#This is probably second hand embarrassment

[vivimura]

CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI ─ bf!riki gives you soft head when you can't sleep! (nsfw, 1.660 k wc) i missed posting <3

moonlight poured into riki’s bedroom from the large windows across the bed in such a gentle, serene manner that it made you scoff bitterly.

sometimes you wondered to yourself— how was it so, that despite laying on a comfortable (and likely expensive) mattress, being in the arms of an amazing cuddler, having been tired from the day earlier, sleep eluded you.

it was an exhausting feeling. the crippling urge to rest denied by a sinister train of thoughts that never seemed to shut no matter how hard you tried. your eyes drifted to the side profile of your boyfriend, riki laying beside you. he was one of the few, and probably only people, whom the sight of laying so peacefully could bring a gentle smile to your lips.

not wanting to disturb him with your inner turmoil, you turned around in his arms to lay on your other side. however, the action caused his eyes to flicker open.

he stirred slightly as you moved, his arms tightening around you instinctively before he realized you weren't sleeping. he lifted his head to look at you, noticing your restlessness. his voice was low and gentle in the dark room. "can't sleep, baby?"

you mentally cursed at the sound of his voice. you back to face him quickly and sighed as you shook your head, the action barely visible through the darkness of the room. there was a look of guilt in your eyes, one of having disturbed your lover’s sleep. 

“no.. god, i had when this happens..” you mumbled and tucked your head under his arm.

he stroked your hair softly, trying to soothe you back into a relaxed state. his voice was a comforting murmur in the quiet darkness. "it's okay, i’m here." he kissed the top of your head gently. he patted your head in a steady rhythm to try and lull you to sleep, slight tiredness evident in his own voice.

in that moment, you felt the racing train of thoughts in your head pause. but it was only for a second. as if to convince riki that you were falling asleep for the sake of some sleep of his own, you stayed as still as you could and closed your eyes. but there was no fooling him.

“baby.” he called out, you remained silent. but, riki noticed the movement of your eyes moving from under your eyelids. he could only chuckle fondly and shake his head.

“wanna try something?”

you finally opened your eyes when you heard his question, a look of sheepishness yet desperation in your orbs as you looked up at riki. you had to take a moment to simply appreciate how comforting riki’s mere presence was, and then said, “try what?”

riki looked into your eyes with something you’ve labelled as intensity, determination, and passion. he didn’t reply straight away, and simply leaned forward to begin planting a pattern of soft kisses from the side of your cheek bone, down your face. “wanna eat you out..” he whispered against your skin and gripped onto your waist with one hand, the other moving lower, fingers brushing the top of your ass.

you let out an audible gasp at his words. you backed away and put a pause to riki’s affectionate kisses at the laughable speed of light, and looked at him with cheeks visibly colored even through the lack of lighting.

“..w-what?”

he laughed softly at your embarrassed yet curious expression, already knowing how affected you were by his words. "i know you heard me, baby." he shifted up on all fours and moved to position himself between your legs, his eyes darkening with desire but maintaining a tender tone.

your breath hitched as you watched him slowly come into a position of hovering over your legs. you remained silent for a few seconds and stared at him with wide eyes, as if waiting for him to burst into laughter and tell you that he was joking. at his obvious and expected awaiting, you gave him a meek, barely there nod.

"...okay."

he grinned and moved to pull your legs over his shoulders. he looked up at you with loving eyes before pressing a gentle kiss to your inner right leg, making his intention clear. "you gotta be quiet, though. the others are next door. can you do that for me?" his voice was soft but commanding.

your teeth sunk into your lower lip as you nodded. this was one of those nights you were grateful for your minimal choice in sleepwear, consisting of a measly t-shirt belonging to riki, and a pair of panties underneath. even through the dim light, you recognized that glint of intention in riki’s eyes.

he started placing gentle kisses up your inner thigh, his hands gently spreading your legs wider. he could feel how tense yet excited you were, how quiet you were trying to be. you always looked so adorable when he was about to pleasure you. "such a good girl..."

he smiled against your skin and slowly, teasingly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties and slid them down your legs. "lift your hips for me, baby."

when you did, he tossed your panties aside and gently spread your legs wider, his eyes locked onto your pussy. he blew a soft breath against you, making you shiver. "so fucking pretty," he murmured before pressing a gentle kiss to your inner thigh, deliberately avoiding the middle.

you whimpered and squirmed in place, trying your very best to keep quiet at his soft breaths and kisses that seemed to land everywhere but where you needed them the most. "riki.." you whined out quietly, extending one hand to gently dig your fingers into his hair.

riki chuckled at the desperation in your voice, but the sound of your sweet voice whining his name pushed him over the edge of control. he moved his mouth directly to your slit, giving you a long, slow lick. "shh... quiet baby," he whispered against your sensitive flesh before sucking gently on your clit. "no noise..."

you let out a surprised whimper, but when he began sucking your clit gently, you melted like butter on a pan. you grip on his hair tightened a little, your back arching off the bed and eyes rolling up from the sudden pleasure he brought. "shit.."

he hummed against you, the vibration sending sparks of pleasure through your core. he continued to suck and lick, his movements slow and deliberate, building up the intensity. one of his hands moved to your inner thigh, holding your leg open and steady as he feasted on you. "so sweet..."

"oh, my god.." you gasped and cried out softly, trying to keep your voice as low as you could. but at that point, the only thing you could think about was the warmth and wetness of riki’s tongue.

he chuckled softly against you, the vibration sending another wave of pleasure through you. he loved how sensitive you were, how easy it was to make you fall apart. he flattened his tongue and gave you a long, slow lick from bottom to top, collecting your wetness.

he hummed, tasting you again. he knew you were quiet because he told you to be, not because you were actually sleepy. he spread your folds with his thumbs, exposing you more to his mouth. he gave another slow lick, this time going lower to gather your wetness again.

"fuck.." you whispered out a curse and panted, unable to resist grabbing a fist of his hair and tugging it closer to you. your hips bucked erratically with no permission, your chest heaving rapidly as your breaths came in ragged gasps.

he felt your tugging on his hair and knew you were getting more into it. he loved seeing you like this, completely lost in the moment. he licked up your slit again, then focused on your clit, sucking it into his mouth gently. "quiet..." he whispered against your pussy.

you barely managed to whisper out a, "y-yeah.. sorry.." before letting out another quiet moan. his tongue gave such immense pleasure that your legs jerked, and it wasn't long before you felt a knot tighten in the pit of your stomach.

he could feel your muscles tense up, a clear sign that you were close already. he flattened his tongue again, maintaining steady pressure on your clit as he slipped two fingers inside you. "shh... almost there, baby..." he whispered against your pussy.

he felt your walls clamping down on his fingers and knew you were on the brink. maintaining the perfect rhythm with his tongue, he curled his fingers inside you, stroking that sensitive spot. his other hand reached up to cover your mouth gently, silently urging you to stay quiet as your orgasm hit.

a particularly loud moan escaped your lips, but was thankfully concealed by his hand over your mouth as your orgasm crashed. your legs trembled as a gush of liquid expelled, and you began squirting uncontrollably.

he groaned softly against your pussy as he felt your release gush out, coating his mouth and chin. he continued to lap at you gently, helping you ride out your intense orgasm. his fingers continued its steady thrusts, drawing out your intense release. once he sensed you beginning to slow down, he slowly withdrew his finger and licked his lips, savoring your taste.

the sight of riki wiping your squirt off of his lips with the back of his hand was one of the last things you remembered seeing, before you were knocked out to sleep almost immediately.

he smiled softly at how completely worn out you were from your orgasm, your breaths evening out into deep sleep. he gently wiped up any remaining wetness from between your thighs before covering your naked body with a blanket. "well, that was easier than i thought," he thought to himself and grinned, giving your forehead a goodnight kiss.

mlist comment and reblog!

[swtheartz]

“ LIKE STRAWBERRIES. ” — M. Grayson

Part one Info : Suggestive content, implied spit kink, healer reader, reader is lowk oblivious, slow burn

W / C : 2k A / N : found the PERFECT strawberry divider off of pinterest from a rentry source i lit need to find it again because it’s sooo cute??? like what. anyway here’s ur guys’ treat eat up

You’ve noticed that Mark lingers.

Not even from a distance, either. No. He has to be a fucking weirdo about it. As pretty as he is, because handsome simply isn’t enough to describe him, he isn’t that bright when it comes to you. There is nothing subtle about it. Sam notices. Rex notices. And of course, Stedman notices. Everyone. Notices.

Except for Invincible himself.

And it pisses you off. Because for someone like him, he could at least be more aware outside of combat. You knew he was a dork, but not even you believed it to be this bad—it’s almost embarrassing. No, scratch that, it is embarrassing. Mostly embarrassing for you. Because Mark Grayson simply never. stops. staring.

Especially now.

“You redecorated,” Mark notes, staring at the newer posters on the wall and a new vase with honeysuckle placed inside as he sits on the usual bed you demand he sits on, waiting to be healed. “It’s nice.”

“If you don’t shut the hell up and let me work.” You groan, staring at the samples you’ve been testing. It’s something you’ve been working on for some time, a little over two months now. After accidentally crying over one of your plants, and yes it was because you’d been too busy to water it, you’d realized that it wasn’t just your hands that could heal. For now. . . You were limiting the experiments to tears.

Finding out new ways to cry was getting tiring, though. And your eyes hurt. If Stedman realized what you were working on, he’d be elated; in his own weird and subtle way. A more efficient approach to healing had been found simply because you forgot to water a plant.

To be fair, they were your prettiest African violets that you simply refused to let go of. And you could proudly say they were now thriving.

“What are you working on?” Mark questions, peeking over your shoulder as you test the percentage of how much is necessary for effective healing. You paused for a second, thinking about the fact you had a test subject right there. One that would be more than willing.

Slowly, you set down the tiny cup that had your tears mixed in with water, leaning back into our swivel chair with as calm of an expression that you could muster—before looking up at him through your lashes.

“Mark,” you hum sweetly, immediately, his eyebrows furrow. You’ve been calling him by his full name for half a year, and that was only because he begged you to stop calling him by Invincible for three weeks straight. The confusion in his face made you tilt your head, blinking innocently.

“I need you to test something for me. Nothing life threatening, unfortunately, but it is important. And I would rather be roasted on a spit than have anyone else test it.”

“. . . I feel like you’re trying to poison me.”

“If I wanted to do that,” you smile, grabbing a cup with a higher potency, “I would have done it the second time around when you ended up here. Just drink this.”

Mark takes the cup from your hand, incredulous and curious all at the same time. It’s clear that he’s going over his options here, and he’d much rather die than let someone else be your lab rat, you know that much. A sigh leaves him as he drinks it, and he blinks.

“It’s just water.” He mumbles, confused. It must be tasteless, maybe a little salty, but probably not even noticeable. At first, you think it’s a failure, before he makes a noise and that new gash on his cheek mends itself back together, the bruise on his neck from basically being choked fades away in a matter of moments. Not as quick as your usual method, but still effective and efficient.

The result is satisfying. Though, you sit in your chair and think about how you should’ve given him a lower dose just to study it for a little longer. Regardless, it’s still the effect of you, and that is more than enough in your eyes. Just. . . You didn’t want to waste time trying to make yourself cry and mixing it with water, just to heal some wounds on heroes that could surely wait it out. Heal naturally.

“What was that?” He seems almost dazed, still confused, but somewhat fascinated.

“My tears mixed with some water.”

“Wha-? Your tears? I just drank your tears?”

“I’m gonna try spit next time you come here,” you say absentmindedly, writing something down so you can store away the data for later and even more research. You believe you gave him some that had twenty five percent? Something like that. It’s a rough estimate, but a little more practice and you’ll get something more accurate. No, you don’t notice the way Mark nearly chokes on air at your blunt statement, having to stop himself from making any more noise.

He doesn’t want to ask if you’re serious or not. Knowing you, you’d just stare blankly at him and tell him to figure it out, so instead, he slowly nods and sits back down, finally letting you work in silence as he spaced out.

The next time he does end up there, you decide it’s perfect to test your newer mixture. Arguably, it’d worked pretty good on another plant that you had sacrificed, even better than it did on your beloved violets. It was nothing but a fern, but the result was amazing.

You were excited to see the results on a human. Hell, the first time you’d felt actual excitement in forever. This was, for the first time in a long time, something new. Saliva was most definitely your limit in this little experiment of yours, however, and then you’d let Stedman know of your discoveries after.

After—you have your fun with your annoying fucking lab rat.

“Are you sure this is safe? You could, you know, always heal me the usual way?”

“Mark, are you saying I have a nasty mouth?” You stare at him, holding the small plastic cup in your hand. You’d had the decency to mix it in with water, the same as you did with your tears, and figured he wouldn’t even taste it. The way he softens up as you say his name is something you can’t miss. But it is something you can ignore.

He shakes his head and sighs, but still seems reluctant.

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to. If my tears worked just fine, then I’m pretty sure this will too; this is just for confirmation at best.”

Mark stares for a few moments, before he ultimately takes the cup and stares at it. Now, usually, you can read him quite easily. He’s the type to have the worst poker face known to man, and you’re not quite used to the almost contemplative look on his face. It’s quiet for a few moments, before he drinks it.

Slowly.

Your nose scrunches at that, because whether or not he realizes it, he’s drinking it at what you consider a snail’s pace for no reason. Still, you say nothing, simply crossing your arms across your chest as he finishes. As you thought, the effect is much more immediate than it was with your tears. Quicker. Comparable to when you use your hands. A good result—hell, an even better result than you expected.

He takes a second, before shrugging. “Tastes like water.”

“It’s supposed to, dipshit.”

“Strawberries.”

“Yeah.”

“You were grocery shopping,” You glance between him and the random two pound container of strawberries he’d given you, dark red and ripe. “And decided that it’d be a good idea to get your coworker. . . Strawberries.”

Mark exhales, mask and goggles still on, yet you can tell he’s pouting.

“I would prefer it if you just called us friends.”

“We’re coworkers, Markus. And even calling us that is pushing it,” You roll your eyes, opening the container and staring at one of the larger, darker strawberries that looked just perfect enough to bite into. But you had some decorum. You were gonna go home, wash these, let them soak,  and try not to eat them in one sitting. You don’t like how well Mark has started to understand what your tastes were. Especially when you had made it such a point not to tell him anything.

“Mark. Just, for the love of whatever god is out there, call me Mark.”

“I condemn you, Grayson. I curse you.” The groan that leaves him at the fact he’s seemingly downgraded from his full first name back to last name nearly makes you crack a smile, but you refrain from doing so. Letting him know that you didn’t want him to perish in the slightest would make him want to be around more, and you needed to work, and you can’t work with a 5’11” man with pure muscle constantly in your personal space.

The GDA was swamping you with more patients, more frequent incidents, and now you feel like an office worker; which, as stupid as it sounds, is what you were trying to avoid by working here. What you hoped to avoid, because you were different. You were a goddamn healer.

The two of you stare at each other—at least, you’d like to believe it’s a staring contest. You can’t tell if he’s looking or not, but he sure can tell with the way you purposely hold eye contact, not even daring to look away. Like he deserved to be scolded for thinking about you when he saw some fruit.

“Would you have, I don’t know, preferred peaches or something?” Mark’s question is genuine, and he’s the one pinching the bridge of his nose this time, like a disappointed parent. You scowl at that. Again, you plop down in your swivel chair, glaring at him as you cross your legs.

He knows the answer to that. No, you wouldn’t have preferred peaches, even though you have a tendency to inhale any fruit placed in front of you. Strawberries were, frankly, put on a pedestal by you. It undeniably showed, and you didn’t like that one bit. You didn’t like being able to read. And while it isn’t your fault that he stubbornly refused to leave your side, refuses to stop analyzing and staring at you, you’re still upset.

“I want you out. I have work.”

“You always have work!”

“Of course I always have work, do you see what my job is?! You know what, I’m gonna feed these to your little brother in front of you, and then I’m gonna withhold him from you for the rest of the week.”

“His name is Oliver, memorize names. Please, just memorize names and use them,” he pleads, pulling his goggles and mask off with an exasperated noise.

“Oh, I know everyone’s names. And their birthdays, including yours.” You state bluntly, waving your pencil at him, “I just don’t care. I want you to know how stupid your hero name is, too.”

“To hell with you.”

“I cursed you first!”

Later on, Mark watches as Oliver eats the slice of strawberry shortcake you’d given him after the incident with the Mauler twins, which you’d given him in exchange for a promise that he’d listen to his older brother. He watches as Cecil takes you purposely out of earshot, watches the two of you argue, watches Cecil end the argument on his terms and walk away while you give a resigned shake of your head.

Later on, Mark can catch the scent of strawberries coming from your ward as you work late at night, and he smiles to himself. He remembers the taste of that diluted water you’d given him, uncaring for the healing factor of it.

He was more focused on the fact that you tasted like strawberries.

TAG LIST : @lxluvsmoney @koilikesthefishy @broicouldjustbuyyousomekombucha @tokoyamisstuff @pookiei-bookie @treeteaofversailles

[shaunasrabbit]

Playin' Games | QZ!Joel x F!Reader

Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: You steal Joel's cut from a run. He comes to claim what's his.

Tags: No use of y/n, implied age gap (pretty nondescript but I imagined the reader is in her 20s, Joel is in his mid-50s), reader is afab, some physical descriptions (reader has hair that can be pulled, has a bush because #bushnation, and is curvy if you squint), sort of mean!Joel, reader is a little bratty, blood (brief and barely described), pussy eating, pussy pronouns, Joel is uncut because I said so, pussy slapping, use of good girl and other pet names, choking, face fucking, light dacryphilia, impact play with object, edging, hair pulling, squirting, unprotected piv, creampie. If I missed any tags, please let me know!

Word count: ~6.5K

A/N: This is my first time writing fiction ever (nonfic writer here), so I'm very excited and nervous to post. My apologies for any grammatical/spelling errors—I lightly proofread this myself. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated! The entire fic was born out of wishing Joel Miller was hitting me with something. If you like this fic, please reblog and like. I hope you enjoy! Divider by @/saradika-graphics.

You knew what you were doing when you pocketed Joel’s cut.

It was a job that he orchestrated, smuggling some pills out of the QZ, but you did all of the heavy lifting. You put your ass on the line. Really, if you think about it, you deserved it more than him, but that’s not why you kept it. 

It’s no secret that Joel has a temper. You have seen him murder people—innocent people—for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. But you’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t find it sexy. Maybe that means there’s something wrong with you, but you figure that you’re living through the fucking apocalypse so you give yourself a pass for failing to psychoanalyze yourself. Trying not to die is the priority. And getting fucked by gruff Joel Miller apparently. When he bursts through your front door, and you know he will, he’ll get his payment. One way or another.

You’re waiting for him in bed, clad in only his under shirt. He gave it to you on a run after yours was shredded by barbed wire. Although you’d never admit it, you find yourself wearing it to bed sometimes, touching yourself to the thought of him. It’s infrequent—the fucking. A treat after a particularly stressful week, sometimes after a night of heavy drinking. He gives you the look, the one that says he’s about to ruin you, and you know. The small group that the two of you work with have no idea, though. You and Joel keep your mouths shut, talking only business. But fuck, you crave it. You crave the way his cock stretches you out, his intuitive hands, the feeling of his sticky cum on your tits. Sometimes you find yourself daydreaming about it while trailing behind him on jobs, staring at his broad shoulders and the gray peppered throughout his curls. Joel Miller makes you feel like a goddamn school girl with a crush.

Right when you think you’re growing too impatient, hands almost sliding between your legs to give yourself some relief, you hear it. A blunt knock on the door followed by the jiggling of the door knob. Your thighs squeeze in anticipation, feeling giddy like a teenager. When you hear his keys jangling, you stand up, scanning the room for the best place to hide. Unfortunately, your shabby apartment came without a closet door and you don’t really own many items to hide behind. Under the bed will have to do, even if it is predictable. He’ll find you in seconds, but it’ll rile him up a bit.

The door swings open and you hear him call your name. Sliding under the bed, you lie on your stomach—a rabbit waiting for the fox to sniff it out. Despite knowing you aren’t in any real danger—well, probably—you feel your hands start to shake, your breath becomes uneven, and wetness pools between your thighs. You silently curse him for the effect he has on you. Fucking embarrassing, you think to yourself.

“You better get your ass out here,” he barks from the living room, boots thudding against the distressed hardwood as he slowly makes his way towards the archway into your bedroom. You clamp your hand over your mouth to dampen the sound of your heavy breathing. 

He walks into your room and passes your bed, heading for the bathroom. A deafening scrape from the shower curtain rings echoes through the apartment, making your heart race. The anticipation feels like torture. Both you and your pussy, now clenching around nothing, know that Joel’s coming for you any second—there’s nowhere else you could be hiding. 

A gasp is pulled from your throat as Joel’s calloused, large hands grip onto your ankles and yank you out from underneath the bed. You don’t even have time to think as he flips you onto your back and places his worn boot on your chest to hold you down. “Fuck,” you curse under your breath.

“Where is it?” he asks, his voice low and flat. A twinge of annoyance hits you as your pussy is left unacknowledged; either he’s actually focused on getting his ration cards or is intentionally ignoring you to fuck with you. Heat creeps across your face, searing your cheeks.

You blink at him, eyes wide in a half attempt to feign innocence. Slowly, you spread your legs to draw attention to your slick folds. “Where is what, Joel? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Joel’s eyes rake down your body as he takes in the sight of your bare cunt. His eyelids are heavy and though it seems impossible, his deep brown eyes become darker. There’s a hint of lust—maybe rage—behind them. The line is blurry, and all you can think about is his broad shoulders as he towers above you. 

“I’m not playin’ these fuckin’ games with you, sweetheart,” he spits out, clenching his jaw and his fist in unison. Got him. “The ration cards. My cut. Hand ‘em over.” 

“Oh, that.” You bite your lip to hold back a smirk. “Gone. Sorry. You can take mine from the next run.”

Within seconds, your chest is relieved from the pressure of his boot, but his hand tangles in your hair, gripping it tightly and pulling you up to your feet. 

“Not how that works,” he says, tightening his iron grip on your hair before pushing you onto your bedspread. He climbs on top of you, pinning one of your wrists to the bed while the other reunites with your throat. If he wasn’t squeezing your neck so damn hard, you would probably be able to moan when his knee makes contact with your leaking core. Instinctively, you rut your hips against him for even a hint of friction. 

“Didn’t think you were dumb enough to think I’d take this pussy as payment.” Joel lets go of your wrist and lands a sharp smack against your cunt. “No matter how fuckin’ sweet she is.”

Grabbing your mound, he rubs circles over your hair there before slapping your pussy again. You try to yelp, but his grip is so tight that it comes out strangled and pathetic. Joel scoffs and his jaw goes slack. 

“Ya see this?” He holds up his hand, slowly moving his fingers apart so you can see strands of your slick between each of his digits. “Barely touched you—god, you’re desperate. A desperate fuckin’ whore.” 

He lets go of the python-like grip he had on your throat and jams two of his wet fingers into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat and causing you to gag. Tears well in your eyes quicker than you’d like to admit. 

“I may be a dumb, desperate whore,” you say, managing to choke out the words through your gasps, “but you’re the one that’s already hard.” 

Joel moves swiftly to stand and you sit up on your elbows, legs parted and pussy still exposed to him. Your eyes drop to his belt buckle to watch his hands move expertly to undo it. Saliva pools in your mouth as you think about how hard his cock is going to be. Joel’s bigger than anyone else you’ve been with, and you fear that there will come a time where you don’t get to feel the stretch of him anymore. No one else could compare.

“I know what’ll shut you the fuck up.” He pushes his pants down to his mid-thigh. As his cock springs free, he demands, “On your back. Head off the edge.”

Fuck, he’s going to make it hurt and considering how pissed he looks, he’s going to make it really hurt. But you do as he says because you want it regardless. You want anything Joel has to give, but you’d never admit that to him and even without confessing, he knows. 

With your head hanging off the bed, you look up at him and see his heavy balls above you, bouncing as he strokes his already hard cock and exposes the swollen head. You stick your tongue out and he rewards you with a hard slap. Closing your eyes with bliss, you taste his salty pre-cum. A sense of victory swells in your chest—your plan was fucking working.

“This isn’t payment, darlin’. This is punishment,” he grumbles before forcefully shoving his uncut cock into your open mouth. He says it’s not payment, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like punishment to you as your wet, wanting mouth coaxes a groan out of him. The intrusion makes you gag and tears prick at your eyes. You can tell he hasn’t showered today, taking in the scent of his musky sweat. So unmistakably Joel—you swear you’d wear it as perfume if you could. 

It takes a moment for your throat to adjust to his size, but once you do, you stop gagging as much as he finds a rhythm. And damn, he is relentless, fucking your mouth fast and careless. 

“That’s it,” he groans, “I like you better when you got my cock in your mouth.” 

Joel grunts above you, expletives and your name interrupting every now and then. Your hands are fisting the sheets, trying to give yourself some stability as he rocks his hips. Tears roll down your temples and into your hairline, your eyes closing tightly as you try to blink them away. 

He looks down at you, eyelids heavy. “So goddamn pretty when you cry, baby.”

You’re rewarded with a particularly hard thrust that causes spit to sputter out of the sides of your mouth, dripping onto your cheeks. You instinctively try to pull your head back to catch your breath, but Joel’s hands grip the sides of your head to hold you in place. 

A cruel chuckle mocks you from above as Joel looks down at you, rubbing your cheeks, hot and burning with want. Joel slows his hips and nearly pulls out all the way before slowly easing himself back in. “Fuck,” he exhales, looking down at his cock disappearing between your swollen lips. “You’re such a fuckin’ mess, but you’re takin’ my cock so well.”

You hum at the praise, the vibration adding an extra twinge of pleasure for Joel. His movements become erratic and you can feel his dick twitch in your mouth as he gets close to his release. That’s your favorite thing about fucking Joel—watching a man who never loses his composure, never seems vulnerable, finally falter when he comes. But when he suddenly leaves your wet mouth with a groan, you’re left gasping for air. You push yourself upright, feeling a little dizzy from all the blood rushing to your head while upside down. “Joel,” you whine, exasperated and utterly frustrated.

“‘Joel’ what? Do ya need something, baby?” he teases as he strips fully naked. 

Rolling your eyes, you push yourself up against the headboard and spread your legs, lightly teasing your clit with your index finger. Even the slightest touch makes your legs tremble and you rest your head back, letting a delicate whimper slip from your lips. 

“Uh-uh,” Joel tuts, sliding between your legs and slapping your hand away, “use your words. Had no problem runnin’ that pretty mouth earlier.” 

Joel has always had a way of turning you on without even touching you, but this was a whole new level. His taunting goes straight to your cunt and you can feel your arousal dripping out of you. As badly as you want his hot, wet tongue on your clit, you aren’t going to give in that easily. 

“Didn’t think you were dumb enough to need me to spell it out for you,” you quip, voice low and sultry. 

Joel’s jaw tenses and his eyes narrow. You can tell he’s trying to decide what to do with you. Maybe he’ll shove his cock down your throat again to shut you up, maybe he’ll deprive you altogether and leave, or maybe he’ll give you what you want. When he’s in a bad mood, Joel likes to deny, deny, deny. But he does end up giving in. He always gives in. 

Grabbing you by your leg, Joel pulls you onto his lap so that you’re straddling him. Your slick cunt finally makes contact with his hard length and you bite back a small moan at the pressure. There’s no point in trying to mask your neediness, Joel already knows, but you hold yourself back from grinding against his cock. 

“Playin’ a real dangerous game, baby, ya know that?” Joel growls in your ear, giving your neck a light nip. You shudder at the sensation and take a deep breath, still fighting the urge to move your hips. His hands find your ass, squeezing and digging his fingernails into the soft flesh. 

Draping your arms over Joel’s shoulders, you tilt your head to give him better access to your neck. “Maybe,” you smile as his teeth pinch the sensitive skin on your pulse point, “but I think you like this game.” 

Joel lets out a breathy laugh against your neck, sending shivers down your spine and your breath catches in your throat. His fingers trail lightly up your ass before settling on your hips. The gentle touch is soured as he clutches you, a deep burn licking your sides. He moves you ever so slightly, making your clit brush against his swollen head. Your breath wavers and you pull back to look at him. Brown eyes illuminated by the setting sun, accentuating all of the flecks of gold and amber in his irises. You swear that you could stare into his eyes all day. Joel’s lips part like he’s hungry for you and you lean in to kiss him, but his hand intercepts you, grabbing your jaw tightly.

“No. Rule number one is,” he scolds, shaking your head slightly before letting it go of you, “no kissing.” 

Part of you can’t help but feel disappointed even though you expect this from Joel. The two of you only ever kiss when there’s too much whiskey involved and the heat of the moment blinds him from his normal detachment. 

You open your mouth to say something snarky, but Joel cuts you off. “Rule number two”—he grips the collar of the shirt hanging loosely off of you—“is no hiding these tits from me.” 

Effortlessly, Joel rips your favorite shirt—his shirt—right down the middle. Within seconds, he brings his mouth to your already pebbled nipple, swirling it around his warm mouth. You bite back a moan and remind yourself that he just destroyed your favorite item of clothing. Instead, you furrow your brows and clench your jaw. You’re sure that you look ridiculous as put on the angriest face you can muster while pleasure shoots through your core.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?” you hiss while trying to push him off of you, palms pressing hard into his shoulders, but he doesn’t budge. 

He pulls back for a moment and looks at you, replacing his mouth with his fingers and gives your nipple a light pinch. You pull your cheek between your teeth to stop a moan from tumbling out of you. 

“What the fuck is wrong with me? Like you’re not wearin’ nothing but my shirt.” Joel bites the swell of your breast and soothes it with a gentle suck after, finally eliciting a moan from you. “You wear it when you touch yourself?” 

Your cheeks feel hot as embarrassment bubbles in your stomach alongside desperation. Every time Joel mocks you, you feel yourself falling deeper into that safe space that you crave. The space where you don’t have to think about the broken world around you, the space where only Joel and his touch matter. 

Unable to think of anything snarky to say back, you let out a pathetic whimper that Joel takes as a victory. He flips you onto your back and settles between your legs, nearly growling when he sees your arousal leaking from slit. Gripping your hips, he stops you from trying to wiggle towards him.

“Look at that, baby,” he groans before kissing the coarse hair on your mound, “I can’t believe how fuckin’ wet she is for me. Such a needy little thing.”

All you can manage is a small whine as you tangle your hands in his soft curls, practically pushing his face into your pussy. Joel’s hot breath fans over your cunt and you press your head into the pillow, spreading your legs more for him—begging him to give you something.

Joel accepts the non-verbal invitation and licks an agonizingly slow stripe from your hole to your clit. Sucking the sensitive bud into his mouth, he lets go with an obscene pop. You moan at the loss of contact, squeezing your eyes shut and letting go of his hair so you can fist the bed sheets instead. Joel’s not patient, but neither are you, and you’re starting to feel a level of want that’s almost painful. 

Two of Joel’s fingers form a V to spread your folds, further exposing your clit so that he can get a better look at you. You glance down and the sight of him causes you to clench, reminding you how empty your pussy is. Pupils blown, hair tousled, and if you didn’t know that the glisten around his lips was your arousal, you’d swear he was drooling. He may have you melting under his touch, but you were wrecking him, too.

“Are you going to be a good girl f’me?” he asks, lightly brushing his index finger over your swollen bud. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath, trying to regain some composure. “I don’t know, Joel,” you say, almost sing-songy, as you tilt your hips closer to him. “Are you going to give me a reason to be?”

A hard smack to your cunt forces your eyes open and you try to retreat, scooting towards the headboard, but it’s useless. Joel has you held firmly in place with one hand. 

“Such a fuckin’ brat,” he growls.

You don’t get to answer before Joel’s jamming two fingers inside of you, giving you no time to adjust to the width before he’s fucking into you. You suck in sharply at the slight burn before a strangled moan claws its way out of your throat. His pace is unforgiving, but you can’t get enough. You find yourself bucking your hips into his hand, propping yourself up on your elbows for a better view of his fingers moving in and out, covered in your juices. 

Joel’s eyes are dark and fixated on your cunt and how it gushes around his fingers. The sound of your squelching pussy and wanton moans filling the room, sounding like a symphony. If you had the ability to think about anything besides the sweet tension building in your lower stomach and the rugged man between your legs, you’d be concerned about the neighbors hearing. 

“Good girls get to come,” Joel says, glancing up at your flushed face. Your lips are parted as you’re basically panting, trying to catch your breath, but Joel never gives you the chance to, continuing to fuck you mercilessly. “Is that ‘nough of a reason for you, sweetheart?”

“Mm, maybe—fuck!”

When Joel’s tongue meets your clit, you cry out and try to grab at his free hand to ground yourself. For a moment, he laces your fingers together, his large hand swallowing yours, but he quickly moves your hand up to your breast. Your grab at your own flesh, gently tugging at your nipple as Joel’s fingers and tongue work in tandem. The way Joel’s tongue swirls against your clit in precise circles feels like magic, like this is all he was built for. Your legs start to twitch as you approach your release and electricity courses through your body while Joel’s fingers curl just right to hit that spongy spot inside of you. You clench around him, obscene moans and gasps just pouring out of you. Joel hums against you, clearly pleased with himself. He takes your bud into his mouth, sucking and flicking it with his tongue. And fuck—that nearly does you in. But just as quickly as you got there, he takes it all away—keeping you at the edge but not allowing you to fall over. 

Pulling his mouth away and retracting his now soaked fingers, he drags his index finger up and down your seam. Your hips shift and you groan, disgruntled and, frankly, annoyed. When the two of you make eye contact, despite your exasperation, you can’t help the way the corners of your mouth turn slightly upward, admiring how his lips and scruff are glistening with your arousal, his disheveled hair, the sheen of sweat on his forehead that’s dampening his curls. 

“What’s that little smirk about?” Joel asks with a raised brow. He moves up towards you, peppering your breasts with a few delicate kisses before settling next to you. As Joel’s arm snakes around your shoulder and he pulls you into his warm chest, your breath hitches at the sudden, unexpected gentleness of it all. 

These moments when Joel’s soft with you are rare, making them all the more satisfying. Something tugged at your heart, though. You wonder what Joel was like before the outbreak, before the world turned even the softest to stone. Maybe Joel was the type to make love, not the type to fuck. Maybe he brought his dates flowers and opened the car door for them. Once, you heard whispers that Joel had a daughter who died. The thought of him making her school lunches makes your chest tighten. With your ear pressed to his chest and his heart beating steadily underneath you, you realize that you’d do anything to see Joel Miller being domestic, being soft, being sweet. God, what the fuck is wrong with me? you think, squeezing your eyes shut to push the thought away. You tell yourself being this turned on can make the mind think crazy things. 

“You gonna answer me?” Joel’s voice is low, quieter now. 

Nipping at his jaw and soothing it with a kiss, you whisper, “Need you—need your cock inside me, Joel.”

“Darlin’,” he chuckles, his lips brushing your temple, “I don’t really give a shit what ya need. You’re gonna take what I give ya.”

With a small whine, you nod and nuzzle your face into his neck. You asked for this, you know that, but you feel like you're going to explode and there’s no way he doesn’t feel the same. His cock twitching ever so slightly against the soft shelf of his tummy gives him away. 

Joel’s free hand slides down to your breast, giving your nipple a hard tug, before coming in contact with your clit. He begins to rub excruciatingly light circles on your sensitive nub. A wanton sound, somewhere between a whine and a moan, climbs its way out of your throat as you press your face into his neck. You start to hate him for a moment, but then you remember how perfectly stretches you out and if you’re just a little more patient, maybe you’ll feel it soon. At least that’s what you tell yourself.

“I know, I know,” he coos. “Wanna come for me, huh?”

All you can do is whine and nod in response, bucking your hips toward his thick finger, begging for more pressure on your clit. The way his voice has softened shoots right to your core. Something akin to butterflies in your stomach overwhelms you as heat spreads throughout your chest. You feel so hot, so needy, and so agitated that he isn’t just giving you what you want. 

Joel lets out a breathy laugh and finally rubs your clit in earnest. It feels like heaven and hell at the same time, both overstimulating and not stimulating enough. You close your eyes so tight that you see stars as you feel the pressure steadily build inside of you. Joel whispers filthy things in your ear, but you can hardly focus on anything except the practiced circles on your clit.

Involuntarily, your legs twitch and begin to close as you approach your peak. Joel pins your leg to the bed with his own and slaps your clit, a playful warning. “C’mon now, be a good girl. Keep ‘em spread for me,” he says, voice husky and low as it vibrates the shell of your ear. 

The praise nearly makes you come and Joel knows it, but he slows his pace, letting your impending orgasm dissipate. You exhale slowly, trying to mask your frustration. But then he does it again and again, bringing you right there before taking it all away. After your orgasm is snatched away from you for the fourth time, you’re a shaking mess, hair sticking to your forehead and face hot with lust and anger which, right now, feel like the same thing to you.

“Y’look s’pretty  like this, y’know that?” he asks, his syrupy drawl thickened by want. 

“Mm—feels s-so,” you moan, “fucking good, Joel.”

After the first few times fucking him, you figured out that Joel likes praise as much as you do, even if he isn’t forthright about it. It isn’t a lie, it feels so fucking good, but you also hope that telling him so will give you the release you crave. As his fingers speed up, applying the right amount of pressure, you think your strategy may have worked. Your moans become louder as your hips jerk up. You’re right there. But he stops altogether, dragging his fingers up to rest on the curve of your stomach, leaving a trail of your arousal. 

The smug look on his face pisses you off. You want to hit him. You want to scream, maybe cry. You want to fucking orgasm.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you snap, breaking away from his hold. 

“Oh, baby, real awful, ain’t it? Not getting what you want?”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, trying to pull yourself up off the bed despite your legs feeling like gelatin. 

A calloused hand catches your wrist and drags you back onto the bed. Joel positions you so that you’re straddling him. If you weren’t so worn out from being edged for what felt like hours, you probably would try to resist, but it’d be useless. You’re forcing yourself to hover above him, legs twitching as you try to muster the strength to stay like that, just so he doesn’t get the satisfaction of your wet, hot cunt on his throbbing cock. 

Joel notices that you’re enraptured by him below you, your eyes focusing intently on the expanse of his chest and the gray hair littered across, covering scars here and there. While you’re thoroughly distracted—lecherous yet embittered—Joel forces you down on his cock. The unexpected intrusion makes you wince and a jumbled fuckjoelohmygod spills from you, sandwiched between high pitched whines and moans. 

“Fuck me, sugar,” he commands with a grunt, slapping your ass as he bottoms out inside of you. The head of his cock kisses your cervix, stirring a delicious pressure inside of you, and the initial burn of the stretch melts into pleasure. 

You can’t think of anything except the feeling of Joel splitting you open. The way the gray patch of hair at the base of the cock meets your own hair and your swollen clit, the weight of his hands on the soft, plush flesh of your hips, the bead of sweat rolling down his aquiline nose. You snap out of your trance as he squeezes your supple thighs and raises an eyebrow, awaiting your movement.

“I-I…” you stutter, pinching your eyes closed. You anchor yourself to him by pressing your palms flat against his chest, his heartbeat steady yet accelerated under your touch. Seated fully on his cock, you begin to languidly grind on him, softly moaning as the base of his cock grazes your puffy clit. You’re slow in your movements, but precise, only prioritizing Joel’s cock nudging the spot inside of you that makes your toes curl and the pressure on your clit. 

“Is that the best ya can do?” Joel groans, discontented with your lack of compliance. His feet dig into the bed for leverage as he lifts his hips to fuck up into you, fast and sloppy. 

It’s an obscene sight—your tits bouncing as he fucks you, his thumb playing with your clit, hands grasping at the headboard for some grounding. But the sounds, god. The sounds in the room were downright sinful. High-pitched, borderline squeaky, gasps and mewls from you with grunts and groans from Joel. Skin on skin. The bedframe precariously creaking. Nearly out of your goddamn mind from Joel’s cock ruthlessly pistoning in and out of your weeping cunt, you have no idea how loud you really are, but even if you did, it wouldn’t matter. The louder you get, the harder Joel fucks you. 

“Mm, fuck, can feel her squeezin’ me, sweetheart,” Joel grumbles between heavy breaths, “but ya can’t come until I say so, got it?” 

You nod dumbly with your mouth agape, doing your best to fight the fire in your clit that was rapidly burning. Tears threaten to spill from your waterline as Joel’s thumb works faster to circle your clit and you hear him chuckle beneath you. That fucking asshole. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you. 

“Joel, stop,” you choke out, “or I-I-I’ll…I’m going to—”

“No, be a good girl f’me.”

That’s all it takes. Those two words—good girl—send waves of pure ecstasy over you while you come on his cock. As your walls spasm and clench around him, you dig your nails into his shoulders. Maybe you’ll leave your mark on him, adding to the collection of scars across his body. Joel fucks you through it, each thrust more erratic and delectable than the last. 

As you come down from the high of your orgasm, each of your senses trickle back in. You can now hear Joel saying something that you can’t quite make out below you, you can taste the iron on your tongue from where you bit down on your lip while you came, you can feel the wetness on your thighs. Wait—why was it so wet?  Glancing down, it hits you. You must’ve squirted because you and Joel are drenched in your release. Heat creeps up your neck and rests on your cheeks, your face burning with embarrassment. 

“Hey,” Joel’s gravelly voice cuts through your haze. A light tap to your ass draws your eyes down to his. “Up.”

Lips parted, you nod slowly, pulling yourself off of his cock and collapsing next to him. Joel shifts onto his side to face you, heavy and hard cock landing on your wet thigh. Your eyes meet his for only a few seconds before you look away, unable to read his expression. You sigh and say ,“That’s…never happened before…”

Joel hums in response as he sits up and positions himself between your shaky thighs, spreading them apart and grabbing the base of his cock. Your breath hitches and your eyes widen, mesmerized by the angry red tip in front of you. How is it even possible to still need him after such an intense orgasm? Joel makes you like this. Insatiable. You think you hate him for it or  at least you might right now, while you lie in front of him, absolutely wrecked.

“Soaked my goddamn lap,” he grumbles.

“And whose fault is that?”

“Don’t go blamin’ me,” he gruffs, lining himself up to your leaking entrance. “Blame this needy fuckin’ pussy. Can’t help creamin’ all over my cock, huh?”

In one swift motion, Joel snaps his hips into you, his groin flush against yours. You nearly yelp, your pussy beyond sensitive from your orgasm. He begins fucking you relentlessly and you wrap your legs around his waist to suck him in as deep as possible. You swear, you can feel him in your stomach every time he bottoms out. Joel leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, your sweat mingling with his. It’s tortuous, having him this close to you, but knowing that you can’t kiss him. You wouldn’t risk it, not when you’ve already pushed your luck with him. All you want is Joel. Inside of you, on top of you, touching you. 

“Y’need to learn your lesson, girl,” he mumbles, lips dangerously close to yours. Joel’s hand snakes between the two of you and rests heavy on your throat.

“Please,” you choke out, unsure of what you’re even asking for. Pliant and soft beneath him, you’d take anything. 

Joel props himself up on an elbow, his large hand never leaving your neck, as he looks around the room. Something shifts as his gaze lands on the back scratcher next to your bed. His eyes, dark and heavy lidded. Letting go of your throat, he grabs the back scratcher and turns it over in his hands like he’s contemplating whether or not it’s a suitable punishment. You know damn well that he’s already made up his mind—he’s just fucking with you. 

“Hm,” his eyes flick up to meet yours, “ya think this will get it through that pretty little head? That ya gotta listen to me?” 

Biting your bottom lip, you give a small shrug. “Maybe,” you say, practically a whisper. Sweat starts gathering in the pit of your knee as you anticipate the burn.

Joel pushes your legs together and shoves your knees into your chest, making your pussy choke his cock and you can’t help but moan at the change in position. With the back of your thighs exposed to him, Joel has the perfect view of where his cock meets your pussy and he’s practically salivating. When his thumb brushes your swollen lips, you hum in pleasure and close your eyes, letting your head loll back onto the pillow. Lost in a daze, Joel seizes the opportunity to catch you off guard. Cold wood meets your skin with a loud smack and you cry out at the sudden pain. 

“Fuck!” you exclaim, eyes opening and brows furrowing as you look up at him.

“Poor thing. Shoulda listened to me if ya didn’t want me to hurt ya.” Soothing the skin that was already beginning to raise with his thumb, Joel tuts and shakes his head. “But I think ya like this, don’t ya?”

You whine in response, nodding your head in quick succession. It’s true; in a world with so much unmitigated pain, it was nice to have a strike come from Joel. Joel, who despite all of his rough edges, wouldn’t ever hurt you too badly.

“S’what I thought,” he says, raising the back scratcher and hitting the back of your thighs again, but this time with more force. 

As the sting fizzles out, Joel begins fucking you, setting a punishing pace. The pleasure and pain are an irresistible cocktail and you start to clench around him, feral moans and his name mindlessly pouring out of you. 

Joel groans at the sight in front of him. You, all fucked out, just writhing in front of him. Pulling your legs closer to your chest, you invite him to hit you again. And fuck, he does. Over and over again, only stopping when he sees that he’s broken skin, crimson bubbling from the small split in your flesh. At this point, the pain has clouded your mind and everything felt hazy. You’re finally in that space that only Joel can bring you to. 

“Oh, baby,” Joel coos between grunts, “did s’fuckin’ well takin’ your punishment.” 

You smile stupidly at the praise, letting your legs drop, blood smearing on your bedspread. When you open your eyes, you see Joel looking down at you, almost affectionately. You’d seen him vulnerable before, yes, but this feels different, like you’ve managed to access a different part of him. You’re not sure what part of him, but it was definitely something new. He leans down, burying his face in your neck as he continues to fuck you, hard and deep. Holding him to you like you’ll fall off of the earth if you let go, you moan his name in his ear as he kisses that sweet, velvety spot in your pussy with his cock. 

Hips stuttering, you can tell he’s close. His grunts grew louder and beautifully harmonized with the squelch of your pussy. “Joel,” you whimper, “want you to fill me up. Please.”

“Like when ya use your manners, sweetheart,” he says, nipping at your throat. “Gonna fill ya up real good. Claim this fuckin’ cunt.” 

With that, he’s spilling ropes of come inside of your spent cunt, filling you to the brim. Your pussy has a vice grip on him, squeezing and milking every last drop from his cock. When he finally stills inside of you, you’re both panting messes. Joel goes limp against you, putting all of his weight on you as you both try to catch your breath. 

You could lie like this forever, you think. There’s something comforting about his body suffocating yours, cock softening inside of you. Something safe about it. Something that makes your body vibrate. You push the warm thoughts away, knowing that in a few minutes, Joel will be slamming your door shut to go back to his apartment across the QZ. 

Joel pulls out of you carelessly without a word and begins to get dressed, shoving his come-slick cock in his boxers. You reach over to your nightstand, opening the draw and pulling his ration cards out. As you do this, you feel his come leak out of you, trickling down to your puckered hole and pooling on your definitely soiled bed sheets. 

Tossing the ration cards his way, you lean back against the headboard. Joel’s eyes flick from his cut to you, quietly shoving the cards in his back pocket. 

“Y’could’ve just asked,” he says flatly. 

“More fun this way.”

Joel exhales through his nose and the slightest smirk tugs at his lips. Padding over to you, he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead, brushing your hair out of your face. You leave a kiss on the palm of his warm hand before getting out of bed and walking over to the bathroom to clean up. Joel’s eyes are burning into you as he watches his come drip down your legs from behind.

When you emerge from the bathroom, Joel’s gone, but the white t-shirt he was wearing under his flannel is folded at the end of the bed.

[canarias-stuff]

Reaching You

Sung Jin-Woo X F!Reader

Summary:

“What the hell?!” You cried, more tears falling down. “You said that you would come back soon! So why?!”

“Wait! (Y/n)! I swear I can explain!”

“What happened with the gates?! And the war?!”

You could feel Jin-Woo panicking at your questions, but the dam was broken. You couldn’t stop.

“Why are we sixteen again?! Why do I have to study math again?!”

“...really (y/n)…?”

...

Or a story where you dreams of a world not so different from yours, but you know that you are missing something...no, someone.

(Sung Jin-Woo X F!Reader)

Author's note:

My second story for the fandom.

I started it a while ago, but I didn't know how to end it.^^''

And after struggling a little bit, this is the result.

I hope that you enjoy it!

You were 13 when the dreams started.

At first, they were short – so short you could barely remember the contents, but as the time passed, you felt like you had lived the dream for days instead of just a night. You dreamed of a world that's not so different from the real one, where people you know – family, friends and even some that you don’t know personally – are there.

Maybe you’d been watching too many American shows or playing too many video games, because each time you dreamed about this strange world, it became more vivid, more detailed.

Your dreamworld has a touch of magic and fantasy, and even if you couldn’t always remember the specifics, you were sure that at some point you were fighting against monsters inside what they called ‘gates’. There was also a rank system for those gates and for the people who fought inside them, there were guilds and something called Hunter’s Association, and even if you can’t remember everything, you are sure that you aren’t part of any organization.

One thing that you can remember though, is that something…no, someone is missing from your memories. Well, not actually missing, however there’s someone beside you in your dreams, someone that smiles at you, holds your hands, kisses you and makes you really happy, yet, no matter how hard you try, you can’t recall their face or the sound of their voice when they call your name.

And every time they appeared in your dreams, you’d wake up crying.

Was it stupid to miss someone you could only see in dreams? Someone your own brain had invented?

Yes , that’s what you told yourself. This person was just a figment of your imagination – born from all those novels you read. So why did it hurt so much every time? Why did your chest ache for someone whose face you couldn’t remember?

Once, you told your best friend about your dreams. Your friend laughed and patted you on the back.

“Woah! Did you fall for this mysterious person from your dreams?”

“Of course not!”

You felt embarrassed at the accusation, but if you were embarrassed about your dreams or about the part where you fell in love with someone that doesn't exist, you weren’t sure.

You also commented about your dreams to your family one morning and while your mother and older brother made fun of you, your father frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Oh, you must have loved this person a lot.” Your mother said, while preparing the breakfast.

“Your brain is probably melting after reading so much garbage!” Your irritating older brother laughed.

“If you have free time to read novels (y/n), use it for your studies.”

And really, while your father’s comment was more of a “If you start to get red marks, I will burn all your novels.” warning, you decided that you should do as he said and study more – occupy your brain with numbers, formulas and historical events – because that way, your brain may decide to make you dream about possible questions for a test instead of making you miss someone that you only imagined.

…

“You are going there.”

“...I am…”

“It doesn’t matter what I say, right?”

“I’m sorry, (y/n).”

You sighed, but in the end you looked up to stare at his determined eyes, and smiled.

“You better come back soon.”

He smiled and wrapped his arms around you, leaving a kiss on your forehead.

“I will. It’s a promise.”

And then, he turned around to leave, while all you could do was extend your hand and try – and fail – to hold him for just a little longer.

…

You woke up with an arm extended, grabbing the air. Again.

Since the start of your last year of middle school, the dreams haven't come as frequently as before. But still, at least once a week, you would wake up with your hand outstretched – like you were trying to hold onto something. Or someone. Just like now.

You never told a soul about this, not when you were sure that people – your best friend and family – would make fun of you.

But now that you’ve started high school, you wonder if this is progress. On one hand, you don’t wake up crying as often as before. On the other, you’ve started reaching out for this person. Still trying to grasp that person who never stayed – who probably never came back.

You stared at your arm for a moment before lowering it, a quiet sigh slipping from your lips.

And yet, for some reason, you felt warm. Like someone was still there, holding you.

…

“Have you heard about the rumor?” You heard one of the girls from your class say, from the desk right beside you.

“Oh! About the transfer student from class A?” The girl’s friend said.

“Yep! Someone said that he wears the glove only on his left hand because he has a tattoo there.”

You rolled your eyes at their conversation and kept reading the novel that you just found online. People had been gossiping about a student for almost two weeks now, and even though you hadn’t seen him yet, you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. After all, who would want to be the talk of the school just because of their fashion sense?

“Actually, I heard from someone in class A that he is trying to hide a burn mark.”

A burn mark? You frowned, because that was new information.

“A burn mark? So he isn’t a delinquent?”

“I’m not sure, because someone heard a teacher say that he left home when he was still in junior high and came back after two years, but someone could have misheard it.”

“Well, let’s just stay away from him then.”

The other girl sighed, disappointed.

“What a shame, he does have a nice face though.”

And you rolled your eyes, trying to focus again on your novel as the girls shifted to another topic. People sure could be so petty.

…

Sometimes – actually it started just a few days after classes started –, you feel like someone’s watching you. But whenever you look around, there’s no one there, so you brush it off as nothing.

But today is different.

An ant was staring at you. 

A bipedal, human-like, black and blue ant was staring at you.

You tried to ignore it, continuing to eat your sandwich and chat with your best friend, as if the entity – it had to be some kind of ghost, right? – wasn’t there. It walked around you, moving with a strange, purposeful air, as though it was studying you.

And suddenly it fell to its knees and started crying.

“The appearance is slightly different, but this mana flow, this mana flow! There’s no doubt! Our queen is here! Our queen is here!”

You flinched. 

The ant is talking! The humanoid ant is fucking talking!

“Are you okay, (y/n)?” Your friend asked, when she saw you flinch.

“Hum? What?”

Your friend arched an eyebrow.

“You looked…distracted…”

Well, in your defense, it was difficult to keep focus when the ant kept crying…and talking nonsense beside you.

“Oh, it’s nothing, I was just wondering if I should go buy the novel that you recommended the other day.”

“I can just lend it to you!”

“Really? Thanks!” You exclaimed, trying to ignore the ant, that at some point got up and flew somewhere else, yelling something about telling the news to his king.

Ignore it, ignore it.

The weird creature was just a fragment of your imagination.

Yeah, just a fragment of my imagination…

But was it weird that for some reason you felt like you knew it?

…

“Queen.”

“Can you please stop calling me that, Beru?” You grunted, cheeks getting red. “It’s embarrassing!”

“But you are my king’s queen.”

Okay, that was way more embarrassing.

“Call me by my name!” You pleaded.

“How can a mere general call a queen by their name?”

“I’m not a queen so just call me (y/n)!”

“No, I can’t, my queen. I apologize.”

You turned to the man sitting at the sofa, who looked between you and the humanoid ant with an amused expression.

“Do something about it!” You cried, pointing at the giant ant.

“I tried, but he still calls me his king.” The man answered with a small laugh.

“Because you are my king.” The ant interrupted.

“Ugh…You really need to stop watching historical dramas, Beru.” You finally sighed and collapsed at the sofa, next to the amused man who just let out a small laugh and kissed you.

…

The ant was in your dreams this time.

For some reason, the ant called the stranger in your dream his king and you, his queen.

Really, it was embarrassing to be called that – and being kissed so gently –, but at least you got some new information.

The ant’s name was Beru.

“Beru..” You said. “What a weird name.”

…

After your encounter with the humanoid ant – Beru – just a few days ago, you started to notice other black and blue figures around.

Some were near the school gates, soldiers-like figures hidden in the shadows of trees, and others you could see around the neighbourhood, as if they were guarding and protecting the place.

Even if Beru’s figure had scared you a little, for some reason after your last dream, the feeling had gone away, and instead of getting uncomfortable with the shadow-like creatures, you felt strangely…safe.

…

Hah…yeah, safe…

Maybe you were so engrossed in the sense of safety the shadows provided that you completely forgot about reality.

You stared at the hand that was currently grabbing your wrist with a frown on your face. Once, your brother told you that high school was a jungle, where all kinds of species could be seen – football players, cheerleaders, basketball players, etc etc, and considering what was happening now, you agreed with your brother’s words.

These ones were probably the troublemakers/bully types.

“Aren’t you a first year?”

You looked up, (e/c) eyes glaring at the guy who grabbed your wrist and his two followers.

“Oh, you don’t have to look at us like that.” He – the leader (maybe?) – said with a smirk.

Really? How did you end up in this situation? You just went behind school to throw the trash after classes and ended up meeting with these three guys who were already there, up to no good. You didn’t say a word or look at any of them, but they still thought that it was an opportunity to try to pick up a girl.

“Like what?” You said without a hint of fear. “Like I'm seeing trash?”

Okay, maybe your choice of words were really poor considering the situation, but you were angry at the idiots who were trying to force themselves on you, and annoyed that you refused your friend's offer to help you with the trash.

“Hah?!” The leader roared, tightening his grip on your wrist. What did you just say, bitch?!”

“Oh? So you are deaf too?” You said, feigning a surprise expression.

You should have expected some violence.

The leader released your wrist just to push you at the wall by the collar of your shirt, and his followers surrounded you, eyes shining with malice, as if they just cornered a prey.

“I dare you to repeat that!” The leader roared.

You grabbed his wrist with both hands, (e/c) eyes never wavering at the sound of the clear threat

“Are. You. Deaf?”

The moment the guy clenched his other hand into a fist was the moment you twisted his wrist, slipping under his arm. The motion caused the first two buttons of your blouse to pop off – but it was worth it. He had no choice but to let go of your clothes, and in that instant, you threw him over your shoulder.

For a moment, everyone – even you – just stood there, trying to process what had just happened. You never learned how to fight, you didn’t even know that you had the strength to throw a guy twice your weight, but here you were, facing a bully and his followers, who somehow looked even more stunned than you.

However the surprise didn’t last long, and in a blink of an eye, the group had surrounded you again.

“That’s not fair.” You commented, eyeing the three guys walking around you.

“Life is not fair, girly.” One of his minions said with a smirk.

“You say it as if you have lived a long life.”

“This girl really doesn't know when to shut up, no?” Minion number one said.

“My friend said that I can talk for hours as long as I’m talking about my novels.” You continue. You need to buy some time, at least enough time to figure out how to get away from this situation, or until your friend realizes that you were taking too long to just throw the trash.

“Looks like your novels didn’t teach you to not pick up fights that you can’t win.” Number two minion laughed.

“Well, yeah, my novels usually focus more on romance, politics and family issues instead of people trying to pick fights with a girl who’s half their weight. These types of characters aren’t popular anyway.”

A vein popped at the leader’s forehead, and he tried to grab you again.

You don’t know how you did it. One moment, your feet were on the ground, and the next, you were in the air – upside down, hands planted on the top of the leader’s head, your body felt almost weightless. As you came down, you used his back as a stepping stone, pushing off and sending him crashing into his friends – while you landed gracefully on the ground.

You blinked, once more surprised with your fluid movements, as if you had done it all your life.

What the hell?!

“Now you asked for that, bitch!” The leader yelled and charged at you, at the same time as his minions.

Stunned by your own previous movements, you didn’t have time to dodge the sudden attack, all you could do was shut your eyes and brace for the impact. An impact that never came.

Instead, you heard people gasp in surprise and then, the “thud” of something hitting the ground.

Slowly, you opened your eyes, only to be met with the sight of someone’s back.

Your eyes went wide – for a second, the image of the person from your dreams overlapping with the stranger standing in front of you – but you quickly shook your head, trying to get rid of those thoughts. Right now, there were more important things to focus on, like the punks that were…attacking…you…?

You frowned, the three guys were laying on the ground, unconscious…

What just hap–?

“Are you okay?”

Gentle and calm, his voice interrupted your thoughts, but for some reason you felt your chest grow warm.

A gloved hand appeared in your line of sight – The student from the rumors, you couldn’t stop the thought – and you stared at it for a second, before accepting it.

“Thanks for the…”

But the words died in your throat the moment your (e/c) eyes met his. Yeah, you had heard the rumors – that he was handsome – but you hadn't known the details: the dark hair, the beautiful grey eyes and the small smile on his lips.

However…it wasn’t his features that made you lose the capacity to speak, but the sensation of familiarity, as if your brain was trying to remember something…someone…

The student was still holding your hand, so gently…as if you were something precious.

“(Y/n).”

The voice of the mysterious man from your dreams echoed in your mind and a face that you couldn’t remember was starting to take shape.

Your chest tightened and your eyes stung with tears that were ready to fall.

“Hey!” The stranger – Was he really a stranger? – cried, startled, as you collapsed to your knees, free hand clutching the front of your unbuttoned blouse.

Gates. Guilds. Monsters. Dungeons. A war.

“Hey! Are you hurt anywhere?!” He called again, panicking at your lack (or excess?) of reaction.

Dark hair. Grey eyes. A small smile.

His face wasn’t a blur anymore. You could see him clearly now.

“(Y/n).”

“(Y/n)!”

Oh…he sounds younger, but it is still him.

“Y-you are la-late…” You muttered between sobs. “...Jin-Woo!”

You saw him flinch at the same time you felt his hand tighten around yours, but did you care? Not at all. The feelings that had been locked somewhere in your being – lost but not forgotten–, were running wild, and since the boy in front of you was the cause, he should take responsibility for that.

“What the hell?!” You cried, more tears falling down. “You said that you would come back soon! So why?!”

“Wait! (Y/n)! I swear I can explain!”

“What happened with the gates?! And the war?!”

You could feel Jin-Woo panicking at your questions, but the dam was broken. You couldn’t stop.

“Why are we sixteen again?! Why do I have to study math again?!”

“...really (y/n)…?”

You glared at him.

“I’m serious here!” You yelled frustrated, but soon the overwhelming sensation died as you stared at the man – now teenager – that you had always been waiting without knowing. “I really am, Jin-Woo…”

With your free hand, you cupped his face. He leaned into your touch, closing his eyes and savoring the warmth of your hand.

Jin-Woo...he looked so peaceful, as if the weight he once carried had finally lifted from his shoulders. And now that your memories have returned, you understand why.

In this world, there were no gates, no monsters.

Even if he still had his powers – and you were sure that he did, considering you had seen Beru and his other shadow soldiers around – he was free from the obligations and responsibilities he had once forced upon himself.

Sure, you were kind of angry at him, Jin-Woo had a lot to explain, but at the same time you felt relieved. Relieved that he was back.

“I missed you.” You finally said, a tearful – but still genuine – smile on your lips. “I missed you, Jin-Woo!”

You weren’t really surprised when he let go of your hands and pulled you into an embrace, after all, if he hadn’t, you would have.

“I missed you too, (y/n).” He whispered in the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry for being late.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips as you wrapped your arms around him, returning the hug.

“It’s okay.” You said. “It’s okay.”

…

A few minutes later, your best friend found you – with red and puffy eyes – hugging Jin-Woo behind the building with three unconscious bodies scattered around you.

Did she freak out? Yes, she did. But just as you had told Jin-Woo. 

It was okay.

It really was.

Because you had finally reached him.

Ao3 link

Ending notes:

But anyway! I hope that you enjoyed it!^^

I am not sure if the end felt rushed, but the point of the story was the reader to finally remember and reach Jin-Woo instead of him explaning everything. I just wanted to them to meet again in a better world.^^

But, of course I had to make Reader fight a little bit. First, because I wanted to show that with her memories coming back reader could do things that she could do in the past. And second because I wanted Jin-Woo to appear out of nowhere like the "Exchange" scene! hahaha

See you!

P.S: English is not my native language, so sorry for possible grammar mistakes.

[gabseyoo]

END OF AN ERA — MIYA OSAMU / MIYA ATSUMU

content: established relationship (reader x osamu), female reader, fiancé!osamu, kind of atsumu centric, existential crisis. word count: 1,3k.

note: this drabble was inspired by this friend’s scene, love monica and rachel.

Atsumu sat on the couch, arms slung over the backrest, eyes staring blankly at the wall across from him. His thoughts spun in endless loops, tangled between frustration and a strange hollowness he couldn’t shake.

He knew this moment was coming—had known for a long time—but that didn’t make it any easier.

Osamu was moving out.

His twin brother, his other half, the person who literally had been by his side since the moment they were born—was leaving to start a new life with you, his future wife. Atsumu should be happy for him. Hell, he was happy for him.

But he also felt this gnawing pit in his stomach, an ugly feeling he wasn’t ready to name.

It had been creeping up on him ever since Osamu told him he was officially moving out and it only worsened as Atsumu helped you both pack, boxing up years of shared living, easy laughter, dumb arguments over who ate the last rice ball. 

And today… it was the final day.

“Need help with that, babe?” Osamu’s voice broke through Atsumu’s thoughts. Without even waiting for an answer, he plucked the last box out of your arms with a casual grin.

“It wasn’t that heavy.” You said, crossing your arms with a huff. Osamu chuckled, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“This the last one?” He asked, his smile widening when you nodded. “Damn. That’s really it, huh.”

Atsumu watched from the couch as Osamu practically radiated excitement. Like leaving behind a lifetime of being side-by-side with him didn’t weigh on him at all. And that stung more than he wanted to admit.

He had known from the start that you were different. He had known it from the moment Osamu had introduced you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him. And it had been obvious to everyone—probably even before Osamu himself realized—that you were the one.

Still, Atsumu hadn’t expected everything to change so fast. The same guy who used to roll his eyes at weddings now talked about futures and family like he couldn’t wait to get started. He had even been there when Osamu nervously picked out your engagement ring, sweating like a man twice his age.

“You sure about this?” Atsumu had asked him then, half-joking, half-serious.

“I’ve never been more sure about anything.” Osamu had answered without missing a beat.

And that was that. No doubt. No second-guessing. Just certainty. 

Osamu disappeared outside with the last box, leaving you and Atsumu alone in the apartment. 

The silence between you two was thick, almost humming. Not awkward exactly—he had known you for years now, after all—but it felt heavy tonight.

You moved to sit beside him on the couch, close enough that your shoulder brushed his before asking, “You okay?” 

Atsumu shrugged a little too quickly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re unusually quiet.”

“Me? Nah.” He waved it off, forcing a grin. “Just tired from haulin’ boxes all day.”

“You mad at us?”

The question caught him off-guard. “No! Why would I be?”

“I don’t know.” You smiled a little and shrugged. “You just seem... upset.”

He opened his mouth to deny it again, but it stuck in his throat. Fuck. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. “Maybe I am a little.” He muttered. “I don’t know. Feels like everything’s changing and I’m... stayin’ still."

You didn’t say anything at first. Just let him sit there, stewing in it, which somehow made it easier to keep talking.

“Everyone’s movin’ on. You and ‘Samu are starting this whole new life. And I’m still here, in this stupid apartment, playing volleyball and eating frozen dinners when ‘Samu is out at night.” He laughed, but it sounded rough. “I mean, I’m happy for you. I am. I just…” He trailed off, obviously embarrassed for what he wanted to express.

“You feel left behind.” You finished for him.

After a few seconds in silence, Atsumu nodded. 

You leaned back against the couch, your head tilting toward him. “You’re not left behind, Atsumu. Life just moves differently for everyone. It’s not a race.”

He stayed quiet, staring at his hands. His throat felt tight.

“And you didn’t hear this from me, but—” You continued, softer now. “Osamu’s scared too.”

That pulled his gaze up. “Yeah, right. He looked like he was walking into Disney World out there.”

“He’s excited because it’s something new for both of us. But he’s gonna miss you like hell, Atsumu. He’s been pretending to be all cool about it, but he’s worried you’re gonna starve without him around.”

Atsumu let out a snort, a little offended. “I can cook!” You raised an eyebrow. “Well... I can try.” 

He rolled his eyes when you laughed as you bumped your shoulder lightly against his.

“And besides... just because Samu’s moving out doesn’t mean he’s not still your brother. You’re stuck with each other, no matter what.”

Atsumu bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to let the emotion show too much. He was used to being the loud one, the dumbass, the one who made everything a joke. Feeling like this—raw and sad and a little lost—wasn’t something he knew how to do in front of people. Especially not you.

Atsumu let out a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. “Yeah... guess you’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

Despite everything, he chuckled. And somehow, the knot in his chest loosened just a little bit.

You sat in silence for a few seconds, breathing the same air, staring at the same wall, before you said quietly, “You know, Atsumu... you’re allowed to feel scared about changes. Even the good ones.”

He stared at you, something sharp and tender settling in his chest. You meant it. You saw him, the way so few people did.

He rubbed his hands over his face and muttered, “I feel like such a dumbass.”

“You’re not. You’re just human.”

Atsumu barked out a dry laugh. “Yeah, well... being human sucks sometimes.”

“It does.”

“Again, you’re right.”

What neither of you noticed was that Osamu had been standing in the doorway, quietly listening, a small, knowing smile on his face. It was moments like this that made him so sure about his future with you, you were so understanding and so loving. You comforted his brother in a way he never could have and that made him fall in love with you all over again. 

As soon as he made sure you were done talking, he finally stepped back into the room, holding up a bottle of wine triumphantly. “Our neighbor gave me this as a goodbye gift. Wanna crack it open?”

Later, as the sky blushed in soft purples and oranges, the three of you sat on the balcony, squeezed onto the same old outdoor couch that held so many memories. 

Osamu sat between you and Atsumu, an arm casually slung around each of you.

“I’m gonna miss this place.” Osamu said, his voice tinged with nostalgia.

Atsumu stared out at the view—the same one they’d shared for years—and tried not to let his chest ache too much.

“You sure you can survive without me?” Atsumu asked, smirking sideways at him.

Osamu scoffed, bumping his knee against Atsumu’s. “I’ll manage. Got help now.” He said, turning to you with a look so soft it practically glowed before he pressed a kiss to your temple, lingering there longer than necessary. “I got everything I need right here.”

The blonde made a gagging sound. “Jesus. Get a room.”

Osamu just laughed, unbothered, and reached over to smack the back of his twin’s head.

“You’re the one I’m worried about.” He said, mockingly serious.

“Yeah? Well, don’t cry too hard when you realize you need me to fix the wifi.” He shot back, smirking.

“You barely know how to work a microwave.” Osamu deadpanned.

“Is not even the same thing, dumbass!” Atsumu grumbled, but there was no heat behind it—only something fond and aching underneath.

When Atsumu glanced sideways and caught Osamu looking back at him—steady, steady in a way only his brother could be—something inside him settled.

They were going to be okay.

Maybe this wasn’t about losing something. Or staying behind. Maybe it was just about growing up. And Atsumu was okay with it.

[sanjisblackasswife]

𝕋𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕒𝕟𝕛𝕚 ℍ𝕠𝕨 𝕥𝕠 𝕂𝕚𝕤𝕤

Bad Summary: Sanji confesses to you a dream he had of kissing you and you help him make that dream into reality.

Black Fem Reader

CW: Pre timeskip Sanji, Fluff, Kissing, Sanji is a little less OOC and more Shy, Confessing, but still a perv, You both have crushes on each other, A bit of teasing

Sanji seemed more quiet today. Way more than usual. His presence is usually known around you when you are in the same room as him but today he just seemed distant.

You tried ignoring it at first, maybe he wasn’t having the best day. After all you guys are pirates but more importantly humans that have emotions, some days will be not so great.

You seen Sanji leaning on the deck smoking, seeing him take a breather from cooking lunch all afternoon, he looked pretty from where you were standing, his natural hair reverting back to curly due to the humidity of the summer approaching, his sleeves rolled up, his pretty chain dangling from his belt. He had a very restless look on his face while lighting up and other cigarette and so you decided to approach him.

“Hey you.” Your voice breaking him of his thoughts, his cheeks immediately changed to a shy tone of pink, his cigarette nearly falling from his bottom lip. “You okay?”

“Uh..yeah I’m great, love. What’s up? Still hungry?”

“Oh no. I’m fine, I just…I don’t know you seem kinda quiet today. “

He tried masking the flustered blush he felt on his face with a fake smile, seeing as your question already gave him flashbacks of what’s been heavy on his mind, “Sorry I just…”

“….You just what?” Trying to fill the quietness he left, “Tell me.”

“I had a dream last night….and it was pretty…embarrassing.”

Now you’re really interested.

“Common.” You grab his hand, seeing as nosey Usopp was prying on your conversation while fishing you decided to take him to the empty girl’s cabin to talk more.

Sanji held on to your hand so tightly, his free hand fiddling in his pocket to grab a new cigarette. His heart was beating a mile a second feeling how soft your grip was against his.

He tried to keep his composure, eyes wandering around everywhere, but your tiny skirt flopping up and down almost leaving nothing to the imagination.

“Your panties are cute today.” Sanji thought for just a moment to prevent a nose bleed.

When you arrive in your room, welcoming him in, he immediately locks the door behind, causing you to smile a little.

“So.” You sit beside him on the edge of your bed. “What was the dream?…It’s okay whatever it is I won’t judge.”

The love cook almost forgot, his focus was fixated on the movement of your chest when you bounced a little to sit down, you notice and playfully roll your eyes, picking his chin up with one finger so your gaze can meet his, “Helllooooo.”

“Oh!” Sanji jumped, clearing his throat he grabs his lighter and cigarette, hsi eyes wonder to you as he is about to spark it up as a way of asking for permission, you nod and allow him to, “So….how are you?”

“Sanji.”

“Okay, okay.” You both shared a small laugh, “I had a dream about you.”

“Oh….what happened?”

With a heavy sigh and a scratch to his head, it made you worry a little. How bad could it be? Probably what you looked like naked or something.

“Me and you just came back from a huge fight, and I was wounded, and you came in to bandage me up…kinda like you did last week. But this time, when i woke up you just…stared at me with those pretty big eyes of yours….and well…y’just….kissed me.”

It was pretty shocking to hear how embarrassed he was over a silly little dream, his cheeks got redder the more he spoke and he ended up rubbing the back of his neck.

It is true, last week you did bandage him up. And it was also true you held his face longer than usual.

“oh?” Your tone had some amusement to it, it wasn’t a far off dream. Considering.

“Did you like it?”

“Hm?”

“The kiss. Was I good kisser?”

Sanji couldn’t feel himself breathe for a moment, because you sucked it all out of him when you leaned on further. He never was sure if you were messing with him when you did stuff like this or actually was flirting, it would truly hurt him if you were just playing a trick on him.

Nami sure he can accept it deep down.

Robin, yes.

Any other woman he encounters, sure he can get over it , but with you it’s difficult to allow himself to be toyed with.

It’s different with you.

A lump got caught in his throat, hand reaching to scratch his scalp you take it into your and interlock your hands with his, “I’ve had a dream about you before. And we did kiss…..and sometimes…we did a little more than it….it’s not weird….I mean considering I never did either i—”

“You haven’t?!” His voice perks up, hand squeezing yours in excitement, “I—I haven’t either, but it felt so real!”

“Mine did too! I nearly woke up one time thinking I actually did it!”

It was a little moment of innocence you both laughed and shared with either of you never having your first kiss, even though Sanji was…well Sanji, you always assumed he—like everybody else, but Chopper, Luffy and Usopp on the ship had already had done that kind of stuff.

Once the giggles wore down the air was slowly filled with want.

Your eyes locked onto his blue ones. You never noticed the different hues of blue them, it was literally like looking into the ocean.

Sanji on the other hand thought the same of your eyes, he never noticed its color that much until he got subconsciously closer into your space.

And you didn’t stop him.

He didn’t want to stop either.

Eventually he was so close you felt his breath fanning your lips,

“I um…well….maybe i should—“

“I was going to kiss you. Last week….but I wasn’t sure if you would have been okay with that. I only kiss men I genuinely like and…that genuinely likes me back.”

For a moment Sanji felt taken a back, regretful, even? Ever since you joined he always wanted to show you that you were a cut above the rest, a woman after his own heart, but maybe his signals weren’t strong enough for you to notice.

Sanji tries to push out the words properly to explain to you his real feelings, but he’s stumped with stutters and stammers, it was kind of cute, especially with how red he is.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask without giving him anymore room to get up and leave, possibly in embarrassment.

“Yes.” He responded without a second thought making you giggle.

Grabbing his jaw with both hands you land you lips onto his smaller ones, surprisgly they were extremely soft and pillow like, his lower lip was fattier than his upper and his short stubble tickled your chin.

When you pull back his eyes were still close, lips pouted out until your warmth was no longer against him, he was so fucking cute.

Tilting your head at him, he looks back at you with big glossy eyes, practically pleading for more, he didn’t know whether or not he was doing it right, he didn’t move his lips at all, but he wanted to keep going, and you granted him his wish.

Eventually he holds the back of your head, small moans and whimpers deep through for you to swallow, eventually his touches still gentle, but more bold pulling your waist closer against him, at this point he needed to feel you completely.

He may have never kissed a woman before but he managed to find a way to be already so naturally skilled, you felt yourself hum and moan in between breaths. The suckles and smooching noises alone got you riled up to the point your hands had a mind of their own and trailed to his slightly exposed chest.

“Aaah…” Sanji broke the kiss, moaning out to your touch as if you burned him, you were going to apologize until he kissed your wrist, his pupils dilated and his cheeks roses pink. You felt the heat rise in between your thighs, making you clench which didn’t go unnoticed by him.

As much as he wanted to continue, and possibly even further this the taps and pounds of feet wandering the ship grew closer, which was a tell tell sign dinner needed to be prepared unfortunately.

“…how about…after dinner we um…finish….I believe I still need more..practice, yeah?”

You smiled, his calm demeanor was such a sight you almost didn’t wanna ruin the moment for what you were about to do, but you couldn’t help it, “Of course….and maybe one day we can teach each other more stuff.”

You stood up with him and kissed the corner of his lips, if Sanji knew you’d be like this after telling you about his dream maybe he should reveal the other dreams he’s had about you.

[t-a-a-1]

Please homie! I get the delicous tears that come from readers but please I just want reader and Optimus have a pure fluff warm moment (aannd maybe add a sparkling too only if you want) your writings have brought me to more tears that I can count!

Mine

Summary: Optimus kisses you.

TFA Optimus x Reader

Fluff, kissing, idk.

2.5k words

The base is silent. 

Not for any particular reason. Everyone was too focused on their own duties to notice anything strange. 

You specially, were trying your hardest to concentrate on work. Your computer is in front of you, yet you haven’t been able to write a single sentence.  Maybe because your mind was too busy thinking about what happened yesterday. 

Optimus Prime kissed you. 

You could tell he didn't know what was doing. Cybertronians probably don’t kiss. But he tries his best. It was awkward and cold but you didn’t expect it to be otherwise. Not like you expected something at all. 

“(Reader), have you seen Opti–”

“No!”

You turn, only to find Bumblebee at your side. Although he is the smallest of the Autobots, he is still way bigger than you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just wondering if you’ve seen Optimus,” Bumblebee says. “I haven’t seen him all day and he was supposed to take Sari and I to –”

“Why do you smell like BossBot?”

Although you couldn’t see yourself, you know that your cheeks must be pink by now. You know by the warmth you feel in your cheeks. 

“Wait … You can smell him on me?”

Instead of being embarrassed, now you have a lot of questions. The two of you had shared a simple kiss. Even took a shower afterwards. There shouldn’t be a trace of him on you. 

“Yes but I shouldn’t be too unless–”

Bumblebee gets closer to you, a haughty smile plastered on his faceplate.

“Did anything happen between you and Optimus?”

You close your laptop and stand up from your seat. You laugh nervously. Trying to pick up your items, you start to drop them. Your pencils, keys, papers. A complete mess. Before you could say anything, you took a deep breath. You were overthinking things. It was probably a mistake. It had to be. Afterall, why would the Optimus Prime ever be interested in an organic?

“No, nothing happened.”

You turn around and smile at Bumblebee, your previous nervousness suddenly gone. 

“My car needs an oil change, I’ll be heading out to Alex’s place. Don’t wait for me tonight.”

.

.

.

Optimus didn’t want to go back to base. He went for a very long patrol. To clear his processor from what he did the previous night. 

He kissed you. Or at least he tried to.

It was a beautiful moment. He never imagined he would get to experience something like that, especially with you. He loved every second of it. But …

There is one thing he regrets. 

And that was kissing you without asking you first for your permission. 

He thought that you reciprocate his feelings.  Why wouldn’t you? If you held his hand once. When you listen to him and gift him things he likes? When you laugh around him and enjoy the night rides.  

But now he realizes that the things that may be reserved for romantic partners in Cybertronian culture, may be, in fact, common things in human society. 

And now he is ashamed of himself. For even thinking that he could have a chance. 

“It isn’t like you to get this late.”

Ratchet usually stays up to work on a few gadgets. Although Optimus has told him time and time again to re-charge properly and rest, Ratchet always seems to deny his request. 

“Did something happen?”

The question came out of genuine curiosity rather than him already knowing something. Optimus approaches his work station, trying to make as little noise as possible as to not wake anyone up. 

The base is quiet, which Optimus expected. Yet, he can’t register your scent which was strange because you usually like to spend time on the elevated floor in the main room before going back to your quarters. 

“No, why are you asking?”

Optimus asks, his optics looking around, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of you. 

“You seem … distracted,” Ratchet keeps working as he looks at Optimus whos words contradict his actions. 

“(Reader) has not returned yet. From what Bumblebee told me, she get with Alex to get her oil car changed.”

Ratchet is not an idiot. He has seen the growing bond between you and Optimus from afar. He knew of Optimus’ … peculiar interest in you. From that day when you held his hand without knowing the meaning of your actions. He remembers telling Optimus to not think too much about it, that humans were different when it came to touch. 

And although Optimus knew that, he … started to become delusional. Kindal of. That bot was in love but it took him a long time to realize it. His feelings suppressed and now maybe, he had reached a final point. 

“I don’t care,” he says. “I am going to re-charge.”

.

.

.

He lied. 

Of course he wasn’t going to re-charge. He was going to wait for you. Why? Well, he wasn’t sure. 

Was it because the guilt of kissing you without permission haunted him? Because he needs your forgiveness right this moment and won’t be able to function without it? Or because he wants answers as to why you preferred the company of another right after the intimate counter the two of you shared?

Maybe.

He hears a metal door open. 

The rooftop of the base wasn’t a pretty one. It was worn out and the view wasn’t one to admire either. It couldn’t be anything less expected from Detroit. It was ugly, yet this had become a shared space. There were many times the two of you had spent here. Just under the stars, graffiti walls, a pack of cigarettes and a barrel of oil for the Prime who would only drink in your presence. 

At first it wasn’t like that. 

He was too stiff, saying “I can’t drink in front of a lady.”

But with time, he opened up to you. 

“Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt, goodnight.”

You were about to leave but his voice stopped you. 

“No, stay. Please, I need to talk to you.”

You sighed and turned around, walking with hesitation towards him. The only thing you wanted was to smoke a cig after a long day but Optimus had other plans. You wanted to pretend like nothing had occurred the night before. To just smile and simply greet  him like you usually do so as to not make things awkward. 

“Did something happen–”

“Why are you wearing his clothes?”

Your smile quickly drops. It surprised you that Optimus knew what Alex’s clothes looked like. However, you remember that the Autobots have a stronger sense of smell and he probably just recognized his smell. Maybe he was just curious and there wasn’t any deeper meaning behind it. 

“Oh, I was helping Alex with changing my car’s oil and just my clothes got dirty.”

“... I see.”

Optimus looks away and he pretends to be focused on the scenery in front of him. There wasn’t much to look at. It was Detroit after all, there was only buildings and pollution. You knew him better than this. Optimus likes to look at the sky when he is thinking. He looks at the city when he is bothered. 

“Everything alright?’ you ask as you approach him. It's easier to get closer to him when he is mass-displaced. Even when he is still standing at 7 feet tall. 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t  things be alright?” he asked, annoyed. 

“You seemed bothered.”

“Well, I am not.”

“Alright then, I’ll go to sleep–” you turn around, ready to leave him alone until he speaks again. 

“I just think it's interesting that you will go see another male after … what we shared.”

“Oh that,” you had two options. Be honest and admit that you have feelings for him. Or pretend that it didn’t bother you and you didn’t care.  “I didn’t like it.”

“What?” he looks at you, indignant. 

“Look, I don’t know what kind of sick game you are playing,” you make small pauses in between words to stop your voice from cracking.  “But I have feelings too, you know? So don't do things you don’t mean.”

Optimus looks at you and knows from the get go that you want to say more. Maybe you want to say that you hate him. That you find his feelings for you to be disgusting and that you wish to never speak to him again. 

And he deserved it. All of it. 

“I–” he can’t look at you, too ashamed of himself.  “You are right. I should have considered your feelings before … doing what I did and I should have asked instead of just taking it. It’s just that I didn’t know if that was right. I was trying to study human culture and their courting practices by watching movies and male always kisses the female without asking so I thought that was right and–”

When he gets nervous he speaks too much. And he finds himself speechless whenever he finds your eyes looking at him. 

“I apologize,” he finalizes, defeated. Resigned. “But now that your feelings are clear, I will keep my desires to myself. I will no longer burden you.”

He turns his faceplate the other way, his heart broken and sensible. Optimus didn’t want to say anything else. But his enstril detected smells that he wasn’t fond of. Alex’s smell and yours combined disgusted him and his good mood was completely destroyed. 

“You may keep indulging yourself with whatever mindless activities humans get involved with.”

On the other hand, you didn’t like the tone of his voice. Although his apologize sounded sincere, the other comment was rude and probably  trying to hide something else. What exactly? You didn’t care at the moment. 

“Did you just call me stupid?”

“For a journalist, you can’t read between the lines uh?”

You put your hands on your hips and try to look at his optics although he is avoidant. 

“And, for someone who has lived for millions of years, you don’t even kiss well.”

“Well, maybe if I were an ugly organic like you, I would kiss better!”

He finally turns to look at you, his faceplate getting closer to yours. 

“Oh yes, I am so ugly but you had your glossa down my throat!” 

Unconsciously, you always began to get closer to him. 

“I can’t believe my processor craves for you more than life! I have gone truly mad!”

“AND YOU ARE A–  Wait, what?”

You didn’t believe your ears. And you find yourself surprised that you find his closeness so comforting. 

“What did you say?”

“I won’t say it again so you can mock me,” he takes a few steps back and stops looking at you. He then emits what you can conclude as a sad beep.  “I am done trying to court you.”

“...Court me?” you ask him in disbelief. “You were trying to court me?”

“Don’t act like you haven’t noticed, I’ve tried to stay by your side every second I can,” he says.  “I worry when you are not near, my optics can only look at you, I write about you every night and the moon knows your name–”

Optimus looks at you. Your head tilted, lips parted and a confused expression on your face. 

“...You didn’t know?”  he asks and he gets closer. “You really didn’t know?”

“Well, I noticed but I just thought, I don’t know, that I was being delusional,” you put a hand in your chest, still in disbelief and your heart beating faster. “That there was no way that the great Optimus Prime could ever like, well, me.”

“But I- I thought that–” he ex-vents and puts a servo on his faceplate.  “Ugh, I am an idiot.”

“We are idiots.”

“So does that mean that you …” 

He removes his servo from his face and looks at you for a second. He notices that you are looking at the streets of Detroit. You stand close to him. 

“Yes,” you say. 

“Since when?”

“I don’t really have a specific date, I just remember one time I was at the office and I was bored and I started sketching you in my notebook,” you remember the memory clearly and the feeling of realization. That day you avoided him for a week. “And that’s when I realized I was doomed.”

“Doomed?!

“I’ve never had the best romantic experiences,” you tell him, finding his expression rather comical. “What about you?”

“Ehh, I found myself thinking about you while looking at the moon.”

“I see,” you noticed a faint blue on his faceplate.  “What should we do now?”

The two of you look away but then your eyes meet his blue optics. It was a few seconds. But that’s all it took for you to jump into his arms and he kneeled, just to pick you up.

You wrapped your arms around his helm and your lips naturally fit on his. You feel his servos go under the oversize shirt, exploring the softness of your back. 

His lips were cold, but you didn’t care. Nor when his glossa made his way into your mouth, wanting to taste more of you. Showing his desire for you, trying to pull you closer as his vents got louder. His engines let you know his untold feelings. Loud and clear. 

He wanted you, more than you’ll ever know. Your small body against him, your soft skin. How with each touch, he gained a soft moan from you. Optimus was scared of wanting you so much. He didn’t know if he was deserving but it feels right. All of it. From the way you caress his helm to the way your lips touch his. 

Primus, please, may this not be a dream and if it is, may the gods protect whoever dares to wake him up. 

Let this last forever, may the universe allow him to be yours for the rest of eternity. 

Before he could drown in your being any further, you pull away. Breathless, pink cheeks and lips.

“Was that alright?”

Optimus asks, with concern in his voice. He gains a smile from you. 

“It’s ok, I can teach you,” you caress his faceplate, once cold it's now warm. “And you have a lot of time to learn.”

“But can you take this off?” Optimus pulls from Alex’s shirt, desperate for the garment to be off your body.  “I really don’t like it.”

“So you are jealous?”

“Why wouldn’t I? I am just a big bot,” his insecurities slowly start to show.  “I, well, I don’t have much to offer.”

“You are mine,” you say, smiling at him gently and he feels blessed to be the reason for that smile.  “And that’s all that matters to me.”

Optimus puts his servos on your cheek and carefully cups them. He kisses your forehead before capturing your lips once again. This time it was a gentle, pure and blissful kiss. Showing you, the vast and endless love he has for you. Just a fraction of it. Oh, how much he adores you. Would you ever know how much his spark calls your name? Maybe not. But that won’t stop him from trying with every kiss he gives you. 

“And that’s all I want to be.”

.

.

.

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A/N: As I was writing this, I forgot to add the sparkling! Dammit, I guess I am gonna have to write another chapter for this where Reader and Op find a sparkling and care for them ... may be.

I wasn’t completely satisfied with how this came out, maybe because I am not used to writing fluff without there being a whole context bur regardless this was fun to write! See it as a preview for my other fic “more than meets the eye” which i haven’t updated but I will soon. 

Thank you for reading!

[universefcb]

Meeting the boyfriend again

Pairing: Hector Fort X fem!reader

Summary: You've been dating for a short time, but you're two years younger than him. So after days without seeing each other, you meet again.

Warning: Mention of Reader, fluff.

Author's note: He looks so handsome in that May picture, damn his eyes😭

And sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

The late afternoon in Barcelona seemed like something out of a painting: the sky painted orange, the soft sound of the wind swaying the trees, and the sweet scent of newly opened spring flowers. In the midst of this scene, she crossed the street with her heart racing, her hurried steps carrying anxiety and expectation.

It was the first time I was going to see Hector after a whole week of exams at school. He, as always, understood—even now, at eighteen and with the whole world beginning to place the weight of big dreams on his shoulders. Even so, he always set aside time just for her.

She stopped in front of the Forts’ gate, fixing her hair, trying to ignore the nervousness that always came when she knew she was going to see him. Before she could work up the courage to ring the bell, the door opened and Hector appeared, smiling as if just seeing her had made her day.

“Hi, little one,” he said, opening his arms in invitation.

She laughed, a little embarrassed, and ran to him, burying herself in the embrace that was her favorite place in the world. His smell, a mix of fresh soap and his favorite shampoo.

“I was counting the seconds,” he whispered close to her ear, making her heart skip a beat.

He pulled her inside, and she noticed that the house was empty—Hector’s parents had probably gone out. That left them free to do whatever they wanted.

“You said you had a surprise for me?” she asked, kicking off her sneakers in the doorway.

Hector smiled mysteriously and took her hand.

“Come with me.”

He led her into the backyard. Outside, a picnic blanket was spread out on the lawn, surrounded by pillows and a small speaker playing a soft playlist. There were a few of her favorite treats scattered around, and in the center were two glasses of fresh juice.

Her eyes widened, touched by his care.

“You... did this?”

“I wanted to celebrate you surviving the trials,” he joked, winking. “And also... because I missed you so much.”

She blushed immediately, looking away to hide the goofy smile that spread across her face. Hector pulled her to sit next to him, chuckling at her reaction.

“You’re so easy to read,” he teased.

“You don’t hide it very well when you’re in love either, you know?” she replied, on impulse, her voice low and embarrassed.

For a second, silence fell between them, and she wished she had thought before she spoke. But to her surprise, Hector just smiled—not a mocking smile, but a smile so full of affection that it seemed to warm the very air around them.

“Maybe because I am,” he said, his voice steady, without hesitation.

Her heart skipped a beat so hard she had to brace herself against the grass to steady herself. She looked up and met his gaze—sincere, intense, and so full of affection that it seemed impossible to doubt it.

“Are you... really?” she asked, her voice coming out as a whisper.

Hector stepped closer, their faces so close she could feel his warm breath against her skin.

“I am,” he confirmed, nuzzling her nose affectionately. “And I don’t care that we’re two years apart, that the world is pushing me forward all the time. Because when I’m with you, everything feels right.”

She felt her eyes burn, not with sadness, but with a feeling so big and beautiful that it barely fit inside her chest. Without thinking much, she leaned in and kissed his cheek lightly.

Hector closed his eyes for a moment, as if that gesture was worth more than any trophy he could win.

“You are my safe place,” she said softly.

He opened his eyes and smiled—the smile of someone who knows they’re exactly where they’re supposed to be. Carefully, as if holding something precious, Hector brought his hand to her face, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, respecting her space, as he always did.

She responded by simply closing her eyes and moving closer, giving the answer without needing words.

The kiss was slow, sweet, full of silent promises. There was no rush. They knew they still had a lot to live for.

When they broke apart, Hector rested his forehead against hers, both of them laughing softly, as if they shared a secret the world would never understand.

“Promise you’ll stay with me?” she asked, her voice shaking with emotion.

“I already am,” he replied. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Taglist: @paucubarsisimp @nngkay @meganesanchez @merinottt @htpssgavi @luvvpedri @moonvr @joaosnovia @httpsdana @ilovebarcaaaa @p4uul0vr @pedricando @barcapix @owala6789

[kissandtellus]

Clinical Cycle

Synopsis: Zayne is a medical professional with knowledge of every illness you could think of. But when it comes to your cycle, he has a different treatment plan.

Warnings: Menstrual talk, smut, use of medical gloves, brief mention of br33ding, comfort.

Zayne is nothing but a medical professional. Hell, he probably knows your body better than anyone on this entire planet. But there is one beast he struggles a bit to conquer once a month.

Your period.

And it isn’t because he isn’t a deligent partner.

Oh no.

He breaks his own rules and provides you with every sweet and carnal food desire you could dream of. He brings you breakfast in bed and heat pads warmed to the perfect temperature.

Oh yes, the beast isn’t the cycle itself.

It’s how he can’t seem to keep his hands off of you during it.

“Zayne…!”

“Easy petal, you are doing so well. I am almost finished. Deep breaths.” It shouldn’t make him so feral, the way his white medical gloves are stained red from his invasive fingers. The way he has you on your back, swirling a thumb around your engorged clit is something that should be straight out of a adult video.

But god does this help your cramps. But it never seems to get less embarrassing for you. Zayne chuckles at your embarrassment, wiping his gloved fingers clean on the towel below you that he laid out in the beginning.

“I have had my hand in your chest cavity more times than you can count. Yet you seem perturbed by your natural body functions.” He states with that gorgeous smile. You let out a groan that’s a mix between embarrassment and bliss. Fighting the urge to throw a pillow at him.

“It’s messy, Zayne.” You try to reason with him. But that doesn’t stop him from pushing your knees next to your ears. Or the way he wraps a bloody glove around his length to push his aching cock up between your red stained lower lips.

“If you truly think blood throws me off, then you must not know as much about me as you think.” Zayne is very precise in his treatments. So precise that his cock is drilling into your gummy walls with scary accuracy. You are clinging to him despite being folded in half. The sticky feeling of his balls connecting to your soaked pussy should be engraved in your mind forever.

“I just want to help you, sweet girl-ngh~!” He winces in overwhelming pleasure as you tighten around his cock. “It’s in my nature as your physician.”

Your cervix seems even lower at this time of the month. You tear up taking his whole length, feeling like you are full to burst with bloating and his cock bullying into you. But when his latex thumb flicks against your throbbing pearl you become religious for a split second.

Zayne works you through the orgasm, his free hand cupping the back of your neck to get you to lock eyes with him.

Zayne always talks you through it.

“Milking me for every drop? Despite the possibility of you getting pregnant decreasing ten-fold during your cycle? You are so greedy.” When the last word leaves him, he thrusts inside your aching walls and holds himself right against your cervix.

The aftermath of the coupling is always much messier. He cleans you with the upmost care. You wear the familiar sound of the tampon wrapper being torn and you cover your face.

“I can put it in myself!” Zayne ignores your pouting, slipping the plastic applicator between your lips and carefully plunging the cotton inside.

“Do you not trust your doctor?”

You grumble.

Imagine both of your surprise when the pregnancy test on the bathroom counter turns pink with two lines mere weeks later.

[lynbels]

i NEEEED stepbro! jake so bad like

could you pretty please write a stepbro! jake au with the prompt 21!! <333

(i’m so addicted to your writing rn keep it up!!)

bad girl’s reward - sjy (m)

#21: Your stepbrother accidentally walks in on you changing, but doesn’t leave—just stares and says, ‘You knew I was home, didn’t you?’ · prompt request list

‼️ tw: stepbrother au, dubcon vibes, oral (f receiving), oral (m receiving), dacryphilia, rough handling, manhandling, dirty talk, possession themes, slight overstimulation, breeding kink hints - ✉️ wc2210

You and Jake had never really gotten along the way real siblings did. Maybe it was because you weren’t, not really. Your parents had gotten married a few years ago, blending two completely different worlds together — your polished, structured life and Jake’s laid-back, sunny existence. He was loud, messy, endlessly teasing; you were stubborn, sarcastic, quick to snap back. Somehow, that push and pull had become the background noise of your house.

But lately… things had felt different.

It started small. Jake would look at you too long when you passed him in the hallway. His teasing would edge into something that felt heavier, rougher. And you — embarrassingly — noticed things about him you shouldn’t have. How broad his shoulders had gotten after all those soccer practices. How his hair fell into his eyes when he laughed. How he smelled like cologne and clean laundry whenever he brushed past you.

It was wrong. It was stupid. You tried to shake it off.

Until one afternoon, when it all came crashing down.

You were changing in your room, stripping off your jeans and shirt to pull on something comfier. The door was cracked open just a little — you thought you were alone. You swore you were alone.

But then the door creaked, and you froze, half-dressed, staring wide-eyed as Jake leaned casually against the doorframe.

For a second, neither of you moved.

Then Jake’s gaze dropped — slow, deliberate — and dragged over every bare inch of you. His mouth twitched into the faintest smirk.

“You knew I was home, didn’t you?” he said, voice low and accusing, almost like a growl.

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Heat rushed to your face, your chest. You fumbled for your shirt, panic flaring, but Jake didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Just kept staring, eating you alive with his eyes.

“You’re not even sorry,” he muttered, almost to himself, like he couldn’t believe it.

And deep down, in the pit of your stomach, you knew he was right.

You yanked your shirt over your head and screamed, “Jake, get out!” so loudly it probably shook the windows.

He finally moved — but not before flashing you a look you couldn’t quite name. Something dark. Hungry. Like he wasn’t even sorry.

You slammed the door behind him, heart hammering, face on fire. For a minute, you just stood there, breathing hard, willing the embarrassment to go away.

It only got worse.

Later that night, as you were lying in bed, trying to scroll mindlessly through your phone to forget everything, you heard it — the low, unmistakable sounds coming from down the hall.

At first, you thought maybe you were imagining it. But then you heard it again. Soft, breathy moans. Skin hitting skin.

Your whole body locked up when you caught it — your name, groaned low and broken.

You slapped a hand over your mouth, heart pounding so hard it hurt. You shouldn’t be hearing this. You shouldn’t want to hear this. And yet you lay there frozen, every nerve on fire, cheeks burning so hot you thought they might melt.

The next morning, you couldn’t even look at him.

You avoided Jake like the plague — skipping breakfast, locking yourself in your room, slipping past him in the hallway without meeting his eyes. Every time you thought about it, that humiliating sound replayed in your head, sparking something sinful low in your stomach.

Your parents noticed immediately.

“Are you two fighting again?” your mom asked at dinner, frowning between you.

Jake just smirked, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth like he didn’t have a care in the world. His knee brushed yours under the table — maybe an accident, maybe not — and you nearly jumped out of your skin.

Sometimes you caught him staring, too. When you wore one of your shorter skirts or bent over the counter a little too far, you could feel his gaze burning into you. It made your skin prickle, made you shift under the intensity of it, and made the tension between you coil tighter and tighter until it was a miracle either of you were still pretending nothing was wrong.

But you both knew.

You both knew.

And eventually… something was going to break.

It finally snapped one night when your parents went out to dinner, leaving just the two of you alone in the house.

You tried to pretend everything was normal — flipping through the TV channels, pretending to be interested in some dumb movie — but you could feel Jake behind you. Sitting on the other end of the couch. Not talking. Barely breathing. Watching.

Every hair on your body stood on end.

You tried not to look, but when you shifted slightly to grab the remote, your tank top rode up, exposing just a sliver of your stomach — and you felt the way his gaze dropped, lingering. Heavy.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

You tightened your grip on the remote and cleared your throat. “Can you not stare?”

Silence.

When you finally risked a glance at him, Jake was leaned back, arms thrown casually over the back of the couch — but there was nothing casual about the way he looked at you. His eyes were dark, almost hungry, and when he spoke, his voice was low and slow, like he was barely holding something back.

“You wore that on purpose,” he said.

You blinked. “What?”

“You knew I’d be home,” he murmured, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, eyes dragging down your body again, and it made your thighs press together instinctively. “You knew I’d see you.”

“No, I didn’t—” you started, voice high and defensive, but he cut you off.

“Didn’t you?” Jake’s voice dropped even lower. “Walking around half-dressed… looking at me like that…”

“I wasn’t—!” you protested, heat flooding your face, but he just chuckled under his breath — dark and disbelieving.

He stood slowly, towering over you now, and you shrank back into the couch, pulse thundering in your ears.

Jake leaned down, one hand braced on either side of your head, boxing you in completely. His breath was hot against your cheek.

“Keep lying to me,” he whispered, voice rough. “See what happens.”

Your whole body lit up like a struck match.

You should have pushed him away. Should have said something. But instead you just sat there frozen, your fingers curling tight around the hem of your shirt, your body screaming for him even as your brain short-circuited.

He was so close you could smell his cologne — fresh and warm — and see the way his pupils had blown wide with want.

Jake was the one who moved first.

He tilted your chin up with two fingers, forcing you to look at him, and for a long, heavy moment, neither of you said anything. Just breathing each other in, hearts racing, tension snapping and sparking between you like a live wire.

And then — God help you — you leaned up first.

Just the smallest tilt of your head.

It was all he needed.

Jake crashed his mouth to yours, swallowing your gasp, his hands already sliding under your thighs to haul you into his lap like he couldn’t stand one more second of not touching you.

Jake kissed you like he was starving. Like he’d been holding back for months and finally, finally cracked. His hands roamed everywhere — up your sides, squeezing your hips, sliding under your shirt to grab handfuls of bare skin. You moaned into his mouth, thighs tightening around his waist, and that was all it took for him to groan low in his throat and tip you back against the couch cushions.

“You have no idea,” he muttered against your lips, breath ragged. “No fucking idea what you do to me.”

You whimpered, arching into him without even thinking. Every part of you was lit up, buzzing, desperate to get closer. You fumbled at the hem of his shirt, tugging it up, and he helped you rip it off — tossing it somewhere behind the couch — before returning to your mouth, devouring you like he couldn’t get enough.

Somewhere in the haze, you slid your hand down, palming him through his jeans — and Jake shuddered, hips bucking instinctively into your touch.

“Fuck,” he growled, forehead dropping to yours. “Baby, don’t start something you can’t finish.”

You grinned, breathless, and slid down to your knees without a second thought.

Jake watched you the whole way down — chest heaving, jaw clenched so tight it looked like it hurt — and when you palmed him again, teasing, he let out a broken noise that made you ache.

“Please,” you whispered, fingers fumbling with his zipper. “Want to taste you.”

His hand tangled roughly in your hair as you freed him, eyes flashing dark as you wrapped your lips around the tip. He was already half-hard, heavy and hot against your tongue, and when you hollowed your cheeks and sucked gently, he cursed, the sound ripped straight from his chest.

“God—fuck, just like that,” Jake hissed, tightening his grip on your hair and forcing you down a little more. “So fucking pretty like this.”

You moaned around him, which made his hips jerk — pushing deeper into your mouth — and suddenly he was the one losing control, fucking into your throat in shallow, desperate thrusts.

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you loved it, loved how wrecked he sounded, how much he clearly needed you. You reached down between your own legs, too needy to care anymore, but before you could even slip a hand under your shorts, Jake yanked you back by your hair.

“Nuh-uh,” he panted, voice rough and wrecked. “Don’t you dare.”

You blinked up at him, dazed and dripping.

“But—”

“I said no,” Jake growled, thumb swiping over your wet bottom lip. “You don’t get to touch yourself. You want to cum, you do it on me.”

Your stomach flipped so violently you swayed a little.

“Get up here,” Jake ordered, voice wrecked. “Now.”

You scrambled into his lap, your heart hammering, legs shaking — and Jake just grinned, dark and feral, guiding you to straddle him.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing a filthy kiss to your throat. “Now let me ruin you properly.”

Jake grabbed your hips, grinding you down against the thick, hot line of his cock still straining inside his jeans. The friction made you gasp, made you chase it helplessly, rubbing yourself over him with little broken noises you couldn’t hold back.

“Feel that?” he rasped against your ear. “You did that. Getting me this fucking hard just from looking at you.”

You whimpered, rocking your hips harder, chasing some kind of relief, but Jake’s grip tightened — holding you still, making you whine in frustration.

“Not yet,” he said roughly. “You don’t get it that easy, baby. You want it? Beg.”

You were already trembling, drunk on him, on the way he talked to you like you were something precious he still wanted to ruin.

“Jake,” you whined, trying to move again, but he just smirked, smug and dark, keeping you pinned against him. “Please.”

“Please what?” he teased, one hand sliding up your body to tug at the neckline of your shirt, exposing the top of your breasts. “Gotta tell me exactly what you want.”

“I—I want you,” you gasped, blushing so hard it hurt. “Want your cock, please, Jake, need you so bad—”

That broke something in him.

In one quick movement, he unzipped his jeans, shoved them just low enough, and freed himself — hot, flushed, already leaking at the tip. He grabbed himself, dragging the thick head along the soaked crotch of your shorts, teasing you, making you cry out in frustration.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he muttered, voice thick with lust. “Bet I could slide right in.”

“Please,” you begged again, desperate tears welling up in your eyes.

Jake finally — finally — gave in.

He yanked your shorts to the side, lined himself up, and pushed the blunt head of his cock just barely inside you, hissing through his teeth at the feel of your heat clenching around him.

“Only the tip,” he growled, voice shaking with restraint. “You wanna cum, you’re doing all the work.”

You whined, digging your nails into his shoulders, and started to rock your hips — sliding down just a little more with each desperate roll. Jake’s head fell back against the couch, groaning low and filthy, letting you fuck yourself down onto him inch by inch.

“God, look at you,” he panted, dark eyes locked on the way you moved on him. “So fucking needy. So desperate to be filled.”

You could barely take it, your body burning, every nerve ending stretched tight — and before you knew it, you were bouncing properly, gasping every time you dropped down and took more of him inside you.

Jake let you.

Jake watched you.

Until finally he grabbed your hips and slammed you all the way down, making you cry out as he bottomed out inside you.

“There you go,” he rasped, eyes blazing. “Take it all, babe.”

You clung to him, overwhelmed, as he started thrusting up into you — hard, relentless, fucking you so deep you saw stars.

prompt request list

[reidyourpalms]

you’re safe

summary -> request prompt [ here ]

wc -> 1.1k

WARNINGS -> talks of emetophobia, brief mentions of being sick, minimal use of y/n (only in dialogue)

masterlist | main masterlist

you had been trying to ignore the queasy feeling in your stomach all day.

at first, you convinced yourself it was just nerves - another rough case, another late night, another coffee you probably shouldn’t have drunk on an empty stomach. but by the time evening came and you were at spencer’s apartment, curled into the corner of his couch with a blanket clutched tightly around you, it was undeniable.

you were getting sick.

you hated being sick. more than that - you feared it.

you could feel your chest tightening with panic, the memories of past awful experiences flooding your mind, making everything feel worse. you wrapped the blanket tighter, trying to ground yourself, but the nausea swirled stronger, almost mocking you.

spencer was in the kitchen, heating up some tea. you had barely touched dinner, poking at it with your fork and offering small, forced smiles when spence noticed.

he noticed now, too.

“you okay?” he called gently, voice already full of concern before you even answered.

you opened your mouth, but no words came out - just a small shake of your head.

spencer was by your side instantly, setting the tea aside without a second thought. he crouched down in front of you, studying you the same way he studied case files - except this time, there was no cold analysis in his gaze. just pure, soft worry.

“y/n,” he said quietly, “what’s wrong?”

you clutched the blanket tighter, feeling tears prick at your eyes. the embarrassment burned almost hotter than the nausea. you were an adult, you shouldn’t be reacting like this.

“i…i think I’m gonna be sick,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “and i…i can’t - i hate it, Spence, i can’t do it, i can’t—”

the panic broke through, your breathing hitching into shallow gasps.

spencer didn’t hesitate.

he slid onto the couch beside you, pulling you into his arms carefully, like you might break. his hands found yours and squeezed gently.

“hey, hey,” he murmured. “it’s okay. i’m here. you’re safe.”

you hid your face in his shoulder, squeezing your eyes shut like that could somehow will away the awful feeling inside you.

“i’m scared,” you admitted, voice muffled against his shirt.

“i know,” spencer said. his hand began stroking your back in slow, steady circles, the way he knew helped you sometimes when you were overwhelmed. “you don’t have to be alone, though. i’m right here. i’ll take care of you.”

you clung tighter to him, trying to focus on his voice instead of the rolling in your stomach.

“i feel so stupid,” you whispered.

“you’re not stupid,” spencer said instantly, pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up so you’d look at him. his brown eyes were soft, earnest. “emetophobia is real. it’s scary. it’s not something you can just…shut off. and being sick is awful even without it. you’re being incredibly brave.”

you swallowed hard, trying to believe him.

spencer tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, giving you a small, warm smile.

“listen,” he said gently. “if you need to throw up, it’s okay. we can go to the bathroom. i’ll stay with you the whole time, if you want. you’re not gross. you’re not a burden. you’re mine, and i want to take care of you. mo matter what.”

tears finally spilled down your cheeks - not from fear, this time, but from relief. you nodded, feeling a bit calmer with his steady presence anchoring you.

spencer stood up, still holding your hand, and helped you to your feet. he led you slowly to the bathroom, moving at your pace.

the bathroom light was dim - he’d thought to keep it soft, knowing how harsh lights could make nausea worse. he sat on the floor beside you, back against the wall, not crowding you but close enough that you could feel he was there.

when the nausea surged again, your body tensing with the inevitable, spencer was right there, murmuring soothing words.

“you’re doing great,” he whispered, voice low and comforting. “just breathe. it’ll pass soon. i’m right here.”

you managed to get sick - miserably, trembling - but the whole time, spencer never left. he rubbed your back in gentle circles, kept talking to you in that soft, steady voice, never once making you feel judged or alone.

when it was over, you slumped back, exhausted and embarrassed and shaky.

spencer didn’t hesitate. he handed you a cool, damp washcloth, helped you clean up gently, and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“you did amazing,” he said quietly.

you let out a broken laugh, “i don’t feel amazing.”

“you are,” he insisted, cupping your cheek. “you were scared, and you still went through it. That’s strength, love. not weakness.”

he helped you rinse your mouth, brought you water, and wrapped you back up in a soft hoodie of his before guiding you to the couch again. you curled into him, feeling safer than you had in hours.

spencer tucked you under his arm, resting his chin lightly on top of your head.

“whenever you’re ready, we can talk about it,” he said. “or not. we can just sit here. whatever you need.”

you squeezed his hand tightly. “just…stay,” you whispered.

“always,” he promised.

and you believed him. for the first time in hours - maybe the first time ever when you were sick - you didn’t feel trapped or hopeless.

you felt safe. you had Spencer. and that was enough.

and the first request is written, keep them coming pretty please as my requests are still open :)

[jiuwaves]

Where sunshine meets midnight.

❦ pairing ; kang daesung x reader.

❦ warnings ; none

The studio was alive with energy, but you sat perched on a windowsill, legs crossed, sipping your iced coffee with casual disinterest. You were the picture of calm, dressed in dark clothes, subtle makeup, and wearing that usual unreadable expression like armor.

Today, Jiyong had dragged you along as a temporary replacement for his stylist, who’d called in sick last minute.

However, you were now stuck in the practice room until he finished up his work.

Just great.

"You'll survive.” Jiyong said coolly, lounging back on the sofa without a care.

"I have to just sit here for hours..” you muttered, tilting your head, eyes glued to your phone.

"Right!" he shouted suddenly, smacking the phone out of your hands as he stood up.

Your phone slipped from your fingers and slid across the floor, coming to a stop at the feet of someone wearing unfamiliar shoes.

You looked up slowly, your gaze meeting Daesung’s.

He stared down at you, clearly confused and unsure if you were part of the staff or some random new person who had wandered into the wrong room.

"Oh, that’s my temporary stylist for today.” Jiyong called out from across the room with a lazy grin. 

"She bites!"

You turned immediately, scoffing under your breath, fists clenching for a second before forcing yourself to stay calm, completely ignoring Daesung, who just stood there awkwardly, like a lost puppy unsure if he should follow or flee.

"Okay..." you muttered, shaking out your shoulders and brushing off Jiyong's teasing.

Without another glance at Daesung, you walked back to the sofa and settled down, curling into your corner like a cat ready to nap through the chaos.

And through that slight chaos, Daesung’s eyes didn’t leave you.

He watched you the entire way back, studying the way you moved, the way you carried yourself, his head tilting slightly as if he couldn’t help but be drawn in. His heart thudded loud in his chest as he awkwardly shuffled back to the center of the practice room, casting quick glances at you every few seconds.

On the other hand, you didn't spare him another look. You just lounged back against the sofa, scrolling casually on your phone, legs crossed again like you had all the time in the world and none of it was meant for anyone here.

God, you were cool.

Way cooler than anyone Daesung had ever met.

And that made him feel like an excited puppy left outside the glass door, nose pressed against it, desperate for attention but too nervous to bark.

"You're drooling.” Jiyong teased, smirking.

His comment made Daesung shriek, loud enough that, for once, it actually caught your attention.

You looked up from your phone, catching him mid-panic, meeting his eyes just for a second before Daesung immediately whipped his head away, face burning with embarrassment.

"I hate, hate, hate you so much, you liar!” He groaned dramatically, collapsing to his knees, hands tangled in his hair.

Everyone in the room blinked, staring at him in confusion, well everyone except Jiyong, who clearly enjoying every second of the chaos he had just created.

Time ticked by. You were now sprawled out on the couch, legs stretched comfortably across the cushions, one arm draped behind your head, your phone resting in your other hand. Completely unbothered by the chaos swirling around you, you remained utterly relaxed.

Jiyong, Daesung, and now Taeyang were in the middle of some heated argument, probably over something ridiculous knowing them. 

But you? You didn’t bat an eye.

Their loud voices filled the space, but all you did was swipe lazily through your phone, occasionally glancing up when the noise reached an absurd volume.

Daesung, however, couldn't help but notice how unbothered you were.

He shifted on the floor, glancing over at you with a hesitant look, trying to figure out how to get your attention.

"You’re staring, Daesung.” you said coldly, not even glancing up from your phone.

His heart skipped a beat.

"My bad..." he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he turned away, trying to act casual.

But when he turned around, both Jiyong and Taeyang, were leaning against the wall with their arms crossed, watching him with knowing smirks plastered across their faces. They were enjoying every second of this, and Daesung felt his cheeks heat up in embarrassment.

Great. Just great.

He couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh. 

"It’s like he’s hypnotized.” Jiyong whispered to Taeyang, leaning in with a grin.

Taeyang shot him a side-eye, raising an eyebrow. 

"No, he’s clearly about to hyperventilate.” he said, pointing at Daesung with a disbelieving look. 

"Look at him."

Daesung, was now a shade of red that could rival a tomato. He kept fiddling nervously with his hands, avoiding everyone’s gaze like it was a life-or-death situation.

Jiyong just chuckled at Taeyang’s response, glancing over at you to see if you were noticing the drama unfold but clearly, you weren’t and that, somehow, made it worse for Daesung.

Finally, after what felt like hours of noise and chaos, the music cut off.

Practice was over.

You barely reacted, still sprawled lazily across the couch, one leg kicked up along the cushions as jiyong walked over, towel slung around his neck, still catching his breath and without warning, he lightly slapped your leg.

"Move, princess.” he said, wiping his forehead with the towel.

You grumbled under your breath but shifted your legs enough for him to drop onto the couch beside you, casual like he owned the place. His arm stretched along the back of the couch, dangerously close to brushing your hair.

For a moment, the room still buzzed with leftover energy, Taeyang chatting with a manager, Daesung hovering awkwardly nearby but Jiyong didn’t pay them any mind.

He leaned toward you slightly, voice dropping to something quieter, more serious.

"How are you holding up?" he asked, tone stripped of the teasing edge he usually wore.

You blinked, finally looking up from your phone to meet his gaze.

"Fine.” you said simply.

He smirked, like he knew that wasn't the full answer. 

"You’re a terrible liar."

You snorted, tucking your phone away, finally giving him a little more attention.

"Maybe or you’re just too nosy.’’ you said, voice cool but not unkind.

Jiyong chuckled under his breath. 

"Nah. Just making sure you’re still breathing. You’ve been sitting there like a ghost all day."

You shrugged, eyes drifting lazily over the practice room. 

"Nothing interesting to do."

He gave you a look, one of those rare, real ones and for a second, the teasing dropped away completely.

"You should come by the studio sometime.” he said casually. 

"Not just for babysitting duty. Bring your vibe. It's different. Kinda... needed."

You blinked, a little surprised.

Before you could answer, Daesung, still lingering nearby, sneezed so loudly that both of you turned your heads sharply.

"...Idiot.” Jiyong muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

You hid a small smirk, feeling the tiniest ripple of amusement finally crack your carefully built wall as you let the moment hang for a beat longer and then shrugged it off like it was nothing.

"Anyways..” Jiyong said, standing up and running a hand through his messy, sweat-damp hair. 

"Fix my hair. I’ve gotta head out soon."

You arched an eyebrow but stayed silent, tossing your phone aside with a sigh as if this were just another chore you were forced to endure.

He grinned at your reaction, watching you drag yourself upright, motioning lazily for him to sit.

Jiyong plopped down in front of you, unbothered by your complete lack of enthusiasm.

From the corner of the room, Daesung fidgeted, still stealing glances your way like a kid too shy to approach a stray cat.

Taeyang was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, hiding his smirk behind his hand as he watched Daesung.

You clicked your tongue, grabbing a comb from the nearby table and without a word, you raked your fingers through his hair first, smoothing out the tangles with a kind of detached expertise which made jiyong close his eyes, clearly soaking up the attention from you.

"Feels nice..” he muttered under his breath.

You dragged the comb lazily through Jiyong’s hair, ignoring his dramatic sighs and occasional complaints.

Finally satisfied, you dropped your hands to your lap. 

"Done."

Jiyong checked himself quickly through his phone, then grinned, however instead of thanking you, he turned toward Daesung, who was still awkwardly loitering nearby, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.

"You’re next.” Jiyong called out casually, waving him over.

Daesung stiffened. 

"Huh?"

"Come here.’’ Jiyong said, standing up and gesturing dramatically toward the seat he'd just vacated. 

"Your hair’s a mess too. Let her fix it."

Daesung looked like a deer caught in headlights, eyes darting between you, Jiyong, and Taeyang, who was now openly smirking. You simply stared at Daesung with a blank, unreadable expression, one brow raised ever so slightly in silent question.

He swallowed hard, clearly debating whether to run or comply.

“I-I’m fine!" Daesung protested weakly, trying to smooth his own hair down with his hands.

"No, you’re not.” Jiyong snorted. 

"You look like you wrestled a tornado."

Taeyang nodded solemnly. 

"A very sad tornado."

Daesung whimpered under his breath, glancing at you again but you didnt say anything, just tilted your head ever so slightly, almost like you were challenging him.

“Come on now.” Jiyong added, clapping him on the back hard enough to make him stumble forward. 

"Don't make her wait."

With the weight of a thousand spotlights burning down on him, Daesung shuffled toward the seat you sat by, every step slow and reluctant before plopping down stiffly, shoulders hunched, hands nervously twisting together in his lap.

You set the comb back in your hand and looked down at him.

Cool. Calm. Slightly predatory.

"Sit still.” you said flatly.

Daesung froze like a statue.

You combed your fingers lightly through his hair, finding tangles easily, he really had been a mess but as you worked, you could feel the tension practically vibrating off him, like he might explode at the slightest provocation.

From across the room, Jiyong and Taeyang watched, grinning like proud parents at a school recital.

"Look at him.” Taeyang whispered, snickering. 

"He's going to cry."

"No, no.” Jiyong said, smirking. 

"He's about to fall in love even more."

But unfortunately, you were struggling with Daesung. Every time you ran the comb through his hair, he would twitch. Flinch. Shift. It was like trying to tame a live wire. You exhaled slowly, patience visibly thinning.

"Daesung.” you said, voice edged with warning.

"Sorry!’’ he blurted, squeezing his eyes shut tightly like that would somehow help him stay still.

It didn’t.

You set the comb down with a soft clack beside you. Without a word, you leaned in and placed both hands firmly on either side of Daesung’s head, one steady at the back of his skull, the other lightly bracing his jaw.

"Stay put.” you said, calm and cool, like you were simply stating a fact.

Daesung froze instantly, eyes popping open in wide panic. He looked up at you, at your calm, serious face hovering so close to his and visibly stopped breathing for a second. You simply stared at him for a moment, making sure he understood.

Only when he gave the tiniest, jerky nod did you pick up the comb again.

Holding him steady, you started working carefully through his hair.

The room had gone silent.

Even Taeyang and Jiyong had stopped snickering, watching the scene unfold with barely-contained grins.

You caught a glimpse of Jiyong mouthing something ridiculous to Taeyang out of the corner of your eye but you chose to ignore them.

Meanwhile, Daesung, sat stiffly in the chair, cheeks burning red all the way to his ears, hands gripping his knees to stop from fidgeting, under your touch. He felt like he might actually combust but for once, he stayed still, obedient and trembling, like a nervous puppy under a stern master's hand.

When you finished, you patted his head lightly, as if sealing the deal.

"There.” you said casually, finally letting go of him. 

"Not bad, golden boy."

Daesung scrambled back a few steps, nearly tripping over his own feet as he tried to gather what little dignity he had left. His cheeks were still burning, ears bright red.

You didn’t even look at him, too busy sipping your iced coffee, one leg lazily swinging over the side of the couch but you felt his gaze hovering awkwardly nearby.

He just stood there, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt again. 

Then, finally, he mustered up what little courage he had.

"Th—thank you... for... uh... fixing me. I mean—my hair. Fixing my hair.” Daesung stammered, voice cracking embarrassingly halfway through.

You raised an eyebrow but still didn’t look up from your drink.

"Mhm.” you hummed, noncommittal, offering him zero relief.

Daesung shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, wringing his hands together.

"Uh—i-if you ever need your hair... fixed, too! I—I could—" Daesung started rambling, voice getting faster and higher with each word.

You finally glanced up at him with a slow, lazy look over the rim of your cup.

Daesung immediately clamped his mouth shut.

You tilted your head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of your lips.

"I'll keep that in mind, thanks.” you said coolly, voice dripping with amusement.

It was enough to make Daesung’s brain short-circuit.

He just stood there, staring at you like a kicked puppy, before quickly bowing in flustered apology and rushing off toward the other side of the room, nearly crashing into a wall in the process.

He might have just met you today, but somehow, the way you carried yourself, calm, unreadable and untouchable had him spiraling. The way you looked, the way you barely spared him a glance, it had Daesung absolutely malfunctioning.

It was ridiculous, he knew.

One cool stare from you, and his brain short-circuited like a kid seeing his first crush.

It wasn’t fair.

Not fair at all.

-

When Jiyong said "temporary stylist" you hadn’t realized just how loose his definition of "temporary" was because now he was dragging you around as needed.

And today, here you were, being pulled into Daesung’s concert.

You hadn't thought much of it because for you, it was just another batch of familiar faces, too much caffeine, and too little patience.

But for Daesung, it was different.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you, the way you barely spared him a glance, the casual flick of your hand through his hair, the way your voice stayed so cool and even while he was dying inside.

And now, fate or maybe Jiyong’s evil sense of humor, he had thrown you two together again.

You walked into the styling room, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, idly scrolling through your phone. You hadn't even glanced up yet when you heard someone gasp quietly. blinking out of confusion, you lifted your head.

Daesung stood frozen by the mirror, towel around his neck, mid-sip of a water bottle and staring at you like he'd seen a ghost.

"...Hi?" you said dryly, one eyebrow arching just slightly.

Daesung immediately choked on his water, coughing and sputtering. You sighed just from watching his silly antics, stepping fully into the room and letting the door swing shut behind you.

"I didn't know you were here.” you said simply, tossing your bag onto a nearby bench.

Daesung didn’t say a word.

He just turned away quickly, drying the splatter of water that had sprayed down his front in his panic. You ignored the chaos easily, moving on like nothing had happened, setting your bag down with a dull thud and pulling out Jiyong’s nail kit, laying everything neatly across the table.

Then you dropped into a chair, one leg crossed over the other, phone in hand again as you waited for Jiyong, who was taking his sweet time, as usual. You leaned back lazily in the chair, head tilted against the wall, completely unbothered.

But from the corner of your eye, you could see Daesung stealing glances again, but you didn't react to it.  You just scrolled idly through your phone, your expression calm, cool, untouchable, like you had all the time in the world.

It didn’t take long before boredom got the better of you. 

You dropped your phone onto the table with a soft thud and started spinning lazily in your chair, one slow circle after another.

Around and around.

Until you finally dragged your foot against the ground to stop, only to realize the chaos you’d created.

You caught your reflection in the mirror: your hair, usually neat and sharp, was now a mess from all the spinning. Sighing quietly through your nose, you reached up to a comb on the table to try and smooth it down when a voice interrupted you.

"I can fix it!” Daesung blurted out.

You blinked, turning your head slightly to look at him. He was standing a few feet away, towel forgotten, hands awkwardly fidgeting at his sides absolutely regretting the words that left his mouth but it was too late now.

You were staring at him, unreadable.

"...You?" you said flatly.

Daesung’s ears turned pink again, but he nodded determinedly, puffing up like a puppy trying to seem bigger.

"I—I mean, yeah! I can help. I’m good with... hair."

(That was a lie. He was absolutely not good with hair.)

For a long beat, you just looked at him.

Then very slowly, you leaned back in your chair, arms crossed, like you were mildly entertained by the idea.

“Go ahead.“ you said coolly.

Daesung lit up like he’d just been handed the biggest mission of his life. He practically sprinted over to you, nearly tripping over his own feet in his excitement.

He hovered over you, looking determined and panicked all at once but once he grabbed a brush from the table, he immediately froze, realizing he had no idea where to start.

You tilted your head up, arms still crossed lazily.

"Well?" you said, voice calm, almost amused.

"I-I’m just planning my strategy.” he mumbled, more to himself than to you.

You almost smiled, shutting your eyes slowly, letting out a soft, tired sigh like you were already regretting giving him the chance.

He started brushing, gently at first. You could feel how cautious he was, like he was handling something precious and breakable but his hand was shaky, and every few seconds, he would accidentally tug a little too hard.

"Ow...” you muttered under your breath, deadpan.

“S—Sorry!" Daesung squeaked, pulling the brush back like it had burned him.

He shifted awkwardly behind you, muttering apologies as he tried again, even gentler.

You cracked one eye open, catching his reflection in the mirror.

The way he was concentrating so hard, tongue poking slightly out of the corner of his mouth, it was so ridiculously earnest that it made you quietly chuckle to yourself. You hadn’t expected him to be this adorable, especially after all the chaos he’d caused earlier but there was something undeniably endearing about the way he was trying so hard to get your hair right, his brows furrowed in pure determination.

But then again, you didn’t let him see your smile. Instead, you just leaned back a little further, closing your eyes and letting him work and for once, you didn’t mind the quiet, the gentle motions of his hands. In fact, it was almost... calming.

When he finished, you opened your eyes and glanced at his reflection in the mirror.

Your hair was neatly brushed out, a cute side part framing your face but what really caught your attention was the colorful clip holding it in place. It was so bright and cheerful, you almost wondered where in the world Daesung had found it.

You blinked, your gaze shifting from your own reflection to him. He was staring at you, awaiting some kind of verdict, his expression a mix of hope and nervousness.

You gave him nothing. Just a simple, flat “Not bad.” with your tone as cool as ever.

But Daesung’s face lit up like he'd just won the lottery, grinning wide. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes in response, but even as you did, something unexpected flickered in your chest a warmth you couldn’t quite place. It was silly. It shouldn’t have made you feel this way, especially after how he’d been around you before, but there it was.

He had managed to get your hair just right, and somehow, it meant more than you’d expected.

Just as you were taking in the unexpected warmth from Daesung’s overly eager smile, the door swung open, and Jiyong strolled in like he owned the place late, as usual, with his signature confident strut.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asked, eyes darting from you to Daesung, who was still basking in the afterglow of your minimal praise.

You didn’t answer Jiyong’s teasing, just gave a casual gesture toward the chair, and he immediately slumped into it, stretching out dramatically.

“Since when did you have a thing for unmatched hair accessories?” Jiyong asked, his eyes narrowing at the colorful clip in your hair, clearly amused.

You shrugged nonchalantly, keeping your cool.

“It’s your brother’s work. Don’t judge him so hard.” You patted Jiyong’s shoulder lightly, the motion smooth, almost dismissive, before you returned to your task of fixing his hair.

Jiyong raised an eyebrow, clearly delighted by your unbothered response.

“Brother’s work, huh? Guess I’ll let it slide... this time.”

You focused on Jiyong’s hair with Daesung standing to the side, awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet. His gaze flickered back and forth between you and Jiyong. It was clear he was still feeling that mix of nerves and admiration, a little unsure of his place in the room now that Jiyong had so effortlessly shifted the attention back to himself.

He watched as you worked on Jiyong, almost mesmerized by your hands moving through his hair. For a second, Daesung looked like he might say something, but then he swallowed it down. He tugged lightly at the towel around his neck, glancing down and away, the feeling of being out of his element clear on his face.

Jiyong caught Daesung's hesitation, raising an eyebrow before turning to him with a smirk.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to keep holding her hostage.” he teased, his voice dripping with amusement.

He blinked, caught off guard by the comment. His cheeks flushed again, and he quickly looked away, staring at the floor like it held all the answers to his current predicament. 

He mumbled under his breath, 

“I’m not—I’m fine..really.”

You, meanwhile, didn’t even look up. You were too busy making sure Jiyong’s hair looked perfect, though the corner of your lips tugged into the smallest smile at the sight of Daesung’s continued fluster, However Jiyong, wasn’t letting it slide.

“You know, you can just ask her.” he continued, glancing at you with a playful grin. 

“She doesn’t bite, at least not that hard.”

Daesung’s eyes widened, and he immediately shot a panicked look in your direction, completely unsure how to handle the situation. His face had turned beet red now, and his hands fidgeted nervously at his sides. You sighed, finally looking up, though your expression was as unreadable as ever.

“You’re really something, aren’t you?” you said dryly, your gaze shifting from Jiyong to Daesung.

“Don’t let him get to you.”

Daesung swallowed hard, his nervousness not easing at all but your indifferent tone seemed to put him at ease, and he managed a small, almost embarrassed smile, his fingers tugging at the towel around his neck. 

“Sorry…”

Jiyong, satisfied with the chaos he’d stirred up, leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“You two are adorable, really. Too bad I’m heading out soon after this concert, i was planning to make you do this again later today.”

You reached out and flicked Jiyong’s ear, gently but firmly.

“Okay, enough talking.” you said coolly, giving him a pointed look. 

“You have to go up there in a while. Don’t mess it up.”

Jiyong yelped dramatically, clutching his ear like you’d just wounded him for life.

“Violence!” he cried out, earning an unimpressed glance from you and a few chuckles from the staff nearby.

“This guy..” you muttered under your breath, already reaching for the hairspray to set his style in place.

Daesung watched the entire interaction with wide eyes, somewhere between awe and disbelief. The way you handled Jiyong so effortlessly, like you weren’t afraid of his antics was honestly impressive and weirdly, it made Daesung’s chest ache in a way he couldn’t explain.

Jiyong peeked one eye open and grinned, nudging Daesung with his teasing again.

“See? Told you. She’s got claws.”

“Mm.” Daesung made a vague sound in his throat, but he didn’t move, still too focused on how naturally you seemed to command the space around you even in total chaos.

You finished with a satisfied hum, finally stepping back and dusting your hands off.

“There. Presentable. Barely.” you added, just to make sure Jiyong didn’t get too smug.

He gave you a playful wink before standing up and stretching like a cat.

“Thanks, boss.” he teased, ruffling his hair slightly and immediately earning another flick on the forehead from you.

“Hey!” Jiyong cried, laughing, as he moved away toward the stage area.

And just like that, it was quiet again. You were busy wiping down your tools, lost in your own little world, when you noticed Daesung hovering in your peripheral vision. 

Again.

You didn't look up. 

"Spit it out." you said flatly.

He flinched slightly at how you caught him, but to his credit, he didn’t run away this time. Instead, he shifted his weight from foot to foot, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I, uh..." he started, voice awkward and boyish. 

"I was just wondering... if you maybe... wanted to hang out sometime? Outside of work?"

He finished in a rush, almost like ripping off a band-aid.

You finally glanced up at him. His ears were already bright red, and he wasn’t even looking at you, eyes glued somewhere to the left of your head.

There was a brief pause enough to make him visibly sweat before you leaned back in your chair, arms crossing lazily over your chest.

"Like what?" you asked, expression unreadable.

Daesung panicked for a second.

"Like, uh— food? Coffee? Karaoke?" he rattled off, clearly just listing anything that came to mind. 

"Or—or just walking! Walking is good! I’m really good at walking—"

You stared at him for another agonizingly long beat before a smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth.

"...You really are something.." you muttered.

Daesung went silent again, trying not to wither under your gaze watching as you pushed up yourself from your chair and slung your bag over your shoulder.

“Ofcourse. Ill go out with you.” you said simply as you passed him by, the faintest brush of your sleeve against his arm.

His head whipped around to look at you, with sparkles and shine in his eyes.

But you didn’t look back, just raised a hand lazily in the air as you walked off, waving two fingers without turning around.

"Text me, when you get time to!" you called over your shoulder, and Daesung just stood there, stunned, before a wide, uncontrollable smile broke out across his face.

[suuuupernovaaa]

liar

summary: you thought joel felt the same, until he tells you otherwise.

the things that i lost here, the people i knew - they got me surrounded for a mile or two

MASTERLIST

I ain’t never gonna see you like that.

The words haunt you.

I ain’t never gonna see you like that, he said. Like he was embarrassed to find out how you felt about him. He winced when he said it. It makes you feel sick to your stomach to recall the words, the way he looked when he said them. You feel foolish, even now, months later.

At night, when you’re almost asleep, those words flash behind your eyelids and you wake up, hot and ashamed all over again.

You’d requested to be taken off patrol the next day, moved to stable and bar duty, and stayed there ever since. You would do anything to avoid Joel Miller, who was actually easy to avoid. He kept to himself and his family, avoided crowds, stayed away. You did your work during the day, served drinks at night, and went home.

It was bleak.

“I gotta say somethin’ now,” Tommy said to his brother, hours into a quiet patrol.

Joel just grunted, but he knew what Tommy was going to say, he thought.

“Remember last spring, that girl fell off her horse? She got a nasty cut on her elbow, would’ve sent bigger men to the clinic immediately, bleedin’ all over like that. But she got back on, even though she was embarrassed, without a second thought.”

“Hmm,” Joel nodded. He remembered.

“Your face was white when you saw the blood. And I know you ain’t scared of blood.”

Joel didn’t reply, but he knew what Tommy was getting at anyway.

He’d felt sick when he saw her on the ground, saw the blood dripping down her arm, and had almost pulled her off that damn horse himself when she got back on.

Not safe, not safe, not safe, his mind had said. An overwhelming need to protect had filled his mind, and he’d shoved it down, every day since.

“You crushed her with that lie,” Tommy continued. “I know ain’t my business, but you need to know. She ain’t over it.”

Joel glared at his brother, who just shrugged at him.

That lie.

I ain’t never gonna see you like that.

He knew he’d crushed her when he said it, but he figured she’d get over it. She was young, and beautiful, and there were better men for her than him. He’d seen that guy behind the bar staring at her with a look in his eyes that Joel knew all too well, and his hands had curled into fists at the sight of it.

It was news to him that she was still hurting.

Not safe, not safe, not safe, his mind yelled. How could he protect her from this hurt he’d caused?

xxx

You’d served what felt like a million drinks tonight, and were just about to hang it up and head home for another restless night. Your feet were sore, your arms too, and a headache was blooming.

You stopped to drink some water before grabbing your jacket.

“Done for the night?” Jason, another bartender, asked.

You nodded. “You mind? It’s quiet. I’m beat.”

He pulled the towel from his belt and flicked it at you teasingly. “Sure, abandon me.”

You smiled at him. Jason was probably your closest friend in Jackson, and he always had a kind if yet patronizing word for you. He was a good person - handsome, too.

Why weren’t you interested in him, you wondered for the thousandth time.

“See you tomorrow!” you waved to him, and left the bar.

The cold felt good. You stopped outside the doors, letting it wash over you and cool your warm cheeks. Eyes closed, you took a deep breath, feeling better already.

Until you opened your eyes, to see Joel Miller standing just a few feet away from you, staring.

Shit. Fuck. You pulled your hat on and stepped towards the sidewalk, meaning to hustle home - but then he called your name.

You faltered, but didn’t turn, until he called it again.

“Hey,” you said, turning to face him.

He’s stood just in front of you then. Less than a couple feet away. The closest you’d been since that night.

“Joel, I…” you said, a little emboldened by the drinks he’s brought for you.

“Yeah?” he asks in that southern drawl that makes your toes curl, his attention fully on you.

“I really like you,” you whisper, feeling silly but free at the same time.

His smile fades, replaced by a look of horror. “What?”

“Like… oh, don’t make me say it twice, please.”

He shakes his head and sets his drink down, and then he says it, wincing as he does.

“I ain’t never gonna see you like that.”

You stand up immediately, so fast your thighs hit the table, spilling a drink. Before Joel can say another word, you’re out the door, a shame blooming in your chest that you won’t be able to shake.

Joel tucked his hands into the pocket of his jacket. “Can I walk you home?”

You squinted at him. “Walk me home?”

He just nodded, offering no other explanation.

“Oh… sure.”

You turned to begin walking, slowly, allowing him to catch up and walk alongside you.

It was quiet for the first block or so, passing silent houses, some with lights on and some long past sleep. The dusting of snow crunched under your boots and his, the only sound, until he finally spoke.

“I was thinkin’ today about your first patrol,” he said. “When you fell off your damn horse and nearly broke your arm.”

“It was not even near broken,” you replied, finally looking at him.

“Looked like it to me. Blood everywhere. I was about to pick you up myself, take you to the doc, when you jumped up and got back on the damn horse without a second thought.”

You squinted at him in the dark, wondering what the hell he was getting at.

“I didn’t even know you then. But when I saw all that blood on your arm… I felt fuckin’ terrified. I couldn’t understand it. Some woman I didn’t even know, just a cut up elbow and I, I wanted to take you to my house and lock you in. Keep you away from all of it. From anything that could ever hurt you again.”

Your heart began beating fast in your chest. The winter air dried your mouth out. You kept silent and listened.

“And that scared the shit out of me, that… need. And it wasn’t just that. When you got back up and didn’t so much as flinch, I felt proud of you. You don’t need me to feel that way, but I did.”

He’d stopped walking, and you with him. He turned to face you, still a few houses away from your home.

“I ain’t good enough for you. I’m… I’m old, and I’ve done a lot of things I can’t undo. You deserve someone better, someone like that kid the bar.”

You raised your eyebrow. “But do you want me, Joel?” you asked.

He winced again. That same wince as all those months ago, and you understood now. Why he’d done it.

He’d lied. I ain’t never gonna see you like that. A lie he’d told, because he thought you could do better. A hurt he’d caused trying to do what he thought was best for you, in his arrogance.

“It don’t matter,” he said.

You pursed your lips together. “I don’t want Jason. Maybe I could have him, if I did. There are a lot of nice guys around here, maybe even handsome, maybe some who are interested and won’t lie to me. But I don’t want them, Joel.” You took a step, just one, closing the gap between the two of you, until you could feel his breath on your face.

“I want you. And you can either tell me you want me now, or leave me alone for the rest of our lives. I won’t be jerked around.”

His eyes, avoiding you until that moment, finally met yours. Brown and tired and determined, they were so beautiful, and it stung to look into them.

Until he kissed you.

Forcefully. His mouth on yours, his hands in your hair, his body pressed firmly to you.

You couldn’t help it, you moaned into his open mouth, and wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him tightly as his tongue ran along your bottom lip, begging for entrance that you allowed.

God, nothing had ever felt so good as this, and nothing had ever felt so right.

He pulled away to soon, but neither of you let go.

“I want you,” he whispered through heaving breaths after a moment, and finally, you smiled.

Your first real smile in a long time.

“Then I’m yours. But you have to agree to be mine too, and let go of the idea that the things you’ve done in your past matter to me. I don’t fucking care about that.”

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to yours. “Alright,” was his only reply.

After a moment, you whispered, “Come home with me now.”

He smiled and pressed another kiss, soft and chaste, to your lips. “Yes, ma’am.”

[zraiusxo]

omg omgggg i always see your notes in a lot of Hange fics, and Im sososoo glad you're writing!! 💟

May I request a college au where reader is a reserved, quiet, and really kind freshman art student (kinda like fluttershy) and Hange is a charming chemical engineering student. Reader's friends warn her that Hange is in the cof of playboys and stuff who don't take things seriously. And Hange knows this but they fell in love with the reader and came to truly love her so they want to prove themself but they have this fear of commitment due to past unsuccessful relationships. Maybe a bit of angst plss 🙏🙏 tytyyyyy no pressure to write this, I'm just happy to see your fics here!! 💟

♡ hi there! i didn't expect anyone to see my notes honestly it's so downbad i'm embarrassed. but still, thank you! i'm soooo sorry i got to this so late. just been super busy w my job lately, thanks for waiting so patiently anon, hope this doesn't disappoint! :D

Sketching Chemistry ,, Hange Zoë x Fem!reader Oneshot

The buzz of Paradis University’s courtyard was an ever-present hum — sneakers on concrete, chatter between classes, the clink of coffee cups at the nearby benches. Spring was barely clinging to the air, and early afternoon sunlight slanted across the fine arts building, where you often sat cross-legged in the grass with a sketchbook balanced delicately on your knees.

You were a vision of quiet, almost intimidating beauty: dark sweaters, pressed skirts, the sharp edges of your style softened only by the worn-in leather of your sketchbook. Most people in your university knew you in passing as a pretty freshman art student, always with a pencil tucked behind your ear, always lost in some far-off thought.

You weren’t naïve — just resolute. You knew your world, knew what you wanted, and didn’t offer your company lightly.

It was at one of Sasha’s notorious "pizza on the lawn" Fridays that you first really noticed Hange Zoë.

They were laughing hardly with Miche, who was half-laying on the grass in a dark green shirt with his drink spilled all over his jeans, cursing under his breath. Hange wore a white tank top that showed off their tan and toned arms dusted in a few tattoos, cargo pants tucked carelessly into scuffed boots. Their glasses caught the sun every time they tilted their head to speak, and it felt like Hange’s whole presence glowed with reckless, unfiltered charm.

It wasn’t the way they looked that caught you. It was the way they listened.

Eyes lit up with genuine attention, mouth half-quirked in some secret amusement even when they weren’t speaking. They made every person around them feel important, like the center of the universe for a moment.

You lowered your sharp eyes back to your sketchbook.

Dangerous, you thought.

And as if summoned by your glance, Sasha plopped down next to you with a fresh plate of pizza.

“Careful around Hange,” she said, voice muffled by a mouthful of cheese. “They’re part of Miche’s group. Y'know— full of heartbreakers. Ya know the drill.”

You raised an eyebrow, barely reacting, fingers holding the pencil that were still tracing gentle lines across the paper.

Connie, sprawling out on Sasha’s other side, chimed in with a snort, “Miche, Erwin, Levi — they’re all tight. Real smooth, real shiny, until you realize they’re allergic to, like, anything serious.”

You listened without looking up.

“Hange’s probably the most charming of all of them, though,” Sasha added thoughtfully. “Smart as hell. Chemical engineering, I think. Popular too. But commitment?” She let out a dramatic pfffft. “Forget it.”

A hum vibrated against your rosy lips noncommittally. You didn’t need a warning. You’d learned long ago that you didn’t offer your heart to anyone who hadn’t already bled for it.

It started slow.

A week later, you found Hange on the second floor of the library, tucked into the engineering section with a battered laptop open and papers strewn across two desks. They looked frustrated, brow furrowed, one hand raking through messy brown hair.

When they caught you glancing over (your studio class was doing a project involving chemical pigments, and you were half-lost yourself), Hange grinned.

“Hey! Art genius. Help a desperate nerd out?”

You blinked, long eyelashes fluttering, wary.

“I’m not a genius,” you said flatly, adjusting the strap of your leather bag. “And I’m not sure why you’d need help with art.”

Hange shrugged, unapologetic. “Genius recognizes genius, you know? Plus, you seem way more organized than me.”

You almost smiled— almost— before turning to the shelf, swiftly plucking out the textbook you needed.

Hange watched you like you were a riddle they wanted to spend the next ten years solving.

Hange started appearing everywhere after that.

At your favorite study spot near the quad, lounging nearby with a mechanical pencil tucked behind their ear.

At the campus café, scribbling equations into a grimy notebook while you nursed your favorite iced coffee.

At Mikasa’s casual hangouts, where they’d somehow maneuver to sit near you — not so close that it would be obvious, but enough that you’d feel the hum of their presence like a low electrical current.

They were patient with you, to a degree you didn’t expect.

No flirtatious touch. No crude jokes like Miche might've made. Just conversation, bright and winding, questions about your art, your inspirations, your favorite late-night snacks when deadlines loomed.

You wanted to resist.

You knew what your friends had said. You knew better.

But Hange made it hard to maintain your careful distance.

There was an earnestness to them— a way they leaned in when you spoke, like your words were the most important thing they'd hear that day.

And yet, you noticed the cracks.

You saw the way Hange would sometimes falter mid-laugh, a flash of something tight and scared in their eyes.

You heard the way Levi would caution them gently, "Don't screw this up," he'd mutter under his breath, more warning than joke— not that he was the type to joke around anyway, when Hange lingered too long around you.

You realized, slowly, that Hange wasn’t like the others because they didn’t want to be.

They had been before — careless, breezy, easily moving on from one shiny thing to the next. They had loved and been left. Left and been hated. Somewhere along the line, love had become synonymous with failure to them.

Commitment terrified Hange.

Not because they didn’t feel enough.

But because they felt too much.

One late night, under the soft pool of light from the streetlamps near the empty art building, Hange finally said it.

"I’m scared, you know." Their voice was low, almost hoarse, as they stuffed their hands into the pockets of their jacket. "Not of you. Just... of ruining things. Of wanting something too badly and then watching it die."

You closed your sketchbook slowly.

The night was cool against your skin. You could hear your own breathing.

“I don’t need a promise from you,” you said softly, the words steady despite the ache in your chest. "I just need honesty."

Hange looked at you like you were the first kindness they hadn’t had to earn.

A beat of silence stretched between you, golden and fragile.

"I’m trying," they said finally. "Really trying. I... don’t want to lose you before I even have you."

You reached out— slow, deliberate— and took their larger and much rougher hand in yours, your soft skin brushing against their callouses.

It wasn’t a declaration. It wasn’t forgiveness for things they hadn’t done yet.

It was an invitation.

And Hange, for once in their reckless life, stepped forward instead of running away.

You studied late into the nights at the café. Hange dragged you into impromptu ramen runs at 2 AM. Mikasa rolled her eyes but smiled whenever she caught you both tucked together on the quad, your sketchbook balanced on Hange’s knees while you argued about color theory versus chemical structure.

And little by little, against all odds, Hange Zoë— an infamous charmer, secret romantic, brilliant disaster— started building a home in your heart.

And for once, they stayed.

♡ help i have another hange college au request, and it's sitting in my drafts cause i'm unsure if it's good enough. maybe i'll post it later when i smoke and proofread it hwehe. thanks for reading though! hope u guys like it! :p

[th0rnback]

Do you have any headcanons that tend to translate into your writing?

Oooooo, that is a good'un. I’ve been in this fandom so long sometimes I forget what is headcanon and what’s canon 🫠

Buuuuut, I’m sure some of these might be shared with lots of folks, yet off the top of my head:

⭕Edward wears gloves not so much to hide his automail, but to soften it. Metal joints pinch. He learned this the hard way when shaking someone’s hand. It genuinely upset/embarrassed/made him self conscious for a while after that event. ⭕Alphonse always like the barn cats since he was small, yet moreso after Trisha’s death. He liked to entice them into the house of an evening for the warmth and comfort. The house didn’t feel quiet so empty when filled with a patter of paws or rumbling purrs.

⭕Ed’s an ugly crier and he is SUPER self aware of this fact, while he is trying to ‘keep a stiff upper lip’ he also has the worse poker face known to mankind (which I guess can be canon? Because the sweet bean was a mess at Trisha’s funeral, howling at the sky with snot) ⭕Al, even when human and back when kids, is the better liar. He’s got a good poker face (even without the helm) and the street cred of polite sweetness.

⭕Roy hides it well and because irony is key: Roy gets anxious around horses. As a kid a mounted MP’s horse nipped him and Chris presumed this is why he is still Not A Fan of the hooved beasts…. In reality, watching a group of Ishvalan’s get trampled when the cavalry arrived on scene made him realize how terrifyingly powerful such animals are (cue his anxiety over FoM!Ed being so tiny around an animal with hooves bigger than the kids skull)   ⭕ Riza doesn't like being ignored. She can deal with it, but it does make her hackles rise. There is something about being so blankly disregarded she finds as rude yet know, deep known, its because she spent too much of her youth with a father who barely spared her a glance, absorbed in his work... until he suddenly was like ''yo lovely daughter, need to borrow that skin on your back for a second'' ⭕Riza is very good at leg sweeping, hip checking, or just thwacking the back of Roy's knees because when he came to live as her father's apprentice at their crumbling rural manor house, she took great joy tripping him up in the corridors to the point it became a game.

⭕Havoc was nominated for first aider training for their unit. He drew the short straw. Hated every second of the weekend long training he got shoved into. The team make frequent jokes they were hoping to improve his experience, as his dating life is piss-poor and doing CPR would be is only form of ‘kissing’.

⭕ Riza’s a tea-a-holic (which could be canon? Girl be drinking tea in a lot of manga panels). She likes tea due to the variety of scents and finds the method of brewing/preparing it as a form of decompression/keeps her mind blank and hands busy because there are only many times she can dismantling and cleaning her service weapons to a pristine condition before someone presumes she has OCD.

⭕Roy isn’t very good with the scent of fatty meat being cooked. He can deal with it, but sometimes, on The Bad Days™the scent can send him reeling. (This was mostly inspired given how my paternal grandfather was a tank-man during ww2 and my uncle had the horrors of playing with flame throwers in other dumb-mens-wars and neither of them could cope with the smell of smoked bacon of fat-heavy meat).

⭕Fuery is blind AF without his glasses…. Probably me projecting like hell as poor sighted dweeb with thick glasses and also how I HATE that characters in fiction get their glasses off and can FUNCTION DURING CHAOS??? LIKE, NO. EVERYTHING IS BLURRY AND SCARY. MATE, I ONCE LOST MY GLASSES IN THE AMAZING MAZE OF MAIZE AND I FELT LIKE I WAS IN THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE. Also, during a paintball match, I had to forgo my glasses because the eye protective googles didn’t like me wearing them, so I was just blindly taking people out and running into trees, but that’s another story. Rant over.

⭕Maes & Gracia had experienced pregnancy loss before they finally had Elicia: its why the two of them cherish her so much

Annnnnd... I'll stop. Otherwise we are gonna end up with a sickeningly large amount and I fear I'll bore you. 💖

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Blood singer, part 4

Summary: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, especially when it comes with meeting the family of the guy you're interested in.

Warnings (be mindful of your triggers): injury, blood and death, angst, fluff, grief, swearing, sexual content, mentions of mental health struggles, alcohol, detailed descriptions including physical harm

Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader (blood singer), Paul Lahote x human!reader

Word count: 11.7k

Blood singer - Series Masterlist

Heaven only knows how she found herself drawn to someone else so fast after Paul.

It shouldn’t be possible, shouldn’t feel this real, but something about Jasper unsettles her in the best kind of way. He reminds her of the kind of man who’d slow dance in the middle of the living room with no music, to the hum of his voice and the touch of his hands guiding her like she’s the only woman in the world. A romantic from another time. And maybe that’s exactly what he is.

Maybe it’s the near-death experience that rewired her brain, reminded her just how short and unpredictable life can be, but from the moment she locked eyes with him, something inside her changed. There’s a pull between them she can’t ignore. That can’t be a coincidence, right?

For a moment, she wondered if she’d ever feel okay after Paul. But surprisingly, she does. The hurt is still there, she’s not made of stone, but it’s dulled to an ache instead of an open wound. She’s still disappointed, a little angry, sure. But mostly? She’s tired of men who don’t know what they want. Paul was magnetic, intense and complicated. Too complicated for a woman who spends all her time trying to evade the same back home. Paul’s turned out to be a storm she was trying to dance in, hoping she wouldn’t drown. Jasper, on the other hand, feels like solid ground.

With a sigh, she slips off the nightgown she slept in. Whoever Jasper’s sister in law is, she probably wants her clothes back eventually. She’d want hers, if the roles were reversed. She puts on her bra, starts reaching for her jeans, only halfway dressed, when -

“Darlin’, wo—”

The sudden voice jolts her. She gasps, spinning around with wide eyes, heart jumping in her chest. She’s breathless, caught in the middle of dressing, and for a second, the air stills between them. Jasper’s standing in the doorway, eyes moving away the moment they meet hers, jaw tightening like he’s just walked into a sin he didn’t know he was capable of.

“Morning, Cowboy,” she says with a wink, trying to smooth over her embarrassment with humor, but she can feel the heat creeping up her neck like wildfire. Her voice is steady, but her cheeks are traitors; rosy and warm and undeniably flustered.

It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? He’s already held her half naked, cradled her soaked and shivering in his arms, but somehow this, being caught in just her underwear in the morning light feels more intimate. More exposed.

Jasper spins around fully, facing the wall like a soldier under command, and she swallows hard. Is he disgusted? Or is he just trying to be respectful? She'll admit she hoped to wake up by his side, but he really stayed on the couch. If it were anyone else, they'd join her but not Jasper. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he says gruffly, eyes fixed firmly anywhere but her. “Didn’t realize you were changing.”

She laughs, though it’s a little breathless. “It’s fine. Not like you haven’t seen me before. Yesterday, remember? You practically had to wring me out like a towel.”

He clears his throat and she doesn’t miss the stiffness in his shoulders. Tension radiates off him like heat off New York pavements in scorching summers. He’s definitely trying to be respectful, and it’s driving her insane.

Quickly, she pulls her clothes on, trying to get dressed as fast as humanly possible to dissolve the awkwardness lingering in the room.

“I’d tell you it’s no biggie if you wanna sneak a peek,” she teases, forcing a lightness into her tone, “but I’ve got a feeling the gentleman in you would adamantly refuse and be appalled by the suggestion. I swear I saw you clutching imaginary pearls, trying not to faint at the improper attire you found me in." 

That earns a low, strangled chuckle from him. Still facing away. “You’d be right,” he mutters, voice huskier than usual. “Wouldn’t be very chivalrous of me.”

She zips her jeans and tosses her hair back with a grin. “Guess I’ll have to settle for a gentleman who only rescues me from drowning and offers me his bed while he takes the couch. The nerve.”

He turns halfway now, just enough to glance over his shoulder. There’s something smoldering in his eyes. A flicker of desire, restrained but simmering beneath the surface.

“You’re trouble, darlin’,” he murmurs, soft and reverent.

She smirks. “You have no idea.”

He’s watching her again, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, body relaxed, but only on the surface. There’s nothing relaxed about the way his jaw flexes. Or the way his knuckles whiten ever so slightly where they press against his bicep.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” she murmurs, stepping closer, cocking her head just enough to tease, “I might start thinking you like what you see.”

He smirks, slow and devastating, but doesn’t answer right away.

“I’d be lyin’ if I said I didn’t,” he says at last, his southern drawl softer now.

She laughs, but it catches in her throat. His compliment hits her harder than it should, maybe because it’s the first one that doesn’t feel like a line. And also because she loves his accent. She used to think British accents are heavenly, but nothing compares to Jasper’s southern charm.

“Well,” she tries to recover, “that’s a relief. It would’ve been incredibly awkward if you were, I don’t know… secretly horrified this whole time.”

He takes a step forward, the distance shrinking. She feels her heart stop.

“Oh, I’ve been horrified,” he drawls, low and amused, “Just not by you, darlin’.”

Her brow rises, playful. “Then by what?”

He tilts his head, eyes burning gold, voice soft. “By how easy it is to forget how fragile you are.”

The weight of his words is pressing against her skin like heat. He’s so close now she can smell the faint trace of pine and rain soaked earth laced with temptation bottled in human form.

She swallows hard. What does that even mean? “I’m not that fragile.” And if she is, she’d gladly trust his hands with her fragility.

“I know,” he murmurs, gently. “But I still have to remind myself not to break you.”

His words shouldn’t sound like flirtation. They shouldn’t. But the way he looks at her, like he’s imagining what it would be like to touch her without fear, it sets her body on fire. Her heart is racing at the mere thought of what it is he wants to do with her that would break her.

Break me then.

He hears her heart’s song, the alluring invitation he’s received long ago and has been spammed with every moment he’s spent near her.

She sees the faint tremble in his jaw, the way he subtly inhales and holds it, as if he’s breathing her in. He’s struggling. She has no idea why, but she knows it. She sees it in every inch of restraint written into his posture. And still, he doesn’t back away. Instead, he leans just slightly closer.

“Be honest with me,” he says, voice low, “If I’d stayed in that bed last night… would you have kicked me out?”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Blinks. That’s not fair.

“You mean,” she blinks slowly, eyes narrowing, “before or after you politely refused my very generous offer?”

He chuckles, low and rich, a sound that slides down her spine like silk. “You say ‘polite refusal’, I say I was bein’ merciful.”

“Merciful?” she scoffs, mouth parting. “What kind of suffering did you think I’d experience with you next to me?”

He leans in now, just enough to feel the heat of her breath. “Wasn’t talkin’ about your suffering, sweetheart.”

Oh.

Oh, that’s new. For a second, she forgets how to move. Or breathe. Or blink.

Jasper smiles, barely there, but undeniably pleased with her reaction. She hates how smug it looks on him. Almost as much as she loves it.

“Your mouth is…dangerous this morning,” she says, stepping back to recover some sanity. He makes it impossible to think when he’s so close.

He follows her, only half a step. “Might be safer if I keep it to myself, then.”

“Safer?” she echoes, lips twitching. “Are you threatening me, Cowboy?”

He shakes his head, slow and deliberate. “No, ma’am. Just reminding you... I’m not always so well behaved.”

Listening to her pulse speed up, he lingers closer for a moment longer. Slowly, he pulls back, turning away. Only once she’s behind him does Jasper allow himself a small exhale. It burns his lungs, heavy with the scent of her skin, her blood, her warmth. He is hanging by a thread. And she has no idea. But she will. One day.

If he doesn’t destroy them both first.

“I actually came to invite you to the main house for breakfast,” Jasper says, stepping toward the door. “If you have the time.”

But just as he reaches for the handle, he hears it; a soft gasp, the shuffle of feet behind him. He spins around instinctively, just in time to catch her as she stumbles, her knees buckling with clumsy grace.

He’s fast, faster than she can process. One moment she’s falling, the next she’s wrapped in his arms, held firm against his chest, the world stilled.

For a single, infinite second… he freezes.

She’s close…too close. The scent of her hits him like a hurricane breaking through glass. Sweet, intoxicating, hers. Her warmth seeps into his skin like sunlight, burning through the icy restraint he’s clung to all morning. His throat tightens. His jaw clenches. The edge is right there, just a breath away from giving in to instinct, to hunger, to something far deeper than thirst. He shuts his eyes for a moment, grounding himself in the familiar pain of resisting her.

Not here. Not like this.

And just as quickly, he steadies her on her feet, hands slipping from her waist like she’s too hot to touch. He takes a step back, too smooth, too quick, eyes carefully averted as he turns away.

“You alright?” he asks, voice quieter now, throat rough.

She blinks, still catching her breath, her hearts pounding like a caged wild beast. “Yeah. Just… clumsy, I guess.”

He nods once, as if that simple answer explains everything, when it doesn’t, not even close.

“Main house?” she asks to fill the silence, raising a brow and gently tapping his shoulder with her index finger, playful but still breathless.

Jasper turns on his heel at the light touch, and when he faces her again, they’re much too close. Their eyes lock, and for a long moment, neither speaks. She studies his gaze, caught in the storm of it. His golden eyes, usually so composed, are raw now, overflowing with emotions she can’t quite keep up with. Suffering. Loneliness. Longing. Desire. There’s a quiet hope buried there too, like a flame he’s afraid to breathe on.

Her breath stops, caught in her throat.

“Yes,” he says finally, his voice tempered and smooth. “My family would love to meet you.”

There’s a moment where she wants to answer, but she can’t. Her heart is thundering in her chest, her skin still tingling where his hands just were. It’s hard to think, hard to move, hard to do anything under that gaze.

And he…he’s still standing perfectly still, but inside he’s at war. He can hear her heartbeat like a symphony, smell the faint trace of the ocean in her hair, the salt of her skin, the life rushing through her veins. It takes every ounce of discipline he’s ever learned to not lean in again. To not taste. To not touch.

She takes a breath, forces herself to speak. “Are you sure they’d like a stranger barging into their house? I don’t want to impose.”

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks down, her gaze falling to his chest. The weight of his eyes, the intensity, it’s too much. It drains her like the sun, and yet she craves it.

He steps forward again, slow this time. With the gentlest touch, he lifts her chin with the tip of his cold index finger, forcing her to meet his eyes once more.

His voice is low, intimate. “Not at all. They’d love to meet you…” A smile plays at the corners of his mouth, slow and soft and devastating. “And I’d love to spend more time with you.”

Her breath stutters, caught halfway between her lungs and her lips. His smile widens just a touch. He notices all the ways he affects her. Of course he notices.

“You flirt like it’s a competition you want to win,” she says quietly, trying not to smile.

“And you blush like you want me to lose,” he murmurs back.

God help her, she does. Her cheeks heat and she can’t hide it. She’s losing and he knows it. But so is he. He’s already unraveling. As much as she believes he’s got all the power, he’d argue the opposite.

It’s hard to tell, but she’s not really doing well. She’s been looking for someone who’d see the same emotions in her eyes her whole life, and with Jasper, she feels like he does. For the first time ever, she feels understood, truly seen. And if losing ends with Jasper as her ‘punishment’, she’ll gladly lose.

She pauses beside him for a breath, staring into those breathtaking eyes. There’s power in them, undeniable and reckless, like a hurricane. They flash, golden warmth flickering like candlelight, and yet just beneath, a peril. A storm waiting to tear the world apart. So why does she feel safer standing in its path?

She’s seen that look before. In other men, it meant danger. In Jasper, it means something else entirely, something that pulls her in instead of pushing her away. Maybe it's because he pulled her out, instead of letting her drown. Maybe that’s why this time she doesn’t feel like running…she wants to stay.

“It isn’t far,” he leads her outside.

With a subtle nod, she returns his smile. “You really should wear something warmer,” she says, raising a brow and casting a glance at the hands that held her a moment ago. “Your hands are cold.”

“They’re always this cold,” Jasper replies with a soft chuckle, already walking ahead. She follows, a step behind at first, then beside him, her stride shorter but determined to keep up.

They slip into the woods, a light mist curling between the trees, the sunlight barely breaking through the dense canopy. It's quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that invites you to speak or makes you afraid to ruin it. She expects silence, but gets something better.

"That tree there," Jasper says, gesturing lightly to a tall maple, "It’s older than the town. You can tell by the bark. See how the edges flare out like that? She's got stories."

“She?” she teases, brow arched.

He nods, smiling to himself. “Of course. The old ones always have a bit of a matriarchal vibe. Quiet, steady… terrifying when provoked.”

“Would you say it’s anything like me,” she jokes.

“Oh, darlin’, that comparison would flatter the tree,” he says without a second thought.

She grins, taking a deep inhale before falling in step again. The way he speaks to her is sweet, but the way he speaks of her leaves her speechless too often.

“You talk about trees like they're people.”

“They’ve seen more than most,” he replies, glancing sideways at her. “They stand through storms, grow around obstacles, learn how to bend instead of break.”

“Sounds like you relate to them.”

Jasper hums low in his throat, not denying it. “Maybe. But I’m still trying to learn the ‘bending’ part.”

There’s a pause, comfortable now. The wind rustles the leaves gently. She watches the way he moves, like the world around him is just scenery, and he’s the star of the show.

“What about flowers?” he asks casually, like it’s just another branch of the conversation. “What’s your favorite?”

She chuckles. “Anything but roses.”

His smile deepens. He knows. “You wound me. I was going to pick you a dozen.”

“I’ll trade them for something with actual personality,” she shoots back, twirling a loose strand of hair between her fingers.

“I paid attention,” he tells her, more serious than he’s even been before. “I remember you hate them.”

She contemplates sharing it with him, watching his interest rise. “I like lilies. Lilacs too. But… you can never go wrong with a blue orchid. It’s my favorite.”

Jasper’s eyes light up. “Rare. Vibrant. Unexpected.” He leans in just a bit closer, his voice lower, gentle. “Fits.”

Her heart has lost all sense of rhythm. He’s not even touching her, and yet her body reacts like it’s been kissed. She tries to say something, anything to regain control, but all she manages is a soft, breathy, “That’s kinda smooth.”

“I could be smoother,” he says, using his southern charm. He’s lethal.

She looks at him, really looks, and for the first time all morning, she can’t summon a retort. The words die on her tongue because his gaze isn’t just flirtatious anymore. It’s filled with yearning. And yet, no matter how badly she wishes he would, he doesn’t close the distance. He stays exactly where he is.

Jasper can’t risk it. He’s controlled, careful. She might see his restraint clearly now, in spite his best efforts to hide it. He’s not unaffected by her, if anything he’s tethered himself to her and while he can’t quite show her physically, his words must bridge the difference. For now, at least. He wants her. Her blood, her body, maybe even her love. It doesn’t seem to scare her and that makes him ache. She’s so unaware of the greatest danger standing right before her, and he can’t bring himself to warn her.

“Are you flirting for the sake of flirting, or are you trying to woo me?”

His smile fades into something softer, something honest. “Maybe both.”

She looks away before she drowns in his gaze again. He’s too charming, too handsome and that accent is incredibly sexy. It’s too easy to get lost in a man like Jasper. She made mistakes trusting men like him before, too many mistakes.

When will I learn?

The house comes into view ahead, a perfect vision of pale elegance in the distance. She draws in a breath, grounding herself. She remembers it vaguely. The house hasn’t changed in all these years since the wedding.

“You nervous?” Jasper asks, sensing the change in her emotions.

“Only a little,” she admits.

He holds the door open and gives her that same soft, admiring smile. “Don’t be. They’ll love you,” he says. Then, after a pause, lower, “How could they not?”

“I should warn you,” Jasper says, his voice coated in honey, a touch teasing. He pauses just inside the threshold, folding his hands behind his back with an old world ease. Then he leans down slightly, speaking near her ear, low and conspiratorial. “My family is very…” he trails off, lips twitching like he’s searching for the right word. “Intrusive.”

She lifts a brow. “That so?”

“They might ask a lot of questions you don’t need to answer,” he adds gently, like he’s giving her permission to walk away before it’s too late.

“I have nothing to hide,” she says with a small shrug, stepping ahead into the house without hesitation, though the slight tremble in her fingers gives her away. She glances back at him over her shoulder, one brow arched, playful. “Are you coming?”

Jasper’s lips part in the beginnings of a smile. She sees the trace of something deliciously wicked hiding behind those golden eyes, but he keeps it chained.

“Lead the way,” he replies smoothly, following her in.

The inside of the house is pristine and elegant. Sunlight filters in through massive windows, catching in the soft sheen of marble floors, glinting off high polished wood. It smells faintly of something herbal and clean, like sage. She takes it all in with wide eyes, suddenly aware of how quiet it is.

Too quiet.

She slows at the bottom of the staircase that leads to the main living area, her fingers brushing along the bannister like she needs something to ground her.

Jasper catches up in two long strides and pauses beside her.

“Still nervous, are you?” he asks, tilting his head just enough to meet her eyes.

She gulps. “Is it that obvious?”

His smile turns sly as he walks up a few steps. “Don’t worry,” he says as if he can’t hear her treacherous heart, “we’re all trained not to bite our guests…” He waits just long enough for her to take a step closer before adding with a wicked glint, “At least not without asking for permission first.”

She laughs, eyes focusing on him with disbelief and amusement. “Wow. And here I thought you were a gentleman.”

He raises an eyebrow, all faux innocence. “Who said I wasn’t?”

“There’s something very suspicious about a man who looks like a halo should be hovering above his head but talks like sin.”

Jasper chuckles, stepping down to lead her into the living room. “You’ll find I’m full of contradictions.”

“Oh, I’m already catching on.” She smirks, trying to steady her heart that’s doing acrobatics from his nearness, his voice, the way he looks at her like she’s both temptation and salvation.

But what she doesn’t see is the way Jasper grips the doorframe once she walks past. Just for a second. Just long enough to steady the wildfire building in his chest.

Control. Control.

Her scent lingers in the air like the sweetest kind of poison. His throat burns. His jaw clenches. But even more dangerous than her blood is her presence; the way she looks at him like she sees more than a beautiful monster. Like she wants to see more.

He swallows the desire and the thirst both.

“You okay?” she asks, glancing back.

He offers her the softest smile he can muster. “Of course. Just taking in the view.”

She flushes, not sure if he means the house… or her.

"Welcome," a smooth voice greets from across the room before she even notices someone approaching.

A woman, early thirties by appearance, though there’s something oddly timeless about her, glides forward like she’s weightless. Y/N holds her breath.

The woman is stunning. Not just in the usual sense, this isn’t beauty that can be achieved with makeup or good genes. It’s ethereal. Almost unreal. Skin like polished porcelain, lips curved into a warm, welcoming smile, and eyes…golden. Like Jasper’s.

"I hope you like waffles," the woman says, her voice soft, almost musical.

Y/N’s heart pounds in her chest like it’s trying to claw its way out. Fight or flight, she thinks, but she doesn’t know what is triggering it. She forces a polite smile, her steps uncertain as she nears the woman on slightly wobbly legs.

“You must be Jasper’s sister.”

The woman lets out a light, elegant laugh. “Mother, but you flatter me. I’m Esme.”

Y/N’s smile falters just slightly. Mother? There's no way. Esme doesn’t look a day over thirty.

Adopted, she remembers. Jasper is adopted. They all are. So why does he have her eyes?

Before she can process it, Esme steps forward and wraps her in a hug. It's brief but lingers in a way that makes Y/N’s body go stiff. Esme’s arms are cold. Not just cool like someone who stepped in from outside cold. Like ice in winter. She pulls back, but the chill of that contact clings to her skin. Still, Esme's expression is so kind, so genuinely warm, Y/N finds herself second-guessing every uncomfortable thought flitting through her head.

What kind of genes result in this? Perfect bone structure, icy skin, golden eyes…both of them. Jasper, Esme... There’s no way this is normal. It’s like standing in the middle of a painting, surrounded by angels dressed in modern clothing.

Then, from the left, a man joins them; tall, broad-shouldered, blonde. There’s a calm dignity in the way he walks, every step quiet, intentional.

“I see my wife has already welcomed you,” he says with a gentle smile.

Y/N freezes again. Of course he’s gorgeous too. Like a slightly older version of Jasper but even more polished, as if time only refined the handsomeness into something divine. His eyes are also gold.

Again with the gold eyes. They must be wearing contacts. All of them? That can't be a coincidence.

“I’m Carlisle,” he says, offering his hand. His voice is warm, cultured, like someone who’s read a thousand books and seen the world, but remained kind. “And you’re Y/N.”

Y/N reaches out, grasping his hand in return. It’s cold too. Not icy like Esme, but still not the warmth she expects from a living hand.

“I…” she hesitates, the flood of observations catching up to her, “It’s nice to meet you. My grandmother spoke fondly of you.”

Carlisle’s hand is gone as quickly as it arrived, but the impression of his unnaturally cool touch lingers on her skin. If he notices her sudden unease, he doesn’t show it. His expression remains calm, kind, almost too perfect.

“Grandmother?” Jasper asks.

She looks to Jasper instinctively. He’s standing beside her, not too close, not touching, but near enough that she feels his presence like a steadying force, a tether she didn’t know she needed.

“She was a patient of Dr. Carlisle’s,” she says softly, her smile polite but slightly strained. “You’ve invited her to your son’s wedding to Bella Swan.”

Carlisle’s gaze sharpens with recognition, his golden eyes moving briefly to Jasper before returning to her. “What was her name?”

“Y/N Donnel,” she replies, her voice infused with emotion. “I was named after her. She passed away just before the wedding.”

A flicker of genuine warmth crosses Carlisle’s face, tempered by sorrow. “She was a remarkable woman. Very good friends with Chief Swan.” His voice softens. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she murmurs, and for a second, it’s hard to speak around the sudden tightness in her throat. Jasper’s eyes meet hers. There’s a softness there, but also something watchful. Protective. Maybe a little apologetic. But mostly, it's that quiet intensity of his again, like he’s trying to take some weight from her shoulders just by being near.

“You’re always welcome here,” Carlisle says, his tone warm as he gently redirects the conversation. “I believe Jasper explained we already ate,” Carlisle continues, turning his attention to the kitchen behind him, “but there’s plenty for you.”

Her eyes flicker to Jasper with a dry stare. His lips curl into a knowing smirk, already anticipating her reaction.

“He did not explain,” she replies, lifting her chin slightly.

“I assumed you’d decline if I did,” Jasper says, his voice dipped in playful charm.

She narrows her eyes at him, heat rising to her cheeks. “Assume again and see where that gets you.”

Jasper lets out a quiet laugh, and Esme turns to her with a heartfelt smile that somehow makes Y/N even more nervous. There’s no malice in any of their gestures. In fact, everything they do exudes warmth and politeness. But it feels…practiced... Rehearsed to perfection. Like a family trying very hard to appear perfectly normal.

Still, something in Jasper’s quiet gaze calms the unease tightening in her chest. And maybe it’s foolish, but if he’s here, and if he trusts them, and her grandmother trusted them…then she can too.

At least for breakfast.

"I'm grateful for the invitation," she smiles at Mr. and Mrs. Cullen, her words sincere, but her thoughts are still spinning. They both look like they just stepped out of a dream, it’s eerie in a way. Her grandmother was right; this family is something else. All the rumors of their looks barely scrape the surface.

"Wonderful. You can stay with Jasper if you'd like, and he'll take you to the kitchen when you're ready," Esme says, her voice warm and welcoming. She gives Jasper a fleeting, knowing glance before turning to leave with Carlisle. Y/N exhales, finally realizing she’d been holding her breath.

"We’ll see how grateful you are after you've met all my siblings," Jasper says lowly, his accent creeping back in. It's subtle, but there's something irresistible about it. He’s trying hard to mask it, but it slips through whenever he speaks faster, or, Y/N notices, whenever he’s standing close to her.

"How many are we talking?" she raises an eyebrow, trying to keep her tone casual, though her pulse quickens in his presence.

Jasper casually removes his coat and hangs it on the rack. His movements are smooth, controlled, like he’s in perfect command of his body. She can’t tear her eyes away.

"A lot," he replies, his voice quiet, but his eyes are glinting with something unreadable. "We were adopted, in case you’re questioning Esme and Carlisle’s age."

Y/N pauses, a little taken aback. "I wasn’t going to question their age," she says with a soft laugh, feeling the need to clarify. "I was going to question the plastic surgeon they might be sharing."

That all of you are sharing.

She laughs again, but quickly raises a hand to cover her mouth, hoping no one overheard. Her eyes dart around, relaxing when she’s certain they’re alone. The last thing she wants is someone taking her joke the wrong way.

Jasper’s lips curl upward in a smirk, eyes glinting with something that borders on mischief. "Well, if you survive my twin sister Rosalie, you’ll survive the rest of ‘em." His words hang in the air between them, and then, without a second thought, he places a hand at the small of her back.

Y/N’s breath hitches in her throat, startled by the electricity that courses through her at his touch. It’s like a jolt, something both breathtaking and addictive.

Her heart races, and the nervousness she’d been holding back explodes within, all of the emotions swarming her at once. Being around Jasper makes it better, but there’s still that gnawing doubt in the back of her mind.

Is he being polite? Or is he trying to keep me around for longer than just one night?

She hopes it’s the latter. He said he likes her, maybe it’s time to trust that. She leans into his touch without thinking, just a fraction, her body naturally gravitating toward him as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

His fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary before he pulls away, but not without a glance that makes her skin heat. "Come on," he says, his voice a little softer now. "Let’s get you something to eat before my family starts throwing questions your way. I’d prefer you to have a little strength left when you face Rosalie."

"Sounds like I’ll need it," she chuckles, but the nervousness is still there, bubbling just beneath the surface. His touch has left her unsettled, in the best way, and she can't decide if she wants him to do it again... or if she’s afraid of what that might mean.

"Oh, what did you tell the poor girl! She looks terrified!" A teasing voice cuts through the tension, and Y/N instinctively turns left, meeting the gaze of a large man with a smirk that seems permanently etched onto his face. His broad shoulders and muscular frame make him stand out, but it's his energy that fills the space with a playful, almost mischievous vibe. She knows him…Emmett.

He winks at her, and she musters a small, awkward smile, lifting a hand to wave in his direction. "I'm Emmett," he announces, stepping closer with an easy confidence that fills the room. His grin widens as he leans in just a bit, clearly testing the waters. "The handsome brother." But Jasper doesn’t seem to be having any of it. Without hesitation, he steps forward, holding out an arm in a protective gesture that feels more like a barrier between Y/N and Emmett than anything else.

Y/N glances up at Jasper, but her attention is quickly pulled back to Emmett’s overpowering presence. Jasper’s face has darkened, his jaw clenched tightly, and his eyes are laser focused on Emmett. His posture is rigid, the tension in his body palpable. It’s enough to make Y/N feel uneasy, but it also stirs something interest inside her. Why does Emmett’s teasing make Jasper so tense?

“I’m Y/N,” she says, introducing herself with a confidence that’s mostly a front at this point. She turns her attention toward the rest of the table, where more golden eyed, perfect beings are gathered, their gazes on her. She forces another awkward smile and waves to them before stepping closer, only to feel Jasper’s hand; his cold, unyielding hand move to her hip, a comforting weight that sends a shiver down her spine.

"Thank you for the gracious invitation," she manages, her voice a little strained as she clears her throat.

"Jasper insisted," a voice from the far end of the table cuts in, drawing her gaze to the blonde woman with the sculpted, flawless features who’s glaring at her with a cool, calculating expression. The woman’s beauty is unmistakable, but the sharpness in her expression sends a chill down Y/N’s spine. Her icy golden eyes seem to pierce straight through her.

This must be Rosalie.

Y/N feels her throat tighten as she swallows, her discomfort growing. "Oh," she chokes slightly, trying to recover. She never felt as uncomfortable as she does now, and she’s had her fair share of awkward luncheons.

The blonde woman, Rosalie, smirks at her discomfort, her gaze never wavering, almost like she's enjoying the unease she's created. “I’m just teasing. You’ll get used to it,” she mutters, her voice tinged with a sarcastic edge.

"Don't listen to Rosalie, she was just as intimidating when I first came to the house," another voice adds, breaking through the tension. Y/N looks up to see a woman standing at the table. She’s striking in a very different way, with long, chestnut brown hair cascading down her back, pale skin that makes her look ethereal, and golden eyes full of empathy. There’s a calmness in her that immediately contrasts with the icy presence of Rosalie.

Bella Swan. Wow. She looks… different. I could have sworn her eyes were brown. They’re definitely sharing a plastic surgeon.

Regardless, Y/N feels an immediate sense of comfort as Bella’s warm, supportive smile falls on her.

Bella’s gaze softens as she adds, “She’s all bark and no bite.”

Y/N lets out a soft exhale, finally able to breathe again as the atmosphere lightens just slightly.

Esme, standing nearby, offers her own warm smile, adding, “Besides, we’re more than happy to have you here.” Her voice is kind, soothing, and it helps ease the last remnants of Y/N’s unease.

But as Jasper begins to move toward the table, his hand reluctantly slipping from her hip, Y/N feels an unexpected pang of loss. His touch, while cold and electrifying, had grounded her, had soothed the storm of anxiety in her chest. Now, without it, she feels a strange emptiness, a coldness she hadn’t realized she was drawn to until it’s gone. It’s bizarre, she’s not usually a fan of anything cold, but his touch is different. She wants to feel it again, wants him close again.

She lets out a shaky breath, her fingers absently brushing over the spot where he’d touched her.

Her eyes follow Jasper across the room, watching as he engages with his family, his posture relaxed but the faintest tension remains around his jaw. She can’t help but feel a neediness deep inside her, a pull toward him that’s stronger than she’d ever felt toward anyone.

I wish he’d just touch me again, the thought slips into her mind unfiltered, and she bites her lip, her heart skipping a beat at the sudden intensity of it.

Her gaze shifts, catching him for a fleeting second, and she notices the briefest flicker of awareness in his eyes. Did he sense it too? The way she’s unconsciously drawn to him? She hopes he does, even though it’s silly, even though it feels like it’s too much, too fast.

He glances at her, and her breath catches in her throat. He holds her gaze for just a moment longer than necessary. She screams internally, wishing they were alone again and she could finally break his resolve. Her desire for him is consuming every part of her body and while she can’t understand the need for it, she wants his hand to return to her hip again. It doesn’t matter if it’s simply his cold fingers brushing against her or more, she just wants to be touched by him.

I’m losing my mind.

Coughing lightly, the quiet figure next to Bella catches her gaze, his eyes widening slightly as they meet. Y/N can't quite place why, but something about the way he looks at her makes a shiver run down her spine. It’s almost like he knows exactly where her thoughts have drifted. A feeling prickles at the back of her mind, like a memory she can’t quite reach, but is desperately trying to claw its way to the surface. As he looks away, she’s left with the unsettling sensation that this isn’t the first time she’s seeing him this close.

"I'm Bella, and this is my husband, Edward," the brunette introduces, a warmth in her voice that contrasts with the coolness emanating from the man beside her. The words themselves are simple, but something in the way she says them lingers in the air. Y/N notices that as she waves her hand, she’s far too kind to be anything other than genuine, no pretensions here. Yet, her eyes linger too long on her husband, as if they can read each other’s mind.

Edward.

Her mind focuses on the name, like it’s something familiar, and she can’t help but stare at him. His beauty is undeniable, strikingly handsome with the kind of look that seems sculpted from marble; impossibly symmetrical, his jaw sharp but softened by an elegant grace. His tousled bronze hair looks almost deliberately messy, the golden hue of his eyes almost too intense to look at for long, and yet, she’s unable to tear her gaze away. She doesn’t know why, but there’s something about him that calls to her, something that stirs a faint flicker of memory, like a distant echo she can’t hear fully.

When their eyes meet, she swears she feels a crackle of recognition deep in her chest, something pulling her toward him like gravity. But it’s fleeting, like the brush of a shadow on the edge of her thoughts, quickly fading as she tries to focus on the present.

Edward's expression shifts, almost imperceptibly, a slight furrow in his brow before he quickly masks it. But Y/N catches it, just the faintest trace of discomfort. Her stomach twists, uncertain if it's because of the intensity of her gaze or something deeper. She can’t explain it. The moment his gaze locks with hers, she’s struck with the undeniable feeling that he knows something about her, about the thoughts running wild in her mind. And yet, her brain refuses to make the connection.

Bella waves her over to the seat available beside her and she obliges.

"Thanks." She licks her lips and glances at the picture perfect family. She really should get some beauty tips from them. If New York gossip sites love her now, imagine how feral they'd be if she looked like that.

Jasper is quick to take the seat closest to hers.

The quiet of the room suddenly feels more oppressive, as though every eye is on her. She feels it more acutely now, the unnerving sensation of being watched too closely. She can feel the weight of their unblinking stares, and though it should be paranoia, it doesn’t feel like it. Not with them. Screaming internally, she questions her choice to stay. Having a burger in the diner would be easier than surviving this breakfast.

For Jasper. You want to know him.

"Do you want any toppings?" Jasper’s voice pulls her out of the haze, his question light but his presence too close, too familiar. She jumps slightly, startled, not realizing how long it’s been since she got lost in her own head. The quiet thud of her heartbeat is louder in her ears now, drowning out everything else. She tries to push the unsettling thoughts aside, but it’s like trying to hold back the tide.

Edward flinches, just slightly, but it’s enough to make Y/N pause. She frowns, a little confused, wondering if he felt something too. Her brow furrows as she tries to make sense of it all, her mind spinning. There’s something about his reaction that doesn’t sit right with her, something about the way he seems to almost know exactly what she’s feeling. She wonders if it’s just her overactive imagination, but deep down, she’s certain it’s more than that.

"Y/N?" Jasper’s voice breaks through again, his tone questioning but gentle. He tilts his head toward her, his warm presence once again blocking her view of Edward, and for a second, she feels relief, like she can breathe again.

Her heart still thunders in her chest. "Yes?!" she responds a little too quickly, her voice coming out higher than she intended. She laughs awkwardly, the sound strained, and Emmett lets out a deep chuckle, clearly entertained by her discomfort.

"Toppings!" she remembers, forcing a grin as her cheeks flush, hoping to cover up the strange tension she feels. "I’d love some maple syrup," she says, trying to sound normal, but her voice wavers just slightly.

Rosalie's soft but dry laugh fills the space, and Y/N can’t help but glance at her. The blonde woman’s eyes glint with a cool amusement as she watches Y/N, almost like she’s sizing her up.

"Someone needs to go get it out of the pantry. We have a guest to entertain," Rosalie states, her tone both playful and dismissive in the same breath.

"I’ll go," Emmett volunteers eagerly, and Jasper gives him a subtle nod, the slightest movement that only Y/N notices. It’s almost like a silent exchange between the two brothers before Emmett heads out of view, and she can’t help but wonder what it means.

The discomfort in her chest grows, the feeling of being on the edge of something, something she can’t remember but knows she’s somehow meant to understand. She looks at Edward again, her thoughts spinning, and the aching familiarity of him only deepens the strange pressure in her skull. Why does he feel like this? Why does he haunt her thoughts without explanation?

Leaning forward, Carlisle’s voice breaks the silence, his tone warm and inviting, "So, Y/N, where are you from?"

Y/N swallows the bite of the blueberries she picked up from the waffles, her throat tight. "New York," she answers, trying to keep it light, not revealing too much. "My mom was from Forks, though. Right now, I’m here on business." The words feel detached as she says them, a small lie clinging to her tongue. She can’t quite bring herself to say it was because of Paul or her wish to escape her family. It feels too personal, too vulnerable.

"And how long do you plan on staying?" Rosalie chimes in, her voice sharp and inquisitive. Her golden eyes narrow slightly as she watches Y/N, and for a moment, the question feels more like an interrogation.

Y/N catches a glimpse of Rosalie’s smile and then Emmett enters the room, breaking the tension in an instant. He seems to be the only one she softens for.

"Here you have it." Emmett’s voice is warm and lighthearted, full of playful charm. He places the bottle of maple syrup in front of her, and she can’t help but notice how the label is still attached. It’s new, the syrup untouched. The strangeness of it nags at her, a small detail that doesn’t quite add up. It’s a momentary thought, but it sticks with her. She forces a smile, grateful but cautious.

"Thank you, Emmett," she says, her voice as steady as she can manage.

Emmett gives her a wide grin, not fazed by the subtle tension in the air. He moves to Rosalie’s side, his hands naturally finding her shoulders, a brief kiss placed on her temple that makes Y/N feel like an intruder, a witness to something so effortless and real between them. She looks away quickly, the softness of their connection striking a deep, unexpected chord within her. It’s a love she’s longed for, one that always seemed out of reach, and she can’t help but feel the sting of loneliness.

Jasper, seated beside her, seems to notice her discomfort. His fingers gently brush against the back of her hand, the touch light but intimate, like a quiet reassurance. The warmth of his touch lingers, sparking a small flutter in her chest. She glances at him, catching the brief flash of understanding in his eyes, as if he can sense the tension threading through her mind. She’s grateful for him, but there’s something about him, something about all of them that unsettles her.

"I'm not sure when I’m leaving," she continues, doing her best to refocus. "I’m in the process of finding a place to stay. The motel has a room ready for me today. At least until my grandmother’s house is no longer occupied." She catches herself, her words coming out more rigid than she intended. She can’t help but feel the weight of their gaze, the steady observation that seems to be directed at her every move.

"You should stay here," a light, lilting voice interrupts, and Y/N’s head turns toward the sound. A girl in a stunning black dress stands, her short, dark hair framing her delicate features. She looks impossibly young, though there’s a wisdom in her golden eyes that makes Y/N pause.

"I'm Alice," the girl says, her voice filled with an eager brightness that seems so genuine. "I have a feeling we’re going to be great friends."

Y/N feels an odd flutter in her chest at the unexpected warmth in Alice’s tone, but a knot tightens in her stomach at the same time. There’s something familiar about her, like a distant memory Y/N can’t reach. It feels almost like déjà vu, being near Alice stirs a sense of recognition she can't explain. She shakes her head slightly, trying to push the thought away. Of course she’s familiar. She stood next to Jasper at the wedding and he…he seemed in love with her.

"Nice to meet you, Alice." Y/N grabs a napkin and wipes her mouth, buying herself a moment to collect her thoughts. She clears her throat, but the words don’t come out as easily as she’d like. "All of you, but I really should be going. I’m grateful for the offer, but I can’t accept it."

"Why?" Jasper’s voice is low, soft, filled with confusion and genuine care. The sound of it causes a soft tremor in her chest, as if the mere tone of his voice affects her in ways she doesn’t understand. She’s not sure what it is, whether it's the way he looks at her, the way his presence seems to fill the space, but she can’t fight the desire to remain close to him.

Focus, she tells herself, but the words feel flimsy, easy to break.

"I have plenty of money," she says quickly, trying to cover up her own nervousness. "I don’t want to inconvenience anyone, and I’d rather be closer to the city." It’s not a complete lie, but there’s something missing, something unspoken. The real reason she can’t stay is tied to the way they all make her feel, too seen. Too known. Besides, Jasper having such an effect on her makes it harder for her. She can’t lose anymore of her sanity or she will have none left. Anyone with such power over her is best kept away, no matter how close she wants him to be. There were far too many men who could make her feel powerless. She doesn't want another one on her hands. She wants to feel powerful, in control. Paul reminded her how easy it is to get lost in dreams and she can’t afford to get lost again.

Bella, who’s been quietly observing the exchange, stands up suddenly. Her calm, composed demeanor contrasts sharply with Rosalie’s more intimidating presence. "If you can stay for a lemonade, we’d appreciate it," she suggests, her voice light but persuasive.

Y/N hesitates for a moment, looking at Bella’s soft smile. She feels the weight of their gazes again, but this time, it doesn’t feel as heavy, more like a gentle invitation.

"One drink can’t hurt," Y/N pauses, trying to dismiss the strange thoughts swirling in her mind.

Edward tilts his head just slightly, his eyes locking with hers for a moment that lasts a moment too long. His golden gaze is intense, and she swears she sees something shift behind his eyes, something that makes her question everything. His gaze lingers as if he can see right through her facade, before he lowers his head just enough to break eye contact.

She narrows her eyes slightly, uncertain of what exactly transpired in that brief moment.

"I love lemonade," she says, nodding toward Bella. "One glass."

--

"She’s definitely into Jasper," Emmett mutters under his breath, eyebrows lifted with amusement as he watches from the patio door. His gaze moves from Y/N who is laughing softly at something Bella says beneath the string lights in the backyard back to Edward, who doesn’t even bother looking up.

Edward exhales through his nose, pinching the bridge of it before replying, “She questioned why the syrup bottle was brand new. Price tag was still on.”

“Damn,” Emmett whistles. “Did she figure out I had to speed to the store?”

“She suspected something,” Edward replies, finally lifting his eyes and leveling them on Jasper with a faintly exasperated expression. “But mostly, her thoughts are consumed by you.”

Jasper, leaning against the frame of the open door, goes completely still.

Edward raises an eyebrow, his golden eyes tired. “She screams. And I mean screaming. Internally. Constantly. It’s loud.”

A quiet chuckle escapes Jasper as he lifts one brow. “I felt your pain,” he mutters, though there’s something softer behind his voice. He’s been feeling her; her nerves, her fascination, her fear, all of it like waves crashing into him in unpredictable rhythms. Her emotions hit deeper than most. They stick.

Edward shakes his head. “She likes you,” he says bluntly, his voice low. “A little too much. She’s worried about it, wants to run for the hills.”

Jasper folds his arms across his chest, his expression tightening. “Worried how?”

There’s a pause, and Edward glances out toward Y/N again, the lines around his mouth set with a kind of reluctant empathy. “Your presence affects her. Deeply. She doesn’t like the feeling of not being in control. She's terrified that you make her feel powerless, and she hates that. It reminds her of people she’s trusted before who ended up hurting her. Like Paul Lahote.”

Jasper swallows hard. The tension in his jaw is visible now, his fingers curling tighter against his forearms. That emotion, fear masked as strength, it’s a constant, mixing with something else. He’d say attraction, but this is deeper than that, and he feels it in her every time she looks at him.

“She’s infatuated,” Edward continues. “But she’s fighting it with everything she’s got. She’s scared of liking you. There’s too much she doesn’t know or understand about you…or us.”

Jasper closes his eyes for half a second, the ache spreading in his chest more real than it should be. Her emotions overwhelm him, but it’s what’s beneath them that rattles him; the buried longing. The loneliness she doesn’t speak. The vulnerability she tries so hard to hide.

He understands that feeling. He’s lived it…He lives it every day.

“She also wants to know what plastic surgeon we go to,” Edward adds flatly.

Silence.

Then Emmett throws his head back with a booming laugh. “That’s another one for the book!” He’s already heading toward the hallway, eager to find his ragged old notebook where he keeps a tally of every odd thing humans say about the Cullen family’s impossible beauty.

But Jasper stays rooted to the spot, eyes trained on Y/N through the window.

She’s facing Esme now. The string lights above cast a soft halo over her, catching in the waves of her hair, making her glow like a memory he never knew he lost. She’s laughing at something Bella says, her voice like sunlight through mist; light, real, and tinged with something incredibly soft. But there’s something behind it, a hesitation in the way her fingers tug gently at her sleeve, like she’s trying to keep herself grounded. Her gaze shifts briefly toward the house, her eyes brushing past him through the window, and he doesn’t move, but her head tilts just slightly, her brows pulling together in the subtlest way, as if her body feels him even if her mind hasn’t caught up.

Jasper doesn’t need to hear her thoughts to feel the chaos inside her. He already knows. And it only makes him want to reach for her more. The feeling hits hard, unexpected and impossible to ignore. It isn’t new. Not really. It’s like recognizing a tune you’ve hummed your whole life but never knew the lyrics to.

He’s been longing for her, praying for her.

Not just now. Not just since that first moment at the cabin when her laughter pierced through the static of his world. But long before that. Before she ever set foot in Forks. Before she was even born, maybe. Back when he was human and aching for a kind of peace he never got to touch. Back when he wandered the South as a monster trying to forget what it meant to be human at all.

She feels like a promise he was never meant to have, like a soul he’s been waiting on through lifetimes, bleeding through centuries just to find again. And now she’s here, standing just outside the door, close enough to touch but still wrapped in her own walls, still trying to fight off what pulls them together.

And she is fighting it, he can feel the battle inside her. The frantic beating of her heart every time their hands brush. The way her breath is forgotten when his eyes meet hers. The way she leans in without realizing it, only to retreat the second she notices.

She’s terrified of giving in.

So is he, but Jasper’s more terrified of letting her slip away.

Jasper’s jaw tenses as he watches her lower her gaze again, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach for her. To offer reassurance with just a touch. To ground her in something warm and steady, something that says, I’m not going anywhere.

Because he knows, now more than ever, that every inch of his being has been aching for her across decades. Across death. Across the blood-soaked silence that followed him for lifetimes.

“She finds me suspicious… and familiar. All of us, really,” Edward says quietly, gaze distant as he watches Y/N through the glass doors. “She’s not at ease. If anything, you’re the only reason she braved this breakfast.”

Jasper stiffens. “Suspicious?” His voice drops, tight with concern. “Could she remember? You wiped her memory well, right?”

“I don’t know,” Edward mutters, jaw tensing. “It’s not like I’m an expert. It was my first time doing that.”

Jasper exhales slowly, the breath barely more than a whisper. “Wonderful.” His eyes drift back to Y/N. She’s standing by the edge of the garden now, a soft breeze catching her hair as she tucks it behind her ear. “She’d never forgive me if she knew the truth.”

“Yes, well… for now, she’s entirely obsessed with you,” Edward continues. “She doesn’t understand it. And she knows you’re influencing her emotions. She can feel it, even if she can’t explain it. So tone it down.”

Jasper winces at the warning, guilt coiling in his chest. He’s barely holding on as it is. Every second he spends near her, her scent tangles itself around him, seeping into his lungs and setting every nerve ablaze. Her blood, God, her blood! It’s like wildfire and sugar and the sharp tang of rain on asphalt. It calls to him with the oldest kind of hunger, something primal and buried so deep within him it barely has a name. It sings his name in a voice only he can hear. It isn't just thirst. It’s obsession. Need. Worship.

Every breath she takes unravels him further. It scrapes his restraint raw, threatens to burn through the centuries of discipline he’s built. One wrong move, one slip, one second of weakness, and he’d shatter her. She’s soft in a way the world rarely allows. Beautiful and breakable. It terrifies him how much he wants to touch her. To be touched by her. To belong to her.

“How can I even be sure she wants me?” he asks, voice low and raw. “What if it’s all the vampire allure? What if I’m nothing more than... a pull she doesn’t understand?”

Edward shrugs, stealing a quick glance toward Bella before responding. “You trust her. That’s all you can do. You give her enough truth, enough of yourself, and hope she sees the difference. Just… let her know you. Spend time together.”

“So… risk her life,” Jasper mutters bitterly, folding his arms. “Anything else? Maybe something that might actually help me keep her alive?”

The frustration in his voice is sharp enough to cut through the quiet hum of the house. His eyes settle on Y/N again, lingering on her frame, the way her fingers trail through the flowers near the porch. She’s fragile in ways he hasn’t given much thought in a long time. But her mind is strong and so is her will.

It only makes him love her more.

He’s never wanted someone like this. Not even Alice. And he loved Alice, he still does, deeply, he’s just not in love with her. She saved him. Showed him another way to exist, gave him purpose when he was lost in blood and war and ghosts. He owes her everything.

But Alice was never this.

This... overwhelming, all-consuming ache.

This pull toward Y/N that transcends reason, defies logic. It's not a bond he understands, it just is. Deep in his bones. Etched in his venom.

Alice had told him he would find her, his true mate. Jasper hadn’t believed her. Not really. Until the night he cornered Y/N in that alley, a mistake driven by instinct, by hunger, by fate. And everything changed.

She changed everything.

He’s never stopped thinking about the way her eyes looked up at him that night, terrified, confused… and somehow, even then, curious. Drawn to him like he was to her. Maybe even before either of them truly understood it.

Draining her would be the easy way out. He doesn’t want it.

“I know I’ve said it before,” Edward speaks again, quieter this time, “but you really are doing better than expected. You can do this. Believe in yourself. And in the future that’s trying to reach you.”

Jasper’s eyes narrow. “Is there something you’re not saying?”

Edward clears his throat and looks away, a faint flush of discomfort crossing his face. “Y/N had some… colorful thoughts. About you. The two of you.” He gestures vaguely and quickly adds, “Bella says it’s not unusual. Attraction can be heightened, especially early on. Still she’s… very imaginative.”

Jasper raises an eyebrow, lips twitching into a rare smile. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Oh,” Edward mutters, rubbing his temple as if trying to scrub the thoughts from his mind. “My thoughts exactly.”

A low chuckle rumbles in Jasper’s throat, his gaze moving back to the girl who already owns every breath he’s taken since meeting her. His smile fades slowly, replaced by something softer. Fiercer.

He will not lose her.

“We have company,” Edward says, suddenly appearing beside Bella, his voice like a warning shot through the air.

Jasper’s hand immediately slides across Y/N’s lower back, firm and instinctive, guiding her behind him with such sudden force that she loses her breath.

“What are you doing?” she gasps, reaching for him, confusion evident in her voice, but Jasper doesn’t turn. He stands firm, back to her, shielding her completely.

Then a voice tears through the quiet; low, rough, achingly familiar. “Where is she?!”

“Paul?” she breathes, blinking as the man emerges through the line of trees at the edge of the yard, wild-eyed and pacing like something barely restrained.

“Y/N? Thank God,” Paul says, a crooked, desperate smile breaking through as he moves toward her.

But he doesn’t get far.

The rest of the Cullens step forward in a synchronized wave, and for the first time, Y/N senses something… wrong. Something dangerous thrumming beneath the surface, barely held together by civility.

Jasper steps forward, fists curling at his sides. “Not another step.”

Paul stops short, baring his teeth. “She’s with me,” he growls. “You took her from our land.”

Y/N blinks, pulse hammering in her ears. Our land?

Esme’s voice cuts through, calm but urgent. “I think it’s better if we head inside and talk it through.”

But Jasper shakes his head, eyes locked on Paul. “I saved her life,” he says tightly, voice low and full of warning. “She would’ve died on your land.”

The tension is suffocating, and Y/N raises her voice, forcing calm through the tightness in her throat. “Can we just, can we please talk like normal people?” But her voice trembles. Her body is tense, caught between fear and confusion and something much deeper. Something painful.

Paul… he’s the man who pulled her in with charm and confidence. For a moment, he looked at her like she was everything. And maybe, just maybe, she wanted more with him. Maybe she even believed he could’ve been it.

But that was before he hurt her, emotionally, and she felt it physically as well.

Before he pulled away.

Now, looking at him like this; eyes feral, jaw clenched, vibrating with fury, she’s not sure who he even is anymore.

And worse, she realizes it doesn’t matter. Because next to Jasper… Paul pales.

“Come here,” Paul says, softer now, stretching his hand toward her. His fingers tremble slightly, and for a second, just a second, she sees the pain behind his anger. The fear. He’s not just furious. He’s hurting and he’s worried for her.

But she doesn’t move.

Jasper slaps his hand away, stepping fully between them with a snarl. “She’s not going anywhere.”

“You gonna stop me? Huh?” Paul growls, his voice cracking at the edges. His mouth twists into something sharp and bitter, a cold smile, jagged with rage and heartbreak.

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding,” Y/N says, but her voice betrays her nerves. “Just calm down, both of you. We can talk it out.”

But no one listens. Her heart is in her throat.

“I won’t let you take her,” Jasper growls, his tone deeper now and unshakable. His entire body is tense, ready to strike, but it’s not just fury that drives him, it’s fear. Fear of losing her. Of failing her. Of hurting her.

And then, it happens.

Paul shudders violently, body contorting as heat ripples off him in waves. His chest heaves, bones cracking as his body jerks forward. His skin glistens with sweat as he tries to hold it back, but his control is fraying.

In the blink of an eye, fur bursts from skin, claws splitting through fingertips. His body explodes with a guttural growl as he shifts, dropping to all fours. Paul transformed, enormous and snarling, eyes burning with human fury trapped in a wolf's body.

Y/N stumbles back a step, gasping, eyes wide. She wasn't in danger, not with Jasper there, unmoving and solid like a wall of ice, but she was close enough to see it happen. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from Paul’s transformation. To feel her reality fall apart. Paul’s wolf form snarls low in warning, teeth bared at the man standing between them.

Shifting can be traumatic for humans.

Y/N always thought she was different, stronger than most. Emotionally impenetrable. Rational. A survivor. But now she’s staring at Paul…Paul, the man she once laughed with, shared a bed with, maybe even pictured a future with, and he’s no longer a man. He’s something else. Something massive and monstrous. Something with claws and fur and gleaming teeth that reflect the soft sunlight like knives.

He had shifted into a wolf in a blink. Her brain can't comprehend it. Her mouth twitches into a half-smile, almost like she’s trying to play it off, trying to pretend she’s fine, that this doesn’t rattle her to her core. But before a single word can pass her lips, before the scream catches up with her mind, before her body reacts, the lights go out. No slow-motion, no warning. Just blackness. As if someone flipped a switch and stole the world from under her feet.  And she collapses right into Jasper’s arms.

"Shit," Emmett mutters, raising an eyebrow. “Really would've bet on her kicking all our asses instead of fainting.”

“Her mind couldn’t take it,” Carlisle says gently, crouching beside her. “It’s a normal human reaction to a supernatural overload.”

“Bella didn’t faint,” Jacob pipes up as he walks out of the woods beside Renesmee, throwing a wink in Bella’s direction.

“I already knew about vampires,” Bella shrugs, brushing hair from her face. “What’s one more weird, unexplainable thing?”

“She’s not like you,” Jasper says quietly, holding Y/N closer to his chest. He’s not even sure she’s breathing. He certainly isn’t, out of habit and certainly out of panic. His hand cradles the back of her head, fingers trembling slightly as he tucks her against him. She’s so small. And far too still. Her skin is cold. Paler than usual. His chest aches with it.

“She saw all of it,” Jasper murmurs, as if trying to reason it out, explain it to himself more than anyone else. “She liked him. Trusted him. And then he turned into a goddamn wolf right in front of her.”

His voice breaks slightly.

The others begin to retreat, giving them space, and Carlisle takes over organizing the group, urging Paul to shift back and calling for calm. “Paul, shift back. Get the others. Let’s all be human for a while. She’s had enough shock for one day. We’ll have lunch and talk like rational people.”

But Jasper doesn’t hear any of that. He can’t look away from Y/N’s face.

He presses his forehead to hers for a second, his mind flooded with panic and confusion. Even unconscious, her emotions are in disarray. He can feel the shock still coursing through her system, the heaviness of fear like thunder rolling just beneath the surface.

Gently, so gently, he pushes back. Sends a wave of calm, wrapping around her fragile mind like a blanket, coaxing her system to steady. Infusing her with safety. Warmth. Him.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispers, fingers brushing her cheek like a ghost of a touch. “I didn’t protect you from this. I should’ve known. Should’ve shielded you -”

“You’re doing good by her,” Alice says softly, coming up behind him, touching his shoulder with rare restraint. She sees the future written in bits and pieces, and though she tries not to look ahead too often, not with her emotions tangled in it, she knows. Jasper found her. His mate. And while it still aches in a way she doesn’t speak about, she knows she’ll find her own. Eventually.

Jasper doesn’t answer. His eyes are locked on Y/N’s lashes, the way they tremble even though she’s unconscious. As if her dreams are already tainted by fear.

“What if she hates me?” he whispers, so low only Alice hears.

She smiles, a sad but certain smile. Her visions show obstacles. Pain. Misunderstandings and fear and maybe even another heartbreak down the line.

But she also sees hope. Laughter. The way Y/N looks at him when she thinks he’s not watching. The way he will love her, not like something to be possessed, but like something precious. A fragile thing he would burn the world to protect.

“She won’t.”

But Jasper’s not convinced. His eyes flick to Edward, haunted.

“We should erase it,” he says quietly. “Take this all away.”

Edward stiffens. “No. I’m not sure the first time even held. And if I try again,” he glances down at Y/N, almost guiltily “I might erase too much. Maybe even erase you entirely.”

“Then do it,” Jasper says sharply, voice cracking. His hold on Y/N tightens instinctively, his jaw trembling as he tries not to break.

“Erase me from her. And erase her from me.”

“Jasper -” Alice breathes, stunned.

“She’d be better off,” he says, chest heaving. “I’m a plague on her life. This need, this obsession….I’d feed on her if I wasn’t constantly fighting myself. I want to protect her and destroy her in the same breath.”

He closes his eyes, pressing a kiss to her hair with a trembling mouth. “Erase me,” he whispers again. “Please. I don’t want to remember any of it if it means she suffers.”

Rosalie joins them. “I know I’m not the one to trust on this, but I agree…Maybe it’s for the better.”

Edward is silent, watching him carefully. Jasper’s plea isn’t just desperation, it’s grief. The kind born not from loss, but from the certainty that he is the very thing destroying the one he loves.

Alice shakes her head, “Jasper –“ but he can’t hear any more arguments.

For once, he’s willing to do the right thing. For her. He can’t be selfish with her.

“Do it. Please!”

Tags: @moonmark98 @formulas-bitch @ronniesreverie @anongirl007 @foxycrafterofgreenwood @lamelover @sl4t4darkling @megaprincesscakes @aj3684 @xnarixkimx

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