#there is an entire e rated fic here

[wheresarizona]

but I would die for you in secret

summary: The relationship you have with Joel Miller is… complicated, and you’re not entirely sure what to even call it. There’s the fact no one can know, so his kid doesn’t find out, and you’re pretty sure he’s ashamed of your age difference—he’s not your boyfriend, but you only fuck each other; this thing started months ago, and Joel does not like it when men give you attention, because he wants you all to himself. But again, he’s not your sexy, older boyfriend.

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader

rating: E (18+!! No y/n, porn with some plot, explicit smut, Possessive Joel Miller, Joel being a lil dominant, age gap (unspecified, reader is an adult), secret relationship, sneaking around, accidental voyeurism, edging, orgasm denial, mutual masturbation, dirty talk (so much), oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), rough sex, explicit consent, creampie, spanking, spit as lube, love confession, Good Parent Joel Miller, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, TLOU AU where Joel doesn’t lie to Ellie and they’re good when they get back to Jackson)

word count: 7.1k+

a/n: Hey! I needed a break from my long fic that I’ve been writing nonstop for five months, and I was really missing Joel and Ellie, so here we are. I hope you enjoy! Thank you to @juletheghoul for betaing!

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!

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The relationship you have with Joel Miller is… complicated.

To start with, there’s the age difference. It doesn’t bother you at all, and why should it? You’re both consenting adults who know what they want, but he’s got this idea in his head that he shouldn’t be chasing someone so much younger than him and that you should be with somebody your own age—he mentions this almost every single time you’re alone together, and you've learned a simple flash of your tits or a sudden kiss will make those thoughts disappear.

Then there's the fact he isn't your boyfriend, yet you only fuck each other. His days are spent working whatever job he’s assigned here in Jackson and he’s at your place most nights after his daughter goes to bed—however, that’s a secret; No one can know about you two, even though Joel’s a tiny bit possessive and doesn't take kindly to other men giving you attention; which you're not one to judge because you can't stand when women flirt with him, especially Sandra, his next-door neighbor who won't leave him the fuck alone after the many times he’s told her he’s not interested.

So, again, he's not your boyfriend, but neither of you wants to fuck anyone else; whatever this thing is between you has been going on for over eight months, and he doesn’t want people to know you’re together—yet, any time he catches a man being too friendly with you, there's a 100% chance a grumpier than usual Joel will show up at your house that night, and at some point, while he’s fucking your brains out, he'll let a 'Mine' slip out.

Clearly, you have some kind of relationship with him, and it borders somewhere between fuck buddies and him being your boyfriend; where it gets confusing is it's not all sex with him. If his kid is staying over at a friend's, he'll show up at yours earlier than normal, and usually, with a movie he hadn't seen since the world ended or a record he thought you'd enjoy that you both listen to all the way through for him to tell you facts and anecdotes that he could possibly be the only person on the entire planet who knows.

If you need anything fixed around your house, he'll do it, and sometimes you don't even have to ask. You'll mention something, and the next thing you know, he's at your front door with a toolbox—sometimes, he uses doing repairs as a ruse so people will see him arriving at your place with his tools when, in actuality, he’s there to spend the day with you.

You’re also probably the only person, unrelated to him, he has actual conversations with; there’s hardly any grumbling or muttering.

There is a reason he won't acknowledge you’re dating, and it's his sixteen-year-old daughter whom he doesn't want to know he has a love life—it's to where Joel's basically taken the role of the rebellious teenager, sneaking out of his own home in the middle of the night to ensure she's unaware he left.

It's an accumulation of factors why she can't know. The big two, you think, are your age, and you know for sure he doesn't want Ellie to think she'll be any less important to him or that he's abandoning her if he's seeing someone—he worries she won’t take it well, and from what you know she's been through, you can understand why he’s being so protective.

Do you wish you could openly be in a relationship with Joel? Sure, it'd make you happy to shove it in Sandra, his stupid neighbor's face that he's taken.

That isn't a possibility, though, and honestly, what the two of you have is good, so you're not going to make a fuss about labels.

It's been a few nights since Joel has snuck over to your place, and you know why he hasn't stopped by—Ellie—she's sick with a cold, and to put things mildly, her father is freaking the fuck out that it could turn into something worse, and he won't let her out of his sight.

Now, if a person didn't want their child to know they were dating anyone, they’d keep them separated, right? Well, you live across the street from them—that's how you met Joel; he saw someone had moved into the tiny one-bedroom, one-bath home across from his and came over to introduce himself—and since you live across the way from him, and Ellie, the two of you have this, 'Just being a good neighbor,’ act, where any interactions you have in public, are under the guise that you’re just friendly neighbors. So, Ellie has spoken to you many times and has even invited you to hang out and eat meals with them at their house or in the mess hall, where Joel always does his damndest to act indifferent.

Joel left a simple note three days ago stating Ellie was feeling under the weather on your front door. The next day, you stopped by, as the good neighbor you are, to drop off some chicken soup you convinced the kitchen at the mess hall to make. Joel had let you in with a ‘Thanks’ and took the large bowl from you to the kitchen, and you followed the sounds of sniffles to the living room, where you found the teenager wrapped in a blanket on the couch, her stuffed-up voice exclaiming when she saw you in relief you were there so she’d have someone other than her dad to look at or talk to; obviously, she was tired of him, and with how he was hovering, and fussing over her like a mother hen, you would’ve been tired of him, too.

The man had bags under his worried eyes and looked like he hadn’t slept since she’d gotten sick. After he served her some soup and saw she was eating it, Ellie and you convinced him to take a nap while you hung out with his kid—the kid you’ve had a suspicion for a while knows there’s something up between you and her father, simply because every time the two of you are alone, she grills you about your love life.

The thing is, she always fishes for information you won’t give her, but she never seems bothered by the prospect of Joel dating; frankly, she’s supportive and wants him to be happy. However, that wasn’t something you could tell him because he’d probably end things with you immediately, so you’d have to wait for them to eventually have a heart-to-heart for him to find out—which, you’re not holding your breath with how bad they both are at talking to each other about their feelings.

And now it’s been over three days since you last got laid, and after having great sex regularly, the horniness is hitting you hard tonight, and you need to come.

It might be the dead of winter, but you’ve pushed the blankets to the end of your queen-sized bed, the old sheets not as soft as you imagined they’d once been when they were new, your bare, heated skin pressing into them. You’re lying in the middle of the mattress, your head cushioned by a pillow that’d lost its firmness long ago, your naked legs spread while your fingers rub at your swollen clit just right, the others pinching at your pebbled nipple to have the pleasure welling up inside you. You’ve been biting your bottom lip so much it’s sore, your breaths panting from your lungs, the wood stove in the living room keeping your house warm, and that, combined with your arousal, has a thin layer of sweat coating your body.

Sure, you can get yourself off, but the orgasm will be nowhere near as good as what Joel coaxes from you; it’ll take the edge off, at least, so you’ll feel a little better.

For the last hour, you’ve been building yourself up, almost hitting your peak, and stopping, edging yourself over and over again to try to make yourself come as hard as you can by your own hand to assuage some of your need—the sheets are wet under your ass where you’ve dripped onto them.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, thinking about that one night Joel saw some guy about your age at the bar laying it on thick to get you to leave with him, and how after you turned him down and left, a familiar presence followed you along the dark streets. You had to keep quiet when those big, gun-calloused hands you knew all too well pulled you into the stable that had nobody in it except the horses—Joel fucked you from behind against a wall, having to brace yourself with your arms on it. You remembered his palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds and him blanketing himself over your back to have his lips at your ear while he pounded into you hard and fast, quietly grunting about how you were his and that no one could make you feel as good as he did. There was no forgetting how his cock stretched open your cunt, or how before he sheathed himself inside you, you heard him spit on his fingers to slick himself up; the way he made you come around him while he circled your clit with those same digits. The memory of how he’d worked himself up so much he’d forgotten to pull out and spilled deep in your pussy, has you so close to coming by your hand you moan loudly, “Joel.”

“Stop,” the familiar gruff voice makes your eyes snap open as you gasp, immediately sitting up on your elbows.

There at the foot of the bed is the man on your mind—he must’ve taken off his winter jacket in the living room—his green flannel shirt is gaping from most of the buttons being undone, revealing his chest, his grey waves of hair looking to be slightly damp from melted snowflakes. What steals your attention is the fact his jeans are unbuttoned and open, and he’s slowly stroking his hard dick; from how the tip is angry red, leaking precum, and his shaft shines, he’s been watching and jerking off for some time.

“Joel,” his name comes out as a whisper, and your eyes flick up to his, finding them dark and staring hungrily between your legs at your glistening cunt.

You’re so happy to see him you’re not even mad he ruined your orgasm, knowing he’ll make it up to you.

“How many times have you made yourself come while I’ve been busy?” he asks, finally meeting your gaze, his expression grumpy.

“No-none,” you stammer.

His eyebrow lifts. “You lyin’ to me, sweetheart?”

“No.” You shook your head. “Are you mad at me…?”

His face pinches in confusion. “What? No. I’m not mad at you, baby. I’m mad at myself for leavin’ you hangin’.” He undoes the last two buttons on his shirt and shrugs it off for it to fall to the floor, pushing down his pants to step out of them, now standing before you completely naked.

His body is a tapestry of littered scars that tell of his fight to survive this long, some from injuries you’re sure should’ve killed him. Yet, somehow, if by spite or the grace of God, he managed to stay alive—your fingers have traced many of them, mapping the silvery and pink lines in the quiet of the night with only the glow of a bedside lamp. With what people have to do in order to keep living these days, they rarely like to share the stories behind their close calls to death. Still, there’s a jagged scar low on the right side of his stomach lesser men would have died from, you noticed the first time he took his shirt off, and you always wanted to know the story of. Surprisingly, he told you how he got it a few months into this not-not relationship when you asked.

Excitement pools in your belly, your pussy throbbing needily, watching as he climbs onto the bed to kneel in front of you, between your legs, down by your ankles.

“Touch yourself,” he orders and takes himself in hand again, languidly pumping his cock. “I wanna watch you make yourself come; then I’m gonna show you how I’m better than everyone, includin’ you, at gettin’ you off.”

Your cunt clenches because he is better, and the promise has you doing as he said, sliding your hand down to the apex of your thighs to rub your clit the way you like while you watch him fist his shaft. This isn’t the first time he’s watched you touch yourself, and you’re sure if it was anyone else, you’d feel embarrassed, but with how the desire is clear as he stares at what you’re doing, it spurs you on.

Having been so close to coming when he told you to stop, and now, it’s turning you on so much that he’s jacking off to what you’re doing, all of it is building you back up quickly, the familiar heat growing at the base of your spine.

“Just like that, baby,” he rasps and wets his bottom lip. “Keep rubbin’ that pretty pussy—did you miss me?”

“Yes.”

He hums in the back of his throat. “Missed how good I make you feel—how I stretch open that perfect cunt with my cock? Do I fuck you so good, you were thinkin’ about me to make yourself come?”

The strokes of his hand sound wetter, your arousal drooling onto the bedding while the muscles in your belly begin to tighten.

“Yes,” you gasp.

“That’s right, you were. So fuckin’ pretty spread out like this for me—I wanna taste you, shove my face in your pussy, and drown in it; just look at how you’re drippin’ for me.”

“Joel,” you moan. You’re so close it’s not going to take much more.

“God, I fuckin’ missed that sound; I missed hearin’ your voice and how good you smell, how soft your skin is, and the few hours I get to sleep next to you—come for me, baby. Come all over your fingers, and I’ll give you my dick—I’ll make those gorgeous eyes roll back in your head and give it to you so good, I ruin you for anyone else.”

He’s already ruined you for anyone else, and you doubt there’s another who’d fuck you as good as him.

It’s the thought that he’s yours and no one else can have him like this that sends you over the edge, your body seizing up as you come, pleasure erupting from your center as you moan his name.

He doesn’t give you a chance to recover, batting away your hand to dive in and bury his face in your wet heat. He shoves his tongue inside your soaked hole, groaning loudly as he laps at your come, your body trembling when he drags the flat of it up through your folds to suck your clit between his lips. Your fingers press into his hair, soft sounds leaving your throat at how good it feels.

The one orgasm isn’t enough—you need more, his mouth igniting arousal to burn hot in your belly, making you feel achingly empty. He’s licking up every bit of your need, coating your sex, moving to flick his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re feeling greedy; what he’s doing isn’t enough, and you want, no, need him inside you.

You pull at his hair as you tell him in a somewhat whiny tone, “Fuck me, Joel—stop making me wait.”

His chuckle vibrates into your sensitive skin before he rises to kneel with a groan. “Impatient.” He smacks your thigh. “Flip, ass up.” And it’s not a suggestion, his hands on your waist helping you to roll over, pulling your backside up into the air while your torso is against the sheets. Your knees are sinking into the bed and spread a little, putting yourself on display for him, the mattress jostling when he shuffles forward, feeling his body heat behind you. His palm lands on your asscheek hard, the sharp sting making you moan. “Now, ask me nicely to fuck you.”

You should’ve known he wouldn’t care for your lack of manners.

Your head is resting on your crossed arms in front of you.

“Joel, will you please fuck me?” you ask as sweetly as possible.

“Yes.”

The sound of him spitting on his fingers meets your ears, and you know he’s slicking himself up. One of his hands holds your hip, the other guiding his cock through the lips of your pussy to wet it even more, nudging your clit—it doesn’t seem like he’s in a mood to tease too much. Your eyes slip shut when he notches himself at your entrance and starts slowly feeding himself into you, your tight, velvety walls expanding to take the considerable girth of him, whining as he fills you. He slides all the way home, your cunt throbbing around him.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he groans. “Is this what your needy little pussy wanted?”

“Yes,” you moan.

He’s as deep as he can go and pulls out until just the tip remains, and slams back into you hard enough to knock the air from your lungs—oh, this is going to be one of those times where he fucks you to the point your legs are too shaky to walk on afterward. The pace he sets is deliciously brutal and has your eyes rolling back, all thoughts leaving your brain, unable to think with how he’s pressing into so many heavenly spots, his grip tight on your waist.

The sounds in the room are obscene—the springs beneath you are squeaking, and there’s the noisy slap of his hips colliding with your ass, Joel grunting with each dull smack of his skin to yours, while you gasp out moans.

He’s fucking you so good, your orgasm is already taking shape, its fiery tendrils tightening in your core with each stroke.

“You feel so fuckin’ good,” he says through gritted teeth. “You’re so fuckin’ wet—I could live in this perfect pussy.”

His hand slaps your ass hard enough the crack echoes amongst the four walls, the sweet pain making you clench around him and press back into his thrusts, crying out his name.

“Does it feel good, baby?” he asks. “Did you miss getting fucked like this? You love this—this pussy is mine, isn’t it? You’re mine.”

He’s not wrong; you are his, and all you can do is mewl in reply, waves of your arousal seeping down his shaft to catch on his balls.

His gun-calloused hands adjust on your hips to get a better grip, pulling you back each time his dick impales you, fucking you harder and faster, hearing him panting behind you—the wet sounds of him working himself in and out of your drenched cunt, are loud, and lewd.

You’re so close; you’re just needing—

Joel leans forward to get his hand under your body to the swollen pearl of your clit, circling it how he knows you like it.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he grits out. “Let me have it—soak my cock with your come. Let me feel you—I know you’re almost there.”

That’s it—the knot in your belly winds tighter and tighter until the tension snaps, and you fall over the edge with a silent cry, your pussy clamping down on him hard enough that it slows his rhythm almost to a stop. Joel groans loudly while euphoria explodes out from your center, feeling it spread to your fingers and toes. Your brain goes blissfully blank, and your legs tremble under you like a leaf in the wind.

A gasp leaves you when he suddenly pulls out and flips you onto your back, taking his place between your spread thighs. He puts your legs high on his ribs, holding his weight on one arm while his other hand sheaths himself back inside you.

It’s not surprising that you’ve found yourself under his hulking frame with his hips snapping in and out of you—when you open your eyes, his are closed, his expression looking pained, and it’s his broad shoulders and head that take up your vision. This is how Joel wanted to fuck you from the start, but he’s a gentleman and did your preferred position first.

Your fingernails end up digging into the skin of his shoulder blades for something to hold on to, and he kisses over your chest to duck his head, wrapping his lips around a stiff nipple and sucking on it, the shock of pleasure causing a moan to slip from your throat. His breaths are heavy, and you know he won’t last much longer.

Your voice is hoarse when you speak, telling him what you know he needs to hear, “I missed you, Joel.” He whines. “I want you to come for me.”

His mouth leaves your breast to crash against yours, and you’d been wondering how long he’d go without kissing you—something about kissing while he fucks makes him come faster; maybe it’s the intimacy?

He’s told you the last woman he was with back in Boston wouldn’t kiss him because sex between them was just scratching an itch, and she wasn’t looking for anyone to replace her dead husband.

All you know is Joel loves kissing and touching—he’s admitted that he sleeps best with you snuggled against his back as the big spoon, which, you’ll never tell him, you think is adorable with how he scares people enough, they move out of his way when he walks down the street.

His kisses are fervent, and you give just as good as you get, welcoming his tongue when it presses between your lips, his pace speeding up. You love having him inside you, the way he fits all nice and snug to fill you completely. This is what you’ve been needing, and it’s perfect.

When his rhythm gets uneven, you expect him to pull out at any second to spill his release on your belly. What he does next, you’re not expecting.

Joel shoves his face into the crook of your neck, his facial hair scratching your skin, feeling his hot breaths.

He says something that’s too muffled to make out, so you pull on his hair to make him lift his head, finding his eyes dark and glazed over, looking totally and completely wrecked. His pace slows to him rocking in and out of you.

“What did you say?” you ask.

“Can I—” he pants. “Fuck, can I come inside you?”

The question has your tight walls constricting around him.

“Fuck,” Joel hisses, his eyes closing. “Please, can I?” he asks again.

The answer that immediately pops into your brain is ‘yes,’ but thinking about how the only times this man has finished inside you in the past were all accidents, you’re worrying he’s just pussy drunk and not thinking straight; that if you fell pregnant, something you didn’t mind, he’ll regret it.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

He looks at you and nods. “Yes, I know—” The consequences, he leaves unsaid. “—please.”

“Then yes, come for me, Joel—fill me up.”

He raggedly moans, his face falling into your neck again. His thrusts speed up and become frantic as he pounds into you, your heels digging into his ass, feeling the muscles flex. He works himself up until he presses into you one last time as deep as possible and comes with a guttural groan—his dick jerks inside you, and the hot spurts of his spend gush into your depths, filling you up. Electricity zips down your spine as you moan, your tight walls throbbing around him while he grinds his hips, fucking his come deeper.

The weight of his body is welcome when he eventually slumps onto you, and instinctively, your fingers slide into his hair, scratching your nails lovingly against his scalp, the man practically purring on top of you.

For the first time in three days, you feel happy and finally sated, loving how he’s stuffed you full of his cock, and come. There’s no talking as your heartbeats slow together and your breathing evens out, basking in each other’s presence. Your eyes are closed, and you’re choosing to ignore your shaky limbs.

It’s hard to imagine a life without Joel, which is odd since up until this point, most of it had been spent without him, or anyone really. What you actually mean is you don’t want to imagine a life without Joel and Ellie—you think she’s a great kid, and you have a soft spot for her; plus, she and her dad are a package deal. Then there’s Joel, who you’re absolutely and completely in love with, and it bothers you that you don’t know what this relationship between you is or if he even feels the same as you.

Minutes pass, the old, wooden bones of your house creaking as the winter wind gusts outside.

“Joel?” you break the silence.

“Mhmm?” he hums, nuzzling into your throat.

“What are we?”

“Huh?”

“What are we? Like, what is this thing that we’re doing?”

His head lifts, and he pulls out, rolling off you to lie beside you on his back, pressing his hands to his face.

“Somethin’ I shouldn’t be doin’ in the first place,” he finally answers.

You turn on your side toward him, propping your head up on your arm. “Take my age out of the equation.”

His palms lift, and he looks at you confused. “What do you mean?”

“For some fucking reason, you are stuck on my age—take it out of the equation; if that wasn’t a factor, would you openly date me?”

“Well, there’s Ellie—”

“—let’s pretend she doesn’t give a fuck about your love life,” you cut him off, “and actually wants you to be happy, and my age doesn’t matter—would you openly date me?”

“Yes.”

“So, you have feelings for me?”

“Of course.”

“Do you love me…?”

“Yes,” he whispers, covering his face again.

One word has your heart picking up in speed.

“I love you, too.”

His head whips in your direction with an expression of bewilderment.

“What?” he asks.

“I’m in love with you—have been for a while, and I’m fine with doing what we’ve been doing if that’s the only way I can be with you, but I kinda, sorta, would like it if you thought of us as a couple, and weren’t ashamed of me…”

A secret relationship? You’re fine with that. But Joel being ashamed of you? It fucking hurts.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he says too quickly.

“Joel, if Ellie were okay with you having a love life, you wouldn’t openly date me because of how old I am—I’d just continue being your dirty little secret that one other person knows about.”

His eyes dart away, and the sigh he lets out is long and weary.

“I’m not ashamed of you,” he says. “I’m ashamed of myself for fallin’ for you and not bein’ able to give you the future you deserve. I just felt like I was stringin’ you along when you could be with someone who can offer you more, but I’m so fuckin’ selfish.” He looks at you. “I want you, and I don’t want anyone else to have you—I can’t let you go, even though I should cut you free.”

Your fingers brush back the sweat-soaked hair on his forehead. “I don't want anyone else, Joel—I want you, and you’re not stringing me along. I’m happy with you and any future I can have with you and Ellie.”

He’s frowning. “If only it were that simple,” he sighs.

This is a conversation you thought might make him end things with you, but maybe giving him a slight nudge will be okay—at least, you hope it will.

“It is that simple,” you tell him. “I’m gonna tell you something that if you can work up the nerve to talk to her about, she'll confirm it.”

His eyebrows furrow. “What?”

“Ellie doesn’t care if you date. She’s told me she wishes you weren’t such an asshole ‘cause then the only negative thing about you is how ugly you are, and people love ugly things all the time, and if someone loves you, then you won’t die alone, plus it’d hopefully make you happy, and she really wants you to be happy—that’s pretty much what she said word-for-word.”

His eyes close, and the sigh that leaves him is that of a father who’s real tired of their child’s shit, and you smile.

“That’s Ellie,” he says, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not even sure how I should be feelin’ right now.”

“I hoped you’d be relieved at least, possibly even happy.”

He looks at you. “Yeah, I’m relieved and happy but also a little ticked at her embarrassin’ me like that.”

Scooting closer to him, you lay half on top of him with your arms folded on his chest, resting your chin on them to stare at his pretty face.

“Don’t be embarrassed. It was said out of love—she loves you.”

He sighs again, wrapping his arms around your bare back.

“I guess she does, even if she’s mean. Jesus, I can’t believe I just needed to talk to her sooner.”

“That’s usually how things work—it’s called communication, and you should talk to her.”

His eyes narrowed, and he smacked your ass, making you giggle. “There’s no need for the sass, sweetheart, and I was plannin’ on bitin’ the bullet and tellin’ her about us in the next couple of days.”

Your eyes widened. “You were? What?”

“Yeah, uh, I had a hard time with Ellie bein’ sick, and when you came over, I didn’t feel like I was goin’ insane with worry. Havin’ you there made it better, and I missed you.” His lips dip in a frown.

“I missed you, too—you were really gonna tell her?”

“I was.” He nods. “With how happy she was to see you, I thought maybe she’d be okay with it.” He shrugs.

You smile. “I think you’re right,” you reply, giving him a quick kiss. Meeting his gaze, you ask, “Is she feeling better?”

“Yeah, and thank Christ, she is.” He looks visibly relieved. “I think it was that soup you brought over—thank you for that and for givin’ me a chance to sleep.” He pecks you on the lips.

“It was no problem. I would’ve been there the entire time had it not been suspicious.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“Good. Sooo, I’m wondering, what are we now?”

“A couple,” he answers. “I’ve thought that for a while, but I’m too fuckin’ old to be callin’ myself your boyfriend.”

“I quite like having a sexy, older boyfriend.”

You squeak in surprise when he rolls you onto your back, your legs automatically opening for him to nestle his hips between. He’s holding himself up with his arms beside your head while yours loop around his neck, his lips pressing to the side of your throat, kissing the taut skin.

“You like havin’ a sexy, older boyfriend, huh?” His question is muffled, and you swallow hard when he sucks on your pulse point.

“I do,” you reply.

“I like havin’ you.” He’s kissing and nibbling along your jaw.

“‘Cause no one else can?”

He nips your chin, then hovers his head over yours to look you in the eyes.

His expression is serious. “Yes,” he says, “and I love you—if Ellie really doesn’t give a shit about me datin’, then every fuckin’ person in town is gonna know you’re mine.”

And something about that declaration thrills you.

“I’d like that.”

He gives you a small smile and kisses you for a moment before a thought comes to him, and he pulls back to meet your gaze.

“Maybe that neighbor, the annoyin’ one who doesn’t seem to know the meanin’ of no, will finally get it through her head, I’m not fuckin’ interested.”

You glare off into the distance. “Fucking Sandra,” you seethe.

The first time he met you, Joel knew he was fucked.

All he wanted to do was be polite and introduce himself to his new neighbor, then you opened the door, and his brain stopped working because you were so beautiful. It didn’t help when you blatantly checked him out, clearly undressing him with your eyes before looking entirely too pleased with what you were seeing.

If he’d been a stronger, honorable man, he wouldn’t have accepted your offer to come inside for a drink; he wouldn’t have kissed you back or laid you down on the couch to eat your pussy; he wouldn’t have let you choke on his dick or crawl into his lap and ride him; he wouldn’t have gotten so lost in being buried in your wet, warm, perfect cunt and your lips on his that he forgot to pull out when he came; he wouldn’t have gotten addicted and returned to you almost every night after.

If he’d been a stronger, honorable man, he would’ve ended things before it went too far and definitely before he fell in love with you.

From the beginning, he knew he was way too old for you, and he didn’t understand why you wanted him or kept letting him into your house. He had nothing to offer you, yet even when the opportunities arose for you to go home with men your own age, you rejected them and welcomed him into your bed instead. It made little sense that someone as young and beautiful as you would give someone like him all of your attention.

He’s lost count of how many times he’s told you that you’d be better off with somebody younger than him. It’s usually when he remembers your age or when you don’t know what he’s talking about when he brings up certain things from how life was before it all went to hell. He says the words out loud, practically a reflex at this point when the guilt gets to him, and as quickly as the feeling comes, it goes because, as he told you, he’s selfish; he doesn’t want you with someone else; he wants you all to himself. When you tell him there isn’t anyone you’d rather be with than him, it feeds something deep inside of him that won’t let you go, and hearing you say you love him has only made it stronger—you have his total devotion.

Ellie being sick messed up his head enough that in the moments when you came to mind, he was plagued with the thought that you probably found someone new. The only time he felt a modicum of peace was when you stopped by, and with that and how much his kid loved you being there, and in general, he came to the conclusion he couldn’t lose you:

It was time for him to tell Ellie.

Joel isn’t delusional; you’d grow tired of only getting his nights and the occasional day, eventually, and he needed to give you more of himself, which required his daughter to know about your relationship.

If Ellie knew, then he could give you more.

He’s ashamed of himself for hiding your relationship and, in turn, not having much to offer in terms of a future. It bothers him so much that he hasn’t been able to be with you out in the open because you deserve better than being his dirty little secret, as you call yourself.

He hates that.

He wants everyone to know you’re his and that he is yours.

When he realized he was going to tell Ellie, he started imagining how your relationship would change. You could finally have a life together, and it had him thinking about things he never would’ve considered before you and actively tried to prevent in the past, but you didn’t mind the idea of bringing a new life into the world, and he thought that might not be so bad; Jackson’s safe, and he has no doubt you’ll be a great mother—and it’s a future he’s pretty sure you want since your reactions have always been positive when he accidentally finishes inside you. That’s why tonight he decided to say fuck it and asked if he could; he wasn’t worried about the consequences anymore.

He’s kicking himself in the ass for not talking to Ellie sooner.

The only reason he hasn’t broached the subject with her is after what happened in Colorado, Joel’s treated her like she’s a fragile piece of glass that he doesn’t want to risk getting broken again—the way she lost her spark after that resort town killed him; and what happened at the hospital? If he had the chance, he’d murder every one of those Fireflies again for how fucked up she was when he told her their plans to kill her without knowing for sure if they could make a cure or not and that her life meant nothing to them.

It took a lot of time for him to put her back together again, and being in Jackson helped a lot with her making friends and having some semblance of normalcy. But he’s worried any major changes will mess her up, and add in her biggest fear of ending up alone, Joel dating seems like a recipe for disaster—Ellie will always be his top priority, even if it’s at the expense of his happiness.

It’s early morning, and he’s got another thirty minutes before the sun will begin its ascent on the horizon, fresh snow coating the ground, the temperature freezing. Joel is skulking home from your place to be there before Ellie wakes up.

His point of entry is the back door that leads into their kitchen, which doesn’t make as much noise as the front and can be locked when he leaves. He’s staying close to the side of the house, heading toward the backyard, and peeks around the corner to check the vicinity—his heart pounds when he sees a dark figure trying to get into the door, Joel pulling the knife, he walks around with, off of his belt, keeping his steps light, silently approaching them.

“Why the fuck don’t we have a light back here?” he hears them quietly mutter.

“Ellie?” Joel says at regular volume.

“Ahhh!” she screams, turning in his direction. Her hand is over her winter coat-covered chest. “Jesus Christ, Joel! Way to give me a fucking heart attack!”

He walks closer, sheathing his knife, as he says, “What the hell are you doin’ out here?”

“What the hell are you doing out here?”

His hands perch on his hips. “Doesn’t matter—you, on the other hand, just got over bein’ sick and shouldn’t be out in this cold. Move, I’m gettin’ your ass inside.”

She stepped aside, and he walked over, quickly unlocking and opening the door; he grabbed her by the shoulder and firmly guided her inside. He flicked on the room’s light once they were inside, and the door was closed and locked, Joel crossing his arms over his chest.

“Now, where the fuck have you been?” he asks.

She’s unzipping her coat. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“I asked you first.”

She shrugs off her jacket and tosses it onto the kitchen table. Joel sighs, walking over to pick it up—he’ll hang it alongside his by the front door before he goes up to his room.

“I was at the same place you were.”

He keeps his face neutral, but his heart is thudding, and he’s pretty fucking sure she wasn’t at your house.

He meets her eyes. “And that is?”

She smirks. “My secret girlfriend’s.”

“Goddammit.” His fingers press to his forehead as he closes his eyes. “You fuckin’ know—how the fuck do you know?”

“Let’s see, she’s literally the only person in town aside from me and Tommy’s family you like. You stare at her with, I don’t know what to call them, googly eyes? It’s that look the dudes have when they see the love of their life, or whatever, in those shitty romantic movies we like to make fun of. I’ve heard you call her ‘sweetheart’—” She fake gags, and Joel sighs. “—you’ve gone over to her house to fix so much shit that, at this point, it’s gotta be a whole new house. You sneak over there every fucking night. Oh, and when she sees the lady next door, the crazy one who’s got a real hard-on for you—gross by the way—when she sees ‘you can call me, Sandy,’ flirt with you—double-gross—I’m pretty sure she’s plotting murder; you’re definitely plotting murder when guys hit on your girlfriend—which, I don’t get why the two of you pretend like you aren’t together; is she embarrassed that you’re so fucking old and ugly, or something?” His teeth clench, and he glares at her. “God, don’t give me the murder eyes, Joel! I was kidding!” She playfully punches his arm. “Kind of… I mean, I’m happy you found someone who loves you even though you’re a grumpy asshole and look like that.” She points at his face.

“You done?”

“Telling you you’re old and ugly? Sure. For now. But I have one more thing that gave you guys away.”

His eyebrow lifts. “What is it?”

“When she came over the other day while I was sick as balls and hung out with me, you slept. Joel, you do not fucking sleep if there’s anyone else here besides me, which is why if I wanna have a sleepover with my friends, I have to go to their houses.”

“Were we really that obvious?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?”

She’s clearly confused. “I thought we were avoiding the topic.”

“What topic?”

“Like, relationships—you never said anything to me, so I figured it was something we don’t talk about.”

He cringes. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel…”

She smiles. “I don’t give a fuck if you date, Joel—if you’re happy, I’m happy.”

He matches her look. “I’m pretty fuckin’ happy. Are you happy with your uh, girlfriend? Have I met her?”

“Yeah,” she nods, grinning. “It’s Cat!”

His eyes round—he was under the impression Cat is her best friend, and he has met the other girl many times.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re way better at this secret girlfriend stuff than I am. I had no clue. I like Cat; she’s got all those neat tattoos.”

“She does!” she replies with a grin. “And I’m getting one!”

“You’re what?!”

Next - Series Masterlist - Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader #joel the last of us #joel miller smut #wheresarizona writes #joel miller x you #Joel miller/yo

[zeawesomebirdie]

Superbat Fake Dating + Identity Porn Rec List

Thanks to @jourquet for asking for this!! I hope you find something here to read!! (And paging @steine-druff as promised!)

These are in no particular order, but generally organised by trope. I tend to read longfic as a general rule, so these recs will reflect that :) the titles contain links to each fic.

Fake Dating

1. A Common Misconception by rotasha; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 91,114 words; 21 chapters; complete

Summary:

When Bruce Wayne comes out, he accidentally becomes the poster child of bisexuality and realizes his lifestyle of sleeping around needs to come to an end. Clark, being the supportive friend that he is, volunteers to pretend to date him for a year.

You know the rest.

This fic has everything that one could want in fake dating: idiots in love, mutual pining, one bed, fake vacations, miscommunication. It also really captures the superbat dynamic of trusting and yes and-ing each other, even when they probably didn't need to be!

(And if you like this fic, any of rotasha's other works are just as good! I've got a few more of them in this list too)

2. over this threshold by orphean; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 59,283 words; 7 chapters; complete

Summary:

'I don't understand how tax evasion relates to you going on a date with, do I need to remind you, Bruce Wayne.'

Clark bit his tongue.

'We're going to get married. It's a tax break, not tax evasion.'

'Are you kidding me.' Lois stared. 'That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.'

———

Bruce asks Clark to marry him for tax reasons. Clark, against his better judgment, agrees.

Exactly what it says on the tin. Some highlights include Bruce buying Clark ridiculously expensive suits, Clark taking forever to tell his mom what's going on, and of course the wedding itself which was just delightful, with speeches from Lois, Alfred, and Dick that had me crying.

3. A Rich Man's Game by malicegreres; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 63,942 words; 13 chapters; complete

Summary:

The editorial staff of the Daily Planet, currently owned by Bruce Wayne, is trying to organize a labor union. Clark can't explain to his coworkers why he can't participate without jeopardizing the campaign—or tell Batman why he's been so cagey around him lately. When Bruce finds out what's been going on, Clark recruits him to resolve his conflict of interest in the only way Clark can think of: by pretending to date him.

This fic is truly glorius. Of all the ways Clark could have solved this problem, he chose the most convoluted. And surprise surprise, it works!

4. mission parameters by shipyrds; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 33,394 words; 6 chapters; complete

Summary:

"Bruce." Clark turns towards him, leaning back against a bank of consoles. "We're not actually going undercover. We don't need an elaborate backstory– if anything, it'll be harder to keep straight. It doesn't have to be complicated." He spreads his hands. "Here's a story: we're members of the same elite fighting force. After years of saving each other's lives in the field, we fell in love. That's it."

Bruce swallows past the almost-truth of it. In Clark's warm smooth radio voice, it sounds plausible. It sounds like something that could happen.

—

Bruce and Clark pretend to be married for diplomatic reasons. When they return to Earth, things are a little different.

Of all the things that normally Bruce says, Clark is the one to insist on a simple coverstory. And of course, from such simple things spirals out a whole entire adventure that doesn't stop just because the mission is over! This fic features a domesticity that neither of them knew they needed until they had it

5. tell all the truth (but tell it slant) by susiecarter [@susiecarter on tumblr]; rated M; no archive warnings apply; 33,007 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

It takes a while for Batman and Superman to work things out, once Clark comes back from the dead. Pretending to date each other in order to explain why Bruce Wayne and Clark Kent are in the same place so often? Doesn't help as much as you might think.

*slapping this fic like that one meme with the car* this fic can fit so much miscommunication into it, it's truly delightful to read!! Also, yet another fic where Clark fails to mention what's going on to his mother. And of course the constant worrying about each other without actually expressing it, which is truly such a golden trope when it comes to these two!

I'm adding a cut here because this is already very long and we are still only just starting, so click the read more to see the rest ^.^

6. there ain't no star that shines by amosangius [@amosanguis on tumblr]; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 11,713 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

“I'm not the same person I was back in high school,” Clark says, “and I doubt they all are, either. What would be the point?”

“Oh, Clark,” Bruce is suddenly holding Clark's face with both of his hands, “the point is that I'm going to land us in a helicopter somewhere for all your classmates to see.”

Clark sighs and closes his eyes.

“Say 'yes', Clark,” Bruce orders.

Clark doesn't open his eyes, just says, “Yes, Clark.”

If you thought Bruce buying Clark expensive suits just for their fake dates was excessive, you ain't seen nothing yet!! This fic also features casual bed sharing (and so many references to casual intimacy oh my goodness it's lovely), Bruce Wayne being Rich As Fuck, and Bruce casually being overprotective of Clark in social situations

7. my heart is an open wound by yukla [@yuebings on tumblr]; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 13,367 words; 1 chapter; complete

“—I’ll see you kneel again,” Luthor is hissing, eyes hungry, and Clark is swaying back in discomfort—and as Lois checks their surroundings again, she notices that Wayne is still standing across the room, staring uselessly, as though he believes the sheer force of his murderous gaze would be enough to laser-blast Luthor into oblivion.

Jesus Christ, Lois thinks. I have to do everything around here.

5 times a Daily Planet employee protects Clark Kent, and 1 time Clark Kent protects the Daily Planet.

Or: Clark's coworkers watch as he fake-dates his crush with limited success.

It is probably obvious by now that miscommunication and Bruce's emotions getting in the way of everything are two of my favourite things to read. All of Clark's coworkers are the best, and once again Clark is a self-sacrificing idiot (affectionate)

8. flash in the pan by shipyrds; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 15,951 words; 3 chapters; complete

Summary:

Here’s the thing. Clark does understand. Superman and Batman are fucking. Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne are not. Clark can handle this. He keeps parts of his life separate all the time.

It’s possible, Clark thinks, as he glares at a lurid tabloid cover of Bruce’s latest scandalous yacht party in the grocery store checkout aisle, that he can’t handle this.

—

At the Wayne Foundation's annual holiday party, things come to a head.

Okay there is so much I want to say about this fic and yet there are no words that could possibly express just how incredible it is. Bruce coming up with the worst case scenario for literally everything? Check. Clark agreeing to fake date even though he's majorly head over heels and this will likely end in flames? Check. Ma Kent giving the best relationship advice ever? Check. Dick yelling at Bruce when he tries to self sabotage again? Check. Truly one of the best fucking-but-still-pining fics I've ever read!

9. Operation Sponsalia by Brenda [@brendaonao3 on tumblr]; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 13,610 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

"When did you first realize you were in love with me?"

Bruce coughs up his wine.

"I mean, in this...whatever this is," Clark clarifies, blushing to the roots of his hair. "I don't think you're really — I mean, I know this isn't —"

"It's alright." Bruce's voice is raspy, but steady. "I know what you mean."

Clark's glad one of them does.

Or: Bruce and Clark have to fake an engagement for ~reasons — featuring a metric ton of very romantic dates, enough floral arrangements to start a flower shop, SO MANY puns, and Clark finally getting to know the real Bruce. :D

Clark doesn't find out that Bruce said to the press that they had been dating long enough to be teasing enagagements until after it's already been said. Was there a better way to explain why Bruce just happened to help save the Kent family farm? Absolutely. And yet they follow through on it anyway, and I love it for them

10. Sham-pagne by ChrisLeon; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 8,248 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Superman is spotted visiting Wayne Manor, prompting speculation about how exactly he knows Bruce Wayne. To protect their secret identities, they need a plausible explanation and it seems easy enough to go along with the tabloid theory that they’re sleeping together. All they have to do is pretend to be in a relationship until the speculation dies down and then they can break up move on.

Or: Superman fake-dates Bruce Wayne, we all know how this ends.

This one was fascinating to me because instead of Clark and Bruce dating, it's Superman and Bruce dating, and let me just say I'm so incredibly hinged about it!! I think there is so much potential in that particular version of their dynamic, and this fic was such a beautiful exploration of it!

11. Speaking in Code by Mithen; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 7,459 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Clark and Bruce must go undercover at a newlywed resort to try and stop an assassination attempt. Hijinks, UST, and reluctant making out ensue.

First of all, Mithen is a superbat master. Pick any fic of theirs and it will be delightful. Second of all, I could write an entire essay about how much I adore the way they go from irritable about this mission to incredibly enthuasiastic over the course of their two days at the resort, but then we'd be here all day so: if you like banter, one bed, and a case fic this is a brilliant read

12. Kind Truths by Mawiiish [@superbattrash on tumblr]; rated G; creator chose not to use archive warnings; 6,478 words; 1 chapter; complete

Summary:

Bruce needs help with an undercover mission. Clark can never say no to him even though he probably should before he does something stupid. Like tell Bruce he's in love with him.

--

“Why me?” Clark can’t help but ask. He tries his very best to keep his voice level, to not sound as desperate as he feels.

“Because I need someone there to watch my back,” Bruce says, a little exasperated. He really shouldn’t have to explain this to Clark of all people, it’s not like they haven’t been on missions together before.

“I get that, but what about Diana? Shayera?” Anyone who doesn’t have a big fat crush on Bruce would do.

Is it obvious I have a thing for Clark agreeing to fake dating despite his big crush on Bruce? This fic is glorious, and features delights such as Bruce metaphorically putting his foot in his mouth, Clark wanting nothing more than to defend Bruce's honor, and one of the most beautiful confession scenes I've ever had the pleasure of reading

13. where i come from by soetry [@soetrys on tumblr]; E; no archive warnings apply; 52,494 words; 11 chapters; complete

Summary:

Bruce doesn’t have a soulmark, and Clark doesn’t have a soulmark, on an Earth where everyone has a soulmark. Somewhere in there is a simple solution. Somewhere to that solution is an overcomplicated journey. Surely two of the world’s leading superheroes will not take the overcomplicated route?

Surely not?

This one is a little bit of both. The identity porn in this was really well done - Dick is a massive Superman fan, Bruce is unimpressed with both Superman and Clark Kent, and it all goes downhill from there (affectionate). Highlights also include Bruce using a dubiously legal site to crossreference soulmarks, him getting the Superman crest tattooed on his wrist using Kyrptonian tech, and Clark being a self-sacrificing idiot. This is also one of the best soulmate AUs I've ever read!!

Identity Porn

1. Get Over It by rotasha; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 32,378 words; 3 chapters; complete

Summary:

Bruce needs to get over his inconvenient feelings for Superman and he meets an attractive reporter who he thinks can help him do just that. Little does he know...

Of all the identity porn I've read, this is one of the best! Bruce dating Clark to get over Superman is one of the best things ever and this fic really does a good job of their dynamic!

2. Lost Time Without You by rotasha; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 68,792 words; 21 chapters; complete

Summary:

In a universe where your soulmate’s injuries show up on your skin, Bruce is convinced he doesn’t have a soulmate, and Clark is seriously concerned for his soulmate’s well-being.

This was my introduction to soulmate!AUs and oh my goodness it was spectacular! The build up to the reveal of their identities was brilliantly done, and the chance encounters that pepper through the lead up to that point were captivating. This fic also features Bruce being a good parent and I really love that for him

3. the cost of being a good dad by Mawiiish [@superbattrash on tumblr]; rated T; creator chose not to use archive warnings; 95,533 words; 10 chapters; complete

Summary:

Dick, Jason, Tim and Damian are all tired of watching Bruce struggle with the stress of trying to handle the newly formed Justice League. He needs an outlet, he needs to relax, he needs to get out of the house, he needs... he needs to start dating. And what he doesn't know won't hurt him, right?

--

“Excuse me, I don’t know who you think I am, but I think there’s been a mistake.”

“Bruce, right?” the guy says, albeit less confidently this time. He looks slightly concerned and if Bruce is not mistaken… a tad embarrassed. “Bruce Wayne? You look just like your pictures.”

“My pictures?” Something finally clicks in Bruce’s mind, and he takes a small step back and plasters a smile on his face as to not rouse suspicion. Stalker. “Ah, of course, I’m sorry but I’m late for an appointment.”

This fic features the batkids catfishing Clark on Bruce's behalf, Bruce being a good parent, and the utter chaos of miscommunication that can only come from these two being idiots! It was a delightful read, and of course the batfam in action is always a joy!

4. ship-to-ship combat by pomeloquat; rated M; no archive warnings apply; 62,737 words; 12/13 chapters; incomplete

Summary:

"Clark. What the hell is this," Lois asks, staring at Clark's Bruceman WIP folder. Clark's first instinct is to fly away, but that would still leave his fic on display for her to see. His second instinct is to blast a hole straight through his laptop screen with his heat vision, which isn't much better.

Clark, in an attempt to make some spare cash, unintentionally stumbles into the world of superhero fanfiction, becomes a prolific writer for Gotham's OTP, and tries his best to fend off rival fans who want him to convert to superbat instead.

Oh my goodness okay. Where to start with this fic. First of all, Clark writing Batman/Bruce Wayne fanfiction is such a brilliant concept. Then add to that the fact that Clark is secretly crushing on Batman at the same time, and the entire comedy of a trainwreck is a delight to witness!

5. I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am by Mardiaz173; rated T; no archive warnings apply; 12,920 words; 3 chapters; complete

It was like living in the Twilight Zone. Everyone else believed fervently in Bruce Wayne’s reputation. He was a flirty, stupid, and entitled drunk whose only redeeming quality was his bleeding heart. And yet every time Clark spoke with Wayne, the man was clever, mischievous, and sober with an indecipherable ulterior motive.

And no one believed Clark. Not Lois, not his parents, not even Batman.

Clark insisting upon defending Bruce to everyone much to everyone's dismay is one of my favourite superbat tropes ever, and this fic really does it well! And of course, this fic also features Batman shit talking Bruce, which is always a joy to see!

6. Don't Quote Me by metropolisjournal [@metropolisjournal on tumblr]; rated E; no archive warnings apply; 77,131 words; 20/21 chapters; incomplete

Summary:

Bruce Wayne has weathered scandal before, and Wayne Enterprises can handle another publicity crisis. What Bruce can’t handle is one crashing up against his plans to infiltrate Lex’s estate. Set during Batman v. Superman.

This was the fix-it for Batman vs Superman that I didn't know I needed until I read it. The identity reveal was so incredibly well written, and the whole fic was stupendous from the very first chapter!

And that's all for now! I hope you find something in here to read, may you enjoy!!

#superbat #rec list #thanks for your patience too!! #this was fun to put together!!

[aziraphales-library]

I remember a fair few fics where the premise is vaguely “Aziraphale does a blessing/miracle/other religious thing on Crowley and it’s strange/overwhelming/etc for all involved”. I just can’t… find any of them. I remember them being various ratings, pure fluff to pure smut

Your best bet is the divinity kink tag on AO3. Here are some to get you going...

The Agony And The Ecstasy by entanglednow (T)

A split second decision by Aziraphale to save them both from discovery leaves Crowley experiencing something he is unprepared for.

your love is sunlight by EveningStarcatcher (M)

“Why wait?” Crowley’s voice was faint, almost a whisper, but lined with the usual forced nonchalance. “What?” Aziraphale froze, brow slightly furrowed. “Just, I don’t have to wait.” Crowley’s cheeks flushed. “Could be all better right now. I mean. I-if you wanted.” “Are you asking me to heal you?” Aziraphale’s eyes flashed with something… divine.

A Negative Integer by racketghost (E)

“I’m the holy object,” Aziraphale says, and is also looking frantically around the room, the bookshop, the skylight filtering in the first glimpses of afternoon sun and holding dust particles suspended in their beams, dreamy and soft. “I can’t touch you.” “Yes you can,” he blurts out, and swallows down the cacophony of what are sure to be any number of embarrassing and hopeful ways in which the angel can touch him, really, whenever.

Bleak Without and Bare Within by Princip1914 (E)

Perhaps Crowley was right, Aziraphale thought. They were both working very hard in sometimes very awful places and for what? It was obvious that they couldn’t give up on temptations and blessings entirely--someone would notice, they had to surely--but combining forces here and there? What had Crowley called it, lending a hand, when necessary? It didn’t sound too bad. It didn’t sound like a good idea either, but Aziraphale supposed that was the whole point. It was a morally neutral proposition, and everything would still get done in the end. “I agree.” Aziraphale said finally. “As long as you accept that we’re going to have to teach one another.” Or, an angel learns to Tempt, a demon learns to Bless and things get a bit out of hand at the beginning of an unusual Arrangement.

Divine Hands by WanderingAlice (T)

After the end of the world didn’t come, Crowley had planned to spend a lot more time with Aziraphale, and Aziraphale didn’t seem opposed to the idea at all. Unfortunately there’s one glaring problem. Crowley has a strong, uncontrollable panic reaction to being touched by something divine. And Aziraphale cannot turn off his own divinity. A Good Omens Holiday Exchange fic written for the prompt: After the Notpocalypse, Crowley and Aziraphale start getting closer...but they find out together that Crowley has deep-seated trust issues triggered by something about Aziraphale that he can't help. They have to overcome it together.

sanctuary by moonyinpisces (T)

“You’re staring.” “Oh dear,” says Aziraphale, completely unapologetic. “How rude of me.” Crowley begins to smile something slow, bright, and lovely, but he schools it with a bite to his lower lip. Aziraphale thinks of the way he looked two millennia ago, pressed up against the wall with Aziraphale's blessing healing his wounds, the only demon to experience divine ecstasy and live to tell the tale. How Aziraphale's hands itch to do it again, and again, and again. Crowley opens his mouth as if to say something, but then stops and spins around instead to go back to stirring the curry. “Shut up,” he says to the stove, flustered.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #divinity kink #adult omens #mod d

[ugh-yoongi]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin’s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. <3

#jimin x reader #jimin smut #bts x reader #bts smut #jimin imagine #jimin scenarios #jimin fanfic #jimin x you #jimin x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts x you #bts x y/n

[onabat11e]

just wanna feel your lips against my skin

A/N: if you get deja vu, i’m sorry! @onathinker beat me to but encouraged me to finish/post my fic anyways so here we are 🫶 - pls go read hers also if you haven’t yet !!

rating: E for explicit (18+)

tags: smut, phone sex, dirty talk

summary: ona and lucy celebrate after ona’s goal in the esp vs ned game.

word count: 3.3k

AO3 Link

Lucy should have really been paying attention to her teammates playing earlier today. And she should really be with them now, celebrating their 7-2 win against Austria. Still, she constantly finds herself keeping an eye on the Spain vs Netherlands score during the last minutes.

When Ona scores in the 77th minute, Lucy has to fight the smile that is starting to creep onto her cheeks. She grabs a beer before joining the celebrations, laughing and dancing with the other England players. She loses track of time momentarily, trying to give herself the time to let loose for once. However, the sounds of the England squad celebrating together are drowned out shortly when Lucy feels her phone vibrate in her pocket. 

Ona: Back in my room now, call me! x 

Lucy mutters an excuse to Lauren James about being tired or wanting to rest for further training tomorrow. Honestly, she’s just saying anything that will allow her to leave the commotion behind so she can talk to Ona. 

On her way back to their accommodation, she replies to Ona’s text and lets her know she’ll phone soon. It’s not long before she gets there, settling down on her bed before she promptly presses the FaceTime Video button. It only rings twice before the sound of the call connecting plays. Ona’s smiley face pops up on the screen, looking freshly showered with still-damp hair falling past her shoulders. 

“Hi, baby,” Lucy coos, feeling her chest warm as she takes in Ona’s beauty. “Didn’t wanna go join your team to celebrate?” She knew that the Spanish girls loved celebrating their victories, Ona being no exception to the tradition. 

Ona loves football, she loves Spain, and she loves representing her country. But above everything, at this point in her life, she loves Lucy and their blossoming relationship.

“Hi, my love,” Ona returns the greeting, “I joined them for a drink. But I wanted to talk to you. And shower, obviously” She runs a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. Lucy can tell that Ona had had more than ‘a drink’ from her giggly manner, but she decides not to push the topic. 

“Well, I saw that a certain someone scored tonight,” Lucy coolly says as if she wasn’t glued to her phone the entire time, keeping herself updated as much as she could without getting caught out by teammates. Ona could feel the happiness in Lucy’s voice and the twinkle in her eye that somehow managed to shine through the quality of the video call. 

“I scored, I assisted, and I got player of the match. Thank you very much,” Ona gasps, using a mock tone of arrogance to wind her girlfriend up. Lucy rolls her eyes and breathes a laugh in response, completely used to Ona’s antics by now. 

“Mhm, you did so well tonight. I’m proud of my girl,” Lucy praises Ona, being met with a shy giggle. Ona loves getting referred to as Lucy’s girl, even on a non-sexual level. Something about knowing that they belong together makes Ona’s heart swell.

“You know I find it so hot when you score. Wish I could have been there to celebrate with you,” Lucy finds herself hating the distance again, wanting to feel Ona’s body under her, feel her warmth next to her. She just wants to spend time with Ona and share the happiness of her win. 

Both of them hated any sort of distance between them — it always brought about a painful reminder of when they first started talking. They had fallen into a habit of never spending a night apart, going back and forth between each other's apartments. 

“I know, but the international break will be over before you know it, and then we can celebrate together,” Ona giggles shyly, knowing their usual ritual of rewarding each other when one scores or plays exceptionally well.

“Who says we can’t celebrate over the phone?” Lucy suggests, raising an eyebrow at Ona. Phone sex wasn’t a completely foreign concept to them, the two having previously done long distance. It had helped them back then, but it had also been a while since they indulged in the act.

“Lucy!” Ona half-jokingly scolded her girlfriend and her dirty mind. She tried to ignore her body’s physical reaction but couldn’t help the heat rising to her cheeks at the idea. 

“I’m serious. You deserve to feel good,” Lucy felt smug seeing Ona blush at her suggestion. “Just a shame I can’t be there to be the one to do it for you.” 

Ona feels her stomach tighten at the thought of touching herself over the phone to Lucy. Just knowing that either of their teammates could catch them enhanced her excitement.

Lucy immediately picked up on Ona’s reaction, the telltale signs that her girlfriend was getting turned on. Ona licked over her bottom lip before sucking it in between her teeth, her eyes averting their gaze as her mind wandered. A deeper blush rose under the constellation of freckles that marked her cheeks and nose. 

“Yeah? You’re into that, aren’t you; you want me to tell you exactly how to fuck yourself?” Lucy’s voice pulled Ona from her daydream, poking fun at the girl's speechlessness. Ona rolled over, groaning and planting her face into the pillow to hide her embarrassment. Lucy waited for Ona to stop being a giggling mess and reply to her question. 

“Yessss,” She confesses, bringing her phone back to her face. Lucy has the cockiest smirk on her face, no doubt being pleased with herself for getting such a rise out of Ona with just a few words.

“Good. I wanna hear how needy you get when you’re about to cum,” Lucy readjusts herself in bed, sitting up to lean back on the pillows. “Think you can do that for me?” 

“Please,” Ona whines, “Need to touch myself. Wanna cum for you,” She squeezes her thighs together, desperate for any relief from the growing pulse between her legs. 

“Not yet. Show me them perfect tits first,” Lucy licks her lips. Lucy was obsessed with Ona’s body, her boobs being far up the list of her favourite parts of Ona. They were her top place to mark, leaving bruises and love bites as little reminders to Ona of who she belonged to. 

Ona drops her phone and quickly pulls her shirt over her head to show Lucy her bare chest. Her nipples perk up when they meet with the cool air of the room. Ona grabs her phone again, leaning her chest into the camera for Lucy to see.

“I miss your mouth on them,” Ona says as she cups her hand against the ample flesh, squeezing herself into the camera. There’s a shuffle on the other end of the FaceTime call as Lucy struggles to slide her trousers down with one hand. She manages to kick off the sweatpants and spread her legs out to give herself more room.

“You’re so perfect. Play with your nipples for me,” Lucy’s voice is deep, commanding Ona. Ona obliges quickly, making a show of tweaking and rubbing her nipples in front of the camera. 

“Fuck, Ona,” Lucy moans, squeezing her thighs together at the view of Ona’s chest through the call. Ona brings her hand to her mouth, sucking on her fingers and making eye contact with the camera. 

The visual sent a pang of pleasure racing to Lucy’s pussy. Ona’s warm eyes lock onto hers through the screen as she continues to suck greedily on her fingers, humming slightly before pulling them out. 

Ona tilts her phone towards her chest again, bringing the saliva to one of her nipples and rubbing over it. She arched her back into the touch, the slickness intensifying her pleasure. As her smooth fingers rub and flick against herself, Ona pictures that they’re Lucy’s tongue. She groans, moving her hand over to the other side, knowing how much Lucy enjoyed taking her time with each nipple. 

“Just like that,” Lucy groaned, sending a hand down to her crotch to push against her clit. She clenches her jaw, the pressure getting slowly relieved. She starts circling over the sensitive area, not bothering to remove her underwear. 

“I miss you so bad. Wanna watch your tits bounce as I fuck you into the mattress,” Ona shakes her chest at the screen, tweaking a nipple between her pointer and middle finger again. 

“I’m so wet for you,” Ona whined, showing Lucy her hand trailing lower, resting at the waistband of her underwear. Lucy can just about make out a small darkened patch on Ona’s underwear, the visual evidence of how desperate Ona is to touch herself. 

“Play with your clit for me,” Ona is eager to obey, her fingers sliding under the fabric quickly to meet the growing heat. She rubs through the pooling wetness, her hips bucking up to meet the touch. 

“Joder. I need you,” Ona bites back at the noises threatening to come out of her mouth as she creates tight circles around her throbbing clit, already eager for more. 

“Wanna see you,” Lucy commands, “Take off your panties and show me.” Ona fumbles with the material, sliding it down past her thighs, then her knees, finally letting the garment fall onto the floor. 

Ona spreads her thighs wider, showing Lucy the glimmering arousal between her legs. She uses two fingers to spread her pussy open, her clit and hole on show. Her hips involuntarily buck towards the camera, begging for friction.

“I wanna hear how good it feels, baby,” Ona bites down on her bottom lip. One of her fingers rubs up the wetness travelling up to slowly teasing the tip of her clit. 

“I’m scared the other girls will hear,” She kept her voice low, half listening out in case anyone were to walk in on her in this compromising position. 

“Don’t care. Let ‘em know that you’re mine. Let ‘em know that I own your cunt.” Lucy’s blunt tone causes Ona to let out a guttural moan, feeling her pussy throbbing against her fingers in response. 

“Finger yourself – think about how good I fuck you,” Lucy continues to rub herself, feeling the wetness growing as she watches Ona, the camera focusing on her abdomen and pussy. 

“No one could ever fuck me as good as you,” Ona mewls, bucking into her hand as she pushes a single finger into herself. It’s not enough. She misses the feeling of Lucy’s strong hands gripping her chest, her hips, and her legs. She misses Lucy’s warm mouth exploring her body and sucking on her, leaving wet trails down her abs and between her thighs. 

“Wish I was there, filling up your perfect pussy with my fingers,” Lucy growls, feeling possessive over Ona’s pussy and her orgasms. Even though Lucy isn’t physically there to make Ona cum, she still maintains control by instructing Ona on exactly how to pleasure herself. 

“Need more,” Ona pants into the phone, tilting it to look at Lucy for permission. Her eyes are wide as she pleads, feeling her pussy flutter, greedily to be filled up, desperate to be pounded into. 

“Add another finger – stretch yourself out for me,” Lucy commands, Ona letting her head fall back into the pillows at the pleasure of the subtle stretch of adding a finger. 

“You’re so good for me, baby. Keep fucking yourself,” Lucy encourages Ona, closely watching as she follows every order. Lucy strokes a finger through her own wetness before pushing in and out of herself, curving her finger against her sensitive spots as she does so. 

“I’m close,” Ona cries out, her thighs beginning to weaken and shake, “Need to cum so bad,” She draws her words out, moans getting caught in her throat as the pressure builds. 

“Don’t cum,” Lucy demands, rubbing herself quicker before adding, “Not yet. Be a good girl and wait for me.” Lucy clenches her jaw, focusing on Ona’s body, picturing how Ona would feel underneath her. Lucy’s fingers pick up their pace, and the lewd sounds echoing through the phone drive the coil in her abdomen to tighten. 

“Please,” Ona whimpers, begging as she can feel her orgasm threatening to boil over. She feels dizzy, her mouth opening and panting as she urges her body to not cum, no matter how close she is. Something about obeying Lucy by exactly doing what the older woman tells her to makes everything feel more intense. 

“Fuck, okay, I’m getting close too,” Lucy groans, her arm straining to fuck herself faster. She can feel her abdomen tightening, the melodic sounds of Ona whining as she forces herself to wait for Lucy to allow her to finish. 

“I can’t hold it anymore,” Ona is needy, her fingers slowing to stop herself from teetering over the edge. She pulls out of herself, dragging her fingers up to tease gentle circles around only the tip of her clit. It’s just enough pressure to keep herself right on the edge of her climax. 

“Shit. Cum for me,” Lucy says just before she lets herself reach her peak. Ona whines loudly down the phone, grinding against her hand and letting her orgasm wash over her. It’s not perfect. Ona falls over the edge first, letting Lucy’s name fall from her mouth, voice breaking with whimpers and the sheer pleasure washing over her body. 

Ona already knows she’s making a mess of the bedsheets, but it feels too good, the slick warmth dripping down the soft flesh of her inner thighs as she cums on her own hand. 

The sight of Ona’s blissful face and flexing muscles pushes Lucy to cum. The mess of hair, her head falling back, jaw slack. Lucy thrusts into her hand hard, thinking about Ona taking her dick, thinking about Ona’s fluttering pussy cumming around her strap. Her hips lift off the bed, shuddering and slowing down as she works herself through the orgasm. 

When Lucy looks back to her phone, she can see Ona’s wide eyes watching her, admiring the view of her coming down from her high. Lucy chuckles slightly, taking in Ona’s dropped jaw and the fire in her eyes. 

“You good?” Lucy clears her throat before questioning Ona, noticing the girl chewing on her bottom lip. Ona looks shy, almost guilty. Ever since the two had been living in Barcelona together, phone sex had been a thing of the past. Sure, the two had exchanged steamy messages now and then, but they had done nothing as explicit as this for a while.

“Mmm, I’m fine.” She pauses for a beat, looking to be unsure, before continuing, “It’s just never as good as when you do it,” Ona confesses, trying to ignore the motion of Lucy’s lips curling up into a smug smile at the comment. 

“Don’t worry. I’m gonna fuck you so good when we’re back together,” Lucy promises. “I’ll have to make up for lost time.” Lucy is already fantasising about being back with Ona, the things that she wants to do with her- to her. 

“Oh yeah? Is that so?” Ona takes her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling her body heat up in response to Lucy’s words again. 

“Mhmm, can’t wait to bend you over my lap. Play with your pussy and show you exactly how well you deserve to be fucked.” Lucy looks down at Ona through the phone, her eyelids heavy and eyes dark with lust once more. Ona clenches her jaw, feeling her heart beat harder at the thought. 

“Stop. You’re gonna get me all worked up again,” Ona whines, bringing a hand over her face to hide the evident embarrassment. 

“What? Horny little baby needs to cum again already?” Lucy teases Ona, knowing that it is rare for Ona to only cum once. Lucy liked to tease Ona about being a greedy bottom, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy Ona’s high sex drive. 

“You say that like it’s not your fault!” Ona said in a pointed tone; she couldn’t not blame Lucy when she said things like that. Of course she is going to get a reaction out of Ona by doing so. 

“Not my fault that my girlfriend is talented as well as insanely hot? Yeah, I’d say I agree with that,” Lucy jokes, releasing a breathy laugh. Ona rolls her eyes at Lucy and brings the conversation back to where she wanted it. 

“Go on then, what else are you gonna do to me?” Ona beckons before letting her hand slip back between her legs. Her swollen clit twitches from the light touches of fingers running through the remnants of her prior orgasm. 

“I wanna kiss every inch of you, worship that beautiful body of yours,” Lucy let her voice drop an octave once more, a thick lust dripping from her voice. Ona’s jaw slackens as her fingers quicken across her clit. Choked-out whines echo from Lucy’s phone, Ona pressing against herself desperately.  

“Gonna lick and suck your tits,” Ona flashed the camera back to her chest again, shaking her breasts at Lucy and letting them bounce slightly. 

“I’d take my time, biting and nipping at all your favourite spots.” Lucy’s tongue ran over her bottom lip, picturing the marks she’d leave down Ona’s torso, the subtle flex of Ona’s abs under her lips as she did so. “Then I’ll rub my cock against your pussy, teasing until you’re just a needy mess, begging to be filled by me,” Lucy lists her actions, paying close attention to Ona and her reactions. 

“Need that so bad. I wanna be so full of you,” Ona pushes two fingers inside herself, immediately finding her sweet spot. Her arm pumped into herself as her head fell back, picturing the feeling of Lucy’s strap pounding into her. 

“I wanna make your tight little pussy cum all over my dick and then have you suck me off.” Lucy keeps up her dirty talk, watching as Ona rolls her hips upwards to meet the thrusts of her hand. 

“Wanna be good for you,” Ona begs submissively, urging Lucy to go on. Every word that comes out of the phone’s speaker sends pleasure bolting directly to Ona’s core. 

“I’d have you clean up all your juices off me. Then, I’d reward you and eat your cunt out,” The words coming out of Lucy’s mouth are beyond filthy, but, God, they’re sending Ona’s body and mind reeling. 

“Luce, keep going. I’m close,” Ona’s voice cracked, the desperation in her voice seeping through the words. Ona bucks her hips into her hand, feeling her clit rub against the palm of her hand as her fingers pump against the soft tissue. Ona is keening at the delicious stretch when she pushes a third finger into herself. 

“Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna moan out and let everyone know who your pussy belongs to?” Lucy encourages Ona, watching her eyebrows furrow with her rapidly approaching climax. Ona’s breathing quickens, her chest raising and falling with speed. 

“Fuck, Lucy,” Ona groaned, the words coming out louder than she had planned. “Cumming,” Ona manages to squeak out before her head falls back into the pillows, a string of curse words falling from her lips. She rocks her hips into her hand, fucking herself through her orgasm. 

Ona pants, trying to regain her breath as she comes down from her orgasm. It takes a moment for her body to calm, goosebumps rising from the contrast of her hot skin and the cool air of the room. 

“Look at you,” Lucy praises Ona, admiring the sweat shining on her forehead and dopey eyelids, heavy with bliss. “Feeling good?”

“Mmm, feeling great,” Ona murmurs, curling up on the bed and pulling the covers over herself to get comfortable.

“I love you, and I’m so endlessly proud of you,” Lucy confesses, letting a wide smile spread across her face.

“I love you, too. See you soon, okay?” Ona mumbles sleepily. 

“Never soon enough,” Lucy pouted, “Goodnight, angel.” 

#ona batlle #ona batlle smut #lucy bronze #lucy bronze smut #ona batlle x lucy bronze #lucy bronze x ona batlle #woso #woso fanfics #woso smut #my writing

[zmediaoutlet]

Hey Liz! Have you ready any good spn fic lately? :)

I have, and in fact I've been spite-reading. Have a curated wincest rec list you could share with anyone you like:

Bad Blood by astolat

Rating: E Word Count: 3,718 Summary: "Fuck me or I'm going to die isn't the world's best pickup line."  // "I've heard worse," Dean said. // "You've used worse," Sam said.

Original post date, 02/22/2007

Reccing because: No wincest primer would be complete without an astolat rec. You probably get fined by the Wincest FCC, otherwise. The flaw in astolat’s wincest, if we’re allowed to say such things about our saint and founder, is that Sam and Dean would sometimes fall into the whole thing super easily — this fic dispenses with that problem with a good ol’ classic dose of evil sex pollen, and if magic makes them do it then it could be a hell of a lot worse than how delightfully they do it here. I’m laughing out loud just remembering one of the scenes. Joys.

Coast On Through by philalethia

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 7,857 Summary: A post-first-time fic. With a lot of sex.

Original post date, 12/22/2007

Reccing because: This is a true all-timer wincest fic. Though the characterization is of its 2007 time, the Winchesters still feel like themselves, and more important feel like adults who are trying to navigate their very odd circumstances. A real classic of the brothers-with-benefits genre.

Keep Our Minds on the Sum of Each Other by lazy_daze

Rating: E Word Count: 9,593 Summary: N/A; provided tags are Bodyswap

Original post date, 12/26/2007

Reccing because: What a cheerful fuckin’ fic this is, for a fic about incestuous fuckin’. This takes the apocalyptic stakes and reels them back to a just deeply entertaining romp. Not too worried about the plot and much more worried about how hot these two are when they slam together, it’s a refreshingly non-angsty take on what it means that you just want to slurp on your brother wholesale.

Filthy Mind by rivkat

Rating: E Word Count: 26,384 Summary: Dean acquires unwelcome nightly visitors. Set post-Hell, without details as to how that happens.

Original post date, 10/07/2008

Reccing because: RivkaT is perhaps the all-time understander of the Weird Affect of Dean Winchester (As Played By Jensen Ackles) and the entirely destabilizing effect that affect has on the world. A real reality-warper. This fic deals with non-con and dub-con and who-knows-what-con and everything in between in a way that is more thoughtful than tawdry (although you can certainly enjoy the tawdriness as presented and the fic does not judge you for that). It also, thrillingly, deals with Sam’s alarm about the whole thing in a way which is fairly unflinching: he wants and does not want to want and also just really, really desperately wants-- Fans of Sheila’s analysis will probably enjoy this one. 

seeing double by candle_beck

Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 5,127 Summary: Dean has a concussion and his better senses come and go.

Original post date, 04/24/2009

Reccing because: I know there are more famous and more favored c_b fics, but this one is such a supremely perfect scene that it should be at the top of all c_b rec lists. It isn’t the catastrophic misery or assholery or intensity of some of the other big hitters but this just has this searingly true and singular experience coursing through it: to wit, that Dean is hurt and Sam is upset and then sorry and then in love. Which isn’t a half-bad summary of Supernatural itself, really. 

The incestuous courtship of the antichrist’s bride by fleshflutter

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 48,000 Summary: Sam is trying to become the Antichrist in order to save the world. He has a small army of angels and demons, he has an adoring cult, he has a work of prophecy by Jack Kerouac, and he has Dean. Things are going pretty well until he accidentally signs Dean up as his Beloved Consort, a role that requires sex with the Antichrist on an altar. And that's when things stop going pretty well. Also, the soundtrack to the Apocalypse sucks.

Original post date, 06/08/2009

Reccing because: It is so, so rare to find crack fics that work. This is crack treated like crack and also taken entirely seriously, which is a rare balance to find. When it needs to be horror it works, when it needs to be ridiculous it works, when it needs to be hot as fuck it works, and never has the phrase ‘apocalyptic cock’ been so appropriate and so wonderful in context. 

I’ve Got A Hand For You by Edwardina

Rating: E Word Count: 14,938 Summary: Sam's inexperience is showing, and Dean helps the best way he knows how.

Original post date, 03/12/2010

Reccing because: This is underage par excellence, as wonderfully weird and vaguely creepy and hot and alarming as it should always be. Dean’s 19 and Sam’s 14 and they should not but they are, and if that isn’t just a summary of Supernatural as a whole I don’t know what is. On the face of it this is a vaguely gnasty first time fic, but what sets this one apart is how earnestly real it is — the grimy-but-not-OTT reality of the details, Sam’s goofy kiddishness being complicated by the reality of what hormones are and do, Dean’s too-cool-ness alleviated by the fact that he’s nineteen and therefore still an idiot, trying earnestly to help and getting it wrong and getting it very right, all at the same time. The attention to detail here just knocks me over with a feather. Gorgeous work.

Two Part Invention by De_Nugis

Rating: T Word Count: 6,938 Summary: Dean settles down, Sam finds him, they settle some things.

Original post date, 12/25/2010

Reccing because: I very much appreciate a fic that, on the face of it, seems like an OOC premise, and then as soon as you think about it for fifteen seconds you realize — oh, of course, of course that’s how it should be and how it would go. This fic delivers on that feeling in spades. There’s a deep appreciation here for how complicated Sam Winchester is and how strange and hard it would be to have his life, and zero judgment, really, for what he and Dean have to do to make that life tenable. I appreciate the subtlety here so much.

Top This by leonidaslion

Rating: E Word Count: 4,076 Summary: Dean's sure he's a top. Only problem is, Sam's pretty sure that's his job …

Original post date, 04/10/2011

Reccing because: Is this crack? It surely is. Is it PWP? You bet. Is it in character? To be honest it hardly matters, but despite the context and conceit it does manage, somehow, to kinda feel like Sam and Dean Winchester from the canon of the show Supernatural, and that is a trick that earns it a spot on this list. Especially the way Sam goes slightly smug there at the end. Delights.

It’s the Blueprint of Your Life by queenklu

Rating: E Word Count: 38,400 Summary: Sam jerks awake in the middle of the night and everything goes to hell. Well, not literally, though Dean is staring down the barrel of less than a year before his deal comes due. In the midst of dealing (or not dealing) with his impending death, a killer ghost ship, and Bela showing up out of the blue, Dean also has to figure out what’s going on in Sam’s head to make him so twitchy, why he’s suddenly breezing through this case while writing endless notes in a notebook he won’t let Dean see. Damn it, Dean thinks, This is gonna take a lot of chickflick moments.

Original post date, 10/09/2011

Reccing because: Time travel fic is fun as hell, and time travel fic that just soaks you in dramatic irony is even more fun, and more importantly time travel fic where the time traveler doesn’t have all the answers is best of all. Very little is better than Dean being somewhat at sea and Sam loving him fiercely and this fic delivers that in spades. I could only wish it were a little longer, which is a very, very rare statement from me.

The Fall Will Probably Kill You by killabeez

Rating: M Word Count: 6,773 Summary: Set between 7.04 and the aftermath of 7.07. Dean is not as okay as he'd like you to think. Neither is Sam.

Original post date, 11/06/2011

Reccing because: This fic is thoroughly in and of and intensely about season 7, which I adored and which doesn’t get enough credit from the fandom. It deals with the Sam’s Insanity arc in a way that’s angstier and ficcier than the show itself but it does so in this stupendous and murderously flat way. Dean is at his wit’s end and Sam is, too, but Sam’s finding a way to deal with it, and Sam will not compromise on what dealing with it means, and we’re all just forced to live with it. Fantastic reading experience, especially for the almost literal jumpscare you get about 2/3s through.

The Hunter Games by theproblematique

Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 92,601 Summary: When the infamous Winchester bad luck strikes twice in quick succession Sam and Dean are forced to compete in the most brutal reality TV show ever created. It’s impossible to escape the battlefield, hiding can only be temporary, and alliances inside those dark, bloodstained woods last about as long as it takes for the other Hunter to figure out how to use your weapons. And then kill you with them.

Original post date, 06/22/2012

Reccing because: This is a true all-timer wincest AU fic. We’re mostly all familiar with the source material, but this work blends the universe of the Hunger Games with the characterization & destiny of the Winchester boys in a way that’s extremely satisfying. The author’s other works are recced more often, but this piece is more deserving of a place as One Of Those Reclist Fics.

Kevin Tran for President by glovered

Rating: T Word Count: 11,714 Summary: Dean comes back from Purgatory to find Sam working as a barista at a coffee shop near Princeton, watching over Kevin Tran.

Original post date, 10/04/2012

Reccing because: Sometimes you just need a post-Purgatory fic that isn’t brutal. This story’s a light-hearted trip-along froth like most of glovered’s work, but there’s something in specific about this unfraught coming-together that makes it incredibly readable. Dean and Sam aren’t entirely on the same page but the relief of reunion makes everything else fade a little into the distance, and the charming little job they find themselves on here gives enough of an excuse for them to figure some things out. Also probably the best Cas & Meg side characters in a fic, so there’s that too.

Clear and simple and plain by Trojie

Rating: E Word Count: 1,893 Summary: After Sam gives up the Trials, things start getting better.

Original post date, 10/26/2013

Reccing because: This is a post-Trials fic where things don’t go incredibly wrong, which is a nice AU to sit in for a while. What’s impressive about this story, written in the time it was, is that it manages to presage the ~s11 era marriage very well indeed, in tone and vibe and even some content. They’re in the bunker and things aren’t perfect, but they’re together, and that’s a kind of perfection of its own. It isn’t sugary but it’s the kind of adult complex sweetness that makes one feel better, anyway.

hello by allwellandgood (formerly askance)

Rating: T Word Count: 4,128 Summary: There's a woman at the grocery store named Evelyn who always rings him up on the days he ventures out for food and she knows him, or likes to think she does. I hope you're not too lonely, she'll say. He chooses not to tell her that his dead brother sleeps at his feet every night. He'd rather not be the cause of her inevitable heart attack.

Original post date, 08/11/2014

Reccing because: So Dean’s dead. Everyone dies at some point. This fic is a beautifully soft and tender and bitterly kind way to deal with that. You feel Sam’s loss deep in your chest but it’s okay, because this is the world of Supernatural and there are options, and the relief he gets pours over like cool water. Not enough, and it’s not fixed, but it’s not as much of a misery as it was.

The Time Traveler’s Brother by amypond45

Rating: R Word Count: 55,458 Summary: Dean's life is turned upside down the night his mother dies. But that's also the night a mysterious grown-up version of Dean's brother first appears in his life. While Dean grows up, "Old Sam" is often there, especially when Dean's father isn't, and as Dean learns what the future holds, he begins to question everything his father has taught him about who he is and what he is supposed to become. Can Dean find a way to save his little brother from his own future? This pre-series AU follows Dean from age four to eighteen.

Original post date, 02/26/2015

Reccing because: It’s rare to have an AU so thoroughly engage with what the alternate universe it constructs means for characterization and plot. This does something outstanding with the Sam and Dean (and Deans) created by the conceit, but also uses that conceit to do something entirely new with the canon plot that just flips me over every time I remember it. There are some fantastic character insights here, both complimentary and not, but I’ll never be over the specific scene of young!Dean looking up at older!Dean and being disappointed. That’s him, that’s our little angst machine.

The King of Imperfections Takes Back the Prince of Mistakes: a fairy tale by britomart_is

Rating: E Word Count: 4,822 Summary: And they lived happily ever after.

Original post date, 06/06/2016

Reccing because: The summary is pretty much the summary and that’s such a relief, sometimes. They’re awful and stupid and they’re in love and love isn’t enough except it is, and they’re so friggin’ MARRIED in the most wonderful and dorky way. They have good-bad sex and they have idiot arguments and they’ve made it. Back in 2016 this seemed like the best possible option. Reading this story feels like reading 4800 words of relief.

Raw Food Diet by themegalosaurus

Rating: E Word Count: 2,959 Summary: Sam has one more meeting today. This one isn’t in his diary; not the public calendar everyone at the firm can access, nor the private one on his cell.

Original post date, 02/14/2019

Reccing because: If you were looking for depressing and almost revolting Lebanon AU, you’re in luck. This is serial killer!Dean at his worst and Sam Jobs at his (still slightly martyred) almost-worst and it’s the frankly gross and logical conclusion to: what would it mean, if those two horrible shitheads were still together, somehow or some way? It’s always almost a relief when fic manages to do a not-happy ending and this definitely does that. Refreshing, in its way, though you might want a shower after.

Ions in the Ether by nigeltde

Rating: E Word Count: 10,860 Summary: When was the last time you trusted happy.

Original post date, 03/12/2019

Reccing because: For any s2 obsessives as our author here is, this is a deep and alarming and inside-out dive into the obsession with a brother and with monstrousness and with what’s true and what’s not and also can you tell the difference, after all. A murky swirl through a shithole town, this fic picks and pries at wincest-as-concept in a way that’s somewhat achy and alarming and is overall delightful, if you’re willing to take the time to think about it. Plus Sam’s hot, which is of course a bonus.

there will be better days by deadlybride

Rating: E Word Count: 9,430 Summary: Sam and Dean settle into their heaven.

Original post date, 11/24/2020

Reccing because: I’m crass. But also I can’t think of another fic that feels as much like heaven as this one and I wanted heaven on the list.

#wincest #fic recs #happy wincest wednesday #this is partly borne from an absolutely shitty reclist i saw the other day lol #i admit to being powered by spite #Those Reclist Fics have a weird power over fandom #and i want better stuff to get read #so! read these! #and comment while you're at it

[jymwahuwu]

I'm SO ADDICTED to your yan!jing yuan fic, And I was wondering if u can write more. Maybe like he come back from work(idk) and unexpectedly he bought her fav dessert, but little did she know he put a little special 'icing' on the dessert (+along w/sleep dru#) but she refused to eat Infront of him and screaming asking to go away. And he did surprisingly, but then she eat the desser because no way in hell she can resist those.At the night she fell asleep, he takes the opportunity to broke into her house and fck her lmao 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🕴🏻

sorry if this made u feel uncomfortable :(

CW: yandere, non-con, somnophilia, sleeping pills, mating press

Don't worry, you didn't make me uncomfortable! I can totally see Jing Yuan taking advantage of this! He knows what your favorite dessert is and has checked which dessert shop in the entire galaxy has the highest rating for this dessert ☺️😚 He ordered his assistant to buy this dessert, and he brought the dessert to meet you after work.

You've grown numb to finding the general standing at your door. Once, you tried to ignore him, but the door lock was smashed. You insist on not opening the door, "What are you doing here?" On the electronic monitor screen, Jing Yuan is waving the dessert box in his hand, explaining that he just wants to give you dessert. After getting your rejection, Jing Yuan sighed regretfully. He pointed out that this dessert brand has the highest score in the galaxy, and customers usually need to make an appointment, which is rare and precious. You really don't want it? Isn't it such a pity? It's hard not to be tempted by these rhetoric.

"Then- then you put it in front of the door, I don't want to taste it in front of you." You replied in a low voice.

Unexpectedly, Jing Yuan agreed and did not break into your home as usual. He nodded, put the dessert box on the ground, and left. In the eyes of the General, you act like a vigilant stray cat, waiting carefully for the humans to leave before swallowing the food left behind.

After waiting for ten minutes, you quietly opened the door, picked up the dessert and put it on the table. You open the box, terrified of what a trap it might be, and what you get instead is fragrant that fills your living room. That is a delicate dessert with decorations on it… Um, it seems that there is still a little icing? As you savor, that heavenly sweetness melts on your tongue.

The night is… poured serenity - A wave of drowsiness washes over you… your eyelids can't support the weight, and aimless thoughts beckon you to the soft bed.

"Hey baby, are you asleep?"

Tall shadows loom over you in dim light. There is no response, your chest rises and falls peacefully with your breath. "Today we can have some new fun. It's okay, I'll be gentle." Jing Yuan removed your quilt, and put his palms into your panties, pulled them up to your ankles, and placed them next to your bed. Depending on the type of pajamas you're wearing, the general unbuttons your pajamas, or adjusts your posture slightly, strips you of all your clothes, and leaves you naked on the bed. Without the protection and cover of quilts and clothes, the body appears fragile and can be manipulated. He admires you in awe and snaps some pictures, leaning down to massage your areolas and rubbing and attacking your breasts. His lips and tongue kiss and adore your chest, muttering about how the body you have was wasted. No one can treat you like him.

Jing Yuan checks your private parts and finds that it is already covered with crystal liquid, glistening and waiting for attention. "ah…um…m…" you whimpered so faintly that few could be heard in sleep. He grinned and knew you were aroused. He prides himself on all the sweet reactions he brings to you. His thumb is stroking your clit as he pushes the head of his cock into your needy, tight wall. Every inch his cock advances, the faster he circles your little pearl, until your waist bounces and your inner walls tighten to cum on his cock. This is not the end but just the beginning. Jing Yuan slaps slowly in your twitching, orgasmed walls, with loud liquid churning. Under the influence of the drug, your eyes move restlessly under the eyelids. Determined to go one step further, he holds your face and kisses you affectionately, and lifts your legs up and presses them against your chest, pressing his fat, wet cock into your deepest part, squirting thick seeds.

Jing Yuan doesn't mind you knowing this. Lovers don't hide secrets. He yawned, took you into his strong arms, and fell asleep together. As the morning light shines into your house, you wake up, naked and sore with a startling realization of what he's done to you. "You- why are you here…!! "

He rubbed his eyes and greeted. "Wake up? Baby. Morning."

#yandere honkai star rail #yandere jing yuan x reader #yandere hsr #yandere jing yuan #yandere hsr x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you

[omens-for-ophelia]

"Let me see your wings, darling, let me see all of you, I- just like that, good girl, they're so beautiful, you're so beautiful, thank you, please, please-"

An illustration to celebrate the release of Chapter 6 and the completion of 'Despite Knowing Better...' (rated E) by the incomparable @ineffabildaddy , where the Supreme Archangel and femme!Crowley navigate fury, desire and a new 'arrangement' post-ineffable divorce 👀

For the uncensored 18+ version of the art (in Chapter 6) and to read the entire fic (highly recommend!) please head over to the fic on Ao3 here:

Note: In the fic and in this picture, Crowley is female-presenting and uses she/her pronouns.

also tagging @foolishlovers as requested uwu ❤️

#good omens #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable partners #ineffable divorce #good omens fic recs #ineffabildaddy #good omens smut war #femme crowley #ophelia-draws

[lumosatnight]

23 Fic Recs 2023!

This year has definitely been a year. I've devoured so many wonderful fics by so many amazing authors. Thank you @hprecfest for the super fun rec categories and for some fic inspiration! Here are 23 fics that I read and loved in 2023 (although some are quite a few years older) ordered by ship.

🌼 - fluff | 💔 - angst | 🔥 - smut

—

💫 DRARRY 💫

1. A post-canon fic

The Discreet Gentleman's Connection by pluto (gayrights420) [Drarry, E, 80.4k] 🌼🔥 I had the absolute pleasure of beta-ing for this fic, so when I say it is amazing, it truly is just that. Fast burn on the smut via Floo sex, slow burn on the in-person falling in love. Satisfying in all the best possible ways.

2. A fic that made me laugh

AITA for being "obsessed" with my childhood nemesis? by @rainstormradish [Drarry, M, 4.3k] 🌼📲 Draco on a reddit forum is hilarious just on its own, but the banter and formatting really bring this fic to life. Amazingly creative, had me in stitches!

3. A comfort fic

The Eighth Tale by @letteredlettered [Drarry, E, 12.0k] 💔⏳ An oldie but a goodie. I constantly find myself coming back to this fic and having my mind blown every single time. Time travel timey-wimey angst.

4. A fic with art

Dating Draco - A Visual Game by @itsphantasmagoria [Drarry, M, Video Game] 🌼🎮 This is a fic in video game form!! Amazing art and lovely story where YOU get to make the choices for Drarry's happily ever after.

5. A favorite series

The Journal of Dreadful Things by @lilbeanz [Drarry, G, 112k, WIP] 🌼📖 Hilarious, witty, AND COMES WITH ART!! Lilbeanz draws and writes a wonderfully delightful series starting from Draco's First Year. His characterization had me in hysterics. Book 4 is starting soon!

—

💫 COMMON SHIPS 💫

6. Fic with the hottest smut

Moonstruck by @prettyremus [Wolfstar, E, 3.8k] 🔥🐺 Found this gem while scrolling through the werewolf smut tag (don't judge me). I love the switch in dynamic with Sirius taming Remus's wolf through, ahem, rough sex.

7. An unreliable narrator fic

Sea of White by @dividawrites [Harrymort, E, 8.6k] 🔥🤍 Deliciously hot, creepy, and strangely sweet. Love their dynamic here, the unrestrained lust. Harrymort "die" and lose their memories, so, of course, then they bang.

8. A fic that made me cry

Far Apart, Far Away by @unmistakablyoatmeal [Hinny, minor Drarry, T, 1.6k] 💔💍 Infidelity angst has never been this good. I love the layers of emotion in this fic. Quick punchy sections that really pulled me in.

9. A Muggle(?) AU fic

Pleasant Hope by @ac1d6urn, @sinick [Snarry, E, 41.6k] 💔⛪️ Pastor Severus!! The angst, pining, and self-discovery in this fic is superb! I love the interwoven magic and detailed world-building of this little town.

—

💫 RARE PAIRS 💫

10. A fav amongst faves

The Last Trial of Peter Pettigrew by @sleepstxtic [Prongstail, M, 20.8k] 💔 🐀 Holy moly, this fic!!!! Is this my new favorite fic?? Possibly. The concept is brilliant, so creative and nuanced. The Peter character study using outsider perspectives is genius. Seamlessly balances canon and new scenes.

11. A pre-canon fic

Careless by @tax-onomic [Luther, E, 1.5k] 🔥🪞 Lucius/Arthur my beloved rare pair!! I am captain of the Luther ship, and Tax's fic hits all the right spots. The pining, the sniping, the prickly personalities with emotional vulnerability underneath! And all in the middle of a hot smut scene. Perfect.

12. A canon-compliant fic

Scottish by thepadfoots [Chedric, G, 749] 💔🌟 Lovely Cho character study focused around her Asian identity and the boy she loved.

13. A fic rated G (more like T though)

Lion-Hearted Girl by MinnieQuill (odainath) [Minmione, G, 4.5k] 💔🦁 I know the large age gap might scare some, but their relationship feels very organic in this fic. The setting is grim, but there is always hope in the darkness!

14. A fic rated T

You're So Vane by @patriceavril [Romelina, T, 6.8k] 🌼💄Romilda is so delightfully characterized, I was smiling through the entire fic. Angelina is the perfect foil (and love interest) to Romilda's attentions.

15. A rare pair fic (less than 2000 fics on AO3)

Snakeskin by @cntrl15 [Bellastoria, E, 3.7k] 🔥👠 Talk about a rare pair! Astoria/Bellatrix only has 2 tagged fics on AO3: this fic and the drabble I wrote based on it. But read this fic, and you'll see why I felt the need to write more in this universe.

16. A fest fic

Master of None by @nanneramma [Snormac, G, 5.5k] 🌼🧘 Severus is so wonderfully cranky, and Cormac is fine AF. The surprise pairing of 2023 that I never knew I needed and now I'm obsessed with!

17. An under-rated fic

Sun, Shadow, Shade by @naomijameston [Snuna, G, 700] 🌼☀️ Post-war fluff. Sunshine Luna is the perfect match for sullen Snape. A short and sweet fic for this underrated ship.

18. A canon-divergent fic

but somebody's gotta do it by nocturn [Pangulus, T, 920] 😄🧟‍♂️ This fic will make you say WTF but also huh, okay that totally works. The concept is WILD but Lyra executes it wonderfully. Pansy drags Regulus out of the inferi lake and they flirt a little while he gets de-corpsified lol.

—

💫 POLY SHIPS 💫

19. A dark fic

In his embrace by @loneamaryllis [Snarrymort, het!Snarry, E, 48k] ⚡️👀 Dark and dirty but so so good. A Voldemort Wins AU where fem!Harry is taken as prisoner. Snape's mindset as he tries to save her (and is forced to rape her) is so twisted and mesmerizing. Mind the tags!

20. A thought-provoking fic

Icarus by @thistlecatfics [Millvansy, M, 20.0k] 💔🍾 War trauma, addiction, codependency! This fic is messy with emotions but has a strong, beating heart underneath. I am in love with Parvati as she deals with Pansy's addiction and Millicent's denial — three beautiful, imperfect girls.

21. A holiday fic

A Time, Dark and Divine by @moonflower-rose [Dronarry, E, 17.0k] 🔥⛱ HOLY FREAKING FUCK!! The sexual tension in this fic is off the freaking charts. Drarry seducing Ron while on vacation in Portugal. Sign me the fuck up!

—

💫 GEN 💫

22. A favorite fic under 5k

The Scrunchie by @saintsenara [Lightning Era Girls, G, 4.5k] 💖👭 Such a lovely look into some of the female background characters, all following the path of a single scrunchie. Lisa, Padma, Parvati, Hannah, Sally-Anne.

23. A fic with an ending I can't stop thinking about

Through the Middlegame by @sandervansunshine [Astoria & Peter, T, 6.6k] 💔♜ Devastating, heart-wrenching, tragic. 10000% would recommend. Kylee has already heard me screaming in the servers about this fic. If I could get a fic tattooed straight onto my brain, this would be it.

—

💫 BONUS RECS! 💫

A podfic

Plenitude by @wilfriede, written by eldritcher [Amelmione, M, 14 min] 💔🥀 Amazing voices, amazing music, amazing ambience. Wilfriede really brings one of my fav Hermione/Amelia Bones fics to life in this podfic!

A comic

War Prize by @mrviran [Snegulus, Reggiemort, M, Comic, WIP] ☠️🐍 The panels are awe-inspiring. I am HOOKED on this comic. The murder and the TENSION. Ughhhhh so good. I am so invested in Severus's arc!!

A self-rec (completely self-indulgent)

For I Have Found Salvation by @lumosatnight [Snarry, E, 7.1k] 🔥✝ My first time writing Snarry! Priest Kink, church sex, and blasphemous religious imagery. Priest Severus is oh-so-tempted by Teen Harry. So fun to write and even more fun to go back and read as a guilty pleasure.

—

⚡️ Want more fics to read? ⚡️

Try my rec tag: #lumosinthelibrary

Year in Reading, b-day oneshots, WLW Library

#2023 fic recs #hprecfest2023 #year in reading #hp rec list #drarry #wolfstar #harrymort #hinny #snarry #prongstail #minmione #snuna #dronarry #lumosinthelibrary #2023

[liesmyth]

the locked tomb holiday exchange rec list

Behold! The good, the magnificent, the sad! The filth and the angst and the feelings! The weird shit that would make TazMuir proud! 💀🎉✨☠️🔥🎊

Here are some favourites from a skim of works posted for @tlt-holiday-exchange, both art and fic. They are MANY and they are JUICY. Find the entire collection HERE, and keep an eye on for authors reveal coming soon!

ART FILLS

A Beautiful Fairy Tale. Wake tells little Bomb a bedtime story but she can't mention a princess without talking about guillotines. Rated T.

Dubious Curiosity. Nona is curious. Nona loves everyone. And Nona wants Cam. (Camilla/Nona) Rated M.

Fingers In Her Mouth. Camilla Hect misses the Warden. Maybe he can lend a helping hand… even in death. (Camilla/hand!Palamedes) Rated M.

just guys being bros. Camilla/Gideon. Gideon touches a boob! A very happy new year to awkward butch lesbians everywhere. Rated T.

Pyrrha Dve Appreciation. Pyrrha & Nona, soft hugs! Rated G.

Stealing Breath. Camilla/Gideon butch-off make-out session. Rated G.

To Shreds, You Say? Pyrrha/Mercymorn/Wake fucking nasty. Rated E.

FIC FILLS

a buried and a burning flame. Coronabeth fucks Gideon's corpse. Rated E.

For all intents and purposes the corpse of the Ninth’s cavalier is a bad lay. That’s all fine, though.

a grave, deep and narrow. Camilla/Palamedes, GtN AU, Character Death, Tape Recorder Conversation Redux. Podfic included! Rated T

Only Lyctors were meant to leave the First House alive. Ianthe insists on bringing Coronabeth; Judith dies of her injuries. Camilla is stranded alone at Canaan House — alone, except for the persistent hallucinations of her necromancer.

affix. Coronabeth/Harrow, humiliation kink, improper use of bones, dom!Harrow, GtN era. rated E.

Cytherea doesn't go to Canaan House AU - Corona overconfidently approaches Harrow in the hopes of exchanging lab keys. Harrow humbles her quickly.

AITA for telling my dad I didn't like my birthday party? Gideon & John, In-Universe Social Media, Character study, Rated T.

I (20F) told my dad (45?M) that I wanted a cool birthday party, but he threw me a terrible birthday party instead. Am I really the asshole for telling him I didn't like it?

and kings shall come out of thy loins. Gideon/Ianthe, crack treated seriously, body horor, SNAKES. Rated M.

Ianthe saves God from the stoma and the River and all she has to show for it are these fucking snubes.

come, dearest heart. Lyctor Palamedes AU, HtN era. Camilla/Palamedes, Pyrrha/Palamedes, Pyrrha/Camilla/Palamedes. Rated E.

In Canaan House, Palamedes Sextus unwillingly ascends to Lyctorhood to put an end to Cytherea the First's rampage. He's left heartbroken, grieving, and terribly, terribly lonely.

Don't Care If You Think I'm Dumb (I Don't Care At All). Gideon/Ianthe, Gideon as Kiriona, Unwholesome Tower Princes Bonding ft. bad sex and retail therapy. Rated E.

The newly christened Kiriona Gaia is not having a good time on the Mithraeum. At least she has Ianthe there to make her worse.

Follow Your Dreams, Never Let Them Die. Gideon/Harrow, Pokemon trainers AU! Rated T.

On her Pokemon Journey, Gideon Nav approaches the mysterious Drearburh City Gym - but something feels oddly familiar.

Gaia's Natural Market. modern AU, retail hell, Harrow/Gideon, Harrow/Ianthe, Gideon/Ianthe. Rated T

RING-A-DING-DING, the Holiday's are here! And nothing says "Give!" like the bounty of the Mother Herself, so come on by to GAIA's Natural Market! Treat your family to a home-cooked meal with only the PUREST of ingredients - all Produce Organic, all Products non-GMO, and all Smiles Authentic and free of Toxins!

Good Girl. Coronabeth/Ianthe, puppyplay, muzzles, rated E.

Coronabeth is Ianthe's big dicked bimbo puppy. Ianthe's into it.

Goodnight, New Rho. Camilla & Nona. Domestic Fluff, Missing Scene. Rated G.

Nona gets a bedtime story. Camilla reminisces about growing up with an older sister. They both sleep well, despite a notable lack of dogs.

In the Empire of the Deeps. Gideon/Nona/Ianthe, Gideon/Ianthe, Pirate AU, monsterfucking-adjacent, Nona is an eldritch sea creature. Rated E.

A chance encounter on the beach. Ianthe is manipulative, Kiriona is sad, and Nona is not as innocent as she seems. Sometimes, you might yearn for one person and meet another one. Sometimes, you have to take what you can get.

just like normal. Ianthe/Coronabeth, Cytherea is also there. Penis in vagina sex, Exhibitionism, Squirting. Rated E.

Ianthe gives herself a cock, and Corona is increasingly bewildered that she hasn’t been allowed to sit on it yet.

language of its own. Camilla/Palamedes. Worldbuilding, idiots to lovers, pre-canon. Rated T.

Camilla Hect has to do an erotic poetry final.

Masochism Tango. Porn with feelings, knifeplay, vivisection, lyctor-typical everything. Rated E.

Two occasions in which Pyrrha Dve had the pleasure of being under Cytherea's knife, and Mercymorn had the pleasure of Pyrrha Dve.

METHODS OF SUBDUCTION. Judith/Cornabeth, Judith & Varun. Planetary science rizz. Rated M.

Varun the Eater teaches Judith Deuteros how to flirt.

midnight mass. Mercymorn/Cristabel, pre-canon, Character Study. Rated T.

A lifetime before the resurrection and two decades before the apocalypse, a novice nun and a third-year medical student discuss goodness, passion, and salvation at midnight on Christmas morning.

motherhood. Mercymorn uses flesh magic on Wake. Hate sex ensues. Body horror, motherhood as violence, canon compliant. Rated E.

“I will kill you,” you say, with all the placid fervor of a religious convert. When you’re on the edge of real violence, you lose that tense little furrow in your brow—it’s beautiful, really. “Please give me a reason.”

My Love Overflows. Corona/Ianthe, Strap-on, Dirty talk, Impact Play, Hair Pulling, Bladder control. Rated E.

The one in which Corona pisses all over herself at Ianthe's whims.

name and rank. Judith/Coronabeth, Judith & Varun. Judith's failwoman swag! Rated T.

As Judith lies dying, she has nothing but time. Varun the Eater uses it to teach her how to flirt with the Princess. Don’t worry. Varun has got this!

New Rule. Mercymorn/Pyrrha, Ranch AU, stablehand Pyrrha, boss/employee relationship. Rated E.

Never hire stablehands who are too handsome and capable for their own good.

no shade in the shadow of the cross. Cytherea/Mercymorn, angst, fisting, two pillow princesses NOT making it work! Rated E.

Cytherea and Mercymorn have an ill-timed tryst.

per my last email. Camilla/Palamedes. Academia, banter. On peer review and multitasking. Rated M.

“Warden,” she said patiently, “you want me so badly it’s making you stupid."

RISKING OUR LIVES FOR UNIVERSITY HOLE???? 🤯😳 University AU, Team 69. The hole is a basement to be clear! Rated T.

The difficult part of visiting the local haunted house for a feature in the university magazine is not actually the visiting; it’s the writing about it afterwards.

So Messed Up. Ianthe/Coronabeth. Puppy play, collars & leashes, tail plug. Rated E.

Ianthe using her flesh magic to give Corona a big cock for petplay because she loves the idea of her sister being a big dicked bimbo puppy girl who just wants to rut into her.

The Great Gamete Gambit. Camilla & Palamedes, Pre-canon, worldbuilding, sixth house reproductive practices. Rated G.

Palamedes and Camilla have an important package to send, but there's been a heist in the gamete repository! Can the 15-year-old Master Warden and his cavalier crack the case?

The Sextus Scandal. Camilla/Palamedes, Epistolary, Pre-Canon Divergence. Rated E.

Transcripts and documents relating to the disciplinary hearing and subsequent resignation of Master Warden Palamedes Sextus.

Ways to Be Perfect. Babs/Colum Asht, GtN era, Rated M.

When Naberius first glanced across the supper table at Colum Asht, he didn’t immediately get the impression that he was liked.

The end!

Thank you for making it this far. If you enjoyed any of these works, or anything else in the collection, please drop a comment to make our creators feel appreciated <3

[post creators reveal exchange wrap post]

#tlt fic #fic recs #tlt holiday ex 2023 #tlt fanfic #tlt fanart #tlt #the locked tomb #if you enjoyed these pls leave feedback on the collection <3 #and thanks to the mods for putting it all together #114 (!!!!) works now!!!

[dumbf1sketches]

Overexposure [Lando Norris/Oscar Piastri]

Rated: E

Summary:

Sometimes he just has the urge to do something stupid.

So, he does this.

The door behind him isn’t completely closed, and that’s kind of the point, if he’s honest. It’s open just so, just enough of an invitation to look around, if someone wanted to.

There's a thrill to the idea of it, touching himself here, trying to keep quiet; that small possibility of someone catching him, of someone watching.

It's finally here! @pitmewithyourbeststop had the most wonderful idea to join forces and wrote this stunningly filthy fic to go along with my depraved sketching.

Please go give Jess all of the love on her Tumblr and ao3, she took a small sketch and made it so much more!!

Probably nothing good.

***

Somewhere between impatiently shoving his helmet at the closest available surface and tugging down the zipper of his race suit, Lando has the space to wonder what it says about him that this is what he was thinking about for his entire in-lap.

He’s been half hard since he stopped the car, adrenaline skittering across his nerves and stuck to the roof of his mouth. His hands shake with it, fingers catching in the thick material of his suit as he slides it to his hips.

Continue on ao3

#open at your own risk #lando norris and the exhibitionist streak visible from space #i am a little psychotic over getting to post a collab with my favourite writer #lando norris #oscar piastri #landoscar #my art

[33max]

# M A X F E S T 2 0 2 4 ✨

I want to say a huge thank you and well done to everyone who created something for Max Fest this year - I have enjoyed taking a sneak peek at all of these and can't wait to properly dive in and read!

Please remember to show the creators some love in the form of kudos, comments, or these pasteable buttons. You can also check out the Tumblr tag #MaxFest2024 to reblog the works on here.

You can also join our Max discord server, Golden Boots Boy, here!

Better Days by @puzzlebean (Fic, Daniel/Max, rated T)

Max can't take it anymore. It's like he's entire life is falling apart and he doesn't know what he wants anymore.

Max Verstappen [Art] by @puzzlebean

Beautiful art of Max with very fluffy hair.

I Was Busy Dreaming ‘Bout Boys by @tyrannosaurus-maxy

A wonderful and funny video of Max and his many boyfriends.

to make form from chaos by @maxybabyy (Fic, Daniel/Max, rated E)

He digs his knees into the backs of Max’s thighs and throws an arm around his waist, flipping them over until Max is pressed into the bed underneath him. He straddles his back, one hand spread wide over his spine to keep Max shoved into the mattress as the other squeezes at the nape of his neck.

If I loved you more I’d fade by cilantropudding (Fic, Daniel/Max, Rated E)

“Do you have a lighter?” A voice asks, and another figure joins him under the overhang above the club’s back door. The man is wrapped up in a thick coat, and it takes a moment for Max to be able to discern head from body under all the fur and padding. “Left mine inside and if I go back I’m not gonna have the balls to come back out.”

If The Shoe Fits by @miesgaga (Fic, Charles/Max, rated E)

Charles and Max have had a rule since they started being roommates: if you're fucking somone in your room, put their shoes in the fuck spot. This way the could keep their space clean and know when to wear earplugs.

grab your passport by @thatsapodium

The most amazing art inspired by @33max’s (my!) Turkey Dinosaurs series.

Which Max Verstappen helmet are you? by @33max

A uquiz of Max’s special helmets.

Airplanes cut through the clouds by @33max

Max hadn't mentioned that he was thinking of refurbishing the plane to Daniel. He frowns. Did Max mean to send him an invite to this? Did he mean to invite Raymond so he could organise the refurb? Why didn’t he mention something like this to Daniel?

Max Bicons 💙💜🩷 by @thatsapodium

Bisexual Max Icons!

Lawfirm AU by @thatsapodium

Daniel doesn’t even care about the mistakes and errors that Max has been making, honestly couldn’t give a fuck about the messed-up coffee orders, missed emails or the wrong files at a meeting with a high-profile client. It’s the dark circles and bloodshot eyes, the tight shoulders and shrunken posture, the torn skin around his nails.

Bracelets inspired by Max Verstappen by @speedyseastars

Friendship bracelets inspired by Max Verstappen

#maxfest2024 #fic rec #fave #I’m so excited to put this out there!!!!!!!!

[sambuckylibrary]

SamBucky Summer Bingo 2024

The @sambuckylibrary will be holding a Summer Bingo! The event will start on June 1st and run until August 31st. During that time, we will be reblogging and sharing the work you guys create here on our blog.

You can post fanfiction, art, fic rec lists, comments, moodboards, podfics, edits, etc. It’ll be a low-stakes event. No need to sign up. Just remember to tag @sambuckylibrary in your post for each fill, and we will be tracking #sbsummer2024 for reblogs.

If you are posting on AO3, please add it to the SamBucky Summer Bingo 2024 Collection.

The Bingo Cards are:

There are also badges for each fill. For those badges, as well as the FAQ and rules, check the information under “keep reading”.

FAQ

What is this?

It’s a SamBucky bingo event.

Is there any pressure?

No pressure at all. Fill one prompt. Fill all the prompts on every bingo card. Do however many you please.

Can I fill more than one prompt with one piece of art/one fic?

Yes! You can fill one prompt with one piece of art or fic. You can try to fill all nine prompts on the card at once with one piece of art or fic. If you can fill every single prompt from every single bingo card in one fill, that’d be wild but it’s okay by the rules. You can do any number in between.

Are there any prizes for making anything for this event?

Just the satisfaction that you made something cool.

Is it just SamBucky?

Yes please, just SamBucky. There can be side ships, but the main ship should be SamBucky.

How long will this event run?

It will run from June 1st and run until August 31st.

I heard there are badges I can use for each fill?

There are! Here they are:

1) Vacation Bingo Badges

2) Mission Bingo Badges

3) Loving Bingo Badges

RULES AND GUIDELINES

What are the guidelines for the bingo?

I will be borrowing some of this from the MYSU Valentine’s Day Bingo 2022 Guidelines, since they were fantastic.

For Everyone:

1. Remember to @sambuckylibrary in the post as well as #sbsummer2024.

2. Please also tag the prompt you’re filling (for instance, if the square is “Redwing”, use “#redwing” as one of your tags when posting about it on Tumblr).

3. If you’re uploading to AO3, please:

a ) Say somewhere which prompt you’re filling.

b ) Add it to SamBucky Summer Bingo 2024 (SamBucky_Summer_Bingo_2024).

For Artists:

1. Create at least one piece of new art that can’t have been posted anywhere else before this.

2. All visual art forms are welcome:

a ) Gifsets, at least 3 gifs.

b ) Aesthetic boards or moodboards, at least 4 images each.

c ) Drawing/painting, that is not a sketch.

d) Fan video.

e) Graphics edit.

For Authors:

1. At least 500 words.

2. Posted on Tumblr or AO3.

3. Can be part of a series, but should work as a standalone.

For Podficcers:

1. The podfic should at least be 5 minutes long.

2. It should be posted on either Tumblr or AO3.

3. The podfic can be of a fic made for the event, a fic not made for the event while still adhering to the prompt, or a notfic.

For Fic Rec Lists:

1. You must have at least three fics or podfics on the rec list.

2. Make sure to give brief descriptions of the fics or podfics as well as their rating and wordcount.

For Commenters:

1. Any amount of comment counts, from a heart emoji (“❤️”) to an essay.

2. We would rather this be about what makes you happy and joyful about reading than any scathing critiques.

Things to be mindful of when creating:

For Sam

Avoid framing Sam only as a caretaker or emotional support for Bucky. Be mindful of Sam acting angry or aggressive in an out-of-character way and falling into the angry/sassy Black man trope (check out the MCU source material to help with character traits).

Avoid decentering Sam as a main character and refrain from focusing entirely on Bucky.

In art: avoid whitewashing Sam’s skin and research drawing Black characters.

General disclaimer: Race affects every aspect of his life, including interacting with police/government and the white structures of the world when it comes to performing his duties as Cap and simply being a Black man that lives in the U.S.

For Bucky

Avoid phrasing “flesh/normal/human hand” to refer to the contrast between his prosthetic arm and his right arm. The phrasing is ableist. You can simply refer to his prosthesis when relevant, otherwise use “right/left arm/hand”.

For more information, please check out this document suggested by @ninesdb on how to write Bucky as an amputee. @ninesdb is also open to questions if you have any queries not answered by the google doc.

Specific Tags:

Avoid tags in AO3 like “Sam Wilson is a Gift”, “Sam Wilson is a Saint”, and “Bucky Needs a Hug”.

Have fun and we look forward to your TFATWS Anniversary fics!

- The Mods

#sbsummer2024 #sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sambucky fan event #sambucky fanfiction #sambucky art #sambucky edit #sambucky moodboard #sambucky fic rec list #sambucky podfic #mod: thatmexisaurusrex

[therealslimsanji]

Ok, my darlings! As promised.

One Taz/Reader sexy time fic at your service!

Please be aware, I'm no writer. Plus, I've got a house full of noise and chaos, and I work from home, so this will probably have a ton of grammar and spelling mistakes. C'est la vie, mon ami.

So without further ado, I bring to you:

Taz/Reader

Rated: Explicit for language and oral sex (m receiving).

(Also rating E for "eh" at the quality of work here.)

But anyway, I hope you all will enjoy it a little bit!

**UPDATE, I EDITED THE STORY A BIT AFTER POSTING SO IT MIGHT READ DIFFERENTLY THIS TIME**

Taz Skylar/Reader

The night had come and the kitchen was finally quiet now. A few of Taz's cast mates from One Piece had dropped by yalls apartment to celebrate the show's season two renewal. Nothing too major. Mostly it was just another excuse for your boyfriend Taz to show off his excellent culinary skills.

That thought made you smile as you finished towel drying the last dish and placing it in the dish rack. A gentle wave of warmth spread through you. It always did whenever you thought about Taz cooking for you or his friends. He was such an affectionate man and one of the ways he's come to show his love is through his kitchen creations.

"Quickest way to a person's heart is through their stomach, darling," he'd said once while effortlessly chopping up a wide variety of vegetables for some fancy stew.

On cue, almost as if he could sense you were thinking about him, Taz appeared behind you, wrapping his slim toned arms around your waist. His chin came to rest on your shoulder.

Your eyes fell closed as you leaned back into his touch. His arms pulling you impossibly closer to him.

"Did you have fun today?" You asked as the two of you began to sway slightly. Your arms coming to rest atop his around your waist.

He chuckled lowly, "I always have fun when I'm with you and my friends. I love you all. Very much. You the most, obviously." At that he chuckled some more, burying his face into your neck and kissing the skin there.

"We love you too, babe. I can't even begin to tell you how proud I am of you and everything you've accomplished in the last year alone," you spun around to face him, sliding your hands up and down his biceps, "if anyone deserves to be celebrated right now it's you, my love."

Taz blushed at your words, eyes dipping down a bit in a bashful manner. That was something else about Taz you've come to love, how he shy he gets whenever he gets complimented. It was adorable and you took that moment to lean up and kiss him.

Your arms came up to wrap around his neck as his hands moved to the small of your back. Eyes closed, the two of you kissed slowly and deeply. You moaned a bit as you felt him grind subconsciously against you. Smiling into the kiss, you bit gently at his bottom lip and pulled away slowly. There was a glint in your eye that made Taz shiver in your hold.

"C'mere," you whispered, taking both his hands in yours and guiding him towards the counter of the kitchen island. You spun him around, his lower back pressing against the edge of the counter as you attacked his mouth once more in a much needier kiss.

You felt his hands try to grasp at the buttons of your shirt but you quickly put a stop to that, grabbing them and pinning them down on the counter's edge.

"Mm-mm," you hummed against his mouth before pulling back to say, "this is about you tonight. Leave your hands on this counter and don't move them until I say." 

Taz looked as though all the wind had been punched out of him, his face flushed as all the blood rushed south quickly. You could easily fell the hardness of his arousal pressing against your own crotch.

It made your mouth water.

Leaning forward to lick the shell of his left ear, you whispered, "I think I'm still hungry.."

You could hear him swallow audibly.

"Y/N...you..."

Before he could finish his thought, you sunk to your knees, maintaining eye contact with him the entire way down. His gorgeous ocean eyes were blown near completely black, his chest beginning to rise and fall a bit rapidly. His lips were still a little moist from kissing, and God dammit if he wasn't the most beautiful man you'd ever had the pleasure of, well, pleasuring.

Oh yeah. You were gonna take your time with this. Savor every second. Watch every micro-expression cross that stunning face of his. Slowly you undid the button and zipper of his dark jeans, pushing the material down a bit along with his black boxer briefs-- this man and his love for the color black. It was understandable though. He looked fucking amazing in it.

But then, he'd look fucking amazing in a burlap sack.

Taking out his cock, you let the warmth of your breath to ghost over the tip as you pulled the foreskin back. You watched as Taz's head fell back and felt the full body shiver run through him.

"Taz," his head snapped back down at the sound of his name, "look at me. Don't look anywhere else but me."

"Christ, Y/N..." He grit out. His slender hips bucked slightly, searching out more friction. Your hand was still wrapped just this side of too loose around his cock. You knew it was driving him crazy.

With a smirk, you stuck your tongue out and lapped at the precum gathering at the tip, shiny and salty and tasting uniquely of Taz. It was definitely a taste you could get addicted to.

Your right hand stroked his base as your full lips closed around the tip entirely. Your tongue pressed along the slit, rubbing against the spongy head as you sucked lightly.

Above you the blond moaned, tongue coming out to lick at his bottom lip before his teeth bit down in it. His knuckles were white where they held their death grip on the counter's edge.

You kept your eyes locked as you swallowed more of him down with each bob of your head. Both of your hands griping at each of his denim clad thighs. A few more bobs and you had him swallowed down nearly to the hilt, the dark curls around the base tickling at your nose.

A small whimper left his throat, he was trying so hard not to thrust up into your mouth. You smiled around your mouthful, admiring his attempt at control for the sake of your comfort. But you meant what you said.

Tonight was about Taz.

You pulled off still staring up at him, lips plump and wet, "you can fuck my mouth, baby."

"Oh fuck..." He groaned. "Can I..?" He lifted a hand off the counter in a silent request for your permission.

"Use me," your voice was a bit deeper now.

His hand threaded through your soft hair as he grasped a handful, not too tight. Just enough to know you were gonna be hoarse as fuck after all was said and done.

Wasting no more time, you swallowed him back down as far as you could handle. The hand in your hair moved to cup at the crown of your head, keeping you in place as your throat muscles worked around him.

"Oh my God, Y/N. Oh shit..." his blue eyes were struggling to keep focus on you. He was beginning to pant hard, hips moving more and more, almost desperate.

You pulled back a bit, stroking him quickly as you took a moment to catch your breath.

"That feel good?" You asked with a mock innocence, mouth going right back to sucking him down.

"Fuck yes. Feels incredible. 'M not gonna last..."

But you knew that already from the way his hips were starting to stutter in their thrusts. You're no amateur. You've gone down on him enough times to be able to read his body like an open book.

His moans and whimpers as he inched closer to climax were a melody you knew by heart. He was so close now.

"Oh God..Oh f-fuck, Y/N fuck.." this was the part where you swallowed him deep. Sucking as best you could while your throat muscles worked around him and his hips ground against your face. Your left hand came up to massage at his tightening balls while your right hand sought out the hand he had in your hair. He released his grip on your head so that your fingers could lace together. 

There was something so intimate about grasping his hand as his orgasm approached. It made your heart swell. It was also established by now as your way of giving him consent to continue chasing his climax since your mouth was usually too busy to actually tell him in the heat of the moment. A silent assurance that you were in it until the end.

"I'm gonna cum. Y/N I'm gonna-fuuuck..." 

One more clumsy thrust of his hips, and you felt your mouth fill with his warm release. You swallowed as much as you could, trying to keep up with how much was shooting out. You continued to suck him through it all, only popping off when the hand still grasping the counter weakly pushed your head off.

He was panting and beginning to slump down against the bottom cabinets beneath the marbled counter. You could feel his thighs trembling as you tucked him back into his underwear and pants. He was struggling slightly to remain upright and standing. But he was also smiling bright and sweet. Skin almost glowing from the thin sheen of sweat gracing his forehead.

Good God he was beautiful in his post-orgasm bliss.

"Oh my God, Y/N, that was..."

You rose up to your feet and nuzzled your nose against his, feeling cocky and euphoric and aroused as FUCK.

"Amazing?" You supplied teasingly, "mind blowing? 10 outta 10 would recommend to all your friends??"

He shot you a curious glance at that last one before a sleepy smile took over.

"First two, absolutely. But I've no intentions of ever sharing you with anybody." He wrapped both arms around your waist and kissed your forehead. "I love you," he spoke against your hairline.

You tightened your hold on him, "I love you too, Taz."

He pulled back, eyebrow raising mischievously.

"Round two in the bedroom?"

"Way ahead of you, sugar tits."

With a giggle, you shoved him back playfully against the counter and made a mad dash for the master bedroom. Taz chased behind hot on your heels.

The sound of yalls laughter filled the apartment before the bedroom door closed behind you.

End ❤️

#taz skylar #taz #reader fic #taz x reader #taz skylar x reader #opla #opla cast #opla sanji #one piece #one piece netflix #one piece fandom #one piece la #vinsmoke sanji #sanji #opla vinsmoke sanji #one piece live action #black leg #black leg sanji #tarek skylar #tarek yassin #tarek yassin skylar

[tieronecrush]

hot & heavy

chapter thirteen: hot blood & heavy memories

neighbor!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

series rating: E (18+ MDNI)

series summary:

over the course of three summers, joel miller becomes woven into your life. the first summer is spent falling for him; nannying his daughter and sneaking around with him in a burning love affair. you know how you feel about joel, he isn’t so sure about how it all is gonna work. the second summer is brief. a month spent at home after graduation and before you move to boston for your dream job. one look at you, one time hearing your voice, and joel is hooked again. he pines over you for that month, but you think — how is long distance of over a thousand miles going to work for a single dad? the third summer, you return home burnt out and pride bruised from your post-grad life. you need time to feel at home again, like your complete self, so you’ve come back home with no return ticket booked. it’s only a matter of time before joel seeks you out, slowly spending more time with you. without an inevitable end to the summer looming over you both, what chances are you willing to take?

word count: 9.4k

warnings: NO OUTBREAK (don’t need to worry about the mushies), no use of y/n, inexperienced reader, age gap (joel is 30/31, reader is 22), canon-divergent (sarah is 7 y/o), nanny au, pet names (sweetheart, darling, sweet girl, mariposa, etc.), feeling familial and self-pressure, established relationship, spanish cause joel is latino, oral (m & f receiving), unprotected p in v, soft joel, possessive joel, struggling with self, discussion of parenting, angst, ARGUING!!!! but petty arguing, and probably more!

a/n: I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. life just hit me with a bunch of shit and writing fell to the wayside but here this is, the penultimate chapter! final one should be coming next week <3 thank you all for the love on this fic! and thank you bestie @northernbluess for beta reading <3 love ya!

Joel turned over this morning, his arm reaching out across the bed only to be met with the feeling of cool sheets against his skin. Sunlight blinded his eyes as he slowly opened them, adjusting to the light flooding in from the pulled curtains. A groan rumbled his sleep-coated voice awake, his ears waiting to hear you from the bathroom, gloating about how you managed to wake up before him.

Nothing ever came. He looked over his shoulder, the door to the bathroom wide open and the bedroom door left opened a crack. Glanced around with no sign of you, a wave of loneliness washed over him.

For a split second, his brain justified it all as a dream. Told himself that when he wakes up — actually wakes up — you’d be sleeping there next to him, curled up under his arms, waking with that smile of yours that blinds him more than the morning light. He’d run his hands along your spine as you elongate in a stretch, your fingers immediately finding his messy curls to push them back into place. It’s what happens every morning that he has with you. This one should have been no different.

But it was, there’s no you to wake up to, already gone from the bed and possibly the entire house, retreated to your space to give you and him some. Floods of memories from late last night came back to the forefront, him standing in the middle of the living room, your face wounded and confused. The thought of hurting you made his skin crawl, but the replay of the words spewed back and forth has ice formed in his chest again, shutting down the part of him who would do anything to make it better. He hates that about him, the part of him that finds himself right in every situation, the part of him that tells his mind that he’s protecting you, your life you’ve built together — he knows it’s for himself.

He knows, in his gut, that he’s scared.

Maybe he should have heard you out more, but fear overcame him — fear of the unknown, fear of loss, fear of him fucking up the best thing that has happened for him since Sarah was born. 

But he knows he won’t admit that, won’t let doubt back into your relationship. There’s been enough of that, and he wants everything to stay as it was.

He’s not a man of change.

When he descended the stairs, there was a sharp ache in his ribs, pausing on his way down to grab at his side. Body anxious to find out if you had left entirely, the pain a reminder of his craving for you, a physical reaction to being apart.

The sound of your voice traveling from the kitchen to his ears was a relaxing balm, the ache dissipated the more he heard you speak to Sarah, laughing and excitedly discussing the plan for the aquarium.

Eagerness pricked his brain at that; the fact that you were still coming excited him. Maybe things would simply go back to normal today, that everything would be forgotten and he would be able to swallow the fear sitting in his throat.

God, was he wrong.

You woke that morning, Joel’s broad shoulders melted into the mattress and the expanse of his t-shirt-covered back met your eyes. Restless the whole night, never did you wake up to find him facing you, an arm slung over your side, or any movement to be closer. 

Gnawing at you was the thought of simply brushing things under the rug, mending what was broken last night during the argument, and fixing things to make it all better.

If you make things copacetic, then maybe he would feel ready to tell your family faster?

The louder part of you — the one burning inside your gut and boiling your blood when you remember how he dismissed you the night before — told you to keep your mouth shut. That everything will only reach a breaking point if you continue on the path that you two are on. 

Why does he get to decide the timeline of your relationship without any sort of discussion? You deserve the same respect and promise that you give to Joel.

God, what if he really isn’t ready for a future with you? What is holding him back?

You spent an hour laying in bed, fighting yourself back and forth between cleaning everything up between the two of you, agreeing to whatever Joel wanted to simply make it normal so you could enjoy the day, and standing staunch in your anger toward him and keeping your ground, you know that your feelings are valid.

To distract yourself, you slipped out of bed, leaving Joel behind, and wandered downstairs to make some coffee for yourself and breakfast for Sarah. Not long after you got some pancakes started, the sound of tiny, lightweight steps descended the stairs. A mop of curls rounded the corner, Sarah with a bright smile on her face when you greeted each other good morning.

After you served up some pancakes for her, the heavy steps you recognize so well tumbled down the stairs, sending a wave of annoyance to your peaceful morning. You glanced up at Joel when he entered the kitchen, flicking your eyes to Sarah distracted by the book in her hands and the plate in front of her.

Joel approaches you to your side, standing slightly behind to reach over to the cabinet with the mugs in it. As he leaned over, his head turned and moved toward your cheek, lips pursed. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him and swerved out of the way, turning around to make your way over to the table to sit with Sarah.

God, does he think after last night he can waltz in here and try to kiss you good morning without any sort of apology first?

He’s got his head up his ass, clearly.

Coffee poured, Joel shuffled over to the table, sitting across from you with a long sigh. The rest of breakfast is filled with avoiding his attempts at touches, a hand across the surface, legs brushing underneath. Sarah told you both about what happened in her book and after, excitedly made a plan for the aquarium and what animals were must-sees.

Questions from Joel were answered with one word, his own attitude seeping into his voice with clipped answers given back to you. Sarah was none the wiser, or at least didn’t mention it, and you left shortly after your coffee was finished to change and shower at your own place.

The car ride to the aquarium was only filled with conversation that involved the younger Miller, your hands clasped together in your lap, and Joel’s own gripping the steering wheel. Tension in the cab of his truck was palpable between the two of you, thick with defiance for the other person.

If either of you were known as one thing, it was stubborn.

And stubbornness is what has brought the two of you to stand in front of an expansive wall of glass, a rainbow of tropical fish gliding through the deep blue water and coursing around growths of coral and seaweed, a few feet apart with Sarah pressing her hands against the glass and pointing out all of the fish she knows from Finding Nemo.

You hike the strap of your bag up onto your shoulder, crossing your arms in front of your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as Joel shifts his weight back and forth on his feet, his own arms woven together against his chest. Even with quick glances, you can tell his jaw is clenched, his brow furrowed, shoulders taut and tense. With the last look toward him, you catch his stare, emotion unreadable.

His arms move to uncross, his feet shifting his weight forward in a step that seems like it’s coming toward you. In a flashing second, you’re moving away from his step, avoidance at the front of your mind while the glisten of water shines in your field of vision, tunneled around Sarah. You stand behind her, holding onto her shoulder while you listen intently to her spewing off facts about some of the fish.

With a look over your shoulder, Joel is across the room, reading about the coral reef habitat. Pulling your attention again, Sarah moves from under your touch, taking your hand and leading you toward her dad and onto the next. While the three of you are walking together, Sarah links you together holding both of your hands and tugging you toward one of her must-sees, the Beluga whales.

There’s a crowd in front of the smaller viewpoint into the tank, leaving you to stand and wait on the outskirts of the group. Joel’s shoulders slump, a huff of annoyance escaping his mouth as he rolls his head back with a quiet groan. The noises of frustration catch Sarah’s attention away from her attempts to sneak a peek at the adorably social animals.

“What’s wrong, Daddy?” she inquires innocently.

The dramatics make you roll your eyes slightly, reaching a hand out to brush Sarah’s curls back as you say, “Don’t worry about it, Sare Bear, Daddy’s in a grumpy mood today.”

The words taste bitter in your mouth, slicing malice in your voice as you turn to aim the comment toward Joel instead of Sarah. Locking your stare with his deep brown eyes, squinting in challenge to you. His head tilts to the side slightly, and you hold his glare with your own, waiting for his own flay of you.

Joel rolls his eyes, shaking his head slowly before he turns to Sarah, plastering a tight, comforting smile on his face.

“Why are you grumpy, Daddy? You get to see all the cool fish today and sharks and dolphins. It’s fun!” Sarah grins, satisfied with her pitch for him to start having fun.

“I’m alright, mija, and I’m excited to learn about all the animals from you,” Joel explains before he turns his head toward you, “I think I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed — right, Mari?” 

Fucking smart ass.

You bite your tongue, ignoring the pointed comment, and keep your eyes trained ahead, pointing to an opening where Sarah can sneak in to see the belugas. It leaves you and Joel standing alone again, an opportunity arising for a moment of confrontation for him.

“Is it gonna be like this all day?” he questions, irritation evident in his tone and his body language — hands on his hips, one leg popped out to the side, and a scowl on his face.

“I don’t know, Joel. Why don’t you ask yourself that question? ‘Cause you have your own panties in a twist if I’m hearing you correctly.” You turn away from him, focusing ahead again on the window into the tank, rolling your shoulders back and standing straight.

Mumbling under his breath, Joel relaxes his stance and watches Sarah, “Christ, you’re gettin’ on my nerves.”

That’s rich coming from him. He’s the one with such an attitude, he’s the one who was acting like a child last night, shutting down the conversation so he didn’t have to hear your side and then stomping off when you pressed on.

And now he’s saying that you’re getting on his nerves? For not letting everything be brushed under the rug?

Doubt worms its way into your mind while the three of you continue to explore the aquarium. Space stays physically between you and Joel, the only fleeting touches when you get pushed together in crowds walking around or when Sarah makes the two of you get together for a picture on your camera in front of one of the tanks. No affection is exchanged, only a grudge simmering among you both.

He watches you with Sarah, walking ahead of him with your hand in hers, allowing her to run ahead and leave you behind. The expression on your face turns sour every time he saddles up next to you, alighting the flames of his frustration yet again.

“Can you stop acting like you’re in such a foul mood for fucks sake? We’re at the aquarium, should be enjoyable,” he grumbles to you, clenching his jaw and puffing his chest out.

“I am having a good time, Joel. Maybe you’re projecting your pissy mood onto me.”

Of course, now you’re denying it. He’s spent virtually the last three years with you, and you don’t think that he knows how to read you?

You’re being so unreasonable. Not even giving him a chance to make it up to you — not even letting him greet you this morning and try to make it better.

“My pissy mood? You’re the one who’s avoiding me and can’t even keep the disgust off your face when I stand next to you. And to add to it—”

“Enough.”

The conversation screeches to a halt there when you interrupt him, Sarah walking up with a bright smile on her face. The two of you lead off in another direction, toward the dolphin show with the trainers that you booked in extra for Sarah to see. At the time, it seemed like a great idea, but now, he’s praying that somehow it doesn’t happen so he can get to the end of this day faster.

Shuffling along the entrance path along with the other attendees, Sarah stands in front of you while Joel stands behind. His eyes bore holes in the back of your head, replaying the back and forth from the night before, the sinking feeling of waking up alone.

Are you ever going to give him a chance to talk to you about everything, or are you going to stew until you’re content?

Joel finds a free spot on the stepped seating, seeing over all the heads scrambling to find a spot. He leads the three of you up, centered for an ideal view. The arrangement ends up with Joel in the middle when he lets Sarah into the aisle first, broad-shoulder bumping into you when you sit next to him. You place your bag in your lap, toying with the clasps to keep your hands busy.

In a moment like this, you would normally lean into his side, your warmth blanketing him and you would be giggling with Sarah about something while your hand rests on his thigh or intertwined with his.

There’s a chill in the space you have attempted to create, his side feeling bare with the breeze of AC. He sits, focusing his hardened stare on the pool with trainers showing off the traits and quirks of the animals.

In his right ear, he hears your voice under your breath, “Would it kill you to throw on a smile about the fucking dolphins?”

So that answers his question. You’re going to stew.

Joel works his jaw side to side, a sarcastic smirk donning his face as he directs his words toward you at his side, “I am smiling.”

A laugh cuts through clapping from everyone surrounding you, your hand patting his denim-clad thigh in fake consolation.

“If that’s smiling, you’ve got a bad case of resting bitch face.”

The place on his leg where you touch burns for your hand to press against it again, and he clenched his fist in an attempt to will away the desire.

It’s easier with the anger simmering in his chest, more so at himself rather than you. Yes, you’re getting on his nerves, so fucking much today, but he also wishes he could go back to last night and just hear you out. Even if he didn’t really want to hear about it, it would be better than what he’s ended up in now.

He keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the show, putting a smile on his face when Sarah looks at him, pointing out and repeating everything that happened. It makes you laugh, sharing a grin with Sarah across from you, and the sound quells his annoyance for a moment.

The feeling comes right back in a different way when the show finishes, with everyone funneling down the stairs to get out, the three of you get caught in a jam. Joel huffs a breath out at the lack of spatial awareness from those surrounding him, annoyance rushing to the forefront of his mind yet again. You’re in front of him, gripping Sarah’s shoulders to keep her tethered, and the pressing of everyone all together brings you a mere inches away, Joel’s hand hovering over your waist out of habit.

As the crowd moves again, you direct Sarah to walk forward when a grown man pushes through some of the bodies, colliding with your side and causing you to stumble and nearly topple over Sarah. His hands immediately catch you by your waist, righting you to stand up straight and leave you with Sarah as he follows a few steps in the open wake of the asshole. The same feeling of anger sears in his chest, hurling it toward anyone who deserves it, even wanting to hurl it at himself, for even just a few minutes.

“Hey! Watch it, man! You just ran into my girlfriend and my daughter. Don’t need to be a jerk, everyone is trying to get out at the same place,” his voice carries over everyone, his hand landing on the guy’s shoulder and clamping down, “I think you and me are gonna wait here nicely. Until everyone gets out in front of us, it’s only polite, right?”

His smile is loaded with intimidation, keeping things light enough to keep attention away after the initial confrontation. You and Sarah walk hand in hand, and he hears a whisper from you as you pass, “Thanks.”

Fingers brushing against your back again when you walk away, he waits until the last person is out of the pathway before letting the man go, choice words exchanged with grumbles before Joel goes to find the two of you, standing in front of the nearby penguin exhibit. There’s a staff member at the edge of the habitat, lecturing about the little suit-and-tie animals when he approaches, standing near to you without reaching out again.

You shift anxiously next to him, feeling his stare at the side of your face. Ice-cold gaze stays trained on the aquarium staff talking to the small group gathered, Sarah has made her way to the front to listen intently and peer over the glass wall at the fuzzy younglings waddling around.

“And you know what is such a fun fact about penguins?” the lecturer asks rhetorically, “Penguins have long been upheld as an example of romance in the animal kingdom. When they pair off to breed, those pair bonds can last a lifetime. Just like so many amazing human relationships!”

Ha, of course, this is the spiel that you get stuck listening to with Joel standing right next to you. Out of all the times when you could have visited the aquarium, it happens when the two of you are fighting about exactly that — if it’s going to be for life.

Without a chance to bite your tongue, under your breath, loud enough for Joel to hear, you mutter, “Do you think they tell their parents right away?”

In your periphery, Joel’s head snaps to look directly at you, shoulders tensing, jaw clenching, and head shaking as he opens and closes his mouth a few times, gaping like a fish out of water. Before he can muster any response, the short lecture concludes, the staff member retreating through an ‘Employees Only’ door. Sarah bounds up to you both, grabbing your hands and dragging you to the front to look into the lives of the penguins.

“Look, come look!” Sarah leans against the glass panel, pointing over the top of it. Joel follows her finger to a small cluster of penguins, two adults and one little one, fluffy and grey. Turning over her shoulders to look at both of you one at a time, she giggles quietly and looks back at the animals, sharing her observation, “They’re just like us! Daddy, and then that one’s Posey and the little one is me!”

You’re better at reacting at the moment than he is, nodding along with a genuine smile for Sarah, always genuine when you’re with her, and asking her questions pertaining to all that she knows about penguins to shift the subject.

But Joel is stuck there, staring at the trio on the ice. They huddle together before one of the adult ones, the shorter one, the one that’s supposed to be you, waddles away to the edge and dives in. The little one eagerly trails after her, following suit while the larger adult, the one that is meant to be him — the father — waits for the pair to be together safely before he jumps in to join them.

A unit of three.

That’s what he’s got. What he wants. What he had?

Sarah’s observation replays in his mind, the reminder to him that it’s not only about him in all of this. 

The two of you may be the ones fighting, maybe the ones attempting to stick it out over the other to avoid talking about everything and win, but it’s Sarah who has to watch it all happen. She’s already seen this when he was with Tiff, when she was a baby, but if it’s the same behavior of arguing and ignoring until someone caves, she’s definitely going to remember it now.

And she loves you so much. He couldn’t take being the reason she experiences more loss in her life. He saw what you leaving at the end of each summer did to her, and now, when you’ve been woven into their lives completely, how would she understand that ending?

He has to start thinking about her again, to put her needs first. And she needs someone like you in her life, even if this all ends with you not wanting to be in his.

Those thoughts consumed his mind for the rest of the day, continuing to give you your space, but at this point, it was because he was lingering back in slow steps while he thought back on this last summer with you, how it was the happiest he’s been, well, ever, and that it’s been the happiest he’s seen Sarah in a long time.

And no matter how you slice it, it all comes back to you.

Words sit in his throat when his truck pulls into his driveway in the evening. He climbs out to open Sarah’s door for her and tells her to run ahead inside. Rounding the car to where you’re standing at the passenger door, he sticks his hands in his front pockets, scuffing his boot across the concrete surface as he attempts to find what he needs to say.

Before he can speak, you do, exhaustion heavy in your tone, “I’m going to stay at home tonight. I think…Maybe we just need tonight to get some space after all that happened today.”

“Oh, um, yeah. Understood.” He nods curtly and turns away to walk to the front door, looking back and meeting your eyes as you do the same from his lawn.

“Um, would you say goodnight to Sarah for me, please?”

“Yeah, I’ll tell her, Mari ba—Night.” Joel watches as you turn around again, not looking back a second time while you traipse across to your lawn, wandering around the side to go to your own door. You disappear as you round the corner of your house, and at the last sliver of you waning from view, a dull pain aches in his chest.

Pressing a palm against his shirt, he drags himself inside and closes the front door behind him, turning to the sound when he hears Sarah’s voice before he sees her curls bouncing as she peers around from the staircase.

“Where’s Posey?”

“Oh, she’s gonna sleep at home tonight, Bug.”

Tossing his keys on the table, he turns back to his daughter and sees defeat wash over her face.

“Did Posey not have fun at the aquarium today?” Her voice is small when she asks, and the timidness hits the ache in Joel’s chest even harder.

He stammers out an answer, quick to explain away, “No, no, mija, of course, she had fun.”

Reaching a hand out to brush her hair away from her face, he bends down to be eye level with her standing a few steps up from the ground.

“I was worried. Especially cause she doesn’t usually go home right away, like, she stays with you, Daddy, and I thought maybe she wanted to go home cause she didn’t have fun and I feel like it would be ‘cause of me ‘cause I made her go with us cause I wanted her to go.”

Guilt draws acidic bile into his throat, drawing a sigh from his lips that he keeps quiet.

Of course, she isn’t stupid. She’s the smartest kid he knows, and he should have known that she would think something was going on. But her blaming herself is eating him alive, if he could only explain away everything to comfort her.

“Don’t you worry, Bug, Mari had tons of fun. She was jus’ tired after such a big day, y’know? I know she loved coming to the aquarium with you. She really likes spending time with you, mija.”

“I love having Posey around. She’s so cool, and she loves to hear about all my animal facts and all about my books. I love her!” Sarah beams, and Joel returns her smile with a tight grin, nodding as he comes to an agreement with one thing.

“I love her too, Bug.”

Sticky humidity is still thick in the air hours after the sun’s gone down. A spitting of stars litter the deep midnight blue sky. Moonlight and the warm, low glow of the back porch lights ripple across the surface of the pool water, blurring in your eyes as your stare unfocuses. Deep in thought and tunnel-visioned on the water, you don’t hear anything around you.

“What the hell are you staring at?”

The sound makes you jump, eyes focusing again with a few rapid blinks and heart rate pumping when you turn toward the side that the voice came from. Your brother, Chris, stares at you with an eyebrow raised and mouth tilted in confusion. A shake of your head grounds you fully, feeling the woven plastic material of the lounge chair against the skin of your legs exposed from your shorts. Seconds tick on with empty air hanging between the two of you, finally breaking through the noise in your head to answer him.

“Nothing, nothing. I was just staring.” You shrug and bend your knees to tuck your legs against your chest, swatting away a mosquito swarming around you.

“Okay…If you were starin’ at nothing, then you must’ve been thinkin’ about something. Or have you totally gone brain-dead?” Chris smirks as you laugh dryly at his poke, turning to the side when he takes a seat on the chair next to you.

Sometimes you hate how well he can read you. Why can’t he be the aloof and uncaring brother you always see on TV and in movies?

“Not brain-dead. Wish I could turn it off for a bit.”

“Well, can’t help you do that. But if it helps to unload any of the shit going on in there—” he gestures in circles around his head with one hand, “I’m happy to listen, sis.”

Something in the invitation, the open door that Chris has given you, parts the floodgates. Before you can second-guess it or overthink it, you’re spilling it all to your brother sitting across from you; the words continue, and it brings about that swirling mix of excitement and anxiety that stirs to life in your gut.

What is Joel going to say when he finds out you said something to Chris? What if this is the straw that breaks the camel’s back?

But it feels nice to be able to share — even the ugly stuff from the last two and a half summers, basically the last two and a half years. Part of you, of your life, has been kept secret from those closest to you and now you have finally made the decision, taken it all into your hands, and are saying something. Sharing how much you care, how much you love him. 

A deep breath fills your lungs when nothing has been left unsaid, tears that went unnoticed through your recollection dry in ribbons against your cheeks. Chris sits there silently, his leg bouncing with nerves and eyes staring off as he drinks the information in. Another beat of cicadas chirping blankets the space in sound before he clears his throat and focuses his stare back onto you.

“I, uh, well, I think I knew, or I should say I had a feeling. I mean, not from the very beginning, but that first summer, you were like really sad going back to school and I have never seen you like that. And the only change was Joel being around,” Chris explains, fiddling with his fingers and silence overcomes the small bubble that the two of you created.

His words echo in your ears, replaying over and over until you can’t help but bark out a laugh, covering your mouth to muffle the uncontrollable sound. Tears from laughter wash away the evidence of sadness from minutes before, taking a moment to calm your breaths and wipe away the salty drops.

Shaking your head, a wide and incredulous smile on your face, you stare back at the light on the water and murmur, “God, I wish you could walk over to Joel’s and tell him that. Jus’ to give him a bit of a reality check. The longer we go on, the less slick we are going to become. And everyone, especially Mom and Dad, are gonna realize. I mean, you’re not even that observant and you had a feeling before we even were really together.”

Chris laughs quietly and shrugs nonchalantly, reaching an arm out to nudge you in your seat, “Y’know I would if you really wanted me to.”

You wave the offer off, looking over your shoulder to Joel’s house, the light from his bedroom peeking through the curtains. “Nah, we have to talk it out. I need to tell him all of what’s going on in here.”

Making the same gesture as he did, hand circling your head, Chris stands up and nods curtly. One of his hands finds the top of your head, patting it in the smallest of affections, “My other offer is to kick Joel’s ass if you want me to.”

“Oh, yeah? Think you could take him?”

“I know I could. ‘Specially if he’s being a jackass to my sister.”

Another shake of your head, and the first genuine and gentle smile of the last few days, close the conversation, eyes meeting Chris’s as your mouth ticks up in a soft smile, “Thanks, little brother. Love ya.”

“Any time, older sister…” he moves toward the stairs up to the deck and the sliding door to the main house, turning around halfway to add, “For what it’s worth if y’all can figure this out, I think he’d be lucky to have you. He’d be stupid to not make it work, but I think Joel’s a pretty smart man.”

“I’d like to think so, too.”

“Daddy?”

“Yeah, mija? Qué paso?” Joel glances in the rearview mirror as he comes to a stoplight. He left the worksite early to pick up Sarah from camp, ready to head home and find something else to occupy his mind until he ends up in bed alone and thinking about you.

Sarah meets his eyes in the reflection from her place in the backseat, grinning and batting her eyelashes, “Can Posey come over tonight? I want to show her the new pattern I learned for friendship bracelets. I think she would be so good at it, and maybe we could make some for each other. Do you think you can ask her to come hang out?”

Joel takes a long inhale before exhaling in a sigh, easing up the brake when the light switches to green. He thinks for a beat, the thought of you not even bothering to answer the message he would send to ask crossing his mind quickly before he dismisses it.

You wouldn’t do that. Not if it’s about Sarah.

You would come, and you would listen all about her day at camp, and you would make bracelets with her and watch whatever new TV show she’s obsessed with, and—

You would just be there. You’ve always been there.

Agreeing to ask, Sarah continues her discussion of what Katie did at camp while they were playing kickball for the rest of the drive home. Once she gets settled and occupied in her bedroom, Joel paces the kitchen, writing, deleting, and rewriting a handful of texts to you.

None of them seem right. And even if they did, there’s not a high chance he’ll be able to bring himself to actually send it.

That logic is why he is finding himself with his cell phone pressed against his ear, dial tones with your number on the screen reverberating against his eardrum.

Fuck, what if you don’t answer and he has to leave a message? He has no idea what to say.

What if you do answer?

His anxious spiraling screeches to a halt when the ringing stops and a shuffle comes over the line before he hears your voice.

“Hello?”

He takes a second too long before he scrambles to return your greeting, his legs carrying him back and forth in front of the kitchen cabinets. “Um, hey, hi, Mariposa.”

“Hi, Joel.”

Your voice curling around his name relaxes his shoulders, a breath of fresh air to hear that again, even if the last time was only just over a day ago.

“Did you…Hold on, sorry—” distantly, he hears you speaking to your nanny kid, catching himself smiling when he hears you being so nurturing.

Once you’re back on the phone, you ask, trailing off as you wait for him to answer, “Did you need something or…?”

“Oh, no. Not need, and not me. Sarah asked me today on the way home from camp if I would ask you to come over to hang out,” he cringes at how he sounds, “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to—”

“I’ll come over. Is after seven alright? I have a late night nannying tonight.”

Joel stops in his path, a warm, oozing feeling spreading inside at the thought of you around again. He keeps his voice as level as possible, rubbing the back of his neck with his palm.

“Seven’s great, Mari. We’ll see you then, I’m sure Sare will be real excited,” he takes a beat before adding, “D’you, would you maybe want to talk after Sarah heads to sleep?”

Your sigh comes through his receiver, deflating his spirit the smallest bit. 

“Yeah, that’s—I think it would be good to talk.”

“Good, good…Um, guess I’ll see you in a few hours then?”

“See you later, Joel.”

The next words hang on the top of his tongue, his brain hesitating for a handful of heart beats before they spill out.

“Love you.”

Dead air crackles in the speaker, and for a moment Joel thinks the call must have dropped.

“Love you too,” you return quietly, a wash of awkwardness coating the interaction before the two of you say your goodbyes again and hang up.

Three friendship bracelets later, and two rerun episodes of Sarah’s latest favorite show, it’s time for Sarah to head to sleep.

“G’head and say goodnight to Mari,” he nods toward you on the couch and Sarah walks over, flopping into your open arms and giggling quietly with you. Wrapping your arms around her in a tight squeeze, you kiss the side of her head and let her go.

“Night, sweet pea. Have a good sleep,” you smile softly at her as she stands up from the couch.

“G’night, Posey. Love you!” Sarah calls back as she runs over to climb upstairs, leaving you on the couch as your eyes find Joel’s in an instant.

You call out your own reply as quick as you can after the initial surprise, “Love you too!”

An involuntary grin spreads across your face, and he matches it, shrugging and opening his mouth as if to say something before he hesitates and follows Sarah up the stairs. Joel walks her up, waiting for her to brush her teeth before she gets into bed. He leans over, brushing back her hair from her face with a gentle smile and kissing her forehead.

“Goodnight, Bug. Dulces sueños (Sweet dreams),” Joel speaks low, reaching up to turn off her bedside lamp.

“Night, Daddy. Is Posey gonna pick me up from camp tomorrow? She hasn’t in a couple of days.”

Joel pauses, swallowing and looking at his daughter curled up in bed. His stomach turns as he has a final thought on everything regarding you. That even if he’s afraid of reality coming and crashing into you both completely, he needs to accept it. That you two can work through it together, but he can’t let you go for his sake and especially Sarah’s sake.

He loves you, so much, and there’s not a future he wants to have without you in it.

He wants you there for all the good days and bad, all the rest of Sarah’s milestones to celebrate with him. Her growing up, getting to high school, her first date, her graduation, her college experience. Everything.

All he wants is to have you around, plain and simple. No matter what comes along with that, he has to be ready for it cause he certainly isn’t ready to lose you.

“I’m not sure yet, mija. I’ll talk to her and tell you in the morning, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” Sarah nestles further into her bed, curling the blanket under her chin and closing her eyes. Joel shuts out the lamp, walking to her door and looking back at her falling asleep.

“Te quiero, mija.”

“I love you too, Daddy.”

Closing the door quietly, he takes a breath at the top of the stairs, attempting to gather his thoughts. He paces small circles in the hallway, clasping his fingers into a fist and releasing it repeatedly. Tenson builds in his chest as anxiety pumps in his veins, lately it feels as natural as his blood circulating his body. Treads of his even steps leave footprints in the carpet, another deep breath taken before he descends the stairs and walks into the living room again.

Eyes finding you, he combs over your profile, down to your legs curled up underneath you on the sofa, watching whatever sitcom rerun was on. At the sound of his heavy steps, you turn toward him, pressing your lips into a flat line as you shift your position in acknowledgement. Joel’s steps stammer as he searches for a seat — the armchair feels much too far away from you, the pull he feels never dulled throughout your days arguing, and the spot next to you seems too close, not wanting to push the limits of getting you to stay and talk things out. Strangely, he settles on clearing one side of the hefty wooden coffee table, sitting in the empty space to be across from you.

Just close enough, but a comfortable amount of space between.

“Joel, what are you doing?” you ask as you sit up, the slightest hint of a smile on your face. He knows he probably looks ridiculous, all broad shoulders and sturdy legs fitting in the space between the couch and the table.

“Um, I didn’t know where to sit,” he answers honestly, shrugging with a soft chuckle, “The chair seemed too far, and I didn’t think you’d want me right next to you on the couch so…coffee table.”

A genuine giggle slips out of your mouth, your hand reaching up to cover your mouth. A grin lifts one side of his mouth, tension slowly dissolving from his chest, the warmth of the interaction melting the ice between the two of you. A shake of your head and returning your hand to your lap, you take a breath to collect yourself.

“You’re so weird. But I get the logic…” Your nerves show in the way your lacing and unlacing your fingers together, working your bottom lip between your teeth.

“So…” Joel starts, trailing off as he locks his eyes with yours.

“So?” you return, right eyebrow raising in curiosity.

“So, talking.”

“That is what we are doing, yes, Joel. Well, sort of,” you huff out a laugh again, the action lighting up your irises even in the dim, warm lighting.

“Sorry, sorry, I just—I have things I want to say but saying them is proving difficult.” Joel runs his hand over his face, sighing and curling his shoulders into his chest. “First things first, I’m sorry, Mari. I shouldn’t have dismissed you that night, I should have let you say your piece. And then I really shouldn’t have tried to act like nothing happened and then having an attitude with you at the aquarium. If anything, you were completely justified in giving me shit, I deserved it, I deserve all of it and more with the way I ignored your feelings. I’m so sorry, Mariposa.”

Silence falls over the room as he sits up straight, holding his breath as he awaits anything in response from you. Wringing his hands together, he reels in his mind over what you could say, what you could do. 

Will you let him back in or will you just tell him it’s over? Is tonight going to go well, or sort of well, or be the worst night?

Joel is pulled out of his thoughts when your hands stretch across the gap, covering his own and stilling them in their anxious motions. His eyes flick to your face, a knowing look making him slip his hands from each other, turning one over and taking yours in his.

“You can take a deep breath, Joel. I know you’re spiraling about the worst case scenario, but I don’t want that. I promise.” You shoot him a comforting smile and give him a squeeze of his hand. “Thank you, for the apology. I feel like I owe you one too, mostly for the penguin comment…”

Joel laughs when you wince, head shaking back and forth, “That was a good line, darlin’, I won’t accept an apology for that. That was completely justified.”

“Oh my god, shush. Let me finish,” you swat away his response and continue, your hand still in his, “I feel like…What I wanted to tell you that night was that it makes me feel like you don’t want to be a part of my life, when you keep saying you’re not ready to tell my family. I love being in your life, I love Sarah and I love Tommy, as annoying as he is sometimes. And I love you, J. I love you so much, which is why it hurts so much when I have to keep this a secret from the people closest to me. I want them to know you as my Joel, not just neighbor Joel. I feel like all of this is supposed to tell me that maybe you don’t want to like…solidify everything with me. To have the future completely open for us.”

“No, baby, no. I don’t — Fuck, I feel so stupid. I want everything with you, I don’t want a future that doesn’t have you there, at my side or helping me through all the shit that life throws at us. I love you so much, Mari baby. You’re the best thing to come into my life since Sarah was born, and well, didn’t let her go and I’m not lettin’ you go. I just…I get so scared when I think about telling your family. I don’t know what their reactions are gonna be, I want to be exactly who they want for you, but I don’t feel like I can ever be what I think you deserve, so how are they supposed to feel? I guess it’s like we have still a sliver of something that is just ours, and I am terrified of taking that final step and fucking it all up. I can’t disappoint the people who love you, and I’ll be damned if I let you down. But I feel like I’m already fucking it up. And I don’t know what to do.”

“You’re not fucking things up, J. Yeah, you annoyed the shit out of me cause your head was up your ass, but that isn’t reason for me to give up all that we have built together.” Your free hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, searching his eyes before you continue. “They’re going to love you. They already do love you, baby.”

“That’s as their friendly neighbor, not the man who’s been secretly with their daughter for years,” Joel huffs and leans into your touch.

“I’m serious, they are going to love you as my man because you love me and you treat me right. Most times.” A wink brings the slightest smile to his face, turning his head to press a kiss to your palm. “What if…what if we say we tell them by the end of summer? You can take a bit to get used to the idea, and we can figure out how to do it, and then we’ll have nothing else to worry about by the time Sarah starts school again and life gets stressful.”

Nodding, he smiles tenderly and leans in closer, slowly dropping from the coffee table to kneel in front of you. Joel brushes his fingers along your cheekbone, down to your jaw before he holds the side of your neck.

“I can get behind that idea, Mariposa. I don’t want to hold us back any longer.”

“You weren’t holding us back, J. You were just scared. But next time, you know you can talk to me right? I don’t want you to be feeling all that alone.” Looking down at him with doting eyes, you await for him to confirm.

“I know, Mari baby. Not gonna happen again. And you know you can tell me anything? Especially if you’re getting annoyed as shit with me.”

“You don’t want to know how often you do that, baby.” You smirk teasingly, and he can’t help but laugh, running his other palm up and down your thigh. Inches away, he stretches to nudge his nose against yours, tracing down to hover his lips over yours.

“I love you, Mariposa.”

“I love you too, Joel.”

His hand on your neck moves up a few inches to tilt your jaw toward him, connecting your lips in a delicate kiss. A sigh leaves your lips when he pulls away, your own hands reaching up to grip his shoulders and keep him close. Warm breaths meld together as the two of you sit in the thick of the moment, everything so silent he feels like you must be able to hear how hard his heart is beating.

The tension built over the last few days of avoiding touching or kissing or even being near each other snaps when you bow toward Joel, embracing him with more fervor. Your lips ebb and flow, heat growing between the two of you as hands skim over, groping everywhere that you were burning for each other’s touch.

Breathless and wanting, Joel shifts to stand, propping a knee on the couch next to you, all while keeping his lips locked with yours. You take the initiative to lay back, tugging on the sides of his t-shirt to drag him to hover over you. Legs spread for him to settle between, one of his arms propping himself above you, the other palming your breast through your shirt and bra. A whimper escapes from your mouth at the next breath, Joel’s mouth disconnecting from yours to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

He works to pull your shirt over your head, and you pull yourself off the couch to get the material off completely. In another motion, your bra is unclasped and tossed aside, his mouth finding the peaks of your breasts and sucking while his fingers give attention to the opposite.

“Joel..” you gasp when he tugs gently with his teeth, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling him up to your lips again. Joel’s shirt comes off next, landing in a pile with your own clothes, feeling his bare skin against yours when he presses against you.

“Missed you so much, Mari baby. Never wanna be away from you again,” he whispers back to you, forehead against yours.

“Me too, J. Can I show you how much I missed you?” you proposition, his eyes lighting up with intrigue as he slowly nods. Your hands come to his shoulders, pushing him off of you to sit back on the couch. Fingers slip in the waistband of his pants, working his button open and zipper down, pulling the material and his boxers off. A relieved, nearly inaudible sigh leaves his lips, cock slapping against his stomach. His doe eyes find your face as you lick your palm and start slowly stroking him, quiet moans held back as his hand reaches up to stroke your cheek. You turn your head to kiss his palm before folding yourself over his lap, taking the tip of him in your mouth.

“Fuck, darlin’, so good to me. Don’t deserve you,” he praises you as you find a rhythm, bobbing your head as you shift your legs next to him. His hand coasts down from your head down your curved spine to your ass, grabbing a handful as he hits the back of your throat. A louder moan kicks from his throat, his opposite hand finding his mouth for him to bite on his fingers to stay quiet.

You push him to the edge only to pull away from him at the last moment, a muffled groan rumbling from his chest. He grabs you when you sit up, kissing you hard as he coaxes you to lay back.

“Love you so fucking much, Mari. So beautiful, so perfect,” he speaks against your skin, trailing kisses down your torso. He peels your shorts off of you, your panties following in their wake. His movements are rushed, but his affections slow and syrupy, oozing warmth inside of you along with his touches.

Spreading your legs, he lets out a deep sigh, licking his lips before he kisses your inner thighs, ghosting and tender against the velvety skin. Tiny whimpers leave your mouth while you watch him inch closer to where you need him, want him, the most.

“Joel, baby, please—” His thumb applying pressuring to your clit and moving in languid circles cuts you off with a moan, the sound cutting through the quiet of the house. He smirks from between your legs, shaking his head as he speaks low and raspy.

“Quiet, sweetheart. Gotta keep those pretty sounds to a whisper for me, okay?” he questions rhetorically, testing you when he drags two fingers between your folds, gathering your wetness and circling your clit again.

Without another response from you, Joel doesn’t waste anothe second before getting his mouth on your, lapping up your arousal and groanig to himself against your skin. Whines ring from your lips, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging before he slips his tongue into your entrance, fucking you slow with the strong muscle.

“Oh my god, J, feels so good. God, missed you so much. Few days too long not being able to touch you,” you punctuate the sentence with a whine, Joel switching it up to suck your clit and slip two fingers into you. The praise gives him a burst of need to satisfy, to prove himself capable of being the only one to make you feel this good. In another moment, he’s got you coming apart on his tongue, lapping up the sweetness of you.

You’re quick to pull him up for a messy kiss, whispers of nothing between the two of you while he thrusts inside your waiting entrance, filling you with a delicious stretch that sends your mind reeling. Deep, hard motions drive into you, one arm holding him above you and his lips locked with yours. Your hands explore over his torso, wrapping your arms around to his back and holding yourself to him. Pulling away, his eyes find yours with his lips part in heavy breaths, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Te amo, Mariposa. Te quiero muchísimo. Nunca más querrás pelear contigo. nunca quiero lastimarte. (I love you, Mariposa. I love you so much. Never going to fight with you again. Never want to hurt you.) Gonna protect you and that golden heart of yours, sweet girl.”

A wanton moan escapes from your parted lips, holding your gaze in his when you feel tears prick your eyes. Not able to figure out if it’s from all the emotion spilling out or from the pleasure he’s giving you, but something splits inside that opens the flood gates of your own feelings for Joel. In a second, your grip on him gives you the leverage to press him back to sit, straddling him as you start to ride him, the air thick and heavy with heat as Joel peppers kisses to your chest. He leans back against the sofa, tilting his head up to study your face while you fuck yourself on his cock.

He’s looking at you as if your God’s gift to the world — to him. That all of the shit he’s waded through in his life, it was all worth it to have you in the end. Knows he needs you, wants you desperately, for the rest of his life and would give anything to make that happen.

“M’gonna marry you, my beautiful girl. Made my life so much better from the second I met you. No puedo vivir sin ti a mi lado. (I can’t live without you by my side.) Don’t make me live another second without you. Gonna get you a ring and do all right for you, my Mari baby, but promise me you’ll be mine. Para siempre. (Forever.)”

You grip his shoulders tighter, moving your hips faster and looking down at him, one hand moving to caress his cheek.

“Siempre, baby. Always. I’d say yes to you a million times over. I promise, it’s you and me, J. I love you.” A handful of tears escape, and Joel is quick is wipe them away, kissing you deeply and nudging his nose against you as his warm breath spreads across your face.

Another beat of your hearts together, and you’re right at the edge, moaning his name quietly. He plants his feet to stay steady while he thrusts up into you, one arm wrapped around your waist.

“Gonna come, fuck, pretty girl. Feels so fuckin’ good.”

“Me…Me too, J. Oh my god—” you whisper back to him.

“Come for me, Mari baby.” The next second, there’s a crackling fire burning inside as hot pleasure spreads across your body, all the way through your fingers and toes. Joel stutters from under you, coming apart at the same moment as you. Ropes of his come paint yours walls, sweet moans spilling from his lips as he fucks you through it.

Falling out of the haze, Joel’s arms snake around you and hold you against him, your head finding the crook of his neck when you fall forward. He kisses your temple and rocks you gently, silence blanketing the room while you both catch your breaths.

Joel breaks first, rasp ringing in your ear, “I hope you know that doesn’t count as my proposal. Gonna do it all right for you, Mari baby. You deserve fireworks and rose petals and white doves flying around. Whatever you want.”

A giggle from you makes him smile, and you pick up your head to look him in the eye, devotion filling them and sending a tingle through his spine.

“I don’t need all that stuff, J. Jus’ need you to ask, and I’ll say yes.”

Your hand caresses his cheek, thumb brushing against his cheekbone as your match his smile.

“Love you, Joel.”

“Te amo, Mari.”

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[nicoline1998enilocin]

A bun in the oven | Part 1

PAIRING | Baker!Boyfriend!Tony Stark x Girlfriend!Employee!Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT | 5.8K

SUMMARY | The relationship between you and Tony has been going steady for a while, and Tony is ready to take the next step in your relationship as he asks you to move in with him and his cat, Oliver. When you find out you're pregnant not long after the move, your relationship takes an unexpected turn, but you and Tony are set on giving your little baby the best life you possibly can.

RATING | Explicit (E)

WARNINGS/TAGS | Established relationship, unspecified age gap, use of nickname (Peach, Detka, Bambi, Baby Girl, Cupcake), parts of Reader's body are described (thighs, stretchmarks, belly), unplanned pregnancy, references to morning sickness.

SMUT | Daddy kink, pregnancy kink, breeding kink, lactation kink, dirty talk, teasing, begging, fingering, squirting, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), overstimulation.

A/N | All I have to say is... wow. I didn't plan for this fic to become this long, but I'm very happy with how it turned out! I want to thank @ccbsrmsf1 for all the help during this fic, from helping me when I was stuck during the writing to supporting me through it all; it all means more than you'll ever know. Thank you so much for proofreading this; your reactions made my experience unforgettable! Eu te amo 💜

EVENTS Masterlist | @fluffbruary Fluffbruary '24 | Bakery Masterlist | @marvel-smash-bingo | Comfort hug Masterlist | @fandom-free-bingo | First ultrasound

Banners: Yours truly | Divider: @firefly-graphics | GIF: @ccbsrmsf1

Main Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | AU Masterlist | Part 2

Today is a long and busy day in the bakery for you, especially since Tony isn't there to run things like he usually does. Every Wednesday is his one day off; this time, it is an absolute rush of people the entire day. Your colleague, Alex, had to be called in as well, and you're delighted when the door finally closes; the bakery case is pretty much empty aside from a few cookies and a few stray pieces of pie.

''Why don't you go home? I'm sure the boss will be happy to see you,'' your colleague and good friend, Wanda, tells you with a wink. Since you and Tony started seeing each other, you have been practically inseparable, and you can't wait to see him and little Oliver again.

''Are you sure you don't need my help-'' you try, but she cuts you off.

''Go home, Detka. You've been here since 6 AM; you deserve to let yourself be taken care of at home,'' she says with a knowing look, and with a sigh, you nod, taking off your apron to go home. The drive is surprisingly fast, and before you know it, you're ringing the bell at Tony's house as he asked you to come over tonight.

The door swings open, and Tony greets you in a casual yet sexy outfit, lightly messed-up curls, and Oliver in his arms. A broad smile adorns his face as he takes in your outfit, which is comfortable yet perfect for the chilly weather outside. Tony is the first to lean in for a kiss, and as soon as your lips meet his, every last thought in your head seems to disappear, and all you can think about is that you're home again with your two favorite boys.

''How's my girl doing today?'' Tony asks as you step in, giving Oliver some scratches as well.

''I'm tired. We had a long and busy day, but I'm happy to be home again with my two favorite guys,'' you say before giving a peck on his lips, needing to stand on your toes to reach him since he's quite a bit taller than you are. After a few last scratches behind Oliver's ears, you venture into Tony's house and see how you need a bath to relax your aching muscles on your way to the bathroom.

''I'm going to take a bath, is that okay? My legs are sore beyond belief, and I could use some relaxation,'' you ask Tony, who confirms you can.

''I'll run it for you, Peach. You can just get undressed, and I'll do the rest,'' he tells you before heading to the bathroom. You trail behind him with your Kindle, but he walks faster than you. When you reach the bathroom, the bath is already half full, and there are many bubbles in your favorite scent, Peach.

You quickly undress yourself as you're facing away from the bathroom, failing to notice Tony walking your way as you're going to unhook your bra.

''Please, let me do it, Peach. I missed you so much today,'' he whispers against your ear, and you can feel your nipples pebble at his words combined with the cool temperature in the bedroom. His fingers unhook the lacy garment without a single problem, letting it fall to the floor and exposing your now hard nipples.

His long fingers get a gentle hold of both of them, stimulating them lightly but enough to have you clenching around nothing and moaning his name softly. Your hips involuntarily buck against his crotch, and you can feel him getting harder in his pants, too, knowing he enjoys this just as much as you - if not more.

''D-Daddy,'' you say in a breathy moan, his hands now cupping your entire breasts, massaging them softly, your hands holding onto his arms as he does so. Not long after, he lets them go to hook his fingers behind the hem of your panties, tugging them down in a smooth motion as he crouches behind you, allowing you to step out of them.

''Turn around for me, Peach,'' he asks in a low voice, and you do without hesitation. His lips place soft kisses on your thighs, whispering sweet words to you, his hands gliding from your calves up to your thighs and butt, where they rest for a moment to massage it as well.

''You're perfect in my eyes, Peach, all these curves adorning your body have me falling in love with you every single day,'' he says as his kisses trail up, placing one on your mound, too, right above your pussy. A wave of arousal flows through you as his lips make contact with your sensitive flesh, leaving you to clench around nothing and wish he was eating you out like a starved man.

''Those heavenly, thick thighs I want to be buried between every day, these beautiful stretch marks adorning your legs and belly, your amazing hips that I can never give enough love, and this perfect, soft, poochy belly that makes you softer than the softest teddy bear,'' he says, placing kisses everywhere before finally getting up, his hands staying on your waist.

''I'm so lucky to call you my girl, Peach, and because of that, I want to discuss something with you over dinner,'' he says before capturing your lips again, your fingers digging into his biceps as he takes your breath away. As he pulls away, a small smile dances on your lips, your eyes closed just a few seconds longer to keep the moment's magic alive.

''I love you, Tony, and I want to thank you for everything,'' you say with a shy smile, met with a broad one adorning his face.

''Oh, my beautiful, delicious Peach, you deserve nothing but the best, and I promise to give you nothing short of that every day. I love you so much, and I should thank you for everything you do for me. You truly make every day brighter with your existence, and I can't wait to spend every day together with you,'' he says, stealing one last, deep kiss before guiding you to the bath.

With one playful smack on your butt, he helps you into the bath, and you let the warm water engulf you as Tony crouches next to the tub so he's at eye level with you.

''You can take as long as you need, alright? I'll get started on dinner for us, and Oliver and I will be waiting for you when you're done,'' he tells you, stroking a piece of your hair behind your ear as he looks at you with nothing but love and adoration. With one last kiss on your forehead, he gets up, lighting a candle on his way out before letting you relax in the hot water, and you open your Kindle, ready to finally finish the book you've been reading.

As you let your muscles relax, you subconsciously let one of your hands rest on your belly. Over the last few months, you and Tony have been talking a little more about the possibility of having children, and even though neither of you is actively trying, you wouldn't say no to getting pregnant sooner than later. Little did you know that Tony couldn't stop thinking about you getting pregnant.

As he's preparing dinner for the two of you tonight, his mind constantly wanders about what it would be like to have a little one. Everything seems to pass the revue from how he would care for you when you're pregnant to how you two would raise them. As he thinks about potential baby names, he suddenly hears your footsteps on the hardwood floor as you walk into the kitchen.

''How was-'' is all he can say before he turns around, his jaw practically on the floor at the sight before him. You're dressed in one of his dress shirts, which is about three sizes too big for you, and from what he can tell, you're wearing little underneath. He can't ignore the way he can feel himself stir in his jeans as he looks you up and down, smirking back at him with an innocent look on your face.

''What's wrong, Daddy? Is there something on my face?'' you ask with a mischievous, semi-innocent tone in your voice that has Tony going crazy for you already. It doesn't take long for him to have you onto the counter, two of his fingers working you through your orgasm, leaving bruises on your neck from the small love bites.

''This was your goal, wasn't it? Driving Daddy so crazy he just had to give you what you so badly wanted?'' he asks you, but you're too far gone even to register what he's asking you. All you know is how the pleasure is taking over your entire brain, and white edges appear in your field of vision as the pleasure is becoming too much, and you squeeze his biceps hard as you cum, your arousal squirting all over your boyfriend's arm and the kitchen floor.

With a satisfied smile, he works you carefully through the rest of your orgasm, giving gentle kisses along the column of your throat, his free hand rubbing your thigh soothingly. A slight whine escapes your lips as he pulls out his strong, thick fingers before holding them out for you, allowing you to lick them clean for him. With a content smile, you lick them clean, listening to Tony whispering sweet words to you.

''I can't wait to start our family, Peach; I bet you'll look even more beautiful when your belly gets nice and round. Our baby will be growing to be a healthy and strong person. God, I hope they'll look just like you, Peach,'' Tony tells you, sealing his words with a gentle kiss on your cheek before he helps you back on the ground, your legs still unsteady under your body.

''Careful there, Bambi! How about this: you go and sit on the couch with our little devil, and I finish dinner while you watch some TV,'' he offers, and you nod in response, finally trusting your legs not to give out from under you.

''I love you, Tony; I'm the luckiest woman on earth,'' your hands grab his cheeks before you pull him down, kissing his lips softly before turning around and settling on the couch. Oliver finds his spot on your lap soon after, but this time, he is adamant about lying his head on your belly as if trying to protect it. You don't think anything of it right now; instead, you give him the scratches he desires while watching TV, just like Tony said.

Thirty minutes later, your dinner is ready, and Tony has set the dining room table already. A few candles light the room in a dim, romantic light, your favorite music plays in the background, and the food looks as delicious as ever. How you got so lucky to have a man who is both a master at baking and cooking is beyond you, but you're not one to complain about it for even a second.

As soon as you're seated and ready to eat, Tony cuts right to the point, impatience taking over as he tries not to wobble his leg up and down the entire time. There's a bit of a lump in his throat as he thinks about how to approach this topic, but eventually, he decides to rip off the bandaid and ask you straight up what he thinks.

''Peach, do you remember when I said I wanted to discuss something over dinner with you?'' he starts, and you nod as you grab some salad.

''I want to discuss you moving in with me - with us. That way, you're closer to the bakery; you and I can spend even more time together that way. And I'm sure Oliver wouldn't object to you moving in, either,'' he says softly as his deep, dark brown eyes look into yours in anticipation of your answer.

''I-I'd love to, but the lease of my apartment isn't up yet for another seven months,'' you tell him, brows knitted as you think about the considerable fine you'll have to pay to end the contract earlier.

''You don't have to worry about that, Peach. I-'' he starts as he thinks about how to bring up his next point. ''- I already paid the fine to get out of your contract, so all you have to do is get your stuff before the end of the month, and you're all set to go.''

Your eyes widen at his confession, and you can feel the butterflies in your stomach go wild at his confession. A broad smile works its way onto your lips, and you quickly get up before straddling Tony's lap as you pepper his face with a bunch of kisses.

''Thank you *kiss* thank you *kiss* thank you!'' you told him, and from that moment on, you were slowly either moving stuff into Tony's house or selling stuff that you didn't need anymore. Before the end of the month, you're officially moved into Tony's house, living with the man you love more than anything in the world.

It's been nearly three months since you officially moved in with Tony, and this morning, you got a chance to sleep in as you're having a day off. You're wrapped in Tony's arms as you're lying on top of him, exchanging slow kisses with a hint of tongue here and there, teasing one another a bit. These mornings are an absolute godsend for you both; you always like to make the most of them.

Tony's hands are roaming over your body, slowly gliding over your waist and hips until they find their place on your butt, squeezing suddenly to get a little yelp out of you, making him chuckle.

''What's going on, Peach?'' he says with a mischievous look, and you can't help but giggle at the sight. His usually dark brown eyes have darkened, and there's a hint of lust in them before he leans forward, catching your lips in a slightly possessive kiss, making your head spin from the intensity of it.

"Tony, please!'' you say against his lips, and before you know it, you're lying on your back, and he's lining his cock up with your entrance, ready to push in until he's buried completely. He stills as he looks up, his tip brushing over your entrance as he moves, making you squirm a little at the feeling.

''That's not what I want you to call me, Peach; I believe you know better than that,'' Tony says with a raised eyebrow, and you look up at him with a bashful look, a blush creeping onto your cheeks at what he's asking of you exactly.

"I'm sorry, Daddy,'' you tell him almost in a whisper, but it's good enough as he leans in to capture your lips with his, teasing you at the same time as he strokes his length, letting the head push against your entrance, but it's not enough to slide in, driving you crazy. All you want is to feel him inside you, every ridge, vein, and throb inside your pussy as he makes love to you, makes you fall apart on his cock.

''Please, Daddy, don't tease me,'' you whine softly, the teasing almost being too much as your hand slips down, but he lets go of himself to pin your hand above your head, making your breath hitch at the quick assertion of dominance, your arousal only making you wetter for him.

''But you're so beautiful when you beg for me, Peach. I can listen to it all day,'' he whispers into your ear before softly nipping your earlobe with his teeth, his hips thrusting forward as his cock glides through your folds, making you moan as it rubs over your sensitive clit.

''That's it, Baby Girl, want you to fucking moan and beg for Daddy,'' he says in a growl, the hand that was holding your wrist going back to his length, lining it up once again.

''Daddy, please fuck-'' is all you can say before he slides into the hilt, a long, broken moan tumbling from your lips. He lets you adjust to him before setting a slow, leisurely pace, wanting to take his time to have you fall apart for him. He revels in every moan and whimper falling from your lips, his eyes trained on yours to make sure there isn't any discomfort on your part.

''So big, Daddy, 's so big inside me,'' you breathe out as he pulls out before sliding it back in at an almost teasing pace, stretching out your pussy with every inch that he slides back into the warmth of you. He groans lightly when you wrap your legs around his waist, sucking him deeper into you.

''God, I love being inside you, Peach; I want to fuck you bare every single day until you're pregnant with my babies. Seeing those delicious boobs growing as they're filling with your milk, drinking from them until they're better, and your amazing belly growing round with our baby,'' he grunts against your neck between kisses and nips, which he soothes with his tongue.

''Will fuck you every single day until my cum drips out of this tight pussy, stuffed so fucking full with it that it drips out of you, and I'll stuff every last bit of it back until you're round for me, Peach, is that what you want? Do you want to carry Daddy's babies? Being a beautiful, pregnant wife for Daddy?'' he says as he picks up the pace, and your fingernails are making red lines on his back from the pleasure as you're trying to ground yourself.

''Fuck, yes, Daddy! Want all your babies!'' you exclaim as his cock hits your sweet spot just right, having you dangerously close to the edge without actually tipping you over. You can feel the pleasure building, but you also know you need just one more thing, and you're not afraid of begging for it, knowing how much he likes it.

''D-Daddy, fingers please,'' you croak out; the pleasure of his thrusts has you nearly unable to speak a coherent sentence, but the look of delight on your face tells him you're very much enjoying yourself.

''Where do you want them, Peach? Do you want Daddy to play with your perfect, sensitive, perky nipples?'' he asks as he pulls on one of them playfully, a loud whine escaping your lips at the feeling.

''M-my clit, Daddy, need them on my clit,'' you say with half-lidded eyes. A broad smile is dancing on Tony's lips as he picks up the pace as his thumb presses onto your clit, making the orgasm wash over you with a force you've rarely felt before, squirting all over Tony and the bed with a loud moan, your back arching into him as he praises you endlessly.

''Fuck! Doing so good for me, Peach, cum for Daddy!'' he says, and not long after, he cums too, his seed squirting onto your walls, the warmth filling you up as your hands scratch his back, a deep growl escaping his chest as you're both panting, riding out your orgasms. Tony carefully pulls out before crawling down your body, scooping up the cum that's dripping out and stuffing it back into your sensitive pussy, whines escaping your lips from the oversensitivity.

''Daddy, 's too much!'' you say as you try to close your thighs, but his broad shoulders prevent that from happening as he shushes you. Tears are flowing down your cheeks as the overstimulation gets too much, and you jerk your body away from him, and that's when he stops.

''You're okay, Peach, I'm here,'' he whispers against your scalp as he places himself next to you, and you crawl into his hold, softly sniffling as you let the emotions run their course. Tony's whispering sweet words to you as you come down from it, letting his warmth envelop you entirely under the comforter until it's time to get up and shower.

''Do you want to go and take a shower with me, Peach?'' he asks, and you nod. He steps out of bed and guides you carefully to the shower, where you let the hot water run over your body as Tony gives you endless kisses while washing every inch of your body.

''So perfect for me, Peach, 'm the luckiest man on earth to have such a beautiful wife,'' he says, and you turn around with wide eyes, a knowing look on your face. Your heart skips a beat at the word, but at the same time, the butterflies in your stomach go wild, too, and now it's all you can think about—becoming the future Mrs. Tony Stark.

''You like the sound of that? My wife?'' he asks with a broad smile, and you nod before standing on your toes, placing a soft peck on his lips.

''I do,'' you say with a wink, and then you finish the rest of your shower before heading out, ready to make breakfast for you and Tony and feed little Oliver. With a towel wrapped around your hair and body, you walk out of the shower, only to find Oliver, who has made his way into the bedroom and is now biting something previously in Tony's bedside drawer.

''What are you-'' you say as you walk over to Oliver, whose head snaps to you, his big eyes showing his guilt as he knows he got caught. When you see what he was trying to use as a chew toy, you can't help but let a deep laugh escape before grabbing it and heading to Tony.

''You'll never guess what Oliver did when I walked in,'' you tell Tony, who looks at you with one eye closed as he just got shampoo in it.

''I believe he wants a little brother or sister because I caught him trying to destroy the condoms in your bedside drawer!'' you tell Tony, who can't help but shake his head with a chuckle. Little did either of you know that Oliver's wish had already come true, though you don't know it yet.

You've been sick the past week, and Tony has taken excellent care of you. From showering you when you were too weak to stand on your feet and clean yourself to giving you food and fluids, he has done everything in his power to make you feel better, but in all honesty, it has only gotten worse.

During the entire week, Oliver has never left your side, permanently curled up by your side, on your legs, or with his head protectively on your belly. Right now, you're lying on the bed, a few pillows under your head, Oliver on your lap with his paw on your stomach to protect you, and a thought wiggles into your head.

A while ago, you read something about cats that can sense when a woman is pregnant, and ever since you remembered that moment, you couldn't shake the idea. Oliver is lying with his head on your belly right now, and you're scratching him behind his ears when you decide to call Wanda, as she's supposed to come over with some groceries later that can't wait until Tony's home late tonight.

''Hi, Detka. Is everything okay?'' Wanda says as she picks up the phone after the second ring. Worry is laced in her voice, though you're quick to reassure her.

''Everything's okay apart from me being sick, of course,'' you say with a sigh as you're trying to prevent another wave of nausea, which works this time. Oliver switches positions and is cuddling even closer now, which makes you melt at the sight, and that's when you remember you're still on the phone.

''I- uhm… I have a favor to ask?'' you say in a high-pitched voice.

''Could you- uhm- Will you maybe get me a pregnancy test?'' you mumble, and you're not sure if she heard you, but she did.

''Really? I mean, of course, anything you need, but do you think your being sick might be morning sickness?'' she asks, and you hum in response, your hand lying on your belly as you think of the possibility of a tiny human growing inside you. The baby who will be the perfect combination of you and Tony. It's something you've dreamt about for a while, and now your biggest dream - becoming a mom - might come true.

''I'm about 50% sure. Oliver has been more clingy lately, and I read online that they can sense pregnancies, so I think it might be worth doing a test,'' you tell her honestly, and she agrees to buy a test for you so that you can ease your mind.

''You're the best, Wanda,'' you say before hanging up, and when you do, another wave of nausea hits, and you grab the trashcan just in time. Your morning sickness is the worst when you wake up, but it tends to linger throughout the afternoon, too, which isn't exactly fun either.

Not long after, Wanda has the groceries you requested and a pregnancy test. Oliver is happy to see her, and after a few scratches behind his ears, both of them are settled on your bed, where you can find the most comfortable position right now.

''Thank you for getting the test; I wasn't sure how else I would get one since I can't leave the house in this state,'' you sigh as you play with the box in your hands. Nerves are starting to take over now that you're getting ready to take it, and even though you're 99% sure what the outcome will be, it's still scary.

''It's okay, that's what friends are for! How late are you, if I may ask?'' she asks you, and you look at her with a nervous look on your face. The reality is settling in about how long ago it may have been, and you realize the signs have been quite noticeable. From the morning sickness to the increasing bra size and the fact that you're eating more, it all points towards pregnancy.

''If I had to make a guess, I'd say I'm about 6 or 7 weeks pregnant,'' you tell her, a small smile darting on your lips as you think about the little human inside you. You look at the box before getting ready to take it.

''Will you stay with me? When I take the test?'' you ask her.

''Like you even need to ask! Now take the test; I'm curious if I will be an auntie in 7 months!'' Wanda says excitedly, and you can't help but laugh as her enthusiasm works its way into your mood as well. A few minutes later, the test is taken, and you're waiting for the result.

''Are you hoping for a positive?'' Wanda asks as she holds your hand, and you squeeze it as you think about the answer. Of course, you're hoping for it, but deep down inside, you can also feel a little guilt, as this would mean you would have to give up a part of your dream to work in a bakery, which is your passion.

''I feel like 95% of me is hoping for a positive test, seeing how I've always wanted to be a Mom, and I know Tony wants to become a Dad as well. But there is also this five percent of me hoping for a negative, knowing that if it isn't, I will have to give up my dream of becoming a baker. I know it's not true, but deep down, it's a thought I can't seem to shake,'' you tell her, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes.

''I feel so… selfish to admit it out loud,'' you say as you wipe the tears with the back of your hand, and Wanda pulls you into a side hug, her arm wrapping around your shoulders as you lay your head on her shoulder, letting her comfort you right now.

''It's not selfish to think that way, Detka; getting a child will change your life no matter what, but I think you and Tony will get through this without a single problem,'' she tells you reassuringly, and just when you're about to answer her, your alarm goes off. You pick up the test, and an excited squeal leaves your mouth, seeing it's positive. You're pregnant with the baby of the love of your life, and your dream is coming true.

''Oh my god, I'm so happy for you, Detka! I'm so happy you're going to be a Mom!'' she says as she pulls you into a hug, and now you can let happy tears flow over your cheeks, clamping the test tightly to your chest as you let the emotions run their course. From that moment on, your hands are constantly on your belly, and all you can think about is how Tony's going to react.

Not too long ago, you ordered a cute bandana for Oliver to wear when this day arrives, and you're glad you had the foresight to order it already. Now, you're settled on the couch, and Oliver is wearing the dark blue piece of fabric, happily purring in your lap as you watch some tv to distract yourself from the fact that Tony can come home at any moment now.

''Peach, I'm home!'' Tony says as he walks through the door, and you get up to greet him, carrying Oliver as well. You're excited to see him, but you're also nervous to tell him what's going on.

''How're you feeling, Baby Girl?'' he asks, feeling your forehead for a potential fever. His hand rests on your cheek, rubbing your cheek lovingly with his thumb.

''Good, how was your day?'' you say, and before he can answer, he suddenly notices the bandana Oliver's wearing, and his eyes grow wide as the words sink in.

''Is this- Are you- Is is true? Are you pregnant?'' Tony asks, and you nod as you take the test out of the pocket of the hoodie you're wearing, showing him that you're most definitely pregnant with his baby.

''Oh my god, I'm going to be a Dad! I can't believe it, there's a little baby growing in this belly of yours,'' he says before capturing your lips with his, and not long after the kiss turns salty as Tony's tears escape, so you pull back from it, wiping them away with the back of your hand.

''I'm going to be a Daddy,'' he whispers to your belly as he crouches down, lifting your hoodie to place a few soft kisses on it, whispering sweet things to the little embryo. His emotions are overwhelming as the tears keep flowing, yet he's very happy at the same time. The day he's dreamt of for almost 2 decades is here, and he's happy to share it with you.

A week later, you have your first ultrasound planned, and you're just stepping out of the shower with Tony. This morning is rough, and you even contemplate rescheduling the appointment.

''Are you sure we have to go today? I want to lay in bed,'' you try to convince Tony with a slight pout, which he swiftly kisses away.

''I'm sure we have to go, Peach. I know you want to stay in bed, but we'll see our little Cupcake for the first time today! If you want to stay home, we, of course, can, but I think it's important we go if you're feeling good enough, my juicy Peach,'' he tells you, and with a soft groan, you let your head fall against his chest. Tony and his reasonable thinking have you feeling some way, though you know he's right.

''Alright, but only if I can go in a comfy outfit; I don't feel like wearing jeans or a bra today,'' you tell him. A smirk appears as he leans in to whisper the following words in your ear.

''You will never hear me complain about you not wearing a bra or panties, Peach. You know that's how I want you always to walk around.'' Your breath hitches in your throat at his words, and you turn your head to capture his lips with yours, giving him a deep, passionate kiss that leaves you both breathless.

''God, I love you so much,'' you tell Tony before turning around and putting on a comfortable outfit, ready to go to your appointment. Armed with your water bottle and some medicine against the worst of the morning sickness, you go to the car, and 20 minutes later, you're at the hospital, ready for your appointment.

During your time in the waiting room, you get increasingly nervous, and Tony can tell by the way you're fiddling with your hands that something's going on. He grabs one of them and squeezes reassuringly before leaning in and placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

You're called in a few minutes later, and it's finally time to see your baby for the first time. The nurse explains everything, and before you know it, you can not only see your baby for the very first time, but you can also hear a rapid heartbeat that has both you and Tony tearing up. Your baby is healthy and growing at a rapid rate.

''Congratulations, you two, your baby is happy and healthy there! You're about eight weeks along now, meaning your due date will be around February 14th,'' she tells you, and you look at Tony with pure adoration in your eyes. You'll possibly have your love child on the day of love, making it perfect.

''Thank you so much,'' you tell the nurse, and when you're finally home, you're cuddled up on your bed, just like you wanted before you left the house. You're sitting on Tony's lap with your back against his chest, your legs stretched out over his, and Oliver is lying on your lap, his head cuddled up against your belly.

''What do you think about becoming a big brother, Oliver? Are you as excited as your Daddy and me?'' you ask him, and Tony places his head on your shoulder to see his little boy's response. Oliver bumps his head carefully against your belly, and you can feel yourself melting into Tony's hold, his hands splayed out on your stomach.

''Meow!'' Oliver responds. You have never felt so loved as you do now. Your boyfriend is by your side, your cat is on your lap, and a baby is in your belly. The rest of your life is officially about to start, and you can't wait.

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