#If you know what fic it is don’t look at me

[smileysuh]

sage & stardust

🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “I think you’re amazing, and good with your hands, and pretty, and I enjoy spending time with you too,” he counters, echoing the entirety of your sentiment. You stare blankly up at the man. It’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re getting at. You wonder how fairies court each other- do they even court each other? Do fairies have sex? Or are they just… you don’t know, blossomed out of flower buds or something?

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, Mingyu holds y/n down by the wrists, size kink, mentions of possible bondage kink, heavy petting, worship, Mingyu is a boobs guy, nipple sucking, fingering, pussy stretching, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, oral (f receiving), praise, dirty talk, etc… I pet names: (hers) my star. (his) Gyu.  

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 9.6k

🍭 aus. Fairy au, fantasy au, non idol. 

☀️ mlist + an. Okay, so, I’ve written sooo many fics on this blog, and lately I’ve been wanting to try things I haven’t done before. I’ve never done a legit small man fairy dude (who does become normal/large sized later) x yn in a fic before, so bare with me, because these two are such a delightfully domestic pairing. Without further adieu, I give you: blue-collar fairy Mingyu. 

Prologue

Pandora lives in a little cottage in the forest. Even though she’s young, she knows the trees and ferns, the mushrooms and flowers. Who needs mundane playthings when you have four entire acres of wilderness to keep you entertained? 

Her mother is an artist, and steady hands run in the family. Pandora spends her evenings carefully painting a dollhouse model of the cottage that her father had crafted for her in his little workshop shed outside.

All in all, it’s a peaceful existence, and things are very predictable. Mother is in the studio solarium room, fingers covered in inks and colorful spots. Father is crafting something in his shed, fixing up the house as he engages in an endless war against the elements of the forest. 

Pandora flutters around, checking in on her parents, and exploring the immediate grounds around the cottage. Today, she’s following a particularly beautiful butterfly as it glides amongst the trees down by the pond. She’s so enamored with the pretty wings, that she almost doesn’t notice the fairy ring. 

A circle of mushrooms, one she’s scouted out before, is along the bank of the murky water. Pandora has heard tales of fairies and pixies, and has been warned not to enter circles like this. She sidesteps the ring, and that’s when she notices something out of place, something that hadn’t been there yesterday.

Just outside of the little circle, is a small creature. At first glance, the glossy wings look butterfly-like, but Pandora has never seen sage green wings like these on a bug. The small child pauses, hiking up her dress and kneeling down to get a better look.

Definitely not a butterfly. Where an insect would have a thorax at the joining of wings, this creature has a tiny little man. Well, he’s bigger than a butterfly would be, but it’s clear to the young girl that she’s looking at a fairy, and as she inspects him further, she notices one of his wings is torn.

Pandora has mended butterfly wings with her father before- she knows what to do, but she’s hesitant. Should she help this small fairy, as she’s helped many bugs before him? Is he simply resting and not in immediate danger?

She looks around, noting any predators in the surrounding area. A large bird circles overhead, and Pandora decides she has to act. Reaching for a leaf, she scoops the tiny fairy's body into the greenery, carefully carrying him back toward the cottage.

As she gets there, she sees her father getting into his work truck to head to town, and Pandora knows better than to stop him. She also knows better than to go interrupt her mother, who is on a deadline for a piece and has asked not to be disturbed.

No, Pandora will have to do this rescue mission herself, and she heads into her father’s workshop to find the glue.

She does her best to be gentle, even with her pudgy fingers, as she mends the torn wing. When she’s done, Pandora finds one of the many small boxes her father has made. It’s a cedar box, with a small, iron latch.

Leaving the fairy, she goes outside, collecting a little nest of moss to put into the box.

When everything is finished, she sets the fairy into the box, carefully closing it and latching it shut. He needs some rest, and as far as the small child is concerned, he’s safer in her little box than lying in the grass where big predators might hurt him.

One:

“I’m sure it’s no surprise that your grandmother left you the cottage,” the lawyer in charge of the estate tells you as he looks over the papers on his desk. “As you are the only artist in the family, Pandora wrote that she hopes the solace will inspire, as it had inspired her, and her mother before her.”

You nod solemnly. It’s a monumental gift, one your cousins would kill you for- but alas, you’d spent the most time with your grandmother in her later days, and the solarium studio is already set up as your own. To be young, and a homeowner now- this had never been your intention in spending time with her, but perhaps it’s a happy outcome, given the dire situation of her passing.

“She also wanted me to tell you, that you can finally open the box.” The lawyer looks at you expectantly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Do you know what she was referring to?”

“Yes,” you respond. “She’d kept this small cedar box. Her father had made it for her when she was a child. It’s on her nightstand, but she’s never opened it.”

“Well, that’s… interesting.”

“Yeah, Pandora’s Box, I know the story,” you let out a sad chuckle. “Part of me doesn’t want to open it, she always told me not to, I guess I made it this big bad thing in my head as a kid.”

“I’m sure it’s just jewelry or something of the sort,” the lawyer assures you, and you remind yourself that men of the law are never the superstitious type.

Two:

You’re a few glasses deep into your bottle of wine, and you find yourself looking at your grandmother’s small cedar box. Curiosity is getting the better of you, and liquid courage is doing wonders to calm your superstitions. 

There can’t be anything dangerous in the box, or your grandma wouldn’t have left it for you… right?

Taking a breath, you approach the box. It’s sitting on your dining room table, you’d gingerly carried it from the bedroom earlier, with the intention of opening it, and now, you will. 

You sit, staring at it for a few moments. Your hands shake when you reach for it, but you push away your anxiety. The iron latch is old and worn, but it clicks open after a bit of work. Taking another deep breath, you lift the cedar lid. 

Nothing happens, no surge of dark spirits releasing the worst of humanity, no hurricane or pestilence-

You lean forward, looking into the box, and you’re shocked by what you find there.

Half buried in a nest of mossy greens that looked like they were only picked hours ago, is a small winged man. It’s a fairy, you realize, with glossy wings-

He stirs a little, stretching his arms above his head and yawning.

How could this be? Ignoring the moss that’s apparently been preserved for over seventy years, how is this tiny creature still alive after being shut away for a lifetime?

Part of you wants to close the box, to forget about it- but then the tiny man’s eyes open, and he stares up at you. You freeze immediately, as if paralyzed, your mind going blank in the face of the supernatural.

The fairy rubs his eyes, sitting up amongst the bed of moss. His hair is all messy, but in a way that’s kind of adorable. He gazes up at you, and then, he speaks. “Hello?”

“Hi?” It comes out a question, and you’re unsure how to proceed, so you say nothing else.

“Sorry, this is embarrassing,” he laughs, and you note the way his skin has turned pink. “Did you save me?”

“As horrible as this sounds, I uh… inherited you?”

“I don’t even know what that means,” the tiny man muses. “I remember being attacked by a large bird in my realm, my wing was damaged, I made my way to a fairy ring to come to your world and recuperate, but I must have passed out.”

You consider his words for a moment. “My grandma used to fix butterfly wings, is it possible she found you and fixed yours?”

The fairy extends one of his sage appendages, inspecting it. “It definitely looks repaired… Your grandma, you said?”

“Yes.” You nod. “I was told she’d had this box since she was a girl… have you been in here for a long time?”

“I was in hibernation, the dark and the moss- it was healing, I awoke because of the light.”

“So you have been in there for years,” you conclude, shocked. “I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“How many years is ‘years?’ You humans have a different view of time than I do.”

“Probably seventy or eighty?” you suggest.

“It didn’t feel like that long.” He cocks his head to the side, clearly thinking, then he looks up at you again. “How long have you had me?”

“I uh…” you swallow thickly at the question. “Well, I just inherited the cottage, and my grandma left the box to me in her will too… so, only two days.”

He nods, looking down, continuing to think hard about whatever it is that fairies ponder deeply on. 

“How… how do you feel?”

“Well rested,” he smiles, breaking the look of deep concentration. “I’m ready to get back to tinkering.”

Tinkering… that definitely sounds like a fairy word, and you don’t question him further. 

“Please don’t let me stop you from getting back to your home,” you tell him. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience of my grandmother keeping you in this box all this time.”

“It’s alright,” he yawns again, then pushes himself up from the moss. He’s dressed in a little green fairy outfit, and you do your best to commit him to your memory. His wings are truly beautiful, the way they shimmer even in the electric light of your kitchen. “I remember a pond.”

“Yes, there’s one right out the back way, must be a fairy circle there,” you nod.

“Thank you for the directions,” he smiles sincerely, and then, he begins to fly. You wonder how such delicate-looking wings could carry his body weight as he heads toward your open kitchen window. He lands on the ledge there, turning to give you one final nod of farewell, and then the fairy is gone.

You sit there for a few minutes, staring after him in shock.

How much wine did you have to drink?

Three:

It’s a Thursday like any other. You’re getting used to living in this cute cottage in the woods, spending your mornings waking up with the sun, heating a kettle for tea, and letting the creative juices flow in your mind before you ease your way to the studio to paint.

It’s the end of spring, and the promise of summer warmth is looming on the horizon. 

You’re just beginning to contemplate breakfast when there’s a knock at your door, and it makes your heart freeze in your chest.

Although you might be getting somewhat accustomed to the seclusion, there are still very real dangers of being a single woman out on a large property alone in the woods, and this fact makes you hesitant as you head to your front door.

You can make out a large man through the glass, and you take a breath before peaking your head out. “Hello?”

It takes you a moment to recognize the man, as he’s substantially larger than the last time you saw him. The fairy is no longer palm-sized, instead, he’s well over six foot, and he flashes an awkward smile down at you. “Hi.”

You take in his attire, the worn jeans and the green flannel… you also note that he’s barefooted. “You’re wearing my grandpa's clothes.”

“Yeah, I uh… noticed the box in your truck, figured you might be getting rid of them anyways, so I slipped in through a crack in the window. I couldn’t just show up naked.”

Good point. “You’re big now,” you point out.

“Can I uh… can I come in?” He rubs the back of his neck nervously, surveying your front porch.

You take a breath. Part of you says this is a bad idea, but part of you is also saying that this is a fairy the size of a human man, and if you don’t hear him out, you’ll be wondering what could have been for the rest of your life.

You push your door open for him. “I just made some tea, follow me.”

The fairy’s footsteps are loud on your wooden floors as he shadows you to the kitchen. You give him your cup, pouring a second one for yourself before leaning back against your sink. 

“I don’t even know where to start,” the fairy sighs, taking a seat at your small dining table. He cups his large hands around the mug of tea, as if warming himself.

“Well, I’m y/n,” you tell him.

He smiles thankfully. “Mingyu.”

“Nice to meet you again, Mingyu, how about you tell me how you’re human-sized and your wings are gone?”

“Fairies can transform. In my own realm, keeping my smaller shape is easier, but here- it takes less energy to just… blend in. It’s a sort of, um, adaptation, for survival, I guess.” 

“It doesn’t make sense how you can go from tiny to massive,” you point out.

“Well, you see, I’m big for a fairy,” Mingyu laughs nervously. “It’s part of the reason I never fit in that well with others of my kind.”

You frown at his words, giving him the space to continue.

“Yeah, so anyways, I went back home, and I had been gone a while, and it just felt weird. I hadn’t fit in before, and I didn’t fit in when I got back, and I guess I just figured… you’re a girl, and you’re here alone, in the forest- I mentioned I’m a tinkerer right? I fix things? Was thinking maybe I could help fix up your place.”

Is he seriously offering to fix your house? You stare at him in shock. “I’ve never really thought about fairies being blue-collared.”

“Blue-collared?” he looks down at his flannel in confusion.

“Never mind, it’s uh, it’s a phrase, it means you’re a worker, you do building and stuff.”

“I’m really good at building and fixing things,” he nods solemnly. 

“So… you want to stay here with me? Room, board, food… in return, you’ll fix up the cottage?” you clarify.

“I guess.”

You study him. “I’ve heard about pixies and fairies who try to lure people into fairy rings-”

“It’s not like that, I promise.” He meets your gaze. “Look, what if I fix your little shed workshop thing, show you what I can do, and you can decide later?”

You consider it for a moment. “I guess that could work, but first, you’ll need some workboots.”

“If you think that’s best.”

God, he probably does most of his tinkering while fairy-sized and barely wearing clothes… which isn’t something you want to think about.

Setting your tea down, you head to one of the back closets, where you’d stashed away a few of your grandfather’s possessions, the important things, unlike the donation box currently in your truck.

You find Mingyu some shoes, and when you go give them to him, he flashes you a smile and heads outside to get to work. 

Four:

You’re doing your best to focus on painting, but your solarium gives you a perfect view of your grandfather's old work shed, where Mingyu is currently tinkering around. 

He’s fast, and it’s clear he knows what he’s doing.

Your grandfather’s shed has a whole stash of tools, shingles, and wood, and Mingyu has already redone the roof, ripped a few worn boards off to replace them along the sides, and completed general tidying work.

He’s even weed-whacked the tall grass around the workstation, and as lunch turns into evening, he comes back from the woods with a small tree on his shoulder, which he then begins to chop for firewood.

You can definitely see how he’d be helpful to have around… and you can afford to feed him if he’s going to fix up your home. He’s probably already done a couple hundred dollars of work, maybe even a thousand- work that you’d been meaning to hire someone to deal with once you’d settled in a little more. 

You get started on dinner. You’d planned on rice bowls, and it’s easy enough to make a plate for him. Then, you go outside, calling him toward you.

Mingyu’s sweaty, and he’s got some sawdust on his jeans- but God, does he look handsome and chipper.

“I made dinner,” you tell him.

He nods, smiling before following you inside. You note the way he takes off his boots at your door, brushing off his pants, careful not to bring any dirt into your otherwise tidy house.

The two of you sit down to eat, and he’s extremely verbal about how thankful he is for the food, and how good it tastes-

You come up with an avenue of discussion to distract him from his praises. “What would you living here entail?”

He pauses. “I hadn’t thought too hard about it.”

“I feed you, you do work, you live here?”

“Something like that.”

“How long do you keep your human shape?”

Mingyu takes a breath, setting down his spoon. “I’ll be honest with you, whether you see it this way or not, your grandmother saved me. I was wounded, I came to your realm, anything could have gotten me, but your grandma saved me, glued my wing, and kept me safe so I could hibernate and heal. I owe your family. My home isn’t my home anymore, please let me help you make this cottage your home.”

“No, I-” you release the tension in your shoulders, “you can stay, but, seriously, how long do you keep your human shape?”

“Is it a space thing?” Mingyu looks around. “I can be small when I sleep if it’s a space thing-”

“I mean, my grandma has a replica doll house of the cottage that her dad made for her, was going to offer that up for you.” It’s meant to be a joke, but Mingyu takes it completely seriously, nodding diligently. 

“That works, I just have to go collect some moss to make a bed-”

“Are you being for real?” you ask, blinking at him.

“I should probably go back to my normal size when I sleep, it makes sense and takes up less space,” Mingyu nods.

“If you change your mind, I do have a spare bedroom.” 

“Nope,” the man-sized fairy shakes his head, “the doll house works.”

“Well… if you want to go get some moss, I can grab the box of clothes from my truck,” you suggest.

“Let’s do it.” Mingyu is so easy, he just agrees to everything. 

Soon the two of you are reconvening at your front door, you with a box, him with a palm full of moss. “The doll house is in the studio, I was planning to paint it.” Mingyu follows you to the solarium. In the dark of the evening, you have to turn on the fairy lights you’d strung up, and Mingyu lets out a breath.

Even you have to admit the space has ambiance. The solarium studio is a lovely part of the house, your favorite in fact, although, tonight, you’re feeling a little shy about your art strewn about.

“Did you paint all of these?” Mingyu asks, approaching your most recent work.

“Yeah, they’re uh, abstracts,” you explain. “I mean, I gather a lot of inspiration from nature, but it’s more a feeling than a specific thing that I like to paint, if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Mingyu nods, leaning down to get a better look at your art. 

“My grandma, she uh, she was an artist too, and so was her mother, and she gave me the house because she knew I needed inspiration-”

“Maybe that’s why she gave you me too.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and you blink up at the tall man. “Uh… maybe.”

“So this cottage has a long line of artists and tinkerers,” Mingyu concludes.

“The line ended in my mother’s generation,” you sigh.

“That’s not true.” Mingyu looks down at you. “We’re here now.”

Five:

You wake up feeling as refreshed and well-rested as ever. It’s odd how much of a difference having a male presence in the house can make, even if he was the size of your palm while you were sleeping. 

You’ve been here over a month, but you’ve not yet gotten used to the seclusion, the feeling of being alone. Mingyu is an unexpected comfort, and you quietly tiptoe to your solarium to see if he’s awake.

The nest of moss in the dollhouse is empty, and you move to your kitchen, getting a kettle started before looking out the window. Mingyu’s lumbering around in the tree line. He’s dressed in a white shirt and blue jeans, and damn does it look good.

You turn on some music, quietly making breakfast for two while trying to fight the urge to watch the beautiful man.

You’d slept in more than normal, another byproduct of feeling safe, and due to that, by the time you’re taking two plates of food outside, the temperature of the late spring air is already warming with the noon sun.

“Mingyu,” you call, finding him by the workshed, “breakfast!”

He bounds over like a puppy, and you set the plates down on a small circular table. The metal lawn set can be a bit rough, and you’ve tried to soften it with comfy pillows. Mingyu doesn’t seem to mind as he plops down, grabbing the bacon sandwich you’d prepared.

“Smells delicious,” he tells you, taking the largest bite of food you’ve ever seen.

You watch him, amused. “Did you get up early?”

“Yeah, I don’t need much sleep. Just spent eighty years sleeping, or so you tell me.” Mingyu smiles at you, a tight-lipped smile to hide the food in his mouth, you’re sure. 

“It’s a nice day,” you sigh, leaning back in your chair and looking at the world around you.

The sun is out, it’s a little cold, but the sky is clear. Dew drops are in the last stages of evaporation, clinging to the green strands of grass along the hillside area that leads down to the pond.

“Every day is a good day for tinkering,” Mingyu agrees. “Which, I meant to ask- is there anything you wanted me to do?” 

“Uh… like what?”

“I’ll finish the shed soon,” Mingyu promises. “I already have ideas about extending it, but, if you wanted me to paint the house, fix anything inside that’s a little wonky and in need of tinkering-”

“I think you should focus on the shed, if you want to extend it, you should.” For some reason, you’re apprehensive about him coming into the house just yet- you need to… acclimatize to his presence, and right now, having a wall of glass between the two of you is keeping your heart from exploding every time you look at him. “Do you uh… do you need anything to build your addition?”

“Your grandfather kept a lot of tools, nails, screws- and we’re surrounded by trees. He had loads of extra shingles, enough for years of repairs to the cottage and the shed.” Mingyu smiles at you. “I think I’ll manage… but, when it comes time to paint it, maybe we could paint it together?”

“Maybe.” You can feel your skin heating at the idea. “Anyways, I wanted to bring you some food, now I’ve gotta go inside my studio and get to work.”

“Sounds good, tinkering calls, thanks for breakfast.” Mingyu pushes the last massive bite of his sandwich into his mouth before standing up.

He nods to you and then you watch him go, sneaking a look at his butt before you tear your eyes away.

This could either be the best idea of your life, or the worst. 

Six:

Mingyu had taken his time with the shed. He’d made it twice the size, and added more windows that your grandfather had left sitting around in the original structure- it’s crazy how much he’s accomplished using only the things that are left over and semi discarded.

Then, Mingyu had taken to restoring the inside. He’d spent two days just moving stuff around, tidying and dusting- and another day just cutting wood to fill up his firewood stash. 

Now, a week after showing up at your door, he’s finally come inside to begin tinkering with old hinges and loose screws. He’s going over every inch of your cottage to make sure it’s up to his fairy standards, and you’re extremely aware of him, especially when he makes it to the solarium to begin to work.

The french doors have been a little off for years, one hinge is a little wonky- and it’s hard to focus on your painting while Mingyu’s standing there and fiddling- or, scratch that, tinkering. 

“Watcha working on?” Mingyu asks, and you suppose he must have caught you staring.

“Oh, uh… it’s a new project, and starting is always the hardest part.”

Mingyu comes around your easel, looking at the new blank canvas you had pulled out just an hour ago.

“Do you have any ideas?” he questions.

“I mean… one or two.”

Mingyu cocks his head at you. “Tell me.”

You release a deep sigh. “I guess… I was wondering if maybe… maybe I could paint your wings sometime, in an abstract sort of way.”

Mingyu is quiet for a few moments, and you immediately try to backpedal, but he stops you. “No, it’s okay, sorry, I was just- I’ve never been someone’s muse before.”

“You haven’t?”

He shakes his head. “In uh… where I come from, my wings aren’t exactly that extraordinary.” 

“Really?” you ask in shock.

“Yeah, they’re just green. I know a lot of fairies with all sorts of colored wings, pinks, purples- every color of the rainbow. Green is… well, it’s bland, it’s like everything else in the forest.”

You can’t believe what you’re hearing. “You seem to forget that I came to the forest for inspiration- the greens here are beautiful. If I remember correctly, your wings are like… sage and stardust.”

“Sage and stardust,” Mingyu repeats, his voice like a whisper. He cracks a smile. “I like that.”

“So you’ll let me paint them?”

“If it would make you happy.”

“It would.”

“Then yes, you can paint by wings.”

Seven:

Mingyu’s continued his daily tinkerings, but now, your evenings are spent in your solarium. You’d found one of your grandmother’s magnifying glasses, the type she used for butterfly wing repair, and Mingyu is the perfect muse, sitting patiently and letting you inspect him.

You’d spent half an hour just trying to get the color of his wings right, and now, you’re doing long brush strokes against the cream canvas. You’d found some glitter too, and while Mingyu spends most of the time sitting on your shoulder while you’re painting, he also offers to douse his hands in sparkles and do the small details for you.

It’s odd, thirsting for this large, beefy man during the day, only for him to downsize and nuzzle into your hair at night- he’s still so cute as a fairy, and his wings are truly beautiful.

“You see me like this?” Mingyu asks, fluttering off your shoulder to gaze at the painting. He’s so small in comparison to the large canvas. “These are really my wings?” 

“They’re beautiful, Gyu,” you tell him, giving him a nickname without a second thought.

“Gyu,” Mingyu repeats, turning to look at you. “I like that.”

You hold out your paint brush, and he flutters over to it, balancing on the wooden handle.

It’s crazy how you’re already getting used to him- to the little things, Mingyu included. 

Eight:

It’s gotten to the point where Mingyu wants to paint the shed, so the two of you decide to head into town together. It’s a small population, and you know that the sight of the two of you is raising a few eyebrows as you enter the paint store.

Mingyu sticks out, not only for his size, but his beauty as well. He truly is stunning, and you notice multiple women staring as the two of you wander around the store.

“So what coloring are you thinking?” Mingyu asks, heading to a wall of paint swatches. 

“I mean… I just sort of figured we’d repaint it to match the house again?” you suggest.

“Well… it’s your house now,” Mingyu points out. “What are your dream colors?”

“My dream colors?”

“Yeah, I promised you I’d help you make it your dream home, didn’t I?” 

Your heart melts as you stare up at this gorgeous man. He has such a soft heart, you can’t believe how much you care for him after only two weeks, how much he clearly cares for you- but you try not to read into it too deeply. 

You turn to look at the paint swatches, truly considering what your dream home would look like.

You choose a pallet, showing it to Mingyu, and he nods. “This will be great.”

The two of you go to get the paint, and soon, you’re back in your truck. You try to play the radio, but it doesn’t drown out your thoughts, so you turn the music down.

“Did you notice how many people were looking at you today?” you ask.

“Hmm?” Mingyu tears his gaze from the trees moving by.

“Girls, a lot were staring.”

“Were you staring?” 

You flash a glimpse at Mingyu and find him grinning at you… is there a mutual attraction here? Does he like you the way you like him?

Things are just so easy. Choosing paint with him for your house, letting him make your house your dream house- it all just feels so domestic, not to mention the fact that you generally don’t like people watching you work on your art, but you feel comfortable with him.

“I, uh… yeah, I look at you, we’re friends.” You cough, forcing your eyes back to the road.

“Close friends,” Mingyu confirms.

You turn the radio back up, and Mingyu looks out at the trees again, but he doesn’t stop smiling, and your heart doesn’t stop racing either.

Nine:

It’s hard to sleep. You can’t help but think about the car ride with Mingyu earlier. 

He has to be attracted to you… right?

He’s been more touchy during your late-night painting sessions, and less afraid to cuddle up in your hair. You’ve noticed him watching you too… often when you look at him, you catch his gaze already on you.

Cohabitation with a man as fine as he is- well, you know where it leads, and you’re a little shocked you’ve gotten this far without breaking first.

You toss and turn in your bed, groaning.

God, when was the last time you were this horny?

Can you… can you touch yourself with him right downstairs? Is that weird? What if he catches you? Mingyu said it himself, he doesn’t sleep much- and… is his hearing better as a fairy? You don’t actually know much about his abilities when he has wings… maybe these are things you should ask.

You let out a sigh, bringing your hand to your breast through your sleeping shirt. In no time at all, your nipple is pebbled against your touch. You release another breath, closing your eyes and thinking about Mingyu. 

You search through your memories, deciding to focus on the thought of him chopping wood. God, in his little tank top, his muscles all bulging and glorious- the way his sweat begins to drip, making the fabric stick to his skin, showing off his abdominal muscles-

You can feel your pussy getting wet, and you begin to glide a hand down between your legs-

You stop, opening your eyes. Fuck, you can’t do this. It feels dirty, sinful- and not in a fun flirty way. 

This isn’t something that you can continue with- you can’t keep feeling this way. You have to tell Mingyu how you feel. If it ruins everything then it ruins everything, but you can’t keep this cohabitation agreement up if you’re falling in love with the man- or, should you say, fairy.

God, maybe you should have never opened Pandora’s Box. It wasn’t a flurry of chaos, not one you could see anyway, but you’re beginning to feel chaotic inside, and coming clean to Mingyu is the only way to get it settled. 

Ten:

When you wake up the next morning, you move slowly. You have a shower, make some tea, and then, after going through an internal script numerous times, you decide to go outside to tell Mingyu how you feel. 

He’s been painting the shed all morning, that much is obvious from how much he’s completed- and to make matters worse for yourself, he’s shirtless.

You almost turn and go right back inside, but instead, you pull up your big girl panties, taking a few deep breaths.

You have to do this, you’ll regret it if you don’t- just as you knew you’d regret it if you hadn’t let Mingyu inside a few weeks ago to hear him out.

“Gyu?” you call.

“Oh, hi!” he waves, and you watch paint splatter everywhere from the brush in his hand. “Oops!” 

God, he’s so- he’s so- he’s a big dork, in the best way possible.

You watch Mingyu wipe his hand across his abdomen, clearing the splatter stain there. “Had to take my shirt off, painting isn’t my strong suit sometimes,” he explains, putting the brush back into the can before he approaches you. “What’s up?”

Suddenly, everything you’d planned to say to him just disappears from your mind.

“Are you thirsty?” you ask, voice cracking.

“Could use some water,” he nods.

“Come inside,” you instruct, tearing your gaze away from Mingyu’s perfect body to lead him back into your cottage.

He follows you like a good boy, taking his boots off on your deck before joining you in the kitchen where you have a cup of water waiting for him. 

Your hand is practically shaking as you give him the cup, and he looks you up and down, an expression of concern appearing on his face. “You alright?”

“Yeah.” You swallow thickly, shaking your head. “Just… a little jittery.”

“Is there something on your mind?” Mingyu questions, taking a sip of his water.

God, he’s still shirtless, and it’s as if he doesn’t even realize it! It’s as if being half naked in your kitchen is the most normal thing in the world to him!

You take a deep breath, doing your best to hype yourself up. “I like you,” you say finally.

“I like you too,” Mingyu grins.

“No, I… I like like you.” 

“Like like?” he repeats, cocking his head to the side in confusion. 

“As in… I think you’re really amazing and good with your hands, and you’re handsome, and I enjoy spending time with you,” you blurt. 

“I think you’re amazing, and good with your hands, and pretty, and I enjoy spending time with you too,” he counters, echoing the entirety of your sentiment. 

You stare blankly up at the man. It’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re getting at. You wonder how fairies court each other- do they even court each other? Do fairies have sex? Or are they just… you don’t know, blossomed out of flower buds or something?

“Mingyu,” you take another very deep breath, stepping closer to him. “I feel for you, in here.” You put your hand over his heart, looking up at him, searching his brown eyes for some form of recognition, of understanding. 

Mingyu’s lips part, and his gaze shifts to your hand, then, he slowly places his own over yours. His palm is warm, and he squeezes you gently. “Are you saying you love me?” he asks.

You blink… it feels like he’s skipping a few steps here. You love him as a friend, and you’re attracted to him, but you’re not… in love with him, not yet anyway. 

“I-” You swallow thickly and decide to just be honest. “I think… things could be heading that way, with some more time.”

“More time?” Mingyu frowns a little. “Humans can be weird.”

“We can?” you laugh. “What’s love like for you?”

“Fairies don’t do anything halfway. We feel intensely, more so than humans I think.”

“Have you…” you cough. “Have you ever been in love before?”

“No.”

“So… how do you know what you’re feeling right now is love?”

“I know it because I would do anything for you. Just being near you makes me happy. I want to protect you, and provide for you- I’d give up my wings for you. I choose you over any of my own kind, because you understand me and accept me better than my own kind. I don’t need anyone else but you.” 

You don’t know what to say, so you choose not to say anything. Instead, you get on your tiptoes, pressing your lips to his own.

Mingyu freezes for a moment, but then he reciprocates, wrapping his arms around your body to pull you tight to his chest. 

It’s a slow kiss, an exploratory one. It’s soft and gentle and every good thing, but you get the sense you’re going to have to lead the build-up of this. After a few kisses, you lick at his lower lip, and Mingyu responds by opening his mouth, allowing you to deepen the experience. 

His hands grab your hips, and Mingyu pushes you backward until your bum hits the counter, then he lifts you onto it, prompting you to wrap your legs around his hips. 

As you kiss him, there’s a small voice in the back of your mind reminding you that this is a fairy. His original form is small… but as he grinds against you, you realize that what’s inside his pants right now is anything but tiny. 

God, he feels so good- and he’s already shirtless, which gives you the perfect opportunity to graze your hands along his body, teasing the muscle you find there. Mingyu shivers from the contact, breaking the kiss.

He presses his forehead against yours, breathing deeply, and you can feel his heart racing under your palm. 

“Do you want to do this? Even though you don’t love me the way I love you?” He asks.

“I want this, and I do love you Mingyu, I just…”

“You need more time,” he sighs.

“I think… do you remember how you said eighty years felt fast in the box for you? I feel like, you just move faster than I do, and that’s not a bad thing, it’s just… something we have to adjust for.”

“Adjust how?” Mingyu questions, looking down at you as his hands grip your hips harder.

You shrug. “Maybe you’ll just have to be patient with me.”

“Do I have to wait to say ‘I love you’ since you’re waiting?”

You smile up at him. “You can do anything that feels right, Mingyu.”

“This feels right,” Mingyu muses, pulling you closer to the edge of the table so he can grind his denim-clad cock against your core.

“Then do this,” you whisper, cupping his cheek and drawing his lips back to yours. 

Mingyu doesn’t fight it, in fact, he melts into the kiss, and then, his hands are grabbing your thighs and he’s lifting you up.

You grip his strong shoulders, releasing a small squeal of shock- but you refuse to break the kiss as he begins to carry you through your cottage. He knows where your bedroom is, and it’s sweet that he wants your first time to be on an actual mattress- you’d half expected him to bend you over in your kitchen and have his way with you right there, but you suppose that’s not really his style.

You still have so much more to learn about Mingyu, and you’re excited to take your time learning it. 

Mingyu lays you down gently on your bed, and his lips move to your throat. His hands find yours, and your fingers intertwine as he sucks on your sweet spot, making you moan and writhe against the bed beneath him. 

“Fuck,” you groan, brows furrowing from the pleasure already coursing through you. 

Mingyu grins against your throat, and then he begins to descend.

You’re wearing a sleeping shirt and boxers, and Mingyu’s hand is sneaking up the oversized fabric. “Can I take this off you?” he asks, pulling away and swallowing thickly, his gaze fixed on your covered chest.

You nod, but instead of forcing him to do it, you push on your wrist confines, prompting Mingyu to let you go so you can sit up, tearing the shirt off. You’re not wearing a bra, and Mingyu’s pupils blow at the sight.

He leans down, pressing his lips to yours again as he helps you back down to the bed. You relax against the duvet, enjoying the sensation of your bare chests rubbing against each other. Your nipples are pebbled from interest, and each brush of him against you feels like magic, especially when he begins to swivel his hips, grinding down against your pussy.

His mouth begins to move down again, and this time, there’s no fabric to stop him in his tracks. Mingyu’s lips wrap around your nipple, your fingers threading through his hair as you fight the urge to arch your back and moan like a whore in heat.

“Feels good,” you tell him, earning a groan from the large man who sucks on your pebbled bud even harder.

His free hand is on your hip, but soon, it’s rising to massage your neglected breast. His warm palm feels so good- your eyes close in pleasure, your body reacting to Mingyu and the foreplay he’s providing.

You thread your fingers deeper into his curls, gently massaging his scalp while he works you up, teasing you in the best possible way.

He’s clearly solely focused on you, you don’t think there’s an ulterior motive, a motive of getting you to beg or forcing you to wait, you think he’s simply enjoying you, and you love the feeling of being enjoyed in this way.

Even so- now it’s your patience that’s running thin, and you tug at his curls, forcing his mouth away from your breast. He looks up at you with confusion, lips parting in a silent question.

“I need you,” you tell him, swallowing thickly. 

“You have me,” he assures you with a laugh. 

“I mean-”

His hand slips between your thighs, rubbing your pussy through your boxers. “You mean, you need me here,” Mingyu finishes for you.

Fuck, he’s so hot- part of you had expected him to be a virgin fairy who’s never been in love, but it’s clear from his dirty talk that he’s no virgin. 

Your pussy is wet, and you can feel a wet spot to match in your shorts, you’re sure Mingyu can feel it too.

“Since…” Mingyu takes a breath, and you can see his skin beginning to flush a pretty shade of pink, “since I’m the one who likes you more, maybe you’ll let me take my time and do what I want to do? Out of… pity?”

You laugh. “Pity? I don’t pity you- I kind of love you, Gyu, I said that-”

“Just kind of, though,” he points out, leaning down to bite your nipple gently.

You groan, arching your back and taking a deep breath. “Fine. Do whatever you want to me. Take your time. Worship me. Make me fall in love with you.”

Mingyu smiles, and then he whispers a soft, “Thank you,” before diving back toward your chest.

It’s clear that now that you’ve given him permission, he’s in no rush.

He worships your breasts, just like you’d told him to, taking all the time he wants to massage and lick and kiss and bite- and then, one of his hands returns between your legs, pushing your boxers to the side so he can access your dripping pussy.

He’s gentle at first, circling your sensitive clit and teasing your slit up and down. Then, after too much teasing for your tastes, he eases his finger into your tight hole. He’s gentle as he begins to finger fuck you, working you open at a snail's pace-

You think, as someone who time moves fast for, he really must be savoring every long moment of this. He wants to take his time with you, and for a fairy, that means something.

Mingyu’s lips are still wrapped around your nipple, and as he adds a second digit to your core, you think you might just combust.

“Gyu,” you whimper.

He hums in response.

“I’m close,” you tell him, beginning to wiggle your hips against his hand. “I’m so close-”

Mingyu’s palm finds your clit, and he finger fucks you harder, crooking his digits to reach a spot that has your toes curling.

“Oh my god-” you groan, closing your eyes and latching onto Mingyu’s hair as an anchor, keeping his face buried in your tits as he works you closer and closer to the edge-

One graze of his teeth across your nipple has you cumming on his fingers, and Mingyu releases his own sound of pleasure to echo the whimpers escaping your lips.

He’s got you pinned to the bed, there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do except take what he’s giving you.

He works you through your high, allowing you to feel every lick of pleasure as it courses through your entire body-

You’re a gasping mess at the end of it, and Mingyu gingerly removes his fingers from your pussy, pulling away from your chest to sit up on his knees, licking his digits clean as he inspects you carefully.

“Are you okay, my star?” 

You shiver at the nickname, a whispered echo of your pleasure running through you.

“Yeah,” you nod, still trying to catch your breath.

“Was that good for you?” he asks, teasing his wet finger across your nipple and making you shiver again. “It was good for me.”

“It was so good,” you groan, shifting against the bed.

“Good.” Mingyu hooks his fingers in your boxers, tearing them down your legs. 

You’re now completely bare for him, and you expect Mingyu to work on his jeans next, but he doesn’t. He lays down between your thighs, looking up at you as he peppers your skin with chaste kisses.

“Ready for more?” he questions.

You groan, and the groan turns into a laugh. “I guess I told you to do whatever you want to me,” you sigh, adjusting your legs so your feet are flat and your knees are bent, giving him better access to your pussy for what you know is about to come next. 

“You did.” Mingyu’s breath is hot against your still pulsing core, and you grab at the duvet in preparation, knowing he’s about to completely rock your world for a second time. 

Mingyu doesn’t say anything else, he continues to kiss up your thigh, and he doesn’t stop. When he reaches your core, he licks your clit gently, circling it.

You open your eyes, looking down at him to find his own lids are closed. He’s completely focused on pleasuring you, and as he pushes his tongue into your core, lapping at your slit- well, fuck, no thoughts are going through your mind.

You can only whimper, grabbing the duvet tighter, your toes curling deliciously as this man eats you out in a way that no man ever has.

He really is taking his time. It’s clear this isn’t just a duty or a ‘task’ he has to complete in order to fuck you, no, eating you out is as much his pleasure as it is yours, and somehow, that knowledge makes it even better.

You give yourself to the pleasure. There’s no anxiety, no racing thoughts, or pressures you’re imposing on yourself.

You know there’s not a time limit. Mingyu’s not eager to make you cum so he can fuck you, he’s simply enjoying the act of licking your pussy- so you simply enjoy it too.

You’re not keeping track of time, your focus is solely on the pleasure running through you, and the way it’s building.

Soon, you’re at the edge again, and you warn Mingyu, your thighs twitching around his head.

Mingyu groans in response, lips wrapping around your clit. A squeal escapes you, your chest heaving, back arching off the bed as your second orgasm slams into you.

This one is even more electric than the first, and it almost feels like you’re floating off the mattress- like you’re truly ascending to cloud nine, as if you - like Mingyu - have wings.

God, there’s not a feeling like it in the world, especially as Mingyu continues to suck your clit, working you through the most intense high of your entire life. Your legs are fully quaking around him now, your grip like a vice on the duvet.

Thank God you live in the middle of nowhere because you’re aware that you’re being loud. 

Mingyu’s groaning too, his fingers digging into your thighs, keeping you pinned and in place for him to eat you through the pussy contracting pleasure convulsions that are threatening to overtake your entire body in an ecstasy you’ve never, ever experienced before. 

The large man finally lets up, and you gasp, flopping back down against the bed. There are aftershocks of pleasure, and you jolt a little, goosebumps erupting on your flesh from the sensation. 

You feel the bed shift, and you look from under heavy lids to see Mingyu standing at the foot of the mattress, finally taking off his jeans.

Fuck, he’s huge- maybe foreplay wasn’t so much of a want, as a necessity. 

“You still want me?” Mingyu asks, joining you on the bed again, his breath hot against your throat as he grinds down against you, teasing his cock against your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, I need you,” you tell him.

Mingyu kisses you then, grabbing your hands and putting them above your head. He collects your wrists in one grip, and with his free hand, he grabs his cock, lining it up with your core.

“If it hurts-”

“You’ve made me cum twice,” you tell him, “I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay.”

“Whatever you say, my star,” he grins, pressing his lips to yours as he pushes the head of his cock into your tight, wet hole.

You groan desperately, struggling against his grip on your wrists, but Mingyu doesn’t let up. In fact, he tightens his hold on you, pushing his cock even deeper into your core.

The sounds you’re making are feral as he kisses you, his lips and tongue are hot against your own in the most delicious way.

You can feel your pussy stretching to accommodate for his girth, and when his hips are finally flush against your own, you think this might just be the most full you’ve ever felt in your entire life.

Mingyu breaks the kiss, panting and looking down at you. “You feel perfect,” he whispers.

“You feel perfect,” you counter, feeling a little dim with your repetition of his own works back to him, but also too fucked out to think of anything better. 

He only grins, drawing his lips to yours. It’s a gentler kiss as he begins to fuck you, his motions slow so you can acclimatize to the massive cock that’s already rearranging your guts. 

You get lost in him, and there’s a kind of safety in having your hands pinned down above your head. You can’t quite explain it- maybe it’s just a size kink? You can’t have a bondage kink, can you? Does Mingyu even know what bondage is? Do fairies watch porn?

You push the thoughts from your head, focusing on the cock that’s dragging against your sensitive inner walls.

Soon, you’re moaning loudly again, and Mingyu finally lets up on your wrists. “I kind of…” he swallows thickly, thrusts faltering, “I kind of want you to ride me when you cum.”

“You do?”

“I’ve… well, I know I’ve been a little rough-”

“You haven’t been rough,” you assure him.

“I just mean, the first two times you came, I did what I wanted, and I want you to be in control for this last one, don’t want to overstimulate you.” 

It’s a soft idea, and you nod up at him. “I’ll ride you.”

“Good.” Mingyu kisses you gently, and then the two of you are adjusting.

He lays flat as you swing your leg over his hip, grabbing his cock to line it up with your core so you can slowly sink down on him.

Mingyu groans, his hands settling on your hips to help you be gentle as you come to a fully seated position on his cock.

“You look so perfect like this, my star,” he tells you, one free hand moving up to grab your breast, massaging it gently and pinching at your nipple.

“Think you can cum with me, Gyu?” you ask, beginning to bounce.

You watch Mingyu’s lips part in concentration, his gaze fixed on your chest. He’s clearly in a daze, and it’s adorable. “I’ll cum with you,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful.”

“You’re quite handsome yourself,” you smile.

Mingyu’s ears turn pink first, and it’s so endearing to watch the massive man flush from a compliment as you’re riding his cock.

God, he is a perfect man, isn’t he?

“I think… I think I was made to be found by you,” Mingyu says, looking up at you with eyes full of adoration. “I don’t know what I’d do If I never met you.”

“Gyu,” you coo, slowing your thrusts. Mingyu sits up, allowing you to pull him to your chest, cradling him to your breast as your fingers stroke through his hair. 

“I do love you,” he continues. “And… it’s okay if you don’t love me the same way yet. I know it’s fast, even for me, but… yeah.”

“It’s fast, but that’s okay. You don’t have to hide yourself from me,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“You don’t have to hide from me either,” Mingyu promises.

He lays back down flat, and you move with him, your chests pressed together as you ride his cock, groaning into his ear.

Mingyu’s hands are warm on your hips, and he steadies you, beginning to thrust up to meet your movements.

You both release sounds of pleasure, and you can feel your hearts racing together in your chests as they remain pressed to each other.

You’re tired, but you’re also eager to cum again, so you push through, closing your eyes and focusing on the pleasure instead of the increasing burn in your thighs.

“Are you close?” Mingyu pants in your ear. “I’m close.”

His sounds are like magic, and they help drag you to join Mingyu on the edge. “I’m close,” you confirm, swallowing thickly.

“Can we cum together?”

“Yeah,” you whimper, muscles clenching in preparation. 

Mingyu fucks up into you even harder, and you put all of your energy into carrying this out, into riding this man until you pass out from how good everything is about to feel.

He releases another grunt, and you press your lips to his own, which is all it takes for you to both fall over the edge together.

You feel like you’re flying again, it’s almost an out-of-body pleasure-fueled experience, but this time, Mingyu’s with you, and you know you’ll be safe with the man who knows how to navigate the skies.

He cradles you to his chest, keeping his cock buried as deep as it can go in your core. You’re both kissing each other desperately, shaking and contracting from orgasms that continue to surge through you. Your hearts are racing together, and you’re both trying to catch your breaths even in the midst of a passionate kiss.

Everything just feels so right, and natural.

It’s as if your body was made to do this, with Mingyu especially.

Soon, your orgasms are subsiding, and you’re simply kissing now. 

Mingyu holds you close, not letting you go until he’s good and satisfied.

You take a deep breath, breaking the kiss to look down at him. “So…”

“So,” he grins.

“So… I guess this changes our arrangement a little?”

Mingyu laughs, holding you tighter. “Does this mean I don’t have to sleep in the dollhouse anymore?”

You find yourself chuckling too, and the contraction it causes of your pussy around Mingyu’s cock makes him groan desperately, his hand pushing on the small of your back. 

“You don’t have to sleep in the dollhouse.”

“I meant it when I said I’d give up my wings for you,” Mingyu muses, turning serious as he looks up at you.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“The future-”

“Is something we can talk about later,” you assure him. “Right now, I just want to enjoy you.”

“I guess… I guess we can do that,” Mingyu concedes. His arms wrap tighter around you, securing you down against his chest. He tucks you under his chin, releasing a deep breath, and that’s where you fall asleep, completely content with your blue-collared, human-sized, fairy lover.

☀️ mlist + an. thank you for reading! we all need a domestic blue collar man who's obsessed with us and wants to build our dream house for us ✨MANIFESTING IT💅

🍭 support me by. sending a tip here or here - or become a patron to access monthly bonus content and extensions for fics like this one :) find the Patreon teaser below! 

🔮 preview. “I’m happy where I am… but, when you cum, I’ll let you warm up while I fuck you stupid.” Mingyu never used to swear. He used to call sex ‘making love’ and something about it had made you uncomfortable in some weird way- so your soft lover has taken to using profanity for your own benefit, and you can’t help the way your body reacts to the term ‘fuck you stupid.’

cw/ tw. Unprotected sex, size kink, worship, Mingyu is a boobs guy, nipple play, fingering, pussy stretching, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, hand job, shower sex, praise, dirty talk, etc… I pet names: (hers) my star. (his) Gyu. 

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 2.7k I teaser wc. 175

🌙 starring. Mingyu x afab!Reader

bonus

It’s summer, and you’re more in love than ever. Mingyu’s made you rethink what it is to live in your cottage. He’s done everything in his power to make it your dream home, and his latest upgrade is a small rowboat that he’d handcrafted with the purpose of meandering around your pond.

You can’t stop smiling and giggling as Mingyu rows you around, the sunlight kissing his skin in the most beautiful way. He’s so gorgeous, and his soul is just as stunning.

Every day is a dream with him… but there are still things on your mind, things you need to discuss. 

“Mingyu?” you ask, drawing his attention away from his haphazard rowing.

“Yes, my star?” he pauses to look at you, setting down the oars to give you his complete, and undivided attention.

“I’m just… I’m thinking.”

“That’s not always the best sign,” Mingyu teases. “Thinking about what?”

“Just… we’ve been together a while now, and, I guess I’m starting to look at the future more, and I’m not really sure how to envision it.” 

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.7k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or check out what else is on my patreon here

🔮if nothing strikes your fancy, check out my m.list

general taglist

@gotshinct - @subhyuck - @fraechan - @learnthisfeeling

@runahways - @d-abin - @milkteade - @woogyuhae 

@anothershorthuman - @nihxxy - @vantxx95 - @bangshii

@poutypoutybin - @notbeforelong - @creepybakeoven

@ninetechculture - @yungiland - @suhsfam - @binchangf

@chogiwapadada - @librarian-stacks - @meowniee

@learnthisfeeling - @gigilame - @cumtrov3rsy

@mocha000 - @darthlunaa​ - @just-here-to-read-01​ - @shiningnono

@lovelyhan - @grilledbananas - @sourkimchi

svt taglist

@candidupped - @cheolussy - @aaniag - @imprettyweird

@xcynthiaaa

thanks to those who interacted with the teaser!

@jowanivernon - @syluslittlecrows - @blspphr3 40

@luvseungcheol - @woofie-nctzen-fanarts - @peachfulnight

@ninigyuuu - @simpxxstan - @dreamingofpcy - @gyuminusone

@roseandpeaches - @cherrychaereblogs - @yeosangteef

[hotshotsxyz]

too little, too late

(8x08 coda) (buddie) (1.2k) the episode chose violence and so did i :) spoilers for 8x08, and hey, guess what? this is my 100th 911 fic! it feels right that it's an evil one <3

The real estate agent has an irritating voice. It’s pitchy and run through with vocal fry, and if Buck has to listen to her talk for another second, he might actually tear his hair out. And it’s definitely about her voice. Nothing to do with the largely helpful information she’s handing over to Eddie like candy on Halloween.

“Anyway, we can touch base again once you’ve had a chance to look over those listings. I’m sure we’ll find something for both of you to love!” the realtor says.

Buck smiles. It feels brittle and fake.

“Thank you so much,” Eddie says with all the sincerity Buck can’t quite muster. He ends the call and sits back against the couch.

“That, uh—that went, um—” He’s choking on the positivity he’s trying so hard to exude. “—well,” he manages.

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He runs a hand through his hair. “Seems easier than I thought it was going to be.”

Easy.

That’s—

Yeah.

“You know you—you don’t have to buy straight away,” Buck says as casually as he can manage, which is to say, not casually at all.

“Buck,” Eddie says with a sigh.

“I know!” Buck says, throwing his hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Just—maybe you want to make sure, you know? Before it’s—it’s permanent.”

“I can’t keep missing out on his life,” Eddie says quietly.

Buck swallows. He knows. He knows! Knows it like he knows there’s going to be an Eddie-and-Chris shaped hole in his heart for the rest of his goddamn life.

“I don’t want you to,” Buck says, and it’s maybe the first honest thing that’s come out of his mouth since he sat down on Eddie’s couch.

Bile rises in the back of his throat as he realizes this might be one of the last times he gets to sit on this couch, in this house, with this man.

Eddie drops his head into his hands. “I don’t—” He cuts himself off.

“Have you told Bobby yet?” Buck asks. His breath catches.

“No,” Eddie says.

“Oh,” Buck says in a rush of air. “That’s—” He wants to say good. He can’t say good. Eddie needs—he needs—

Eddie lifts his head from his hands and his eyes are shining. “I don’t want to,” he admits. “I thought—”

“That he’d want to come back,” Buck supplies when Eddie doesn’t finish his thought.

He nods.

“He still—he could still—” Buck starts.

“He’s not going to change his mind.” Eddie cuts him off. “He doesn’t hate me. It’s worse than that. He doesn’t care.”

Buck’s chest feels tight. “He—he loves you, Eddie,” he says weakly.

“Maybe before, but—”

“He does,” Buck insists. “And—and if this is what you have to do to make sure that stays true I—I get it.” He does. He gets it. He’d do anything for Christopher. He’d—

It’s the worst feeling in the entire fucking world, but he’d give up Eddie for that kid. Is. Is giving up Eddie for that kid. A sob jumps up in Buck’s throat. He fights it back.

“I want to believe you,” Eddie says.

Buck knows that he doesn’t.

“Have you, um. Have you talked to Chris about this yet?” Buck asks, feeling a little bit like he’s just laid his neck across the base of a guillotine.

Eddie shakes his head. “No, I—I’ve got to do this, whether he wants me to or not.”

All at once Buck’s angry. Angry at Eddie, angry at his parents, at fucking Kim, at himself, and maybe even a little bit at Christopher.

“Eddie, you—you told him he could come back!” He says, a little louder than he means to. “Doesn’t he deserve to know that’s not going to be an option anymore?”

Eddie’s gaze snaps to his. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He’s got—he’s got friends here, and—and Carla, and—” He can’t say it. He doesn’t have the right to say it, doesn’t have the right to feel like he’s already lost a limb and now they’re taking a lung, but— “and me,” he finishes quietly.

Something like devastation flashes across Eddie’s face. “Buck, I—”

“No,” Buck says quickly, standing up from the couch. “I shouldn’t have—I’m not—”

“Buck, wait,” Eddie says, following him as he retreats toward the door.

“I, um—I forgot, I have to—I promised Maddie,” he tries to lie.

“Please don’t go,” Eddie says, and god, how many times in Buck’s life has he yearned to hear someone say that to him and mean it. How many nights has he driven home from Eddie’s wishing he’d been asked to stay.

This thing building in his chest, this thing of anger and grief and regret—it hurts. Every breath he takes is a little more constricted, a little less effective.

Eddie looks at him, and Buck sees it. That thing he’s always wanted to see. That thing he didn’t even know he wanted from Eddie until right now and it’s—

There was a small, naïvely hopeful part of Buck that really still believe that if someone loved him enough, they’d stay. Eddie loves him, looks at Buck like he’ll break his heart when he walks out the door, and it still isn’t—

Eddie loves him, and it isn’t enough to make him stay.

Buck is in love with him, he realizes, and it doesn’t fucking matter because he’s leaving. Like Abby and like Tommy, except Buck didn’t know how much hurt he hadn’t even discovered yet, because this isn’t Abby or Tommy, it’s Eddie, and Eddie—

Eddie’s supposed to be the one that stays.

Buck shakes his head and shuffles back until the doorknob is digging into his spine. “I have to,” he breathes, a grossly distorted reflection of what neither of them has quite managed to say.

Eddie opens his mouth like he’s going to ask again, like he’s going to beg Buck to stay, to show him all these awful pieces of his heart that he’s just found so he can remind himself that it’s not too much to leave behind.

Buck’s out the door before he can say another word.

He throws himself into the Jeep and all but fishtails it out of Eddie’s driveway. He makes it three streets away before he has to pull over.

The first sob surprises him with its softness; the second with its violence. He wraps his arms tight around his stomach and, god, he tries to breathe. But there’s not—there’s not enough oxygen in the entire world to make up for the way his lungs refuse to expand in the face of this loss.

He has to—he can’t—Eddie needs him to pull it together. To—to help him. To support him, and god help him, Buck will. There’s nothing Eddie could ask of him that he wouldn’t give. Nothing Eddie could do, Buck’s realizing, to make him love him any less.

Hot tears spill down Buck’s cheeks. He takes a shuddering breath and wipes them away. His vital organs are crumbling, so what?

He’ll set himself on fire if that’s what it takes to keep Eddie warm.

[creamflix]

IF I WAS A BAD BITCH, I'D WANNA F★CK ME TOO! ( PART 2 )  ၄၃ gojo satoru x female reader x (female?!) gojo satoru 

18+ content, minors and blank blogs do not interact. established relationship. threesome featuring m & f gojo. dom! gojo(s), sub reader. bisexual reader. lots of crack. slight hurt & angst with comfort, existential crisis. somewhat rapid scene change. making out. implied quickie. mentions and use of sex toys (suction vibrator). overstimulation. fingering (f. recieving). slight voyuerism & cucking. cum play/eating. (guided) hand job. face sitting (go lesbians!!). p in v (missionary). somewhat marathon sex.

thank you all so much for the love on the previous fic :") i'm so glad you all see my vision, which is why i find much happiness in letting you know we're making this a series - nothing too serious or story driven, just a bunch of porn with plot oneshots for your reading plesure. :D i wrote female gojo with @owwllly's version in mind, so please show them your love xx

dedicated as always to my pookie daph aka @curtins , my fav bi icon @sugoroo & my lovely taglist. now if you'll excuse me, i'm going to take a veeryyy long nap. ૮ ◞ ﻌ ◟ ა

— general masterlist ☆ read on ao3 ☆ series masterlist

morning, if you could even call it that, felt like stepping into the twilight zone. 

the sunlight creeping through the windows was annoyingly cheerful considering the depraved antics of the night before, and you were dead sure your neighbors were contemplating a noise complaint.

yet, here you were, trying to make sense of the utter chaos that came with two versions of your boyfriend.

it started with a groping. a teasing squeeze to your ass that you didn’t even flinch at — classic satoru. 

except, when you turned to glare at him, ready to smack that stupid smirk off his face, you were met with her instead, casually twirling her white hair around her fingers.

“oh, was that not me? so sorry,” fem-toru (you had to call her something) said with the most shit-eating grin known to mankind.

“what the hell, woman?!” gojo bellowed from across the room, instantly at your side and scooping you up like you were a damsel in distress. “she doesn’t get to touch what’s mine!”

“what are you gonna do, sue me?” she teased, leaning against the counter with a smug tilt to her head.

gojo growled, the real one — or, male one? whatever — already dragging you off toward the bathroom. “don’t wait up,” he called over his shoulder.

“ew, like i’d wanna hear that,” she called back, although her smirk said otherwise.

and that was just the beginning.

when you finally emerged from round… whatever that was, the war for coffee mugs was already in full swing.

“that’s my mug!” you groaned, snatching at the familiar blue ceramic, only for it to be pulled just out of reach by fem-toru.

“finders keepers, babe,” she quipped, taking a long sip with a completely unapologetic look.

“you’re not even supposed to be here!” you hissed, trying to snatch it back.

“it’s my house too,” male gojo chimed in unhelpfully, hogging the last clean mug himself.

“not your house —” you paused, narrowing your eyes at the two of them.

“i’m going to need so much therapy after this.”

“probably,” they both said in perfect unison, which was both creepy and infuriating.

and then there was the final straw.

“you don’t need to borrow my bras,” you snapped at fem-toru, watching in horror as she rooted through your drawer, holding up one of your lacy favorites.

“but they’re so cuuuteee!” she whined, shamelessly sliding the straps over her shoulders to model it. “plus, i don’t have anything in my size. talk to him about that,” she added, jerking her thumb toward her male counterpart.

“don’t drag me into this!” gojo groaned, holding his head as though he were already plagued by a migraine.

“both of you, out!” you barked, finally snapping under the weight of their collective nonsense.

but as you flopped back onto the bed after shoving both of them out of the room, you couldn’t help but smile. the chaos, the absurdity — it felt oddly right, like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

...even if you had to figure out how to hide your lingerie from a certain someone.

⋆˙⟡ —

you could practically feel the ground begging to swallow you whole as your elderly neighbor — a sweet lady who baked cookies and fed stray cats — stood at your doorstep with an expression that bordered on scandalized and horrified.

"dear, i just wanted to make sure everything was... alright last night," she began, her voice trembling slightly, but it was hard to tell if it was from age or pure shock. "i thought maybe something had fallen. or —" she paused, wringing her hands, "someone had fallen... repeatedly."

before you could stammer out a half-baked apology, both gojos emerged from behind you like twin specters of your shame, looking every bit as debauched as you felt.

gojo, with his signature grin, leaned lazily against the doorframe, his messy hair and unbuttoned shirt doing absolutely nothing to help the situation. "oh, don’t worry, ma’am. just some, uh, vigorous... exercise," he chirped, flashing a dazzling smile that could melt glaciers but definitely not the horror etched into her face.

fem gojo popped her head out next, her wolf-cut disheveled and a hickey darkening her collarbone. "he means cardio," she added helpfully, as if that made it any better.

"cardio?" your neighbor echoed, clutching her chest as her eyes darted between the three of you.

"yeah! it's important to stay fit, ya know," fem gojo continued, placing a hand on your shoulder as if you needed moral support through this ordeal.

"and loud," male gojo added with a smirk.

you wanted to die.

"i-i see," your neighbor stammered, her gaze now firmly fixed on the floor as she shuffled back a step. "well, um, maybe next time you could... exercise a little quieter?"

"we’ll keep it down, promise!" fem gojo called after her as the door gently shut in your neighbor's retreating wake.

as soon as it clicked shut, you whirled around, smacking both gojos on their respective arms. 

"are you kidding me? cardio?!"

"what?" male gojo grinned, rubbing his arm. "it’s technically not a lie."

"and honestly," fem-toru added with a wink, "for our age, we're doing amazing."

"you’re not even old," you hissed, burying your face in your hands.

"exactly," male gojo quipped, draping an arm around you. "so no excuses for round two."

fem-toru smirked, leaning in with a sultry whisper. "or round twelve. you’re practically a pro now."

you groaned. this was your life now.

⋆˙⟡ —

you were about two seconds away from flinging the carton of eggs in your hand when you felt her — fem gojo, femtoru, whatever her name was — sidling up behind you like a heat-seeking missile.

“what the — ?!” you whipped around, heart hammering in your chest, only for her to give you that infuriating, all-too-familiar smirk.

"miss me?" she purred, leaning in close enough that her outrageously large rack brushed against your shoulder.

"how the hell did you even get here?!" you hissed, glancing around the aisle nervously as a mom with two toddlers gave you a raised eyebrow before continuing down the cereal section.

she pouted dramatically, looping an arm around your waist as if you weren’t about to die of embarrassment. "what, you thought a lil’ lock and key could keep me away? puh-lease, babe. i invented escapism."

"you’re kidding me," you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"oh, and don’t worry about satoru," she added, resting her chin on your shoulder as if you weren’t vibrating with anxiety. "i tied him up real good before leaving. pretty sure he's still trying to figure out how to untangle his legs."

"you did what?!" your voice cracked, drawing the attention of an elderly man perusing the soup cans nearby.

"relax," she whispered, nuzzling her nose into your neck. "he’ll be here any second. y’know how he is — doesn’t like to be left out."

as if on cue, a loud crash came from the store's automatic doors, and there he was — your boyfriend, his hair still a mess, shirt misbuttoned, and his expression a cocktail of irritation and smug determination.

"sweetheart!" he called, jogging down the aisles with zero regard for the stares he was attracting. "fem-me tied me up with my own blindfold. again. can you believe that?"

"i absolutely can," you snapped, trying to suppress the migraine threatening to bloom.

"soooo clingy, aren’t we?" femtoru teased, pressing even closer to your back. "you couldn’t even let me have ten minutes alone with her, could you?"

"ten minutes alone, my ass!" he barked, glaring at his female counterpart. "you kidnapped her! again!"

“‘s not kidnappin’ when she enjoys my company,” she quipped, smirking as she leaned over to inspect the snack shelf, her cleavage doing things you’d rather not admit out loud.

"you are literally me," your boyfriend shot back, clearly nearing the end of his patience.

“and that’s why she likes me better,” fem gojo said sweetly, tossing a bag of chips into your cart with an infuriating wink.

“both of you need to shut up,” you hissed, grabbing the cart and storming toward the checkout. “and stop dragging me into your circus act every time i try to do something normal — like buying goddamn groceries!”

but, of course, they followed, bickering like siblings the entire time. and you? you contemplated whether life in a hermitage was really that bad.

⋆˙⟡ —

the moment you placed your items on the conveyor belt, you prayed for a quick, smooth transaction. but, of course, with them around, that was wishful thinking.

“hey, y/n,” jess greeted with her usual cheery smile, scanning your items. she was sweet — always polite, never overly invasive, but you could see the curiosity bubbling just beneath the surface as her gaze flicked between you and the two absolute menaces standing behind you.

“hey, jess,” you muttered, trying to focus on the beep of the scanner rather than the chaos looming behind you.

your boyfriend was already muttering to himself, his black glasses perched low on his nose as he glared daggers at his female counterpart. 

“goddamn wolfcut copycat... walking around like she owns the place... like i don’t have patents on being hot and annoying —”

“what was that, lover boy?” fem gojo teased, scratching at the nape of her neck, her perfectly styled wolfcut catching the overhead lights just right. her bright blue eyes were unhidden, and they sparkled with amusement as she leaned against the counter like she belonged there.

“lover boy?” satoru spat, his tone dripping with disdain. “you’ve got some nerve calling me that when you’re standing there looking like a discount version of me with tits.”

“discount?!” femtoru gasped, clutching her chest in mock outrage. “excuse me, but these,” she motioned to her ample figure, “are luxury items, thank you very much. unlike your scrawny pecs.”

you buried your face in your hands as jess froze mid-scan, clearly fighting the urge to either laugh or run for her life.

“so, uh…” jess began cautiously, trying to salvage the small talk. “doing anything fun later today?”

you opened your mouth to respond, but fem gojo beat you to it.

“oh, just a casual threesome,” she said with a wicked grin, winking at the poor cashier.

you choked. satoru groaned. jess went so red you thought she might pass out.

“shut up,” satoru hissed, grabbing fem gojo by the collar and dragging her back. “don’t you dare embarrass her in public.”

“oh, ‘m sorry,” femtoru drawled, clearly not sorry at all. “did i strike a nerve, lover boy?”

“that’s it. when we get home, i’m locking you in the closet.”

“aww, das kinda freaky —”

“not like that!”

jess handed you your receipt with trembling hands, her polite smile firmly in place despite her obvious confusion. “have a nice day,” she said, her voice a little too high-pitched.

“yeah, thanks,” you muttered, grabbing your bags and speed-walking out of the store, your two walking headaches trailing behind you, still arguing like children.

as the automatic doors closed behind you, satoru grumbled, “this is why i don’t let you out in public.”

“oh, please,” fem gojo shot back, tossing her hair. “if anything, i made it better.”

you didn’t dignify that with a response. you just kept walking, silently wondering if there was a refund policy for boyfriends — and their alternate versions.

the walk back home was a blur of bickering, your thighs still trembling from the "little assistance" fem gojo had oh-so-graciously offered during your "quick trip" back home. satoru — male satoru, your actual boyfriend, not the ridiculous female menace still trailing after you — was muttering something about how he should’ve strangled her then and there between the bread aisle and frozen foods.

you, meanwhile, were trying to stay upright and hold onto the groceries without collapsing from sheer embarrassment and, well... exhaustion.

⋆˙⟡ —

it wasn’t uncommon for fem gojo to be her usual chaotic self — hell, the woman was a walking hurricane of snark, gropes, and unnecessary comments. she introduced herself as “your lady” to strangers whenever your boyfriend wasn’t around, thoroughly enjoying the chaos that title caused. it was all part of the act, the cocky smirk, the teasing eyes — but you were no fool. 

you’d caught the cracks in her facade more than once.

like the way her gaze lingered when you and gojo were tangled together, not in lust but something softer, more intimate. she’d watch the two of you from the corner of the room, her smile dimming for just a second before snapping back into place.

or how she’d stand in front of the mirror when she thought no one was looking. her bright blue eyes would trace her reflection, not with admiration but with a quiet, unspoken question. who am i now?

it tugged at something deep in your chest. for all her antics, you couldn’t ignore the truth — this strange predicament had to be hitting her harder than either of you could imagine.

so, when she sauntered into your room one evening, catching you brushing your hair, you weren’t entirely surprised when she leaned against the doorframe, watching you silently.

“need something?” you asked, keeping your tone light.

“just admirin’ the view,” she said with a sly grin, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

you rolled your eyes but didn’t press her, focusing back on your reflection. she stepped closer, and before you knew it, her hands were on your shoulders, her breath warm against your ear.

“y’know,” she murmured, her voice softer than usual, “i think you’re wastin’ all that sweetness on him.”

“listen, if you’re about to ask for a kiss —”

she didn’t even let you finish before pressing her lips against yours, hands cradling your face as if her life depended on it. it was messy, desperate, and entirely uncalled for.

you pulled back just enough to catch your breath, staring at her wide-eyed. “okay, what was that?”

her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, but no words came out. she looked at you, then down at her hands as if she were trying to piece something together. finally, she sighed, leaning her forehead against yours.

“you and him,” she started, her voice barely above a whisper, “you make it look so easy. being... someone.”

you blinked, caught off guard by the sudden vulnerability. “‘toru...”

“don’t — don’t make this a thing,” she interrupted, laughing weakly. “’m not good at this. i just — wanna say thanks. for, y’know, not treatin’ me like some freak.”

her words hung heavy in the air, but before you could respond, she kissed you again. this time slower, deeper, her hands tangling in your hair as if trying to pour everything she couldn’t say into the kiss.

it was... a lot. but as her lips moved against yours, you decided to let her have this moment. 

maybe it was what she needed — a way to feel grounded, even if just for a little while.

before you could even process what was happening, she had swept you off your feet — literally. in one fluid motion, her strong arms cradled you, and the next thing you knew, she was laying you down gently on the bed.

but this wasn’t like the usual antics you’d grown accustomed to. there was no teasing smirk, no biting sarcasm. her eyes, usually so sharp with mischief, were soft, almost glassy, her lips trembling like she was struggling to find the right words.

“please,” she whispered, voice breaking as she knelt beside you, hands hovering as if afraid to touch you too much. “lemme... lemme take care of you. just this once.”

it was so unlike her — so raw, so vulnerable — that it physically hurt to see her like this. this wasn’t the same brazen, overconfident fem gojo who pushed your buttons. 

this was satoru, stripped bare of all the bravado.

your heart clenched as you reached for her, pulling her into a kiss, softer this time. you tangled your fingers in her snowy white hair, feeling her shudder against you.

“satoru,” you murmured, her name rolling off your tongue as naturally as breathing.

hearing her name — her name — from you seemed to break her entirely. she melted into you, her body caging yours as she kissed you like you were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality.

and maybe, for that moment, you were.

normally, she’d be cocky about this — the teasing smirks, the knowing winks, the flirty little comments about how lucky you were to have her. but now, as she pulls back from your lips, her face hidden in the crook of your neck, it hits you like a truck: she’s not about to kiss you again, or nip at your skin.

she’s crying.

satoru gojo, the strongest sorcerer alive — gender be damned — is crying.

you freeze for a moment, unsure of what to do, until you feel her body tremble against yours. 

then the sound comes — soft, stuttering sobs that claw at your heart.

“satoru,” you whisper, threading your fingers gently through her wolfcut, your nails grazing her scalp in soothing motions. “hey, it’s okay. ’s okay.”

her arms tighten around you, her weight completely draped over you as though she’s trying to bury herself in you, seeking solace in the only safe haven she knows.

“’m sorry,” she chokes out, voice muffled and shaking. “i’m... ion even know what’s happenin’ to me.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” you murmur, pressing your lips softly to her temple. “you don’t always have to be strong, you know. not with me.”

her sobs grow heavier, and you hold her closer, shushing her gently.

“you’re okay, satoru,” you reassure her, even as your own throat tightens with emotion. “i’ve got you.”

she clings to you, her tears soaking into your skin as you run your fingers through her hair, murmuring soft words of comfort. for once, there’s no strongest, no cocky remarks, no facade. just satoru, raw and vulnerable, seeking the comfort she so rarely lets herself need.

⋆˙⟡ —

gojo was already halfway through the door, his trademark bravado in full force as he prepared to yell and drag his female counterpart off you. he was ready to reprimand her for trying to get into his girlfriend’s pants — again.

but then he froze.

the sight before him should’ve sent him into a fit of rage: her large frame draped over yours, her hands clutching you tightly, your fingers stroking her hair. it was intimate, far too intimate. but it wasn’t the position that stopped him. it was the sound.

soft, stuttering cries filled the room, muffled against your neck.

his jaw tightened as his eyes flicked to hers — those same brilliant blue orbs he saw every day in the mirror. but this time, they weren’t filled with mischief or lust. 

they were red, puffy, glistening with tears. the same look he’s seen reflected back at himself during the rare moments he allowed himself to break.

it hit him like a punch to the gut.

for all her cocky remarks, her sly smirks, her shameless antics, he recognized what she was feeling. he knew it too well.

and when her tear-streaked face turned to meet his gaze, it wasn’t with her usual defiance or teasing. it was raw, filled with an unspoken plea he understood without words.

gojo swallowed thickly, his fists clenching at his sides. for a moment, he hated seeing himself like that — so exposed, so... human.

“you’re just like me,” he murmured under his breath, his voice barely audible as his heart twisted in his chest.

and for the first time, he didn’t barge in, didn’t yell or tease. instead, he stood there, watching as you cradled the part of him he didn’t let anyone else see.

gojo stood there for a beat too long, debating whether to leave or join. he knew what fem-gojo was feeling — hell, it was his feelings, wasn’t it? — but addressing them? with words? that wasn’t exactly his strong suit.

he cleared his throat awkwardly, and both you and satoru turned your heads toward him.

"uh, hey," he started, scratching the back of his neck. "so, uh... group hug or what?"

you snorted, shaking your head. "get in here, you idiot."

“don’t call me that in front of her,” he grumbled, pointing at his counterpart, though he quickly shuffled over. fem-gojo raised her head slightly, glaring through her tears.

“you mean me? the better you?” she snarked, though her voice cracked halfway through.

gojo rolled his eyes but crawled onto the bed, situating himself next to the two of you. "yeah, better at crying, maybe."

"oh, like you don’t cry," she shot back, sniffing.

“never. not once. you’re a glitch in the matrix or sumn',” he said, pulling a face that immediately earned him a smack on the arm from you.

“satoru,” you warned.

“fine, fine.” he let out a long sigh, glancing at fem-gojo before finally reaching out, hesitantly patting her on the back. “there, there, uh... me?”

you burst out laughing despite yourself, covering your mouth with a hand as satoru shot you an exasperated look.

“don’t laugh! it's weird!” he protested, his hand still awkwardly rubbing her back in tiny, unsure circles.

fem-gojo let out a watery laugh through her sniffles, leaning her head back on your shoulder. "god, you’re pathetic."

“pathetic?! i’m not the one crying into someone else’s neck right now!”

“you’re literally crying on the inside right now,” she countered.

gojo froze, his hand stopping mid-pat. "...you shut up."

you rolled your eyes, tugging gojo closer so that he was sitting flush against fem-gojo. "look, you both are disasters. but you’re the same disaster, so maybe... i don’t know, figure it out together?"

satoru frowned, glancing at her again. his fingers twitched. "look, uh... you don’t have to... like, cry or whatever. i mean, i get it. i do."

“wow, deep,” she said, though her voice was softer.

he huffed, crossing his arms. "hey, it is deep! do you know how hard it is for me to open up like this?!”

“you call this opening up?” she muttered, but there was a flicker of a smile on her lips now.

“oh, don’t you start —”

you silenced him with a gentle nudge, smiling as you reached over to intertwine your fingers with his. "you’re doing great, babe."

he narrowed his eyes at you but eventually sighed, letting his head drop back against the headboard. "look, just... we’re the strongest, okay? we’ll get through... whatever this is. together. and maybe with mochi. lots of mochi."

fem-gojo finally let out a real laugh, her tears drying up as she wiped at her eyes. "god, you really are a loser."

“yeah, well, you’re stuck with me. literally.”

you couldn’t help but grin as you looked between them, the two most chaotic, emotionally constipated people in your life finally finding some common ground. even if it was over their mutual awkwardness.

"so... mochi, then?" you teased.

"go get some," they said in unison, both turning to you with the same expectant look.

"oh, you’ve got to be kidding me."

⋆˙⟡ —

you shuffled into the kitchen, grabbing a bag of daifuku mochi — the fancy ones he insisted on buying in bulk from that one upscale japanese market downtown. because of course he had to have the best mochi.

as you made your way back to the bedroom, tired and a little cranky, the sound of gojo’s voice drifted out into the hallway. at first, you thought nothing of it — probably just him and fem-gojo bickering again — but then the words registered.

“oh, and this one — this bad boy’s a classic,” gojo was saying, his tone tinged with nostalgia. “the first time we used it, she couldn’t walk for, like, two days.”

you stopped in your tracks.

“are you serious? that’s what you chose to bring up?” fem-gojo’s voice replied, though it sounded more amused than judgmental.

“hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” he shot back, and you heard a muffled sound, presumably the toy being held up for emphasis.

you slowly pushed the door open, and sure enough, there was gojo, sitting cross-legged on the bed with the most ridiculous grin plastered on his face. in one hand, he held your trusty pink wand vibrator, and in the other, a butt plug with a gem on the end — both of which he displayed like prized trophies.

fem-gojo was lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows, watching him with thinly veiled amusement. “so what’s that one?” she asked, pointing at the silicone dildo beside him.

“oh, that? that’s the one we used during her birthday last year,” he said with a wistful sigh, holding it up like it was some kind of holy relic. “man, what a night. she screamed so loud that the neighbors banged on the wall.”

your face burned as you stumbled into the room, nearly dropping the bag of mochi. "what the hell are you two doing?!"

both heads turned toward you in unison, blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

“oh, hey, babe,” gojo said, waving the butt plug at you like it was a greeting. “we were just reminiscing.”

“yeah,” fem-gojo chimed in, smirking. “your man here is really sentimental, huh? ’s kinda cute.”

“sentimental?” you repeated, glaring at your boyfriend.

he shrugged, completely unfazed. “what? these are like, milestones in our relationship. you can’t just throw these memories away.”

“memories? memories?!” you groaned, setting the mochi down on the nightstand. “‘toru, do you hear yourself? you sound like a pervert!”

“oh, c’mooon, don’t be like that,” he pouted, leaning forward to grab the bag of mochi. “besides, you love me. and her, apparently.”

“barely,” you muttered, though the heat in your face betrayed you.

“aw, don’t be shy, babe,” fem-gojo teased, rolling onto her back and stretching languidly. “you know you’re lucky to have two of us.”

“lucky? my back says otherwise.”

the two of them burst into laughter, and you buried your face in your hands, wondering for the millionth time how you’d ended up in this situation.

and as if they could read your mind, gojo leaned over, patting the space next to him. “c’mere, don’t be mad. let’s eat some mochi and talk about that other toy we’ve been meaning to try.”

you groaned, flopping onto the bed in defeat. “i hate both of you.”

“lies,” they chorused, and you couldn’t help but laugh despite yourself.

⋆˙⟡ —

you were trying — really trying — to enjoy the packet of daifuku mochi as it made its way around the bed. the sweet bean paste was supposed to be a distraction, a way to ground yourself after everything that had transpired over the last 24 hours. 

but no, peace wasn’t an option.

"ya know," gojo said through a mouthful of mochi, holding up the wand vibrator like it was a microphone, "this one’s underrated. it looks basic, but the power, babe. remember how —"

"we get it, ‘toru," you cut him off, your voice strained as you grabbed another mochi to shove into your mouth. maybe if you kept chewing, you wouldn’t have to participate in this conversation.

fem-gojo snickered, popping a mochi into her own mouth before leaning closer to you. “you’re bein’ shy, huh? don’t worry, sweetheart, we know how much you looovve this one.” she waggled her eyebrows, motioning at the very wand vibrator in question.

you could feel your face heating up to a level that could rival the sun. “can you two not talk about this right in front of me?”

“but why not?” gojo teased, sliding closer until his thigh was pressed against yours. “’s not like you’re embarrassed, are you? you’ve used all of these.”

"i will throw this entire bag of mochi at your head," you muttered, holding the packet threateningly.

“aw, don’t be like that, doll,” fem-gojo cooed, her voice sugary sweet, though the mischievous glint in her eyes said otherwise. “we’re just reminiscing. plus, you’re blushin’, which means you’re totally into it.”

you glared at her, cheeks practically burning. “i’m blushing because you two won’t shut up.”

but the truth? the truth was much worse. as much as you hated to admit it, their teasing was doing things to you. the way their voices dropped an octave when they reminisced, the heat in their gazes, the proximity — all of it made your thighs clench involuntarily.

and you prayed to every deity you could think of that they couldn’t tell.

unfortunately, subtlety wasn’t your strong suit, and these two were anything but oblivious.

fem-gojo leaned in, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispered, “what’s wrong, sweetheart? ya squirmin’ a lot.”

you froze, eyes darting to gojo, who was already smirking. "you’re awfully quiet now," he remarked, his hand casually resting on your thigh. "something on your mind?"

"nothing," you squeaked, clenching the mochi packet in your hands like it was a lifeline.

"reaallly?" fem-gojo purred, her hand trailing dangerously close to the hem of your shorts. "’cuz babe, we can feel how worked up you are."

your breath hitched, and you cursed your body for betraying you. “you two are insufferable.”

gojo laughed, his hand sliding up your thigh to join his female counterpart. “nah, we’re just really good at reading you. isn’t that right, satoru?”

fem-gojo grinned wickedly, her fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. “totally. we’re a team, after all.”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands as the heat pooling in your stomach became impossible to ignore.

“look at that,” gojo said, his voice dropping to a teasing murmur. “our girl’s shy, but she’s soaked.”

“think we should help her out?” fem-gojo added, her tone faux-innocent as her hand slipped higher.

you had shitty luck. definitely shitty luck. and as much as you hated to admit it, you weren’t about to stop them. not when their touch felt this good.

⋆˙⟡ —

you've always thought the saying keep your friends close, but your enemies closer was a decent piece of advice. practical, even. 

apparently, the two white-haired nuisances misheard it as keep your girlfriend close, but her sex toys closer, because right now, they were parading around the room with the entire collection of your toys like salesmen at a bizarrely personal convention.

“this one,” fem gojo started, holding up the suction vibrator with a devious grin, “‘s a classic. compact, effective, and i know someone here loves how quick it can get her to cum.”

“oh, but this —” gojo’s voice cut in as she brandished the glass dildo, twirling it like a baton. “this is art. sleek, sexy, and cold in all the right ways. remember that night when —”

“nope!” you interrupted, your face heating up as you snatched a nearby pillow to throw at him. “we are not going there.”

“oh, babe, we’re just gettin’ started,” fem-gojo teased. “don’t forget this bad boy.” she held up the dual-ended strap-on, dangling it in front of you like it was a prized possession.

you groaned, sinking deeper into the mattress as your face burned hotter. “why do you even have that?”

fem-gojo grinned, plopping down next to you with the butt plug in hand. “because you’re adventurous. and we love that about you.”

"and let's not forget," gojo added, leaning over to waggle the remote-controlled egg vibrator like it was a trophy. "this one. great for public and private use. remember that restaurant trip?"

"i will actually scream," you muttered, dragging the blanket over your head as if it could shield you from their antics.

"awwww, don’t hide, sweetheart," fem-gojo cooed, tugging the blanket away. “we’re just brainstormin’ here. picking out what’ll make the day extra fun.”

“yeah,” gojo agreed, dropping the pile of toys onto the bed before climbing on top of you. “but honestly, we’ll probably just use all of them. right, satoru?”

fem-gojo smirked, crawling up beside you. “absolutely. variety’s the spice of life, after all.”

you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could get a word out, your boyfriend had flipped you onto your stomach, his weight pressing you into the mattress as his hands pinned yours above your head.

“we’ll let you pick,” he murmured against your ear, his voice dripping with faux kindness.

“for, like, two seconds,” fem-gojo chimed in, her hands already tracing down your sides.

“and then we’ll do whatever we want,” they said in unison, their voices harmonizing in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

you were doomed. delightfully, utterly doomed.

you barely had a second to process what was happening. one minute, you were watching them bicker like overgrown children, and the next, the suction vibrator was pressed firmly against you, its unrelenting rhythm leaving your mind blank except for one resounding thought:

fuck! fuck! fuck!

your pleas — if you could even call them that — were an unintelligible mess. and to make things worse? they weren’t even listening.

“please — ah! — don’t stop!” you cried, your body trembling as the sensations overwhelmed you.

“oh, don’t worry, sweetheart,” gojo drawled from his spot beside you, his grin sharp as ever. “we don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

“yeah,” fem-gojo chimed in, her tone equally as sadistic as she pressed the toy down harder, watching your body jerk with morbid fascination. “you’re s’cute when you’re beggin’, though. keep going.”

you gasped, your back arching involuntarily as another orgasm crashed over you. your legs twitched, trying to close around the relentless toy, but fem-gojo tutted, holding you open with ease.

and then you noticed it — she wasn’t even paying full attention anymore.

“are you — are you seriously eating right now?” you managed to choke out between gasps, your glazed eyes flicking to her free hand, which was holding a piece of mochi.

“hm?” fem-gojo looked up mid-bite, her bright eyes wide with mock innocence. “what? girl’s gotta keep her energy up. besides, ya got him —” she nodded toward your boyfriend, who was leaning over you with the smuggest, most shit-eating grin ever — “to keep ya entertained.”

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whimpered, squirming as gojo replaced the suction vibrator with his fingers, curling them just right to draw out another cry from your lips.

“hey, i’m working here,” your boyfriend said, his tone dripping with faux exasperation as if he were the one being put through the wringer. “she’s just freeloading.”

“excuse me?” fem-gojo huffed, swallowing her bite dramatically. “i set this whole thing up. i’m the mastermind here!”

“yeah, yeah,” gojo muttered, his attention fully on you now as he leaned down to nip at your ear. “she’s not the one ruining you right now, though, is she?”

“as if you could do this without me,” fem-gojo shot back, shoving another piece of mochi into her mouth as she casually flicked the suction vibrator back on, earning a loud, desperate moan from you.

your head spun, torn between pleasure and sheer disbelief. and as another wave of a telltale orgasm built in your stomach, you realized with absolute certainty that surviving these two was going to take a miracle — or at least a lot more snacks to keep one of them distracted.

⋆˙⟡ —

you’d lost track of time, of everything really, as the relentless assault on your body continued. 

it had only been — what? three orgasms ago? — when you thought you’d truly reached your limit, but nope. the suction vibrator was living up to its reputation, wringing every last shred of coherence out of you like a goddamn champion.

you whimpered, your thighs trembling uncontrollably as the toy finally stopped. for a brief, blissful second, you thought they were giving you a break.

but no, that hope was short-lived.

“geez, so sensitive,” fem-gojo cooed, tugging the vibrator out of you with an audible pop!, ignoring your weak whines and the way your hips tried to jerk away from her.

“don’t tell me you’re done already,” gojo added from his spot beside you, that familiar shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

you didn’t even have the energy to retort, your body trembling like a leaf. but what had you blinking back into reality was when fem-gojo — your filthy, depraved, down-bad excuse of a…girlfriend? partner? — brought the vibrator to her lips.

and licked it.

“oh my god,” you croaked, your voice hoarse as you stared in abject horror — and, god help you, a bit of arousal — as she practically drooled over the damn thing.

“what?” she said nonchalantly, swirling her tongue over the toy as if it were nothing. “gotta clean it, right?”

“clean it?” you echoed, your face flushing hotter by the second. “you’re — you’re disgusting!”

“am i?” she mused, licking a slow stripe along the edge before popping it out of her mouth with a smug grin. “taste just like mochi. sweet ‘n soft and sticky. good stuff.”

“oh, for fuck’s sake,” you groaned, burying your face in your hands as your boyfriend outright cackled beside you.

“she’s got a point,” gojo chimed in, leaning over to smirk at you. “you do have that ‘irresistible dessert’ vibe. maybe we should start calling you ‘mochi.’”

“don’t you dare,” you snapped, your voice muffled against your hands.

“mochi it is,” fem-gojo declared with an exaggeratedly serious tone, popping another piece of actual mochi into her mouth as if to punctuate her statement.

you peeked through your fingers to glare at them both, but the effect was ruined by the way your body was still trembling, and the flush across your skin wasn’t helping either.

“geez,” fem-gojo muttered, her tone too casual for comfort as she gestured toward you with the vibrator. “she even jiggles like mochi. see?”

your jaw dropped, and the absolute audacity of her words was almost enough to jolt you upright — if your body wasn’t completely boneless from the onslaught.

“you’re both insane,” you muttered weakly, your voice lacking any real conviction.

“and yet, here you are,” gojo teased, ruffling your hair like you weren’t on the verge of combusting from sheer embarrassment.

you barely had time to process the chaos unfolding before you — your mind still reeling, your body trembling, and your dignity somewhere in the corner, curled up and crying. fem-gojo, that snarky, insufferable piece of shit, was clearly having the time of her life.

“oh, don’t look so done, mochi baby,” she crooned, her wolfish grin flashing as she grabbed your wrist. “i’ve got a brilliant idea. let’s multitask.”

“what the —” you started, but your words were cut off by the smug gleam in her eyes.

she brought your hand up, guiding it to where your boyfriend sat, already hard and clearly ready for round...what even was it? five? six? you lost track.

“i’m doing what now?” you squawked, but your protest was weak, your voice cracking as she maneuvered your trembling fingers to wrap around his throbbing dick.

“helping your man out,” she quipped, her tone all too chipper as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “don’t tell me you’re too tired to give him a hand, literally.”

“‘toru—” you started to snap, but she cut you off, her free hand sliding down to your already overstimulated cunt, drawing a shocked gasp out of you.

“don’t mind me,” she purred, her lips brushing against your ear as her fingers moved with deliberate precision. “i’ll keep you occupied while you help him out. teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

you shot a desperate look at your boyfriend, who was leaning back, looking far too amused by the situation.

“don’t look at me like that, babe,” he said with a smirk, his blue eyes practically twinkling. “you heard her. teamwork.”

“you’re both the worst,” you groaned, your hand trembling as you tried to follow fem-gojo’s guidance.

your efforts were valiant — or at least you thought so — but your trembling hands weren’t exactly cooperating. and judging by the way your boyfriend’s brows furrowed and his smirk turned into a frown, he wasn’t impressed.

“really, baby?” he muttered, his voice low and edged with irritation. “‘s is the best you can do?”

you opened your mouth to retort, but before you could get a word out, he grabbed your hand, his much larger one wrapping around yours.

“here,” he muttered, his tone dripping with exasperation as he moved both your hands together. “lemme show you how it’s done.”

“oh, wooww, would ya look at that,” fem-gojo chimed in, her grin downright evil as her fingers continued their sinful work on you. “teamwork really does make the dream work.”

your brain was short-circuiting, overwhelmed by the dual sensations of your boyfriend guiding your hand and fem-gojo absolutely finger fucking the living soul out of you. the three of you moving together in this absurdly depraved display of coordination was — god, you didn’t even know anymore.

“you’re — insane,” you managed to gasp out, your voice breaking as you felt your body quiver under fem-gojo’s relentless ministrations.

“baby please, you love it,” she shot back, her voice smug as she nipped at your thigh.

your boyfriend groaned, his hand tightening around yours as he picked up the pace. “focus, babe,” he muttered, his tone commanding.

as if you had any focus left to give.

“therrre we go,” fem-gojo hummed, her voice dripping with amusement as she watched the scene unfold. “’s more like it. look at us, a well-oiled machine.”

you wanted to retort, to say something snarky in return, but all that came out was a broken moan as your boyfriend cums on your hand, his low moan filling the room as the two of you worked together to finish him off.

“teamwork,” fem-gojo teased again, her grin widening as she finally let up on you.

“you’re both awful,” you muttered weakly, collapsing onto the bed.

“and yet, here you are,” your boyfriend quipped, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“mochi baby,” fem-gojo added, and you groaned, throwing a pillow at her face.

⋆˙⟡ —

"wow, six times already, huh?" fem-gojo’s voice broke through the haze of post-orgasm bliss you were floating in, her tone laced with mockery as she leaned against the headboard, arms crossed over her chest. her blue eyes glinted, flicking between you and your boyfriend with the kind of irritation that only her oversized ego could muster.

"must be nice," she drawled, running a hand through her wolfcut in exaggerated frustration. "lover boy here gets to finish, you’re over there makin’ sounds like a damn opera singer, and me? nothing."

"don’t start," you groaned, flopping back onto the bed like a rag doll. your limbs felt like jelly, your body spent, and you were dangerously close to tapping out for the rest of the day.

“oh, don’t start?” she shot back, her eyebrow twitching. “you’re really gonna sit there, lookin’ all fucked out, and say that to me? after all my hard work, this is the thanks i get?”

your boyfriend chuckled, clearly enjoying her theatrics as he tucked himself back into his boxers. "yeah, babe, ’s kinda rude. i mean, she’s got a point."

"oh, shut up!" you snapped, glaring at him. "this is all your fault, you —"

but before you could finish, fem-gojo had already swung a leg over your waist, straddling you with the kind of confidence that only she could pull off.

"what — wait, hold on —" you stammered, wide-eyed as she leaned down, her face far too close to yours.

“nah, sweetheart," she interrupted, smirking as her fingers trailed down your tits. "you don’t get to say ‘hold on.’ not when you’ve been holdin’ out on me."

“what the hell does that even mean?” you hissed, your face heating up as her hands roamed.

“it means,” she purred, leaning closer until her lips brushed against your ear, “i’m gonna sit on your face now.”

“excuse me?!”

your boyfriend burst out laughing, his whole body shaking as he clutched his stomach. "oh my god, this is amazing. please, don’t stop. this is the best thing i’ve seen all day."

“you’re not helping!” you yelled at him, though your voice was quivering as fem-gojo settled herself further down on top of you.

"what’s the matter?" she teased, her grin widening as she reached to tilt your chin up. “don’t tell me you can’t take it. because after everythin’ i’ve seen today, i know for a fact that my pretty girl right here’s a champ.”

“satoru —”

“yeah?” they both replied in unison, and you wanted to scream.

“this is ridiculous," you muttered, though your resolve was already crumbling under her piercing gaze and the way her hands played over your skin.

“ridiculously sexy,” fem-gojo corrected, her smirk turning wicked.

and before you could argue, she shifted her weight, her thighs caging your head, and all you could think was, yea, this is how i die.

your boyfriend leaned back against the pillows, grinning like an idiot as he watched the scene unfold. “yeah, six times is definitely the charm. but hey, babe, looks like you’ve got a seventh in ya after all.”

it was like watching synchronized chaos — if that was even a thing. as if a switch flipped simultaneously in their shared, cursed braincell, both gojos moved in perfect unison, practically tearing at fem-gojo’s top like it offended their very existence. “c’mon, comrade,” your boyfriend cheered, his stupid grin widening as he yanked her shirt up and over her head. “it’s for the greater good.”

“greater good my ass, you’re just horny,” fem-gojo shot back, though she didn’t stop him. in fact, she raised her arms to make it easier, her ridiculously large tits out in the open in all its glory.

“damn right i am,” he quipped, and in the blink of an eye, he was stripped down to nothing but his insufferable confidence.

meanwhile, you were desperately trying to focus on your task. a monumental task. a task fit for a girlboss, because you were a determined woman.

and that task? eating out your insanely hot girlfriend slash partner.

you flattened your tongue against her cunt, trying to ignore the heat flooding your face as her thighs quivered around your head. her hips bucked slightly, and she let out a strangled moan that quickly turned into a string of curses.

“fuck — shit — holy hell, that’s — oh, goddamn it!” fem-gojo gasped, one hand fisting the sheets while the other tangled in your hair. “what the fuck, how — how are you even doing that — fuck — oh my god!”

her cussing was relentless, sharp, and varied enough to make a sailor blush. “shit — fuck me sideways — you’re gonna kill me, holy tits!”

“holy tits?” your boyfriend snorted.

“shut the fuck up, sator — aah! ” fem-gojo snapped, though her voice cracked as another moan escaped her lips.

but you couldn’t even laugh, because you were the one fighting for your life. with gojo gripping your hips like a lifeline, and his cock buried so deep inside you that your vision blurred, outright bruising your insides, it was nearly impossible to concentrate.

"fuck, babe," gojo groaned, his voice low and breathless in your ear. "you’re squeezin’ me so tight — feels so fuckin' good."

and as much as you hated to admit it, tears were streaming down your face, soaking fem-gojo’s thighs as your tongue continued its shaky assault.

“shit — babe, you cryin’?” gojo asked, though his smirk was audible even through the haze of his pleasure. “s that good?”

you wanted to slap him, but all you could do was moan as another thrust hit that sweet spot inside you, making your whole body shudder.

“don’t stop,” fem-gojo whimpered above you, her thighs trembling around your head. “holy fuck, don’t stop — don’t fucking stop — oh m’god, ‘m gonna — fuck!”

and before you could even process her loud, breathy cry, your own orgasm hit like a tidal wave, your walls clenching hard around gojo’s length as you squirted against him.

“oh, fucckkk yeah,” he groaned, his pace stuttering as he chased his own release.

you barely registered anything else, your body shaking with the aftershocks as fem-gojo slumped against the pillows, completely blissed out.

"looks like i win this round," gojo panted, his voice smug as he finally pulled out and collapsed next to you.

"win? win?" you croaked, your voice hoarse and shaky. "satoru, i am literally dying."

and fem-gojo, still catching her breath, managed a weak chuckle. “honestly, me too.”

your boyfriend, the absolute menace, is standing there like he’s giving the keynote address at some unhinged sex expo. with a dramatic sweep of his arm, he gestures to the array of sex toys — sorry, “tools of pleasure” — that he had haphazardly, or as he put it, “meticulously,” arranged while you weren’t looking.

“ladies,” he begins, the same devilish grin on his face that could charm or terrify depending on his mood. “i present to you the greatest hits of our collection: the deluxe rotating dildo 3000 — absolute game changer, might i add — this double-ended masterpiece that got us through valentine’s day last year, and this little number,” he wiggles the suction vibrator like it’s a winning lottery ticket, “for when you need to set a new personal record.”

“oh my god, satoru, shut the fuck up,” you hiss, face burning as you try to hide your mortification behind a pillow.

but fem gojo? oh, she’s eating this shit upp. literally. her blue eyes light up with the kind of crazed glee you’d associate with a sugar-high kid who just got the biggest lollipop at a carnival. it’s neuron activation at its finest, and suddenly you feel a chill crawl up your spine.

“i like this one,” she says, grabbing the double-ended toy with a smirk, spinning it in her hands like she’s about to challenge you to a duel.

“a woman of culture,” your boyfriend says approvingly, holding up a fist for her to bump.

she does, and it’s the single most terrifying moment of your life.

“guys, can we not —” you try to protest, but it’s too late.

“you know what,” fem gojo hums, her voice sultry as she tosses the toy aside, leaning in with a dangerous glint in her eyes. “i was gonna let you off easy after earlier, but…” her gaze flicks to your boyfriend, and the two exchange a look that screams trouble.

“but now,” she continues, her smirk widening, “i’m all charged up. and since my dear clone here is such a team player,”

“we gotta keep the momentum going,” gojo finishes, cracking his knuckles like he’s about to play a round of volleyball.

“no, you really don’t,” you argue, trying to scramble away, but fem gojo’s already got her strong arms around your waist, pulling you back into the fray.

“oh, sweetheart,” she purrs, her lips brushing against your ear, “we’re not stopping until we turn you into a puddle.”

and with that, your fate is sealed.

again.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡ banners by cafekitsune

[goldfades]

i don't believe in god, but i believe that you're my savior; my mom says that she's worried, but i'm covered in this favor; and when we're getting dirty, i forget all that is wrong───PAIGE BUECKERS

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 4k

⟢ ┈ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | she was the kind of girl who lit up rooms and wrecked worlds in the same breath—a gravity too intense to resist. you’d sworn off falling, but the first time she laughed, smoke curling from her lips like an invitation to a wildfire, you were already in freefall. between stolen touches and reckless nights, you wonder if paige is your salvation or your undoing—or maybe a bit of both.

⟢ ┈ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | whoo, where do i begin? very angsty (but with a happy ending!), A LOT OF religious trauma, biblical allusions, descriptions of internalized homophobia, um... idk what else?

⟢ ┈ 𝐞𝐯'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 | okay i wanna preface this by saying... this is NOT a realistic reflection of paige because i know she is religious (i am too) but for the sake of this fic, it's just not a direct correlation. ANYWAY, i got this fic request a couple hours ago and this has been in my drafts for a while, and it's for sailor song so i decided just to mix the two. but fair warning; this is VERY self-indulgent, like super... but i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless!

It started with her laugh.

Low, sharp, intoxicating—like she knew something you didn’t, and the knowing was half the fun. The sound carried through the room, brushing against your skin, leaving a warmth behind that didn’t quite fade.

You hadn’t meant to look. It was a casual glance, a passive observation of the crowd gathered in the dim light of some off-campus house party. But there she was, Paige, head tilted back, blonde hair loose and gleaming like spun gold in the chaos of flashing lights. Beautiful didn’t quite cover it. She was an image that felt ripped straight from a psalm—crafted by hands too divine to belong to this earth.

You told yourself to look away. But it was like trying to pull your gaze from the altar during a prayer; you knew better, but you stayed. Her presence burned, the kind of flame you’d always been taught to fear. And yet, the yearning rose in you like a hymn.

She held a vape pen in one hand, her other resting lazily against the kitchen counter. When she brought it to her lips and exhaled, the plume of smoke rose like incense, curling toward the low ceiling. It wasn’t just a casual gesture—it was deliberate, a communion, and you felt the weight of her gaze as she caught you staring. Her eyes—blue like stained glass on a Sunday morning—locked with yours, and in that instant, you swore she saw straight through you. Every doubt. Every prayer you’d whispered to keep yourself in line.

Your chest tightened. It felt less like a chance meeting and more like a test. A temptation. You wanted to pass. You wanted to fail.

Her smirk formed slowly, a deliberate curve of her lips that made your breath catch. She waved the pen in a lazy arc, motioning you over. Something inside you—rebellion, recklessness, or maybe just exhaustion—told you to move. So you did.

Every step toward her felt like crossing a line you’d drawn for yourself long ago. The room blurred, fading into irrelevance as you neared. She was all you could see, every detail sharper and brighter than it had any right to be. Her hoodie hung loose on her frame, the strings unevenly tugged. Her nails, painted the softest blush, tapped rhythmically against the counter.

“You always stare like that?” she asked, voice low but cutting through the din around you. Her tone was casual, but her eyes… they were anything but. They pinned you in place, unrelenting.

Heat rushed to your cheeks, and you fumbled for an answer. “No. I mean—sorry, I wasn’t—”

“Relax.” She leaned in, close enough that you could smell the faint mix of mint and something sweeter. “I don’t bite.” A pause, her grin widening. “Not unless you want me to.”

Your laugh came out shaky, a poor attempt at deflecting the rising tension in your chest. “Do you always talk like this?”

“Only when I’m interested.” The words landed heavy, like a confession in a darkened booth. Paige tilted her head, studying you. “What’s your name?”

You told her, and the way she repeated it back made it sound different—softer, like she was testing the weight of it in her mouth. She offered her hand, the gesture disarmingly formal. When your fingers touched, the spark was immediate, electric. You wondered if she felt it too.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, her grip firm but unhurried, like she had all the time in the world to unravel you.

You didn’t have all the time in the world. That was the problem. Years of sermons and Bible studies echoed in your mind like a chorus of warnings. Narrow is the road, straight is the gate, and you were barreling down the wide, crooked path without a second thought.

“So,” Paige said, pulling you back to the present, “you drink, or are you just here for the vibes?”

“I don’t drink.” The answer came automatic, instinctive, a remnant of the rules you hadn’t yet shaken off. Paige arched an eyebrow, intrigued but not mocking.

“Interesting.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping. “Guess I’ll have to figure out what your vice is.”

The air between you felt charged, heavy with something unspoken. You tried to speak, to say anything that would keep you grounded, but nothing came. All you could do was stand there, caught in the pull of her presence.

“Come on,” she said, grabbing her vape from the counter and motioning for you to follow her. “Let’s get out of here. It’s too loud.”

You hesitated, the weight of invisible judgment pressing against you. But then she smiled—soft, earnest, utterly disarming—and the resistance crumbled. It felt wrong, undeniably so. But it also felt like freedom.

So you followed.

The night air hit you like a baptism, cool and sobering after the crowded haze of the party. Paige walked ahead of you, her hands shoved into her hoodie pockets, her steps unhurried. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure you were still there, flashing you a smile that sent a shiver racing down your spine.

You kept a few paces behind, your mind a storm of contradictions. Everything about this felt dangerous, like stepping into a story you’d been warned against since you were a child. But there was something magnetic about her, something that made you ignore the small, insistent voice in the back of your head telling you to turn back. She moved like she owned the night, and for a moment, you wondered if maybe she did.

“Where are we going?” you asked, your voice a little too high, a little too thin.

“Someplace quiet,” she said, not turning around. “Don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer.”

“That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.”

She laughed, and it was soft this time, less sharp-edged than before. “Fair point. But I think you’re safe with me. Trust me?”

You didn’t answer, but the fact that you kept walking was its own reply. Paige led you down a winding street lined with trees, the leaves whispering in the breeze like they were in on some divine secret. You felt like a lamb being led away from the flock, the shepherd nowhere in sight. But instead of fear, all you felt was the thrill of it—the breaking of the rules, the stepping out of bounds.

Eventually, she stopped in front of a small park, deserted except for a few streetlights casting pale pools of light over the benches. She sat on one of them, her legs sprawled out casually, and gestured for you to join her.

You hesitated for a fraction of a second before sitting, careful to leave a polite amount of space between you. Paige noticed and smirked, shifting slightly so your knees almost touched. The proximity made your pulse quicken.

“Relax,” she said, pulling the vape pen out of her pocket and twirling it between her fingers. “I don’t bite, remember?”

You tried to smile, but it felt stiff, unnatural. “Not unless I want you to, right?”

Paige’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “Exactly. You’re catching on.” She brought the vape to her lips, taking a long drag before exhaling. The smoke curled lazily in the air, illuminated by the glow of the streetlight. She tilted her head, studying you. “So, what’s your deal?”

“My deal?”

“Yeah. You’re giving off… I don’t know. Saintly vibes.” Her tone was teasing, but there was genuine curiosity in her eyes. “Like you stepped out of some Catholic school choir.”

You stiffened, the words hitting closer to home than she could’ve known. “I… grew up religious.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Religious, huh? Like, church every Sunday, Bible verses on the fridge, all that?”

You nodded, a tightness creeping into your chest. “Pretty much.”

She leaned back, her expression unreadable. “And now?”

You hesitated. It wasn’t a question you liked answering, mostly because you didn’t know the answer yourself. “Now… I don’t know. I guess I’m figuring it out.”

Paige nodded slowly, her gaze softening. “That’s fair. Takes time to unlearn all that, right?”

The word unlearn felt heavy, like it carried a weight you weren’t ready to unpack. You looked down at your hands, suddenly unsure of what to do with them. “Something like that.”

For a moment, the only sound was the rustling of leaves and the distant hum of traffic. Then Paige spoke, her voice quieter this time. “You know, I used to go to church too.”

Your head snapped up, surprise flickering across your face. “You did?”

She nodded, exhaling another plume of smoke. “Yeah. My grandma made me go. Every Sunday, no exceptions. I hated it back then. All the rules, all the guilt… it was suffocating.” She paused, a wistful smile tugging at her lips. “But now, I don’t know. Sometimes I miss it.”

“Miss it?” The idea seemed foreign, almost impossible. “Why?”

Paige shrugged. “I guess… it was nice, believing in something bigger than yourself. Feeling like someone up there gave a damn about you.” She looked at you, her eyes searching. “You ever feel like that?”

You wanted to say no, wanted to deny it outright. But the truth was, you had felt that once. Before the doubts, before the questions, before the endless weight of trying to reconcile who you were with who you were supposed to be. You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “I don’t know.”

Paige nodded, as if she understood. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re pretty damn interesting. Religious trauma and all.” She grinned, her teasing tone returning. “Maybe I’ll save you.”

The words hung in the air, light and joking, but they hit you harder than you cared to admit. You looked at her, the girl who seemed to embody everything you’d been taught to fear, and wondered if maybe, just maybe, she was right.

And that’s how this whole thing began—the beginning of the end.

It wasn’t a relationship, not exactly. It wasn’t even a proper friendship. You weren’t sure what to call it. Some blurry, undefined space where your worlds collided—recklessly, beautifully, disastrously. Paige would text you late at night, a simple you up? and before you even had time to think, you’d find yourself in her orbit again. Her dorm, a parked car, that same park bench. The locations changed, but the pattern didn’t.

She kissed like she had something to prove, like she knew exactly what you wanted and wasn’t afraid to take it. And God, did you let her take it. Every time. Every brush of her lips, every tug at the edges of your carefully constructed world, it left you breathless. Empty. Full. You couldn’t tell anymore.

You told yourself it was just physical—nothing more than a release. But that was a lie, and you both knew it. Especially when she’d pull away and rest her forehead against yours, her breath warm against your cheek, her voice soft in the stillness.

“You okay?” she’d ask, her tone full of something that felt too much like care.

You’d nod, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Fine. That was another lie. You weren’t fine. You were far from it. Every time you left her, slipping back into the quiet safety of your own bed, you could feel the guilt clawing at your chest like a living thing. It whispered in your ear, cruel and relentless, reminding you of every rule you were breaking, every promise you were shattering.

But the worst part? You reveled in it. There was a twisted kind of freedom in the guilt, like stepping into a storm and letting it drench you. It was messy and terrifying and so far removed from the pristine, polished version of yourself you’d been raised to be. With Paige, you weren’t the good girl anymore. You weren’t the dutiful daughter or the pious believer. You were raw, unfiltered, unapologetically human. And you hated how much you loved it.

┈┈┈

One night, after another one of those late-night texts, you found yourself sprawled on Paige’s bed, your head resting against her chest as her fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm. The room smelled faintly of her lavender laundry detergent and the minty vape she always carried. It should’ve been calming, but it wasn’t. Not tonight.

“You’re quiet,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You hesitated, biting the inside of your cheek. “Nothing. Just tired.”

“Liar.” Her fingers paused, and she tilted her head to look at you. “You’ve got that look again.”

“What look?”

“That I’m feeling guilty as hell but too stubborn to admit it look.”

Her words hit too close to home, and you shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She sighed, her hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture was too tender, too intimate. “You know you can talk to me, right?”

You closed your eyes, the weight of her gaze almost too much to bear. “I don’t think you’d understand.”

“Try me.”

The room felt heavy, the air thick with unspoken words. You didn’t want to say it, but the truth was clawing its way out, demanding to be heard. “I just… I can’t stop feeling like this is wrong. Like I’m wrong.”

Paige stiffened beneath you, the softness in her expression giving way to something sharper. “Wrong? What does that even mean?”

You sat up, hugging your knees to your chest. “It means this. Us. Everything. It’s not… it’s not what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Says who?” Her voice was steady, but there was an edge to it now, a defensiveness you’d never heard before.

You looked at her, your throat tightening. “Everyone. My parents. My pastor. God.”

The word hung between you like a curse, and Paige let out a bitter laugh, sitting up as well. “God? Really? You think God’s sitting up there, keeping score of who you kiss?”

“It’s not just that,” you said, your voice cracking. “It’s everything. The lying, the sneaking around, the… the way I feel about you. It’s too much.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, but instead of the defensiveness you expected, she exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing. “Look, I might not be the most religious,” she began, her voice steady but gentle, “but I don’t think God’s sitting up there keeping some cosmic tally of who you kiss or how you feel. That’s not love. That’s control.”

Her words made you flinch, and she reached out, her hand brushing yours lightly before pulling back. “You grew up being told He’s this all-powerful, all-knowing being, right? So, if He’s that big, that perfect, then don’t you think He’s got room for you, too? For… this?” She gestured between the two of you, her voice softening. “I mean, if God is love, doesn’t that include the kind you feel for me?”

Your throat tightened, and you felt the tears coming before you could stop them. Paige saw, but she didn’t shy away. Instead, she leaned in, her voice dropping even lower, like she was sharing a secret just for you. “You’re not broken. You’re not wrong. And you sure as hell don’t need saving. Not from me. Not from anyone.”

For a fleeting moment, the knot in your chest loosened. Paige’s words were like a salve, soothing the ache you’d carried for so long. She made it sound so simple—love as something pure and whole, untainted by judgment or shame. You wanted to believe her. God, you wanted to.

And for a moment, you did. You let yourself lean into her warmth, let yourself imagine a version of this where you could breathe freely, unburdened by guilt. But it didn’t last. The weight of your upbringing—the sermons, the warnings, the whispered prayers for deliverance—settled back over you like a heavy cloak.

“Maybe you’re right,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “Maybe God doesn’t care. But I do.”

Paige frowned, her brows furrowing. “Why?”

“Because it’s not just about Him,” you said, your hands clutching your knees tightly. “It’s about everything. My parents. My community. The person I’ve spent my whole life trying to be.”

Her face softened, and she reached for your hand again, her grip firm and grounding. “But what about the person you are? The one sitting right here, right now?”

You couldn’t answer. Or maybe you didn’t want to. The truth felt too raw, too messy to say out loud.

Paige sighed, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Look, I get that this is complicated for you. But you deserve to love and be loved without feeling like you’re doing something wrong. And if no one’s ever told you that before, then I’m telling you now.”

Her words lingered, wrapping around you like a safety net. You wanted to fall into it, to let her catch you. But the ground beneath you still felt too shaky, too uncertain.

So you stayed quiet, letting her hold your hand while the silence stretched between you. It wasn’t resolution, but it was something. And for now, that was all you could handle.

Over the weeks that followed, something began to shift. Paige didn’t press you, didn’t demand answers you weren’t ready to give. Instead, she stayed patient, like she understood the weight you carried better than anyone ever had. She didn’t push you to talk about your guilt, but she made space for you when you did. Slowly, you began to let her in.

It started small. A whispered confession in the quiet of her dorm. A memory shared over takeout cartons and late-night reruns of shows you’d never admit to liking. The walls you’d spent years building began to crumble, piece by piece, under her steady gaze and unflinching kindness.

One night, as you lay sprawled on her couch, the conversation wandered back to the topic you’d both been skirting around for days.

“Do you ever think about leaving it all behind?” Paige asked, her voice soft but curious.

“Leaving what behind?”

She tilted her head toward you. “The guilt. The rules. The version of yourself you’re so scared to let go of.”

You didn’t answer right away. You traced the pattern of the couch cushion beneath your fingers, searching for words that wouldn’t come. Finally, you sighed. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” she said. “But maybe it doesn’t have to be as complicated as you think.”

The conversation stuck with you. Paige didn’t have all the answers, but she had a way of making you feel like you could find them yourself. She challenged you to ask questions you’d spent years avoiding, to rethink the parts of your faith that had been weaponized against you.

“I don’t think you have to throw it all away,” she said one night, her voice careful, deliberate. “Your faith, I mean. Maybe it just needs to look different. More… you. I never left that religious part of my life, I just... made it more me.”

You didn’t know what that meant yet, but the idea of redefining your faith—of making it your own—felt like a spark in the darkness.

For the first time in years, you began to feel something that resembled peace. There were moments, fleeting but powerful, where you allowed yourself to be happy without questioning if you deserved it. Moments when Paige’s laugh lit up a room, and you couldn’t help but laugh with her. Moments when she kissed you, and the world went quiet, and the only thing that mattered was her hands in your hair and her breath against your skin.

It wasn’t perfect. The guilt didn’t disappear overnight. It still crept in, especially when you were alone, whispering that you were wrong, broken, sinful. But it didn’t consume you the way it used to.

Because now, there was something stronger than the guilt. There was Paige. And there was you. The version of you she saw—the one who deserved love, who could rewrite the rules, who didn’t have to apologize for existing.

And maybe, just maybe, that version of you was worth believing in.

Falling in love with Paige wasn’t a dramatic, earth-shattering event. It wasn’t fireworks or grand declarations or sudden epiphanies. It was quieter than that, gentler. Like the tide rolling in, it happened so naturally, so effortlessly, that you didn’t even realize it was happening until you were already submerged.

It was in the small things—the way she’d instinctively hold your hand during a scary part of a movie, her thumb drawing lazy circles on your skin. The way she always knew when you needed space and when you needed her closer, as if she could read the thoughts you couldn’t put into words. The way she’d say your name, softly, like it was her favorite word.

You started noticing how her laugh could fill a room, making even the dullest moments feel alive. The way her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved—basketball, her dog back home, or the time she convinced her whole team to wear matching Crocs. Paige had this way of making the ordinary extraordinary, and you couldn’t help but be drawn to her.

She never tried to fix you, never made you feel like you were some puzzle that needed solving. She just saw you—the real you, the messy, complicated, guilt-ridden you—and loved you anyway.

Paige’s love wasn’t flashy or conditional or based on expectations. It was steady, like a heartbeat, a rhythm you could count on even when everything else felt uncertain.

It wasn’t in the grand gestures but in the little moments. Like when she brought you coffee the exact way you liked it, without asking. Or when she remembered the names of the books you’d mentioned in passing and bought you one “just because.” It was in the way she’d text you random memes during the day, just to make you laugh, and the way she’d listen—really listen—when you spoke about your fears, your dreams, your past.

One night, you found yourself lying beside her, the room lit only by the faint glow of her bedside lamp. She was doodling something on your arm with her finger, her touch light and absentminded.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice soft.

“Drawing stars,” she said with a grin. “Because you’re my universe.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto your face. “That’s so cheesy.”

“Yeah, but it made you smile,” she shot back, her voice full of playful confidence.

And it did. She always did.

As you lay there, her head resting against your shoulder, you realized that this—she—made you feel complete in a way you hadn’t even known was possible. Paige loved you in a way that felt so simple, so natural, that it made you question everything you’d ever believed about love.

You used to think you were hard to love. That you came with too much baggage, too many rules, too much you. But with Paige, there was no effort, no hesitation. She loved you like it was breathing, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

And for the first time, you began to wonder if maybe she was right. If maybe love didn’t have to be hard or painful or earned. If maybe, just maybe, it could be as simple as this.

Over time, the love between you grew, not in explosive leaps but in quiet, steady steps. It wasn’t just the way she kissed you or held your hand. It was in the way she made you laugh until your sides hurt, the way she celebrated your victories, big or small, like they were her own. It was in the way she never gave up on you, even when you struggled to believe in yourself.

It wasn’t perfect. You weren’t perfect. But Paige made you feel like you didn’t have to be. She made you feel whole, even in the moments when you felt broken.

And as you fell deeper into this love—this easy, unconditional love—you began to realize something else. You weren’t just falling in love with her. You were starting to fall in love with yourself, too.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[luviestarz]

jungkook fic recs! 💘 part 2

𖤐 Champagne Confetti ⋆ j.jk - @busanboykoo (“you won't regret me, champagne confetti” or maybe just jungkook wants you to tell him what you want him to do to you.)

𖤐 oh how you love longhair!jungkook . . . - @twilghtkoo

𖤐 Your boyfriend looks a little too good in his police uniform. - @badbtssmut

𖤐 e s p r e s s o - @joonberriess (boxer!jk)

𖤐 trippin' over, gettin' lost on you | jjk (m) - @euphorajeon (a visit to the coffee shop you work at rewards jeongguk not only with a cup of coffee and a plate of brownie, but also with something else simmering deep in his veins. a challenge is issued, and all hell breaks loose.)

𖤐 Don’t Blame Me | sugar daddy!jungkook one-shot au - @ctrlsht (You can have everything you want and need as long as you have Jeon Jungkook by your side. You were enjoying everything that Jungkook gives you and as long as you’re with him. You’re sure to yourself that you will never fail him but he was the one who failed you. Everything is fine until he gets too much.)

𖤐 WELCOME TO THE HEARTBREAK SHOW ── jungkook - @numinousher (you’re in love with your partner in class that everyone fears (and loves) due to his stoic facial expression and the way he rejects girls rather harshly. as you get to know him, will he be able to handle your heart that you so willingly gave him to care for or, will he break it due to his hatred for people who are in love with him?)

𖤐 It’s hard to stop but once it starts, it starts - @byuljoonie

𖤐 concrete king. (m) jjk - @bratkook (when a cute boy in a tacky hawaiian shirt lands a trick in your honor theres no way you could ever say no to him)

𖤐 baecation - @1kook (“Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart.)

𖤐 test your morality (jungkook) - @trivia-yandere (jungkook's morality is tested when he's woken from his unconscious state to find you - his best friend - bound before him.)

𖤐 Needy | jjk oneshot - @jkslipppiercing (your boyfriend often helps you set up for your weekly girls' night...what happens when he gets needy for you only 15 minutes before your girl friends arrive?)

𖤐 ESCAPISM | JJK - @wnderkoo (୨୧ lipstick smudged like modern art..)

𖤐 Vérités Cachées (JJK) - @bangtanficsforyou (You try to make an escape from a beast, that you happen to have encountered while on a vacation with your boyfriend.)

𖤐 lonely hearts club (m) - @dovechim (jeon jeongguk has annoying little brother energy™. you know this deep in your bones. wedding after wedding, you keep running into him at the goddamn singles’ table, and he just won’t leave you alone. until you start to wonder... is he your ticket out of the lonely hearts club?)

𖤐 By Its Cover (M) - @gimmesumsuga (The one where Jungkook makes a horrifically bad first impression.)

𖤐 The Deepest Marks of Essence - @lleldey (When you found yourself circled by a tribe, you never thought it would lead you to tap into your deepest wants and desires. You are the oldest child, the example of how one should act at all costs, but if you ever manage to escape this maze and if your story ever becomes told, you’ll never be looked at the same. But it’s hard to regret it when your nights are spent with gentle caresses and starry midnight skies. You got everything you secretly longed for, but at what cost?)

𖤐 every hour, every minute. (m) - @aajjks (jungkook can be an animal when it comes to fucking you sensless.)

𖤐 ONCE AGAIN, MILAN ! - (nsfw) - @frmisnow (what happens when you and jungkook find yourselves once again in milan, this time with no business attached — well a hol' lotta sex for sure!)

[venomnyx]

FAVOURS - Josh Washington x F!Reader AO3 // Playlist

WORD COUNT - 5.2k SUMMARY - The Washingtons invite you to stay with them in their lodge over the summer while you heal from a rough breakup with who you thought was the love of your life. One warm evening, when Josh teaches you to smoke for the first time, he offers you a mutually beneficial proposition that you find impossible to resist. TAGS/WARNINGS - female pronouns and anatomy, best friends older brother, recreational drug use (weed smoking), shitty ex-boyfriend, candid conversations, sexual proposition, friends with benefits (with feelings?), sneaking around, oral (fem receiving), outdoor sex, dialogue-heavy, not beta read NOTES - i need this man carnally.

prequel to the fool card, can be read as a standalone fic

The lodge runs cold this time of night, even in the summer.

You tip-toe down the hallway, sneaking past the twin’s bedroom, arms wrapped around your middle as goose pimples drift on your arms. A soft slip of pink light drifts through the underbelly of their door, and, warmed by nostalgia, you fondly remember that Hannah never liked sleeping in the dark.

The stairs creak as you make your way to the kitchen. The varnished wood of the bannister feels glossy and cool beneath your tentative fingertips, steadying your gentle footsteps so as not to disturb anybody.

The expansive windows stretch the further you walk into the main living area, overlooking the mountains. It’s a daunting sensation to realise you’re so small and insignificant, sucked in by the misty rocks and endless snow, ribboned with twilight shades of silver and blue. You quietly wonder what mysteries lay beyond, stretching out in haunting invitation.

His voice comes out of nowhere. “You lost?”

“Jesus, Josh. Scared the shit out of me.” Your voice is a sharp whisper, but the narrowed-eye look you shoot him only makes him laugh— a warm rumbly thing that makes your chest flutter.

“Sorry,” he says, but his mischievous tone is anything but. He glances you up and down. “Cute PJ’s. What’re you doin’ up?”

You suddenly feel exposed in your pyjamas, a little slip of black silk shorts and a matching vest.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest after fiddling with the thin strap on your shoulder. “I couldn’t sleep. I just needed some water.”

You pause, hesitating as if waiting for him to say something.

His smile grows almost imperceptibly, time dragging like slow honey drips as he drinks in your bashful fidgeting and challenges your fast-slipping eye contact.

Eventually, he nods directionally without his gaze leaving you. “Kitchens that way,” he says, and the tension bubble pops between you.

You roll your eyes. “I know, asshole. I practically live here.”

He grins. “That so?” He calls after you as you walk away, mock surprise in his tone. “Guess I never noticed you before.”

You stick your finger up over your shoulder, but there suddenly isn’t a trace of cold in your body.

“Hey, you wanna join me outside for a bit?” Josh asks, peeking his head through the door as you sip your water. “Place gets kinda lonely at night.”

His voice remains low, unconvinced— like he’s not sure you’ll agree. You’re not entirely sure you should. You and Josh aren’t exactly close— friends, sure, but only through his sisters, but his invitation feels warm, not awkward.

Moments later, after brief deliberation and realising you have nothing to lose, you follow him through the side door, the midnight summer air a balm to your skin.

He’s leaning over the balcony railing, eyes cast over the mountain treetops. A thin line of pungent smoke curls up from between his fingers and disappears.

He turns to you with a raised brow when he notices you watching. “Busted,” he says, smirking softly as he lifts the joint to his mouth. “You gonna rat me out to my parents?”

You roll your eyes. “Who’d believe me?”

He laughs, gesturing toward you and offering the joint without preamble. You freeze, hoping to not look like a total loser, but Josh catches your hesitation with perceptive eyes.

“What, never done this before?”

“Honestly? No,” you answer, trying to fight the warmth on your face.

“Really?” He grins, eyes sparkling. “Wouldn’t have expected that from you.”

“Go ahead, laugh it up,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms defensively. “I never cared to get around to it.”

His grin softens, holding it out to you, cherry-tipped and releasing smoke in gentle waves. “First time for everything?”

You take it off of him, deciding why not. You try mirroring his movements before, drawing in a shallow breath, figuring it works just like smoking a cigarette. The smoke, sharp and unfamiliar, stabs as it reaches your throat. You cough reflexively, flushing as you sputter.

“Oh, God— that sucks.”

He laughs fondly, somehow making you feel a little less embarrassed, and gently takes it from your fingers, leading you over to the plush outdoor bench. A hand on your shoulder as you both sit.

“First times always rough. You gotta do it slower— just- just relax, alright? It’s not a big deal. I’ll show you.”

You swallow, watching as he demonstrates, pulling in a slow drag and letting it fill his lungs before releasing it. There’s something almost hypnotic in the way he does it, so comfortable and at ease, like he did this all the time alone and you had no idea. He hands it over to you, guiding your hand around it carefully, his fingers brushing yours, lingering just a beat longer than they have to.

“Start small— just enough to get the feel.”

Warm under his watchful stare, you try to follow his instructions. You find it’s easier this way, only a slight burn as it passes your throat, gentle when you exhale, if a little irritating. His smile grows.

“There you go,” he praises, clapping your shoulder once before releasing you. “Doesn’t suck so bad, does it?”

“Sure, whatever,” you say, handing it back to him. He only half-chuckles at your dismissal, not put off in the slightest.

The silence settles comfortably, interrupted only by the soft hiss and flicker of the joint as he inhales. He tilts his head, watching the smoke disappear into the night air, expression distant. Thoughtful, like something crosses his mind.

“You and your boyfriend broke up?” He asks with a squint.

You peer over at him, holding onto your shins as you tuck your knees into your chest. “You know about that?”

“Sure. My sisters gossip,” he says, and you swear his eyes give you a once-over when he hands you the joint. “You were together for a long stretch, huh? You wanna talk about it?”

You take a hit, letting the smoke sit whilst you take a moment to hesitate. Josh isn’t exactly your confidant, but there’s something about the late-night, the quiet vulnerability of your interactions, that tempts you to lower your guard.

With an exhale, “It’s… not worth your time.”

He remains steady, sincere. “Try me.”

You sigh through your nose, staring at the sky above as if gathering strength.

“Well, I loved him, but he went to college, hooked up with another girl in the first week. A… mutual friend.”

“Oof.” He releases a low whistle. “Bummer.”

You frown sourly, gaze cast downwards. “Same old story.”

“You don’t have to say that… you seem upset about it,” he observes.

“I’m over it,” you say quickly, defensively. Tense shoulders when you speak. “I mean, I’m over him. He’s… whatever.”

He lounges back, sensing there’s more to the story. “But…”

“I think I’m just more angry with myself because I already felt like I was doing charity work,” you admit after a beat of consideration. “You give the ugly-funny guy a chance and he suddenly thinks he’s some…” you trail off, laughing bitterly. “He was so insecure, you know? Hated that I hung out with guys like you and Matt and— ugh. He was my first love, my first— …he’s not even worth the breath. Wasn’t even a good fuck.”

His eyebrows flash up. “Oh?”

Instantly mortified, you place your hands over your warm face, head swimming behind your closed eyes. “Oh my god, just forget I said that—”

“No, no—” he struggles to speak between bursts of laughter. A quick cough into his fist to compose himself. “Nothing wrong with being… open. Honesty is good.”

You groan, but the weed dulls the blade edge of your humiliation, making it manageable. It doesn’t quite cut your fingers when you hold it. A giggle escapes you from the ridiculousness of it— a light thing that seems to shake some of the weight off your shoulders, like blowing dust off an old book.

“I don’t know why I said that,” you mutter, eyes teary from laughing despite yourself. “It’s probably just the weed talking. Don’t laugh, Josh.”

“I’m not laughing!” He insists, but the teeth-flashing grin says he’s full of amusement.

You shoot him a glare and he laugh-yells when you swing for him with a bench pillow.

“Hey! I feel sorry for you, if anything. Never had him show you a good time.”

“We had good… times,” you say, but your tone fails.

“Uh-huh,” he responds, unconvinced. “Sounds like ugly-funny guy wasn’t all that.”

You drag your hands down your face. “Okay, fine. Honestly, no— he wasn’t. He barely paid attention. Like I was just… there.”

There’s something cathartic about it, opening up to the person you never thought you’d be having this kind of conversation with. It’s hard, with the twins— Beth isn’t exactly romantic, and Hannah’s all rose-tinted glasses. Josh’s perspective is… different. Refreshing. Exciting?

“That blows,” he shrugs. “Guess you got unlucky. Firsts shouldn’t have to suck that bad.”

You hum, closing your eyes as you bask in the warmth of your high, and his company. “I’m probably oversharing.”

“Nah, I get it,” he says. You peek at him and he’s all soft-smirks and understanding eyes, regarding you with low lashes. “We all got… we all got needs. Like cracking your neck, right? Doesn’t have to be a big deal.”

You nod in shy agreement.

“Just sounds like you need someone who, y’know… understands the art a little better.”

Your heart stutters behind your ribs, wondering if you really picked up on a subtle proposition or if you’re just imagining things. You’re higher than you need to be, but you still inhale another drag with shaking fingers as if the act itself will soothe you.

“Oh, is that right?”

The corner of his mouth ticks with mirth, eyes flickering something dangerous when he glances over your figure, tongue darting out as if drinking you in.

“Yeah, you know. Some better options.”

Your neurons are like butter in a pan: melting, sliding from one thought to another. You very suddenly can’t stop imagining what it would be like to have sex with Josh Washington— and not in the intrusive thought, “ew that’s my best-friends-brother” way, but in a way, that’s far, far more tempting.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep it casual despite the sudden warmth growing in your shorts. “Got any recommendations?”

“Could be me,” he murmurs, voice low and playful. Half-serious, half-joking, a droplet suggestion in a gentle current. “Just as a… temporary thing, you know? We’d be doing each other... favours.”

Your pulse skyrockets, throbbing in your throat and between your thighs. A thrill, driven by your sudden insatiable curiosity. But still, a stab of reluctance pokes through the mist of your weed haze.

“Hey. You can forget I asked,” he says gently, meaningfully. “Just a… thought.”

You can feel yourself getting embarrassingly wetter by the second, desperate to ease the tension with an excuse, any excuse. No, no, God no, you shouldn’t indulge in the forbidden fruit of your best friend’s older brother, of your friend, even if the thought of getting your desperately high sexual frustration quenched is insatiably desirable.

“Josh. We’re both high.”

“…But you’re down?”

You throw him a look, soft, puppyish. Please don’t make you say no because you’re not sure you can.

“Sure, we’re high. Not stupid. Not drunk.” He senses your trepidation. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if that’s what you’re worried about. We’re friends, right? Besides, we’ve got the whole summer together, so…”

“…Might as well make the most of it.”

He pauses, bottom lip caught between his teeth in thought, and then a nod. “Exactly.”

“Jesus,” you murmur, head swimming after your final smoke.

His eyes don’t leave yours when he has his turn. A quick puff between his teeth, smoke misting around him in the low lighting. A rushed inhale, the cherry glowing, a hiss when he exhales. There’s something deliberate about the way he’s looking at you.

Without breaking eye contact, he flicks the roach over the railing, the dying ember tumbling into the dark. His hands quickly find the back of your neck decisively, thumbing along your jaw, pulling you towards him in a fluid motion, angling his head to meet you— and then he’s on you. His lips capturing yours with a reverent ferocity, an urgency that catches you off guard.

He tastes like acrid weed smoke and something subtle, sweeter, like hard candy lingering on his tongue.

A moment of sobriety snatches you from the moment when you consider what his sisters — your best friends — might think if they found out you were planning on screwing their brother on the family holiday they invited you to.

You pull away, just enough that your noses brush. “Josh…”

“Shh,” he coos, sweeping you up with his attention again. You don’t object, too paralysed by the moment to deny yourself of this. You high-pitch moan against his mouth as his tongue strokes yours, turning gelatinous and pliant when his hand slips down from your shoulder to your breast, to your waist. Gripping, staking claim, just a slip of silk between his fingers and your skin, warm where he holds you.

The kiss intensifies, his mouth moving over yours in a way that’s both gentle and demanding; he’s greedy, savouring every second and every tremble of your hand as you try to steady yourself with fingers bunched into his hoodie. He thumbs along the pulse in your throat and you feel him smile into the kiss, relishing, and you realise he’s loving this— loving kissing you with a slow, aching patience that leaves you needy and breathless.

A hand slides down your body to your thigh, smooth against bare skin. His thumb pressing just enough to make an indent in the soft flesh, fingertips edging to the hem of your pyjamas and your heart jumps.

“This alright?” He asks, as his fingers form a gap between the waistband of your shorts and your skin.

“Mhm.” It pitches high. 

“You’re really hot when you’re excited.”

A hand on his neck. “Let’s hope you back up that talk then, huh?”

His fingers feel cool when they slide against your middle, hot and wet. A shuddery breath escapes you as he rubs slow, once, twice, slickening up.

“You normally this wet?”

“God, d-don’t,” you pant, clutching his shoulders. “It’s been a while.”

He laughs once in a breath, working his wrist slowly. “Don’t worry. Me too.”

Your breath hitches as he rubs circles into your clit, heat liquidising and pooling into his touch.

And when he lifts from the couch, fingers retracting from your heat, you suddenly become very shy and very aware that you’re outside. He starts tugging your shorts down, and he shoots a grin in response to your reflexive tense.

“What, lost your nerve?” He murmurs, lowering to his knees. “It’s just us.”

You flash with knowing and suddenly freeze. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Why not? Isn’t this the best part?”

“Um…” you chew on your lip.

Recognition flickers on his face. “Damn. Your ex really was an asshole.” But when he looks up at you again, it’s fond. Sweet.

“Relax. I’ll take care of you.”

You squirm as he pulls your shorts down, silk over flesh, no underwear beneath, eyes hungry. Too embarrassed to watch him as he parts your knees and presses kisses to your inner thigh, traces the blade of his tongue across a stretch mark, too horny to resist. A flash of eye contact— the last chance to back out, but you’re so swept up in the moment you’re not sure you could form the words.

His lips are quick against your warm middle, tongue parting you deliciously slow, a hum of delight and pressure when he pushes deeper. A bated breath escapes you in a shuddering pant, fingers knitting into his hair, all challenging words and witty remarks dissolving on your tongue.

Yeah, you’ll never look at Josh Washington the same after this.

“Fuck.”

He moans contentedly, pleased with your vocalisation, and the vibrations ricochet up your spine.

Can’t remember the last time someone went down on you. Your ex never made a big fuss about it, not that he ever got you there often. You bubble with over-sensitivity, twitching when he licks you, a gentle push on his forehead.

“Slow down,” you stutter.

He kisses your thigh. “Sensitive, huh?”

“Shut up.”

But he listens— pace gentler, more controlled. Flat-tongued strokes that made you shudder, liquid heat pooling against his mouth. So sweet when he suckles on your clit, laps at your core, arms caged around your thighs without possessiveness. Every sweep is like a countdown, weeks of grief and heartbreak a distant memory with his face in your pussy.

Tension coils and everything narrows down. You’re not outside, not getting eaten out by your best friend’s older brother, not doing anything you’ll regret.

You cum quick— quicker than you have with any previous partners. It’s tingly, a rise and fall that leaves you breathless, knees locking, heart pounding. He releases his from you with a soft, wet pop, rising to his feet and white-knuckling a fist into the backrest of the bench. A quick body scan, a tick of his head to see if you’re alright.

When you nod, his free hand reaches to sink two fingers knuckle-deep, parting your slick velvet with ease as you still pulse rhythmically in the aftershocks.

Oh God it’s vulgar, the sounds you make. Honeydew-wet, drip-dropping onto his palm as he curls upwards, a high-strung moan that you bite into the back of your hand. Scrunched eyes flickering up to meet him as he stares down at you, lips shining arousal-wet.

Need flashes through you, the incessant little voice in your head reminding you that this is your friend Josh vanishing with each jolt as he finger-fucks you. Not quite satiated as you squeeze tight around his fingers. You kiss him, lavishing the taste of his mouth, grabbing his wrist to urge him deeper, closer, ball of his palm atom-close to your still throbbing clit.

You break the kiss only to ask, “Do you have a condom?”

His fingers leave you, slick-wet on your thigh as he grips you. “In my pocket.”

“Did you plan this?”

He grabs the foil from his jeans. “Always gotta be prepared.”

There’s no space to take pause and consider the consequences when he tugs you onto his lap, jeans pooled around his ankles, cock sheathed in the condom and hard in his fist— not that you could formulate a cohesive thoughtwhen you’re this high and this horny.

Nails curl around his shoulders for support, desperate to tongue the firm planes you feel beneath his shirt, suck on the pulse that throbs in his neck, but the barrier of friendship draws an invisible line. He steadies you with a hand on your hip when you lower yourself, unhurried at first, just enough to stretch you out.

Shivery eye contact urges you on, and you slowly slide down, inch by eye-rolling inch, and then in one final swift drop, you’re pelvis-deep, wincing against the pleasure burn of the intrusion in your middle. A gasp escapes you, and his eyes find yours.

“Shit,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, breaking into a half-laugh. “You okay?”

You nod, but you’re trembling as you adjust to the size of him. “Yeah… yeah.”

Misty with sweat from the connection, your forehead settles against his, lips parted. You take a moment, adjust to the feeling, the weight of him inside of you. He’s as big as you thought he’d be— not that you’d tell him, as if his ego needs inflating anymore.

“It’s just… a lot.”

“I know,” he says, softer.

The world narrows down to the sensations: the midnight air cool against your skin, intimate heat pooling where you and Josh join, the feel of your heartbeat thrumming so hard your fingers shake against his shoulders. His touch slides down your back, under the small slip of your vest, brushing your sides with the same care he’d use to handle something delicate.

“Take your time,” he murmurs, voice low, strained. His stroking hands land on your thighs, thumbs pressing soothing circles into the bones of your hip. Grounding, despite the haze of arousal clouding your judgement.

You nod, swallowing hard, gripping his shoulders as you slowly lift yourself. Lungs tighten with caught breath at the way his cock shifts inside of you, the drag overwhelming and delicious— a punch of liquid-heat pleasure that makes your legs tremble when you lower yourself again, a slow descent that has both of you groaning softly. A gentle rhythm, a burn in the thighs.

“Feels good,” you stutter.

A short laugh, drifting into a tight sigh. “Too good.”

Trickling slow-building pressure settles low in your belly and has your hips shifting, testing. Tentative at first but growing bolder with each, slick pass. His grip tightens when you move, jaw clenching, throat bobbing when he swallows hard.

“I— fuck,” Josh breathes, fingers digging, the corner of his mouth ticking into a smirk despite his strung-tight tension. Abs flexed to gather control, breath hitching when you take him a little deeper. “That’s it, just like that.”

The praise shoots through you like a spark. Your body reacts instinctively— grinding against him, chasing the friction that licks pleasure in your belly like curling smoke. Slow, decadent, spreading, spreading…

“Jesus. You’re unreal.”

“Yeah?” You breathe, movements quickening, testing the waters of his endurance. Lips close to his jaw. “You like it?”

His response is immediate— a low, throaty groan as his hips tilt up to meet yours. “God, yeah,” he rasps, head tipping back, exposing the curve of his throat, the chords bobbing as he swallows thickly. “Fuck. Look at you.”

A smile teases the corner of your lips as you work him with your hips, spurred on by the thrill of his wearing tether.

“Did you really never notice me before?” You ask sweetly.

His head rolls back further, laughter torn through a sharp inhale. “Course I did. I just said that because…”

You tilt your head innocently, rhythm never faltering. “Because what?”

“It’s hard to focus when you keep— fuck— clenching like that,” he breathes after a squeezed blink, voice strained. “I said it because… shit, because you looked so good. Never— never let myself think about you like this before.”

Giddy from the affirmation, you bite on your lower lip. “So you think I’m hot, huh?”

“Don’t start.” His groan carries a weak laugh, but there’s no mistaking the warmth in his eyes. “You’re the one who came downstairs looking like that.”

You laugh breathlessly, a mix of indignation and amusement. “Hey, you invited me out here! I was just getting water.”

“And yet, here you are,” he shoots back, eyes dazed as he struggles to focus, but his smirk still bites mischievous.

“Josh!” You gasp, half-laughing. “You’re taking advantage of me, you know. I’m emotionally vulnerable.”

His smirk softens, shifting into something more genuine. “Yeah? You look real vulnerable right now.” His hands slide to your ass, squeezing with a force that makes you stutter a gasp. “The way you’re moving? Pretty sure you’re the one taking advantage of me.”

Your lips part with a retort sharp on your tongue, but his voice drops to a low murmur that sends heat pooling in your stomach.

“God, keep going. Feels so fucking good.”

Whatever witty comeback you mustered dies on your tongue, replaced by a shy moan as his hands guide you, hips sliding up to meet yours. Hands all over his chest to steady yourself, tingly to the bone when coiling tension blooms at the base of your spine. Pressure builds with each rolling thrust you muster, sharp with a pleasure ache when he nudges deeper.

“Josh,” you whimper, hands smoothing up to grip his tense shoulders. Your motions grow desperate, needy. Bursts of pleasure each time you snap together. Your breath comes faster, body trembling.

“Yeah?” He murmurs, voice strained but tender, teasing. “You close?”

You can’t form words, too lost in the pleasure building inside of you, so you frantically nod.

“C’mon,” he mutters, tone syrupy low and coaxing. His thumb slips between your bodies, finding your clit and applying pressure and circles in time with his thrusts. It’s like a strike of lightning, head tipping back as you arch into him. “That’s it. Let me feel you. I got you, I got you—”

His words shoot arousal straight to your core and your body seizes, locked-tight until the dam breaks, white-hot and all-consuming. Shuddering as you pulse, white-knuckle bunching his hoodie in your fists. Wave after wave of pleasure washes over you, walls clenching in rhythm around his unrelenting thrusts.

His hips stutter against your clenching, faltering when you fall apart in his arms. He slows— riding out your aftershocks, thumb still pressed against where you flutter and pulse.

“Shit,” he mutters, leaning back, drinking you in. “You’re so fucking beautiful when you come.”

You flush warm. “Don’t say that,” you stammer.

“Can’t help myself,” he replies gently, thumb circling you.

Shivering, you place a hand on his forearm, breath coming in short, uneven bursts.

“Josh— wait. Sensitive.”

He slows immediately, hands leaving you to cradle your back. “Sorry,” he says, softer. “Got carried away.”

You whimper when he spreads your thighs, an impossible stretch, and drives faster. Too much, too much, too—

“I know, I know,” he breathes. “Just a little longer. I— shit. I’m so close.”

His palms glide under your ass, fingers gripping, lifting and lowering you in a rhythm that’s all his, each rut drawing broken noises from both of you. When he finally lets go, with a collision that notches him deep, it’s with a groan that’s half your name half a sound that you’ll never forget. His breath is shaky, face wincing, as he pulses strongly inside of you, spilling into the condom.

For a long, stretched moment, the only sound is your mingled breathing, bodies still trembling in the aftershocks of strong-beating hearts, cock still twitching within you. The mountain air, cooler now against your sweat, grounds you. Eyes slipping closed as you collapse against his chest, his fingers up and down delicate over your spine.

“Jesus,” he says after a while, ragged when he catches his breath. There’s a subtle laugh to it, more out of disbelief than humour.

You mirror him, shaky and breathless when you laugh. “Yeah.”

The silence spreads thin again, palpable with a not-quite awkwardness, but heavy with something you can’t quite name. Slowly, you ease yourself upright, head lifting to meet his gaze. His eyes are softer now, reverent but searching as if looking for some reassurance.

“You okay?” He asks, voice careful, full of trepidation, a little earnest and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

You nod, smiling tiredly. “Yeah. I’m okay. You?”

“Better than okay,” he admits, grinning sheepishly but all dopamine-warm, sugary sweet in the afterglow. “Kinda feel like I should say thanks or something.”

“Please don’t.” You snort, rolling your eyes as you carefully pull away from him, hollow where he slips out of you soft and wet. Legs gelatinous when you stand, the high buzzing anxiously in your chest now you’ve settled.

He laughs with more strength now, lighter, more familiar. Some tension eases when you pull your shorts up, hyperaware of how exposed you are. You glance at him as he buttons his jeans, knotting and disposing of the condom discreetly.

For a moment, neither of you speak. He leans back on the railing, staring out at the mountains. You follow his gaze, letting the breeze fill the space between you.

“So,” he says after a beat. “We’re… good, right?”

When you glance at him, his expression is carefully neutral. Guarded, like he’s trying not to give too much away.

“We’re good,” you echo, lazy-lidded but mostly sober now.

“Good… good,” he trails off, hand knocking against the railing. “Don’t wanna make things weird, you know?”

“Bit late for that,” you tease, but then you lean next to him affectionately, platonically. “It’s not weird, Josh. It doesn’t have to be. Right?”

He turns to face you, his grin turning playful again. “Right.”

“Not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No, no— I don’t regret it, or anything,” he says, a flicker of uncertainty in his tone. “Just gotta make sure where we stand, you know?”

“Uh-huh,” you answer, not entirely convinced. “You just didn’t think I had it in me.”

He laughs, gaze dropping as colour rises on his face. “Shut… shut up.”

The quiet settles over you like the weight of the mist hanging over the mountains, heavy and expectant. Josh leans against the railing, his arms crossed as if he’s bracing himself, his gaze drifting to the lodge and then back to you. The air is cool now, biting against your sweat-slick skin, but his eyes— soft, searching— feel warmer than the sun.

A deep breath. You smell pine and mountain dew and a distinct linger of his cologne somewhere on your skin. When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you.

“You going back in, or… staying out here for a while?”

You glance over your shoulder where warm, inside light floods from the sliding doors. He looks on, expectantly. You have to practice some self-control when you speak, a near-melted puddle of organs and bliss from how he looks at you.

“I should probably head back in,” you reply.

His expression doesn’t falter, but the sweetness in his eyes dips a little.

“Yeah. Probably a good idea.”

You hesitate, caught in the lingering gravity between you. Thoughts bob like waves in your head, incessant badgering like: you’re high, it’s hormones, he’s just your friend’s brother.

But it’s not “just” anymore.

“Guess I’ll, uh… see you in the morning?” He says, uncertain as if unsure how to part ways.

You nod, trying to play it cool, but your heart flutters. “See you in the morning.”

He smiles faintly, the mischievous edge creeping back into his expression. “Sweet dreams.”

You roll your eyes as you leave, softened by his teasing demeanour, and you’re unable to bite back your smile.

You feel like you’re floating in your bed, light and airy when you stare up at the ceiling. Mind anything but clear, higher now that you’re alone in the dark.

You try to steady your thoughts, but they keep drifting back to Josh: the curve of his throat, the way he looked at you like he wanted to know more. Cells, pulled apart, pressed onto a slide, microscopically observed.

The heat of his touch lingers on your skin, the ghost of his fingers and lips making your heart ache with something tangled and intangible. Anticipation? Guilt? Excitement?

The summer had barely started— and it already felt like it was spinning out of control. You’re swept up, dictated by the gravity of his shit-eating smile and the feel of him inside of you.

With a sigh, you close your eyes, the sound of the breeze outside lulling you into a restless sleep. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder what tomorrow will bring— and whether Josh will be waiting for you with that same knowing smirk, with more favours to offer you.

divider credits: @saradika-graphics mdni credits: me tag list (let me know if you want to be removed!): @imiqz, @fromjas, @luhvbot, @spinback-kiva, @nx2grace, @strwbrrynd, @fashominnie, @meeganmerkman222333, @arachine, @xxreginaxx, @xprloki, @screaming-potato, @onmyknees4kai,

[iomoru]

oohh a fic with genshin men (kinich, kazuha, wriothesley, scara) where they accidentally hurt you (minor only - like scratches, not physical abuse or anyt) while in a heated argument and then a part on how they would apologize? tyty just a quick drabble I had in my head while scrolling Tumblr ^.^

Sincere Regrets

➢ 𝐀/𝐧: I deeply apologize for the late reply Neptune anon, I lost the motivation to write lately so I didn't manage to write this quickly. Although I do hope this satisfies your needs!<3 (＾ω＾)

➢ 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: Canon Verse, Light Angst, Angst w/ comfort, Gn! Reader, Second Person, Not Proofread

➢ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐬: Kinich, Kazuha, Wriothesley, Scaramouche

➢ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: In the heat of an argument, you're accidentally hurt by his actions. Regret follows quickly, and he apologizes, showing how much he truly cares for you.

© ²⁰²⁴ ɪᴏᴍᴏʀᴜ ✰ do not repost, translate, plagiarize, use to train ai, or share my work on other social media platforms.

Kinich

The argument was over his stubbornness. You had been walking beside him when you reached out to stop him from recklessly walking into danger.

“Let me handle it!” he snapped, brushing your hand away. But his hand caught yours with more force than he intended, pushing you slightly backward. You stumbled, tripping on a loose stone.

He immediately turned, his fiery gaze softening into alarm. “I didn’t mean to…” His voice faltered as he reached for you, pulling you upright with unexpected gentleness.

Later that night, he sat beside you by the fire. “I shouldn’t have acted like that,” he murmured, his golden eyes dim with regret. “Your safety matters more to me than anything, even my pride. I’m sorry for hurting you.” He carefully took your hand, tracing where he’d accidentally struck it, his touch filled with reverence.

Kazuha

The storm outside matched the intensity of your argument. Kazuha rarely raised his voice, but the disagreement had pushed him past his usual calm demeanor.

“I don’t need your pity!” he exclaimed, turning sharply. In his frustration, his shoulder bumped into yours, sending you back a step against the table behind you.

His eyes widened, his anger dissipating instantly. “Are you alright?” His hands hovered near you, unsure if you wanted his touch after what had happened.

Later, he stood with his back to you, his voice soft yet steady. “I’ve let my emotions cloud my judgment, and in doing so, I hurt the one person I cherish most.” He turned to face you, his gaze filled with quiet sincerity. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

Wriothesley

The argument had been brewing for a while, like steam building up in one of the massive pressure chambers in his domain. He paced the room, his usual composure slipping.

“Stop acting like you know what’s best for me!” he growled, throwing his hands up in frustration. One of them accidentally brushed against your arm with a surprising amount of force, pushing you slightly into the doorframe.

The sound of the impact made him freeze. He immediately crossed the space between you, his hands cradling your face. “Did I—did I hurt you?” His voice was low, filled with panic he couldn’t hide.

He spent the rest of the evening by your side, an ice pack in hand even though the mark had already faded. “I shouldn’t have lost control,” he admitted, his stormy eyes soft. “You mean more to me than my temper ever will. Please forgive me.”

Scaramouche

“Why do you always have to push me?” His words were sharp, cutting deeper than you’d like to admit. In his exasperation, he turned, his hand accidentally brushing against your shoulder. The force wasn’t much, but it was enough to make you stumble slightly.

You steadied yourself, glaring at him. The anger in his eyes flickered, quickly replaced by guilt. “I didn’t… I wasn’t trying to…” He struggled to find the words, his expression tense.

Later, he found you sitting alone, his footsteps hesitant as he approached. “Look,” he began, his voice softer than usual, “I know I’m awful at showing it, but I… I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He awkwardly held out a small pouch of your favorite snack. “This doesn’t fix everything, but… I’ll try harder. I promise.”

[purinfelix]

hiii, i love your writing so freaking much, can i please ask for a Franco fic inspired on Gold rush by taylor swift? he just literally gave me that vibe and I NEED to read something like that, please and thank you <3

everybody wants you ‧₊˚✩ - franco colapinto

summary: when your best friend since birth finally joins you in formula one, it's safe to say that you're excited - though when it becomes apparent that he's the more favoured one, you start to doubt things, including your feelings w/c: 2.8k

a/n: oh anon i love this idea but also this was my first time listening to this song so i hope i interpreted it the way you hoped and did it service !!! <333

You hated how cliche it was. 

The two of you were childhood best friends, together for as long as you could remember. You always credited yourself for getting into karting first and Franco, always eager to stay by your side, followed suit. The track only gave the two of you another domain to be inseparable in, with every race ending with both of you on the podium - and it never mattered who was first, only that you were both there, together. 

There was an unspoken understanding in your hometown that the two of you were never to be separated, which you initially revelled in, but the older you got the more you felt yourself developing a feeling towards your friend you couldn’t quite explain. Somewhere in the realm of jealousy, just beyond admiration and reaching just short of a childhood crush.

It came in waves, flowing whenever you were reminded of just how different the two of you were, and how inadequate you felt next to him - with his charismatic personality and curly brown hair that always fell perfectly into place, always drawing more and more people towards him. The more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself wondering why he had chosen you of all people to stick so close by, even if he never gave you a reason to doubt it. 

And so when you decided to move away to pursue racing, it wasn’t shocking that Franco would too. The two of you set off, after many tearful goodbyes to your friends and family back home, to brace the world, hand in hand. 

You stayed racing for the same teams, always getting promoted or signed at the exact same time - almost as if the universe had heard the same unspoken understanding of your town, and knew that you worked best together. And whilst it helped to see each other during practices, debriefs, and even wearing the same uniforms, it was far from the only thing that kept your friendship strong. 

Away from almost everything else the two of you knew, you clung to each other tightly and came to know absolutely everything about each other through it. Hushed midnight conversations, early morning snack runs, and even visiting landmarks as you grew and travelled countries - all the while with Franco by your side. 

Strangely enough, it never did occur to you to see the boy beside you as more than just a friend - no matter how much the other girls you befriended seemed to think otherwise. Whenever they would sneakily whisper to you, asking whether you were sure the two of you were just friends you would always roll your eyes shooting back something along the lines of Ew? Franco? No, we’ve known each other forever - which typically made them happy to pursue him themselves, even if they strangely never succeeded. 

All this came to a screeching halt in the summer of your second year in Formula Two, however, when you were met with a contract deal from Alpine Racing. A racing seat for one. 

“You’re taking it right?” his voice is excited as the two of you sit in the stuffy hostel room you’re sharing with about eight other strangers, all too broke or cheap to pay for anything better. Franco was the first you had told, before your coach, before your family, before anyone. 

“I don’t know Franco, I mean-“ 

“What? Why wouldn’t you?” 

You chew your bottom lip as you fiddle with the bedsheet below you, not able to look him in the eye. “It means we won’t get to race together you know,” you sigh. 

“Well you don’t know that, maybe you race alone for a year but once I make it into F1 we’ll be side by side again! Plus you’re stupid if you think I won’t be visiting every one of your races anyway.” 

You watch his green eyes scan your expression, searching for a clue to how you’re feeling. 

“It’s just a big step, I don’t know if I’m ready for it.” 

“I think you’re more than ready,” he insists, though you don’t feel convinced. 

When you finally speak again your voice is tiny, “I’m scared, Franco.” 

In that moment, he gives you a sympathetic look before pulling you into a tight hug and even though neither of you spoke about it again that night, you knew exactly what it meant - I know you’re scared, but I’m here for you. 

And you aren’t ashamed of the fact that it was his reaction alone that pushed you to make the decision to take up the deal, and you couldn’t have been happier that you did. At least, that’s how you felt for the initial months of your contract which was filled with cocktail parties, race suit fittings and media interviews. And despite what you had expected, and as selfish as it might’ve been, having Franco not by your side for once felt like a breath of fresh air you hadn’t known you needed - it filled you with a lone sense of pride, having ‘made it’ without someone being right there for you to be compared to. 

It was perhaps this sense of pride that helped you manage to score points on your debut. You still remember running up to where Franco was waiting for you in the garage, the biggest smile on both of your faces as you jumped into his arms - and it felt, just for a moment, like this euphoria might’ve been what you had spent your whole life waiting for. 

But perhaps you had spoken too soon, since your progress saw a steep decline causing you to lose not only the chances to score points and impress your team, but also the confidence you had spent so long working on. 

And one night, just when it seemed like you were at your lowest, after a weekend full of DNFs and near-crashes - the most unexpected thing happened. A singular text from Franco, halfway across the world, excitedly explaining how he was going to be filling a position in Formula One, in a different team to you. 

There wasn’t a single word to describe the millions of emotions you felt rushing through you in that moment. For one, surprise at the mid-season switch as well as a certain sort of selfish disappointment that you would no longer be the only one in the highest form of the sport you both loved. But above all else, a thrumming excitement about being with your best friend once more - to see him at the paddock, catch up with him during sessions and not have to trek all the way into grandstands just to see his face. 

It didn’t take you long to realise though, that you were far from the only one who felt this way. It was almost like the moment Franco stepped foot on the paddock, donning the blue of Williams for his first race weekend, the world fell in love with him. Online, conversations about him blew up to the point where you couldn’t go moments without being bombarded by clips of his interviews or edits of him. It was strange, one part of you felt proud that the world was finally waking up to the treasure that was your best friend, but another felt the strong urge to hide him away, for him to be all yours. 

A small part of you had expected this, having known Franco and his personality since before you could put it into words - but what you hadn't expected was for him to also back it up with amazing performances. Now, it was him who was scoring points and impressing everyone - and you who was left to do little more other than celebrate with him, for your own results paled in comparison. And once news got out about you being childhood friends, through a couple of grainy leaked photos of the two of you smiling proudly in your tiny karts, the comparisons started up again. 

It was like salt in the wound, agonisingly so - seeing your best friend adored him doing well in the sport you got into first, while you were left to, weekend after weekend, fail to make it into points range. And to make matters worse, the media frenzy that cropped up around Franco did little other than make you come to a realisation you might've spent your whole life running from - that you were jealous, not of Franco, but of those who loved him. That maybe your desire to constantly stick by his side was more than just a childish habit, and that your jealousy of his achievements was just a reminder that you’d never be more than just a friend, one that was always a little behind, a little worse. 

Despite your best efforts, the two of you began to drift apart, each achievement he got driving a deeper and deeper wedge between you. It hurt a lot, race weekends beginning to bleed into each other - a plain blur of failed races, celebrations from other teams, and Franco's adoring fans.

It all seemed to come to a head one weekend, a minor crash in an earlier lap winding you up in the Alpine garage - sweaty, irritated and extremely exhausted. Yet you continued to watch the race, not so much for anyone else, but more so that you could keep a close eye on the blurry blue car, and its driver.

And before you knew it you were watching it cross the finish line in third, Franco’s first podium - right in front of your eyes. 

You weren’t sure why, but your first instinct was to hastily get up from the fold-out chair you were sitting on and rush away to your driver's room, like a child throwing an immature tantrum. You knew Franco well enough to know he’d come looking for you but knew yourself enough just as well to know you couldn’t face him right now. With everything that had been going on, with the constant stream of less-than-kind comments you were getting online and the extreme dip in your performance, the last thing you wanted was to be reminded of your inadequacy. It was extremely selfish, sure, but you convinced yourself that you were actually doing Franco a favour since you knew your acting skills were too poor to convincingly put on a show as he celebrated right in front of you. You always had been a faster runner than him, at least, that’s what years of playground tag had told you. 

But it had been a while since then and before you could make it to your room you heard an all-too-familiar voice call from behind you. 

“Hey!” 

“Not now Franco,” you huff, so close to the door of your room that you’ve got one hand on its handle already. 

“What? C’mon, I just got a podium and that’s all you have to say?” You pause at the handle, the hurt tone in his voice pulling at your heartstrings. 

“Yeah, I saw, good job but I just can’t right now.” 

“Can’t what? You’re joking, right?” His voice rises in volume a little, and he sounds in disbelief - you’re glad the garages are mostly empty so that no one can see the scene he’s making. 

“No, I’m not,” you shoot back firmly. You’re still facing away from him, arm hanging limp from the door handle - you can’t remember the last time you felt this defeated, this tired. 

“Seriously, what is going on with you lately? It’s like, you were so excited for us to race together but now we barely talk even though we see each other every day.” 

“Franco,” you say, quietly. 

“We’ve known each other forever but this feels like the first time where I truly have no clue what is going on in your head, why don’t you ever talk to me anymore? You don’t think I don’t notice you avoiding me?” 

“Franco, please.” You feel tears pricking up at the corners of your eyes, and it doesn’t help how accusatory he sounds. 

“Please, what?” 

“Please, just go celebrate.” 

“No! If you think I’m just going to leave now without you, you’re seriously ridiculous. I mean, this is what we always dreamed of, isn’t it?” 

At that, you turn around to face him - looking him in the eyes for the first time in what feels like months. You watch his brows unfurrow immediately as his expression softens at the sight of you, tears welling up in your eyes which are surrounded by dark circles, marks left from your many sleepless nights. It’s clear that he notices how small you look as well as you hunch into yourself, barely having the energy to stand up straight. 

“Woah, hey,” he says, his tone gentle now. 

“Don’t do this Franco, don’t talk to me like we’re still children,” you say, instinctively defensive. 

“Aren’t we?” 

You let out a laugh, soft yet cruel as you struggle to hold in your tears, “Everything’s different now, isn’t it? When was the last time we were on a podium together or even spoke face to face like this.” 

“What are you even saying?” You feel a pang of pain in your heart at the look in his eyes, a little anger mixed with disbelief. 

“I’m saying, that maybe being friends isn’t going to work if we’re racing against each other anymore. Have you seen the way I get compared to you relentlessly? Everyone loves you, everyone wants you, and I’m just, there! Do you have any idea what that’s like? To have no one backing you?”  

“You’re my best friend, I’m right here, backing you!” 

“Franco,” you say, just above a whisper. 

There’s a moment of silence, and you can see Franco working up the courage to say something, his hands fiddling with the fireproof mask he’s been holding this whole time. You feel a couple of tears finally make their way down your cheeks and you do your best to wipe them away, eager to not embarrass yourself in front of him anymore. 

“I love you.” He finally says. 

“Don’t say that, please, don’t say that.” You’re about to turn away, ready to just shut yourself in your room. 

“No, like, I love you.” You hear him take a couple steps closer to you, to the point where he’s right behind you. 

“You don’t mean that,” you sigh. 

“I do,” he says, barely above a whisper, “I have, for years.” 

You pause, silently turning around to face him, and it feels like the breath has been knocked out of you. He looks at you, nervously waiting for a response though trying to put on a face that tells you how serious he is about what he’s just said. 

“And I know that you probably don’t feel the same but I need you to know this because I can’t keep going on like this, barely seeing or talking to you and-” he begins to ramble, and all you do is let out a relieved sigh as you lean forward to rest your head on his chest in silence. However, it’s clear this confuses him as he stops talking immediately. 

“I love you too, Franco.” 

“Wh- really?” 

“Yes,” you say, the smile audible in your voice. 

“Like, seriously?” 

“As serious as a heart attack.” You lean back against the door with a smile of relief, or as much a smile as you can muster up figuring that you feel like you’re about to collapse right there and then. 

“I’d kiss you but,” he gestures to his face and hair which is drenched in sweat. 

“Oh shut up and come here,” you say quietly, looping your arms around his neck as you pull him close to you. When your lips meet his arms wrap around your waist as he pushes you up against the door of your room, and even though you couldn’t care less, you’re once again glad there’s no one here to see the two of you. No cameras, no fans, no other drivers - just the two of you, and the years of history between you. 

When you part, his face is flushed as he offers you a shy smile, his arms still around your waist. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that.” 

“I could say the same for you.” 

“So, what now?” he asks. 

“You go celebrate your first podium,” you reply excitedly. 

“We,” he corrects, finally unlooping his arms to take you by the hand and lead you out of the garage - and whilst your beaming smiles might’ve seemed to many the results of his podium, the two of you knew they were part of something much, much bigger. 

taglist: @spreadyourwings-my-smiling-angel @alelo23 @scill-a @multifan-idk @presleycaudle

[filiazpink]

🩷"OH PRIMUS,,,"🩷

orion pax x femme + superior! reader x d-16 warnings: suggestive language (like- once but still), darkwing being darkwing, i’m a sucker for cheesy stuff, really minor transformers one spoilers (?)

summary: orion finds himself completely enamored with one of his superiors and d-16 doesn’t really mind it, until one day, you show up at the mines.

a/n: my very first tumblr fic!! i might post this on my AO3 account as well! hope this reached your expectations considering more than 200 people voted for this prompt on my poll  =͟͟͞͞(꒪ᗜ꒪‧̣̥̇) ill get to some of the other prompts shortly after, i just wanted to know which one would be best to start with (and to properly introduce my writing to tumblr teehee) !! comments and reblogs are highly appreciated !! ENJOY!! 💞💞💞

word count: 1139

proofread: minimal (lemme know if there's any errors!!)

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

orion simply couldn't stop thinking about you.

your shiny and colorful armor, your beautiful optics, your height and strength. that voice. the power and authority you had over him. that power rivaled sentinel prime’s in his eyes. everything.

she was simply breathtaking. 

…

“earth to orionnnn, come on, rust bucket!!” pink servos waving at him frantically snapped the red and blue mech out of his trance. focusing his glance, orion watched as elita-1 gave him one of the scariest faces he’s seen yet, followed by d-16 behind her with his arms crossed, looking at his friend with a disappointed expression.

“what’s wrong with you?! you broke protocol, AGAIN!” elita pulled the miner to his feet, groaning in annoyance. orion’s dumb dopey smile quickly turned into a shocked frown and he was about to ask what he did now, but thankfully, his friend answered for him.

“orion, buddy, i know,,, i know you just wanted to save jazz from that explosion but you almost got killed doing that, man.” d-16 looked to the side, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

“you can’t keep doing this, pax. ONE more stunt like this and I’LL be the one to get-”

“what happened here??” elita snapped her head towards the newcomer’s voice, expecting maybe another miner, but her angry scowl quickly faded away once she saw who it was.

it was elita’s superior. 

it was you. 

oh primus, beautiful, amazing, spectacular you. orion felt a rush of warmth cover his face as you walked in along with,,,

oh- with darkwing. of course he was there with you.

STILL- you just showed up with no prompting, and two days in advance no less?? clearly, this was important.

orion fixed his posture and tried to dust off any grime he had on him. d-16 chuckled quietly at his best friend’s excitement, before turning his attention to you.

“(y-y/n)! i thought you were coming to check on our sector in t-two days! i’m so sorry you have to see my team like this i swear it was an accident-” the poor pink bot stammered, much to darkwing’s amusement and to your confusion.

“what accident? the cave collapsing? that’s normal, elita-1. don’t worry about it. you’re telling me it was a complete accident so i will take your word for it.” hearing those words coming from you made elita feel like she was just told that sentinel finally found the matrix of leadership.

“oh, thank you, thank you,,,” orion and d-16 watched as elita continuously thanked her superior, chuckling. 

“well, that means we don’t get our butts kicked too, thank primus miss (y/n) was here.” the red and blue miner said, walking away from the scene with his pal.

“yea and now we can just finish this shift and relax-”

“d-16?” the two stopped in their tracks, slowly turning around in an almost comical way to face the much taller femme bot. 

orion’s servos trembled. he felt embarrassed, he was over here making a fool of himself with how obvious his crush on you was. literally everyone who steps foot in the mines knew about it, aside from, clearly, you. heck, even darkwing seemed to know, considering that despite his optics not being visible, he clearly was glaring at the cog-less bot.

or maybe it was just his usual routine of hating them.

d-16, however, gulped and let out the tiniest of “yes?”. ohhh boy, what now?? did she assume that the cave collapsing was his doing?? did darkwing tell her that-

“you’re at the top of your ranks here, correct?” his train of thought was interrupted by your soft voice, watching as you knelt down to his height, placing a hand on his shoulder, which shocked him a bit. orion stared at the polished hand on his best friend’s rusted shoulder with envy, his optics narrowing just a smidge.

“i already spoke to elita about this, but i also want you to hear it. i’ve heard some great things about you, and how you excel amongst your ranks. so i just wanted you to hear this.” d-16 felt frozen.

‘what is this,,, feeling? my face is burning,,’ oh indeed it was. his face flushed in a deep blue as he anxiously waited for your next words. just your soothing voice got him like this and he simply couldn’t understand why.

“,,, i need you.”

,,,

WHAT???

the first to react was darkwing, who let out a very outraged grunt of confusion, as if you just cheated on him with a MINER of all people in his face, followed by elita, the other miners and orion gasping, everyone turning their heads towards the two.

“,,,w-what?” the gray miner’s voice box barely even processed his astonished question. he felt as if his circuits were frying up by how hot he felt. 

orion’s expression showed bewilderment and a hint of betrayal. this,,, wasn’t fair?? well- he knew it wasn’t d-16 who said that to you, but he still couldn’t help but feel jealous.

he wished it could have been him.

but then finally, you realized what you just said and removed your hand from the shorter bot’s shoulder, standing up straight and bumping into darkwing’s chest armor. “oh- p-please excuse me. i- uh, i chose my words wrong.” 

the onlookers decided to stop eavesdropping, realizing it was a simple mistake on your part. that made orion sigh in relief, which didn’t go unnoticed by d-16. but his attention was quickly brought back to you.

“my apologies, i- i would never say such things- not during work hours, i’m sorry- what i meant to say, i need you- as in i need you to help keep up the good work to motivate the other miners to do the same. it helps your ranks as it helps mine if we all put our parts to make a difference. s-so, yea.” you looked around, avoiding eye contact, a small blush remaining on your face. both miners nearly swooned at such a cute expression on your face.

“i just needed to do an early check up according to sentinel, that’s all. thought i’d try and give some pep talk and you can see i have to work on that,,” you giggled before clearing your throat and staring down at the mesmerized bots.

,,,

“goodbye.” and with that being said, you quickly marched back to the main exit with a very, VERY jealous darkwing in tow. 

orion turned his gaze to his best friend, who watched you depart with a dreamy look on his face. the red and blue bot sighed and gently shook his shoulder.

“d?,,,” oh he knew. 

he recognized that stare. the same stare he gave when he saw anything megatronus prime related, that same glimmer in his optics. it was that same spark that orion had when he first saw you.

oh primus.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

🩷send me a burger !! : ko-fi💗 🩷visit my other socials !! : socials list💗 🩷writing requests rules !! : info list💗

[nervoushottee]

night shift | daryl dixon x fem!reader

Summary: [2k] You keep Daryl company on a night watch

Warnings: Set in Prison era of TWD (around season 3-4)

Note: back with more of our soft shy boy daryl. Thank you so much for all the beautiful reboots and likes and hello to the followers from my previous Daryl fic.

Hope you enjoy, mwah!

His side of the bed was cold.

Which wasn’t something unusual if he had a watch shift or had to take a piss. But you knew his shift was tomorrow night and if he had to go relieve himself he would’ve told you. Would have whispered it out in the darkness of the night with a small squeeze on your ankle. A physical tether and promise that he would come back.

But you didn’t hear any whispers nor feel a warm calloused hand squeeze your leg.

So you rub the sleep from your eyes, lift the blanket away from your body and go and look for him. Shoving your feet in the boots near the bed, you brush the curtain away and walk down through the quiet prison.

You see a few flashlights and torches on. One of them you already know to be Carl sneaking in a few more chapters of his comics before bed. A smile forming on your lips at the thought as you walk out into the common area. Metal tables that are usually filled with people are now empty and cold to the touch.

You pass by Karen who was coming from the bathroom/showers and ask if she’d seen Daryl. She shook her head with a yawn. You place your hand on her shoulder as a thank you, telling her to get some sleep.

The moon is shining bright and full when you open the door to the courtyard. You feel the cold seep through your long sleeve shirt. Hershel’s words come back to mind, that it felt like winter might come sooner than normal. The council has been doing extra inventory over the food, ammo and medicine just in case.

Crickets and the faint growls of walkers fill your ears. You look left and right and still no sign of Daryl. Finally you decide as your last resort and honestly too tired to walk about the whole prison to look for the man, you whistle. It’s a soft, short and low whistle. A bit quieter than you would normally do. Your throat a little dry from sleep but you knew if Daryl was out here, he’d hear the noise all the same.

A small smile grows on your face when you hear the faint whistle back from your left.

You turn and look up to see a tall figure standing in one of the cell towers. His body turned to you. You can't see his face but you know Daryl’s staring at you.

The walk up the top of the tower is short. You knock three times and two more times with a pause in between and Daryl doesn’t hesitate to open the hatch for you.

“What you doin’ up?”, you don’t respond as he extends his hand out to help you up.

“Should be sleepin’. ” he mutters as he locks up the hatch.

Your eyes roll. “Could say the same thing to you, mister.”

“Supposed to be Carol’s watch but the girls weren’ havin’ it. Said she’d take mine tomorrow.” You hum in understanding and walk over to the railing where he stands to watch over the prison. You could see everything from up here. The walkers around the gates, the pigs and chickens in their coops, the garden and everything else in between.

The chill of the wind goes through you, causing you to shiver. You feel Daryl slide the hand that’s not holding his crossbow around your waist and guide you closer to him. You put your hands inside his open jacket. Wrapping your arms around his waist to get as much warmth from his body heat as possible.

Daryl grumbles and you feel him shake his head against the top of yours. You look up at him in question. “Don’t even got somethn’ warm on. Could get sick.” You roll your eyes a second time that night.

“How was I supposed to know you were outside doing Carol’s shift if you didn’t tell me?” Daryl grunts a response back. A “he knows you’re right but won’t say it” grunt which pulls a teasing smile from your mouth.

“Oh. That reminds me.”, You unclasp your hands from his waist and reach for your butt pocket and pull out a smushed granola bar. “Here.”,you hand it out to him.

Daryl shakes his head. “ ‘S yours.”

He wasn’t wrong. With the amount of food the prison has now and how frequent all of you were able to get into a somewhat normal routine of eating. It brought back the hangriness you would once feel before the dead started walking. Something you didn’t really enjoy but happens nonetheless. Since then, you always kept little small snacks on you. Whether it's leftover bread from lunch or an apple Daryl’s snuck in your jacket or anything small you could get your hands on. Nothing too big that would put a dent into the rations though.

This time you kept a flattened granola bar you had found during one of the group runs. You found two and gave one to Carl who thanked you profusely. Remembering the Chewy brand of peanut butter chocolate chip granola bar he would eat when he was young. It was a bit stale and the chocolate and peanut butter chips were hard but it was tolerable. And food was still food.

“I know but I’m giving it to you.”

You know Daryl will protest. Your eyes meet his and have a silent conversation with one another. You’re not gonna back down, persistent as ever for him to take it. You can see it in his eyes that he wants you to keep it for later but you look right back at him. Even adding a squint for emphasis.

Daryl didn’t eat enough as it is. He usually was fine with scraps of anything he can get his hands on. Could last a long time on just that but most times you weren’t having it. If the prison had the supply then you were going to make sure he had a bit more than he lets himself have. You know it all trickles down to him feeling as if others need it more than him.

You tap the granola packet against his chest. Raising an eyebrow up at him, your chin on his chest. You can see a small faint smile grow on his lips. His eyes gleaming with adoration yet looks at you stoic and still. Finally, he relents with a deep sigh. Putting his crossbow down on the floor. It's awkward with how left hand is still loosely against your waist. You bend along with him as an attempt to help. Daryl turns back to you, his hand extended as he takes the granola bar from your awaiting hand.

You let go of him so he can open the wrapper and eat. Instantly feeling the difference of the loss of his warmth. He breaks a piece of. The smushed granola breaks off like bark and you snort at the sound. Daryl hands the first piece to you. His eyes tell you not to press him and for the third time that night, you roll your eyes. Taking the granola from his calloused hands.

The two of you eat quietly. You look around the prison, squint at the chickens and pigs sleeping. Fumbling with the last bit of granola, you can’t help but laugh quietly at its flatten appeal.

“Was’ funny?” Daryl questions.

You turn your head to see him already staring at you. You hand the last bit of granola to him and he eats it without hesitation. You knew he was hungry. “Have you ever had a Rice Krispy Treat?”

Daryl shakes his head, “The hell is that?”

You smile as you wipe the granola crumbs from your hands. “It’s this bar of marshmallow and rice puff cereal. They melt marshmallows down to a goo and pour the rice cereal and form them into little bars.” You explain to him. Daryl watches your hands as you use them to demonstrate as you talk.

He shakes his head again, “Never heard of ‘em.”

You hum, turning your back away from the look out. “I used to love them as a kid. They were sweet and chewy and we’d get them as a snack at school. My mom was a health nut and it was too many calories, too much sugar and all the too much that kids don’t really give a shit about.” You feel the rumble of Daryl’s laugh which makes you smile in return.

He pats his hands against his jacket pockets and pulls out his box of miscellaneous cigarettes. You remember taking a peek in them one night and seeing some that looked different than others. Daryl had told you he didn’t feel like carrying multiple boxes. So when he finds more cigarettes lying around he just adds them to his pack.

“I was laughing because I remember as a kid. My friends and I would deliberately smush the rice krispy treat.”Daryl’s eyebrows furrow as he lights his half smoked cigarette. Confused as all get go but still listens to you nonetheless.

“We’d put them on the floor and step on them really hard until we heard the wrapper pop and we’d just eat them flat like that.”

“Why?”

“Because for some reason we thought they tasted better that way. Sweeter.” You say with a smile as you remember the tasty treat and young smiles. “Man, I can’t even remember the last time I had one of those. Way before all this. Maybe when I was a teen or somethin’.”

Daryl extends the cigarette out to you in question. You hesitate before taking it. You don’t smoke often, sometimes the taste annoys you and sometimes it doesn’t. Daryl knows you don’t smoke enough for him to give you your own cigarette so he always just shares the one he smokes with you.

“These things don’ taste sweeter smushed.” He tells you with his head gesturing to the forgotten wrapper. You laugh and hit his shoulder playfully as you take a hit or two of the cig before handing back to him with a grimace. You wrap both hands around his arm closest to you, sliding one of your hands to connect with his and loosely play with his fingers.

“Yea well. Those rice treats sure tasted better smushed from what I remember.” You tell him as you place your head on his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything, simply hums and the conversation slides into a comfortable silence. You hear the crickets again. The sound of Daryl’s cigarette burning. The small sounds of metal creaking from the prison. When it’s quiet like this, you forget that the world is dead. That you’re just out looking at the stars and the moon. With the cool wind as your friend.

The feeling of your locked hand in Daryl’s bump against your leg and pulls you out of the daydream. You look up at him with questioning eyes. He gives your face a once over, making sure you’re not stuck in your head again before speaking.

“You should get some sleep.”

“You tryna get rid of me Daryl Dixon?”

“I’m tryin’ to get your ass back in bed where it’s warm.”

You were cold. The two hits of nicotine smoke do nothing to warm your chest. And if you weren’t so cold then you’d probably protest and stay with him a little while longer. Instead you sigh and nod a few times. Agreeing to Daryl that it’s cold and that you should sleep. With that you let go of his arm with a tight squeeze and Daryl opens the hatch for you to go back down.

“Wake me up when you get back.”

“Yes ma’am.”

You snort softly and kiss his cheek. you feel a very faint tap on your backside before heading down the cell tower and back over to the prison side door. The sound of a faint whistle greets your ears on your walk back to the prison. Stopping you in your tracks, you smile softly to yourself and whistle right back to him. A good night of sorts.

You curl back up into the sheets and think about cigarette smoke and rice krispie treats.

[smileysuh]

sage & stardust - TEASER

🌙 starring. Kim Mingyu x afab!Reader

🔮 preview. “I think you’re amazing, and good with your hands, and pretty, and I enjoy spending time with you too,” he counters, echoing the entirety of your sentiment. You stare blankly up at the man. It’s clear he doesn’t know what you’re getting at. You wonder how fairies court each other- do they even court each other? Do fairies have sex? Or are they just… you don’t know, blossomed out of flower buds or something?

tw/cw. Unprotected sex, Mingyu holds y/n down by the wrists, size kink, mentions of possible bondage kink, heavy petting, worship, Mingyu is a boobs guy, nipple sucking, fingering, pussy stretching, foreplay, multiple reader orgasms, oral (f receiving), praise, dirty talk, etc… I pet names: (hers) my star. (his) Gyu.  

👹 rating. 18+ explicit I wc. 9.6k

🍭 aus. Fairy au, fantasy au, non idol. 

☀️ mlist + an. Okay, so, I’ve written sooo many fics on this blog, and lately I’ve been wanting to try things I haven’t done before. I’ve never done a legit small man fairy dude (who does become normal/large sized later) x yn in a fic before, so bare with me, because these two are such a delightfully domestic pairing. Without further adieu, I give you: blue-collar fairy Mingyu. 

Even you have to admit the space has ambiance. The solarium studio is a lovely part of the house, your favorite in fact, although, tonight, you’re feeling a little shy about your art strewn about.

“Did you paint all of these?” Mingyu asks, approaching your most recent work.

“Yeah, they’re uh, abstracts,” you explain. “I mean, I gather a lot of inspiration from nature, but it’s more a feeling than a specific thing that I like to paint, if that makes any sense.”

“It does,” Mingyu nods, leaning down to get a better look at your art. 

“My grandma, she uh, she was an artist too, and so was her mother, and she gave me the house because she knew I needed inspiration-”

“Maybe that’s why she gave you me too.”

Your heart lurches in your chest, and you blink up at the tall man. “Uh… maybe.”

“So this cottage has a long line of artists and tinkerers,” Mingyu concludes.

“The line ended in my mother’s generation,” you sigh.

“That’s not true.” Mingyu looks down at you. “We’re here now.”

☀️ to read the full fic AND 2.7k bonus NOW, subscribe to my Patreon, then click here

👹 or wait till the fic is posted on tumblr Friday the 22nd of November 2024

🔮 see what’s already available to read on my m.list

interact to be tagged when the fic is posted, reblogs and replies will be prioritized

[jensengirl83]

Pining In The Pines

Dean x reader

Word count-3843

Warnings- Angst, some fluff

Summary- Y/N and the boys have to go on a hunt in her old hometown. She's not happy to go home, and especially not when Dean makes a comment that brings up bad memories. How will she take it? And will Dean be able to make it right?

A/N- This fills my Secret Passageway square for @jacklesversebingo

First, I suck at summaries 😂 Second, this fic is a little self-indulgent. I've written it about where I'm actually from and the stigma about the people in this area. I really hope you like it!

“So, get this,” Sam started the conversation as he looked at his laptop. 

Y/N couldn’t stop the giggle that bubbled in her chest. It never failed. When he found a hunt, the first words out of his mouth were, ‘So, get this.’ That’s how she and Dean knew to stop and pay attention. He had something they needed to hear. So, she tried to contain her laughter and give Sam the attention he wanted. 

“Y/N…Do you have to laugh every single time?” Sam groaned but didn’t wait for a response, continuing with what he wanted to say, “There’s supposedly been a Wendigo spotted in Morehead, Kentucky. Homeowners caught it on their security camera for their driveway.”

“Morehead…Isn’t that close to where you grew up, sweetheart?” Dean wondered, looking over at the huntress beside him. 

“It’s a few counties over, but yeah, it’s close enough. Did you say there was footage?” she questioned, leaning forward to look at Sam’s laptop as he spun it around for her and Dean to see. 

Her breath caught in her throat as Dean put his hand on her lower back as he leaned forward to watch the video. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she had fallen in love with the eldest Winchester. But how was she supposed to be around him, living in the bunker with him, and not fall head over heels? 

It was true that he had a temper, could be a real grump, and be downright mean sometimes. But, over the years, she’d learned that his temper flared most when someone he cared about was in danger. He would be grumpy when the weight of the world had gotten almost too heavy to bear, and he tried to push it down and keep it bottled up. He was mean when he thought he needed to push someone he cared about away because he was the one putting them in danger. To her, that was just the sign of a man who had been hurt, a man who loved deeply, one who cared so much that the thought of losing someone he loved was unbearable. So, how was she not going to fall for him at some point? 

But that’s as far as it went. She would never admit her feelings. She couldn’t. The likely rejection would be her end, and she would have to leave the bunker. She’d rather pine for him in tortuous silence than not have him in her life at all. So, as always, she shoved her feelings back down, focusing on the screen in front of her, and prepared for the hunt she knew was coming. 

“Earth to Y/N,” Dean nudged her, clearly seeing she was in her own little world. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’m watching,” she rolled her eyes, trying to hide that she was fantasizing about the green-eyed Adonis. 

“Where was that pretty little head of yours?” he teased, his words making her heart ache. If only he really thought that way. 

“Just thinking of what I’ll need to pack. ‘Cause we’re clearly going to Kentucky, am I right?” she lied, hoping they would buy it. 

“Yeah, we have to check this out. I’ve never heard of a Wendigo this far east before,” Sam answered, getting Dean’s attention away from her. Thank Chuck. 

“There’s a lot of things in the Appalachian mountains that no one knows about. Trust me, you don’t want to be caught in those woods alone after dark,” she shivered at the thought. 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of the dark?” Dean tried to tease, but she gave him a stern look that made him think twice. 

“You should know that I’m not scared of the dark. I follow you into some of the darkest, creepiest places on earth. But, I grew up there, Dean. It’s not even just the monsters you have to worry about. I mean, there are bears, mountain lions, wolves…” she trailed off, not wanting to mention some of the crazy people that live in those mountains. 

“Okay, okay,” Dean huffed, throwing his hands up in mock surrender, “I get it.” 

“You better. You have to keep your head on a swivel while we’re in the woods. I’d hate to have to save your sorry ass from the real-life Yogi Bear,” she winked, “Because your ass will be the picnic basket.” 

Dean crossed his arms over his chest, annoyed at her sarcasm as Sam laughed. Even though she was crazy in love with him, she could give him shit right back. And to be honest, she thoroughly enjoyed frustrating him. As she saw it, it was payback for him making her love him in the first place. She continued to chuckle as she went to her room to pack. Y/N didn’t like the thought of going home. Too many memories she’d like to forget. But duty calls, so she was packing her bags for the long drive to southeast Kentucky. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I highly doubt there’s a Wendigo here. They don’t stay in the wide-open woods,” Dean complained while trekking through the mountains. 

“Dean, do you not know anything about the topography of Kentucky?” Y/N asked, shaking her head in annoyance. He’d been in a mood all day. 

“Yes, sweetheart. I spend all my free time studying the layout of a state I rarely ever visit,” his sarcasm made her want to smack him in the head. 

“Well, dear,” she said just as sarcastically, “Kentucky is known for its underground cave systems. You know, Mammoth Cave. One of the biggest cave systems in the world…”  

“Of course! Because spelunking is high on my to-do list!” 

“Oh! Look at him, Sam. He’s using big boy words like spelunking. I’m so proud of you, Dean!” she half shouted at him. Trying to keep her voice down so as not to attract unwanted attention to whatever was out there. 

“Guys! Knock it off. We’re here to kill a Wendigo. Not for you two to kill each other!” Sam exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. 

“She started it,” Dean whined, acting like a child. 

“Fuck off, Dean,” she growled as she walked ahead of them. Leading them to the caves she knew were close. 

Y/N ignored the bickering between the brothers behind her as she made her way through the trees. She loved Dean, but today, she thought about leaving him in one of the caves they found. He’d been an ass since they woke up at the motel, and she couldn’t figure out what had his boxers in a bunch. They’d had to share a bed, but she didn’t think he’d be that pissed about that, but she wouldn’t put anything past him at that point. But, whatever it was, it tempted her to make him Wendigo lunch. 

“Slow down, Y/N. We’re not born and raised hillbillies like you are. It’s taking us a little longer to navigate this hellscape,” Dean yelled, grumbling under his breath about her getting too far ahead. 

Y/N froze. That was the last straw. Yes, she’d been born and raised in the area, but that word…Hillbilly. She’d been trying to get rid of that stigma since she left the mountains, and now hearing Dean, the man she loved, call her that derogatory term was too much to take. 

“Let me tell you something, asshole! Yeah, I grew up here, but I’m not a fucking hillbilly! I’ll have you know not everyone who lives in Appalachia are backwoods, uneducated, rednecks! So, take that term, and shove it straight up your ass!” she screamed, her anger boiling over into dangerous territory. 

Before either of the boys could say a word, a guttural, terrifying growl tore through the darkening woods. Y/N spun around to see what they’d been there to find. The Wendgio was only about thirty feet behind her, moving in quickly. Sam shouted for her to get behind him, breaking her out of her stupor. Once she’d cleared his line of sight, Sam grabbed his homemade flamethrower, flicking his lighter to ignite it, but nothing happened. He tried again but to no avail. Y/N’s screams tore through the night air…

“Run! Follow me!” 

The boys were quick at her heels as she weaved them in and out of the trees and underbrush. Dean couldn’t help but think about how impressed he was at her agility in that terrain. He could tell she’d grown up here and knew her way around, which brought him to his next thought. How guilty he felt for saying what he had. But now was not the time to apologize. Right now, he had to concentrate on not losing sight of her and getting shredded to pieces by the monster on their tails.  

“Here! Guys, hurry!” she shouted, an old moonshining cabin in her sight. 

Once she reached the cabin, she flung open the door, waiting for the boys to enter before slamming it shut, silently praying that the rickety lock would hold just long enough to devise a plan. 

“What the hell happened back there?” Dean asked, hands on his knees as he panted for breath. 

“I don’t know! The flamethrower has never not worked before,” Sam answered with the same labored breathing as his brother. 

“Well, we can figure that out later. Now, we need to figure out how to stay alive!” Y/N yelled, panic starting to set in. 

“Calm down, sweetheart. We’ll be okay,” Dean tried to calm her down, but she was still too angry with him. 

“Don’t! Do not ‘sweetheart’ me! You had no right to talk to me like that!” 

“Look, swe- Y/N, I’m sorry. But I don’t understand why that made you so mad,” Dean spoke as he looked around the cabin for something to use as a makeshift weapon. 

“That was a shit apology, Winchester. Just…just don’t speak to me until we get out of this mess,” she groaned, then mumbled, “If we live through this mess.” 

“Hey!” Dean shouted, getting her attention, “We are getting out of this. Don’t talk like that.” 

“Can you tell me how you plan to get us out of here? Cause I don’t see another way out except through the door that Wendigo is now trying to beat down!” 

As she walked toward Dean, her foot almost went through the floor, or at least it felt like it. She stopped, pushing down with her foot one more time. The bounce under her foot had her laughing loudly, and the boys looked at her like she’d lost her mind. Dean spoke as she started to rip the rug she stood on out of the way. 

“Care to tell us what you find so funny?” 

“This!” she continued to laugh in relief as she pointed to the hatch in the floor where she’d been standing, “It’s our way out!” 

“How do you know that? It could be just an old cellar,” Sam asked, walking over to inspect what she’d found. 

“Well, as Dean so nicely put it, us hillbillies would dig secret passageways to transport the moonshine back and forth without the police seeing them. They almost always lead to an abandoned coal mine or cave opening. Sometimes other cabins.” 

“Y/N, come on, I tried to apologize. I didn’t know it would upset you that much,” Dean threw his hands up in exasperation. 

“Well, it did, and…” she started to argue when Sam interrupted them. 

“Maybe you two can finish this fight once we know we’re not going to die? Let’s go!” 

Y/N and Dean simultaneously rolled their eyes. Sam would have told them they were two peas in a pod if they weren’t in such a hurry to save their asses. Y/N was the first one down the ladder, explaining that she’d be their best bet for not getting completely lost underground, and neither brother disagreed. Dean followed, with Sam on his heels. Once they were underground, Y/N led the way, and the boys were impressed with how well she could get around in the tunnels. 

After what seemed like a lifetime, Dean was going to ask if she really knew where she was going, but before he could open his mouth, they turned a corner and could see a light up ahead in the tunnel's ceiling. Y/N was climbing the ladder through another hatch before Dean knew what was happening. Maybe her nickname should be Squirrel instead of him, he chuckled to himself. As the last brother made it out of the tunnel and into another cabin, Y/N slammed the hatch, pushing an old, heavy piece of furniture over it. Luckily, this one was still quite furnished, with beds still in the bedrooms and an old couch in front of a fireplace. 

“This is home until morning,” she stated, looking around, finding, albeit dusty, pillows and blankets in a closet.

“Better than nothing,” Sam shrugged, walking into one of the bedrooms and shutting the door, leaving only one bedroom for her and Dean. 

“Looks like we’re sharing again, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. 

“Nah, take the bed. I’ll take the couch,” she whispered, not looking at him. Damn, she was still mad. 

“I’m not taking a bed and putting you on an old debilitated couch, Y/N.” 

“It’s fine. My adrenaline is still too high to sleep. Besides, I’ll keep watch so you can get some rest. You have to drive us back to the bunker tomorrow. I can sleep in the car.” 

“Y/N…” 

“No, Dean, it’s fine. Please, just take the bed. I’m too tired to argue,” she almost begged, wanting to be alone. 

“I thought you said you weren’t tired?” he smirked, trying to joke, but she wasn’t having it. 

“I’m mentally exhausted. I just need time to myself to wind down. Now, please, go get some sleep so we can get the hell out of here in the morning,” she pleaded, the look on her face breaking his heart. He had really hurt her with what he said. 

“Okay, sweetheart. Good night,” he said dejectedly, knowing it would be a sleepless night. His guilt would make sure of it. 

“Night,” she replied, turning her back to him, sitting down on the couch, staring out the window, never glancing his way. The click of the door made her wince as Dean went to bed.

Sleepless night was an understatement. Dean’s eyes didn’t close once as he lay there thinking how wrong the day had gone. He and Y/N had argued since their feet hit the floor that morning. Him being an ass was the reason for it. He hated fighting with her, but when he woke that morning, she was curled up at his side, her head on his chest. Usually, a man wouldn't complain about having a beautiful woman wrapped around him, but it tends to put you in a pissy mood when it’s a woman you love but can’t have. 

Dean was ass over tea kettle for Y/N, but he’d never tell her that. She deserved so much better than being saddled with a man who could barely stand his own company most days. He drank too much, and he wasn’t good at communicating how he felt. He knew that. Sam had told him many times he needed to learn to open up, but he didn’t want to burden anyone with the shitshow that was his mind. Especially her. So, as with his other emotions, he pushed his love for her deep and tried to ignore it. Lately, that hadn’t been working so well. As he lay there telling himself all the reasons he couldn’t have her, a sound caught his attention. He tiptoed to the door, cracking it slowly, and what he saw had him rushing out the door. 

“Y/N, sweetheart, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” he quizzed her as he rushed to her side, pulling her into his arms. Her sobs were what he’d heard. 

“I’m fine, Dean. Go back to bed,” she hiccuped through her tears. She couldn’t tell him the full truth. 

“Obviously, you are the opposite of fine. Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” 

“Hey, look at me,” he whispered, placing her chin between his thumb and index finger to turn her face to him, “Is this about today?” 

“Partially,” she admitted, trying to turn her head back to the window, but his grip wouldn’t let her.

“Y/N…I’m so so sorry. I know I was being an ass, but I had no idea it would hurt your feelings like that. Can you explain to me why? I’m not trying to fight. I honestly don’t understand.” 

“I’ve tried to get rid of the ‘hillbilly’ stigma since I left this place. It's always the same thing whenever someone finds out where I’m from. There’s this image people have about people from the Appalachian mountains that just aren’t true. We’re not a bunch of ignorant, uneducated people who live deep in the woods and never come out. Unfortunately, movies and TV shows have depicted us in such a bad light that most people think that’s all we are. And when that term comes from the man you…” she gasped, catching what she almost said. But Dean caught it as well. 

“The man you what, Y/N?” he asked, holding his breath. Was she about to admit what he thought? Maybe, just maybe, he could try to be better, be the man she deserved if she loved him too. 

“Dean…” she whimpered, trying to turn away from him again, but he wasn’t letting her go now. 

“Uh uh, say it. Say it, Y/N,” he pleaded, his eyes staring into hers, “Were you going to say the man you loved?” 

“Yes! Okay? I was going to say the man I loved!” she shouted in frustration as she jumped from the couch, finally breaking Dean’s hold on her, “Now, go ahead and tell me that you don’t see me that way, tell me that you don’t want me, so I can prepare to pack my shit and leave when we get back to the bunker. Because I can’t stay there and see you every day after your rejection. I just can’t.” 

Dean stood and walked to her as she stood staring out the window, her back to him after her confession. He touched her shoulder, gently turning her to face him. Her look of sadness and despair nearly ripped his heart from his chest. He thought having his heart literally ripped out would hurt less than seeing her like this. He slid his hand up from her shoulder to cup her cheek. A tear trickled down her face as she closed her eyes at his touch, and he swiped it away with his thumb. 

“Is that what you want me to tell you, or do you want me to tell you the truth?” he asked softly, waiting for her to open her eyes, which didn’t take a split second. Her eyes went wide. 

“What are you saying?” she uttered shakily. 

“I’m saying that I love you, too, Y/N. I have for a long time.” 

“But, but,” she stuttered, trying to find her words, “You were so mad at me when we woke up this morning. That isn’t how someone acts when they love the person in bed with them.” 

“Sweetheart, I was mad because I opened my eyes to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen curled up against me, and all I could think was how I wanted it to mean something, and I didn’t think it ever would. If I’m being honest, you could do so much better. And thinking I’d never have you that way pissed me off because I’ve never wanted someone as bad as I want you, Y/N. You’re my first thought when I wake up, and I fall asleep picturing you beside me. I know I’m not a good man, and there’s someone out there that could and would give you more than I’ll ever be able to, but if you really love me, I’m going to be selfish for one time in my fucking life and ask you to give me a chance. I can guarantee that I’m going to piss you off and probably hurt your feelings again, but it will never be intentional. So, what do you say? You want to give us a shot?” He poured his heart out to her, leaning his forehead against hers as he waited for an answer. 

“Dean, contrary to what you believe, you are a good man. You love with your whole being and fiercely protect those lucky enough to get that love. I know you don’t believe you deserve it, but you deserve the world, Dean Winchester, and I’d be honored to be the one to try and give it to you.” 

“Really?” he asked with a million-watt smile, leaning back to look her in the eye. 

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” she returned his smile, both sighing in relief. 

“Come here,” he growled, pulling her face to his and kissing her passionately. 

The kiss was better than either had imagined, and they both poured the love they felt for the other into it. They stayed that way until the need to breathe became too much, pulling away with smiles. He pulled her into a hug, laying his head on top of hers. They stayed silent for a few minutes before Dean broke the silence. 

“So, you want to move your stuff into my room when we get back? 

“I don’t know, Dean,” she pulled back, chewing on her bottom lip, “I really think we need to take this as slowly as possible. Make sure that we’re going to last.” 

“Oh, yeah, okay,” he agreed, his heart clenching at the hurt he felt. 

“I’m just joking,” she laughed, poking him in the ribs, “You’re not going to get rid of me now!” 

“Damn it, Y/N! That wasn’t funny! You almost gave me a heart attack,” he grumbled, not finding her joke all that funny. 

“I think I’m hilarious,” she smirked up at him. 

“You’re something, alright. Now, how about we both try to get some rest? We have a lot of packing to do when we get home,” he suggested, leading her toward the bedroom, “You have a lot of shit. I don’t know where we’re going to put it all.” 

“Ha ha,” she deadpanned, “Well, we could always get rid of your vinyl collection to make room.” 

“Hey! Those are fighting words,” he growled playfully, leaning down to nip at her bottom lip. 

“Bring it on, old man,” she cackled as his eyes shot up his forehead in shock. 

“I’ll show you an old man!” he said in faux anger, chasing her into the bedroom. 

All that could be heard as the bedroom door shut was the laughter and playful banter between the new couple, and that’s how it stayed for the years to come.

@flamencodiva​ @foxyjwls007​ @emoryhemsworth​ ​​ @valsworldofcreativity​​ @hardcoresupernaturalfans​​

@msmarvelouswinchester @lyarr24​​ ​​ @ellewritesfix05​​ @defenderrosetyler​​

@hobby27 ​​ ​​ @supernatural-love14 @vicmc624​​ @squirrelnotsam​​ @tatted-trina6 ​​ @xhannahbananax03 @coffeebooksandfandom​​ ​ @deans-baby-momma​​ @lovelyrocker​​ @fablesrose

​​ @maralisa124​​ @wayward-dreamer​​ @aimee-ginge​​ ​​ @donnaintx​​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​​

@itsdesiree86​​ @kyjey @roxytheimmortal​​ @briagallen @aubageddon91​​

@stoneyggirl2l​​ @kitkatd7​​ ​​ @brilovesdeanwinchester​​ @allonsy-yesiwill​ @krazykelly​​

@440mxs-wife​​ @rebelemilu​​ @sarahbaker2010​​ @tyferbebe​​ @metalfangirl​

@redbarn1995​​ @thoughts-and-funnies​​ @izzathequeen @heavensangel45135​​ @entersand-man​​ ​

@supraveng ​​ @hintsofhoney​ @bobbie3939​​ @waynes-multiverse @katelyn--renee​​

@thinkinghardhardlythinking​​ @makeadealwithdean ​​ @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @pink-sparkly-witch​​

@samsgirl93​​ ​ @maliburenee @thelastpyle​​ @nancymcl​​ @marvelouslyme96​​

@muhahaha303​ @maggiegirl17​ @slamminmine​ @ladysparkles78 @deanwinchestersgirl27 ​

[tidesreach]

fuck it friday

tagged by @dangerpronebuddie <3 haven't done one of these in a while but. i started writing this one months ago and now i'm like. well wow. should really finish this because. eddie really might be going to texas. (part of the buck drowns fic btw)

Buck waits, chugs down some more wine while Maddie's eyes flicker over the letter, once, twice. Finally, she sets it down on the counter, looks up at Buck and says, "I think you need to go to El Paso." Somehow, all at once, it's exactly what Buck wants to hear, and exactly what he doesn't want to hear. There's a relief that washes over him, like a warm, sunlit wave. But then— "You think I don’t want to?" Buck says, sets his glass down. "God, Maddie. I feel like I—like I'm going five rounds in a ring with myself every day just to not get in my car and drive." "Okay." Maddie looks at him. Careful, soft, gaze intent. "So why don’t you?" "Because," Buck argues. Because. "Because he asked me not to." "Did he?" Maddie asks. She slides her fingers over the letter, delicately. Like it's something precious, like—like she knows it is. To Buck. Then pushes it back over to Buck's side of the counter. "Because I just read the note, Buck, and I don't think he did." Buck swallows, reaches for it, for those familiar creases, the distinct indent of Eddie's scrawl. Did he? "I–well, okay. Not–not specifically," he agrees. Because it wasn’t—Eddie didn't ask. But it was— "He said he needed time. So I can’t. I can't be this person, Maddie. This—this needy, clingy person who chases him across states. That's not who he needs me to be." "Or it's exactly who he needs you to be." Maddie covers his shaking hands. Shaking. God, when did they start shaking? "I think he needs you to go after him, and I think—" Maddie pauses, soft pads of her fingers pressing against Buck's skin. Then, "I think the only reason you haven't is because you're afraid you're not enough to bring him back." Buck shakes his head, can't quite make his throat and mouth work in tandem to refute her. The words twist and churn in his chest, his stomach. Like a pinwheel. Sometimes, it's uncomfortable, just how well Maddie knows him. "You—you really think I should go?" "Buck," Maddie says, then softer, "Evan," the way she used to say it when they were kids. When she needed him to hear what she meant. "This is a love letter. You do know that, don't you?"

tagging @thatbuddie @sibylsleaves @inell @absolutelybifurious @standback

[revelboo]

Please, more Jazz 🙏🙏 it's one of my favourite storyline of yours, and I honestly love jazz so much, the nicknames are doing things to me 🫡

Don't feel pressured tho, take care of yourself. You're the best! 😋

I’m good. Just slow down when I write long form rather than these quick fics

Over It Now Pt 13

IDW Jazz x Reader

• Spreading out the blanket on the grass in the shade of the pin oak, he fidgets with the pillows he’d taken from the furniture on your porch. Satisfied, his attention turns back to your house. Watching your shadow moving around in the kitchen, as he heads back to the house and waits. When you finally open the door, you’ve got a tote bag in your fist as you awkwardly shuffle out the door with your crutches. Not even protesting when he reaches to pick you up and carry you across the grass to that pile of pillows.

• When he’d asked if you’d share a meal with him, it had seemed so silly to you. Knowing neither of you can eat what the other does, but he’d looked so serious when he asked. Not smiling like he’s teasing you and that’s what had made you agree. There’d been something real and vulnerable in that request. It’s chilly outside even with your jacket and you shiver as he settles you in the midst of what you’re certain is every decorative pillow and cushion that had been on your porch. “Thanks,” you say, reaching to touch his servos as he nudges a pillow closer and sets your crutches aside.

• “Surprised at how domestic I am, doll?” He asks, flashing a grin as he sits with a leg outstretched and the other drawn up, that little touch spreading warmth through him. Waiting until you unpack your strange smelling human food before reaching for his own energon cube.

• He’s sipping at that glowing goop, and you can see the mesh of his throat working as he swallows. Reminding you that even if he’s metal, he’s alive. It’s not like you haven’t known he wasn’t just a machine for a long time now, but it strikes you every now and then. “Just surprised you’re behaving,” you counter as you pick at your food, very aware of that visor flaring slightly. That he’s watching you eat with open curiosity to make you feel self conscious.

• “Nah.” Watching you shiver and huddle into your coat, he’s leaning forward. Picking you up plate and all, and settling you on his thigh against his frame as you inhale. “I have a reputation to maintain.” Servos lingering against you, he waits for you to get mad. But it’s your turn to surprise him by leaning into him. It’s only that he’s warmer than you are and he knows it, but that little show of trust throws him off balance.

• “The lying,” you say as you take a bite and he stiffens against you. Immediately on guard making you almost let it go. But that’s you, always unable to leave well enough alone. “You want to talk about it?”

• “Nothing to talk about.” He’s smiling still, but it feels brittle as one of his servos gently taps against your ribs. Wants you to let it go, don’t push. Don’t ruin this for him, because he just wanted to share a quiet moment with you. A little peace. Because the truth is that he doesn’t know how not to lie anymore. Playing spy, wearing a smiling, harmless face to hide how awful he really is underneath. Smiling instead of screaming at the things he’s been forced to do throughout the war. Things that haunt his recharge. That’s why he needs this, needs you. Your innocence reminds him of who he’d been and what he’d lost. And protecting you so you don’t end up broken and bitter like he is? It’s everything. “I’m just a liar, doll.”

Previous

[d-z20]

What We Have Left

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: After surviving the Witches' Road, you and Agatha find solace in caring for each other as you navigate the aftermath—her haunted by nightmares and you recovering from near-fatal injuries. (canon-divergence)

Warnings: physical hurt (R), emotional hurt (A), comfort

Words: 1.4k

A/N: Another request fic :) It took me so long to figure out how Agatha and Reader could survive without taking away from Agatha's character arc so it's as close to canon as possible.

AO3 | Master List

After the chaos of what happened with Rio and Billy, you don’t know exactly how you survived. The last thing you remember is the weight of magic swirling violently around you, the air crackling with danger. Agatha had been ready to sacrifice herself, a final act of redemption that would have consumed her completely. But something had shifted in the moments before her fate was sealed—your desperate magic, unpredictable and wild, surged in response to her intent. In a flash, it felt as though time bent, reality warping around you both. A surge of energy, as if the universe itself had decided you were both not yet finished, had pulled you from the brink of destruction.

But it had also sent you flying backward. 

You’d crashed into a jagged outcrop of stone, your already fragile body sustaining more injuries. A deep wound had opened along your side, nearly severing you in half, and your chest felt like it was caving in with each strained breath. It wasn’t just exhaustion; it was the real fear that you wouldn’t make it. You were too close to death, the darkened edge of your vision creeping in, when Agatha’s hand in yours had pulled you back from that final brink. You weren’t sure how, but it felt like she was holding you together in those final moments before you slipped into unconsciousness.

—

Your injuries keep you from being able to get upstairs, so you spend your days and nights on the couch trying to recover. Agatha promises to stay close, swearing she’ll sleep in the armchair beside you. But every night, you wake to find her pacing instead, her movements restless and agitated, her silhouette framed by the faint light above the stove.

The house is quiet tonight, save for the rhythmic sound of Agatha pacing in the next room. The soft creak of the floorboards betrays her unease, a subtle sound that feels much louder in the stillness. You know the routine by now—she doesn't scream out or cry, but she can’t seem to stay still. She’s trying to outrun something, her breath coming quicker, hitching in the air as though there's a monster that won’t let her rest. The nightmares are worse tonight. You can feel her anxiety through the walls—a tension in the house that makes it hard to breathe.

You lie back on the couch, a thin blanket draped over your legs, shifting carefully to avoid pulling at the bandages wrapped around your ribs. The dull ache is persistent, a reminder of what the Road has taken. What it has demanded.

“You’re awake.”

Her voice startles you, and you turn your head to see her standing in the doorway. She looks dishevelled, her hair wild and her lips chewed raw. Agatha Harkness, once a picture of control and sharp wit, seems smaller these days. Her sharp, calculating eyes are clouded now.

“So are you,” you reply softly, watching as she crosses the room and lowers herself into the chair beside you.

She looks at the floor, fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “I didn’t mean to wake you. The dreams... They’re worse tonight.”

You reach out, your fingers brushing hers gently. “You didn’t wake me. Couldn’t sleep from the pain anyway.”

Her eyes flick to your bandages, her gaze lingering on the blood seeping through them. Her face tightens in frustration, but there’s something darker beneath the surface—a flicker of panic in her eyes. Her hands tremble as they hover near your side, as though she wants to help but is afraid to make things worse. She’s breathing faster now, her chest rising and falling with each uneven inhale. “You’re still in pain.”

“It’s manageable,” you lie, though you know she can see right through you. She always does.

Agatha stands abruptly, her movements sharp. “Let me change the dressing. It’ll help.” She doesn’t wait for you to agree, disappearing into the kitchen and returning with the first aid kit.

She kneels by your side, her hands surprisingly gentle as she helps you sit up, unwrapping the bandages with practiced precision. Her fingers linger on the jagged cut running along your side.

“This one’s healing slower than the others,” she mutters, more to herself than to you.

You wince as she cleans the wound, but you keep your focus on her face. Her brow is furrowed, her lips pressed into a tight line. She is concentrating, but you can see the tremor in her hands.

“Agatha.”

She doesn’t look up. “Almost done.”

“Agatha.” Your voice softens. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Her hands still. For a moment, the only sound is your breathing, uneven and shallow. Then she shakes her head. “It was, though. I led us there. I put you in danger.”

“And we both survived,” you counter. “That’s what matters.”

She finishes rewrapping the bandage in silence, her hands lingering on your side before pulling away. She sits back on her heels, staring at the floor.

You reach for her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She hesitates, her eyes flickering toward the window as if searching for an escape. But then her gaze softens, and she looks back at you. “I see them, you know,” she says quietly. “In my dreams. The ones we lost. Lilia, Alice, Mrs. Ha—Sharon... I see them; I hear their voices.”

Her voice cracks, and she quickly looks away, but not before you catch the glint of tears in her eyes.

You lean forward, wincing as pain flares in your ribs. “They don’t blame you, Agatha. None of them do.”

“How would you know?” she whispers, her tone tinged with bitterness. “You can’t know.”

“Because I know you,” you say firmly. “And I know you did everything you could.”

Her expression crumbles, and for a moment, she looks so much younger, so much more fragile than you’ve ever seen her. The indomitable Agatha Harkness, finally undone by the weight of her own guilt.

You cup her face with your hand, your thumb brushing away a tear that slips free. “Agatha,” you murmur, your voice soft. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

“And what about you?” Her eyes open, sharp and searching. “You’re the one who nearly died, and you’re still acting like you have to take care of me.”

“I want to take care of you,” you say simply.

“I’m not sure I deserve it,” she murmurs, her voice cracking. Her hands shake slightly as she tugs at the hem of her sweater, the fabric clutched too tightly in her fists as if trying to steady herself. She won’t look at you, but you can see the tremor in her jaw. It’s a subtle thing, but you know that she’s fighting against something much bigger than just guilt. There’s a panic beneath it, a fear that maybe she can never escape what happened, that the person she is now—the one who’s failed so many—is someone who doesn’t deserve forgiveness, or love, or even peace.

“Too bad,” you say with a weak smile.

Agatha’s hand comes to rest over yours, holding it against her cheek. “You’re a stubborn witch,” she says, a hint of her usual wit breaking through.

“Takes one to know one,” you reply, your smile growing.

For a long moment, the two of you stay like that, the silence between you no longer heavy but filled with something softer.

“I didn’t actually know what I wanted from the Road,” you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them.

Agatha’s eyes open, and she looks at you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “What do you mean?”

“I thought I wanted knowledge,” you admit. “Or power. Or maybe to finally understand myself.” You hesitate, searching for the right words. “My magic’s always been... all over the place. Never strong enough in one area to fit anywhere. Protection spells don’t hold long, potions are hit or miss, divination’s a disaster... I thought the Road could give me something to make me belong.”

“And did it? Since Billy’s maybe made it real and all that,” she asks softly.

You nod your head. “Yes. It gave me you.”

Her breath hitches, and for a moment, you think you’ve said too much. But then she leans forward, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss so gentle it makes your heart ache.

It isn’t a kiss born of desperation or passion. It’s something quieter, something fragile. A shared promise that, no matter how broken the two of you might be, you’ll face it together.

When she pulls back, her hand lingers on your cheek. “I don’t deserve you,” she murmurs.

“You do,” you say firmly.

For a long moment, she’s silent, her lips pressed together as she absorbs your words. You can almost see her mind racing behind her eyes, calculating the weight of your reassurance. Her expression shifts just slightly, and for the first time since the Road, you see a flicker of something like peace in her gaze—a brief, fragile relief that she doesn’t have to bear the whole world’s weight on her shoulders alone. It’s like she’s finally starting to believe it. Then she exhales a shaky breath and stands, pulling the blanket up to cover you more securely.

“Get some rest,” she says softly. “I’ll be here.”

“And you?” you ask, catching her hand before she can pull away. “Will you sleep?”

Her lips twitch into a small, reluctant smile. “Maybe.”

“Liar,” you tease gently.

She sighs, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ll try. For you.”

She stays by your side that night, her hand clasped in yours as you drift into a fitful but comforting sleep. Whatever the Road has taken from you, it has left this: a bond forged in fire, unshakeable and enduring.

[miaountainmama]

sharp

characters: boothill, gn!reader contains: little angst that's resolved by the end. boothill is terrified of love

wc: 1148

a/n: i love boothill so much that i needed to write something with thought and emotion and not just smut. i have 3 other boothill fics in the works because i keep getting ideas. girl help

You have always loved softly. You know this, have embraced it, giving your soft touches and quiet words freely. Boothill has forgotten how to love. It has been so long since he loved that his love has turned sharp, pierces through his heart and wounds him so deeply he can’t stand it. He cannot recall how to love like you do anymore— he can only scream the depths of his affection from the rooftops, harsh and loud, and hold you so tightly he swears you’ll break. He has become so sharp he’s afraid, afraid he’ll puncture your soft skin, afraid the razor edge of his smile will leave you bleeding.

Fear doesn’t suit Boothill, but you see it in every glance he gives you. It drives you insane, the way his expression sobers when he’s around you. That near-constant smile of his drops clean from his face, turning into the gentle slope of a frown that just doesn’t look right on him. Existing in the same room as him has become suffocating, the sheer longing in his being crashing from his body in waves so strong they’re capable of sending you to your knees. Still, he withdraws-- his touches have become few and far between, and when you tell him you love him, that look of anguish he gives you nearly breaks you.

“I’m not fragile, you know. You’re not going to snap me in half,” you tell him, stepping closer to him, and it doesn’t escape you the way that he leans back slightly, that all familiar expression bubbling up in his eyes.

“I… I can’t, darlin’,” he says in return, voice laced with yearning that he refuses to address, and your own eyes turn desperate, though you know you can’t force anything. You want to reach out and grab him so badly, to press yourself against him and thread your hands through his hair and tell him it’s okay, that you know he would never hurt you on purpose, that anything he does you can take-- but you know it’ll make it worse. You know it’ll drive the knife in his heart a thousand times deeper.

Instead, you reach out your hand.

He looks at it questioningly, lips slightly parted in a question, and you just gesture until he gets the memo-- you would almost think his mechanics were malfunctioning, the way his hand stutters on the way to yours, and when his fingers brush against yours ever so lightly you smile at him, a smile so soft and patient he feels like a wounded animal before you. Gently, you lead him to the couch, sitting down and motioning for him to sit beside you. He does, taking a seat right in the middle of the late afternoon sun filtering through the blinds, and it lights his hair up golden.

“Do you love me, Boothill?” you start simply, knowing without a shadow of a doubt that this man was head over heels for you. He nods, not a sliver of hesitation running through his veins.

“More than life itself,” he says, and you hum in acknowledgement. You run your thumb over his knuckles, and that everlasting ache in his eyes intensifies.

“Then what’s stopping you?” you ask, and he goes silent. His head dips, and you can feel him struggle, at war with his own thoughts.

“I ain’t too good with words, darlin’,”, he admits, and you don’t miss that little undercurrent of shame in his tone. You tilt your head slightly, leaning back slightly to make yourself just a bit more comfortable in the cushions.

“Think about it. I can wait as long as you need,” you say, and his gaze flickers up to meet yours for a moment before it goes back to your hands resting softly on each other. He takes a minute or so, refusing to make eye contact for its entirety and then some.

“You don’t deserve a man like me,” he starts, and you huff, rolling your eyes. Of course he would land on a reason so basic and absurd. No, you needed him to unpack that a little more, dive a bit deeper.

“Why?” you probe further, and he takes another pause.

“I ain’t fit for much but shootin’ these days, darlin’. Haven’t loved anything in so long I think I’ve forgotten how.” He’s still looking at anything but your face, and it’s almost boyish, the way he’s near hiding. You reply as easily as breathing.

“You can always relearn,” you say, and his eyes finally snap to yours.

“What if I mess up? What if I hurt you?” he says, urgent, and your voice is ever calm in contrast. You send him another small smile.

“Oh, you will,” you say with finality, and his face scrunches up-- he moves to pull away his hand, but you’ve suddenly tightened your grip, and he gives up and leaves it there without too much resistance. You’re too calm about this, too willing.

“Then why would I-”

“Boothill,” you interrupt, and he shuts up the moment the words leave your mouth. “Did you make mistakes when you became a parent?”

Understanding the point you’re getting at, he frowns. “Of course I did, but-”

“Do you regret it then? Being her dad?”

That stops him in his tracks.

“Of course not. I… she was my little girl, darlin’, my pride and joy,” he says, and you can hear the hurt in his voice, the wistfulness as he’s taken many years into the past. Part of you regrets bringing her up, but you know he needs a personal analogy to get out of the headspace he’s in and she’s the only example you can think of.

“Then do you regret loving me?” you ask quietly.

“There is not a single damn reality where I regret loving you, darlin’,” he answers you, face dead serious, and it soothes your heart. That’s all the answer you need from him and he knows it-- you just look at him, face softening as you wait for him to connect the dots and piece together what you’re implying.

That it’s worth it. That a life in which you have loved and experienced pain is worth more than a thousand lifetimes without loving. That mistakes are inevitable and a part of anything. That you know all this and have accepted it wholly-- have accepted him wholly, him in all his imperfections. 

He looks back at you. He looks back at you and swears he sees the whole world-- you in the sunlight, infinitely forgiving and merciful, and he nearly renounces his faith then and there. Forget the Hunt-- forget Lan, forget any Aeon and the paths they have built. Compared to the divinity before him, they are nothing, and he knows his heart must answer in kind.

He reaches out tentatively to touch your face, and you swear you melt.