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fictionalsweethearts · 2 days ago

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ONE-EYED EMISSARY | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

Synopsis: Sevika was clear from the start; no attachments. However, you were hopelessly in love with her and believed that if you tried hard enough, you would make her give in. You didn't count on a one-eyed cat to help you with such a task.

Contains: wlw, f!reader, toxic situationship, mention of cheating, one shot, fluff, a very pathetic reader tbh, cats.

Word count: 4,198

You had grown accustomed to her intermittence. Sevika was an intermittent lover, her affection and attention were rationed, her visits were difficult to predict and impossible to ask for. It wasn't that it was up to you to demand anything from her, Sevika was clear from the beginning about her lack of interest in a relationship, and you accepted believing yourself capable of keeping up with her. But you found yourself glued to the window every night, curled up in a cold bed, expectant and impatient, wondering when she would knock on your door and demand your attention with the certainty that you would give it to her every time. Because you always do.

She liked your body, she always told you that. Sevika wasn't a bad lover, on the contrary, she made you forget about your daily sorrows as long as she was buried between your legs or her hand was around your throat, kissing your mouth without shame or limitations, reminding you that as much as you sought her passion in someone else, nothing could be compared to her scent of tobacco and her whiskey tongue. She doesn't promise you to spend the night, but she did it a few times, curling up next to you in bed and feeding a naive fantasy that you knew was hurting you. You dared to kiss her with a love that you shouldn't profess to her, only for her to whisper to you the next morning, "I have to work, go back to sleep," and then put on her poncho and leave your bed.

You had become dependent, you sought her approval, her affection, her attention. The slightest sign of certainty that you were still as important as the first time, hoping that there was no other girl to keep her busy or her bed warm. She had many, you feared, the rumors of her frequent visits to the Rupturewalk were as painful as they were true. And you cried, you cried because you were asking her for something that was not yours. She would never reciprocate.

You were falling asleep, you had grown tired of waiting and you put the sparkling wine back in the fridge and blew out the candle next to the bed, you curled up in the hope of forgetting your disappointment when you heard a knock at the door. You were embarrassed by how quickly you left the bed, stopping halfway to compose yourself before opening the door. Sevika looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"You're up late."

"You've come late." you to retorted.

"Not my problem if you choose to wait up all night for me." she replied, taking her cigarette and flicking ashes into an empty beer bottle that was siiting on the hallway. She didn't need to ask you to let her in. You closed the door slowly, not noticing the box Sevika was carrying under her poncho.

Sevika sighed, placing the box on the coffee table and turning to look at you. She had dark circles under her eyes, you could tell they were from fatigue, but her eyes lit up as she looked at you. They traveled over your soft neck and the valleys of your shoulders, down your arms before focusing on the cleavage your silky slip dress showed.

"All dolled up for bed." she said, a hint of a smirk on her lips. "You've been waiting for me."

"Don't flatter yourself." you spat, knowing damn well that you took a long bath before bed, scrubbed your knees and armpits with soap and perfumed your neck with that chocolate scent that Sevika enjoys so much. You oiled the ends of your hair, applied chapstick to your lips and even a thin layer of blush. No one looked that pretty just for going to bed.

"I'm flattered anyway." she smirked, shortening the distance to steal a kiss from you.

She cupped your cheek and gave you a second, slow and methodical, trying to get your frown to soften into an expectant, complacent expression. Sevika hummed against your mouth, feeling your curves with her rough palm before your eyes landed on the box on the coffee table. "What's that?"

Sevika stepped back and glanced at the box. "Supply of cigarettes I picked up on the way here."

The box didn’t seem to contain any cigarettes, but over time you learned not to ask Sevika more questions than you had to. She had too many secrets to keep and they could spill out of her mouth once you two got into the sheets, so she didn’t let you pry too deeply into her affairs. She only told you a few details about the business and Silco’s affairs when she smoked a cigarette after making love to you, and most of them were pretty vague.

Sevika sat down on the couch, pulling you into her lap and placing a firm hand on your waist. Your limbs were still stiff, your discomfort still raw. Sevika had been gone for almost two weeks, giving no sign of life. Because of her line of work you believed the worst, more than once you went to the Last Drop to ask for her without success. Until one night one of the lairs pulled you aside to a corner and asked you not to show up again unless Sevika summoned you, which resulted in a drunken binge and an hour of karaoke at the club before passing out in the bathroom and being brought back home by one of Silco’s employees, probably sent by Sevika herself.

"I thought I told you not to go to the Last Drop." Sevika mentioned after placing a kiss on your neck.

"I was worried." you mumbled.

"I don't need you to worry about me. It's not your place." Her words were harsh, but her grip on you was tender.

You clenched your jaw. "You didn't show up for two weeks, no one was giving me any answers."

"And that's why you made a scene at the club and passed out in the toilet?" Sevika asked in a firm tone. "It's not up to you to know where I am or who I'm with. I thought we already talked about it."

You two talked about it from the first night you spent together. Sevika had seen you at the club, alone and half drunk, probably drowning your sorrow over some recent breakup or your chronic loneliness. The truth is that you had a few coins in your pocket and were calming your nerves before going to Rapturewalk to ask for a job as a last resort. But Sevika changed your plans with a couple of words and a drink on the house. She waited for you to sober up before making the first move and you didn't regret having invited her to your bed. Then she caressed your cheek, realizing that there was something about you that stopped her from leaving.

"We can keep seeing each other." Sevika whispered. "No attachments."

And you accepted. How foolish of you.

"I'm a busy woman and I don't always have time to tell you where I'm going or when I'm coming back. It's not your right to demand explanations from me." added Sevika, gripping your chin so you couldn't look away. "Do you know how risky your tantrum was? There are pervs in this city, murderers and rapists. Don't ever expose yourself like that again."

Sevika's grip softened, her thumb tracing circles on your shoulder.

"I'm warning you," she grumbled. "I'm a dangerous woman, and I have dangerous enemies. If they catch wind of you, they'll use you to get back at me. Don't make the mistake of being careless like that ever again."

"Yes, Sevika." you nodded, swallowing the little pride you had.

You felt the straps of your dress slide down your shoulders, the fabric pooling around your waist as Sevika kissed your neck and cupped one of your breasts in one hand. "Good, don't forget it then." she grumbled against your neck, leaving a way of kisses down your chest before taking your nipple into her mouth.

"Ah." you moaned lowly, cupping the back of her neck and knowing the small talk was over.

You cried during sex. Sevika wasn't harsh or cruel, she was so gentle that you hated her even more. You cried because you knew you couldn't kick her out of your house or your life, you cried because you missed her like you miss a lover, you cried like you were the other woman when there wasn't a formal one in Sevika's life. Yours were silent tears, almost confusing with pleasure ones after Sevika edged you until you begged for a release she denied it over and over again. But she could tell you were hurt, and all she could do was to kiss your wet cheeks and speak the truth.

"You need to stop getting so attached to me, doll." Sevika murmured in the silent room. She couldn't deny that she was a selfish woman, she took from you what she needed and never gave anything of herself in return. And she knew you needed more from her, but she just couldn’t give it to you.

"I'm sorry."

"Apologize to yourself." she stated. "You're crying, not me."

Sevika gently wiped a stray tear from your cheek. "I can't give you more than this." She said, almost in a gentle warning. "I won't. And you need to understand, or else I should stop coming."

"No." you shook your head vehemently, as the sole thought made your chest hurt. "No..."

She leaned down to kiss you, your lips slightly salty with tears but also willingly open.

You lay down on her bare chest, your feet brushing against hers, your breathing synchronized as the caresses you shared with your fingertips began slowing down while you began dozing off. You traced circles on her abdomen while she followed the lines of your stretch marks on your hip with her index finger, looking at the ceiling and questioning why she kept coming to you if she got nothing but pain out of it.

And why the hell did you keep letting her in?

The rustling of cardboard caught your attention, thinking the night breeze had knocked over the coffee cup by the window, but the meow that followed made you sit up suddenly. A high-pitched, insistent and urgent meow. "Did you hear that?" you asked, waiting for the next meow.

"Don't tell me you have a cat." she grumbled half asleep.

"I don't." you stated. Sevika yawned, watching you leave the bed and head towards the source of the sound in the living room. You thought a kitten had snuck into your apartment, you searched for it with your ears as the room was dark. The sound led you to the box on the coffee table.

Sevika’s box.

"Sev," you called. "Your cigarettes are meowing."

The aforementioned left the bed, her heavy steps reaching the living room and she turned on the lamp next to the sofa. "Cigarettes don't meow," she growled, although you didn't notice that her tone sounded more tense than usual. Sevika's expression transitioned from annoyance to irritarion as you lifted the lid of the box. Sure enough, a small, black kitten with a single eye popped its head out, wide eye looking up at you before letting out another meow.

"Alright, list-"

"You brought a cat?!" you inquired as Sevika let out a groan.

"No! I-, fuck, yeah." she tried to explain. "I meant to tell you tomorrow."

Sevika's expression hardened as if she was weighing her options in her mind, deciding how much she wanted to reveal to you. She was quiet for a moment before finally sighing and running her hand down her face.

"I found this damned thing while on my way here. It was in the alleyway, meowing and getting on my nerves and-" she paused and shook her head. "I don't know why I brought it with me."

You looked at the little one again, meowing like a complaint as he tried to climb up the box and soften you and Sevika up with his thin fur and single eye. He was succeeding.

"You rescued him." you said.

She leaned against the couch nd letting out a sigh. "It was following me down the street, meowing its little head off. I thought it was just hungry and I didn't want to listen to it whine anymore, so I carried it here."

"And what was your plan?"

"I don't have time to babysit a damn cat." Sevika said. "I figured if I brought it here, you could take care of it."

You couldn't help but chuckle bitterly. "Great. Not only the whore but the babysitter now?"

"Who said you're a whore?" retorted Sevika, leaning towards you. "As far as I can remember, you're not working at Babbette's anymore."

"Personal bedwarmer, then." you insisted.

"Stop it." she spat, as the cat demanded attention meow after meow. "I'm just asking you to keep it for tonight, while I figure out what to do. I can't carry a furball down the harbor, can I?"

You looked at the little animal and sighed, believing that Sevika was simply getting rid of it with you. ""It's just a little cat, doll. Don't act like I just dropped a whole damn child in front of you."

"Gosh, I can't believe you." Sighing heavily, you leaned down to take the kitten into your arms. Its claws tickled your skin, its smell of street and sewer didn't seem to bother you, nor did its single eye.

Sevika let out a sigh. "Thank you."

You didn't look at her, you walked towards the kitchen instead to feed the fussy little thing. You watched the kitten feed himself fervently from a bowl of boiled milk, hearing his tiny licks. Crouched in front of his dinner, the kitten looked harmless and certainly fragile.

"He's your cat," you said to Sevika. "I can take care of him, but he's yours."

"Alright... it's mine." nodded Sevika. "Don't get attached, then."

And you huffed. "I've heard that before."

The space next to your bed was empty the next morning, but you didn't allow yourself to regret it, as the kitten demanded attention as soon as he noticed you had woken up. He was a natural communicator. You soon distinguished between his hunger meows and his attention meows. He was smart and affectionate,following you around and seeking to lay on your chest or climb on your shoulder when you were working at the desk. You limited yourself to calling him 'cat' the first few days, unsure of getting attached to an animal that didn't belong to you, but whose owner was too busy to care for him or come see you. On the second day someone came to drop litter box and cat formula at your apartment, on the third a kitty bed. Sevika didn't have the time to come but she hadn't forgotten her agreement; the cat was hers.

Within a week the furball had taken over your home. He learned your routine, developed whims that you indulged without complaint, and got used to sleeping next to you in that bed you so longed to fill. "When you're bigger, Sevika won't have to come fill this space," you whispered, to which the kitten meowed.

Sevika arrived that night to your surprise. As you opened the door, the cat snuck between your legs and came out to meet her.

"Hey, little bastard." said the woman, kneeling to pet the black kitten which looked way more round compared to a week ago.

"Coming early." you teased her. "Feeling guilty?"

"I wasn't coming for the damn cat, I was coming for you."

"My bed is occupied tonight." you said, glancing at the cat on Sevika's hand.

"You let the damn cat sleep in your bed?" she groused.

"You mean your cat." you retorded. "He's a well behaved kitten, even more than you."

"Remind me to not bring any more animals to your place." she sighed, stepping into your apartment.

The kitten did not stop seeking Sevika's attention throughout the evening, meowing non-stop, climbing up her poncho and using all of its charms to get what he wanted. The kitten even climbed up the bed while you were in the middle of a session with Sevika and she almost crushed him if it weren't for the fact that you noticed its furry silhouette on the bed. The kitten finally succeeded, sleeping on Sevika's chest that night.

"You have to give him a name..." you whispered.

Sevika pursed her lips, looking down at the purring ball on her chest before petting it with her knuckles. "Let's call him Wink. After his single eye."

Wink. You smiled.

"Wink..." you repeated. "It suits him."

Wink learned his name quickly. As the days passed, he began to grow by leaps and bounds. His fine coat of fur was now thick and dark as night, his single yellow eye scanning around without problem, becoming a nocturnal hunter and the object of your anguish when you didn't see him return home until several hours later. Once he came with a small bird between his teeth, still alive, and he placed it at the foot of your bed as an offering. "I guess he loves you," Sevika murmured, looking at the dying little animal.

Wink became your roommate and the most reliable guarantee for Sevika to show up at your apartment. Her absences were getting shorter, her stays longer. She often came to see the kitten, sleep with you, and even started staying for breakfast when her work didn't prevent it. You wondered if Wink was really the reason for her presence, and that made you cling to the animal even more, achieving what you tried to do for two years.

Keeping Sevika close.

You often watched Sevika sleep, her breathing long and calm, her chest rising with each breath. Wink would often curl up between the two of you, cradled in the warmth of two women who seemed to attract each other like hymans but hurt each other like poison in small doses. Your fantasy would fade as soon as Sevika woke up and she would start thinking about you more often during work or during her gambling breaks.

Things were changing.

However, after a month you went to the Last Drop, as Sevika had forbidden you so many times. But this time the reason was valid and urgent. A guard stopped you at the entrance, you asked him anxiously to let you through, that you were looking for Sevika. Until she appeared behind the man.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice stern. "You know you're not supposed to be here."

"Wink is missing." you said. "He's been gone for three days, I've been looking for him all over the Lanes."

"The hell do you mean he's missing?" she asked, her voice betraying a hint of worry. "Have you checked all his usual spots?"

You breathed heavily, weighing the possibility that Wink was lost or something else had happened to him. Zaun was a cruel place for humans and animals alike, there was talk of markets selling dog and cat meat, of unscrupulous sellers who bought cat skins and sold them as rabbit skins. You feared the worst.

"Hey, we'll find him." she said, her voice firm yet reassuring. "Don't think the worst just yet. He'll turn up."

Sevika ordered the guard to step aside, allowing you to enter. A murmur seemed to stir at the sight of Silco's second-in-command with a girl, comforting her with more gentleness than the woman had ever shown. But one look from her had them all quieting down and going on with their business. "Sit down, doll."

She handed you a glass of sparkling water, her hand coming to rest on your shoulder as she gauged your worry. "Alright, listen to me." Sevika said. "We're gonna find that damn cat. I'm gonna call in some favors and put some eyes out there."

"What if he's dead?" you asked.

"He's not dead, doll. He's a smart bastard."

The next few hours were a dream and a nightmare all at once. For the first time you walked the streets of Zaun with Sevika at your side, clinging to her arm as you asked about a one-eyed black furball that had strayed. You hadn’t noticed Sevika’s effect on people until they came closer and seemed to brace themselves for something, backs straightening, conversations dying down, and a few nervous smiles appearing. But many turned to look at you as well, seeing the second in command with a tearful girl on her arm. A girl who didn’t look like a lady-in-waiting.

As night fell, you were tired and hopeless. Wink seemed to hide from you and Sevika was getting more and more impatient. He's a damn cat after all, why bother so much? But seeing you like that, reminder her that for you it wasn't just a cat.

"Doll, I'll take you home." she said then, stopping you. "That's enough for today, we've been searching for hours and I can't keep you company any longer."

"But…"

"I still have people searching, don't worry."

When you got home, Sevika insisted that you take a bath and have dinner. She wouldn't let you fall into a depressive episode over a case as solvable as a lost cat. If necessary, she would find another one-eyed furball and deposit it in your bed the next morning. But she couldn't keep watching you cry, she had done it before when she was the reason for your tears.

Sevika sat next to you on the bed, you were half asleep but still sniffling. The woman studied you silently, understanding that your distress was not only due to the probable death of a cat, but to what that cat meant.

"Are you sure he's just a cat?" she asked quietly. Your eyes fluttered open, her expression looking oddly gentle.

"He's your cat." you whispered.

And the reason she comes to visit you. The reason she's spent more nights with you and smiled more. The reason she stayed for breakfast and gave you gentler kisses. Wink was way more than a cat.

And Sevika reached out to stroke your cheek. "I'll find him, doll. Don't worry."

You dreamed of purrs, the smell of coffee, and an arm around your waist. You dreamed of a kiss on your temple and the certainty of an “I love you.” And you felt pathetic as soon as you woke up.

You sighed, noticing the sun streaming through the window and welcoming you to another noisy morning at the Lanes. You thought of Wink but didn’t rush to get up, the idea of him lying at the bottom of a pot, seasoned with cumin and pepper was already settling in you and you seemed to accept it. Sevika would no longer have to come again.

You stood up to pour yourself a glass of water, unaware of the lump on the couch until the lump meowed. You stopped short, rushing to scoop the furry ball into your arms and hold it against your chest. “Damn rat!” you cried. “Don’t you ever do this to me again, how dare you.”

You kissed his furry head and thanked Janna, telling yourself that you'll put a collar on your cat and close the windows of your apartment better next time. But your happiness was interrupted by Sevika entering the apartment, a black ball of fur on her hand.

And her eyes widened by finding you up and with the damn cat between your arms.

"Well I'll be damned," she muttered, her eyes flitting between you and Wink.

Your eyes widened as much as hers. "Who's that?"

"Fuck." she muttered, shifting in place somewhat sheepishly. "I thought, well… the fucker didn't show up and…"

"A substitute?" you asked.

"A supplanter." she admitted. "Only this one has two eyes."

The kittens looked at each other and Wink hissed at the newcomer, while Sevika seemed to want to hide from your gaze. “Sev…” you said.

“I’ll take it back.”

“No!” you said, taking a step. “No, it’s okay. It can stay.”

"It's just..." Sevika muttered. "I thought you'd be less sad, that's all."

The way she said it, the softness of her words, and the tangible gesture of bringing a cat home just to cheer you up tugged at your heartstrings. Gently, you reached out and touched her chin, tilting her face down towards yours. "I haven't been fair with you." she muttered.

"I've been too naive myself." you whispered.

Sevika sighed, stepping forward to place a kiss on your lips. "The cat was an excuse," she finally admitted.

"The best excuse you could come up with."

Sevika pulled you into a warm embrace and for a moment you wondered if you were still sleeping, only to realize that all of this was as true as the fact that Wink began attacking the newcomer.

"Hey, stop it!" yelled Sevika.

#arcane #arcane fanfic #league of legends #arcane s2 #arcane sevika #arcane smut #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika x you #fluff #cats #more cats #situationships #toxic #this is so damn corny im sorry girls

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crazydznutz · 2 days ago

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Idk how to add bullets but also

- You can also try roasting or broiling vegetables. To roast, dry them, coat them in extra virgin olive oil, salt and whatever herbs (rosemary and thyme and pepper are the easy go-tos when you're newer to cooking), and then heat on high in a skillet or a cookie sheet for however long some site says or until you check them and they look crisp. To broil them, do the same but with the broil setting on your oven.

- Italian seasoning is just rosemary, thyme, oregano, basil, and garlic

- Roasted potatoes will taste crispier if you boil them first and then roast them.

- GET A SALAD SPINNER!!! I use my salad spinner every single day for all of my produce. It will make drying fruits and vegetables and such so much easier. Sure maybe it won't fully dry them out enough for a crisp fry but it'll definitely reduce the amount you'll need to towel dry it, and it absolutely will dry it enough for ramens and salads and literally anything that doesn't involve adding oil

- Any vegetables you have about to go bad, add them to a Ziploc bag. When that bag is full, you will have a variety of vegetables to make a delicious soup. To make a soup, heat up some broth, or add bouillon cubes to water, or make your own stock

- chicken bones can be used to make chicken stock. I'm too lazy to type all the ingredients out RN and it can vary a little based on what you want so just look up a chicken stock recipe and use up your chicken bones too

- Adding romaine lettuce or green onions to a dish will give it some crunch and some green. A little bit healthier and now it's crunchy. I noticed a local restaurant adds romaine lettuce to their golden curry so I started doing that too. And then I started adding it to everything because it's so crunchy. And green onions look so nice on top of everything.

- Don't get your cookware from big retailers like Walmart if you can avoid it. Go to HomeGoods or Marshalls or Goodwill or something. It's so much cheaper and they usually have prettier styles too and also fuck Walmart and fuck Sam's Club and fuck Target. Also your friends or family members might be looking to toss their old cookware and appliances out. My Lodge Dutch oven (lodge is a reputable brand for reliable cast iron products) came from HomeGoods, and our cute Japanese artstyle cat bowls. Our air fryer and toaster oven and most of our pans came from shit friends and family were otherwise planning to toss

- Cornstarch slurry. It means add cornstarch and cold water together in a small bowl and then add that to the dish. I use this for everything. I thicken my stews. I thicken my peanut satay. I thicken my jams. I thicken everything with it. Allegedly flour works too but idk

- Stir fry 101: Use leftover rice. Cold rice will fry nice and crisp while fresh, warm rice will get soggy and gross. Use MSG. Use dark and light soy sauce, if you don't know what this means just get some soy sauce that's advertised as just soy sauce the way you always would, and then also go to your local Asian grocery store and try to find anything called a "Seasoning sauce" or something like that. A lady once told me how she used to run a local Chinese restaurant and she used Golden Mountain Seasoning Sauce and I have been listening to that ever since. Add eggs. Add random frozen vegetables. Add mung bean sprouts if you can. Sprinkle baking soda on your chicken (idk if this works for other proteins because I'm poor and not wasting what little shrimps and beef when I know my chicken stir fry is already a banger). Cook everything separately and then toss them all back in together towards the end.

- it's okay to not be 100% homemade. Frozen shit is okay. Try to get some frozen shit that can be a bit versatile. Pre-made frozen breaded chicken can be eaten as a chicken patty sandwich or turned into a chicken parmesan or added to a stir fry or put on top of some curry or a salad or whatever. Popcorn shrimp can be dipped in buttermilk and fried and then tossed in the sauce for bang-bang shrimp and then taste delicious over some ramen. Don't get super finished premade meals like a completely made lasagna where the most you can really do to make it less premade is toss some herbs on it.

- Add broth to everything. Boiling pasta? Toss a cheap bouillon cube in there. It'll give you pasta a nice meaty taste. Same with potatoes and such. Also reuse your broth. After making some ramen, scoop all the ramen out, pour in as much broth as you want. Then instead of pouring the rest out, add some creamy peanut butter, chili garlic, garlic powder, soy sauce, mirin, whatever the fuck you want really and make that into a nice delicious peanut satay. Pour that over your ramen too, or put some in the fridge for later

- Watch food videos. Watch the people who don't use a bunch of gadgets and gizmos. I love watching those YouTube food channels where they're out in the snow cooking fish they just caught or in a field somewhere making a roast in the dirt. I'll try to link some channels I love here. It'll teach you how to cook without getting sucked into endless gadgets. You do not need a specialized tool for chopping garlic or boiling eggs unless you have a very specific issue like not having a stove but loving boiled eggs every day. Some channels I love:

The first one is a family from Azerbaijan and they also show their dogs and cats and rabbits and ducks and cows and sheep and every video is so peaceful and beautiful and also teaches cooking sorry I'm giving them an extra special recommendation because I love watching them so much

actually yknow what, no. this is not being limited to discord, yall get it too.

some general cooking tips (in which there is a brief senshi posession):

moisture is the enemy of crispy skin. pat dry with paper towel, and if you have the time and spoons, give a thorough but even coat of baking powder and let sit uncovered in your fridge overnight. this will dry out the skin nicely. for pork belly, create a tight foil boat so that only the skin is showing, and cover in salt to draw out moisture, repeating a couple times if necessary.

furikake seasoning, for the fellow rice lovers, is just nori (seaweed), sesame seeds, sugar, and msg/salt. you might have most if not all of these things already in your kitchen.

chai spice mix is just cinnamon, ginger, cardamom, cloves, nutmeg, & allspice.

pumpkin spice is just cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves, and ginger.

to cure your own bacon, you only need water, white and brown sugar, and a non-iodized salt - himalayan pink salt is not iodized, if you cannot find butchers curing pink salt. from there, you can add any seasoning/flavoring you want.

the truly adventurous may cook their rice in green tea for a fresh clean taste.

you can tell if a fish is truly fresh by their eyes - clear and bright is fresh, while cloudy is older or potentially has been frozen.

it's cheaper to buy a large block pack of ramen from your local asian market and repackage the bricks into sandwich bags, than to buy a box of individually packaged ones such as maruchan or top ramen.

when buying meat, look at it's fat content - more fat marbling usually means more tender + flavorful.

you can save onion skins and other vegetable scraps to make your own broth with. you can also save bones for this. mix and match ratios to create your ideal flavor.

bay leaf will always make a soup or broth taste better, but Watch Out (they are not fun to bite into on accident).

msg is, in fact, not The Devil, that was just a racist hate campaign against the chinese and other oriental races. it's literally just a type of salt. it is no more dangerous to eat than any other type of salt.

washing your rice is important because it not only improves flavor and texture by removing excess starch, but it also helps reduce any residual pesticides or dirt, or even insect fragments (please remember that rice paddies are essentially giant ponds that all kind of things live in and swim around. you should also be washing all your produce in general.)

please salt your cooking water for pastas, it just tastes better and you will be happier for it.

boiled potatoes are also improved by salt water.

if you hate vegetables, please consider trying them fried in butter or perhaps bacon grease. it is healthier to eat them fatty than not at all.

healthy food does not in fact have to taste miserable. thats a lie. they are lying to you. free yourself from your blandness shackles. enter a world of flavor.

#cooking #cooking tips

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oldsoul007 · 14 hours ago

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wicked game

older!joel miller x younger!reader

summary: A magnetic, off-limits fling between you and your rugged, older neighbor Joel turns into something deeper as you both struggle with unspoken feelings, stolen moments, and the weight of reality.

a/n: 20 year age gap, wholesome, fluff, suggestive scenes

joel miller masterlist

I stepped out of the house into the crisp morning air, my purse slung over my shoulder and a mental checklist of errands already playing on repeat in my head. The sun was still low enough to cast a soft, golden light over the neighborhood, making everything feel calm and picturesque. I was halfway down my front steps when a familiar melody stopped me in my tracks.

“The world was on fire, and no one could save me but you…”

I froze, my fingers tightening on the strap of my bag. Wicked Game. That song always hit me in the chest, like a gentle nudge from the past, stirring emotions I didn’t even know I was still carrying. But it wasn’t just the music that caught my attention. Across the street, someone was working on a car, and it was hard not to notice him.

He had his back to me, bent over the open hood, his hands moving with practiced ease. He wore a faded flannel with the sleeves rolled up, revealing forearms that were strong and dusted with just the right amount of hair. His salt-and-pepper hair looked perfectly unkempt, like it belonged to someone who didn’t care too much but somehow always pulled off the look.

I told myself not to stare. I really did. But the way the golden light caught the broad lines of his shoulders, the subtle flex of his muscles as he worked… it was impossible to look away.

The song drifted through the air like it was soundtracking the whole moment, making it feel too cinematic to be real. I shifted awkwardly, my steps faltering. Just then, as if he could sense my presence, he straightened, wiping his hands on a grease-smudged rag.

When he turned and his eyes met mine, my breath hitched. His gaze was dark and intense, cutting through the cool morning air like a warm breeze. He had a rugged, weathered face—handsome in the way only experience and age could make someone. His stubble was a little thicker than a five o’clock shadow, and his mouth curved into a crooked smile, like he knew exactly why I’d stopped.

“Morning,” he said, his voice deep and gravelly, sending a flutter through my chest.

“Morning,” I replied, my voice higher than I intended, betraying just how off guard I felt.

He nodded toward the car, his smile widening slightly. “Sorry about the noise,” he said, his tone casual, like we’d done this a hundred times before. “Didn’t mean to disturb you.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” I said quickly, hoping I didn’t sound too eager. “I like the song.”

He cocked his head slightly, like he was trying to gauge if I was just being polite or if I really meant it. “Chris Isaak, huh?” His smile deepened, a flicker of something playful crossing his face. “Not bad.”

“Yeah,” I said, forcing myself to sound normal even though my pulse was anything but. “Classic.”

He stepped closer, just enough that I could see the grease on his hands and the faint lines around his eyes that only made him more attractive. He held out a hand, grease and all. “I’m Joel,” he said, his voice warm and unhurried.

I hesitated for half a second before shaking his hand. His grip was firm, his skin rough, and somehow it felt more grounding than intimidating. “Y/n,” I said, trying not to notice the way my cheeks flushed under his gaze.

“Well, y/n,” he said, drawing back and tossing the rag onto the hood of the car, “nice to meet a neighbor who appreciates good music. I hope to see you around.”

I nodded, managing a small smile before turning away, though I could still feel his eyes on me as I walked down the sidewalk. The music faded into the background as I moved farther away, but the moment stayed with me, warm and lingering, like sunlight clinging to my skin.

As I reached the corner, I realized I hadn’t checked my list once. And suddenly, I wasn’t in such a rush to finish my errands after all.

It started out small, almost imperceptible. The first few times I saw Joel, it was nothing more than a casual glance—him working on his car, me watering my plants. He’d nod, give me a polite, “Morning,” or “Evenin’,” and I’d nod back, my stomach fluttering for no good reason.

At first, I chalked it up to curiosity. He was new to the neighborhood, and Joel wasn’t the kind of guy you didn’t notice. Broad-shouldered and quiet, with those deep brown eyes that always seemed to carry a weight he didn’t talk about, he exuded a ruggedness that felt out of place on our quiet little street.

But the more I saw him, the harder it became to ignore the way my eyes lingered. Whether he was fixing something in his garage, leaning over that damn car of his, or sitting on his porch with a beer in hand, I couldn’t help but watch him. And sometimes—more often than I expected—I’d catch him watching me too.

It wasn’t obvious, not at first. A glance held a second too long. A shift in his posture when I walked by. But over time, it became undeniable. The way his eyes would follow me when I stepped out to water the flowers, or the way I’d find excuses to linger outside just a little longer, hoping for a moment to cross paths with him.

One evening, as I was locking up my car, I felt his gaze on me. I turned, and sure enough, he was standing by his car, a rag in his hands, watching me. His expression wasn’t overtly flirty—if anything, it was unreadable—but the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down my spine.

I gave him a small wave, trying to act casual, and he nodded, his lips twitching into the faintest hint of a smile.

After that, it felt like every time I stepped outside, he was there. Fixing something, tinkering with his car, or just mowing the lawn. I’d try not to stare, but it was a losing battle. And every time I caught him looking back, it felt like a silent conversation was happening between us, one neither of us dared to speak aloud.

It was subtle, this dance we were doing, but it was there—undeniable, electric. And it was only a matter of time before one of us made a move.

It was a Friday night when everything shifted. I was sitting on my front steps with a beer, the summer air warm and heavy, when I noticed Joel crossing the street toward me. He had a toolbox in one hand and a look of determination on his face.

“Your porch light’s out,” he said as he stopped in front of me, nodding toward the darkened bulb above my door. “Figured I’d come fix it before you trip over somethin’ out here.”

I blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard, then glanced at the light. “Oh, I didn’t even notice. But you don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he interrupted, his voice firm but kind. He set the toolbox down and looked at me, his lips curving into a small, easy smile. “Unless you’re gonna send me packin’.”

I shook my head, smiling back. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Want a drink while you play handyman?”

He chuckled, low and deep. “Sure, why not?”

Two cold beers were clutched in my hands, the bottles slick with condensation, and by the time I returned, he’d already swapped the old bulb for a new one. The soft glow illuminated his face as he turned to me, brushing his hands off on his jeans.

“All done,” he said, taking the bottle I offered. “You’re safe now.”

“Guess I owe you one,” I teased, sitting on the step.

“Nah,” he replied, settling next to me. “I like keepin’ busy.”

I didn’t know when it had started, this thing between us. It wasn’t outright flirting—not yet—but there was a magnetism to Joel that made it impossible not to feel drawn in. He was older, quieter, but there was something about the way he carried himself, steady and unshakable, that made me feel safe. And curious.

“So,” I started, swirling the wine in my glass, “you’ve been here, what, a few weeks now?”

“’Bout a month,” he replied, leaning back in the chair with that relaxed, effortless posture that always seemed to belong to him.

“And I still don’t know much about you,” I said, giving him a small smile.

He glanced over at me, his eyes catching the soft glow of the porch light. “What d’you wanna know?”

I hesitated, not wanting to pry too much, but the words tumbled out before I could stop them. “I don’t know… why’d you move here? What’s your story?”

Joel’s lips quirked into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He took a sip of his beer, staring out at the darkened street before answering.

“Well, I’m divorced,” he said simply, his voice low and even, like he’d said it a hundred times before.

I blinked, caught off guard by how casually he said it. “Oh,” I said softly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted gently, turning to look at me. “Trust me, best decision of my life and it was a long time ago. Been on my own for… hell, must be close to fifteen years now.”

Fifteen years. I tried to imagine what that would feel like—building a life with someone only for it to fall apart, then starting over again. Joel didn’t seem bitter about it, though. Just… resolved.

“Do you have kids?” I asked, leaning forward slightly, unable to hide my curiosity.

His face softened at that, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Yeah. Two girls.”

“Really?” I asked, my eyebrows lifting.

He nodded, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of pride in his expression. “Sarah’s the older one. She’s in med school. Ellie’s still in undergrad—astromony major. Both of ’em are smarter than I’ll ever be.”

The way he talked about them made my chest tighten, like he was letting me see a piece of himself he didn’t share often. There was so much warmth in his voice when he said their names, like they were the best parts of his life.

“You must be so proud,” I said softly.

“More than you could know,” he replied, his voice quiet.

I smiled, leaning back against the porch railing. “So, two daughters, huh? That explains a lot.”

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just… you have that dad energy,” I teased, grinning at him.

“Dad energy?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“You know,” I said, gesturing vaguely. “The whole rugged, protective, slightly grumpy thing. It fits.”

He laughed at that, a low, rumbling sound that made my stomach flutter. “Grumpy, huh?”

I shrugged, my grin widening. “If the shoe fits.”

Joel shook his head, still chuckling as he took another sip of his beer. But there was something in his expression—something lighter, more open—that made me feel like I’d broken through a wall I hadn’t even known was there.

And as we sat there in the quiet of the night, our conversation drifting back to safer, lighter topics, I couldn’t help but wonder how someone like Joel, with all his layers and contradictions, had ended up here—just across the street from me.

And why I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

We talked for hours—about everything and nothing. He told me about his work, about his daughters, Sarah, and Ellie and the things he used to do before life got complicated. I told him about my job, my friends, and the reasons I’d moved here.

At some point, the conversation drifted into quieter territory. The night was still, the air thick with something unspoken. Joel leaned back against the railing, his arm brushing mine, and I felt my pulse quicken.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” he said softly, his voice low and rough.

I turned to look at him, my heart thudding in my chest. His eyes were on mine, dark and intense, the space between us feeling smaller than it should have.

“Joel…” I started, but before I could finish, he leaned in.

It wasn’t rushed or tentative—it was deliberate. His lips met mine, firm and warm, and I forgot how to breathe. My glass slipped from my hand, forgotten, as I leaned into him, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

His hands found my waist, pulling me closer, and I let myself sink into the kiss, into him. He tasted like beer and something darker, something that made my head spin. When we finally broke apart, his forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing heavily.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice husky and raw, “tell me to stop if this ain’t what you want.”

I shook my head, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “I don’t want you to stop.”

That was all it took. He pulled me into his lap, his hands roaming up my back as our lips met again, hungrier this time. My mind was a blur of heat and sensation as his touch ignited something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Somehow, we ended up inside my house, the door clicking shut behind us. I barely had time to take in my surroundings before his lips were on mine again, his hands pulling at my shirt as I fumbled with the buttons on his.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he muttered against my skin, his voice thick with want.

We stumbled into my bedroom, clothes disappearing in a flurry of hands and whispered words.

When we finally came together, it was everything—tender and passionate, slow and consuming. He held me like I was the only thing that mattered, his touch reverent but possessive.

Afterward, we lay tangled in my sheets, the room dark and quiet except for the sound of our breathing. His arm was draped over me, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my skin.

“I shouldn’t have waited so long,” he murmured, his voice soft and low.

I smiled, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. "It was worth the wait."

And as I drifted off to sleep in his arms, I couldn't help but feel like something had shifted. Like maybe, just maybe, l'd found something-or someone-I wasn't ready to let go of.

What began as stolen moments quickly intensified. Some nights, I’d hear the rumble of his car pulling into the driveway and find myself slipping into something casual yet enticing. He’d knock softly on my door, and I’d let him in without a word, his hands finding my waist almost immediately.

Other times, Joel would invite me over under the pretense of needing help with something—though neither of us was fooled. We’d end up tangled together on his couch, my fingers threading through his hair as his lips traced the curve of my neck.

It was never more than the two of us sharing our time and bodies, but it worked. Joel was guarded, reluctant to open up about his past, and I respected that. I didn’t ask for more than he could give, content with the way he made me feel in the moment—desired, cherished, even if only temporarily.

And Joel? He couldn’t seem to stay away. There was something about him—the way he laughed, the way he didn’t push me to be more than I was ready to be. It felt easy, natural.

But as effortless as it seemed, there were nights when he lingered a little longer, his fingers brushing my skin softly as if memorizing me. And there were mornings when I woke to find him still there, his arm draped over my waist, his breathing steady in the early light.

We both knew it was a fling, but neither of us could deny the way it was starting to feel like something more.

After that first time, it became a rhythm. A pattern.

It was never planned, not really. Joel and I never talked about what we were doing or set expectations. But somehow, it kept happening.

A knock on my door late at night. A quiet, unspoken agreement in the way his eyes lingered on mine, the way his hand would find my waist as soon as the door closed behind him.

Sometimes it was me crossing the street, catching him in his garage working on that car of his. The way he'd straighten up, wiping his hands on a rag and giving me that slow, crooked smile-it made my chest tighten every time.

"You need somethin'?" he'd ask, his tone easy, casual, but his eyes told a different story.

"Always," I'd reply, tilting my head, my lips already curving into a smile.

It was always like that. Quiet. Unrushed. No promises.

It wasn't every night, but it was often enough that it started to feel like a routine.

The nights with Joel were magnetic, impossible to resist.

Sometimes it started slow, like a smoldering fire. He’d show up at my door, leaning against the frame, his dark eyes holding mine like he knew exactly what I was thinking. I’d step aside to let him in, the faint scent of leather and soap drifting past as he walked by. He wouldn’t say much—he never did—but the way he looked at me, the way his gaze lingered on my lips, said everything.

The door would barely click shut before his hands found my waist, pulling me to him with a quiet urgency. His lips would capture mine, firm and deliberate, his calloused hands sliding under the hem of my shirt, fingers rough against my skin.

He kissed like he didn’t know when he’d get the chance again, his lips devouring mine with a hunger that left me breathless. My back would hit the wall, and he’d pin me there, his body pressed against mine, warm and solid, making it impossible to think about anything but him.

Other times, it wasn’t so rushed.

I’d wander across the street under the cover of darkness, my heart pounding even though we’d done this so many times before. I’d find him in the garage, his hands deep in some repair, grease smudged across his arms. He’d glance up when I walked in, his expression softening into that crooked, lazy smile that made my stomach twist.

“You work too much,” I’d tease, leaning against the workbench as he wiped his hands on a rag.

Joel would smirk, tossing the rag aside before closing the distance between us. “And you think I should take a break?”

“Maybe,” I’d reply, my voice lighter than I felt.

And then his hands would slide around my waist, pulling me flush against him. He’d kiss me slow, like we had all the time in the world, his lips soft but insistent, teasing me until I was gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer.

When his hands roamed lower, gripping my thighs, he’d lift me effortlessly onto the workbench, stepping between my legs, his body fitting perfectly against mine. His kisses would grow deeper, more possessive, until I was arching into him, the tools and the world around us forgotten.

The nights he stayed over were different.

He’d let himself into my house, the quiet creak of the door waking me, and I’d turn to see him standing there, his hair messy from the ride, his flannel hanging loose over a plain shirt.

“You’re late,” I’d whisper, pretending to be annoyed, but the grin pulling at my lips gave me away.

Joel would shrug, his voice low and gravelly. “Had to finish somethin’. But I’m here now.”

And then he’d crawl into bed beside me, his hand trailing over my hip, pulling me close. His lips would skim the side of my neck, soft and deliberate, his breath warm against my skin. It always started gentle on those nights, his hands slow as they explored me, his touch careful, like he wanted to memorize every inch of me.

I’d lose myself in the way his mouth moved against mine, the way he murmured my name like it was a prayer. The room would fill with the sound of our breaths, the quiet creak of the bed as he pressed me into the mattress, his weight grounding me in the moment.

It wasn’t just the way he touched me or the way he made my body hum with anticipation—it was the way he made me feel seen. Like I wasn’t just someone he wanted for the night but someone he couldn't seem to stay away from, no matter how hard he tried.

And as much as I wanted to keep pretending it was nothing, that it was just two people finding comfort in each other, I couldn't deny the way he was starting to feel like more.

The morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, as I stretched under the covers. Joel was already up, sitting on the edge of the bed with his boots half on, the laces dangling as he reached down to tie them.

I watched him quietly for a moment, taking in the way his shoulders hunched slightly, the way his hair was still a little messy from the night before. He must have felt my gaze because he turned, his eyes meeting mine, and his lips quirked into that crooked smile that never failed to disarm me.

“You’re up early,” he said, his voice low and rough from sleep.

“Could say the same about you,” I replied, my voice soft as I sat up, pulling the sheet around me.

Joel shook his head, finishing his boots before standing. “Got a lot to do today.”

I hated this part—the goodbye. Even though I knew he’d be back, it always felt like the space between us stretched further than it should.

Joel must have noticed the flicker of disappointment in my face because he crossed the room in just a few steps, his presence warm and solid as he stood in front of me.

“Hey,” he murmured, his hand brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light, though my chest tightened.

He didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, he leaned down, his lips brushing mine in a kiss that was softer than I expected. It wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was deliberate, slow, like he wanted to make every second count.

Then, without a word, he shifted lower, his lips finding the curve of my jaw. He kissed a line down my neck, lingering there for a moment as his hands slid to my waist, holding me gently.

“Joel,” I whispered, my voice catching as he continued his path, his mouth pressing soft, warm kisses across my collarbone, then down my arm.

When he reached my wrist, he paused, turning my hand over to press a kiss to my palm, then to the tips of my fingers.

It wasn’t just physical—it felt like something more. Like he was trying to say something he couldn’t put into words.

When he finally straightened, his dark eyes met mine, and I felt like he could see straight through me. “I’ll see you later,” he said, his voice rough but steady.

I nodded, my throat tight as I watched him grab his jacket and head for the door. He paused in the doorway, glancing back at me one more time before he left, and I couldn’t help but smile.

Joel didn’t have to say goodbye like that—but he did. And it was those little things, those quiet moments that told me more than any words ever could.

My mom called me three times that morning to remind me about dinner, as if I’d forgotten the weekly ritual of overcooked chicken and her latest gossip updates. By the time I pulled into my parents’ driveway, the sun was setting, casting a soft orange glow over the neighborhood. I smoothed down my dress, grabbed the bottle of wine I’d brought, and headed inside.

“Y/n! You’re just in time,” my mom called from the kitchen, her voice bright and cheerful. The smell of rosemary and garlic wafted through the air.

“Hey, Mom,” I called back, setting the wine on the counter.

I could hear my dad laughing with someone in the dining room, his deep voice carrying through the house. A guest, maybe? Mom hadn’t mentioned anyone else joining us.

I walked into the dining room, my casual smile freezing on my face when I saw him.

Joel.

He was standing next to my dad, holding a beer, his flannel rolled up at the sleeves like always. He turned at the sound of my footsteps, and for a split second, I saw the same shock mirrored in his eyes before he quickly masked it.

“Y/n!” My dad grinned, clapping Joel on the shoulder. “This is Joel, my buddy from the hardware store. We got to talking the other day, and I figured I’d invite him over. Thought you two might’ve crossed paths in the neighborhood!”

Joel’s lips curved into a polite smile, but I could see the tension in his jaw. “Good to meet you, y/n,” he said, his voice perfectly even, his hand extended.

I stared at him for a second too long before snapping out of it and shaking his hand. His touch lingered for just a moment, his thumb brushing against mine in a way that made my stomach twist.

“Nice to meet you,” I managed, forcing a polite smile, my voice tighter than I intended.

“Joel just moved in a few weeks ago,” my dad continued, oblivious to the storm brewing between us. “Seems like a good guy. Figured we’d make him feel welcome.”

“Oh, he’s definitely that,” I said, my tone a little sharper than I meant. Joel raised an eyebrow at me, but he didn’t say a word.

Dinner was a blur of awkward silences and stolen glances. Joel was calm and collected, answering my parents’ questions with ease, like he hadn’t been in my bed less than 24 hours ago. I, on the other hand, felt like I was about to combust.

“Mom,” I said sharply, nearly choking on my wine. My face burned as I glanced at Joel, who was watching me with an infuriatingly calm expression.

“Oh, come on,” she said with a laugh, waving a hand. “I’m just joking! But seriously, sweetie, you’ve had…what? A handful of boyfriends?”

“More than a handful,” my dad chimed in with a chuckle. “You’d think we were running a speed-dating service out of the house at one point.”

I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “Okay, that’s enough,” I said quickly, forcing a tight smile as I stared daggers at my parents. “We don’t need to go down memory lane right now.”

“Oh, lighten up, y/n,” my mom teased, clearly oblivious to the tension in the room.

I dared a glance at Joel, expecting him to look awkward or uncomfortable. Instead, he was hiding a smirk, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. I shot him a glare, silently daring him to say anything, but he just shrugged innocently.

Dinner couldn’t end fast enough.

When my mom asked me to grab dessert from the kitchen, I jumped at the excuse to escape. But as I reached for the pie on the counter, I heard footsteps behind me.

“Y/n.”

I turned to see Joel standing in the doorway, his expression somewhere between amused and exasperated.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed, keeping my voice low.

“I could ask you the same thing,” he shot back, leaning against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world.

“This is my parents’ house, Joel. What are you doing here?”

“Your dad invited me,” he said simply, his dark eyes scanning my face. “Didn’t think it’d be a problem.”

“A problem?” I repeated, my voice rising slightly before I forced it back down. “You didn’t think to maybe mention that you’re best buddies with my dad?”

“Didn’t know it was your dad,” he said, his voice low and steady, though there was a flicker of something like amusement in his eyes. “Until I walked in and saw you.”

I stared at him, my cheeks burning. “So what, we just pretend we don’t know each other?”

“Seems like the best option,” he said, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Unless you wanna tell your parents the whole story.”

I glared at him, hating how calm he was. “This isn’t funny, Joel.”

“Never said it was,” he said, stepping closer, his voice softening. “But you’re the one who’s gotta decide how to handle it.”

Before I could respond, my mom’s voice called out from the dining room. “Y/n! Everything okay in there?”

I swallowed hard, grabbing the pie and pushing past him. “This isn’t over,” I muttered under my breath.

“Looking forward to it,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing as I brushed past him.

As I walked back into the dining room, my face carefully neutral, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder. Joel followed a moment later, cool and composed, like nothing had happened.

But when our eyes met across the table, I knew this was only the beginning of a much more complicated mess.

Later, after we’d finished and everyone was saying their goodbyes, Joel and I stepped out into the warm night air together. My parents stood at the door, still chatting about something, so Joel and I started walking toward our cars, the silence between us heavy.

Once we were far enough away, Joel glanced at me, his voice low and teasing. “So… how many guys?”

I stopped in my tracks, my mouth dropping open. “Excuse me?”

He turned to face me, a lopsided grin on his face, the kind that made my stomach flip no matter how annoyed I was. “Your mom brought it up,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “I’m just curious.”

I crossed my arms, glaring at him. “I am not answering that.”

“Why not?” His grin widened. “You embarrassed or something?”

“No,” I shot back, even though my face was practically on fire. “It’s just none of your business.”

Joel chuckled, stepping closer. “Fair enough. But if you’re not telling, then I guess it’s only fair you ask me.”

“Oh, really?” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Fine. How many women have you been with?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Two.”

I blinked. “Two?”

“Yeah,” he said casually, slipping his hands into his pockets.

I stared at him, completely baffled. “Two? That’s it?”

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, as if he didn’t understand why I was so surprised. “Yeah. Why’s that so hard to believe?”

I laughed, the sound escaping before I could stop it. “Joel, have they seen you? You look like that, and you’re telling me only two women?”

He smirked, leaning slightly closer. “What can I say? I’ve always been a quality over quantity kinda guy.”

The way he said it, his voice low and laced with humor, sent a shiver down my spine. I quickly looked away, trying to collect myself.

“Well,” I muttered, still trying to process his answer. “I guess that makes you… selective.”

“You could say that,” he said, his smirk softening into something warmer, something that made my chest tighten.

I shook my head, refusing to let him get the upper hand in this conversation. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

He chuckled. “And you’re dodgin’ the question. But I’ll let it slide… for now.”

As we reached our cars, I could still feel the heat of his gaze on me, that teasing smile lingering on his lips. And as much as I hated to admit it, I knew I’d be thinking about this conversation long after he drove away.

The air was thick with the lingering heat of the day as I stepped onto my porch that night, a glass of wine in hand, hoping the cool breeze would clear my head. Running into Joel at my parents' house earlier had thrown me. I hadn't expected to see him there, standing in their kitchen like he belonged, casually sipping a beer while talking to my dad like they were old friends.

It had been almost too much-the way his eyes found mine across the room, the flicker of something unreadable passing over his face.

The way my mother had smiled, oblivious, as she chatted away, completely unaware of the tension humming between us.

I had barely spoken to him then, just a brief exchange, a nod, a polite smile. But it had been enough.

Now, as I sat in the quiet of my porch, the cicadas buzzing in the trees, I heard it-the unmistakable rumble of his truck pulling into his driveway.

I should've looked away, should've ignored the way my pulse jumped at the sound. But I didn't.

Instead, I watched as he stepped out, his movements slow, deliberate. He didn't go inside. He stood there for a second, hands on his hips, looking over at me like he was debating something.

Then, without hesitation, he crossed the street.

I didn't move, didn't say anything as he walked up the steps, stopping just in front of me. His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

"You left fast earlier," he said, his voice low, rough.

I swallowed, gripping my glass a little tighter.

"Didn't expect to see you there."

"Yeah, well," he exhaled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "Didn't expect to see you either."

There was something else in his voice, something unspoken.

A question. A challenge.

I should've told him to go home. That whatever this thing between us was, it didn't need to spill over into the rest of my life. But I didn't.

Instead, I stood, stepping closer, letting the space between us disappear. His gaze dropped to my lips, and that was all it took.

Joel reached for me, his hands firm but careful as he pulled me to him, his lips crashing into mine like he'd been holding back all damn day.

I sighed against his mouth, my fingers gripping the front of his shirt, anchoring myself as his hands slid to my hips, pressing me flush against him.

The kiss was different tonight-deeper, more desperate, like the sight of me earlier had unraveled something in him. He groaned softly when I tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck, his hands gripping tighter as he walked me backward, until my back hit the wall beside the front door.

"Joel," I murmured against his lips, my voice barely there, but he didn't stop. Didn't pull away.

"Mm?" He hummed, his lips trailing down my jaw, my throat, his hands slipping under the hem of my shirt, fingers warm and rough against my skin.

I shivered, tilting my head to give him more, to let him take whatever he wanted, because God, I wanted this, wanted him.

"We should go inside," I whispered, barely recognizing my own voice.

Joel exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing against mine for the briefest second before he pulled back, grabbing my hand and leading me inside, the door clicking shut behind us.

The second we were alone, it was like we couldn't get close enough. Clothes were pushed aside, hands roaming, mouths meeting over and over like we were making up for the time lost earlier.

He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me through the dark toward my bedroom, his lips never leaving my skin. When he laid me down, his body pressing into mine, I knew this wouldn't be like the other nights.

Tonight, it felt different.

Tonight, it felt inevitable.

The room was quiet except for the steady hum of the ceiling fan and the sound of our breathing, still heavy from the way we’d just spent the last hour tangled together.

Joel lay beside me, one arm resting behind his head, his bare chest rising and falling in the dim light. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, the scent of him—woodsmoke, leather, and something distinctly Joel—lingering in the sheets.

I turned onto my side, propping myself up on my elbow as I trailed my fingers along his arm. His eyes were closed, but I knew he wasn’t asleep.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked softly, watching as his brows furrowed just slightly.

Joel let out a slow breath before finally opening his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “Nothin’,” he muttered.

I didn’t buy it. “You sure about that?”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then, he shifted, rolling onto his side to face me. His dark eyes held something I couldn’t quite place, something heavier than usual.

He hesitated, then ran a hand over his face. “I’m too old for you, y/n.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden confession. A slow smirk tugged at my lips. “That didn’t seem to stop you before.”

Joel exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That was different.”

“Different how?” I challenged, pushing myself up slightly, looking down at him. “Because I don’t remember you thinking twice about it when you were kissing me against my front door.”

His jaw tightened, and I could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he was wrestling with something.

I softened, reaching out to trace a finger along the scar on his shoulder. “Joel,” I murmured, “what’s this really about?”

He let out a humorless chuckle, shifting onto his back again. “Your parents.”

That made me pause. “What about them?”

Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his chest. “I sat in their kitchen, y/n. Drank a damn beer with your old man, listened to your mom talk about how she just wants you to be happy.” He shook his head. “Felt like I was lyin’ straight to their faces.”

I stared at him, my heart tightening. “You weren’t lying.”

“Ain’t that simple.”

“Yes, it is,” I argued, sitting up fully now, the sheets pooling around my waist. “You think they’d hate you if they knew?”

Joel didn’t answer right away, just looked at me, his gaze heavy, unreadable. “I think they’d wonder why a man like me is in their daughter’s bed.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “You think too much.”

Joel huffed, shaking his head. “And you don’t think enough.”

That stung, but I refused to back down. “You act like this is something I just fell into, like I didn’t make this choice. I know what I want, Joel.”

His eyes searched mine, like he was trying to figure out if he could believe that. If he could believe me.

After a long pause, he sighed, sitting up beside me. His hand reached out, fingertips grazing my knee before curling into a loose fist. “I don’t wanna be the reason you regret anything.”

I stared at him, my chest tightening at the way he said it—so serious, so damn certain that he was the problem. That he was something I’d one day wish I could undo.

I reached for his hand, lacing my fingers through his, squeezing tight. “If I regret anything, it’ll be not seeing where this goes.”

Joel let out a breath, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. His eyes softened just slightly, but there was still hesitation there, still that damn weight he always carried.

I shifted closer, leaning in until my lips brushed against his. “You gonna kiss me, or keep thinking yourself out of it?”

He sighed against my mouth, shaking his head, but then his hand was at my waist, pulling me into his lap, and all that hesitation melted away as he kissed me slow and deep—like he knew this was a bad idea but couldn’t stop himself.

And I had no plans to stop him, either.

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ready-to-read7 · 14 hours ago

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Prompt #8

Okay I absolutely love the idea of pariah dark adopting Danny and I don’t see it quite often and I really like dead serious/Danny x Damien

After a bad Fenton parents revealed Danny escape to the ghost zone where he meets up with a very confused pariah dark who doesn’t understand why this baby ghost is acting hostile towards him and why the baby ghosts also injured so he asks and Danny is obviously confused on why pariah is acting so nice.

Danny then explains angrily to pariah about everything and based on the look on pariah’s face Danny can tell that something isn’t right and he finds out from clockwork that apparently the observance were being massive jerks and were manipulating pariah in order to get whatever the hell they wanted and of course pariah is furious with this because he was trying to make the realm a peaceful and happy place but he was being manipulated and controlled into being a tyrant and then imprisoned for it by the exact same people or beings that were controlling him.

pariah dark immediately then overthrows the observance stripping them all of their power and making them pay for what he did to everyone in the realm because technically it was their fault for controlling him. he then goes to Danny and tells him since he defeated him in combat he has the right to the throne but he is aware that Danny is too young, and will have him first get a bit older before he becomes the next king at that point Danny Lets it spilled that his parents are the ones who injured him and that they were still human and all of that and obviously pariah is not happy so he tries and succeeds in forming a bond with Danny essentially becoming Danny’s father.

And he also automatically takes Danny after forming the bond to the far frozen to get him checked out because there are severe injuries that are definitely not okay, and obviously everyone from the far frozen is shocked to see Pariah dark holding Danny, but after he explains exactly what happened they let him see Danny again but by that point Danny had retracted into his core due to his injuries.

Pariah obviously being concerned because he is Danny’s new father figure would try his best to get his new son to reform but what he wasn’t expecting was for his new son to reform into a toddler round about three years old.

After sorting all of that out pariah dark would then return to his castle and set everything up for his new son/Danny, and after setting everything up he would make an announcement to a very terrified realm exposing the bad deeds of the observers and declaring Danny the high prince of the infinite realms the next to take the throne.

Pariah dark then spends two years taking care of Danny and fixing the realms

As soon as Danny turns five pariah dark decides to do something that he still thinks is normal because he’s so gosh damn old he doesn’t know that arranged marriages are out of style or not really done anymore but nonetheless he tries to find someone perfect to engage his half mortal son to, and he finds them , he comes across a natural portal of corrupted ectoplasm and learns that there is a group that literally treats this portal like it’s a gift from a higher being or something so he thinks these people might be liminal enough that if there is a child there to engage his son with they will be closer to what Danny is than anyone else.

So during the next ritual the group has he appears and tries to make a deal with the leader to engage his son with any child near Danny’s age and luckily there is a six-year-old boy named Damien.

ra’s al ghul obviously not expecting a being to come out of the pit is a bit wary on what he wants but when he hears that this creature is the literal king of the afterlife and that he is looking for a partner for his son he immediately jumps on giving him any one of his own children but when he learns that the being has a five-year-old and does not want his son to be engaged anyone too old for him ra’s then offers Damien since Damien is only six and this is like the best thing that could ever happen having his grandson betrothed to the next ruler of the afterlife is like the best thing that could ever happen to him, and pariah and ra’s end up agreeing to betroth Danny and Damien.

Damien being a child raised by the leag of assassins obviously takes it as a great honor to be the fiancé or whatever to the prince of the afterlife and sees himself as the perfect and only good option so he is going to fully commit to proving that he is the perfect option for the Prince of the afterlife.

And as they occasionally meet up and get to know each other and they both start getting feelings for each other, but they both are kind of dense so they don’t really realize it, Danny is the first to realize that he likes Damien after Damien leaves to go live with his father, and is kind of sad that he can’t hang out with Damien anymore.

Damien on the other hand after spending a single year with his father realizes that he really really misses Daniel/Danny and then comes to the conclusion that he had actually gained feelings for his betrothed and is now upset that he can’t see Daniel/Danny anymore .

And like maybe a year or two or maybe even three later under some circumstances they meet up again and they literally won’t leave each other alone because they haven’t seen each other in so long.

#dc x dp #dc x dp crossover #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc #pariah dark #danny phantom #ghost prince danny #dpxdc #Danny x Damien #dead serious #ra's al ghul

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valkyriephoenix98 · 3 days ago

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I know that feeling.

"can you draw realistically? And less cartoon like?"

"add birds in the sky to finish it off it'll make it better"

"you're drawing really dark stuff...are you okay? Do you need a therapist?"

"draw something nice like flowers or whatever"

Now, I don't mind drawing flowers or something realistic if I want to experiment on drawing in a different way..if I want to add birds it should be on my own terms and if I'm drawing something that looks a little bit too dark for one's interest that doesn't mean there's something wrong with me mentally...it just means I'm looking at things in a different way and there's NOTHING bad about it...as a kid I got that a LOT from the teachers back at primary school and it was nerve wrecking.. just leave me be so I can enjoy myself I would think to myself and when the teachers would pull a fast one and add the birds to my painting ...I would mentally SCREAM over it as they would say

"there..much Better"

It would piss me off whenever they tried to control my choice in art..

Secondary school was no better, Draw a realistic portrait for the junior cert exam

Now in fairness, I did the very best I could to make it somewhat close to realistic and our teacher (who was surprisenly decent)

Gave the thumbs up for effort for all of us...but not the people examining the test..they all of us a C or B..(which wasn't too bad, but was still an eyesore)

And our teacher said that if it was up to them, they would've given us an A because art has no right direction, it's unique.

But the fact that there are people who think you should do it like this or that, but in reality there's no right or wrong way to do it...

Just do you.

#Art #minor vent #You do you #School sucks to be honest

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bullyingfictionalmen · 3 days ago

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LaDS Men x Blind/Visually-Impaired!MC Headcanons

A/N: Not my usual style of writing, but I’m a blind/ADHD girlie myself and was inspired by lovely posts like this one sharing HCs about the LIs interacting with disabled/neurodivergent!MC. I tried to account for a variety of experiences myself and other blind friends have had, but blindness is a spectrum, so please take my preferences and interpretations with a grain of salt :)

cw: fluff, soft LADS boys, brief mentions of ableism

🐦‍⬛ Sylus 🐦‍⬛

also a light-sensitive king, so he inherently gets needing spaces to be dark and glare-free

Buys you all the assistive technology you could ask for. High tech magnifier, Brailler, braille-note, monocular, e-reader

Modifies them all to an excessive degree to have, like, infrared mode in addition to contrast filters to reduce eye-strain

always scouring online for new cane tips, gps and self-driving cars to increase your mobility and independence

if you have a guide dog, that’s his new bestie. Also picks up on the training super fast

teaches you how to fight with accessible techniques, helping you drill the sensation of the correct movements into your muscle memory

you find yourself able to relax around him because he’s so considerate without making you feel like a burden

loves reading to you, whether it be poems, stories, random posts online. He knows you love his voice

anyone trying to deny you an opportunity or entry into a store/restaurant will catch those hands, or the full might of Onychinus

✨ Xavier ✨

buys you the softest blankets/pajamas/scarves because he knows the textures you prefer

really good about using tactile labels around the house and buying products you could easily recognize by touch

uses his Evol to adjust lighting or to teleport you out of overwhelming situations

Low-key jealous of your service animal but his gratitude for their hard work wins out

went through training blindfolded to better understand your needs

consciously and habitually covers your blind spots in battle without being prideful about it or discounting your skill

always stands on the side nearest the road when you’re walking together and points out stairs, curbs and steep inclines

gently reminds you not to apologize for advocating for your needs

🍎 Caleb 🍎

grew up with you so he understands this whole song and dance. He deeply gets the nuances of what you need without asking

can sense it if you’re tired of explaining yourself to a new person and will swoop in to do it for you

enthusiastic about taking you anywhere you need to go, brags about being your chauffeur

overprotective as hell but he does his best not to infantilize you. He just really cares

smoothly points out or guides you around obstacles and rough terrain

offers to read any restaurant menu that has bad contrast or is far away, highlighting items he knows you like

you video call him anytime you misplace something and he has a knack for knowing where you left it

jokes that he is your guide dog

extra-passionate about disability rights and unfair wages

very considerate of your needs when planning dates or outings, but will run new activities by you and never assume you can’t do something

🐠 Rafayel 🐠

tries hard to make his exhibits and pieces inclusive— loves experimenting with tactile elements in his art and arranges for braille and large-print signs at every event

personally narrates the audio explanations in the gallery/ museum tours for your benefit

makes you custom cane charms, labels, helps decorate the cases for your technology to make using it more fun

checks or sometimes does your makeup himself if you’re not in the mood to painstakingly perfect it

woke up in a cold sweat one night and spent the next three days designing and refining a Braille alphabet for Lemurian

will body-block any bikes or people coming at you from an unseen location

goes full Karen in your defense if someone is rude about your needs or refusing accommodations

“watch where you’re going.” “Um, she’s blind??? Feel bad now?”

his blind jokes are pure art—he was wary of offending you at first, but now he’ll participate in banter with you and make you laugh your ass off without being mean-spirited or degrading (unless you’re into that)

❄️ Zayne ❄️

the king of sided-guide, will navigate you calmly and seamlessly through any crowd or tough situation

when someone pulls a stunt like “oh, you’re blind? How many fingers am I holding up?” Zayne will give them the blankest stare and then launch into a dry medical explanation of your condition to make them feel awkward

has extensive knowledge of your medical records/schedule and will remind you of or accompany you to appointments

you catch him reading ophthalmology books in his spare time and have to beg him not to get yet another specialization

the first to notice when your eyes are strained or you’ve got a headache. Ready with a cold compress or painkillers

gently chastises you if you’re overworking or wearing yourself thin. Very aware of activities that consume more energy for you or stress you out

doesn’t usually make blind jokes, but every once in awhile he’ll make the sassiest deadpan comment that makes you cry-laugh

#lads zayne #lads rafayel #lads sylus #lads xavier #lads caleb #lads headcanons #lads mc #lads x reader #love and deepspace

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elryuse · 1 day ago

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Our True Colours

Tsuki X Male Reader

Tags : Trauma, Bad Past, Vanilla Sex, Love, Romance, Lots of Emotions

Words : 6,333 Words

This Story, Is dedicated to all you Who have ever been in this position before. Feeling Depressed, Traumatized by Past Memories, and Basically Not knowing what to do. I just want to say, You're not alone. I know that You can do it. Don't give Up yet.

I Also made This story, For those of you Who requested me to make more stories about Billie. I hope You Enjoyed it.

The afternoon sun drapes over the college campus, casting long, golden shadows on the ground. A gentle breeze rustles the leaves, sending a crisp whisper through the air. It’s a perfect day to stay indoors—exactly what you always preferred. But something about today made you take a detour from your usual quiet routine.

Hands buried in the pockets of your hoodie, you stroll absentmindedly past the library, weaving through the quiet garden at the center of campus. You walk these paths every day, yet they never feel quite familiar. College is a place full of people—loud conversations, laughter, and the occasional rush of students running late for class. It’s overwhelming at times. That’s why you always blend into the background, existing on the edges, unnoticed.

And then you see her.

She sits on a wooden stool, poised like a vision of serenity, a canvas set before her. A delicate hand moves a paintbrush across the surface, slow and precise, as though every stroke holds meaning. The soft golden light catches her dark brown hair, making it glow like strands of silk. Large, expensive Sony headphones cover her ears, allowing her to drift into her own world, untouched by the noise of the campus.

She’s painting.

You pause mid-step. Something about her presence is… captivating. Maybe it’s the way she sways slightly to the music only she can hear. Or the way her lips curl into a soft, satisfied smile as she mixes colors on her palette. Whatever it is, you can’t seem to look away.

Your heart stirs—an unfamiliar warmth spreading through your chest.

She’s breathtaking.

The sight of her, lost in her own world, makes your stomach twist. You should walk away. You should keep moving, pretend you never saw her. But your feet stay rooted in place. You watch as she dips her brush into a deep shade of blue and glides it effortlessly onto the canvas.

Then, suddenly—

She looks up.

Your breath catches.

For a fleeting moment, time slows as her gaze meets yours. Her eyes—deep and filled with quiet curiosity—lock onto you. There’s no shyness in them, only a soft, steady awareness. You feel the blood rush to your cheeks, your entire body warming under the weight of her attention.

She tilts her head, studying you, and then—

A small smile.

Your heart pounds. You’ve been staring for too long. You quickly look away, pretending to be interested in the grass at your feet, but it’s too late. The damage is done.

And then, her voice—soft, yet clear—cuts through the air.

"Do you like my painting?"

Your stomach flips.

You glance up, hesitant, still flustered from being caught. She’s looking at you expectantly, her eyes holding a hint of amusement. She must have noticed your staring.

“I—uh,” you stammer, throat suddenly dry. You shift awkwardly, glancing at the canvas for the first time.

It’s beautiful.

The painting is an almost dreamlike rendition of the college garden—the very place you’re standing in. The way she’s captured the afternoon light, the way the colors seem to melt into one another—it’s stunning.

You swallow hard, feeling a strange nervousness build in your chest. “Yeah,” you manage, voice quieter than you intended. “It’s… really good.”

A soft chuckle escapes her lips, like a gentle melody. “You don’t sound convinced.”

You shake your head quickly. “No, I mean it. It’s amazing.”

She studies you for a moment, as if trying to decide whether you’re telling the truth. Then, with a small nod, she looks back at her canvas, dipping her brush into a lighter shade of blue.

“You come here often?” she asks, her voice casual, yet laced with genuine curiosity.

You blink. No one ever asks you that.

“Uh… yeah,” you reply hesitantly. “I like… quiet places.”

She hums in acknowledgment, as if she understands. “Me too.”

Silence settles between you, but it isn’t uncomfortable. She continues painting, and you… you don’t know what to do. Should you leave? Stay? The moment feels fragile, like one wrong move might shatter it.

She suddenly gestures toward the empty bench nearby. “You can sit, if you want.”

You hesitate.

She notices. “Unless you’re in a hurry?”

You weren’t. But you also weren’t sure why she was offering. Most people didn’t pay much attention to you. Yet, here she was, inviting you—someone she barely knew—to stay.

After a beat, you nod and move to the bench, sitting down awkwardly. You keep a respectable distance, unsure of what to say. The air between you is filled with nothing but the occasional scratch of her brush against the canvas and the soft rustling of leaves.

Minutes pass.

You steal a glance at her, watching the way her brow furrows slightly in concentration, the way her fingers gently blend the colors with careful precision. There’s something calming about watching her work, like she’s in sync with the world in a way you never quite felt.

Then—

She turns to you again, her expression thoughtful. “You never told me your name.”

You blink, caught off guard. “Oh. It’s… Y/n.”

A slow smile spreads across her lips. “Y/n,” she repeats, testing the sound. Then, she holds out her paint-stained hand. “I’m Tsuki.”

Tsuki.

The name lingers in your mind, settling into a space you didn’t realize was empty.

You hesitate before reaching out, your fingers brushing against hers in a brief handshake. Her skin is warm, slightly rough from handling brushes and paint, but the contact sends an unexpected jolt through you.

She grins, her eyes shining with something unreadable. “Nice to meet you, Y/n.”

Your heart beats a little faster.

"Yeah,” you murmur. “Nice to meet you too.”

And just like that, something shifts.

Something fragile, something new—something that makes the world feel just a little less quiet.

The days pass, but you can’t stop thinking about her.

Tsuki.

The way her name rolled off your tongue felt strange yet familiar, like something that belonged in your life long before you met her. You find yourself returning to the garden more often than usual, your steps unconsciously leading you back to that same wooden bench.

And each time, she’s there.

Always painting. Always lost in the world of colors and brushes. Always wearing those heavy Sony headphones, swaying slightly to music only she can hear.

But now—there’s something different.

She notices you.

The first time you came back after your first meeting, she had looked up from her canvas, a flicker of recognition flashing in her deep brown eyes. A slow, knowing smile spread across her lips, as if she had been expecting you all along.

"Back again?" she had said, teasingly.

You had stammered, made up some excuse about liking the quiet, but she only chuckled before turning back to her work. And somehow, without words, the two of you had settled into a new kind of routine.

Now, every time you show up, she acknowledges you—not with words, but with small gestures. A slight shift in her posture, as if making space for you in her world. A quiet smile before she dips her brush into paint. Sometimes, she’d pull off her headphones for a moment, asking about your day before returning to her art.

It becomes comfortable.

Familiar.

And strangely, you don’t mind it.

One late afternoon, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink, you find yourself back at the garden. The moment your eyes land on her, a sense of calm washes over you.

She’s wearing an oversized sweater today, the sleeves slightly covering her hands as she mixes colors on her palette. Strands of hair fall over her face, but she doesn’t seem to care, too focused on perfecting a stroke.

Without thinking, you take your usual seat on the bench.

She doesn’t speak immediately. Instead, she lets you watch her, like always. The air between you is thick with unspoken words, but neither of you feel the need to fill the silence.

Then—

"Do you ever feel like you don’t belong?"

Her voice is soft, yet it cuts through the air like a whisper of wind.

You blink, caught off guard. "What?"

Tsuki doesn’t look at you. Instead, she tilts her head, eyes scanning the half-finished painting before her.

"Like no matter where you are, you’re always just… observing. Never really part of anything."

Your heart skips a beat.

Because—yes.

You know that feeling all too well.

For years, you’ve been the guy in the background. The quiet one. The one who never quite fit in, never truly stood out. Always watching from the sidelines as life moved around you, never quite knowing where you were supposed to be.

Tsuki finally turns to look at you, her gaze deep and searching. "You seem like someone who understands."

And in that moment, you realize—she sees you.

Not just as some passing stranger, but as someone who might just understand her in a way others don’t.

You swallow hard, your fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie. Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, you say—

"Yeah. I get it."

She smiles then—not her usual teasing one, but something softer. Sadder.

And for the first time, the space between you doesn’t feel so empty anymore.

The days blur together as you find yourself coming back to the garden more often, drawn not just by the peace it offers, but by Tsuki’s quiet presence. You begin to notice the small details about her—the way she hums a song under her breath when she paints, the little frown she gets when she’s frustrated with a stroke, or how her eyes light up when she talks about her art.

There’s a rhythm to it now.

You show up, sit on the bench, and wait for her to acknowledge you. Sometimes she doesn’t speak for a while, lost in her own world of colors. Other times, she’ll turn to you and offer a small conversation—nothing deep, but enough to make you feel like you belong.

It’s during one of those quiet afternoons that something shifts.

You’ve been sitting there for a while, letting your mind wander as Tsuki works, when she suddenly pulls off her headphones and sets them beside her on the bench. Her fingers brush the paint on her canvas absentmindedly, but she doesn’t seem to be focusing.

When you glance up, she’s looking at you.

"You always come here," she says, her voice soft and introspective. "You don’t talk much, but you’re always here. I think I’d miss you if you stopped coming."

Your chest tightens. It’s strange, hearing those words from her. Tsuki—the girl who seemed so self-contained, so distant at times—was saying that she would miss you.

For a moment, you don’t know what to say. The words are stuck in your throat, a mix of surprise and something else—something warmer.

But she seems to understand. She gives you a small, knowing smile and turns back to her canvas.

"I don’t talk to a lot of people," she continues, her fingers tracing an abstract pattern on the canvas. "It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just... I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I can’t say the right things. Like my thoughts don’t fit into words."

You nod slowly. You understand that feeling all too well. It’s exactly why you’ve spent so much of your life hiding away—because words never seemed to come out the way you wanted them to.

After a beat, Tsuki glances at you again, her eyes lingering for a moment before she speaks again.

"I paint because... it’s the only way I can say everything I feel," she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. "Each brushstroke, each color... it’s like I’m finally letting everything out. Everything I can’t say with words."

You watch her, captivated by the raw vulnerability in her eyes. Tsuki, the girl who always seemed so composed, was opening up in a way you hadn’t expected. She wasn’t just telling you about her art; she was telling you about herself.

"I guess painting is my way of breathing," she adds, her voice soft and distant, like she’s lost in the thought. "Without it, I don’t think I’d be able to stay sane."

The air between you feels thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken emotions. For a moment, neither of you says anything. The only sound is the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft scratch of Tsuki’s brush on the canvas.

Finally, you speak, your voice quiet but sincere.

"I get that."

Tsuki turns to look at you, her gaze soft and searching. For the first time, she doesn’t seem like the confident, carefree girl she usually is. Instead, she seems... fragile, like she’s trusting you with a part of herself she’s rarely shared.

"You do?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

You nod, your heart racing in your chest. You don’t know why, but there’s something in her eyes that makes you want to say more—to open up in a way you never have with anyone else.

"I’m not great with words," you begin, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. "I’ve always felt like I’m... in the background. Like I’m not really part of anything. But when I’m here, watching you paint... it feels like, for a moment, I’m part of something. Like I’m... included."

Tsuki’s eyes widen slightly, and her lips part, like she’s about to say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she just looks at you for a long moment, as if taking in what you’ve just shared.

And then—

She smiles.

It’s soft, but it reaches her eyes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. There’s no teasing this time. No playful challenge. Just... a quiet understanding.

"I think I understand you, Y/n," she says, her voice gentle, but with an underlying warmth. "You don’t have to be loud to matter. Sometimes, just being there is enough."

You feel a lump form in your throat. For a moment, you can’t find the words. You just sit there, watching as Tsuki dips her brush into a new color, the motion fluid and effortless, like everything about her is in perfect harmony.

And for the first time, you feel like you’re finally starting to understand her, too.

The days go by, and you start to visit her more frequently.

It’s become a quiet ritual. You arrive, she’s painting, and the two of you share small conversations. Some days, she tells you more about herself—about her family, her childhood, the reasons she started painting in the first place. Other days, she’s quieter, lost in her own world of colors and shapes. But no matter what, there’s always an unspoken connection between you.

And as time passes, it becomes harder to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster when she’s near. The way your stomach flips when she smiles at you. The way you find yourself looking forward to every moment you spend together, even if it’s just sitting in silence.

You’ve always been the kind of person who shied away from feelings—who hid them behind walls of indifference. But with Tsuki, everything feels different.

It’s like she’s slowly breaking down the walls you’ve built around yourself, piece by piece, and you don’t know whether to stop her or let her in completely.

But one thing’s for sure—you don’t want to leave. Not anymore.

The days turn into weeks.

You visit Tsuki more often now—not just out of curiosity, but because something about her presence feels... right. Natural. Like she’s always been part of your world, and you just never noticed until now.

She’s become comfortable with you. You can tell by the way she no longer hesitates to speak, how she pulls off her headphones more frequently to engage in conversation, how she doesn’t seem to mind your quiet nature.

And you—

You’re starting to realize that you crave this.

The sound of her voice, the way her laughter lingers in the air, the gentle scratch of her brush against the canvas. The way her eyes soften when she looks at you, as if she sees something no one else ever has.

You’re drawn to her, in ways you don’t fully understand.

One afternoon, you arrive at the garden expecting to find her where she always is.

But today is different.

She’s sitting cross-legged on the grass instead of her usual seat. Her canvas is on the ground beside her, untouched. Her eyes are fixed on the sky, lost in thought.

You hesitate before approaching, sensing that something is off.

"Hey," you say softly, settling down on the bench.

She doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, she sighs, running a hand through her long, dark hair before finally looking at you.

"Y/n."

There’s something in the way she says your name that makes your stomach flip. It’s not just casual acknowledgment. It’s deeper, heavier.

"Do you ever feel like no matter how much you love something, it’s never enough?"

You blink. "What do you mean?"

Tsuki exhales, tilting her head back. The sunlight catches on her skin, making her look almost ethereal.

"Painting," she says. "It’s everything to me. It’s how I breathe, how I escape. But lately... I don’t know. It’s like I’m stuck. Like no matter how much I try, I can’t make anything feel... real."

You frown, glancing at the blank canvas beside her. You’ve never seen it empty before.

"Is this the first time you’ve felt like this?"

She shakes her head, a dry chuckle escaping her lips. "No. It happens sometimes. I just... I don’t talk about it much."

You hesitate, then ask the question that’s been lingering in your mind for a while.

"Why do you paint, Tsuki?"

She looks at you then, her expression unreadable. But after a moment, she sighs and leans back on her hands, gazing up at the sky.

"When I was a kid, my mom used to paint a lot," she says quietly. "She told me that colors could tell stories better than words ever could. I didn’t understand what she meant back then, but... I do now."

You listen, not interrupting, just letting her talk.

"I started painting because I wanted to hold onto things," she continues. "Memories, feelings, people. I wanted to capture moments so they’d never disappear. But sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I can’t get it right. It’s frustrating. Like I’m losing something important, and there’s nothing I can do about it."

She exhales, shaking her head. "Sorry, that probably sounds stupid."

You shake your head immediately. "No. It doesn’t."

Tsuki studies you for a moment, then smiles faintly. "You’re a good listener, Y/n. I like that about you."

Your heart skips a beat. You open your mouth to say something, but the words don’t come. Instead, you reach out, hesitantly, and pick up her canvas.

"Then let’s paint something together," you suggest, surprising even yourself.

Tsuki raises an eyebrow, amused. "You paint?"

You scratch the back of your neck, a little embarrassed. "Not really. But... I want to try. With you."

For a moment, she just looks at you, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she smiles—soft and genuine.

"Okay."

And just like that, she hands you a brush.

As your fingers brush against hers, a warmth spreads through your chest.

You don’t know what this feeling is yet.

But you know one thing for sure—

You never want to let it go.

Painting with Tsuki becomes a new part of your routine.

At first, you’re terrible at it. Your strokes are clumsy, your colors mix into an unrecognizable mess, and more paint ends up on your hands than on the canvas. Tsuki watches you struggle with an amused smile, occasionally guiding your hand, her fingers grazing yours in a way that makes your heartbeat quicken.

But you don’t mind. Because every moment with her feels... right.

And the more time you spend together, the more you start to notice things.

Like how Tsuki isn’t as confident as she seems.

She’s quiet, often retreating into herself when she thinks no one is watching. Her laughter sometimes sounds forced, as if she’s trying to convince herself that she’s happy. And then there are the days when she doesn’t paint at all—when she just sits there, staring at a blank canvas, lost in thoughts she never shares.

It makes you wonder.

What is she hiding?

One evening, as the sun sets behind the campus, casting long golden shadows, you find Tsuki sitting alone in the garden, her knees pulled to her chest. She isn’t painting. Her headphones are nowhere in sight.

She looks... fragile.

You hesitate before sitting beside her.

"Hey," you say softly.

She doesn’t respond at first. Then, after a long silence, she whispers,

"Do you ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?"

The question catches you off guard.

You glance at her, noting the way her fingers clutch the fabric of her sweater, how her nails dig into her skin as if trying to hold herself together.

"Yeah," you admit. "All the time."

She exhales shakily, nodding as if she expected your answer.

"Me too."

There’s something different about her tonight—something raw, unguarded. You’ve seen her tease, you’ve seen her focused, you’ve even seen her frustrated with her art. But this—this is new.

"Tsuki... are you okay?" you ask gently.

She lets out a small, humorless laugh. "That’s a dangerous question, Y/n."

You wait.

You don’t push, don’t pry. You just wait, giving her space to decide if she wants to let you in.

And after what feels like an eternity, she finally speaks.

"I ran away."

The words hang in the air, heavy and unshakable.

"From what?" you ask carefully.

She closes her eyes for a moment before answering.

"My family."

Your breath catches. You weren’t expecting that.

She swallows hard, staring at the ground. "I grew up in a house where love was... conditional. If I was perfect, if I did what they wanted, then I was worth something. If I made a mistake, if I showed weakness, then I was... nothing."

Your fists clench at her words.

"That’s not love, Tsuki," you say quietly.

She gives you a sad smile. "I know that now. But back then, I just wanted to be good enough. I wanted them to see me. To care."

A lump forms in your throat.

"They didn’t?"

She shakes her head. "Not in the way I needed them to."

Silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken pain.

Then, she takes a deep breath. "One day, I realized that no matter how much I tried, I’d never be what they wanted. And I got tired of pretending. So... I left. I packed a bag, took whatever money I had, and ran."

She looks at you then, her eyes filled with something you can’t quite name.

"That’s why I paint, Y/n. Because if I stop, I’ll remember. And if I remember... it hurts too much."

Your chest tightens.

All this time, you thought Tsuki was free—untouchable, confident in ways you could never be. But now, you realize she’s just like you.

She’s been hiding, too.

She hides behind colors the same way you hide behind silence. She smiles to cover the scars no one else can see. And for the first time, you understand—

You’re not alone.

Neither of you are.

Without thinking, you reach out and gently take her hand. She flinches slightly but doesn’t pull away.

"You don’t have to keep running," you say softly. "Not alone."

She looks at you, her lips parting slightly in surprise.

And then—

She squeezes your hand back.

It’s small. Barely noticeable. But it’s enough.

And in that moment, you know—

You’re falling for her.

Tsuki’s pain isn’t something she talks about often.

But you see it.

In the way her hands tremble when she thinks too much. In the way her smiles sometimes don’t reach her eyes. In the way she stares at her paintings as if she’s searching for something—something she lost a long time ago.

You don’t push her to talk. You just stay.

And somehow, that’s enough.

She starts opening up to you in pieces, small fragments of her past slipping through the cracks.

"My mother loved art, but she never really loved me."

"My father never yelled, but his silence hurt worse."

"I tried to be perfect. I tried so hard. But no matter what I did, it was never enough."

Every word feels like a knife to your heart.

You want to tell her that she was always enough. That she shouldn’t have had to fight for love. That she deserves everything she never got.

But you don’t know how to say it.

So instead, you stay by her side.

You listen.

You understand.

And maybe that’s why she keeps letting you in.

One night, it’s different.

Tsuki is quieter than usual, staring at a half-finished painting in her dimly lit dorm room. You sit on the floor beside her, your shoulder just barely brushing hers.

"Do you ever wish you could go back and change things?" she asks suddenly.

You glance at her. "What do you mean?"

She exhales, shaking her head. "If I had been stronger, maybe I wouldn’t have run away. Maybe I could’ve fixed things. Maybe they would have—"

"Don’t."

She stops, surprised at the firmness in your voice.

You take a deep breath. "Don’t blame yourself for surviving, Tsuki."

Her eyes widen slightly.

"You were never the problem," you continue, your voice softer now. "They should have loved you the way you are. They should have seen how amazing you are. But they didn’t. And that’s not your fault."

Her lower lip trembles. She turns away, but not before you see the way her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"Y/n..."

You swallow hard, heart pounding in your chest.

You’ve been holding back for so long—afraid of saying too much, afraid of ruining what you have. But seeing her like this, breaking under the weight of a past that never loved her—

You can’t keep it in anymore.

"Tsuki, I love you."

The words slip out, raw and real.

Her whole body stiffens.

You feel your pulse hammering in your ears, but you don’t take it back.

"I love you," you repeat, gentler this time. "Not because I pity you, not because I want to fix you. I love you because you’re strong, because you’re kind, because you see the world in colors no one else does. Because when I’m with you, I feel like I belong somewhere for the first time in my life."

Tears spill down her cheeks.

She shakes her head, covering her mouth with her hands, as if trying to hold herself together. But it’s too late. The sobs break through, raw and unfiltered, years of pain crashing down all at once.

"Why...?" she chokes out between ragged breaths. "Why would you love someone like me?"

You move closer, hesitating for only a moment before wrapping your arms around her.

She doesn’t push you away.

Instead, she clings to you, burying her face in your shoulder as she cries.

And you hold her.

For as long as she needs.

For as long as it takes for her to finally believe that she is loved.

Tsuki doesn’t let go.

Her body trembles as she clings to you, her sobs shaking both of you. You don’t know how long you sit there, just holding her, whispering soft reassurances as she soaks your shoulder with her tears.

It could be minutes.

It could be hours.

But you don’t care.

Because right now, all that matters is her.

Eventually, her cries quiet into soft, broken whimpers. Her breathing is uneven, her grip still desperate, as if she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she loosens her hold even slightly.

Then, in a voice so small you almost miss it, she whispers,

"Come with me."

You don’t hesitate.

She stands on unsteady legs, her fingers tightening around your wrist as she leads you out of her dorm. The night air is cold against your skin, but she doesn’t let go of you, and you don’t complain.

She walks fast, as if afraid that if she slows down, you’ll change your mind. But you won’t.

You’d follow her anywhere.

Tsuki’s apartment is small, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. It’s simple—minimal furniture, a bed pushed against the wall, an easel in the corner with half-finished paintings scattered around the room. The faint smell of paint lingers in the air, mixing with something softer, something uniquely hers.

She closes the door behind you, and for a moment, she just stands there.

Then, without warning, she turns and wraps her arms around you again, burying her face against your chest.

"Please stay," she whispers, her voice barely holding together. "I don’t want to be alone tonight. I—I'm scared, Y/n. I'm so scared."

Your heart clenches.

You lift your hand, gently stroking her hair.

"I’m here," you murmur. "I’m not going anywhere."

She exhales shakily, gripping the fabric of your shirt.

"Promise?"

You cup her face, tilting it up so she has no choice but to look at you. Her eyes are swollen from crying, her lips trembling.

"I promise, Tsuki."

A tear slips down her cheek, and you wipe it away with your thumb.

"You don’t have to be afraid anymore," you tell her. "I’ll stay for as long as you need me. And even after that, if you'll have me, I’ll still be here. Because I meant what I said—I love you. And I want to create new memories with you. Happy ones."

She lets out a shaky breath, her eyes searching yours, looking for something—doubt, hesitation, a reason to not believe you. But she finds none.

Instead, she finds warmth.

Safety.

Love.

With a quiet sob, she presses her forehead against yours.

"I don’t deserve you," she whispers.

You shake your head.

"You deserve everything, Tsuki."

She closes her eyes, another tear falling.

But this time, it isn’t from pain.

It's from something softer.

Something she hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

Hope.

And as you pull her into your arms once more, holding her as she lets herself believe—if only just a little—you know that this is only the beginning.

Of something beautiful.

Of something real.

Of something that neither of you will ever have to run from again.

The world outside fades into silence.

Here, in the dim glow of Tsuki’s apartment, it’s just the two of you—wrapped in warmth, in emotion, in something too deep to name.

She clings to you, her body trembling slightly, her breath uneven. But this time, it isn’t from sadness. It’s something else.

Something raw.

Something desperate.

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes still glistening from all the tears she shed. But beneath the vulnerability, there’s something stronger—something unspoken.

Then, she moves.

Soft. Tentative. A quiet plea.

Her lips brush against yours.

A slow, delicate touch—like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she presses too hard. Like she’s still trying to believe this is real.

But you’re here.

And you’re never leaving.

You cup her face gently, deepening the kiss, pouring every unspoken word into it—every promise, every reassurance, every ounce of love you’ve been holding inside for so long.

She melts into you, her hands fisting your shirt as if anchoring herself.

"Y/n..." she whispers against your lips, her voice breaking slightly.

"I’m here," you murmur, your forehead resting against hers. "I’m not going anywhere, Tsuki."

Her breath shudders, and then she pulls you closer—so close there’s no space left between you.

She wants to feel you.

She wants to believe you.

She wants to drown in the warmth you give her, in the love she never thought she’d have.

And so, you let her.

You hold her close, pressing soft kisses against her skin, letting your fingers trace the shape of her as if memorizing every piece of her existence. Every scar, every wound, every part of her that she’s spent so long hiding—you take it all in, worshipping her in a way no one ever has.

And Tsuki?

She gives herself to you. Completely.

Her walls fall, her fears crumble. In this moment, she isn’t the girl who ran away. She isn’t the girl who paints to forget.

She’s just Tsuki.

The girl who needs you.

The girl you love.

And as the night deepens, as your breaths intertwine and your hearts beat as one, you hold her close—whispering, promising, ensuring her that this isn’t a dream.

That you’re real.

That your love is real.

That you’ll never let her go.

Not now.

Not ever.

The first thing you feel is warmth.

A small, delicate weight against your chest, soft breaths fanning over your skin. The scent of paint, vanilla, and something uniquely Tsuki lingers in the air, mixing with the quiet hum of the early morning.

You open your eyes slowly, the dim sunlight filtering through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room.

And there she is.

Tsuki.

Curled up against you, her face buried in your chest, her arms wrapped tightly around you as if afraid you’ll disappear. Her fingers clutch onto your shirt, even in sleep, refusing to let go.

Your heart aches at the sight.

She looks peaceful now, but you remember the way she cried last night, the way she begged you to stay, the way she held onto you like you were the only thing keeping her from breaking.

And now, even in sleep, she still clings to you.

You smile softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

She stirs at the touch, shifting slightly before letting out a quiet sigh.

Then, without warning, she tightens her hold on you, pressing herself closer, burying her face even deeper against your chest.

"Mmm... don’t move..." she murmurs, her voice husky from sleep.

You chuckle, wrapping your arms around her. "Good morning to you too."

She hums softly, nuzzling against you like a kitten seeking warmth.

"Too early..." she mumbles, her fingers gripping your shirt. "Stay like this... just a little longer..."

You smile, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

"Alright. I’m not going anywhere."

She lets out a small, content sigh.

For a long moment, there’s only silence. The soft rise and fall of her breathing, the quiet rhythm of your heartbeats in sync.

Then, she speaks.

"I haven’t woken up like this in years..." she whispers.

You glance down at her, brushing your fingers through her hair.

"Like what?"

She hesitates, then shifts slightly, resting her chin against your chest as she looks up at you. Her eyes, still heavy with sleep, are softer than you’ve ever seen them.

"Safe."

Your breath catches.

You don’t know what to say.

So you just hold her tighter.

And maybe that’s enough.

Because Tsuki smiles—a small, real smile—and buries herself against you again, holding onto you like you’re the only thing she has left in this world.

And maybe, for her, you are.

And you’ll stay.

For as long as she needs.

For as long as she wants.

For as long as forever.

The days pass like a dream.

Tsuki never leaves your side.

She clings to you in the quiet moments, cuddling against you whenever she gets the chance. When you cook, she stands behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist. When you sit on her couch, she curls up beside you, resting her head on your chest. Even in sleep, she never lets go, as if afraid you’ll slip away if she loosens her grip.

And you don’t mind.

You hold her every time.

You whisper reassurances when she needs them. You stay with her through every vulnerable moment, through every silent battle she fights inside her head.

And slowly, Tsuki changes.

She starts to smile more—not the small, fleeting smiles of before, but real ones. Ones that reach her eyes. Ones that carry warmth.

She starts to talk more—not just about her pain, but about her dreams, her hopes, the things that make her heart feel light.

And most of all, she starts to trust you.

Not just in words.

But in the way she looks at you.

In the way she leans into your touch without hesitation.

In the way she reaches for you first, without fear of being left behind.

And that trust—fragile, beautiful, something she’s never given anyone before—means more to you than anything.

One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, Tsuki tugs at your hand.

"Come with me," she says softly.

She leads you to the corner of her apartment where her easel stands. A blank canvas rests on it, waiting.

She hands you a brush.

"Let’s paint something together."

You hesitate.

"I’ve never painted before."

She smiles—one of those soft, secret smiles that make your heart ache.

"Then I’ll teach you."

And so, you do.

You dip your brush into the paint, following her lead, your strokes clumsy at first. But she doesn’t laugh. She only guides you, her fingers brushing against yours, her voice soft as she teaches you how to bring color to the canvas.

Time fades away.

There’s only the two of you.

The quiet hum of the evening. The warmth of her beside you. The colors blending together, shaping something new—something that belongs to both of you.

At some point, she stops painting.

You feel her shift, and then—gently, so gently—she leans her head against your shoulder.

You pause, turning slightly, and there she is—eyes half-lidded, lips curved into the faintest smile.

"Thank you," she whispers.

You don’t ask why.

You already know.

You lift your hand, resting it over hers, fingers intertwining.

And together, in the quiet of her small apartment, with the scent of paint in the air and the weight of her against you, you realize—

This moment.

This warmth.

This love.

It’s everything.

And it’s enough.

The End.

#kpop #kpop x reader #kpop x y/n #x male reader #beautiful #update #kpop smut #vanilla #vanilla sex #romance #past Memories #bad past #trauma #depressed #depression #emotions #love #passion

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steddieprompts · 8 hours ago

Text

part 2 of this thing

The rest of the night the two sat on the couch, ate icecream and watched shitty comedy movies. Steve finally got Eddie to watch Major League and Eddie had to admit it was his favorite sports movie so far.

Eddie fell asleep on the couch as usual and Steve covered him with a blanket before heading to his room for the night.

They didn't talk about the situation with Tommy after that night. In all honestly Steve was happy to see the back of it as well as Tommy himself. Seeing him again was such a violent flashback to the person he was before... he didn't like thinking about it. He hoped Tommy loved New York so much he never stepped foot in Indiana again.

Of course Steve could never be that lucky.

It was a Monday night and the apartment was sweltering.

"I thought Daryl said he fixed the AC?" Steve said, fiddling with the knobs on the unit.

"Daryl says alot of things" Eddie's voice echoed from where his head was stuck in the freezer.

"Let's just go to the movies. At least their AC works," Steve grumbled.

Eddie pulled his head out of the freezer. "I'm in." He agreed and grabbed his wallet off the counter as he followed Steve out of the apartment... before shoving the handful of icecubes he snuck out of the freezer down the back or Steve's tucked in polo. His screech was so loud old lady Laski stuck her head out of her apartment to yell at them.

"Sorry, Muriel!" Eddie said through his cackling before they shoved their way out of the building.

Inside the theater the air was crisp and cool.

"Genius, Stevie," Eddie said, flipping his hair over the back of the seat and sliding down until his ass was almost off the seat. "I gotta pee," he announced and immediately stood back up. Jesus Christ he heard Steve mutter. "You want popcorn?"

"Nah. I'm good." Steve hummed as he closed his eyes.

After the bathroom, Eddie went to the concession stand and got himself a popcorn (large, because he knew Steve would steal some) and Steve a Sprite with extra ice.

When he turned away from the counter he nearly dropped it though. Across the room, just coming in the door, was Hagan.

Why was he still here? Shouldn't he be back in New York by now?

Eddie decided to ignore him... and the other guy he was with, some jock type Eddie faintly recognized from high school. He headed back towards the theater doors, but he wasn't as inconspicuous as he hoped.

Before he could get into the theater, Tommy sidled in front of the door.

"Well look who it is," Tommy smirked at him. "Out without your little body guard?"

"Body guard? Who, Steve?"

"I know he was lying to protect you. I can't figure out why." Tommy said, taking a threatening step toward Eddie.

He had about enough of this.

Eddie mirrored Tommy, taking a step forward and getting obnoxiously close to his face.

"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy," Eddie said his name like he felt so so bad for him, "Steve, the love of my life, is right in there." He tilted his head towards the door, "And believe me, he wasn't protecting me the other night, he was protecting you."

Eddie stared him down for a second before suddenly sticking out his tongue and making a guttural hiss. Tommy startled and jerked back into his jock friend. "Enjoy your film... and try not to think about what's in the dark." Eddie said sweetly before slipping into the theater, but not without hearing Tommy mutter "Freak" as the door closed.

Eddie hustled back to their seats, nearly spilling half the popcorn on the way.

"Steve!" He whisper yelled as he came down the row. He didn't really need to whisper, though, as the only other people in the theater were a couple teenagers in the back. "Steve!" He said again as he plopped down in his seat.

"What? Is that for me?"

"Yeah, yeah, I got you a Sprite, Tommy is here." Eddie said all in one breath. Steve nearly choked on the sip he took. "And I might have talked to him."

"Eddie..."

"And I might have lead him to believe that I cursed him or something. Hissed in his face."

"Wha... why?"

"He called you my body guard. Oh, and you're the love of my life now."

"Body gu... wait. awww you love me??" Steve said, sickly sweet and batting his eyelashes.

"Madly, darling," Eddie replied in his worst trans-atlantic accent. Steve chuckled.

"He seriously said I was your body guard?"

"Yeah he thinks we're pretending."

"Well fuck him."

"That's what I say," Eddie grumbled. He didn't like being called a liar even when he was one.

At the back of the theater the door opened and Steve peaked behind him through the seats and low and behold... Tommy Hagan.

"It's him," Steve grumbled.

"Huh?" Eddie asked, distracted by the movie previews.

"Tommy." He turned to Eddie. "You haven't suddenly developed boundaries in the last five minutes have you?"

"No, why?"

Steve surged forward, pressing his lips to Eddie's and cupping his jaw. Eddie made a surprised noise before pressing back, his hand finding Steve's waist, fisting his shirt.

After a few seconds Steve pulled back, meaning to look over at Tommy to cement the deal, but he got... distracted, watching Eddie's eyes flutter open, seeing how they danced over Steve's face as he processed.

"I see what the big deal is now," He finally said. Steve let out a soft chuckle, still enraptured by Eddie... and wasn't that a thought.

Eddie looked over Steve's shoulder, picking Tommy out in the dark, the light of the screen highlighting him. Slowly Eddie wiggled his fingers at him in a little wave.

Steve finally looked back at him, just in time for Tommy to storm out of the theater, his new cronie following behind.

"Wow," Eddie mused, "That worked surprisingly well." Eddie looked back at Steve, "You think he's jealous?"

"Dude!" Steve whined before sliding down in his seat.

"Think Tommy wants a little King action?"

"If you don't stop, I'm leaving you here and you can walk home."

Eddie cackled, settling down as the movie started.

But Steve couldn't concentrate. Kissing Eddie was... nice. To be fair, Steve hadn't been with anyone in a while but... that wasn't entirely the reason. He felt something he hadn't felt in a while. As cliche as it sounded... he felt a spark.

Maybe Eddie had felt it too.

The movie went by too fast but when they stepped back outside the sun had set and the heat had dissipated. Tommy was no where to be found.

As they drove home, Eddie was strangely reserved. They talked about the movie, about going to work in the morning, but the conversation didn't take any wild turns like they usually did. Steve didn't even have to scold Eddie for sitting sideways in the seat.

When they got back into the apartment Eddie didn't flop down on the couch or root around in the fridge, just said he was gonna head to bed before going into his room. Steve looked at the clock. It was only 8:30.

He tried to ignore it, but he couldn't. He brushed his teeth, changed his clothes, sat down and turned on the TV, but he couldn't ignore how strange it was. And it wasn't hard to guess why.

He shook out his shoulders before he knocked on Eddie's door.

"Yeah?" Eddie called from inside, Steve could here him quietly picking at his guitar.

"Can we talk? Please?"

The guitar stopped and Eddie opened the door, already in the ratty black Sabath shirt he usually slept in.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry... but I'm not."

"About what?"

"Kissing you like that. I should have... given you more warning."

"It's alright, Steve, I'm not mad."

"Maybe not, but something is wrong."

"It's fine, Steve, don't worry about it."

"No," Steve's hand shot out as Eddie tried to close his door. "I'm sorry, Eddie. I just... Please just talk to me, okay?" His hand dropped from the door, but caught Eddie's fingers on the way. He tangled them together before asking softly, "please?"

Eddie looked at their hands before saying "What is this?" He looked up at Steve taking a steadying breath, but it barely got rid of the tightness, the wobble. "What...?"

"Eddie, I know how this started but I can help but feel maybe... I dont know. I think there's something. Maybe we've been ignoring it."

"Are you fucking with me, Steve? Because I can't..." Eddie hated how his throat was closing up with fear, with hope.

"I'm not, I promise you," Steve stepped forward, tightening his grip on Eddie's hand, "I've never felt so at home with someone, so happy, and kissing you... Eddie. I can't let this go unless you tell me to."

Eddie swallowed, swallowed again, until he got enough courage to lean forward, softly, gently, and pressed his lips to Steve's for the second time that night.

The kiss was soft and gentle until he felt Steve smile against his lips and he couldn't hold back. He felt himself laugh as he pressed forward, Steve pulling him back until they hit the wall across the hall, laughing when it took Steve by surprise. They broke apart, Steve peppering kisses up Eddie's cheek to his temple.

"You uh," Steve said through a smile, "You want to go out sometime?"

Eddie threw his head back as his happiness and relief burst out of him in a laugh. "Yeah, sweetheart," Eddie smiled at him. "Let's go out."

#steddie #with a side of shitty tommy hagan

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silentstaresfanficandfanart · 2 hours ago

Text

you know this post seems a lil sad to me, cause when I was stuck in a corn maze I only managed to get out because there was an enthusiastic effort amongst everyone in the corn maze to help one another get through it, pointing the way and offering hints and asking questions When I was in the dmv so miserably early the doors hadn't even opened yet people were bringing over big buckets for others to sit on, and when inside there were so many random acts of kindness between the individuals there and silly little interactions that by the time I finally got my driving test done there was an air of kinship in the air and I only got out so quickly because another person realized she'd gotten something wrong paperwork wise and gave me her place in line

And when I hurt my wrist as a kid everyone kindly held open doors for me at every turn When my mom and I got stranded in the middle of no where thanks to a car issue like 5 different people stopped by our car and asked if we were okay, offered to help, (we were waiting for the repair guys or something like that) and warned us "its a bad area so be careful" and yet not once did anything bad happen at all, every person we saw was kind and worried for our wellbeing...(which while that does make me wonder what on earth they were trying to warn us about it did give me the impression at the time that perhaps they just all had some sort of beef with other, but i was a little kid so I wouldnt really know, it seemed to me like it was in fact a much nicer than average area)

When tragedy strikes don't people rush out to help?

When there's a hurricaine, a fire, a tornado, an earthquake, don't neighbors rush to help and protect one another? don't we try to save each other? don't we express heartache and rage when the first response ISINT to help? Why is it that our first response is rage? grief? heartbreak? when the first response to a bad situation is to take advantage of it or to abandon those suffering, or worse yet, to yank them back down?

Because we are social animals Crabs dont likely understand why they cant get out or even that theyre forcing the other crabs to stay in the bucket when they yank and pull, they just think its a way to pull themselves up, they dont have enough going on to grasp how physics works or to be cruel and want others to suffer with them.

Selfishness does exist, but it's not the rule

it's the exception, and we shout and point when it happens.

Of course we notice, because kindness is the rule

do we know the names of every single individual to ever save another human life? let alone to save thousands? Have we memorized the names of heroes who eradicated disease or created safety guidelines or fought for rights and for goodness in this world? Is it not the names of those we revile that we focus on most

telling our children of their crimes?

Why don't we focus more on every hero? Because theres just too many of them, because being a good decent human being is the norm.

Maybe not perfect, maybe even a pretty messed up human being but with a good heart, goodness knows I know a lot of people who while you might not say "thats a great person" you'd also never call them cruel or evil, just that they could use some help or deserve better lives.

I truly believe humans for the most part are good, and I say this without denying the evil exists. I am vividly, horrifically aware of the darkness in this world, but I refuse to let that define our race because to do so would be to excuse those who chose to do the wrong thing.

I believe humans are above all else, defined by the fact we can chose right or wrong. I dont want those who do evil to be the ones who represent us, in my mind or in anyone elses mind

They are the exception to a kinder rule.

this is just a me ramble though , my opinion thats not more valuable than anyone elses, just one I felt like sharing, because maybe it will bring someone some relief...

I used to feel guilty as a child for being human, for being something as horrible as that, and I know maybe some others did or do too

But remember please like mewtwo once said, its not the circumstances of your birth which defines you, but what you do with the gift of life.

we are not evil we are capable of it.

we are not good

we are capable of it.

and we will do both in our lives.

but I have been pleasantly surprised now that I'm older and know more about the world to see that in fact the world isint just like in history books overflowing with grief and pain, and convinced that since everyone said children were naive and unaware, that it must be worse than I could ever imagine

but in fact the world is full of the mundane, and every day normal people go about their lives and chose to be decent to one another and often do much more kindness than we will ever know.

I'm glad we arent crabs in a bucket

i love you all

people are like "if you put crabs in a bucket they can't escape because they keep pulling each other back in, this is called crab bucket mentality and describes why people don't help each other" and never acknowledge that crabs do not naturally occur in buckets, a human with more power had to put them there

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mattatouilletkachuk · 3 days ago

Note

For Sunny’s Season of Love may i please request number 18 with mat barzal please

You’re my Solace || Mat Barzal

Prompt: “You are my love. You are my home. You are everything.”

WC: 726

Early morning wrapped in your soft blankets with your boyfriend's arms snuggled tightly around you were your favorite types of mornings. Only a sliver of light shows through your curtains and a quiet groan escapes your lips as you stretch and roll over to place your head on Mat’s chest and wrap an arm around his own strong torso. Matt sighed quietly and pulled you tighter to him.

You likely would be able to fall asleep again but you basked in the warmth of your boyfriend. You peeked up through your lashes to let your eyes flicker across Mat’s face. He looked peaceful. Much more than yesterday where he was grumbling and frowning and tossing things around after the Islanders lost to the Leafs. There was still a wrinkle in between his dark brows but other than that he seemed at peace.

His lips were chapped and parted and his hair was a mess. You liked this version of him. The version that only you got to witness and no one else. You reached up slowly to brush a stray piece of his hair away from his face but he groaned as you pulled your hand away. His eyes blinked open slowly as he took in his surroundings and you.

“Mornin’” he smiled down at you, his voice rough and husky from sleep.

“Good morning,” you smiled back and gave him a chaste kiss, to which he whined about when you pulled away.

It took a minute for him to fully wake up but when he did he looked around the room. Sitting up and letting you fall backwards on the bed he frowned as he checked the blankets.

“What are you looking for?” You questioned, even though you had an idea of what the answer would be.

“My phone. I have to check the others. See what the couch had to say after last night's loss.” He said frantically.

“That’s too bad,” you said nonchalantly as you laid back on your soft pillows. Mat looked back at you quizzically. “I took your phone last night and hid it because I knew you would panic about it this morning.”

“Babe, this is important.”

“I know,” you reached a hand out to run a comforting hand up and down his arm. “You need some time to decompress. Maybe lay in for a bit and eat before you look at your phone.”

It took a minute before he sighed and nodded. He laid back down but instead of pulling you to him, he wrapped himself around you. His head resting on your stomach and hands fisted anxiously in your sleep shirt.

“It’s just so hectic lately.” He mumbled into your clothes stomach. You hummed in acknowledgment and ran your hands through your hair.

“I know, baby. All that’s needed from you today is to rest. And think about it, at least tomorrow you have today off.”

Mat didn’t say anything at first but his tense body relaxed. You hoped you had said the right thing.

“Tomorrow’s Valentine's Day.”

“I know.”

“I’m off tomorrow.”

“I know that, too.”

Mat sat up suddenly, a wide childlike smile on his face. “Baby, I always have a game or a roadie on Valentine's Day. We’ve never spent it together in person. For the past five years, it has been through phone calls or Facetime.”

You hadn’t realized it before he said it. A giddy feeling overtook you at the thought of spending the day meant for love with Mat. You smiled back at him.

“I should plan something extravagant. A candlelit dinner. Your favorite meal. Maybe I could hire a band to serenade-“

You cut him off with a giggle and a hand to pause him. “It doesn’t have to be some grand event, Mat. As long as I get to spend the day with you.”

It took him a minute but soon he was curled around you again.

“Even if this is how we spend tomorrow. Just snuggling in bed. Maybe ordering doordash?”

“Would that be enough for you?” You asked, hesitant. He was so excited about an extra grand plan. Maybe this wasn’t enough.

Mat looked at you from his spot on your stomach. “Of course, this is enough. You are my love. You are my home. You’re everything. So as long as tomorrow is spent with you, I’m happy.”

#mat barzal x reader #mat barzal #mathew barzal #mathew barzal x reader #Sunnys season of love #mat barzal imagine #nhl imagines

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targtowerxstark · 3 days ago

Note

Hello dear, since your request are open, can you write about dragon dreamer reader as cregan wife? Thankyouu and have a nice day🙃🙃🙃🥰

I love this idea!!!. I’m working through requests now !!and please flood my inbox i love everyone’s ideas 🫶🏼

The Dreamer of Winterfell

Cregan Stark X Dragon dreamer wife

The wind howled across the vast, snow-covered lands of Winterfell, a relentless force that swept through the stone halls, rattling the windows and echoing through the chambers. Inside the great keep, a fire burned brightly in the hearth of the great hall, casting warm flickers of light across the carved wooden tables and the banners of House Stark.

Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell, sat in his high seat, his broad frame casting a long shadow across the stone floor. His mind was far from the revelry of the feast that had begun earlier in the evening. He had other matters to attend to, matters far more pressing than the politics of the North. His thoughts were with his wife, the Lady y/n Targaryen, the dragon-blooded princess from the distant lands of the south.

Y/n, his beloved, had been restless these past few nights. She would wake him in the early hours, eyes wide and searching, speaking of dragon dreams that none could understand but her. Cregan had always been a man of reason, of solid ground beneath his feet, but he knew his wife was no ordinary woman. The blood of dragons ran through her veins, and with it, strange gifts—gifts that often brought her torment.

Tonight, as the wind whispered against the stone walls, y/n stood before the great window in their chamber, her slender form silhouetted against the pale moonlight. She was gazing out over the snow-draped landscape, her face pale and drawn with worry.

“y/n,” Cregan’s deep voice broke through the silence, causing her to turn. He had removed his cloak and gloves, his heavy fur-lined tunic still warm from the fire, but the coldness in his heart remained. “What is it? Another vision?”

She turned fully to face him, her violet eyes darker than usual, as if she had been drawn into some shadowy world from which she could not escape. “It was… different this time, my love,” she said softly, her voice a mix of sorrow and confusion. “The dragon called to me again, but this time… it did not speak in flames, Cregan. It was in whispers—dark, cold whispers.”

Cregan’s brow furrowed. He had long since learned that y/n’s dreams were no mere trappings of the mind. “Tell me, my lady,” he said, stepping closer to her, his large hands gently resting on her shoulders. “What did you hear?”

She closed her eyes, as though trying to recapture the vision. “The whispers spoke of a great shadow,” she murmured. “A darkness that would come from the farthest reaches of the North, from lands no man knows. It will bring the cold and death, Cregan. It will erase everything.”

His grip tightened slightly, though he remained calm. “You know that the dragons of old spoke in riddles. These whispers may be no more than a warning, but the true meaning may remain hidden.”

Y/n shook her head, her silver-blonde hair shimmering in the light of the hearth. “This time, I do not think it is just a warning. It feels like a truth, one that will soon come to pass. I saw it—so clearly. A frozen Lord, as white as snow, with eyes like blue sapphires. It sleeps beneath the ice and rises in the North, and the lands freeze in its wake. There is nothing left but frost and death.”

Cregan’s heart sank at her words. As much as wanted to believe these were just bad dreams, the very idea of a frozen lord, sleeping beneath the ice, bringing death to the lands he held so dear was a thought he could not bear. “You speak of something similar to white walkers my love, A threat of such power would be a terror to all the realm,” he said, his voice low and troubled. “But how can we stop it?”

Y/n turned away from him, walking slowly toward the window once more. She placed a hand on the cool glass, her breath fogging up the pane as she stared out into the vast, snow-filled night. “I do not know,” she said quietly. “The vision was so clear, so vivid, but there is nothing more. No answer. Only the certainty that it is coming.”

Cregan stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the world pressing on him. He had long known that the Targaryens carried both fire and blood, but it seemed that the gift his wife bore would soon bring them both to a crossroads.

"Y/n," he said, moving closer to her, his voice firm but filled with compassion. "We will face this together. Whatever this darkness is, whatever this cold might bring, we will stand as one. The North is strong, and so are we. The gods may have gifted you with these visions, but it is our will that will shape the future."

She turned to him, her eyes softening. "You have always been my strength, my love," she whispered, reaching out to take his hand in hers. "But I fear that even the might of Winterfell may not be enough to face what is coming."

Cregan's grip on her hand tightened. "Then we will seek out the answers,y/n. We will not sit idle and wait for this terror to claim us.“

Y/n closed her eyes, her forehead resting gently against his chest. “And what of the dream? The whispers of the cold and death? Should we ignore them?”

Cregan stroked her hair gently. “No,” he said firmly. “We will not ignore them. But we must prepare—seek counsel, gather strength. We will go to our allies, to those who know of the white walkers and the old prophecies. The North may be our home, but there are forces beyond the Wall and beyond the Reach that we must understand.”

Y/n pulled away slightly, her eyes meeting his. “You believe we can stop it?”

Cregan pulled her closed and whispered in her ear.

“We can only try my love”

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curly-fry-3 · 2 days ago

Text

𖦹An Old Friend𖦹

summary 𖦹 dean is worried for sam and calls up and old friend to talk some sense into him

pairing 𖦹 Sam Winchester x reader (platonic? might change in future chapters)

word count 𖦹 1,282

notes 𖦹 this is my first time writing soooo give me tips and stuff

Dean was worried. Sure, he's always worried about something, but right now he's extremely worried for sam. Sam’s drinking demon blood. It's not right, no matter how much Sam thinks it is, no matter how much Ruby tries to convince him it is. Dean can't trust Ruby– how could he–he'd be stupid if he did, but Sam trusts her, and Dean knows it's leading him down a dark path. But Sam wont listen to Dean, Sam thinks he knows better, he just keeps telling Dean that he's fine (when is that ever true), he keeps saying that this is a good thing. Dean needs to get through to him how wrong this is. So Dean calls you.

You and Sam had been friends since diapers, both of your fathers dropping you off at Bobby's periodically. You two had been attached at the hip, never scared to tell eachother anything. You and Sam would sit on the hood of one of Bobby's scrap cars talking about everything, both dreaming of having a normal life. After Sam went to Stanford you stopped talking but you never resented him for it, you were happy he got out of the hunting life. You got out too, went to college, got a degree, got your dream job, and lived a normal life. You never expected to get a call from Dean after not talking for years.

When you picked up you could immediately tell that something was wrong.

“Dean?” you ask concerned

“Hey Y/N….I- I hate to ask this, I know you have a normal life now…” Dean starts

“What's wrong, are you ok, is this about sam” you ask hurriedly

“Actually yeah, it is…I need your help talking some sense into him…im worried, he’s…god he's…he just need some guidance…he won't listen to me” dean says, struggling to find the right words

“What…i'm comin- where are you” you respond immediately, already packing a bag

“Im sorry, I know its a lot to ask” dean blabbers

“Shut up, it has to be serious if you're calling me…i'll always come to help you…to help sam” you respond, knowing dean feels bad bring you back into the life (his words not yours)

“Thank you” Dean guiltily accepts your help

After Dean explained Sam's situation, you sped over to the motel Sam and Dean were staying at. None of this sounded like Sam, working with a demon, trusting a demon. What had he been through in these past couple years. You wish you were there for him sooner, who knows what the blood is doing to him. Sure it's giving him powers but what else could it be doing to him, you've never dealt with this before. All you knew is that Sam needed help, and Dean seemed to think you were the only one Sam would listen to.

So here you were, outside the motel door. You knock and wait for an answer. Dean cracks the door open and when he sees it's you, quickly lets you inside.

You stand in front of Dean for a couple seconds, taking in his appearance, noticing how much he's changed. He looks tired, stressed. You hug him “long time no see….I missed you” you say sincerely.

He quickly hugs you back, “missed you too, Y/N/N…im glad youre here” he mutters fondly.

When you pull away you take in the state of the motel room, messy beds, empty food containers, no sam. “Where is he” you ask

Deans expression hardens “I don't know”

“What…what do you mean” you question

“I mean, he left in the middle of the night–no note” Dean answers

“Its after noon…why is he not back yet”

“I assume he's doing some top secret shit with Ruby”

You shake your head “Some peoples kids” you reply trying to lighten the conversation

You both turn your heads when you hear the door handle jingle and Sam steps into the room. The second Sam steps into the motel room the mood shifts and Dean steps outside to give us some space

Sam freezes, “Y/N?”

You smile when you see him, how the hell was he taller? “Sam.” You respond and take in his change in appearance. He's different, definitely been through way too much shit, he looks exhausted, god when's the last time he slept, he definitely looks like he needs help.

“What are you doing here? I thought you lived a couple states away?” Sam asked, worried.

“I do….uh…Dean called me.” you answer.

Sams expression shifts “why would he do that, he knows you stopped hunting, i'm gonna have a word with him, i'm so sorry-” He starts going off

“Sam” You interrupt ”calm down…I missed you” you bring him into a hug.

Sam reciprocates your hug immediately and pulls back to look down at you, “I know you didnt come all the way out here just cause you missed me”

You pull away from the hug and look up at sam “no I didn't…Dean told me…about Ruby”

“What about her?” He asks defensively

“Sam shes a-” You start

He quickly interrupts you, “All she's done is help us. She's never lied to us…never given us a reason to distrust her-”

“She's a demon, that should be enough reason” You state firmly

“She's helping me be stronger, I can kill demons like nothing..this is good, why can't you see that” He tries to justify

You start getting frustrated with him. Has he always been this stubborn? “You don't know what it could do to you! Sure you can kill demons now but you don't know the long term effects.”

Sam looks away with anger, not knowing how to respond.

You move and force him to meet your eyes “You know I'm right sam. I don't want you to get hurt…I care about you….youre still my best friend”

Sam still doesn't meet your gaze, he's still angry but his features soften when you express your concern “I'm finally strong enough”

You sigh frustrated, “You've always been strong, your built like a damn moose…I know you're trying to do what's right…it's always what you're trying to do…but I don’t think this is right”

He quickly gets angry again, “How do you know what's right…you don't know what's going on…I haven't talked to you in years and you show up telling me what to do with my life…I don't need your guidance…go back to your picket fence and perfect green yard.”

Your jaw drops at his harsh words “Sam…you don't mean that”

He looks away from you defiantly, refusing to respond

This time you don't try and meet his gaze, “Fine…you know I thought maybe we could start talking again…but I guess you want nothing to do with me…Dean was right…this Ruby is no good for you…you would have never been this mean to me, or Dean…you should listen to him…I get you don't value my opinion, i've been gone, but dean has been with you this whole time–and he's usually right”

Sam continues to avoid your gaze “goodbye” he says curtly.

You sigh and except he isn't gonna change his opinion on this, “Wow ok… goodbye sam…call me when you realize how wrong you are”

You start to reach out to hug him goodbye but awkwardly retract your arms and step outside to hug dean goodbye then you head back home. You had hoped Sam was better than this, that dean was worried over nothing. God you wish it was nothing, but this is bad, and it isn't gonna end well. You know Sam wont listen to you, he's in too deep, you just hope he'll listen to dean and dean will keep you updated.

ok I think I'm gonna make this a series um sorry if there are any typos please give me tips

also should it stay platonic or do we want to see sam and reader get together let me know

hope y'all enjoyed<333

@uranometrias

#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #fanfic #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n

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