#- supposed to be a couple or at least more than 'simple' friends

[meelusinee]

Fem!reader x Mattheo, who had given her the Amortentia potion,can be smut or something like one of the teachers/students realise somethings up

LOVE'S WORST ENEMY | M.R X READER

word count \ 3.8k | not so fluff | slash / mattheo riddle / fem!reader

in which mattheo uses amortentia to get his girl

minor cw & tw: use of amortentia (which is considered drugging) & manipulation

You had never liked Mattheo before.

That wasn’t to say you disliked him, or that you hated him. Rather, you just never truly knew him well enough to like him.

Mattheo was Slytherin’s signature rugged bad boy. A prankster that walked the line of ‘too much’ like it was an already snorted line of cocaine and he wanted more. He had friends that were high up as well. Pureblood aristocrats who had millions in their family wealth. His reputation had been built for him by the time his name had been called for the Sorting Hat, and he seemed to love playing into what everyone thought was true.

And you? 

You weren’t known at all. Or at least, you weren’t known like that. Just a regular student who tried to live a regular life. A little better than average grades, and a couple of close friends, though not much more than that. The most you were known as was Hermione Granger’s quiet friend, though barely anyone knew you two even talked in the first place. 

Which led you confused as to why Mattheo had decided you were his. You weren’t even sure how it started. You supposed it was the tutoring. 

Mattheo could feel his heartbeat against the paper he was holding. 

It was beating so hard he could feel every palpitation inside his veins. He had never felt this way before, had he? Nervous was not a word that was in his dictionary. He had the impulse control of a raccoon with rabies, he hated the concept of nervousness like a rabid dog feared water. 

Which is why he hated that you made him this way. 

You, a regular student. Granger’s quiet friend, maybe a bit of a high achiever. A tutor in Charms, Transfiguration and now Potions. 

Just regular. Normal. 

So why was he so attracted to you? He didn’t know. 

And he hated it. Hated that he had no control of the situation, Hated that you probably only knew him from his reputation. He could treat you so well, he knew that. Any date that you wanted, any gift that you were promised as a child and never got. Absolutely anything. 

But you didn’t know that. And he hated not having power over that. 

So, instead of slowly making you fall in love with him all while knowing you might never truly love him, like a regular person would, he decided to go through a faster route. Amortentia.

Which led to him failing his recent Potions exams about Amortentia. 

It was a simple plan. Fail anything relating to love potions until Slughorn hunted him down. Stare at him with those eyes that seemed to scare the professor into allowing anything that Mattheo wanted, and then ask to be tutored by you. After that, he’d say yes. Mattheo knew he would say yes. 

And he knew that he’d get you alone after that.

“Excuse me,” Mattheo whispered, a small slip of paper laid in his hands as he stood next to your desk in the library. You had notes scattered around, some almost falling off the desk. “Are you Y/N?”

You looked up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours, completely innocent and unknowing of the entire world. It was absolutely adorable to say the least. “Yes?”

“Good.” he said, holding up the small slip of paper. “Slughorn paired us up together? Tutoring?”

You looked at the slip in his hand confusedly. You had indeed offered to start tutoring for Slughorn, but you hadn’t been told that you were meant to be tutoring someone just yet. Though, Slughorn was paying you, so you weren’t complaining too much. 

“What did you need help with?” you asked him curiously, taking the slip with those smooth hands of his. They looked so small, so delicate. He couldn’t wait to feel them melting against his chest.

Mattheo shrugged simply. “Amortentia, I think.”

You nodded and chuckled at that, closing your book and sitting up a bit straighter. “It is a hard potion, especially the time it takes. Do you have everything you need for it?”

He smiled a bit sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t know what I need.”

You looked at him before shaking your head. “That’s probably why you need tutoring.” you chuckled, pulling up a list from your pile of notes spread across the desk. “I have a list here, you can ask Slughorn for the materials. He should still be in his office right now, he only goes to his room after sundown.” you muttered, handing the list to him. “Come back after, okay?”

“Thank you.” he nodded and smiled quietly, looking down at the list before walking off. Mattheo could feel your eyes on him. He wasn’t sure what you thought about him. 

Maybe you thought that he was quiet, or weird. Or maybe you already knew of his reputation. Would that be a bad thing? He wasn’t so sure. He knew that his soft tone and his smiles would make you question what you knew already. And he knew that you were going to be more forgiving then most people would.

And that’s exactly what he needed. 

He sighed as he looked down at the list, a small smirk growing on his lips as he saw the ingredients he had months memorizing. 

1 piece Bdellium 5 Flutterby Bush Flowers 1 sprigs Knotgrass 3 Lacewing Flies 1 drop Lethe River Water 6 Mistletoe Berries 1 measure Pearl Dust 1 measure Powdered Asphodel Root 2 measures Powdered Unicorn Horn 4 drops Rose Oil 6 Rose Petals 1 cup Standard Potioning Water

Mistletoe berries were easy to grab. Pearl dust could be modified to be more potent. Mattheo was sure that Theodore had a rose that was raised more potent than three, and the Unicorn Horn was easily acquirable as well. He was sure that he could modify the ingredients to make it more potent, to make it longer or stronger whenever someone took it.

When he would make you take it. 

He chuckled under his breath and pocketed the list of ingredients, already knowing exactly what he was getting himself into. His heart was racing in his fingertips, though this time it was full of anticipation. 

“I have a gift for you.” he muttered quietly.

You looked up as Mattheo approached you with a small box of chocolates, a small smile growing on your face as you saw him. Mattheo and you had been hanging out more often ever since he started being your makeshift Potions student. 

He was a good guy. You didn’t care what everyone else said about him, because you knew him better than they did. Sure, he was rambunctious, but what teenager wasn’t? He was kind to you, and he listened much more than anyone else ever had. His friends were nice too, albeit a bit harsher compared to him. Reckless womanizers that threw money on alcohol and impulse spendings that made no sense to you. You knew it didn’t care that it didn’t make that much sense to you though. 

“You got a gift?” you asked him with a small smile. 

“Mhm.” he smiled at you, handing you the gift. “Chocolate.”

You gasped quietly as you took in the box as a whole. It was a heart shape, a box that had been painted pastel pink with lace glued on the edges. The chocolate seemed homemade, not quite from the beginning but enough to seem homemade to you. There was a small note on the back of the cover, which stated that they were made with a caramel filling in the middle. “Wow.”

Mattheo chuckled quietly, looking at you with a small smile and a look in your eyes you couldn’t quite place. “Do you like it?” he asked quietly.

“I love it!” you said excitedly, eating one of the chocolates almost instantly. “Oh my, that’s delicious.”

Mattheo sat down next to you with a small smirk planted on his face, watching you eat the chocolates one after another. You didn’t seem to care much about anything else other than the chocolate in the moment, though you also knew that was nothing more than a moment-level fixation.

He had made them himself, after all.

You had helped him brew Amortentia, finishing your group potion just last week. What you didn’t know was that he had memorized every single step and made his own in the dungeons after he left the library every night. What you didn’t know was that he had inserted it into the chocolate. 

“Does it taste good?” he asked you curiously.

You nodded your head and giggled quietly. “It tastes really good, actually.”

He hummed at that, ruffling your hair before looking down at his watch. “I have to meet with Theo and Blaise, but I wanted to give those to you first.” he smiled at you. “Can we meet up later?”

You looked up at him with a look in your eyes that almost made him crumble at the sight. It was absolutely innocent and adorable, the picture perfect representation of everything that he had fallen for. He felt his resolve crumbling in that moment, wanting nothing more than to stay there with you forever. But he had to resist the urge.

Otherwise, his potion wouldn’t work.

“Yeah, we can do that.” you smiled quietly at him. “If the library’s closed, we can meet in the Astronomy Tower right?”

He nodded. “Mhm.” he said, kissing the back of your hand again. 

“Okay.” you said, nodding and giggling as he kissed the back of your hand. “I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll see you later.” he whispered back. He could already see a new look of him forming in your eyes, he could feel the way your heart was beating inside of your fingers.

This would be fun.

You felt different.

Your heartbeat was beating faster than you ever felt it beat, and you had escaped from the library early to hide inside of your dorm room. Your body was hot, sweating especially near your hands. You weren’t sure if you were sick, if you would have to cancel your plans on Mattheo due to some fever.

Oh, Mattheo.

Anytime you thought about Mattheo, you felt all of your symptoms worsening. You weren’t sure whether that was a good thing or not. And you also weren’t sure what you were going to tell your roommates either.

Especially Hermione.

“Y/N?” she called out, looking at you with a small frown as she noticed you laying in bed. You were meant to be studying in the library with her right now, though that wouldn’t work if you weren’t exactly there. “Are you doing okay? You weren’t in the library.”

You nodded before shaking your head. “Uh, I don’t know. I’m really hot right now.”

“Do you have a fever?” she asked you curiously. “Or any other symptoms?”

You shrugged your shoulders, clearing your throat as you sat up. Your cheeks were flushed warm and your body was shaking slightly, though it only seemed like that whenever you thought of Mattheo. Did he have some sickness he accidently gave you? There was a chance he was asymptomatic.

“Uh, I’m really hot.” you muttered. “My palms are sweaty. And my heart’s beating really fast.”

Hermione frowned at that, placing her books on her bed and walking over to you. “When did your symptoms start?” she asked as she placed her hand against your forehead.

“Anytime that I think about one of my,” you muttered, clearing your throat. “One of my friends.”

Hermione furrowed her eyebrows at that. “Whenever you think about someone?”

You nodded your forehead. “I think that he might be asymptomatic. We’ve been hanging out recently for tutoring, he needed help with potions.”

“Has this been recent?” Hermione asked, one of her eyebrows raised. 

Your eyebrows furrowed at that, looking up at her as you saw the small upward tilt of her lips. “Okay Mione, what is it?”

She chuckled before shaking her head. “Could it be that you might be in love with him?”

You looked up at her confusedly. Blinking once, twice.

Could you be in love with him?

“Maybe.” you whispered quietly, nulling it over in your mind. Mattheo was a good person, wasn’t he? Just misunderstood, certainly. He always listened to you, he made you feel happy. Something you could never place your finger on. But maybe that thing was love.

Could it be love?

“Are you going to hang out with your friend later?” Hermione asked you, watching you nod. “Maybe you can test out your theory there then.

You nodded quietly. “Maybe I will.”

Mattheo was already sitting in the Astronomy Tower when you got there, though you made sure to keep your steps extra quiet when you climbed up. You wanted to observe him first, to watch him when he wasn’t being perceived by you. You thought it might help your theory.

Yet all it did was make your heart beat erratically.

He was absolutely beautiful in the moonlight. It shined on his hair perfectly, the small lantern he had brought showing off every single freckle on his arms and face. You wished that you could make a constellation out of them. Fingers trailing up and down each scar and mark.

“Y/N?”

You snapped out of it when you realized Mattheo was now standing right in front of you. “Mattheo!”

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, hand moving to caress your cheek. You could feel your heart thumping at the feeling. “You look rather zoned out.”

You shook your head out of its daze with a small smile, walking past him to sit down on the small blanket he brought for the both of you. “Thank you.” you smiled.

“Course,” he said with a chuckle. “Anything for you.”

You felt the pitter patter of your heart rise even more, a flush covering your cheeks. Anything for you?

“I don’t think I got to ask if you finished the chocolate.” he said to you. His voice sounded like raw honey that you would cover a sweet treat with, something that would melt down your throat. “Did you like it?”

“Mhm.” you nodded. “Loved it.”

Mattheo smirked, in a way that you had never seen before. Almost like he had a plan or something going on behind those brown eyes. But you seemed to lose yourself in those eyes before you could realize what the smirk really meant.

“Y/N?” he called out again to you, eyebrows furrowed as you zoned back to reality again. “Are you sure you’re okay? You keep zoning out.”

You felt your heartbeat in your fingers at the concern in his voice. He genuinely cared about you. And that alone made your cheeks flush warmer and warmer until everything was spilling out of your mouth. “You make me feel sick.”

Mattheo blinked for a moment before looking at you once more. “What?”

“My heart feels like it’s pounding out of my chest,” you whispered quietly. “And my face is always warm. I can’t stop myself from sweating even though I hate sweating. And my stomach has these weird butterflies too.”

Mattheo’s face was confused for a moment before a wide smirk broke out on his face, chuckles escaping his throat before he could stop them. “You think you’re sick?”

“Yes!” you pouted. “So don’t laugh at me.”

Mattheo shook his head before leaning closer, close enough to where you could see how full his eyelashes really were. They almost made you jealous. “Y/N,” he whispered quietly. “You sound like you’re in love. Not sick.”

“That’s what Mione said.” you grumbled quietly.

Mattheo raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t my second opinion mean it’s truthful?”

You looked at him with the best pout you could muster. That seemed to be enough for him, as his hands cradled your face and his lips gently locked onto yours.

This, you thought, is what heaven must feel like. 

His lips were soft and sweet, something you couldn’t seem to get enough of. And his tongue felt like it was yours with the way it slotted so well into your mouth. You didn’t mind the faint taste of blood from a busted lip he had gotten from a fight some time ago, especially since your senses were running on overdrive from the scent of his perfume running your head heady.

He pulled away all too soon, eyes locking on yours. “You’re a rather nice kisser.”

You smiled softly at that, teeth biting your lip as you looked at him. This was your first ever kiss, and it was absolutely perfect.

You didn’t want to change it for the world.

Hermione was observant. 

That was a trait she prided herself on quite frequently. Whether it be her keen ability to think of a spell almost as soon as the situation needed it, or her ability to observe others from an intellectual standpoint. Anything textbook was something she could figure out easily.

What she couldn’t figure out was why you were acting so differently.

Ever since you had confessed that you were in love with someone, she had noticed the signs. You came back that night extremely dazed with marks along the side of your neck and legs. She didn’t question then.

You’d skip out on your study sessions from time to time to hang out with whoever you were so in love with. She didn’t question then. Nor did she question the ‘dazed’ look you’d get in your eyes whenever she mentioned the existence of your lover.

That wasn’t until she learned it was Mattheo.

She was sure that she wasn’t meant to know. Your curtains were mostly closed, though they were open enough for her to tell his figure from anywhere. 

And that left her mind whirring.

Hermione had heard rumors about the Slytherins learning Amortentia potions for whatever reason that Slytherins needed to learn Amortentia for. She never questioned it at first, for she thought it was a good potion to learn about. Knowing about Amortentia meant that you knew about the signs of poisoning and how to prevent it from escalating further.

And Hermione could easily see the signs within you.

The dazed look in your eyes. The infatuation you had suddenly gained with no knowledge of it before. The way you broke rules to nurture the love. Case in point, somehow sneaking a male Slytherin into the girl’s Gryffindor dormitories.

And Hermione was already getting sick of it.

So much so that she decided to confront you.

“Hi Mione!”

Hermione looked up to see you walking towards her with a small smile, teeth marks and hickeys plastered clearly on your neck. Those were the same marks that girls used to have when Mattheo would hook up with them almost two years ago. Hermione found it quite ironic that they seemingly stopped one day.

“Mystery guy again?” she asked.

You nodded, and Hermione noticed the look in your eyes almost immediately. It was the same look Ron had gotten when Romilda had tried to poison Harry.

“Who is your mystery guy?” she asked you confusedly. “You talk so much about him, yet I never figured out who you’re talking about.

You looked at her with furrowed eyebrows, quite obviously confused. “I thought I told you?”

“No, you didn’t.” she said.

“Oh!” you said before shaking your head. “It’s Mattheo! He asked me out, that one day I thought I was sick.”

Hermione felt her eyebrows furrowing at that. “Mattheo?”

“Mione,” you whined. “He’s a good person. Just because his parents suck doesn’t mean he sucks.”

“The fact that that is your opening leaves me concerned.” she said sternly. “Are you sure he doesn’t have you under some potion?”

“He wouldn’t drug anyone!” you said, ignoring the librarian’s hush that echoed through the library walls. “It’s not my fault that everyone seems to judge him. If you got to know him, maybe you’d understand.”

“Y/N,” Hermione sighed, closing her book. “I’m not saying that because of his reputation. I’m saying that because I’ve noticed the signs in you.”

“What signs?” you asked incredulously.

“The dazed eyes, the lovesick puppy act,” she listed off. “The fact that you’re breaking rules to sneak him into our dormitory. Literally everything.”

You just rolled your eyes at that. “That means nothing.”

“Weren’t you tutoring him on Amortentia when you met?” she asked incredulously.

“That means nothing either.” you spat, standing up with your bag in hand. “I’m going somewhere else to study.”

“Y/N!” Hermione said, unable to grab her books in time to catch up with you leaving the library.

This wasn’t going to end well.

“Mattheo!”

Mattheo turned his head as he heard the sound of your voice, his mind echoing as he repeated it over and over in his mind. There was something wrong.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

You had tears running down your cheeks and a quivering lip, almost like a kicked puppy. He felt his heart breaking at the sight. 

He cooed gently as his hands guided you to his lap, pressing kisses against your temple, cheeks and lips whenever he could. You almost immediately melted into his lap, hands wrapping around his body instinctively.

“What’s wrong baby?” he asked again.

You sniffled. “Hermione thinks that you drugged me.”

Mattheo felt his body stiffen slightly, though he didn’t want you to catch that. “Why would she think that?”

You rolled your eyes before going on to explain the situation, how Hermione had listed symptoms of the Amortentia potion and how you ‘apperently’ fit the box. Mattheo didn’t want to say that you did fit the box, that he had drugged you with Amortentia. What he did know was that he would have to do something about Hermione after this.

“I’m sorry love,” he whispered gently.

You huffed. “It’s just not fair how nobody can see you for you!” you muttered. “You wouldn’t do that, right?”

“Never.” he lied, with such a conviction that even the universe might make it true. “I would never do that to you, my love.”

“Good.” you nodded before sniffing again.

Mattheo hummed and kissed the tip of your nose again, pulling out a small flask of his drink. “I know you don’t drink often,” he whispered, opening the flask and letting you sniff it. “But do you want a drink right now?”

You looked at the drink before nodding, taking the flask from him and drinking as much as you could in one gulp. Mattheo chuckled as his thumbs caressed your waist, loving the slightly pink hue that your eyes had taken.

He also didn’t mind the new hickeys that appeared down your neck that night either.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

well this was quite a fun prompt! i know that this was technically a smut request, but i have a moral thing against love potions being influential in terms of romantic or sexual intercourse (if anyone is curious, i can so make another post about that) and i doubt i'd be very good at representing SA in a harry potter fanfiction, so there isn't any smut for this one. however! i did find this fun to write, knowing that this is just fiction. so thank you for the request anon! u can read part two here!

AS ALWAYS - please like, comment, and reblog! have a lovely day!

[shuatm]

he fell in love with you the first time you shared earbuds together on the train ride home.

the afternoon commute is as bustling as the earlier one—at least at this hour. three pm brings the afternoon rays blinding through the window panes and scattered conversation that buzzes around overhead, and he’s glad he chose a two seater in the corner. away from everyone and the push of bodies further into the center every few minutes.

he started walking you home in your middle school years, when it was too dark to walk alone and the streetlights cast wary beams of light into inky alleyways. hyunjin had dance practice late, originally basking in the cool air as he waited for his friends to join him, but you’d stumbled out of the school doors after him instead. his heart had leapt when you’d spotted him, and he found out you stayed late because you were a part of the student government.

fifteen minutes of awkward conversation through your patience and three years down the line of anxiously waiting by the school’s doors, and he’s still walking you home. still riding the train side by side with you.

the train lurches forward slowly, wheels rumbling underneath his feet, and you gasp as you’re squished together momentarily. it startles a laugh out of you and prompts a smile to stretch across your lips, and a similar one spreads across his as your voice murmurs a soft apology. (not that he minded, of course.)

as always, he offers the left earbud, and as always, you smile your thanks.

all the background chatter fades when he scrolls around for the perfect song, your head resting on his shoulder. to anyone on the outside, he supposes you look more like a couple other than the really close friends that you were, and his heart squeezes.

“oh, play that one!” your voice pipes up suddenly, and he stills, unaware you were even looking. your cheek is squished against his shoulder, and when you look up to garner his reaction to your request, he finds himself inches away from you. every sane voice in his head is telling him to back up, please back up lest his organs fail or something and he embarrasses himself in public–or worse, in front of you–but the singular voice of hopeless infatuation stupidly notices how comfortable you look like this.

“jonnie, you haven’t played the song yet.”

“uh,” he replies intelligently. you look at him expectantly, smile curious, and he tries not to find a reason for another spiral. “right. sorry.”

music wafts through the tiny speakers and you close your eyes and sigh, humming softly along with the simple tune. your train rides go an awful lot like this most times, with you losing yourself to the music and him losing himself in watching you with what he hopes aren't visible hearts in his eyes.

he can almost hear seungmin’s voice chiding him for stalling for so long. three years is a long time to have a crush on someone you randomly met by chance, the younger would deadpan. make a move or someone will.

the hopeless romantic in him wishes you would just peer into his head and read the jumbled mass of incoherent thoughts in his head. the ones that think the stupid uniform suits you and that you look so pretty in the shitty train lighting and he hopes you’ll still reach out when you’ve graduated and loosen your ties with the town you’ve lived in. that you won’t forget early public announcements and ducking under bus stops for shelter under the rain and linking pinkies in the crowd in hopes you won’t lose him.

that you won’t forget him and the train rides from school.

the train doors open with the push of more passengers and the song changes to something more upbeat. you smile against his shoulder again, fingers teasingly tapping the beat against your linked arms, and he truly wonders how he’d gotten so lucky.

“this is the first song we listened to, you know,”

“mm?”

“the first song we listened to when we started riding the train together. fifteen and kind of new to each other,” you laugh, eyes closing at the memory. “we were so awkward. i thought i was going to throw up.”

“really?” why? he’d made you uncomfortable then? and you didn’t tell him? “you should have told me,” he frowns, a pout tugging at his lower lip. “i didn’t mean to…”

“i know you didn’t. i think it was just a me thing.” eyes still closed, you hum along to the song a bit more before you continue. “was awfully fond of you, you know? didn’t think i’d get to know you in such an intimate way.

“i was in student gov and booked to my neck and so busy. i envied the way you walked as if you graced life with your very presence. and i loved watching you dance.” a pause. “i hope that isn’t a bit weird . your dancing is lovely, jin.”

he blinks twice before emitting what is probably the most embarrassing sound his body has ever made and it makes you laugh and oh. it drowns out the faint music but music isn’t the focus point of this train ride anymore. it’s you—has always been you, and he doesn’t know how long he can keep this within him before he bursts into confetti and silly string all over your lap.

“i’ve grown fond of you, too,” he whispers, voice trembling. you peek at him curiously through your lashes, hand squeezing his own, and every bit of sanity he had left dies at your feet. “i’ve—you don’t know how long i’ve been meaning to tell you. any of this. all of this, i—”

“i don’t think this is a conversation to be had in the train,” you murmur, brows raised, and laugh again when he immediately clamps his mouth shut. “cute. but it is getting a bit dark and i’d hate to walk home alone.”

he blinks slowly once more until it clicks, red blossoming over the bridge of his nose when your smile turns amused. “no, of course i’ll walk you home! i’d—shit, i’d be honored—”

his smile is wobbly when you hide your laugh into his shoulder. “we can talk more, then? at… yours?”

you nod, finally opting to rest your head on his shoulder for the remainder of the ride. “my mother’s been wanting to meet you for a while,” you admit. “think she’s more happy on the prospect that i won’t die alone.”

“you’re never getting rid of me.” he quips immediately, then goes rigid straight with embarrassment. you pat his arm in amusement when he refuses to look at you.

“she’s going to love you.”

[thal-ent]

Old discourse but the "what if the curtains are just blue" talk did so much damage to how we analyse coding

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗶𝗻 𝗮𝗻 𝗲𝗹𝗲𝘃𝗮𝘁𝗼𝗿 | eddie munson x reader

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | based on a request from the lovely @ultraintrovertedgryffindor ; getting stuck in an elevator with his best friend (and secret crush) was absolutely not on eddie's morning agenda, but it leads to one of his most wild fantasies coming to life.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁 | 3.8k

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | SMUT (18+ only!! semi-public sex, oral m receiving, kinda pervy eddie but also slightly pervy reader with a balls fixation gee I wonder where that idea came from), best friends to lovers (but very very limited plot haha), pretty much exactly what it says on the tin y'all not sure what to say

Eddie laughed as he pressed his hands to the elevator doors, but it wasn't a laugh of amusement— it was exasperation, frustration, an is this really happening? laugh.

"Soonest we can get a crew out there is uhh... noon?" the voice on the emergency phone informed you.

"Noon?!" you yelped. "It's not even half past eight!"

"What did I tell ya?" Eddie recalled, hanging his head in defeat for a second. "Nothing good happens before ten."

"Just try to stay calm and we'll be there when we can," the operator suggested, like it was so simple.

You didn't even reply to that, just scoffed and hung up.

It wasn't like he'd been looking forward to his GED exam, in fact he'd almost been hoping for a way to put it off or get out of it... but this was definitely not what he was imagining. Of all the elevators to get stuck in, this generic government building where he was supposed to have his big test proctored was probably the most boring option.

He glanced over at you, and stopped himself from making a dirty joke: you heard that Aerosmith single, right? Love In An Elevator?

That probably wouldn't have gone over well. He used to say stuff like that when you were both a little younger, but he'd since given up hope of it ever actually... inspiring anything.  You two were probably better off as friends anyways; or, that’s what he told himself to make it sting a little less.

“Looks like we’ll be stuck in here for a while…” he mumbled instead.  “Did they say what the issue is?”

“Some kind of power failure?” you recalled with a shrug.  “It’s gonna take a while to fix, that’s the important thing.  Do you think they’ll call the fire department?”

“Who knows,” Eddie sighed, leaning against the wall as you sank onto the floor and dropped your head back against the wall.  “I guess we should just try to get comfortable.”

Which was easier said than done, but at least he was stuck here with you— you were generally pretty fun to talk to.  Of course, you weren’t exactly in your best mood due to the circumstances…

At 8:32, Eddie checked his watch.  “I’m officially late for my exam,” he noticed.

At 9, you checked your own; “And I’m officially late for work.  We'll see if I even still have a job when we get out of here," you groaned. "I was on pretty thin ice already."

By 9:14, the stuffiness of the elevator was becoming harder to ignore.  Eddie slipped off his jacket and vest in response to the heat, but resisted the urge to take off his Ozzy shirt. You'd seen him shirtless before, of course, but he figured out would be weirder without the right context.

"Fuck, it's hot in here," you whined quietly.

"I guess the power issue affects the A/C, huh," Eddie noticed.

"You think?" you scoffed, reaching up to unbutton the top of your shirt.

For some reason, he kinda liked when you were condescending like that; of course he loved it when you were sweet like usual, but when you got frustrated and sarcastic and looked at him like he was crazy... for whatever reason, it worked for him. And it was definitely working like never before when combined with your hasty efforts to open your shirt.

He expected you to stop after a couple buttons, but you just kept going, exposing more and more of your chest glistening with sweat. His eyes were glued to it, until you got low enough for him to see a glimpse of your bra, and he coughed as he turned his head quickly.

"Woah, hey, uh--" he stammered out awkwardly.

"Oh whatever, you've seen me in a bikini, it's the same thing," you rolled your eyes.

But it's not the same thing, because you were stripping, untucking the button-up from your tight skirt, fanning your flushed skin...

And he was tugging the crotch of his jeans down a bit when you weren't looking, trying to keep his oncoming boner from being too obvious. 

Leaving your shirt open, you sighed and sat down on the floor, splaying your legs out on the ground.  He could see how uncomfortable you were, and it made him press his lips together while he sighed through his nose.  Though he was a little afraid you weren’t in the mood for any friendly behavior as your frustration and stir-craziness increased, he walked across the elevator and sat down next to you.  “I was probably gonna flunk the test,” he decided.

“What?  No you weren’t,” you scoffed.  “You studied so hard!  I’m really proud of you, you know.”

“Just ‘cause we’re stuck in here doesn’t mean you should get all sappy with me—” he started.

“No— ‘cause we’re stuck in here I’m not gonna put up with you trying to be down on yourself,” you decided sternly with a little glare at him.  “You were gonna fucking ace it, I know you were.  You worked your ass off.  I know you wanted to act like you didn’t care, but you actually got your shit together and did it.”

“You… you helped me a lot,” he mumbled sheepishly.

“Please, I hardly did anything— mostly just kept you from getting too distracted,” you denied, blissfully unaware that he actually found you more distracting sometimes, but never minded it.  “Can you stop being a pussy and just admit you’re actually smart, and dedicated, and more than capable of nailing this?”

He blinked quickly and looked down into his lap, feeling his face warm up— not just from the heat.  How could you be so mean and nice at the same time?  

“And now it’s gonna go to waste, ‘cause of this godforsaken elevator,” you sighed, dropping your head back; a pessimistic end to a pep talk, but he couldn’t blame you.

"Think of it this way: it couldn't get any worse!" Eddie offered with a faux-upbeat tone.

Right then, the lights in the elevator flickered and turned off, plunging you both into darkness. "I fucking hate you," you announced after a short silence.

He heard a whirring sound from somewhere else in the shaft, and a dimmer orange lighting came on inside the elevator; some kind of emergency back-up generator thing, probably. It was enough to see decently well, especially as his eyes started to adjust, but still made it feel like you were both in an even more perilous situation.

“I didn’t sleep enough last night,” you admitted, “I might try to catch up on that.  Maybe if I can sleep this will go by faster…”

“I like that plan,” he decided, even though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to do the same.  Eddie had a hard time keeping still and quiet, but he managed to do it so you could get your rest.

He suspected you had fallen asleep when your breathing seemed to slow down a bit— but he knew you had when you limply slumped to the side, your head gently landing on his shoulder.  This happened every once in a while, a sign of how comfortable you were with him. He supposed he should be thankful for it, but sometimes it just made him furious. Because what cruel punishment was this, to have you lay on him like this when he can't put his arm around you and kiss your head and tell you how perfect you are?

The half-boner he’d wound up with earlier when you unbuttoned your shirt had never really gone away, and it noticed your proximity with renewed interest.  Maybe it was just because he was so bored with literally nothing to do but think about you, but his mind kept coming up with all these fucked up ideas based on the eyeful he’d gotten.  

What if you’d taken off your bra as well and let him see the tits he’d been fantasizing about for longer than he cared to admit?  What if this had happened in winter instead and the elevator was brutally cold and you two had to hold your naked bodies together for warmth?  What if that guy on the phone said this thing was airtight and two only had an hour to live and you decided you wanted to go out with a bang, literally?  

He wondered if he’d be brave enough to tell you how he felt about you, if either or both of you only had an hour left.  For better or for worse, this elevator shaft had airflow, so you were more likely to die of boredom than anything.

He shifted slightly, stuck in a somewhat awkward position, but it didn't help much— though thankfully it didn't wake you up, either.  He just wished he could get some relief, somehow.

Obviously, he knew it was a bad idea. But the thing about his dick is it usually talked him into some pretty bad ideas…

He tested the waters with a whisper of your name, but you just kept breathing slowly— you were out cold. Maybe you were even more nervous for him than you'd let on, if you were that underslept.

Reaching up with his free hand, all he had to do was grip himself through his jeans to get some relief; he sighed through his nose, shutting his eyes.

His cock flexed impatiently as he unzipped the jeans as slowly as possible to avoid making too much sound. But god was it worth the wait— as soon as he slipped his hand into his boxers he had to bite his lip, it was so good just to get some attention for his poor, lonely dick.

This was far from the first time Eddie had jerked off to the thought of you. But he was sure he'd never done it while you were this close.

He did it once or twice in your bathroom while you were on the other side of the wall, that was probably the closest he'd come to this before. And that was chump change compared to this-- this was so risky it made his heart race and his hands shake with adrenaline, but it only made him more desperate for whatever reason.

He wouldn't have swiped his thumb through the precum at his slit if he had known how good it would feel— or maybe if he'd known how good it would feel, he would've been able to prepare himself for it. But the anxiety of getting caught had made him even more sensitive, so he hadn't really seen it coming, and when he did it he let out a little moan through his teeth that he couldn't stop.

You stirred again and he froze; when you lifted your head off of his shoulder, he hastily shoved himself back into his jeans, trying to cover up the open fly with the bottom of his shirt.

“Were you… jerking off?” you realized, and he felt sick with fear as his heart raced like never before.

“W-what?” he scoffed incredulously.  “I— are you crazy?”

“Ed,” you warned firmly.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I— sorry—”

“Are you that bored?” you mocked with a snort, and he felt even more flushed; it made his cock flex under the mediocre covering of his shirt when you degraded him like that.

“N-no— well, yeah, I just— you put your head on me and I—”

“It was because of me?” you realized, and his mouth fell open.  He hadn’t realized that you hadn’t actually put that together yet; of course he’d ended up just digging himself deeper.

“W-well, uh— I mean, no, no I— well.  Kind of?”

“Kind of, as in…”

“Completely,” he blurted out.

You were quiet for a long time, and he couldn’t see your face well enough to even try to guess what you were thinking.  Although you probably could’ve given him a thousand guesses and he never would’ve guessed what you ended up saying: “You want some help with that?” you offered.

But before he could even answer— not that he really could, he was too busy having a short circuit in his brain— you were reaching for his lap.  And even if his mind was blown, his body knew to just lift his hands up and out of the way and let you do whatever you wanted to him.

You pulled up the bottom of his shirt and sighed a little when you saw his cock, still hard and leaking and curled up against his stomach.  You carefully wrapped your hand around it, and he swallowed thickly, wondering if he was dreaming or something— you were so… soft.

“Like this?” you asked gently, making his hips twitch up into your hand for a second.

“Y-yeah,” he nodded, eyes glued to the way your hand looked wrapped around him.  If only the lights weren’t out, he wanted to see it even better.

He looked at your face, moving your hair a little to make sure he could see you, but from what he could tell your eyes were trained on his lap.

“Fuuuck,” he whispered when you stroked him a bit more confidently.  He wanted to shut his eyes from how good it felt, but he didn’t want to look away from a moment of this in case you, you know, came to your senses and stopped.

“S’really thick,” you said, under your breath, a little bit shyly.  He groaned and ran his hand over your back, trying not to do too much in case it startled you but also totally helpless to how badly he needed you.  “I wonder if I can…”

You trailed off, and before he could decide if he should ask what you were going to say, you 

As soon as you leaned down and put your mouth around him, his back arched and his legs kicked a bit.  “Fuck, baby,” he choked out, melting into the warm feeling of your lips, your tongue— god, he couldn’t believe you were doing this to him.  He actually had to fight the urge to tell you so, to admit how much he’d imagined this; he settled for whining out your name and running a hand over your hair encouragingly.  “S’fucking warm, oh my god—”

You hummed around him, sucking a bit harder, swirling your tongue around the tip; who the fuck taught you that?  It made his chest burn with some targetless jealousy even while it made his cock flex proudly. 

Your hand still gripping the base, you took him a little bit deeper, moaning a little bit once again while you did it.  No way you actually enjoyed this, right?

You pulled your head up a bit— he took his hand away quickly, not trying to hold you down or anything— and just when he wondered if you might stop, you dropped down lower so you could run your tongue up from the very bottom all the way to his leaking slit—

“Jesus,” he laughed thinly, “what are you doing to me, baby?”

“Whatever I wanna do,” you replied— if he was a little braver, he would’ve asked what made you want this, how long you wanted this— but he was more than content to let you do whatever you wanted, so far you had some pretty fucking good ideas.

Your head sank even a little bit lower, and he pushed his jeans down just a bit in case they were getting in your way.  Boy, was he glad he did.  “Fuck,” he gasped, watching in shock as you looked up at him while your tongue ran over his balls.  “Sorry, they’re, uh, kinda sweaty…”

“Even better,” you purred; what the fuck were you doing acting so dirty like that?

“Baby,” he laughed thinly, “is this some kind of claustrophobia-induced psychosis or something?  Who are you and what have you done with my prude best friend?”

“Prude?  That’s unfair,” you laughed.  “Just ‘cause I don’t advertise every dirty thought that goes through my mind doesn’t mean I’m not as much of a freak as you…”

“Freak is an understatement,” he sighed, struggling to keep his voice even when he was literally watching you lick all over his balls like this.  “You’re a proper fucking slut.”

You hummed proudly, eyes getting a little heavier— when you looked up at him like that, he was totally helpless.  “It’s slutty to wanna taste your best friend’s balls?”

“F-fuck, of course it is,” he whined, cock flexing in your hand again when you licked a stripe up between then.

“Well then yeah, guess I’m a slut,” you agreed. 

“G-god, I— I’m gonna—” he tried to warn you, but it happened so fast— it happened the second you started to gently suck on his balls, in fact.  What was he supposed to do when you did that?!  How could he not shoot cum all over his now-definitely-ruined shirt?

“Oh shit,” you giggled— his cock was still flexing and you were already mocking him.

“What— what the fuck,” he began, trying to catch his breath, “made you wanna do that?”

But you were already straddling his lap, pulling up your skirt to your waist.

“F-fuck, baby, I— are you seriously—?”

He cut himself off and whimpered when he got a good look at your panties, the cute lacy kind— and pretty fucking soaked already.

“I-I don’t have a condom,” he warned you, cursing himself inside for finally throwing out the one in his wallet thinking he would never end up needing it.

“Don’t care,” you sighed, pulling your panties aside and guiding his tip right up to your entrance.

“Fuck, that’s—”

He was gonna say it was insanely hot, but you hardly noticed; you were already sliding down onto him, taking him in one motion right to the base.

“Oh fuck!” he nearly shouted, gripping hard onto your thighs.  “F-fuck, you’re so tight, fuck…”

You started moving right away, grinding on top of him for a second before lifting your hips and bouncing up and down.  “Fuck,” you sighed, “so deep…”

Was it wrong that he loved the way you were basically just using him?  You hadn’t even let him finish his sentence, you didn’t ask if he could handle it right after coming— you just started riding him, and far be it from him to complain about that.

“Take this off,” he pleaded, tugging at your unbuttoned shirt and trying to push it off your shoulders.

You helped him get it off, and before you’d even tossed it off to the side he was reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.  The gods of bra clasps smiled down upon him that day, because he was sure he’d never gotten one open so quickly, and if there was any time he really needed it, it was now.

“Fuck,” he groaned when he got a good look at them— not good enough in this dim orange lighting, but it would do— and instantly got a hold of your chest.  You didn’t seem to mind the clammy hands, considering the way you whimpered a little and clenched inside around him.  “God, baby, your tits…”

As much as he’d been waiting ages for a chance to see you naked, he couldn’t deny you looked way too good with the skirt, stockings, and heels still on.  He could already tell this was going to give him a complex.

He ran a hand up your leg as you moved just to feel the silky nylon; god, he hoped you didn’t get fired for the unexplained extreme lateness, if not just for your sake then so that you would keep dressing like this every day.  “So pretty,” he sighed, wondering if you could see in the dark how totally in awe he was of you.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, in that way he’d always imagined you would in a time like this.  Your head fell back and he couldn’t help but reach up and grab your neck— not applying much pressure, just holding you there, just admiring how goddamn perfect his hand looked wrapped around you.  

“You’re so fucking sexy,” Eddie sighed, “fuck, look at you go.”

You smiled a little, he could see it even with your head tilted back like that, and it was just amazing seeing you so… free?  So relaxed and totally shameless, giving in to your pleasure.  But it wasn’t enough: he wanted to see you lose all your composure, he wanted to hear you scream his name, he wanted to make you shake and cry and beg— that was why he grabbed a tight hold of your hips and pulled you down onto him, bucking his hips up to meet you halfway.  It forced his cock even deeper and you yelped a little.

“Not too big for you, is it?” he taunted.

“No, fuck, s’perfect,” you moaned, your voice deep and rough and so fucking beautiful like this.  “Fuckin’ perfect, Ed, o-oh god—”

“Keep saying my name,” he ordered.

“Eddie,” you said, again, but this time all needy and cute; it just made him fuck you harder, biting down on his lip to muffle some of his own noises— he just wanted to hear you.  He pulled you down and hugged you close, keeping you still so he could fuck up into you exactly how he wanted; you moaned right by his ear, fuck it was too precious.  

“I’m already close again,” he admitted with a thin laugh.  “Fuck, look what you do to me.”

You whined louder, clenching on his cock— he seriously did not know how much more of this he could take.

“Wanted you so bad,” he blurted out, unable to stop himself, “wanted this for so long.  Wanted to fuck you— I wanna make you come, fuck, please, please come.”

He felt you nod against his shoulder as you gasped, and he shut his eyes tight, just focusing on his movements and trying his best not to speed up too much just to chase his own high.  He needed you to come more than he needed his own pleasure, even if everything in his body was screaming for a chance to come inside you. “So close,” you panted, “fuck, Eddie, don’t stop— please don’t stop— yes!”

The lights turning back on suddenly startled you both, making him freeze and look around (and squint a little from the brightness), but that was nothing compared to the shock of the doors opening.  Behind them was mostly just concrete, the space between floors, but up top was about two feet of the eighth level, where a crew of firefighters could be seen peering in.

“Are they alright?” someone from the building asked as Eddie scrambled to grab his jacket from the corner and cover you up with it.

“Yeah, looks like they’re doing just fine,” one of the men announced as they broke out in surprised laughter.

[iconbyunghun]

Drive Me Home

Pairing: Hwang In-ho x Fem!Reader

Summary: A simple ride home takes an unexpected turn when tension and desire get the best of you, especially when the man driving is your best friend's father.

Warnings: Smut 18+, MDNI, age gap (early 20s/50s), car sex, unsafe sex, creampie, slight degrading.

Word count: 3.1 k

a/n: I don’t know where all these words came from; this was supposed to be short. uh, I hope you enjoy it!

The gentle breeze coming through the car window tousled a few strands of your hair. With a mischievous smile on your lips, you glanced sideways at the man who had just settled into the driver’s seat.

Hwang In-ho, your best friend’s father, was the one responsible for driving you home after the party you and his daughter had organized with some university friends. You were a little tipsy, and your friend had suggested that her father take you home in his car. Despite your attempts to convince her that you could just call a taxi, her concern made you give in.

It wasn’t the first time he had driven you home, so he already knew your address. Of course, on previous occasions, his daughter had always been present.

He couldn’t help but regret agreeing to let them throw a party at his house—by morning, he’d have to clean everything up and take inventory of all the broken glasses and other damaged things. He sighed, resigned. That would be a problem for later. Right now, his main concern was you, alternating between watching the road and stealing glances at him—furtive, yet not at all discreet.

“Won’t your parents say anything about you coming home at this hour… and drunk?” he asked, trying to break the ice.

“My parents are traveling, and I’m not drunk,” you replied, pretending to be offended, though the slight slur in your words made him chuckle.

“Riiight, not drunk at all,” he teased, playfully mimicking your tone. You couldn’t help but laugh. His charisma was your weakness—that, and the fact that he looked amazing for a man in his fifties.

“Hm, if your parents aren’t home, you could’ve stayed over,” he added.

“Yeah, I could have, but I didn’t want to impose,” you half-lied. “Besides, I also didn’t want to be stuck cleaning up the post-party mess on a Sunday morning.” You shrugged.

“Of course, let the old man do all the cleaning,” he said, feigning irritation.

“Old?” You looked at him, this time more intently. His hair was slightly tousled, and the sleeves of his light blue shirt were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his forearms, where veins ran down to his large, masculine hands, firmly gripping the steering wheel. For a brief moment, you imagined what it would feel like to have them on your body.

He glanced at you for just a couple of seconds. The city lights reflected on your face—not too bright, but enough to highlight the sparkle in your eyes as you observed him with a mix of curiosity and admiration. He wondered if it was the alcohol that had you looking at him like that.

“I guess I am a little old,” he murmured, his tone carrying a hint of resignation.

He turned his attention back to the road, hoping you’d do the same and stop scrutinizing him. But this time, you didn’t follow his lead. Instead, you shifted in your seat, curling your legs up and hugging your knees against your chest. The movement caused the hem of your dress to slide up past your knees, so you pressed your legs together, trying not to reveal too much… at least not yet.

From your new position, your entire focus was on him—concentrated on driving, oblivious (or perhaps not so much) to the way you were watching him.

“Well, you look better than any guy I know,” you blurted out without a filter, uninhibited—whether by the alcohol, the night… or by him.

He let out a low chuckle, though he seemed slightly uncomfortable as he stopped at a red light. Your comment had caught him off guard.

“Thanks for the compliment.”

“That wasn’t a compliment. That was the truth,” you said with a playful smile. “Guys my age are all idiots.”

“I suppose you have plenty of those idiots chasing after you,” he said, turning to gauge your reaction.

“There’s always a few,” you paused, debating whether to say what was on your mind. “But… I prefer older men.”

Your eyes locked onto his just as you bit your lower lip slightly, under his intense gaze—a gesture both casual and deliberate.

In-ho smiled, the slight curve of his lips confirming that he knew exactly where you were going with this. Of course, he wasn’t a naive man. At his age, he could easily recognize blatant flirting, and you were making it painfully obvious.

There had been too many signs he had been trying to ignore—those short dresses that always seemed purposely chosen whenever you visited, the kisses that landed dangerously close to his lips when you greeted him, the hugs that lasted a little too long, your chest pressing against his. The way you always found an excuse to brush against him, with a sweetness that pretended to be innocent… but neither of you truly believed that.

He had always tried to keep his composure, to act with the restraint expected of someone his age. After all, you were just a reckless young girl with raging hormones. And he, despite having been divorced for over two years, had neither the time nor the patience to date again—especially not someone so young.

At least, that was what he had always told himself. But this time, the situation felt different. There was something about the contrast between the rosy tint on your cheeks and your slightly tousled hair, the way you looked at him with that almost pleading gaze. You were completely alone, and the darkness of the night made everything feel more intimate.

His eyes traced down your exposed legs to your crimson heels. Under any other circumstances, he would have scolded you for dirtying his car seat. But not now… not when you were so dangerously close that it would only take him a few seconds to slide his hands over your thighs and take you as he pleased. Oh, just the thought sent an electric pulse straight to his cock.

“You’re a bold little thing, you know that?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as his gaze returned to your face. Something in his expression had changed.

“Hmm, well, you don’t seem to mind. Or do you?” you shot back almost instantly, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh no, it doesn’t, sweetheart."

The way he said that pet name sent a flutter through your stomach. You briefly glanced at the traffic light, which had already turned green, but he didn’t seem in any hurry to move. Not that it mattered—at this hour, the street was completely deserted.

Before you could react or come up with a witty response, he acted first. With unsettling ease—or maybe simply because you didn’t resist—he took your right hand and, with a gentle tug, pulled you toward him. The sudden closeness made you lower your legs back onto the car floor, seeking stability. His face was now dangerously close to yours.

Before you could process it, he guided your hand with determination straight to his crotch.

"Do you want to see just how much I like that little tease of yours?" he added in a deep voice.

A sharp breath escaped your lips as you felt how hard he was and how his much larger hand pressed over yours, keeping it firmly against his arousal.

Shit. If this was some kind of alcohol-induced dream, you hoped you’d never wake up.

The look of surprise on your face only seemed to amuse him more. His gaze dropped to your lips, and without a second more of hesitation, he closed the distance between you. His hands slid up to your face, ensuring you followed his pace. Within seconds, his tongue parted your lips, exploring your mouth with restrained hunger.

A shiver ran down your spine as you searched for something to hold onto, something to steady yourself. With your free hand, you tangled your fingers into his hair, tugging gently at a few strands.

His reaction was immediate—a soft gasp, barely a whisper against your lips, his body shuddering under your touch—clumsy, yet eager—both in his hair and over his straining length.

When the need for air became unbearable, you broke apart.

The sight of your tousled hair, your heavy breathing, and your swollen, glistening lips—slick with both your saliva and his—completely shattered the last threads of his self-restraint.

"Come here," he demanded.

Adjusting his position, he unbuckled his seatbelt and reclined his seat back, making enough room for you to kneel between his legs.

You settled yourself as best you could, your face just inches away from his erection, still concealed beneath his pants but under the weight of his intense gaze.

"This is what you wanted so badly, isn’t it?" he murmured. "To be on your knees, ready to suck my fucking cock?"

The sheer filth of his words only made the fire inside you burn hotter.

You nodded clumsily, placing your hands on his thighs.

"Good. If you’re going to act like a little slut, you’d better take responsibility for it."

Without waiting for an answer, his hands went straight to his belt, swiftly undoing it. Your hands moved on instinct, reaching for the button of his jeans. He let you take over, pulling his hands back as you continued.

Once unbuttoned, you slowly unzipped his jeans, dragging it out in a torturous way—for him, at least. He helped by lifting his hips slightly, and soon, his jeans were pooled around his ankles.

In front of you, his hard length strained against the fabric of his gray boxers, a small damp spot visible where the tip pressed against the material. You hadn't been wrong to fantasize about its impressive size. Eager for more, you ran your tongue over it through the fabric before hooking your fingers into the waistband, carefully freeing him.

He smirked at the expression of raw desire on your face, a flicker of pride mixing with arousal. The thought of someone so much younger, eager to take him in her mouth, sent a spark of heat through him.

Wrapping your fingers around his length, you stroked him slowly, feeling his heat and velvety texture. Finally, your lips parted, and as you took him into your mouth, a shudder ran through you. The salty taste of his skin flooded your senses, making your core tighten with anticipation. You took him as deep as your throat allowed, swirling your tongue around him and sucking gently as you pulled back. Your eyes fluttered shut as you focused on the sensation—his heavy breathing, the way his fingers slid into your hair, guiding your movements.

"Look at me," he ordered, his voice rough with need. His grip tightened as he tugged your hair, pulling you back just enough to leave only the tip resting on your tongue. Your tear-brimmed eyes met his, a sinful mix of pleasure and submission. The sight alone nearly undid him.

The car's interior felt suffocating, thick with heat and tension. Fogged windows bore witness to the electricity crackling between you.

With a firm pull, he shifted you onto his lap, your knees bracketing his thighs. The moment you settled, his mouth claimed yours again, devouring you with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine. His tongue moved with purpose, teasing, demanding, leaving you breathless beneath him.

His hands wasted no time finding the hem of your dress, sliding it upward, exposing more of your heated skin beneath his eager touch. He pulled you closer, his grip possessive, his fingertips digging into your flesh—enough to ensure you'd still feel him tomorrow.

His lips broke from yours, trailing lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. His teeth grazed your skin before his lips soothed the sting, marking you in ways you knew would linger long after this night.

"I-I need you…" you whimpered, feeling the firm press of his arousal against the softness of your inner thighs.

A shaky breath left him before his hands found the waistband of your panties. He toyed with the delicate fabric, stretching it, teasing you with just enough friction to make you squirm. A wicked grin tugged at his lips before he gave a sharp tug, tearing the fabric effortlessly, discarding it without a second thought.

Gripping himself, he lined his aching length up with your entrance. His gaze lifted to yours, drinking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, your parted lips, and the way your eyes silently pleaded for more.

"Be a good girl and ask me nicely," he demanded, savoring your anticipation as he teased your entrance, using your own arousal to lubricate himself.

"Fuck me... please," you begged, moving impatiently in search of more friction.

With a satisfied smile, he aligned himself before slowly pushing in to the hilt, a deep, guttural moan escaping his throat. His large hands gripped your hips, kneading your flesh.

"I-In-ho... fuck, it's... so big," you squealed, closing your eyes and throwing your head back, lost in the sensation of his length stretching you. "It feels so good."

He remained still for a few seconds, savoring the way you clenched around him, the warm wetness enveloping him so perfectly that, in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in you over and over again.

When he finally began to move, he did so with slow, deep thrusts, letting your body take him in completely. Your slickness made everything easier, making him crave more of your tight pussy. His pace quickened—deeper, harder, more of your breathless moans filling the air.

Ragged groans escaped his throat as he pressed his head against the backrest of the seat. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd had sex, and the sensation of your walls gripping him, your nails digging into his skin, and the desperate, needy whimpers spilling from your lips right next to his ear had him on the verge of madness.

At that moment, nothing else existed—just the two of you, the tension, the relentless collision of your bodies, the frantic heartbeat that kept you both trapped in the moment.

And when everything finally reached its peak, your lips found each other in desperation. Your orgasm hit first, overwhelming, your hips moving on their own as you ground down on him, desperate for more. The way your pussy clenched and pulsed around him sent him over the edge. He gripped your hips tightly, his movements becoming erratic, and with one final thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, spilling his release as your walls throbbed around him, milking every last drop.

You collapsed against his chest, pressing your head over his racing heartbeat, both of you still struggling to catch your breath.

A few seconds passed before you felt his arms wrap around you.

“Fuck,” he exhaled in a breathy sigh. The haze of lust slowly began to lift from his mind, and reality started to set in. “My daughter can’t find out about this,” he muttered. His voice was still heavy with exhaustion, lacking the sharpness to sound truly serious.

You slowly opened your eyes and pulled back slightly to look at him.

“Don’t be stupid,” you scoffed, giving his chest a playful slap. How could that be the first thing on his mind after the way he just fucked you? “Of course she won’t find out.” You rolled your eyes, and he fell silent.

The air inside the car was still thick, heavy with the scent of sex, a lingering reminder of what had just transpired. Your breathing had steadied, but the heat between you had yet to fully dissipate.

You felt him softening inside you and shifted just enough for him to adjust his boxers and pants. You smoothed out your dress with deliberate slowness, running your hands over the fabric in a way that was almost teasing. In-ho averted his gaze, turning toward the window as he fastened his belt, but his attempt at indifference failed—his eyes betrayed him, flickering back to your chest before he could stop himself.

“You owe me a new pair of panties,” you remarked with a mischievous smile, rocking your hips slightly on his lap.

He let out a heavy breath, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to regain his composure.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured, his dark eyes tracing your face. You were absolutely stunning.

“Didn’t seem to bother you a few minutes ago.”

His jaw tightened, as if holding back the words he really wanted to say.

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before slipping back into the passenger seat. He wasn’t sure whether to take it as an affectionate gesture or as pure mockery.

The rest of the drive was quiet—but not in an uncomfortable way. The tension still lingered in the air. When he finally parked in front of your house, you made no immediate move to leave. Instead, he was the first to open his door.

“You don’t have to walk me to the entrance.”

“I know,” he replied, stepping out and circling the car.

He opened the door for you—a gentlemanly gesture that starkly contrasted how he had handled you just minutes ago. As you stood, you felt his eyes briefly rake over your figure. It was involuntary, but you noticed. And you loved it.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, leaning casually against your front door with a playful smile.

“Thanks for…” In-ho paused, seeming to reconsider his words. “…Nothing. I’m not saying anything else.”

You laughed softly, tapping a finger against your lips in mock contemplation.

“You know, you could come in for a bit,” you suggested casually, pretending to search for your keys in your bag. “It’s late. We could have a drink.”

He looked at you with a mix of disbelief and warning, as if you were temptation itself standing before him.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he said, his voice low.

You stepped closer, closing the space between you.

“I think I can handle a little more,” you whispered, resting your hands against his chest, tilting your head slightly.

Silence stretched between you until In-ho let out a sigh—part surrender, part anticipation.

“Do you have whiskey?”

You bit your lip, holding back a victorious smile as you turned to unlock the door.

“You’ll have to come inside to find out.”

In-ho followed, a nearly imperceptible smile playing at his lips. This time, there was no hesitation. No second-guessing. That would come tomorrow, when the weight of the night could no longer hide the guilt of his actions.

[chleem]

Wonder what is going on with casual!drew and reader in valentine’s :////

⋆.˚ Warnings: angst w/ a side of fluff (read at own caution

word count: 3.5k

──── 𝜗𝜚 ─────

As you made your way to checkout, you weren’t so sure anymore. 

It was your first Valentines’ with Drew, your casual relationship for…more than five months now. 

He was next to you, mindlessly pushing the cart, AirPods in one ear, eyes focused on the snack aisle. 

You couldn’t help but feel…disappointed? Sad? Weird?

It was casual, yes, but it was Valentine’s day. 

Valentine’s wasn’t just another day. It was the day, the one where people at least tried to show they cared—whether with a gesture or a simple acknowledgment. 

And while you’ve convinced yourself you were fine with the way things were between you two, a small part of you had hoped for something, anything. 

A hint that maybe, just maybe, Drew felt differently about you today.

No. He didn’t. 

Starting with this morning, no text. No call. 

Well, only one, and it was ‘dinner at yours?’

Okay, you had to admit, that got you a bit excited, because maybe he got something planned? 

But as the hours passed, there was nothing.

You didn’t see him at any point during the day, except for lunch. He was with his friends, laughing, hanging out, acting like… he would, on a normal day. But then, at one point, you could’ve sworn he flirted with that one girl.

The hours leading up were just bumping into couples in hallways, boring lectures, etc. 

And now here you were, walking through the aisles of the supermarket with Drew, sharing AirPods, grabbing groceries like it was…just another day. 

Maybe it was. You weren’t sure. 

As you walked toward the checkout, it was clear—he hadn’t even mentioned it. 

You glanced at him again, trying to gauge if maybe he was just oblivious, or if this was exactly what he wanted—no pressure, no expectations. 

Causal, casual, casual. 

But what you felt wasn’t relief; it was…you weren’t sure. 

Finally, mustering up the courage, you nudge his side, getting his attention. 

You could feel his blue eyes staring down at you as you both neared the end of the aisle. 

"Drew?" Your voice barely above a whisper as you looked ahead. God, were you nervous?

“Yeah?” His hand pushes on the cart, fingers drumming gently to the beat of I’ll make love to you. 

“…do you know what day it is?”

“Friday,” he answers almost immediately, and you can hear the slight confusion in his voice. 

Oh wow. So…he really doesn’t know?

“Right,” you say, your voice almost flat as you try to play it cool. “Friday.”

“Yeah?” This yeah was definitely a confused one. 

You and Drew exit the snacks aisle, making your way to the checkout counters. It's silent for a few steps, the air thick with the awkwardness, until—

"Something wrong?”

His voice is softer now, a little more tentative. He’s trying to figure out what’s going on, and part of you wants to just brush it off—tell him it’s no big deal.

You glance over at him, his blue eyes searching your face for some kind of answer, but you’re not sure of what to say.

Tell him and have him get you something last minute? 

That would…feel much more worse. 

But just as you’re about to settle on saying nothing, the seasonal aisle catches your eye. 

Aka, The Valentine’s aisle. Bright reds and pinks, heart-shaped boxes, plush bears, and cards scattered across the shelves. Everything screams Valentine’s and stands out like a neon sign, as if to make sure you’re fully aware that today was supposed to be special for someone.

It feels like the universe is saying, Here, you can’t ignore it anymore. 

Drew follows your gaze,

“Oh,”

He whispers, as if realizing. 

You watch his back, your eyes scanning the t-shirt that outlines his muscles, hoping to see anything—anything that might indicate he’s getting it now. Maybe a shift in his posture, a tightening in his shoulders, like he’s finally clued in. 

But no. Nothing. 

He stands there for a beat, his hands still resting loosely on the cart. 

In your AirPods, it’s now playing What a girl wants. 

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath, until he turns back around, his eyes meeting yours, and there’s…a smile on his lips. 

A smile that, for the first time today, seems like maybe he does get it. 

“Okay,” his hands leaves the cart, wrapping around your waist. He pulls you close to him, and you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. 

Drew’s height towers over you, and he’s looking down at you with that, signature- almost smitten look of his. 

You rest your arms on his chest, the rhythm of his heartbeat matching the quick thrum of yours.

Is he gonna say it? Will you be my Valentine-

“Happy Valentine’s, y/n.”

Your heart skips a beat. 

But then, your eyebrows furrow, and the frown on your face betrays you, unable to hide the disappointment that creeps in.

You expected something more. You wanted him to say it, to choose you in that moment, to make this first Valentine’s together something that felt significant. 

And yet, it’s just… casual.

You pull back slightly, giving him a soft, but hesitant smile, the silence hanging heavier than before. You can’t help but wonder if he realizes how much this matters—or if it matters to him at all.

Drew seems to notice, and the hands on your waist gives it a slight pinch, “what?”

You take a deep breath, trying to shake off the embarrassment that’s clouding your chest. 

Fuck- you really thought he was gonna say it?

No- no, it’s just casual. 

“Happy Valentine’s,” you whisper to him, barely above a murmur. Without giving him a chance to respond, you pull away from his arms, your hands gripping the cart.

Suddenly, you just want to get out of here. You don’t even know why— you just do. 

The wheels of the cart squeak as you push it forward, your pace quickening slightly as you make your way toward the checkout. 

Drew doesn’t follow immediately, but you can hear his footsteps behind you as he catches up.

His hands overlap yours on the cart, and you feel his chest press against your back as you continue toward the long line of checkout. His presence is undeniable now—warm and familiar.

He doesn't say anything at first, and for a moment, it feels like he's waiting for you to make the first move, to give him a sign that everything’s okay—or to tell him what’s wrong.

His fingers tighten around the handle of the cart, his hand large compared to yours. 

“It’s Valentine's day, right?” 

You can hear his smile, even though you’re not looking directly at him.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It is.”

“Okay…you mad?”

The line moves forward, so Drew gently pushes you and the cart forward. 

His breath hits your ear every time with how close he is, and you could feel yourself going limp, harder to stay upset now. 

“I’m not mad.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“…you wanna go back and forth like this?”

His tone is light, but you can hear the frustration that peaks out. He’s trying to keep it casual, trying to play it off, but you can tell he's getting frustrated too.

Before you can say anything, the cashier cuts in with a sharp “Next!” 

Drew steps back, the pressure of his body against yours vanishing, but his warmth lingers, as if it’s still tied to you.

The two of you move synchronously, like this routine is one you’ve done a thousand times. You start unloading the items onto the counter, the soft beeps of the register filling the silence between you.

But then, as you reach into the cart to grab the next item, your fingers brush against something familiar... condoms. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks, even hotter than before.

Oh, it’s not just any kind—it’s labeled Valentine's Special. 

The packaging is red and glossy, with hearts and some playful wording plastered across the front.

His hands come in contact with yours, and when you look up, it's Drew, gently taking the box from your grasp. 

“It was the last one...” he murmurs, so casually, but there's a teasing curl of his lips as he pretends to inspect the box. 

He then places the Valentine's special box on the counter, its vibrant, awkwardly festive packaging sitting there between you and the cashier like a beacon of... well, awkwardness.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, no longer upset, rather, more self-conscious than ever. 

It’s one thing to buy condoms, but another to buy different flavors or special packaged-ones. 

Drew doesn’t seem embarrassed at all. In fact, he looks almost too relaxed, like he's having fun with it.

Knowing you’re too focused on that Valentine’s condom on the counter, Drew finishes loading the rest onto the counter, the cashier bagging up the items. 

“How would you like to pay?” the cashier asks, breaking the silence.

“Card,” Drew responds, pulling out his wallet and swiping the card without a second thought. 

Drew finishes the payment, grabbing the bag, his eyes flicking to you with that amused smile on his face again.

One of his hands lingers on the small of your back, his fingers just barely grazing the skin there as he guides you towards the exit. He then leans in, his voice low and teasing, “excited, baby?” he whispers, the words almost like a soft joke.

As soon as you feel like the cashier is out of earshot, you can't help yourself, gently scolding him, although, the smile on your lips betray you, “Drew!”

He chuckles softly, not even the slightest bit rattled by your reaction. 

“Thought we, we’d try something special,” he shrugs. 

The supermarket doors open automatically, and you feel his hand slip down into the back pocket of your jeans, as he reaches for his car keys.

The feeling of his fingers brushing against your ass sends a jolt through you, making you yelp. 

The ticklish sensation makes your body instinctively pulling away just a little, which only makes it harder for him to look for his keys.

He lets out a soft laugh, the sound warm and amused, but his hand stays right where it is, maybe lingering a bit longer. 

Drew knows you’re ticklish, and he knows there’s no need to keep his car keys in your pocket.

But he does it anyways, all the time. 

“Hey,” you murmur, your hands going to rub your ass, where he touched. 

There’s still a smile on his lips as he finally pulls his fingers out of the tight back pocket of your jeans, pressing the ‘start’ button for his car. 

The sound of the car beeping open echoes in the quiet parking lot, and the trunk lifts automatically.

You both start walking toward the car, and Drew tosses the big bag of groceries into the trunk in one smooth motion, closing it after. 

Then the soft thud of the car door, as both of you settle in—Drew sliding into the driver’s seat, and you into the passenger’s. 

The familiar scent of his car hits you immediately, and its weirdly comforting in a way, but also stirring. 

Almost immediately, as Drew starts driving out of the parking lot, one of his hands rest on your thigh, the touch gentle yet grounding. 

Casual, casual, casual. 

You reach forward and press play on his car screen. 

Playing, Every breath you take. 

“Fucking classic,” Drew murmurs under his breath, eyes focused on the road ahead. 

A smile tugs at your lips at his comment, and you find yourself resting your head gently on his arm, surprisingly comfortable.

For the rest of the way back, the two of you just... settle into the silence. The music drifts through the air, and the shared playlist seems to pull you both into a space where words aren't necessary.

——

Once you stepped out the elevator, a girl stops you, her smile wide as she catches your attention.

Drew watches, as the two of you go on about…actually, he lost interest the moment she opened her mouth. 

He gives you a soft tap on your waist, and it immediately pulls your attention back to him. When you meet his eyes, he cocks his head toward the bag of groceries, a silent hint that he's going to head to your dorm first. 

You give him a quick nod, before returning to the conversation with the girl, maybe your classmate? Or friend? Drew didn’t care. 

As Drew makes his way down the hall, the sound of your voice fading behind him, he finally reaches your dorm. 

But…he stops dead in his tracks, his gaze falling to the floor in front of your door.

There, at his feet, is a large bouquet of roses. Bright, bold, and impossibly out of place in the otherwise quiet hallway.

What…the fuck? 

For a second, he just stands there, the usual confidence draining from his posture as he takes in the unexpected sight.

Drew then notices a small, white card tucked in amongst the flowers. His expression flickers, a quiet moment of hesitation before he slowly bends down.

His hand reaches for the card, fingers brushing lightly over the petals before finally gripping it. 

Drew’s eyes scan the words written on the card, his brows furrowing deeper with each sentence.

It slowly comes to his realization that this is a love letter…for you!

He blinks, re-reading the opening line. “‘I’ve liked you, y/n, for a very long time, please accept this…’” 

His grip on the card tightens, jaw clenched. The words on the card are so sincere, so lovingly—what the fuck?

Drew flips the card over, almost desperately, hoping to find any clue as to who might’ve sent this to you. 

And there it is, written in neat handwriting: Mike.

His mind scrambles for a moment, trying to place the name.

Mike…mike…mike…who the…

Then, it clicks.

Mike. That first-year at the bar. The one you bumped into a few weeks ago, the one at the library. 

It’s him. The guy who's clearly interested in you, and now he’s made his move with this…this huge bundle of flowers and cringey confession. 

His mind races, the feelings of frustration, confusion, and jealousy— all fighting for control. 

But, what he’s feeling right now isn’t what’s concerning. 

What’s concerning, is what to do with these roses? 

Then, he hears footsteps, coming his way, and slightly panicked, he crumbles the card up, forcing it into his pocket.

You stand there, only a few steps away, your eyes flickering between the roses on the floor and Drew bending- well, practically kneeling next to it now.

Closing the distance, you bend down next to him, eyes focused on the roses. 

And Drew sees it, clear as day; the way your eyes light up, that soft smile tugging at the corners of your lips, and the faintest flush on your cheeks— shy, happy, embarrassed, he didn’t know.

Your hand touches the roses, almost too delicately, and then, you meet his eyes. 

Drew's breath catches. There's something in your eyes—something that feels like…like the entire world is reflected in them.

He’s stunned, his words stuttering out, ”you—“

“Are these for me?” you ask, barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah... they are,” he finally mutters, his voice quieter than usual.

Drew couldn’t help but admire the way you looked- his attention now solely focused on you, as if everything else in the world had faded away. 

You turn to him, eyes soft and full of warmth as you say, “Thank you.”

As if feeling the weight behind those words, you laugh softly, trying to play it off. 

But Drew knows you better than anyone. You’ll cherish these roses till they wither away, he knows it.  

But then your words- ‘thank you,’ flash through his mind, and he lifts his eyebrows slightly, confused. 

“You ordered these…no?”

You thought he was the one that gave you the roses. 

His heart races for a split second as he considers how to handle this.

Then, he decides fuck it, a grin tugging at his lips as he shakes off the knot in his stomach. 

The last time he’d seen you this excited, it was after you won that hotdog-eating contest, and honestly, he would kill to see you that happy again. 

With a gentle shrug, he smiles, “you like it?”

You smile even wider, “very much.”

You pick up the big bouquet of roses from the floor, hugging it tightly to your chest. 

Drew’s grin softens, and he leans in just slightly, his eyes sparkling as he catches your gaze. “Really?”

You stand up, still hugging it as if it might disappear if you let go. “Mhm.”

Drew stands up, “no you don’t,” he whispers, but not a single cell in his body believed you didn’t like it; it’s painted all over your face. 

“I do! I love it,” you say, your voice growing all soft and genuine. 

He stood there, watching you, almost as if time had slowed. 

Standing here, outside your room, with you, with how you cradled the roses to your chest with such tenderness—it made something change inside him, something deep he couldn’t quite place. 

There was something about you in this moment, the sincerity in your smile, the way you looked so... happy.

Drew didn’t expect to feel so conflicted. 

He’d always been the one to keep things light, casual, to avoid feeling too much. 

Was this what it felt like to want more than just the surface? To actually care?

Drew opened his mouth to say something, to make a joke, to deflect—but he couldn’t. He was struck by how genuine you were, how completely different this moment felt from everything else.

“Thank you,” you whispered again, and the words hung in the air, almost as if you were thanking him for more than just the roses.

Were you? Were you thanking him for more than just those roses?

And maybe, just maybe, Drew realized that he was starting to get a little too comfortable with the idea of something more. 

Something more, with you. 

Aw, fuck. 

And he did it, he cuts own his thoughts off, "Prove it.”

Those words practically echo between you two, a challenge wrapped in a husky whisper. 

You glance up at him, a little taken aback, but Drew notices it, the way you quickly recover.

You take a small step forward, "Prove it?”

Drew’s smile is a mix of teasing and something deeper. "Yeah," he murmurs, his eyes scanning your face. "Show me, show me you really mean it.”

Without thinking, you tilt your head just slightly, and then, just as Drew anticipated, you close the gap, pressing your lips to his. 

His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you in, as the kiss deepens, becoming more urgent, more alive than any of the other moments you'd shared before.

In that kiss, there's no pretending, no games. At least for Drew, there’s no pretending. 

Actually, not a time was he pretending. When he’s kissing you, those kisses are full of all that’s unsaid, and Drew finds himself lost in it. 

And soon enough, the only thing that matters in this moment is the dent forming in Drew’s pants. 

Also…the huge bouquet of roses and grocery bag in the way, almost like a wall. 

He reluctantly pulls away, breathless, eyes flickering between your lips and the flowers. 

Silence flows through the both of you, until Drew speaks up, his voice soft, and in his ears, sounding a bit whimper-like.

“...I'm not hungry anymore." 

You’re not?” you ask, your voice a bit higher than usual.

“I am, but, for something else." 

“…but I’m hungry…” you reply, your words soft, and Drew catches the little pout forming on your lips.

He freezes for a second, seriously contemplating whether he should prioritize his appetite or yours.

Drew decides against it- laughing, the sound low and warm, “Okay- okay.”

Your smile returns, and you reach into his pocket for your dorm keys, hands close to his erection that pokes evidently against his jeans. 

Your eyebrows raise briefly as you take the keys out, unlocking your room. 

Drew watches you, amused but also slightly captivated by how you’ve turned this moment into something playful. But that’s your charm—the way you could take something as intimate as this and make it feel light, effortless. It’s always been that way with you.

But clearly- that guy, Mike, clearly saw something in you too. 

That thought makes a strange twist in his gut, yet, Drew quickly pushes it aside, not wanting to spoil the mood.

The roses might be from someone else, but this moment? That’s all his.

After all, it was Valentine’s Day. 

And it goes without saying, love is in the air, and nothing could ruin it. 

Or- casualness is in the air, or… whatever’s going on between you two. 

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

is there a difference between 'will you be my valentine?' and 'happy valentines.'? i wonder...

elevator | other | official oneshot | extra 1 | extra 2 | extra 3

casual taglist: @maybankslover @rafeyswifey @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @amb3rsaurus @bananaminn @rafecamerons-national-anthem @milky321 @drewnationalgf @iraslore @ursogorgeous13 @jamimers @hockeybabe87 @jqtsblyth @virgochaos @wolvestitches @dontblamethedrunkcaller @thoughtdaughter0

edit: i forgot they got airpods in during shopping...pretend they took it off once they got in the car, okay? ok.

[nicka-nell]

We've had Haiykuu toxic traits but can we have their green flags? Especially Sugawara, Oikawa and Kita (and anyone you want to include)?

Hi! Yeees omg I love that! Green flags are lovely. So here we go! 😍💚

Their green flags

Pairing: Iwaizumi x, Oikawa x, Akaashi x, Bokuto x, Sakusa x, Kita x, Atsumu x, Osamu x, Ushijima x, Semi x, Kuroo x, Ennoshita x, Sugawara x, Daichi x reader

Warning: just fluff

IWAIZUMI HAJIME

Iwaizumi likes to include you in everything. He doesn’t do this because he wants to show you off to others, but because he likes having you by his side. Whether it’s at home or when he goes out with friends. 

Well, maybe he wants to tease Oikawa a little about how lucky he is with you and how happy he is. But he would never admit that out loud. 

Even if it rarely happens, but when you argue with others, he always has your back, because nobody makes a fool of his girlfriend. No one is allowed to make you sad or tease you. 

OIKAWA TOORU

Oikawa maintains a healthy and good relationship with his family and is surprisingly responsible for the people he cares about. 

Even if you don’t believe it at first because of his appearance, Oikawa is someone who would share the household chores with you. Taking out the garbage, cooking twice a week, mowing the lawn and vacuuming are things that Oikawa would do so that you don’t have to do all the work alone. 

Actually, he wouldn’t say no to anything if you asked him, but don’t you dare ask him to put the folded laundry away in the closet. The poor guy has no idea how to categorize your clothes. When does he know at what point a sweater is no longer supposed to be put on a hanger and when it should only be folded and put in the closet? It’s a science for him. 

AKAASHI KEIJI

Akaashi is extremely supportive. If you tell him about any plans, he stands behind you or talks to you openly to show his interest. He also stops you in a calm tone if you go a bit overboard and set yourself unrealistic ideas or goals. 

Akaashi is also someone who maintains eye contact. Like… always!   

So when you talk to him, even if it’s just your daily routine, Akaashi listens to you attentively and always looks up to meet your eyes. 

BOKUTO KOUTAROU

Bokuto is such a simple-minded person and so positive. 

But probably his sweetest green flag is that he is always extremely happy to see you. Really, like a little kid getting his favorite ice cream as a present. 

You send him a picture of you during his training? He plays twice as well. You cheer him on in the stands in his jersey? He plays five times better. You’re already at home when he comes back from a hard training session? Oh, he quickly throws his bag away and hugs you from behind, lovingly and firmly, sways lightly with you across the room and enjoys your laughter while he gives you several little kisses on the back of your neck and tells you how much he has missed you. 

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

Sakusa’s green flag is probably something more normal. At least it should be normal. Because he always treats you with respect. Unless you’re really arguing, then he’s just moody and childish. 

But otherwise, it is important to him that you are equal. For him, there is no “better half” in a relationship. He respects you and would never talk down to you. The only thing he would agree to is when people say that there is a stronger partner in the relationship. Biologically, as a man, he is stronger than you in some things, but that’s it. 

KITA SHINSUKE

Once in an official relationship with Kita, he is fully committed to it. Kita weighs it up for a long time and it takes a really long time for you both to get into a relationship, but once you are in one, you can be sure that Kita will do everything to make sure that you are doing well as a couple or later as a family. 

It is important to him that you are happy. That you are both content and can grow together through everyday life and any hurdles. 

Besides this aspect, Kita is also a very hard-working person who never complains about his work, but simply draws a neutral conclusion at the end of the day, or if something great has happened, focuses on this event and very rarely has negative emotions. 

MIYA ATSUMU

Atsumu always compliments you. Even if they are sometimes hidden in teasing comments. 

The blond Miya twin and jealousy? Nah, never. He would never be a boyfriend who would tell you “don’t wear that, it’s too revealing.” Instead, he would look at you with bright eyes, mouth wide open before saying something like “babe, ya look hot as shit in that thing.” Does he sometimes have dirty thoughts? Yes, actually very often. 

Atsumu is also someone who is like your best friend. He loves to make you laugh, fool around with you and just be a kid again. Happy wife, happy life or something like that, right?

MIYA OSAMU

Osamu is an easy partner in many ways. Although he is sometimes childish towards his brother and even his closest friends, he is often very mature towards you. 

He always tries to include you in his plans. Aran invites him to a party? Osamu first asks if you can come too. Suna asks him if he wants to come over to play? He first asks you if you have any plans for that day and if it would be fine for you if he went to his friend’s house for a few hours. Not that you would forbid him. He knows that you have no problem with that, but he would like to let you know just to be on the safe side. 

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

Ushijima is blunt. But at the same time, he is also very honest. So if you get stuck or need an honest opinion, you know that Ushijima will always give you his straightforward opinion. 

Although it’s probably hard to imagine, Ushijima is a very responsible person who cares about the close friends and family (even if he doesn’t show it directly). You don’t have to remind him to take out the trash, for example. When the dryer beeps because it’s finished, he doesn’t wait until the beeping stops, instead he gets up and turns off the dryer and folds the dry clothes (even if he swears a hundred times because he doesn’t understand women’s clothes at all).

Ushijima may not understand when you have an emotional outburst, but he takes you in his arms and strokes your back. Wordlessly, because he never knows what to say, but at least he’s physically there for you. 

SEMI EITA

Semi is a good and attentive listener. When you tell him something, he doesn’t have a phone in his hand or do anything else. His attention is fully focused on you. With his eyes fixed on you, he waits and lets you finish until you look at him so that he can answer you. 

Even when you’re out, Semi is attentive to your body language. If he notices that you feel uncomfortable, he always puts his hand gently on your lower back or tries to involve you in conversations so that you don’t feel alone. 

KUROO TETSUROU

Kuroo’s green flag is probably the mix of adult behavior and somehow childish moments. 

Sometimes he teases you, but not meanly, more to make you laugh. He teases you when you’re sulking about little things so that your mood quickly lifts again. 

If you are really arguing and it is obvious that the conversation could escalate, you have a codeword that Kuroo usually uses and with this word you both stop arguing. You both take a deep breath and it is usually Kuroo who will come to terms with you, even if you started the argument. 

ENNOSHITA CHIKARA

Ennoshita is someone you can’t really argue with. He always tries to resolve conflicts calmly and in a healthy way. When you argue, it usually happens in such a way that you sit down together. He listens to your view of things and he tells you his point of view and then it ends with both of you reflecting and apologizing. 

Ennoshita is also very tidy around the house and willingly shares the chores with you. 

Moreover, Ennoshita is someone who is not jealous because he trusts you completely. 

SUGAWARA KOUSHI

Sugawara’s green flag is probably a mix of his humor, which always cheers you up and motivates you in sad moments, and his adult, sensitive personality. 

Sugawara can tell from the tip of your nose whether you are in a good or bad mood. If you are sad, he always tries to cheer you up with funny jokes, gives you a hug and literally attacks you with cuddles. 

If you text him that you have your period and want him to buy you tampons or pads, he won’t be disgusted or refuse because buying these products is “not manly”, but will buy them without hesitation and give them to you, making sure to get exactly the right size or the pads that have these little wings. Would you like a hot water bottle and a cup of tea? No problem, Sugawara treats you like a princess and pampers you with everything you need. But let’s be honest, that’s what he does 24/7, anyway.  

SAWAMURA DAICHI

Daichi is extremely responsible and mature. If anything happens, whether you’re feeling bad, you need someone to pick you up from a party or you have to go to appointments together, Daichi is there and you never feel like you’re alone because he’s always your main pillar of support. 

He’s never forgotten an appointment, whether it’s your anniversary, when he always buys you flowers, or your birthday, or night-outs with friends. Every appointment is in his head... probably every appointment is also saved on his phone, but that doesn’t matter. He remembers them all. 

He’s also not jealous at all. It’s probably because he’s quite mature, but Daichi has no problem with you talking to other men or having male friends. After all, you are his girlfriend for a reason. He knows that you love him and he has nothing to worry about. 

[helluvapoison]

heyy i was wondering if you could do like Lucifer x reader getting married if ,you want to ofc🫶

btw i love your work so muchh, thank you!!🫶(also english is not my first language so i hope i didn't write anything wrong)

Absolutely I Do

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

a little insight to your wedding with the king

[part ii (18+ only)]

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

• What would be a tamer version of a bridezilla? Not quite lashing out at everyone and their mother over the tiniest details but blowing a fuse when white roses arrive and he specifically asked for white gardenias?

• That would be Lucifer

• Asmodeus is his best man and the other Sins are his groomsmen, they’ll handle the flower debacle and any other matter that needs saving

• Good natured Charlie was given, arguably, the easiest task of holding onto the rings! She’s more than capable of planning the entire event on her own (and she asked to… twice) but Lucifer wanted her to enjoy this wedding as he wouldn’t be having another

• It’s part of why he wants this to go perfectly!

• He never thought he’d find another love after Lilith. He didn’t even realize that while you were delicately filling in the crater she’d left, he was falling more and more in love with you

• The other part, his pride and perfectionism aside, is that while it may be his second wedding, it’s your first. In his eyes you deserve only the best and he’ll be damned all over again if he doesn’t deliver

• You told your fiancé (FUCK he loved that word coming out of your mouth, almost as much as he was going to like husband!) to at least try to not go overboard. To which you received a “Me? Overboard? Darling, I would never! Simple and elegant, that’s what the headlines will say!”

• The many, many, many vision boards said otherwise. However you already knew damn well “simple and elegant” translated to grandeur and extravagant– and that’s exactly what it was. To Lucifer’s credit, it wasn’t gaudy or blinding. It really was a gorgeous spectacle

• Per his request it’s an all white event, a stark contrast to the overall location. The guest list is massive. After all, Lucifer’s still a king and certain people would be offended if they missed an occasion like this. Everyone goes all out. Bodies pour into chairs, everyone dripping head to toe in white garments and glamorous jewels

• Lucifer preened and primped, checking the mirror a couple hundred times and asking whoever was in the room if he looked ok. Anything less than “outstanding” had him groaning as he turned back to the mirror

• The wedding suddenly seems like a terrible idea. Not because he has cold feet (he’s rather sweaty, actually) but because the moment he sees you he just wants to steal you away

• You are positively and wholly breathtaking. The stars are jealous over how you outshine them! He can’t do anything but stare in amazement as you walk down the aisle

• Does he, Lucifer Morningstar, vow to protect, love, cherish and serve you for all eternity? Undoubtedly. He adds a few his own too like spoil you rotten, compliment you hourly, never ever never let you feel like you’re alone— all things he’s already done but wanted to make it “official”

• “It’s been an honor to be your confidant and friend… but I’m dying to do that and more as your husband.”

• Then do you take him to have and to hold, for better or worse, richer or poorer?

• “I do.” You answer proudly, squeezing his hands ever so slightly

• Forgetting present company, forgetting he’s a king and supposed to act dignified, Lucifer doesn’t wait to get permission to kiss you. He jumps slightly, knowing you’ll catch him instantly. Hugging your neck he crashes his lips onto yours

• You giggle against him, returning the kiss briefly before setting him down. (Hell knows he’d get carried away and forget much more if you didn’t)

• “I do believe you’re my husband now, Luci.”

• The entire wedding may as well have been a surprise party the way his eyes widened, as if it only just set in what the ordeal was for

• “Oh my golly, I’m your husband. I’m your husband! Hey everybody, I'm their husband!”

~

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡ don’t apologize, you did great friend! thank you so mochi and i hope you enjoy

[cxtori]

Satoru Gojo ✭ Kiss Me Back

wc: basically 5k… it wasn’t meant to be lmao

summary: based off of this thought i posted a while ago

genre: angst, fluff, drunk “confession” but it gets misunderstood, friends to lovers, silly drunk Gojo

warnings: n/a

tori’s note: I finished this fic after having it in my drafts for almost a year. I kinda strayed from how my original prompt went lol. Idk how I feel about the second half of this, I’m not a huge fan of it but y’know, it be what it be. Hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Gojo doesn’t drink often. In fact, it’s more accurate to say he never drinks. He hates alcohol. The way it tastes, the way it burns, and especially how quickly it affects his system.

He’s always been a lightweight, it only taking a few shots before he was intoxicated. But for some reason, Shoko’s teasing pressure to get him to drink got to him a lot more tonight than usual. 

It was supposed to be only one shot, then just one more. But now, here he is, a couple hours later and 6 shots down, drunk and stumbling, leaning against you for support.

You grunt as you struggle to keep the tall man vertical and walk him down the street to your car. 

“You are amazing, Y/n,” Gojo slurs, wrapping his arm tighter around your neck. You huff and roll your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve said that 3 times already,” you laugh lightly. Gojo trips over his own foot, causing you to stumble and almost fall. Thankfully, you catch yourself and keep the two of you from crashing into the concrete. 

“Jeez, Toru! Are you serious?” You ask, unbelieving that he was so intoxicated that he really couldn’t walk straight. Gojo only moans miserably in response. “We’re almost there,” you sigh.

You knew how much he hated the repercussions of drinking and tried to stop him before it was too late. But he seemed to be feeling a little self-destructive tonight, so your warnings fell on deaf ears, much to your annoyance. Even so, you still felt empathetic enough to take him home yourself, turning down Nanami’s kind offer to do so.

After another block of walking and stumbling, you finally make it to your car, opening the passenger side and awkwardly shuffling around as you try to help Gojo into the seat. It felt like he was purposefully doing everything he could to make this simple task as complicated as possible. Which, honestly, you wouldn’t put past him. 

You eventually get him and his lanky limbs into the vehicle and hold back a laugh when he groans and dramatically drapes himself over your center console, arms spilling into the driver’s seat. You walk around to the other side of the car, moving his arms carefully before sitting down and pushing him to lean against the window. 

“Okay, tough guy. You still have the water Nanami gave you?” You ask. Gojo clumsily reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out the water bottle he somehow managed to fit in there. Damn men’s pocket sizes.

“Good, I want it empty by the time I make it to your place,” you state, turning on the car and pulling into the street.

“The whole thing?” Gojo whines. You laugh breathily, finding amusement in his drunk demeanor.

“Yes, the whole thing. Gotta stay hydrated so drink up!” You encourage. 

The white-haired man mutters a complaint as he cracks open the bottle, and you watch dumbfounded as he drains it in seconds. 

“I didn’t mean drink it all at once…” you say. Gojo shrugs and sinks further into his seat. 

You drive in silence for a few minutes, the pale, orange street lights whizzing by and the soft, white noise of the tires rolling on the pavement making the ride a peaceful, comforting experience. At least it would be if Gojo wasn’t staring holes into the side of your face. 

In his drunkenness, he’d somehow managed to misplace his glasses and blindfold, much to your dismay. You adore those brilliant blue eyes, but damn, if they weren’t intimidating as hell when they were staring you down. You do your best to ignore it, keeping your eyes focused on the road ahead of you. 

You feel your heart skip a beat when a cold, calloused finger presses gently against your temple before tracing your hairline, sweeping your hair behind your ear.

“You’re so pretty,” Gojo whispers, his words barely audible. Your breath catches in your throat, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. 

“O-oh, umm… I- th-thank you,” you stutter horribly. Gojo hums softly as though he’s satisfied with your reaction before laughing lightly. His hand leaves your quickly heating face as he turns back to the window, slumping against the cool glass. 

After what couldn’t have possibly even been a minute, you hear the faintest snore come from the man. You poke his arm, expecting some kind of reaction. But nope, he’s out.

You take a deep breath and start blasting the AC. It suddenly feels really stuffy in here.

You soon reach his house and pull into the driveway before parking the car and climbing out. You open the passenger door, being careful to not let Gojo dump out onto the ground. You shake his shoulders, whispering to him that he was home and needed to wake up. After some gentle-turned-vigorous shaking, the man wakes up bleary eyed and a bit confused. 

“Have a nice nap, sleeping beauty?” You tease, taking his arm and attempting to pull him to his feet. He grunts, reluctantly swinging his feet out of the car and onto the ground. The moment he stands, he leans back against the car, his eyes squeezed shut in discomfort. 

“Shhhhit, why did I do that?” He slurs, the alcohol still screwing with his brain. At least he’s more coherent than 30 minutes ago. 

“Not to be like that, but I did try to stop you,” you joke.

“Shut up,” he groans. His eyes open and meet with yours, but instead of holding the annoyed glare you were expecting, they were soft, appreciative. His typically pale complexion was still dusted pink, though not nearly as flushed as earlier, and there’s the faintest hint of a smile to accompany it. 

He leans against you, his arms snaking around your waist in a loose hug, and his head resting heavily on your shoulder as he sighs. “Thank you, Y/n.”

“Why don’t you thank me when I’ve gotten you inside!” You laugh awkwardly, pushing the large man off of you. 

Gojo pouts, his soft, pink lips protruding in a way that could only be described as borderline sensual. You tear your eyes away from him and link your arm in his to walk him into the house with much less stumbling this time.

You make it inside, Gojo dragging down the hall to his room while you dig in his kitchen cabinets in search of ibuprofen. Once you’ve found what you’re looking for, you grab a glass and fill it with water before making your way to Gojo’s room.

You knock on the door, the sound echoing through the cold, empty hallway. A muffled “come in” reaches your ears and you open the door. 

You step in and your eyes land on a half-naked Gojo sitting on his bed, stopping you in your tracks. He did say to come in, didn’t he?

He looks at you, a questioning expression written on his face. With everything he’s done this evening, it’s beginning to be hard to believe he’s not purposefully trying to fluster you.

You draw in a breath and walk over to him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you nervous.

“Here, for the potential hangover,” you say, handing him the pills and water. He takes it gratefully, downing the meds and water quickly. He sets the glass on the nightstand with a soft thunk, and an odd silence follows after. 

“Well, I’m gonna head home now. G’night, Toru,” you say, turning on your heels and heading to the door. Your hand barely touches the doorknob when Gojo says your name.

“Y/n,” he calls quietly. You stop and turn to him with a questioning hum, but he doesn’t give any response back other than a waving hand, signaling for you to come back to him. You shuffle awkwardly to stand in front of him, confused about what he wants. 

He stands up, his chest almost bumping against yours as he does so. You begin to take a step back, but before you can, his hands are on your waist, holding you in place. You look up at him to ask what he’s doing, but the words get stuck in your throat the moment your eyes meet his.

Those bright, cerulean eyes that were so often hidden from the world, were looking at you with such care and fondness that it made your chest tighten. 

Before you’re even aware of what’s happening, his warm, soft lips are pressing tenderly against yours. 

Your tense muscles relax and eyes flutter shut as your lips push back against his. His hands grip your waist as he pulls you closer to him before one lifts the back of your shirt, fingers dragging slowly over your skin. 

You sigh into him, your own hands traveling up his arms, to his neck, eventually finding home in his silky hair. His other hand moves from your hip to your face, cupping your cheek as he deepens the kiss. 

His tongue darts out and sweeps across your lips and the faintest lingering taste of bitter alcohol bites your tastebuds, snapping you back to reality. It’s only then that you remember who you’re kissing, where you are, and how you got there. 

Your eyes fly open and hands move to his chest, pushing him away from you harshly. Gojo loses his balance, landing back into a sitting position on his bed, his once peaceful expression now shocked and confused. 

Your hand covers your mouth, surprised by your own actions. It’s only a second or two that you stay there, staring at each other before you decide that you should definitely leave.

“I’m sorry, I need to go,” you say, wasting no time in leaving his room and ignoring his calls for you. You jump into your car and start the engine before your door is even closed.

What were you thinking? He’s the drunkest he’s been in ages, how could you let that happen? You curse yourself as you drive home, frustrated that you allowed such a thing when your friend was in such a vulnerable state.

 You make it home and park in the driveway, but you don’t leave. You sit in your car and stare blankly at the steering wheel as the full weight of regret begins to sink in. 

You’ve desperately wanted that man to kiss you for years now. But not like this! Not when he was intoxicated and most likely not thinking straight. You wanted a genuine kiss; one he gave you because he truly wanted to. Not because his drunk-self just wanted attention.

How are you supposed to keep your feelings for him under wraps after this?

You’ll just have to lie. You’ll tell him that it was just a slip up, that you were caught off guard. That he kissed you and- dammit, you kissed him back! And not only that, you were wrapping your arms around him. You can’t play off your feelings for him when you kissed him like that!

You groan painfully as you open your door and force yourself into your house, trudging your way to your room. You change your clothes and crawl into bed before plugging your phone in. The screen lights up with the red battery, which disappears quickly, revealing a missed call and several texts from Gojo.

I’m sorry Y/n. Can we please talk?

It wasn’t what you think

Y/n?

Hello?

He almost never texts you, let alone several times in a row. But you can’t find it in you to respond. You turn off your phone and stare at your ceiling for what feels like an eternity, the moment replaying in your mind on repeat. 

It wasn’t what you think? What is he assuming you think?

You raise a finger to your mouth, remembering how it felt to have his lips on yours as you trace over them. 

It was so warm, so sweet. The way he held you close to him, so strong yet gentle. The way his thumb stroked over your face so tenderly. Maybe… it was real.

No. You can’t allow yourself to believe it was genuine and get your hopes up, you can’t.

You roll over onto your side just as your screen lights up once more. You take a glance at it and find another text from Gojo. 

I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Please let me explain.

A new wave of anxiety washes over you when you realize you’ll have to see him tomorrow. You do work at the same school after all. You don’t have a few days to process this or even find a way to respond. 

You wrap tighter into yourself and painful tears fill your eyes, not taking long before they’re streaming down your face and soaking into your pillow. You just want the earth to open and swallow you. 

Your only comfort is in the slim possibility that he was still drunk enough to have a chance of not having clear memories the next day. Maybe he’d wake up, see the messages he’d sent you and not even remember what it was about. 

You know it’s a foolish hope. He wasn’t drunk enough during that kiss to have no recollection of it. Even so, it’s the only thought that calms you down enough to fall asleep. 

Okay, all you have to do is file a couple reports, meet with Ijichi and Nitta, and check in with Shoko on a new corpse. You don’t even have to be on campus the whole day, just do your few tasks and leave. 

You were not going to talk to Gojo today. You’re not sure your heart can handle it right now. You’ve barely even processed what happened last night. It’s like your mind is trying to convince you it was a dream. But the unanswered texts still sitting in your inbox say otherwise. 

You decided you would do your best to avoid the inevitable conversation. You’re sure that when he sees you, he’ll likely confront you about it. But, if you were with others, you knew he’d keep his mouth shut. You can’t hide from him, but you make damn sure he can’t catch you alone.

You know you’ll have to talk about it eventually, just not today. And maybe not tomorrow. Or the day after that.

You take a deep breath as you walk into the school and head for Yaga’s office. You’re not too worried about bumping into Gojo here as he usually avoids this part of the school simply because he’s afraid of running into Yaga and being asked to do something he doesn’t want to. 

You make it there without incident and knock on Yaga’s door before entering. Thankfully, your meeting doesn’t last long as you just have to turn in your reports and give him a quick rundown of your past week’s assignments.

Next was finding Ijichi and Nitta. Which meant going to the more common areas of the school. Which meant risking running into Gojo.

At this point, you were just hoping he decided to go MIA today as he typically did. Or maybe he’d be too hung over to even bother getting out of bed. Whatever the case may be, you just hoped he wouldn’t be behind the door to which you are about to enter.

You turn the doorknob quietly and poke your head in, finding no one but Ijichi sitting at a desk looking over a stack of papers, and you feel relieved. You step inside and Ijichi looks up, a small smile appearing once he sees it’s you.

“Ahh, Y/n. You’re a bit early,” he greets kindly. 

“Haha, yeah. My meeting with Yaga didn’t take as long as expected,” you laugh softly as you walk over to the desk and take a seat across from the man. “Where’s Nitta?”

“She’s currently out with the first years. They were sent to investigate the disturbance you reported a few days ago. Turns out it was just a few Grade 3 curses roaming around.” Ijichi replies.

He shuffles the papers spread out on the desk into a few separate piles before picking up each one, shaking them into neat stacks and paper clipping them together.

“Oh, that’s good to know,” you say with a smile. “So, you said you and Nitta needed something?”

“Oh, yes. We wanted your opinion on-”

“Gooood morning!” A familiar voice calls happily as the door swings open. You hunch over in your chair and glue your eyes to the papers in front of you, not daring to look at the man. You didn’t think you would run into him this soon.

“Oh, goodmorning, Gojo,” Ijichi says.

“Ijichi,” Gojo greets and nods to his co-worker.

He turns to you, your eyes still studying the reports laying in front of you. It was obvious you weren’t reading them though, considering they were upside down to you. “Y/n,” he says quietly.

You still refuse to look at him, mumbling a barely audible “good morning” in return.

Ijichi, sensing some tension, clears his throat and returns to the matter that brought you here in the first place. He only had a few questions, wanting your opinion on which recent cases should be assigned to which students. It wasn’t long before you had fulfilled your need and could leave.

You say your goodbyes, stand from the desk and make your way to the door, still having not spared Gojo, who was leaning against one of the couches, even a glance.

Despite hiding his eyes behind that dark blindfold of his, you could tell he’d been staring at you the whole time. You could practically feel his gaze burning holes into your skin. But, just as you expected, he didn’t dare bring up anything about the previous night with Ijichi in the room.

You walk out the door, thankfully leaving Gojo behind it. But you weren’t sure how long he’d stay there. You make your way quickly through the halls as you head towards the morgue. You open the door and step inside, the cold air making your body shake with a chill. 

You walk through, but find no sign of Shoko. Deciding that she must be in the office, you turn and start making your way over, it being just a couple doors down the hall. 

You step outside of the morgue and about jump out of your skin when you’re met with blinding white hair. Gojo. Of course. You should’ve known he would catch up to you. 

You stand there for a moment, him standing in the doorway and therefore blocking your exit. You still can’t bring yourself to look at him, not really, only giving him quick glances. It must be so easy for him to make “eye contact” when he doesn’t really have to.

“Can we talk?” He says, his voice taking on an unusually shaky and serious tone, and you suppress a sigh. Any hope you had of him not remembering last night shattered with those three words.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you say quietly, desperately wanting to avoid the impending conversation. 

“Y/n,” he says, his large hand reaching carefully for your arm. You move quickly, avoiding his grasp.

“I don’t want to talk,” you say and push past him, making it through the doorway. You speed walk down the hallway to the morgue office, thankful that it’s just a few doors down. Gojo begins to say something but before he can, you’re knocking on the door, shutting him up quickly.

Shoko opens the door only a moment after you’ve knocked, silently stepping aside to let you in once she sees it’s you. Her neutral expression breaks a bit when she sees who’s behind you.

“Gojo, wasn’t expecting to see you today,” she says, referring to the rough condition he was in last night.

“I’m full of surprises, aren’t I?” He chuckles. He looks at you as he says this and you feel your face grow warm. Shoko walks over to her desk and shuffles through the various items in search of something.

“How are you feeling? You haven’t had that many drinks in a long time,” She asks curiously.

“I feel great actually. Y/n is a pretty good caretaker,” he says, once again looking over at you. “She’s the reason I’m not hungover.”

Yep, you certainly were. Maybe you should’ve skipped the water and ibuprofen. But that was before what happened. Past you had no idea that future you would be cursing that decision.

“He wasn’t too much trouble was he? Gojo’s always annoying when he’s drunk.” Like he’s not annoying when he isn’t drunk.

“He was fine,” you say plainly, wanting to move on from the topic.

“Fine is one way to put it,” Gojo says, an obnoxiously flirty smirk on his face. What happened to the serious and borderline nervous Gojo you had just a moment ago? Bring him back please.

“Maybe I should’ve let Nanami take you when he’d offered,” you mutter. Shoko turns back around to you, confused by the comments being made.

“Is that really what you would’ve wanted?” Gojo asks. 

“If it means we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now, then yes.”

Shoko looks between the two of you, reading the looks on your faces and expertly deciphering that this was not a conversation she needed (or wanted) to be a part of.

“I’m not getting involved in this,” Shoko mutters as she collects her things and quickly leaves the room, abandoning you in this anxiety-inducing situation. “We can meet later, Y/n.”

“Ah! Wait, Shoko!” You call, but she ignores you and walks out the door. Well, this certainly isn’t what you wanted to happen. Now you had no excuse to leave and apparently didn’t have anyone to have your back. You knew Shoko saw your plea for help in your eyes and she actively ignored it. But, it is Shoko. She always avoids getting involved in things that don’t concern her.

The silence that follows Shoko’s leaving is so incredibly deafening and you hope the ground will open up beneath you. You debate leaving, but you know that Gojo will just follow you. There was no escaping it now. Dammit, and you were so close to getting out without speaking to him.

You cross your arms over your chest and lean against the desk, your eyes glued to the floor.

“Y/n,” Gojo speaks softly. You refuse to look at him. You can’t. You don’t know what will happen if you do. “Y/n.” He steps closer to you and you sink further into yourself, feeling your throat tighten. “Let me explai-”

“What did you mean?” You close your eyes, finding yourself talking before you can even comprehend the words leaving your mouth.

“What?” Gojo says, confused. You sigh, annoyed with yourself now for having said anything.

“Your text. You said it wasn’t what I thought it was. What did you mean?” Gojo looks at you. Well, you assume he’s looking at you. He could be looking at the wall behind you for all you knew.

“I…” Gojo starts but doesn’t finish. He sighs quietly and leans against the chair in front of you. He doesn’t attempt to speak again for a long moment and you begin to wonder if he even plans to. And you’re right, he doesn’t speak. But instead, his hand reaches for the dark blindfold hiding his eyes, and he pulls it down around his neck, his snow white hair falling into his face.

You tear your eyes away as soon as he does, not able to bear even the thought of looking at him directly in those blue irises. Luckily, you’re not tempted to as he keeps his head down, his hair shielding his eyes from your view.

“I remember everything from last night,” the man says finally. You feel your heart sink. You knew he remembered, but for some reason, hearing him say so only made your anxiety worsen. “You didn’t give me a chance to say goodbye last night,” he says with a mild, teasing tone, though it was made with minimal effort, the tension in the room making it hard to joke playfully.

Your arms tighten around you and your throat burns, your eyes remaining focused on everything but him. 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t expect to be leaving in such a hurry either,” you say, risking your voice breaking into tears. Gojo chuckles.

“I thought you’d stay for a bit longer after the way you were kissing me,” He jokes, and this time it has his usual lightheartedness to it. Despite that, you feel your blood run hot through your body and for a moment you forget that you’re avoiding looking at him. Your eyes whip over to see him already looking at you, a smirk on his lips.

“Wha- you kissed me!” You whisper yell, afraid that someone outside may hear you. You can’t believe him. HE made a move on YOU, and yet he wants to talk about the way you were kissing HIM?

“Buuut, you kissed me back!” He says accusingly but airily. You close your mouth at this. He’s right, you did. And this is just what you were afraid of, him realizing that you kissing him back meant you actually enjoyed it if only a little. You couldn’t hide it.

“And I shouldn’t have, I’m sorry,” you say quietly. You turn your gaze away just in time to miss the way Gojo’s face twitches and his smile drops. Before you can’t stop yourself, you continue to speak, the coil in your throat snapping and the tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you back. I shouldn’t have let you kiss me to begin with. But please, I don’t want to hear what you have to say about it. I know you were drunk and it was a mistake just… Please, don’t tell me that.” 

The silence that follows your statement is so quiet that you can hear Gojo’s uneven breaths alongside your own. You feel the urge to run, to walk out the doors and never turn back. To find a hole somewhere to bury yourself in, never to resurface.

“You think I made a mistake?” Gojo’s words barely reach your ears, his voice so soft you almost have to strain to hear it. He looks at you, completely dejected. “Even if I did feel that way, do you think I’d come here to mock you for it? Do you think I’d be that cruel?” The hurt in his voice is so obvious that you can feel it yourself.

“I… I don’t know.” Truthfully, you did know. You knew he wouldn’t do something like that. He may be annoying, but he’s not cruel. It was out of your own fear of the outcome that you were avoiding this conversation. But then, two words in his statement stand out to you. 

Even if. 

Meaning even if it was a mistake. Meaning he didn’t think it was?

The tears welling in your eyes begin to fall when you dare to look up at him, his own already on you. But you don’t look away this time.

“Would you have kissed me if you were sober?” You ask quietly. Gojo’s shoulders slump and his face grows longer at your words. He takes a cautious step towards you, testing to see if you’ll back away. And you don’t.

“Y/n, I didn’t kiss you because I was drunk,” he replies, his voice smooth as silk. He takes another step forward, this time reaching out a hand to place on your arm, and you don’t pull away.

“That’s what I meant when I said it wasn’t what you thought. I knew you figured it was an alcohol-influenced choice. And while the alcohol admittedly may have had something to do with it, that wasn’t why I did it.” Your vision blurs as you begin to cry, your tears feeling like rivers of fire as they flow down your cheeks.

“I did it because I wanted to, Y/n,” he admits. He lifts a hand to your face, wiping your tears as he strokes your cheek with his knuckles.  “It wasn’t a mistake. It was a choice. And one I don’t regret.”

You close your eyes, not being able to see with them open anyway. His other hand moves from your arm to swipe at your tears, both hands now cupping your face tenderly.

“I don’t know what to say,” you mumble. You raise your hands to wrap your fingers around his wrists, your thumbs stroking over the back of his hands. You open your eyes, your vision clear enough to see him looking at you fondly, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His soft lips that, in the back of your mind, you’ve been thinking about all morning.

Your gaze must have lingered on his mouth for a moment too long as his smile widens. He comes closer to you, his head towering over yours and his hands guide your face to continue looking at him.

“You don’t have to say anything right now. But.” He leans his face to yours, his warm breath against your lips. “I would like to kiss you again. And I hope you won’t run away this time.” His voice lilts in that familiar, teasing tone and your heart twists.

“I won’t,” you say with a breathless laugh. 

His large hands continue to hold your head as he moves forward, wasting no time in putting his lips against yours in a passionate but tender kiss.

And this time, you let yourself kiss him back.

©Cxtori 2024 please do not copy, plagiarize, repost or translate. reblogs appreciated

[idrkwhatthisisimsorry]

Gold Rush

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve and reader are just two idiots in love who doesn't think the other one likes them back

Warnings: fluff, idiots in love, slight angst, slight reader insecurity

Word Count: 3,406

A/N: okay so i haven’t written in a REALLY long time, but i’ve been on a steve kick lately and just wanted to write something so 😍

You were tired of it. So sick and tired of it. You’ve been alive for over two full decades and you still have never managed to have a boyfriend. Not that you were particularly desperate for one, but when everyone around you managed to have been in a relationship at one point in their life, it made you feel a little left out. It’s gotten to the point where everyone just kind of assumes you aren’t interested in a relationship, which isn’t true. You’re just bad at finding one. You’ve had small one-night things, but it seems like every time you get close to a man beyond a hook-up, you somehow manage to make the conversation utterly and completely platonic to the point where you’re just always the best friend. And this is where Steve Rogers comes in. 

You’ve known Steve for about 3 years, ever since you joined the team. Steve, to say the least, is a pretty intimidating guy when you first meet him. He’s super tall and sweet and cute, all the things you would want in a guy. But because he’s so perfect, approaching him seemed way too scary. For the first couple months of knowing him, the two of you would only exchange simple pleasantries as you crossed paths. A nod of the head, a wave, or a quick “hi” was all you were able to get out. But you wanted more than that. 

Eventually one day, you got the courage to say something to him. 

You were sitting in the kitchen, reading a book and sipping your coffee when Steve walked in. It looked like he had just gotten out of the gym, he was wearing some athletic shorts and a Dodgers tee that was entirely too small on him, but it gave you something to talk about. 

“Dodgers fan?” You asked him, hoping it would start some kind of conversation. He turned around, looking almost shocked that you said something to him that wasn’t just hi. He chuckled a bit before saying, “Yes, ma’am. I do miss them being in the city, but you’ll never catch me trading them in for the Yankees.”. He smiled at you, obviously expecting a response. You panicked. You hadn’t thought this far. He was supposed to ask you a question or something. In your idiotic panic, all you could manage to get out of your mouth was, “I’ve honestly never watched a single baseball game in my life.” Which was true, but why did you have to say that now? But apparently Steve wasn’t as offended by this as you thought he would be, and he tipped his head back and just laughed. Steve Rogers was laughing at you. With you? You had no clue. You just dropped your head into your palms, expecting him to walk out at your comment. “No offense, doll, but you don’t exactly strike me as the baseball fan type, so I’m not entirely shocked.” He said, just smiling at you. You were absolutely not going to open your mouth again, because obviously it wasn’t attached to your brain and you didn’t want to look even more idiotic in front of  literal Captain America. It got to the point where both of you were just kind of staring at each other in silence before Steve finally broke the tension. “So… reading is more of your style, then?” He said, gesturing to the book you had sitting in front of you. “Uh, yeah, pretty much. It’s like all I do in my free time.” You said, with a slight smile on your face. “I love reading, too. Kind of hard to adapt from books from 70 years ago to the books now, but I’d say it’s definitely one of my favorite pastimes. What are you reading?” You were kind of holding a conversation with Steve Rogers. Steve Rogers. Your kind of crush. You don’t know if you can even call it a crush when the longest conversation you’d even had with him was currently happening, and so far was only about 5 sentences long, but it was happening. “Oh, um, it’s called Daisy Jones and the Six. I've actually read it a few times already, but it’s my favorite so I felt like reading it again.” You said as you smiled up at him sheepishly. “Oh, I’ve actually heard of that one. Good enough for multiple re-reads, huh?” “Oh, one-hundred percent. It takes place in the seventies. Such a shame you missed out on that decade, it would’ve been interesting to see you in bell bottoms.” And there it was again, that laugh. He tipped his head back once again and just laughed. “Is that a good laugh or an ‘oh my god this girl needs to shut up laugh’” Steve stopped laughing, and looked at you confused. “No, of course not. You’re funny.” A confused smile spread across his face. “Sorry, it’s just kind of weird figuring everybody out here and making friends. You’re all way too cool for me, I feel like I’m trying to fit in with the popular kids.” You gave a shy laugh, and he returned it and then crossed the kitchen in front of you. “Well you’ve got one here. Being a tiny kid in Brooklyn, I get how weird it is to go from being on the outside, to being right here on the inside. Wanna make a deal?” He said, holding out his hand. You looked down at his outstretched hand, and then looked back up at him before asking, “What kind of deal?” He just smiled before saying, “A friendship deal. Whenever you need someone to talk to or to hang out with, or just someone to read in the same room with, you’ve got me.” You smiled even brighter and took his hand and shook it. “Done. And this deal includes you not judging my weak handshake.” He just threw his head back again and laughed. And that’s when you fell in love with Steve Rogers. 

Being in love with Steve Rogers was a problem. Being in love with Steve Rogers for three years and only being a best friend was an even bigger problem. Steve was the perfect guy, which was the issue because everyone else had the same sentiments, but you were too scared of rejection to do anything about it. You knew everybody wanted him, but last year was when it really hit you. 

As you finished getting ready, you picked up your tote bag, ready to go to your favorite bookstore. You thought it might be fun for Steve to come with, but as you headed for your door to go ask him, there was a knock. You opened your door to see Steve standing outside of it. “Hey Steve, what’s up?” You asked him, a smile on your face. “I was just coming to see if you wanted to do something?” He said, looking down at your outfit, seeing you were already dressed to go. “But if you already have plans, that’s totally fine.” He said with a small smile on his face. “No, I was actually just about to come ask you if you wanted to go to the bookstore with me?” You gave him a small smile back, and raised your eyebrows in question. A big smile spread across his face as he nodded and gestured his arm in front of you, suggesting for you to lead the way. You smiled up at him and stepped past him through the door. 

Walking with Steve was always nice because it meant you had something to do while you talked. You and Steve had grown pretty close since your conversation you had in the kitchen a couple years ago, but you still got nervous and fidgety sometimes when you were around him because, well, you were still in love with him. So walking and talking was just easier than sitting around and talking. “So why do you need more books?”He said as the two of you walked down the sidewalk. “I always need more books, you know this, Steve.” He gave a small chuckle and turned to look at you, stopping on the sidewalk. He didn’t say anything, and just looked at you. You gave him a look, confused why he was putting your walk on a halt. You raised your eyebrows and asked him, “What?”, laughing a little bit. “You’re just so b-” Before Steve could finish his sentence he was interrupted. 

One of the most beautiful girls you had ever seen just so happened to walk up to Steve, not even glancing in your direction. She was tall, blonde, beautiful, and more confident than you could ever think to be. Before you even had time to react to her, she was beaming up at Steve and talking to him. “Hi, sorry, I know this is kind of weird, but I just saw you from across the street, and wanted to come introduce myself. I’m Jen.” She said, batting her eyes up at him. “Oh, um, hi, I’m Steve, this is y/n.” He introduced the two of you, and smiled over at you as he said your name. Usually you loved when he said your name. The way his deep voice came out as he said ‘y/n’ always gave you butterflies in your stomach, but hearing him say your name because he was introducing you to a beautiful girl, who was so clearly interested in him, just made you feel like the gum on the bottom of your shoe. When Steve introduced you, you put on a fake smile that wasn’t even seen by her, as she clearly didn’t care about your presence, and kept her gaze focused on Steve. “Well, if you’re free sometime, call me.”She put on a sweet smile and grabbed his hand to put a small slip of paper, most likely with her number on it, in his hand. Before he could even respond, she turned away, but not before throwing a wink over her shoulder at him. And that’s when you realized if Steve Rogers could have girls like her, why would he want you?

“Nat. I need you to set me up on a date or something. I need serious romantic help, I’m tired of it.” After battling with your feelings for Steve, you figured it was finally time to move on. You and Steve were as close as you could possibly be at this point, and you hadn’t made any progress past friendship, and it was breaking your heart. You kept holding out hope, but if Captain America wasn’t going to make a move on you, it was never going to happen, and he just clearly wasn’t interested. You couldn’t keep pining over a man who didn’t want you. You were tired of setting unrealistic expectations for yourself, and decided to finally take Nat up on her offer of setting you up with someone. 

“Finally! I’ve been trying to set you up for years, what finally cracked you?” She said excitedly. Nat had been trying to set you up pretty much since the day you stepped into the tower. Once you and Steve started becoming friends, he helped you get more acquainted with everyone else on the team, and Natasha was one of the first. Which was another reason you fell in love with him. He cared so much about your wellbeing, and he wanted to make sure you felt comfortable and welcome where you lived, and you would be forever grateful for that. But that’s what friends do, and in your lovestruck haze, you decided to see it as him caring about you the same way you cared about him. 

“Nothing in particular, I think I just need a change, I guess.” You said, trying your best to give her a genuine smile. She just beamed back at you, “Well, I’m super happy you’re finally giving in. I will find the perfect guy for you, I promise.” She said, hopping off the stool she was sitting on and walked away with her eyes glued to her phone, typing away. 

–

Later that night you were sitting on the couch reading, while Steve sat on the other side of the couch with you. You heard him close his book and sit it down on the table beside him. You looked up from your book to him as he opened his mouth to say something. “Hey, uh, what are you doing tomorrow night?” He asked you, a shy smile on his face. Most of your plans consisted of spending time with Steve, and as you were about to tell him that, Natasha bounded into the room.

“I can tell you exactly what she’s doing tomorrow night.” Nat said, with a mischievous smile on her face. You had a feeling you knew exactly what she was going to say, and even though you asked her to set you up on a date, the last thing you wanted to happen was for her to tell you about a date she set you up on in front of Steve. “She’s going on a date. With Jack from the 7th floor. He’s so cute, y/n, you’ll love him. He loves books, and you guys have the same taste in music, I can’t wait.” She said, almost giggly. “You can’t wait for my date?” You said, laughing at her last statement. “Well, I’ve been trying to set you up for years, god forbid I get excited you finally said yes.” She said, rolling her eyes at you. “You’re going on a date?” You looked at Steve as he asked the question and gave him a nervous smile. “Um, yeah, I am. I finally took Nat up on her offer.” You said, throwing in a small laugh, trying to dissolve the awkwardness. “Thanks, Nat, I appreciate it,” You smiled up at her as you said it, and started to stand, “I think I’m going to head to bed now, though. Goodnight, you guys.” You smiled as you walked away, not able to stand being in the same room as you and Steve both found out you had a date for tomorrow. 

–

You couldn’t sleep. Of course you couldn’t sleep. All you could think about was Steve and what he might be thinking about your date. Did he care? Was he jealous? Was he just happy his best friend was finally going on a date? You didn’t want to be thinking about Steve, you wanted to be thinking about your date. Something you should be super excited for, but all you could think about was a certain captain. 

In the middle of another battle with your blankets while tossing and turning, you heard a soft knock on your door. You’d been in bed for hours trying to sleep, so you thought you just imagined it, but you heard the same soft knock again. Curious who could possibly be knocking on your door this late, you finally got up to answer your door. You opened the door to see a very distressed looking Steve in your doorway. “Hey, what’s up?” You asked, concerned. “Can I come in?” You nodded, and opened the door wider for him to come in, and closed it behind him. “Is everything okay? I thought you’d be asleep by now.” He didn’t respond and just started pacing back and forth in front of you. “Steve?” Hearing his name made Steve stop his pacing, and turn to look at you. “Why are you letting Nat set you up on a blind date?” He asked, with an almost frantic tone to his voice. “What? Do you have an issue with blind dates or something?” You were insanely confused. Steve was the kind of person who was always happy for you no matter what, so him practically barging into your room to ask you why you were going on a date was really out of character for him. 

“No, of course I don’t have a problem with blind dates. I have a problem with you going on a date. Y/n, I-” He cut himself off, looking down at the ground. You had no clue what to say, so you just stared at him, hoping he would finish his sentence. He looked back up from the ground, meeting your eyes. He walked towards you and didn’t stop until he was only a few inches away from you. “I can’t let you go on that date without telling you how I feel first.” As the words left his mouth, your eyebrows raised farther up your forehead than you thought possible. “W-what? What do you mean?” You asked, starting to think you were going crazy. This was starting to sound an awful lot like a confession, but Steve didn’t feel that way about you. There was no way. He saw you as his best friend, and that was it. He dropped his head down to his chest again, running his fingers through his hair as he let out a sigh. He slowly lifted his eyes again to meet yours. “Steve-” you began, but he cut you off. “I’m in love with you.” He said, sounding out of breath. Your eyes flew open. If you weren’t able to sleep before, you didn’t think you would ever be able to go to sleep. You couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t actually happening was it? There was no way Steve Rogers, Captain America, just told you that he was in love with you. It just wasn’t possible. You had to be dreaming, maybe you really did manage to fall asleep after all. If this was a dream, this was just cruel. “Y/n. Say something, please. If you don’t feel the same way, I understand, and we can pretend like this never happened. But I need you to say something. Please.” You stared at him for a second, almost paralyzed. “I- really?” was all you could manage to get out. It felt like the first time the two of you ever talked again. You were that same girl you were three years ago when you were stumbling over your words, trying to find the right thing to say to him. 

“I’ve been in love with you from the second you walked in the tower. Of course I’m in love with you, y/n, how could I not be? I’ve fallen in love with every single part of you. Your laugh and how you make me laugh. I love how sometimes you almost seem embarrassed when you laugh, like you think you shouldn’t be laughing. I love when you smile at me, and I love when you say my name. I love seeing you fight and how powerful your mind is. I love your obsession with books and your need to buy ten more every time you finish one. I love that I’m the person you come to when you need to talk, or rant, or cry. I love being that person for you like you are for me. You’re so amazing, it almost hurts me, because I know that there is someone better out there for you. Hell, it’s probably that guy that Nat is setting you up with. But I don’t think I could ever forgive myself if I let you go on that date without telling you how I feel. So yes, y/n, I really do love you.” Halfway into Steve’s talking tears began to form in your eyes. Not only did the man you’ve been in love with for years tell you he felt the same, but he did even more than that. He told you everything you’ve been longing to hear for years, and then some. 

“Oh, Steve.” You said, with a shaky voice. And for the first time, you made a move. Steve put his heart out on the line for you, and all you wanted to do was kiss him, so you did. You closed the distance between the two of you and put both of your hands on either side of his face, and crashed your lips to his. Immediately, he wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing you back. 

You broke the kiss, pressing your forehead to his, and sighed. “I love you more than anything, Steve.” You looked up at him, a small smile on your lips. This time, it was Steve who initiated the kiss.

[heyheydidjaknow]

Two in a row! We’re back in business! We aren’t going for three in a row but I do want to at least acknowledge that Dazai exists if we’re doing the bsd thing now.

Kindling

You were supposed to be fun.

He remembered the day he met you in that coffee shop. He had an hour to kill before a meeting. The shop was dead— the local schools had not been let out yet— and you stood behind the counter, eyes flickering from the clock on the wall above the door to the textbook in front of you. He had never been there before. He never had much reason to bother around largely residential areas before then. He had never seen you before. But you were nice to look at, so he approached the counter.

He liked the look you gave him. Cold, annoyed, almost indignant, desperate in the overblown way students often are: it took you a moment to remember your manners. You must have been new in town. “How may I help you?”

“One black coffee, please.” He smiled politely.

You straightened yourself up, not bothering to hide the way your gaze flitted between him, your book, the clock. “How much sugar?”

He blinked. “I said—“

“You’re not a black coffee drinker,” you answered dismissively, clearly distracted. “I’ve served three guys today already who asked for black coffee and then asked for cream and sugar and— no offense, guy— I’m so not in the mood to waste more of my time.” You picked a pencil from between the pages of your book, grabbing a notepad from your apron. “So, how much sugar, and how much cream?”

“Do you know who I am?”

You paused at that, giving him a once over. “No,” you said. “Should I?”

He stuck his hands in his pockets, an easy smile crossing his bandaged face. “No,” he replied. “You shouldn’t.”

You tapped your foot against the ground. “Fascinating. So—“

“May I ask you a question?” He nodded at the book. “How come you’re studying so hard at this time of day? It’s not midterm season already, is it?”

You looked down at the floor. “No.” Your brow furrowed. “Why is this your business, exactly?”

“It’s not.” He shrugged. “I’m just curious.”

You swallowed. “Huh.” Regret. “I’m sorry for snapping at you; I’m in a bit of a rush to get this stuff done.”

“What sort of stuff?”

You held the pencil between your forefinger and thumb, rolling it back and forth between them. “I’m helping a friend with a project. I owe him one, and he’s in a different time zone so my part is due in a couple hours.”

He went on his toes, peering over the register to read the textbook’s text. “Forensic pathology,” he noted. “Is your friend a criminologist?”

You shook your head. “A writer,” you explained. “He needs a comprehensive explanation of how corpses rot, and I’m the only one he knows with an understanding of that sort of thing.” You pursed your lips. “What he doesn’t know is that I’m taking this class as an elective and that I also have no idea how a corpse rots. But I can’t tell him that, because then I’d be letting him down, and he’s put so much trust in me and helped me so many times—“

He stopped you. “That’s all?” He held his hands behind his back. “Well, that’s simple enough. Most anyone downtown can tell you that.” His smile brightened. “How about we make a deal? If you pay for my drink and promise that this won’t take…” He looked back at the clock. It was an hour off. He wondered if you knew. “If you promise it won’t take longer than forty-five minutes, I can give you all the grisly details of human decomposition, with added notes accounting for weather, location, and time of day.”

The look of hesitant relief on your face brought him a sense of satisfaction he had not felt in a long time. You took a deep breath. “Sir,” you nodded, “you have yourself a deal.”

“Call me Osamu.”

You were easy. That was what first drew him to you. You had no reason to lie to him, so you did not. You had no reason to respect him, so you treated him like anyone else. The two of you— at least on the slice-of-life flavored stage the two of you played on— were equals, which he appreciated. Not many people offered him that luxury. The ones who did tended to disappear in the night for one reason or another, but you had no reason to, so you did not. Your problems were largely emotional. You stayed out of trouble. You were consistent. You were simple.

More important than your being simple, however, was the fact that you thought of him as a liar.

He remembered the conversation well. It was a Thursday. He had a couple hours before he was scheduled to help his newest apprentice train. The coffee shop was as slow as it always was and you, as always, stood behind it with a casual dismissiveness that would have gotten you beaten were you in different company. You had been in town long enough to know of the mafia— about a month— but had not yet accepted all of the stories you heard as true. You were recounting one of those stories to him, weight leaned against the counter as you described an incident regarding a teenager with phantom black limbs that could, without his so much as lifting a finger, murder a building’s worth of people in an instant.

“It’s bullshit, obviously.” You took a sip from your water. “I don’t get what they’re trying to prove; if they wanted to scare me, they’d come up with a half-decent lie.”

He did not have to smile around you— to you, he was nobody— but he did regardless. You were fun. “I know him,” he said. “I tutor him.”

You scoffed. “Yeah? What do you tutor him in?”

“Martial arts.” He took a sip from his coffee, which was thoroughly diluted with copious amounts of sugar and cream. You were right; it was bitter. “He’s not very good. He keeps trying to think of himself as a hand-to-hand combatant when he’s much more suited for support and has such a large inferiority complex that he loses all sense of strategy in exchange for a slavish need to validate his existence. In other words, he is close to useless.”

And, of course, you groaned tiredly. “Why are you encouraging them?” you asked. “You already know I know it’s bullshit; what kick do you get out of me already knowing?”

“I’m not lying,” he insisted, knowing you would not believe him. “I’ve been with him on hits before; a couple months ago, we killed thirty people in cold blood.”

And you laughed half-heartedly— as you should; to any regular person who did not know about how many bodies they had hidden, these claims were beyond ridiculous— and said, “Well, I knew the man that trained you, and I know he has a small dick, so what do you think of that?”

“I’m just glad to know he isn’t a pedophile.”

“Shut up and drink your coffee.”

He wondered what you thought of him sometimes. For the first week or so, you asked him questions, but you learned quickly that he was never going to give you satisfactory answers. You probably thought he was an ass, but you still talked to him like you would a peer, so he kept showing up. You must have thought he was a dick. He was sure that he was by your standards.

Once, on a Sunday, he had to attend a funeral. He had some time to kill before, so he walked into the coffee shop, clad in clothes nicer than what was typical, and ordered.

You looked him over. “You got a date?”

“No,” he replied, cheerful. “I have a funeral in an hour.”

You set his cup in front of him. “Oh. For someone you know?”

“My boss,” he explained. “He died the other day so we’re doing a service.”

“Oh.” Your brow furrowed, sympathy making way for confusion. “I’m… I’m sorry, but did you like him?”

He shrugged. “He was alright.”

“How long were you under him?”

He considered it. “A couple years?”

“Oh.” You nodded. “So enough time for your nonchalance to be weird. Cool.”

He rolled his eyes. “Well, it’s not as if he were my father.” He leaned back in his seat. “He was bound to get shot eventually; I’m just surprised it took this long.”

“He was what?”

“Shot,” he repeated. “In his sleep.”

You lowered your voice, looking around the cafe like someone would come out to shoot the two of you. “What,” you mumbled, “like an assassination?”

He nodded, looking around courteously. “Exactly. But it’s alright; they won’t stick around too long, I’m sure.”

“How come?”

He leaned his head on his hand. “I don’t imagine whoever did it could get very far out of the city. People are upset that he’s dead; I’m sure someone will lash out.”

You crossed your arms, swallowing thickly. “You know most people don’t speak so casually about people getting shot or whatever.”

“Well,” he shrugged again, “it happens often enough. It’s not like being formal is going to bring him back from the dead; who cares?”

“Don’t you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Aren’t you…?” You searched for the right word. “… I don’t know, shaken? He was a coworker, wasn’t he?”

He took a sip from his coffee. “Yeah.”

“So, isn’t his death a bit shocking?”

“Not really.” He snapped his fingers. “Oh, actually, that’s a lie. It means I’m in line for a promotion, and I thought I’d have to wait for him to die of a heart attack for it, so I’m happy about that.”

You cradled your head in your hands. “I don’t think you get my meaning,” you insisted. “Do you not feel anything for his death?”

He set the mug down, meeting your eyes. “No,” he repeated. “I don’t.”

Your questions were simple. “Why?”

“Because,” he answered, “His death was inevitable and his life’s impact on mine was nearly nonexistent. All he did was give me orders; why would I care if he died?

You stared at him, meeting his cold, bottomless eyes with ones aflame with passion. “You sound like a serial killer,” you said.

His smile was as vacant as the rest of him. “I feel like one.”

You were fun until you were not. If asked to identify when your relationship— acquaintanceship, friendship, whatever you called it— stopped being fun, he would point to an otherwise inconspicuous Monday morning three weeks after the funeral. The two of you were splitting a cinnamon roll. It was your break and you got a discount and you had no desire to eat a whole one. You were talking about something silly— a friend of yours had broken up with your other friend— when you had stopped in the middle of a sentence to look out the window, seemingly distracted by something. Witnessing this development, he turned to look out the window too, only to see that the scene outside— an overcast sky, street populated by people rushing on their way to work— had not, in fact, changed since he last looked out the window. “What are you looking at?” he asked.

Your words were soft, eyes transfixed on the window. “I need to buy a decent camera,” you murmured. “Or write. Or paint.”

“You want to take a picture?” He looked out the window again. The scene was still the same. “Of what?”

“Leave me alone, Osamu.”

“I’m not messing with you,” he said. “I just have no idea what you could possibly be looking at.”

“Sure you aren’t.” You gestured with your fork, not looking in his direction. “You have a reputation. I refuse to indulge you in something you’ll clown on me for.”

He sighed. “You are being so over dramatic.”

You shot him a glare. “I told you my friend’s boyfriend got stabbed last week and you said, and I quote, ‘I wish I could say the same.’”

“Yeah, but that was a joke.”

“Jokes are supposed to be funny.”

He crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “It’s not my fault you have a lame sense of humor,” he protested. “Why won’t you tell me?”

You peeled your attention from the window. “You wanna know what I think?” You gave him a cold smile. “I think you’re so neurotically obsessed with knowing everything that whatever joy you’ll get from knowing will be totally outweighed by the amount of pleasure I get at getting to make you squirm for once.” You stuck your tongue out. “You’re the nihilist. Suffer under the weight of your ideals, dipshit.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “Do you seriously think I can’t get you to tell me? Is this the hill you want to die on?”

“What if it is?” You crossed your arms, mimicking his pose. “What if it was really emotionally impactful to me? What if it was literally nothing and I’m just fucking with you? What, are you going to torture an answer out of me?” Your smile grew. “I get why you do this now; this is fun.”

He huffed. “You’re such a child.”

“No, you’re just easy to read.” You reached for your drink, cradling it to your chest. “Lenin gave himself a heart attack when he came to power, you know; it’s not healthy to obsess like that.”

He crossed his arms. “It was a stroke,” he grumbled. “He died of a stroke.”

“See, like that. You have issues.” You crossed your legs. “ Maybe it’d be good for you not to know.” You covered your mouth as he leaned forward and adopted an all too familiar smile. “And so help me if you try and seduce me into telling you what I saw so help me I will laugh you out of the room.”

His face soured. He stared you down, and you stared back, unphased, because why would you not? The two of you were equals as far as you were concerned; this was how you treated your peers, and despite the fact that the two of you barely knew each other in any meaningful way, you knew him enough to know what the rules of the game he was trying to play were even if you did not know what it was called. “I could kill you,” he said. “I know plenty of ways to do it. I know how to make it hurt, too.”

And you, knowing you had won, replied, “You could, but you won’t. Who would serve you your coffee?”

The two of you stared each other down one last time. Finally– and mercifully, he liked to think– he looked away. “You win.” He tossed his hands up. “That’s all my cards.”

Your smile softened at the edges. “Good.” You sat up. “I’m not going to tell you what I was looking at, but I can tell you how to see it, if you want. That way you get to know but you don’t get to be all smug.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he waved you off. “Because I’m not allowed to win, right?”

“If I knew you weren’t going to try and rule-lawyer me, I would just tell you.”

“I spend too much time here.”

“You said it.” You set the fork and the cup down on the table. “Close your eyes.”

He groaned. “I am so not into meditation.”

“Is that backtalk I hear?”

“No, no,” he relented, closing his eyes. “I’m with it or whatever. Now what?”

Your voice lowered. “Breathe in.”

He inhaled.

“And out.”

He exhaled.

“Now,” you continued, “what do you hear?”

“You talking to me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“You asked.”

You huffed. “I– look, besides me, what do you hear?”

He paused, considering it. “People outside,” he said. “And the air conditioning unit. And the milk steamer.”

“Good.” He heard you sit back in your seat again. “And physically, what do you feel?”

“Isn’t this a panic attack thing?”

“Answer my question.”

He considered it. “It’s cold in here.”

Your voice was soft. He wondered how exactly this place stayed in business for how quiet it was. “What do you taste?”

“For giving someone who was just talking about flirting–”

“I have a point. What do you taste?”

He meant to say, ‘My mouth.’ What came out was, “Cinnamon and icing.”

He heard you smile. “Good. Open your eyes.”

He did, blinking at the light. You were back to looking out the window; the scene had not changed.

You nodded towards it. “Now, look and tell me what you see.”

He looked between you and the window. “A tree,” he said. “And people.”

“Look at the tree, first.”

The tree itself was, by his estimation, the same sort of tree that could be found just about anywhere in this part of town. There were fewer as the years went on, he knew– there was some government initiative to get rid of the trees on the side streets– but the tree itself was unextraordinary. “It’s dead,” he noted.

Your eyes didn’t leave the window. “It’s overcast.” You sounded a million miles away. “The light from the sun is hitting it from the other side, so the side that we’re on is dull and dark. It’s casting a shadow on the table, on your face.”

He looked down at the table. Sure enough, in the low light, cold shadows laid across the table like faint veins.

“The people,” you continued. “What do you see in them?”

He shifted his attention to the passersby. “People going to work.”

“How are they dressed?”

“Warmly.”

“What color are their clothes?”

“Dark. Are we at the point yet?”

“Almost.” You took a breath of your own. “Now, take all of those things together, and look back out the window again.”

He did.

Nothing had changed. His heart caught in his throat.

“It’s more now, isn’t it?”

He looked back at you.

You witnessed that mundane scene with the seeming awe of an acolyte before their god. It was as though you had never seen a street or a tree or the sun before, as though you would never see it again.

With a horrifying ache in his chest, he realized that he had never seen anything quite so beautiful or enviable as you in that moment. “So,” he asked again, voice tinged with an entirely unbecoming and uncharacteristic reverence, “what are you looking at?”

“I’m not looking at anything,” you replied. “I just remembered how lucky I am to be alive, here, with you.”

He wondered if you would mourn for his indifference like he would.

[icallhimjoey]

I can’t find the post where it said you were writing poppy and mark joe and also a ski fic — arguably those go so hand in hand, like that version of joe is so ski trip coded and reader being like of course you ski, of course you’re so good at it too🙄

babe, thanks for this! ive received a few ski fic requests after those vids dropped, but this one clicked all of it into place for me, so mwah, love you, you're a star <3 it helps to have read this beforehand! Wordcount: 3.7K

---

Said It Without Saying It

This is supposed to be a fun trip. A couple of days away with your friends. Nice scenery. Good food, lovely drinks. Board games and laughter – the whole ordeal.

You’re not quite sure what’s fun about this.

It’s cold. Fucking freezing.

“You all right?” Joe asks over his shoulder, holding onto Poppy’s ski stick as you cross a flat plane of snow after getting off the chair lift.

“Yea.” You lie, following your little group as best you can.

You’re wrapped up in so many layers of clothing that even something as simple as walking is the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. It’s hard to see. Hard to hear. You can barely turn your head, scarf so tight around your neck, you feel like you can’t breathe properly. But you’d had no other choice but to tie it the way you did. The zipper of your coat had to be done all the way up if you didn’t want the snow to get in.

Snow is still getting in, though, for fuck’s sake.

And there’s absolutely zero give in ski boots. It’s all hard plastic, digging into your calves.

Mark had bent through his knees a little and had told you, “No, it’s nice. Look, you can sort of lean into them. Takes less effort to stand.”

You know what takes less effort to stand?

Sitting down.

Going to bed.

Having a nap.

Preferably somewhere warm. Out of this fucking snow.

Yet you can’t do any of those things, because you’re stood on the top of a mountain, looking down a dangerously steep slope, and it’s snowing. Fat flakes obscure your vision, making you blink and squint fiercely, frowning as you try to follow your friends right to the edge.

You see how Mark checks his phone, holding up your whole group, and you half wish that he would just keep moving so you don’t get more than a second to think about what you’re doing. The other half of you wishes that he’d stall for another hour. Or two.

With hunched shoulders, chin tucked into your coat, and eyes barely open, you wait. Joe uses the moment to slide himself in between your skis from the front, smiling as he taps the goggles on your helmet and says, “Put these on. It’s easier to see with them, even if the sun’s not out. Especially as the snow will feel like it’s going sideways when we go down.”

You doubt you will go down that fast.

God, this is supposed to be a fun trip, but so far, the fun you had envisioned the four of you to be having feels miles away. Nonexistent, almost. You kind of wish you had never left the country.

You’re inside of a fucking cloud, and you can’t feel your fingers. Not properly anyway. You’re holding two ski sticks and your hands are inside of two thick stiff skiing gloves, but Joe just said to put your goggles on, so you give it a good shot and try your best to move your goggles over your eyes. It’s tricky though, because you can’t get a good grip since you’re entirely unable to see or feel what you’re even grabbing at.

“Here,” you hear Joe laugh and feel how two bare hands, no gloves, move your goggles from your helmet to your face.

“There you go.” He says, smiling, giving them a little tap with his finger before he pushes both his hands into his gloves again.

You’re not sure if this is helping your vision at all, but at least it’s all a little less bright now.

“Is this what skiing is?” you ask warily. “Because I’m not sure if I’m made for this…” you’ve had skiing lessons, but it’s different when you’re up on an actual mountain without a person in a bright red coat to help you down safely, especially in bad weather like this.

You had never considered snow to be bad weather before, but this is… everything about this feels scary, and insane, and illegal. Like this should not be allowed. Why do people willingly take these idiotic risks in the name of fun and games?

“See you at the bottom!” Poppy shouts, and before you even register what she’s said, you see a bright pink snowsuit shoot down, followed by Mark who is just as fast.

It’s nice that they’re having fun.

Mark and Poppy are constantly laughing, cutting each other off, and clanging their ski sticks together. They’re bumping into each other for a cuddle as they wait for you and Joe, and never seem in too sour a mood for a mid-slope snow ball fight...

It’s a different experience from the one that you’re having, and you silently wonder if you should suggest for you to maybe take the chair lift back down again. For you to maybe go back to the cable cars that took up the mountain this morning. Meet everyone later, preferably somewhere warm. Out of this fucking snow.

“Of course you’re made for it.” Joe says, far too generous with his compliments. “You’re good at this. I’ve seen you ski, you know how to do this. You’re an expert.”

“Liar.”

“Come on,” Joe laughs. “I’ll carve out a path that you can follow.”

Which is a really sweet suggestion, but he’s got two much more flexible boots strapped to a snowboard, and snowboards tend to leave icy patches behind. You’ve not even quite mastered going down a perfectly prepped snowy slope, let alone a big plane of ice.

Your friends should count themselves lucky that you’re not panicking at the look of how steep every slope actually is. Even the blue runs.

Joe jumps a few times to move his snowboard from between your skis, hops and slides a bit as he waves his arms about to balance himself.

“Ready?” He bends to check his straps.

You’re not ready, but you’re glad that at least your legs aren’t strapped to a singular board. The restriction of movement is quite enough the way it is. You don’t need your feet bound together like that.

Positive thoughts.

Joe starts his ascend and, like he said he would, he leaves you an easy path to follow.

It’s only about three minutes later that you think maybe it would’ve been better if your legs wouldn’t have been able to move independently from one another.

You’re unsure how you’ve ended up where you are, but you do understand that you weren’t meant to speed up the way you had. Weren’t meant to have steered yourself in the direction you had. Weren’t meant to lean on one leg and raise the other off the ground for balance.

From down where Poppy, Mark and Joe are waiting, all they were able to make out was how you suddenly went too fast before you disappeared in a big cloud of snow by your own making.

Everything’s white.

And you’re in pain.

There’s shouting coming from somewhere on your left. Far away. Down, you think. It feels like that should be down, but you’re actually not sure.

There’s a blinding pain in your leg.

Sharp.

Something’s pulling. Like it’s twisted a way it shouldn’t. A way it can’t.

You’ve landed on your back, skis still attached to your boots somehow, and snow is falling directly into your face.

Fuck.

Your knee hurts.

You’re bowing your back to alleviate pain but, it’s not enough, and your breathing quickly becomes short and shallow to help you manage the pain you suddenly have to deal with.

Shit, shit, shit.

Somehow one glove’s come off entirely, and your wrist hurts from where the strap of one of your sticks yanked at your hand.

Fuck.

You vaguely hear your name, followed by a distant, “You okay?” as the snow you’ve kicked up settles around you along with all the flakes falling from the sky.

You don’t get the chance to answer. To shout back that, no, you’re not okay. Something’s wrong with your knee.

Next thing you know, a small avalanche covers your arm from a skier who stops to check on you, and they speak to you in what you think is German before they ask, “Are you okay?” in English with a heavy accent. They hold your glove out to you as they tower over you, something they likely must have picked up as they approached you.

Embarrassment overtakes you entirely as you don’t want attention from strangers, you’re just a clumsy cow, so you attempt to sit up.

“Yea, I think s–”

Oh no, fuck, fuck, shit.

It’s futile.

You’re bum rests on the back-ends of your skis, your knees up in the air, so sitting up is a job for your abs and your abs alone. You’re simply not strong enough.

Where the fuck are your arms?

Why aren’t they working to prop you up?

Your knee hurts.

Why are your boots still attached to your skis?

You need to get out of these skis.

You need to move.

“Don’t move!” Joe suddenly sounds a lot closer, and the swishing of waterproof fabric, of feet digging into the snow as he does his best to rush his way up the slope, sounds like music to your ears.

“Stay still! You’ve got to– stay still, you’ve–”

“My knee! It’s my knee, I need to–”

“Stay still!” Joe sounds more panicked than you do, and that alone is enough for you to listen and follow his orders.

You can’t see how your knee looks twice it’s width.

How your lower leg looks like it’s no longer connected to the rest of you.

It’s a harrowing sight that Joe doesn’t want you to see, so he repeats, “Stay still, stay still, stay still,” through quick breaths, and disappears from your vision just as quick as he had popped into it, falling down to his knees into the snow by your feet. You feel some pulling, followed by a build of pressure as two hands take a firm grasp of your calf.

Through your padded trousers, it feels like Joe’s not wearing any gloves.

There’s some talking between Joe and the stranger but you barely follow any of it.

All there is, is white wet snow, thick flakes that somehow look grey when you stare up at the sky like this.

All of a sudden, there’s your glove. Someone is holding it out to you, and you’re surprised to find yourself reaching for it. Your arms are fine. That’s good.

There is snow, and there is pain.

There is prickling behind your eyes from tears.

A throat that feels sore from the cold air you’re inhaling in quick pants.

The ski stick of the stranger gets used to unclip your boot from the ski, and the relief is instant.

There’s more distant shouting, and Joe barks back a loud, “No!” over his shoulder that makes you flinch.

Joe catches it, immediately apologises, because he doesn’t want you to move, and says, “Please don’t move. You can’t move, okay?”

“Is it bad?”

“I–... I don’t know.” Joe answers honestly.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?”

“I don – what?!” You feel Joe get up a little, coming into your vision just slightly as he looks down the slope. Someone shouts something you can’t really quite decipher, and then Joe answers, “It’s on the map! Check the map!”

The stranger tells Joe he’ll go down to help, and for a moment, it’s just you and Joe and snow and pain.

You can still barely see anything, the snow falling down is a wash of specks that seems to be picking up more and more and, then, suddenly, Mark is there.

“Mark,” you raise a hand in hopes of your best friend grabbing it, so happy to see him there.

“Hey– oh my God, that’s disloca–”

“Did you call?” Joe cuts him off, voice stern enough to shut him up instantly.

“Poppy’s ringing them. I couldn’t get any signal. Hey,” Mark drops down to his knees in the snow next to you, just like Joe did before, but he doesn’t leave your vision. “Do you even know what happened?” You see how he immediately uses his mouth to remove a glove before he moves his own ski goggles from his face, revealing a pair of worry-filled eyes.

You wish he’d put them back on.

You’re glad your eyes are covered, still, because it means that the tears you’re silently blinking from your eyes go unnoticed.

“How did you even do that? Are you okay? Does it hurt?”

Too many questions at once.

You can’t answer any of them.

“Mark,” Joe catches his attention, tells him to use your skis to make a stand-up cross in the snow a few steps up the slope to prevent any other accidents with oncoming skiers. “I don’t know how quick they can be here.”

“Who?” you ask, voice suddenly so very small. Your throat feels tight. Maybe the tears don’t go quite as unnoticed as you thought.

You shift slightly, and, fuck. Your knee really fucking hurts.

Did Mark say dislocated?

“Careful,” Joe says when he hears you hiss, and you hate how you can’t see him. “Don’t want you to move. Is your jacket riding up your back? Do you feel any snow getting in?”

“N-no, I’m– I–” you can’t get through your words and take a shuddering breath instead. If anyone knows what you sound like when you’re about to burst into sobs, it’s Mark.

“I’m here, I’m here. Shh, hey. It’s fine, I’m here.” Mark’s back at your side, and it’s becoming more and more difficult to keep your sobs inside.

You don’t want Mark.

“Joe?” you ask with a shaky voice as one arm reached for him, and it’s a good thing that you miss how Mark’s face drops a little. How his head turns to Joe who’s still holding your leg. For a short moment, the two men look at each other, both unsure of how to react to that.

“They’re on their way!” Poppy suddenly shouts, and all three of you turn your heads to see a pink vision of a person enter on your right, making your group complete.

“Took me a second to figure out where we were, but they’re coming.” She turns to you. “Babe. That looked sick.”

“Pop,” Mark warns.

“What? It did.”

This was meant to be fun.

Your arm is still reaching for Joe, and with Poppy there now, Mark decides that he can take over his job of holding your leg in place.

“Here,” you hear Mark say by your feet, “Get your gloves back on, mate.” And with some new touches to your painful leg, you understand Mark and Joe have switched places. Joe moves Poppy out of the way and kneels down next to you, hovering over you, close to your face, finally in your line of vision.

“Do you want the good or the bad news?” Joe smiles down at you, sounding impossibly sweet. You understand it’s to keep you from panicking.

His nose is red from the cold, and somehow focussing on that works like a lifeline.

“Neither.” You’re not sure how wobbly your lips are – if they are even able to wobble at all in these low temperatures.

“Okay. Can you answer some questions instead?”

Joe asks where you can feel pain. If your head is okay. If your back feels fine. If you know why you suddenly started speeding up so fast. If you still think Poppy’s pink outfit is fucking ugly, which gets a loud laugh from Mark, and an offended “Hey!” from Poppy.

Joe also asks if you’re crying when he notices how you’re doing your very best to control your breathing. Says, “Oh, poppet!” through a sigh when you try to shake your head no, obviously lying. For comfort, he links his arm through yours, because holding hands is impossible when wearing these gloves, and he leans down to press his cold lips to yours.

They still feel warm.

“You’ll be okay. I promise.” Joe comforts. “They’re going to take you down safely, and we’ll be having some hot chocolate before you know it, all right?”

“J-Joe,” you stammer, but before anyone can say anything else, Poppy suddenly says, “I can hear them!”

The arrival of the mountain rescue team is meant to relax you, you’re sure. Help is here. Things will get better now.

Except, it kind of does the opposite.

It’s scary to let yourself be manhandled by people you don’t know. You listen to two men talk to each other in a language you don’t understand as they prepare to lift you onto a sled attached to a snowmobile. Mark gets moved aside, away from your leg, and you hold onto Joe even tighter as your leg slowly gets straightened.

You get told to relax, and you wish you knew how.

They’re moving what hurts.

Shit.

You’re freezing.

Fucking terrified.

Fuck, fuck, shit, shit shit shit.

Suddenly, an extremely painful snap makes you scream involuntarily, and you feel how Joe squeezes you impossibly tight as you burst into actual sobs now.

“Oh, Jesus,” Poppy comments, turning around to look away as she has a hard time pretending that any of that was easy to witness. Mark’s got an arm around her in an instant, doing his best to comfort her as well as you when he cheerfully shouts, “It popped into place! That’s good, that’s so good. It’s back in place. Trust me, that’s good.”

You don’t care if it’s good.

That fucking hurt, and the pain you’re left with now is somehow worse than before.

All you want to do is cry.

Preferably somewhere warm.

Out of this fucking snow.

Instead you’re left to cry in said fucking snow as two men lift you onto a sled before they strap you in, preparing you for the ascend. It’s only then that you realise that Joe won’t be coming with them.

With you.

“Joe,” you croak, and are immediately scared that you’ll be taken away too fast. “Joe! Joe!”

Poppy turns a curious eye to Mark, and she knows this isn’t the time, but she takes mental note to ask him how he feels about that later. About how you’re calling out for her best friend, rather than yours.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Joe coos, back on his knees again, close by your side. “They’re going to take you down to the cable cars we used this morning, all right? The three of us are going to find our gear and get our asses down as quick as possible to meet you there, okay?”

Their gear. Their snowed over skis and snowboard, he means.

How the fuck are they ever going to find those? Heavy snow has been falling this whole time.

They’re going to leave you on your own.

“Hey, hey. Shh. Don’t worry, we’ll be faster than you–”

“Joe, I–”

“We can take a few reds and blacks, and will be waiting for you there, all right? It’ll be fine. You’re okay. Don’t worry, it’ll all be fine.”

Joe leans down and kisses you again, warming your mouth with his once more as you silently cry.

“Joe, I–...” you falter, scared to say what you’re thinking, but the words are right there, and you’re scared, and in pain, and you’re cold, and you want Joe to come with you.

“I–...” you give it another shot, and see how Joe’s eyes suddenly double in size.

“Don’t you dare!” he begins. “Don’t you dare fucking say it right now! Not here. This can’t be–” he stops to laugh, and you can’t help the wet laugh that escapes you in return. “This cannot be the first time you say it, all right? Please save it for later. For when we’re inside and you’ve had your leg looked at by a doctor.”

“B-but,” you’re choking back tears as the snowmobile starts its engine, the two men now sat atop and ready to transport its precious cargo down a steep mountain. “I do.” you finish, just because you want him to know.

“I do.”

You said it without saying it.

It’s not exactly the same, it doesn’t really count, but Joe will take it.

“I know, me too.” Joe replies fondly as he knits his eyebrows together and leans down for one last kiss. He hates that he has to leave you, even if it’s for a short moment. “Me too.”

He’ll kick himself for weeks, months, for suggesting a skiing trip.

This was supposed to be a fun trip.

It still could be, Joe thinks.

You’ll likely not get back onto another set of skis very soon, but that doesn’t mean the trip’s ruined.

You’d almost said it.

Fucking silly.

He had been waiting around for you to find the perfect moment to say those three words aloud to him, just so he could say them back, and you were going to say them now?

Here?

Not a chance.

Not acceptable.

Maybe later, in the hotel bed, when you’re warm under the covers and safe in his arms. You’re allowed to say it then, and he’ll say the words back before yours have even left your mouth properly.

This was supposed to be a fun trip.

It still is.

Joe’ll make sure of it, he thinks, as he straps his board back onto his boots and doesn’t wait for Poppy and Mark.

“I do.” you’d said.

Asked for him instead of Mark.

“Me too.” he’d answered.

You said it without saying it and now, all Joe wants to do is hold you close and kiss your eyelids. He wants to kiss you on the eyes so fucking bad.

Preferably somewhere warm.

Out of this fucking snow.

---

The Taglisted

@almightywdm, @alwayslindie, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @dailyobsession

@eddies-puppet, @elvendria, @emma-munson, @emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee

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@sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow

@witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

Add yourself

[pandapetals]

The Wedding

You and Logan get married!

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - married couple, cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

also thank you to @coocoocachewgotscrewed for the idea of logan keeping the pen reader gave him and using it to write his vows.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

"It'll be a small wedding," Logan grumbled, scratching the back of his neck with that familiar, slightly awkward air he got whenever something made him uncomfortable. He stood in the middle of the living room, looking like a bear that had wandered into a tea party, completely out of place.

You raised an eyebrow, glancing up from the pile of bridal magazines scattered across the coffee table. "Small? Logan, there's at least a hundred people living at the mansion alone," you said, your voice somewhere between amused and exasperated. "It’s not exactly going to be 'small' with that kind of guest list."

Across from you, Jean nodded, sitting cross-legged on the couch with a wedding planning book perched in her lap. "My wedding had three hundred guests, remember Logan?" she chimed in helpfully, flipping through a page on flower arrangements.

"Our wedding," Scott corrected from the armchair beside her, not even looking up from the paper he was reading.

Logan groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Exactly why we should skip all this crap and just get hitched already," he muttered, his voice low and gruff.

You shot him a playful look, shaking your head. "What happened to 'you can do whatever you want, darlin'?" you asked, mimicking his gravelly voice with a teasing smile.

Logan’s mouth twitched, almost into a smile, but then his eyes flicked back to the growing mountain of wedding plans, suggestions from friends, and magazines full of over-the-top ideas. You could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he stood just a little too rigid like he was bracing for an attack.

Truth be told, you were feeling the weight of it too.

At first, you had been excited—three months of engagement bliss, giddy over every little detail. The idea of a big, beautiful wedding had seemed like a dream. But now? Now it felt overwhelming. Everyone had an opinion, from the color scheme to the type of cake to the seating arrangements. You loved your friends, but the constant suggestions had turned into something else, something bigger than you and Logan. It had started to feel like the wedding wasn’t really yours anymore.

Jean leaned in, holding up a sample invitation. "Oh, and I was thinking," she began, clearly not picking up on Logan’s discomfort. "You could have this gorgeous ice-blue theme with silver accents—it would match the winter season perfectly."

Logan shot you a look—one of those looks that said I’m two seconds away from walking out of here. You couldn’t blame him. The more Jean talked, the more you realized something had shifted inside you. Somewhere along the way, you’d gotten caught up in making the perfect day, and forgotten what this wedding was really about: you and Logan.

Not the flowers. Not the guest list. You two.

Logan cleared his throat, trying once more to gently steer the conversation. "Listen, all this sounds real nice," he said, his voice tight with barely restrained frustration, "but what if we just kept it simple? Y’know, courthouse, couple of rings, call it a day."

Jean blinked, clearly baffled. "A courthouse? Logan, this is your wedding! It’s supposed to be a special day, something beautiful."

You opened your mouth to agree with Jean, to defend the idea of having a "proper" wedding. But then, you looked at Logan again. His eyes—those deep, hazel eyes—were watching you closely like he was waiting for you to decide. Not just about the wedding, but about what you wanted, deep down.

Suddenly, it clicked. You realized that Logan was right. You didn’t need a grand affair. You didn’t need three hundred guests or ice-blue color scheme or a designer dress. You didn’t need all the noise and spectacle. What you needed—what you wanted —was something that felt like the two of you. Something real. Something simple.

You smiled softly, the decision made. "You know what?" you said, standing up from the couch and tossing the magazines aside. "I think Logan’s right."

Jean’s eyes widened. "Wait, what?"

Scott finally looked up from his paper, equally surprised.

Logan raised an eyebrow, his usual gruff skepticism tinged with curiosity. "Really?"

You nodded, crossing the room to stand in front of him, resting your hand on his arm. "Yeah," you said, your voice quieter now, more certain. "I don’t need the big wedding. I don’t need all the fuss. All I need is you. " You smiled up at him, feeling the weight lift off your shoulders as the words came out. "Let’s just get married. Just us."

For the first time in days, you saw Logan’s shoulders relax. He let out a low breath, his lips twitching into that half-smile that always made your heart skip a beat. "You sure?"

"Absolutely," you said, your hand slipping down to intertwine with his. "Let’s get hitched."

A week later, you found yourself standing outside the courthouse, the sun just beginning to set in the late afternoon sky, casting a warm glow over everything. It was quiet, just the way you wanted it. No crowd, no elaborate decorations, and no endless chatter. Just you and Logan, and the soft hum of the world around you.

You looked down at the simple dress you’d chosen—nothing fancy, just something that made you feel good, made you feel like you. Logan, dressed in his usual button-up, looked handsome in that effortlessly rugged way only he could pull off. His shirt was slightly unbuttoned at the top, a teasing glimpse of his chest visible, and his hair styled in those little tufts as always, the white streaks more visible. 

"Ready?" you asked, your heart fluttering in anticipation.

Logan’s eyes met yours, steady and calm. "More than ready."

As you both stepped inside, the courthouse was quiet. There was no fanfare, no grand entrance—just the two of you, walking hand in hand, a quiet sense of peace settling over the moment.

The ceremony itself was simple, just like you’d wanted until Logan surprised you. He cleared his throat, looking a little awkward as he reached into his jacket pocket.

"I, uh... I’ve got somethin’ for you," he muttered, his voice rough but filled with something soft underneath. From his pocket, he pulled out a pen. Not just any pen.

Your breath caught in your throat. It was your pen—the one you’d given him two years ago when he had started his first-day teaching history at Xavier’s. A "good luck" charm, you had called it, but it had become something meaningful to Logan.

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes as Logan handed it to you with a small smile. From the same pocket, he pulled out a folded piece of paper, slightly crumpled, like it had been carried around for a while.

"I wrote somethin'," he said, his voice low as he unfolded the paper, his eyes flicking nervously to yours. "Figured you deserved more than just... y’know, me wingin’ it."

He cleared his throat, glancing down at the paper. Then, with that same rough tenderness that was so purely Logan, he began to read.

"I ain’t great with words, darlin'," he started, his voice softening. "But I figure you already know that. So, I’ll keep it simple. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I ain’t perfect... never will be. I swear to you, I’ll spend the rest of my life doin’ whatever it takes to make you happy, keepin’ you safe, and showin’ you that you’re loved. 'Cause you are, more than I ever thought I’d love someone."

By the time he finished, your vision was blurred with unshed tears. You didn’t need any more words. You didn’t need anything grand or fancy. In that quiet courthouse, with Logan standing before you, holding the pen you had given him long ago, you had everything you could ever want.

"Logan," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion, "I love you. I never thought I could be this happy, but every day with you... you show me something new. You make everything better."

He smiled then, a real, full smile that softened the lines of his face and reached his eyes—a rare sight, but one you cherished every time. He stepped closer, his hand warm and rough as he gently tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch grounding you in the moment.

"I love you too, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice a low, steady rumble that sent warmth spreading through you, just like the way his presence always did.

You held each other's gaze as the quiet world around you seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you standing there. Together, you exchanged rings—simple gold bands that glinted in the soft light, but they felt like so much more.

Logan leaned in, his lips brushed yours, sealing the vows with a soft kiss. It was as steady and certain as the love you had found with him. It was simply perfect.

[qiqi-media]

Don't know if it's because of the new movie release but I've been seeing a lot more of descendants the og movies resurfacing on different social medias and the Audrey comments have started back up again. One in particular that I've never liked

"Why is she doing all of that over a high school break up?"

For starters Descendants was about teenagers, all of their relationships were high school relationships. The "true love" couple had their true love's kiss while they were both still in high school. So to refer to Audrey and Ben as a "high school" relationship that's purposely downplaying her feelings and their relationship. I get being confused because Descendants goes back and forth with the canon. At the end of D1 she was fine and in Wicked World her life didn't drastically change because of their breakup. But in D3 that is what happened, her life drastically changed and she was treated like shit.

She lost all of her friends "There's nothing to lose when you're lonely and friendless" & "Why is she here." There was no reason why that had to have happen, Audrey was never shown to be so terrible to the point where if she wasn't dating Ben that everyone had to abandon her. Especially in D1 her actions were no worse than Jane's and Jane still kept her friends and were friends with the VKs. Jane in my personal opinion was worse than Audrey, at least to the Vks in D1. Her worst crime was laughing at Jane's hair and I'm not understanding why that's unforgivable in comparison to Mal trying to manipulate her with said hair. Chad was even more social in Auradon but Audrey is completely shunned and for what? Because she's not dating Ben? People were straight up ignoring her when she spoke and in canon Audrey up until that point hadn't done anything so cruel to where that would make sense. She wasn't any snarkier than Chad or Jane on occasions and definitely not worse than things the Vks did. The only explanation we can come to is that when she wasn't Ben's girlfriend she didn't matter to people anymore.

That's not even addressing her shitty ass family, they treated her like dirt because she wasn't in line for the throne anymore. (those were never Audrey's intentions btw) Her cousin, her mother, her Grandma all acted like she was a failure because she wasn't with Ben and more specifically because she "lost" Ben to their Family's enemy. Like she had any choice in the matter, Ben didn't even have the choice of when and how they broke up. So if she couldn't turn to her friends or her family who did she have?? Nobody she was isolated and alone. Other adults? Look at Belle she talked shit about her too. She had Chad but because Audrey knew she couldn't return his feelings she stopped relying on him after a certain point.

All of this because she and Ben broke up, because she wasn't next in line to become Queen of Auradon. (That's another thing, her acknowledging that if she and Ben stayed together forever would end up with her being Queen isn't her being thirsty for the crown. It's her preparing for her future that, yes she was looking forward to but she wasn't thirsty to marry him because if she was, her family seemed more than open to an arranged marriage. But there was never one, they were simply boyfriend and girlfriend.)

She lost her life long best friend too: Ben. Even if they truly made up post D3 we know their relationship would never be the same.

So trying to act like Audrey had an entire breakdown over the simple fact of their high school relationship ending is false.

"How was she not supposed to tie her self worth in dating Ben when people started treating her like a waste of space when she wasn't with him?"

[bonbonshideout]

Ticci Toby headcanons

Pre-Slender

♤ He's clingy. If he likes someone or is even remotely comfortable, he would follow them around just to feel comfortable.

♡ He's... playful, he isn't the brightest, but he would try and play some pranks if he can, usually learn about you and see what can get you upset & use that on you.

◇ Mf got that crow brain. He would see anything shiny and take it. He's got a growing collection and even looks for things to give to his favorite people. Lyra originally gave him a box to store the items in, but it started growing a bit 'out of control', and so he has shelves and other boxes with random nick-nacks.

♧ His little cow? Lyra, 100%. When he was younger he had a lot to deal with and Lyra wasn't always able to be with him so she saved up some birthday money and bought him a cow plush, due to it being from his sister, he's kept it and carried it literally everywhere with him. Multiple rips and tears, but his mom always fixed it up for him. He loved it and would take to around as he grew older, though he didn't have it out in public like he did when he was younger.

♤ His hoodie is one of a kind and handmade. His mom was the one to have made it. Originally, he wanted a hoodie that was like any other, but he couldn't puck between a couple of them; his mom, in the end, decided to create a simple looking hoodie for him.

Post-Slender

♤ He doesn't remember much. Yeah, he might get occasional flashbacks, but they leave him confused. He wants to figure out what they mean but at the same time he's a bit scared of doing so.

♡ His hoodie? he loves it, covered in patches of different colors, or at least he tries to color match.

◇ He still has his cow, but he doesn't carry it around as much. He keeps it in a safe place; having a connection to it but not knowing its origins anymore. He baby's it occasionally when he does take it out of his little storage area. That thing has gone through way too much, put it out of its misery already.

♧ Lyra's spirit haunts him, but it's not supposed to be much of a tormentor; though he sees it that way, Lyra is trying to guide him in life. I believe the operator's doing some shit to his mind that's causing him to see Lyra's spirit as vengeful, or it's simply creating an image of Lyra and whispering into Toby's mind about he's at fault for everything.

♤ He's still got that crow brain, still finding things to give to people (Natalie) , a pretty rock, maybe a button, anything he finds, he takes it and saves them.

♡ He's strangely affectionate, he isn't the type to be overbearing, but he likes to hug Natalie whenever he can, usually she accepts them, but there are times where she isn't in a good mood and it upsets him a little— he gets over it quickly though.

◇ He's terrified of cars and probably motorcycles, too (blame Nat for that one). Occasionally, though, he is forced into either one due to Natalie for faster transportation. He hates it and curses her out through the whole ride, but he does see how convenient it is.

♧ In Spanish, there's a term for kids who don't know anything, the "no sabo" kid. He is that type of kid, but with German. He knows very little, and even then, he can't form proper sentences. He's trying to learn when he isn't busy murdering people or starting fires. Usually asking Natalie to help him out— even though she doesn't speak German— he just wants someone to practice it with.

♤ He HATES being seen as vulnerable or lesser than. He doesn't really know why to the full extent, but he does know that it just sucks. He wants people to know that he can do as much as anyone else can, heck, maybe more and better.

♡ I wanna say he had an ego, but it's more playful. He jokes about having a huge ego, but he could care less if 'someone offends him' (aside from the previous hc).

I feel like some of these collide with some headcanons a friend might have? idk, I honestly forgot his entire essay 💀

[musicalbl00m]

Comforting embraces

Summary: Something is off with you after you and the Winchester boys all split up for separate hunts. Sam is determined to find out what is wrong and comfort you.

Word count: 1.2k

Early seasons!Sam x reader

no use of y/n

Not beta-read

Something was off about you, Sam knew it for sure. You and the boys were supposed to split up for one hunt, all of you having found cases that seemed simple enough to do on your own. While you were a little younger than the brothers, you had just as much experience in the hunting fields. Knowing this, Sam was surprised when he saw your caller id popping up on his phone after he had just finished his own hunt. 

You were distressed, to say the least. Sam had never heard you so panicked before. Something was wrong, very wrong about your case.

He had driven to you as quickly as he could to burn the bones you had laid out on the shore, sitting neatly in a pile with matches next to it. But when he arrived, you weren't on the shore. He had screamed your name while burning them, and after a little while he found you trying to haul a body onto the shore. Your victim hadn't made it, and Sam could tell it hit you harder than it usually would

After he dropped you off at the motel he booked for the two of you, he decided he was going to try to cheer you up by getting you your favourite treat. He was only gone for ten minutes, but when he came back he found you sitting on one of the beds, completely spaced out.

You hadn’t heard the door opening, nor the heavy footsteps of Sam placing the food on the table and walking over to you. Your mind was restless, and Sam could tell. 

“Sweetheart, are you alright?” He asked you, but there was no response. Hesitantly, he placed a hand on your shoulder. That seemed to snap you out of your trance.

“Hi there.” He said softly, giving you a gentle smile as he crouched in front of you to look at your face.

“Are you alright, Sweetheart? You seemed spaced out.” Worry laced his voice as he asked you, and he gently took your hands in his.

Sweetheart.

He always called you that. 

Both the Winchester boys knew you preferred to be called a nickname, as you’d never really got attached and identified yourself with your birth name. To Dean, you were Chipmunk. He gave that to you because he said you were ‘skittish, and you liked salty little snacks.’ He loved seeing your annoyed expression when he called you that, mostly because he knew that deep down, you loved the nickname.

But to Sam, you were always Sweetheart. 

The nickname always made your heart race. You and Sam had always been a little more close than you and Dean. There seemed to be a tension between the two of you that neither dared to venture beyond. 

After you realise Sam asked you a question, you softly shrug, looking down at his hands holding yours. 

“I don't know, Sam.” You whisper.

He looked at you for a little bit, unsure of how to comfort you best. He slowly lets go of your hands, sitting beside you and opening his arms, offering you a hug with a gentle smile. He knew you were affectionate, and lord knows sometimes you two were a little too close to be just friends.

You hesitate for a second before leaning into his embrace, your arms snaking around his waist and stuffing your face into his chest. He tries to gently angle your body to face him a little more, and you slowly pull one of your legs onto the bed to place over his lap. His hands gently stroke your hair, before soothingly rubbing your back. 

“What’s wrong, Sweetie?” He whispers to you, his face next to your ears as he softly rests his head against yours. 

You stay silent for a couple of seconds. Slowly but surely, Sam could feel your body start to tremble in his embrace as sobs start to fall from your lips.

“She looked so much like her, Sam.” he could hear you whisper against his chest, your face still hidden there.

“Look at me, Sweetheart.” He says gently, trying to lift your head up so he could look at you. 

“Tell me what’s going on.” 

He’s using that tone that makes you completely melt, some kind of mix of gentle caring and persuasion. It has you drying your eyes to look at him, but not without some soft sniff still coming from you.

“The victim, she… she looked so much like my mom, Sam. It was terrifying.” There was a small break in your voice, and it made Sam want to hide you in his embrace and keep you safe from the world forever. 

He knew what happened to your mom, The accident with a spirit when you were only 16. You had never said it out loud, but he knew that after all of these years, you still blamed yourself. You still thought it was your fault that you couldn’t save her, even though you were a child. You had grown up way too quickly, finding out about the supernatural only a year before your mother’s death. You had always been far too mature for your age, but the responsibility of being a hunter made it all much worse. 

He knew all too well what could happen to a person when they were given that responsibility too young. He saw what it did to his brother Dean, and it broke his heart to know that the same happened to you. 

One of the hands that was rubbing your back moves up to  stroke your hair, and he looks at you with a sad smile. 

“Sweetie, you know it’s not your fault. You did what you could for the victim, just as you did what you could for your mom. You can't blame yourself forever.” He says softly, his tone nothing but sweet and sincere.

“I know, i just… if i had just hadn't been so stupid, maybe i could have saved her.” You say, your voice still sounding a bit distressed.

“Hey, Look me in the eyes.” He tells you, smiling at you once you do.

“I’ve never met a more caring, hardworking and kinder soul than you. It wasn't your fault, you were a child. You shouldn't have had the responsibility of protecting your mom from all of this, and you shouldn't put yourself down because of what happened.” 

You can’t help but smile at his words, the smile on his face taking some of the stress from your body. Deep down, you knew he was right. You knew that you shouldn't have to blame yourself for your mother’s death, but you were alone at such a young age that you didn't have time to process it. 

“You know, I have an offer that might cheer you up.” He says to you softly, cradling your cheek. “I bought you your favourite, how about you go eat and we cuddle for a bit afterwards, okay?” he asks you, giving you those beautiful puppy dog eyes of his.

“I like the sound of that.” You say as you stand up from the hug, wiping your eyes and grabbing the food. 

The rest of the evening is spent eating food in bed with Sam, cuddled up against each other. That night, you fall asleep in the arms of the man you love, and Sam gets to admire the person he loves the most in the world. Not that he would ever tell Dean that.