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writingwithcolor · 4 months

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How can non-Jewish writers include Jewish characters in supernatural stories without erasing their religion in the process?

Anonymous asked:

I have a short story planned revolving around the supernatural with a Jewish character named Danielle (who uses they/them pronouns). Danielle will be one of a trio who will be solving the mystery of two brides' deaths on the day of their wedding. My concern with this is the possibility of accidentally invalidating Danielle's religion by focusing on a secular view of the afterlife. At the same time, I don't want to assume that Jewish people can't exist in paranormal stories, nor do I want to use cultural elements that don't belong to me. So, how do I make sure that Danielle is included in the plot without erasing their Jewishness?

Okay so to start with I think we need to ask a question about the premise: what is a secular afterlife? I’m not asking this to nitpick or be petty, but to offer you expanded ways of thinking through this issue and maybe others as well.

A Secular Afterlife

What is a secular afterlife? To begin with, I get what you mean. The idea of an afterlife we see in pop culture entities like ghost media owes more to a mixture of 19th-century spiritualist tropes drawn from titillating gothic novels than to anything preached from the pulpit of an organized house of worship. Yet those tropes--the ominous knocking noises from beyond, the spectral presences on daguerrotype prints, the sudden chill and the eerie glow, all of those rely on the idea of there being something beyond this life, some continuation of the spirit when the body has ceased to breathe. For that, you need to discount the ideas that the consciousness has moved on to another physical body and is currently living elsewhere, and that it was never separate from the body and has now ceased to exist. Can we say that this is secular?

More so: Gothic literature, as the name suggests, draws heavily on Catholic imagery, even when it avoids explicit references to Catholicism. Aside from the architectural imagery, Catholic religious symbols permeate the genre, as well as the larger horror and supernatural media genres that grew from it: Dracula flinches from a crucifix, priests expel demons from human bodies, Marley’s Ghost haunts Ebenezer Scrooge in chains. The concepts of heaven and hell, and nonhuman beings who dwell in those places, are critical to making the narratives work.

The basis also draws from a biblical story, that of the Witch of Endor. The main tropes of Victorian spiritualism are present: Saul never sees the ghost of Samuel, only the Witch of Endor is able to see “A divine being rising” from wherever he rises from, and her vague description, “I see an old man rising, wearing a robe,” evokes the cold readings of charlatan mediums into the present (Indeed, some rabbinic sources commenting on this assert that this is exactly what was going on).

While neither of these views of its origin define the genre as the sole property of Catholicism--or of Judaism for that matter--it would be hard exactly to categorize them as secular.

A Jewish Perspective on ghosts

However, it’s not the case that ghost media is incompatible with Jewishness, assuming that it doesn’t commit to a view of heaven and hell duality that specifically embraces a Christian spiritual framework.

Jewish theology is noncommittal on the subject of the afterlife. The idea of a division between body and soul in the first place is found in ancient Egypt, for instance, earlier than the earliest Jewish texts. In Jewish text it’s present in narratives like the creation story, in which God crafts a human body out of earth and then breathes life into it once it’s complete. It also appears in our liturgy: the blessings prescribed to be recited at the beginning of the day juxtapose Elohai Neshama, a blessing for the soul, with Asher Yatzar, expressing gratitude for the body, recited by many after successfully using the bathroom.

Yet it’s not clear that this life-force is something separate than the body that lives beyond it, until the apparition of the Witch of Endor. The words we use to describe it, whatever it is, evoke the process of breathing rather than that of eternal life: either ruach (spirit, or wind) or neshama (soul, or breath): neither is a commitment to the idea that it does--or that it doesn’t--go somewhere else when the body returns to the earth.

Jewish folklore, however, leans into the idea of ghosts and other spiritual beings inhabiting the earthly plane (and others). Perhaps most famous is the 1937 movie The Dybbuk, in which a young scholar engaging in kabbalistic practices calls upon dark forces to unite him and his fated love, only to find himself possessing her body as a dybbuk. It appears that he is about to be successfully exorcized, but ultimately when his soul leaves her body, hers does as well.

More relevantly to your story, a Jewish folktale inspired the movie The Corpse Bride. In the folktale version, a newly-engaged man jokingly recites the legal formula he will soon recite at his wedding, and places his ring on the finger of a nearby corpse--a reference to a time when antisemitic violence is said to have gotten worse not only at Jewish and Christian holidays as it does still to this day, but around Jewish weddings as well. The murdered bride stands up, a corpse reanimated complete with consciousness, and demands that the bridegroom honor his legal obligation.

In the movie, the bride gives up her demand willingly: her claim on him is emotional rather than legal, and she finally accepts that he has an emotional connection with another person, that he doesn’t love her. In the folk tale, the dead woman takes him to court to decide whether their marriage is legal, since he spoke the legal words to her in front of witnesses as is required, and the court rules that the dead do not have the right to make legal demands on the living. In this version, the moral of the story is that a legal formula is an obligation; that when he jokingly bound himself to the corpse, he not only disrespected the dead but also the legal framework that structures society, and by so doing risked being obligated to keep his side of a contract he never intended to enact.

This speaks to the ways that a Jewish outlook can differ from a Christian-influenced “secular” one. Christian-influenced cultural ideas can often focus around feeling the right thing, while Jewish stories will often center on doing the right thing. Does the Corpse Bride leave because she realizes she is not the one he loves? Because she--or he--learned a valuable lesson? Or because she loses her court case? It’s not that the boy’s emotions are irrelevant to the story--the tension, the suspense, the horror of the story takes place primarily within the boy’s emotional landscape--but emotions on their own are not a solution. The question “should he marry her” can be answered emotionally, but “has he married her” can only be answered by a legal expert, and once it has been the deceased bride may not have changed her emotional attachment to him, but she no longer has legal standing to pursue her claim.

Centering legal rectitude over emotional catharsis isn’t a requirement for having Jewish characters in your story, but it’s worth thinking about what is and isn’t universal, what is and isn’t actually all that secular.

Meanwhile, back at the topic:

Where does any of this place Danielle?

Well, unless you’re positing a universe in which Christian or other deities or cosmologies are confirmed to exist (See Jewish characters in a universe with author-created fictional pantheons for more on that topic), there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be perfectly fine interacting with whatever the setting you’re building throws at them.

My wishlist for this character and setting runs more to the general things to consider when writing fantasy settings with Jewish characters:

Don’t confirm or imply that Jesus is a divine being. That means no supernatural items like splinters of the cross, grails, nails, veils, etc. There’s nothing particularly powerful or empowering about this one guy who lived and died like so many others.

Don’t show God’s body and especially not God’s face, or confirm that any other gods or deities exist, whether that’s Jesus, Aphrodite, or Anubis, or someone you made up for the context.

Don’t put Danielle in a position where they’re going to play into an antisemitic trope like child murder, blood drinking, world domination, or financial greed. If you have to, name it and let Danielle express discomfort with or distaste for those actions both because Jewish values explicitly oppose all of those things but also because Danielle as a Jewish character would be painfully aware of these stereotypes as present and historical excuses for antisemitic violence.

Do consider what Danielle’s personal practice might look like. What does Danielle do on Shabbat? What do they eat or refrain from eating? What are their memories of Jewish holidays and how is their current holiday observance different than their childhood? I know I say “Jewishness is diverse” on every ask, but it is, and these questions--which also underscore how very much Judaism is rooted in one’s actions during this life--will help you develop how Judaism actually functions to inform Danielle’s character, even if you don’t spell out the answers to each of these questions in text.

Do let Danielle find joy, comfort, and identity in their Jewishness not just in contrast with Christianity but simply because it’s part of the wholeness of their character. I know the primary representation of Jewishness is a snappy one-liner in a Christmas episode followed by the Jewish character joining in the Christmas spirit, blue edition, but make room for Jewishness to inform how Danielle approaches the events of your story, or why they decide to get or stay involved.

-Meir

Hi it’s Shira with some Jewish ghost story recs written from inside–

When The Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb (deliriously good queer YA Jewish paranormal, mainstream enough that it’s got a good chance of being at your local library and won all kinds of awards)

The Dyke and the Dybbuk by Ellen Galford (sorry for the slur, warning for a paragraph of biphobia in the book but it’s an older book. I read this right before my divorce so my memories are super fuzzy but it’s about this modern day lesbian who gets possessed by the ghost of a different lesbian from hundreds of years earlier in Jewish history.) Nine of Swords Reversed by Xan West z’L of blessed memory - another queer Jewish paranormal.

The general plot is that two partners are struggling with how to be honest with each other about the effect disability is having on them. It’s got a very warm and fuzzy cozy vibe but kink culture is central to the worldbuilding so if that isn’t your vibe I didn’t want you to go in unaware.

The Dybbuk in Love by Sonya Taaffe. I don’t remember the details but I remember loving it, it’s m/f and romance between possessor and possessed.

I wrote a really short one called A Man of Taste where a gentile vampire woman and a Jewish ghost/dybbuk get together.

#Jewish #Judaism #supernatural #supernatural beings #settings #fantasy #ghosts #asks

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kneelingshadowsalome · 5 months

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Christian Woman

(König x Nun!Reader)

Word count: 5.2 k Summary: Yup it’s König with a Virgin!Nun!Reader folks. This is all @wordstome 's and @melancholic-thing 's and their König & religion post's fault! :( Tags/warnings: PINING. Eventual smut, eventual blood & minor injuries. A cute, sweet, silly story with undertones of religious despair. Watch out for possible mistakes concerning Catholicism, I was more interested in the forbidden love trope.

Part 1

You don’t know how it even happened, but you became friends with a foreign man visiting your city.

You bumped into him one day. Literally bumped into him, or then he bumped into you; you’re not entirely sure who’s to blame here, but you would’ve fallen to the ground had he not grabbed you by the arm and hauled you back up and against him.

It was just to prevent you from hurting yourself, but your mind short circuits for a moment when you’re pressed against the broadest chest you’ve ever seen. The man is tall, so tall you have to crane your neck to see who has such lightning-fast reflexes.

Worried eyes look down at you from above, but the man’s expression softens when he sees how frightened you look.

“I’m so sorry. Are you ok?”

“Yes… Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

He starts to fuss about being in such a hurry without any particular reason and asks if he can make this up for you somehow.

Could he offer you a lunch or something? No, how about a drink? He’s truly so sorry.

His accent is charming, and the genuine regret and worry make you quickly judge him as a safe enough person to grab a coffee with. Accidents happen, and it’s not illegal to sit down with a man you just met, right?

You tell him you don’t drink drinks, but a coffee would be nice. The man raises an eyebrow when you reveal to him that you’re not only a teetotaler, you’re also a nun.

“Ah… So you prefer a simple life?”

He takes you to a dark, cosy cafe around the corner. His inquiry leads to a conversation on the joys of silence and simplicity, then on philosophy, faith, and the cons of modern life. By the time he grabs you a table for two, you’re already discussing how people are always on their smartphones nowadays, looking for instant gratification and pleasures and how it wrecks their brains. You both gush about how nice it is to steer away from all that.

You find yourself talking to him with ease about your life choices. How the anxiety reached a point where you wanted to get away from all the fuss, and how much peace this solution has brought you. How you have meaning and purpose these days, and how you doubt you’d be able to adjust into a modern society anymore. He gets what you mean immediately, saying he only feels at home when he’s alone in the mountains. How he’s been alone his whole life, really, and that it doesn’t scare him anymore, on the contrary.

You feel warm and safe with him, lost inside a soft bubble you quickly create in the corner table of a cellar cafe. Perhaps it’s the dimly lit environment or perhaps it’s just him, but you have one of the deepest conversations ever with this mysterious man.

He’s attentive and curious without being your usual pervert on the sly. You’ve had enough of men looking at you like you’re the forbidden fruit after hearing about your life choices.

This man doesn’t try to seduce his way into your pants; he listens to your insights and agrees with you on how silence does you good, especially in times like this. You wonder what he does for work and why he’s here because clearly, he’s not local. You never get to ask him because the conversation ends far too quickly.

He receives a message on his phone, cruelly reminding you that the magical bubble has burst and you’re back in the modern world. He looks crabby about the interruption too, especially when he says he has to go.

You both agree that you had a nice talk and should continue it sometime – why not tomorrow? Same time, same place.

So you meet him again.

And again… And again.

You find out he’s in town for at least two weeks, but when he finally reveals what he does for work, your stomach sinks. He tells you he’s working for some private military contractor and can’t really share any details about his work. When you ask him does this mean that he kills people for money, he falls silent.

“I guess you could put it like that.”

He’s looking at his shoes when he says it, somewhat embarrassed or sad. His feet barely fit under the table, so he has them stretched out, leading to a waitress almost tripping on them one day. Your heart is squeezing inside your chest when he rises immediately and apologises like the perfect gentleman, helps the lady up and never gets insulted by the murderous glares the woman shoots at him.

He gives you his codename, König, and that he comes from Austria, but then refuses to share any other personal details. You don’t even get to know his first name. You do talk about your childhood, you talk about your schools and what you were supposed to become when you grew up. He tells you about his love for hiking, and you tell him about your dance hobby.

The usual “Oh? Nuns are allowed to dance?” comment has you laughing.

“Well… I don’t do twerking, but yes, nuns are allowed to dance.”

“What’s ‘twerking’?”

It’s so funny how you seem to know about modern trends more than him. You know about Tinder and TikTok through your friends; it’s just that these things are really not for you. Still, this König knows even less about dating apps and internet challenges than you.

It makes you intrigued: he could have dozens of women right now if he wanted to. And not only because he’s attentive and kind: he’s so big and tall that most women would beg him to whisk them away. All he needed to do was go to a hookup site and deal out some likes.

Most of his muscles are packed in the shoulders and chest area, making it challenging for him to fit through a door. You can see he hasn’t skipped a leg day either, and immediately chastise yourself for checking out his butt in the coffee queue. You ignore your filthy thoughts of wanting to get pressed against those pecs again, you pay no attention to the fleeting musings on how good that short stubble would feel against your neck if he ever chose to kiss you there.

A soldier and a nun make an odd pair, but you find yourself enjoying his company more than anyone elses. He seems to wait for your meetings with eager but polite enthusiasm, too. You know it’s an attempt to make you forgive his choice of career when he reveals to you that his best mission was when he saved thirty women from sex trafficking. And it does make your heart crack open a little. Killing is a sin, but he has tried to protect life in his own crude way.

You start to include him in your prayers. First, you ask for the Lord to guide this man away from the path of killing. Then, slowly, you ask him to be protected from harm, you only pray for him to be safe.

And you say nothing of this new acquaintance to the others. You ought to, but your lips remain sealed.

You’re allowed to have friends and visit them, and it doesn’t matter if the friend is of the opposite sex as long as the meetings are purely platonic. Which they are. This man could be your brother, you tell yourself. He could be a long-distance cousin. There’s nothing fishy going on around here, and he’s just visiting, so why would you bother to tell anyone? It would only lead to troubled sighs and concerned questions, and you really don’t feel like answering them right now.

You miss a few midday prayers, and once, your chores. The relationship turns out to be far from platonic.

König can’t even keep his eyes in check.

They travel down your neck and land on the smallest amount of cleavage, barely visible in the loose, dull shirts you wear. They slip further down and stop to admire your breasts next, then quickly rise back to your collarbones as if this was just a mistake, just an absent, wandering gaze. You know you’re wearing a semi-helpless stare by the time he meets your eyes. The blue steel in his is completely swallowed by hunger.

You want to believe it was only a momentary lapse, but then he does it again. Actually, you catch him looking at your breasts, scanning your body and cherishing the tender spot between your collarbones more times than you can count. They’re quick, stolen moments, so harmless that you choose to stay quiet. He usually starts to talk about something trivial right after, or asks you a quick question as if nothing ever happened.

Those stolen glimpses stay with you for the rest of the day though. They give you intrusive thoughts during morning prayers and evening silence. You’ve never felt this… adored.

He has a quiet, commanding presence, and you feel like a mouse under his gaze, a mouse who’s always thoroughly examined. At the same time, he’s so polite and so charming that you can’t think ill of him. He always takes your coat and brings you coffee, always asks how your day or week has been, and actually listens to you speak. He listens to your every word with a softening glow in his eyes, a shimmer that spreads across the table and makes you feel warm all over.

König always softens in your presence... You always tense up in his.

Your face is flushed, and you blame it on the overcrowded cafe. You feel both safe and in danger with him, and it must be the virgin inside you talking. But you sense there’s something more at play here. He’s simply not like other men.

You fear he’s seen hell; in fact, he must walk there every day. From what he tells you, you understand that he has suffered a lot and could use your prayers. But it’s also quite clear that he’s not a victim anymore.

It’s difficult to see this utterly charming teddy bear in front of you, enjoying his large cup of coffee and giving you the occasional husky laugh, then imagine the same man bursting through a door and starting a massacre. Marching in some dark, dirty recess with a rifle or a shotgun in his hands, hunting down screaming people and putting down his already bleeding enemies.

Because that’s what you imagine in your mind when he tells you he’s sometimes used as an insertion specialist; a human battering ram in short.

You look at his hands around the mug, long fingers curled in search of warmth. He has short, trimmed nails and no sign of blood under them… But that doesn’t mean it��s not there.

…

"Oh honey. Soldiers are the worst," your friend sighs when you meet her at another cafe, different from where you meet your killing machine. It’s bubbly and lively and colourful, just like your friend; it’s the opposite of König, the special operations soldier who’s dark, intriguing, and intimate, just like the dimly lit cellar cafe you meet him in secret.

"He probably owns a Fleshlight," she mumbles with her mouth full of croissant.

"A… A what?"

She starts to cough at your innocent inquiry, and you know you didn’t hear ‘flashlight’ in the first place, it’s just that you’re not sure if you want to know what on earth she’s talking about now.

When she finally survives the munch she almost choked on, she politely tells you what a fleshlight is, and you find yourself not rolling your eyes, but actually thinking about König using one with need.

Christ have mercy…

"Soldiers are crazy. I once dated this peacekeeper,” your friend continues in her usual chirpy way. “Couldn't hold a conversation for his life. Unless it was about guns... And when I went over to his place, the walls were covered with pictures of naked women. It was so pathetic I had to keep myself from laughing. And oh god, now I remember! He offered me microwaved mac and cheese for dinner…"

You sip your coffee and listen politely to your friend ramble about some guy she used to date. She has a lot of these stories, and all of them are worth hearing. Sometimes you think if you’re living your unlived sex life through your friend, the way you’re so curious about hearing all the different descriptions of male genitalia and the crazy, funny, downright unbelievable scenarios that have happened to her.

Some of the tales are so gross you’re quite happy you haven’t indulged yourself in casual sex. And at times, hearing about all the things your friend has gone through, being an onlooker to all that heartbreak and pining and loss, has managed to strengthe your resolve.

Being a nun isn’t so bad... At least you haven’t wasted your time on shallow men.

"He put so much chili in that shit that my makeup started to run," she continues her story about the poor excuse for a dinner and a date. Usually, the food leads to sex in these tales, and you’re a hypocrite for wanting to hear more.

"Did you sleep with him…?"

"After that? No thanks," she looks at you and raises an eyebrow. "I pretty much fled the building."

Even the most sad, pathetic, crappy tales make you both laugh, especially if enough time has passed. You laugh now, too, both at your friend falling for a man simply because he was a hot soldier and at the poor man who was in obvious need of an interior designer and a cook. Or a girlfriend… Or a mom.

"Look. I'm saying this because you're my friend." She says after wiping a few tears from her eyes, "And because you’re a virgin and a goddamn nun. Like come on, how many years have you been locked up in that dreadful monastery?"

"Convent," you correct.

"Whatever. I'm telling you this man is just looking for some easy pussy while he's deployed."

“I wouldn't call a nun an easy…ugh, you know.”

“Perhaps he likes a challenge then, “ she shrugs. “Men like to hunt.”

"It’s not like that,” you quarrel, trying to ignore the way her lips purse with amusement. “He's been very nice to me and… we have these great conversations. We talk about really deep stuff, you know? He explained the difference between Schopenhauer and Kierkegaard to me last time we met–"

"Ok, that's even worse. That's a red flag."

You look down at your beverage, sullen and beaten. She’s the first person you’ve told about meeting a man over a coffee, and you’re already doing it wrong.

"Does he ever look at your tits?" She asks all of a sudden.

"What?"

Your friend crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head, looking like an overly self-satisfied detective.

"Do you ever catch him staring at your breasts," she rephrases the question as if she’s talking to a lame person.

"Well… Uh. Yes, sometimes–"

"Well there you have it. Man's just bored with his fleshlight."

"Shh! Keep it down, would you…? Good God..."

"Don't take the name of the lord your god in vain," she chimes. “But seriously, it’s no wonder. If only we could get you out of that convent, there would be a line of men at your door.”

“Oh for God’s sake…”

“No, seriously. We’re talking about fistfights and broken bones. Dating apps would explode. People would get killed.”

You roll your eyes - your friend always loves to exaggerate things. If anything, you’re scared of men, and you loathe the dating world. You’re put off by shallow commitments and one-night stands and getting ghosted and God knows what else. That’s why you became a nun: to find something stable in your life. You always told your friend that Jesus Christ is the most stable man you’ve ever met, and you will stick with him. As always, your friend was not on the same page with you.

“Stable? Excuse me, but didn’t he start a riot or something at the temple? Are we talking about the same dude who lead an uprising against the Romans? Hung out with whores, raised corpses from the dead, fucked around and found out until someone nailed him at the cross? Stable my ass!”

“Look, even if he wants something more, I’m not up for it,” you try to convince - both yourself and your friend.

“Mm. What a shame,” she smirks. “Is he handsome?”

“Yes, but–”

“Mmh. Deep voice?”

“Umm… It’s memorable?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” you cry. “Okay fine, it’s nice and deep and I like it. And I love his laugh,” you confess, and your friend does a silent little ‘yay’ and ‘I knew it’ cheer. You know it would be a field day for her if you finally got laid. As cliche as it sounds, you’ve always treated your friend as some sort of devil’s advocate.

You allow yourself to gush a minute, maybe two, about his muscles to your beloved devil. You tell your friend about his broad back, how wide his shoulders are, you tell her about the easy smiles he always sports with you. You describe the tactical pants and the snug black t-shirts he wears in detail, you confess he has a nice butt and that he’s so big he can't even fit the table.

You tell her how König starts to talk with his hands if he gets excited and how you have to fear he’s going to knock something over and make a mess. You tell about his blue eyes and the way they always soften when he looks at you, and looks at you often. All the time, really. He doesn’t even see other women, uh, you mean, other people in the cafe. He’s polite to the waitresses but never fully acknowledges anyone else but you.

Your friend's enthusiastic grin turns into an uneasy, pitying smile when she realises how deep into this man you actually are.

"I'm sorry babe… Someone has to give you the tough love," she reaches for your hand across the table. "Do you understand that if this guy is not working for the regular military, he's probably doing some war crime type of shit?"

The way you rush to defend your steadfast soldier who probably has his hands covered in blood, would make your abbess sigh.

"No, no, actually, he's working against these human trafficking cells–"

"Ok, he shoots human traffickers too, that's great. Good for him. You're still about to step into a pile of traumatised, immature, emotionally unavailable soldier shit. Trust me."

"Just because your soldier was like that doesn't mean mine has to be," you blurt.

Gosh - that was a good old Freudian slip...

"Yours now, is he?"

"No, that was… It just slipped."

"So you've actually thought about banging this guy?"

"What?! No."

"You have," she insists with a widening smile.

"No. No, I–"

"Oh my god. You're about to forsake your vows," she brings her hands together in excitement. "Oh my god, oh my god. This is amazing!"

You feel your lips snap into a thin line.

Just whose side is this woman on? Does she want to protect you from heartbreak or push you into some man's lap just for shits and giggles?

If you're chosen by God, your friend is chosen by the Devil, that's for sure. Nothing exciting ever happens behind the walls of your 'monastery', nothing but endless prayers and boring lectures and monotonous chores. Of course she thinks it's about time you got a round of good dick. She just wants to hear a filthy story when you return from your secret little fling, a fling that could get you kicked out of the convent for good.

"How tall is he exactly...? Does he have big hands?"

Your friend's eyes are shining with excitement - apparently the possible war crimes and atrocities König has committed are forgiven and forgotten.

"What does that have to do with anything…?"

"I can tell you what to expect in the dick department," she smiles with an impish grin.

You eventually leave the cafe with a dirty soul and a skittish heart.

The way your friend described your new acquaintance's probable blessings in the "dick department" left little to the imagination, and now you're actually scared.

This man has been so polite towards you, so kind to you. He's offered you coffee and pastries and cake along with an intellectual challenge, but now it's all ruined because all you can think about is what's inside his pants. How big his hands are, and how they correlate with what's downstairs. How nice it would feel to lay under him, with his chest pressed against yours, how divine it would be to get pinned down by him. How those strong, narrow hips would fit between your legs, broad shoulders eclipsing the view above as he slowly crawls on top of you. How he'd kiss your neck, your collarbones, your mouth, with such hunger that your legs eventually give in and spread wide open.

You return to the convent with a heavy heart and distressed thoughts, but find some solace in your evening prayers.

Nothing has happened, you remind yourself; these are only thoughts. You have seen a man who's interested in you for half a dozen times. You took part in a shallow, mundane, earthly conversation today with your friend, but nothing carnal or wrong has happened. Everything is the way it has always been.

You’re safe now, completely safe here. There’s no chaos and no guns and no tall men with big dicks, no Austrian war criminals trying to seduce you and then discard you after their deployment ends.

There’s only a man with a kind smile, warm eyes, and a nice, husky laugh. Some good coffee with distant notes of chocolate and perfectly civil conversations about European philosophers and the crisis of modern thought.

Sturdy walls support you; they have held you for centuries, and the crucifix above you has given hope to so many people before you. The ever-safe embrace of your faith envelops you, and you can always trust that you are loved, even when you’re flawed and incomplete.

Even with indecent thoughts, you can pray for mercy and ask for forgiveness. Even if you have impure urges towards your Austrian mercenary, you can still pray for him... It’s the least you can do to repay the kindness he has given you.

But the heaviness follows you to your room; it makes your chest feel dark and thick. You don’t say your last prayer before bed. You don’t want His eyes upon you tonight.

You don’t want to draw the Lord’s attention to you while your hand travels down beneath the sheets, your thoughts wandering to a certain god-like soldier with eyes like burning ice.

…

The next time you two meet, he crosses a clear boundary.

König has started to take you for walks, sometimes suggesting you two could visit a museum, clearly wishing you’d show him around the city. In truth, he’s the one parading you around like you’re his cute little lady. He pays for your museum tickets and brings you ice cream while you sit on a bench at a park, grabs your arm to draw your attention to a few swans swimming in a pond. And that’s ok - physical touch like that is ok. Holding hands is not.

Because…

One time, when you’re walking down a hill path, admiring the sunset, a big, warm hand wraps itself around yours.

It finds you in silence, envelops your tiny palm completely, squeezes you softly and emanates so much heat that a cord of fire shoots across your arm and straight into your heart.

You allow yourself to bask in the warmth of the huge, calloused palm for a few more seconds before ripping your hand away. You take a few hurried steps and turn, noticing he has stopped to look at you with guarded hesitation.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise even if König is the one who went off limits, “but this is not appropriate.”

“Entschuldigung… I know. That was out of bounds,” he raises a hand over his heart and bows his head a little, watching you from under his brows. You could keel over from how the gesture reminds you of Arthurian romances, of knights who place their hand on their heart to swear they’ll never disgrace a lady again.

Instead, you nod, your soul saved but your heart sinking like an anvil dropped in the sea. You’d want nothing more than for him to do it again, to grab your hand in his and never let go.

The rest of the walk happens in awkward silence, and you thought he would keep his distance - Christ, you thought you would keep your distance - but he insists on walking near to you, and so you continue down the path with your fingers still touching each other every now and then. You don't even try to move your hand away.

I’m going to die, you scream internally while looking at the bleeding sunset in the distance. You can’t look at him; you can’t even talk to him. It’s like your body is pumped full of some drug these days.

Falling for someone so hard is making you feel faint; your insides are churning and turning and your brain is a mess. Your heart is racing so fast that you’re afraid you’ll end up having a heart attack one of these days.

He’s probably used to this: the thrill and the adrenaline, a world laced with rush and extremes, indulging in things such as guns and explosions and blood and women and darkness.

You only have your safe routines, your sisters, a few friends you meet over coffee, a family you visit thrice a year. You’re not used to being bombarded with hormones and raw emotion like this. You have never, ever lusted after a man like this. The only thing you ever craved for was another slice of cake.

“Do you still want to see me?” He asks apologetically when you approach the convent which has now started to resemble a frigid, uneventful prison.

“Of course,” you hurry to say. “Just… No more holding hands. Ok?”

“Ok,” he chuckles softly, and you stop and turn.

He’s never been this near to where you live, and you’re afraid someone will see you if he escorts you to the door. You can’t be seen with a man in your current state, that would be a catastrophe. Anyone in the building could tell that this friendship is far from platonic.

“I’m sure you’ll find some other girl to… hold hands with,” you say, hating how bitter and self-pitying you sound. You even swallow when you look up into his eyes. They’re so soft now that the ice has almost disappeared, devoured by longing, a thick and sinful darkness.

“What if I don’t want some other girl?”

His voice is so wickedly gentle too.

You can see he’s fighting an inner battle to not touch you again; he’s standing toe to toe with you, towering above you, with his shoulders slightly hunched. If someone walked behind him, they wouldn’t even see you’re there because of how close you two are standing to each other. You can’t back away from him because you’d bump into a tall iron gate - in fact, you’re half-pressed against it now.

“I’ve enjoyed our conversations,” he continues with a throaty voice. God, how you would melt if he used that voice in bed…

“So have I,” your voice comes out as a wavy whisper. “But there can’t be anything more than that... I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” he laments, but the corner of his mouth curves slightly up. “So sorry you wouldn’t even believe…”

It’s mischief and seduction, darkness and deception, and your insides squeeze into a tight little knot.

“Please… Let’s just keep it the way it was,” you plead with eyes that beg the complete opposite.

“Sure... I will try my best, Kätzchen. Is this your convent…?”

You wonder if he’d pay you a visit if you told him where you sleep. You wonder if your single bed would creak if he tried to make love to you on it... You wonder if you could muffle your cries when you clenched with him inside you. If he’d groan too loudly when he reached his peak…

“It’s just around that corner,” you explain with a frail voice, hating how it betrays every single thing that crosses your mind.

“Good to know,” he replies, with no shakiness to his voice at all. He seems to enjoy making you so flustered; he seems to draw strength from people weaker than him. Which is probably 99 % of the population…

“How so,” you peep, already praying that he wouldn’t come to try his luck with the poorly locked windows. The back door is always open too because some of the nuns are smokers. König wouldn’t even need to use his insertion skills to get in.

“Now I know where to find you if I come to work here again,” he shrugs as if innocent. As if his eyes didn’t betray a few filthy thoughts too.

“Are you… Are you leaving then?”

“Soon.”

Your heart is about to break after two weeks of knowing some random guy, and you feel like the silliest woman in the world.

You try to remind yourself of what your friend said: this man just wants some easy pussy. He’s just bored with his fleshlight. Men like challenges, they like to hunt. You think about Lucky Luke and all the other cowboys who came and went as they pleased, breaking hearts and then riding into the sunset.

This cowboy only got to hold your hand though... And he’s saying he doesn’t want “some other girl”. Of course there’s a chance that he simply visits a brothel after discussing philosophy with you, or goes to a club or whatever, but you don’t want to entertain such horrible thoughts.

“I’ll miss you, then,” you try to sound neutral while he’s looking down at you like you’re his first love.

“Ganz sicher, I will miss you too. Perhaps I’ll visit you, work trip or not?”

“That would be nice.”

“It might take a while. But you won’t forget me, ja?”

“Of course not. I will pray for you every day,” you smile with a good amount of affection. It has the same effect as saying something like “I want to blow you right here on this street” because your Austrian giant gets visibly excited. His breath quickens, and his eyes start to wander again.

“...Are you sure I can’t hold your hand?”

You give him a shy smile, then quickly guide your eyes to the pavement. This König is definitely taking it as some love confession when a girl says she will pray for him. Your insides turn to jello when you see his hand close into a loose fist, then open with a spasmlike stretch. He wants to touch you so badly that he has to physically fight against it.

“No…?” He inquires high above you, so desperate that you’re quite sure he’s not frequenting any brothels in the area. He might stroke his cock to the thoughts of you, though…

You shake your head softly, then raise your eyes back to his. What a silly, silly man. If only you weren’t a nun, you’d let him do whatever he wants with you. Even abandon you after using you in every which way, because to be under that adoring gaze is worth a thousand heartbreaks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

There’s more desperate hope in that question, and you wonder if tomorrow is the last time you’ll see each other. Soon could mean anything, but you can’t bear to hear the exact time and date when he leaves. Not tonight.

“Yes. Same time, same place,” you agree, then flee from under the dark, adoring stare to the safety of your cloister.

#könig x reader #könig x you #könig x nun!reader #forbidden love #könig fanfiction #konig x reader #konig x you

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prettiestgrlinthemorguexo · 3 months

Note

Can I request an Lucifer Morningstar x fem reader??

This like came up in my mind recently and I’m going feral over it

So Reader is Adams third wife that he had begged again to god to make him another wife (this is way before the exterminators fight with the devils when reader was created) and with that god made reader to be his wife that is different from both lilith and Eve, when reader was visiting The garden of Eden, she met lucifer who was on his way to do a meeting with the angels about the populations or the updates(idk you can do something like that) and lucifer was strolling through Eden again like going through a flashback when it all happened until he met reader who was sitting down underneath that same tree where he met Eve

Lucifer found reader enchanting and alluring since she was more beautiful then his ex wife, and soon had an urge to seduce reader like he did to adams other ex wives as lucifer held an apple to reader to tempt her with free will, reader was hesitant and tempted but asked lucifer “what did you do to make adams ex wives to leave him for you?” (She wasn’t told how adams ex wives fucked lucifer but she does know about the free will but what happened to Eve since she knew about the whole story about lucifer and lilith) it made lucifer smirk and told reader “would you like to know?”

(I’m sorry but like I’ve been thinking so much about it🤭🤭🤭)

Third times a charm (Lucifer Morningstar x Adam’s wife! Reader)

Legit love this idea, this a smut for obvi reasons

At this point, Adam just needs to stop because no one wants him also this takes place like 2 year-ish after Lilith left Lucifer

This is not proofread!!!

Also I’m not christen so I don’t know everything about Christianity. So I’m going off of Hazbin hotel and how I interpret the things I do know from the Bible

Reader is female in this

Warnings: smut, P n V sex, oral sex (reader reserving), reader is a virgin (Adam doesn’t get pussy) , dom! Lucifer, outside/public sex, Y/N is suggested to have big thighs, Lucifer comforting reader, Mentions of blood

⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧ ⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧

No ones POV

After Lilith and Eve both falling for Lucifer’s tricks, Adam begged for a new wife. God obliged gave them one more, he named her Y/N, they had H/C hair and the most beautiful E/C eyes. They were a few form of beauty never seem before, oftenly considered the ‘beautiful one’ of Adams wives by the head angels. You lived with Adam, but due to Adam off doing heavens know what, she spent most of her time in the place it all started…the garden of Eden.

Y/N was told about how Lucifer ‘bewitched’ Lilith and eve to betray God and Adam and the heavens itself, but was never really known why they did, why did they choose Lucifer? It was a question they asked herself quite often.

On one summers day while Adam was off doing what Y/N could only assume to be ‘work’, she was once again in the garden. Y/N couldn’t explain why they like the garden so much but they felt so drawn to it. On this day, Y/N wasn’t the only one in the garden. This was one of the days the Angels were meeting with the king of hell himself, Lucifer.

Lucifer had to attend another meeting due to the population still not going down as much as the Angels hoped. He truly didn’t want to attend such a meeting, but he had to. To avoid the meeting as long as possible he decided to take a walk in the a Garden of Eden, this garden help a special place in Lucifer’s mind, where he met he ex wife Lilith and where evil was created when Eve eating the fruit of wisdom.

Today he chose to visit that very tree, the large tree where everything happened. As the walked through the greenery he way the opening where the tree sat but there was something else, someone else. They’re laid a woman lying in the shade of under the large apple tree wearing a white angelic bread, her beautiful H/L H/C they laid against the bed of grass. Her facial features were gorgeous, things he’s never seen before. She had E/C eyes. Everything about her was enchanting, as he was admiring her the noticed something on her finger, a gold wedding band with a large “A” ingrained on it…she was Adam’s wife.

Lucifer was surprised by the knowledge, when had Adam gotten a new wife? God actually gave him another after what happened to the last two? Lucifer remembering the every tree she lied under. Lucifer idea came to his head, why not keep up the streak of stealing away Adams wife? Lucifer moved swiftly over to the tree taking one of the hanging apples before appearing infront of the woman.

Though Y/N eyes were closed enjoyed the sounds of the garden, they felt an unfamiliar presence around her. She shot her eyes E/C open to see a pale man with blonde hair, we wore a white suit with red detailing along with the snake along his hat,then they notice this hand, he was holding a apple.

Y/N nearly shot up from her previous position, she knew who this was…it was Lucifer. She’s hear stories of the fallen angel, but has never seen his face before but she knew it was him. “Hello my dear.” He said with a smile was he stepped closer to her. She didn’t looked scared more intrigued than anything, which he wasn’t expecting considering the stories told of him by the angels. “Did God not give you a voice dear?” He asked seeming more of a joke. “No,” she said to this, her eyes not leaving his face, “I have one..”

He leaned down get on one knee infront of her, “then why don’t you use it? You could be free…” his clawed hand that held the red apple extend to her, the red apple begging to be taken. She stared at the apple debating it for a moment before her eyes moved back to his, “I have a question for you..” she asked him, she seemed so unmoved by the chance at free will. It caught him a little off guard, “she is truly different..” the thought to himself. “Ask away Dove? What on your mind?” He ask the woman curious what question could be more important then free will.

“What did you do to make Adam’s first to wives to leave him for you?” She asked him, curious

Lucifer smug smile feel into a shocking look, did she not know about what happened? Is Heaven really hiding this from her? Then it hit Lucifer, what a better way to teach then show her. He let the apple drop to the ground as he crawled over to her, moving between her legs, he moves one of his under her chin tilting it to him.

“Would you like to know? I could show you..” he said to her in a low voice.

She looked at him a little shocked, what was this feeling? Y/N had never help this before, she felt hot. “Yes..” she said to him, he smile widen as he lead his face in more. “Are you sure..?” He asked again, in an almost teasing way. Y/N nodded their head, “I am…show me..” and with those words, Lucifer kissed them deep.

It caught Y/N off guard but quickly kissed back, wrapping their arms around this neck pulling him closer Lucifer was quick to move his free arm around your waist and pulled you in. Making her body press against his. The feeling her body pressed again his, Y/N couldn’t help but moan at this foreign feeling growing in her. Lucifer heard her moan, it was like a siren call to him. He took the hand that was on her cheek and moved it down under her dress, brushing his fingers over her clothed pussy.

The feeling of his actions made Y/N jump at the feeling, she’s never felt this, it sent an aching feeling into her cover, it felt as if her body was begging for more. Lucifer pulled away from the kiss, a smile string of saliva connecting them. Her face was flushed, a perfect shade of red. Lucifer pressed against her pussy again feeling a wet pool form, almost like on command she let out another moan, her nail’s scratching the nape of his neck.

Lucifer smiled at her reaction, before moving down. “Let me help you with this…” he said in a low voice full of lust, his voice alone enchanting her. Lucifer spread her legs wider and lifted her dress up, revealing her stomach and clothed pussy. Y/N gasp at the action, a little embarrassed and how relieved she is. Lucifer kissed her stomach as they removed their panties, revealing their soaking wet cunt. Y/N watched him as he kissed down her stomach before pulling away, his eyes moving up to look at hers before back to her pussy.

Lucifer moved her thighs onto his shoulder, knocking off his hat, allowing him full access into to her, before he could react to her lower body being lifted up, Lucifer licked her wet folds. Y/N gasp letting out a moan at the feeling of this long tongue lick her. Lucifer let out a groan, she was he best thing he’s ever tasted, he was quick to move in closer, his mouth pressed against her wet cunt, eating her out like it was his last meal. Y/N couldn’t help but become a moaning mess quickly, the feeling was so foreign but it was the best feeling she’d felt her whole life, she wanted, no, she needed more.

Her hand reaching down and tangled her finger in his blonde hair, pushing his head in. It caught him off guard but he loved seeing her so eager. Lucifer happily fulfilled her wish for move , he slipped his tongue in her as he continued to eat. Y/N felt a pit form inside her, she needed it to go away, he needed to make it go away. “Fuck..please!” Y/N moaned out louder. Lucifer could tell she was close by the feeling of her tightening around his long tongue, he groan at the feeling, feeling his pants tighten up. His groans send a vibration into her.

Y/N clinched her thighs around his head, moaning as the vibration. She felt like she was about to release something that she didn’t even know of. After a few more swift motions of Lucifer, Y/N felt the pit release, she let out a loud moan, she attempted to muffle it out by covering her mouth. Lucifer moaned and slurped up all her juices, it was the perfect taste.

Y/N felt like she was floating, this feeling was so knew but she never wanted it to stop. After he sucked her dry, Lucifer pulled away his chin glistening with her juices. When Lucifer go back onto his knees, he stayed between her now shaking legs, he looked at her flushed face, her eyes clouded with the new pleasure. To him she looked perfectly, he was quick to kiss her deep, yet every passionately. Y/N was quick to kiss back softly playing with his hair. While they kissed, Lucifer was quick to undo this belt. Before he could finish undoing his pants, he pulled away hovering over her.

“Are you ready..?” Lucifer asked softly. Y/N nodded their head eagerly, “Please…I need this..” she said through heavy breaths. Lucifer smiled as he undid his pants pulling them down. His cock springing to life. Y/N gasp softly, mesmerized. Lucifer moved in closer in, when he did Y/N wrapped her arms around his neck. She felt him pressing his tip against her entrance, she shivered at the feeling.

After a moment Lucifer slowly entered her stretching her out. She gasped loudly moaning, she felt the sting of him stretching her out. She felt tears peak the corners of her eyes. Noticing this Lucifer stayed still, moving his face down to place butterfly kisses on her face, moving his hand to her cheek holding her kissing away her tears. “It’s ok dove..” he whispered in her ear and he continued his assault of kisses. “Just tell me when to continue, ok..?” He said softly to her, she nodded her head and held him close as he continued to kiss her face, wishing sweet nothing in Y/N’s ear.

After a few minutes, she whispered to him “you can continue..” she said quietly. Lucifer nodded his head as he continued to push in, she whinned a little but it wasn’t as painful as before. Soon he was all the way in, all 8 inches. He was still for a moment looking into Y/N eyes, waiting for her permission to move, Y/N nodded. With the affirming nod of approval, Lucifer pulled nearly all the way our all the way out and slammed back in, making Y/N throw her head pack and moan loudly. It was a perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

Lucifer couldn’t help but moan himself, Y/N was so tight it was a knee feeling to him. He loved him. As he slowly continued his thrust, Y/N could held but moan into Lucifer’s neck. This feeling was new to Y/N and they didn’t want it to end. “Please!” Y/N moaned out to him between this thrust, “more please..” Lucifer smiled at his words as he sped up with his thrust. “Fuck..” Lucifer moaned out as he held her tight. There body’s pressed against each other, Y/N nails were dug into his back nearly tearing his suit jacket, Y/N could feel the pit reforming in her as a fast past, Lucifer could feel it too.

Lucifer could feel him release building up, and it was only getting closer as he felt her squeeze around him. He could only let out groans as he digs his nails through her dress, piecing her skin, drawing blood. Y/N’s head was thrown back they felt like they were about to release. “Please!!” Y/N’s nearly screamed out to him. Lucifer smiled obeying her orders, speeding up for her and his own release. Her blood began to slowly stain her white dress, after a few more thrust Y/N let out a moan as they came again, coating his cock with them. Her body was shaking as he continued to thrust. Feeling the tight wetness, he came into her, painting her wall white. After he was done he clasped onto her, both panting heavily.

Y/N was a shaking mess, Arms wrapped around him tight, almost as if she let go they’d both disappear. “Are you already little dove..?” He asked soft to her. His cock still buried inside her still. “I feel great..” she said softly, nuzzling into him. “Good..” he said quietly kissing her cheek, “now you know why Adams first two wives left him..” Y/N looked at him her E/C filled with wonder and questions. “What does that mean for me.” Lucifer let out a small laugh. “That means your mine now sweetheart..”

Tag list

@reverse-soe @kazurami14 @netheris @musicb33nsstuff @rainycloud858 @yaimlight @erissco @aarkhamkknight @pooplyface1423 @purplethree @dog55teeth

#x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar x you #lucifer morningstar #fanfic #hazbin hotel smut

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transsexualmasc · 11 months

Text

i still can't stop thinking about non-it/its users responses to this post. how an awful lot of people think it's fine to refuse someone else's pronouns because of their own discomfort.

let me tell you a story.

i have been dehumanized almost my entire life. a combination of my race, disabilities, and the mental illnesses that i developed very early in my life meant i was treated like a monster. i started coming out as gay too early for my peers' comfort and that only added to that treatment. my dehumanization is enshrined in christianity. i took on the label of monster on purpose because i stopped relating to humanity. why should i want to be a part of a group who did nothing but hurt me and exclude me in the first place?

i don't need to be protected from my own goddamn pronouns. i don't need to hear about the historical dehumanization of queer people and people of color and disabled people because, like a massive majority of the people using it/its, i fucking know. i have for literal decades.

you know what hurts? telling me i don't know what's best for myself, that your discomfort with my life is more important than treating me like someone who can make its own fucking decisions, and misgendering me because you can't handle being reminded of the things that literally continue to happen to me. i'm not a poor unthinking baby that needs to be saved, and neither are the other it/its users.

if you have feelings about it/its, you can process them on your own time, like every other person uncomfortable with a pronoun set.

and for the love of everything unholy just call me by my fucking pronouns.

#queer #trans

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loquaciousferret · 1 year

Text

Seasons

Summary: One scene for each season of the year of your relationship as you fall in love with Joel Miller, single dad and sweet southern heartthrob.

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ explicit smut MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT. Discussion of religion, virginity, christian!reader, virgin!reader, old-fashioned values and gender roles/views of women. marriage, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex

Word Count: 6.5k (whoops)

A/N: If you love a slowburn then this is the fic for you, filled with adorable flirting and so-sweet-he-gives-you-toothache Joel. This idea came to me so randomly but it’s been a WIP for so long so I hope you like it!!

Spring

You let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak as Joel and Tommy both picked up their cutlery ready to shovel the Sunday roast into their mouths. They hesitated at the sound and you spoke up, “I’m sorry, just, you don’t mind if I say grace, do you?”

A wide smirk spreads across Joel’s face and he raises his eyebrows at you, but puts his cutlery back down immediately. Tommy, who was frozen in place still clutching his fork which was loaded with roast chicken and gravy, received a harsh glare from Joel, leading him to put his down too.

“I’m sorry,” You said again, embarrassed that you had interrupted them.

Joel’s expression remained bemused but he responded kindly, “Hey, don’t apologise, sweetheart. You’re just always full of surprises, that’s all. Go ahead.” He gives you a reassuring smile.

You reached for Tommy’s hand with your left and Joel’s with your right and looked down towards the table, closing your eyes.

“Lord, please bless this food to our bodies and let us hold you in our hearts. We thank you for the meal and the company in which we will share it. Through christ our lord we praise you, amen.”

“Amen to that.” Tommy copied excitedly, wasting no time in getting stuck into his meal.

Joel didn’t respond to the prayer but gave you a reassuring nod, his smile still glowing. “That was lovely, darlin’.” He said, making you smile back shyly.

You got started on your own meal. You and Joel had spent the afternoon cooking together, and by together, that meant you did the cooking and he stood by and offered words of encouragement, assuring you that if he got involved he would only find some way to ruin it.

Joel’s daughter, Sarah, was out at a friend’s house all day, giving you ample time with him. He was yet to introduce you to her, given it hadn’t been long since you had met him, but you spent plenty of time with him and sometimes Tommy, too, when Sarah was otherwise occupied. Luckily for you, she was a social butterfly, and you usually got to see Joel at least one evening a week, and when you were lucky, for a full day at the weekend, like today.

It was your first Sunday with him, and it had taken quite the story to explain to your parents, grandparents, and siblings as to why you would be missing their Sunday dinner in favour of a new friend. They would most definitely be clucking like hens at their own dinner table, speculating about who might have enticed you away. In truth it had been your idea, you had been excited to do this with Joel.

You had met him in a hardware store just at the beginning of February, an old-fashioned meet-cute in which you struggled with deciphering what kind of faucet you needed to pick up for the kitchen sink in your new apartment.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sweetheart, you seem to be having some trouble there, can I lend you any knowledge?” The handsome stranger had asked politely.

His friendly demeanour as well as his expertise had led you to pick his brain in numerous aisles of the store and eventually, you bravely asked for his number. Strictly for DIY-related enquiries, of course.

But now here you were, gazing at him as he savoured the food you had cooked, and you quietly laughed along at his and his brother’s back-and-forth wit, chest bursting with affection for this gentle man whom you were growing fond of.

Summer

You fanned yourself with your magazine, sipping on a cool lemonade. Nothing was helping you to beat the suffocating Texas heat.

You watched on in amusement, perched at the edge of the lawn in Joel’s backyard as him, Tommy, and Sarah grappled with each other in a game of soccer gone wrong.

“Y’know, I don’t think soccer is supposed to be this violent.” You called out to them.

Sarah looked up at you and laughed. “These two idiots will wrestle over a game of monopoly, it doesn’t take much.”

You smiled back at her. You were so grateful at how quickly she had accepted you as Joel’s “lady friend”. You frequently caught her and Tommy wiggling their eyebrows and communicating about you and Joel behind your backs. Neither of them bought the idea that you and Joel were still just friends, but it was true.

In some ways, you had been surprised too. Joel was incredibly patient with you. Lots of guys you had dated got bored fairly quickly but Joel never rushed you and seemed happy going at your pace. You would go to dinner, take walks together, hang out with his family, but nothing more. And he respected it. As time went on, your respect for his patience grew along with your feelings for him.

Later, with Sarah in bed and Tommy having excused himself, the two of you relaxed together in the now relatively cool evening air on a wicker bench in his backyard. He nursed a beer in one hand, his other arm slung around you, and you were cuddled into his chest slightly, comfortable in his embrace.

He was pointing out constellations, but you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his face to look to where he was trying to guide your attention.

“Are you even listenin’ to me?” He said, smiling as he looked down at you and caught your gaze transfixed on him instead of the night sky.

You blushed and made to move away but he held you tighter into him, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You reached up to cup his jaw and looked up at him once more, connecting your lips to his. He leaned down to put his beer on the ground without breaking the kiss, the hand that was around your shoulder reaching up to become entangled in your hair, the other one holding your knee.

You continued to kiss and he deepened it gently with his tongue. At the same time, his hand drifted up your leg until it met the hem of your sundress. You jumped back as he slid his fingertips under your dress and onto your upper thigh.

“Joel, I-“

He straightened up, looking away with a heavy sigh. But when he looked back at you, he wasn’t angry. There was something else hiding in those brown eyes, you just weren’t quite sure what.

“Look, sweetheart..." He sighed. “We’ve been seeing for five months now. I just need to know, I mean…” He sighed again, he seemed to be struggling to get the words out. “I just need to know, baby. Don’t you see me like that? Don’t you want me like that?”

Your heart twinged with guilt as you met his eye again. They were filled with sadness. He thought you were rejecting him.

“Oh, Joel.” You reached out to stroke his cheek with one of your hands. “Joel, please don’t think that. I just-" You screwed your face up with embarrassment. Obviously, this moment would come. He had been so patient up to this point. You couldn’t fault him in the slightest for how respectful he was of your boundaries, never pushing you for more. And you were wracked with guilt at the thought that he had been considering this was down to him and how you felt about him.

“Oh, Joel, I- It’s.” You couldn’t help but stumble over your words. “Of course I do Joel, I do want you, more than anything, but I- I- I’m waiting, you see?”

“You’re-“ He scowled until the realisation hit and he raised his eyebrows. “Oh. You’re waiting waiting.”

“Yes.” You let out an apprehensive breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart.” He said, putting a hand under your chin and tilting it up so you met his eye once again, his face having softened once more.

“Just means I’ll have to be the one to marry you.” There was a glint in his eye and that paralysing smirk he wore so often.

“Joel!” You scoffed, playfully hitting his chest. You wished your heart hadn’t fluttered the way it did at his joke.

Autumn Sarah skipped ahead of you excitedly, you and Joel followed, walking hand in hand down the meadow path.

You had all piled into the truck that afternoon and you had directed Joel to this location, somewhere you had visited ever since childhood to pick apples during harvest season.

“Look! I’ve found them!” Sarah was quite literally jumping with joy, pointing up at the first tree you had come across which was bearing fruit.

“Good job, honey.” Joel said as you both caught up to her.

She was hopping up but failing to reach the fruit even on the lowest boughs of the tree. Joel stepped in at that point. “Here, let me get you a leg up.” He offered.

He held out both his hands for her to stand on as a platform, grunting with exertion as he hoisted her up. She then clung to his shoulders tightly with one arm around his neck, stretching out with her other hand to reach out for the fruit.

She picked them successfully and dropped them into the basket you held out for her.

After gathering nearly a dozen, she leaped down and inspected her findings, picking out each one individually to admire them and compare their sizes.

“Have you ever had real apple pie before? Like this? With the fresh apples and everything?” You asked her.

“Nope, first time!” She responded excitedly. “I’m so hungry for it already. I hope it doesn’t take long to bake.”

“Well, it does take a while, honey. Baking is a labour of love,” You explained to her kindly as you walked back to the truck alongside each other, Joel a few paces behind. “The more time and patience you put into things, the better the end pay-off.”

Joel chuckled lightly behind you and you whipped round to look at him over your shoulder.

“What?” You laughed.

“Nothin’.” He said, smiling back at you. “Very wise life philosophy you got there, that’s all.”

You screwed your face up at him playfully. Trust Joel to turn your simple lesson into a different one entirely.

Back at Joel’s home, you taught Sarah how to soften the apples in butter, sugar, and cinnamon, filling the kitchen and most of the downstairs with that delicious combination of scents.

Next, you made the pastry by hand, patiently guiding her on how to knead the dough, and how to tell when to stop at the right consistency and not spoil it by over-kneading. She listened carefully and copied you, she was a quick learner.

Joel watched you both, filled with adoration at the scene in front of him. Your patience and kindness towards Sarah was a huge factor in how hard he was falling for you. You were only a little more than a decade older than her, but your maternal behaviours towards her seemed to come totally natural to you.

You were exactly the presence Sarah needed in her life. You were an absolute blessing for the pair of them.

He smiled and shook his head at his own thoughts. A blessing. Your way of thinking was rubbing off on him.

Sarah left to bathe and get ready for bed while you finished constructing the pie, the oven preheating. Joel continued to watch from his seat at the breakfast bar.

“You do so well with her.” He remarked.

“Oh.” You responded, slightly surprised. You had nearly forgotten he was there with how quietly he had observed the activity.

You didn’t turn to face him, not wanting him to notice the blush creeping into your cheeks.

“Thank you, Joel.” You said sincerely after having gathered your thoughts. “I’ve always loved kids. I think it just comes naturally to me.”

“Yeah?” He said, pleased with your response.

“It’s like I was born to be a mother.” You chuckled a little. It was something you had been told throughout your life. You had always enjoyed being with your aunts, helping with the babies, moreso than playing outside or doing things with your cousins and friends of your own age.

He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. This happened all the time, you took the thoughts right out of his head and spoke them into reality. You were perfect for him in every sense, he had known this for a while now but you strengthened his belief in the fact every single day. Joel knew he was madly in love with you, a deep connection he had never felt towards anyone else. And he had your morals to thank. The lack of physical relationship meant that you had spent months building on a genuine friendship and emotional connection, one that stood on its own without the need for sexual attraction. Not that he didn’t have that for you in spades.

All his previous relationships had been built on something physical, an initial attraction that was acted on and developed into more. Not you. His fondness of you was not based on that. That’s not to say he didn’t constantly want more as you kissed him, not that he didn’t think of you in his intimate moments, or sometimes needed to excuse himself when he got a glimpse of your upper thighs or even a panty line under your sundress if you reached up on tiptoe to grab something or climbed up the steps ahead of him. You had him like a touch-starved schoolboy, every single glimpse of your flesh was like a jolt of electricity inside him.

It had been nearly 8 months since you met and you had changed his and Sarah’s lives already, bringing laughter and sunshine back into their home. He had even met your family, too, at a barbecue towards the end of summer. He had had to hold in a laugh at their old-fashioned ways when they referred to him as the man you were 'courting'. But they accepted him, approved of him despite him being 10 years your senior, a divorced single dad. They didn’t judge him and they could see how happy you made each other.

The other day, he had lied about needing to head to the store and you stayed and watched Sarah. It had been a relief when he had went to your father’s house, and he had said yes so quickly to Joel’s request for your hand in marriage.

Winter

Austin saw it’s first measurable snowfall in a couple of years. You three, Tommy, and the new dog you and Sarah had convinced Joel to adopt for Christmas, were out walking near a cabin you had rented together for some of the holidays.

You all had red cheeks and your breaths were visible, coming out as mist in the cold air. It was the one of the coldest winters in a while, with the temperature barely hitting the 40s each day.

When you got back to the cabin, you, Sarah, and Tommy fought over who would get to shower first for warmth. You ended up placing second in the queue, behind her and before him, which you were satisfied with. There were 3 bedrooms but only one bathroom in the cabin, leading to almost daily arguments between the brothers and Sarah, most of which you simply observed in amusement.

“Come ‘ere.” Joel said, beckoning you to join him in the lounge. “Fire’s just gettin’ started. I’ll keep you warm until it’s your turn.”

You smiled and joined him, shedding a few layers of clothing to dry off and warm up by the fire.

He rubbed your arms and legs roughly, generating heat from the friction. It tickled and you pushed him away. He lost his balance and fell backwards.

“You tryna kill me?” He laughs. “There’s a fire behind me.”

You smiled at him. He was mesmerised by you, with your rosy cheeks and your eyes illuminated, reflecting the flickering of the log fire.

He had wanted to wait for the perfect moment, and propose to you like a scene out of those terrible romance movies you love so much. But it was times like this that moved his heart, the simple every day moments you shared that reminded him why he was so madly in love with you.

And so he couldn’t help himself, he shifted so he was on one knee between your legs.

“What are you doin’?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity.

“Quiet, alright, let me focus.” There was nothing impatient in how he responded, if anything, he only sounded nervous. That intrigued you more.

You smile at him and he loses all train of thought again taking in your expression.

“Sweetheart.” He starts, his voice cracking slightly. You had rarely seen Joel nervous or flustered but this had to be it. “I wanted to make this more special but I… I can’t wait any longer.”

You have to physically stop your jaw dropping in shock as Joel pulls a small box out of the pocket of his large winter jacket, his hands trembling slightly. Your heart races as you realise what is happening.

“Sweetheart, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I ask myself every day what I did to deserve you to come into me and Sarah’s life. You make me so happy every single day. I- I know we’ve not been together long but I know already I can’t see a future without you by my side. I- We- We want you to join our family. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Tears well in your eyes as you look down at Joel, waiting nervously for your answer. You had only been together 9 months but he was everything you had dreamed in a partner, kind, caring, supportive, always making you laugh. He was the most important person in your life despite the short time you had shared.

“Yes, Joel.” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He exhaled deeply in relief.

“Yes, I want nothing more than to marry you.”

He pulled you into a tight embrace and you laughed, pushing him away, “Aren’t you gonna put that on my finger first?”

He pulled back, blushing, taking your outstretched hand and sliding the elegant ring onto your finger. “Yes, darlin’ I’m sorry- I-“ He cut himself off, pulling you close to him and pressing a kiss to your head.

This was the happiest moment of your life.

Neither of you knew Tommy was in the hallway and had listened to the whole thing. “Finally.” He muttered with a wide smile on his face.

Spring

You married exactly a year to the day that you met (Joel’s idea) in your parish church with your close friends and family watching. Your sister, your childhood best friend, and of course Sarah made up your bridesmaids. Tommy was Joel’s best man.

You wore a simple white dress with a lace bodice and sleeves, complimenting your figure, cinching at the waist and stretching around your hips.

The wedding was simple, as was the dinner and reception. Flashy wasn’t you and Joel’s style.

As the night wore on and the guests mingled, you finally felt yourself relax. You weren’t a big drinker but today was your wedding day and you had been constantly plied with champagne by your friends and family.

“Hey Mrs Miller!” Tommy approached you from the side. “Will you give me a dance?”

You look to Joel, who squeezed your hand and smiled. “Off you go.” He said.

You laughed and took Tommy’s outstretched hand as he led you to the dance floor. The music was relatively upbeat and he was twirling you, you giggled, trying not to trip up on your dress or your heels.

“I would say welcome to the family, but it feels like you became an important part of it a long time ago.” He says when the music calms down and he takes you closer to him for a slower dance. “Joel is one lucky man, and I’m lucky to have you for a sister-in-law now too.”

You didn’t respond, taking in his sincere words. You were absolutely grateful for the extended family Joel had brought into your life. And Tommy was right, they had welcomed you with open arms and made you feel like you belonged from the very beginning.

“He’s never been happier. Sarah too. Thank you for that.” He goes on.

“They’re everything to me.” You say simply.

He nods in understanding. As the song draws to a close he pulls you in for a tight hug.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.”

“No getting rid of me now.” You say back cheekily, and he laughs as he guides you back to where Joel is mingling with guests.

Joel sees the two of you approaching and smiles warmly, reaching out to pull you close to him and planting a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Having fun, Mrs Miller?” He says, his eyes twinkling. He hasn’t called you by your name all day. He likes this new one.

“Certainly. Tommy’s keeping me entertained.”

“Yeah he’s good at that, ain’t he?” Joel teases, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

Tommy holds his hands up in defence, “Hey! That’s your wife.”

“Damn right it is.” He responds, squeezing your hip. You blush as he holds you close to him. He is always affectionate, but today you have felt more loved and cherished than any day of your life.

You catch Sarah’s eye. She is watching you fondly from a nearby table where she sits with a small group of her friends and some of your cousins who are about her age.

You smile warmly and offer her a thumbs up. She smiles back. You are grateful for the bond you have with her and the support you have both shown each other throughout your relationship with Joel.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of happiness, laughter, and love. More champagne is consumed, and some cake. Sarah was involved in baking it for you with help from a professional. As the night draws to a close, you begin to feel nervous, knowing what is to come when you and Joel retire to your honeymoon suite shortly.

“I can’t believe we’re married.” He whispers into your hair.

“Me too. But it feels like everything I ever imagined.”

Joel nodded, rubbing circles into your back with his large palm. “More than I ever imagined.” He responds.

He kept you in a tight embrace. You can hardly believe that a year ago you didn’t know this wonderful man existed, and now you are a married couple. He pulls back from you, a tender expression on his features. “Are you ready to go to bed?”

You know this question is loaded with the implication of another. Although you feel nerves rising in your chest, there’s another part of you that is thrilled and excited to experience this entirely new element of your relationship with Joel.

You nod, and he doesn’t hesitate to take your hand and lead you out of the hall. Many guests have left and you bid farewell to the others on the way out.

He leads you hand in hand to your hotel suite. The room is dimly lit, with soft music playing. There is another bottle of champagne on the dressing table- not that you need any more.

You turn to Joel, feeling nervous, which he can sense easily. He approaches you carefully, removing his suit jacket and tossing it over an armchair in the corner, loosening his tie and removing the top button of his shirt.

He looks so incredibly handsome and you think that it is intensified by the knowledge that you are looking at your husband.

He cups your face in his hands, “I love you, sweetheart. I’m so glad you’re my wife.”

He leans in and kisses you. It leaves you breathless and exhilarated, knowing that for the first time, this kiss will lead to more. Your body melts into his, you wrap your hands around his neck and lose yourself in the moment, his warmth and his rich scent enveloping you and making you feel safe and comfortable.

He pulls away eventually and rests his hands on your hips. “I know we’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time- Well, I certainly have.” His voice is laced with emotion. “But we don’t have to rush anything. We’ll take it slow, enjoy every moment of getting to know each other like this.”

You nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You were nervous about messing things up or disappointing Joel, but he was patient and understanding as always.

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out as barely a whisper.

Joel leans in for another kiss and you melt into his embrace once again. He restrains his lust and passion and tries to make every touch a demonstration of his love and commitment to you.

He begins to unlace the delicate back of your dress and pulls it from your shoulders. Your neck is exposed, then your collarbones, then your chest, clad in your special bridal lingerie.

He lets out a sigh as he takes in the sight of you. He had seen your body before, at the beach, but now when he looked at you it was accompanied by an entirely different feeling. You were going to be his for the rest of your lives, all of you, all of this, was his. Forever. It was nearly overwhelming.

He leans down, pressing a trail of soft open-mouthed kisses to your neck and down your exposed chest. He continues to pull down your dress gently as he goes, until it has slipped off of you entirely. He retreats to carefully lay it out on the sofa in the corner. He approaches the bed again and begins to remove his own clothing, unbuttoning his shirt painstakingly slowly as you watched him in anticipation. You take him in, admiring the way his muscles ripple as he moves, his honey skin, and the dark hair scattered over his stomach and chest. He was the image of beauty to you. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you feel as though you were the only woman in the world, the only one he had ever wanted.

He steps towards you and climbs onto the bed, holding himself up with one strong forearm and kissing you. The feeling of his bare skin against yours sent waves of desire through your body.

His hands explored you, softly roaming over every curve and contour of your figure, giving every inch of you attention with his lips or hands. As he does so, you feel your body responding to his touch. Your skin grows more and more sensitive to his every movement. You moan softly as his hands glide over the thin fabric of your bra, your nipples hardening in reaction to his teasingly light touch.

He whispers in your ear, a low and husky tone to his voice that you haven’t heard before, “I want you, I want to make you mine forever.”

You shiver at his words, a rush of desire shooting through you. You pull him tighter to you in an embrace and you feel the hard length of him pressing into your stomach. It adds to your excitement.

He kisses you once more on the lips, his tongue exploring your mouth. You taste whiskey and wedding cake frosting. A combination of strong and sweet, like Joel. Then he lifts your back from the bed slightly, his attention on your bra clasp which he removes with practiced ease and tosses it aside. He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and licking and sucking gently. You gasp at the sensation and feel yourself clenching your thighs involuntarily, desire coursing through you.

He moves down your body, one hand continues to touch your breasts and he trails kisses down your stomach. When he reaches the waistband of your panties, he looks up at you, questioningly. You nod at him, nervousness and excitement fighting for priority in your body and mind.

He pulls them off slowly, savouring the moment. You feel exposed and vulnerable, but the sight of his hungry gaze as he takes in your naked form turns you on.

You feel his hard length pressing into you again and you are silently grateful that he keeps his promise, taking you through this slowly, even though you know he wants you desperately.

“You trust me, darlin’?” He says, breathlessly.

“Yes, Joel.” You respond, anticipating what might be coming.

“Let me take care of you, alright?” He says, his fingers massaging at your inner thighs.

You just nod, and with that he slides his hands higher and his fingers enter your folds, which are already wet with your want for him. You gasp at the sensation, shocked at how his large rough hands are even capable of such gentle touches.

He rubs at you softly, circular motions around your clit snd then down to your hole, barely dipping in a fingertip before withdrawing it again and dragging wetness back up to your clit. You adjust to the sensation quickly and crave more, to intensify the feeling he is giving you.

You buck your hips upwards, letting your thoughts be known to him. He laughs lightly. “Be patient.”

You whine.

He inserts a finger all the way inside you and you gasp at the feeling. Of course you have done this alone but the feeling of his large masculine hands with long, thick, fingers, is a new sensation entirely.

He moves it inside you, slowly, his other hand holding you at your hip. His touches are gentle and restrained yet firm and deliberate. Small moans of pleasure escape you.

His finger then curls inside of you and hits a spot that makes you arch in pleasure, moaning more loudly. Your hands reach out to grab him by the shoulders. He grins and curls his finger again, pressing against that spot faster and with more intensity. You feel your body start to tighten, your limbs tensing up instinctively. The pleasure builds inside of you until it is almost too much to bear.

Just when you think you couldn’t take it anymore, he removes the finger. It is trailed by a large amount of your wetness. He does something unexpected then, bringing it up to his mouth and sucking on it. The sight feels inappropriate and you look away from him, blushing.

He takes the finger, now wet with saliva and inserts it inside you again, this time accompanied by another. The stretch is numbed by the pleasure he gives you. He pumps them in and out of you slowly, curling and scissoring inside of you. He plays a game of attempting to elicit the sweetest sounds from you.

He brings his thumb to your clit simultaneously and gently rubs it. It makes you bite your lip to stop you from crying out.

“Let it out, sweetheart.” He instructs. “Don’t hold back from me.”

“Joell-“ You whine. “Ah!”

Your volume encourages him and he continues, a steady rhythmic pace applied to both the fingers working you from the inside and the one giving attention to your clit.

You feel the same knot of pleasure from before building.

You find confidence and become more vocal, “Please don’t stop Joel!” You plead.

“Are you gonna come, baby?” He asks in a deep tone.

“I think so.” You squeak. “Fee- Feels so good J-Joel, plea-“ You cut yourself off with a moan.

Heat gathers in every corner of your body and as Joel maintains his consistent pace, you reach closer and closer to a release of this tension inside you.

Finally it snaps, and you cry out. The pleasure is overwhelming, your heart races and you pant, breathless, as the feeling courses through every inch of you. You feel yourself collapse further into the bed, weakened by the experience.

He removes his fingers from inside you but keeps gently rubbing your clit as you twitch and shiver underneath him. Eventually he stops that too, and kisses you deeply. You come back down from your high slowly.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, barely pulling away from you. His lips tickle yours as he speaks.

You feel a rush of affection towards him, still dazed from your orgasm. Your already flushed cheeks seem to grow even more warm under the weight of his intense gaze and his compliments. As you catch your breath, he continues to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, words of adoration spilling from his whiskey-loosened tongue.

“My girl forever aren’t you?” He whispers. You nod, keening towards his touch as he brings his hand to your core once again, the sensitivity of your orgasm finally worn off.

“My beautiful girl.”

You think he is talking to himself more so than you.

He shifts his weight, lowering himself further down the bed and positioning himself between your legs. You watch him, unsure what he is going to do next. He parts your thighs widely and lowers himself between them. He kisses and licks at your inner thighs, his hot breathe on your skin piques your arousal.

His mouth moves higher and higher, until his tongue licks a wide stripe through your folds. You immediately gasp.

He continues licking and sucking, his stubble grazing at your inner thighs, a sensation that burns, but not unpleasantly. He is bringing the peak of your pleasure quickly, and you feel the hot tension gathering within you. Your hands reach down to tangle in his curls, which are slightly dishevelled from the busy day. You tug on his hair lightly and he groans against your pussy, a sensation that sends shivers through you.

He continues to work you with his mouth, sucking at your clit and then moving all the way down to penetrate your entrance with his tongue, then dragging it back up and starting again. It is messy and raw and more intensely pleasurable than you could have ever imagined. Your wave of pleasure is about to crash down, and you cry out in warning.

“Joel I’m going to- Ah!” He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, cutting you off into a moan as he increases the pressure of the suction on your clit, alternating with flicking his tongue against it rapidly, pushing you over the edge.

You cry out his name and unravel beneath him, your body shaking with an orgasm far more intense than the first. He continues to lick and suck gently, tasting all of your juices. Not quite taking you into overstimulation, just easing you through as the waves of pleasure subside before pulling away. He slowly makes his way back up your body. When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deeply, and his tongue tastes of your essence.

“I love you.” He whispers against your lips. “You’re perfect.”

Finally, he straightens up, pulling away and removing his boxers. Your eyes widen as you take in the size of his erection.

He notices your reaction. “This ok, darlin’?” He asks calmly.

You nod, still nervous, which he can see from how you bite your lip. He crawls back onto the bed and positions himself between your legs.

“I’ll go as slow as I can baby, if it hurts you tell me, ok?”

You nod.

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“I’ll tell you Joel, I promise.”

“Good.” He says.

He leans down and captures your lips in a kiss. One hand holds him up, the other is guiding his hard length to your entrance. You take a deep breath, trying to relax, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. He slowly begins to push himself into you. You both gasp at that first sensation.

You feel a painful stretch, but it quickly fades as he stops with just the tip inserted in you, giving you time to adjust. He plants kisses all over your face and whispers words of praise and reassurance as he continues to edge into you again.

Finally, he is fully inside of you, and he stops, looking down at you with a caring expression. “This OK, sweetheart?” He asks softly, stroking your hair with his free hand.

You nod.

He begins to move slowly, in and out in a gentle rhythm. You moan softly every time he is fully deep inside you, hitting pleasure spots inside your walls. As time goes on he picks up the pace gradually and thrusts slightly harder, analysing every sound and expression of yours to ensure you remain comfortable.

You feel an urge to wrap your legs around his waist, wanting to feel him even deeper. He grunts in pleasure as you do so. Your connection to him is intense and overwhelming, physically full of him and giving yourself to him in every way.

Next he brings a hand to your clit and his thumb rubs at it gently like before. You feel that this makes your pussy clench around him. He grunts every time it does so.

“Oh, Joel.” You gasp.

He takes your gasp as a cue to increase the pace, and soon he is pounding into you with a steady, rhythmic force. You feel that knot of pleasure building in your core, and you know you won't be able to hold back a release much longer.

Joel's movements become more urgent, and his hand on your clit works faster. Your moans and gasps grow louder, and you feel like you're about to come apart at the seams.

"Come for me, baby," Joel growls, his breath hot against your neck. "I want to feel you come around me."

His words are all you need, and with a cry, you fall over the edge. Waves of pleasure crash over you, and you clench around him tightly as you ride out your orgasm.

As you come down from your high, Joel’s pace is faltering, and with a grunt of your name, you feel him tense up and a hot release spills into you. He collapses a little on top of you and you can’t help but laugh as he knocks the air out of your lungs, crushing you, his body shaking with exertion. He slides his hands under you and squeezes you into him.

You both lay there in silence, trying to catch your breath and ground yourselves from the pleasure you had both experienced. The gentle music continues to play in the background and other than that the only sounds that can be heard are the rise and fall of your breath and an occasional contented sigh from Joel.

Eventually he pulls out from inside you and rolls off of you, pulling you close to his side. You snuggle into his chest, feeling safe and loved in his embrace.

“Was I as good as you imagined? Didn't let you down?” He teases gently.

“Even better than I could have imagined.” You admit. “Can we do it again?” You say.

He laughs and kisses your head. “Of course, Mrs Miller. As much as you like.” He says, running his hand through your hair.

You both lay there, enjoying the peaceful afterglow of your lovemaking. You drift to sleep, ready to wake up for the first day of the rest of your life as Joel’s wife.

Read more pre-outbreak Joel smut in Country Lovin’

Find my entire masterlist of Pedro Pascal characters here

Pedro Taglist @tightjeansjavi @lovers-liability @cutesyscreenname @serenaxpedro @hrtsforpascal @queerponcho @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @kdogreads @drewharrisonwriter @therealmabelpinez

Story Taglist @carlyreneeinthemoon @anat2507 @soph55 @annagraceevanss @vanillen @hummusxx @still-wanna-be-corrupted @prettyangelsthings @luvtheoldmen @theelishad @afterglowsb-tch13 @moonlightdivine @dilfsaremyfavourite @midgetpottermills @skysmiller @gaypoetsblog @jadeees-posts @rosey1981 @alyhull @decaffeinatedweirdo @prwttp @hesjustken @luamarieta

Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be on a Joel taglist, or permanent Pedro taglist <3

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x reader smut #joel miller one shot #tlou fanfic #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x f!reader smut

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thehmn · 3 months

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I’m currently listening to Maren Uthaug’s book 11% about a world where most men have died. I should probably wait until I’ve finished the book but I’m so fascinated by the world building.

As of now it’s still unclear why the men died but when the story takes place there’s a mix of older women who fucking hates men and young women who have only met drugged up men at “breeding centers” and imagine “males” as violent boogeymen but otherwise don’t really care and just want to live in the new seemingly perfect society their grandmothers fought for. The only people who still fight for men’s rights are witches who believe masculine energies are as natural and Of Nature as feminine energies, but even they sound more like animal rights activists, standing outside breeding centers with signs every Friday. Their most provocative sign is a picture of a man with Human written on it.

Christianity has been completely transformed and is now run by priests (they don’t call themselves priestess) who can only hold ceremonies when they have their periods and snakes are their most sacred symbol because they gave knowledge to Eva and God is called The Mother.

Trans men exist but are referred to as Man Women and they all seem to be sex workers who have functional silicone penises, though I’m not far enough into the story to know if they have other jobs. They generally also still have breasts because working as a wet nurse is another source of income for them. Testosterone treatments is not an option because it would make them too masculine and dangerous to be allowed into society but they all have male names and everyone use male pronouns for them.

A really fascinating aspect of the world is how people want to get rid of the old “patriarchal architecture” of straight lines and boxes but refuse to tear it down with machines, instead insisting on letting Mother Nature reclaim it. Only Rat Girls are actively trying to destroy the old buildings by releasing hoards of rats into them and planting bamboo to break up the concrete. New buildings have round shapes and are build in ways that make them blend in with cultivated nature and inside they’re painting in beautiful colors with no hard edges. They sound a lot like colorful hobbit homes. Also, locks are considered uncivilized and of a time when violent men roamed the earth and made life unsafe so nothing, from front doors to bathrooms, have locks. For a while after most men died women would go for Night Walks to relish in the fact that they no longer had to be afraid, though they liked to visit the witches at night because it felt a little spooky, which the witches thought was good fun.

The story is naturally about a middle aged witch who is hiding a young boy illegally and gets milk from one of the trans men in the red district while also sleeping with a Christian priest who struggles with her sacred job because her periods are irregular.

I’ll come back with follow up thoughts once I’ve finished it. Unlike what you might think, Maren Uthau isn’t a scary man hater. I’ve listened to most of her other books and this isn’t a recurring trope so clearly she has something to say specifically with this story and it’s rated pretty highly by both male and female readers. I think I’m in for quite the ride.

#humontalks #books and reading #Maren Uthaug

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 10 months

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Baby Fever - Max Verstappen

You walked through the Red Bull garage, keeping your head down as to not make eye contact with anyone. It was your first day back after taking the past week off due to not being able to look at anything or anyone Red Bull related recently. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the one person responsible for your pain and heartache. Funnily enough, he was also the person responsible for your impending arrival in around seven and a half months time.

—

You didn't know how to feel, the verdict for the rest of your life sitting on the bathroom counter. Scott was sat downstairs of your shared home in Milton Keynes, completely unaware of what was unfolding upstairs. You had had your suspicions for a few weeks, but Scott had made a firm point that he never wanted children and he never would.

As the seconds agonisingly ticked by, you wondered what you were going to do if it turned out to be positive. You'd have to tell Scott before you both left for the next race, and you'd have to tell Christian so you could plan maternity leave. You might even have to stop travelling to races. If it was negative, you would forget about it and move on.

Checking your watch, you saw that the time was up and it was time to reveal your fate. You turned the test over, clapping your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from screaming. The two lines were clear as day, and there was no denying it, as well as the three others you took afterwards.

You had to convince yourself that it would all be alright and Scott would be completely fine with this. Your mind even played the part of the story where he was happy, no, overjoyed with this. But, before the tale could end, the footage skipped back to the realistic outcome.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, you took a few deep breaths and reassured yourself that, no matter what happened, everything would be fine. You trudged downstairs, the tests in your hands behind your back. "Scott?" You called out, even though you knew he was in the kitchen typing away at his laptop. "In here, babe," he responded, not taking his eyes off the screen as you walked in.

"Are you free to talk for a second?" You asked, sitting down opposite him at the table.

"I will be in just a minute," he said, finishing typing out what you assumed was an email and clicked the mouse. "OK, I am all yours," Scott said, resting his head on his hands.

"I-" you started, but you couldn't find the words to say it. Instead, you placed all of the tests down in front of him and tried to read his facial expression. His eyebrows knitted together in confusion. He looked up at you as he held one in his hands. "Are you serious?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. You nodded slowly, aggressively picking at the sides of your fingers it of the pure fear and nervousness. "What are you going to do with it?" he asked, his tone cold as it stabbed your heart.

They way he called your child an it cut deeper than anything you had ever felt before. "I don't know," you whispered, looking down at the table as tears slipped down your cheeks. He should be comforting you, telling you it was alright and he wasn't mad.

"I know what I want you to do with it," he bit, throwing the tests at you from across the table. It was at that point you knew exactly what you were going to do. Your maternal instincts kicked in, and you realised the dream you had never had.

You wanted to keep your child, whether Scott was going to be there or not. "I want to keep it, Scott," you said, looking at him through glassy, reddened eyes. "I want to watch our child grow and bring them up to be the best person they can be," you told him.

"Well you're on your own then," he said, standing from the table and swiping his laptop from the surface. After all of these years of being together, he decided he was done when you needed him most. "So we're done," you said, your voice unwavering.

"If you're keeping it, then yes," he spoke, before ascending the stairs. Either way, you knew you were done with him. If you did decide to be rid of the baby, you didn't want to be with someone who would treat you like that. If anything, it was for the better that you saw Scott's true colours.

That very same night, you packed your bags and left for a friends house.

—

Seeing Scott on your first day back was inevitable, but you still wished you could have avoided him completely. You caught him looking at you, but that took your attention away from the other pair of eyes that were lingering.

Max had liked you as soon as Christian introduced you to the team and as part of the media team. You were stunning, and he couldn't take his eyes off you. You were easy to talk to and media duties quickly became the best part of his week.

There was, of course, the factor of Scott that was stopping him from asking you out. People had encouraged him, but he didn't want to be a homewrecker. Sure, he hadn't heard great things about Scott and he wasn't a fan of the guy when they had spoken, but you seemed to love him and he didn't want to get in the way of that.

He thought you looked different after your week off. You weren't as well kempt as you normally were, and your face was pale and sunken. It was the weekend of Australia, and you were wearing a thick jacket that just wasn't needed.

Thankfully, the media office was empty as you sat and fought back the tears. You needed to stay to provide for your impending new arrival, but it was going to be one of the hardest things you would ever do. Seeing that piece of shit everyday was going to hurt.

People had been casting dubious glances at you as you walked around, and you heard the whispers of why Scott had been at work and you hadn't. You heard that people had asked, and he had just said you were sick. He didn't have the guts to tell them that you were pregnant and he broke it off when he found out.

You heard footsteps approaching the door and wiped the stray tears away as you tried to make yourself look busy. "Hey, Christian said he wants to talk to you," Checo's press officer popped her head around the door. "OK, thank you," you smiled, giving yourself a minute to compose yourself before going to see your boss.

This wasn't a surprise since you had emailed earlier in the morning asking to speak to him. You strolled through the Red Bull building, earning more quick glances as you smiled at them. You didn't want to let them believe that you were bothered by them in any capacity.

Taking one final deep breath, you knocked on the door of Christian's office and heard a muffled 'Come in' from the inside. You opened the door and saw Christian sat at his desk. You knew the meeting would have to be short - he was a very busy man.

"Take a seat," he said, leaning back in his chair and pointing towards the two black, leather chairs in front of the desk. You sat down, crossing your legs. "So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

"In a few months, I'm going to have to take some time off," you started, Christian nodding along as you thought he was getting the hints. "Scott too then, I'm guessing?"

"No, no. Just me," you said, averting your eyes to your hands. Deep down, you knew he would ask and it was only natural to - it takes two to tango. But you didn't think it would be this awkward to tell people.

Christian raised an eyebrow, "You're pregnant, right?" he confirmed.

"Yes, but Scott and I aren't together anymore," you told him, hearing another knock at the door. You stood as you figured the person on the other side also had an important reason to talk to Christian, and approached the door. "Congratulations," he said, and you simply smiled at him.

Opening the door, you saw the Dutchman on the other side. "Hey, Max," you quietly said, gently pushing past him and down the corridor. "Hey, Y/N," he replied, and he couldn't help but worry about you immediately.

He noticed the tears brimming in your eyes and you weren't your usual, happy self. "Is she alright?" Max asked, entering the room and sitting in the same place that you had.

"She's going through some things at the moment," Christian said, not wanting to tell everything about your problems to Max. "I heard some rumours about her and Scott, but that's the most I know,"

"They're not together anymore, but she's pregnant," Christian said, letting Max connect the dots. Christian carried on with whatever the meeting was supposed to be about, but he couldn't concentrate. It was obvious that Scott had left her, but whether it was because of the pregnancy or not was still ambiguous.

—

As the weeks had gone by, it had become increasingly easier to do work, and it had given you something to focus on instead of Scott. Christian had allowed you to work less and you were going abroad less. But, you had insisted on coming to Monaco.

You loved the lavishness of it all and the sparkle of the marina at night was magical and mesmerizing.

Max had been looking out for you more, but you thought he was just being nice since the news spread about the soon-to-be mini Red Bull team member. He was always asking if you wanted a drink or a snack, or offering his drivers room if you needed a quiet moment around the track.

You had woken up on the morning of the Thursday in Monaco with horrendous morning sickness. You had thrown up a few times, but got ready for work and headed to the track as usual. You and the team had planned for Max and Checo to do some challenges at the marina for YouTube.

The first half had gone great, and the two of them were having a blast. It was hilarious to watch and you knew that fans would love it. For about half an hour, you were having a break and you took the time to sit in the corner of the dock, trying to bypass the sickness you felt.

You ran your hands over the small bump that you had as a way to soothe yourself. "Hey, you alright?" you felt a hand on your shoulder as Max sat down.

He had been watching you more than he usually would over the past couple weeks. Even if you didn't need taking care of, he still wanted to make sure you were alright since Scott wasn't around to do it. From afar, he noticed that you looked very uncomfortable.

You were sat completely motionless, staring at the water and rubbing your stomach lightly. "Yeah, just feeling a but nauseous," you smiled, looking at him. His smile had a magical quality that could put you at ease. You were glad to be spending more time with Max recently, and you were slowly getting to know each other.

"Here, this might help," he said, handing you a bottle of water that he had gotten for you before he came. "I noticed you didn't drink anything since the start of the shoot, and you need to stay hydrated," he told you. You were glad you had Max to think of these things, since you didn't have Scott to.

"So you've been watching me?" you teased, playfully nudging him as his cheeks burned an intense red. "I'm just making sure you're alright, not that you can't do that yourself, but-" he rambled, and you couldn't help but giggle at him.

His rambles were cut short by a sharp intake of breath from you as another wave of nausea rippled over you. "You can go back to your hotel if you want, I'm sure these guys will be fine without you," he said, the worry for you returning.

He hated seeing you in pain, and he wished he could just take you in his arms and hold you until it went away. But, he didn't think you could ever feel the same. You didn't think he would want to be with you if you had another man's baby on the way.

"I'll be fine. Besides, my hotel is on the other side of the city and I don't feel like paying for a taxi," you explained, trying to ignore the sickness.

Max had three options. He could: pay for your taxi, offer to take you to his apartment that was just around the corner, or he could leave it and let you stay. He decided to shoot his shot and ask if you wanted to go to his to relax.

"I could take you to my apartment. It's just around the corner and you can have a lie down," he explained, and you couldn't ignore the butterflies that came to life in your stomach when he offered. "Thank you, Max, really, but I can't just leave work," you said.

"I'll sort it out," he said, wanting nothing more than for you to let him help you, to let him take care of you. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, of course," he said, standing and offering his hand out for you to take. You took it, and a small part of your heart screamed at you to keep hold. But, your head got there first and forced your fingers to unclasp from his.

"Are you sure because-" you started.

"Y/N, don't get stressed, it's not good for the baby. You relax and I will take care of it," he told you, turning away out of embarrassment. Had he been reading up on pregnancy and babies? Yes. But, he didn't want to make it obvious. He had subconsciously made it his duty to keep you calm and relaxed at all times.

He led you through Monte Carlo, taking you down side streets and shortcuts to get you there quicker. The pair of you entered a lavish looking apartment complex and the doorman greeted you with a nod. He belled the elevator and you headed up to the top and to the penthouses.

The doors slid open with a ding and you were met with a very modern set up. Your favourite part was instantly the large, floor to ceiling windows that provided the most incredible view of Monaco. You could see people beneath you, as well as the marina with all of the yachts lined up. For a moment, you wondered which one was Max's.

"My room is through here," he said, walking towards one of the doors and opening it to reveal a grand master bedroom, "There is some comfier stuff in the wardrobe, so grab whatever you want, and the bathroom is through there if you want a shower," he explained, giving you a mini tour of the room.

"And you can eat or drink whatever you want, make yourself at home. If you need anything, call me and I'll be back as soon as I can," he smiled, leaving you to get comfy and the elevator dinged to tell you he was gone. You wandered through to the master bathroom and, for a bathroom, it was breathtaking.

The shower was huge and the bath in the corner of the room was massive. You couldn't resist the shower, so you set it running and found a clean towel in the cabinet. After stripping off your clothes, you stepped into the stream of hot water.

The water was so soothing and eased the nausea a great deal. You squirted some of the shampoo that was on the side into the palm of your hand and worked it into your scalp. The suds slid down your back as you washed it out of your hair, before repeating the process with the conditioner.

Once you were out of the shower, you towel dried your hair and slipped your shorts back up your legs. You didn't feel like putting your Red Bull polo back on as it was too small now that you had a baby bump, and it wasn't the most comfortable.

Trudging back out to the bedroom, you opened the wardrobe and picked out one of Max's hoodies. You had seen him in it a few times, and it was one of your favourites. You pulled it on and it was soft against your skin.

It had been a long day, so you led down on the king sized bed. It felt weird that you were lying on Max's bed, so you were considering moving to one of the spare bedrooms or the couch. Before you could make the decision, you drifted off to sleep, the scent of Max filling your nostrils.

—

Max ran back to the marina since he was a few minutes late, but the crew thankfully weren't bothered. They asked about where you had gone, but he just said you weren't feeling too great so he took you back to the hotel.

"You have it bad, mate," Checo teased, appearing next to Max as he arrived.

"Pfft, no I don't," Max tried to play it off, but the Mexican knew his friend too well. "I was just being friendly," he tried to explain away why he had taken her back.

"You didn't take her back to the hotel, Max. You took her to your apartment," Checo said, and Max looked flabbergasted. "Her hotel is too far away, and your apartment isn't. It's the only logical place," Checo further explained. This guy was clever.

"Yes, I did. She's pregnant, she deserves a nice place to rest," Max said, unable to make eye contact with his fellow driver. "Normally, I'd believe you, but it doesn't help that you told us how you feel,"

"How did you know?" Max asked.

"Well, for one. You look at her like she's the only person in the world and you have taken it upon yourself to look after her, which I admire by the way. And, you told us last week," Checo told him with a smirk. He didn't tell them, did he? He didn't tell anyone, apart from when-.

Shit.

"The party," Max concluded. When he was drunk, he overshared a lot. And, he wouldn't be surprised if someone had prompted the answer. As if he had read Max's mind, Checo said, "Charles asked you if you liked Y/N, and you went on this whole spiel about how much you liked her and you wanted to ask her out,".

Max looked mortified, and Checo was getting a huge kick out of his discomfort. Before they could continue the conversation, they were called over to the dock to carry on filming.

—

Finally, the shoot had finished and Max had found it a lot duller without you there. He zoomed home, but was surprised to return to the apartment and find it completely silent. You were still there, since your shoes were still on the shoe rack.

"Y/N?" he quietly called out, but was met with no answer. You weren't in the kitchen, and you weren't in the living room either. He saw that the bedroom door was slightly ajar, even though he had left the door closed when he left you there.

He entered, and the sight made his heart stop. You were led there, tangled in the sea of crisp white sheets and snuggled up in one of his favourite hoodies. Your hair was almost haloed around your head. Even if he felt creepy, he allowed himself to watch you for a moment.

You looked completely peaceful and there was nothing that could harm you when you were comfortably cuddled up in his bed. He didn't have the heart to wake you up, because you needed the sleep and he wanted to leave you be.

It took every ounce of his being to resist the urge to shuffle into bed next to you and wrap his arms around you while whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

Instead, he quietly took some different clothes out of the wardrobe and went to start on dinner. He wasn't a very good cook, but he had the stuff for pasta and it was one of the few things that he knew how to make.

He was working as quietly as possible so he didn't wake you up, but his mind kept wandering back to the image of you asleep in the other room.

After around half an hour, dinner was ready and Max would have to wake you up. He tiptoed over to his room and found you curled up in a tiny ball, arms wrapped around your torso as if you were protecting the child growing inside you.

Gently, yet hesitantly, he tucked some stray strands of hair behind your ear, before moving his hand to your arm to gently shake you. "Y/N, liefje, dinners ready," the nickname slipped out, but you were still asleep.

After being shaken for a bit, your eyelids fluttered open to see Max kneeling down next to you. He was wearing sweats now, and his hair was tousled perfectly. "I made dinner and I hope you like pasta," he smiled, his hand lingering on your arm.

"Yeah, I do. I hope it's alright I slept in here, I sat down and I was out like a light," you said, sitting up. "Yeah, it's not a problem. It is the comfiest bed in this place," he laughed, helping you up out of the sunken mattress.

As you plated your food, he couldn't take his eyes off of you. His hoodie hung off your frame perfectly, and you could still see the outline of your bump. Your hair was still slightly wet as it cascaded down your back.

The pair of you sat down on the couch and you tucked yourself into the corner seat. "This is really good," you said, taking the first bite of pasta.

"Thanks, it's one of the only things I can cook properly," he joked.

"How was the shoot?"

"It was alright, the others aren't as fun as you are, though," Max complimented. It was true, he was a lot more bored without you prompting them to do things. "I'm sure you were fine," you told him.

The pair of you finished your meals and you took the plates to the sink. When Max heard the sound of the tap running, he turned his head to see you washing the dishes. "You can leave that, I'll do it later," he called, wanting you to come sit back down.

"It's alright, it's the least I can do," you said back, already finished on the first dish anyway. You finished scrubbing the dishes and let them sit on the rack to dry. Padding back over to the corner seat of the couch, you plopped down and shuffled about a bit.

"So, how's the baby and everything?" he asked apprehensively. He really wanted to know more, but he didn't know if you trusted him enough with that kind of information. "They're good. I have my next scan next week, and I'm getting some pictures," you beamed.

He loved how enthusiastic you were when talking about your child and he could tell how much you loved them already. It just made his feelings for you develop even more and it made him admire you and care for you so much more.

He had always wanted kids of his own and he was great with them, but he had never find the right person. Sitting there then, he couldn't help but think that that person could have been you.

"Can I see them when you have them?" he asked, struggling to maintain eye contact in case she said no. "Of course, I'll show you when I next see you," you said.

"Are you sure you're supposed to be flying?"

"Yeah, the doctor said I should be alright for now," you explained, glad that he was interested. Nobody had ever shown this much interest towards you and the baby apart from your friends back home, so it was nice for you to talk about it.

As you sat there, something was creeping up on you and it wasn't being quiet. Your heart was thumping out of your chest whenever you looked at him and it felt like sparks were forming whenever he touched you. Sitting here with Max was something you could get used to.

For a few more hours, you and Max talked a flowing conversation and the room was filled with laughter for the whole night. You checked your watch and saw how late it had gotten. "I'm probably going to have to head home now," you said, standing and approaching the door.

"You can stay, if you want," he offered, desperate for you to stay the night. That would mean you would be the last person he saw before he slept and the first person he saw when he woke up. He'd let you sleep in a bit and make sure you had the best breakfast so you were ready for the day.

"I wish I could, but all my vitamins and stuff are back at my hotel," you said, wanting to stay more than anything. "Can I drive you?"

"Yeah, that'd be great." you nodded.

The pair of you headed to the garage and drove back to the hotel. Max swiftly rounded the car and opened the door for you. "Thank you for today, I really needed it and I've had a great time," you said, standing outside the hotel.

"No problem, I'll tell the door people to let you in if you ever want to use the apartment or anything,"

"I'll get this washed and back to you as soon as possible," you said, tugging at the soft material of his hoodie. "Keep it, it looks good on you," he smirked, and, for a moment, his mind wandered to a scenario where it was on the floor.

"Thank you, Maxie," you blushed. You placed your hands on his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek, before dashing through the doors of the hotel lobby, leaving Max stood there with the biggest grin on his face. He had spent so long loving you from afar, that it was heavenly to imagine loving you that close. It was almost scary.

Suddenly, an idea struck him. He caught a glimpse of you skipping up some stairs to the left of the foyer, so he ran inside the hotel and followed you. Just as he rounded the corner of one of the many corridors, he saw a door closing and the navy blue and orange hoodie going through it.

You heard someone knocking on your door, and you found it weird. Standing on your tiptoes to look through the peephole, you saw the Dutchman stood outside the door. "Miss me already?" you laughed, opening the door.

"I was just wondering if you wanted to go to dinner with me one night next week?" he asked, fear taking over his body. Maybe you only saw him as a friend, but how would he know if he didn't try. "Yeah, I'd love that," you smiled, trying not to squeal with happiness.

Your feelings for Max may have been relatively new, but that didn't discredit how strongly you felt for him. Maybe it was just because you were hormonal, but something deep in your heart told you that wasn't the case.

—

You had just exited the doctor's office after going in for a routine scan. Everything was perfectly fine and you had the pictures safely secure in your bag. Just as you hopped in the car, your phone buzzed. To your excitement, it was Max asking about the evenings dinner schedule. He said he was going to pick you up at half five so you could be at the restaurant for 6.

Your heart sang at the thought of getting to go out with him outside of work and you couldn't wait to see him. Of course, you said it was fine, and tried to contain your scream of excitement as you started the car.

Now, you were planning what you were going to wear and how you wanted to do your hair. You were trying to tell yourself that he was still just being friendly. Friends went out on dinners, right? But did they go to dinners at nice restaurant and give people the keys to their apartment? You didn't know.

When you arrived home, you sprung into action of ripping through your entire closet, trying to find something that you A) wanted to wear, and B) something that fit you. You were progressively getting bigger, but you could still fit into the majority of your clothes.

In the end, you picked a long, flowing blue maxi dress. You kept the makeup light, opting for a few swipes of blush and so flicks of mascara. You had washed your hair and had just let it fall around your face in beachy waves.

At twenty minutes past five, the shrill doorbell of your house split your ears and caused you to spring up from the couch and open the door. There was no doubt that it was Max on the other side, but actually seeing him there made you want to pinch yourself to make sure it was really real.

He was wearing a navy blue button up (he looked great in navy) and a pair of slacks. Not seeing him in Red Bull merch was a shock, but a wholly welcomed one. "Hi," you grinned, welcoming him into the house.

As Max peered around, he saw empty spaces on the walls where you must have had pictures of you and Scott. He hoped that there would be pictures of the two of you up there if things went how he so desperately wanted them to.

"Let me just grab my purse and we can head off," you smiled, your heels clicking on the floor as you approached the coat rack where your bag was. Plucking it off the rack, you found Max holding a framed photo in his hands. He was stood next to the coffee table, so you knew it was one from when you were younger.

"How old were you in this?" he asked, assuming it was only a few years ago. It was recent, at least. "I was about nineteen?" you said, trying to count the years back in your head.

"Really? You have not changed a bit," he said, analysing you every feature in the picture, then comparing it to the real you. It was astonishing how you hadn't aged a day over all of those years. If anything, you looked more alive and glowing now than you did in the picture.

"A lot has changed about me, Maxie," you sighed, thinking about how naive you were back then. If someone had told you that you would be a single mother-to-be, and the child's father was an absolute piece of shit, you would have laughed at them.

"And it's all for the better," he complimented. You turned away to cover up the blush that was already creeping up onto your cheeks and walked to the door. Exiting the house, you locked the door behind you and started walking down the stone path to the car.

Max skipped in front of you, opening the car door for you. "You look breathtaking tonight," he softly smiled, and you were too close to melting to the ground. "Thank you," you smiled. You hadn't been complimented on your appearance in a while, even when you were still with Scott.

The drive to the restaurant was short and sweet, and it was a lot nicer than you expected. The outside was clad with windows and the lighting was warm yet intimate. This place was nice. Really nice. As soon as the wait staff saw Max, they led you right through to a cozy booth in the corner.

As you walked, Max tentatively placed his hand on the small of you back and it felt like electricity was pulsing through your veins. You had it, and you had it bad for him. For Max, just getting to take you out to dinner was dizzying after pining after you for all that time.

The plates had just been cleared away, and a thought struck you. "I've got something to show you," you giggled, reaching into your bag and producing the photos you had gotten today. Passing them to him, you noticed how his eyes lit up at the sight of them.

Running his fingers over the features of your child, he felt an overwhelming sense of love fill his heart. Everything about them was perfect, and they looked just like you, even if it was still early on. He mentally reprimanded himself for loving something so small so much, since he didn't feel he had a right to.

The child wasn't his, and nor were you. Something that felt like a pang of jealousy rippled through his body. This was what he had wanted for years, and there was no one better in his mind for him. He didn't care that the child wasn't biologically his, that didn't matter. What mattered was that he would love them like his own and give them, and you, the best life he could possibly provide.

But, he left like he was getting way to ahead of himself. They were only on their first date, and he didn't want to rush anything.

"Wow," was all he could manage to get out as his eyes were transfixed on the tiny face of your baby. He left his mouth slightly agape. You found it adorable at how bewildered he was at the child, and those three precious words were thrown at the front of your mind and you had to swat them away before you blurted anything out.

It was the hormones, you were sure of it.

"Have you thought of any names?" he asked, wanting to know as much as you were willing to tell you. What you didn't need to know, was that he had been brainstorming names the night before. He couldn't help himself.

They were all Dutch names, so he didn't think you'd like them. "Not particularly, I haven't thought about it much to be honest," you told him, "Have you got any suggestions?"

Max pretended to look like he was thinking, and as if he didn't have ideas already. "Is it alright if they're Dutch?"

"Yeah, of course,"

"Aleta is nice, that was popular for a while. Ruben is also nice, not as popular but still," he said, itching to talk more about babies. He had a very bad case of baby fever at the moment. "I like those, a lot," you smiled, enjoying talking about this with someone and, for a few short seconds, it felt like you were two parents talking about your first child together.

"Can I get you two any coffees or desserts?" the cheerful waiter asked, his notepad out ready for your order. "That warm chocolate fudge cake is sounding way to good, so I'll take that, please," you smiled, handing the dessert menu back to the waiter.

"I'm alright, thank you," Max shook his head when the waiter looked to him. "I will take a cappuccino, though," he said. The waiter walked away to the kitchen, ready to hand in your order.

"The things I would do for a coffee," you half complained, half joked, missing the buzz that caffein gave you. "Oh, sorry, I didn't even think," he panicked, ready to call the waiter back over and cancel the coffee. "No, no. I didn't mean it like that. You can have whatever you want,"

A few minutes later, the waiter was back with Max's perfectly brewed cappuccino and set it down in front of him. You found it odd that he didn't touch it for a short while. "You going to drink that, or are you going to tease me?" you laughed.

"I was waiting until yours got here,"

"Oh, start, it'll get cold,".

It wasn't long before your hot chocolate fudge cake was place in front of you, chocolate sauce oozing off the top. You wasted no time tucking into it, and you could tell that Max was staring longingly at it. "You want some?" you asked, seeing as he looked at his now pitiful cappuccino.

"No, it's yours," he shook his head, struggling not to just steal the plate off of you.

"Come on, I know you want some," you said, holding the fork out to him. Without a second glance, he took the bite and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. The gooey, chocolate, fudginess was one of the best things he had ever tasted.

"Can I have some more?" he mumbled, earning a hearty laugh from you. As cliche as it sounded, everyone else in the restaurant faded away and all he could hear was the angelic sound of your laugh through the noise.

In the end, you ended up sharing the cake as Max couldn't get enough. He paid the bill, much to your protest, and you headed out to the carpark. The night air was chilling as you walked towards the car, and Max couldn't help but notice the shivers you were having.

Without a second thought, he shrugged his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders. "The car is literally right there," you said, but you admired his gesture a great deal.

"I know, but I can't have you or the baby getting cold." If it wasn't for the darkness of the night, you would see him getting as red as a tomato. "Well thank you, Maxie,"

Max drove you home, dropping you off on the doorstep. "Can I take you out again one night?" he stumbled over his words. He enjoyed taking you out and spoiling you, and he wanted to carry on doing so. "Yeah, I've had a lot of fun. Thank you for dinner, Maxie," you smiled, wanting to bring him in the house, but you both had work the next day.

"Anytime, anytime," he smiled, turning to walk back towards the car.

"Max!" you called out after him, jogging down the stone paving. You draped the jacket back around his shoulders and cupped his cheek with one hand. You swiftly kissed him on the cheek, saying a quick, "Goodnight, Max," before you closed the door.

—

Over the past couple of weeks, you and Max had been on a multitude of dates, most of the time it was more than once a week. You saw each other pretty much every day at work, and talked most evenings over the phone.

You had gone on all sorts of different dates, from movies, to dinners, to boating afternoons. He had even tried to teach you to play golf, but you weren't much good.

You had a dinner date scheduled tonight, but you really weren't feeling up to it tonight. You had been nauseous and had a heachache all day, so you didn't want to leave the house. Max had asked Christian to send you home early, and he had done exactly that.

However, you didn't want to cancel your date, so you invited him over to yours for movie night. You wore a pair of sweats and the hoodie he gave you; you had the snacks and drinks all set out on the coffee table.

You had already told him to just let himself in, so the sound of the front door opening made ropes of happiness lash your entire being. "Take a seat and get ready for the best night of your life," you smiled as he sat right next to you.

Max knew any night with you would be one of the best, but tonight was the night he wanted to make his move. What the move was? He didn't know yet.

As the movie rolled on and you munched on the snacks, your neck was starting to hurt due to the position you were sat in. You let your neck muscles soften as you rested your head onto Max's shoulder, and you felt him tense up a bit.

But, he was back to being relaxed almost instantly. As the movie went on, Max slung an arm around your shoulders as he tried to build up the courage to tell you he liked you. But, something was still holding him back. He didn't necessarily know if you felt the same.

It was as if you had read his mind, as you plucked up the nerve to grab his hand. You laced your fingers together, and his hand was a lot warmer in yours. He started gently running his thumb up and down and, even though it was small, it was still a soothing gesture.

You stayed like that through the whole movie, until the credits started to roll. Neither of you were really focusing on it, though. You turned your head to rest your chin on Max's shoulder, and you just admired him. He also turned to look at you, a smile spreading across his lips when he met your gaze.

There was no better time, so he leant in until your lips connected. It was instant sparks, until the kiss deepened. You had both been waiting for this, and you didn't want to be the one to end it. Fortunately, Max pulled away and looked at you.

A million thoughts raced through his mind and he wanted to dive straight back into kissing you. "I really like you," he muttered, letting his hand linger on the side of your face. He had just taken the plunge into ice cold water that he had been teetering on the edge of for years.

"I really like you too," you said back. Max had just emerged from the surface of the water and euphoria filled his veins. "Will you be my girlfriend?" he asked, pulling you closer to you. The feeling of finally getting to hold you in his arms was beyond winning any race or championship, and he never wanted to let go.

"I don't know, Maxie. It's not that I don't like you, because I really do. Like, a lot. But I don't want to rush you because I need something that's forever because I don't want to bring a child up in an environment where there's someone coming and going. They need stability," you explained.

You knew Max would never hurt you on purpose, but you needed a safe, warm, loving environment for your baby. "I get that, and I want to give that to you. You deserve someone to love you, and the baby more than anything else in the world. I want to be that person, and I completely understand if you don't want to accept and wait, because I'll be here," he said.

That was when you had an epiphany. It was like this feeling that everything was finally falling into place and that you were in the right spot in life. You had never felt anything like this with Scott, and your heart was yelling at you, screaming at you to let Max into your life as more than a friend.

Something in your gut knew he was the right one, and you'd be stupid not to accept that. "I want to be your girlfriend, Max. I'd be an idiot not to," you smiled, and the elated look on his face told you you had made the right decision.

He kissed you again with all the love and compassion he had pent up since he first saw you, and he never thought, not in his wildest dreams, that he would get to have you like this. It was pure perfection.

—

"Y/N! Come on, we need to go!" Max shouted up the stairs to you as he stood in the kitchen, fidgeting on the spot out of nervousness. "Max, we don't need to be there for another forty five minutes," you yelled back, finishing wrapping the hair tie around your hair.

"If we're early, they might let us in sooner," he bartered, standing near the front door to try and hurry you along a bit. "They run on appointments, not first come first serve," you told him, heading down the stairs.

"Please?" Max pouted, as if he were a small child asking for more sweets, "I'm just really excited," he said as you walked up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I know, so am I," you smiled, placing a soft kiss on his lips.

"If we go now, we can go get ice cream," he bargained, placing his hands on your hips and swaying you from side to side. "Can I get a sundae?"

"You can get whatever you want," he reassured, hoping it would win you over and let him take you earlier. "OK, we can go," you said as he bounded out of the front door and to your car door, opening it for you.

Slipping your arms through the sleeves of your coat, you hopped in the car with him. He held his hand on your thigh throughout the entire drive, and it was his small actions of affection that made you fall even more in love with him every day.

Once you had parked the car, Max practically dragged you through the doors of the doctor's office and checked in. He sat in the chair fidgeting until you were called in. "Max, calm down," you said, placing a hand on his bouncing knee.

"Sorry, I'm just really excited," he grinned, unable to stop himself from smiling.

"I'm glad you are." It was refreshing to see someone so excited to be with you as this was the first time you had brought someone to your scan. The nurse came out and called you in and you led down on the bed like always.

"How are you feeling?" the nurse asked, squirting the gel onto her hands.

"I'm great thank you," you smiled, watching as Max looked bewildered as he gazed around the room. "Who's this?" she asked.

"This is Max, he's my boyfriend," you said. She knew Max wasn't the father since she was one of the first people to hear about what Scott had done, but she liked the look of him. He seemed put together and polite.

Instinctively, you lifted your shirt and held your breath as she rubbed the cold substance on your belly. As she manoeuvred the machine over your stomach, Max gripped your hand in glee. His eyes were glued to the screen and the look on his face was priceless.

On the screen, you could see the body of your child and it was one of the most magical experiences of your life. Peeking at Max, you could see he had tears in his eyes. "Maxie, darling, don't cry," you said, the sight of him crying nearly setting you off.

"I'm sorry, I'm just-" he started, unable to find the words to describe how happy and elated he felt. Seeing that small foetus on the screen filled his heart with so much love and light he was almost full to bursting.

"It's pretty magnificent, huh?" you asked, averting your eyes back to the screen.

Max still hadn't uncovered the ability to speak, and just nodded with his mouth slightly agape. You printed off two more sets of pictures, one for you and one for Max, and left the doctor's knowing that your baby was perfectly happy and healthy.

"Ice cream time!" you squealed, clapping your hands.

"Of course, how could I forget?" he smiled, shaking his head.

—

Max had disappeared upstairs for around twenty minutes, but you didn't really question it. He mentioned something about a phone call, so you just let him do whatever. "Liefje? Can you come here for a second?" he shouted down to you.

"Coming!" you replied, pausing the TV show you were watching and trudging up the stairs. "Yeah?"

"I'm in here!" he called, his voice carrying from the bedroom. You walked through and saw that there were no lights on anywhere. The bathroom door opened and you saw some candles were lit on the inside.

From somewhere, Max emerged with a huge bouquet of blood red roses in his hands. "How on Earth have you-" you started, trying not to burst into tears at his gesture. Suddenly, a figure dashed out of wardrobe, downstairs and out of the front door.

"I had a bit of help," he laughed, and you could tell by the sound of the giggle that it was a certain Aussie helping him out while he was in the UK. "Clearly," you playfully scoffed, taking the roses from him and inhaling their sweet scent.

"What's all this for?" you asked, capturing his lips in yours and giving him a compassionate kiss. "Ik hou van je," he spoke in Dutch, and you just blinked at him. He had been teaching you bits of Dutch, but that was not part of your vocabulary yet.

"What's ik?" he asked, teacher Max coming out in full swing.

"I," you slowly said, not able to connect the dots and see where he was going with this impromptu Dutch lesson. "And what is je?"

"You," you said, squinting at him as you thought.

"Translate it on your phone," he instructed, the cheeky grin on his face becoming more prominent and hard to conceal. "Ik hou van je," he repeated as you typed it into the translator app.

Refreshing the page and using different translators, they all gave you those three precious words as the answer. You flashed the phone at Max to get confirmation, and he simply nodded. "Ik hou van je," he repeated a final time.

"I love you too," you said as the words on the screen were blurred with tears of pure, unbridled joy. Scott had never made you feel like this, even when you first made your declarations of love to each other. Max was special.

"Let me put those in a vase," he said, plucking the roses out of your hands and running downstairs to water them and set them on the side. You strode into the bathroom, seeing the tub filled up with bubbles and candles dotted around the room.

He had even sprinkled some rose petals on the top of the froth.

You had just finished stripping off and were about to step into the bath, when you heard rushed footsteps behind you. "Hey, wait for me. The last thing I need is you slipping," Max said, taking your hand and helping you sink into the water.

It wasn't long before Max was clambering in behind you, pulling you flush against him so your back was to his front. His hands instinctively moved to rest on your swollen stomach, gently massaging the area.

You allowed yourself to close your eyes and fully relax as Max peppered a few kisses in your hair. "Je bent geweldig," he softly mumbled.

"In het Engels, alsjeblieft," you responded, your brain not being in the mood to try and recall your Dutch. "You're incredible. I can give you some synonyms if you want. You're perfect, amazing, magnificent, spectacular," he started to list, "Do you want me to carry on?"

"Yes, but you probably shouldn't, my ego is inflating a huge deal right now," you smiled. Scott never did these kinds of things, and if you were still with him, you'd be sat in silence, watching TV or something.

Max was brilliant, and he thought the world of you. There was no better way to spend evenings than with you in his arms and relaxing, away from the prying eyes of the world.

—

You had just reached the seven month mark and were getting ready to take maternity leave. You were desperate to stay at work to see Max close out the season with a title, and were planning to go to Abu Dhabi with him for the last race.

The doctor had said you could fly and be fine, and you knew Max would be watching you like a hawk for the whole thing.

Today was one of those days when the nausea was lingering throughout, and you were counting down the days until you could leave - even if you could leave whenever you wanted. Max had woken up early with you as you sprang out of bed and were reminded of how much your child loves you.

Having him by your side was the best thing that had happened to you for a while, and it was amazing to not have to go through it alone anymore. He had tried to convince you not to go to work and to stay at home, but you refused. You wanted to carry on your day as normal.

You noticed his eyes on you all day, and he was checking up on you all the time and you couldn't catch a break. Before the end of the season, you were having a meeting with Max, Checo, Christian and some other people in the team.

You had needed to finish something off before the meeting, so you were a few seconds late and all of the chairs in the boardroom were full. You were happy to stand in the corner, but someone wasn't. Out of the corner of your eye you spotted someone standing up. "Y/N," he called, nodding at the chair.

You sat down and Max stood behind you, and you could feel his eyes on the back of your head. Roughly around halfway through the meeting, another, massive nauseous wave washed over you and there was no suppressing it this time.

"Sorry, I'll be back in two minutes," you managed to get out before rushing out of the room and towards the nearest bathroom. Fumbling with the door, you managed to get in just in time and threw up in the nearest toilet.

The door opened up instantly, and your hair was pulled back behind your neck and a hand was rubbing up and down your back softly. It wasn't long before you were done, and you looked up at Max through glassy eyes. "You go back to the meeting, I'm fine," you said, forcing a smile.

"Not a chance, liefje," he said, grabbing some toilet roll and gently dabbing around your mouth. "You're going home, come on," he said, tugging you into a hug.

"It's alright, I'll be fine," you said, the nausea going away after letting it all out.

"No, Y/N. I'm not taking no for an answer, I'm taking you home," he instructed quite forcefully. There was no point in arguing, so you walked out with him, hand in hand. You had only told people in Red Bull and a few close friends about you, but you weren't ready to tell the world yet.

As you walked past the boardroom, Max nodded at Christian and it was enough for him to know that you were going home. Max got you home and escorted you through the door and down onto the couch. "You stay there, and I'll be back in half an hour," he kissed you on the lips, then planted a soft kiss in your hair.

"And you stop making your mommy sick, it's not fair," he laughed, gently rubbing your stomach before he left. Then, there you were, left in the house until Max got back.

—

After the boardroom incident, Christian had forced you to go onto maternity leave early, and he promised he would still pay you for the extra time taken off. Now, you were in the private terminal of the airport, waiting for him to return to your shared apartment in Monaco.

You had flown over to live with him once you had gotten off work, and he was still trying to convince you to be a full time, stay at home mum. Through walked Max, his backpack slung over his shoulder and his features more sunken after his flight from Abu Dhabi.

His stature immediately straightened up when he spotted you walking towards him, "I missed you so much," he whispered into your hair as he held you in his arms. Now, you had him all to yourself for a few months.

"We've missed you more," you said as he moved his hands to your stomach.

"Have they been causing you any problems while I've been away?" he asked, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "No, she hasn't," you smirked, waiting for him to get the hint.

"She?" he beamed, hoping he had heard you correctly. You zealously nodded at him, watching as his face contorted into the happiest expression a man could have on his face. "I love you so much. I love both of you so fucking much," he breathed, holding you as closely and as tightly as he could have.

"I love you too, Maxie,"

—

"Shit I am tired," you huffed, leaning back in the pillows of your hospital bed.

"You did incredibly, liefde," he beamed proudly, kissing you on the forehead. He had just undergone the most magical experience a man could go through, and he was so glad you had allowed him to be here.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Max asked, and you were slightly scared.

"Is this something I want to hear right now," you moaned, that question almost never had a happy ending. "Yes, it is. If not, I completely get it and I respect your decision 100%, but I want to give her my last name," there had been no indication that he wanted to do this, but now it seemed like the best decision you could make for her. He thought he was moving too fast, but it might as well have been now over never.

Tears brimmed in your eyes, and Max thought you weren't happy about it. It was quite the opposite. You wanted this more than anything. You had someone who was willing to give himself to you and your daughter. "She is your daughter, Max. She's a Verstappen," you happy cried, gazing at her as she slept in the cot in the corner of the room. "And I want you to be one too," he stated, shifting off the chair beside your bed and onto one knee on the floor.

From his pocket, he produced a small, black, velvet box and opened it to reveal the most stunning ring you had ever seen. "I know it's soon, but I want to prove to you that I will be here for you, and our daughter forever and that I love the two of you more than anything in the world," he said, trying to choke back the tears, "Will je met me trouwen?"

There was no confusion with what that phrase meant. "Yes, Max. A million times yes," you said as he slipped the ring on your finger. There was no doubt in your mind that this was the right thing for not only you, but for your daughter.

Had he been bombarding you with a lot fo life-changing decisions? Yes, but he couldn't resist the perfect opportunity.

You shuffled up on the bed and pulled Max on with you, resting your head on his chest and letting your weight rest on him. You had had a long few hours, that was for sure. So much had happened, and you were completely drained and needed a lot of sleep to replenish your energy.

"Have you guys decided on a name?" The nurse who was drafting the birth certificate asked.

You took one look at Max and your little angel in the corner, "Aleta Verstappen," you proudly spoke. The nurse smiled and asked for the spelling, which Max happily gave her. It wasn't long before you had fallen asleep and dreamt of the life you had built.

—

You and Max were woken up by the shrill cry of your daughter ringing through the house. "You stay, I'll go," Max sleepily grumbled, rubbing his eyes and shuffling out of bed. This was your first night back at home since Aleta was born, and you were still unbelievably tired.

The cries stopped shortly after, but as Max reemerged in the doorway, the screeches continued. You went to get up, but Max turned and went back. Yet again, the cried stopped, and your heart nearly did when Max walked into the room with Aleta held to his chest. It was the most perfect sight.

"Max, she needs to sleep by herself," you told him, nearly falling back to sleep.

"It's just one night, liefje," he said, and you were too tired to argue with him. He led back next to you, your newborn snuggly cuddled to his chest. It wasn't long before she was back asleep, and so was Max. Everything was perfection, and the two people in front of you were what mattered the most to you.

You never thought perfection truly existed, but you were proven wholly wrong as you led there, the difficulties of the past month showing themselves as completely worth it.

A/N - Do we want a bonus chapter? Or have we had enough after 10k+ words <3. BTW I haven't proof read this...

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#f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 imagines #f1 imagines #fluff #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen imagines

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