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sceletaflores · 5 hours

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Being a professional masseur for players and taking care of our boy art.

Hes just so sad and so pretty that you just giving head to make him feel better 😔

Plot twist: he falls in love with you because duh? Hot+sex=you being promoted pookie, you are now the donaldsons elite employes!!!!!!

Baby, show me where it hurts...

pairing: art donaldson x fem!reader

summary: you never intended on becoming a "celebrity" massage therapist. you just wanted to be a massage therapist, the whole celebrity thing just sort of happened, you blame cali for that. but the novelty of your job wore off long ago, you hardly blink at the clients on your table nowadays. that is until tashi duncan calls you and absolutely fucks everything up.

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, oral (m!receiving), oral (fem!receiving), p in v, fingering (fem!receiving), angst? maybe? could this be considered angst?, slight age gap, no tashi duncan erasure because i don't stand for that, cheating but not really cause tashi knows, she always knows, she is an all seeing eye, and she kind of orchestrates it, SOOOOO much plot, like way too much i'm sorry, art being sad and tired, art also being kinda pathetic a little bit, malpractice? unprofessional massages, no use of y/n.

word count: 10k+ (someone stop me....pls still read this lmao)

authors note: this ask was blessedly placed in my inbox and it was all i’ve thought about since. this is my first big fic since my mike schmidt days so hopefully i'm not rusty! i've seen this damn cursed hell movie ten times, so hopefully i do it justice. i'm also still struggling sooo much with art and tashi as characters so please bear with me if they aren't movie accurate i'm trying my best. okay. thank you. hope you love it! mwah xoxo.

You don't get starstruck often, not anymore at least. The clients that find their way onto your table are just that in your eyes, clients. You don't see them as big time "celebrities”. Just men and women who need your professional help.

That being said, you almost dropped your phone the first time the Tashi Duncan called you.

It was a normal work day for you, spent buried in paperwork and training a new secretary. You're folding the steam room towels on your lunch break when your phone rings. No caller ID, you answer it anyways.

"Hello, you've reached Lush Retreat Med Spa," you rattle off into your phone, placing it between your ear and shoulder to continue folding. "How can we help you?"

"This is Tashi Duncan calling for Art Donaldson, we've heard great things about you and were hoping to schedule an appointment."

The towel drops from your hands, your mouth falling open in shock. You reach up to tightly grip your phone, not wanting to embarrass yourself by dropping your phone with Tashi fucking Duncan on the end of the line.

Of course you know who she is, but doesn't everyone? The tennis prodigy from Stanford who was on top of the world when a tragic knee injury stole everything from her in a single second. You absolutely idolized her when you were in high school and playing tennis competitively. You watched all the recorded matches you could get your hands on, wore your DUNCANATOR shirts to practice constantly, only bought the tennis rackets she used. You had her fucking posters plastered on the walls of your old bedroom for Christ's sake.

That was until you, ironically, shattered your wrist in a car accident and had to hang up the racket and pleated skirts forever. Just like her.

Now, Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson are California royalty. An unfairly beautiful couple living what seems to be the dream. You'd never kept up much with Art's career like you did Tashi's, but you follow them both on Instagram and you see his face on billboards all over the city almost daily so you can assume it was fruitful. It may help him that he's extremely easy on the eyes, or "super fucking hot!" in your coworkers words.

"Hello?" Her voice ringing out from the tiny speaker ripped you out of your thoughts and back into reality.

"Y-yes, sorry," you cringe internally at yourself, stuttering over your words like a loser. You force yourself to sound professional when you speak again, "We'd love to help you any way we can. Do you have a certain time and date in mind already?"

"We're not home right now, we were thinking next Thursday. Around four." There's no question mark on the end of her sentence, you know that she isn't asking you, she's telling you. You don't even bother to check the schedule before you're answering.

"We will be free that day. I'll go ahead and put you in our system." you rush over to the front desk computer and open the calendar, thankfully you are actually free for Thursday. "I'm assuming you know our location?" you ask as you type in the appointment details, ignoring how your fingers shake ever so slightly as you type Tashi into the slot.

"Actually," Tashi's voice has a different tone to it when she speaks again, it’s something you can’t quite place, your fingers slow down slightly as you listen, "we wanted to make this a home visit."

You stop typing completely, brows furrowed in confusion as you stare at your computer screen. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Donaldson but we don't do at home appointments…per our policy." you reply meekly, almost surprised that you're denying her.

"Duncan, actually,” she corrects you nonchalantly, you don’t have time to unpack that before she’s speaking again. “We did read that on your website, but we'd hope you might make an exception. You wouldn't need to bring much. We have our own table." Her tone isn't harsh or impolite, just firm and certain, like she knows you'll give in to her.

You do.

"Well," you bite your lip as you wrestle internally with yourself, torn between what you want to do and what you should do. "Okay, we can do that for you."

"Great. I'll send you the address. See you then." She hangs up without saying goodbye.

You plant your phone next to you and stare at the filled out appointment slot taking up your computer screen, processing what just happened. You're going to Tashi Duncan's house. To give her hot pro-tennis player husband a massage. In their house.

"What the fuck."

SIX DAYS LATER...

The walk up to The Donaldson's huge mansion on a mountain has your stomach turning in on itself. All week you were a ball of nervous energy just floating around your office, trying to find anything to distract you from your upcoming appointment. Now that it's here, you feel you may have bitten off more than you could chew.

You hardly got any sleep last night, tossing and turning in your bed for hours before you gave up, barging into your building's gym to try and sweat your nerves out. When that didn't work you just retreated back to your apartment and got ready.

You try not to think about why it took you so long to get ready, longer than most work mornings. Taking more time in the shower, more time doing your hair, more time doing your makeup.

You even choose an outfit you'd hardly ever wear in front of regular clientele. A matching white polo set, a skirt in place of shorts. You tell yourself that you just want to look good, who wants to look like a mess in front of Tashi Duncan?

Your hands white-knuckle the steering wheel of your car on the drive over. You couldn’t even play any music, the noise in your head already too loud as it was, only cranking up the AC and silently following the crisp voice of your GPS reading off the directions Tashi sent you.

The closer you get to the door the more you want to turn and run down the insanely long driveway, get back in your car and haul ass home without ever looking back.

You don't because you're a professional, or at least that's what you keep telling yourself.

Your hand shakes as you ring their doorbell, hearing it echo back at you from the inside. You only wait a few seconds before the large door swings open and there she is.

Tashi Duncan is every bit as beautiful in person as she is splashed across the pages of magazines and blown up twenty feet on billboards. She looks so effortlessly classy in her Ralph Lauren sweater and flowy black dress pants.

Your name falls from her lips, and all the blood rushes to your ears. Her silky voice wraps around each syllable with an enticing heat that makes you weak in the knees. You feel sixteen years old all over again, standing at the woman who basically molded you into who you are today. It's a dizzying sensation, the rush of nostalgia and emotions flooding in like an avalanche. The memories you have locked away in your brain of the countless late night practices, the hundreds of hours spent on the court, the trophies and ribbons littering your moms basement collecting dust, the refusal to give up and pushing your body past its own limits because you wanted to be just like her. You wanted to be Tashi Duncan, and when you catch yourself nervously rubbing your thumb over the scar spanning your right wrist, you guess in some sick twisted way that you kind of are.

"So glad you could make it," she greets breezily, stepping to the side to let you in. “We were worried you’d get lost.”

The house is, of course, beautiful on the inside. Tall ceilings, big fireplace, a beautiful staircase leading to the second floor. There’s toys strewn messily along the living room floor, the TV mounted on the wall is paused on ESPN.

You hope you don’t look as crazy as you feel taking in the space, taking in the fact that Tashi is standing right in front of you.

“No, the directions were very helpful,” your voice only slightly wavers as you respond, you count that as a win, “it’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Donalds–uh–Duncan.” You cringe at your fumble, but try to power through by extending Tashi your hand.

She watches you for a second, sharp eyes flicking over your body quickly like she’s inspecting you. It makes your cheeks feel warm as you struggle to not squirm underneath her gaze. Finally, she takes your hand in hers and gives it a firm shake. You ignore the way her touch makes your palm burn.

“Art should already be in the massage room, it’s in the pool house,” Tashi says, gesturing to the huge windows in the living room showing off a lavish underground pool with a smaller building situated next to it, “I have to take a phone call here in a few minutes so I trust you’ll find your way there.”

You nod slowly, adjusting the strap of your supply bag on your shoulder. Tashi doesn't even pause walking further into the house as she speaks to you, heels clicking with each step as she makes her way to the large staircase in the middle of the room. There’s still no question marks tacked on to the end of her sentences, just like over the phone.

“It’s just through that door, first room on the left. I told him to leave the door open for you.” She continues, reaching the stairs and making her way up slowly. She tosses her head over her shoulder to make eye contact with you again. “He’s been complaining about his shoulder acting up. The right one, it’s what needs the most attention. He serves with that arm, we need it at a hundred.” she fires off casually, like she’s recited this information before.

You go to speak but her phone ringing cuts you off, echoing off the house's crisp white walls. “Thank you for coming to see us, it was nice meeting you.” Tashi says politely, giving you one final once over before she’s answering her phone and disappearing up the stairs.

“It was nice meeting you too…” you trail off quietly, fully caught off guard by whatever the hell that was. Out of every single time you’d fantasized about what meeting Tashi Duncan would be like, none of them were quite like this. At least it’s over you figure, and you even managed to not make a complete fool of yourself.

You hold onto that tiny win as you walk through the living room doors and outside, making your way to the pool house like Tashi instructed. The entrance is unlocked as you step inside, thankfully you spot the cracked door a little ways in front of you.

The sound of your footsteps are loud as you make your way down the short hallway, tennis shoes making small thump sounds against the concrete floor. You pause for just a second outside the cracked door, taking a deep breath before pushing it open and stepping inside. The room is empty, the only things inside are some shelves lined with various essential oils and lotions, and an expensive looking massage table in the center. You muse over the fact that their table looks a little better than the ones in your own spa, no wonder they wanted a home visit.

The room is well lit as you walk around, dim in a way that promotes relaxation. The soft, ambient lighting bathes the room in a gentle, golden glow, complemented by the flicker of aromatic candles placed strategically around the space. You wonder who lit them, Tashi? Or maybe Art? You let out a small laugh at the idea of Tashi Duncan and Art Donaldson fawning over the room before you showed up, setting up candles and mood lighting to make it feel nicer, less clinical.

You’re probably just reading too much into it. You always urge clients to ask for anything that will make them feel more comfortable, apparently Art just likes eucalyptus sage candles and mood lighting. It has nothing to do with you.

Your name being said from somewhere behind you rips you out of your own mind. You whirl around, and find yourself face to face with six time Grand Slam Champion, Tashi Duncan’s super hot husband, Art Donaldson. And he’s only wearing a fucking towel.

“Hello,” he greets with a kind smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, “it’s nice to finally meet you, thank you so much for taking the time to come out here.”

Art is already worlds different from Tashi, or that’s what you’re inferring after spending less than five minutes with each of them. It’s still extremely apparent, Tashi has an almost overpowering presence to her, everything about her commands respect and she knows that. She uses that to her advantage, she likes it like that.

The man standing in front of you is nothing like that. The Art Donaldson in front of you doesn’t seem like some big shot tennis player with more impressive stats than you could wrap your head around. You’ve come to know that a few pro-sports guys like to swing their dicks around, bragging about their booming careers non-stop during a session. Yet everything about Art is unassuming as he stands in the doorway like he’s trying to make himself look smaller.

“Hi, Mr. Donaldson,” you’re not sure if it's appropriate to offer a man wearing a towel dangerously low on his hips your hand, you decide against it. “It’s no trouble really, I’m happy to help.”

“Please, call me Art.” The tone of his voice makes you want to shiver, smooth and warm like honey.

You try your best not to stare, but it’s so hard to ignore the toned expanse of Art’s body when it’s right there. He’s all broad shoulders, firm pecs, sculpted legs, with a cut Adonis belt. He’s like a marble statue, made in Michelangelo's perfect image.

Your eyes trail back up his body, lingering on his chest before rising up to his face. You’re mortified to see he’s staring right back at you, effectively catching you in the act. Your cheeks burn as you tear your gaze away, looking at anything and everything other than him. In your panic, you don’t notice the way his eyes rake over you in the same way.

“Okay, Art,” you say a little breathlessly, tightening your grip on the strap of your bag. “It’s nice to meet you. Mrs. Duncan let me know about your major problem areas, I’ll be sure to focus on them.” Involuntarily bringing up Tashi has your stomach clenching up in guilt, you just got done ogling her husband's body. You hope he takes the silent cue you're giving him to get on the damn table so you can start the massage and get the hell out of here.

Art nods silently, walking over to the table and moving to lie down on his stomach. You busy yourself with prepping your oils, taking them out of your bag and setting them on a small side table next to the massage bed uncapped for easy access. You can’t help but sneak glances at the rippling muscle of Art’s back as he shifts, his skin looks soft and is littered with freckles. You don’t miss the hiss he lets out when he lays his weight on his shoulder.

You usually don’t speak much during appointments, only engaging in conversation when your client initiates it, but you feel the need to fill the silence between you and Art. The quiet atmosphere makes everything seem far too intimate, and sure on some level it always is, but this feels different.

“How’d you hurt it? Your shoulder. If you don’t mind me asking.” you ask once he’s settled, placing your fingertips to the middle of his right shoulder, feeling around for any tension. Art tenses slightly at your touch, taking a sharp breath. You guess you should have warned him, you open your mouth to apologize but he lets out a small breath and relaxes onto the table again.

Art sighs, his voice tinged with weariness. "It was, uh, during a match. I overextended trying to return a serve. Haven't been able to move it properly since."

You nod, hands starting to move in slow, deliberate circles across the muscle. “That sounds about right. Most people don’t realize how brutal tennis is to the body, injuries are common,” you pointedly try to ignore the flashbacks of your wrist failing to swing a racket properly after you healed from your accident, flashbacks of watching as the bone pierced through your skin. “Sounds like you might need to take it easy for a while.” you continue, trying to keep the conversation light.

Art chuckled, though it was devoid of real humor. "Yeah, I’ve been playing a lot lately. Guess I pushed myself too hard." He winces slightly as you work on a particularly tight knot, shoulder tensing under your hands.

You pause, your hands stilling momentarily as you catch the underlying tension in Art's voice. "The season’s almost over, maybe it's time to give yourself a break, take some time to rest and recuperate." you remark softly, your tone gentle yet concerned.

Art's gaze flickers to yours, a flicker of vulnerability shining through. "I wish I could," he admits, his voice heavy, "But it's hard to step away, especially when it feels like it's all I have that’s still keeping everything together."

Your heart clenches at the raw honesty in his words. He’s completely silent afterwards, you wonder if he’s regretting telling you something like that, like maybe it just fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Without a word, you continue to knead away the tension in his muscles, offering a silent gesture of support.

As you continue to work, hands skillfully moving over Art’s shoulder, you can’t help but notice the weariness in Art's demeanor. His presence feels heavy, almost broken, as if the physical pain was just a small part of what he was carrying. You feel a pang of sympathy for him. You can feel the weight of struggles pressing down on him, the way his shoulders sag slightly even under your careful touch.

“I can feel the tension here," you say gently, applying a little more pressure, "Just try to relax.”

With each knead and press, you remind yourself of your role. You’re here to help him heal, and that was all that mattered. But as your hands move over his warm skin, you can’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what you had anticipated, something that made your heart race with both excitement and anxiety. You were so worried about meeting Tashi you completely forgot about Art. It’s a different story now as your hands explore the smooth planes of his back to the steady sound of his breathing.

"You're really good at this," Art says after a while, his voice a bit lighter.

You smile, a genuine one, the first real smile you’ve had since you got here. “Thanks. I’d hope so after all this time.”

Art lets out a small chuckle muffled by the table, it makes your stomach flutter. “How did you get into this? Massage therapy seems interesting.”

You laugh but it’s a bitter sound, moving your hands down to focus lower on Art’s shoulder. You try not to think about your tennis career, even after all this time you struggle with the memories despite all the good it brought you. “That’s a long story.” you mutter under your breath, even to your own ears you sound resentful.

“I’ve got time.” It’s a simple reply, but it’s so honest. Like Art’s genuinely interested in you, in getting to know you. It makes you feel dizzy.

“I, um,” you worry your lip between your teeth, working your hands harder over Art’s back. “I actually used to play tennis. When I was in high school.”

Art makes an interested noise, shifting under your hands as he moves his head to lay on the side of the table so he could look up at you. “No shit?” he looks more shocked than anything.

You nod, humming in confirmation as you finally move onto his other shoulder. “Yup, I was pretty serious about it back then, until I got injured.” You don’t meet Art’s gaze, but you can see how his face falls in your peripheral vision. You kind of want to laugh at how ironic this moment is, you wonder if Art’s thinking about Tashi’s knee. You know he was at the match, you’ve seen the blurry footage of Tashi Duncan’s fall from grace, watched Art vault over the net to get to her.

“That’s awful. I’m sorry.” He sounds like he means it.

“It’s okay, wasn't like it was my fault or anything,” you say, finally meeting his eyes with a rueful smile and raising your right wrist to show him your scar. “I got hit by a drunk driver coming home late from practice one night. Nasty fracture, bone went straight through.” You hope your voice is coming out as nonchalant as you’re trying to make it sound.

Art's eyes widen in disbelief as he takes in your scar, a mixture of shock and sympathy evident on his face. "Wow, that's...terrible," he murmurs, his voice tinged with compassion.

You shrug, the memories still vivid despite the passage of time. "It was tough, it was awful actually. All the physical therapy in the world couldn’t get a racket back in my hand,” you confess softly, fingers tracing the outline of the scar absentmindedly again. “But it also forced me to reevaluate things, in a way. It made me realize that life doesn't always go according to plan.” You see Tashi’s knee buckling in your mind's eye. “When I finally realized that I could take all the hate and all the anger I was feeling and channel it into something good, something like massage therapy, I never looked back."

You immediately regret over-sharing, feeling silly telling Art your sob story, but when you meet his eye again, he has an odd look on his face. His expression is soft as he looks up at you through long lashes, understanding and empathy swimming in the blue of his eyes.

"Well, silver linings, huh?" he says after a few seconds, there’s traces of a smile playing on his lips. You let out a small laugh, nodding your head slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, a small smile on your lips. "Silver linings."

As the conversation fades into a comfortable silence, you and Art find yourselves locked in a silent exchange, your eyes meeting and holding a depth of something you can’t quite pick up on. In that moment, the world around you seems to blur, leaving only the two of you suspended in a shared moment of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that has formed between you, as if you've uncovered a piece of each other.

The shrill ringing of your phone’s alarm pierces through the moment, both you and Art jump at the sudden sound. It’s like a cold bucket of water pouring over your head, washing away whatever just happened between the two of you. The session’s over, you’re done.

“Okay,” you say a little too loudly, taking your hands off Art's back like his skin could burn you any second. “Looks like we’re all done.” You try to smile but it feels fake, forced, so you turn your back to Art and start capping your oils to shove them back in your bag.

Art’s voice breaks the silence as you pack up, sounding a little less confident than it did earlier. “Uh, my neck has been bothering me too, recently,” he says offhandedly as he sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “I think I may have slept on it wrong.”

You stop what you’re doing, turning to face Art again, silently cursing him for not just letting you leave. “Do you want me to take a look before I go?” You pray he says no. You should know it won’t be that easy, not with your shit luck.

“If you don’t mind?” His tone is so hopeful and his eyes are so big that your feet are walking towards him before your mind can catch up.

“Not at all,” you reply, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. You step closer, practically between his slightly spread legs, feeling the warmth of his skin even before you touch him. Your fingers brush against his neck, and he shivers slightly, the muscles tight and knotted beneath your touch.

"Just relax," you murmur, trying to maintain any shred of professional demeanor. As you work, you can't help but notice the way his breath hitches, the tension in his body melting away under your skilled hands. The room feels smaller, the air heavier with each passing second.

He closes his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "That feels amazing," he whispers, and you swallow hard, trying to focus solely on the task at hand. As you work, the intimacy of the moment isn't lost on you, and you can't help but wonder if he feels it too.

Minutes tick by like hours as you work the tense muscle of Art’s neck. You're acutely aware of every sigh, every shift in his body, every subtle reaction to your touch. You finally pull away when you think it’s been enough time, eager to get out of this damn house before you do something you’ll regret.

You didn’t notice how close you really were to Art until you pulled back only to be met with his face mere inches away from yours. Startled by the sudden proximity, you freeze, caught off guard by the intensity of Art's gaze. His eyes, dark and searching, seem to hold a silent question, a silent invitation.

Now, Art’s body is one thing, it’s objectively perfect. He’s a professional athlete, of course it’s perfect. It has to be perfect. It’s his damn face that gets you.

He’s beautiful, beyond beautiful. He looks like he should be splayed across canvas hanging in the Louvre. The dim lighting in the room illuminates his face beautifully, his golden hair haloing around his head makes him look ethereal. Each of his features look as if they were handcrafted by a master sculptor, each contour and line a testament to perfection. His chiseled jawline speaks of strength and determination, while his lips, soft and inviting, seem to beckon you closer with every breath. His eyes are deep pools of ocean blue, though this close you can see a small splash of brown in his left eye you didn’t notice before, swirling with emotions that stir something deep within you.

Something more shocking than Art’s beauty, is how fucking tired he looks. Lines of exhaustion are etched along his face, subtle but undeniable. The weariness in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent plea for respite from the relentless demands of tennis. And yet, even amidst the exhaustion, there's a flicker of longing. He’s staring at you like he needs you, eyes wide and yearning. His chest rising and failing a little more harshly than it did before, each exhale coming out ragged and sharp.

“Art…” you whisper, heart threatening to beat out of your chest. He’s so warm, the heat emitting off of him makes you want to lean into it. You want to crawl on top of his powerful thighs and bury your face in his chest and never leave. Your hands flex where they’re draped over Art’s neck.

It happens in slow motion, Art’s hand trails up the skin of your thigh as your name falls from his lips like a prayer, and it’s like you’ve been electrocuted. You’re rearing back with a sharp breath, dropping your hands from his neck and taking a couple steps back.

“It was really nice to- uh to meet you, Art.” you say frantically, swinging your bag firmly over your shoulder and rushing to the door. Art’s still sitting on the table, silently watching you panic. He doesn’t try to stop you. “I hope your shoulder feels better,” is all you say before bursting out the door and speed walking out of the pool house.

Your heart's racing as you walk through the backyard, hands shaking even through the death grip you have on the strap of your bag. What the hell was that? What the hell was that? Did Art Donaldson just make a pass at you? You must be imagining things.

The thought rattles around in your mind, refusing to be dismissed. His words, his tone—they seemed to linger in the air, haunting you with their implications. The way he touched you, like he couldn’t help himself. But no, it couldn't be. He was married to Tashi, and besides, he was just being polite, right? You try to convince yourself of that as you make your way back to the house.

As you walk inside, still slightly shaken up, Tashi’s the first thing you see. She’s sitting in the living room, laptop open on the coffee table in front of her.

“Hey,” she says, sitting up straighter on the coach, “how was it?”

You swallow, urging yourself to calm down. “It was great, he should be seeing some improvement over the next few days.”

Tashi nods her head, seemingly pleased though it doesn’t show on her face. “Could this be a weekly thing, these appointments. He could really use them.”

No question marks. Motherfucker.

You flounder, stomach dropping. “Weekly? As in every Thursday?”

Tashi’s brow raises, eyes looking over you inquisitively. “Yes, preferably all home visits.”She stands from the couch, taking a couple steps towards you. “We read on your website you take permanent clients, is that not the case anymore.”

You shake your head, eyes wide as they follow her while she walks. “N-no, Mrs. Duncan we do. We could pencil you in if you’re willing to pay monthly for the time slot. Would you like to talk to some of my other employees to work out a rotating schedule?”

Tashi stops a few feet away from you, hands in her pockets. “Actually, we were hoping you’d be the one coming down. The only one.” You blink, her words slam over you like a ton of bricks. Just you, in a room with a half-naked Art. Every single Thursday. That can’t happen, not after what just went down between the two of you.

You can practically hear the warning bells blaring in your mind, urging you to refuse, to put an end to this before it spirals out of control. Yet, there's another voice, quieter but no less insistent, whispering seductive promises of what could be if you were to stay.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you grapple with the conflicting desires warring within you. Tashi's expectant gaze weighs heavily on you, waiting for your response, and you know that whatever decision you make will irrevocably alter the course of things between you and Art. With a shaky breath, you steel yourself, the weight of your choice settling like a stone in your stomach.

"I...I'll do it," you finally say, the words leaving your lips before you can stop them. "I'll make sure to pencil you in for weekly sessions, Mrs. Duncan."

Tashi's lips curve up slightly, satisfied, but beneath the surface you can sense the tension thrumming through the air. You've made your choice, for better or for worse, and now you can only hope that it won't lead to the downfall of everything you've worked so hard to build.

“Wonderful,” she says, gesturing for you to follow her to the front door. You trail behind her like a loyal pet, silently allowing her to drag you wherever she pleases. “Thank you again for coming out, and please,” she pauses with her hand on the doorknob, turning to meet your eye, “call me Tashi.”

"Thank you, Tashi," you murmur softly, the weight of her name feeling foreign on your tongue when you’re actually saying it to her for the first time. "I'll make sure to arrange everything at the office."

Tashi's smile widens, though there's a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. "I look forward to seeing you, then," she says, her tone laced with a hint of anticipation. "And please, if there's anything you need, don't hesitate to reach out."

With a final nod, Tashi opens the front door, the outside world beckoning beyond its threshold. You take a hesitant step forward, the weight of your decision pressing down on your shoulders like a heavy burden. As you step out into the cool evening air, you can't shake the feeling that you've just crossed a line from which there may be no turning back. But for now, all you can do is steel your nerves and hope that you haven't made a huge mistake.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Your sessions with Art continue on. The guilt settling deep in your stomach each time you set foot in the Donaldson/Duncan house also continues. It worsens each time the two of you are alone in that damned massage room. Technically you’ve done nothing wrong, but you know deep in the back of your mind that what you’re doing isn’t normal. Each meeting is a strange mixture of tension and familiarity. When you arrive, Tashi always greets you warmly, her trust in you unwavering. It feels like a dagger each time, twisting deeper and deeper into your conscience.

Neither of you talk about it, what happened during your session, and Art doesn’t treat you any differently. He still goes out of his way to make polite conversation, asking you about your life, about your business, he even brings up old anecdotes you told him offhandedly. He doesn’t talk about tennis, and he has to know you can keep up in conversation with it since you told him about your history with it, you just assume he doesn’t want to.

That makes sense, you always think back to the first time he met you. How he brushed off any conversation about his career, how his demeanor changed when he spoke about it. How drained he looked. There was a sadness in his eyes, a weight he carried that seemed to go beyond just a few standard aches and pains. You remember how it struck you then, and it strikes you still, each time you see him.

His shoulder is getting better, you can tell. He can lay on it, or raise it above his head, without wincing. That makes your heart swell, knowing that despite how weird and kind of fucked up everything is, he’s healing.

The familiar sound of your timer ringing pulls you out of your thoughts. You’re shocked at how fast this appointment flew by, but you could tell as soon as you walked into the massage room to find Art already sitting on the table waiting for you, that something about this session feels different. It’s silly to call it “sensing a bad vibe”, but that’s exactly what you felt entering the room's threshold.

Art didn’t speak much as you worked, just laying on the table silently after saying hello and asking you about your week. The silence is definitely odd, Art’s not a chatterbox by any means, but he usually keeps some form of conversation flowing. After a while, you start to think it might be something you did, like maybe he’s mad at you. It sounds so stupid in your head, like you’re some poor high school girl getting hung up over a fucking guy giving you the silent treatment. The only thing more stupid than that is how much it’s actually affecting you. Art has you over analyzing everything you’ve said or done over the last couple visits, you dread that maybe he just came to his senses after all this time. That he finally snapped out of whatever trance he was in and remembered he has a beautiful wife, and that he doesn’t really want some random massage therapist.

“Alright,” you say softly, stepping away from the table, “All done.” As you turn off the timer and gather your thoughts, you can't shake the feeling that something is off. You force yourself to bury it, Art doesn’t owe you an explanation, he doesn’t owe you anything. You aren’t his.

You glance over at him as he slowly sits up, his expression unreadable. "Thank you," he murmurs, his voice barely audible. You offer a small smile in return, trying to squash all the ugly feelings mixing in your stomach. You turn to busy yourself with packing up, feeling a weird sense of déjà vu.

Art’s voice cuts through the silence, sounding weary. “Are we still pretending it didn’t happen?”

It catches you off guard, making you drop the bottle in your hands back onto the table loudly. Your heart races as you turn back to face him, unsure of how to respond. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, demanding a response you’re not sure you’re ready to give.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. “I...I don’t know,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was hoping we could just…forget about it.”

Art’s eyes search yours, filled with a mixture of longing and uncertainty. “I don’t think I can,” he confesses, his voice tinged with sadness.

The same feelings from that day rush back in your mind, flooding all your senses. It's as if time folds in on itself, bringing you right back to that moment where everything changed. You feel panic clawing its way up your body, fight or flight response waging a war inside of you.

You chose flight, shoving the last bottle in your bag and making a break for the door. Ready to run just like you did back then, run and come back next week with your tail between your legs desperately trying to forget that this ever happened, again. Art’s voice stops you just as you have your hand on the doorknob.

“Please…” he whispers, he sounds so broken, so vulnerable. “Please, don’t run.”

You don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the way he’s looking at you, or the repressed feelings, or your shitty back bone, but whatever it is makes you pause, hand falling off the doorknob to lay limp at your side. You turn back to face him, the raw need in his eyes mirrored by your own emotions. It tugs at your heart, making it impossible to leave. You feel a surge of guilt and hesitation, but the longing in his gaze holds you captive. Slowly, you make your way towards him, taking small slow steps like you could still leave at any minute, but you know you won’t.

You walk until you’re crowding him, standing between his spread legs just like you did all those sessions ago. His eyes are wide, almost disbelieving, like he thought you’d turn around and slam the door on him instead. Which is what you should do, you should walk about that door right now and never step foot in their house again.

Art whispers your name, his voice a soft caress that sends sparks zapping down your spine. You're close enough to feel his breath fanning over your face, warm and intimate. You inhale, like you’re trying to absorb his words, his essence, his everything.

His hand takes yours, bringing it up to his chest. He presses it firmly against his pec, right on top of his heart. You can feel the rapid, uneven thumping beneath your palm. His thumb caresses your wrist gently, making goosebumps pebble over your skin.

It’s easy to get lost in Art’s eyes, so you’re shocked to notice something that very quickly grabs your attention. Art’s towel is tented obscenely, hard cock straining against the thick material. You swallow roughly at the sight, feeling the need to touch, to take, to help.

Your knees hit the floor before you fully realize the entire gravity of what you’re doing. You don’t care about any of that anyway, not right now.

Right now Art Donaldson is swiping his thumb across the scar on your wrist with his big sparkly eyes desperately looking into yours, unashamedly begging for you to touch him.

Who are you to deny him?

Your hands find the knot of his towel and yank it roughly, ripping it off Art's hips and tossing it aside. His hard cock springs out, slapping up against his stomach enticingly. Your mouth waters at the sight of him, pleased to see he’s perfect all over.

Art’s cock is long, and thick. He’s big, but in an exciting way, not in an intimidating way. He’s already steadily drooling pre-cum from his soft pink tip, already so hard and you haven’t even touched him yet. You reach up, tracing your finger along the length of him lightly. Art inhales, his eyes fluttering closed as you touch him for the first time. The anticipation in the room is palpable, a heady mix of desire and need that seems to swirl around you both.

You circle your hand around the base of his cock, stroking up and up until your hand bumps into the head, where you start to rub your thumb back and forth gently, spreading the wetness from his pre-cum before sliding your hand back down. Slowly, you lean in, placing a soft kiss on the tip of his cock before taking him into your mouth, savoring the taste of him as he groans deeply, hands gripping the massage table tightly.

“Shit,” he grits out, casting his gaze to the ceiling, chest already heaving raggedly.

You slide the warmth of your mouth down the shaft of his cock, moaning at the heady taste of him, skin soft and velvety on your tongue.

“Fuck, your mouth…” Art whispers above you, his words trailing off into a string of breathy moans. You hum in response, working his cock faster to draw out more of those noises. Hollowing your cheeks, you sink down towards the circle of your fist still holding the base of his cock with wet, slippery slurping sounds. Art’s hand lets go of the table, coming up to cup your cheek in a move way too intimate for what the two of you are doing.

You chance a look up, and your heart skips several beats at what you see. Art’s already staring down at you, his face twisted up in pleasure. His pale cheeks are flushed, brows drawn together tightly, plush bottom lip caught between his teeth. All that is enough to make you feel ten feet tall, but that’s not what makes you pause.

It’s his eyes, the way Art’s looking at you.

The look in his eyes is…worshipful. Reverent. Like you’re a celestial being, a divine grace walking among mortals. Not some girl on her knees for a married man in his house’s private fucking massage room.

Yet the longer you hold his gaze, while still working your mouth over his hard cock, you feel something strange stirring inside you. Art’s eyes holding such a longing reverence so intense, it was starting to elevate you to a pedestal of adoration. Of devotion.

Right now Art’s like the sun, burning so brightly you feel you need to look away before he consumes you, but you don’t.

“Please,” Art begs desperately, voice so soft you barely even hear it. There’s tears welling in his eyes, his red rimmed and so so tired looking eyes. It breaks your heart, how could such a wonderful man be reduced to this?

You pull off Art’s cock, hand still pumping firmly over him. He whines at the loss of your mouth, hips bucking up to chase after the warm heat. His tip bumps over your lips as he moves, trailing a thin line of pre-cum across them.

Without breaking eye contact, you speak.

“You’re so good, Art.”

It’s those four words whispered against the tip of Art's leaking cock that has him coming with a hitched breath and a soft cry. A few bursts of his warm come land over your parted lips before you take the head of his cock back in your mouth to greedily swallow down the rest.

"Thank you, fuck, thank you...!" Art grates out as his body trembles above you, hand squeezing yours so hard it borders on painful. You know you’re never coming back from this, but you still squeeze back as hard as you can all the same.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX DAYS LATER…

Maybe this is just your life now, fucking the husband of the woman you worshiped like a God for years on end. It’s like you can’t stop, like you’re an addict or something. No matter how disgusting and shameful you feel every time you get home from Art’s appointments, you can’t help but give into him. It’s a twisted dance, a cycle of pleasure and regret that you can’t seem to break. One look into his sad, kicked puppy eyes and you crack. You’ve convinced yourself it's just you reveling in the feeling of being truly wanted for the first time. But deep down, you know it’s more than that. It’s the way he makes you feel alive, the way he looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.

Art wants you. He needs you. He’s made that more than clear every single visit since you dropped down on your knees for him. The guilt gnaws at you, a constant reminder that you can't escape. Yet, every time you see him, every time he reaches out to you with that desperate need in his eyes, you find yourself powerless to resist.

You’ve never kissed, not on the lips. Art’s certainly tried, lips seeking yours out as your oiled up fist slips up and down his cock, as you sit on his lap and grind against him until he’s dirtying his towel. You just turn your head every time, letting him trail kisses along your jaw and neck instead somehow feels less real. Kissing Art will make it feel real, you know it will. So you don’t.

Funnily enough, you think things are going well. Maybe even as well as getting a married man off every Thursday can go. You can see a change in Art, in his behavior and the way he holds himself. He smiles more, he laughs more, it’s like he’s giving more of himself to you each time you meet with him. It’s exhilarating, the way your presence has this effect on him, almost as if you’re breathing new life into him.

Art’s newfound lightness is infectious. You find yourself looking forward to Thursdays with an anticipation that borders on impatience. The way he looks at you, the tender touches that linger just a bit longer, the conversations that flow more freely–it all feels like a dream you’re afraid to wake up from.

You should have known it was too good to be true, that this little world you created in your head was just the calm before the storm.

Everything about this session was normal to start. It’s a little less intense since Art’s shoulder is doing better, now you have free reign over the rest of his body. Greedy hands free to glide over the planes and planes of muscle you’ve become familiar with.

As you work on his lower back, your hands moving in practiced, soothing motions, you notice a subtle rigidity in his muscles. “Everything alright?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

Art hesitates before answering. “Yeah, just…a lot on my mind.”

You frown, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Art stays quiet, still laying silently on the table face down. You stare at the back of his head, like if you stare hard enough you’ll be able to tell what he’s thinking. Taking his silence as not wanting to talk, you continue on. You don’t want to pressure him to confide with you, not when he already has a wife for that.

As your hands continue to move over Art's tense shoulders, he lets out a deep sigh, breaking the silence. "I need you,” he whispers softly, his voice filled with an unexpected vulnerability. He shifts on the table, leaning up to look you in the eye; his own eyes are watery, lashes clumped together with unshed tears. “It's not just the massages. I need you in my life, no more of this half-assed bullshit. I need all of you.”

You feel your whole world turn upside down in a single second, the distinct feeling of your heart lurching out of your chest and your stomach dropping to your feet. It’s like the walls of the room start moving in on you, caging you in. It makes your chest feel tight, breath coming out in short jagged rasps. Panic grips you, and you violently rip your hands off Art’s body, stumbling back from the massage table.

"I-I'm sorry, I can't," you stammer, voice choked with emotion, as you turn to flee from the room, not even bothering to grab your stuff. But before you could escape, Art was right behind you, reaching out to catch your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. "Please don't go, please," he begs, his eyes pleading with you to stay and talk. You wrench your hand free and run out of the room.

You think you hear Art calling out your name through all the static rushing through your ears, but you’re not sure, and you don’t look back to check. Your feet pound against the tile as you run out of the pool house feeling like you’re about to throw up, or pass out. Art’s confession is the only thing running through your mind. The only thing that’s still clear through your dizzying panic.

You finally start to breathe again when you burst into the house, leaning back against the cool glass of the door to try and relax before you start to spiral. The silence inside is almost oppressive, the only sound the rapid thudding of your heart in your ears. You close your eyes, willing yourself to calm down, to find some semblance of control.

Your name being said grabs your attention, and you open your eyes to find Tashi at the top of the stairs.

“Is everything okay? I heard the door slam.” Her expression is a mix of concern and confusion as she takes a few steps down. You push yourself off the door, you need to leave as soon as possible, before Tashi can reach you and coerce you into staying.

“Everything's fine!” Your voice sounds shaky despite your best efforts to calm yourself, you’re basically speed walking to the door. “I just, I got a phone call, and I need to leave. Right now. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t even wait for her to reply before you’re yanking the door open and rushing outside. You hope to God that she doesn’t follow you outside. She doesn’t.

You walk, arms wrapped around yourself tightly in a feeble attempt to stop shaking. There are tears burning your eyes and making everything in front of you blurry. The wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your cheeks as you walk further away from the house.

Each step feels heavier, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you try to make sense of the storm inside you. The chaotic weather seems to mock your turmoil, perfectly matching the chaos you feel. You struggle to piece together what just happened, the intensity of Art’s words echoing in your mind.

“I need you.”

His voice had been so raw, so vulnerable, and it scared you. You weren’t ready for that kind of emotion, that kind of responsibility, that kind of guilt. The weight of it had sent you running, and now you’re left grappling with the aftermath.

Fuck.

A LITTLE MORE THAN SIX HOURS LATER…

The drive home was a blur. Rain and wind beating against the windshield nearly the whole time. You’d laugh at how ironic it was, like God’s punishing you with shitty weather, but you’re too busy fighting tears to find the humor in it.

The dread didn’t set in until you got home, stumbling through the front door on shaky legs until you reached your kitchen where you promptly emptied everything in your stomach into your trash. After you force yourself into the shower to wash the rain, and guilt, off of your skin. You scrub yourself raw, skin pink and sensitive to the touch, like that will somehow erase all that you’ve done.

When you finally step out, the bathroom mirror is fogged, a ghostly reflection staring back at you through the mist. You avoid its gaze, wrapping yourself in a towel and padding through your room to collapse onto your bed. The silence of the house presses in on you, letting your thoughts consume you.

Art’s words play on a loop inside your head, the look on his face burned to the forefront of your mind. The weight of his confession hung heavy in the air, rocking you with its intensity. Running away had seemed like the only option at the time, a knee-jerk reaction to the overwhelming flood of emotions threatening to engulf you.

You know you didn’t run from Art because you don’t want him, you ran because there’s nothing you want more. In the aftermath, running felt less like a choice and more like an instinctual response to the storm of emotions threatening to consume you whole since the first day you met him. Every step away from Art was a battle against the gravitational pull of your desires, a struggle against the overwhelming urge to surrender to what you both shared.

The truth is crystal clear: you didn't run from Art because you're devoid of feelings for him. You ran precisely because your heart beats in synchrony with his, because the depth of your longing for him is as boundless as the universe itself.

Your phone pings from the dresser, you ignore it. A second later, it pings again, and again, and again. You furrow your brows, glaring at your nightstand until you reach over and pick up your phone. It’s an unknown number, but you know who it is.

UNKNOWN NUMBER I need to see you. Please, I can send a car. It's Art. Tashi isn’t home tonight.

Maybe you’re the worst person in the world, but all the fight leaves your body the second you read Art’s texts. You need to see him as much as he needs to see you. Your fingers type out a response before you can think twice.

Art okay.

You send him your address, jumping out of bed to throw on the first things you see. A black SUV was waiting for you as soon as you got downstairs, just as promised. You climbed in after getting confirmation from the driver, and sat in the backseat quietly as you went down the familiar streets.

As the house comes into view, you can see the front door’s light is still on, waiting for you. You barely wait for the car to stop before you’re opening the car door and stepping outside. The rain immediately drenches you, seeping through your thin sleep clothes. You take two steps before the front door swings open and Art comes rushing out into the rain. He’s only wearing sleep pants, his bare feet smack wetly on the concrete as he runs to you.

Art stops short of you, hesitating, like he doesn’t know whether to touch you or not. You want him to touch you so bad you’re scared it might kill you. The air between you feels charged, every drop of rain a tiny spark. Finally, Art reaches out, his hand trembling as he brushes a soaked strand of hair from your face. The warmth of his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and you step closer, collapsing into his arms. The rain continues to fall around you, but at this moment, it’s just the two of you.

"Art," you breathe, your voice trembling. "What are we doing?"

He gazes into your eyes, the raw emotion in his expression mirroring your own. "I don't know," he admits, his hands gently sliding down to your shoulders. "But I can't let you go. Not now." His words hang between you, a fragile thread of honesty that binds you together. You can feel the weight of his words, the sincerity in his voice, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as his words sink in. The honesty in his gaze, the desperation in his touch—it all overwhelms you, leaving you breathless. The only thing you can think of, the only thing that feels right, is kissing him. So you do.

You lean closer, your heart pounding in your chest, and gently cup his face in your hands. His eyes widen for a moment, a flicker of surprise mingling with the intensity of his emotions. Then, as if drawn together by an invisible force, your lips meet his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative and sweet, a question and an answer all at once. His lips are cold and slightly trembling, matching the fluttering in your chest. You can taste the salt of your tears mingling with the sweetness of the moment. Time seems to stand still as you lose yourself in the sensation of his mouth on yours.

Gradually, the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent and fervent, a silent expression of everything words can’t convey. Art’s arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, his fingers threading through your hair. The heat between you intensifies, both your breath coming faster, mingling as the kiss grows hungrier.

Art’s heartbeat echoes against your chest, you can feel his grip on you getting tighter like he's scared of letting you go. Your hands slide down to his shoulders, your fingers digging into his muscles as you press closer, your bodies molding together. His tongue flicks against your lips, seeking entrance, and you part them eagerly, welcoming him in. The taste of him is intoxicating, a mix of desperation and passion that makes your head spin. A soft moan escapes your lips, and he responds with a low growl, his hands roaming down your back, pulling you impossibly closer.

“Art,” you say in between kisses, panting into his slick, open mouth. “I need you to fuck me.”

You can feel Art’s whole body shiver, groaning unabashedly into your mouth like he’s dying for it. “I’ve been waiting weeks for you to finally admit that.”

The two of you tear through the house, all tangled limbs and bumbling steps, you trail water all over the floor. Somewhere in the chaos you drop your phone and keys on the large kitchen island. Art refuses to let go of you to walk properly, blindly leading the way so he can keep kissing you breathless.

Art only stops kissing you when you finally make it to his bedroom, pulling away to wrestle the now soaked sleep pants off his legs. You follow by example and peel your shirt off, skin damp and cold but you could care less, not when Art’s pants are pooling at his ankles and he’s throwing his boxers carelessly over his shoulder.

“God,” he breathes out, shaking his head like he can’t believe you're giving him this, “You’re so beautiful.”

The raw honesty in his tone has your cheeks burning, you cast your gaze to the floor instinctually, feeling too overwhelmed by his charged gaze raking over you. You can hear his feet softly padding against the floor, making his way closer. You watch his feet come to a complete stop in front of you, he takes a hold of your chin gently forcing you to look up at him.

His eyes, intense and unwavering, lock onto yours. “You’re fucking perfect.”

With a gentle push, Art lowers you onto the bed, his weight a comforting presence above you. He tilts your head back and kisses you breathless, one big hand sliding lower and lower on your stomach till he’s got his hand down the front of your shorts, he groans when his hand makes contact with your bare skin. You’d almost forgotten you hadn’t worn any underwear. His hand so close to your aching center has your breath hitching as you kiss, hips bucking up towards his palm.

You reach for his cock, an angry shade red and leaking steadily, but he catches your wrist before you can touch. You meet his eyes confused, but he just shakes his head.

“It’s been about me the whole time, baby. Let me fix that,” he whispers.

You nod your head wordlessly. You wouldn’t dream of denying him, not right now. He smiles, pecking your lips again before he starts to kiss his way downwards. He explores your body with his mouth with such care it has you shaking under every brush his lips. He kisses all down your jaw and neck, taking extra time on your chest to map out the skin of your breasts with his tongue. He circles your right nipple with the tip of his tongue a few times over before he takes it in his mouth, rolling it between his teeth gently. It has your back arching into his mouth, hands scrambling for a purchase on the silk sheets. One long finger slides around your entrance and dips inside, shallow, then deeper, stretching you slowly, carefully, while his other hand rubs your clit with light, gentle touches. “Is this good?” Art asks quietly, voice tinged slightly with insecurity, like you’re not completely unraveling because of him.

“God yes! Yes – fuck! – Art,” you mewl loudly, hips grinding down roughly onto his finger, desperate to take in more of him. You can feel him smile against your skin, pulling off to blow cool air over your hard nipple and repeating it all over again on your left. His finger slides through the wetness collecting in your hole, spreading it to your throbbing clit. He finally sinks a single finger into the warm, tight, heat of your cunt.

Art pulls away from your chest to kiss his way down your stomach, sliding lower and lower on the huge king size mattress, he doesn’t stop the rhythm of his fingers as he peels your shorts down your legs, tossing them aside. A guttural groan leaves his lips at the sight of your slick cunt parting over his fingers, taking them so well. He pitches forward like he can’t help himself, like his lips are magnetically drawn to your cunt, and presses a small kiss to your clit.

“Fuck!” You squeal and writhe as his finger fucks in and out of you, hands tangling in his messy hair, cheeks flushing at the sound of your leaking cunt squelching against his wrist with each thrust. Art's lips tighten over your clit, sucking for a brief second before he moves back to start laving his tongue over your cunt in careful, slightly clumsy, strokes. The sounds he's making, almost filthy slurping, accompanied by little moans now and then send small vibrations through you that shock your system, making you fist his hair even tighter.

Art’s lewd noises fill the air, mixing with your own moans to fill the room. His eyes stay closed for the most part, fluttering open every couple seconds to watch you fall apart. Your thighs shake uncontrollably around his head when you make eye contact, threatening to clamp around his ears and keep him there.

A sob tears from your throat when he adds another finger, then he curls them inside you and pulls back and god, shit, shit, fuck, fuck me, god, Art, please fuck me.

“Fuck me Art please fuck me I need it so bad please-” you ramble nonsensically, pulling at Art’s hair desperately. You can feel the warmth starting to pool in your stomach, but you don’t want to come on his tongue, or on his fingers, you want to come with him inside you.

Art lets you drag him up, the bottom half of his face is slick and shiny, drenched in your wetness. He makes his way up your body quickly, hands gripping tightly to your hips, not hesitating to kiss you even as your juices decorate his lips. You kiss back desperately, tasting yourself on his tongue. The head of his cock bumping against your twitching, empty hole has you whining.

“Fuck me, Art,” you breath hotly, hips canting up needily. “No condom, I’m on the pill. I want you to come inside me. Please, I need it.”

Slowly, he starts to sink in. Feeding you inch by inch torturously slow. He kisses you the whole time, greedily swallowing the moans flowing out of your mouth as he stretches your cunt on his thick cock. You grab at his shoulders like a lifeline, kissing back with everything you have.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he says through gritted teeth, hands gripping your hips hard enough that you know you’ll be bruised in the morning. “So fucking perfect for me, such a perfect pussy for my cock.”

“Move.” Is all you can manage to squeak out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders.

Art starts to move, thrusts slow and gentle, like he’s easing you into it. You’re grateful for it, you’ve never taken anyone as big as him. Slowly, his thrusts speed up, cut hips smacking against the fat of your ass a little rougher than before. You revel in it, pushing your ass back greedily for more more more. From this angle, the thick head of his cock drags against your g-spot perfectly every time he plunges back into your dripping cunt.

“Shit! Right there, don’t stop,” you slur breathlessly, feeling the familiar warmth swirling through your stomach as he fucks you.

“I love you.” Art confesses against your lips, his breath hot and erratic. His sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he pounds in and out of you, the motion both relentless and tender. His eyes are wide open now, so blue and so big and so honest as they bore into yours so intensely it’s suffocating.

It’s soon, it’s way too soon. You’ve barely known each other for a couple months, but you can't deny the warmth spreading through your chest, mingling with the heat of the moment, making everything feel both overwhelming and perfect.

Now that you're here, with Art’s cock fitting so perfectly in the wet heat of your cunt, you can’t believe it took you this long. You love Art. You’ve been in love with Art since the first time he spoke to you. Since the first time he touched you like you were the solution to all his problems.

Art must take your stunned silence as rejection, head falling to rest on your shoulder dejectedly, but his hips don’t slow their rhythm. If anything he speeds up, hips thrusting against you desperately.

“Please, please say it back,” he begs, voice thick with emotion, “Say it back, I need to hear you say it. Please,”

You surge up, wrapping your arms around him as tightly as you can, ankles locking together across his back. Art couldn’t pull out of you if he wanted to, judging from the long whine he lets out, he doesn’t mind.

“I love you, Art” you whisper back, barely audible over the lewd slap of his hips stinging your ass. Art groans so loudly you can feel it reverberating off the sensitive skin of your neck.

Hips speeding up even faster, Art turns his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss. This kiss is different than any of the other ones you’ve shared tonight, full of so much emotion and unspoken words. You swear you feel your heart grow three sizes, almost full and threatening to break out of your chest.

“I’m gonna come, fuck, I’m gonna fucking come,” he breathes between kisses. You can only moan in response, right on the brink of your own orgasm. His hips start to lose their rhythm as he chases it, fucking into you faster and harder.

Art’s cock gives a final twitch inside you before his hips are stilling and he’s coming with a broken moan, unloading everything he has into you. You’re right behind him, vision whiting out as you come, thighs shaking where they’re draped around his hips.

Art collapses onto you, both of you breathing heavily as you come down from the high of your orgasm’s. You lay like that for a while, heaving and sweaty wrapped up in each other's arms. You feel something slot into place, something that you’ve been missing.

Art’s soft voice pierces through the afterglow, “Will you hold me?”

“Yes,” you whisper back, circling your arms around his shoulders.

…

When you wake up hours later you’re beyond thirsty, dehydrated from all the crying, and maybe from the sex. Art’s head is laying across your bare chest, tousled hair tickling your jaw and arms snug around your waist. He looks so peaceful, eyes closed with his long lashes fanning over his cheeks. The sound of his steady breathing is almost enough to lull you right back to sleep. You smile softly, running your hands through his hair slowly. Savoring how at peace he looks, so different from the battered, broken man you met.

You slip out of his arms as carefully as possible, not wanting to wake him. Rolling out of bed to search half-assedly for your clothes in the darkness. You can’t find your shirt, only your underwear and shorts. You notice a red shirt strewn over the dresser next to the bed, illuminated by the moonlight pouring through the blinds. You pick it up without thinking, it's soft in your hands, the fabric thin and worn down. You toss it on before padding out of the bedroom.

You get a little lost in your thoughts as you make your way to the kitchen, Art loves you.

The thought has you biting back a giddy smile. Art loves you and you love him too. It sounds fucking crazy, but you know it’s true. Your life is so completely fucked, you don’t know if you care.

Art loves you.

Your smile doesn’t leave your lips as you turn the corner, arms wrapped around yourself tightly, the warmth of Art's affection lingering like a gentle caress.

“He smiles more.”

The soft voice ringing out from your left makes you stop in your tracks. You turn, and there in the kitchen illuminated by the soft glow of the ceiling light, like an angel, is Tashi Duncan.

Tashi looks at you from her spot across the room with an impassive look on her face, she’s got your keys in one hand, fiddling with them boredly. When you don't reply she speaks again, "He's playing better, won the last three tournaments he was in." She says casually, setting her half full wine glass down on the island.

You don't need to ask her who "he" is.

You're silent for a few more beats as she stares at you expectantly, silently urging you to say something. You rack your brain for a response, caught like a deer in headlights under Tashi's gaze.

"What?" you softly mutter, words cutting through the air weakly.

Tashi sighs in exasperation, like you're a child who doesn't understand the simple question she's asking. She raises her wine glass back to her lips, draining the rest of it before setting it down once more and making her way over to you.

You know you should flee, make a break for the door before she reaches you. Running away from the woman whose husband you’re fucking - whose husband you just got done fucking, and who told you he loved you - while she pays you seems like the easiest thing to do in the moment, but you don't.

You find yourself glued to the spot as Tashi's commanding presence looms over you, until she's all you can see. Until her expensive smelling perfume is all you can breathe, until she's towering over you, miles of soft skin on display in a classy black nightie.

She stares down at you, her face completely unreadable. It feels like hours as her brown eyes burn into yours, your heart must be beating a thousand beats per second.

When Tashi finally moves, it’s her hand you see rising up in your peripheral vision. At first you think she's going to hit you, get you back for sleeping with her husband, for falling in love with her husband. You tense up, bracing for the slap, it would be the least of what you deserve, but it never comes.

Instead, Tashi's hand finds its way up to the side of your face, cupping your cheek gently. You can feel the chilled metal of her wedding band make contact with your warm skin.

You feel like you might pass out staring into the eyes of Tashi Duncan. Everything you ever wanted in high school flashing rapidly right before your eyes.

If Art Donaldson is the sun, Tashi is the moon. Her light draws you in and keeps you looking at her, and never wanting to look away.

Her thumb slides across your bottom lip, the same lip that’s kissed her husband. Ever so slightly, she pushes the tip of her thumb into your parted lips, far enough to touch your bottom teeth. Your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening in shock, your pulse is fluttering wildly. You distantly wonder if she can feel it on the inside of her wrist.

“I’m his coach, I need to be hard on him or he fails. I refuse to let him fail,” she says softly, tone casual like she’s not brushing the tip of your tongue with her fingers. “But I’m not stupid, I know what he needs. Someone sweet, someone gentle, someone who looks at him and doesn’t see tennis.”

You couldn’t answer her if you wanted to, but you wouldn’t trust yourself to speak anyway. You feel far away and floaty the longer her fingers sit in your mouth, your brain feels like molasses.

“I can’t give him what he needs. I’m not that kind of person,” Tashi says, eyes roaming your face languidly, like she’s window shopping your features. Her voice is nearly a whisper the next time she speaks, “but you are. You could be that for him.”

Your heart drops, the haze surrounding your brain rips away so violently, like someone took a leaf blower to it. Her words make everything start to fall into place, the at home visits, the “exclusive deal”, the weird ass run-ins you’ve had with her over the weeks.

This was never about the goddamn massages.

For a few seconds you both stay like that. Standing inches away from each other in the half-lit kitchen of her and Art's house. For a second, you think you can see the tiniest smile playing on her lips before she drops her hand from you completely.

"There’s a car waiting for you outside,” she says, still close enough that you can feel her breath fan over your face, “See you next Thursday."

Tashi turns on her heels and leaves you alone, disappearing down the long hallway leading to her and Art's bedroom. You watch the whole time she goes, until she completely fades into the shadows. Your lip still tingling from her touch.

There’s only one thing on your mind as you incredulously stare down the now empty hall…

These people are so fucking weird.

taglist!

@ebodebo @yuenity @artemis-b-writes

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starsinthesky5 · 20 hours

Text

you belong with me ll || joe burrow x reader

description: you and Joe have been best friends ever since ohio state and you’ve been his biggest supporter for as long as you both could remember. it was always the same dynamic between you both, friends. very very very close friends. but what if you were more than just friends?

a/n: welcome to part 2! i really couldn’t stop writing this one so i had to split it up :) sorry this took a while!!

warnings: language, mentions of sex

word count: 13.9 k

Part 1

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

A few days later

You enter your apartment with tears flowing from your eyes. You throw your bag to the side and kick your shoes off before running over and face planting on your couch. You felt like absolute shit because of the day you had and your anxiety was through the roof. First, it was waking up to your period and dealing with deadly cramps while trying to get ready for work. Then, you got lectured by your Boss for being late to a work meeting because you had spent a few extra minutes in bed because of the cramps, and then you managed to take on a work project that you knew would be too much for you so you could make it up to your boss. Then, you managed to spill coffee all over your very new and expensive outfit. On top of that, the florist for your sister’s wedding–which was slowly approaching–had canceled last minute. You had taken on a lot of the planning duties for her wedding, which you now regret, and things were not going as planned. Everything just felt like it was crumbling.

The thought of you and Joe’s relationship was also still lingering in your mind, you just wanted to know how he felt but didn’t want to push it, and it was driving you insane. So many thoughts were floating through your mind. What if he didn’t feel the same way? What if this caused him to pull away from you? You couldn’t bear the thought of not being able to talk to Joe, not getting to hear his adorable laugh; but most importantly, not having the comfort of knowing you had a person in your life who would always stick by your side no matter what happened. But what if he did feel the same way? What if he had felt the same way all this time but you were too blind to see it? It was an endless battle in your mind and your curiosity was only getting worse by the day; it all could go away if you simply just talked to him, but you refused to push both of you into that situation. If it was going to happen, it would have to happen on its own.

All you could think about was him. Joe was the only person who could make you feel butterflies and lovesick simultaneously.

Lovesick. You were lovesick. You couldn’t think about anything other than Joe and your feelings for him, and it was causing you to spiral, falling into an abyss of feelings you thought you moved on from a long time ago.

“Ughhh,” you grumbled into the pillow. “Why did everything have to be so complicated?” You thought to yourself. You lifted your head from the pillow and reached for your phone, checking the time before you opened up your contacts, calling the only person who could turn your mood around, who you really needed to talk to. And as usual, he picked up in an instant.

“Hey, Y/N,” Joe grinned as he was on the way home from practice.

“H- Hey, Joe,” you said, trying to hide the fact that you were crying.

He instantly noticed something was off by the way you sounded, and this was one of his greatest talents. He could always figure out when you were lying, hiding something, or crying by just hearing your voice.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his smile faltering.

“Y- Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” you lie, trying to hide your emotions because you don’t want him to be worried.

“You sound..off,” he said as he pulled into his driveway.

“Just tired,” you mumble.

He sighed at your response and was a little mad that you wouldn’t tell him what was really wrong. You had a habit of always bottling up your feelings and never openly talking about them. When they built up, they would come out explosively in the form of a breakdown, and it was not pretty. Joe always had to tell you that it was alright to let them out even if it felt like a lot, but here you were, bottling them up again and not listening to his advice.

“Damn, that sucks,” he said, sounding incredibly stand-off-ish on purpose. “Maybe take a nap?” he suggests as he texts his parents that he won’t be able to join them for dinner tonight, then types in the address of the nearest pizza spot by your apartment. If you weren’t gonna talk to him about what was really wrong, he was going to have to get it out of you himself. This, plus what happened a few days ago with how you randomly left his house early in the morning without explanation was starting to bother him. He needed you to open up and what better way to do so than with pizza, wine, and ice cream? Three of your most favorite things.

You flinch at his sudden change of tone. “Joe-” you begin to say before he cuts you off.

“Listen, I gotta go. I’m kinda busy right now so I’ll talk to you later. Get some rest,” he says before he hangs up, not giving you a second to respond. You move the phone out from your ear as tears pooled your eyes again. Even the one person who could make you feel better couldn’t talk to you right now, and that made you feel even more shitty.

He felt terrible for being so rude to you, but he knew that what you needed was some comfort and leisure, not just another lecture from him like he usually would give when you got like this.

You wiped the tears that fell from your eyes, mumbling “Jerk,” as you got up from the couch to go change into something comfy. You opted for another one of his hoodies, which was a few sizes too big, and a pair of leggings. Then, you did what he said to do which was take a nap. Maybe that would make you feel better since he was too occupied to talk to you for a few minutes.

An hour later

You were woken by the sound of your doorbell, your puffy eyes slowly adjusting to your room which was now dark. You rubbed your eyes as you got out of bed, not bothering to fix your disheveled appearance, and walked straight over to the door to see what it was.

You wiped your nose and cheeks with the sleeve of the sweatshirt as you opened the door, your eyes widening at the sight of what, or who was standing at the door.

“Hard day?” Joe asked with a gentle smile. You looked up at his face, then down to his hands which were holding a box of pizza from your favorite pizzeria, a bottle of pinot noir, and a tub of cookies and cream ice cream.

Your eyes softened when you saw him. This was your biggest weakness. You could never stay mad at him for longer than a few hours, even shorter if you actually saw him in front of you, just like you did now. “Yeah,” you sigh before you open the door a little more to let him in.

He smiled as he walked inside, placing all the stuff he had on the kitchen island. He noticed that you had his blue Nike sweatshirt on, the one he had been looking all over for because it was his favorite, but didn’t say anything because you had it, and that was perfectly fine.

He turns around and sees you standing in front of him, looking incredibly defeated with your puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks. He instantly grabs your arm and pulls you into him, wrapping his arm around your shoulder and another around your lower back. He held you incredibly close to his warm body, and you wanted him to never let go.

“Jerk,” you murmur against his chest.

“I’m sorry but I had to be a little jerky so I could do this,” he said softly, referring to his little surprise. “Did you really think I would’ve left you hanging like that?”.

“I meannn,” you drag out, teasing him as you look up at him.

Joe gasped dramatically as he said, “I must really be lacking in the bestie department then,”.

“Mmph, please. If anything, you’ve set and exceeded the standards in the bestie department. You’re entering uncharted territory now,” you joke as you feel him rub your back, the warmth of his body making you forget all about your terrible day.

“Oh really? What territory?” he questions as he looks down into your soft eyes.

“Boyfriend territory,” you say, feeling a pit of nervousness in your stomach because you didn’t know why you said that or how he would react to you saying that. It was pretty boyfriendish of him to drop what he was doing at the moment, which was probably getting ready for dinner with his parents which he so clearly was skipping for you, to come over with your favorite things in the hope of making you feel better.

Joe swore his heart stopped when you said that. Boyfriend? He knew you were kidding, at least he thought you were, but the fact that you actually said it in regards to him was making his heart race. Were you calling him your boyfriend?

“I guess I’ll be setting the standards in the boyfriend department as well since nobody knows how to do that either,” he says, trying to act cool.

“Well, you’re setting them pretty high right now,” you smile as you break out from his embrace to examine the goodies he brought, letting out an internal sigh of relief that he didn’t say anything about basically telling him he was acting like your boyfriend. Little did you know that Joe didn’t just want to set the standards in the boyfriend department, he wanted to be the standard, and go above and beyond it for you.

“You’re literally the best person ever for this,” you say as you get a whiff of the delicious pizza.

“Nothing a good pizza, wine, and dessert trio can’t fix,” he shrugs as he walks over to the cabinets to grab plates and glasses.

“Are you drinking the wine too? Don’t you have practice tomorrow?” You ask as you grab the food and bring it over to the couch.

“Nah, it’s optional tomorrow so I probably won’t go,” he says as he brings over the plates.

“Sooo that means you have time?” You ask as you jump on the couch with a grin on your face.

“Yeah, I have time,” he chuckles as he puts the stuff down and joins you on the couch.

“Can we watch Pitch Perfect?” you ask, sticking your bottom lip out.

“Again? I swear to god I’ve seen that movie 30 times with you,” he grimaces.

“You can never get tired of the Barden Bellas, Joey. Just accept it,” you chuckle as you turn on the movie.

“Whatever you say,” he laughs, getting up from the couch and pouring you both a glass of wine.

An hour later, you both are full from the delicious pizza and slightly tipsy from the wine. The movie is still playing in the background as you both are digging into the delicious ice cream.

“Mm, this is soo good,” you groan as you take another bite.

“Told you. Ice cream makes everything better,” he shrugs as he takes another spoonful and shoves it into his mouth.

“You make everything better. This ice cream is just a minor addition,” you say, giving him a loaded look before going back to the ice cream.

He stops eating the frozen dessert and turns over so that his whole body faces you. “You still didn’t tell me what happened,”.

You shove the spoonful of ice cream into your mouth, slowly removing the spoon from your mouth as you hear him talk.

“I know you were lying earlier,” he says, raising his eyebrow.

“Can’t ever hide anything from you, Can I?” You chuckle as you put the spoon down and turn so that your whole body is facing him, tucking your legs under you as you sit up on your knees.

“Even if you tried,” he smiles.

You let out a deep breath before running your fingers through your hair. “I just had a really shitty day and my head feels like it’s ready to explode,”.

He reaches over and grabs your hand, entwining your fingers before giving it a gentle squeeze. “What happened?”.

“Well first, I’m on my period so I literally feel like I’m about to die,” you say.

“Good thing I brought ice cream then,” he chuckles.

“Like I said, you’re the best person ever. Anyway, then I was a bit late to a work meeting because of the cramps and my boss absolutely berated me for it. So then to soften the blow, I told her I would take on this project for next month but I’m definitely way in over my head with it and I haven’t even really looked into it. And then I spilled coffee all over my very expensive outfit which I just bought last week,” you sigh.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he said, giving you a look that told you he was being serious and not just trying to make you feel better.

“You don’t have to,” you giggle. “This was more than enough,” you say, pointing over at the empty pizza box and wine glasses.

“Mmm, it wasn’t but continue,” he says.

You playfully roll your eyes and continue, “And then worst of all, the florist for Kaylee’s wedding canceled and the wedding is in 3 weeks. I don’t know why I took on so many planning responsibilities because I feel like I’m drowning and I really don’t want to screw up her wedding,”. You feel tears pool in your eyes again, feeling another wave of anxiety come over you.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay,” Joe soothes while rubbing your hands, noticing that you started to get antsy again. “You’re not going to screw anything up,”.

“Really? Because it feels like I’m screwing up everything,” you say, tensing up. You were partly referring to the wedding, but also about you and Joe’s friendship which you were at risk of ruining because of your emotions. You would always try to talk to Joe about your feelings no matter what they were, but this time you couldn’t even if it was when you needed to the most.

“Are we still talking about the wedding?” He asks, feeling a change in what you were talking about based on your demeanor.

“I don’t even know anymore,” you say as you start to cry. “I just have so many thoughts going through my head right now that I don’t even know what’s really making me act like this,”. You felt hot tears streaming down your cheeks again as you started to shake a little.

Joe felt awful seeing you like this. He still felt like you weren’t telling him everything, but he didn’t want to push you if you really didn’t want to talk about it, especially if it was making you act like this. He hated seeing you upset and the sight of your tear-stained cheeks and swollen eyes broke his heart.

“Come here,” he mumbles as he reaches out for your arm, pulling you on top of him and in for a hug.

You shoved your head into the crook of his neck almost like it was a reflex, letting out another sigh as he wrapped his arms around your waist. “I don’t know what’s going through your head, but I’m here if you need anything. I’m always here and I’m not going anywhere,” he says as he rubs your back. Joe always had a way of alleviating your pain, knowing exactly how to bring you down if you were stuck on a dark cloud. Whether it was his promising words or his pacifying hugs, he could always make you ignore your worries.

“Thanks for always being here,” you sniffle against his neck.

“I’m always going to be here,” he says before pressing two soft kisses on your forehead, which is new. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he smirks.

Your heart fluttered when you felt him press his lips against your skin. He’d never done that before, even when you had breakdowns worse than this. Was he just being sweet or was this something else?

All he wanted to do was to take your pain and anxiety away. He still wasn’t sure what was making you act like this, surely it wasn’t just a bad day at work, so what was it? Was it connected to how you randomly sneaked out of his house a few days ago without telling him you were leaving?

“No, No, No. Enough with the investigation. She needs her best friend right now,” Joe thought to himself as he went back to comforting you. He looked down and saw you clutching onto his bicep as your head stayed in the crook of his neck, feeling your shallow breaths and teardrops. You felt his hand move to the back of your head, his fingers moving through your hair and gently rubbing your head.

“You’re okay,” he soothes. “Everything’s going to work out for the better on its own. I promise,” he says. You really couldn’t see how everything would work out on its own, but his words were incredibly convincing.

A few minutes later, the once-flowing tears had now dried up and your breathing had returned back to normal. You stayed in his comfortable embrace for a little longer, relishing the peace and warmth it was providing. The warmth radiating off of his body felt like a safety blanket, just like how it felt when you were cuddling him a few nights ago at his house.

“You’re so comfy,” you mutter against his neck. “My personal body pillow,”.

“You can use me anytime you want,” he says, pulling you in tighter.

You smile at his words and then press a kiss to his neck, not really sure why, but it felt right.

Joe froze when he felt you kiss his neck. You’d never done that before, ever. His heartbeat picked up and his palms started to get sweaty, and you could feel it. Was that because of you? Were you making him nervous?

Then and there he felt like telling you how he felt. He wanted to tell you that it was going to be alright, that he loved you more than anything in the universe and would always be here for you in every way possible, and that you belonged with him. But he didn’t because he didn’t want to do this now, it didn’t feel right. He wasn’t going to do that to you right now when you needed comfort more than anything. No reason to push those feelings onto you and cause you to get worked up again.

“Thank you for doing this. I know today was your weekly dinner with your parents so I appreciate you skipping it for me,” you say, pulling your head out of his neck and meeting his soft eyes.

“You remembered?” He asked, a little surprised that you remembered his weekly dinners with his parents.

“Of course, I remembered. You’ve been having weekly dinners with them since you got drafted, same day every week,” you grin. “But seriously, thank you for doing this. You always know how to make me feel better,”.

“It’s my job,” he shrugs.

“Well, you deserve a promotion because you’re doing amazing,” you smile as you move his hair out from his eyes. You stare at him for a few seconds, taking in every detail about his face. His perfect ski slope nose was a little red because of the cold weather, his deep blue eyes that you wanted to get lost in, the little scruff on his chin that you wanted to feel against your body, and his adorable smile lit up the entire room. Everything about him was perfect. He was perfect, and you wanted him so badly.

“You still owe me an explanation for why you snuck out of my house that morning,” he said, snapping you out of your daze as he moved a few strands of hair out of your face.

“Ohh, uhh. I thought I told you. Lydia needed my help getting ready for her brunch date,” you lie. “She was freeaaaking out. So she picked me up and we went back to my place to get her ready,”.

Joe knew you were lying. The tone of your voice gave it away but also since he asked Lydia. He asked her if you were alright after you texted him saying she picked you up for morning Pilates since she didn’t want to go alone. Joe didn’t understand why you were lying to him, but he also didn’t want to ask you since he had just gotten you to relax and didn’t need you to get anxious again.

“Ah, I see,” he says. You let out an internal sigh of relief at his response since it seemed like he believed you.

“Next time, wake me up because that felt awfully like a walk of shame,” he teased, making you blush and squirm in his arms.

“That’ll be the first walk of shame that happened even though the pair in question didn’t do anything scandalous,” you giggled.

“Tell that to my neighbors,” Joe mumbled as he looked up at the ceiling.

“What?” you shrieked as you moved out of his arms, a look of confusion on your face.

“Yeahhh, they saw you run out of the house and mentioned it to me when I was taking out the trash,” he said as he nervously wiped his hands on his thighs.

“Oh my god. Which neighbor?” you cringed, covering your face with the sleeves of his your hoodie.

“Mrs. Nelson,” he laughed, knowing that you were scared of her. Something about that woman’s eyes sent chills up your spine whenever you would see her. You saw her most evenings when you were leaving Joe’s house, and she looked like she was judging you every single time.

“She said, ‘Joey, I know that you young men have needs, but could you at least tell her to put on some pants before darting out the door bright and early in the morning. Some of the neighbors have kids that like to be out early,” Joe said in a girly voice.

“Oh my god,” you whined against your hands. “Did you at least correct her?” you asked as you moved your hands from your face.

Joe looked around the room with a smug look on his face, avoiding your eyes which told you everything you needed to know.

“Joseph Lee!” you screamed as you got up from the couch and started hitting him with a pillow.

“Hey, it was funny,” he laughed as he held up his hands to protect himself from your swings.

“I’m not laughing,” you said, trying to hide your smile. Truth be told, it was pretty funny.

“Okayy, we’re not about to do this again,” Joe says as he gets off the couch.

“Why? Because you manhandled last time and ended up under me?” you smirk as you twirl the pillow around.

“Because this time, you’ll be the one under me,” he teases, giving you a wink. Your stomach did a backflip and the room felt like it got 10 degrees hotter because of his alluring words. The wine was definitely doing its thing right now, for both of you. Words came out of his mouth that he would never say to you, and you weren’t even thinking twice about them. For once, you didn’t overanalyze his words and went straight back to the conversation.

“That’s it!” you giggle as you start hitting him with the pillow again, but he retaliates by reaching down and swooping you off your feet. He throws you over his shoulder, resting one of his hands extremely close to your ass on purpose. He knew exactly what he was doing right now, and you were loving every second of it even though you could barely process it.

“Joe, let go of me,” you laugh as he makes his way through your apartment with you over his shoulder.

“How does it feel to get manhandled, Hm?” he smiles as he kicks open your room door, gently tossing you down onto the bed as you let out a soft yawn.

“Extremely Comfy,” you smile back as he kneels on the bed to hover over you. He places both of his hands on each side of your head, caging you in; this position feels a little too coupley. His hair was falling into his eyes as his big body was shielding you from the overhead light of your room, almost creating a cocoon around you.

“Hi,” you whisper, staring deeply into his gentle eyes that were now a shade of deep blue, just like the ocean.

“Hi,” he chuckles. His lips were just inches from yours and he had the urge to crash his lips down on yours and kiss you like he had been wanting to do all these years.

Similarly, you felt like reaching up and pushing his face down onto yours, capturing his perfect lips in a soft kiss. Both of you had the same thought but neither of you knew that.

“You look pretty,” Joe mumbled as he moved a few strands of hair behind your ear before moving his hand back to where it was, setting fireworks off in your heart.

“I don’t but thanks for lying,” you say as you fist one of your hands into his hair, playing with the strands.

“Please. You always look pretty, Y/N. You’re the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen,” he adds, feeling lovestruck at the sight of you giggling underneath him. Your eyes sparkle in the light, your skin glowing, and your once puffy eyes are now back to normal. His stomach was doing backflips as he realized he was on top of you right now, in a position that wasn’t generally friendly, but you didn’t seem to be bothered by it; just like how you seemed when you were on top of him a few nights ago.

The pit of nervousness in your stomach was back as your breathing intensified. Your palms started to feel sweaty while your face felt hotter than usual. There was no way that this was a friendly interaction right? He was literally on top of you, inches from your face, and had the same exact look he had on his face on the way home from the Christmas party a few days ago, lovestruck.

“Thank you for coming over tonight,” you said, your eyes not moving from his. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,”.

“I told you, I'm always going to be here for you and I mean it. You’ve always been there for me when I needed someone and I couldn’t be more grateful for you. When the most special & important girl in my life needs someone, I'm there. Anytime, Any place,” he says, his face moving closer to yours.

The most special and important girl in his life, he said. He was talking about you and only you and that was the cherry on top that sealed the deal.

“I know that even if everything in my life fades, including football and the people I’ve met along the way, I know that you’ll always be there no matter what,”.

Your stomach was in knots right now. You wanted to scream and cry right now because of his words–but out of happiness and not despair. You felt like you were being transported back to college right now, experiencing those new feelings of excitement when you realized you had a crush on someone. Back in college, you felt those feelings of excitement about Joe. And years later, those feelings of excitement were still calling his name.

Love. That was it. You were in love with Joe. You have been in love with him since you two were just a couple of silly college kids trying to get through young adulthood together. Those feelings that you thought were momentary and situational, were permanent and eternal. And now that you two were grown up, it was clear how you felt about him. You had avoided those feelings for too long, and they only got stronger as the moments passed by. No wonder none of your past relationships would ever work out. The right person was in front of you this entire time and has been there for as long as you can remember.

Screw letting things happen naturally. You couldn’t take it anymore. You were on the verge of screaming how you felt about him at the top of your lungs. You had to tell Joe what you were feeling even if it was right now, completely out of the blue.

“Joe I-,” you start to say before the sound of his phone ringing interrupts you.

You watch as he closes his eyes and sighs, “Hang on,” he says as he moves off of you and takes his phone out of his pocket.

“It’s my mom. You good if I take this?” He asks you.

“Yeah, of course. Tell her I said Hey,” you smile. You watch as he fixes his hair and walks out of your room, shutting your door and leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You couldn’t believe that you were so close to telling him how you felt. So, so, so close. You loved him more than anything in the world and now that you realized it, you wanted him to be yours, and only yours.

“I love him,” you whispered to yourself as you stuffed your face into a pillow to hide the blood rushing into your cheeks. You started kicking your feet back and forth, feeling exactly how you did in college when you first realized you liked Joe. It felt like pure teenage innocence. He was the only man you had ever loved now that you thought about it. Yes, you had said those 3 words to other men before, but you never meant it like you did with Joe.

“Hey Mom,” Joe says as he sits down on the couch.

“Hey Sweetie. Everything alright? You didn’t really explain why you had to miss dinner tonight?” She says.

“Sorry about that. Y/N had a really bad day and I’m over at her place right now,” Joe said as he looked over to your side table, spotting a picture frame that had a photo of the two of you. The photo was of you two after the AFC championship game in 2022 that sent the Bengals to their first Super Bowl in years. You were clutching onto his waist, your head leaning on his chest and a huge smile plastered on your face as you were looking up at him. Joe had his arm around your shoulder and was in the middle of putting his championship hat on your head. Both of you were surrounded by tons of people, but the only thing you could focus on was each other. The candid photo captured both of your sentiments perfectly.

Flashback to 2022

You were waiting on the sidelines, taking in the moment as much as you could before you went over to celebrate with Joe. The Bengals had just beat the Chiefs, 27-24, and were on their way to the Super Bowl for the first time in years. You got an intense feeling of Deja vu as you watched Joe’s teammates lift him up on their shoulders, just like how they did when he won the Natty. You were lucky enough to be by his side for both of these significant moments and now you’d be by his side on the grandest stage of them all.

“I’m so proud of him,” Robin said as she wrapped her arm around your shoulder, squeezing you tightly.

“You and me both,” you whispered, a smile creeping up on your face as you made eye contact with Joe, his smile somehow getting bigger.

His mom looks over at him and follows his intense gaze right over to you, smiling at the way he is looking at you. “Go over there,” she encourages as she lets go and lightly pushes you.

“I’ll be back,” you smile at her before making your way onto the field.

Joe walked over to you and met you halfway, an evident bounce in his step reflecting the happiness he felt right now. “Hey there Mr. AFC Champ,” you giggle as you pull down your beanie a little more to protect your head from the cold January air.

He doesn’t say anything back, instead just wraps his arms around you and pulls you in for a big hug, swaying you back and forth.

“Hey, watch the outfit,” you murmur against his warm neck. He was definitely wrinkling up your dark orange sweater with his big, sweaty, grassy, but warm body.

“Screw your outfit,” he laughs as he pulls away from the hug.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you smile. “We got bigger things to talk about,”.

“Oh really? Wonder what it could be?” Joe smirks.

“I’m getting a major sense of Deja vu right now,” you say, your eyes navigating up to his head which was covered by the championship hat, your mind going back to the sight of the National Championship hat on his head in 2020.

He suddenly pulls you back into his chest, this time squeezing you even harder. “I can’t believe it,” he whispers.

“Well, you better believe it. I’m so fucking proud of you, Joe,” you say, moving your head so that you were looking up at him, tears starting to pool in your eyes. Words wouldn’t be enough to describe how proud you were of him at this moment. His first full NFL season resulting in his first Super Bowl appearance was incredible, truly magical. You watched for months as he worked his ass off to rehab his knee and get back to where he needed to be, and getting to see all of his hard work pay off was the most fulfilling part of it all.

“You did amazing out there today, I seriously have never seen anything like this,” you sputter.

He looked down at you, meeting your shiny eyes with his baby blues. His eyes moved to the beanie on the top of your head, and then you felt it being pulled off of your head. Your hair was flying everywhere as you watched him throw it down to the ground, your head now felt incredibly bare and cold.

“Hey, My beanie!” You yelled as you looked at it on the ground. You looked back up at him with a scowl, “What was that for?”.

“So I could do this,” he says as you watch him take the hat off of his head, your smile coming back to your face instantly as you feel his hand slide along your waist. He places his hat on your head, giving your head a few pats to make sure it’s secure. Joe’s mom snapped a few photos of the adorable interaction, neither of you noticing her presence a few feet away from you.

“If I’m Mr. Champ, then you’re Mrs. Champ,” he laughed.

“Mrs?” You laughed as you raised your eyebrow. “Don’t see a ring to prove it,” you add as you pretend to look intensively at your fingers. You were trying to keep it cool, definitely not trying to act like you were doing backflips internally at the mention of being ‘Mrs.’. You knew he was just joking, but your heart couldn’t help but flutter at the sound of being his ‘Mrs.’.

“Ring will hopefully be coming February 13th, 2022,” he sighed.

“Damnnn. So we’re talking about that kinda ring?” You teased, pretending to look disappointed.

“What did you think?” He smirked, knowing exactly what kinda of ring you were talking about. It was his fault for saying ‘Mrs.’, implying you were his wife, but he always enjoyed the playful back and forth.

“Ya know, Princess cut? Emerald cut? But I guess a Super Bowl ring will do just fine,” you say while rolling your eyes playfully.

“Maybe you’ll get two,” Joe shrugs as he lets go of you.

“Proposing without even dating the girl?” you say as you raise your eyebrow, straightening out your sweater which had a few grass marks on it from his jersey.

“Well, if the girl already knows anything and everything there is to know about me, and I know anything and everything about the girl, then it’s easy to skip the ‘getting to know each other’ phase,” he laughs.

“Relentless,” you chuckle while shaking your head; your heart still soaring at the flirty back and forth that you two would often have. Sometimes it would be silly, sometimes serious, but often flirty; but that never weirded either of you out for some reason.

You turn your head to the side, realizing it wasn’t just the two of you out there and that you were surrounded by many other people who wanted a chance to talk to Joe. This would happen a lot, especially in these kind of moments. You two would find each other in a crowded room, and once you were face to face, everything around you would fade away, leaving just the two of you there, together.

“I think I’ve kept you long enough,” you say, feeling a little shy that this whole interaction happened around so many people, many of whom were probably not even paying attention, but to your overthinking mind, they were. “You probably want to go celebrate with the guys anyway,” you say, looking down at your boots.

A scoff leaves his mouth, “And leave you? Never,” he says as he gives you a loaded look.

“That’s sweet but they’re your guys,” you say as you look back up.

“And you’re my girl,” Joe says, instantly turning tomato red as he realizes what he just said to you. That wasn’t supposed to come out of his mouth. He watches you flinch, your face tensing up at the awkward moment that just happened.

“Not like that,” he quickly retreats, scrambling to make sure he didn’t just make you uncomfortable.

You stay quiet for a few heartbeats, his anxiety getting worse by the second. But then you let out a laugh and cover your mouth to hide your big smile, “I know what you mean,”. He lets out a sigh of relief, his mind cooling back down but your insides were still as hot as ever. Being ‘his girl’ didn’t sound so bad.

“But seriously, you probably have tons of media and stuff to do right now since you’re now Super Bowl-bound, so I’ll leave you to it,” you say as you pull him in for another hug, sliding your hand up and down his back.

“I’ll come find you later, I promise,” he whispers into your ear, sending chills down your spine and butterflies in your stomach.

You pull away and say, “I thought you and the guys would go out or something?”.

“They are but I wanna take you and my parents out for dinner or something,” He smiles. “I want to celebrate with the most significant people in my life,”.

“I won’t fight you on that,” you beam as you stare deeply into his soothing eyes.

End of flashback

“Well aren’t you a good friend,” His mom says over the phone, snapping Joe out of his trance.

“Yeahh,” he nervously chuckles, his mom instantly noticing his awkward tone.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” she sighs.

Joe goes silent, he knows that he can’t hide anything from his Mom but still tries. He heaves out a sigh before getting straight to the point. “I like her. Like a lot. Like I love her,” he says quietly, making sure you didn’t overhear.

He hears his mom laugh over the phone, his brows furrowed at the response he gets. “About damn time!”.

“What?” he questions. “It’s about time you admitted it. I think everyone knows that you’ve had a thing for Y/N since Ohio State, Joe,” she smiles.

“Oh god. Is it that obvious?” he whispers, making sure that you don’t hear him.

“Mhm. Obvious to everyone but the two of you,” she replies, causing Joe’s eyes to widen.

“What do I do, Mom? I want to tell her but I feel like it’ll screw it all up if she doesn’t feel the same,”.

“Just talk to her, Joey. I know she feels the same way about you. I have seen the way she looks at you, talks about you, and acts around you. She loves you, just like you do her. Your girl has been in front of you this entire time,” she advises.

“I told myself I’d let things happen naturally, but I just can’t keep it in anymore,” Joe sighs, throwing his head back to the pillow.

“Naturally? Sweetie, you’ve been letting things happen naturally for nearly what, 9 years? You’ve been tip-toeing around each other for entirely too long. You both are grown adults now and I personally think it won’t hurt to give it a shot, especially since I think that it’ll turn out to be the best thing for both of you. She’s a wonderful girl and the effect she has on you is unlike anything I’ve ever seen, and the same goes for the effect you have on her. That’s true love,” his mom adds. “Just simply talk to her,”.

And Joe took that advice to heart. His mom was right, he just had to talk to you. He never had trouble talking to you about anything before, you were always receptive and understanding. Talking to you about his feelings shouldn’t be so difficult, especially if there was a chance that you felt the same way.

You got up from your bed, a little concerned since Joe hadn’t come back to the room yet. You opened your door and walked outside to him staring up at the ceiling.

“Hey, you alright?” you asked as you leaned against the wall.

Joe sits up straight when he hears your voice and quickly tries to recollect himself so that you don’t suspect that something is wrong.

“Yeah, she just was asking about why I skipped dinner and if you were alright,” he said.

“Ohh,” you nodded. If that was all they were talking about, why did Joe look so flustered?

“Well, I hope you told her that I’m fantastic now all thanks to her son who knows how to flip someone’s mood around better than he knows how to make french toast,” you tease.

“I only burnt them once,” he scoffed as his jaw fell open.

“It was definitely a little more than that,” you said as you moved from the wall to the kitchen, grabbing him a water bottle. “We can try again tomorrow morning and see if you’ve gotten any better,” you laughed.

“Tomorrow Morning?” Joe asked.

“Yeah. It’s getting pretty late and since you don’t have practice tomorrow, I was thinking you could stay over?” you said as you handed him the bottle. You were hoping and praying he would stay.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to intrude,” he says as he takes the bottle from you, his thumb lightly touching your fingers which sends electricity through your body.

“Intrude on what? It’s just me,” you grinned. “The only thing is, the ‘guest bedroom’ is my storage room so we’d have to share my bed,”.

“It worked out pretty well last time,” Joe softly laughed as he got up from the couch.

“So you’ll stay?” you perk up, trying to hold back from looking too happy.

“Come on,” he smiles, grabbing your hand and leading you to your room. Both of you were trying to hold back from saying something to each other about your feelings that you were both now certain of, and both of your faces were showing it. You were like two lovestruck teenagers.

A few minutes later, Joe settled into your bed while you were changing into your Pajamas. His heartbeat only got faster by the second now that he was thinking of when the right moment to talk to you was. Was right now a good time or was it too sudden? You were probably tired anyway, so maybe the next time you see each other would be better.

He watched as you came out of the bathroom in a short-sleeved Ohio State Football shirt, one of his, and shorts, looking absolutely angelic. He wondered how many of his clothes had piled up in your closet over the years.

“Do you need anything before I turn off the lights?” You ask him while you plug in your phone.

“I’m good,” he lazily smiles as he pulls the covers up.

You nod, turn the lights off, and slide into the bed next to Joe. You weren’t nervous this time like you were a few nights ago. Maybe it was because you actually came to a conclusion about your feelings for him or maybe it was because he was in your bed and not the other way around.

“Night, Joey,” you yawn as you look over at him.

“Night, Y/N,” he smiles as he closes his eyes.

An hour later

He couldn’t sleep. He tried and tried but he couldn’t fall asleep. He looked over at you, your eyes closed and soft snores coming from your mouth. His mind was still racing and it wouldn’t stop, and you being asleep right next to him wasn’t helping. Nothing about what happened tonight was helping. It was like he was on the verge of exploding because he couldn’t keep it in any longer, and he’d never ever felt like this before, and it was all because of you.

He turned over to face you, your hair was sprawled out against the pillow, some strands on your face, and your breathing was steady. He moved his hand to move the stray stands out of your face, but as soon as he did, you started moving. He quickly moved his hand away from your face and turned back to face the ceiling, closing his eyes and pretending to be asleep.

He felt you move around a little more before he felt weight on his arm. He opened his eyes and slowly looked over at you to see you resting your head against his bicep.

“Y/N?” he whispered.

No response. You were definitely still asleep.

He carefully moved his arm out from underneath your head and allowed you to move into him. You turned so that you were on your stomach but still pressed against his chest. You draped your leg over his and pressed your head against his chest and his arms settled around you, holding you close. He tried to even out his breathing, which was increasing because of your movements. You were cuddling him right now, just like how he was cuddling you a few nights ago. This time, your warm body was providing him comfort and security.

A few moments later, he had gotten a little more comfy, now feeling a wave of sleepiness come over him. He looked down at you, smiling at the fact that you were doing this naturally and completely in your sleep, like a reflex. He pressed a few soft kisses to the top of your head before looking up at the ceiling.

You were right there. You had always been right there, he thought to himself.

“I love you,” Joe whispered to you as he closed his eyes.

Saturday - The Day before Joe’s Birthday

The rest of the week had gone by pretty smoothly and you had Joe to thank for that. The morning after Joe stayed over, he helped you track down a new florist for your sister’s wedding. He pulled some strings to help you get the florist on such short notice, and naturally, it worked as nobody could say no to Joe Burrow. Then, he pulled out your laptop and helped you look through your work project. Going through it with him definitely helped you feel calmer about it since two minds were looking at it instead of 1. Even though his brain was wired to be a quarterback, he still had some knowledge about finance in his head from college which came to your advantage. He told you that if you ever felt like it was too much, to just let your Boss know, and if she ever had an issue with you, he would talk to her personally and let her know how much stress you’ve been under lately.

He always put in so much thought when it came to you, and you could never seem to fully grasp it. He even went online and ordered you a bunch of new, very expensive, clothes to make up for the outfit that you destroyed because of your spilled coffee. He always thought of everything and hit every corner. The only thing that was now left to be sorted out was telling him how you felt about him, and you couldn’t wait to tell him.

Today, you spent most of the day wrapping gifts for Joe as his birthday was tomorrow. The Bengals were playing Monday Night Football at home, so for once he was free on his special day. Even though he told you he didn’t want anything, you obviously didn’t listen to him. He always went above and beyond for your birthday, and you wanted to do the same for him as much as you could.

You hit all the corners when it came to getting him birthday gifts this year. The first thing you got him was a funny Squidward sweatshirt, a character with whom Joe shared a lot of similarities. You thought it was so endearing that he still watched SpongeBob, especially now that he’s a 27-year-old millionaire, but he still found comfort in the things that made him who he was. The next thing you got him was the Lego Porche set he had been dying to get his hands on, but was extremely hard to find. You searched every Lego store in the vicinity before you found it in a rare collectibles store downtown. Joe loved Legos, another thing about him that was incredibly precious to you. That man could spend hours in a room building a Lego set when he could, and you were often there to help him. The next thing you got him was a new pair of Cartier Shades. They were a pretty penny, but he deserved to be spoiled on his birthday, and this was just the thing for him. The final thing you got him, maybe your most favorite, was a Night Sky Map from January 13th 2020, the night he won the CFP National Championship. For a man who loved space and anything related to it, this was the perfect gift. The Map showed the exact position of the stars at the time LSU had won the game at the Mercedes Benz Superdome.

“Perfect,” you smiled as you looked at the Map. You finished wrapping the gift and placed it on the counter with the rest of them. You then pulled out your phone to text Joe and see what his plans were for tomorrow.

You: hey there birthday boy!! what ya up to tomorrow?

Joe: hey y/n :) nothing really. prob watching some film and relaxing before the game on Monday

Your jaw dropped when he told you his plans. There was no way he was spending his birthday alone, boarded up inside of his house.

You: joe….

Joe: yes?

You: your birthday is tomorrow

Joe: i’m well aware lol

You: care to explain why you are spending your birthday alone?

Joe: my parents and some of the guys were pushing me to do a dinner or something but I told them I just wanted to focus on the game and rest the day before

That was a reasonable excuse, but you were not about to let him spend his special day all alone. Especially since usually, he would have a game on his birthday.

You: that’s fair but this is your first free birthday in a longgg time. don’t you wanna do something fun?

Joe: fun can wait until the season ends

Hmm, this was going to be harder than you thought. He really wasn’t going to do anything fun on his birthday, was he?

Suddenly, you had a lightbulb moment. It would be pretty lame if you told him you were going to come over for a bit to celebrate with him, so what about a surprise? You could lie to him and say you would be out of town tomorrow, but back for the MNF game, and surprise him at his house. You could bake him his favorite dessert, order his favorite food, and bring everything over to his house along with his gifts.

You: if you say soooo. but just so you know, i’ll be out of town all day but i’ll be back for the game on Monday. i have some gifts for you that i can give you after the game :)

Joe’s smile dropped as he read the text. He was hoping you would say that you were going to come over to keep him company on his birthday, which he deep down did not want to spend alone. He couldn’t show that he was unhappy that you weren’t going to see him on his birthday, so he pretended to act like it was alright.

Joe: no biggie :) i’ll see you in the suite monday?

You: definitely. wouldn’t miss it for the world ;)

You felt bad about lying to him, knowing that he was probably sitting there thinking about how he had to spend his birthday alone. Of course, he needed to relax and focus, but nobody really wanted to spend their birthday alone. And he wasn’t going to, even if he thought he was.

A smile crept onto your face as you thought about tomorrow. Maybe you could even finish telling him what you were going to say to him a few nights ago.

Sunday - Joe’s Birthday

You walked over to the oven, pulling out the fresh Pumpkin Pie you had baked for Joe earlier. You placed it onto the counter to cool as you heard your apartment doorbell ring from what was probably the food delivery person.

You walked over to the door, greeted the delivery person, and grabbed the food; cajun from Joe’s favorite NOLA-inspired restaurant downtown. After placing the food on the counter next to the pie, you bring over the bag of gifts and set it next to everything, giving everything another check to make sure it was perfect.

“Food, drinks, pie, gifts…” you list off as you feel like you’re forgetting something.

“Balloons!” you chirp as you speed walk into your room to grab the balloons you got him last night. After bringing the balloons over to the rest of the items you had for his little birthday surprise, you gave everything another check, and this time it was all perfect.

A few minutes later, your car was all loaded up with his birthday surprise and you were on his way to his house. You were bobbing your head along to the song playing on the aux, “You Belong With Me”.

“If you could see that I'm the one who understands you, Been here all along, so why can't you see? You belong with me, you belong with meee,” you sing, a huge smile plastered on your face as your mind strays to the only man it could ever wander to. “He’s gonna love this,” you say as you bite your lip in anticipation.

20 minutes later, you pull into his driveway, watching as the sun sets over the horizon. You quickly turned off your car, hopped out of your car, and grabbed the balloons from the backseat. After taking a few deep breaths to calm your excitement with the balloons in hand, you make your way over to his door, but to just your luck, someone spotted you. Of course, it was Mrs. Nelson who seemingly was coming back home after her evening walk.

“Fuck,” you mumble. You slowly walk closer to his door, and her eyes tracking you as you try not to look at her. You see her shake her head from the corner of your eye and let out a small chuckle, prompting her to clear her throat out of rudeness. You pause at the steps to his door, plaster a fake smile onto your face, and turn to say “Hi, Mrs. Nelson,”.

The peculiar woman doesn’t respond and just shakes her head again before turning around and walking into her house. “Damn, tough crowd,” you laugh as you walk up the steps to his door. You press his doorbell, waiting for a few moments as you begin to think about how you are going to tell him about your feelings, but before you can get too deep into those thoughts, the door swings open.

“Y/N?” Joe says, his jaw practically on the floor.

You leap into his arms and pull him in for a warm hug, “Happy Birthdayyyy!” you squeal as you sway him back and forth.

“I thought you–” he begins to say before you pull out of the hug to interrupt him.

“You believed me?” you say as you gently push his shoulder. “I would never leave you alone on your birthday goofball,”.

“I seriously thought you weren’t coming,” he says as he scratches the back of his neck

“Damn. I’m for sure lacking in the bestie department then,” you giggle.

“Please, you have fully broken through the ceiling of the bestie department and are entering dangerous territory,” he teases, echoing your words from a few days ago.

“Oh yeah? What territory?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Girlfriend territory,” he teases as he watches your face turn a little red. Your heart skips a beat when he says the word ‘girlfriend’. Is this how he felt when you said he was entering boyfriend territory a few nights ago?

“Come inside,” he says, breaking you out of your trance. “It’s cold out here,”.

“Hang on, I have all your stuff inside the car,” you say as you hand him the balloons.

“What stuff?” he asks.

“Your birthday stuff, duhh,” you giggle as you quickly turn around to grab everything from the car.

Joe shakes his head and laughs as he watches you scurry over to your car, and then struggle to grab everything all in one go. “You need help?” he yells.

“Nope! I got it,” you yell back.

A few minutes later

You let out a breath as you finally make it inside with everything for his surprise, then slip off your shoes before walking over to Joe who was examining everything.

“Damn, when the hell did you do all this?” He asked.

“I’ll never spill my secrets,” you chuckle as you take everything out of the bags. His heart was soaring because of you. You really did all of this just for him, making him feel the the most special guy on the planet.

He watches as you take out the food, his face lighting up as he reads the name of the restaurant on the boxes.

“Cajun?” He asks.

“You know it,” you wink.

You then carefully take out the pumpkin pie from the bag, setting it next to the delicious dinner.

“And pumpkin pie?!” He says, his eyes widening.

“I know you love my pumpkin pie so naturally I had to make it for National Joe-Day,” you giggle.

“You’re the best,” he said as he grabbed your hand from across the kitchen island, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I know,” you gloat.

His eyes then navigated to the other bag on the table, the one with his gifts. He reaches over to open the bag, but you quickly swat his hand away.

“Mmm nope. No gifts until after dinner,” you say to him like he was a little child.

“But it’s my birthday,” he pouts.

“Food first then the fun stuff,” you say as you give him a look.

“Fine,” he says, rolling his eyes and then grinning at the smile that appeared on your face.

An hour later

“Mmm, that was so good,” Joe said as he downed his bottle of water. You’re both full of the delicious Cajun food, reminding you both of the taste of New Orleans.

“Literally. We gotta go down to New Orleans soon for the real deal,” you say as you clean up your dinner plates and load them into his dishwasher.

“I’ll book us a trip for this summer,” he smiles as he takes a seat on the couch where you join him with two plates of pie. A smile on your face when you hear him mention going down there with you.

“Is it gift time?” Joe asks, already reaching for the bags.

“Wait!” You say as you stop his hand. “Take a bite of the pie first,”.

“Why?” He asks.

“It’s technically your birthday cake,” you shrug.

You watch as Joe just continues to stare at you, not really caring much about the formality of it all. “Please, For me?” You pout.

“Anything for you,” he states, grabbing the plates of pie and placing them in front of you. You grab your fork, breaking off a piece of the pie and raising it up to his pink lips.

“Open up,” you smile as you try to feed him a piece.

He opens up his mouth, allowing you to feed him a slab of the pie. “Happy Birthday to you,” you sing-song as you take the fork out of his mouth while he lets out a groan and looks very cute.

“Mmm, Y/N. This tastes like heaven,” he says, covering his mouth so you don’t see him chewing while talking.

“Thank you,” you giggle as you place the fork back down onto the plate and then reach for the bag of gifts, moving it closer to you.

“Finally,” he groans as he gets comfy on the couch.

“Okay, here is gift 1,” you say, handing him the sweatshirt that was wrapped up.

He peels off the wrapping paper, his face going from smiley to confused.

“Really, Y/N?” He laughed as he read the text on the sweatshirt which said ‘Are you still talking’ with a picture of Squidward looking absolutely sick of it.

“Hey,” you shrug. “That’s quite literally you anytime you have to sit down for an interview. I know you feel like darting outta there as soon as they finish talking,” you chuckle.

His confused face turns into a smile, “You’re right,”.

There were so many interviews or media appearances where Joe looked like he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. He wasn’t a fan of interviews or anything that needed him to speak for an extended period of time. It was even worse if he had to sit there and listen to someone else talk for an extended period because it prevented him from leaving, so this little quote was very applicable to him.

“Do you like it?” You say, your smile dropping a little.

“I love it,” he says as he whips his shirt off, showing off his muscular chest, and putting on the hoodie.

“God damn,” you mumble at the sight of his very attractive body.

“Hm?” Joe asks as he straightens out the hoodie.

“Oh, nothing. Here, this is your next gift,” you say, changing the subject and placing the Lego gift in his lap.

He peels off the wrapping paper again, his jaw-dropping as he catches a peek at the gift. “No fucking way,”.

You bite your lip at his reaction, knowing exactly how bad he wanted this set but couldn’t find it anywhere.

“How did you find this?” He gasped.

“I have my ways,” you tease as you grab the wrapping paper and stuff it into the bag to clean up the mess as you go.

“More importantly, how did you remember?” He asked, his heart feeling like it was ready to burst because of your thoughtfulness.

“I always remember when it comes to you. Never forgetting a thing,” you smile.

“Oh we’re so building this later,” he says as he turns the box around to look over the visual.

“You got it, birthday boy,” you salute.

You grab the last two gifts out of the bag and place them into his lap. He opens the Cartier’s first, already knowing what it probably was as soon as he sees a peak of the red box.

“These must’ve been so expensive,” he says as he looks at the sick shades you got him.

“Don’t worry about that,” you say as you rub his shoulder.

“You shouldn’t have spent so much, Y/N. All of this was more than enough for me,” he said, his soft eyes meeting yours.

“You go above and beyond for me, every single year. This is nothing compared to what you do for me,” you say, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“Thank you, for everything,” he says, grabbing your hand and gently rubbing your skin. He had to fight the urge to press his lip against yours and show you how thankful he was for you, and it was killing him.

“Ah ah ah, I think we have one more gift to go and it’s my personal fav,” you say as you move the glasses to the table.

“What could possibly top all of that?” He said as he started to open up his final gift. You stayed quiet, carefully reading his facial expression to see his reaction to the gift. He opened up the gift, his eyes widening and his jaw slightly falling.

“Oh my god,” he said as he observed the Sky Map. His heart skipped a beat as he started to take in the amount of thought you had put into his birthday. You really hit every single point and nobody had ever done this much just for him. You were extraordinary and you were magic. You belonged with him, and this sealed the deal. You were the most thoughtful, loving, and extraordinary girl he had ever met, and he wanted you to be his.

“Oh my god,” he said again, this time looking over at you. “This is—,”.

“January 13th, 2020 at the Superdome,” you grinned.

“Holy shit. Are these the stars that night?” He asked as he examined the map.

“Mhm. The stars at the exact time you won the Championship,” you replied.

“Y/N, this is the best gift I think I’ve ever gotten,” he says as he stares at the map a little longer.

“I know how much you love Space and Stars, and this night was very important to you and your Career,” you said.

“I love it. I love all of it,” he grinned as he put the map on the table, then turned to you and pulled you into his arms for a hug. He wanted to add ‘I love you’ to that sentence as well, but that would be too random. If he was going to tell you, it had to be more special than that.

You melt into his chest as he squeezes your body, “I’m so glad you like it,” you mumble against him. He held you against him for a few moments, not letting you move one bit, and it was making the pit of nervousness in your stomach grow again. You wanted to tell him how much you loved him and show him how much you did as well, but you didn’t know if you should tell him now or wait for another moment when you were a little more relaxed.

“You wanna go for a walk?” He asked as he pulled away from the hug. Maybe he could tell you then, he thought to himself.

“Okay,” you smiled, maybe you could tell him then.

He got up from the couch, putting out his hand for you to grab onto. He helped you off the couch and you both made your way outside. The sun had set and now the sky was dark, the only light being the streetlights and the moon.

“Thank you for today,” Joe says, breaking the silence as you both walk down the street together. “You really know how to make a guy feel special,”.

“Anything for you,” you say, echoing his sweet words from earlier.

“No girl has ever done this much for my birthday,” he laughs.

You looked over at him, seeing that he was being serious, which came to your surprise. “Not even Stella?”.

“Nope. I think last year all she got me was some clothes, most of which were not my style, and a framed photo of us that I already had,” he says.

“No way,” you giggled.

“I don’t care much for gifts, you know that, but like come on,” he said as he shook his head.

“Did she at least get you a cake?” You asked.

“Nope, she made me apple pie instead,” he said looking disgusted.

“What?” You shriek. “You don’t even like apple pie,”.

“That’s what I’m saying. Apple pie was her favorite. And you know what’s even better?” He said.

“What?”.

“She wasn’t even there for like half the day. She was too busy helping her friend with her little sister's birthday party,” Joe said, rolling his eyes and running his fingers through his hair.

“There is no way,” you said, your jaw falling open as you felt sorry for him since his birthday last year sounded horrible.

“Yeah, so I really mean it when I say you’re the best person ever and this was the best surprise birthday shin-dig ever,” he said, flashing his million-dollar smile at you.

“Well, if it helps, I didn’t really like her anyway and I’m pretty sure she hated me too,” you joked.

Joe looked over at you, staying silent and not saying anything to debunk your theory.

“Oh my god? She did hate me, didn't she?”.

“She always thought we had something going on. She literally would grill me every single time after we hung out or something, accusing me of cheating on her with you,” he said.

“No fucking way,” you laughed.

“She used to say that even best friends didn’t spend that much time together and always thought we were hooking up or something. And then I did everything I could to make it up to her, but that would only last temporarily before she found another thing to get mad over,”.

“She must be delusional,” you said, rubbing your hands together as you were starting to feel the December cold.

“Wait, why didn’t you like her?” He asked.

“Her vibe was off. She also didn’t really seem like your type in my opinion. She was too flashy and hyper and you’re-–”.

“Lowkey and Calm?” He interrupts.

“Exactly,” you chuckle.

“Yeah, she really wasn’t the one,” he sighed. “At one point she literally told me to pick between you and her,”.

Your heart sank at the words that came out of his mouth. “What?” You asked, feeling a lump in your throat.

“That’s why we broke up,” he admitted. “I chose you,”.

He chose you. He chose you over someone that could have been his forever.

“Joe, I’m so sorry,” you said, looking down at your feet as you both kept walking around his neighborhood.

“For what?” He laughed.

“For making her make you pick,”. “If it wasn’t for me, maybe things would’ve been different for you guys,” you say, feeling a little guilty at indirectly ruining his relationship.

“That’s not your fault, Y/N. She wasn’t the one anyway, and everything about her showed that. That was just the final nail in the coffin,”.

“I just wish you could’ve told me in the moment,” you said.

“Well, I am now,” he shrugged. “And I know you don’t really like talking relationships with me anyways,”.

You didn’t like to talk to him about his relationships because all these years you wanted to be the one in a relationship with him, and the mention of other girls always made you bitter.

“That’s fair,” you giggled. “Anyway, enough with the depressing topics. It’s your birthday, no need to dwell on past heartbreaks,”.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he salutes.

“Are you excited for the game tomorrow?”.

“Very. I feel really good about where we’re at right now and my body feels good too,”.

“That’s great,” you beam. “I’ll never get tired of the feeling of game day,”.

“I hope not,” he laughed. “You’ve been a part of basically every game day for the last four years. If you got sick of it, I think I’d actually lose it. I need you up there at all times to be fully locked in,”.

You smiled at his silly thoughts. He didn't need you to be the already exceptional and phenomenal quarterback he was, but that was sweet of him to say.

“God, I wish we could do this for the rest of our lives,” you giggled. “Everything is so much easier when it’s just us without all the chaos that is our life”.

Joe’s heart fluttered at the thought. What if you could do this forever? His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest; this was it, this was his chance to tell you how he felt. Those feelings he’s had inside of him for years were finally about to come out.

“So then let’s do it?” He blurted out, stopping and looking over at you. The streetlight casting a direct glow on the both of you on the dark street.

“What?” You said, stopping and sporting a confused look on your face.

“Do this with me. For the rest of our lives,” he said.

Was he being serious, you thought to yourself.

“Joe—,”.

“You’ve been with me through everything for the past 9 years. The one thing in my life that’s stayed consistent for as long as I can remember. The most special, kind-hearted, loving, and beautiful girl I’ve ever known. When I’m with you, I feel like I’m flying. You make me forget about all the background noise and make me feel like just a guy. I want to feel that feeling for the rest of my life. I’ve been trying to figure out how and when to tell you,”.

“Joe, I—,”.

“No, let me finish,” he interrupts as he holds your hand. “I have to say it because I’ve been holding this in for way too long. Y/N, I’ve thought about you every single day for 9 years. Back at Ohio State, I knew I liked you from the moment I saw you. I knew you’d be a special part of my life and when I went to LSU and you stayed by my side, that was solidified. You’re the only girl that makes me feel fireworks. You’re the only girl that I think about and you’re the only girl I want to think about. No girl has ever come close to making me feel the way you do. My mind has been spiraling for the past few weeks because of you, Y/N. You’re the only girl I’ve ever truly loved,”.

Loved. He said he loved you. He loved you this whole time, and you were too blind to see it. This entire time you thought he didn’t feel the same way about you, but he did. He has felt the same way about you for just as long as you did. You felt like you were about to pass out, your flushed face & your silence were saying everything.

“Y/N.. say something. Please. I hope I didn’t just fuck everything up, but I had to tell you. I couldn’t keep it in anymore,” he said, squeezing your hand.

“Joe..” you say, breaking your silence and meeting his eyes, which were filled with love. “What are we?”.

“What do you mean?” he laughed. “I’ve been wrapped around your finger this whole time?”.

Your solemn face breaks into a smile as you realize what he is saying. “You– You really love me?”.

“I really, really, love you,” he grins.

“Guess what?” you ask him.

“..What?” he asks, letting go of your hand and feeling nervous all of a sudden.

“I love you too,” you blush, even harder than you were before.

“Really?” he asks, trying really hard not to freak out.

“Really. I’ve loved you since we were just two college kids trying to get through that awkward stage of life together. I never said anything back then because I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, so I buried those feelings and moved on. Or so I thought. But as we got older and time went by, I realized those feelings didn’t go anywhere, and more importantly, you didn’t go anywhere. No other guy has ever had an effect on me like you do. Those fireworks your mom talked about, I only feel them with you,”.

“Kiss me,” Joe blurted out, turning red at the fact that he just said that.

“You aren’t serious–” you reply.

“I so am,” he says as he grabs your waist and pulls you into him, crashing his soft lips against yours.

Electricity. Kissing each other felt like pure electricity. It felt like you were coming home after a long day or getting a sip of cold water on a hot summer afternoon. Comforting & Refreshing.

His lips molded against yours perfectly as you moved your arms around his neck to pull him in closer. His hands slid up and down your waist, relishing every single part of your body as you moved one of your hands into his hair, pulling at the soft strands. The warmth of both your bodies protects you from the frigid and dark night around you. He whimpers into the kiss because of you pulling on his hair, causing you to break away. You press open-mouth kisses around his jaw, then press kisses all around his face, causing him to laugh.

“I can’t even begin to tell you how long I’ve been waiting for this,” you say, pressing your forehead against his.

“We have all the time in the world for you to tell me, and show me,” he winks.

“Already trying to get in my pants, Burrow?” You flirt.

“Uhh yeah," he says straight up. "Have you seen yourself? Absolutely Sexy and Breathtaking,".

"Besides, I think we can skip the ‘getting to know each other phase’ since we’ve been in that for a longgg time,” he says before he presses another kiss to your lips.

“Didn’t you say that a few years ago after you won the AFC championship and called me Mrs. Champ?” you say, recalling that moment from a few years ago, the same moment from the photo Joe saw on your side table in your apartment.

“You really don’t forget anything do you?” He smiles.

“Like I said, when it comes to you, I never forget anything,” you smile, then press another kiss to his lips.

“I love you,” he says, staring deeply into your eyes, in which he finally found what he had been looking for all these years, love.

“I love you so much, Joe,” you grin.

An hour later

After your eventful walk, you make it back to his house, immediately following him into the kitchen for some hot chocolate he said he was going to make to fight off the cold.

“Ah ah ah, you go sit down. I got this,” he says as he turns you around and pushes you towards the couch. The smile on your face gets bigger as you hop over to the comfy couch.

A little later, he brings over two mugs of Hot Chocolate along with the rest of the Pie for you both to dig into. He hands you your mug, then plops down onto the couch next to you, opening his arms for you to curl up next to him. You rest your cheek against his chest as he settles his arm around your shoulder.

“This feels right,” he says as he takes a sip of the chocolatey beverage.

“So right,” you say, wiping the milky drink off your lips. “Everyone’s gonna lose it when we tell them. But I mean, most of them already saw it coming from a mile away”.

“Wait, so does this mean you’re my girlfriend?” he asks, looking down at you.

“Does this answer your question?” you mumble as you press a kiss to his chocolatey lips.

“Oh yes, yes it does, girlfriend,” he smirks.

“Good, boyfriend,” you giggle. “I can’t even imagine what the fans are gonna say once they figure it out,”.

“I mean, most of them thought you were my girlfriend anyway,” he shrugged.

“I can’t believe even they could see it before we saw it,” you said, referring to the love between you both.

“We must be really oblivious,” he laughs as he takes another sip of his drink.

“Must have been really oblivious,” you correct. “Oblivious no longer,”.

“Right, oblivious no longer,” he says, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you for making this the best birthday of my life,”.

“You’re welcome,” you say, meeting his eyes again. “But get used to it. Next year will be even better, and the year after even more better,”.

“Can’t wait,” he sighs as he rubs your shoulder, his brain now filled with thoughts of the future. Everything was perfect and brighter now that he had the comfort of knowing you were going to be by his side forever. Was it a little early to think about that? Sure. But he knew that you were the one.

Your brain was also much more relaxed and free now that you had the man of your dreams with you, hopefully forever. Those anxiety-filled thoughts had left your mind and were replaced with thoughts of love and hope. He wasn’t going anywhere, and you were all his.

You finish drinking your Hot Chocolate, and Joe does the same, so you take both of your mugs and place them on the table. Then, you move back to him, this time settling in his lap. He wraps his hands around your hips and presses his lips against yours again.

“I’ll never get tired of that,” you mumble against his lips, going back to the kiss.

“We’ve got 9 years of kisses to make up for so you better not,” he says as he moves your hair out of your face.

“I can’t believe this is real life,” you confess as you stuff your head into his neck, feeling his hand slide up and down your back.

“Well, you better believe it because this was meant to be. You belong with me,” he whispers into your ear.

You pull your face out of his neck, meeting his gentle eyes that are still filled with love, and passion exclusively reserved for you. “And you belong with me,” you say before kissing him again.

–The End–

#joe burrow #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow fic #joeburrow #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagine

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marvelwitchergilmore · 2 days

Text

For A While...

Summary: Spencer Reid x Fe!Reader -> You were first introduced to Spencer through Emily, however, six years later, it seems some things are beginning to change.

Disclaimer: 16+ CM level violence. Descriptions of torture, death and stalking. This is part two. Part one can be accessed here. Fluff towards the end. Pining. Angst (kinda). Not proof read.

Five Months Later…

The last five months had been like agony for Spencer.

He’s spent the last five months trying his best to figure out his feelings for you until one morning he walked into work, determined to look less like a complete confused mess as he had done for the last several days.

His tie was still a little crooked, but his hair was neater than when he’d rolled out of bed, and his shirt wasn’t creased. And with a coffee in his hand, he was waking up a little faster than usual. Except, just as he stepped through the doors, he saw you by your desk.

No-one was in the office yet. You’d been removing your scarf and coat, laying them on the back of your chair when he spotted you and the voice in his head said…

I love you.

He’d shocked himself.

Of course, he had already known his feelings ran deep for you. But it was the first time the actual words had been spoken out loud, or in the very least, to himself.

And it had been agony ever since.

He was pretty sure he managed to hide it, though he doubted that the team didn’t at least have their suspicions. If Emily had figured it out with only a couple of days, the team had seen them both for months.

However, Spencer was certain of one thing.

He had it under control.

Like he had told Emily, he didn’t want to lose you. And if that meant forever being your friend, living with a cage around his heart when he was with you that felt as if it was crushing his soul, he could happily live with that.

Until, one day, Spencer wondered why he’d built the cage in the first place. Because as much as he was aware of the dangers both of your jobs posed, he never thought he could lose you because of that.

The team had been flown to Oregon for a case. Four women had been killed in the town, all with a similar look, background and lifestyle. And the further you were looking into the case, it didn’t just seem to be in Oregon. The bodies trailed over the years across the country, and from what you could figure, the first had been in Virginia.

However, the longer you all worked on the case, the more the nagging feeling in your gut grew. Something felt too familiar about the case.

“We have to be missing something. We already know this guy stalks his victims, right. He knows what they do for work, he makes sure he knows what they’re doing at all times. He prays for the right moment when they're alone or they’re away from their general routine.”

“If it was a bigger pattern you could say he’s picking them at random.”

“But I don’t think he is. I mean, look at how each of the victims are described.”

They were described as smart, happy, hard working. If they ever stepped out of their routine, it was because they had to. The first victim drove a little out of town because her usual restaurant she ordered from was shut. The second because she needed cabinet hinges. The third because she needed to stop for gas but there was a diversion on the road, sending her to another.

The rest of the team continued talking but when Spencer looked over to you, you seemed…off.

“Hey, I’m gonna go and get some coffee. You guys want some?”

“Sure, that’d be great.”

“Thanks.”

Spencer knew that look on your face a little too well. You needed space. Why, he didn’t know. But he also knew it was better not to follow you.

Except, he couldn’t help but wish he could turn back the clock and do exactly that.

An hour later, you still hadn’t returned.

After twenty five minutes, they figured maybe there was a long cue. After thirty five, they figured maybe they had been changing the coffee filter just as you got there.

When you didn’t pick up your phone after an hour…they got worried.

So, sending Derek and Spencer to the coffee shop to try and find you, Hotch, JJ, Rossi and Blake stayed behind in case it was just that they were changing the filter and there was a long cue and your phone had died.

Except, when Spencer and Derek returned half an hour later having searched up and down the block, in every cafe, coffee shop, convenience store and gas station, they all knew something was wrong.

“She’s not any of them. The cashier said she hadn’t even come in today.”

“That’s not good.”

From the screen, Garcia popped up.

“Guys, I’m getting a live feed. You’re gonna want to see this, though…I don’t know if you’ll want to.”

“What is it, Garcia?”

Garcia said nothing, but her face said it all. With a couple of clicks, the feed was up on the full screen and everyone in the police department was watching it.

“How long have you had this Garcia?”

“The alert came in only a few moments before I called you, but according to the chat room, it’s been prepared for a couple of hours, but went live about forty minutes ago. I think you should also know, I was invited to this.”

“Invited?” JJ asked.

“Believe me, I’ve had every corner that I know of, being monitored. But apparently this is a new one.”

Everyone looked a little closer to the screen, and eventually it got a little brighter. Most likely from a light on the further wall.

And everyone’s hearts sank.

It was you.

You had a gash on your head, most likely where the unsub had hit you across the head. From the look on your face as you move your body ever so slightly, it wasn’t the only place on you that was wounded.

The camera angles kept changing, offering a different view of the room, though there wasn’t much to see other than you, beaten and bloodied, zip tied and chained to a bolted down chair.

Then someone came into shot.

The unsub.

He approached you slowly, bringing with him a damp cloth, gently pressing it to your head.

“It’s okay. Take it easy.”

You forced your eyes open, but when you were met with the reality of who it was, your face turned into shock, fear, disgust and anger.

You jerked back, unable to move any further than you had tried before.

“Get the hell off me.”

“It’s okay, don’t be like that.”

The unsub spoke softly to you.

“Get away from me. Get off me.”

“You don’t have to be like this.”

Then you spotted the camera.

“You’re filming this?”

“I thought your friends might like to see it. See how safe you are.”

“Safe?!” both yourself and Spencer asked.

“Garcia, can you get a clear shot of the unsub?”

“No, sir. He hasn’t looked at the camera fully.”

“Then look into Y/l/n’s past. She knows him. Or, he knows her. Maybe they’ve crossed paths somewhere before.”

“Already on it, Sir.”

It would take a little longer for the team to realise your relationship to the unsub. And your connection to the victims.

“I told you you’re safe with me, you don’t have to worry any more.”

“You kidnap me and tell me not to worry?!”

“I can take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“Why take her though? Why follow her? It’s too risky.”

“Maybe it’s his endgame.” Spencer said out loud, the cogs turning over and over in his head. Then he moved towards the evidence board, rearranging things around where he’d written your name in a bubble.

He needed to keep moving, proving to himself he was alive. Or else he might break more than he ever had.

“How would you describe her?”

“Smart.” JJ began, following what Spencer was getting at.

“Hard working.”

“A stickler for routine. She’s fixed. Doesn’t often change what she likes.”

More comparisons came out and Spencer had proven his point.

“I’m wondering if he was her first victim. Or if she was his catalyst.”

Everyone turned back to the screen when they heard a loud strike.

“It WAS me!”

It took you a moment before you rolled your head back up and looked from the camera to him.

“It never was you, that was the whole point.”

“Only because you couldn’t see what I could offer you.” He pulled a chair harshly in front of you and sat down. The camera still had a clear shot of your face, but just the back of his head.

“I saw you, a few years ago. Who was he?”

“Who was who?”

“That-that-that guy! The one you think you wanted! The one you thought could offer you everything!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Another strike across the face. Then he grabbed you.

“I saw how you looked at him. Like he was the whole world. Your whole world.”

“When even was-”

“Six years ago. I was coming out of a bar. Couple of buddies wanted me to go with them but I knew I had to find you. And I was stupid enough to think you’d be waiting for me. Instead, I found you with him. Standing outside your apartment. I didn’t wait around for the kiss.”

His name slipped from your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“So, you remember him? You remember him? You remember him…”

Of course you remember him. How could you not? You worked with him every single day.

The unsub was growing more emotional. From accusatory to confusion to a sadness of acceptance.

Then anger.

“You remember him!? And all he had to do was walk you home?!” The unsub laughed before pausing and kicking the chair over, sending it flying into a wall.

You jumped at his quickness and the loudness of the noises.

“Do you know how long I have been trying to get your attention?! How long I have spent trying to show you that you have feelings for me? You might deny it, but we both know it’s true. It has been since we first met. I know you didn’t know, but I saw it in your eyes, in that kindness you showed me when no one else did. You volunteered to be my partner, remember?”

“For the…the forest run?”

“You do remember.”

The unsub got down on his knees in front of you, clutching at your jacket.

“See, this just proves-”

“I volunteered because Sophia didn’t want to be left alone with you.”

“What?”

“I opted to take her place to make her feel safe.”

As you continued to explain, Hotch and Garcia tracked your phone numbers and social media posts until she found Sophia.

“So you don’t feel safe with me, but you’ll feel safe with Spencer?”

“Please, don’t bring him into this.”

“Why not?”

The unsub sat back. “Why not? Go ahead, tell me. This wouldn’t happen to be the same Doctor Spencer Reid, would it?”

You tried to deny it, but no words came from your mouth.

The unsub became deflated.

“And let me guess, you have feelings for him…you…you even…love him. Why do I not measure up? Because I don’t work for the FBI? Because I’m not a Doctor? What is it that makes him so much better that he earns your love?”

“Please, just-”

“It should be me! What can he give you that I can’t?”

Then he pushed the hair from your face and held it against your head, forcing you to look at him.

“I could have given you everything. I still can. Just tell them you’re safe, and I’ll make sure nothing ever happens to you, ever again.”

“Please, don’t-”

He turned to stand behind you, forcing you to look directly into the camera where the team could see the trails left behind through the blood on your cheeks, where your tears had flooded through them.

“TELL THEM!”

“Garcia, please tell me you have something.”

“Uh, maybe, I-I don’t know. I can’t be certain.”

“I’ll take what I can get, Garcia.”

“Well, I, uh-”

“Now, Garcia.” Spencer called out, his voice oddly even and a little cold.

“Sophia said his name was Toby-something. But I’ve looked through her files, her socials. There isn’t a single Toby, or Tobias or even Tobe.”

“Can you get a picture of him?”

“I’ve got a few, I’m running them through my database now.”

“What about Emily?” JJ asked. Everyone looked at her. “She grew up with Emily, right? Maybe she’ll know something.”

Spencer was already on the phone.

“Emily? Emily, listen to me. Was there anyone in Y/n’s past that she had trouble with? An ex boyfriend or something in college?”

“I- Reid, is everything okay?”

“Garcia will catch you up, but please. Was there anyone she talked about? Maybe a Toby-someone?”

Suddenly, Emily’s voice turned cold. “Reid, where is she?”

“Emily?”

“Back when she was in college, she was having trouble with a guy. Everyone called him Toby but his real name Jonathan. Toby was his middle name. He seemed fixated on her and one day, she found him in her apartment on campus. She called me and I got her out. After that, he seemed to disappear, but she always was weary.”

“Okay, send all the details you can to Garcia.”

“Already happening.”

All the team could do was wait and watch, hoping something would jump out at them to help find you.

“Do you love him?”

“I need to hear it from you. Do you love him?”

He picked up a weapon of some kind. A knife maybe.

“No, no, I can’t watch!” Garcia called out, turning her chair away.

A backhanded slap came across your face, the edge of the knife, cutting your cheek.

“Do. You. Love. Him?” Toby screamed louder.

Garcia squealed a little, hearing his arm movement. But just when she expected you to scream in pain, anyone who was listening heard what you said next.

“YES!” you screamed, fear of what was going to come next taking over. Maybe it would have been best to lie. But he wouldn’t have accepted it. And if he was going to kill you…

Toby faltered, looking down at you in heartbroken shock.

“Yes, yes. I do. I love him. Please…please don’t hurt me…I-”

Toby dropped the knife, the sound clattering on the floor, and he stepped back. Even from behind, they could all see the changes in his body movement.

From shock, heartbreak, to more shock to…anger.

And fear flashed across your face.

“No, no, no. Please. Toby- what-what are you doing?”

He was moving around the room, gathering things.

“Toby, please. Please don’t-”

Then the screen went dark.

“Garcia! Please tell me you have something!”

“Almost. Hold on. Wait.”

“We can’t-”

“The footage is still running. There’s no picture or sound, but it’s still running. Maybe if I can just- I’ve got her.”

“Garcia, send us the address.”

“Already done. Please bring her back safe.”

Toby had taken you forty minutes out of town, held up in a small town shed on a small plot of land he’d rented in cash, save for the electric bill that was in his name from a month earlier. Garcia couldn’t trace the address, but she could find the closest cell tower. And with a little cross reference, she found you.

All the team could do was hope you were still alive by the time they got to you.

It was agonising to listen to, but your screams let them know you were still alive. And when Morgan kicked down the door, Toby turned around you, holding your body against his front.

He’d changed you from being tied down in the chair to being strung up by your wrists. By the looks of it, however, you had managed to fight back, presumably in the small window of time you did have.

“Come any closer and I’ll kill her.”

“No you won’t, Toby.”

“Won’t I?!”

You whimpered a little as the blade pushed further into your skin.

“You love her, don’t you? Don’t you want to see her happy?”

“She IS happy. She’s happy with me.”

“Really, Toby? Because I wouldn’t say she looks happy. I’d say she looks scared. Terrified, even.”

“No, no, no she’s not.”

“Morgan…”

“She loves me! She has to love me!”

“But she doesn’t. And do you really think this is how she’s going to fall in love with you? By forcing her into it?”

Toby changed.

“Doctor Reid. Doctor Spencer Reid. This is him, isn’t it? This is the one that took you from me? Maybe once I’m done with you, maybe, maybe he’ll be next.”

“No…”

“Or you can choose me. Choose me and they don’t get hurt. Choose me and-”

You jumped at the sound.

A gunshot.

Everything went silent and then the knife clattered to the floor once more, soon followed by Toby’s body.

For a moment, you heard JJ’s voice coming from Derek’s wire, and then everything came back into a blurry focus.

“Is it over? Is-is he dead?”

Reid moved closer, checking his pulse before nodding to Morgan.

“It’s over.”

“Thank god, please get these off me.”

Spencer was closer, taking his pocket knife out before cutting your binds, allowing you to stand fully on the floor once more.

Your arms wrapped around Spencer both out of necessity, since your legs gave way for a moment, and out of need to hug someone, anyone, who wasn’t Toby.

In his arms, Spencer could feel your entire body shaking. So he simply held you tighter.

“Is-is it-are you sure it’s over?”

“It’s over. Let's get you out of here.”

Spencer helped you out of the shed before walking you over to the ambulance that was pulling up behind one of the SUVs.

“P-please don’t leave me.”

“I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

And he did.

Spencer stayed with you as they helped you into the ambulance and drove you to the hospital, he stayed with you as the doctors talked you through where they were taking you and what would happen and he was right there waiting for you, as you had asked, when you got out.

And when they finally found you a room, he stayed by your side, holding your hand.

Even hours later, you were still shaking with nerves and adrenaline.

“Have you called Emily?” you asked after a few hours of silence.

Spencer nodded. “She knows what happened. She’s also said she’s gonna catch the next flight out once they open the airports in London. Some storms closed the runways.”

You just nodded.

“Hey Spencer?”

Spencer hummed.

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For…for what happened. I-I don’t know how much you saw from the footage but Toby…I should have lied. I should have tried to keep your name-”

Spencer shot out of his seat and sat on your bed facing you, slowly taking the hand you used to squeeze your eyes shut from crying, into his.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s-”

“It’s okay. All I care about is that you’re safe. Emily…she already knew. She… a couple months ago, she talked to me about it…because she figured that was how I felt about you.”

“Spence, no, you don’t have to-”

“We can talk about it more, when you’re better, but I just…I need you to know, you’re not alone. And I don’t want you to be sorry for what you said. Because, even though I’m sorry for how it had to happen, I’m not sorry about what was said.”

“You…you’re not?”

Spencer shook his head, looking down at your hands in his, his thumb tracing a constant pattern over your knuckles.

However, the familiar clicking of heels down the hall broke your intimate silence.

“We’ll talk about it?”

You nodded.

Garcia was calling out your name before she found your room and took a look at you.

“Oh, thank god.”

“Penelope,” you smiled.

And Spencer smiled, too. For the first time in the last week, let alone the last twenty four hours, you smiled. Genuinely smiled.

“I’m so sorry I couldn’t find you sooner. If I-”

“It’s okay. You still found me. I’m okay.”

“I’m never letting you out of my sight again. And Emily will be here soon so it won’t just be me, you’ll have both of us. Maybe we can live like the Golden Girls.”

You struggled to laugh, but laughed all the same. “I’d like that.”

“Good, because you don’t have a choice.”

“I’ll give you two some space to plan your move,” Spencer smiled.

You smiled softly back at him as he slowly walked out of the room, but not before Penelope called his name. “Bring her back some jello! Orange, if they have it!”

Spencer nodded, however he didn’t need telling why orange. It was your favourite.

“How do you know that’s my favourite?”

“Emily told me.”

You smiled. There had been a week back in middle school when all you could stomach was orange jello. You’d have thought that after being sick for a week, you’d never want to eat it again. But that never happened.

The doctors kept you in hospital for the next couple of days whilst the rest of the team helped finish the last couple of cases at the police department.

When you were finally cleared to fly, Hotch and Emily were the ones to help you with your things.

Hotch explained what would happen when you all got back to the Bureau and what would happen with yourself and your job.

“I know you’ll be itching to get back to work, but I want you to take some time off.”

“I will. I promise.”

By the time you got to the jet, you weren’t up in the air an hour before you excused yourself from Rossi’s story time to sit by the one person who brought you the most peace.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Spencer smiled and shook his head, making space for you beside him on the sofa.

“Do you want to sleep?”

“What are you reading?”

He showed you.

“Wizard of Oz.”

“Want me to read it to you? Studies have shown it helps with sleep.”

“I’d like that.”

Within twenty minutes, you were fast asleep against Spencer’s chest. He’s turned himself so you could lean against him and see the small pictures that had been drawn, as he read.

And thankfully, Rossi’s stories kept everyone distracted long enough for yourself and Spencer to not experience the embarrassment of getting caught in such a compromising position, considering you were both just meant to be friends.

A week later…

Yourself and Spencer had seen Emily off in the Airport, and after that, Spencer had driven you home. You’d stopped off for some chinese food on the way back, and even though you’d both had…half conversations about what you’d said in the hospital, neither of you had come right out and said, well, anything.

Until you stopped in your tracks, forcing Spencer to do the same.

“Is everything-”

“I feel I need to confess something.”

“Do you need a church or-”

“It’s not that kind of confession.” you turned to face Spencer fully.

In two weeks time, you’d be going back to work. And you couldn’t take another two weeks, plus additional ones of whatever the awkward…thing was between you both. Like you each knew each other's secret, but didn’t know its full whereabouts.

“I love you,” you told him, finally. “I know it seemed forced, but it was the truth nonetheless. I love you. I am in love with you and…I don’t know what to do about it. Because, first and foremost, you’re my friend. And no matter what, I don’t want to lose what we have. I love you, but most of all I like you. I like being around you. I like listening to you talk about different books and music and the fact that whales can produce sounds up to 188 decibels. I-”

“I love you, too.”

That forced you to stop. And Spencer could see your eyes searching for an explanation.

“I don’t know how it happened. All I know is that one day I just…breathed for the first time. That I saw you and knew that if I stopped, I might die.”

“Sounds a little dramatic.”

Spencer laughed a little. “I guess it does. But it’s true. I’m in love with you. And I like you, too.”

You smiled.

“You know, I had a crush on you for the longest time.”

“Really? How long?”

Part of it baffled Spencer that you had perhaps had feelings for him longer than he did you, but most of all it baffled him how he hadn’t noticed.

“For a while…”

With a smile, you felt yourself leaning into Spencer. And he felt himself do the same thing until finally your lips met his.

The kiss was gentle at first, but became a little more searing as his hand gently brushed the hair from your face to behind your ear, and pulled you a little closer.

And you both just stood there for a while, pressed against each other, allowing each kiss to let you both know it was, in fact, very real.

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15minlatewithbatbucks · 2 days

Text

"Sometimes I forget they're gone."

Bruce looks up from work - a crossword he's doing to pass time until the gas chromatography finishes - and over to where Tim is rolling back and forth in front of a secondary terminal. The steady squeak of his chairs back wheel was almost meditative in a way. He stared up at a blank screen, face only illuminated in profile by the gentle glow of Bruce's own terminal.

"Who is?" Bruce asked when Tim didn't elaborate. For all that this was functionally his home now, the boy had a tendency to occupy space in a way that made Bruce's jaw ache from biting his tongue.

"My parents." Tim stopped rocking and the Cave was as silent as a grave between them. One grave in particular. "Like, something happens and I think, oh, Mom would love to hear about this. Or Dad would get all huffy and rant over something silly and it would be fun to listen to."

Tim, who loved his parents and, arguably was loved in return. He spent most of his time in his room or the Cave, exploring other rooms in the Manor like his parents did archeological sites. Interesting to him, but not a place to be.

"Sometimes I pick up the phone and get as far as putting in their international number, you know?"

Tim, who was parented through phone calls and post cards. Tim, who spent so much of his life in boarding schools that an actual home looked more like a museum than a place to live.

"I'm sorry, bud," Bruce murmured. There wasn't much else he could say, aside from reminding Tim that his father was still alive. Comatose, hanging in limbo, but alive.

Bruce thought it would be easier if Jack Drake died with his wife. Bruce also hated himself for thinking those kinds of things.

"I just keep thinking about Mohenjo-daro," he continued. "We're learning about it in school this unit and I keep remembering- I keep remembering that Dad said he's been there. I can't keep the dates right in my head and he would have helped."

"I can give it a shot," Bruce offered even though he knew it was the wrong thing to do now just as it had been the wrong thing to do when he offered to find a Romani language tutor for Dick when he realized he was forgetting things.

It would solve one part of the problem, but it would never replace the help a father could give.

Tim turned towards him, pale face washed out in stark relief under the light from behind Bruce. He wondered if Tim could even see his face in the relative darkness and found a cowards courage knowing he couldn't.

"He told me a story about it once," Tim said. "I can't remember the ending. I can't remember what he told me. Why didn't I listen better?"

Bruce had no answer for him. He set his paper aside and opened his arms.

Dick would have thrown himself at Bruce, taking comfort where and when he could. Jason would have slunk over and did his level best to press close enough to cave in Bruce's chest and make himself a home.

He was, in hindsight, too good at that.

Tim always hesitated. Weighting the pros and cons? Overthinking a simple comfort offered freely? Bruce never knew.

Still, Tim slowly abandoned his squeaking chair. He let Bruce tug him in for a hug.

Tim was older than Dick had been, around the same age as Jason. Even so, in moments like this he seemed immeasurably younger. Tim, cast off in a prestigious boarding school, had lived comparatively untouched by life's hardest lessons. He signed up for the work, but he couldn't have known how hard it would be. Bruce never should have let him in, but what could he do now? Tim came to him when he needed a partner the most and he was so, so grateful even as regret threatened to choke him.

A beep, then. Bruce's eyes drifted upwards.

"The drugs we lifted from the Iceberg Lounge?" Tim asked against Bruce's neck.

"Yes."

"Show me."

Bruce let Tim out from the protective circle of his arms and did so. The moment lay broken behind them, like so many others.

#tim drake #bruce wayne #batfamily #batfam #wrote on my phone because im obsessed with how tims life shaped him #i think Janet and Jack loved Tim AND they werent super great parents #they send post cards to tell him their plans changed and are prone to fighting so relentlessly he know the drama from boarding school #his relationship was long distance and the absence had to have been felt in such strange ways #they were letters on a page and a voice on the phone and they loved him #oh right i forgot #my writing tag

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liliannadelaphinehartifelt · 1 day

Text

Alastor - [ DEVOTION Pt. 7 ]

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Alright, buckle up loves! This one is a rollercoaster…. I’m pretty sure there’s smut (yay, we have returned to my roots). Also, thanks for all the feedback on the story. It gave me insight into a few things and what tropes to leave out of my next series (which is coming soon).

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ SLIGHT SMUT ] + [ ANGST ] + [ CHILDBIRTH…description?… I mean not really that much… ] + [ MENTIONS OF CANNIBALISM ]

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Within the hour of Alastors shadows leaving, Roise and Angelique came rushing into your home.

Their coats were thrown to the floor at the door, and both women bound up the steps, calling you and Alastors' names in evident concern.

"Al! Y/n?!" Rosie shouted as she rounded the staircase plateau, reaching the room first, and his mother followed swiftly.

"Al! Baby, what happened?' Angelique came right to his side as he lifted his head from looking down at your sweat and blood-covered face.

Rosie gasped, seeing the state you were in, the blood pooling on the sheets, your body's weak tremors worrying both women and Alastor’s disheveled demeanor, only adding to the heart-wrenching scene.

Angelique placed a hand on your forehead, feeling for a temperature, as Alastor croaked out a phrase she had never heard him utter: "Help her ma…please…."

". She's burning up," Angelique muttered in slight shock, sparing her son a solemn glance as she caressed your cheek soothingly.

He clearly was withholding his panic, reverting back to the mild-mannered nervous ticks he had as a boy to cope with stress.

His eyes twitched rapidly, watering a bit as she conversed with Rosie on the best ways to go about helping you and the babies.

"They're gonna be okay, baby. Hey, look at me, stay strong, you hear me? Keep your head on straight. They need you more than ever…" his mother reassured him with an encouraging smile, tilting his chin up as an added gesture.

"Now is not the time to be weak like your father…"

Alastor paled at her words, unconsciously steadying his mentality to avoid breaking down any longer, "I'm nothing like that pompous and demented drunk-"

"Then go clean yourself up. Straighten out that mess in the basement. And let us do what needs to be done to save Y/n and your children…"

Angelique made no effort to put her instructions gently, already rushing about the room to ready herself for the task ahead.

Rosie merely stared at him expectantly, already tending to your wounded head after wiping the visible scum from your face with a warm wet washcloth.

"Go, Al. We will take care of this."

He froze for a moment, hesitant to leave you in such a state, gazing down at your distressed form one last time before deciding to trust them with your fate.

"I'm counting on you both," he mumbled wearily, planting a sorrowful kiss on your head while peeling off the bed's edge.

"Everything going to be alright, sweetheart. I promise.."

You sobbed lowly at his words, too weak to speak and even less apt to stop him from leaving your side.

The last sight you had of Alastor that night was him lingering at your bedroom door with a somber smile that conveyed the sadness in his eyes, and then he was gone.

A memory you couldn't recall as hours of labor set in. You spent what little strength was left in your body to birth a son and a daughter.

Your screams could practically be heard throughout the whole Garden District.

Alastors' shadows shook violently upon hearing each one, but he restrained himself from racing into the room.

Instead, he busied himself as his mother instructed: cleaning the basement, locking it up before pocketing the key for better safekeeping, and resigning himself to his studies.

Hours of listening to your muffled cries mixing with the crackling of his radio filled the atmosphere with unease.

His shadows swirled in anticipation near the bedroom door, not daring to peek in until your voice was drowned out by the soft cries of two newborns.

Alastor had been on his third cigarette and fourth whiskey by then, in the middle of drowning his stress with vices he'd sworn never to take up, but they seemed appealing for the longest night of his life.

He was rather thankful when a spectator spawned beside his chair, whispering good news in his ear and clearly elated to relay it.

They've arrived—a healthy boy and girl, and she is stable as well. A job well done, monsieur…

A tender smile crept onto his lips at the information, shrill cries of life carrying through the house proving his spectator's observation true." I shouldn't keep my children waiting then," Alastor mused half-heartedly while standing upright.

His glass of whiskey was half full on his desk, his cigarette snuffed out on an ashtray next to it, and his radio left on a low volume of static as he left the room.

———— ————— —————

"Oh, Al, come look! They're just the sweetest little lambs you'll ever see!"

Rosie ushered him in the room with a genuine grin on her face, strands of her blonde hair in disarray, her dress sleeves rolled up, and a bit of sweat on her neck from the work she'd just finished.

He chuckled at her enthusiasm, assuming she was exaggerating to lift his spirits.

"Is that so?"

Rosie nodded excitedly, gliding back over to the bed where you lay, and his mother sat facing you.

"Come on. Come look at em'…" the blonde whispered while peering into Angelique's arms.

Alastor hesitated, somewhat afraid to come face to face with his offspring, but then he heard them babble quietly.

A gentle, enlightening sound he never imagined liking, but it drew him like a magnet.

The tired smile you gave him as he neared the bed helped quite a lot.

You were alive, in need of rest, but still breathing.

His mind calmed as your eyes met for a split second, a fleeting exchange of gratefulness, but it broke as two tiny giggles filled the room.

Alastor averted his attention towards them, leaving you to watch as he took them in.

Angelique shifted slightly, adjusting her expert hold on the swaddled newborns who fixated on their looming father as he stepped closer.

"Oh my…hello there, little ones. What a pleasure it is to meet you…"

Alastor fawned over them, kneeling to get a better look, and to his delight, they both smiled at his approach.

The sudden change in expression swayed him, and he had a genuine grin on his face as he took their features in.

"What wonderful gifts you are," he muttered in amazement.

His mother chuckled, amused by her son's reaction to his children, but relieved he'd composed himself again.

"Would you like to hold them, Al?" she voiced the offer gently, watching his sharp eyes soften behind the around-framed spectacle.

"I'd love to ….." he mumbled wistfully, never taking his eyes off the newborn twins.

Rosie squealed quietly in excitement as Angelique nodded, carefully handing the boy over to Alastor first.

He gently took him in his arms, admiring their similarities, "My eyes, hair, and nose. You've stolen them all…"

He paused, stuck on what to call then, but you whispered both names through a tired smile:

"Adonis Naveen Hartifelt & Antoinette Marie Hartofelt… just as we decided, yes?"

Alastor held your gaze momentarily, sensing something was off but disregarding the underlying tension to enjoy the quaint moment.

"Yes, ma chere. Very suitable names…"

You flashed a somber smile, watching as he walked about the room with Adonis before switching to hold Antoinette.

He clearly favored your daughter a bit more, smiling the longest with her near his chest and only puttering her down when she began to fuss—which took quite a while.

Angelique took her from Alastor's grasp, letting him admire her again before he left the room with Rosie and leaving you to feed them with his mother's help.

His absence left you to wonder…

It baffled you how he could be picture-perfect at times like this.

The very image of a good and gracious man.

Nothing like the monster you imagined could systematically tear apart a body the way you witnessed in the basement.

Nothing like a man who'd lie to his wife.

Nothing like the man who'd caused you so much pain in what was supposed to be your happiest time together.

————— ————— —————-

As the days rolled on, winter winds ravaged New Orleans through the holidays, but the frivolous change of season seemed a distant notion outside of the Hartifelt house.

You were first confined to bed rest by Angelique, then by a doctor's official recommendation the next day, and with their orders came directions.

No overexcerting yourself.

No stress.

A fulfilled and healthy diet couldn't be avoided.

And at least six hours of sleep per day.

The last two stipulations were hard to follow because they felt impossible, and you couldn't bring yourself to relax until Alastor made an effort to explain himself…

To explain the body in the basement and why he'd ever see the need to butcher someone in such a gruesome way.

You'd long figured out what he'd been using it for, piecing together what you witnessed with what had been conspiring in your home for months…

The mutilations on the body were precise, as if he had been harvesting certain parts, but you didn't recall seeing any limbs or organs lying around the basement.

There was no rotting flesh smell either, nothing to indicate he was keeping them as personal trophies, but the victim had clearly not been his first from the looks of their wounds.

You'd never seen him dispose of anything, never heard any clamoring noises from the basement when he was down there, and couldn't recall seeing blood on his hands besides the one time you visited his mother.

All your guesses and observations led you to one conclusion: a notion that made your stomach churn, but the only plausible answer to the question of what Alastor had been doing with…or instead using the body for.

Meat.

He had to be harvesting it.

Feeding body parts to himself and me as if it were regular livestock.

It made sense now why he'd neglected to buy meat on grocery store runs and insisted his hunts would bear better fruit than packaged goods, and the more you thought about the connection, the stupider you felt.

All this time, he'd been feeding you…feeding your children human flesh?

How could be so blind to it, so caught up in his charm, and fail to notice what he'd do behind your back.

You threw up every time the thought crossed your mind…

The season's cold chill mirrored the steady rage building in you as days turned into weeks.

Reaching its height by the time Christmas Eve rolled around.

Rosie and Angelique had decided to stay and help you and the twins until your health became stable again.

One woman was always at your side to help, allowing you to nurse Adonis and Antoinette in peace when needed.

In the first few days of your recovery, you didn't remember much of anything, falling in and out of sleep rapidly, but when you could stay awake for most of the day, you refused to have either child out of your sight for more than a second.

Alastor had tried once after their birth to hold them again in your presence, but you forbade Rosie from letting him in the room.

The evident hurt in his eyes when you viciously glared at him that day tore your heart to pieces, but you just couldn't bear to see him pretend everything was bright and dandy.

Like there wasn't a rotting body in the basement…

Angelique tried to soothe you both in one way or another, convincing Alastor to give you space and time, suggesting that he focus on his radio show rather than holing up in his study or going on impractical 'hunts' to cope with your anger towards him.

He took her advice well, putting on a mask for weeks on end as he carried on being New Orleans's most prominent radio star, and though the frequency of his hunts slowed, the few he did venture on were extremely bloody.

You weren't as easily swayed by her attempts to heal the rift between you and Alastor.

Barely eating or sleeping for quite a while, afraid to close your eyes and replay the bloody memory he'd caused, and overtly protective of the twins as a result.

However, eating and neglecting rest didn't last only a short time.

Both factors affected your productivity as a new mother and healing stage.

You eventually took Amgelique's advice, eating your meals in total, resting more, and enjoying your children's presence.

They were quite the duo.

They were generally quiet babies but incredibly active when not asleep.

You took pride in nursing them, fleeting Rosie holding one while you fed the other, both of you cooing at their gentle mannerisms.

Your mood improved drastically by Christmas Eve, the strength to walk around the house without helpfully given back to you, and the pain in your head significantly lessened.

Jovial as ever, you took slow and sure steps to leave the stuffy room, bathe and dress yourself, and be drawn out by the smell of delicious food being made downstairs.

You could hear Rosie playing with the twins, her soft laughter wafting through the house as two other voices lingered under it.

You nearly turned back to the room, recognizing Alastors voice, grimacing as he laughed at something his mother had said, but after a few calming self-reflective breaths, you continued down the winding staircase.

Rosie was the first to spot you, dressed in a simple red and green evening gown, ready to celebrate the night.

You almost envied her vitality, opting for a simple white and red dress and a large red bow to hold your hair up in an elegant pin style.

She gasped softly as you descended the last few steps, halting her hand that tenderly swayed your children's bassinet.

"You're up! Oh, how wonderful…you look lovely, my dear!"

She rushed to hug you, careful not to squeeze you too tight, as a small giggle left you:

"I'm still finding my bearings, but thanks to you and Angelique, I feel much better."

Rosie took hold of your hands in both silk-gloved ones, leading you into the warmly lit parlor.

She left you to admire how beautifully decorated it was as she sat you down next to her on the sofa.

A pine tree was tucked in the corner, standing massively next to the front bay windows, decorated with fairy lights and traditional ornaments.

Garlands were hung in the same fashion, and other festive adornments covered your home's interior as far as you could see, and your heart fluttered a bit at the sight.

You usually took on decorating for the holidays. Alastor would help, of course, but you enjoyed doing it more than he did.

You expected nothing to be set out since you'd been unwell for so long…

"How'd you manage all this, Rosie?" You glanced around in awe one last time, focusing on the babbling newborns comfortably loaded in their business before you.

They reached for your hand as it lazily slid into the bassinet, warm little palms encircling your fingers, bringing comfort to you.

Rosie watched the loving exchange like a proud sister before answering your question.

"We did nothing, dear. This was all Alastors doing…"

You stiffened, glancing at her in disbelief, "All of this? By himself?"

She nodded slowly, reaching for her glass of white wine sitting on a side table.

"Mhm. I'm sure he knew how important the holiday season is to you…"

It was true.

Alastor did know how much you cared about this time of year.

It reminded you of your mother; your few memories of her were from this season, fond quips of true joy you tried to preserve by upholding her enthusiasm for all that Christmas brings.

"A cherishable, loving, pure spirit ready to start a new. Many forget that the only gift that truly matters to another person is one of understanding. Remember that, my love…never let it go.."

Her words rang in your head as your heart twisted, flashes of your memories with Alastor plaguing you.

"How is he?" you asked tentatively, not looking away from the twins as Rosie sighed, "Not well. He wants to speak to you, dear. See the children for more than a second, too. Won't you give him a chance?.."

She placed a hand on your shoulder, her expression softening as you blinked back tears.

"Rosie…I…I want to, but if he spills another lie from his mouth, I'm afraid I might lose myself to rage…"

A beat of silence hung in the air, a single tear running down your cheek as the thought of facing Alastor made you dizzy with anxiety.

"I'm grateful for your help, for his love, but you've all left me in the dark, and now that I've grown wise to it all, I can't help but wanna hate him…"

"Y/n…we- he was just trying to protect you…"

You stifled a sob, crying quietly as you nodded, "I know… Rosie. I know god damn well what Al was trying to do, but if he'd told me from the beginning, I wouldn't drive myself mad in the first place. All that talk of being devoted to me, and he turns around and lies."

You scowled at the carpeted floor, swiftly wiping your face clean before standing from thorofare with a newfound determination:

"I won't stand for it any longer, er, and thinking about it sours my mood. If you'll excuse me, I need a stiff drink…"

—————- ——————- ——————

Angelique paused in her task as you slipped into the kitchen, not saying a word to her son.

You passed her with a small smile directed only at her and her.

She returned it, picking up a stack of dishes to place on the dining room table before silently gliding out of the room.

You frowned at the loss of her company, aware she'd left hoping that you and Alastor would talk earnestly, but you had no intention of even looking his way.

Your husband felt you whisk past him to the wine cabinet, halting his focus on the pot of gumbo he was preparing to turn your way.

"Y/n," he uttered your name, a low call that made your head spin and your chest tight.

You refused to respond, pouring yourself a moderate glass of wine before taking a long sip, and as the bittersweet alcohol dissipated on your tongue, you turned to leave the area.

Alastor tried again to gain your attention, his face stoic as he reached for you.

With a bit of force, he successfully pulled you into his side. You scowled, instinctively tugging your waist from his iron grasp, but he didn't relent his hold—not once.

"Leave me be," you spat quietly, grip hardening on your wine glass and your bright eyes darkening with unbridled rage as his hazel eyes softened on you.

"I will when you let me explain myself…"

Both of his hands found your waist, shifting your reluctant body to press up against his.

You stiffened at the familiar contact, missing his embrace momentarily and slightly distracted by the warmth he emitted.

Weeks without physical touch from him felt tortuous, and you intended to endure it for a while longer, but feeling him so close if only for a moment- made your resolve less than weak.

Alastor pressed his weight against the counter, head coming to rest on your shoulder as he inhaled the scent of your perfume.

A crisp, sweet smell he missed dearly.

It was one of the many traits about you that calmed him, kept him tethered to sanity, and going weeks without breathing you in affected him nearly the same as the lack of his touch did to you.

You twisted and squirmed in his hold, growing angrier by the second as he held you still, "Alastor Hartifelt, let me go this instant-!"

You grit your teeth, hand poised to fling the wine in your glass onto him as a well-deserved deterrent, but he's quick to hold it still.

He tugs the glass from your hand, disregarding the slight spill it causes, and you gasp softly from the use of sudden strength in a simple motion.

Alastor sets the crystal glass down, taking another deep breath before speaking to you in a tone you could only describe as hollow.

"You've seen it, haven't you, darling? What takes up my time in the basement, yes? I know it must terrify you, dear. I know, but you must realize I never meant…to hurt you. Believe me when I say I kept my deeds hidden to protect you…"

Not an ounce of regret was in his words; you hadn't expected any.

Alastor was never the type to act upon something he'd despise later.

You knew him well enough to see an act of utter violence like this made sense to him in some way.

It was never the thought of him being dangerous, the thought of him being murderous, or prone to aggression that had angered you.

He hid it like you hadn't stood by his side through the worst times.

The secret he kept wasn't horrific for its brutality but disgraceful in its relevance to your love for him.

"Protect me?.." you grimaced, looking into his eyes with burning rage, "What about trusting me. To hell with why you kill. It's a matter of you hiding such a secret from me in the first place. I am your wife, your equal, and yet you lied to me as if I were a mere child! A pet you could put in a cage and show off but never bond with…"

The anger slowly left your tone, gaze softening on his amber eyes, "I understand you don't care much for the term 'love' but whatever we have can’t exist without us fully trusting in one another. That is why I am angry with you. That is why I've distanced myself, Alastor. Nothing more. Nothing less."

You lowered your head, feeling a tad dramatic but glad to have said what was on your mind.

Alastor pursed his lips in deep thought for a moment, but soon, his deep laughter resonated around the room.

Your head snapped up at the sound, one brow lifted in pure confusion as he chuckled heartily, "And what's so funny now?" You tutted in frustration, prepared to drench him in wine again, but you thought better of it as his laughter died.

"It's just that…" he paused, staring into your curious eyes as they took in his lazy smile, "I seem to have forgotten why I fell for you in the first place, sweetheart."

Alastor's grin grew as your expression hardened, "What does that have to do with this conversation-"you began to become livid again until his large hands cupped your rounded cheeks gently.

You froze as the gentle contact warmed your skin, focus paper thin as he leaned in close enough for your noses to touch, "My darling doe, you have never betrayed me once. In all our time together, your faith in me has never wavered. I've killed for you more times than I can count, but that could never amount to the love you hold for me. Even after discovering my darkest sin, you look upon me gracefully… my wife, my angel, you are truly curious to a man."

His sentiments muddled your thoughts, every sweet word true, holding an edge of obsession.

Your heart fluttered hearing them, the sharpness in his eyes reinforcing their weight.

You gulped gently as he brushed his lips over your parted ones, teasing a kiss you weren't ready to give.

"I must've been mistaken when I belittled my love for you in the sense of devotion…."

His eyes drifted half closed as you hummed in delight, feeling his heavy breaths fan your mouth.

Whiskey and twinge of sweetness rolled off his tongue, an inviting mixture you didn't dare to forget, "Then correct yourself," you muttered in response in hopes of reliving your craving for him.

Alastor struggled to surpass his smirk as you raised your hands to rest over his, gingerly pressing your nails into his skin and shivering at the familiar roughness it had.

"How do you suggest I do that, dear. I've caused you quite a lot of trouble, and there's only so much a man can do."

His teasing stirred heat in your core, a sensation you hadn't felt in weeks and thoroughly missed.

"First, you'll swear to never…never lie to me again. No matter the circumstances."

He hummed lowly, eyeing the low-hanging ruffle sleeves of your dress as they inched downward the more you pressed into him.

"You have my word, ma chere."

The response was automatic on his part, driven by the soft whine you let out as one of his hands shifted to knead your hip.

The gesture brought your lower half closer to his, leaving no space between you, but as distracting as it was, you continued on with your demands.

"You won't ever feed me or our children human meat again…without my explicit permission."

Alastor frowned for a moment but agreed nonetheless, "Alright."

You nodded, inhaling sharply shortly after as his hand gently tugged your dress skirt.

It would be right to swat him away and restrict his touch from you a bit longer, but the instant his fingertips brushed the skin of your thigh, you couldn't help but blush and bit back a whine.

"A-and you'll never put yourself, this family, our life together…in harm's way. Promise me, you'll continue to be discreet Alastor…"

The urge to moan gripped you entirely as his touch burned your bare skin, only silenced by the immediate kiss he allowed you before muttering sincerely, "You have my word, darling…"

You shuddered at his oath, knowing he meant every word, pouring his intent to keep it through the exchange of heated kisses that ensued after.

You held onto him tight, trying to remain as quiet as possible as his tongue found yours, forcing it to obey his lead and his hands roaming your body for the same sign of submission.

You gave in effortlessly, head tilting back as he marked your neck, gently pricking your skin with his teeth, gliding his tongue over the most minor bruises he left.

A wave of shivers captured you, disorienting and intensifying with Alastor's every move.

Your hands gripped his broad shoulders, bracing yourself for him to inevitably lift you onto his waist, but the action never occurred.

The sound of Rosie's quick footsteps approaching and her distinct singing song calling of your names made you both separate.

Alastor yanked your dress down quickly, clearing his throat with a cheeky grin while you hid your face in his chest out of slight embarrassment as the blonde glided into the kitchen.

"Mrs. Hartifelt wants to know if the gumbo is ready, Al. How's it coming along, hm?" She chirped cheerfully, pretending not to notice your bright red, blushing face hidden in his embrace.

"Oh, it's just about done, my dear. Just had to give it another taste test, right chere?"

You stared up at him in awe as he brought a hand to your left cheek, gliding his thumb over your heated skin, lovingly and intently staring back at you.

"Isn't that right, chere," Alastor asked once more, enjoying the nervousness in your gaze as you nodded in jaded agreement, "That's right, Rosie.." you muttered dreamily, too focused on your husband to catch her knowing smirk before she hummed in understanding while sashaying back into the parlor.

"Mrs. Hartifelt, Al says it's coming along well!" Rosie shouts in delight as she leaves you both alone, accentuating the phrase's double meaning to the older lady tending to her new grandchildren in the warmly lit parlor room.

Both women's smirks grew wildly, hearing you giggle amid Alastor's flirtatious teasing moments later.

"Seems it is," Angelique mumbled assuredly as Rosie sat beside her, admiring the tiny humans smiling in their sleep.

Christmas Eve wouldn't be so dim after all…

xxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxx

Whew…..you all okay after this? No? Too bad it gets better then way worse… A real Shakespearean tragedy/romance. IM TAKING MY ASS TO BED NOW GOOD NIGHT 😴

TAGS ❤️: @rapturenyx @michi-keinz @shealizxx @nissrinina @destinyisastar @bubblegumheartsy @sailorsmouth @aestheticgals-blog @rameisa @ellesette @gasiacos @marvelgirl123 @dinosaur-crime-scene

[ BONUS CONTENT + ]

Did you fall more in love with him seeing this? I certainly did…Credit to creator ❤️

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor hartfelt #human alastor #alastor x reader #alastor headcanons #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel headcanon #alastor smut #alastor fluff #hazbin alastor #alastor x oc

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firephoenix2305 · 2 days

Text

AGHASBNSDLBFGKSDNVBKXCBVKDB KZXBFV I'M SORRY I NEED TO SCREEEEAAAAAAM

THE CHEMISTRY. THE FLIRTING. THE PROPOSAL (which was real as far as I'm concerned). THE DANCING. THE KISS. THE EVERYTHING. THEM. JUST THEM.

THIS EPISODE WAS IMMACULATE.

I just...I...just....

They're so...they're just...

AAGHTFJGFIEJKGBISDJFBJKB!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

LISTEN. LISTEN. LISTEN.

I just spent an ENTIRE 43 MINUTES squealing and twirling my hair like a SCHOOLGIRL because these two...

THESE TWO...

ARE

TOO

GOD

DAMN

CUTE AKLJFHKAJSFHJKSHBFJDH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YOUR HONOR THEY ARE SOULMATES.

This entire episode has made me so happy.

And what a bittersweet ending. Although, what is it with the love of The Doctor's life getting stuck in alternate dimensions? Bit of a parallel with Rose there...

Anyway, digressing. Where was I? Oh, yeah!

ALBNFKKLBVSKVBJKB!!!!!!!!!!!! YES YES YES!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE THEM. I ADORE THEM. I MEAN, LOOK AT THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

MY HEART IS EXPLODING. JUST. JUST....AAAAAAAH I AM BLUSHING LIKE A GODDAMNED IMBECILE OVER HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Need I tell you how I screamed my little lungs out with...

"Find me"

"FIND ME"

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH THEY ARE SO IN LOVE STOP IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*Takes a deep breath*

Terribly sorry, I don't know what has gotten into me with this episode. Possibly one of my favorite Doctor Who episodes ever. Certainly this season's best so far, Imo.

Did I mention I love The Doctor and Rogue? And that they are extremely adorkable and that they're killing me and that I will fangril over them until my dying breath? Probably did.

I am so invested in these two I didn't even pay much attention to Susan Twist. Or the fact that the bad guys were canonically roleplaying Bridgerton cosplayers. Or to Ruby, really (bless her).

New hiperfixation unlocked. This is going to be great and horrible at the same time. It's like ineffable husbands all over again. I need fics. Like right now. Please. Thank you.

And one more thing. Just one more, I promise, and then I'll stop shouting in your ear :)

If Rogue (aka the love of The Doctor's life/fiancé and nobody can tell me otherwise) is not brought back at some point during Ncuti's run I WILL START A FUCKING RIOT. I MEAN IT. I WILL MARCH INTO THE BBC WITH A TORCH AND A PITCHFORK AND I WILL....

*Takes another deep breath*

Ahem. That got a little away from me...

Anyway, that's all. Thanks for bearing. Shout with me in reblogs or replies if you want. If anyone needs me I'll be rewatching the scene of them in the TARDIS approximately three thousand times and smiling at my screen like an idiot.

Good evening. <3

PS: Haven't been this excited about a TV couple since Good Omens, and THAT is saying something.

PPS: I just went on a crazy gif hunt and might have now possibly got a folder full of Doctor X Rouge (Someone tell me when you come up with a ship name please) gifs. So I have absolutely no clue who made what. But yeah, they're not mine, and whover created them...thanks!

#doctor who #ncuti gatwa #Rouge #The Doctor x Rouge #S1/S14 E7 #I'm still over here fangirling btw #you should see the size of the smile on my face right now #I might have gone a little bit mad #But I can't help it #This is what fictional wholesome relationships do to me #Definitely my Achilles heel #Okay I'll stop now bye <3 #gay love #lgbt #doctor who spoilers #jonathan groff

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thecasualqueer · 2 days

Text

Paris - Chapter 1

When James had showed up at her office with a gift Lena had felt awful. Not only had she not even thought to get him anything for Valentine’s Day but she hadn’t really been thinking about him at all recently. Even in her subconscious she was not thinking of him. She had been having… dreams… about a certain friend of hers… dreams that she had been thinking about a lot lately… dreams that she had been trying to forget.

So, when he had given her a picture of herself asleep (probably having the aforementioned dreams) she had panicked. She had panicked so much that she had suggested a weekend together in Paris, thinking it would bring them closer together and remind her of her feelings for him, but as they sat there in the car on the way to the airport the only thing she felt was intensely claustrophobic. She could feel his presence there, and not in a good way. She felt every breath he took from the other side of the car prickled at her skin. His smell, some musky perfume with a hint of sandalwood, not a bad smell but mixed with the heat radiating from his body it made her almost gag. She could feel his eyes on her too, she tried to tell herself they were the caring eyes of someone who loved her but she felt more like an animal who was being stared down by their predator.

Feeling this tension, she attempts to fill the silence “The government wants to buy my research…”

“I hope you said no” James interrupts her with a look of contempt in his eye. Lena would be lying if she said she wasn't trying to start an argument when she brought this up. Still, something about that look just set her off in a way she wasn't expecting.

“Why should I?” she questions.

“Seriously? Do I really need to explain that to you? Because they’ll militarise Lena” as James says this Lena starts to realise what part of her had always known, that James would never truly be able to see past her last name. “Just to be clear, I will never support you selling your research to the government.” James adds now looking at her in the same way he did when they first met, as if all she was to him, all she would ever be, was a Luthor.

After all the time she had spent trying to love him. Trying to see past the lack of chemistry, the way his touch made her skin crawl, how she secretly dreaded their meetings. This was the final nail in the coffin. She couldn't keep pretending to love someone who thought so little of her.

“Frank, stop the car” Lena says “I think you should leave” she adds not even bothering to look in James’s direction instead looking out the window at the steady stream of cars flowing seamlessly down the busy road.

"Seriously? We're not even going to discuss this?" James says in the same mildly patronising tone he has been using for most of the conversation.

"There's nothing to discuss, I just... I can't do this anymore." Lena says honestly "I can't keep trying so hard to make this work whilst you look at me like I'm a villain."

"I didn't realise being with me was so difficult for you" the emotion in his voice takes Lena by surprise. After all the petty fights and distance between them there had been recently, she had thought they would be on the same page but apparently not.

She feels awful for hurting him but knows there is nothing she can do about it now. Staying with him any longer would only hurt the both of them even more.

Read the rest on AO3

#supercorp #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers #lena lesbian luthor #supercorp fanfic #supercorp fic

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 2 days

Note

Part two to iv and his jacket of them getting together

Can be a part II to His mark but also can be a standalone.

His to keep

IV mindlessly brushed his fingers over the guitar strings, sitting with his legs crossed in the back of the car you two had rented in one of the longest stops. The days off tour were always spent creating music and for the most part, boys enjoyed doing it away from each other. You had been watching IV for hours. Legs tugged beneath you. His hoodie drowning your body out. You loved it when he was content like that. No harsh features. No need to bite at others. You wished he showed that more often.

Shaking your head slightly you reach out. Pulling the cigarette that has been slowly burning from between his lips. Brushing it against you and taking a deep breath in. IV snaps to you almost immediately. His eyes watching your every movement. But he cools his features down instantly, “That’s not so nice and it’s mine”, IV sighs, shaking his head. “I know, so what?”, you take another drag in, watching him with that same expression. Before he simply rolls his eyes, you can practically see him turning deep into himself. “Lighten up a little, you had a stick up your ass ever since the last concert”, what you failed to mention is that you had seen him and III. More like hear them. And IV had lots to say about what he thought you and III were doing.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he mutters, brushing his fingers through the jumble of cords. “Yeah, and I shit butterflies”, you huff, putting the cigarette back against his lips, letting IV take the last drag before pressing it down into the ashtray. “You’re a brat”, he rolls his eyes, as he does for the most time. “And you wouldn’t want it any other way”, you chirp back, nudging his shoulder ever so slightly.

“True”, IV muses beneath his breath, “nothing’s better than you stealing things from me”, and from the way, his eyes gleam when he looks at you, you know that there is so much more hidden beneath these words. So much more than a jacket or pair of socks. “You need to tell me what’s all of this about”, you blurt out, not sure where the sudden confidence came from.

IV clenches his jaw a couple of times, “I don’t know what you’re talking about”. You can’t help but shake your head, “You do know and I do too”. The same angry face he had flashed at III washes over him, “Then say it”. And you can’t help but cross your arms over your chest in frustration, “You like me”. IV freezes for a moment. His whole body locks up before he forces a bitter laugh to slip past his lips.

“You do”, you push further, not ready to let him tiptoe any longer, “And you are scared shitlles because you like me”. His eyes practically turn to flames as your words meet the right target, “You don’t know shit”, he grunts through clenched teeth. “III called you a guard dog, you know”, you point out. “I didn’t care what he thinks”, IV grunts, putting his guitar down and hopping out of the car. You quickly push our door open before stepping right in front of him.

“Look at us IV”, you sigh, “I am with you, in your clothes. I practically live in your jacket”, you pull at the matter of his hoodie for emphasis. “Make a move”, you throw your hands up. And at that exact moment, he is right there in front of you. Hands clasping your face as he pulls you closer. Crashing his lips against yours in a desperate kiss. You stand there in shock for a moment, arms falling to your sides as your body drinks in the feeling of him. All the emotions pour out. Once that lingering touches could never soothe. Your hand's fist in his shirt as you two pull him even closer.

“Asshole”, you crock breathlessly, “You should have done that ages ago”. IV leans his head against yours, eyes closed as he mutters, “I felt that in the tips of my toes, fucking hell”. Laughing lightly you reach out to cup his cheek. “Will you be less rough around the guys now?”, you feel him leaning into your touch and then he’s back to frowning, “Hell no, you’re mine”, he huffs, hands reaching out to pull you closer by your waist, “Not my problem they are mopping around single”. “Ivy”, you whine, rolling your eyes. “You’re living in my jacket from now on, girl”, IV brings your chin up so you would be looking straight at him, “I won’t be hearing a peep about it”.

#sleep token x reader #sleep token x you #sleep token imagine #sleep token fanfiction #sleep token iv imagine #sleep token iv x reader #sleep token iv x you

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bobluvbot · 2 days

Text

someone you loved

pairing: sirius black x f!reader summary: your relationship with sirius hurt so much, that the only way forward was to forget. wc: 3k a/n: angst angst angst!!! lots of negative self talk and low self esteem, allusions to a bad childhood (not stated directly), implied emotional abuse & cheating, both sirius and reader are going through it.

snippets of his voice echo in your head like a haunting lullaby that doesn’t seem to end. its funny how the mind is known to block out the traumatic memories, but for some reason, yours kept record of the most painful ones that left his lips.

you’re just too much.

i can’t love you the way you expect me to.

i’m ending this.

i’m sorry, but i can’t deal with this, with you, anymore.

it keeps repeating like a song once loved, now loathed left on repeat, and a stop button might be somewhere but you can’t bring yourself to turn it off. it reminds you of that habit you secretly developed when you had two large bruises on both your knees after a nasty fall, bone hitting pavement. nothing bled, which was a relief to the new babysitter as no bright band-aids would be blatant proof of her lack of attention on the kid she was supposed to keep watch on. blood kept within the skin, nothing left to do but to watch your body slowly take it back. you were curious of how the color changes each day, the angry reds bleeding into dark purples that resemble galaxies that you’d see on your astronomy books. one day spent examining your bruises again, you pressed on the reddish purple one too hard and tears spring up your eyes when the sting hits. but as it lingered and faded, a strange feeling of satisfaction replaced it, and you felt the urge to press on it again, curious to see if the same unknown feeling makes an appearance again. It does, and the fascination as you play in between the lines of pain and pleasure follows you as you grew up. Curious, you once read up on it from those muggle books, where you learn that the body itself releases pain-killing hormones that help relieve the perception of pain, leading to a temporary feeling of relief.

you knew thinking about sirius’ words will never not hurt, will continue to bury you in a deepening hole that you have to fight to the nails to crawl out of, but you couldn’t stop.

It gave deep seated satisfaction to that green monster in the back of your mind, responsible for only seeing the negative in each situation you find yourself in. ‘i told you so,’ it says in a tinny singsong voice, clearly pleased with each iteration of sirius’ words and the raw metal stabbing your heart each time.

it also serves like a constant reminder of your failure. Failure to love like a decent person, failure to be the person that sirius needed, failure to gauge what was too much that the other person drowned without you knowing, failure to protect yourself and your dignity from being trampled on like nothing, and failure to just simply accept the fact that love just wasn’t made for people like you.

being friends with lily made you forget a lot of things, fundamental parts that you realized so young. you knew better, should have after everything you’ve gone through, but somehow with her, anything seemed possible, achievable, tangible when you’re a kind person. marlene would always say, doing good things meant you can expect to receive good things back from the universe.

and for the most part it seemed to always work that way. you’d witnessed james nurture the simple appreciation he had on lily’s genuine smile at him that eased his nerves while they were in line to get sorted into houses throughout the years, growing as he’d gotten to know her innate kindness and wit, and finally erupting from him like rays of sunlight until he became brave enough to speak it out loud starting fourth year.

Even though the marauders had acted questionably during their early years of exploring their pranking abilities, james had always been full of love. Never hesitating to share it to those he truly cared for. it took lily years to accept this, and more to gain courage and let herself experience it.

by 7th year, you never believed a love could thrive like that whilst cradled with such young hands until you saw james and lily do it effortlessly.

so what part of this could’ve made you think otherwise?

were you to blame for believing in that fantasy, that something like this could be attainable for someone like you, too?

you had always housed deep adoration and awe for sirius black, like many others, despite his wild reputation and scandalous rumors that seem to always follow when his name gets uttered.

why? Because he was once the raven haired boy who slipped the trolley witch a few sickles when he saw you return the pumpkin pasty after realizing you couldn’t afford it.

it had been a gloomy tuesday. the trolley witch was supposed to go compartment by compartment, but the bumbling first years seemed to miss that memo and started piling up close to the cart to see what was being sold that she had to force them all in a line. you were quiet and unobtrusive as you stood patiently in line; which was nothing compared the boys’ raucous laughters and animated chatter behind you. sirius would’ve accidentally pushed or stepped on you if he didn’t see your figure. the train was loud and so was james’ mouth, so excited to be away from his parents and to have his first official Hogwarts friend, but sirius also stood close enough to you that he could hear your stomach grumbling and see your arms crossed over your midsection. he admitted once that he found the gurgling sounds funny (like an eleven year old would do) but he didn’t have the heart to poke fun at you because he remembered he’d hear the same thing from his own when his parents would send him to bed without eating.

even before your turn, you were already overwhelmed at the amount of food and candy available, none of which sounds or looks remotely familiar to what you’ve had growing up. your heartbeat picked up when you heard loud sighs, feet tapping impatiently (both James) snorting and shushing (sirius), and just grabbed something that resembled bread, quickly apologizing to the witch that gave you a kind smile. you hadn’t eaten anything as you rushed to pack the mismatched, secondhand supplies that the headmaster had sent you, and you were dropped off to the station just in time before the train left. your fingers trembled in excitement to finally eat and in hunger as you fished out your coin purse. It took a few seconds before it sunk in that you don’t have enough to buy your pasty. How embarassing.

You swallowed your tears back, willing the hateful voice in your head to keep quiet for a minute or two, just enough time to put back the pasty and run to your deserted compartment, where you could freely go to town beating yourself up for your stupidity. Just quick enough so no one will notice.

It took three deep breaths before the dam opened, for the tears to run uncontrollably down your cheeks. You couldn’t even wipe it off because your hands were still clutching your stomach, trying to ease the growling, gnawing pain. Pathetic.

The compartment door opened and you didn’t even hear someone clearing their throat, only looking up when a hand dropped three pasties, a chocolate frog, and a bottle of pumpkin juice on your lap. Barely balancing it, you looked up to see who took pity on you, but only caught a glimpse of stark raven hair and alabaster skin.

you’d find him later during sorting, squeezed between three boys that couldn’t seem to shut up about what house they thought the other would go. not used to kindness, much less from a complete stranger, you hesitated approaching him. but fate always had a weird way of showing you it does listen to your wishes once in a while and you found yourself later on, scooting a bit to your left to make space for him on the bench of your shared house. you both exchanged a knowing smile, and you’d always remember him like that. The kind boy who gave you a feast even without knowing who you were.

you’d remember that boy when the pouring rain had finally soaked through your thick coat as you waited patiently for him at madam puddifoot’s on your first Valentine’s day. Despite the fact that he was already two hours late and the cafe would be closing soon, you chose to wait.

you’d remember that kind boy when some mean ravenclaw girls in class would pick on you for the most absurd things, embarrassment coursing through your veins as you looked back at him desperately for some reprieve, only for him to avoid your gaze and continue to guffaw at something James said, effectively ignoring your existence.

You once asked him why. It was embarrassing how quick he figured out what you were really asking. In fact, he knew a lot of things: that he didn’t deserve your love (or anyone’s for that matter), that someone as pure and selfless as you shouldn’t even associate with the likes of him, and that he was aware of every single thing he does that shatters you whole. He knew that he should tread this conversation gently, to not let his claws rip further skin more than he already has, but the Black darkness has its way of slithering out of the deep recesses he tries to bury it in.

Words leave him exasperatedly, like he’s not spouting words that cut through skin. “I’d been clear to you right from the start, of what I can give you and what I can’t. You knew what you were getting into, Y/N. you put this onto yourself.”

He storms back into his dorm before he could hear your quiet sobs echo through the empty common room.

—-

lily knew in the back of her mind that this wasn’t just a simple, silly request now, but more of an obligation to her closest friend.

it’s been three weeks. three excruciating weeks to be handed and given and filled with so much love she didn’t need to ask for, whilst seeing her best friend chip away with the lack of, like a once-bright porcelain doll that was abandoned and exposed to the direct heat of the sun.

you had finally gone silent by last week, like a shut door. refusing to eat, go to class, speak—- hell, lily bets, if you could also not breathe by choice, you wouldn’t. It’s like youre keeping everything you once had given to the world thoughtlessly, close. Dorcas thinks you were keeping close to heart the mundane things that make you alive, to remind yourself that you still are. She had said, like air to a balloon. lily cried herself to sleep that night, the thought of losing such a fundamental part of her life, you, inch by inch, day by day, in front of her very eyes was a haunting, damning thought. Something that she and you both thought would come so much more years later, with unsurmountable memories, many glasses of champagne and slices of cake, wrinkles and smile lines, more laughter and loving hugs exchanged.

she had thought the silence was a welcoming sign of change. A necessary step towards acceptance and moving on. she was relieved when your crying stopped, tremors leaving your fingers, and there was a chance again for the redness to vacate the whites of your eyes. She held hope that she and the girls can start working on instilling your light back, hopeful that a few months from now their star can find its way back to its rightful place in the sky and everything could be okay once again.

Lily looked forward to nights that were filled by snores and shuffling of sheets, not the unmistakable sound of your feet on the wooden floors, misjudging that everyone was asleep, the muffled creak of the dorm room door opening and closing, and your footsteps fading in the dark. She’d wait fifteen to thirty minutes (the longest was an hour or two on the first night) before she’d hear you return, footsteps still light but she could hear the slight drag in each step, almost as if it was taking so much of your might to even make it to the bed. the quiet whimpers would start, followed by muffled hiccups lily knew only happens when you cry too hard. it took so much of her to exercise self-restraint, to keep herself on her own bed and not lay beside you and hug you as if it’s something that could put you back together.

She has to turn her back on you even if it felt like raw betrayal.

Because that one time she didn’t, she couldn’t forget the look of horror, dejection, desperation, and pure unbridled embarrassment on your face when you realized she knew what you were up to late at night. She knew you came up to the boys’ dormitory, crawling into sirius’ bed, where you begged and begged for him to take you back, that you’ll be a better more doting and loving girlfriend this time around, that you won’t be too attached this time and will give him the necessary space and time he needs so he doesn’t feel suffocated, that you’ll be anything, do anything just for him to welcome you back into his arms and whisper sweet nothings in your ear until your throat was raw, and sirius has to physically take you back to the start of the staircase to your dormitory.

this happened for days and days on end until the boys had to lock their door at night, or whenever sirius is in.

james couldn’t meet lily’s eyes when he’d ask for her help to keep you apart from Sirius as it would do you no good. they had gotten into a fight because of this, because lily heard nothing but ‘stop her from making a fool of herself’ and her best friend is the smartest intuitive empathetic kindest witch she had ever met; the farthest thing from a fool.

But one day those very words came off your lips with a hollow laugh. “But I am a fool, Lily. No one in their right mind would even do half the things I do.” It would be hypocritical for lily to deny sneaking out at night and crawling into your ex’s bed and begging for him to take you back as something of a desperate fool would do. A girl once had chased and pined for Remus during the entirety of fifth year and the things she did to get his attention were laughable at that time. But she didn’t plan to see the same, even worse, done by her best friend, and she still couldn’t wouldn’t call you a fool.

After all, your only fault was that you loved. And that shouldn’t even be a fault because that’s what she did with James, marlene with dorcas, her father with her mother. even someone as selfish as petunia could find love and be loved right back.

you of all people deserved to love and be loved right back after everything you’d been through, and james would say the same thing for sirius as well.

but sirius was a complex person, lily could recite this on top of her head from endless times where you stood your ground, defending sirius’ honor like he’d see your great martyrdom and suddenly consider you once again worthy of his love and affection. Before, she knew of sirius as a friend and James’ brother— but she knew more than what she signed up for because you’d fill in the gaps for her when she’d try to beat some sense into you during the unacceptable treatment you’d accept from sirius.

You’d say with such confidence “he loves me, he’s just going through a lot right now, especially after that howler his mother sent him a few days ago.”

You didn’t have to elaborate, lily remembered that day vividly, not because of the way sirius’ face fell when the howler began its assault had reminded her so much of how she’d react after getting bitter letters from petunia, but because that same day she saw sirius being manhandled by a hufflepuff, both kiss sick and all over each other, into a secluded broom closet.

It was years worth of push or pulls, of moral dilemmas that would get the outspoken redhead to choke on her words, and dejectedly sweep them under the rug out of your sight. Because the beaming smile and flushed cheeks you’d sport when Sirius murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, the weight on your shoulders dissipating when tucked in his arms, the jump in your step whenever he’d kiss you on the forehead and wish you good luck for the day— Lily couldn’t bear the thought of robbing you with those moments of bliss, even when it’s all done in private.

So in an empty classroom on a gloomy Tuesday afternoon, she points her wand at you, fingers trembling and tears trailing down her cheeks, but you don’t see any of these. Instead, your beautiful features wear a serene expression that weakens lily’s knees. Oh how she missed her dearest friend. She’d do anything in the world to get you back, hold your hand, and dance with you in the autumn rain.

So she does the wand movement like she practiced for days and takes a breath. She pictures you and Sirius happily dancing barefoot during the yule ball, your blushed cheeks when you told her about the feel of his lips on yours for the first time, you on sirius’ shoulders as you carried the quidditch cup, both smiling big as remus snaps a picture from the muggle camera, you drifting off to sleep on sirius’ shoulder while your hands were laced as you rode the train back to hogwarts.

Before mumbling the incantation, obliviate.

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orgasming-caterpillar · 1 day

Text

And It's Too Cold//It's Too Cold

Songfic Based On: Sweater Weather, The NBHF

Nico was in the cooldown room when it happened. Towel in hand, he was wiping the cold droplets trickling down his torso when Lewis burst open the door. (They didn't even use the cooldown room at the same time anymore.)

“Nico.”

The name left his teammate's mouth for the first time in weeks. Nico's throat didn't have to tighten like that— he wasn't going to speak anyway.

“I need to talk to you,” Lewis said, something desperate in his voice that Nico wasn't sure was real.

All I am is a man

Nico’s words were careful, deliberately stern. “What do you want, Lewis?”

I want the world in my hands

“To talk to you- about the race.” Abu Dhabi. 2016. “You won. Congratulations. I still won the championship.”

That seemed to snap something inside Lewis. In a swift motion, he lunged at Nico. But his childhood friend was much too familiar with his tactics, he knew about his speedy attacks and had swift reflexes to match. All those teenage years spent wrestling on hotel beds weren't for nothing.

“I don't fucking care!” Lewis shouted, his collar grasped in Nico's hands, Nico pushed all up against the wall. “I don't fucking care that I won the race!”

“You seemed to care a fuck lot about it on the track, mate,” Nico spat.

Lewis jerked his shoulders, hitting his head on the wall in the process. “Why can't you see, Nico?! Why can't you understand? I can't take this anymore.”

I hate the beach

But I stand in California with my toes in the sand

“Take what, Lewis? Because all I've been doing this year is take and take and fucking take. You haven't taken shit compared to what you've put me through.” His eyes were burning now. He needed Lewis out of here.

“I can't take this— you pretending I don't exist. I will take the accidents and the crashes and the goddamn fistfights, but I can't,” —his voice broke, eyes welling up, and Nico had the urge to wipe them before any tears fell— “I can't take this, Nico.”

Use the sleeves of my sweater

“You really think you're the only one suffering? How self centred, how typical of you, Lewis.”

Let's have an adventure

“...What?”

“You think this doesn't hurt me? this non stop fighting and competition, and never making up? Open your fucking eyes. I don't like this any more than you do.”

Lewis' hands dropped from his shoulders, chest heaving. The air between them was electric, too dangerous to breathe in.

Head in the clouds but my gravity centered

“Then why do you do it?” It was the smallest voice Nico had ever heard.

Because it's better than admitting the truth. Because it has less consequences than saying 'I love you.' “Because you started it.”

Touch my neck and I'll touch yours

Dark eyes trailed from his wet hair to the damn skin of his torso, not in a lewd way, but like a man recalling all that he has to lose. When he looked back up, there was a hope in his eyes that Nico couldn't bear looking at. “And will you stop if I stop?”

You in those little high waisted shorts, oh

This was a terrible idea from the beginning. The Karting, the trip to Greece, the ride-or-die friendship, all of it— terrible.

Oh, she knows what I think about

“Stop fucking thinking so much, Nico, it can't get worse than this.”

It really couldn't.

And what I think about

The answer came in the form of a desperate hand grabbing the back of Lewis’ head to bring him closer.

It was a gunshot, the way their lips met each other's. It was the sweet shock of love after a lifetime of yearning. It was like their first sip of too-strong whiskey at fourteen, knowing they've crossed a line they can never go back to.

One love, two mouths

Lewis’ surprise melted into eagerness in a split second. Nico tilted his head and grabbed his bicep. Lewis had grabbed Nico's face with both hands like he was something dear and precious.

It really was a terrible idea, and nothing could ever fix it; but if they were going to burn they'd go down singing in the flames.

One love, one house

“Take off your shirt,” he grunted. Lewis obeyed.

Smooth brown skin burned under Nico's freezing palms. He grabbed a handful of the pecs, moaning into the kiss.

No shirt, no blouse

“Is this—” Lewis pushed him away. God give him dignity, Nico almost whined. “Is this a confession thing? Or a goodbye thing? Because I have no idea what I'll do with a goodbye fuck.”

Just us, you find out

Nico had no idea either. He didn't want to leave Lewis. But for now, the only thing on his mind was the throbbing heart under his hand. They were here. ‘Leaving’ seemed like something out of a hazy dream. “I don't know.”

Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no

Lewis had this look on his face— like he wanted to run away but his feet wouldn't take him. Nico wanted to tell him that there was nothing he could have done to change anything. There was nothing that could have ended up with them anywhere other than where they are. He didn't say anything.

'Cause it's too cold for you here

“Do you really? Or is this another game?” Yes, Nico wanted to yell. He knew what Hamilton was asking. 'Do you really love me?’ and he wanted to yell, Yes, yes, yes. I do love you. I do. I'm sorry. All he could do was nod.

And now, so let me hold

Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

Lewis put a hand on his cheek, kissing him again. Only this time it was so much more gentle, yet hurt so much more. Somewhere in his subconscious Lewis seemed to have realised that this was probably the first and last time they will ever do this; and he did it like he wanted to remember.

And if I may just take your breath away

There was so much Nico wanted to say, and he couldn't say any of it. He wanted to scream.

We will never be the same again, he wanted to say. I will never love another like you. A moan. You've destroyed all that I was. A sigh. Do not destroy what I am. Hands caressed his body, so soft it was painful. Build me a pyre, and I'll still whisper your name as I burn. A prayer. I love y—

“How do you want this?” Lewis whispered, hands working him out of his pants.

I don't mind if there's not much to say

Nico grabbed his shoulders, using the stability of Lewis’ hands on his thighs to wrap his legs around his waist. He relished in the way Lewis groaned, he would never hear it ever again.

Sometimes the silence guides a mind

To move to a place so far away

Lewis was gentle, so gentle. They both loved like an ocean. With Nico it was a tsunami; desire coursing through his veins as he groped, wrecked, swallowed everything that came in his way. And with Lewis it was this; sweet, gentle and relentless like moonlit waves in the darkest hours of the night. What choice did either have but to drown?

The goosebumps start to raise

“More,” he whimpered, arching his back against the wall. The soft gaze with which Lewis was watching him was more violent than any fistfight they've ever had.

And then I watch your face

Put my finger on your tongue 'cause you love to taste, yeah

It hurt— even with how tender Lewis was being. Maybe more so because of that. He harshened the pace at Nico's request, hiding his face in the crook of his neck. Their hearts beat in sync, thudding against the ribcages pressed together.

These hearts adore, everyone the other beats hardest for

Strangling begins with holding. Cannibalism begins with a kiss. They both bring grief and hurt and madness; what is love if not just tender violence?

Inside this place is warm

Outside it starts to pour

He reached the peak of his pleasure first, spilling onto their abdomens. Lewis followed right after.

Coming down

One love, two mouths

They stayed like that for a while; chests heaving, foreheads pressed together, hearts broken like the promises they made at fourteen.

One love, one house

No shirt, no blouse

“Don't leave me, Nico.”

Just us, you find out

Why do you speak to me and why do I try to understand? he thought. We no longer speak the same language.

Not a word was uttered.

Nothing that I wouldn't wanna tell you about, no, no, no

“We can fix this.” That damned hope.

'Cause it's too cold for you here

“Put me down,” was what Nico chose to say. Lewis did, searching his face desperately for an answer.

And now, so let me hold

Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

Nico picked his pants off the floor, pulling them on without another word. Lewis spared them both the pain and stayed silent as well.

'Cause it's too cold for you here

He was wiping his torso with a spare towel when Lewis finally spoke.

“You promised, Nico.”

Nico looked at him, no longer caring about the wet streaks on his cheeks. “We made a lot of stupid promises.”

And now, so let me hold

Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

“You said we'd race together. Forever. You said you wouldn't race without me. Then why should I?”

Wasn't forever such a sweet lie? It wasn't nearly as long as people thought it was.

Both your hands in the holes of my sweater

“I'm leaving racing for good, Lewis.”

And it's too cold, it's too cold

Lewis was silent for what seemed like hours. “I love you.”

With a single whispered phrase, Nico shut the door behind him. “It'll pass.”

The holes of my sweater…

#f1 fic #f1 ships #f1 rpf fic #brocedes #lewis hamilton x nico rosberg #sunshine and britney #madhav ke lekh #brocedes angst #brocedes smut #formula 1 #formula one #f1

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fushipurro · 2 days

Text

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy

Chapter 4 - Black Star

<- Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter ->

☆ Content: 18+ MDNI, cowboy!au, gangs, gun violence, graphic depictions of death, blood, mentions of alcohol, creampie, breeding kink, mutual masturbation, biting

☆ Word Count: 6.9k (tehe)

A lot’s changed since you were last in Manzanita Post some years ago. What was once a one stop shop for hunting supplies has evolved into several storefronts, a couple homes, a dozen tents, and even a train station to increase foot traffic.

To reach Blackwater from Valentine, you inevitably had to pass through Tall Trees. You considered ignoring the fork in the road ─ one that takes you to either the post or the plains ─ to get to Kento sooner but ended up deciding on a quick trip down memory lane instead.

And a good decision that was; one you’ll realize in due time.

The general store in town happens to be where your father had met your mother. The business belonged to her family after all; at least… it did back then.

After some time spent perusing the store, running your fingers along the dusted shelves, you leave with your satchel full, stepping out into the midday sun. The redwood trees offer plenty of shade, but not enough to cover all of the sun’s golden warmth.

There’s an acrid smell in the air as soon as you step out, one with traces of metal mixed with harsh vapors ─ blood and smoke. The man responsible is more than aware of your presence.

His familiar green eyes already locked onto your form, all in that same midnight leather outfit. He smirks when you finally catch his gaze.

“We meet again I see, and so soon too,” he purrs, a laugh rumbling from deep in his chest. “You followin’ me, sweetheart?”

You huff, almost caught off by his amusement. Satoru claimed him to be a grouch, but all you see is a flirt. “Could say the same to you, Outlaw Killer.”

“Are you making a confession? I’d remember any wanted posters with your pretty face on ‘em,” he says with full confidence. You gotta give him credit for being bold, any woman would feel red in the face hearing that.

“Then you must not have seen today’s paper,” you tease, though really, it’s just an attempt at getting on equal footing. He’s got the looks, now you just need to see the personality.

“Do they even have it up to date this far in the woods?”

“Touché, but you came here for a reason, didn’t you?” you muse, quirking a brow as you shift your balance to one foot. “If not me, then what’s the reason?”

He takes a drag of his cigarette then turns his head upwards, exhaling into the light. “I go where there’s money, simple as that.”

A reasonable answer, one you can relate to in your own journey.

“Can’t imagine there’s much of that out here for you compared to Valentine,” you remark. If he wanted a job, that’s gonna be the place.

Tall Trees has never been the most hospitable of places to settle down in. Many try, but having run-ins with bears on your way to and from the outhouse each day doesn’t make for a quality stay. Unless you’re a hunter, and a brave one at that, this is not the place for you.

“Check again, cowgirl.” The man taps the back of his hand against a sheet of paper nailed to the shop’s log exterior ─ a wanted poster. “I think I’ll do just fine out here.”

Your curiosity grows, wondering what sort of outlaw is here of all places. Posters like these are few and far throughout the years in Manzanita Post, for the same reason as the lack of housing. Stepping closer, you now realize why there’s a need for such a thing here.

The outlaw wanted ─ dead or alive ─ is none other than the man who killed your parents.

You expect murder to be reason warranting this, but instead, it’s robbery. Just robbery.

The poster lists how he and his gang have been ambushing traders in the area, holding them at gunpoint for their supplies.

Why isn’t it murder though? You can’t honestly believe everyone’s unaware or has forgotten what this man did to your family. Since coming here, you’ve already seen some remnants of your mother’s side or family friends ─ one of which is taking care of your mares at the moment. But all it took was for one rich city-slicker to get robbed before the world started causing a fuss.

How aggravating.

“Someone you know?” he asks, all signs of romantic intent faded from his expression, replaced with his own budding curiosity.

“What makes you say that?” you snap, a certain hostility lacing your tone.

“Your face,” he says, gesturing with his cigarette. He appears unbothered by your slight outburst. “Could kill a man with those looks.”

If anyone’s getting killed today, it’s going to be that man. He deserves a fate worse than sitting behind bars in a city jail. A fate you can grant him.

You don’t reply to the bounty hunter though, merely turning on your heel in the direction of your horses. Leaves and twigs snap harshly with every step taken, fueled by an ignited rage.

The cowboy snuffs his cigarette beneath his steel toe boot, deciding to follow after you. He doesn’t have to ask where you’re going; the answer is obvious, and he wants in on the fun. You’ve barely make it out onto the road west of the post before he’s already at your side atop his steed.

“Mind if I join ya?” He grins, eagerness evident in his features.

You spare him a passing glance before looking back ahead.

“Do what you want.”

And so he does.

Toji, ends up proving to be refreshing company in a forest full of distant memories, aged like the trees themselves. Along the way, he recounts many tales of his previous hunts to you, all to help lighten the mood. Some are humorous, and others downright gloating, but you appreciate the distraction, nonetheless.

One such tale is about a guy who thought the best place he could lay low from the law would be some slippery rocks besides a stream of rapids. Needless to say, when coming face to face with someone as intimidating as Toji, the guy tried to flee, only to trip and fall into the current. It would’ve been funny had it not been a bounty where the reward would only come if they were still breathing upon return.

This went on for another dozen tales, all until arriving at the edge of Aurora Basin. And unlike the trading post, the lake hasn’t changed one bit.

On the far side along the shore, the cabin you called home still rests, nearly untouched save for nature’s reclaim. The afternoon sun makes it appear glowing in a thin sheet of gold; rays of light reflecting off the surface of calm waves and glass windows. In the distance, an elk can be heard and seen calling out for its herd. A bull and some cows, a few calves mixed in.

A family.

You wonder if the wolf dubbed Lobo still prowls these grand sequoias with his own pack. They no longer have the threat of humans mingling around their watering hole to worry. Not since the day you left these woods and into the frontier.

“Anything interesting?” Toji inquires, calling you back from your youthful reverie.

You take a moment to breathe in the familiar air that tickles your lungs with frostbite, shaking your head in response to the man. “Nah… just admiring the view is all.”

He hums, and although he’s unconvinced by your answer, he doesn’t push.

The remainder of the ride through the mountain pass is quiet, leaving you to ruminate your memories a little while longer.

You’ve spent enough time out here with all of Tall Trees as your backyard of play. You practically have a name for every tree and animal you’ve come across in your youth, all of which are now just a bitter reminder of what once was. You were born into this forest; it was your whole life. But for your father, it was an escape.

The gang he ran with originally was settled in the deserts down south, but he came here in search of a different life, separate from all the needless killings and petty thievery. He found that, and everything else he dreamt about having.

His biggest mistake however was thinking he could walk away from his past like nothing ever happened and believe there would be no repercussions.

Like many others in the growing world, the gang you’re hunting followed your father north for a fresh start as well. In doing so, they made their claim through the only way they know how.

Bloodshed.

“Hold up,” Toji suddenly says, drawing your focus. You turn to him as he’s already pulled a pair of binoculars from his bag, looking intently at something in the distance. “There’s a sniper up ahead in a lookout post.” He offers you his binoculars to confirm, and sure enough, you recognize the armed outlaw.

“Looks like we’re here,” you tell him, handing him back his gear.

Toji leans forward in the saddle over crossed arms, angling his head to look at you. “What is here, exactly?”

“Cochinay ─ the hideout of our target.” You move Valentine off the trail and into the undergrowth for cover. “We should go on foot from here on out,” you add, dismounting with your Springfield rifle in hand.

Toji hitches his black stallion ─ Blackjack ─ to a tree close by. “I get it’s none of my business and all but seeing as we’re fixin’ to bust through the doors of their camp, you might want to tell me a little more on what you know.”

Sadly, he’s got a point.

Your past isn’t something you often share, especially with someone you only recently met. Satoru was an exception ─ a brief glimpse at the overall picture of your youth. But this? This is where your old self died, marking the birth of the you from today. It would be wise to at least give Toji something to work with. And so, you sigh, and begin to tell him.

“I’ve got some history with this gang,” you start, moving stealthily through the shrubbery on your approach to the camp. “My father was a longtime member, he was born into their way of living.”

“Guessin’ that’s where you got the nerve to charge into an outlaw camp twice now including this?” His words referencing Suguru and his gang. You glance back over your shoulder, seeing the knowing smirk on his face. “What, don’t look surprised,” he laughs quietly, “I wouldn’t be a very good bounty hunter if I didn’t have eyes on everything goin’ on, now would I?”

Rolling your eyes, you press on, creeping closer to your destination. A wooden wall comes into view ─ high and spiked at the top. It wouldn’t surprise you to find some carcasses staked and on display as a warning to anyone who comes too close.

“Everything I am is because of my parents, not some degenerate group whose only motivation is liquor or gold,” you scoff. “Outlaws or not, I was raised to not back down.”

“So what happened to them?” His questions stops you dead in your tracks. Toji moves to your side to get a better look at you, your head hanging low, with eyes glued to some hummingbird sage at your feet. You reach out to said petals, the violet color meshing with the shadows and fading sunlight.

“That man on the poster.” You pause, drifting your gaze from the flower to Toji as a breeze kicks up, taking some of those very petals away and into the air. “He killed them.”

“I see,” he replies, offering no consoling words after. You’re glad, because what good would they do now? It’s neither the time nor place, and the memories you have are just that.

Memories.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Life will always go on and all you can do is ride it out like a rodeo bronc, hoping that in time, everything will calm.

“You here for revenge then? I’ll warn you now, that can get pretty messy if you’re not careful.”

“Something like that, but don’t worry about me.” You end the discussion before he can say more by moving up along the wall.

He snorts though, continuing to follow. “Didn’t say I would,” Toji mumbles under his breath. Really, he doesn’t think he has to, given your headstrong attitude. So long as your arrogance doesn’t get in the way ─ you should be just fine.

You end up finding a section of the wall where the wood is rotted, or chewed away, enough so that it can be removed with ease, making for a silent entry. It’s funny how common of a theme this is becoming. Do these gangs not pay attention to their security? Even on the inside, the grass is kept tall with a plethora of barrels and wagons that are perfect to hide behind.

The camp itself is divided on the inside into multiple sections. With steep mountains resting on either side, any efforts to scale around would be futile. The only way to the heart of said mountains is through two sets of gates, the first of which has a pair of guards on sentry duty.

The only way to reach your goal is to go in guns blazing.

“Cover me while I handle the guards?” Toji requests, as if reading your mind. You respond with slight nod of your head, readying your rifle. “Best not to stray far once we make ourselves known.”

“Don’t go running in front of my sights now,” you tease, and he laughs one final time before his expression turns serious.

Toji sneaks around in front of you, inching closer to the gate. Once far enough away, you let a sigh when you know he can’t hear. It’s easy to feel safe in a camp of outlaws when your partner is coined the outlaw killer, but you can’t forget that you’re up against the man that shattered your family. One mistake, and you’ll be joining them six feet under, assuming they were ever buried to begin with.

“Howdy gentlemen.” Toji stalks up to the men seemingly without a care, tipping his hat all the while. One hand remains hooked on his belt, close to the iron at his hips.

“Who the hell are you?” one of the guards questions, not waiting for his response as his finger meets the trigger of his rifle.

Too slow. The bullet from yours whistles past Toji and into the outlaw’s skull. Their body collapsing with a heavy thump.

“Intru–“

The other guard’s cry for help is silenced midway by a blow from Toji’s revolver. Either way, there was never a need to make the announcement, not when the sound of gunfire is echoing against the canyon walls.

From there, everything quickly turns to a blur fueled by adrenaline. With a revolver in one hand, and a sawed off in the other, Toji unleashes hell upon the camp while you snipe from afar.

The gate to the second area opens, cueing the arrival of a dozen more outlaws, completely underestimating what they’re up against. Their screams are nightmarish, as if met by Death himself, dressed head to toe in black leather stained in crimson tones.

Toji’s downright sinister smile never falters while reveling in the carnage crafted by his own making. It evokes a primal feeling from within watching one man inflict such destruction upon those who upended your life.

“Move up!” he shouts to you, stepping past bodies into the next section of camp. More outlaws await, fixing to meet their final breaths with an anguishing cry.

In your haste to keep up, you fail to notice one of the cowards slipping close to the wall as you enter. They grab your ankle unexpectantly, forcing you down and into the dirt. The outlaw kicks your rifle away, pinning your body down with their knee at the small of your back.

This position makes it near impossible to fight back, and your mind starts to race with thoughts and memories, flashing before your eyes. What a pathetic way this would be to meet your demise, and at the hands of some lowlife no less. For a split second, you wonder whether you should keep squirming or let the inevitable come sooner.

You wouldn’t have to fight anymore.

You may even see your family sooner, contrary to the brave front you always have up.

No sooner do you feel their grip loosening, on top of something wet hitting your back like rainfall. A long, serrated hunting knife falls dangerously close before your face. It’s blade and handle coated in fresh blood.

“Get up!” You hear Toji’s voice shouting at you.

Using the newfound freedom, you take the bloodied handle, curling your body around before snapping your arm to the side without any hesitation, slicing the outlaw’s throat. They cry painfully before meeting their end, choking on their own blood.

Toji rushes over, pulling you up by your arm. “Why didn’t you yell for me?” he says, his voice tinged with subtle anger, like a scolding parent. Another outlaw tries to take advantage of this reprieve but is quickly met with the barrel of Toji’s shotgun point blank between their eyes.

Another one down.

“It doesn’t matter,” you claim, picking your rifle back up. He doesn’t buy it, still giving you that disapproving stare.

“Stick close, I mean it,” he warns, waving his finger at you. His tone leaves no room to argue either.

You throw your rifle over your shoulder, swapping it out for dual revolvers prime for close combat. With your backs together, the two of you shoot all who dare to come close, sometimes maneuvering your arms around the other like a ballroom dance. Bullets fly all around, making you duck and twirl, spinning as one with elaborate footing.

“Cover me, will ya?” you call out over the gunfire into Toji’s ears. He responds by picking up his pace, refusing to let any threats near while you turn to an ole reliable from out of your satchel. Dynamite.

It’s not often you get the chance to use some explosives, especially without any drawbacks. You more than happily light it up before tossing it towards the innermost gate.

The blast ruptures, collapsing the gate and one of the guard towers as well. Pieces of the fence go flying in all directions, one even impaling another outlaw in the chest before your bullet could fire.

It takes a minute before the smoke clears, finally allowing you to see into the heart of the camp ─ seeing him as you do.

The bounty’s face is twisted with displeasure, knowing full well the dire state he’s in. It’s only a matter of time before his life and all his claims are forfeit to the one he took it all away from.

You pull up your rifle once again, aiming down the sights at his sorry face. Realization dawns on him the moment he meets your eyes through the scope, and right as you fire, he bolts down into a cave.

“Shit,” you hiss, abandoning Toji’s side to take pursuit. He shouts for you again, but his voice is clouded by the bloodlust you feel with your prey before you.

This isn’t your first time up in Cochinay, so you know full well the many tunnels feeding through the mountains. While they most likely provide shelter for the gang, they also offer a means of escape if need be.

You can’t let him get away.

With that said, you know exactly which paths to take to catch up. The bastard never even bothered to learn the best route to escape you soon realize. He was far too confident that nothing could take him down.

Big mistake.

It’s ironic how he took your father from you before your very own eyes, and then your mother’s soon after. Yet now, in the face of the one who got away, all he can feel is fear.

If your father is watching past the clouds in the skies, he’d be proud to know how far you’ve come and how close you are to avenging him. He raised you to outshine him in every way, and with this ─ you’ll finally have closure.

You fire a warning shot past the outlaw’s head and into the rocky formation.

“Turn around,” you demand, your voice cold as the ice clinging to these very mountaintops.

He does so, his voice quivering as he yells, “You can’t kill me!”

You kiss your teeth. “The hell I can.”

“You ran when I gutted your parents; I’m not afraid of you!” A lie, evident in his demeanor that’s starting to crack under the pressure.

“And yet you’re doing the same,” you scoff, further adding a manic laugh ─ Sukuna’s influence, taking hold. “The difference between you and me is that I never ran because I was scared.”

“Liar,” he spits, but you ignore him to continue.

“I ran to live another day. To roam this beautiful earth doing damn well what I please because I’m free!” You pause, taking aim with your gun. “You won’t be taking anything else from me.”

“Watch me.”

He moves to draw his gun from his hip, but you’re faster. You’ve always been faster.

Click.

Widened eyes and a look of shock replaces your features. You’re out of ammo.

That moment of weakness is enough for the outlaw to fire his own round, and it hits ─ igniting your arm with fiery pain.

“Got you now, bitch!” He charges at you and grapples your waist, sending you down into the cold stone, hard. The force knocks the wind right out of you, but you can’t lose yourself now. You got lucky with his mistake, but the next will cost your life if you don’t start fighting back.

You’ve angered him with your words, and now he wants you to suffer.

He has you on the defensive against his blows, pounding at you with his fists. “I’m not afraid of you!” he shouts between his onslaught, one landing right over your injured arm, raised as a shield. “I’ve been running this gang since before you were born. I can always rebuild and conquer again!”

He poses his fist high in the air to strengthen the next blow, and in your weakening state, you’re not sure you’d be able to handle it.

“Give your father my regards,” he says with finality, only for that very hand to rupture at the sound of thunder rocking the mountain in turn. You lift your head up to see Toji ─ a rolling block rifle in his hands, giving you the opening needed to finish this once and for all.

You reach for the gun still bound to the outlaw’s holster, turning it on him. “Won’t have to… because you’ll be seeing him first,” you chuckle, pulling the trigger.

As it turns out, this revolver belonged to your father. A fitting way to take revenge.

The tunnel is painted red with your words, sealing the outlaw’s fate. His limp body falls forward overtop your own, the light gone from his eyes. Toji rushes over, easily lifting the dead weight from you.

“What did I say about sticking close?” he scolds, offering you a hand to lift you up. “Could’ve gotten yourself killed; you know that? Unbelievable.”

“You sound like my dad,” you tell him while laughing before he flicks you on the forehead.

Looking down at his future paycheck, he sighs, but then cracks a smile that shows nothing but joy.

“You did it, cowgirl. How’re ya feelin’?”

“Relieved,” you say; relief from knowing the cause for your traumatic past is lying in a pool of his own blood at your feet. “Although I did get shot,” you add. The way you say that makes it sound like it’s a daily occurrence.

He flicks you again for that.

“Come on,” he drawls with a hefty sigh. “Let’s go raid their shit so we can patch you up.”

The moon is high in the sky as you sit along the edge of a wagon, an oil lantern providing enough light for Toji to work. Thanks to the bastard’s shaky hands, the bullet missed its mark, narrowly grazing your arm instead of anything important. You’ll live, but you need a few stitches to close the wound.

“Gonna tell me now what you was going on in your head?”

“I don’t know what you mea– ow, watch it!” You wince when he tugs the thread a little too hard.

He mumbles a haphazard apology. “Don’t play dumb with me ‘cause I know you’re not. Twice today you could’ve gotten yourself killed.” He sounds annoyed telling you all this, but it’s coming a place of worry, whether you believe it or not.

“I’m not used to relying on others,” you admit after a minute of silence, taking a shot of some liquor to dull the pain in your arm and soul. As expected, this camp is riddled with various bottles and supplies ─ all free for the taking now.

“You don’t say,” he teases, and you shoot him a glare that he laughs off.

The next several minutes are spent in silence, admiring his handiwork. The needle and thread appear comically small in his hands, yet he offers a delicate touch. It’s safe to say this isn’t the first time he’s had to stitch up a wound, and you appreciate not having to do it yourself.

“For what it’s worth, I’ve learned not to rely on anyone either,” he tells you, his eyes flickering up to meet yours. The flame of the lantern burns bright in his eyes, reflecting amber tones mixed in a forest of green.

“I’m starting to get the feeling you have your own troubled past,” you muse, hissing at the final few tugs of the stitching.

“You don’t say,” he says again, that flirtatious tone from earlier returning. The gruffness of his voice ─ so close to your body ─ has your eyes fluttering back. His body being the only source of heat amidst the chilling air of the nighttime hours makes you wish to be closer, to embrace that heat.

He wraps a bandage nice and snug around your arm, dropping his hands to either side of your body, effectively caging you. You could shuffle away as there’s nothing but empty space behind you, but why leave the fire for the cold, when you instead could stoke the flames?

“Was there something else you wanted to say?” you ask in sultry tune, turning your head slightly to the side.

Toji moves closer, his eyes never leaving yours for even a second. His nose brushes against your neck, shamelessly taking in your scent. One hand moves up your arm, lingering on the side of your head, supporting its weight for better access.

“No,” he whispers against your ear, relishing in sound that involuntarily leaves your lips. So sensitive, he thinks to himself, and oh how he’s going to enjoy that soon. “There’s somethin’ I’d like to do though.”

Your hand comes up to meet his chest, bundling the fabric and urging him down to you. “Yeah?” you whisper back into his ear, smiling against his skin. “And what would that be?”

He chuckles, pulling back to see the look on your face when he tells you. You can see the desire building in his eyes, the lids half-narrowed, ready to swallow you whole into oblivion.

“You.”

You take your hand away from his chest, moving slowly down until reaching his belt, grinning all the while. “Well, aren’t you bold? I can’t say I’m not thinking the same way.”

Toji holds your wrist securely in his hand, pulling it further down his body. He pleasingly groans when you comply by palming him over his dark denim jeans. He lets go of your wrist in exchange for your head, clumping your hair together and fervently directing your lips to his.

It’s a heated exchange, but not the ravenous sort with tongue and teeth mangling together. In return, he bruises your lips with power hungry kisses ─ frenzied with passion and longing. His other hand lowers itself near the apex of your thigh, the tightness of his grip changing with the pressure of your hand against his core.

He's huge, that much is certain. What a lucky girl you are to keep finding such delectable men in only a few days time.

Finally, he lets go of your mouth, allowing you the chance to breathe in shared air. “Take it out.” His voice is deepened and straining, with a sense of underlying urgency.

While you’re messing with his belt, he looks down on with a sinful stare, treasuring the near desperation in how fast you’re trying to get to him. Your reaction to its size is priceless, a sight that never disappoints, and he’s not even fully hard yet.

“My turn,” is all he says before his hands are on you. You hope the sound of fabric ripping is all in your hand, or maybe a twig snapping in the distance (it’s not).

The two of you then share a moment of reverence for the other, tracing each other’s body and sex as if committing to memory a divine work of art.

“So pretty,” he praises, trailing a finger between your folds. “And so wet for me, too,” he sighs breathily, eyes fluttering shut when you let out another angelic sound.

You place your hand back around his cock, feeling his hip stutter in response, rutting once into your hand. Using his free hand to balance himself, Toji descends again upon your lips kissing more sloppily with the growing ecstasy. He throws his head back when you tease the spot just under the tip before throwing himself back onto you ─ swallowing up every whimper and moan when his finger finally pushes its way through.

His finger ─ thick and calloused ─ curls inwards over that sweet spongy spot, forcing your back into an arch, demanding you to ride his knuckles for more.

“Toji,” you mewl with an air of arousal peaking; a plead, for him.

He adds another finger making you gasp in response, and he uses this opportunity to dip his tongue far into your mouth. The flavor is intoxicating, an unhealthy mix of aged rum meeting his preferred brand of cigarettes ─ the ones with the series of cards to collect.

Gambling was always one of his favorite hobbies, and he’s glad to have gone all-in on you. For once, it worked in his favor, and now you’re coming undone by the very hands dealing the cards to win.

Your hands start to shake when he adds a third finger, stretching you out from the inside while rolling a thumb along your clit. Your grip around him quivers, drawing out a resounding groan. Despite how big and intimidating he is, it all ends the same when they’re wrapped around your finger. Needy, and with such pretty noises that are music to your ears.

The kiss breaks, but only enough to breathe while your tongues remain tied together for a few seconds longer. He presses his forehead to yours, pupils blown, staring right into yours. Beads of sweat fall along your cheeks, cooling your heated skin. The alcohol in your system works not only to numb any pain but also to help enrapture your body, flushing your cheeks a cardinal tone.

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he asks, curling his fingers again making your whole body twitch. His cock does the same, leaking heavily with beads of cum. You can feel his veins practically beating at the same pace of your heart.

“Fuck ─ I could ask you the same thing.”

“Go on then,” he chuckles, trying to hide how shaken up he is. You hardly need to do much of anything with your hand as he starts jerking himself on you without shame. His lips return to your ear, biting at the lobe when he whispers, “Cum for me.”

Your jaw falls slack with the euphoric feeling. Your body spasming around his fingers, clenching with no remorse for his trapped fingers. With that, Toji can’t hold himself back from letting lose onto your hand, spilling out a heavy load of white.

The stars overhead are but a blur to you now in your high, a mere backdrop to the heaven on earth feeling coursing through each of your veins.

He pulls back from your body, grinning when he hears you whining at the loss. The real show has yet to even begin, this foreplay merely the opening act for a night to remember.

You watch as he takes those same three fingers, wet with slick, and runs them each into his mouth. His eyes closing with a heavy sigh as he indulges in your taste.

“Mhmm, so sweet.” He drinks up your reddened look, another spark of arousal hitting you at the sight of his joy.

You can’t help but do the same when you notice the mess in your hand ─ raising it up so you too can partake in this flavorful exchange.

That grin on his face grows even wider than before. “Beautiful,” he praises breathlessly. “Now come here.” He beckons you by curling those same fingers that were inches inside you mere moments ago.

Effortlessly, Toji lifts you up and off the wagon, leaving behind the only source of light as he walks you to some bedrolls he laid out earlier in anticipation of spending the night.

He kisses you gently this time ─ the calm before the storm about to come. While doing so, he removes the remainder of your clothes thus freeing your chest to his eyes. You do the same for him, one button at a time until all that’s left is the statue of a god, adorned with many scars that map history across flesh.

Another moment of reverence, from one godlike figure to another.

“Turn around. On your knees.” He watches you wordlessly obey, shifting himself behind you. With two hands on either side of your hips, he raises you up into his full view. The sight of your cunt glistening with fluid is captivating, inducing a sense of frenzy.

He kisses you there first, then draws a stripe with his tongue before burying it between the velvet lining. A prelude for what’s to come, once he’s quenched his thirst. You can almost cum again just from that, but he stops just in time to keep you riled up.

“Just fuck me already, Toji,” you say, a mix of warning and urgency on your tongue.

His palm meets the globe of your ass, not enough to hurt, but enough to be known and shock your body. “And how do you ask?”

“Please?” you reply, matching his mocking tone.

“Good girl.”

Next thing you know, his tip is hot against you, rubbing loosely between your folds. You jolt when it grazes your clit, groaning with anticipation. But before you can utter another word ─ another plead ─ he bullies his way inside, stretching you more than his fingers possibly could.

A burning pain hits you from the sudden intrusion. “Fuck!”

“There, there,” he coos, one thumb over your clit. “You wanted me, so take it.”

He watches with marvel at how his cock disappears into your cunt, his whole body shuddering in reaction.

“’S too much, Toji.” Hell, he and Sukuna are in their own tier when it comes to size.

“Shh, you’re almost there, sweetheart.” He grunts feeling you tighten around him, so eager to please and be praised. “I could get used to this.”

A few moments are all you get to steady yourself before he’s moving. His hands gliding along every curve, mark, and dimple gracing your back, tracing up your spine and back around to your hips. As his pace increases, so do his sounds. Each thrust is accompanied with deep, heavy sighs and salacious groans.

“You like this, huh?” His words barely register in your ears, too drunk off the way his cock hits your cervix with each thrust. He leans down, hunching over your back while at the same time snaking an arm around to your front. “What h-hahppened to your words, sweets?” A whimper catches in his throat. “Where’s that pretty voice callin’ my name?”

“Toji!” You cry out feeling his sharp, wolfish fangs burying themselves in your neck. One hand holding you at your stomach right over where his tip reaches, and the other loosely around your throat in a show of a dominance.

“What was that?” He sneers against your ear, his breathing growing more erratic by the second. “Gotta speak up and tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” you moan, drool spilling out the sides of your mouth.

“Who?”

“Y-you ─ Toji.” Another moan, higher pitched than before.

“Again,” he growls.

“Toji, Toji, ‘Oji-ahh!”

You keel over in his hold, violently shaking as an orgasm tears through your body like lightning. Wetness gushes out from you, rolling down your thighs and onto his lap.

“So fucking good ─ shit.” His arms tighten and he leans his weight further into you, pushing your body into the bedroll with only one thought in his mind. “You gonna let me fuck a baby into you?” He moves the hand on your stomach down to your clit, inciting the bundle of nerves with rough circular motions that serve to overstimulate you. “You’d like that?”

“Yes, yes! Please!” you whine as he forces you straight into another orgasm. With how sensitive you are, all coherent thoughts are erased except for Toji, Toji, Toji. In this pursuit of pleasure, he’s all that matters.

“Good fucking girl,” he growls, his voice straining, “Now take it!”

With one final cry of his name, warmth floods your body. Your nails dig into the sheets, uncontrollably squirming in a puddle of drool, cum, and slick. For a moment, you think you may have even passed out, because next thing you know, you’re on your side still wrapped in Toji’s embrace. His cock still several inches deep, with no apparent hurry to pull out.

The two of you lay like this for some time, coming down from the high mountaintops of euphoria. Black and white spots in your vision slowly morphing back into stars and the picturesque view of the Milky Way galaxy watching over you both. No words need to be shared. This is all you desire.

You never thought that one out of blue trip to a town like Valentine could jumpstart a whole new chapter in your life, subsequently closing the pages of old, tossing it to the flames. You never outright planned on taking revenge on the man who tore apart your family, but knowing you were there to see him crumble in his final moments brings a sense of tranquility you haven’t felt for some time.

Wherever you go from here, you know that it’ll work out. The future is in your hands ─ a frontier of its own, now ready to be explored without regret.

You wake the next morning to Toji brewing a pitcher of coffee over the campfire. He hears you stirring from sleep, turning his gaze to yours with a content smile. There’s no arrogance or lustful feature ─ only a type of calm you see best at dawn.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

“Morning,” you respond with a yawn, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Your voice is both thick with sleep and hoarse from screaming one man’s name a dozen times over.

He chuckles amusingly, pouring you a fresh hot cup. “Sleep well?”

Well, besides the whole-body ache… “Like a baby,” you tease. It’s a miracle your stitches didn’t open up once.

You take your time to enjoy the coffee and the morning view. Dawn always looked best up in these mountains with the cascading trees and fields of sage. If you close your eyes, you can hear all the familiar calls of birds and other wildlife mingling ─ the forest teeming with life at every inch.

“When we get his body back to town, that reward money’s all yours,” he says, while standing to stretch his limbs.

You shake your head. “Don’t bother, I got my revenge. That’s all I really wanted.”

Toji can’t be too upset at your words, it’s more money for him. He was already going to happily sell whatever he could find in all these dead outlaws’ pockets for his efforts, anyways.

“Ain’t that a shame.” He places a hand on his hip, green eyes cast down at your form.

“You know, we make a good team,” he starts up again after a brief minute of silence. “You ever thought about becoming a full-time bounty hunter?”

He flashes that devious smile of his once more, his sharp canines poking through when he curls that scarred lip upwards.

“Not a bad offer,” you hum, “Especially after last night.”

It’s honestly a thought you’ve had from time to time. There are always outlaws to hunt and money to make; you’ve done it before and if yesterday proved anything, it’s that you can handle yourself even when pitted against an entire gang.

As it stands, there are several options open to you now, with many possibilities for how life will unfold from here on out.

“So what do you say, cowgirl?”

☆ Notes: I’d like to thank past me for coming up with the dad lore in earlier chapters on the spot, because I honestly didn’t expect to make it a whole theme for this chapter until I started writing it. Gonna be sad though seeing this series end soon, but I’ve got a dozen more stories I plan on writing, and I’m always open for more cowboy content in the future :)

Also, just to throw in my own little headcanon with the forehead flicking and all… you always see Megumi smacking Yuji or whoever when he’s scolding, and I like to imagine he got that from Toji or maybe even Mamaguro since Toji’s strong enough to take it (not in the domestic violence sense, but you know what I mean?)

#jjk #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #jujutsu kaisen #toji zenin #jjk au #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji x female reader #toji x you #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen toji #cowboy!au #toji x y/n

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