#a cup of coffee to warm my icy heart

[fuk3d]

A Moment In Time

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

Warning(s): Mentions of neglect, verbal abuse, and self-doubt.

Word Count: 1,074

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first time getting back into writing fanfic since 2016 LMAOOO. Anyway, I'm pretty sure this is pure shit so pls feel free to give me constructive criticism. AND PLEASE TELL ME IF THERE'S MISTAKES CUZ THATS EMBARRASSING HAHA. Also writings cringe as hell so soz.

Chapter 1: Happy Birthday | Chapter 2: Distant Memories

The Wayne resident felt empty, soulless, cold, and you couldn't bare the stillness of it all. So you step out onto the balcony, coffee in hand with the chilling air biting at your fingers harshly. You absentmindedly sipped on your coffee, the warm sensation from your cup steadily combating the freezing cold. The garden's atmosphere was filled with tranquility, the sun's rays slowly touching everything in its path. 

If only it could be like this forever.

You breathe in a shaky sigh and flutter your eyes to a gentle close, small puffs of air exit your mouth as you exhale out slowly. This would be the last time you’ll be gazing down at the alluring range of flowers scattered across the garden, its colours radiating brightly from the warm sunrise as it gently caressed the horizon. You can’t help but think back to all of your greatest achievements, your not so finest moments, and the bitter reminder of lonely memories that are left dormant inside your mind.

What more could I have done? Why didn’t I try harder? Why? Why, why, why, wh-

“Young (Name)? Are you alright? It’s cold out there, you should come back inside, where it’s warm.” Your eyes snap back open and you turn your body to face your family butler, Alfred. You blink, then you blink again, until you sputter out your reply with a wobbly smile. “Alfred! I’m- I’m fine, I just wanted to have my coffee out on the balcony.” ‘one last time’.

You turn to breathe in the fresh air for the final time before leaving the balcony area in silence. Today is your 18th birthday, and yet it doesn’t feel like it. A birthday is supposed to be a milestone, something to be celebrated with friends and family, with loved ones.

You shake yourself out of your stupor, a shudder leaves your lips, the icy temperature sending chills throughout your body. You find yourself sitting down near the kitchen table, your lukewarm coffee still in hand. And Alfred all but quietly makes your favourite breakfast, just how you’ve liked it for the last 18 years of your life. It’s been hard, you think to yourself. The unwarranted isolation from Bruce, the hurtful, cut-throat words thrown towards you from Damian as if you were a burden, the excuses from Dick, claiming he already had plans made so “Maybe next time! Yeah?”. And you remember so vividly of Jason pushing you away, as if the bond you two shared didn’t matter anymore. The fond memories, the time spent together, gone, just like that after he had died.

And how could you forget about Tim? Or about Cass, Barbara, Stephanie, and Duke? None of them rarely ever put in the effort to spend even a fraction of their time with you. But it doesn’t matter to you, right? No, not even a single bit, you don’t care anymore; of course you don’t care! Because you’re done, you’re done being in the shadows, done being stuck within those four tiny walls that had been called ‘your room’, and done with not being anyone's choice, especially not even your fathers. 

Even so, that's not true is it? You can lie to everyone else, but you can’t lie to yourself. You do care, and it stings because you’ve been caring up until you forced yourself not to anymore.

With your heart held heavy in your chest, an indescribable ache creeps up your throat as you recount the gut-wrenching memories that you struggle to desperately shake from your head, your now empty cup sits cold on the table in front of you. 

“Breakfast served.” Alfred slides a plate of your favourite in front of you. Your lips are stretched into a light smile, yet it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thank you Alfred..” You say before the both of you are engulfed in comfortable silence. You eat your breakfast at a comfortable pace, savouring the delectable taste that fills your mouth before inevitably finishing your breakfast. Your family's butler busies himself by cleaning the kitchen counter, wiping it down with careful precision before moving down to wipe down the very kitchen table you sit at. “Hey, uhm Alfred?” You speak up before you can even stop yourself, the words stumbling out in a fervent storm. 

“Will you miss me when I move out?” Alfred can only stop and look at you, really look at you. And from the looks of it, you appear collected, indifferent even, but to your butler he notices nearly everything about you. The way you play with your hair when you’re nervous, or how you fiddle with your fingers when you’re uncomfortable and the slight furrow of your eyebrows as you concentrate. So you can’t help but shrink just a little at his expression, his features showing no emotion for you to understand what he’s feeling. 

“I know you’re busy assisting the families business with… their nightly duties and... and I realise I’ve been such a burden to you and the family, but I know I’ll miss you the most out of everyone so-” 

you’re abruptly cut off by the shuffling of Alfred’s feet walking towards you, his arms enveloping you into a hug. A hug that was desperately needed and long overdue. You reciprocate Afred’s action’s and tightly wrap your arms around him, your hands scrunching up Alfred’s uniform because of how hard your hands are balled up into fists. You’re stunned, too puzzled to speak as Afred’s begins to speak. 

“You will be missed dearly Young [Name]. You’re smile, you’re creativity, you’re ideas, our time together; I’ll miss all of these things, those moments that we have.” a pleasant warmth settles within you, Alfred’s hand makes its way to the back of your head, bringing you to his chest as he pats gently. It’s barely audible but it's there, a small sniffle once, twice, then a series of them start to fill the empty rooms' quietness. Tears start to well up within your tear ducts except you refuse to let them fall despite a few already running down your face. You cry, you just feel so scattered and a bit of a mess right now as your tears and snot stain Alfred's clothes.

You let yourself be in the moment, you let down your walls and stripped away the hard exterior around your heart. You’re vulnerable and…  it feels great. 

For once you feel relieved. Happy.

Credit to @adornedwithlight!

End Note: Just to rephrase, this is my first time getting back into writing fan-fiction so I'm rusty asf lol. And any writers that have been doing this for way longer than me, please give me some tips or advice on how I can improve my own writing LMAOO.

[cosmicalily]

8:06am with han jisung - a @cosmicalily timestamp

author’s note: my response to this anonymous req for y/n's reaction to jisung's tattoo! hope this lives up to your expectations angel x

You yawned and stretched your back, rubbing your eyes as you wandered in the kitchen to make yourself a coffee. As you pressed the ‘on’ switch on the machine, you felt a hand, then another, slither around your exposed waist. Cold hands. Familiar hands.

Squealing, you jumped, almost knocking over your mug, and turned around to face your boyfriend. Clad in a huge black hoodie and grey sweatpants, hair tousled and eyes sleepy, he was everything you’d waited for the past month. Despite the hourly texts and daily phone calls, and despite the fact that his job was something you knew he adored with his whole heart, you couldn’t help wanting him to be by your side at all times. But for him, you would always wait. He was always worth it.

“When did you get home? I thought you still had a few days left?” you gasped, running your hands down his sides as if to remind yourself that he was indeed real, and standing right before you. His hands stayed wrapped around your hips, rubbing firm circles into your skin.

“Around seven, but I waited in the living room to surprise you. We decided to postpone the Japan leg of the tour until the next bit since they’ve been having a pretty bad heatwave and we don’t want anyone passing out, onstage or in the audience. Or at least, that’s what I think Chan said. I wasn’t really paying attention. I was just excited to see you again, baby,” he replied, arms moving to your shoulders and pulling you in close to his chest. You moved your arms up his back, under his hoodie, and held them against his warm skin. You pressed your cheek against his chest, feeling something cold.

“Your necklace is icy, Ji,” you whined, tugging at it a little. In the process, you accidentally caught hold of a handful of the fabric of his hoodie, tugging down the neckline a little.

You saw black.

Jisung pursed his lips, his tongue poking his cheek and his eyes mischievous as you investigated further, tugging his neckline down until you made out the full shape on his skin.

A tattoo.

“Is it real?” you asked, eyes wide. “It’s not, right? You wear a lot of fake tattoos for shoots and things.”

“It might be,” Jisung replied, looking a little nervous. “It’s healed now. I got it a few weeks ago. Do you like it?”

You stared at the inked skin underneath your fingertips and then at Jisung, his face hopeful. You pressed a kiss to his tattoo and then to the corner of his lips, standing on tiptoe to rest your forehead against his. One of his hands remained on your waist, the other moved to cup your cheek.

“It’s pretty,” you murmured against his lips. “Really pretty. It suits you.”

“Thank God you like it, it hurt like a bitch to get done,” Jisung whined softly, sighing in relief. “Only now, the stylists can’t put me in v-necks, which I know is getting on their nerves.”

“You still have that slutty waist on display all the time,” you giggled, reaching under his hoodie and pinching the soft skin. “But really, it’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you think so,” Jisung smiled, grabbing your hips to sit you on the kitchen counter. He stood between your legs, your chest against his, and you glanced down again, looking at the inkwork. It really was pretty. It was perfect on him, and the fact that only you got to see it felt even more special.

“Missed you,” you mumbled, bringing his lips to yours.

“Missed you more,” he whispered, kissing you slowly, a hand in your hair.

And at that moment, he hadn’t ever left. He was right in front of you, always by your side, even when he was on the other side of the world.

Tattoo and all, Han Jisung was eternally yours.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve- send an ask to be added :)

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 3: You Trust Me?✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: I’m so excited to bring you the next chapter! This has been one of my favorite series to write, and I have so much more in store for these two! Joel is so so soft for reader 🥹 Happy reading! I love nothing more than to read your comments on what you thought, so please consider leaving me comments and reblogs 💕

Chapter Summary: You’ve got so many reasons not to trust another man again in your life, but Joel seems to give you ten for why you should trust him. One of them being calming a panic attack in the middle of a parking lot.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 9.7k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, angst, soft and protective Joel, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, mentions of an acoustic guitar, panic attacks at the store

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The long days seem to dwindle by with your heart still lodged deep in your throat. It doesn’t seem to matter that the calming rain patters on your foggy window, doesn’t matter that fall used to be your favorite season. You feel hollow, torn apart piece by piece with every second that brushes past your icy skin. 

   You feel broken. You are broken. And you’re not sure anything will ever fix that. 

   Every day you find something new that’s too hard to manage to get your body to do. Brushing your teeth, getting yourself dressed, making yourself eat when all you can stomach is the empty feeling inside you. You’re just so tired of fighting, so very exhausted of trying to just get by. But your body screams at you to fight. 

   Fight for yourself. Win. Get out of bed, eat, make an effort to survive. So, you do. You try because that’s all you hear ringing in the back of your mind. You have to keep going. Don’t let Angela or any of the ones that dragged you down keep you from thriving. 

   Live. 

   Today is like all the other days you fight to not let your depression win. Except today marks two weeks that you’ve been here. Two weeks that you’ve survived. And as much as you feel like giving up every second of every day, you always seem to find one tiny reason to get out of bed. Joel seems to be that reason. 

   Joel… and his warm cups of coffee. The kind that he douses in creamer and sugar and caramel just for you. Because that’s how you like it. And it never fails. Every single morning your cup is there just waiting for you, including Joel’s warm smile and soft brown eyes…

   That’s your reason for getting out of bed. Joel. 

   You discovered that Joel reported you as found to the police department a few days ago. You should feel relieved that he did that, but it didn’t matter. There was no one looking for you, so it didn’t make a damn bit of a difference. No one was coming to get you… Nobody even tried reaching out which makes you feel that much worse.

   You battle with yourself, wrestling your way to slide on a pair of black leggings, along with a long cashmere sweater that falls clear down your thighs. You fight to comb the knots from your hair, clenching your teeth with every painful drag of the brush. 

   Fight. Win. Don’t let them control you.

   Flexing your trembling hands, you squeeze a generous amount of spearmint toothpaste onto your purple toothbrush and jam it into your mouth, scraping it back and forth until you don’t taste the bitter aftertaste of almost two years in captivity. 

   Your fingers tremble beneath you with every slide of the toothbrush, every clinking noise against your teeth making you gag at the memories of you being left alone with disgusting men in a tiny bathroom against your will. It’s too much, this is too much. So you rinse your mouth and scamper out of the bathroom, closing the door until you can’t feel the goosebumps rising on your skin anymore. 

   You’re safe. They’re not here. You’re free. But you don’t feel free because those painful memories are alive in your mind, painting vivid pictures that make you instantly want to vomit and recoil into bed. But you don’t let the monsters take you back down into the darkness. You flee to sunlight and hope. You make your way to something that makes you feel lighter, where you can breathe easier, to something that gives you hope. 

   And that something is Joel.

   You smell the fresh coffee brew in the air, inhaling the rich scent as if you can already taste it. When you turn the corner you see Joel’s broad back to you, busy with the coffee machine and the daily newspaper, his large hand brushing past the blur of small-print words. 

   Instead of stopping to say good morning to him, you decide to venture down the hall. You haven’t been brave enough to really take in the house and explore, but now? Maybe you could try. 

   The sunlight shines through the open glass windows, making the photographs and hanging art glitter like specks of gold surrounding the black frames. Your eyes skim the family photographs, taking in Joel’s big smile in each of them. One is of him and Tommy, arms clasped around each other’s backs with a little girl standing in front of them, who you suppose is Sarah. Her dark curls spiral to her shoulders while she wraps an arm around her dad. 

   They look so happy, like a normal family who has never been broken. You wish yours looked like that. But again, it never was. You were always surrounded by screaming parents, right on the brink of a divorce while you’d stay tucked in your room with your hands covering your ears, praying for the noise to just stop. 

   But it stopped alright. It stopped the moment they crashed their car on top of a mountain and left you to fend for yourself at your uncle’s house. An uncle that never loved you. An uncle that abandoned Washington the moment you moved out at just eighteen-years-old. And then he did too…

   You keep moving, holding your composure and tears in. Even though you feel like collapsing right in this spot, right under Joel’s family picture. A family that was still together to this day while yours was nonexistent. 

   You wish you still had a family, but you never really did in the first place. Did you? No. Mom was always too busy with looking perfect, constantly obsessing with lessening her wrinkles and getting plastic surgery. And dad? Well, he was always too busy working at the law firm and hooking up with his assistant behind mom’s back. You were always left to fend for yourself, so now isn’t any different than it’s ever been. 

   You’re alone. You’ve always been alone, always just survived. Ever since you were little, that’s all you’ve known — how to be independent and just make it. So what’s different now? Now you just have to swim through the trauma and hope you don’t drown in the process. Because this right now is too much to handle, even for you. 

   It’s too fucking much.

   Choking down the held back tears, you make your way down the long hallway, your body moving on autopilot just to escape the visions that blur into muted noise. The pristine white walls clash against the polished floors, painting you a picture of hope. Something you’ve never really had before. 

   Keep fighting. Live. Make a change. Break the cycle. 

   Holding on to new hope, you keep going until you turn the corner and find a large, open room that makes you audibly gasp. All memories of broken families and internal fears are suddenly forgotten, pushed aside to take in this glorious sight. 

   Holy shit. 

   Towering mahogany bookshelves sit stacked against the white walls, the cascading windows letting in enough sunlight to reflect off the broken-in spines of each book. Two plush ivory oversized chairs sit in the corner of the room, one opposite the other. An electric fireplace sits idle against one of the bookshelves, draped in vines from the tropical plant that splays atop the bookshelf nearest the fireplace. 

   This room is… magical. Exactly what you needed. An escape from reality. An escape from your mind. 

   You trace lines against the smooth covers of the various books, feeling the cracked spines and intricate cursive letters on some of the older books. There’s genres of everything you could ever imagine. Starting from ancient history and going all the way to popular fictional books that you’d see on New York’s best seller’s lists. This room has everything. 

   You could get lost in here.

   Forgetting where you are, your hand snaps back when you hear a deep chuckle behind you. “Thought I heard you come down this mornin’. See you found one of my favorite rooms.”

   When you turn around, you see him smiling over at you, the glow of the sun making his brown eyes sparkle an almond brown honey color. If you’re being honest with yourself, it makes you feel a little lighter because his eyes are so warm. 

   He’s warm. 

   “These are all yours?” you ask with a gasp as your finger continues to trail against the golden spine of an old history book. 

   “All mine. Well, a lot of ‘em I got for Sarah. You see, she’s a bit of a bookworm, and she might’ve got me into the classics. So, now I’m jus’ as bad as her,” he laughs as he leans against the bright wall, his smile light and easy like the relaxed state he’s in now. 

   “This place, it’s incredible,” you breathe out, continuing to skim over the spotless shelves, your fingertips clashing with leather and the feel of worn pages. It smells like freedom and escape, someplace where you could stay buried for days. 

   He runs his fingers through his slicked back curls, bicep flexing against his dark blue flannel, an easy smile hanging on his lips. This might be the most relaxed you’ve seen him since you came here. He looks almost… happy the way he’s looking at you all light and carefree, like he’s enjoying the view. Like he’s happy that you’ve found something else you lost. 

   “You like it?” he asks, his eyes caramel pools that you could almost sink into. 

   “I love it,” you reply enthusiastically, your voice almost unrecognizable. 

   A warm smile spreads on his mouth, making his brown eyes sparkle that much more in the dewy sunlight. “Then it’s yours, sweetheart. Borrow anything you want, read what you want.”

   “Really?” you ask with a raised brow, sliding a book back into its place on the second shelf.

   “Really,” he nods with a smile.

   “Joel, thank you. This is… this is perfect.”

   “Jus’ glad I found someone I can share my books with again.” 

   You stay just like that for the next minute — Joel on the other end of the room, looking back at you with the warmest smile you’ve ever seen. It makes your heart flutter, makes you want to smile back, but you just give him a tight-lipped smile and look back at the cream rug covering the floor, suddenly too shaky to say anything else.

   Your eyes snap to something hidden in the corner of the room, a ray of sunlight hitting at just the right angle to make out something you missed entirely when you walked in. You guess you were too enamored by the books to notice the acoustic guitar sitting neatly on a stand right by the sheer curtain hanging over the window. 

   “Is this yours?” you ask, pointing to the acoustic guitar.

   “Oh. Yeah, s’mine.” His eyes fall to the dark wood, the body glossy and sleek as it shines against the draped curtain. A splash of sunlight makes it shimmer for just a moment, until rain clouds cover the sun and cast the guitar back in shadows.

   “You play guitar?” you question curiously as he takes a long, slow stride across the room. 

   “I used to. A long time ago.”

   You watch him make his way over to the guitar. It’s like he’s tiptoeing across glass, careful in his steps to not trip and cut his tanned skin up. That’s how it seems when he hesitantly reaches out to glide his fingertips down the tight strings, skimming his thumb meticulously against the smooth surface of the polished neck as if he’s memorizing every single particle of the instrument. Like he’s reliving something he keeps hidden away from the rest of the world to see.

   He’s quiet as he analyzes the guitar, almost like he’s reliving memories that only he can see. Were they good or bad ones? Judging by his wary stance and slow movements, you wonder if maybe they’re fragile memories.

   “Used to?” you ask quietly, careful not to disturb whatever storm’s blowing through his mind. 

   “‘S’right. Haven’t played in quite some time,” he answers defeatedly as his thumb tracks along the outline of a carved moth. He lingers there for a moment, pinching his eyebrows together as if he’s trying to fight off whatever images are haunting his mind. 

   He looks… sad. Looks as if that guitar holds years of painful memories. 

   “Why’d you stop?” you push, afraid you’ve just struck a nerve by the way his back muscles tense and his jaw clenches up. 

   His hand wraps around the neck of the guitar, veins bulging in his neck as his eyes grow a shade darker. In the flit of sunshine that creeps through the window, you see a glimmer that looks a lot like a held back tear in the center of his right eye. That in itself sends a shot of pain through your chest. 

   He clears his throat and takes a step back, just enough to where he can only graze the edge of the guitar. His dark brown eyes are in a faraway place when he replies hesitantly. “It jus’—it… I guess it’s got a few memories attached to it that makes it hard to play now.”

   When he drops his hand to his side and looks up at you, you see a man who’s hurting deep inside. You can see it in his weathered stare, in the dark circles beneath his sad brown eyes, in the way his bottom lip twitches each time his gaze falls on that acoustic guitar. 

   There’s something he lost, too. You just don’t know what. 

   Before the room gets too stifling and stuffy, he shakes off his frown and nods toward the hallway. “C’mon, I’ve got your coffee waitin’ on the counter for you. Don’t want it to get cold now.”

   “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

   He gives you a tight-lipped smile and exits the room, leaving you all alone once again. You find yourself looking back at the guitar, your eyes feeling heavy as you stare at the little moth ingrained into the smooth wood. There’s just something about it that makes your stomach drop. 

   This guitar was special to him, maybe it still is. You just wonder what can make a big, strong man like him crumble. You don’t want to see him turn to dust like you; you’ve got enough pain for the both of you. He doesn’t deserve pain. He’s too… good. And while he doesn’t technically wear his heart on his sleeve, you can see he keeps the pain hidden behind a mask. 

   Maybe one day he’ll show you his scars, too.

   When you make your way back to the kitchen, your warm cup of coffee is sitting right there on the quartz island, the steam billowing out as if he just poured it. As you slip into your chair, you notice his shoulders are more relaxed and the weathered stare he had back in that room is nearly gone. Whether he put on a mask or tucked his feelings deep inside his pockets to where you can’t see, you still notice the dark lines that edge beneath his brown eyes.

   Something hurt him, and it still haunts him to this day. 

   Slowly taking a sip of the sugary drink, your eyes snap up to him when you hear the deep timbre of his voice. “Used up the rest of the caramel this mornin’.” 

   You swallow the coffee down your throat and shift forward on the barstool. “Already?”

   He chuckles and nods his head your way. “Apparently someone who’s got a sweet tooth used it all. Can’t imagine who that was.” He winks at you, and you can feel the bright blush stain your cheeks the wider his smile gets. 

   Clearing your throat, you push a lock of hair behind your ear and try to stop the red tint from spreading any further. “Looks like you found the culprit.”

   “Looks like it,” he smiles, his lips tugging at his tanned skin, making a deep dimple press into the middle of his cheek. You can’t help yourself, so you give him a shy smile back in return. It seems to make his brown eyes sparkle that much brighter as he stares at you. 

   You take a few more sips of the caramel drink, enjoying every single drop like it’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. Joel sets down his glass cup and bites his bottom lip, chewing nervously as he glances over at you. “I need to go pick up some things at the grocery store today. Shouldn’t take long at all, but I was wonderin’ if you wanted to come along with me?”

   You choke on a sip of coffee and struggle to find your words. You haven’t been out in the real world in a very long time. You don’t even know how to even interact, nonetheless see strangers passing by you. 

   Tapping your nails nervously against the glass cup, you fight to get the words out. “Oh. You… want me to go to the store with you?”

   “Only if you want. Figured you’d wanna pick some things out.” 

   “Umm. Okay. Sure. I can go with you,” you breathe out nervously, pushing all your fears down as you swallow back the answer you really wanted to say.

   “Alright. Well, how’s ‘bout you finish up breakfast, and we can go after you get ready?” His thumb brushes over the curve of his coffee cup, and your eyes track his movements as he slowly brings the edge to his lips. 

   And then you’re swallowing back fears again and dropping your eyes to the floor, awaiting the panic that’ll surely flood your system when you get to the store. 

   You can do this. Fight the fear. 

   Biting the bullet, you look up and give him a slight nod. “Okay, after breakfast.”

   Joel grins and turns back to the refrigerator, away from your now wide eyes. You’re suddenly regretting your choice, but you have to go through with it. You have to be brave. For yourself. 

   You can do this. 

   Light rain patters on the passenger window, sending water droplets splashing along the side mirror. It’s only sprinkling, but the thunder in the near distance makes it seem like it might pour down at any second. 

   The engine hums as the wheels roll on the pavement, green trees blurring as Joel drives along the long, straight road. An old country song seeps through the speakers as Joel’s thumb taps along to the catchy tune. It’s oddly peaceful, driving with him in his truck. It almost makes you forget the nerves crawling up your spine. 

   “Does it always rain this much in Texas? I thought it was supposed to be like a desert here,” you ask, your eyes tracking the sea of trees outside your window.

   “Usually is. Hell, we’re usually in a drought. But for some reason, we’ve been gettin’ a record amount this year. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen,” he says as he continues driving through the mist.

   “That’s strange.” You trace the condensation on the window and draw little lines, hoping you’ll forget you’re about to go out in public. 

   “You must’ve brought some rain from Washington.” He smiles over at you and continues tapping his thumb along to the rhythm of the upbeat song. 

   “Guess I did,” you laugh under your breath as you finish off your window art of a blooming flower.

   The music goes silent as Joel turns down the radio with the pad of his index finger. When you turn to look at him with questions in your eyes, he clears his throat and looks warily over at you. “Do you… do you miss it?”

   “Miss what?” you whisper, letting your fingers pull against the edge of your warm sweater. 

   “Washington,” he responds back, eyes flicking between you and the road ahead.

   You take a moment to envision the forest green trees, the frigid air by the edge of the sea, the cliffsides you used to hang over to stare into the deep blue ocean. And that’s when you feel a sharp pain jab inside your chest. “Sometimes… I miss the waterfalls, the salty breeze of the ocean, the beautiful nature. I’ve never seen a state as gorgeous as Washington. And how green it is? Yeah, I guess I do miss it…”

   The front of the truck grows quiet as Joel takes in your answer. His palm rakes against his dark beard slowly, brushing across his mouth like he’s thinking really hard about your answer. And just when you think he’ll drop the conversation, he says something that leaves you speechless.

   “I’ll take you back.”

   Your eyes blow wide as you repeat the sentence in your head. I’ll take you back. Why would he do that…

   “What?” you ask, jaw dropped like you just got slapped in the face. 

   He gives you a small smile and looks over at you with the softest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. “When you’re ready, that is. And only if you want to go back. I could help you get your feet back on the ground, find you a nice place where you’ll be comfortable. If that’s what you want.”

   You stare at him dumbstruck, your words lodged deep in your throat with every second that ticks by. He’ll take you back. But why would he do that for you? Why would he do what no one else would? Why does he care what happens to you…

   “Joel, that’s—that’s too much. I can’t ask you to do that,” you protest, shaking your head like what he just said is impossible.

   He shakes his head, making a sandy lock of hair fall against the side of his forehead. “It’s not too much, and I’d do it in a heartbeat. S’no trouble,” he says adamantly, like he won’t hear anything else about it. It’s settled for him.

   “Thank you…” you whisper out, your voice barely audible above the hum of the engine. 

   He arches an eyebrow and looks over at you, tugging his lips into an easy smile. “Ya know, gonna have to get you your own car, too.”

   “Joel,” you warn through clenched teeth. He is not getting you a car. Absolutely no way.

   “What?” he shrugs. “You can’t get around without a car.”

   You shake your head unbelievably and open your mouth wide. “I can’t pay for a car.”

   “‘M not askin’ you to. I’ve got money.”

   And again, you can’t believe how insistent and easy-going he’s taking this. “Joel. I can’t ask you for a car. Absolutely not. And besides, I’m not ready to drive yet.”

   He flashes you a smile and gives you a nod of encouragement. “S’alright, sweetheart. You’ll get there in time. And when you do, you’ll have a car.”

   You lick your bottom lip, frustrated slightly that he’s being so kind to you. No one has ever been this nice in your entire life. Not even your parents… Why is he treating you like you’re important? You’ve never been important. So why does he act like you’re the only thing that currently matters? 

   “There’s no stopping you, is there?” you give up, your back flush to the warm seat as you stare into deep brown eyes that belong to the kindest man you’ve ever met. 

   He thinks you’re important. 

   “Not a chance,” he chuckles, his airy laugh floating through the cabin of the truck, striking another nerve in your heart. 

   He’s so kind, more than that. He genuinely wants you to thrive, to live. That takes a little weight off your heavy chest.

   It’s quiet for a moment, only the light wind and patter of raindrops taking up the space. But then he shifts uncomfortably and flicks his wandering eyes back over at you. There’s a deep crease between his thick eyebrows, and that look has you back on the edge of your seat. “Can I ask you somethin’?” he asks delicately.

   You swallow back nerves and nod your head in response. “Umm, okay. Sure.”

   “What, umm. What happened to your parents, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

   The question makes you tilt a little off your axis, throws you off just enough to where your right hand is discreetly clenched so tight around the side of the seat that you swear it turns pale white. You weren’t prepared for that question. You’re never prepared. But, you might as well just spill it. What else do you have to lose? 

   “They—they died when I was fifteen… Crashed their car on the side of a mountain, and they ended up rolling off the edge. On the very same day they were driving to get a divorce…”

   His eyes blow wide for a second and in the next he’s dragging a heavy hand over his mouth. “Oh, sweetheart. ‘M so sorry. That’s… traumatic.”

   You can’t help but to puff out a pathetic laugh from that. Your life has been nothing but traumatic; you just learn to live through it. 

   You silently nod and continue on. “After I found out, the judge decided I’d go live with my uncle. An uncle who barely talked to me. He didn’t even want me there, but I had no other options. So, I left as soon as I turned eighteen and moved into a dorm when I went to college.”

   “Is he still…”

   “He moved out of Washington as soon as I left. Last I heard, he died from a heart attack. So I’ve just kinda been on my own since I was eighteen. But really, I’ve been alone for much longer than that.”

   The inside of the truck goes completely silent, except the quiet hum of the purring engine. You don’t exactly like talking about your family drama and your awful past, but it’s easier when you already feel dead inside. Maybe if you talk enough Joel will decide to drop you off on the side of the street and leave you with a good luck wave. 

   He wouldn’t do that, though. That’s just your unhinged mind spiraling like your entire life is.  

   “That’s… fuck. No one should ever be put through that. What you did, what you had to do. M’so sorry.”

   You shrug it off and act like you’re just fine, but really you just don’t want to cry. You don’t want to show him how weak and pathetic you truly are. You used to be stronger than this… 

   Holding in a sob, you play it off like it’s nothing. “It’s alright. I mean, I’ve been through a lot worse since then. I guess I’m good at being alone…”

   It gets quiet again, only light breathing and shifting uncomfortably in your seat, trying to hide the pain that’s serenading through your body. Joel’s eyes keep flicking over to you, a pained expression masking his tanned face. He’s clenching his jaw, running his fingers through his dark locks, fisting the steering wheel until his knuckles are white. 

   His head turns to you when he’s stopped at a red light, and his eyes turn a lighter honey color, and those soft eyes nearly shatter you in your seat. “You don’t have to be. Alone. You don’t have to be alone anymore...”

   You swallow back the tears building in your eyes while your mouth drops open in awe. Before you even get the chance to say anything, he’s stepping on the gas and looking back into the fog of the rainy day. 

   You don’t have to be alone anymore. 

   The rest of the ride is silent as you contemplate his words and their meaning. You don’t have to be alone. He means you don’t have to be alone because he’s here now. He won’t let you be alone. Joel is the one person who isn't giving up on you. 

   He’s so patient, so generous, so good. He’s too good for you but here he is, wading through the rough waters to make sure your head’s above the waves. He won’t let you drown. Not today, maybe not ever…

   After a few more minutes, the truck is abruptly stopping, and Joel is cutting the engine. Your head lurches up, and you stare vacantly at the semi-busy parking lot. 

   The parking lot…

   It looks just like the one you got taken from… Rows of parked cars sit along the damp cement, empty carts are scattered ahead in the little blue cart holder, people rush to and from the store back to their cars. And then you see a man exit his white Sedan with a black baseball cap backwards on his head. The sight has you flinching, your nails digging into the leather of the seat when he turns his head and looks directly at you. It’s only for a second, but you feel those black pits searing into your skull just like that day they took you…

   “Well, here we are. A little more crowded than I thought it’d be for a Wednesday afternoon. We can jus’—.”Joel’s hand clasps the side of the driver’s door as he steps out, looking back at you with worried brown eyes. “Hey, you okay?”

   It’s like your voice is lurched deep in your throat as water consumes your entire vocal cords. You can’t swallow, can’t speak, can barely even blink as you watch the shady man cross the road, taking one look back at you until he disappears behind the clear sliding doors of the store. And it still feels like he’s watching you, planning his next move to where he can get you alone. 

   You remember that day all over again, just like it was yesterday. And now, all you can think of to do is panic.

   “N… no. I—.” You can’t even finish your sentence, only able to throw your seatbelt off and claw at the door handle, feeling like you’re suffocating on thick air that nearly strangles you to death. 

   You need to flee, run until your lungs collapse, but you have nowhere to go. 

   Tears well in your eyes as you fight to push out the images of the day you were taken, but they only push back harder, igniting your memories into fresh ones. You’re hyperventilating, holding your chest so tightly that you feel your heart skyrocket as you shake in your seat while your feet are planted on the wet cement of the parking lot. 

   Joel hurries around the side of the truck and throws your door open, trying his best to calm you down. “Hey, hey. It’s alright, sweetheart. You’re alright. Breathe for me.”

   “Joel… I…”

   “Breathe,” he coaxes in a soothing bravado voice. He kneels down in front of you to where he’s looking right up at you, and he’s got those soft brown eyes — the ones that always seem to calm you down. And when you have enough courage to lift your eyes, there they are. Warm, brown, soft, soothing. He’s soothing. 

   “That’s it. Take a nice deep breath for me. Jus’ like that. Attagirl,” he praises, keeping his honey-colored eyes right on you. 

   “I—I was…” you start but like always, you can’t finish. 

   You’re pathetic.

   “S’alright, sweetheart. M’right here. Jus’ breathe for me. And when you’re ready, tell me what’s wrong.” His hand brushes past your feet, close enough to touch your exposed ankle, but he never does. Because he knows better. He knows it’ll just set off a string of catastrophic events that’ll only lead you into a deeper black hole than you already are. 

   But yet, you can’t help but want it. Because you feel how warm he is. Just like that night he carried you to the bathroom. You remember how warm and comforting you felt with your face nuzzled in the crook of his neck, remember his woodsy cologne drowning out your fight or flight panic, remember how gentle he was with you…

   You slowly lift your eyes up and push away the screaming voices in your mind. They seem to come to a jarring halt when you meet those soft brown eyes and a face you swear has an angelic glow about it. His fingers flex against the floorboard, just enough to where you can feel the warmth from his tanned skin, and just that motion causes your heart to still for just a beat. 

   Warm. He’s so warm. 

   After a few more seconds of steady breaths and his heavy gaze honing in on you, you get enough courage to shakily let your words out. “I was—I was taken in a parking lot just like this. In the middle of the day. And I—I guess I wasn’t quite ready to see another one.”

   He falls silent, and his face drops like he’s just seen a ghost. His eyes glaze over as a heavy hand rakes down his clipped beard, slowly dragging it over his lips as he takes in your words. “Oh. Christ, m’so sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t even think ‘bout that before I brought you here. Fuck, I’m so sorry.”

   Shaking your head back and forth, you swallow and grimace. “It’s not your fault. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t—I didn’t think I’d freak out. But then the memories hit me and I—I… it’s my fault. It’s all my—.”

   He leans into the side of the truck, careful not to touch you, but still close enough to where you can almost taste his woodsy breath. “Shh. Don’t for a second think of apologizin’, sweetheart. None of this is your fault. Not one fuckin’ bit of it.”

   He looks at you so intensely, so cautiously that you can clearly see the amber flecks that swirl under the cloudy skies, his jaw flexing back and forth as he searches for more to say, but he doesn’t have to say anything. You feel what he’s feeling. Regret, rage, sorrow. He wishes it never happened to you.

   You take a shaky breath and glance up behind him, right as an older couple with two kids clinging to their arms passes peacefully by. A car door slams shut across the way, and it makes you jump in place, remembering that very moment you were corralled into a black van as the door slammed shut behind you, warning you that you were trapped.

   As you cringe in your seat and feel your knuckles go white, you whisper, “I’m scared, Joel. I can’t—I can’t...”

   “Hey. Can you look up at me?” he asks gently, slightly brushing the pad of his thumb against the side of your shoe. When you look up with watery eyes, he gives you an encouraging nod. “There ya go.”

   Your body is trembling with every swift movement and every screeching halt of tires in the parking lot. You start to drift back into a panic, but Joel sees right through you and pulls you right back out with his chocolate brown eyes.

   “Keep your eyes on me. Right on me. That’s it. Such a brave girl,” he coos; his voice sounding like a melodic tune that vanishes all your dark thoughts from wrapping their tangled vines completely around your stirred mind. 

   As you continue to stare at those beautiful caramel eyes, you get lost in the sound of his Southern drawl. “I want you to focus on one thing. It can be anything. A scent, a color, whatever brings you comfort. And I want you to focus on that one thing until your mind starts to quiet down.”

   You look around the truck, searching the fresh leather, letting your eyes wander to a nearby green tree, focusing on some drifting stormy clouds that cover the sun. But none of that makes you feel good or even remotely calm, so you let your eyes wander to the rugged, Southern gentleman who’s kneeling right in front of you, begging with those soft brown eyes for you to get even just a semblance of a second of peace. 

   Warm. He’s so warm.

   You get lost in his cinnamon, woodsy scent, fade into his coffee-colored eyes and feel like you’re crashing right into him. You can’t seem to stop staring, almost like you’re under a lovesick spell, but really it’s just your body telling you he is what brings you comfort. Joel Miller, the man who saved you from your impending doom. 

   So, that’s what you focus on. Him and his warm brown eyes.

   “Okay,” you finally whisper out, never dropping your eyes from his.

   He looks at you a second and tilts his head, making sure he heard you right. “You got it?”

   “Mhm,” you hum back.

   A faint smile appears on his mouth and then his hand is skimming the brim of the floor, close enough for you to feel the electricity from his touch zapping your leggings. But still, he doesn’t dare touch you. He’d never do it without your permission. You know this now. 

   “Now, close your eyes and picture that one thing that’s gonna drown out everything else,” he says through the light rain pattering on the tips of his broad shoulders, right onto his soft blue flannel. 

   “Joel…” you reply back leery. 

   “You trust me?” he asks with knit together eyebrows.

   You chew your bottom lip for a second before you answer, throwing the question back and forth between your brain. “I—yes.”

   He gives you a smile and nods. “Close ‘em for me then. Jus’ for a second.” You do exactly as he says.

   When your eyes are fully shut, his Southern drawl floats through your ears. “Focus on my voice, sweetheart. Focus on how still it is; make your heart that same rhythm. Slow it down, jus’ like my words.”

   You focus on every breath he breathes, every sound of the shift of his shoulders, every whisk of the wind sweeping through his tousled curls. For this moment, every single other restless sound outside the truck is silent. For the first time, all you hear is him.

   You center your mind on him and him alone. And when that whiff of cedar trees and mahogany swirl all around you, you relax and breathe him in like he’s the last thing you’ll ever smell.

   “Now, open your eyes,” he says after you lose track of time. 

   You slowly lift your eyelids and look out beneath your lashes as those bright brown eyes send you into a cloud of serenity. And in that moment, you really do feel like you’re home. 

   “There ya go, nice and slow. Feel that? Things are a bit quieter now,” he says gently, giving you a soft smile that makes you choke back tears. 

   Nodding, you reply, “Yeah, it actually is quieter.”

   It’s quiet for a beat as you sit there, your palms on your thighs, fingers digging into your leggings, but his presence right in front of you is oddly calming. Just like taking a deep breath of Washington air in the mountains. You swear you almost smell those pine trees like you’re there, but it’s Joel you smell.

   “You feel a little better?” he asks, scratching his fingers down his greying scruff, brown eyes flicking up at you like you’re the most important thing in the room.

   “Yes,” you nod, still trying to wrap your mind around how quickly Joel was able to calm you down. 

   “See? Knew you could do it.” His smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and it makes you give him a shy smile in return. 

   When’s the last time someone was able to get you to smile? You can’t even remember. 

   “I did it because you helped me,” you confirm, wanting to make sure he knows he was the reason you had the courage to break through your panic attack.

   “That’s right, sweetheart. I helped you, but you were the one that broke the panic attack. You’re so very brave, and I hope you know that.”

   You’re so brave. He called you brave.

   The way he’s looking at you makes your heart skip a beat. All soft and gentle and warm. You’ve never been around a man like Joel. Never once knew how good a man could be. But Joel, he’s like an angel sent from Heaven’s gates just for you. Or so it seems. 

   You swore to never trust a man again, but you can trust him. 

   “Now, you think you can make it in the store?” He tilts his head in the direction of the sliding doors, just as a young couple walks in with an empty grocery basket.

   Gulping some courage down, you nod. “I—I think so.”

   “Attagirl. Now, c’mon.” He holds the door open for you and calls your name softly, giving you that jolt you need to exit the truck. “It’s alright. Nobody’s gonna hurt ya. Not while I’m here.”

   “You promise?” you ask when your feet hit the concrete, your voice shaky like you don’t quite believe him, but you do.

   “Promise,” he nods, his crow’s feet pulling at the corners of his bright eyes. It’s enough to get your legs moving.

   “Okay,” you whisper.

   You follow closely on his heels, your fingertips grazing the bottom of his flannel, close enough to grab on if you need to. Your heart is galloping a thousand miles an hour with every step you take, but his woodsy scent is just enough to quiet down the yelling in your head.

   When you get to the edge of the sliding doors, you freeze when they open to a busy grocery store. The loud noises of rustling bags and screeching wheels of carts is enough to make you want to run the opposite way.

   Joel must sense your worry because he brushes his arm next to yours and looks down at you with knitted eyebrows. “S’alright. I’m gonna be right by your side every step of the way. You can do this.”

   You can do this. 

   Looking up into his syrupy brown eyes gives you that little bit of strength to get you moving again. And when he grabs a shopping cart and beckons you to follow him, you do.

   “Thanks for believing in me, Joel,” you say graciously.

   “Always.”

   You keep right by his side, the fluorescent lights feeling like spotlights shining down on you. It’s like every single person shifts their eyes toward you, faces distorted and smiling like they’re laughing at your fear. The music that filters out of the speakers makes your ears ring. Children run rampant around a restless mother, a tall man with a backwards baseball cap reaches across a barrel full of pineapples, and it’s as if he’s reaching for your wrist. 

   Without thinking, you grab on to the end of Joel’s flannel and tug it toward you, digging your fingers into the soft cotton as if it’s a safety blanket. The smell of fresh firewood and green grass envelops your senses and for the moment, everything becomes a little more still. 

   “You keep tuggin’ on my flannel and you’re gonna pull it right off,” Joel chuckles, giving you a small smile as he looks back at you. 

   “Oh, sorry,” you apologize, dropping your fingers as if you just upset him. 

   “Don’t gotta apologize. You jus’ hang on if that’s what you need right now.”

   You slowly reach back up and flex your fingers around the blue material, peeking up hesitantly beneath your lashes. 

   “Your flannel, it smells like the forest. Reminds me of the mountains in Washington. It umm… it calms me down.”

   “Well then, it’s yours, sweetheart.” Those pools of honey liquid melt you on the spot; his warm smile takes the edge of fear off your chest for just that moment. And when that whiff of autumn from his white t-shirt floats through the air, it’s like he saved you all over again. 

   He drops his hands from the shopping cart and starts unbuttoning his flannel, carefully shrugging it off his broad shoulders as you stare blankly up at him. And then, he’s holding out the faded blue material to you.

   “No, I can’t. I’m fine. I—.” You take a step back and press a palm his way.

   “Here, put it on,” he insists, stretching his arm until you have no option but to take it.

   “Are you sure?” you squeak out, unsure of yourself.

   “Mhm. Want you to feel safe. And if this makes you feel a little calmer, want you to wear it.”

   Hesitating, you carefully pluck it from his reach and end up sliding your hand against the back of his, feeling a tingle of a spark from his worn, calloused skin.

   “Thanks, Joel,” you whisper above the monotone music playing over the store speakers.

   “Anytime, sweetheart. Anytime.” He nods his head toward the produce section and smiles. “C’mon.”

   You stay right beside him, almost flush to his hip with every wavering stride you take, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind. No, he just keeps his brown eyes flickering over to you every minute that ticks by, encouraging you with that kind smile of his, telling you with the curve of his lips that you’re doing so well. You can almost hear that Southern drawl sliding off his tongue. 

   I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. Doin’ so good. Look at you, bein’ the bravest girl I know. 

   Even though he’s not verbally saying those things at this second, you can tell he’s thinking it with the way his doe eyes soften every time they look your way. You can tell by how warm and kind his essence is, how his smile seems to send a flicker of sunshine your way even behind a thick wall of grey clouds. 

   He’s just… safe. You feel so safe around him, and that’s something you’ve never felt in your entire life. You’ve never been safe. But with him, you just might be.

   The clicking of heels and the stare of curious eyes makes you physically cringe and tense your shoulders, thinking one of them will snatch you away yet again. You keep your mind busy by counting the threads of Joel’s blue flannel, training your eyes on his slicked back tan curls, meticulously staring at every single strand that’s wrapped in a silver glow. It seems to help, gives the impression that maybe you can do this. And you are. 

   At times when he strays too far, you reach for him unintentionally. It’s like your hand is magnetized to the feel of his cotton shirt, your fingers curling into the thick material. And again, he doesn’t seem to mind, only smiles and goes on with gathering groceries. 

   He doesn’t forget the caramel, doesn’t forget to grab a few bottles of vanilla creamer and extra sugar. In fact, those were the things he went for first. 

   He doesn’t forget things. Doesn’t forget what you wanted. And that in itself proves something. What, you’re not sure. But it proves he cares, that you do know.

   You follow him to the produce section and watch him shift his focus on picking the best meat, promising to get the best steak for dinner. You haven’t had steak in years, and you don’t doubt for one second that Joel can cook a mean one. 

   Averting your eyes from his pensive stare and flexed jaw, your gaze wanders over to the cereal aisle, and you suddenly have the biggest craving for a box of Cocoa Pebbles.  

   Saliva gathers in your mouth as you think of how sugary and good and delightful a mouthful of chocolatey goodness would taste right now. Without thinking, you pull on the end of his shirt, stretching the material mindlessly as your brain transfixes on the mountain of sugar just a few feet away. It’d be so easy to go grab a box, but your feet won’t move, your words won’t form because you’re terrified to be alone for even a second in a grocery store of all places.

   With one more slight tug on the edge of his t-shirt, he turns with a soft expression and questions, “What is it, sweetheart?” No anger or hint of annoyance in his Southern drawl, just pure warmth. 

   Your voice stays silent, your immense stare fixed on that aisle of sugar and thousands of calories you’d happily inhale. You’re sure your frail body would thank you, even if it was just junk. Joel’s eyes trace over yours, following to where yours end, and then a small chuckle leaves his lips. “You wanna go grab some?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Go on then. Why don’t you go pick some out?” He nods to the empty aisle, encouraging you on. But you stand there like your feet are cemented to the shiny floor, and you have no intention of moving. 

   Fear pulses through your blood, and anxiety is trickling down your spine. Joel takes a step forward and drawls in a low but soothing voice, “S’okay. I’ll be right here watchin’. You can do it, sweetheart.”

   You look up and see warm pools of honey staring down at you and a smile that makes your knees feel weak. He’s so fucking soft with you. 

   Nodding, you take a step forward and then another, dragging your feet toward the aisle of boxes of sugary goodness. The further you get away from him, the more anxious you get. 

   What if someone takes you, gets too close to your liking, grabs your arm and drags you away? Looking back toward Joel, he gives you a small nod, telling you it’s okay. You’re okay. 

   Turning back to your task at hand, you start scanning the shelves, your appetite suddenly stimulated as you scavenge for what you’re looking for. Saliva is coating the back of your tongue, your stomach rumbling. There’s too many choices, too many kinds you want. 

   When you finally spot a box of Cocoa Pebbles, you see two more kinds you want. Lucky Charms and Cinnamon Toast Crunch sit right next to each other, calling your name for you to take them. Gritting your teeth together, you make a choice. You want all three, so you dip into your impulses and grab them all up. Hopefully Joel doesn’t mind. 

   A middle-aged man passes you in the row, and your muscles tighten around you, making you squish the boxes together in your arms. You focus on deep breaths, telling yourself he’s not going to hurt you. Not every man is out to get you, but it certainly feels like that now. Maybe one day you’ll be able to break the cycle of thinking that. 

   Quickly passing the stranger, you prance up to Joel, all three cereal boxes shoved together in your arms, just like you’re a kid in a candy store. You hear him chuckling before you lift your eyes up to him, and then he lets out a belly-aching laugh. 

   “Look at you with three boxes. You really do have a sweet tooth, don’t ya?”

   You feel your cheeks grow warm as you set the boxes down in the cart. Nervous laughter filters out of your mouth. “I couldn’t quite decide what I wanted. I can put some back if…”

   “No. I’m jus’ teasin’, sweetheart. You get as many kinds as you want. Ain’t got a limit with me.” His wide grin and crow’s feet makes a small smile tug at the corner of your lips. 

   “Thanks,” you say shyly. “I guess it’s been a while since I’ve had any cereal, or really any kind of sugar. So, this is different. I’m not used to any of this.”

   Understanding hits his brown eyes and his jaw clenches as something tosses through his mind. “Well, we’re jus’ gonna have to change that, ain’t we?” 

   Pursing your lips, you nod. “Call me a work in progress.”

   He gives you a soft smile and wraps a large hand around the cart. “You’re doin’ jus’ fine, sweetheart. Makin’ plenty of progress jus’ by steppin’ foot in this store today. Proud of you.”

   He’s proud of you.

   “I wouldn’t have even made it into the store if it wasn’t for you…”

   He takes a long look at you and just stands there for a few seconds, searching for the right words to say. “It was all you, sweetheart. You jus’ needed a little push in the right direction and someone to be there for you.”

   “Thank you for being there when I needed someone, Joel…” you whisper, your eyes a little misty with emotions running rampant through your body. 

   It looks like he wants to reach out, but he just grips the handle of the shopping cart tighter and tips his head. “‘Course, sweetheart. Whenever you need me.”

   Whenever you need me. The words get stuck on repeat in your brain as you follow him through the rest of the grocery store. You think you’d follow him anywhere.

   When you’re all checked out and the bagged groceries are sitting inside the cart, you realize Joel’s flannel is still wrapped around you. You don’t want to take it off necessarily. It smells like him, and it’s so warm and cozy and basically drenched in forest air. But, it’s not yours. You slowly start to shed the warm layer, but he stops you before you can get it past your elbows. 

   “Keep it, sweetheart.” He presses a palm out, pausing you in your tracks.

   “Don’t you want it back?” you ask with knitted brows.

   “Nah, you go ahead and keep it,” he answers. Before you can walk out the door, he turns and smiles warmly at you. “Besides, it looks better on you.” And then he continues on, like he didn’t just give you a compliment. 

   It looks better on you. 

   You hug the blue flannel back against your body, breathing in the very essence of him that seems to calm every single nerve in your body. 

   He gave you his flannel.

   Once the groceries are all packed away in the back of the truck and both you and Joel are buckled up, he turns to you before driving out of the parking lot. “So, you wanna go get ice cream?” 

   “Ice cream?”

   “Mhm. Ice cream,” he confirms.

   “Whatever for?” you giggle.

   “Don’t you like ice cream?” he inquires, flicking his brown eyes over your way.

   “Well, yes. But…”

   “I think brave girls deserve ice cream. Don’t you?”

   You study him, looking for any sign of lies in the crow’s feet that pull tightly around the edges of his chocolate brown eyes, but you find none. He isn’t messing with you or your mind; he’s being completely sincere when he uses the word brave. “You think I’m a brave girl?”

   “The bravest.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling like golden orbs under the grey skies, and it just confirms how warm he is. 

   You gawk at him, your lips parting as you just stare and stare at him. He thinks you’re brave, and he wants to take you for ice cream? Who even is this man? 

   “What?” He catches you staring and probably wonders why you’re just marveling over him. He must not realize you’re completely mesmerized by every single thing he does. 

   No one’s ever treated you so human. Like you’re important and matter. Joel sees you. He really sees you. Your layers and all. Just like transparent glass.

   “You just surprise me, that's all,” you answer hesitantly, eyes still focused on his tanned skin and wrinkles that line like maps across his face. Something you could trace easily. “You’re not exactly what I expected, I guess.”

   “And what’d you expect?” He quirks an eyebrow up as the engine hums under your seat, his eyes making their way back to your face.

   “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d be so… kind.”

   He curls his lips into a sideways smile while he taps his thumb against the leather steering wheel, eyes still focused directly on you. “I try my best, sweetheart.”

   “You don’t even have to. You just are. Just like that first night I saw you sitting there across the room. Your eyes seemed so… kind.”

   Everything seems to quiet down for a moment, only the sound of your heart, the slow motion of the tires hitting the wet pavement, the thick tension coursing through the air, and Joel’s clear brown eyes that are smothering your insides. They speak louder than tidal waves, those deep brown irises. And right now, they’re making your heart clench in your chest.

   He clears his throat and then the tension dissipates. “So, how ‘bout that ice cream?” He wraps his large palm around the steering wheel and smiles over, making you mirror one right back to him.

   “I’d love some ice cream.”

   “Attagirl. Let’s go get you sugared up, then.” As he pulls out of the shopping center and drives down the smooth road, you giggle silently and watch the trickles of raindrops drip down the side of the passenger window. 

   “Have you ever tried espresso ice cream?” you ask, shifting your weight so you can see the question roll over his brown eyes.

   “As a matter of fact, I haven’t.”

   “I think you’d like it,” you chirp.

   He turns his head and looks at you, pulling his lips into a smirk. “Reckon I would. That what you recommend?”

   “Mhm,” you hum. “Since you like coffee so much, might be your new favorite flavor.”

   He huffs out a laugh. “Well, looks like that’s what I’m gonna have to get. Let’s see what other recommendations you have for me.”

   As you lean against the window, you place the back of your hand over your mouth to cover the blush that's building in your cheeks. Who knew this is where you’d be in the middle of Wednesday afternoon this time of year? In a truck, wearing Joel’s flannel, getting ice cream, being free of your captors… And all you can smell is the fresh woodsy scent of him surrounding you.

Tag List: @clawdee @jellybeanxc @lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra

@whxtedreams @sawymredfox @sanarsi @mountainsandmayhem @bitchytimetravelqueen

@southernbe @katinasweeney @pixelspunk @amyispxnk @mysterious-moonstruck-musings

@christinamadsen @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @littlevenicebitch69 @alltheirdamn

@inept-the-magnificent @maried01 @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @fandomdaydreamer @elliaze

@callmecath1 @kulekehe @yorkshirewench @untamedheart81

@tateypots @stylesispunk @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @mellymbee @pascalsbae

@locaparapedrito @ladyofmidlo72 @readingiskeepingmegoing @copperhalfcent @axshadows

@here-briefly @cozylittlepigeon @pastawench @keylimebeag @joelsoftie

@romanarose @captainredspade @megangovier @bishtrouille @almodovarispunk

@papipascaaaal @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler @bambisweethearts @puddles221b

@valkyreally @northennlights

[bangaveragewhitewine]

snowed in⋆⁺₊❅

Eddie Munson x Reader (from Happy Hours, but can be read as a standalone)

Word Count: 1.4K

Summary: My first contribution to @littlexdeaths The Twelve Days of Promptmas revisits Bouncer!Eddie and Bartender!Reader as they brave a blizzard together. 

Content: Cosy and domestic overall. Mentions of sex (oral m & f recieving, penetrative sex). Spit / spit kink mention. Vomit mention if you squint. Hints to anxiety.

December 1993

Silhouetted by the brilliant white sky, he looks like spilled ink framed by the wooden window frame. Accidentally beautiful or intentionally dark and mysterious, a Rorschach print filled with meaning, you want to mount him on the wall and admire him from every angle. 

Eddie gazes out at the falling snow, the way it blankets the city streets below. He watches the flakes float and fall, fat and frosty from the fit-to-burst clouds above, and twists the red phone cord around his fingers as he listens to Wayne on the other end. 

You can’t see his face from your spot on the couch, curled up beneath a blanket with fuzzy socks and your hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea, but you would bet all of your earthly possessions that he’s wearing his worry beneath his bangs, pinched between two dark brows. You would also wager that Wayne is insisting he is fine and dandy, teasing him for fretting like an old woman (but secretly feeling heart-warm that his boy cares so much). 

Your tea is cool enough now to sip without scalding your lips (which Eddie would gladly kiss better if such a tragedy would occur). You smile into the cup when he laughs low and throaty, warming you inside out. 

“We’re good, Wayne. Yeah, the bar’s closed tonight, we’re staying put.” Eddie twists slightly to look over his shoulder and winks at you, “Yeah, I’ll tell her.” In socked feet, he shuffles back from the icy-cold glass and turns his back on the blizzard beyond. “You too, old man. Tell Laurel hi from us… Call me tomorrow, okay? Bye, Wayne. Bye.”

You watch him place the phone and its cradle back on the sideboard once his fingers have been untangled from the cord. “How’s Hawkins?” you ask.

“Pretty bad. They closed the Plant, that never happens.” 

He picks up his coffee cup, drains the dregs, and comes to join you on the couch. Eddie is grateful when you lift the fuzzy blanket for him and lays himself on his front with his head against your heart. Going quiet, he sighs and soaks in your warmth before continuing - you can feel the tension wash away now that he has spoke to his Uncle.

“And Wayne? He sounded in good spirits.”

“Mmhm. He’s good. Staying with Laurel, her heating is less-shitty. They’re stocked up on groceries for a few days, so it’s fine.” His voice is muffled against your sweater, but you can feel his relief that Wayne and his girlfriend have each other and don’t have to brave the blizzard alone. Just like you and Eddie. Being snowed in alone would royally suck.

You had enjoyed the light dusting of snow that came at the start of the week, braved the sub-zero temperatures to keep the patrons of Jackie’s happy and drunk, and endured a busy Walmart with Eddie to stock up the fridge and cupboards ‘just in case’. It was fun at first, writing your initials in the snow and pegging snowballs at Eddie, laughing until your ribs ached when you tried and failed to dodge his retribution and cold hands. But winter in Chicago was no joke and overnight, a dump of powdery white perfection and a frigid wind had frozen the midwest. Luckily, the bar closed early last night so everyone could get home safe and sound. The phone call from Frank this morning woke you both up and alerted you to the city at a standstill; there was no need to open the bar tonight and maybe tomorrow. With nowhere to be and nowhere to go, you both curled up again to sleep the day away.

A few hours later, Eddie stood by his sleepy promise to keep you warm by burrowing beneath the blankets and making himself at home between your thighs until you were both sweaty and satisfied and the bedroom windows had fogged up behind the thick curtains. 

You started cooking a lasagne as Eddie called around to make sure your group of friends were safe and sound and fully stocked up for the next few days. He cancelled guitar lessons planned for the next few days, bidding farewell to the extra cash that makes the Holidays a little more extravagant for you two. When Eddie joined you in the kitchen to help chop and taste-test, he brought loose plans to meet in the park and build a snowman tomorrow if the blizzard permitted. He watched the clock, giving  Wayne time to sleep after his night shift; intrusive thoughts of black ice and snow drifts and his Uncle frozen to the bone tightened the tension in his shoulders and made him restless. Finally, he was able to relax once he knew everyone was coping, and once he knew Wayne was safe and warm a two-hundred-odd miles away.

You watch a few episodes of Twin Peaks with the lights low and Eddie falls asleep for a while, looking younger and so peaceful. An unplanned day off is exactly what he needed, wrung out from extra shifts at the bar and guitar lessons and odd jobs he picks up along the way - a day here or there working a sound desk for community theatre, slotting in as a session musician, and learning the ropes at a local radio station (sometimes you even get to hear his voice on the air, though that’s usually when he forgets to mute himself, or his laughter breaches the booth). His ability to try his hand at anything, watching him persist and flourish, makes your heart ache with how much you adore him. Though you do wish he would not spread himself so thinly some weeks, especially now when the days feel so short, when the bar is getting busier as the Holidays tick closer and the days off are fewer and fewer. This snow day, you think, is some sort of divine intervention and you let him sleep on for a little longer than he might like - there’s nowhere to be, nowhere to rush to.

Now the apartment you share smells like the rich and warming lasagne you made together and cheesy garlic bread. Outside, the snow is settling and you sit together at the little dining table with candles and two beers in lieu of wine or something fancy. Eddie’s cheeks are rosy warm and one dimple is stained with a speck of tomato sauce that you will wipe away so gently and call him your ‘mucky pup’. Taking the opportunity to make this an impromptu date night, he attempted to serenade you in butchered Italian until you had to cover his mouth with your hand. 

“Baby, I love you so so much, but we’re going to get another noise compla- Ew! Did you lick me?!” 

You wiped your spit-damp hand on his face as he cackled and threatened to not give him an edge piece of the lasagne - as if you would ever deny him his share of that crispy cheese topping, as if licking your hand was any worse than living with his boyish burps and flatulence, as if you haven’t nursed him through food poisoning, as if your eyes don’t roll into your skull when he spits in your mouth while your legs are up on his shoulders.

Two empty plates sit in front of you as you share memories of snow days passed and agree that this might just be the best one both of you have ever had. Better than the giant snowman Wayne helped him build when he was eight, better than the big hill you went sledging on when you were ten, better than every cup of cocoa with marshmallows that warmed your cold hands after snowball fights. 

Soon you will stand side by side in the kitchen, washing and drying the dishes as you agree on a movie to watch and and wondering aloud if the snow will settle enough for a snowball fight fuelled with hipflasks of warming whiskey with your friends tomorrow. Eddie will call Wayne one more time before bed, and you will talk in the darkness of your bedroom as you fall asleep curled together under too many blankets.

Neither of you is sure what tomorrow will be like, but you both know that you won’t have to spend it alone.

Thank you for reading - I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs, comments and likes are loved, cherished and adored!

[aisiedaisie]

૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა Hellooooo! My knees are lowkey quaking sending this req in considering its my first time ever but would thou be willing to write a poly!marauders x reader who is kinda like glinda from wicked? shes very bubbly, cutesy, a little bit air-headed but shes got good intentions and is OBSESSED OBSESSED with pink

no pressure though :) thank youuu ♡

Hello hello~!!!

Thank you so much for asking my dear! I am so sorry for taking so long to write this, I’ve been so busy with school. Now onto your request… I have, unfortunately, never seen Wicked so the characterization might not be the best but I hope I did your idea justice at the very least!

edit: If this isn't what you visioned let me know and I'll try again!!! ♡

Pairing: Poly!Marauders x Reader WC: 1.3k

The morning air bit at your cheeks, sharp and unforgiving, as though winter itself had woken on the wrong side of the bed. A delicate dusting of snow still clung stubbornly to the pavement, its crystalline sheen interrupted by streaks of white running through the roads. Every breath hung visibly in the air, curling away like fleeting whispers, a reminder that, yes, it was absolutely freezing.

Still, you and the boys had ventured out into the icy embrace of the day, determined to check a few errands off your list. If everything went smoothly— and time was kind —perhaps a movie would sneak its way into the itinerary. That said, the clock was ticking. Remus had an appointment with his chiropractor later in the afternoon, leaving little room for dawdling.

This time of year had always held a special kind of magic for you. The looming promise of the holidays seemed to imbue the air with a tangible warmth, even as the weather remained frosty. Everywhere you looked, there were signs of joy: twinkling lights, wreaths on doors, the hum of cheerful holiday tunes spilling from shop speakers. Your heart felt lighter, your steps quicker — something Sirius was quick to notice.

"Aren’t you a joy this morning," he remarked dryly, his voice tinged with a sleepy amusement. His silver eyes tracked the skip in your step as you bounded ahead, radiating delight. While he was undoubtedly pleased to be with you all, his enthusiasm was dampened by the biting chill and the indignity of being awake so early. His only solace came in the form of the warm paper cup nestled in his gloved hands, filled with an indulgent sugar cookie latte that promised a sweet distraction.

Remus, walking slightly behind, shot Sirius a sideways look, bumping his hip in playful admonishment. He lengthened his stride to catch up with you, his long legs easily matching your pace.

“It’s the holidays,” James chimed in from behind, his tone carrying a fond warmth as he took a sip from his significantly less sweet coffee. “You know how she gets this time of year, Pads.”

Remus chuckled softly, slipping his hand into yours as they all trailed into the grocery store. A wave of warmth wrapped around you like a cozy blanket as the automatic doors slid open, the chill left behind in favor of the comforting hum of indoor heaters and the faint, tantalizing aroma of baked goods somewhere in the distance.

“So, what’s the plan, dove?” Remus asked, his voice low and gentle as he looked down at you.

You beamed up at him, your eyes alight with excitement. “Gingerbread! I want to make gingerbread houses,” you declared. “But we’re out of cloves. Oh, and I was hoping to find some pink candies for decorating— if they have them,” you added, your voice softening with a hint of doubt.

It was no secret that pink candies were elusive this time of year, overshadowed by the dominating reds and greens of the season. Though festive and lovely, they weren’t quite what you had in mind.

Sirius arched a brow, his lips quirking into a faintly crooked smile. “Why not just make them pink?”

You turned to him, tilting your head in curiosity. “Make them pink?”

“Yeah,” he drawled, his tone laced with the sort of lazy confidence only Sirius could pull off. “There’s gotta be a way to make ‘em pink, doll.”

His smile, faintly lopsided and utterly disarming, made warmth bloom in your chest despite the lingering cold in your fingers.

James, ever the problem solver, had already begun to drift through the aisles, scanning for a solution. Meanwhile, Remus fetched a basket with the efficiency of a man well-versed in grocery runs, returning just in time to catch you gathering flour, cinnamon, and nutmeg from the shelves.

“Powdered sugar, right, doll?” Sirius asked, holding up a box as if he’d just unearthed buried treasure.

You grinned, nodding appreciatively. But then your eyes landed on a pack of white chocolate chips, sparking an idea. “I mean... I could make it pink with food colori—”

“They’ve got Valentines candy in the back,” James interrupted, his voice triumphant as he reappeared, his hands planted firmly on his hips. He stood beaming like he’d solved a riddle no one else could crack.

“Really?!” you squealed, your face lighting up with glee.

James grinned even wider, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. “Yep. I’ll grab them for you.”

And just like that, your holiday vision began to take shape, piece by piece. Soon, a pink gingerbread house— complete with frosted edges and delicate decorations— would join the charming little pink tree that had claimed its spot on the living room table.

 The thought filled you with a bubbling excitement, your mind already spinning with ideas of how to make your cozy holiday corner even more magical.

It wasn’t just the decorations that made it special, though; it was the way the boys indulged your whims, no matter how outlandish they seemed.

You could already picture Sirius, half-heartedly pretending to grumble as frosting stuck to his fingers, and James concentrating far too hard on piping perfect windows while sneakily eating candies when he thought no one was looking. Remus would undoubtedly take charge of assembling the house itself, his patient hands steady as he held the walls together, teasing you all for your lack of structural integrity.

“Dove?” Remus’s voice broke through your thoughts, grounding you back in the warmth of the grocery store. His amber eyes crinkled with affection as he tilted his head. “You’re smiling like you’ve just won the lottery.”

“Maybe she has,” Sirius quipped, picking up a box of candy canes and twirling one in his fingers. “After all, we found her pink candies. What more could she ask for?”

You laughed softly, stepping closer to him and plucking the candy cane from his hand with a playful grin. “Oh, don’t tempt me. I could think of plenty more.”

“Careful, Pads,” James teased, rejoining the group with his arms full of your prized pink candy melts. “You’ll end up promising her a pink Christmas tree for the kitchen next.”

“Oh, don’t give her ideas,” Sirius groaned, but his dramatic tone couldn’t mask the twinkle in his eyes.

“You’re all terrible,” you said, though the fondness in your voice betrayed you. Your arms brushed Remus’s as you added the last few ingredients to the basket, imagining the laughter and chaos that would follow once you all returned home.

Outside, snowflakes began to drift lazily from the overcast sky, blanketing the world in a soft white glow. It felt like a scene from one of those holiday movies you loved, and you couldn’t help but squeeze Remus’s hand in anticipation.

“Let’s make it quick,” he said gently, though the soft curve of his smile made it clear he wasn’t in any rush. “I think someone’s eager to get started.”

“I guess the movie theater has been pushed off the priority list,” James joked as he followed close behind, balancing bags of groceries in both hands.

“Next time, Jamie~” you sang over your shoulder, your voice light and teasing as you swung yours and Remus’s joined hands in time with the familiar Christmas tune floating from the store’s speakers. The melody seemed to follow you into the frosty morning, adding a cheerful soundtrack to your little procession.

Sirius snorted, his laughter a warm, rich sound that carried over the crisp air. “You’re such a menace when you’re in holiday mode, doll,” he teased, though his grin betrayed his fondness.

James shook his head with a mock exasperation, his lips twitching into a smile as he glanced at the lot of you. “You’re lucky we love you,” he muttered, though his tone was filled with amusement.

The four of you walked down the snowy street together, your breath hanging in the air and your steps crunching against the thin layer of powder beneath your dark pink boots.

Between Sirius’s sarcastic commentary, Remus’s steady warmth at your side, and James’s easy laughter, you could already feel the festive chaos brewing.

It was perfect.

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

In Sickness and in Health

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Sick Reader, Caretaking

Author’s Note: Hope you enjoy! I wrote this because I’m still sick right now sooooooo enjoy :)

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

Winter had settled over the city, its icy grip rattling the windows and sending cold drafts through the cracks of the old flat you and Simon shared. Inside, the warmth of home was dampened by the harsh reality of your illness. You were wrapped in layers of blankets on the couch, shivering despite the heat Simon had cranked up earlier.

Simon “Ghost” Riley stood in the kitchen, preparing a tray with tea and your favorite biscuits. He moved quietly, his bulky frame somehow graceful as he focused on the task. Even when he was home, he carried himself like he was on a mission—steady, deliberate, and meticulous.

When he returned to the living room and saw you curled up, pale and trembling, his heart clenched. The dark circles under your eyes and the flushed hue of your cheeks told him everything he needed to know: you were miserable.

He placed the tray down carefully on the coffee table and crouched beside you. His gloved hand—a habit he never quite broke, even in the safety of home—brushed damp strands of hair off your forehead.

“Hey, love,” he murmured, his deep voice soft with concern. “Brought you some tea. Think you can manage a sip?”

You opened your eyes, squinting against the dim light. “I don’t think so,” you rasped, your voice raw from nausea and dehydration. “I’ll just throw it up.”

Simon frowned, his sharp blue eyes scanning your face. He didn’t push, instead gently cupping your cheek with his warm hand. The gold band on his ring finger gleamed in the low light, a subtle reminder of the vows you’d shared.

“Alright,” he murmured. “We’ll try something else, yeah? But you need to get something in you, Mrs. Riley. Can’t have my wife wasting away on me.”

Your lips twitched faintly at his teasing tone, but the moment was cut short as another wave of nausea overtook you. Your eyes squeezed shut, and you instinctively grabbed Simon’s wrist as if he could anchor you through the storm.

“Easy,” Simon soothed, shifting closer. He slipped an arm around your back, his hand rubbing slow, steady circles. “Breathe, love. In and out. That’s it. I’ve got you.”

The warmth of his presence and the sound of his voice grounded you. Slowly, the nausea ebbed, leaving you exhausted and shaking.

“I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you muttered, your voice barely audible.

Simon’s lips quirked in a faint smile. “If a truck even thought about hitting you, I’d teach it a lesson.”

A weak laugh escaped you, but it quickly turned into a groan as the motion made your head throb. Simon adjusted the blankets around you, tucking them securely under your chin.

“Stay put,” he said gently but firmly. “I’m getting you something for that headache. Don’t argue.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” you murmured, too tired to do anything else.

Simon disappeared for a moment, returning with a cool washcloth, a glass of water, and your migraine medication. He knelt beside you again, his hand brushing over your cheek.

“Let’s start slow,” he said, holding up a sleeve of crackers. “Think you can manage one of these?”

“Only because it’s you,” you whispered, taking the cracker gingerly.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, watching intently as you nibbled at the cracker. When you’d managed a few bites, he held the glass of water to your lips.

“Just a sip,” he encouraged. “That’s it. You’re doing so well.”

His praise brought a faint smile to your lips, even as exhaustion weighed heavily on you. You took the migraine pills under his watchful gaze, and Simon set the glass down before carefully placing the cool washcloth on your forehead.

Without a word, he scooped you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest as he sat down on the couch.

“Too bright?” he asked, nodding toward the lamps.

“Yeah,” you murmured, burying your face in his chest.

“Alright, love. Hold on.”

With one arm securely around you, Simon leaned over and turned off the lamps, plunging the room into soft shadows. He wrapped the blankets tighter around you and settled back, his arms a protective cocoon.

“You don’t have to stay,” you mumbled, though you made no effort to move away from him.

Simon pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering. “Where else would I be?” he murmured. “You’re my wife, love. I’ll always be here.”

The weight of his words wrapped around you like another layer of warmth. Despite the throbbing in your head and the lingering nausea, Simon’s steady presence made everything a little more bearable.

“Thanks, Si,” you whispered, your voice thick with sleep.

“Don’t mention it, Mrs. Riley,” he said softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Now get some rest. I’ll be right here.”

Safe in his arms, the discomfort faded into the background. His heartbeat was a soothing rhythm, and the warmth of his embrace lulled you into a deep, dreamless sleep, knowing you were loved and cared for.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[daymarenightdream1]

❝𝗟𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝗣𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲 (*)❞

╰┈➤𝖨 𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾 𝗂𝗆𝖺𝗀𝖾𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗈𝗎𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗌 𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗀𝖾𝖽, 𝗂𝖿 𝗒𝗈𝗎'𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝗍𝗂𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖺𝗇𝗒 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗌𝖾, 𝗆𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖺𝗀𝖾 𝗆𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗂 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝖼𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍 𝗒𝗈𝗎/𝗍𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝗉𝖾𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍.

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕤/𝕡𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: Suguru Geto x female reader

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: You went against Geto's wishes. Now he has to teach you a lesson. And you hate his lessons.

𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤/𝕥𝕒𝕘𝕤: explicit words, s͎o͎ft͎!͎do͎m͎ g͎e͎t͎o͎, thi͎gh͎-r͎id͎in͎g, o͎r͎g͎a͎s͎m͎ d͎e͎n͎i͎a͎l͎,͎ f͎or͎ep͎l͎ay͎, d͎eg͎r͎ada͎t͎io͎n͎, p͎ra͎is͎e͎, pwp

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 3.3k

𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣'𝕤 𝕟𝕠𝕥𝕖: Thank you immensely to darlings @gooble-writerr and @sukuna-ryo for being my beta readers <3 Appreciate y'all so much 🥺 I tried playing around with a moodboard to inspire me while I wrote. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this one! let me know what you think!

You hated Geto’s lessons. You thought as you stood at the doorframe. You’d been standing there for some time, shifting from foot to foot as you peaked around the corner.

Geto brought a steaming cup of coffee to his lips, relishing the bitter tang as he lazily held open a newspaper. He’d been absently flicking through, scanning the daily happenings of the sorcerer world as the sun warmed his back. He’d set down the paper and leaned into his chair, looking through the window in feigned ignorance with a soft smile. He hadn’t failed to notice the quiet creaking of floorboards, or the shadow peeking through the doorframe connecting the kitchen to the corridor. This was a particularly peaceful morning, Geto thought, as he enjoyed his almost solitude, content to let you simmer.

Geto’s head was turned away from you, long black silky hair slinking down his baggy white t-shirt as rays of sunlight filtered through and framed his figure. Like a fallen angel, you thought. You swallowed, heart bounding in your chest. He looked positively delicious, so peaceful and content as he took a drag of his cigarette. Just the sight of him sent a jolt of need through you, and you pressed your legs together as you leaned on the frame apprehensively, heat settling in between your thighs. In the fragments of your disturbed sleep, you’d dreamt of Geto, almost hearing his sultry, filthy words and feeling the ghost of his featherlight hands on your skin.

You’d tried to sleep, honestly. But your sleep was so patchy, the pure need and absence of him forcing your eyes wide open. Laying in bed next to a sleeping Geto, you’d desperately tried to relieve yourself, hand sneaking beneath the band of your pyjamas as quietly as you could manage, fingers stuttering and freezing at his every snore and sleepy murmur. But no matter how fervently you attempted to soothe the burning heat, you just couldn’t do it.

You couldn’t do it without him.

And it wasn’t that you were usually unable to… but each time you rode the wave, almost at the peak of that crescendo, cold, icy guilt would wash over you and send you plummeting back down, working you into a frustrated frenzy. You’d lay there, Geto’s back turned to you, as you remembered his quiet voice from the week before. When he’d chided you in a soft voice, patting your cheek gently as he told you he wasn’t angry, just disappointed that you’d finished without his permission as he’d rocked his hips into yours. You’d begged and begged him to reconsider when he promptly banned you from sex for a whole month, but he had only looked at you with faux sympathy as he’d sweetly pinched your cheek.

Every time you’d felt desperate for the past two weeks, had thought, just once, he won’t even know… The guilt would screech you to a stilted halt just before the climax. Which led to your current irritable and frustrated state, feeling like a bundle of raw, frayed nerves.

Geto turned his head to you after you stepped on a particularly loud floorboard, the creakechoing into the open plan kitchen and living room. Suguru smiled warmly at you, noticing your downturned gaze and arms cradled around your torso, before returning his attention to something supposedly more interesting in the newspaper, thumbing at the corner.

“Good morning, love. Sleep well?” he greeted warmly as he took another sip of his coffee.

You cringed. You’d once again spent the entire night working yourself up into a blaze, trying to stifle any sounds as you’d laid in bed next to him. If he’d woken up because of you and seen what you were doing, you knew he’d be upset. Might even have extended the ban. Each time he’d moved slightly or breathed, you’d freeze in shameful fear, head whipping over to check if he’d woken up. Then you’d see his serene face in the dim light, the sensual curve of his lip and the slope of his nose, unfairly long lashes brushing against his cheeks. And a wash of bubbling heat would sweep over you, relighting the embers of your hazy arousal. You touched yourself until the late hours of the night, ultimately unable to relieve yourself. Finally giving up with a bitter huff, you threw your head back, tears pricking your lashes as you nuzzled into Suguru’s heap of limbs. In his sleepy state, he wrapped his arms around you, slotting together as he sighed sleepily into your hair. You fell asleep feeling worse than when you’d started, dreams overflowing with sultry sounds and acts.

“Um… couldn’t sleep, really…” You murmured as you stepped into the kitchen, gathering supplies for a coffee. You felt a constant throbbing and made a note of not looking at Geto, almost panting as you poured instant coffee into a mug and set a pot of water on the stove. Each time you looked at him, you’d feel so warm and tingly, losing the ability to think about anything other than him. You had to take a breather, not wanting to throw yourself onto him and beg for his help, knowing he’d probably chide you again. And, honestly, you wanted to retain at least a shred of your dignity.

Geto set down his newspaper, watching you intently as he stubbed out his cigarette. He could see the frustration emanating from you, but you had gone against his command. He hadn’t wanted to hurt you, so he decided to take away a privilege. To be frank, Geto himself hadn’t been enjoying the distance, and had been plagued by his own heated thoughts. While he hadn’t exactly loved the idea of “punishing” you by banning you from sex, the sight of you quivering and shifting in discomfort set something in his lower belly aflame. Seeing you so desperate and on edge sent sparks flying through him, pants growing tight as he noticed the subtle blush dusting your cheeks. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn’t stop himself from approaching you, sneaking his hands under your shirt and wrapping his arms around your belly as you waited for the water to boil. You stiffened as you felt the solid lines of his toned body press into your back.

Your breath stuttered as you instinctively leaned back into him.

“No? Why not?” he murmured as he pressed a languid kiss into the back of your neck.

A long, tense silence settled over you as your lips split open, heavy pants escaping as you tried to bring your mind back to some sense of normality.

Two weeks left.

All you could think of was Geto grabbing you harshly by the root of your hair, shoving you face down onto the counter, and vigorously sliding his thick length into you… Until the sun came down.

“Baby?” Geto chuckled as he pressed another soft kiss to the shell of your ear. You’d closed your eyes as you’d leant into him, and your lips were parted as you panted.

“Sorry, what did you say?” You tried not to focus on the blood rushing to your core, the burning heat radiating to your toes.

Geto chuckled again, starting to really enjoy your ditzy, preoccupied state. “Why didn’t you sleep well?” He pressed into your lower belly with light pressure, sending your mind far, far away.

“Well, uh… I was… uhm…struggling…” Your face flushed as you pressed your lips together, stifling a moan.

“Go on, pretty.” He coos. “You can tell me.” He said it in such a kind, loving tone while he lazily caressed your tummy, hands grazing just under the dip of your breasts before travelling down, down, down to the plush curve of your belly. He lazily squeezed you with slight pressure then released. Words failed you. If only he knew how terribly he was teasing you.

And then he squeezed again.

And again, squeezing and releasing, squeezing and releasing, taking all the time in the world as he lightly dragged his black painted nails across your skin. Your mind turned foggy and your mouth dropped open as you panted, tongue lolling out and leaning back into Geto’s arms. “You, nnh… it’s been two weeks…since…” Oh, he was being so cruel…

“Since what, honey?” He stepped away, smirking, gracefully giving you a moment of reprieve. He refrained from telling you that he needed a second to breathe, seconds away from spreading you on the counter. Geto passed by the seat next to the window, grasping his newspaper and heading over to the sofa on the other side of the room. He plopped down with a hum, flicking the paper open to a dog-eared page.

You considered how much you really cared about your dignity. You thought about falling onto your knees and begging him to take you right there and then. Your head whipped back and forth between the boiling pot and Geto’s relaxed posture on the sofa, finally deciding to switch off the gas and forget about the coffee. You were too high on adrenaline to even think about coffee at this point.

He glanced up to you. “Since what? What’s wrong, pretty?”

You felt something crack within you as you looked at him with pleading eyes. “Geto, I can’t take this anymore…” you whined.

He cocked an eyebrow, lowering his paper. “What do you mean?”

You looked away, huffing as your cheeks reddened. “You know what I mean.”

“Not a clue, baby, tell me. What’s wrong?” He was teasing you, he had to be.

“I… Please.” The need you felt for him surpassed any care for your dignity. “I’m embarrassed to say it out loud,” You whispered as you stepped closer to Geto.

“Well, I can’t help you if you don’t tell me, baby,” he said somewhat condescendingly, “I’m not a mind reader.” He flicked the page and turned his gaze to something in the corner, rubbing his chin.

You huffed again in frustration. “Please, Geto, I’m… I’m really… I know you said we couldn’t… you know… for a month, but…” Why was he ignoring you? Couldn’t he see how much you needed him? “Does it really have to be that long? Can’t we just…?” you started to plead.

“Oh… I see…” Understanding flashed in his eyes as he sat further back and smirked at you. “Poor baby… You’re all hot and bothered, aren’t you?” He crooned.

You looked away, face flushed like a beetroot. “I just… I miss you, Sugu…” you attempted, rubbing your arms in a soothing motion.

It was like something snapped in him. He threw the newspaper on the coffee table, leaning his elbows on his knees. “You’re just so desperate for my cock, aren’t you baby?”

Heat pulsed through you, going straight to your core. You looked at him, suddenly feeling nervous. You wriggled uncomfortably. He wasn’t usually this… explicit. You must’ve really made him upset…

“I…” your voice took on a nervous lilt.

“Awh~… poor baby, you can’t even think without it in you, can’t you?”

You turned away, face turning a new, brighter shade of red as desire pulsed through you.

 “Too bad.” Your face fell. “You haven’t been good, so I don’t think you deserve it right now.” He said, crossing his arms as he leaned back into the sofa.

Your face crumpled. How were you going to take another two weeks of this? “You’re so mean, Sugu…”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m not being cruel, pretty. I’ll still take care of you.” He patted his lap. “Use my thigh.”

“Wh- what?” you spluttered.

He tilted his head to the side, watching you intently. “I said you can use my thigh. That is what you want, isn’t it?” He probed.

“I…” You flushed as you wrung your hands together. You brought a hand to your skirt, picking at a loose thread, feeling very much off kilter all of a sudden. You’d been expecting more rejection rather than… whatever this was.

“Oh, come on, baby.” He said in a pointed tone. “You think I didn’t notice what you were doing last night? You weren’t exactly inconspicuous. You’re lucky you didn’t finish, otherwise I wouldn’t be so nice.” He patted his thigh again, much like for a dog. “Come here.”

He’d felt sorry for you, honestly. Hearing how frustrated you were throughout the night, how terribly you’d struggled… Your little gasps of frustration had sent jolts of blazing heat through him. He’d struggled to keep his eyes closed, but hadn’t wanted to alert you to his conscious state. Geto wanted to see whether you’d go against his word. And when you’d given up in a exasperated huff, nuzzling into him like a kitten… He decided he’d give you a little reprieve the next day.

You padded over to him, embarrassment flooding through you. “Sorry, Sugu…”

He caressed your cheek, holding your chin between his finger and thumb, looking at you lovingly. “No need, sweetheart. It’s only natural,” he chuckled. “Sit.”

You positioned yourself over his grey sweatpants, moving your legs awkwardly into place as you held onto his broad shoulders.

“Yes… that’s it.” He pushed your hair behind your ear, leaning closer to whisper softly. “Grind on my thigh, pretty girl.”

You shifted, rolling your hips forward ever so slightly when a sudden searing heat pulsed through your core. You breathed shakily as you rolled back, feeling his thigh flex beneath you. Geto snuck a warm hand to your black mini skirt, inching it up to reveal your grey cotton panties. He smirked as he noticed the darkened patch, a heady feeling rushing through him. “Awh, you’re doing such a good job.” He whispered.

You mewled. His words were inflaming you as much as his movements. You started to rock back and forth a little faster, biting your lip as the intoxicating warmth spread into your lower belly.

“Look at you… Working so hard. Rubbing against me like a little whore…”

Your fingers curled as you pressed into his shoulders, quiet sounds rasping from your throat. Geto clasped a hand over your wrist, rubbing a circle into the thin skin.

“Oh, sweet thing, you’re so worked up. Need me to help?” He cooed as he bounced his knee. You squeaked suddenly, little ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ breaking free from your lips as he intermittently bounced you up and down on his big thigh. A dizzy wash spread over you each time he jolted his thigh. It felt so good, too good. You felt out of control.

“Ah, ah, oh- Geto- Wait, ah-” you moaned as he thumbed your bottom lip.

“Oh? What is it? What do you want? Tell me, go on, or has that pretty little pussy taken over your brain?” he said with a mean grin. He adored seeing you in such a blissful state, cheeks flushed and eyes scrunched shut in concentration. All you could do was moan and mewl little gasps.

You gripped his shoulders, knuckles turning white. You needed him. “Geto, please… ah- please, I need you in- ah…”

“I know, I know… I know what you want, baby… My sweet little slut…” he smirked, looking like a shark in bloody water. He’d caught your scent, and now he was certainly not letting you go. While you hadn’t actually managed to relieve yourself the night before, he hadn’t exactly been happy that you’d tried to keep your late-night activities a secret from him. You needed to suffer, just a little. Geto relished in bringing you to those heady heights and just… keeping you there, for hours.

Head tilted back slightly to keep you in sight, he leaned back comfortably into the sofa, drinking you in. Geto’s half-lidded eyes slunk to your trembling legs spread on his meaty thigh, a knowing gaze washing over his face as his lips melted into a smug smirk. He watched you like a hawk as you rocked back and forth, back and forth, little gasps and whimpers escaping your bitten lips.

His hands smoothly grasped your waist all of a sudden, pressing into your skin as he slowed your tempo, tutting at you. “Now, now, pretty. Patience. Don’t rush.”

“Ah- But, Suguru- It feels so good, I want-” you mewled.

“Sshh… Baby… Slow.” He purred, his fingers brushing over your clothed heat. Sparks flew into your tummy and you leaned forward, head bowing as you moaned long and low. He chuckled warmly, and placed his hands back onto you, settling on your hips as he pressed you down into his thigh.

You gasped sharply, slick gushing against his leg, making his grey sweats dark and sticky with your arousal.

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you? Want me to do it again?” He whispered as he pressed you down once more.

“Nnh! Sugu, please…” You were going to lose your mind.

“Please, what? Baby?” he probed. His thick fingers trailed down to your core, coiling under your panties and pressing into a wet, sticky mess. “Oh, I think I see the problem.” He smiled like a cat as he kept his eyes on your heat. “Your mind’s melted into a little puddle, huh?”

You started to tremble, blood roaring in your ears as you writhed against his thigh like a feral animal. You leaned both hands on his thigh as though you were holding onto a saddle. “Please, Sugu, please, I need more… I need it inside…” you whined.

His brows furrowed as he grasped your jaw and squeezed your cheeks together, your lips puckered like a fish. “You’ve made such a mess. Dirty girls like you don’t get to ask for more than what they’re given.”

His words sent a thrill through you, your belly going taut as tension rose in your core. You were close, rocking forward in short repetitive strokes, riding that wave up, up, up…

Geto pressed your hips to a sudden stop, and you plummeted back down. “No!” you whimpered. “Why did you…?” tears pricked your lashes.

Geto patted your cheek then lifted your chin in a firm grip. “Sorry, sweetheart. Not yet. I never said you could use my thigh to finish.” He lifted you off his thigh and placed you onto the sofa, pressing his lips to yours in a long, heated exchange.

Frustration tore through you. “Suguru, please. I can’t wait any longer.” You begged.

He climbed over you, settling in between your thighs as he pressed you down onto the cushions. He pressed his soft lips to yours, breathing heavily as his tongue broke past the seam of your lips. He brushed his tongue across yours, humming deeply as he started to rock against your hips, pressing his hard length against your slick, driving you to a mess of moans and sweaty limbs. His gentle hands brushed your hair out of your face, pressing one last long kiss to your lips before finally pulling away. He smiled down at you as you looked up at him, sweat dripping down into your hair and the crevices of your neck. “You should have thought about that when you came all over me without my say so.”

You looked into his violet eyes, your lip wobbling. “Please,” you breathed.

“Aw… Princess. Don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me feel bad.” He crooned as he held a hand to your cheek.

“Just two more weeks, baby. After all, if I let you off so soon, what’s to stop you from disobeying me again?” he pecked another kiss to your lips before you threw your head back in desolate frustration.

“You’re so mean, Sugu…” you whined, panting as you pulled your skirt down.

Suguru stood, adjusting the belt of his pants and running a hand through his hair. He grabbed his newspaper and returned to his original seat. “Not mean, baby. Just teaching you a lesson.”

You hated Geto’s lessons.

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[po11yannaswife]

𝑃ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ 𝑀𝑒 ˖⋆࿐໋⠀

𖹭𝐶𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑙 𝐴𝑖𝑟𝑑 𝑥 𝐹𝑒𝑚!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟𖹭

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠; 𝑁𝑜𝑡 𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑦, 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑜𝑓𝑡 𝑠𝑚𝑢𝑡.

𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐀𝐘, 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐋. The sound of the radio rang in your ears, staring out through the window as snow poured down onto the ground, growing silently. The only light was the sun barely peeking through the windows, and the soft dim glow of the lamps that were scattered throughout the room.

Biting your lip, you knew you two couldn’t get to travelling today. It was too dangerous, with how icy the roads were, and how with the snow, you couldn’t even see a few miles ahead. 

“Darling?” Carol’s voice echoed from behind you, her blonde hair in it’s usual somehow always perfect state, red lipstick painted over her lips, and one of the many outfits that you could only dream of affording. You smiled softly at her with your eyebrows raised. “I’m hoping you aren’t thinking we’re driving today, because if so, I have some bad news.”

Shaking your head, you wrapped your hands around your warm mug tighter, “Do you take me for clueless?”

Carol had faintly grinned, stepping closer towards you. Her hand had placed itself on the small of your back, taking the cup of coffee from your hand and taking a sip as you stared at her, watching as she winced. “Too sweet for me.”

“That’s because I made it to my taste,” You gently took the mug from her hands, now her gaze on you, watching as you sipped opposite to where her lipstick had been printed on the ridge of the mug. “Your coffee is on the nightstand, plain black.” 

Carol raised her eyebrows, turning to see the mug, humming. Her hand landed on your shoulder, her red nails squeezing the skin and her lips pressing onto your cheek. “An angel you are.”

You hummed, leaning into the light peck she had given you before letting go, getting her coffee. “Do you know when the snow is supposed to stop?”

“They said late tonight,” You answered, eyes still fixed out the window, “We’d have to wait until the roads clear, so I’m thinking we most likely won’t even be able to leave until tomorrow afternoon, or even night.”

“..Why don’t we make the best of it, darling?”

Her words caught your attention immediately, causing you to turn around. “I’m intrigued.” Carol grinned in response, picking up the camera she had newly gifted you from the luggage.

“Maybe you can take some photographs of us outside, you know, get some practice..put the camera to good use.” The older woman suggested, her red nails lightly scratching the textured metal. She raised the camera up to you, smiling as she clicked the button to take a photo of you. “Perfect.”

“That one definitely was not.” You spoke gently to her, taking the camera from her hands and looking at it. “Get your extravagant coat on, let’s have a little fun.”

She immediately complied, turning around swiftly and taking her coat off the hanger. You got your own on, following Carol out the door.

A not-so-delightful shudder ran down your spine as you stepped outside, the cold harsh and the wind strong. Carol, being in her fur coat, wasn’t as affected as you, taking a step further into the snow with a faint smile on her lips. She faced your way to look at you, “Come on, you agreed, darling.”

Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to step closer to Carol, raising the camera lens to your eye, your heart at least warming as you clicked the camera, watching in admiration as Carol spun around in the snow. The snowflakes surrounding her made her look like some sort of princess. She gazed right into the camera now, her icy eyes captured with a click, bringing the camera down from your face after probably getting a dozen photos. You took a minute to admire her, snowflakes in her golden hair, a faint blush on her cheeks from the chilling air, and her eyes, directly on you, the luckiest girl in the world.

“Staring is considered rude in most places, you know.” She teased, prying the camera from your hands. “Your turn, sweetheart, before you freeze.” She glanced around her, murmuring,  “And before the other guests think we’re insane.”

Carol laughed pitifully as she watched you smile awkwardly, like a child standing for a picture on the first day of school. You were too cold, your arms wrapped around yourself and your face scrunched. “I’m freezing, Carol!”

Carol clicked the camera as you stared at her, waiting for her to end your suffering as you stood in the snow, your breath coming out in visible huffs. “Give me a little twirl, now.” She ordered softly, using her pointer finger to mimic the action.

Complying, you twirled yourself in the snow, hearing the snow crunch beneath your shoes, and hearing the faint clicking of the camera. You began to step towards her after twirling once. “Alright, I think we-”

You presumed the universe didn’t want the photoshoot to end, as you tripped over the snow and the ice below it, falling back into the snow with a yelp and a plop into it. Carol had to attempt to stifle her laugh, her hand slapping against her mouth. “Oh!”

 “I swear to god!”

Carol stepped over to you quickly, camera still in hand. “Are you alright?” Her voice was deep, but you could tell she was trying her best not to smile or laugh at the event. You couldn’t lie, a giggle slipped from your lips. She didn’t hesitate to lift the camera up once she saw you were okay, snapping a picture of you, laying in the snow pathetically with a grim expression. “Come on, sweet thing.”

As her hand reached out, you could hear another click, your eyes rolling. “I’m not in my best state right now, these pictures are going to come out horrible.” She pulled you up, wrapping her hand around your shoulders and held you close. “That had to have been utterly unattractive, falling on my arse in the snow.”

Carol gave herself the permission to laugh now, opening the door to your room while pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Oh, shush, you.”

You sighed happily at the warmer space, putting your wet coat on a hanger and hoping it’d dry up by the next morning. Nonetheless, you were still soaked, sighing deeply in frustration at the feeling of the damp clothes on your body. “I’m going to-” Carol cut you off when she heard your tone, coming from behind.

“None of that,” She cooed, her body facing you now as she took charge of getting you put together again. Her fingers slowly unbuttoned the buttons to your blouse, the tips of her fingers grazing the exposed skin as she got lower and lower. “You get frustrated so easily, sweetheart.”

Only being able to hum, your breathing quickened on it’s own as she unbuttoned the last one, and her eyes skimmed your torso, taking her time to land right back on your eyes. You could see her hesitation as her nimble fingers traced back up your stomach, running over the lace of your bra, and up to your shoulders, hesitating to push off the fabric covering your torso.

Your shaky hands reached up to hers, gently guiding the blouse off your shoulders with her hands, giving her silent permission with a glint of desire in your eyes, matching hers.

“Beautiful,” The older woman mumbled before tracing her cold hands up your neck, and to your cheeks, holding your face as she pressed her lips to yours, gently kissing you as she lead you to the bed behind you both, your knees buckling as the bed came into contact with the backs of your legs. Carol had pushed you further onto the bed so your head was propped onto the pillows as she hovered herself over you, reattaching her lips to your own. The kiss was more passionate now, her tongue swiping your bottom lip for permission. You parted your lips immediately, your hand resting on her cheek as your breathing sped up, feeling her hand begin to unzip your skirt.

Carol’s hand slipped under your body, pushing your body up slightly so she could slip the skirt off effortlessly. She could’ve asked you to simply lift your hips, but to stop kissing you was a harder task, at the moment. You were addictive, a drug to her that was worth the risk of being caught. The way you breathed heavily against her and your hands roamed her hair and face, the way her name fell softly from your swollen lips, like a gentle prayer.

She began to kiss your jawline softly before trailing down to your neck, leaving hot opened mouth kisses as her red nails scraped softly against the skin, eliciting a soft gasp from you. Her hand moved lower, and lower down your body, smirking slightly as she felt your legs part more so for her touch. 

The woman retreated slightly to move her blonde hair out of the way, gazing at you adoringly as her fingers traced over the lace of your underwear, watching you as she began to gently slide the fabric down your legs, her other hand still roaming your body, mostly your cheeks and collarbones.

No words needed to be exchanged as she heard you whimper softly for her touch, and Carol was not one to reject your silent pleads. Her fingertips finally touched your bundle of nerves, moving further down to collect your wetness and moving back up, circling around it once more. 

Carol saw as your eyes went half lidded and your breathing quickened, a soft moan eliciting from you. You closed your eyes, pulling her head forward to you and she didn’t hesitate to continue her soft kisses to your skin, her teeth grazing certain spots that made you gasp for her.

“Oh, Carol..” She sighed heavily against your skin in response, quickening her circles around your clit. Her mouth lightly latched around your tit and your back arched as you grasped tightly onto the pillow behind your head.

Carol cooed your soft moans, hoping no other guests would hear them, no matter how sweet and heavenly they were to her ears. She kissed your lips, “I know it feels good, sweetheart,” She kissed the corner of your mouth, her circles tighter now, and a burning sensation collecting between your thighs. You couldn’t help the slip of a more so high pitched moan escaping, which landed to Carol’s hand gently placing itself over your mouth, “Shh, I know, darling, I know. You’re doing so good.” Her eyes watched as your own gazed back at her, hazed with need and desperation for her. She was all that you had wanted, needed. You couldn’t help but always feel a flutter in your chest when you gazed at her, she was so…words couldn’t explain how beautiful Carol was. Especially when she was on top of you, whispering delicate words of praises that made you melt. “That’s a good girl, just keep looking at me.” Her hand tightened ever so slightly over your mouth, her voice low and gravelly.

When you began to flutter your eyes shut when your legs shook, Carol tutted, “No, no,” She slowed down her movements, “Look at me, please. Keep those pretty eyes open for me.”

You complied, opening your eyes up again, in which she quickened her movements once more. She felt as you whined against her hand, your breathing ultimately ragged and your hips starting to move against her hand. You threaded your fingers through her soft hair, your head tilting at her look. 

She leaned down to rest her head against yours, and your sounds became more frequent as you were on the edge of finishing for her. She moved her lips to your ear, gently nipping on the skin before whispering ever so seductively, “Let go for me, angel.”

As if your body listened to her every word, your back arched into her as your release washed over you. Her hand let go of your mouth and instantly replaced it with her own, kissing you passionately through your high. Your fingers tightened around her hair as she fell onto her side, swallowing every whimper and moan that came from you.

Carol’s hand grazed back up your body, retreating from your lips just for a moment, putting her fingers delicately against your lips, almost like an offering that you didn’t have to take. Yet, you did, with hazy eyes and a lazy movement, your mouth wrapped around her slender fingers, sucking your mess off of them while she looked at you, with such adoration and need, your heart panged. You licked one last stripe in between the two fingers, and she gently pulled the digits out of your mouth.

She slowly tucked a hair behind your ear, taking note of your flushed cheeks and trembling figure. “My angel.”

“All yours.” You breathed lightly, nuzzling into her hand as she stroked your cheekbone with her thumb. Carol gave a small smile, her red lipstick had almost stayed on perfectly, which had slightly shocked you, even though it was printed all over your neck. 

Pressing a long kiss to your lips, Carol brought the blanket around your figure, protecting you from any cold that was to hit you in a few moments. 

Carol paused and looked at the camera that was set on the dresser, looking back at you with a slightly mischievous look in her icy eyes. You knew what she was referring to almost instantly, biting your lip and gently nodding when she raised an eyebrow. “Photograph me.”

She elegantly stepped up from the bed, pulling the camera into her hands and getting the camera ready. She raised the camera up to her eye, smirking as you gazed right into the lens. Your were supporting yourself with your elbows, your hair messy and her lipstick all over your neck, your almost bare chest visible. All she knew was that, when the picture was processed, she was keeping it for herself. 

Carol put the camera back down on the nightstand, wrapping her arms back around you. And shutting her eyes for a few moments.

Lost in thought, you could feel an odd pit in your stomach, almost a dread or a paranoia that caused an unbearable and incurable nausea. You watched as Carol laid back next to you, studying her blue eyes and perfect features. Was this really all worth it?

One look at Carol Aird was all you needed to know.

[3strega]

Good Morning.

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･💙🩵💙･:*.ೃ࿔.⋆°𖤓

Death Island! Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

Summary: An early morning run in with the partner you've been harboring feelings for...

Tags: Drabble, Fluff, HUGE work crush, Leon doting on you and teasing you

Word Count: 662

Notes: This is one of my first dives back into fanfic writing, so I thought something self indulgent would be nice. I hope you enjoy the time spent with your work husband! 💙

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･💙🩵💙･:*.ೃ࿔.⋆°𖤓

"It's cold." You muttered to yourself, almost as if the words would warm you as you fished for your keycard in your bag.

"It's winter." A familiar voice said nonchalantly.

You looked over to your partner with a cross expression. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he approached you. You weren't anticipating that Leon would be in the office so early, especially after all the overtime he was putting in.

"Thought we were stating the obvious." Leon smiled, staring down at you as he leaned against the side of the building. In his hand was a paper cup that emitted the pleasant smell of coffee. He had only his biking jacket on and his brown tresses were still messily windswept by the ride. Compared to your winter attire he seemed prepared for a different season entirely. Still, somehow the agent remained unfazed by the freezing temperatures. Even his smile was warm as he held the drink out for you to take. You couldn't help but feel a bit frustrated.

It was way too early for him to be getting under your skin like this.

The sky had finally begun to brighten the early morning sky, signaling the beginning of another day at the office. As the sun rose you could feel its rays tease you with the slightest hint of warmth, making your body shudder as it tried to acclimate. You could hear a soft chuckle from Leon as he nudged you with the coffee once more. You noticed your name scrawled upon the cup. It was ordered just how you like it. Though he remained silent, he was persistent. The sun shone upon his face, highlighting the features you had come to memorize. The light revealing the sleepiness around his eyes, making you a matching pair, yet still  the pools of blue sparkled as they looked upon you with mirth.

"Cmon, don't need your fingers falling off, sweetheart." He said softly, "We still have to finish writing out that report." 

You sighed begrudgingly, finally accepting his offering. The heat of the warm contents within the paper cup wrapped around your icy hand like a glove. However, the sensation was quickly eclipsed by another feeling. The brushing of his fingertips against yours made the heat begin to accumulate in your already rosey cheeks. Just when you had thought he would pull away, his touch lingered. Leon's hand gingerly trailed over your knuckles, his eyes locked onto your hand as he drove the cold away. 

 "Better?" Leon looked back to you and smiled after a moment as he brought his hand back to the pocket of his jacket.

Your heart gave another pound in your chest and jolted you to look back to the door in front of you. You hoped he couldnt hear it. Clenching the coffee in your hand, you hoped the pain of its high temperature  permeating the cup would bring you back to earth.

"Yeah. Thanks. Sweetheart.” 

He chuckled as you rolled your eyes.

"Did you forget your keycard?"

Your face flushed once more. Oh, right.

With your free hand you hurriedly dug into your jacket, eventually yanking out your lanyard for the door to scan your ID. As soon as the clearance was granted, you stepped through the door, walking ahead of your fellow agent and away from your feelings. Just as you were about to turn the corner of the corridor, you heard Leon call out to you. The clicking of your heels came to a halt as you turned to look back at him.

"Yeah?" Your voice carried through the empty hall, your nerves revealing themselves.

Leon smiled, a light chuckle falling from his lips as he looked at you, "Good morning." 

God, he had to know what he was doing at this point.

But still, you smiled. It was another day at the office, and even though you always hoped for monotony, as long as Leon Kennedy was around your heart would always be racing.

"Good Morning" 

𖤓°⋆.ೃ࿔*:･💙🩵💙･:*.ೃ࿔.⋆°𖤓

[goosita]

young!politician!snow enjoys making you squirm, knowing how easy it is to get reactions out of you

it’s so easy for him to throw you off balance, to surprise you at every turn. ever since the night he drove you home, with his hand resting so warm and heavy on your thigh, you’ve barely been able to focus at work. every time your mind starts to wander, it ends up settling and fixating on the same thing; him.

you wonder if he can sense it, if he can feel your eyes trailing over every inch of him when he breezes out of his office for another coffee break. your gaze lingers on his broad shoulders when his back is turned, or on his pretty profile when he’s looking the other way. you try not to let it be obvious, politely averting your eyes when he spins to face you again or return to his office.

it’s been several days since the night you let him drop you off at your apartment, and coriolanus takes up about 98% of your thoughts. he’s on his third cup of black coffee for the day when he pauses and turns to face you, speaking up.

“do you have plans for this evening, miss y/n?” he asks, smiling kindly at you. you’re not sure what to say, caught off guard by his question.

“nothing other than melting into my couch with a book, sir,” you answer honestly. your heart kicks up in pace at his question, wondering why he’d want to know.

“well, you do now.”

you blink and furrow your brows, looking at him unsure. you can tell he’s a little frazzled today, hair slightly out of place from running his hand through it several times. he takes a long sip of his coffee and sighs.

“i have to go to a gala tonight, something they only just told me now at the last minute,” he explains, looking down into his cup. “of course, i’ll need a date.”

you stare at him, not sure if the world is playing some sick joke on you or not. coriolanus lifts his eyes and stares right back at you, waiting for you to say something.

“…..me?”

it comes out as a pathetic squeak, but he doesn’t point it out. he simply nods, icy gazs still boring into you while you scramble for an answer.

“uhm. y-yeah, yeah okay,” you stutter, feeling small under his stare. he gives you an easy smile then, his whole demeanor seemingly going more lax.

“excellent. finish whatever you’re working on and log off for the day, we have time find you a dress.”

dress shopping with coriolanus snow is something you never thought would ever happen, yet here you are. he had slid you into your coat at the door after you’d logged off your computer, whisking you down to his car which he again drove himself. as you’d opened your mouth to say you didn’t really have money for a new dress, he’d cut you off easily, telling you that if he was the one to drag you to this gala, the least he could do was pay for your outfit.

now, you stood in front of a wall of mirrors in a green silk gown that hugged your body in all of the right ways. it fell to the floor, but bared your shoulders and arms. coriolanus walked in a slow circle around you, scanning every inch of your body carefully. he stopped then and nodded at one of the fitting room attendants, who brought him a black velvet box. inside, a white diamond necklace sat with a single, small pendant. a snowflake.

you tried as hard as you could not to shiver when coriolanus stepped behind you, carefully moving your hair to clasp the necklace around your throat. you could feel his breath on the back of your neck and you kept your eyes down, almost afraid to catch his gaze in the mirror.

“beautiful,” he whispered, so soft that you were certain that you were the only person who heard it. his fingertips slowly trailed down your spine and it was impossible not to shudder.

“look at yourself,” he said quietly, reaching around to your front, lifting your chin. you looked over your reflection, tilting your head to the side. he was right; the dress was absolutely stunning, the pendant resting on your sternum sparkly but understated, tasteful.

“its lovely, coryo,” you said, finally meeting his eyes in the mirror. his plush lips stretched into a dazzling smile, clearly pleased at your use of his nickname.

“yes, you are.”

you didn’t notice as the fitting room attendants all exited, leaving you alone with coriolanus in the secluded dressing room. his hand traveled down from your chin to your shoulder, fingertips brushing down your arm before taking your own hand in his. he smiled again and led you over to a seat, gesturing for you to sit.

coriolanus grabbed a box and lifted it open, revealing a pair of silver heels that looked more expensive than a year’s worth of your rent. and then, he did something you would never imagine.

coriolanus snow kneeled before you.

you stopped yourself from inhaling sharply at the surprise, at the image of who everyone knew to be the eventual future president of Panem, dropping to his knees at your feet. he carefully lifted the hem of your dress, just enough to wrap a hand around your ankle and place your foot in his lap. then, he picked up one shoe and slit it on, taking extra care to clasp the strap around your ankle. his eyes lifted to yours, gazing up at you almost reverently as he stroked over the bone on the inside of your ankle. he held your stare for a long moment before repeating the action on your other foot.

“coriola—“

he cut you off as he rose to his feet again, taking your hand and pulling you up.

“do they fit alright?” he asked, breaking the intimate bubble he had created a moment ago. you nodded, swallowing hard.

“yes,” you breathed, searching his eyes curiously. what was he playing at here? what was he thinking?

“perfect. i suspect it’ll be a lovely evening, hm?”

[oceanicwriting]

a christmas to remember.

part one. part two.

summary: it's a new christmas. your whole life has changed since you finished college. you have a stable job at a publishing house, life in london, and a boyfriend you wouldn't trade for anything in the world. who would have thought that a year ago you were so lost in the big city.

pairing(s): non-wizard!theodore nott x non-wizard!fem!reader

a/n: i hope you're having a great christmas with the people you love! if it's not going as you expected, i wish next year it gets better. tons of love and kisses for you.

. . .

ㅤㅤㅤyou have a couple of blocks left to get to your apartment on the main avenue and, now that the cold seeps into every uncovered place on your body, you wished that the idea of ​​walking hadn't been so appealing in the first place.

ㅤㅤㅤ it had been a long day of work at the publishing house. a couple of days ago, a new investor had arrived in town, looking to speed up his work in the city, organizing meetings every day. if someone had told you that you would spend christmas eve in an office with ten cups of coffee on top of you, you would have laughed in their face, because you would swear that something like that would never happen.

ㅤㅤㅤyou focus on walking the last stretch to the apartment you share with your boyfriend, who had not reported in all day. in your hands, you carry his christmas present, things for dinner and food that you have stolen from the cafe at work.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen you arrive at your house, everything is still as silent as you left it that morning. the only thing different in the place is a note on the entrance table that, when you take it, allows you to read: "excited to have dinner with you tonight. i left what you had asked me for today on the fridge. see you, bella."

ㅤㅤㅤyour boyfriend has gotten into the habit of leaving notes all over the house ever since you told him his handwriting was beautiful. he has perfect penmanship with o's and a's so round you'd swear he'd copy and paste them every time he had to do them. you liked it because you could somehow feel the love he puts into a piece of paper addressed to you.

ㅤㅤㅤyou had met your boyfriend a year ago, and since then, everything has changed. college was over, you found a well-paying job, you moved ten blocks away from the office, adopted a cat, and decided to spend this first christmas together. just the two of you. so much had changed in less than a year it was terrifying.

ㅤㅤㅤafter you've put on more comfortable clothes, you start cooking dinner. halfway through, your mother calls on the phone with your entire family on the other side of the screen. there are so many greetings, jokes, and stories to tell since the last time your heart felt warm with love.

ㅤㅤㅤ—and where is he? —your mother asks, referring to your partner.

ㅤㅤㅤ—he should be around... —the sound of the front door makes you jump, but you know it's him by the simple sound of his footsteps—. he just arrived.

ㅤㅤㅤyou completely forget about the cell phone and go to greet him at the end of the entrance hall. theodore nott is standing there taking off his coat and scarf. you would never tire of saying that those shirts are tight in the right places on his body. when he turns to look at you, a smile slides on his lips, and he welcomes you into his arms.

ㅤㅤㅤ—hello.

ㅤㅤㅤ—hello —he whispers, unable to hold back the need to kiss his icy lips that make you forget the rest of the world instantly. his answer is what you expected, matching the movement and pulling you in by your hips—. h-hey, my mom’s on the phone in the kitchen.

ㅤㅤㅤtheodore raises his eyebrows, making you laugh softly.

ㅤㅤㅤ—let me leave this under the tree and i’ll go.

ㅤㅤㅤyou nod, receiving one last peck from him. when theodore is in the kitchen, in front of the phone, your entire family loses their dignity as they fight over who talk to him first. it was so funny to watch that you couldn't help but step aside to watch him try to handle all the voices calling him like that first time they met him on your birthday.

ㅤㅤㅤyou don't know if it's because he's just arrived, but his messy hair and sleepy expression remind you of the first time you met him at the airport. that same day, he let you go, but you met again weeks later as if you were destined to be together.

ㅤㅤㅤtheodore nott was the boy of your dreams. he was so devilishly beautiful, charming, and funny that your entire family fought to get his attention, although he always ended up choosing you. it was always you.

ㅤㅤㅤ—we're going to have dinner in a bit. we'll have to say goodbye —he says, picking up the phone to bring it closer and listen to the complaints because he can't stay connected any longer—. goodbye, everyone!

ㅤㅤㅤwhen your whole family seems satisfied with the intrusion, theodore cuts the call and puts the phone aside. he looks at you, coming closer to tie you to your waist.

ㅤㅤㅤ—why didn't you wait for me to cook? —he asks, kissing your face over and over again softly.

ㅤㅤㅤyou laugh at the feeling of his lips.

ㅤㅤㅤ—because I didn't know you would arrive so early. is everything okay at work?

ㅤㅤㅤyou've been used to the monotonous, everyday conversation for a while now. you loved it. you loved the way he talked sleepily, smiling when you told him a story from the publishing house and kissing your face when he stared at you for too long. somehow, you knew you were meant to spend your lives like this.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i can't believe we met a year ago —you whisper, cutting off the conversation that had started a few minutes ago—. a year ago we saw each other for the first time and now we live together, theo. can you believe it?

ㅤㅤㅤhe turns off the stove, finishing the meal and approaches you.

ㅤㅤㅤ—of course, i can believe it, bella. —his hands take your face delicately and look at you as if they read the depths of your soul—. from the moment we saw each other and you read me as if it were the easiest thing in the world, i knew i was going to be happily chained to you.

ㅤㅤㅤyou laugh, being drowned by his lips sticking to yours, tasting the lipstick you had put on. his touch feels as anxious as it is happy from the connection that runs through your bodies. then, his hands are positioned on your waist, and the movement of his mouth against yours makes you not fall back on the little meows of the cat.

ㅤㅤㅤthe feeling takes you to that day at the airport, after leaving that cafeteria with the feeling of having forgotten him. It had always been him. theodore was going to be the person who, no matter where you are, would make you feel at home. he had felt exactly the same.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i love you.

ㅤㅤㅤhis voice, whispering near your lips, makes you smile and hug his neck tighter.

ㅤㅤㅤ—i love you too.

ㅤㅤㅤ—but lola wants to eat —he says, making you laugh and separate yourself from him.

ㅤㅤㅤwhen he walks away, all you can think about is how you long for the passing of the years to be together forever.

[strljaem]

“let’s see what we have at home”

lol idk how to feel about this one. 🧍🏻

💿 : make you mine, madison beer

The morning started like any other, with meetings and emails piling up, and my usual cup of coffee not doing much to quell the rising tide of anxiety. The company was growing, deadlines were tight, and I had a department to manage. But the real pressure came from knowing that Jaemin, my husband, was the CEO, and we had to keep our relationship under wraps.

No one knew we were married. To everyone at work, Jaemin was the stoic, intimidating CEO with a penchant for precision and results. His sleek suits, usually charcoal or navy blue, fit him perfectly. The jet-black hair styled in a slick-back comma always seemed to catch the light at just the right angle, making him look every bit the powerful executive. His eyes, though often icy and serious in meetings, held a warmth that only I knew.

That morning, I was heading to the 18th floor, where my office was located, and had a stack of important files in my arms. The elevator was crowded when the doors opened, but I noticed him immediately. Jaemin stood at the back, his broad shoulders filling out the suit jacket, his height towering over everyone else. His gaze was intense, fixed on me as if he were trying to say something without words. Then, as if realizing he was staring, he blinked and looked away, pretending to focus on his phone.

I stepped into the elevator, squeezing into the small space available. The mixed scent of cologne and perfume filled the air, and the hum of conversation died down as the doors closed. I was grateful for the space, but I couldn't help feeling the nervous energy coursing through me. My legs felt weak, my palms dampening with sweat.

When the elevator dinged at the 10th floor, most of the people stepped out, leaving only me and Jaemin. The doors closed, and the silence was deafening. I was standing with my back to him, clutching the files like they were a lifeline. The air felt charged, like a storm was brewing. I fidgeted with the edges of the papers, trying to calm my racing heart.

Suddenly, I felt a hand reach around and grab mine. It was swift and gentle, but it caught me off guard, and I stumbled backward. My head landed squarely on his muscular chest. I looked up, my breath hitching as I saw his eyes. They were warm, a complete contrast to the icy glare he usually wore. He smiled down at me and softly said, "Hi."

"Hi," I replied, my voice almost a whisper. His arm was still around me, holding me steady.

Then he leaned in and kissed me. It started gentle, as if he was afraid to break the spell, but then it grew firm, passionate. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, my entire body tingling. I laughed in the middle of the kiss, pulling away and gasping for air. I lightly smacked his arm. "Later, at home."

Jaemin smirked. "Let's see what we have at home," he said, a playful glint in his eyes.

The elevator dinged, and the doors opened. Jaemin released me and stepped out like nothing happened, his professional mask firmly in place. I was left standing there, flustered and trying to catch my breath. It took me a moment to realize I'd missed my floor.

[ryuyukawa]

─Warm Latte

∘₊✧─── ❀ ───✧₊∘

★ Pairing: Fiddleford McGucket x reader

✦ Genre: Fluff?

★ Warnings: None

✦ Summary: With the thoughts that kept you up at night, you decided to call him. I guess you do have plans for the weekend now.

Note: This is a part 2 of cold espresso!! and thank you soo much for 60 notess on theree!! I hope you enjoy this one!!

The morning sun filters weakly through your curtains, painting your apartment in pale, washed-out colors. You wake up with a weight on your chest, the events of yesterday replaying in your mind. Fidds’s words linger, the almost-confession hanging between you like a half-finished sentence. You sit up, staring at the empty space beside you, the silence of your apartment amplifying the doubts that creep in.

Was it real, or were you both just caught up in a moment? What if he changes his mind? What if this ruins everything? The ache of uncertainty is a familiar one, but this time, it feels sharper—more personal. You’re not just risking a friendship; you’re risking the one constant that has always been there, the person who knows you better than anyone else.

You try to shake off the thoughts as you drag yourself into the kitchen, but they cling to you like the bitter taste of stale coffee. You placed the kettle on the stove, boiling it; but even then, the comforting sound of brewing can’t quiet the unease bubbling inside you. With your coffee done, You pour half a cup of milk; you finished brewing your coffee. The steam swirling like your scattered thoughts, as you stare at the phone that was mounted on the wall. You had a thought, should you call him? The missed opportunity, the half-formed words, and the weight of unsaid things hang in the air.

Maybe he’s already moved on. Maybe you’re just overthinking everything like you always do.

You hesitate, fingers hovering over the button. You know you should say something, but fear grips you, tightening around your chest like a vice. What if he doesn’t want to hear from you? What if he regrets opening up? The latte’s warmth does little to thaw the icy grip of doubt in your heart. You bring the cup to your lips, letting the heat seep in, but it’s not enough to push you to action.

Finally, you take a deep breath, holding the phone as you let your thumb dial his number before you can even change your mind. The phone rings, each chime echoing your own heartbeat, loud and uncertain. You count the rings—one, two, three—each one heavier than the last until you hear the faint click and Fiddleford’s voice breaks through the static, warm and familiar.

"Mornin’, darlin’," Fidds greets, his tone light but a bit tired, like he’s been up thinking too. There’s a slight rasp in his voice, the kind that makes you think he’s been pacing his garage, lost in thought, maybe even wrestling with the same doubts that kept you awake. "Didn’t think I’d hear from ya this early."

The sound of his voice soothes and stings at the same time. You can hear the way he’s trying to keep things casual, but there’s an undercurrent there—a weight that wasn’t there before. You clutch your cup tighter, feeling a rush of nerves. "Hey, Fidds. I─ I just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing."

There’s a pause, just long enough to make you wonder if he’s regretting yesterday. You picture him in his garage, tools scattered, the faint smell of motor oil and burnt circuits clinging to the air. You’ve seen that space a hundred times, but now it feels like a sanctuary you’re intruding upon. You almost wish you hadn’t called—almost.

"Aw, I’m alright," he replies, but there’s a crack in his voice, barely noticeable. "Been tinkerin’ in the garage. You know me, always got somethin’ to keep my hands busy."

You smile at the thought of him, sleeves rolled up, grease on his hands, lost in the creation of some new invention. It’s so quintessentially him, the way he pours himself into his work when he’s trying to work through something. But today, even that image doesn’t bring the comfort it used to. You can hear it in his words—the same uncertainty, the same fear of messing things up that’s been gnawing at you.

You take a deep breath, trying to muster some courage. "I’ve been thinking a lot about yesterday. About what you said… and what I didn’t get to say."

There’s another pause on the line, heavy and charged, and you feel your heart drop. What if he’s changed his mind? What if this is all too much too soon? You imagine him, fidgeting with a screwdriver or wiping his hands on an old rag, anything to keep busy, to keep from saying what he’s really thinking.

"I’ve been thinkin’ about it too," he finally admits, his voice softer, more vulnerable than you’ve ever heard it. It’s almost like he’s laying his heart bare, showing you the parts he’s always kept hidden, even from himself. "Was worried maybe I said too much, maybe scared ya off. But, truth is, I don’t regret it. Not one bit."

The knot in your chest loosens just a little, and you swallow the lump in your throat. His admission is raw, real, and it hits you harder than you expected. "You didn’t scare me off, Fidds. If anything─ if I'm being honest, I’m the one who’s scared. Scared of losing what we have, scared of taking a chance and it not working out."

He sighs, and you can almost see him running a hand through his hair, frustrated but hopeful. "I get it. Hell, I’m scared too. But if we don’t try, we’ll never know, will we?"

You nod, even though he can’t see you, feeling the last bit of doubt start to melt away. "You’re right. And I don’t want to keep wondering. I want to try, Fidds. I want to see what this could be."

His soft chuckle warms you from the inside out. It’s the kind of laugh that used to fill late nights with the soft glow of desk lamps and the quiet hum of old music playing on his radio. "Well, shoot, darlin’, that’s the best thing I’ve heard all week. How ‘bout we make it official then? A real date. You and me, no holdin’ back."

The tension between you evaporates, replaced by a lightness that feels like sunshine breaking through the clouds. The reality of his words sinks in, each one planting hope where doubt had taken root. You smile, glancing out the window as the morning brightens just a little more. "I’d love that. Tonight?"

"Tonight," Fidds repeats, a hint of excitement coloring his voice. You can hear the smile behind his words, and it sends a flutter through your chest. "How ‘bout we make it somethin’ special? Don’t gotta be fancy or nothin’, but, y’know… somewhere that feels right."

You pause, thinking about all the possibilities. There’s a nervous thrill coursing through you—picking the perfect spot feels like the first step into something real. "How about that little Italian place downtown? The one with the fairy lights and the outdoor patio? I’ve been wanting to try it for ages, and I hear the food’s amazing.."

Fidds hums thoughtfully, and you can almost picture the way his face lights up at the suggestion. "Sounds like a plan, darlin’. I always knew you had good taste. Plus, can’t go wrong with some pasta and good company, huh?"

You laugh softly, feeling your nerves ease with his playful tone. "Guess not. I’m warning you though, I might order half the menu. I’ve been craving good Italian for weeks."

He chuckles, the sound warm and genuine. "Well, don’t you worry ‘bout that. I’ll keep up. Might even out-eat ya if we’re not careful. And hey, if it’s half as good as the company, I reckon we’re in for one hell of a night."

There’s a beat of comfortable silence before Fidds’s voice drops a little, more sincere. "Y’know, I’ve been lookin’ forward to this. Feels like we’re finally doin’ somethin’ we shoulda done a long time ago." His words tug at your heart, the weight of everything left unsaid still hanging between you. But there’s a new kind of hope there too, one that’s slowly outshining the fear. "Yeah… me too... I’ve always had a feeling that maybe we were just waiting for the right time."

"Guess it took us a while to figure that out, huh?" he says, a hint of laughter in his voice that doesn’t quite mask the emotion underneath. "But better late than never. We’re makin’ our own time now."

You feel a warmth spreading through you, a soft glow that makes the morning feel a little brighter. "I’m glad we are. I think… I think this is going to be good for us. No more ‘what ifs,’ just us, figuring it out together." Fidds’s voice softens, his sincerity coming through clearly. "Yeah. And whatever happens, I just want ya to know—I’m in this with ya. We’ll take it one step at a time, and if it ever feels like too much, we’ll talk it out. No pressure, no rush. Just us."

You smile, feeling lighter than you have in a long time. "Thanks, Fidds. I really needed to hear that. And don’t worry—I’m all in too."

There’s a comfortable pause before he speaks again, his tone turning playful. "Alright then, tonight it is. Seven sound good? I’ll make sure to wear somethin’ that ain’t covered in grease, promise."

You laugh, the sound carrying the kind of joy that’s been missing for far too long. "I think you’d look good no matter what, but I’ll hold you to that. Seven it is."

"See ya tonight, darlin’," Fidds says, his voice light, but with an underlying current of something more—a promise, a new beginning. "We’re gonna have ourselves a real good time."

You hang up, feeling the anticipation bubbling up inside you. Tonight isn’t just another dinner; it’s the start of something new, something that’s been waiting in the wings for far too long. And for the first time in a long time, you feel ready.

What do you thinkk?? Good? Bad?? Tell mee!! Ive been thinking what to do with this one.. not as creative but i like it!

Feedback and constructive criticism are welcome!

[cinnamon-piastri]

Burnt out star | Charles Leclerc

A quick Charles blurb for day 5 as I've had a rough day and run out of time to write anything ❤️

Warnings: None just fluff x

Imagine you're working late to make up for Christmas deadlines, and Charles decides to surprise you as he knows how burnt out you've been lately.

• He shows up outside of your workplace to pick you up even though you said he didn't need to. He was smiling as he stood by the passenger door to embrace you in a hug and give you a tender peck on the lips. Mumbling "I've missed you" into your lips as if he hadn't just seen you that morning.

• You sat in the car and noticed your favourite coffee order from Starbucks sitting in the cup holder. A sticky note on it saying "drink me :)" you smiled before giving Charles a kiss on the cheek "thank you my love that's so sweet" him chuckling in response. "If you think that's great you haven't seen the real surprise yet" he replies with a smirk as he starts driving while his hand rests gently on your thigh.

• You arrive home in no time and Charles is already sprinting to open your car door before taking your hand and guiding you up the icy path to your shared apartment, he stops just as he unlocks the door and tells you to close your eyes before you enter. You curiously oblige as he holds his hands over your eyes and guides you into the apartment.

• As soon as you enter there's a familiar smell you work hard to identify, the room smells like a mixture of vanilla and cinnamon and it instantly warms your heart. He continued to guide you until you were in your shared bedroom before he slowly took his hands off your eyes and said "okay open em mon amour"

• As soon as you opened them you were face to face with your bed that had been adorned in rose petals. There were candles burning with the name "Christmas cookie" on the label. On the bed was also a little basket that contained a bouquet of roses, some face masks and skincare products, fluffy socks and your favourite chocolate.

• Your smile lit up the room more than the candles did as Charles admired your face and how beautiful you looked even though you were tired. "I thought I could run you a bath mon amour, and afterwards we can do some facemasks while we watch a Christmas film what do you think?" Charles whispered in your ear as he hugged you from behind, trailing soft ticklish kisses down your neck.

• You turned to face him with a smile. "I'd love that, thank you so much Charles this means the world to me" you confess as you bring him in for a kiss. Charles smiling as you pull back replying "Anything for my love, I know you've been stressed lately and I want to help you relax"

• Charles brings you both hot chocolates as you get out of the bath, laying in bed sipping on them as you both watch Christmas films, before cuddling up and falling asleep on his chest as the snow starts to fall outside. "Good night my star, sleep well"

[yoursinisforgiven]

ECLIPSE ──

pairing: elias x reader (barista) 

cw: fainting, reader experiences a panic attack, mentions of gang violence, ptsd(?).

you are responsible for your own media consumption.

Truthfully, you had zoned out. 

Imagining yourself anywhere but here—maybe back at the Brewhouse—you allowed the daydream to take over. The distinct aroma of coffee clung to your clothes, and you found yourself giggling at something your coworker had just said. She glanced at the wall clock, its oversized teacup-shaped frame mocking the fact that the café didn’t even sell tea. It was a detail that had always annoyed you, though now it seemed oddly endearing.

“Hey, it’s my break. You good here?” Rush hour had just ebbed, leaving the café quiet except for a few college students hunched over their laptops, headphones cocooning them in their own little worlds.

“Yeah, I got it—thanks,” you replied with an easy smile. She hummed in acknowledgment, untying her apron and hanging it on the hook near the back. The door jingled as she stepped out, leaving you alone behind the counter.

The lull was peaceful. You started wiping down the espresso machine, the rhythmic motion grounding you in the moment. The sunlight streaming through the windows painted the space in warm tones, and you let yourself appreciate the stillness.

Then the doorbell jingled again.

You glanced up, and your heart skipped a beat. It was him. The boy with the dark curls.

You almost dropped the rag in your hand, barely catching it before it hit the floor. Quickly, you smoothed your apron and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, trying not to seem flustered. He was a regular, stopping by every few days, and over time, you’d memorized both his order and the faint warmth in his smile.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice soft as always. He lingered by the counter, hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.

“Hi,” you replied, hoping your voice didn’t betray the fluttering in your chest. “The usual?”

He nodded, his lips curving into a faint smile. “Yeah, thanks.”

You moved with practiced ease, grabbing a cup and scribbling his name on the side even though you didn’t need to. Your hand hesitated before drawing a small heart next to his name, a fleeting indulgence you immediately regretted yet couldn’t bring yourself to erase.

The caramel macchiato was simple enough, but you couldn’t help being a little more meticulous than usual—measuring the espresso just right, steaming the milk to the perfect texture, and drizzling the caramel with a little more care than strictly necessary.

As the drink came together, you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. He was standing near the counter, scrolling through his phone, his curls catching the sunlight in a way that made your chest tighten.

“Here you go,” you said, sliding the cup across the counter toward him, a small smile tugging at your lips.

He looked up, his fingers brushing yours briefly as he took the cup. “Thanks. You always make it better than anyone else.”

The words warmed you in a way the café heaters never could, but before you could reply, the sound hit you.

A deafening crack, then a low, gut-wrenching groan as if the building itself was alive and in pain.

The café around you shuddered violently, and your ears filled with the sound of crumbling walls, shattering glass, and the screams of patrons. It was almost too much to process—a cacophony of chaos that drowned out everything, even your heartbeat.

The sweet dream faded into a nightmare.

No, not a nightmare. A memory.

“Hey.” Elias’s whisper drags you back to the present, and you are reminded just where you are. The cold gaze of James bore into you from across the room, icy and unyielding. Your heart quickens with each passing second, the pressure in your chest building like a vice.

You’re not at the Brewhouse. You’re not making Elias’s coffee. No.

Reality hits you like a train. The truth swirls chaotically in your mind—you’re here, in this sterile meeting room, where the air is heavy with unspoken judgments. The table feels solid beneath your hands, but the rest of the world spins, untethered. You’re on a carousel, and you want off. Now.

Elias’s hand finds yours, grounding you just enough to make the spinning slow. “Meeting’s over.” he says softly, his voice cutting through the haze.

You nod mutely, letting him guide you away from the piercing stares and the fluorescent lights that feel too bright, too harsh. Each step toward the doorway feels like walking underwater, your limbs heavy and reluctant.

As you reach the threshold, the world tilts violently. Your knees buckle, the edges of your vision narrowing into a dark tunnel.

“Hey, hey!” Elias’s voice is alarmed now, his grip tightening as he tries to steady you. But it’s too late. The last thing you see is his wide-eyed face before the ground rushes up to meet you.

“Stop,” James’s voice cuts through the room, cold and unsympathetic. “They’re fine. We can’t run to comfort them every time something scares them, now can we?”

Warren, who had abruptly risen from his seat to move toward you, pauses mid-step. He lets out a sigh before sitting back down. “See that they’re tended to, Elias.”

──

author's note: requested elias drabble.

[oneshotnewbie]

hello hope your having a great day.

i looked at you request thing and i was wondering if you do like reader struggling with self-harm.

if you do can you wright a oneshot with Natasha Romanoff x daughter reader and well Natasha finds out that reader is struggling and all that.

if you dont want to or dont feel comfortable to thats totally fine just ignore this.

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of self-harm and the plot is presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Winter had wrapped New York City in an icy embrace. Snowflakes fell from the gray sky in quiet, deliberate grace, transforming the busy streets into a white wonderland. In the stillness of the morning before the city woke up, the Avenger Tower lay majestically and sublimely above the snow-covered skyline.

Natasha Romanoff, the world's deadliest spy and one of the leaders of the Avengers, stood in the tower's kitchen and stared out the window. Her thoughts were not about the earliest missions or the daily threats, but about her daughter. For a few weeks now, you had noticeably withdrawn. Not only from her, but also from the other Avengers. It was particularly painful for her to see the distance from Wanda, who you had treated like a big sister from the beginning and who was a person you could rely on.

The red-haired woman sighed and mechanically stirred her coffee, which had already gone cold. It was still early in the morning and the other Avengers were still asleep or on missions. But she knew you would wake up soon. The question was whether you would talk this time or you would only communicate in monosyllabic answers and silent glances. Like so often recently.

Wanda entered the kitchen tiredly and with heavy steps. Her steps slowed when she noticed Natasha in her tense posture. "Good morning, Nat," she said gently and went to the coffee machine where the person she was addressing was standing. Natasha nodded at her and turned her back to the kitchen, leaning against it. "Morning, Wanda."

The two women stood there for a moment in silent agreement, only the coffee machine making its noises, before Wanda addressed the topic that was on both of their hearts. "I'm worried about y/n too," she began carefully, knowing that she was never allowed to read the other's thoughts without permission.

"Me too," Natasha replied immediately, making no attempt to lecture her. Rather, she was grateful that she had done so and that she was not alone in her thoughts. "She's changed so much. She hardly speaks to me anymore, and I don't know why."

Wanda sighed and sat down at the table with her full cup. "It could just be puberty. But I have a feeling it's more than that. Maybe she's trying to cope with something she doesn't understand."

Natasha nodded slowly, joining the witch, letting out a loud sigh. "Possibly. But how do I find out what it is if she doesn't want to talk to me?"

At that moment, the two heard footsteps and you entered the kitchen soon after. Your hair fell uncombed in your face and your dull eyes looked tired and distant. You wore an oversized white sweater and faded jeans that made your slim figure seem even more delicate.

"Good morning, my love," Natasha said, trying to keep her tone warm despite her uncertainty and nervousness. You mumbled a barely audible "morning" and reached for a bowl to make yourself some cereal. You seemed withdrawn, as if you were trapped in your own world.

Wanda tried to reach you with a cautious smile and a hand that she reached out to you, a gesture she usually did to lure you into a loving hug. "Did you sleep well?"

You just shrugged, ignored her and sat down at the table in silence. You seemed too lost in your thoughts to speak and your mother could see the pain in your eyes that you hid so well. "Y/n," she began gently. "If you want to talk about anything, we are here for you. No matter what it is."

You raised your head and looked at your mother. For a moment something flashed in your eyes, raising both women's hopes, but then it disappeared again and you lowered your gaze. "I'm fine," you said quietly and started eating your cereal.

The tension in the room was palpable. Natasha and Wanda exchanged a worried look before Wanda stood up and threw on a jacket. "I'm going for a walk," she said and looked at you again. "Get some fresh air.“

When Wanda left the room, Natasha was left alone with you. She felt helpless, a feeling she detested and didn't really know. But she knew she couldn't force you to talk. She had to wait, patient and ready when the moment came. "Sweetie," she finally said and reached for your hand, which you immediately pulled back. "I love you. And I'll always be here, no matter what."

You looked at your mother and for a moment it seemed as if you wanted to say something. But then you just nodded silently and stood up to put your bowl in the sink. „I'm going to school.“ Were the only and last words she heard before you disappeared from the kitchen.

Natasha felt a deep sadness. She knew that something dark and heavy was weighing on you, something she couldn't bear alone. And she swore to herself that she would find out what it was and help you banish that shadow.

The day dragged on in a haze of unsaid words and silent questions. Natasha spent the hours thinking about ways to finally reach you again. She spoke to the other Avengers, seeking advice and understanding, but no one really seemed to know how to deal with a teenager who had withdrawn into themselves.

In the evening, when you were back in the Avenger Tower, you retreated to your room. Natasha stayed in the living room and continued to think. She decided to talk to Wanda, hoping that she might be able to find a way to reach you.

Wanda found Natasha sitting on the sofa, a worried expression on her face. "You wanted to talk to me?" she asked gently and sat down on the opposite side of the couch, placing one hand on the redhead's shoulder. "Can you read her thoughts?"

Wanda immediately shook her head and pulled her hand away. She jumped up, in disbelief at what she had heard. "No way, Nat. She's too sensitive, she'll notice immediately that I'm im in her mind. And if she notices, you can be sure that she'll never trust you OR me again. I can't reconcile myself with that."

As soon as Natasha was about to counter-argue, they heard a loud clatter from your room above them. Natasha jumped up and ran up the stairs, followed closely by Wanda. When she ripped open your door, she found you sitting on the floor, surrounded by shards of a broken mirror. Your sleeves had ridden up as you tried to pick them up, and your mother froze when she saw the fresh and healed cuts on your arms.

"Y/n!" she cried, kneeling down next to you. "What happened?"

You burst into tears and hastily pulled your arms back, but it was too late. The two women had already seen the scars and fresh wounds. She pulled you into a tighter hug and whispered soothing words as Wanda left the room to get first aid supplies.

"I'm so sorry, Mom," you sobbed. "I didn't know how else to deal with all the pain."

Natasha fought back her own tears and held you tight. "It's okay, darling. I'm so sorry." she said softly and rocked you gently back and forth before Wanda returned with bandages and helped to treat your wounds. The atmosphere in the room was filled with pain and worry.

While Wanda slowly left to leave you two alone after bandaging you, you sat on your bed, a book in your hands while Natasha quietly cleared away the broken glass. After everything was done and the risk of further injury was averted, she nervously walked towards you. "Can I sit down?" she asked carefully and you nodded.

She sat down next to you and took your hand. For the first time in weeks, you didn't pull it away. Instead, tears welled up in your eyes again and you looked at your mother with an expression that broke Natasha's heart into a thousand pieces. "I... I don't know how to explain it,"

"Just try," she encouraged you gently and placed a hand on your back, stroking gentle circles on it. "No matter how chaotic it feels, we can get through it together."

You hesitated, then slowly began to speak. "It's... it's all so much. The expectations in school and later life, the struggles, the losses from our wars. I feel like I'm caught in a storm and don't know how to escape."

Natasha pulled you into a gentle hug and kissed the top of your head. "You don't have to go through this alone, y/n. We're all here for you, especially me and Wanda. She misses you and she wants to help you find a way out of this storm too."

You sobbed quietly and leaned your head on Natasha's shoulder. "I'm so scared, Mom. The upcoming war... I don't want to lose anyone."

"I know, darling. But together we are strong. And we will find a way for everyone to come out of this unscathed, I promise you."

At that moment, Natasha felt like she had finally broken through a small part of the wall you had built around yourself. There was a long road ahead of you, but she was determined to support you and help you find your place in this chaotic world you were born into.