on the wall to call it to his floor.

“Do you have plans tonight?” Oscar reaches the point quickly, trapping the phone back between his shoulder and ear as the elevator opens and he steps in, tapping the lobby button.

You pause for a second, proccessing the question and contemplating your answer, “Besides falling asleep in a few hours? Nope.”

Oscar hums, pulling the phone into his hands and typing impatiently into google as you speak. He finds the soonest, and nicest, flight to Japan he could, purchasing the ticket without a second thought.

“Why?”

Oscar freezes for a moment, looking up from the ticket he'd just bought to narrow his eyes at the elevator door, “I saw you're in Japan-”

“Oh, so you're stalking me now?” Oscar rolls his eyes as you laugh through your question, painting the image of your grinning face in the Aussies mind.

“Shut up, no, anyway-,” Oscar sighs, dragging his suitcase out of the elevator as it reaches the lobby, “Im in Shanghai, I thought I'd fly over to see you.”

Your silence on the other end of the line is deafening. Oscar even checks to make sure the call is still connected due to how quiet you were. Taking your lack of response as a bad sign, Oscar starts to ramble, hoping to do a bit of damage control, “Just because I'm only a couple hundred miles away and the race is over and I'm bored. Its just been so long since we were so close, especially during the season and I miss y-”

“When does your flight leave?”

Oscar, who’d frozen on the sidewalk outside the hotel, unfreezes to gesture for a taxi. It was only a five-minute drive to the airport from the place Mclaren had been staying so he hoped this wouldn't take too long. He mutes for a moment to tell the driver to take him to the airport. The driver nods, pulling away from the curb.

“Uhhhh-” Oscar navigates through his phone to check his flight details as he sits back in his seat, “Half an hour?”

“Ooh, you better hurry then,” You hum, a playful tone laced through your words, “Dont want to miss it.”

Oscar laughs happily, just glad to hear you joking along. He does find some reality in your words though, doing the math to see if he even had enough time to make his flight. He was honestly running on hopes and prayers at this point.

“What made you suddenly so inclined to fly to Japan on a random Sunday?” Your voice pulls Oscar out of his thoughts and he pauses, smiling abashedly as the answer comes to his head.

“Just can't get you off my mind.”

Oscar can’t see you. But if he could, he'd see a warm smile carved onto your face due to the warmth his statement had caused.

“I don't know Osc, I'm actually pretty tired. Might just head to bed,” Oscar rolls his eyes as you try and stifle your giggle.

“Do I need to convince you to stay awake, then?”

You huff a laugh, humming in affirmation, “I’d love to hear it.”

“Well,” Oscar starts, racking his mind for some suggestions of what to say to get you to agree to this, “You don't miss me?”

“I never said that,” You reply quickly. Oscar raises an eyebrow, head falling back against the seat as he trys not to groan.

“So you do miss me?”

You hum quietly, the sound almost too low for Oscar to hear it through the phone, “Maybe a little bit.”

The Aussie chuckles, “I thought so.”

“Can you blame me? It's been a while. I miss my favourite koala bear,” Oscar gets the sense that the words were meant to come out teasing but he can't help but notice how genuine they sound. He laughs nonetheless.

He's about to respond when the cab comes to a sudden stop and he looks out the window to see the airport in front of him.

“Shit, I'm here.”

Oscar swings his backpack onto his shoulders, rifling through a pocket to find enough cash to hand to the driver, not really considering an exact amount and, instead, just asking the driver if that was enough. When the driver tries to hand change back, Oscar leans away, grasping the door handle to swing the door open to get out. He grabs his suitcase as well, leaning down to shout back into the car.

“Keep the change, thanks mate!” Oscar shuts the door, dragging his suitcase behind him as the cab drives away.

“Such a gentleman, I take it you're at the airport now?” you tease him, a genuine questioning tilt laced in your words.

Oscar nods before remembering you can't see him, “Yeah, just got out of the car.”

Oscar rushes through the large door, holding it open for an older woman to walk through before he steps in past her. He glances around the room, trying to find airport security so he could get to his gate.

“You gonna make your flight?” you seem to be finding a lot of amusement in his frantic rushing.

Oscar huffs, pinning his phone between his cheek and shoulder to check his watch. He still had about twenty-five minutes to get to his plane.

“Twenty minutes,” he responds, walking quickly down the hall when he spots a sign directing him that way.

“Ooh! Ah, I have faith in you. If you're anywhere near as fast as you are on the track I'm sure you'll be fine.”

Oscars eyes trail over the hall, locking onto the security gates and causing him to walk a little quicker, “You watch the race today?”

You don't respond for a few minutes but when you do, your voice is a lot more calm than it had been a few moments before, “Mhm. You did good Os.”

Oscar lets out a sigh, shaking his head as a grin fights its way into his lips, “Thanks, I'm glad you think so.”

Oscar steps into the security line, grateful for the fact that there are only a few people in front of him. He ignores the weird glance the old lady in front of him sends his way as he rushes to a stop behind her, replying with a tight smile.

“Its not just me, Osc,” you reply, sensing his disdain for the days race through the phone, “Everyone thinks you did well.”

Oscar hums, stepping up a few steps as a couple of people pass through, leaving just the old lady in front of him. As he reaches the bag scanners, he pins his phone on his shoulder again to lift his bag up onto the conveyor belt, tossing his bag down beside it.

“One second,” Oscar responds, muting his phone to drop it into a bowl along with his airpods, sending them through along with his bags.

After he's put all his things on the belt, he steps away, walking through the metal detector when the agent signals for him to go.

It takes a few moments for the agents to check his bags but when they come through he pulls the suitcase off and sets it beside him, turning back to slide his backpack over his shoulders. He slides his AirPods into his hoodie pocket and picks up his phone, unmuting the call before walking away, his suitcase in tow.

“Im back,” Oscar clicks away from the call for a few seconds to check his flight details before putting the phone back to his ear.

“Did I just get sent through a security scanner?” you sound amused and Oscar can practically see your smirk just from the tone of your voice.

“Didnt want to hang up,” he grumbles, searching the signs above him for his gate, walking quickly when he spots it. A clock on the wall indicates that he's still got 15 minutes to get to his flight. He thinks about it for a few moments, quickly realizing that it was 15 minutes until scheduled takeoff and boarding would actually end in five minutes.

“Im honored-”

“Fuck!” Oscar cuts you off, too busy now sprinting down the airport corridor to think about that fact, “Shit! I'm gonna miss it!”

You don't respond for a few seconds but you eventually do, a loud laugh echoing from your throat as you take in his situation.

“Oh my god, are you late for boarding? Osc!” you laugh, the image of the driver sprinting down the hall engrained in your head.

He doesn't reply, the phone now down near his hip as he runs to his gate. The run feels like an hour but, in reality, was only actually a few minutes, the clocks on the walls ticking down as if mocking the Aussies poor planning.

He finds some kind of respite, though, as he finally gets to the gate, slowing down as he steps up to the gate agent. The lady seems surprised to see him run up but she doesn't turn away, instead glancing him up and down with a concerned look before responding.

“Hi! Do you have your ticket?” the woman is surprisingly kind about the question, especially considering she had been preparing to leave as he'd rocked up.

Oscar nods, still trying to catch his breath. He pulls his phone open to navigate to the ticket, facing the QR code forward for the agent to scan. She does so before nodding politely and leading him down the path toward the plane.

Oscar lets out a sight of relief and lifts the phone back up to his face, “I made it.”

Your laugh has calmed down but you snort at his almost war-torn sounding voice, his strife obvious due to his lack of breath, “Congrats, man.”

He gets lead onto the plane, thanking the woman who'd brought him and smiling at the flight attendants as he walks a few steps past them. He finds his seat, dropping his phone onto it to lift his phone and stow it away in the overhead bin. He grabs his phone and sits down, relaxing into the seat after setting his backpack on the ground.

“I’ll be in Japan in a few hours,” He says, running hand over his face, “See you there, yeah?”

You hum, “See you there, bear.”

Oscar ignores the nickname, pretending it didn't make him smile, “Im gonna hang up now, promise you won't be asleep when I land?”

You laugh, “I promise, Oscar. I'll even go get a red bull for some extra energ-”

“Yeah, nope. Goodbye.” Oscar interrupts before you can endorse the rival team.

“Bye koala bear,” you respond and the phone clicks softly as you hang up. Oscar sets the phone down to pull his airpods out of his pocket, connecting them in order to watch some movie for the flight.

The flights only a few hours long but it feels a lot longer than that to Oscar. It's a haze of random Netflix shows and bagged pretzels, the monotony of the flight boring Oscar out of his mind.

He's relieved when the plane touches down, his proximity to the front of the plane allowing him to stand up and grab his things fairly quickly. Its about 9 pm local time, the sky outside not shedding any light through the plane windows.

Oscar walks out into the airport, grateful to be off the cramped plane and finally move his legs again. He stops at one of the few shops still open to buy an overpriced bottle of water, pausing as he spots a bag of those haribo peach rings you like so much. He doesn't think much as he grabs the bag, throwing it onto the counter beside his bottle and offering the cashier a polite smile.

After paying, he grabs the bottle and the bag, grasping them in the same hand as he pulls his suitcase along with the other one.

He strolls through the airport, trying to rid himself of the fatigue from the race and the plane ride. The only thing keeping him from falling asleep was the thought of seeing you again.

Speaking of you, Oscar doesn't realize he has no idea where you were staying or where you were until he's stepped out of the airport doors, standing on the sidewalk with his suitcase sat next to him. He tries to recall if you'd told him anything about your Japan trip or even if he'd seen anything on your story but he comes up empty.

He clicks on your contact, pressing the phone to his ear as the call rings. He frowns as you decline, confused as to why you'd hang up.

He's just about to walk back inside to wait when a car horn honks, causing Oscar to look up in front of him.

His eyes widen as they lock onto an orange Mclaren 570s Coupe, the car shining beautifully under the street lights. As he stands and admires the car ahead of him, the window closest to him rolls down and he sees your head duck down to lock eyes with him.

“You getting in?”

He laughs incredulously, opening the passenger side door and carefully sliding his suitcase into the small storage space behind the seats.

He sets his backpack on the floor below him, flopping back into the sear and sliding his seatbelt on. He sets his water down and tosses the bag of peach rings into your lap, “Nice car.”

“Thanks,” you reply brightly, eyes widening as you observe the bag of candy before moving it into your hoodie pocket, “Thought id go all out with the rental for the few days I'm here.”

Oscar hums, glancing around the nice car, coincidentally a Papaya McLaren. He refused the urge to ask you if you'd been thinking of him when you'd picked the vehicle.

After you make sure his seatbelts on, you pull away from the airport terminal and navigate onto the main road, pressing play on your playlist to let music filter quietly through the speakers.

The car glides smoothly down the streets of Tokyo, bright lights reflecting off the sides of your face. Oscar looks your way, completely aware that your attention was locked on the road, giving him the free pass to admire you.

Your eyes dart around the road in front of you, neon lights reflected in your irises. Your teeth dig at your lower lip, chewing lightly as turn the car. You’ve got one hand on the wheel, the other one moving around between the center console and the fraying edge of your shorts. You're wearing a quadrant hoodie and Oscar can't tell if its his or if you both just owned the same hoodie. The fit didn't help, he knew you bought your hoodies oversized anyway.

You glance over as you come to a stop at a red light, grinning when you see his eyes on you.

“What?” You ask, laughing slightly as you lean back from the wheel, splitting your attention between the road and Oscars face.

Oscar shakes his head with a small smile, his own attention turning out the window as you drive through the green light.

“Have you eaten?”

Oscar shakes his head, “Nah.”

You nod, taking the next turn to pull into a parking lot, stopping the car after you find a spot. You step out and Oscar takes this as his cue to get out as well, shutting the car door gently behind him.

When Oscar gets around the car, he finds you leaning against the edge, your feet crossed as you wait for him. He steps to your side and you push off the car, the familiar beep of it locking ringing out as you walk away.

As you both walk toward the restaurant, you step into Oscar's side and he’s quick to swing an arm over your shoulder. You wrap an arm around his torso, reaching the other up to tangle your fingers with his.

He's only slightly disappointed when you have to drop his hand in order to open the door. But you keep your hand against his ribs and he keeps his arm around your shoulders, not ready to let you go yet.

The second his feet pass the threshold of the building, he's hit with some of the most delicious scents he'd smelled in his life. This late at night there isn't much action apart from a few stragglers who Oscar assumes had just gotten off work and needed a bite to eat.

An older man swings around the corner from the kitchen, faint food stains gracing his otherwise white apron. He has a huge grin on his face and it only increases when he sees you. He pushes his glasses up on his nose, wiping off the steam that had accumulated on the lenses.

“Ah! You're back again!” The man calls out to the pair of you. Although his words do make Oscar assume the man was mostly talking to you, “And you brought your boyfriend!”

You don't correct the man and after seeing the grin on your face, Oscar doesn't either.

“Yeah, he just got in from Shanghai. Haven't had dinner yet.”

“Go, go,” the man smiles, pointing toward the dining room, “Sit where you want, ill get to you in a second.”

The man waves you both toward the tables and you step out of Oscar’s grasp. He doesn't have to be disappointed for long as you wrap your hand in his to lead him through the restaurant, stopping at a booth before sliding in. Oscar slides in the seat opposite of you, his legs knocking against yours under the table.

Quickly, the man, who Oscar now assumes is the owner, comes over to the table, setting down two glasses of water and a pair of menus in front of the both of you.

“You know what you want?” The man grins as he gestures toward you, seemingly familiar to you. Oscar takes a sip of his water, letting the coop liquid run down his throat.

You nod happily, “Yeah, I think so.”

The man pulls out a small notebook to write down whatever you say and you continue by saying a few different dishes, the only one Oscar having had before being sushi. He doesn't say anything, knowing that you knew more about this place and the menu than he did.

After you're done ordering, the man walks away and strolls into the kitchen, handing the order to the woman behind the counter before placing a small kiss on her cheek.

Oscar looks back to you, a small smile on his face after seeing the couple who seemed to be running the restaurant themselves, “You’ve been here before, then?”

You nod, leaning over to take a sip from your glass, “Yeah, came here yesterday for lunch.”

Oscar hums, glancing out of the booth to look around the room. Paintings and neon signs decorate the walls and what seems to be photographs taken in the restaurant all line the wall by the entrance. Oscar can vaguely see that the photos of are different people posing, all with happy looks on their faces. He huffs a breathy laugh when he sees one of you with your friends.

The time spent waiting for your food is filled with casual conversation, Oscar asking a lot of questions about how your Tokyo trip had been so far.

You don't ask about the race. There's some kind of unspoken understanding that Oscar had run to Japan to get away from racing for once. Here, with you, Oscar wasn't Mclaren racing driver, Oscar Piastri, he was just Oscar. Or “Bear”, as you called him. A nickname that you seemed unable to let go of. Oscar pretended to be annoyed every time you said it but he couldn't deny the smile that formed every time he heard the Australia-themed moniker.

“Bear?” There it is. Oscar looks up with a raised eyebrow, deducing that you'd asked a question he hadn't answered.

“I asked if you're staying with me tonight.”

Oscar snorts before smirking, shaking his head as he locks eyes with you, “Yeah, wouldn't dream of being anywhere else.”

You blush, looking down toward the table, past meals having left vague food stains on the wood.

Before you can respond, the man returns, plates and bowls balancing in his hands. You look up politely, smiling as the man starts to place the food on the table, “Thank you so much.”

The man grins as he places down the last plate, “Of course. Enjoy.”

He walks away and you turn toward Oscar who stares vaguely at the food in front of him, “Dig in.”

You make a move for your chopsticks, looking over the food before taking a bite of whatever is immediately in front of you. Oscar glances around, not sure where to start.

Noticing his hesitancy, you pick up a piece of what you'd been eating and bring it up toward his lips, pulling back after Oscar bites into it.

“What is this?” Oscar asks as he chews, covering his mouth as he speaks. Whatever it is, it's pretty good, having a light and slightly sweet flavour. Its also a bit more rubbery than chicken, but its pretty good nonetheless.

You swallow your own bite, having scooped up some rice along with it, “Unagi. Grilled eel.”

The only indication of Oscar's surprise is his widened eyes but after a few seconds, he reaches over to take another bite, humming as he chews on the eel. You smile, moving on to grab some kind of skewer.

You slowly move through the foods, explaining each one to Oscar as he tries them.

They're all good but Oscar's favourite is the yakitori, the skewers of grilled chicken. By the time you've finished the food on the table, Oscar is about ready to pass out.

So you pay as soon as you can, Oscar grumbling about his inability to pay for the meal, lacking the proper currency. He does Venmo you when you put your phone down, though.

The owner makes playful conversation with you, thanking you for coming around and telling you you're welcome back anytime. Oscar just stands with his head on top of yours, trying not to fall asleep.

You're about to leave when the man calls you back and you turn around to see him holding a camera in his hands, “For the wall? Need to remember the happy couple.”

You laugh, glancing around to see the many many photos of various friend groups on the wall behind you, turning back around with a soft look as you nod. You lean into Oscar who wraps an arm around you, tilting his head toward you. You tangle your hand with the one on your shoulder, holding up a peace sign with your other one.

The familiar click of a camera sounds and the man smiles warmly, waving you both out the door, “Have a great time! Thank you for coming!”

You wave goodbye, stepping out of the restaurant and pulling out your keys to unlock the car. Oscar untangles from you to walk to the passenger's side and step in. You drop in as well, setting your phone down in the centre console. Oscar is staring out the window when he feels something drop in his lap and he glances down to see the bag of peach rings he'd bought you.

“Can you open that?” You ask, starting the car and putting it in reverse. You glance over your shoulder as you pull backward, one arm behind Oscars seat and the other on the wheel.

Oscar, at risk of getting caught staring, turns his attention to the candy, ripping the edge and grabbing a few pieces to throw in his mouth.

Once you've got onto the main road, you hold out a hand and Oscar drops a couple pieces which you proceed to eat.

The drive is quiet, the both of you feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up to you. You eventually pull up to the hotel, stopping the car and stepping out. Not before grabbing more candy from Oscar, though.

Oscar leans over to grab his suitcase, stepping out of the car and sliding his backpack on. He grabs his water bottle from the airport, stuffing it into the bottle compartment on the side of the bag. He looks up and starts walking, stepping by your side as you enter the hotel. You stroll through the lobby, leading both of you to the elevator.

As the elevator starts moving up, you both lean against the wall, letting the quiet music be the only sound beside a couple yawns.

The elevator dings as it passes each floor. Oscar watches as you dig your key card out of your pocket, running your fingers along the edge absently.

The doors slide open, leading you to walk out, Oscar in tow. You drift down the hall, humming along to whatever song was playing in your head. Oscar vaguely recognizes it as Taylor Swift.

When you reach your room, you scan your card and push the door open, holding it to let Oscar pass through.

He does, pushing his suitcase next to the far side of the bed. He can hear you setting your things down, the familiar clink of keys on glass ringing out in the otherwise quiet room.

“I’m gonna use the bathroom,” he says lowly, sliding past you and into the attached bathroom. He can hear you hum in affirmation just before he shuts the door.

When he emerges, you're sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling off your shoes before tossing them on the floor. You’ve taken off your hoodie (or Oscars) and its not lain over the chair across the room.

You glance up, smiling as you see the Aussie walk out, “Hi.”

Oscar huffs amusedly, sliding off his own shoes as he walks toward you, “Hi.”

You hum, looking up as he walks closer to you before leaning slightly to angle his face toward yours. You both pause for a few moments, waiting to see who'd break the stand-off first.

It ends up being you, as you pull his face down towards yours, your kiss almost searing. The kiss feels like it lasts a lifetime and Oscar almost wishes it could. He does pull away, though, just to move you away from the edge of the bed, smiling when he hears your laugh ring out after he's practically tossed you onto the mattress.

He moves up as well and before he can even get his bearings, you're pulling him back down again, hands in his hair and your lips on his.

The next morning, Oscars awoken by the sound of your quiet laugh. He rolls over with a tired groan, wrapping his other arm around your torso.

“What are you laughing at?” he grumbles, tiredness clear in his voice.

You turn to face him, looking impossibly beautiful for having just woken up. You hold your phone toward him and Oscar glances down at the screen before looking back up at your face with a questioning glance.

“Lando sent me a video this morning,” you start, closing your phone and tossing it aside to grasp his tired face between your hands, “Its quite funny.”

“What was it?” Oscar mumbles, leaning to press a small kiss on your forehead.

You lean back, looking him in the eyes and seemingly trying to hide your smirk, “It's a video of his teammate sprinting through the Shanghai airport.”

Oscar groans, trying to ignore your warm laugh, “Fuck.”

He's not really mad, not when the video was the source of your happiness right now.

There were a lot worse sights to wake up to than your happy face beside him.

——————————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

#scheduled #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri fluff #oscar piastri fanfiction

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gutsby · 3 months

Text

If You Like Piña Coladas

Pairing: Neighbor!Joel x Reader

Summary: You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected p-in-v. Oral (f!receiving). Foodplay (i.e., Joel fucks you with a fruit popsicle). Girthy, unspecified age gap. Mentions of blood.

Note: Loosely inspired by ‘Escape (The Piña Colada Song)’ by Rupert Holmes…minus the part about mutual infidelity LOL

Word count: 8.0k

Joel Miller had been on his own for too long.

The least you could get him was a date. Or even just laid.

Likes: Long walks on the beach

Actually…he hadn’t seen a coastline in ten years, at least. You backspaced slowly and then lowered Joel’s phone.

What did that old grump like to do, anyway?

In all the years you’d been living next door to Mr. Miller, you hadn’t seen him take pleasure in much of anything besides mowing his lawn, rolling his eyes, and screaming like a fiend alongside your dad at whatever game was on.

Likes: College football. Quality time with friends :-)

Nope. Corny as fuck. Backbackbackback.

You wiggled your thumbs over the keyboard in muted concentration. You knew you didn’t have much longer. Joel was currently engrossed in one of the three things he loved most—mowing long, careful rows through his backyard—and you were supposed to be watching the season finale of the Mandalorian while he did. That had been the pretext of your visit, anyway. It’d been a little over an hour since he’d stepped outside and a little under thirty since you’d let your curiosity get the better of you and seized his phone, so you figured he’d be back soon.

You had to think of something witty, and do it quick.

Feeling inspiration strike a second later, you typed:

Likes: Piña Coladas. Getting caught in the rain. Making love at midnight in the dunes on the cape.

Perfect. Easy. Everybody loved that song in the ‘70s.

Having thus put the finishing touch on Joel’s profile, you leaned back and let out a contented sigh. You scrolled. Flicked through photo after photo of your very own hand-picked selection and smiled, feeling proud.

You’d started him off strong and suave with a picture from Tommy’s wedding, wearing a tux that fit him well. Then a cool, casual snap of him at a brewery. A photo taken out on the lake, life jacket snug and showing off a sliver of his broad, bare chest. Then a picture of him at your graduation—you made sure to crop yourself out—followed by a candid shot of him playing dress-up with his niece. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind that all the yet-unknown, lovely folks of Hinge would eat this shit up.

You set the radius to 100 miles. Beefed up the age range and gender preferences to include virtually every living soul over 30, tweaked a few more prompts to be cooler, then scrolled through his newly-minted profile. Again.

Oh, and— shit, wait.

Quickly, you toggled to the phone’s settings and disabled all notifications for Hinge. Then you grabbed the app and wrestled it somewhere deep within all the utilities ones that no one ever used. This had to stay hidden for now.

And, just as you stretched your thumb to make a couple last changes to his page, the back door thundered open.

Joel stumbled in, half-hunched. Rubbing his face with a towel and treading slow, heavy steps through the living room. With your heart about to burst from your throat and your impulses blown to shit, you panicked and crammed his phone in your shorts—like, in them.

Joel’s phone was just then settling above the groove of your ass when the man collapsed on the loveseat across the room. Instinctively, you drew your legs to your chest as Joel groaned and pulled the towel away from his face.

“The beast is at it again,” he declared, expression grim.

Before you could ask who ‘beast’ might be, he clarified:

“Marlene’s shit-for-brains labradoodle won’t quit diggin’ holes under my fence. Whole thing’s gonna fall if he—”

You didn’t mean to be rude, but you had to tune out the rest of what he said; your butt squirmed against the sofa as your neighbor’s phone traveled perilously down and took partial lodging between your cheeks. Then stuck.

There was no way you were getting caught like this. One stray phone call or text and you would have the world’s most jarring ringtone buzzing straight up your ass. And a very uncomfortable conversation with Joel, to be sure.

So, while he droned on about the chaos being wrought by the paws of old Sparky, you nodded to the window.

“Aw shit, Mr. Miller…did he just…dig up another?” You feigned surprise as you stared over Joel’s shoulder at a hole that didn’t even exist. Then, when he’d jumped to his feet and growled ‘No fuuuuuckin’ shot’ as he made his way over to the window, you acted fast and pulled the phone out of your ass and stuck the old, cracked thing on top of the coffee table where it’d been last and stood.

Before he could see—or say—anything else, you seized your own phone and made a swift beeline for the door.

Shouting over your shoulder, probably sounding like a fucking lunatic but not particularly caring either way:

“DAD’SCALLINGMEGOTTAGOMISTERMILLERBYE.”

And you left. You had no desire to explain your baseless, bullshit observation or why his phone was currently covered in a thin sheen of sweat from your butt.

You’d never seen so many roses in your life.

Joel Miller could legitimately give the whole Bachelor franchise a run for its money with all the goddamn virtual flowers he’d been getting from his Hinge admirers.

It’d been a week before you’d finally gotten the chance to abduct his phone again and check his ‘likes’ for yourself. Honestly, you hadn’t been expecting much—Joel was hot, but more so in a niche-ish sort of DILF-sexy way. You figured he’d be more of an acquired taste, really.

Once you’d scrolled through just over a hundred different messages, you realized at once how wrong you were.

‘GNAWING at the bars of my enclosure.’

‘Daddy? Sorry. Daddy? Sorry, I mean, Daddy?’

‘Need you in a way that is concerning to feminism.’

‘Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleaseplease.’

And that was truly just the tip of the iceberg when it came to all the wild, chaotic, and horny messages Joel had received over the last week. You couldn’t believe it.

You got to firing off responses as fast as you could. Sitting cross-legged on the back porch while your dad, Joel, Tommy, and a dozen other neighbors were busy grilling burgers and soaking up as much sun as possible.

The only other person who hadn’t joined them was Tess.

She peered over your shoulder and fought back a laugh.

“That man is a fuckin’ menace to society, I swear.”

“No, we’re a menace to society. All about team effort,” you corrected her as you typed up a lightning-quick ‘Hey ;-)’ to each message, fingers moving fast.

“He doesn’t even know you’re doing this!”

“He will soon enough,” you mumbled. Grinning. Then, “Mission’s not over until that old man gets his dick wet.”

You’d probably made it through seventy or so replies and got to go back-and-forth with a couple hot prospects by the time you heard footsteps trailing up the steps—heavy ones that you instantly recognized as Joel’s. Without another word, you exited the app, turned the phone off, and chucked it to Tess, who placed it discreetly onto the porch railing where Joel had left it.

That phone really should have had a passcode on it.

Two weeks later, it did.

You saw it as soon as you’d slid your thumb up the screen in the comfort of Joel’s living room—over at his place pretending to be watching your Star Wars spin-off again—and you felt your heart jump up in your throat.

Your passcode is required to enable Face ID.

Since when the fuck did your neighbor have a passcode? Or even know how to make Face ID a thing? Or use it?

These questions and a dozen more were thrumming through your skull when you heard the screech of the back door once again. This time, instead of taking his sweet time on his yard work, Joel had only been gone five minutes. You swallowed a scream and did that dumb, reflexive thing you had before: shoved his phone in your shorts and thrust yourself back into the couch.

Practically shaking when Joel stepped into the room.

Of course, he wasn’t sweaty. His shirt wasn’t smudged with flecks of dirt or swaths of green from the grass outdoors, nor were his Wranglers the slightest bit muddied. He was perfectly clean in a plain white tee, jeans, and boots. You couldn’t help but notice how tight the short sleeves of his shirt hugged his biceps, and then you realized it was because his arms were crossed.

Joel regarded you with a look as long and as careful as the rows he was supposed to be mowing out in the middle of his backyard right now, and he let out a breath.

“Guess what,” he said.

“What?” you squeaked.

Your eyes widened without meaning to, and when Joel plopped down on the sofa beside you, you felt a shiver pulse through your body. Joel stretched his big, wide, denim-clad legs out as he leaned back, and you had to force yourself not to jump when his knee struck yours.

“I’ve gotta brush up on my Gen Z lingo,” he announced.

Wh— okay? What the fuck?

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, and feeling the slightest twinge of relief at this declaration, Joel started to tug something out of his pocket. It took you several seconds to see it, then a couple more just to work out what it was, then Joel was squeezing it. Flipping it open.

An old Motorola Razr? When did he get that?

“See, I, uh— met a girl last week,” Joel resumed, plainly careless in the way he fingered the thing in his grip.

Your chest tightened. Had he really?

“She’s a little on the…younger side. You might know her.”

Oh shit. Was Joel banging one of your friends?

You swallowed hard and nodded for him to continue. You pretended not to notice when he flipped the phone open and left it that way—starting to thumb through the keys to do something on it. You fought the urge to take a look.

To distract yourself, you watched his face instead. It was lax.

“She said somethin’ kinda funny last night, and I—” Joel paused to let out a breath of a laugh, and you nearly broke down to steal a glance at what he was looking at.

Narrowly, you resisted. And it was a lucky thing, too—the next thing you knew, Joel’s gaze was fixed right on you.

“Y’know what she said to me?” he asked.

“What?”

Joel blinked. You probably should’ve heard the click of a little button on the phone he was holding, but you didn’t.

You did feel the vibration of another phone under your ass a second later, though. That one was unmistakable.

That one was Joel’s.

Out of one more stupid, senseless instinct, you coughed. Loud. Like the momentary scratch in your throat might reasonably mask the sound and sensation of a small hunk of metal buzzing between your butt and the couch.

It didn’t, of course. You sat and stared at Joel as it rang.

Slowly, he brought the Razr to his ear. At one corner of his mouth, you could discern the first inklings of a smirk.

“Wanna answer that?” he hummed, nodding to your rear.

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

You weren’t sure how you even had the strength to do it, but you reached back and plucked his phone out of your shorts. With your gaze still stuck to his, you answered it. Put it to your own ear out of habit—and a little bit of fear.

“Hello?” you said, stupidly.

“Hey.”

The second you heard Joel’s voice rumble out beside you on the couch and across the line, your heart dropped. Ironclad confirmation of all you didn’t want to believe.

You squeezed his phone even tighter and sincerely hoped the man couldn’t hear the wild, erratic beat of your heart as it throbbed and thudded in your chest. The noise was almost too loud for you to hear anything else, too fast-paced and frantic to discern another word until:

“Can you tell me what a ‘Hinge DILF’ is, darlin’?”

You rose to your feet, scarcely even realizing it.

You had to get off of that couch, had to get away from him and come clean, as calmly as you possibly could. The phone fell out of your grasp just as he ended the call.

“Shit— Mr. Miller— I-I-I-I can explain.”

Swiftly, suddenly, Joel recovered his phone from the floor. He set the other device aside and propped his feet on the coffee table, lounging a little more comfortably now that he could scroll the phone at his leisure. Before he did, though, he made a point to wipe the screen.

“Nothin’ I love more than ass sweat on my phone.”

Your cheeks heated to a thousand degrees.

You wished the ground below your feet would open up and swallow you whole. It was like you were floating somewhere over your own body, unable to move or speak. From this vantage point, and still paralyzed with fear, you could see Joel opening Hinge on his phone.

“Crazy how long the stuff sticks,” he mused aloud, starting to peruse his likes, “When you got up and high-tailed it outta my place that first day, I thought I must’ve been seein’ things—what with how wet my phone was.”

You would’ve closed your eyes in utter resignation if you’d had the strength. Joel had known this entire time.

The old man continued to scroll, cavalier as ever.

“I figured ya might’ve been havin’ some…personal time of your own on my phone—maybe your old man blocked PornHub on the home WiFi or somethin’—but then I kept diggin’ around…” As Joel spoke, his actions seemed to mirror his words, and he was really scoping out the app. Combing through profiles and roses and streams of old messages that you had sent, then shrugged to himself.

“…and all I found added up to jackshit,” he concluded.

This time, you managed to meet his gaze when he looked back up, but really, you hardly saw him at all.

Joel was smiling.

“I did see a text, though.”

He waved his phone, where a few messages were visible, though not legible, to you. You didn’t try to read them.

“‘Welcome to Hinge! Reply ‘C’ to confirm your phone number and get started,’” Joel rattled the first one off.

Of course you’d forgotten to delete the fucking text.

“And I know my memory’s all but gone to shit, but I didn’t remember ever replying ‘C’ myself, so then—”

“It was a joke,” you choked out, cutting him off.

Joel cocked a brow. He leaned even further back in his seat and crossed his feet. You were already vomiting words before he could attempt to get one out himself.

“N-Not a funny joke,” you clarified, voice shaking, “Fuckin’ stupid as shit, I just wanted to see— y’know— me and Tess were talkin’ ‘bout how hard it must be…in your…in your fifties— it’s just hard finding somebody.”

Joel didn’t know what you were trying to say, and his face showed it. You didn’t know what you were saying.

“So you think my sex life is a joke?” Mr. Miller quipped.

“NO!”

You hadn’t meant to say it so loudly. You quieted down:

“No. I didn’t…no. I just wanted to see who would…”

“…wanna fuck me?” he finished, blunt as ever.

If your face had been hot before, surely it was about to burst into flames right now. You didn’t get like this—not around Joel Miller, not around anybody—but here you were, chest constricting with humiliation and shame, wishing you were anywhere in the world but the place you were, and Mr. Miller was smiling, he was still smiling, and it was all you could do to just stand there and…stare.

And wince when tears started to prick at your waterline.

As if this day couldn’t get any more mortifying, you were actually crying in front of your neighbor, nose stinging and beginning to leak. Stupid, stuttered gasps leaving your lungs like you’d just learned to breathe yesterday, vision blurring the man in front of you and then dimming, momentarily, as you brought your hands up to your eyes and tried to shield this wretched display from his view.

You paced a couple hasty, blind steps away. You pressed the heels of your palms so hard into your sockets that stars started to dance behind your lids and a pain began to stab your brain. You continued to sob. It was just then dawning on you that you’d have to make a run for it now and never set foot near this man’s property again. You’d have to lock yourself away, never get to go to a barbecue again, probably face a restraining order from Joel and—

“FUCK!” you shrieked.

With all the grace of a giraffe on roller skates, you tumbled over Joel’s end table and took a nosedive into the floor. Your hands had no choice but to fly out in front of you in an effort to break your fall, and of course, they had to land on a lone, stray beer bottle on the ground.

One lovely little container of Corona Extra went splintering under the weight of your whole body, and briefly, before the thing exploded beneath your palm, you swore you could’ve heard a tiny, self-righteous voice:

‘¡La Vida Más Fina!’

Fuck you, Corona.

You’d never been more embarrassed in your life. Even if the bottle had managed to roll far enough to nick just the edge of your hand, slicing a minuscule strip of skin beneath your thumb, you still wanted to cry even harder. You looked pathetic, crumpled up beside this man’s couch with your wrist pinched between your fingers and your tears paving two steady streams down your cheeks. Hedged in by a field of shattered glass, you cast a look around yourself and whimpered. Then cursed. And cried.

You heard the shards around you crackle and snap even more when a pair of boots stepped in and crushed them.

Joel made easy work of your deadweight frame—your body hanging limply in his grip as he hoisted you up to your feet. Your vision was still as bleary as it had ever been, nose running and stinging and still struggling to take in breaths, but Mr. Miller’s hold was steady. He guided you into the kitchen and straight over to the sink.

Water ran. Wounds stung. A couple more sobs clawed out of your throat while Joel held your hand under the faucet, dabbed a paper towel across your hand to dry it off, then disappeared, momentarily, to retrieve what you assumed would be a first aid kit from the other room.

Instead, Mr. Miller returned with a fifth of Maker’s Mark. You eyed the bottle of whiskey in his hand and grimaced.

“N-Nuh-uh,” you blubbered, emphatic, “No way, man.”

“Uh, yes way, man,” Joel mimicked your voice, nose scrunching for dramatic effect as he elevated the pitch, “Like, you totally need this antiseptic so you don’t die.”

“I don’t s-sound like that!”

“I don’t so-o-und like that!”

Of course your neighbor couldn’t be assed to show an ounce of compassion to another person for more than two minutes. He drew closer with the whiskey. When he grabbed your wrist, you huffed and shook your head.

“That’s gonna hurt. I don’t want it.”

“Oh, cry me a fuckin’ river.”

Though as soon as he’d said it, the man winced a little. Maybe that had been a bit too harsh. You sniffled hard.

“Fuck you, Miller— I-I was doin’ you a favor!” you spat.

Tears and snot becoming the fuel for part of your newfound indignation, you shot Joel a look and scowled. You wrenched your hand out of his grip and made a point to rebuff the bottle of liquor as you moved back, shaking your head again. Mr. Miller stood there and watched you.

“Only time you ever leave this fuckin’ house is when you’re hangin’ out with my dad or your brother, you haven’t got shit else to do around here but mow that fuckass lawn and jerk off— I was tryin’ to help you out! Get you laid like any normal guy would like, but no, no— you’ve gotta go and be the world’s biggest ASSHOLE about it, just like you are with everything else. I’m sorry.”

Deep down, you were and weren’t remorseful at all.

You were sorry you’d gotten caught, ate shit over a side table and got your palm fucked up by a bottle of beer.

You weren’t as sorry that Joel seemed to be regarding you as a joke now—something to tease and poke fun at. Trying to pour his makeshift disinfectant over your cut and force you to obey his orders because you were just too dumb to figure it out yourself, then mock your voice.

Then watch you with tightly knit brows, eyes scanning your face with a skepticism that was almost palpable.

Condescending old fuck.

“What? Ain’t got nothin’ to say to that?” you seethed. Emotions running high—and humiliation momentarily usurped by anger—you stared him down and dared him to speak. You didn’t care what he thought of you now.

If it had been in your interest to care, you probably would’ve looked a little harder at what the man’s body language was communicating to you in the meantime. What his mouth was evidently loath to say, his hands and feet hardly displayed the same reticence: he set the bottle aside and stepped closer to you. He stared back.

It wasn’t until he’d approached near enough, had closed the space between your body and his with barely more than an inch or two to spare, and glowered down at you, face frozen with a frown, that your brain got the hint that he might not be the type to chicken out. Or back down.

He reached behind you and opened a cabinet.

“A favor,” Joel echoed, and you could tell he was trying his hardest not to replicate your intonation as he said it.

He’d just marginally checked his douchebag predilection, was closing the cabinet door beside your head and was starting to rock back on his heels, when a little cylindrical glass swung low in your line of vision. Joel held the tumbler loosely, then lifted it and pointed with his pinky.

“You,” he said, accusing, “fuckin’ suck at those—favors.”

Your stomach clenched at the sight of a slight, impish smile just then starting to frame the sides of his mouth. The featherlight grip he kept fastened on the glass, the ease of his stance, even the jab of that stupid, rough finger, still pointing at you, all bordered on nauseating. You fixed him with a pitiless look as he leaned in again.

And when his knuckles brushed your side, you tried not to flinch. You arrested his gaze without a word and let the smug, sun-tanned, sweet-as-shit-pie son of a bitch have his fill ogling you back and closing in on the bottle.

“What? Having half the tri-county population on Hinge ready to suck you off isn’t really your style?” you jeered.

Joel popped the cap and poured his drink. He shrugged.

“They ain’t you.”

As casual as if he’d just told you the weather forecast for the week ahead, his favorite place to eat, or the mundane specs on a construction project he’d been saddled with for months. Nothing of note. Nothing unknown. Just a routine admission of truth that sent your head reeling.

“You wh— w— well that’s—” you stammered, equal parts astonishment and exasperation as he continued to feed you steady, unrelenting doses of that look: “GROSS!”

You were standing stock-still, forced to watch that blip of a grin morph into a full smirk, slowly. He had to be joking.

“You are…fucked in the head, Miller. That’s not funny.”

Now you were the one pointing. Joel was drinking.

“—and I’d never in a million years even think—”

The side of your palm began to throb. It bled.

Blood was trickling down your wrist, roaring like thunder in your skull as your heart thudded away, impatient.

Impatient.

Impatient, impatient, impleeeeeeeeease fuck me, Joel, PLEASE!

Your libido a filthy, rotten traitor to all the rest of your better sense, you continued to stand there and suffocate on words like something akin to acid reflux in the throat. Your thighs snapped together, your back collapsed with equal force against the rigid set of cabinets behind it, and slowly, almost excruciating this time, you felt the pulse between your legs give way to a bout of warmth.

That cockhungry slut governing your bodily functions was actually getting wet for this asshole, and you were powerless to the effects of her wily, DILF-lusting ways.

“Gross,” you uttered out loud, again, reflexively—face overlaid with a look of horror as the heat began to pool.

And, as though the man had been endowed with the gift of infrared vision, or else just an external thermostat to gauge how hot you’d gotten between your two sweating legs, Joel brightened. His gaze flirted down to that soft, unseasonably tepid spot with a knowing look and then—

“Gross,” he parroted back. The smile behind his eyes said he wasn’t disgusted at all, just teasing some more.

When he pinched your wrist to get back to the business of blotting out blood with a paper towel, he kept that smug look painted across his creased, ancient face.

“‘S’that why ya made a Hinge for me? ‘Cause I’m gross?” Mr. Miller applied pressure to the still-bleeding cut, then directed your other hand to hold the paper towel in place.

You shook your head.

“No,” you started, trying not to wince before he turned. Again, the man ambled out of the kitchen, only to come back momentarily—finally—with a long-awaited bandaid.

“I mean…yeah, you’re a perv, but that’s beside the point.”

Joel exhaled a little harder through his nose. He pressed the underside of your palm again, ensuring the bloodflow had stopped, then swapped the napkin for the bandage. The adhesive might’ve been in place for two seconds before he was retreating again; this time, to the fridge.

“Then what was the point?”

Joel yanked one door open. You glanced over your shoulder to the one that led out to the back porch.

The longer you stayed, the harder it would be to go.

Go.

GO!

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly.

From where you were standing, you weren’t sure why you’d decided to make Joel the profile in the first place. Your curiosity, for one thing, had been one hell of a persuasive motivator to getting you scrolling on Joel’s behalf, but why did you care one way or another if your neighbor was drowning in pussy or enduring Sahara desert-levels of dick deprivation at his big age? It sure as fuck wasn’t your business to care, and nothing about Joel Miller had ever intrigued you consistently enough to venture an inquiry about his personal life before, so…

“Why?”

Joel was looming overhead again, the force of his presence like a fist through your chest. In an effort to steady your breaths, you turned your gaze away from his.

“I should go.” You couldn’t have dodged his last question more clumsily, or pathetically, if you’d tried, “It’s…late.”

Outside, the midday sun was still high in the sky, and there was nowhere in the world you had to be, Joel knew.

“Okay,” he said at length.

Then he leaned in closer and held something out.

“At least take one for the road, alright?”

And he was smiling, almost kind.

You looked down and—shit.

There it was, clear as day: a creamy piña colada popsicle.

The sneaky, conceited motherfucker had remembered what you’d written in his dating profile. You winced.

You accepted the cocktail popsicle without a word.

‘Thanks’ or ‘You’re a fucking pig, Miller’ likely would’ve sufficed for a farewell on any account, but by then, you were far too shell-shocked—and frankly, incredulous—of everything that had just transpired over the course of the last thirty minutes. You didn’t thank Mr. Miller, nor insult him by likening him to swine or any other thing; you left.

Your feet carried you fast out of his house.

Down the steps of his back porch, across pristine, power-washed concrete, past seemingly endless beds of hibiscus blossoms, marigolds, cape plumbago, and those god-awful periwinkle plants—who the fuck enjoyed gardening in a heatwave, anyway?—you practically sprinted away in a fugue state until the toes of your shoes hit the edge of your lawn, then you stopped.

“FUCK!”

You’d forgotten your phone.

It felt as though your body were turning in slow motion, and for a second, you seriously considered abandoning the device altogether and begging your dad for another. Then you set your sights on the wide, uninviting exterior of the back of your neighbor’s house, the place you’d just been hauling ass to escape, and almost rolled your eyes.

Joel was leaning back against the frame of his open back door, arms crossed, expression smug as he watched you.

It was extraordinarily difficult to throw a half-decent punch at a man while wielding a popsicle in your hand.

“Give it back!” you barked.

“Give what back?” Joel grinned, easily side-stepping what struck him as neither a punch nor a slap—in fact, the hit never struck him at all. He laughed as it missed.

“You know what.”

Of course, you’d gone back. Of course, Joel had tried to play dumb and pretend like you’d never left your phone behind at all. And of course, he hadn’t budged until you’d threatened to shove your left foot so far up his ass his dentist would be picking toes out of his teeth for weeks.

‘Violent little thing, ain’t ya?’ Joel had replied, chuckling.

Then, when he’d attempted to brush you aside with a patronizing wave of his hand and an admonition to run on back to daddy and quit buggin’ me, all bets were off. You’d aimed right for center mass and nearly dropped your frozen treat with how hard you’d shoved his chest.

That was how the conversation had started.

That was how the so-called ‘altercation’ had come to be—Joel easily swatting you off and indulging you no further than to chuckle and laugh and taunt you like an older brother who was faced with a sibling half his size—and all the while, your injured hand was throbbing again. White, sticky rivers of melted popsicle now trickled down your wrist instead of blood, and you were just as pissed.

“Listen—” Joel began, catching a fist meant for his face.

“Gimme my fuckin’ phone, Miller!”

“—you—”

“Can go to hell.”

“—owe me.”

“Owe you?!”

You stopped. Your weak, one-handed assault was halted just long enough to peer into Joel’s eyes, and the gaze that met yours was solid. Sincere as you’d ever seen it and blinking slow as the chocolate browns of his irises moved lower over you. Whether they were drinking you in, sizing you up, or merely plotting your demise by calculated turns, you could have been no more certain, or prepared to hear, what came out of his mouth next:

“Wanted to do me a favor, didn’t ya? C’mere.”

And the next thing you knew—or felt—was one thick finger hooking into your belt loops. One swift tug in his direction, another light push toward the old wood railing to your side, and then more fingers crowding in, crawling over, seizing the coarse denim material and pulling hard like the thing was the single most annoying impediment.

“Take these off,” Joel grunted.

You were too stunned to move. Even breathing felt like a chore, every last sense elevated to impossible heights, it wasn’t surprising at all when Joel just went and did it all himself. In a blink, your shorts were yanked down and then dropped to your ankles, your legs guided backward in shuffled steps, and then, nearly tripping in the fabric at your feet, you fell back, ass smacking the flat railing. You winced at the warm, knotty texture of the cedar beneath you and, out of habit, shot the old man a look.

Joel cocked a brow in response, likely already knowing what that glare from you was intended to convey, and instead of giving voice to any words himself, just sank.

Lower and lower and lower, until his knees were the only things holding him upright on the floor before you and his hands were pressing—melting—into your thighs.

Audibly, his kneecaps cracked.

You couldn’t help but giggle.

While Mr. Miller’s mouth moved dangerously close to a place you should’ve been appalled to see him go, all you felt capable of doing in that absurd moment, it seemed, was laugh. You gripped the thick white column beside you, scooted back slightly until you were in a comfier seated position, then snagged your lower lip between your teeth to contain the sound, but it was of no use.

Joel was both drooling and scowling between your legs.

“That funny, huh?” he managed in a low, ragged breath, “Sound’a some crackin’ joints on a man as old as me?”

“Yeah,” you said. Smug, for once.

Admittedly, any other normal person in your position would’ve been concerned with about a million different, more pressing issues—namely, your neighbor and dad’s best friend sticking his face between your legs—but really, after all the frivolity, commotion, and fucking insane behavior the two of you that day, it was like your brain had logged off and left the body to its own devices.

You didn’t mind that for right now.

When Joel’s tongue grazed the space between the cusp of your panties and inner thigh, you really didn’t mind.

Fuck it. If this was the favor he’d wanted after all, so be it.

As if reconsidering the foray of his mouth for the time being, Joel tilted back a little: just far enough to get his hands on your underwear and start tearing those down your hips too. One short, hot puff of air from his lips was a bliss unto itself, and your knees instinctively kicked up. With the thin white fabric barely halfway down one calf, you hooked your ankle over Joel’s shoulder and cursed.

“My daddy’s gonna kill you for this, Mr. Miller.”

And, for what felt like the thousandth time, Joel smiled.

Bigger this time, as if to show he didn’t really care at all what the man next door was liable to say or do about his present endeavor as long as he got to stay. You let him.

He pressed a kiss to your slick, puffy lips and hummed.

“Fine by me.”

Without another word the tip of the man’s tongue glided up the length of your slit and curled in, drawing your arousal between his lips in a hungry sort of kiss, and then sank even deeper. Going nose-deep in just one go, the old man looked positively obscene burying his face so far inside; his features alone a cruel, unseemly sort of fixture between legs as smooth and supple and warm as yours—how did a man so many years your senior get to be so lucky?—and somewhere further, in the darkest recesses of your mind, the sight sparked desire. A hunger, really.

Seeing that silver, stubbled chin getting drenched in your wetness, the weathered lines of his face growing even deeper with each new movement of his tongue, the strain in his neck with muscles that were firm and taut and so visibly aged with decades and decades of life—

You adored it.

A man Joel’s age never looked more out of place and still somehow perfectly fit for the space between your thighs.

You lowered the hand that was cradling your popsicle, braced your weight against the railing with the other, and then pressed on either side of his skull with your legs, quiet moans tumbling one after the next off your tongue.

“‘S’all for me?” Joel breathed, licking and suckling kisses along your clit, “This sweet, needy pussy’s all mine?”

“All yours.”

You scarcely recognized the sound of your own voice. Your legs were shaking. Though you loved to see him make you come undone, piece-by-piece, you also couldn’t bring yourself to stare a second longer, stimulation too great and his tongue too good.

If he kept going at a rate like this, you’d have no choice but to cum, and you didn’t want to be done just yet. Or ever. You refocused your gaze to look down and tell him as much, when your mouth fell open around a gasp, rather than words, and the weight in your hand fell away.

Swiftly, Joel took the popsicle in his own grasp and slid it down to the vicinity of his lips and tongue, now grinning.

The thing was half-melted by now, having sufficiently soaked half your forearm and leaving a vague, sugary aroma in its wake, but it was still intact. Still unlicked—unlike you—and still perfectly cool and light and long. The off-white hue was almost taunting in the way it winked and caught rays of the sunlight shining behind you, and as the man slid it even lower, you jumped back.

“Joel,” you hissed.

“What?” he hummed.

“That’s not—” You blinked, swallowing a moan.

“Not what?”

One warm, callused hand pressed the tip of the frozen thing to your bundle of nerves—the first contact it had had since Joel’s tongue—and you let out a low whine.

Even after all that time in the sun, the popsicle seared your soft, wet, aching parts with a biting cold you’d never thought possible. It sent waves of a strange, trembling pleasure coursing through your lower half and left your head with no choice but to moan. And fist Joel’s hair in a vice-like grip when he angled the wooden stick lower.

Suddenly, the white, sticky head slipped from your clit to the rim of your yet-untouched entrance, and that made your muscles leap to attention once again. You cursed.

“Not what, honey?” Joel pressed, with affection—and as he did, sank the tip of the popsicle deeper inside you.

“Th— that’s not—” You were shaking your head, racking your brain for any trace of the English language and failing miserably, “Not…doesn’t…g-go there, fuck.”

Joel sank the pretty, dribbling popsicle another inch inside your pussy and sucked a whistle through his teeth. If your senses weren’t as raw and utterly shot as they were, you likely would’ve seen the expression on his face transform from one of pleasure and amusement to awe, eyes darkening at the sight of your hole opening wider.

“That’s it, baby, take it,” he cooed, voice low.

Another couple soft utterances of ‘Joel,’ and your legs only parted wider. Free to grip his hair, the railing, the column beside you, or just the insides of your own palm as the icy sensation sank inwards and into your body, you whimpered. Your hips, instinctively, bucked toward the source, and you heard Joel’s groan join your sounds.

He withdrew his new toy just far enough to make you mewl for him again, then drove it deeper. With the friction of that, a stream of white went trickling out.

Joel couldn’t help himself; he flattened his tongue against the stream and licked you clean from the spot where he’d split you open to the cusp of your clit. He circled that place over and over, worked the object in his hand even further inside and back out again, then, getting a taste of your arousal with the white, wet, sticky-sweet juices starting to mix together, he moaned.

It was a guttural sound, something just shy of the ‘feral’ demarcation but at least ten steps ahead of desperate. You relished the gruff, throaty sound reverberating from his lips to your cunt, the way your walls fluttered around it and for him, and were just about to throw your head back and grind your hips even harder when it stopped.

Joel stopped. He started to get up.

Quickly for him, but slow as molasses from your point of view, the man straightened from his place on the hard wooden floor and expelled a breath. His chest heaved, and his torso twisted to one side, momentarily, to get the strain out of his back as best he could. From where you sat, the spattering of grey in his beard seemed to glisten even brighter with the sheen of your arousal now sticking in it. He wiped his chin and reached in between your legs.

“Got any favors left in ya, sweet pea?” he smirked.

Fortunately for you, it didn’t sound like a question at all, and didn’t appear to be intended that way, as the next second had Joel pulling the largely-spent popsicle out of your slick and straight into your mouth. He didn’t inquire whether he could push it down on your tongue and make you taste your own cunt on the thin wooden stick, but the smile on your lips assured him that was fine by you.

Nor did he ask for your permission to flip you around, bend you over his porch railing, and take your hips in his hands. You were still sucking down the last traces of sugar and citrus and a vaguely tangy taste when you felt the head of something else prod your soft, wet folds.

Much bigger—and warmer—than the thing that had breached you before, Joel nudged at your hole with the tip of his cock, coated the head of it in light, gentle circles, and sucked in a breath. He didn’t have to ask, and you didn’t need to answer; he just parted your walls with the force of one steadying thrust, and the pulse of that sharp, dizzying pleasure was back in an instant.

Shared this time, and manifesting in sounds from you and Joel alike: you gritting the stick between your teeth and managing muffled cries of his name and whatever expletives you could scream, Joel with ragged breaths.

For a man who ostensibly hadn’t fucked since the Clinton administration, he was off to a pretty good start.

Joel gripped your hip even tighter and started to saw his cock in and out of your dripping, pliant hole, his other fist finding purchase in your hair for more leverage. His thrusts were shallow enough at first to get you used to the new stretch, and you could feel him making space in a way no man’s girth ever had before. You couldn’t see his face, but you imagined it had come to settle into a mix of guilt, rigid composure, and pussydrunk pleasure.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured behind you. Then, groaning, “Good fuckin’ girl, keep squeezin’ my cock just like that.”

You felt a slap on the ass and the speed of his thrusts pick up in turn. Your mouth fell open in a moan, and the stick on your tongue almost slipped out of place when, shortly, Joel leaned over your body and pulled you back. He snagged the popsicle stick between his teeth just in time to get your back flush with his front—in perfect position to get fucked against the nearest column.

Breaths coming out in short, ragged grunts in your ear, Joel teased the side of your face with the stick, then nudged it back in your mouth. You sucked it softly.

“One more favor, baby?” he panted against your cheek.

You nodded, not knowing what it was but that you wanted to be the one giving it. Joel pulsed inside you.

With every stab of his cock, every string of your wet, messy, combined arousals making the most profane noises imaginable between your body and his, you were squeezing him tighter and teetering on release. Joel’s hand snaked down between your legs, and just as the head of his cock nudged against that spot, you keened.

“Any favor?” Joel groaned and nipped at your earlobe.

The heft of his stomach and chest made for a warm, sturdy place to start rocking your hips, greying peach fuzz at the base of his belly a small comfort as you writhed against his body and whined that you’d do anything, anything he wanted, as long as he let you cum.

Joel’s middle finger found your clit, and you nearly screamed at the welt of pleasure coming to a head. Again, the popsicle stick tumbled out, but neither one of you could be bothered to try and keep it in this time.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

The man behind you didn’t even attempt to conceal his grin as he leaned closer, hugging your body to his while he circled your clit and fucked you harder, lips straying every now and then to press a kiss on your shoulder. He plunged his cock deeper and was met with a squeezing, leaking mess trickling down his length and onto his balls, growing louder with each new wet slap against your ass. The old man was a tease, but he couldn’t hold on forever.

“Wanna fill you up,” Joel groaned.

“Cum inside?” you murmured.

You were barely able to tilt your chin to him, but when you did, he held it—made you look him in the eyes and, for once, give your unequivocal permission to do it then.

And you did.

You were startled to find Joel’s lips crashing against yours in the next second, mouth overwhelmed with the remains of your own taste, his tongue, and a series of relentless, hammering thrusts. It was only a matter of moments, then, before your resolve gave way and his followed suit, and the waves of pleasure between you both manifested in ropes of sticky, hot cum painting your walls. Joel held you closer, as though needing to feel his seed as he fucked you through it, groaning when he felt it start to move with each sharp, stuttered thrust.

You panted in his mouth coming down. You kissed him back. You almost couldn’t believe the sensation between your legs, soon to come dripping out and undoubtedly bound to make a mess all over the floor of Joel’s porch.

Equally unbelievable was the fact that you’d just fucked your neighbor in broad daylight, outside, with Marlene’s house directly to your left and your own on the right.

You stared out at the sprawling expanse in front of you—Joel’s impeccably kempt yard, one of the reasons why you were standing where you were just then—and, as you’d found yourself before, you felt the urge to laugh.

Not on account of Joel’s old, ailing knees, this time.

Clearly, the man still trying to catch his breath behind you suspected that that might’ve been the case, though, because you felt him shift his weight and grunt, lightly.

“What’s so funny? My knees crack when I cum, too?”

You could feel the smallest of scowls start to take shape, muted momentarily with kisses that he pressed on your cheek, and others, still more teasing, down your neck.

You let him, unfazed and still giggling. Then pointing.

It seemed Joel was loath to detach his lips from your neck—or his cock from the place he’d just stuffed full—but when you lifted your finger to indicate a direction toward the side of his backyard, his senses perked up.

There, along the white picket fence between his yard and Marlene’s, was the furry, merciless, lawn-destroying labradoodle that had been plaguing Joel’s life for years.

The man was out of you in an instant. He yanked his jeans up even quicker, tucking his dick back, clumsily, into its place in a fit of rage, then cupping his hands:

“WILL YOU FUCK THE HELL OFF, SPARKY?!”

#REMEMBER - JUST BECAUSE JOEL PUTS A POPSICLE IN YOUR P*SSY DOES NOT MEAN YOU SHOULD DO THE SAME IRL!!!! I’M SO SERIOUS #PLEASE PROTECT YOUR PH AND DON’T PUT SWEETS DOWN THERE LMAOAKSK #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel tlou #the last of us fic #the last of us #tlou

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ssahotchnerr · 5 months

Note

i rlly wanna see how aaron would react to reader accidentally starting her period and leaking on his white sheets. i just know he would be so caring and conforming !!

stains

he soooo would cw; fem!reader, period talk, blood mentions, language, fluff <33

Even on the weekends, Aaron doesn't tend to stray from routine.

Apart from setting an alarm - he presses a kiss to the first patch of your skin he can find, rolls out of bed, and then opens the blinds so the morning light can naturally assist in waking you. Trailing into the en-suite bathroom, he hears you let out a gentle squeak, stretching from your laid position in bed.

He preps his toothbrush, blinking once, twice, in attempt to rid the heavy sleep from his eyes. Brushing his teeth is number one on his morning agenda; not only because it was the hygienic thing to do, he simply could not stand having horrid breath.

Despite the brushing sounds echoing in his head, he doesn't miss your low,

"Shit."

"Honey?" His attempt to speak was muffled, as his toothbrush was in his mouth. He tilted back from the sink, just enough to allow him to peer into the room, to see you.

You were sat upright, a handful of sheets in hand, meeting his eyes guilt-stricken. "I'm sorry. It wasn't due for another three days and you know I'm typically always on schedule and always prepared-"

"Hm?" Freeing his mouth from the toothpaste, quickly flicking the water on/off to rid the residue and wiping his mouth with a washcloth, he re-entered his room.

As he came closer, your flushed cheeks were vividly noticeable, the remorse in your eyes even more intense. You clarified, "My period."

"Oh," his expression softened, before alternating to deep concern. "Are you alright?"

"Am I alright? Aaron your bed-"

"What about it?"

"It's stained - the sheets. Fuck," you scrambled up, not wanting to ruin them further, wincing in pain as you did so. You quickly padded past him to the bathroom, the plush carpet soft under your bare feet. He followed behind.

"And? Sweetheart if you think I care about that," he chuckled, sweetly shaking his head. "Do you have...?"

"In my bag."

Feminine products - Aaron redirected himself, finding your overnight duffle tossed hastily near the foot of his dresser. As he rummaged through it, he mentally cursed himself for not already having a supply waiting under his sink, and mentally added such to his future shopping list.

He grabbed the other necessities - an extra pair of underwear, t-shirt, opting to grab your favorite pair of shorts from his drawer. One he hadn't worn in quite a while as you had claimed sole ownership.

You sheepishly accepted the items from him, refraining from lifting your gaze. "Thank you."

"Hey," With a finger he lifted your chin, causing you to meet his soft, brown eyes. "It's okay."

You shook your head in shame, prompting his hand to fall.

"It's your body. It's natural. It's- this is not an inconvenience to me, it is for you. Plus, this is exactly what they invented stain remover for."

Despite yourself you laughed, wrapping your arms around your middle. "I suppose."

The ends of Aaron's lips itched upwards, successful in his goal to crack a smile. Although, his amusement sobered back to concern, "You never answered my question from before. Are you alright?"

You grimaced. "Crampy."

"Advil then?" Aaron asked and you nodded. He placed his hand on your lower abdomen soothingly, the warmth of it calming your tensed muscle. That was the thing about his touch, it never failed to relieve any aches or discomfort, physical and emotional. "And a bath? I recall you saying that helps, with easing the pain."

"Please."

He quickly obtained the pain reliever, started the bath. "Don't worry about the sheets, I'll strip and get 'em in the wash. Hand me your clothes too." He ran his hand under the stream of water, regulating the temperature as you immediately began to protest, claiming, 'it was your mess, your doing,' but Aaron kindly shut you down, "Nope. Let me handle it, I insist."

"And if the stain doesn't come out?"

"I've been meaning to dispose of them anyway. They're getting old, they've fulfilled their job well." After flashing you a sympathetic smile Aaron stood, his age vaguely showing when his knees cracked as his legs straightened. He placed a kiss on your forehead, hoping to dissolve your current, growing pout. "Just relax."

You willingly met his eyes this time. You tousled his hair, still disheveled from sleep, paying extra attention to the short hairs behind his ears. Your nails scratched at his scalp, expressing your gratitude silently.

"And if it makes you feel any better, this isn't the first time I've had to soak blood from linens."

"It doesn't," you rolled your eyes at his injury-prone occupation, but he did however manage to pull yet another smile from you. A gentle laugh came from deep within his chest at your response. "But thank you."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds drabble #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #hotch imagine #criminal minds x fem!reader

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fanficimagery · 6 months

Text

The Nanny

When babysitting your neighbor's kid, trouble seems to find you.

Author's Note: SOA AU - No Tara, Clay, or Gemma. Trigger warning for violence! This was supposed to be up for Valentine's Day, but as you can see... that wasn't the case lmao.

Charming, California is one of those picture perfect little towns where everyone tries to be prim and proper, and act like their shit doesn't stink. And in the short time that you've lived here, you quickly realized that the law-abiding citizens hated the fact that Charming was home to a MC, the Sons of Anarchy.

It doesn't bother you to see them riding down the streets as you're out and about, but you do find it hilarious that a majority of the locals either gasp in outrage upon seeing the bikers or avoid them at all costs. You find the bikers very easy-going, but then again the club president is your neighbor.

Jax Teller had taken it upon himself to introduce himself when you were moving in, carrying boxes for you and flashing a rather charming smile as he pumped you for information about yourself. You knew what he was doing, and it was rather laughable, but you had nothing to hide and were a rather boring person, so you gave the information freely. Between the two of you, he was more interesting as a MC president whereas you stayed home and lived off the money your brothers made. Jax seemed interested in what your brothers did for a living that they were able to provide you with the life you have, but you explained they made their money because of the family business that provided private security for celebrities and individuals with a high profile. You helped them with scheduling, but they still did a majority of the work.

Finding out Jax has a son (Abel) makes your heart warm towards the biker, and then warm up to the club when his brothers visit every now and then. Juice was really just a goofball when he wasn't doing business for the club, Chibs was a secret sweetheart, Tig was a little crazy, Happy was hard to read, but it was Opie who was the most normal of the bunch.

You settle into your home quite nicely, working from your little office when your brothers need help to prevent any scheduling conflicts. Then in your downtime, you either have a book in hand or waste time on your gaming system. Jax and his brothers have been over a couple of times, drinking a beer to wind down or eating whatever leftovers you happen to have after you've already eaten.

This morning, however, you've just finished making breakfast when there's a knock at your front door. With a strip of bacon in hand, you answer the door and are surprised to see Jax and his son Abel standing there.

"What's up, Teller?"

He immediately smiles and your eyes narrow. "I hate to do this on such short notice, but my nanny canceled. Do you think you could watch Abel for the day?"

You glance down at the blonde boy, shrugging. "Is he cool staying with me?"

Jax glances down and nudges his son, but Abel merely asks, "Do you have more bacon?"

You open the door wider as you chuckle. "Sure, kid. You want some eggs and hashbrowns too?"

"Yum."

Abel walks into your house without a care in the world and you meet Jax's amused gaze. "So are there any rules I should abide by? Are you one of those dad's that limits screen time or bans sugar?"

"Nope and nope. No allergies either."

"Cool."

"Thank you. I owe you."

As Jax starts to walk down your porch steps, you say, "I'm a slut for food, Teller. Bribe me with food and I'll say yes to anything."

"Anything?" He peers over his shoulder and arches an eyebrow. You scowl at him.

"Almost anything."

Jax laughs. "Don't cook tonight then. I'll bring some cheeseburgers and fries from this diner that makes pretty good food."

"Alright."

. .

When Jax returns later that night, Chibs and Happy follow after learning he was picking up food from the diner. What surprised them, however, was that while Jax parked in his driveway, he started taking the food to his neighbors house. But Chibs, nor Happy, said a word and followed their president with their own food when he didn't protest.

Jax is poised to knock on the door when he hears, "Don't you- don't you dare do it, kid. If you do it, I will personally wait until you turn seventeen to kick your little ass." The words give Jax pause because what the actual fuck! But then Abel's giggling makes him grin.

"Did she just threaten to kick Abel's ass, Jackie?" Chibs wonders, smirking.

"I think so."

"No, no, no! You blue-shelled me?! You're like two. How do you even know how to play this?!" Jax snorts and finally knocks. The trash talking suddenly ceases before… "It's open! If you're friendly, welcome! If not, I got a little ankle biter in here and I'm not afraid to sic him on you!"

Jax laughs some more and enters the house, walking to where he hears all the commotion. Walking into the living room, he can't help but smile at the sight of YN and Abel sitting side by side on the couch, attention focused on the TV where they're apparently playing Mario Kart.

"You bring the goods, Teller?"

"Burgers and fries as promised."

"You are currently my favorite Teller." Still your attention is on the TV, your trash talking his kid being kept very polite all of a sudden. Jax, Chibs, and Happy have no idea what's going on, but suddenly one of the characters is spinning out because of a banana peel and then Abel's giving a long, suffering sigh as the other character passes the finish line. "Yes!" You jump up, pointing down at Abel. "Sucks to suck, kid. Now come on. Your pop's got the goods."

When you finally look up at Jax, you momentarily freeze when you see Chibs and Happy there as well. "Oh. Hey, guys. Kitchen's this way."

Everyone follows you into the kitchen and you immediately grab drinks from the fridge. When you turn around, Jax is divvying up some food for himself, Abel, and you. You pass out the beers to the men and you have cans of Sprite for yourself and Abel. Then as you take the last remaining available seat since Jax kept Abel on his lap, you thank Jax for the food before digging in.

"So did you have fun today?" Jax asks his son.

"Yeah. I got to color and watch TV and play games."

Jax glances at you and you shrug. "I made do. I would have gone to the store to pick up some stuff for him, but I didn't know if you'd feel comfortable with me taking him anywhere."

"I appreciate that."

"So what about you? Is your nanny good or will you need another favor?"

"Uh, she actually might be out for a few more days."

You nod. "I can do it. Is it cool if I take him to the store with me tomorrow morning? I forgot how much little kids snack throughout the day."

"Yeah. I have an extra car seat you can use and I'll leave you some cash."

"Nah. Don't even worry about it. I'll be snacking with him, so I can front the bill."

But still, cash ends up thrown onto the table from both Chibs and Jax. You have a feeling it'd be useless to argue, so you say nothing.

After dinner, Jax helps you clean up before they all take their leave. He tells Abel to tell you goodbye and your heart absolutely melts when you crouch down, and Abel hugs you.

You visibly melt as you hug the little boy back and then pull back to tweak his nose. "Okay, you're officially my favorite Teller again."

Abel smiles at you as Jax laughs and then you bid everyone goodbye at the door.

Abel ends up preferring your company to that of his nanny, so Jax ends up splitting his son's time between the nanny at his house and you at your own house when you have nothing going on.

On this particular day, after a lunch of sandwich and chips, you and Abel are lounging in a kiddie pool right in the middle of your front yard. You even went as far to put up a canopy to have the pool half in the shade and half in the sun, and are soaking in a sports bra and a pair of black tights that look like shorts.

You're sitting in the shade, sipping on a juice box as Abel stands on the other side playing with water blasters. You hear the rumble of a motorcycle, unsurprised to have Jax checking in.

As the blonde walks up, you smile innocently as he laughs. "Where did the pool come from?"

"The store." You shrug. Abel takes the moment to load up his blaster with lukewarm water and shoots his dad with it. Jax doesn't bother dodging the stream. "We saw a commercial for the waterpark and since we can't go there, I brought the water to us."

Wiping water from his face and using it to slick his hair back, Jax crouches next to the pool and asks, "How much do I owe you?"

"Not a cent, Teller." You sip on your juice, grinning. "I haven't been in one of these since I was a kid. This is for me as much as it's for Abel. He just gave me the excuse of getting one and chilling in it without looking like an idiot."

"Well I don't know about that…"

He trails off and you gasp in mock outrage. As he laughs, you say, "You're lucky I respect the kutte and the fact that you have a phone in your pocket somewhere. If I didn't, I'd drag your butt in here with us."

"Next time." Jax splashes his son and then stands before Abel can shoot him point blank with water. "Am I grabbing dinner tonight?"

"Nah. Abel already made a request. He wants chicken tenders and fries."

"And what the little man wants, he gets?"

"Obviously." You roll your eyes playfully. "Plus, it's an easy meal and I enjoy it too."

"Alright." He chuckles as he starts making his way back towards his motorcycle. "Don't stay in the pool too long."

"Yes, sir." You mockingly salute him, lips twitching when you see him momentarily tense before relaxing once more. "See you later."

. .

It's past Abel's bedtime by the time Jax makes it home, and already he's prepared for his kid to either be bouncing off the walls or very cranky. But as he nears YN's house, he notices that it's mostly dark. All the lights are off with the exception of the porch light and a couple of lamps he can see through the windows that peer into the living room. And the TV, of course.

Instead of knocking, he lets himself right in. It's almost too quiet, but he can hear the TV playing rather low in the living room. Heading there, he walks up to the sofa and can't help but smile at the sight that greets him. YN is laid out across the sofa with Abel on her chest, his back to her front. Both are knocked out cold.

Without second guessing himself, Jax pulls out his phone and snaps a quick photo. Chuckling to himself, he then walks around the sofa as he pockets his phone and crouches down. "Hey. YN," he gently calls out while shaking her shoulder.

It takes a few shakes before you wake, sleepily humming until Jax's voice coaxes you until you're fully awake. Your arms wrap around Abel on instinct and when you notice Jax's smirking presence, you relax. "What time is it?" You mumble.

"A little after ten."

"Really? Fuck. I guess the sun really did kick my ass if I'm this sleepy."

"Yeah." Jax chuckles and then carefully starts to gather Abel in his arms. "Sorry about showing up so late."

"Don't even worry about it." You sit up, rubbing your eyes and yawning. "You know I adore your kid." As you follow Jax to the door, you remind him about going away for a week and not being able to watch Abel, but that you'll have your phone on if Abel wants to talk.

Jax laughs. "I swear, my kid loves you more than me sometimes."

"It's only because I'm a better cook," you muse.

Jax opens his mouth to argue, but ends up shutting it and shrugging. "You're not wrong there."

As Jax then exits your home, you bid him goodnight and watch until he disappears into his home.

When you explained to Jax that your brothers made their money because of the family business that provided private security for celebrities and individuals with a high profile, you weren't lying. Nor did you lie when you also explained you helped them with scheduling for said high profile individuals.

What you chose to leave out, however, was that your family had such a great record with security because no one wanted to fuck with a family who had connections to two different cartels through your dearly departed parents.

However, before you settled into the calm life of personal security, your brothers made a name for yourselves as ruthless hitmen amongst the cartels and you… you were a little unhinged when you were caught up in the moment as one of their torturers. You worked for the cartels when they needed you to, but when you and your brothers wanted to distance yourselves, it was the cartels who helped set up your security business.

The week spent with your brothers is just to visit and catch up with those who all three of you came to see as uncles. It was most definitely not supposed to end up with you being caught off guard by a fist to the face. Someone who didn't know all what you were capable of took advantage of the fact that you were a woman who was close to big names within the cartels. They thought you to be easily taken down and used as leverage, but what they didn't count on was you hiding daggers on your persons. The fight was dirty and bloody, and by the end of it you were spitting mad.

You have the urge to carve into someone that your brothers are trying to quell for once when your phone rings. You pull out your phone mid-pacing, and then freeze upon seeing Jax's name on the screen. But it's not a normal call- it's a video call.

"Fuck."

"What?" Your elder brother asks. "Who is it?"

"It's my neighbor. Most likely his kid Abel since I babysit him most of the time." Your brothers glance at each other and you roll your eyes. "I've told you about them. Now toss me my hoodie. I can't let them see my face like this."

Before the call ends, you answer it but make sure to angle the camera away from the bruised side of your face. "Hey, Jax, give me one sec," you say. Your brother tosses you a hoodie and you quickly pull it on after setting your phone down. Then you take a seat at the kitchen table, turning off a few lights so it's a little darker and you can hide within your hood. Picking up your phone and keeping only half your face on camera, you smile. "Hey, guys, miss me?"

Jax's smile falters, but Abel immediately starts talking, telling you all about his day with his dad. He tells you he misses your food and play time, and you assure him you'll be home soon. You tell him about hanging out with your own family and even make your brothers wave at the camera when you switch it on them. Abel's little voice telling them hi makes you smile and then Jax is telling Abel to go watch some TV before bed.

Left alone with Jax on the phone, his smile vanishes. "What happened?"

"What do you mean?" You refuse to meet either of your brothers' gazes as you can feel them staring at you. "Everything's fine."

"Bullshit." Your brothers snort and you huff. Very reluctantly, you pull your hood down and maneuver the camera so it catches your full face. Jax's expression hardens. "Fuck."

"Don't worry. It looks worse than it is."

"What the fuck happened?"

You shrug and quickly glance at your brothers, but they're back to doing their own thing. "Went out drinking with the family and got caught in a brawl. It's been handled."

"So I don't have to gather the boys and kick some ass?"

His words make you huff a laugh. "Nah. I'm pretty sure I put the guy in a hospital."

"You took down a dude?! Now that's hot. I wish I could have seen that."

Uncaring that they're eavesdropping, your brothers burst out laughing and you sigh. You can't help but smile and you end up rolling your eyes when Jax laughs too. "Whatever. How's Abel really doing? Is he driving his official nanny insane yet?"

"Not really. He's just moping around."

"Aww." You coo. "Well I should be home soon. I'll take him to the park or something."

Jax's teasing smile turns genuine. "You know, I've never told you this, but I appreciate everything you do for Abel. You don't have to do anything, but you still treat him like family."

"What can I say? I like kids." You shrug. "And my idiot brothers will never give me any nieces or nephews."

"Hey!" Both your brothers protest.

You grin at them before looking back at Jax on your phone. "I should get going though. We have a meeting with the uncles here in a bit and I need to get ready."

"Alright. No more fights unless I'm there to avenge you. I can't have my favorite girl looking like she's in an abusive relationship."

Snorting, you say, "No promises. Tell Abel goodnight for me and to come up with a plan for what he wants to do when I get back home."

"Will do. See you soon."

As soon as you hang up, your brothers start making teasing kissing noises. "Oh shut the fuck up."

Valentine's Day has never been a day that you really cared for. Sure it was sweet to see teenagers and kids swap gifts and/or cards, or to buy candy half off, but it didn't bother you to have a significant other on this day. But you do remember how good it felt to get a gift as a kid, so you want to make sure Abel has a good day.

With your time spent with Abel, you've come to know that he loves certain fruits and chocolate. So after heading to the store for a quick shopping trip, you return home with strawberries, bananas, and melting chocolate. Then after cleaning the strawberries and chopping up some bananas, you dip them all in the ooey-gooey chocolate before letting them harden while fixing up a white dessert box with edges that say Happy Valentine's Day.

You've just filled the box with chocolate covered fruit when your phone rings and you can't help but smile at the name. You're no stranger to how handsome Jax is, but you know better than to go there with him.

"Hey, Teller, to what do I owe the pleasure of your hot voice?" You immediately answer.

Jax's laughter meets your ear before, "While it's nice to hear you like my voice, I'm actually calling on behalf of Abel."

"Aw. What does my favorite Teller need?"

"You know I'm your favorite Teller, YN." You hum, not denying his words. "But Abel is requesting your appearance here at the shop because he has a very important question to ask you."

"A very important question?" You muse. "What does Abel have to…" You trail off, the amusement in Jax's voice suddenly making something make sense. "His question doesn't happen to coincide with what today is, does it?"

Jax chuckles. "I am not ruining the surprise."

"I swear to God, Jax, if I end up crying I'm going to kick your ass."

"I look forward to it. Now get pretty and get your ass over here. Do not break my kid's heart."

"Never. And I'm always pretty, Teller."

"...yeah. You are." Your eyes widen at his words, but you don't say anything. Jax then clears his throat. "I'll see you soon."

"Y-Yeah. I'll be there in ten."

You can feel yourself blushing as you hang up, but quickly put it out of your mind as you hurry to your room to get dressed. You pull on a black sundress that's covered in sunflowers, the flowy skirt hitting right above your knees. You step into some black wedge sandals and quickly tie your hair up in a messy ponytail. You apply the basic amount of makeup and spritz some perfume around your body.

Heading downstairs, you throw all your necessities into a purse and then grab Abel's box of chocolate covered fruit before heading out.

The drive to Teller Automotive isn't a very long one, and you're soon parking in the lot. You leave your purse in the car, but you keep your box of fruits in hand. You get several wolf whistles as you cross the parking lot, but you merely laugh off Tig and Chibs' teasing.

Before you can enter the auto garage, Jax walks out, a smirk in place. And then before you can ask him what he's smirking for, your gaze is drawn downward to Abel who walks out behind him… and oh. You fuckin' melt.

Abel's hair is slicked into a faux hawk, a red bow tie is clipped to the very crisp white button shirt that's tucked into a pair of tiny faded jeans. In his hands he's holding a teddy bear that's adorned with a miniature Sons of Anarchy kutte, and a red carnation. The adorableness of it all makes you melt and tear up at how cute he is.

"Oh my goodness. You look so handsome," you tell him.

As you crouch so you're more at his level, you make sure the skirt of your dress still covers everything. Abel blushes as he asks, "Will you be my Valentine?"

"Hell yes I will." Abel smiles as he hands over your gifts, and Jax and the others- who were apparently listening in- whoop in celebration. "And as my Valentine, it's only fair that I give a gift as well. Strawberries and bananas covered in chocolate. Your favorite," you tell him.

Abel is so ecstatic over his gift that he nearly knocks you over as he hugs you. When Chibs ask him what he's got, he's more than happy to run off and show his uncles what you've given him. Jax offers you a hand up and as soon as you're steady on your feet, you notice him looking at you in a certain way.

"What?" You huff a laugh, carefully wiping away your tears that never fully fell.

"You are amazing, you know that?"

"Hardly. Tiny Teller is just adorable as hell." You can feel yourself starting to blush so you glance down at the teddy in your hand. "Where did you find a tiny kutte anyway?"

"It's actually Abel's. The guys had it made for him when he was born and he wanted your teddy to have it."

"I'll take extra care of it then." When you glance back at Jax, you ask, "So does Abel have to stay or can I take my valentine out on a date?" You have no idea what Jax had been thinking, but it's like your words make him snap. From one second to next, he goes from staring at you in awe to gently grasping your face and pulling you into a kiss. You gasp but quickly return the sentiment. And when Jax pulls back, still cupping your face in his hands, you ask, "So me wanting to take your kid out on a date really did it for you, huh?"

Jax barks out a laugh and you smile as he leans in for another quick kiss. "Been wanting to do that for a while actually."

"And you waited until this moment to do it," you muse. "Jokes on you though. You gotta stick around and listen to your boys tease you about this while I take Abel out all on my lonesome." You kiss him for a third time and then step out of his reach to holler, "Little Teller, let's go! It's you and me, buddy. Whatever you wanna do."

As Abel approaches with a lot less fruit, he asks, "Can we eat pizza in the park?"

"We sure can. Now say goodbye to your dad so we can go stuff our faces."

Dating Jax Teller is rather thrilling. You do not care to know what goes on in the club unless it pertains to any woman trying to sleep with him, or when Jax needs someone to vent to. Then, and only then, do you let your opinion be known about what goes on with the MC.

But while you have nothing against the MC, you still prefer to spend a majority of your time with Abel. Sure you'll show up to some parties so all the other women know Jax is off limits, but you're content to do activities with little Teller wherever he wants to be for the day.

You thought it was cute Jax tried to shield you from the violence the club was capable of, but never pressed him for information when you noticed he looked stressed about something. This time, however, you wish you had pressed him for information when he asked you to stay in with Abel.

It's nighttime, and you and Abel are relaxing in front of your TV as you watch some new Pixar film about dragons and their riders. The two of you are dozing off when your front door is kicked in, which then makes you jump into action. But you're not just defending yourself, you have a little boy to think about. So before you can find a proper weapon, you're left standing in front of Abel who is now clinging to your leg as he whimpers in fear.

"Jax Teller chose a pretty one this time."

"Fuck off."

The men all chuckle in front of you. "Take her."

. .

The Sons of Anarchy roll up to a subdivision that's still in development, cautiously dismounting their motorcycles and arming themselves. A new MC had established themselves in a neighboring town, looking to make a name for themselves, and they thought knocking down the Sons a peg or ten was what they ought to do to establish their foothold in the MC world for good.

The encroaching MC took to ambushing the Sons whenever and wherever, and the people of Charming were starting to become afraid of strolling their pristine streets. Even the Sheriff was looking to the Sons to end the conflict, but they could only do so much. Unfortunately, one of the fights involved a chase on motorcycles as the Sons were making a run, and the son of the enemy President took a bullet to the right side of his chest and fell. His injuries then resulted in a coma which set off to this little meeting.

As they creep through the eerily quiet streets of the deserted subdivision, Opie flanks Jax. "I don't like this, brother. Something feels off."

"I agree," Chibs says. "We should have put the club on lockdown before ridin' out."

Jax sighs. "Too late now."

Juice, Happy, and Tig jog up to homes still under construction, trying the doors or looking for any signs that someone's been there. It isn't until they get to the end of the block that they notice one home has been vandalized and they know that's where they're supposed to go.

Every Son cautiously enters the house, nose wrinkling as the state of the house. But in the middle of the living room, there's an odd clearing around a small round table. And on that table sits a folded notecard.

The Sons seem to freeze, but then Jax is marching towards the note. Snatching it up, the words written make him tense as his world starts to tilt. "Fuck. They're going after Abel."

As the note flutters to the floor, the Sons all race after their President as he flees the house.

The note read, [A son for a son.]

On the way to YN's, Jax instructs half the Sons to break off and check on the club, while also making calls to get everyone on an official lockdown. Jax, Opie, Chibs, and Happy race to his neighbor's house.

When they pull up, a few neighbors are peering out their doors looking a bit distraught. Immediately, they know something terrible has happened, and that feeling is only intensified when they spot the broken down door.

Rushing to park in YN's front yard, guns are pulled from the back waistband of their jeans. Jax takes point as he enters the house and his heart drops to his stomach. The house is an absolute mess, furniture and glass broken.

The TV is still playing some cartoon movie and when he walks further in, he curses at the sight of a body laying in a pool of blood.

Happy peers over his shoulder. "Now we know she can hold her own."

"Find them. Now."

. .

Sitting in the bathtub, Abel clings to you as his face hides against the side of your neck. Your face hurts from the numerous punches you took, your lip is split, your arms have multiple lacerations, and there's blood dripping into your eyes. But your worst wound is definitely the bullet wound to the left of your abdomen, and you're grateful that Abel's weight is putting pressure on the towel you had pressed against the wound.

It's been quiet for what seems like forever, but suddenly you hear movement. Shakily raising the gun you'd taken from one of the intruders, you take aim and dare the next motherfucker who enters to be someone intending harm on you or the boy in your lap.

The door gently swings open, but no one is there. Your arm hurts from holding the gun up and then you see someone try to peer around the door jamb. You can only partially see his face, but the voice- you recognize the voice even if you rarely hear it when you're at the club.

"Baby girl?"

"...Hap?"

The stoic man steps fully in the doorway, putting his gun away as you drop yours in the tub. Abel shifts as he whimpers and you wince. "Jax! Upstairs bathroom!"

Abel realizes his uncle's voice and dad's name, so he moves to turn. Happy is quick to lift him, his eyes widening at the blood soaking his clothes. "S'fine. My blood," you tiredly tell him. "I didn't… I didn't let them touch him."

"You did real good." Happy's assurance makes you smile, but you're just so tired. As your eyes slide shut, you hear, "Hey! Don't do that. Stay awake, YN."

"Tryin'…" Pounding footsteps race up the stairs and it isn't long until Jax, Chibs, and Opie are pushing their way into the bathroom as well. Jax takes Abel right away, eyes scanning the room before they land on you. Happy and Opie move to help you out of the tub, but Chibs is quick to point out your bleeding wound. The last words you say are, "Call my brothers," before darkness consumes you."

. .

Jax is pacing the hospital waiting room, blood covering his shirt and hands from where he carried Abel. Chibs had taken Abel back to the club to clean him up and fill in the others about what was going on, but now he's back and filling in the Sheriff about what they had walked in on at YN's house. Thankfully Jax and YN's neighbors liked them, and were honest about hearing gunshots before the Sons had frantically rolled up.

Opie and Happy are the only two sitting patiently, but their attention is drawn to a large group of men entering the room. Two men in particular glance around before making a beeline for Jax, but the others hang back by the door. It's evident these men mean business as they stand guard, their suits standing out among the scrubs, kuttes, and regular clothing of the others sitting in the waiting room.

When Jax notices the newcomers, his shoulders sag at the sight of YN's brothers. But his interest is piqued with the suited thugs behind the brothers, tattoos visible along their hands and neck.

The brothers quickly introduce themselves as Noah and Theo, both of their expressions grim.

"What happened?" Noah asks. He's the elder of the two, his muscled torso covered in a button down with their sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

"They were after my kid," Jax immediately tells them, voice low. "She took a bullet for him and she's in surgery right now."

Both brothers' jaws clench.

"Do you know who they are?" Theo asks, tapping away on his phone.

"Yeah. It's another MC. They attacked us on a run and the son of the President took a fall off his bike. He's in a coma, so the President went after my kid in return."

"And your kid was in the care of our sister," Noah realizes.

"Yes."

Noah sighs, running a hand down his face. Then after a few more taps and texts, Theo grins. "Found them."

Jax frowns. "Found who?"

"The people responsible for putting our sister in the hospital."

Jax then tenses. "This is club business, man. We'll handle it."

Both Noah and Theo tense, but end up chuckling. Jax's jaw clenches, but he keeps his anger in check.

Noah says, "If you think it'll remain club business when YN wakes up, then that means my sister hasn't confessed the family secret."

Jax freezes. "What secret?"

"We had to get our start somewhere when our parents died," Theo tells him. "And it just so happened that each of our parents came from very powerful, very wealthy families. We worked our way to the top of the food chain and became rather notorious until we wanted out and settled into the business we currently have."

Noah starts to smirk. "Your club business just became cartel business, my friend. And our uncles are livid that their little girl was attacked."

Jax glances at his boys, but says nothing.

"We'll find them and keep them occupied," Theo says. "When YN is released, she'll be out for blood."

"And she'll get it," Noah muses. "After all, she is quite the little torturer."

When you wake up, you're unsurprised to find Jax by your bedside. You are surprised, however, to learn that he knows about your past thanks to your brothers promising bloodshed. You groan, but then remember Abel. And after assurances that Abel is fine, you relax.

You're anxious to know where you stand with Jax as he explains why you ended up in the hospital. He feels guilty for not telling you what was really going on or putting you on lockdown, along with the club, but you don't blame him for what happened. Dating the President of an MC, you were bound to be pulled into the violence sooner or later, and with your past you knew you could handle it.

When he runs out of steam, it's your turn to start apologizing for not telling him about your life with the cartels. You make sure he knows that you would have never endangered Abel, and if your past had come calling, you would have made sure that they were protected at all costs. Jax assures you he's not mad, but he did wish you would have told him given you knew about the roles some of his brothers played in the club.

But what's done is done, and Jax is more interested in what you plan on doing since your brothers have gone quiet after calling him to inform him that they've got a majority of the MC tucked away in a building that no one can hear the impending mayhem.

"They broke into my home and put a bullet in me just to get to Abel and send a message to you," you say, expression turning thunderous. "The one who shot me doesn't get to walk away. Hell, the ones who fuckin' raised a gun in Abel's direction are lucky that they'll be limping away after I'm done."

"Limping away?"

You slowly smirk at him, lowering your voice. "I'm not gonna draw out my punishment, but my brothers and my uncles' men sure as shit ain't gonna sit back. They're gonna make sure they get the message that they fucked with the wrong people."

Jax huffs a laugh and then ends up staying for as long as the nurses would let him, only leaving when YN's brothers came or he had to go pick up Abel so he'd see that YN was fine for himself.

Then after two and a half days, you're released.

You're still sore, but you've got nothing but vengeance on your mind. When your brothers send you the address of where they're holding several individuals for you to interrogate, you get dressed and head for Teller Automotive.

Some of the guys are surprised to see you up and about, but you wave off their concern as you continue towards the club portion of the shop.

The usual sweetbutts are milling about, cleaning up and most likely getting ready for a party since it is a Friday. You spot Jax and Juice at the bar as Juice taps away on a laptop.

"Boys," you greet as you walk up behind them. "Whatcha workin' on?"

Jax turns in his seat, eyes subtly widening as he stands. "You're out! Why didn't you call me?" He's quick to carefully take you in his arms, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips.

"Because if I'd have called you, you'd have taken me home and coddled me."

"Well yeah. You were shot."

"I got shit to take care of, Teller, and I'm not wasting another day."

"Then what are you doing here?"

You shrug. "I just thought that you'd want to see the MC face their consequences."

"Now? You're going to do that now?" He asks, his gaze darting down to your covered abdomen.

"Yep. "My brothers procured a place just on the outskirts of Charming where we won't be interrupted. You in?"

"Well, yeah. Obviously."

"Good. Then gather whoever's in and follow me."

As you sit in your car, you watch Jax as speaks with several of brothers to see who he's going to leave in charge. And after everything is settled, only five follow Jax to their motorcycles- Opie, Happy, Juice, Tig, and Chibs.

You start your car and start to drive, pausing by the gate until Jax and the others start to roll out. You take off, keeping your speed down as you drive through the town. But the moment you get to the road leading out of Charming, you step on the gas and race towards the location your brothers sent to you.

You drive along an empty stretch of road until you turn down a dirt road which is surrounded by empty crop fields that have seen better days. The road leads up to a dilapidated farmhouse, a very rusted horse corral, and behind all that is a barn where several vehicles have parked.

You park and get out, waiting for Jax to find the perfect spot to park their motorcycles. Once they do, you wait until they gather around.

"I know this started off as club business, but now it's cartel business. I can't have you questioning me in there."

"This is your playground," Jax says. "We're just here for a show."

You nod and then turn towards the barn doors, pushing them open with the help of Chibs and Tig when they get stuck. Inside, several men are hanging about on turned over crates or bales of hay, some even sitting at a small wooden table playing cards. Music plays softly in the background, but it's cut off the moment your presence is noticed.

Immediately, every man and woman scramble to their feet as you approach.

In the middle of the barn, there's a line of eight men with burlap sacks over their heads sitting in chairs with their wrists tied down to the armrests and ankles tied to the legs. Walking down the line of men, you snatch the sacks from their heads.

"Wakey, wakey, motherfuckers." Each man is clearly exhausted, agitated, and pissed off.

You save the MC President for last, smirking as he sneers at you. "Stupid bitch." He seethes. "Let us go. Right now."

"Bitch," you muse. "If you're going to insult me, at least call me a cunt. Or whore. Those words have much more of an impact."

"Cunt."

Your fist whips out, striking him across the face so hard that his head jerks to the side. He turns to glare back up at you, spitting blood that lands on your pant leg. "Now, now. If you're going to insult me again, at least be creative about it. Your lack of creativity is sorely disappointing." He roars at you, trying to free his wrists and feet, but you merely laugh and continue to pace in front of his men. "Now I'm sure you're all wondering why you're here and it's quite simple, really." You stop pacing, expression hardening. "You fucked with the wrong woman."

Then like a switch has been flipped, you go back to smiling and pacing, gesturing wildly as you talk. "Normally I wouldn't touch MC business with a ten foot pole, but you fuckers messed up. You broke into my home and went after a��child under my care- a child that I hold very near and dear to my heart. So, now your piss poor attempt at taking over territory that doesn't belong to you has now come under cartel jurisdiction, and I will make sure that any stupid motherfuckers who dares to come after the Sons of Anarchy will pay a price."

"Fuck that. We didn't cross any cartel!"

"Oh honey," you mockingly coo as you come to a stop in front of the one who spoke. "I am part of the cartel." Turning around, you walk towards a long table and lift the cloth laying atop of it. Beneath the cloth, there's a variety of weapons. You tuck a glock into the back waistband of your jeans and then grasp a dagger in your dominant hand. Then turning to walk back towards the bound men, you smirk. "Now what I want are the assholes who attacked me and dared to point a gun at a child. You give me those men and the rest of you can walk out of here."

Silence.

Dead fuckin' silence.

"Nothing?" You chuckle. "Come on, guys. Give 'em up. I swear it's not worth protecting them. I mean, I can probably figure it out. Eyes are windows to the soul and all that rot. You might have been wearing masks, but I still remember those cowardly glints very well."

"Fuck you! I ain't no coward."

"Bingo!" You shout, pointing the tip of your blade at the culprit. Walking up to the guy, you can't help but laugh as he realizes his mistake and clamps his mouth shut. "One down, one more to go."

"I ain't telling you shit."

"No?" Switching the dagger to your other hand, you pull the glock free from behind your back. You step close to the man, taking aim at his crotch. "Are you sure about that?"

He cruelly smirks. "You're all talk and no-"

BANG!

The guy immediately starts screaming, his buddies struggling in their chairs, and you laugh. When you glance around the room, you see those you consider family chuckling and the Sons cringing in sympathy as they cover their crotches. You walk around so you're standing behind the screaming fool, swapping the dagger and gun in your hands so the dagger is back in your dominant hand. "Going once… going twice…" He continues to scream, and you sigh when no one else speaks up.

And then before anyone can comprehend what you've done, you've dragged the blade across the guy's neck.

As he gurgles on his blood and his friends shout obscenities at you, you walk around so you're standing before them once again.

"That's three of my men you've killed already," the President says. "I think fair's fair."

"I want the last one," you say. "One last guy and you're good to go."

No one says anything, but the President's expression hardens. There's a cold glint in his eye that you're very familiar with, and you know that should he walk out of these barn doors, he'll do anything and everything for revenge. "Samuel. I sent Samuel."

The Samuel in question squawks and you smile beautifully at him over the shoulder before staring at the President once more. "Harsh. Selling out your own guy like that." You saunter up to him, sighing. "But he's the thing; I hate snitches."

Then before the President can blink, you take aim and pull the trigger. The bullet hits him right between the eyebrows.

The struggling, bound men all seem to cease movement and you turn towards them. "Now that that's out of the way…" You walk back towards Samuel, scoffing at his whimpering. "You might get to live today, Sammy, but not without something to remember why messing with the Sons a big no-no."

"And w-what's that?"

You slowly smile. "Open your fist, Samuel. Lay your hand flat against the armrest."

His eyes widen as he whimpers, but he hesitantly does as you've said. Then when his hand is nice and flat, you drive your blade through the back of his hand, pinning it to the arm rest.

As he screams, you sneer at him and then start to make your way towards the Sons. On your way, you hand off your gun before coming to a stop in front of Jax and pasting on a smile as you glance at each Sons. "Who's hungry?"

"Marry me," Happy grumbles.

You laugh at him, winking, and then glance back at Jax. "You're a little psycho," he says.

"Only when the occasion calls for it. But seriously, can we go get food?"

Jax laughs as he sidles up to your side, sliding an arm along the back of your shoulders. "Do burgers sound good?"

"Burgers sound marvelous. I also want a vanilla milkshake."

"Good. We'll go grab some and surprise Abel. He's been itching to go to your house again."

"Ugh. Your kid is so adorable. But maybe let me settle in before you grab him. My abdomen is on fire and if we tell him I'm sick, maybe he won't be so hyperactive."

"Let me see."

Begrudgingly, you lift the hem of your shirt and glance down. Sure enough, you've bled through your bandages. "New plan; No Abel."

"What? But-"

"Nope." Jax squeezes you to his side as you sigh. "You're gonna go home, Chibs will follow to patch you up, and I'll go pick up some food. Abel can go one more day without seeing you."

"Boo."

The Sons chuckle.

"What about us?" Juice asks, gesturing between himself, Tig, and Happy.

"I don't care, Juice. Do whatever you want."

As they head towards their motorcycles, Jax walks you to your car.

"So, are you really okay with this?" You ask. "Okay with me and all that I'm capable of?"

"Yeah." Jax nods. "More than okay, actually. It's good to know that should shit find its way to your doorstep again, you'll handle it."

"Damn right I will." You swing around so you're standing in front of Jax, arms wrapping around his waist as his go around your shoulders. "I will protect Abel with my life again and again. Never doubt that."

"Just Abel?" His eyebrow arches.

"You're a close second," you muse. Leaning up on the tips of your toes, you peck his lips. "Now seriously. Food, Teller. I need food."

"Yeah, yeah." He kisses you again. "Go home and get settled. I'll be there soon."

#jax x reader #jax teller x reader #jax teller imagine #sons of anarchy imagine #soa imagine #jax teller #happy lowman #abel teller #mc romance #motorcycle club romance #dark romance

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writeriguess · 29 days

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Jealous katsuki x reader?

The faint scent of sweat and burnt sugar hung in the air as you walked into the common room of Heights Alliance. Laughter and chatter filled the space as your classmates relaxed after a long day of training. But your eyes immediately sought out one person—Katsuki Bakugo. He was slouched on the couch, arms crossed, and glaring at something on his phone. Typical Bakugo.

You made your way over to him, a warm smile on your lips. “Hey, Katsuki! Want to come with me to grab some snacks?”

His eyes flicked up to meet yours briefly before grunting, “Nope, go ask someone else.”

You raised an eyebrow at his unusually short reply but shrugged it off. “Suit yourself.”

You headed for the door, but before you could reach it, Kaminari swooped in with a cheerful grin. “Snacks? Count me in! Let’s go!” He looped his arm through yours, earning a laugh from you as you nudged him playfully.

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed as he watched the two of you leave. His fingers clenched around his phone, knuckles turning white. Kaminari’s loud, flirtatious nature was annoying on a good day, but seeing him so casually draped over you was enough to set off a storm in Bakugo’s chest.

You and Kaminari returned after a while, laughing together over some joke he’d made. You spotted Bakugo in the same place, still brooding on the couch. Deciding to check on him, you walked over and offered him a bag of chips. “Hey, Katsuki. Still here? I got you your favorite.”

His eyes flashed as he looked at you, then at the bag. “What, you and Pikachu have a good time?” The words came out sharp and biting.

You blinked, taken aback. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tch, nothing. You’re getting too friendly with that idiot, that’s all,” he snapped, turning away as if the conversation was over.

You couldn’t help but smirk, suddenly realizing what this was about. “Ohhh, are you… jealous?”

His eyes snapped back to yours, crimson flames blazing with indignation. “Jealous? Me? Of that walking power outage? You’ve got to be kidding.”

You crossed your arms, grinning. “Then why do you care if I hang out with Kaminari?”

Bakugo’s gaze darted away, his expression torn between frustration and something softer, more vulnerable. “I don’t care who you hang out with,” he muttered, but there was a hint of defensiveness in his tone that told you otherwise.

You took a step closer, gently nudging his foot with yours. “Katsuki… you know I like hanging out with you most, right? You don’t need to get all worked up about it.”

His scowl deepened, but a faint pink dusted his cheeks. “I’m not worked up. I just don’t like seeing you waste your time with extras when you could be with someone who isn’t an idiot.”

You bit back a laugh at how stubborn he was being, but your heart swelled at the underlying meaning of his words. “You’re such a dork,” you teased, leaning closer until your faces were only inches apart. “But you’re my dork.”

For a moment, Bakugo looked like he was about to snap back with one of his usual retorts, but then he let out a resigned sigh. “Yeah, whatever. Just don’t forget it, dumbass.”

You chuckled, deciding to drop it for now. “C’mon, grumpy. Let’s go watch a movie or something.”

He grumbled something incoherent, but when you took his hand and pulled him off the couch, he didn’t resist. You could feel the tension in his grip, the possessiveness mixed with uncertainty. It was endearing in its own rough-edged way.

As the two of you settled down to watch a movie, you noticed how Bakugo stayed close, closer than usual. His arm brushed against yours, and he didn’t bother hiding how he leaned into your warmth. The jealousy had faded, replaced by a silent determination to keep you close, where no “extras” could interfere.

It was these moments that made you realize how much Bakugo cared, even if he’d never say it outright. In his own stubborn, brash way, he’d always make sure you knew you were important to him—even if it meant blowing up at the occasional classmate who got a little too friendly.

In the end, it wasn’t really about Kaminari or anyone else. It was about Bakugo learning to deal with feelings that didn’t come easily to him, feelings he wasn’t used to sharing. But you knew better than anyone that behind all the explosions and bravado, there was a guy who was trying—trying to show you he cared in the only way he knew how.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have him any other way.

Requests are open.

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chaussetteblanche · 9 months

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UGH UR LUKE ONES ARE TO GOOD😣😣imma new reader of yours but there to good do u think you can do a a child of hades with luke and maybe its a grumpy x sunshine type of thing😓☺️

thank you so much baby !! and thanks for requesting, i hope you like it !!

sweatshirt

pairing : luke castellan x child of hades!reader summary : a few moments of your relationship with luke word count : 1.4k warnings : none, fluff

"Baby, have you seen my sweatshirt?" Luke's voice brought you out of your thoughts. You closed the book you were reading and placed it in your lap, looking up at him as he approached. "Which one?" "The grey one, you know, my favourite. I've been looking for it all morning." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tousling it slightly. "Nope, haven't seen it, sorry," you shrugged apathetically and returned to your book. Luke pursed his lips and placed his hands on his hips. "I could've sworn I left it in your cabin the other night, d'you think your brother maybe took it?" he asked hesitantly. "Nah, that's not like him." You brushed him off easily, trying to concentrate on your book.

Luke trudged forward and leaned down on the armrests of your seat, bringing his face close to yours. The pleasant smell of his body wash reached you as he moved closer. "Good morning, sunshine." He tilted his head to the side, smiling softly at you.

"Morning." You looked up at him, unimpressed but holding back a smile. He'd come up with the nickname when you'd first started dating. It was entirely ironic and you hated it. Well, you didn't actually hate it but you acted like you did, which made Luke love it even more. He pouted and pressed a chaste kiss to your mouth. "Will you tell me if you see my hoodie?" "Sure thing. I'll see you later." "Later, baby." He pressed another short kiss to your mouth and walked off. When he was a good fifteen meters away from you, he turned around. "YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL TODAY, SUNSHINE!" he hollered. Everyone in the vicinity turned around to look at you and Luke, chuckling. Your cheeks burned and you hid your face behind your book, grumbling to yourself. "Good luck finding your sweatshirt after that, Castellan."

You crossed him on your way to training. He beamed when he saw you and jogged over, running a hand through his hair. "Hey, sunshine. Gimme a hug, yeah?" "Clingy, much?" you asked as you opened your arms for him. He chuckled and wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. "You okay?" you questioned into his hair, one hand coming up to run through his soft curls. He nodded and lifted his head to look at you. "Just tired, is all. You?" "Yeah, I'm okay. I'll see you at capture the flag?" "You sure will, babe." He pressed a kiss to your cheek and jogged off.

Later in the afternoon came capture the flag. You always ended up on the same team because people knew it was useless to put you in opposite sides. You simply wouldn't even try to fight or stop each other.

"Y/N, what are you doing? Go after him! He's got the flag!" Your team captain growled at you, gesticulating wildly. "No." Your arms were crossed as you leaned against a tree, watching him run off after you'd basically handed him the flag you were supposed to guard. You bit back a smirk, feeling proud of him. "I can't believe this," your team captain mourned, throwing his helmet onto the ground with a clatter.

"Luke, she's getting away!" Clarisse cried out as she reached the tall child of Hermes, out of breath after having chased you through the forest. You'd slipped right under all their noses and grabbed the flag from her. Luke watched as you turned around, a rare smile playing at your lips as you raised the flag in victory, laughing loudly. "Goddammit," Luke groaned, running a hand over his face, "that smile." He shook his head, a lovesick look in his eyes. Clarisse cursed loudly. "YOU GET 'EM, BABY!" Luke yelled before you were out of earshot. You flashed him a brilliant smile and he swore that he could have died right there and then and been happy. Clarisse stomped her foot, positively fuming as she cursed Luke out.

You had both been stationed strategically by Annabeth. You were near the river, supposed to stop anyone on the other team from crossing. Luke rested his head on your shoulder, stifling a yawn. "I'm tired," he all but whined, rubbing his eyes. "I'm tired," you repeated in a mocking voice. He pulled away from your shoulder, faking an offended look. "Are you making of fun of me? How dare you? Your chivalrous boyfriend, exhausted from the trials and tribulations of his hard life as a half-blood and you-" "Oh, shut up." You pulled him closer by the leather straps of his armour, pressing your lips against his. He effectively stopped talking, pulling you closer to him by the hips as he kissed you deeply. You tilted your head to the side and parted your lips, tangling a hand in his hair. He let out a small groan and went to deepen the kiss when you were interrupted.

"YO! LOVEBIRDS!" a voice called loudly, followed by the sound of rapid footsteps. You pulled away from Luke with a groan, turning around to find a member of the opposite team holding your flag bolting towards you at full speed, followed closely by a boy on your team. You stuck your leg out, effectively tripping the boy on the other team. He fell harshly onto the ground with a groan and you pulled out sword, pointing it at his neck. He cursed and dropped the flag onto the ground. You looked at the boy from your team, who was doubled-over, catching his breath. "Yes?" you deadpanned. You heard Luke laughing behind you and cracked a small smile.

That night, after dinner, you accompanied Luke to his cabin. He swung your intertwined hands back and forth as you walked. "How come you were so tired today?" you asked softly, turning away from the sunset to look up at Luke. He shrugged, not giving you an explanation. "How're you sleeping?" "Not much," he confessed quietly. "I go to bed and I just lie awake. And when I do finally fall asleep, I get them, y'know, nightmares." Your heart ached for him and you squeezed his hand. Every half-blood dealt with nightmares and sleeping problems, but some more than others. Luke had it the worst. He didn't like talking about it either and you were often forced to overlook and keep your mouth shut about the dark circles under his eyes for the sake of preventing an argument. When you reached his cabin, you stood on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his lips. "Sleep well." "Thank you, baby. You too. And thanks for walking me back." He kissed you once more before letting go of your hand. You watched him enter his cabin, your stomach churning at the thought of him spending another sleepless night.

That night, you who couldn't sleep. Thoughts of Luke, his insomnia, his nightmares and more clouded your mind. You twisted and turned for hours before finally getting fed up. You got up, rubbing your eyes and steadying yourself on the wall as you put your shoes on. You quietly exited your cabin and made your way to the Hermes one. The door was open halfway, as it often was. So many people sleeping in the same room left quite a disgusting smell if the air didn't circulate. You slipped inside without a sound and headed for Luke's bed. It was a trip you'd made many times before and you knew exactly that he was the on the left bottom bunk four beds away from the front door. It was dark and you couldn't see if he was sleeping or not. You started taking off your shoes, not making a sound.

"Sunshine?" he asked, his voice gravelly, as he sat up in bed, the covers pooling around his hips. "I couldn't sleep. Kept thinking 'bout you not being able to sleep, so I thought I'd come over and we'd help each other out." Your voice was quiet as you spoke and you pulled the sleeves of the sweatshirt you wore over your hands. You shuffled on your feet next to his bed. "That's actually really sweet, sunshine," he cooed before lifting the covers and scooting to the side. He knew he always slept better with you by his side but had never asked you before. He didn't want to be a burden. "C'mon, pretty girl, get in."

You didn't have to be told twice before you slipped under the covers and slotted yourself comfortably against him. He wrapped his arms around you, kissing your cheek. His warmth and the weight of his arms comforted you immediately and you could feel sleep already weighing on your eyelids. "Good night, sunshine." "Good night, Luke."

You were just drifting off to sleep when a few minutes later he spoke again. "Is that my sweatshirt?" You froze, suddenly wide awake. You didn't say anything for a few seconds before answering. "No...?"

#luke castellan #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackon and the olympians #charlie bushnell

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ihavethedreamies · 3 months

Text

Ride a Tiger | San

Choi San - ATEEZ

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~6.3k

Pairing: Tiger-Hybrid!San x Deer-Hybrid!AFAB!Reader

Genre: Hybrid AU!, Historical/Joseon Era, Reader-Insert, Fluff, Smut, Some Plot, Strangers-to-Married

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Swearing, Kissing, Biting/Marking, Bonding/Mating, Heat/Rut, Pheromones, Breeding Kink, Bath/Water Sex, Unprotected Sex (This is pre-birth control so…), Monster(?)!San (not really, he's a tiger hybrid)

Author's Note: Just so you know, this is NOT Omegaverse, but they do both go into rut/heat. They have animals ears and tails and he's got a spiny tiger cock. This is vaguely set in the Joseon Era of Korea, which is a pretty long time range. It is after the creation of hangul, so its post 1600s about. I only know a lot of this stuff from, and am copying from, historical/period dramas. I know in a lot of ways they aren't completely accurate, especially with women going around and not covering their heads/faces. This is not supposed to be accurate, by any means. Let me know if something is horribly wrong.

At the bottom I will have a guide for all the untranslated words I use, most of which are to do with the clothing they wear.

P.S. Should I be packing? Yes. I did this instead.

P.S.S. If anyone has a picture of San in traditional/historical clothes, could you get it to me with a link or something, I couldn't find anything with Google Images or Pinterest. GOT ONE

"He who rides a tiger is afraid to dismount." ~Chinese Proverb

-> Series Hub <-

🦁 Hongjoong's 🦁

🐕 Yeosang's 🐕

🐻 Jongho's 🐻

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! If you know anyone that would like this or future fics but they aren't on here my name and icon are exactly the same on the other site. Happy reading!

When you had heard thunder rumbling in the distance earlier, you didn't think anything of it. You would be done before the rain came! Nope. You scrambled to gather all of the books you had laid out at your stand, getting them under the surface so they wouldn't get damaged. A giant flash of light followed closely by clap of thunder startled you, and you bleated, your long furry ears pressing back against your hair. Your short tail under your hanbok twitched, slightly rustling the fabric it laid under. Once all of the books you were selling were safe, you grabbed the sseugaechima you had and slung it over your head, stepping back toward the building you were in front of. It was some kind of accessories shop, but the roof awning was quite short and so you barely were able to hide from the downfall underneath it. People scrambled on the street to flee to rain, and the few of them that had coverings continued on their way normally. You peaked out from under your own covering, observing the sky best you could. It was clearly not going to end anytime soon; it was just that time of the year. You had no idea how you were going to get all the books back to your house. Your father didn't mind you working to copy and sell books for the local seller, but he wouldn't let you establish your own business. The seller you worked for also didn't have a store front himself and so the two of you would sell at stalls in the market.

You decided to wait just a bit longer, wondering if the shop owner of the building behind you would let you store the books for a bit. The street had more or less cleared out, but you watched a nobleman come closer. His clothes were nice, even nicer than yours, so his status was probably much higher. The gat he wore was adorned with a silk strap and the beading was clearly finely made as well. As you looked over him, the belt tying his jeogori accentuated his narrow waist and wide shoulders. Your eyes travelled up to his face and he was stunning. But also…he had tiger ears. As he got closer, you caught a glimpse of his long tail. Definitely a tiger. It was incredibly likely that the guy was not just nobility, he was possibly one of the princes. There were like eight of them so that wasn't too unlikely. Despite the downfall, he was simply strolling down the street, almost like there wasn't any rain. Since you were one of the few people still outside, he stopped in front of your seemingly empty stall. He lifted his head and his eyes met yours and you felt them widen. Instinct flared to life, your deer-like genes screaming at the sight of the predatory gaze. It wasn't that he was trying to scare or threaten you, he just simply was a predator hybrid, and you a prey.

"Have you nowhere to go to escape the rain?" He was definitely of high status, with not just tone but the exact words he used. You nodded dumbly, back pressing to the stone foundation of the building behind you. The sseugaechima over your head covered your deer-like ears and your tail was completely hidden by your hanbok.

"I-I have books to sell, and I don't want them to get wet." You pointed under the stall, and at the crate that held your wares. He made an 'ah' of acknowledgement. You wondered why he felt the need to stop at an empty stall.

"You might have to wait a while for the rain to stop." He looked up at the sky. You sighed, knowing he was right.

"Do you want me to help?" He offered and you flinched. Really?

"If you wish, my lord." You bowed a bit and he huffed.

"Shh. Pretend I'm not that important." His smile was much softer than you expected from a tiger. You nodded, not able to speak and he came around and you dragged the crate out, ready to use the sseugaechima to cover it.

"Use this." He corrected, taking the cloth that you had laid out on the wooden stall, and you wondered how frazzled you were that you forgot about it. He tucked the edges of the fabric over the books and easily lifted the crate. You moved around him so you could start to lead him home and you felt tense the whole time. Negating that he was a tiger and you a deer, he was clearly a nobleman, and he was doing physical work…Then again you were technically a noble yourself, and a female at that. Finally getting to the entrance for your family's estate, the door was open already and you waved for one of your father's guards to come and help. The guard took the crate from the tiger, bowing deep in respect and then dashing off to put your wares in your quarters.

"Thank you, my lord." You bowed again, sseugaechima still covering your head.

"San." he added, and your brow furrowed trying to wonder why he was talking about a mountain. Then it hit you, it was his name, he was one of the princes!

"Oh, yes, your highness. (Y/N)." You introduced yourself as well, staying bowed and making sure not to look at his face.

"Get inside and out of the rain Lady (Y/N)." He smiled and your eyes flitted to his gorgeous face. You bowed deeper and then dashed further into the courtyard and booked it to your quarters.

~*~*~

Looking up at the clear blue sky, you squinted at the tiny white cloud you could see. It had rained for nearly four days straight and therefore you couldn't set up your stall for that long. You didn't really have need for money since your father was…well, rich, but he didn't just give you pocket money to buy stuff for yourself. It was because you wanted books that weren't normally what noble women would read, you know, like things you could learn from. You had read more than your fair share of romances and adventures from copying them. After you had set out the final pile of books, you looked at your hand and rubbed your finger over the callus you got from holding the brush. Yes, it was painstaking, but you were extremely glad that you could use hangul, it would take ten times longer if you had to use hanja. Right as you got done setting up, two women strolled up and you continued your day.

About an hour before you would get ready to go home, you noted that you had done well for the day and had only about six books left, each a different one. Since it had slowed, you were sitting on a stool, people watching the few that were wandering around. It was nearing the evening mealtime, and you could smell the food from the restaurant down the road on the corner. Your stomach rumbled and you sighed deeply, ears drooping. You started to zone out a bit, watching some birds on the ground, not looking up when someone stopped.

"What is this one like?" the man asked, and you finally looked up so you could see which book he was pointing to.

"Hm, something about a servant seducing a nobleman's son…" You sniffed and looked up at the guy and startled. It was that prince from before. Even if you hadn't carved his face into your memory, it was a bit obvious from his tiger ears right under the brim of his gat. You immediately stood and bowed, and he looked around quickly.

"It's fine, I'm trying to lay low." He waved you off and your eyes caught sight of the black claw-like nails on the end of each finger. You risked glancing up at his face and he was smiling, dimples indenting his cheeks, your eyes focused on his large canine teeth. You felt your tail flick a few times, your skirt ruffling a bit. You felt his eyes moving over your face and your ear flicked at well, nervous under the gaze of his golden colored eyes. You froze when his arm moved, hand coming up and your eyes followed the movement till you couldn't see, and you felt a little tug on your earring.

"These aren't real." He made note of it, and you cringed. You had wanted real jade earrings, but you didn't have enough money, and so you had to settle with those instead. Your father might have bought those for you, but you really wanted them right then and there. You weren't even sure what they were actually made of.

"N-no." You bowed your head and he let them go.

"When do you leave?" His question startled you and your ear flicked again.

"In about an hour."

"Don't leave till I get back." He told you and he headed off further down the market road, back the way he came. You blinked after him, eyes wide, wondering what the heck that was all about.

You did as he asked though and waited for him to return. Glancing up at the sky, you had another ten minutes or so and he still wasn't back. If you didn't know he was one of the princes, you would have left, but he told you to stay. You still hadn't sold the rest of your books despite a few people stopping by, and so you started to put them in the crate. Looking down into the mostly empty container, you looked to the side and saw him coming. Even at a distance you could see his smile when he noticed you were still there, and he jogged to meet you sooner.

"You stayed."

"Well, you said to." You shrugged, not looking at his face. Part of it was because of his status, but it was also because he was so handsome. Too handsome, actually. You wondered if all the princes were so. You watched as he pulled something out from the interior pocket of his jeogori, a small but detailed wooden box coming out. He held it out to you, and you hesitated to grab it.

"Go ahead." He waved his arm a bit and you gently took it, lifting the hinged lid. You gasped, looking at the earrings inside. They looked nearly identical to yours, but they were obviously real jade.

"W-what?" You had to look at his face then, see what his expression was for some sort of explanation. His cheeks were a tiny bit red, and his own ear flicked some and you could see his long striped-tail swaying behind him.

"Your Lord Bak's daughter, from the Saseum Clan?"

"Y-yes?" He smiled a bit bashfully, looking down as he swung his leg around, drawing a circle with his foot.

"Could you take me to talk to him?" You nodded jerkily, a little shocked at the request. Before you could grab the crate, he took it, and you balled up the cloth from the stall and shoved it on top of the books. You walked next to him as you headed toward your home, feeling a bit weird, like you should be following him. You had never directly interacted with a prince, but you still knew the basic rules. Don't look at his face, walk behind him, don't be physically higher than him, speak formally… Yes, he was trying to lay low, but that didn't change who he was. You wondered who was genuinely ignorant enough to not know who he was since he was so obviously a tiger hybrid. When you showed up to the house with the same man carrying your book crate as the time before, your father's guard was a little skeptical. He still took the crate from the prince- San, his name was San, you remembered.

"Could you please get Lord Bak?" He asked and the guard's gaze flicked to you, and you gave a short nod. As he went to do so, you stood with the prince awkwardly, swaying just a bit so your skirt twirled a bit around you. Your ears were twitching so much that your old, fake earring jingled. Your arm twisted around your back so your hand could tug on the end of your braid, a nervous habit.

"(Y/N)? Who is this?" Your father came around the corner, strolling down the stone-paved path toward both of you. He glanced at San, and you cringed slightly at how much smaller your father was than him. His jeongjagwan was modified to fit around his antlers, only that put him at the same height as the prince.

"I am Prince San, Lord Bak. I have come to ask permission to court your daughter for marriage." You balked at this, turning to gape at him directly. Your head turned back to your father whose gaze had sharpened. You knew that there was a lot of noblemen that had brought their sons as potential suitors, and your parents had turned down every single one. Would San be different? You were lucky that your parents did take into consideration your opinion on most things.

"You are the fifth eldest, no?"

"Yes."

"Are your parents aware of your request?"

"Not yet, though I have been given more freedom since I am far down in the line of succession." It seemed the men were having another conversation through their eyes.

"Is that why you would be allowed to marry a prey hybrid?" The prince faltered for a reply, it seemed he hadn't even taken that part into consideration.

"I will need to request an audience with his highness." Your father answered and San seemed to deflate.

"What do you think of this?" Your father turned to look at you and you cast a nervous glance at the tiger next to you. You knew that you would have very little say in reality, and you wished you lived about a thousand years earlier. You know, before Confucianism ruined feminism. Though, the prince seemed to be very sweet, and he was extremely attractive. It could be way worse.

"If my lord finds it auspicious." You bowed your head a bit and your father hummed.

"Why don't you go back inside, (Y/N)?" The request was more of a command than a suggestion and you scurried off to do so. As you entered, your mother came down the hall and you met her.

"Geez, mother…" You led her to spin around, and she did, though with a confused look. Adjusting her binyeo so it was setting in her bun evenly, then she turned back to face you.

"Were you speaking with someone?" She peaked around you so she could look out the window, but she couldn't see.

"A suitor…" You told her and her long, furry ears perked up.

"I shall see then," she nudged past you and went to go out and you huffed a sigh, heading back to your room.

"(Y/N), your father requests your presence in the courtyard." A handmaiden came to summon you and you got up from your floor desk to follow her out. Your father was not alone, Prince San standing with him. It was only three days prior that your father had an audience with the king, and since the prince was there…

"Yes, father?" You came out and stopped before them, bowing at the waist some.

"It seems that it was auspicious…" Your father tossed a glance at the prince, and you looked up at both of them. Your gaze went to the tiger's handsome face, and he was beaming.

~*~*~

The next few weeks were a blur and before you knew it you had gone through the marriage ceremony, and you were moved into his own little palace that belonged to the greater palace grounds. Since he was one of the younger princes you shared a palace, whereas the queen and the crown princess had their own places. There was a place as well for any consorts that the royals might have as well, but it seemed San requested you to live with him. Honestly, you would think it quite impersonal for a husband and wife not to share a room and bed each night, but that seemed to be the norm for royalty. When you learned that even princes sometimes had consorts, you got a little insecure. What if you weren't enough?

"What's wrong, (Y/N)?" San's voice caught your attention and you turned to him as he entered. You had been standing in the middle of the room, just looking over everything, the room fairly barren compared to the overall size.

“I was just…” You stopped, trying to think of how to word it. He hummed for you to continue.

“I was just trying to soak in everything I’ve been told to learn.” You lied, not ready to bring the subject up quite yet. Your head was pounding from all the new information you had been pumped full with and you were nervous about messing up. Luckily since you were a noble already, you knew most of the rules and practices, but you were going to be under a bit harsher scrutiny. Not a bit, a lot. Your head felt strange, having your long braid looped up into a chignon braid, the jade binyeo holding it up making it feel heavier. The cheopji sitting on the middle of the top of your head was heavy as well, since it was gold. Your hanbok was of much higher quality and you felt nervous about getting it messy or torn somehow.

"(Y/N)?" He called your name again and you snapped out of your tumbling thoughts.

"Why did your eldest brother step down as heir?" You finally remembered the question you had wanted to ask him, before your insecurities started to spiral. You had heard some of the other women talking about it but didn't want to rely on gossip.

"Hm. The woman he fell in love with was too low in status. He abdicated so he could marry her. That's why Hongjoong is the crown prince."

"I see. The eldest is Seonghwa, yes?" San hummed and you sighed, racking your brain for all the names you had learned. There were too many. Finally, you looked over San…your husband. Just the thought made you a bit giddy. Even though it hadn't been very long since you two met, maybe about two months, you had endeared to each other. He was so sweet, contrasted greatly with the normal thoughts of how tigers were. Then again, he was a hybrid, not a full tiger. He was in a much different ensemble than what you met him in, more princely clothes. He didn't have any kind of headwear on then, just his manggeon and you could see the streak of orange and white in his hair to the right of the center of his head.

"Are you nervous?" he asked and your ears flicked. Not really sure what he was talking about, you just nodded. You were, but you weren't for sure in what way he meant. He stepped forward and his hands found your waist, your own landing on his chest. San pulled you closer and your ears pressed back against your head. Your nervous habit of tugging on your braid was going to have to be replaced since it was no longer hanging down your back. You let out a noise similar to a bleat when he hauled you even closer, his nose nuzzling against your ear.

"We get to make it official." he whispered and what he was getting at finally hit you. The consummation of the marriage. You were nervous, and a bit worried as well. You were told that predators had a much more aggressive…mating process. Plus, apparently, tiger hybrids were much like real tigers, and had 'barbs' on their… You were in your own thoughts; you could say whatever; they had barbs on their cocks. Plus, you were a good 30 centimeters shorter than your husband and he was just big overall. Your hands on his chest fisted, digging your fingers into the fabric and you squeaked when the claws on his hands dug into your own clothes enough you felt them against your hips. You shuddered as his slightly rough tongue ran up the side of your throat. Your heart rate spiked, nearly taking your breath away, some primal part inside of you freaking out.

"Your high-"

"It's just us, call me San."

"San, I-"

"Your highness!" A eunuch called from the other side of the door, and you pulled back. He reluctantly let you remove yourself from him and you turned away from the door as he turned toward it. He allowed the servant in, and you were informed that the bathing chambers were ready. After the eunuch stepped out and the handmaidens were waiting outside patiently, San went back to you.

"Why don't we be efficient and take a bath together?" He had wrapped his arms around you from behind and you were sure he felt your tail wag nervously even through the layers of fabric you both had on.

"C-can we?"

"Hm. I don't see why not. Not exactly traditional, but…I can get away with a lot." He chuckled and you felt it rumble through his chest pressed to your back. When he finally pulled back, you turned to him, face warm and he grinned.

"So cute." He nuzzled your ear again and then came back, leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. It was your first kiss as a married couple, not that you hadn't stolen a few leading up to that point. This one was different though and he nearly growled as he deepened the kiss. You squeaked, it was like he was trying to eat you and the obvious comparison was not lost on you. His tongue was rough against yours when it wiggled into your mouth and your head swam when his large canines clacked against your much smaller ones. When his lips let yours go, a trail of saliva connected your mouths and you let out a shaky breath.

"Go with the handmaidens and get ready, I'll join after." San pressed another kiss to your cheek and allowed you to leave his embrace. You stopped in front of the door, looking back at him again as the servant on the other side opened the door. He smiled warmly and you bit your lip giddily and then followed the maids to the bathing chamber. They carefully removed your garments and took your hair down, so it was still just in a braid, you didn't need to wash it yet. You were left in a simple white sokchima, not ready to be fully disrobed since San was still to come in. You heard his own servants getting him ready in the adjoining room and as soon as your maids left, the side door opened. He stepped in, closing it behind him and you gasped, eyes widening. Speaking of wide…his shoulders were so broad, especially compared to his waist. It was fairly obvious even when he was clothed, but right then he only had a pair of white sokbaji. His torso was toned as well and your mouth, still hanging open, started to water. Well, not really, but you were close. Feeling very small and delicate under his intense gaze, it softened when he noticed your shoulders were tense.

"Come here." San cooed, coming to meet you halfway and you let him hug you again, not able to help yourself placing your hands on his bare chest. His skin was smooth, and his muscles were hard and your thighs clenched as you practically stroked him. He chuckled and your eyes flitted up to his, ears flopping they were twitching so hard. His tail was sticking out the back of his pants, swaying slightly, his ears drooping just a bit.

"Can I take this off, (Y/N)?" The prince's voice was quiet but deep in your ear and his hands gripped the back of your sokchima.

"Y-yes." You did feel the amount of clothes was fairly unequal, but your final garment being removed would leave you completely bare. Shivering a tad as he pulled the tie open, the straps of the undergarment fell from your shoulders, then the rest of the fabric onto the floor. Your arms went to cover yourself, but his hands stopped you. Your face was hot, almost on fire and you could meet his gaze, ears no longer twitching but pressed back hard against your head. Your short tail was waving back and forth quickly, no longer impeded by any fabric over it.

"You're beautiful." San told you as he made sure you wouldn't cover yourself and he stepped back a tad, fingers going to the tie of his sokbaji. Your tongue ran nervously over your bottom lip, eyes immediately zooming in on his hands. He noticed your gaze's direction and he huffed a laugh but continued with his task. Your arm wrapped around your back, tugging on the end of your braid, now free of the pin holding it up that showed your wedded status. It was like time slowed down as he lifted the waistband up and over his half-hard cock and the fabric pooled on the floor as well and your eyes widened almost comically. You had never seem a man naked in person, only having seen what were basically medical diagrams in books. All you knew was that they probably weren't all that big, and he wasn't even fully hard. The little spines at the base and head of his cock were not quite like you imagined, unlike the barbed end of a fishhook you imagined. Your cunt clenched hard, and you swallowed hard as he stepped closer.

"Here." He grabbed your hand with his and brought it toward him. You both gasped when your small, warm hand wrapped around his cock, and you bit your lip as you pumped up with your fingers wrapped around him. You wondered if it would hurt with how thick he was, your fingers not even meeting, and you pondered what the flesh would feel like on your tongue.

"(Y/N)?" His amused voice pulled you from your thoughts and your head had to tip back to look him in the eye with how close you were. A drop splatted onto the floor, and you realized what it was when your slick thighs rubbed against each other. A rumble rose in San's chest and his nose nuzzled over your ear again, then down your throat and he inhaled deeply. The rumble picked up and his warm spiced scent grew stronger, and you felt his cock harden fully in your grip.

"Let's get in." You whined a bit in disappointment when he pulled back, but he took your hand and led you down the little steps into the water. It was nice and hot, but not too much so, flower petals floating in the water and carrying with them their sweet aroma. He sat on the bench that sat inside the large wooden tub and he hauled you into his lap, legs straddling his lap. You watched the wavy image of his tail through the water, your tail not able to wag as hard with the water resistance. As you rested on his lap, his hard cock pressed to your tummy and you pressed into it more, making him groan.

"You need to stop doing that if we're going to wait." His tone was a bit harder, his brow furrowing after your next press closer to him.

"Wait for what?" You gave him a coy look. You knew it would be "proper" to wait till you were actually in a bed to…bed each other, but…

"(Y/N), love, don't you want your first time to be-" He grunted when you leaned in, your breasts pressing into his chest, and he had to close his eyes to think.

"San, I don't care if you take me here, now, or in that bed. What matters is it's you." You rested your head on his shoulder, nose nuzzling his neck, your head feeling foggy as you breathed in his scent. You heard the water sloshing before you felt anything, but his strong arms had wrapped around you, lifting you up a bit. His lips crashed to yours as he maneuvered you, only pulling away so he could flip you around. Your back pressed to his chest and he had you rest your knees over his so he could hold your legs open. Even with the water of the bath, your slick was still stuck to your folds, and he groaned as he ran two fingers over you. Your whole body jerked, thighs twitching at the little bit of friction, already sensitive. San's arm held you to him as his index finger breached your entrance, your slick easily letting him in. You had noticed earlier that he had filed his claw-like nails down to blunt them, and now you knew why. You had expected a bit of a sting at his finger's entrance, but you only felt pleasure. You had…tested on yourself before, but his fingers were longer and thicker, and your head fell back over his shoulder as a second joined the first. He grinned, watching your cunt swallow his fingers, his tail sliding through the water to wrap over your thigh, holding it to his. San ground the palm of his hand against your clit and your gummy walls clenched around the digits inside and he heard you whine right into his ear. Under normal circumstances, your flitting ears and tail would tickle, but he could use them to tell just how you were reacting.

"S-San!" You gasped, the pleasure he was bringing over you rising fast and your blunt nails dug lightly into his arm where you gripped it.

"Good girl, (Y/N). Fall apart for me." His prompting words led you to your climax and he rumbled as your cunt clenched and pulsed as your orgasm hit. When the little twitches finally died, your body slumped into his, he removed his fingers and helped move you once more. You faced him again and your nails dug harder into his shoulders as he held you over him, the head of his cock rubbing through your folds.

"Ready, princess?" He smirked a bit at the pet-name, though it was completely and officially accurate now.

"Please." You leaned down and kissed the corner of his mouth and down his neck. San grunted and your grip on him tightened as he pressed you down, fat cock finally breaching your entrance. It stung, burned in the best way though, the rubbery spines of his cock flicking against your clit as he finally got the head all the way in. The rest of his dick followed a bit easier, but each little increment deeper, the spines rubbed against the ridges of your cunt. He was only halfway in when you threw your head back, breath harsh, chest heaving at the sensation of him splitting you open. Your cunt spasmed and pulsed, you were already close, heat pooling and growing in your groin and lower stomach. Your flowery scent filled the air even more than the petals in the water, the pleasure and pheromones your husband were letting off spurring you into a semi-heat. Immediately, your cunt slicked even further, the thick wet not able to be washed away by the water. As he started to bottom out, the spines at the base of his cock flicked over your clit and against the folds of your pussy and you shuddered hard as your groin met his. San barely shifted and that was all it took, your second orgasm hitting quicker and harder than the first. His growl rumbled through his chest, you and the room as your cunt clenched hard around him.

"Fuck-" You swore softly and hearing the vulgar word leave your soft, sweet lips made him groan.

"Are you okay, love?"

"J-just give me a second." You were still shuddering in his arms, tiny waves still pulsing through your cunt.

"I can't last much longer." He warned and you shifted once yourself, pressing your knees harder into the bench of the bath and you nodded jerkily. You were prepared…well, you thought you were. San's arms around you tightened, almost to hold you in place, and he lifted you off his cock some, the pumped up his hips, fucking back into you deep. Your head flew back so hard he was a bit concerned, but he continued his thrusts, not even pulling out halfway before filling you once more. The water sloshed around you, your tail wagging hard through the water, his own wrapped around your right thigh.

"Shit-" He grunted, pressing you to him and standing. You yelped at his movement but then he lightly rested you against the rounded edge of the wooden tub. He reached past your head for a towel and balled it under your head.

"San?" You didn't get an answer to your prompting tone, and your breath hitched as he hauled your legs up to wrap around his narrow waist. One hand rested against your thigh to hold your leg up, the other taking your hand from his shoulder and lifting it up above your head. His fingers linked with yours, holding your hand tightly as his lips hovered over yours.

"Hold on, princess." He more or less warned, and your other hand flew to the narrow wooden column near you, barely getting a hold on it before he snapped his hips, relentlessly barreling his cock into you, head battering your back walls. You let out a choking sound, followed by unintelligible whimpers and babbles, your next orgasm rising already. With each thrust, he ground his hips down, the spines at the base of his cock teasing your clit and he didn't even slow down as your third orgasm crashed over you. If anything, it made him go harder, the water around his legs sloshing hard. He was full on growling at that point, tongue running over his long canines, a drop of saliva falling past his lips and into your mouth, gaping open, drool dripping from the side. Your eyes rolled back as his pace seemed to pick up, the thrusts somewhat shallower but even harder.

"Fucking hell, love, you're taking me so well." San rumbled, watching his fat cock split you open, the shine of your slick and cum on his cock made his head swim.

"Want me to cum inside? Fuck my cub into you?" He laughed cockily; eyes fixed on the joining of your bodies. You both weren't even sure how easy it would be for you to conceive, and he honestly didn't care if you couldn't. He was so far down the line of succession himself, let alone his kids. Though, if it was harder, that just meant he could try all the harder.

"Please! San, want your cum!" You whimpered, neither of you caring anymore if the servants heard the filth spilling from your mouths.

"Gonna make you my mate too, my wife…" He growled and his thrusts grew unsteady, his nose nuzzled your neck again and your breath hitched as the sharp ends of his canines met your skin. Your blunt nails dug into the wood of the column, hand gripping his hard as he finally fell over the edge himself. His teeth sank in as he came, white, hot spurts of cum coating your walls and filling your womb. Your orgasm helped him ride out his, core gripping him hard, eagerly drinking in his seed. You felt like you almost blacked out, brain clearing some as he stopped, licking over the bite wound in your shoulder. He pulled back enough to look down at your worn-out body, face red and splotchy but still so cute, so pretty. And you were all his.

The next few minutes passed with a blur; all of the servants being called to leave the hallway leading from the bath to your bedchambers. You only realized you had changed location when the still-wet skin of your back hit the silk sheets, and San was filling you back up. You had nothing to hold onto, so you white knuckled the sheet of the futon under you. Your legs were thrown over San’s wide shoulders, ankles by his ears, and animalistic noises were leaving him. He was salivating like a hungry…well, tiger, growls turning into near roars. You weren’t sure how many more orgasms he fucked out of you before he filled your womb with even more of his seed. Your mind was nearly gone, only little squeaks leaving you as you flipped you over, hips raised in the air, chest pressed to the bed below. His giant cock, with all those blasted spines, carved into you, and your cunt clenched hard, molding to him. You were both a mess already, the bath having been nearly negated. Sweat dripped from his brow onto your bare back, a thick mix of your releases coating both your thighs and forming a puddle below. A dark stain from the tears caused by the overwhelming sensations and drool formed below your cheek. Even with his claws blunted, they tore into the bedding some as he leaned over you, hips pumping hard, the slap of skin muffled by his grunts.

“One more for me, princess. Gonna get you pregnant, keep you stuffed full till you do.” He chuckled, pace stuttering, and your vision spotted as he came once more, squirts and sprays of your own release soaking his groin further. Soon, all that could be heard was both of your panting breaths and you were having trouble staying awake, all strength leaving your body. That was when something terrifying hit you…he was still hard.

hanbok - traditional/historical clothing, most people think of women's dresses, but men's clothes were called this as well. sseugaechima - this is the extra-skirt looking garment women would wear over the heads. gat - this is the hat that noblemen would wear, more specifically the ones that were black and made of mesh. jeogori - the top/shirt part of a hanbok. hangul - the Korean alphabet we use today. hanja - the old Korean characters derived from Chinese used prior to Hangul's creation. jeongjagwan - a type of gat that noblemen would wear, it looks much like a pagoda. binyeo - the long pin that would hold a woman's bun up, mostly used for married women. cheopji - a hair accessory worn by women, looks similar to a headband with a clip or pin in the middle. manggeon - the mesh-like headband men wore to hold their hair in place sokchima - basically a dress/skirt like under-garment. sokbaji - pants-like under-garment, mostly worn by women actually...

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storiumemporium · 11 months

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Astarion As a Father

Fem!Tav/Reader

I FINALLY GOT A NEW KEYBOARD WITH FULLY FUNCTIONING KEYS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I elected to write about something that's been giving me brainworms for ages, because I'd been talking about it with someone on here awhile ago and it just infested me. Astarion finding out you're pregnant and how he handles fatherhood. (Or, in this case, doesn't at first.) This isn't my best work but I blame it on the fact that I didn't intend for it to be THIS FUCKING LONG okay 😭

But without further ado, daddy Astarion:

Finding out:

When it comes to children, I think Astarion hasn't put much thought into it beyond 'me!? ABSOLUTELY NOT—'

He has no illusions about his state of mind and his faculties, you see. Astarion knows that he's fucked up, he knows that he's a problem, and he's only entirely too confident that any child unfortunately put under his care would likely end up just as damaged as he is, were they to miraculously make it to adulthood. He's just not equipped for it.

And, frankly, Astarion isn't even aware he can have children... That's just, not something he ever thought to question. He's undead, is he not? That should take care of the...fertility question.

Shouldn't it?

Truth be told, Cazador never told him of the possibilities because it was never meant to be a possibility. Astarion was too malnourished, his victims too short lived for anything to ever have come of it. He was supposed to die a sacrifice, not live to carry his own bloodline (hah) onward.

Were you to ever ask him about it, even jokingly over dinner one eve, he'd be very firm in the fact that it's a terrible idea and he'd be entirely unequipped. He would even go so far as to say he's the worst choice out of all of your past companions.

"Me? No. Absolutely not. I'm sure whatever little devil you managed to cook up would be the most charming child Baldur's Gate has ever seen... But even that magical explosive that fancied himself a God would be better suited to fatherhood, darling. I am built for luxury and adventure, nothing else." All bookended by typical Astarion preening.

So when the day comes and you inform him of the little life growing in your womb?

Nope. Not happening, not even a chance of happening.

The denial is strong with this one.

And when I say denial, I mean that Astarion well and truly blots out what you've said from his mind, as if it simply didn't happen at all. You never had the conversation, you never dropped the revelation, there is no child, he is not becoming a father.

It's not a lack of want— though he doesn't realize that yet— it's true, blinding terror. Before it was just a joke, just something for him to brush off with commentary about how terribly he'd do as a parent, better the uncle than anything else. But now it's a reality and to accept what you've said is to accept that he might well and truly destroy a child. But not just any, yours.

The traumas Astarion possesses heap onto his shoulders and slough off plentiful enough to make new oceans of it. Now, not only is he just beginning to regain his own autonomy, he's supposedly being given responsibility over a brand new life?

(It would only make sense for Astarion in retrospect, that the life you willingly sacrificed to nourish and nurture him would in turn allow him to grow a new life within you. The fool had just been too blind to consider it: The way, fresh off your blood, he could pull back from the delicate column of your throat and you would find his cheeks and ears and chest flushed with the loveliest shade of pink, eyes wide and soft and alive. The way his entire body would warm, going from corpse frigid to something just beneath normal. The way his once-still heart would slowly beat again.

He'd even asked you once- curled together on a familiar silken bed, foreheads touching and your hands clasped together between your chests- if you knew what it felt like to be so, so hungry that all you could even think about was about badly you wanted to eat? How food sounded so good that the desire became crossed and instead felt even more painful and nauseating? How it consumed your ability to make rational decisions, denied you the capacity to control your emotions?

He'd told you then, voice tender and timid and weak, that he'd felt like that every single day for two whole centuries, until the night you'd willingly laid down on that cot and put your life in his hands.

It was so simple really, of course you granted him the strength to create life. It was you.)

And of course it comes to a head before there is any chance at recovery. Your body begins to show the changes, you begin to swell, and Astarion only grows more avoidant and flighty. Because now he can't simply wipe the idea from his mind and continue on as if the child doesn't exist, the proof is there every single time he looks at you. He makes it very clear to you that he will not be returning to your side without a confrontation, a very potentially ugly one at that.

And ugly it is, explosive. Astarion hasn't truly had the time to recover from his life under Cazador, and all of those protective traits he grew remain sharp as ever, returning to the surface as if they'd never truly gone away to begin with. He sneers and hisses, tries his best to dig in and hurt you enough to stop poking his tender wounds. Enough to push you away so he can lick his wounds back open. He'll go so far as to accuse you of infidelity, though he regrets the words the moment they leave his lips, it's easier for him to imagine that you simply grew tired of him, that you were weary and longed for the daylight. That you wanted someone who could hold you beneath the sun, unlike him.

How you respond to this is entirely up to you, but just shy of throwing something truly despicable back into his face, such as Cazador, Astarion will apologize... eventually. If you remain stalwart and patient, if you have it in you to recognize that he doesn't mean his words, that he's barbing you with intent, Astarion will break down in that very same argument, his angry and accusatory rant will dissolve into an admission of deep insecurity and deeper terror.

But if you respond with anger? Justifiable, and Astarion knows that even in the moment as it's happening, but emotions rule him far more than he'd ever care to admit, and he will dig in and relish the reaction he's managed to draw from you. He will bristle and bite back until suspicion and bitterness fully claims his heart, and he aborts the conversation to hide in the shadows.

Astarion will wait until nightfall, until his freedom calls for him. The one thing that always manages to clear his head, even when you prove to be the cause of his muddying. It's a reminder, every time he steps into the cool and dark of Baldur's Gate, that Cazador is dead and he is a free man. That he can go where he chooses and when he chooses to, and not only that no one can stop him, but that you wouldn't even want to stop him.

And that truth is always what brings Astarion home.

Under the distant lonely stars and that cold moon, he has to remember that time and again you have let him. You have accepted him, you have not fought him on anything shy of a horrible mistake he wanted to make in a moment of weakness and hysteria. You have accepted all his deepest and ugliest wounds and kissed them like they were freckles to pour affection on. You fought Cazador for him, you defended him from your own friends. You even- at times- tested your own morals for him.

You wouldn't betray him, and Astarion knows he can't betray you.

Astarion would return to you late, curling into bed at your side, his eyes would not meet you, and his apology would come in the form of a simple confession. "I am... afraid. I am afraid."

Astarion wouldn't blame you if you don't forgive him immediately for his transgressions, he was cruel and you were vulnerable. But even then you'll find that your love doesn't abandon you again. He accepts- however frightened- that what you've said is true and is coming, and he must accept it. Mind you, it won't be perfect and it won't be romantic. Astarion doesn't know the intricacies of handling a pregnant woman, he's hardly tactful beyond his well honed and flirtatious lines. He genuinely loves you, but he's going to come pre-equipped as father material.

You need something? He'll get it with minimal complaint (but never none, you'd sooner get him to dye his hair black than cease complaining for the sake of it), he won't begrudge you your mood swings though he might be inclined to poke fun at you ever so often. And he will panic when you burst into tears for seemingly no reason, and no- time doesn't make him adjust, he will panic just as much the thousandth time as the first.

However, if it's any consolation. The moment your child enters the world, Astarion is a changed man.

When You Go Into Labor:

Astarion did the honors of informing all of your friends about your pregnancy, once he came to terms with it. And believe me when I say it is extravagant. The stationery and grandiose script that Astarion wields when informing everyone that you were expecting better fits a wedding invitation than it does... well. Very elegantly explaining that Astarion had accidentally knocked you up.

You can tell from the splotchy stains addressed to you from Wyll and Karlach that one of them had been crying when penning the message, Astarion has coin on Wyll, and you on Karlach. Lae'zel never responds to begin with and you know for a fact the Githyanki's response will likely come in the form of her simply showing up one of these days, unprompted. Jaheira personally and rather frequently visits as well, she becomes a sort of bastion as nerves take you over, confident and calm as she is. Halsin's "letter" arrives late, rather because alongside his letter is several little carved animals for the child's room, and mentions of a quilt he intends to bring along when next he visits. Shadowheart's letter, while congratulatory, contains an air of interrogation strung all about it, all aimed with pinpoint precision at the man responsible for your pregnancy and dripping with sarcasm.

Gale's letter is seven pages long, comes with a violet hued wax stamp, and multiple different inks in the most lavish hand he can manage. You daresay he's competing with Astarion. However, surprisingly, Gale's seems to be the most... helpful of them all? It wasn't your intent, you simply wanted your dear friend to join you in celebration, and yet Gale goes on to inform you that upon reading the letter he'd become a madman in pursuit of knowledge on pregnancy and giving birth. He admits that this wasn't a particularly fruitful endeavor, as he's rather confident that you're not a gnoll, troll, cambion, succubus, or any other variety of strange creature with strange metrics of procreation. Still, Gale directs the latter portion of his letter to Astarion quite pointedly, informing him of bookshops around Baldur's Gate where he might have more success.

Astarion scoffs, but you don't miss the way his fingers twitch and flex.

After the hilarity of this is resolved and you just begin to believe that peace might return to your soft little home in the city, the first of your companions begin to arrive.

This continues on for the next week or so, without you ever knowing that this had been planned- and without knowing that Astarion had been the one to plan it. It's a furthering of his apology, of his guilt over the way he'd treated you. Again, Astarion has no illusions of the kind of man he is, and the fact he's not nurturing in the sort of ways that you need- but he's not completely stupid and he knows you're scared. So... bring the cavalry, darling.

Eventually your entire home has become a crash pad for all of your dearest friends, your family, and you only grow suspicious of Astarion's hand in this chaos because he's surprisingly amicable to having his peace so thoroughly disturbed by 'everyone and their mother'. Truly, he manages to bite his tongue some of the time about them trampling his fine rugs and scratching the plates. He even seems... wistful about it. As nostalgic as you openly are at seeing all of these beloved people under one roof again.

Nights are filled with raucous laughter, clattering utensils, a table so thoroughly overcrowded that people are playfully shouldering each other out of the way for a chance to get at their own food. And Astarion stays faithful at your side, his hand perpetually clasped gently around yours, thumb rubbing over your knuckles. Days are never spent alone, no matter what it is you need to do, someone (if not everyone) is following you along. And though Astarion feels his heart ache that he can't join you, he'll be glad to know you're safe.

Besides, your companions are likely all taking turns tormenting, testing, and relentlessly teasing him about what is to come. He has his own hands full. He's starting to regret being such a generous lover.

And then your water breaks in the dead of night.

Remember how I said Astarion was far from perfect? This would be one of those moments that it really shines.

Not that he's particularly terrible, no. He's not actively cruel toward you, and certainly not dismissive, it's somewhat the opposite. Halsin and Jaheira end up the ones helping you, the only two with some iota of understanding on what was happening and what to do with and for you. The others, less experienced in "mundane" medical situations will take up the second most important role.

Prevent Astarion from catastrophizing any more than he already has been.

Karlach has been the sole force capable of keeping Astarion away from the wine, typically bear hugging him away from your cellar while Wyll tries his best to talk your lover down from a total nervous breakdown. Of which he nearly has, several times. It's not even the sight of you, specifically. He's okay with being at your side and holding your hand, in trying his best to provide comforting words that aren't laced with sarcasm for once. But the sounds you make, that's what breaks him. Astarion isn't good at hearing you scream from the pain, he isn't good at the choked sobs or your heavy breaths. The way you sound like you're struggling against death. It makes him want to crawl out of his own skin, fight assailants that aren't there.

And for a few hours there, in the midst of your labors and your exhausted, pained little cries, Astarion isn't sure how he can love the child causing you this much suffering. It's not as if Astarion was an altruistic man on his best days, as if he were particularly reasonable when it came to you. You've both come to a mutual understanding that were something to happen to you, no morals would be involved in the things Astarion would do to rectify it.

And now, here you are, suffering. Astarion isn't supposed to do a thing about it? He's supposed to be- what, overjoyed by it? It infuriates him, he's truly prepared to have a grudge match with an infant.

Until, as the sun is starting to creep up on a brand new day, it's no longer your screams that meet the air, but another's entirely. Tiny but powerful, high pitched little squeals of fury and distress. And your laughter, disbelieving, soft, adoring already.

Astarion has a daughter.

I go with the HC that Astarion had eyes like honey once, and that his daughter takes after that, along with the delicate points of his ears mirrored in her own. She's small, so small, but healthy and already feisty, wiggling as best as her tiny body can whilst still too heavy for her to lift and move.

You're the first to hold her of course, and Astarion will be at his knees beside the two of you. The expression he wears is something you've seen maybe two or three other times in the entire time you've known him- moments when you know he expected everything to fall apart, moments where he couldn't believe that the world was so good.

It's then that you can breathe for the first time, and know that both of your darlings will be just fine.

Once he does hold her, he's not inclined to let her go. Even once you ask to have her back, he'll simply move you into his lap, so that he can hold you both. It's better that way anyhow, having both of his girls in his arms. And Astarion will repeat again and again how stunned he is, he just can't believe it. Cannot fathom any of it. I think he's the type to say that he's speechless and then spend the next five minutes doing nothing but talking. It's nervous rambling, but still, speechless is not the term I would use to describe him here.

Astarion With Your Baby:

Once your little darling is actually in your lives, you get to see how hilariously unorthodox Astarion is with children. Especially his own. Astarion doesn't baby-talk like you or the rest of your companions, he speaks in the same exact tones as he would a grown woman. In fact, for the first few days you're adjusting to a child in your life, you sometimes mistake Astarion as speaking with an unexpected guest, only to round the corner and find him lightheartedly chastising his own daughter for her poor nappy conduct as he wrinkles his nose and changes her diaper.

He's disgusted by that, by the way. Absolutely hates it, complains loudly about having to do it. But if you so much as try to stand to help he'll force you back down onto your chair or the couch, something something not useless something something already up, darling. It's as if Astarion is simply allergic to admitting that while it makes him nauseous, he wants to care for his daughter. He wants you to rest.

And yes, Astarion is the type of father that thinks all other children are hideous little fecal beasts and his daughter is the only gorgeous little angel in the entire world. Perfect, can do no wrong. He tells her as such too, in the same deadpan voice he always uses, wiggling and stretching her legs.

"You know, darling. You should count your blessings, you're the only child I've ever seen that doesn't look like some sort of hideous, deformed bean. I can't be surprised though, with as gorgeous as your parents are." And though he rolls his eyes, he's unable to contain the grin that shows his teeth when she coos and squeaks at the sound of his voice.

And yes. Astarion dresses up with his child.

The older she gets the more he does it, little matching outfits and ribbons. Nothing that she would choke on, were she to get her mitts on it. (You had to be the one to tell him no, at first. He did throw a little fit about it, just a small one).

But it's not all lighthearted, good or bad.

There are times where Astarion won't touch your daughter, won't be alone with her in the same room. He fears it, he'll eventually tell you. His... affliction came with it's dangers, always. But he's always trusted that you could defend yourself, and you're big enough that he can't just kill you between one blink and the next. The same can't be said of your darling girl. She's so small and so fragile that, were he to lose even the slightest grip of himself around her, it could cost her her life. No doubt it would traumatize her for life, regardless.

You watch it, too. The way it pinches his brows and makes him wipe his palms against his pants as if he were sweating. Nervous habits creeping up his throat and causing him to pace about like a caged animal. It's during these times that you have to bring your daughter to him. Gently place her in his arms and remind him that he's loved her from the moment he saw her. And where once he held trepidation and queasiness at the prospect of fatherhood, you can see him care so much about this little bundle that he looks sick from it. A vulnerability he can't mask.

And of course, there are times he nearly weeps for other reasons.

Like when she takes her first steps, and immediately tries to run for him.

And Astarion knows he should let her tumble, that it's good to let her fall and get back up again, but the moment her unsteady feet cause her to careen she's safe in his arms. Little kisses peppered against her giggly face. And he'll tuck away against her to try and get his bearings back, but she'll pat his cheeks and tug his ears- and you'll have to distract her with a toy while he hiccups and sniffles down his need to cry. He wasn't ready for her to grow so fast, gone is the tiny bundle that could fit perfectly in one arm, now she's walking. How long before she's dating? Gods, should he be preparing for betrothal requests!?

"I want to be mortal." He whispers to you, one night. She's tucked between your bodies, sound asleep and wiggling from time to time. This is one of the rare moments you and your love can speak to each other uninterrupted, in the tranquility of the dark hugging around you.

It's strange that he brings this up now, you'd spoken about it several times since the Elder Brain had been taken down... But in the past few years since your daughter had been born, all of that had fallen to the wayside. "What brings this to mind, Starling?"

Your hand comes to cup his throat, as you watch and feel him work as if he were swallowing a stone. "I don't want to outlive this."

It's hard to blink the tears from your eyes, understanding the implications.

Were he actually two hundred years old, Astarion wouldn't survive well past the existence of his sweet little family.

He'd been more melancholy the past few weeks, after realizing that your daughter was beginning to function on her own. She was walking, grabbing things, talking in rudimentary sentences. She was even beginning to call him pa.

He'd cried, at that.

"I'll forget," his voice draws you out from that brief reverie. The distress is palpable, but runs low like the tide before a storm. "I'll forget all of this. I don't want to know what I'll become, then."

And when you run your hands up into his hair, to scratch lovingly along his scalp, he doesn't hide the shiver or the way his face presses against your palm, cold and smooth on your skin.

"We'll find a way, Astarion. I haven't given up yet... We just- she's too young."

It's both a strain and a relief, to know that. To be reminded that your daughter is still so small, that he won't be losing her- or you- any time soon. There's still time.

Astarion With Your Teen:

Arguably this is the best time between your daughter and him. It's simultaneously a surprise and yet- not at all? He's more like her confidante and best friend than strictly a father. He isn't one for harsh curfews and strict ways of dress- rather, he's the one she comes to when she's made some sort of mistake. Or when she's angry about something.

In general, Astarion withholds judgement of her, for better or worse. The unintended consequence is that you might become more of her enemy than Astarion, because he's less inclined to punish for questionable behaviors.

It's not that he's afraid of angering her or dealing with push back- rather that Astarion's frame of reference for what constitutes a mistake is ah... rather broken. Even in the beginnings of your relationship with Astarion, the mistakes that would anger him constituted dropping an entire building on his head or... risking being turned into a Mindflayer to help some old lady find her cat.

Not feeling up cute boys in alleyways.

As a result you'll likely need to have a few conversations with him about not being so lenient on her, because she needs to have structure in how to behave. Stealing things is in fact, not okay! And Astarion will listen, but he's always going to be a bit more of a friend than anything else.

A total gossip with her, too. You'll catch them huddled around the dinner table at night, both with a glass of wine (this was an argument that Astarion ended up winning, she's allowed one glass a week, but that's all!) in hand shittalking a storm together. Astarion has become the Baldur's Gate equivalent of a PTA mom, he shows up as stylishly as he can and beefs with the parents of whichever children have upset his daughter the most. And then when they get home they just toss it back and forth together.

But I want to stress, just because he doesn't punish her doesn't mean he isn't protective of her. Astarion is more protective than you are.

Once she begins dating you'll find yourself home alone semi-frequently, because Astarion will play the supportive, loving father part when she leaves- and immediately follow her out into the dark. He's had centuries to know what dangers lurk around every corner, and foggy memories of simply being in the wrong place at the wrong time before his nightmare began. He won't allow that to happen with his girl.

And it's funny, because Astarion will talk mad shit to himself while he does it. Logically he knows that she's with some teenage boy or girl, but it doesn't stop the petty, emotional side of him from rolling his eyes and sneering at the cheap one-liners and the dumb tactics that this would-be charmer utilizes. Really, taking her into dark alleys to get her to tuck into you? Going to a totally secret spot that Astarion has known about for at least a hundred and sixty years? Get real, kid.

And you have to try valiantly not to laugh when he comes home, huffing and puffing about it. Because you will hear every single petty thought he had the entire time, and you will know that he looks like a petulant child. It's very cute.

All in all, I think Astarion is a reckless, chaotic, petty father. And one that loves his child so, so much. To the point of ruin, to the point where suddenly staying in one place doesn't seem so bad, just so she can have friends. Helping people isn't the worst, just so she can know there are heroes in the world. Suddenly he's learning to bandage scrapes and kiss bruises, and having tears and snot on his clothes mean nothing compared to the grief of the one shedding them. He loves her in ways he didn't anticipate he ever could. Enough to know all of her ticks and secrets, to know when she's lying through her teeth and when she's being devastatingly obvious.

Learning to cook even when he can't eat, listening to her spin a story with a straight face and then- as she's stepping out the door- telling her to be careful with that boy and listening to her groan loudly as the door slams shut, a mischievous smile on his face.

Holding you and dancing you around, cradling you close with all the tenderness he has in the whole of his body and soul. Kissing you, calling you the mother of his child, thanking you for giving him something he didn't even know he'd wanted. A family.

Small and odd, but his.

#astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion ancunin x tav #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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annewithaneofthegreengable · 4 months

Text

Mr Long Legs and Ms Pocket Size

Summary: Toto loves that his girlfriend has to cling to him like a koala whenever she wants to kiss him. OR how Y/n has to constantly pull off the highest heels just to stand next to her “giant” boyfriend.

A/N: I will add a small smau right below so stay tuned u guys!

Toto and his girlfriend, who he lovingly calls his 'short stack,' wake up every day with a smile on their faces. They start their day with a kiss, normally she would have to hold onto him just to give him a peck on the lip. As they go about their morning routine, Toto can't help but grin as he watches her attempt to reach things on high shelves, which is often caused by him because he often teases her by placing things on the top shelf that are out of her reach, knowing she would have to call him for the help.

“Damn you and your heights, who would put their everyday mugs on the highest place on the cupboard!”

“It’s not that high, Schatz. Look! It’s very much reachable. Well, compared to my size of course. Here you go.”

“New information, in case you don’t know… I am not your size”

“I’m pretty much aware of that, you are rather pocket-size, Liebe.”

His girlfriend playfully rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You know very well I'm not as tall as you, you oversized giant," she said with a hint of amusement.

"But I guess being so towering has its downside. You're constantly losing things behind the cabinets and on top of the fridge. I suppose height isn't everything." Toto chuckled, wrapping his arm around her waist.

"Height has its benefits, especially when it comes to pulling pranks on my short stack girl," he said while kissing her neck.

“Have you grown? Liebe.”

“Just for today, so pretty much yes.” Y/n grins then lifts her shoe high enough to reveal heels that make Toto’s jaw drop a little before he begins laughing hysterically.

“Gotta pull off these bad bitches right here so that the press can take a picture with both of us without cutting your legs out of the frame.”

“There’s no way you’re gonna survive the whole day with those on.”

“Watch me! Toto.”

“Please! For the sake of me, just wear something flatter, like trainers, or your flats.”

“Nope.” She said with the sound pop “p”.

Y/n is well aware that Toto enjoys the benefits of such a height gap, but it's enjoyable to tease him about being able to close the space on occasion.

"Shall we go?" Y/n asks making Toto sigh looking down at her feet again before nodding.

“If you ever feel any sort of discomfort please come to me right away. Yes? Liebe”

“Alright, Mr Long Legs”

Y/n confidently struts towards the door with Toto trailing behind her. As they step inside the paddock, they are immediately greeted by a swarm of press and fans clamouring to catch a glimpse of the famous couple. Toto watches in amazement as Y/n effortlessly strikes a series of poses, her confidence and poise perfectly fitting the larger-than-life persona she had adopted for the day. Despite her high heels, she didn't falter and instead embraced the spotlight with grace, leaving Toto in awe of her confidence and charisma. He also couldn't help but feel a little nervous at the idea of her wearing such high shoes all day, but his girlfriend was determined to make a statement.

“Someone is a bit taller today?” Lewis said chuckling.

“Yes, Lewis. I’m even at your head level today. Still not quite George’s height but one step at a time, right?”

“Impressive… But I prefer the tiny boss to be tiny. Because those heels can break your toes or something.”

“It’s quite hurtful now but don’t you dare tell Toto. I’m trying to stay above a little longer today. Maybe till the race ends, then I will take it off.”

“Promise?”

“Swear on my toes, Lewis. Now get in the car. “

As Toto listened to Y/n's exchange with Lewis, he couldn't help but feel a pang of worry deep in his chest, with a little pang of jealousy as he heard Lewis make the comment about preferring her to be tiny, but he quickly pushed it aside. In his eyes, his girlfriend was perfect no matter her height. He knew how determined and fierce she could be, but the thought of her hurting herself in those towering shoes left him feeling uneasy. As Lewis walked away, Toto approached Y/n with a small frown, as he gently lifted her foot and carefully removed her heeled shoes, he couldn't help but notice the slight tension in her expression. He could tell she was disappointed that her attempt to be "taller" had come to an abrupt end. But he knew that her safety and well-being were his top priority, and he wasn't willing to risk her getting injured just for the sake of appearing taller. As he lowered her feet back to the ground, Toto looked up at her with a mixture of concern and affection "You know," he began, his tone tender, "you're perfect just the way you are, Liebe. Whether you're towering in those shoes or not." He gently ran a hand up her slender leg, his touch affectionate. "I don't care one bit about your height. I just want you to be safe and comfortable. That's all that matters to me."

Y/n couldn't help but soften at Toto's words, her disappointment at having to remove the heels fading in the warm glow of his affection. "I know," she replied, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She reached down to brush a stray lock of hair out of his eyes, her touch gentle. "I just wanted to stand a bit taller for a change, you know? But I understand where you're coming from." She gave him a grin. "Next time, perhaps I will try on some wedges platform?”

liked by mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and others

y/n_user: Can someone tell him to give me some of his height?

mercedesamgf1 we will try tiny boss

y/n_user Thanks admin! I appreciate ur help lewishamilton Can u tell him to save some for me also! Much needed it y/n_user Go find ur own! This is mine already

user_1 Mrs Long Legs now

user_2 Those shoes could kill

user_3 Can u save some for Yuki too

y/n_user Noted user_4 Tell Yuki to take it from his bf gasly

lilymhe Pretty heels for ma wifey

y/n_user Stop it wifey they're killlinggg meee lilymhe U can always sit on my lap wifey mercedesamgf1 Please stop calling my missus your wifey - toto user_1 the boss has joined the chat mic drop

user_5 Not toto using the company acc

liked by mercedesamgf1, lewishamilton, georgerussell63 and others

y/n_user photo dump and date night with my Mr Long Legs and he calls me his Ms Pocket Size so screw the heels

user_2 She looks so good!

user_3 THEY ARE THE POWER COUPLE!!

user_1 Dear mr future husband pls take note

lilymhe love you beautiful!

user_6 ATE and left NO CRUMBS

lewishamilton gorgeous - toto wolff

lewishamilton i don’t have instagram - toto wolff

y/n_user pls give lewis his ig acc back old man!

user: nOt the sign off by toto himself 😭😭

mercedesamgf1: finest couple ever! 😮‍💨

user admin— you’re so real for this omg user admin knows what’s up user can toto fight? user can’t fight for a championship that’s for sure

mercedesamgf1 the boss says you’re gorgeous

user GIVE THIS PERSON A RAISE FOR THEIR HARD WORK mercedesamgf1 so true

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theprettynosferatu · 1 month

Text

CW: Non-consensual, Intox (aphrodisiac), Mind breaking.

Two years. Two fucking years of work down the drain. The worst two years of her life, working towards a goal she knows she’ll never see, and all because someone up the chain of command got bribed or threatened or who knows what else. What matters is someone fucking sold her out and now she’s bound up, staring at the gang of absolute sadistic freaks she has pushed herself so hard to infiltrate.

Shit, the things she has done to be accepted as one of them! Well, “one of them” is stretching it. More like a trusted groupie, she figures. The amount of “slutty, fiery latina” acting she has been forced to do almost makes her throw up. It’s a stereotype and a racist one at that but damn it if these dumb motherfuckers raised by porn didn’t appreciate it, in a sick way. And all of it for a goddamn rumor.

They have this new shit, this kinda spray thing, makes any girl wanna fuck you like crazy… True Love, they call it.

Yeah, right. But still, the chance that such a drug could exist and flow through the streets, paired with some rather bizarre incidents of victims fighting to remain by their captor’s side… it was enough to try and get someone on the inside. And she’s ambitious, young, and most importantly, with the proper… attributes to play the gang-doll. Even now she almost wants to chuckle at the memory of the chief trying to explain that part, fighting so hard not to mention her ass. She’s not dumb. Wasn’t then, isn’t now. Without what she, modesty aside, considers the most spectacular ass in the city, the gang would have never even taken a second look at her. And she wouldn’t be here, now, tied up.

Fuck. She realizes her mind is rambling, going on tangents, trying to escape the simple reality of the situation. She can’t move, and seven men are looking at her like she’s dessert, discussing exactly what to do to her.

“Maybe we should use it, you know” one says.

She thinks she’s “it”, for a moment. She realizes she’s wrong as Karl, who has more muscles than brain cells and yet for some reason always calls the shots, removes one of the floorboards. Fuck! She has been in this warehouse dozens of times, looked everyone for evidence of the supposed magic drug, and has always come up snake-eyes. And it’s right fucking there, under the goddamn floor. What the fuck is it, the 1950’s? She’s tried every phone, installed keyloggers on laptops, learned every password- in her head, there had to be some clever operation at work, some devious method to keep such a huge deal secret. Nope. It’s under the fucking floor. She wants to tell them to untie her, just so she can kick her own ass.

They laugh as they get naked, and a wave of shame crashes over her. She realizes she has seen all of these bodies before, and it makes her sick to her stomach. Sure, men get talkative when bragging and trying to get someone into bed. And men lower their guards after they bust a load- that is, if they don’t just roll over and fall asleep instantly. She has used that, over and over, to get information, to get chances to snoop.

Did she have to, though? That question has haunted her, and now it seems to grow solid, like a rock in her chest. Did she truly have to play up all those stereotypes to become some fucked up fantasy of whatever a hot latina is supposed to be? Did she have to buy all those booty shorts, those cheap jewels, those slutty heels?

And didn’t a part of her enjoy the attention?

Fuck. Chances are she’ll die here, and she doesn’t want to die a delusional bitch. Yes, fine, being the center of attention felt nice. But the sex? No. That was awful. Pretending to be attracted to these meatheads, doing anything they wanted just so her reputation as a grade-A piece of ass would spread, faking orgasms…

Bull and shit. You’re dying here, Mariana. Stop lying to yourself. You didn’t fake all of them.

She’s yanked away from her little spiral of shame by the loud hiss of spray being applied. They’re passing a little can around, coating their cocks with…

No. It can’t be real. It just can’t. There is no magic spray. It can’t possibly work. Sure, these idiots might think it does, but in reality, no, True Love isn’t a thing.

The images flow into one another like photographs. She knows, rationally, what is happening. A knife is cutting her bindings as two sets of hands are holding her arms. Her shorts are being sliced, ripped off her. Her legs are being held wide open for Meathead Karl. She files these things in her mind, and feels nothing. She’s there, but she’s not really there. Ah, yes. Dissociation as a defense mechanism for trauma. Mariana has read about it, and now feels mildly fascinated by the experience.

The pain drags her back to reality. Her instincts kick in, and she braces for the suffering that is to come after that initial opening salvo. She grits her teeth, and…

The pain doesn’t come. She hears laughter as her eyes grow wide, a horrible realization dawning on her. The feeling between her legs is a warm thing, a pleasant thing, slithering up her body, unlike anything she has ever felt before.

“Starting to hit you, Officer? Oh, this is just beginning”, someone says, his voice coming to her as if from a million miles away. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It’s real. Fucking True Love is real. Her mind reels, the interviews with previous victims rushing in her memories. The way they spoke about their abusers as if they were Gods. The way they defended them. The way they longed for them, like junkies going into withdrawal. She can’t become like them. She can’t lose herself like that. She can’t…

She can’t focus. Her mind is getting fuzzy as the delicious sensation reaches her nipples. Every inch of her skin feels sensitive, overwhelming. A pussy. My whole body is one giant pussy. She has no idea where the thought comes from, but it grows inside her as she squirms and little moans escape her lips. No. Don’t give them the satisfaction. Don’t moan. Don’t move.

“Oh, now you’re getting it. Don’t worry. It will get much, much worse”

Whose voice speaks? She can’t tell. She finds it harder and harder to care. Suddenly, her body betrays her as her hips start moving on their own, seeking pleasure, trying to coax the cock inside her deeper…

She feels on fire. She hates herself, hates how good every thrust feels, how much she needs more and more and more. Thoughts flood her, like a strange invasion taking over her mind. Cock. Cock feels good. Cock feels so fucking good. This is good. This is perfect. This is exactly what I should do. This is all I want. This is all I have ever wanted. Her mission starts to fade away. She can barely recall why she ended up being fucked like a good girl by this marvelous cock, and it feels so unimportant, so insignificant. Only the pleasure matters. She needs more. Her eyes cast around her. Cocks. Big, hard cocks, stiff for her. She starts drooling. The men laugh. She doesn’t care. There are hard cocks near her. Why aren’t they using her?

No. Snap back, Mariana. This isn’t you.

Why not?

Isn’t this better than whatever she was before?

One of the men lowered his body, his cock inches away from her face. She needs to taste it. She needs to wrap her tongue around it. She needs to worship it, body and soul.

“Oh, poor slut wants it?”

She’s not sure she understands the words. But she does understand, with a frenzied animal cunning, the desire behind them. They want her to beg. Some distant remain of sanity is pleading with her not to give in, not to surrender her voice, to keep some small part of her true self. It screams in vain.

“Please… give… cock…” she manages to mumble between moans.

“No. Not yet. You see, officer, your mind might be going, but your body is learning very fast. It’s so open now… And we intend to keep you around for a long time. No quick sell for you. So we need to… train you a bit”

Mariana knows the man is talking. The words don’t reach her until he starts playing with her nipples, and a single word takes over her entire existence.

“Cum”

She shakes. She screams. Her entire body is reduced to a single, shining sensation of absolute pleasure. She can feel something inside her breaking, giving in. She pants and a part of her expects the sensations to subside, but they don’t. If anything, the constant pleasure grows, leaving her right at the gates of another orgasm. She tries to grind, to move, to use the cock inside her to cum again…

“Not without permission, toy”, someone says. She almost manages to squeak out a complaint, but the stimulus is too strong. All she can do is squeal and moan.

The world swirls around her, colors heightened, bleeding into each other. She never wants to go back to the gray, solid, difficult past. She wants to stay here, be this- be pleasure.

“Cum”

Yes. She cums, and nothing else matters. This is all she needs. All she exists for. Her eyes are unfocused, her mouth hanging open. She feels the cock touch her lips before she even consciously sees it. The imperative is immediate. Suck. Lick. Take it deep in your throat. Use your tongue, pressure with your lips, the vibrations of your moaning. Use everything you are to please cock.

“Cum”

Every time it gets stronger, going beyond whatever she ever thought possible. No mind can hope to withstand such a tidal wave of pleasure. As soon as she realizes they’re starting to move her, she hops up. The men don’t have to tell her what they want from her. She wants the same thing. She’s just holes. Holes need to be filled with cock. She impales herself on Karl’s dick and leans forward, letting him suck on her sensitive nipples, leaving her asshole ready, eager. She’s presenting herself like an animal in heat, and she’s loving every second of it. She’ll do anything to keep feeling like this, forever.

“Ass…” she manages to say.

“Not good enough, cunt. Come on, you can use your words better than that”

Words. Words for cock. Words to make cock happy. They own her words. They own her mind. They own her body.

“Please… use my ass… fuck my tight little hole… ram it hard! Wreck it! I need it so bad, need it so bad, need you to take me, take my ass, make me cum, never let me go, please please please…”

Even the pain feels good. Everything feels good. Humiliation feels good. Their mockery feels good. Their spit on her skin feels good. Obeying feels good.

One cock in her ass, using it with no care for her or any pain it might cause. One in her wet cunt, driving her mad. One in her mouth, using her like a breathing fleshlight. One in each hand, the promise of cum to come. This is it. This is bliss. This is heaven. This is all any woman could ever desire. This is home.

“Such a good fucktoy…”, one mutters, trying to hold back his own orgasm.

The word infects her. Fucktoy. It starts overwriting everything inside her. Fucktoy. Her police training crumbles in her memory. Fucktoy. Her memories of her family fade away, forever. Fucktoy. Her hatred for cruel men vanishes. Fucktoy. Fucktoy. Fucktoy. It is all she is. All she has ever been. All she ever wanted to be. She’s mumbling it in between taking cock in her mouth. It rises like a gigantic obelisk in her mind, ruling over her, conquering all.

Fucktoy.

“Cum. Cum. Cum.”

Wave after wave of pleasure overtake her, crashing into each other, blasting away all that was and all that could ever be.

By the time she gets back something resembling consciousness, warm cum is coating her skin. She can feel the wonderful jizz inside her holes, taste it on her tongue still. She must have swallowed it. Like a good fucktoy. She feels so proud, so valuable, so beautiful. She made cocks cum. She was good. She was useful.

“Officer, remind me… what were you looking for?”

She looks at the man like a confused puppy.

“Cock?”

“I see. And what’s your name?”

She straightens up, full of pride. This one she knows.

“Fucktoy!”, she smiles.

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