#Since he's alone most of the time he's at odds on what to do in a group setting

[ibijau]

heeey who's up for some more mdzs daemon au?? Today, wwx has a horrible terrible time of being alive again, and mxy's daemon isn't helping

Something was insistently pecking at Wei Wuxian's head and hands, trying to wake him up. A few times he pushed away his attacker, refusing to open his eyes. Being dead was bad enough, he didn't need to be awake as well. But the pecking always quickly resumed. 

“Pashou, leave me alone,” he grumbled. 

“I'm not Pashou.” 

Startled to hear a male voice coming from the bird, Wei Wuxian quickly sat up. Too quickly, perhaps; his head was spinning from the sudden effort, almost making him nauseous. Once he no longer feared it would make him puke, Wei Wuxian looked around for the source of that voice, and quickly found it. Down on the ground, he found a miserable looking raven staring up at him. A daemon, no doubt about that, although not one he had ever seen before. 

In fact, the entire room around him was unfamiliar. It looked as miserable as that raven, with his mangy feathers and his air of being underfed.

No sign of Pashou, though.

It wasn’t exactly a surprise. The black swan had gotten so sluggish in the years after Wei Wuxian gave away his golden core, it often happened she’d fall asleep somewhere and he’d have to look for her. Back in Yunmeng, she’d often be napping in Jiang Cheng’s office. Since they’d moved to the Burial Mounds, Pashou had become less consistent. His silly, useless daemon.

His stupid daemon, he remembered her clumsily flying to his rescue when the fierce corpses he’d controlled turned against him. They’d torn her apart in front of him, and him soon after, although the most important part of him had already died alongside her. The way she’d cried, his poor little daemon who’d always warned him against this, whenever she could focus again for a moment.

His Pashou, dead…

Nausea hit again. This time, Wei Wuxian couldn’t contain it and vomited a mix of bile and blood on the already dirty floor.

“You’ll have to clean that up,” the raven flatly informed him.

Wei Wuxian shivered. It was always odd for one person’s daemon to address a human directly. Among cultivators it wasn’t as scandalous as among common people, since they sometimes used their daemons to communicate with one another. Still, it was preferred to only do so if you had already been introduced to the person, and Wei Wuxian most definitely didn’t know anyone with such a pathetic raven daemon.

“Who are you, anyway?” Wei Wuxian asked as he got up on shaky legs.

He felt weak, even by what he’d become used to since the Sunshot Campaign. His entire body ached, but most of all his wrists.

“I’m his daemon,” the raven retorted. “Obviously.”

“Whose?” Wei Wuxian insisted.

“His,” the raven repeated. “Ah, maybe you don’t realise… I told him that curse didn’t look right. He’s… There’s a pot with some water on that table. It’ll be easier if you look at yourself.”

Saying this the raven hopped toward an old table, and Wei Wuxian followed. That strange daemon was right, looking at his reflection told Wei Wuxian what no explanation could have convinced him of: he now inhabited a body that wasn’t his. Even used as he was to dark arts, Wei Wuxian nearly shouted in surprise, although he told himself that was mostly because of this new body’s ghastly makeup.

Shocked as he was, Wei Wuxian had to sit down. Now that he looked around again, he realised he’d woken up laying in the middle of inscriptions written in blood on the floor. His current body’s own blood, for better or for worse, and that was why his wrist itched and ached that way.

“I always thought daemons were affected by possessions,” he told the raven. “Every case I’ve seen before, the person’s daemon falls asleep or even changes appearance. But you seem fine.”

“Is that really what you’re worried about right now?” the bird scoffed.

“It’s the oddest thing about it,” Wei Wuxian retorted. Pashou would have understood. She was curious, like him, for all that she usually tried to rein him in.

The raven shook his head. “He said it wouldn’t be possession. He said he was offering himself to you, so it would be your mind in his body, and your daemon would replace me. I figured disappearing was better than going on like this.”

Without thinking, Wei Wuxian nodded. He’d heard about rituals capable of invoking a spirit and giving it a body, but he’d naturally never tried it himself. He’d always assumed the person’s daemon would be affected too, but it seemed he’d been wrong.

“I won’t be your daemon,” the raven suddenly announced. “You’re not my human, I’m not your daemon. Even if you have his body, I’m not yours. I’ll never be anyone’s but his.”

“Who was he, anyway?”

“His name was Mo Xuanyu,” the raven said with something unbearably sad in his hoarse voice. “His mother was the daughter a servant of this great house had with the master, and she had him with a cultivator. We were even in a sect, for a while. It didn’t end well. We're not allowed to speak of it anymore.”

That much made sense. Of course only a person with some knowledge of cultivation could have known a ritual of that sort, not to mention using it at all. But as Wei Wuxian checked his new body, he realised with dismay that it was truly very weak. It didn’t even have a golden core, and more of a crumbled piece of dust that wasn’t good for anything.

“Why did he invoke me?” Wei Wuxian asked. “It’s not something you do without good reasons.”

“We were suffering,” the daemon explained. “Every day for years, our life was terrible, never feeling any joy, never allowed anything good to happen to us. Our family, our aunt and some others, they mistreated us constantly. It broke us. It broke him. Near the end, he wouldn’t listen to me anymore. I don’t think he could hear me, most of the time. He’d even attack me when he was upset because he forgot we were the same person.”

Wei Wuxian shivered, his nausea returning. It happened, people harming their own daemon, but it was always troubling. He’d not always been patient with his poor Pashou toward the end, but at least he’d never hit her, no matter what terrible things he’d said to her.

“Don’t get me wrong, I agreed to what he did,” the raven stated. “I want these people who hurt us to suffer, even if I have to die too. My aunt, her son, her husband, and A-Tong. They are the price you have to pay to keep using this body.”

Lowering his eyes, Wei Wuxian observed the four deep gashes on his wrists. That was inconvenient. Since he personally had no grudges against these people, he wasn’t terribly interested in killing them, but since they were complete strangers and they had pushed his body’s previous owner to such a desperate state, it was also hard to feel much pity for them.

“It’s not like I asked to have this body,” Wei Wuxian pointed out. “Aiyah, I don’t even remember accepting it! But I’m here, so I must have. And that means we…”

“There is no ‘we’,” the daemon cut him. “I am not yours.”

“So you’ll fly away and live like a normal bird, eh?” Wei Wuxian snickered, as if the mere idea weren't repulsive to any sane person. 

Well, he'd done his share of repulsive things anyway, so this seemed tame in comparison.

As for the raven he said nothing, but shuffled awkwardly on his legs. This reaction, combined with what he’d felt within his body so far, made Wei Wuxian grow suspicious.

“How far can you go from your human, anyway?” 

“Pretty far, but also less than the normal distance,” the raven said, preening himself in an embarrassed manner. “We were kicked out of Jinlin Tai before I settled. We tried to do the ritual here, on our own. We'd seen others go through the trial, it didn't seem hard to organise. It… Backfired. I can go away, as far as I need. I went far into the North once, on the other side of the country. But being apart… it hurts us both as much as if we hadn’t done the separation ritual. It feels… Wrong when we're not touching.”

That explained Mo Xuanyu's non-existent golden core, then. Even if he had started forming one, a botched separation from his daemon would have ruined it. The part about not being able to stay apart, Wei Wuxian had never heard about. But of course that was because few people survived a failed separation, and those who did were so broken you couldn't ask them questions. 

That was why there were so many precautions around the separation, potions to make it less painful, family and teachers present to make it less traumatic. In the century or two since cultivators had started separating from their daemon, they had improved the process. Children used to die almost half the time, or so Wei Wuxian had been told. A high price to pay, but when the Wen sect had discovered it guaranteed a strong golden core at a very young age, they'd paid it without hesitation. The other sect had followed suit, most of them. Those who didn't hadn't survived long, unable to compete when the old method required twenty, thirty years to form a golden core, sometimes more. 

Wei Wuxian had never met before someone whose separation had failed. He knew some children had died from it at the Wen indoctrination camp, but he'd never met a survivor, although he recalled some speculations about someone he’d known back then. He couldn’t remember who it had been, though, and ultimately he’d lost interest in that topic, too busy with his own problems.

“You’ll have to stay with me then,” Wei Wuxian decided. “There’s no other way.”

“I’m not your daemon.”

“No, you’re not my Pashou, that’s certain,” Wei Wuxian retorted with cheerful disdain.

His beautiful daemon, even after she’d become diminished, she’d remained a sight to behold. The most beautiful black swan the world had ever seen, his pride and joy as long as she thrived, still loved and cared for once she was little more than a dead weight. A mere raven couldn’t compare to her, least of all one as ugly and pathetic as that one.

“We’ll see if it’s easier for you to go away now that there’s a different soul in this body,” Wei Wuxian suggested. “If you can, then go and become a bird if you like, I’ve managed without a daemon before. Otherwise, you’ll have to stick around. I’ve been in enough pain in my life. How is that for a deal… ah… what’s your name anyway?”

The raven preened himself. “I don’t have to tell you that. I’m not your daemon. We don’t need to talk, so you don’t need to know my name.”

Frustrated by that stubborn bird, Wei Wuxian had half a mind to grab it by the neck and shake it around until it stopped making things difficult. But this was another person’s daemon, and just that brief thought was nauseating. He didn’t want to ever touch that raven.

Maybe the bird was right. Wei Wuxian didn’t need to know his name. All he needed to know was whether they could work together to sort out their strange situation… but even that would have to wait: before Wei Wuxian could argue his case, the front door opened and a richly dressed boy entered accompanied by servants, intending to beat him up for something his body’s previous occupant had done.

That damn raven couldn't even be counted on to help. Perhaps guessing what was about to happen, the daemon had flown away the instant the door opened. Normally Wei Wuxian wouldn't have needed him anyway, but as he quickly discovered, even that little distance between his new body and Mo Xuanyu's daemon caused him considerable pain. Shocked by that sensation, he was unable to defend himself against his bullies. To the pain of separation were soon added numerous bruises, which were more bearable because more familiar. 

The rich boy and his minions left, but closed the door behind them before the raven could return. 

Laying on the floor, bruised and miserable, Wei Wuxian cursed the body's previous occupant, the daemon raven, and everyone else in the house. As he tried to catch his breath, his hand wandered at his side, grasping for something absent. Even as her condition worsened, Pashou had always felt it when he truly needed her, and she'd waddle her way to him no matter what. 

But she was gone now. He would never again hold her in his arms. 

In a way Pashou had been lost long before they died, of course. From the moment they'd done that core transfer… she'd been little more than another walking corpse at Wei Wuxian's side. 

It would be hard, living without even that much left of her. But Wei Wuxian had done many hard things in his life. He would manage this, too. 

At least, he would do it once that damned raven came back within a reasonable distance.

[rainbow-scarab]

Sly's Past in the Crossroads

I coulda sworn I put this on my blog but perhaps I mix it up with all those times I've told people on Discord so XD here we are. Theory post time.

Sly used to live in the Crossroads, in that little village where you first find him. I think this for a few reasons.

First, I must speak of Sly's age.

The stasis seems to have some odd effects on bugs, some of which seem to have lived a long time. I'm just assuming that aspect of stasis for this post. Sly trained the Nailmasters, and is almost certainly older than them. Some of Sheo's dialog has him speak of the Great Knights (and sculpt them). He seems quite familiar, at least for someone with an interest in the kingdom's warriors. But according to Lemm, "Both [the Great Knight's] names and appearance seem to have been expunged from history." So it seems Sheo, and by extension Sly, are old enough to have been around during Hallownest's heyday, perhaps centuries ago.

This raises an interesting contradiction. The game manual calls Elderbug "the oldest resident of Dirtmouth". Dirtmouth, it seems, has been living on the edge of the Kingdom, free of the stasis. Elderbug looks and acts old, but he's just....normal old, not supernaturally old like Sly. He doesn't know what Hallownest was like long ago except in stories. When you open the stag station in Dirtmouth, he says "That building lay silent since before even my time."

So, what to do with this discrepancy? Surely Team Cherry could never make a mistake, could they?? If Sly was originally from somewhere else, perhaps that could explain the wording that Elderbug is Dirtmouth's oldest.

(I've heard some say there are some mistakes in the game manual as compared to the game XD it could be for this but that's not all I have here for my theory)

We find Sly in that little village, the same one where we find Gruz Mother and Salubra, in a house that's falling apart. He's partially infected, though Ghost is able to break him out of his haze. Bugs become infected through their dreams. Bardoon says:

I resist the light's allure. Union it may offer, but also a mind bereft of thought… To instinct alone a bug is reduced…

We see reference to the instinctual state of bugs as well in a few entries of the Hunter's Journal, such as guards continuing to act as guards. Sly is not as far gone, but I had to wonder. Why does dream lead him there? To a village that's mostly dead? He thinks of Oro, his past pupil, and whoever Esmy is (I think another prior (and probably dead) pupil, but that's for another post). When Ghost breaks him out of his early state of infection, he says:

…I see. This old village. What a strange dream, to have led me down here! If you hadn't found me, I don't think I would've ever woken.

He seems to recognize it instantly, even from the inside of a broken house. I think he used to live there, in that same house. A place he knew well, ingrained in him deeper than his current house (and life) in Dirtmouth. Where even if half asleep his feet could carry him there on instinct.

...Lastly. I think. I think Sly and Salubra used to be dating XDDDDDD sorry I am subjecting you all to this. But I have reason to believe it. Or at least that they were flirty in the past.

I think Salubra talks to Ghost somewhat like she used to talk to Sly. She calls Ghost a "gadfly" a couple of times. And this word has a few meanings. One is literally a kind of fly, and Sly is a fly as well. Another is "social butterfly", which could be what Salubra is thinking of (especially with calling Ghost "stylish" and "dapper" alongside the word). BUT THE THIRD DEFINITION--

WHO'S MORE OF A BLOODSUCKER THAN SLY LOLLLLLLL

I rest my case, Salubra used to call Sly her dapper gadfly, Slylubra canon

.

.

(ahem, my primary evidence is mostly the dream instinct aspect as far as Sly's former home, but shhhh Sly/Salubra is clearly the most important outcome of the lore XD)

[cxpperhead]

🍈 - How do they calm down when they are upset? Would they act differently trying to calm down in a group setting versus all alone?

Random Headcanons

Meditation is one method Copperhead usually finds himself falling back on whenever he wishes to calm down? Settling himself into a comfortable position, contorting his body in ways other people would think must hurt is what works for him, maintaining complicated positions while letting his mind drift. His breathing slows to a crawl, heart beating just a few times a minute for as long as he's in this state and it goes a long way in helping him regain control, especially after a bad lapse or stressful period where he feels control slipping. In a group setting, this would be much harder. In such a situation, Copperhead would sooner pull away, find a dark corner in which to to brood for a while. He's not the type to open up and talk about his feelings, preferring very much to remain solitary and it's hard for anybody to know whether or not he's upset, his face showing so little expression compared to most other people. The only outward signs of being upset Copperhead might show is his hood flaring, the tip of his tail ratting so hard his scales make audible sound. If Copperhead can, he'll disassociate from the situation altogether, soothing himself with gestures such as digging his claws into his palms or coiling up into himself.

[celiababy]

Ain't Right

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You have a major (borderline obsessive) crush on Joel, and you're on a mission to fuck him.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, fingering (fem!receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, cum eating, name calling, kinda mean Joel, alcohol, vomiting, an extremely brief mention of suicide

Disclaimer: I lowkey don't know the logistics of the show so if some things are wrong please look over it I'm just trying to write smut about Joel Miller godbless.

Ain't Right part 2

Ever since that tortured old man showed up in Jackson, your life hasn't been the same.

Tommy's older brother, and your absolute undoing.

When Joel Miller rode into town, it was like everything suddenly made sense. The skies got clearer, the air smelled better, and the birds even chirped their love songs louder.

Everything about him drew you in; his cold demeanor, stoic face, tired eyes—but gentle around those he cared about, which was only a few select people.

And you certainly were not one of those select people.

Joel didn't know what to think about you.

To him, you were odd. Yes, you were undoubtedly the most beautiful girl in Jackson, but he felt distance between the two of you was essential.

He felt this way because he knew.

Joel wasn't oblivious to your stares; he might've been an old man, but he remembered the laws of attraction fairly well.

He didn't like the thought of you liking him.

You were young, attractive, and had plenty of age-appropriate prospects just begging for your attention. Every boy in Jackson wanted a piece of you—but you only had eyes for Joel.

He was getting old and tired, ain't no reason why you should be so fond over him.

He also didn't like that you made your attraction so obvious. It made people whisper, and Joel about had enough teasing from Tommy.

"You gonna let that young thing jump your bones or what, Joel?" Is an example of the few things his brother would chirp at him whenever you were around and had eyes on him like he was a target.

So, all things considered, it's no surprise when Joel is reluctant to make a supply run with you.

You had begged Tommy to let you go out and finally start pulling your weight, carefully adding that Joel would be a great teacher for a first timer like yourself.

You stand near the truck, squeezing the straps of your backpack while watching Joel and Tommy whisper to themselves a couple feet away.

"You can't find anyone else?" Joel growls lowly, narrowing his eyes at his insufferable brother who he’d really like to strangle right now.

"Are you seriously scared of a twenty year old girl, Joel?" Tommy asked exasperatedly, throwing his arm out in disbelief. "It'll take two hours tops, what the hell are you so scared of?" Joel is exhaling through his nose, dragging a hand down his jaw in complete disgruntlement.

"You know what the hell I'm scared of Tommy—goddammit," He gets in his brother’s face before realizing you’re still watching them.

He takes a moment to back up and calm down, breathing out through his nose.

"I do not need this town thinkin' I am encouraging this girls...feelin's." He murmurs lowly.

Tommy rolls his eyes before shoving Joel's backpack into his chest.

"Just don't fuck her, Joel. How hard could it be?"

Joel watches as Tommy turns his back and walks away, leaving just you and him.

Joel had spent a lot of time making sure he was never in a situation alone with you—now he was about to be your unsupervised mentor.

He feels a groan try and crawl its way out his throat, but he pushes it down.

He starts walking to the truck, not even looking at you as he passes and yanks the driver side door open with more force than necessary.

"Let's make this quick." He grunts out, climbing inside.

You do the same, only with a little bit more enthusiasm. ***

The trip is a complete bust.

Joel barely paid you any attention, no matter how many flirty gestures you made at him.

You'd say something remotely suggestive and he'd either glare at you, or just flat out ignore you.

But you were relentless. Giving up on him wasn't in the cards for you, no matter how many judgmental looks he casted your way.

You guys had been driving back to town for around five minutes; Joel has kept his eyes firmly on the road in fear of you sparking a conversation with him.

But you do anyways.

You turn your body to face him in the bench seat, your eyes cascading down his breath-taking side profile.

You zoned in on the gray patches of his beard, and how his face had the remnants of a long, unforgiving life weaved into his wrinkles and scars.

You're momentarily rendered speechless by his looks before he side-eyes you.

"What?" He huffs out, not being able to handle your intense stare any longer.

"Why not?"

A beat.

"What?" He asks again, his brows furrowing together, an annoyed and confused expression painting his features.

"Why won't you fuck me?"

Joel physically winces at your language, scoffing in what looks to be disgust as he starts shaking his head.

"We're not starting this." He snaps firmly, a tone in his voice that you haven't heard before.

Completely disregarding his words, you start.

"Is it because I'm not pretty enough?" Joel groans out, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Is it because there's someone else?" He's close to snapping. "Is it because you can't get it up? I heard thats a problem with guys your age-"

Joel slams on the brakes, sending you lurching forward. He shoves the truck into park before turning to face you, a scary look on his face.

"I am not going to fuck you--Christ almighty," Joel raises his voice at you.

You're staring at him, wide eyes and lips parted in surprise. You weren't really expecting this.

"you're bustin' my fuckin' balls, Look kid," He starts up again, this time with a softer tone. "M'about 40 years too old for you-"

You cut him off with a murmur. "36, I did the math."

"Same damn thing," he snaps, shaking his head. "Point is—you don't needa be wastin' your time with me; there are plenty boys your age that will satisfy your...you."

You scoff in his face but try to disguise it by clearing your throat.

"I'm not asking you to marry me, Joel," You start, a sad smile spreading across your lips. "S'just sex." You say with a shrug, blush coating your cheeks because now your mind is imagining sex with him.

He stays silent and looks away from you, closing his eyes like he couldn’t believe this was happening.

That urges you to say more.

"I won't tell anyone," You're practically whispering, looking down at your fidgeting hands in your lap. "I'd let you do anything you wanted to me."

Joel's heart cinches in his chest at your words, mostly because he can tell you're being so genuine.

Why the hell did you like him so much? He just couldn’t understand it.

But he can't entertain this any longer because he knows if he did, he'd give into you.

"I don't wanna hear another goddamn word outta your mouth." Joel says in a strikingly even and calm tone, putting the truck into drive and continuing back.

He's eerily silent, and so is the rest of the trip because you're too dejected to speak.

Eventually, you both arrive home and you're fast to get out of the truck.

You slam the door and keep your head down as you walk away, snow crunching beneath your boots.

Joel takes his time, watching you storm off with tired eyes.

He feels bad for being so rough on you, but he figured it was the only way to get you to stop liking him.

Tommy walks up, a concerned look on his face as he looks back between you and Joel.

"Guessin' you didn't fuck her."

***

Nobody had seen you in days.

The pain of rejection had you in a mental place that you had never experienced before.

No one has ever denied you—ever.

The situation was 100x worse considering you actually liked Joel, and he wasn't just another toy to play with.

Joel figured his life would get easier with you not around, and it kinda did in some aspects.

But he couldn't stop the gnawing feeling of guilt slowly eating at him like a parasite.

He'd been cruel to you in the way he went about things, and he felt bad.

Had he really broken your heart? He didn't know you liked him that much.

He sits in his living room, contemplating how to go about this entirely fucked up situation.

He debates making amends with you, apologizing and rejecting you again but in a gentler way.

He deliberates on his plan of action while nursing a glass of whiskey before he's interrupted by three bangs on his front door, followed by a screeching: "JOEL"

He mutters a 'what the fuck' under his breath, walking to the door and picking his 9mil up on the way.

His eyes widen when he sees you-standing there in all your glory.

It's the middle of winter and snowing like hell, yet you're wearing shorts and a tank top with a beer bottle in your hand.

"Jesus, kid-what the fuck," Joel ushers you inside quickly, taking his big jacket off the coatrack and draping it over you.

He also tosses his gun to the side, obviously you were no threat.

"You tryin' to get frostbit? Christ," he's swearing and muttering profanities as he guides you over to the couch, now basically swaddling you in blankets.

You've never been inside his house before, only ever walked passed it a few times. It smells like him.

You, however, smell like alcohol and bad decisions.

Joel picked up on how drunk you were the minute you stumbled through the door. He takes the bottle from your hand and sets it aside somewhere, glaring at you like how a mad parent would.

"The hell are you doin' out in the snow like that? Fuckin' death wish or somethin'?"

His words are kinda fuzzy in your ears, you're so drunk that you barely even register them.

An unprompted giggle spills from your lips as you shake your head at him.

"It's not snowing silly," You chide, making him out to be an idiot when, in actuality, it's a damn blizzard outside.

He knows from that statement alone that you are way off your rocker tonight.

"How much have ya had to drink, kid?" Joel asks, raking a hand through his graying hair.

"Don't call me kid," You snap, a quick flash of anger in your expression. "M'not a kid."

Joel rolls his eyes so hard that he probably caused a tsunami on the other side of the world.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. What are you doin’ here?” He asks exasperatedly, dragging a hand down his jaw while looking at your trembling figure.

There’s a long pause before you answer. You just got distracted by his big brown eyes.

“Jus’ wanted to say hi.” You murmur, unable to tear your gaze away from his face.

“Say hi?” He reiterates, looking at you like you’ve actually lost your mind.

You probably have.

After a moment, Joel can’t help but chuckle in disbelief, letting his body lean back against the couch.

The absurdity of it all turned humorous to him.

Here you are, sitting in his living room, practically nude with only his coat and blankets protecting your modesty, having just trekked through the snow all for what? To say hey?

You’re still sitting there, motionless and trying to remember how to breathe because his laughing face has your heart lighting off fireworks.

“Fuckin’ hell—hi.” Is all he says, turning his head to the side to look at you as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You smile like a dope at him, so extremely happy to be there in his company.

But the alcohol in your system is fighting you, and you’re finding it hard to keep your eyes open.

“S’it cool if I say the nigh?” You slur, falling vertically on the couch, your head crashing onto Joel’s thigh.

You nuzzle your cheek against the fabric of his jeans and Joel is just about to gently push you off, but he stops himself.

You look so comfortable and so at peace that Joel can’t do anything except stare at you.

Your cheek is slightly smushed, your lips are parted, your eyes are shut and don’t plan on opening—it’s insane to him how at home you looked.

Like you belonged here, head rested on his lap.

Fuck.

He was fucked this time.

He doesn’t move you. Instead, he fixes the blankets on top of you so you’re fully covered, and sits there with you the entire night.

He’s really gone soft.

***

When morning comes, you’re first to wake up, accompanied by a splitting headache.

You don’t even notice how Joel’s hand had fallen onto your waist some time during the night because you’re too busy making a b-line for the bathroom.

You chuck your guts up into the toliet, clutching the porcelain and groaning out in pain.

Joel wakes up to the sound of your hurling, momentarily disoriented before he remembers last nights events.

He’s quick to come to your aid in the bathroom, wasting no time gathering your hair in his fist to get it out of your face.

"S'right, get it all out," He murmurs out encouragingly, seemingly unfazed by the disheveled sight of you.

You’re too sick to be embarrassed, that’ll come later surely.

He sits on the wall of the tub as he continues holding your hair back, yawning every now and then like this was just a regular Tuesday morning.

Eventually, by the mercy of God, you get it all out of your system and slump up against the wall.

“M’sorry,” You immediately apologize, figuring that is the only right move in this situation.

“Don’t be. Been through plenty'a that in my day.”

His words are uncharacteristically reassuring and you find yourself taken back by them.

You soon realize this is probably just the hazy morning Joel, the Joel where he isn't worried about anything except coffee and breakfast—like everything wrong in his life is put on the back burner for this short minute in time.

“I’ll get you some water and Advil, sit tight.” He grunts before standing up on his feet, knees popping as he walks out.

You watch as he leaves, wiping the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

Aside from the vomit part, you could get used to this.

You've never seen him so...domestic. His hair was all messy, his voice was raspy, he had that morning haze over his features that you felt so honored to witness.

You suddenly felt compelled to look at your own appearance, hopping to your feet and looking in the dirty mirror.

You resist the urge to audibly gasp at your reflection, opting for a disgusted look instead.

Your hair is a rats nest, your clothes are a mess, and your mascara has rubbed off in black smudge all over the skin around your eyes.

In a desperate attempt to look at least semi-presentable, you wash your face with water and comb through your hair with your fingers.

The idea that Joel had seen you looking like that was making your stomach churn again.

Before you can grovel about it any longer, he rounds the corner with a glass of water and little brown pills in his hand.

“Here,” He says softly, handing you the water and tilting the pills into your open palm. “Take these ‘n drink all that water and ya should get to feelin’ better.”

You do as he says, swallowing the Advil in one go before taking a big sip to wash it down.

His eyes drift down to your shoulder, where your tank top strap has fallen. No doubt from all that vigorous throwing up you were doing moments ago.

Without thinking, his fingers graze your forearm before bringing the strap back up to its correct position, clearing his throat in the process.

A beat of silence falls over the both of you.

You’re gobsmacked by the complete nonchalance of his touch, staring at him with your mouth slightly open in shock.

“What?” He asks defensively, his tone pointed.

You look between him and your shoulder strap, then slowly move to set your water down.

“Are you sure we can’t fuck?”

“Goddammit—” Joels cursing before you can even finish saying the last word in your sentence.

He turns away from you, probably the fastest you’ve seen anyone turn in their life, and walks towards his room with an accelerating pace.

He shakes his head in disbelief all the way down the hall, pivoting on his heel to duck into his bedroom.

You follow him, not really fazed by how he completely refused to answer your question, though you didn’t think he would anyway.

Before you can step foot into the threshold of his room, Joel walks out, causing you to back up.

He shoves a stack of clothes in your direction, looking down at you with a frustrated face. “Put these clothes on and go home.”

You look down, realizing he was letting you borrow a sweater and jeans of his so you didn’t die walking back to your house from the cold.

Your heart warms at this thoughtfulness.

Without wasting any time, you take the clothes from his hands, smiling happily. “Can I keep them?”

“Why the hell would you wanna keep my clothes?” He’s got that confused/angry look on his face as he asks, and you have to suppress a giggle at the sight of it.

You bring the pieces of fabric up to your nose and inhale, humming as you breathe out again. “They smell like you.”

“Christ,” Joel beings his hands up to rub at his eyes. “Fine, do whatever. Just hurry up and change, jesus,"

Ever the tease, you set down his clothes and begin to lift your tank top like you planned to change right in front of him.

Joel's hands shoot out to stop you, a 'don't try me,' look on his face.

"Put them on over your clothes," Joel says sternly, watching the way you sigh because you weren't fast enough in lifting your tank top off.

However, you sieze the opportunity in front of you.

Joel's hands are holding yours down, so you work to intertwine your fingers, invading his space by stepping forward.

"Or, you could take my clothes off," You purr, your chest now flush with his torso.

Joel exhales through his nose, his jaw clenching as he tried deciding how he was going to get out of this situation.

But then he paused.

Looking down at you now, so eager and wide eyed, made him wonder.

If he fucked you, and made you realize it wasn't what you were probably imagining in your head, maybe then you'd finally leave him alone.

He would just...pretend to be awful at sex.

(Even though it had been so long and he wasn't sure if he'd actually need to 'pretend' anymore.)

There's a long silence that drags out between the both of you.

Your stomach is doing flips because it's looking like he's finally going to agree.

His resolve cracks and Joel can't do anything but sigh in defeat.

Slowly, Joel pulls you back into his room, closing the door behind you both.

Time is moving in slow motion.

You can't believe it's finally happening.

He guides you back until the back of your knees hit his bed, prompting you to sit down on it.

"I'm only going to do this once," Joel's voice is uncharacteristically low and calm, and it has your core tightening.

You nod in acknowledgement, waiting to see what he's going to do next.

With care, he pushes your shoulder down so you're laying on your back. "Are you sure you want this?" He asks, brown eyes searching yours.

"Have I not made it obvious?" You quip, a giggle following shortly after.

Joel only shakes his head before his fingers latch around the fabric of your shorts, pulling them down and off your legs.

"S'pose you have." He murmurs, scratching the back of his neck.

You're vibrating with excitement and you repeat what you tried earlier, only this time succeeding with taking your top off.

Of course, you're not wearing a bra.

Joel realizes in that moment that he bit off way more than he could chew.

He hasn't seen breast that weren't on a soggy piece of paper in at least a few years, and yours--well, his cock stood no chance.

You hear him swallow, watching as he can't seem to stop staring at your chest.

Realizing that he might need a little encouragement to start speeding things along, you smile up at him and whisper, "touch me Joel".

Yeah, screw this. His plan of pretending to be bad was now entirely forgotten—he was going to do what he wanted, so help him god.

He huffs out a curse before sliding a hand up your torso, stopping once he's fully cupped one of your breasts in one hand. He kneads it like dough while using his other hand to disappear under your panties.

A choked moan erupts from your lips once you feel his fingers brush along your clit, rubbing around and spreading your slick around all too slowly.

"haven't even done anythin' yet and you're already fuckin' soaked..." He murmurs really to just himself, his eyes casting down to watch as he rips your underwear off impatiently.

"M'always like this whenever you're around," you mewl to spur him on, spreading your legs wider.

"Oh you are, huh?" Joel repeats back, the tiniest bit of cruelty in his tone that makes you shiver.

You nod, bucking your hips into his hand desperately.

"don't get why you like an old man like me, s'gross." His tone is flat but it's clear he's teasing by the way he curls his fingers inside of you. He's not really expecting a response, but you feel compelled.

You lurch forward, gasping at the feeling. "I really like you," You rush out breathlessly. "I'd do anything you wanted me to." You say earnestly as you stare into his eyes, loving what you're seeing.

Joel remembers when you told him that the first time, his heart cinching the same way it did then.

Joel is at war with himself. One side of him is screaming that this whole situation is fucked up and he is better off without you.

Another part of him thinks that this is the most he’s ever felt in a long time. And he doesn't want to lose it.

You can see the gears turning in his head. His fingers have slipped from you and you wince at the loss.

Slowly, you sit up. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, your nipples pressing into his shirt.

He's confused and momentarily panicked when your faces get so close together, his hands seeking purchase on your hips.

In an unexpected move, you rake your hands through the side of his hair, looking lovingly at his face.

"I just wanna be someone for you," You murmur, your face breaking a little as Joel's resolve also cracks. "Doesn't matter what. I'm very versatile." You mumble the last part to try and lighten the mood.

Joel just stares at you—something swimming behind his eyes that you can't quite place.

Eventually, he crashes his forehead against yours, sighing out.

"You're makin' this fuckin' impossible." He rasps before kissing you with a passion you've never felt before.

You feel victorious.

He's finally given in to you.

Eagerly, you kiss back, wrapping your legs around his torso and grinding your bare cunt against the bulge in his jeans.

"Then stop trying so hard to get rid of me," You sigh out, chasing his lips even as you're trying to speak.

He groans and you catch it in your mouth, the pressure on his clothed cock making him dizzy.

“Fuck,” He’s quick to unbuckle his belt, sliding it out of the loops and tossing it somewhere on the floor. “Lay back.” He demands and you immediately follow suit.

He's never been that...assertive with you before. It makes you tingle all over.

He looks starved as he peers down at you, specifically your cunt.

He literally can’t tear his eyes off your sex—he only looks up to your gaze when you let out an impatient whine.

He rips down his pants, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach.

Now you can’t tear your eyes away from his sex.

You’ve only dreamt it so many times, but now that it’s finally in front of you—it all just feels surreal.

It’s better than you imagined, perfect.

“I don’t have a—”

You know what he’s about to say so you cut him off immediately. “S’okay, like it raw. Closer to you that way.” You murmur.

Joel looks physically pained that he’s not inside you right now. For some reason, you just know all the right things to say.

“Closer to me?” He huffs out, hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling you down to the edge of the bed where he stood.

Now your cunt is flush with the base of his member and the sensation drives you both insane. “You’re fuckin’ insane.”

Joel rasps, but the way he says it reveals just how far he’s fallen. He knows you’re crazy, and yet here he is, balancing you out.

He glides his member back and forth against your folds, gathering up your wetness with a clenched jaw and furrowed brows.

He looks so concentrated—meanwhile you’re writhing with pleasure and impatience. Your cunt is clenching around nothing, desperate for him.

“So fuckin’ pretty,” he murmurs to himself, eyes tracing all over you.

You freeze.

Joel had complimented you for the first time, and it was genuine.

He notices you stiffen and takes a moment to pause.

Your entire body erupts with goosebumps, your heart beating at exceptionally fast speeds.

He's worried for a second that something is horribly wrong.

“What?” He asks, confused at what’s got you so wound up.

Your face is flushed red as you bashfully giggle. “You called me pretty.”

Ah fuck.

Joel finds you so charming it hurts.

After he remembers how to breathe again, he rolls his eyes and clears his throat.

“I have my cock to your cunt, of course I find you pretty.”

You smile and shrug. “Still. Nice to hear.” You’re all smiles until his tip prods at your entrance, causing a gasp to leave your throat.

He continues to apply pressure with his tip and it’s driving you crazy.

“Fuck Joel—are you trying to kill me?” You whine, hips wiggling to get him in.

He scoffs and shakes his head. “Relax, m’almost there.”

Slowly, he begins pushing his way inside. His mushroom head breaches you entirely and it feels like you can hear the angels singing.

He continues forward, the stretch being mainly around the middle of his thick cock.

But you’re taking it like a champ.

Joel braces himself with hands on both sides of your torso as he bottoms out, a groan crawling its way out of his throat.

The sensation is absolutely delicious.

A little bit of pain from the stretch, but so much pleasure from the fullness.

“Joel, ohmygod you feel so good inside me.” You moan, throwing your head back.

Your hips start moving on their own, but he immediately stops you with two large hands.

“D-Don’t move—fuck.” Joel grumbles out, his face pinched together in what looked like pain.

You’re confused for a moment, thinking maybe that he might just be really into cockwarming.

But then it hits you.

“Were you gonna come?” The tone in your voice makes it seem like you’d be elated if that was the case—like the most flattering thing in the world.

Joel looks pissed that you caught on so quick.

In truth, the moment he put his tip in, he was holding back his orgasm.

Can you blame him? He’s only fucked his hand for the last couple years.

“S’been a while.” Is all he can say, his chest heaving up and down in concentration. You know he’s embarrassed, but you can’t help but smile like a dope at him.

“If you come, please do it inside, please,” you beg, reaching out for his arms that caged you in.

Joel's rational mind feels like it just touched down in looney town after hearing your begging.

He feels crazy because he liked the thought of the idea you proposed. You even see him hesitate. But then he scoffs and shakes his head.

Joel drops down closer to your face, slowly starting to rock his hips into you. "Tryin' to baby trap me, girl?" He grunts in your ear, making you moan out.

Your walls are clenching down on him, and it’s making it that much harder to hold back. “No-no, promise, just wanna be full of you." You manage to blubber out...unconvincingly.

You probably didn't really want a baby with Joel, but your lust-driven brain was working on fumes and you just wanted to do what felt good.

Joel's grunting in your ear was not helping things. His fingers were gripping your hip so hard, you figured it would probably bruise tomorrow

Good. You wanted whatever he would give you.

"Christ--m'not gonna last much longer," Joel groans, picking his head up a little to meet your gaze. He wanted to kick himself for not being able to last, but when he saw your face, all those feelings disappeared.

You looked so--perfect. Soaking up the moment in case it was the last, god you hoped it wasn't the last time. Now that you've finally had a tase of him, you weren't sure you could live without it.

Your legs tighten around his waist, keeping him firmly in your cunt. Joel notices this and also your pleading eyes, a growl leaving his throat.

"Please, please, please, please," you beg, never breaking eye contact with him as his thrusts pick up speed.

He ruins your long string with pleas with a needy kiss, shoving his tongue down your throat like a starving man.

You accept it happily, moaning out into the kiss while Joel manhandles your hips to take his cock.

The feeling is damn near euphoric for both you and him. It gets even better when Joel's hand comes down to rub at your clit again.

Your back arches off the bed as you gasp and moan out, wrapping your arms back around his shoulders. "F-Fuck!" You moan into his ear, probably drooling on his shoulder in the process. "thankyouthankyouthankyou-" you sputter out in choked sobs. He was really good at working on your clit, you couldn't do anything else but thank him for it.

Joel feels a surge of something when he hears you. He's never had a woman thank him in bed before.

It's enough to push him over the edge. And apparently you too.

"I'm gonna come Joel, please don't stop," There are pools of tears in your eyes that Joel is just now noticing. He's about to reply to you, but he finds himself speechless when he feels your cunt start constricting and fluttering around him like a vice.

"Fuck!" He groans out loudly, his hips starting to falter in their rhythm. But then he picks up speed again, and in no time he's like a madman jackhammering into you.

You're a mess of screams and cries and moans underneath him, happily taking everything he was giving you.

When Joel feels himself about to come, he notices how your legs are still tightly wrapped around him, keeping him inside, and he manages to scoff out.

"Gotta let me go baby," You've never heard that pet name from him before, and it makes you crumble. His hands move to grab at your thighs, kneading the flesh there.

You whine out but reluctantly release the grip your legs had on him. Joel doesn't waste time before hugging both your legs on his chest, keeping them firmly placed while your feet squirmed by his ear.

"Atta girl," he murmurs before picking up speed again, his cock head pressing into your cervix.

It's all too much for you. Joel looks so amazing pounding into you from above, his concentrated face, his sweat, the way his salt and pepper hair is all disheveled, you're losing your mind.

Your core is on fire and you can't stop yourself.

In a staggering turn of events, you come first.

Your walls come down like bricks on his dick, you cry out, throwing your head back in complete bliss and ecstasy.

Seeing and feeling this, Joel is quick to follow in your steps. He rips himself from that warm hole of yours and pumps himself dry onto your stomach.

You watch it all with wide eyes, you wouldn't have missed Joel's orgasm face for the world!

Of course, his eyes were squeezed shut, his mouth was open as he was breathing heavily, and his eyebrows turned down like he was mad.

God he was so beautiful.

His thick ropes of cum shoot all over your stomach and even your breasts as he jerks himself off to completion.

When he finishes, he takes a moment to catch his breath, finally opening his eyes to see you scoop up his cum from your breast with your finger and shove it in your mouth.

Your tongue swirls around his seed and you swallow eagerly, humming out in satisfaction at the taste of him.

Joel's watching in complete fascination, though his expression looks a little angry. When does it not?

"taste so good," you mumble with your finger still in your mouth, looking up at him with your big eyes.

He moves before he can think about it--ripping your hand away from your lips and caging you in a slow but deep kiss.

He soon falls down beside you and soon rolls over onto his back, his chest rising and falling from the excursion.

You curl into his side, watching his side profile so intently. You had just fucked Joel Miller.

And it was everything you had dreamed of. Extreme happiness doesn't even begin to describe your feelings right now.

There's a long stretch of silence that drapes over the both of you. Eventually, Joel breaks it with something extremely off topic.

"Last night...you didn't just come here to say 'hi', did you?"

You're momentarily speechless, not expecting that question from him at all. But you can't stop a giggle from coming through your lips.

"Actually, I came to confront you." Your voice is soft as you begin speaking, thinking back to last night's ordeal.

Joel doesn't expect this answer, his head turns to look at you while you speak. His arm comes down to drape over your shoulder.

"I was really upset cus you rejected me n'all. I just couldn't accept the whole, 'age gap' excuse. I wanted to know if you just really didn't like me or not." You're murmuring, drawing soft lines with your finger on the skin of Joel's chest.

He huffs out a breath at the explanation, shaking his head. "Guess you got your answer, huh." He grumbles out, somewhat ashamed of himself that he couldn't hold back.

You smile and lean up to kiss his cheek. "I did," you chirp happily, admiring his face again. "You know you're gonna have to fuck me, like, everyday now, right?"

You're kidding. But you're also not at all.

Joel scoffs and sits up, moving to pick up both his and your shirts. "Fat chance. Barely had enough stamina for one round." He grunts out, finding the neck hole in your tank top and putting it over your head for you.

You don't bother to pull it down over your breasts so Joel does it for you.

"It's okay, we can build up your tolerance over time." You quip with a teasing smile, loving the way Joel turned to glare a you.

He couldn't believe the youth these days.

[coquettepascal]

frosted kisses

pt. ii to texas sweet

summary: after some serious distance, a nightmarish evening at the miller household leaves you and joel closer than before.

tags: 18+, smut, unprotected piv, fingering, pulling out, missionary, almost oral, joel is a consent king, gentle!joel, soft!joel, proud dad joel returns, tommy is here, so are sarah and ellie, don't ask how old they are i really can't tell you, tension, sexual tension, kind of angst(?), realistic sex, reader is in a panic as usual, but joel is really sweet, kissing, neck kisses, biting, scratching, mention of joel's dad gut (yum), joel in a wifepleaser, use of darlin' and baby and honey, one use of good girl, praise kink (a little), takes place during july (texas sweet was in june)

a/n: thank you to my biggest cheerleaders @mochamadeleines and @pascalssbabyy <3 also thank you to everyone for being so patient for this sequel. i hope you all enjoy !! :]

texas sweet masterlist and my masterlist

wc: 7.6k (sorry :3)

It is way too hot outside to be doing anything but laying in an ice bath, yet here you are leaving at 9am for your shift. The walk to the bus stop isn’t bad, but it does mean you have to walk by Joel’s house.

Joel.

He never followed through on that promise of taking you out for dinner, but it’s only been a month since that night. The two of you had been friendly in passing, since it’s hard to avoid one another, but you can see the avoidance in his eyes. A little while ago you looked up when “neighbours day” was, remembering how he said to let him know. But, it turns out that’s all the way in May, and it’s currently July… So. 

So you’ve been avoiding each other a little. That’s fine, it was a weird situation for the two of you to find yourselves in. You stared at Joel’s grey-blue truck when it rolled back down the street that night, the headlights flashing yellow on your walls. The hand resting on your chin still smelled like him, like his dick. 

Honestly, everything on you smelled like him for a little while, your shirt especially, but also your skin. Joel wouldn’t leave you alone, even though he physically was. Watching him from your window started to become an obsession, seeing the sweat soak through his t-shirt when he’d mow the lawn on the weekends. You couldn’t stop watching him, remembering how needy he was.

Your achy need for him was a constant at night, only competing for dominance over your mind by wondering how needy Joel was.

Nothing could drive the memory of his whimpers and groans out of your mind, the throb of his cock in your hand, and the way his hands twitched and grasped at nothing when he came. It would attack you at random times throughout the day, especially when you were on the bus coming home from work. Most of your days are boring, repetitive. The same texts from your mom, the same job, the same… everything. Joel was the most exciting thing for you, but that was short lived. It was just one evening.

It’s kind of fucked up how you just have to move on, sweaty palmed every morning as you pass by Joel’s house. It isn’t even like he’s home when you walk by, he starts work at around 8am. You would know because Tommy’s truck is noisy as all hell, it works great as a last minute alarm. 

Or at least he isn’t usually home. 

“Mornin’ darlin,” calls Joel as you step off your porch. 

His voice is just as warm and sweet as ever, like the sun today if it were kinder, but there’s an extra cheerful lilt in it. Turning your head, you see Joel still in his pajamas. It’s a weekday, so that’s odd, but what’s more odd is that he’s hanging balloons outside. 

A light grey wife pleaser stretches around his torso, showing off his thick arms and shoulders. This is not something you’ve seen Joel wear before, but he must have slept in it if the plaid pajama pants are anything to go by. 

It’s the polite thing to do to go over there and say hello, right? That’s what your mom would want you to do, to be neighborly. You’re not going over there to check him out. That would be crazy.

Crossing the grass from your house to his is easy, but spit is all caught in your throat by the time you get over to him. Jesus, are you drooling? 

“Hi Joel,” you manage to reply to his greeting as he tapes another balloon up to the overhang of his garage, “what are the balloons for?”

He grunts as he twists to fix the tape, the balloon nearly falling on his head. The way he’s stretching up is making the wife pleaser stretch up, exposing the skin of his waist. Your fingers twitch, wanting to touch there again. It makes your mind spin, thinking about how your hands have been there, that he knows what it’s like to have you on him. An explicit secret that neither of you share. You wish he was facing the other way so you could see his tummy, the plushness of it was so comfy against your arm.

“S’for Sarah,” he finally responds, turning to face you. 

And oh… oh that’s why he’s so damn happy. He had talked about it in passing a few times during the small talk you had made. Sarah’s birthday was in July and she planned on coming home for it, Joel was so bright everytime he talked about it. His smile is so much bigger when he talks about his daughters.

“Is she coming home today?” You ask, shifting on your feet. Joel nods, tearing off another piece of tape with his teeth.

“Uh-huh, pickin’ her up around noon. We’re doin’ a dinner tonight,” he says. You can see how his eyes are a little unfocused, excited. He sticks the tape to the knot of the balloon and starts to continue his sentence, but is cut off by the front door opening.

The sound catches your attention, your eyes flicking to the door. You didn’t see his truck in the driveway, but there’s Tommy Miller in all his glory.

You won’t lie to yourself, the Miller family clearly has good genetics. Tommy’s got these gorgeous waves in his black hair, and a charming smile too. But, he isn’t nearly as soft as Joel is. Not a player, but Joel’s been worn in by 2 daughters and a divorce, like a well loved plushie. Tommy hasn’t been worn in by anything, in fact he’s known for wearing things out. As much as you’ve heard the whispers at neighborhood events, the other Miller brother has never interested you. Tommy, of course, has shown interest in you once or twice. A few bottles in and he’ll talk to anything.

Today though, Tommy is behaving. He flashes you a kind smile, and nods.

“Hey neighbor-girl,” he greets.

You almost snort. You know Tommy knows your name, but he’s being weird. Did Joel tell him? Probably not. Do brothers share that sort of information? You’re getting sweaty again–

“Saw the flowers y’bought Ole Joel,” Tommy grins, “thought maybe his ex’d dropped by.”

Oh. Oh thank god. Thank god the flowers gave it away.

Joel snorts and then scowls at Tommy, shaking his head. He mutters something about you “having a name,” and suddenly all you can hear is the blood in your veins. A hot rush flies over you, but you’re flushed from the sun anyways. What difference will a blush make? It’s not that obvious. 

Distracted with your anxiety around the two, you barely realize that Tommy is scolding Joel now.

“S’nice girl gave you flowers and y’ain’t even invited her to the dinner tonight?” Tommy scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. Your eyes flash to his arms and Jesus does being brothers mean you’re both built as fuck? 

“Tommy,” Joel says, voice tight, “I was midway through a conversation with’er. Was just about to.”

They exchange a look you can’t really decipher. Tommy raises his eyebrows and Joel curls his lip in response. Then, Tommy turns on his heel and goes back in the house.

The heat outside is already uncomfortable, but now you feel awkward. You didn’t realize that Joel would invite you to something. Maybe he didn’t even want to, he just didn’t want to look like an asshat in front of Tommy. Joel looks sheepish in his pajamas, downturned frown neutralizing to a softer smile. He breathes in to speak, but now you don’t want his invite.

“Joel,” you say quietly, “you don’t have to invite me. I’d hate to intrude on your family time with Sarah.” 

You really thought that you’d want to speak to Joel after all this time, but this feels humiliating. A pity invite to his daughter’s birthday dinner? It’s not what you expected, or wanted. As much as you’d like to see Sarah, something about it feels wrong. What would you say?

“Hey, it's been awhile. How’s college been? Good! Aw, I’m glad. Yeah last time I saw your dad I jerked him off. Oh, you’re in STEM?”

No, that’s not what you want. He looks like he’s going to protest, but you have to shut him down. You’ve never really spoken to his other daughter, Ellie. It feels like a nightmare waiting to happen.

“I’m just your neighbor,” you wave your hand, as if you could make this go away.

Joel’s brows furrow, his mustache curling back downwards with his frown. Skittishly, his eyes flick away.

“I… I’d like it if y’came. Even if we’re just neighbors,” Joel says. He seems embarrassed about inviting you, a red hue glowing beneath the sweat on his neck. 

Alone, in front of the garage, it feels like he’s under you again. Why is he so shy? So bashful? Something in you is frustrated. You’ve been waiting for a month for any scraps, anything more than neighborly chit-chat, and now you have to turn him down. Doesn’t he realize you’ve been waiting for him? 

You don’t want to be just neighbors with this Joel, you want more. You want to know him more than just as “hot-single-dad-next-door.”

You want to know him the way you did when you were behind him on the couch.

But… Maybe this is Joel. You saw the pictures all over his house, and he runs a company with his brother. Family is clearly everything to him, and even if this isn’t a dinner-date like he promised, this is something more. It’s closer for him, this is his own version of pulling you in.

Besides, your mom would want you to say yes. It’s polite, right?

You concede to Joel’s wishes, as much as you want something else. He smiles really big when you agree, a shy “okay” leaving you. It’s not like you could ignore him anyways, not with the way his wife pleaser is stretched around him so… pleasingly.

He tells you that there’s a colour theme of black and blue, since Sarah wants everyone to match in the pictures. Joel starts to blab about what a good photographer she is, but you actually shut him down this time, so as to not miss your bus.

—

Somehow, standing on Joel’s porch is a lot worse than last time. You don’t have a bunch of flowers for your neighborly crush, or a set of hands to ease his back. All you have is the guilt in your gut for showing up at his daughter’s birthday dinner. 

It took you almost 45 minutes to pick an outfit. He mentioned blue and black, but didn’t mention what shade of blue. Everything you had felt either too dressy, or was literally pajamas. Eventually you found something that worked, but now you’re in your own head. Will Joel think this is nice? Does Joel even think you’re pretty in the first place? You can’t remember, your mind is blanking. 

Jesus, chill out. You’re going over for dinner, and this isn’t even about you. 

Swallowing the saliva in your mouth, you knock.

“I’ll get it!!” A voice yells from inside. Not Joel’s.

Tommy grins at you after he swings open the door. He’s done his hair back, instead of tying it back, and he’s wearing a blue and black, plaid, flannel. The Miller brothers seem to have a flannel for every occasion. 

“Well helloo Neighbor-Girl,” Tommy greets. His smile is devious as he stands in the doorway. 

Loud footsteps rush up behind Tommy and he’s suddenly being yanked out of your view by a hand. 

“Christ, Tommy, leave’er alone.” Joel grunts.

He isn’t wearing a flannel, which surprises you. His usual casual clothes have been replaced by a nice, black, western shirt. The stitching across the chest is done in black as well. Not unlike Tommy, is his slicked back hair. It’s short still, but it looks good pushed back. 

He tells you to keep your shoes on as he leads you to the backyard. You can’t keep your eyes off him as he and Tommy walk ahead of you. That black shirt, stretched across his back, the curls that lick upwards where his hair isn’t slicked. God, he looks stupidly good.

The house looks about the same. Same couch where you jerked him off, same table where the flowers used to sit, same pictures of his family on the walls. Everything feels different. Why doesn’t it look different?

Finally your eyes reach the backyard, and it looks magical. Various lights have been set up to create a relaxed atmosphere, with some comfortable lawn furniture set up on the deck. The barbecue is clearly cooking something, and Tommy walks to it automatically. 

Sarah and Ellie seem to be giggling to themselves, hunched over in secrecy. The sisters whisper to one another, but part once they see you.

“Hi,” Ellie says immediately, her bright eyes looking at you excitedly. You greet her in return, then wish Sarah a happy birthday.

She’s wearing a matching shirt to Joel’s, which is adorable. You know for a fact that Joel wouldn’t dress up past a button up or flannel for most occasions, meaning Sarah probably begged him for this. Even the wash of their jeans are the same. 

You’re just about to strike up a conversation with the two girls when Joel comes up behind you and squeezes your upper arm gently.

“‘M sittin’ over there, if you’d like to join,” he motions to an outdoor couch identical to the one Sarah and Ellie are sitting on.

It’s close enough that you could go back to talking with the girls, but once you’ve sat down beside Joel, they’re back to giggling. 

—

It feels like everybody knows.

This fear from earlier has manifested in front of your eyes, this awful anxiety growing. You could barely finish your food, even though it was delicious. Your mouth is dry all the time, you can’t stop drinking water. You hyperfocus on every little action you take, feeling crazy,

Tommy has been staring at you like he’s holding a secret, his eyes seem to say “I know something you don’t,” and every time you turn your back Sarah and Ellie are giggling again. For them, you try to cut some slack. Ellie is a teen, and Sarah isn’t a lot older than her, they’re young girls, of course they’re giggling. It’s Tommy who’s making you anxious, especially with the scolding scowls that Joel keeps sending him. 

The conversations are fine once you stop eating, mostly with you listening and observing the dynamic in the family. Tommy talks about this recent client he and Joel have been working with as you all eat cake, but it’s hard to focus when it feels like everybody knows what you did.

Joel seems to notice this anxiety over the course of the night, looking at you with mild concern a few times. He even asks if you’re alright at some point, holding the “darlin” for once, and you just tell him you had a rough day at work. Total lie, the only rough thing about this day is how you feel like you’re going to throw up all your food anytime someone in his family starts to perceive you.

Later in the evening, Joel rests his hand on your knee when he reaches for his beer, and you flinch. He seems caught off guard by this, but luckily nobody else notices. His eyes are apologetic as he looks at you, all brown and sappy.

Shame is burning in your veins. He’s invited you here to spend this special night with his daughter and family. He's been so kind to feed you too, but now you’ve made him feel weird too. It feels like your anxiety is leaking out of your pores, a haze of guilt clouding your mind and flooding his. Joel hasn’t seemed bothered at all tonight, or at least he hasn’t shown it. 

But there he is, accommodating you as he leans a little closer and asks;

“S’gettin’ late. I could walk y’home.”

There he is, there’s your Joel. Your Joel, the one who you know as a caring man. In any other situation this would feel like someone politely requesting you leave the party early, but not with Joel. He’s conscious of your emotions, and he can tell you’re too overwhelmed to be here anymore. There’s your sweet boy, reeling you in before it gets to be too much.

You only nod in response.

It’s a few more minutes before you get out of there, with Tommy and Ellie stacking copious amounts of leftovers for you onto paper plates, lidding them with tin foil. You use this time to talk a little with Sarah, asking about her time in college. She’s happy to share with you, and you can see Joel in her. She has the welcoming energy, the same warmth in her that pools in her eyes. Even without the outfits they would match. 

Ellie, however, must be spending too much time with Tommy. They both wear shit eating grins as they hand you the stack of plates stuffed with leftovers, with Tommy asking you to “Come back anytime.”

Blood rushes to your face fast, and you toddle off to the door quickly after saying thank you.

—

The air on the porch is cooler, but your adrenaline is making you run hot. You want to stop sweating, but all the looks and giggles and comments from the night are running through your mind repeatedly. What did they know? How did they know? Joel wouldn’t tell them anything like that, would he? Thank God you didn’t stay long enough to be in those pictures that Sarah wanted to take. 

The front door thuds shut a moment later. Joel’s steps fall heavy behind you, then he’s beside you. He’s barely touched you tonight, and even now he keeps his distance. You’re glad for it, you couldn’t have handled it anyways.

You both walk the short distance to your house, using the pathway rather than cutting through the grass like you usually do. It feels like you should be enjoying these extra seconds of time with him, but all you feel is embarrassed.

He breathes in the cool air of the summer night through his nose, chest puffing, then blows it out.

“I am so, so, fuckin’ sorry,” he says.

It takes you off guard immediately. You felt like you were acting crazy all night just by your own overthinking, but it was also fuelled by Joel’s non-chalantness about everything. He didn’t seem to notice anything all night but you and how anxious you were. This feels like the start of a conversation, so you put the leftovers down on the bottom step of your porch. 

“I– Ellie, when I brought her home after you were over last,” he begins, “she got home and saw the flowers right away. I told her not to make nothin’ of it, but she went and rattled off to Sarah and Tommy.”

Oh, okay. It was just the flowers. That’s good, at least they think you’re a lovesick loser, rather than the neighborhood floozy. 

“I told them to act right tonight, begged’em to. The three of’em have been torturing me about it, I think it’s why I avoided you,” Joel admits quietly. 

He’s doing it again, soothing your worries without meaning to. He’s a cooling balm on your burning brain, a sense of sanity cleansing you. 

Joel wasn’t ashamed of what happened between you two, his family was just being shitstirrers about him receiving flowers. It wasn’t on purpose, and most importantly–

“I’m really sorry, angel. I should have called or– or somethin. Askin’ you to come tonight was askin’ for trouble from them. My daughter’s birthday ain’t makin’ up for shit, ‘specially not when they’re actin’ like that.”

An apology. Joel Miller seemed like a solid man before, one that was dependable, polite, and kind, but now he seems near-perfect. He’s taking accountability, admitting how he acted and why, and apologizing. No wonder he has two incredible daughters, both of whom love him dearly. 

You stand there for a minute, a little speechless. You can’t remember a time that a man apologized to you and seemed to really mean it, or at least understand what he did wrong. But there’s Joel, in his black western shirt that’s rolled up his thick forearms, eyes soft and sorry as he looks at you in the blue-black night. He’s not like any man you’ve met before, not like your dad, friends back home, or your ex-boyfriend. 

Tonight isn’t like any night you’ve had in Texas so far, but for so many different reasons. You’ve had a few weird nights, sure. Like what you shared with Joel, or the time you took the wrong bus home and got lost downtown, but it’s weird in a good way.

Tonight, you get to accept an apology from a man who truly seems sorry. Who’s admitted his wrongs, explained what happened, and more than that he’s been earnest about it. You didn’t have to beg for this apology, or argue why he should apologize. He did that on his own, made up his mind, and said sorry like a real man would. 

It’s hard to make up your mind on what to do though, whether you should throw yourself at him and kiss him dizzy, or to just say “It’s alright, no hard feelings.”

You settle somewhere in the middle, taking his hands into your own. Your thumb pads rest in the centre of his palms, pushing down and massaging his hands. 

“It’s okay,” you say finally, voice unsteady. 

Joel isn’t at fault for his family being devious and obviously way too interested in his love life. What he is at fault for, is avoiding you. Brave enough to apologize, pussy enough to avoid the girl he likes. You keep talking.

“I wish you would have spoken to me about this, it made me feel awkward,” you tell him.

He looks up from your joined hands then, looking at you face on. Shame is painting his features, but he’s trying to be courageous, you can tell.

There is no “I know I should have,” or “I’m sorry you felt that way.” Just his voice saying, “I’m sorry.”

No if’s, and’s, or but’s. He’s sorry without excuse or pride. 

The night air is still brisk on your skin, but Joel is warm everywhere. If you laid a hand onto his cheek you would feel hot flesh burning you back. His eyes flit from your own for a moment, decisive. 

“I’d really, really, like to have dinner with you sometime. I know tonight was a disaster, so I won’t be offended if y’say no, but… I wanna make this up to you.”

This feels so much realer than last time, like he’s gripping your heart in his hand and squeezing as it beats. Joel isn’t just saying this in passing after he’s come in your hand, he’s not awkward and politely asking to return a favor. Joel wants this, wants you, wants to have dinner with you. It probably should have occurred to you when he invited you to his daughter’s birthday dinner, but it’s only hitting you right now. No more pity invites, he wants this. 

Joel Miller wants this, he wants you, and he’s standing there with your hands in his, with his stupid soft eyes and with his heart on the line. He’s beautiful right now, standing with you as sorry as he can be. You’ll let him have this, he’s asking for it himself. Joel’s being so much braver this time around.

“I think we could do that,” you reply quietly.

His shoulders relax, brow unfurrowing. You can see the relief flood over him instantly, and he looks beautiful then too. 

It’s easy from there. Joel’s voice is so soft when he’s grateful, quiet as he thanks and arranges a date-night with you. The two of you decide that a night in would be fine, since Joel ends up working late pretty often. You’re fine with this, and would honestly rather have him to yourself anyways. No more prying eyes when you’re with him, no more over-bearing perceptions that make your brain fizzle out with anxiety. Just you and Joel. 

Admittedly, this silly crush on Joel began at a pretty surface level. Not shallow, but all you knew about him was that he was a hot dad and a nice guy. Now, though? Now he’s proven himself, shown you that there’s something in him that you can reach for. Everything’s bigger in Texas, but so far it’s only made you feel small. Being around Joel hushes you, like a kiss to a scrape. You want to know him deeper. 

He squeezes your hands, then drops them so you can pick up your leftovers. You feel a little shy turning your back to him as you make it up to your door, but then he speaks.

“You looked real pretty tonight, angel, more’n usual.”

You hope he can’t hear the squeak you make when the door shuts behind you.

—

It’s a few days later, and Joel is supposed to be coming soon. He warned that he’s been working late recently, that he probably won’t be off work until eight that evening. You don’t care, you made him dinner. 

It’s sitting in the kitchen, ready to be rewarmed when he gets to your house. It’s 8:30 now, he should be here soon. You’re tucked away on the couch, settled after recooling the house with your air conditioner. To be honest it should be illegal to cook during summers like this. You sweated so much you thought about taking another shower, but it wouldn’t have helped.

Besides, Joel’s showing up to your house in probably 10 minutes, sweaty and gross from work. It won’t be like you’re any grosser in comparison.

As predicted, he does show up ten minutes later. His hair is a mess and he smells like hard work, but it doesn’t matter.

Nothing matters when he’s in your doorway, toeing off his boots, and asking how your day was. Joel’s eyes keep shyly meeting yours as you lead him to your living room and turn to face him. He’s nervous, clearly, but it’s sweet. You’re both out of your element again, this time in your house instead.

Joel’s eyes flit around the room when he’s avoiding your eyes, taking in your home similar to how you did his when you were there not so long ago. You wonder what he’s thinking, hoping he doesn’t find you to be boring. He keeps clenching and unclenching his fists and laughing nervously, and you keep watching how his adam's apple bobs in his throat, and how he vibrates with his laughter. He looks puppylike in the soft light of your home, brown eyes glistening.

“Are you hungry?” You ask him, tilting your head upwards. He looks so huge in your little space.

Joel nods sheepishly, and so you lead him into the kitchen.

—

They say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, and maybe Joel is the reason they say that. He groaned his way through dinner, with his eyes rolled back and compliments flying off his tongue when he wasn’t chewing. He listened to every word you said intently, taking his time with the food you had made. It had taken almost 40 minutes for him to finish that plate of food, and you saw just earlier that week how fast he could pound back a meal.

He’s savoring you with this silent praise you’ve never experienced.

And now he’s sat beside you on the couch, arm around your shoulders, and you’re snuggled back into him. The remote seems like a prop as you use it, aimlessly scrolling through a streaming service for a movie. Your thumbs are just rubbing over the rubber buttons now, your eyes focused on how his chest rises and falls. 

“I really don’t mind what you wanna watch, baby,” He says.

His voice seems so much nicer up close like this, when his face is just above yours and you’re beside him. 

“Or we don’t have to watch anything at all, we can just talk.”

How are you supposed to control yourself around him? How can he just walk into your home and fit right into your space, and look that good and be so warm? It feels like your bones are fighting against your skin to move, like the blood in your veins is yearning to jump rope. Joel is turning you on in a way you didn’t think possible, in a way where he’s never touched you, but you need him all at once. He’s softening the both of you.

It’s the middle of the hottest July of your entire life, but you’ve never felt warmer than right now.

“I’m sorry, was that weird? I jus’ like to hear you talk an–” Fuck he’s so nervous. Why is he so nervous? You want him loose and pliant again, like he was on the couch. 

“You should kiss me,” you blurt out. 

It’s funny how this is not the most insane thing you’ve suggested. The first crazy thing you suggested was “helping” him out with his boner when you went to his house on father’s day. 

Still, Joel is surprised. 

“You think so? I jus’ ate, I probably taste like food,” he says it like it’s an excuse.

You shift your body so you can face him better, chin tilted up so you can see his face. He’s not blushing, but he does seem surprised. This is much different than the embarrassed girl he walked home not even a week ago.

“Joel, I’m sure. I just– I don’t know, I’m sorry,” you bumble out.

He’s shaking his head, eyebrows pinched in that stupid way that makes his eyes look like a baby animals. 

“No, no, baby, it’s alright I’m just gross from work and I…” He drops eye contact with you. 

“I don’t want you to think that all I want from you is physical. You’re beautiful in a lot more ways than that.”

Fuck this guy, seriously. He’s so nervous, and clearly still thinks he’s fumbling this. Your bones are still vibrating, you’re so close to jumping out of your skin and into his. 

“Joel you’re incredible too, but I just really need you to kiss me,” you breathe. 

He seems to get it then. You clearly have deeper feelings, but after so long apart, and that disaster with his family, you’re pent up. Joel knows he’s kept you waiting long enough.

His first kiss is hesitant, just a small one that ends in a mumbled apology.

“S’been awhile,” he excuses before going back in.

And from there, it escalates. He’s controlled in his kisses, and seems to be avoiding tongue kissing you. Joel’s hesitancy from eating earlier is there, and you appreciate the courtesy. He makes it up though, when you push him further back on the couch and slide into his lap, arms looped around his neck.

Kisses are dotted from your lips, down your chin, and to the soft skin of your neck, where his mouth nips and kisses gently. Your hands are in his hair as you roll your head back, wanting to allow him however much space he needs to kiss you. There’s no hesitancy for either of you to be quiet, with him groaning as he smothers your neck in kisses, and you whining as he finds your sensitive points. 

It only takes a few ruts of your hips against his for him to be asking you if you want to go upstairs. He’s out of breath beneath you, cheeks flushed, and you can feel how hard he’s gotten.

“Y-yeah, my room,” you agree weakly, sliding off his lap.

Joel can barely keep his hands off you as you scamper up the stairs, grasping at your thighs and laughing softly when you squeak. 

It feels so juvenile, the way he grabs for you as soon as you enter your room. His lips are back on yours even as you try to tug up his shirt and he shakes his head slightly. 

“You first, I have a lot to make up for,” he mumbles, nodding his head towards the bed.

He undresses you once you’ve laid down, with eyes that drag over you in awe and pure attraction. Joel doesn’t mind your plain cotton undies, or the hairs that poke out the front. It’s sweet and homelike, it’s normal. 

He kisses where your hip bone is, murmuring into the fabric that covers it. 

“I really want to eat you out, beautiful. Is that okay with you?”

For the first time in this entire evening, his voice seems to sober you rather than intoxicate you more. Your lungs finally catch up with the rest of you, and you can breathe enough to get some actual oxygen into your brain, so you can think.

Obviously the answer should be yes, but you don’t feel totally comfortable with that yet. You’re not someone who prefers to be shaven, it’s inconvenient, but your bush is a little much even for you right now. On top of that, you’ve been sweating like crazy all day, so you don’t even wanna know what it’s like down there. And if you don’t wanna know what it’s like, then you don’t want Joel to know what it’s like, even if he really wants to.

So you shake your head.

Perfect boy he is, Joel nods and says “that’s alright, baby, thank you for bein’ honest,” as he slides back up your body after placing one more kiss on your hip bone. 

You are okay with him lifting your shirt off, and then unclipping your bra. He palms at your breasts lovingly, kissing them all over and lapping at your nipples. All of his touches are so gentle, but stupidly impactful. He seems to know that you don’t want this to be rough, that you enjoy his sweetness. He’s understanding you without even trying, and it feels like you’re being loved for the first time.

Joel is being careful in a way that doesn’t make you feel like you’re being overdramatic, or fragile. He’s watching your movements so he can do this right, but at the same time you’re getting impatient.

“Joel,” you pant as he sucks your nipple back into his mouth, “Joel, take your clothes off, please?���

He’s stupidly excited as he scrambles off your bed, tugging his jeans down and almost getting caught in his shirt when he pulls it off wrong. Joel touches his boxers and then looks at you with questioning eyes. This is where he hesitates.

“We can turn the lights off,” you offer gently. 

You remember his hesitancy on the couch, how he didn’t want you to look at him, to see him. It doesn’t matter if it’s dark in your room when this happens, so long as it’s him in the bed with you.

Joel turns and shuts the lights off, plunging the room into darkness for a moment before your eyes adjust. In another moment, you feel him on top of you again, his warm skin touching yours. It’s very lucky you cracked your window open earlier, so now your bedroom has become a manageable temperature. 

He’s comfortable on top of you, with his plush tummy pressing against the softness of your own. Your legs tangle as you struggle to strip your undies off, and you give up when they get caught around your ankle. His nose is pressed to your cheek as he just hovers above you for a second. 

“I know I said this earlier, but it really has been a long time,” he admits quietly. 

It shouldn’t warm your heart the way it does, but the idea of him not sharing himself with anyone for so long until you… it’s special. 

“That’s okay. Are you okay?” You ask.

He nods, from what you can feel, and then pulls back onto his knees. Joel isn’t totally visible in the light of your room, but he’s still gorgeous from what you can tell. The pouch of his tummy is so cute, so real, and you hope that you can bite it one day.

“I’m just going to prep you a little, is that okay darlin?” Joel says carefully, trailing a hand down your thigh.

Maybe from the outside this looks like two awkward people having sex, or maybe even like you don’t want each other at all. It sounds like there’s so much hesitancy in the room, but it’s not like that. The two of you are just reassuring one another, Joel to you because he was gone for so long, and you to him because it’s been so long for him. 

So it isn’t awkward, when he plunges his finger into you. He starts with one, gentle as ever, and works up to three very slowly. Joel leans down to your cheek and murmurs the nicest things to you, telling you how nice you feel, thanking you for being so kind to him.

“So patient with me, baby. Don’t know why you are, but it’s so kind,” he says quietly as he curls his fingers in you. They feel so much bigger than your own, but they fit fine. Fuller than you’re used to, but fulfilled in a new way. The feeling chokes your breath and all you can do is whimper softly at him, eyes wide.

“M’gonna be makin’ up my mistakes for a long time to you, an’ not just like this,” he promises, slowing his movements but making them more deliberate, a little harder. Nothing is burning like it usually does, there’s no sting of pain, it’s just a melting pot of pleasure between your legs as he gives himself to you and you to him. 

“Is that okay with you? Is it okay if I wanna make this up to you for a long time?” Joel asks.

You know what he’s asking. You know you want it too, you know you haven’t felt this wanted since you moved to Texas, probably even before. Nothing has felt like this in your life, and he’s requesting you to have it. 

“Yes, yes, Joel, that’s okay with me,” you say.

He leans down and kisses you once, then lets you scoot up and over on the bed so you can fumble in your drawer for the lube. Your hand passes over a silicone toy in your bedside table and you smile at the fact that it will soon be long abandoned as you pass the lube to him.

“Might be cold,” Joel warns before pouring some onto his fingers and applying it to you.

Then, he applies some to himself and settles comfortably between your legs. He drags the head of his cock over your hole and up to your clit, like a teasing warning. He had felt big in your palm before, but he feels even bigger now. He was right to prep you.

Finally, he notches himself and slowly pushes in, letting your locked ankles on his lower back guide the speed at which he slides in. Joel is breathing really heavily, and when he finally feels his pelvis meet yours, he collapses down onto his elbows.

“Fuck,” he cusses.

It feels better than you thought it would. He’s big, but not so much that you want him to pull back a little. You physically feel as comfortable and fulfilled as he makes you feel emotionally.

“So good, oh my god–” you sigh softly, hands reaching up and catching his curls in your fingers. You drag him down, your beautiful boy, and kiss him gently. 

But he isn’t moving. You can feel his thighs shaking and how he’s still breathing heavily.

“Hey,” you start softly after pulling back from the kiss, but he shakes his head.

“If I move I think–  I think I’m gonna come,” he sputters out embarrassedly.

Oh. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry baby. You’re just so fucking pretty and it’s been so long and you feel so goddamn good, I don’t know, I can’t move.” 

His nose is near enough to yours that you can brush them together, nuzzling the side of his face.

“Joel it’s okay, I’m not going to be upset,” you tell him. It’s oddly sweet for him to have such an overwhelming reaction to you. 

“No, I know that I just… I really wanna make you come. I wanna feel it," he admits.

And so you wait. Your unending patience seems to extend to him again in this moment and you lay there kissing him until he can finally begin to move at an even pace. 

It’s so worth it.

Joel is so loving as he fucks you, with deep thrusts as he groans and bites at your neck tenderly. His hands come up and palm your breasts, rolling his thumbs over his nipples as he tells you how pretty you are, how grateful and sorry he is.

He apologizes a lot. For the party, for his distance, for how stupid he was to not see how beautiful you were from the day you moved in next door. He’s noisy and apologetic as he keeps a stable pace as he fucks you into your mattress. 

Your mind is entirely fucked for him. You’re whimpering and mewling beneath him, babbling “it’s okay,” and “i forgive you,” everytime he says he’s sorry. Why is he even sorry anymore? Can’t he tell how much you love this? 

The more he talks the closer you get, your body clenching around him as he buries himself deep repeatedly. The stable pace he set should ground you, should keep your head on your shoulders, but it’s actually making it worse. You don’t need it any faster or harder than he’s giving it to you, not with how noisy he is, and how attentive his hands are.

“Do you forgive me?” he rumbles into your ear, dropped on one elbow as his other hand is reached down and gently rubbing your clit. 

You nod desperately, accidentally knocking your head into his. It makes him laugh, asking “yeah?” as he continues to pin his hips into your own. 

“I forgive you, Joel, I swear,” you choke out weakly. 

“Then will you come for me, honey? Please?” he asks.

It’s maybe the dirtiest thing he’s said all night, or maybe it just feels like it in the heat of the moment, but it sends you over the edge right away. You spasm around him and claw at his broad back, gasping for air and squeaking out noises you haven’t made before. Tears prick at your eyes as he works you through it with his fingers and cock.

“Fuck, yeah, there you are baby, that’s a good girl. God– Can I come? Is that okay?” Joel asks once you start to come down. You’re still in your head enough to nod, pressing a sloppy kiss to his lips. 

It doesn’t take long at all, you’re surprised he was able to last as long as he did with everything considered. Joel takes less than a minute before he’s pulling out and letting out deep grunts and breaths as he comes on your tummy, looking down at you with adoring eyes. 

“Thank you, thank you baby, God.” He huffs out as he catches his breath. He’s kneeling between your legs with his chest puffing. 

He continues thanking you as he cleans you up with a washcloth. You had to guide him to it by yelling instructions as he walked on shaky legs to your linen closet, not wanting to spill his mess everywhere. 

Once you’re finally cleaned up, he nestles into bed with you. Your head lays on his still clammy shoulder as he tucks you beneath his arm and presses kisses to your hairline.

“M’so grateful for you, darlin’, I hope you know that,” he mumbles to you. 

You tell him that you know, that he just proved it to you, and he laughs. The noise is so warm in your room, like it was meant to be there.

“Okay, that’s fair, but if you need anything else,” he tells you.

A thought does pop into your mind, but it doesn’t seem totally appropriate. You’re enjoying this peaceful moment with Joel, in your quiet room. His hand is tapping its fingers on your stomach, squeezing the flesh once or twice.

You decide not to say anything, but your tummy does. She growls loud and proud, forcing an embarrassed blush onto your face.

“Um… I think I’m kinda hungry,” you admit.

—

That’s how you and Joel end the night, in the kitchen.

You’re sitting on your countertop while he leans against it about a foot away. The paper plate that Ellie loaded up with cake is sat between the two of you, and your forks steal big lumps out of it.

Joel has frosting in his moustache, but it looks so cute there that you don’t have the heart to tell him. Instead, you just lean over and kiss him. 

“N’ what was that for?” He asks through a mouthful of cake.

You just giggle and shrug, admiring him. 

“I just like you,” you tell him.

He looks like he might roll his eyes, but instead he steps closer to you and kisses you on the cheek. You can feel the residue of the frosting on your skin.

“Yeah, I think I like you too, baby.” 

i don't have a taglist, but i'll just tag people who commented on texas sweet :p @mochamadeleines @pascalssbabyy @taeslarityy @stefanibear003 @slutty-express @theweedisasterxoxo @knockk0ut @axshadows @lumpatto @aquanatalie @peekyourinterest @moel-jiller @ghostofzion @joeylovestofu @hellishjoel @pedropeach @pawnshopb1ues

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jackson!joel miller x reader .•° ✿ °•.

°•. ✿ .•° ddlg dynamics, smut, fluff, daddy kink, sub drop, joel feeling intense amount of shame because i never give the poor guy a break, age gap, dirty talk, aftercare

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The weight of you was heavy against his side, chest rising and falling as your eyes flickered—on the verge of falling asleep on his shoulder and desperately attempting to pay attention to the film blurring along the TV screen. The old 80s quality was harsh on the eyes, and the sound was crackling from the old speakers, but it was hard to be picky in the time the planet resided. It was hard for Joel to feel any irritation at all when you were cuddled against him, full belly from the pot roast Maria had brought over, legs bare and soft under his palms as you draped them over his lap, and a mumble on your lips as you sighed. 

“Movie’s boring.” 

You nuzzled into his neck, huffing softly as you complained. Joel could do nothing but chuckle, buzzing with the warmth of you and the knowledge that you were his. Joel’s girl. Daddy’s girl. 

Hidden away from the harsh judgments of their little slice of life in Jackson. Unashamedly lying in the wake of perversion and desire that amalgamated into a mix of jolting excitement and sickening paranoia. 

Joel had become jumpy. Joel did not like to be perceived. Joel, most certainly, did not like to lose out on the things that mattered most to him because of convention. 

Joel was a man who stood behind his convictions—his main decider and fortifier of those convictions: family. You, over the past few months of shame and bliss, had caused the undeniable roil of his gut that peeled at the layers of flesh until he was a mass of bone and blood. The definitive hum that told him he would protect you against all odds. If that meant looking over his shoulder every time he spoke to you outside the walls of his abode, standing respectable distances away from you when the Tipsy Bison got too crowded and he had to pretend he couldn’t still taste your cum on his tongue from where he’d licked you dry hours previous, then so be it. 

It all made sense when he returned home and heard his name on your lips, your arms around his middle as you kissed him in greeting. His shaking and unequivocal anxiety seemed to disappear completely when he spent nights alone with you: wrapped up against him, floating away in that special headspace of yours that he adored so completely it made him feel sick with admiration. 

His pretty little lady. 

A lady who was now insulting his choice in movies. 

“It’s a classic, honey,” he defended, brushing hair away from your face as you stared up at him—rolling your eyes. 

“Still boring.” 

He laughed at your petulance, chest vibrating as you smiled softly. So pretty all tucked up beside him, so soft and warm and everything that he had been missing since he’d settled into the echoing hallways of his new home. A home that had not felt complete until you’d stepped onto the porch with the rocking chair and the windchime: all sweetness and trouble. 

“Brat,” he murmured with no malice, still smiling as you giggled into his chest. “S’almost bedtime, anyway.” 

You looked up at him with a pout then, shaking your head. 

“Nu-uh. You promised me that we’d watch a movie first.” 

“We are watchin’ a movie.” 

“Yeah, but I don’t like this one.”

“Okay then, what do you like?” 

You paused at that question, furrowing your brow—looking like you were thinking real hard. It was cute. Endearing. Joel seemed to be constantly endeared by you and your idiosyncrasies, the things that made up each part of you; consumed his soul until all he could focus on was the sweet actions you would perform. 

Then, his stomach dropped and he suddenly felt sick again. 

“I don’t know…” you muttered. “Haven’t really watched many movies.”

It’s a genuine statement, said with nothing but normality as you looked up at him expectantly, only to be greeted by Joel’s tense shoulders and clenched jaw. 

There were always reminders. Everywhere. Sauntering up and down the thoroughfare late at night, seeing a Dad with his grown-up daughter, thinking how easily that could be the two of you. Tommy’s judgemental glare every time Joel dared spare a glance at you—the older brother wondering what Tommy would do if he ever found out what happened behind closed doors. He wished never to experience such horror. 

Most of the time, when he wasn’t panicking about tainting you, it was easy to ignore the tightness in his chest—the shake in his hands when you sat on the kitchen counters as he made you dinner; that little, unorthodox name on your lips when he slid his hands along your thighs and let you ramble on and on about the day's tribulations. 

But, you just had to go and say something so fucking ridiculous: the reminder. 

Joel was old. Old and disgusting. 

“You okay, Daddy?”

Jesus fuck, it was so depraved, and, worst of all, it felt good: to feel wanted. To feel needed by you, because you did need him, and he needed you too. He needed you so he could feel some modicum of sanity despite the insanity you caused. It was a lulling derangement that comforted him more than deluded him. 

“Yeah, baby, just…” he forced a smile, cupping your cheek and rubbing softly at the flesh. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, okay?” 

You didn’t seem convinced. For such a shy little thing you really were smart—able to ascertain what he was thinking with a quick scan of his features. It was another thing about you that he adored so much. Even when you were floating up high, letting Joel do all the thinking for you, you still had that little semblance of self—a light inside you that constantly remained on, even when the rest of you was dark. 

“Mhm,” you murmured, a sound that made Joel’s jaw tick.

“You know how I feel about “mhm,” he chastised and you couldn’t help but smile despite the scolding nature of his tone. 

“M’sorry.” You snuggled into him further, seeking the warmth emanating from him, Joel being your personal heater during the cold Jackson nights when the fire could not manage to warm the whole house. When you’d go to bed with socks on your feet, layers of clothes plastered on your skin and the heat of Joel keeping you comfortable when the night air chilled you to the bone. 

“That’s okay, honey.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, hand snaking across your legs, dipping to the inside of your thigh where he stroked absent-mindedly, mulling over the short panic that had overtaken him. Sometimes, after those fleeting moments of unease, he’d think himself silly. That a reaction like that for something so insignificant wasn’t necessary.

Other days it was harder to ignore the lingering sharpness in his heart when he lay wide awake in the middle of the night—eyes trained on the hallway, watching for shadows. His rifle propped up against the wall, just within reach. 

All precautions. 

Joel certainly had grown some paranoiac tendencies since you’d crawled your way into his life. But there was a method to the madness—a warm blanket of comfort found in the lunacy.

So, he did some damage control—eased your mind slightly so you wouldn’t worry about him. He was supposed to look after you, after all. 

“How ‘bout we finish this movie now, and then when I get a chance I’ll go to that video store I saw when I was on patrol. Get you a bunch of DVDs we can watch, yeah?” 

You tried to suppress a wide smile, failing miserably as you leant up to peck him earnestly, giggling softly as you fell back against him and whispered a “Thank you, Daddy,” into his shoulder. 

“You’re welcome, babydoll.”

Manners: one of the first rules. Always say please and thank you, especially around Joel. You’d taken it on board delightfully well. Too well sometimes. The times when you thanked him for simply being there—when he didn’t deserve your gratitude. Those were the times he’d tell you off. Not because he wanted to, but because he felt there had to be some divide between the powers. He wanted you to be your own person despite the need to have you completely. He wanted you to run far away from him and find another man who didn’t feel the urge to control every aspect of your life —just in the hopes of keeping you safe. 

You’d yelled at him that day he’d told Maria to take you off patrol and then cried when you began apologising for being angry.

He’d felt real fucking guilty. Goddamn sick.

In truth, he felt sick all the time. The shame ate at him. You just repressed it. 

A sigh pulled him from the vignette, gazing down at you tucked into the crook of his elbow—slightly pouty as you trained your eyes on the screen. 

And just like that, it didn’t all that matter anymore. 

“What’s the matter now?” he asked softly, rubbing your shoulder—thumbs catching on the cotton of your shirt. His shirt if he was being pedantic but you’d adopted it weeks ago. It was yours now, no doubt about it. 

“The movie’s still boring.”

Joel snorted, shaking his head as he leaned over to snatch up the remote from the side table, making sure that you were securely tucked against him the entire time. You’d told him one night, lying boneless and naked in his grasp, that you hated when you couldn’t touch him—that you felt bad because it must be annoying how clingy you are. Joel had silenced you with a kiss and promised you that he would hold on to you for as long as you wished. In the safety of his home, he never let go of you. 

“Guess we’ll just go to bed then.” 

You were on him in a second, the agility and precision with which you straddled him so quickly was impressive—Joel half expecting a knee to the balls. He grunted as your weight landed atop him, motivated by the hope of a distraction and the desire to have him near. 

“I’m not tired,” you said resolutely, playing with the buttons of his shirt and flashing him your prettiest, most convincing doe-eyes. 

“Honey, you were falling asleep on my shoulder minutes ago-”

“That’s cause I was bored.” 

Looking at you properly, just a little taller than him now that you were perched on his lap, Joel could see the slight glint in your eyes, the pout to your lips and the squirm of your hips that alerted him to one thing. 

His little lady was horny. 

It made sense. Last night, you had been so tired that you’d fallen asleep at eight pm and hadn’t woken up again until eight am the next day. The night before that, Joel had been sent out to scout late at night, leaving you sprawled in his bed alone. You had not slept until dawn broke and the front door cracked open. You’d said that you couldn’t sleep without him. Sickening pride—the ardent dedication you displayed was so fulfilling. 

Joel had rocked you against him, apologising for being gone so long and then sent you to your chores in the greenhouses with a single goodbye kiss and a promise that he would be there to hold you to sleep. 

Two nights; both without any stimulation. 

No wonder you were so worked up. 

In his old age, he often forgot what it meant to want something so consistently. Not to mention, you liked the routine—knowing that Joel would get you off at least once a day, even if it was just with his tongue, his fingers, or the steady roll of your hips over his thigh. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks with a crooked smirk, suppressing the laugh that threatened to fall from his lips. 

You pout further, narrowing your eyes at him as you shift in his lap. 

“Tell you what?” 

“That all this squirmin’ and complain’ was cause you wanted my attention.”

Your cheek under his palm was hot when he brought his hand to the side of your face, your eyes wide as you thought of something to say in retaliation. But your chest was heaving, the light from the TV flickering in a halo against your frame and all you could do was purse your lips and grip onto his shirt—taciturnly begging him to express your thoughts for you. 

With a reassuring smile, he held your gaze, picking up on the subtleties he had grown to adore. 

“You want Daddy to take care of you?” The eager nod widened his smile, the parting of your lips as you shuffled closer to him, intentionally brushing against his crotch. “Should’ve known.” His hands snaked to your waist, slipping under your shirt to reach the heat of bare skin and lost morality. “Always want daddy’s cock, don’t you.” 

You whined in response, pressing your face into his shoulder to hide your embarrassment. 

“Sh, sh, sh, little lady. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about.” He wrapped a hand around your wrist, pushing slightly to get you to look at him. “Daddy likes it when you’re desperate.”

If he could hear himself, Joel would deny that the man spouting such filth was him. Possessed by something evil, entranced by passion and kept sane by shame. 

It was not him—he could not believe himself capable of it. Then again, he had not believed himself capable of lots of things before the bombs came. Now, he was not sure if he was a man of unimaginable depravity, or just a man altogether. 

You liked it either way. You liked him, and that was enough for Joel. 

“You wanna go upstairs? Get comfy? Don’t wanna fuck you on the couch, honey, you’ve been too good for that.” 

“Yes please, Daddy,” you asked breathlessly, hips beginning to grind—a movement that he stopped almost immediately. The slight squeeze to your hips was enough for you to halt, biting down on your bottom lip as he began to stand, you sliding off his lap and immediately reaching for his hand. 

Needing him close. Just needy. 

The ascent to the bedroom was a slow one, Joel deliberately teasing as he pushed you up the stairs—holding onto your hand the entire time until you both came crashing down onto his bed. Tongues entwined as he hovered atop you, clothes stripped with fumbling fingers and heartfelt laughs. 

Joel did not feel any shame when he was on top of you like this; could hardly find it in himself to care with the way you whined, all breathy and limp from his kisses and the weight of him draped over you. You’d told him before how much you liked feeling all of him—pushing you down into the mattress as he pressed his chest against yours and kept you safe from the shadows in your bedroom; the monster under the bed. 

A whine was pulled from your throat when his hand slipped into your panties, a brief smile on your face when he dipped into your slit, contorting to a grimace when he trailed a finger upwards. 

“Should’ve known you’d need it after a little while,” he murmured, circles beginning—a continued rotation. Legs twitched, hips bucked and settled against the mattress again as you leant into the feeling. “Daddy’s sorry, baby. Sorry he left you high ‘n dry.” 

“S’okay,” you reassured, sweet as a bright bell when your eyes shut and jaw dropped open—whimpering when he pulled his hand away.

“Shhh, little lady, don’t start your whinin’.” You lay eager and waiting as he dragged your panties down your legs, exposing all of you to him. He noted the shiver as the cold air hit you fully, the bend in your back as he dragged his hands along your waist and kissed your sternum—a simple slice of attention that had you keening. He chuckled when his fingers eventually dipped between your legs, slick collecting on the tips. “She’s desperate, huh?” 

You pushed your head into the pillows, eyes firmly squeezed shut, legs clamping around his hand as you lay in the heat of embarrassment and ecstasy. 

“Daddy, stop it,” you muttered, slinging your arm over your face as he slowly began circling your clit. 

“Nu-uh, baby,” he grabbed your arm, pulling it away and smirking when he saw your flustered expression, the sheen of sweat decorating your brow as you rolled your hips into his hand. “Let Daddy see you.” You obeyed his command by peeling your eyes open, a moan passing through your lips as a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through your clit. “There you go, that’s my good girl.” 

A smile played at your lips as he spoke, eyes fluttering shut again—basking in the golden haze of his praise. The way you responded to his approval was unlike anything else: the light in your eyes, the willingness to make him proud. You craved it, demanded it to keep yourself afloat and Joel made sure to acquiesce to your silent wishes. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d already said “I’m proud of you,” following the adulation with a sweet nickname that had you giggling in the wake of kisses he pressed to your neck. 

It was a little different, however, when he touched you. Delicate presses of his rough fingers, lapping at your heat, sinking inside your warmth, muttering how well you’d take him, how good you were for him. That, for you, was eudaimonia. Despite your denial of your adoration when you’d come down, telling him with a pout to stop being so crude, he knew. Could tell by the harsh scratch of your nails against his back, the tug on his hair as you writhed—Joel having to remind you to breathe when it all got too much and even his voice was just a muffled droning in the back of your mind. 

He had to do it then when your face screwed up against the desperation, leaning over you to whisper a soft, “Remember to breathe for me, darlin’,” into your ear and smiling at your response: a loud, drawn-out moan that pushed on a wave through the confines of his bedroom. Your bedroom now too if he was being honest. 

“D-daddy,” you breathed out, wrapping your arms around his neck to keep him locked over you, hand creating a friction between your thighs—urging you closer so he could finally sink himself inside you. It had been a long day of infected and bickering with his younger brother; their arguing had turned physical when Tommy had mentioned you. Sweet, pretty you that his last blood relative seemed to think was too naive to make her own decisions. Joel had pushed him into the snow, chest heaving with the urge to protect his precious little thing from such harsh and erroneous judgements, and then mounted his horse and grumbled at Tommy to get up. 

However, he’d come home to you sprawled out on his couch, book loose in your grip and a smile wide and brilliant as he leaned over the backrest to press a greeting kiss to your lips.

He did not mention the altercation in the forgotten mountain town to you, nor would he ever harm your head with such disillusioned disgust.

All he needed was right there with him, warming his bed with sweat and slick. 

“That’s it,” he drawled, fingers slipping over and over the spot that nestled at the top of your cunt. Your legs twitched, mind completely lost to the depths of satisfaction and curling deeper into that saccharine headspace—a state of mind that left you completely at his mercy. Begging for the worst of things, the most perverse and depraved happenings that he left in the air around his bedroom and dragged along with him to the outside as it lingered and festered in the pits of the bruise in his chest. Desperate to spew every detail, to let them all know what he had, and simultaneously feeling a deep shame come clambering into his mind with malice. 

When your legs closed around his hand, his name falling from your lips like a sacrilegious Gregorian chant, he knew the time was near. That the clawing of your nails against the curves of his back was leading you to the peaks of Mount Sheridan. 

“Shhhhh,” he cooed, brushing hair away from your face to soothe the ache. “It’s okay, sweet girl. You gonna let go for me, hm?” 

He coaxed it from you with smatterings of encouragement, sweet praises whispered into your ear.

“Give it to me, baby. C’mon, give Daddy what he wants.”

A whine, a broken call of his name and a sweet silence, before you came crashing down upon the rocks and opened yourself out in front of his morbidly curious stare—seeing you so vulnerable, so peaceful through the ring in your ears and the dampness between your legs that grew to deluge as your whole body burned white hot. 

Praises peeled from his throat as naturally as the smoke that billowed from the fireplace, pressing kisses all over your face with a reverence that made him believe that perhaps a higher power was watching over him. Maybe you were his angel. 

“That’s it…” he muttered into your ear, lips brushing the shell. “Such a good girl for me. Daddy’s proud of you, princess.” 

That had heat prickling everywhere, rising from your skin and burning his flesh, chest heaving to try and expel the untameable fire within your stomach. 

He was patient as you rolled back around to reality, watching softly with his hands firmly away from your cunt—aware of how sensitive it would be if he were to keep his fingers pressed against your pretty little clit. He only made you cry from the overstimulation when you’d been bad and god knows how rare an occasion that was. Even if you did need reprimanding, the sight of hot tears and mumbled apologies was enough to ease his discipline. 

He could never stay mad at his girl for too long. 

“You back with me, baby?” he asked softly after a moment's silence, rubbing your hipbone—cock painfully twitching against your leg. It was easy to ignore when he knew his restraint was for your benefit. You liked it rough, he had discovered a week ago when he’d lost himself in the meadow of your sweet cunt, hips moving at a pace they had not since he was twenty-two. However, genuinely hurting you was something out of Joel's equation. Seeing you cry left an ache in his already cracked chest, the weight of his guilt draped across his throat and choking him until he couldn’t speak. 

It was his mission to keep you safe. Ashamedly, he’d convinced you to stop going on patrol, holding you close when you’d asked why he’d told Maria to take you off the list. Whispering that it was for your own good, that “Daddy can’t focus knowing that you’re out there, baby.” The way you’d believed him with earnest, mumbling that it made sense, that you didn’t want him to feel bad so you’d take up some work in the greenhouses instead; it had made him disgusted with himself. 

It didn’t suppress his need to get you to stop working altogether, though. A few more caresses and promises of forever and he was sure you’d agree to staying in the house all day—waiting for him to get back. Maybe he’d knock you up. Surely that would keep you around hereafter?

“Need you inside, daddy.” 

Your voice pulled him away from his head, your expression one of utter desperation. A sheen of sweat on your brow, chest heaving as you played with the ends of his hair. The last thing he ever wanted to do was leave you needing him. If you wanted him, you could have him; he would give everything to keep you happy. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he husked, leaning down to brush a kiss against your forehead, tapping your hip softly and muttering a sweet, “Turn over for me.” 

You listened so compliantly, shakily turning onto your front, hips raised in the way he’d taught you and hands clawing the pillows in anticipation of the stretch. 

Joel couldn't help but admire the hedonistic sight, pussy glistening in the moonlight, ass-up, back arched and legs twitching as you tried to stay upright. His hands slid across the smooth skin, burning touch leaving a trail of blisters in its wake: big, red splotches along your flesh that bubbled and spat—eventually scarring and marking him on you forever. 

A sob wracked through you when he began kissing along your spine, pressing his lips to your skin until they met the back of your neck. Pulling down to graze his teeth along the kiss-induced welts before finally grasping his cock in hand and offering himself some relief from the ache. 

“You’ve been so good, baby,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering shut as he tightened his grip, stroking more deliberately with a hand placed firmly on your hip. His cock slipped between the cracks, stroking along your soft skin, thoughts blurring, mind-turning, until he could do nothing but ramble and rut. “Such a good girl for me, ain’t ya? Always so fuckin’ perfect for your old man.” 

You whined and he chuckled—amused by the way you pushed your hips back against him, his cock catching against that perfect fucking hole. Just one swipe, one feel of your heat against him and he was grunting and grinding. A noise he had not expected was pulled from his throat, a violence that always lingered seeping from the ceiling cracks, and unintentional aggression when he dug his fingers into your hip and pushed in so far that the length of him was coated in you with just one thrust. 

“Daddy,” you whined, looking over your shoulder with glistening eyes, a pleading in the depths of them that he had grown accustomed to. You needed the support—the encouragement. 

So, he leant down to cover you completely, an arm firmly around your waist and pushing you further against him. Lips in your hair, whispers in your ear and his hand weaving into yours—a squeeze and a second thrust and you were gone. 

“That’s it,” he cooed. “Good fuckin’ girl, huh?” You whined into the pillows, clamping around him with willingness. You were so fucking obedient that it made him sick. So prepared to do as he asked that he was afraid the entire basis of his relationship with you was naivete and exploitation. 

Nausea that clawed its way up his throat, squeezed his oesophagus until he couldn’t breathe. Laughably, his only lifeline so far had been the heat of your pussy, wet and warm squeezing around him—slick dribbling from the hole, just desperate for him to take and take. 

“You’re just perfect, babydoll. Take me so well, don’t you? So proud of you, honey…my perfect little girl.” Everything rolled off his tongue—synchronised with the initial rolls of his hips. The hand around your waist slipped between your legs, rubbing against your clit with intention.  “Feel that?” he pressed, thrusts becoming quicker, fingers swiping softer.

Your hand grasped his with a tightness that stopped the blood flow—fingers tingling as you panted breathlessly. Drool slipped onto his pillow, legs shaking and failing to support themselves as they gave way underneath you and you collapsed with a whine into the mattress. 

“No, no, no, baby,” he chastised. “Ass up, c’mon.” He hauled you back into position, shushing your babbled apologies. 

“M’sorry, daddy…just feels too good, I can’t-”

“I know, honey. Daddy’s not mad.” His hips continued their movements, pausing momentarily to breathe—dick twitching inside you, wondering with a pathetic huff if he was going to cum right then and there. 

“Feels so good,” you continued blathering, repeated phrases that didn’t make much sense together. Your own little language that only Joel could decipher—a connection between the two of you that no one else would ever understand. If his translations were correct, those whimpers, mumbled sentences and unintelligible calls of his name, were a sign that you were teetering over the edge. That you were right there. 

“My baby gonna cum already?” he asked, half-amused, half-impressed at the sheer way your body reacted to him. “You want it more than you let on, don’t you?” His fingers fell to your clit again, deliberate circles against the bud and watched with pride swelling his chest when you pushed your face far into the pillows and begged him to keep going. “Yeah…” he breathed out a laugh, light beneath his eyelids as he let the tightness of you overpower him. “You always want it.” 

You listened to his rambled dialogue diligently, not even complaining when he pulled away to thrust harder, hand reaching to your stomach to press softly on the shape of him pushing inside you—the sweet scrape against the sponge that soaked up all the slickness. 

Then, words that he couldn’t take back spilt from his mouth, his stomach clenching as you whined about wanting to cum—needing that sweet release he would grant you with a thousand moons and the heat of the sun. 

“Tell me you love me.” As soon as he said it, he couldn’t quite grasp the ability to take it back and apologise for asking something so drastic of you. He couldn’t even find a majority of himself that decided what he’d said was wrong and unfair to place such a thing on your incapable shoulders. So, he said it again. More forceful this time—a little more assertiveness behind the demand. “C’mon, babydoll, tell me you love me.”

“I-” You were so far gone, moans crescendoing as you whimpered out a small, “I love you, Joel.” 

No real conviction to the statement, nothing to deny the coercive way it had been prised from you but it was enough. Enough for Joel to spout the phrase back. 

“I love you too, baby,” he said with a smile, almost missing your warning call. 

“G-gonna cum.” 

His smirk widened, teeth on display, a blissful expression on his face as he gazed at the space between your legs—the disappearing act that occurred right there in the middle of your thighs. 

“Go on, honey,” he said softly. “Been so good to me…just let go.”

Your response was as docile as always, flexing your back, no chastising this time when your legs gave way and he had to pull you back against him so he could push through the brambles to his own release. 

“Good girl,” he grunted, giving into the way you gushed—the cloudiness in his head that dispelled every shame and self-condemnation. “My good girl.” 

He was gone within seconds, stomach tightening as his cock twitched, breaths coming rough and gravelled as he stilled, balls-deep, inside you and gave you everything he had to give. Rutting slightly into you, jaw clenched as you whined and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that this one would stick. 

There was no running away from him if you were to accidentally fall pregnant. Poor little thing would need all the help you could get, and good old Joel would be there waiting with his hands placed on your swollen belly and a promise that he would never leave you. 

Dark thoughts often came after he’d finished with a heaving exhale, shame amalgamated with sick desire as you lay on your stomach, hair stuck to your forehead and a furrow of Joel’s brow when you began crying. 

“Oh, honey.” He sprung into action immediately, the overwhelming urge to fix everything for you always and forever at the forefront. His softening cock slipped from your stuffed pussy, big arms wrapping around you as he sat back on his haunches and manoeuvred you onto his lap. “Shhh, s’okay.” 

“M’sorry,” you sniffled as you buried your face into his neck. “I don’t know what-” 

“You don’t have to explain.” A hand cradled your head, the other dancing along your spine until the tears came silent, breathing evening out as you whimpered into his bare, sweat-shined skin. “Just felt too good, huh?” 

You nodded, curling in on yourself, and refusing to show your sweet face to him. 

“Figured,” he murmured, trying to think of the best ways to coax you back to him. He knew it was a lot sometimes, the pleasure just overtaking that brain of yours and leaving you a blubbering pile of nothingness at the end of the tunnel. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “It’s just…so much.” 

“Honey,” he said—firmer this time. “Look at me, please.” 

Authority was always the best route with you, Joel knowing that no amount of embarrassment could overcome the fear of disappointing him. So you slowly peeled yourself from his shoulder, pouting lips and swollen eyes when you finally mustered the courage to look him in the eye. 

Rough hands cradled your face, calloused fingers from plucking at steel strings and pressing on weathered triggers. 

“You ain’t got no reason to apologise.” You held onto every word, eyes wide with wonderment as he spouted his affirmations. “No reason to be embarrassed either so wipe those pretty eyes and give Daddy a smile, yeah?” 

You giggled softly at that, unable to contain the slight twitch of your lips as you brought the back of your hand to each eye—staunching the flow. 

“Thank you-”

“No reason to thank me either,” he interrupted. 

You smiled softly, then pressed your forehead back to his shoulder, breathing in deeply. A quiet moment of contemplation permeated the space, a dog barking in the distance of the night, unknowing of the union that occurred behind the walls of the house with Miller on the letterbox. 

Laying enervated against him, warmed by his body, there seemed to be an unspoken question lingering in the air—a tension that you cut with a mumbled call of his name. 

“Yeah?” he responded, fingers continuing to brush through your hair; providing a semblance of comfort to the anxiousness that steamed off your skin. 

“Is it…wrong?” 

He tensed, trying to keep the unease imperceptible but failing as he felt your body go rigid moments after his own. 

“Is what wrong, honey?” 

Deflection of the conversation he had tried vigorously to avoid—hoping with taut muscles and a thick head that you wouldn’t press any further. That you would let this play out to the imagined fairytale ending Joel had been determined since he met you to provide. 

“You know…” you muttered. “What we do together. You always say we have to keep it a secret, that I can’t tell anyone because they wouldn’t…get it. Is it- are we not normal?” 

Joel wasn’t sure what to say. All those restless nights spent pondering over that very question, rationalising it by blaming everyone but himself, those days of misery pushing him to an insensate state of madness that terrified him to the point he couldn’t stand to look in the mirror in case the man reflected was not the man he was hoping to find. 

Answers imperfect came muddled in his brain, your bated breath not helping his train of thought ride smoother. 

“Listen,” he whispered, clearing his throat to try and manage his discomfort. “What does it matter if we ain’t normal? We like it right?” You nodded against his chest, hanging onto every word. “Then who cares what other people think? We got somethin’ special here, little lady,” he added in jest, hoping to lighten the darkening situation. 

Your smile came out like a grimace, not entirely convinced that what he was saying had any verity to it. You sat stiffly on his lap, picking at your nails and worrying at your bottom lip, waiting for him to say anything else. 

In truth, there was a tennis ball lodged in Joel’s throat, growing to the size of a football as he realised he could not offer assurance this time. He should never have given into those gorgeous eyes, convinced by just a simple pout and a ‘please.’ He should’ve forced you to finish watching the movie, carried you up to bed when you eventually fell asleep on his shoulder, and wake you up with his mouth on your cunt—the promise of a new day vanquishing the burdensome thoughts that settled in the hallways of your mind. 

You speaking before him seemed like an offence—you taking care of him through the comfort of three words and a call of his name to emboss the statement clean into his skin. 

“I love you, Joel.” 

Soft, careful words. No confession under duress; every syllable full of integrity and promise of something bigger. 

Joel would take it any day, exhaling into your hair and pressing a kiss to your head with the relief of those weighty words. 

He smiled when his cum spilt out onto his thigh, still warm from where it had nestled inside you and bringing with it the prospect of eternal union. He’d be damned if he ever let you go, a disgusting, clawing possessiveness that never seemed to go away. Always lingering, always grating. He realised there, in the sweat of his bed, with his little lady tucked against him, what that desperation was. 

Words rang with conviction underneath the moonlight, heart swelling in his chest as he closed his eyes and breathed in the moment. 

“I love you too, pretty girl.”

© virginreprise

i've recently gotten so sick. okay that's a lie but i do have a really sore throat. genuinely feels like i've swallowed multiple dicks but i thought that was a good enough excuse to finish this wip instead of doing the work i'm supposed to be doing. sooo i hope you enjoyed this one!! it kinda fits in with 'indebted to you' but it can also be standalone. i just like writing mindless smut when i wanna turn off my brain. joel's shame is also a projection for even writing this stuff in the first place but i really can't help what i like so don't hate on me please i'm sensitive. either way, thanks for reading and i hope to see ya next time ♡

[theemporium]

[17.2k] nico hischier didn't expect to go first overall. he didn't expect to become captain of the new jersey devils. he didn't expect to become a dad to twins. and he certainly didn't expect to fall in love with the twins' nanny.

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Becoming a father was one of the best things that ever happened to Nico Hischier. 

It was one of those things that he always knew would happen in his life, something that fit with his other aspirations. It wasn’t like hockey. Not when the chances of him going first overall and becoming captain and leading his team to playoffs seemed like a series of right choices made to go down the right path. 

Becoming a father was something he kind of expected to happen in his life one day, one of those things he always saw in his future but never thought too hard about. 

He just never expected it to happen the way it did. 

If he was being completely honest, he assumed somewhere amongst the hectic life of being a NHL player, he would meet someone and they would fall in love and all the milestones would be reached together: anniversaries, marriage, children. It was a sweet fantasy many people had and Nico was just another one on the list. 

The series of events that led towards Marlene and Otto Hischier becoming a part of his life were unconventional, but he wouldn’t change it for the world. 

He still remembered the day he met them, clearer than any other memory he had. Clearer than his draft day, his first NHL goal, the day he was awarded captaincy. 

The day he met his children stood out, a mix of chaos and stress and fear. But also love and adoration and a step into a new era of his life that he welcomed, even if he was thrown into the deep end with little to no preparation. 

Before the twins, the most experience he had with kids was the boys on the team who had children. On family skate days, at team bonding events, even the odd babysitting here and there to give the parents a break for a night. 

But having two newborns suddenly under his care was a hurdle Nico never considered he would have to jump in his life. 

All things considered, the timing had worked out. 

Off-season was around the corner, he had no plans to play for Worlds and he had a few months to settle into some form of routine whilst coming to terms with the fact he was a father. 

The days were long, the nights were longer but he made it. He was never really alone, not with the insane support system he had in his team and in his family. Whenever he felt like he was spiralling, there was someone there to hold his hand. 

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t shitting himself when preseason training came around again. 

He would be lying if he said his parents weren’t absolute saviours the first year of the twins’ lives, practically moving in as they followed him back to Jersey. 

It wasn’t easy, far from it. He couldn’t get rid of the fear that he was doing it all wrong, that he was going to somehow fuck up and ruin everything and not give his children the lives they deserved. He constantly felt on edge, wanting nothing more than to give them the best lives he could, the best childhood he could. 

Which led them to the twins’ belated second birthday party at his parents’ house in Switzerland, having what had been a recurring argument with his parents since the off-season started. 

“What was wrong with Mrs Holden?” 

Nico let out a sigh, already feeling a sense of deja vu washing over him. “She was too…traditional. She wouldn’t let Marley wear the blue dress she loves so much.” 

His mother hummed. “And that one that wanted to be a teacher, hm? Vanessa! She seemed sweet.” 

“Yes, until she started insisting my parenting skills were wrong because I wasn’t pushing the twins to learn their abc’s before they could say three words,” Nico scoffed under his breath, frowning as the memory of the woman repeated in his head. 

“And that nice boy, Felix? He was Swiss too!” Rino questioned. “The twins loved him.” 

“Yeah, and he loved telling people the twins were his kids too,” Nico deadpanned. 

“He said he was an uncle,” Rino corrected. 

“That doesn’t make it any better,” Nico muttered. 

“Fine then,” Katja sighed. “What about Olive? You liked her and she looked after the kids for months!” 

“Yes but,” Nico waved his hand in some incoherent gesture. “She wasn’t right for them.” 

“Nico,” Rino said in a heavy voice. 

“I know you think I’m being overprotective but I just want what’s best for them,” Nico insisted, his fingers lightly skimming over the side of the glass in front of him. “They are getting older and they are more impressionable. They need stability and I need someone I can trust will be a good influence on them.” 

“Yes but it’s been months of looking and you haven’t found anyone,” Rino pointed out. “Which is fine now, you have months until preseason starts. But it only gets harder the longer you leave it.”

Nico swallowed harshly. “I know, I know…”

“We know you care about them,” Katja spoke in a soft voice, reaching across the table to place her hand on his arm. “We get it. Trust me, we do. But the way you care about them is the way we care about you, and we are just worried about you being left to take care of the twins all by yourself when the season starts.” 

“I’ll find someone,” Nico said, and he hoped he sounded as determined as he did in his head. “It will be worth it. And they will be what the twins need.” 

Katja smiled, though it looked a bit sad. “We hope so.” 

“Where are the twins, anyways?” Rino questioned, steering the conversation away and giving Nico a chance to relax his shoulders. “I’m surprised they haven’t started demanding cake.” 

“Ah,” Nico smiled. “That’s because they are playing with—“

“TICKLE MONSTER IS GOING TO GET YOU!” 

“No!” 

“Yes!”

Nico’s grin widened even more as the sounds of his children’s giggles sounded through the house. “Tickle monster with Unkel Luca,” he finished eventually as the three of them raced into the room. 

Marley and Otto made a beeline for him, cheeks red and smiles wide as they jumped for his lap, screeching and squealing and laughing as they tugged on their father’s shirt. 

“Papa! Papa!” Marley giggled, hiding her face against his forearm as she clung onto him. “Unkel Luca is running!” 

“He’s running after you?” Nico asked, watching as both nodded quickly. He stole a glance at his older brother, watching as he stood there with an innocent smile before shaking his head fondly. “That’s not very nice of him, is it?”

“No,” Otto giggled. “Game, Papa, game!” 

“Oh, it’s a game,” Nico nodded in understanding. 

“Need to hide,” Marley explained, panting lightly. And then she blinked, big brown eyes staring up at him in a way that made him want to melt. “Help us?” 

Nico couldn’t help but sigh happily. “Yeah, baby, Papa will help.” 

He lifted the edge of the tablecloth high enough for the twins’ eyes to widen in delight at their new hiding place, both ducking their heads as they shuffled under the table and quickly planted themselves by their grandparents’ feet with high-pitched giggles. 

Luca grinned, waiting for Nico to drop the tablecloth before he let out an exaggerated sigh and placed his hands on his hips. “Oh no! Where did they go?” 

Nico could feel his heart melting even more when their giggles only got louder. 

Katja’s expression softened as she watched the way her youngest son slip into the role of a father so well. 

“You’ll find someone,” Katja nodded, smiling in a way only a mother looking at her child could. “And I’m sure they will be perfect for the twins.” 

Nico returned the smile, something quite like hope twisting in his stomach. 

…

June and July and August slipped away from him before he realised what was happening. 

He had taken the summer for granted, basking in life away from hockey and cameras and expectations. He was enjoying spending time with his kids and his family and his friends back home. He was enjoying living a normal, less-than-hectic life. 

Then all too soon, he was herding two hyperactive toddlers onto a plane back to Jersey with the overwhelming reality that he had done exactly what his parents warned him about and left everything far too last minute. 

“Papa?” 

He blinked, turning his head to find Otto slumped with his head on Nico’s thigh, blinking as he fought to keep his eyes open. 

“Uncle Jack come in car?” Otto questioned, something quite excited in his voice despite the exhaustion. 

“Yeah, Uncle Jack is picking us up,” Nico nodded with a smile as he reached to gently push his fingers through the young boy’s hair, watching as his eyes fluttered shut. “He’s excited to see you both.” 

Otto blinked. “Hugs?” 

Nico hummed, lightly scratching his scalp in the way that always made Otto sleepy—even as a baby. “Uncle Jack is going to give you so many hugs.” 

“Good,” Otto murmured before slumping back down against his thigh. 

Unsurprisingly, neither Otto nor Marley stayed awake by the time Jack arrived. It hadn’t stopped Jack from cooing and smiling and muttering a ‘finally back home’ before he helped Nico settle the twins into the car seats in the back. 

Nico hadn’t even realised how exhausted he was himself until he was settled in the passenger seat, his eyes closing as he let out a deep sigh. 

“So,” Jack begins. 

Nico let out a hum of acknowledgement. 

“I had lunch at Curtis’ the other day,” he continued, doing what he did best and beating around whatever point he wanted to make because he wanted to tell a story. 

“Is that so?” Nico muttered because he knew Jack and he knew the boy wouldn’t continue unless he played along. 

“He mentioned you were still looking for a nanny for the twins,” Jack said, his fingers aimlessly tapping against the wheel. “Said you asked him about any good agencies you could go through.” 

Nico slowly opened his eyes, turning his head to flash his friend a look. “Where are you going with this?” 

“Nothing,” Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Just wondering why you didn’t ask me too, you know?” 

Nico blinked. “Because Curtis has children, Jack.” 

“I could still find you a good babysitter,” Jack argued, his nose scrunching slightly. “You haven’t given me a chance.” 

“I don’t think I want to give you a chance,” Nico retorted. 

“Rude,” Jack huffed. “I’ll have you know, as the twins’ favourite uncle—” 

Nico made a small noise of disagreement (just to wind the younger boy up). 

Jack’s eyes narrowed. “As the twins’ favourite uncle,” he repeated a little more forcefully. “You gotta have a little faith that I would find someone suitable for the job.” 

Nico let out a deep sigh. “You already have someone in mind, don’t you?” 

Jack flashed him an innocent grin. “In my defence, Curtis had to listen to the fifteen possible candidates I found and narrowed it down to the one he would trust with his kids too.” 

And maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe it was the desperation. Or maybe—though he would never admit it to Jack for the sake of the boy’s ego getting bigger—he could trust Jack to know the kind of person Nico needed around the twins. 

And there was the added bonus he could say ‘I told you so’ if it went wrong. 

“Fine,” Nico said eventually. “I’ll check out your nanny.” 

…

“So, you’re going on a date?” 

“Stop calling it a date,” you grumbled into the phone as you walked down the street, brows furrowed as you read the names of the shops you passed. “It’s just an interview.” 

“Back in my day, a man took a lady to a coffee shop for a date. Interviews were in offices.” 

You rolled your eyes a little at your grandmother’s words. “Coffee shop dates aren’t a generational thing, people still do them.” 

“So you admit it’s a date?” 

“Once again, it’s an interview for a new job, Nana,” you said, a voice in the back of your mind reminding you to not give into the conversation. But it was too late. 

“Well, excuse me for just wanting my lovely granddaughter to find someone instead of working herself to the bone.” 

“Nana,” you said with a sigh. 

“You jump from family to family, I just want you to have the same thing, honey.” 

“I know,” you murmured, feeling a little guilty as the sincerity in her voice sounded through the phone. “When I go on that date, you’ll be the first to know.” 

“Actually, Bernice has this grandson—” 

“Bye, Nana!”

You winced a little at your phone, reminding yourself to visit her in the care home this weekend to make up for the phone call. And to bring those lemon bars she loved from the bakery down the road from you. It tended to soften her bad moods when you brought her sweet treats, and denying another one of her attempted blind dates was definitely going to put you in her bad books. 

But you pushed the thought away for now, straightening your back as you looked up at the sign above the cafe, double and triple checking it was the right place before walking in. Your eyes skimmed over the customers currently sat around the cafe, picking them apart until you paused on a man sitting alone, tucked away in the cosy book corner of the establishment. 

It was the white beanie on his head—the one he had mentioned he would be wearing—that confirmed to you he was the one you were meeting.

“Mr Hischier?” 

The man jumped a little, like his own name took him by surprise before he quickly schooled his features. Almost instinctively, he stood up from his seat before flashing you a polite and somewhat awkward smile. 

“Nico is fine,” he assured you before clearing his throat, gesturing towards the seat across from him. “Please, sit down. Can I get you anything?” 

“No, I’m fine,” you assured him, choosing to leave out the fact your heart was beating fast enough as it was. Caffeine wouldn’t help the interview jitters. “Just to make it clear from the start, your partner explained your situation and how the job might vary a bit from my previous schedules—” 

“Partner?” Nico repeated with a frown. 

“Yes, the one I spoke on the phone to originally for the job,” you said, keeping a polite smile on your face. “Uh, Jack, I believe his name was.” 

“I—” Nico’s face started to turn pink, a sheepish laugh escaping his lips. “No, Jack isn’t my partner. He is a close friend.” He paused before continuing. “Not close like that! Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I just mean, he is a very good friend of mine because we are also teammates. Who work together. On the same team.” 

“Right,” you murmured, your lips twitching upwards in amusement. “I’m sorry, usually it’s the parents calling up and he seemed to know so much about your kids so I assumed—”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Nico laughed, a little more relaxed than he was a few moments ago when you had walked into the cafe. “He really cares about the twins.”

Your smile softened a little. “From our short conversation, I could tell they mean a lot to him. And you do too, he seemed really persistent in finding the right person to help you out.” 

Nico nodded, but there was still a light blush on his cheeks. “It’s, uh, just me and the twins. The team helps out a lot but with our job, we travel a lot and the twins are getting older and I can’t always take them with me.” 

“You need someone who can provide them with structure and stability,” you guessed.

“Exactly,” Nico let out a short breath, his shoulders dropping a little. “I travel a lot. Sometimes gone for days at a time and I know that can be a lot—”

“Jack explained,” you assured him with a polite smile. “I’m aware of the arrangement, if that is what you’re worried about. It doesn’t put me off, especially with what Jack has told me. They seem like great kids.” 

“They are,” Nico said, beaming a little when he did.

You smiled, settling back against your seat. “Tell me more about them.”

…

Nico liked to think he was a good judge of character. 

And, though it would pain him to ever admit as much out loud, he couldn’t deny that Jack had made a great choice with you. It was overwhelming to think about but he should have never doubted Jack, not when the boy loved the twins almost as much as he did. Not when he and the others on the team treated the twins like they were family.

The boys had his back and that extended to his family too. 

After the initial interview, there was a little more back and forth between you and Nico, mostly discussing logistics and scheduling and further details. With preseason approaching, Nico preferred to have the twins established and comfortable with you before the regular season started and the long roadies began. 

And you were so cooperative, it honestly caught Nico off guard. It wasn’t like he expected you to make things difficult, but he had his fair share of babysitters and nannies who had made a point to be a bit hesitant about the schedule. 

It was refreshing to have someone on the same page as him. 

“Oh no, I wonder where they are hiding. I might never find them!”

Nico didn’t even bother to hide his smile as he stood in the middle of the living room, shaking his head fondly at the two pairs of legs peeking out from behind one of the couches. He had spent the last hour frantically cleaning the house for your arrival, wanting to make the best impression he could but the living room was a lost cause with a variety of kids' toys sprawled over the room.

With preseason starting soon, he was beginning to feel the heavy weight of the hockey season and his captain duties starting to settle in. But this was his biggest priority, his kids would always be his biggest priority. 

“I guess they don’t want me to meet our new fründ who was really excited to meet them,” Nico continued, letting out a theatrically loud sigh. 

It took seconds before Otto’s head popped up, eyes wide and curious. “New friend?” 

Nico smiled. “She is coming to meet you both today.”

“I want a new fründ!” Marley exclaimed as she popped up beside her brother, her grin matching his own and it made Nico’s chest tighten—in a good way, of course. 

“And what do we remember when we meet a new friend?” Nico asked, already crouching down as both twins ran towards him and happily tucked themselves into his arms.

“Be nice,” Otto said.

“Be kind,” Marley added.

“Good,” Nico praised, pressing quick kisses to both their cheeks as they giggled at the scratch of his beard against their skin. “Best behaviour, okay? This friend is going to be coming around a lot if you like her.”

Otto tilted his head. “Like the other friends?” 

Nico nodded. “Only if you like her.”

Because at the end of the day, that was what mattered most—that was what made him fire babysitters and nannies in the past. Credentials and first impressions only went so far compared to the opinion of his kids. He trusted their judgement. He wanted them happy and comfortable with the person who would be with them almost as much as he would be. He wanted the twins to choose their person too.

He knew his parents and even some of the guys on the team thought he was being picky, but Nico just thought he was being fair. His kids deserved to have someone they liked and trusted, he had a duty to find that person for them.

Even if their excitement was hidden by their own shyness and hesitancy when you finally rang the doorbell. 

“Hey,” Nico breathed out, smiling a little as he opened the door. “Come on in. The twins are excited to meet you.” 

“I’m excited to meet them,” you smiled back, stepping in and letting your eyes wander around the apartment. “Nice place.”

“Would you believe me if I said it’s never usually this clean?” Nico mused, trying to disperse the nerves bubbling in his chest.

“Potentially,” you retorted, still polite and lighthearted as your eyes continued to wander. 

“I appreciate the honesty,” Nico huffed out with a laugh, closing the door behind you before shifting his attention to the two toddlers who had now hidden themselves back behind the couch. “Otto, Marley, I thought you wanted to meet our new friend.” 

Your smile became less performative and more genuine as the two heads peeked from around the couch to stare at you curiously. They slowly wandered over, keeping close to Nico until they were practically hiding behind him with just enough visibility to keep watching you.

You crouched down, smiling softly as you offered them a wave. “Hi there, your dad has told me so much about you two.” 

Marley blinked before looking up at Nico, her little hands clinging onto the fabric of his jeans. “Papa?”

“It’s okay, baby, you can talk to her,” Nico assured, his thumb lightly smoothing over the back of her head as she tried to hide her face against his thigh.

It was Otto who tilted his head at you, looking more curious than anything. “Do you want to play mini sticks?” 

Nico watched your brows furrow with confusion but you kept a smile on your face. “I would love to! Is it okay if you teach me? I don’t think I have played before.”

Marley gasped, no longer bothered with hiding behind her father’s leg as she stepped around him. “You never play mini sticks before?”

You flashed her a sheepish smile. “I have never played any hockey before.” 

“We will teach you,” she said with a confident nod that made Nico grin.

“Watch out,” Nico commented, his words teasing but his gaze for his children adoring. “They are vicious. They are winners.”

“Just like Papa,” Otto confirmed with a nod of his head.

“We will teach you to win,” Marley said, also nodding her head.

You smiled at the two of them. “I can’t wait.” 

…

Over the next two weeks, Nico was pretty happy to report that his judge of character was, in fact, good. 

Despite his parents’ concern over leaving everything so last minute, the lead up to the preseason wasn’t as stressful as he imagined. As much as Jack joked about Nico being helicopter parent, he did tend to hover over the first few sessions just to make sure the twins were happy and content. 

Marley tended to take a little longer to warm up to new people, a little shy and cautious but still eager to make new friends. Otto was a little better but he tended to always look towards Nico when he needed to ask something, like a little confidence boost to make sure he wasn’t doing something he wasn’t meant to. And much to everyone’s amusement, they tended to be just as stubborn as he was. 

He just wanted to make sure they would be okay when he eventually left for training camp.

Nico was honestly a little dumbfounded just how much the twins liked you. Even more so at how quickly you seemed to pick up on their habits, on their personalities, on their quirks that most nannies had tried to change. 

He was glad the twins were happy but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little thrown off guard just how well you adapted to Otto and Marley.

One of the first times he really saw it was during a not-so-surprising morning tantrum from Otto who was being fussy and difficult and very, very loud. 

Nico had suspected he hadn’t slept well, and had his theory confirmed when the young boy started fussing and trying to wake his sister up in the early hours of the morning. Nico was already awake before his alarm went off, bleary eyed and exhausted and holding onto the guilt that the jet lag was still messing with the twins’ sleep schedule after being in Switzerland for the last few months.

You arrived at the apartment sometime just before eight in the morning, your face scrunched in sympathy as Nico opened the door—still dressed in whatever ratty sweatpants and thoroughly worn hoodie he threw on at five in the morning when there was barely any light in the room—looking like he kind of wanted his eardrums to burst already.

Nico opened his mouth, greetings and apologies ready to tumble out but you just shook your head with a sheepish smile.

“I get it,” was all you said before you slid into the apartment, closing the door before the screams could disturb the neighbours anymore than they already had. 

Nico had watched in a cloudy daze as you kneeled down on the floor beside the couch Otto had thrown himself over, your voice patient and soothing as you waited for him to lift his head before you finally reached out to lay a comforting hand on his back, like you wanted to make sure he saw you reach out first and make the decision on whether or not he wanted you to touch him. 

It took a while before he fully calmed down from the breakdown, still sniffly and red eyed by the time you coaxed the boy into enjoying some mini pancakes whilst some random cartoon played on the tv. 

Nico could only mutter his thanks so many times as he handed you a generously large mug of coffee.

And it continued like that over the introductory period. 

The twins started to pick up on the routine, and started to expect you in the house by the time they woke up. They started looking forward to you arriving, like a fun new step in their morning routine they welcomed far easier than they had with previous nannies. 

There were still moments where their eyes would look for him, look to their father to make sure he was still there and everything was okay. But the initial shyness disappeared, replaced with a familiarity they shared with few other people in their lives, like the team or family back in Switzerland. 

It made Nico feel a lot more settled by the time the preseason games came along. 

Nico had left the apartment during the twins’ afternoon nap, pressing two lingering kisses on their foreheads before he snuck out to head to the rink. He had been procrastinating, finding excuses to stay in the apartment until the last possible moment, clinging onto the last dregs of summer before the season truly started.

The game was as rough as one would expect after months without hockey. But it felt good. It felt even better when the final buzzer sounded through the Rock and the Devils came out the other end of their first preseason game of the year as the victors. It felt really good to have hockey back. 

And it felt even better to finally get back home to his kids. 

He knew it was past their bedtime and tried to tamper down his expectations, but it didn’t change the sense of relief that washed over him as he walked through the front door and let himself drop his bags by the entryway before walking further into the apartment. 

He was mildly surprised to find you sitting on the couch with the post game show on. 

He was even more surprised at the two sleeping figures curled up with their heads on your lap.

“Oh hey, you’re back.”

Nico stood a few feet away from the couch, staring at the scene in front of him with tired eyes. 

“Oh, right, sorry,” you laughed a little, an almost sleepy smile on your face as you looked down at the twins. “They insisted they wanted to watch the game and promptly passed out during the first break. But every time I tried to move them, they would get fussy and insist they were awake to watch you so I just let them doze off here.” 

Nico’s voice was soft when he spoke. “You let them watch?” 

You gave him a weird look. “Yeah? Was I not meant to? They really wanted to—” 

“No, it’s okay,” he assured you, a weird tightness in his chest as he wandered closer, his lips twitching when he saw Marley holding onto your ankle. “The other nannies usually sent them to bed. They didn’t want to sit and watch the games themselves.” 

“Well, I can’t say I knew what was going on,” you admitted sheepishly. “The twins tried explaining some of it to me but I have a feeling you don’t get penalties for nap times.” 

Nico snorted. “Jack told them once that if they get a penalty, they can take a nap in the box.” 

“Sounds like a fun rule,” you teased with a smile.

“Let me help you get them to bed,” Nico insisted as he leaned down, slowly and carefully picking Marley up into his arms.

“You sure?” You asked, even as you moved to pick Otto up without waking him. “You must be tired.”

“I’m fine,” Nico said, smiling a little. “It’s only the first game. Wait until we are halfway through the season.” 

“I may be strong but not strong enough to drag a two hundred pound hockey player to bed,” you told him, your smile widening as Nico let out a laugh—one he quickly had to muffle before he woke up the twins. 

“You might have to start increasing your bench press then.”

The tightness in his chest settled a little after you fondly rolled your eyes at him. It made the idea of the one day road trips on the preseason schedule a little easier to deal with. There were still a few more weeks before either of you had to deal with Nico being gone for longer roadies, but he didn’t fear the idea as much as he did.

…

“So.”

Nico let out a hum of acknowledgement, his eyes focused on the drill the third line was currently running. His lungs were still trying to recover from doing it himself a few minutes ago. 

“I was right about her, wasn’t I?” 

Nico blinked before he turned his head to look at the way Jack was leaning against his stick, a smug expression painted on his face. “What?” 

“The nanny,” Jack replied like it was obvious. “I was right about her, right? She’s perfect for the twins.” 

Nico resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Are you really trying to boast in the middle of practice?” 

“Yes,” Jack replied with no hesitation. 

“She is good,” Nico nodded because he wasn’t going to lie, even if said lie would stop Jack’s ego inflating. “The twins love her—” 

“More than me?” 

“Oh my god,” Nico groaned, shoving the boy away with a laugh.

“I’m serious, Nico, do they love her more than me? Because then you have to fire her.” 

Nico didn’t respond, just shaking his head before he skated towards where Jonas and Timo were standing a few feet away. 

“Nico, am I still their favourite?!” 

…

“So, what? You can just hit each other and no one says anything?” 

Nico laughed. “Basically.” 

“This sport feels barbaric,” you murmured, your focus on the vegetables you were currently dicing. It took you a few moments to process your own words before your head snapped up. “In a really cool way, obviously.” 

“It’s a part of the game,” Nico replied with a shrug. “And sometimes the fights are justified. Sometimes you are fighting for your teammate’s honour.” 

“How noble,” you teased. 

“Give it a few more games and it will be your favourite part of hockey,” Nico mused before his eyes briefly glanced over at the clock. 

His mother always liked to joke that if there was one thing that really assured the twins were his children, it was their napping abilities. It was almost impressive how quickly they could pass out, dead to the world and happy to stay that way for two or three hours. 

It rivalled the naps he took before games. 

“Okay, so hitting is allowed,” you commented, gently elbowing him out the way so you could pour the diced vegetables into the pan on the stove. “Otto said helmet kisses are essential. Is that true?” 

Nico’s grin widened. “Yeah, they are essential,” he nodded. “Like after a win or a good goal, it’s normal to just…bop your helmets together.” 

“Like gentle rhinos,” you mused. “Who would’ve thought hockey was such a cute and violent sport?” 

“You really didn’t know anything about it?” Nico questioned. He noticed the way you tended not to talk about yourself too much, nothing beyond the facts he could pick between random comments and conversations here and there. Mostly when he was listening to you talk to the twins. 

“We weren’t really a hockey family,” you admitted sheepishly. “Nana said she did have a baseball phase but only because she liked the way the boys looked in the uniforms.” 

Nico let out a surprised laugh. “She told you that?” 

“You’d understand if you met her,” you muttered, though it sounded fond rather than annoyed. “She’s shameless and crude and the most honest person you’ll ever meet.” 

“Think I could make her a hockey fan?” Nico asked, raising his brows. 

“She would probably love the violence,” you replied with a snort. “You might have a new coach on your hands.” 

“It would help you learn the game,” Nico teased. 

You let out a groan. “How was I supposed to know the twins were lying about the pancake rule?”

Nico pressed his lips together to hold back his laugh. “You really thought there was a rule called the pancake penalty?” 

“Well with the amount all of you fall on the ice over nothing, it wouldn’t surprise me,” you retorted. 

“Touché.”

…

Thankfully for Nico’s sanity, the season started with a string of home games. 

It helped to live in the delusion of summer a little longer. He would go to practices and go to games but he would always come home to his apartment at the end, come home to the twins and to you and to the little bubble the four of you had created over the last few weeks. 

And it was clear that the twins loved it too, loved having you around more than he had ever seen with any previous nanny. 

“GOAL!” 

You let out a cheer, lifting your arms up to mimic Otto before he rushed towards you and threw his arms around your neck. 

“We did it, we did it!” He continued to cheer, giggling away as Nico let out a playful groan from the mini net he had set up in the living room. 

“It’s okay, Papa,” Marley assured him, one hand placed on his cheek as she spoke to him. “You are not a good goalie but you are a good player!” 

Nico huffed out a laugh, pulling Marley close to him as she squealed. “I think we will leave Uncle Marky in the goals for now, yeah?” 

“Otto, honey, remember what we do after a game,” you reminded the young boy in a soft voice as he happily propped himself on your lap. 

“Be a good person,” he nodded before looking at his father with big eyes. “Good game. I like playing with you. I love you.” 

You grinned. “Perfect, honey.” 

Marley tilted her head. “Why do you say that?” 

You glanced up at her, raising your brows. “What?” 

“Honey,” Marley repeated, a crease forming between her brows as she looked between you and Nico. “I thought we eat honey.”

“We do,” you nodded. “But sometimes you call someone honey when you care about them. It’s like a nickname. My grandma calls me honey because she cares about me.”

Marley nodded like she understood.

“Does that mean we call you honey?” Otto asked, tilting his head back to look up at you. “We care about you.” 

Your lips twitched upwards. “Yeah, you can call me honey.” 

“It sounds funny,” Marley admitted with a giggle before turning back to Nico. “Papa, you have to say it too!” 

Nico nodded, his own smile widening when his daughter nodded in approval. “And do I get to call you honey?” 

“No,” Marley said with a shake of her head. “It’s Honey’s name now!” 

But before Nico could respond, Otto was back on his feet with a mini stick in one hand and the makeshift puck in the other. 

“Honey, we are the winners!” 

…

“On a scale from one to ten, how bad was the tantrum?” 

“Not bad actually,” Nico admitted as Jack settled into the free seat next to him. “I think the excitement of Honey having a three day sleepover with them took away from the fact I wouldn’t be there.” 

The bus fell silent. 

Jack looked far too smug.

Nico could feel his cheeks burning up.

Jonas turned around in his seat to look at him. “Honey?” 

“It’s not like that,” Nico rushed to explain but he had a feeling none of the boys were buying what he was saying. “The twins call her Honey and I don’t want to confuse them—”

“Uh huh,” Nate snorted. “Bud, those two are little Einsteins. There’s no way that would confuse them.” 

Nico’s cheeks burned hotter. 

“So, when’s the wedding?” Timo asked with a grin.

“Shut up,” Nico muttered out, taking the bundled up hoodie Jack had been using as a pillow to throw at the other man a few rows down.

“Hey!” Jack gaped. 

“It’s nothing, don’t make it weird,” Nico said to the group, choosing to pointedly ignore the murmurs and looks of disbelief. “She’s the twins’ nanny.”

Nico also chose to ignore the way Jonas muttered ‘liar’ under his breath in Swiss German.

…

The call rang through three times before you picked up.

It was barely dinner time in Colorado, most boys happy to get settled in their hotel rooms and enjoy the night off to relax and prepare for the early practice in the morning. But it gave Nico the perfect opportunity to check in back home, have some time on the phone before the twins’ bedtime. 

His stomach was twisted in knots like it usually was when he left the twins until the sight of all three of you popped up on his screen.

“Papa!” 

His grin widened at the excitement in his kids’ voices. He didn’t think he would ever get sick of that.

“Woah, where’s all this energy coming from?” Nico questioned, watching fondly as the twins instantly broke into giggles, turning back to look at you before turning their attention back to their father.

“Honey said we would have dessert if we were good,” Otto told him, still grinning.

“We had chocolate!” Marley exclaimed.

“Well, you both were very good today,” you said, propping your phone up on the coffee table before letting yourself sit back on the floor, both twins determined to sit on your lap. “Good kids get good rewards.”

“And chocolate is the best,” Nico added, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. “Especially if it’s Swiss chocolate.” 

“Swiss chocolate is the best because Swiss is the best,” Otto nodded.

“Switzerland, schätzli,” Nico corrected with a small huff of laughter. “The country is called Switzerland but the people and the things are Swiss.” 

“Oh,” Otto said before turning to look at you. “Honey, we are Swiss!” 

You laughed, nodding. “My favourite Swiss people.”

“Including Papa?” Marley asked.

“Of course,” you nodded, shooting Nico an amused look. “All three of you.”

The twins beamed in response. Nico felt the odd urge to do the same.

“Are you excited for your sleepover with Honey?” Nico asked, feeling a little smug when the twins did exactly what he assumed they would and instantly started babbling away about how they had spent their day since he left for the bus earlier that morning.

It was around an hour or so later—after Nico had stayed on the phone for a bedtime story because the twins insisted he needed to hear one too—that Nico found himself just looking at you over the phone as you shuffled around the living room, cleaning up the last of the twins’ toys.

“Thank you,” Nico found himself saying before he could second-guess himself.

You looked confused. “For what?”

“Just being here this season,” Nico confessed, a lot more going unspoken. 

He wanted to tell you that he had never felt so at ease about leaving his kids with someone as much as he did with you. He wanted to tell you that he had never seen his kids so happy and bubbly around someone that wasn’t his family or his team. He wanted to tell you that he never thought he would find the person that fit the unreachable standard he made in his head when he was looking for a nanny for the twins and you seemed to go above and beyond. 

He wanted to tell you a lot but it was late and he didn’t think a facetime call during his first proper roadie of the season was the time to confess any of it. 

“Of course,” you said with a smile that made his stomach twist—in a good way. “You gonna win tomorrow?” 

Nico chuckled. “We’ll try.”

“Good,” you grinned. “You’ll have your biggest fans rooting for you back home in Jersey.”

His mouth was moving before he could even process his own thoughts. “Does that include you?” 

But you laughed and something in him eased.

“Yeah, I think I’m starting to understand this whole hockey thing.”

Nico found his smile widening. “Good.” 

…

Nico felt like he blinked when suddenly the calendar was showing November. 

The pace of the season felt a lot faster than usual, and he was yet to work out if that was for better or for worse. But the team was feeling good, they had more wins than losses and—even if he wouldn’t say it out loud in fear of jinxing something before it happened—he had a really good feeling about this year’s team.

Even as the aches and pains and bruises that usually came after weeks of non-stop hockey started to return, Nico found himself really enjoying the season in a way he hadn’t really experienced in a while.

It felt good when everything was starting to click into place, even off the ice. 

“You’re doing it wrong!” 

Nico paused peeling the banana he was currently holding. “Wrong?” 

Otto nodded, pouting up at his father.

“You’re not doing it the Honey way,” Marley said, pressing herself against his thigh like she usually did when she was tired and barely awake and still a bit fussy from Nico waking her up.

“The Honey way?” Nico questioned, glancing down at the banana with a pensive look. He didn’t realise there were multiple ways to peel and cut a banana. 

“She makes the best!” Otto insisted. 

Nico let out a sigh as he leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of both of their heads. “How about you both go wait on the couch and I’ll call Honey so we can make breakfast the Honey way?” 

“Call?” Marley repeated, blinking up at him. “I wanna talk to Honey!” 

“Me too!” 

“It’s Honey’s day off,” Nico reminded his children in a soft voice. “We don’t want to disturb her when she is busy, yes?” 

His heart clenched at the way the twins both deflated. 

“Okay, Papa.” 

He didn’t get the chance to say much else before they rushed off into the other room, leaving him feeling sluggish and far too on edge as he reached for his phone, pressing your contact before he could let himself spiral over his children’s dejected faces. 

“Hey, is everything okay? Are the twins okay? Are you okay?” 

“I—” Nico blinked, taking a few moments to really process the words you blurted out the second the call connected. “Yeah, everything is okay. Sorry to call you on your day off.” 

“It’s okay. I really don’t mind.”

“I don’t want to keep you long,” Nico started, staring down at the bananas on the counter in front of him with a frown. “Just wanted to know how you make banana pancakes the Honey way.” 

“The Honey way?” 

“The twins seem insistent that it’s the only way to make them,” Nico nodded, even though you couldn’t see him. “Apparently I’m cutting the bananas wrong?” 

His chest tightened even more at the sound of your laugh. 

“You have to mash them in Marley’s Spiderman bowl,” you said, and even if he couldn’t see you, he swore you were smiling too. “It makes them taste better, apparently. Helps them be big and strong for the rest of the day like a real superhero.” 

“Of course,” Nico huffed out a laugh, already moving to the cupboard where the bowl was kept. “Thanks. And sorry for bothering you again.” 

“It’s really no worries. I was just heading over to visit Nana anyways. She won’t mind if I’m a few minutes late.” 

“Say hi from me?” 

“Of course.” 

“Bye, Honey.”

“See you tomorrow, Nico.”

…

“Oh, he’s pretty.” 

“Nana!” 

“What?” The older woman exclaimed, waving you off. “I am just calling it as it is. And he’s a pretty boy. Nice smile. Nicer body–”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, lightly smacking her arm as Bernice from the other table looked over with a bitter look. “Keep your voice low.”

“Ignore her,” Nana commented offhandedly as she reached for her teacup. “She is just bitter because I said you were too pretty for her grandson.”

“How are you the same woman who scolded me about manners?” You grumbled under your breath, letting out a small hiss when she pinched your side.

“I am not saying anything wrong,” Nana insisted. “You’re a pretty girl who deserves a handsome man. Bernice’s grandson is not that man. This one though—” 

“He’s my boss.” 

“You say that like it’s an issue.” 

You blinked. “It is.”

“Youths these days,” Nana huffed before she leaned back in her armchair. “Fine, forget the pretty European man. Tell me, are the kids better than those brats you watched in Manhattan?” 

“They weren’t that bad,” you tried to start but the look you got in response made you wince. “Okay, the Smythe’s weren’t the best. But, Nana, these kids are…perfect. The cutest kids ever, and you wouldn’t believe how smart they are.”

“You’re happy here, yes?” Nana asked, something a little more serious in her voice. “Because I don’t want you working somewhere for the sake of it if you aren’t—”

“I’m happy, I promise,” you assured her with a softer smile, placing your hand over hers. “They are a good family.” 

“As long as they are taking care of you,” she insisted.

“They are,” you promised.

Nana hummed. “Could also let that boss of yours take care of you in other ways—”

Your cheeks burned. “Nana!” 

“He has dimples, honey! Dimples!” 

“I thought you called me here to tell me the bingo gossip.” 

“Oh, you would not believe the stunt Janice pulled—”

…

“Quick, Honey, quick!”

You grinned as you walked through the door, barely letting it shut behind you before you were crowded by two little humans. It was barely eight in the morning and you felt far from being human yourself, but the sight of both twins smiling up at you like they were waiting to jump on you the moment you walked through the door made it easy to forget the fact the sun had barely peeked through the clouds outside.

“I’m here, I’m here,” you sang back, trying to take your jacket off and hug the twins back the best you could all at once. “You two are very hyper this morning.” 

“We are going to the park with Uncle Jack!” Otto said excitedly, his chin digging into your thigh as he looked up at you.

You raised your brows in surprise. “We are?” 

“Yeah,” Nico appeared from the kitchen, a sheepish expression on his face. “I meant to message you last night to come over later but I forgot.” 

“I can leave—” You started but a small whine cut you off.

“But we are going to the park with Uncle Jack,” Marley pouted. “You can’t leave!” 

“Marley,” Nico quickly moved to kneel beside his daughter. “Honey will come back later. But she doesn’t have to—”

“But Uncle Jack said we were all going to the park,” Otto frowned, looking between you and Nico with a wounded expression. 

“Then we are all going,” you promised as you kneeled down too, giving the twins a smile.

Nico looked over their heads, giving you a grateful smile. “You really don’t have to.” 

“Nonsense,” you waved him off. “It’ll be fun.” 

“Jack is basically a third kid,” Nico warned you, though his voice was playful.

“Good thing you’re not gonna have to deal with them alone,” you retorted, feeling a little more awake when he grinned back at you. 

…

“TAG, YOU’RE IT!” 

Nico beamed as he watched the twins running down the path, giggling and screaming as Jack chased after them. They were both bundled up, not causing as much of a fuss about the hats and gloves you coaxed them into wearing before they left the house. It probably had something to do with the twins being more excited about you meeting Jack than focusing on the extra layers.

“They really like him,” you commented, your arm lightly brushing against his as you walked side by side.

“He was there from day one,” Nico said, sounding nostalgic. “He’s probably one of their favourite people in this world.”

“And he loves them just as much,” you noted. “That much was clear from the questions he asked in the initial interview.” 

Nico laughed, turning to glance at you. “Oh god, I don’t think I ever asked what he asked you.” 

“A lot of hypotheticals,” you responded. “They started off normal, like what if they both wanted an apple but there was only one left or if they wanted to go to the park on a rainy day. Then they got progressively more unrealistic.” 

Nico’s eyes were still on you. “Like what?” 

“I think there was one about how I would protect the twins if the city was taken over by vampires,” you mused.

“And how would you?” Nico questioned, his voice serious but the expression on his face was lighthearted and teasing.

“Hunt the vampires, obviously.” 

Nico let out a loud but sudden laugh. “Yeah?” 

“I’ve watched Buffy The Vampire Slayer,” you insisted, trying and failing to keep a serious face. “What more research do you need?” 

“They wouldn’t know what’s coming for them,” Nico added, lightly nudging his arm against yours and silently being pleased when you didn’t move away from the touch. 

“Don’t underestimate me, Hischier,” you grinned, your eyes gleaming. “I may not be any good at mini sticks but I have other skills you couldn’t even begin to comprehend.” 

Nico could only shake his head fondly in response. 

“HEY, LOVEBIRDS, YOU’RE THE NEW CATCHERS!” Jack called out, each hand held by one of the twins as they all giggled. 

Nico liked to believe his cheeks were pink because of the cold weather, no other reason.

…

By the time December came along, Nico had forgotten all about how stressed and helpless he had felt that summer when everyone bugged him about hiring a nanny for the twins. 

Thankfully, his mother had not. She tended to remind him every time they spoke on the phone, in a passing but teasing comment here or there slipped into the conversation. But she did enjoy reminding him whenever the topic of you and the twins came up.

This time was no different.

“It looks like your stubbornness paid off.” 

Nico rolled his eyes, only to feel guilty by the action a few moments later even if his mother couldn’t see him right now. “I told you I would find the perfect person for the twins.” 

“And is she? Perfect for the twins?” 

“She gets them,” Nico said like that explained it all, and it did. Because even though the past nannies he had hired were good and treated the twins well when they cared for them, there was something about you that just clicked with the twins.

You didn’t just treat them like children. They were two humans in your mind, who had their own likes and dislikes and personalities, and you just seemed to understand them almost as well as Nico did. He knew from day one that the twins would constantly be placed together, that there would be many assumptions made of the two of them being the same because they were twins. But you had never treated them as such. 

It was different to past nannies who enjoyed the job but were ultimately there for the paycheck. Sometimes, it felt like you were really there for the twins. 

It settled something inside him that Nico had no idea he wanted until he met you, until he saw how you cared for his children. 

“Good,” his mother hummed, and he could almost imagine the way she was nodding as she spoke. “So we will see her at Christmas?” 

“I—“ Nico quickly cut himself off, focusing on keeping his car from jerking into the other lane. “No? I don’t know? I can’t expect her to work on Christmas—”

“She’s a part of the family, Nico.” 

“You haven’t even met her,” Nico found himself saying, which was true. Beyond a few waves and general greetings in the back of some FaceTime calls, none of his family had met you. 

But there was a voice in the back of his head that really wanted to change that. 

“Yes, but you care for her and so do the twins. And she cares for you three too. In my eyes, she’s a part of the family.” 

His chest tightened at his mother’s words. 

“I’ll ask her,” he found himself saying before he could stop himself. “But no promises.” 

…

If there was one thing you could always rely on, it was the shitty winter weather in New Jersey. 

The sky felt permanently grey over the last few days, dark clouds and overcast hovering over the state like a threat of the weather soon to come. The temperatures dropped and the forecasts of snow and sleet and rain started to trickle through the radio stations as you drove to and from Nico’s place and your own apartment. 

You thought it would be a nuisance at most.

As it would have it, you would be eating your own words mere days later when the snow only got heavier during the day and you were starting to wonder when experts could officially name it a blizzard. 

“Will the plane drivers still be allowed to fly the planes?” Otto asked, sleepy and sluggish as he fought the urge to finally close his eyes the second you finished their bedtime story. 

“The pilots will still be able to fly their planes,” you assured the young boy, pushing his curls away from his face. “Don’t worry, okay? They will be here for Christmas. You know how I know that?” 

Otto blinked slowly. “How?” 

“Because Santa will make sure your family are here for Christmas,” you whispered, watching as the boy grinned up at you.

“Santa will bring them?” 

“If he must,” you nodded, slowly pushing yourself to stand up. “But only if you’re good and go to sleep like your sister.”

Otto briefly turned his head to look at Marley—who was already fast asleep, cheek pressed against her pillow and small puffs of air leaving her mouth—before nodding to you. “I will sleep. Goodnight, Honey. Forehead kiss, please.”

“Goodnight, bud,” you grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead and then Marley’s before you made your way to the door. 

You slowly shut the door behind you, knowing full well that Otto would be out like a light in a few minutes. But you didn’t want to test your luck, trying to keep yourself from making too much noise as you made your way into the living room.

Nico was already sitting on the couch, a few storage boxes sprawled around him. He looked as though he was lost in his own head, a scrapbook sat on his lap that he slowly flipped through with a fond smile on his face.

“Reminiscing?” 

His head snapped up, a light blush on his cheeks from getting caught but the smile remained on his face. “Uh, yeah,” he admitted, his voice low and soft. “Nina said she wanted to add some pages with photos from the summer so I was just digging it out.”

You raised your brows. “May I?” 

“Please,” Nico insisted, patting the spot next to him and laying the scrapbook over your lap too. “She started it the first summer I took the twins to Switzerland. I would do it myself but she is far better at this stuff than I am.”

“Is this them as newborns?” You asked, your heart melting at the photos of the twins as babies as you flipped to the start of the scrapbook. “Oh my god, they were the cutest lil’ things ever.”

“Still are,” Nico answered proudly, puffing his chest a little.

“They are,” you nodded in agreement, your fingers lightly skimming over the photos before your eyes caught one of Nico fast asleep on the ground beside the twins’ crib, a Devils branded blanket thrown over him. “Oh wow.”

Nico’s cheeks darkened but his smile seemed softer. “They were only a few weeks old and I had no idea what I was doing. I think I was running on two, maybe three hours of sleep there. Jack took that photo, said it was funny seeing all three Hischiers down for a nap.” There was a small pause before he continued. “Jack took most of these photos in the first few weeks.” 

You turned to look at him instead of the scrapbook. “Yeah?” 

“Oh yeah,” Nico nodded. “I was a total mess the first few weeks, couldn’t even begin to consider picking up my phone to capture the moment. But Jack knew I would regret it after, took it upon himself to try and capture as many early memories as he could.” 

“Nothing can really prepare you for parenthood,” you said, lightly nudging your shoulder against his. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.” 

“It’s harder to be prepared when you had no idea you were even having kids,” Nico added, but the joking tone fell flat. “Sorry, I didn’t—”

“I mean,” you started, a sheepish smile on your face. “It’s none of my business and you don’t have to say anything but—”

“But you’re curious?” Nico finished. 

You nodded. 

“It was a one night stand,” Nico admitted, his shoulders dropping a little. “She didn’t tell me anything. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. I think she thought she would be fine by herself but…things changed.” 

You didn’t say anything, letting the boy get the story out but you did rest your hand on his arm, hoping the small touch would be comforting enough.

“I think we were a few games away from finishing the season,” Nico continued. “It was clear the Devils weren’t making the playoffs and I honestly wanted nothing more than to get on a plane and fly out to Switzerland to deal with the disappointing season back home. Then, child services were getting in touch and showing up at my door with these two babies and telling me they were mine and—” 

He let out a shuddering breath.

“She left me a letter,” he murmured. “Saying she was sorry for not reaching out sooner. Saying she didn’t want any parental rights, that I had full custody. Saying that she hoped I wouldn’t judge her for wanting to keep living her life, to not let kids hold her back.” 

You squeezed his arm. 

“I was a wreck,” Nico confessed, almost sounding remorseful. “Jack came over because we were meant to drive to the rink together for practice and I just…broke down. I don’t even know what happened in those first few hours, it was all a blur to me. I didn’t know the first thing about being a dad, let alone to twins and neither did he. But he stayed and he helped, because that’s the kind of friend he is.”

You smiled softly. 

“His mother, Ellen, was actually a huge lifesaver,” Nico said, his lips twitching upwards like he was remembering a fond memory. “She was already in Jersey for a few games but Jack called her, explained everything that was happening and she helped, at least until my own parents could fly out. That summer was…a mess. That whole year was but I wouldn’t have been able to do it without any of them.”

“You have a really good team behind you, Nico,” you said, the strongest urge to speak in a whisper and keep your voice low so you wouldn’t ruin the moment. “Both on and off the ice.” 

“I do,” Nico gave you a genuine smile. “You’re a part of that team too.” 

You returned the smile. “I am.” 

“Uh,” Nico cleared his throat. “About that.”

You raised your brows in questioning. 

“If you don’t have any other plans, you’re invited here to join us for Christmas,” Nico said, choosing to leave out the fact his mother had been insisting you join in every phone call he has had with her. “I know the twins would love to have you here and…so would I.” 

“Aren’t your family flying in?” You asked, a crease forming between your brows. “I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“You’re not,” Nico insisted. “We want you there. I want you there.” 

“I’m visiting Nana in the morning but I could come after,” you said, something twisting in your stomach at the way his face brightened. 

“Yeah, perfect,” he nodded, smiling broadly. “You’ll get to experience a proper Hischier Christmas.” 

“Should I be worried?” 

“Maybe.”

You opened your mouth, a teasing reply on the tip of your tongue when the moment was broken by a deep, booming gust of wind howling and hitting against the windows of the apartment complex. It snapped the soft, whispering atmosphere as the reality of the worsening weather outside hit you.

“Fuck,” you murmured, watching as the flurry of snow rushed down. “I should probably head back before the roads get worse.”

Nico turned to look through the window, frowning. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to drive so late?”

You shrugged. “I’ll go slow.”

His frown deepened.

“It will be fine,” you tried to assure him but Nico was already shaking his head.

“Nonsense,” he said, turning back to look at you. “You can stay in the spare room. I can give you some stuff to sleep in too. That weather isn’t safe to drive in, especially this late.” 

Your instant reaction was to reject the offer but you spotted the look on his face, the genuine fear and concern written so blatantly in his expression and you found yourself nodding instead.

“If you are sure,” you said with a nod.

“I’m sure,” he nodded, his lips twitching as he stood up from the couch. “Plus, the twins will be so excited to see you in the morning.”

And he was correct. The twins were crawling into the guest bed beside you before the sun had properly risen the second they caught wind of you staying over for the night.

…

“Meeting the family, huh?”

“Nana,” you groaned, ignoring the happy cackle she let out as you bundled up the scarf you were wearing moments ago and threw it in her direction. “It’s not like that.”

“But it should be like that,” Nana insisted with a wistful sigh. “What is taking this man so long? Look at you!” 

“Maybe because he is professional and only sees me as the caretaker of his children,” you deadpanned. “You know, that job he hired me for?” 

“Bah!” Nana waved you off, shaking her head. “I want his eyes checked. You’re a catch, honey.” 

“You are so dramatic,” you murmured under your breath, but there was something quite fond in your voice. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I don’t want a relationship right now?” 

“No,” Nana replied bluntly. “Because you would never deprive your sweet grandmother of seeing her favourite grandchild finally find love before she kicks the bucket.”

“Sweet is not the word I would use,” you retorted, just managing to miss her fingers pinching your side. “Hey, that’s not very festive!”

“Yes, yes, Merry Christmas and all that,” Nana said as she leaned forward, taking your face in her hands as she pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Now, tell me your present to me is a ring that hot European boss of yours gave you.” 

You could feel your face heating up. “Nana!”

“I will also take a scarf, I’m not picky.”

…

If there was any doubt in your mind before (which there was not), spending Christmas with the Hischiers confirmed they were, in fact, the nicest family you had ever met. 

You had spent the last few months with Nico and the twins, knew their mannerisms and their personalities and the way they lived their lives. You had also nannied for many families before them and you knew what a draw of luck it was to score a job with a family as sweet and wholesome as them.

You just never expected the whole family to be like that. 

From the second you walked through the door, it was clear that that was just the way the Hischiers lived their lives.

Katja had you in a hug before you could even take your jacket off, squeezing you close and tight as she murmured something about how well you were taking care of her baby and her grandbabies. Rino had a glass of wine and a plate of finger foods in your hand before you could even think about your rumbling stomach. Even Nina and Luca had taken it upon themselves to take the seats beside you on the living room couch, happy to talk away like you had always been a part of the family.

It was heartwarming and overwhelming in the best way possible, but you were pretty sure that was just the Hischier effect.

“I wanna give Honey her present next!” Marley exclaimed, wiggling out of Rino’s arms as she rushed towards her father with an excited smile. “Please, Papa?” 

“Me too! Me too!” Otto called out, perking up from his spot on Nico’s lap.

“Here you both go,” Nico grinned, almost looking mischievous as he handed them both a wrapped present each. 

“Oh, for me?” You gasped as they rushed over to you, both presents extended out to you as they gripped them with their little hands. “You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, we do,” Marley said with a nod. “It’s Christmas!”

Your lips twitched upwards at their giggles as you carefully unwrapped the presents as quickly as you could, sensing their own childish impatience. Your surprise became a little more genuine and honest when you saw the gifts laid out on your lap. 

There were two separate sweaters—which were sweet and considerate in their own right, and undoubtedly chosen by Nico—but your focus was on the two framed photos underneath the sweaters. Each had been drawn by one of the twins, different versions of one of the many days you three and Nico had spent together.

“Honey?” 

You sniffled a little, looking up to find both twins standing in front of you with little frowns on their faces. “Thank you, both of you,” you said as sincerely as you could. “This is the best present I have ever gotten.”

“But you’re crying,” Otto pointed out with a frown.

“Do you not like it?” Marley asked, nervously playing with the hem of her dress. 

“No, no, I love it,” you quickly reassured the twins, carefully moving the gifts to the side as you pulled them both into a hug. “They are happy tears! Sometimes when you feel really happy, you can cry too. It’s not a bad thing.”

Otto looked up at you. “Happy tears?” 

“Happy tears,” you confirmed with a nod.

“We like happy tears?” Marley asked.

“We do,” you promised before leaning down to peck them both on the forehead. “Thank you for the presents and the happy tears.” 

Both of the twins beamed, leaning up to press their own kisses to either one of your cheeks before they turned to look at their father. 

“Papa, you’re next!”

Nico’s gaze was already on the three of you, soft and fond, before he snapped out of his own daze. He looked a little embarrassed as he reached for a box, letting Otto and Marley happily carry it back to you. “I don’t think I can compete with the twins but…Merry Christmas.”

You had barely ripped through the wrapping paper before the twins were squealing happily, their little hands helping remove the rest of the wrapping before pushing your present towards you.

“Honey has a jersey!” 

“My own jersey?” Your smile widened as you lifted the red jersey, grinning at the Devils logo and the number thirteen on the sleeves. 

“Your own lucky jersey,” Nico corrected, grinning back.

“Just like us!” Otto gasped happily. 

“Just like you,” you laughed, turning the jersey to find ‘HISCHIER’ printed across the back. You dropped the jersey to your lap as your eyes found Nico again. “Thank you, Nico.”

“And selfishly,” he started as he leaned over to hand you an envelope. “I am hoping the jersey will tempt you to accept this gift too.”

You shot him a confused look but accepted the envelope, quickly tearing it open and pulling out the contents to find two tickets. “Game day tickets?”

“Only fair that the new hockey fan gets to experience a game in person,” Nico beamed. “And there’s a second ticket for Nana too, if she wants to come.” 

“You seem so sure she will support the Devils,” you teased, swallowing the emotion that laid thick in the back of your throat at the idea of him including Nana in your gift.

“I got her a jersey too,” Nico retorted, looking far too pleased with himself. 

You could have sworn Luca muttered something like ‘ass kisser’ under his breath but you weren’t too sure. The slap on the back of the head from Katja was telling though.

“Thank you,” you repeated, softer than before. For a moment, you almost swore Nico was blushing in response.

“Merry Christmas, Honey.”

…

“Tell me you and Honey got caught under some mistletoe and finally admitted your feelings for each other.”

Nico let out a heavy sigh, taking a long sip of his coffee as Jack settled into the passenger seat. “Good morning to you too.” 

“So that’s a no,” Jack huffed, shaking his head. 

“Told you so,” Luke spoke up as he climbed into the backseat, for once in his life looking awake at seven in the morning. “You owe me twenty bucks.”

“Shut up,” Jack grumbled. “God, Hisch, you had one fucking job.”

Nico’s brows furrowed together. “I did?” 

“Oh my god,” Jack groaned, leaning his head back against the rest. “It’s been ages. How much longer are you going to drag this out?”

“You are saying too many words,” Nico replied bluntly before he pulled away, letting muscle memory mostly take over as he began driving towards the rink.

“This is to spite me,” Jack insisted. “I find you a nanny who is perfect for the job AND for you, and this is how you repay me?” 

“What?” Nico muttered. “Jack, I swear to god if this is the girlfriend thing again—”

“It is!” 

“—I have other things to prioritise right now,” Nico insisted. “And Honey doesn’t feel that way. Our…relationship isn’t like that.” 

Jack gave him a deadpan stare. “You’re shitting me, right? You’re just trying to wind me up, right?” 

“I’m telling Timo to pick you up tomorrow if this is how you are going to act,” Nico muttered as he reached for his coffee cup again.

“I would wake up for morning skates way easier if I got this entertainment every time,” Luke commented from the backseat, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

“Shut up, Luke,” they both replied at the same time.

…

“You’re joking!” 

“I’m not!” 

“Oh my god,” you laughed, shaking your head as you turned to look at the boy in utter disbelief. “Nico, how could you—”

“I don’t know!” Nico groaned, even if he was smiling. “I just kinda…forgot English? And then I panicked and just found myself nodding before I even realised what I was agreeing to.” 

It was a cold January day when the four of you found yourselves in the park once again. The twins seemed to have more energy than usual the second they woke up that morning. They were bouncing off the walls, barely able to sit still during breakfast before they were begging to get out of the house. And after a less than satisfactory start to the season in the new year, Nico was also eager to get out and away from anything hockey related and have a day out at the park.

“So, how was it?” You questioned, nudging your shoulder against his.

“Smelly,” Nico confessed with his nose scrunched up. “I mean, the equipment team loved me for the rest of my time there but…I would not recommend volunteering to clean hockey gear after a long tournament.” 

“Gross,” you agreed.

“It prepared me pretty nicely for changing nappies though,” Nico admitted with a laugh. “I guess nothing can be worse than a hockey locker room.”

“Surely you’re used to it by now,” you pointed out.

“Yeah but doesn’t mean a break every once in a while isn’t nice,” Nico retorted, his eyes wandering over to where Otto and Marley were currently attempting to climb up the slide. “February can’t come soon enough.” 

You looked surprised by his words. “You get a break in February?” 

“All Stars,” Nico explained with a nod. “A few people get picked but everyone else gets a free week off to go somewhere hot and relaxing before the runup to playoffs.” 

You lightly elbowed him. “Come on, Captain, surely you were picked.” 

His cheeks burned a little but he shook his head. “Nope, I’m free this year.” 

“Big plans?” You questioned. 

“I wanted to do something for the twins' birthday,” he confessed. “Obviously, we will celebrate on the actual day but there’s going to be so much around hockey and playoffs and I just…I want them to have a proper celebration, even if it’s a little early and even if we do another one in Switzerland with my family.”

Your face softened. “That would be nice.” 

“So,” Nico wiggled his brows. “Got any ideas where we could go?” 

You tilted your head. “We?” 

“What? You thought it was just going to be me and the twins?” Nico grinned, shaking his head and nudging you back with his shoulder. “We are a team now, Honey. The four of us.”

His words made butterflies erupt in your stomach but you quickly pushed that feeling away, focusing on the boy beside you on the bench instead. 

“Well, in that case, I think Mexico is calling our name.” 

Nico only beamed in response. “I was thinking the same.”

…

“You know, your grandfather never took me to Mexico.”

You tore your eyes away from the hand of cards you were dealt, instead glancing at Nana who sat on the opposite side of the table with a certain look on her face. You couldn’t quite work out whether or not it meant trouble.

“He isn’t taking me to Mexico for the hell of it,” you reminded your grandmother, taking another card from the deck with a frown. “I’m just technically doing my job internationally.” 

Nana shot you a look over her cards. “You were meant to be the smart grandchild.”

You frowned. “Hey, rude.”

“Honey, one day it will hit you and I just pray that day happens in my lifetime,” Nana said, sounding wistful as she glanced down at her cards again. “Got any two’s?” 

“No, go fish,” you murmured before giving her a pensive look. “You really think it means something that he is taking me to Mexico with the twins for a holiday?” 

“Is he paying for your ticket?” 

“Yes,” you grumbled. “I insisted but—”

“Then, it means something,” Nana shrugged like it was obvious. “And if you share a hotel room, you owe me lunch at that nice deli.” 

Your cheeks burned. “Nana!” 

“Don’t be such a prude,” she waved you off. “Now, hurry up before this game bites into my afternoon nap. I’m already feeling sleepy.” 

You rolled your eyes before you asked for any three’s, even if your mind was preoccupied with three other people at that moment.

…

“You did well at All Stars, that second goal was a beauty.” 

“You’re killing me here.” 

Nico frowned. “Most people say thank you after a compliment.”

There was a buzz in the locker room that wasn’t there before the break. It was like reality was starting to sink in, the final run of regular season games ahead before playoffs had people itching to get back on the ice and prove themselves. The Devils have had quite a hot and cold season but Nico believes in his group, he knows they want this just as much as he does. 

Everyone was walking into the locker room with a kick of motivation to show the other teams in the league just what damage they could do on the ice.

Everyone minus Jack who seemed annoyed at Nico, despite only being in his presence for thirty seconds. 

“Dude,” Jack shot him a look. “Spill about the family holiday! Did you tell her? Did you make a move? Do I need to plan a wedding?” 

“I–” Nico felt his heart stutter a little. “What? Jack, no, nothing happened.” 

Jack blinked. “What?” 

Nico paused. “What do you mean, what?” 

“Nico,” Jack took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut as the rest of the locker room fell silent. “Let me get this straight. You go on vacation to Mexico with your kids and the girl who you definitely have feelings for despite what you tell us and…you do nothing?”

“Yes?” 

“This is torture,” Jack muttered in utter disbelief, shaking his head. “You are beyond help.” 

“Jack—” 

“Fucking Mexico and you don’t make a move?” 

“Well—” 

“I’m overruling your captain title,” Jack interrupted, shaking his head. “You’re doing bag skates today.”

Nico blinked. “You can’t do that.” 

“Well, I just did and Sheldon would agree with me,” Jack said in a know-it-all voice before he turned on his heel to head back to his stall.

Theatrics aside, Nico did spend the rest of the practice silently wondering if Jack had a point. He was too tired to keep lying to himself, at least. He knew whatever he felt for you was beyond platonic and professional, but that didn’t change the fact he was sure those feelings weren’t returned.

The two of you had a good thing going and Nico was not about to ruin that over the fact his heart sped up every time he thought about you.

It was a fleeting crush, he told himself. A fleeting crush on someone who was intertwined with his life and his kids’ life. It was just misplaced gratitude that he was reading into. That was all. He was sure of it.

…

“Honey?” 

You turned away from the tv, glancing down to your lap to find Otto’s big eyes already staring up at you. “Yes?” 

“You are going to stay with us, right?” Otto asked, his words completely catching you off guard and leaving your chest uncomfortably tight. Suddenly, the game was the last thing on your mind. 

“What do you mean?” You asked, your brows furrowing as you tried to decipher his words. 

Otto shrugged, suddenly looking down at his own hands rather than you. 

You turned to find Marley looking just as downcast and it instantly made the hair on the back of your neck turn up. You reached over for the remote, neither of the twins awfully bothered when you muted the commentary before your full focus was on them. 

“Is there something you want to tell me?” You asked, urging yourself to remain calm and cautious, to not instantly freak out to the worst case scenario. 

“All our friends leave,” Otto eventually muttered out, a frown on his face that made him look so much like Nico in those postgame interviews you had watched. “Papa says they will stay if we like them but then they go.” He paused before he lifted his head back to look at you. “I don’t want you to go, Honey.” 

And if that wasn’t heartbreaking, you didn’t know what was. 

Nico had told you briefly about some of the past nannies he had hired for the twins. The twins had liked a majority of them, had kept asking questions about where they had gone and if they were coming back. 

And you knew it was hard. It was hard to explain things to kids who couldn’t fully comprehend what was happening, who couldn’t understand their father’s decision to fire the previous nannies. 

But it also meant that their young minds were left to fill the blanks. 

“Oh, baby,” you shook your head, trying your best to give them both the most reassuring smile you could. “That has nothing to do with the two of you, I promise. You two are the best people ever. Your other friends had to leave for another reason—big adult things.”

Marley nuzzled herself closer to you. “Are you going to leave for big adult stuff?” 

Your hand was instantly smoothing the curls away from her face, watching her let out a happy sigh as your nails lightly scratched along her scalp. “No, baby, of course not. Not unless you want me to go.”

Otto’s grip on you tightened. “We don’t want you to go.”

“Then I won’t,” you promised, even if that was something you knew better to not promise young children who took things far too literally and personally.

“Good,” Marley murmured, even if half of her face was squished against the jersey you were currently wearing for the game.

You glanced back down when you heard a few sniffles, frowning when you saw Otto scrubbing his little hands against his watery eyes. “Otto, baby, are you okay?” 

He nodded, turning his head to look up at you. “Just happy you are staying.”

“Happy tears!” Marley said with a smile, like she was proud of herself for remembering it.

“You promise they are happy tears?” You asked, your chest tightening at the thought of the young boy being genuinely upset until he quickly nodded his head and held out his pinky to you.

“Pinky promise, Honey.” 

You hooked your pinky around his. “You know you can tell me if you are upset, okay?” 

“We know,” Otto nodded, settling his head back down on your lap with his attention on the game once again. “We tell you or Papa and you will help.”

Your hand instantly moved to tickle his back, smiling a little at the sigh he let out when you did so. Nico had told you the tip a few weeks ago but it was endearing to see how much he loved it. 

“Yeah, we will always help you both. Pinky promise.”

For what it was worth, Nico scored less than two minutes later and the twins’ initial moods were completely overshadowed by the excitement and cheering in their celebration around the living room.

…

“Oh, spit it out already!”

In all honesty, Nana had lasted a lot longer than you anticipated. It was clear from the moment you walked through the door of the care home that you were distracted. She had enough respect to not call you out on it instantly, letting you play the part of a doting granddaughter as you made two cups of tea and settled on the couch in the lounge of the care home.

However, three abysmal games of checkers later, she had reached her limit. 

“Nana, I’m fine.” 

“And I was born last Tuesday if I believed that,” Nana scoffed, having little to no patience left as she swiped the pawns off the board and quickly ended the attempted fourth game. “There. Game over. Now talk.”

You let out a sigh as you slumped back in your seat. “It’s nothing really,” you started before noticing Nana was opening her mouth—most likely to complain—and quickly continued. “Just something the twins said.” 

Nana paused, her voice a little softer as she spoke this time. “What happened?” 

“I think I’m the longest nanny they have ever had around and they just have this fear I am going to leave. And they were fine once I assured them I was staying, they never brought it up again so there is nothing to worry about,” you began to ramble, the memory replaying in your head over the last few days. “I guess it just made me realise…” 

“That you really care about these kids?” Nana finished for you.

You smiled a little. “Yeah, I do.”

“And that you care for their father too and it’s starting to hit you that there is a possibility that there will be a day that they may not need you anymore and it’s scaring you because of how fond you have grown of the family?” Nana continued. 

You blinked. 

“Too on the nose?” She had the audacity of asking with an innocent smile.

“Nana, what the f—” You quickly cut yourself, clearing your throat and, at least, having the decency of looking sheepish. “What the hell are you on about?” 

“Honey, please,” Nana waved you off. “I have seen you nanny for many families and kids and never once have you walked through that door and gushed about them the way that you do with the Hischiers.” 

You could feel your face heating up. “They are a good family! I don’t…it’s not like that.”

“Would you want it to be like that?” Nana asked.

You swallowed the lump in the back of your throat. “It doesn’t matter. I’m just the nanny. I shouldn’t read into things that are never going to happen.” 

“That didn’t answer my question,” Nana pointed out. “If you’re not ready to admit it, then that’s fine. But it doesn’t change the fact that you have fallen in love with the family over the last few months and that they love you back.” 

You stayed silent.

“You have spent the last few years taking care of me and a dozen other families,” Nana said, her tone more gentle as she reached over to take your hand in hers. “I have seen you work yourself to the bone and put others’ needs before your own without a second thought. I have seen you put other families ahead of yourself. All I want for you is to have that family that cares back, that loves you back, that puts you first too.” 

“I have you,” you rasped, blinking away the tears lining your lash line. 

“And you could have them too,” Nana retorted softly. “Honey, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to realise those kids love you back. And that their father does too.” 

“You’ve never met Nico,” you tried to argue but Nana was having none of it.

“I know more than enough from the stories you tell me and the way he treats you,” Nana said, squeezing your hand as she spoke. “I am not saying you have to jump in straight away or ring the wedding bells. But I can see that you are happy with them and I think you could be even happier if you let yourself.” 

“Is it not better to appreciate what you have instead of losing it all?” You questioned, lips pressed together in a tight smile.

“Maybe,” Nana answered. “But then you’ll spend the rest of your life wondering how different things could have been if you had just taken that step out of your comfort zone. You’ll never know the answer if you never ask the question.”

You didn’t have a reply for her.

“I just want what is best for you,” Nana finished off with a watery smile of her own. “And I think they really could be the answer to that question, at least.”

…

Nana’s words lingered in the back of your mind.

They played on a loop as the days turned into weeks and time seemed to pass far faster than you could comprehend. Before you knew it, the calendar was showing March and you were beginning to see the behind the scenes reality of what pressures Nico was under with captaining a team desperately trying to cling onto a playoff spot as the end of the season neared. 

It was fucking awful, to put it lightly, and you didn’t really understand how he was managed to be the best captain he could on the ice, just to come back home and play the role of a father so well. But you could only admire it and admire him from a distance. 

However, it felt like Nana’s words planted a seed in your head, letting the thought fester and grow despite how desperately you had tried to weed it out over the last few months. It had a mind of its own and it felt like everywhere you looked, you were seeing the world that Nana saw for you with the Hischiers. 

You saw that future in the mornings when Nico left for practice, making sure to have a quick breakfast with you and the twins before he left the apartment after giving each one of you a kiss on the forehead (something the twins demanded he extend to you too because it was only fair in their eyes). And Nico did it happily every single morning. 

You saw that future in the nights where the twins were exhausted, passed out on the couch in their own jerseys whilst you kept your eyes glued to the screen, engrossed in the result of a sport you didn’t care about over a year ago.

You saw that future in the way the twins babbled about Switzerland and how excited they were to go back and all the things they wanted to show you. You didn’t even know what the plan was for the offseason, when Nico would return back to Switzerland and have all his family there to help him out. You were too scared to ask.

You saw that future in the way that your life became so intertwined in theirs. They were always on your mind, even during your off days. You would be eating lunch with a friend and think about how Marley would hate the dish because the carrots were too big. You would throw on a playlist whilst cleaning your apartment and smile when a random Swiss song would start playing because Otto insisted it was better (which also meant that Nico was teaching him to say as much). You would be having tea with Nana and giggle a little to yourself at the chocolates she would offer because you knew chocolate snob Nico would not approve. 

You saw that future in so many different ways and it made it a little hard to breathe the more you realised that you wanted it. You wanted it so fucking bad but it was March Madness and the twins’ birthday was coming up and there were a million other things that took priority over your lives than the growing feelings you had for this little family. 

So, you bottled it up and pretended like you couldn’t hear Nana’s disappointed sigh in the back of your mind.

…

Nico had been jumpy since the start of the roadie.

Usually by this point of the year, the road trips were more of a nuisance and the boys were done with them. Everyone was bone tired, exhausted and injured in some capacity, pushing their bodies to unreal limits with a sense of urgency to just get on with playoffs. They were done with the regular season, they were done playing games that didn’t matter in the lead up to the Cup. They were getting a taste of a possible Cup run and they were eager to start it. 

And Nico got that. He was usually one of them, letting the adrenaline and excitement for playoffs motivate him through the last stretch of regular season games. The travel days would usually be the time that he let himself catch as much sleep as he could whilst being pressed up against the bus window or sprawled out on a row of plane seats.

But he had been angsty since the first flight out, constantly checking his phone for updates that weren’t coming through. He was quiet and lost in his own head more often than not and it was concerning to the team. It took Jonas cornering him in the hotel lobby before he could run off for him to confess.

“The twins are sick,” he said with his lips turned down in a frown. “It’s nasty and they are barely sleeping and I just feel guilty for leaving Honey to deal with it alone.”

The sniffling had started a few days ago but the cold really hit last night. Neither one of them were settling down for bed, just whining and crying and fussing. Otto was complaining he was too hot. Marley was complaining she was too cold. One of them puked in the living room and the other in the bathtub after a heavy dinner that didn’t settle well in their sensitive stomachs. 

It was carnage and he had to leave you completely alone with it. 

You had reassured him multiple times that you would be fine, that you had dealt with multiple sick kids at once and this would be no different. But he couldn’t help but let the guilt eat him alive over the next few days. 

He remembered what it was like trying to deal with the twins when they were sick at the same time and it was far from enjoyable. But even then, he had his mother or someone else nearby to help. He was never taking care of them completely alone for days on end like you were. 

Nico knew he should have been more involved in the team bonding and dinners, that he should be hyping his boys up for the playoffs but he spent more time staring at his phone like he wanted to be prepared in case you messaged or called. Not that he would have been much help on the other side of the country.

He was practically itching out of his skin to get back home to you and the twins. The plane ride was torture, the minutes passing like hours and his body far too wired to even attempt to sleep (much to Jack’s dismay since he tended to use Nico as a pillow). He was practically sprinting off the plane the second they landed, making a mental note to make it up to his teammates somehow before playoffs started after they had to deal with his irritated mood for the last few days. 

His body was moving on muscle memory as he drove back to the apartment, urging himself to stay under the speed limit and take his time. He knew you were home. He knew the twins were home. Him getting home in two minutes or twenty wouldn’t change that. 

Nico was still running on pure adrenaline by the time he reached the front door, still panting from taking the stairs over the elevator as he pushed it open and quickly made his way inside. His bags were abandoned by the door and he opened his mouth to call out to the three of you when he froze the second he was in view of the living room.

He never really understood what people meant when they said they saw something so beautiful that they stopped in their tracks. Or at least, he never really understood until now. And he was aware that, to anyone else, there was nothing amazing or jaw dropping about the sight in front of him. But it meant everything to Nico. 

Because it was late by the time they landed in New Jersey and he had accepted the possibility that everyone would be asleep. But here you were, sitting on his couch, waiting for him even though he could see the bags under your eyes and the way you were already starting to nod off. Because he knew the sweatpants and hoodie weren’t anything groundbreaking, but it was a Devils hoodie with his number on it and some old sweats of yours that had a mysterious stain on it (probably from one of the twins) but you wanted to wait for him instead of heading straight for a shower and your bed.

Because here you were, sitting on his couch after you had probably experienced the longest few days of your life taking care of two sick toddlers (his two sick toddlers), still giving him a sleepy smile as soon as he walked through the door like you were genuinely happy to see him, and he just couldn’t help but think he had never met or seen someone as beautiful as you—both inside and out. 

“Are you okay?” You asked when he didn’t say anything, when he continued to stand in the middle of the room, looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read. 

And, if Nico was logical and not sleep deprived, there was probably a part of him that would have remembered that it was late and that you were both tired and his emotional epiphanies could wait until the morning. 

But Nico was not logical and he was very sleep deprived and he had spent the better part of the last few months fighting his team and himself over his feelings for you, and he was far too fucking tired to keep fighting them now.

Because he was staring at you from across the room and felt such a rush of warmth and relief and comfort knowing that he had you by his side and he couldn’t quite keep it in anymore.

“I think you look beautiful,” he blurted out without any further hesitation. 

You paused, staring at him for a few moments as you processed his words before glancing down at yourself. “Uh, thanks?” You managed to mutter out through an awkward laugh. “Maybe not as much right now but—” 

“I mean right now,” he said, his voice genuine and sincere and serious because apparently even sleep deprived Nico understood the importance of honesty. “And always. But especially now. And I feel very lucky that I get to come back home to you.” 

Your eyes widened and your mouth was moving but no words were coming out. 

“And you don’t have to say anything,” he continued because he was physically unable to stop himself, even taking a few steps closer to you as he did. “But you deserve to know.” 

“You can’t say that,” you whispered, shaking your head at him.

His brows furrowed together. “Why not?” 

“You can’t say stuff like that when you don’t mean it like—” But you cut yourself off, swallowing harshly as your gaze dropped down to your hands.

“Mean it like what?” Nico asked, his body still moving until he was kneeling on the ground in front of you, his hands on your knees as he ducked his head to catch your eye again. 

“Nico,” you said his name so softly that it made his stomach twist. 

“I meant what I said,” Nico said, his hands squeezing your knees as he spoke. “You look beautiful right now and every other day. I think it all the time and you deserve to hear it more. I think you are one of the best people I have ever met in my life.”

You let out a shuddering breath. 

“And I think I’m reading this right,” his voice dropped to a whisper, something cautious and vulnerable written across his face. “And stop me if I’m not because the last thing I want is to make you feel uncomfortable or—”

You grabbed his face and kissed him before you could second guess yourself. 

Despite the fact it wasn’t very long, Nico sunk into the kiss. He let himself lean into the touch, to savour the feeling of your hands cupping his face and your lips on his. He let himself enjoy the way your nose nudged against his as you pulled away, as you gave yourself enough space to rest your forehead against his.

“You’re not reading it wrong,” you assured him with a small, almost secretive smile. “But I didn’t think you would feel the same, especially with the twins—”

“Don’t worry about that just yet,” he murmured, letting his eyes fall shut as he enjoyed just how close you were to him. “They don’t have to know right away, we can take things slow. But I…I want to do this. I want to give us a try.”

You tried to bite back the grin threatening to take over your face. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Nico grinned. “I want to see where this goes.”

“And if it goes wrong?” You dared yourself to ask.

But Nico didn’t seem particularly worried, twisting his hand so he could intertwine it with your own. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Honey, but we make a pretty good team. Best of the league. No doubts about us.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Does that make me your A?” 

Nico snorted. “No way. We are co-captains. Equals.”

“Co-captains,” you agreed, nodding a little. 

And there was still a lot more that needed to be discussed. Both of you knew that. But it was late and you were both tired and there was no rush to figure everything out just yet. 

Becoming a father was one of the best things that happened to Nico Hischier. Meeting you was second. And maybe this year, he would add hoisting the Cup with his team as the third but only time would tell.

And, in the meantime, Nico was pretty damn happy with you and Otto and Marley—his perfect little family of four.

.

[wonderjanga]

Little British Boy

The Batsons were both British people who immigrated to America. As a result of this when Mary and Billy were born, they gained British accents causing them to sound like little Victorian children.

Store Owner: “Thanks for the help, young man.” *hands him five dollars*

Billy: “Thank you sir!”

Store Owner: “No problem-” *has to do a double take at that accent* “A Brit?”

Billy: “No sir. But my parents were. I was raised in America.”

Yeah… It confused some people at first, but after a while of the little British kid coming around and doing odd jobs for money, most store owners got used to it. Then came the time Billy wanted a stable job a.k.a. being the Whiz kid.

Mr. Morris: “So you want to be a radio host?”

Billy: “Yes, sir. I need the money.”

Mr. Morris: “Wow… It’s been a long while since I’ve heard a British accent.”

Billy: “Ah, sorry.” *tries to make himself sound more American, but it comes all across as more transatlantic* “Is that better?”

Mr. Morris: *heard the transatlantic accent and was immediately interested* “Very. Why don’t we have you do a trial run and then we’ll go from there?”

Billy: “I’d really appreciate that, sir.” *thinks he thinks his American accent is good, but doesn’t realize he’s doing a perfect transatlantic*

The Britishness also bled into his Captain Marvel form. Though like with Billy, he tried to sound more American and ended up coming across as more transatlantic. People in the 60s loved it, and when the time bubble popped surprisingly people from the 2000s loved it too. And because in this AU the bubble popped in the 2000s, this was when most heroes were first starting out. He ends up meeting a young Batman. Billy had originally gone to Gotham because they wanted to see if the city was still cursed to heck and sure enough it was.

Batman: “You sound just like the old Gray Ghost movies…”

Marvel: “What was that?”

Batman: “Nothing.”

Somehow, about a couple years after this, they ended up developing a friendship. Marvel was even allowed down in the Batcave on the condition he doesn’t touch anything. (Bruce literally saw the man touch something with his pinky and it short fused. He is not taking any risks until he is sure the Batcomputer can handle enough volts of electricity to take out a power plant.) One of these days while Bruce was working, and Marvel was in the cave pacing and chattering incessantly to Bruce about something random, Alfred came down. The butler distracted the Captain and after a bit, all Bruce could hear was unintelligible words.

At first, Bruce just assumed it was him zoning out of the conversation and thought nothing of it, but then Robin tiptoed over:

Robin!Dick: *pokes Bruce to bring him back to reality* “What are they saying…?” *points to Alfred and Marvel*

Alfred and Marvel: *speaking in Welsh*

Batman: “I… don’t know.”

Robin!Dick and Batman: *stares*

Ah… How could he have forgotten? Alfred’s Welsh. Though, the butler now speaks in a different English accent, likely due to his time as a stage actor. Bruce remembered the man telling him that long ago when he was still a boy. How… unprepared of Bruce. He should’ve learned Welsh by now. He’s a little embarrassed he hasn’t. As for Marvel, Bruce was a little upset he didn’t know the man was from England, let alone the same place as Agent A. But then where did the transatlantic-ness come from?

Robin!Dick: “I still can’t tell what they’re saying…”

Marvel and Alfred: *switched back to English at this point, but the accents are still strong*

So yes, Billy has three accents folks. His mother Marilyn was Welsh so he knows how to mimic the accent and speak the language because I say so. His father had a classic London accent which Billy defaults to most of the time. So, Billy’s double British, or just British and Welsh is you want to separate the two. Then there’s the fail-to-try-to-sound-more-American-accent or accidental transatlantic accent.

[nothomegal]

"Kiss. Teach. Love!"

(Mr. Crawling x GN! Reader)

No way, NotHomeGal actually revived? Yup, I did. Homicipher brought me back to life from the depts of my creative burnout (o゜▽゜)o☆

This game really scratched a part of my brain I didn't know was there, but I'm not complaining!

And no, I won't be abandoning the slasher fandom, but I must say it will take some time to come back to write those right now, but I'll do my best to rekindle that spark!

Okay, enough of my yapping. Hope you enjoy this Oneshot (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Summary: after learning that sometimes objects from the human world may fall into the realm you're currently stuck in, it became a common activity for you to scavenge around the junk to pass time, and your ghost companion always seems so curious about it!

Warnings: none really just fluff, Mr. Crawling being too cute for a mortal soul to handle.

Side note: yeah just like in most (basically all) of my fics, MC (or Y/N) will be Gender Neutral! So everyone gets to enjoy the story with their favorite ghost man :]

AND! Here's the link of the dictionary I used for the fic to put ghost words heheerhkj.

Word count: 3.6k

It's been so long, they think at least. Time feels stuck in place, yet in the deepest part of (Y/N)'s conscience they know it's not true, that the time and everything outside these lifeless concrete walls is very much alive.

Life goes on, it keeps moving regardless if they feel it or not, time is passing just like it always did... Yet, they feel stuck. Numb. It's like their mind and soul are slowly melting, becoming one with this dimension they begrudgingly started to call "home", even if it's not... This is not their real home!...

It's not!...

It's not...

It's not...?

—"☨ д つ 々?"— (Sad)

A quiet gasp left (Y/N)'s lips when suddenly something brushed against their leg as that soft voice spoke next to them, that "something" being the very long, dark hair of their ghost companion.

They turn their head, almost flinching at the sight of how close Mr. Crawling was to them. Shoot, sometimes they forget how unnerving his appearance is, especially when he creeps up on them like this, though unintentionally.

—"ત ટ д ☨ д つ 々?"— (You Sad)

He repeated the question, his usual smile now replaced with a small frown. His voice quiet and soft as always, but with that subtle quiver at the end that appeared whenever he's concerned.

(Y/N)'s breath almost hitched from that little but oh so sweet display of care. Even after all the time spent side by side with Mr. Crawling, they still periodically wonder what the hell did they do to deserve such kind perso... Ghost, in their life.

Before the entity's worry could grow, (Y/N) flashed him with a smile, shaking their head a little.

—"I'm alright, just a little distracted."—

Their answer did seem to soothe the ghost's worry a little. However, he leaned closer, more of his hair falling into (Y/N)'s body, sending small shiver through their form as the black locks brushed their legs, sensation that resembling a small breeze of air running across their skin. An odd, chilly feeling... But one that became very comforting and grounding for the human over the time, as it was like a gentle reminder of Mr. Crawling's presence, that they weren't alone.

—"つ ત บ บ λ ป こ ৺ נ ८ ک ટ ? つ ત บ บ つ ኟ บ ટ ?"— (Not Bad Feel Not Scared)

Their smile faltered for a brief moment, knowing exactly what he was talking about...

Even if it's been quite a while since (Y/N) had one of those episodes of fear and hallucinations, the memories of them are still haunting the human in one way or another, leaving this uncomfortable sensation under their skin. It's like feeling hands, snaking all over their body, slowly slipping under their clothes, creeping through their skin and flesh, trying to dig deeper and deeper, right to their very core, trying to reach something so deep inside of them and rip it away from them...

Their essence?

Their soul?

T̵͉̗̒ḣ̴̻̱̂ȅ̷͓͘i̵̤͙̐͝ȑ̶͈̖̏ n̷̳̻̬̮̯̟̗̙̩̻̮͊͋̾́͐͌̏͒̿̏̆̑͜͠ä̴̢̧̡̦͕̻̙̻͕̳̟́̊͊̾̄̈́ḿ̵̡̢̛̜͉̗̗̞͖̟͈̬͈̻͍͌̋̓̐̅͘͠e̵͇̹͈̤͕̮̺͉͚͈͔̭͇̔-?

The human then simply hums, shaking off the heavy feeling off their mind. Their gaze soon focuses back on Mr. Crawling's face, their smile creeping back on their features, but now brighter, happier.

—"つ ત บ บ λ ป こ ৺ נ ८ ک ટ . つ ત บ บ ጉ ሰ ટ נ."— (Not Bad Feel Not Together)

They replied cheerfully, confidently using the otherworldly language to make sure there is no room for doubts left.

Upon hearing their answer and seeing that smile he absolutely adored, Mr. Crawling himself smiles back, letting that characteristic high-pitched giggle of of his. And just like (Y/N) expected, the crawling ghost reached out and gently patted their head, ruffling their grayish hair a little.

—"ㄷコ ਦ υ ป ! ㄷコ ਦ υ ป !"— (Glad Glad)

(Y/N) giggled as well, already used to Mr. Crawling's joyful chirps at whatever little thing they do. Once satisfied, the ghost slowly retires his hand from their head and leans back to his previous position right next to the human in a raincoat, his dark locks trailing behind and sliding off (Y/N)'s legs as he gives them a little bit of space.

They hum, that happy smile remaining on their lips, brightening a bit their bandage-covered face, returning some of color and life to it. The human soon shift their attention back to what they were previously up to, which was scavenging and going through all the junk and rumble that fell down here from the human world.

While (Y/N) is the one going through the numerous items, Mr. Crawling remained focused on them. Staying next to their crouched form and curiously watching the things they periodically picked up and inspected, sometimes even picking something himself and asking what it is and what humans do with it.

The activity was simple, but it was like a huge breath of air for (Y/N) and a great way to distract their mind from the decay this world was putting them through, helping them remember who they are and what are supposed to be. A human, an unfortunate human that found themselves in this place of absolute madness...

(Y/N)'s train of thoughts stopped when their eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of something bright and colorful under a small pile of old, messed news articles. And after carefully pushing aside all the trash, they get a clear sight of what it is.

A manga cover!

(Y/N)'s eyes widened and their smile grew as they reach out and grab the manga book, picking it up and instantly flipping through the pages.

—"No way, it's actually in good, readable condition!"—

They exclaimed excitedly, eyes wandering through the pages with interest.

Mr. Crawling simply observed, curiously watching them inspect the book. He noticed that (Y/N) would always get super excited whenever they saw one of these colorful pictures, and it made him happy to see them happy! As well as to keep a mental note to find more of these to make them even happier.

However, as the human paused on one of the pages, probably to check if the paper is holding up alright after getting a little wet. Something completely different caught the ghost's attention.

Slowly, Mr. Crawling reaches his hand again, pointing at a particular drawing with his finger while tilting his head to the side, like a confused puppy would.

—"נ บ ਦ ኟィд ⊔ ટ ৺ ㅗ?"— (What They Do)

He asked, gently tapping the picture with his finger.

(Y/N) glances at the spot their ghost companion is pointing at, their eyebrows rising slightly as they see an illustration of two of the characters kissing. Oh, did they just spoiled themselves one of the subplots?...

—"This?"—

They asks, eyes flickering between the comic and Mr. Crawling's face.

—"π々⊔ λ ک つ ત コ ጉ ک こ?"— (Why Touch Mouth)

The ghost asked again, genuine curiosity lingering in his quiet voice as he taps the paper again, his head turning to the side to look at (Y/N). Despite half of his face being covered by his dark hair, they could practically feel his curious stare, almost like a kid waiting for his parent to answer.

—"ک  ጉ ㄷ π π々⊔ ?"— (Teach Why)

He asks, now his attention completely casted on (Y/N), patiently waiting for their answer.

The mentioned human stays silent at fist, seemingly surprised the ghost actually doesn't know what a kiss is and why people do it. However, the more they think about it, the less he can blame Mr. Crawling. After all, this world is not built for affection, and considering all the dangers that lurk here on daily basis, it's not too surprising that some residents of this place don't even know what affection is.

—"Well. This is called a kiss, 'kiss'."—

They explain, pointing at their lips as they spell the word for him.

—"K- K̴̻̍-K̶̥͔̒ḭ̷̢̆̾ṣ̵̠͊s̵̮̎̾-?"—

He attempts to repeat, though the sound comes more as a hiss rather than an actual word... Still, (Y/N) was proud of him for trying! And expresses such joy with a soft giggle.

—"Yeah, kiss. Uh..."—

They paused, thinking over their wording before continuing.

—"☨ บ п ป Kiss ત λ コㄷ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ."— (Human _ Desire Teach Love)

They finish, scratching their cheek with a sheepish smile, knowing that their explanation probably sounded wonky a weird, especially with that little mix between languages.

The ghost, makes a small "oh" sound, actually understanding their answer even with the odd wording.

Suddenly, Mr. Crawling's face lightens in puppy-like joy as he leans closer, his face just inches away from the human's when he starts to chirp back.

—"ત λ コㄷ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ! "— (Desire Teach Love)

(Y/N) raised their eyebrows at his words, their cheeks suddenly feeling a little warmer.

(Hold on, is he asking me for a kiss?!)

As flustered as they were, upon seeing that excited, happy smile of the ghost that they grew so attached to, they couldn't find the heart to tell him no even if their life depended on it. Beside, it's just a kiss, and they both like each other! So why not?

—"Eh... Hehehe. Okay, okay. You kiss like this."—

They answer, before suddenly leaning forward and pressing their lips against the cold skin of his cheek.

A soft, quiet gasp escaped the ghost's lips, the difference in temperature between his and (Y/N) body never failing to make his chest feel all funny, though not unpleasant type of funny. But now with the added softness of their lips and the hot breath casted on his face, it created a sensation he haven't felt before.

The human leans back a little, chuckling under their breath at the ghost's reaction. However, their smile begin to fade when they notice how still he suddenly got.

They go silent, patiently waiting for Mr. Crawling to say or do something, but he remained perfectly still and dead silent, like some kind of creepy statue. Did they just cross some boundary they didn't know about?...

—"Mr. Crawling?..."— you ask eventually, voice quiet. —"Are you alright? Did I-..."—

(Y/N) paused when he finally does move, slowly lifting his hand from the opened manga book and brushing his fingers against his cheek, right on the spot they kissed him a second ago.

Suddenly, another high-pitched giggle escaped the ghost as he immediately launches forward, forcing (Y/N) back and basically tackling them to the ground into that famous overzealous hug of his they came to secretly adore.

—"K̶̥͔̒ḭ̷̢̆̾ṣ̵̠͊s̵̮̎̾ ! K̶̥͔̒ḭ̷̢̆̾ṣ̵̠͊s̵̮̎̾ !"—

He cheerfully exclaims with his broken human speech, before mimicking (Y/N)'s action and pressing his lips against their cheek. Though, more than an kiss his gesture resembled a nuzzle, like big dog gently bumping his favorite person with his nose.

—"৺ ጉ נ ⊔ λ ત д ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ! "— (Me Want to Teach Love)

(Y/N) just couldn't help but laugh at the sweet action of the ghost, their cheeks turning much redder and warmer than before. With their hands no longer being occupied by the manga book, they reach and rest their hands on Mr. Crawling's back, basically hugging him back as the entity continues to joyfully express his liking through the newfound gesture.

—"You're doing it pretty good! But this is not exactly a kiss..."—

They eventually say, sliding their hands from his back and instead resting them on his shoulders. At the sound of their voice, Mr. Crawling's affectionate nuzzles pause and leans back, tilting his head to the side with curiosity.

—"Yeah, you need to press your lips, not caress with them. Ehm..."—

They fall silent, their gaze adverting for a brief moment as they try to find the needed words to describe what they're trying to say, but all they get is a reminder of how poor and limited the ghost vocabulary is...

Mr. Crawling remained quiet, patiently waiting for (Y/N) to figure out their wording. He didn't mind the wait at all to be honest, patience being one of his biggest virtues after all. Beside, seeing the human mumble and emit noises under their breath while making funny faces, such as pushing their lips or furrowing their brows, was a very cute sight to witness!

When realized that words, human or not, won't cut it. (Y/N) decided to use actions instead, as their head was starting to hurt at this point from this damn language barrier. So, with a soft sigh their eyes flicker back at Mr. Crawling, who was still patiently waiting for them to figure out their wording, or maybe taking the chance to look and admire their face, or maybe both...

—"৺ ጉ נ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ત ટ д Kiss."— (Me Teach You)

They finally said, a hint of determination in their tone, though it was mostly directed to (Y/N) as they try to push through their own sudden rush of shyness and fluster. How comes they can be all giggly and cuddly when Mr. Crawling literally tackles them, but then turn into a blushing mess from a little kiss?! Ugh, even they start to make less sense the more they stay in this world...

At their words, the ghost seemed almost ecstatic. He already was eager to get any sort of attention from (Y/N), let alone affection. So the mere thought of feeling their lips pressed against his skin again made his whole body almost shake.

(Y/N) could feel the ghost's body grow tense from the overwhelming joy, and it was such a strangely endearing sight to witness; an otherworldly entity acting like an overjoyed puppy about to receive his favorite treat.

They giggle again, giving his shoulders a gentle squeeze before speaking.

—"Okay hehe... Eeh... Look, you kiss like this, 々ኟп৺."— (Look)

They say before leaning closer, the distance between their and Mr. Crawling's face growing smaller and smaller, until their lips finally come in contact with the ghost's other cheek.

They can feel him shiver, clearly still not used to the new sensation, but he was definitely loving it judging by the way his long arms slightly closed around their body, almost hugging them and pressing their smaller form against his taller one.

(Y/N) leans back a tiny bit, taking the chance to simply look at the entity who was holding them in it's embrace so tenderly. Of course, this is not the first, nor last, time they'll be held by Mr. Crawling. But... Right now, there's something different, they feel different. Their heart is pounding like crazy, yes. But they no longer feel flustered or embarrassed, they feel strangely in peace in fact.

There's always been something captivating about the crawling ghost, even with his unnerving traces. The way his long, black hair surrounds them, a void that's isolating both from the outside world, covering them like a veil, making each the protagonist of the other's gaze. For a monster-filled place like this, the moment felt almost romantic.

The human let a soft exhale, their lips parting ever so slightly. And before their brain could even realize it, (Y/N) was already leaning forward again.

They don't know what came over them, but their mind, their heart, and even that little voice was telling them the same thing...

{Do it.)

They press their lips again, this time against the tip of his nose, getting one of these little "eh" sounds out of him.

They didn't stop there however, instead starting to pepper the ghost's face with more kisses. His cheeks, his forehead, his jaw...

(Y/N)'s movements were slow and delicate, keeping in mind the comfort of their otherworldly companion as they shower him with this new, intimate affection. They weren't quite sure what he was thinking about all of this, if he was getting overwhelmed or not, if he truly enjoyed or understood how much this moment meant for humans... But by how his arms seem to close more around their smaller form, how his fingers flex around the fabric of their raincoat, how his body seemed to gradually relax and even lean into the new, loving gesture...

Yeah, they knew he understood.

However, as (Y/N) was about to reach his lips, an inexplicable wave of hesitation came all over them, freezing them in place and incapacitating from moving back of forward, their heartbeat getting surprisingly, almost painfully loud.

(What's going on?)

(Why am I feeling so... Self-conscious?)

(No... No. I want to do it, I need to do it! Come on body, move! Move god damnit!)

They screamed inside of their mind, yet their body still refused to move, regardless of all the mental berating they were putting themselves through. Their grip on Mr. Crawling's shoulder tightened a little, like a silent attempt to ground themselves and remember just how close the ghost was, how he was waiting for them to continue, how he was waiting for them. But... They... They just couldn't move.

However, after a few beats of silence and inactivity had passed, is Mr. Crawling the one to finally break the tension and lean forward, his cold lips pressing against the warm ones of the human.

And just like that, all the doubts and hesitations had melted away in (Y/N), and everything felt alright again. No, more than alright. This felt perfect, intimate, sweet, and surprisingly innocent. Holding nothing but the affection, care and love the two beings felt for one another, now in it's purest way.

A human.

And a ghost.

Together, connected to each other not just in a physical way, but now in a deep, emotional way...

The kiss itself probably didn't last even 10 seconds, but in (Y/N)'s and Mr. Crawling's mind it felt like two eternities had passed, and many more would if they'd decided to keep going.

After breaking the kiss, the two just stay like this for a while, looking at each other as their minds clear from the haze and feeling of drunkenness the sweet exchange left behind. Mr. Crawling still on top of (Y/N), but instead of just hovering over them like he always did, now his arms were tightly wrapped around their frame, keeping them securely in place right between the ground and his body.

(Y/N) couldn't explain it, but right now they feel like they're falling again for the ghost. Just by being held in his embrace and hidden underneath his larger body, they felt so safe and at peace... So...

It's like they were home.

Their home...

He became their home, their safe place, their happy place...

Him...

—"λ ک ሰ ৺ ટ ?"— (Are you okay)

Mr. Crawling suddenly asked, his smile faltering as his embrace on them tightens a little. It was almost like he was concerned he did something wrong and broke them, what a sweetheart.

(Y/N) blinked, noticing they were probably staring and zoning out with this little realization of theirs, realization that their real home was not in this or their world.

It was with Mr. Crawling.

Or at least, that's what their heart told them.

—"I'm fine."—

The human said in a soft voice. Their body leaning forward while speaking, snuggling closer to the ghost's chest, the action feeling like a little dejavu to the time he hid them from the man in red.

Ugh... The sole mention of that guy is still sending shivers through their body, so let's not think about him.

—"৺コኅ ጉ ሰ ટ נ ৺ ጉ נ ሰ ኟ つ ጉ."— (Us Together Me Happy)

Mr. Crawling didn't take long to let yet another high-pitched giggle, his head coming to rest on top of (Y/N)'s, nuzzling gently against their hair and raincoat hood.

—"ㄷコ ਦ υ ป ! ㄷコ ਦ υ ป !"— (Glad Glad)

He chirped cheerfully, his arms tightening just a little to give the human a gentle squeeze.

—"ત ટ д ሰ ኟ つ ጉ ৺ ጉ נ ㄷコ ਦ υ ป !"— (You Happy Me Grateful)

—"৺ ጉ נ ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ત ટ д !"— (Me Like You)

—"৺ ጉ נ ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ጉ ሰ ટ נ ત ટ д !"— (Me Like Together You)

All (Y/N) could do at the moment is giggle and attempt to keep up with his excitement. Jeez, they forgot how talkative Mr. Crawling gets when excited. They reach out at some point, affectionately rubbing his back like a quiet request to slow down, which the ghost quickly complies by stopping his speech and instead resorting just to the nuzzling.

The two remained like this for quite a while, just enjoying this precious moment of having each other close. Even if they knew that the next time (Y/N) needs to take a nap, they'll be in embraced again.

—"Alright, that's enough for now.—

The human muttered, giving the ghost's back a few gentle pats like a way of saying that they wanted him to move.

Mr. Crawling doesn't try to protest at all, surprisingly. And after giving one more squeeze, his arms loosen around (Y/N)'s form and he slowly lets go, his body getting off them and instead settling right by their side. That's probably the reason he didn't complain about letting go, knowing he'd be next to them one way or another.

(Y/N) chuckled again at the ghost's sneaky antics, finding them pretty adorable. And after reaching out to pat his head again, the human settles into a more comfortable position and grabs the manga book they previously dropped from Mr. Crawling's surprise-tackle-hug.

—"Okay, let's see what this is about..."—

The human muttered to themselves while opening the book and starting to read the story, deciding to go blind into it and discover the plot as they progress with the story.

Mr. Crawling in the meantime had found his comfortable spot by placing his head against (Y/N)'s shoulder, with one of his arms resting across their waist, keeping them in this half hug.

Even if the ghost didn't understand a word, the illustrations of the manga were very helpful and allowed him to follow the story along with the human. Though there were things he also didn't quite understand about human behavior, it wasn't a big deal since (Y/N) would always chive in and explain him things.

As the two lay there, reading, Mr. Crawling suddenly lifted his head and pressed his lips against (Y/N)'s cheek gently, this time actually kissing them.

—"৺ ጉ נ ک  ጉ ㄷ π ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ત ટ д ! "— (Me Teach Love You)

He said in a sweet, happy tone that nearly made (Y/N)'s heart explode. Ugh, seriously who gave him the right to be so cute!?

—"ㄷコ ਦ υ ป."— (Grateful)

—"ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ৺ ጉ נ ?"— (Like Me)

(Aaand there he goes again. Yup, high-maintenance type...)

(But he's my high-maintenance type.)

—"ㄷ ८ コ ㅗ ત ટ д."— (Like You)

They replied warmly, planting another kiss on top of his head, gaining yet another lovely giggle from the entity before returning their attention to the manga. The ghost soon following their example, settling back into his previous position, occasionally nuzzling against their shoulder like an affectionate cat. They could swear he'd be purring if he could.

And while reading the manga, (Y/N) couldn't help but smile, but also dread a little at how the next days would go now that Mr. Crawling learned about kissing and what it meant...

...

They're going to get tackled A LOT.

"Won't they?"

[hawkinsbnbg]

Soulmates au where Steve's soulmate is a man of culture.

ao3

Steve got Good boy inscribed on his butt, just on the right cheek.

It would be funny if it was a tattoo Steve had gotten one time when he was too drunk and on a dare.

Except it wasn't a tattoo. At all.

Even though it kind of looked like one.

It was the first words his soulmate would say to him.

When Steve first got it, his friends had given him odd looks in the locker room.

Tommy would use many excuses to touch and even Billy wouldn't shut up about it.

As for Carol, she just cackled her head off when he showed it to her.

Still, whenever Steve was alone, he would look at the words in the mirror and feel kinda giddy about the whole thing.

Who would call someone they had just met "good boy"? What if they were far older than him?

And what would his words be for them? "Yes sir"? "Hello sir"?

Soon, he found his answer when he learned about the BDSM world, which Robin had jokingly mentioned one time.

And Steve sort of fell down the rabbit hole since then.

He met many men and women who would call him "good boy", and occasionally "good girl".

But none of them felt right.

Until he heard about Kas.

Who was known to be an experienced dom and knew how to treat his subs right.

Most of the subs in Steve's circle put the man on a pedestal. They practically worshipped the ground he walked on.

And Steve had become curious enough to seek him out.

A quick text over the phone and Steve already had a date with Kas at a hotel on Friday night.

Once the day arrived, he dolled himself up a little, knowing many doms liked how rosy cheeks and pouty lips he was.

He even wore lipgloss and mascara just for good luck.

His outfit was simple enough to take off, but cute nonetheless.

A yellow and pink graffitied black sweater that was a little baggy on him, a tiny pearl choker, silver bracelets, a pair of jeans shorts, and baby pink sneakers.

He looked like a twink, all things considered.

It wasn't his first time dressing like this and it wouldn't be the last time, either.

Steve just..

Well, he just wanted to make sure if he stumbled on his soulmate who happened to be a dom, he wouldn't disappoint them too badly.

It had been years since his word first appeared. So he had the right to be a little bit desperate.

Steve didn't know why, but by the time he got to the hotel, he was a puddle of nerves.

He figured that maybe it was the "Kas' effect" that many people had told him about.

When the door opened to let Kas into the room, Steve just knew this man was going to rock his world.

Kas was attractive and tall. Easily having a couple of inches on him.

With long curly hair, big brown eyes, and plump lips, the man looked surprisingly intimidating.

He wore a burgundy shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing his tattoos and chunky silver rings.

His pants and heavy boots were made of leather, which Steve suddenly wanted to rub himself on.

He seemed to be a lanky type, but Steve knew better than to assume anything.

As Kas languidly made his way to the bed, Steve unconsciously slid down to the floor and got on his knees, waiting for his order.

Yeah, he was a good boy like that.

There was a reason why many doms had asked to keep him despite knowing he only let his soulmate own him.

Kas wasn't any different.

The man smiled at him, dimpled and warm, making Steve woozy a bit at being praised even wordlessly.

Once Kas sat down, he spread his thighs slightly and patted a hand on his lap.

Understanding the silent command immediately, Steve climbed up on it without being told twice.

He blushed and giggled a bit when strong arms wrapped around his waist securely.

"Good boy," said Kas huskily, smelling of cigarettes and something spicy. "What do you want for your reward, sweetheart?"

Steve felt his breath hitched at that. He knew the chance wasn't high but–

"Can I kiss you, sir?" He asked coyly, playing his role to perfection.

This time, it was Kas who took a sharp intake.

Surprise, disbelief, uncertainty, hope, and finally, joy settled on the man's handsome features.

Kas smiled at him again, more genuine and hopeful.

"Baby boy, do you know that I have those words written on my left ribs my entire life?"

"Show me," Steve demanded, unable to keep up the act when he was so close to finding his soulmate.

Without protest, Kas unbuttoned his shirt and there it was, scribbled on the man's pale skin was Can I kiss you, sir? in his handwriting.

Smiling fondly, Steve traced his fingers on those words.

They sounded so sweet. And yet concerning if being put into the wrong context.

What a pair they made.

"Can you show me yours, sweetheart?" Kas asked tentatively, looking unsure despite having been so confident just a few minutes ago.

"Yeah, sure, of course," Steve scrambled up from the man's lap and blushed as he turned around to unzip and pull down his shorts.

Hearing Kas curse quietly behind him was, perhaps, the most flattering moment in his life.

He could see what kind of an image he made with his baggy sweater bunching up around his waist, white thong, and Good boy being inked on his tanned buttcheek.

Some would call it hot, sexy, or erotic.

But Steve knew how obscene he looked with those words on him.

Especially when he was face down and ass up, waiting to be fucked into oblivion.

Not that he had let anyone fuck him, yet. But he wouldn't mind if Kas did it tonight.

Steve shuddered slightly as calloused fingers brushed on his cool skin, and let out a moan when hot lips placed a tender kiss on his cheek.

Then without pausing, strong hands grabbed his hips before sharp teeth sank into his flesh, eliciting a yelp from him.

It wasn't painful. It just made Steve want to ask for more. So he turned around to do exactly that.

"Kas–"

"Call me Eddie," the man tugged him back into his lap.

"Eddie," he breathed out as he straddled the man's thighs.

"Yes, my sunshine?" Eddie smiled adoringly at him.

"Can I kiss you now?" Steve braced his hands on the broad shoulders with a raised eyebrow.

Tightening the arms around his waist, Eddie pecked him on his chin, sweet and loving.

"How about I let you kiss me for the rest of our lives, my pretty angel?"

"And I'll be yours for as long as we live?" Steve murmured against those plump lips.

"Yeah, gonna treat you right, my good boy," Eddie chuckled before drawing him into a fervent kiss.

Steve was so going to thank that Chrissy girl who had sold him her mascara and lipgloss later.

[ozzgin]

Hi!! Your writing it truly lovely 😭<33 If i could request anything with Zzy? Thank youuu

Yandere! Demon x Gloomy! Reader (II)

Featuring the goat-legged boy Zzy and a gloomy, newly employed detective Reader! By the way, his name is a little tribute to a series I like. Can you guess who inspired it? Hint: it's Jhonen Vasquez's first comic :D

Content: female reader, perverted goat demon yandere, dark/crass humor!, monster romance, mildly NSFW

[Part 1] [Monster masterlist]

The detective man, at the very least, kept his word. The pay is good, and you barely have any work to do. The jobs themselves are similarly not too challenging: so far you haven’t had to deal with any murder mystery out of an Agatha Christie novel. Rather, most of the time, it’s someone asking you to investigate their cheating partner, or sending you to do a background check for an employee. Every now and then you’ll get the odd client, but that’s something for another day.

Your boss isn’t all that bad either. You were initially quite hesitant to be alone in the room with him. He always seems to be surrounded by an eerie, dark aura, and you’ve only seen him smile in a menacing, villainous way. Now you’ve gotten used to his strangeness. In fact, it’s almost comforting. There’s something refreshing about another human being honest about their misery. He seems to be just as uninterested in this job as you are, spending most of his time reading at his desk. Despite his unkempt, scary appearance, he's pleasant enough and looks after you. Which, now that you think about it, is a little suspicious. You've seen him act around other people: curt and to the point, disinterested, even potentially rude. With demons, he's ruthless.

"Have you had lunch yet?" the man asks, standing up and dusting his knees. "I can get us something."

You nod and flash him a flaccid smile, although you can't help but ask:

"Listen, aren't you being a little too nice? I mean, I'm not complaining...but I've seen how you behave in general, and I have a hard time coming up with a reason for my special treatment."

He ponders your question for a moment, before his sunken eyes look ahead, somewhere behind you.

"Well…If I’m being honest, you’re kind of pathetic, aren't you? I’m just a little worried that if I’m too harsh, I’ll find out you hanged yourself in your apartment or something. Not that I’d care, but if you’re gone, I’m the one stuck with…that thing.”

Ah. That’s what it was. Almost immediately, a shiver runs across your spine.

“(Y/N)! Are you done yet? I’m booooooored”, a prolonged whine erupts from the neighboring chamber.

“I’m about to have lunch, actually. Do you want any-”

“You know I do! Spread those legs and I can start”, the goat demon declares with a grin, clacking his hooves in your direction.

You sigh.

Of course. Months ago, you were tricked into signing a lifelong contract with Zzy. It was the detective’s way of washing his hands off the matter and warmly welcoming you into the agency. It makes sense that he'd treat you with utmost care, otherwise he'd have to deal with this pest from Hell once again.

How's your life with Zzy going?

You've since found a way to seal your bedroom, in order to avoid waking up with his groping hands under your sheets. Sadly, the stubborn creature keeps finding ways to bypass your safety measurements. Who would’ve thought that lust is such a powerful driving force?

On top of the nightly shenanigans, you obviously have to deal with him during the day, at the agency. “Listen, it’s like…one of those fidget toys. It helps with stress”, he explains fervently while pointing at your chest. “You want me to do my work properly, don’t you?” He concludes theatrically. “You’re not holding my boobs. This is the end of the conversation.”

If you’re having a bad day, it won’t go unnoticed. “Boy, what a smell, what a delicacy. You’re even more miserable than usual”, Zzy will exclaim, throwing his hands together in a graceful prayer. “You know what the best medicine is? A quick fuck. Let me pound that sadness out of you, eh?”

Despite his constant clowning, the demon does have moments of clarity. He becomes particularly serious when jealous. “What have you done?” You shout in despair, gawking at the client - now morphed into a pig - foaming at the mouth and running around the room. “He was staring at your ass. Only I can do that.” The horned man stands proud, arms crossed, nodding at his own courageous act. His most treasured belonging has been defended once more.

As expected, the jealous curse has gotten both of you into time-out. Zzy because he cursed the client in the first place, and you - despite your protests - because you didn't stop him in time. "Can't you wear something easier to take off? It takes two business days to unbutton this crap", the demon complains as he fiddles with your shirt. You're laying on the sofa, hands behind your head, gazing at the clock on the wall and counting the minutes passing. Unbothered, compliant. The peacefulness of someone who's given up. "Zipper is to the left", you add, aiding the process.

Another irritating detail is that the damned beast can detect the slightest arousal coming from you, and will make sure to announce it loudly, regardless of who is around. "Someone's horny! Whew, getting me all worked up, too." You slap a hand over his mouth, a deep red blush rapidly spreading across your cheeks. You turn to the detective and apologize profusely, but he remains unconcerned, flipping another page. "Let me take care of her first, Mr. Detective", Zzy manages to mumble through your pressed fingers. "As long as you get the task done", your boss responds plainly, never bothering to look up from his book.

"You should visit me down there sometimes", the horned creature suddenly mentions, his head resting in your lap as you idly browse your phone. You stop to glance down at him. "In Hell, you mean?" He snickers at the thought. "No one believes me when I tell them I have a human girlfriend. I need concrete proof, ya feel me?" You raise an eyebrow. "Girlfriend?" He disregards your inquiry and continues: "At least give me a pair of your panties to take back home." Absolutely not.

"Were you this much of a menace before I showed up?"

"What's that supposed to mean?! You can't blame a demon for being in love."

You sigh once more and roll over.

"Does that mean we can go for round two~?" Zzy is grinning at his own suggestion.

"Just go to sleep. Or something."

[tsumuus]

spiderman!izuku who...

Spiderman!Izuku who had always been the shy, freckled boy you knew since childhood. As your best friend, he was always there with his warm, lopsided smile, listening to your stories, and cheering you on when life got tough. Izuku Midoriya was dependable, maybe a little awkward, but endearing in every way. What you didn’t know, however, was that your lovable, nerdy friend also spent his nights swinging across the city, clad in red and blue, saving people as Spiderman.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to tell you. He did. But every time he thought about revealing his secret, the fear of putting you in danger stopped him. So, for now, he kept his two identities separate, even as his feelings for you grew into something much more than friendship.

Spiderman!Izuku who was patrolling the quieter streets one night when he spotted you walking home alone. He hadn’t expected to see you- it was late, and you usually had someone accompany you. But there you were, clutching your bag tightly and looking over your shoulder every few minutes. Izuku’s heart raced for a different reason than the adrenaline of swinging through the city. He wanted to swoop down and say something, but that would’ve given too much away.

Then, it happened. A group of thugs emerged from the shadows, blocking your path. You tried to stay calm, but their intentions were clear as one of them demanded your bag. Panic gripped you, and you barely registered the blur of red and blue that landed between you and them.

Spiderman!Izuku who saved you that night, making quick work of the robbers with his webbing and agility. You stared in awe as Spiderman, the Spiderman, protected you, his movements precise yet effortless. When it was over, he turned to you, extending a hand to help you up from where you’d stumbled. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice gentle despite the mask.

You nodded, too stunned to speak. He stayed just long enough to make sure you were safe, then disappeared into the night before you could thank him properly. From that moment on, your view of Spiderman shifted completely. He wasn’t just some vigilante swinging around the city- he was your hero.

Spiderman!Izuku who listened to you gush about Spiderman the next day with a bittersweet smile. “He saved me, Izuku!” you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling. “He’s incredible- so brave, so kind. And have you seen his moves? Amazing!”

Izuku felt a pang in his chest. On one hand, he was thrilled that you admired Spiderman- him. But on the other hand, he couldn’t help but feel overshadowed by his alter ego. You liked Spiderman, but did you like Izuku? He doubted it, especially when you were so open about your admiration for the masked hero.

Spiderman!Izuku who couldn’t hide his feelings for you, no matter how hard he tried. As your friendship continued, the lines between Spiderman and Izuku blurred in his mind. He found himself wanting to spend more time with you as both versions of himself. But he held back, afraid of complicating things or putting you in harm’s way.

You, meanwhile, started noticing the little things about Izuku- how he always seemed to know when you were in a bad mood, how he looked at you like you were the most important person in the world, how he’d disappear at odd times but always reappear with an apologetic smile. The more time you spent with him, the more you wondered if your growing admiration for Spiderman was distracting you from someone who’d been by your side all along.

Spiderman!Izuku who finally couldn’t take it anymore. One evening, after you’d finished another ramble about Spiderman, he blurted out, “What about me?”

You blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“What about me, Y/N?” His voice cracked with vulnerability. “I… I’ve been here the whole time. I’ve always been here for you. Do I… even compare to Spiderman in your eyes?”

His words hit you like a ton of bricks. You stared at him, realizing how much he’d been holding back. Suddenly, all those little things you’d overlooked- his kindness, his unwavering support, the way he looked at you like you hung the moon- clicked into place.

Spiderman!Izuku who revealed his secret that night, unable to keep it from you any longer. When he pulled off his mask, your breath caught. “Izuku…” you whispered, a mixture of shock and realization washing over you.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he said, his voice trembling. “I didn’t want to put you in danger. But I can’t stand the thought of you not knowing how much you mean to me. As Spiderman and as Izuku.”

Tears pricked your eyes as you stepped closer. “You idiot,” you said softly, a smile breaking through. “You’ve always been my hero. I was just too blind to see it.”

Spiderman!Izuku who finally got the happy ending he’d been dreaming of. From that moment on, you were no longer just friends- you were partners in every sense of the word. Whether he was swinging through the city or sitting next to you in class, Izuku knew he’d found his greatest strength in you. And for you, knowing the man behind the mask only deepened your admiration for the boy who had always been by your side.

a/n spiderman izuku my love

masterlist

[honeychamomile1]

Odd One Out

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summary: Reader feels invisible around the Pogues.

Warnings: Crying, feeling strongly excluded, comfort, mention of disease, etc.

Note: I know this wasn’t part of my “Future Stories” post, but it’s been a side story for too long so I decided to post it! Hope you like it!

Masterlist

“I’m tellin’ ya, pineapple doesn’t belong on pizza, that’s uh,” Pope chuckled at the silly conversation of debate whether the topping belongs on the delicious food or not before finishing his sentence, “the end of discussion. Debate closed.”

The whole room was still trying to wear off its laughter, a few people still going off in a fit before calming down again.

The girl was laughing too, just a lot softer and less full of….what’s the word….happiness.

Most of the time she didn’t know what the jokes were about, or the little references they would whisper to each other were on the topic of. It didn’t help the fact that she was sitting away from the majority of the group, the one sitter arm chair away from the couch they crowded.

She still remembers the encounter of them practically pushing her away from the group, forcing her to sit on the chair alone. She had walked in with them, all of them still laughing at some joke JJ said but of course she couldn’t get a word in on what he spoke at all, for she was always in the back of the group anyhow. The friends had walked in the house, one by one plopping on the couch or on the floor in front of it, so there wasn’t a single little space for her to squeeze in.

If she thought back deeper and shut her eyes, she could still feel the stare they laid upon her, waiting to see her point of action towards the matter. It was almost like they didn’t like her, like if she went near one of the particular that very person would be the unlucky girl or boy to have to deal with her for the rest of the hang out.

So yeah, her cheeks flushed deep red as she stumbled over crossed legs and ankles towards the back of the room, muttering soft pathetic apologies before sitting in the very chair she is sitting in now.

Now it wasn’t so bad, just that she was in the back, meaning all she could see were backs of heads and once in a while profiles. So the bit of participation she wished she had was no longer available, so now she was sitting in the chair, her legs crossed apple sauce style so they wouldn’t accidentally kick someone.

JJ was so close. So close that all she had to do in order to talk to him was tap him on the shoulder. He would turn around and talk to her and smile, giving her one of those blue eye sparkles. Maybe then she’d-

If she kept thinking like this she’d never be able to participate in the conversation. So she forced out a chuckle, trying to ease herself in.

Maybe she could squeeze her own voice in with all the others? If there’s room for them there has to be room for her too, right?

“One time I went to a pizza shop and-“

Her voice dyed out, the response being absolutely nothing. No eye contact, no expression change, not even a glance from anyone, almost like they didn’t even hear her.

She was speaking loud enough, the same volume of everyone else, but she also didn’t want to talk over the whole group just for a grab of attention.

So the conversation she wasn’t included in continued, someone else’s voice covering hers.

That someone else being Kiera, who of course everyone has to pay attention to. “Yeah, I agree, no more pineapple on pizza talk, maybe we should get actual pizza.” She suggested, and everyone loved the sound of that.

So did she, her stomach being the other thing she was thinking about besides the fact she wasn’t being included. She got up with the others, heading out the door behind JJ.

If she just tapped him on the shoulder-

He closed the door. Maybe he didn’t see her, since there was a corner to go around before exiting the house, but he didn’t forget about her, right?

She stared at the closed door, the past events causing small tears to arise in her eyes.

No.

She can’t cry just because someone closed the door in her face. It was such a small thing, a small action of a mistake he might’ve made. She almost expected him to come back, staring at the handle to see if it would twist, awaiting his face to pop in and apologize for the little thing he did.

But he never came.

She took a sharp breath in, reaching forward for the handle herself and leaving the house.

The group was outside piling into the Twinkie, talking about. She went to the side door too, hoping she could squeeze in somewhere.

But all the seats were full, and all the pitiful eyes were on her.

“Oh, there’s no room. Maybe you could drive in your car and meet us there?” Sarah suggested, and it was the first time that day they spoke directly to her. And it should’ve been something she enjoyed, like a little invitation to join the conversation or an offer to squeeze next to someone, them willing to be a little bit uncomfortable just so she could join.

But it was something she wished didn’t happen, because why did she even go to the side of the car in the first place? Did she really think there would be room for her?

“Or someone could squeeze over..?” Sarah trailed off, looking over at the rooms of people, and the girl couldn’t help but notice how John B moved closer to the edge with the window, covering a small space. Her heart broke.

“Or ya could sit on my lap, Princess.” She heard JJ chuckle, and she glanced at him, her broken little heart believing him for a second, her cheeks softly flushing, before realizing it was a joke. Some people laughed, Kie smacking JJ on the arm but there was a smirk on her lips.

The girl cleared her throat awkwardly, fiddling with her hands, all eyes still on her.

“Yeah, I’m not gonna go anymore, I’ll just go home…I’m not feeling so well.” She had to come up with some excuse, some ticket to get out of there, not like they would miss her at all.

She just walked away, heading to the sidewalk to walk home. Alone.

No one wished her well, despite her lie, but she still wished to at least get a “get well soon” or a “goodbye”.

Nothing. Just pity looks as she walked away, not long before chatter filled the car once more and they drove off.

She didn’t feel like eating anymore, despite her stomach yelling at her because she missed the only chance to eat; they would probably make her pay for her own meal anyway.

So she headed home, arms crossed as tears finally made their way down her cheeks. It hurt, the concept of not being included. She was the nickel out of all the pennies. They were all tan skin and smiles, considering themselves lucky because they found each other, very similar to being lucky when you find a penny. But she was all silver and plain, having a different engraving on her and being a different size than everyone else; they were all small and sweet, yet she was the biggest fool out of all of them.

She hated being a nickel. What did she have to do to be a penny?

She didn’t know, and that right there made her cry harder. She wiped at the tears but nothing worked, for whole rivers were already down her face by now. Her heart cracked, she felt it, because she knew if John B moved over just a little there would be enough room for her to sit with them.

But he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to sit next to her, like she was some sort of disgusting disease that he didn’t want to catch.

All she wanted was to be included, to feel loved and fit in by them. But she’ll always be the odd one out.

She fell asleep crying, and woke up hungry since she skipped dinner the day before.

She got out of bed, seeing her red-eyed self in the mirror while brushing her teeth.

She decided to go out today, to JJ’s house.

Now, it didn’t seem like a good decision, but she needed comfort and he was the only person she knew that would provide it. Maybe she would tell him how she’s feeling, not the crying all the way home part, and he would assure her he likes her in the group.

At least that’s what her brain told her he’d say.

Because her mother wouldn’t understand, plus she had other things to deal with, and she didn’t want to bother her father with all the work loads he had on his mind.

But JJ, he was the shiniest penny of all of them, and he seems like the only person to trust. Sadly she didn’t forget about the joke he made the day prior, suggesting she sat on his lap, but it was a one time thing and he could’ve been peer pressured to make it.

That’s what her brain kept telling her.

But the morning was sunny and warm, practically begging for her to enjoy it so she couldn’t refuse.

She put on some Jean shorts and a sun shirt, putting some knitted bracelets on her wrist because she saw everyone else wearing one; plus they were fun to make.

She had made one for JJ, his two favorite colors she overheard him reveal tied into the bracelet. She was gonna bring it to his house, maybe have the courage to give it to him.

She got to his house on foot, spotting his blob of blonde hair behind his car hood, where it normally was.

She shyly made her way over, gazing at his car to pass time. She liked how rusty it was, showing its age but it was still quite clean, like it was his prize possession. (It probably was)

“She looks good, doesn’t she?”

She flinched, looking over at him and making eye contact. His blues were something she admired, but looking directly into them overwhelmed her so she looked away. He chuckled.

One of the main reasons why she went to him was because JJ was the type of person who could talk to anybody. He knew the words to say or the way to talk to make the person comfortable (friend wise that is.)

She hoped he would do just that while he talks to her, and so far so good.

She nodded in response, hands in her back pockets of her shorts and fiddling with the bracelet she made him.

“Yeah, looks great.” She assured, despite the fact that she knew he already knew that, but then again it was all worth the smirk he gave in response, leaning back into the hood.

“What’s wrong with it?” She had the courage to ask, hands out of her pockets now and fingers fiddling together.

He shook his head. “Absolutely nothin’, just had to replace the engine.”

She smiled softly at that, glad that there wasn’t anything severely wrong with his car. “That’s good.”

He nodded, clearly half listening but she knew it was only because he was so focused on the task at hand.

They fell into silence for a little bit, and she was kinda glad he didn’t ask why she was there, mainly because she needed time to build up the courage to start the topic.

“Hey, JJ?” She blurted out, forcing her lips to move. Her heart started beating quite quickly. He looked up at her briefly at the acknowledgment before glancing back down, letting her know he was listening.

“Mm?” He hummed.

“Um,” she started, fiddling with her hands harder than before and trying to ignore the surprisingly annoying racing of her heart. “I noticed yesterday-“

“You noticed the toilet paper I put on John B’s shoe? You didn’t tell him, did you?” He interrupted, his eyes sparkling as he looked at her. She’s always wanted an eye sparkle from him, that meant the topic was mischievous and exciting for him.

But now wasn’t the time, for she needed to get to the point before her courage wore off. “Well, no, I didn’t tell him, but-“

He let out a sigh of relief. “Good, I wanted it to be there when we went to get pizza, which…”

He slowly trailed off, realizing she wasn’t there when they went out.

She swallowed nervously, feeling her cheeks flush. “Yeah, whatever, anyway, I really need to talk to you about something.”

She was satisfied that she could get that sentence out, for the courage in her chest hasn’t left yet.

His face drew back, twisting with confusion but he looked okay with it. “Okay, what’s up, sugar?” He said casually, leaning back down and popping the old engine out, lifting it before placing on the ground.

Her cheeks flushed red at the nickname, but brushed it off so she could stay on task. She kept telling herself that talking to him would help, so she really wanted to get her point across.

“Um, well, I’m feeling a bit, I don’t know, like I don’t…belong.”

The word: belong. It was something she always wanted to do, something she would die just for a taste of being it. It was something she so wanted to be that she held the word close to her heart, holding onto it tightly so it wouldn’t leave her. It was slowly fighting back against her grip ever since she met the group, yet she wanted friends so badly she kept trying.

She stared at JJ to see his reaction, watching as he lifted the new engine towards the car hood. He must have felt her stare because why else would he look up, eyes looking as clueless as ever.

“Did you say something?” He said, scratching his head, closing the hood.

“What?” She pathetically whispered, tears welling up but she blinked them away. She cleared her throat. “N-no, I didn’t say anything. I was gonna say I made this for you.”

Her voice was soft and helpless, setting the bracelet on the now closed hood of the car after taking it out of her pocket. He stared at it, eyes softening slightly before looking up, meeting her glossy eyes.

“I-I hope you like it,” She said, voice thick and her lips were quivering, tears so close to bursting themselves out.

“Woah, what’s wrong?” He said, stepping around his car and reaching for her, but she snatched her wrist out of his reach.

“You weren’t listening to me!” She sputtered. “Just like everyone else.”

“I’m sorry.” Was all he could get out because he was in shock at her outburst. Normally she is the quiet cute girl in the corner, now her eyebrows were furrowed in anger and her cheeks were red. Smoke was practically coming out of her ears.

“Sorry?” She quoted. “I have been feeling like this for weeks, and I finally had the courage to talk to someone, that someone being you of all people because I had a speck of hope that you would listen but when I do you can’t do that just this once?!”

“Feeling like what?” He said- almost demanded- his eyebrows furrowing. She threw her arms in the air in asasperation at his response, like out of the whole outburst she expressed the only thing he heard was that little part. “Does it even matter?” She almost yelled. “You had one chance to listen and you didn’t take it. If you cared you would’ve listened.”

“I do care, sugar,” he desperately assured. “I didn’t know you needed my full attention. I should’ve listened, and I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t even matter anymore, forget about it, JJ,” she said, wiping her cheeks before turning away.

“No no talk to me, princess. I’m listening I promise,” he whispered, dirty fingers curved around her wrist.

She turned to him, desire for someone to listen to her was strong.

Once he knew she wasn’t gonna leave, he let go of her wrist, the warmth from his touch leaving her. She fiddled with her fingers, looking into his eyes that seemed so sincere.“You promise?”

He nodded almost instantly. “I promise.”

He even held out his pinkie to her, making her laugh but seal the promise nonetheless.

The rest of the morning they sat and talked, JJ’s smile as big as ever and the threads tied around his wrist.

She laughed.

Laughed.

And she actually got to hear his jokes for once. The ones she missed, misheard, and never repeated for her.

And those sounds were as genuine as they could get, her heart singing as he gave her a real eye twinkle.

It was at that moment her heart fell, fell hard for the boy next to her.

And at their next hangout she didn’t have to sit on the chair alone like she normally does, for now she got to see on Maybank’s lap (as offered) as she laughed with the group and got to have her say.

She felt loved. Felt like she was included.

And, most important of all, she felt belonged.

-Tell me what you think? 🫶🏻

[skeltnwrites]

The Shape of Family ‧₊˚❀༉

As a single dad, Steve’s world revolves around school drop-offs, bedtime rituals, and tee-ball practices—and he's struggling to keep up. But you're always there, happily lending a hand when he needs it most. / masterlist

part three - you help steve and penelope look for cinderella 11k

a/n - this actually took me ages oh my god. but to those asking about cinderella here you go! CW lost pet (happy ending i promise)

── .✦

The clock hanging in the hall clicks annoyingly loud. Tick, tick, tick, like a bad song stuck in your head. You watch the minute hand cross another line. It hasn’t been adjusted since the time changed last week. Similarly, the calendar below it has yet to be flipped. 

It’s November now, but more importantly, it’s Friday. It’s quickly cementing itself as your favorite day of the week. Friday’s mean lunch in Steve’s office and trading weekend plans and hearing about the kind of mischief Penelope’s been up to at home. 

But it’s a quarter past eight and Steve hasn’t arrived yet. He’s never been late, or even absent since you started volunteering. It’s odd, but everyone has their days you suppose. Still, a dull twinge blooms in your chest. Working without him might as well be a form of punishment. 

Someone had shoved a vacuum in your hands while they try and figure out if he’s coming. It’s boring work, not the kind Steve would give you. And when he has to give you boring work, he at least makes it fun. Turns most things into games or competitions. Like last week, he bet you any candy from the vending machine that he could sort donations faster than you. You bought him a Reeses, of course, but if anyone asks, you let him win on purpose. 

You hear Steve before you see him. He’s not loud, but his voice is distinct against any others. By now, you could pick him from a crowd by voice alone. You find him in the threshold between his supervisor's office and the hall. He lingers halfway out, toying with the door handle like he can’t decide if he should go inside. 

“Ah, look who finally decided to show up,” you overhear. “Was about to send a search party for you, Harrington.” The man cackles at his own joke, tone devoid of any edge. 

Steve laughs strangely. A laugh you aren’t sure you’ve ever heard from him before. He spills a string of apologies for his tardiness, but his boss waves him off and sends him to work. 

When he backpedals out of the doorway, you chide, “Tsk. Tsk. You’re late, Harrington.” 

Steve spooks easily. He hates to admit it but it makes him an easy target for office pranks which you do take full advantage of now that you’re friends. But you aren’t even trying to scare him this time. 

He visibly tenses at your voice, eyes snapping to yours. They’re as intense as you’ve ever seen the lovely shade of brown, yet dulled with the toll of exhaustion. The next thing you notice is his hair. It’s combed back behind his ears and by the looks of it has no product. 

“Hey,” he tries, stopping halfway to clear his throat. 

As if his appearance isn’t alarming enough, the lack of a comeback is triple worrisome. You try– and fail– to contain your concern. “What happened?” 

He deflates in one big sigh. Any attempt at a facade vanished. It’s impossible to lie to you when you look so concerned. 

“I’m the worst dad ever,” he declares, skimming your arm as he sidesteps past you. 

You catch up to his long stride with practiced eloquence. “Uh-oh. What’d you do?” 

“Cinderella’s gone missing.” 

“Missing?” 

He nods.

“But she’s an outside cat, right? She’s probably, I dunno, chasing birds or slumped over a can of tuna at a neighbor's house.” 

Steve bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s been four days. Four. She’s usually around at least once a day, if not, every other. I can’t even remember the last time–”

“Wait, wait. This makes you the worst dad, how exactly?” 

He forces his key into the lock of his office door, jostling the handle in frustration. “Because Penelope’s begged me since forever to let her be an inside cat and I always say no. She wouldn’t have got lost if she was inside.” 

You flick on the light and hum, understanding more than agreeing. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Steve, but I think you’re exaggerating.” 

He plants his bag on the desk and unzips it. “This is serious. She loves that cat more than me, I swear.” 

“Okay, first of all, not true. Second of all, this is serious and it sucks but it doesn’t make you a bad dad. You know that right?” 

“Besides the point,” he passes you a heavy pile of paper. “Will you help me hang these up?”

You don’t answer because you don’t need to. He already knows you’ll say yes. 

Black ink across the top page reads, “MISSING CAT”. There are two patchy images of Cinderella, one of which you’ve never seen and the other underexposed beyond recognition. Steve’s name, phone number, and address are listed at the bottom too. You flick through the stack, finding each version of Cinderella has been coated in a thick layer of brown crayon. 

“Penelope insisted on coloring all of them so people know what color she is.” 

Steve doesn’t have time for the pity party of a look you show him. If you cry, he’ll cry. And he’s cried enough in the last few days. 

You accompany Steve to the bulletin board outside his office. Unspokenly, you accept the very important job of paper-passer while he’s in charge of the stapler. 

“Thanks,” he says flatly, thumb catching on yours as he takes the page you’re holding out. 

“Don’t worry, Steve. She’ll come home. Cats just like their space sometimes.” You aren’t totally sure if that’s true about cats, but it sounds like the right thing to say. 

He mutters something under his breath. Not mean, just doubtful. 

It’s unusual to be the one filling the conversation. Steve’s good at talking, a Chatty Cathy as he often calls Penelope. But you try your best to fill his shoes. 

“How’s Penelope dealing with it?” 

“Awfully.” He chuckles dryly. “She’s on strike for just about everything right now. Refused to go to sleep, refused to eat breakfast, refused to get in the car this morning.” 

You nod and hand him another sheet. 

“I’d bet by lunch I’ll have to go pick her up. She was hysterical at drop-off.” 

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You have a funny urge to tack on something other than his name. Dummy or boss are typical but ill-fitting. And honey or sweetheart would probably cross a line, though, they’re nice to consider. 

He sighs, kneading his eye sockets. “I’m sorry. I’m being… I know you’re trying to help.” 

“You’re allowed to feel frustrated you know.” 

“I know. You’re just– thanks.”

“I’m banning that word from our conversations. You say it too much,” you tease. 

He gives you a look, neither happy nor sad. “Cause you’re always helping me, dummy.” 

You grin, largely at the nickname. 

Every board in the building is covered with posters and every person is notified of Cinderella’s disappearance in half the time it would normally take you and Steve. He’s not in any rush, just in his head. And after that, you dissolve into separate work, never far but still apart. 

By noon Steve’s on his third cup of coffee. But no amount of caffeine or sugar will erase the heavy bags under his eyes. Finding Cinderella might be the only cure. 

So there’s no debate in your mind when you offer, “I can come over and help look tonight?” 

Steve holds a finger up, gaze trained on an address book with his phone clamped between his ear and shoulder. “Hi, Miss Crawford?” He pushes the bridge of his glasses further up his nose. It’s rare that he wears them in front of you. Cute, nonetheless. “Yes, it’s Steve,” he says. 

There’s high-pitched rambling on the other end, not clear enough to discern anything other than an old-timey affection for Steve. You aren’t sure of the nature of Steve’s relationship with the woman, but he appears equally fond, even through the somber hues of his story. 

She offers no valuable insight as to Cinderella’s whereabouts but promises to keep an eye out, making her… strike seven. Steve’s determined to phone every person he knows and then every local in the phone book in the span of his thirty-minute lunch break. You joked about stealing his office neighbor’s phone to help, but Steve insisted you didn’t. 

When he docks the receiver you repeat yourself. 

“Sorry. You really don’t have to.”

“I know, but I can… If you want. It’s up to you.” 

“I– okay,” he sighs. “Only if you really don’t mind. It would be really helpful honestly.” 

“After work then?”

“Uhh, sure. I just have to pick up Penelope when I get off.” 

“Sounds good.” You grin and stir your food idly with a fork. It eventually goes cold in your lap. You’re more preoccupied with what you’ll wear tonight and what to bring Penelope to cheer her up. Candy’s probably your best bet. You know she’s already run out of Skittles from Halloween. 

Steve’s lips twitch happily as he dials another number. 

That’s about the happiest you see him. The rest of the day is a blur, mostly busywork as Steve is consistently ushered away by someone for something not even in his job description. For the first time possibly ever, he leaves on time. And he doesn’t say goodbye. He’s clearly having an awful day so you pretend it doesn’t sting, but the walk to your car is painfully silent. 

At home, you change quickly, pop something frozen in the microwave, and retrace your steps back to the car in record time. The drive to Steve’s is unfortunately not very long. It doesn’t give you much time to mull over every possible scenario like your brain desires. But you’ll survive. 

It still feels unfamiliar, pulling into his driveway. Less so than the first time, but still. You notice things you hadn’t before. The long crack like lightning in the pavement, the tinkle of a wind chime against the breeze, and the stepping stone with a ‘P’ carved in it. Halloween was the last time you were here. A couple of weeks has never felt like such a lifetime. Steve’s been busy parenting and working late and all. You don’t blame him. Sometimes you wonder how he ever made time for you in the first place with his schedule. 

On the front steps, Penelope plucks a weed and adds it to her bouquet. Her cheek is squished against the top of her knee and she’s curled over herself like a pillbug. Brown eyes flick up as you near. One blink, then two. The epitome of indifference. 

“Hi, Penelope.” 

“Hi,” she says. She sounds uncharacteristically small. And she is small, but her voice is anything but. You know her to be bold, unapologetic. But not today. 

You squat, toe to toe with her little Mary Janes, and wave a pack of Skittles. “Look what I brought,” you sing. 

The slightest lift of her frown before she restores the pout for good. “For me?”

“All for you.” 

She takes the candy and tucks it under her arm. 

“Wanna help me look for your dad?” 

It’s not a bribe, though her presence does tend to balm your Steve-induced nerves. So you are a little disappointed when she shakes her head. But disappointment wanes into sympathy and sympathy to determination. Determination to help her find Cinderella as soon as possible. 

You palm her shoulder as you stand. The front door is ajar, the breeze eating any warmth in the foyer. It’s eerily quiet inside. 

“Steve?” 

“One second!” he calls back, muffled from upstairs. 

The entryway is messier than you remember it. Shoes in a jumbled heap behind the door, Steve’s unzipped backpack slumped against the baseboards, and winter gloves and hats knocked haphazardly onto the tile. You bend to pick up a knit beanie as Steve hurdles down the stairs. 

He struggles to squeeze into a raincoat over the thick sweater he wore to work. “Hey,” he smiles softly, gaze sweeping across your clothes. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

“Do you want a heavier coat? Radio said it’s supposed to storm tonight.” 

“Oh,” you peer down at your denim jacket. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

Steve tilts his head, passing you a bundle of crumpled pink cloth. “Give this to Penelope? I’ll grab you one.” He doesn’t allow you to argue before turning around, but he stops halfway up the stairs, leaning over the railing to say, “Tell her to grab her boots too.”

You find the boots in the pile by the door and bring them to Penelope outside. She stares at you helplessly with one shoe halfway on the wrong foot. 

“Need help?”

“Yes please.” 

You take her ankle and prop her foot against yours. It takes a few tries and lots of wiggling but you slide the boot on and lace the purple strings all the way up. The second round is easier but you still wonder whether kids shoes are supposed to be this difficult. 

The door groans behind you and a warm hand cups your shoulder. “Did you eat?” Steve asks. “I can make you something before we go.”  

You rise to face him. The sky’s overcast, muting his tan complexion, making him look even more spent than he had earlier. “I ate. But thank you,” you smile, hoping to encourage one back. 

He doesn’t but he unfolds the coat he’s carrying, shaking the arms free so it’s easier for you to slip on. “See if this fits.”

It’s not your typical size, but the extra weight is nice. Traces of pine and juniper linger, like it’s been taken on a hike recently. And you’re instantly warmer, a comfort that extends beyond the garment alone. 

“Nice,” he nods, taking it upon himself to even out the hood strings for you. His fingernail skips across the zipper teeth and for a second, you think he’ll zip it up too. 

“Daddy, are we going now?” 

Steve spins on his heel, shuffling for his keys at the door. “Yes, baby. What did we talk about?” 

Penelope kicks a load of gravel into the grass. “Ummm, I dunno.” 

“No running off. If I can’t see you, we go home. Capeesh?” 

When he jogs down the steps to her side, she sighs. “Capeesh.” 

“Ready?” He pats her head, “Got your detective hat on?” 

She peers up then, a flush of fresh purpose, and nods. 

“Alright, Detective. Let’s roll.” 

Steve’s yard is embraced by dense woods on every side but the road. He leads you to the tree line where a trail has been carved smooth with frequent use. Bark stretches tall and needle branches weave a canopy of orange above. 

“Katie said I need to think more like a cat.” Penelope cranes her head up, “Do you think Cinderella went in the trees?”

“Maybe,” Steve mumbles, focused on jamming his nail under the metal tab of a can of cat food. 

“So maybe I should climb up to check?”

“Not these ones, babe. Too tall.”

“But what if she’s in one? Like, a really, really tall one.” 

“I think she’d pick a shorter one so she could get down,” you supply. “It would probably hurt her nails going all the way up there too.” 

She hums. You drift into a steady rhythm of whistling and calling Cinderella’s name. Penelope waves a toy ball with a little bell inside while you rattle the jar of treats. 

Penelope orbits off course slowly and when she hops out of sight Steve calls, “What did I say Nell?” 

“No running away!” 

He shakes his head at you, “This kid’ll be the death of me, I swear.”

You grin, turning back to him when you spot Penelope. Steve has a lovely side profile. You try to memorize the shape without tripping over any twigs as you walk. “How was she at school?” 

“Sad, they said. She cried at nap. Refused to sleep at all.” 

You coo. 

“But she ate all her lunch, so that’s good.”

You hum in agreement. 

Penelope crouches to examine the inside of a log. Her pigtails flip as she tips her head upside down. 

“Did you find something?” you ask. 

Penelope pulls something dark out, a dopey smile rounding her cheeks. “A slug.” 

Steve scrunches his nose but quickly slackens it in a poor attempt to conceal his disgust. Thankfully, you don’t have to be a good actor to fool a four-year-old. “Nice, honey.” 

“I think he’s dead.”

“Why don’t you put him back? He’s probably hibernating.” 

“Hiding? Why?”

“No, hi-ber-nat-ing. It’s when the animals go to sleep during the winter.” 

She squints, “For the whole winter?” 

“Yeah, think so.”

“How do they do that?” 

“Umm, I don’t know.” Steve glances at you for help but you only shrug. “They just do.” 

One of the joys of parenthood you’ve discovered through Penelope is the plethora of questions that you have absolutely no idea how to answer. 

Penelope replants the slug in its home, making a point to clarify, “Cinderella wasn’t in there.” 

The trail dips steadily downward, covered with a mess of broken branches, scattered pinecones, and crunchy leaves that crackle beneath your feet. Steve’s leading the way, rambling about something or other and you’d swear you’re listening if he asked. But truthfully, your eyes trace the fit of his jeans shamelessly. He has a nice ass, it’s hard not to notice! 

Your foot snags on something hard– a root, a branch, you aren’t totally sure– and it all happens so fast. You yelp and pitch forward, knees and hands slamming into the dirt with the full force of your weight. 

Steve whirls around and assesses the damage, quickly determines there are no injuries severe enough to warrant a hospital visit, and then he fucking cackles. 

You scoff, burying your own amusement as Penelope mimics him. Some example Dad is setting. At least he offers to help you up, Penelope just watches your embarrassment unfold.  

“Don’t laugh!” You yank his hand, harsh enough that he stumbles forward onto your toe. “Ow– Steve!”

“That’s what you get!” He hauls you up, grip faltering with each peel of laughter. 

You twist around yourself, sweeping your backside. “Do I have leaves on my butt?” 

He looks for as long as he deems appropriate which is not very long at all. “Just dirt and a ton of bugs.” 

“Shut up,” you smack his bicep. 

Penelope points, “That is not nice!”

“Yeah, keep your hands to yourself,” Steve teases. 

You trap a retort behind clenched teeth and look to Penelope. “Sorry.” 

“Uhh. You’re supposed to apologize to me.” 

You skip past him to Penelope’s side. “I’m helping Penelope look right now. Maybe later.” 

Steve knows you won’t see it but he hopes you feel him sticking up his middle finger. 

Penelope trudges along, the corners of her mouth drawn tight in quiet sadness. She fills the silence before you find the words.

“Do you think she’ll come home?” she asks earnestly. 

“I do, Pen. I think she’s probably just hiding.” 

“Like hide and seek?”

“Yeah.” 

She considers your words carefully. “But why?”

“I dunno. Cats are just silly like that.” 

She smiles. “Like dinosaurs?” 

You smile back. “Exactly.” 

The trees taper off, merging with the cracked sidewalk lining a cul de sac. Penelope’s ponytails are swept off her shoulders as a car whizzes by.  

You cuff her smaller fingers in your own just as Steve tells her to hold someone’s hand. 

He stops at her other side, surveying the neighborhood. It’s the type you’d imagine families live in. Basketball hoops, sidewalk chalk, bikes thrown against the lawns. 

“I’m gonna go talk to some neighbors. Will you hang some posters?” Steve asks you. “We should hurry. I think it’s going to rain soon.” 

“Can I go?” 

Steve’s eyes trail from Penelope back up to you curiously. 

“Yeah, I’ve got her.” You squeeze her hand, reassuring yourself more than anyone. 

“Okay. Penelope, be a good listener. Don’t go on the road by yourself. I’ll be just over there.” He points to a house with yellow siding and starts across the road. 

You turn Penelope by the shoulders and unzip her bag, taking the stapler in one hand and the stack of paper in the other. 

“Can you carry these?” you ask, thrusting the posters toward her. 

You straighten out the stapler and pick a sheet off the top before she braces them against her chest. “You know, this reminds me of when we first met.” 

“Because I helped you hang up stuff?”

“Mhmm.” You line the page up against a tree, nailing each corner to be sure it sticks. 

Eventually, you're passed a different poster, a painting. It’s a charming tangle of shapes and a riot of brown and orange. At the top, "MISSING" is written with two backward S’s in a crooked slope.

“Did you paint this?”

“Yes, at school.” 

“Wow. Did you write this too?” 

“Yep. My teacher helped me.” 

“Very good!” You tack it to a telephone pole and pivot to face her, brimming with pride. 

She’s not nearly as happy as you are about it. Her lips thin as she stares at her work and she hesitates before asking,“Do you think we’re bad detectives?” 

Your chest aches so sudden and fierce like you’ve been punched. You crouch, rubbing the soft fleece at her elbow. “No. No, honey. We aren’t bad detectives. Detective work just takes time. We have a lot of ground to cover.” 

Her frown wobbles, lashes shining. “It’s taking so long,” she whines. 

“I know, Pen. Cinderella didn’t leave us many clues, huh?” You swipe a tear before it reaches her mouth. You want to promise her that Cinderella will come home but your gut won’t let you. You don’t know if she really will. “Let’s go check on your Dad. See if the neighbors have seen her. Hmm?” 

She nods and you give her your best loving squeeze. 

Steve’s halfway up the steps of someone’s porch, mid-conversation with a young woman. Her frown deepens as you and Penelope approach, unlike the baby on her hip who smiles at you. 

Steve glances over before continuing. “Well, please call, if you do happen to see her.” 

“Absolutely. I hope you find her.” 

“Thanks,” he waves, descending the stairs to stand beside you.  

“No luck?” you ask, peering up at the clouds. They’re getting moodier by the minute and it’s started to sprinkle. 

His hand settles around Penelope’s skull like a claw, he shakes her frown away but not easily. “Not yet. We’ll keep looking.” 

Penelope walks a few feet ahead of you and Steve. Every few mailboxes you and Steve stick another poster up. Penelope doesn’t stop to wait, but she’s thorough in her searching, checking under cars and in drain pipes. Enough to even out the distance that grows each turn. 

You’re faced away, unclogging the jam in the stapler when Penelope gasps. 

“Nell! Wait!” Steve shouts as you turn. By then she’s already halfway up someone’s lawn.  

Steve jogs after her and you jog after Steve. Penelope’s made it to the sideyard when you catch up, stretching onto tiptoes and squinting through a rotted hole in the fence. 

“Penelope,” Steve sighs.

“I saw her Daddy! She jumped over the fence!”

“Are you sure?” His hand curls over the top of the fence but his eyes can’t reach. 

“Yes, I promise! We have to go over!” 

He scrapes through his hair, judging the wood planks. They’re at least a head taller than Steve, but there’s a thin lip dividing each in half. If he angles his foot right, he could use it to boost himself over. 

He shakes his head. He might've hopped a fence or two as a teenager, but he's grown now. “We have to ask. It’s someone’s yard.” 

Penelope wails, yanking his arm repeatedly. “No! Daddy! What if she’s gone? We have to hurry!” 

“Just go,” you wave, already backing up toward the house. “I’ll go knock. See if they’re home.” 

Steve winces at himself for what he’s about to do. But one glance at Penelope’s worried little face is all the courage he needs. He tests his grip, the sole of a shoe scraping wood for a scary second before catching on the trim. With one leg on either side, he pauses to look at Penelope. “Stay there,” he says, before leaping into the grass. 

He scans the backyard. There’s a swing set, a raised garden bed, a kiddie pool, and lots and lots of toys. It reminds him of his own yard. Steve takes a handful of hesitant steps, gaze flicking across each window for any horrified faces. He’s thankful not to see any. 

Then, a meow—faint, but unmistakable. His heart lurches, his head whipping up to the nearest tree even faster. His eyes comb through branch after branch, then again when he comes up empty. But a second meow and he’s never been more sure. He wedges his heel into a groove, hugging the trunk for balance. His nails dig uncomfortably into the bark as he pulls himself up. 

And there! Right where he swears he looked, a strip of golden-orange fur, blending seamlessly with the leaves… Except, Cinderella isn’t orange, she’s brown. Steve’s shoe slips, sending his chin hard into a thick branch on his way to the ground. The cat hisses equally if not more upset than Steve about the situation. He groans, glaring at the tree as he picks himself up. 

“Did you find her? Was it her?” Penelope yells, still peeping through the hole in the fence. 

Steve waits until he vaults back over to answer. “No, princess. Not her.” 

“Your chin,” you point out, but your words are eaten by Penelope’s shouting. 

“It was her! I know it was! I saw!” 

“It wasn’t, Nell. Promise. That cat was orange.”

“But it was! I saw her!” Penelope crumbles into hysterics, batting her fists against Steve’s thighs like they’re punching bags.  

Steve scoops her up, clamping her arms between their chests. 

“Daddy, we have to go back! I saw her!” Several gasps slice through her sentence and tears pour down her face in even streams. 

Steve shushes her gently, fanning her hood across her head as it starts to rain. You follow him up to the road and then down the street. Penelope’s relentless, squirming and screaming in his ear. It’s the first of her temper tantrums you’ve seen in person, though you’ve heard plenty about them, and you caught the beginning of one once through the phone. Steve’s more composed than you thought possible, waiting patiently until her sobs have dwindled into teary hiccups to set her down. 

“It’s not nice to hit. Even when we’re mad, you know that.”

She glares at him, more serious than you’ve ever seen. 

“Are you ready to go home?” 

Penelope’s face starts to wilt. She nearly cries again. 

“It’s too rainy. We have to go home soon or we’ll get sick.”

“Five more minutes,” she begs. 

“Okay.” He buttons her coat up to her chin. “Are you tired?” 

She shakes her head, though her eyes say otherwise. 

“Do you want me to carry you?” 

Penelope thinks long and hard. It’s a trick question. Of course she wants to be carried but God forbid Steve finds out she’s tired. 

He picks her up anyway. “You can still look from up here.” 

Penelope hooks her chin over his shoulder, cheek tipping to kiss the pad of his jacket. So much worry and too many days of poor sleep etched into each flap of her lashes. She looks utterly exhausted. And she really tries to stay awake– she needs to find Cinderella– but she lost that battle before it even started. The hiss of rain and the warm swing of Steve’s embrace send her straight to dreamland. 

Steve feels her arms slacken and slide down his back. He chances a glimpse at you to ask what he already knows but can’t. Not when you’re already watching Penelope with a type of love he believed was his alone to give. 

Alarm pulses when he registers the weight of your stare has shifted to him. The same velvet endearment skips across every feature on your face. It’s lovely and adorable but it terrifies the hell out of Steve. 

His cheeks burn and he smiles like a madman. He can’t help it. It sticks long after his eyes dart away. 

You drift into a comfortable quiet. The spray of rain is like white noise, making even you drowsy. Maybe Steve could carry you back too. It’s an amusing idea, enough to make you grin to yourself. You’re glad he doesn’t notice. He couldn't torture that information out of you. 

Halfway home, you hit a particularly steep incline in the forest, slick with the beginning sludge of mud. 

“Here,” Steve calls, boosting Penelope higher up his chest before casting his arm at you. 

You accept his hand, grateful for more reasons than one, and trace the wet shoeprints he leaves behind with your own. It’s a slow journey. Steve strains with the added weight on his front, but he doesn’t let go of you until you reach the top of the hill. 

You cross the threshold back into Steve’s yard as a bout of thunder splits the sky above. Penelope shakes awake and peels herself off Steve. She blinks unhappily, cheeks stamped with red lines mirroring his coat folds. 

“It’s okay,” he soothes, fixing her hood after it falls. 

“Cinderella,” she whimpers. 

“We’ll look again tomorrow.” 

She sniffles, voice so frail, hollow with sleep. “No. I–” 

Another wave of thunder startles her to panicked tears. Steve picks up the pace to the front door, shuffling through his pocket for the keys. He’s well-versed in unlocking the door one-handed– between groceries, backpacks, Penelope– he always has something to carry. But he’s thankful when you take the keys and do it for him. 

You scoot inside last, joining the choir of shoe squealing on the tile. 

Steve sets Penelope on the floor and kneels to unlace her boots. She wrestles with her coat zipper until Steve intervenes with much gentler hands. 

“We looked really good while you were asleep,” you promise while shedding your own coat. 

Her miserable expression doesn’t falter. 

Steve smears her tear tracks one cheek at a time. “Stay for a bit? Until the storm passes.”

You bend to collect Penelope’s coat off the floor and hang it next to yours. “Okay,” you say when you realize his words were directed at you. 

“I’m gonna give her a quick bath. Do you need anything? Water? Towel?” 

“Oh, no. I’m good. Thanks.” 

“Okay. We’ll be upstairs. Please, help yourself to whatever. Seriously.” 

When Steve disappears from view, you mosey into the living room, searching for something to keep your hands busy. And it’s not hard to find. There’s a pile of laundry that looks like it’s been trampled through more than a few times. Clothes stretch from one end of the couch to the other. You push them into a pile and get comfortable, folding each item with more care than you would your own. 

Four neat stacks later and Steve spots you from the stairs. “Please don’t do that,” he says. 

You clear your smirk as he nears. “Do what?” 

“You know what,” he snatches a sock from your grasp. It’s one of his, longer and duller than the others. “Sorry, I know it’s a mess.” 

“You know I don’t care, Steve.” 

He gazes down at you in pretend petulance. “Well, I do.” With a dramatic flick of his finger, he sends the sock sailing back into the hamper on the floor.  

“If it makes you feel better, I have a pile of clothes covering half my bed right now.”

 “Mmm. It doesn’t,” he decides. “But I came down because Penelope’s very kindly requested that you come read to her before she goes to bed. If you want to.” 

“Of course I want to.” Your lips bend into a funny little line, happy and curious and doubtful all dressed in one. “She really asked for me?” 

“Yeah,” he says in the same cadence he would duh. He offers his palm, drags you up easily. “Why’s that so hard to believe?” 

“I dunno.” A toothy smile slips onto your face before you can stop it. But your lips close as soon as you stand, pressed closer to him than you expected to be. 

“Sorry,” he chuckles, breaking away. “Come on.” 

He seemed nervous– the way he laughed, how his hands retracted like he was burned– but maybe you’re overthinking it. You forget about the interaction by the time you reach Penelope’s room. 

Several books are fanned around Penelope where she stands, like fallen petals from the stem of a flower. Her shelf has been mostly stripped. What isn’t on the floor has been scooped into a flimsy stack in her arms. 

Steve knocks on the door frame, “Ready?” 

Penelope turns and two books slide off the top of her tower. You can’t see her mouth but you can tell by her eyes that there’s a smile behind that copy of Goodnight Moon. 

“You can pick three, missy,” he says. 

“Five?” 

“Four.” 

“Four and a half?”

“Three.”

“No,” she giggles, definitely delirious. “Four.”

“Okay.” He kneels at her feet, reshelving unchosen books two or three at a time. 

It’s not an easy decision, but Penelope decides on her four and promptly thrusts them into your hands. You follow her to bed where she packs herself against the wall, politely leaving the rest of the twin mattress for you. 

“Wait!” she shouts when you open the first book, “The lights!” 

“I’m working on it,” Steve grumbles, standing to flip the light switch by the door. The room is swallowed in black apart from the nightlight glowing to life across the room. 

Penelope stretches across you to snatch something off her nightstand. A flashlight, you realize, as she clicks the switch. She trains the light on the page and beams at you with equal vibrance. 

The first story is the shortest and the second not much longer, but the third takes time. Time you get to notice the heat of her breath as she yawns into your arm and time to appreciate the weight of her head limp against your shoulder. 

You don’t have to look up to know Steve is still tidying. Every second counts when you’re a single parent. But you steal a glance in between each page anyway. Find him chucking clothes in the hamper and dumping an armload of stuffed animals onto the foot of the bed. They’ll be kicked to the floor by morning and yet he straightens them up anyhow. 

He concludes his rounds by the final pages of the fourth book, taking a seat on the floor just in time to hear you whisper, “The end.” 

Penelope bats her dark eyes up at you. She knows you’ll say yes before she even asks. “One more?” 

“No,” Steve interjects. “No more tonight, babe.”

“Pleaseee!” 

“No, you already hustled me into four. We usually only read two.” 

“Pretty please!” she adds, puppy dog eyes bouncing from Steve to you. 

Oh the cruelty. To defy Steve or disappoint Penelope. Both are terrible choices but only one of the pair currently has a heartbreaking little pout. 

“I’ll read one more really really short book if you promise to go to sleep after?” 

Her head bobs eagerly as she kicks the blankets off, springing to her feet.

Steve’s head flops against the sheets, hair like satin ribbons shining from root to end. You consider if it’s as soft as you assume and if you’ll ever have the chance to find out. 

“Supposed to be on my side,” he whispers through a gooey grin. 

“Am I?” 

He tuts, craning up to find Penelope. “Don’t take all of those back out. I just cleaned them up.”

She exchanges the two in her hand for a thick chapter book. 

“No ma’am,” Steve says as she turns. “Short one, ‘member?”

Penelope huffs and lugs herself back to the bookcase. She plucks a thinner paperback and uses Steve’s calf as a stool to launch herself back in bed. He doesn’t complain but he pinches her side in revenge. 

The book mirrors the length of tonight’s first, yet it takes double the time for your own selfish reasons. You linger on each word, emphasize each sound, and savor every second. Penelope is nestled against your hip as you read the final sentence, sleepy and oblivious that you’ve turned the last page. 

Steve pulls himself up to perch on the edge of the bed, mindful not to sit on anyone’s legs. He runs the back of his hand across her face, giving her nose an extra tap. Enough times and it’ll put her to sleep. 

“Can you say thanks, Nell? And goodnight.” 

She squirms away from his touch, pushing into your thigh. “I don’t wanna go to sleep.”

“Pen, remember our deal.” You squeeze her shoulder gently. “You promised, hmm?”

You swallow the urge to smile when she juts her lip out and frowns. The drama never ends with this one but you love it. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper. Your hand glides over the shape of her arm beneath the blanket. “I had fun reading to you.” 

She avoids your gaze, picking a loose string from her blanket. If she sees you grinning, she’ll end up grinning too. She can’t have that, she’s protesting. “Night.” 

Steve shakes his head dismissively at you, grinning fondly himself. “I’ll be down in a second,” he explains. 

You stand, slotting the book back in its home on the shelf and steal one last glimpse of them on your way out. A trail of nightlights guides you to the stairs like beacons. You end up in the kitchen, hands braced on the sink, eyes drifting around the backyard through the window.

There’s a patio with chairs and string lights. In the grass, a trampoline, a sandbox, and a toddler-sized picnic bench, all draped in purple moonlight and sparkling with rain. It’s easy to imagine life here. Birthday parties and cookouts and lazy Sunday afternoons. 

The swish of sock against tile knocks you from the fantasy. You locate Steve’s reflection in the glass.

“You better not be doing my dishes.” 

Your lips flex instinctually at his voice. “I thought about it.” 

He leans back against the counter, hip a hand’s width from yours. Strips of hair sag across his forehead like a botched set of bangs. Your height difference and the angle only accentuate how silly he looks. 

“What?” Steve smiles. 

You huff through your own. “Nothin’.” 

“Why are you laughing then?” 

“I’m not. Just…” you reach for his face but the courage fades halfway. You wave obtusely instead. “This hair,” you finish. 

He flattens the piece down, then another, combing more and more over his face like a real pair of bangs until the ends graze the ball of his nose. “What? You don’t like it?”

“Oh, it’s awful, Steve. Put it back.” 

“I dunno. Thinking of changing it up anyway.”

You shake your head, peeling your eyes away from him. “Stupid.” 

Stupidly gorgeous, you decide. He’s a mess, no doubt; rumpled and sweaty, and still, stupidly, impossibly gorgeous. 

He rakes his hair back where it belongs, “You’re too good to me, you know.”

“You’re so dramatic.” Your gaze remains on the window but you watch Steve in your peripherals. “I’m the perfect amount of good to you.” 

“Well, agree to disagree. But, thank you for coming over to help look. Really I–”

You face him fully then. “Steve, you don’t have to thank me.” 

“No, I do. Really, you’re… you’re great and it’s been nice, you know, having help. Even just having company. It hasn't been easy making friends the last few years.”

Your brain stalls at his choice of words. You spout the first thing that comes to mind. “That’s what friends are for, right?” The words sting like acid on your tongue but you smile anyway. You’re pretty sure your heart just split itself in half on the way to the friend zone. 

He hums, pushing off the counter toward the fridge. “Let me return the favor, please. I’ll make you whatever you want. Spaghetti, PB ‘n J, uhh, pre-packaged salad?”

“I’m good, Steve. I ate earlier. And you don’t need to return the favor.” 

He sets a jar of jelly on the counter. “Your loss. Penelope says I make the best PB ‘n J’s.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you do.” 

You settle at the kitchen table and watch him work unapologetically. His focus is entirely on a one-sided debate about the perfect peanut butter-to-jelly ratio, leaving him oblivious to your ogling.

He plops down in the chair across from yours when he’s finished. “Sure you don’t want some? You can have half of mine.” 

“Steve.” 

“Okay,” he sings and takes a bite. 

You watch the slow drip of water from the eaves. The rain has subsided enough that you could go, but neither of you suggest it. Your mind is elsewhere. Stuck on friends. 

“Hello? Anybody home?” Steve chuckles when you blink back to reality. “Did you hear me? I was–”

The trill of the phone interrupts. 

“I’m holding my thought. Don’t go anywhere.” Steve abandons his sandwich and crosses the room, pulling the phone from the counter. “Hello?... Uh-huh… Yes, yes.”

The sudden shift in his tone catches your attention. He sounds borderline ecstatic. 

“Okay. I’ll be right over. Thank you!” 

“Who was it?” you ask.

He snaps the receiver back into place. “A neighbor saw her just now.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes! Well, they’re pretty sure it’s her. It sounded like her, how they described. Are you able to stay here while I go check? I don’t wanna wake Penelope up.” 

You don’t even think about it when you insist, “Of course. Go!” 

“I’ll be right back. Thank you!” He squeezes your shoulder and jogs out of the kitchen. The sound of jangling keys fades with the closing of the front door and before you’ve processed it, you’re alone in Steve’s house. 

It’s a strange thing, being in Steve’s house without Steve. You’re not technically alone, Penelope is still tucked in bed upstairs, of course. But the silence is thick, suffocating even. So you’re admittedly glad when you hear tiny footsteps from upstairs. 

On the bottom step, Penelope freezes and her hand tightens around the railing, not expecting you to be there. “Where’s Daddy?” she mewls at you, bottom lip quivering against her words. 

“It’s okay. He went out to look some more, that’s all.” 

“I want Daddy,” she whines, breath hitching in between words. 

“He’ll be right back, sweetheart. I promise.” 

A sob wracks her chest, tears escaping as she scrunches her eyes. Sniffles cut through a mush of sounds, woven between them, she pleads, “When?”

“Oh, honey. Come here.” You hoist her up against your chest instinctually. It feels like the right thing to do, and it must be– her arms wind underneath yours like puzzle pieces. “Real soon,” you reassure. 

You hope so anyway. Half for Penelope’s sake and half for yours. You’re afraid to overstep, to parent her in a way Steve wouldn’t approve of. You feel the echoes of his constant self-doubt in your own mind. But you’ll try your best until he returns. 

Penelope’s not heavy, but it is the first time you’ve carried another human down a set of stairs. It’s a slow descent with lots of maneuvering and readjusting limbs so you can see the steps ahead but she doesn’t seem to mind. By the time you make it to the sectional, your arms burn. Still, you’d do it ten times over just so she doesn’t have to walk herself.  

She sweeps her runny nose across your sleeve and her knee digs uncomfortably into your ribcage but you can’t find it in yourself to mind. She feels safe enough with you to do so. It’s a compliment more than anything. And the weight of her head against you is a type of soothing you don’t think you’ll ever get used to. 

Your fingertips trace the shape of her shoulder blades through her nightgown. “Did you have a bad dream?” you whisper. 

She draws similar lazy patterns on your arm, pausing to hum yes. 

You hum back. “‘M sorry, Pen. Wanna talk about it? Might help.”

She shakes her head, the slightest movement against your collar. 

“Okay, I got you. Don’t have to worry,” you whisper and pat her head. “I won’t let any more bad dreams get in here.” 

Steve’s gone long enough to fuel your nerves and keep your mind buzzing, though your eyes beg for the sweet release of sleep. Penelope’s not helping, like a warm, weighted blanket on your chest. She’s barely awake herself when he arrives, but you’re surprised she’s awake at all. You aren’t sure what time it is but it’s definitely late. 

Two clicks from the front door’s lock and a Steve-shaped shadow slides inside. He’s being particularly quiet, like when tries to sneak up on you at the rec center. Like a ninja, he always says. 

Penelope’s head shoots up to peer over the couch. “Daddy?”

Steve stops in his tracks, but his head snaps in your direction. When his eyes confirm his ears he starts toward the couch, waiting until he can sit to coo, “Hey, baby. Hey.” A hand scoops a piece of hair behind her ear. “What are you doing up sleepyhead?” 

Penelope splinters off of your chest but remains situated on your thighs. She offers several half-lidded blinks to Steve. “You didn’t find her?” 

He melts like her eyes are made of sunbeams, reaching up to thumb sleep from under her lashes. “No, baby. Someone thought they did but it wasn’t her. I went to make sure.” 

“Oh,” she says, not sad, just tired. Penelope slowly leans over to him like a bridge, wrapping her arms around his neck as he tows her into his lap. 

He looks at you then. A long look. An expression you're having a hard time untangling. His eyes flutter back down when Penelope yawns. “Have to go to bed, okay?” he whispers into her crown, planting a kiss while he’s there. 

“I wanna sleep in your room.”

“That’s fine but I’m not laying down yet. You still have to go to sleep.” 

She nods against his chin. 

“I’ll carry you up. Can you say goodnight?” 

Penelope turns so you can see one side of her face, the other glued to Steve’s sweater. 

“Goodnight,” you wave and smile softly. 

She only shudders out a sigh but manners aren’t on Steve’s mind, especially when he knows you wouldn’t care about that. His knees crack as he stands, hiking her up higher before he heads upstairs. 

You yank a blanket from the arm of the couch, missing the warmth Penelope lent you. It’s a risky move when you’re already fighting to keep your eyes open. 

But Steve’s back before you have time to fall asleep. He’s trampling down the steps with a confidence that Penelope’s out for good this time. And he flops onto the couch with the same heaviness, sighing like you’ve never heard. Pure frustration. It’s understandable. But odd off his lips. 

“You okay?” you ask, the same syrupy sweetness you’d used with Penelope.  

He turns to face you and he looks awfully sad. The rainwater clinging to the ends of his hair doesn’t help. But he nods anyway because he’s Steve. “It was a stupid raccoon.” 

“You’re kidding? They thought it was a cat?” 

“I should’ve known,” he scrubs his face. “Practically senile that lady.” 

“You’ll find her, Steve.” 

He takes a deep breath and swallows. “I don’t know anymore. I’m really starting to think worst-case scenarios.” 

You press your lips into a firm line. It’s a possibility you don’t want to consider. “Why don’t I go look a little longer? I’m off–”

“No, please,” he leans over to cradle the shell of your knee. “You’ve helped all night. I mean this in the nicest way possible, you look exhausted.”

“Way to treat a guest, Harrington,” you smirk, peeling his pointer finger off your leg to hook it under your own. 

He squeezes your finger like a trigger, shifting focus between your hands and face. “Go home, rest, please.” 

“You sure?”

“Hundred percent. Rain’s let up so the drive shouldn’t be too bad.” 

“Promise you’ll get some rest too?” 

He smiles despite the pang in his chest and the ache behind his eyes. You're the first to show him this kind of care in years. “I will. I promise.” He releases your finger, binding your pinky with his instead. 

There’s something unreal about the way you smile back at him. Like you’ve entranced him with a spell. Steve believes in a lot of things– superpowers, demogorgans, parallel dimensions– but this is the first time he’s ever believed in pinky promise magic. 

He shakes his head, “Come on.” 

You take his hand, groaning in sync as he helps you up. 

In the foyer, Steve unhooks the coat he’d lent you earlier. “Here.” And before you can contend, he adds, “Keep it. It’s an extra. I don’t need it.” 

You let him guide your arms into the sleeves. And the same deliriousness possesses you to spring in for a hug after. “It’ll be okay, Steve,” you murmur, lips skimming the embroidered design across his chest. 

He deflates for half a second before reciprocating. “I know,” he says. “Thank you.” 

You wait until he softens to pull away and open the door. 

The wind whips and howls blowing a wave of mist onto the other end of the porch. Steve scans the yard, then the road, both slick with rain. He asks himself if it’s a good enough reason to ask you to stay. But he decides it isn’t, not yet, at least. 

“Call me when you get home?” 

A wild smile splits your lips. “Okay,” you blink stupidly, too tired to care. 

“Careful!” he shouts as you run to your car. Steve leans against the doorframe, loitering until your headlights flash his house and your car rolls out of the driveway. 

It’s only sprinkling but streetlights are scarce near Steve’s place so you turn your high beams on, highlighting lawns on either side of the road. You drive slowly, inspecting one yard, then the one opposite, hopeful that Cinderella’s still out there. 

There’s a stop sign at the end of Steve’s street. A landmark you know to make a left at. But you decide to go right. I wanted to take the scenic route, you’ll say if Steve asks. You drive that road and the one beside it and another beside that. 

And it’s only a few turns away when you spot something sort of cat-shaped laid at the end of a driveway. 

“Please do not be a raccoon,” you mumble, squinting as you inch the car closer. The longer you look the more it makes sense– two ears, a wavy tail, it’s definitely a cat. “No way.” 

You put the car in park across from the house and study it. It bats its tail against the concrete, staring lazily back at your car. There’s just no way, not after all that looking. You find her after what, ten minutes of driving? It just can’t be her. 

You push your door open gingerly, slipping onto the asphalt one foot at a time. The cat perks up, ears twitching with each crunch under your shoes. You slink over slowly, crouching into an uncomfortable crab walk when she stands. Brown coat, no collar, just as she’s been described to you. But it’s hard to say. You’ve only seen one picture of her and it was out of focus. There’s no way to really know it’s her. 

Honking a few streets away slices the silence and your focus in one go. You flinch back a step which spooks the cat. She scampers up the driveway, weaving underneath a car to the other end of the yard. 

You stick as low to the ground as you can while skipping after her. You’d guess you look ridiculous, but at least Steve isn’t here to see. The car blocks the view and you lose her by the time you reach the other side. But there’s a swirl of shrubbery, good for hiding probably. You blindly grapple for branches, blinking rapidly, slowly adjusting to the growing darkness the farther you move from your car’s headlights.

And then the porch light flickers on, spotlighting you digging through a random person’s bushes.  

“Shit.” You freeze, hand choking a wreath of leaves, embarrassment flaring hot and red through your entire body. A minute passes, then two. Everything’s still. No cat, no angry homeowners, no police cars. You decide it’s safe. Must’ve been an automatic light. You hope, anyway. 

Upon further inspection, the bushes are empty, and from what you can see the porch is too. There are a few trees but it’s difficult to make out any cats through the dark web of branches. A sudden gust of wind shakes a handful of leaves loose. Your eyes track them across the yard as they tumble back toward the driveway. And there’s the damn cat, sitting on the roof of the car like it was there the whole time. 

“You better not set that alarm off, dude,” you grumble. 

She narrows her eyes and growls as you draw closer. Cinderella is irritable– this makes sense. Or it’s a totally random feral cat who is about to claw your eyes out. 

You’re within touching distance when you realize you have no plan. She very likely could claw your eyes out or give you rabies or something else awful. But you're in it now. You’re gonna get Penelope her cat back. So you shrug Steve’s coat off cautiously, eyes never leaving the cats. It’s raining again, you realize as it starts pelting your neck, trickling like ice down your shirt. But that’s the least of your worries right now. 

“Nice kitty,” you whisper, unfolding the jacket. 

She hisses as you lean in but before she can pounce or swipe you throw the jacket over her and scoop her off her feet. She goes stiff and growls low and throaty. 

You speed walk to your car, toeing the cracked door open and maneuvering carefully into your seat. The jacket peels open as you shut the door. She sees an opportunity and takes it, nosing her way through the hole and under your elbow. There’s a shine of teeth as she bats your face, dragging a sharp set of claws against your cheek. 

“No, no– shit! I swear if you don’t,” you argue, cramming her arms back in the fabric one at a time, tucking and tightening until she’s secure. 

She huffs through her nose, glaring menacingly at you from her swaddle. 

“Cinderella– if you’re even Cinderella– which you better be! You’re being a real jerk right now.”

She growls in response. Steve wasn’t lying about her attitude. 

You shift the car into gear one-handed and forgo a seatbelt. It’s a short ride and you’ve maxed out your risk-taking meter for the night. While it really is a short drive, it goes dreadfully slow. You’re cold and wet and you feel like you are driving with a bomb strapped to your chest. 

Getting out of the car is just as easy, as in not easy at all, as getting in. But you make it to Steve’s porch, surging the cat further up your chest so there are no last-minute getaways. You tap gently on the door with your toe, hoping not to disturb Penelope. 

The instant the door opens, you squeeze by Steve and release the cat onto the floor. She scampers ahead a few feet before stopping to turn around. “Tell me this is the right cat and I didn’t just kidnap some other kid’s pet.” 

He shoves the door closed. “Oh my God! Where the hell did you find her?” 

You exhale with one big slump of your shoulders, all the worry bleeding away. “Like, five minutes down the road. Just hanging out in someone’s driveway.” 

Steve gawks, crouching and coaxing her closer with an open palm. 

She considers his invitation before striding into his touch. 

He strokes her from head to tail and back. “I can’t believe you. I was about to make funeral arrangements.” 

Cinderella chirps happily. 

Steve twists to look up at you. For a second you think he might cry. Or kiss you. 

He promptly stands and cups your jaw and your stomach tumbles because he might actually kiss you. But he aims your cheek against the light instead and whispers, “You’re bleeding.” 

“Oh,” you tap around your cheek blindly, “It’s just a scratch.” 

“Here. Come here.”

You follow him to the bathroom where he pulls a towel from the closet and drapes it around your shoulders like a shawl. 

“You’re wet,” he says like you don’t already know. 

You tug the fraying ends taut across your chest and watch him dig through the medicine cabinet. “If only someone let me borrow their coat.” 

“If only,” he snickers, dumping the contents of the first aid kit in the sink. “I’m sorry Cinderella beat you up. She really has no manners.” He strips the plastic cover off a Barbie-themed bandaid and lines it up with your scratch, pressing, and smoothing it over your skin gingerly. 

“How hideous do I look? Scale of one to ten.” 

He shakes his head, smiling at you like an idiot. You make him smile like it’s your only job. And it sends his heart flying every time. He feels out of control around you. He hates feeling that way but somehow you make it easy. 

“You could never be hideous.” Steve chuckles, still in disbelief. “You're amazing.”

Any cold lingering on your face evaporates. “Don’t go soft on me, Harrington,” you tease. 

Maybe it’s the adrenaline buzz of chasing Cinderella or the high of successfully catching her, but you feel like you could do anything. Like you could say anything to him. Your eyes trickle down to his lips. He’s close enough to kiss. Every nerve in your body dares you to do it. You don’t think he’d reject you. Maybe he’d even meet you halfway. 

A high-pitched scream severs the moment. 

Steve jerks away, alarmed and then quickly amused. “Penelope,” he grins. 

And right on cue, Penelope whizzes by the open door, squeals ricocheting down the hall. She chases Cinderella, who does not look happy to be chased, but Steve allows it. 

“Daddy! Cinderella’s back! Look!” She clips her shoulder on the stair post before disappearing into the kitchen 

He turns to you, beaming. He hopes you understand how amazing you are. He’d happily tell you again and again. 

Penelope races out, heaving through a smile with the jar of treats. She sprays the entire contents of it across the floor. Steve can’t even be mad. In fact, it’s the happiest he’s been all week. 

She lies down on her back, eyes skipping between you and Steve. “How did she get here?” 

“I saw her on my way home. She was just a few streets away.” 

“Wow. She’s really good at hide and seek,” Penelope decides. 

Cinderella prances over, using Penelope’s belly as a personal vault. Penelope splays her hand out, patting and petting to her heart's content as Cinderella munches on the treats. 

Steve squats, cupping a handful of them back into the jar. 

“No, Daddy! It’s her prize.”

“Her prize will make her sick if she eats it all.”

“Okay. I guess.” She giggles as Cinderella pushes a treat with her paw. 

Steve squeezes her knee where it wiggles, raising his eyebrows, “What do you say?”

Penelope turns to you with a wicked grin. She practically screams, “Thank you!”

“You're very welcome.”

Penelope pushes herself up and cocks her head. “Will you stay and play with us?” 

It’s entirely innocent and equally adorable. You appreciate Steve for being the bad guy. 

“Nuh-uh. You’re supposed to be in bed,” he reminds her. 

She whines and shoots him a mean look. But it doesn’t last. Cinderella is back. That’s all she really cares about right now. 

“You can play with Cinderella in the morning.” His eyes flicker between the two like they’re made of gold. “Maybe she’ll even sleep in your room.” 

Penelope’s eyes and mouth widen into three little O’s. “Really!” 

“Yes. She can stay inside from now on. But! You have to train her, be a good cat mom to her.” 

“I will, I will,” she nods so relentlessly her head might pop off. “I promise I’ll be the bestest cat mom ever in the whole entire world!” 

Steve chuckles, gaze dancing over to you. He looks at you like you’re made of gold too. That’s an intense realization. 

“I should head home,” you say. 

Steve nods, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. 

“Bye, Penelope! Bye, Cinderella!” 

Penelope shackles Cinderella’s arm and forces her into a rigid wave. “Bye-bye!” 

Steve follows you out to the front porch, snapping the door shut when Cinderella trots after him. 

“Good luck keeping her inside.”

“Yeah,” he shakes his head, hand dropping from the door handle. “I’m sure she’ll escape by morning.” 

Your gaze sweeps across the lawn. It’s only drizzling now, almost unnoticeably through the overcast veil of moonlight. 

“Oh, here,” you tug one end of the towel until it slides off your neck. 

Steve accepts it tentatively, “Maybe you should keep it. Case she gets out again.” 

“Yeah, guess I’d need something to catch her with, huh?”

His teeth seem to glow in the moonlight when he smiles. He slings the towel back over your head and smooths it across your shoulders. “I know I’ve said this like a million times today,” he trails off, rubbing the fabric up and down your arms. “But I’m gonna say it again.” He looks up, dreadfully serious. Your eyes lock like magnets, like he’s specially polarized yours to stay tethered to his. “First of all, thank you for everything, seriously.”

“It’s no problem, Steve, really.” 

“I know, I just,” his attention drifts away, tension seeping in through the silence. “I think you’re like the coolest person ever.” 

You shake your head and shift your weight from one foot to the other, desperately trying to shake out the scary feeling in your gut.

A warm hand clasps yours. “I mean it. You’re so amazing and are just a super genuine person and– and I care a lot about you.” 

Your pulse hammers so hard you wonder if he can hear it. The icy bite of rain clinging to your clothes turns hot. Hot enough to boil every drop of it off your skin. 

“I dunno, it’s just really hard to make friends as a single parent. You’ve been so kind. And I really appreciate that.” 

Your heart aches. Your eyes sting. That awful feeling triples. Friends, how could you forget? 

He drops your hand, knotting his own fingers together instead. Watching you, waiting for a response. 

You smile, brittle but convincing enough that he smiles back. “Well, that’s really sweet. I’m happy to help. And, for the record, I think you’re super cool too.” You punch his shoulder playfully. Because that’s what friends do. 

“Phew, that’s a relief. Was starting to think you were getting sick of us.”

You smile genuinely then. You don’t think it’s possible to ever get sick of them. “Ehh, I’m still warming up to Cinderella but Penelope’s my favorite, no offense.” 

“No, she’s pretty cool.” He nods, pausing to think. “You can come over tomorrow– if you aren’t busy. If you want to. We’ll probably go buy some cat stuff. I dunno, it’s cool if you can’t.”

“I’d love to, Steve.” 

He laughs in soft little layers. “Okay.” 

“Okay.” 

“See you then.”

“See ya.”

You spin on your heel, scurrying down the porch steps faster than you probably should. Forget the rain, Steve’s what you're running from. His laugh and his dopey smile and his overly kind words. You’re too young to die of a heart attack, but surely your heart won’t last much more of this. 

When you tug the handle of your car door, he yells, “Don’t forget to call me!” 

You bite your lip to stop yourself from smiling and flash him a thumbs-up before getting in. He’s such an idiot. Probably waking his neighbors up yelling like that. It’s probably unhealthy, the amount of emotions you’ve just experienced in the span of a few minutes. 

But already all you can think about is tomorrow. It seems like lightyears away, but you’d wait lightyears for Steve– even for just friends Steve– silly as it sounds.

[limethefirst]

Void Runners Pt. 1

pairings: Deadpool x Wolverine x teen!reader

warnings: contains heavy spoilers for Deadpool and Wolverine, swearing, blood, the normal deadpooly stuff

summary: Reader has been trapped in the void for a few months now, after getting into trouble with the TVA, when they suddenly stumble upon a Deadpool and a Wolverine.

Part 2 / Part 3

a/n: if this gets popular enough I might write a part two, I'm having Deadpool and Wolverine brainrot, also this is unedited so pls tell me if you see mistakes

It had been 4 months since you had been sent to the Void; the apocalyptic like plain, becoming what you had accepted as your new home.

You were a time traveler, that had accidently messed up some big event and that caused the TVA to come and take care of you. You weren't sure what the big event was, something about some saving some rich guys parents. You thought you were doing a good thing by it but apparently not.

Whatever it was, it didn't matter anymore, you were now stuck here. You'd been alone most of the time, sometimes seeing other people but you had learned quickly into your stay that these others were part of this group formed by Cassandra Nova, an insanely powerful woman who you never dared cross paths with.

Until unfortunately today.

Sadly you stumbled upon the wrong people at the wrong time. As you were walking through the dusty plains, you saw two men falling from the sky, thinking back on your heroic days you felt obligated to help out. That was not the best idea, you tried to go up to the men but instead they started arguing when a fight suddenly broke out between them. By the time the fight had ended you had blood all over your (as clean as they can be in the void) shoes.

"Augh, I just cleaned these too." Is what seemed to snap the men out of whatever had just happened.

"Oh my gosh! How long has the movie been out? Five days, and we are already getting reader inserts? Wow!" The man in the red mask said to no one in particular, "And what might your name be sunshine?"

"Uh Y/N, are you guys okay, you seem to be stabbed in a lot of places?" You answered a bit concerned after seeing two men almost tear each other apart.

"Oh this? Sorry, my partner here has weird kinks-" The strange man is cut off by the other seemingly older man punching him in the jaw. "See what I mean kiddo?"

"Enough Wade." The older man gruffed, his arms crossing as he shakes his head disapprovingly.

"Whatever you say sugar cube!" The man known as Wade looked back at you, "Oh you must be wondering who we are huh! Well this hairy beast of a man is the one and only Wolverine, and I am your friendly neighbor Deadpool!" Wolverine looked at you and sighed at the at his 'partners' antics.

From there things only went downhill, and that is how you were stuck with them being hauled off to Cassandra Nova's lair.

"Awee are we having a flashback already?!" Deadpool's annoying voice rang from in front of you. Currently you were stuck in a ball like cage with, Johnny Storm, Wolverine and Deadpool.

Johnny began to explain to the men where we were all headed, going over the basics of who were about to meet and the type of woman Cassandra was. You looked a bit ahead as you noticed you were already here.

As you guys had come to a stop you saw the others being throw out of the cage, you held up your chained hands to the man before they could throw you as well, "I got it, thanks" jumping out before you got tossed as well.

At the same time you got down you heard Deadpool's odd comment, "Huh, Paul Rudd finally aged." You turned down at the man slightly and gave him a quick look of confusion unsure what he was talking about; his partner seemingly unphased by the comment, most likely used to it.

Looking ahead ignoring the bickering next happening to your right, you saw what seemed to be a bald woman in the mouth of the giant skull. As the dust cleared you could see her get up from the wheelchair she was sitting on, "What was the point of the wheelchair.." You dully commented.

Deadpool adding on, "Oh ableism great, that's not gonna go over well with the Woke mob!"

You looked at your surroundings, no longer caring about the scene unfolding before you, Deadpool began to talk with Cassandra, somehow coming up on the topic of a coke, loving roommate.

After a bit more talking between the two you hear Deadpool slandering Cassandra, and then telling her it was all Johnny who said it. This brought back your attention just in time to see Johnny's skin ripped from his skeleton.

"Not my favorite Chris." Deadpool says, not having much remorse for the scene in front of him.

"You piece of shit you just got him fucking killed." Wolverine adds, pointing at the remains of Johnny.

"Awe I kinda liked him," You mumbled to yourself, as Wolverine looked at you with a look of discouragement on his face, almost as if saying not to get Deadpool started with this.

"Hey we are all grieving," Deadpool yells, "He doesn't know what he was doing to the budget." He mumbled the last part.

Cassandra ignored his words and walked past the group, "Shush, Alioth's hungry."

"There must be some kind of mistake," Deadpool started again, "Big yellow is an anchor being and I'm Marvel Jesus, MJ if you're nasty." Cassandra turned her head a little as you stood next to them listening to their story, not getting the chance to hear it earlier. "This may be hard to hear but there's another British villain, he's gonna destroy my universe and I'm gonna stop him."

"Oh honey you don't really strike me as the world saving type." Cassandra answered him, this seemed to upset the laidback man. You watched as he seemed to straighten himself up hearing that. "Did I hit a nerve?" She turns back, almost sarcastically.

"I didn't want it to come to this," Deadpool says, "Either you help us or my friend here is gonna sing the entire second act of Music Man with no warm up"

You look at him confused, "What the hell is that?"

"Where'd you get the chair?" Wolverine asks Cassandra as she walks back towards the skull.

She quickly answers, "Every once in a while we get a Charles here, never mind though, he didn't care to find me."

Deadpool leans back seemingly annoyed, "Ughh Gen Z and their trauma bragging!" He shoots you a quick glance, "Can't you just stuff it down and turn it into a cancer like the rest of us?"

"But I'm not like the rest of you, except maybe the Wolverine, now we could be truly terrifying together." A light smile graced Cassandra's face as she watches you guys.

You watch their exchange a little more before you notice the purple mist coming up behind you guys slowly getting closer. As you turn back around you see Wolverine getting dragged through the ground and Deadpool backing up.

"I am so not with them." You tell Cassandra hoping that doesn't happen to you.

"Oh yes they are." Deadpool fires back, making sure he isn't next. Unfortunately for him he was, you watched as Cassandra got behind him and put her fingers in his head.

She began to whisper something and within the next minute she let go. Deadpool shook his head and started rambling yet again, "You are so mean! I could taste your fingers! They taste like hate, and where in God's name is the intimacy coordinator?!"

"You're so lost Mr Wilson, long before you came here." Cassandra told him.

He took out his knife and held it up, "This is baby knife, she's gonna fuck you in the face now."

Cassandra looked at the knife at back at him, "If you're going to kill me it's going to take more then a little blade."

"How about six?" Before she could say anything else, Wolverine came up behind her and stabbed her with his claws.

"Holy shit" You said covering your mouth.

Before you could celebrate, Cassandra began laughing and fell from the claws, "This has been fun but the big guy needs to eat and the rent is due." She turned around walking away as a looming shadow of darkness rose above the skeleton you were in.

Before anyone had a chance to say anything people had scattered and Deadpool grabbed you and hoisted you up over his shoulder taking you towards the machine Wolverine was trying to fix for an escape.

You hadn't a second to say anything because the next thing you knew, you were being taken with them hopefully away from the giant monster.

[moonlinos]

Call my bluff, call you ‘babe’

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers, fluff

♡ CW: Implied smut, alcohol consumption. Twenty solid seconds of angst, but it doesn’t even really count. It’s just tooth-rotting fluff.

♡ Word count: 5.5k

♡ Synopsis: Minho has been your best friend since you two could barely form coherent sentences. He was there when your last baby tooth fell, he was there when you failed your high school exams, and he was there as you walked down the aisle.

♡ A/N: This was going to be just word-vomit fluff to make me cry, but I couldn’t control myself and before I knew it there were… so many words.

You were four years old when you met Minho. It was the first day of kindergarten, and you were assigned seats together. The entire day was spent with you chatting to every kid you could reach from your seat while Minho quietly sat painting and doodling by your side. You vaguely remember thinking he was odd and whining to your mom about how your seatmate was boring, and that was why he was the only kid in class you didn’t talk to. She smiled and told you maybe you should make an effort to talk to him. That same day, you racked your little brain for a reason why your seatmate might be so quiet and promptly decided that he was too shy to start a conversation himself. You then asked your mom if the fact that you didn’t talk to him might have made him sad, to which she hesitated, and that was enough to have your bottom lip wobbling.

You remember tears streaming down your cheeks as you frantically sobbed, inconsolable at the fact that your seatmate was sad and that it was partially because of you.

The next day, you asked if Minho would like to use your special glitter pens — you even told him you wouldn’t mind if he used your favorite colors. That was really all that was needed to plant the bud of friendship between you two.

Ever since that day, you two slowly became inseparable.

You attended the same elementary school after begging your parents, writing a very concise list of reasons why you two could not possibly be separated. Reasons such as the fact that Minho still didn’t know how to tie his shoelaces, so it would be dangerous for him to be alone in a new school. Or the fact that you were always losing your gloves, and Minho always carried an extra pair in his backpack just for you, so you would surely catch a cold if you didn’t have him beside you during winter.

All extremely valid reasons.

Minho began walking you home from school when you were both nine years old. He was often left alone due to his parents’ work schedules, which made him become the most street-smart kid in your class. You had to beg your mom for a week, but she ultimately caved in.

Your favorite thing to do on your way home was to stop randomly and doodle on the sidewalk with chalk, with Minho joining you in no time. You even had your favorite little sketching spot — right in front of a nice old lady’s flower shop, where you two would spend far too much time decorating her entrance pavement with flowers, rainbows, and smiley faces. She would later introduce herself to you, Ms. Kim, and would always thank you both with a flower of your choice. You always picked tulips, and Minho always picked daisies.

On one hazy winter day, you and Minho were eager to adorn the flower shop’s entrance with a new set of doodles since the ones you had done just yesterday got covered in snow. As you two did your best to dig through the piled-up snow with your gloved hands, you suddenly felt something hard slide down your throat. Your hands stilled, and you turned to look at Minho with wide eyes.

“What happened?” He asked. “Did you lose your glove in the snow this time?”

You shook your head frantically, careful not to swallow. “Teeth,” you simply said.

Minho looked at you like you were crazy, squinting his eyes as he studied your face. “What?”

You felt tears well up, and he immediately abandoned his mission of shuffling through the snow before pulling you into a big hug.

“Why are you crying? Don’t cry. I hate when you cry, I feel weird when you cry,” He said, but no tears left his worried eyes. Minho never cried, that was something you had learned a while back. 

You, however, cried until Ms. Kim noticed you two from the window, cooing as she approached you two with a gentle smile. You tried your best to explain your predicament. Minho sat with you behind the wooden counter, holding your hand in his, the smell of flowers making everything feel less catastrophic than it did ten minutes earlier.

Ms. Kim explained that you had no reason to cry, as it was normal for kids to swallow their baby teeth. And you remember harshly shaking your head and explaining with a trembling voice that you hadn’t cried because of that. You had cried because that was your last baby tooth, which meant you were officially a grown-up. You didn’t want to be a grown-up. Minho wasn’t a grown-up yet, with his last baby tooth still holding on proudly in his gums. You didn’t want to be a grown-up all alone; it would be terrible and sad.

That afternoon, you two went home together in silence, your respective flowers clutched in your hands. Minho was never good with words. Sadness engulfed him because he couldn’t do enough to make his best friend smile again. What was the point of a best friend if they didn’t make you laugh when you were crying?

Minho walked into school the next day with a proud smile on his face before placing his last baby tooth on your desk. You eyed it curiously, brows furrowed.

“There, I took it off last night,” He simply said. “Now we’re gonna be grown-ups together.”

At eleven years old, your daily after-school video game appointments began.

You had just cut your hair short; a bob you thought looked cute on your favorite singer turned out to be cataclysmically unflattering on you. And, at eleven years old, it was earth-shattering and definitely the end of your life (despite what your mother told you).

You spent every second out in public with your hair hidden by a beanie, hoping it would distract people from your disastrous haircut.

Except it had the opposite effect.

One particular day at school, a boy came up to you simply to inform you that your head looked like a mushroom before running away, laughing with his friends. They were foolish words spoken by a foolish boy, but you were eleven. Once again, earth-shattering and the end of your life.

You avoided everyone the entire day — including Minho, whom you always talked to no matter your mood. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him for much longer, seeing as he walked you home every day, so you simply prayed he wouldn’t notice your puffy eyes or that he at least hadn’t heard any of the other kids making unfunny jokes about your haircut.

After school, Minho sighed in feigned annoyance when you told him you had lost your gloves again before retrieving a pair from his backpack. Like a habit, you asked if he wanted to hang out at your house, although the answer was always unchanging.

“My mom’s baking a cake,” you told him. “We can play video games and then eat it together.”

Minho hummed in agreement, adjusting his backpack before grabbing your hand as you two began your daily walk to your house. It was something you always did, never walking anywhere without your hands clasped together. These past few months, however, this once ordinary gesture had begun making your heart beat faster. You didn’t understand why, and you would rather not think about it because every time you did, the words from your other friends would echo inside your head. Their stories about how they felt their hearts racing when their crush had hugged them or even looked their way, making you question if maybe…

But it couldn’t be. Minho was your best friend. How could he be your crush?

It was another one of those afternoons, your mom busily making you two sandwiches as you and Minho played New Super Mario Bros on your Wii under the blanket fort you always meticulously built. Minho had been acting weird all day — even weirder than you, who had to endure all the asinine jokes and hurtful words from your peers. As you completed the last level for the umpteenth time, saving Princess Peach, Minho all but threw his controller to the side. You turned to shoot him a questioning look, which went ignored as he rummaged through his backpack.

He retrieved a crumpled-up piece of paper, which he promptly gave to you.

You cocked your head, awaiting some sort of explanation, but Minho simply picked up his controller once more and hit play on the game.

Unfolding the paper, words greeted you in Minho’s messy handwriting.

YOUR HAIR LOOKS CUTE. STOP HIDING IT.

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could say anything to him, Minho reached out and snatched your beanie from your head. Your short hair and bangs cascaded onto your face, partially obscuring your view. But you could still make out his side profile, where a faint smile appeared on his lips.

After that, you two were silent for the rest of the day, eventually dozing off under the tent lulled by the sound of your mother’s hand mixer and Mario’s theme song. The sun eventually set outside the window, and you woke up to two plates of your mother’s cake waiting for you on the coffee table.

From that point on, your beanie was left forgotten inside your drawer.

You were fifteen when you realized that perhaps your feelings for Minho weren’t all that platonic after all.

It all started with a letter on Minho’s desk on a rainy Friday. October 25th, Minho’s birthday.

Minho’s quiet nature hadn’t changed one bit since you first sat beside him at four years old. He would rather die than start a conversation, rarely went out to the movies with your friend group and, most importantly, hated being the center of attention. That was why he told no one about his birthday since you two began high school this year. It was the subject of much debate among your little group of friends, with some bribing Minho with his favorite snacks or promising to do his assignments until college just for some sort of clue; a day, month, even the day of the week he was born.

But Minho never budged.

So, seeing a letter on his desk on the day of his birthday was odd, to say the least.

You arrived back to the classroom late after chatting to your friend from another class in the hallway, catching as Minho sat down with a puzzled look on his face and an open letter in his hands.

“What’s up?” You asked, sitting on the desk in front of him.

He looked up, thick glasses crooked from a dodgeball incident earlier that week. “Yumi found out it’s my birthday today,” He informed you, a bit too nonchalantly. “She organized a birthday party at her house tomorrow with our friends.”

You immediately took the letter, reading it and blanching at the words written in the girl’s pretty handwriting. She had found out Minho’s birthday by snooping around Facebook until she found his mother, who had a plethora of pictures of Minho on his previous birthdays. Not only that, the letter ended with a paragraph where she confessed her feelings to him — with all the clichés and dramatics only an adolescent crush could provide.

You still remember your first thoughts upon learning that information: Oh, Yumi. Of course a girl like her would do something like this.

You cringe at your words now, but at fifteen, you deemed no girl worthy of your best friend. Especially ‘girls like Yumi,’ who in your eyes all but threw herself at him. At the time, you thought you were looking out for the boy who was practically your brother. Now, you understand you were simply an insecure fifteen-year-old who allowed ugly, misogynistic thoughts to brew inside your mind out of fear of losing Minho. For your immature brain, every girl interested in Minho was an enemy because they could easily take him away from you.

And Minho had never reciprocated any girl’s feelings, always politely turning down the few confessions he had gotten during middle school. You were ready to berate Yumi, your brows immediately furrowing as your face contorted, but Minho beat you to it, speaking before you could utter a word.

“I know I should be mad, but isn’t it a little… cute?”

You couldn’t help but scoff, the sound escaping your lips like a burst of disbelief. You also couldn’t help how your hands began to tremble as your heart shot up to your throat.

“Cute?” You asked with the strongest voice you could muster. “You think her invading your privacy is cute?”

And Minho simply shrugged, tapping his fingers on his desk. “A little bit. I know you don’t really like her, but she’s part of our friend group,” He said, taking the letter from your shaky hands. “Plus, she’s always been nice to me, and she is cute.”

That was all you could physically bear to hear, excusing yourself from the conversation with the lie that your friend had called you from the classroom window before sprinting out into the hallway. As you continued walking, your palms grew clammy and your heart weighed heavily in your chest.

You felt tears well up in your eyes once you reached the stairs. Sitting on the steps, you cried into the cardigan of your ugly school uniform. You didn’t care that you would be scolded for skipping class; all you cared about was that your best friend was going to be taken from you.

After school, as you and Minho were about to exit the school gates — your hands tightly clasped together as they always were — Yumi appeared carrying a cake, the rest of your friends behind her as they all sang happy birthday. 

Minho blew out the candles and made a wish. Everyone cheered as his best friend, Chan, shoved his face into the cake. Minho yelled at him, grumbling with glasses covered in white frosting, but ultimately laughing along. Yumi was quick to clean his face with a napkin, earning her a smile from Minho before he released your hand to gently squeeze her rosy cheeks.

You remained quiet, forcing out a smile and looking up at the sky every now and then so your tears wouldn’t fall.

All because Minho had let go of your hand.

Minho’s fifteenth birthday — that was the day you learned you could fool everyone else, but never yourself.

Your seventeenth summer was a drag.

Minho had just been broken up with a couple of months before, Yumi crying as she explained her parents wanted her to focus on her studies, and having a boyfriend was simply a distraction she couldn’t afford if she wanted to be a doctor someday. An unwilling participant in the entire situation, you sat awkwardly at the bus stop as she spoke.

You were ready to witness Minho cry for the first time in your life, maybe yell about how unfair her parents were being, but he simply pressed a kiss to her forehead just as your bus arrived.

Not much had changed when he began dating Yumi, with you learning that suppressing how you truly felt was worryingly easy. You still hung out with them, battling through their cuddles and kisses like a soldier on the front lines of a war. Never unscathed, but always strong. Nobody needed to know about how you cried into your mother’s arms almost every night before falling asleep.

The only change had been you and Minho’s daily gaming appointments. You two had since outgrown your video game phase, both now interested in diverging things that made it impossible for you to enjoy them together. You discovered your love for flowers went beyond doodling on the sidewalk in front of a flower shop, but Minho complained that growing flowers was too time-consuming, and he loved dancing, which you were far too uncoordinated and lazy to even try doing.

And so, you two settled for simply hanging out together at your house. Your room had easy access to the roof, which you two took full advantage of, setting up a permanent blanket fort where you would snuggle up with pillows and talk for hours after school.

That summer was no different, with Minho stretched out across the old mattress, watching the light pink sky slowly fade away as night set in while you two busied yourselves talking.

That was the day you finally gathered the courage to ask Minho about his breakup, desperate to understand why he had appeared so unfazed. After the one-year milestone of their relationship in February, you had begun to make peace with the fact that she would probably be around for a while.

Minho shrugged at your question, hands resting on his stomach while he gnawed on his bottom lip. He explained he was sure that he liked her, but it turned out he valued her as a friend much more than as a girlfriend.

You couldn’t help but scoff at the answer. You knew Minho better than you knew yourself at times, which was why you knew he was lying through his teeth.

“Why did you stay so long with her, then?” You questioned, the resentful lilt in your voice a bit too obvious. You cleared your throat before adding, “I mean, you surely didn’t act as just friends.”

“I guess I felt lonely before,” He explained. “I was selfish for staying with her, but I enjoyed having someone. Was especially nice after…” Minho trailed off, dismissively shaking his head, and you remember being close to throwing him off that roof as he kept being so damn enigmatic.

“After what?” You prodded, “Minho, I’m your best friend. What’s the point of us talking if you’re not gonna tell me the truth?”

He turned his head to look up at you, the darkening sky making his eyes gleam as if they held an entire galaxy of stars. You felt that familiar nervousness return.

“It was nice to not be so alone after so many years of pining after someone.”

You cocked your head to the side, and Minho had the gall to chuckle at your puzzled expression. You shook your head, mumbling to yourself that your conversation was pointless if he wouldn’t tell you the whole truth.

Lying next to him on the mattress with a sigh, you could feel the weight of Minho’s gaze on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to move.

You remember the moon was already high in the sky by the time one of you finally moved — Minho, who slowly inched his hand closer to yours before clasping it tightly in his. Despite your racing heart, you thought nothing of it. He was now single, so it wouldn’t be ludicrous to assume a habit you two had cultivated for many years would naturally return.

However, after some beats from your erratically racing heart, Minho’s fingers intertwined with yours. You had never done that before, always holding hands in a way that all but screamed platonic.

That night, with his thumb caressing your skin and his hand squeezing yours, Minho finally spoke the truth after so long.

“It’s you,” He said, tone nonchalant but voice audibly shaky. “Think I’ve been pining after you since I was nine and ripped my tooth out ‘cause I thought that’d make you stop being sad.”

You remember gasping quietly and his hand tightening around yours as the clock ticked and your silence remained. You remember finally mustering up the courage to turn to look at him and being met by an expression you had rarely seen on Minho’s face in the thirteen years you had known him — he was scared, wide eyes dancing around your face as if he looked for an answer in your features, his chapped lips parted slightly as if he was ready to backtrack the moment he saw any hint of doubt in your eyes.

You remember smiling at him and how his expression shifted into pure confusion. All it took was for him to finally have the nerve to hold your hand in the way he’d always wanted to, and for you to use his courage as a catalyst for your own. You remember how you closed the distance between you two and pressed your lips to his. You remember it feeling weird because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

But you also remember it feeling right because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

Your transition from being best friends to being in a relationship was easier than you had ever thought it would be — it was also slower than you could have ever imagined.

Minho never asked you out or confessed his feelings beyond what was said on the roof, and neither did you. It was a shared knowledge between you, a silent agreement that didn’t need words — at least for now. The little gestures and subtle changes left no doubt in your minds that you two were, in fact, no longer just friends — like how you began to always intertwine your fingers while holding hands, or how Minho would pull you onto his lap when you hung out with your friends, or how you would rest your head on his shoulder as he played with your hair during lunch break.

Your friends certainly had questions, the confusion written all over their faces easy to read like a book, but you both knew they also understood your relationship without you needing to make a big deal out of it.

You picked him up from dance class every weekend, sometimes arriving earlier just to catch a glimpse of him through the glass door, as Minho insisted he was too embarrassed to dance in front of you.

One day, thoroughly unprompted, he reached into his backpack as you two exited his dance academy and pulled out a yellow tulip. You had furrowed your brows at the sudden gesture, and Minho nonchalantly told you that planting your favorite flower was surprisingly easy. Since becoming teenagers, you had stopped going to Ms. Kim’s flower shop, and you had long forgotten about how you two used to have your own respective flowers back in the day.

It seemed Minho hadn’t forgotten.

That was one thing you had come to know about him only after you began dating. Although he seemed cold and distant on the outside — rarely communicating his feelings through words — Minho secretly kept a mental note of every little detail about the people he cared about, and he unfailingly found a way to communicate his feelings through actions. Such as promptly handing you a brand-new flower he had picked before you even had the chance to mourn your tulip as it began to wilt.

You, on the other hand, had always been the type of person to communicate through words; spoken, written, or read, which is how you began saving your best daisies from the small garden you created in your backyard and practicing your flower arrangement skills exclusively by making pretty bouquets you could gift to Minho (always with little notes hidden among the flowers).

Your once explicitly platonic roof dates also left no room for doubt, as making out under your usual tent became a hard-to-break habit. In fact, that was how your family found out about your relationship. You were eighteen, with graduation just around the corner, when your mother caught Minho kissing you as tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of having to be apart from him during college (although you both knew that would never be the case, as you always moved mountains simply to stay together).

Everything was slow-paced, and neither of you had any desire to rush anything. Once, Minho told you he had waited eight years to finally kiss you, and somehow, that anticipation was what had made it all the more special.

And so, your first proper date only happened six months after your first kiss, and your first fight only happened a year and a half into your relationship. Not to mention your first I love you, which had been a slip-up that happened only in your first year of college after a drunken night with Chan and Minho. Your head on his lap, your tulip nestled among his daisies in a pretty vase on the coffee table as Chan hummed along to some song that came from his phone. You felt as if your entire being was filled with pure gratitude at that moment, and the liquid courage that flowed through your veins only helped you mutter out how much you loved Minho.

He looked down at you, hands cupping your cheeks with a silly smile adorning his face, and simply answered, “Well, I love you more.”

Your carefree attitude toward your relationship was almost a contrast to the one you had with your friendship. You and Minho had met so young that you could never truly pinpoint when you had become such close friends. You always wondered if that was what led you two to be so easygoing with what most people rush into. Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

You remember one of Minho’s new friends, Changbin, asking something about your sex life at some party during freshman year, and you two nonchalantly answering that you didn’t really have one. Your friends’ shock was understandable, but you and Minho only laughed.

Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

It was Minho’s 21st birthday, when your flowers were no longer in bloom, but your love remained blossoming like it was mid-spring. He had, as always, vetoed any and every plan of a celebration suggested by your friends. He opted to stay in with you, cuddling under a blanket fort like you had been doing for so many years. Chan graciously offered to sleep at a friend’s dorm, leaving your small shared apartment just for you and Minho.

He hadn’t planned for anything to happen, and neither had you. You were simply lying together, watching the flickering of the candles you had set up around the coffee table, recounting the innumerable memories you shared when you suddenly felt the earnest, all-consuming need to have Minho as close as possible.

It was clumsy, both of you inexperienced and nervous. Your teeth crashed together and your hands gripped each other tightly, the realization of the intensity of your yearning becoming undeniable. At some point, the entire tent collapsed on top of you, and laughter filled the room for a brief moment before being replaced by your sighs and whispered moans.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was you and Minho.

Graduation day was a blur in your mind.

It had all started with Minho and Chan drunk at eleven a.m., offering you the awful-tasting omelet they had cooked in your cramped kitchen. They then went on to zone out for most of the ceremony after stumbling out of your apartment.

You approached Minho after he was done taking pictures and getting scolded by his family for being drunk on his graduation day, his mother giving you an apologetic look as you whisked him away.

“You’re stressed,” you pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” you replied with a sigh, resting against a large tree far enough away from the hustle and bustle of recently graduated students and crying families. “So is Chan. Don’t think I’ve seen him this drunk since Jisung’s birthday party last year.”

Minho chuckled, shifting on his feet and toying with the fabric of his gown. You furrowed your brows; he only ever got fidgety when hiding something. You learned that for the first time when you were thirteen and he had to wait until your birthday to tell you he’d gotten you two tickets to see your favorite band, and again when he had to keep Chan’s then-girlfriend’s plans of asking him to move in together a secret.

“You’re not nervous ‘cause of graduation, are you?”

You remember the way he stilled almost immediately.

“We always tell each other the truth, right?” He asked.

You remember the way your whole world spun as he pulled out a small box from his pocket and how everything seemed to fade into a white mist that surrounded Minho like a spotlight as he proposed to you.

Your wedding was small — both because that was how you had wanted it to be and because of your lack of money for a proper party.

After graduating, Minho became a dance teacher at the academy he attended as a teen, teaching little kids who he said always reminded him of you two. You used the money your parents had saved for you to travel after college to buy the old flower shop that held so many memories from your childhood. Neither of you used your degrees, and neither of you made a lot of money, but you were overflowing with an infatuation for life and a love for each other so great that it made up for any silly inconvenience that dared to come up.

The ceremony was held at a local church — although neither of you was particularly religious, that was the cheapest place available. You opted to walk down the aisle together; hands clasped the way you used to do for many years while walking home from school. Minho held onto a daisy bouquet you made, while you held the single tulip he had picked out for you that day.

“I’m not good with words,” was how Minho began his vows, the glow of the fairy lights and candles adorning the church rendering his attempt at hiding his tears futile. That was the first time you had ever seen him cry in the twenty-one years you’d known him. “But I think that never mattered with you. You know me better than I know myself. Most times, I don’t even have to say a word, and you’ll still understand me. It’s been this way since we were four, and you understood why I was so quiet, and you still chose to be my friend. Thank you for understanding me, and thank you for allowing me to love you. Loving you is what I do best and look how lucky I am; I’ve been able to do it for my whole life.” He then shot you a grin, the back of his hand wiping away your tears. He ended his speech with a line that was so very Minho, thought up with sincerity but spoken primarily to make you smile. “You’ve always felt like home, and I can’t wait to feel that way until we’re both food for the worms to eat.”

You had never cried so much as you did on the day of your wedding — which was remarkable, seeing as you’d been a crier your whole life. You remember the irony of it all; Minho, who had never been good with words, telling you about his love with words that came from his heart and spilled from his lips without any rehearsal, while you were rendered speechless and too emotional to even attempt to form a coherent sentence.

Your wedding vow was a simple, choked-up, “Thank you for being my best friend, Minho.”

Minho carried you home from the church, with your cheeks flushing pink and his smile beaming as your friends made rice cascade around the two of you like snow. It turned out the boy who hated attention didn’t mind the spotlight so long as it meant showing off his love for you.

Your honeymoon was spent in your small house above your flower shop — which you named Daisy’s Tulips — where you cuddled under a blanket fort the entire day, only leaving the comfort of the pillows and fluffy covers well after midnight to adorn the sidewalk in front of your house in a brand new chalk drawing.

“Can you imagine if we never said anything?” Minho suddenly wondered aloud, his chuckle echoing through the quiet street. “We were both pretty good at hiding our feelings for so long.”

And you simply shook your head, painting a daisy with white chalk on the sidewalk. “Minho, I know you. You wouldn’t have let me keep pretending after finding out I liked you too.”

“Who says I would have found out?”

“You said it yourself,” you explained, “I know you better than you know yourself, and that’s reciprocal. You would’ve found out ‘cause I can never hide anything from you.”

And Minho smiled, taking your hand in his just as you were done with your drawing. Your gaze shifted toward him, and you admired the man he had become. From the shy little boy who sat beside you to the quiet teenager with thick glasses to the man he had grown into; you loved every version of Minho you had the privilege to meet throughout your life, and you were certain you would love every new version of him you came to know in the future as well.

“Of course you can’t,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I?” He asked with a grin, and you nodded. He then added, “Thank you for being my best friend.”

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