#and the first week they still talked about it but in this way that felt like i was the cause of all their suffering

[barcaatthemoon]

complicate me || leah williamson x reader ||

Coming back to Arsenal was a mistake, but you and Leah manage to make an even bigger one together.

18+

You had always known that you wouldn't be at Manchester forever. A three year loan was a pretty long time, and for a moment, you had hoped that it would become permanent. Arsenal had let you stay the couple years, but with Jonas out, management ended your loan early. They wanted you back in red, not that you could blame them. There were a lot of important games coming up, and even if you technically couldn't play in a couple of them, you were still an important piece for practices.

It felt weird for you to walk the training grounds at Arsenal by yourself. Jen was gone, and she had always been the person you could count on to still be your mate after everything. Leah had kept most of your friends after the breakup, and then you hadn't exactly helped your case when you just up and left after everything.

You could still remember the way that Caitlin had practically begged for you to stay with the team. If it wasn't for Jen, you probably would have been convinced to stay. A part of you regretted leaving, but you knew that you hadn't been in your right mind with Leah so close after everything. At the time, it all seemed like too much to be reconciled, but now you were hopeful that things could be fixed.

You'd never in a million years get back together with Leah, no matter how good she looked. It didn't matter how many drinks you had on a team night out. After the first couple to celebrate wins, however, you promptly decided that you'd be a loner at Arsenal. With Jen in California, you had lost your personal voice of reason, the only person who could truly keep you away from Leah for your own wellbeing.

"Come on, you have to come over. You never do anything with the team, everybody's gonna think that you hate them," Caitlin pleaded with you. The two of you had been going back and forth for the past week about you coming to the party she was throwing with Katie at their place. It was a bye week, so everybody was free to enjoy the weekend. You knew there would be a lot of drinking, and that was what scared you. You had always been able to hold your liquor pretty well physically, but you made absolutely terrible decisions sometimes.

"Cait, nobody wants me there. Let's face it, they barely even want me playing here again," you reasoned. Caitlin could see you start to move to get up and rushed to grab onto your wrist. "Caitlin, I don't want to argue about this."

"Then don't argue and just come over for a bit. You don't have to talk to anybody but me. Just please, I miss you. I've missed you since you moved and iced everybody out," Caitlin said. She gave you her best puppy dog eyes, and if it was anybody else, you probably would have just said no. But because it was Caitlin, you gave in despite your better judgement.

That afternoon when you got out of training, you went straight home and immediately called Jen. You had hoped that she would convince you not to go, but instead, she had fully agreed with Caitlin. You hated hearing how it was a good idea to bond with the women you'd be spending the next two seasons of your career with. Once your contract was over, you could go somewhere else, but for now, you were stuck at Arsenal.

A lot of things had changed since you left. The changes may not have seemed like much to people who had been around, but they had definitely taken you by surprise. The big one had been Caitlin and Lia. Caitlin had been clinging to Katie's side when you arrived, and Lia was stuck by Lia.

Years before, you had been close with Lia, even closer than Lia and Leah were. Now, you just had Caitlin, who you had only befriended because of Lia. It hurt for the Swiss woman not to even look your way, but you couldn't imagine how it looked to her. You were sure that everybody had gotten Leah's side of the story, which you weren't calling bullshit, but you knew had to be biased.

"You look good. Leah's staring," Caitlin said as she nudged you.

"Whatever." You brushed off Caitlin's comment, but only to force yourself not to glance over at the blonde. You couldn't let yourself get sucked over there, not when you knew where it would end up. Leah had an uncanny ability to complicate everything in your life, and she had been doing it for years now. Your relationship had been far from perfect, but you were happier then. Now, you were miserable while she was getting a chance to live her best life.

"(Y/n), I didn't think you'd come." Katie looked just as surprised as she sounded. Caitlin swatted at the Irish woman's chest, but Katie seemed unphased. "I'm glad you came. It's been boring without my favorite drinking buddy."

"Do you really want me to drink you under the table this early into the night?" you asked teasingly. Katie scoffed at that, but didn't deny that you usually did win the little competitions. You watched as Katie sent Caitlin a pleading look before Caitlin just nodded. Before you could react, Katie grabbed your hand and led you into the kitchen where the alcohol was.

You let Katie pick the alcohol, and thus, your competition began. You should have known better than to start drinking like this so early into the night, but you wanted to have fun. It had been so long that you believed that you deserved to have a good night out. Several shots later, and you found yourself having to help Katie stumble out of the kitchen.

"Katie, you promised you'd stop at 5," Caitlin huffed as she took her girlfriend from you.

"Hey, it's not my fault that she did doubles," Katie slurred. Caitlin glanced over at you, who just barely had a rosy tint to your cheeks. You didn't seem too out of it, so Caitlin left you there to make Katie sit down and eat something with the hope of sobering her up a bit. It couldn't have been more than maybe 30 seconds of you being alone for Leah to find her way over to you.

"I see that you're enjoying yourself," Leah teased. Your eyes narrowed at her, but your anger was fleeting. You couldn't hold onto any one emotion for too long before forgetting what exactly it was that you were feeling. "You're gonna be feeling that tomorrow."

"That's not your concern," you told her. Leah seemed a bit shocked by the snark in your tone. She shouldn't have been surprised by it, you had spoken to her in worse tones constantly by the end of your relationship. "Why are you over here? You told everybody that I ruined you. Nobody wants to talk to the woman who ruined them."

"(Y/n), I was hurt. You know that I lash out when I'm hurt, besides, I am much more mature than I was before," Leah said. She placed her hand on the small of your back, and it ignited something inside of you. Without an ounce of hesitation, you turned and tried to kiss Leah. "Hey, no, not like this. I want you, but I want you to want me back."

"Leah, it's complicated. I'm complicated now," you told her. Leah bit her lip and glanced at the bottle of alcohol just sitting on the table behind you. You followed her gaze and immediately knew what she was getting onto. "You want to be on my level?"

"I don't think I'd feel so bad if I was," Leah reasoned. You didn't like the thought of her needing to be drunk to want you, but the notion was gone as quickly as it popped into your head. Everything was fleeting, except for your desire to have Leah. You didn't necessarily want her sexually; you just wanted her close. If you had to crawl into bed and open your legs for that, then you were more than willing to do so.

The trip back to Leah's was a bit of a blur. Leah's place wasn't too far from Katie and Caitlin's, close enough for the two of you to walk there. The two of you had left fairly early into the night, but it was nearly 11:30 by the time that you had gotten inside. Neither of you seemed to care as you had both been guilty of stopping to kiss and feel the other up.

Your lipstick was smeared on Leah's mouth and neck by the time that you got back to her place. She paused as she caught a glimpse of herself, a little more disheleved than normal. Leah promptly turned her atttention over to you. You looked just as far gone as she did, pupils blown wide as you watched and waited for her to make another move on you.

"Come on," Leah said as she tugged you along with her. Leah tried to move quickly with you, not giving you a chance to take in the state of her home now that you were gone. She was scared that if the two of you stopped for too long, you would notice all of the little pieces of you that Leah had refused to give up.

The truth was that she had tried, and for a while, they had been gone. However, Leah had always kept the few boxes of trinkets and little things you left behind in her closet. Lia had begged Leah to throw it all away, but the blonde couldn't bring herself to do it. Eventually, she began hating the way that her house felt, so she slowly put all of your things back in their rightful places.

Leah kept the light in her room off, guiding you to the bed herself. She didn't think about you waking up in the morning and seeing anything, but Leah doubted that the two of you would be on speaking terms for a while after tonight. Any time that you let yourself get remotely close to Leah for a little, you always blanked everybody for about a week or two.

"Lee, it's dark," you said. Leah just hummed, neither of you stopping in your attempts to undress each other. You wanted to see Leah's body, but you weren't willing to pull yourself away from her to turn on the lights. You didn't need the lights on to know the look of concentration on Leah's face as the two of you ground against each other.

You could vividly imagine everything happening around you. This was far from the first time that you had closed your eyes and just tried to imagine all of the things you remembered about Leah. Now, it was much more real than before with Leah panting and moaning in your ear.

"I want to feel you. I want to be inside of you," Leah told you. You had never been glad to be laying down before in your life. There was no way that Leah wouldn't have known how her words would affect you. You were sure that Leah could feel the surge of arousal as it coursed through your body.

"Fuck me, Leah, please," you begged her. You pushed a needier tone than usual, letting Leah really hear every ounce of desperation inside of you. Leah groaned as she sat back on her knees. One of her hands slipped between your legs while the other went between her own.

Leah could just barely make out the twisting of your body in the moonlight. She was so much closer than you were, but Leah wanted to make you cum. She wanted to feel you clench around her fingers at least one more time. She didn't know whether or not she'd get another chance to touch you like this again, and so she tried her best to savor the moment.

…

The hangover from hell was the least of your problems whenever you had woken up the next morning. With Leah fast asleep next to you, you quickly snuck out of her home. It had once been your home too, but once again, you were running from it. A few quick phone calls to Arsenal's management staff about taking some time off for your mental health and a hasty plane ticket purchase later, and you were dead set on leaving the country.

Leah would be mad at you, as would Caitlin and everyone else, but you had to go. You watched as a text was sent out from management about you taking the next month off. Text after text began flooding in as you packed a bag. You didn't know how long you'd really be away for, but you just had to get the fuck away from London for a while.

"Jen? I know it's early for you, but I fucked up. I'm not over her, and I just need to clear my head for a couple of days. I swear that I won't be long, they're giving me the month, so I'll probably go back to Glasgow for a bit too. I just, I'll see you later." You had always hated leaving voicemails, but the words just poured from your mouth. You knew that your best friend was going to kill you when she saw you, but she'd also take care of you too.

[jackmanwife]

You picked at the food on your plate with your fork, something your father cooked up a couple times a week—a pile of mashed potatoes that had long since gone cold, some roasted asparagus you hardly touched, and a piece of chicken that tasted bland after the first few bites. You weren’t even hungry, really—just wanted to get dinner over with.

Your father was going on about one of his favorite old stories—something about a fishing trip he’d taken a few summers ago, the same trip he brought up every chance he got. He told it the exact same way, too: the “massive fish” that got away to the epic battle with his fishing line. You nodded along and gave him the occasional “oh, really?” like the good daughter you were. Your mind, however, wasn’t on fishing—or the food.

You took a sip of water, looked down at your plate, then glanced up at the man sitting in front of you. There he was, Logan—and fuck, did he look good. He was patiently listening to your father, sometimes letting out a chuckle, drinking a little bit of beer from the bottle next to his plate—barely touched, too. You can tell he was just as bored as you were. Only difference was, he wore it better.

Then it came to you. You didn’t have to sit here quietly, bored out of your mind. Not when he was right there, so close, looking so put-together. No, you wanted to fuck with him a little, have some fun.

You took a quick look at your father, making sure he was still caught up in his stupid story, and after what felt like hours, he was. Good. You slipped off one shoe under the table, feeling the cool floor against your bare foot before reaching out, letting your toes brush Logan’s jeans—feather-light. Just a little something to get his attention without making it too obvious.

You stared at your plate, even though a smile tried to pull at the corner of your mouth. After a few seconds, you looked up at Logan, expecting him to be looking at you, too, but he wasn’t. He just continued to drink his beer, talk to your father, take a small bite of food from his plate. He wasn’t doing anything. Why wasn’t he doing anything?

Okay, maybe he didn’t really feel it. Beneath the table, you pressed your foot a little higher, up along his calf. Still, nothing. Logan barely blinked, even, he just leaned back with a small smile on his face as he listened to your father, bringing his bottle back to his mouth for another drink. Fine. You slid your foot higher, pressing along his thigh, harder this time. There was no way he wasn’t feeling this. And yet—he just went on, acting like he hadn’t noticed a thing, even though you knew he did.

But then, just when you were about to drop your foot, Logan casually reached under the table, catching your ankle in his hand. The move was so sudden you almost choked on the food you were keeping in your mouth. His fingers tightened around your ankle, holding you in place. Your hand tightened around your fork, trying to pull your foot back, but he wouldn’t let go. He made it clear that he was aware of your little game—and that he was going to win it.

You yanked your foot back hard enough to slip out of Logan’s grip, causing the table to shake. Your father paused mid-sentence, looking over at you.

“Oh, um—I think I’m full,” you forced a small laugh out, pushing your chair out from under the table as you got up.

Logan finally looked over at you, lips curling in the slightest smirk. You knew that look. “Leaving so soon, sweetheart?” He nodded toward your half-full plate, “Barely touched the food on your plate.”

Jesus Christ, was he going to be the death of you.

[skzdarlings]

content info: the much requested follow-up. the dynamic is the same as earlier. they've been sleeping together for a week so assume safe sex is handled if not mentioned. making love, light dirty talk, nervous but excited reader. explicit sexual content. word count: 2000 words.

enjoy <3

-

Minho crosses the finish line seconds before you. 

He emerges from his vehicle without much pomp.  His expression is stoic as ever, only the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.  He draws a leather jacket over his shoulders as his little entourage congratulates him, jumping up and down like the over-hyper groupies they are.

You sit in your car, tightly gripping your steering wheel.  You are still hot from the thunder of the race, heart still pounding with adrenaline, and a new sensation throbbing under your skin.  

The crowd believes this is about money and status.  In the week since your quasi-truce, that is all you have bet out loud.  Between you, the stakes are very different.

If you win, we fuck, Minho said that night.  And if I win, we make love.  Is that correct?

You told him there was no difference, then he put you on your knees and made you admit otherwise. 

You tied that first race and he conceded to your whim.  You have won every race since and not because he let you.  After all, he freely admitted you were the better racer.  This isn’t about that anymore.

You look out your window.  He is surrounded by people but looking at you, that smirk strengthening when he meets your gaze.  You feel a punch of heat that has nothing to do with car engines, a skip of the heart that has nothing to do with racing. 

You get out of your car.  Minho says nothing, simply holds out his hand for the cash winnings.  You put the money in his hands.

You refuse to look at him.  You are not scared you will accidentally reveal the truth to the crowd.  You’re not even scared you will reveal the true depth of your feelings to him. 

You are scared that looking in his eyes will force you to see the truth – that you want this, want him, in this way and so much more. 

“Until the next race,” he says, winking and clicking his tongue. 

Ugh.  You want to claw him to pieces – preferably up and down his backside as he fucks you. 

But that’s just it, isn’t it?  He isn’t going to fuck you tonight.  He isn’t going to bend you over the hood of his car or put you on your knees and yank your hair while fucking your mouth.  He isn’t going to keep his hand between your thighs until you’re sobbing and begging for reprieve and he isn’t going to tear through your clothes and mark your skin with his teeth. 

What are we doing? he asked that first night.  His fingers were on your tongue and his eyes were on you.  He looked at you like you were the only prize that ever meant anything to him.  

Making love, you said. 

The words were unfamiliar, not suited to your fast lifestyle. 

The words somehow came naturally with him. 

When the night draws to a natural close, he approaches where you are leaning against your car.  Your arms are crossed defensively over your chest and his hands are in his pockets.  His canter is nonchalant, his smirk subtle, but his eyes intense. 

“Your place?” you ask.  You are desperate to speak first, as if that might hide your nerves – more importantly, that it might hide your excitement.

“Mmm, no,” he says, crinkling his nose.  He tips his head and that smirk gets even meaner.  “Your place.  You drive.  I’ll follow.”

He walks to his car before you can retort. 

The last two nights, you went back to his apartment, and that already felt like a major concession on your part.  Backseats and the night sky is more your style.  You like liminal, empty spaces, a no-man’s-land, a place that can easily be left behind.  Agreeing to go to his place was daunting.  Even before he laid you out and made you come an easy dozen times, you knew it would feel different, feel more. 

Now you are going to your home.  There will truly be no escaping him. 

It is terrifying how much you don’t want to race away. 

You pull up outside the apartment building.  He follows you inside, hands in his pockets, still so casual.  You stand on opposite sides of the elevator, staring at each other in the silence as the floors tick and tick one by one, higher and higher.

The elevator doors open and he smiles. You are out of smart remarks.  

You walk quickly but he keeps pace behind you.  He is the only one who could ever keep up with you. 

When he brought you back to his place, he wasted no time.  He pressed you against the door and tore through buttons, working you up right there in the hall.  It was fast and dirty, just like always. 

He keeps his hands in his pockets tonight.  You can feel him looking at you, his eyes burning on your backside while you fumble uncharacteristically with your key.   It would be easier if he just shoved his way inside and took what he wanted and left again. 

But that’s the other thing – he doesn’t want fast, does he?  He’s a good man, much to your chagrin, and he has been happy to let you take the lead, to do what makes you more comfortable.  But he wants this, every breath loud between you, every heartbeat counted in the long moments, aching with anticipation.

It feels like forever before you get your door open.  The apartment is small, a bathroom on the immediate left, a little kitchen ahead of that, then the main studio.  You don’t spend much time in here, really just for sleeping, so the walls are landlord special white and the bed is plain and neat.  Everything is functional and necessary.  You are not one for indulgence.  You are always racing onto the next thing.

“Well,” you say, flipping on the light.  “This is me.” 

He turns off the light.  The windows are tall and there is plenty of moonlight but it still startles you. 

He touches your waist and you lose your breath.  How is that even possible?  You have raced and run and dashed headlong through faster fucking and it never winded you.  Now, he holds your waist, pulls you back against him, fits his whole body behind yours, and you can hardly breathe. 

“Easy,” he says.  His other hand comes around you, cups your throat lightly.  It is not mean, not nasty, not hard choking or demanding dominance.  It’s soft, just a quiet request. 

Your body answers, softening against him.  You whisper his name.

He kisses your exposed neck.  It’s a soft press of his lips, over and over, and it leaves you shuddering. 

“Is this it?” you say, aiming for snark but landing shakily.  “Making love is just slower fucking?”

“It can be,” Minho says, his voice unexpectedly gentle and light.  “It can be like this—”  He bites your neck but it feels different than usual, not mean for the sake of it, but like a claiming.  You feel yourself get tight, every muscle clenching, a gasp bursting out of you.   “If that’s what you like,” he finishes, punctuating with an amused little giggle like the menace he is. 

“And if…”  You take a breath.  “If I don’t know what I like?” 

He pauses.  His hands fall away.  You hear the shuffle of leather as his jacket hits the floor.  Then his hands are back on your waist and he turns you around. 

You have seen a range of expressions from this man.  You know his exasperation, his anger, his sarcasm, his laughter.  The look he gives you now is devastatingly tender, even with a sparkle in his eye that is so distinctly Lee Minho. 

He flicks his thumb over his bottom lip and winks. 

“Then we better find out,” he says. 

At first, it’s not so different.  Minho kisses you breathless and strips you slowly.  You stumble to the bed and sprawl across the sheets, on your back, holding his face as he makes his way down your body. 

He is not slow here, no doubt feeling the tension in your thighs as he puts them over his shoulders.  You are keyed up and ready, desperately bucking towards his mouth.  He is thorough, finding a circling rhythm with his tongue that never speeds or slows. 

You are careening over the edge of climax in a matter of moments.  It is almost embarrassingly fast, but he never gloats or teases, at least not about this.  It just makes him moan into the skin of your thighs, his wet mouth moving across your skin.  He climbs up your body and kisses every inch of you on the way. 

Now, now, it’s all different.   Now his eyes are dark and intense, staring down at you while he gets his jeans off.  You touch his bare chest, feeling more exposed when he stares into your eyes than when he looks at your body. 

You close your eyes, instinctively squirming when he pulls your leg around his hips. 

“No, no, no escaping,” he says, pinning you in place, not just with his hands but with a push of his hips.

Hip to hip, his cock nestled inside your pussy, you are aching for him to move or come or do something.  He just looks at you, kisses you a few times, and lets the reality of every inch of him settle inside your mind as much as your body.

“Minho,” you say, in a whimpering voice you hardly recognize as yourself.  “Please.” 

“Tell me,” he says, finally, slowly rolling his hips against yours.  “Tell me how it feels.”

“Good.  Good.” 

“Just good?” he asks, those rolling thrusts a little sharper, his skin against yours, chests touching, mouths close.  “Tell me you love it,” he says.  “Tell me you need it.”

“I need it,” you say.  “I love – I love it.”

You almost say I love you, which is insane and impossible.  You obviously don’t love him.   You definitely don’t hate him anymore, but love is a foreign word.

You start to understand it, just a little, with your legs around his waist and his whole body snug against yours.  He feels deeper than usual somehow, or maybe you just feel it more, as he takes his time, as he drags his cock slowly in and out of your throbbing wet heat. 

“That’s it,” he says, so infuriatingly precise with his hip movements.  

No matter how extreme fucking got, you always kept your wits, perpetually armed even then.  Now, you feel like all your usual weapons have disintegrated.  You are vulnerable and open and you just want more, especially when he sighs so sweetly, especially when he moans into your skin, when he is as uncharacteristically soft and loving as you are. 

Of course he is.  Your depths run as deep as your hearts run fast. 

“You’re going to come,” he says, holding your gaze, his hand between your bodies.  “Baby,” he says, voice breaking with his own need. 

It makes you gasp, squeezing him, your hands pressing into his shoulders as he makes you see stars. 

“Yes, yes, baby,” he says.  “Get so tight for me when you’re so sweet.  Come for me.  You want it.  You love it.  You need it.  Show me.”

You do, clinging to him when you come, calling out his name.  It seems to last longer than usual, one crest rolling into the next, extended by the relentless rocking of his hips.  He chases his own pleasure inside you, looking at you then kissing you.  He comes with his mouth on yours, tongues touching, wet and messy and hot. 

After, he lays on top of you, both of you catching your breath.  You run your fingers through his hair without thinking.  You are about to stop when his whole body seems to get soft, a breath leaving his lips, his head pillowed on your chest. 

“Not bad,” you eventually say. 

He laughs, lifting his head to look down at you.  You can’t help but smile back, though you also force an eye-roll because that’s just how you are. 

Then he kisses you, soft, taking his time, like he has nowhere else to be tonight, like he intends on staying forever. 

You surprise you both by kissing back as softly.

You don’t know about forever, not yet, but you want him to stay right now. 

You roll over together, kissing and tangled up, hearts pounding against each other, and ready for another race to the next adventure. 

bets and situations ; skz ; minho x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: minho and “is that how you usually get out of these situations? by fucking your way out of them?” please

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: rivals to lovers. street racing. stubborn!reader. placing bets, betting sex (still explicit consent), fucking vs making love. outdoor sex. sex on a car. explicit sexual content. word count: 3400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

-

Sure, you are a little insufferable. 

But Lee Minho is worse. 

He carries himself with an elitist pomposity, like he is above the other drivers just because he once raced professionally.  Trophies or not, he is out here with the rest of you, illegally racing cars down desert roads, placing bets in the dead of night. 

You were content until this fucker came along.  Lee Minho and the stupid pretty face that won him fan clubs and brand deals.  Ugh.  You hate him for having that life and for giving it up when it is a fantasy for you.  The world of professional racing is notoriously hostile to women.  You admit there is a tinge of bitterness on your side of every interaction, but he goads you like an asshole.    

He arrives with his usual entourage.  A couple of them are racers, though not professionals, and a couple just spectate and mind his vehicle.  He has a nice car, almost as pretty as him.

You whistle as he approaches.  He looks at you with his usual exasperation, delicate features pinched with annoyance.  His hair was a vibrant red in his racing days, quite the act of showmanship, but it’s a natural dark brown now, framing his mean, stupid, handsome face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you say.  “Finally gonna grow a pair and race me?”

His scowl turns to a bitchy little sneer.  He laughs sarcastically. 

“Not worth the mileage,” he says.  He shoulders past you, his leather jacket against your denim.  “Winning against a little girl does nothing for my massive ego.”  He says this with a sarcastic flourish, mocking your derision of him. 

You know the comment is a deliberately cheap shot.  Unfortunately, in reality, Minho is the least chauvinist racer you have ever met, treating the women here with the same basic dignity as the men.

It’s just you he hates, because you hate him too.   It was inevitable.  You were hostile when first meeting.  You challenged him to a few too many personal races.  You were a sore loser and even worse winner.  What started as an effort to prove something spiralled into a rivalry. 

You won the last couple races.  You gloated a little too hard and now he is refusing to race you again. 

“Sure,” you say.  “Sounds to me like you’re scared to lose for the third time in a row.” 

He just keeps walking, ignoring you, which is so much more infuriating than when he snaps back. 

You decide to keep your distance tonight.  If you continue to agitate yourself, you are going to develop a stress aneurysm.   So you keep to your own group, race your own races, and collect your own winnings. 

But, ugh.

He is right there. 

Just in the corner of your eye, just skirting the periphery of your space, just breathing the same night air.  When you are looking at him, he captivates you.  When you look away, he is like an impossible itch, begging for your attention again.  You constantly catch him looking at you too, which does not help matters. 

By the end of the night, you feel like a live wire, all electricity and unbound energy.  Not a single race has satisfied you.  You won three of four, making way more money than you lost, but it is not enough.  It is never enough.  You already know how good you are.  You know you can beat most of these guys blindfolded. 

Your only perfect match is Lee Minho.  The only victory that matters is that one. 

As the crowd disperses and everyone departs, you march towards him.  He is saying goodbye to his crewmates, his back to you, but his buddy cracks a grin when he sees you coming.  He smacks Minho on the shoulder before turning away. 

Minho turns around with a befuddled look on his face.  When he sees you, it slackens to that unamused vexation.  He pockets his hands in his leather jacket and slouches against his car.  He shakes his head as you stomp up to him. 

“One race,” you say. 

“No,” he replies, without missing a beat. 

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” is his insufferable reply.

“That’s not an answer,” you say.

“That’s too bad.”  He gives you a final shrug then turns, opening his car door, preparing to leave. 

“Wait,” you say. 

You heart is racing.  Somehow, you feel like tonight is different from every other night.  Maybe it is the perfect crispness on the breeze, the remarkably clear sky, or maybe just the way those jeans seem to hug his thighs.  Stupid hottie.  You will have him and his attention.  You will get the better of him, one way or another.  It was all leading to this. 

“One race,” you say.  “A bet worth the mileage.” 

“I don’t need your money,” he says.

“I’m not offering money,” you reply. 

Finally, he closes the car door.  He sighs, a very loud and dramatic sigh, like you are the biggest inconvenience on earth. 

“What are you offering?” he says, facing you.  The disinterest in his tone is betrayed by the curious sweep of his gaze, an up-and-down perusal like he expects to find his prize somewhere on your body. 

Oh.

You feel flushed inside, realizing that it exactly what he is thinking.  Looking at you with a hungry, lecherous gaze, anticipating you are about to offer up yourself as a potential prize. 

It makes your heart stutter and your lips do the same, your next words all tangled up on your tongue.  It did not even occur to you to offer such a thing.  You hate him, so of course you would never think about him that way.  But now that he is looking at you like that, his expression coloured with interest and suggestion, you find yourself too shocked to even parse your feelings. 

The only thing that is obvious, abundantly obvious, is the punch of heat in your gut.  No, lower.  Heat that curls up inside you and makes you second guess.  Heat that is curious about the look in his eye. 

Then you shake your head.  You resist the urge to smack him for throwing you off.  You were in control and now you are flustered. 

“Not me,” you snap. 

His eyes, which have made their way down your whole body, follow the same path up.  He meets your gaze eventually.  Then he says nothing, because he is the worst, and just lifts an eyebrow at you. 

“My car,” you say, with no-nonsense finality.  “I bet my car.” 

He blinks at you.  Long, slow blinks like a cat.   It takes him a second to find a sentence. 

“Your car,” he says.  He tilts his head and squints, looking at you with scrutiny, like he is trying to see through your ploy.  “And what do you want if you win?” 

“Admit I’m the better driver once and for all,” you say.  The words feel a little foolish leaving your mouth.  You have been chasing the high of that confession, aggravated every time he dodged it, but saying it out loud makes you feel needy.  You clear your throat and stand straight like you are unbothered.  “That’s all I want,” you say.

He rubs a hand across his jaw, laughs incredulously, then swings his arms out at his sides. 

“Fine,” he says.

By now, everyone else has gone.  It is just you and him under the streetlights, the long empty road stretched across the dunes ahead.   You stare at one another, like there is no road and no sky, no world at all outside each other.  It is intense and all-consuming.   

You hold out a hand.  He takes it and yanks you closer to him.

“I would have told you that for free,” he says.  “Since it’s the truth.  You just had to ask.”

Now it is your turn to blink, looking at him with shock.  You would have been less stupefied if he called you a tirade of rude names, or tried to weave doubts in your mind.  Instead, he smiles at you, and it is not half as smarmy as usual.  He drops your hand and turns away, leaving you gawking at the air as he ducks into his car. 

He honks the horn, snapping you to attention. 

The heat rushes back in a hurry.  You swallow, then walk to your car on suddenly shaky legs. 

-

He wins.

Of course he wins.

You were distracted by his parting words.  You and him are so closely matched in skill that a fleeting weakness is all it takes for one to overtake the other.  You were faring well at the start, but his engine revved and your attention strayed.  Your prize was somewhat nullified by his confession, your behaviour embarrassing in hindsight.  You bet your car.  What were you thinking?

You weren’t.  And it was all his fault.   

Your car skids to a screaming halt just seconds after him.  You smack the steering wheel with frustration. 

Maybe I should have just bet my body, you think to yourself, a thought that has you shivering from something other than adrenaline.  Thoughts like that are not like you.  And Lee Minho is the last man on earth you could ever want.  Even though he is simultaneously the only man you want, or at least the only one with an opinion that matters, the only man whose attention you ever want.  He is always the highlight of your night. 

Oh god, you think with a nervous twist in your gut, I like that arrogant loser. 

Facing him is hard and it has nothing to do with losing your car. 

He is not gloating because he is not the type.  He is just leaning against his vehicle with his arms crossed, watching your nerves and passion get the better of you.  He does not flinch when you get right in his face, huffing from exertion.

“Do-over,” you say.

“Absolutely not,” he replies. 

“You got in my head on purpose.” 

“I can only do that if you let me in,” he says, looking smug.

“One more race,” you insist. 

“You have nothing left to bet.”

“Me,” you blurt.  “I bet myself.” 

You feel some satisfaction at the flicker of surprise that creases his brow, but then he is just staring and blinking again.  Your heart still thinks it is in a race, stampeding so far ahead that your whole body is awash with heat. 

“You,” he finally says.  His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, then he tilts his head in that studious way. “What does that mean?” 

You feel so hot it is making you a little woozy.  It’s just aftershocks from the race, you tell yourself, even though that heat comes from somewhere much more intimate. 

You cross your arms stubbornly.  You look away.  You even stomp your foot. 

“You know what I fucking mean,” you snap. 

“Is that how you usually get out of these situations?” he asks in a teasing tone.  “By fucking your way out of them?”

You refuse to answer.  You arms are still crossed, your face still turned.   

He touches your chin, a painfully delicate touch.  Whenever you do fuck someone, it is hard and fast, like everything else you enjoy.  Your greatest rival should be touching you with the roughest touch of all, but it is the very opposite.   It is a suggestion of a touch, little more than a caress as he turns your face to his.  You swallow until the intense focus of his sharp eyes. 

“I don’t fuck like that,” he says.  He bats his pretty eyelashes while smirking like a devil.  “I don’t have to make bets.  I make love to people because they want it.  Sorry.”  He rolls his eyes and turns away, wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic good-bye wave as he slides into his driver seat.  “You can keep your car.  I don’t want or need it.  Good night.” 

You put yourself between the door and car, stopping him from closing it.  He looks at you, eyes narrowed more intensely. 

“Now, now,” he says. 

“I’m a big girl,” you snap.  “I don’t need you protecting my honour.  I wouldn’t offer to let you fuck me if I didn’t mean it.” 

He stares at you, contemplative behind those dark eyes.  He has just returned your vehicle so you have no reason to make another bet, other than to prove the veracity of your previous offer: that you do want to fuck him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“I told you that you can keep your car,” he says. 

You are amazed smoke is not blowing out of your ears, considering how hot your face feels. 

“I heard you,” you say. 

He gets out of the car slowly, holding your gaze the entire time.  You take a step back. 

Then he walks at you, which forces you to take another backwards step.  Step by step across the tarmac.  The breeze tousles a bit of his hair, but nothing stops his stride and his eyes never leave yours. 

You find it difficult to catch your breath.  Garnering this man’s undivided attention has been your only goal for months, and the reality of it is heady.  He is intoxicating. 

It seems the feeling is reciprocated, given how he looks at you, which just makes you stumble in your backwards trek.  He catches your wrist, tugging you upright, yanking you closer.  You collide with his chest, disoriented from so little. 

“So,” he says.  “If you win, we fuck.  And if I win, we make love.  Is that correct?” 

“Whatever, there’s no difference,” you say.  You are instinctively combative when flustered, redirecting the source of your embarrassment to confrontation. 

It seemingly works.  His attention diverts and he says, “Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.” 

“Yes, there—”  He stops himself from retaliating with the same childish rejoinder.  He props his hands on his hips, shaking his head at himself as he stares up at the stars.   

Eventually he huffs, rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, then looks at you. 

“Fine,” he says.  “We’ll race.” 

Your heart is already revving like an engine.  You take another couple steps back to smirk at him triumphantly.  You walk right into your car, that smug face dropping in surprise.  It gives him the opportunity to crowd you against it, planting his hands on either side of your head.  You hold your breath. 

“You have to pass my test first,” he says. 

“Excuse me!”  Your own incredulity resounds.  You smack his chest but he does not move. 

“It’s just two questions,” he says.  “You’re a smart girl.  You’ll figure it out.” 

He is tormenting you.  You hate him.  You hope he never stops. 

“Fine,” you snap.  His smirk makes your whole belly swoop with anticipation. 

“Good,” he says, then stands back. 

You hold his stare, refusing to show any weakness.  At least you can catch your breath in the space between you. 

Then he says, “Get on your knees.” 

Your legs are already shaky – from nerves, from the dwindling adrenaline of your race.  There are a lot of reasons your knees buckle.  Plenty of explanations for why you do not hesitate, sinking to your knees right there on the road. 

Your gaze drops, flustered by his demand and your response.  You look at his shoes, all black, well-worn, scuffing the tarmac as he steps towards you. 

“Now tell me,” he says, then gathers a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back.  He meets your gaze as he says, “Is this fucking or making love?”

Then his fingers are in your mouth.  You let him in without any hesitation, like your whole body is instinctively attuned to his.  His grip is firm, his fingers relentless, undoubtedly fucking your mouth with the sloppy, mean thrust you would expect from an enemy.  Still, it feels good, unbelievably so, your mouth wet and hot and his fingers sliding over your tongue, the soft suction of your lips making his eyes blaze and his throat bob as he swallows. 

When he slides out, a trail of spit connects his fingers to your lips.  Your lips quiver with a shuddering breath. 

“Well?” he says. 

You swallow, but eventually manage a weak, “Fucking.” 

“Good,” he says, grinning that wicked grin.  “That’s one out of two.  How about this one?” 

He drops to his knees.  You are face-to-face now, kneeling on the road in the dead of night.  There are no witnesses to this scene except maybe the stars, the clear night revealing all your secrets. 

His face is as open, his expression suddenly so devastatingly soft and vulnerable.   Your breath stutters before he even moves.  He cups your cheeks with both hands and draws you to him.

Your eyes close when your lips touch.  He strokes his thumbs across your cheeks and licks into your mouth with decadent slowness, like he wants to savour every second of your taste.  Your mouths move together like they were made for each other, never racing too far ahead. A perfect give-and-take. 

When he stops, you feel dizzy and bereft, but only for a second.   He cups your jaw and tilts your face just so, then his fingers are parting your tender lips and the taste of him is on your tongue once more.  Your eyes close and you moan thoughtlessly, bobbing your head to the gentle rhythm he sets. 

“This,” he says in a feathery-light voice.

You shiver as he slowly withdraws his fingers.  He wipes his thumb across your lips to clean you.  You let him cup your chin and tilt your face, this time so he can look you in the eye. 

“Tell me what we’re doing,” he says.   

The suggestion makes you throb.  You are hot and aching when you admit, “Making love.”

“Good,” he says, then pecks your lips before rolling onto the balls of his feet and shooting upright.  “Now we can race.” 

-

It is a perfect draw. 

You are both distracted.  When you slam on the brakes in the same place at the same moment, it is with a singular purpose in mind. 

Doors slam.  You meet in the space between your vehicles. 

“I won,” you say, just to be argumentative. 

He is shrugging out of his jacket.  It his the ground.  He does not break his stride, already going for his belt.  Your knees nearly buckle again. 

“Fine,” he replies.  “Then get over here.  I’m fucking you on the hood of my car.” 

Fucking you is exactly what he does.  It is not making love.  He strips you methodically, your jacket and shirt and bra.  Your jeans get shoved down past your knees and he bends you over the hood, still warm from the purring engine.  You are hot and frantic, cheek pressed to the hood of your rival’s car while he works you open and shoves himself inside you. 

You make a sharp sound then a low moan, hands plastered to the hot hood.  He fucks you like he races you, without holding anything back because he knows you can take him. 

It feels as primal as a race, the animal instinct that conquers you in a rush of adrenaline.  It is your singular focus, the steady thud of him inside you.  You do not care about appearances, about seeming ridiculous, meeting every thrust and moan with your own.  He sounds good and feels better, your bodies in harmony, chasing each other to the finish line. 

He yanks you up, your back arching as he turns your head for a kiss.  It puts you over, clenching hard around him, setting him off.  He makes a soft sound then groans with pleasure.  He stays there for a minute, both of you breathing hard.

“I want you to keep your car,” he finally speaks, “because I need you to come back tomorrow and race me again.” 

You gasp when his hand moves between your legs, working you up again, slowly but surely.   

“Because next time I’ll win,” he says.  “You sounded so good getting fucked.  I want to see your face when you come on my cock again and again from making love.”

“Won’t happen,” you say, even while your on the cusp of doing just that. 

“Mm,” he says, then laughs that light, evil laugh as you come all over his hand.  He kisses the side of your head and says, “Wanna bet?” 

[bestofmultiverse]

Between the pages || 2

Aubrey plaza x fem!reader

" I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That’s the thing about girls. Every time they do something pretty, even if they’re not much to look at, or even if they’re sort of stupid, you fall half in love with them, and then you never know where the hell you are. "

- J.D. Salinger, The catcher in the rye

Part 1

Y/N blinked, trying to get her bearings in the soft morning light streaming into her bedroom. She wasn’t on the sofa anymore, and she certainly hadn’t fallen asleep in her bed last night. But here she was, tucked neatly under her comforter, and beside her, separated by a few pillows, lay Aubrey. She was asleep, her face softened by rest, her features even more striking in the early morning calm.

A smile crept across Y/N’s face as she studied Aubrey’s peaceful expression. She was undeniably beautiful—not just beautiful for her age, but in a way that felt timeless and grounded. It made Y/N’s stomach flutter, and a slight pang of insecurity hit her; Aubrey was everything Y/N admired—confident, talented, and effortlessly alluring.

Feeling her heart race at the thought of Aubrey waking up to see her staring, Y/N slipped out of bed as quietly as possible, padding to the bathroom for a quick shower. When she returned, she busied herself in the kitchen, quietly making breakfast. The faint hum of the radio kept her company as she toasted bread and scrambled eggs, relishing the simple, cozy act.

“Good morning,” a familiar voice murmured, soft and sleepy, breaking Y/N out of her thoughts.

Y/N turned, catching sight of Aubrey leaning against the doorway, her hair still mussed from sleep. She looked comfortable, yet somehow effortlessly poised, even in Y/N’s small kitchen. Y/N blushed, realizing how close they were.

“Good morning! Do you want something to drink?” Y/N asked, smiling. “I don’t really drink coffee, but I can go grab you some from the café around the corner if you’d like.”

Aubrey’s lips curved into a warm smile. “No need, this is perfect. I’m just happy to be here.” She stepped closer, glancing at the plates Y/N was setting up.

“So… not to rush you out, but I have a mountain of work today,” Y/N said with a small, guilty grin. “You’re welcome to stay, but just a heads-up—I might be a little boring.”

Aubrey laughed, her expression softening. “That’s okay, I get it. I have some things to get to anyway.” She hesitated, then continued, “But… I’d love to see you again, if you’d like that.”

Y/N’s face lit up, her smile wide and genuine. “I’d love that too.”

From then on, their connection only grew. They read together, taking turns with books y/n recommended, and spent hours talking about everything from their childhood dreams to favorite movies. After their third date—a late-night visit to a bookstore followed by a stroll through a quiet park—Aubrey walked Y/N home. They held hands, a shared warmth between them, and when they reached Y/N’s door, Aubrey leaned in, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to her lips. It was careful, as if reading Y/N’s shyness and matching it with tenderness.

As the days turned into weeks, they grew more comfortable, falling into each other’s lives seamlessly. Aubrey was patient, taking her time to get to know Y/N. She made Y/N feel safe, and Y/N adored every minute they spent together. Soon, they were FaceTiming in between meetings, texting about little things that made them think of each other, and finding moments to be together whenever they could.

When they finally crossed that last boundary, sharing their first night together, it was both gentle and passionate. They communicated, both eager yet considerate, learning each other’s wants and needs. Aubrey’s natural confidence took over, her assertiveness balanced by her desire to make Y/N feel loved and respected. Y/N, in turn, was just as attentive, savoring every moment with Aubrey, discovering a balance between playful and deeply intimate.

Two months into their relationship, it wasn’t just the two of them who noticed how special their connection was. After a dinner date, a paparazzi photographer managed to capture a candid shot of them leaving the restaurant hand in hand. By morning, the image was everywhere, spreading faster than Y/N could have imagined.

Aubrey’s publicist called with the news, explaining that the story had already taken off. Y/N knew Aubrey was a public figure, but she hadn’t expected their private moments to become public conversation so suddenly. Their little bubble was shattered, and suddenly her face was online, next to Aubrey’s in articles and tabloid stories speculating about their relationship.

The attention was overwhelming. Y/N’s friends started teasing her about dating “the Aubrey Plaza,” while her family’s reaction was more complicated. They had always known she was queer, but the age difference gave them pause, making them wonder if Y/N was really ready for such a serious relationship.

As the media frenzy grew, it was hard for Y/N to brush off the harsh comments online—insinuations about why Aubrey would date someone younger, or assumptions about Y/N’s motives. It felt as if the world was intruding into their private life, prying apart the joy they had found together.

But Aubrey was her anchor through it all. Late one evening, after Y/N shared how overwhelmed she felt, Aubrey wrapped her arms around her and whispered, “Forget them. I know who you are, and you know who I am. The rest… it doesn’t matter.”

They held each other close that night, letting the world outside fade, finding comfort in each other’s presence. And as they lay there, Y/N knew that, no matter the scrutiny, what she shared with Aubrey was real, something worth fighting for—even if they’d have to face the world together, one step at a time.

As days went on, the intensity of the media attention didn’t exactly die down, but Y/N and Aubrey learned to adjust. Aubrey handled it with practiced ease, guiding Y/N with little tips on how to ignore the comments and dodge prying eyes. Despite the pressure, they found solace in each other, learning to carve out quiet moments that felt like their own little world.

One evening, they decided to stay in for a movie night at Y/N’s apartment. Y/N had loaded up a few of Aubrey’s favorite old films, trying her best to make it feel special—a few candles, some popcorn, and a cozy blanket they could share.

“You know,” Aubrey said, settling down next to Y/N, “I don’t think I’ve had a better night in ages.” She glanced around, smiling at the thoughtful touches Y/N had put together. “You really went all out.”

Y/N blushed, nudging her playfully. “It’s just popcorn and candles. Hardly a red carpet.”

Aubrey smirked, tilting her head. “It’s the thought, and you, that make it perfect.” She reached for Y/N’s hand, entwining their fingers, and squeezed gently.

As the movie started, they fell into a comfortable silence, Y/N nestled into Aubrey’s side. The world outside felt far away, reduced to nothing more than the faint city hum in the distance. Halfway through the film, Aubrey leaned over and softly kissed Y/N’s forehead, her lips lingering just a little longer than usual. Y/N looked up, her heart skipping as she met Aubrey’s gentle gaze.

“Thank you for sticking with me through all of this,” Aubrey murmured, tucking a loose strand of Y/N’s hair behind her ear.

Y/N’s hand found its way to Aubrey’s cheek, tracing the soft lines of her face. “I’m not going anywhere. I knew this might be hard, but… you’re worth it.” She offered a small, reassuring smile. “And I’m learning. I mean, I’ve got the best teacher.”

Aubrey chuckled, pulling Y/N closer. “Flattery will get you everywhere, just so you know.”

They spent the rest of the night laughing, sharing stories, and talking about the little things they hadn’t yet told each other. Y/N felt a kind of warmth she hadn’t felt before—a love that was both grounding and freeing, as if Aubrey had opened up parts of herself she didn’t know existed.

A few weeks later, they decided to spend a weekend out of the city, heading to a secluded cabin by the lake. Aubrey had rented it on a whim, sensing that they both needed a little time to breathe away from the constant hum of the city.

On their first morning there, Y/N woke up to the smell of coffee and soft music playing. She wandered out to find Aubrey on the deck, wrapped in a flannel blanket with two mugs steaming in her hands. The sun was just rising, casting a soft pink glow over the lake.

Aubrey turned when she heard Y/N approach, her eyes lighting up. “Morning, sleepyhead. Thought you’d like to join me for the sunrise.” She handed Y/N a mug of tea, remembering she didn’t drink coffee.

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the sun climb slowly above the horizon, casting a shimmering path across the water. It was quiet, almost surreal, and Y/N felt the weight of everything slip away, replaced with the calm of being completely at peace in the moment.

After a while, Aubrey shifted, turning toward Y/N. “You know,” she said softly, “this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

Y/N looked at her, her heart swelling at the sincerity in Aubrey’s eyes. “I feel the same way,” she whispered. Then, unable to resist, she leaned in, capturing Aubrey’s lips in a soft, lingering kiss.

As they pulled away, Aubrey grinned, her eyes shining with something close to wonder. “I don’t care about the noise, Y/N. As long as I have you, I’m exactly where I need to be.”

Y/n beamed at her

"So, what are we reading today?" Aubrey asked after a few seconds of comfortable silence

"I thought maybe 'the catcher in the rye, its a classic"

Aubrey nodded before pulling the younger woman into another soft kiss.

They stayed like that, wrapped up in each other and the quiet beauty of the morning, with their book and hot drinks, feeling as if, just for that moment, they were the only two people in the world.

_____

Just a quick note:

i dont really think itll be a series, maybe a bunch of chapters that might actually work as a full story or at least the same like universe, but im not sure if ill continue to write it regularly or not so just an heads up.

Also im in love with Aubrey plaza.

[biteofcherry]

Forage and grind

orc!Curtis Everett x female reader

summary: You always felt like you belonged there. Naively, you even felt safe. But when his silent observation snaps into action and you learn why you caught his interest, belonging starts to hold more terror than longing.

warnings: orc!Curtis; dark!Curtis; heavy dub-con; captivity; thigh riding; rope bondage/shibari; suspension; oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected sex; heavy breeding kink; size kink; hints of degradation;

word count: 5k

Author's Note: I'm a bit late with this installment in the Scaretale universe, but life happens and you gotta deal with it 😜 Some parts of this story I'm happy about, some not so much. You judge for yourself.

Shards of light bounced off the golden coin, sending flickering butterflies of yellow around. The club was a glowing, warm space, but you always appreciated the additional reflection or spark, especially those tossed your way. 

You grinned, catching the coin mid air. You slipped it into the little pouch hung by the belt around your waist, where it softly clinked as it met a few other shiny tips you’ve been given that evening. 

Scaretale had the reputation of a place of mystery and horror, which you never understood. Granted, being filled with a variety of creatures (some of which were barely contained beasts) made it somewhat scary, but you never felt that shiver of wariness that so many of your friends, or people in general, experienced. 

As you moved around the club’s floor you felt warmth and a particular, restrained camaraderie. Not safety, exactly, but something akin to familiarity. 

The interior was elegant, fancy even, combining human modern design with the lush mystery of dark magic born in the heart of ancient woods and meadows. It was not only aesthetically pleasing to the eye, but called to your heart with a reflection of something hearty from the old times before you were born. 

It was that obsession with medieval stuff, as your friend called it, rolling her eyes. And she claimed that you applying for a job at Scaretale was taking that obsession way too far. Especially since, in her eyes, the creepy haunted-mansion-like club had nothing in common with medieval, or even renfaire vibe. You wondered if her eyesight was skewed. 

You felt drawn to the Scaretale, as you were to the monsters’ realms themselves. Not fascinated, but simply drawn, as if you knew you belonged there. 

Which is why you were stubborn and pushy when you approached Ransom with your brilliant offer to work there as a waitress. 

Something he was clearly disinterested with. 

At first, at least. Because as you listed your experience from human establishments you worked when in college, Ransom’s eyes twinkled with sudden recognition. That shifted into a dark sort of excitement, which for a split of a second made you wary. 

You may have found Scaretale as a place where you felt comfortable, but its owner wasn’t someone you’d ever let your guard down around. 

All that mattered was that he agreed and you found yourself hired as the only human in a monster club. With monsters’ silver and gold coins, it turned out to be a quite well paid job, too. 

Though you felt in your element when moving between booths and nooks, your instincts still reacted to some of the creatures with more fear and caution. You learned who was more approachable and open to conversation, or teasing (like the satyrs who always flirted and regularly tried to talk you into joining an orgy), and who was better served quickly and subserviently (a growly werewolf, for example). 

Some monsters came only once, snatching their match and leaving. Some were regulars, seeking fun and new bodies to debauch. 

There were also regulars whose agenda you never figured out. And you tried not to be too curious about it.

A group of enormous, beefy orcs visited every two weeks, or so. Though they were restrained in the way they talked, when they walked through the club everyone seemed to tense in fear. 

Orcs were the most known warriors. Bloodied, ruthless, ripping worlds to shreds. As a human your knowledge was limited, but from snippets heard here and there you learned that their race raided many kingdoms and realms in the past millennia. Nowadays they were more like mercenaries.

With the occasional brutal raid for their own benefit. 

They came to the Scaretale cleaned up, but you still could easily imagine their bodies splattered with the enemy's blood. Not to mention the glint of weapons always present at their side, which made your skin crawl with trepidation. 

Your instincts often whispered caution when you waited for some of the creatures visiting, but when it came to these orcs the alarms were ringing loud. 

It wasn’t just prey sensing a predator prone to snap its teeth, but a sense ingrained into your blood like voices of the generations passed. 

It always skyrocketed when you felt the burning gaze of the biggest orc following your every move. 

He appeared to be the leader; it was clear in the way their group lined when cutting through the club, as well in the way they sat around the table. Not to mention that one time when you picked their orders from the bar and the bartender pointed at one of the beer mugs saying that one was for the war chieftain.

His mug was bigger than the rest and the foam floating on top sprinkled with crushed juniper berries. An unusual combination of flavor, you thought, but didn’t pay it much attention. 

Or rather, you tried your best to not pay it attention.

Which was hard to do when you felt his eyes following your every move and when you had a full body shiver reaction upon seeing that monstrous figure whenever you served the orcs’ table. His biceps alone were the size of your whole head. You were sure that he could crush your skull with just one of his big hands. 

The other orcs were large and intimidating, but their war chieftain surpassed the scary level. 

Still, you schooled your features and played a polite waitress role. You even encouraged yourself with a little inward game of pretending to be a medieval inn beer-maid. After all, the setting was perfect with the Scaretale’s vibe and a group of sword-and-ax wielding warriors as your customers. 

That night, however, as you were about to bounce from one served table to theirs to take their never changing order of limitless beer, you found that four of the orcs had already left. Or disappeared for the moment. But there was still one left at the table.

Their leader. 

The one scaring you the most. Always intently observing you with those piercing blue eyes. 

His pale, green-tinted skin made those inhuman irises stand out even more. There were some faint, green markings along his cheeks, but you didn’t know if it was a part of his natural pigmentation, or some sort of a deeply ingrained tattoo. 

Orcs were said to be unkempt beasts, but his beard was groomed. Thick and dark, bearing flecks of gray. His lips were a shade of pale pink, wide and plump, and spreading where two white lower canines grew out into sharp, tusk-like features. Unlike his companions, who had their hair braided, or cut into mohawks, he had his hair buzzed close to the scalp. 

He had one of his elbows resting on the table, thick fingers rapping slowly against the wood. His other arm was thrown across the backrest of the seat. Though in rest, his muscles were bulging; evoking a flicker of terror at the thought of him actually flexing and using those massive arms as he fought. 

Compared to him, you were small and fragile. 

Despite certain aspects of the size difference turning you on, you’d rather not test those urges with someone as dangerous and brutal as the orc. 

Hair on the back of your neck raised in alert as you neared the table. His gaze was on you for a while now, but it felt scorching hot the closer you came. Mustering an easy smile, you asked him if he wanted the usual (always that damn beer with juniper berries). 

“No.” His gruff voice rolled over you like a lick of thunder. “I’m done with poor substitutes.”

A frown marred your face. You didn’t understand what he was referring to. The Scaretale’s beer came from the best breweries and was spiced with some extra fae herbs. No customer has ever complained. 

Also, you didn’t think this orc would quietly stand for something he didn’t like the slightest bit, and he was regularly drinking that beer. 

Suddenly, a large hand wrapped around your wrist and you were yanked forward. 

With a gasp, you landed on his thigh. Your legs parted as your center settled atop a thick, leather-covered thigh. He held your wrist in one hand, while settling the other on your waist. You weren’t a tiny creature by any means, but his huge palm seemed to span your entire side. 

“Do you know that orcs are most known for raiding elven kingdoms?” He asked in a hushed tone, as if he was sharing a secret with you. You shook your head in response. 

As you learned of different monsters, when it came to the orcs you often stumbled upon art depicting huge beastly warriors doing explicit things to elven maidens, but you thought it only to be a kink many humans liked to think of, disregarding actual history and nuance. Especially, since you never met or heard of an actual elf existing.

Honestly, you suspected it was also humans’ fault - twisting the information on fae folk and coming up with new names for the subspecies.

“For riches and land, like with any other realm, but-” his fingers dug a little deeper into your skin and he pulled you along his thigh, making you gasp. “The main reason was to capture elven maidens.”

“There was something about the elven women that was irresistible to us. How fragile they were compared to orcs in size. How sweet and wild they smelled. How tight their holes were around orcs’ massive cocks.” 

He grunted out the last part, once again drawing your body forth on his thigh. With your legs spread and layers of your skirt too thin to provide cover, hard muscle of his thigh and the rough edge of leather pants he was wearing grazed your sensitive clit. 

“It’s still believed that elven cunts are the ripest for orc seed. Taking it so well and bearing many healthy babes.”

There have been some encounters with a few openly lustful visitors in the Scaretale, but none breached the boundary with you. No one grabbed you and put you into his lap, and made you grind against their thigh while they revealed obscene details behind their species’ primal behavior. 

This orc acted as if he had the right to move your much weaker body anyway he pleased. If he merely toyed with you, perhaps you could twirl away with the excuse of your duties awaiting. However, there was something about the way he treated you that rang a different kind of alarm. 

“Chieftain-” you placed your hands against his wide chest, trying to squirm away.

“Curtis.” He gripped you tighter and bounced his leg, making you moan as the meat of his thigh crushed your clit. “My name’s Curtis.” 

While you would welcome any customer telling you their name with a cheeky smile, this orc wanting you to know it and use it when you addressed him was like sealing your fate. 

You froze as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, taking a whiff of your scent and sweat. He groaned in delight and the sound of it vibrated down your chest, puckering your nipples into stiff points. 

“And you hold the unmistakable fragrance of juniper berries bathed in dew, my little elfling.” 

His words rolled over your body, trailing fear in their wake. It was no random sentence to make about you. Not after the brief recap of filthy history he treated you to minutes ago. 

His intense obsession made sense now. A terrifying sense. Impossible, too.

“I’m human!” You protested, fighting with all your might against the fate he laid out for you, before you even knew it would concern you directly. 

“You are,” Curtis didn’t deny it, “but somewhere in your lineage an elf mixed their blood with your human ancestors. That gene sparks intensely in your body.”

There was never any tale, not even a secret family anecdote that regarded a relationship with a magical creature. If it was a scandalous romance, it was hidden well, too. You could call bullshit. Claim it was a lie that Curtis used to grope you and have his way. But with how intensely he was always observing you, how he acted now, despite previously shown restraint, you had a feeling he wasn’t tricking you. 

Then the memory of Ransom near cackling with glee after studying you for a longer moment resurfaced. He didn’t want to hire a human, he had no interest in it. But if he sensed you were part elf and he knew orcs were his regular customers…

Yeah, Ransom wouldn’t pass that opportunity for mayhem and his own gain. 

“Please?” You looked up at Curtis. “Let me go? I- I have work to do. And-” 

Your words turned into a muffled moan when plush lips suddenly crushed into yours. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. The way Curtis’ mouth took yours was barbarous; a shard of that savage pillaging he boasted about. 

You felt the pressure of his tusks against your face, but surprisingly neither even nicked your skin. His tongue plunged between your lips in a savage thrust - as disgusting as it was, something about it made your body shake to its core. 

Was it your weakness for primal wildness that responded so eagerly?

When Curtis pulled away, your mouth was tingling and wet. Your panties felt sticky, too. 

“You’re an addictive sweet little berry, Juniper.” He hummed, rubbing his big thumb along the seam of your inner thigh. “And I’m going to grind you hard, until I bathe whole in your fragrant juices.”

Heat flooded you as an image of brutality with which he’d take your body flashed in your mind. 

There wouldn’t be anything smooth, or delicate about the way the orc treated you. Not because you thought him to be incapable of finesse, but you sensed he was excited about ruining you. 

A squeak ripped out of your throat when Curtis suddenly got up. He hoisted you over his broad shoulder, gripping your struggling body with ease. None of your screams to be let go were respected. And none of your yells for help were answered by anyone from the club. 

Lights of Scaretale, welcoming and homey until now, blurred as you were being carried away. Until darkness of one of the mysterious corridors swallowed you. You had no idea where the orc was taking you. Your knowledge of the corridors was very limited, knowing only that some of the monsters took their partners that way. 

He didn’t slap you when you wiggled, but his large hand spread over your ass and gave a hard squeeze. Probably to remind you of the size and strength of him that surpassed yours a thousand times. 

It didn’t stop you from trying to bolt when he eased you down on your feet. Your surroundings were completely different from the familiar layout of the Scaretale, yet so innocently domestic it gave you a whiplash. 

It appeared you were in some cottage, not very modern judging by the interior. Wooden furniture and wrought-iron details. The bed standing in the middle was an enormous feature, as was a round wooden bathtub in the corner. A type where you had to boil your own water to fill it with. 

If you were looking for a medieval experience, that was the fucking peak of it. 

Curtis’ big hand snatched the back of your shirt as you tried to run away, yanking you back to him with ease. The fabric tore as he gripped it and the orc simply ripped it fully off of you. Then your skirts.

“No!” You struggled between the urge to cover your naked body and scratching the monster towering over you.

“You’re spirited and strong, that’s good.” He praised, easily capturing your wrists in one of his hands. “You’ll fit the war chieftain’s wife role. Bear healthy babies, too.” 

“No worries-” he interrupted your next splutter of protests with a calm, almost mocking tone. “Orcs have mastered the ways of breaking an elven maiden into an obedient, dripping wife.” 

In a swift move he had you plastered to his chest, one arm securing both of your hands at your sides as he reached for something with his free hand. Then something abrasive brushed your skin.

The first loop of the rope around your middle and arms surprised you so much you only gasped. But then Curtis weaved it up and around, creating intricate patterns on your torso as he tied knots and interlooped thick strings of rope. He crossed it around and between your breasts, squeezing them as he tightened it. 

He forced two strings of rope between your lips, creating a makeshift gag. 

With your upper body completely bound, Curtis gripped your hips and tossed you onto the bed. Before you managed to kick at him, he had your ankles tied. He circled the rope around your legs a few more times, pleating pretty knots, until you were completely immobile. 

“Soon,” he propped your bound ankles on his shoulder as he looked down at your helpless form, “you’ll grow to love my ropes on you.” 

You glared at him, but your objection was muffled by the strings across your mouth. 

The sound of your moan was stifled, as well, but resounded much louder when Curtis bent you in half, bringing your legs closer to your chest as he buried his face in your exposed pussy. 

Your folds were slightly puffed and tingling already, roused from the way he had you riding his thigh in the Scaretale and responding to the graze of harsh rope against your sensitive skin. They were begging for a tantalizing tease to continue, to draw your pleasure to a maddening sharp edge. 

But the onslaught of a hungry mouth conquering your wet softness short circuited your brain. 

It was so savage, yet something about it being unapologetically brutal and ruthless scorched your body in a blaze. 

Moan turned into a choked cry as Curtis’ fat tongue licked between your folds and entered your dripping hole. Your breast swelled, the bite of rope heightening as your chest arched within the bonds. Your fingers curled helplessly at your sides, unable to grip anything. 

The sounds Curtis made as he feasted on you were obscene - uncultured, beastly growls and slurps. When he sucked on your clit, your own voice gurgled against the makeshift gag. 

“That’s it, Juniper,” he grunted against your pussy, drinking up your juices. “You’re gonna cum on the orc's tongue. Gonna be my good slut. My own breeding stock.” 

You writhed against the bonds. Against the growing pleasure that was rapidly nearing the precipice. But it was inevitable. His wide, plump lips devoured you, munching on your folds like on the juiciest fruit, before ripping the seam with a tongue brutal like an axe and squishing your clit with rough licks. 

You came with a scream. Within your bonds, the orgasm seemed to be relentless, rattling in each limb like a caged animal. 

When Curtis lifted his face to stare down at you, a dark triumph of conquest glinted in his eyes. He counted your body giving in as a battle victory. And you knew he wasn’t done raiding that field. 

Your slick shone on his face and beard, his tusks were sticky with it. He made no move to clean it off, bearing that wetness like a proud mark of his triumph. 

He kept looking at you, bracing one of his heavy arms across your legs to pin them to your chest, as his hand moved up the curve of your ass. A single digit swiped between your swollen folds, stealing your breath anew. An orc’s one finger was like two of yours, maybe even thicker. 

Curtis didn’t coo at you when you mewled at the intrusion as he pushed that finger into your still fluttering pussy. He snarled in hunger, pushing it against the resistance of your tightness. 

“Breathe through it,” he instructed harshly. “Save your cries for when I split you on my cock.”

You preferred not to think of that part, but it was hard to block it when Curtis started thrusting his digit in and out of you, mimicking what he was going to do using his cock. His inhuman, monstrous, orc dick. 

A shiver rocked your whole body, clenching your walls around his finger. 

“Oh yes, my sweet little berry,” Curtis grinned, lewdly flicking his tongue to lick his bottom lip and the side of his tusk. “I’m going to force my cock into your snug pussy. Stretch it so good and deep.” 

“Hear how wet you are for me already?” He teased, thrusting his finger rougher and raising the embarrassing sound of squelching. “Your cunt’s weeping for my cock and my seed.”

You shook your head, but all movement ceased and your eyes rolled to the back of your head when Curtis pushed a second finger along with his index one. His groan of pleasure was louder than the echo of sloshing wetness trickling around his digits. 

“What a good, hot, wet hole.” He moaned, slowly dipping in and out of your channel; delighting in the feel of your velvet walls gripping his fingers. 

“Bet the other one is just as good.”

You didn’t have time to process his words when he eased one of his fingers out of your pussy and firmly pressed it against your rim. 

Despite your gurgled, weak protests, his finger was slick enough with your wetness that he breached your hole with ease. Well, to him it may have felt easy, but to you it was a struggle depriving you of air. 

“Never had your tight ass penetrated, my wild Juniper?” He looked at you, gloating. “I swear, conquering your body tastes better than any bloodbath and battle victory.”

His eyes fluttered closed for a moment, a lewd moan leaving his lips as your walls cinched around his fingers. Then his eyes snapped open again and he was staring down at you, greedily catching every grimace and flicker of pleasure on your face as he fucked both of your holes with his fingers. Faster and faster. 

His grin was near terrifying when your body tensed and you cried out an intense release. 

Curtis pushed his fingers as deep as he could, wiggling them slightly as your walls pulsed around them. When your high subsided in slow waves, he withdrew his fingers and smeared your own cream all over your ass and thighs. 

When he let your legs drop onto the mattress and untied the rope around them with a single tug on one of the knots, you prayed reprieve was coming your way. But then he was flipping you onto your belly and yanking you down across the mattress.

Your legs hung over the edge of the bed, toes barely reaching the floor. Only for a moment. 

Because Curtis bound them into a new position, spreading your legs wide apart. Another rope was weaved and knotted between some of the existing loops. Then he tugged. Harshly.

And your body lifted off the bed. 

You squeaked, confused. Your body swayed in air, yanked higher as Curtis tugged on the rope again. Focused on the sensations he ripped from your body and his presence cutting off anything else, you didn’t notice the iron hooks drilled into the ceiling. Through which Curtis weaved some of the ropes, lifting your helpless body to a preferred height. 

“You’ll rely only on me, Juniper.” Curtis growled, rubbing your parted thighs. “On the bonds keeping my elven slut in place. And on my cock ripping your tight pussy.” 

Your tongue moved against the rope between your lips, failing to sound the pleads for mercy. A tremor rocked your body as you felt the orc’s large body pressing itself between your spread thighs. 

The leaking head of his cock brushed against your abdomen and when you felt Curtis’ hips settle against your butcheeks the whole length of him pressed against your belly. When he held it like that the tip of his dick reached your belly button. 

There was no further preparation graciously given as he gripped his cock and guided it up between your parted folds. Then again, perhaps you should consider him thoughtful, given the two earlier orgasms he wrung out of you to have you creamy and loose. 

Still, when the bulbous head of his dick pressed against your cunt, your entire body tensed. 

It was too big. His entire body was too big. And you had no choice, but to take-

Not a scream, but a moan so high pitched and strangled ripped out of your throat that you were sure it could be heard loud and clear to anyone outside the cottage. 

Curtis speared into you in one, firm stroke, not bothering with the slow and gentle. His cock stretched you wider than two of his fingers had. It sunk deeper, too. To the point of near discomfort as the tip nudged your cervix. 

“Fuuuuck!” Curtis moaned shamelessly, digging his meaty fingers into your hips and holding your swaying body in place. 

“What a snug, delectable cunt.” He rolled his hips in a circle, eliciting new sensations that had you mewling. He chuckled in response. 

“I’m gonna be riding and filling that pussy so often, Juniper. Until you swell with my seed. Then I’ll sate its pathetic need as your belly rounds and your breasts leak milk. Then plow it again to plant another babe. And another.”

Your walls fluttered around him. Heat filled every inch of your body, even as fear and shame mixed at the prospect of enduring all that he promised. 

A gasp soaked into the rope gagging your mouth as Curtis used your bonds to move your body. He wasn’t fucking you, he was swinging your suspended body back and forth, using you. 

Quite slowly at first, relishing in the way your tight channel was clinging to him as his cock eased out. Then the way you stretched around the veiny girth as he plunged back in. It was after one of the easy strokes, when your cream gushed out as his hips met your asscheeks, that Curtis snarled impatiently.

And started really fucking you. 

Not only swaying your body, but meeting it with rough thrusts of his own. Battling any remaining resistance and conquering your body. 

Your breasts bounced with each move, your nipples tightened painfully. Saliva was pooling around the rope gag in your mouth, wetting the hemp and dribbling down your chin. The slight bite of the rope against your skin evoked a tiny prickle of pain that shifted into a burning kind of caress. Monstrous cock filling your pussy provided unparalleled friction and pressure that your clit pulsed without being directly stimulated.

It messed with your mind and overloaded it with how many sensations could be experienced by your body, even though it was fully immobilised. 

You came in a rush, crying out and clenching your eyes shut as white, hot pleasure bursted through you. Curtis welcomed it with a grunt, snapping his hips faster and harder. 

“Your body’s eager to receive my seed, my spicy berry.” He growled in pleasure. “Creaming and opening up to serve its purpose. I’d be a bad husband, if I didn’t spoil you with what you crave.” 

One of his hands moved across your back to grab a fistful of your hair and yank your head up.

“I’d be a poor slut owner, if I didn’t breed you full.” 

His increasing moans combined with the sound of slapping skin and squelching wetness; your tiny whimpers getting lost in the wilderness of it all. 

There was a splutter of low, angry barks of That’s it and Take it all as Curtis fucked you brutally. When he bellowed his release it carried outside like a battle cry. 

Your body seized in an unexpected, small orgasm as you felt his thick cock throbbing inside of you and hot spurts of cum filled you. There was so much of it you felt a pressure grow low in your abdomen. 

Curtis held you in place, breathing heavily and kneading your muscles as he filled your body with the last drop of his cum. When he withdrew, you felt a heavy dollop dripping out and splashing somewhere below. 

A tug on the rope had your body plummeting down, but only your upper half lowered. Your cheek rested against the sheets, while your ass still hung higher in the air. 

“Better to hold all my seed in.” Curtis hummed, patting your wet pussy. “Until I’m ready to fill you again.”

You groaned, seeing his hand palming his softened cock and beginning to stroke it back to attention. 

Curtis fucked you four more times that night. Three times having you suspended in the air, though in different positions and angles. For the last, he had you fully on the bed, too exhausted and spent to really fight him, so no ropes were needed. He plowed into you from behind, crushing your body with his weight. 

Though it provided a warm kind of comfort later when he held your curled, sleepy form to his massive body. 

When you woke up late the next morning, the bright near-noon sun was filtering through the wide open windows. Through one of them you saw Curtis. Wearing only his warrior leathers and chopping wood. As you stretched, you felt ache awakening in places you never considered could feel sore. 

You still felt the imprint of his cock inside you. 

And the sticky remainder of his cum, that had to drip out of you during the night.

There was so much of it when he filled you over and over again, you wouldn’t be surprised if the orc managed to obtain his obsessive goal to breed you. 

Your fingers traced across your belly, but before you spiralled into thoughts and images of swelling with the monster’s baby another sensation drew your attention. On your ankle, you felt a soft, insistent caress.  

When you glanced at it, you saw a wide leather cuff. A small padlock was clasped on the buckle, making it impossible to take off the cuff without a key. A thin, but sturdy chain was attached to the cuff, the length of it laid in shiny coils on the floor. 

“You’re not yet broken enough to keep you unrestrained,” came Curtis’ calm, deep voice. 

He stepped inside, the axe in his hand catching the light and glinting dangerously. He put it aside, then splashed his hands with water from a tin bowl placed by the entrance. Thick fingers started undoing his breeches as he slowly approached the bed.

“Spread your legs, Juniper.” He coaxed. “I want to fill your ripe pussy before we make a meal.” 

[lucimaaie]

dream girl ✧.* spiderwoman au

pairings - ellie williams x fem!reader

summary - the universe is determined to put you and ellie together, nevermind her fear.

warning - i wrote this in sept and was kind of watching good trouble at the time so that's why r has like backstory, random ass side characters, and stuff, I dunno what I was on when I wrote this so just run with it y'all, i made this long for no reason (shh 3k is a lot to me), it also occurred to me that im not good at slow burn so this aint that even if it is an attempt

also credit to @sister-lucifer for the dividers

You'd been missing from class a few times after Ellie saved you. She thought about visiting your house, but that was too creepy. Creepier than drawing you. Checking in with your dad was an option up until she realized they’d only recently formed a truce. Finally, she landed on a coffee.

The plan still had flaws: Ellie hated coffee herself and yet she knew your exact order from overhearing it. It was super-hearing’s fault not hers. She’d do it anyway, and add a cute drawing of you. It was normal, right?

Ellie bounced her knee as she watched you walk into class and slip into the front desk. Jesse sat next to her. Did she forget to erase her initials? She was supposed to do that.

“Talk to dream girl yet?”

“Shut it.” She opened her notebook. “And she’s not my dream girl.” She had dreamed of you once and Jesse wouldn’t let her forget about it.

“You don’t gotta lie to me.”

She didn’t have to look at him to imagine the grin on his face. “One day, when you least expect it. I swear.” She shook her head as she went back to watching you.

Ellie was like a deer in headlights when you looked back at her, holding up the coffee cup with a smile. “Thank you.” You mouthed.

She gave a nod, hoping her smile came off nonchalant. “Fuck.” She mumbled as you looked away. She did not erase her initials.

Ellie felt like a coward for not sticking around after class. Especially when it was in an attempt to avoid you. Dick move, but cut her some slack. She expected anonymity.

All this to say she wasn’t expecting a coffee cup on her desk the next day. Someone was about to be very disappointed, she thought as she sat down. She shrugged off Jesse's remark about her having a secret admirer. “Boo.” She whispered-yelled at him.

She cringed right before the liquid hit her tongue. She hissed at the burning sensation before preparing herself to take a second sip. It wasn’t coffee, it was some kind of tea. Sweet too. She sat back to look at the wrapper around the cup, which she could’ve done first thing and avoid the possibility of being roofied by a serial killer, but least she was now.

‘I didn’t know what you like but I know you never drink coffee. thank you for last week!’ There it was: Message and initials in that pretty handwriting she’d seen when she reluctantly asked to borrow notes. Ellie’s eyes flicked up to you, surprised to see you looking right back. She raised her brows, not knowing what to do as you smiled at her. Maybe smile back you idiot! She let a natural a smile as she could grace her face as she mouthed a thanks.

The absence of your eyes allowed her to revel in what just happened. That was until she could feel Jesse glaring at her. “Don’t even.” She mumbled into her hands. “But you saw that too?”

“It’s almost like I've been telling you she might, probably does, like you back.”

“She doesn’t. She’s just being nice.” Ellie took another sip. Her eyes lingered on the note as she pulled out her notebook. It wasn’t lost on her how obsessed she looked if you were to flip through her notes. Lucky for her, you never asked. “I'm not gonna read into it. At all.” Safer that way.

“Won’t have to if you make something happen for real this time.”

“Let’s talk about your love life for once.”

“Alive and well, thank you very much.”

“What? That’s all I get?” Ellie scoffed. “You stick your nose into mine all the time!”

“We’re not talking about me.” Jesse sat back in his chair with his arms crossed. She huffed, flipping to a new page as her eyes traveled from him to you. You were as oblivious to your effect on her as always.

Ellie had dozed off. She was nudged into consciousness by Jesse. As much as she wanted to grumble and go right back into dreamland, she could see how much she missed just by the sheer number of words on the board. Tiny, tiny words.

The words coming out of the professor's mouth were pure gibberish as her sleepy senses zeroed in on you. "Ow!" Another nudge from Jesse, telling her to pay attention to anything other than you for once.

It took all of three seconds for her to hear the two words she dreaded: Group project. What normal person would be excited to do a presentation over economics? The better question was what normal professor thought she wanted to do that, but she leaned forward as she listened for the pairs.

She froze as she heard her name and yours in the same sentence. As a pair, doing the project together.. Ellie swung her bag over her shoulder as she pretended to search for where you sat. She was careful not to bump into anything as she settled into the newly vacant spot next to you.

"Hi," You said in that kind voice she'd always managed to pick out above all other noise any time she heard it.

"Hey," Ellie dropped her backpack. "Ellie, back row." She inwardly cringed at the words left her mouth. She didn't need to introduce herself; You'd known her enough about her to get her a drink, which made her hope that meant you were looking at her as long as she'd been looking at you. Or not, in the event that she did something humiliating she didn’t remember.

"I know your name." you smiled. "Did you like it?” She glanced down at your hand pointing to the cup in her hand. "I didn't know what you like and not everyone likes coffee so.."

"Oh, yeah. I..don't usually drink tea, but you surprised me." She tapped her fingers against the cup as you rested your head in your hand, eyes attentive though she was saying nothing important. "How are you feeling? After the..thing a few days ago."

"You know about that? I’m okay, it was just a few bruises and soreness."

"Uh, I listen to a podcast. Better than the news, less boring. I'm..I'm glad you're okay." She tucked her hair behind her ear as she glanced at the blank space of the table.

"So, after we pick a topic, I was thinking we could head to the library and keep working after class." Her eyes drifted back to you, taking in the way you shifted into a certain level of focus she lacked at the moment. That was something she always admired about you. "Unless, you have work or something more important."

"Oh, no! I'm free, not busy at all." Stop talking.

"Great!" You said with a friendly smile. "Wanna go?"

"Yeah, we can go."

Once you got to the library it had finally set in to Ellie that she had to behave with some degree of normalcy. It’d be embarrassing if she made it any more obvious how much a crush she had  you. 

“Oh, I forgot to ask you about your number.” You picked up your phone and went to the contacts, pressing new contact. “Just in case you or I can’t make it, stuff like that.” Ellie’s hand was gentle in taking your phone and typing in her number, afraid the sweat on her hands would blur the text on the screen. 

“I should be able to make it.” She said, needing something to do besides nod at your every word like an idiot.  

“Great.” You flashed her another friendly smile. 

Time had gone by relatively slow. Few words were exchanged as you worked on a shared template, putting in information neither of you cared for. Eventually, your computers were pushed aside in boredom.  

“I can’t read any more about supply and demand or my brain’s gonna implode.” Ellie rubbed her eyes. She was starting to wish she enjoyed coffee so she could reap the benefits.  

“Thank god, I’m not the only one.” You shut your computer abruptly with force. Ellie did the same with care not to destroy the thing. “I hate this class and the professor. He doesn’t teach, like, at all and then expects twenty slide presentations.” You rambled, dropping the sweetness she had come to know you for. Ellie couldn’t help but chuckle. “Sorry, it’s..the caffeine or something.” 

“I’ll bet. Your go-to has a million pumps of caramel syrup in it coupled with an extra shot, just so you can still taste the coffee.” Tiredness had wore down Ellie’s usual anxiety. She hadn’t even noticed she teased you until your face morphed into shock at being called out. 

“I didn’t know you noticed that, but then again you were so nice to save me six dollars.”  

“Outrageous price, by the way.” 

“That tea you liked so much this morning was the same price so,” 

“Welp,” Ellie threw her hands up. You both shared a laugh.  

“Let’s get out of here.” You said suddenly, crossing your arms just to lean forward. “I can’t stand the quiet anymore or this pointless project.” Ellie knew what you meant but that didn’t stop her mind from going to different places.

Stop it, you idiot!  “Agreed”  

Ellie had managed to pull her weight despite inwardly panicking around you. It didn’t help when you looked at her the way you did.

The workload was getting lighter and left more time for you to get off topic and talk about anything that came to your minds. Ellie couldn't pinpoint the moment she'd transition from not believing you were talking to her to not wanting to stop. Probably somewhere around the you exchanged numbers for the sake of project neither of you were worried much about.

She was satisfied, or rather she'd tried to convince herself she was, with just texting back and forth as friends. She decided she'd shove her feelings deep down, eliminating the worry of ruining your newfound friendship or putting you in danger. Ellie was okay as the friend, as long as she was close to you.

Ellie leaned against the rough brick wall of your apartment building a she waited for you come out. The soft material on the inside of her jacket gave her enough of a distraction until she heard the screech of the door. “Hey,” A smiled immediately appeared on her face as she took in how you drowned in your adorably festive sweater.

“Okay, before you come in, I wanna let you know my friends are weird. They don’t know boundaries but I promise they're really nice—“

“You were serious about the communal living thing?”

“Ellie!”

“I’m just asking!”

“C’mon, you.” Ellie’s heart jumped as you shamelessly laced your fingers with hers, dragged her along into the rustic building. Her wandering eyes were something like a kid in toy store, instead of an overly decorated lobby. The decorations were gaudy but homey, nonetheless.

She became self-conscious that her hands were becoming clammy as you continued to hold her hand, squeezing it every once in a while. “Just remember, they’re trying their best to be normal.”

“And..what’s not normal?”

“Jan bringing in random rescues, V keeping us up because she’s ‘running her lines’, Jade never leaving her room except to tell us our rent is due, and Winn never not having a friend over, but he's having a midlife crisis so." You shrugged. "Pretty normal stuff.”

“And you all share a bathroom..and stuff?”

“It’s the best I could get.” You said sheepishly as the elevator opened. She could immediately see what you were talking about the moment you started to struggle with the stubborn elevator gate. Her hand was soft in grabbing your wrist. "I got it."

“You clearly haven’t seen my shitbox I call an apartment. This is fine.” She remarked as she opened the rusted gates without much effort. Her eyes landed on even more Christmas decorations.

“If you’ll let me work my magic, it won’t be a shitbox.” You looped your arm around hers.

“You will never look at me the same. I'm serious. It's a disaster. A dumpster fire, really." It became easier to put down the worth of her apartment as she saw how filled out your building was just from the hallway. Even the scattered belongings had a way of telling anyone who came in that everyone who lived there was proud to. She couldn't lie, the closer you got to the dining room, that too you shared of course, she was sweating bullets. That's what it felt like at least.

"I can handle a dumpster fire."

Ellie's head turned back to you, eyes softening at the sincerely at your words. You were not making this any easier on her. She could wait out a crush. If she hadn't known you these past few weeks, she would've forced herself to get over it, but that hadn't been the case. "Hey, before we go in, i wanna thank you for all..this. You didn't have to invite me."

"I wanted to." You said simply.

"Why?"

"I don't know. No one should have to spend the holidays alone. Definitely not you, especially you." You poked her shoulder.

"What's so special about me?" She mumbled. That was not supposed to come out.

"That a serious question?" It didn't make sense in her mind, your interest in her. Shad no time to formulate a response when a short blonde girl came in with a bowl in her hand and muffled words coming out of her mouth. "Guess that's our cue." You smiled, tugging on her hand.

"Why the hell are you eating straight cranberry sauce?" Your words were fuzzy to Ellie as you took the bowl from the girl's hand. She was too in her mind to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

She was hugged by a few people, all of which had nothing in common but living in the same building. Sat down by an older man she could only assume was Winn and fed until she felt her stomach could pop. Given a lecture on method acting from jade.

There was a point where she ran into being questioned by a few of them. The quippy, confident version of her was nowhere to be seen then and replaced with a stammering, blanking mess. Fortunately, you covered for her.

Ellie stared at the city with a full belly, leaning back on the less than stable lawn chairs on the side of the rooftop pool. The heated debates behind her served as background noise to the glimmering light and commotion New York provided. She took a sip of her beer. Her head turned towards you in the doorframe.

"Overwhelmed yet?"

"I wouldn't say that." She said with feigned coyness, sitting up to see you better.

"I wouldn't be mad. Or blame you."

" They do have a weird sense of...hospitality?"

"Hospitality is a word." You smiled, amused as you looked up at nowhere at all.

"At least that's the word I landed on." She shrugged.

"Well, you obviously haven't even used the bathrooms yet." You looked down at her with that smile she loved seeing. You took a seat on the chair next to her.

"Why do you think I’ve been sipping everything?" Ellie’s eyes never left you as you laughed in unison. She could've swore your smile melted into something shy. You never seemed shy at all. Or you were damn good at hiding it.

"Hey." Ellie hummed in response. "I’ve got something for you."

Her brows raised as you brought out a little blue box from behind you. The ribbon was crooked but tied by you, she could tell. "You didn't have to-"

"I wanted to. I promise I don't do anything I don't want to. Now, take it. Please? For me." You held up the tiny box like a offering in your hands. Her eyes moved from your face to the small box.

"Alright, fine. You don't have to beg." She inspected the cute little ribbon before carefully undoing it.

"Damn near,"

"Oh shut it." She glared up at you as she took the top off the box. As she looked down, the attitude slipped off her face. It was a camera as tiny as the box decorated with little savage starlight stickers.

“It’s not much, but I know you’re artsy and I figured maybe photography would be a nice hobby.” You scooted to the edge of your chair. “Also, it might be nice to have pictures of our first date.”

Her head snapped up to look at you, biting your lip in anticipation. “You’re asking me on a date?”

“Only if you want to.”

“I do want to.”

“You do?”

“I’ve wanted to for a while. i didn’t think you noticed.” Ellie flipped the camera in her hands, running her fingers along the mini stickers of the superhero. She wanted so badly to be on that date right now, taking pictures of everything so the memory would always be fresh in her mind.

“How long’s a while?” Your voice was quiet against the howling of the cold air, but in a way it felt intimate how close and quiet you were. There was gleam in your eyes from the fairy lights surrounding the patio area.

“If I answer that, will you still wanna go on a date with me?" Her eyes were almost pleading as she looked back up at you.

"I asked." You leaned even closer, allowing Ellie’s eyes roamed your face under the dim light. When she realized she was caught staring, she averted her eyes as she pressed her lips into a barely contained smile.

The moment was once again interrupted by jade. The girl stood with an empty pot, asking you where it would go. Your shoulders slumped a degree before you went into the kitchen with the young girl. "You could've asked Winn, hun.”

Ellie took that as her cue to get going. She took a sip of the now warm beer and grabbed her gloves. Her eyes were glued to you as always as she made her way to the elevator.

Knowing you wouldn't let her leave without a goodbye, she leaned against the gate for no more than a minute. As expected, you came around the corner with a smile and a few plates in your hand. Her eyebrows furrowed as her eyes landed on the stack of foiled plates. "You’re making me feel bad, y'know that?" She leaned her head on yours as you wrapped your arms around her.

"You can make it up to me on..saturday."

"Saturday?"

"That’s the day."

Ellie’s eyes widened, realizing you were serious. Some part of her thought you’d forget all about it a few days later and she’d look like the desperate one bringing it up. leave it to you to prove her assumptions wrong. "Got it." She was still dazed as you leaned up to kiss her cheek and close the gate for her. Her biting her lip couldn’t stop her from cheesing as the events of the night finally set in. She was doomed.

thank you for reading!

[redrose10]

Trope- exes. Who didnt end badly, still has residual feelings for each other & met again at a mutual friend’s birthday dinner/hangout (?) with prompts 36 & 46 ? 🤎

I went with Yoongi for this one since he’s like 99% of the requests I get. I hope that’s okay!

< I Will Always Love You >

Yoongi x Female Reader

Warnings: A few swear words

#36 “Are you finished, so you’ll listen to me?”

#46 “And I’m here to save you.”

*******************************************************

Twelve months…two weeks…four days…five hours. That is how long it’s been since you last saw him. Since you last saw Yoongi. That night your world came crashing down. The two of you had been arguing all week. Little things here and there.

He left a dirty coffee cup on the counter and an argument ensued.

You forgot to pick up his medicine at the pharmacy on your way home and he took it personally.

He did a load of laundry and accidentally shrunk your favorite sweater. He offered to buy you a new one that night but you felt like he did it out of spite.

You accidentally knocked over a glass of wine all over his laptop causing it to short circuit. He could easily afford a new one but it was the principal of it all that upset him.

The final straw was when he skipped date night. He left you sitting at home alone for hours watching the meal you had worked hard on go cold. When he finally walked through the door he said you guys needed to talk and you agreed. After almost two hours of you both pouring out your hearts you both agreed that your three year relationship had run its course and it was best to go your separate ways.

So you found yourself a cute little apartment several blocks away. Yoongi made sure to stay out of the way as you and your best friends Jungkook and Jin helped you pack up and move all of your things. As you were leaving Yoongi told you to take care of yourself and that he would always be there if you ever needed anything. You told him to the same even though you both knew deep down you would never contact each other again. You gave him a hug and walked out. That was the last time you saw him.

Because even though you shared many of the same friends it was surprisingly easy to avoid him. It also helped that it seemed like he was doing the same. One of you was always conveniently busy or sick so it worked out.

Except tonight. Tonight was the one night you couldn’t avoid. One of your good friends Jimin was getting married. He made you promise not to skip out on the wedding and of course you agreed even though you really wanted to, especially after getting confirmation that Yoongi would be there.

Things had gotten easier as time went on over the last year or so. You stopped crying over him every day. Then you stopped thinking about him every single day. You heard that he had started dating some woman a few months after your breakup. It hurt deeply but it also motivated you to try and move on too. You went on a few dates here and there. You had a small thing with some guy named Namjoon but even though he was really sweet and nice and handsome that fizzled out after a couple of months leaving you single again.

You somehow managed to get a last minute date for the wedding though. Your neighbor. He was cute but you quickly found out he was arrogant and rude. The first thing he said to you was how he thought your dress would be shorter and you had to watch him check out practically every woman at the wedding while you were sitting right next to him. Even though you were miserable and feeling more alone than ever as you watched Jimin saying ‘I do’ to the love of his life you still did your best to fake happiness.

Jimin and his new bride walked down the aisle and as you turned to see them off you saw him. Yoongi looked as beautiful as ever, his hair was longer and his suit was somehow casual yet still wedding appropriate and looked great on him. He was smiling at Jimin and his bride before looking back and smiling at a woman. She was gorgeous with a smile almost as beautiful as his. He looked happy and content and even though you felt a small burning sensation in your chest you were happy for him.

Cocktail hour flew by and then it was time for the reception. You did your best to avoid Yoongi as much as you could through the evening. You caught little glimpses but thankfully it didn’t seem like he saw you at all, or at least he was pretending like he didn’t which you appreciated.

Dinner was served and then you sat through several speeches. Jimins best man Hoseok recounted several funny stories, a few of which you personally remembered, and it felt really good to laugh like that again.

Then the dance floor was opened up. Your date surprisingly asked you to dance. You accepted and headed to the floor. Even though he was dancing with you, his eyes were scanning over every other woman within the vicinity. At one point he even creepily licked his lips earning an eye roll from you.

“Hey uh you ready to go? I think we should find a room so we can finally be alone.”, he mumbled in your ear.

“No thanks.”

“Come on Y/N, don’t be such a prude.”

“She said she’s not interested. So I suggest you fuck off. Maybe try one of the other women you’ve been staring at all night.”, a very deep and very familiar voice said from behind you.

Yoongi and your date were having a stare down before your date scoffed mumbling something about you not being worth the trouble and walking away.

“Want to dance?”, he asked stepping in front of you.

Speechless you nodded. As he placed his hands on your hips it felt like your body was on fire and you wanted to lean into him to savor the feeling.

“Yoongi I…I thought you were here with a date.”, you questioned.

He smiled, “I was…I was dancing over there with her and then I saw how uncomfortable you were and now I’m here to save you.”

You quickly backed out of his grasp, “What?! Yoongi I’m not going to be the reason you two break up. You’re disgusting for doing that to her.”

You stormed out to the balcony area needing some fresh air. Yoongi followed closely behind.

You had tears already forming from all of the emotions you were struggling to sort through, “Leave me alone Yoongi. Please just go back to your date. I’m not going to be the reason something happens between the two of you. I don’t want her to get upset with me or think I’m trying to get you back or something.”, you pinched the bridge of your nose trying to stop the tears from falling, “I just want you to be happy and you looked so happy earlier and that makes me so happy and I just…”

You were in a panic thanks to feeling guilty because what if she saw you two and feeling angry that he would do that to her and feeling hurt at the reminder that he wasn’t yours and finally feeling a sense of relief at having him so close once again. The comforting mix of his cologne and shampoo taking you back to a simpler time but making it all worse.

He lightly chuckled before wrapping you in his arms allowing you to cry into his chest, “Y/N, are you finished, so you’ll listen to me?”

You nodded, though refusing to look at him.

“She’s not my date like that.”, he said causing you to finally look up at him in confusion. He used his thumb to wipe away the tears on your cheek.

“She’s just a friend.”, he said making you roll your eyes. He laughed but continued, “She’s just a friend who has a huge huge HUGE crush on Hobi but was too nervous to ask him out. She asked if I would be her date tonight until she had a couple drinks and worked up the courage to tell him.”, he turned and smirked, “And it looks like it worked.”

You looked over and saw Hobi and that woman slow dancing while smiling lovingly at each other.

Yoongi continued, “And if you must know I was so happy earlier because I got to see you Y/N. I miss you. I was hoping you’d be here but then I saw you had a date. Jimin said he was no one but I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“Yeah he was a mistake more than anything.”, you grumbled getting a smile out of Yoongi.

He wrapped his arms around you again and you allowed your body melt into his, “I missed you Yoongi.”, you mumbled into his skin.

“I missed you to Y/N. Fuck, I was so stupid for ever letting you go.”

“I should’ve fought harder too. I was just so tired of the arguing and feeling like everything was falling apart.”, you sniffled feeling tears begin to form again.

“Hey hey don’t cry any more. Y/N I hate seeing you cry. I’m here now. And maybe…maybe if you want to…we can start over.”

You looked up taking in his soft features and he gave you a small smile.

You nodded and gave his cheek a kiss which he happily received.

At some point someone had cracked open the door to allow the chill air to fill into the reception room which also let the soft hum of the music stream out onto the patio.

“They’re playing our song.”, you smiled as the familiar tune of I Will Always Love You rang through the air. Yoongi had sung the song to you one night after your first big fight. You were convinced that he was going to leave you. He wasn’t great at speaking his mind so instead he pulled you down on his lap and sang the song trying to do his best Whitney Houston impression. He did it to cheer you up but also let you know that no matter what happened between you two he was always going to love you. After that night it became your song.

Yoongi smirked, “Yeah I think our friends might’ve had something to do with that.”

He was was pointing inside and you saw a group of your friends staring at you both while giggling and giving you a thumbs up.

“Well if they want a show then we’ll give them a show.”, he said before taking your hand, “Y/N will you dance with me?”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst but you agreed before he quickly twirled you around and back into his comforting arms once again.

[jamiepaige]

Constant Companions Closeup #1: DYAD

(also on spotify!)

Hello everyone!! It's been a couple weeks and change since Constant Companions, my newest album, was released unto the world, and I've been genuinely blown away by the response. Genuinely, thank you to everyone who's been streaming, commenting, making mashups, changing their pfps and usernames - it means the world to me!

I wanted to give some of that love back with something people have been asking me a lot about - and, admittedly, something I love doing. Song explanations! Deep dives! Dropping the lore! Welcome... to the Constant Companions Closeups...

For the next eleven days, I'll be going into each track one by one and babbling about the process, inspiration, details, feelings, and thoughts behind each one! We're getting sappy. We're bearing our hearts. We're telling unfunny jokes. And we're starting with track one - DYAD (featuring unit.0)!

---

Naturally, since this is the first track, it also serves as a great point to talk about my intention with this album as a whole!

I'll elaborate more on this with future tracks, but to me, there are really two main things that define the sonic progression of this album versus my previous work - guitars and vocal synths. Obviously, these things have been present in my work since I first started calling myself Jamie Paige, but Constant Companions is intended to be my overwrought, sappy confession of love to these two things that time and time again have made me simply want to make music. I love rock and I love Hatsune Miku dammit!!!

I had originally written this song in February of 2023 for a game-jam-esque online festival hosted by my friend Loni called HAPPY PARTY TRI, and at that time, I had found myself at a major crossroads. I had put out People Posture Play Pretend and :women_wrestling: the previous year, and while the response was nice, I was feeling listless and lost.

I love singing. I like my voice well enough. I certainly love writing music with lyrics!! But... there was something uniquely electrifying about using vocal synths. Amidst a lot of insecurity and emotional turmoil surrounding the process of making art and putting myself out into the world, it was one of the few things that just made everything feel right. Suddenly, I was making the same kind of music that had touched my heart so many times over.

Would it alienate people, though? Would I lose longtime listeners? Yes, that weighed on my mind more than I'd like to admit, but even more than that... I was worried I'd lose some part of myself, as silly as it sounds. Maybe what I thought was a bridge would become a barrier, and the messages I wanted to send across the gap would never find their way.

Ultimately, I felt that Dyad was the only kind of opener I could've possibly given this album, and a perfect fit for the album's motif. A dialogue between myself, stricken with loneliness and a lack of inertia running in circles, and that synthesized voice (ANRI Arcane my darling), grabbing the outstretched hand and asking a question I already know the answer to -

"Baby, do you know what you wanna hear?"

Yes, it's a love song, but it's not just for a person - it's a love song for the creative impulse, and for the places I wanted it to take me.

im resisting the urge to be jokingly dismissive of myself to diffuse tension but i still need to signal that the emotionally bare part of this is over so pretend im doing a funny little dance Anyways let's talk more technical stuff

---

Like many of my songs, Dyad came together from a patchwork of different snippets and ideas I had laying around. The back half of the chorus - "dream together, we can dream together" - originally came from this idea I had jotted down something like 9 months prior, but ended up being a perfect fit for Dyad in basically every way. The verse snippet that I'd written to go with it got reused for a later song on Constant Companions as well! (I say without naming it, as if it isn't literally lifted wholesale from this demo and thus incredibly obvious)

I wasn't originally planning on brazenly quoting the bridge of a Tally Hall song when I set out to write this song, but while toying around with a bridge idea involving a shortened version of the pre-chorus melody, I realized I had inadvertently copied it anyways. I was going to scrap it... but at the request of my dear friend and certified Tally Hall lover Marcy Nabors, I made it an explicit reference. Which I'm fine with, personally! The first CD I ever owned was a copy of Marvin's Marvelous Mechanical Museum my sister bought me all the way back in 2006 - You can pry that sentimental attachment from my cold, dead hands, TikTok kiddies.

Lastly - not really behind the scenes so much as just a shoutout - thank you to unit.0 for the lovely lead guitar work on this song!! He's been a beloved collaborator of mine for many, many years now, and one of the people who ultimately convinced me this direction was the right one to go in, so it means a lot to share this song with him. Go listen to his music!!! Now!!!!!!

That's about it for this song! Not to sound like a fucking YouTuber, but genuinely, if there are any details you'd like to hear more about, let me know and I might made a bonus post at the end of all this. Otherwise, thank you for listening! Tomorrow: Not Quite There, featuring telebasher!

❤️💚

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

Summary: Halloween night arrives at the Hoffman barbecue, and you find yourself masking feelings again. Word count: 8.5k A/N: Oh, i'm not over... - thank you for your comments, they're so fun lol you all make me laugh !! <3 Hope you enjoy this part.

October 31st. You let your feet drag across the cool bathroom tile, feeling every step. There was something comforting in that small heaviness, your body still lulled by the weight of lunch, and your mind restless, carrying the remnants of memories you'd been revisiting all afternoon. You turned on the shower, waiting a moment before stepping in, the heat closing around you like a second skin. As your fingers combed through your hair, scrubbing it softly, your thoughts slipped forward, out of your control, toward the evening ahead, as inevitable as the pull of gravity.

Last year felt impossibly far away. Sarah had wanted to be a vampire. You’d found her a set of plastic fangs, which she wore with a grin that pushed her cheeks high up on her face. Her cape was metallic, shiny as foil, falling past her shoulders, and she looked so delighted, bouncing on her feet in front of the mirror. You'd managed to take more photos than you ever needed, laughing at her exaggerated grimaces and capturing her tiny poses. Joel had been there, too, playing along, wide-eyed with pretend fear, leaning away from her “fangs” in a way that made her giggle. Every single picture was still on your hard drive—photos from a time you could hardly believe was only a year ago.

This Halloween was different. Sarah had decided on her costume weeks back—an astronaut. You’d spent the better part of September helping her piece it together, and she was beyond excited. She’d be with her friends tonight at a “scary” sleepover, which she’d told you about, bright-eyed and practically bouncing with anticipation. It was strange that she wasn’t here. It felt like there was a piece of Halloween missing, but she hadn’t felt it that way at all. To her, this was the most exciting plan in the world. You’d felt it too, in her voice, like a little pinch in your chest.

This would be the first Halloween in years you’d spend without her, alone at the Hoffmans' barbecue. And without Sarah, Joel wouldn't come either. His attendance at these neighborhood gatherings had always been more about you than the event itself, which you’d always appreciated without needing to say it out loud. You could picture him, standing with a beer, blending into the background, jokingly complaining about the crowds. He’d said he didn’t care for the noise, the small talk, and the endless kids weaving through adults like they were on a secret mission. But you’d noticed the way he’d watch Sarah, his face softened as he looked on, his attention lingering in that way that showed he didn’t mind being here, really, because it was with you and her. And the two of you—Joel and you—could talk about anything. He made everything feel like a continuation of one long conversation, like you’d just pick up right where you’d left off, glancing at each other and knowing what the other meant without even saying it.

You could also picture Clara, who’d come over to him every year, her voice lilting as she placed her hand lightly on his arm, her laugh soft and maybe a bit forced. She had that amused smile, that slight lean toward him whenever she spoke, and you couldn’t resist teasing him about it later. He’d always looked so puzzled whenever you brought it up, though you were sure he knew exactly what you were hinting at. She’d been living in the neighborhood for years, a few houses down, in that bright yellow house, and you knew she’d nursed a quiet crush on him for a while. And Joel, for his part, never seemed to notice.

The thought made you smile, picturing him in that moment, eyes narrowed, brows creased, looking at you as if to say, “Why would she be interested?” But as soon as you felt the smile, the weight of reality caught up. Joel was no longer in your life in the same way. He wasn’t “your” Joel anymore, the friend you’d poke fun at and swap knowing glances with. He wouldn’t be coming to the barbecue this year. With Sarah gone and things fractured between the two of you, he’d have no reason to come. 

Maybe this would be the year he’d finally spend Halloween as he’d always said he wanted to—in the quiet of his house, watching a horror movie, the occasional interruption of trick-or-treaters breaking the silence as he handed out candy. The picture of him there, his small, self-contained world entirely separate from you, felt like an ache that had been growing for a long time, quiet and steady.

You missed him. And it made you furious to feel it, like he had somehow taken something from you by hurting you, even though you knew, rationally, that wasn’t true. Still, the feeling stuck, simmering somewhere in the background. You hated that you missed him at all.

*

Your steps matched Travis’s as you left the house, his voice filling the space around you, his hands carving shapes in the air with his animated gestures. The crisp October air wrapped around you, a lingering autumn sun casting a warm, golden wash over everything—the leaves curling on the trees, the lawn stretching out beside you. You hugged your flannel a little closer, fingers brushing over the thick fabric. It was just the right layer—a deep green fleece, oversized, over a worn black T-shirt. You were warm, content, happy even, if only you could hold on to that feeling.

Beside you, Travis was recounting a work spat, his colleague’s tone and insults reimagined in Travis’s flurry of hands. You caught the edges of his words, murmuring a few responses that seemed to satisfy him. By the time you reached the Hoffmans’ house, you were both following the gentle glow of orange lights strung across the yard, stepping into a scene that felt dreamlike, suspended in that late afternoon haze. There was a large oak tree strung with little yellow lights, glowing faintly in the dying sunlight, the whole place set up in the same meticulous, festive way the Hoffmans always did. 

Every corner had been turned into Halloween, with cobwebs woven over bushes and pumpkins large and small lining tables, some carved and flickering with candles, others untouched, casting shadows across the tablecloths. Guests mingled at scattered tables, warm drinks in hand, their voices and laughter filling the air with a kind of warmth you hadn’t known you’d needed. The grill added a woodsy scent, smoky and rich, mixed with spices that made your stomach hum with anticipation. A few feet away, kids dressed as witches and monsters zoomed around, their laughter spilling into the light breeze, punctuating the chatter of the adults.

It was the kind of evening that felt ripe for sinking into, letting go of all the worries that had weighed on you lately. You wanted to let yourself simply be here.

Travis glanced at you then, his gaze softening in that way he had, his question as warm as his smile. “I’m heading for food—want anything?” he asked, eyes moving from you to the spread at the far end of the yard.

You pushed yourself up from the table, your hands planted firmly as if grounding yourself.

“I’ll come with you—this is the best part, right?”

The food was better than ever. Tender, perfectly cooked meat, salads piled high, and a sense of community humming through every bite. You found your spot at the table again, balancing your glass of beer on the edge, the faint strains of music drifting from the outdoor speakers blending into the buzz of voices around you. And then, like some personal invitation to memory, you heard the familiar intro; Eyes Without a Face, by Billy Idol, that unmistakable beat curling around you.

Your shoulders started to sway, almost without permission, and then there he was again—Joel. Just like that, back in your mind, as clear as if he were standing beside you. You could picture it—two years ago, slightly tipsy, singing that song in his living room, his hand on your waist, both of you spinning each other slowly to the rhythm, his head tilted back in a deep laugh, voice just slightly off-beat, and you trying and failing to contain your own laughter.

“You okay?” Travis’s voice pulled you back, concern lacing his tone as he looked at you. Your gaze had been locked on some invisible point on the table, your head leaning slightly, reliving a memory that suddenly felt all too close.

“Oh—yeah. It’s nothing. I just love this song.”

He smiled, nodding knowingly. “It’s a classic,” he said, his fingers tapping along with the beat.

You looked up and there, just beyond Travis, the Hoffmans’ glass door slid open. You stopped breathing for a second. Joel stepped out, looking like he’d walked out of some old photograph, hair a bit damp, dark jeans and a gray and black flannel layered over a plain white T-shirt, a pair of black converse grounding him to this moment. He moved toward one of the tables, brushing his chin absentmindedly, his lips moving in time with the music, glancing around as if he were taking it all in for the first time.

And then his gaze found yours.

You held your breath, as if that could somehow make you invisible, as if that would erase this moment. But his eyes stayed on you, unreadable, a half smile on his face or maybe just a neutral expression—some mix of familiar and distant, like he was watching you from a place you could never fully reach. You swallowed, shifting your focus back to Travis, who had his eyes on his phone now, idly typing something while he continued to eat.

“I should’ve dressed up tonight,” you said, your voice intentionally light, trying to shake the weight that had fallen over you. “I don’t know what I’d be, but still. It would be fun to pretend for a night.”

Travis chuckled, leaning in closer, but you could still see Joel over his shoulder, that steady gaze, watching from his own table.

“I know a party tomorrow night—my friend’s hosting, if you want to go with me. We can pick out costumes tomorrow morning, make a day of it.”

You smiled, surprised at how genuinely it formed, pushing your hands together in excitement.

“Really? I’d love that! I haven’t dressed up in years.”

Travis’s face lit up. “Then it’s a date. We’ll figure out the costumes in the morning. Anything you want.”

For a moment, you let yourself lean into that feeling, that lightness in his offer, something to look forward to. Your gaze wandered to Helena and her little daughter by the pool, her laughter carried to you on the breeze, her face illuminated in the soft glow of fairy lights. You patted Travis’s hand and stood up, gesturing for him to follow. He caught on, falling into step behind you as you made your way to greet them. 

But as you moved, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Joel’s eyes on you, lingering there in the space between.

It had been more than a month since you'd last seen Helena. She had traveled back to her home country after her father’s death, sorting through family matters, settling things that couldn’t be left undone. Now, with her daughter Iris perched on her lap, she looked better, lighter even. There was a calmness in her eyes that hadn’t been there before, her fingers tracing gentle circles over Iris’s shoulder as the little girl, dressed as a bumblebee, poked unenthusiastically at a slice of pumpkin bread. You sat next to her.

“Hey,” Helena said, catching sight of you with a warm smile that seemed to melt away everything around you—even the awareness of Joel, somewhere behind you, his gaze like a whisper you couldn’t quite shake. “It’s so good to see you. How are you?”

“I’m… fine,” you answered, hesitating as your eyes drifted to Iris, who looked up at you with a shy, dimpled smile. “When did you get back?”

“A few days ago. I was actually planning to stop by tomorrow,” Helena replied, brightening as she added, “I thought we could have dinner, get the girls together, and our guys.” She gave a little chuckle, nudging Iris lightly. “Paul would probably love having Joel around too. The poor guy spent the entire trip surrounded by women—my sisters are wonderful, but you know how it is. It was just him and my dad with all of us, and now…”

Helena had three sisters, each one of them stunning, with the same striking green eyes and dark hair that she had. When you’d met them last Christmas, it was as though you’d stepped into some enchanted fairytale—they moved with an effortless grace, magnetic and ethereal.

Helena’s eyes twinkled as she turned toward Travis. “You should come too, Travis,” she said, a mischievous glint in her expression. She shot you a knowing wink, which Travis, ever polite, caught with a smile.

“Sounds great,” he replied with an easy grin, though you felt a twinge of discomfort at the mention of “our guys,” the thought of Joel slipping into your mind unbidden. Trying to brush it aside, you nodded and shifted the conversation.

“Is Paul not coming tonight?” you asked, hoping to keep things light.

“No,” she sighed. “He’s been swamped at work, trying to catch up after our trip. But I really can’t complain. He was so great, staying home with me all this time, so I told him tonight he should just take his time.” 

Suddenly, you heard a familiar voice.

“Helena, it’s so good to see you!” Brenda, always the life of these gatherings, came over with her usual warmth, her gaze lighting up as she reached out for Iris. 

Brenda’s costume was a striking homage—her spiky orange hair and dark lipstick made her look both bold and playful. She wore a white shirt stamped with slogans in block print, a chunky pearl necklace framing her smile. As she was sitting in front of Helena, she caught your eye and grinned.

“I'm Vivienne Westwood!” she announced proudly, preening a little under your gaze.

“You look amazing,” you said, meaning it. “And the food is, as always, incredible. You outdo yourself every year.”

Brenda gave your hand a squeeze in response, her gaze softening, but just as she was about to respond, her attention shifted beyond you, a pleased expression lighting up her face. “Oh! Joel, come over here!”

Your body tensed at the sound of his name, feeling as though the space behind you had just closed in. He was there, his footsteps echoing toward you until he was nearly at your back. You wanted to stand up, to avoid the moment entirely, but it would have only made things worse—too obvious, too awkward. Brenda couldn’t have known. Joel had always been a fixture in your life; it wasn’t strange to see him here, even if, for some reason, it felt like he was moving in a world that was no longer entirely yours.

You glanced up, catching sight of Joel as he leaned down to kiss Brenda’s cheek while she patted the seat next to her. His smile was casual, easy, as he greeted the others with a nod, his eyes lingering just a second longer on you and Travis than felt necessary. He looked completely at ease, unbothered by the tension knotting up inside you, sitting comfortably in front of you.

Brenda’s hand rested on his arm as she looked up at him with a fond smile. “Where’s your Sarah? I haven’t seen her all night.”

“She’s at a friend’s sleepover,” Joel replied, a hint of concern threading through his words, though he tried to disguise it with a smile. “So I’m here on her behalf, I suppose.”

“She’s growing up so fast,” Brenda said, her tone nostalgic as she gave him a soft smack on the arm.

Joel shook his head slowly, a bittersweet smile flitting across his face before his gaze moved to Iris. “Tell me about it. I remember when she was this little…”

Helena’s hand drifted over her daughter’s hair as she smiled back at him.

“It all flies by, doesn’t it?” she said, her voice soft. “We really have to hold on to these moments.” She turned toward Travis, and he nodded, a gentle look in his eyes as he watched Iris. 

“How old is Sarah now, Joel?” Travis asked, and you noticed a subtle shift in Joel’s expression, a kind of hesitance before he replied.

“Twelve,” he said, his voice quieter, his gaze falling briefly before meeting Travis’s, smile dissapearing.

“Twelve?” Brenda’s tone was incredulous. “I still remember the day you moved in, Joel! She was so little then, a perfect little angel! And you—how old were you then?”

“Twenty-seven,” Joel answered with a wry smile, a hint of nostalgia in his tone.

“You were just a kid yourself,” Brenda replied, shaking her head. “Always working, always rushing somewhere. And always putting your baby first.”

Joel’s smile softened, his eyes meeting Brenda’s with a warm gratitude.

“I couldn’t have managed without you,” he said simply, as though she understood all the years of support and help she had given him.

Helena glanced over with a thoughtful look. “Didn’t you just have a birthday, Joel?” she asked, her voice casual, but the question landing with a weight that made your heart leap. 

“That's right,” he murmured, looking down at his hands as he fiddled with his fingers against the edge of the table. “September twenty-sixth.”

“Hey, happy belated birthday then,” Helena said brightly, her smile lighting up the words. “Did you have a nice time?”

Joel looked at you briefly, and something flickered there, like he was turning over a memory he hadn’t expected to find. He shifted his gaze back to his hands. “It was good. Full of… surprises, I guess. Pretty sure Sarah told you all about it, huh?” He shot a glance at Brenda, as if grateful for a way out of the conversation.

“Oh, I heard all about it from Sarah,” Brenda said, grinning, her gaze settling on you with a warmth that made you blush. “You’re a lucky guy, Joel, to have two sweet girls looking out for you like that.” She patted his arm. “I’ll make up a little bag of candy to take home to her, all right? I know she loves the caramel ones.”

You smiled, trying to ignore the prickle of Joel’s gaze on you. And then a feeling dragged you back to years before, to when his Sarah was just three. You could pictured her as a toddler with wide eyes and a toothy, mischievous grin. Joel had shown you those old photos once, and you remembered how adorable she looked, her tiny hand clutching a toy tightly. Sarah had his smile—that same easy warmth, with eyes that crinkled and all but disappeared whenever she laughed. That gesture was even present in Tommy, now that you thought about it. Maybe it was purely a Millers thing, but it—

You realized Brenda was talking to you and straightened up, feeling your cheeks warm.

“Sorry, what?”, you asked.

Brenda chuckled, looking at you with a soft smile. “I was just asking, how old was Sarah when you first met her?”

“She was eight,” Joel answered before you could, glancing at you with a faint smirk.

"Yeah, eight," you echoed the number, ignoring the way his gaze moved over you, lingering with a warmth that felt almost invasive.

At that moment, Helena called Brenda’s attention back to a conversation about Christmas and Iris’s upcoming birthday, but Joel’s eyes stayed on you, searching your face like he was looking for something only you might understand. You tried to keep your own expression neutral, feeling Travis’s hand come to rest on your knee under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. The warmth of his touch helped you to breathe a little easier, though Joel didn’t miss the gesture. His gaze hardened as he glanced down, the line of his jaw tightening slightly.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward, finally addressing Travis. “So, how’s business going, Travis? I heard something about real estate taking a hit. Times are rough, aren’t they?”

Travis, completely unfazed, nodded, his hand still on your knee. “It is. At least for now things are still good, but of course, I can speak for myself.”

Joel gave a slow, mocking nod, feigning an interest he didn’t feel. “Well, you seem quite competent. I have no doubt you sure are handy with business. Is your dad still running the company?”

Travis smiled, oblivious to the subtext that hung in Joel’s question. “Yep, still going strong, but I think he’s planning to retire soon. My old man is tired, I think.”

Joel raised his eyebrows in a mock gesture of understanding. “Makes sense. I’m sure you’ll do fine. You seem like the kind who’s got a knack for that… you know, the charm. Every successful businessman needs a little bamboozling spark, don’t they? And I... I think you fit the role.” 

“Joel,” you warned quietly, hoping to temper the tension you could feel growing at the table. But Joel merely looked back at you with a faint, defiant smile, ignoring the caution in your eyes.

Travis, patient as ever, simply shrugged. “I appreciate your good faith, Joel. It means a lot coming from you, I know what a hard worker you are.”

The kindness in his tone, the sincerity in his eyes—it made your heart soften. You turned to look at him with a warm smile on your face, how was he immune to the sharp words of the man in front of him? And Joel had a special talent for formulating painful and provocative sentences, but apparently Travis was not the easy guy to gnaw on. And you were grateful for that. 

He turned to you, his eyes warm as he pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’m going to get us some drinks. Need anything, beautiful?”

You shook your head, managing a small smile. “I’m good, thanks.”

As he rose and walked away, he gave your shoulder one last affectionate squeeze. You noticed Joel watching Travis’s every move, his expression darkening, and once Travis was out of earshot, Joel’s gaze returned to you. He didn’t bother to hide his irritation, his eyes narrowing in an almost accusatory way as they moved over your face, searching.

“Joel, really,” you whispered, leaning in so only he could hear. “You don’t have to treat him like that. He’s never done a thing to you.”

A smirk flickered across his lips, and he leaned closer, eyes dancing with a kind of challenge. “Treat him like what?”

You shook your head, pulling back to put some distance between you, but Joel’s gaze followed, steady, like he was waiting for you to react, hoping for it even.

Murmuring an apology to Brenda and Helena, you stood, slipping away to the table by the big oak tree where your empty plate and half-full glass still sat. You picked it up, taking a long drink, grateful for the quiet moment, even as you felt his eyes on you from across the garden.

Travis appeared in front of you, a warm smile on his face as he handed over a small plate with a chocolate cupcake, topped with a dollop of cream shaped into a ghost and dusted with coconut. The sweet smell hit you right away, and you leaned in, inhaling the scent, your mouth already watering. You took a bite, savoring the rich chocolate—it tasted like all of Brenda Hoffman’s best baking, delicious and indulgent.

“Maybe after the barbecue, we could head back to my place for a while,” Travis said, his expression slightly tentative, as if he wasn’t entirely sure of your response.

“That sounds perfect,” you replied with a small smile, trying not to feel self-conscious. As you savored another bite, you glanced toward the pool where Joel was still deep in conversation with Brenda, Helena, and Iris. A moment later, you noticed Clara, all golden hair and easy confidence, sliding into the seat you’d left vacant. She placed two plates on the table, one for herself and one for Joel, who glanced up as she settled in, looking pleased.

Travis followed your gaze, then turned back to you with a knowing look.

“He hates me, doesn’t he?” he said, sounding almost amused, though his eyes held a faint hint of confusion. “I think I might understand why, i mean, i think i know why but…”

You blinked, feeling that all-too-familiar twinge of guilt.

“No, he doesn’t hate you,” you said, brushing off the thought. “He’s just acting… well, like a jerk.”

Travis nodded slowly, digesting your words, but then his eyes softened with curiosity.

“You don’t have to answer this if you don’t want to, but… what happened with you two? Weren’t you best friends? I remember you two were always together, but lately…”

You sighed, feeling the tension build as you searched for a way to answer. Travis didn’t need the full story, not yet.

“Like I just told you, he's acting like a jerk,” you said, and it didn't take long to sense that Travis wasn't satisfied with your answer.“Honestly, we just… had an argument a few weeks ago,” you said, carefully choosing each word. “It’s been weird between us since then, I guess.”

Travis seemed to sense that you didn’t want to go deeper, and thankfully he let the topic slide, moving the conversation in a new direction as he began to tell you about the last book he’d read.

“I just finished The Red and the Black, actually,” he said, his gaze turning thoughtful as he picked up his fork, poking at his plate absently. “I didn’t like Madame de Rênal. I thought her choices were a bit… unconvincing.”

You laughed, covering your mouth as you swallowed the last bite of cupcake. “Well, we're talking about revolutionary and passionate times, you know. I mean, Stendhal had his characters reflecting all that intensity. Have you read Goethe’s Werther?”

Travis smirked, shaking his head. “Ah, yes, the Werther book. The one with the famous suicide, right?”

You grinned, raising an eyebrow. “That’s the one. The famous suicide and the iconic outfit. I know it gets heavy, but I’ve always liked it.”

He chuckled, nodding as if to humor you.

“My sister made me read it as a teenager, actually. I thought Werther was too… sentimental for my taste.”

You tried not to smile too widely, picturing a young, disinterested Travis, brow furrowed over Goethe’s verses.

“I get it. I was probably more sympathetic to Werther than I should’ve been. I’ve always been a bit of a romantic myself, so maybe it made sense to me. Though I’ll admit, he does get insufferable.”

“Definitely insufferable,” Travis said, still amused. “I’ve always been more into horror anyway.”

The comment made you smile—Travis had a whole shelf at home stacked with DVDs and old VHS tapes of classics like Nightmare on Elm Street, Cujo, and The Birds. You’d teased him about it, of course, but there was something oddly endearing about it too.

As the conversation flowed, a faint twinge made itself known in your stomach, and you shifted in your seat, trying to ignore it. You’d had a glass of beer and two tall glasses of water before coming over, so the feeling wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“I’ll be right back,” you murmured, excusing yourself as you rose from your spot.

In doing so, you glanced over Travis’s shoulder, only to catch sight of Joel and Clara by the pool. Brenda had moved elsewhere, leaving Clara at Joel’s side, closer than casual. She was leaning into him, her hand resting against his shoulder, tucking a stray curl behind his ear, her laugh light and flirtatious. Joel didn’t seem uncomfortable with her proximity. In fact, he was smiling back at her, his gaze locked on hers in a way that made your heart sink just a little. 

You looked away, feeling a strange pang that you couldn’t quite justify. Had he been ignoring Clara before simply because you were there, next to him? But now, alone with her… he didn’t seem to be ignoring her at all.

As you headed toward the house, you forced yourself to shake off the thought. You slipped through the door and let out a sigh of relief, the cool interior air calming your nerves. Walking quietly down the hallway, you reached the bathroom and knocked gently to check if it was free. It was unoccupied, so you slipped inside and closed the door behind you. You paused by the mirror, glancing at your own reflection, almost surprised by the tension in your eyes.

What was Joel doing, looking at Clara like that? Wasn’t he still with Sienna? And what would she think if she saw him now, flirting? It was hard not to wonder if Sienna was like Clara, someone completely different from you. 

Clara was a flash of brilliance, a woman who looked like she’d walked off a magazine cover, golden curls that fell like soft waves of sunlight, her skin bronzed from Texas summers, her green eyes glinting with a brightness that made her seem almost elemental, like an extension of the sun. Her voice was soft, delicate; every word felt chosen, measured. She was flirtatious, always laughing, always seemingly content with the way things were. You could almost imagine that Clara might be Joel’s type—a vibrant, sunlit presence. It would make sense; he was her opposite in every way. When you thought of Joel, you thought of nighttime, the murmur of crickets outside a darkened window, strong coffee and smoky whiskey, a deep, hidden undercurrent. 

And you? You weren’t sure what you were. You weren’t quite the night, nor the day. Maybe you were something in between, or maybe you were just… undetermined. You wanted to think you had some affinity with the moon, but even that seemed too defined.

You sighed, breaking your gaze from your reflection as you felt an urgency to finish up. A moment later, you were washing your hands, the warm water and lavender soap grounding you a bit as your mind drifted again, wandering along with the suds down the drain. You dried your hands with a soft cotton towel, inhaling the fresh, clean scent.

But when you opened the door, you froze in place. Joel was standing there, leaning casually against the wall, his hands tucked behind him. He had been staring at the floor, but as soon as he heard you, his gaze flicked up. There was an intensity in his expression that made you pause, waiting for him to say something, to step aside, to let you pass. But he didn’t move.

When he finally spoke, his voice cut through the small space like a slow crack.

“Are you with him now?”

“With who, Travis?” you said, sounding more dismissive than you’d intended.

He raised an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“Who else? Or is there another I don’t know about?”

You took a few steps closer, folding your arms, letting your expression go cold and tight, the same way it always seemed to be now, whenever you looked at him.

“I really don’t think that’s any of your business, Joel.” You lifted your chin. “I mean, last time I checked, you haven’t been all that open about your life either. So why would I tell you anything about mine now?”

Joel’s smirk twisted into something sharper. “Didn’t stop you from telling Tommy, did it?”

You shrugged. “Well, you’re not Tommy.”

Joel scoffed, crossing his arms, clearly entertained. “Telling Tommy is practically the same as telling me.”

You lifted an eyebrow, unfazed. “If it makes you feel better, go ahead and believe that.”

But his amusement faded, and he looked at you with something almost searching, like he was trying to find a trace of the way you used to be with him—kind, understanding, open in a way that had made him comfortable. You saw the shift in his face, in the way his eyes flicked between yours, like he was looking for some doorway back to that version of you. But she wasn’t here. Or maybe she was, just not for him anymore.

Then he leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper, as he asked, “Did you sleep with him?”

The question hit you, and you stayed silent, unsure if an answer would expose the bitter knot you felt at your center. You hadn’t slept with Travis, not yet anyway. But Joel didn’t know that, and you found a petty thrill in letting him wonder, letting him believe what he wanted—that other hands, other lips had erased him from your memory, replaced every touch. That he had no longer been the last man to touch you.  It was pathetic, you knew it, but the curiosity to see his reaction was stronger than anything else. So you decided not to answer, to let the silence lie for you.

So you simply met his gaze, letting silence serve as an answer, your lips lifting in a faint, cryptic smile. And then you saw the moment he believed it: his jaw tightened, his breath went shallow, and his eyes seemed to darken, hardening.

“Like I said, none of your business,” you finally said, feeling something small and satisfied flare inside.

Joel chuckled, but it was a grim sound. He looked down briefly, and when he looked back up, there was an almost cruel gleam in his eye.

“Did he know where to touch you?”

You scoffed, turning the question back on him. “Do you really want to know?”

The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them. You knew Joel well enough to know he would go there if he could. But you couldn’t let him gain the upper hand, not here. If anything, you needed to keep him off-balance, keep him uncomfortable.

“Oh, I’m all ears,” he replied, his smile gone now, leaving only a hard, steady gaze that felt like it was drilling into you.

You felt your cheeks flush, but you held his gaze, determined.

“He was the best I’ve ever had,” you said, letting each word hang in the air, daring him to question it. You tilted your head, feigning a fond, private recollection. “Gentle, but rough when I wanted him to be. And you want to know the best part?”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, and for a moment, his expression softened. The dark look in his eyes deepened, his smile long gone.

“Afterwards, when I woke up,” you went on, drawing out each word, “Travis was still there.”

Joel’s head dipped, his eyes dropping to the ground, and you took a brief, selfish moment to take in the sight of him, almost broken in front of you. But something twisted in your chest; the satisfaction felt hollow, quickly replaced by a pang of something closer to pity, almost regret. You had an impulse to reach out, to tell him you hadn’t meant it, that Travis wasn’t even in the picture, that he hadn’t been the best or the first or anything. But you couldn’t allow that. 

You had to remind yourself why you’d stopped letting Joel in—how he’d left you out in the cold, how he’d made your feelings seem like nothing, as if they didn’t matter enough to consider. You had to remind yourself of Sienna, this woman who felt like a ghost, hovering between you and Joel, even though you’d never even met her. And if he was really with someone else, what was he doing here, pushing and prying, acting like he had the right to know these things about you? Why was he acting like he cared if you’d moved on, or if you were with someone else, when he was so openly flirting with Clara just a few minutes ago in Brenda’s backyard? Had he become a complete asshole, or had he always been like that and you were just now realizing it?

As the memory of it all flooded back, the tenderness you'd felt earlier drained away, replaced by a familiar, suffocating anger. It surged up from somewhere deep inside you, visceral and sharp, and before you could stop yourself, your body moved instinctively—stepping back, away from him—until your back hit the cold wall by the bathroom door. The impact was jarring, but it felt like a small, needed separation. 

Joel didn’t speak right away. He stood still, his eyes shifting downward, slowly, moving over your body, before meeting your face again. His expression was unreadable, like a mask he didn’t quite know how to remove. It irritated you, this silence, this uncertainty that hung between you two like an unwelcome guest.

Finally, you broke the tension, pushing yourself off the wall and stepping back, away from him. But just as you tried to distance yourself, his voice vibrated through the air, low and deliberate, cutting into your thoughts.

“That’s mine,” he said.

“What?” you managed, almost gasping, your eyes darting between his face and his hands, as if looking for something—anything—to explain this new, impossible tension. 

Joel didn’t move. He was still, a presence that loomed larger by the second. His gaze was steady on you, tracing your body and your face, slow and deliberate.

“The flannel,” he repeated, his voice dropping lower, rough around the edges. “It’s mine.”

You looked down at the fabric, the soft, familiar warmth of it, and felt a sudden jolt. God. He was right. It was his. But it had been yours for years. You'd worn it so often, so comfortably, that you'd forgotten it ever belonged to anyone else. Maybe he'd lent it to you once, a lifetime ago, on one of those cold nights when you both sat under blankets. But he’d never asked for it back, had he? He never seemed to care, and you never thought to return it. It had just... stayed with you.

When you lifted your eyes back to him, Joel had moved off the wall, stepping toward you with slow, deliberate steps, closing the distance between you. Too close. He was too close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body as his presence engulfed you.

“What happened?” His voice was soft, but there was a simmering undercurrent, a teasing tone that made your pulse quicken, though you weren’t sure why. “Did you forget to include it in your little box when you gave everything back to me?”

You felt a bitter chuckle bubble in your throat, an angry little sound that you couldn’t quite hold back. You shook your head slightly, irritated, your chest tight as you opened your mouth to speak, but he interrupted you, his words coming fast, sharper than before.

“Doesn’t your little boyfriend mind you wearing another man’s clothes?” he asked, his voice dripping with something like disdain, like he had been holding that question inside for far too long. His eyes darkened, gliding down to the fabric again, then to your body, before he reached forward, his fingers brushing the edge of the flannel as if testing the boundaries. “Or does he already know this isn’t the only thing of mine that’s wrapped around you?”

A shiver ran through you, a mixture of anger and something else—something hotter, something less easy to define. You didn’t want to feel it, but it was there, and it was impossible to ignore.

No. This wasn’t about that. This was about him—how dare he?

In a sudden movement, your hands moved to the buttons of the flannel, fumbling with them in a rush, eager to take it off, to rid yourself of him. But as you tugged the fabric down over your shoulders, you felt Joel’s hand close around your left wrist, his palm warm against your skin, halting you, slowing you down. The touch was too familiar, too intimate, and it sent a jolt of something you couldn’t quite identify straight to your stomach.

“No,” he said, his voice suddenly low and commanding, like he was trying to anchor you, like he was trying to hold you in place. “It’s yours. Don’t take it off.”

You snorted, a dry, incredulous sound, and with an almost violent motion, you yanked your hand away from his, finishing the job of removing the flannel with a sharp tug. 

Joel’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening further, and for a moment, you could see the effort it took him to stay still. His eyes lingered on you, tracing your every move, as you held the soft fabric against his chest. You could feel the air shift, feel the weight of his gaze on your skin, and your heart beat a little faster. 

You looked up at him, the anger suddenly spilling out of you. “No. You’re right. It’s yours. I should have given it back to you a long time ago.”

His hand moved up to his chest, over yours, taking the fabric from you with a slow, deliberate motion.

“Put it back on,” he said, his voice softer now, like he was trying to smooth over something that had frayed. "It's cold outside."

You wanted to fight it, to say something sharp, but your irritation bubbled up before you could stop it.

“Good thing I live across the block, then,” you blurted, the words coming out thicker with frustration as you pulled your hand free from under his, feeling the heat of his fingers linger on your skin.

Joel's patience was running thin. His hand shot out again, grabbing the flannel in a fist and pulling it closer to you, the fabric stretching between your bodies.

“Stop being so stubborn and put it back on,” he said, his tone more demanding, more urgent. His voice had a sharpness to it now, almost like a warning.

Something inside you snapped. You shoved his hand back hard, with as much force as you could muster, pushing him away—not enough to hurt, but enough to make your point. His body didn’t move, though. It stayed solid, unyielding, the broadness of his shoulders making you feel small, like you were being swallowed by his presence.

Frustration bubbled inside you, gnawing at your chest as you turned sharply on your heels, determined to leave. Your steps were quick, purposeful, as you made your way toward the hallway exit, the air heavy with everything left unsaid between you and Joel. But then, a firm grip wrapped around your wrist, dragging you back to him. You pivoted on instinct, meeting his gaze with eyes darkened by anger, sharp and focused.

For a moment, your mind flashed with the impulse to tear his hand off your wrist, to wrench it away and walk out of this whole mess. But you let it go. Instead, you locked eyes with him, your breath catching as your irritation turned into something more potent—exasperation.

“Enough, Joel,” you said, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “I'm tired of fighting with you.” The words spilled out before you could stop them, and inside, you couldn’t help but wonder how it had come to this—how two people who once fit so easily together had ended up here, so broken and scattered. 

“Then let’s not fight,” he said, his voice softer now, almost like he was pleading. There was a quiet desperation in his words, a slight hitch, as if he was offering a fragile truce. “We can—”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” you interrupted, your words sharp and cold, the bitterness clinging to every syllable. “I can’t stand you anymore.” As soon as they left your lips, you realized how hard and cruel they sounded, but you didn’t care. You were exhausted. Tired of the games, tired of the back-and-forth. The anger inside you surged again, hotter than before, as his fingers tightened around your wrist, forcing you to feel the weight of it. Desperation.

“Don’t look for me,” you continued, the words raw and unrelenting. “Don’t talk to me anymore. Don’t look at me. I don’t want anything to do with you. I’ve had enough of all of this. If I could go back in time, I’d change everything, I’d avoid all of this shit.” The heat in your chest built as tears threatened, burning behind your eyes. “But I can’t. I can’t do anything about it, and neither can you, so leave me the fuck alone for once. Avoid me if you can and I’ll avoid you. Pretend I don’t fucking exist. I don't know. Just stop it, Joel.”

The impact of your words hit him like a physical blow. You saw the flash of pain in his eyes, the way his mouth twisted, his face contorting in a wince. Something inside you sank, and for a moment, regret pierced you. But then, the anger pushed the guilt aside. He hadn’t been considerate of you before, had he? And that thought, that realization, let the remorse slip away.

His grip loosened just slightly, but he didn’t release you. Instead, his fingers trailed down to your palm, stroking it gently with his fingertips, his breath shallow and measured, like he was holding himself back from saying something more. 

For a moment, you both stood still, suspended in that space, him looking at you, and you trying not to look at him—waiting, anticipating what would come next. What was the right thing to do now? You should walk away. Right now. Now. 

But then his voice, quiet and soft, cut through the air.

“You don’t need me anymore?”

“No,” you said, the word escaping before you could stop it. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, and the second it left you, you could feel it: the squeeze in your chest, the twisting of your heart. It wasn’t true, not really. But you wanted it to be. You wanted it to be true more than anything.

Joel’s eyes flickered, just for a second, like they were searching for something in your face that wasn’t there. His expression faltered, his hand falling away from yours, his gaze dropping to the floor, as if the weight of your words had crushed him. 

“I know that’s not true, baby,” he whispered, his voice rough with something you couldn’t name, but it was too much. You couldn’t bear to see it.

You shook your head, refusing to let the crack in your own resolve show.

“Maybe not, yet,” you said, your voice colder now, harder. “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it true.”

With that, you turned away before you could second-guess yourself, before you could see his reaction and let the guilt undo you. You didn’t want to stay. Not now. If you stayed a moment longer, you knew you would apologize, you’d cave, you’d let him back in. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t keep doing this. 

You walked quickly back to your seat, each step carrying you farther away from him, from the tension that had become unbearable. You barely noticed Travis’s worried look when you sat down next to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “You were gone a while.”

You nodded, forcing a weak, half-smile. But inside, it felt like everything was crumbling. Your bones felt brittle, as if they might snap with the weight of it all. Your body had turned to lead, your muscles drained of all strength. Your eyes, heavy with unshed tears, were a reflection of the ache in your chest. 

You just wanted to go home, crawl into your bed, and never come out. The lump in your throat grew larger with every second, and the cold air stung your neck, making you shiver.

“What happened to your shirt?” Travis asked, noticing the way your body had become tense and cold.

You didn’t answer, relieved when he stood and came to stand beside you. You watched as he shrugged off his jacket, his movements gentle, as he draped it over your shoulders and helped you tuck your arms into it. 

Once you were warm, Travis slipped his arm over your shoulders, pulling you into him, his soft kiss to the top of your head offering a fleeting moment of comfort. You couldn’t help but lean into him, resting your head on his collarbone, inhaling the familiar scent of his perfume. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel the comfort of being held, the peace of someone who wasn’t trying to tear you apart.

But then you heard it—the sliding door opening. And you knew. 

When you opened your eyes, you saw him. Joel. Walking out of the house, his pace slow, deliberate, as he clutched the flannel shirt in his left hand. His eyes were cast downward, but when he looked up, they locked on you. His expression shifted, something unreadable in the way he looked at you, and your stomach dropped. 

He walked toward his table, his fist clenching the fabric so tightly that his knuckles went white, his gaze never leaving you. You couldn’t look away either. It was like a magnetic pull. 

At his table, Carla was waiting, her eyes fixed on him like a hawk circling prey. You felt an involuntary surge of disgust. You wanted to stand up, to march over there and shake her, to tell her to leave, to stop, that she was being pathetic. But then, the sharp, bitter truth hit you: Carla wasn’t the problem. You were. She reminded you of yourself—the way you’d clung to Joel, the way you’d let him define you. 

Joel spoke, his voice angry and loud enough for you to hear from where you sat. 

“I’m going home,” he said, his eyes cutting through Carla as he raised his head to her height. Then he pulled back, holding out his hand. “Y'wanna come with me?”

And there it was—the knot in your chest tightened. Carla nodded, flushed with a victorious smile, and took his hand. The same hand that had held yours just minutes before. 

You closed your eyes, sinking further into Travis’s embrace, the ache in your chest spreading, overwhelming. 

You couldn’t leave now. Not with him walking out, not with her next to him. What would you do? Cross paths with them on the way out? Watch them walk away together? The thought was unbearable.

“Can we go to your place for a while?” Your voice was small, almost breaking as you whispered into Travis’s chest. 

“Sure thing, honey,” he murmured, the warmth of his body offering a small, fleeting comfort against the storm of emotions inside you.

-

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[illbegottenfaith]

bad day - theo nott x reader

a visit from your boyfriend perks you up even on the most frustrating of days

a/n - my first theo nott fic! I’ve written for other fandom(s) so this was a nice change, hope you enjoy :

tropes/warnings - established relationship, a pet name here or there, nothing overwhelming, fluff, comfort, nothing 18+ but a brief alluding to it

word count - 1k

“Off.”

As a general rule of thumb, you were typically the clingier half of your relationship with Theo. There was something about the feel of his skin against yours and the way his touch grounded you that made you feel safe and cared for in ways you were still too embarrassed to express out loud. Theo was always happy to indulge, casually draping an arm across your shoulders and rubbing soothing circles on your shoulder.

However, like all rules, it came with its exception - particularly, when you were studying. You needed to focus on your work, and that wasn’t exactly possible with the delicious warmth of Theo pressed against your back or hip. For the most part, he stayed well away when you needed him to, but something about the adrenaline of Quidditch practice made him extra excitable. Which was how you found yourself pouring over a hellish Charms essay in the Slytherin common room late one night, when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your middle and a familiar weight rest in the crook of your neck.

“Theo, I mean it,” you whined as he slid into the seat next to yours, refusing to relinquish his hold on you, effortlessly dragging you onto his lap. Your irritation evaporated at the sight of his boyish blue eyes and his sloping smile. It was a problem, really, how you could never stay mad at him. Merlin knows his ego is bad enough as it is.

“Hey, doll.” His nose nudged yours and you finally relented, wrapping an arm around his neck as he kissed you. His face felt cool against your warm forehead, and he smelt pleasantly of some non-descript yet refreshing soap. 

“My neck is killing me,” you mumbled against his lips as you broke apart. Theo leaned back to get a better look at your wan face, distractedly running a hand down your spine.

“Have you had dinner yet?”

“Yes,” you frowned, “with you. Remember?”

Theo stared at you blankly. “Y/N. I’ve been at Quidditch practice for the past four hours.”

“What are you talking about? We had dinner, then we came up to the common room, and it was, y’know, freezing, and I said I needed to buy more fleece-lined tights, and you started saying something about liking me best without any tights, but then those fifth-years started wrestling each other over that game of -“

“- Gobstones?”

“Exactly!”

“Babe, that was last Thursday.”

Your face fell. “…it was. Merlin.” Theo watched, amused, as you let out a string of curses under your breath as you flipped through your planner, scowling. “It’s this stupid Charms essay that’s doing me in. I haven’t had my head on straight all week. Remember when I wore my earmuffs to breakfast on Tuesday?”

“Mhm.”

“Made a proper arse of myself at 8 in the morning. And I genuinely thought I saw you just an hour ago. I don’t know what came over me.” 

“I didn’t know I was so forgettable of a boyfriend,” Theo teased, as you buried your face into your hands. 

“Stop. I feel awful enough already,” came your muffled voice. Laughing, he took your hands in his own, his features softening at the exhausted look on your face.

“Rough day, baby?” You groaned, burying your face into his chest as he wrapped his other arm around you. Before meeting Theo, you took pride in how fiercely independent you were. Even now, you were more than capable of handling your daily stresses just as well as the next guy, but you still had the tendency of being tightly wound more often than not, and sometimes it just felt nice to have someone hold you while you cried about how awful life was. No one could help you or get you to decompress the way Theo did.

“Rough week, more like,” you mumbled into his collarbone. He hummed sympathetically, hand still running up and down your spine.

“You didn’t say a word.”

“It could have been worse. I thought I’d just…you know. Deal.”

You could hear the amused lilt to his voice. “Deal?”

“Deal with it. On my own, I mean.”

His hold on you tightened a fraction. “Have dinner with me.”

“Didn’t you eat before practice?”

“Hm. Have supper with me.”

“Theo.”

“What?”

You sighed. You were never one to turn in an assignment late but, Merlin - he didn’t make things easy for you. 

“I really need to get this essay done.”

“So you’ll get it done. After supper. I could take a look at it for you. Or your neck. Or both.”

You snorted. “Yeah, sure, because a distraction is just what I need now. You don’t even take N.E.W.T level Charms.”

“So you find me distracting?”

You pressed your lips together, biting the inside of your cheek. “Let me put it this way. If I, um, ‘have supper’ with you now, this essay will not reach Flitwick’s desk by 10 am tomorrow.”

Theo didn't look too happy about anything you were saying. “So what do you want me to do?”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Like any other guy, Theo could only sympathise for so long before he was bursting with advice or solutions. You glanced at the clock, getting the distinct impression that he was valiantly trying to stifle a yawn. 

“Go, leave, shoo. Get some rest, read a book, start a fight with some fifth-years, I don’t know. I just need to bully myself into finishing this. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“But I don’t want to start a fight with some sticky-fingered Gobstones-playing fifth-years.”

Still, he reluctantly slid you off his lap, pressing a kiss to your forehead before briefly disappearing. He returned with a huge, ancient book whose weathered cover seemed somewhat related to Potions. He arched an eyebrow as you made a face at it.

“What’s that?”

“What’s that?” You shot back, looking greatly repulsed by the gnarly volume.

“Some light bedtime reading material,” he quipped. You watched his face nervously, the tell-tale signs of fatigue knitted into the creases of his achingly beautiful face.

“I mean it, Teddy. You really should go to bed.”

“Can’t. I’ve got a date in an hour.”

“Do you?”

“Yeah. I’m taking this really pretty girl out for supper.”

You rolled your eyes as Theo settled into his seat, cracking the disfigured tome open.

“Smooth-talker.”

[wcnderlnds]

drive ins and twinkie kisses | peter maximoff

・❥・ summary: peter takes you to the movies and uses his favourite snack to make a move ・❥・word count: 1.2k ・❥・warnings: none really. just kissing. ・❥・ authors note: i haven't wrote in a week because i've been sick but this idea came to me after some shenanigans in the evanverse server so <3

The new drive-in opening had been the latest buzz around town. Anywhere you went, everyone was talking about it to the point that you needed to go check it out yourself. All your friends had already been and were raving about it but you? Well, you didn’t exactly have anyone to go with. The night your friends had gone, you’d been on a mission with the X-Men so, although they’d invited you, you’d had to decline. The frown on your face anytime someone brought the drive-in up was enough to melt even the coldest of hearts including Peter Maximoff. Now, he wasn’t heartless – not at all but he wasn’t one to cave in just by seeing a pretty face. He had resisted for as long as he could but he couldn’t take it anymore when he saw you sat looking miserable when you had yet to pass up another opportunity to go.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed heavily, arms folded across his chest as he appeared in front of you in a blur of silver. “I’ll take you but don’t make a big deal about it or anyth- oof.”

Peter stumbled back slightly as you threw yourself at him, arms wrapping around his midsection while you hugged the life out of him. His hands hovered in the air, awkwardly wondering what the hell to do with them. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone - other than Kurt because for some reason he liked to tell him everything - Peter wasn’t the best when it came to physical affection or relationships. Maybe it was the lack of experience. Or maybe he was just a complete idiot whose brain short circuited at the feeling of another person touching him. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been in relationships before. He had but they hadn’t lasted longer than a few months before he lost interest or they got fed up with his consistent need to be moving. With you, you seemed to have captivated his interest the moment he met you. He remembered the day so vividly – how you’d walked into the mansion looking lost, almost scared. He’d been zooming through the halls but had come to a comedic halt when he spotted you. Introductions had been made thanks to him worming his way into Hank who had been giving you a tour of the place and it had gone from there. 

Peter found himself wanting to make you smile. On those dark, dreary days where he got lost in his own mind, the image of you smiling could always make things seem a little brighter. The fact you’d been moping around the mansion for the last week just didn’t sit well with him at all. If he had to take you to the drive-in himself then so be it. He could totally sit through a movie with you. Totally.

…so, maybe he couldn’t. Being in a car in the first place was enough for him to go on a rant about how he was much faster and cars were pointless to him but then there was the fact that he had to sit still for at least two hours. It was enough to drive the poor man crazy. A form of torture. His eyes darted around the place, the car full of all the candy wrappers the two of you had been eating since you’d first drove in. His deep brown eyes zoned in on you, the corners of his lips quirking up into a soft smile. Just watching you focus on the movie was enough to calm him, the knee he’d been bouncing up and down slowly coming to a halt. How was it you could make him such a mess yet so calm at the same time? Realising he should probably stop staring at you before he seemed like a creep, he eyed the last Twinkie sitting in the middle of you both.

His hand reached out to grab it but you must have had the same thought because he felt your fingers brushing against his. Peter instantly looked up, his eyes catching yours. “You tryna steal the last Twinkie from me, huh?”

“You were trying to steal it from me!” You protested, cheeks flushing. The feeling of his fingers touching your skin still sending shockwaves through you.

“Me, steal? Never. Can’t believe you’d accuse me of such a thing.”

“Okay, Mr Kelpto.”

Using his super speed, Peter quickly snatched the Twinkie, unwrapping it. “Okay, here’s an idea. I’ll eat from one end and you eat from the other. I won’t even cheat and use my super speed to eat more than you,” Peter stuffed one end in his mouth before you could reply, his hand gesturing for you to take the other end.

Peter could feel his heart beating a mile a minute as he began to chew the sugary treat. The closer the two of you got to the middle, the more he realised how stupid of an idea it was. Like, really? What did he think was going to happen? That was the problem – he didn’t think. Peter got an idea and rolled with it without really thinking next. He was almost certain his heart was about to beat out of his chest and fall into his lap as his face got closer to yours. Then he felt it, your lips gently brushing against his as the two of you ate the final piece. That was all it took for his brain to once again short circuit. Throwing all caution to the wind, his hand reached behind the back of your neck to pull you closer, eyes closing at the sensation of your lips against his. The kiss was cautious at first, Peter’s soft lips moving slowly against yours but when he felt your hand resting on his thigh, he gained the confidence to test the waters a little bit more. His tongue darted out across your bottom lip hoping and praying you wouldn’t push him away. When you parted your lips, he felt like he was actually going to ascend into the heavens. There was no way this was actually happening. Was he about to wake up and find out he was dreaming the whole time? He damn well hoped not.

Peter finally, eventually pulled away. His forehead rested against yours, a breathless laugh passed his lips. He took in your face, the slight red tint to your cheeks, your swollen lips and messy hair – he was making sure to take a mental photograph to look back on. This wasn’t something he wanted to forget anytime soon. Not that he wanted to ruin the moment but he had to speak. The silence unsettled him.

“Lady and The Tramp ain’t got nothin’ on us, babe,” he finally pulled away. He gently smoothed your hair down, reluctantly pulling his hand away from you. The music playing in the background caught his attention. His eyes darted to the movie screen seeing the credits rolling. “Oh, shit. We missed the end.”

“...eh, I’m not complaining,” your hands rested on the steering wheel as if you needed to ground yourself from that Earth shattering kiss. The only thought in your brain was how badly you wanted to do it again.

“Yeah? Should I start carrying Twinkies around with me everywhere now?” He raised his brows, leaning back against his cheek with a smirk.

“Yeah, you definitely should.”

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[luvdwkki]

Back in time

Felix x Gn!reader

Word count: 3,094

Summary: You and Felix have been together for three years, so he decides to take you on a date that revisits your past.

It was Felix’s idea, and he’d been planning it for weeks, adding small, thoughtful touches to make the night unforgettable. On a warm, breezy Friday evening, he parked outside your office just as the sun was beginning to dip in the sky, casting a golden glow over the street. As he waited, he ran a hand nervously over his shirt, making sure everything was just right.

Finally, he saw you step out of the building, your face lighting up as you spotted him. You walked over with that effortless grace he loved, your hair catching the light and framing your face in soft waves. As you approached, he reached over to the passenger seat and lifted a bouquet of your favourite flowers toward you. They were wrapped in pale pink tissue paper with a small satin ribbon tied around the stems, just the way you liked them.

Your eyes widened in surprise as you opened the car door. “Felix, what’s all this?” you asked, your voice full of delight as you climbed into the car and settled into the seat. You took the bouquet gently, lifting it to your face to breathe in the soft, sweet scent.

Felix grinned, his eyes warm as he watched your reaction. “Just a little something for the person I love,” he said with a playful smile, reaching over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “And... I was thinking we could go back to where it all began.”

Your lips curled into a knowing smile. You leaned back in your seat, twirling one of the peonies between your fingers as you looked at him with a mix of affection and curiosity. “You mean the coffee shop on Rose Street?” you asked, your voice soft and filled with memories, as if you could already see yourselves sitting there, just as you did three years ago.

“Exactly,” Felix replied, reaching over to squeeze your hand gently. He felt a familiar thrill at the touch, a warmth that hadn’t faded even after three years together. He shifted the car into gear and pulled out onto the road, your fingers still entwined.

As he drove, you began to reminisce, laughter and warmth filling the car like a cocoon around you. Felix brought up the first moments of that evening, how he’d stood outside the café for a good ten minutes before working up the courage to walk in, rehearsing his opening line in his head.

You laughed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Really? You seemed so calm and collected,” you teased, squeezing his hand. “I never would’ve guessed.”

He let out a sheepish laugh, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hand. “Trust me, I was far from calm. I was so distracted I could barely focus on my coffee. I kept thinking I’d mess it up somehow, like maybe I’d say the wrong thing, or you’d think I was boring. But then…you started telling me that story about the stray beagle you tried to adopt when you were seven, and all my nerves just melted away. I knew right then that we’d get along.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you chuckled, covering your mouth as you recalled the story you had shared with him that night. “Oh, you mean the one where I tried to sneak a neighbour’s dog into the house and pretended he was a stray so my parents would let me keep him?”

Felix laughed too, shaking his head. “Yes, exactly. That’s when I knew you were something special—this mix of sweet and bold and just the right amount of mischievous. I could’ve listened to you talk all night.”

You looked down at your entwined hands, your smile softening. “And you…you had this quiet way about you, like you were listening to every single word. You looked at me like I was the only person in the world.” He paused, glancing at you with a tender smile. “You still do.”

You felt your heart swell, and he lifted your hand to his lips, brushing a light kiss across your knuckles. “That’s because you are, Felix.”

The rest of the drive was filled with the warmth of shared memories and soft laughter, each story making you feel as if you were falling in love all over again.

When you reached the café, Felix parked the car and quickly stepped around to your side to open the door, his hand outstretched as if he were holding something fragile and priceless. You took his hand, feeling the familiar warmth of his grip as he helped you out. For a moment, you stood there, side by side, taking in the sight of the little coffee shop on Rose Street, its windows softly glowing in the early evening light.

Felix looked over at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Ready to go back in time?”

You smiled back, and you walked toward the entrance, hand in hand. Stepping inside, you were immediately enveloped by the warm, rich scent of freshly ground coffee, mingled with the faint aroma of vanilla and cinnamon from the pastries in the display case. The coffee shop hadn’t changed at all in three years—the same wooden tables, mismatched chairs, and bookshelves lined the walls. The hum of conversation from other patrons filled the cosy space.

Felix led you to the corner booth near the window, the same one you had shared on your first date. It was a small, intimate spot with just enough space for two people to sit close, overlooking the street outside. As you slid into your old seats, Felix’s grin grew wider, his eyes twinkling as if he were holding onto a delicious secret.

You looked around, taking in the nostalgic setting, your heart fluttering with memories. “This place…it feels exactly the same,” you murmured, tracing your fingers along the edge of the table. “Do you remember how nervous we were? I could barely keep my hands from shaking.”

Felix chuckled, reaching over to place his hand over yours. “Oh, I remember,” he said, squeezing your hand gently. “But look at us now. Three years later, and I’m still sitting here wondering how I got lucky enough to find you.”

Your eyes met, and for a moment, you both fell silent, wrapped in a feeling that needed no words. The waitress arrived, breaking the spell, and without even glancing at the menu, Felix ordered your old drinks: a hot chocolate for himself and a chamomile tea for you, just as it had been that first night.

As you waited for your drinks, Felix slipped a hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, folded note. “Remember this?” he asked, his voice soft but tinged with excitement.

Curious, You reached for the note, unfolding it slowly. Your eyes widened, and you let out a soft gasp as you took in the small, hand-drawn cartoon of a floppy-eared beagle, a familiar detail from the kidnapped beagle story. Underneath, in Felix’s handwriting, were the words “Our First Memory,” with a tiny, delicate heart drawn just above the dog’s head.

“You kept this?” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. You looked up at him, your eyes glistening. “All this time?”

Felix’s expression softened, and he nodded, his gaze steady and warm. “I’ve kept everything,” he said quietly, his fingers tracing yours on the table. “Every note, every ticket stub, every little memory. I want to remember every little thing about us. I never want to forget even a single moment.”

You felt your heart swell, overwhelmed by the tenderness in his words. You looked back down at the drawing, your fingers brushing over the lines of the little beagle, drawn with such care and love. This wasn’t just a reminder of your first date—it was a symbol of everything Felix had come to mean to you.

Your drinks arrived, and as you lifted your cups in a small toast to each other, you couldn’t help but think of how far you'd come, from the nervous excitement of that first date to the deep, steady love you shared now. Felix took a slow sip of his hot chocolate, his eyes never leaving your face, and you felt a little flutter in your chest, just as you had three years ago. You could feel the weight of his gaze and gave him a playful smile over the rim of your cup. you knew at that moment that no matter how many years passed, this memory—and every other memory you'd built together—would be cherished for a lifetime.

You lingered over your drinks, letting your conversation drift naturally between reminiscing and laughter. Felix brought up little details you had forgotten, moments you hadn’t realised he’d noticed. “Do you remember how I nearly spilled my coffee?” he said, grinning sheepishly. “I was so distracted that night, trying to focus on what you were saying, but all I could think about was how I’d never met anyone like you.”

You laughed, covering your mouth as you remembered. “Oh, yes! You were gripping that mug like it was a lifeline!” you teased. “I actually thought you didn’t like me, you were so quiet.” you paused, your eyes dancing as you looked back at him. “And yet here we are.”

Felix reached across the table, taking your free hand in his. His thumb brushed gently over your knuckles, a simple touch that made your heart skip. “I was nervous because I liked you so much. And then…” He chuckled, leaning back a little, “you started laughing, and I was done for. I still remember your laugh from that night—how you tried to hide it with your hand, like you were embarrassed.”

You rolled your eyes, blushing. “I was! But then I saw the look on your face, like you were seeing something amazing. I don’t think anyone had ever looked at me like that before.” You glanced down, feeling the warmth spread through your body, then looked back up at him with a soft smile. “I think that’s when I started to fall for you.”

You continued talking about that night, each detail unfolding like pages in a cherished storybook. Felix told you how he’d noticed the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed, how your voice softened when you talked about things that mattered to you, and how when you left the café that night, he’d already known he wanted to hold your hand, even though he was too shy to make the first move.

As you finished your drinks, Felix leaned in, his voice low and sincere. “That night…I knew it was only the beginning. And now, every time I’m with you, I feel the same way.”

You squeezed his hand, your heart full. “I feel it too.”

You sat in quiet contentment for a moment, watching the café come to life around you, the other customers and clinking glasses a comforting backdrop. Finally, Felix took your hand again, helping you up, and together you left the café, stepping out into the evening light.

The sky was painted in soft hues of pink and gold as you began your walk to the park just a few blocks away. You walked in a companionable silence, hand in hand, as the sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow over the trees that lined the path. The air was crisp and tinged with the faint scent of autumn leaves. As you strolled along the winding trails, Felix pulled you a little closer, wrapping his arm around your shoulders.

You meandered down paths you had walked three years ago, paths where you’d once laughed nervously, unsure of where things would lead. But now, you walked with an ease and familiarity that only time and love could bring, each step feeling as natural as breathing.

As you reached a clearing where the last light of day settled over the lake, Felix stopped and turned to you, a warm, tender smile on his face. He brushed a stray hair from your cheek, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than usual.

“Three years ago, I didn’t know what life would be like with you,” he murmured, his voice soft. “But now…I can’t imagine my life without you.”

You looked into his eyes, your own heart full as you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Neither can I,” you whispered.

You continued your walk as the last rays of sunlight faded, your hands entwined as naturally as if you had been made to fit together.

As you strolled along the path, the world around you grew quiet, the soft rustling of leaves and the gentle hum of crickets filling the air. The evening light faded to dusk, casting a peaceful glow over the park. Eventually, you approached a secluded spot where a small pond lay nestled among trees. The water was still, reflecting the fading colours of the sky above, and a faint mist rose from its surface, lending an ethereal beauty to the scene.

Felix slowed, glancing over at you as if gauging the perfect moment. He gently squeezed your hand, bringing you to a stop beside the pond’s edge. The serene quiet seemed to stretch between you, amplifying the sound of your heartbeat, and for a moment, you simply stood there, wrapped in the warmth of each other’s presence.

Finally, Felix turned to face you, his expression tender and serious. “I have one more memory for us to make tonight,” he said, his voice soft but carrying a depth of emotion that made your heart skip a beat.

Your breath caught, your pulse quickening as you saw him reach into his jacket pocket, your mind racing with the possibilities of what this moment could hold. Your eyes widened as his hand emerged, holding a small velvet box—a box that, even before it opened, seemed to hold a thousand promises. You could feel your heart flutter wildly, your gaze locked on his face as he took a deep, steadying breath and with a graceful certainty, dropped down onto one knee.

The world around you faded, leaving only the two of you together. His gaze fixed on yours with such love and vulnerability that your eyes filled with tears. In the soft glow of dusk, Felix looked up at you, his expression a beautiful blend of hope and devotion, but you could see the flicker of nerves in his eyes, a touch of uncertainty that made him all the more endearing.

“Y/n,” he began, his voice steady but thick with feeling, “for three years, you’ve filled my life with laughter, love, and more happiness than I could ever hope for.” His hand, still holding the box, trembled slightly as he spoke, his gaze never leaving yours. “You’ve made me feel more understood, more whole, and more alive than I ever knew I could be. I want to keep walking this path with you—for as many years as you’ll have me.”

He opened the small box, revealing a delicate, shimmering ring nestled inside—a perfect symbol of the life he wanted to share with you. The diamond caught the fading light, casting a small glimmer between you, but you barely saw it; all you could focus on was Felix, his face filled with so much love and hope.

“Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, each word carrying the weight of his love for you.

Your heart overflowed, your hand flying to your mouth as you took in the depth of his words, the sincerity in his gaze. Your vision blurred with tears, and you nodded, a joyful, choked laugh escaping you as you found your voice. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice full of emotion, then, louder, “Yes, Felix. Yes, I’ll marry you!”

A radiant smile spread across his face as he rose to his feet, and you threw your arms around him, holding him tightly as he slipped the ring onto your finger. You stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, feeling as if the world had stopped just for you, as if time itself wanted to savour this perfect moment.

In that quiet spot by the pond, as the first stars appeared in the sky above, you shared a gentle, lingering kiss—a kiss that promised a lifetime of memories still to be made, side by side.

As you sat down, wrapping your arms around each other, time seemed to slow, as if the whole universe was holding its breath to honour the moment you had just shared. The soft glow of the fading sunset bathed everything around you in warm, golden light, casting long shadows across the ground. The trees whispered in the breeze, their leaves rustling gently, as though nature itself was quietly celebrating their love.

Felix held you close, his cheek resting against the top of your head, the warmth of your body pressed against his. You sat in peaceful silence, the air between you filled with unspoken words. There was something so right, so completely perfect about this moment. It was as if you had circled back to where it all began—this very path where you’d walked together three years ago, sharing tentative smiles, shy glances, and stories of your lives. Now, you sat side by side in the stillness, your hearts beating together, knowing you had just created something even more special.

You leaned back slightly, your fingers gently tracing the edge of the ring on your finger, still overwhelmed by the beauty of what had just happened. You looked up at Felix, your eyes soft and filled with emotion. He gazed back at you with the same tenderness, the same love that had been there from the very beginning. There was no rush, no need to say anything else. In that quiet, sacred moment, you understood that you had just created another memory on this path—a memory to join all the others that had led you here, to this place where you had chosen to build your future together.

It was as if the entire evening had been a beautiful thread, weaving together your past, your present, and your future. The setting sun, now sinking below the horizon, cast its last rays over you, and you realised that this memory would too be one you carried in your hearts forever. Just like all the others—your first date, your first kiss, the moments of joy and challenges you had faced together—it would stay with you, a constant reminder of how far you had come and how deeply you loved each other.

Hi hiiii, 2nd fic kinda nervous. This wasn't the one I thought I was gonna post but I felt like the other one was taking too long to finish so I decided to just post this one for now :3 This one actually has a happy ending since I managed to break all your hearts last time 🥲 I hope you guys enjoy it!

#stray kids#bang chan#bang chan x reader#stray kids imagines#bang chan x y/n#skz x reader#skz imagines#stray kids angst#bang chan angst#bang chan imagines#skz x female reader#skz fanfic#skz angst#chan x y/n#skz fic#stray kids x you#chan angst#chan fic#chan x female reader#chan x male reader#chan x g/n reader#skz x male reader

[fashionteahouse]

rumors - jacob x reader

The words that flowed to you, went unnoticed. Your eyes had a mind of their own as you caught sight of the figure that walked past the living room.

“Isn’t that crazy?” Rachel says to you as she laughs a bit, giving you the cue that the story was over.

“Yeah.” you say as you look at your hands, feeling a bit guilty about not paying attention.

Rachel turns and yells out Jacob’s name.

“What?” he answers back from the kitchen.

“Bring me and Y/N something to drink.” she demanded in a sisterly way.

You didn’t expect the shirtless figure to emerge already with two unopened drinks and plop them on Rachel’s lap as he walks back out, still being able to flow out, “You’re so lazy.”

“Whatever.” she dismissed off. She raises the television remote as she pressed on it.

A trashy reality television show comes on that catches both you and her attention. The intro music blasts through the lower level of the home.

This was your first time in La Push, Rachel begging you to come with her on her visit home. She was vocal about not liking to return home a lot, you felt bad as you listened to her father pleading for her to come see him. You tell her you would go with her, she relents.

Jacob then reappears as his face screws into a grimace, “Don’t tell me you still watch that crap.”

He couldn’t help but stand by and watch as the two loud women on the screen yell about one another as you and Rachel watch with great enjoyment, wondering what’s going to happen next.

You both shush him, completely zombified in the plot of the show. Rolling his eyes, he makes his way to his bedroom.

Later that night, you and Rachel made dinner for Jacob and Billy. Bantering happened around the table as Billy soaked the moment in. He didn’t want the week to end.

As Jacob washed the dishes and Rachel wheeled Billy into the living room, you sneak by Jacob and poke his side. Folding a bit, he groans playfully, “I hate when you do that.”

He then takes a bit of soap suds and swipe it on your cheek.

Laughing, you say, “I should hate when you do that.”

He reaches with one hand to tickle your side as you laugh again.

You just didn’t understand it, you waved to Jacob as he came through Emily’s doorway. He completely ignored you as if you didn’t exist.

Looking over, Rachel didn’t notice as she chattered with Emily about a new cooking book that Emily had on her table.

Scooting your chair back a bit, there’s room enough for you to rise and follow Jacob. In the backyard, he’s laughing with Embry about something. He hears the back door close and turns to see that it’s you. Both laughing stops to a pause as both him and Embry go silent.

You stand close to Jacob. Not backing down, he finally looks to you and you bring a small smile, “Wouldn’t hurt to say hi back.” you say.

He just nods his greeting as his lips are pressed into a thin line.

You turn to move away but you’re bumped into a hard chest. Stepping back, you mutter out a sorry as they chuckle and place a large hand on your back.

“What? You’re not going to stay out here with us?” the voice then asks you, the voice belonging to Jared.

You shake your head, “Mm, no.” Still a bit bummed by Jacob’s reaction. Things were just okay and the complete 180 was totally unexpected.

Things were like that almost the entire time on the entire time you and Rachel were there.

It wasn’t until the days were counting down to slim moments and you needed your answers answered.

At a bonfire, finally catching him alone, you tell him, “I need to talk to you.”

“For what?”

Taken a back a bit, you furrow your eyebrows, “Why the sudden coldness?”

He takes his time to bring himself to say what he has to say. You’re patient.

Finally he says, “You and Rach will go back.. and life will be boring again.”

You go silent as you felt sympathetic.

“Plus, I wish…” he starts to say but cuts his own self off.

“You wish what?” you softly ask.

Huffing out a sigh, “I wish we had more time.”

You were a bit shocked, you still wanted to make sure, “We as in..”

He takes his hand as he points to you and to him.

Looking down, you’re flattered. However, you had a life in another city. After all, he was your best friend’s brother and you didn’t even know how to feel about such confession.

You shyly take his hand, it felt very nice and warm. He automatically keeps a nice grasp of it. His eyes never leave yours as you gaze up at him.

“I like it when you look at me like that.” he says.

A deep wave of excitement float through your body as your cheeks feel very hot.

He then tugs your arm a bit to invite you closer to him as you allow your feet to take those steps forward.

It felt nice being crushed against him with his arms as you let your arms snake around him as well. Deep rubs with his rough but gentle hands glide upon your back as your eyes flutter at such feeling.

He was so warm and you both didn’t want to let go. Not caring about the bonfire.

“He’s so cute.” Rachel whispers to you as you both lie in bed. Feelings were at an all time high with both of you.

“Is it like like or just likeee.” you whisper back.

“Like like.” she whispers.

“Wow.” you say.

“I was trying to look for you but I didn’t see you.” she says in a hushed.

“Oh, I just took a walk.” you whisper quietly, glad that it was dark.

Rachel then goes on to whisper, “Oh my gosh. I have to leave him soon. Of course I fall for Paul when it’s almost time to leave.”

Oh, how you resonated with such statement with the person you started to fall for was Jacob.

The glances were heated but only for you. You tried your best to ignore them. Only talking to Rachel so you wouldn’t fall under pressure.

With Billy away with Charlie Swan fishing, Rachel dashed to wear her best clothes. You sat there as she excitedly applied something to her lips as she told you how nervous but excited she was.

“Just breathe. You look hot.” you say as she takes breaths to slow down her adrenaline.

Jacob opened the door with Paul waiting behind.

“Anything happens to her, it’s your ass.” Jacob says meaning every inch of it. Paul doesn’t take it serious, he already knew that he found what he was looking for.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on, Rach.” Paul says as Rachel steps to take his hand.

Over her shoulder, she throws you an excited look as you give her a supportive smile.

With your arm resting on Jacob’s shoulder, you watch with amusement as Paul closes the front door.

Jacob didn’t like Paul but only liked him just for tonight. With Paul liking his sister and dragging her out on a date, it got him to finally be alone with you.

Since that night you both held each other at the bonfire, you both were dying to see what the other one tasted like.

Your hands rest on his shoulders as he took the lead in choreographing the rhythm. His hands cradled your neck as he tilted your head, sucking in tongue gently.

He didn’t know if it was a good idea, but he felt like it was appropriate to pull back. He saw for himself the wave of disappointment that swam in your eyes.

Not knowing why he stopped, you soon understood as he gently pulled you into his bedroom.

You gratefully soaked him in as his mouth and hands went back to your body.

The morning came when it was time for Rachel and yourself to leave. Rachel was supposed to set the alarm but she set it to PM instead of AM.

Packing in a frenzy to not be late, you both hoped for the best of making sure to pack everything. Giving her father a quick kiss she tugged your hand as you both fled out of the home to leave.

His mood was tilted all around. Pack brothers gave him his space. Shooting down their efforts to make him feel better, he wanted to be alone.

They understood.

“There was no goodbye.”

That’s what kept pounding in his head.

Hanging out at Sam and Emily’s made him not want to come over as much. Paul would be over and he would have to listen to the lovey dovey talk between the two.

Tired of being in the unknown with when he could touch the possibility of seeing you again, he bit the bullet and asked Paul, “Do you know if Rachel is going to at least come back soon?”

“She hasn’t talked about that.” Paul admits.

Jacob felt frustrated.

The months rolled slowly it seemed.

A knock on his front door confused him as his father wheeled to the door. Opening the door, revealed Charlie’s daughter.

The two childhood friends sat on the sofa together as he half listened to her updates on life.

He was thankful when she suggested the beach.

The two walked together as Jacob let his attention travel to the game. Paul and Jared tossed a football game back and forth.

Paul’s phone buzzes and abandons such game as he answers to hear Rachel’s voice.

You were near as you tidied up a bit as you heard Rachel ask him, “Who's all there?”

You were stuck. You were excited when he mentioned Jacob had joined him and Jared at the beach. Feeling a tinge of jealousy, you waited until Rachel got off the phone to ask, “Who’s Bella?”

“God, he’s had a crush on her since forever.” she says.

You don’t let her see the crushed feeling you felt. The way that she said it, showed how strong the crush was. Of course he would wait until after you left.

Later that night, Jacob called Rachel’s phone. With her preoccupations, she tells you that you could answer it and tell him that she’s busy.

Answering it, the voice that spoke out gave you a familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“She’s not busy. She just doesn’t want to speak to me.” he says not surprised.

Not meaning to, a small giggle escapes from you but he says, “I’d rather talk to you. Take this number.”

This sobers you up as you agree and the line goes dead.

“I don’t want to step on any toes.”

You type to him. If his heart was set on Bella Swan, there was just no way you were getting in the middle of that.

“How?”

Jacob types. He was confused. He thought you would’ve agreed to come back to La Push soon. Not wanting to wait for your digital response, he calls you.

“We can’t.” you tell him.

“Why not? Don’t you feel something for me?”

You didn’t want to lie but you tell him, “If you want to still be with Bella, it’s okay.”

“What? I don’t. Don’t tell you believe the rumors.” he says. He already knew that you were on his radar, making him have no interest in pursuing Bella any longer.

“I don’t want to give you my heart just for you not to appreciate it.” you tell him.

“I would never not appreciate it. You’re who I want to be with. I really want to you come to La Push.” he says, genuinely feeling all of his words that he speaks out.

Rachel was surprised at the pressure you put on to go back.

“I really enjoyed it there.” you tell her as she finally agrees. She secretly was glad, getting to finally see Paul again.

Last time you arrived, you gave Billy a hug first. This time, you were crushed into a hug by Jacob first. Your feet were off the ground as the bear hug he had you in was tight. Placing a delicate kiss on your neck.

You hear snickering as you pull back to look.

“You could’ve just told me that you enjoyed Jake. Rather than saying you enjoyed La Push.” Rachel says humorously as she looks between the two of you.

As much as you wanted to, your sheepish feelings couldn’t pour out. Jacob kept an arm around you, he didn’t want to let you go. You both couldn’t help to gaze with devotion towards one another.

[evolnoomym]

Birds of a Feather 🌙☀️

General Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: A peek into the future.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 0.8 k

Authors note: First of all Happy Birthday to my Wife @joelmillerisapunk and myself, I love you so much Sunshine (we are literally Scorpio twins) 🫶🏻 This was supposed to be something else, a whole multi-chapter Fic based around this couple (which I still plan on writing) but as you know my life kinda changed completely so I was busy with taking care of that instead. I hope y’all like this little gift I’ve prepared.

Warnings: no use of y/n, Female reader, Female OC, FFM, beautiful domestic vibes, getting married, implied age-gap, cock lol, throuple,

Shoutout to @saradika @strangergraphics and @steddiecameraroll-graphics 💛

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. You are always welcome to talk with me about my writing. In general I appreciate comments, likes and reblogs greatly. 🫶🏻

If someone would’ve told you that your future is gonna look like this you would’ve never believed it. So full of love, happiness and joy, exactly what you deserve after all these painful years. You finally get to wake up and be happy about it. Free of the past that kept dragging you down into the abyss. Meeting Sunny changed everything, you spend hours day after day talking to her and never once getting tired of each other. Love at first sight. Within months the decision was made to leave everything behind, runaway and move in with her.

It may seem rushed to others, but not once since then did you regret leaving. Sunny and you quickly fell into a blissful domestic routine, waking up together in bed, making breakfast for each other, cleaning the house like maniacs together and let’s not forget about those countless trips to Costco while listening to music you both loved. Movie nights cuddled up on the couch, tending to the vegetable garden in the backyard and all the dates Sunny planned, showing off the beautiful hidden spots of her town.

Of course one day the topic of getting married came up and it wasn’t surprising that the both of you had similar dreams, tying the knot in Italy. A month after that conversation Sunny got down on one knee and popped the question, which of course you immediately said yes to. A couple weeks after she slipped that moon shaped diamond down your finger it was time to walk down the aisle. It was a small ceremony. One of the best days in your life, one you won’t ever forget. The day you married the love of your life.

A year has since passed and if someone, again, would’ve told you that it will get even better you would have not believed it.

Life was already pretty perfect, but then you met Joel Miller that fateful night, 6 months ago, at the local bar. Sunny and you had talked about sharing someone but the opportunity never came. Joel however was different from those other guys, his interest was not driven by perversion, no, he was genuine and respectful. A mature man who knows what it takes to make a gal happy. Broad shoulders, strong arms, the sweetest brown eyes and luscious brown locks streaked with grey.

In the beginning you felt like a traitor for feeling the way you did about Joel.

Sunny ever the Angel reassured you each time that you are not a bad person for loving more than one person, after all she loved him too.

Those doubts feel silly now as you stand in the kitchen of the house you three share. Glancing out of the big window above the countertop you can see Sunny in the garden outstretched on a big blanket. She’s soaking up the last rays of sunlight and the golden hues make her look so angelic. It’s November 10th, her birthday and yours too.

You quietly step out onto the porch, tiptoeing over to her, she seems to sense your presence and opens her eyes. “Hii Babygirl,” Sunny’s sweet voice greets you. As you sink down to your knees, she sits up on her knees and slides her arms around your waist. “What did you do inside?” Sunny asks after pressing her soft lips on yours. “I cleaned the kitchen,” you try to lean in for another kiss “Wait I already cleaned the kitchen this morning,” Sunny pulls back and tilts her head questioning “are you okay Baby?” She knows you so well. “Yeah I’m just nervous, do you think he has something planned for us?”

Sunny chuckles “I sure hope he does or else he won’t get his cock sucked tonight,” her boldness still makes you blush furiously “ awww Baby no need to get shy, it’s okay I know you love that cock.” She smirks and you can only nod bashful.

“Yes, but shouldn’t he do something to us?” You pout your lips and Sunny takes the opportunity to kiss you again. She strokes through your hair gently “He will definitely do something to us, but that gift you want probably the most has to wait for a little longer.”

“I know, maybe we can give him that for his birthday?” You suggest in a giddy tone.

“Would it really be a surprise if he’s actively involved in making that gift?” She retorts.

“No, but you know what I mean.”

“Yes I do, let’s talk about it with him okay sweet cheeks?” You nod.

Sunny’s attention is pulled to something behind you “Speaking of the devil,” Sunny smiles and points to something behind you.

When you whip around you see Joel with two huge bouquets in his arms, a big smile on his face and even after he’s worked a hard shift he still looks breathtakingly handsome. And when he opens his mouth to bless your ears with his deep Texas drawl you are immediately put at ease.

“There are my two pretty girls, now who’s ready for a Birthday Party?”

Friends: @beefrobeefcal @pedrospatch @penvisions @tightjeansjavi @aurorawritestoescape @milla-frenchy @strang3lov3 @guiltyasdave @xdaddysprincessxx @mountainsandmayhem @mrsmando @iamasaddie @syd-djarin @msjarvis @mermaidgirl30 @noxturnalnymph @sizzlingcloudmentality @the-mandawhor1an @yorksgirl @sin-djarin @thundermartini @clawdee @almostfoxglove @ace-turned-confused @always-andromeda @sawymredfox @morallyinept @ovaryacted @toxicanonymity @luxurychristmaspudding @rivnedell @moonlitbirdie @zloshy @sixhours @merz-8 @punkshort @beardedjoel @sp00kymulderr @joelslegalwhre @baronessvonglitter @tonysopranosrobe @pedropeach @ozarkthedog @joelsdagger @whocaresstillthelouvre @littlemisspascal

©️ evolnoomym 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

[mydearestbeloved]

Chapter 9 [Draft]

Sung Jinwoo/Trial Player!Reader

CW:

Inspired by @circeyoru ‘s “Future Power Couple”

[Masterlist🦋✨️]

Jinwoo had been mulling over a simple, yet increasingly puzzling question: How does one even contact you?

Despite weeks of fighting together, not once had he taken the initiative to reach out. The strange thing? You two hadn’t even exchanged numbers. You either planned your next raid before parting ways, or—more recently—you would simply show up because of your own schedule, or a butterfly of yours would come to him first.

The answer came to him, in a way that felt both obvious and absurd. Your butterflies.

Jinwoo wasn’t one to wait idly for answers, so he decided to test his theory. Concentrating on the familiar presence of your aura, he extended his hand, replicating that feeling in his mind. Moments later, one of your butterflies—the one that often remained hidden nearby, perhaps acting as your eyes—fluttered into view, landing lightly on his open palm.

Its wings faltered slightly, as if in acknowledgment.

This might actually work.

Closing his eyes, Jinwoo focused on the connection he had felt before, the distinct feeling of the red butterfly communicating with him.

Take me to her.

He didn’t know if it would respond, but soon enough, the butterfly took off, guiding him through the city.

---

He found you in the Hunter’s Market, haggling with a merchant. You were engaged in a rather intense back-and-forth, and judging by the merchant’s begrudging look, you were winning. In your hands, Jinwoo caught sight of what looked like a dormant magic beast egg, likely the reason for the negotiation.

"You're late."

You greeted him without even turning around, continuing to inspect the wares. Jinwoo raised an eyebrow. Not even a flicker of surprise from you. It was becoming clear that not much could catch you off guard.

By now, he was getting used to your way of doing things. "I need to talk to you."

There was an unspoken understanding between you that this wasn’t a conversation for public ears.

As you continued to browse the market, you hummed in acknowledgment. "I need to talk to you about some things too. Let’s continue this conversation in my domain. I’ll be done here in a few."

Jinwoo froze, staring at your back in confusion.

“Domain?"

"Dungeon," you corrected nonchalantly, still focused on the items displayed before you, your words casual as if you were discussing the weather.

Jinwoo’s brain paused for a moment.

"You own a dungeon?"

At that, you paused, a beat of silence passing before you turned toward him with a curious tilt of your head. "Did I never mention it before?"

"..."

"Ah."

For a split second, Jinwoo had the very distinct and rare urge to pinch your cheek. But instead, he just stared, half-amused, half-incredulous. You owned a dungeon, and you were mentioning it in the most off-handed way possible.

Of course, you would be the kind of person to forget to bring up owning something like that.

And just like that, another piece of the puzzle that was you fell into place, though Jinwoo knew he had only barely scratched the surface.

---

Jinwoo couldn't help but feel a rising sense of disbelief as he followed you into the alley. He had barely come to terms with the revelation that you owned a dungeon. Even now, he had to force himself to stop asking questions before they overwhelmed him.

He kept telling himself, Stay calm. Just get to a private place. Ask your questions there.

But, of course, fate had other plans.

As if summoned by his very thoughts, a glowing portal materialized in front of them with a soft hum. Jinwoo froze mid-step, his eyes widening. The gate was far smaller than the typical ones he had encountered, just big enough to fit a full-grown adult comfortably—yet there was no mistaking it for anything but a dungeon gate. The shimmering silver-white wisps that surrounded it were unlike any other, almost blending with rainbow-like accents at the edges. It looked... strange, subdued compared to the usual ethereal blues and reds, but somehow still powerful.

It was just his luck.

Jinwoo had been trying to push the thousand and one questions flooding his mind to the back of his thoughts, but now, they came rushing back in full force. He glanced at you, but you didn’t even seem phased by the sudden appearance of the portal. Instead, you waved him forward, as if portals and dungeons appeared in alleyways every day.

He hesitated for a split second but, deciding it was better to follow your lead than be left behind in confusion, he stepped forward, his senses alert. The instant he crossed the threshold of the gate, everything seemed to shift. The world around him blurred for a second before stabilizing again, and he found himself standing in a vast open temple-like structure.

It was nothing like the harsh, ominous dungeons he’d been to before.

The structure was grand, with high ceilings and pillars that seemed to stretch endlessly upwards. The atmosphere had an air of serenity to it, something so starkly different from what he expected when entering a dungeon. But it didn’t end there. As he followed you forward, stepping through what looked like the entrance of a colossal, ancient temple, Jinwoo’s gaze was drawn outward.

The view beyond the floating temple was breathtaking.

The sight was nothing short of a dreamscape. Lush forests and vast gardens stretched far beyond what the eye could see. Gentle rivers meandered through valleys, their sparkling waters catching the sunlight. Towering, misty mountains loomed in the distance, and there were labyrinthine paths that seemed to lead into hidden areas, mysterious domed structures rising proudly in the distance. The land appeared to have been untouched by time, ancient and majestic in its quiet beauty.

It felt more like a paradise than any dungeon Jinwoo had ever seen.

This is a dungeon?

"I know, right?" you spoke, breaking his thoughts, your voice playful. "Trust me, the first time I got here, I thought I was dead and that this was paradise."

Jinwoo’s eyes flicked to you in surprise.

But you continued walking calmly ahead without a glance back, seeming completely at ease, at home.

This place, this dungeon, was a paradox. It was both beautiful and dangerous, serene and lethal. As you moved forward, he couldn’t help but make comparisons. It reminded him of the butterflies—so ethereal, so delicate, yet with a deadly bite.

Like you, Jinwoo realized.

As if sensing his thoughts, you shot him a brief glance over your shoulder. Your eyes caught his for a moment before you turned back ahead, leading him forward through the landscape. Jinwoo shook his head, his thoughts momentarily swirling. But something made him froze in his steps.

He watched you from behind, the soft fluttering of butterflies surrounding you, some of them trailing closely behind, others flitting about aimlessly.

One butterfly, the familiar red one, fluttered close to you and landed delicately on your finger. You brought it up to your lips and kissed it gently, a soft, quiet action that felt impossibly tender.

Divine.

Jinwoo couldn’t help but wonder again, and for some reason, his pulse quickened. But, before he could dwell too much on his absurd thoughts, he shook his head and hurried to catch up with you.

---

The two of you continued walking until you reached a beautiful outdoor gazebo. The serene atmosphere of the garden, complete with a quiet pond surrounded by vibrant flowers, made it feel just like the rest of this space shouldn’t had been, a paradise. The soft trickle of water from nearby waterfalls added to the peaceful ambiance. On the table in front of the gazebo, there was tea and snacks laid out, ready for the conversation he knew he had to have with you.

Jinwoo sat down across from you, his mind buzzing with questions. He had so many things he wanted to know, and yet, he wasn’t sure where to start.

You, on the other hand, took a sip of your tea, completely at ease, before setting it down. You studied him quietly for a moment, perhaps waiting for him to speak first.

It took a moment, but Jinwoo finally asked, "This place... this dungeon. How did you come to own it?"

You sighed, leaning back in your chair, looking out over the garden for a moment as if gathering your thoughts. "Ah, yes. The story of how I got this place. It’s not simple, but I suppose I owe you an explanation."

You paused, seeming to gather yourself. "The truth is, this dungeon was here long before I ever arrived. In fact, I... was lost here when I was a child."

Jinwoo blinked, surprised. You—lost?

You continued, seemingly unfazed by his reaction. "I was barely a teen when I stumbled into it. The Trial System... it didn’t exactly help me, if you know what I mean. But it gave me a challenge I couldn’t ignore. To leave this place, I had to defeat the dungeon’s guardians."

Guardians? Bosses? Multiple?

You caught his gaze, raising an eyebrow as if to ask if that was a question. Jinwoo didn’t say anything, but his mind whirled. It was clear that this place wasn’t like any other dungeon he’d ever encountered.

"So, how did you own it?" he asked, his voice quieter now, as if trying to make sense of this all.

“The Trial System gave it to me as a... reward, I guess,” you said, a faint smile playing on your lips. "It’s mine now, in every sense of the word. And because I own it, I can summon it whenever I need to. I can open a portal to it and leave at will." You looked at him, eyes gleaming. "That’s how I was able to summon that gate earlier. It’s a... special gift."

Jinwoo absorbed the information, slowly piecing it together. "So, you can teleport anywhere?”

“Not exactly, I need to have a clear picture of where I want to go." You shrugged nonchalantly.

Jinwoo exhaled sharply, his thoughts swirling. As much as he wanted to ask more—wanted to demand answers—he felt something within him pull him back. This was your secret to reveal, in your own time.

So, instead of questioning you further, he allowed himself a moment of quiet contemplation. You seemed to know what he was thinking. With a soft smile, you raised your cup again and said, "I don’t mind sharing more, Jinwoo. But just know, some things are better left unsaid.”

Jinwoo nodded, his gaze lingering on you. He would get the answers he was looking for, one way or another. But for now, he would have to trust you—because there was no other choice.

---

Jinwoo stared at you, completely flabbergasted, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "You have to what now?"

You sighed, sinking a bit deeper into the seat of the gazebo, as if this whole conversation were some kind of exhausting memory you'd rather not dig up. "I have to level up my skills manually. Yes. Manually."

You could almost see the gears turning in his head as he tried to wrap his mind around it. "Wait, so… no shortcuts? No automatic leveling?"

"None." You let out a dramatic groan, leaning back and stretching your arms out. "The system basically made me work my way up through blood, sweat, and endless labor. You’d think the trial version would offer at least some quality-of-life updates, but nope. If I wanted to get better at farming, I had to actually go out and till the fields. If I wanted to improve cooking… yeah, let’s just say that was a nightmare."

Jinwoo blinked, half in shock, half in amusement. "Wait… so, all those skills that the system grants—crafting, mining, cooking—you had to actually do all those things?"

"Yep," you replied, with a roll of your eyes. "No instant boosts for me. While you get to succeed or fail with crafting based on your intelligence stat, I actually had to sit down and grind every skill point myself. And, of course, I started off just as badly as you’d expect.”

He tried to picture it and stifled a laugh. "So you’re telling me… you burned a boiled egg?”

"Listen," you huffed, giving him an exasperated look. "It was the lowest-level cooking skill, okay? Apparently, it was so low that I couldn't even be trusted to make something as simple as a boiled egg. Somehow, it just… burned." You buried your face in your hands, grumbling, "It’s still a mystery to me how boiling water and an egg turned into charcoal. But that was my life. Trial version for the win."

Jinwoo couldn’t hold back his laugh anymore, and the sound of it filled the air, rich and full of genuine amusement. "You? Burning an egg? You?"

"Hey, don’t laugh! It’s not funny," you protested and pouted at him. "Let’s just say I made my fair share of… tragic cooking attempts before my skill level got high enough to handle basic meals without a disaster."

You watched him try to stifle his laughter, but your own lips twitched, betraying a smile as well. "And it wasn’t just cooking," you added. "Farming was another story. I didn’t even know the basics—soil preparation, crop rotation, pest control. Do you have any idea how long it took me to produce anything that wasn't... wilted? Even mining was brutal. There I was, chipping away with an old pickaxe for hours just to get a sliver of ore."

He shook his head, still grinning. "Looks like you went through your own personal training arc as well."

"Of course I do." you agreed with a snort. "If the system hadn’t taken feedback from me eventually, you’d be the one cursing it out every time you tried to do something simple. But yeah, thankfully, the system decided to cut you a break. Guess my suffering counted for something, after all."

You straightened in your seat and took a sip of your tea, a satisfied smirk crossing your face. "But at least, once I got a skill to a decent level, it stayed there. Permanent. I don’t have to touch a frying pan for years, and the skill level’s still as good as ever. And the skills I invested in heavily—those have even broader effects."

Jinwoo’s brow furrowed, curious now. "Broader effects?"

You nodded, glancing up thoughtfully as if reliving memories. "Take my language skill, for example. I leveled it up while studying Monster Tongue, which was excruciating at first. But once I maxed out that skill, learning other languages was a breeze. The system gave me a boost, kind of like an automatic enhancement for anything similar. If I tried learning another language now, it’d be easy compared to when I first started out.”

He gave a low whistle. "So basically, the more you leveled up, the easier it became to learn things related to that skill?"

"Exactly." You placed your cup back on the saucer with a gentle clink. "Though there’s a catch. Back then, whenever the system went through an update, some skills would get expanded. The cap would get set higher, and I’d have to grind all over again to max them out."

You gave him a look of exasperation. "Imagine maxing out a skill only for the system to update and say, 'Hey, you can go up to Level 50 now instead of 30!' That happened so many times, I lost count."

Jinwoo leaned back, his expression growing more serious. "So… what happens now? Are you stuck with your current stats forever?"

You took a slow breath, letting the question sink in before nodding. "That’s exactly it. Since the trial stage ended when you became the player, there haven’t been any more updates. My levels, skills, and stats… they’re frozen as they are. I can’t adjust my stats, I can’t level anything up, that’s why I don’t get EXP anymore. It’s like I’m in a kind of… stasis."

He was silent for a moment, digesting the weight of that statement. It was strange to think that someone with as much knowledge and power as you would be… limited.

"I still have everything I gained during the trial, of course," you continued, your tone turning thoughtful as you gazed out over the garden. "But it’s a strange feeling, knowing that I’ll never improve again. All my stats, skills, and levels are frozen in time. There’s no ‘growth’ anymore—not like what you have."

Jinwoo frowned. "And that doesn’t bother you?"

You shrugged, meeting his eyes again. "It did, at first. But after a while, I came to terms with it. I put in the effort back then, and I reaped the rewards. Sure, I miss the feeling of progress, of leveling up. But the fact that you’re the player now means the system’s finished with me." You managed a smile, though it was a bit bittersweet.

He looked at you, quiet for a moment, perhaps feeling a hint of the sacrifice you'd made just for the sake of his journey.

"So now," you said, breaking the silence with a brighter tone, "I’m basically a living relic of the trial version, here to help you navigate the system’s quirks."

Jinwoo smirked at that. "The legendary burnt-egg chef, my official guide through the system."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "That title better not stick." Then, with a playful nudge of your cup in his direction, you raised an eyebrow. "And hey, if I’m going to help you, maybe you could use a few pointers. Starting with, oh, I don’t know… naming tips? You’re downright horrible at that."

The two of you shared a look, both of you smiling. And despite the strange circumstances, Jinwoo knew he was glad to have you by his side, guiding him, burnt eggs and all.

[Oh, he’ll not let that go, will he?]

“And whose fault do you think that is?”

---

"The meals with healing properties, the intricate mana stones, and how your butterflies can affect my daggers' stats... So that's why..." Jinwoo trailed off, connecting the dots.

You nodded, munching on a biscuit. "Mhm, pretty much. Since I have to actually *learn* the fundamentals of each skill, I can manipulate and craft related items more easily. It makes altering, replicating, or even making things from scratch a lot more natural."

You paused, reflecting for a moment before continuing, "It’s a blessing that the last system update allowed me to max out certain skills to the point where I can do these things in reality without relying solely on the system."

You brushed the crumbs from your fingers and leaned back, satisfied. "Anyway, that's all I wanted to tell you. Now, what is it you wanted to say?"

Jinwoo took a deep breath, locking eyes with you. "Join me for a week."

"...Eh?"

Without a word, he held up an item—a key.

<Castle Door Key>.

It was the entry to the Demon Castle, the S-rank dungeon created by the system itself.

"There’s no rule saying I can’t bring someone with me. You don’t gain any more experience, so there’s nothing for me to lose. But you might get materials you won’t find anywhere else, not even in the hunter's market—"

"I refuse."

Jinwoo blinked, surprised. "What?"

You looked away, your mind racing. The offer was tempting—you had several experiments in mind, but there was too much at stake. There were bigger forces at play—the plot, the system's interference, and Jinwoo's crucial development. You couldn’t afford to be too involved in this one. You needed a good excuse, something he would believe.

"Jinwoo," you began, "you’re aware of my powers' limitations, right?"

"What does that have to do with—"

"Listen." Your voice, suddenly sharp, cut through the air, and Jinwoo froze.

For the first time, Jinwoo felt uneasy, confused, like he had said something wrong. He didn’t like the shift in your demeanor, especially when it was directed at him.

"'Demon' Castle," you continued, your tone softer but firm, "just by the name alone, we can assume the majority, if not half, of enemies there will be undead."

"..."

"My powers thrive off life. In an essentially ‘dead’ land, I’ll be at a severe disadvantage—"

"I'll protect you."

"And that’s exactly the problem. I’ll be a deadweight."

"Just focus on supporting me and my shadows."

You stared at him, the determination in his eyes unwavering. He was serious—dead serious.

You rubbed your temples, feeling a headache coming on. "You’re really persistent."

"I know," he replied, not once backing down.

You exhaled, resigned. Deep down, you knew that continuing to refuse him would lead to something far more troublesome. There was no winning against Jinwoo when he was this determined. "Alright," you finally said, "I’ll join you. But if things go south, you have to trust me to pull back. Understood?"

As if you could leave him, the nagging thought echoed in your mind.

Jinwoo’s gaze softened slightly, and a small, rare smile crept onto his lips. "Understood."

You only hoped that the system wouldn’t interfere or cause any unexpected complications this time. But one question remained: why was Jinwoo so insistent on bringing you along, despite the risks?

Unbeknownst to you, Jinwoo was asking himself the same thing. But it was something he wasn’t quite ready to admit—not to you, and perhaps not even to himself.

End Note:

Unedited Draft of [023/10/2024] -

The middle part of this, the convo between Jinwoo and (Name) feels a bit weird, so I apologize for the OOC-ness. I'll come back to this later.

[1toreyouapart]

The Lies We Tell

***FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE. 18+ ONLY. MDNI. DO NOT READ IF YOU DON’T LIKE FANFIC THAT INVOLVES REAL PEOPLE***

Summary that tells you nothing: Sometimes everything you ever wanted has been right there, within reach, all along.

CW/TW: Angst, fluff, swearing, friends to lovers, jealousy, smut, fingering, PinV, pet names, friends with benefits, more to come as I actually get things written out.

Masterlist

First Encounter

Life had a funny way of happening sometimes. One moment you're crying in your best friend's arms, the next his lips are on yours and you're kissing him back like your life depends on it. And then everything comes to a standstill, and a week later neither of you can even look at each other. Over a stupid kiss. And your roommates and friends can feel the tension. See it. So much so that they all have mentioned it.

Quinn sighed, reaching across her bed for her phone. A week of sleeping, or rather not, in her own bed. Just a solid week of staring at the ceiling every night for hours on end. One week of Noah hiding in his room, not answering the door for her. Seven days of his bedroom door staying locked. Of hearing it creak open as she lay in her bed, wide awake, listening as he crept downstairs. An entire week of him avoiding her at all costs. Unanswered texts. Calls going straight to voicemail. No answering her knock on his door. Nobody joining her in the bathroom while she showered. He was just gone. And how was that fair? He had kissed her!

Her text from four hours ago had been read. No response. Just read. All that talk about how she deserved better and one stupid fucking kiss had him completely ghosting her? While she actively lived with him?! The fucking bastard.

Everything in her went cold. Leaving her phone on her bed she carefully climbed out of bed, avoiding the spots on her floor that creaked. He wanted to be a dick? Well, he could deal with the consequences instead of hiding.

With bated breath she tiptoed out of her room and across the hall. Slowly, carefully, she pressed her ear against his bedroom door, listening for signs of life. The faint sound of a movie starting reached her ears and she smiled. Caught him. With no hesitation she knocked, calling his name softly. No answer.

Frustrated she knocked and called his name louder. Still no answer. She knew it would be locked but she had to try anyway. The knob didn't turn. She wished she could blame rage for what she was about to do, but it was just hurt. He was the one person who never left. Never abandoned her. Always reminded her that life was worth living. And now he was acting like she didn't exist? After something he had initiated? That hurt more than anything.

"Noah!" She yelled, banging on his door. "I can fucking hear you! Answer me or I'm kicking the goddamn door down! You don't get to do this, too!"

Nicholas's door creaked open at the end of the hall, followed quickly by Noah yanking his bedroom door open and hauling her inside before he slammed it closed and locked it again. One look at him and she felt somewhat guilty. He looked like he'd barely slept, if at all.

"What the fuck, Quinn?!"

"You're seriously acting like I'm wrong here?! YOU kissed ME. And yes, I kissed you back! What the fuck of it?! It was a kiss, Noah!"

His large hand covered her mouth as he drug her over to his bed. Why in the fuck was he acting so paranoid? Quinn pushed him away, making a show of keeping her mouth shut as she sat on the edge of his bed. He wanted to play? She could play.

"Quinn. People are fucking sleeping. What the fuck?"

Noah dropped to his knees in front of her, his eyes pleading with her. For what she didn't know. But she watched as he repeatedly started to reach for her, then draw back. Noah had never been scared of touching her before. This was weird. Even for him.

"Seriously, Noah? You kiss me and then act like I don't exist? After telling me I deserve better? And then you go and act just like them? The fucking audacity!" She was yelling again. She didn't care.

Quinn watched as he drug his on hand down his face, rubbing his mouth. He was frustrated. Good. He deserved to be frustrated after this shit. Who did this over a stupid kiss? It wasn't like it had gone any further and crossed major friendship lines. Was she that fucked up that even a kiss was too much?

"Noah," she begged, her resolve breaking. "You're my best friend. It was just a fucking kiss. Please." Her voice shook, breath coming in short spurts. "I'm sorry I kissed you back? I'm sorry for whatever I did that made you this mad at me. I'm fucking sorry, Noah."

She completely dissolved. Clearly she had done something wrong. But what the fuck had she done?

"Quinn..."

"What did I do, Noah?!"

"Exist."

And then his lips crashed into hers, desperate. Pleading. She couldn't help but respond in kind, her fingers threading through his hair. Pulling him closer and closer still. They were all desperation and teeth and tongues, fighting for dominance. Just two people finally acting on the feelings they had always known were there. Desperate to be as close as possible, yet desperate to just consume each other.

Noah fisted his hand in her hair, the other gently caressing her cheek, his thumb resting just on the corner of her lips as he tugged, tipping her head back, gaining more access as her lips parted on a soft gasp. His tongue delved into her mouth, hungry, but gentle. Tasting every part of her. Memorizing every movement that made her moan. His free hand traveled slowly south, fingertips tracing over her throat, over her collarbone, hesitating at the swell of her breast.

Quinn tore her mouth from his, frustrated. Here he was, finally touching her, and he was stopping?

"Noah. I swear to fucking God," she pleaded.

"What do you want, baby?"

His eyes locked on hers and she saw everything there. Everything he had been fighting the last week. All the things he had been avoiding. This moment here. He wanted her. And he wanted her desperately. Just as much as she wanted him.

"Touch me," she begged, her voice barely above a whisper.

He broke then, his mouth attacking her throat, biting and licking and sucking. And she was helpless against him. They tumbled back on the bed together, pressure already building deep within her. His free hand quickly slid down, much further down than she anticipated or needed, resting on her bare inner thigh. His fingertips danced across her skin, tracing lazy patterns.

"Noah," she begged, pressing her body against his, feeling herself grow impossibly wetter by the second.

He didn't make her beg anymore. Deft fingers shoved her panties aside, a single digit rubbing lazy circles on her clit. The pressure deep inside her quickly turned into a tight band, ready to snap. She was so close already that she nearly panicked. It had never been this intense before, and he wasn't even inside her yet.

"Fuck," he groaned, slipping a single finger inside her. "You're so fucking wet. Jesus Christ, Quinn."

Everything was on fire. Her skin. Her lungs. One of those long fingers she'd admired for years was deep inside her, stroking her in just the right spot as it pumped in and out of her. And just when she thought it couldn't get any better he slipped another finger inside her, and she swore she blacked out for a second as he curled his fingers inside of her, applying more pressure to that spot deep inside her, his palm rubbing against her clit as he worked her with his fingers.

"You're close, aren't you?"

All she could do was moan desperately in response, her hips writhing against his hand. That band was growing tighter and tighter, and she was desperate for release from the pressure low in her belly. His forehead dropped to hers, holding her gaze, his pupils blown so wide with lust his eyes almost appeared black.

"Noah!" she called out his name as that band snapped, her hips stuttering as she clamped down around his fingers, her orgasm tearing through her.

"That's it, baby. There you go. That's my girl," he praised as her orgasm peaked, talking her through it, his fingers still pumping in and out of her, massaging her through it.

Dazed she watched as he pulled his fingers out of her, bringing them up to his lips. She watched, her heart leaping out of her chest as he sucked every drop of her off his fingers, eyes never leaving hers.

"Goddamn it, Quinn. You taste even better than I imagined."

Tag: @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard