HOMECOMING
PAIRING: Jackson! Joel Miller x afab! reader || WC: 1.8k
SYNOPSIS: After a long day of patrol, Joel comes home later than he said he would be back. You are just happy to welcome him back into your arms.
CONTENT/WARNINGS: FLUFF. Suggestive content - 18+. Established relationship. Soft & affectionate Joel Miller. Ambiguous age gap (Joel is in his late 50s, reader is 25+). Mentions of early pregnancy. Cute stuff. Banter and teasing. No use of y/n.
A/N: Hey there, been a while. In case y'all forgot, yes I do still write LMAO. This is a little something that I wrote miraculously on my free time, and it is my first Joel Miller piece. I'm also slowly getting back into writing so pls be nice! I did originally write this with the new Pedro Pascal picture as Joel in mind, but I'm a gamer Joel type of girl at heart so that's what I went with. Hopefully, it is enjoyable for those who choose to read it. Any likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated! Dividers by @saradika-graphics.
➣ TLOU was created by a zionist and is based off of the Israeli occupation of Palestine. Please refer to this link to learn how you can help the Palestinian people.
NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3
Night fell over Jackson, soothing and quiet as it usually was. You’d think after some time, you’d get used to the stillness that often consoled others in a world full of unsettling clicks and gunfire, but you found yourself troubled with the calmness that followed once the sun went down. The change of the seasons propelled a temperature shift outside; bitter winter exchanged for the rebirth of spring, which hopefully meant the sun would stay in the sky just a little bit longer.
Your face nuzzled into the pillow beneath you, the material not yours to claim, but it wasn’t unfamiliar. Digging your nose further into the bedding, you subconsciously chased the faint scent of pinewood and gunpowder, one of the few things that eased your anxiety. It was a smell you got used to recognizing over the past few years, not that you’ve been keeping count.
Despite the warmth the sheets provided you as you rested on the left side of the bed, your body felt cold, missing a familiar set of strong arms and a welcoming chest pressing up against you. He had told you before he left for patrol that he’d be back before sundown, that was the plan anyway. But you knew better than anyone that stepping outside the protective gates of Jackson always left room for the unpredictable.
In the haze of your dreams, you faintly heard the click of the front door opening and closing, the floorboards of the stairs creaking with the ghost of muted footsteps. You stirred in bed, ears trained to pinpoint the noise, yet too stubborn to wake up entirely. A breeze entered the bedroom before you sensed something else sharing the space.
That’s when you felt the phantom touch of plush lips skimming along your hairline. If you weren’t awake then, you certainly were now.
“Joel?” A call of his name equivalent to a whimper at the sudden contact you craved. You caught the slight intake of breath and the exhale that followed.
“It’s me darlin’. Didn’t mean to wake you,” Joel spoke quietly, the peaceful baritone of his voice awakening you fully. As you sighed, you met his tired gaze with your own, bruised knuckles raising to brush your cheekbone affectionately.
“Things went okay on the patrol?” You questioned him, pleased that he was here with you in one piece rather than focusing on the fact that he came later than you’d like.
“Yeah, had to check something out with Tommy to be sure before coming back. I’m sorry honey, didn't want to make you stay up for me.”
Even if it was unintended, Joel felt guilty whenever he didn’t stick to his word. He was not much of a virtuous man, lived a large part of the past two-plus decades giving less of a shit about honesty and ethics. But when it came to you, it killed him when he couldn’t follow through on his promises, even if things weren’t within his control. The last thing Joel wanted was to upset you or make you worry, but no matter how many times he reassured you of his return, you still tried your hardest to wait for him to come back home, back to you.
“It’s okay, I’m just happy you’re here,” you blinked slowly as his voice filtered through the lagged mess of your head. Leaning your face towards his hand, you kissed the inside of his palm. “Go freshen up and come to bed; I’m cold.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckled with a smile at your forgiveness, parting from you for a second and heading to the bathroom, not planning to make you wait any longer.
You watched his silhouette from where you lay on the bed, fluttering your eyes closed at the sound of running water. When the door opened again, Joel’s broad figure returned wearing a worn-down flannel and some fleece pants he had snagged long ago.
“Scoot,” he jutted his chin to gesture to the right side of the mattress, your side, suggesting to reclaim his on the left. Shifting to the right, you let him slip into the bed feet first, hauling the sheets to cover the both of you. A bulky arm wrapped around your waist and tugged you close to him, your body molding to his like a missing puzzle piece.
“Not too far now,” Joel grinned as you nestled right into his warm chest, seeking his attention and attempting to siphon more of his warmth. It takes you off guard how your nerves instantly settled once you had Joel near you again. In his arms, that was where you belonged—protected, loved, safe.
“I missed you,” you mumbled, eyes shutting to breathe in his typical musk. One of his hands cradled your lower back, thumb running circles into your skin.
“I missed you too, darlin’. Too damn much.” Joel kissed your forehead, drawing lines up and down your back with his fingertips.
His hand moved again from behind you to the front of your body, palming your stomach protectively. A smile crept up on his face as he felt your tummy under the material of the flannel you stole from him, the only thing you preferred for pajamas. The gentle curve of your belly was not yet prominent enough to be overly detectable, but he knew what you carried. Precious cargo. That’s what he called it after you both adjusted to the shock of adding to Jackson’s current population count.
“Still feelin’ sick?” Joel asked you in the room’s darkness, his eyes shifting to watch over your facial features. The moonlight illuminated the edge of your jaw and the roundness of your cheeks, and his chest ached at the thought of witnessing other growing changes over the next couple of months.
“Sometimes. It bothers me, but nothing I can’t handle.” You reassured him the best way you knew how, having to rely on Maria’s advice for all things related to childcare and Ellie being your new overly protective guard and nurse when Joel wasn’t around.
If someone had told you that you’d find yourself alive after the apocalypse in a safe community and pregnant at that, you’d consider them crazy. Yet here you were, carrying a man’s child when you least expected it, a man years older than you with memories of a reality you couldn’t experience or remember. But you didn’t mind; the end of the world didn’t leave much room for strict morals anyway.
Make the most of it. You don’t know when you’ll miss something once it’s gone.
Joel had told you that after the first few patrols you had with him once you adjusted to Jackson, growing comfortable with the stoic and quiet man who grabbed your attention everywhere he went. He shared stories of a time before the world fell apart, discussing things like watching the sunset, listening to music from artists you’ve never heard of, and sweet treats he missed tasting. Things changed after the seventh patrol together, where you saw him smile for the first time after successfully hunting some game for the town.
That night, one thing led to another. It started after some drinks, a hungry and messy kiss on your doorstep that led to clothes on the bedroom floor, and hands pawing at one another. You woke up the next morning with an arm wrapped around your waist and his nose rubbing the back of your neck.
Simply put, you haven’t left since.
“Oh, I know. Can handle a whole lot, strong woman you are.” Joel taunted you a bit, his memory fleeting momentarily and recalling the spitfire you always were with him in particular. He could never seem to tame your spunk and attitude, but he grew to love it like the rest of you.
“Mhmm, real strong, if you ask me.��� You held his gaze with a gleam of mischief, bringing your body closer to his wide chest and tilting your chin upwards, silently asking for more than a cuddle.
“You tryin’ to tell me something I don’t already know?”
“I don’t know. Am I?” You were a tease, always have been, jerking Joel’s chain more than he cared to admit.
“Those hormones are messing with your head, darlin’. Got you acting feisty,” he smirked, shifting nearer to your face.
Curious hands reached up to curl through his thick, graying curls. The contrasting streaks along his temple became more noticeable as time passed, matching the graying beard you’ve come to love and adore. He hesitated to let his hair grow out initially, thinking he’d look too much like his younger brother. Much convincing later, paired with hiding the shears, you got the desired result, and now you were lucky enough to enjoy the fruits of your labor.
The kiss was velvety as it was intimate, your tongue lining his bottom lip before he groaned, granting you entrance into his mouth. You swallowed the rumble he released, drawing a path of your touch from his neck down to his lower abdomen. Antsy fingers itched to skim the waistband of the fleece that concealed him, reaching close to the hardness you felt before he seized your hand away.
“Aht aht, no. As much as I want you there, it’s bedtime.” Joel didn’t necessarily want you to stop. Hell, if it were up to him, he’d let you go to town on him however you wanted. But his energy levels were dwindling, and all he wanted to do after a long day was get some proper rest with you in his arms.
“But-”
“Sweetheart, if you let this old man sleep, I’ll wake you up to a real nice surprise in the mornin’.” It was an effortless proposition, easy to keep you at bay until the next day and enough to curb your insatiable appetite.
“Promise?” You beat your lashes at him, knowing the last thing Joel would do was deliberately not provide for your needs, even if that meant having to keep up with you physically.
“Pinkie swear.” Joel gave you another peck before letting you get comfy against his chest once more, cuddling into him as much as your growing belly would allow without being squished. You started to drift off as sleep called to you, listening to the gentle rhythm of soft beating in your ear.
“Breakfast too, Miller.” You murmured to him, peeping how he laughed in the dark with his eyes closed. The pleasant and lively sound made you smile and your heart pound.
“Oh, I’ll feed you. Don’t worry your pretty little head about that.”
The peace in your bedroom matched the serenity that fell over Jackson. Now that you had Joel wrapped around you, you didn’t mind how quiet it was. So long as you have him, you can handle anything that comes your way.
©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!
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i think you'll do well with requests bc they seem to be popular in the fanfic side of tumblr! but even if it doesn't take off that quick, at least that'll be less overwhelming bc some ppl can be so demanding....anyways, i hope the best for you in this new journey haha 💝
me personally, i'm not very creative so i'll leave the details to the professionals (aka you) but i'd like to req something from minho's pov. i think those type of stories are SEVERELY lacking in the lee know fics department lol 🥲 it could be a childhood friends to lovers where he is pining for oc but he has a lot of self esteem issues and thinks she's not interested in him. also a big softie and just all around head over heels for her. you can add your magic! (if this is even remotely interesting enough to write lol i just want a minho pov tbh shsjjfjdjdj 😭)
light years.
summary: three times minho bites his tongue, and one time you don't let him.
pairing: minho x f!reader
genre/warnings: childhood friends to lovers, fluff, angst; kissing, cursing, so much pining i could hurl. could this have been more edited? oh absolutely lmao but i actually don't hate it sooo this is what we're going with :p
word count: 4.2k
note: to the first anon, thank you so much for your kind words! :') and i'm sorry that this took me longer than expected. i was trying to figure out what i wanted to write for your prompt but then i got the second request with the song and i thought they would go nicely together hehehehe i hope the both of you enjoy thissss
as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡
navigation / request masterlist / ko-fi
I'm not sure what it means to love
But I blink kind of slow around you
I'm not sure what it means to love
But I'll grow wherever you do
What that means, I don't have a clue
I'm Not Sure - Margeaux Beylier
One.
Minho is 18 years old, and he doesn't know what love is, doesn't really care for it at all.
While his friends are out there wrapped in the clutches of young love - the kind that blooms with stolen glances in classrooms and sticky notes passed in secrecy, Minho finds it simply unnecessary. He doesn't understand it whenever Hyunjin whines about not having a girlfriend because they're still young, they've got all the time in the world for romance later down the line. It's not the end of the world like Hyunjin laments it is.
Minho has his own life to prioritize. College is starting after the summer and he still needs to figure out how he's going to cope with the absence of his cats once he moves away. He's got dancing and he's got his other hobbies to keep him fulfilled and occupied.
And above all, he's got you.
You're getting ready for your sister's wedding when it happens for the first time. Or rather, when it doesn't happen.
You step back into the room where Minho is waiting for you on the sofa, his gaze resting idly on the screen of his phone, scrolling absentmindedly through his friends' group chat even though he has no interest in whatever they're talking about. You cough lightly to indicate your return after disappearing into the bathroom minutes prior to change into your dress. He looks up upon your soft announcement, and when his eyes settle on you, he swears it feels like an invisible force has collided with his chest and knocked all of the air from his lungs.
Throughout all his years of knowing you, inseparable from childhood until now, Minho has never seen you like this - all dolled up with your hair falling over your collarbones, cascading over your shoulders in soft waves that beckons him to run his fingers through. The light blue dress hugs you beautifully, the silky material catching the light from outside the window every time you shift on your feet under his steady gaze.
"So...?" you ask, moving your arms awkwardly behind your back like you're not sure what to do with them. "What do you think?"
What does he think?
Minho thinks you might just be the prettiest girl in the world. He thinks he must have been an idiot his whole life, to have spent most of his waking hours beside you and not once has he noticed how truly breathtaking you are. He thinks about the feeling that spreads in the pit of his stomach, sends warmth throughout his body and makes his heartbeat race a million miles an hours.
Your best friend blinks slowly as he savors the warmth that he's never experienced before. It's similar to the feeling you get when you're sitting under the shade of a big tree on a summer's day. It's comparable to the satisfied tranquility you get after you've just finished a hearty meal. A little hazy in your contentment.
It's not until you probe with a pointed Well? that Minho realizes he's been staring at you in silence for a few minutes now. He swallows thickly, willing away the words that he wants to say but they get lodged in his throat. He reckons it's weird to verbalize them, because it's not how the two of you function. You don't often utter that kind of sentiment out loud and he doesn't either. Never have and likely never will.
In the end, he bites his tongue. "You look presentable," is what he settles on.
You roll your eyes, then reward him with a laugh.
Minho doesn't care about love. He only cares about you.
Two.
Minho is 21 years old, and he's gotten used to his heart beating erratically whenever he's in your presence.
Three years flew by in the blink of an eye, and graduation is just around the corner. You've always done well in school, straight A student with a track record that most could only dream to have. You put in the hours, you do the work. You deserve everything that you've achieved.
But it's been a challenging few months for you both, being seniors and all. He's had to watch you struggle to stay on top of your classes while also having to slave over a thesis 24/7 until you were sure it was perfect. It reduced you to tears a few times, and Minho was there to hold your hand through it all.
He held you in his comforting embrace when you wanted to give up. He made you dinner when you were too immersed in your schoolwork to notice that you'd forgotten to eat. He was your biggest support system; if it weren't for him, you don't know if you would've made it through.
It's hot outside today, a little unbearable but not uncharacteristic for June. Minho waits in a familiar hallway, the same hall that he's walked past for hundreds of times over the past few years, the same hall that he won't see again once he holds a degree in his hands in only a few weeks' time.
As he sits on an old wooden bench, he bounces his leg as if he's one of the people in the classrooms that line the hall. He doesn't have to be on campus today, but here he is regardless because you're scheduled for your thesis defense this morning. You're in one of those rooms, probably also bouncing your leg from the overwhelming nerves. Minutes feel like hours; you went in there a while ago after he had sent you off with a pat on the head and an encouraging Godspeed.
He's nervous for you, but he's sure that you'll do great. Years of hard work accumulating in what must be the most important moment of your academic journey. You even stayed up all night last night, refusing to sleep a wink just to revise your arguments and talking points.
Minho's head snaps up instantly as he hears a door creak open, the sound of it reverberating throughout the empty hallway like a gong announcing your return from battle. It takes you a few seconds to step out of the room and into his line of sight. He can't see you very well with all this distance between you, but he can still make out the way your frame is visibly shaking with every step you take. He rises to his feet, and you break into a sprint.
He opens his arms wide - a hug of consolation or congratulations, he doesn't know yet - but he still can't seem to brace himself for the collision. You run straight into his embrace, your warms wounding around his middle tightly. Minho feels your tremors, hears your sniffles from where you're pressing your cheek against his shoulder.
"How did it go?" he asks gently.
You start crying then, and he doesn't know if the tears that his shirt is soaking up are those of joy or of grief, but he holds you through it anyway. He swears he can feel every single beat of your heart, hammering so wildly as you're pressed against him like you could sink into him if only you'd push just a little bit more.
"I passed," you say in between sobs. "I got an A."
Minho heaves out the breath that he's been holding ever since you entered that classroom, but it's not like he had any doubt about it to begin with. He hugs you tighter than he's ever had before, and he loves you just the same.
You two must look so dramatic, all wrapped up together in your own little bubble, but who the fuck cares? Although, when another student passes by and coughs, you do break away from him, a little embarrassed for a second.
Even with your hair all mussed up and your flushed cheeks stained with tears, he still thinks you look the same as you did when you were 18 at your sister's wedding. The prettiest girl in the world.
Minho wipes away the wetness on your face with his sleeves, then swipes with gentle thumbs at the moisture that's gathered along your lash lines.
"Holy fucking shit," you breathe out, your shoulders sagging with evident relief, so much more relaxed now that you've done it. "I can't believe it's finally over."
Your best friend can't entirely agree, because he's always believed in you. He's had faith in you since the beginning, since you were mere children laughing and crying together on the playground. You were meant to do great things, this was always crystal clear to Minho.
I love you, he thinks as he smooths a hand over your hair, his chest swelling with nothing but pride and fondness for you. You did so well.
But it's not what he ends up telling you. He swallows it down, washes it away with a dose of regret and longing. He's still not the type to express sappy sentiments, and he's grown accustomed to adoring you only in secret.
"Let's go," he says softly. "I'll buy you dinner."
Minho is still young, he's still got his whole life ahead of him, but he knows what love is now. He knows that it's you.
Three.
Minho is 24 years old, and he finds it hard to make peace with the fact that you're starting to get out there, that you're finally going on dates now that academics aren't taking up most of your time anymore.
To be fair, none of the guys you've seen have been graced with a second date, and Minho thanks his lucky stars whenever you return from a night out and text him a simple Not it. He knows that it wasn't your decision in the first place, that your mom and your sister have been setting you up on blind dates because they want to see you bring a boyfriend home.
You complain about it all the time, whining about how you're not interested but your family is adamant on it. Minho is well aware, and yet, there's a part of him that's a little shaken, because what if? What if the universe miscalculates and the stars misalign just enough in his misfortune for you to cross paths with someone who's absolutely perfect for you? Someone who's a good man that can give you what you've always deserved to have.
He really doesn't know what he would do if that happens. When it happens?
He doesn't know why you're here tonight either, sitting on a chair on the other side of his kitchen island in a pretty dress when you're supposed to be going on a date in half an hour. The guy apparently works for a big record label, some producer that your sister knows through a friend of a friend.
You look indifferent, kind of bored, as you watch Minho makes dinner for himself. "You seem miserable," he comments, taking a quick break from chopping vegetables to glance up at you. You do look a bit miserable, but you're still the most beautiful in his eyes.
You throw your head back and groan loudly, "Because I am. God, I don't know why they keep making me do this. These guys always give nothing."
"Please elaborate."
"They're all boring suits with tedious routines." you say, and as absentminded as your tone is, it sounds a little pointed to Minho's ears. "They don't make me laugh."
Do they not make you laugh, or do they not make you laugh more than I can?
"Then don't go," he snickers, though there's no humor in his voice at all. "These guys sound like duds. Just tell your sister to fuck off."
"Do you mean that? Do you really think I shouldn't go?"
And there's something in your gaze, something so suddenly expectant in the way you're looking at him that makes Minho wonder. If he says yes, would you listen? Would you stay here with him? Would you stay here for him?
I'm serious. Don't go. You can have this and I'll make myself ramyeon. Just be here with me.
You both stare at each other on either side of his kitchen island for an infinite stretch of time. He feels like your eyes are trying to tell him something that he can't decipher, as if they're sending him signals in a language that he never learned how to read.
For a second there, he indulges himself. He pretends that you're only asking because you want to hear him say it. That you want him to put up a fight and not let you go.
But he bites his tongue because it's become a bad habit. A habit that he can't shake because he simply doesn't have the courage to do so. Because if you stay here tonight, looking like that under the cozy lighting of his living room, he might just spill his secrets and he wouldn't be able to take it when reality comes crashing down and you end up telling him that you've never felt the same way.
"I'm kidding," he musters up the words, and tries to plaster on a smile for your sake, even though he's not sure if you really believe it. "You're dressed up anyway. Go and get a free fancy dinner, if anything."
Minho knows what love is, but his love has always lived in the shadows, his longing has only existed in the dark that it terrifies him just thinking about it meeting the light.
Four.
Minho is 26 years old, and he's been a coward for the better part of a decade.
Maybe he's loved you for even longer, but he has spent the past eight years head over heels in love with you, and not once has he done anything about it. Never been able to gather enough courage to ask you out, never even hinted at his feelings for you. He loves you from his place by your side and yet, you've never known.
He loves you the most, but he loves you in the worst way that a person can love another - he loves you in silence.
You're the prettiest girl in the world, and Lee Minho is a pathetic coward.
All these years, he's kept quiet and for what? There's always a spot reserved for him right next to you and yet, it feels like he can only watch you from the sidelines, far away from where it really matters, because he doesn't think he can fit into your life the way he truly wants. You taught him what love was, and love, to Minho, is unattainable. Something he can spend the rest of his life yearning for but won't ever have.
Love hurts. Sometimes, all love does is hurt.
"I would've taken you to a nice restaurant if you asked, you know," he says, putting a chocolate cupcake on the coffee table in front of you before he sits down next to you on the fluffy carpet of your living room. He pulls out a candle next, placing it right in the center of the sweet treat.
Your gaze follows his hand has he lights the candle, your eyes glinting with excitement as though you're a child again and your favorite day of the year is still your birthday. The tiny flame curves and bends, dancing to a rhythm that looks like only you can hear. You watch the candle like it's magic, while Minho just watches you, thinking the same thing.
He watches as you close your eyes and clasp your hands together for the theatrics, then you blow out the flame seconds later with a swift breath.
You turn to him with a smile, "I don't need a nice restaurant. This is perfect."
He blinks, and there's that warmth simmering in his belly again. He first felt it when he was 18, and he feels it now. He feels it almost every moment that he spends with you, and he reckons it's only reasonable, because you're his home personified and love can still be beautiful even when it hurts. There's his heart racing again, but that's nothing new to Minho.
He muses over your words. Perfect. Just one simple word is enough to get his hopes up in a way that it really shouldn't.
Your definition of a birthday well spent is in your cozy apartment, eating takeout pizza with your best friend. Perfect, to you, is him baking you a singular chocolate cupcake upon your request and being with him within these four walls, where his fingers occasionally brush yours when you sit next to each other.
Oh, Minho would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked him to.
He clears his throat lightly, breaking away from your gaze that's full of gratitude and childlike wonder. "What did you wish for?"
"I'm not gonna tell you. It won't come true then."
Wishes don't come true anyway, he thinks, but obviously he won't say it out loud to you, and on your birthday no less. Instead, he diverts his attention to the cupcake, subconsciously tonguing his cheek as he takes a small chunk of the sweet and offers it to you.
You let him feed you even though your eyes are narrowed. "What was that look?" you ask.
"What look?"
"You had a look."
"No, I didn't," Minho insists.
"Yes, you did. You wanted to say something, didn't you?"
He shrugs, popping a piece of cupcake into his own mouth. The answer is yes, he did want to say something, but if you want to get technical about it, then he's wanted to say something for years now. He asks you the same thing every birthday, What did you wish for?, and you would refuse to tell him every time.
"Wishes don't come true," he verbalizes it this time, with a voice that's lighthearted on purpose despite knowing that you wouldn't take it that seriously either way.
You roll your eyes. "Now you're just being pessimistic."
"What? I'm speaking from experience."
"You've never had a birthday wish come true?"
"My birthday wishes haven't come true since I was 18."
Minho feels your eyes on the side of his face, and when you remain quiet for a beat too long, he turns his attention back to you. "What?"
"How do you know they didn't come true?"
"Because..."
Because you've been my wish for almost a decade now. I didn't use to believe in wishes but I always believed in you. Every year, I wish for you to look at me the way I look at you, but it never comes true. Every year, I wish that you would love me back, not just as a friend, but you never do. You are my wish, but you're also the very reason why I know wishes don't come true.
Then he's laughing, but nothing is remotely funny about this. It's your birthday and suddenly all he can think about is how much it stings to be reminded that you're the only thing he'll ever wish for, and still, maybe this simple wish is absurd enough that the universe will never grant him what he truly wants.
"Never mind," he says. "This whole thing is silly."
There he goes, biting his tongue again. Coward.
"No, what were you going to say?"
"You're so bossy today," Minho pretends to complain.
"It's my birthday. Tell me," you press on, and suddenly he can't find any appreciation for your stubbornness that he's adored all his life. You keep your eyes fixed on him when all he wants to do is hide from you.
What is he supposed to say to you? What can he even say? That he's spent more than a third of his life hopelessly enamored with you? That the second he utters any of this out loud, he knows it will be the end of your friendship?
And Minho can't afford to lose you. Even if it hurts, he would rather let love hurt than live in the absence of you.
"Eat your cupcake," he says instead. "I'll get some ice cream."
He makes a move to get up, and the bad habit further cements its place in his subconscious. He's always running away from you when you're supposed to be the person he can be the most open with. This is how he knows he doesn't deserve you.
But you reach for his wrist and it makes him still, the feeling of your hand sliding downward to hold onto his fingers. He's used to the feeling of your smaller hand in his, used to how he can hear his heartbeat in his ears whenever you lace your fingers together.
What he isn't accustomed to, is the look on your face this very second, akin to the one you wore two years ago as you sat on the other side of his kitchen island, asking him if you should go.
Expectant and hopeful; you're holding something back too.
The words that slip from your lips are ones that he never imagined you would say to him.
"I've waited for you long enough."
His poor excuse of retrieving ice cream is all but forgotten as he stares at you, doe-eyed and despairingly confused. "What is that supposed to mean?"
You take a breath, and Minho wonders if this is how he looked every time he wanted to say something only to back down in the end.
Then it all comes rushing out.
"For a while, I thought there might've been something between us, something more than just friendship. I don't know why I thought that, I just had a feeling. On the day of our graduation, I thought you would finally kiss me or at least say something, but you didn't. Whenever I went on dates, I wanted you to tell me not to go, that I was wasting my time with those guys that couldn't make me laugh because they weren't you. You never said anything, you never did anything. I waited every birthday just like I waited tonight. You're still holding it over me and I'm starting to wonder if you really love me too or if I imagined everything this whole time."
Your voice gets smaller toward the end, almost as if the uncertainty takes over you the longer he remains silent. He doesn't have the words for it, doesn't really have the mental capacity to process all of what you just professed. Years and years of longing, of hoping that you would come running into his arms the same way you did on the morning of your thesis defense, and it turns out that you were always the one waiting for him to reach you.
If you really love me too.
Your fingers start to loosen around his but Minho doesn't let you get away, not now and not ever again. Not when he finally knows that he's burnt up enough of your time just because he was too stuck in his head to see that you were holding a hand out for him all along.
He pulls you into his orbit and he likes to imagine that somewhere out there in the infinite universe, two stars collide when he kisses you for the first time, long overdue but still heavenly nonetheless.
He's crying but you don't seem to mind the tears. You're kissing him back and it's really all that matters. He can't think straight but he adores you to the point that his lungs ache.
"I love you," he mumbles against your lips. The sentiment comes out clumsy, half coherent but wholeheartedly sincere. "I'm sorry. I love you, I love you, fuck, I love you."
You're the one who breaks the kiss first, with your hand on his chest gently pushing him away. Panic instantly shoots through him like a lightning strike. These are the words he's been holding back for years, did he not even say them right? Did he fuck things up yet again?
You brush the tears from his cheeks, your voice so impossibly soft when you ask, "Do you mean it?"
Minho splinters into a million pieces, of course he does.
Your name falls from his lips, sounding like a prayer, like the most tender plea that's ever been uttered, "I love you the most. I'm so in love with you that it hurts. I've been yours for so long and I never said anything. Fuck, I-I'm sorry. I love you so much. I'm sorry. I-"
You bring his face to yours once more, shushing him with a kiss that makes him putty in your hands. You tell him that it's okay, and you kiss him like you forgive him. The world could be ending right now, and he doesn't think that either of you would even care very much.
Because you're the only wish of his life, and you kiss him as though you want to make up for the lost years. Because Minho feels like he's 18 again and you're the most beautiful girl in the world, wearing a smile that leaves him breathless in the most wonderful way possible.
all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 06.05.2024]
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girls' night
masterlist ko-fi ao3
Soft!Rafe Cameron x Reader
Summary: your boyfriend is now really happy that you want to go to the club with your friends without him.
Word count: 1.2k
Warnings: kinda +18? mentions of sex, drinking, reader is slightly drunk, Rafe's being needy and horny
Author's note: sooo, i'm happy to introduce you my new crush (idk how did i live without him tbh). I haven't even finished watching obx, but Rafe/Drew holds me in a chokehold. I had no choice but to write something because the voices in my head became too loud lmao. so yeah, I hope you enjoy my version of him💘
“I won’t be there for too long, baby. Don’t be so dramatic.” You softly laughed while you applied your lip gloss in front of the mirror. Through reflection, you saw your not-so-happy boyfriend sitting at the edge of the bed, eyeing your outfit with a pout.
“Do you have to wear that? Couldn’t you wear like sweatpants or something?” Rafe mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes looked up and down your body from the back, stopping at the edge of your pretty dress that barely covered your ass. “And why can’t I at least go with you? Give me a reason.”
“Because it’s a girls’ night. Boys are not allowed. We just want to go somewhere, talk, drink cocktails and dance. What are you gonna do there anyway?” You took a last look at yourself before grabbing a purse and coming closer to Rafe.
“Your point is weak as fuck, princess.” He rolled his eyes. “You know I hate it when you go somewhere alone. Especially looking like a fucking desert. Especially when there are tons of dumbasses who think they can hit on you.” Rafe’s voice was gruff but you knew that he wasn’t angry at you.
Despite the rumors about Rafe being a total asshole, he had never treated you even remotely badly. Well, you were the only person who was blessed with his soft and caring side. Rafe was the best boyfriend you could’ve possibly asked for, even with his mood swings. He was so overprotective and he got really panicked just at the thought that something might happen to you.
You stepped closer, now standing in between his legs, and put your hands on both sides of his face to make him look at you. Two large hands immediately flew to your hips as Rafe soothingly rubbed your skin through the material of the dress.
“You trust me, right? You know I don’t care about them. I want only you.” You smiled at him, leaning lower and touching his nose with yours. Rafe exhaled, bringing your body closer to his and lowering his head into your neck.
“Of course I trust you. I just don’t trust everyone else.” You smiled at his words, burying your right hand in his hair. “Fine, if you don’t wanna stay here tonight and ride my face for hours and then get fuc—“
“Rafe!” Your laughter filled the room as you pulled away and slightly slapped his shoulder. “You're disgusting, you know that, hm?”
“You didn’t mind me saying it this morning.” He shrugged, half serious.
“Fine, you big baby. I am going out with my girls right now, and you can do whatever you want with me afterwards. Deal?” You offered him a pinky. That man was ready to have sex 24/7 so you knew that you had no choice but to give him something, otherwise, he would bother you for hours.
Rafe curiously looked from your eyes to your finger, but then finally gave up, wrapping his pinky with yours.
“Deal. Just be safe, baby. Call me if something happens. Promise that you will.”
“I will.” A smile stretched across your face as your heart flattered inside your chest with love and warmth.
The night was amazing. You met with your friends who you hadn’t had a chance to hang out with for a few weeks and all of you were dancing and laughing for what felt like eternity.
It took you forever to climb the stairs to your and Rafe’s bedroom in the big ass house that you were living in. You hoped that he was already sleeping, but even your drunk brain understood how ridiculous this thought was. Your boyfriend would never go to bed without you by his side.
“You said that you wouldn’t be there for too long, Y/N.” Rafe said as soon as you stepped into the room, holding your heels in your hand. The clock showed that it was almost 1am, and you slightly shook your foggy head to figure out how long you spent in the bar.
“I’m sorry, baby. But it was sooo fun! We had such a great time.” You laughed, tossing your shoes on the floor and slipping out of your dress, standing only in your underwear.
As much as Rafe wanted to be mad or argue, he couldn’t. He felt ill just thinking about you alone in the club without him, but you were clearly happy. Drunk, with flushed cheeks and sparkly eyes. You looked so pretty, and now seeing you without that goddamn dress only in a blue lingerie set that he had bought you not so long ago made him hard within seconds.
You went to your vanity to take off your makeup with wet wipes, barely having any more power to stand. Rafe stood up from his place on the bed, stepping behind you and wrapping his arms around your body.
“You look so fucking hot, baby. I want you so bad.” You felt warm lips leaving light kisses on the side of your neck while hardness pressed against your lower back.
“Noo, Rafe. I’m so tired and drunk right now. I want to go to sleep. Let’s do it tomorrow, please?” You whined, still moving your head to give him more free space on your neck.
“My dick is going to explode. I haven’t touched you since morning.” He grumbled, brows furrowed, as you quickly slipped out of his arms and dove under the blanket on the abnormally large bed.
Your eyes trailed back to your boyfriend, who was obviously annoyed and tired but still had a visible boner. This thought made you giggle again while Rafe muttered something under his nose, running a hand through his hair. If you weren’t in such a state of mind, you would’ve definitely found it hot.
Yeah, annoyed Rafe was your guilty pleasure.
“Can you, like, do it while I’m sleeping? Just don’t wake me up.” You lazily asked, almost drifting to sleep.
“Excuse me? Who do you think I am?” Rafe’s brows shot up, genuinely shocked that you really suggested that. “I’m not fucking you while you’re unconscious, babe! What the fuck?”
“Then wait for tomorrow and come cuddle with me.”
He looked at you for a few seconds in silence. You were almost asleep, snuggling into the pillow and Rafe had no power in him to not find you adorable. He threw his head back in defeat, then removed his clothes and winced as he realized how long it would take for his dick to calm down.
He slipped beside you into the bed, turning off the light. On instinct, you moved closer to him, your head on his naked chest and your hands wrapped around his torso.
“‘m sorry, Rafey.” You mumbled against his skin. “I promise that tomorrow I'll be all yours.”
Rafe sighed, kissing the top of your head and hugging you back. A soft smile crept onto his face when he heard you almost purring under his touch. “Mhm, you’re lucky that I love you, princess. So, so much. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. I love you too. So, so much.”
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