#{ that you’re happy that this storm is swiping out }

[silntfangs]

People say the most… wildest thing, and say it so proudly.

[readwritealldayallnight]

You haven’t noticed him yet.

Lost in the words printed on the pages, you haven’t glanced up from your book since Simon stepped out of the shower, peeking at your figure through the window panes.

You’re out on the small, cramped balcony of your shared London flat, curled into yourself to squeeze all your limbs as comfortably as you can onto the wicker chair.

The half empty cup of tea sitting on the small side table next to you is no longer as warm as it was when you first brought it out. Without a second thought, Simon goes to warm up the kettle again, not wanting you to get cold.

He frowns as your fingers quickly catch the edge of your book before the wind can flip your current page away, your hair being blown away from your face. He spots the tiny shiver that goes through you and decides he’ll bring out a throw blanket for you as well. Maybe one of his hoodies.

You’d teased him about something like this the other day, after he’d finished tucking your chair in at a local cafe. Saying that his love language was sooo obviously acts of service.

He’d playfully rolled his eyes, joking about how yours must be to never stop talking, chuckling at the half hearted kick he received underneath the table, before you explained that that wasn’t what love languages are.

Simon wasn’t so sure about that whole idea. All he knew was that he liked taking care of you, just as you took care of him. Simple as that.

He knows he always feels lighter after you send him a thankful smile any time he carries your bag for you or opens your door.

He knows you can’t stop smiling for at least a minute any time you swipe an eyelash off his cheek, carefully holding it in front of his lips so he can blow it away and ‘make a wish’.

He knows his chest always swells with pride any time you compliment his cooking, whether he attempted a dish on his own or simply added a seasoning to something you were already making.

He knows all the tension disappears from your shoulders when you’re sat in his lap, gently wiping away his black face paint from around his eyes, taking extra care around his delicate skin, humming a soft little melody for the both of you to hear.

He knows there isn’t anything in this entire god forsaken earth that makes him happier, than making you happy.

That’s why he’s been secretly looking into a new place for the two of you. This tiny shoebox of a flat had been fine when it was just him crashing here a handful of times a year between missions. When you got together and began spending more time sleeping here than at your own place, it only made sense to move in once your lease was up.

But now your books are piled in stacks along the baseboards, the closet can barely contain your clothes mixed in together, and the sight of you sitting out on that cramped balcony just doesn’t sit right with him.

He wants to give you a proper place, a home. He wants to be able to give you an actual yard with room to sprawl out and grow a garden if you want, or just lay out a picnic blanket and read until the sun sets.

He wants to hear you nag him about mowing the lawn, or raking the leaves, or shovelling the driveway. He wants to run out into a sudden summer storm with you to quickly pull off the laundry that had been drying on the clothes line, laughing the entire time.

As though sensing his gaze on you, you slowly lift your head, a chuckle slipping past his lips as your eyes immediately light up with excitement, a sweet smile gracing your lips as you send him a wave.

He lifts his hand, waggling his fingers back at you, the same corny grin on his face, knowing that there isn’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for you.

[pucksandpower]

Worlds Apart

Max Verstappen x Sargeant!Reader

Summary: everyone seems to have something to say about your relationship with Max, but at the end of the day all that matters is the two of you

Warnings: Jos Verstappen

Based on a request by @butterflyexe

The sorority house is pulsing with noise — music, laughter, the clink of plastic cups. You weave through the crowd, feeling very much out of place amongst the scantily clad co-eds. Your sundress and sandals seem prudish in comparison.

“Y/N! There you are!” Chelsea, your big sister in Kappa Alpha Theta, comes barreling over with a few of her friends in tow. “We were just talking about you.”

You eye them warily. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, like how you’re totally wasting your college experience pining over some old race car driver instead of playing the field.” Chelsea’s friend, Brittany, smirks as she takes a sip of her drink.

You bristle at that. “Max is not old! He’s only 26.”

“Exactly,” Chelsea says, putting an arm around your shoulders. “You’re a sophomore dating a whole ass man who’s nearly 30. It’s weird.”

“No it’s not!” You protest, shrugging off her arm. “We’ve been together over a year. I really like him.”

“Like him?” Brittany scoffs. “Wake up, Y/N. He’s an international celebrity dating a little college student. You’re just his side piece.”

The words hit like a slap to the face. “That’s not true!”

“Then why does he never post about you on social media?” Chelsea counters. “I follow him and you’re never on his accounts.”

“We just value our privacy,” you mumble, but her words have sown seeds of doubt.

Chelsea gives you a pitying look. “Honey, I’m just trying to watch out for you. There are so many great guys here on campus that would treat you right.”

Your eyes narrow at the dig. “You mean like those meathead frat bros that never shut up about their high school glory days? No thanks.”

The girls all gasp in mock offense. Brittany steps closer, using her height advantage to loom over you. “You’ve got a lot of nerve, talking about our men like that.”

“Yeah?” You stand your ground, hands on your hips. “Well maybe if they acted like men instead of immature little boys, I wouldn’t have to.”

A hush falls over the nearby crowd, all eyes on your confrontation. Brittany looks murderous until one of her sidekicks tugs her sleeve, murmuring “Let’s go, it’s not worth it.” She sneers at you one last time before stalking off, leaving you and Chelsea alone.

Your big sister sighs, rubbing her temples. “Why are you so hell-bent on making this hard on yourself, Y/N? Max is a world away, both physically and in terms of life experience. You could have any guy at this school eating out of the palm of your hand. Why not take advantage of that?”

Her words are salt in the wound. You blink back tears, fighting to keep your voice steady. “Because I love Max. He makes me incredibly happy. And yeah, the distance is hard and he’s older and more established in his career. But he’s kind and smart and we just … connect, you know? I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.”

Chelsea shakes her head pityingly. “I’m just trying to watch out for you. I’d hate to see you get your heart broken over some long-distance fling.”

“It’s not a fling!” You’re sick of trying to convince everyone. Pushing past her, you storm out of the suffocating house and into the cool night air. Gulping it down, you sink down onto the steps, chest heaving with anger and hurt and frustration.

Alone at last, you let the tears come. You know the doubts eating at you are unfair — Max has been nothing but devoted and caring throughout your relationship, even with his insanely busy schedule. But the fears voiced by Chelsea and her crew have burrowed under your skin. Maybe you are just a naive little plaything for him. Maybe he’ll eventually get bored and move on to someone more sophisticated and on his level.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket — a FaceTime call from the man in question himself. You fumble to answer it, swiping hastily at your damp cheeks. “H-Hey you.”

“There’s my gorgeous girl!” His bright smile fills the screen, momentarily banishing your worries. “I only have a few minutes before FP1, but I couldn’t wait to see that pretty face.”

You can’t help but return his warm grin, though it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. “I miss you so much, Max.”

His brow furrows at your tone. “What’s wrong, liefje? You sound upset.”

You want to brush it off, but maybe this is your chance to finally get those nagging fears off your chest. “It’s just … things have been rough lately with the girls. They keep saying I’m wasting my time with you, that you’re going to leave me for someone else, that I’m just a naive little girl you’re using for fun.”

He’s silent for a long moment, then curses under his breath. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. That must be really hard to deal with, on top of the distance.”

“It is,” you admit, blinking back fresh tears. “And as much as I try to ignore them and have faith in us, their words have started to get to me. I mean … why don’t you ever post about me on social media? Do you not want the world to know about me?”

A shadow crosses his features. Clearly he’s heard this criticism before. “My reasons for keeping my relationships private have nothing to do with you, okay? I keep that part of my life off social media to avoid a media frenzy and protect the people I care about.” His expression softens. “But you better believe everyone important in my life knows about you — my family, my closest mates. Hell, the whole Red Bull garage is sick of hearing me go on and on about how amazing my girl is.”

You can’t help but laugh through your tears, some of the weight lifting off your chest. “Really?”

“Of course!” He chuckles. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Y/N. No matter how far apart we are or what anyone else says, you’re the only one I want.”

Your cheeks flush at his heart-melting words. In that moment, you don’t care about your snotty sorority sisters or the distance or anything else — just being completely in love with this amazing man. “I wish you were here,” you murmur, drinking in every detail of his face. “I miss holding you so damn much.”

Max’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “Maybe you can show me how much later tonight, when we’re all alone to video call properly?”

You giggle and smack your hand over the camera, feeling suddenly shy. “Max Verstappen, you incorrigible flirt!”

“You love it.” His voice takes on a deeper, huskier tone that sends tingles down your spine. “And you’re going to love what I have planned for your next visit even more ...”

You spend the next few giddy minutes shamelessly flirting back and forth, soaking up precious moments of intimacy through the phone line to sustain you until you can be together again. When his race engineer appears in the background, beckoning him to the track, you’re both full of regretful sighs.

“Duty calls,” Max says wistfully. “But I’ll call you later, okay? We can pick up where we left off ...” He waggles his eyebrows mischievously.

You can’t stop your face-splitting grin. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

“Bye schatje. Love you to the moon and back.”

“Love you too!” You clutch the phone to your chest after he disconnects, completely lovestruck. All your insecurities have melted away under the heat of Max’s devoted words and that heart-stopping smile.

It’s going to be okay.

He chose you — Y/N Sargeant, sophomore student, for all your flaws and relative immaturity. And you’ve never felt luckier.

Spirits lifted, you bound back into the house and upstairs to your bedroom. You’ll ignore Chelsea and her nasty friends for the rest of the night, instead losing yourself in daydreams of the next time you’ll be wrapped in Max’s strong arms.

Your relationship may be a long-distance whirlwind, but you’re all in and you’ve never been happier. Let the other sorority girls whisper — you’ve snagged yourself a keeper.

***

Max drains the last of his water bottle as he exits the Red Bull garage, sweat still beading on his brow from the qualifying session. He stretches his arms over his head with a satisfied groan — even after all these years in Formula 1, there’s no better feeling than pushing a car to its limits on the track.

“Max! A word, if you please.”

He cringes at the familiar bark, turning to find his father bearing down on him like a storm cloud. So much for basking in the post-qualifying glow. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Jos’ mouth presses into a grim line, eyes smoldering behind the lenses of his sunglasses. “Well, for one, I saw that interview of yours from yesterday making the rounds online.”

Max fights the urge to roll his eyes. Of course his old man would find something to criticize. “And? I thought it was pretty standard, nothing controversial.”

“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t mean it to be controversial.” Jos sneers the word like a curse. “But dodging questions about your girlfriend and claiming you prefer to keep your private life private? It’s only going to stoke more media speculation and rumors.”

“Is that so bad?” Max counters. “I like to keep things out of the spotlight as much as I can. You know how ravenous the press is.”

“Don’t play dumb with me, son.” Jos steps closer, his voice lowering to a dangerous hiss. “I know exactly who this girl of yours is.”

Max feels his hackles rising at his dad’s dismissive tone when speaking about you. He opens his mouth to retort, but Jos barrels on.

“First it was that damn Kelly Piquet and her baggage, and now you’ve upgraded to jailbait? What is it with you and dating either old hags or naive teenagers, Max?”

“That’s enough!” Max snarls, feeling his face flush with anger. “How dare you talk about them like that, especially Y/N. She’s an incredible woman, and our age gap means nothing.”

Jos scoffs loudly. “Come off it, boy! She’s just a child, a nobody playing at being a WAG. You were born for greatness, bred to be a champion. Why on earth would you hitch your wagon to some college bimbo barely out of nappies?”

It’s like a red mist descends over Max’s vision at his father’s vile words about you. Before he can stop himself, his fist lashes out and connects squarely with Jos’ jawbone, sending the older man stumbling back.

“Don’t you ever speak about her that way again,” Max seethes, cradling his throbbing hand. “Y/N is ten times the person you’ll ever be. Smart, mature, driven as hell —she’s going to accomplish incredible things someday, whether you respect her or not.”

Jos regains his footing, clutching the blooming bruise on his cheek and glaring daggers at his son. “How dare you strike me, you ungrateful little shit! I gave you everything — the training, the opportunities, the sacrifices to get you to this level. And this is how you repay me?”

Max refuses to be baited, meeting his father’s glare with stony resolution. “Maybe if you didn’t insist on being such a hateful, miserable bastard all the time, I wouldn’t have to. All I want is for you to be civil and show some respect. Is that too much to ask?”

He huffs out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “But that’s not your way, is it? You’d rather condemn me for daring to find happiness with someone, just because she’s younger or doesn’t fit into your narrow ideas of what my life should look like. Well, I’ve got a newsflash for you. It’s my fucking life and I’ll live it however I damn well please.”

Jos opens his mouth, undoubtedly to fire off more vitriol, but Max cuts him off with a raised hand. He’s said his piece, expending the last of his energy and patience dealing with his father’s bullheadedness — at least for today. Right now, all he wants is to retreat somewhere quiet and let his thoughts drift across the ocean to you.

“Save it. I’m done arguing.” He turns on his heel and stalks away, Jos shouting insults at his retreating back.

Don’t react, don’t react. His jaw clenches almost painfully as he navigates the familiar path back to his driver’s room, typing out a quick message.

You free to chat soon, gorgeous? Need to hear your voice.

The reply comes almost instantly. For you, always. Give me 20 mins? ❤️

He can’t stop the surge of warmth at your words, the tension slowly draining from his shoulders. That’s his girl — always knowing exactly what he needs, even from thousands of miles away. And isn’t that what matters most of all?

After showering and changing into casual sweats and a t-shirt, Max sinks onto the small couch placed against the wall, pillows arranged just so to prop up his aching back and shoulders. He picks up his phone and dials your number, heart rate kicking up a notch in eager anticipation.

After what feels like an eternity but is surely only a few rings, your face fills the screen. You must have just gotten back from class — your hair is tousled and loose, your makeup-free skin flushed and glowing in the South Florida sun.

“Well hey there, handsome.” Your teasing smirk dissipates as you get a better look at him. “Max? Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

“I am now,” he manages, relief already washing over him at the simple sight of you. He drinks in every last detail like a man parched. “Just had a bit of a run-in with my dad and needed an escape.”

Concern flashes in your warm eyes. “Oh no, what happened?”

So he tells you — the interview rumors, his dad ambushing him and lobbing insults, the explosive fight that caused him to lose his cool and strike the first blow. You listen with sympathy, every encouraging nod and murmured reassurance calming his frazzled nerves until the story is spent, leaving him strangely at peace.

“Thank you for sharing all that with me, babe,” you say once he’s finished. Your voice is gentle but firm. “I’m sorry Jos was so out of line, but you were totally right to stand up to him. Nobody gets to dismiss our relationship or talk about you like that.”

Max blows out a long breath, raking a hand through his shower-damp hair. “I know, I just … I hate letting him get under my skin like that, you know? No matter how much I try to rise above it, he always finds a way to trigger something deep down. It’s exhausting constantly needing to defend myself and the people I care about.”

“But that’s not your burden to bear alone, Max.” You shake your head adamantly, jaw set in that stubborn way he loves. “Let me help shoulder that weight, even if I can’t actually be there physically yet. I’m on your team, remember? We’re partners. I’ve got your back.”

Your words loosen a knot of tension he didn’t realize he was carrying. Of course you get it, you always do. He knows in that moment how lucky he is to have found his teammate, his shelter in the storm that rages on no matter how successful he becomes.

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?” His voice comes out low, thick with emotion. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

Your radiant smile could power entire cities. “By being you, silly. And for the record, your dad is way off base. There’s nothing wrong with you wanting a mature, driven, accomplished partner — even if she happens to be younger.”

“Age shaming goes both ways, apparently.”

“Apparently,” you agree wryly. “I had my own fun today ...”

As you launch into explaining the shenanigans that occurred during your morning lecture, Max feels himself relaxing further and further into the couch, a dopey grin spreading across his face. On and on the two of you go, playfully trading stories until his father and the endless pressures of his career have fully melted away, replaced by this perfect bubble the two of you inhabit.

When you hit a lull, stifling a yawn behind your hand, Max reluctantly decides to let you go for the night. “Do you have some time before your next class? You should get some rest.”

“Aw, I’m fine!” You protest through another jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m not done talking to my favorite driver yet.”

Max chuckles fondly. This stubborn streak of yours will be the death of him someday. “We both know that’s a lie. I can practically hear your bed calling your name for a nap from here.”

“Hmph, fine.” You stick out your full bottom lip in an exaggerated pout that makes his heart skip. “I guess if you insist on being all reasonable and stuff.”

“That’s me, a real fun-sucker.” He matches your playful tone, though his eyes are serious. “But before you go … can you just say it? For me?”

You immediately soften, gazing at him through the camera with so much tenderness, it almost winds him. “I love you, Max. More than anything.”

He exhales heavily, as if your words have physically lifted a weight from his shoulders. “I love you too, Y/N. And your love, your belief in me … it’s everything. Never doubt that, okay?”

“I won’t if you don’t,” you promise with a wink. “Good luck, babe. I’ll be dreaming of you.”

“Sweet dreams, liefje.”

Even after disconnecting the call, Max sits there for several long moments, staring at the now-dark screen with a besotted grin. His chest is pleasantly warm, full to bursting with the soul-deep reassurance that only you can provide.

Screw whatever toxic nonsense his dad tries to peddle about your age gap or his career. You’re the beating heart that sustains him, the sun around which his entire universe orbits. No disapproving authority figure or rumor mill gossip could ever change that fundamental truth.

So let his father rage and splutter all he wants about how “inappropriate” your relationship is. Max has tasted the extraordinary, found his home and partner in the most vibrant woman he’s ever met. All those lonely, empty years without that missing piece suddenly feel like a hazy, long-forgotten dream.

As Max sips his energy drink and prepares for another demanding few hours at the track, he can’t keep the dopey smile off his face. You’re worth enduring a thousand more shouting matches with his dad, worth traversing any distance just to hear your laugh again.

Max is the luckiest bastard alive to have earned your heart, and he’ll never take that gift for granted.

***

You shoulder your backpack and push through the double doors of the lecture hall, finally free from classes for the summer. The late afternoon sun bakes the quad in a warm glow as you pause for a moment, breathing in the sweet semi-tropical air.

For two years, this campus has been your entire world. Endless cycles of classes, parties, study sessions, and chaos with your sisters from Kappa Alpha Theta. But now, as you glance around at the laughing students basking in the first days of freedom, you feel a strange sense of restlessness settle over you.

Like there’s some place — somewhere — else you’re meant to be.

Shaking it off, you start heading for the student parking lot to meet up with Chelsea. You only make it a few steps before unusually loud cheers and shouts draw your attention to a small crowd forming near the front entrance.

Rows of parked cars block your view, but the distinctive growl of a high-performance engine cuts through the commotion. Your pulse instantly kicks up a notch as your mind puts it together.

That’s no ordinary car.

That’s a multimillion dollar, 800 horsepower British rocket. Sleek, powerful, luxuriously elegant.

Just like-

“No way ...” you breathe out, books slipping from your slackened grip as the glossy green bodywork of an Aston Martin DBS Superleggera slides into view. Because draped over the driver’s side door in that achingly familiar display of casual arrogance ...

“Max!” You shout his name in disbelieving joy even as your feet are carrying you toward him at a full sprint.

His head snaps up at the sound and your heart nearly stops at the way his whole face ignites with radiant delight. That brilliant smile you’ve ached to see in person for so long now stretching those full lips in the most heart-stoppingly beautiful way.

He pushes off from the car, hands outstretched, and in the space of a single frantic heartbeat you’ve flung yourself into his arms with a breathless laugh.

“What are you doing here?” You demand giddily as Max’s strong arms engulf you, swinging your frame around in a tight circle. You’re vaguely aware of the other students going nuts, people shouting and whistles piercing the air, but you only have eyes and ears for this incredible man holding you tightly.

Max just chuckles warmly, murmuring your name with raw affection before crashing his lips to yours in a scorching kiss that leaves you dizzy. You melt into the fierce embrace, parting your lips eagerly to taste the slight sweetness of Red Bull and dark chocolate that is so distinctly Max.

“Surprise, schatje,” he rumbles against your smiling mouth between heated, openmouthed kisses. “Thought I would swing by and pick up my favorite student myself.”

“Oh my god!” You laugh delightedly, cupping his chiseled jaw to drink in every perfectly imperfect inch of his beloved face. The strong jawline, the dimpled chin, those piercing blue eyes crinkling at the corners as he beams at you.

“When did you … how did you …” You’re at a loss for words, overcome with giddy euphoria at having Max here, warm and solid and real in your arms again after so many endless months.

A fresh wave of cheers and hollers suddenly cuts through your joyful bubble as half the crowd seems to recognize the celebrity in their midst. Dozens of camera phones whip out to capture the unexpectedly intimate reunion between you and Max.

“Who is that guy?”

“No way, that’s Max freaking Verstappen!”

“Y/N, how do you know Max Verstappen?”

The shouts and questions reach a fever pitch, finally breaking through your amorous fugue. Blushing furiously, you pull back just enough to murmur against Max’s chest.

“Well, much as I’d love to keep making out with my insanely hot boyfriend in the middle of campus, maybe we should take this somewhere a bit more private?”

Max gives a deep, rich laugh at that, the sound vibrating pleasantly against you.

“You are a wise woman, liefje,” he praises in that deliciously accented baritone. He presses one last, searing kiss to your smiling lips before reluctantly disentangling himself. “Though I would have thought you might like to give all your classmates one more delightful bit of inspiration to remember you by before you depart for the summer?”

He leers at you playfully as a chorus of whoops and whistles greets his flirtatious suggestion. You can’t help but bark out a laugh, shoving his chest lightly in mock admonishment even as heat rushes to your cheeks.

“You’re impossible!”

“No, just hopelessly in love with you,” he counters easily, reaching out to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. The tenderness in his voice and touch instantly gentles your teasing mood into something infinitely fonder.

This remarkable man, so genuine and caring beneath the roguish exterior cultivated for the cameras. You’re struck by a sudden lance of melancholy at the thought of how little the world really knows of the real Max Verstappen.

But then his eyes crinkle in that way that speaks of unabashed adoration just for you and the feeling passes. Because you know him better than anyone. And he sees you just the same. Two souls intertwined by a rare, precious understanding.

Max’s hand slides around to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing lightly over your thundering pulse point. The tender motion instantly sets your nerves alight with renewed longing.

“So,” his voice drops to an impossibly deep bedroom octave meant only for your ears. “Shall we give the good people at the University of Miami one last show before I whisk you away for a few months of long overdue privacy?”

There’s the barest hint of a filthy promise underlying the words. You swallow thickly, unconsciously pressing closer as Max’s velvet tones wash over you like a physical caress.

“And just where will you be taking me?” You manage to tease back, forcing a bravado your hammering heart doesn’t feel.

“Well ...” He leans in until his lips brush the delicate shell of your ear. You shiver helplessly at the heated puff of air ghosting your sensitive skin.

“First,” he begins in a heated murmur, “we’re going to swing by your sorority house to gather your belongings.”

“Okay ...” You nod faintly, hyper-aware of Max’s intoxicating proximity.

“Then I’ll be driving us straight to your parents’ place in Fort Lauderdale,” he continues lowly. “Per the strict instructions of one Logan Sargeant, of course.”

You can’t help the surprised laugh that bursts forth. Trust your brother to strong-arm his way into Max’s surprise plans.

“He didn’t give you too hard a time, did he?” You ask through your giggles. “I can only imagine the threats he must have ...”

You trail off at the feeling of Max’s talented mouth blazing a trail of kisses along the slender column of your throat. Every exploratory brush of his lips and insistent swipe of tongue steals the breath from your lungs.

“Max ...” You whine out his name without conscious thought, going pliant against the solid wall of his body.

“Shhh,” he rumbles against your overwrought senses. “Let me finish first.”

There’s a maddening pause where the only sounds are the rushing waves of cheers and chaos from the delighted crowd watching your every move, hungered gazes drinking in every scorching caress Max bestows upon you. Under any other circumstances, the thought of being so shamelessly devoured by hundreds of strangers’ eyes would have you recoiling in embarrassment.

But Max���s presence, his heated touch and low, sinful voice have you spellbound, uncaring of your audience.

“After we’ve satisfied your family’s demands to see us with their own eyes,” he purrs. “We’ll be boarding my jet bright and early for someplace much more ... pleasurable.”

Your skin prickles with delicious tension as Max continues in that low, rough whisper.

“We’ll spend a few lazy days lounging on a private beach in Aruba, just the two of us.” His large hand roves provocatively down the curve of your spine to boldly grip your backside, pulling your hips flush against the insistent bulge in his designer jeans. “Catching up on all the things I’ve been dreaming about for months, schatje.”

A tremulous whimper escapes your parted lips at the blatant promise underlying Max’s words. You flatten your palms against the firm planes of his chest, feeling his powerful heartbeat thundering in time with your own.

“A-And after that?” You somehow manage in a breathy rasp, scarcely daring to hope.

Max’s only response is a low, thrumming chuckle that you feel vibrate across your heated skin. His chin dips, molten blue eyes searing into yours with naked hunger.

“After that?” He husks, stealing the breath from your lungs with a devastating grin. “Well, then I’ll finally get to introduce the world to my favorite girl.”

And neither of you can wait.

[macfrog]

psyche and cupid | one shot

happy valentine's, beautiful people. i love you with all of my heart. xx shoutout to @familyvideostevie for putting joel's slutty little thigh holster into my head and, well. yeah. pairing: jackson!joel miller x fem!reader summary: valentine's day with joel doesn't go to plan. warnings: part two never happened!!!!! abby who!!!, established relationship, cursing, half joel pov, unspecified age gap, hints to reader having a sliver of ptsd, jesse is alive and well because he is my prince and i said so, reader has dark pubic hair, masturbation, somnophilia (not discussed in this fic but she is a-ok with it) and therefore dubcon, sprinkle of praise kink, oral (f!receiving), someone comes in his underwear, these two goofballs are big in love word count: 5.5k

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It’s not in his nightstand.

Not hung over the newel post, either.

He said he left it on the kitchen counter yesterday, right after he got home; said he woke up this morning and it was gone. And then he muttered something of an accusation that someone had tidied it away and forgotten where, and that started a whole new argument.

You know what, Joel? You’re following his tall figure as it sways down the hallway, his strides longer and considerably smoother than your flurrying shadow in his wake. Maybe if you weren’t going out today, we wouldn’t be having this problem.

His chin tilts upward, salt and pepper scruff angled to the ceiling with a ha slung from his throat. Yeah, he tosses a glance over his shoulder, we’d just be havin’ it tomorrow, instead.

You scoff in response, stepping where his boots lift off from, following the heavy thud thud thud like a cat at his heels until he’s rounding the corner towards your bedroom.

You pass over the messy trail of your jeans and Joel’s pajama bottoms, your underwear and his leading in a trail to the unmade bed – sheets like a rippled wave painted golden by the dawn.

The two of you split off – Joel lifts the cotton and watches it float back down over the flat of your mattress. Nothing.

You take the closet – the squeal of metal on metal harsh in your sleepy ears as you shove the hanging clothes aside, swiping around at the floor. Also, unsurprisingly, nothing.

Deflated, you straighten, stars peppering your vision and a tatty sleepshirt pinched in your fingers. Led Zeppelin – some band Joel was into before everything went to shit. You’ve listened to him out on the porch before, plucking strings in time with the record wobbling on the turntable inside.

The collar torn, sleeves pecked with holes, print lost to the years and the dryer – but each time you drape it over your shoulders, he smiles and hums some song from a world you’ll never know.

It’s sweet, when you’re in the mood to be wooed.

Which, incidentally, is not right fucking now.

His eyes flit down to the peeling, grayscale image – and that same smile attempts to bloom on his lips. That’s cute, but it ain’t my holster, pretty bird.

His smirk dampens quickly when he looks back up, snuffed by your stony expression.

You whip the tee down to the foot of the bed. You are a piece of fuckin’ work sometimes, do you know that? you growl, storming by him for the en suite.

Joel’s rough hand slips around your wrist, tugging gently but letting you drag him through to the bathroom.

Just go, Joel, you groan, the chill of the room prickling goosebumps on your naked legs. Give  me some peace and quiet. ‘s not like I’m gonna be seein’ much of you today, anyways.

Is that what this is about? His voice echoes in the morning blue, round in your ears as you hang your head over the sink. Pickin’ a fight ‘cause you’re pissed I’m goin’ out?

I didn’t start the fight, you protest. You’re the one who lost his holster.

Didn’t lose it… he mumbles, lips closing around the sentence when he catches your glare in the mirror. He crosses one ankle over the other, toe of his dusty boot on the cracked tile, and sighs. What do you want me to do, baby? I gotta do my job.

On Valentine’s Day? When I worked extra to get it off, and you can’t even get your brother to swap one shift?

Joel’s expression seems to stiffen, tense with a realization that you know, and now he knows, too – he should’ve had days ago. A weighty breath falls from his nostrils, admitting some kind of defeat, and then he’s wandering carefully over to you, two hands curved over your shoulders.

He lowers his forehead onto the nape of your neck, a slow breath which flutters the loose collar of the flannel you’re wearing and sweeps down your spine. I’m sorry, pretty bird. I didn’t know it meant that much to ya.

It doesn’t, you admit, adding, usually. I just thought we could have a day to ourselves, for once.

He’s nodding, sweep of his fringe tickling the slope of your skin. It’d be a lot more romantic than spendin’ it with Jesse, that’s for sure.

Your bodies fall together with a shared laugh, a bright and charming thing in the dull bathroom light. Joel kisses the soft cushion of your shoulder and hooks his chin over, beard grazing your skin.

I’ll be back before you know it. ‘n then we can do whatever the hell you got planned for us, hm?

He’s steady behind you when you lean back, turning to place a damp kiss to the hinge of his jaw. A reply, a plea – a promise.

In the echoing dripdripdrip from the faucet, Joel pulls apart from you, two fingers pinching the hem of your shirt to pull you back into the bedroom.

You wanna walk me to the gate? he asks, pulling the zipper on his jacket.

What about your holster?

He smiles. I’m sure I’ll survive without it. C’mon. Put some pants on.

February is bitter even by Jackson’s standards – a bite of ice in the air which numbs the tip of your nose and stings the helix of your ears. The chill slips a long, sharp finger down the collar of your – Joel’s jacket, and you wrap the baggy canvas tighter around yourself.

Told you to wear som’ thicker. Joel sighs, grip light around the strap of his shotgun. His elbow nudges into yours, a wide arm wraps around your shoulder and draws you flush against his side. Head on back if you’re cold, he says, rubbing until the friction warms your upper arm.

I’m fine, you lie, eyeing the line of horses up ahead. The eager crunch of their hooves in the frozen ground, the pinkish light on their backs from the sky flooded crimson overhead – a warning from the horizon, you think.

It seems to agitate the animals as much as it does you, their heavy heads tossing nervously, ears flicking and inky eyes blinking.

Jesse meets you by the paddock, slipping Joel the reins of his horse with a curt nod, before hoisting himself atop his own.

It bleats from your lips before you can hold it back. Be careful.

Your frozen fingers claw around the zipper of his coat, tugging it upwards until it brushes against his bottom lip. The weather gets bad, you turn back. Okay?

He’s nodding, paying half his attention to your words, the other half to the little crease between your brows. Sure could use my holster against the cold, baby, he mutters, smirk lifting his cheeks and folding similar creases at the corners of his eyes.

Your eyes narrow, palms landing flat against his strong chest. Home soon?

He hums a little laugh, lips ghosting across your temple as he shifts by. Home soon, he mutters, breath steaming against your cold skin, and he leads the mare off towards the gate.

There’s a lot about Joel you admire.

Each part of him like a pebble stolen on a hike; some more jagged, a little more weathered than others, some well-rounded and smooth to the touch. Each one turned and turned and turned between your fingers until you’re fluent in every pore and vein, then dropped into your pocket alongside the others you’ve collected.

Clacking against one another until you arrive home, coat heavier with the happy burden of how much you love him. The same weight you feel behind your ribcage when you think too much about it.

He takes good care of you – has done since you first happened across one another. As if hanging his hunting jacket over your frail body was a wing over your shoulders; as if, from then on, you would never make a single move again without your grizzly bear of a man making it first.

Quiet about it, sure. Subtle. Opens the crook of his elbow for you to hook your wrist around as you wander through town together, and waits until you’re under the cover of nightfall or behind the close of your front door to do much else.

Asks with little more than a fleeting glance if you’re okay; a squeeze of your knee under the table in the dining hall. A conversation shared between closed lips and the meeting of his honey-flecked gaze, and yours. A language which lives and dies with the pair of you.

He’s guarded – and for all that he’s been through, you figure you can allow him that. Allow him his private peace. For all that he says without saying, all he does without making some big song and dance of it – there hasn’t been a second since you arrived here on the back of his horse, that you haven’t known he loves you.

It’s in him like it’s in you. A fever which broke at the first touch of his hand and yours, the first meeting of his warmth and your chill. Two opposites – cooling the painful sear in his heart, warming the barren frost in yours. Something sewn deep into your flesh, carved right through to the hollow of your bones.

And Jesus, if it doesn’t drive you fucking insane.

The front yard needs tidied up after winter, you notice, as you scuff your way up the path towards the porch. Once the last of the snow dries up, you two can get to repairing the damage done by the blizzards and the gales: fitting new shutters, planting new bulbs.

A cycle you’re still getting used to: the upkeep of a place called home. The strange feeling of having someone you call the same thing.

Your extra shifts at the stables and Joel’s long mornings out on the trails mean your home has gone neglected for a few days. Dishes and cutlery left in the sink, a pile of laundry slowly sprouting to new heights like a wild plant each time you cast a wary glance at it.

It’s not like you’ve much else to do, given Joel won’t be home for at least another couple hours. So you shuck off your jeans, letting the tail of his shirt dangle from your behind, and pick your way around each room – wiping counters and dusting corners, humming along to the crooning old records as they spin in the background.

Playing house at the end of the world. Pretending to listen for the tired exhale of a yellow school bus, mimicking the electrified babble of radio presenters between each track.

The bedroom is arguably the worst offender. Bedsheets used a few days too long, clothes strung across the floor – the relics of a late one at the Tipsy Bison. It’s no wonder you’re so fucking tired.

Echoes of stumbling footsteps and hushed, drunken giggles loop your ears, the groaning bedsprings and blunt thud of the headboard. You pluck the underwear and socks one by one, your body wincing around a satisfied ache still lingering, and shuffle over to the laundry hamper, lifting the lid to –

The dopey smile on your lips dissolves instantly. You gotta be fucking…

The buckle glints in the light, silver blinking up at you from its bed of dirty laundry. The tan strap coiled and neatly slung through its fastener; the pouch empty. Awkward and ashamed, lying there in front of you. Apologetic, almost.

Your eyes roll closed; a short, hot breath seeping past your lips. A silent promise embedding beneath your tongue to take him by the sleeve as soon as he crosses the threshold, force him to lift the lid himself. An I told you so already brewing in the pit of your stomach.

The holster’s actually pretty heavy when you lift it up in the light. Leather a little worn, stitching frayed where it should clip around his belt.

It’s the size and width of him: a thick, toned thigh slotted inside the loop of leather, fixed by fingers long void of feeling when he’s been riding to the outpost, chasing infected, plunging his knife deep into their necks.

Patrol was never your thing. Joel took you out just once – but there are cracks in your past which threaten to split you in two, it seems, the longer you spend outside the settlement walls. Phantoms which follow close behind in the form of snapping twigs, of the wind rustling in the trees overhead. Shadows living in your periphery with curled sneers and spits of filth.

You lasted twenty minutes, that first and only day, before Joel had your horses tied together and your body shelled in his own, taking you straight back home.

But the thought of this around his thigh, the thought of him adjusting it to the waistband of his jeans; his hand floating down to settle gently atop it when he’s listening for danger approaching, two fingers slipping into the trigger guard.

It…stirs something.

You pad over to the bathroom, hopping as you step into the strap. He wears it on his right leg, right? You pull it past your ankle, ball of your foot slamming clumsily back down on the tile.

Adjusting it to fit your thigh, you bunch the hem of his shirt in one fist and stare back at your reflection. Her nervous stance, hips swaying left to right as she peruses the figure opposite.

Who is she, this mirage – naked thigh decorated with her man’s leather, fingernails tracing the messy stitching and imagining the weight of his gun, keen in the pouch?

A strange aura of possession about it, like a part of him locked firm around a part of you, from however many miles away. You swear you can feel the ghost of his warmth on the inside of the strap, wrapped around your sensitive skin.

Yeah.

Stirs something, alright.

Joel’s been gone little over an hour. He’s probably at the outpost by now, logging All clear and pretending to let Jesse take the lead. Wide shoulders swaying as he wanders from room to room, a careful scope of the valley from each window, tongue tracing the bottom of his teeth.

Ridges of his knuckles white around the grip of his shotgun, squinting down the barrel. Lines drawn between his brows and at the corners of his eyes like scores on parchment, focus and concentration tight on his face.

You sink back into the cradle of your bed, that divot where his body and yours meet each night. Each part of you intertwining with a part of him: the place where you become one. His smell and your touch, your giggle and his teeth.

A sudden, powerful thing which hammers through your veins and jumps your body for a few seconds – you pull the first orgasm from between your legs within a matter of minutes. The sight of his shirt disturbed over your stomach, the feeling of blood squeezing past taut leather enough to throw you under by itself, never mind the fast snap of your fingers deep inside your body.

Another – slower, lazier, still vibrating from the first – then almost a third, but the crinkle of sheets at your ears, the pillow-soft landscape beneath your heavy body, begins to sweep you off somewhere.

And in as little time as it took to entice you into the water in the first place, you slip beneath the waves.

The house is quiet when he finally makes it home.

Jesus, Joel thinks, what a shift.

Not one infected the entire run, he can’t quite believe – but Jesse caught his palm on some warped sheet of chain link fence, then almost passed out when he looked down and saw the scarlet seeping from his shredded skin.

The pair sat for half an hour, unsheltered in the unforgiving wind, waiting for the kid’s head to stop spinning and the cold to rob the feeling from his hand.

All Joel wanted was to get home to you. You, and your hips swaying as you stand by the stove, and his hands kneading into the velvet plush of your waist, and the smell of burnt sausages and spatter of angry oil from the pan.

He’s so late. He said he’d be as quick as he could, said you’d barely know he was gone, and he’s so fucking late.

But he’s here now, at least.

He’s home.

As he kicks off his boots, snow sprinkling from the soles onto the doormat, he notices the absence of your arms around his waist. The missing weight at the back of him, no ear flat against his spine and hands interlocked above his belt. No relieved, I missed you, no nuzzle of your head under his arm.

The house is still and dim. The turntable spins in the corner, a dead crackle playing nothing for no one. Joel sniffs, eyeing the room and its new, orderly form: the books slotted neatly on their shelves, the rings of coffee wiped clean from the table.

Lifting the needle from the record, Joel calls out, Baby?

Maybe you’re in town somewhere. Maybe you’ve gone to spend the morning with the horses. But then, you would’ve been watching for his arrival. Would’ve skipped out from the stables and swung around his body, a gleeful smile and an outstretched hand. Take me home, cowboy.

And you wouldn’t have left the lights still burning, the player still turning. Your coat is still on its hook, smaller and brighter and where it belongs on the right of Joel’s. The cushions on the couch are fluffed and smooth, perched contentedly in place; the curtains draped in their tie backs.

You’re home. You’ve been home all morning.

So where the fuck are you?

Joel crosses over to the bottom of the stairs, blinking up at the painted cowboys and horses staring down from the landing. Calls your name, a faint singsong as he slowly ascends the stairs. You up there?

Down the wintery dull hallway to the bedroom door, figuring he knows the answer. And he’s right, isn’t he, when he nudges the door open and peers inside, spots the tiny lump of you in your double bed. Sunk deep into the mattress – covers you’d come in here to change, swallowing you whole.

A crooked, exhausted smile pulls across his lips; his thumb hooks around a belt loop, knee cocking.

You’re so…perfect. So heavenly, so still like this – stretched out on your front, breathing in the scent of his pillow and breathing out little puffs of air.

Joel leans over you, a heavy hand pushing into the mattress above your shoulder, and runs a featherlight knuckle over your cheek.

Pretty bird? he whispers, lighter than the long breaths from your sleep-swollen lips.

You don’t stir. No movement, save for the rise and fall of your shoulders wrapped up in his flannel.

Joel feels a pang of guilt, numbed only by the chill still through his body: he woke you this morning, before even the sun had lifted her head. Had you hunting all over the house with him, for some dumb holster that he wound up not even n–

His eyes trail down the shape of your body, draped in the sheets like white marble carved into the round shape of something beautiful, hands following the curve of your thigh. His wrist freezes when it meets the odd bulge of something, an awkward bump beneath the cotton.

He peels the sheet back, lifting it from your shoulders, your waist, your hips – until your angled thigh lies on full display for his feasting eyes.

His fucking holster…wrapped tight around your fucking thigh.

A disbelieving laugh at first – a She told me so, before he notices the indents in your skin, the stretched leather snug around your leg, riding higher than it should at the doing of your slumber.

Christ, baby, he breathes, stare glued to the folds of plaid hooked around the belt loop. Following the tatty hem down past your hip, along the underside of your ass – riding up some, right where your legs part.

And between them, all sheer and thin, twisted around itself and slipping between: your underwear. The threading of pubic hair peeking over the frilled hem of it; the sight filling Joel’s mouth with saliva.

A heavy heat forms in his jeans, an irritable weight which aches when he moves; which hardens when he pictures the image of you in his bed, his shirt, his holster wrapped around your thigh – playing with yourself while he’s been gone.

Fuck. Fuckin’…shit.

He lowers, running lips he knows are freezing cold along the burning surface of your skin, tongue slipping past his teeth to drag a wet trail along your thigh.

Your leg shifts under his touch, the startle of his chilled fingertips behind your knee, nuzzling of his nose where the holster sits smugly on your thigh. Smelling like leather and salt, the sticky sheen of sweat still glowing on your skin.

Joel takes your waist in two hands – he can’t fucking help himself, can he? – and turns you, patiently, watching as you roll onto your back so he can drag you further down the bed. Tongue flicking at the corners of his lips, thirsty for something he only wants you to feed him.

Slow, slowly. Every effort put into not waking you, to keeping you in this peachy haze between asleep and awake; your movements long and staggered, held firm against the mattress by the weight of your doze.

With a sigh, your jaw turns to one side. Joel pulls you in, kneeling at the edge of the bed with your socked feet resting on his shoulders. His shirt gathers around your waist; your hips and the thin twine of your underwear spotlighted by stripes of weakened sunlight spilling in through the blinds.

Oh, pretty bird, he groans, slipping his open palms under your ass, rough and squeezing the pillows of flesh in his hands. This all for me?

A moan wrapped in a hefty breath twists from your lips. Your knees fall limp; legs open almost eagerly, like your body inviting him in. And he accepts, takes it with eyes blown black and hungry lips parted – leans in and nestles his nose against the thrumming heartbeat pounding through your clit.

Such a good girl, he whispers, closing his lips in a kiss over your clothed mound, and your hips jolt.

You’re so fucking warm. So wet; sticky and so ready for him. He kisses your folds, suckling gently and letting his tongue dart along the inseam of your lips in flicking movements – collecting the taste of salt and feeling his cock throb against rough denim.

Off? he asks – you and the room and himself – fingers hooking around the underwear rolled on your hips.

When your back arches, body feeling the loss of his tender kiss, rolling like a wave seeking to crash against the steady rock form of his – he smirks to himself.

Joel nods. Off.

He takes his time peeling them from your body, watching as more and more of his paradise is revealed. The waves of your folds, the sheer glisten of arousal along them; the dark hair peppering either side as damp and slick as the skin beneath it.

Your panties drop from a hooked finger without a sound and he turns back, hovering over your waiting cunt with wide eyes and a slack jaw. Out front, voices call back and forth to one another – some neighborly greeting and affable conversation – but Joel doesn’t hear. Deafened to anything but the sound of your sighs and his own blood hammering through his ears.

It’s a little rushed, a tad rough, the way he presses his lips back to yours. The way his beard grazes against your most sensitive spot, and the gasp he swears he hears lift from your tongue.

But fuck, he’s missed this, the way he always does – without knowing, without actively thinking about it, without knowing it was even at home waiting for him. If his mind weren’t on an entirely different planet right now, he’d curse that goddamn chain link for holding him up, for keeping him away longer than thirty seconds from the sweet little angel resting in his bed, and the sweet little pussy between her legs.

He parts your thighs wider, tongue dipping lower and deeper as he laps at your core, almost fucking panting against it.

You squirm lazily beneath him, shoulders tensing and untensing, a half-limp wrist lifting to pet his hair and an attempt at his name between your lips. Joel, you whimper, thick with sleep and something more dangerous.

I know, baby, he’s telling you, I know, and his tongue slips inside again. His hips grind into the mattress, cock an agonizing stiff against the sturdy edge. He can feel the wet in his boxers, the precome sticking to the inside of the cotton.

Fuck, he wants to be inside you so badly, so desperately.

Another gasp sputters across your lips, cut short in your throat when his teeth bump against your clit.

Too hungry, too brash, he thinks. You’re too soft, too open for him to let it go to waste. Not like this.

He pulls back, a filthy thread of arousal and saliva between his open lips and yours, and places a sodden kiss to the inside of your thigh.

But you whine, you poor little thing – your head twisting to the other side, a second hand now blindly surfing across his shoulder, past the brush of his beard and sifting through his still-chilly hair. The loss of attention to your pussy aching between your legs; your hips lifting weakly to meet the scratch of his chin again.

And that same sound – that same Jo-oel – a sound like song, like saccharine dripping over his shoulders.

So, he lifts a hand – two middle fingers coming together to push open your cunt, instantly sliding in knuckle-deep. Sucked in by the wet mess left behind by his lips, stretching you out with slow, round movements.

You’re slowly stirring, blossoming from your sleep and turning slowly back into this world. The cold edges seeping in, the warm flush of pleasure sharpening at their meeting. He’d do anything, he thinks, to keep you here; keep you teetering on the edge, tangled up between your world and his.

J– oh, fu-uck, you whine, and he can tell you’re still blinkered by sleep. But you grind on him again – a long, languid movement which seems to spatter out at its end when the coarse hair of his beard catches against your clit.

The breath stops in your throat, punching out in a shuddered moan. Joel could come just from the sound of it.

You gonna give me one, baby girl? he pleads, forearms clamping down on the underside of your thighs. Desperate – desperate to feel you, hear you, taste you as you come undone. Just one.

You’re writhing around beneath him, as needy as he is. A winding which matches his, coiling at the bottom of your stomach; a feeling which pulls at the corners of your lips and shocks them into a smutty, half-conscious smile. Your eyes roll back, fluttering open and then snapping shut when the light floods in.

There, you say, clearest so far, movements the strongest he’s felt. Your fingers root in his hair, rough over his scalp. Keep – keep doin’ that.

Joel smiles against your mound; a cocky thing, emboldened by the sound of that little Texan twang, the curl of an accent which doesn’t belong to you. Rather, a result of your years spent with him, watching the way his mouth shapes the words, learning the low swing and swirling melody of his tongue.

As if he’s as alive within you as he is within himself; every little thing Joel knows is him, injected into your bloodstream – his dry wit, his blunt honesty, his thick fingers and his insatiable tongue.

He slips in a third, flicking them perfectly inside of you. Beckoning your release; tongue sitting in wait, a resting point for you to grind your clit against.

And he wants it as much as you do: wants to feel the clamping of your body around him, wants to taste the flood of your orgasm as it shocks through every bone in your body.

Wants to pull three soaked, pruned fingers from your pussy and slip them over your tongue, letting you clasp your fingers around his wrist; watching the half-dozing flutter of your eyelashes as you suckle on them and make those pretty little sounds for him.

Your hand knots tighter in his hair, pelvis circling steady against his suckling lips. He can smell it on you: smell the need seeping from your pores. The sleep spilling from the corners of your mouth, the happy whimpers and quiet cries for more, more, Joel, more.

And – Shit, he breathes against you, feeling a sudden rush of electricity he knows all too well between his hips. Not now, not now not before he’s been inside – Shit, baby, gotta let me go.

You whine in refusal – a petulant sound, all stubborn and greedy. ‘m so close, I –

Pretty bird, he groans, lifting his jaw. He places a messy kiss to the crease between your core and your thigh, wrist stammering with his sudden movements. You gotta – you gotta let go, you’re gonna make me come –

You’re echoing him, mumbling the words gonna, gonna come – fuck, Joel, ‘m gonna –

Shit.

Not – Fuck – not right n– Christ, baby girl, you’re gonna – you’re –

Your walls spasm, clamping and relaxing, squeezing around his huge fingers. But it’s not that – it’s not the gush of warm fluid which seeps from between your legs, coating his knuckles and dripping into his palm.

It’s not the arch of your back, the way your breasts lift to the ceiling and his shirt slips below one nipple. Not the way your head rolls back against the mattress, a broken moan tearing in shards from your throat.

No.

It’s the way your hands leave his hair in an instant, and grip around the leather on your thigh. Skin stretching thin over your knuckles, thumbs between the strap and your sticky skin; hips still riding out your high as you ground yourself, holding onto his holster.

And it makes Joel come. Hard.

Harder than he knew possible, grinding against a mattress and the inside of his fucking jeans.

He falls forward, breathing a guttural moan into the soft swell of your stomach below your navel, fingers hooking into the baggy shirt around your arms.

Shitshitshit, he pants, feeling the warm ejaculate spurt from his cock and all over the inside of his boxers. Oh, fuck, baby. Fuck me.

His hips shudder a few more times, pressing hard into the edge of the mattress before he’s coming down, slowing to a stop – still a leaden weight on your stomach. His cock almost painful, overstimulated and oversensitive.

But then – something gently tittering. A bird singing, cooing above his head. The ground beneath his temple shakes, tremors with laughter. The dust twinkles in the sunlight, now brighter, golden, streaming through the window.

You’re awake.

Joel drags his gaze upwards, bleary and glazed with sex, and catches your eye.

Feel good? you ask, sifting hair away from his damp forehead. When was the last time that happened? Fourteen?

I don’t wanna talk about it, he mumbles into your belly.

Your chest jumps, a laugh which echoes into Joel’s ear. Tastes that good, huh?

It takes a mighty effort for him to push up on his palms, slowly crawling up the length of your body until his elbows plant firm into the mattress either side of your head. He groans as he lowers his lips, parting them to let you slip your tongue inside.

The kiss is slow, tender. Your bodies melding together, teeth clacking and jaws moving in sync. A sharp taste, sweet with a singe of bitterness to it. Perfect, you think, smirking against Joel’s cool lips.

He pulls away, lips tickling the tip of your nose deliberately.

With a giggle, you push on his chest. You should shower. You smell like patrol.

Joel cocks an eyebrow. You comin’ in with me?

Nope. I got even more laundry to do now, old man.

He entertains the quip with a subtle smile, a thing which softens the creases on his face and lights a twinkle in his eyes. Quietly, genuinely, in a way which makes your heart ache a little, he whispers, Sorry I was workin’, pretty bird.

You shrug. ‘s okay. You made up for it. And – I found your holster. You lift your knee, letting the buckle shine in the sunlight.

You did that, Joel agrees, nodding and glancing down at the thing. He hooks a finger around the strap, giving it a little shake. Maybe I oughta lose it more often.

Hm, you shrug, or I can just keep it safe for ya. Looks good, don’t it?

He feigns a disappointed smile, a resigned sigh before he looks back up.

Better ‘n when I wear it, he admits, and his lips crash down to yours again.

[0mg-bird]

A Tornado Warning~ T. Owens x Fem! Reader

Summary: Domestic life with you isn’t something Tyler could ever get tired of when you’re practically his twin flame.

Warnings: Language, storms, smut 18+

A/n: Inspired by the Turnpike song above. Read as a part 2 to Sunrise.

Laid back in two cheap lawn chairs, both you and Lilly sit in bikinis and jean cut offs, tanning under the Arkansas sun. Sunglasses on, beers in hand, a small radio on the ground next to your feet, the afternoon was coming on just fine.

Inside, Dani is tinkering with something that makes her cuss every ten minutes. You tried to drag her out for some good ol’ sunny D but she fought you on it.

Bringing a cold Coors to your lips, you finish the last few drinks of it and crush the can, tossing it back into the little red cooler before turning the music up.

When the idea was originally brought up that the sum of you should just buy a house and make it the permanent wrangler camp, it was a big uncertainty. Then you came across the charming farm house and all of you were sold.

The barn was the designated research and tinker area, the camper trailer parked in the driveway was where Dexter stayed when he wasn’t home with his family. Other than that, Dani and Lilly shared the large downstairs room, Boone- who would sleep anywhere- finally has his own room upstairs. Tyler and you slept in the upstairs master room at the end of the hall, and to say the least, you were happy it wasn’t a crappy motel.

You still chased, but it wasn’t life on the road anymore. It was a real career now, not just a hobby job. Your crew was a main source of information to local tech businesses that develop advanced warning signals and bunkers. You raise money for cities hit, get hands on when you can.

The viewers love the vlogs.

You settled into the life well.

The rumble of an all too familiar truck doesn’t even make you open your eyes, not until your sunlight is blocked by the form of your boyfriend.

“What are y’all doin’?” Tyler asks with humor in his voice.

You and Lilly pull your sunglasses down to look at both him and Boone who had just gotten back from town.

“Trying to tan before your big head blocked our UV rays.” You answer smartly.

“Why are y’all oily?” Boone asks, swiping his finger down Lilly’s arm, making her smack him.

“It’s tanning oil.” She scoffs.

Boone wipes the grease on his shirt that says ‘Science Is Fun’. “You sit out here and fry like bacon for fun?” He asks.

“Boone, baby, anyone ever tell yuh it’s a good thing you’re pretty?” You ask, confusing him slightly.

“Whatever.” He shrugs and snags the last beer from the cooler.

That leaves Ty.

He wears a stupid smile at the bikini tied around you. It was apart of the new merch line, which meant it had his face printed all over it.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” You laugh, leaning your head back, missing the way Tyler pulls his phone out and does just that.

“What’s for supper?” He asks as you wipe sweat from your forehead.

“I don’t know, what’re you cookin’, good lookin’?” You ask, taking your glasses off and checking the time. You’ve been at it for about two and a half hours, it might be time to call it a day.

Tyler hums. “Cowboy chili?”

You frown.

“Burgers?”

You grin. “Great idea.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Go wash up and I’ll get it started.”

You stand, kissing him gently quickly. “You’re perfect. Keep acting like this and I might just marry you.” You tease with a wink.

He leans closer, briefly sniffing you. “You smell like coconuts and Coors Banquets.” He states with a smirk.

“I smell like your dream girl.” You state back, poking his chest before you collapse your chair and grab the speaker while Lilly grabs the cooler.

In the shower, washing oils from your skin and lathering your hair, you have a slight tingle in your gut. When you shut the water off and wrap a towel around you, you go to the window and open it up.

Out in the distance, big thunder heads are forming. You grin like a kid on Christmas and smell the air. It’s damp and tangy, rain should be falling in the next hour or so.

Walking into the connected bedroom, you dress in some shorts and one of Tyler’s college tees. It’s when you comb your hair that you look at the framed photos on the wall of the two of you. Rocky, the dog that is still alive and well, pushes open the cracked door and comes to hop on the bed.

“Did Ty kick you outa the kitchen, buddy?” You pout and scratch his head.

He too pouts and rolls over for you to rub his belly.

“Don’t worry kid, a storms coming, ain’t you excited?” You ask, obviously getting no response.

Trotting down the stairs, your phone buzzes in your hand with the first sever thunderstorm warning.

The weather report is on the living room tv where Boone and Dani sit. You sit on the arm of the chair where Boone is.

“Whatcha’ think about it, Tex?” Dani asks you.

You look at the patterns on the screen. “I’m thinkin’ we’ll get some high winds, maybe a barely registered EF1 at most, but the way the wind is shifting, I think it’ll hit back county roads and dissipate within ten minutes.”

Boone agrees with you. “I say we sit back and enjoy this one.”

“I’m with you there, buddy.” You smile, ruffling his hair before getting up.

You head into the kitchen where Tyler is seasoning the burger patties at the island counter. Your hand runs over his back as you pass behind him to assemble the rest of the things needed for a meal.

“Storm’s rollin’ in.” You say with a smile.

“That explains your good mood.” He chuckles, tossing a towel onto his shoulder.

You lay out burger buns and condiments. “I couldn’t ask for better weather, you know that.” You lightly giggle, opening up the pickle jar and eating one.

Tyler watches you with a look of affection, then kisses the top of your head. “Some might say you’re insane, darlin’.”

You finish up your original task. “Only partially.” You say, going to meet him at the grill on the covered deck outside.

He begins to cook up the burgers while you lean against the banister and look out at the cloud covered sky. A light rain is falling now, getting caught in your hair as it blows in.

Most would be inside to keep dry.

Not Tyler’s girl. No, he knows you’d stand in the flat plains and wait for the lighting to come down.

As he flips the patties, you come lean against his back, your cheek against the fabric of his button down as you take in the scent of him.

“You happy?” You ask, making him reach down and hold one of your hands.

“Like this? Yeah…” He says with a smirk. “But what would make me even happier…”

He guides your hand down past his buckle, and you scoff and pull away, slapping his shoulder as he laughs.

“You pig.” You shake your head. “I meant are you happy with life and how you’re living it.”

Tyler stacks the perfectly grilled burgers back onto the tray. “Of course I’m happy. I’m doing what I love, I have a place of my own and a bed that doesn’t creek. Then, I lay next to you at night and always end up between your legs. Life is great.”

You blush and take the tray from him. “Glad there isn’t anything you’d like to change.” You say, turning for the back door that goes into the kitchen.

“Well, I’d change the fact that the crew sleeps under our roof, but life isn’t fair.” He states, following after you.

“It’s their roof too, you can’t just kick ‘em out. What would Boone do without you tucking him into bed?” You snicker.

“Baby, I’d tell Boone to get lost in a heartbeat if it meant it’d just be you and me, doing it in every single room.” He whispers into your ear, causing you to laugh loudly and shove him back.

“Y’all come eat!” You call out loudly to the cree, then turn back to Tyler. “You behave yourself.”

He pulls the finger you point at him, and tucks you under his arm for a moment.

It’s common for relationships to get slow and boring after being together for a long while. Couples don’t try as hard, the spark isn’t the same.

Tyler can’t imagine that, not when you’re the kerosene to feed the flame. He’s so in love with you, he doesn’t even know a version of life where he doesn’t have the dynamic he has.

Gathered around the wood table, all of you chatter about various things. Lilly frowns as she drips barbecue sauce onto the shirt with your cartoon face on it.

Yet another merch item you designed.

It has the words ‘Tex Knows Her Tornados’ printed on it.

You give Rocky part of your burger and Tyler scolds you, saying you spoil him too much. You just glare and say that Rocky deserves some good food too.

Tyler thinks you’re ridiculous.

Country music is playing in the background as all of you move to the front porch, waiting for the sky to come falling down and watching data streams come in. The house is lit up orange with all the lights on, contrasting against the sky. The rain hits harder now, it’s cold as it blows in, making you curl into Tyler’s side.

“You ain’t gonna go dancing in it?” Boone asks you, camera pointed at your shaking frame.

“Hell naw, I’ll freeze my ass off.” You laugh. “How about you drag your pretty self out there? I’ll record you.”

As you reach for the camera, Boone pulls away and retreats.

Thunder shakes, the pang of the thick rain drops hitting the tin roof is almost its own song.

“Come on, Tex, before you get washed away.” Tyler pulls you back inside with the others.

The crew has a grand time with the music playing loudly and the way you have to yell over the storm. The shadow of you and Tyler two-stepping in the kitchen, moves around the walls like a painting.

You let yourself imagine life further as you follow Tyler’s lead. You’ve been with the crew for so long, would you stay with them forever? Would nights continue to look like this if you and Tyler were married? If you had a kid?

That’s a scary thought.

Marriage and babies.

He looks down at you know when he noticed you stopped giggling. “You tired?” He asks.

You simply nod along, not wanting to yell your thoughts out.

He pulls back, announcing that the two of you were going up to bed. They all shout goodnight and go back to what they were doing before, turning the music down a few notches out of curtesy.

You pass your passed out pup in his bed at the top of the stairs where he likes to guard things. He’s fat and happy, you don’t bother him.

All downstairs sounds are muffled as the bedroom door shuts. Tyler kicks off his boots and watches you pull the covers back on the bed. Shimmying out of your shorts, you fully intend on going to bed.

Tyler doesn’t like that idea.

“Do I dare ask what’s on your pretty mind?” He asks, unbuttoning his shirt and unbuckling his belt.

You sigh. “Just thinking about the next five years.”

He shakes his head in confusion. “Why?” He questions.

You just shrug and slide onto the soft mattress. “Why not?”

Once he’s in his boxers, he joins you. “Don’t think of the next five years when we don’t even know what we’re eating for breakfast come morning.” He smiles. Immediately, his hands are pulling you close, his lips are kissing yours smoothly. He pushes your hair out of your face before moving down to your jaw line and neck.

“What has gotten into you?” You laugh as he rolls you onto your back.

“What? Blame the weather.” He grins as he cages you in.

As he kisses you again, hands pushing your t shirt up, you smirk at the need he’s progressing with.

“The crew is still awake.” You remind.

“The storm’s so loud they won’t even know.” Tyler states, moving to kiss your stomach.

Your hands play with his hair, you lay back and listen to the storm crash over the house as he pulls your underwear off and dives between your thighs.

The subtle anxiety of what life can turn in to is gone now as the warm pleasure washes over you from his mouth perfectly against your core. Your head digs into the pillow, you’re biting your lip at the amount of stimulation coursing through you. You pant out, deciding that you weren’t going to be patient all night.

You drag him back up to you, becoming the needy one now. Your shirt is tossed onto the floor, soon accompanied by his boxers. Anywhere you can touch him, that’s where you do. Fingers gripping into his biceps as he pushes into you, you let out a gasp of relief, matching the one he gives.

“Fuck, this feels good.” You praise, hitching your knees up to lock his hips in, pushing him further into you.

As he completely bottoms out, Tyler lets his head drop onto your chest for a moment while he gathers himself. No matter how many time you two do this, it’s still a crazy good feeling.

He slowly kisses your chest, sucking over the curves of your breasts as he pulls almost all the way out, then sinks back into you swiftly.

Thunder cracks loudly, making you yelp in surprise, then laugh. He looks down at you in humor as he adjusts his pace, making it slow and sweet at first, then moving onto more demanding thrusts that make you moan out loudly. He’s trying to hit as deep as possible, but the way you’re holding him close to you is making it hard to focus.

The way your skin rubs against his makes him feel like he’s on fire.

One hand intertwines with yours and he lays it on the pillow, breathing hard as he thrusts against the walls clenching around him.

You squeeze his hand. “God, I love this.” You say with an open mouth.

He proudly smirks. “Yeah? You love when I fuck you so sweetly?”

You groan out. “I just love when you’re fucking me. Doesn’t matter how…or where.”

“Fuck.” He curses, his dick twitching inside of you. He’s stealing your breath for his own now, you think he might just inhale you if he could, given the way he devours your mouth.

His hips rut against you, the tip of him presses against a sensitive spot inside of you that makes your voice break.

“More.” You beg, letting go of his hand and sitting up.

In an instant, Tyler has you flipped onto your stomach, his hands pulling your ass to him. You look back at him as he slides back into your aching walls, softly whimpering as he hits differently.

He pulls your hair to one shoulder, then leans to kiss the bare skin as he drives into you.

You look to the window, the way rain pours down it.

He’s pulling you back to meet his deep thrusts, his head falls back as he gets lost in the feeling.

“You like it like this?” He asks, making you nod feverishly, voice getting raw from the way he’s drawing moans from you.

“Ty.” You call out, gripping the sheets with a smile as you feel your orgasm building

“Good girl, say my name.” He pants, grip tightening on your hips.

“Tyler.” You breathe, thighs beginning to shake.

He knows your body as well as he knows his own, he knows the way your lower lip quivers and the way you get pulses through you that you’re getting close.

He lets out a whine, a childish grunt when he determines he wants to see your face when you cum.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask, barely coherent.

He doesn’t answer with words, just pulls out of you and flips you back over so fast, your head spins. Within a second, he’s already back inside of you where he should be, grasping your thigh as he coaxes you further and further to your finish.

“I need to see you when you cum for me, sweetheart. I need it.” He pants, sucking at your neck, hitting all the spots he knows makes your throat go dry.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.” You heave, breathing hard into his hair.

Your toes curl, your hands getting a death grip on his skin. Tyler pulls back to gaze down at you, eyes lit up wide, knowing your orgasm is going to wreck you.

“Come on, cum for me, beautiful. I got you.” He soothes.

One hand on his bicep, the other on his jaw line, you try to ground yourself but the way you’re swept away is out of your control.

“Fuck, I’m so close.” He pants, voice gravely and raw.

Your eyes squeeze shut, the knot in your stomach tight as you finally fall over the edge.

“Ty!” You cry out, the waves of hot arousal finally washing over you.

He strokes your hair out of your face, so close to his own release but guiding you through your own.

You’re coming down with a sob, your bottom lip quivering and your chest heaving as he buries his face into the crook of your neck and fucks you through his own release.

Your head pounds at the overstimulation for a moment, but you’re coherent enough to whisper to him as he comes down from the high.

“I love you so much.” You remind, shaky hands smoothing his crazed hair.

Your swollen lips kiss the side of his head before he turns to meet with his.

“Shit.” He pants into your skin, slowly adjusting his weight on top of you.

Tyler wears the same smile you do, trying to get his muscles to stop buzzing before he slowly lifts off of you.

He looks down, watching as he slowly pulls out of you and sees the mess between your legs. He’s dripping down your thighs, and you’re whimpering that he’s not inside of you anymore.

Pressing a kiss to your knee, he promises to be back in just a second. He cleans himself up, then comes back from the bathroom with a warm washcloth.

Your arm lays over your wide eyes as he cleans the mess gently, the storm isn’t so violent now, it’s settled on a steady rain and softer thunder.

Ty helps you to the bathroom and back, then pulls the covers over the two of you back in bed.

Arm around his middle, head on his chest, you fall into a comfortable silence. His thumb rubs your shoulder, eyes about to shut from the way your warm hand moves to slide up and down his stomach. Then, your loss for words passes you and you’re back to being your normal self.

“You ever scared that you’ll get me pregnant?” You ask, making Tyler’s eyes snap back open.

“What?” He clears his throat.

“You ever scared that you’ll get me pregnant?” You repeat your words.

He tries to find an answer that won’t piss you off, but he isn’t sure what will and what won’t. You know his silence well, so you add onto the question.

“There’s no right or wrong answer, cowboy.”

Ty wraps his arm around a little tighter around your shoulders. “Yeah, sometimes. When we were on the road, I was terrified of it, actually.”

“Really?” You hum. “And what about now?”

He takes in a breath. “Now, I don’t really think about it…I mean, we aren’t doing a lot of things to prevent it.”

You laugh. “The pill thing isn’t important when you have life saving research to do.”

Tyler shakes his head at you. “It made you kind of moody anyway.”

You smack his chest, making him claim he was kidding.

“I guess I could ask you the same question.” He says. “You scared I’ll get you pregnant?”

You move your hand back to its original place on his stomach. “I really don’t know. I mean, we aren’t kids anymore so I guess it wouldn’t be horrible if it happened but…we’re just so busy.”

He agrees. “And we aren’t really married.”

You strain your neck to look at him. “Does that matter to you?”

He looks down at you. “Does it matter to you?”

You hold his gaze, then look away. “I don’t know that either…”

Silence between you, rain above you.

Tyler sighs, letting his thumbs motion on your skin continue despite your goosebumps. “I’m not scared of commitment if that’s what you’re wondering. You want me to marry you? We’ll go to the courthouse tomorrow. You want babies, I’ll give them to you. Anything you want, I promise I’ll give it to you.” He says in such a serious tone, you feel your throat start to swell and your eyes burn.

You smile then kiss his chest. “You’re sweet on me like a bear to a beehive.”

Tyler grins. “I still have no clue what’s coming out of your mouth.”

“That’s okay, cowboy, as long as you can understand me saying I love you, we’re fine.” You say softly.

And you two fall asleep like that, tangled up together. Any movement you make throughout the night, you don’t get too far before Tyler’s gripping you warmly and dragging you back to his skin.

Come morning, birds are singing praise and the wind is gentle. You wake on your side, facing him, legs tangled together. He looks like a puppy when he’s asleep, all calm and soft. The broken morning light paints him a warm golden color, you reach out and push his hair away gently. He stirs slightly, his eyes drag open to see you against a backdrop of a simple shade of blue.

The sky outside the window is clear, you’re looking at him with affection, he wouldn’t want anything else.

“Mornin’.” You smile.

“Good morning.” He says with sleep still in his voice.

[tasteracha]

the storm.

a/n: happy (early) birthday to my shining star xian @forlix i love you so much i ache with it. i love this universe you've created and i love your characters and your beautiful, beautiful mc that i'm so happy you've let me play with.

warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, teasing, pretty tame for me tbh! many big emotions. wc 2.7k. hurt/comfort sex between two people who love each other.

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader, she/her!reader, based off of xian's lovely crying lightning (you can read this as a stand alone but why would you? xian's fic is phenomenal. please read it.)

as beautiful and wonderful and kind and patient hyunjin is, it’s hard to forget sometimes that his general presence is still exceptionally infuriating sometimes. the days of your loneliness, before the two of you had finally come together into one woven cord instead of two strings dancing alongside one another, were all but a distant memory. overriding that was the smell of his skin in the morning, the glint in his eye when he catches yours across the cameras and fans, the warm weight of his hand steady on the small of your back, protective and possessive. all you knew now was the cracking of lightning across a stormy sky, raindrops hitting your face in a welcome intrusion to your mundane day to day. 

the all expanse of the storm did its job well of making you forget that sometimes the raindrops were irritating, too. 

they came in the form of him opening one eye slowly as you tried to swipe shadow across his lid, upsetting your plan and making you double back once you’ve scolded him; the air moving around you as he walks away from you after teasing you one too many times; the sound of his laugh when he’s behind the camera of someone, making eyes at the lens that should have been reserved for you only. each one was a piercing cold drop of water to your face, piercing as they fall and sliding down to form a puddle at your feet. 

it didn’t escape your notice that you weren’t upset at him, really; it wasn’t his fault that you were spiteful. even thinking the word makes you shiver in disgust - this isn’t you. you had never been one to let your feelings affect your actions, you selfishly prided yourself in your ability to compartmentalize, but he had this hold on you that made you experience things you never thought were possible. 

he, of course, finds the entire show encompassingly amusing. you could see the mirth in his eyes from across the room when he meets yours, recognize your own expression in them like a mirror and it made your scowl deepen in it’s permanence. you almost wish for the time when he didn’t know of your affection for him; the surety in his step when he makes you frown is maddening, overshadowed by the smugness he holds in knowing he could make you smile with greater ease. let it be known that you didn’t lack in confidence - your spine is stood high, head held with authority and feet planted firmly on the floor. envy wasn’t something that ever crawled up your legs like ivy over an ancient grecian statue. jealousy, even, seemed too harsh a sentence for your current charge. to put it simply, you were annoyed. 

he knows this, of course. he knows you, inside and out, and on your best days it’s a rare gift that you treasure, hidden away in the deepest corners of the closet that is your heart. on your worst days it’s utterly terrifying, the feeling of being laid out to shrivel in the sun with no chance of respite. and wasn’t it ironic that the one thing that made you feel this way was the one that cured you too?

it’s with an embarrassing amount of pleasure that you remind yourself that you are the one he goes home with, at the end of the day. you’re cleaning up your station and you hear his laugh in the background, not directed at you but ringing like sweet bells nonetheless. every brush that returns home into your kit, every lip product that gets swiped into a bag, every charcoal pencil is the ticking of time that needs to pass before he is yours again. simply yours, not belonging to the cameras or the managers or the staff whose stare linger on him for longer than they should be allowed to. 

you knew where your talents were - in your art, your ability to read people, your creativity and your drive for perfection. these uncharted waters were not in your skillset, but as hyunjin stalks across the room to reunite with you after what seemed like hours, you took a moment to be grateful that it seemed to be in his. putting yourself in someone else’s hands, feeling the level of trust that you had for him, sent a tingle up your spine, but if anyone was going to take care of you it was him; the thought soothes you like a balm, not enough to be permanent but enough to get you by for now.

“missed me that much?” he crowds into your space to press a light kiss to your hairline, expertly moving his body so that no one could see. “i’ve only been shooting for an hour.”

“keep talking and you’ll get shot,” you mutter, ignoring the heat that rises up to your cheeks as you turn from him to gather your things, aching to be home and in his arms and away from prying stares. his heat is still pressed up against your back, standing as close as he could while still letting you move freely. as much as you want to drag him into some secluded hallway and refamiliarise yourself with the taste of his skin, you had to pull out your endless supply of restraint. getting caught with your hand down his pants in a building that you frequented often was not an outcome that you wished to experience, at least not today. 

his hand is warm on the small of your back as he walks you out a series of doors and stairs to the parking garage, the sound of your shoes bouncing off of the walls a bit jarring. 

“you looked nice today,” you tell him, honest, as he slides into the passenger seat of your car. the worn seats smell like his cologne and his old bracelet hangs from the rearview mirror - god, even your car was reminding you of how much of your life he encompassed - not that you were complaining about that. 

“that was all you,” pride drips from his voice and you catch his soft gaze when you turn to look behind you so you could back out of your parking spot. 

“i may have helped, but it’s still your face,” you counter, hand busy on the gear shift, as eager as your heart was to finally get home. 

“if i didn’t know you, i would have thought you were obsessed with me,” he says, the biting tease dripping off his tongue like citrus. “with the way you were staring at me, back there.”

“i’ll make you walk home,” you tighten your grip on the steering wheel despite the threat being empty. he knows which threads to tug on without unraveling you, playing you with his words like it was muscle memory. 

“you’d make me walk?” he gasps theatrically, pressing his palm to his chest and fluttering his eyes at you. “what if i get kidnapped, or mugged? how would you live with yourself?”

“you’re an idiot,” you deadpan, cursing the betraying fondness that rises up in you. 

“your idiot,” he grins stupidly, settling his hand on your thigh as he watches the streetlights shine across your face as you drive. his touch is scalding, long fingers pressing into your very nerves and leaving them flayed out. 

“yeah, remember that,” you retort, and you hope he thinks you mean the idiot part. 

the remainder of the short drive home was spent in comfortable silence, hyunjin tapping away on his phone with his free hand as you speeded down the freeway. when you park you let out a sigh and your keys jangle in melancholy along with you when you take them out of the ignition. hyunjin presses his fingers into your thigh in a final squeeze before he exits the car, long legs carrying him over to your door before you could blink to open it for you. 

walking up the stairs to your third story apartment never felt more relaxing, the breath they stole from you a necessary tax to pay to enter the comfort of your own walls. 

you pull him to the bedroom as soon as you walk through the front door, dropping your things in the foyer with as much care as you could muster. 

it takes you a couple of seconds to push him to sit up against the headboard, a couple more for him to complain about it, and less than that for you to climb into his lap and press a searing kiss to his lips. 

he opens himself to you, open mouth curved into a smile as you lick into it. you taste the coffee you had made for him this morning, the croissant he had eaten during a break, the gloss that you had carefully dabbed across his plush lips. 

you want him, no one else could have him. how could you feel this much possessiveness over someone you already hold as yours?

his hands circle your waist and his thumbs press into your skin, holding you against him even as you pull away from him. his lips are left glistening red and he looks up at you with a kind of reverence that you don’t think you’ll ever get used to. 

“slow, angel,” he moves his thumbs in slow circles. “i’m not going anywhere.” 

“hyune,” you gasp, going lax against him. you’re far too drained to pretend that your entire body didn’t ache for him. “need you.”

“i know,” he shushes you, trailing his fingers up and down your spine. he loves to tease but he’d never do so at your expense; he must sense that your emotional turmoil is bubbling into the direction of a vortex. “you have me. take what you need, baby.”

the reminder that he was yours, though wholly unneeded, sounds so sweet to your ears. your fingers slide up his chest, twisting into the button at his collar and popping it open with practiced ease. you peel the panels of material off of him to expose his sun-kissed skin, abdominal muscles tensing with how he’s holding back from jerking up into your lap. 

“what does my baby want, hmm?” he says, voice catching when your hands slide over his chest and brush over his nipples. he groans when you roll one between your fingers and the sound of it makes your heart soar.

“i want you to shut up and take your pants off,” you back off of him to rid yourself of your own clothes, folding them into a neat little pile at the foot of the bed. he shows no such care for his own, kicking off his pants and boxers throwing them along with his shirt across the room. his hungry eyes stay on you the whole time, shining with excitement as if it was the first time he was witnessing you undress.

you climb back over him as fast as humanly possible, the feeling of his bare skin against yours like an eternal gift. you grind down against him, his rapidly hardening cock sliding between your folds and his head catching against your clit. you’re wet, of course you are; you have been since his hand was on your thigh on the car ride home you moan and duck your head, a little embarrassed by how affected you are by such a simple motion.

he braces himself on his elbow as other hand moves to your hairline, brushing a few strands back behind your ear on it’s path towards cupping the back of your neck. he moves closer, lips so close to yours that you can almost taste them again, but before they meet you’re feeling the earth’s weight shift and your own balance break. 

“i want to take care of you,” he explains when you look up at him in a daze, dizzy from how quickly he had flipped you underneath him. “let me?”

“i thought i told you to shut up,” you were breathless but the permission still rang true under your words. you’d let him do whatever he wanted, how could you deny such a sweet request?

he grins something wicked as one of his hands slides down your chest towards your lower belly. his fingers part your folds easily and you feel so exposed even though he wasn’t looking. he decidedly keeps his mouth shut even as whines begin to spill from your lips, your eyes fluttering closed as a familiar burning sensation starts to take over your body. 

he alternates between rubbing gentle circles into your clit and teasing his fingers at your entrance, so close to dipping inside but not quite. he ducks his head to mouth at your neck, sucking a constellation of marks into your skin until you’re panting into his hair and shaking apart in your orgasm. 

he gives you a moment to recover, waiting patiently until you open your eyes to see his fond smile aimed at you. 

“what’s that look for?” the snark is completely absent in your voice post-orgasm, and it almost comes out dreamy. 

“i can’t even look at you now?” he breaks his unspoken vow of silence to ask. “i can’t help myself. i have the most gorgeous person walking this earth underneath me, looking at you is the tamest thing i can do to you.”

the blood returns to your cheeks as you take in his words. you don’t respond because you didn’t know how; what could you even say to that? he doesn’t seem to mind as he moves impossibly closer to you, leaning a bit of his weight against you. it’s not too much, just enough that you could feel his chest moving with his breaths. he lines his cock up to your entrance, his hips flush against yours as he slowly pushes in. 

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding when he enters you fully, every inch settling your frustration as it flows out of you along with the air in your lungs. this feeling was worth all of it, the early mornings and the onlookers and the sharing of him when all you wanted to do was lock him away for you and you alone.

he loves you. he was so in love with you that it poured out of his very being, in his gentle touch and the slide of his lips against yours and the slide of his cock against your walls. each drag of his hips sends burning pleasure up your spine, licking flames against your vertebrae until you can’t move. 

you’re so drunk on him that you lose track of time, all of your senses falling away until hyunjin is the only thing you can feel, see, touch. you lose your words, unintelligible syllables trying to shape his name falling from your lips, pressed against the skin of his neck and floating to his ears in a sweet symphony. 

it isn’t long before you’re falling apart underneath him, electricity crackling between you as fucks you through your orgasm. he gathers you in his arms as he tumbles over the edge after you, folding himself over you so he can kiss you, and you don’t realize that you were crying until his cheeks come back glistening with salty water. 

“god, i love you,” and to this day it still feels like a heavy declaration, the words never diminishing their weight despite the number of times they’ve fallen off of his tongue. “you are everything to me.”

“hyunjin,” is all you can say, but you know he reads between the curved letters of his name. i love you too, you mean the world to me, what would i be without you. 

he cares for you like the cracked piece of porcelain that you are, light fingertips tracing along the tear tracks on your cheeks that move to turn you on your side so you could smush yourself into his chest. your hand rests right above his heart, and if you looked close enough you could see the static sparks of electricity that connect the two of you together. 

[luvtak]

be my valentine, hhj x reader

✧ genre/tw brain melting fluff, just a little moment of being in love with hyunjin and accidently getting covered in paint, kissing, petnames, unedited.

✧ w/c 1156

✧ a/n ginger write something other than fluff challenged: failed. i wrote this inspired by the song valentine by inhaler and the way it makes me feel as well as the fact that hyunie deserves to have a very sweet love story <3 i hope you like it!!

Looking at him was as painful as the song’s he chose: he was so bright and incandescent that even in small domestic moments like this one,  filled your life with an almost harmful glow. Like a star, he was burning fast and bright and sometimes it felt like he would burn right through you. 

He was gorgeous and funny, and he was all yours. 

It’s an interesting thought, the fact that this independent and lone star would see you and pick you out of a million souls. An unforgettable moment, the way his eyes glanced down at you when he asked to dance–sultry and cool, and unbelievably sweet. 

He looks a bit like that now; paint covering his lifted hands, sweeping over the plains of his cheek to swipe the dark hair out of his eyes. Glancing at you over his painting, a work in progress you were not allowed to see–a valentines present, he said. The look gleaming off him pressed an ache right into your tummy.

 Gazing at him always felt like a gut punch; A tornado of butterflies reaching from his outstretched hands right into your middle. 

The music playing from his phone is melancholy, a slight betrayal to the smile eclipsing his lovely face. As it plays, he sings along, following the woeful melody with that out of place grin. 

“Hyunie, why are you always listening to such sad songs?” it’s a question you’ve asked a hundred times, and always received a different answer, but this time he only shrugs. You know it's hard for him to respond when he’s painting–focused only on the glide of his brush and the mixing of colors. Reds, blues, greens, etc. shades ranging everywhere from chartreuse to periwinkle, mixing and matching with a wave of his hand. 

“Sad songs are only sad if you are,” he answers late. “Like this one, only the melody is sad, the rest is happy.” 

You try to listen closer, see the music from his eyes, but ultimately the ballad still feels melancholy. Lilting notes piling on top of each other and easing the words, it reminds you of him… the graceful way it speeds up and slows down ; passionate and intimate, beautiful and sad. 

Being unable to admit this to him, you smile, the kind of smile that turns Hyunjin’s knees to jelly and stomach to storms. Secretly, he loves you the most this way: cozy and undone. He has sketches piled up of these moments, you with a book/you cloud watching/laughing with your friends. He adores you, even if he can tell that you don’t like his songs, that you think they’re too sad and wilty. You’re a crescendo of a person, loud and certain, and the music you like follows that. But he can’t help but love you more for listening to him, cuddled up on that tiny chair (surely uncomfortable) just so he can have a bit of company. 

“You look so pretty over there, sweetheart.” Shocked by the shift in his tone you release a nervous giggle and you can feel yourself beginning to warm up. Not like this is unusual behavior for your boyfriend–he’s romantic and glaringly in love with you always, but something about the environment… this tiny room, this beautiful boy (hair pushed back, smile blazing) sends shivers down your spine. 

Laughing, he sets his paintbrush down and wipes his paint-stricken hands off before moving closer. Only taking four steps before he’s in front of you, hands going to your face, hovering gently over the skin of your cheekbones. He never presses down, afraid to dirty your skin with the still green paint on his palms, but the way he’s looking at you gives the illusion that he’s touching you. Raking over your features like a starving man in a desert, lifting from your lips back up to your wide eyes. 

He’s consuming you and yet he’s done nothing. 

You can feel the heat of him, warm palms heating your face almost as much as your nerves. You’ve been together so long now, spent days and months and years becoming intimately aware of his body heat, yet you still feel that familiar shyness creeping up–leading to you biting the side of cheek in hopes of lessening the nerves. 

It’s only when he sees this, you so flustered in front of him, that his hands settle over the side of your jaw. Protective and gentle in his hold, and his crescent shaped eyes smiling at you. Calloused fingers rubbing down your neck, slowly to ease your butterflies. 

“I have them too.” he whispers, and your hands come to his chest, sitting where you know his heart is; beating quicker than you thought possible. How is it that you’re both so nervous? You’ve loved and lost together, know each other more intimately than anyone before, and yet just the sight of him conjures up the nastiest case of jitters. “Gimme a kiss, my love.” He giggled. 

You kiss him once, twice, then three times–kisses that are barely there, mostly just smiles pressed together, lips slightly entwined before releasing–until his hands snake around your waist and pull you closer. Your bodies held against each other like magnets, so close and yet never close enough. He kisses you slowly this time, taking control and easing you into it, lips lingering on yours before moving. Like all things, his kiss is sweet, and he tastes like the dessert you shared earlier: sugary and tart. 

When you move away, foreheads pressed together and lungs heaving, his eyes are still closed. And for one moment you can truly see what you do to him–leaving him breathless and rosy. When his eyes open, hazy and lovestruck, you can’t help but to tell him: 

“Hyunjin, you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” your voice is hoarse, heart racing inside your chest and you love him. You love him so much you can’t be mad about that paint on your skin, or the uncomfortable itch of his hair scratching your cheeks. 

In response he takes your hand from his shoulder and kisses your palm, right over your love line. High and close to your pinky, you read once that meant you’d have an intense and passionate relationship… maybe it was silly, but you can’t help thinking it must be true, and what a wonderful thought that is. That from the minute you were born you were destined for him; meant to grow up and meet him, to love and be loved in the truest fashion. 

You hope it’s true. 

He kisses you again before going back to his painting, shyly laughing at the sight of you disheveled and covered in paint. He locks in again, focused on colors and shapes, and looks at you one more time, cuddled up and still reeling from the affection, and smiles brighter than any star as he tells you, 

“You’re the most beautiful too.” 

© LUVTAK

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Sweet Redemption

Title: Sweet Redemption

Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI

Pairing: Dennis Baker x Female!Reader

Word Count: 5.5K

Summary: You move into the neighborhood and meet Dennis Baker, a man in the middle of a divorce. Trying to keep yourself honest, you keep him at a distance. But you're drawn together after a mishap online. Will it end sweetly or on a sour note?

Warnings: ending of a marriage due to infidelity, nosy neighbors, slight social media stalking, alcohol consumption, premature ejaculation, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected p-in-v sex, creampie, hyperspermia, mention of bodily fluids

Beta: @peyton-warren

A/N: This all started as a dream, and no it wasn’t like a Stephanie Meyer situation. More like, I dreamt of Dennis cumming in his pants from getting too excited and then 5,000+ words fell out of my fingers. So, enjoy!!

Dividers by me

Support/Reblog banner by me

Cover Art by me

My Masterlist

It’s been the talk of the neighborhood. Mrs. Baker was moving out of the house she shared with Mr. Baker, and it was quite a messy ordeal. It was the stuff of trashy romance novels, but here it was in real life. The worst part was trying to sympathize with Mr. Baker losing his marriage. Of course, this was a sad thing, and you understood that he was distraught. But, ever since last summer at the neighborhood block party, you had been falling for Mr. ‘Please, call me Dennis’ Baker. 

You had just moved in and were excited to get out and meet your new neighbors. You met most of the cul-de-sac the day you moved in. But the Bakers seemed to keep to themselves, for the most part. 

At the block party, you made baked goods for everyone to enjoy. The first person to come and try your lemon bars was Mr. Baker. He stormed out of his house a few moments prior, and you tried to keep your eyes to yourself, but you couldn’t help but watch as he charged to a cooler holding beer and pulled out a fresh bottle. 

Using his shirt to cover the cap before he twisted it, you got a sneak peek of his washboard abs and happy trail. Tossing the bottle cap back into the cooler, he took a long pull of the hoppy liquid, swiping the bottle across his forehead to cool himself down. He took off his glasses to wipe off the sweat on his brow and put them back on, surveying the cul-de-sac.

As soon as he saw you, he seemed to be transfixed. He walked over to your lawn, where you had set up a little table with your lemon bars and some fresh, ice-cold lemonade. He reached over the table, offering his large hand for a handshake, and you loved having your hand in his, even if only for a moment. His grip was firm, and his smile was wide.

“You just moved in, yeah? I’m Dennis Baker. Welcome to the neighborhood,” he bantered, his gemstone-blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight.

“Thank you, Mr. Baker,” you mumbled, adding your name at the end.

“Nice to meet you. And please, call me Dennis,” he encouraged, looking down at the treats between you. “Lemon bars are my favorite.”

You lift the tray so he can take one. “Try one before Mrs. Johnson brings her grandkids over and there are none left,” you insisted, nodding to where the older woman was wrangling the kids.

He laughed, the sound tickling your eardrums. “I think you’re right, they look ravenous,” he joked, picking up one of the bars between his fingers and biting into the sweet yet tart delight. 

His eyes closed, a sinful moan escaping his lips as he finished. He sucked on his thumb and forefinger to get every last morsel of the delicacy, but a crumb stayed behind on his plump, pink lips.

You grabbed a napkin, and before you knew what you were doing, you dabbed at his lip to wipe away the offensive piece of shortbread crust. You froze, your hand gripping the napkin so close to his succulent mouth, ready to apologize for treating him like a messy child. But he saves you from your embarrassment.

“I swear, I am such a mess. My wife will tell you the same damn thing, I'm sure," he lamented, a nervous chuckle on his lips as he took the napkin from your hand and wiped his mouth.

“Dennis!” His wife stands outside their front door with her hands on her hips. Her ash blonde waves reflected the sunlight, but the fire in her eyes made you want to be swallowed up into the earth. 

“Speak of the devil, and she shall appear,” he mumbles lowly, just loud enough for you to catch what he said. “Um, thanks for the, uh, lemon bar. I’ll see you around, I guess.” He smiles at you, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you immediately feel the urge to wrap your arms around him and tell him that everything will be ok.

Instead, you smile back politely and give a little wave. You watch him until he turns around to walk back to his house, busying yourself with pouring a cup of lemonade. You gulped the drink in one go, trying to soothe your suddenly dry mouth, when Mrs. Johnson walked over.

“Alright, kids. Take one lemon bar and go sit down in the shade, ok?” One by one, the three youngsters take a napkin and a lemon bar, and you pour each a glass of lemonade. Once they have their snacks, they walk back to sit under the shade of a tree. You almost forgot Mrs. Johnson was still there until she cleared her throat. “So, I see you met Mr. Baker. Easy with that one, honey.”

“I’m sorry?” you asked, knowing damn well what she meant.

“He’s married, child. Unhappily, but still very much married,” she began, shaking her head as she watched Dennis’ retreating form enter his front door. When she turned back around, she looked you right in the eyes and started to whisper. “Now, you didn’t hear this from me. But word on the street is they’re in the middle of a divorce because of infidelity. That hussy went and got mixed up with the pool boy, and poor Dennis was the last to know, of course. And I don’t mean to lecture you on who you should be drooling over, but I can’t help wanting to make sure you know what you are getting into, baby.”

“I’m not—I wasn’t drooling. We barely even spoke,” you stuttered, shaking your head.

“Mhm, okay. Just try your best to wait for the ink to dry on that divorce decree, alright?” She patted your hand that lay on the table, then walked back to her grandchildren.

‘Well, that was fun,’ you thought to yourself. You poured yourself another lemonade, took a sip, and peeked over the top of the cup to see the blinds closing quickly in the front window of the Baker house. Your heart fluttered in your chest, and you packed up your small table to take everything back inside. 

Over the last year, you heeded Mrs. Johnson’s warning and managed to keep Dennis at arm’s length. You greeted each other when you happened to check the mailbox at the same time, exchanged recipes when you bumped into one another at the grocery store, and even commented on the other’s social media posts. 

Speaking of social media, you noticed when Dennis cropped his wife out of a few photos. You hated to admit it, but you stalked his page more than once. It became a habit of yours to scroll through his posts now and then. He usually reposted articles about creative writing workshops and local beer tastings. You watched the evolution of his life from a man divorcing his wife to a man who looked forward to the future.

One night, while enjoying a glass of wine, you open your laptop and begin scrolling through your feed. You find yourself clicking on an article about online dating and pushing past the fear of putting yourself out there. As you reach the end of the piece, you click the thumbs-up button and are shown other names of friends who also liked it. And that’s when you see it.

‘Dennis Baker also liked this.’ 

So, it looked like Dennis was ready to move on. You chew your lip, thinking a million things all at once. You click out of the article and resume scrolling for the night. 

After about a half hour, you get up to refresh your chardonnay. As you pour a healthy glass, you hear a ‘ding’ come from your laptop. Returning to the couch, you set down your glass and pick up the computer. 

You search the screen for what could have made that sound, and you spot a notification in the corner. Clicking it reveals a pop-up that says, ‘Dennis Baker liked your photo.’. Clicking it again, you are shown the photo in question. It’s a selfie you took about three weeks ago when you and a few friends went to the beach. You smile at the camera lens and show off your skimpy two-piece bathing suit as you lay on a lounger.

This man liked your thirst trap from three weeks ago, at 10:36 pm on a Thursday. It could be a fluke, but it could be that this man stalks your page as well. You don’t have the chance to ponder it in-depth because you are startled by another ‘ding’.

This time, there is an alert from the Messenger app. 

‘You have a new message from Dennis Baker.’

You waste no time clicking the notification and are brought to the web-based messenger. 

Hey, what are the chances that my liking your photo just now isn’t creepy??

Not creepy at all 😉

Just unexpected

Then again, it is a thirst trap, guess it worked lol

Oh, it definitely worked 😁

And by that, I mean you take great selfies

You looked beautiful, I mean

I am shit at this, I’m sorry

You wish you could reach through the computer screen and cradle his face in your hands and tell him that everything is fine. But instead, you gush over him calling you beautiful, and try to lighten the mood.

No apologies necessary

And thank you for the compliment 😉

What are you up to tonight?

Besides flattering me ☺️

I was just taking a break from writing

Have a deadline coming up and my mind is a mess

Saw you were online, so I figured ‘why not’

Still getting used to a quiet house

I’m sorry

You have nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart

That responsibility belongs to my ex-wife

But enough about her, what are you doing up so late?

Just enjoying some wine 😉

And I also don’t like the quiet all the time

Sometimes you just want a body next to you

The chardonnay gave you some liquid courage, allowing you to say what you think.

I doubt that was an invitation

But

If you wanted, I wouldn’t mind the company

You could relax and have some wine

And I could get some writing done

Totally up to you

I would love the company as well

I’m sure Mrs. Johnson and the other old bitties would talk about us though

Let them talk, doesn’t bother me one bit

Mrs. Johnson doesn’t scare me

And either way, it’s our business

Not hers

Not that we have business

I’m shutting up now

‘A man this wonderful should never have to feel like he isn’t allowed to express himself,’ you thought to yourself. Plus, you know you wouldn’t exactly mind it if you and he did have some ‘business’.

I know what you mean

You don’t have to shut up lol

But I think I might go to bed in a bit

Yeah it is getting late

Do you want to exchange numbers?

No pressure, of course

Just figured it would be easier than this

Yeah that sounds great

You exchange numbers and smile at your phone before saving his contact and returning to your online chat.

Well, good luck writing

And don’t stay up too late 😉

I’ll try my best

Good night, sweetheart 😁

Good night, Dennis

You close your laptop and gulp down the rest of your wine. Well, so much for keeping him at arm’s length.

Throughout the next week, you and Dennis send texts back and forth from morning to midnight. You find out you have similar interests in movies and humor, but you differ in music and food tastes. Both of you love horror films and John Mulaney stand-up. You enjoy any music you could dance to and trying interesting new foods, while he likes easy listening and “nothing too spicy”.

Good morning and good night texts sandwich your other messages that range from fascinating to mundane. If you were honest with yourself, there were moments where you wish the texts would get a bit spicier. You didn’t want to force him into a conversation he wasn’t ready to have. Also, you didn’t want to assume he would ever want to have a conversation like that.

You invited Dennis over on Friday night; neither of you had plans, and you were feeling a bit on the lonely side since your friends all had significant others to hang out with. You get home from work, take a shower, and change into some comfy loungewear. 

Just as you are finishing your dinner dishes, you get a text from Dennis asking if he can head over. After sending a quick text to the affirmative, you set your phone on the counter. You’re drying your wine glass from dinner when your doorbell rings. You hang up your dish towel and go to answer the door.

You check your appearance in the mirror in the foyer and are pleased with yourself. Opening the door, you are greeted by a smiling Dennis who holds his laptop case in one hand and a bottle of your favorite red blend in the other. More wine!You step aside to let him into your house and note that he looks relaxed for once.

“I picked this up for you. I remember you saying that you liked it,” he says, giving you the bottle once he is in your living room. The self-satisfied smile on his face does nothing to quell the fire between your legs.

“Thank you, Dennis,” you beam, taking the bottle in one hand while the other squeezes his bicep. You’re surprised when he flexes under your grip, biting your lip and rushing to the kitchen to open the bottle.

“No problem, sweetheart. Mind if I get set up here on the couch?” He inquires, already sitting down and taking out his laptop.

“Yeah, that’s perfect. There’s an outlet for your charger on the wall next to the—”

“I got it!” He interjects, cutting you off and plugging in his charger. He sits again and starts to boot up his laptop, looking over at you and noticing you are having trouble opening the wine. 

He walks over to you, taking the bottle and corkscrew from your hands after wordlessly offering help. Effortlessly, he pops the cork on the bottle and pours you a healthy glass. You accept the wine, take a sip, and thank him for his help.

“Next time, just say that you need help. I’m not gonna think any less of you, sweetheart,” he reassures, smiling and rubbing a hand down your arm. 

You stand there looking up at him, wishing you weren’t intimidated by this normally unassuming man. Clearing your throat, you find your voice. 

“Come on, you told me you were gonna read me some of what you’re writing,” you probe, nodding to the couch.

“That’s right, I did say that,” he snorts, running a hand through his hair and walking back to the living room. “But, remember, I’m no Shakespeare. So, don’t expect this to be—”

“Dennis?” You cut him off, your hand going to his solid shoulder.

“Yeah?” His soft, aquamarine orbs move to you.

“Shut up and show me your work,” you insist, dropping your hand from his arm so you don’t accidentally ruffle his hair. He’s so cute when he’s pathetic and down on himself, but you would never tell him that. 

That nervous laugh of his is your absolute favorite; it never disappoints. 

“Alright, um, this one I’m working on is about the new brewery that opened up on Main Street a few months ago. It’s owned by this guy who used to own another brewery with friends, but one day he just decided to open this place. Anyway, uh, I’ll start here,” he begins, adjusting his glasses on his face.

Dennis launches into a tale about a brewmaster who decides to follow his dream of being the sole owner of a brewery, leaving behind his skeptical friends and doubtful family. Against all odds, he was able to find a building that was available for purchase in his budget. Along with help from a friend who was an interior designer, he created an inviting space where people could not only come to have a drink but also learn about the brewing process.

The way he wrote about the owner’s friends and family not believing in him sounded like he knew what it was like to be doubted, to be second-guessed. You sip from your glass while Dennis reads aloud, and you study him. 

He fidgets while he speaks, fingers smoothing over the keys until he uses the trackpad to scroll down to the next paragraph. While he scrolls, his tongue pokes out of his mouth to moisten his bottom lip. Now and then, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

He ends the story with some flowery words about overcoming odds, trusting your gut, and being your own biggest motivator. Had those words come from anyone else, you wouldn’t have believed them. But because you know what Dennis has gone through and have seen with your own eyes how he has persevered, you are drawn in by the words like a moth to a flame.

“So, come on. What is your honest opinion? I promise I won’t be offended,” he sighs, expecting the worst.

You’re unsure if you are drunk from the good wine or moved by his words. But instead of trying to figure it out, you drain your glass and set it on the coffee table. You then turn to Dennis and move his laptop to the coffee table as well; all the while he furrows his brow and waits to see what you’re up to.

You get up on your knees, move Dennis' clammy hands away from nervously rubbing his thighs, and climb onto his lap. His eyes widen, and you can tell he doesn’t know what to do as you invade his space. When you settle in straddling his legs, your hands go to his chest. You’re not surprised when firm pecs greet your palms or when a bulge twitches under your ass.

“Dennis, you are an amazing writer. I was hooked from the first sentence. I can tell how passionate you are about writing. Makes me wonder if you’re passionate like that in other areas,” you confess, licking your wine-stained lips and sliding your hands from his chest to rest on his shoulders.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows deeply before speaking. “Th—thank you, sweetheart. I mean, it’s just a puff piece I was working on. You should see what Nathan comes up with; he’s already a junior editor, and—”

“Dennis?” You cut him off, covering his mouth with your forefinger in a ‘shhh’ gesture. “With all due respect, I don’t care what Nathan does. I’m complimenting you, and you will accept it. When I move my finger from your lips, you will say, ‘Thank you’ and we will move on, ok?”

He nods quickly, his glasses sliding down his nose a bit. You remove your finger from his lips and adjust his glasses for him. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his hands at his sides and aching to touch you.

“Good boy,” you tease, biting your lip in a devilish grin. You notice his breathing quicken. And was that a whimper? A pink hue dusts his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and you realize he’s very much turned on. You are so mesmerized by how hot he looks that you are rendered speechless, allowing Dennis to take it the wrong way.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean—”

This time, you cut off his words with a kiss. As soon as your mouths touch, you feel a slight flutter in your chest. It’s just a brush of lips, a fleeting second where you throw caution to the wind. But you’re convinced this is just the beginning.

Leaning back, you look into Dennis’ eyes. Searching for what, you don’t know. He lets out a breath, saying nothing while his hands remain at his sides. The moment stretches long enough that you begin to think that you fucked up.

You tremble, afraid that you may have crossed a line. “Fuck, I’m so sor—”

Now, it’s your turn to get cut off. His large hand raises to touch your cheek, his thumb on your lips. “Sweetheart, you have nothing to be sorry for. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, since that day at the block party. I can’t believe that you want me, too.”

Instead of responding, your hand grips his wrist, and you open your mouth to take the tip of his thumb between your lips. You suck on his thumb sinfully, watching as his pupils dilate. Swirling your tongue around his digit, you close your eyes and savor the little noises he makes.

As you let his thumb slip from your lips, you adjust yourself in his lap. The hardening length in his pants brushes against your ass. He hisses, a mixture of pleasure and pain on his face. You gyrate your hips slowly, setting a rhythm of teasing him before you lean in to nip and kiss his neck. 

His hands go to your waist, guiding you as you grind into him. “Is this ok, sweetheart?” 

“Mhm,” you murmur between the kisses you leave on his neck. 

His grip on you tightens momentarily, and he lets out a breathy groan. You feel his arms wrap around you, and he pulls you close, effectively stopping you from moving your hips any longer. Your arms encircle him, your hand tangling in his dishwater-blonde hair. 

You sit there, enveloped in each other until you realize Dennis just came in his pants. Lifting yourself, you spot the wet spot on his jeans. In place of feeling grossed out by the offensive patch of cum, you are even more aroused than you were while you rode his lap. You just made this man cum in his pants; you couldn’t be prouder.

“Good going, Dennis. You just came in your pants like a horny teenager. Maybe you do have a bad penis,” he says to himself, just loud enough for you to hear.

You ignore his negative self-talk and remove yourself from his grip, standing up before him. He looks so small as he sits there, and all you want to do is cuddle him like a hurt puppy. But rather than cuddle, you determine it’s your turn to cum with his help.

“Dennis, get up and follow me,” you order, already walking away. You hear his soft footfalls behind you, doing as he’s told.

Once you get to your bedroom, you sit at the edge of the bed and move yourself to lie back on your pillows. You instruct him to take off his jeans and lay next to you. He takes off all of his clothing, leaving his boxer briefs on to cover his softening cock.

When he is on the bed, he silently asks for permission to undress you by tucking his fingers in your bottoms. You nod, lying on your back, and he gets to work. Pulling down your leggings, he peppers your legs with kisses. With your pants off, he can see the small damp patch in your underwear and lets out a whimper. 

“Dennis, do you want to eat my pussy?” you hint, widening your legs.

“Yes, please, can I?” he pleads, smoothing a hand up your thigh.

“Finish undressing me and then lay down so I can ride that pretty face of yours,” you direct, smiling up at him as he hovers above you.

“Yes, sweetheart,” he replies, carefully helping you undress fully. He lays down, his head supported by one of your pillows. You face away from him, throwing one leg over his torso, scooting up until your vagina is just above his lips. “Take everything you need. Use me, sweetheart.”

Lowering yourself, you are met with his hot, wet mouth. He licks a stripe between your folds, splitting you down the middle. Once he gets to your soaked entrance, he laps up what nectar has accumulated there, moaning all the while. Your hands go to his abdomen to hold yourself up, marveling at how sculpted he is.

His hands grip your ass, opening you up so he can dive in further. The sloppy sounds of him slurping up your juices only serve to make you whimper and call out his name. He eats you out like it’s his dream come true, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

His tongue swirls around your clit then flicks up and down on the sensitive bead until you’re a moaning mess. Your eyes lose focus for a second, and when you regain sight, you notice his hardening length. You watch his cock bob as you let out a particularly breathy whine.

When he changes tactics and sucks on your clit, you keen like a cat in heat. You can feel yourself reaching the point of no return quicker than you thought possible. He moans into your sex when you lean forward and palm him through his boxer briefs. Your hand can barely fit around it, and the sight alone has you pressing yourself further into Dennis’ mouth.

He begins to pump into your hand as you rub your soaked pussy up and down his face, taking what you need just like he said you could. With the way his mouth slides across your snatch, you’re getting beard burn, and you couldn’t give two shits. You fuck yourself on his tongue, your clit stimulated by his bottom lip. 

Within a handful of minutes, you’re gushing into his mouth, and he is drinking you down until you have nothing left to give. He lazily presses kisses to your outer labia as you catch your breath. When you can’t take anymore, he helps you lie down next to him.

He wraps his arms around you, soothing a hand down your arm as you come down from your high. You come back to yourself once you feel his hard dick slightly pressing into your hip. You say nothing at first until you realize he’s canting his hips and humping into you like a horny puppy.

You reach for his erection, slipping your hand into his underwear and stroking him. The tighter your grip, the louder he groans. You turn slightly to face him and help him remove his last article of clothing. His uncut cock is heavy as it hangs between you. It looks pretty, and you bet it tastes good, too. Licking your lips, you dip your head and lick the bead of precum that leaks from his shiny red tip.

The whimper that leaves his mouth is too precious. You can tell that if you use your mouth on him, he is bound to blow sooner rather than later. You take pity on him and lay on your back again, throwing your leg over his hip. 

“Need you to fuck me, Dennis. Need you so bad,” you beg, teasing his tip while it sits just under your heat.

“Are you sure, sweetheart? I don’t want you to feel pressured just because we’re naked in bed together,” he counters, courteous to a fault.

“I’m sure, Dennis. I want you. I need you,” you stress, pressing your hips into him.

“It’s okay. I’m right here, sweetheart,” he consoles, turning your head to capture your lips in a kiss. While you kiss, he pushes his tip between your folds, teasing your hole. He slips into your tight entrance, ramming forward until you take him in completely.

Letting you get used to the intrusion, he stills for a beat until you break the kiss. You nod, mutely imploring him to move. He gets the hint, pulling out until only his thick mushroom head is inside you before pushing back in. His grip around your waist tenses as he begins to fuck you in earnest.

Dragging moan after groan from you, he revels in the different noises you make. He whispers sweet nothings in your ear as his dick is squeezed by your cunt with every thrust. He pecks your cheek and neck, littering your warm skin with kisses.

As he continues to cuddlefuck you, you’ve never felt safer in a lover’s arms. He periodically asks if you’re okay as if he’s afraid that any false move will have you running for the hills. You hum in approval every time, unsure if your voice can articulate how amazing he makes you feel.

“So good for me, sweetheart. You were made for me. Hmm, I can’t get enough of you. You’re perfect. Every fucking inch of you, sweetheart. Even the parts of you that I don’t know about. I needed this. Needed you, sweetheart. Do you know how beautiful you are?” He babbles as he gets lost pumping inside you.

“Oh, Dennis. Dennis, I’m gonna cum. That’s it, right there,” you ramble, feeling your walls clamp down around his shaft. Your back arches, allowing him to go impossibly deeper. You realize no one has ever made you cum like this, and you bask in the afterglow for as long as you can as he fucks you through your orgasm.

“That’s my girl,” he praises, his hips stuttering as he chases his release. “Right behind you, sweetheart. Ugh, I’m gonna cum. Where-”

“Don’t you dare fucking pull out! Wanna feel you,” you insist, your hand going to his ass to stop him from withdrawing.

“Fuck! Fuck, here it comes,” he howls, stilling his hips as his dick twitches and releases rope after rope of cum inside you. He cums so much that it starts to leak out past his thick meat. “Shit, I can’t believe I’m still cumming, sweetheart. Just keeps going. Oh, God.” You can still feel him spurting cum inside you, and you’re sure that if you weren’t on birth control, he would be impregnating you right now.

As his cock finally softens, it slips free from you along with some of his thick load. Both of you are so tired from your coupling that instead of cleaning up, you remove the comforter from the bed and climb under the sheets. Dennis is the big spoon, attaching himself to you once you press your ass into him.

You sleep soundly that night, lulled by his heartbeat against your back.

After a few months, you make it official. Dennis is yours, and you are his. Neither of you can get enough of each other, and keeping this secret has had its struggles. But together, you could get through anything. Dennis was moving up in his career as a writer, and you were proud to say you made leaps and bounds in your job.

Attending the neighborhood’s Halloween party together, you are dressed as Gomez and Morticia Adams. The way Dennis dotes on you, kissing you every chance he can get, it is the perfect costume. Plus, he looked adorable in that pin-striped suit with his hair slicked back. You were no slouch in your floor-length black long-sleeved fitted dress.

You get some looks and a few smiles as well. But when Dennis makes a bathroom run, you are approached by Mrs. Johnson. She hugs you and chuckles to herself before stepping back and patting your growing tummy. Your eyes widen, and you wonder how she could tell when Dennis didn’t even know.

“So, when can we expect the pitter-patter of little feet?” She inquires, a soft smile on her face.

“I go to the doctor on Tuesday to find out. How the hell did you know?” You challenge, crossing your arms to cover your belly.

“You thought you two were slick, sneaking back and forth to each other’s houses since the summer. Me and the girls have been watching the way you two interact. That’s the look of people in love. Plus, your tits are so big right now they look like you’re smuggling two Christmas hams in that bra,” she laughs again, rubbing your arm when you frown slightly. “Don’t worry, child. That man loves you more than he ever loved that hussy he was married to. Keep doing what you’re doing, and we’ll soon be calling you ‘Mrs. Baker’.”

Dennis appears next to you, whisking you away to the dance floor. He twirls you around and makes you laugh with his terrible dance moves and goofy faces. Nothing makes him happier than making you happy, and vice versa. You two were truly made for each other, and nothing could separate you. 

But the best part? When you are about six months pregnant, you go grocery shopping, running into Dennis's ex-wife in the bread aisle. It's priceless to see the look of shock on her face when she realizes he's the father and your new husband. Life doesn’t get much better than that. 

Dear Life,

Thanks for the lemons!

Sincerely,

The Bakers

A/N: First time writing for Dennis, and I don’t think this will be that last. Please let me know what you think!! I hope you all enjoyed this nutty little story. Sorry for the lemon puns!

**Tag List**

@cevansbaby-dove @startcarvingdarling @iwudbutnah @thezombieprostitute @thabiddie23

@whiskeytangofoxtrot555

[lovebugism]

OK the fall prompt "rainy walks" got me thinking like... what if reader got upset about something and went for a walk and got caught in the rain, and ended up running into Steve who is just out walking and loving the fall gloomy vibe

ty for requesting! — steve runs into his ex while trying to escape a bunch of freaks and finds out you're running from something of your own (exes to lovers, hurt/comfort, tw mentions of toxic relationships, 1.9k)

fictober (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ)

Steve doesn’t usually smoke. He dropped that habit when he graduated high school and realized he only needed a cigarette when his group of asshole friends were around. He smoked because it felt cool mostly, but also because it felt good to be distracted from his lingering feelings of non-belonging.

Now he’s got people around him who make him feel like he belongs. 

It’s too bad they’re all a bunch of freaks.

After being cooped up in the Munson trailer all day, he thinks he’s developed something short of cabin fever. Desperate to get away, he swiped one of Eddie’s cigs and a forgotten zippo before heading out to smoke on the back porch.

He exhales grey smoke from his pink lips. It leaves in invisible wisps beneath heavy storm clouds. He thinks he hears a voice over the muffled sound of Dustin Henderson’s yelling. “Fucking asshole— who do you think you are?” the voice speaks, familiar in a way that makes his stomach ache. “Like, fuck you, dude. You don’t get to talk to me like that. No fucking way.”

He peeks around the corner, and there he finds you — an old ex from a lifetime ago that he hasn’t quite gotten over yet. His chest starts to tighten. He can’t tell if he’s happy to see you or utterly horrified.

You’re still dressed in your pajamas despite it being early afternoon — if an oversized t-shirt that certainly doesn’t belong to you can be counted as pajamas, anyway. It’s a white and red Metallica tee that falls to your knees, slightly frayed at the hem. 

It probably belonged to Billy before it belonged to you. If Steve had to guess, you probably stole it like you did all his shirts. He still isn’t sure what came of his favorite Hawkins Tigers sweatshirt.

You come down the road from the Hargrove-Mayfield trailer, looking like you left in a rush. You’re barely dressed and shivering in the cold, walking fast like you’re angry and desperate to get away.

You and Steve broke up a long time ago, but his heart still swells with the familiar urge to protect you.

“Are you okay?” Steve calls to you as he rounds the corner of the Munson trailer.

The crunchinggravel beneath your feet goes quiet when you still. Your head whips toward the sound of the familiar voice, eyes widening when you find Steve there. Your heart starts to race — not because you’ve just run into your ex, but because you’ve run into your ex who you kinda sorta ditched several months ago.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you were okay,” he repeats with a quiet, lopsided grin. He flicks the end of his cigarette with his thumb and tries to meet your gaze. “Sounded like you were giving someone a hell of a talking to.”

Your face flares with embarrassment. You shift your weight on your feet and cross your arms over your chest — partly to shield from the crisp cold but mostly to comfort yourself. “Yeah. I’m just— I was just talking to myself,” you stammer, flashing a wavering smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “I’m good.”

Steve nods, then squints like he doesn’t believe you. “Okay… Are you sure?”

A laugh tumbles from your mouth. It’s cynical and bitter and utterly forced.

“Yes, Steve. I’m fine,” you assure with a bite to your tone, colder than the grey autumn around you. You smile through it anyway, like you’re trying to convince yourself just as much as him. “You don’t have to worry about me anymore. You’re not my boyfriend.”

Steve knows this. He hasn’t been your boyfriend for a while, but something about the way you say it makes his chest ache. He isn’t sure why.

“No, I know,” he nods quickly, shrugging with his brows pinched. “But I’m never gonna, like, not worry about you, you know?”

The empty feeling in your chest starts to warm. Your nails dig crescent shapes into your arms.

“Why?” you murmur.

“I don’t know. Because you were really important to me, I guess— you are really important to me. And that doesn’t just, like… go away,” Steve rambles, shier than you’ve ever seen him. He swipes an anxious hand through his cinnamon locks. The rouge strands hanging over his forehead fall back into place a second later.

Even though your boyfriend forced you not to talk to any of your friends, he wants to say. Even though you’re not mine anymore.

It’s been so long since someone’s been this soft with you. You’re not used to it anymore. You’d much rather him be mean because at least then you’d have a place to put all your anger.

“That’s… That’s nice,” you mutter under your breath like an idiot because you don’t know what else to say.

Steve takes one last puff of his cigarette, if only to distract himself from the awkward silence. He takes a deep breath in and tosses the stick to the gravel, exhaling the smoke as he snuffs out the ash with his sneaker.

“Where were you, uh— Where were you headed?”

“Nowhere. I was just… on my way back home.”

His brows furrow. He doesn’t bother to hide his concern. “Do you have a car?”

“Nope,” you answer with a sigh. “Still don’t have my license, so…”

“Still?”

You nod, scrunching your nose all sheepish. “I know…”

“We used to practice all the time!”

Steve’s golden laugh makes you smile despite yourself. “Honestly, I’m still a little scarred from when I almost hit that deer.”

He nods at the memory, quietly nostalgic and warm with it. 

That was on the way to Deep Green Cove, where the two of you were headed to meet his parents at their over-the-top lake house. He let you drive because he knew you’d been wanting to and thought the vacant countryside road would be easiest for you to practice on.

It hadn’t been.

And you did it all for nothing because his parents didn’t even show.

It was a good weekend, though. He can’t believe he forgot about it until now.

“Yeah, that’s fair, I guess,” Steve shrugs with his head tilted to his shoulder. “It took me three days to get you in the car again.”

“I’m pretty sure I cried, like, all night after that.”

“Yeah, my t-shirt still has tear stains on it, actually,” he teases with a boyish chuckle.

Your own giggle sputters from your mouth. You hide it with your palm — like you feel guilty about it. It feels good to laugh, though. To remember that you used to cry over stupid stuff like that and not shit that actually breaks your heart.

A fat raindrop plops cold on your shoulder. You wince. “Oh, fuck— I gotta go.”

“Let me take you,” Steve offers without thinking twice.

You stumble back when he steps towards you, shaking your head to dismiss him. “No. It’s okay.”

“C’mon. Just let me drive you home—”

“I’m fine.”

“I’m not letting you walk in the rain.”

“It’ll be okay—”

“You’ll freeze.”

You scoff a bitter laugh. “It’ll be better than what Billy does to me if he finds out I was alone with Steve The Hair Harrington.”

You say it like it’s a joke, and it isn’t, really, but Steve isn’t laughing anyway. His chiseled features twist in concern, like your words have somehow pained him. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” you answer, perhaps too quickly, laughing as you shake your head. “It was just— It was a stupid joke. I’m just being dramatic.”

“Are you saying he’ll hit you?” he wonders in a quiet murmur, far too somber than you’d like.

“No— what? No!” you stammer quickly, face as screwed up as his scruffy one. You start to ramble before you realize it. “Billy isn’t like that, okay? He’s just— He’s a fucking baby, and he’s dramatic, and I’d love to go one day without being fucking gaslit. That’s all. I’d rather just freeze on my ten-minute walk back home than have him berate me about hanging out with my ex.”

A few more raindrops fall. Spots of ashy gravel turn to a darker shade of grey. 

Steve grows quiet, letting the gentle cadence of water on tin roofs fill the silence. His chest aches all over again. He can’t decide if he’s sad for you or angry at Billy or grieving that he ever let you go in the first place. Maybe a mix of all three.

His hands tremble with the intensity of the swirling emotions, but it’s still in his nature to be soft with you.

“Do you wanna come inside?” he wonders, nodding back towards the trailer.

“To Eddie’s?”

“Yeah.”

“…No,” you answer with the shake of your head, face twisted like the offer offends you. It does, but only because you’re almost sure Eddie hates you now. You wouldn’t blame him if he did. If your best friend chose some asshole over you, you’d hate them too.

“No?”

“I haven’t talked to him in forever— I haven’t talked to any of you in forever.”

“It’s okay,” Steve nods, so gentle it makes you writhe.

“No, it’s not, Steve. I ditched all of you. I was awful to you.”

You don’t want his gentleness. You want him to hate you. You don’t deserve his warmth or the one inside Eddie’s trailer, practically aglow with the laughter of all the friends you left behind. You deserve the isolation. You deserve to stand in the rain and freeze.

“It’s okay,” he repeats, a newfound insistence in his tone like he wants you to really hear him. His bushy brows raise and his honey eyes sparkle, golden even in the grey. “We know why. We know it’s not your fault.”

You falter, swallowing through a closing throat. “You do?”

“Yeah. And we don’t— we don’t blame you for it, okay? For any of it. We miss you, actually.”

The crooked pink grin he flashes should comfort you, but it only makes you shrink inside yourself. “You’re just saying that,” you murmur, disbelieving and dripping with self-loathe.

“Ask Robin if you don’t believe me,” Steve tells you, smiling wider now. “Actually, she was just talking about how making fun of me isn’t as fun without you.”

You don’t want to believe him, but you glow with the faint hope that he’s telling the truth, anyway. 

“Really?”

“Really,” the boy nods, then grimaces when the light rain grows suddenly heavier. His brows scrunch as he holds out an arm towards you. “Screw your boyfriend, okay? Just come inside. We can take care of everything else after.”

You want so desperately to take the hand he holds out for you. Your fingers twitch at your side with the longing to hold him, but you don’t let yourself — even though it goes against all your human instincts not to. 

You’re made slightly braver than he had said we. “We can take care of that later,” he’d promised, a subtle assurance that you aren’t as alone in all this as you feel. But you often feel like you’re a black hole at times — you don’t want to suck anyone else into the mess you’re in.

“I don’t know…” you waver, teeth threatening to chatter when a breeze makes the rain colder.

“C’mon, before both of us get soaked—” Steve laughs when it starts to rain harder. All the clouds begin to pour at once. You rush to him before you can think twice about it. His palm is warm at the small of your back when he ushers you towards the trailer.

Beneath the high-pitched squeaking of the screen door, you hear Steve mumble behind you. “Dustin’s gonna fucking flip when he sees you.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 27

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“Holly,” Steve approaches your mother, “hey, did you use your inhaler?” 

Your mom drones and tries to shoo him away weakly, “sleeping.” 

“Honey,” he sickens the sweetness in his voice, “we need to make sure you’re keeping up on your meds.” 

“I told ya, leave me alone,” she swings her arm out, her eyes closed as she reclines against the cushy sectional. 

Steve catches her wrist and squeezes. Your mom winces and cries out, her eyes snapping open, “that’s not how you talk to your husband. Now, honey,” he bends down to look her in the face, “is this how you want to start our marriage or do you want to get up and take your medicine like a big girl?” 

His tone has chills coursing through you. He’s angry and you suspect not only at your mom. He has to understand, her illness makes her irritable. 

“Ow, ooh, I will,” your mom sits up, “I’m sorry, I...” her eyes search around frantically, “she was supposed to get them for me.” 

“Mm,” he lets her go, almost shoving her arm away from him as he stands straight. As he turns to face you, you cower. “I’ll get it," he snarls. 

He marches toward you and for a moment, you think he might grab you too. You barely get out of his way as he storms past you. You turn and hug yourself as he goes out the door and you watch after him as he charges out the gate. 

You raise your shoulders almost to your ears as you face your mom, “I’m sorry--” 

“Just go away,” she falls back and sniffles, “you’re ruining everything.” She sighs tragically, “he isn’t like this when you’re not around. You just--” she growls and shakes her head, hiding under her hand, “you get in everyone’s way.” 

Your lip trembles and your eyes tinge. You don’t know what you did. You’ve ruined everyone’s day without even trying. 

She groans and sits forward, shaking her head as she strains to reach the coffee you left for her. You rush over to help her and put it in her reaching hands. She sneers over the brim and tastes it. 

“It’s cold,” she snarls. 

“You were sleeping--” 

“So?” She spits and sloshes it towards you, then puffs in exasperation as it spills down her fingers, “why are you always making such a mess?” She starts to shake intensely, “god, take it, take it!” You take the cup as she cries shrilly, “look at what you did!” 

“Mom, I’m sorry.” 

“Get away from me right now,” she snaps and falls back again, crossing her arms over her head. She begins to weep as her body convulses, “you don’t know what it’s like to be so sick. You just... do nothing and stare at me.” 

You back up as the front door opens as Steve returns. You look over at him with the dripping coffee cup. He looks slightly confused as he nears your mom on the couch. 

“Honey, what’s going on?” 

“Oh, Steve,” she moans, “I feel so bad.” 

“Well, of course you do,” his tenor remains rigid, “you didn’t take your meds. You gotta start keeping track.” He sets down her inhaler and a bottle of pills. He hooks his arms around her and makes her sit up. “So, you’re going to take your medicine and stop whining.” 

“It’s not my fault,” she whimpers. 

“Just take it,” he huffs as he swipes up her inhaler and holds it before her. 

She shakily reaches for it and you back away, suffocating in the thick air. You turn and go to the kitchen. You dump the coffee down the sink and wash the mug and your hands. You put it back where you found it and close the cupboard. 

“Hey, sweetie,” Steve startles you as much with his sudden appearance as with his change in tone. “Mom’s all taken care of. We’ll give her a little to let it kick in then we can have a nice pool day. Together.” 

You look at him with wide eyes. What? 

“Oh, you know, I left everything in the car, wanna help me with it?” 

“The car?” You wonder aloud as you glance back and forth. 

“Yeah, grabbed a few things on my way back,” he says, “so, you think you can do the heavy lifting for me?” You blink and he chuckles, “kidding, just a few shopping bags.” 

“Ah,” you exhale and nod. “Sure.” 

You slowly cross the tile and he gestures for you to go ahead of him. He follows and as you pass the living room, your mother slouches down, head hanging forward as she grumbles. You go out into the sunshine and trod along the straight path to the gate. You go around to Steve’s car as he pops the trunk with the button on his keys. 

“I needed a few things for the house, you know? Make it more homey for all of us,” he explains as he grabs two bags, “and I may have made some impulse purchases.” 

“Oh,” you grab the other two bags and lift them out. 

“Well, aren’t you curious? Maybe I got you a surprise,” he suggests. 

“You did?” 

“You’ll just have to wait and see, huh? Wouldn’t be a surprise if I just told you.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” you agree. 

Again, he waits for you to lead. You go back to the house and peek over as you pass the living room. Your mom’s eyes are closed again. You slow as you near the kitchen. 

“Um...” you stop and look around as Steve barely keeps from colliding with you. 

“In the dining room, we’ll sort it at the table.” 

“Oh, okay.” 

You veer through the archway and set the bags on the polished wood. He does the same, standing close as he opens the top of a paper bag. He reaches inside as he smiles. You’re confused. A few minutes ago he was so angry and now, it’s like nothing even happened. 

“You like this?” He takes out a light switch cover with daisies on it, “figured we could doll up your room a bit. It reminded me of you.” 

“Oh sure,” you shrug. 

“And I got some more bedding, just so you have some extra. I know the bed here is bigger than yours but just thought we could toss the old one,” he takes out a package with pink polka dot sheets. “Hope you like them.” 

“Pretty,” you comment. 

“And this was pretty neat,” he takes out something bigger. It’s a little lamp shaped like a tulip, “you like flowers.” 

“Yeah, I... do.” You look at the bags and peer inside one. “Is there anything for mom?” 

“Of course,” he scoffs, “but sweetie, we can show her later. There is one big surprise...” he looks at each bag, “that one.” 

He points and you look at the bag near the edge of the table. You pull it closer and open the top warily. You peer into it and frown. 

“It’s pink!” He gives a hint. 

You see pink and white checkers to the bottom of the bag. You reach and grasp the fabric and lift it out. You let it hang from your fingers and bring your other hand up to examine it. It’s a bikini top, a halter cut with knots behind the neck and around the front of the chest. You just stare at it. 

“You said you didn’t have a suit so I got you one,” he announces proudly and reaches into the bag as he steps closer, “so you can have a swim.” 

He pulls out the other piece. The bottoms don’t offer much more coverage, the sides tied in a similar fashion at the top. You teethe your lip. 

“Um, I don’t know if it’ll fit.” 

“It should,” he looks at the fabric, “I did my best to estimate but... well, only one way to find out.”You glance up at him and bat your lashes, “gotta try it on,” he beams. 

You gulp and he holds out the bottoms. You reluctantly accept them and press them in your hands with the top. You lower your chin and back up. 

“Ummm,” you murmur. You don’t want to seem ungrateful. Your mother’s chides ring behind your ears as your mouth goes gritty and dry like sand, “thank you.” 

“Why don’t you get it on and I’ll get mom out on the deck. I think the sunshine will do her well.” 

“Okay,” you babble. 

You retreat with numb steps, staring at the bikini. You only ever wore one pieces but you hadn’t had a bathing suit since middle school. You walk down the hall to the half-bath and lock yourself in. You can lie and say it doesn’t fit. No, you’re not good at fibbing and he did go to all that trouble. 

It takes a few minutes to make yourself undress and even longer to get into the suit. You notice the top is a larger than the bottoms. The latter are easy enough but the top is weird and you have to retie the top knot behind your neck several times until you feel relatively secure. You refuse a look in the mirror as you adjust the fabric around your chest. Ugh! Stupid things. 

“Sweetie,” a gentle tap sounds at the door. “You okay? Need some help?” 

“No,” you call back, “I’m... okay.” 

“Does it fit?” 

“I think,” you reply. 

“Well, can I see? Best to get a second opinion right?” He says. 

“I... uh,” you stammer. The idea of anyone, not just him, seeing you, has you on fire. Maybe if he sees how bad it looks, he’ll let you just go in your room and never come out. “Alright.” 

Your fingers are clumsy as you unlock the door handle. You pull it open slowly and peek out through the narrow slit. Steve stands against the wall, waiting. He smiles. 

“It’s all good, sweetie, just me,” he puts his hands up. 

“Um, alright, I don’t... I don’t think it’s right.” 

You step out, one leg, then half your body, now the full view. You stand in front of the door, still slightly inside the bathroom. You look up at the ceiling as you hear the breath flow from him. 

“Oh wow,” he utters. 

“I know, it’s too small.” 

“Sweetie,” he says, “it looks great on you.” He shifts on his feet, “I just gotta get my trunks on, how about I meet you out there?” 

You keep your eyes past him, too embarrassed to make eye contact. You nod and turn back to grab your clothes, hugging them against you as you come back out. You tiptoe down the hall away from him. 

“Don’t forget sunscreen, sweetie, I left some out there. Let me know if you need me to get your back.” 

“Kay,” you toss over your shoulder as you hurry away. If you stay in the water, you’ll be fine. 

[moremaybank]

SOMETHING STUPID — s.h

pairing steve harrington x fem!reader

summary steve's overwhelmed by the love he feels for you and blurts out a question he can't take back. he's sure you'll think he's crazy, but do you?

warnings language, but it's basically just a whole lotta fluff and steve being the cute cutie he is

author's note did i pull inspo from haley’s dad’s speech in oth?? hell yes. also, i'm really happy with how this turned out, not gonna lie. please read if you have the chance, it'll make my day ♡︎

steve masterlist

When Steve steps through the door after work with an exhausted sigh, he’s pleasantly surprised. He’s spent his entire life coming home to an empty house, always filled with a blaring silence that acted as a daunting reminder of how lonely he felt deep down inside. There was never anyone around to ask him how his day was. What was going on in his life, or if he was happy — and not the phoney kind. 

He’s so used to weathering the storm on his own, day in and day out, that he’s completely forgotten someone will be there for him this time. The previously empty home is now occupied by you and your bright, loving energy. The quiet was replaced with your music bouncing off the walls. You’re active in the mostly untouched kitchen, baking to your heart’s content and constantly stuffing your Stevie’s face full of sweets. 

Steve finally feels as if he truly has a home, and not just a place where he stores his belongings and rests his head at night. 

He makes his way through the halls, finally reaching the entryway to the kitchen and leaning against the doorframe. The dimmed lights glow throughout the room, and the artfully scattered candles burn brightly in the darkened space. Further adding to the already homey atmosphere, the sweet aroma of fresh baked goods fills the air, thanks to the chocolate chip cookies you have baking in the oven. Even with all of this going on, though, Steve can only seem to focus on one thing. 

You. 

Your frilled socks glide against the kitchen floor as you jump and twirl around on the tiles. The sound of Say You Love Me by Fleetwood Mac quells the silence, your record player turned up the highest it can go (because, in your professional opinion, there was no other way to listen to music). You pull out your signature dance moves, screwing your eyes shut and kicking your legs in the air so many times that Steve fears you’re in an imaginary fight with someone — and losing. Terribly. He also takes notice of the spatula in your hand, acting as a stand-in microphone while you lip-sync along to the lyrics. 

You’re a goofball, through and through. Still, though, Steve is utterly smitten.

“Sweet moves, baby,” he says, loud enough to be heard over the music. 

Your eyes go wide as your body stills, completely mortified that Steve has caught you in your own little world. You turn the music down, swiping the stray hairs away from your slightly sticky forehead and clearing your throat. 

“Steve! H-hey. I was just, uh…cleaning the floors. You know, makin’ them all nice and shiny for you,” you laugh uneasily. It’s complete crap and you both know it, but you’re desperate. Frankly, you’ll say anything if it means distracting Steve from this whole performing your own world tour in the middle of the kitchen thing. 

Steve cocks a brow, tongue poking his cheek as he tries to hide the grin that threatens to come into view. “Hm,” he hums, “cleaning the floors, huh?”

“Yup.”

“…With your socks?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, still slightly breathless, “It’s a…great way to incorporate exercise into daily household chores.”

Steve tries to stop it, but he can’t help but let a laugh escape from his lips. He walks over to you, arms wide open and ready to encircle around you. “C’mere, you goof. Gimme some sugar.”

You break out into a grin, happily stepping into your boyfriend’s embrace and giving him a tight hug. You feel his hands smooth down your back before wrapping around your waist and holding you tighter to him. After a moment, you pull away, and your hands come up to his face so you can press your lips to his. He hums into the kiss contently, melting into the touch he’s been longing all day for. 

“Missed you so much,” Steve pouts, his bottom lip jutting out adorably. 

“I missed you too,” you reply, granting him another kiss. “How was your day?”

Before Steve can answer, Say You Love Me comes to a stop, and the soft sounds of Landslide begin to bleed into the silence. Choosing to let you enjoy your favourite song, Steve shrugs it off, “We can talk about that later, wanna dance with you.”

Steve extends his hand toward you, silently asking for you to join your hand in his. You smile, sliding your palm into his and letting him pull you to his chest. He keeps his other hand on the small of your back, and your free arm curls around his shoulder as the two of you begin to sway together in time with the music. Steve feels you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck and relax further into his hold, and he lets the voice of Stevie Nicks wrap around you both like a warm blanket as he holds you. 

The two of you sway back and forth, taking a peaceful moment to feel your hearts beat against one another. Steve never wants to let go. This is the closest and most intimate he’s ever felt with anyone, and that should scare him, he thinks. But it doesn’t, because being with you feels like heaven on earth. He can’t believe that he’s found someone who makes his heart soar the way you do. Who makes him smile so hard his cheeks hurt, and gives him a love so deep and true that it’s become a vital part of him. Just thinking of you makes his knees weak.

He’s completely enamoured by you.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask, breaking him free from his thoughts as you pull away from his grasp slightly. 

Steve looks down at you, remaining silent, and his gaze flashes over your features. The kind eyes he feels he’s always known. The tiny scar near your temple from where you’d gotten stitches as a child. The curve of your lips and how he swears he can feel them gliding over his own every single time he thinks about them. He then moved onto the oversized t-shirt your body is clad in — one you’d obviously stolen out of his closet, and the pair of boxers hanging from your hips (also swiped from his wardrobe). Your aforementioned frilly socks pulled your signature at-home look together, one that brought an incredible amount of comfort to Steve. It shows him that you consider his home to be your home too. That you’ve found a home in him, just as he has with you.

He can see himself doing this whole life thing with you forever, and he can’t explain it, but he suddenly feels compelled to speak up, and the words tumble from his lips before he can stop them. 

“Do you wanna get married?” 

Your head shoots up, and you peer up at him with a look of shock. “I’m sorry, w-what?”

Steve’s eyes threaten to bulge out of their sockets, and his heart rate skyrockets as the panic waves through him. “Oh god, I- I said that out loud,” he says, slowly letting go of you and running a hand through his long chestnut locks. “Wow. Uh— Okay.”

“Did— Did you just ask me to marry you?” You stammer, quiet as a mouse. You don’t move. Steve doesn’t think you can. 

It’s obvious that you think he’s gone certifiably insane. His hands raise in defence, and he manages to start blurting out everything he can in an attempt to rectify the situation. “Listen, baby, we can totally act like that never happened—”

“Steve—”

“—In fact, it didn’t. I have no idea what you’re talking about, babe. No freakin’ idea—”

Finally, your hand cups over his mouth to stop him from rambling any further. His last few words sound muffled before they eventually come to a stop once he realizes what’s happening. His fingers curl around your wrist, moving your hand from his lips before giving you a small, sheepish smile. His cheeks flush profusely, “Sorry.” 

Oh, the things Steve would do if it meant he could take back the last few minutes of his life and go back to before he opened his big mouth and ruined everything. It’s not that he doesn’t want to marry you. That’s definitely not the case. But the regret he’s currently feeling after watching your horrified reaction play out…it’s enough to make him want to jump into his pool and never come back up for air. 

But then…when your eyes seem to light up and a small smile curves your lips upward, he thinks there just might be some hope left for him. 

“You wanna marry me?” You questioned, your hands finding solace on his lower arms. “Why?”

His brows pull together in confusion? Why? He can see the doubt eating away at you by how small you’ve become in the past few seconds. Are you truly doubting how much you mean to him? How much you’ve spun his world on its axis and changed him forever? 

“I— What?” 

“Why would you want me to marry you?”

“Yeah, I got that, I just…are you serious?” You nod, giving him the slightest shrug. Your shyness is peaking through far too much for you to offer him any more of a reaction. 

A soft and gentle laugh slips past his lips and his body relaxes. His warm palm smoothes up your arm and finds its resting place at the base of your jaw. His thumb swipes over your skin, and his warmth bleeds through your flesh. All the love he holds in his heart for you floats up to his eyes, and his chocolate orbs soften. He’s never felt so tender and full of affection as he does now. 

“You have no idea how special you are to me, do you?” 

He says it with such conviction that you know the words are true to his heart. Still, the way they hit you is all too much, and you can’t help but deflect them with a tiny joke. Your eyes fall away from his. “I mean, I figured you liked me a little.” 

“Stop,” he chides, albeit gently. He guides your gaze back onto his. “I’m serious.” 

It’s your turn to apologize as your cheeks heat up. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry. Just, hear me out.” 

“Okay,” you murmur. 

His left hand mirrors the hold his right one has on your face. The ring you gifted him for your first anniversary is cold against your skin. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and he takes a breath before speaking. “You— You’re staggering, honey. You’ve given my heart a home. You’ve had it since the moment I met you, and you’ve kept it safe. Cherished it and nurtured it. You’ve given me everything I’ve ever wanted. I— I look into your eyes and it's like I can see the rest of my life inside ‘em.” 

Your heart melts, and you feel the tears start to pool in the brims of your eyes. “Steve,” you whisper. 

“I have no idea what’s going to happen in the future. Not a freakin’ clue, especially with all the supernatural shit that goes on in this town. But I do know that you’re supposed to be in it. You are my future, baby. I might not know a lot, but I do know this. You are the girl I’m going to spend my life loving. And I’m gonna give you everything if you’ll let me.”

His heartfelt words are almost enough to make you forget about your doubts. You want them to. But you can’t seem to quiet the worries circling inside your head. 

“Steve, I love you. You know I do. But, aren’t we too young? I don’t want to risk losing you. I don’t think I could take it if I did.” 

His hands slide down your neck and land on your shoulders. His warmth spreads through you again, and already, you feel better. It’s almost as if all he has to do is exist to wash your fears away. 

“I know. I know we’re young. But, so what if we are? To me, that just means I get to be with you even longer.” One hand abandons your shoulder, and he hooks his index finger under your chin. The pad of his thumb strokes over the tip of your chin. Eyes boring into your soul, he holds them captive. “You can drive at sixteen, drink at twenty-one, retire in your sixties. How old do you have to be to know that your love will last? ‘Cause I know my answer, down to the second.” 

You can’t seem to hide the smile that forces its way onto your lips. The sincerity in his gaze, the vulnerability he’s shown you since day one, it’s all too much. You can’t imagine ever walking away from him, can’t imagine what your life would be like if he wasn’t in it. Mornings you shared where he’d pout as soon as you mentioned getting out of bed. Picnics on warm summer days. Hearing him sing along to the radio in the car. You want those memories and every single one that would come to you in the future — your future with him. 

“Ask me again.” 

“Yeah?” He smiled. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed. But just as he’s about to do as you asked, half of the words leaving his mouth, you can’t contain the excitement. Your lips slam onto his as you pull him closer. You murmur a few yesses against his lips and feel them spread into a grin. Soon, his arms are wrapped around your waist and he’s lifting you up and into the air, spinning you around with joy. The kitchen is soon filled with giggles, and Steve is exclaiming your news loudly, even though you’re both alone.

“We’re getting married, sweetheart!”

STEVE TAG LIST (JOIN HERE): @oncasette @taintedxkisses @findapenny @bmo-bri @hemogloban @slytherhoes @shawnspoems @vigilanteshitposting @poppet05 @earth2starkey @aerangi @cantstoptherecs @sarah5462 @slut4drudy @cilliansangel @darleneslane @sya-skies @gillybear17 @lovelyxtom @rcbuttercup @redhead1180 @runningfrom2am @thejuleshypothesis @scarlettocean @subconsciouscollapse @violetmacher @iluvteyqmm @buckyisveryhot

[dimplyowl]

Ed having a hard day at work and being ready to come home and just relax and rest and bitch to Stede about it, but he gets home and Stede is in the kitchen and there’s smoke billowing out of the oven and the fire alarm blaring and Stede’s trying to waft all the smoke out the window with a kitchen towel and there’s a baking sheet on the counter with stuff burnt to a crisp and Stede is swearing up a storm and Ed’s just like, “Babe. What the fuck is happening in here.”

And Stede whips around and sees Ed and wells up and throws the towel down in frustration and bursts out, “I just wanted to make my husband cookies because he had a horrible day and I thought maybe that would cheer him up and all I’ve done is gone and made it all worse because now you have to deal with me and all this mess and I…” He stops to sniffle. “I’m so sorry, Ed.”

And Ed just stands and looks at him as tears spill over Stede’s eyes and he swipes at his nose, and then Ed’s expression crumples and he squeaks out, “You made cookies for me?”

Stede looks around the kitchen, points at the charred lumps on the cookie sheet. “Clearly not, darling.”

“You tried to make cookies for me,” Ed says, his bottom lip quivering, and then he rushes Stede, pulling him in for a tight hug, crushing him to his chest, and he’s crying into Stede’s neck and Stede’s rubbing his back. “That’s so sweet, fuck, Stede, I love you so much, thank you.”

“But…I burned them. And nearly burnt the house down too!”

“Don’t care,” Ed says. “You wanted to make me feel better. And no one’s ever done that for me except you, and I’m so happy.”

Stede pulls back, eyes rimmed red. He ignores the tear tracks on his own cheeks and reaches for Ed’s instead, wiping below his eyes with his thumbs. “Well I’m happy that you’re happy. I’m sorry you had a shit day.”

Ed wrinkles his nose. “Eh, that’s just work. It’s not so bad, when I know I get to come home to you.” He kisses Stede softly, hand cradling Stede’s cheek. He pulls back and they share a moment of tenderness, a simple smile.

He winces after a moment. “Maybe we should turn that fire alarm off though?”

[anashins]

hii, can I request a jealous jaehyun when his gf agrees to catching up w her guy friend who swiped up on her story & did not tell Jaehyun, causing him to find out when she posts something? Hehe :)

Pairing: Jaehyun x You

Genre: fluff, romance, a bit suggestive in the end

Word Count: 1.4k

Summary: Jaehyun tries to record a new song in the studio. But how is he supposed to sing a passionate love ballad while thinking about the girl he loves, when she is currently out there, enjoying herself with another guy?

A/N: Thank you for requesting! Are we all living the same life at the moment? This is real conversation I had just yesterday!

“That was shit.”

Jaehyun rolled his eyes as he heard Taeyong’s voice over the headphones. His leader was standing next to their voice coach at the other side of the studio’s glass front, observing him recording his part for a song on their new album. 

“It’s been going on for an hour already,” Taeyong commented sharply and wanted to lock eyes with Jaehyun, but the latter looked away, partially in anger, partially in shame. “You were so close to where we wanted to have you in the beginning, but ever since the break, you’re getting worse. Why can’t you concentrate?”

Perhaps because his girlfriend hadn’t replied to him since last night and then perhaps because during the break, he had found out through an instagram story of hers that she was meeting up with some guy he had never heard about before.

Jaehyun was fuming inwardly since his messages on their texting app still showed the little “1” next to them, indicating that his girlfriend hadn’t even read anything he had written yet. Instead, she was having a great time with a tall guy she hadn’t even linked in the story, so Jaehyun wasn’t able to stalk his profile. 

From what she had posted though, standing close to him at a popular street in their city, he had his hand on her shoulder and his hat pulled deep into his face. Without even knowing his looks, Jaehyun could sense that he was very good looking. Though, at this point, he couldn’t pinpoint the exact fact that made him so mad.

Was it because his girlfriend seemingly ignored him? The fact that she met up with a random guy without telling him beforehand? Because they seemed so close?

“I can’t’, I’m sorry.”

How could he sing a passionate love ballad when there was a storm going on inside of him? 

Jaehyun took off the headphones and stormed out of the recording room. By the time he had reached the outside, he could finally tell what was bothering him so much: 

He always told her what he was doing, where he was going, and asked her about her day despite having little to no time sometimes. And she couldn’t even clear ten seconds off her time schedule to do the same? On the commute? During a walk?

With shaky hands, Jaehyun pulled his phone out of his pocket and wanted to try something one last time. 

He called her.

After twenty seconds, his call declined and his stomach dropped simultaneously.

-

Jaehyun thought hard about whether he should pick up the phone when his girlfriend called later that evening. But he was only hurt, not an ass and wanted to hurt his girl back.

She had already answered to his texts, something along the lines of “Hey, sorry, I was busy, I randomly met my friend” and was quick to call an hour later when she saw that he hadn’t opened the messages yet, inviting herself over since she was close and he had finished recording earlier. 

“Hey,” he said when he let her in.

“Hey, how is it going? How was your day?”

She sounded so happy as she followed him into his room, and he gulped, a bit of regret over his feelings already starting to seep in. “My day was fine. And yours?”

Jaehyun was trying really hard to sound casual as usual, but his voice never betrayed him. His girlfriend already sensed that something was entirely wrong, she knew him so very well. “Are you okay?” 

“No,” he admitted. 

“Why? What’s wrong?”

There was no reason to conceal or downplay the truth. “You didn’t write to me the entire day and instead were out with some guy I never saw before. It didn’t sit right with me.”

She furrowed, but quickly understood. “Jaehyun, are you jealous? You know there is nothing to be jealous about. It was an old friend from my hometown who spent a few days here, and he hit me up randomly on Instagram when he realized that I live here too from a posting earlier. I wanted to tell you tonight, there was just not much time before. He asked if I can show him a good place to buy souvenirs today. It was very spontaneous as I saw his messages directly after waking up and he’s leaving again this evening, so I hurried. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to contact you earlier.”

“Jealous…? That’s not it.”

Jaehyun, too, had thought that he was jealous. But he, in fact, wasn’t. He had actually never been. It wasn’t about whether he was scared if she was cheating. He trusted her fully and didn’t have a bad feeling, not even once for the entire time they had been together. The unsettling feeling still lingered though.

So what was it that truly bothered him?

With a nod, he signed that she should seat herself on his bed, and he eventually did the same. 

“Sometimes, it feels like we’re living two different lives.”

His girlfriend tilted her head in confusion when he paused. “Can you elaborate that?”

“When we’re working, meeting with friends or doing other stuff, separately from each other, I always try to include you, send you pictures, tell you where I go and with whom. Not because I’m afraid you could be jealous or demand it from me, but because I want you to be there with me, even though you’re physically not.”

She nodded. “I understand that.”

“And most of the time, for you, I see what you’re up to only when you upload a story or someone else I also follow. I understand that you’re rather a person living in the moment and not focussing on the phone while with others. That’s a great quality. But at times like these… I always feel like I’m not included in your life. I don’t want to complain, I just want to convey my feelings. We already have so little time together due to my occupation, so that makes me feel even more… excluded, I think.“

Jaehyun could almost physically feel how a huge burden got lifted off his shoulders. It dawned on him how long he had been carrying this feeling around that his heart felt so much lighter after telling his girlfriend. 

“Do you think I’m not feeling the same?” she asked and took his hand into hers. “Because I do! Whenever we have a time like this in which we can see each other only seldomly, I try meeting friends often, because I feel lonely and sad without you. And trust me when I say that whatever I do and whomever I do it with, I always think it would be much more fun with you by my side. I try to only concentrate on that moment and activity to not feel as sad. I’m sorry.”

Jaehyun blinked in disbelief. “I… didn’t know. Don’t be sorry about that!”

“Did you think I don’t care? That you’re not on my mind all the time?” She arose and placed her palms on each side of his face. “Because you are. The amount of times I text and call you cannot compare to the times I think of you. Even though I might not be able to convey this feeling whenever you feel abandoned, trust me in that. I carry them all in my heart. Please believe me.”

Jaehyun’s features softened along with his heart. “I believe you.”

If it was like this, then it was fine for him. 

If the anxiety got the better of him again though, he would directly call her, and she promised to call him back immediately when she could. She couldn’t fully promise to always inform him about her plans beforehand, because sometimes, there was such a mess and so much hectic going on in her head. But she promised to do whenever she thought about it and asked him to please not take it to his heart too much. 

In addition, they promised to never miss leaving the other some loving words by the end of each day.

Jaehyun wrapped his arms around his girlfriend’s waist when she climbed into his lab. With a smirk, he asked, “How can you fully convince me how much you always miss and love me? I think I still have doubts…”

“How much time do you have?” she chuckled before letting herself fall on top of him and they both landed on the mattress.

“The entire night.”

“That’s enough, hopefully.”

[bowieandqueen11]

The Strawhats Celebrating Your Birthday Would Include…

Request: hello 🤍

my birthday is Sunday the 18 and if you’re taking requests still was wondering if you would write about how the Strawhats would celebrate your birthday!!

My lovely happy happy happy birthday!! I hope you had a really lovely day, and I'm sending you all good wishes and my biggest hug! :)

I'm getting back into the swing of writing after surgery, so please bear with me!

This is 5k, so quite a long one!

Warning: a little strong language, descriptions of light making out and mentions of being drunk/drinking alcohol!

(I do not own One Piece or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credits go to @icythot-bakubitch, @calim3ro, @zorobae, @adhdthomasthorne, @goodsirs and @icythot-bakubitch.)

☆.。.:・°☆.。.:・°

Luffy

I mean, I love Luffy so much but it's hard enough to lug this man off you when it's not your birthday, but when it is?? You better be prepared to grow a fifth limb with the name Monkey D. Luffy.

You're trying to unwind with Nami on the sun loungers after your look out shift? Luffy appears on your lap like the crack of a reddening storm, raging clouds held in his eyes as he grasped his hands around your neck and bent you down. Without a second thought for Nami's grossed out grimace, Luffy's nuzzling his nose against your own in a fervent sweetness, his whole body aching and twisting against your knees as he sweeps little puppy licks up and down your face.

You need to talk to Sanji about what ingredients he'd like you to pick up on the next island the Going Merry is docking at? Because you legit tried to run away from Luffy's clinginess for a while, you and Sanji give each other nervous side glances as his cup of tea starts rippling on the counter. All that floods your ears is the sound of pounding sandals growing like thunder claps across the boards, before you're flung sideways with the intensity of Luffy's leaping jump onto you. What he didn't expect, however, was for Sanji to be baking a cake for you. Cue the bowl full of batter he was stirring disappearing in a splotch up in the air, only for it to land with a resounding splatter across the top of Sanji's blonde hair.

You try and take a moment to train with Zoro? Before the swordsman can even hand you one of his weights, a look of pure terror widens your eyes as two snake-like appendages come slithering around your waist. As the fingers spread comfortably across your bellybutton, latching together so you're caught in a powerful vice, you're flung backwards and into Luffy's grinning face.

Be prepared for at least a full hour of Luffy keeping you in his lap. His words become more and more jumbled as his lips drag across your neck, small swipes of his tongue over your skin making your breath hitch. From time to time you manage to make out breathless fragments of 'so sweet for me' as Luffy's fingernails dig almost painfully into the meat of your hips, followed by a devastating whine as he bucks his hips up against the curve of your bottom. Of a panted 'you're the best thing I've ever tasted' before Luffy bit down carefully onto your shoulder blade, teeth latching into your skin.

I mean, of course Luffy asked poor Sanji to prepare a huge feast in your honour! Before any of the rest of the crew can join, though, Luffy's has haphazardly balanced the plates along his arms, dragging you across the boat to join him for a make-shift picnic on the figurehead. He tries his best not to stuff all of the delicious meats, pastries and fruits into his face, he really really does. The two of you manage to find a compromise: Luffy will sit cross legged in front of you, feeding you the pastry he wants to scoff down himself in a birthday act of self restraint. Although his fingers nearly claw into your mouth with how excited he is, the best part of your compromise is how he's allowed to taste the crumbs my kissing them off your lips!

But bless his heart, he's so giddy to celebrate your birthday that his rubber body is vibrating so hard his head is almost slamming against the floor. You have to make him slow down, because he wants to run around everywhere on some grand adventure with you. The crew eventually give up trying to follow and head back to the ship, because Luffy is dragging you off to cuddle among the fields pocketed with fire-snapped wildflowers: crawling the two of you into the dark recesses of coves on a hunt for hidden treasure, and nearly getting the two of you stuck up the boughs of a prickly tree because he was trying to pick some exotic fruit as a present for you. The whole time, the tight grip he has on your hand is only loosened right before he gives your fingers an excited squeeze, (or when he realises he's running so fast his feet are nearly wheeling off the ground, his elongated arm and your poor panting body so far in the distance you look like little dots against the rolling hills.)

Before the two of you board back onto the Going Merry again, Luffy grabs both of your hands and stops you on the dock. There was an unfamiliar intensity in his eyes: something so aglow in his grin, in the study of his lambent eyes as they darted over your own that almost made you feel... embarrassed. Nervous.

Before you can make eye contact with your Captain again, the scratchy brush of something being placed on your head distracts you. With a lopsided smile, Luffy's hand pats the straw hat firmly down so it crests just above your eyes, before his fingers run down the string.

'Look! It fits you perfectly!'

He nips his thumb and pointer finger against your chin, leaning his lanky body down towards the warmth radiating off your body. You flush, believing your boyfriend is about to kiss you again, but this dopy ass lovestruck idiot is so overwhelmed and so so sleepy, that with a content sigh he falls on top of you. Before you can register your ass hitting the salt-stained wood of the docks, Luffy's cheek is pressed up against the side of your own, his mouth fluttering over yours as he snores soundly; as you try to shove him off, his arms wind at least ten times around your waist and effectively pins you to him like glue.

Big thanks to Zoro for being the only one on the crew brave enough to venture out and see why your flickering shadows were rolling about the pier: why there was so much mewling echoing out over the railings of the boat from down below. With a tired sigh, he just threw your boyfriend over his shoulder and tucked him into his hammock for the night.

Zoro

Roronoa Zoro, ahh the man who full on owns my ass. Let's be real though, since this man is so forgetful he would be such a teasing asshole on your birthday.

First off, this man definitely sleeps in. He's too busy hugging on to you: his calves are heavy as he slides them in between your own, a snort huffing out of his nostrils as he buries his face into the back of your neck like his salvation lay deep within the warmth of your skin. The tight security of his strong arm finally unwraps from around your waist when he gets up to train without another word: without any acknowledgement, any hint that the man knew how special today was.

But god, of course he knew - he knew everything about you: every detail, every idiosyncrasy, every quirk and giveaway and bad habit. And if he didn't love them all - if his constant observation, constant silent adoration of you didn't prick his sorry heart with a thousand deep lashes of longing.

Cue your confused frown as you finally got up to go look for your boyfriend training on the deck, only for him to be nowhere in sight. Wandering around the Going Merry, the annoyed grunt of your boyfriend's increasingly amplifying voice finally reaches your ears as you pass the kitchens.

Turns out, as Zoro asks for you to accompany him on look out duty in the Crow's Nest that night, that he had spent most of his day obnoxiously doing his best to threaten work with Sanji to create you the perfect birthday cake. The look of surprise that dawns like crested sunlight across your face as you notice the mountain of blankets spread out into a real makeshift nest, as well as the plates of desserts and charmingly wonky lantern lights strung along the wooden circle makes having worked with the waiter... slightly more bearable.

Before you can say anything, Zoro's pulled a bunch of dirt-strewn tiger lilies from behind his back with a bashful scratch of his rubescent neck. As you sniff their fiery sweetness, Zoro stumbles to explain how he’d actually asked for Luffy’s help to pick them; the problem is, the two of them are absolutely hopeless. They’d spent a full three hours trudging through the same field, only for Zoro to seethe once he realised they’d passed the same hollowed out tree trunk for the third time in fifteen minutes.

With the two of them hopelessly lost, it was by sheer dumb luck that Luffy finally managed to spot the flowers sprouting at the bubbling edge of a cragged little brook dotted between the tree line. The only thing was, as he leaped for enthusiastically to pull out the roots, his sandal got stuck between small pebbles and a heap of sticky mud residue lying underneath the water, and with all the tugging Zoro had to do to try and get them out the poor swordsman ended up soaked from head to toe.

At least he was better off than Luffy: the Captain had gone flying backwards over Zoro’s head with an increasingly frustrated tug against his hips, and ended up with his legs dangling comically out of a nearby tree he has been flung so far.

It was all worth it though, if solely for the wick of desperation that’s lit in the quivering pit of Zoro’s stomach as you lean on your tippy toes to kiss his cheek. For the warm glow of lingering affection that alights behind his hazel eyes as he offers you his hand, and the two of you fall into an entangled heap on the blankets.

Now that there’s no one around to annoy him with their antics and quipped comments, the former bounty hunter can finally release the wild beast of desire that’s been clawing against his stomach all day. Your birthday is the only day the usually stoic and reserved swordsman will allow you to hear him mewl against the shell of his ear as you scrape your fingernails down the tight, shaking muscles of his back. The tightness of your thighs as they quake around his waist: the hot pant of his breath as he tries to restrain himself from tearing you apart right there and then, the surprisingly sweet flutter of his kisses as he pins you underneath the contracting muscles of your abdomen are the best present you could ever wish for.

For a second, he pulls back, using his elbows to stop himself from collapsing completely on top of you. He swallows thickly, obviously embarrassed by the way his eyes suddenly are intrigued in scanning the holes and perforations drilled into the Crow’s Nest by the sea’s brackish breeze. It’s only when he starts muttering incoherently to himself, sliding his stumbling hand into his trouser pocket that you finally manage to catch bits of what he’s trying to convey.

He unfurls your hand from where it’s clawed into the mossy strands of hair above the nape of his neck, thrusting something into your palm.

Bless his heart, it’s a little gold sword earring, dangly and almost perfectly melded to reflect his own three.

’I thought you might like something… if there’s ever a day I’m not there to protect you’, he hides himself in the curve of your neck, pretending rolls of steam aren’t burning your hand as you cup the back of his head.

’I always knew you were a big softie deep down’, you tease, pressing a lingering kiss against the side of his forehead.

The love is there. The love is there. Even if it gets stuck in his throat, in his pride, it's there. In the way he lifts his head to bore his eyes into yours. In the slight curl of his lip: the almost imperceptible brush of his nose tip against yours.

’If you tell curly brows, I’ll toss you off the boat myself.’

Sanji

Since you and Sanji have known each forever: since you were two terrified children, trying to run away from the cruel wrath of his father in the Germa Kingdom, his main goal on your birthday is to make you feel as safe, as protected, as adored as you’ve made him feel his whole life. Even though you’re spending the next character of your adventurous life together as Strawhat Pirates on the Going Merry, he wants to bring a little bit of your former home - of the Baratie - back to you.

As soon as the sun hits the chef’s tired eyes, he’s nearly tripping over his own shoes as he runs across the boat and comes crashing into your quarters of the boat. On any other day he may have been embarrassed to come in unannounced or uninvited, but as Sanji jumps onto your duvet like a puppy with a firecracker under its tail, he can’t find it in himself to worry about anything else except kissing you absolutely, head over heels silly. For a moment as your tired eyes blink languidly awake, you're wondering why you're finding it a little harder to breath than usual. First, you register the feel of something heavy and smooth clench against your torso; Sanji's muscled thighs tremble in anticipation as he straddles you. Secondly, you wonder why you can't move your face side-to-side; Sanji's trying to collect his butterfly swarm of a heart by collecting his warm, calloused fingers by the side of your cheeks, spreading them delicately against the skin. Finally, you manage to make out the almost luminescent, closed eye and open-mouthed grin of your boyfriend as he leant forward and encased your body.

Once you finally manage to physically shove Sanji's needy lips off your face, he starts the day by settling into the easy, familiar routine the two of you fell into once you started at the Baratie. He sneaks you away; steals you, almost greedily, insatiably for himself from the rest of the world.

Because to Sanji, you are his entire world. He had spent so long living behind the colossal shadow of his father: curled up, deferential, strangled. It had been so stifling there, so dank and saturating that he had almost become friends with the loneliness. But you - you, god, by all the seas he swore he would never meet another person as ephemeral as you. You had brought the sunlight back into his eyes, making his whole body awaken and burn with such a want anytime you were near that, despite his overly gallant nature, it almost scared him.

He's prepared a platter of your favourite breakfast foods by the back of the deck: trays full of delicious smelling dishes, strewn gold, sea-shell, freckled honey rose petals flittering among the silverware.

He spends the whole morning trying to feed you each bite, dipping his spoon into the fresh cream sponge he had spent all night baking, and humming as he the edge of the metal against your bottom lip. Finding it far too fun not to tease him, you make sure to grab onto his tensing hand and hold the spoon in place as he tries to pull away. With direct eye contact, you drag the flat edge of your tongue up the back of the spoon, making sure to wet his thumb with the inside of your warm mouth along the way.

His crossed legs squirmed against your own, swallowing thickly as he did his best to straighten his spine and look presentable: not like someone who was finding it harder and harder to hide just how easily you had managed to make him become undone.

It doesn't work though, and you have to drop the plate resting on your knee to the floor with a crunching crack as Sanji begins to pass out on top of you. With a frantic slap across his forehead, you just about manage to stop your boyfriend from toppling face first into the depths of the ocean.

Once he finally comes back round, his head resting securely on your lap, he utters out a thousand apologies as he pulls out your real present. He unfolds a hand-written letter that, honestly, is almost comical; there are so many bullet points laid out on the parchment detailing in exquisite, minute, sometimes quite raunchy detail all the adoration and reverence pouring out of his heart and soul for you, that it almost rolls fully to the bow of the ship.

He makes Captain stop at a nearby island, so the two of you can spend the afternoon at peace together: running barefoot, chasing each other through the champagne waves as a lavender hued sunset bows above your heads, napping on each other's shoulders under the leaves of a coconut tree, and making out on the sand until it swipes over your heads and soaks the two of you. The two of you sneak towards the borders of the nearby village when you begin to hear a swirling brush of stringed music sway out across the little island. Holding out his hand with a bashful smile, Sanji pulls you against his chest until there's almost no space left to breathe, that mad fool so deliriously in love. Under the silky velvet of the waning moonlight, the two of you can barely make each other’s eyes, falling into a fit of euphoric, infantile giggles that almost give you away. The kind glow of the varnished barn lanterns that hang over the ring-wood of dusty buildings brushes over you and Sanji's blushing cheeks as the prince presses the jut of his chin into your forehead. With a content smile, he closes his eyes and pulls your shared hand over till it’s resting against his heart, continuing to sway the two of you back and forth.

The two of you spend the rest of the early morning snuggled up in the kitchen, (even if Sanji has to bar the door with a broom, and throw apples at the handle from time to time to stop Luffy's smooshed face from shoving through the crack and asking if you guys had any snacks left over your birthday breakfast.)

Just you sitting tranquilly on the perch of Sanji's knee, a shared blanket wrapped lazily around both your shoulders. One of his arms is wrapped around your side, stroking and tickling your bellybutton just so he can feel the vibrations of your back as you laugh against him. The other is cupped around some warm tea, refusing to let you exert yourself at all on your birthday; between languid kisses that neither of you want to pull apart from, Sanji dissipates the line of saliva arched between your lips by giving you sips of jasmine tea.

The two of you just cuddle and talk about everything and nothing as soulmates do... well, until Zoro gets fed up of having to wait for his sake and straight up kicks the door off its hinges.

Nami

You can absolutely tell that Nami is up to something. You just know it.

Although she's trying to act as elusive and nonchalant as ever, that sneaky little smirk she throws at you over the breakfast table is definitely what I'd call a massive giveaway. Without breaking eye contact, your girlfriend will pretend to be intently concentrating on peeling her orange, all the while she's busy making you choke on your food by running her foot up your leg and resting it teasingly on your lap. She presses her toes against the inner seam of your thigh as he finally places a slice in her mouth with an ostentatious pop of her thumb as she pulls it away from her lips, Sanji nearly comes running to give you the heimlich.

All Nami does is wink at you as she chews.

Even though the cat burglar abhors the idea of being anything less than stingy with her money after the trauma she's suffered since Cocoyashi's ambush by Arlong, you're the only person she's ever willing to loosen the purse strings for. She surprises you with an expensive gift: a looping necklace dotted with fine jewels and glittering beads that seemed to both melt and burn ablaze against the horizon with each glint of the light.

You wanted to cry. Not only had Nami spent her valuable berry on a gift for you, she had also remembered, taking note in the back of her mind that you had complimented the piece of jewellery during one of your dalliances out to the markets of Turtledove Isle a couple of months ago. Swiping off the idea of ever owning it as being a fanciful dream once you looked at the price tag, Nami had observed your wistful frown and had purchased it there and then, before you had even fully turned your back.

Bless her heart, she had even managed to find a little tangerine charm and had woven it through the flaxen silver.

When Nami asks to place it around your neck, it takes almost all of your self restraint not to leap up like a firework and pounce on your girlfriend there and then. Her shoes slide around your back, holding you in place as she straddles herself behind your back. Her knees knock familiarly against your arms as she places her chin against your shoulder blade and fixes the necklace so it settles between your breasts, her delicate fingers making your heart race with each tender scratch. With a firm finger pressed under your chin, she tilts you back to meet her lips with an earnest gaze.

God, do you have the cat burglar wrapped around your pinkie finger.

With just one soft groan brushing against her open mouth, she's pinning you to the floor and holding your wrists captive above your head. She lunges, famished and desperate clawing for an ounce of control despite the whirlwind you've released in her heart. Shoving your legs apart, she's quick to fill the space by crawling her hands up the inside of your legs until her stomach hits your groin. She grins deviously, but you don’t have any time to question it before her plump lips are open against the skin of your neck - soft and warm enough to make you whimper, but sucking enough to leave you breathless. She continues pressing those licking, trailing kisses up the tendons of your neck until she’s sure she’s unwound you into a flustered, whining mess.

The sweet cries leaving your parted lips can be heard in each corner of the crevice of the ship. So much so, that Sanji has to desperately hold onto Luffy's arms and drag him back into the kitchen, because the sweetly naive Captain was worried that someone was injured up on deck.

Before her big surprise, though, she thinks the two of you deserve some well deserved rest and a day off for being the only two non-idiots (affectionate) on the Strawhats crew. Cue the two of you sipping lemonade and lying sunbathing underneath her tangerine tree, holding hands and having an impromptu thumb fight.

Despite her competitiveness, your girlfriend's feeling pretty generous because its your birthday and lets you win. And of course the winner deserves a prize...

Thank goodness Sanji managed to block the kitchen door with his body to stop Luffy from pulling the hinges straight off with his fingers, that's all I'm saying.

Because she'd like a little privacy to properly celebrate your special day, she treats you to a candle lit dinner she had disembarked from the ship earlier to set up on Yukino Island. With the help of some elderly villagers more than happy to watch (and gush over) young love blooming, Nami managed to cover your eyes and lead you to the edge of the wild thickets. With nothing but the peachy wisp of the fireflies dancing and glowing between your intertwined fingers, and the lavender breaking through the boughs of the verdant trees to disturb you, everything seemed so perfect. Just you, the love of your life, and a bottle of blood orange cider shared between you to end the perfect night.

The two of you cuddle up under the stars after, before finally relenting and heading back to the ship. Thus you found yourself tied to Nami's hip, one of her arms resting around your neck and tucking you into the side of her ribs. You lay back against the warm plushness of the moonlit sand, unable to help yourself from grinning as Nami lifted your hand and swept it up in a swift and precise line, carving out your share of the stars.

'You see those ones? That's called Lynx. It was always my favourite when I was a kid. So faint, so far away, and yet so beautiful when someone's finally lucky enough to catch its glow. That's how I used to feel, when I first met you.'

She glances almost painfully shyly to the side of your cheek, before finally swallowing her courage again and meeting your eye. The two of you can't help the flustered giggles that burst out of your throats as Nami begins to smile, digging her face into the socket of your shoulder and just... breathes easily, for the first time since she was a child.

She was so thankful for you, and gosh - if she wasn't ready to spend every birthday, and every day between and after proving it.

Usopp

My main man Usopp is straight up throwing you a massive party, are you kidding me??

He's such a sweet boy, oml. He wakes you up by his bright little smile peering into your face like a curious robin, quite honestly nearly making you jump a mile in the dim light of your cabin. Once you come round and realise some stranger hasn't just materialised to ogle you from the side of your bed, your heart soars when you comprehend that the sun hasn't even risen yet and Usopp is already fully dressed and right by your side. Your boyfriend can barely keep still: his knees almost sounding like a foghorn with how quickly they were bouncing on the floor, trying his best not to jump up but stay kneeling by your side. With a pile of maple smelling pancakes steaming by your legs, and a little clasped box you'd soon find filled with a smoothed stone 'pearl' inside, Usopp was the perfect picture of restrained, nervous longing.

He also presents you with a hand-made card, a slightly wonky outline of the two of you holding hands, surrounded by winged hearts and flying arrows on the front. As he carefully places it into your hands, he tries his best to tell you how much he loves you, but bless his heart, he's so shy and stuttering that all that comes out of his blubbering mouth is a long string of confused 'uh' sounds.

When you lean forward and shyly kiss the side of his mouth, trying to let him know that you reciprocate all the adoration he's trying to form into an actual sentence, his eyes roll so far back in his head that you grab onto his biceps to stop him from falling onto his face on the floor.

While the two of you are quickly trying to run through your chores today for the very *ahem ahem* surprise party Usopp definitely didn't blurt out to you was happening as soon as he had the chance, the sharpshooter takes every opportunity to try and distract you. He can't help it, the soft peals of your laughter makes his heart feel so light he feels like he's floating among the clouds. Cue your boyfriend jumping up onto the railings and swinging back and forth like a bat as he tells you about the time he was nearly eaten by a giant seal; he nearly kicks Sanji off the side of the Going Merry during one incredibly vigorous, almost manic jumping impression of a mammoth, snapping oyster monster that the brave Captain Usopp had to defeat to find you the pearl he knew would be the only present that could measure up to a rare treasure like you.

When the crew leads you out into the middle of a nearby island's square, despite how you'd been practising your shocked face your hands covered your mouth in genuine surprise; peppered flowers woven through vines wind around the marble arches of the gothic buildings, the warm splash from the spray of the siren fountain flutters across the rustled curls of the crawling banners running across its arches. The energetic hum of the crowd pulses through the swinging band as Usopp latches onto the bottom of your fingers and pulls you into the thrum.

Most of the night is spent with your forehead pressed firmly against Usopp, the two of you trying not to choke up bubbles as you share two striped straws and race each other to finish a cocktail bowl. The only problem is, Usopp can't help but brag about you every time he goes up to the bar to fetch you another drink, but then the silly man gets so worried that someone's going to come steal you away that he makes a beeline straight back for you, like a stinger's stuck in his bottom.

Your boyfriend has a tight, clammy grip on your hand all night - except when he's throwing shapes on the dance floor, of course. With some unfound confidence, he tries to twirl you around and dip you down into his arms, but manages to send the two of you flying straight into the side of the fountain oops.

Slightly tipsy, very giggly, and so, so completely, blissfully, ecstatically in love, the two of you come tripping back onto the ship trying to shush each other between snorts. Stripping off the various memorabilia Usopp managed to collect during the night: funky sunglasses, a string of fairy lights dangling off his shoulders, and a captain's hat, lay strewn in a haphazard trail back to Usopp's hammock.

Sanji managed to pull the short straw; tip-toeing over to the guy's quarters, he peeks through the door with an incredibly nervous furrow of his eyebrows to try and see what the two of you were up to. With a sigh, he thanked the seas to find Usopp cuddled up to you like a clingy koala bear, a lingering smile brightening his face despite the honk mimimi snores that were rising out of his chest.

[gravitycavity]

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 1 - Put On a Happy Face

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

Cover art by @blukiar

“You’re supposed to $%#&ing smile, Pomni!” Zooble's hoarse scream reverberated throughout the big top. “Are you stupid?! We can’t finish the new intro if you aren’t @#$%ing smiling!”

“Leave. Me. Alone!” Pomni, denied the catharsis of slinging her sailor’s mouth, expressed her disdain with her middle fingers instead. She only ended up seething harder, however, when a pair of other-dimensional censor bars appeared to obscure the rude gestures.

“Oh! So that’s how you want to play it, Puffball?” Zooble narrowed her eyes, limping toward the jester with as much aggression as their awkwardly-constructed body would allow — which, for the record, wasn’t very much.

Ragatha had seen enough. “Relax!” She raised her voice, swooping vigilantly between the bickering belligerents. “Both of you!”

Gangle, moping off to the side, sniveled pitifully. In all the commotion, her comedy mask had been shattered. For the second time. This morning. “Guys…! Please, just stop fighting…”

Jax crossed his legs, reclining smartly against Kinger’s impenetrable pillow fort. “Can it, crybaby. This is the best entertainment we’ve had in years!” He flicked a piece of popcorn into the air and caught it in his mouth. Meanwhile, a vibrating Kinger poked his eyes out from between two pillows, saying nothing and everything at the same time.

Ragatha’s good-natured attempts to keep the peace were all for naught. She flinched out of the way of Zooble’s punch — but before the strike could connect, a floating boxing bell materialized out of nowhere, piercing the air with a shrill shriek.

“Now, now! There’s no need for that!” Caine’s wagging finger appeared beside the bell, followed shortly after by the rest of the entity. He lifted his tophat, and a cheesing Bubble gingerly drifted out.

“Naughty, naughty~” Bubble chomped his teeth.

Caine snapped his fingers, and an unseen force pushed Pomni and Zooble apart. “The Amazing Digital Circus — copyright 1996 C&A Incorporated, all rights reserved — is a magical, marvelous CD-Romp for all ages! Zany shenanigans and cartoon mischief I can abide, but outright violence? Strictly out of the question!”

With a grunt, Zooble spiked their arm against the floor. “What are we supposed to do, then!? We’re on take fifty-seven of your dumb@%$ theme song because poor little Pomni thinks she’s the main character of the universe!”

Pomni responded to that, but whatever she said, it was profane enough to be scrubbed out entirely.

“Yes, well…” Caine crossed his arms, steeped in careful thought. The last hour-and-a-half of unusable footage played back through his mismatched eyeballs in a matter of seconds. “It’s nothing we can’t fix in post.”

Zooble swiped their discarded arm off the ground and crammed it back into its empty socket. “Great. Then you can edit me in, too.” They stormed off, reciprocating Pomni’s earlier gesture. “Eat $@#%, sad sack.”

Jax sighed. “Aw, shucks. Right when things were getting good…”

“Uh…!” Caine skipped a beat. He swiveled toward the five circus members still gathered beneath the big top. “Well, then!” he elbowed his soap bubble companion, “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us, Bubble! As for the rest of you, consider yourselves off the hook for the rest of the day — my treat! Take some personal time, get some sleep, and try your darndest not to dwell on the soul-crushing scale of eternity!”

“I have no soul!” Bubble turned upside-down. “So I don’t mind it one bit!”

“You and me both, old pal!” Caine’s laugh sounded forced and unnatural.

There was a pause. Gangle glanced around, then meekly raised her ribbony hand. “But what about—”

“Go on, now! I won’t take no for an answer!” the ringmaster stabbed the air with his cane, “I want you all in tip-top condition for tomorrow’s wacky adventure!”

🎪 🎪 🎪

It wasn’t long before everyone had gone their separate ways. Jax had slinked off to the digital carnival to terrorize the NPCs, Gangle had left a trail of teardrops all the way to the digital lake, and Kinger, as per usual, had just disappeared without anyone really noticing.

At last, Pomni was alone again. She curled her tear-stained face inward and filled her chest with three shaky breaths. She couldn’t hold it in anymore. Hands tightened into trembling fists, she threw her head toward the sky and let loose a long, ear-shattering shriek.

Why was this happening to her? What did she ever do to deserve this!? She was a person — a human being, for God’s sake — not some stupid, one-dimensional children’s character. How dare anyone expect her to just grin and bear it? She didn’t owe anything to anyone — not even one second of feigned emotion. As far as she was concerned, the moment she forced that goofy smile onto her face would be the moment she surrendered, and she would never, ever, in a million years—

“I’m always here if you need to talk. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

Pomni flinched, wrenching away from the sudden voice. After the emotional hell she’d gone through during her first day, unexpected noises didn’t exactly put her at ease — nor did anything else in this deranged digital purgatory, for that matter.

“Ah! Sorry!” Ragatha covered her mouth. “I didn’t spook you too bad, did I?”

“You did, actually! Wh-What’s wrong with you?” Pomni gathered herself quickly. She didn’t dare to even look in the direction of the person who had just watched her childish tantrum. The moment she found her footing again, she stormed off like her very life depended on it. “Don’t just sneak up on people like that!”

Silently relenting, Ragatha stepped aside to let Pomni pass. She watched the pouting jester jingle and jangle with every step, stomping with boundless confidence in the completely wrong direction.

“Uh…” Ragatha tilted her head. “Pomni? Do you remember the way to your room?”

“Ugh! What do you care?” Pomni doubled her pace. “Mind your own business!”

Ragatha smirked. “Alright, I guess I’ll just head back to my room, then. Which, for the record…” She pointed behind herself, “…is that way.”

Pomni stared vacantly as Ragatha sauntered off. The doll had read her like a book. Locking herself in her room for days on end meant she still had no clue how to get around the tent — if she wanted to get back to her regularly-scheduled self-pity anytime soon, she would have to swallow whatever was left of her pride.

Pomni grumbled under her breath, fast-walking to catch up. “Hey! W-Wait!”

🎪 🎪 🎪

There was no ambient noise to dampen the tension; the dormitory hall’s plush carpet absorbed the sound of Pomni and Ragatha’s footsteps. Ragatha led, hands tucked politely below her waist, while Pomni trailed behind.

The complete, unbroken silence wasn’t exactly the most comfortable thing in the world, but it was preferable to whatever inane smalltalk would have filled it. That’s how Pomni saw things, at least.

In the time it had taken to walk here, she had managed to cool off a bit — and the unwavering quiet gave her plenty of mental space to reflect on the last few minutes.

She wasn’t sorry. Pomni didn’t care if Zooble hated her — she could hate them right back. Breaking bread with Jax was pointless; that creep preferred to provoke. Gangle was friendly, but to interact with her was to walk on eggshells, and Pomni lacked the patience. And Kinger? Was Kinger.

Arms crossed, Pomni looked up from her big, dumb clown shoes. Her gaze settled on the doll in front of her. Pomni despised everything about this place — but now that she was going through her laundry list of grievances, she had to admit: she had nothing on the redhead.

…What was her name? Ragatha…? She was by far the most mature of the circus’s captives. She was kind. Predictable. An island of calm in a stormy sea.

Pomni’s harsh features softened. Ragatha was the only character who had shown her the slightest shred of compassion since she’d arrived here. The realization weighed down her stomach with more than a few pangs of guilt. Ragatha, of all people, certainly wasn’t a deserving outlet for her angst.

Oh, no — nice going, you idiot. Ragatha was the one thing about this place keeping you anywhere close to sanity, and you’ve already repelled her by acting like a petulant child. She probably hates you now. You know that, right? Actually, it’s not ‘probably’. It’s ‘definitely’. That’s why she isn’t talking. That’s why this is so awkward. That’s why —

“So…what’s under your cap?”

Pomni stumbled. Had the wall not been there to grab onto, she absolutely would have fallen flat on her face.

Stabilizing herself, Pomni gawked up at Ragatha as if the doll had just beamed down from another planet. What’s under her cap? Did she hear that right? It was such an odd, out-of-the-blue question — but at least it had yanked her out of her head.

“I’m sorry?”

Ragatha bent down to Pomni’s eye level. “Your cap.” She said gently, resisting the urge to prod one of the little bells dangling from either end. “It comes off, doesn’t it?”

Pomni blinked. She hadn’t really given it any thought. In fact, until Ragatha had brought it up, she had forgotten that her ridiculous new form came with a hat at all. Doing nothing but hiding under the covers and sobbing for days on end had that effect.

With much bigger problems weighing on her mind, Pomni didn’t really care to check — but something about Ragatha’s expectant gaze possessed her anyway. Very carefully, she hooked her fingers beneath the golden rim. She felt a small amount of resistance as she pushed up, almost as if the headpiece were attached to her body through some kind of magnetic force.

With a just a little effort, though, it popped right off.

“…Huh.” Pomni held the striped cap in her hands. “Look at that.”

“Oh, goodness!” Ragatha tried and failed to suppress a squeal. She paid no mind to her question’s answer, too distracted by the worst hat hair anyone had ever seen. It was certainly a look; a chaotic mess of tangles, knots, and flyaways did as it pleased atop the jester’s capless crown.

“Hey! What gives?!” Pomni ducked her cap back onto her head. A few extra clumps of hair stuck out from underneath. “Why are you laughing?”

“I’m so sorry! Your hair is just…” Ragatha giggled. “Well, it’s a bit messy at the moment. But I like it!”

Pomni leered. “…Liar.”

“I’m not making fun of you! Honest!” Ragatha crossed her hands over her heart. “I love your hair, Pomni. It’s…”

“It’s what?!”

“It’s so cute!”

Pomni’s eyes grew two sizes. That was…not the answer she expected to hear. She didn’t know what to say — just that her face felt a lot warmer than before.

“Obviously, you could use a comb…or three. But who cares about that?” Ragatha’s hand drifted through her own thick, yarn-like locks. “You really lucked out, you know. I’d trade your hair for mine in a heartbeat.”

Despite everything, the smallest of half-smiles lit Pomni’s face.

“I, um…” Pomni took a deep breath. And then two more. Her whole body slumped closer to the floor. Try as she might to keep her personal pity party alive, Ragatha’s radiant energy made her forget her troubles, if only for a moment.

“…Why are you being so nice? And to me, of all people?”

Ragatha just shrugged. “Do I have a reason not to be?”

Pomni gripped her other arm, gaze flicking down the corridor. Her smile faded in the silence.

“Well, um, anyway…” Ragatha glanced at the door behind her — Pomni’s awkwardness was infectious. “You have your room key, right?”

Pomni’s heart skipped at the thought of having lost it, but eased at the feeling of cold metal in her pocket. She nodded.

Gently, Ragatha took the cartoonish key from Pomni’s hand. With a turn and a click, the way to the jester’s room was open.

Ragatha held the door, smiling warmly. “You look like you could use some space. Go enjoy some quality alone time, okay, new stuff?”

“O-Okay.” Pomni didn’t hesitate to do just that — until she did. “Um…” She peeked behind a door half-open. After the longest pause, a simple, stammered “thanks” was all she could manage to get out.

Her door clicked shut. And audibly locked.

My Ko-fi - Tips are very much appreciated! :)

[Next Chapter]

[nisimultifandom]

dark!Rafe Cameron x reader

Warnings- MDNI, dark content, power imbalance, mean!rafe, slapping

A/N - finally back, enjoy

——————————————————————————

You were laying in bed when Rafe came storming through the door with Papers in his hand, you couldn’t tell by his face whether it was good or bad news.

,,here” you looked at the papers which he threw on his bed with a confused look, you would need more Information than that, but fortunately he got the hint before you had to say anything

,,These are enrollement papers, i want you to go to school in Tanneyhill”

You were silent for a while, trying to gather up the right words to use without ticking him off, his face was rather stern but there wasn’t much of any emotion, he just waited for your response with his hands on his hips, which made him look more intimidating than he already was

,,But I already go to school on the other side of town, I have all my friends there and I’m happy with it” Rafe got more serious at that, also gathering his words before exploding too fast

,,You go to a pogue school, with pogues, this is a private school for people who will get something from life”

You frowned at that, feeling yourself get a little bit angry, Rafe not only insulted your friends but your family too

,,Rafe, everyone in my Family went to that school, went off to college and made something of themselves, I can’t believe you would say such things" you took a quick breath ,,I don't wanna switch schools"

A mocking grin appeared on his face at that ,,Im sorry i don't recall asking you, i'm telling you, you're changing schools"

you stood up from the bad wanting to be at the same length as him, knowing it would easier to get to you if you're lying down. He frowned at that before licking his teeth, knowing you were about to challenge him

,,And I’m telling you that I’m not changing schools, and you’re not in the position to deci-“ he grabbed you chin before you got to finish the sentence, taking all bravery out of you ,,Y/n…I don’t think you don’t know what position you’re in in this relationship”

,,Do I need to remind you?” You contemplated if a busted lip was worth the trouble and…,,Oh please, big bad Kook prince, show me what you got, it’s all you’ve ever known” his breath flared at that, his blue eyes now a darker shade an you knew if you didn’t stop it wouldn’t end good for you

,,Y/n” he states ,,you’re just scared that if I don’t switch school I’ll end up fucking a pogue” you weren’t schocked when you found yourself on the ground, with a piercing pain in your cheek

,,You disrespectful slut, I thought of doing you a favour didn’t know you had it in you to actually fuck some pogue” you let out a cry when he grabbed the back of your head ,,stand up” your body was working against you but your brain was trying to help you think straight

,,I said stand up” he shook you up by your ponytail, finally finding the strength to stand up, but too late as he already had other plans when he kicked the back of your legs, making you fall to your knees

,,can’t even follow some orders I see, do I need to remind you of your place?” You shook your head no, trying not to disturb his mood ,,answer when I’m talking to you”

,,No Rafe, I-I think I learned my lesson” he swiped the tears from your cheek, smirking down at you ,,You think?”

,,I know I did, I’m sorry”

,,Good, cause next time I won’t be as nice” he whispers in your ear

,,Why do you need to control everything?“ you ask looking up at him through the hair stuck to your face

,,Because you and I both know who makes the money, who takes care of everything“ he goes on ,,If not for me you wouldn’t even survive this fucked up world“ you were shocked at his words, the only person he should be protecting you from, is himself

,,I don’t need a full time babysitter, I’ve been doing just fine on my own” you let out through gritted teeth , Rafe let’s out a groan at that

,,I would advice you to shut the fuck up before I do something I regret” he shouts at you, taking a hold of your hair again, making you let out a pained sob. You try to find comfort in him, by taking a hold of his thighs, at that he raises an eyebrow

,,I-I’m sorry, let’s just stop fighting” trying to gather your words through the pain in your throat was harder than anticipated, the corner of his lip forms a smirk and he’s picking you up from the ground to put his arms around you

,,Stupid girl, next time I tell you to do something, don’t fix your lips to disagree me,got it?” You nod, stuffing your wet face in his polo shirt. Trying to stand up to Rafe was a mistake, one that shouldn’t be repeated again, but if you ever felt rebellious again he would make sure to remind you where you really stand.