#(or at least nothing shows us that in the show)

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter ten: daffodils & drills

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summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter. But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop, for free. Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, fluff, angst and eventual smut, minor jealously

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics.

"You both oughta thank me." Tommy leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, wearing the smuggest damn expression. "Wouldn’t even be together if it wasn’t for me."

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head as you sipped your beer. "Tommy, you are so full of shit."

Joel chuckled beside you, the deep, warm sound rumbling in his chest. His arm draped easily over your shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns along your upper arm—something he did without thinking now, like touching you was second nature.

Tommy smirked, tipping his beer toward you. "Damn, I swear—ever since you started datin’ Joel, you’ve gotten a little meaner toward me."

"Nah," Joel said, tilting his bottle to his lips. "She’s just finally realizin’ how damn annoying you are."

"Annoying?" Tommy gasped in mock offense. "I introduced y’all."

"And?" Joel raised a brow. "That supposed to make up for twenty years of bein’ a pain in my ass?"

"Twenty? Please. I was an angel until at least the age of seven."

"Bullshit."

Tommy opened his mouth to argue, but you cut in smoothly, smirking over the rim of your drink. "You’re just mad. I stopped babying you and started babying Joel instead."

Joel snorted, shaking his head, while Tommy placed a dramatic hand over his heart.

"Damn. You don’t even try to deny it." He sighed, shaking his head in mock sorrow. "Fine, fine. Can’t blame a man for missin’ a pretty woman makin’ him feel special. Joel’s one lucky bastard."

Joel usually would’ve shot back something sharp, but he nodded instead. Then, before you could even process it, he pressed a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

"That I am."

The words were simple, but the weight behind them settled deep in your chest, spreading warmth through you.

Tommy groaned, tipping his head back dramatically. "Alright, that’s enough of that. If y’all start gettin’ mushy on me, I’ll leave."

Joel smirked against your skin, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Wouldn’t be the worst thing."

Tommy scoffed. "See? This is what I get for bringin’ y’all together."

You grinned, leaning further into Joel’s side, feeling light like you hadn’t in a long time.

"Guess you should’ve thought of that before playing matchmaker, huh?"

Tommy rolled his eyes, lifting his beer. "Yeah, yeah. Y’all can buy the next round since I’ve clearly suffered enough."

You chuckled, slipping out from under Joel’s arm, already reaching for your wallet. "Fine, fine. I’ll get ‘em. Try not to kill each other while I’m gone."

Joel’s hand lingered at your waist as you stepped away, his fingers trailing off your skin like he already missed the contact.

You weaved through the crowded bar, making your way to the counter, waiting for the bartender’s attention.

Joel leaned back in the booth, exhaling through his nose, watching as you walked away.

"You ever gonna stop glarin’ at her ass every time she leaves the table?" Tommy teased, smirking over the rim of his beer.

Joel grunted. "Mind your damn business."

Tommy only chuckled, about to make another smartass remark—until his eyes flicked toward the bar and narrowed.

"Shit."

Joel didn’t like that tone.

His brows furrowed. "What?"

Tommy’s smirk faded, replaced with something mildly amused but mostly knowing. He nodded toward the bar. "Think you got some competition, brother."

Joel turned his head and immediately felt his stomach tighten.

Some asshole was talking to you.

Tall, well-dressed, leaning in just a little too close, his elbow braced against the bar as he flashed you an easy grin.

You were smiling back.

Joel’s jaw clenched.

Not the real smile—the one you gave him when you let yourself soften, let yourself feel. No, this was your polite smile, which you used with customers, strangers, and people you didn’t want to be rude to.

But the guy didn’t seem to notice. Didn’t notice the way you kept a little distance. 

You slightly shifted your body away, your fingers tapping absently against the bar as if waiting for the bartender to hurry the hell up.

Joel noticed, and he hated it.

"Relax," Tommy drawled, watching Joel’s hand flex against his thigh. "She ain’t interested."

Joel knew that, but that didn’t stop the irrational heat curling in his chest. Didn’t stop the urge to stand the hell up and ensure that guy got the message.

Tommy smirked, clearly entertained. "Jesus, you look like you’re two seconds from knockin’ his teeth in."

Joel exhaled slowly, forcing himself to stay seated, fingers curling into a loose fist on the table. "I ain’t doin’ nothin’."

"Mhm. Sure." Tommy took another sip of his beer. "You’re sittin’ there lookin’ like you’re about to start a damn bar fight, but yeah—nothin’ at all."

Joel ignored him because the guy was still talking, still smiling.

Then—he reached out, his fingertips grazing your forearm.

Joel’s vision went hot.

"Shit," Tommy muttered, grabbing Joel’s arm in a half-hearted attempt to stop him, but Joel had already slipped out of the booth, making a beeline for you.

Joel barely heard whatever excuse Tommy threw at him. His focus was locked on the man standing too damn close, all easy smiles and casual confidence, his fingers brushing against your forearm like he had any business touching you.

Joel sized him up as he closed the distance. Younger than him, well-dressed, and looked like the kind of guy who had never worked a hard day in his life. His posture was relaxed and comfortable, as if he were used to getting what he wanted.

Joel clenched his jaw.

"No, it’s fine. I can totally arrange that," you said, voice polite but distant, the same tone you used when helping customers at the shop.

Joel didn’t care.

He stepped in behind you, his arms sliding around your waist with a slow, deliberate movement before pulling you firmly against his chest. His grip was secure, almost possessive, his chin hovering just above your shoulder as his eyes flicked up to meet the guys.

The man hesitated, glancing between the two of you. His friendly smile faltered just slightly. "Oh. I didn’t realize—"

Joel didn’t say a word; he just kept staring, sizing him up in silence.

The man cleared his throat, shifting his weight before taking a step back. "Well, uh, thanks again. I’ll swing by next week to pick up the arrangement."

Joel frowned, glancing down at you. Arrangement?

You sighed, leaning back into his chest a little, but your voice held amusement. "Joel, this is Andrew. He’s a customer at the shop."

Joel felt his stomach drop, heat creeping up his neck.

The guy wasn’t flirting. He was ordering flowers.

Joel had just made a complete fool of himself.

Andrew gave a small, awkward chuckle. "Yeah, I just needed something special for my mom’s birthday. Didn’t mean to interrupt anything."

"You didn’t," you assured him with a warm smile. "I’ll have it ready next week."

Andrew nodded, giving Joel a final glance before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

As soon as he was gone, you twisted in Joel’s arms, looking up at him with a smirk. "You thought he was flirting with me?"

Joel exhaled through his nose, looking away, but he didn’t let go of you. "He had his damn hands on you."

You laughed softly, reaching up to rest your palm against his cheek, bringing his attention back to you. "Are you jealous, handsome?"

Joel grumbled something under his breath, shaking his head, but his grip tightened slightly on your waist.

You smiled, brushing your thumb along his jaw. "You don’t have to be jealous. It’s only ever been you."

Something flickered in Joel’s expression, and instead of answering, he kissed you, slow and deep, right there at the bar, letting everyone see exactly who you belonged to.

Your phone buzzed in the back pocket of your jeans, pulling you out of the moment. Joel’s lips hovered near yours for a second longer before you stepped back, catching your breath.

You pulled out your phone, skimming over the text from your babysitter.

Hey! Sorry, I can’t stay later tonight. Let me know when you’re on your way!

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. "I have to go. Babysitter’s gotta leave."

Joel gave a small nod, but his jaw was still tight, his hands flexing at his sides like he was barely holding something back.

"I’ll drive you," he said, no room for argument.

As much as you wanted to tease him, to smooth over the jealousy still simmering in his chest, something about how he looked right now—his shoulders tense, his grip still firm at your waist—made your stomach twist with something else entirely.

You both quickly said goodbye to Tommy before Joel led you outside, his hand on the small of your back.

The air was thick with summer heat, but the tension between you two was heavier.

He opened the truck door for you, waiting until you climbed inside before shutting it and walking around to the driver’s side.

The moment he slid into his seat, he started the truck, gripping the wheel a little too tightly as he pulled onto the road.

The silence was charged.

Streetlights passed in flickers of yellow glow, cutting across the sharp line of his jaw and the furrow between his brows. His fingers flexed against the wheel, his knuckles pale from how tight he was holding it.

You let the quiet settle for a moment before finally speaking.

"Joel."

He grunted in response, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"You’re still jealous."

His grip on the wheel twitched, but he didn’t answer right away.

"I ain’t jealous," he muttered, but the way his fingers drummed against the steering wheel said otherwise.

You smirked, shifting in your seat to face him. "Really? Because the way you were looking at Andrew said otherwise."

Joel exhaled sharply through his nose. "He put his hands on you."

"He touched my arm, Joel. Barely."

Joel’s jaw ticked, his grip tightening. "You laughed at somethin’ he said," he muttered.

You blinked, then bit back a smile. "Oh my god. You are jealous."

Joel didn’t respond, but his glare deepened, his hands gripping the wheel like it had personally offended him.

Your smirk softened into something fonder and warmer. You reached across the console, resting a hand on his thigh. "Joel."

His breathing slowed slightly at your touch, but he still didn’t look at you.

"You really think I’d let some random guy flirt with me when I’ve got you?"

Joel exhaled slowly, but his shoulders were still stiff.

"You don’t gotta—"

"I want to," you interrupted, squeezing his thigh gently. "You know it’s only you, right?"

His fingers flexed again, but this time, he relaxed, exhaling deeply, some of the tension finally unraveling.

After a long pause, he let one hand slip from the wheel, reaching over to cover yours, squeezing it tight.

"Yeah," he murmured, voice low. "I know."

At the next red light, Joel turned to you. "C’mere."

His voice was rough, thick with something you didn’t have the strength to deny.

You barely had time to react before his hand slid up your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he pulled you in.

The first press of his lips was firm, needy—not desperate, not rushed, but intentional like he had been waiting for this. Like he wasn’t going to waste a single second now that he had it.

You melted into him instantly, hands fisting in the worn fabric of his flannel, tugging him closer across the console. His lips parted against yours, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours in a way that sent heat curling low in your stomach.

The light changed.

Neither of you moved.

The driver behind him honked, and Joel growled low in his throat, pulling back just enough to mutter, "Fuckin’ hell."

You bit your lip, breathless, your forehead still resting against his as he put the truck in gear and gunned it down the road.

The second he pulled up to your place, he cut the engine and turned to you, his eyes dark, pupils blown wide, leaving only the low hum of the night around you—the distant chirp of crickets, the faint sound of a car passing somewhere down the street. But in his truck's small, dark space, all you could hear was your own rapid heartbeat.

"I have a few minutes," you murmured, your voice softer. You breathed more than the sound.

It was all he needed.

"Ain’t gotta tell me twice, sweetheart."

His hand was on you before you could take another breath, rough fingers sliding up the back of your neck, tangling in your hair as he pulled you in.

Heat surged between you when your lips met, deep and slow, like a fire catching just right.

Joel kissed you like he was making up for lost time. Like he’d been starving for this all night. His lips moved against yours with purpose, his free hand gripping your thigh, fingers flexing, kneading like he needed to feel you.

You gasped into his mouth as he pulled you closer, your body half-shifting over the console, desperate to be nearer, to press up against the solid warmth of him.

"Fuck," Joel muttered against your lips, voice rough, reverent like he was losing himself in this—in you.

You barely registered the way his hand skimmed along your side, dragging over your ribs, your waist, holding you firm as his mouth dipped to your jaw, then lower, hot breath fanning across the column of your throat.

"Joel—"

His name left your lips in a breathy sigh, and fuck—he shuddered at the sound, his grip tightening, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your neck before he kissed over it, tongue soothing the spot.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan against your skin, his hands sliding lower, spreading over your hips like he was memorizing the shape of you.

"Tell me to stop," he rasped, voice strained, but he didn’t pull away. His forehead rested against yours; his breath was hot and heavy between you.

You swallowed hard, pulse thrumming in your ears.

"I don’t want to," you admitted, hands still fisted in his flannel.

Joel cursed under his breath, lips brushing yours again, a promise, a plea.

Your eyes snapped open. "But, I really have to go."

Joel let out a pained groan, forehead dropping to your shoulder like he needed a second to compose himself before letting you go.

You exhaled, smoothing your hands down his chest before pulling back, lips tingling, your body still buzzing with want.

"I have to go," you whispered, hating the words even as you said them.

Joel’s hands flexed on your hips like he was considering telling you to stay.

But then he sighed, nodding once. "I know."

Still, he didn’t let you go right away. His fingers trailed one last time along your thigh before he finally pulled back, watching as you reached for the handle.

"I’ll call you," he said, voice still rough, filled with something more profound.

You smirked, glancing over your shoulder. "Damn right, you will."

As you slipped out of the truck, legs still shaky, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you like he was already counting down the hours until he could get his hands on you again.

____________

Joel was rarely a desperate man. He prided himself on keeping a good head on his shoulders, staying level, and not letting things get to him.

But when it came to you?

Jesus, everything went right out the damn window.

He stood on your porch, arms crossed, watching you wrangle Ellie into her sneakers. The little girl was practically excited, rambling a mile a minute about the perfect picnic spot she had picked out in the park.

Joel didn’t know how he’d gotten here—how he’d gone from keeping you at arm’s length to standing on your porch, waiting to haul a picnic basket down to the truck like this was normal.

Hell, maybe it was normal now.

Not that he minded. Spending more time with Ellie was something he wanted.

She’d warmed up to him over the last three months in a way that wrecked him—slow at first, quiet stares and shy little hellos, then tugging at his hand when she wanted to show him something, then climbing right into his lap with a book like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Now she was damn near bossing him around.

“Joel, we have to bring the lemonade,” Ellie insisted, standing on her tiptoes to rifle through the fridge.

You chuckled, grabbing the pitcher before she could knock anything over. “The lemonade is packed, sweetie. Anything else?”

Ellie nodded seriously, placing her hands on her hips. “Yeah, we definitely need extra cookies.”

Joel smirked, leaning against the doorframe. “Kinda sounds like you just wanna eat cookies instead of lunch, kiddo.”

Ellie gasped, looking offended as she turned to him. “Excuse me, we are having a balanced meal—” she pointed at the basket. We got sandwiches, fruit, and veggies. That means we can have all the cookies.”

Joel huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “That right?”

Ellie nodded firmly. “It’s called science.”

You snorted, handing her the container of cookies. “If it’s science, who are we to argue?”

Joel just shook his head as Ellie beamed in victory.

Once everything was packed, he loaded the basket into the truck, letting Ellie climb in first before helping you up.

The drive to the park was filled with Ellie’s chatter, flipping through the radio stations, making up ridiculous scenarios about the squirrel mafia she’d seen the last time you were there. Joel just listened, letting the warmth settle into his chest.

When you finally reached the park, Ellie practically jumped out of the truck, pointing toward a big oak tree near the pond. “That’s the perfect spot.”

Joel carried the basket while you laid out the blanket, Ellie helping in her own way by sprawling across it dramatically.

“This is perfect,” Ellie sighed, staring at the sky like she’d solved all the world’s problems.

Joel settled down beside you, stretching his legs out. “You gonna actually eat or just lay there talkin’ about eatin’?”

Ellie shot up, grabbing a sandwich. “I can multitask.”

Joel chuckled, shaking his head as you passed him a sandwich of his own.

The afternoon passed in easy conversation, laughter, and too many cookies. Ellie had conned Joel into arm wrestling (he let her win, but not too easy), and then she’d made him tell a story—“a cool one, not some boring old man story”—which turned into a ridiculous tale about outlaw squirrels that had you both laughing until your stomachs hurt.

At some point, Ellie dozed off in the shade, curled up next to Joel, her head resting against his arm.

You watched him, heart aching in the best way.

“She’s comfortable with you,” you murmured.

Joel glanced down at Ellie, his expression softer than you’d ever seen.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Guess she is.”

You smiled warmly, your gaze lingering on Joel, tracing the familiar lines of his face—the roughness of his beard, the creases around his eyes that deepened when he smirked, the way the sunlight caught the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes.

Joel caught you staring.

"What? Got crumbs in my beard?" he asked, smirking as he wiped a hand across his jaw.

You shook your head, your smile soft. "No. Just looking at you."

His smirk faltered slightly, something else flickering behind his gaze. Your eyes drifted to his lips, and Joel wasn’t usually a desperate man, but goddamn, you did things to him. Made him feel things he hadn’t in a long, long time.

His voice came out lower, rougher. "C’mere."

You raised a brow, smirking. "Nah. Last time you said that in that tone, it meant trouble."

Joel huffed a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Now, darlin’, I just wanna kiss ya. I wouldn’t try anything with Ellie here."

His voice was playful, but his eyes said more.

Something warm unfurled in your chest, spreading to the tips of your fingers as you slowly shifted, moving around Ellie’s sleeping form to press closer to Joel.

His arm slid around you instinctively, his other hand coming up to brush a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered, tracing lightly along the curve of your jaw before tilting your chin up just enough to meet his eyes.

"See?" he murmured. "Not so bad."

You let out a breathy laugh. "I never said it was bad."

Joel smirked, then closed the distance, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. It wasn’t hurried or desperate—it was steady like he had all the time in the world to savor it, and he did. 

Your lips moved against his, and you sighed softly into the kiss, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

It was something tender, real.

He didn’t go far when he pulled back, his forehead resting against yours.

"Could get used to this," he murmured.

You smiled, your fingers brushing lightly along his stubbled jaw.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Me too."

Joel smiled, a soft sigh escaping him as he traced slow circles against your hip with his thumb. "It’s been a hell of a time these past three months, sweetheart."

You searched his eyes, catching the slight hesitation in his voice. "But?"

"Ain’t no but," Joel assured you, his grip on you tightening just slightly like he wanted to hold onto this—onto you. "I ain’t in no hurry."

You studied him for a moment, taking in the sincerity in his face. He meant it.

Still, you exhaled softly, nodding. "I get it." Because you did.

The lingering glances, the way his hands roamed just a little slower each time he touched you, and the long, heated kisses that left you both breathless led to this unspoken moment.

Sleeping with Joel wasn’t just about desire. It would solidify this thing between you.

Maybe that made you both hesitate—how real it all was.

"Like I said, no rush," he murmured, his knuckles grazing your cheek, his touch softer than it had any right to be.

You smirked, tilting your head. "You say that, but I’ve seen how you look at me."

Joel let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "And how’s that?"

Your fingers trailed lightly over the collar of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin just beneath the fabric. "Like you wanna devour me."

Joel let out a rough breath, his hand tightening on your waist. "You’re makin’ it real damn hard to be a gentleman, sweetheart."

You grinned, leaning in, lips just barely brushing his. “Soon. Real soon.”

Joel’s breath hitched, and for a moment, it felt like the world had gone still—like all that mattered was the space between you, the heat, the tension, the pull.

Joel exhaled sharply, pressing a firm kiss to your temple instead of your lips like he needed to ground himself. "You ain’t makin’ this easy."

Your heart fluttered at the restraint in his voice, the way he wanted you so badly but refused to rush it.

You smiled against his cheek. “Good.” 

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[twelvebooksstuff]

I love this idea!!

Also, realizing that Ian Malcolm in The Lost World book is, to some extend, the opposite of this. He “came back” still willing to go back to the island if he deemed it necessary for the safety of people/the greater good, but also is, on some level, genuinely academically intrigued by what’s happening on the island, by the dinosaurs, by evolutionary theory, by biology, by the natural/unnatural world. He claims at the beginning of the book (paraphrasing) “no, not everyone loves dinosaurs, I don’t” but yet he does on some level want to learn more about the island and what it could tell us and what it could mean, in a way he doesn’t particularly seem to in the first book. You could say that’s because he already has a strong idea of how his theory will play out in book one, and he wants to see it not happen, whereas in book 2 he’s gathering information towards his thesis, he doesnt have it fully fleshed out from the grit go.

And while I do think the main reason he went back to another dinosaur island was because Ian wanted to do what he could to save Richard Levine’s life, who might be annoying but that doesn’t warrant a death sentence, and how could Ian live with himself if he chose to do nothing in a life or death situation where he’s perfect poised to make a difference, I think the fact that his research entirely pivots to chaos theory/complexity theory in Evolution and Extinction in the first place shows some amount of “came back curious” for lack of a better way of putting it.

Plus the fact that he’s still willing to do what it takes to live out what he thinks is right? “Came back fiercer��� arguably

And while yeah I think the research pivot is at least partially a coping mechanism/response to the trauma he has from the events of Jurassic Park, and we see him experiencing intense PTSD at various points in The Lost World, this point still generally stands

I had NO IDEA this post would be so long OMG lololol

"came back wrong" what about Came Back Afraid. You used to be brave. Too brave maybe, defying the odds at every turn, a fighter, cocky, playing with fire, first to throw yourself at the enemy. Until one day it all caught up to you. You came back, somehow, but now you know all too intimately how it feels to lose, to die, to be destroyed. Now you flinch and freeze and cower at the slightest provocation. Who even are you now if you can't be brave? The grave may have let you go, but the mortal fear still grips you tighter than ever.

[lila-lou]

✨All over again - 2/4✨

Summary: After a crash leaves Dean with permanent memory loss, you’re nothing but a stranger to him now. Years of love, gone in an instant. But the hardest part isn’t that he forgot you, it’s that he doesn’t want to remember.

-requested-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, Angst

Word Count: 4132

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

As the evening rolled in, the bunker was eerily quiet.

You were still in your room—your own room now. The hours had passed in a blur, but you hadn't moved much. The weight of everything sat heavy on your chest, exhaustion pressing down on you, but sleep never came. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him. The way he had pulled off his ring, the way he had looked at you like you were nothing more than a stranger.

The love of your life—your husband—was gone. And he wasn’t coming back.

Meanwhile, Dean had buried himself in the garage, his hands occupied with Baby’s engine, like fixing something would make this easier. He hadn’t come back inside since he left the library, and Sam knew exactly why.

Dean was running.

Not that it surprised him. Dean had always run from things he couldn’t fix.

Sam sighed as he set the table, a familiar routine after years of traveling, of making whatever meal they could pull together feel like something normal. But tonight, it wasn’t normal. Nothing was.

He grabbed his phone, scrolling through the contacts, considering calling Cas, maybe even Jody, but he knew the truth: no one could fix this. Not even an angel.

With a deep breath, he stepped into the hall and called out, “Dinner’s ready”.

He didn’t expect you to respond. And you didn’t. You probably hadn’t eaten all day, but he doubted you cared.

Dean, though—Dean had to show up eventually. Sam knew his brother too well. He could avoid emotions, but he wouldn’t avoid food.

Sure enough, after a few minutes, he heard the heavy footsteps from the garage. Dean appeared in the doorway, wiping grease from his hands onto an old rag, his expression unreadable.

Sam leaned against the table, arms crossed. “She’s not coming out”.

Dean didn’t react right away, just tossed the rag onto the counter. “Figured”.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You’re really not gonna talk to her?”.

Dean huffed out a breath, shaking his head. “Talk to her about what, Sam?”.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe about how she’s been locked in her room all day after you broke her damn heart?”.

Dean’s jaw tightened, his shoulders going rigid. “What do you want me to do?”, he muttered, voice quieter now. “I already told her the truth”.

Sam let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, you sure did”. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Dean’s wedding ring, holding it up between them.

Dean’s eyes flickered to the small piece of silver, and for a moment���just a second—something passed over his face. But then it was gone.

“Thought you’d wanna keep this”, Sam said, voice sharp.

Dean didn’t take it. Instead, he just shook his head. “It doesn’t mean anything anymore”.

Sam clenched his jaw, his fingers curling around the ring. “Bullshit”, he snapped. “It meant everything to you”.

Dean met his gaze, something flickering in his expression—guilt, frustration, something else even Sam couldn’t read. But then he just exhaled. “It’s over, Sam”. His voice was quieter this time, but it still cut deep.

Sam swallowed back the anger bubbling in his chest, before he slipped the ring into his pocket. “Fine”, he muttered. “But at least pretend you give a damn and sit down for dinner”.

Dean hesitated for a second, but then—like clockwork—he sat down, grabbing a plate like this was just another night. Like everything hadn’t just fallen apart.

The next morning came too soon, dragging in the dull ache of reality with it.

You barely slept. When you did, it was restless—filled with fleeting memories that felt more like ghosts, teasing you with what once was. The warmth of Dean’s body beside you, the sound of his laugh, the way he used to nudge you awake with a kiss to your shoulder.

Now, the only thing that greeted you was an empty room, a cold bed, and the harsh truth of being alone.

A soft knock at the door pulled you from your thoughts. Sam.

“Come on”, he called through the door, voice softer than usual. “Breakfast. Then we’re heading to a case”.

A case.

For the past few days, everything had been about Dean. His memory loss, his detachment, the way he had slowly pushed you away until he finally put the last nail in the coffin. But now, things were moving forward—just like that. As if nothing had happened.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and pushed yourself upright, feeling the weight of exhaustion in your limbs. You could hear Sam’s footsteps fading down the hall, giving you space, but the message was clear.

The world wasn’t going to stop for this. So, neither could you.

With a deep breath, you pulled on a hoodie and ran a hand through your hair, barely glancing at your reflection before stepping out into the hallway. The bunker felt colder than usual—though maybe that was just in your head.

When you reached the kitchen, Sam was already at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, scanning something on his laptop. Dean sat across from him, shoveling food into his mouth like nothing was wrong. Like he hadn’t shattered everything between you the day before.

You hesitated in the doorway, your stomach twisting. Dean didn’t even look up when you entered. Didn’t acknowledge you at all. And that fucking hurt. More than it should have.

Sam glanced at you, offering a small nod before sliding a plate toward the empty seat beside him.

You sat down, keeping your eyes on your food, even though you weren’t hungry.

The silence stretched on.

“So”, Sam finally said, filling the dead air. “Looks like we got a case up in Nebraska. Couple of disappearances near some abandoned farmland. Sounds like a possible wraith or maybe a revenant”.

You nodded numbly, barely listening.

Dean swallowed his last bite and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “How soon can we head out?”.

Sam eyed him, then flicked his gaze to you. “Soon as we’re ready”.

It wasn’t an invitation. It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a reminder. You were still a hunter. You still had a job to do.

Dean finally glanced at you then—just for a second. But there was no warmth, no hesitation. Just a silent, unreadable look before he pushed back from the table and stood. “I’ll get my stuff”. And just like that, he was gone again.

You stared at the empty space where he had been, fingers tightening around the edge of your plate.

You weren’t sure what hurt worse—losing him completely, or having him right in front of you, but feeling like he was already gone.

The drive to Nebraska was long, and the air inside the Impala was thick with silence.

Dean drove, eyes locked on the road, his expression unreadable. Sam sat in the passenger seat, occasionally glancing back at you, as if checking to make sure you were still breathing.

You were in the back. Where you hadn’t sat in years. It felt unnatural, wrong. This was the seat you used to claim only when you were teasing Dean, stealing his cassette tapes, kicking your feet up on the upholstery just to get a rise out of him.

Now, you sat there because it was the only place left for you.

The space between you and Dean wasn’t just physical. It was something deeper, something that felt impossible to close. And the worst part? He seemed fine with it. Like he didn’t even notice.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting slightly in his seat. “So, uh, I checked out the reports again before we left. Witnesses say they saw a figure near the last house that got hit. Human-shaped, but… off”.

Dean hummed in acknowledgment, keeping his eyes on the road. “Off how?”.

Sam clicked on his phone, pulling up his notes. “One guy said it moved too fast. Another said the eyes looked weird—like they reflected light, kind of like an animal”.

Dean nodded. “Wraith or skinwalker, then”.

“Yeah, maybe”.

Silence fell again.

You rested your head against the cool window, watching the scenery blur by. Normally, on these long drives, Dean would reach over and squeeze your knee. You used to play games—counting how many crappy motels you passed, arguing over which diner in which town had the best pie.

Now, you were just there. Existing. Nothing more.

“(Y/N)”, Sam’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You blinked, glancing up to see him looking at you in the mirror. “What do you think?”.

You realized then that you hadn’t been listening. “Uh… yeah. Sounds like a wraith”, you said quickly, pretending to know what they had just been talking about.

Dean didn’t react.

Sam, of course, noticed. His brow furrowed slightly, but he let it go. “Alright. We’ll check the victim’s houses first, see if we can track where it’s hiding”.

You nodded, then went back to staring out the window.

The rest of the drive continued in that suffocating quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional flip of Dean’s turn signal.

When you finally pulled into town, Dean parked outside a small diner—classic, predictable. “Food first”, he muttered, killing the engine.

Sam got out without question, stretching his legs, but you hesitated for a second before following. Sam fell into step beside you, keeping his voice low. “You don’t have to do this, you know”.

You swallowed hard. “Do what?”.

“Pretend like this is normal”.

You let out a quiet breath, forcing a tight smile. “Isn’t it?”.

Sam didn’t answer. Because you both knew the truth. Nothing about this was normal. Nothing about this was okay. But you weren’t going to fall apart. Not now.

Inside the diner, the three of you slid into a booth—Sam on one side, you and Dean on the other. The old leather creaked beneath you, and the scent of cheap coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air. It should have felt familiar, comforting. But it didn’t.

Dean barely glanced at you as he picked up the menu, flipping through it like nothing was wrong. Like this was just another morning.

And then—he did it. Right in front of you. He glanced up, eyes tracking the waitress as she walked past, his gaze lingering on her ass before he smirked to himself and went back to his menu.

Your stomach twisted violently.

Sam saw it, too. You knew because his jaw tightened slightly, his eyes flickering from you to Dean with something like disbelief.

Dean didn’t even notice. He just sat there, cool as ever, completely unaware that his casual, thoughtless action had just gutted you.

Because that was the thing—he had never done that around you. Not since the day he fell for you. Sure, before you, Dean had always been a flirt, always had a wandering eye, always made some dumb joke about a “solid ten” when you passed a pretty girl. But when he had you? You had been it for him.

There had been no wandering, no second glances, no careless flirting. He had made it clear, over and over again, that you were the only woman in the damn world as far as he was concerned.

Now, he was looking at another woman like you weren’t even sitting right there. Like you were nothing.

You clenched your jaw, staring hard at the menu in front of you, willing yourself not to react. Not to let him see how much it hurt.

The waitress—young, blonde, pretty—sauntered over with a bright smile, notepad in hand. “What can I get you boys?”. She barely glanced at you.

Dean grinned up at her, easy and charming, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Coffee. And whatever’s got the most bacon”.

The waitress giggled—actually giggled—and nodded. “Got it. And for you?”, she asked, looking at Sam.

Sam cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh, Coffee and Eggs”.

The waitress scribbled it down, then finally turned to you. “And you, sweetheart?”.

Sweetheart. You almost laughed at the irony. “Just coffee”, you muttered, not trusting yourself to say more.

The waitress nodded, giving Dean one last look before walking away.

Dean leaned back in the booth, stretching his arm over the backrest, exhaling like he had not a single care in the world.

Sam, on the other hand, looked pissed. His eyes flicked between you and Dean, his patience clearly wearing thin. But he didn’t say anything—not yet.

You? You just sat there, staring down in front of you, stomach churning.

When the food arrived, the waitress made sure to linger, setting Dean’s plate down with a little too much enthusiasm, her fingers just barely brushing against his arm. “Careful, handsome”, she teased, a playful smirk on her lips. “Wouldn’t want you to burn that pretty mouth of yours”.

Dean grinned, easy and effortless, the kind of smirk that used to be reserved just for you. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I can handle a little heat”.

Your grip on your coffee cup tightened.

Sam visibly tensed beside you, his eyes darting between the two of you, but he stayed quiet.

You just sat there, taking a slow sip of your coffee, staring at the swirling black liquid as if it could drown out the scene in front of you. Under the table, your fingers found the band of your wedding ring, twisting it absently with your thumb—a nervous habit, one you had picked up years ago.

You had done this on hunts, when things got tense. When Dean had been out too long, when a case went south, when you were afraid of losing him. And now, you were doing it because you had already lost him.

The waitress giggled, tossing her hair over her shoulder as she gave Dean one last look before walking away. Dean—your husband—watched her go.

The sting behind your eyes burned, but you blinked hard, forcing it down. You weren’t going to cry. Not here. Not in front of him.

Dean picked up his fork, completely unfazed, as if he hadn’t just flirted with another woman in front of the wife he had apparently erased from his life. “Damn, this smells good”.

Sam snapped. “You’ve gotta be kidding me”.

Dean looked up, brow raised. “What?”.

You took another slow sip of your coffee, the warmth doing nothing to ease the numbness settling deep in your bones. Your fingers twitched against the ceramic, a silent battle raging inside you. Then, without a word, you set the cup down, pushed back your chair, and stood.

Before Dean could react, your hand dipped into the pocket of his jeans—the same move you had pulled a hundred times before when you wanted to drive Baby, when you wanted to tease him, when you wanted his attention.

But this time, it wasn’t playful. This time, it was just survival.

You snatched the keys and muttered, “I’ll wait in the car”.

Dean blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, what?”.

You didn’t respond. Didn’t give him the satisfaction. Didn’t give yourself the chance to break right there in the middle of the damn diner. You just walked away.

Sam sighed and leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand down his face as he watched you push through the door and disappear into the parking lot.

Dean, meanwhile, sat there, stunned for a second. Then he scoffed, shaking his head. “What the hell was that?”.

Sam shot him a look that could’ve burned through steel. “You’re an idiot”, he muttered, voice low but sharp.

Dean frowned, shifting in his seat. “Oh, come on, man—”.

“No”. Sam cut him off, leaning forward now, his anger barely contained. “You don’t get to do this, Dean. You don’t get to act like this is normal”.

Dean rolled his eyes. “I was eating, Sam. I was having a damn meal”.

“No, you were rubbing it in her face”, Sam snapped. “Flirting with some random waitress like she wasn’t even sitting right there”.

Dean clenched his jaw, his fingers tapping against the edge of his plate. “I didn’t mean—”.

“Didn’t mean to?”, Sam let out a humorless laugh. “Jesus, Dean. You chased her. You spent months convincing her to give you a shot. And now you’re treating her like she doesn’t exist”.

Dean’s grip on his fork tightened, his gaze flickering toward the window. He could just barely see the outline of Baby in the parking lot.

Sam exhaled, shaking his head. “She left everything for you. And you just let her walk away”.

Dean didn’t answer. Because he didn’t have one. And for the first time in days, something about that bothered him.

Steam curled in the small motel bathroom, clinging to the mirror and fogging up the glass. You had just stepped out of the shower, towel discarded as you reached for your underwear, exhausted from the long day of interviews and forced conversations. Your skin was still damp, beads of water rolling down your shoulders.

Just then, the door flew open.

Dean strode in without thinking, muttering something under his breath, fully intent on just using the damn bathroom before eating. His mind was still on the case, on the food in the bag he had dropped on the motel table—he hadn’t even remembered that you were in here.

Until now. Until he saw you.

Standing there, bare skin glistening under the dim motel light, hair wet and clinging to your shoulders, curves on full display—fuck.

Dean stopped in his tracks. His breath hitched, something deep in his chest clenching before he could even process what was happening. Damn it. He wasn’t supposed to react like this.

But hell, you were beautiful. No, not just beautiful. You were the hottest damn thing he’d ever seen. And it hit him like a punch to the gut.

You barely reacted. You simply sighed, pulling your underwear up with practiced ease, then reached for your shirt.

Dean had seen you naked a million times before. Even if he didn’t remember, you did. This wasn’t new. Wasn’t shocking. And honestly? You just didn’t have the energy to care. Your heart was too broken for something as trivial as embarrassment.

Dean, on the other hand was fucking hard in an instant.

It was like his body had short-circuited, completely ignoring whatever logical part of his brain had convinced him there was nothing left between you. Because right now, there was something. And it was undeniable.

Dean felt heat rush through him, pulse pounding in his ears as his jeans suddenly felt way too tight. He was still frozen in place, fingers twitching at his sides, brain struggling to catch up with what the fuck was happening.

You didn’t even spare him a second glance. Didn’t react. Didn’t blush. Didn’t tease him like you probably would have, back when things were good.

You just pulled your shirt over your head, moving around him like he wasn’t even there. And for some reason, that made it worse. Made it so much worse.

Dean swallowed hard, willing himself to look away, to breathe, but his gaze kept getting dragged back—dragged to the way your damp skin glowed under the shitty motel light, the way your muscles tensed ever so slightly as you moved.

His body remembered. Even if his mind didn’t. And that scared the shit out of him.

He exhaled sharply, finally forcing himself to turn around. “Fucking shit", he muttered under his breath, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

You shot him a look in the mirror, completely unbothered. “What’s your problem?”.

Dean let out a humorless laugh, still not looking at you. “Oh, I dunno. Maybe the fact that you’re walking around naked like it’s nothing?”.

You raised a brow, pulling your jeans up, your expression unreadable. “It is nothing”.

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, trying to will his body to calm the fuck down. “Right. Yeah. Of course. No big deal”.

You let out a soft, almost bitter laugh as you grabbed your brush from the counter, dragging it through your wet hair. “Don’t worry, Dean”, you muttered. “I’m not expecting anything from you. Not anymore”.

That? That stung. More than it should have.

Dean finally glanced at you, something unreadable in his expression, but you were already walking past him, heading out the bathroom door like this conversation didn’t even matter. Like he didn’t matter.

And for the first time since this whole mess started… Dean wasn’t so sure he liked that feeling.

Dean followed you out of the bathroom, his steps quick, urgent. His dick wouldn’t stop throbbing. It was like his body had a mind of its own, like every nerve was on high alert, and fuck—he wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to being out of control when it came to himself.

And you just walked across the room like nothing had happened, completely unbothered, running a towel through your damp hair as you sat on the edge of the motel bed.

Dean exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You can’t do this”, he muttered, voice tight.

You didn’t even look up. “Do what?”.

He scoffed, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “This. Making me—”. He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “Making me horny just to get me to feel something���.

That made you pause. Slowly, you turned to him, raising an unimpressed eyebrow. “Excuse me?”.

Dean stared at you, like he expected you to admit it, to own up to it. Like this was your fault. But you just blinked, tilting your head slightly.

Then, after a beat, you let out a small, bitter laugh. “You walked in on me naked, Dean”.

His mouth opened, then shut. You had a point.

You crossed your arms, watching him, your expression unreadable. “I didn’t try to seduce you. I wasn’t parading around in lingerie, I wasn’t touching you, I wasn’t doing anything”. You let out a sharp exhale. “You came in, you looked, and now your body is reacting”.

Dean swallowed hard, shifting uncomfortably, because shit—you were right. But that didn’t change the fact that his body was reacting. And it pissed him off. Because he shouldn’t be feeling like this. Shouldn’t be this fucking desperate to touch you, to feel you, when he didn’t even remember why. His hands curled into fists at his sides. “Then why the hell didn’t you care?”.

Your brows furrowed slightly. “What?”.

He took a step closer, jaw clenched. “You were naked. I walked in, and you didn’t even flinch”. His voice was rough, edged with something he didn’t quite understand.

You let out another quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head as you ran the towel through your damp hair one last time before tossing it onto the bed beside you. “Shit, Dean”, you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “You’ve seen me naked a million times”.

Dean’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

“You used to wake me up in the middle of the night just because you needed me”, you continued, voice sharp but laced with something vulnerable. “You used to pin me against walls, drag me into the backseat of the Impala, couldn’t keep your hands off me for more than a damn second”.

Dean swallowed thickly. His body reacted again, a deep, primal pull in his gut at the images your words conjured, but his mind—his mind was still struggling. Still fighting against whatever this was.

You scoffed, shaking your head. “But now? You see me naked and act like it’s some huge deal?”.

Dean clenched his jaw, frustration rolling off him in waves. “It is a huge deal”, he shot back.

“No, it´s not".

He stared at you, mouth parting like he wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[riddlesrizzler]

𝙃𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙑𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙢

summary: your twang, makes mattheo develop a thang for you.

characters: southern! reader. down bad! matty. mentions of slytherin boys

warnings: none! just sweet!

word count: 1.4k

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

It was a typical day at Hogwarts, or at least, that’s how it was supposed to be. Mattheo had been looking forward to the rare moment of peace when his schedule was free of detentions and irritating professors. But no, of course, life at Hogwarts never went as planned.

Instead of being tucked away in the dungeons with his friends, Mattheo found himself begrudgingly walking down the corridor with an unexpected new responsibility. He had been “volunteered” by Professor McGonagall to show around the new transfer student.

"Mate, it won’t be so bad. Just walk her around, show her the ropes," Theo had said earlier, a smirk plastered on his face, knowing full well that Mattheo hated babysitting anyone.

"I don’t babysit," Mattheo had growled in response.

"You’ll be fine," Draco added, adjusting the collar of his robes as he walked beside them. "Think of it as a chance to make a good impression on the new girl."

"A good impression? Why do I have to make a good impression? I'm not interested in being her tour guide." Mattheo couldn’t help but sigh as he glanced at the clock. The afternoon had barely begun, and he was already regretting this.

But his friends’ words stuck with him, and reluctantly, Mattheo dragged his feet toward the entrance hall where the new student was waiting. He turned the corner, his mind preoccupied with how much he’d rather be anywhere but here.

You stood there in your black robes, nervously twisting the end of your sleeve. Your boots were a little scuffed, your uniform skirt a little too short for the dress code. And your eyes-bright, curious, framed by lashes that could kill a man - flicked up to his.

“Oh, hell,” Mattheo muttered under his breath.

She was pretty.

Like, too pretty.

For a moment, everything around him seemed to fade. The chatter, the footsteps, the hum of the castle-all of it disappeared. It was just her, and her eyes were locked on his. His chest tightened, and for the first time in ages, Mattheo felt something stir inside of him-something that had nothing to do with his usual dark thoughts or aloof indifference.

She was beautiful.

He hadn’t expected it, and that’s what made it worse. He never allowed himself to think of girls in those terms-especially not in this place, not with everything else on his mind. But there she was, and everything he had told himself about being too detached, too cynical, seemed to vanish in the wake of that first glance.

She smiled softly, a slow, warm curve of her lips that made him feel like an idiot for standing there, staring. His mouth went dry as he forced himself to take a step forward.

"Hey, you must be the new transfer student, right?" he asked, a bit too sharp. He mentally cursed himself for sounding so curt.

And when she spoke, Mattheo felt his entire world shift.

“Well, I reckon that would be me," she said with a gentle smile, her southern drawl lilting through her words like honey dripping from a jar. "Name’s Y/N. Nice to meet ya.”

He blinked.

Your voice.

Mattheo’s heart skipped a beat. He was certain he'd heard accents before, but nothing like this. There was something intoxicating about it, something that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The way her words flowed... it was like music to his ears.

It was like sweet tea and slow Sundays. Like porch swings in the heat and lightning bugs in jars. Mattheo wasn’t used to soft. He wasn’t used to voices that lilted like that.

“Where are you from?” he asked before he could stop himself. He was genuinely curious, but more than that, he wanted to hear her talk again.

"Georgia," she replied, twirling a lock of her hair absently. “It’s a southern state in the states. We’re known for our peaches.”

"Peaches?" Mattheo’s lips curled into a slight smile. He couldn’t help it. Her voice was too mesmerizing, and he wanted to hear it again. “I’ve never heard anyone talk like you before."

Her laugh was soft, a melodic sound that only made him more captivated. “That’s 'cause most folks up here don’t know much 'bout the South. But trust me, there’s nothing quite like it.”

"Peaches," he muttered under his breath, the word feeling warm and comforting. “I think that suits you. I’ll call you... Peaches."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Peaches, huh? Alright, if that’s what you wanna call me.”

He couldn’t stop himself from grinning. It felt right, the way her name sounded in his mouth, and something inside of him clicked. He was already drawn to her, to her voice, to the way she made even the simplest words seem enchanting.

-

Throughout the tour, Mattheo couldn’t help but ask her more questions—anything to keep her talking. Her voice was like an addiction he couldn’t shake. They passed the Great Hall, the dungeons, and the greenhouses, but all he could focus on was her voice.

“So... do you always say things like 'reckon'?” Mattheo asked, his voice casual, though there was a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes.

She blinked, surprised by the question. “Well, reckon is pretty common where I’m from. It’s like a way of saying 'I think' or ‘I suppose.’”

"Reckon,” Mattheo repeated to himself, savoring the sound. “I like that.” He paused for a moment, looking around the hall as if searching for his next question. His eyes caught on a few banners hanging in the corridor. “What about... ‘y’all’? Do you say that a lot?”

Her lips curled into a smile. “Of course. It’s the plural form of ‘you,’” she explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We use it when we’re talking to a group of people, like ‘How are y’all doing?’”

“Y’all,” Mattheo repeated, tasting the word like it was something sweet on his tongue. “It’s... it’s charming.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, clearly amused by his fixation on her accent. “You sure like how I pronounce things.”

“I do,” Mattheo confessed. “It’s... it’s different. But in a way that makes me want to hear it more.”

“Well, you’re in luck. I reckon I can keep talking, if you like.” The soft blush that spread across her cheeks made Mattheo’s heart flutter. She didn’t seem bothered by his words, but rather intrigued, a little amused.

-

That night, in the dim green light of the Slytherin common room, Mattheo collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Theo was already half-asleep with a book on his chest, Blaise was flipping through a Quidditch magazine, and Draco was polishing his wand.

“She’s got the voice of a goddess,” Mattheo said, staring at the ceiling.

“Already?” Blaise drawled. “You fall in love every Thursday.”

“No, no, listen,” Mattheo sat up, animated now. “She talks like… like butter melting on toast. Like bourbon on the rocks.”

Draco snorted. “You sound insane.”

Theo peeked open one eye. “Didn’t you say she was from America?”

“The South,” Mattheo said dreamily. “She said,‘Well, you’re in luck. I reckon I can keep talking, if you like.” Do you understand what that did to me?”

“Turned your brain into soup, apparently,” Blaise muttered.

Mattheo ignored him. “I swear, she could be reading potion ingredients and I’d still be hanging onto every damn word.”

“She cute?” Theo asked.

Mattheo glared. “Don’t even look at her.”

Draco laughed. “Oh, he’s whipped. Already got dibs.”

Mattheo slumped back into the couch, a dazed grin on his face. “I’m gonna make her say my name. Just once. Mattheo. Like Mat-thay-oh, in that voice…”

Blaise threw a cushion at him.

“She’s from Georgia,” he announced.

Theo looked up. “Is that a real place?”

Blaise nodded. “I think it’s in America.”

“No,” Mattheo said, pointing a finger in the air like he was making a grand proclamation. “It’s the Peach State.”

Draco looked bewildered. “What the hell does that mean?”

Mattheo leaned forward, eyes wide and intense. “It means it’s hot, sticky, there are bugs that sing at night, and-get this-everyone’s got porches and eats fruit off trees like they live in some kind of fairy tale.”

“She told you all that?” Blaise asked.

He nodded. “With that voice. That accent. I swear, I’d listen to her read me my own death sentence and thank her for it.”

Theo threw a pillow at him again. “Get a grip.”

“Too late,” Mattheo said, already leaning back into the cushions. “She’s mine. I’ve already named her.”

“You named her?” Draco asked.

“Peaches.”

There was a moment of silence.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Theo muttered.

And still, Mattheo just grinned.

[hleep]

Profess your love to the BEAST.

"I LOVE YOU!"

♥♡♡♡♡.

Mystic Flour

"......Emotions, too, will turn to white flour."

After a long silence, Mystic Flour speaks to you in an emotionless voice. Soon she raises her hand and waves it. As she waves, you can feel yourself slowly turning to powder. …Perhaps you should flee for your own safety.

Burning Spice

"Such vain sentiments will be crushed with a single blow of my axe. Will you still be able to talk about those ridiculous feelings after your body is crushed? HAHAHA!"

Laughing wickedly, Burning Spice started charging at you with an axe in hand. ..You'd better run!

Shadow Milk

"Ahhhh! to a lowly, foolish clown like me, you are an exquisite and beautiful confession of love, it brings tears to my eyes! …So, I suppose you can grant your beloved clown at least one favor, can't you?"

Shadow Milk plays it up with his trademark intense facial expressions and gestures. Soon, he's sneaking up on you with a sinister grin. He's not going to kill you, maybe.

♥♥♥♡♡.

Mystic Flour

"...........Your feelings will never be reciprocated."

Mystic Flour says that and leaves you, and you lose her because she's too fast for you to chase after.

Burning Spice

"....Tsk, You're always saying the same thing and it's boring. Let's see how far your boring mind will go?"

Burning Spice is still charging at you with his axe, but for some reason, his face looks a little excited. Is it simply because of the battle?

Shadow Milk

"Oh, rejoice! That steadfast, unwavering emotion of yours could fool most cookies. And my little subordinate would do anything for me, wouldn't he?"

Shadow Milk chuckles, ties you up with puppet strings, and takes you somewhere. Your will is of little consequence.

♥♥♥♥♥.

Mystic Flour

".........."

She doesn't answer; she just sits there, looking at you with an expressionless face; she doesn't use her powers on you, she doesn't kick you out.

Burning Spice

"Don't be cocky. I spared you only to save the pleasure of destroying you for later. Nothing more......Tsk."

Grabbing you by the scruff of the neck and lifting you up, Burning Spice threatens you. But soon he lowers you very gently to the ground and leaves you. Without attacking you.

Shadow Milk

"........"

Shadow Milk looks down at you from the sky with an expressionless face, then ignores you and leaves. By the time you've forgotten that you've confessed your love to him, he sits down beside you very slowly and speaks without showing you his face.

"yes."

[pandapetals]

sunlight & sawdust

chapter eleven: peonies & pilers

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summary: For two years, Joel Miller has done nothing but scowl at you from across the room, barely tolerating your warmth, your kindness, and your ever-present sunshine. And for two years, you’ve told yourself his gruffness doesn’t bother you—that his clipped words and cold stares don’t matter.But then, out of nowhere, he offers to fix the damaged floor in your flower shop.For free.Suddenly, the man who could barely stand to look at you is showing up every day, fixing things that don’t need fixing, sharing quiet lunches, and—most shocking of all—getting along with Ellie, your daughter, who has never warmed up to anyone as quickly as she has to him.

pairing: joel miller x fem!single mom reader - no outbreak/au

content warnings: slight reader description, no y/n used, grumpy joel, grumpy x sunshine trope, ellie is reader's daughter, reader is a single mom, tommy being a meddler, reader is friends with tommy, au setting in Austin, joel is a carpenter, reader owns a flower shop, SMUT TIME

a/n: divider by @saradika-graphics. finally smut....hehehe

Finding time alone with Joel had proven damn near impossible.

Not because he didn’t want it, but because your life didn’t just belong to you. Ellie always came first, and you weren’t the kind of person to leave her with just anyone.

Your usual babysitter, a sweet but unreliable college girl, had slowly started phasing out of availability. Not that you blamed her—she was young, wanting to spend her nights out with friends instead of watching a seven-year-old.

You had been that young once, too. You understood, but it meant date nights were hard to come by.

You had half-expected Joel to be frustrated, maybe annoyed that the two of you couldn’t just slip away whenever you wanted. Stolen kisses and lingering touches were constantly interrupted by tiny footsteps or a small voice calling for you.

Yet, Joel never once complained.

He took it all in stride.

Whenever he asked you out, and plans changed at the last minute, he just adjusted. If Ellie had to tag along, he also ensured the night was fun for her.

Instead of a bar or a dimly lit restaurant, Joel would take you both out for burgers at the mom-and-pop diner down the street, where Ellie could get a milkshake the size of her head. Instead of a movie date with just the two of you, he’d pick a family-friendly one, whispering commentary to Ellie the whole time, and making her giggle through the previews.

On nights when neither of you wanted to go out, Joel showed up at your door with takeout and a deck of cards, playing Go Fish with Ellie on the living room floor while you curled up on the couch, watching them with a warmth in your chest you didn’t know how to name.

He was trying. Not just for you.

For Ellie.

And that… that meant everything.

One night, after Ellie had fallen asleep on the couch mid-game, you turned to Joel, watching as he carefully tucked a blanket around her. His movements were gentle and natural.

"She adores you, you know," you murmured.

Joel glanced up at you, his eyes softer than usual. He exhaled through his nose, a small, almost hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah. She’s a good kid."

Your throat tightened.

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. "Thank you. For… all of this. For trying with her."

Joel’s fingers curled around yours, rough but warm. "Ain’t nothin’ to thank me for, sweetheart."

Yet, all you wanted to do was thank Joel, not just with words but with something more.

You wanted to show him how much he meant to you, how much you appreciated every quiet sacrifice and unspoken effort he made.

So, against your better judgment, you begged Tommy to watch Ellie for at least a few hours.

And Tommy, being Tommy, did not let you off easy.

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, an obnoxious smirk plastered across his face. "Alright, let me get this straight," he drawled. "You suddenly need me to watch Ellie, tonight of all nights, for a few hours."

You huffed, placing your hands on your hips. "Yes, Tommy. That’s what I said."

Tommy nodded, dragging a hand over his chin like he was deep in thought. "Uh-huh. And what exactly is so important that you need me to—"

You groaned, cutting him off with an eye roll. "Tommy—"

"Ohhhh," he grinned, realization dawning as he snapped his fingers. "This ain’t about runnin’ errands or some work thing. You just wanna get laid."

Your face burned.

"Jesus Christ, Tommy!" You swatted his arm, but that only made him laugh harder.

He clutched his chest like he was wheezing, shaking his head. "Damn, you really must be desperate if you’re comin’ to me for help."

"It’s not—" you started, but Tommy raised an eyebrow, waiting.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your fingers to your temples. "Okay, maybe it is a little bit about that, but also—"

"Ain’t no also," Tommy snorted. "You wanna jump my brother’s bones? Just say it."

You glared. "Fine. I want to spend some alone time with my boyfriend. Happy?"

Tommy gave you a long, exaggerated look. "Alone time," he repeated, throwing up air quotes. "Yeah, alright, let’s call it that."

"You are the absolute worst," you muttered, but the corners of your mouth twitched.

Tommy just grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. "I ain’t judgin’. Man’s been good to you. ‘Bout time you do somethin’ nice for him."

"Oh my God," you groaned, rubbing your face.

Tommy leaned forward, lowering his voice. "Tell me, though—when Joel finally gets what he’s been waitin’ for, you think he’s gonna—"

"STOP TALKING."

Tommy howled with laughter, but for all his teasing, he still agreed to watch Ellie.

When you left, flustered and dying inside, he said, "Tell my brother he owes me big time."

____________

You had planned everything to a T.

It was ridiculous—planning a date with the specific intention of ending the night tangled up with Joel, finally crossing that last unspoken line between you.

You couldn’t help it. You had wanted this for months now—wanted him.

Tonight was supposed to be perfect.

You had picked the restaurant carefully—somewhere lovely but not too fancy. Somewhere quiet enough that you could just be together, focused on each other. You had even gone out of your way to wear something you knew Joel would have difficulty taking his eyes off.

It had started fine. For the first hour, things had been easy. Good.

Joel looked at you in a way that made heat curl in your stomach. His hand rested on your thigh under the table, his thumb tracing slow circles over the fabric of your dress.

You had leaned in close, murmuring something teasing in his ear, your fingers brushing over his wrist.

Joel had smirked, eyes darkening, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

It was happening, and then—it all went wrong. The restaurant got loud. A group at a nearby table was rowdy, their voices echoing through the space, drowning out the soft music.

The waiter got Joel’s order wrong. Twice.

Then your meal was overcooked, and the final blow came when the power flickered out midway through dinner.

Not long enough to cause a panic, but enough that everything stalled—orders got backed up, people started complaining, and the cozy, intimate atmosphere you had tried so hard to create was utterly ruined.

By the time you left, your stomach was twisted in knots.

Joel drove silently, his hand resting on your thigh, but you barely felt it.

You were too in your own head, too disappointed, too embarrassed.

This was supposed to be your night, yet it was ruined.

When he pulled up to your house and put the truck in park, he turned to you, brow furrowed. “You’ve been quiet.”

You forced a small smile. “Just tired.”

Joel studied you for a long moment before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Hey.” His voice was low, soft. “We can try again. Ain’t gotta be perfect.”

That made something inside you snap.

Your chest tightened, frustration bubbling up before you could stop it. “But that’s the problem, Joel. I wanted it to be perfect.” Your voice wavered, and you hated that it did.

Joel’s expression softened. “Sweetheart—”

“No, I know it’s stupid,” you rushed out, shaking your head. “I just… I wanted one night just for us. No interruptions. No distractions. And instead, everything went wrong.”

Joel was quiet momentarily, watching you carefully before reaching for your hand.

“Doesn’t have to be perfect,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Just has to be us.”

That made your chest ache more because he didn’t get it.

He wasn’t mad, wasn’t frustrated, wasn’t anything other than understanding, which just made you feel worse.

You swallowed hard, gripping his hand a little tighter. “I know. I just…” You exhaled, shaking your head. “I just wanted tonight to be different.”

Joel exhaled, shifting slightly, his fingers tightening around yours. “It still can be.”

He didn’t let go of your hand as you sat there, both of you lingering in the quiet, the tension between you thick and heavy.

The date hadn’t gone as planned. Hell, it had gone wrong in just about every way it could. But Joel was sitting beside you in his truck, his fingers still wrapped around yours like he wasn’t ready to let the night end either.

You exhaled slowly, glancing toward your house before looking back at him.

“Do you… want to come inside?”

Joel’s gaze flickered over your face, searching, his grip on your hand tightening just slightly. “You sure?”

You nodded, your heart hammering. “Yeah.”

That was all it took.

Joel let go of your hand just long enough to step out of the truck, meeting you at the front of your porch as you unlocked the door.

The moment you stepped inside, the quiet hum of the house settled around you. The air felt different—charged, expectant.

You turned to Joel, who stood just a few feet away, hands resting on his hips, his eyes dark as they swept over you.

“Want a drink?” you offered, your voice softer than you intended.

Joel smirked, stepping closer. “What you got?”

You turned toward the kitchen, already feeling the heat of him following behind you. “Whiskey. Beer. Wine. Take your pick.”

Joel hummed, leaning against the counter as you pulled down a couple of glasses. “Whiskey’s fine.”

You nodded, pouring two drinks, but you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move, tracking you like he was waiting for something.

When you finally turned back and handed him a glass, his fingers brushed against yours slowly and deliberately.

Your breath caught.

Joel noticed. His lips tugged up at the corner as he took a slow sip, and his eyes locked onto yours over the glass rim.

You swallowed hard, mirroring him, taking a small sip, the whiskey burn barely registering over the heat curling in your stomach.

Joel set his glass down first, and its soft clink against the counter made you jump slightly.

He noticed that, too.

You exhaled sharply, pressing your lips together before breaking the silence.

“Tonight didn’t go how I wanted it to.”

Joel’s eyes stayed on yours as he nodded slowly. “I know.”

You inhaled deeply, summoning the nerve to say what you wanted. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t still salvage it.”

Joel’s jaw twitched, his hands flexing against the countertop. “That right?”

You took a step closer, then another, as you set your glass down next to his. Reaching for him, your fingers slipped over the front of his shirt, tracing along the fabric.

Joel exhaled through his nose, his head tilting slightly. “You sure about this?”

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah.”

Joel let out a rough breath, his fingers twitching at his sides like he was holding himself back.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, voice low, gravelly, full of warning. “If I kiss you now, I ain’t gonna wanna stop.”

Your pulse pounded, your body buzzing with the weight of his words.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

He closed the space between you in a heartbeat, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you against him, his lips crashing onto yours in a kiss that was anything but soft.

It was deep, hungry, and filled with all the tension that had been building for months.

You gasped into his mouth, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as he backed you up against the counter, his body solid and insistent against yours. The edge of the countertop dug into your back, but you barely registered it—not with the way Joel was kissing you, deep and slow, like he was savoring every damn second.

"Taste so sweet, honey," Joel groaned against your lips, his tongue slipping past them to claim more, to devour you.

Your breath hitched as he kissed your jaw, his stubble scraping along your skin most deliciously. His grip on your hips tightened, rough hands digging into you as he needed you closer, needed you pressed against him in every possible way.

You let your head tip back, giving him the perfect angle to drag his lips down your neck to nip at the delicate skin before soothing it with his tongue.

"Joel," you gasped, your body trembling as he sucked at the sensitive spot just beneath your ear, sending a hot, electric shiver down your spine.

"Mm." His deep, satisfied hum vibrated against your throat, and his fingers were already moving, already slipping beneath the hem of your dress, gliding up your thigh with slow, deliberate intent.

"Fuck," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. "So damn soft."

His calloused fingers traced higher, brushing dangerously close to where you ached for him, the warmth of his palm searing against your bare skin.

"Joel, please," you whined, arching into him, desperate for more.

Joel tsked, his lips curving against your throat. "I know, sweetheart, I know."

His hand dipped between your thighs, fingers teasing the edge of your underwear, not entirely giving you what you needed but enough to make your stomach tighten, to make your breath stutter.

"You’re so needy for me, aren’t you?" His voice was dark and teasing. "But don’t worry, darlin’." His fingers pressed, just barely, just enough to make you gasp.

"I'm gonna take real good care of you."

The words sent a sharp, searing heat straight to your core, your body reacting instantly, arching into him, silently begging.

Joel groaned, shaking his head as if you were driving him crazy.

"Gotta make sure you’re all nice and ready for me, honey," he murmured, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your panties, his breath warm and heavy against your ear.

Your breath hitched a sharp gasp, leaving your lips as Joel’s fingers moved through your folds, teasing, exploring. His touch was slow, deliberate—like he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

"Oh, Joel," you whimpered as his thumb brushed your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure straight through you.

He groaned, the sound deep and satisfied, his lips grazing your jaw, his breath warm against your skin. "You’re already so damn wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with want. "So fuckin’ beautiful. Can’t even think, can you?"

You shook your head, fingers digging into his shoulders, barely holding yourself together as he dragged his thumb in slow, teasing circles over your clit, coaxing another breathy moan from your lips.

And then, his middle finger slipped inside you.

A broken gasp tore from your throat, your body arching against him, the stretch just enough to make your head spin.

"That’s it, sweetheart," Joel coaxed, his free hand gripping your waist, keeping you steady as he moved his finger inside you, slow but intentional.

Your walls clenched around him, needy, desperate, and Joel cursed under his breath.

"Fuck, look at you," he murmured, pressing another slow kiss against your neck before sliding another finger inside you.

Your breath shuddered, your grip tightening on his shoulders as he worked you open, pumping his fingers in and out in a steady rhythm, his knuckles pressing deep.

"Joel," you moaned, your body trembling as heat coiled tighter in your belly.

He groaned at the sound of his name on your lips, his fingers curling just right, hitting the spot inside you that made your legs shake.

"Been too long for you, huh?" he rasped, his lips ghosting over your ear, his voice full of heat and promise. "But look at you, takin’ me so well, honey. Just like I knew you would."

Your nails dug into his skin, a moan slipping past your lips, your body aching for more.

Joel’s fingers didn’t slow, didn’t let up, his thumb still working tight circles over your clit, sending wave after wave of pleasure rolling through you.

"Come on, sweetheart," he coaxed, voice low and gravelly, his lips brushing against yours but not quite kissing you. "Let me feel you come."

With another perfect curl of his fingers, your body snapped, pleasure rolling through you in thick, heated waves. Your legs trembled, your breath hitching as you came undone, your forehead dropping against Joel’s chest as you gasped for air.

"Oh, god," you whimpered, your fingers clutching at his shirt, trying to ground yourself as the aftershocks pulsed through you.

Joel hummed low in his throat, a satisfied sound as he slowly pulled his fingers from under your dress, his other hand smoothing over your back.

You barely had time to recover before he brought his fingers to his lips, parting them deliberately as he sucked his middle and pointer finger clean. His eyes stayed on yours, dark and hungry, a low groan vibrating in his chest.

"Fuck," he muttered, his voice thick with want. "Knew you’d taste so damn sweet."

Your entire body went boneless at the sight, your stomach twisting into a tight knot of anticipation.

If that alone nearly undid you, you couldn’t imagine what it would feel like when he—

Joel leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow, deep, and filthy. You could still taste yourself on his tongue, and the realization only made your head spin more.

Your hands snaked around his neck, fingers threading into his hair as you pulled him closer like you could melt into him, like you didn’t want even an inch of space between you.

Joel didn’t hesitate.

With effortless strength, he gripped your thighs, lifting you against him like you weighed nothing. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your heels digging into his back as he carried you down the hall, never breaking the kiss.

Your back hit the mattress with a soft thud, Joel hovering over you, his broad frame blocking out everything else.

He braced himself on his forearms, his lips trailing down your jaw, down the column of your throat, his breath hot against your skin.

"You sure about this, sweetheart?" His voice was gravelly and laced with restraint.

You exhaled sharply, your fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt.

"Joel," you murmured, arching into him, your lips brushing against his ear. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."

Somehow, in the haze of lips and hands, in the quiet desperation of finally having each other, you had ended up tangled together in your bed, skin on skin, warmth melting into warmth.

Joel was behind you; his chest pressed firm and solid against your back, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you against him as he moved.

Slow. Deep. Intentional.

Every thrust sent a shudder through you, your body arching, molding against him. The intimacy of it had your mind spinning and your breath becoming uneven.

"Goddamn, darlin’," Joel gritted out, his voice rough in your ear, lips brushing the sensitive skin of your shoulder. "Just takin’ me so fuckin’ well."

His words sent a sharp, electric pulse through you, tightening the heat coiling low in your belly.

His pace was steady and torturous, each slow roll of his hips making you feel every inch of him, dragging pleasure through you inch by inch.

You let out a breathy moan, your fingers gripping the sheets as his hand traveled upward, cupping your breast, his calloused palm rough against your soft skin.

"You’re drivin’ me crazy," he murmured, his lips trailing up the curve of your neck, his fingers pinching at your nipple, rolling it between his fingers to hear you gasp.

"Joel," you whined, pressing back against him, your body begging for more.

"I know, sweetheart," he soothed, his free hand sliding down, gripping your thigh, spreading you wider. "I know."

Then he thrust a little deeper, pulling a shattered moan from your lips.

Joel groaned, his breath hot against your ear, his grip tightening like he was holding himself together just for you.

"Fuck, darlin’. Can’t get enough of you."

A desperate moan slipped from your lips as you tried to roll your hips, chasing the friction you needed, trying to urge Joel to move faster.

But he stilled, his grip firm on your waist, his breath hot against your skin.

“Nah, don’t do that,” he warned, voice thick with control, with restraint. “Ain’t gonna rush this.”

Before you could protest, he shifted, pressing you further into the mattress, his body covering yours, broad and unyielding. His weight, his presence, the sheer heat of him sent a fresh wave of need coursing through you.

“Wanna make you come again,” Joel murmured, his lips ghosting over your jaw before he sank back inside you.

You gasped, your nails digging into the strong muscles of his shoulders as he filled you again, stretching you perfectly, dragging a slow, torturous moan from your throat.

His thrusts started deep, making you feel every inch of him, making you needier with each roll of his hips.

“Please,” you whined, your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, trying to pull him in, trying to make him move.

Joel groaned, his forehead dropping against yours, his breath ragged, hot.

His hand slid down between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing slow, lazy circles that sent sharp sparks of pleasure pulsing through you.

Your back arched, a helpless whimper escaping your lips.

“Oh—right there,” you gasped, clinging to him, your body begging for more.

Joel cursed under his breath, his jaw tightening as he watched you—watched the way you trembled beneath him, watched the way you came undone for him.

"Joel, please," you panted, your voice desperate, your nails raking lightly down his back. "Faster."

Joel groaned, his fingers digging into your thigh, anchoring you beneath him as he finally gave in. “Hold on, honey,” he rasped, voice low, wrecked.

Joel’s thrusts grew rougher, his pace quickening as he drove you closer, dragging you over that edge with a relentless, perfect rhythm.

The pleasure built and built until it was too much, crashing through you in sharp, shattering waves.

You cried out, your entire body tightening as your orgasm ripped through you, your walls fluttering and clenching around him. The sensation wrenched a deep, wrecked groan from Joel’s throat.

“Fuck," he gritted out, his grip bruising on your waist as he tried to hold on, his control slipping fast. “Look at you. So damn beautiful—makin’ a mess all over me.”

Your body trembled beneath him, every nerve alight, barely recovering as you felt Joel start to pull out.

You whined, reaching for him, desperate to keep him close. "No," you gasped, fingers grasping at his arms. "Wanna feel you."

Joel groaned, shaking his head and jaw tight as if barely holding on. "Not this time, darlin’." His voice was thick, heavy with restraint. "We’ll make babies another time."

The words sent a shock straight through you, your stomach twisting, your breath catching because Joel wasn’t just saying anything to say it.

He meant it.

He wanted you. Wanted all of you. That alone nearly sent another wave of heat surging through you.

You exhaled sharply, determination flashing in your eyes as you reached down, wrapping your fingers around his thick length, still soaked from you.

Joel hissed, his body jerking at the sudden contact, his hips twitching at your touch.

"Shit, sweetheart—"

You stroked him slowly, teasing, watching the way his brows furrowed, his lips parting as he lost himself in the feeling of your hand.

"Come for me, Joel," you murmured, pressing your lips against his jaw, your voice sultry and soft. “I want to see you."

That was it.

Joel let out a deep, ragged groan, his muscles tensing as he came hard, thick ropes of warmth spilling onto your stomach.

He cursed, his breath shuddering, his hand gripping your thigh like he needed to hold onto something solid.

Joel collapsed beside you, dragging a hand down his face before exhaling sharply.

"You’re gonna kill me," he muttered, voice rough, spent.

You grinned, rolling onto your side, reaching up to trace lazy fingers along his chest.

"Would be a hell of a way to go," you teased.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh, tilting his head to look at you. His hand found your waist, fingers squeezing gently.

"Yeah," he murmured, his voice softer now, something warmer settling in his gaze. "It would be, staring at an angel."

The room was quiet except for the steady rhythm of your breaths, still uneven, still coming down from the high of each other.

Joel lay beside you, one arm tucked under his head, the other tracing slow, absent-minded patterns along your side. His touch wasn’t urgent—just gentle.

You exhaled deeply, stretching out against the sheets, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t think I can go for another round.”

Joel huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, sweetheart.” His voice was low, rough with exhaustion, but still full of warmth. “Let me clean you up.”

Something in your chest fluttered at the softness and tenderness in his voice in the offer.

You almost protested—almost told him you were okay, that he didn’t have to—but when you glanced at him, you saw it.

That look. That undeniable care was written all over his face.

So, instead, you just nodded.

You sat up, moving toward the edge of the bed, but Joel scooped you into his arms with ease before your feet could even touch the floor.

"Joel!" you gasped, a surprised giggle escaping you as you instinctively wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

His grin was cocky, but his touch was careful. “Pretty sure your legs feel like Jell-O, honey. Let me carry you.”

You rolled your eyes, but the way your fingers curled against the back of his neck betrayed you.

"You just like showing off," you teased.

Joel smirked, pressing a quick kiss to your temple as he carried you toward the bathroom. "Damn right."

Steam curled into the air as he drew a bath; the water was warm, and the scent of his favorite soap filled the space.

Joel eased you into it first, the heat instantly relaxing your muscles. You sighed, leaning back against the tub, eyes fluttering shut for a moment until you felt the water shift behind you.

Joel sank in, settling in behind you, his broad chest pressing against your back, his arms circling you.

He just held you, his hands slowly gliding along your skin, washing away the remnants of the night with steady, reverent touches.

You let your head tip back against his shoulder, exhaling deeply. “You don’t have to do all this, you know.”

“I want to,” Joel murmured against your hair, pressing a kiss just below your ear.

Something thick swelled in your chest, something too big, too full to contain.

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I love you.”

The second they left your lips, your whole body tensed.

Your breath caught, your heart stopped, and you felt Joel still behind you. Shit. You hadn’t meant to say it. Not now. Not like this.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head quickly. “I mean—I didn’t—”

But Joel’s arms tightened around you.

“Hey.” His voice was softer now, his lips pressing lightly against your shoulder. “Don’t take it back.”

Joel shifted slightly, his hand coming up to tilt your chin, guiding you to look at him. His gaze was steady, full of something profound and undeniable.

“I love you, too.”

The words were gruff and raw but honest.

Your chest ached, your stomach twisted, your eyes burning with something too overwhelming to name.

Joel’s hand slid along your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheek, and then he kissed you, slow and deep like he was sealing those words between you.

Like he meant them. Like he always had.

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[jo-com]

₊˚🍰₊ ⊹ ➛ Voicemails

Lando Noriss x Ex!Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: A series of voicemails Lando left in the quiet aftermath of your breakup —

୨ৎ Genre: Post- Breakup, Angst

୨ৎ Note: Been wanting to write again so here it is! Not proof read and there are some grammatical errors. Hope y’all enjoyyy

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Voicemail 1: Hey baby…i uhm just wanted to check up on you. I know that we agreed on not calling or texting each other but fuck i miss you so much, I regret ever hurting you like that.. please call me back, love you always.

Voicemail 2: Sooo, i was buying these snacks for me and then I saw your favorite food and just.. it reminded me on how much you like eating them and out of habit I picked it up and bought it hahaha… Just wanted to share this, sorry for disturbing you.

Voicemail 3: I know i promised to stop doing this and just move on, you've just been on my mind lately... [sigh] why am i doing this to myself.

Voicemail 4: Hey… I drove past your street today. I wasn’t planning to, it just… happened. Funny how everything reminds me of you, even when I’m trying not to look. Anyway… I hope you're okay. That’s all.

Voicemail 5: It’s late. I couldn’t sleep again. I keep reaching for you in my dreams, and waking up to nothing. I know this is selfish — I’m sorry. I just needed to feel like you were still out there, even if you’re not mine anymore.

...

A long and deep breath left pass your lips— hearing his voice and the things that came out of it made your heart ache even more. The hurt and feeling of loneliness was still evident from the way you've isolated yourself from everything.

You wanted nothing more than be freed from this torment of hearts and just block him all together but at the same time you were holding onto something that you knew was never going to be the same again.

The tears you never even noticed was now sliding down your cheeks, "Fucking hell" you mumbled under your breath.

You quickly wiped it away— not letting yourself show any vulnerability or any kind of weakness.

...

Voicemail 6: I saw your favorite movie on TV tonight. I almost texted you to tell you, like I used to. It’s stupid, I know. You’re not waiting for my messages anymore… but I guess some part of me still is.

Voicemail 7: Do you ever miss me? Even for a second? I keep asking myself that, like the answer will change something. I don’t even know why I’m leaving this. I just— I miss who we were.

...

After hearing the last message he sent, every being in your whole body was screaming to just answer him, but like they say “The heart wants what it wants, but the mind knows what it needs.”

...

Voicemail 8: I saw this coffee place you would’ve loved — all moody lighting and weird art. I almost took a photo to send you. [chuckles] Old habits, I guess. Anyway, I didn’t. Just thought you’d find that funny. Or maybe you wouldn’t. I don’t know. Doesn’t matter.

Voicemail 9: Do you ever feel like you made the right choice, but it still hurts like hell? That’s where I’m at. We ended for a reason... I just wish reason didn’t feel so empty.

...

You've contemplated for a while now and decided to call him back. With shaky hand you went to your contacts and saw his number that was pinned at the top— you forgot you ever did that, it was a long time ago but i guess you just got used to it and forgot along the way.

Every cell of your body was now filled with adrenaline, heart beating so fast, hands shaking abruptly and your chest heaving like crazy, as if you were but to explode with this overwhelming feeling.

The long silence filled your empty room, it was defining to say the least.

With a deep sigh, you finally gathered all your strength and pressed the call button. Your legs bouncing of the ground as you waited for him to pick up.

"Y/n?" he spoke— answering on the first ring.

You hesitated on speaking and was just focused on his voice that was calling out to you. You can practically hear the excitement and confusion on his tone.

You let out a lengthy cough that hid your shaking voice and finally answered him. "Hey..uhm I just called to say that you should stop with the voice messages."

Everything became silent for awhile, it was eating you up to say those words but you two needed to stop torturing one another and just move on.

Lando sighed deeply, "oh okay sorry to bother" and hanged up.

It left you broken— hearing his voice crack from your words. You never wanted this but was for the best.

Or so you thought.

You spent your whole day reliving the conversation, it just bugged you that it crushed him. You’ve decided to just go with the flow and fuck whatever your mind says— your heart clearly belonged with his so what the hell.

...

NOTIFICATION

1 Unheard Voice Message from My girl💞

"Hey Lan… I don’t even know if you’ll listen to this. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. But I need to say this. I know we ended things, and maybe we both thought we were doing the right thing at the time. But looking back, it feels like we got caught up in something we didn’t fully understand. I’m sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t care. That was never the case. I’ve heard every voicemail you left. Every word. I couldn’t help it. I just needed to hear you, even if it was through all that distance between us. I miss you, Lando. I miss what we had. I don’t want this misunderstanding to be the end of us. If you’re willing, I want to try again. I want to fix this. I just need you to know that. Call me back, Okay?"

[eanfee]

42 personal questions ask game

how many followers do you have? 46, yay!

when’s the last time you went on a date? I've never been on a date

how many posts have you made? 1452!

What type of shoes do you wear? Sandals!

what colour are the walls of your room White

where are you right now? (not exact location. ex: at a park) In my room

would you consider yourself good at art? Meh

who was your first kiss? I have never kissed

do you still sleep with stuffed animals? Sometimes

what’s your favourite piece of clothing you own? Dresses!

do you live in an urban, suburban, or rural area? Rural, we still have cows and carts around here

what’s your favourite store to shop at? (online or irl) Shopee

if you had to choose one POSITIVE word to describe yourself, what would it be? Creative?

do you collect anything? I wouldn't call it a collection, but I have some dolls

what’s the last thing you ate? Bread

if you go to therapy, do you like your therapist? I don't go to therapy

what’s one thing you want to buy, but don’t have the money or resources to get? Dolls and a Nintendo Switch

Who’s the first person you can think of? My grandma

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real? I never believed in Santa Claus

If you could revive one tv show that has been cancelled, what show would it be? The Dark Crystal, Age of Resistence!!!!!

do you consider yourself a part of any alternative subculture? if so, which one(s)? No, but I would like to be a part of it

who was your childhood favourite music artist? Xuxa

CDs or record players? CDs

Do you believe in any conspiracy theories? Yes, in theory we already have the cure for cancer in our hands, but the pharmaceutical industry doesn't want us to know.

would you get back together with an ex if given the opportunity? I don't have an ex

favourite kid’s show character? Princess Luna

is the person you call your best friend actually your best friend? I don't have friends

when you’re sad, do you prefer to listen to music to match your mood, or listen to happy music? Happy Music, I need something to combat my sadness, otherwise I will drown in it

what’s the last outfit you wore? A printed short-skirt and a short t-shirt

do you have any online friends? I have mutuals

least favourite clothing style that is currently popular Standard clothes, my God people all look the same! (and the clothes aren't even nice, but you're forced to wear them so as not to be socially excluded, especially in a small town)

how often do you do your laundry? Once a week

do you prefer silver or gold jewelry? Gold

what’s your book/movie/tv guilty pleasure? I didn't understand the question =D

if you could change your hair however you want, how would you change it? My hair is a dark blonde shade, so you can't call it blonde, but you can't call it brunette either, so I would like it to be a little lighter.

do you paint your nails? Yes

what’s an uncommon/specific /obscure topic you’re interested in? Dark Crystal

what’s the name of your first pet/what would you name your first pet if you had one? Pretinha

what’s one feature you would change on tumblr? Be able to leave likes on comments

what’s the most interesting item you own? I have nothing interesting

would you rather go on a date at a museum or a concert? Museum

what’s one regret you have? Of not having lived my childhood

42 personal questions ask game

how many followers do you have?

when’s the last time you went on a date

how many posts have you made?

What type of shoes do you wear?

what colour are the walls of your room

where are you right now? (not exact location. ex: at a park)

would you consider yourself good at art?

who was your first kiss?

do you still sleep with stuffed animals?

what’s your favourite piece of clothing you own?

do you live in an urban, suburban, or rural area?

what’s your favourite store to shop at? (online or irl)

if you had to choose one POSITIVE word to describe yourself, what would it be?

do you collect anything?

what’s the last thing you ate?

if you go to therapy, do you like your therapist?

what’s one thing you want to buy, but don’t have the money or resources to get?

Who’s the first person you can think of?

how old were you when you found out santa wasn’t real?

If you could revive one tv show that has been cancelled, what show would it be?

do you consider yourself a part of any alternative subculture? if so, which one(s)?

who was your childhood favourite music artist?

CDs or record players?

Do you believe in any conspiracy theories?

would you get back together with an ex if given the opportunity?

favourite kid’s show character?

is the person you call your best friend actually your best friend?

when you’re sad, do you prefer to listen to music to match your mood, or listen to happy music?

what’s the last outfit you wore?

do you have any online friends?

least favourite clothing style that is currently popular

how often do you do your laundry?

do you prefer silver or gold jewelry?

what’s your book/movie/tv guilty pleasure?

if you could change your hair however you want, how would you change it?

do you paint your nails?

what’s an uncommon/specific /obscure topic you’re interested in?

what’s the name of your first pet/what would you name your first pet if you had one?

what’s one feature you would change on tumblr?

what’s the most interesting item you own?

would you rather go on a date at a museum or a concert?

what’s one regret you have?

[frvnkcastles]

BREATHE ME IN SWEET SUFFERING ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: He needs to get back home to you.

Warnings: Violence, female reader (feminine nicknames used), SPOILERS FOR BORN AGAIN

Word count: 1.3k

Author’s note: We are so back. I enjoyed the finale tremendously and my best guy always delivers. That last scene really did something to me and I knew I had to do something with it. I’m also near the end of my semester so I’m hoping to post more frequently soon!! <3

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT

You were going to be pissed. Or at the very least, upset in a way that ate at him from the inside. That was the only thing on his mind as he sat in that cage, chained and beaten. Well, the only thing of two — the other being how he would escape, but he supposed those two were interlocked. After all, his main motivation for escape was to get back home to you. He could still feel your lips on his cheek, your grip on his arm as you bid him goodbye, even after all the punches he had taken today; none of it was enough to wipe away the memory of your sweet touches, always so gentle and tender with him.

”What’s going on?” you asked him when he emerged from the bedroom, his vest strapped to his chest and his gun over his shoulder. He looked like a man on a mission, and that was nothing new to you, except just a moment ago he had been all wrapped up in your little bubble of domesticity, counting down the minutes until the homemade dinner you had prepared for him just because. Jesus, you were heaven-sent.

”Karen called”, he rasped, his voice heavy with the guilt of letting you down, ”needs me to save Red’s ass.”

”Oh.” He heard the disappointment in your voice, no matter how hard you tried to conceal it. ”Okay. Be safe”, you added with a smile, putting great effort into not letting your dismay show, but he saw right through you.

With a sigh, he dropped his bag and stepped over to you, his tall frame looming over you. He cradled the back of your head and pulled you in to kiss your forehead. ”Hey”, he said sternly, tilting his head down to look at you in the eye, a solemn look on his rough features. ”I ain’t bailin’, aight? Y’know you’re the most important thing I got, sweetheart. I’ll be back for dinner.”

You gave him a smile, nodding in understanding. ”Okay, Frankie. I’ll keep it warm for you”, you promised, and taking in a deep breath, appreciative of your eternal patience with his antics, he kissed your forehead again.

And then, he walked out of your shared home.

God, you’d have a field day with this, him in chains. You’d probably say something witty to call him out on his impulsive bullshit. But deep down, you’d be worried and do your damnedest to help, he knew that. The thought made him crack a weak smile to himself, the split on his lip stinging but it was a good kind of pain.

He knew he had to act, had to get out of there. The thought of you sitting at the dinner table all alone, anticipating when his key would turn in the lock, carved at his soul.

”How’s it goin’?” he spoke up in the silent room, calling out to the guard pacing outside his cage. The man, young and foolish enough to turn his attention did exactly that, stopping in front of Frank. ”What do, uh, what do they call you?” he continued, feigning interest in his keeper. He didn’t turn on the charm often — in fact, he reserved it for you and for very desperate situations, and undoubtedly, this was one. With no guns to his aid, he stooped to sweet-talking his way out. He had gotten pretty good at that with you.

”Anthony”, the guard responded cautiously.

”Anthony”, Frank parroted him, ”you got a last name?”

The guard didn’t hesitate, and Frank knew he was getting his hooks in. ”Anthony Petruccio”, he elaborated, and nodding in approval, Frank adjusted himself in the cage.

”There ya go. It’s a good name. It’s strong”, he licked his lips, a crooked smile on his lips. He grabbed the chains, pulling himself up, forced to crouch down in the cage that was by no means suitable for a man of his sheer size. ”Where you from, Anthony Petruccio?” he asked, prepared to go along with whatever the guard would tell him.

”Jersey.”

Watching him closely, Frank staggered to the front of the edge, a grin on his face. ”Ah, Jersey”, he chuckled, ”you know, I-I thought so. I had a feeling, y’know?”

The guard was eating it up, and he could tell. He made small-talk like it was second nature to him, saying exactly what Anthony wanted to hear. He could practically taste your lips, so close to breaking free and running back home to you.

”You, uh, you got a lady, Anthony?” Frank queried, tilting his head at the man as he knelt down at the front of the cage. When the guard nodded, he chuckled again. ”Yeah? Yeah, I, uh, me too. My girl’s waitin’ for me, y’know? Told her I’d be back for dinner. Missed it a few times too many, and I ain’t really a fan of lettin’ my gal down. I’m, uh, a man of my word, yeah?” he went on, emphasizing the soft side of him, hoping to appeal to Anthony — and it was working.

”You know a lil’ about me, Anthony?” he asked then, and when the guard confirmed, he chuckled, ducking his head like he was bashful. ”A little bit, yeah? Then you, uh, you gotta know that my girl, she’s a real one, y’know? Ain’t too many people in this world who’d deal with my bullshit, stick with me through everythin’”, he explained, and the soft nod he received in response told him enough. He had painted a pretty picture for Anthony, earned his pity.

”I ’preciate you givin’ me a minute like this”, Frank smiled at him, standing up but still crouching before sliding one chained hand out of the small opening in the front of the cage. ”It’s an honor to meet you”, he added, and that sealed the deal — Anthony walked over to him, taking Frank’s hand to shake it.

Frank thanked him. ”I really can’t let my girl down, Anthony”, he spoke finally, before twisting his arm. A sickening crack echoed through the room, and as Anthony collapsed against the cage, Frank yanked on his arm as hard as he could, slamming him against the metal over and over again. And then, he bent his arm down completely, breaking it for good.

Satisfied with himself, Frank grabbed the keys from him, and in a blink of an eye, he was gone, leaving only an empty cage and poor Anthony’s body behind. He made his way home, careful not to get caught again, his only objective to have you in his arms.

As soon as he was through the door, you were all over him. Panicked gasps enveloped him, your hands running across his face and body, assessing the situation. ”Oh my God, Frank, I—I was so worried. Are you okay? Well obviously you’re not, Christ! Baby, I was so scared, I saw the news and—and I just—”, you stammered, but he just shushed you, taking your shaky hands in his own and stopping you from fretting over him.

”Hey, hey, shh, shh. Sweetheart, I’m here. It’s alright, hey, don’tcha worry, darlin’”, he tried to reassure you, looking down at your horrified face. He knew his words probably didn’t mean much, the swelling on his barely gone down and the rest of him just as tortured.

”You can’t be serious”, you sighed softly, looking over his face, ”you look like someone put you in a blender, baby.”

Mustering a chuckle, Frank dropped his forehead against yours. ”I’m fine, sweetheart. Real fine now that I’m home”, he insisted, cradling your face to pull you into a tender kiss. You could taste blood on his mouth and your tongue swept across the cut on his bottom lip, but he didn’t falter, kissing you slow and deep.

When he finally pulled away, he kissed your forehead, smiling against your skin. ”Sorry I missed dinner.”

[memezs-corner-of-the-osc]

Memez theory analysis ramble #2:

SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRETY OF TPOT 17.

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I’m dedicating a entire post to just the scenes with One and Doughnut because it tells us so much about One as a person:

Her demeanour throughout the altercation is something I’d like to bring light to.

One as a character is a manipulator who weaponises gaslighting by learning the characters psychologies to put them under pressure using her facade to sign as we’re all…..very aware by now.

What we learned here is are her downfalls: Temper and ego.

This is the face of someone who’s overly confident in everything she does, here she was not anticipating any failure in her plans.

I mean how could she possibly fail right, after all she’s tricked so many contestants-

And then reality hits.

Her egos down, she didn’t rehearse for this.

Now: let’s observe who one actually is under her act.

She resorts to violence to start with, trying to get a fear response from Doughnut.

Success: Ego back up tenfold.

She feels safe, like she has the upper hand.

So she starts her downfall: She starts giving Doughnut more information than he should know.

After all he’s going to take the deal, they all take the deal.

He can’t possibly escape and tell everyone after he just signs that little contract.

And so like the hawk she is she swoops back in to claim her prize, here she thinks she’s won in crushing the tough nut.

……unfortunately for her Doughnut is smarter then that and questions her, she hates being questioned as it ruins her whole shtick.

“Ughhh don’t worry about that Doughnut, after all is it so crazy to believe I’m just trying to help you?”

Mocking, condescending, setting up her “finishing blow”.

“Those friends of yours all agreed to it and look at all the fun they’re having!”

She can’t help herself and besides he’ll never get the chance to tell anyone so why not take the chance to unconsciously gloat to someone about it?

But it doesn’t work, he keeps questioning, second guessing and not trusting her act.

So she snaps and goes nuclear and goes to what she thinks everyone is can’t resist, themselves:

She tries acting like his friend one final little time, going with her plan B she set up.

She lays it all out, everything she knows about him and all the things in his life she rigged to happen in one last desperate attempt to regain control.

“Everyone gets to be a little selfish, it’s only fair.”

This is the line I’m going to go on a tangent on, it shows why One can do this guilt free.

She’s self justifying it constantly in her mind with a positive feedback loop, through her own delusions she sees fact.

It makes you wonder why she’s doing this and supports what I said last time, I still theorise she’s not here for the power, she’s here to make sure Two is powerless for her own pettiness.

One is a heavily Toxic abuser type person, she has warped morals that she bends to justify their own behaviour to herself subconsciously to get her own goals satisfied.

She has a ego or (at least acts like she has one to further her agenda) and will stop at nothing to the point of almost ending the universe to satisfy her needs.

And if she was friends with Two it would make sense if she used these manipulative tendencies on them and the other algibralians.

The scene with Six I will now circle back to basically confirms what I’ve been theorising with one quote: “She was supposed to be gone.”.

We have half her motive, this seemingly confirms One was exiled from the playground.

For what is yet to be seen.

Now let’s talk about the ending of the scene: What happens when someone defies her.

Let’s watch shall we:

She’s failed to make this man stoop to her level proving her psychology is wrong so she snaps, she’s never encountered this before.

She wants to feel like she’s won so she turns to a power trip, in a moment of rage she rips Doughnuts legs off and kicks him off to affirm to herself that she got the last laugh here and that letting him go is no issue.

I mean what can one man do without limbs-

And this right here is where I theorise Ones downfall begins, she got greedy adding Doughnut: a person who she knew could be a problem into the plan.

And where did it leave her?

With a wild card with context clues about what she was planning and with information about what’s behind her act on the loose, in her own greed I theorise she set in motion her demise.

And the kicker is even at the end she’s still affirming to herself that she didn’t really fail here by flying head first into the sun and that Doughnut was “just for good luck.“.

So I end off this essay of a post with a question: If this is how she treats her victims how did she treat her “friends”?

Thank you viewer for reading, the follow up to this will contain an analysis on Pencil (probably my favourite contestant by now) along with a few other misc things I want to talk about as this is already pushing it for this ted talk of a post.

[smoothlikealikeasnake]

Strong Coffee and Sweet Cakes

Chapter Four ‘Sweetest Rain’

Genre - BTS FF, a/b/o dynamics, a/b/o BTS and MC, Ot7 x fem MC/reader, so fluffy, little angst, eventual smut

Warnings - doctors appointment, discussion of medical concerns, effects of exhaustion physically, feelings of uncertainty, so much fluff it’s actually a warning, lmk if there’s any more xx

Summary - A new cafe near the Hybe building will change the 7 members of Bangtan’s lives forever, 7 alphas in a pack? A recipe for disaster. Until a sweet omega starts to stir up their world with a little bit more sugar and slowly their loneliness dissolves

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Author Notes - Ugh I love this chapter so much. 13k words of LOVE. well, kinda.

I wrote this so quickly in comparison to other chapter and I was aiming for 8k… yeah that went out of the window.

I just love them, i love where its going, i have so many ideas and ugh just so cute.

“Your scents sweetening again Y/nie, when are you next seeing Dr. Kim?” - Soojin nags, her voice quiet across the counter whilst you both prepare drinks. It makes you frown a little because, in the last few days—dare I say maybe it started a week or two ago?—your scent has been flaring randomly, a little sweeter and heady. 

Luckily for you, you obviously use scent blockers, but in close proximity, your friends can differentiate your usual scent from a sweeter version, an indication of your impending heat, but you're not due for your heat for at least another month. 

Dr. Kim is your doctor for checking your omega biological needs; you go to see her every 3 months, a week before you're scheduled to enter pre-heat and start symptoms. Shes dear to you; your comfortability with her spreads far since you’ve gone to her since you were 13, as most omegas begin to see their doctor regularly as signs of puberty set in. 

This routine is one of the many things you keep on top of to ensure your health and state are completely in your hands, whilst it would be a lot more laid back for an alpha or beta; as an omega, one without a pack and anyone you try to rely on, you are quite tight on these smaller things. You go every 3 months without fail. This time though, you're going to have to schedule an extra appointment.

“Not for another few weeks… maybe I should try to schedule another appointment sooner.” You mumble it out, not entirely happy because you never get your heat early-—it's perfectly on time every 3 months, 4 times a year, without any interruptions. You don't have any other symptoms, just the flaring of your scent and increased nesting instincts, but if it's going to come early, you're going to be prepared for it.

“That sounds best; now, go say hi to one of your lovesick puppies that has just walked in” - Your pushing at her shoulder and scold her immediately, scowling and denying her words because the ‘one of your lovesick puppies’ is her new way of referring to the 7 alphas who have recently started to attend more often. 

“They are just customers.” 

“Aish, im just being friendly.”

“It’s hardly special treatment.”

“I care for all my customers like that.”

Yeah, your friends have heard all the ‘excuses’ - as they call them - not believing a word you say although you insist there's nothing special about them, right? “Taehyung! Oh, new hair!” - You gush and fret over Taehyung’s freshly cut hair, refusing to let the disappointed frown settle over your lips because it was just so fluffy before- it looks amazing now but before - 

“Ah yeah, it’s a little short, no?” - He runs his hands through it effortlessly, but it makes you capture the jewellery decorating his wrist and hands; he's always well put together, favouring elegance most of the time when he comes in. Even when he's in some sweats, he somehow makes it look put together. Taehyung spins his head a little to show it off, seeing you lean in to observe whether you agree, and he catches your fingers twitch - from wanting to run your fingers through it - although you never would, of course. 

“It’s shorter, but it really suits you, although I do like the grown-out look” - You admit, you’re always honest with them, expressing what you really think, and you know your opinion won’t hurt Taehyungs feelings, so you tell him it, and he likes that. 

“Mmm, it was fluffier, right?” - Taehyungs fishing for your reaction without you even knowing, smiling teasingly and wiggling his eyebrows when you nodded firmly, not catching on until he continues.

“Do you want to touch it? Feel if it's still just as soft?” - Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows at you before breaking out into his boxy smile at your stunned look, your gaze switching between his hair and his face over and over, not knowing how to respond before lightly swatting his arm rested on the counter

“Aish, don’t be silly, Taehyung” - Your smile shows you’re also only playing, then you move on to taking his order, but whilst you do so, he freezes momentarily. 

Just as Soojin mentioned just a few minutes ago, your scent flurries around you in a sweet burst, no reason behind it and in such close proximity, Taehyung stills, breathing in a little too deep and his brain falters; he can see the scent blockers under your ears so why- 

He’s launching back with a big gulp, standing upright to put a little distance and not get even more affected than he already is by your scent because he’s holding back a rumble in his chest and his alpha is clawing at him to get in a little closer and get hooked on the scent, which he refuses to do because he has basic manners, for god’s sake; he’s not an alpha going through puberty. 

The rest of your interaction goes without much of a problem; he’s taking his sweet frappe to go. You’ve learnt Taehyung doesn’t like coffee, and you approve- harder for him to have unhealthy amounts of caffeine through it this way. He likes a singular teaspoon - just under, to be specific - in his teas, of all kinds, unless it's the citron tea, in which he takes a large and has nearly two teaspoons. You just prepare it for him at this point; he's always so appreciative of it too, gushing and exaggerating his approval to see you laugh. You’ve progressed your friendships with them all a lot since your meeting, maybe a little closer with the rappers, but you’ve warmed up to the vocal line very quickly, as they have to you. 

You speak more with Jungkook and Jimin on your late-night run-ins at the convenience store than at the cafe. Taehyung is just like this—fun, friendly, warm, a little teasing and flirty, but you can give it right back when he offers it. It's comfortable and the kind of interaction that really brightens your day. 

Maybe you shouldn’t admit it, but that’s why you’re extra quick to pick up on any day he’s not feeling as happy, just like with Hoseok; if they aren’t happy, it’s such a stark difference that it has you frowning the second they aren’t walking in with a bright smile. With Taehyung, it hasn't been often enough for you to work out a real way to help. What you have done is always make sure to put the jazz music he's so partial to next on the playlist when he comes in and write a little poetry quote on a small paper to give to him when you give him his drink - an interest you’ve found you both share. 

Jin, oh Jin, he's so attentive it's criminal. He's gentle and soft-spoken despite how intimidatingly handsome he is. Alongside that, he never misses a thing, and he's firm in how he shows his concern for you, no matter how much you brush it off.

“You’re trembling” - He first points it out on a late Wednesday, refraining from taking your hands within his own. It was just not a great day; a couple of rude and straining interactions, your back hurting a little more today, burning yourself on a batch of cookies that early morning—it just all seemed to add up, and your body was bearing its edge. 

“Ah, its just a habit.” - You wave him off and get back to preparing his drink but you can hear him over your shoulder

“No, that’s a reaction to your body being overworked; you should be at home in a nest right now” - Of course, Jin didn’t say this right off the bat the first time you met; he’d seen it many times at this point, alongside your other small symptoms, the rashes, the strained muscles—you get it. 

You look at him in surprise because theres no denying that but to mention an omega’s nest - even in passing - is incredibly intimate and you cant stop the flushing of your cheeks and your stuttered response

“It-I’ll be okay; I’ll do that soon...” - You mumble the last part, blushing furiously as you let on that you will indeed rest in your nest later but although Jin knows it’s intimate and nowhere near his place to comment as an alpha-—one not in your pack-—he does it from a place of concern; he might be blatantly pushing an unspoken boundary but he sees it in you too often not to say anything

“It’s nearly closing, isn’t it? You’ll go straight home?” - He pushes; he has too

“I still have to do some baking prep for tomorrow, a few cakes and uh, pretzels, i think” - You mutter out in response, feeling scolded, but also something within you feels warm, and maybe there's a purr threatening to spill out from the care he's showing—which is ridiculous, you tell yourself to get it together. 

“One day without a few extra options of bakes won't hurt.” 

“Ah, but even Joonie won't get his pretzel.” - You awkwardly chuckle, so attached to your work that it feels awfully wrong to even consider letting go of some of your duties for the day; it has you shifting and looking down at your trembling hands. Maybe they wont do much good in this state after all…

“Then he won’t get one; he can live. Go home, get a good rest, nest, you need it.” - Jin is clearly passionate about it; he also seems to be at least somewhat versed in omega biology. You shift but take a deep breath because your instincts are clawing at you to agree, to do exactly as he says because he's so clearly trying to help; his voice might be firm, but it's dripping with concern, and the small frown on his lips is genuine. 

“Okay…” - His approval is worth having a few less cakes for tomorrow. he wants to reach out and ruffle your messy hair, but instead, he smiles, nodding and then he replying without thinking and immediately regrets it

“Good Omega” - The way your eyes widen and cheeks flare is something almost animated, holding back a purr, although a singular syllable indicating it leaves your mouth before you slap a hand over it, mortified at your reaction, and you and Jin just stare at each other in pure shock before you have to break the contact because omg did he really just say that?!- just call you that- your hearts beating out loud at this point and omg why do you feel soft and a little dazey- 

“Im sorry i dont know what happened that just slipped out-” - Jin is staring at you absolutely mortified with himself-—how that just happened is out of his knowledge; hes blushing furiously, but within him he's holding back a rumble from your reaction, an approving growl trying to vibrate out of his throat, and he has no idea what you are doing to them, but this is becoming a regular sort of occurrence- you giving them all this feeling.

“Its okay!-” - You blurt out, a bit too hasty, laughing shyly and handing over Jin’s drink, your fingers grazing his own as he takes it and it sends sparks through your hand and arm, only getting more flushed and your pupils dilating a little more- wow you really need to shake yourself out of it

“...nest.” - Jin hesitates to say it again, but he meets your eyes, his embarrassment still evident, pushed aside to make sure you will, and you nod firmly, a small ‘mhm’ falling from your lips before he turns to leave. Its safe to say you scream to yourself in silence behind the counter afterwards and try to slow your heart and suppress your purrs from his words.

You do as he says though, reluctantly abandoning the few extra bakes to go home, have a shower, and jump straight into your nest in some fresh pyjamas, now openly purring and rolling around, pupils heavily dilated and cheeks flushed intensely as you can't get those two words out of your head- what are they doing to you?!

—----------------------------------------------------------------

Your Saturday is cut short at work to go and attend the soonest appointment you could get with Dr. Kim, the lady is a beta, mid-50s, looks amazing for her age, and is so motherly it warms your heart. Despite being a beta, a lot of her family are omegas and have medical care histories dating back decades, always sharing her home remedies and advice with you. 

You're called in from the sterile, quiet waiting room to her slightly warmer room; it's equally as sterile, of course, but has attention to small details to make it just a bit more welcoming. There are beanbags in the corner, all the other chairs are loaded with extra pillows, and there is a pile of blankets of all sizes, textures, and materials in the corner, and the walls are painted a very light, pastel yellow rather than white. 

“My Y/n!, how have you been, dear?” - She's as enthusiastic as ever, ushering you to sit down and instantly handing you a fruit candy, as she has done since you came to her for the very first time when you were 13, so nervous you were trembling. She fussed and draped a blanket over your shoulder and handed you a candy, ensuring there was nothing to be worried about, and it just stuck. 

“Yeah, I’ve been good mostly!” - You smile back and shrug because, well, you wouldn't be here if you were just incredible.

“The cafe?” - Discussing possible stress factors - jobs especially when it comes to omegas - is a vital part of your checkups so Dr. Kim is up to date with everything about your cafe, from long before it became reality “Amazing, a dream come true” - You can’t help but gush, sighing out happily as you think about it, and she listens intently, no note-taking yet, no checking over random details on anything because she knows and remembers you; as close as you hold her to your heart, she holds you to hers. 

“Oh, im so proud, truly.” “Now, we aren't due another check-up for a few more weeks; why now?” - She doesn’t try to hide the mild concern in her voice because you never have had to book extra appointments really; your cycle and behaviour have been regular and expected despite your lifestyle. 

“I’ve been having random flushes of my scent sweetening and strengthening, just bursts or it randomly and i need to nest a lot more intensely and nothing ever quite seems right recently” - Dr.Kim hums, intrigued and now noting down your symptoms and carrying out the rest of her questions regarding it

“Well, you aren't due for your heat yet; are you still using scent blocker patches?” - She’s more so questioning whether you’ve been trying a new alternative rather than anything else

“Yes, most days.”

“Okay, so they shouldn't affect anything since they aren't hormonal. Have you been stressed?” - Avoiding her stare that just says ‘give it to me straight’ is incredibly hard, has your voice rising a pitch as you answer

“I don't think so, not in like a new stress-factor sort of way?”

“And what about the things we discussed before: the shaking, muscle pain, and rashes?” - She asks because your scent and instincts tie in to these so tightly; it's a relevant connection, and she knows you push yourself, no matter how much anyone protests. It’s partially the reason she feels so strongly about you, sharing more than just typical medical advice and all of the things she’s learnt from her family to help you in any way you let her. 

“Mm, well, yeah, it's still there.” - You look down to avoid her eyes, and you can actually feel the expression she gives you, shaking her head disapprovingly.

“More?” 

“Maybe…”

“Okay, can you just remove your sweatshirt? I’ll have a look at these rashes,” you sigh out and stand, removing it like she says and knowing you’re going to be in for her fussing and scolding in just a few moments. It’s not like they look awful—far from it; they are just there though, and admittedly they are larger than they were when they began to appear.

“Okay, so the maybe is definitely a yes. Are they painful?” - She hovers her fingers over the one leading a little line from your neck to your shoulder blade, another just around the right side of your hip. 

“Only a little sometimes; they come and go though; none are permanent,” - You say as if that's any better, and maybe it is; at least they go. Dr.Kim sighs out and tells you that you can put your sweatshirt back on

“I'm going to prescribe you some ointment for them; you really do need to do a few less hours though; it's taking a toll on you.” 

“I know…” - You look away, rubbing your arm as you can feel her frown and concern for you; easier said than done. You are the only baker for the cafe, and you set yourself high expectations. While you don't have to work every day as you do realistically, you could hire new employees; that's not exactly straightforward. Your co-workers are some of your best friends; they do insist they can do more days and hours, but it feels almost like pity from them, and you don't want that.

“This could be the reason for your scent and nesting changes, but…maybe”

“Maybe?” “Have you happened to… meet… anyone recently or engage in activity with anyone?”

“No!” - You blurt it out, blushing in embarrassment because, as normal as it is, Dr.Kim is like a second mother to you, and speaking to her about that, as natural as it is, always does make you embarrassed.

“Okay, so you aren't sexually active with anyone right now, but have you been in any kind of romance with anyone? Maybe someone new?” - You don't know why, but you consider telling her about the seven alphas you met, but that would simply be ridiculous because you have no sort of romantic relations with them. Yeah, they make you blush occasionally, but that's nothing, right? Surely not. Definitely not, so you brush it off; it's just you overthinking and going through absolutely anyone you’ve met. 

Your inner turmoil is enough of an answer for Dr. Kim and although she knows you probably wont admit it, she’ll give a reply anyway

“Alright, so I think there are two possibilities: these could just be added symptoms of your body reacting to you overworking yourself, as I've said before, or… if you possibly have met someone, your body could either be trying to react to them and the change in dynamic, or your omega wants to induce your heat earlier in response.”

“What do I do?”

“We still have our 3-month checkup in a few weeks. If nothing changes, the nesting might settle down a little, or your scent occasionally fluctuates but not at an increased rate. I think it will be okay as long as you have no other symptoms, and we will just go ahead then. However, if you get any more symptoms of your heat, if the feelings intensify, call me; we can do some blood work, look further into it, and discuss more. How does that sound?” - She finishes typing and refocuses on you, truly asking for your opinion, and you know if you were to request blood work and further details right now, that she’d oblige, but you trust her; you trust that you can just be overthinking and this can be a mild flare. 

“Yeah, okay, that sounds good…” “You can always call me Y/N, you know that; as soon as you're concerned, just call, alright?”

“If it comes to your heat approaching too soon, we can look into temporary suppressants to set it back to put it on track. It should be preventable, okay? Dont stress Y/n” - She can see the tension in your body as you consider the possibilities, and it's really not doing you any favours; at this rate you'll only induce more symptoms and worry yourself further, but Dr. Kim's reassurance that you'll be able to get it back on track is enough for you to let out a sigh and nod.

She asks you a few basic and casual questions to finish up with, easing your mind and allowing you to relax. Believe me, she doesn't let you leave without an earful about how you need to slow down and that if there is someone, you should let them embrace and help you. She's practically chasing you out with the words, still mumbling as you're walking down the corridor to leave the clinic, and the receptionist gives you a knowing smile, Dr.Kim turning back into her office with a shake of her head. 

—-----------------------------------------------------

Back at the Bangtan's shared penthouse, Yoongi and Hoseok are hosting a v-live to connect with army a bit more, not having done so very often recently due to their schedules. They are enjoying a meal and casually talking whilst Hoseok occasionally leans over to read over the comments.

“I hope you eat well. We will; you should too army” - Hoseok takes a big spoonful of rice to affirm his words and then Yoongi finds it to be a relevant point of discussion

“You know, I think I’ve gained weight recently” - Yoongi would put it down to them having a bit of a break before getting more intense for performances again, but that wouldn’t be the truth. The truth is he's grown a strong liking to your bakes and is dipping in some days more than once to grab something; he's noticed just a little extra layer of softness around his abdomen, and the rest of his body is definitely thicker - like his arms and chest. Not that he minds; he will work it off once they start up again anyway. 

The comments flood with things such as disagreement that he has and saying he looks great and praise for him eating well

“Wah, you know, I think I have too” - Hoseok is obviously dancing whenever he's got a second to enjoy and spare, which leads his body to be lean and subtly muscular, but he's also put on a little bit of weight, converted into muscle, making his arms a bit thicker and his face just a tad less bony, and the fans say he looks good, that it suits him. 

“You know I heard Namjoon saying the same a few days ago.” 

“Hmm, yeah, he mentioned it in the studio; it's healthy.”

“Ah yeah, thighs.” “Arms.”

Both of them look at each other and laugh, knowing Namjoon is probably thoroughly embarrassed at the comments flooding in from their comments

“I’ve had a random sweet tooth recently,” - Yoongi carries on, mentioning it without really thinking too much about it. “So have I; it is not like me.” - Hoseok agrees, shaking his head and not deeping it much either 

“I think we all have; maybe it's because we eat a lot of savoury, just having a sort of sugar craze.” - Yoongi gets a hum in reply before they fall into a short silence whilst Hoseok reads the rest of the comments

“Spoiler? Noo.”

About an hour later, Yoongi gets a call from Jimin and excuses himself momentarily, coming back and ending the live because he needs to be picked up, something about not being allowed to walk back home ‘especially not in this weather’.

—--------------------------------------------------------

Running into Jungkook and Jimin at the convenience store has become a semi-regular sort of thing; sometimes it's both, sometimes just one of them. Each and every time they insist on walking you home, even if you reassure them you’ll be fine at first, after a month it just sort of stuck; you’d leave the store and just walk; they know the way at this point. 

It’s ten minutes where you have meaningless conversations usually, just talking about this and that, interests, random stories—you get it. Even then, there are some topics you three kind of just silently avoid: packs, relationships, things like that. Of course there are opportunities where you all joke and push and tease each other over things related to them, but it never goes further than that.

You look forward to it; it's not like it's scheduled, or that you go at the exact same time every night down to the minute; you leave it down to chance, so do they. Just like tonight, already browsing the ramen as if you’ll choose something different from usual - you won’t; you never do. A smile settles on your face at the citrussy and floral scent that floods your nose; it's always cut with this underlying sort of woody musk. To put it into a singular word? Romantic. It's uniquely unisex really; the floral aspect is typically seen as feminine, but the citrus and musk add an addicting kind of masculinity to it all. If you breathe it in hard enough, there's even a little bit of vanilla underneath. Jimin. 

Just on cue, your earphone is gently removed from one ear, and spinning around, the culprit is right there with his hoodie over his head and a big smile, and he’s ready to make a half-sarcastic comment like ‘Fancy seeing you here’ as if this isn’t half expected on most of your visits now. 

“Fancy catching you here on this fine evening, sugar” - Jimin giggles out, just as expected, having stepped back to give you distance rather than be right in your face, and the gentle shove you give him at the nickname only makes him laugh a little harder. Like I said, the nickname stuck. 

“Jimin” - You practically sigh out, not the annoyed kind, the warm sort of sigh. He’s a joy to be around; if you could compare how it feels to be with him on these nights, it’s like the warm breeze on a summer’s night, even if it’s just entering spring and the nights are still particularly cold. Jungkook’s company on these nights would be something a little colder, equally as comforting. It's what you imagine riding a motorcycle or a convertible car would feel like in the spring: wind cold but the exhilarating rush you’d get from it enough to keep you feeling just a little warmer. 

“The usual?” - Jimin questions, raising his eyebrows at you and standing beside you, looking at the selection; he likes a range of different ramens, rotating between them and trying something new every time. Sometimes he comments on them the next time you see each other, saying they were or weren't worth it, a silent suggestion, but in the few weeks he’s gotten to know you, he’s picked up that you don't really change your pick; you like what you like, and that's perfectly okay. 

“Hm, I don't know; I might try something different.” - But just like I said, you don't. Contemplate for just a few more moments and pick up that same ramen, Jimin already nodding and smiling knowingly as he picks out his own. You have said it before: the outcome is always the same. Maybe you say it more so for yourself; try to convince yourself you will differ from routine, but in the end you won't. 

After the usual chat you have with Mrs. Han, you both head outside and immediately begin to walk, talking about the last few days.

“Did you feel that?” - Jimin asks, wiping his head where a singular drop of water hit him, You're about 7 minutes in, just a few minutes from your apartment, a turn away from the road, and you frown in confusion before you feel it too, a few drops.

Within a moment, a mere few drops of rain turn into what you could consider a heavy spring shower. You're both in hoodies, no coat because whilst it's cold, it's not that cold. You look at each other in surprise for a moment, and your brain is moving 100 mph; you're hardly a 45-second sprint away from your apartment, versus Jimin, who would have to go a substantial distance to get back to the shop, let alone his home. It’s cold; he’s not wearing any rain clothing. You’ve come to a stop, and at this rate, the paths could get slippery fast; even if he did try to get home fast, you can guarantee he’d either catch a cold or slip, maybe both. You can’t let that happen—especially not when the whole reason he’s so far in the other direction is because he’s walking you home. 

You’ve come to a stop, and without a second more, your hoodie already beginning to soak through, you reach out, grabbing his wet hand and dashing in the direction of your apartment building, dragging him along. He lets out a surprised noise at being pulled so quickly and at the contact, but you’ve got one thing set in your mind, and that’s to get you both - more specifically him - out of the rain, and you do just that. 

You’re hardly sprinting, more so just doing a light jog and you kind of realise what you’ve instinctively done after you’ve already began 

“Come on!” - Maybe you can’t help the smile that settles on your lips, water splashing all around you both, and to the side of you, Jimin’s laugh rings through the air, amused; this is fun. 

He’s at your side now, more going at your pace than his own; you’re lightly jogging, he’s fast walking, and there’s not really a reason to keep holding his hand anymore. Despite that, he manoeuvres your hand, and you nearly pull it clean away in horror of yourself, but that's not what Jimin was going for; instead, he intertwines your fingers and picks up his pace a little, you following. 

Jimin’s laugh is contagious, yours following and cutting through the heavy downpour is both of you splashing with your running, holding hands and barely avoiding slipping, rain and laughter. 

Jimin’s hand is warm despite the cold air and rain, bigger than yours, and it envelopes you whole, and it’s nice, more than nice, having you giggling for a whole other reason besides the childlike situation you’re both stuck in. It seems more like you're both just playing in the spring shower rather than trying to get to shelter, entire outfits soaked through, but there isn't anything but bright smiles on your faces. 

When your building comes into view, you pull him a little faster up the steps, and without letting go of his hand, you punch in the code, ripping the door open and surprising him by pulling him into the hallway. 

You’re panting; he’s not. He’s used to physical activity, but he’s breathing a little heavier, your laughs hardly dying out in the silent hall. Rain’s hitting the clear door rapidly, blurring your view of the outside, and it’s only when you both calm a little that you realise just what you’ve done. 

“It doesn’t look like it’s stopping just yet.” - You say, a little purse of your lips as you stare out, Jimin would of just booked it home; you wouldn’t have that

“Yeah, came out of nowhere.” - You look at him and contemplate; its surely inappropriate to suggest, but- you can’t just let him stay in soaked clothes, go back out and all of that 

“You’re going to catch a cold” - Your voice is laced with concern, not hesitation. 

“Ah, I’ll be fine” - Jimin brushes it off although he can feel his body start to shiver a little; you can feel it from his hand where you’re both still connected. He watches you stay silent for a moment, looking at the lift and then back at him, expression begging him not to take this the wrong way. 

“You can’t go back out there yet, and you need dry clothes” - You gently tug his hand towards the lifts, what you’re suggesting clear despite not directly saying it, but your pull is just enough to allow him to protest should he want to; your grip says different, holding on a little tighter like you really don’t want him to go back out there. Internally, you couldn’t suppress your instincts screaming at you to push him upstairs, order him into clean and warm clothes, and dry his hair; tell him to stay put until you’re certain it’s not going to rain any more tonight, but you can’t voice that, of course not. 

Jimin catches on and is shocked, to say the least. He makes a little noise but blindly follows your pull, not knowing just what to say yet until you're in the elevator and you're punching in your floor number. Thats when a stilling realisation settles in and Jimin turns to you in hesitation and a little bit of fear

“Wait- Y/n your pack- i cant come in to your pack den, what about-” - You still for a moment realising- oh right- he doesn't know; of course not. You can’t blame him for assuming; it’s certainly very rare, and you appreciate his thoughtfulness.

“It’s okay; it’s just me” - You nod and still give him the chance to protest again, but his face morphs into one of shock again, mouth agape for a little moment, and his mind spirals back to that first day, the rap line commenting and saying they didn’t think you had one but you were comfortable with that, and now it’s confirmed. Schooling his face back into one of only a little hesitation.

There are a few moments of silence between you before you grow a small blush on your face at how you've acted the last few minutes-—instinctual.

“Sorry for dragging you here like this” - You murmur out, not meeting Jimin’s eyes, but he doesn’t think you have a single thing to apologise for. Deep within him, his alpha is singing praises about you and you so clearly showing your need to take care of him; hes pushing all the little comments and thoughts about it right down to answer coherently 

“You dont have to apologise-—and, you dont have to do this, you know; it’s okay.” - Because he doesn’t want you to feel obliged to invite him in to a space so sacred, simply because the weather took a turn, doesnt want you to go against what you really want to do if this isn’t that

“Are you okay with it?” - You throw right back, bracing yourself for him to blatantly reject you, press the button to go right back down to the ground floor and leave, but that's not what happens. Instead, Jimin squeezes your hand in his-—oh, you hadnt realised you were still holding it- it causes you to look up at him and he gives you a sweet smile, the reassuring kind and firmly nods

“Only if you are” - And you are- you haven't known him all that long, really, so it's weird how you aren't at all against him being in your home-—where your nest is. You return his smile and nod.

Right on cue, the elevator dings, and you walk down the hall slowly, towards your apartment and then notice, opposite, there’s a package sitting outside Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s door, an elderly couple that maybe didn’t hear someone deliver it, and before going towards your own door, you walk to theirs. You know that Mr.Lee will still be awake at this time, so you tug Jimin with you and knock on their door. He just watches, curious, especially when the door opens after a few moments, revealing a man with grey hair, his face morphing into one that can only be described as joy and parental love when he finds it’s you. 

“Y/n! How are you, dear?” - He moves closer to embrace you only to notice you standing with someone he’s never seen before, an alpha, and raises his brows before breaking into a knowing smile.

“Finally found a nice boy, huh?” - You burn bright. Embarrassed and realising what it looks like, Jimin also smiles and giggles a little. Ah, he seems nice, Mr.Lee thinks, always open to giving his opinion without being asked; he's got good intuition.

“Oh! It’s not like that Mr.Lee-” - You scramble to answer and shake your head, eyes practically closed with your embarrassment, but Mr.Lee ignores your denial and visibly assesses Jimin. To break to the point, you reach down and hand him the package.

“This was outside the door” - You gently hand it over, and he merely gives you a smile before refocusing on Jimin. Jimin’s never felt more scrutinised in his life, wanting to shrink back a little but standing tall and confident, calm, and Mr.Lee nods at him approvingly.

“Thank you, dear- You better look after her; she's sweet, this one. Don’t even think about so much as putting even a small frown on her face.” He stands stern and points accusingly at Jimin; you scramble to shake your free hand and rattle the bag as you do so, mortified at his assumption and your quick to try and end this interaction

“Theres no need for that Mr.Lee-”

“I won’t” - Jimin replies to him despite your scrambling, and Mr.Lee is stone-faced for a second before nodding, believing him, and you are absolutely writhing with embarrassment.

“Have a nice night Mr.Lee, ill bring you both some cakes tomorrow morning.” - You mumble out, cheeks redder than they’ve ever been, and you turn as soon as you can, walking towards your own door as you hear Mr.Lee return his thanks and close his door.

“Im so sorry-”

“Stop apologising for things, Y/n, its okay” - Jimin lets out a little laugh, genuine; he really doesn’t mind. He guesses Mr. Lee holds you dear to his heart; that's good. You seem like a beacon of light no matter where you are and who you're with. 

“Aish…” - You mumble, entering the code to your own home and opening the door, shoulders visibly dropping once the comforting scent of your home fills your nose, and Jimin can barely get two steps in the door without freezing and inhaling deeply. Its you, everywhere, obviously but its so full of you- Your scent sweet, heavy, borderline suffocating but not in a bad way-

Your apartment is similar to your cafe in the vibe you create; appearance-wise, it’s similar but in a different palette, much more filled with pastels. Trinkets and sentimental items are doted around everywhere, pillows and blankets in every corner and its so cozy Jimin forgets he's standing there shivering until you tug him a little harder to close the door and then reluctantly drop his hand.

“You can-—uh, you can sit down if you’d like I’ll get some clothes for you” - You are barely a few seconds of being inside before you are dashing off down a small hallway, towards your room he guesses, mumbling something about the clothes your sure you have somewhere-

You didn’t rush off without gently pushing a hand flat on Jimin’s chest towards the couch, urging him to sit, but he gets a bit distracted by the contact, placing a hand where you had just pushed as if savouring your touch. He takes a second, looking at the couch and opting out of sitting on it because he's in wet clothes; he's not ruining your pretty and soft setup by getting it damp. He instead opts for one of the stools around your kitchen island—less mess. 

With the few minutes you disappear, Jimin takes in what's happening, what happened, where he is, and what this is. He finds himself slumping the more and more he breathes in your air; it's dizzying, unfiltered, unrestrained versus how you have always got a scent blocker on. 

Inside him, his alpha is growling in praise and delight, telling him he should absolutely do anything you want him to do before you even get a chance to request it—instincts pawing at him unrestrained—and he's so deeply embedded in his own mind that he only snaps out of it when you come back in mumbling about something before locating him, freezing in the hallway entrance at his scent flooding you again. 

Your push towards the couch was the start of your doting; you rushed off into your room-—your nest—and instantly pulled out a drawer in which you knew you kept a particular pair of fluffy pyjama pants, too long for you so you always had to roll them up a few times, but on Jimin, they could be just right. 

You’re petting over them, pursing your lips and your omegas checking the softness of the fabric. is it soft enough for an alpha in your home- You have to stop yourself in mortification as your next instinct is to scent the trousers-—rub it all over your cheek, your neck, your wrist, fluff your scent around you so its positively stuck onto it and presenting them on a platter to Jimin-—sweet, sweet alpha, so kind and polite and so perfect-

You refrain, barely. Refocusing to get another piece of clothing, one of your many oversized hoodies, one that you would wear to bed in the colder seasons and only that, long enough to cover you to your mid/lower thighs but maybe a better fit on Jimin. You’re once again fretting over the softness and whether it’ll be the right size; it’s thick enough to keep him warm, but your apartment is also on the warmer side anyway; you prefer it that way, sates your omega needs. 

Once again, you resist scenting them heavily even though they definitely smell like you already; being so close to your nest and all- you hardly look at it. Different from usual because when you get home, the first thing you seek out is your nest. A thought-—an image-—passes through your mind: You leading Jimin towards your nest and fluffing everything around him, making it all just right and looking at him for approval. Then you snap out of your omega haze and shake your head in disapproval of yourself, folding the two pieces of clothing and setting out back towards your main space in the apartment. 

Your living room and kitchen are open plan; you like it like that; the smell of your baking easily floods through the rest of the home that way. You’re expecting to see Jimin on the couch, where you’d urged him and when you dont find him there, but on a kitchen stool, your mind runs wild. A mixture of disapproval for him not being somewhere more comfortable but also approval for him being considerate of being in wet clothes - even though you wouldnt of minded having to put some blankets in the dryer after. 

Jimin himself is sitting silently there, not even looking around and his scent is flitting around you in small bursts, enough to stop you in your tracks and have to gulp - you don’t have people here often, your space is entirely filled with you but this, having him here is- okay? Nice even.

Enough of that, enough of your silly thoughts. You always do tend to overly get instinctual when your home- of course, its the only place you allow yourself to fully give in to it all so you cant be blamed for your thoughts. 

Jimin snaps out of it and looks at you with a soft smile, eyeing the clothes in your hands and he could protest- he could insist you really dont need to do this but he can see the instincts swimming in your eyes, has felt it since you grabbed his hand and started to pull him through the rain and something tells him to just oblige, let you dote on him and care because you need this.

“I have some clothes for you” - You look to the side, across the room where he notices another door, ignored in his dwelling of his thoughts and you silently command him to follow you towards it, which he does.

You open it, another bathroom; you have one connected to your room, and this one is rarely used-—bigger than yours but less convenient. It's stocked up with your products anyway: shampoo, conditioner, body washes, skincare, and fresh warm towels on the radiator. 

Jimin steps in slowly; this room doesn't smell as much like you, and it clears his head a little. He watches you gently place the pile of clothes on the counter by the sink and turn to him, never failing to shock him as you reach out for his hand, feel all over it, run the back of your own hand over it again, and frown. You’re assessing his temperature and come to a conclusion; it might be a little pushy.

“You can change in here but- you should really shower; your still cold. you need to warm up or your going to get a cold. theres products in the shower, towels just there and skincare in the cabinet- you dont have too, of course but- just-” - You go from talking calmly and slowly to panicking at the end, mentally scolding yourself for feeling like you're overstepping so many boundaries and Jimin won't have any of that; instead, he holds your hand in his, giving it a squeeze. He’s affectionate; he’s always been one of the touchiest in the group, and as much as he would love to wrap you in a hug, this is all he feels is right as of now.

“Thank you Y/n” - Its not dismissive; he's not forcing you away; he is simply appreciating your words and your fretting. You nod, turning away and speaking before you leave and close the door.

“Ill just be in my bathroom in my room- if you need anything, just shout” - He nods, and that’s enough to calm your instincts a little, even more so when you close the door and hear him turn on the shower. 

Now to shower yourself.

Jimin’s quick to undress, stripping away all of the wet clothes and running his hands through his wet hair, turning on the shower and setting it to just the right temperature, glad that it’s easy to work. He has to change it from what it was on - what he would consider to be scalding - down to something less hot; he can't imagine that's the temperature you shower with - it is. Inside is everything he needs: you have copies of your own products, the marshmallow shampoo and conditioner you use, and a mildly scented body wash because you have sensitive skin. There's an unscented face wash as well, from a brand he's familiar with. 

The heat of the water running down him is welcomed; he takes a second to just let it rush over him, warm his body before he reaches for the shampoo. He can't stop himself from taking a few deep inhales of the scent; it's sweet, sugary, a little creamy, and so aligned with you it's dizzying. Odd to think he's also going to be using it; he’ll end up smelling like you a little, and that's a thought he has to halt instantly because if he keeps thinking like that the rumbling in his chest is only going to increase. 

After finishing up, he wraps his waist in a towel, shaking off his hair in the shower so he doesn’t flick water everywhere, kind of like Jungkook does, like a dog, except Jungkook likes to do it just about anywhere and doesn’t really care when the droplets hit the people around him. There's a smaller towel that he uses to roughly dry his hair and when he's done, he considers what to do with his pile of wet clothes, pushing them to the side momentarily and picking up the clothes you set out for him, dry, warm and fluffy with your scent. 

Good lord, it's going to be hard to hold back the urge to bury his face in them before he can even get them on and then even harder to stop the purr-like sound falling from his throat. Alphas don’t typically purr; they do, however, get a similar kind of sound when they are satisfied; it’s more of a rumble and a sweetened growl, though. It would be embarrassing to do it- especially front of you—but it's harder and harder to contain when he gets the clothes on. Theres still a singular roll in the bottom of the trousers that he has to undo to fall over the length of his legs and they sit low on his hips, fluffy and comforting, hes sure hes actually seen you wear these before on one of your run-ins. The hoodie is thick and soft, fits just right, perfectly oversized on him versus the extra extra oversized fit on you. 

He picks up his towels, folding them alongside folding his wet clothes and taking a split moment before leaving, just as you also leave your own room. 

You smell calmer, less frantic and certainly more like yourself, what does make him nearly trip though is you’ve taken off your scent blocker patches, the scent hitting him full force and he curses low under his breath, taking a moment to feign composition. 

You walk towards the large window and look out, frowning at the still heavy downpour, it doesnt seem to be letting up just yet. You can be forgiven for not noticing Jimin was out just yet, he smells a little bit too much like you to notice until your heavy scent fluffs a burst of his own and you spin on your heel.

“Do they fit okay?” - You rush over, grabbing his hand once again, feeling his temperature as best you can and nodding in approval that hes a lot warmer, you miss the shaky breathing hes suffering with because of your scent in this kind of proximity. Like him, you have wet, towel dried hair and fresh clothes on.

“Yeah they fit, thank you” - Jimin barely gets out, biting the inside of his lip because after he tried to breath through his mouth rather than his nose it just got more intense its like he could taste your scent. Hes a bit breathless, you put it down to the temperatures you leave the shower on but he assures he worked it out just fine. Then you notice the pile in his hands and reach out, giving him the option to pass them over

“I can go put your clothes in the dryer if youd like?” - Once again, Jimin’s noticing your own instincts playing up, even him touching the wet clothes seems to mildly unsettle you, shifting as you wait for his answer. He hands them over, gently placing them on your hands as if they are heavy and you are fragile, they arent and you aren’t but he will still treat you as if you are. He watches you run off for a moment to go to the utility room, putting them in the dryer and ona  quick dry, they only smell lightly of him due to the rain but its enough to remind you of his addictive scent and you nearly stumble on your way there, quickly saved.

Jimin can finally breathe with you a little bit further away although he kind of does want to suffocate in your scent- who said that?!

“It’s not finished yet” - Is the first thing you say with a frown and your arms crossed over your hoodie clad chest, referring to the rain as you both look out and Jimin worries that hes overstaying his welcome before you turn to him and begin to talk again.

“I’ll have a look on the weather app” - Then as you are about to grab your phone, you look up and notice his wet hair, frowning and he follows your eyes, reaching up and wiping it out of his face, offering a confused smile at your obvious disapproval.

“Dry your hair, you’ll get a cold- ill get my hairdryer” - Jimin barely has a chance to retort and say that you also have wet hair right now- and a lot more of it than him before your spinning off again and returning with a hairdryer, plugging it in near your couch, he goes to protest.

“Its really fine sugar, i wont catch a cold” - You’re hardly phased by the nickname when you stare at him in horror as if hes actually just said something highly illegal- Two seconds later hes yelping in surprise when you push him with a hand on his chest to sit on the couch behind him and he can’t deny that he does sink into the cloud-like mountain of pillow and blankets awfully fast. 

“Nonsense, stay” - You point and it’s suspiciously similar to how you’d tell a dog to sit and he does look puppylike in the way he does exactly what you say, staying sat and wondering what your about to do until you round him, lifting the dryer and then hesitating. 

“Can i dry your hair?” - You hover, not touching his hair at all for a moment but something in Jimin’s heart is warm, beating loud and in his ears. His chest is starting to rumble again and he really cannot wait until you get that hair dryer on to hopefully cover the sounds threatening to erupt from his chest. Something distant in his mind, heavily praising you and saying things like ‘sweet omega, taking care’ 

“Sure, sugar” - He dips his head for you to reach easier and you gently reach out, touching the strands and nearly purring from how soft they are, hes got his natural hair right now, they’d decided on it for the comeback, everyone natural although he is missing his blonde hair, he knows its a lot softer and healthier this way. Its just been cut, the sides shorter and a little prickly-soft you’ll find. The top’s in those curtains that perfectly frame his face, before styling its always a little bit in his eyes. 

After getting a feel for how soft it is, you cant resist dipping your hands in, gently detangling it with your fingers from his scalp to the ends, you have to clear your throat to cover up your purr. Jimin’s struggling too, hes putty in your hands, holding a pillow between his fingers to resist holding you a little closer because hes always loved having his hair played with, it tingles a little when you come across a few knots, mumbling an apology and oh so carefully untangling them one by one. He doesn’t mind the gentle tugging, hes leaning into your hands more and more by the second until hes practically crouched over himself. 

You keep going until you’re able to run your hands through it over and over, pushing it out of his face and back, over and over- a few times more than necessary. You catch a glimpse of Jimin’s face everytime you do it, hes got his eyes closed, gulping harshly every few seconds and otherwise, his lips barely part, breathing a little shaky and you take his flurry of scent fluffing around you as a reward, a token of approval.

Noises of approval fall from your lips, letting out a little purr by accident and watching as he twitches, looking up at you from under his hair and the look in your eyes has you spinning- metaphorically and physically as you turn your back to him searching for the hairdryer and simultaneously trying to even your breathing because WHO could possibly not stop breathing and blushing if jimin looked at you like THAT?!

The hairdryer acts as a good mask for your purrs and Jimin’s approving growls, even if maybe you can both hear them underneath. You keep running your fingers through his hair as you dry it, a medium sort of heat just in case rather than the high setting you always use on your own hair. You know how he likes his hair by now, making sure to run your fingers through it over and over in the front to swoop it out of his face and form the pretty bangs. Its so soothing that Jimin nearly falls straight into you, having to jolt himself up a few times because- why is he sleepy? Why is he quite literally about to doze off right them under your hands and the flittering heat of the hairdryer- 

You don’t mind when he jolts up, simply carrying on at a new angle each time until you turn the hairdryer off, Jimin’s hair a fluffy, soft sort of pillow on his head- you could definitely nest with something this soft- maybe you should just drag Jimin himself to the nest- Okay thats enough. 

Jimin slowly sits up when he realises your done and have ran your fingers through it just a few more times, it sits nicely out of his eyes, fluffed up just the right amount and he’s looking at your own hair before you can unplug the hairdryer and shaking off his happy haze to stop you. 

“My turn now sugar” - You turn around in confusion when he’s looking at you like your the softest thing in the world, angelic in his eyes and this is all so strange- you have barely known eachother over a month- what even is this?! You go to protest but he shushes you, gestures for you to take his spot and you do, getting a bit shy because you never have people do things like this for you and as he’s about to reach out and reciprocate, you reach for his wrist and stop him, words muddled on your tongue; maybe its just a try for you to brace yourself, maybe not

“It’s- it’s probably a lot more tangly than yours.” - Jimin looks at you pursing your lips and eyebrows furrowing, so clearly hesitating and he melts all over again. he retracts his hand and gives you a moment, voice so soft as if your a wounded animal

“Its okay; i dont have too if you’d rather i dont.” - And maybe thats all you needed to hear because it gives you the confidence to nod, dropping your head and Jimin pushes away the very small voice of his alpha singing your praises for dropping your head like that to him like omega’s do when showing their trust, saying you’re not doing it in that way

“I’d like you too” - Since your words are merely a murmur, Jimin doesn’t push you to talk any further. Gently separating your hair down the middle and into two sides, you ran some leave-in conditioner through it, but it might still be tangled. The first touch of Jimin’s fingers to your scalp almost makes you preen, resting your mouth on your hand, disguised as just slumping and comfortable, but it’s really to try and mask any reaction you have. 

Jimin purposefully is as gentle as possible, scratching over your scalp gently and repeating what you did for him, running his fingers through your hair until there's not a single knot; it's a lot longer, a lot lot longer than his, but that only makes him more careful. You are toe-to-toe; he can feel you wiggling them in happiness against his own, and it’s more than enough reassurance to carry on. You had already brushed it earlier, so it only takes a few passes to just get the few. 

Getting the hairdryer started and beginning has you in a very similar state to Jimin just a minute ago, eyes closed, breathing slow and deep; you haven’t had something like this since you were a child, always preaching your independence. That's why your purrs, louder than the hairdryer can be, are excused easily; you can hear Jimin giggling in joy and cooing over the softness of your hair, but it’s almost distant, barely feeling too conscious when he finishes. Minutes of drying had felt like a mere few moments, and you slowly blink back to reality. 

Jimin still keeps his finger detangling your hair after; it's only been 10 minutes start to finish from your hair to his, but it feels like it's been hours- friendly intimacy you tell yourself, right?

Busying yourself when he finishes is easier than confronting your currently hazy state, thanking him for doing it, and he recirprocates with a half-flirty comment about loving you playing with his hair that you know is only light-hearted. 

“You must be hungry- you’d be home by now” - Your voice sounds distant to your own ears. The worry shown by the little crease between your brows makes a similar expression settle on his own face. He wants to wipe it right off

Then, without him getting a chance to respond, you remember you’d obviously both gone to get food, and there are two plastic carrier bags on the kitchen island containing ramen and gimbap. It’s still pouring; he can’t possibly get back yet, and after you’d checked the weather, it was meant to calm down in around half an hour to forty five minutes, you had told him, and he’d nodded, not rushing to leave and you can hardly have him going hungry-—what kind of hospitality would that be? What kind of omega would you be?

“Would you like me to cook your ramen for you? I mean, I'm definitely not as good with cooking as baking, but I make a mean instant ramen” - You laugh out, trying to cover the fact that this feels awfully domestic and so intimate you could just melt. Jimin returns your laugh and wiggles his eyebrows teasingly, with a brief comment of ‘I bet you can,’ not at all a flirty kind of response, but he just makes it one with his tone.

He nods, thanks you, and although he feels he should at least help and not make you do it all, you have somehow accumulated a habit of pushing his chest and stunning him momentarily, enough to push him to sit and let you do it.

You aren't lying; you do make a mean instant ramen. Soft boil a few eggs to go with it, just right so that they pop when cut in half but aren't too gooey. Plating it up in the cups just because, and in 10 minutes you’re back and smiling to yourself at how Jimin’s sunk into the couch, sleepily blinking, your omega clawing within you in self-praise, happy you’ve aided him to get to this kind of state. Warm, dry, comfortable, and about to have a full belly.

Jimin practically moans when he tastes his ramen, claiming you make it better than he ever has, both of you munching away on ramen and gimbap. You both chose spicy versions; it plumps Jimin’s lip an almost anime-like red plush, and he sniffles at one moment-—you freeze.

You take his sniffling as him already developing a cold even though your rational brain knows you're also sniffling and it's only from the ramen. You try to keep eating, but you seem cautious, something to say or do lingering in your movements, and when Jimin picks up on it, you don't know how, but he just knows.

“I don’t have a cold; it’s just spicy- here, try” - It does well to distract you along with calming you, but you do look at him like he’s just done something absolutely obscene when he holds out a bite of his ramen on his chopsticks for you, hand under to stop them from getting on your couch or you; he laughs at your expression, but you open your mouth and lean in either way, trying them. They are sweet, savory and- spicy, so spicy that your eyes pop out and you look at him in terror- He’s in a fit of giggles that are music to your ears, throwing his head back and you’d hardly taken notice of the gesture of him feeding you and you sharing chopsticks-

“How do you even eat that! That’s going to burn my tastebuds off! Try mine its nothing like that-” - You get out between taking deep breaths to try and cool your mouth and eating a bite of gimbap, gathering a good bite on your ramen, repeating the gesture and Jimin leans in instantly, humming in approval at the taste but still half-giggling at your reaction

“They’re good! You sound like Taehyung” - He gets out after swallowing, nearly finishing his ramen now, same with you.

“Well, Taehyung is right because that is spice from the burning pits of hell, and I like spice!” - You near shout at him, still shocked and appalled, just as you finish and he’s once again giggling. Jimin reaches out and wipes your lip, a little bit of the ramen sauce still on it, feeling over your lip and bringing it back and into his mouth as if it's nothing. You’re frozen; he’s nonchalant about it, carrying on and laughing at your expression, and then you shove another bite into your mouth, blaming your flaming cheeks on his ridiculously spicy choice. Did he really just do that? Wipe off sauce from your lip and then lick his finger off after?! He’d darted his tongue out to do it past his puffy red lips and then just acted like nothing!

He’s driving you a little crazy, and it forces your sweetened scent out in a flutter so strong Jimin nearly choked, the kind of scent that you’d talked to Dr.Kim about. Then you’re embarrassed and mortified at yourself and don’t say a single word about it, neither does Jimin, maybe taking a lot deeper inhales of your scent than he’ll admit, feeling ravenous despite having just eaten an entire meal. It’ll replay in both of your minds, a whole lot more than you are both willing to admit.

The weather app lied. It always does. That half an hour to forty-five minutes? Lies. An hour rolls around, and both of you are stuffed full of food, warm, comfortable, and positively about to doze off when you murmur out.

“It doesn’t look like it’s stopping.”

Jimin agrees; the idea of leaving is kind of painful. he hasnt been this comfortable in days but he knows he cant overstay his welcome; cant intrude when your eyes are droopy and he knows your nest is just a door away and that you're probably begging to get in and have some alone time - if only he knew your omega has been nagging at you to invite him in since he got here. That makes him pause because he hadn’t really clocked that oh- oh. Your nest is just in the other room, so close, and you’ve been okay with him staying here so far? In fact, with a quick glance, he realises the door isn't pushed shut to your room; there's a slight crack open, and he can briefly see piles and piles of blankets and pillows when he squints before relocating his sight as if he were burnt. 

He is not letting his alpha fall down that rabbit hole of thoughts- although it already began, still singing praises about you and your instinct, about how well you took care of him, about how amazing of an omega you would be to the pack- He shuts his brain off quick at that one. 

“I’ll call Yoongi and see if he can pick me up so I am out of your hair.” - It’s light-hearted how it comes out, but he has to clear his throat, and there’s this little tone of disappointment that makes you internally whine, or more specifically, your omega whines and begs for you to make him stay, but you know you can’t. Instead, you offer a little comment to try and soften that disappointment.

“You’re not a burden, Jimin, I mean it.” - Jimin’s eyes flick to you so fast you’re sure he should get some sort of pain from the motion; he deflates, a breath falling out that he didn’t know he was containing, but he isn’t deflating from being upset; much the opposite, what you say soothes him, wraps around him, and its words that he doesn’t often hear but always worries about. You don’t know it, but he really wants to scoop you up and hold you so tight you can barely breathe.

Your smile is genuine and telling, he returns it right back, still picking up his phone to call Yoongi but with far less haste. You give him a moment, going to the utility room and opening your dryer, gently folding Jimin’s clothes; they smell briefly of your laundry from the dryer sheet you put in, and you’re glad they don’t smell like rain at all. Now that they are dry, you can appreciate the fabrics he chooses, running your fingers over them, internally cooing and externally nodding from the softness. Your omega’s dancing around, saying something similar to praise about it being soft enough for his skin and thick enough to keep him warm, but you try to ignore it. 

So strange, your omega's been nagging and giving far more comments and pushes to your actions than ever; maybe it's just because you're at home. 

Jimin calls Yoongi in the other room, telling him he got stuck in the rain and needs to be picked up. Yoongi panics, asking where he is and how long hes been stuck, saying he needs to get to some sort of shelter, but Jimin cuts him off. Tells him he's okay, he's at yours, he's dry and safe, but he just doesn't want to stay too long when he knows you should rest. Yoongi is… shocked to say the least, jealous? Bamboozled? Filled with questions. He’ll hold off to ask though; he asks him to drop a pin on his location and says he will leave now.

He doesn’t go without leaving a comment about how he needs to thank you and keep well away from your nest, and- he goes on and on, but Jimin hangs up when he hears you leaving the utility room. 

You walk over, a timid sort of smile on your face, and you don’t even notice how you’re still lightly running your fingers over the fabrics over and over, but Jimin does. It fills him with a sort of sense of pride, of reassurance that he has surely picked out well, and his recent attention to his clothes and fabrics is appreciated by someone else. By an omega. By you.

“They smell good” - He claims, taking a big inhale of them, still warm too.

“Is this you trying to compliment your own scent?” - You tease, knowing fully well he means the scent of the dryer sheet sticking to them “I mean- are you saying it's worth complimenting?” - He pushes right back, tilting his head in curiosity, a smirk pulling at his lips

“Don't get all sassy now” - You roll your eyes, feigning annoyance, and he breaks into a big smile. Unfortunately for you, Jimin doesn’t mind being sassy. 

“Awwww you do, dont you, sugar?” - Teases and teases, standing up and over you, cooing and walking a little closer just to keep it up

“Mines better.” - You roll your eyes again; now your the one acting sassy. a small smirk as you think it’ll end there, with you winning

“I’ll agree there.” - Oh, now you're silent. Silenced. Okay Jimin won.

On cue, Yoongi sends Jimin a message saying he's outside. Jimin frowns a little, and you barely catch it before he's schooling his face into a small smile again. 

“Yoongi’s here” - You try to hide the disappointment on your own face; your omega is clawing and clawing at you. Make him stay; ask him for a few more minutes. You dont

“I’ll walk you down” - Jimin nods, going towards the door and then looking down, guilty and giving you a sheepish smile because he’s still in your clothes

“I’ll get one of the boys to return them to you if I don’t see you first” - He rubs the back of his neck and looks so sweetly awkward it’s amusing; you break into a full laugh at his confident and sassy exterior breaking. 

“Come on, don’t keep Yoongi waiting” - You get through your laughs, subconsciously reaching for Jimin’s hand and intertwining your fingers all over again, barely holding back a gasp after you realise what you’re doing, but the smile Jimin can’t contain is worth it, especially when he squeezes your hand so you can’t pull away, and you both begin your comfortable but short journey downstairs. 

You can see Yoongi’s car pulled right up to the door, looking out of his window after a moment and through the glass. He has a clear view because it's bright in the hall; it's pitch black outside. 

Jimin and you walk to the door together, hand in hand still, swinging them a little and not stopping your conversation until you come to a halt. Jimin purses his lips; it looks like he's contemplating something, and before you can pull away, he holds onto your hand a little tighter and pulls you flush against his chest. Arms wrapping tightly around your waist, and after a moment of shock, yours move up and around his neck. It's an intimate hug, a warm embrace filled with thousands of unspoken words, and you stay like that for a good 30 seconds. 

You’re certain Jimin can feel your chest vibrating with silent purrs; he’s so warm, so comforting. His breath is hitting the top of your head where he leans down a little and rests his chin onto your hair. You’ve never had a hug so perfect, he’s certain, arms tight, yours are the same, and your bodies are flush against eachother. Your breathing is a little shaky, and so is Jimin’s, his scent so heavy and thick around you that you’re sure your knees are trembling a little and everything feels a little slow; you’re melting. Thinking he can only feel the vibrations of your purrs is wrong because he can hear them; this close he can hear them, and he's reciprocating his own kind back to you. 

He doesn’t let go to speak to you, not one bit.

“Thank you…” - His voice is so soft it feels like he's singing it to you, hanging heavy and breathy over you. You somehow know he’s not just talking about your basic hospitality, that maybe this situation spoke to him like it spoke to you, although you can’t decipher what exactly that means. 

You don’t need to say anything in return; he doesn’t expect you to. You slowly let go of each other, one final shaky breath between you two before he walks and opens the door, glad that the small cover over the entrance is enough to shelter him to get into Yoongi’s car. Standing there, you watch until they slowly pull away, sharing a heavy glance with Yoongi.

Inside the car, they begin silent; Jimin’s in some kind of bliss, melting back into the seat, head tilted back a little and eyes closed.

“Tell me.” - Yoongi says, and underneath the calm exterior he tries to push, there's a sort of excitement, a jealousy, a curiosity that would have his leg bouncing had he not been driving. You’re doing something to all of them, fast, and you probably don’t even see it.

Ahhhhhh i hope you all enjoyed todays chapter. I mean, i loved it but im biased cos i wrote it...

Thank you so much for reading as always!

My asks are open of course!

Lmk if youd like to be added to the taglist x

Mwah 💖

ཐི♡ཋྀ

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[hisui555]

If it makes no sense within the story's own rules and breaks its own tone/setting without any justifications (a sad scene that has no business to be there just for empty shock value for example - let's take the infamous Titanic scene where Jack had no business dying since there was enough space for both him and Rose to use that plank, so drama for nothing and Rose looks like an idiot), then it's a bad story, or at least a shaky one.

For example, it's like Lucky Luke suddenly popped up aliens in the western setting. Astérix did it (the album Astérix and the Falling Sky), when up to there everything was grounded in an Antique Gaul/Roman Empire setting with some modern jokes adapted for it and this is a huge part of the humor, and it's universally regarded as the worst Astérix album ever, because it broke tone, setting and consistency and brought nothing better.

Gintama however sets a very wacky tone and setting from the get-go, constantly parodies stuff and can turn any weird shenanigans into a very gut-wrenching scene, playing with the whiplash. The series breaks its own tone frequently internally but stays consistent overall : we know it's a rollercoaster of laughs, epicness and tears because the series itself regularly plays with it - stuff sometimes makes NO sense, but that's the whole point.

Plot holes and narrative ass pulls can fuck up a story and the willing suspension of disbelief real bad, but there's a reason Rule of Funny, Rule of Cool, and Rule of Drama exist and can be good patch-ups if done well : the Looney Tunes are all about this, and they lampshade it constantly. Buster Keaton's and Chaplin's movies wouldn't be what they are if they had to make sense in a sense of "realistic" or "grounded" - the plot is a perfect excuse for extreme stunts and we're all here for it.

Kill La Kill took a concept sounding extremely silly and nonsensical (clothing gives power and now there's a whole society built around it) and ran with it cackling manically while hopped on anime coolness steroids. And it worked.

It doesn't have to make sense, but it has to follow its own rules, of if breaking them, look very intentional even if "half-assed", because Rule of Cool/Drama/Funny will carry it anyway.

Writing stories is playing illusionist anyway : you're 'selling' something that simply isn't there, but both your audience and yourself agree to play along and do as if it were - we're already half-assing ourselves : we're willing to believe into something we know doesn't exist, but need overall consistency to keep us believing in it.

It's a show of "good faith" from both sides, but it needs to be kept compelling with those Rules of Whatever to let that good faith going. Sense can take a backseat when emotions do the chewing process. The risk being, well, that emotions are subjective and each person processes them differently with different intensity - but fully assuming what you're doing will let the audience know it's intentional, and they will think up a "reason" for themselves to justify whatever's going on, regardless of "sense" because sometimes "nonsense" IS the justification (think Dream Logic or Alice in Wonderland : madness IS the point of it).

Bottom line : wholeass your story full time, even the half-assed "it makes no sense" parts - go the full hog and it'll have higher chances of working !

filmmakers and audiences and critics alike all need to start suspending their disbelief again

[gatorbites-imagines]

How it feels coming in here to beg for frank castle comfort (he needs it)

Frank Castle x male reader 

Headcanons 

As much as I love Invincible, I'm starting to miss writing about other stuff too, so I might sprinkle some other stuff on here every now and then.  

I've been feeling vulnerable lately, so heres some comfort, cuz I project onto characters I like. It's been way too long since I interacted with punisher content, so this might be kinda vague. 

Imagine being an everyday civilian, for the most part, at least enough for you to be completely worn down from the day. 

You get back to your apartment, the one you share with Frank when he isn't out on a job, stuff he doesn't tell you about for your own safety, but you know it weighs on him more than just a retail job would. 

You haven't seen your partner in a while, which is normal. You knew from the moment you found him bleeding out in an alleyway and dragged him home that he would never be a normal lover, but you still missed him a lot. 

Youve caught shapes on the top of rooftops though, checking on you. It always feels like Franks team, the one he claims aren't his friends, keep an eye on you when he isn't home. 

It's a regular occurrence for you to leave snacks and drinks out for them on the roof, they're even nice enough to return your Tupperware. 

The apartment always felt kinda empty without Frank, but you got used to it. You had picked up a stray cat along the way, a big beast with huge tomcat cheeks even after you had the cat neutered. 

He weighed a ton, had black fur with white mittens and a vague shape on his chest and belly that looked like the punisher logo if you squinted very hard. You had named the cat Pun-hisser. You just called him Punny though. 

There hadn't been much of a plan to make dinner tonight, you felt too tired and worn out, but something inside you had you shuffling into the kitchen and chopping something up and throwing it in a pot. 

A stew sounded nice, something hearty and filling, but not too difficult. It could simmer as you showered and got ready for bed too, nothing wrong with late night dinner. 

Normally Punny would supervise you around the apartment, but the large tomcat had stayed on the back of the couch, eyes stuck on the front door. That should have been your first sign that Frank would be home. 

Tension ran up your spine as you heard the front door unlock. A large part of you assumed it would be Frank, but dating the punisher also meant you became paranoid. It was only after you saw Franks bruised up face that you relaxed again. 

He looked like shit, he always did after jobs. Covered in bruises, busted lip, a new stitched up cut on his forehead, and a bruised eye from what could only have been a fist. 

Punny meowed a drawn-out greeting, his deep scratchy voice sounding almost like an old oak door with squeaky hinges. Pun-hisser liked Frank, but he loved you the most. Another thing the two punishers have in common. 

“Oh Frank” you sigh. Not in disappointment or horror, you simply always feel your heart ache when he shows up looking like this. There is such a weight to his shoulders, his eyes blank and guarded, that sharp downwards turn of his lip and the jut of his chin. 

“I'm dirty” he grumbles when you pat over, hands cradling his face. Frank never relaxes right as he steps inside, it can take him minutes, hours, sometimes even days, depending on what job he had been on, what he had to do. 

“So what” you huff, running your thumb over the healing cut on his bottom lip. 

Frank always had a tendency to avoid looking you in the eyes after he got back from what he had to do, like he felt dirty and tainted. As if just as much as looking you in the eyes would spread his rot to you. 

But even Frank Castle is a human, and when a human loves somebody, we grow weak, so he finds himself melting into your hands as you cradle the sides of his head between them. 

“Just... come here” you sigh, pulling him close, letting Frank shuffle on his feet a few inches at a time, before your big bad vigilante curls against you, tucking his face into the side of your neck. 

His arms would always hover above you for a few moments, until you had wrapped your own around him and held onto him. Thats when Frank would sigh loudly, his ever tense shoulders loosening, if only a little, before he would breathe you in. 

You two would stand there for a while, until Punny would jump down from the couch, rubbing against your ankles and mrowing, demanding attention. 

“Say hi to our son, I'll go get the shower ready” you would tell Frank, slowly pulling back from his grasp, just to check if he truly would let you go.  

Some days he would cling to you, fearing you would disappear if he let go, and other days he would be okay, for the most part. 

Pun-hisser may be your buddy, and your companion when Frank isn't home, but the large tomcat would always end up in Franks arms, purring so loudly it would sound like an old choppy engine. 

It's taken a very long time for Frank to feel comfortable enough to let you take care of him, but after all this time it's part of the routine.  

To let you ready the shower, for you to find comfortable soft clothes for you to wear afterwards. Some days he needs you to stay with him when he bathes, to keep you in his sight, and on other days he's fine on his own 

You always spend time checking him up and down though, to see what new damage your lover has gotten to his body. To kiss any new stitched up wound, new scar or bruise. As much as Frank hates to admit it, he loves to just be cared for, to be loved and appreciated, so you always make sure to do just that. 

It was a lucky coincidence that you had put a meal on the stove to simmer, something that tasted better the longer it would cook. A warm filling meal would sometimes be the last thing Frank needed to feel at home, to shake off that mission mindset. 

That, and you pulling him to bed to cuddle. Well, sometimes it was the bed, with all the pillows and blankets you guys own, with Pun-hisser on the pillow above you. 

Other nights, it was the couch with just a blanket, Franks guns, the lights on, and a movie on a very low volume so he could hear everything, just in case. Pun-hisser would be there too, obviously. 

But it always ends up with Frank laying against you, his ear tucked against your chest, to hear your heart thump against the inside of your ribcage. 

His worn, scarred, and regularly bandaged hands would end up under your shirt, rubbing at your sides and back, to just feel the warmth of you, to feel your presence and how alive you are. 

As tough as Frank looks and acts, he always seems so sweet when he's like this, cuddled against you and tucked as close to you as humanly possible.  

Your big scary vigilante will melt even further if you run your hands through his hair, or brush your fingers across whatever new bruises and cuts he's gained himself. 

There are days when he just wants to hear you talk about anything and nothing, where he just needs to hear your voice. And there are days where he needs quiet, the only noise that matters being your heartbeat. 

And there are days where Frank will kiss you like he needs you to breathe, his lips so desperate and needy. It's never in a sensual way, but like he just needs it to confirm your very being, that you are here, alive and happy to kiss him back. 

But there are also days when he just needs you to kiss him on the forehead and that's it. It's taken you a long time to understand what he needs, but it's come with time and effort. 

Pun-hisser obviously fits right in, wherever the large tomcat can fit, purring up a storm as if he knows it helps settle Frank just as much as your hugs and kisses do.  

Theres been a part of you that thinks it's because they're both worn fighters, like two tired souls who recognize one another. It's kinda cute, and most importantly, you're just glad Franks home and safe. 

[ironrea]

you’ve been conditioned to not believe..

   … a rant

so i’ve been on vacation recently, specifically to the beach, and it got me thinking about a lot of things.. so as a child, i was always running to be in the water - like constantly-  and there was so much more wonder, hotels were bigger, places seemed nicer, i didn’t worry what people thought of me based on the swimsuit i was wearing, etc. i was just so happy to be there and there was no bad thought or anxiety that took that away from me, but today, i only got in the ocean once.. yes that’s it. little me would be horrified because she was constantly begging someone to swim with her and if they said no, she would stubbornly walk in the water by herself until she got yelled at because she was too little to be by herself. i genuinely laid down the entire time today and while there’s nothing wrong with that,  it made me realize how tired i am now and how all the adults when i was a kid also didn’t want to get up… to my younger self, it used to be such an adventure and such a big thing to me, and now, here i was, literally on a beach either sleeping or on my phone… things i could just be doing in my bed. and to me that was just so sad, you know? so anyway how does this relate to shifting, you ask? it made me think about how easy it is to believe things as a child but it becomes increasingly more difficult as we grow. because as we grow older, we soon grow out of imagination and say goodbye to a hundred percent optimism. we start to believe in the confines that are pushed on to us and submit to the conditions this awful reality has given us: wake up, school/work, eat, sleep, then die… and that’s why i think so many people find it hard to believe in shifting or the fact that they can shift. this reality’s ‘laws’ and (yes) the government have shaped our minds so much so to think that that’s all there is.. or at least tried to. as a shifter myself before i found it that was always my question “that’s it? that’s all i get to expierence? really?” but then i found shifting and i latched on, much like many of you did yourself. but so many people have given up or straight up opposed it because that’s “not the way we’re supposed to live!” but genuinely why would you listen to someone like that? so honestly brainwashed and empty? i mean i feel bad for these people sometimes because they will never experience anything like this. perhaps things could come close in this reality but… actually no. i don’t think anything comes close to shifting. we get to experience going into whatever shows and films we love most, we can meet characters people that we love, celebrities people we look up too, visit ANY period in time, become anything we’ve ever wanted to, go to places on our bucket list and even places that “only exists” in books and fairytales, and so much more. but so many fucking people won’t believe in it because we’ve literally been conditioned not to. i know i sound like a conspiracist and maybe that’s because im on the floor (again) with an awful sunburn, heat headache and had the urge out of nowhere to write this into my notes app but genuinely please just do NOT let other peoples limited beliefs affect you… i have more in my head but like idk,,, just can’t put them into words right now or i just straight up forget.. so thats it. for now.

[mysteryofvampires]

The thing is, us fic writers are saying that for ages now. At least once a week I see a post created and reblogged by often hundreds of fanfic writers saying this. And nothing changes.

I get it I for example write for small fandoms with not that much interaction, but with a hit rate of sometimes over 300 and 25 kudos I would love a comment that isn't coming from a tumblr mutual, or the two other fic writers I am close to (not that I don't like these, I love and appreciate these comments dearly!) But I think it's draining to know that people are liking what you write but don't tell you.

It's really discouraging always having to basically beg for comments when in the end you still don't get them.

And I am kind of sick of it to be honest. Yes, I do it primarily for myself but without any act of encouragement there will be a time where I would just stop publishing my work on ao3 because I would get the same outcome when not posting.

I could always just hold my work back and send it privately to those people who really care to show me how much they like my work.

And commenting doesn't hurt! In fact it can bring you close to a lot of fanfic authors. I for example even got gifted a little fic here on tumblr because I commented on every of the writer's fics.

You don't even have to write a comment on every fanfiction you read. You don't have to comment on every chapter of a multichapter fic. You don't have to write a literary analysis. Just write a few words of encouragement, a keysmash, anything and the writer's heart will be yours.

Just do what everyone here tells you!

WRITE COMMENTS!

someone I follow on the bird app just announced they're starting a very exclusive private fic server because they and a bunch of other people want to talk about how much they love the fics they're reading, and as an author can I just say that a really great place to talk about a fic you love is in the comments for that fic

I understand that people are trying to create safe spaces, but as the number of comments that I get on my fics dwindles with each passing year, knowing these spaces exist where my fics are being discussed, places that I am excluded from, makes me want to write fic LESS

I mean I guess who cares, right, because if I stop writing, there's 10,000 other people that will continue...but if you participate in a fic "book club" server and you say nice things there about a fic you loved, maybe copy and paste that into a comment on AO3?

the only thing fanfic writers are asking for in return for hours of hard work is attention. please don't rob us of the one thing that we hope for when we hit "post"

[queen-of-deans-booty]

girl in new york

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k (including lyrics)

Warnings: cheating (not by dean), angst, minor fluff at the end

Summary: After showing up in New York to surprise your boyfriend, you see something that shatters your world to pieces. You call the one person who has always been there for you no matter what monster he’s hunting, your best friend.

Square Filled: “I guess always isn’t forever after all.” (2022) for @spnquotebingo

Author’s Note: this is based on the song girl in new york by Nessa Barrett

x

Bags in your hand as you kiss me Tellin' me you're gonna miss me Promise you'll be on your best behavior Give me your flight information Call when you land, say you made it Sweet little me told you, "Go have a good time"

You follow your boyfriend to the car he called for to drive him to the airport. He hauls his bags into the trunk while you wait next to the car with a sweet smile on your face.

“Have everything you need?”

“Always, baby,” he smiles.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come? Your friends love me, and I won’t even get in the way. We’ve never been apart for more than a few days.”

“Y/N, you’ll survive without me for two weeks. Trust me, everything will be fine.” He closes the trunk and walks over to you. “You have nothing to worry about.”

Nothing to worry about. You trust him, it’s his friends you don’t trust. They’re a bad influence on him. At least two of his friends are notorious cheaters, and two others are known for partying. Maybe you should make him promise to be on his behavior, but that would only start yet another fight. He hates it when you imply that he’d cheat on you despite him being such a sweetheart to you.

“Okay. I’ll miss you.”

He leans in and kisses you but keeps it short. “I’ll miss you. I already texted you my flight information.”

He gets into the car but keeps the back window rolled down so you can still talk to him.

“Have a safe flight. Call me when you land. Go have a good time.”

“I will, baby.”

“I love you.”

He doesn’t say it back. His smile is the last thing you see as the car pulls away from the curb. New York. All the way on the other side of the country. Still, if he says there’s nothing to worry about, then there isn’t anything to worry about. You turn and head back into the house, wondering what you’re going to do for two weeks by yourself.

I didn't mean forget about me Ridin' in a yellow taxi Who the hell are you on your way to?

The first week without him was hard, so hard that you wanted to fly up to New York yourself to surprise him. You’re not one of those clingy girlfriends who wants to be with their boyfriends twenty-four-seven, but there’s a nagging feeling in your stomach. A feeling you can’t put a name to. Something is gnawing at your insides and the last time you ignored this feeling, your ex-boyfriend was planning your murder.

Not that you think he’d murder you, but you just need to see for yourself that everything is okay. You’ll only stay a day and give him the rest of the time to his friends.

New York is so much different than California. You’re used to busy cities but there’s something about JFK that’s crowding. Your boyfriend sent you his hotel information just in case you needed to reach him, so you know exactly where you’re going.

You drag your small suitcase outside and look around the pickup area. People bustle by you to reach their cars or their family members while you’re standing there with a confused look on your face. You’re no stranger to public transportation, but you hate crowds. Your social anxiety is worse being in a state you don’t know, so all thought and reasoning goes out the window.

“Excuse me, Miss? Can I help you with something?”

You look to the right and see airport security approaching you.

“Yeah, I just need a taxi or something. Can you help me with that, please?” The officer smiles and steps closer to the curb. He whistles with his fingers at one of the taxis passing by, and the driver pulls off to the side. “Thank you so much.”

“No problem. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, I got it from here. Thank you.”

The driver steps out to help you with your bag, and you hand it over so he can put it in the trunk. You’re about to get in the back when you hear someone shout behind you.

“Wait! Miss, please!” You turn back to see a beautiful young woman fast walking over to you like she knows you. “I’m sorry. I know we don’t know each other, but I was wondering if we could share a cab? I’ve tried pinning one down, but no one has stopped. I understand if you don’t want me to.”

“No, it’s okay. We girls gotta help each other out, right?”

“Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.” She puts her bag next to yours before you both slide into the backseat. “I’m Ainsley.”

“Y/N.”

“Where to, ladies?” the driver asks.

You look down at your phone and read off the address to him. “It’s the Ritz-Carlton Hotel. What about you?”

“You’re not gonna believe it, but same!” The driver pulls out into traffic and starts the drive to the hotel. “Small world.”

“I love your dress.” She’s wearing a simple gold backless dress with spaghetti straps. “Where did you get it?”

“My sister is a seamstress. She made it for me. I can give you her card if you’d like.” Without waiting for an answer, she digs into her purse for the card. “I wanted something that shows off my back. I’m visiting my boyfriend. He doesn’t know I’m coming.”

“That’s exciting. I just flew down from California to see mine. He’s in town visiting his friends. I’ve never been to New York before.”

“I love it here. He’s busy and loud but I wouldn’t trade it for anything else. I have an apartment in the city but I stay with my boyfriend when he’s in town.” She smiles at you. “He’s a software developer. He designs websites and works with computers.”

“Really?” The world is getting smaller because that’s what your boyfriend does. “What company does he work for?”

“Eleks.”

Alarm bells are going off inside your head despite your best efforts to ignore him. Ainsley rambles for twenty minutes about how she has so many plans for her and her boyfriend, what an amazing guy he is, and how she thinks he’s gonna propose soon.

“Wait, what? Propose?”

“Yeah. He didn’t say he would, but I think this could be the weekend.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, how long have you two been together?”

“Five years.” Your blood runs cold at the number. Something in your brain is telling you to run and never look back. Why? Who the hell is this woman? The driver reaches the Ritz-Carlton, and you two split the bill evenly. “Thanks so much for letting me hijack your taxi.”

“No problem.” The driver opens the trunk and hands over the suitcases. Ainsley turns to head inside when you stop him. “Wait, what’s your boyfriend’s name?”

“Oliver.”

Ainsley turns and heads inside the hotel while you’re frozen stuck on the sidewalk. Oliver is your boyfriend’s name.

I know there's always temptation Guess I'm a little more patient Baby, I've been on my best behavior Fuck you for makin' me crazy While you buy her drinks out on 8th Street Sweet little you showin' her such a good time

Instead of going inside the hotel, you sat on a bench across the street and watched the door. If you’re going to confirm your suspicions, you have to see it for yourself. Two hours pass by before he walks out with her, and your entire world shatters before you. It’s like seeing a train heading your way and not being able to get out of the way.

Oliver has his arm wrapped around her shoulders and his face buried in her neck. She giggles and tries to get away but he holds her close. She pulls away slightly only to kiss him, and that’s when the tears roll down your cheeks. With shaky hands, you take out your phone and call Oliver.

Maybe you’re seeing things. Maybe this man looks like Oliver, has the same job as Oliver, and is named the same, but it’s not him. Maybe everything is still okay. He pulls away from her and reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out his phone. The call goes to voicemail right before he starts typing. Seconds later, a message from him pops up.

Hey, sorry, I have meetings all day. I’ll call you later tonight. Love you.

You have to hold back your sobs because you know damn well he’s in no meeting. There is a strip of restaurants and bars alongside the Ritz, and they walk a few blocks away to one of the best steakhouses in the city. Twenty minutes pass of being stiff and numb before you have enough energy to dial someone.

Whenever he’s in the same city as you, he makes it a point to see you. He has such a busy life with fighting monsters and all, but he always makes time for you even if it’s only for an hour. He said he and his brother were going to be in New York for the week, so you’re hoping he’s not knee-deep in monster guts.

The buttons are hard to see through blurry vision, but you manage to click on his name and call. It takes three rings for him to answer.

“Hey, sweetheart. Isn’t it late in California?”

“You’re three hours ahead of me, so that would make it really late for you,” you sniffle.

Dean knows you so well. He knows something is wrong even though you tried to even your voice.

“What’s wrong?”

The resolve quickly crumbles, and you break down in tears. “He’s cheating on me. I’m in New York now. I wanted to surprise him, but he’s seeing someone else here.”

“Where are you?”

“Outside the Ritz-Carlton.”

He doesn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way. Stay right there.”

You can’t move even if you wanted to. It starts lightly raining but it’s enough to send shivers down your spine. You’re looking down at your shoes, the ones you just bought for this trip. The city is buzzing with life so you don’t hear the Impala coast down the street. He stops right in front of you and gets out, rain be damned.

“Sweethart,” he whispers.

You look up at him with mascara running down your cheeks. “Am I not good enough?”

“Come on, let’s get you out of the rain.”

Dean helps you into the passenger seat and gets behind the wheel.

“Sorry for getting your seat wet.”

“Don’t worry about that.” Dean stays parked by the curb and pulls you into his arms. The second you feel his warmth, you start crying. “I’m gonna kill him.”

“I just… I never knew he was living this whole other life. He… He made me feel so special. I wanted to surprise him when I met her,” you cry. “She said they’ve been dating for five years. Is that how long he’s been cheating on me?”

“Sweetheart, you deserve so much better than him.”

You continue on like he didn’t just compliment you. “You should have seen her. She was so pretty.”

Dean reaches over and slides your wet hair away from your eyes. “You’re prettier.”

“I guess always isn’t forever after all,” you whisper.

“Where is he?”

“He and Ainsley went into the steakhouse across the street. They haven’t left.”

“Okay, come on.”

Dean gets out of the car and walks over to your side. You get out and look at him in confusion.

“Where are we going?”

“To show him what he lost.”

You don’t want to be alone so you have no choice but to follow him across the street.

You said I was yours Maybe just on the West Coast 'Cause as soon as you left home You got wanderin' eyes So I guess you lied When you said I was special You're not as smart as you think you are Baby, I know about the girl in New York

Dean storms into the restaurant and immediately spots Oliver and Ainsley in the corner. Luckily for him, it’s not a crowded corner. Not that he’d care if the place was crawling with people. He does not get to get away with hurting you like this.

“Dean, we should just go. He’s not worth it,” you whimper.

“Hi, do you have a reservation?” the hostess asks. Dean ignores her and walks further into the restaurant. “Sir?”

Oliver raises his glass to toast something, but the moment is short-lived. Dean reaches over and snatches the drink out of Oliver’s hand.

“Hey, man, what the--” Oliver’s eyes lock with yours and the breath is knocked out of his lungs. “Y/N, what are you doing here?”

“Don’t look at her. Look at me. You don’t get to talk to her. You’re done.”

“What’s going on?” Ainsley asks.

“I’ll tell you what’s going on. This piece of shit is dating her,” Dean points to you without taking his eyes off Oliver. “Has been for seven years. Based on the look on your face, I’m assuming you didn't know about her the same way she didn’t know about you.”

“Dean, we should go, please,” you urge.

Dean leans down and grips the back of Oliver’s chair. The latter leans back and can’t help but show the fear in his eyes.

“The only reason I’m not beating your ass is because she doesn’t want me to. You honestly think you can find someone better than her? She’s smart and beautiful and amazing. I bet you don’t know a single thing about making her happy. Did you know she hates pickles? I always have to take hers off her sandwich before I give it to her so she doesn’t know they were ever there. Did you know she’s allergic to strawberries? I never order anything with strawberries in case she wants a bite.

“She likes bedazzling her things. She likes rainbows and sunshine. Did you know she wants a huge farm with lots of animals because she loves them? You might have been with her for seven years but you don’t know her, not when you’re spending all your time with her. If you don’t want to be in a relationship, at least man up and end it instead of cheating. You two are done. Have fun with her all you want.”

With that, Dean turns and leads you out of the restaurant. You look back to see Ainsley almost in tears. You hate that she also had to suffer because she did nothing wrong. The rain is falling harder so you and Dean sprint back to his car, and you look at him as he wipes the water from his eyes.

“Did you mean everything you said?” you ask in a small voice.

Dean starts the car, but he doesn’t pull into traffic. “I never knew why you were with him, but I kept my mouth shut because you seemed happy. Now that I know you’re not… Baby, I can make you so much happier.”

“What?” you whisper.

“Don’t freak out. That’s a conversation for a different day. I need your head clear and right now, it’s messy so I’ll just settle for being your friend.”

“Dean…”

Dean perks up and moves the conversation along as if he didn’t just bare his feelings on his sleeve. “When I was leaving, Sam got the Switch hooked up to the TV at our hotel. How about you come over and we can play some Mario Kart.”

A smile spreads across your face, and you lean your elbow on the back of the seat.

“That’s my favorite game.”

“I know,” he winks before pulling out into traffic.

x

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