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d-z20 · 2 days ago

Text

One Last Drink (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You're out for casual drinks with your friend Agatha, who you may or may not find extremely attractive—it's too bad she doesn't like you like that. She convinces you to stay for another round but this drink sends you over the edge and Agatha has to help you home

- OR -

Agatha spikes your drink and then fucks you in your bed like the good friend she is

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, dub/non-con, smut, Dark Agatha, alcohol, drugging/drink spiking, thigh riding (A doing), fingering (R recv),

Words: 2.7k

A/N: Just to repeat: this fic contains drink-spiking and non-con smut so if that is something that triggers you, please do not read. Requested Fic

AO3 | Master List

The hum of conversation and clinking glasses fills the air, mingling with the faint melody of a piano drifting from a corner of the dimly lit bar. You and Agatha have claimed your usual spot—a small, worn booth tucked away near the back, where the shadows seem to linger longer than they should. It always feels a little darker here, but it doesn’t matter when you’re with her. Agatha’s presence has a way of consuming everything else.

She sits across from you, an effortless vision of elegance. The soft glow from the overhead lamp catches the curve of her cheekbone and illuminates the knowing smirk tugging at her lips. She nurses a glass of red wine, swirling it lazily in her hand as her eyes fix on you with an intensity that makes your skin tingle. Agatha always has this way of looking at you—like she knows more than she lets on. Like she knows you inside and out.

“You’re quiet tonight, doll,” she says, her voice a velvety thread winding its way around your mind. “You alright over there?”

You tear your gaze from the half-empty cocktail in your hand, giving her a crooked smile. “Yeah, just… thinking. You always make me pick my poison, and somehow I still end up blacking out by the end of the night.”

Her smirk widens, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face before she takes a slow sip of her wine. “You’ve got the tolerance of a baby bunny, darling. Not my fault you can’t keep up.”

You roll your eyes, chuckling as you lean back in the booth. “You’re probably right. But it’s weird—it only happens when we come here. What do they put in these drinks?”

The comment is light, a joke meant to tease, but Agatha’s smile sharpens at the edges. She tilts her head, her gaze slipping down to your drink and lingering there for just a beat too long. “Oh, honey,” she teases, leaning closer, allowing you to see down her top. “They’re just making sure you have a good time.”

Your breath hitches, the heat of her proximity sending a shiver down your spine. You’ve always found Agatha attractive, but it’s a secret you keep buried deep. There’s no way she feels the same; her flirty nature is just who she is. It’s not real. It can’t be.

You laugh, shaking your head as you lift your glass for another sip. “Well, here’s to waking up in one piece tomorrow.”

Agatha’s lips quirk as she raises her glass in a mock toast, her eyes never leaving yours. “I’ll drink to that,” she says smoothly, her tone carrying an edge of amusement. But as you glance away to scan the bar, her gaze darkens ever so slightly, her smile fading as she mutters something low under her breath—something just out of earshot.

—

“Alright,” you say, setting your glass down with a thud. “I think I’m done for the night. I should head back.”

Agatha’s lips curve into a sly smile, and she reaches out, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Not so fast, doll. Just one more round—my treat. What do you say?”

You hesitate, your resolve already wavering under the weight of her gaze. It’s those eyes, dark and piercing, that seem to strip you bare every time they meet yours.

“Fine,” you relent, trying to sound casual. “But just one more.”

Agatha’s smile widens, and she gives your cheek a playful pat. “That’s my girl. Sit tight.”

You watch her glide to the bar, her movements unhurried, deliberate, and far too mesmerising. The way her hips sway under the dim lights makes your breath hitch, and you curse yourself silently for the hundredth time that night. This is agony. Agatha isn’t just beautiful; she’s magnetic, commanding the attention of anyone with the misfortune to look her way—including you.

You drag a hand through your hair, a quiet groan slipping past your lips. What are you even doing? Agatha is your friend. Your friend. The idea of being anything more is a fantasy you let linger too long after nights like these. She couldn’t possibly know how she makes your pulse race or how the heat of her gaze seems to settle between your thighs. And even if she did know, why would it matter? Women like her don’t look at you like that.

By the time she returns, her signature smirk is firmly in place, two glasses in hand. She sets one down in front of you with a deliberate slowness that has your heart skipping a beat. As the amber liquid swirls in the glass, you think you catch the faint remnants of something dissolving at the bottom, but the hazy glow of the bar lights and the alcohol coursing through you make it easy to dismiss.

Agatha slides into the booth beside you, closer than necessary, her thigh brushing against yours and staying there. “Cheers, sweetheart,” she says, her voice dripping with amusement. She raises her glass, her piercing gaze locking with yours as the corners of her mouth curl into a devilish smile.

“Cheers,” you manage, clinking your glass against hers. You take a sip, the liquor’s burn sliding down your throat and pooling in your stomach like molten heat. You lean into her just a little, the warmth of her body grounding you as the room begins to feel a bit fuzzier from the alcohol.

“Y/N,” Agatha drawls, her voice thick with a teasing edge. “Are you getting tipsy on me now?” She reaches up, her fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch lingers longer than it should, her dark eyes gleaming with something you can’t name. “Poor thing. You really can’t handle your alcohol, can you?”

You laugh weakly, the sound catching in your throat as the warmth in your chest grows into a pleasant haze. “I can handle it,” you protest, though your slurred words betray you. You slump slightly against her, your cheek brushing her shoulder, and her hand comes to rest on your arm, steadying you.

She mock-coos at you, her voice dripping with a patronising sweetness that makes your stomach flutter. “Oh, honey,” she says with a soft laugh. “You’re so cute like this. Don’t worry—I’ll take care of you.”

The promise in her tone sends a thrill through you, but you quickly bury it beneath another sip of your drink, hoping more alcohol will drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind. She doesn’t mean it the way you want her to. She could never.

—

When you finally leave the bar, the cool night air is a welcome relief against your flushed skin. Agatha’s arm is around your waist, steadying you as you stumble slightly on the uneven sidewalk. You can feel the strength in her grip, her fingers brushing against the bare skin of your hip where your shirt has ridden up.

“I’ve got you,” she teases, her breath warm against your temple. “You’re safe with me.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you mumble, embarrassed. “I’m fine.”

Agatha chuckles, a dark, velvety sound that makes your stomach flip. “Oh, sweetheart, I insist. Besides, I wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone in this state—there are some real creeps in the world.”

Her tone is light, but there’s something else beneath it, something darker that you can’t quite place. You glance up at her, but her expression is unreadable; her eyes are fixed ahead as she half-carries you toward your apartment.

When you reach your door, Agatha helps you inside, her touch lingering just a moment too long as she steadies you against the wall. You watch her through half-lidded eyes as she moves around your small living room, turning off the lights and drawing the curtains.

“Alright, darling,” she says, turning back to you with a gentle smile. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die on your lips as she steps closer, her hands resting on your hips. She guides you toward your bedroom, her touch firm yet gentle, and you can’t help but lean into her.

“You’re too good to me,” you utter, your words slurring slightly.

Agatha’s lips quirk up in a smirk. “You deserve it, doll.”

She helps you sit on the edge of your bed, her hands lingering on your arms as she crouches in front of you. Her eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the world seems to tilt, the air between you thick and heavy.

When you sway slightly, still perched on the edge of your bed, Agatha’s hands steady you again, her touch warm but searing, her fingers curling gently around your arms. Her smile softens into something almost tender, her sharp eyes roaming over your flushed face.

“Let’s get you comfortable, sweetheart,” she murmurs, her voice low, dripping with something you can’t quite place.

Before you can respond—as if you even have the strength—her hands are already at the hem of your shirt. Her fingers brush your bare skin as she lifts it over your head, the cool air against your torso making you shiver. You blink sluggishly, caught in the haze of exhaustion and alcohol, watching her through heavy eyes as she kneels in front of you, utterly unhurried.

“I can do it myself," you protest weakly, barely able to form words.

She silences you with a chuckle, her dark curls brushing against your thighs as she leans forward slightly. “Hush, darling. Let me take care of you.”

Her hands work deftly, undoing the button of your jeans and tugging them down your legs, her nails grazing your skin just enough to make you shiver again. She hums softly, a pleased sound in the back of her throat, as she folds your clothes neatly and sets them aside. You start to question why she always seems so at ease, so practiced, but the thought slips away like water through your fingers when her gaze meets yours again—steady and smouldering.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous,” she murmurs, her lips curling into that familiar smirk. But there’s something darker behind it now, something that sends a tingle racing down your spine.

Heat rises to your face as you try to look away, but her hand cups your cheek, guiding your gaze back to her. The room feels impossibly warm as she leans closer, her lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s soft at first. But then she presses harder, her tongue slipping past your lips with a confidence that leaves you breathless.

You can’t think, can’t do anything but let her guide you as she kisses her way down your neck, her lips and teeth grazing over the sensitive skin there. “I’ll make you feel so good, doll,” she whispers against your collarbone, her voice a dark promise that makes your pulse quicken. “I always do.”

The words don’t quite register—blurred and hazy—but you can’t focus on anything except the way her lips trail lower, her hands bracing your thighs to part them slightly. She presses you back against the bed, her weight a gentle but undeniable force as she crawls over you.

Agatha straddles your thigh, and you can feel the heat of her arousal even through the thick fabric of her pants. You gasp softly, the sound catching in your throat when her lips close around your nipple. Her tongue flicks over the sensitive bud, teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper, your body arching instinctively into her touch.

“Shh, that’s it, darling,” her voice vibrates against your skin as her fingers trail lower. Her hand slides over your stomach, then further, her touch maddeningly slow as she brushes against the edge of your underwear. “Let me take care of everything. You trust me, don’t you?”

Her words melt into you, warm and liquid, as her fingers slip beneath the fabric, her touch firm but teasing. She drags her lips from your chest, her gaze catching yours as she smirks again, her expression dark and knowing.

You couldn’t stop her even if you wanted to.

And somewhere, in the fog of your mind, you feel the faintest flicker of familiarity—of déjà vu, as if you’ve been here before, like this, with her. But before you can grasp the thought, it disappears, swallowed by the sensations overtaking you.

“That’s it,” Agatha purrs, her hand moving in deliberate, measured strokes as she leans in to kiss you again, her lips claiming yours with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt. “You’re mine, sweet girl. Always have been.”

Agatha’s fingers dip lower, teasing for a moment before sliding inside you with a deliberate push. You gasp, your body tensing briefly before melting into her touch. Her other hand grips your thigh, urging you to press up against her as she grinds herself down on your leg. The raw desperation in her movements sends shivers through you; her rhythm measured but insistent.

“Fuck, you’re so responsive,” she groans, her voice dripping with amusement and hunger. Her hips roll against your thigh, breath hitching as she finds her rhythm. The friction between her and your skin sends a flood of heat pooling in your stomach, the coil tightening with every slow, deliberate movement.

You whimper as her fingers thrust inside you, brushing against that spot that makes your toes curl and your breath catch. “A-Agatha…” you breathe, your voice trembling with need.

“Hm?” she hums, her lips quirking into a smirk as her pace quickens. She presses her forehead to yours, her breaths coming in shallow, ragged bursts. “You gonna come for me, sweet girl? I can feel how close you are.”

You nod helplessly, your nails digging into the sheets as waves of pleasure build higher and higher, your thighs trembling beneath her. The noises spilling from your lips are shameless, needy, and only seem to spur her on.

Agatha’s own moans fill the air, low and breathy, her hips grinding harder against your thigh as her fingers work you with precision. “You make it so damn difficult,” she huffs through her moans, her voice tinged with frustration. “If you’d just make a goddamn move when you’re sober, I wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble to make you feel good.”

Her words barely register in your haze, too intoxicated to make sense of anything, your mind too clouded by the overwhelming sensation of her touch, the push and pull of pleasure that threatens to undo you. Her hand grips your thigh harder, anchoring herself as her movements grow more frantic and desperate.

The coil in your stomach snaps, and you cry out, your body arching as the climax crashes over you in waves. Agatha follows moments later, her hips jerking as a guttural moan escapes her lips, her body trembling against yours.

She doesn’t stop right away, her fingers and hips moving through the aftershocks, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re both breathless and spent. Slowly, she stills, her lips brushing over your damp skin as she catches her breath.

Agatha climbs off you with a satisfied smirk, the weight of her absence both a relief and a strange ache. “Stay put, darling,” she mocks softly; you’re too drugged up to move anyway. Then she disappears into the bathroom.

You barely register the sound of water running before she returns, a damp cloth in one hand and a glass of water and some aspirin in the other. She cleans you with practiced care, her touch gentle but efficient, before setting the glass and aspirin on the bedside table.

“Agatha…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. But the words catch in your throat as she cups your cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over your skin.

“Hush, darling,” she says softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Just rest.”

You nod, your head still feeling floaty, letting her pull the comforter over you. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel her fingers brush against your hair, her touch gentle yet possessive.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” she purrs, her voice carrying a dark undertone that sends a shiver down your spine.

And then she’s gone, the door clicking softly shut behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the lingering scent of her perfume.

Outside your apartment, Agatha adjusts her coat, her smirk widening as she descends the stairs. She knows you won’t remember a thing by morning—you never do; she always makes sure of that.

-----

Yes, reader wants to be fucked by Agatha but drunk (and drugged) people cannot consent. That is why I marked it as non-con rather than just dub-con

Not that you needed reminding but please don't do this in the real world, folks it is very much illegal and just a dick move in general

-----

Taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33

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captain-huggy-bear · 1 day ago

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"Can- Can you come over please?" (I believe prompt list 1 number 80?) with whoever you're inspired for please 😊 thank you! - em

Em, it was giving soft boy Luke who's maybe feeling shitty after a bad game, so I hope you like it. First time writing Luke so I'm super sorry if it doesn't feel right for him (as we think of him because obvs we don't know him but still) Also I like how I was like let's write something short and then...just kept writing...😂 Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :) Writing Masterlist

You'd been friends with Luke Hughes for almost as long as he'd been in New Jersey, both of you new to the city at the time had stumbled into each other quite literally one wintery afternoon. Your coffee going all over his hoodie, his doughnut squishing chocolate icing over your sweater. You'd expected him to yell, instead you learnt that day how utterly sweet and kind Luke Hughes was. He replaced your coffee and refused to let you buy him a new doughnut, but did let you invite him over so you could put some stain remover on his hoodie.

You might be thinking, 'are you crazy? Inviting a strange man to your apartment?', but you can only explain your risk through two pieces of information: 1) You knew roughly who he was. You weren't a fan of his by any means but you followed Hockey and had heard about the newest addition to the Devils, so you at least knew he wasn't a criminal, 2) Luke Hughes had been wearing snoopy socks and something about that had screamed 'non-threatening'.

Looking back it was probably slightly insane on your part, but it bagged you a close friend who you may or may not have had a massive crush on, so you couldn't really say you regretted risking it.

It wasn't unusual for Luke to phone you after a game, more often than not you got a quick phone call or a few texts sent through while he was out celebrating or commisserating with the team, often being invited out even when he knew you weren't much for late nights out on the town.

It was unusual though for that phone call to come in at 1 in the morning while you were sleeping.

You're groggy and half awake, hand patting the bedside table until you grip your phone, Luke's ringtone blarring through the speakers only because he was one of your few exceptions. One of a handful of people who could call you after 11pm without being sent straight to voicemail, the others being your family.

"Lukey? It's..." You stop to squint at your alarm clock, "1:41 in the morning, what's wrong?" You knew the game had ended late, but Luke should have been in bed by now or he should have been out partying with Jack and the boys, definitely not phoning you. You half expected him to be drunk on the other end of the line, maybe having phoned you while out with the team.

Instead his breath is shaky on the other end of the line, voice raspy like he's been crying and that's what has you sitting upright and swinging your legs out of bed before he even finishes his question.

"Can- Can you come over please?" His voice is scratchy and strained, a rasp that sounds defeated. You don't even considering getting changed from your pajamas, you just throw a jacket on from your closet.

"Yeah, yeah, of course, what's wrong?"

"Just...just come over please, angel" You're quick timing it as you shove your feet in a pair of shoes and grab your keys off the side, locking your apartment door behind you. It didn't matter to you that it was nearly 2am or that you hadn't brushed your hair or that you were half-asleep, all that mattered was Luke and the way he sounded like the world might be just a little too much for him right now.

"Okay, okay, want me to stay on the line?"

"No, just...drive safe?" You pause in the hallway, heart hurting at his concern, that even now when he's begging for your help he cares that you're safe.

"Yeah, course, Lu, i'm leaving right now, sweetheart." He lets out a shuddering breath on the line, right before he hangs up and you're certain you might cry because God, Luke shouldn't sound like that, so utterly defeated, so fragile.

You do your best to honour his request on the drive to his and Jack's apartment, even as you want to break a hundred traffic laws just to get there sooner, but you don't. It doesn't take long, but ten minutes feels like one hundred when all you want is to be see Luke and make sure he's okay.

He's at the door from the first knock and you don't say anything, just take him in. His tall form hunched at the shoulders like he's trying to hide within his hoodie, hood pulled over his head and eyes red rimmed, blotchy. There are dark, deep circles beneath his eyes and his lip is bruised and split, a few neatly placed stitches holding it together.

You don't say anything, just step forward and wrap him in your arms as best you can, tiptoeing to press your chin to his shoulder, arms tight around him as if you can protect him from whatever is going on in his head.

He grasps as you like you're a lifeline, fingers digging into your jacket, face pressed so tight to the crook of your neck that you're certain he'll fuse there.

He doesn't protest when you pull him into his apartment, door slamming shut. Doesn't protest when you pull him to his room, asking where Jack is, only to get a short clipped reply of 'club'. Doesn't protest when you sit him on his bed and join him, shoes being kicked off. It's not until you try to pull away from him that he really seems to come to life, hands grasping you firmer, pulling you back, "Don't go, please don't go..."

"'m not going anywhere, Lu, it's okay..." You pull back just enough that you can pull his hood back, fingers carding through his brown curls gently like he might break. "What happened?"

"Just needed you..." His face presses back into your shoulder as your fingers work through his hair like it's a perfectly normal thing to say to your best friend, like he didn't call because he had a shit game, because he doesn't want to talk about it."

"Lu...talk to me, baby"

There's a stark silence, broken only by a shaky breathe that comes from Luke as if the idea of talking is enough to make him cry for the second time that night. "I'm...i'm not good enough for the team, did a shit job tonight and we lost...it's my fault. Played like shit."

"What did Jack say?" You're gentle with it, soft voice, soft fingers on the nape of his neck. It's silly, he knows he's being dramatic, he also knows that it's not a friend thing to do. Knows he wouldn't call any of his other friends at near 2am because he needs them, knows he wouldn't beg for their fingers in his hair to sooth him or feel better just by the smell of their laundry detergent and shampoo. Luke knows he called you because he loves you, pretty sure he loved you the moment you excitedly showed him you'd gotten the coffee stain out of his UMIC hoodie.

"I was being too hard on myself, that it wasn't the 'Luke Hughes show'." He immitates Jack's voice, a pouty sort of tone riding his voice because he knows his brother is right even if he refused to sit moping with him and went out drinking instead.

"He's right. Hockey is a team sport, Luke, you aren't even on the ice the entire time! You do not get to decide that you're the reason a game is won or lost, you don't get to shoulder that."

"But.." Your palms cup his face, pulling him up to look at you. Your face is dead serious brows furrowed, lips pursed.

"No, you're a good hockey player. They picked you to play for them because of what you bring to the table and maybe you didn't play your best tonight , but you deserve to be on the team. You can't always be at 100." Your thumbs brush his cheeks under his eyes, like you might be able to wipe away the dark bags there. He looks worn, exhausted, tears just welling in those green eyes of his.

You're not entirely sure he believes you, "If I said I wasn't good enough because I had a bad day at work, what would you say to me?"

"To shut up and stop being mean to yourself..." Luke frowns at you like you're insane for even suggesting something like that, and it's what makes you smile for the first time that night, as if to say I told you so.

"Exactly, so stop being mean to yourself, Lu. You're amazing, i'm always in awe of how you skate..." You brush a curl from his eyes and watch them flutter closed slightly, throat tightening a little because you know this isn't the way you're supposed to feel about your best friend.

"Really?"

"Really..." You watch him carefully, the way he just leans more into your hands like he trusts you entirely to hold him up, the deep swelling of his lip, the beauty marks across his cheeks. "What do you need from me, right now?"

He takes a moment, like the words are stuck on the tip of his tongue whether unsure of how to ask or worried to make things weird. Both of you always toeing the line between friends and something decidedly more romantic.

"Can...can you just hold me? Just stay the night?" He blinks up at you with such big sweet eyes that you're not sure anyone would be able to refuse him, so you don't.

"I can do that."

You treat him delicately, like he's not a nearly 200 pound hockey player that regularly gets body slammed against boards and ice, who's covered in bruises and currently sporting a split lip. You pull him to lie down with you, curling around him like a protective blanket, pulling his face back into the crook of your neck, legs twisting with his. It's definitely not what friends do, but it's what he needs, so he grips you back tight, presses his face firmly into your neck and pulls your leg over his hip to be as close as possible.

You don't move more than the brush of fingers through his hair or down his arm, across his back. Even when you can hear soft snores, the sign of him having fallen asleep, you don't move because as much as Luke said he need this, you kind of need this too.

#huggy bear writes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes/reader #nhl x reader #nhl imagine

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red-doll-face · 2 days ago

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Imagine reader playing with Arthur's hair while he grumbles and pretends he's not totally into it >>>>>>>>😭🙏 But when you actually stop he's like 😳😞

that sounds so cute, i would love to run my fingers through his hair!!! 💖💖💖🥹🥹🥹 i wanted to do something short but writing for arthur always seems to run away from me, idkkk whyyyy i can never do anything bite sized with this man i stg. 😔😳😭😭😭 idk i guess small just doesnt cut it when it comes to this man 😏 i sort of took this as a request so i hope im not doing too much LMAO beware: sweetie weenie boy arthur...veryyyy fluffffy

Arthur doesn't like his hair as long as you like it but he can put it aside for you.

(high honor) Arthur Morgan x fem. reader

You had always thought Arthur’s hair looked nice, just a little bit longer than he preferred. Ok, maybe a lot longer than he preferred it but you couldn't help but like the way the strands fell in his pretty blue eyes, watching his big hands and fingers push it back over his head. His little frustrated huff when it inevitably slips back to feathering over the sides of his face was all too cute. You liked the way the sun caught the more blond strands; turned them a bright gold. You know the big scary outlaw, Arthur Morgan would never use the word beautiful to describe himself but you could use that word for him every day of every week.

And he doesn't always intend to grow it as long as he does, he runs out of time to get anything done about it, much preferring to return to your little corner of camp to rest with you sooner than stop in town. He’d rather come back to you, to get to lay his eyes on you than to spend another moment away from the sweet kiss you give him when he rejoins you.

Of course, he was as strong as a draft horse. Arthur could handle just about anything thrown at him. But Dutch had a way of running him ragged. When it wasn’t Dutch, it was the other camp members and when it wasn’t them, it was himself. The pressure to be everywhere, to do everything; it crushed his shoulders down. You did what you could to help. It's why you so thoroughly enjoyed these quiet moments, just you and him in the cool evenings.

“...Look at all this. Honey, I need a goddamned haircut,” he’d say, standing in front of the little mirror where he shaved his scruff after it grew too bushy. You sit on his bed, pouting at him. He stands with his hands gripping the edge of the barrel, turning to the left and the right. The way his hair bounced around made you giggle.

“But-”

“Yeah, you like it, I remember,” He sighs.

“I do, Arthur. I just think you look very handsome with your hair like that,” You look at his hair and then your eyes wander to his strong forearms gripping the lip of the barrel. You had found Arthur to be eye-catching the day that you met him. And his personality only bolstered how much you liked him. He could play at gruff simpleton brute but he had more sense and wit than most of the other men combined. He was more soft than he wanted to admit too, but he showed those pieces of himself to you. His vulnerabilities he liked to keep to himself; now he shares with you.

“Right. You keep on tellin’ your beautiful lies; I might just start believin’ you,” He chuckles at the word ‘handsome’. You make a face at his self deprecating attitude. How he makes jokes of himself to keep his insecurities from seeming like they're bigger than they are. But the corners of his mouth always tug downwards when he’s looking in the mirror, even when he only intended to look at his hair or at his beard.

“Arthur, I’m not lying. Come here?” You’re more siren-like than you realize; your beckon makes him turn, huffing a little. As if he knows he’s in some degree of trouble. The little disappointed frown you have is something he can’t help but look away from. Arthur leans away from the barrel and steps closer to you. He reaches for his hat that sits on the table at his bedside but you stop him, a gentle hand over the top of his.

Your hand tugs him closer and he allows you to guide him. You squeeze his palm, those hard working hands, rough from all that he does with them.

He lets himself relax, which he rarely does, he’s always doing something or on his way there. But you love to hold him in your arms. To make him stay still with you for awhile.

He sits and the sweet kiss he gives you makes you light up. But you motion to have him lay over you while you play with his hair, even if you can tell he wants to keep giving you kisses. His head is in your lap while he uses your plush thighs as pillows. He’s a bit stiff, as if unwillingly and begrudgingly doing as you say. His brow still crinkles a bit, some of the lines on his face from pulling grimaces are creased. You lift the strands upwards to marvel at how long they are.

“Too damn long,”

“No, never,” you coo at him through his faux displeasure.

“Never? You’re kiddin’ me, sweetheart. Only you could want a man with hair down to his ass,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. You miss how he softens even more at your laugh, he liked that you found his jokes funny or at the very least, silly enough to warrant such a reaction.

“Ok, ok, you can get it cut, but maybe not so short on the sides? I like when it’s long here,” You look down at his eyes, petting the loose locks he usually wants to cut a bit shorter to keep hair off of his neck.

“I’ll think on it; it’s still on my head, ain’t it?”

You giggle humming contentedly as you continue rubbing his hair in your fingers. He relaxes more even as he continues to murmur about how much he can’t wait to watch it all get chopped off at the barber in town. You shake your head, feeling him go soft from his usual intensity.

Your nails lightly scratch against his scalp, your fingers pet his hair this way and that. Then you transition to what you know he likes, a repetitive soothing motion through the locks of his hair. The way the small furrow just over his nose bridge flattens out makes you smile. You can see his hands stop fussing, his lungs fill with a deep breath and puff it out slowly. He props one leg over his bed and the other hangs down to the floor. And he might grumble but those turn into simple rumbles of soft pleasure. You watch the tension leak from him, his usual stiffness weakening.

You’re pretty sure you can lull him to sleep like this, the rhythmic stroking over his hair and scalp like a lullaby. You comb his hair backwards, his thick hair is tangled in some places and you help work through it gently. When you feel you’ve perhaps messed with his hair enough, you remove your hands. One of his eyes slips open from where he had both closed in a sleepy gesture; revealing that gem toned hue. He looks grumpier than when you started, perhaps a little disgruntled.

“What?” you ask, knowing he misses the sensation of your fingers fiddling around in his hair. “Thought you didn’t like me ruffling your feathers,” you tousle it a little. The teasing in your voice is prominent when you smile down at his small scowl, no real bite behind his bark.

He seems to flush a little bit, you can appreciate the way his blushes crawl up his face, he can never hide how you make him feel. His artificial glare melts away.

“It should be you, I guess- ya know, rufflin’ my feathers,” his sentimental tone brings him out of his element, showing his nerves around you. Not so steadfast now. You smile warmly and shyly as well, touched by his genuine feelings, the ones he told you just as bashfully that he harbored for you.

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH HE CAN DO NO WRONG 😍💓🫂😭😳🥰 thank you for reading !!

#red writes #arthur morgan x reader #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #high honor arthur morgan #arthur morgan x fem reader #arthur morgan x female reader #fluff #high honor arthur morgan x reader

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fuctacles · 21 hours ago

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<< 14 | 0 | 16 >>

looking for dog-themed songs for the fic playlist

They sit facing each other on the warmed up concrete, having given away the lawn chairs to the girls. Steve is sliding every piece of onion off his skewer and onto Eddie's plate, which sits right next to his for easy sharing. It reminds him of cafeteria meals and swapping snacks with friends, something he never had with Steve, because of how different they were in high school. It makes him wonder if what he's feeling could really be mutual.

"Are you staying for the movie?"

His eyes snap back up to meet Steve's, waiting for an answer.

"I guess so. What are we watching?" It might not be the wisest to keep around while figuring himself out, but what is he going to do? Not spend time with his friends?

Steve rolls his eyes.

"The jury is still out," he answers dryly. "But I can guess some nerd shit will get majorly outvoted."

Eddie snorts.

"What would you pick? A baseball game?" he asks, chewing on a piece of meat. His fingers are getting greasy, but they forgot to grab napkins and standing up sounds like too much exercise.

Steve moves the grilled bits on his plate with the now empty skewer.

"Not really..." he says, all quiet and shy, which immediately grabs Eddie's attention. Wary of the food and drinks between them, he leans in conspiratorially.

"You can tell me, I ain't a snitch," he reassures, and when Steve looks up, he adds a wink. Steve huffs out an amused breath.

"I like romantic comedies," he admits, watching Eddie warily, like he's awaiting judgement.

"Huh." He sits back to properly take him in. "That kinda makes sense."

"Yeah?" Steve raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Eddie shrugs, and now he's feeling self-conscious. "It suits you. We could watch something one day, your pick."

Ohmygodsohmygodsohmygods, do not invite Steve for one-on-one romcom watching—!

Steve's face lights up with a wide smile.

"Oh, I'm going to hold you to that one, Munson," he teases, but it's obvious he's genuinely excited by the offer.

"Already regretting I said it," Eddie teases back, but offers Steve a strip of bacon so he knows he doesn't mean it.

Without thinking, he starts licking the grease off his fingers, and it takes him a moment to realize Steve stopped moving. He looks up with a questioning hum, fingertip in his mouth.

"You need a napkin?" Steve asks with a raise of his eyebrows.

"Nah, I'm good," Eddie mumbles around his finger just to be difficult, and pushes it deeper, sucking with gusto. For once, Steve doesn't look into his eyes, too focused on his mouth. His cheeks are colored the faintest shade of pink, and Eddie finally realizes what he's been doing. He slides his finger out with a wet smack and smiles apologetically. "Sorry. Want me to lick yours too?" he offers, like the good friend that he is.

Someone nearby chokes, but he's too focused on the bit to check who. Their fault for listening in, right?

Meanwhile, Steve's face turns tomato red.

"Uh, I'll manage myself. I'm good at licking," he cringes as soon as the worlds leave his mouth, and Eddie almost chokes himself with how hard he laughs.

====

After the party, comes more cleaning. This time, as there's more people and everyone gets forced into using their two hands and opposable thumbs, it goes faster, though with much more complaining.

Sometime in the middle of filling the trash bags, Robin has changed the music. Steve sighs, when the first song plays, but by the next two, his head is nodding to the beat. On the chorus, his hips sway, and Eddie almost drops the plate he's holding.

"Your song, dingus!" Robin yells when the next song starts, making Steve roll his eyes. But he's shimmying his shoulders and mouthing along to all the lyrics.

They tie away their bags at the same time, which gives Eddie the misfortune of watching him free his hands and make a silly little dance.

"Well, you ain't never caught no rabbit, you ain't no friend of mine!" he mouths along, and when he catches Eddie staring, he gives him a sheepish smile and a wink.

"Should I find you more dog themed songs to dance to?" he raises his eyebrow with a smile.

"No—"

"Yes!" Robin pops out from behind him, seemingly out of nowhere. "I'm constantly on the look out, but there aren't many good songs. I want to make a playlist." She grins.

"Oh, I'm in." Eddie smiles back, extending his hand. Their palms slap together, and Steve shakes his head.

"Wow. Traitors."

"Oh, I'd never betray you, Hound Dog," Eddie declares with a hand to his heart. Steve flips him off.

====

They pick The Battle for Endor, which Steve accepts with a sigh and a quiet "At least it has teddies," something probably only Eddie can hear, since he's sitting right next to him. He starts dozing off halfway through anyway, but Eddie doesn't wake him up until the movie ends and they have to plan how to get the younger lot home. It was a busy day, after all.

"I'm going home anyway, so I can take them," Nancy offers.

"Don't be stupid," Steve mumbles in his half-asleep state. "You won't fit them in your car."

"I can get Max and Super Twins," Eddie says, and the grasp around his arm tightens. He looks down at Steve, suddenly awake and frowning.

"You're not staying?" he asks, audibly upset.

"I'll come back," Eddie reassures him quickly, patting his hand. "Okay! Mad Max, Wonder Twins, grab your shit. The sooner we leave, the closer I am to getting wasted," he commands, gently prying himself out of Steve's grasp. He scratches behind his ear as a consolation. "Should I grab anything while I'm out?"

"No," Steve says quickly, even though Jonathan has already opened his mouth, most probably with a request.

Something twists in Eddie's chest.

"Okay, buddy, I'll be back as soon as I can, no detours," he reassures again, with another scratch.

"Okay, thanks." Steve closes his eyes briefly, but then blinks them open and pushes at his thigh, like his mind has suddenly cleared from the remnants of sleep. "Be quick, but without breaking the law." He smiles up at Eddie.

"Ugh, fine." He rolls his eyes. "Be right back," he nudges Steve's head before motioning the kids to follow him outside.

It's suddenly silent, with the movie over and most of the people gone from the room. Steve clears his throat, watching Robin crawl over the carpet to rewind the tape.

"So only Nancy isn't staying?" he asks, looking around the room.

"I already told my parents I'm sleeping over." Robin shrugs.

Jonathan and Argyle look at each other, like they are communicating in a way not dissimilar to Steve and Robin.

"It's good vibes here, man," Argyle says, his hair swaying as he nods.

"Eddie promised we'll compare the goods," Jonathan adds.

"Oh, right!" his friend perks up, his eyes sparkling. "Almost forgot about that."

Robin makes a face.

"God, I really hope you mean the weed," she says. "You think I can still persuade Nancy to come back?"

The boys start snickering, but Steve quickly collects himself to answer her question, no matter how unserious it is.

"I think she wouldn't be comfortable," he winces, because they all know why. "But I could drive you to hers if you want to?" he offers instead.

She shakes her head.

"Nah, just give me a beer and I'll lower my joke standards to yours."

"Okay, you don't have to be mean, Robs," Steve rolls his eyes, but he's smiling. On his way to the kitchen, he tugs on her hair. "Beers for everyone?" He turns to look at each of his remaining guests.

Jonathan nods, but Argyle shakes his head.

"I don't mix my substances," he says, pulling out a joint out of his pocket instead.

When Eddie comes back, he makes a beeline upstairs, hoping he hasn't been spotted. He doubts his van hasn't been heard, her old-lady coughs being a part of her charm, but maybe he was stealthy enough inside not to be traced.

But once he's back down he realizes how foolish that thought was. Because somehow, Steve is ridiculously attuned to him and has his eyes on Eddie immediately, like he's been expecting him. A cold bottle of beer is pressed into his hand when he sits back in the seat that's been waiting for him.

"Dropped some stuff upstairs, since I'm sleeping over again," he explains quietly without prompting, his nervousness making him yap unnecessarily, as usual. "Uh, are we bunking together too, or...?" It was probably stupid of him to assume, considering there are more people in the house today that need a place to sleep.

Considering his own freak out this morning.

"Of course," Steve says with a smile that tells him no other option had crossed his mind. "Unless you don't want to?" he cocks his head, almost like he's tilting curious, pointed ears. "I promise to wear pants this time."

Jonathan chokes on his beer, and when Eddie snaps his head that way, Argyle gives him a supportive smile and that weird surfer gesture, while patting Jon on the back.

He hopes the dim light of the room hides the flush of embarrassment on his face.

"Well, since you promise to be decent, how could I say no?" he says, rolling his head back to Steve.

Steve, who gives him a relieved, dazzling smile, and presses their thighs together, flooding his whole body with warmth.

It's terrifying, how good it feels.

tags: @noodle-shenaniganery @jaytriesstrangerthings @imaginary-maggie-waggie @samsoble @croatoan-like-its-hot

@dragonmama76 @storyranger @scoops-aboy86 @ollyxar @estrellami-1

@stevesworldxx @ajeff855 @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thelittleclare @wheneverfeasible

@bumblebeecuttlefishes @blasvemous @phantomcat94 @n33dlew0rk @manliest-of-muppets

@ravenfrog @dreamercec @tartarusknight @eyehartart

#wereshifter au #werewolf steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #mine #eddie munson #steddie fanfiction

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wheels-of-despair · 22 hours ago

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Tangled Pairing: Eddie Munson x You Summary: Eddie gets a comb stuck in his hair. Evil Woman untangles it, and a little bit of his tragic backstory comes out with it. Contains: A minor tantrum, a sad Eddie, a little hair lore, and our boy being loved and taken care of. Words: 1.2k Note: This takes place during their first winter together.

"FUCK!"

A loud clatter follows the yell from behind the closed bathroom door, making you jump from your position on the Munson's couch.

You're sitting there in borrowed sweats, watching a Mork & Mindy rerun while you wait for Eddie. You'd spent most of the day playing in the snow with the neighborhood kids, and had both required about a gallon of hot chocolate and a warm shower to recover. The girls had won the final snowball fight, which meant you earned the first shower. (He probably would've let you go first even the boys had won, but you're counting it as a victory shower anyway.)

When you don't hear anything else, you rise and slowly approach the bathroom door. Silence. You knock lightly. "Eddie? You okay?"

The door slowly creaks open, revealing a pair of worn burgundy sweats, a faded Hellfire Club shirt, half of a black comb stuck in a tangle of matted hair, and the most pathetic puppy eyes you've ever seen.

"You okay?" you ask again.

"Comb got stuck," he says miserably.

"Want me to get it out?"

Eddie squirms, looking like he wants to wash himself down the drain. He turns toward the mirror and gives another feeble attempt at getting the comb out. You lean against the doorframe, waiting for him to ask for help, and your eyes drift to the bathtub. All of the bottles that usually sit on the ledge are scattered across the bottom of the tub. He must've thrown something and knocked them all down. Maybe you should take him bowling sometime.

Eddie sighs, releases the comb, and hangs his head in defeat. Looking at the floor, he turns to you and nods his head slowly.

"I promise I'll be gentle," you assure him, as quietly as you can. "C'mon." You tilt your head toward the living room and start walking, hoping he'll follow.

You slide the coffee table to the side, drop a pillow on the floor for him to sit on, and take your seat on the couch. You gesture for him to sit between your legs. He does, reluctantly. You want so badly to know what's actually wrong, you feel like you may burst… but you know better than to ask.

You reach for the comb embedded in his wet hair without a word, and he flinches. You rest your hands on your knees instead.

You play with his hair all the time. When you watch movies, his head often ends up on your lap, and your hands gravitate to it. He gets the cutest little smile on his face when you tuck his hair behind his ear. You know for a fact that rubbing light circles on That One Spot on his scalp will put him right to sleep. Why is this different?

"You okay?" you ask.

"Yeah."

"You know I'm gonna try my very best not to hurt you, right?"

"Yeah." His voice is hollow. Emotionless.

You carefully reach for the mass of tangles and the buried comb again. He tenses, but doesn't flinch. You begin working it out, piece by piece, taking your time and focusing all your energy on keeping it painless while the laugh track on TV keeps the room from falling into awkward silence.

When you finally get the comb out, you set it aside and reach for your own brush. Starting at the ends, you gently work out all the rest of Eddie's tangles. The whole process takes nearly an hour, and he doesn't move a muscle the whole time.

"Alright, you're done," you finally declare, setting your brush aside. He heaves a sigh of relief, and you lean down to kiss the top of his head.

He turns sideways and rests his chin on your knee. You cup the side of his face, rubbing your thumb across his flushed cheek, and he closes his eyes. Just when you think he's fallen asleep, he heaves another sigh and starts talking.

"My mom used to brush my hair when I was little. Her brush had those hard, scratchy bristles that felt like wire." He swallows, but still doesn't open his eyes. "My hair wasn't this long, but I used to play outside all day. To get away from them, mostly. But when I came home at dark, she'd make me stand in front of her in the kitchen so she could brush it. She'd yank and pull at it and brush my neck and my ears and my forehead. I think it actually drew blood once or twice. If I moved or complained, she'd put me over her knee and use the other side."

You didn't realize your hand had stopped stroking his cheek until he stopped talking. You move it to his shoulder, still a little damp from his hair, and give him a light squeeze.

"One day, after she died, I went in the bathroom with scissors I stole from school and cut it all off. Well, I tried. They were dull and kid-sized. Dad laughed at me when he saw it. Made me go to school like that. The nurse finally took pity on me and evened it out after a few days."

He crawls onto the couch and lays his head on your lap, facing the TV. Normally in this position, your hands would be in his hair immediately, but today… you hesitate. Although he can't see you do it, he must sense it. He puts his hand on your knee, palm up. You take it, and place your other hand on his arm in a gesture you hope is comforting.

"When I came to live with Wayne, he'd give us both a buzz cut on the first of every month. The noise from the clippers scared the shit out of me at first, but after watching him do his own a few times, I finally let him do mine. I didn't start growing it out again 'til the summer I graduated from middle school. That's when I decided nobody was gonna fuck with it. And nobody was gonna fuck with me."

He lets go of your hand and flips onto his back, staring up at you.

"Kay, that's the whole traumatic hair story you didn't ask for."

You smile and reach for his hand again.

"It doesn't bother you when I play with it?"

"Not gonna lie… scared the hell out of me the first time," he chuckles. "Usually, when a girl goes for the hair, it's to pull it or stick something in it. One time, a girl dragged me across the playground with it. But you? Just started twirling it and playing with it and putting me to sleep. Didn't ever want you to stop. Couldn't fucking believe it."

You feel your heart warm at his confession, and finally let your hand return to that beautiful head of hair. Your fingers lightly work at his scalp, and he smiles sleepily up at you.

"You know I'd never hurt you, right?" You know he knows, but you need him to hear it. "Unless it's like… in a kinky way that you specifically request."

"I'll keep that in mind," he smirks.

#writings of despair #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x evil woman

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bellaxgiornata · 3 days ago

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Five Minutes

Pairing: Jax Teller x fem!Reader Word Count: 4.4k [Jax Fic Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+; Fluff, nervous!Reader, suggestive comments, & a slightly soft, flirty Jax

Summary: While out with your friends at a seedy bar in Charming, you manage to catch Jax's eye–and he's quite determined just to get you to talk to him.

a/n: I'm temporarily back in my Jax Teller phase at the moment as I force myself to rewatch Sons of Anarchy and actually finish the last season instead of trying to pretend the show doesn't end like it does. I'm just going to use fanfic to spare my feelings right now even though I don't usually write for Jax. It's been months since I've written anything and this was admittedly written entirely today, but enjoy! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Raising the bottle of beer to your lips, you took a pull from it as your eyes scanned the dimly lit bar around you. Stanley's was a hole in the wall type of dive bar–not the sort of place you generally found yourself drinking on a Friday night with your friends after work. It was a seedy place, and that was only made even more apparent by the impossible to ignore presence of the Sons of Anarchy.

There were five of them sitting at a table on the opposite side of the bar from where you and your friends were drinking, all of them wearing their black leather kuttes with their worn patches and matching hardened expressions. They were deep in discussion as they sat with a few questionable looking men and one gentleman in particular who looked far too nicely dressed to be sitting and drinking in a place like Stanley's. It was obvious that they were doing something illegal, conducting some sort of business boldly out in the open.

Swallowing down your beer, you lowered the almost empty bottle back to the table and returned your attention to your three friends who were still in the middle of discussing Tabitha's breakup. Leaning forward and resting your forearms along the wooden surface, you felt it wobble beneath your shifting weight as you focused on the conversation once more. Though you had to strain to hear them over the rock music blaring through the place.

“It's his damn loss, Tab,” Sara said, her tone firm. “If Travis is going to sleep around on you, then you deserve better than his dumbass. He's not worth a single one of your tears.”

Monica was nodding from her place in the chair beside you, gesturing her glass of cranberry vodka at Tabitha. It was clear she'd already had a few too many of them since the four of you had arrived over an hour ago.

“That's right,” she began. “We aren't out tonight to drown your sorrows over that asshole, we're out to remind you that you're a beautiful badass and you don't need him. You can do better.”

An annoyed scoff left Tabitha in response before she rolled her eyes. “Because there's so many wonderful options of available men in Charming to choose from,” Tabitha replied bitterly.

Unable to fight the grin at her harsh but truthful comment, you let out a small laugh. “What? You don't like our options at tonight's wonderful drinking establishment? You've got so much to choose from.”

Monica and Sara were quick to laugh, matching smiles spreading across their faces. Both of them openly scanned the bar around the four of you, their eyes taking in the varying men drinking around Stanley’s.

“Yeah Tab, you've got your pick of either emotionally immature or emotionally unavailable,” Sara teased.

“Or old enough to be your father, beer gut included,” Monica joked.

Swallowing down another sip of your beer, you smiled as all three of your friends laughed at the table, the mood finally lifting among the group of you tonight. Your eyes darted across the bar back to the table of Sons. The blonde one you knew as Jax Teller, their leader, was standing and shaking the overly dressed gentleman's hand now, clearly finished with whatever illegal dealings they'd been handling here.

“And let us not forget,” you added on, your eyes averting from their table and returning to your friends as you lowered your voice, “the option of criminal biker. A Charming specialty.”

Each of your friends laughed once more before sending wary glances across the bar towards the leather-clad men. The Sons' presence here clearly made the four of you uneasy–almost as if bullets would start flying at any moment. And with the way things had been happening around town lately, it didn't feel far out of the realm of possibility with them here.

“Let's be real, they don't know a thing about commitment, either,” Tabitha replied, sitting back in her chair. “Any one of them would still be far worse than Travis.”

“There's a silver lining, at least,” Monica said before taking another deep drink from her glass. She swallowed it down before continuing, pointing a firm finger in the direction of the bikers across the bar. “Anything in this town is better than a Son.”

“Doesn't matter anyway,” Sara chimed in, her eyes darting to the bikers’ table and then back. “We are not the kind of women who even register on their radars.”

Picking up your own beer from the table, you drank down the last of its contents as your friends began speaking in hushed tones, the topic quickly taking a turn to the rumors they'd overheard about the Sons’ clubhouse parties. Sliding out of your chair, you had already stopped listening. You'd never concerned yourself with the small town's motorcycle club before, preferring to stay far away from them and the trouble they caused, so you certainly weren't about to suddenly care about the gossip and rumors now.

“I'm going to grab another beer, I'll be back,” you told the others.

Monica sent you a smile, acknowledging what you'd said before her eyes returned to Sara who was now in the middle of animatedly telling a story that she'd overheard about the Sons. Not wasting another minute, you ducked your head and walked away from the table, making your way towards the bar. As you wove between the other tables with gruff looking men who were giving you looks that made your palms sweat, you kept your eyes averted from any of them, doing your best to ignore the curious glances and the occasional comment thrown your way.

Reaching the bar, you caught the bartender's attention and ordered another beer, dropping some cash onto the bar counter as you did. You watched as the bartender grabbed the bills before walking off to retrieve your drink, your fingers absently drumming along the sticky counter as you waited.

A few feet further down from you, another figure sauntered up to the bar, casually leaning their forearms along it. Against your better judgment, your head shifted over your shoulder, your eyes drawn by the movement. You felt your heart accelerate, pounding a bit harder in your chest as you recognized Jax Teller standing there looking worn and irritated, a slight crease between his brows and a downward curve to his mouth. Immediately you glanced away, eyes focusing straight ahead of you as your body went tense. Unfortunately for you, the sudden movement seemed to have caught his attention. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw his head turn in your direction as if he'd noticed you looking at him, and then you could practically feel his eyes running over you.

Swallowing hard, your fingers drummed a bit more anxiously on the counter as you internally pleaded for the bartender to hurry up and return with your beer. But just as he began his slow return towards you with your opened bottle in hand, the Son beside you let out a soft, amused huff before he took a few steps closer. He easily slid further down the bar, now standing with barely three feet of space left between the both of you. His proximity had your pulse quickening even more as you determinedly kept your gaze straight ahead. Maybe if you didn't look at him again he wouldn't speak to you.

Though it didn’t take long for your theory to be proven incorrect.

“You look out of place here, darlin’,” Jax’s deep, smooth voice came from beside you as he leaned just a fraction closer.

Continuing to keep your gaze fixed ahead, you watched as the bartender wordlessly set your drink down in front of you before focusing on Jax next, a hint of trepidation on his face as he took the intimidating man's drink order. Not wanting to stick around, your hand darted out to grab your beer before you turned away from the bar. Pulling the bottle up to your lips, you immediately took a deep drink to offset the dryness that had settled in your mouth at Jax’s presence.

“You just gonna ignore me, sweetheart?” he asked, shifting along the bar to casually lean his back against it. “I'm just being friendly here.”

Pausing at his voice directed at you once again, you felt your body go rigid on the spot. Hesitantly, you threw a timid glance back over your shoulder at him and the sight had you stopping just two steps from the bar. He was resting against the counter with a mixture of amusement and mischief dancing in his blue eyes, a cocky smirk tugging his lips upwards at one corner. He looked completely comfortable and at ease now as he stared back at you, the faintest curious tilt to his head.

You’d seen the Sons often enough over the years since you’d lived in Charming. Their bikes were impossible to miss when they came roaring through the streets of the small town, and you’d often seen them around the clubhouse lot every time you drove past Teller-Morrow Automotive whenever you drove to and from work. The sight of these men wasn’t anything new to you, but you’d also never been standing quite so close to one of them before. Especially not Jax. The rumors you’d always heard about how handsome he was hadn’t remotely done him justice–he was somehow even more attractive than he’d looked from across the bar earlier.

Jax Teller was…beautiful, if you were being honest with yourself. In a sort of rugged, dangerous way. The sort of way that had your heart hammering like a caged bird in your chest with his confident smirk, those engaging blue eyes which clearly held an endless amount of secrets, and that damn slicked back blonde hair that had your fingers itching to grab onto it and pull his face between your legs.

As if he could read the thoughts racing through your mind, his smirk grew into a lazy smile, one hand reaching over and grabbing the drink the bartender set down beside him. His eyes never once left you as he watched you, the gaze not unlike that of a cat about to toy with a mouse. The look he was directing at you had you tightening your grip on your beer bottle, your palm dampening nervously against the glass.

“Come on, darlin’,” he tried again, slowly gesturing his head towards the barstool beside him. “Take a seat. I just wanna talk.”

“I–I don't think that's a good idea,” you stammered.

Taking another step to leave, you turned and made a desperate attempt to get out of his line of sight and back to your friends at the table, but you’d only managed that one step before his hand was lightly grasping onto your upper arm and gently turning you back towards him. Immediately you bristled at the touch, your body tensing as you jolted backwards and out of his reach. The smile on Jax’s face only grew wider, like he’d found your reaction to his touch entertaining. With his drink held in one hand, he raised both of his hands in mock surrender.

“Easy there, darlin’,” he drawled out, still grinning. “Just wanna talk. That’s all. Nothin’ else, I promise.”

Standing there with your heart thudding away inside of your ribcage, you tried to swallow back the lump forming in your throat. He was so damn comfortable and confident just leaning against the bar like that, it was only making you more nervous. What the hell did he want with you? You clearly looked nothing like any of the women you’d spotted hanging around the clubhouse whenever you’d driven past, he couldn’t possibly be thinking that he was going to take you home to his bed. Though the thought of that, of being alone with him like that , had your cheeks heating as your eyes darted down to the bottle of beer in your hands.

“I think you’d find I’m not remotely the kind of company you’re looking for,” you answered back, awkwardly attempting to avoid his gaze.

A low, rumbling chuckle fell out of him at your comment, the sound drawing your eyes back up to his. Somehow he just looked even more entertained.

“And what makes you say that?” he asked, that lazy grin still on his lips. “What kinda company do you think I’m looking for, sweetheart?”

The question drew the heat further down your neck, your whole body starting to feel like it was on fire now. You were absolutely not made for conversations with someone so straightforward and unflappable as Jax Teller. It seemed the more nervous you became, the more he enjoyed this unexpected interaction with you.

“Something more exciting than me,” you answered after a moment. “Look, I…have friends who’re probably wondering where I’ve disappeared to by now–”

“I’m just asking you to sit right here with me,” he said, cutting you off with a shrug. “Not trying to run off anywhere with you, darlin’.”

Closing your mouth at his interruption, you stood there for a long moment cautiously studying him. Why was he so damn insistent on you sitting with him and talking? What the hell did he want from you? Because it had to be something, right? There was no way he just wanted something as simple and innocent as a conversation.

Turning just a fraction towards him, your brows drew together in confusion and contemplation, your question coming out just loud enough to be heard over the music in the bar. “Why? Why do you want to talk?”

Jax shrugged a single broad shoulder again in response. “Call it curiosity. You don’t look like you belong in a place like this,” he answered.

Your eyes narrowed a fraction at him in return. “Like I don’t belong in a bar?”

A soft huff of laughter fell out of him before he shook his head, an almost boyish grin spreading across his lips as his eyes creased at the corners. “Nah, darlin’. That’s not what I meant,” he replied.

When you didn’t answer, his expression softened just a fraction as he straightened up against the counter behind him. His hand reached out towards you again and your eyes quickly darted down towards his ringed fingers, a look of fear passing over your face. Catching sight of your obvious discomfort, Jax’s hand hesitated in the space between you both before it slowly dropped back down to his side.

“Sorry, I forgot.” There was an edge of humor to his voice. “ You don’t want me to touch you. Gotta admit, I’m not used to that reaction from women.”

Clearing your throat, your eyes returned to his face. “Most women usually don’t like being touched by strange men at a bar,” you pointed out, trying to sound more bold than you felt. “That’s a normal reaction.”

The corner of his lips twitched again at your reply, as if he found your attempt at being firm with him more funny than anything. He nodded his head slowly before he spoke. “Yeah, suppose I’ve heard that.” His hand reached out to pull out the barstool beside him instead, dragging it over towards you before he gave it two gentle pats. “Come on. Just…quench my curiosity about why a timid thing like you is drinking in a place like this. I gotta know.”

Bottom lip rolling beneath your teeth, you chewed it in thought for a moment as your attention shifted down towards the awaiting barstool. Was that what he was after then? You just stood out to him and he wanted to know why you were here? That was all?

Cautiously, you turned further towards him, a wary expression still on your face despite the way the smile once more grew on his. An idea was forming in your mind, one you hoped would get him off of your back.

“If I talk with you for five minutes, will you leave me alone afterwards?” you asked, the question coming out of you slowly.

Jax’s eyebrows rose marginally, almost like he couldn’t believe just how much you seemed to not want anything to do with him. One of his hands rose up from off the bar, his fingers running across his bearded mouth as if in thought while his eyes remained fixed on you in front of him. After a moment, he nodded once.

“Yeah, alright,” he answered, gesturing his head back towards the barstool once more. “You’ve got a deal, darlin’. Five minutes and then I’ll stop bothering you.” He paused, shooting you a handsome grin. “If that’s what you still want in five minutes.”

Eyes darting across the bar, your gaze landed over on your three friends still sitting at the table you’d left them at. They were all staring at you, watching you closely as if searching for some sign of distress considering who you were talking with. You gave them the faintest shake of your head to let them know you were fine before you took the few steps over to the barstool beside Jax, hesitantly lowering yourself onto it. He immediately shifted along the bar, resting his left elbow on the surface and leaning his weight onto it as he watched you take another pull off of your beer.

“Name’s Jax, but I’m guessin’ you already know who I am judging by the way you’ve been trying to scurry away from me this whole goddamn time,” he teased lightly. He jutted his chin at you, that hint of curiosity back in his eyes. “You got a name, darlin’?”

With your gaze focused on your beer bottle as you set it along the bar, your fingers fidgeted with the label along the bottle. The condensation on the brown glass already had a corner of it peeling off. Awkwardly you gave him your name, half of you wondering if that was even a good idea.

Jax chuckled in response, drawing his glass to his lips as he spoke. “Was expecting more of a fight from you on that, I’ll be honest,” he admitted, taking a drink before lowering the glass back to the bar counter. He took another step closer, leaning towards you when he spoke again. “So what exactly are you doing drinking at this shithole? Girl like you doesn’t look like she belongs in a place like this.”

Shaking your head, you glanced up at him beside you from beneath your lashes. If he wasn't some dangerous, playboy criminal you might have let yourself feel more flattered by his attention. Because you absolutely, definitely were not.

“No, I…generally don't come here,” you agreed with a small nod. “I uh…I'm out with my friends. One of them is going through a breakup. We didn't want to run into her ex while we were out tonight so…we came here tonight. Because no one ever goes to Stanley's.”

His blue eyes searched your face for a long moment as he let your response settle over him. Something about the intensity of his gaze mixed with the scent of cigarette smoke and leather emanating off of him at this distance had your stomach twisting nervously inside of you for different reasons than a few minutes ago.

“Breakup, huh?” he mused after a moment. “Brought your friend out drinking to cheer her up. That's why you're here?”

“Yeah,” you answered quietly.

He bit his lip, fighting back a smile on his face at your explanation. The sight had your eyes darting away just so you could control your breathing. He was quickly becoming intimidating for an entirely different reason now.

“Makes sense,” he replied. “Guess you’re right, doubt you’d run into anyone in this damn place. Though it…really isn’t the best place for a thing like you to be drinking with your friends.”

Grabbing your beer, you raised it to your lips for another deep drink. He was making you so damn nervous that you couldn't refrain from blurting your next words as you set the bottle back down. “I'm guessing you're not out here to help your friend get over a breakup.”

A wide smile broke out across Jax's face, the sight quickly followed by his deep, rumbling laugh. The sound was so unexpected and pleasant that it caught you off guard, a small smile slipping onto your face in return before you could stop it.

“No darlin’,” he replied, still chuckling at the absurdity of the idea. “That’s definitely not what brought me out here tonight.”

The smile lingered on his lips as he watched you, something impossible to read in his expression. There was a growing curiosity in his sharp, blue eyes the longer he stood beside you, though. The sight of it had you shifting on the barstool anxiously.

“I got a feeling you're not just the awkward and shy thing I first thought you were, sweetheart,” Jax mused, his voice dropping to something a bit lower. “Seems like there's more to you that you're hiding behind that deer-in-the-headlights look you keep throwing my way.” His lips quirked up into something mischievous as he continued. “Kinda makes me wonder…”

Brows immediately furrowing at the way he'd trailed off, you stiffened in your seat. “Wonder what?” you asked him cautiously.

Jax paused for a moment, that devious little smirk still on his lips. His left hand absently swirled his glass along the bar as he watched you closely, almost like he was studying you. Observing you. Trying to make sense of you.

“What I'd gotta do to get you to loosen up a bit,” he answered after a moment.

Something about the way he'd said that, all resonant and sultry, paired with his confident smirk that seemed to have a double meaning, had a shudder running through you. He was smooth– far too smooth. Despite the fact that you knew how dangerous he was, knew the type of man he was, you felt a warmth slowly flooding through you, one that wasn't related to nerves or alcohol. When he shifted beside you at the bar, his knee suddenly brushing along your thigh over your jeans, you practically jumped in your seat.

“Relax, you're so on edge, darlin’,” Jax teased you, an amused huff passing between his lips. “I'm not gonna try anything. Consider me on my best behavior right now with you.” Jax paused, his gaze openly raking over you once more where you sat on the barstool, not even remotely being subtle. “Unless you ask me real nice, not to be.”

Almost instantly your eyes widened at his clear flirtation, your lips parting in surprise. That heat flooding you only seemed to be burning you up a bit hotter. Attention shifting back to the beer in front of you, your tongue darted out and dampened your lips in a nervous gesture. How in the hell was he affecting you like this? You should know better than to let a Son be chatting you up like this.

“You know,” Jax continued, taking another half-step closer to where you were sitting, “I’m not half as bad as you probably think I am.” He hesitated for a moment, making a slight face before adding on, “At least, in some respects. Just gimme a chance, sweetheart. Let me prove it to you.”

Eyes raising from the bottle of beer in front of you, your gaze landed on the clock on the wall behind the bar. It was well off by a half an hour from being remotely accurate, but five minutes had certainly passed since you'd sat down with him. As if he knew what you were thinking by where your eyes had shifted, Jax’s gaze followed yours to the clock. A moment later his attention returned to your face. Gradually your eyes landed back on him, watching as a lazy half-smile spread over his handsome mouth.

“Looks like my five minutes are up, darlin’,” he pointed out, leaning against the bar as he kept his eyes on you. “You're free to run back to your friends now.”

For some reason, you found yourself not immediately moving from your place on the barstool. He was right, you'd given him your five minutes to chat and quell his curiosity about why you were here. It was such a small thing for him to have wanted to ask you about, and yet somehow that had left you curious about him now.

“Or–” he said, breaking the mounting silence between you two as he raised his glass to his lips, pausing with it there as he continued, “–you can give me more than five minutes of your time tonight. Up to you, sweetheart. My evening is wide open at the moment.”

Sitting there, you watched as his lips wrapped around the edge of his glass, the dark liquid tipping back into his mouth as his eyes remained on you. Your hand gripped the neck of your beer bottle harder, your heart thrumming in your throat at the offer to stay and talk to him. You knew you shouldn't, you knew the smart thing to do was to get up with your beer and go back to your friends and forget this entire moment had ever even happened in the first place. Jax Teller was trouble. He wasn’t a good guy. He was a notorious playboy with a criminal record. But for some damn reason you couldn't move from your seat beside him. And that only had his smirk growing wider the moment he realized that you weren’t moving.

His foot slid out, casually hooking around the leg of the barstool beside you before he pulled it out. Settling down into the seat and getting comfortable, one of his hands gestured at your beer that sat half-drunk in your nervous grip.

“Why don't you finish that and I'll get you another, darlin’?” he suggested, arching one of his brows at you.

Slowly, you raised the bottle to your lips, drinking back more of the alcohol. Jax’s eyes creased at the corners as he leaned closer towards you, resting his elbows on the bar counter.

“So, why don’t you go on and tell me more about how you’re not the kinda company I’m looking for tonight, darlin’?” he teased, that infuriatingly handsome smirk slipping back onto his lips.

#jax teller x reader #jax teller x fem!reader #jax teller x you #jax teller #sons of anarchy

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svenzio · 1 day ago

Text

cho hyunju as your girlfriend

« non-binary reader » « other acc: @antinitoniny »

« not proofread, lots of mistakes & errors »

prompts w imagines after the cut, lmk ur thoughts !

softspoken gf!hyunjuㅡ whether it's during a casual conversation or an argument, you always feel huge amounts of affection & warmth in hyunju's voice

ㅡ after an unspecified misunderstanding

"can we talk?" hyunju softly knocked on an opened door to get your attention, leaning on the doorframe.

"i'm sorry, i promise i didn't mean toㅡ" you were so close to crying while trying to explain til hyunju interrupts you

"i understand" hyunju smiled, sitting in front of you. she placed her hand on top of yours.

"i didn't mean to invalidate your emotions earlier, i was just confused. i'm sorry. i know that you just want the best for me" hyunju talked so softly that one would think that she's putting a baby to sleep.

"but stillㅡ" you attempted to not justify your actions

"it's okay, i promise" hyunju said, giving an assuring smile. she cups your cheek, placing a peck on it.

hyunju's crazy good with eye contact. she always manages to make you flustered even during casual conversations. she actually just makes sure to listen well

it's a normal saturday afternoon for you & your girlfriend. for this weekend, you're in charge of planning & your plan is to stay at home and do nothing. when hyunju heard about the plan, she can't stop laughing at it because her plans have always been outdoors & active.

now, you're sitting on the couch with hyunju, talking about your week. you guys made it a habit to catch up after a busy week.

"yeah then like cath yelled at him and i was likeㅡ DESERVE!! as she should" you said with all of your emotions, eyes focused on the television 'coz you're trying to find a show to watch later.

"HAHAHAHAHA then?" hyunju responded enthusiastically. it's always fun to tell stories when hyunju's present.

you reached out for the chips and sat back, planning to focus on telling your story as you look at hyunju.

"cath basically told him to fuck off and that g-guy ha-hasㅡ oh my god! stop staring at me" you panicked, unable to keep a smile in.

confused hyunju: "huh?"

"nevermind umㅡ yeah soㅡ" you looked back at hyunju only for her to look so focused on you. you had to internally meditate before continuing, meeting hyunju's eyes.

"um yea, the guy, his name's mick, he gaslighted cath right in front of oㅡ oh fuck i can't" at least you tried for five seconds.

it's not that you're weak with eye contact, hyunju's eyes just sparkle as if they're adoring you right in front of youㅡ you get it? yea. you can hear that tiktok sound "blah blah blah, proper name, place name, backstory stuff"

"why?" hyunju laughs, knowing exactly what's happening but wanted to tease you about it anyway

"why are you staring at me like that?" you asked

"like what?" hyunju teases

"like you wanna shut me up with a damn kiss or something"

"i feel like that's what you want & it has nothing to do with my stare" hyunju laughs

"NUH UH UR EYES ARE PRACTICALLY STATING A 300-WORD POEM FOR ME"

hyunju LOVES forehead kisses. she doesn't know that but you've noticed that she kisses your forehead like five times in one hour

"good job, my love" hyunju kisses your forehead.

"am i gonna get a kiss whenever i do a good job?" you asked, smiling. hyunju smiled, patting your head.

"hmm... sure" hyunju said, hugging you from the back as you continue figuring out the manual instructions for the cabinet. you know damn well that hyunju can do that for you in 20mins but you wanted to try by yourself anyway.

"does this go here?" you asked yourself, placing a screw on a hole.

"no, baby. it's for the handles" hyunju softly corrected you, snuggling on the crook of your neck.

"so no kisses for me since i got it wrong?" you pouted

"a kiss for trying" hyunju smiles, kissing your forehead.

hyunju who never gets jealous but enjoys how you overexplain because you don't want to make her overthink unintentionally

on your way home, you & hyunju decided that it'll be nice to take a 30min walk at night since the weather's pretty nice. you talked about various of things, noticed different things, started a 10min worth of conversation from just a passerby's shoesㅡ it was a great evening for the both of you.

until, you passed by a club. unexpectedly, you saw your high school friends outside. you haven't seen them in years which is why you were so excited that you immediately ran and hugged them.

the conversation between you & your two friends went on for 10 minutes. of course, you also introduced hyunju to them & bragged about her.

during the next couple of minutes, the walk was filled with silence. it was the complete opposite of the energy that you guys had before meeting your friends.

a lot of things went inside your head. you can't read hyunju at all. is she tired? but she still initiates conversations even when she's tired. is she mad? she would've told you if she is. is she...

you stopped in your tracks which made hyunju stop as well. hyunju looked at you quietly, wondering why you suddenly stopped when you're four blocks away from home.

"are you jealous?" was the conclusion that you made.

hyunju managed to keep her smile inside because she's curious about how this situation will escalate.

"i'm not" hyunju said with a straight face

you were stressed, you didn't know what to do, you don't know what's running inside her mind so you're clueless abt how you're gonna assure her.

"those were just my classmates from high schoolㅡ we're not even following each other on social media iㅡ we'reㅡ i hated everyone during high school" you rapped, panicking.

you're afraid. you don't want to unintentionally hurt hyunju in any way.

hyunju smiles "you don't have to explain" she says

"huh? oh my god do you not trust me" you cried out dramatically which made hyunju chuckle

"i trust you. that's why you don't have to explain" hyunju said, holding your hand.

"i love you so much & i have the same amount of trust on you so you don't have to worry" she said

"then why are you so quiet?" you pouted, leaning your body on her as you guys walk.

"i thought you're tired & wanted to enjoy the scenery." oh right, you're the type to make your own little bubble whenever your social battery runs out.

"i thought you were mad" you said

"...me? when was i ever mad?"

"exactly. i thought tonight's the first time"

"you'd never see the first time" hyunju smiles.

hyunju hates it when other people touch her hair but she LOVES it when you experiment with different hairstyles w her hair

"baby, a package came for you" hyunju said, entering the room. you jumped out of the bed & immediately opened the package. hyunju stood behind you, resting her head on your shoulder as you open your package.

"TADAAA" you excitedly said, showing her the pastel clips & ties that you ordered.

"that'll look fantastic on you, love" hyunju genuinely said

"it'll look a lot more fantastic on you" you said with a wide smile, facing her.

hyunju's confused face slowly turned into a smile. at this point, it's a monthly activity for the both of you to style each other's hair (or usually just hyunju's)

"any requests?" you asked, brushing hyunju's hair.

now, you're sitting on the couch while hyunju's on the floor, holding the boxes of clips.

"you do you. i just want a mix of black and pink clips" hyunju said as if she's talking to a hairstylist (roleplaying is ur thing too)

"alright, pretty lady"

bonus: hyunju having a whole ig highlights of the hairstyles you gave her.

hyunju who has a habit of unconsciously giving you her first & last bite of food

you brought hyunju with you at your friend's night out. your friends are also her friends so it doesn't really matter.

during meal, you're a lot more focused on talking with your friends than eating. on the other hand, hyunju's starting with her meal already.

hyunju tapped your shoulder lightly & fed you a spoonful of her food. you ate it without looking at her nor batting an eye as if it's a normal thing between the both of you.

since you weren't eating much due to the intense topic that you're having, hyunju's basically feeding you spoonfuls from time to time.

"baby" hyunju said, trying to take your attention

"i'm full, sweetie. thank you" you told her

"last one." hyunju smiles, showing you her last spoonful of food.

"i feel like these two got an invisible private bubble with just the two of them" your friend told the other

"that bubble is probably heart-shaped" the other responded

"may this love find me" your friend says (basically begging the heavens)

hyunju's the BEST when it comes to comforting you. probably also bcs she read a lot of books to help you manage your emotions

you're curled up on the couch, staring at the wall. hyun-ju walks in, her steps were soft but deliberate, carrying a steaming mug of tea. she places it on the coffee table in front of u.

“hey..i made you chamomile. don’t argue, just drink it. i know you didn’t have lunch today.”

u didn't respond, but your eyes flicker briefly to the mug before dropping back to their lap. hyunju sits down beside u, keeping enough space to not feel imposing.

"you know, it’s okay to take time for yourself. but.." she pauses, her tone softening “locking yourself away like this isn’t helping. I can see it in your eyes—you’re not resting, you’re just… running.”

"i don’t know how to face anyone right now. It’s like… I’m not enough. No matter what I do, it’s never enough.” your voice is barely above a whisper.

hyunju leans forward, thinking.

"i read something a while ago. about how we talk to ourselves.” she said, glancing at you.

"if a friend came to you saying what you just said, would you tell them they’re not enough?” she asked

you shake your head, lips pressed together.

"exactly. so why is it okay to talk to yourself like that? why are you doing that to yourself? you don't deserve that" hyunju said, your tears threatening to fall but you didn't respond.

"you’re allowed to feel lost, but don’t let those thoughts win. they don’t know you like I do.” hyunju continued, smiling warmly at you.

"you make it sound so easy…” you said, tears pooling in your eyes.

hyunju smiles gently, reaching over to place a hand on yours.

"it's not. it'll be a rough path & it surely will be filled with tears and crazy evenings" hyunju said, sighing

"but you won't be facing them alone. i'm here, and I’m not going anywhere. so… drink your tea, and let me stay in your corner. Okay?” hyunju smiled, handing you the mug. as you take it, hyunju wraps her arms around you, making you feel protected and warm.

right there, you knew that you'll be just fine.

hyunju who's so good w words & have a very unique perspective about things which makes your late night conversations amazing

the two of you are sitting on a park bench, watching people who's doing their midnight workout at the park.

“you know what’s funny about people? we think we’re so smart, but we act on instinct most of the time. all gut reactions, fear, and hope.” hyunju suddenly speaks.

“hope is an instinct?” you raised an eyebrow

“of course. it’s survival. you think a soldier keeps moving forward because they’re brave? no. they hope the next step gets them out alive. you think someone falls in love because they’re logical? no. they hope it won’t destroy them.” hyunju nods

“so, we’re just… running on hope and instincts?” you asked, actually thinking about it.

hyunju chuckles & nods, turning to look at you.

“yeah. and you know what? that’s not a bad thing. makes us unpredictable. makes us dangerous. and…”

“it makes us human.” hyunju proudly smiles, looking at the nightsky

“sometimes you sound like a philosopher.” you said, resting your head on her shoulder.

“don’t get used to it. i’m only this deep after midnight.”

the two of you sit there a little longer, hyun-ju’s words hanging in the air like the stars above—simple but impossibly vast.

active dates. hyunju's physically active (and in this case, you're not) but you always do your best to do her favorite activities w her.

you’re both halfway up a hiking trail, and you’re already out of breath. hyun-ju stops ahead, turning to look at you with a smirk.

“you good back there? or do i need to carry you?” hyun-ju asked, her grin teasing.

“you’d love that, wouldn’t you?” you said, panting as you tried to keep up.

“maybe,” she said, grinning wider. “but you’re doing fine. come on, just a little further. the view’s worth it.”

“the things i do for you,” you muttered, trudging up the trail.

hyun-ju was waiting for you at the top, holding out her hand. “and that’s why you’re my favorite. now, let me show you why this is mine.”

she pulled you up, and as you caught your breath, the view of the valley below left you speechless.

lazy dates, ofc. hyunju considers every moment w u a date. even staying on the bed for the whole day is a date for her

the two of you are tangled in a mess of blankets, the sunlight peeking through the curtains. hyun-ju is lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, watching you scroll through your phone.

“you know this counts as a date, right?” hyun-ju said, her voice soft but playful.

“lying here doing nothing?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“yep,” she said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “as long as i’m with you, it’s a date. simple as that.”

you rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “you’re too easy to please, you know that?”

“maybe,” she said with a smirk, leaning in to rest her forehead against yours. “or maybe i just know how to enjoy the good stuff.”

you laughed, setting your phone aside and curling closer to her. lazy days had never felt this perfect.

protective hyunjuㅡ lowkey on army mode whenever the both of you are in a dark street. makes sure to remind you that she's capable of protecting you even if you don't expect her to.

the two of you are walking home late at night, the streetlights casting long shadows. hyun-ju is walking slightly ahead, her posture sharp and alert.

“you don’t have to keep looking over your shoulder,” you said, trying to lighten the mood.

“and you don’t have to worry, because i’m looking for both of us,” hyun-ju said, her eyes scanning the dimly lit street.

you sighed. “it’s not like anything’s going to happen.”

she glanced back at you, her expression steady but confident. “you don’t expect anything to happen. that’s why you have me.”

“you’re really pulling the ‘special forces’ card right now?” you teased.

“damn right i am,” she said, smirking but still alert. “i’ve got instincts, training, and enough muscle to make anyone regret trying something stupid. you’re safe with me. always.”

you smiled, slipping your hand into hers. “i know. thanks, captain.”

“don’t mention it,” she said, squeezing your hand gently. “but if anyone even looks at you wrong, they’re getting a lesson they won’t forget.”

doing hyunju's makeup! you love helping her w her makeup. whether yk a lot of things abt makeup or not, u just love seeing hyunju's happy smile whenever she finishes her look

hyun-ju sits cross-legged on the floor in front of you, a mirror propped up on the table and her makeup bag between you. you’re carefully applying a touch of eyeliner, your tongue sticking out in concentration.

“you’re taking this way too seriously,” hyun-ju said, her lips twitching into a smile.

“and you’re moving too much,” you said, gently tilting her chin back. “i’m trying to make you look flawless.”

“i already look flawless,” she teased, though her cheeks flushed slightly.

“yeah, yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes but smiling. “let me finish, miss ‘flawless.’”

when you finally pulled back to admire your work, hyun-ju turned to the mirror, her face lighting up.

“not bad,” she said, grinning as she checked her reflection. “you might actually put me out of a job.”

“i don’t know what i’m doing half the time,” you admitted, laughing. “but seeing you smile like that? worth it.”

hyun-ju looked at you, her grin softening into something warmer. “you’re the best, you know that?”

“obviously,” you said, smirking. “now, where’s my tip?”

she leaned in, planting a quick kiss on your cheek. “how’s that for a tip?”

“good enough,” you said, laughing as she grabbed her lipstick to finish the look.

hyunju who dries your hair after your late night shower. you can barely keep your eyes open so she asks little questions about your day to stop u from dozing off

you’re sitting on the edge of the bed, a towel wrapped around your shoulders. hyun-ju stands behind you, gently running a soft towel through your damp hair. your head keeps drooping forward, but she nudges you awake each time.

“don’t fall asleep on me,” hyun-ju said, her voice light but teasing. “you’ll wake up with a wet pillow, and then I’ll have to deal with your complaints.”

“m’not complaining,” you mumbled, eyes half-closed.

“uh-huh,” she said, smirking. “so, what did you eat today? anything that wasn’t instant noodles?”

“had a sandwich,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

“a sandwich? impressive,” she said, ruffling your hair gently with the towel. “what kind of sandwich?”

“...the kind with bread,” you mumbled sleepily, earning a soft laugh from her.

“genius answer,” she said, shaking her head as she grabbed the hairdryer, switching it to a low setting. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

the warmth from the dryer and her steady hands lulled you further, but she kept asking small questions—about your favorite part of the day, whether you saw anything interesting—until she finally shut the dryer off and kissed the top of your head.

“all done,” she said softly, her voice almost lulling you to sleep completely. “go on, lie down. i’ll be right here.”

of course, drying hyunju's hair too every morning is part of your routine.

hyun-ju sits on the edge of a chair, her hair still damp from her morning shower. you stand behind her with a towel, carefully running it through her dark strands. she leans back slightly, her eyes half-closed as she enjoys the moment.

“you don’t have to do this every day, you know,” hyun-ju said, her voice soft but amused.

“and yet, here i am,” you replied, gently squeezing water out of her hair. “besides, you’d just leave it wet and call it ‘air-drying.’”

“it’s efficient,” she said with a smirk, cracking one eye open to look at you.

“it’s lazy,” you corrected, grabbing the hairdryer. “sit still, or i’ll make it worse on purpose.”

she laughed quietly but stayed put, closing her eyes again as the warm air from the dryer brushed against her skin.

“you’re good at this,” she murmured. “if you ever get tired of your day job, you could make a killing as a hairstylist.”

“i’ll stick to this one client, thanks,” you said, smiling as you gently smoothed her hair down. “she’s picky but worth it.”

hyun-ju tilted her head back to look up at you, her grin soft. “you’re lucky i like you.”

“and you’re lucky i’m patient,” you teased, finishing with one last stroke of your fingers through her now-dry hair.

“perfect as always,” she said, standing up and pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before heading off. mornings didn’t start right without moments like this.

you love every morning with hyunju.

"you look amazing" you told hyunju, both of you are barely awake. waking up w hyunju every morning is what you consider a blessing. it's such a great way to start your day & you believe that a sight of her in the morning would make it impossible to ruin your day at work.

"but i just woke up?" hyunju laughed, hugging you.

"ethereal" you said, admiring her face.

hyunju got shy almost immediately, kissing your forehead. "i'll go make us some coffee" she said, sitting up.

"sounds good" you responded, drifting off to sleep once again. hyunju chuckled as she stepped out of the room.

you were sleeping soundly when you felt light taps on your shoulder & soft pats on your head.

"baby, i made breakfast" hyunju said, almost a whisper to not startle you.

"i love you" you responded, half-awake.

"i love you too so please get up, you're gonna be late" hyunju laughed at your state, kissing your shoulder.

you pulled her to the bed, unintentionally tickling each other. the room's soon filled w laughs for a solid five minutes.

"i love mornings with you" you said, caressing hyunju's cheeks

"i love my life with you" hyunju said, kissing the tip of your nose.

hyunju who was once afraid of public display of affection because of the weird stares from other ppl so you were always the one to initiate.

the two of you are walking through a crowded park, the early evening breeze carrying the hum of chatter and laughter. hyun-ju’s hands are stuffed into her jacket pockets, her shoulders slightly tense as she glances around.

you reached out, slipping your hand into hers without hesitation. “relax,” you said softly, giving her fingers a light squeeze.

hyun-ju hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting to a nearby couple, then back to you. “people are staring,” she murmured, her voice barely audible.

“let them,” you said, smiling up at her. “we’re not doing anything wrong.”

she looked at you, her expression caught somewhere between apprehension and awe. “you make it look so easy.”

“that’s because it is,” you said, swinging your joined hands slightly. “besides, if they have time to stare, maybe they’re just jealous.”

hyun-ju’s lips quirked into a small smile, her shoulders relaxing as she laced her fingers more tightly with yours. “you really don’t care, do you?”

“not even a little,” you replied, leaning closer to bump her shoulder with yours. “and one day, you won’t either.”

she chuckled softly, her grip on your hand firm now. “with you around, maybe.”

the rest of the walk felt lighter, the world fading into the background as you led the way, her hand warm and steady in yours.

bonus, same prompt:

the two of you are sitting on a bench at a quiet bus stop late in the evening. hyun-ju keeps glancing at the couple across the street, who are laughing and holding hands, before quickly looking away. she fidgets with the hem of her jacket, avoiding your eyes.

you reached over and placed your hand over hers, stilling her nervous movements. “hey,” you said softly. “you’re thinking too much again.”

she let out a small sigh, her gaze still fixed on the pavement. “it’s just… people look at us differently. like we’re doing something strange.”

“who cares?” you said, giving her hand a squeeze. “we’re not doing anything wrong.”

hyun-ju hesitated, then finally looked at you. “but doesn’t it bother you? being seen as… not normal?”

you smiled, leaning closer until your shoulder brushed against hers. “we are normal. the world’s just slow at catching up.”

she blinked at you, her lips parting slightly, before a quiet laugh escaped her. “you really believe that?”

“absolutely,” you said, lacing your fingers through hers. “we’re normal, hyun-ju. and anyone who thinks otherwise? that’s their problem, not ours.”

hyun-ju’s smile grew wider, and this time, when a passerby glanced your way, she didn’t flinch. instead, she leaned closer to you, her hand firmly holding yours. “we’re normal,” she repeated, almost like a promise.

#hyunju #cho hyunju #squid game #squid game 2 #player 120 #hyunju imagines #hyunju x reader #hyunju as your girlfriend #hyunju squid game

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awrkive · 2 days ago

Note

angst, 30, jk please ♥️

30. "Do you believe them over me?"

note: this is actually from my drafts mwahah just did some tiny tweaks 🤓

wc: 2.1k

Bliss.

It’s the one thing Jungkook feels when he lies on top of you as you turn around, letting his head rest in between your breasts. They heave still from your previous orgasm, and the thought makes his lips curl. From the corner of his eyes, he sees your spread arm and open palm so close to his own hand, and so for a second there, he lets himself get bold.

Jungkook stretches his arm in the hopes of putting his own hand on top of yours, but you automatically move it away.

“Jungkook, you're heavy.” You grunt, breaking the peaceful silence.

You would always say that whenever he’d lay on top of you – and while Jungkook knew it’s partly true, he also knew the intention behind didn’t hold any malice but only for the sake of jokes and giggles. You liked when he only pressed on more; tickled you to a wriggling mess, kissing you all over your face, but letting you win in the play-fight that would always occur after.

But right now, the annoyance in your tone sounds palpable that it’s hard to miss because it isn’t playful like it used to be.

Jungkook tries not to let it sting.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, carefully peeling his body off you, rolling on his back to lay on the mattress instead of you.

He watches you sit up immediately when he got off, not meeting his eyes when you speak.

“Can I… use your bathroom? I'm just going to clean up.”

The lodge in his throat kept him from answering right away. But when you finally look at him for his answer, he stutters, “Y-yeah. Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Your legs are a little wobbly when you stand up from the bed, heading straight to his bathroom.

If this was from before, Jungkook would have shamelessly admired your naked body and tease you for your jelly legs. You’d roll your eyes at him in that playful manner, throw a little something at him which he’d effortlessly catch. He’d come up to you, grab your hand and kiss you, apologize even though he wasn't sorry, and follow you to the bathroom.

But that was years before.

It’s different now.

He should probably clean himself up, too, but he lets himself stare at the grey ceiling of his room, an arm thrown over his face, letting out heavy sighs ever now and then while he listens in to the stream of the shower.

After a few minutes, you come out from the bathroom with a towel over your body. His towel. He knows it’s wrong to think this way, and yet, he can’t help but think, anyway, that you look good in it… Wearing his stuff at his own home.

Jungkook opens his mouth only to close it after realizing he doesn't really know what to say. You're walking towards the bed, bending over the foot of it, picking up the clothes on the floor.

The still quietness of the room suddenly makes Jungkook feel embarrassed in his still nude state, ironically feeling bare and stupid and vulnerable in his own skin. So he pulls a blanket to cover the lower parts of his body, sitting up.

“I'll get going in a few minutes,” you break the silence in the process of pulling up your pants.

“W-what?” Jungkook looks at you with wide eyes. He gazes at the wall clock hanging across the room and sees it's already past 2 am. He feels a sort of panic bubbling in his chest when you start buttoning up your shirt. “It's pretty late. I don't know if it's safe for you to go out at this hour.”

He knows the chances are slim, but he wants you to stay.

You glance behind you for the time to see it's late.

“Oh… right.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Jungkook offers. Too eager. Too desperate to keep you here. “Or the other room. You can sleep here.”

You don’t say anything back for a few seconds, but when Jungkook sees you eyeing your coat hanging on his chair, he starts feeling nervous.

“I appreciate that, Jungkook, but I think I’ll just uber home.” You say with a timid smile, tone clipped.

And it’s enough to make him deflate.

“Okay…”

Jungkook doesn’t want to insist any further even though every bone in his body is telling him to do so. He’s never been a fan of you taking the uber because it could really be dangerous… especially at this hour. He would like to offer you a ride himself, but judging on your tone Jungkook thinks you've had enough of him for tonight.

“... and I don’t wanna end up seeing Kim Hwayoung in my morning hair when she comes home later.” You add suddenly, and it makes Jungkook confused when you follow it with a... laugh.

And he realizes… oh… you’re trying to joke.

A joke that doesn’t land well.

And you know it didn’t, because you stopped laughing immediately when you noticed he isn’t having it.

“Why would you see Kim Hwayoung in my place?” Jungkook knows what you meant, but he just wanted it to come out of you directly.

You double down, though. “I don’t know… maybe because you’re dating her and stuff. She’s really pretty, by the way. I watched her new movie the other week.” You shrug, and Jungkook feels his heart crumbles when you do. Because you look like you didn’t care and the hard truth is that you probably really don’t.

“It’s just the media saying it,” he says, doesn’t know why he's even bothering to explain. It’s not like… it’s not like it would matter to you. It does matter to him – that you know he’s not tied to anybody – not for the past few years, and definitely not right now after you both just had sex.

You look at him blankly. “It’s a lot of news articles and photos,” You decide to add, “I saw on the internet.” Then, to add salt to injury, you chuckle a little, “Yunjin’s a bit... too online so she sends me stuff even though—”

“You believe them over me?” Jungkook cuts you off.

And right after he says it, he knows he fucked up instantly.

That was rich coming from him.

It stuns you for a moment. And he’s about to take it back when you suddenly speak.

“I don’t know. We haven’t seen each other for a long time. I don’t know you anymore.” You say, and Jungkook could’ve gotten past the mere message of your words, but you smiled at him so gently – the first one you’ve given him today, maybe, and it breaks his heart.

It breaks his heart because he knows that was your way of telling him that you’re walking away. It breaks his heart because he so badly wanted you to show maybe a little bit of jealousy over the fact that he’s currently linked to some actress, but instead you joke about it and you told him you don’t even care.

Seeing you today felt like Jungkook has given you his heart willingly and you entertained him for a while, pet it for a moment only to give it back to him crushed into bits and pieces.

Jungkook doesn’t know when exactly you finished gathering all your things, and how the silence after your last words stretched into a few minutes. All he knows is that now, you’re walking towards him with a small smile on your face and it’s stupid to cling onto it with so much hope, but Jungkook’s now used to being hurt.

“Thank you for inviting me, Jungkook.” He feels his throat constricting when you plant a delicate kiss on the apple of his cheek. “I'm going now.”

He wants to stop you, but the words on the tip of his tongue find it hard to let themselves verbalize. He couldn't.

Jungkook couldn’t even say anything as he watches you leave his room and disappear from his sight. It makes his eyes sting at the realization that it might’ve been the last time he’d see of you.

“Fuck.” He whispers to himself, agonizing over everything that just happened but he knows alcohol would help.

His therapist would be disappointed but he doesn’t care at all because it’s a sham, anyways. His manager had told him it’d be good for him but he’s never taken any of the sessions seriously and he doubts a shrink genuinely cared about fixing the privileged life of a famous popstar. Jungkook’s probably just a name on her notepad list, something to check off of her schedule for the day.

So he stands up from his bed, vision a bit blurry from the unshed tears that frame his eyes, but he doesn't miss a beat at taking out a Dalmore and a glass from the cabinet beside his bed.

Jungkook knows he has no right to wallow in this stupid self-pity because he knows all too well that he did this to himself. Everything bad that happened in his life was a product of his poor decision-making skills.

One drunken night.

It was that one drunken night.

You've fought all throughout your relationship but that particular month five years ago was the biggest predicament you two have ever encountered. You were promoted at your work but you had to go abroad; meanwhile, Jungkook was offered to be signed at the biggest labels in the music industry, which required him to leave, too. What was supposed to be good news turned into endless arguments and at the time, it feel like they didn't stop. You were at each other's throats for every single little thing, and there were many moments you told each other things that you both know well you didn't mean but didn't apologize for either.

And Jungkook got fed up, simply put.

But to this day, he still doesn't know what exactly happened that night. He smoked some shit, got high, paired it with alcohol, and the next thing he knew, he was in a bedroom he was sure you two didn't own – with a naked woman beside him that was definitely not you.

When he went home later that day, ready to beg for your forgiveness, you were already packing your things, sobs echoing in your apartment. He remembers trying to reach out for you, touch you, all the while apologizing profusely and repeatedly, but all you said to him was to stay the fuck away from you with venom he didn’t know you could spit. You told him you hate him; that he was the worst fucking person in the entire world. It’s still vivid in his head when you broke into a loud cry and asked him what you did to deserve that.

It still plays in his head everytime he tries to sleep at night. He couldn't get out the picture of you crying, so broken and so fragile when you tried to hit him as he took every jab, thinking that it would erase his mistake.

He was an asshole. Still is. And he doesn't have the right to be sad over you leaving him again because he betrayed you first; your trust, your love, your faith in him, every single thing that you established throughout the years you've spent together.

But right now, he lets himself get drunk on the whiskey he's taken out because at least it makes him numb. It makes him think about those blissfull moments with you five years ago, and with enough delusion, he could almost block out the bad ones.

And it does make him fall asleep.

Jungkook doesn't know if he'll ever see you again. He didn't even ask where you're staying now that you're back in town. Didn't even ask for your number. Because you didn't give either of them and he didn't want to push.

When the sun is up, he would wake up with a mess on his bed as per usual, hungover to death with no one but his manager to take care of him and tell him to get his shit together. And it’s not because he cares about Jungkook, it’s just because he gets a shit ton of money for pretending to care about him. But hey, Jungkook benefits from it, too. He’s got this huge empty house all for himself because Minho was a fucking greedy businessman and Jungkook likes working his body for the endless, pointless promotions because it makes him feel something.

But most importantly, when the rays hit the blinds and force him out of bed, he’s sure he'll still love you – even though you don't need him to anymore. Even though you don’t need him anymore, and even though you don't want him around anymore.

He’ll love you even though it's now impossible for you to ever feel the things you felt for him years ago.

Jungkook will always love you, but he knows it won’t be enough to repair the damage he’s already done.

#jungkook angst #p; drabbles #p; drabble requests

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enbyfvcker · 2 days ago

Text

[Unsettling silence]

Wade Wilson x Logan(worst!wolverine)

Word count: 0.7k

Summary/prompt: Wade is insecure and quiet after coming back home, and Logan notices, concerned about the unusual quietness.

Tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, fluff, insecure Wade Wilson.

Something's off.

Oh, something is definitely wrong.

Wade's home, and it's quiet. Fucking silent.

Not a joke could be heard, neither humming, whistling, or singing, or anything. Nothing.

Logan's a quiet person himself, but honestly, over the past months, he grew used to Wade never shutting the fuck up.

So yeah, he knows something's off when Wade barely uttered a word today after coming back from the market in the morning.

He was sitting on the couch, watching some random cheesy reality show with the captions on and hugging a cushion, wearing a hello kitty themed shirt, boxers with hearts printed on them and his mask.

He doesn't usually wear his mask inside the apartment.

"Hey, bub." Logan speaks, sitting next to the merc that doesn't take his eyes away from the TV.

"Hi, peanut." His tone seemed normal enough... Distant, though.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

"Yes, why wouldn't it be?" He finally looks at Logan. The whites of the mask pointed at him.

"You're quiet today..."

"So? Aren't you happy?"

"Why are you wearing your mask?"

"Cause I'm Deadpool. Duh-doy."

"Sure, but usually at home, you're just Wade."

"..."

"Is everything really okay?"

"Yeah! And if it weren't, then I probably wouldn't know how to talk about it since you probably wouldn't understand and probably think I'm dumb. So yes, I'm great. Perfect. Really jolly, thank you."

Logan's definitely not great with words, but he cares about Wade. So he makes an effort.

"I can listen... I won't think you're dumb. I mean, not more than I normally do." He tries to joke, but Wade doesn't laugh. "Talk to me."

"That's a new one."

"Wade..."

"Is no big deal. Really. I was just grocery shopping, and people looked at me weird. Nothing new. Kids looked traumatized, old ladies terrified... You know, the usual. Heard some fun comments. Had a real great time." Wade sighs, looking back at the TV, but he didn't really seem to focus now.

Logan felt his heart ache at the sadness clear in the merc's tone, so uncharacteristic of him.

"I'm sorry, W-"

"No. It's fine. It's nothing. I'm used to it. 'Been living with this ugly old mug for years, it's not like any comment or insult can be news to me or whatever. It's not like they're wrong to feel repulsed, anyway."

"You're not repulsive."

Wade just chuckles, even though there's no real amusement in his voice. "Right."

"I'm serious, Wade. You think I just fuck with anyone?"

"Yeah...? Not to call you a whore or anything, but-"

"I don't. And I don't think you're ugly." He gets closer, hand slowly creeping behind Wade's head. Wade quickly holds Logan's arm strongly, hesitantly, but then he sees the genuine look in his eyes and let go.

Slowly, Logan removed the mask and placed it on the couch, holding Wade's face with both hands and looking at him deeply.

"Those people don't know you. They don't know the kind, great, funny, loyal guy you are. I know you, bub. And I love you. Every part, even the ones that annoy the shit out of me."

Wade's eyes fill with water, and he looks at Logan like a sad puppy.

"Got it?" Logan asks firmly, and Wade just nods, feeling a knot in his throat. "Good." Logan leans and kisses Wade's lips softly, the merc melting completely. They pull away, and Logan can see Wade fighting some tears.

"You really mean it? You don't think I'm ugly?"

"No, I don't."

"Can you put me in your pocket and never let me go? Back pocket is preferable." Wade whines, burying his face in Logan's neck, who just chuckles.

"Don't think I can, bub."

"You can! We can steal Antman's suit and shrink me or something. Want you to take care of me..."

"What if I just make us a bath and hold you?"

"...That'd be nice..."

"Great." He kisses Wade's neck.

"Are you being romantic? You are! Didn't know you had it in you, peanut. I love it, don't stop."

"What do you mean? I can be romantic." Logan retorts, sounding a bit offended.

"Can you buy rose petals and make a path for me to the bathub?"

"What, do you want a honeymoon?"

"Yes!"

Logan laughs. "I can carry you." He offers.

Wade's eyes shine.

"Pleasepleasepleaseplease-"

Logan rolls his eyes and scoops Wade up, standing and holding him bridal style. Wade wraps his arms around Logan's neck eagerly.

"Oh. Did I just die? I'm in heaven. Wolvie heaven. Gosh, your arms-"

"Come on, let's go." He carries Wade to the bathroom.

#poolverine #deadclaws #deadpool and wolverine #wade x logan #fanfic #logan howlett #wade wilson #fluff #deadpool 3 #fic rec

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 days ago

Text

@pamwritessometimes

I am so happy that you liked this one sweetie!🥰

The contrast between the magic of his childhood and the emptiness now is so beautifully done. I literally just want to hug him (and maybe throw the whole bottle away for him)! 🥺 The description of how the mansion went from magical to miserable is so vivid. I could feel the emptiness, and it makes you understand Ben’s pain so much more. Like, his dad being a mess and Ben turning to the bottle?

It hurt me to write so much sadness into his life 😭, but that's what the reader is for! To comfort him and make Ben feel loved 😊 I wanted to hug him the whole time too 😭. And thank you! I really like the idea that his family mansion has been sitting empty for years with no one taking care of it. It serves as it's own little headcanon in my head lol.

But then the jewelry store scene OH MY GAWD! When Hughie and Annie show up... that was hilarious. 😂 Ben trying to play it cool but failing miserably is so on-brand. Like,

RIGHT?? lol. He was guilty for no reason. Man was playing dumb to try and get away from Annie and Hughie 😂 Probably was about to fake amnesia to get out of that one lol. Why am I here? Oh wait what are all these sparkly things? 🤣

This level of care is so pure. And then Ben’s reaction? OOF. The way he holds it up, and reader starts second-guessing herself ... I started second-guessing myself lmaoo But then he’s like “You made me a sweater?” with so much emotion that I wanted to SCREAM. And that kiss? “Don’t you fucking dare.” YES, BEN, CLAIM YOUR SWEATER AND YOUR GIRL. 😭💖

She just HAD to make him a sweater! It's what she's good at lol. And it seemed really on brand for her to be a little scared of what Ben would think about getting a handmade gift instead of something really expensive 🥰. I will say that apparently there is a thing called "sweater curse" where you never make a sweater for your boyfriend because there's a superstition that you'll break up... BUT I'm going to pretend that this doesn't exist. I'm also not going to lie, earlier drafts of this story had a bit where the reader remembered Ben's angry reaction when she made a maroon sweater for Butcher's birthday and she realized that Ben was jealous... I took it out, but it lives rent free in my head LOL 😂

But oh yeah, I really liked imagining Ben's voice getting a little bit gruffer when he said that, and being unable to look at the reader because he didn't want to be too "emotional." It made me MELT. The man is SMITTEN 💗

And don't even get me started on the necklace and the pendant. The fact that Ben gave her something so deeply personal is EVERYTHING! Seeing Ben trusting the reader with somethin like this and being nervous gifting it... I'm not crying, really, this is just an intentionally smudged eyeliner.

I'm not going to lie, I too was agonizing over what Ben was going to get the reader for Christmas. He already got her a bookshelf, but writing the headcanon about his mom's jewelry was just too cute for me to pass up. I really liked it because I think it showed that Ben is starting to understand that his relationship with the reader is different and he is starting to understand that gifts don't have to be really expensive. Plus as you astutely said, Ben being a bit nervous to give it to her made me teary too lol.

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING MY FRIEND! 🥰💗

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV, Soldier Boy POV and Reader POV

Summary: All Soldier Boy wants for Christmas is to find the perfect gift for you and all you want is for your boyfriend to have the best Christmas he has in forty years. Reader is a supe with plant powers. (Takes place in my Take A Chance On Me Series- 4 months after they get together, but can be read as stand alone!)

Tropes: Established Relationship, First Christmas, Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Soft Ben/ Soldier Boy, Protective Ben/Soldier Boy

Word Count: 8.5K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), Swearing, Mentions of Sex, Sexual Innuendo, Illusions to Sex, Fluff, Soft Soldier Boy, A little bit of self-deprecating thoughts, Soldier Boy is Mean to Hughie, Mention of drinking/drugs, Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Take A Chance On Me Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Song Inspiration: Little Things By ABBA

A/N: I know I should be working on the epilogue of "Take a Chance on Me," but @zepskies wrote a lovely Christmas fic called 'Twas the Night for Dean Winchester, and it really just got me in a mood to write some Christmas Fluff! 🥰

Soldier Boy POV

Ben frowned at the delicate necklace laid on the black velvet cloth in front of him, the 10 carat diamonds catching in the brilliant lights that lined the ceiling of the jewelry store. It was the eleventh piece of jewelry that he'd asked the woman behind the counter to remove from the display case, and it still wasn't right.

Ben had waited until the last possible moment to go Christmas shopping. It wasn't because he'd forgotten or because he'd been so busy he hadn't had time to shop or because he'd been called away on a mission, but rather Ben kept putting it off because he didn't want to think about it.

It was his first Christmas back in the U.S, and it was already proving to be one so different than the ones he'd known before.

Christmas for him in his youth when his mother was alive was filled with light and joy. Each room of his family's mansion strung with tinsel, adorned with holly and festive wreaths, and a Christmas tree so large that it put all others to shame and sent the smell of pine wafting thorough the large home. He remembered the lavish parties his mother threw with women in gorgeous gowns and men dressed in suits taking crystal glasses from silver trays, remembered the warmth in the kitchen as his mother baked and rolled fresh pastry, remembered the taste of the hot chocolate on the tip of his tongue that his mother made him before she sent him to bed on Christmas Eve, and remembered her tight embrace and the smell of her floral perfume on Christmas morning when he'd run down the stairs into the living room.

Ben's jaw tightened.

Christmas without her was different, the large mansion where he lived with his father was cold and dark. The hallways desolate and frozen in the winter months that lead into spring, the kitchen no longer heated by the warmth of the oven or infused with the smell of gingerbread, the parlor no longer tinkling with the sounds of glasses and the laughter of guests, the living room no longer housed a Christmas tree so tall that it made the Eiffel tower look like a trinket, and there were no longer Christmas parties where people danced into the wee hours of the morning and poured themselves into bed smelling of champagne and eggnog.

All that was left was the drunken stupor of his father, the harsh words that echoed down the long hallways, and the urge for Ben to find the nearest bottle and drown himself in it.

Ben spent most of his years as a supe trying to forget the years that followed his mother's death and also his Christmases as a supe washing away the memory of the ones that seemed to be infused with the magic of Christmas in his youth.

Ben spent them at Legend's Christmas party with his woman of the hour clinging to his arm, making painful small talk and waiting until the party turned into a hedonistic thrall of sweat and skin as so many others had. And the next morning when he woke up from the fog, he turned back to the little white line that promised to make him forget and the amber bottle that did little to ease the reality that started to sink in.

But this year was different, because he had you.

You who loved Christmas more than anyone he'd ever met, you who was slowly reminding him how much he used to love Christmas as a child, you who'd dragged him to go Christmas tree shopping before Thanksgiving, you who had encouraged him to help decorate the small apartment the two of you shared with so many Christmas lights it was blinding, and you who had planned something Christmas themed every week for the past month whether it be baking Christmas cookies or watching Christmas movies while drinking hot chocolate on the couch. And in each moment, you'd found some way to include him in it.

Ben wasn't used to that.

He wasn't used to someone wanting him there with them and someone like you going out of your way to include him in everything you did.

If a person had tried to tell him in the past that he'd ended up with someone like you, someone who smiled easily, someone who always put other people first, someone who actually gave a shit about him, someone who was always so damn warm and welcoming, someone who included in him everything you did in a way that didn't make Ben feel like an old grump, and someone who tried their best to make sure that Ben remembered every day that you wanted him around, he would have laughed in that person's face.

And yet there you were.

Truth be told Ben knew that the old version of him probably wouldn't have let someone like you close to him, let alone fall in love with them.

Ben hadn't met anyone else like you in the numerous years he'd been alive and he really didn't want to fuck it up. He'd fucked up so many other things in his life and he hadn't cared, but if it involved you, he wouldn't dare.

Hence, the current dilemma of him standing in the crowded Tiffany store at 8 pm two days before Christmas with you waiting at home for him to exchange gifts. Ben wanted to pick the perfect gift for you, but nothing felt right.

He'd never given much thought to what to buy someone for Christmas. In the past usually an expensive piece of jewelry, a handbag, a dress, or a car would have made any of Ben's many escapades swoon, but not you. Ben had tried to give you jewelry before, expensive jewelry that would have made any of those other women drop to their knees, but you were different.

And as much as Ben loved that about you, it was only making this worse for him.

The one time that he'd tried to give you a gift outright, a beautiful diamond and emerald drop pendant with earrings to match, you hadn't been impressed. Sure, you'd thought that it was beautiful, but you'd told him that you liked gifts that "meant something."

Whatever the fuck that meant.

And he knew for a fact that the 10 carat diamond necklace on the velvet pillow in front of him would mean nothing to you.

"Fuck." Ben murmured under his breath, and the saleswoman stiffened.

"Still not quite right?" She asks, adjusting the sleeves of her navy blue blazer. "We have some bigger jewel-"

"It's not the fucking size." Ben snaps frustrated.

He was running late. He knew that you were waiting at home for him to bring back dinner and to give him his present, the one that he was sure would be thoughtful and perfect for him because you were always so damn caring.

The other shoppers were pushing and shoving their way to the counters where other salespeople stood in identical navy blazers and white button down shirts, the tension and buzz of two days to Christmas electrifying the air, while Christmas music that Ben couldn't recognize played in the background.

His supe hearing made it worse. Sometimes it was a bit overwhelming and as much as Ben pretended that he didn't have PTSD, he did. Being surrounded by this many people was not helping. It was in moments like this when you were there, would hold entwine your fingertips with his and brush your thumb gently over the back of his hand to ground him as if you could sense his discomfort.

Ben hadn't ever had someone care enough to notice things like that. Another reason why he wanted to find you the perfect gift, because you put up with all his shit and didn't ask for anything in return.

"Ben?" He hears a familiar voice ask, hesitant, and he turns to see Annie standing a few feet inside the open doorway. S

he's wearing a black puffer jacket and her hair is hidden under a red stocking cap, while Hughie holds the door for her. Hughie's arms were laden down with bags while Annie's remained bare. The winter wind blew in through the space, flecking bits of snow onto the rugs that had been laid out to avoid the customers sliding through the sludge.

"Hey." Ben grunts, not quite smiling.

He wasn't good at talking to your best friend or her boyfriend. Personally he thought that Hughie was a fucking pussy and that he didn't have the balls to tell Annie no, but the one time Ben had told you that, you'd only rolled your eyes and told him that Hughie "loved Annie."

Ben loved you and he did have the balls to tell you no, but Ben thought that sometimes it was better to keep his mouth shut and do what you asked. Not to mention Ben hated saying no to you when it was something that could make you happy. Ben liked making you as happy as you made him.

He flinched at the thought. The self-deprecating monologue was beginning to seep in, the one that told him you were turning him into a "pussy" and that he should cut and run. The same monologue that made him make a mistake and run back to Vought a few months ago when he should have run to you.

Ben shakes it off.

"What are you doing here? I thought you two were going to leave this morning for Illinois?" Annie asks in surprise used to Ben's grouchy demeanor.

Your grandmother turned Christmas into a two day extravaganza, complete with a Christmas Eve and a Christmas Day party. And although Ben and you were supposed to begin the 14 hour drive to Illinois this morning, your grandmother had insisted the two of you catch a flight first thing tomorrow.

"Decided to catch a flight tomorrow." Ben replies.

Ben was secretly happy, because flying meant that he wasn't going to have to drive 14 hours in the snow. The two of you had driven to Illinois once before, and Ben hadn't minded it. You’d been more upset with him for not letting you drive, but Ben liked driving. Driving meant that he was in control and in an emergency situation he wouldn't have to reach over the console and yank the wheel to save the two of you and driving meant that you could relax in the passenger seat and work on whatever it was you were crocheting.

"Like us!" Hughie flashes Ben a wide smile that Ben doesn't feel the need to return. “You should have told us. We could have all traveled together!”

Ben's frown deepens at the thought at being stuck in a metal tube for hours with Hughie and he knew that if you were here you would probably elbow him in the side and tell him to "be nice." If anyone had ever tried to do that to him in the past, he would have ripped their arm off, but not you.

"Last minute shopping?" Hughie asks trying again.

Ben dragged his eyes over the numerous bags hanging from Hughie's arms. "Yeah. You too?"

"Mhmm. We just finished." Annie replies. Her gaze drops to the diamond necklace on top of the display case that the saleswoman is fiddling with. "Is that for-"

"No. Of course not!" Ben says sharper than he means to, shoulders tensing. But him standing in this store when he knew that you were waiting at home for him to celebrate Christmas made him feel like Annie and Hughie had caught him red-handed. "She doesn't like jewelry." He adds referring to you as he takes a step back from the counter and the sales associate who looks confused.

“But sir-“ The woman begins to say, but Ben waves a hand to shut her up.

"Why do you think that?" Annie asks interrupting the woman.

"Because she yelled at me when I bought her that diamond and emerald necklace!" He shouts so loud that some of the other customers turn to stare at him. "This was a fucking mistake, I have to go-" Ben starts to stomp out the door and past Annie not sure where he's going, but she shifts to stand in his way. His eyes narrow in annoyance, thinking about all the ways that he could move her.

He only put up with Annie because she was your best friend and he knew that if he did anything to her then it would upset you, and Ben didn't like upsetting you.

Well, he did think that it was cute when you got angry with him. Your eyebrows scrunched together, your cheeks turned a cute shade of pink, and your eyes seemed to glow with the force of your anger. There were few people who had the courage to tell him off, but the more you did it, the more he started to like it.

But this was different, and now thinking about you only reminded him of his current dilemma.

"Ben, wait a minute." Annie says.

"What?" He snaps

He could practically feel the seconds ticking away until he had to go back to the apartment. It was the first time that he'd ever dreaded going home and seeing you and fuck he hated every single moment of it.

"She does like jewelry." Annie's mouth drops into a sympathetic smile.

Ben tried not to get more angry when he saw the pitying look in her eye. He didn't need her pity, didn't need anyone's pity! He was still Soldier Boy damnit!

"Then why the fuck did she-"

"She doesn't like this kind of jewelry." Annie clarifies. "She like vintage stuff, simple, refined. Hell, I have to practically drag her away from the display cases at Atomic Archives."

"Atomic Archives?" Ben asks hesitantly. He had no idea what Annie was talking about. You'd never mentioned that place before.

"Yeah, it's our favorite antique store. It’s about two blocks over from where the plant shop used to be.”

"Can you show me where it is?" Ben says it before he can stop himself, his heart surging with hope at the possibility of finding the perfect gift for you.

"I mean I-" Annie begins to say, but Hughie interrupts.

"Babe, didn’t you say that the owner was closed this week because she went out of town?" Hughie asks her, throwing a sympathetic look in Ben's direction that made him bristle.

"Oh, right." Annie sighs.

Ben felt the hope inside pop and deflate like a pricked balloon, but the longer he stood there in the crowded shop, with the ostentatious jewelry twinkling under the lights, the buzz of the chatter of other shoppers, and the ridiculous new-age Christmas music that grated on his ears, he began to have an idea.

"Come on." Ben might have said it as a suggestion, but it wasn’t open for debate. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed Annie and unfortunately that meant that Hughie was going to tag along.

"What?" Annie sputtered.

"Come the fuck on. I don’t have time for this." Ben snaps back and stomps out the doorway past Annie and Hughie into the snow.

"But what about-" Hughie begins to say and Ben whirls around to glare at him, eyes narrowing. "Okay you got it. Lead the way buddy." Hughie nods his head in agreement.

"I'm not your fucking buddy." Ben sighs under his breath.

Soldier Boy POV

"This place is really murdery." Ben hears Hughie whisper to Annie from somewhere behind him. "Do you think Ben is going to try to kill us? Should I call Butc-"

"I'm not going to fucking kill you!" Ben snaps, pulling out his keys, the jingle of the metal echoing down the long hallway. "And I guess you really can't make a decision without that British fuck can you?”

The storage unit warehouse was desolate, but that was to be expected, it was after all two days to Christmas and most were more focused on buying things to put in their storage units than moving things out. The lights along the roof of the steel gray hallway flicker and throw long shadows over the navy blue doors of the units doing little to alleviate the creepy aura.

In hindsight Ben did agree that this particular storage space was "murdery," but it was the only one that he could get close to the apartment last minute. The same apartment that Ben has been trying to convince you to move out of.

It wasn't the safest neighborhood, and Ben hated the thought that you'd lived there as long as you had, walking home at night alone before he moved in. Now it wasn't a problem because Ben never let you walk by yourself. And as hard as you'd fought him not to live in a "big fancy apartment" all Ben wanted was to live somewhere where he could imagine staying permanently. Not in a small one bedroom apartment where he had to stoop in the shower, the bed barely fit in the bedroom, and seemed too small for one person let alone two.

He knew that he was wearing you down, but he still had a long way to go.

"Why are we here then?" Hughie asks.

"You're here because your girlfriend wouldn’t come without you.” Ben rolls his eyes as he fits the key into the thick padlock.

He was getting tired of listening to Hughie’s whining. He heard enough of that when he was stuck on missions with him, but he was tolerating him, for the moment at least. He had to, because if he didn't then he was never going to be able to find the perfect gift for you.

The interior of the storage unit isn't anything special. Ben didn't have much that he wanted to keep from his old life, as a supe or from his childhood. The things inside this storage unit were the only things that Ben had left that didn't cause him to be reminded of how his father chastised him or the drafty home that Ben returned to each time he got kicked out of another boarding school.

The mansion that had been in his family for decades had sat abandoned and locked up, hidden from the main roads so it was undisturbed after Ben's father died. Ben had gone to Philadelphia a few months ago to get things in order with the bank and prepare it for sale, but had been surprised when you told him you wanted to come.

He didn't think that you'd want to be involved in something so tedious, but it was almost as if you could sense how hard it was going to be for him, and you'd insisted.

Ben had no intention of setting foot inside, but you were curious and even though it made Ben's throat tight to walk down the dusty cobwebbed halls, the wonder on your face as you walked through made the cold memories of the world he knew before he was a supe fade into the background.

And this storage unit was all that was left of that life.

Ben located the old steamer trunk with ease. It was a faded gray now, but Ben remembered the day his father bought it for his mother. When the grayed sides were a soft supple black, the metal lock and edging were a polished gold, and the rose patterned fabric that lined the inside was soft and covered in bright pink flowers.

When Ben opens the trunk, he catches the smell of the floral perfume his mother used to wear and after all these years it makes him remember the tight hugs she'd give him the moment she sent him off to bed and the tight hugs she'd given him when he rushed down the stairs on Christmas morning.

He didn't like thinking about her or talking about her, but sometimes he would think of her when he was with you. Whenever you did something caring without being asked or whenever you took the time to check in to see how he was doing. Not that you were motherly, just that Ben hadn't had anyone in a long time care about little things like that.

The only other "relationship" he'd tried to have was with Crimson Countess and she didn't do any of the things for him that you did. There wasn't any comparison between the two of you as far as Ben was concerned.

He shakes off the memory the way he always does and moves some of his mother's clothes for the cherry wood carved box that he knows is in the bottom.

He opens it slowly, extracting a small velvet box from within, one of many inside that Ben probably should have taken to the bank ages ago for safe keeping. Ben's father had a tendency to buy things for his mother whenever he "messed up" and the small velvet boxes inside were proof of that.

Ben turns back to where Annie and Hughie are watching with curiosity at the door of the storage unit. "Here."

"Here?" Annie says hesitantly looking at the velvet box in Ben's hand.

"You brought us out here for a box?" Hughie huffs.

Ben narrows his eyes. "No. And if you tell anyone about this I'll turn you inside out, ass-wipe."

"Why do you always have to be so-" Hughie begins to say, but Annie nudges him in the side.

Ben wondered briefly if Annie and Hughie also tried to tolerate him the same way that he tolerated them for you.

"Wow." Annie says, her voice hushed and reverent when she opens the box with strands of her blonde hair falling out around the hat.

"You think she'll like it?" Ben clears his throat, trying not to wince at the question.

He hated that he was relying on Annie for this or relying on anyone in general. Ben would have rather taken a long walk off a short pier than anyone for help, but he was just so desperate to make sure that the first Christmas the two of you spent together was perfect.

You deserved that and Ben wanted to give it to you.

"She will."

"Good." Ben takes the box back, but decides to bring the wooden box with him back to the apartment just in case. His eyes narrow as he looks over at Hughie. "If you tell anyone about this, I'll shove your head up Butcher's ass. Then again, you two would probably enjoy something like that."

"You're welcome." Annie raises an eyebrow.

"Whatever." Ben mutters.

Reader POV

Ben was late and you were starting to worry.

Not that Ben was always punctual. The man was about as punctual as the White Rabbit, but rather Ben was sure to let you know when he was running late. Not to mention Ben was rarely late to things that he knew were important to you.

And tonight was special or at least you wanted it to be.

You look at your phone again to check the time, noting that it was nearing nine and Ben had told you he was going to be back at eight. You were trying not to think too much about it, busying yourself with other little things, like packing for your trip to your grandmother's home in Illinois. Something that you would have ended up doing about an hour before you had to go to the airport, but you knew that would only annoy Ben.

But you liked annoying him.

Ben's nostrils would flare, his jaw would flex, and the green of his eyes would darken in a way that sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine, but tonight you were too anxiety ridden at how late he was to care about making him annoyed.

Ben and you were supposed to leave this morning to drive the 14 hours to your hometown in Illinois, but you'd called your grandmother a few days ago and asked her if Ben and you could fly in instead.

You wanted the two of you have a Christmas alone before you dragged him back home and made him sit through the two holiday parties your grandmother threw. So you'd planned a quiet Christmas at home where the two of you could drink eggnog, watch some holiday movies, and exchange gifts before Ben was subjected to every single person you'd known since you were six.

But Ben didn’t seem to mind any of that.

Regardless, you were going all out this Christmas. It was Ben's first since he'd come back to the States and you wanted it to be perfect and it was the first Christmas the two of you were spending together as a couple.

The anxious energy that thrummed through your veins reached out into the numerous plants in your apartment, that shifted and stirred as your powers coaxed them forward. The vines that crept along the walls shook with an unnatural breeze, the Christmas tree grew an inch taller, the mistletoe hanging above the front door grew another few shimmering berries, the blackberry and raspberry vines that hung over your refrigerator fidgeted and wove together into a curtain while the tomato plant in the garden box above your sink dropped bright red fruit onto the counter, and the orange/lemon tree that sat behind your kitchen table blocking the view of the alley beyond shook it's branches for a moment. You could feel everything alive in your apartment leaning towards you as if waiting for your silent command.

Rex, the creature you'd created from broken vines and trampled leaves four months ago, flicks his eyes over to you sensing the same disturbance the rest of the plants inside could.

You bite the inside of your cheek fighting your urge to check your phone even though you know that less than a minute has passed since you'd last checked. Instead you fiddle with the ribbon on the lumpy wrapped gift that is perched on your lap.

Shopping for Ben had been difficult to say the least.

You weren't sure what to get your 104 boyfriend who'd lived as a hedonistic playboy for most of his life and you didn't like giving gift cards (you didn't think Ben would understand the concept) or giving people meaningless trinkets that they used once and then threw away (the Grinch was right about some things). You liked giving gifts that you put time and effort into that you were sure the recipient was going to love.

And you were sure that the package on your lap contained the perfect gift and you were excited to see the look on Ben's face when he unwrapped it.

Your cat Bean purrs where he sits beside you on the couch and Rex your, for lack of a better word, Dragon was watching the multicolored lights on the Christmas tree in the corner blink on and off.

It was bigger for your apartment than it should be, but Ben had insisted on getting it and you couldn't complain. Not when he genuinely seemed to be happy to stand there in the snow picking out a tree with you.

And after when no Uber driver agreed to pick the two of you up because of the tree, Ben had carried it on his shoulder fifteen blocks while you begged him to let you help. When you'd tried to take some of the tree, Ben had shifted it to his other shoulder and taken your hand instead, which wasn't what you meant when you reached out towards him, but you didn't let go, not when it was cold and Ben's hand was warm.

The one jammed into the corner of your small living room didn't have a leaf out of place or any signs of decay. You'd fixed that with a flick of a finger.

You'd gone all out with decorations.

Every plant in your apartment had lights of their own and ornaments that swung just out of reach from your pets. Christmas lights were strung down the hallway and there was a wreath on your bedroom door. Strands of mistletoe hung over every doorway in your apartment and there was one taped to the wall above your bed. That one was Ben's doing, but you couldn't complain, not when it felt so damn good to kiss him.

Ben hadn't spoken about the Christmases he spent in the past, but he'd listened to you talk about your Christmases growing up when the two of you decorated the tree with ornaments you'd collected over the years.

He might not have been big on sharing, but your boyfriend was good at listening. Not just pretending to listen, but actually being quiet and wanting to learn more about what you're saying. You'd thought it was odd when you became roommates and you realized just how much Ben listened and remembered what you told him, but now it was one of the reasons that made you love your boyfriend more.

You sighed, a happy smile on your face. You didn't think that you could feel this way about anyone, let alone someone you hated for so long, but you did. Ben was changing the belief you had about what relationships should look like, and you were sure that you were doing the same for him.

You hear the jingle of keys and the fumble of the doorknob as Ben slowly opens the front door and you leap from the couch.

"You're home!" You exclaim as your body hits his full speed, but he doesn't move. It was difficult for you to produce enough force to move him, difficult for anyone really.

Ben chuckles "Miss me Petals?"

He moves the plastic bag of Chinese food to his left hand so he can hug you back, his right hand fitting comfortably over the small of your back to hold you tighter against him.

You could remember the first time you hugged him, when all he did was stand there with his hands at his sides awkwardly while you held on to him as tight as you could. This was better. Ben's embrace is warm and strong, unyielding, but full of the love that he’d had such a hard time admitting.

"Yes." You squeeze him hard, smiling into his jacket that's flecked with melting snow, cold against your skin, but the warmth of his body soaks through the chill and into you. You sigh, nuzzling further into him. "I was worried-"

"Why?" Ben's voice rumbles through his chest, against your cheek.

"Because you weren't home yet." You pull back to stare up at him. His brilliant green eyes catch in the multicolored strands of Christmas lights, strung through your apartment. There's snow caught in his dark hair, turning to water and dripping down into his face in the warmth of the apartment.

Ben frowns. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. You're here now." You smile arching up to kiss him. Ben groans into your mouth, his grip on you tightening as he deepens the kiss, pressing the hand on the small of your back just a little more to secure you against his chest.

You sigh softly, content in living in this moment with him for another few precious seconds. The heat of his body transferring into you the longer you stand pressed against him, soaking through your sweatpants and chunky sweater in the best way.

You'd never felt this way about anyone in the past. There hadn't been another boyfriend who'd treated you the way Ben did, no other boyfriend who'd cared about the little things, and no other boyfriend who you were so in love with. Even your first love so long ago faded into the background, the one you thought you'd never get over, and all that was left was Ben.

You're too excited about giving Ben his gift to eat. You sit cross-legged on the plush gray couch so close to him that your knees are touching the outside of his thigh as Ben places the boxes of food onto your coffee table. The anxious energy tingling in the pit of your stomach and buzzing in your chest so much that it's difficult to sit still.

And before Ben can give you your chopsticks, you thrust the lumpy wrapped package onto his lap with a wide smile.

"You first!" You say.

Ben shakes his head. "It should be ladies first."

“I’m not a lady Ben. We both know that-“

“Sorry sweetheart that’s the way it goes.”

“Don't be so old fashioned Gramps. It's 2024.” You roll your eyes at him, laughing at the cute frown that pulls at his lips when you use the nickname. Ben never liked it, but when you'd first met, Ben hadn't told you his real name, and you'd assigned him the nickname and it had stuck when you realized how much it annoyed him.

That was when he did everything in his power to annoy you as well, so it seemed like a good fit.

In all honesty, you didn't hate how old fashioned Ben was, if anything it was a relief, a reprieve from the way the modern boys treated women. It was nice to finally be with a man who actually gave a shit about you and cared what you wanted.

"And I really want you to open yours first." You plead as you lean towards him. "Oh, and this goes with it."

You reach down behind the couch to grab the small golden barrel cactus, avoiding the sharp yellow spines, and place it on the minimal space left on the coffee table. You'd crocheted a dark green sleeve to go around the terra cotta pot.

"You got me a cactus?" Ben snorts.

"I mean, I have so many plants in here and I thought that you'd want one that was yours. Plus, you'll never have to water it." You gesture with one hand to the numerous plants around the room, the ones bathed in the multicolored lights from the Christmas Tree, the ones with bright green leaves that unfurled towards the light, the others with hanging vines that trailed to the ground so thick that you couldn't remember the color of the wall, the apple tree with ripe red fruit, and the numerous herbs in the garden box that hung over your kitchen sink. "And I gave it a sweater."

"Why did you give it a sweater?"

"It’s used to a warm climate and because I had some yarn left over."

"From?"

"You're just going to have to open your gift and find out." You shrug, but can barely contain your excitement.

Ben shakes his head at you, but a smile twitches on the corner of his lips. You knew that your boyfriend loved you because you were different than anyone he'd ever met, and you reveled in that. You liked that even though Ben was older than you, that no matter how many other experiences he'd had in his life, you were a first for him just as Ben was a first for you.

He rips through the paper carefully, trying hard not to ruin what was inside, the sound of crinkling and tearing blocking out the Christmas playlist for a moment that you'd put on before Ben had come home, but you can hear the ABBA song clear as day.

For a moment he stares down at the gift not quite comprehending what the lumpy mass in his lap is, but then he picks it up.

It had taken a month for you to pick out the perfect dark green yarn that was soft but not too soft, green but not too green, and another two months for you to finish it when Ben wasn't home, but you were proud of the sweater that you'd made your boyfriend.

He stares at it for another few beats, holding it up to the light, and it makes you worry that maybe you should have bought him something at the mall instead.

"You made me a sweater?" He asks, there's something on the edge of his voice that you can't place, some traces of emotion that you're not able to identify.

"Yeah. I wanted to make you something." You clear your throat, worried. "I mean- you don't have any and I know that you keep saying you run a little warm, but I figured we're going to Illinois for Christmas and it might be cold."

Ben doesn't say anything and you start to feel the self-doubt come roaring in.

Why did I make him a sweater? I should have bought him some cologne or something.

"And you complained when Butcher sent you on that mission to Alaska last month and I just thought that-“ You press your lips into a tight line, shoulders drooping. “If you don't like it I can keep it for me-" You fumble, but before you can finish, Ben yanks you into his lap.

His hands cup your cheeks as he kisses you so fiercely that it wipes any doubts from your mind. You make a surprised sound in the back of your throat, but sink into the kiss. “Don’t you fucking dare.” Ben mutters against your lips.

Your blush burns against your face. “You like it?”

He nods. “ No one’s ever made me anything before.” His voice comes out a little bit gruff, as if he’s embarrassed to admit it, but it makes you smile.

“I figured and I wanted to change that.” Your fingertips dance over his forehead, brushing away the hair that’s fallen forward before your hand drops to cup his cheek, feeling the scratch of his beard against the palm of your hand. “But you’re sure you like it?”

Ben kisses you again, his large hands settling on your hips with an encouraging squeeze. “I do.”

“Good. Merry Christmas.” You wrap your arms around the back of his neck to hug him for a minute, sinking into his embrace with a happy smile.

"Merry Christmas doll." Ben murmurs into your hair, affection lacing his words.

Again, you send a mental thank you to your grandmother for understanding that Ben and you needed a day to be together and celebrate the way you wanted to before coming to stay. Not that you didn't like the Christmas Eve party or the Christmas day party, but you wanted to give Ben this. You noticed that Ben still had a hard time being in places with a lot of people when the PTSD came roaring back, and you wanted to show him what Christmas meant to you and hopefully show what Christmas would look like between the two of you as long as you were together.

“Sweetheart you gotta open yours now.” Ben’s voice rumbles, the warmth of his breath on your ear. It makes a pleasurable shiver thrill skate down your spine when you think of all the other times the two of you have been this close.

“It’s okay I can wait.” You hum into his throat, content, but Ben won't give in.

He pushes you back gently from his chest shaking his head. “Too bad. It's your turn."

"Fine." You start to move back to the space beside him, but Ben's hands catch on your hips to stop you.

"I didn't say I wanted you to move did I?" His smile turns more smirk.

"I-"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I like having you on top of me?" Ben purrs, kissing under your jaw, his beard scratching in a way that makes your throat tight.

"Keep doing that and the only thing I'm going to unwrap is you." You sigh in a half-moan, fingers curling into the hair at the base of his neck.

"After." Ben leans back to reach into his coat pocket and pulls out a small black velvet box that fits in the palm of your hand.

You hesitate to open it.

It wasn't that you didn't want jewelry for Christmas, it was that Ben and you had done this song and dance before after he tried to make you wear a diamond and emerald necklace with jewels bigger than your index, middle, and third finger put together. The whole time you wore it the only thing you could think about is how many groceries you could have bought with the necklace, how much you were afraid that it was going to break, and how much you feared that you were going to lose it or someone was going to try and steal it.

Maybe that was ridiculous, but extravagant gifts never appealed to you. You liked gifts that meant something, gifts that were heartfelt and thoughtful, gifts like the bookshelf Ben had gotten you months ago before you were dating because he noticed you needed one. Not to mention you loved just spending time with Ben. If he hadn't gotten you anything you would have been content with just sitting with him on the couch and watching a Christmas movie.

But you smile, because you don't want to hurt his feelings and because it's his first Christmas in forty years and you wanted it to be special.

It's Christmas and I will be thankful and happy with whatever he got me, because Ben was thinking of me when he bought it.

You think to yourself as you open the box.

The first thing you notice is that the box isn't as new as you thought, the inside of the lid is printed in ancient script that's a little faded, worn against the aged white silk that lines it. Your eyes drift to the piece of jewelry nestled on the pillow. It's a silver locket, hexagon shaped, and about the size of your thumb. The face is printed with weaving ivy leaves and roses that reach to a simple plain border.

Simple, stately, and completely you.

Ben is uncharacteristically quiet, but he breaks the silence first. "Do you-" He clears his throat, "Do you like it?"

He asks it hesitantly, as if he's afraid to hear your answer. It was unusual for Ben to look so nervous.

You can only nod, any words you had stuck in the back of your throat. Your fingernail finds the seam between the two pieces of metal and you gently unlatch the locket to see the picture inside. There's a piece of glass protecting a yellowed photo of a little boy who looks no more than five standing in a small black suit. You didn't think that they made suits for kids that small. He's smiling and one of his teeth are missing, but he looks oddly familiar.

"Who is this?" You ask. The more you look at the photo the more you think that you've seen him before.

"It's me." He says it quiet, almost a whisper.

"You? But-"

"It was my mother's." He clarifies and you inhale sharply in surprise.

"Really?"

He nods once, looking uncomfortable. By now you knew that moments like this usually made your boyfriend uncomfortable no matter how many times that you'd told him that he didn't have to be uncomfortable about being vulnerable. He was getting a little better, slowly, very slowly.

"Oh Ben I don't know if I should-" You shake your head, afraid to touch something so old.

Ben didn't often speak about his mother, but when he did, it was always reverent and respectful. You could see in his eyes how much he had loved her and how much he had cared about her. His father, Ben also didn't like talking about, but Ben never spoke of his father with the kindness that he'd spoke about his mother.

And you didn't want to take something like this away from him, something that meant so much to him, because of how much he loved his mother.

"No. I-" He clears his throat and Ben's hand tightens on your waist. "I want you to have it."

"But-" You stutter.

"What else am I going to do with it Petals? Can't exactly wear it myself." Ben chuckles, but the humor doesn't quite reach his eyes.

“Yeah, but it’s your mom’s and I-“ You trail off still looking at the photo of Ben as a little boy. He had the same mischievous twinkle in his eyes that you loved, the same unruly dark hair, but there was something different about him. He looked happier. It was the same look that Ben had when it was just the two of you together, the happiness that you wanted Ben to feel the rest of his life when he understood what it was like to be loved and cherished.

And it made you understand that the last time Ben must have felt loved and cherished was when his mother was still alive. It broke your heart to know that Ben had lived all these years without her and missed that in his life.

The locket was beautiful and the fact that Ben remembered what you said about liking gifts that “meant something” made your heart flutter.

Because this meant something. Ben taking the time to go through his mother’s jewelry and pick something out just for you that was special to him that he wanted to share with you, meant more than the emerald and diamond necklace he had tried to give you months ago.

There were tears burning behind your eyes the more you look at the photo of the little boy.

Ben is watching you. “Well-“ He shrugs. “I'm an only child. Which means I don't have any siblings who have wives to fight over this stuff so, I figured that if anyone was going to get it, it should be you. If you don't take it, it'll sit in that fucking storage unit. Seems like a shame."

You don't answer.

"And-" He hesitates, "I think my mom would have wanted you to have it. Hell, she might have given it to you, if I'd brought you home to meet her."

Your cheeks flush.

Ben studies you for another minute, before you watch his smile twitch into a frown. "Fuck, I knew I shouldn't have gotten you jewelry. Annie said that you liked jewelry, but I told her you didn't and now the bitch is probably having a good laugh with that pussy of a boyfriend! Forget about it sweetheart, I'll go get you something else right now-" Ben tries to take the box from you, but you swat his hand away.

“Don't you fucking dare!” You shout, using the same words that he said to you when you tried to take his sweater away.

"But you don't like it-"

"I do! And knowing how much this means to you, makes it better."

"Really?"

You nod, a wide smile wiping away any uncertainty in his gaze. "Will you help me put it on?"

"Sure." Ben says gruffly. His voice has lowered a little, and you know that it's a mixture of pride and love mingling in the tone. It made something break open deep inside and flood your ribcage with love.

You turn your neck to the side, pulling your hair away from the skin as Ben hooks the chain together at the nape of your neck. The cool metal of the necklace against your skin and the weight are unfamiliar, but you already knew that you wouldn’t be taking it off anytime soon. "It's perfect!" You pull Ben in for a kiss, threading your fingers into his dark hair.

Ben smiles into your mouth, holding you tight against him as if he never wants to let you go and you don't want him to.

It was odd to think that you'd only been together for four months, but you couldn't imagine your life without him. It seemed ridiculous for you to think that Ben was it after such a short time, but he was. You'd never rushed into anything in your entire life, but then Ben was there shattering every expectation that you had, enough to make you throw your inhibitions to the wind and jump feet first into the unknown if it meant he was with you.

The kiss is softer than the one the two of you shared at your front door, filled with more emotion than Ben usually let the world see, but he was opening up bit by bit, learning that you wouldn't judge him for that and it made you feel sky high.

This was the relationship you'd always wanted, and you never thought that you'd have it with Ben, but now that you were here you wouldn't change a thing, because it wouldn’t have put you in his arms.

"You can change the picture." Ben murmurs into your lips.

"No way. I don't have any kid photos of you. And I'm pretty sure you'll see all of mine this week.”

“I bet you were cute.” Ben smiles, raising one of the hands from your hip to push your hair from your face. “Hard to imagine you being any other way sweetheart.”

"Debatable." You sigh, nipping at his bottom lip in a way that makes Ben pull you back to him.

And when the kiss turns hungry, with you gripping his hair so tight you'd be sure that it would hurt anyone else, and with his fingers pushing up the bottom of your t-shirt to feel the warmth of your skin against his hands and find the dips and curves of your body that make you moan into his mouth, you can't help but think that this is the best Christmas you'd ever had.

"I do think it's later sweetheart." Ben's eyes shine with mischief, mouth pulling into the familiar smirk that makes your knees weak.

"Good. Because I have one other gift for you." You moan as Ben's mouth trails down to your jaw, his beard prickling against the sensitive skin, in a way that drives you mad.

"It's not another plant is it?" He bites just under your jaw and you tighten your hands in his hair, gasping softly. "Fuck, I love those sounds you make baby." Ben murmurs.

"No." You've lost all ability to form sentences, not when he's so perfectly warm and the trail of his hands working up your abdomen consumes you.

"Give it to me later." Ben's eyes flash a startling green. "I want to unwrap my favorite gift right now."

"Keep going the way you are, and you're gonna find it."

Ben hesitates, before he raises his hand to feel the end of the brand new lingerie that you'd bought special for tonight, his eyes darkening with the realization. "Well then, Merry Christmas to me."

Ben's mouth falls against yours, but before he goes further, he pulls back just for a moment, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek. Your eyes widen in surprise.

"Ben?" You question.

"Merry Christmas Petals." He whispers, dragging his thumb over your cheek, and nudges his nose against yours in a gesture that warms your heart. He didn’t do things like that often, but whenever he did it always stood out to you, because it added on another layer to the man you loved with all your heart.

"Merry Christmas Ben."

A/N: I thought that they deserved a little Christmas fluff. I'm hoping that I have time to drop a follow up to this before Christmas, because I kinda want to write what happens when they go back to Illinois, but we'll see what happens! ❤️

As always thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, Likes, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! I love hearing what y'all think 🥰

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