#Windshield Pitting

[monsterlets]

I drove seven hours on the interstate today and for a good three quarters of it I passed the same slow pickup truck every time I stopped to take a piss. I'm pretty sure they didn't stop even once

[ihadafriendonce]

ok, here goes. please ignore all the bread. oh wait there were too many, you won't see all any of the breads, hehe

All right if you see this post put in the tags a list of all the Wikipedia pages you have open in your tabs no matter how long they've been there

[elliewrites77]

Uncle!Sukuna Part 6

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 6.5, 7

masterlist

Uncle!Sukuna who puts his plan for a second date on temporary hold. The day after the incident with Yuji, you sat him and Sukuna down for that "talk" about why they shouldn't resort to violence, and what other methods they could use to get their emotions out. He hated every second of it. But he did enjoy watching you in your professional element. You were stern and serious, but still had a gentleness about you that showed you actually cared.

Uncle!Sukuna who was falling, real hard, real fast.

But he pushed that aside, instead offering to take Choso out for the day that weekend. He could tell the boy needed some cheering up, and your worry was only getting worse, so he offered to take Choso to some "kid-appropriate guy stuff", and asked you to help Yuji with the finishing touches on his project. Both boys were up for it, and when Saturday hit, you and Yuji waved Choso and him goodbye.

Uncle!Sukuna who couldn't deny that the car ride was a little awkward. He still wasn't very good with kids, and honestly, he was starting to wonder what he was thinking when he offered to do this. He liked the kid, sure, but he knew very little about him. One thing he did know was that Choso and himself were very bad with people, and general socialization wasn't really their thing. So from the house to the mall, the car was silent.

It wasn't until he parked, turning the car off, that Choso spoke.

"I know you like my mom."

Sukuna is silent, stunned by the sudden call-out. He stares out the windshield blankly before his eyes move to the rearview mirror, meeting Choso's. Th boy looks calm and sure.

"You don't have be friendly with me just to get on her good side. She already likes you too." Choso added after a short period of silence.

His words make Sukuna's brow furrow. He ignores the part about you liking him back, turning his head to glare straight at the boy.

"Listen, brat. You're here with me because I wanted you to be, not so I could get brownie points with your mom. Now say something like that again, and I'll throw you in the mall fountain." He quickly got out of the front, leaving Choso to blush at his words. He has a small smile on his face when he climbs out.

Nothing more was said as they walked into the mall. Sukuna took him to the comic store first, that being the whole reason they were there. He watched as the kids eyes lit up, looking around at all the images of his favorite superhero's . It made Sukuna smirk.

"Get what you want. If you see something you think Yuji would like too, let me know." He said before they split up. Choso went to look for his favorites, making sure to keep an eye out for Yuji's too.

Sukuna kept his eye on the kid as he browsed, not caring much about looking at the selection. But his eyes caught on one of the covers, making him pause as a memory surfaces from the pits of his brain.

A young Sukuna is approached by his twin, the younger of the two having his usual grin on his face, while his older brother had nothing but a scowl. Sukuna barely acknowledged his brother until he is standing in front of him, looking far to excited for no reason at all.

"What?"

"It's our birthday tomorrow!" Jin replied. Sukuna rolled his eyes.

"I know that, idiot. Like you said, it's our birthday."

"Well I wanted to give you your present early."

Sukuna looked at his younger twin, confused. They never got each other gifts.

He doesn't get a chance to ask before Jin pulls out a flat, wrapped gift from behind his back. He holds it out to Sukuna, his grin never wavering. Sukuna slowly takes it, holding it in his hand for a second with a skeptical look on his young face.

"Open it." Jin encouraged.

Sukuna listened, tearing off the wrapping paper slowly to reveal a comic book still preserved in the plastic. Sukuna examines the cover, recognizing it as one he's seen Jin read before, one that Sukuna had actually been interested in reading (though he never said that).

"I know you've wanted to read it, so i thought I'd get you a copy. That way, it's something we can enjoy together." Jin admits, practically bouncing up and down with his excitement for Sukuna's reaction.

The older twin is surprised by the thoughtfulness of the gift, and his twins desire to have something they can share. It makes his chest feel full, but he clears his throat in an attempt to appear unaffected. Even at 10, he preferred appearing reserved.

"Uh..thanks, loser." He says after a second, ignoring his brothers grin. Jin can see right through him. "I didn't get you anything." He adds.

"That's okay. Just make sure to tell me what you think once you've read it."

Jin leaves, and Sukuna is left looking down at the colorful cover.

That comic was one of the few things Sukuna ever shared with his brother. It was one of the few things they could talk about and enjoy, finally having a common ground. Sukuna would never had said it before, but he could admit, at least to himself, now that this one comic brought him and Jin a little bit closer.

Which is why he picks it up, not bothering to look at anything else when he moves toward Choso. The kid had already picked out a few comics, some for him, some for Yuji (though he couldn't read that well yet). The two checked out, before making their way through the rest of the mall.

They walked through a few stores, Sukuna buying whatever Choso wanted without complaint. The kid was grateful each time, not expecting Sukuna to do so. But eventually, Sukuna was tired of hearing "are you sure? thank you" over and over.

"Say thank you again and I'll take it all back." He threatened. Choso laughed, nodding in agreement. Sukuna wasn't as intimidating when you got to know him.

They finished their afternoon with some food in the food court, before leaving with plenty of bags and two full bellies.

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The care ride back was far less awkward, but the two still didn't talk much. They simply enjoyed the low music playing through the radio, and the easy ride home.

When they were close to the neighborhood, Choso spoke up.

"If you and my mom get married, would that make Yuji my brother?"

Sukuna blinked in surprise, glancing at the boy in the mirror. Choso had a curious look on his face, genuinely wondering.

"Yuji isn't my son." Sukuna answered after a moment, ignoring the feeling he gets at the idea of marrying you.

"So he'd be my..cousin?" Choso asked. That wasn't as cool as 'brother' but it wouldn't be too bad.

"I...I guess. Technically, yeah." Sukuna answered, trying to brush it off with a shrug. He didn't know why they were talking about this. "But your mom and I aren't even dating, so don't worry about shit like that."

"But you both want to date. Don't you?"

"Don't you have other things to worry about, brat? Since when are you so damn nosey?"

"Mom says it's good to be curious and ask questions."

"Yeah well, not about this. Just worry about your comics and your ma and I will worry about..all the other stuff."

Choso huffed, not happy with his question going unanswered, but figured it didn't make sense to push it. Not right now, at least.

"Well, I like you. And Yuji. So I hope, even if you don't date my mom, you both stick around." Choso admits. Sukuna looks back at him again.

"Yeah?" He sees Choso nod. "Well I...we like you too kid." He says, his voice a lot quieter and soft. His eyes return to the road, right as they turn down the street to your house.

Neither of them say anything more, but both feel a little bit lighter at the confession.

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Uncle!Sukuna who walked into your house a few minutes later, to the sound of upbeat music playing and two voices, very off tune, singing along. He shares a look with Choso, before they walk further in. They stop at the kitchen, seeing you and Yuji dancing around together while seemingly baking. There's a sheet of cookies already laid on the counter to cool, telling Sukuna you both have probably been at this for a bit. He smirks as the smell finally catches up with Choso, who rushes forwards towards the two of you. The sound of his steps catches your attention.

Once again, Sukuna is sure his heart stops when you give your son a large grin, hugging him tightly. It gets worse when you look up, giving Sukuna the exact same beautiful smile.

You turn down the music as he walks into the room fully, Yuji immediately running towards his uncle to be picked up. His bright grin is in place as he starts to ramble about the things the two of you did. He's talking so fast that Sukuna can't understand but a few words, but he doesn't bother interrupting the boy. He simply holds him with one arm, staring at him with a raised, unamused brow. He sees you and Choso talking out of the corner of his eye.

Once Yuji has calmed down a little, you turn to look at them with another smile, handing Choso a cookie while you do.

"Did you get me anything, Uncle Kuna?" Yuji asks, staring at the man expectedly. Sukuna scoffs, wanting to call the boy spoiled for thinking he got him something. But he couldn't, because Sukuna did in fact get his gremlin of a nephew stuff.

"Yeah, but don't expect me to every time. I'm not gonna let you get spoiled." He glares slightly. Yuji ignores that completely, clapping happily at his uncle's words. He wiggled, wanting to be put down to go play. "tch. can't ever stay still." Sukuna mumbled as he set Yuji down. The kid immediately took off, grabbing Choso's hand on his way and dragging the surprised boy to another room of the house.

"Don't know where he's going. The shit's still in the car." Sukuna says with a smirk. His words make you laugh, bringing his attention back to you. "How was he?"

"He was lovely. We finished the project, I think it will score good, and then he wanted to bake some. Said his mom used to make cookies all the time, so I thought it would be a nice treat and help cheer him up." You answered. Sukuna was a little surprised at the mention of his late sister-in-law. Yuji didn't really talk about his parents much. But he didn't think much of it.

"They smell good. Surprised you let him have any before dinner." Sukuna smirked, knowing how strict you usually are about desserts before supper. He moved closer, leaning on the counter as you took the last back of cookies out of the oven.

You huffed playfully, setting the cookies down to cool.

"Well I'm not a monster. Finishing the project was a little emotional for him, so I wasn't gonna be strict with him about something as little as this." You replied. Sukuna frowned slightly at that, but he could understand why. "Also, I don't think I've ever heard of a pair of twins who are so totally opposites, I honestly wouldn't have known you were both related in any other situation." You teased.

"Wait, how'd you know Jin was my twin?" Sukuna asked, thrown back by your knowing something that he definitely never told you. Sure, you saw pictures, but him and Jin looked nothing alike, so surely the twin thing wouldn't be easy to assess. It was your turn to be confused, and you gave him a look as though the answer was obvious.

"Yuji, of course. He mentioned it a while ago. Did you not think that would ever come up?"

"Yuji talks about his parents that often?"

"Of course he does. He talks about them all the time. His dad apparently told him a lot about you, so he talks about that too."

Sukuna was shocked. Yuji hardly ever talked about his parents to him. He thought the kid was just a silent griever, like him, but apparently that wasn't the case. Sukuna frowned as he tried to understand why Yuji wouldn't want to talk about them with his own uncle.

You see this, understanding immediately where his confusion was coming from.

"Does he...not talk about them with you?" You ask softly.

"..No. not really. I figured he just..didn't like talking about them. Figured it might be hard for him." Sukuna answers. His frown turns to a slight scowl at the feeling that he might be doing something wrong. If Yuji wasn't coming to him to talk, didn't that mean he wasn't doing what he needed to in order to show the kid he could be there for him?

His thoughts are interrupted by your hand on his arm, and his eyes snap to meet yours.

"I don't think Yuji is the one who has trouble with it." You said gently. He got what you meant. "If you want to know why he doesn't, I think you should ask him." You added, just as the boys ran back into the room.

Sukuna watched as they excitedly showed you something they drew, contemplating your words. He knew you were right, you always were. He just didn't know how the hell to go about it. Talking wasn't his forte, none of this was, but especially not that.

But he remembered he told himself he would be better, and wanted Yuji to be open with him, even if he struggled with that himself. So he knew he'd have to figure out a way to talk to the brat, sooner rather than later.

He decided to save that for later tonight, though, when you turned to him with another pretty smile, as Yuji runs towards him to shove his drawing into the mans face.

Uncle!Sukuna who gets offended when you offer to pay him back for everything he got Choso, simply walking away without dignifying you with a response. He basically pouted as he helped you make dinner, making it seem like you has actually insulted him. It made you laugh.

Uncle!Sukuna who isn't surprised when he finds Yuji and Choso passed out on the couch once more. In the short time after dinner, while Sukuna help you clean up, they had gone to watch some TV. He will never understand how they can go from so energetic to snoring and halfway falling off of the couch.

Uncle!Sukuna who smirks when Yuji actually does fall off of the couch. He still didn't wake up, making Sukuna shake his head in disbelief. He was pretty sure the kid could sleep through anything.

Uncle!Sukuna who approached your bed room, knocking on the door softly. He couldn't help but admire you when you opened the door, obviously getting ready to go to bed soon. You smiled again, opening the door to allow him inside.

"They're asleep aren't they?" You assumed with a chuckle. He smirked, nodding as he examined your room.

"Knocked out." He confirmed.

"Yuji can stay here tonight, if you don't want to carry him back to yours." You offered, looking at him through your mirror. His brow raised, smirk growing.

"What about me? Can't I stay too?" He teased, giving you a flirty smile. You flushed, breaking eye contact and shaking you head fondly.

"You can if you'd like." You replied after a moment, looking back at him. You see his smile drop in surprise, making you smirk. "Plenty of room on the couch for you." You added, teasing him.

His shoulders dropped, a scoff leaving him as he shook his head. His reaction made you chuckle. He moves closer and you turn to face him fully.

Sukuna remembers he had a plan, to ask you out on another date. And while this wasn't how he intended to do it, it feels like the perfect time.

"Tease," He grumbled. His hands settled on your waste, holding you just like he did when he kissed you. "What are you doing next weekend?" He asked.

You flushed, hands going to his chest because you weren't sure when else to put them. This was the closest you two has been since your date.

"Um, nothing specifically. Choso won't be here, so I was just gonna get some stuff done around the house. Why?" You replied. You could guess why he asked, but you wanted to be sure before getting your hopes up.

"How about we get to that second date?" He asked, doing his best to appear confident in his questioning. He hoped you were on the same page.

Your instant smile reassured him that you did.

"Oh yeah? I don't know, the house could really use a deep clean." You teased. He scoffed, glaring at you with no heat behind it.

"Don't be a brat." He replied, making your smile grow. His jaw clenched as he hesitated. "You..do wanna go on another one, right?" He forced himself to ask. He wanted to be clear with you, straightforward to the best of his ability.

Your smile softened.

"Yes, Sukuna. I'd love to go on another date with you." You said. The look of relief on his face made you want to tease him more, but you decided to give him a break.

He smirked softly, pulling you closer. He didn't say anything more, and neither did you. You ended the night with a soft, sweet kiss, before he left your bedroom. He took Choso and Yuji to bed in Choso's room, before actually laying on your couch. Both of you fell asleep with little smiles, feeling more secure in whatever it was between the two of you than before.

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let me know what you think! also, would ppl like to see a snippet that's about reader and Yuji's afternoon together while sukuna and choso aren't there? I realize sometimes i focus too much on one dynamic and might leave another out a bit. I assure you guys there will be plenty more about sukuna and reader in the next part! I just think it's important to build their relationships with Yuji and Choso.

I'm thankful for any constructive criticism! Thank you for reading, and all the support <3333

barely proofread

[knightjpg]

Brick by Brick

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench.

tags: construction worker simon/neighbour reader

part 1 | part 2

Summer is the worst time of year for construction work outside. Up early before the birds are awake to try and beat the heat, arriving on site at six or earlier with bleary eyes and creaky joints from the day before. It means coming home at four or five with lots of day left to get through yet without the will or energy to do anything beside shower, eat, watch some telly, and sleep. 

The pay is good and it beats sitting in a cramped office all day, but when Simon gets home with aching knees and the thrum of a headache at the back of his skull it's hard to remember why on Earth he chose the career he's in. He's drenched in sweat, large dark patches adorning his pits and back. 

It's one of those days where very little can make him stray from his commute straight to home to collapse into his big falling-apart chair, but today it's not really up to him. A large moving truck blocks his driveway. The faded company logo against dirty white overtakes the entire view of his windshield, though Simon can see the back doors are still swung open. No one to attend to it, though. 

Simon noticed the FOR SALE! sign had gone, of course. Remembers feeling vaguely pleased, even, that the home next to his wouldn't be empty anymore, because he of all people knows exactly how quickly places can fall apart without anyone tending to it. But right now all he feels is tired, and hot, and really fucking annoyed. Just when he's clicked his belt loose to get out of the car and see if the dolt belonging to the truck is anywhere to be found, voices carry from the open front door. 

“...last. I'm afraid it's a little heavy, though, so maybe we should get the boxes out first?” 

And out steps the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Hair tied up, tight little top, and shorts that give him ample view of your legs.  

Maybe summer's not so bad after all. 

You're talking to a bloke wearing a uniform that matches the moving truck and who looks flushed in the face from exertion. As soon as you clock Simon's car, though, you stop mid-sentence in surprise, and then quickly walk to him, brows furrowed apologetically. 

“Oh, I'm so sorry—you're trying to get past us, aren't you?” Simon gives you a nod, and you turn back to the mover. “Would you mind moving the truck up a little? I don't want it to be in the way.” 

There's precious little parking space ahead, so Simon rolls down his window and calls out to you, “Jus’ backing up a few yards s’fine.” He gestures to his driveway so you know that's where he's headed, and you flash him a smile and a thumbs-up in understanding. 

The truck is moved, Simon parks his car, and you pull another heavy-looking box from the cube. You never reach your new doorstep with it; Simon steps in and lifts it from your hands. You blink up at him, lashes fluttering sweetly with surprise. “Oh—are you sure? It's heavy...!” 

One corner of Simon's mouth tugs up. Tired as he is it weighs next to nothing, and he can't resist holding it with one arm, holding out the other. 

“Can take ‘nother if you need.” 

You laugh and assure him this is quite enough, then jog back to the truck while Simon pushes past the half-open door to his new neighbour's home. 

It's a mess, of course. Piles of boxes, scattered furniture, rolled-up carpets. Simon puts the box down in the living room, then saunters back outside to lift another from your hands. He does the same with the couch; the mover is struggling and Simon doesn't trust him not to let it fall and crash. And you're such a little thing. Just doesn't feel right, watching you rush around and struggle without stepping in. 

With Simon's help it's quick work. The mover thanks Simon before driving off, but he's not really listening. There's much more important things to pay attention to. 

You're pretty. Cheeks flushed from exertion, breathing hard, flyaway hairs from your ponytail sticking up in odd directions. Simon has to suppress the urge to smooth them away. 

"Thanks so much for the help,” you tell him earnestly. “I'm sorry we were in the way—we thought we'd have a little more time before people started coming home from work.” 

“S’alright,” Simon says. It's nearing evening, now, the sky above you glowing in pale pink and oranges hues. The little smatter of trees across from you rustles with a gust of summer wind.  

You introduce yourself and insist on giving Simon your number “in case there's ever anything you need.” Simon's more concerned about a young woman living all on her own but takes your number all the same, watching your pretty little fingers tap it in on his phone. 

“I mostly work from home, but I'm very quiet and boring,” you tell him with a smile. “You don't have to worry about noise.” 

For some reason that isn't the selling point it should be. When Simon stands inside his hallway, house empty and dark and quiet, he wishes he still lived in a shitty apartment with thin walls on the bad side of Manchester. Maybe then he'd hear your footsteps, or better yet, your voice. Instead the only thing waiting for him at home is silence. Heavy and thick, where he's ripped away from sweet sunshine and plunged underwater. 

-

Simon is halfway to falling asleep on the couch when the bell rings. He groans, drags a hand over his face, and glances up at the TV. The football match is still going. The camera pans over a cheering crowd, their cries distant and quiet. 

He mutes the thing entirely and heaves himself up to open the door. Swear to God, if this is the fucking salesman again... 

“Hi there.” 

You give Simon a little finger wave, your other hand cradling a round oven dish. When you shift on your feet the protective foil on top rustles noisily. 

You look a little more put together than you did yesterday—rested, showered, fed. Just as pretty. 

Although, speaking of fed... 

“Alright?” Simon asks, eyes on the oven pan. He's only catching a faint whiff of something, but whatever it is smells really fucking good. His stomach reminds him that the only thing in his fridge are a couple cans of beer.  

You nod and lift the dish with a shy little grin. “Yeah. Um. I wanted to say thanks again, for yesterday. And I wanted to test out my oven, so...” 

You hold the dish out for him to take. Simon's fingers brush yours, large meaty paws easily twice the size of your own. When he peels back the foil you add, “Shepherd's pie. I thought about cookies, but I wasn't sure if you'd like those.” 

The scent hits him, then, rich and hearty and buttery smooth. The dish is still a little warm. 

Fuck. When was the last time he ate something homemade? 

“No, I'll eat anything,” he says, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. He hasn't showered yet. Must look a nightmare. Does he stink? “Thanks.” 

Your whole face lights up, and Simon's neck feels hot. He averts his eyes to avoid your gaze and pretends to inspect the pie instead. Jesus, what is he, twelve? “I'm glad. I'll leave you to it, then.” 

D’you want to come in for a drink?  

It's on the tip of his tongue, but he can't get the words out quite right and gives you a brusque nod, watching you walk back to your own home before closing his door all the way. 

He eats at his kitchen table and finishes the whole thing in one go. Chases bits of flakey crust with his finger, licks up every leftover crumb. The meat is tender and juicy and for a while after the only things he smells is golden-brown potatoes seasoned with rosemary. 

He mourns it when it's gone, of course. Has half a mind to go over right now and ask if your cooking is for hire—Simon can't remember the last time he felt satisfied. When he ate not just for the sake of fuel or convenience but because someone wanted him to have something nice, something special. Is it special? Is he special? Are you going around the neighbourhood handing out cookies and pies to just anyone? 

Simon's sigh is loud in the silence and sticks to the kitchen walls. 

The pre-made frozen meals are fine, of course. Empty plastic containers fill up the rubbish bin. They're easy and cheap and most days Simon's glad just to have something warm in his stomach.  

And yet. 

The next day Simon stands at your door at six in the evening sharp, holding the clean dish in his hands. You invite him in for a cup of tea, because unlike him you have good manners, and you sheepishly apologise for the stacks of boxes everywhere. 

“S’alright,” Simon says, carefully manoeuvring around a large pile of books. “I don't mind.” 

And he doesn't, though he does feel like a bull in a china shop. Large and much too coarse for the little tea cup you hand him while the kettle whistles on the stove. 

“I'm afraid I don't have much to go with it,” you say with a flutter of your hands. “Do you like ginger snaps? I think I've got a pack somewhere.” 

You don't wait for his answer and pry open one of the cupboards. First come the ginger snaps, then the box of Earl Grey, which you hold up to him with a triumphant smile. “Unpacked the important stuff first.” 

Simon frowns and jerks his chin to the cupboard. “S’it stuck?” 

“Oh—yeah. They all are.” You give the wood a little knock. “It'll take me some time to get to fixing everything. The house went for a good price, but only ‘cause it needs some love.” You give him a rueful smile and get up, wiping your hands on your thighs. “I'm not all that handy, so I'll have to take it bit by bit.” 

Simon rises before you finish your sentence. "Let me see.” 

“Oh, no, it's okay. It's not a big deal, really—” 

Simon crouches down, slowly, to spare his knees, and tests the hinges. The wood is rotten in certain places, the hinges old and rusted. Rather than fixing it up it should be replaced entirely. You really better had gotten this place for good money, because this will take more than a bit of elbow grease to repair. He prods at the hinges, tuts, and looks up at you. 

“Ready to fall apart, this one. You said they're all like this?” 

You nod, worry creasing your brow. “I—yes. Well, the kitchen is. The bathroom seems alright. Is it worse than I thought?” 

“Might be. You have anyone look at this?” 

You shake your head. “I'm starting to feel silly about it now, but I was going to look up how to do it myself.” 

Simon straightens. “I'll go get my kit.” 

-

It's not as bad as he feared. Two cabinets need tearing down completely, but the others are worth saving. Simon warns you the repair job will fuck the wood, but you tell him it's no problem; you'll paint over it anyway. 

You feed him tea and ginger snaps while he works, asking him several times if he wouldn't like a break, hasn't he done a lot already? You feel terrible about having him work on his day off. Didn't he say he worked construction? He must be so tired, poor man. You insist he stay for dinner. “You've been so helpful—it's the least I could do.” 

Simon takes a breather to watch you cook. Chicken, pasta, summer salad. The sun sinks lower and hits you straight on from the kitchen window, painting the edges of you a dazed red-gold. An angel's halo. 

“You big on reading, then?” 

You turn down the heat and put a lid over the pan to join him at the table. Simon's eyeing the many books strewn about on top of boxes that say “pans” and “kitchen supplies”. Le Morte D’Arthur. Histories of the Kings of Britain. Beowulf. There's even one that prompts a vague, long-forgotten memory from his school days— The Canterbury Tales.  

“I am. Always have been.” You nod to the books. “I teach at university—medieval literature. But I'm working on my own research on the side.” 

Simon lets out a low whistle. His pretty bird is a clever one. Smarter than him, that's for sure. He might be big and strong but he's got bricks for brains. 

That's what his dad always used to say, anyway—that he's stupid. Those always were his kinder moments. 

“That explains all the books y’got.” 

“There sure are a lot of them, aren't there? I swear moving really makes you realise just how much stuff you own...” You shake your head. “I'll have to get a bigger bookcase.” 

“Think it's impressive.” 

Your eyes crinkle with a smile. “Not as impressive as knowing how to fix my cabinets! I don't know how I would've managed by myself.” You hop up from your seat to check the food, then ask over your shoulder, “Is that something you do a lot for work, too? Carpentry and the like?” 

Simon shakes his head. “We do the heavy lifting. Clearing a place out, laying the foundation. Johnny—my coworker, he's mostly on machinery. Kyle does transport and plumbing. I do the heavier handiwork.” 

You hum and start plating the food while asking him more questions. Is the pay good? Is his boss fair? Are his coworkers nice? 

Price's fairly strict is what he is, Simon answers, and you laugh again. He likes that. Likes that he gets you to do that. 

He wolfs down a plate of his pasta and devours the chicken. It's fragrant, roasted with lemon and thyme, bursts between his teeth. He tells you more about Johnny, that he's a cocky bastard who likes playing with electricity way too much, but that he's also a loyal friend. That he's a hard worker—that all of them are. 

When his plate is empty and he's eyeing what's left in the pans you push them closer without saying anything, and prompt him to tell you about that time a plumbing line exploded and Kyle got soaked from tip to toe in disgusting gunk. He smelt like sewage water for weeks. 

Simon doesn't even realise how much he's talked until his throat starts feeling rougher than usual. You make it easy somehow. If he'd thought you would look down on him because of your own job he needn't have worried. You're not at all like what he imagines when he thinks of professors, none of the stuffy superiority complex he's used to weathering when people find out all he does all day is chafe his fingers on hard cement.  

Maybe you're just good at faking it, but he doubts it. The sparkle in your eyes when you listen to him so intently has to be real. 

You send him home with a warm thanks and dessert, and Simon feels something in his chest lurch when you peer up at him through your lashes in the doorway, smiling and sweet. Can't remember the last time he went out for dates. Can't remember having the time or energy for it. 

And like a dog who's learned a new trick Simon rings your bell the next day. Wasn't happy with how he left it, and wasn't that faucet leaking? He's got plenty of spare wood in his shed, don't you worry. What's that about the boiler making a weird noise? He'll take a look at it, might have something for the draft in the hallway too. 

Pay him? What are you talking about, he does stuff like this for fun. Don't sweat it, love. Just hand him that wrench. 

There are days when it's hard, of course. Simon is only human, and spending days and days on sizzling hard concrete would wring anyone dry. The project is coming along nicely, but at the height of summer there's plenty of times when even the promise of your smile isn't enough to keep him from falling asleep on his couch—often on an empty stomach. 

But during the weekends he rings your bell dutifully. Six o’clock becomes something sacred in his mind, sweet relief after praying on his knees for hours smoothing out cement. It gets to the point where he turns down Friday drinks with the guys more than once because he's got something to go home for now, his pretty little bird that's never once mentioned a boyfriend of any kind. 

“You really should let me pay you.” 

Simon gives you a look before pushing his large shoulders further into the cabinet under the bathroom sink. “Should be the one payin’ you. I know I'm doubling your grocery bill.” 

He eats more at your place than his own these days. It gives him incentive to rush through a shower, dress like something resembling a human, then wait at your doorstep to be let in. Wagging tail and everything. 

Your cheeks darken and you duck your head. “No, um... It makes me happy. To see you eat my cooking, I mean,” you confess a little shyly. “I feel like I'm the one getting everything out of this. I hope I'm not keeping you from—from spending time at home, or with your family.” 

“S’just me, love.” Simon pauses, pretends to inspect the pipes. “Less you don't want me coming ‘round anymore.” 

“No, no,” you say hastily. “No, I like—I like the company. Really.” Your voice softens. “And I'm not just saying that because I appreciate the help.” 

Simon exhales, shifts a little to accommodate the strain in his boxers, and holds his hand out for the screwdriver. 

[st4rfckerz]

Ski Lodge | Clark Kent x Reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, slowish build up

summary: a holiday trip to a ski lodge takes a turn when an unexpected encounter with an ex reignites old emotions

a/n: happy holidays!!! i conjured this up when i was listening to last christmas while decorating my tree so i hope you all enjoy 😛

The frost-kissed windshield reflected the hazy glow of string lights lining the quiet mountain road. The car’s heater hummed warmly as laughter echoed from the back seat, where your best friends debated which cabin room had the best view. A burst of snowflakes swirled in the air as you passed a wooden sign that read “Welcome to Evergreen Peaks Resort.”

You leaned forward, adjusting your scarf, heart fluttering with excitement. The promise of cozy nights by the fire, thrilling runs down the slopes, and a week of laughter with your favorite people felt almost too perfect. Outside, a landscape straight out of a postcard sprawled before you: towering pines draped in fresh snow, the jagged peaks of the mountains piercing the pale blue sky, and a lodge glowing with golden light at the base of the slopes.

The crisp mountain air hit you as soon as you stepped out of the van, your boots crunching against the snow-packed ground. Your group hustled toward the lodge’s main office, arms full of bags and faces red from the cold. The towering pine trees and faint sound of laughter from distant skiers created the perfect holiday scene.

Inside, the warmth of the check-in lobby wrapped around you like a cozy blanket. A massive stone fireplace crackled to one side, and the scent of pine and cinnamon lingered in the air. The receptionist confirmed it was as incredible as it sounded: multiple bedrooms, a hot tub, a fire pit, and a view of the mountains. With keys in hand, your group set out, eager to see it for yourselves.

As you trudged up the snowy path toward your cabin, dragging your bags behind you, the warm glow of lights spilling through the windows was the first thing you noticed. Laughter and muffled voices filtered through the frosty air, carrying down the trail and cutting through the silence of the woods.

You knocked twice on the sturdy wooden door, and almost immediately, the noise inside quieted. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal the rest of your friends, their faces lighting up when they saw you.

The group erupted in laughter and greetings as you all spilled in, shaking off the cold and wrapping each other in hugs. The energy was infectious, and for a moment, you felt completely at ease, surrounded by the people you cared about most.

But then, as you pulled back from a hug, your eyes caught on someone standing at the edge of the room. Clark.

You didn’t know he’d be here. He looked just as stunned to see you, though he quickly masked it with a polite, awkward smile. Unsure of what else to do, you mirrored it, your heart racing as you struggled to process his unexpected presence.

Around you, your friends carried on, laughing and catching up as though nothing had shifted. But for you, the air felt different, charged and heavy with the weight of unspoken history. Clark’s gaze lingered on yours for a moment longer before someone else pulled his attention, and you turned back to your friends, forcing yourself to join in the chatter.

Afterwards, the cabin was filled with the soft glow of string lights and the comforting crackle of the fireplace.

The scent of pine mingled with the faint sweetness of hot cocoa, and laughter echoed as your friends debated the placement of ornaments and tangled tinsel. You found yourself standing near Clark, more by coincidence than intention, as you reached into the same box of ornaments. The two of you had barely exchanged a few words all evening, careful to stay on opposite sides of the conversation whenever possible.

“Who keeps putting all the ornaments on one side?” someone joked from across the room.

You laughed softly, distracted, and reached for another ornament just as Clark did the same. Your hands brushed—a fleeting touch that sent an unexpected jolt through you.

“Sorry,” you muttered quickly, pulling back, your cheeks warming.

“Sorry,” he echoed, his voice just as quiet. For a brief moment, your eyes met, and the tension was palpable, unspoken words hanging in the air.

But before either of you could say anything more, someone called out for another string of lights, breaking the moment. You turned away, your heart racing, and focused on hanging the ornament in your hand, pretending nothing had happened.

As the night wore on, the lively chatter and laughter that had filled the cabin slowly faded. One by one, your friends began heading off to their rooms, their goodnights accompanied by the muffled sound of footsteps on wooden floors. The soft glow of the Christmas tree lights cast a warm hue over the now-quiet living room, and the fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing embers.

You lingered in the kitchen, busying yourself with small tasks—wiping down the counter, adjusting a stray mug on the table, and rearranging a bowl of leftover snacks. The cabin felt different now, quieter, almost too quiet, and the stillness wrapped around you like a heavy blanket.

You’d stayed up longer than everyone else, lost in your thoughts, but now the exhaustion was starting to catch up with you. You reached for the door to what you thought was your room and pushed it open, stepping inside.

The soft glow of a bedside lamp lit the space, and your heart stopped when you saw Clark sitting on the edge of the bed. He stood up abruptly, clearly surprised.

Your cheeks burned as you froze in place, the realization hitting you hard. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. This isn’t my room,” you stammered, backing toward the door. “I’ll just leave.”

As you fumbled to back out of Clark’s room, mortified, you reached for the door handle. But just as you were about to close it behind you, his voice stopped you.

“Wait,” he said, his tone soft but firm enough to freeze you in place.

You hesitated, the door still slightly ajar, peeking back into the room. Clark had stood up from the bed, his expression a mix of something you couldn’t quite place.

He cleared his throat, glancing briefly at the floor before meeting your gaze. “How are you?” he asked, the words coming out awkwardly, as though he wasn’t sure if he should be saying them at all.

For a second, you were too surprised to respond. The question felt heavier than it should have, loaded with all the things left unsaid between you. “I’m fine,” you finally replied, your voice cautious. “How about you?”

He gave a small shrug, his lips twitching into a faint, self-conscious smile. “I’m good. Just… didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, gripping the edge of the door. “Me neither.”

The silence that followed felt both unbearable and strangely comforting, and for a moment, neither of you seemed to know what to do next. Clark stepped further into the room, his hands tucking into his pockets.

“This place is great, isn’t it?” he said, his tone casual but slightly awkward, like he wasn’t sure how to start a conversation.

You nodded, leaning lightly against the doorframe. “Yeah, it’s pretty nice. The tree, the fireplace, it’s like something out of a postcard.”

Clark takes a few steps towards you, looking you over for a moment before speaking, his voice low but clear. “You look good,” he said simply, the words carrying a quiet sincerity that caught you off guard.

You blinked, tilting your head slightly as you studied him. “Thanks, you do too.” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them.

For a moment, the air between you felt charged, the playful banter giving way to something heavier, more electric. You swallowed, unsure of what to say, and Clark tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that familiar, maddening smile. His closeness was enough to make your breath hitch, but before you could react, he moved slowly, reaching past you.

The soft click of the door closing behind you broke the quiet, and your heart skipped a beat as you realized he had gently shut it, leaving the two of you alone in his room.

“What are you doing?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended, your pulse racing.

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he leaned down slightly, almost matching your height. The smile on his lips softened, but his tone remained calm, almost teasing. “Just making sure we don’t wake anyone up.”

Without warning, he closed the distance. His hand came up, brushing against your arm before settling firmly on your waist, pulling you closer as his lips met yours in a strong, deliberate kiss.There was nothing tentative about it. The kiss was bold, filled with a fiery urgency that left no room for hesitation.

You kissed back just as fervently, your hands coming up to grip the front of his shirt, anchoring yourself to him. Your tongue darted out, tracing the seam of his lips, and he groaned into the kiss, opening for you. His tongue slid against yours, hot and slick, and you could taste the sweetness of his mouth. It was dizzying, the way he kissed you, like he was trying to devour you. Like he wanted to consume you whole.

Clark's hands gripped your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carried you to his bed. He laid you down gently, his body covering yours, his hips nestling between your legs. His lips never left yours, the kiss growing more urgent, more demanding. His hand slid under your shirt, his palm warm and rough against the smooth skin of your back. He stroked up your side, his thumb brushing the side of your breast, making you gasp into his mouth.

Clark's lips trailed down your neck, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. He kissed along your collarbone, his teeth grazing the spot he knew drove you crazy. You could feel the heat of his mouth, the dampness of his tongue, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips, holding you in place as he lowered himself further.

Clark's hands slid down your body, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your pajama pants. You lifted your hips, helping him, until he could slide them off completely, leaving you bare before him. He settled between your legs, his hands sliding up your calves, your inner thighs, his touch teasing. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your panty clad pussy, making you shiver.

His nose brushed the damp cloth that covered your most private part as he took a long, deep breath. He inhaled in your scent, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he savored the aroma of your arousal. A low growl rumbled in his chest.

“Missed her.” he murmured to himself before leaning and pressing a kiss to your clothed cunt, his lips moving against the damp cotton. He kissed you there, his mouth open and eager, his tongue flicking out to taste you through the barrier of your underwear.

Clark frantically yanked your panties down, tossing them carelessly to the side. Before the fabric even hit the floor, he had thrown your legs over his broad shoulders and dove in face first, burying himself between your thighs. You gasped as his tongue, hot and slick, dragged through your folds in one long, slow lick. He groaned at the taste of you, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips as he held you in place. His tongue circled your clit, flicking and stroking the sensitive bud, before suckling on it greedily.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping the short strands tightly as you pulled him closer, urging him on. The sting of your nails digging into his scalp made him moan against your folds. He responded eagerly to your unspoken demand, his tongue delving deeper, thrusting harder into your fluttering walls.

Clark's hand slid up your body, cupping the soft swell of your breast, his palm warm and rough against your skin. His fingers kneaded the tender flesh, squeezing gently, relishing the weight of it in his hand. He brushed his thumb over your nipple, feeling it pebble and harden at his touch. Your hand covered his, your fingers splaying over his knuckles.

As Clark's tongue continued swirling against your clit, he slid a single finger inside your dripping entrance, feeling your walls clench tight around the intrusion. He pumped it slowly, his finger curling and stroking your inner walls, teasing that sensitive spot deep inside. Your grip on his hair tightened, your nails digging into his scalp as you arched your back, pressing your breast more firmly into his kneading hand.

Soon he added a second finger, stretching you wider, filling you fuller. Clark could feel your walls starting to flutter and clench around his fingers, your body tensing as the pleasure mounted. He looked up at you, his dark eyes wide and blown, taking in the flush of your skin, your parted lips, the way your chest heaved with each ragged breath.

“I feel it.” he rumbled. He pumped his fingers faster, thrusting harder, curling them just right to stroke that special spot inside you. His tongue swirled around your clit, flicking and sucking, before taking it between his teeth and tugging gently.

“Cum on my face pretty, I know you can do it.” The nickname you hadn't heard in what felt like forever rolls off his tongue effortlessly, as though no time has passed at all. It all sent you spiraling over the edge, leaving completely lost in him. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body convulsing, your walls clamping down around Clark's fingers like a vice.

Clark groaned as he felt your release, your cum flooding his mouth, coating his fingers. He worked you through it, drawing out your pleasure until you collapsed back onto the bed, boneless and sated.

Before you could catch your breath, Clark was climbing up your body, his now exposed hips nestling between your thighs. He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, his lips moving demandingly against yours.

You could feel his hard cock pressing against your sensitive skin. With a single, powerful thrust of his hips, he buried himself inside you, filling you completely.

You cried out unexpectedly, your voice muffled against Clark's hand as he quickly covered your mouth, silencing your moan.

“I need you to stay quiet or I’ll stop.” he demanded. Clark felt your head nodding eagerly against his hand, your silent agreement to stay quiet. He could see the desperation in your eyes, the need for him to keep going, to not stop.

He began to move again, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm, his cock sliding in and out of your slick cunt. One hand remained over your mouth, muffling your increasingly loud moans, while the other gripped your hip, pulling you harder against him with each powerful thrust. Feeling him again was like stepping back into a memory you thought you’d forgotten, grounding you in a way that felt achingly familiar.

Clark's thrusts grew more erratic, his hips slamming against yours with a desperate, almost frenzied need. You could feel his length throbbing inside you, growing harder, hotter, as his climax approached.

“I'm close,” he grunted, his voice strained and tight, his breath coming in harsh pants against your neck. “Can't hold back much longer.”

His hand tightened on your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you harder against him, driving himself impossibly deeper.

“Need to feel you cum with me.” he growled, his hips jerking and stuttering as he chased his release. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter inside you again, your body wound up like a bowstring ready to snap.

Clark buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing and throbbing as he came. At the same moment, your walls clamped down around him, fluttering and squeezing as your own orgasm crashed over you. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps as he spilled himself inside you, his cum hot and thick as it painted your walls.

Eventually, reality tugged at the edges of your quiet bubble. You both cleaned up quietly, exchanging a few soft smiles and glances.

Curling back up beside him, the warmth of his body against yours lulled you into a light, restless sleep. But as the early morning light began to filter through the curtains, you stirred, your chest tightening at the thought of anyone else finding out. Carefully, you slipped from his bed, dressing quickly and slipping out of his room before the rest of your friends woke, the soft click of his door closing behind you a bittersweet reminder of the night you’d shared.

[sweetestberryofthebunch]

Give It To Someone Special (Detective!Agnes x f!Reader)

You take your fiancée home before the holidays, but your parents and Agnes have never been on the same wavelength. On the drive back home, you offer her the best remedy to release her tension that you know.

Content/Warnings: Smut, Rough sex, Car Sex, Dom/Sub Dynamic, Age Gap Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Choking, Spit Play, Degradation kink, They fuck nasty but they really love each other

Thank you so much to @ragnarockz @msharkness @lotsofmilfs for beta reading and helping me get this out in time for the holidays! I appreciate all of you angels so much! ♡

I‘m actually home for Christmas for the first time in years and the amount of time driving around to meet family that finds me odd and off putting inspired me, but like make it horny and enjoyable. My Yuletide Gift, from me to you! Enjoy my loves, happy holidays!

It was raining. Of course it was, you were in early December, and thanks to climate change, Westview barely got an actual white Christmas anymore. Let alone snowy December Days. Driving even further down South to the town your parents lived in certainly hadn’t helped. Miniscule raindrops hit the windshield silently, making the view muddy. The road was concealed by the mist like rain, the cars headlights piercing through just enough to safely follow the path.

Some young pop stars had covered Last Christmas, and the radio played it for the third time today. If dinner had been better, you might have sung along. But, as per usual, bringing Agnes out to see your parents had gone like shit, so you didn’t exactly feel the holiday spirit right now. The rain didn’t exactly help either.

Agnes‘ hair was in a low ponytail, a few strands falling loose around her face, forehead creased stoically as her eyes were fixed on the road. A few days ago, you‘d found the first grey hairs on her head while laying entangled in the morning, pressing little kisses to the crown of her head as she’d frowned and told you to get box dye immediately.

Now, the grey had disappeared between the rich brown of the rest of her hair,. If if you didn’t know you probably wouldn’t even notice them at all. However, the frown on her face remained. Just, it wasn’t her own greys frustrating her anymore. It was your parents. You licked your lips, resisting the urge to reach for her hand. Not while she was driving in weather conditions like this.

„Thank you“, you said instead, breaking the silence that had lingered since you‘dyou'd entered the car in your parents driveway. „For coming with me. I know you don’t exactly get along.“

Her jaw tensed, you could hear the motor give a tiny roar when her foot pressed down on the gas a little harder. You swallowed, eyes focusing back on the dark road before you. The highway was empty this late on a Sunday, especially in this weather. It was early December, most people hadn’t gone to visit family yet. You just liked to get it done early.

„I don’t mind your dad most of the time“, Agnes huffed, knuckles tightening around the steering wheel. „But today … was just uncalled for.“

„What did he say?“, you asked without looking at her, wanting to give her the space to dodge the question if she didn‘t want to talk about it.

„He probably just had too much beer.“, Agnes snarled, but you could tell it still bothered her, „Said the ring you’re wearing is a seal of your fate, that you’ll be in the prime of your life stuck taking care of some bitter old cop. That I‘m stealing your best years and you don’t even realise it.“

You bit the inside of your cheek, anger boiling in the pit of your stomach. „I‘m sorry. He shouldn’t feel entitled to say something like that, alcohol or not. That’s messed up.“

She scoffed, shoulders rolling back. „It’s fine. I know your mom doesn’t like me either.“

„That’s not true“, your tone didn’t even convince yourself. Your mother was better at pretending, but even you knew the smile she put on whenever Agnes and you drove down once or twice a year was a forced one. That she wished the person you brought home was anyone but the rough around the edges woman besides you. Like it was any of her business who made you happy.

Agnes scoffed. „I know she doesn’t show you her brunch friends’ shiny young sons for shits and giggles.“

„Agnes.“

The rain had intensified, thick drops of rain splattering against the windshield. Another roar of the engine. She kept her eyes focused on the road, gripping the steering wheel a lot tighter than she had to. You swallowed.

„You know none of their shit matters, right?“, A heavy sigh left your lips when she wouldn’t even glance at you, „My dad is talking out of his ass and my mother still thinks maybe the whole liking women thing will be over soon, as if we haven’t been engaged for two years now.“

Agnes stayed silent, eyes sternly focused on the dark road, only the sound of raindrops splattering onto the windshield between you. And that cover of Last Christmas, again.

You passed a road sign. A parking lot and a phone cell just a few miles ahead of you.

„Let’s stop there“, you proposed, watching the way Agnes pressed her lips together in a harsh line. „You know I don’t like when you drive angry.“

„I‘m not angry“, she replied immediately, and as if to prove her point, she took her foot off the gas, letting the car slow down a little, „I‘m just … irritated.“

„Either way“, finally, you reached out to her, brushing the few lost strands of hair behind her ear. The gentle touch of your fingertips against her cheek had her exhale immediately, readjusting her grip on the steering wheel. The car did a minimal swirl to the left before she caught herself again and readjusted her position on the road.

You giggled, pulling your hand away, elbows leaning on the middle console as you grinned at her. The tip of your tongue peaked out past your lips, giving her a coy smile. „I think you should take a break to … release some tension anyway.“ Your voice dropped lower when you saw the way her jaw tensed. „And it‘s just us out here tonight.“

At the clearly suggestive tone that swung in your voice, she finally glanced over at you, pupils dark. You shrugged your coat off your shoulders, leaning a little further towards her, eyes batting almost innocently.

Agnes' eyes stared at your lips, your eyes, your shoulder, still covered by a knit sweater, but the lacy strap of your bra peeking out, and then quickly back to the road before you.

She swallowed hard, then scoffed. But the smirk on her lips betrayed her, even as her eyes turned back to the road. Her right hand left the steering wheel to come rest firmly on your thigh, fingers brushing over the fabric of your pants so high up, your breath hitched at the contact. That made her chuckle, a low sound in the back of her throat, and she blinked right to pull over into the parking lot. „Maybe you’re right“, her thumb ran lazily up and down your inner thigh and you felt your stomach tighten at the touch. „A break sounds good right now.“

You were right, the small square of asphalt lay completely abandoned, nothing but a few parking spots and a telephone cell already halfway towards decay. No street lights, no buildings, just Agnes' grey little car alone between fields and meadows, the rain now pouring down against the metal roof.

Agnes put the car into park mode and turned off the radio, right hand never leaving your thigh as she did so, and then took a deep breath, back of her head hitting her seat as she did. She would never admit it, but she wasn’t just frustrated, she was tired too. Exhausted of never being enough to please your parents, of every trip to see them going to shit in some way. There was the little crease between her brows, the one she always got when she worried, when she was questioning herself.

„Baby“, you sighed. Now that you were safely parked, you leaned over the middle console completely and reached for her face with both hands, turning her head to face you. The tips of your fingers ran over her cheekbones, gently cradling her face, and her face immediately softened. Her hands wrapped around your wrists, keeping you close, the tips of your noses mere inches apart from each other.

„I‘m sorry we left on a bad note“, she said, blue eyes warm as she scanned your face, „I know you just want them to be happy.“

You shook your head at that, your thumbs brushing over her bottom lip as you gave her a warm, reassuring smile.

„I‘m sorry we spent your day off driving all the way down there only for dinner to be shit“, you replied, „I want my parents to be happy, but I value your happiness more.“

Her eyes widened, and you watched her pupils dilate at your little smile, which only made you grin brighter. „I mean it.“

Agnes' lips parted and she took a short breath. But before she could say anything else though, you surged forward, cutting her off with your lips on hers. Chapped lips melted against yours, leaning forward to deepen the kiss immediately. Fingers wrapped around the back of your neck to tug you closer, and you had to smile against her. Your teeth brushed against her upper lip and you felt Agnes holding back a little moan against your lips.

„I don’t care what my parents think“, you whispered, cupping her face in your palms. You made sure to look at her while speaking, watching the way her eyes flicked from your lips to your eyes, back to your lips. Your breath was heavy. „I just want you.“

For a moment, you just held eye contact in silence.

Agnes barely smiled, and she wasn’t one to keep her heart on her sleeve either, but you had learned that a lot of her inner world played out right behind her eyes. The way all color seemed to fade from them when she was sad, every little crease of her brow. How bright and wide they turned only when she looked at you.

Your tongue darted out, wetting your bottom lip as she scanned your face, that bright, distant look of almost disbelief on her face. Like she couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that you were real, that you chose to wake up next to her every single day. Like she was trying really hard to focus on what you were saying, but failing miserably.

A calloused thumb ran along your jaw, gentle like you were something delicate to be handled with care.

„You’re too good to me“, she murmured, and your own hand found hers, clasping around the pale skin, her fingers flexing in your grip.

„And you’re still way too tense“, you whispered, watching her eyes widen as you lead her thumb up and over your chin, grazing your bottom lip. Her eyes were firmly focused on the tip of her thumb, and you couldn’t help but grin before pushing it up further, lips parting to slip the single digit inside.

Agnes sucked in a sharp breath, watching the way your lips closed around her finger like it was some kind of mysterious sorcery, like she’d never seen it before. You had to withhold a smirk, tongue swirling around the tip of her thumb playfully, cheeks hollowing out as you made a show out of it. Agnes' other hand on the back of your neck tightened its grip, grasping at your soft hairs there.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you let out a soft moan, like her thumb pressing down onto your tongue was the most delicious thing you‘ve ever tasted. It was. Your stomach did a little flip at the taste, and a part of you wanted her to push more fingers past your lips, until you were gagging on her.

When she pulled out eventually, thumb now glistening wet, your mouth still parted as you blinked up at her with a smirk, you could swear you saw her tremble a little.

Agnes was fidgeting around in her seat, her eyes dark as she licked her lips, gaze heavy with arousal.

She kissed you again, firmly, one hand finding your shoulder and holding you in place, the other on your cheek, her wet thumb leaving a thin trail of your saliva on your skin. It made your insides feel like they were burning up.

„I really want to eat you out right now“, you gasped into her mouth, barely holding back the breathless giggle that accompanied your words. Her grip in your shoulder tightened, fingers digging into your skin.

„Way too good to me“, Agnes purred, her gaze heavy, fingers hot on your skin. Your lips were parted in a slight pant. Your thighs pressed together where you were still halfway sitting in your seat, halfway draped over the middle console to be as close to her as possible. Agnes glanced down at you, cheeks hot and lips swollen from kissing, your eyes dark and pupils round, practically begging her for more. Her own face was flushed too, and her breath had picked up, taking sharp breaths through her nose.

„Backseat“, she ordered, her tone leaving no room for discussion. Not that you had any intention to disobey. „Now.“

You jumped out of your seat and into the rain faster than you thought you were even able to move.

But, Agnes was still faster. She leapt around the car, pried the backseat door open, and before you even knew what was happening, your back hit the hard cushions. She was on top of you, crowding you up in the limited space of her car, slamming the door behind her shut with a little more force than necessary. She was straddling your hips, eyes now black with lust as she stared down at you. Even though you’d only been in the rain for a few seconds, wet strands of hair were already sticking to her forehead, and she wiped them back with one hand, the other finding your chest, pinning you down against the car seats.

„You’re wet“, she stated, and when a whine left your throat in response, paired with a twitch of your hips underneath her. She let out a hollow laugh. „I meant your shirt, slut.“

Your lips curled into a pout and her hand on your chest grabbed a fistful of your wine red sweater. She leaned down towards you, propping herself up with her other hand, until her face was mere inches from yours. You craned your neck, trying to catch her lips with yours, but she was just out of reach, her smile smug as she tugged harder on your sweater, exposing your midriff. A breathy whine escaped your throat, met by an evil chuckle.

„Not so assertive now, huh?“, her brows raised almost mockingly and for a moment, she just enjoyed watching you struggle underneath her, unable to push up against her grip on your jumper, helplessly wiggling underneath where she had you pinned. It was utterly pathetic, and by the way her breath came ragged, it was exactly what she wanted. Keeping you pinned down by your chest, she rolled her hips down into yours exactly once, the rough fabric of her jeans pushing against your softer, loose fitting slacks.

„Agnes please“, you whined at the contact, staring up at her through heavy lids. Heat was pooling in your stomach, you knew that your underwear must already be absolutely soaked, and you wanted nothing more than for her to just press her knee up against your core, to grind down against her until you were in tears from how good it would feel.

For a moment, she seemed to actually consider it. Then, she readjusted her position, sitting back up. At the loss of her closeness you almost cried out in frustration.

But her gaze was stern, so you didn’t dare to just yet.

„Arms up“, she instructed, eyes twinkling even in the dark at your eagerness.

You put your hands up over your head willingly, allowing her to quickly pull the knit sweater up and off, leaving you in just a thin black bralette, goosebumps rising on your skin. The moment the jumper was over your head, her lips found yours in a bruising kiss. One of her hands found your wrists and immediately pinned them over your head, the other one found your ribs, tips of her fingers running over your exposed skin. When you gasped at the contact, she took the opportunity to slip her tongue past your lips, smirking against you at the mewl in the back of your throat. The muscle ran over your teeth, pushing your own tongue aside as she explored your mouth, claiming each and every inch as her own in the process. Her hand ran over the flimsy lace of your bralette, and the little squeeze to one of your breasts made you squeak into her mouth.

“Worked up already?“, her voice had dropped low, that mocking tone she loved to taunt you with. A thumb ran over the curve of your breast, self satisfaction painting her face when she found your nipple already hard peaking through the thin fabric. She ran her index and middle finger over it, pressing down right into the hard bud just once. Hot pleasure surged through your body and your chest pushed up into her touch, the mewl escaping your lips loud and desperate.

„You know“, her hand wandered further up, over your collarbone. The tip of her finger ran over it asshe licked her lips. Like she was already planning how to devour you, how she was going to paint your delicate skin in shades of purple.

She was watching the way you were trembling under her touch, trying so hard to stay still. Fingers wandered up your throat, finally clasping around your neck, her grip firm but not yet tight. Agnes leaned down, voice ghosting so close to your ear you could feel her lips move against it. „If you just wanted me to fuck you in the backseat, you could’ve just asked.“

A moment of silence. Then you felt the tip of her tongue dart out, running along the shell of your ear. Hot breath right against it. „Next time we can skip the entire dinner and just go straight to this.“

Finally, her legs shifted, her knee pushing between your thighs. Your legs parted willingly, mouth opening in a gasp. Her fingers tightened around your neck, and the mix of finally feeling something push up against your aching cunt and the sudden lack of oxygen made your head spin. Agnes knew how to make you melt into nothing but a boiling hot puddle beneath her.

Agnes’ voice was still right by your ear, though she was leaning towards your face now, watching every muscle shift in reaction to her touch.

„You think you can cum like this?“, she taunted, „With me merely touching you?“

You nodded frantically, eyes wide with eagerness. Agnes scoffed, „Didn’t take you for such a needy slut, but alright.“ Without warning, her knee pushed up hard against you, and the squeak you let out was high pitched and throaty, weak through her firm hold on your neck. The older woman raised her brows expectantly, „Show me, and maybe I‘ll fuck you properly after.“

There were lawyers of fabric between you, and it shouldn’t work as well as it did, but God, you could not get enough. Your underwear was soaked, sticking to your core, and if you rolled your hips just right, angled yourself with just the slightest arch of your back, your clit brushed against her knee just right. So that was exactly what you did, grinding down into her, trying desperately to push closer as she kept your wrists pinned above your head with one hand, and your throat tightly gripped by the other. Piercing blue eyes stared down at you, taking in every single rut of your hips, every gasping attention to grasp for air, the flush of your face, your eyes fluttering open and closed as you worked yourself against her, steady and unwavering even in your compromising position. It was a borderline pathetic sight, and she couldn’t get enough of it. She needed to watch you fall apart like this, needed you to come undone on the brink of consciousness. She needed to see you in absolute ruin, from barely any stimulation at all. So you did.

You lost your sense of orientation, no way to tell where was up and down. Stars danced before your eyes, black spots mixing in with them over the blurry view of her face hovering over you. Hot white, spots of black, bright blue. Your eyes fluttered shut, but the view remained. Hips pressing down hard against her knee, picking up their pace as much as you could. Or maybe the sudden flashes of almost painful pleasure just came naturally, you genuinely couldn’t tell. But the soaked cotton of your underwear rubbed against your aching clit, pulsating with want as you chased more and more of it.

„That’s it“, the only clear sensation flooding your mind was her voice, so close to your ear, ringing through your head, „You look absolutely wrecked, my love.“

Hot, wet lips against the shell of your ear. A moan tried to escape your throat, but no sound could make it past the vice grip she had on your throat.

You felt scathing hot beneath her, burning up from the inside out, pleasure overtaking every last nerve end of your body. Finally, it all came crashing down. Your core pressed against her knee, not even rutting against her anymore, just pushing up as close as you could as a wave of heated, explosive euphoria shot up your spine. Your body was shaking, there was no up or down, left or right. There were just colors dancing before your eyes as your mouth fell open, no scream able to push past her tight hold and the pulsating of your aching clit as the orgasm took over all of your senses.

The grip on your throat disappeared, and your lungs rapidly filled with air in a loud, deep groan. Agnes’ lips attached to the side of your neck, nipping and kissing along the reddened skin, feeling the deep, slow breaths you took as slowly, your vision cleared and you felt the cushions beneath you again.

She released your wrists still pinned to the car door over your head as well, and your hands immediately found her hair, tugging her up towards your lips. She kissed you softly, making sure you could still breathe through it.

You wanted to moan into it, her name right on your lips, but no sound could make it past your throat, the strain settling in. Agnes' tongue darted out against your bottom lip, and you let her enter, hands running down her front. Your fingers dug into the washed out fabric of her flannel shirt, pulling her closer by it. Your legs, still shaking from the ragged orgasm prior loosely wrapped around her hips, holding her as close to you as possible.

The kiss turned heated again, and you felt your sense of up and down slip away. But she pulled away before you could fully lose yourself in the feeling again, leaning back enough to take you in before her. Your neck raw and bruised, painted by choking marks from her hands, a few blooming kisses peppered between them, the ghosting remnants of her teeth against your jaw. She loved to paint you hers, the view of her mark on you unlocking a feral, deep lust in her, a need to claim you and your pleasure as hers. To let everyone who laid eyes upon you know that she was the one touching you, that she was willing to do anything to make you feel good. And the things she did to you, even in the back of your car in the middle of nowhere on a mid December night … it should embarrass you, but something inside you twisted the humiliation into fuel for the fire inside you. Your legs twitched.

„Agnes“, you managed to croak out, surprised by how hoarse your own voice was, the single word barely making it past your lips.

Her brow raised, „What?“

Instead of an answer, you just tilted your head back, lips parting. Your tongue darted out, flat as your gaze found hers, a silent plea. Agnes' eyes turned black, her fingers digging into your waist harder. But, of course, your wish was granted.

Agnes strained her neck, jaw tightening at the movement. She was leaning over you, dark eyes never breaking contact with yours as a single string of saliva left her lips, dropping right onto your waiting tongue. Your eyes fluttered shut, lips closing around it as you savoured her spit like an expensive, rare fruit. With heavy eyes you stared at her from beneath your lashes as you swallowed, wincing at the slight pain the motion sent through your neck.

„Jesus fuck“, Agnes voice was low, nails digging into your waist, and your legs wrapped tighter around her at the sharp pain.

„If you could see yourself right now“, Agnes groaned, „So fucked out … and I haven’t even touched you yet.“

She surged back down, lips crashing into yours, and you managed to actually slip an audible moan past your throat this time, arms wrapping around her neck as you let her tongue lap into your mouth.

„Flip over“, she panted, words mere inches from your own lips, before propping herself up enough to give you some movement space, „On your hands and knees.“

Wriggling into the new position proved slightly difficult in the small space, but eventually you made it. On all fours, you cowered in front of her, Agnes forced to be halfway draped over your body with the low ceiling of the car. One hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against her before reaching up to brush your hair over your shoulder. Warm lips ghosted over the back of your neck, trailing downward between your shoulder blades.

„You okay?“, she grumbled, lips vibrating against your skin and you gave a quick nod.

Her lips attached to your back again, this time more urgently, sucking your skin between her teeth, the pain minimal but delicious.

Her other hand dove into your pants, brushing over your tailbone before dipping lower. She gave your ass a little squeeze, grunting into your neck at the feeling of your soft flesh in her palm. Her knuckles ran over your asshole on their way further down, and you jumped at the unexpected contact, making her chuckle.

„Now, now“, she just as much purred into your ear, „Don’t get greedy“, teeth nipped at your earlobe, „I‘m saving that one for another time.“

Your breath hitched, pushing back into her touch as her hand ran lower, down the curve of your ass and then finally, the tips of her fingers dipped between your folds.

She hissed at the contact feeling not just how hot you were but also the amount of slick that covered your core, absolutely soaking your underwear that she’d pushed past so easily.

„You are so wet“, she hummed, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot right below your ear, „How embarrassing.“

Her index and middle finger swirled around your entrance, collecting liquid pleasure along their way. Your hips bucked back into her touch almost all on their own, and you heard her tut.

„Don’t get impatient now.“

For a moment, her touch was gone, and all you felt was the stretch of your cotton panties as she pulled her hand away. The lining sat just over your clit, and maybe if you rolled your hips just right …

Agnes let out an evil little laugh. „God, you’re so fucking pathetic.“

And then, without any warning or preparation, she plunged right in. Two digits slid right inside with little to no resistance, and the sudden intrusion made you jump, the moan on your lips shaking your entire body.

„Agnes fuck!“

She did not waste any time easing you into it, thrusting into you at a rapid pace, her hips pressed firmly against your ass. Your fingers dug into the fabric of the car seat underneath you, back arched like a cat to take her as deep as possible.

Once she was sure your position was stable enough, her other hand let go of your waist. Before you knew it, her fist curled into your hair, yanking your head back. You yelped at the unexpected tug, gasping for air as a hot, tingling sensation slowly crept up your entire body.

Her fingers drilled into you mercilessly, other hand pulling your head back by your hair. The tug was harsh at your roots, a sharp pain shooting through your skull that mixed deliciously with the way her fingers brushed over your walls, sliding in and out with no resistance.

„Agnes“, you mewled, eyes rolling back in your skull. The fist in your hair gripped harder.

„What, slut?“, she spat, fingers never breaking their brutal rhythm.

„Please“, was all you managed to reply. But of course, that wasn’t enough.

„Please, what?“ Her tone was harsh, and if it wasn’t for her grip on your hair, your head would have fallen forward in frustration.

“Make me cum“, you groaned, throat burning. You pushed your hips down into her hand, your entire body shaking as her fingers brushed over that one spot that made you see stars. „Like that“, you rasped, not caring for your voice anymore, so lost in the mix of pain and pleasure, all you needed was to reach that peak, and then come crashing down rapidly.

„Don’t stop Agnes, oh god— please don’t stop! I‘m gonna—“

And then you crashed. Her fingers drilled into you relentlessly, hitting the right spot with every thrust. The wet fabric of your panties still clung to your pulsating clit, and you could feel the way she pushed her own hips against the curve of your ass, felt her ragged breath against your back. For a moment, everything turned into singing, burning hot pleasure.

Your limbs gave out beneath you and you collapsed forward onto the seat. However, before your forehead could hit the car door right in front of you, Agnes' arm had wrapped around your waist already, interrupting your fall before gently laying you down on the cushions. Your breaths came ragged, panting loudly, throat still aching, your body numb from sheer overwhelming pleasure, tears stinging in your eyes.

But Agnes was right there. Her hand slipped out of your pants, running up your spine to brush your hair out of your face, a gentle kiss finding your cheek, arms wrapped around you firmly enough to keep you grounded, but not so tight that you could feel smothered. Slowly, your breath evened, craning your neck carefully, just enough to glance back at her.

„Fuck“, you sighed, sweat glistening on your brow.

Agnes chuckled. „What, you’re done already?“ Her hand brushed a few strands of hair from your forehead, stuck to the layer of sweat on your skin, „I thought you were gonna eat me out back here“

Still catching your breath, you shook your head at her. „Not after that I‘m not“, your voice was hoarse, throat still a little tight and you‘d definitely feel sore tomorrow morning. „I can barely breathe.“

Her thumb slid underneath your chin, tilting your face upwards to look directly at her. „Are you okay, darling? Did I go to hard?“

Slowly, as to not strain your neck any further, you shook your head. „I promise I‘d tell you if you did.“

Her eyes scanned your face for any signs of pain, but when all you did was give her a gentle smile, she nodded. „Let’s lay you down for a moment," she whispered, leaning forward. Her lips pressed against your forehead for a soft, lingering kiss, “I could use a breather myself.“

You were laying on your back, head in her lap, the blanket she kept in the back of the car for emergencies draped over your body, your hands holding one of hers, gently running your fingertips up and down her calloused palm. The movement came to a halt when she felt the metal of your ring brush against her skin, the rough edges of the little polished amethyst on the band. Her hand clasped around yours, warm skin against skin.

„We should pick a date soon“, she whispered suddenly, and your eyes fluttered open, already half asleep in your exhausted state.

„Hm?“

She leaned forward, nose brushing against the shell of your ear before pressing a single, small kiss to your cheek. „We should get married next summer“, she whispered, ponytail falling over her shoulder. Your heart skipped a beat.

„I‘ve already made you wait too long," Agnes murmured, forehead resting against yours.

You stretched your free arm over your head, blinking up at her, eyes bright in the half dark of the car.

„I‘d like that“, you whispered back, voice growing hoarse from the strain your earlier actions had put on your vocal cords. „Maybe Lilia could officiate. And we’d have a bonfire in the backyard. I‘d wear a flower crown. Jen could do my makeup.“ You sounded drowsy, half asleep but still smiling, the vision clear before your eyes, cheeks warm at the thought.

Agnes looked at you for a moment, and her face was soft. No crease on her forehead from constant frowning, no furrowed brows. Her lips were swollen from kissing you so hard, and they were slightly parted when she leaned in, a slow, gentle press of her lips against yours.

„I love you“, she murmured, and you felt her arms wrap tighter around you. „And promise we‘ll make our day the most special day it can be. But Jen is not touching my wife at my wedding. You’re beautiful as is. Jen should feel lucky that she’s invited.“ You rolled your eyes at her, pulling her into another kiss by the back of her neck. She let you, leaning down to brush her lips gently against yours.

The Radio played that stupid song again. This time, it made you smile, whether you wanted it to or not.

„Merry Christmas“, you whispered against her lips, and she pulled back in surprise. For a moment, she stared down at you in disbelief, like she was waiting for a punchline of some sort. But at your sheepish little grin, she just rolled her eyes with affection.

„Merry Christmas to you too, my love.“

[enigmatist17]

I was right in the path of the snowstorm that hit us this week (and another coming this weekend yaaaay), and thought of my boys :)

This is part of the Mecha Pilot AU by @keferon :)

My other AU fics here

---

"RATTY, WHAT IS ALL THIS STUFF?"

Deadlock didn't yell, at least not that Ratchet had ever heard, and he sure as hell never sounded uncertain.

"What're you goin' on about?" The mechanic certainly didn't have some pep in his step as he hurried to his Cybertronian, a wrench gripped in one hand as he headed to the personal bay he'd set up for Deadlock. The door was open, revealing a heavy snowfall that Ratchet had forgotten about, the mech staring at the weather with a glare.

"What is it?!" His plating rattled in slight discomfort as Ratchet raised an optic ridge (no, eyebrow? Eh, he'll ask later) at him, clearly unconcerned by the strange weather. "The sky hasn't done this before."

"That would be because it hasn't gotten cold enough 'til now." The wrench in his hand gets shoved into his toolbelt, and despite the lack of his jacket, Ratchet steps out into the snow with an amused smirk. "See? Safe an' sound." True to his words, Ratchet didn't appear in any pain, aside from a shiver that wracked his frame as the white flakes started to coat him. "It's called snow."

"Why is there snow? It has been cold for days now, your bitching about it has told me that enough." Slowly, the mech reached out to Ratchet, his digit twitching when the first few flakes landed on it, but no warnings popped up in his HUD.

"We didn't have the right temperature for the water vapor in the air to condense, but we do now. I forgot we were even gettin' a storm, which means getting home is going to be a bitch and a half."

"You drive in this stuff?" The Cybertronian asked, letting the curiosity running through his processor bleed through more than he usually would have done. "Is it not dangerous?"

"Well yea, but we've adapted over the years." The human responded as he moved to come in from the snow, Deadlock using his hand as a cover. "Sit here, let me go get my jacket and other boots on."

"Alright." Deadlock watched Ratchet head back inside his shop floor before returning his optics to the snowy landscape in front of him. He had seen something resembling this snow a few times, but it had been through quick pit stops at planets to scavenge shards of energon that left him no time to actually examine the frozen precipitation. It's cold against his servo when Deadlock scoops up a generous helping of the snow, compacting into a vague ball shape when he closes his servo into a fist, remaining solid even after he grabs it with his other servo.

"We call that a snowball." Ratchet had also put on a hat and some servo coverings, crouching to scoop up his own snow. "I'd rather you not throw that one at me, but pick and target and launch."

"Is this snow a weapon?" Now that got his attention, the assassin picked out a random tree and launched the snowball as hard as he could, all of the collected snow on the branches falling off as it connected with a loud thud.

"Not as effective ones, that's for sure." Ratchet snorted, nailing a nearby parked car right in the windshield. "Nah, it's for fun usually, though you're gonna kill me with how hard you threw yours."

"I'd never hurt you Ratty." Deadlock purred, offering his servo with a grin. "I want to see more."

"C'mon, the lake might be frozen over." Ratchet hopped up onto the offered limb, bracing himself against the wind as Deadlock began to venture out into the snowy forest, pausing every so often to look at the snow-covered trees and rocks in interest. "So Cybertron doesn't have snow?"

"Not that I was ever aware of? What we consider organic on Cybertron isn't the same definition for you."

"Fair enough." Ratchet lapsed into silence as Deadlock headed to the lake he had crash-landed next to what felt like a lifetime ago, the mech clearly surprised by the sight when they reached the clearing. "Well?"

"..." Deadlock carefully set his human down before approaching the water's edge, the surface now solid to the touch. "This is...cool."

"Yes it is." Ratchet snorted as he joined the mech, testing the ice with one foot. "Hm, might be strong enough..."

"For what?" The mechanic looked up with an amused look before taking a step forward, Deadlock watching in slight awe as he began to walk on water like he was strolling on normal ground.

"You can't always do this, but sometimes we get lucky. It is pretty cool." He grinned, the alien reaching over to steady him with a digit when Ratchet wobbled slightly. "Thanks."

"As much as I kinda don't like your planet all this much, I could come to like this snow and ice." The assassin purred, using his digit to lazily pull Ratchet around on the ice in a random pattern.

"Not the biggest fan, but I do enjoy the occasional snow day myself." Ratchet shrugged as he did a poor man's version of ice skating, only upright do to his tight hold on Deadlock's digit. "Glad you're enjoying it."

"Only because I'm with you." The look on Ratchet's face made the corny line more than worth it, Deadlock chuckling as he continued pulling the human around on the ice. "How long will it be like this?"

"I don't know, probably a few days. Best enjoy it while we've got it."

"Works for me." Sure, Ratchet can't feel much of his body by the time Deadlock decides he's done enjoying the view, but it wasn't all bad when he's carefully placed inside the mech's warm interior for the trek back. They end up dozing off in Ratchet's workshop when neither of them feels like dealing with what would be a nasty drive to Ratchet's home, the falling snow filtering through the moonlight lulling them both to sleep.

[katsu28]

summer's golden haze - chapter two

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: backyard barbecues, the local market, and an unexpected discovery that has you wondering what exactly you may have just gotten yourself into. (5k)

warnings: angst (this early on, i know i'm sorry but it's for the plot i promise <3), lando and max f bickering like an old married couple

a/n: she's here!!!! sorry it took a little longer than expected but i hope you all enjoy this chapter :) pls feel free to come chat in my asks if you want to, i'd love to hear what everyone think about it so far!

previous chapter | masterlist

“Are these guys rich or something?”

Camille voices exactly the thought running through your mind as you roll to a stop to the address Lando had texted you yesterday, gawking out at the sprawling acreage in front of you. 

You peer at the impressive villa through the windshield, taking in everything with baited breath. She’s absolutely right. 

This house has to be two, if not three times the size of the one you’re all staying at, and that’s just what you can see so far. Vines bursting with colorful flowers crawl up white stone walls, curling around trellises of even more foliage, shutters on huge windows. There’s even a massive fountain in the middle of the courtyard, pristine marble, spewing crystal clear water in streams. 

It’s a classic old money countryside villa—worth millions, you assume, not even taking in the gathering of vintage and expensive sports cars parked along the cobblestone driveway. You suddenly feel so, so small compared to the extravagance of just the exterior of the place. 

Who are these people? 

A guy with brown curls similar to Lando’s pulls open the door when you ring the bell, in the middle of yelling something at someone further inside the house, before turning his gaze on you all. His face lights up in recognition at the sight of you. “Oh, hey, you’re the girl Lando won’t shut up about! I’m Max, but I’m sure he’s told you all about me, hasn’t he?” 

So this is Max. Lando’s told you a little about him, but mainly just funny stories. You wonder if Max knows his best friend is going around telling girls he’s just met about the time Max walked into a glass sliding door. 

“A little bit, not much. It’s nice to put a face to the name though!” You say politely. 

Max sighs dramatically, shaking his head in faux disappointment. He and Lando must be close. “I’m the best part of his life, and he doesn’t think to share it! What a knob. Anyways, welcome, come on in, make yourselves at home!” 

He ushers you all inside, leading you through the house and out huge double French doors leading to the backyard. The rest of their group sits on couches gathered around a stone fire pit, drinks in hand, chatting amongst themselves until they see you all coming. Max does the introductions between your two groups, but there’s one person missing. The one person you were looking forward to seeing again is nowhere to be found. 

Max must notice how your eyes search for Lando, because he grins knowingly. “He’ll be out in a bit. Work called.” 

“Oh, what does he do?” Samira chimes in. You fight the urge to throw a stone at her, because you know what she’s doing. She’s getting information on Lando because you haven’t got the guts to do it yourself yet. 

“Has he not told you yet?” Max raises a brow, taking a sip of his drink. When you shake your head, he presses his lips together, like he’s debating whether or not to tell you himself. “Yeah, sorry, I think I’m gonna stay out of this one. He gets pissy when I meddle with his budding relationships.” 

Budding relationship. Your face flames hot at the insinuation, but Samira takes it in stride, raising a skeptical brow. 

“What, is he in the mafia or something?” 

“‘Course not, that’s ridiculous. Pretty boy like him, he’d never make it in the mafia,” Max snorts. “No, he’s…look, it’s not really my place to say. I’m sure he’ll tell you when he’s ready.” 

Lando materializes from inside at that very moment, brows furrowed. There’s a tic going off in his jaw and he looks a little pissed off about something, but as soon as he looks up and sees that there’s company, he composes himself in a split second. 

“Hey, guys!” He chirps, hand raising in a wave. He makes his way over to where you all are, plopping down in the empty spot beside you without hesitation. “Glad you could make it.” 

“Thanks for the invite,” Maren replies, ever the polite one. “And the coffee yesterday.” 

Max makes an offended noise from the back of his throat at his friend. “You bought them coffee yesterday? Where was mine? You never buy me coffee.” 

“Mate, you don’t even drink coffee!” 

“Maybe I would if you bought it for me!” 

The two boys continue to bicker with each other in the same way all evening, which leads you to believe this is just how they are with one another. It gives Lando another dimension in your mind, and you like it.

There are a handful of common interests amongst your friends and Lando’s, ones that spark conversation immediately. As the night goes on, it feels like you’ve all been friends for a while, and you’re glad. Part of you was worried things would be awkward between everyone, but thankfully that isn’t the case.

It passes the time quicker than you expect. Soon enough it’s nearing midnight and you’re close to nodding off onto Lando’s shoulder, fighting to stay awake and looped into the ongoing conversation despite the sleep threatening to overtake you.

It certainly doesn’t help that he exudes warmth from where you’ve wound up pressed against each other on the small couch. You turn your head to look at him, to take in the little details of him. The angle of his jaw, the slope of his nose. The smattering of moles across his face and neck.

One wayward curl hangs over his forehead, and you want to reach out, brush it away. You don’t think you’re quite at that stage of comfort with each other yet, but then he tears his attention away from the rest of the group and meets your gaze with what you can only describe as pure fondness dripping from his lazy grin. 

“You alright?” He says softly, shifting his body to face you a little more. 

You nod, because you’re more than alright. For the first time in a while, everything feels just the way it should be. “Are you?” 

“Hm?” Lando replies noncommittally, sipping his drink. “Fine, why?” 

“Earlier, after your phone call, you seemed…upset. I don’t mean to pry, I just wanted to see if everything was alright.” 

“Oh, that? Nah, that was nothing, just my boss. Wanted to talk work stuff, but I wasn’t feeling it, y’know?” He shrugs. It feels like there’s more to what he’s saying, but you don’t want to push too hard. You’re still familiarizing yourself with him. “You’re sweet to check on me, though.” 

“Okay. But if you, um, if you need to talk or anything, I’ve been told I’m a good listener.”

Lando traces a finger briefly over the thin strap of your dress, just over your shoulder, before dropping his chin into his palm. You already know he’s about to change the subject. Involuntarily, you shiver at his touch, and he definitely notices, because he suddenly looks a little smug.

“Pretty dress,” He hums, tilting his head. 

You weren't trying to make a good impression on Lando, but you weren't exactly not trying, if that makes sense. It doesn't really make sense to you, but you’d gone for cute but comfy with a dress you’d borrowed, hoping it says you’d made an effort, but not too much of one. 

Suddenly you can’t remember what you were just thinking about not being at a certain stage of comfort with one another. Is it weird that you're secretly pleased he liked it enough to mention it?

“It’s not mine,” You say softly. Lando lets out a noise of question. “I borrowed it from Maren.” 

“Ah. Well, you should definitely get one for yourself then. It’s a nice color on you.” 

You want to say thank you, or really just say anything at all, but the moment your gaze flicks back up to his, you’re lost in his eyes again. Everything around you blurs into the background until it feels like it’s just the two of you. You’re teetering on the edge of something, and fuck, it would be so easy to just go over. To let yourself fall and fall and fall into his waiting arms at the bottom. 

Suddenly you hear your own voice in your head.

Don’t get attached. 

Clearing your throat, you pull back from Lando as smooth as you can manage with him muddling up your brain like this. “It’s late. We should get going,” You say, a tad louder than necessary. 

“She’s right,” Camille chimes in, taking note of the slight urgency in your tone. “We’ve got a guided hike in the morning—sunrise, can you believe it?” 

Lando’s mouth dips into a tiny frown for a moment, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. He nods understandingly. “Sure. I’ll walk you out.” 

You all say your goodbyes and thank you’s, to which the boys wholeheartedly agree you should all do this again sometime before you part ways. 

Lando trails behind a bit like he’s unsure, but catches up to you quickly on the way out, shoulder bumping against yours lightly as you fall into step with each other. His hand brushes yours and lingers a little, pinkies almost intertwining. 

“Tonight was nice,” He says casually. 

“Yeah, it was,” You agree, bobbing your head. 

“Would you—I dunno, maybe want to hang out again?”

“With you guys? ‘Course we would, I’m sure the girls would love to.” You smile, casting a glance at your friends. They’ve all coincidentally already gotten into the car, but if you squint hard enough you can see them gawking at Lando and yourself through the windshield.

How very not subtle of them. 

Lando rocks on the balls of his feet almost nervously, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “No, I meant, like…just the two of us.” 

“You mean, like, alone?” 

“A date. I’m trying to ask you out on a date,” He blurts, nose scrunching. “And failing miserably apparently.” 

“Oh!” You feel your face burn hot, yet you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face even if you tried. You’re about to take him up on the offer, but before you can say a word, another voice pops into the conversation. 

“Yes! She says yes! Whatever you’re asking, her answer is yes!” Samira yells through the window enthusiastically, muffled through the glass but still very audible.

Neither you nor Lando can stop the laughs that escape your mouths, especially when you turn around and all three girls are shooting you excited thumbs ups. 

“Guess that’s settled then,” You giggle, turning back to face him. 

“It’s a date.” He pushes forward, catching you by surprise when he presses a soft kiss to your cheek. As cliche as it sounds, the touch of his lips against your skin, although fleeting, sends a flurry of butterflies through your stomach. “I’ll text you later to plan, yeah? Get home safe.” 

He waits for you to pull around the circular driveway, and as his waving form gets smaller and smaller in the rearview mirror, a glimmer of hope worms its way through you. 

In the back of your mind, you know you should keep it in check. This could be totally casual. A short summer fling that won’t hurt anyone no matter how it ends. But maybe, just maybe, it could turn into something more. 

-------

Your schedules don't end up giving you a free afternoon together until a few days later, though you come to realize it only makes you look forward to seeing Lando again even more. 

You're supposed to be meeting him at the local market in the center of town at half past one, but you find yourself there early, wanting to get a lay of the land before he gets there.

Evidently Lando had the same idea, because you spot him within the first few steps into the open air marketplace, squatting next to a stand with crates and buckets of bright flowers. He’s already got a bouquet clutched in his hands, but still he browses through the different bunches. 

“Flowers for Max?” You joke. 

Lando shoots to his feet so fast he nearly hits his head on the lightbulb hanging above, only managing to miss it by mere inches as he startles at the sudden voice. When he realizes it’s just you, he snorts with laughter. “He wishes! They’re for you, actually.” 

“Me?” 

“Yeah, you,” He says teasingly. You don’t even know what to say. Flowers on the first date might be normal, yet nobody’s ever done it for you before. You’re touched, but he must take your silence as something else, because his smile drops the tiniest bit. “Unless you see something you like better? I can still put these back.” 

You study the flowers he’s picked out already. A little on the smaller side, it boasts a beautiful mix of both soft and brighter colors while still being simple—it’s exactly the sort of thing you would’ve chosen if you were buying flowers for yourself. “They’re perfect.” 

He pays for the flowers and passes them over to you with the biggest smile on his face, one that grows even bigger when you tuck them carefully into the crook of your arm after giving the delicate blossoms a sniff. 

You notice the camera hanging around his neck at that moment, despite knowing close to nothing about golf, you do know a thing or two about photography. “Golfer and photographer? Impressive.” 

“Amateur at best.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you're just being modest.” 

“Not even a little bit. I just enjoy taking pictures of things I like.” 

He swings around to face you fully, bringing the camera up to his eye and pausing only a second to make sure you're in focus before snapping a photo of you. The shutter clicks twice before you have the sense to hold up a hand out in front of you, a surprised laugh spilling from your mouth. Even then he grins, takes another one before lowering the camera. "What, you don't like having your photo taken?" 

“I’m just not very photogenic!” 

Lando scoffs immediately, shooting you a pointed look. “That is such a lie.” 

“I probably just broke your fancy expensive camera,” You joke. 

“We’ll just have to wait til I get it developed and see. I think it’ll turn out wonderful.” 

“And if it doesn’t?” 

“I’ll buy you dinner. If I’m right, then…you let me buy you dinner.” 

You let out a noise of surprise. “Well, that doesn’t seem very fair, does it? You’d have to buy me dinner either way.” 

“I can think of worse things than taking a pretty girl out for a nice meal.” His words take you by surprise, but judging by the smug grin on his face, Lando takes pride in eliciting a reaction from you. “Shall we?” And just like that, he’s sauntering off down the path like he didn’t just leave you at a loss for words, pep in his step even as he turns around to shoot you a roguish smile. “You coming or what?” 

You push aside the fluttering in your chest, giving your head an amused shake before catching up with him. It’s cute that he thinks he’s funny. Even cuter that he seems rather eager to take you out on a second date before the first one has even started. 

The two of you wander through the market aimlessly, stopping here and there at various stalls to have a look around. If you had the means, you’d buy everything you see. You wind up picking up some gorgeous looking fruit and a bottle of locally pressed wine, a few small souvenirs for your family back home, but the most important thing you buy isn’t even for you. 

Lando had lingered at a stall selling handmade jewelry early on, seemingly interested in a woven bracelet of blues and whites, but didn't pick it up. Part of you wonders why, but it sparks an idea in your head. 

You tug at Lando’s arm lightly, smiling guiltily when he turns to look at you. “I think I left my phone at that fruit stand a few stalls back.” 

“You’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your body, you muppet,” He chides, shaking his head fondly. “C’mon, let’s find it.” 

“No, I can get it. Why don’t you find us something good for lunch? I’m starving.” 

“Are you sure?” Lando cocks his head, shoulder bumping against yours. “I don’t mind.” 

“I’ll be right back,” You promise. To sweeten the deal, you make the bold move of pressing a kiss to his cheek. He freezes under your touch, but you pass it off as him not expecting it and being taken by surprise. “Two minutes, okay? Maybe less.” 

As soon as you confirm he isn’t paying any attention to you, you slip back through the crowd, finding the same stall and buying the bracelet he’d been looking at. You tuck it safely into your pocket, quickly making your way back to Lando before he realizes you’ve been gone long and comes looking for you. 

“All good?” He asks upon noticing you reappear by his side. 

You wiggle your phone in the air. “Never better. What's for lunch?” 

Lando grins happily, reciting the spiel that the very friendly older man at the food stand gave to him when he’d decided on the delicious looking food. Sure, maybe he stumbles over his pronunciation a little bit, but you find his giggled embarrassment sweet. 

You find a semi-secluded bench a little jaunt away to enjoy your food, and you do enjoy it. You think it might be one of the best things you’ve ever had, and when you tell Lando, he looks pleasantly surprised. As you continue to savor every bite, Lando’s eyes light up with amusement, so much so that you wonder what’s suddenly got him all smiling big like this. 

“What?” You say incredulously. 

He gestures to the lower part of his face. “You’ve got a little…” 

Mortified, you mirror his actions on your own face, searching for the food you’ve somehow gotten smudged on your chin. After a few tries that have him shaking his head, you whine, “Help me, please?”, to which he obliges with a soft chuckle. He reaches out, thumb rubbing at the corner of your mouth briefly. 

This moment almost seems too intimate, but then again, so have a lot of moments between the two of you. The way he’s looking at you makes you feel like you’ve still got something on your face, but then his gaze flicks down to your lips again almost imperceptibly, and you have an inkling of what’s about to happen. 

“Did you get it?” You ask softly. You’re not sure why you break the silence, but it's definitely not because you don’t want him to kiss you. If you think about it, you’ve wanted Lando to kiss you this whole time. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I got it," He replies. His hand lingers, long fingers splaying flat under the curve of your jaw now. You surprise yourself by shifting forward slightly, as if encouraging Lando to close the gap. He leans in closer and closer still, and your eyes fall shut on their own accord, heartbeat hammering against your rib cage. 

You nearly melt the moment his lips touch yours, held up only by the firm grasp of his hand cupping your face. It’s a little awkward with the food in between the two of you blocking you from pushing closer to him, but you make it work, reaching over it to wrap your fingers around Lando’s forearm. You feel like you need it to ground yourself, because holy shit, you’re kissing him. 

Well, more like he’s kissing you, because you’re definitely not the one leading the way. Lando kisses like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and judging by how you feel weak in the knees when you’re not even standing, he does know exactly what he’s doing. 

You’re falling, falling, falling, getting lost in him, until— 

“Wait, hang on,” He breathes, pulling away. Your eyes flutter open in an almost dazed sort of way, focusing on him in hopes of finding him in the same state, but all you’re met with is…guilt? Sadness? Shame? Maybe a mixture of everything, you’re not sure. All you know is that it has your heart plummeting in your chest. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

Everything hits you at once, and suddenly you’re crashing back down to reality. Lando thinks kissing you was a mistake. You were so sure he liked you back, sure enough to go on a date with him, and now here you are with egg on your face, feeling unbelievably stupid. Hurt. 

“I’m gonna—I have to go,” You mumble, scrambling to your feet. You don’t even have an excuse prepared, you just need to get out of here, get away from Lando before you spontaneously combust from the sheer embarrassment. 

His hand encircles your wrist before you can make it even a step away. 

“No, no, don’t! Please, just let me…let me explain. I promise things will all make sense in a second, if you’ll just hear me out,” He says pleadingly. Despite your better judgment, you sit back down, expression guarded. Lando blows out a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose briefly. “Look, I like you. I really like you, and I wish things were as simple as that, but there’s things I’ve not told you. Things that, if you knew, you might not want to be with me.” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as hard as you can, burying your burning face into your hands with a muffled groan. “Oh my god, you are in the mafia, aren’t you?” 

“The—what?” Lando blurts, sounding wildly confused. “No, I’m not, I’m not in the mafia. Are you mad? I’m a Formula 1 driver!” 

You crack one eye open, then the other. “Formula 1.” You repeat, disbelieving. “Like, the racing thing?”  

He nods enthusiastically, tells you everything—how his childhood dream turned into a career, how he gets to travel all around the world doing what he loves. The fame, the lifestyle, the opportunities he’s worked so hard for, all while sounding entirely humble and grateful for everything and everyone who’ve gotten him to where he is today. 

It’s impressive, to say the least. The fact that he’s still fairly young and has already accomplished more than what some people have in a whole lifetime. Then he gets to how the chaos that doing what he does at the level he does it at wreaks havoc on other parts of his life, and you feel a wave of sympathy roll over you. 

The tradeoff for all that success is not getting to have a normal life in almost every aspect, and given the downward set of his brow as he tells you about it, this isn’t the first time he’s had this conversation with someone. 

“It makes being in a relationship…difficult, is the best way I can describe it. I’m never in one place more than a week most times, and the whole time zones thing makes it harder too. And after these two weeks are up, I’m already off to somewhere else, jumping right back into the second half of the season and hitting the ground running.” 

Realization hits you like a truck at this point, and you have to fight the urge to laugh out loud. Of course Lando is who he is. Of course you had to form a connection with someone with a life as complicated and as far away from your own as possible, someone who couldn’t be in a normal relationship even if he wanted to. 

“I wish it were different, but I just—I wanted you to know what you might be getting into if we…” He trails off, but you know what he means. If we want to get involved with each other. If we want to be together. 

“So like, long distance, but infinitely harder.” You’re doing your best to put a light spin on the massive amount of new information you’ve just acquired, but you’re barely managing to process it all, let alone even think about what it would be like to date someone as well known as Lando. 

“Yeah, something like that,” He says softly, shoulders creeping up towards his ears. “It’s—well, it’s a lot of baggage for anyone to have to deal with. Lots of eyes and ears, pretty public. Not really your cup of tea, I’ve noticed.” 

He’s right. You’ve never been one to enjoy being the center of attention, preferring to fly under the radar. Blend into the background. And you hate to say it, but knowing all of what he’s just told you changes things. You don’t think you can handle being thrust into the public eye, and it makes you feel like the most selfish person in the world to walk away from him just because of who he happens to be. 

Your life would be forever altered, your sense of privacy and security gone, and that isn’t something you want to compromise. You’re comfortable being nobody significant. With Lando, that would change, no matter how many measures you take to make sure it doesn’t. 

As much as you’ve come to like him—and you really like him—it’s just not something you can see yourself being fully okay with. 

“I’m so sorry, Lando,” You say quietly. He just smiles sadly, like he already knew it was coming, and you can't help but think about how many relationships—platonic or romantic—that he's lost out on because of his status. The thought alone makes you feel even worse. “I like you too, but I can’t—I don’t think I can be what you want me to be. It’s not me, it’s not the way I can live my life.” 

“Don’t be sorry. You haven’t got a reason to be,” He murmurs, thumb rubbing across your knuckles comfortingly. “Knew it was too good to be true, didn’t I?” 

“I’m sorry,” You say again, hoping that Lando knows you truly mean it. “I wish it were different, but—”

Lando shakes his head, interrupting before you can grasp for any other ways to apologize. He squeezes your hand reassuringly again. “Hey. It’s alright, I promise. I’d never ask anyone to do something they aren’t comfortable with. Especially not you.” 

Even when he’s sad, he’s still so thoughtful. It would take a different kind of awful monster not to want to be with him. Apparently that monster is you. 

You wish you were someone else, someone who could take huge changes in stride and never miss a step, but you’re not. Someone who knows what they want and goes for it—who knows who they want and doesn’t let anything get in their way. 

Unfortunately, you’re not that kind of person. 

“What do we do now?” 

Lando drops your hand to run his fingers through his curls, down to the back of his neck sheepishly. “Dunno about you, but I’ve—d’you think there’s any chance we can still be friends? I really do enjoy spending time with you lot, we all do.” 

“Friends would be nice,” You say softly. It feels strange to agree with him so wholeheartedly. 

Maybe it’ll be awkward between the two of you, maybe you won’t even be able to sit next to each other with what’s happened today, but you can’t bring yourself to care all that much. The only thought running through your mind is that you don’t want to lose Lando, even as just a friend. 

You’ve gotten attached. 

The bracelet you’d bought Lando burns a hole through your pocket. It would be weird to give it to him now, after you’d just turned him down, but you can’t exactly just return it either. You don’t really want to. 

Maybe it won’t go to him, but you’re sure you’ll find something to do with it someday.

The girls are waiting in the living room when you finally make your way home, gathered on the sofa with identical innocent smiles like you hadn’t seen them with their heads poked through the curtains. Samira bounces off the cushions with what you can only describe as a gleeful cackle to grab your flowers, showing them off to the other two like a game show host before grabbing your hand and dragging you into the center of their blanket pile. 

You know they're expecting good news and you wish you could give it to them, but you can’t. 

“So??? How’d it go?” 

“He got her flowers, obviously it went well!” 

“Okay, spill, now,” Camille presses, easing the bouquet out of Samira’s hands and setting it on the coffee table. “What’s he like, what’d you do—” 

“When’s your second date?” chimes in Maren excitedly. The other two nod their vigorous agreement. 

“Lando’s amazing,” You sigh, letting yourself fall back against the plush pillows. “He’s super sweet and really funny, we walked around and looked at all the vendors, and then we had lunch and talked for ages, and…there won’t be a second date.”

“What? That’s impossible, you guys were like, made for each other!” 

You sigh, rub at a flower petal that’s fallen away from the bouquet. “It’s complicated. I don’t—I’m not ready to get into all of it again this soon, but long story short, our lives are just too different. Being with him would mean compromising things I’m just not ready to lose right now.” 

If any of them wants to push for a better explanation, and you know they do, they refrain from doing so. They know you’ll tell them when you’re ready. 

But even Samira can tell you’re not quite as okay as you insist you are, and she’s been rooting for you extra hard. She leans her head onto your shoulder, squeezes your hand reassuringly. “You did what was best for you, and that’s all that matters.” 

“We agreed to still be friends, so we can still hang out with the guys and stuff like that, but—I mean, yeah, it just didn’t work out.” You don’t think you sound very convincing at all, but it’s the bed you've made, you’ve got to lay in it. “I just don’t really want to talk about it right now, but it's fine. I'm fine.” 

It has to be. You have to be. You’ve made sure of it.

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new chapter :)

[dearlenore]

Do you write smut? Or if not, lots of fluffy romance. I need a Tim Bradford x reader when Tim is thinking reader is cheating because she keeps staying out late but turns out she's been going to art classes because she wants to learn how to paint him

Hey love! Thanks the the request as always, I don’t write smut at the moment, don’t know if I ever will but I’m obsessed with the fluffy idea you gave me🥹❤️ so I for sure wrote that!!

CAUGHT RED HANDED • T.BRADFORD

SUMMARY: when you begin sneaking around secretly to receive painting lessons to paint your perfect boyfriend, he can’t help but grow suspicious…

PAIRING: fem!reader x tim bradford

tags: reader is a housewife, cheating suspicion, insecure bradford, fluff cutesy stuff

a/n: the grind never ends.

w/c: 1.2K

TIM BRADFORD WASN’T the jealous type. He prided himself on that. Years of being a cop, years of working in high-stakes situations where trust meant everything, had hardened him to unnecessary doubts. But this—this gnawing, irritating feeling in the pit of his stomach—was new. And he hated it.

He sat in his truck outside the café, watching through the windshield as you stood inside, laughing—glowing, really—while talking to someone he didn’t recognize. Some guy. Some guy he’d never seen before, who was clearly making you smile in the way that made his heart ache violently.

For the past few weeks, you’d been different. More secretive. Slipping out of bed early in the morning without a goodbye, Taking phone calls in hushed tones. Canceling date nights last minute with vague excuses. And now, this? Meeting up with someone behind his back? A man?

His fingers tightened around the steering wheel, feeling his knuckles go white at the intensity of his grip. He was probably overreacting. You weren’t the type to cheat. You loved him—God, he knew that. You were the sunshine to his storm, the one person who could make even his worst days bearable. He trusted you.

And yet…

He exhaled sharply, running a hand over his jaw before forcing himself to look away. This wasn’t him. He wasn’t some paranoid boyfriend stalking his girlfriend like a jealous idiot. He just needed answers. A conversation. That’s all. For all he knew , that could be your distant cousin!

So that’s what he told himself when you walked through the front door that night, smiling like nothing was wrong. Like you hadn’t just been somewhere he didn’t know, with someone he didn’t know.

“Hey, baby,” you greeted, dropping your bag by the couch before walking over to press a kiss to his cheek. “How was work?” You smiled warmly.

“Fine,” he said, barely managing to keep his voice steady. His eyes searched your face, looking for something—guilt, hesitation, anything—but all he found was warmth. That same sunshine that had pulled him in from the very start.

You hummed, running your hands up his arms, completely oblivious to the war raging inside him. “You’re tense. Long day?”

“Something like that,” he muttered, gently holding your waist. A beat passed, then—because he couldn’t help himself—he added, “Where were you?”

You blinked up at him, not surprised by maybe taken off guard. “What?”

“Tonight. You had plans.”

“Oh! Yeah, I—” You hesitated, just for a second, before forcing a bright smile. “Just out.” You laughed, shaking your head dismissively.

Just out.

Tim clenched his jaw, nodding slowly. “Right.”

That should’ve been the end of it. He should’ve let it go, let the doubt slip away like every other pointless worry. But instead, all he could hear was the way your voice wavered, just a little. The way you didn’t quite meet his eyes when you said it.

For the first time in his life, Tim Bradford didn’t know if he wanted to know the truth.

And so, for days, the tension had been building between you two. He wasn’t sure if you noticed it—if you felt the way he was pulling back, the way his usual warmth had been replaced with something quieter, something watchful. But how could you not? He wasn’t the type to pretend everything was fine when it wasn’t. And right now? Right now, nothing felt fine.

So tonight, he decided, was the night. No more wondering. No more doubts eating away at him. He was going to ask you outright.

When he got home, you were already there, curled up on the couch with your sketchbook in your lap. Your face lit up when you saw him, the same way it always did, and it made his chest ache.

“Hey, you’re home early!” you said, setting the sketchbook aside. “I was just about to—”

“Who is he?”

The words were out before he could stop them, blunt and heavy in the air between you.

You blinked, the smile slipping from your face. “What?”

Tim crossed the room, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for the truth. “The guy at the café. The one you’ve been sneaking off to see.”

Your mouth parted slightly, and for the first time in all the years he’d known you, you looked… nervous. Not guilty, but nervous.

“Tim…” you said softly, sitting up straighter. “It’s not what you think.” You bit back a smile, you knew he was stressed but something about the way he looked at you like Kojo when his bowl was taken away was too damn cute.

“Then tell me what it is,” he said, voice low, controlled. “Because for the past few weeks, you’ve been different. You leave early, you take calls in private, you cancel our plans last minute. And then I see you with some guy—” He let out a breath, shaking his head. “I trust you, but you’re not giving me much to work with here.”

You swallowed hard, pressing your lips together as you dropped your gaze. Your fingers twisted together in your lap, a telltale sign that you were nervous. And that only made his stomach tighten more.

“Come with me,” you said suddenly, standing up, not trying to hide your smile now.

Tim’s brows furrowed in confusion at your smile, but he followed as you led him down the hall to the spare room—the one you always kept locked. The one he had never questioned until now.

You hesitated for a second before pushing the door open, revealing a room filled with art supplies. Paint tubes scattered across a small desk, canvases stacked against the walls, brushes in jars—everywhere he looked, there were signs of creativity, of hours spent in quiet dedication.

And then, in the center of the room, stood a large canvas, half-covered with a cloth.

You walked over, fingers gripping the edge of the cloth tightly before glancing at him. “I was going to wait until it was finished, but…” You took a deep breath, then pulled the cloth away.

Tim stared.

It was him.

The painting—your painting—was of him. But not just any version of him. This was him as you saw him, not as a cop, not as a hardened, disciplined man, but as yours. The warm glow of sunlight painted across his face, the small crease between his brows that only appeared when he was deep in thought, the way his lips barely quirked at the corners, like he was on the edge of a smile. It was detailed, painfully detailed, and so full of love that it nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

“I’ve been taking classes,” you said quietly. “I didn’t want to tell you until I got better, but I—I wanted to learn how to paint you. The way I see you.” You let out a nervous laugh, hugging yourself. “I asked my instructor for help, and that’s who you saw. The guy at the café. Who is very… very homosexual might I add.”

Tim didn’t speak. He couldn’t. His throat was too tight, his chest too full of something he couldn’t name.

You mistook his silence for something else.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” you rushed out. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be shady, I just—I wanted it to be a surprise. I didn’t think— I know it’s not the best but it’s … it’s you..? I think—“ you laughed nervously, looking between the painting and him.

Before you could finish, he crossed the space between you in two long strides and pulled you into his arms. You gasped, hands gripping his shirt as he buried his face in your hair, holding you tighter than he had in weeks.

“Tim?” you murmured.

“I’m an idiot,” he muttered, voice rough with emotion.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, brows furrowed. “You’re not—”

“I thought—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head at himself. “I thought you were pulling away. I thought I was losing you.”

Your expression softened instantly. “Baby…” You cupped his face, your thumb tracing over his jaw. “I’m so sorry.”

Tim let out a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to yours. “I should’ve just asked you. I should’ve trusted you.”

You smiled, tilting your head slightly. “Well, technically, you did ask me. Just, y’know, after stalking me to a café and jumping to conclusions.” You teased, faking a hurt expression.

His lips twitched. “I didn’t stalk you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sat in your truck and glared through the window, didn’t you?”

Tim groaned, closing his eyes. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

You laughed, the sound light and full of love, before wrapping your arms around his neck. “You’re an adorable idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He sighed, squeezing your waist. “Laugh at grumpy cop, get it out now.” He chuckled. “So… you really spent weeks learning how to paint me?”

You beamed, nodding. “I wanted to capture you like a French girl,” you mused dramatically, holding out your hand to show off nothing in particular.

Despite the over usage of that joke in your relationship , something inside him melted at that. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve you, but whatever it was, he wasn’t letting go.

Tim glanced at the painting again, then smirked. “So, when do I get to take it home?”

You gasped, playfully smacking his chest. “Excuse you, it’s not done.”

“Looks done to me.”

“Timothy Bradford, I swear—”

He cut you off with a kiss, one that was filled with every unspoken word, every ounce of love he had for you. And in that moment, with your laughter still lingering in the air and the painting standing as proof of how deeply you saw him, Tim knew one thing for sure:

He had never been so stupidly, hopelessly in love.

[ms-demeanor]

So I have vision insurance again which means I was able to go to the optometrist and get glasses through insurance for the first time in 11 years (instead of paying out of pocket and getting glasses from zenni) and here are my notes:

It's *NOT GREAT* that Luxotica is mentioned by name on the insurance card printout

I know everything got more expensive in the last ten years, but frames also got a lot more expensive and for some reason there was a huge gap in prices - my insurance covered $130 for frames and the office had a bunch of frames for $70 and a bunch of frames for $150 but basically no frames between those two price points.

When you say "I can't afford to go over the allowance" on XYZ thing they are not even *considering* the cost of progressive bifocals. So I was like "no coating, cheap frames, no extras" and then they were like "okay so the progressive bifocal is going to be over a hundred dollars more" and I was like "how much is the bifocal with a line" and they were like "oh that's only $15 but we don't consider that appropriate for your age, we recommend this other kind of lens" and it doesn't matter what you consider age appropriate for me, I can't afford that so we're not doing that.

The seventy dollar frames are all kind of trash. Super thin, super bendy, and not in a good "flexible fit" way but more in a "if you fall asleep in these you will wake up with broken glasses" way.

They wrote down my reading prescription wrong? For the last ten years I've been slowly creeping up from +.25 to my current +2.50; they told me it had increased but the printout said +.75 so either my prescription has been wrong for a while or they missed the 2 at the front of that number and my glasses are going to show up with a low magnification. (I noticed after I'd left the office but before the glasses arrived).

Given all of that, with insurance: $25 for a pair of glasses, which included the office copay.

So then of course I went to zenni and ordered glasses anyway because I've been wearing the same frame design for seven years and want another pair that look exactly like that.

Progressive bifocals WERE the most expensive part of the order, and because my prescription is stronger they are getting progressively more expensive - initially the upgrade to bifocal cost something like $30 for a lower magnification, now they're $85 for the stronger prescription.

And that's it, that's the expensive part. Fifteen dollar frames, five dollar anti-reflective coating, total for bifocals was around a hundred dollars; I got a pair of single-vision sunglasses for under $20.

Part of the reason I decided to spend more at zenni than at my optometrist's office was because I was able to get good, sturdy frames that I know fit my face and will survive mosh pits and me falling asleep on them without cracking. In order to get the same thing at the optometrist's office I would have had to pay thirty dollars more for lenses as well as forty more for frames so I would have walked out of there paying more for a pair of glasses with frames that I wasn't super excited about (there was a pair that was *okay* but not great that were similar in construction to my current frames but more bulky and square) than I did for glasses that I know I like and a pair of sunglasses.

I did end up paying less out of pocket for the visit than I would have without the insurance, and $15 for a pair of back-up glasses isn't bad. But it was all-in-all a frustrating experience.

However: I've been wearing the same pair of glasses for three years and the anti-reflective coating is worn away in some places and they're so scratched that they're impossible to actually clean in some places and large bastard looked through them last week and was like "OH! No wonder you can't tell when you need to clean your windshield! You don't get to drive at night until those are replaced" so no matter what glasses I'm wearing next week they're going to be an improvement.

[monarchberrysblog]

TOO SWEET

summary: you join a small ride along with Miguel...

content warning: once again, taboo content; proceed with precaution. semi-exhibitionism (miguel fucks the reader in the forest and on his car), brat-taming, rough yet soft dom! miguel, OOC CHARACTER MIGUEL the reader has nipple piercings, unprotective p-in-v (please, do your own research when it comes to stuff like this), cigarette usage, a little TABOO, AGAIN.

word count: +3.2k words

author's notes: thank you to the discord server for the encouragement to keep writing 💜. Y'all are my mini family and I love y'all so much!

PART TWO TO GATITA

Miguel found him a stray cat, you unironically. Once he gave you a lick of attention, you came back for more, the same way a stray cat would whenever a stranger gave it food to eat out of pity. It felt pathetic that you would conjure up any excuse to see him again. Changing your car’s air filter, replacing your windshield wipers, hell, even trying your best to act dumb to simple repairs that you can do on your own. It was almost laughable and pathetic for you to do this, but you couldn’t help it.

The man always made you melt and become sap, like warm honey on a cold kitchen counter—no matter how much you wiped it off with a paper towel, the stick and sweetness lingered behind. But it didn’t take long for Miguel to catch on—the man was intelligent, for God’s sake. It was clear as day as you always took your shitty 1970 Chevy S-10 everywhere, and he would always recognize that iconic blue truck every time you pulled up for a simple repair. 

But the innocent visit was about to fall short as the excuses to see him began to fall short. So he decided to change things up, taking you out on a late-night drive.

“M-Miguel!” You screamed at the top of your lungs, clutching onto the glove compartment of the Impala, nearly snapping the fake acrylic nails off your actual nails underneath. “Shhh… You can take it, princesa.” He pats your thigh lovingly before lightly slapping the soft flesh. “Miguel, Miguel!” Your voice fell on deaf ears as you felt the wind knocked out of your lungs.

“Nothing wrong with going a little fast.”

Yep, you've accepted your faith that you were going to die from some freak accident with an extremely hot mechanic next to you. “But it’s so fucking fast!” You screamed out, clawing at the car's dashboard with your nails. Miguel glances over, chuckling at the sight he sees. He could have sworn that if you wanted to, he would have seen some parts of the acrylic break by how strongly you were grasping the dashboard before you. “But we’re barely hitting 100, princess.” 

“What?” You whined, not believing his words, as it felt like the Impala was going faster than that. “Don’t worry, we won’t be on the road too long. I need to make a pit stop. Let’s tame that little heart of yours.” Miguel chuckles before taking an exit off the freeway, finally giving you a sense of relief in your veins. “Oh, thank god, thank god…” Your exasperations never failed to bring a smile to Miguel’s face as the Impala pulled up to a nearby gas station.

The white, bright lights at the gas pumps created an ominous aura in the space, but the ambiance of familiarity filled your soul. “C’mon, let’s get something to drink before we arrive at the meet, okay?” With trembling legs similar to those of a baby deer newly born, you stumbled out of the vintage car, clutching onto the vehicle's door. “Okay, I’ll catch up soon…” 

Miguel walks ahead, stepping into the gas station while you stagger behind, taking slow, steady steps to the building. “Coming, muneca?” He calls out, holding the door open for you as you stagger in, feeling the cool, icy breeze against your sticky, sweaty skin from the summer heat. “I’m coming, I’m coming…” You mumble, stepping into the gas station to grab a small drink. 

After taking a sip of the cold beverage, the sight of the forest slowly came to mind as the corner stores and gas stations slowly began to fade behind you. This late-night drive became nonetheless soothing, nothing but the long road ahead, along with the low ambiance of music and the car’s engine. 

/

His hands grasped your wrists, and you felt his calloused hand engulf your wrist almost. “Please stay still, hermosa.” He croons to you. With his free hand, his touch roamed over your body, occasionally letting his hand caress your curves, soon letting his hand grope your breast gently before rubbing the side of his thumb against your clothed nipple, lightly grazing the sensitive bud. Your back arched slightly, moving your back away from the hood of his car and towards his body. His hand lets go of your breast before tracing your figure slowly. His hand raised your skirt slowly before seeing what awaited him. 

The gusset of your underwear decorated a thin, wet line before him. “Seems like you were anticipating for this to happen?” Without letting go of your wrists, his free hand went down to your clothed entrance to trace the soaked, thin line with the pad of his thumb. A soft groan escapes from the back of your throat before his fingers forcefully grasp the gusset and move it to the side. “Do me a favor and don’t move, okay?” He lets your wrist go and gets down on his knees to see your fluttering, aching core. “Be still, okay?” He whispers, raising your skirt more, letting it rest on your stomach. Nodding to his words, you laid back on the low rider and waited anxiously. 

The sound of fabric ripping filled the space, causing you to look down. The man ripped your underwear, specifically from the gusset, vertically with precision. At the sound, you propped yourself up on the car's hood and looked down. You can only see his soft, wavy brown hair between your legs, leaving so much to the imagination. “I’ll get you new ones, hermosa. Don’t worry, your pretty little head.”

His middle and ring fingerpad lightly traced the entrance of your folds, gathering the clear slick. He brought his fingers to his lips, licking off the clear arousal you left behind, and scooted you closer to him, dragging you down onto the hood of the car, bringing you down to his lips. “Miguel-” You panicked before his nose bumped into your clit. Your hands grasped his thick, wavy black hair, not following his words or demands. “I told you to stay still for me.” He demands, grabbing onto the back of your knees with a grasp that can be mistaken for alligator clips used to jumpstart a car.

“Sorry…!” The apology fell on deaf ears as you mewled to his tongue, licking a long strip on your entrance, letting the flat of his tongue rest on your clit. “Now, stay still, and don’t leave a mess on the hood of my car.” He gruffs.

“I just got this shit painted, princesa.” He pauses before giving your entrance a test lick before delving into you. You seethed through your teeth, feeling his mouth delve into your entrance. The bridge of his nose occasionally bumped into your clit, creating the perfect amount of friction for you to squirm your hips closer to his nose. “You poor thing…” He mumbled before licking a long strip of your core with a flat tongue. “You want it?” He croons, pulling away from your aching entrance. Your fluttering hole ached for his company again, the same sight he saw for the first time months ago. “C’mere…” He grasped onto the back of your knees, sliding you down the hood of the Chevy before your bare cunt made contact with his clothed erection. The heat from his bulge is almost too irresistible not to grind against his aching package, waiting to be accessible under your hands and control. 

You looked up from where you were lying down, and the sight before you was a sight you didn’t want to erase. Miguel kept his grasp on you but grated the aching bulge against you. “Please, please, please.” You lingered on your last plea, reaching down to his belt buckle, poorly attempting to unbuckle. “Hold on for a moment.” His hand gently grasped your wrist and moved it away from his bulge. “Let’s prep you for a moment, okay?” You nod with a breathy sigh and lay back, expecting to feel his tongue, which you don’t mind. 

But something else entered, enough for you to roll your eyes back in ecstasy and to scream out, allowing your voice to echo in the forest. “I know, baby, I know…” He quiets, planting soft kisses on your temple, keeping his ring and middle finger around your rapid, wavering walls. The soft grinding motions drew out soft mewls from you, enough to soak his fingers almost immediately. 

“Let’s raise this.” With his free hand, he reached to the hem of your shirt and yanked it up with vigorous force. The sight of two silver dumbbells was the first thing he saw before him, showing off the sensitive buds. “I didn’t get to see these last time…” With a careful hand, he caressed the soft mound before directing his attention to the sensitive nub, tracing the pad of his fingers around the areola. 

He lowers his head down and takes in a sensitive nub into his mouth, allowing his tongue to trace the silver jewelry along the sensitive nub. “Give me a second…!” You mewled out, feeling his teeth lightly tug at the barbell piercing but letting go. “I’ve heard that saliva is a good stimulant to heal this type of piercing…” He mumbles before suckling onto your nub before his fingers slowly thrust into your aching core, awaiting to be stuffed and abused. “Oh shit,” You paused, taking in a shaky breath, feeling his calloused fingers massage your gummy walls. “Oh shit…” You repeated, soon taking labored breaths. “C’mon, princess…” Miguel whispers as he pulls away from your nipple and moves to the other, keeping his fingers at the same slow pace. “Tell me… tell me that it’s too much…” He croons. “Is it too much, princess?” 

“No…” You bluff, feeling like a puddle of sap against his fingers at the slow pace. “No? Let’s pick it up, m’kay?” He innocently asks, slowly increasing the pace and curling his ring and middle finger. “Miguel…” You whimpered, at the brink of finishing all over the hood of his Impala. “Don’t even think about it, princess,” Miguel commands, picking the pace up. A yelp escapes the back of your throat, and you soon feel your legs tremble against his hold. “Please, please, please…” You whine, feeling a bit of anticipation to gush out your release. “Don’t,” He croons. “You better not finish. I finished the paint job on this car.”

You looked up with pleading eyes at the brink of tears. “Please, please, please…” You continue the mantra, knowing you are getting on Miguel’s nerves now. “No.” He demands before the familiar, wet slapping noise fills the space around you. “Is it too much?” He pushes the question again, letting the forest area get overwhelmed with a wet slapping noise. “No.” You repeat, too stubborn for your good. “I refuse to believe that. Look at you.” 

He paused his words and kept up with rapid motions. “Milking my fingers, your legs trembling under my hold, I think your body says otherwise.”

“Don’t finish on this car’s hood.” He repeats, keeping the same motion and pulling his fingers out of your aching core.

/

Miguel’s Perspective

The look on her face is enough to laugh at. Pathetic. The look on her face made it look like she was a stranded kitten left in the rain, wanting to seek shelter in a warm space away from the cool air of the piney forest. But that wasn’t the case. She was laid out on the hood of my car like a dish served on a silver platter, waiting to be devoured and consumed. Her nervous but anticipated look is enough to send me to the edge. The urge to just take off my pants and to make her drunk on lust came to mind immediately, but no, she needs anticipation and patience other than lust. 

The sight of her glistening arousal coating my fingers soon drizzled down onto the hood of the Impala. “I told you to hold it in.” I fumed, seeing the glistening arousal pool onto the hood of the car, creating a small puddle. “God, you can’t even do this one thing correctly.”

I yanked her aching core down to my bulge, seeing her glistening arousal coat a thin layer on the denim of my pants. “C’mere…” Her hands rush down to the belt buckle of my pants, moving in a manic manner to free my aching cock free. “It’s yours. You know what to do with it.”

/

“I don’t…” You replied, playing coy with his words. “I don’t know…” Your hands grasp the band of his boxer, yanking on it playfully. “You know how.” He croons as your hand yanks down his boxer briefs, freeing his aching cock. A low “fuck” escapes him deep from him, and it is enough for you to finish everywhere on the hood of the Impala, literally. The pink mauve-colored tip ached for your attention, showing tiny beads of precum accumulating on the head, with some sliding down his shaft, specifically tracking a prominent vein. “C’mon, you know what to do.” He repeats, wanting you to initiate these events instead. 

With a forceful grab, you lead his tip to your aching core and grind it against your aching core. Your core began to kegel against the sensation of his length, feeling it rub against your clit gently. “Don’t tease me,” He insists, bucking his hips, feeling his cock free itself from your grasp. You grasp onto it again, guide his tip into your aching core, and slowly guide him in. “Shit…” You whimper, feeling the familiar pressure push up against your aching core. 

“How do you feel bigger than last time?” You whined, slowly sinking into his length. “Take deep breaths for me, m’kay?” He hums, mused by the sight before him. “I know it’s a lot, baby, I know…” You take in deep breaths while he ground the tip against your cervix, to the point where it did hurt a little, but it was pleasurable. “Take your time, it’s okay…” He croons, moving a hand down to your clit, lightly grazing the sensitive bundle of nerves. A breathy whimper is the only response he receives from you. 

The soft kisses against your temple are enough to ease you as the soft kisses make you giggle underneath him. “That’s enough,” He breathes out, soon grasping your hips with his hands. “Are we okay?” Miguel questions, allowing his thumb to trace the skin on your hips, specifically the stretchmarks painted on your soft skin. “Yeah, I’m okay…” 

The slow thrusts slowly came to a steady pace, allowing you to get comfortable with his size. Soft mewls and whimpers escaped from the back of your throat as you laid back on the hood of the car and felt your breasts bounce a bit from the thrusting. The sight of the silver barbells decorating your nipples while your breasts bounced with his tempo displayed the sight for him. “There we go, you’re getting used to me more now…”

The feeling of the virgencita charm from his necklace lightly booped your nose, occasionally touching your lips, staining the golden charm with your lipgloss. “Is this bothering you?” He chuckles, seeing the charm bump against your lips and nose. “No, not at all…” It was a bluff; the sensation of the chain and charm tickled you while you chased the sensation bubbling against your core. 

“You’re almost there?” The slight bulge in your stomach amused Miguel, seeing the bulge appear and disappear with every thrust. He lets go of your hip with one hand and pushes his hand down onto your lower stomach while keeping a steady yet hard pace. “How does that feel?” He questions, looking down to see your reaction. “Yes…” You breathed out, not giving him a proper answer as you squirmed under the pressure rise. 

“C’mon, I know you’re almost close…” He praises, bullying his tip into your sopping cunt, no longer worrying about the hood of the car or the paint job that he’s been telling you about since you two arrived at an odd location in the forest. “Finish with me, come on…” He pushes, not caring how loud the two of you are. “Please, Miguel…” You scream out, no longer pleading quietly. “Finish with me.” He croons.

The chase slowly came to an end as the sudden splurge of you squirting everywhere on the hood of the Impala, following along with Miguel cradling you close in his arms, finally giving you a couple of last thrusts into your core. “There we go…” He mumbles, placing a shaky kiss on your temple and slowly pulling out. Your whine greeted his ears as he pulled out his softening cock, and a thin white line at your entrance decorated your cunt, no longer empty. “There we go, keep it in there.” You felt as if your body took a screenshot from laying on the car's hood while the sound of clothes ruffling and a belt clinking filled your ears.

The next few moments felt blurred. You felt Miguel help you off the car's hood and straighten out your now-ruffled top and skirt. “I don’t need anyone else to see you like this,” he mutters before making his way to the vehicle's passenger side. What are you doing?” You huff out, leaning against the side of the car for support. “Give me a moment,” he continues to rummage around before he grasps a small red box in his hand.

“Do you fuck with cigarettes?” He questions. You weakly nod, slowly coming down from your high. “Do you mind which brand?” The sight of the Marlboro flashed your eyes before Miguel nudged the box gently, allowing the two cigarettes to slide out a bit, enough for you and Miguel to grab. You grabbed the cancerous stick and placed it between your tinted pink lips, smeared with pink lipgloss at the corner of your lips. Reaching into his pocket, the lighter looked tiny in his grasp as he flickered on the measly lighter. 

“Here,” You reach for the small lighter and take it from him with a gentle grasp, soon flicking at the small wheel. After a couple of flicks at it, the small flame appeared, emitting a tangy orange close to your hand, soon flickering along with the breeze. “Oh…!” You shield the small flickering flame with your free hand, allowing the flame to flicker about before settling its movements. 

As he took a deep breath, Miguel reached for the small flame and brought the cigarette closer to it. Without removing the cigarette from his lips, he leaned down towards you and used your flame to light his cigarette. As he did so, he kept his gaze locked on yours, retaining eye contact for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes. His eyes are like embers of fire waiting to be ignited again, waiting for the next moment to be triggered. 

“Here…” He grabbed the cigarette and pulled it away from your lips as he inhaled his cigarette slowly. Wary of the lit cigarette between his fingers, he gently grasps your chin and kisses you while exhaling the smoke into your mouth. He slowly pulls away from the soft kiss and lingers eyes on you.

For a moment, there was a glisten in his eye when they softened; it didn’t go unnoticed…

Tag List:

@mybvalentine @famousscattale @lazyjellyfish300 @ohara-whore @miguelzslvtz @queerponcho @improbable-outset @snails-doodles22 @koko-1025 @miguelhugger2099 @hyjionie @ugh-ok-fiyn @hwasoup

[tumblingdaydreamer]

I'm thinking the one who could have leaked Cat, Laila and Jean's address is Bryson.

Jean slams him into a windshield (consequently shaming him, which I assume he's not nearly accustomed enough happening to him being a Wilshire and all that), so in retaliation, he leaks their address.

For me it makes sense, he can't retaliate in that exact moment (Jean doesn't care at all about him being a Wilshire and Laila is threatening him with calling the police and pitting her name against his) so afterwards he makes the cowardly choice of throwing them to the wolves instead.

Also, by making it so the house is being accosted by the press he knew their mother (hate her) would shorten Jeremy's leash under the guise of him 'not being safe there' and them not being good company for someone of their standing. More than anything Bryson wants Jeremy to be miserable, and he knows how important they are to Jeremy, so it works for him either way.

So... That would also mean Bryson would be in part responsible for the house being burned down. Which brings me to the hypothetical that if Jeremy were to find out that were the case, maybe it would help him take that step into finally confronting his family for all their fucked up shit...

P.d.: These are just my ramblings but I'm genuinely hoping Bryson will be decked in book 3🕯️

[violettwrites]

tp!daryl — your relationship with his older brother

a/n: i fear i am world building i am so sorry 😭 but !! i have a love/hate relationship with merle and everything he does, so here’s my take on his relationship with reader.

yes i had to go scour the internet to find a photo of young(ish) merle, and this is the best i got so !

as always, if you enjoy my stuff, don’t forget to like, reblog, and/or comment !

my ask box is open for requests, or even if you just wanna have a chat !

➸ tp!daryl masterlist

➸ regular masterlist

resources: divider by @adornedwithlight

your relationship with merle dixon was like being caught in the middle of a storm— chaotic, wild, and unpredictable. daryl, on the other hand, was your anchor. he’s your best friend, the one who grounds you when everything else feels like it’s spinning out of control. he’s quiet, steady, and always there, even when words aren’t needed.

but merle, daryl’s older brother, is everything daryl isn’t— loud, abrasive, and constantly stirring up trouble. from the moment you had met him, merle had always been a thorn in your side, always teasing, always pushing your buttons. he thrives on getting under your skin, and you swear it’s become a sport for him. wether it’s his crude jokes or his constant attempts to get a rise out of you, merle has perfected the art of annoyance.

you had first met him not long after meeting daryl, only being young and a scrawny little thing. he was much older, with a cigarette between his lips, and a beer bottle in hand. at first, you were almost sure he was daryl’s dad, but when daryl had mumbled the words “this is my big brother, merle.” well, you were a little shocked to say the least.

“yer the (l/n) kid, ain’t ya,” he spoke, the same southern twang in his voice that daryl had, just a tad more mature. if you could call merle mature. “ya look like ya eat scraps, girlie ! what’s wrong with ya !”

and that was how you met merle dixon.

you’d spent a lot of time with both daryl and merle growing up, shoved between the two of them in the old truck merle drove around, hands pressed between your thighs in attempt to make yourself smaller, all three of you staring out the front windshield of the truck. or squished on the couch together between the two brothers, watching whatever shitty war movie was on the tv. you eventually learned why you were always shoved between the two of them.

to stop them fighting.

you remember the first time you ever witnessed daryl and merle get into a fight. watching daryl tackle merle to the ground, dust kicking up about them as they rolled around on the dirt. profanities being thrown around along with fists. you were stunned, not knowing what to do until you’re grabbing onto someone’s elbow, trying to pull them off the other. until you’re elbowed in the face yourself.

and that was the story of how merle dixon gave you a blood nose for the first time.

“merle you fucking idiot !” daryl shouted at him, crouching down next to you, an arm around your shoulder while you cradled your nose. you had tears in your eyes, not because you were upset, but because he whacked you right on the nose and it just fucking hurt.

daryl claimed it needed to be fair, that you deserved to hit merle back, to make it even. merle, of course, protested. “i ain’t done nothin’ wrong ! girlie over here got in the way ! it’s ‘er own fault !”

you were just thirteen when you got to punch merle in the nose for the first time.

you had seen merle in several different states during your time at the trailer park. happy, sad, drunk, high, manic, depressed— you name it. he had most likely felt it. you had seen him trip down the steps of their trailer, face planting into the mud when it was storming. you had also watched him almost fall into the fire pit one night, drunk as a skunk. the only reason he didn’t end up in the fire was because daryl was quick to push him the other way.

daryl claimed he hated merle, but he obviously cared.

merle was often the one to drop the both of you off at school. pantera blasting through his shitty truck speakers as he told the both of you to “get the fuck outta my truck and go do some learnin’ !”

he wouldn’t stop listening to pantera. it was his favourite band.

you had been teased relentlessly throughout the years by merle. he’d often call you names like girlie, pipsqueak, bag o’ bones— the list was endless. however, when you got to that age where you were turning into a “woman”, the nicknames changed. sugar, sweetheart, doll face. you couldn’t escape it.

but there was one thing he never did, and it was lay a finger on you. unless you obviously count the time he elbowed you in the nose. but you agreed. that was an accident.

you were never afraid to bite back. you had that feisty nature from growing up with those two boys, and you always had a comeback. no matter what. even if it was telling him to “shut the fuck up.” that was a big part of your vocabulary growing up.

he treated you like his own— he protected you like his own. you never thought you’d admit it, but you did care about merle. his chaos never seemed malicious. it was more like he was trying to break down your walls, see what you’re made of. and while he drives you insane, there’s a strange sort of balance in your lives. daryl’s your rock, your calm. but merle, in his chaotic way, forces you out of your comfort zone. he keeps your sharp, on your toes.

even if he pissed you off to no end.

[cakesunflower]

lovelorn (and nobody knows) [rafe cameron au fic] chapter 22

Summary: Isla Carrera had planned for the summer before college to be focused on three things: helping out at her family’s restaurant (the helpful daughter), preparing for college (the good student), and having fun with the Pogues (the loyal friend). But one fateful night, where her car breaks down and her rescuer is none other than Rafe Cameron, seems to send her summer down a path she didn’t see coming–one teeming with a secret, illicit romance with the last person she expected. And if her friends and sister found out, Isla isn’t sure they’ll be so understanding, no matter what her feelings are.

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21

A/N: helloo peeps sorry for the long wait!! i got super slammed at work and then my grandma died and then i got slammed at work again kdjnfjsf but here's a 6k word chapter to make up for the wait yeehaw

Isla parks her car and kills the engine, huffing out a breath as she doesn’t readily make a move to get out of the car. Through the windshield, she can see into the open doorway of Heyward’s, catching a glimpse of the aisles full of supplies, though the front counter is obstructed by the wall. Nerves tangle up in the pit of her stomach at the idea of walking inside and seeing Pope and Cleo, whom she hasn’t seen or spoken to in over a week.

She taps her fingers against the steering wheel, hesitating on making a move. Her dad had asked her to pick up some supplies he ordered at Heyward’s, either forgetting or not particularly caring that Isla is currently on the outs with her friends. She isn’t a hundred percent sure if Pope is working today but odds are that he is, so Isla sits in her car for a few minutes to mentally prepare herself for the no doubt cold shoulder she’s going to receive.

Instead of further stalling like she wants to, Isla huffs out a breath and gets out of her car, the summer heat warm against the exposed skin of her arms and legs as she walks towards the store. Jazz music plays quietly from Heyward’s old radio behind the counter, a few people milling about the store, but Isla’s attention instantly goes to the two people working the counter.

Cleo, as always, sits atop it as she expertly plays with her switchblade, while Pope stands behind the counter as he checks a customer out. Cleo is the first to notice Isla, her shoulders straightening. Isla feels a pang of relief when Cleo offers her a small smile, noting the lack of animosity in her dark eyes, and it loosens some of the tightness in Isla’s chest.

“Hey, girl. You here for your dad’s pick up?” Cleo asks.

Her question has Pope glancing over, and the customer service friendly smile slips off his face the moment his gaze locks with Isla’s. The tightness returns, this time in Isla’s throat, at the instant hardness of Pope’s features. Tension rises as he looks away and hands the guy his change, not a word to Isla.

“Yeah, I am,” Isla answers Cleo with a strained smile.

Her friend hops off the counter, pocketing her knife as she rounds the counter to get behind it. Isla stiffly reaches into the back pocket of her shorts to pull out her wallet, since her dad said the things weren’t paid for yet, and pulls out her credit card and taps her finger against it as she waits for her turn. 

Her skin is heating up and it has nothing to do with the warm summer weather. When the guy in front of her leaves with his things, Isla steps up to the counter, lips pressed together as her and Pope’s gazes lock once again. 

“Hey,” she greets stiltedly.

Pope’s shoulders square as he regards her silently. Behind him in the backroom, Isla hears Cleo shuffling around as she grabs Isla’s dad’s order. But instead of responding to her, Pope merely taps on the screen of the register—Heyward recently upgraded from the old register to one with a screen—to pull up Mike’s order, Isla assumes.

Isla’s stomach tumbles in dismay when Pope doesn’t say a word to her, wishing she could channel some anger instead of hurt. But the coldness in Pope’s dark eyes stings more than anything else as he tightly tells her, “That’ll be sixty-eight eighty-five,” just as Cleo emerges from the back carrying two bags.

Isla hands over the credit card as Cleo puts the bags on the counter. “Here you go,” she says with a smile. Arching a brow, she asks, “You need help carrying these to your car?”

“She can handle it,” Pope cuts in, tone as sharp as his eyes as he hands the credit card back with the receipt.

Cleo shoots him a disapproving stare, but Pope ignores it, his gaze fixed on Isla. His expression all but screams for her to leave. God, when will they be okay with her? When will they forgive her? Pocketing the receipt and card, Isla reaches for the bags and Isla offers Cleo a smile she hopes isn’t wobbly. “I’ve got it. Thanks,” she says as she pulls the bags off the counter.

She doesn’t look towards Pope, the ache tight in her chest as she heads towards the door. But before she steps out of the store, his voice cuts through. “I can’t believe you’re picking him over us.”

Isla stills, her grip on the plastic straps of the bags tightening as she feels the weight of Pope’s stare on her back. Throat working, she slowly turns until she looks at them again, catching the way Cleo frowns at Pope. He stares right at Isla, his jaw tight. Isla wishes she could match that stare, show any of her anger. Instead, her shoulders just drop. “And I can’t believe you guys are forcing me to make a choice in the first place.”

Pope’s nose flares, incredulity flashing across his face. “It’s freaking Rafe, Isla!” he hisses, since there are a few people towards the back of the stores. “How is this even a choice that needs to be made?”

In the face of his anger, Isla’s own swells. “You guys don’t get to invalidate my feelings and punish me for them, too,” she snaps, heat spreading through her skin as she narrows her eyes at Pope, her breathing picking up slightly. “You won’t hear me out, you won’t give him a chance—people can fucking change, Pope. They evolve.” She scoffs, her tone turning a little mocking in the face of the anger and hurt that comes with every confrontation. “As a man of science, I figured you’d understand that.”

Isla lets out a breath, tightening her grip on the shopping bags. She glances between Pope and Cleo, the latter wearing an admiring gleam in her dark eyes that has Isla’s shoulders sinking a bit in relief. “I’m not going to beg for y’all’s forgiveness, because I’m not going to apologize for my relationship when I’m not sorry for it.” At that, she sees a tiny smile quirk at the corner of Cleo’s mouth. “He’s good to me. He cares about me. A person can change, Pope, no matter your opinion of them. Stop being so fucking small minded.” His eyes widen, ever so slightly, at that, and Isla knows her words have hit home. Hopefully. “And you can tell the others I said that.”

She walks out of Heyward’s with her head held high and zero regrets.

*****

“Isla?”

At the sound of her name, Isla turns around from the rack of dresses she’s sifting through, finding Sarah standing there as she lifts her sunglasses to set them on top of her blonde head. “Hi,” Isla returns slowly, offering a smile in return at the sight of Sarah’s.

She nods towards the rack. “Are you looking for a dress for the party?” she asks, taking a few steps towards her.

“Yeah,” Isla breathes out a chuckle. “I am.”

The party in question was one being thrown by Ward Cameron and his company, some charity gala for hurricane relief for the Outer Banks and the surrounding areas. Rafe had told her about it a few days ago and asked her to come as his date, which she readily accepted before realizing she didn’t really have a dress befitting a gala. She had her dress from Midsommers, but she didn’t want to wear it again, even if Rafe wouldn’t have cared if she did. Besides, Isla was always looking for an excuse to buy a pretty dress. Which is why she was going from boutique to boutique on Figure Eight trying to find the perfect one.

She asked Sarah, “You too?”

The blonde chuckled, nodding. “Yeah. Maybe we can help each other out?” she asks, and Isla can’t help but notice the hesitance in which Sarah asks, and the hope that dances in her brown eyes. As if she’s half afraid that Isla would say no to her. But how could she? She misses her friends badly.

“I’m so down,” Isla says with a grin, prompting Sarah to wear one as well.

Together, the two of them sifted through different racks, gathering a few different dresses in their sizes to try on—including some they picked out for each other. In the fitting room, they each tried on all of the dresses, stepping out to show each other each one, and Isla truly feels light with every giggle she and Sarah share and the compliments they throw at each other. Things with the rest of their friends and her sister may be tense and strained, but at least Isla still has Sarah. 

“Oh, my God—yes, Isla! That’s the one,” Sarah gasps as Isla steps through the curtain in yet another dress.

It’s a satin, emerald green gown with an A-line and spaghetti straps, and a slit going up the right leg. It’s also backless with straps criss-crossing at the back, and it fits Isla like a glove made specifically for her. And it’s doing wonders for her ass.

“You think?” Isla asks, turning to the side to look at herself in the mirror at the end of the fitting room hall. The green really did go nicely with her warm brown skin tone.

“Yes, holy shit,” Sarah says with a laugh, clapping her hands together once. “You need to get it. Rafe is going to lose his mind. He won’t be able to keep his hands off you.” She paused as Isla raised her eyebrows, and Sarah’s nose scrunched. “I just realized I’m talking about my brother. Ew.” Isla snorted out a laugh as Sarah shook her head. “But no, seriously. That’s the one.”

“Okay, okay, I’m gonna get it,” Isla says an excited grin, smoothing down the front before looking at Sarah. “Are you getting the red one?”

It was a gorgeous dress that tied at the back with a plunging neckline, cinched at the waist before it draped down her legs. It hugged Sarah perfectly. “I think so,” Sarah nods with a grin.

They return to their rooms and change back into their clothes and after returning the other dresses, the two of them head to the cashier. They pay at separate registers and while their cards are being rung up, Sarah asks, “You wanna get lunch?”

Isla smiled. “Yeah.”

Ten minutes later, they were seated in the outdoor patio section of a restaurant, the ice in their sodas crinkling as cars drove by on the street and people walked along the sidewalk—almost all of them familiar faces. The Outer Banks is a small island, afterall. The umbrella above their table shades them from the sun and a nice summer breeze cools them down as they look over the laminated menu.

And as much as she likes being with Sarah and hanging out with her, Isla can’t help but ask, “You sure you wanna risk being spotted with the enemy?”

She doesn’t look up from the menu as she asks this, cheeks flushing with heat in slight embarrassment for showing that kind of vulnerability. But Sarah is one of her best friends, and when has Isla ever been embarrassed about being open with them?

Probably since they all shunned her after finding out about her relationship with Rafe.

Sarah lowers the menu, her expression somber but eyes warm. “They’ll come around, Isla,” she says, her voice nothing but confident.

While Isla has been telling herself the same thing, the voice in the back of her head fills her with doubt. “Kie barely talks to me,” she says. “I’m pretty sure she avoids being at home as much as possible just so she doesn’t have to see me.”

Her throat tightens with hurt at the lengths her own sister is going to avoid her. It fucking sucks. “I’m sorry,” Sarah says genuinely, her shoulders slumping. “But they all miss you.” At the doubtful expression Isla wears, Sarah nods. “Trust me on that. It’s not the same without you. I have no doubt they’ll realize they’re being unfair and ridiculous. I think John B will come around—he’s getting tired of me yelling at him.”

That pulls a laugh out of Isla, once again grateful to have Sarah on her side. “Work your magic, Sarah Cameron,” Isla muses as she reaches for her glass of Coke.

Sarah chuckles before the sound fades, a breath escaping her. “Rafe’s different now,” she says after a moment of silence, catching Isla’s attention again. “He just seems. . .” Sarah waves her hand around as she searches for the right word, gaze wandering. “More at peace, I think. Relaxed. Happy,” she adds with a smile before letting out another laugh. “I don’t think I’ve seen him smile so much.”

Hearing that brings a smile to Isla’s face, the warmth spreading through her that pools in her cheeks. It feels so good to hear from Sarah that Isla makes Rafe as happy as he makes her. Sure, she didn’t have any doubt, but to hear it from his sister, who happens to notice a visible difference in him, brings a special kind of reassurance and giddiness that tickles Isla’s stomach.

“He’s. . .” Isla exhales slowly, lips tipped up. “He’s a really good guy. He cares about me a lot and I. . .” She looks away, shaking her head as she thoughtfully stares out at the street, watching cars drive by and people walk along. “I didn’t really plan on getting into anything with anyone the summer before college, you know? Rafe kind of just crept up on me.”

Sarah hums thoughtfully, still smiling. “Kind of like me and John B,” she comments with a tilt of her head. “Never saw that coming, either. Yet here we are.”

Isla nods along in agreement. “Is John B coming to the gala?”

“Yeah,” Sarah answers with a soft snort of a laugh. “He got a new suit and everything.”

Isla chuckles at that, kind of looking forward to seeing John B at an event like that. He would likely feel out of his element, a Kook’s event way out of his comfort zone, but Isla knows he will brave it for Sarah. She’s not sure how he’s going to be around her, especially given that they’ll be seated at the Camerons’ table, but Isla only foolishly hopes that it won’t be awkward. She hopes it’s not too much to ask for, but given how things have been, a small knot of dread has already formed in the pit of her stomach.

As if reading Isla’s thoughts—or, more likely, noticing her slightly queasy expression—Sarah offers her another gentle smile. “He’ll be on his best behavior. Don’t worry.”

Easier said than done. All she’s done is worry since her friends found out about her and Rafe. But putting on a brave face is becoming second nature at this point.

*****

Isla smooths down the front of her dress, turning right and left as she examines herself in the floor length mirror in the corner of her bedroom. The tips of her nude painted toenails peek out from the hem of her gown, thanks to the gold heels she’s wearing. Gold hoops dangle from her ears, along with smaller ones lining up both of her lobes. The earrings match her nose ring, along with the dainty gold necklace that sits around her neck and the few rings adorning her fingers.

Her dark hair, with several strands a lighter caramel color thanks to her time under the sun, is twisted into two thick braids that meet at the back of her head in a bun, a few strands escaping to frame her heart shaped face. Makeup done and her things in a gold formal purse to match her shoes, she’s ready just in time for Rafe to text her that he’s five minutes away.

After a final spritz of her perfume and making sure there’s no lipstick on her teeth, Isla exits her room and heads down the stairs, where she can hear the murmur of the TV while her parents chat idly. Her mom is the first to notice her and Anna instantly gasps, sitting up on the couch.

“Oh, honey!” she gushes with a grin, hands clasping as she gets up. “You look gorgeous! Wait, I need to take photos,” she adds hastily, snatching her phone up from the coffee table.

Mike crosses his arms, though fondness softens his gaze. “You’re looking a little too grown up for my liking.”

Isla lets out a laugh as her mom maneuvers her in front of a wall decorated with paintings and photos. “I’m eighteen, Dad,” Isla teases.

Mike sighs. “Don’t remind me.” He smiles, then. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

She thanks them with a smile before indulging her mom, posing this way and that as Anna snaps some pictures. When she finishes up, Isla’s gaze snags on some movement in the entryway of the living room from the side porch, and her smile falters a bit when Kie steps inside. Her sister takes out her AirPods as she looks at Isla, expression unreadable as she takes in Isla’s outfit.

Tension weighs the room upon Kie’s arrival, though their parents don’t seem to notice as they swipe through the photos on Anna’s phone. Isla does her best not to pick on her freshly manicured nails as Kie’s gaze meets hers, and Kie’s throat works for a moment before she says, “You look nice.”

The compliment is genuine, making Isla’s heart jump. An olive branch? She can’t be sure, but she smiles nonetheless, some of the tension easing out of her shoulders. “Thanks.”

Arching a brow, Kie asks, “He’s not going to pick you up on his motorcycle, is he?”

A quiet huff of a laugh escapes Isla. “No, he isn’t.”

As if summoning him, the doorbell rings and Kie’s gaze snaps in the direction of it. There’s a shift in her expression, but Isla tries not to linger on it too much as she shoots her family a smile. “I don’t know when I’ll be back, so don’t wait up.”

“Have fun, honey!” Anna calls as Isla heads towards the front door, catching sight of Rafe from the window.

She opens the door, catching him bathed under the golden glow of the porch light, and her heart stutters at the sight of him. He’s in a black suit with a crisp white button down underneath, shoes shining with the expensive watch on his wrist, and—oh, God, he’s also wearing the beaded bracelet Wheezie made for him, which makes Isla totally melt—the ring on his pinky, and Isla’s lips curl up in a surprised smile when she notices that his tie matches the exact shade of her dress.

Right when she lifts her gaze to ask him how he knew the color, all thoughts eddie out of Isla’s head as her lips part in shock when she finally sees his face. His hair, actually—or lack thereof.

“Oh, my God—you buzzed it!” she gasps by way of greeting, wide eyes taking in his new hairstyle. Gone are his longer locks with the side curtain bangs, and in place Rafe’s hair is buzzed close to his scalp and, holy fuck, does it look good on him.

“Surprise,” Rafe chuckles, almost a little shyly, as he ducks his head a bit while rubbing the back of it. When blue eyes meet her green, she sees some hesitancy in his gaze as he asks, “Do you hate it?”

“Are you kidding?” Isla laughs, hoping to shove away the heat that curls the bottom of her stomach, desire for the man in front of her coursing through her veins like lightning. She steps closer, her heels tapping against the wooden porch as she peers up at him. Even with these shoes, he towers over her as she rejoices in his familiar, delicious scent. Her grin is sly, inches separating them as she murmurs, “I didn’t think it was possible to be even more attracted to you.”

Heat flashes in his eyes as he looks down at her, looking like he’s desperately fighting the desire to take her against the wall with the way his jaw tics. Rafe’s gaze dips even lower, taking in the length of her, and Isla swears every inch of her body lights on fire wherever his gaze touches. When his eyes meet hers again, the desire mixes with something else on his face—something warmer, softer. “You look stunning, Isla.”

While the compliments from her family had been sweet and nice to hear, hearing the words from Rafe’s lips had an effect all on its own. Her cheeks flush in pleasure, stomach fluttering as her hand comes up to rest on his chest, reveling in the thump of his heart beneath her palm. “So do you, baby,” she murmurs, smiling as she runs a hand down his tie. “Matching, huh?”

She’s endeared by the pink that spots his cheeks. It takes a lot to get Rafe Cameron to blush, but Isla is quickly figuring out that she’s got it down. “Sarah took a picture of your dress. Just the fabric, to get the color. It was her idea and I—” He huffs out a laugh. “It’s not too prom-y for you?”

Isla shakes her head as she mentally blows a kiss to Sarah. “No. I love it. It’s sweet,” she assures him. She lightly grips his chin between her thumb and finger, rising up enough to brush a kiss across his lips. “You’re sweet.”

Rafe’s lips curl up. “No one’s ever accused me of that before.” He offers her an arm. “Shall we?”

Laughing, Isla hooks her arm around his and they walk down the porch to where a sleek black town car is parked at the end of the driveway, which Rafe tells her he borrowed from the company. The driver makes a move to get out and open the back door, but Rafe stops him and opens the door for Isla himself. 

As she moves to duck in, her eyes catch sight of Kie on the porch, leaning forward on the railing with her arms crossed on top. Isla pauses, looking to Kie with a pounding heart. Rafe glances at Isla before following her gaze, and she feels him tense up when he catches sight of Kie as well. They both wait for a beat or so, Isla’s heart beating in her damn throat.

And then, even with the distance, Isla still sees the small smile that upturns the corner of Kie’s mouth and, with great relief, Isla takes that as the olive branch that it is. Any remaining tightness completely eases out of her, at least for tonight, as she lets out a breath and dips her chin in a nod with a smile of her own for her sister.

She returns the smile before ducking into the car, Rafe shutting the door behind her before he rounds the car and slides in on the other side. There’s a partition that separates them from the driver, the car pulling away from her house. “Was that a truce?” Rafe asks her, his strong thigh pressing against hers.

“I don’t know,” Isla answers truthfully, shooting him a small uncertain smile. “Maybe? I hope so.”

Rafe reaches for her hand, interlacing their fingers together. Isla relaxes under the feel of his larger hand holding hers, the two of them fitting together perfectly. “Looked like a step in the right direction,” he says encouragingly, his thumb rubbing reassuringly against her skin. 

“Yeah,” Isla breathes out, leaning back comfortably in the seat. “Baby steps,” she adds before reaching out to brush a hand down his tie again, a smile tugging on her lips. “So did you just happen to have a tie that matches my dress, or did you actually buy a new one?”

His cheeks pinken again as he huffs out a chuckle. “I bought it. With Sarah’s help,” he confesses. “Wheezie said I was whipped.” Rafe flashes Isla a smirk. “I didn’t disagree.”

Isla laughs, even as she thinks of the two different times Rafe has been labeled as such: whipped. First by Topper, the other day at the beach that resulted in Rafe punching him. Now by Wheezie, that only makes Rafe blush. Two different reactions, and Isla knows it’s because Topper said it in a way to weaponize her and Rafe’s relationship. Isla doesn’t blame him for punching Topper for it. She kind of wanted to do it herself, too. But having a boyfriend has its perks, it seems.

*****

The hotel banquet hall is a picture of elegance, grand chandeliers casting a warm glow, the windows covered with heavy navy drapes with gold trims. The round tables spread around the room are decorated with similar tones; navy tablecloths and chair coverings with gold trims and details. The centerpieces are gorgeous flowers sitting in vases, glassware and utensils wrapped in napkins sit in front of each seat. A stage is set up towards the front, a podium in the center and a screen projected on the back that reads The Cameron Group 2025 Gala. 

There are plenty of people already in attendance as Rafe guides her to where his family is, a hand at the small of her back. His skin touches hers directly thanks to her backless dress, and Isla tries not to shiver as they walk across the room where his parents seem to be holding court with a group of people. Rafe is stopped multiple times in between their entrance and when they reach his family, his charming smile making Isla smile as he greets guests and introduces her.

My girlfriend, Isla. Every time he says those words, Isla swears her smile widens a bit more. Especially when she hears that gentle inflection of pride that makes her heart flutter crazily.

“There they are,” Ward beams when he catches their approach.

Isla is all friendly smiles at the Cameron family and the few others around, but as they come to a stop next to them, Isla’s gaze goes directly to John B standing next to Sarah. Isla finds herself tuning out the conversations, only smiling when she’s introduced, but tension lines her body when John B’s dark eyes meet hers.

He looks dressed for the part in a black suit of his own and the corners of Isla’s mouth twitch up when she sees his tie matches the deep red of Sarah’s dress as well. And judging by the impish grin on Sarah’s face when Isla looks at her, it was definitely on purpose.

“You guys look gorgeous,” Sarah whispers in Isla’s ear when they hug, stepping around Sarah’s parents so they weren’t interrupting whatever discussion was happening.

“So do you,” Isla replies with a quick squeeze before they pull apart. She shoots her friend a knowing smile. “Matching ties?”

Sarah’s grin widens, elegantly shrugging a shoulder. “They’re matching us and each other,” she says with a giggle. 

Isla laughs, realizing she’s right. But before she can praise her friend for her cunningness, John B steps over to where they’re standing. Surprisingly, he doesn’t look too out of place, or appear as stiff and awkward as Isla thought he would in this kind of setting. The guys—John B, Pope, and JJ—were Pogues through and through. And while Pope, and sometimes JJ, were used to being in these types of spaces with Kooks galore because they would be working—Pope with his dad and JJ picking up a waiting job—none of them had really been in these places as attendees.

But John B stood proudly next to Sarah, and while his suit was nice and shoes polished, his hair was in its usual tousled waves, emphasizing the devil-may-care way he carries himself in. When he steps up next to them, he smiles softly at Sarah before he looks back at Isla, and his smile shifts a bit—a bit awkward, but it’s a smile nonetheless.

“Hey, Isla,” he greets, only a little stiffly. It’s progress, hopefully. “You, uh—” His gaze darts over to Rafe, who has been sucked into a conversation with some investors, Isla thinks, as he listens to them attentively and brings on the charm that’s like second nature. She finds herself enjoying watching him work. “You look nice.”

Isla looks back at John B and even if the air is tense and awkward, she still appreciates the effort. It’s ten times better than if he just straight up ignored her. “Thanks. So do you.” She smiles, relaxing somewhat. “Didn’t know you could clean up so well.”

Fortunately, John B takes her words for the playful tease they are, glancing down at himself with a short laugh. “Neither did I,” he responds. His throat works, fiddling with the button of his suit jacket before he undoes it, glancing over at Sarah. She smiles at him encouragingly, which Isla doesn’t miss, before John B looks back at her. “Uh, how’ve you been?”

She smiles, nodding. “I’m alright,” she says honestly. “How’s work?”

John B chuckles, scratching his jaw. “Can’t complain. Work, surf, repeat,” he adds, which widens Isla’s smile. This is good. This feels normal. And the way Sarah’s brown eyes are dancing happily, she can feel the tension easing away, too. John B meets Isla’s gaze again and his eyes soften, his Adam’s apple bobbing before he clears his throat and starts, “We really miss—” Hope rises in Isla’s chest, only for it to halt when John B’s gaze just happens to go past her shoulder, and she sees his eyes darken, jaw clenching.

“What’s wrong—oh, of course,” Sarah groans right when she follows John B’s gaze.

Eyebrows furrowing, Isla tries to tamp down the disappointment she feels when John B didn’t finish his thought, because she really thought it was going in the direction hse hoped, and turns to see what they’re looking at. Her tongue presses against her teeth when she sees Topper walk in, looking annoyingly sharp in his suit and tie, as he enters with his mother and grandfather—with fucking Ruthie’s arm hooked around Topper’s.

Isla’s not surprised he’s here, though she had forgotten he would be. The Thorntons are almost as much of an influential family in Kildare as the Camerons are, not to mention family friends. So of course they’re here, too. Isla rolls her eyes as Topper grins charmingly at other people, Ruthie sticking to him in a midnight blue halter dress that looks gorgeous. Isla just hates the person wearing it. Her gaze zeros in on Topper for a moment before snorting quietly as she turns back to John B and Sarah.

“Wonder what brand of concealer he’s wearing to cover up his bruise,” she lightly comments—though quietly, aware of where she is. Her gaze darts to Rafe, who has a clear view of Topper because his back isn’t to him, and Isla sees the way Rafe’s jaw works as he tears his gaze away from Topper before meeting Isla’s. His eyes soften even as he gives a small shake of his head, a silent unbelievable conveyed in his expression. Isla just gives him a reassuring smile, which he returns, before they each turn back to their respective conversations.

John B and Sarah are looking at her in confusion. “What do you mean?” Sarah asks.

Isla bites the inside of her cheek, making sure no one is listening before taking a step towards John B and Sarah. They lean in and, keeping her voice low, Isla tells them, “Rafe and I were at the beach the other day and Topper showed up, started running his mouth about you and me.” She looks at Sarah when she says this. The blonde rolls her eyes, unsurprised, while John B’s glare sharpens. “But Rafe shut him up real quick with an effective punch.”

John B blinks, rearing back a bit no doubt in surprise that Rafe punched his best friend. Former best friend, as Isla knows. Both John B and Sarah stare at her in shock, gaze flickering between her and Rafe, who is oblivious to this conversation. “Wait, seriously?” Sarah whispers. 

Isla nods, pressing her smiling lips together as her gaze meets John B’s. She gives him a single shouldered shrug, her smile a little sly. “Told you he isn’t so bad.”

Sarah scoffs out a laugh while John B inhales sharply, looking a comical mix of disbelief and, if Isla isn’t mistaken, approval. It makes her chest lighten. His gaze flicks over and before Isla can look, she feels the familiar warmth of Rafe’s hand at the small of her exposed back. 

“Hey, guys,” he says, shooting her a smile before his gaze slides to Sarah and John B, and Isla loves that his smile doesn’t shift, even when John B’s is a little awkward. But he’s trying. She can see that. They both are. “Let’s go sit.”

He leads them towards the front, to a table right by the stage. Each table sits eight, the four of them settling down with Isla and Sarah in between the guys. As Isla relaxes back in her seat, Rafe turns so he’s facing her, his fingers lightly brushing up and down her leg that’s exposed thanks to the slit of her dress. It’s a gentle, teasing touch that raises goosebumps on her skin, his fingers dancing along her calf, and when she meets his gaze, he shoots her a wink that tells her he knows exactly what he’s doing to her.

“You guys want a drink?” he asks the three of them, arching an eyebrow.

Isla glances over her shoulder. It’s an open bar, but they’d still get carded. Seeing the expression on her face, Rafe widens his smile. “Champagne?” he asks, and when Isla nods, he looks towards Sarah and John B.

His sister nods easily, but John B seems taken aback, clearly not having expected Rafe to speak to him—much less offer to get him a drink. Voluntarily. Isla can’t blame John B for it, not when he’s mostly seen Rafe as, well, an asshole. And as much as Isla adores Rafe now, neither of them are blind to how he used to be. That’s why her friends have been icing her out, isn’t it? There’s no right or wrong here—which is what makes all of it so damn complicated.

“Um—yeah—thanks,” John B stammers out, blinking as his forehead creases, still utterly confused.

Sarah pats his leg with an amused smile. Rafe merely scoops up Isla’s hand, presses a kiss to the back of it, before getting up to get the drinks. As he goes, John B seems to snap out of it and shakes his head. “Uh—that was still Rafe, wasn’t it?”

Isla rolls her eyes while Sarah flicks John B’s ear. “Told you he’s changed since they started dating,” Sarah tells him haughtily, which only makes Isla’s lips curve up.

John B shoots both Sarah and Isla a flat look. “I’m sorry if it was a little hard to believe,” he counters. He glances over his shoulder in the direction Rafe had gone. “But he does seem. . . Like being in the same room as me doesn’t piss him off anymore.”

It’s Sarah’s turn to roll her eyes, even if John B has a point. “Of course he doesn’t,” Sarah says before shooting a sly grin in Isla’s direction. “Being in love tends to have a positive effect on people.”

John B’s eyebrows shoot up while Isla stills in place, her eyes widening as she gapes at Sarah. “Whoa, wait,” Isla starts, stumbling over her words with a nervous laugh. Her skin suddenly warms, stomach fluttering at the idea of Rafe being in love with her. It’s thrilling. It’s overwhelming. Right then and there, she hopes it’s true, and that is dizzying on its own. “He didn’t—I don’t know anything about love—”

“Oh, please,” Sarah cuts in with a scoff and another roll of her eyes. She brushes her hair over her shoulder, gaze fixing on a stunned Isla. “I told you—I’ve never seen Rafe like that. I mean, remember? He used to be moodier than a teenage girl going through puberty the first time. But he’s mellowed out over the last couple of months.”

Isla shakes her head. “We’ve only been dating a little while. Not months,” she counters.

Sarah’s smile remains. “Yeah, but I have a feeling the change happened when he realized his feelings for you. He probably knew you wouldn’t go for him if he didn’t make some kind of change, you know?” She shoots John B a pointed look. “Like keeping his distance from you and the guys.”

John B had the good sense to look chastised—and like he doesn’t quite want to believe Sarah. But the way he presses his lips together in resignation tells Isla that he does as Sarah looks back over at Isla. Her expression softens, her hand reaching out to grasp Isla’s. “I’m guessing you two haven’t said the L word to each other yet but, trust me, you don’t need to say it to know it’s true. I see the way you guys look at each other. It’s obvious.”

Isla rolls her lips, heart thundering as she mulls over Sarah’s words—and not finding any sort of lie in them. But is it too soon? Their relationship is still so new—can she be in love with him?

The thought alone seems plausible, a truth that she can feel deep in her heart. She’s happier than she’s ever been, despite her situation with her friends. Rafe makes her happy, makes her feel cared for—how can she not love him?

But how can she revel in the happiness of her relationship when things are still so up in the air with everyone else?

“I’ll be right back,” John B suddenly says, getting to his feet and catching both girls’ attention.

Isla and Sarah watch as he walks away from them and, with her heart launching to her throat, Isla realizes he’s headed straight for the bar. Right where Rafe is.

-

taglist: @jenniesbuttercup-blog @combatbabys-world @talkfastromance4 @you-got-me-starry-eyed @invisiblexcth @freshsturniolo346 @theafournier97 @danismyth04 @fl0werlver @perfectprettypisces @pameluuu @melsbels-zip @gabrielaperez11 @katieeeeb @cenzie811148

[fandomnerd9602]

The One I Want

Laura Kinney x Spiderpool!Reader

For @deafeningsharkslimeempath

Do you know that one moment where you just feel like you screwed everything up spectacularly? well that happened to me rather recently. Oh sorry where are my manners? my name is (Y/N) (L/N) and on my world I’m known as the spectacularly annoying Spider-Pool. The spectacularly annoying part is debatable.

You see it all started when the TVA zapped me into the void, something about being an anomaly, a profane and unholy combination of both Spider-Man and Deadpool. Honestly, it’s just the best of both worlds in my book or it would be a book if I wasn’t more than just one panel in comic book of the spider verse. True story look it up.

Or it could’ve been the fact that I killed Jared Leto, oh not Morbius. I’m saying I literally killed Jared Leto. It was an accident. I thought I was going after Morbius but oh well.

To make a long story short, I was forced to team up with X-23 or Laura as she likes to be called. One of my all time favorite X-Men characters by the way!

Anyway we found ourselves at an agreement, if I got her back to her timeline and out of the Void she would help me do the same. A good deal all things considered. The only downside is the TVA is so flip floppy. I mean one show it’s the villain the next show it’s good? Fiege, please make up your mind about what the TVA is?!

“You’re sure this plan of ours will work?” Laura told me as we drove thru the woods towards the reported base of the resistance found in the Void.

��If it works, I’ll be happily back in my world by this time tomorrow, Fun Size” Laura’s eyes went wide and she slammed on the brakes, nearly sending me flying into the windshield.

“If?! What do you mean if?!” She was screaming at me. My mind could only formulate the truth. I thought truth telling was Captain America's problem?!

"The TVA are hunting me and I need to get back home to save my world." Oh yeah it all came out like a big old truth salad. A truth salad that you order from Pizza Hut and immediately regret.

Laura began screaming and banging her fists against the steering wheel, "Are you fucking kidding me?! Out of all the spider totems to get stuck in the Void with and I end up with you!"

Oh I knew exactly where this was heading. A teenage superhero such as myself could only baton down the hatches and listen as this beautiful teenage fighting machine chewed me out. How is this both the most embarrassing and fulfilling moment of my life?

"I end up with the biggest fuck up in the multiverse! A spider-deadpool equivalent that couldn't save his Aunt May or Uncle Ben. Twice!"

It's true. I even somehow got my universe's Sean Bean killed. Yes. That Sean Bean. He wasn't even playing my Uncle Ben or anything!

Laura continued her little tirade, "No wonder the Spider Society turned you down! And the Avengers too! You can't save anyone or anything. Your world hates you! The girls you were supposed to love hate you! Mary Jane couldn't stand you. Gwen probably enjoyed death more than you!"

I could feel the anger rising up in the pit of my heart.

"The greatest joke is that no matter how much you wish for death to be with Gwen, you can't die! And it's one of God's greatest jokes on us instead of you!!!"

I was left in stone cold utter silence. I could feel my vision beginning to turn as red as my outfit.

"What?! No witty comeback?!"

"I'm going to fight you now" was all that left my mouth. And you know what? I meant it. Every. Last. Fucking. Word.

"Oh are you-?" THWIP! I shot one of my web guns, a web flew right over her mouth. The anger immediately flared in her eyes. Next thing I knew she lunged at me, claws out.

She grabbed my head and slammed it several times against the car radio. I grabbed her and gently pushed her against the driver seat. Hey I may be in a fight for my life but I’d still never hurt a woman.

Laura took one of her claws and ran it over the web, cutting it. I really should have taken Fictional Chemistry to understand that admantium is stronger than webs.

“This is ridiculous! I can’t hurt a girl!”

“A girl can hurt you!” She retorted before driving her claws in my lungs.

I kicked her straight thru the windshield of the Odyssey and into the forest in front of us. She simply smirked and dove right back thru. I had to admire her tenacity and endurance.

That admiration was interrupted with the familiar feeling of Adamantium being driven straight thru me, over and over.

She began muttering something in Spanish. Sadly I didn’t have the subtitles on so I couldn’t exactly know what she was saying. My Spanish only goes as far as my name: la piscina de aranas.

I pinned her to the second row seats, which were flattened like my heart was after the dog’s death in John Wick.

Laura simply laughed and kicked me straight thru the roof of the Honda. I landed on the roof with a sickening thud and rolled off, hitting the forest floor.

Laura, ever the tease, looked at me thru the window and gave me a come at me signal. “I am a teenage superhero,” I found myself wondering, “how am I terrified and yet so turned on?”

I pulled out my punch daggers and dived right thru the side window.

We traded blows and slashes. She let out a few huffs and groans. She straddled me and begins driving her claws repeatedly, coating the interior with a lovely shade of my blood.

She paused and looked at me in concern, “is that a Glock in your pocket?!”

“I never keep a Glock in there” I laughed before pulling out another gun, “I keep a Desert Eagle!”

Blam! Blam! I fired off several shots at her, one of which hit her rib and the other hit one of her claws.

“That all you got?” She asked me thru gritted teeth.

I grabbed my web gun and shot off several shots, encasing one of her arms in a giant web. She cut right thru it and lunges at me again. She forced us into the remaining back third row. Yeah the Odyssey has three rows. Three rows of get your freak on.

Next thing I knew Laura was looking at me with those brown eyes of hers. It had a mixture of anger and... Wait what was that? Is that lust?!

Well I guess it was. Because the next thing I knew she was driving her claws into the sides of the seats to my left and my right and then she kissed me full on lip lock with teeth hitting mine lip lock. Holy Stan Lee!

Each little growl that escaped her mouth was like a bit of heaven, a symphony to my ears, and quite possibly a fear of hell.

“I…uhh…” my brain tried to comprehend the exact situation that I was going through. It was something so great and yet so terrifying and couldn’t help it intrigue me even more.

“You talk too much” was her only response before she continued her onslaught of kisses. And boy was she right.

She shoved me down onto the remaining back seat, her lips never leaving mine. I began rubbing little circles into her back as the Honda continued rocking back and forth.

It was night by the time we had worked thru all of our differences…and no we did not go any farther than a PG-13 would allow.

Laura nuzzled me, laying against my chest. We shared a bottle of Coke that we found earlier. I gotta admit, besides the whole trying to kill me thing, I could really see a long partnership with her. Both crime fighting and in private.

“I’m sorry” she whispered. “It’s not your fault. The TVA is just the worst.”

“Yeah” I agreed, “sorry I shot you with a Desert Eagle”

Laura simply smirked and held up the bullet before dropping it on the Honda’s floor. “I’ll help you get back home”

“I’ll make sure you have a home to get back to.” I smiled at her and gave her forehead a little kiss.

“Aww” a new voice broke the silence. Laura and I turned to see Deadpool and Wolverine staring at us from outside the Honda.

“Young love” Deadpool chimed in.

OK, so not exactly how I was expecting this whole date to go, but I gotta say turn out better than I thought it would. And what can I say the Honda Odyssey really fucks.

[peachiejeongin]

Snowy Surprises | Seungmin

Day 3 of the 12 Days of Staymas!

Synopsis: A holiday getaway quickly turned into you and your boyfriend stranded in a snowstorm, spending the night in your car...

Pairing: bf!Seungmin x reader

Genre: Fluff!

Warnings: None!

Notice: Hello, my loves! Welcome to Day 3 of the Staymas series! As always, click the link if you want to read the other stories, and I hope you all enjoy this one :)

The snowstorm had turned the world around you into a swirling blur of white. What was supposed to be a straightforwards drive to Seungmin's family cabin had turned into an unplanned pit stop on the side of the deserted road.

Your boyfriend leaned back in the driver's seat, his lips pursing as he watched the snow pile up on the windshield.

"Well," he said after a moment of silence, "on the bright side, I brought snacks!" You shot him a look, arms crossed to shield yourself from the cold already creeping into the vehicle.

"I didn't think our first Christmas getaway together would be in a car," you shook your head in playful disbelief. Seungmin turned to you, a small smile playing at his lips.

"Hey, you're with me. That's already a win, isn't it?"

You rolled your eyes but could not stop the warmth blooming in your chest.

You soon found that Seungmin was not kidding about the snacks; from the backseat, he produced a bag of Christmas cookies, a thermos of hot tea, and even a string of battery-powered fairy lights he had packed for the cabin.

"Why do you have these?" you asked as he draped the lights across the dashboard. He shrugged, his cheeks tinged pink.

"I thought they would look nice in the cabin. But now..." He flicked the switch, and the car filled with a warm golden glow. "It's our makeshit light source for the night.

"This is so extra." You could not help but laugh. "I love it."

Settling in with a blanket wrapped around the two of you, you took turns sipping from the warmed thermos of tea, the richness spreading through your chest.

After about an hour of chatting, nibbling on cookies, and sipping on tea, Seungmin reached for his phone.

"What are you doing?" you questioned.

"Enhancing the mood," he responded, smirking as he connected his phone to the car's speakers. A soft guitar intro filled the space, followed by the familiar strains of 'White Christmas.'

"Cheesy, but I'll allow it," you smiled, swaying slightly to the music.

Seungmin grinned, holding out a dramatic hand.

"Dance with me."

"In the car???"

"Why not?"

With a laugh, you took his hand, and he pulled you closer. The cramped space did not matter as you swayed together, his arms wrapped securely around you. The music played on, but all you could focus on was the way he was looking at you - like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

"You know," he said softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, "this may just be the best getaway ever."

An hour or so later, the storm began to rage outside once again, the two of you settling back in your makeshift nest of blankets and fairy lights. Seungmin's hand rested intertwined within yours, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your skin.

"Do you ever think about the future?" he inquired suddenly, his voice solemn.

"All the time." You turned to him, surprised. "Why?"

"I don't know," he responded, his gaze fixed on the frost-covered windshield. "I guess being stuck here makes me think about what really matters. Like...spending the rest of my Christmases with you."

Your breath caught, his words filling the air with a warmth that rivaled the hot chocolate.

"You're so sappy," you teased, though your voice wavered slightly from shyness. Seungmin giggled, his hand tightening around yours.

"Maybe, but it's true."

---

You woke to sunlight streaming through the windows, the snowstorm finally having given way to a clear, crisp morning. The world outside was pristine, the fresh snow glistening like a blanket of diamonds.

Seungmin was already awake, his hand gently raking through your hair.

"Mornin' sleepyhead."

"Morning," you mumbled, leaning into his touch.

He held up a small package, wrapped in crinkled gold paper.

"I was going to wait until we got to the cabin, but..." he handed you the gift, smiling meekly.

"You brought presents?" You sat up, blinking in shock.

"Just one," he beamed. "Open it!"

Tearing into the paper, you revealed a delicate silver charm bracelet, the tiny jewels shaped like snowflakes, stars, and one shaped like a Christmas tree.

"Seungmin..." you whispered in awe.

"I saw it, and thought of you," he explained. "Think of it as something to remind you of this crazy night." You through your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

"It's perfect," you pulled away slightly to look at him, your gaze filled with adoration. "You're perfect."

He laughed, holding you close.

"I know."

---

With the snow cleared, it was a short, beautiful walk to the cabin. By the time you arrived, the fireplace was crackling, and Seungmin had somehow managed to whip up a stack of pancakes while you unpacked.

Sitting together on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and sharng bites of fluffy, syrupy panckaes, you looked over at him and smiled.

"Next time," you began, "let's plan to get snowed in. It was kind of perfect." Seungmin leaned over, pressing a kiss to your temple.

"As long as I'm with you, I'm fine with anything."