#but this time this seemed like the only way to tell the story i wanted to

[stylesispunk]

'Merry christmas, please call me' day 1/3

no outbreak! Joel Miller x f! reader

summary: one year after your breakup, joel is pleading to his phone for a call from you. 🌲

w.c: 6k>

warnings: age gap (joel is fifteen years older than reader) angst as usual and fluff with a happy ending like in the Christmas movies.

a/n: welcome to the first day of my joel's fic christmas version event. I want to remind you that i'm from south america and my christmas has always been hot because of summer, so i'm feeding my dreams. I hope you like this one and see you again on the second day of my mini event! Happy reading 💌

The smell of burn cookies made Joel nauseous. The lights of the Christmas tree in the corner of these four walls seemed to gave him a migraine.

A night like this where everyone was celebrating around a table full of food and loved ones. He was lonely with his thoughts drifting away to you. You were on his mind, day and night for the last 365 days that he had been without you.

It was his fault.

He recalled, this exact same night a year ago when he broke up with you out of the blue, due to poor excuses nor even him believed.

Your age gap, that you were childish, that you deserved someone better, he’d said. Someone whole. A ridiculous justification that even he couldn’t stomach now. At the time, he’d convinced himself it was for the best. He had no right to drag you into his mess of doubts and guilt, into his constant battle with the ghosts of his past. But it didn’t stop the ache from settling in his bones, lingering there like a wound that refused to heal.

His thumb hovered over your name in his contacts. It had been a year since you left, a year since the fight that had left him standing alone in the doorway, watching you walk out with tears in your eyes and a suitcase in your hand. He hadn’t dared delete your number, which now stared back at him, mocking him in the silence. How many times had he replayed that night in his head, hoping he’d wake up and find that it was nothing more than a cruel nightmare?

Call her, the voice in his head whispered.

But what could he say? What words could possibly undo the damage he’d caused?

A sigh escaped him as his head dropped back against the old couch, the springs groaning in protest. The soft hum of a Christmas song playing from a neighbor’s apartment felt like salt in the wound, each note a reminder of what he’d lost.

You were his person. You’d been his anchor through the storms, the one who never let him drown, even when he tried to push you away. And he had pushed you, hard enough to make you leave for good.

But Joel still hoped. Pathetically, desperately. Every buzz of his phone made his heart lurch, only to drop moments later when it wasn’t you. He hated himself for it, for waiting on a miracle he didn’t deserve.

Finally, with trembling hands, he let his thumb tap against your name. The call button loomed there, so simple and yet so heavy. He stared at it, his pulse pounding in his ears.

“Merry Christmas,” he muttered, voice rough. The silence of the house swallowed his words. “Please call me... God, just call me.”

He closed his eyes, pressing his palms to his face. You were out there somewhere, probably laughing, surrounded by family or friends. Did you even think about him? Did you miss him the way he missed you? The unanswered questions gnawed at him, the kind of pain he’d learned to carry in his bones over the last twelve months.

When he finally looked at the phone again, he couldn’t stop himself. He typed out a message, the words simple but raw:

Merry Christmas. Please call me.

He hit send before he could second-guess himself, the soft whoosh of the message sending feeling louder than it should have. Now, all he could do was wait.

You won’t reply, he thought bitterly. Why would you?

But just as he began to put the phone down, it buzzed in his hand.

The sound of laughter echoed around the room, your cousin telling some exaggerated story about their vacation as everyone leaned in, caught up in the humor of it all. You tried to smile, to focus on the holiday warmth and cheer, but it all felt distant, like you were watching it from behind a thick pane of glass.

For the last four Christmas you had had someone by your side, holding your hand and making you feel a whole in the room.

Now he wasn’t here.

Now it had been a year since he pushed you away from his life.

You excused yourself for a moment, slipping out to the porch where the cold December air stung your skin. It was quieter out here, the twinkle of Christmas lights from neighboring houses reflecting off the snow. You wrapped your arms around yourself, breathing out slowly, your breath a cloud in the chill.

And then you felt it. The buzz of your phone in your pocket.

Sliding it out, your heart stopped when you saw the name.

 Joel.

The message was simple, just four words Merry Christmas. Please call me.

You stared at the screen, your mind racing. You hadn't heard from him in months. The last time had been his birthday three months ago, a tentative text you’d sent just to say you hoped he was doing well. He’d thanked you, but the conversation died before it could have started. You thought that was the end of it, that Joel had moved on, just like everyone told you he would.

But now... this.

You sank onto the porch steps, your fingers tightening around the phone. The memories came flooding back: The past Christmas, when he’d held you in his arms by the fire, murmuring promises you’d believed in so completely. And the fight that tore it all apart, the anger in his voice masking the vulnerability he was so terrified to show.

You swiped at your screen, opening the message again.

Call him, a voice in your head urged. Just call him.

But another voice whispered fearfully

 What if he’s just lonely?

For a moment, you hesitated, your thumb hovering over his name in your contacts. Then, with a deep breath, you pressed the button. The phone rang once, twice, each second stretching into eternity.

“Hello?” His voice was low, rough, like he hadn’t spoken in hours.

You closed your eyes, the sound of him unraveling something inside you. “Joel,”

….

You’d spent hours making everything perfect. The table was set with Joel’s favorite dishes, the candles were lit, and soft Christmas music floated through the air. The snow outside created a picturesque view through the windows, and for the first time in days, you were excited. Joel had been distant lately, his long hours at work bleeding into your evenings, but tonight would be different. It had to be.

“Joel, you’re late,” you said softly as he walked through the door, his shoulders slumped, his face tired.

He barely glanced at the table as he shrugged off his jacket. “Got caught up at work.”

“I made dinner.” You gave him a small smile, trying to meet his eyes. “I thought maybe tonight—”

“I’m not hungry,” he cut you off, his voice sharper than it needed to be.

Something in his tone made you flinch. You watched him sink onto the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at nothing. The weariness in his face didn’t feel like exhaustion; it felt like resignation.

You walked over to him carefully, sitting on the edge of the coffee table so you could face him. “But it’s christmas eve.”

“I know.” he muttered, but his eyes wouldn’t meet yours.

Your stomach twisted. This wasn’t the man who used to pull you into his lap and kiss your worries away. This was someone locked behind a wall you couldn’t reach. “You’ve been different lately. Talk to me. Please.”

He let out a long breath, his hands running through his hair. “I don’t know what we’re doin’ here.”

The words slammed into you like a physical blow. “What?”

Joel looked up at you finally, his expression hard, guarded. “Us. This. It doesn’t make sense anymore.”

Your heart pounded. “What are you talking about?”

He stood up abruptly, pacing the room like he needed to get away from you, as if your presence burned his skin. “You’re too young for this—”

“Don’t.” Your voice trembled, but you stood too, following him. “Don’t do that. You’ve never cared about the age gap before.”

“You should be with someone who can give you what you want, not some old man who can’t figure his shit out.” He turned, finally meeting your eyes, and his were cold, deliberately so. “Someone who isn’t afraid for what people say.”

The words hit like ice water, sharp and cruel. You took a step back, shaking your head. “Joel, that’s not fair. I don’t care about any of that. I love you.”

“Don’t,” he said again, his voice a low growl. “You’re just sayin’ that because you don’t know any better.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s the truth.” He swallowed hard, his jaw tight, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “I can’t be what you need. And you deserve better than what I can give.”

It wasn’t the words themselves that hurt the most, it was the way he said them, like he’d already decided this for you, like he’d been carrying it around for weeks, months, without telling you.

“Don’t you dare decide what I deserve,” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Joel looked at you then, really looked at you, and for just a moment, you saw it: the regret, the pain, the fear he was trying so desperately to hide. But then he turned his back to you, his shoulders rigid.

“Go,” he said quietly.

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“I said you should go.”

The room went deathly silent except for the sound of your soft, choked breaths. Joel didn’t move, didn’t turn around as you stared at him, waiting for him to say something, anything, to take it back. But he didn’t.

“We had been together for five years, Joel” you sobbed “Are you throwing away?”

Joel's jaw tightened, his back still turned to you as if he couldn't bear to face what he was doing, what he had already done. His hands gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, knuckles white as if he were holding himself together by sheer force. The dim light from the Christmas tree glowed faintly in the reflection of the window, mocking the warmth and love that should've filled this night.

“I’m tired.”

You couldn’t stop the tears, couldn’t keep the crack out of your voice as you pleaded. “Tired of what? Of me?”

He flinched at the sound of your voice breaking, his shoulders drawing tight. “It ain’t just that,” he muttered, the words coming out strained. “It’s everythin’, me, us—” He finally turned to face you, his eyes dark and distant, as though he’d already started pulling himself away long before tonight. “You deserve better.”

“Don’t do that,” you snapped through the sobs, pointing at him, your whole-body trembling. “Don’t you dare try to make this about me, Joel. This is about you. You’re the one running away, you’re the one who—” You swallowed hard, the pain rising in your throat like a wave. “Who’s giving up.”

Joel's face crumpled for just a second, but he smoothed it out quickly, replacing it with that familiar mask of stubbornness. “I am tired,” he admitted, his voice low, hoarse. “Of fightin’ every damn day with the parts of myself you don’t see. I can’t—I can’t drag you into that. Not anymore.”

You shook your head, your tears falling faster now. “I knew what I was getting into when I chose you, Joel. I chose you! Over and over for five years. So don’t you dare tell me I can’t handle it, or you.”

His gaze flickered toward the floor, like he couldn’t stand to look at you. “It ain’t enough.”

Those words cut deeper than anything else he’d said. “What’s not enough?” you whispered, your voice breaking as you stepped closer. “Me? Or us?”

Joel looked back at you then, and for a moment, you thought you saw his resolve crack. You thought he might say he was sorry, that he’d been lying, that he still loved you the way you loved him.

But all he said was, “You need to go.”

Your heart shattered.

“No,” you choked out, shaking your head violently, refusing to believe this was happening. “I’m not leaving. I’m not walking away from you.”

Joel’s face hardened, though his eyes betrayed the storm inside him. He took a step back, deliberately creating distance between you both. “I already did, darlin’.”

A sob escaped you, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. Your chest ached; your lungs empty despite the cold air filling the room. It felt surreal, like you were living a nightmare you couldn’t wake up from.

“Fine,” you whispered, your voice ragged. You wiped angrily at your tears, glaring at him through the blur. “If you want me to go, I’ll go.”

“I hope you know what you’re losing.”

Joel didn’t respond. He didn’t move. And when you finally stepped out into the cold December night, suitcase in hand, the sound of the door closing behind you felt like the final nail in the coffin of everything you had built together.

It wasn’t until you were gone—until the silence swallowed the room whole—that Joel let his mask fall. His knees buckled, and he sank onto the couch, his head in his hands as tears slipped through his fingers.

Because he knew.

He knew exactly what he was losing.

And he left you walk away with nowhere to go.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “I—I wasn’t sure if you’d...” He trailed off, unsure how to finish.

There was a pause, and then you spoke. “I wasn’t sure either.”

His heart clenched. He wanted to say a hundred things, to tell you how much he missed you, how every day without you had been a slow, aching torture. But all he managed was: “Thanks for calling.”

“I wasn’t sure I should,” you admitted, your voice almost a whisper. “Joel, why?

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Because it’s Christmas. And because...” He ran a hand over his face, forcing the words out. “Because I’ve been a damn fool. I didn’t fight for us when I should’ve. And not a day’s gone by where I don’t regret it.”

The silence on the other end felt unbearable. “I know I don’t deserve this,” he added quickly. “But I just needed to hear your voice. Even if it’s just this once.”

His words cut through the cold night air, stirring something deep inside you. Joel had never been good at talking about his feelings, and hearing him now, his voice raw and unsteady, you realized just how much this call meant to him.

“You hurt me, Joel,” you said quietly, your voice trembling. “I gave you everything, and you... you pushed me away.”

“I know,” he said, his voice thick. “I know I did. I was scared, alright? Scared of messing up, of losing you... and I ended up doin’ just that.”

You swallowed hard, your eyes stinging. “And now? What’s changed?”

“I have,” he said without hesitation. “I’ve had a year to think about every mistake I made, every time I let my pride get in the way. I’m not sayin’ I’ve got it all figured out, but... I know I can’t go another year without you, darlin’.”

The silence stretched between you, heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

“Joel,” you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Just tell me if there’s a chance,” he said, his voice breaking. “Even the smallest one. I’ll do whatever it takes, I swear it.”

“Are you alone?” you asked, feeling your voice trembling.

Joel froze for a second, caught off guard by the question. He exhaled softly, his breath shaky. “Yeah,” he admitted, his voice low and rough. “It’s just me and some burnt cookies.”

Your heart ached at his words, but a small, broken laugh escaped you at his words. Burnt cookies. Joel had never been much of a baker. That was your thing. And yet, every Christmas, he’d insist on helping or more accurately, on getting in the way, while you made batch after batch of cookies.

“You burned them?” you asked softly, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips through the tears.

“‘Course I did,” Joel grumbled, though there was no bite to it. “Turns out, I’m no better at bakin’ now than I was then.” He hesitated before adding, almost shyly, “Guess it’s not as fun when you’re not here to yell at me for sneakin’ the dough.”

“Joel, I swear to God, if you eat one more spoonful of that dough—”

He grinned, a mischievous gleam in his eyes, before scooping up another bite and popping it into his mouth. “What? I’m just makin’ sure it’s good, darlin’. Quality control.”

It was like that every single time, you’d roll your eyes, only for him to pull you into his arms and press a kiss to your lips, soft and lingering, tasting of sugar and butter.

You’d tried to scold him, but he always made you laugh instead, his hands sneaking around your waist to pull you close. The cookies always took twice as long as they should’ve, and more flour ended up on the two of you than in the dough. But those moments had been yours—sweet, simple, and full of a kind of love you didn’t realize you’d taken for granted until it was gone.

“Do you remember?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Joel’s breath hitched on the other end of the line. “Every second of it,” he admitted softly. “I remember how you’d get that little crease in your brow when you were concentratin’, tryin’ to make everything perfect. And how I’d ruin it all just to get you to look at me instead.”

You smiled through your tears, the memories making your chest ache. “You never helped. You just kissed me the whole time.”

“Well,” Joel said, his voice thick but warmer now, “you didn’t seem to mind too much.”

You swallowed hard, pressing your hand to your chest as if it could stop the way your heart ached for him. For all of it. “I didn’t,” you admitted quietly. “I loved that.”

There was a pause, heavy and delicate all at once.

“I miss you,” Joel said finally, his voice low and rough. “I’ve missed us. Not just the cookies, or the traditions... but you, darlin’. I miss seein’ you smile. I miss hearin’ your laugh when I did somethin’ dumb. I miss... kissin’ you in the middle of a mess we made together.”

Your throat tightened, tears slipping silently down your cheeks. How was it that Joel always managed to say the exact words you’d been afraid to admit to yourself?

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” you whispered. “It makes it harder.”

Joel went quiet on the other end of the line. The soft crackle of the connection was the only sound between you, filling the heavy silence where words struggled to exist. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, as though he was afraid saying it out loud might break you both.

“What?” he asked, hopeful somehow.

"To hate you" you said, bluntly.

“I don’t want you to hate me, darlin’.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressing the heel of your palm against your forehead to stop the tears. “Well, it would’ve been easier if you’d stayed away.”

“I tried,” Joel admitted.

You could picture him sitting there, in the same living room where you’d spent so many nights living together. You imagined the empty house around him, quiet and cold, without the warmth the two of you used to fill it with.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence on the line felt heavier now, like it was holding both your hearts in its grip.

“I thought—” you started, then stopped, the words catching in your throat. I thought you’d moved on, you wanted to say. But you couldn’t. You weren’t ready to admit that fear aloud, not yet.

Joel seemed to understand anyway. “There’s no one else,” he said softly. “There never could be. I—I didn’t want to make you think I was waitin’, like I was hopin’ for somethin’ I didn’t deserve. But I couldn’t... I couldn’t bring myself to move on. You’re it for me.”

Your breath hitched, tears welling up as his words sank in. You’re it for me. Joel Miller, stubborn and guarded as he’d always been, was laying himself bare in a way he never had before.

“Why now, Joel?” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Why tonight?”

He let out a heavy breath. “Because i'm in love with you” he said, leaving no room for doubting “And because I couldn’t let another month pass without tellin’ you what’s in my heart. Even if it’s too late... I needed you to know.”

The line went quiet again, but this time, it wasn’t the kind of silence that felt heavy with regret. It felt different—like a small flicker of something you weren’t ready to name just yet.

“Get some sleep, Joel,” you murmured softly, surprising even yourself.

He chuckled lightly, a sound you hadn’t realized you’d missed so much. “Alright, baby. I will. You too.”

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

“Goodnight,” Joel replied, his voice soft and warm.

You hung up the phone and let it rest against your chest as you lay back on the couch, tears still wet on your cheeks.

You stood up to go back inside the house and the room felt still, like the world had paused just for you to breathe, to take in everything that had happened. The faint glow of the Christmas lights cast soft, colorful patterns on the walls. It felt bittersweet, like the warmth of a memory that wouldn’t quite let go.

Your chest ached with the weight of it all. Joel’s voice still lingered in your mind, the way he’d said baby, soft, familiar, like it belonged to you and no one else. It had been so long since you’d heard it, and it stirred something in you you’d tried to bury. Something tender and raw, something that reminded you of stolen kisses in the kitchen, of his arms wrapped around you on cold nights, of the way he used to make you feel like home wasn’t a place but a person.

You wiped at your cheeks, sniffling quietly. “Damn you, Joel Miller,” you whispered to the empty room, but your voice lacked conviction. The truth was, you didn’t know how to feel. Angry? Relieved? Hopeful?

“Are you okay?” your mother’s voice broke through the stillness, soft but laced with concern.

You startled slightly, turning toward the sound. She stood in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim glow of the hall light, her face etched with the quiet worry only a mother could carry.

You tried to smile, to brush it off like you always did, but the tears still wet on your cheeks betrayed you. “Yeah,” you croaked, your voice hoarse from the emotion threatening to spill over. “I’m fine.”

She tilted her head, unconvinced, and took a slow step closer. “Sweetheart...”

The way she said it made your composure wobble. You looked away, blinking rapidly as if that would erase the evidence of the storm swirling inside you. “It’s nothing, Mom. Just... Christmas stuff.”

She didn’t say anything right away, just moved to sit beside you on the couch. Her warmth and presence were enough to break something loose inside you, and for a moment, you just sat there in silence.

After a long, heavy pause, you finally spoke, your voice trembling. “I have to go.”

Your mother turned to you, her brows knitting together in quiet confusion. “Go? Where?”

You swallowed hard, your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. “I... I don’t know…home?”

Her expression softened, and she gave a small, knowing nod. “To Joel?”

You glanced at her, startled that she understood so quickly, but you shouldn’t have been surprised. Mothers always knew. “I just-” You broke off, your voice faltering.

She studied you for a long moment, then reached out to gently clasp your hand. “Then go,” she said quietly, squeezing it in encouragement. “But go for the right reasons, sweetheart. Not because it’s Christmas, or because you feel like you owe him something. Go if you think it’s what your heart needs.”

You blinked at her, your throat tight. “What if I regret it?”

She smiled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “And what if you don’t?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge, one that settled deep in your chest.

You exhaled shakily, then stood, your movements unsteady but resolute. “I’ll be back soon,” you said, though you weren’t sure if it was more for her benefit or your own.

She gave you a gentle smile and stayed seated, as if she knew this was something you had to do on your own. “Take a coat,” she reminded you softly.

You nodded, grabbing your coat and scarf off the rack by the door. The cold air outside hit you immediately as you stepped out, but it didn’t slow your steps as you headed to your car. Your heart pounded, nerves swirling in your stomach as you turned the ignition and pulled out onto the quiet, dark road.

Joel sat slouched on the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the Christmas tree he’d half-heartedly decorated earlier that day. The glow of the lights cast soft, uneven patterns on the floor, but he wasn’t really seeing them. His mind was stuck somewhere else—on the sound of your voice, on the quiet goodnight that hung heavier than he could have imagined.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, tired in a way that sleep wouldn’t fix. It was the kind of weariness that came from missing someone so deeply it felt like it hollowed you out.

A sudden knock at the door startled him. He frowned, glancing at the clock on the wall.

With a groan, he pushed himself up, grumbling under his breath as he trudged toward the door. “Tommy, I swear I’m fi—”

He pulled the door open mid-sentence, the complaint dying on his lips when he saw who it was.

You.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. You just stood there on his doorstep, wrapped in your coat and scarf, your cheeks pink from the cold, your breath visible in the freezing air. Your wide eyes met his, filled with something he couldn’t name—surprise, maybe, or uncertainty.

Joel froze, his hand still on the doorknob, his heart thudding hard against his chest. He blinked, like he was trying to make sure you were real. “Baby?”

“Hi,” you said softly, the single word carrying so much weight it nearly knocked the air out of him.

Joel let out a shaky breath, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “What... what’re you doin’ here?”

You shifted the bag in your hands, your fingers clutching the handles tightly, like it was the only thing keeping you grounded. “I, uh... I brought some things to bake cookies,” you said quietly, your voice trembling just enough to betray the emotions you were trying to hold back.

Joel just stared at you, completely still, like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. The words sank in slowly, and something in his chest tightened—hard and sudden—until he felt like he might break right there on the spot.

“You... you brought stuff to bake cookies?” he repeated, his voice so low it was barely a whisper.

You nodded, a small, almost shy smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you murmured. “I figured... if it’s just you and some burnt cookies this year, maybe you could use a little help.”

Joel exhaled sharply, a shaky breath that sounded dangerously close to a sob. He turned his face slightly, as if trying to gather himself, but there was no hiding the way his eyes shone in the soft light spilling from the doorway.

For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t speak, he just looked at you, like you were something fragile and precious, something he couldn’t believe was right in front of him. Finally, he cleared his throat and stepped back, his voice rough as he spoke. “C’mon in, baby. It’s too damn cold out there.”

You stepped inside, the warmth of home enveloping you, after being away for a year, this house still carried the faint scent of pine, Joel and something a little burnt, probably the remnants of his earlier baking disaster. Joel shut the door behind you, lingering for a moment before turning to face you again.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said softly, his voice uneven, like he was fighting to hold something back.

“I know,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

Joel swallowed hard, the weight of your words sinking into him like a balm to every ache he’d carried for far too long. “You always know how to fix my messes,” he said, his lips curling into a small, almost wistful smile.

You gave him a look, a teasing edge to your voice despite the tension still lingering between you. “Well, someone’s gotta make sure you don’t burn down the kitchen.”

Joel let out a quiet laugh, gruff and hoarse, but real. It sounded like the kind of laugh that had been buried for too long, and the sound of it made your heart squeeze in your chest.

“Yeah,” he said softly, watching you with that same unreadable expression. “Guess someone does.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you thick with unspoken words and years of memories. Then Joel sniffed, scrubbing a hand down his face as if to steady himself. “You still use that same recipe?”

“Of course I do,” you replied, your voice light but steady. “You’re gonna help me this time, though. And I mean actually help.”

Joel watched you for another long moment before he turned toward the kitchen, clearing his throat again. “Alright, then,” he said, his voice thick with emotion he couldn’t quite hide. “Let’s make some cookies.”

The kitchen was filled with the warm, sweet smell of freshly baked cookies. A few floury handprints stained the counter, mixing bowls were stacked haphazardly in the sink, and a couple of slightly misshapen cookies sat cooling on the tray. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it felt like you. Like him. Like the pieces of something familiar were falling back into place.

You set the final cookie down on the tray, brushing a bit of flour from your cheek with the back of your hand. “Well,” you said, stepping back to admire the messy success, “I think we did it.”

Joel didn’t answer right away. When you turned to look at him, you found him leaning against the kitchen doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. There was something soft in the way he looked at you, something so Joel,it made your breath hitch.

“What?” you asked, self-conscious under his gaze.

He shook his head slowly, that smile growing just a little. “Nothin’,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Just…you look even more beautiful than I remember.”

The words hit you like a wave, sweeping away all the uncertainty you’d been holding onto. Your heart skipped in your chest, and your breath caught in your throat, leaving you momentarily speechless. You hadn't expected that—hadn’t expected him to say that, especially after all this time.

You glanced away for a moment, suddenly unsure of yourself. The kitchen suddenly felt warmer, the space between you two too close, and yet it felt like everything was finally falling into place, as if you’d both been waiting for this moment without knowing it.

“Joel…” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you tried to steady your breath. You met his gaze again, and this time, there was something different there—a vulnerability, a longing that mirrored your own.

He stepped forward, slowly, as if giving you the space to decide what came next. But you didn’t pull away. You stood there, rooted in the moment, caught somewhere between the past and the present, unsure of what the future held but certain that, for once, you wanted to face it with him.

“I mean it,” Joel added, his voice soft but unwavering. “You always did have a way of lightin’ up a room, darlin’. But right now… you’re more than I remember.”

A lump formed in your throat, and for a second, you couldn’t hold back the emotion that swelled within you. It was like he had reached right into the depths of what you’d been afraid to feel and pulled it all to the surface. You reached out instinctively, your hand brushing his arm, the warmth of his skin making everything feel so real again.

“Joel, I—” Your voice broke, and you paused, unsure of the words.

Joel didn't let you finish your sentence. Before you could gather your thoughts, before the words could fall into place, he closed the gap between you. His hand found your cheek, his thumb grazing the soft skin there, as if he needed to feel you, to make sure this wasn’t just a dream. His lips met yours, soft at first, hesitant, as though he was giving you the chance to pull away, but you didn’t.

You kissed him back, your hands coming up to tangle in his shirt, pulling him closer as the familiar taste of him flooded your senses. It was like stepping into a memory, one you’d been holding on to without even realizing it. All the years, the distance, the pain—all of it seemed to melt away in the warmth of his embrace.

The kiss deepened, slow and tender, and you let yourself lose in it, in him, in the feeling that maybe, just maybe, this was how things were meant to be all along. There were no questions, no doubts, only the comforting certainty of him being right there, of the connection you had never truly lost.

When he finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, you gazing the floor instead of his eyes.

His hands were still on your face, his fingers brushing over your skin like he was memorizing every part of you again.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Joel murmured, his voice rough with emotion. His eyes searched yours, vulnerable and open in a way that made your heart flutter.

“Are you going to push me away again?” you asked, meeting his eyes with some fear dancing on them.

Joel’s expression faltered for a moment, his gaze flickering with a mix of fear and hope. He searched your face, as if trying to understand what you were really asking, what you really meant.

“No. I will never do that again.” he answered, “I was scared,” he admitted. “Scared of not bein’ enough for you. Scared of how people talked about us. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize you deserved better.”

“I never thought that,” you said softly, finally meeting his gaze.

Joel swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. “I was a damn fool for pushin’ you away. And if I could go back and fix it, I would. But I know I can’t. I just…” He paused, his voice breaking. “I just needed you to know how sorry I am.”

“Joel,” you said softly, your voice trembling. “I don’t know if we can go back to what we had. But…maybe we can start somewhere new.”

Joel’s breath caught, hope blooming in his chest. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’d like that a lot.”

The silence that followed felt different than before. It wasn’t filled with regret or confusion, but with a shared understanding—a quiet acknowledgment of what had been lost and what was still possible. You stayed close, your hands gently resting against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips.

Joel finally let out a shaky breath, as if he’d been holding it in for far too long. His hands came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone, like he was memorizing the feel of you again. "I’m not askin' for all of it back. Just... a chance. To show you that I can be the man you deserve. The man I should’ve been all along."

You nodded slowly, your heart heavy but hopeful. “I’m not sure what this looks like, Joel. But we can figure it out, right? Together?”

A soft, sincere smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead. Joel pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your face as he looked at you with love and something more vulnerable, but what was more vulnerable than love? He took a slow breath, and then his gaze shifted toward the window, the quiet fall of snowflakes beginning to collect on the sill outside.

His voice was soft, almost reverent. "Look at that," he murmured, his eyes tracing the peaceful scene outside. "First snow of the year."

You turned to look out the window, your heart fluttering as you watched the snow gently blanket the world in white, the quiet stillness of the moment wrapping around you both like a cozy blanket. It felt surreal, almost like something out of a dream, a dream you didn’t want to wake from.

Being this close to the man you loved felt like a dream.

Joel stepped behind you, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you close again. His chin rested on your shoulder as he whispered in your ear, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine.

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he said, his voice full of raw tenderness, the words wrapped in the kind of love that had been buried for too long but never truly gone.

Before you could respond, he turned you gently, his hands sliding down your arms to hold your waist as he kissed you again, soft and slow, like this moment was meant for both of you, like it was always meant to be this way. The world outside faded, leaving only the quiet hum of your heartbeat and the warmth of his touch, the promise of something new blooming between you two.

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like home again.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Unspoken Desires | LN4

🌙 summary ━━━━━━━ Lando and Y/N have been dating for a few weeks but haven't been intimate yet. As they're getting ready to go out one night, Lando suddenly confesses his intense desire.

🌙 pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

🌙 word count ━━━━━━━ 3.1k

🌙 warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

"I’ve never wanted to fuck someone as badly as I want to fuck you right now," Lando said, his voice low and rough, cutting through the silence like a knife. His words hit her like a punch to the gut, leaving her breathless and hot all over.

She glanced up at him, her heart racing, and saw the intensity in his eyes—a raw, unfiltered need that made her own body respond in kind. He wasn’t hiding it, not even trying to play it cool. The way he looked at her, it was like he was seeing straight through to her core, like he knew exactly how much she wanted this too. And maybe he did. Maybe he’d been picking up on the little cues, the way her breath hitched when he got too close, the way her thighs pressed together when he leaned in to kiss her neck.

He had always been good at reading her.

---

It started about three weeks ago, during one of those late-night encounters that seemed harmless at first but quickly spiraled into something much more. They had been hanging out at his place, just talking, laughing, the kind of easy chemistry that makes time disappear. But then his hand brushed against hers, just a fleeting touch, and suddenly the air between them felt charged, electric.

"What are we doing?" she asked, unable to keep the nervous edge out of her voice.

Lando had leaned back in his chair, studying her for a long moment before answering. "I don’t know," he admitted, his tone measured but his eyes telling a different story. There was something there, something simmering just below the surface, and it wasn’t hard to guess what it was. Desire. Pure, unadulterated desire.

And yet, neither of them made a move. Not then, anyway. Instead, they fell into a rhythm, a dance that involved lingering glances, stolen touches, and endless teasing. It was intoxicating, thrilling, and frustrating all at once. Every time they got close, something held them back—a fear of ruining what they had, perhaps, or maybe just the uncertainty of where things were headed.

But tonight? Tonight feelt different.

---

The two of them were standing by the door, coats draped over their arms, ready to head out for the night. Or at least, she had been ready. Now, with Lando’s words still ringing in her ears, she could barely think straight. Her pulse pounded in her temples, and her skin felt overly sensitive, like it was buzzing with anticipation.

"Lando," she managed to say, her voice trembling slightly. "What… what are you saying?"

He stepped closer, crowding her space until there was only an inch or two between them. His hands found her hips, fingers gripping lightly but firmly, anchoring her in place. "I’m saying," he murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, "that I want you. Like I’ve never wanted anyone else. And yeah, maybe we’d only been dating a few weeks, but fuck it. I didn’t care about playing it cool anymore."

His confession sent a shiver down her spine, and she felt her resolve starting to crumble. He wanted her. No games, no pretense—just raw, undeniable desire. It was overwhelming, but in the best possible way.

"Are you serious?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his expression fierce and unapologetic. "Dead serious."

The weight of his words settled over her, heavy and irresistible. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, smell the faint scent of his cologne mingling with whatever he had for dinner earlier. It was intoxicating, drawing her in like a moth to a flame. And honestly? She didn’t want to resist.

"Then what are we waiting for?" she challenged, lifting her chin slightly.

A slow, wicked grin spread across his face, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, without warning, he grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him, pressing his lips to hers in a kiss that was equal parts demanding and desperate.

Her bag slipped from her shoulder, hitting the floor with a dull thud as her free hand clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer. His tongue swept into her mouth, urgent and insistent, and she could taste the sharpness of his mint gum, mingled with a hint of something darker, wilder.

Lando’s hand slid up her side, tracing the curve of her waist until his fingers dipped beneath the hem of her top, brushing against the warm expanse of her skin. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, devouring her mouth like he couldn’t get enough of her.

"God, you feel so fucking good," he muttered against her lips, his voice rough and strained.

She tugged on the collar of his shirt, urging him closer, and he responded by lifting her effortlessly, setting her down on the nearby table. Her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against her. The sudden intimacy of the position made her breath hitch, and she could feel the evidence of his arousal pressing against her center, a delicious reminder of just how badly he wanted her.

"You feel so good," he murmured against her mouth, his voice low and gravelly, almost possessive. His fingers traced the curve of her hip, skimming over the fabric of her jeans before dipping beneath the hem. The touch was electric, sending shivers down her spine. "I can’t stop thinking about how perfect you are."

Perfect. The word made her heart stutter. She was far from perfect, but in this moment, with Lando looking at her like she was the only thing that existed, it didn’t seem to matter. His green/blue eyes bore into hers, stripping away any doubt, any insecurity. All she could see was the intensity in his gaze, the way it flickered with need.

"Lando…" she breathed, her voice shaky. Her hands found his shoulders, gripping him tightly as if he might disappear if she let go.

He responded by pressing her harder against the table, his hips aligning with hers. The friction sent a jolt of pleasure through her, unrelenting and undeniable. His lips left hers, trailing down her jawline, nipping at the sensitive skin just below her ear. "Tell me you want this," he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. "Tell me you want me."

Want. The word hung heavy in the air, a demand disguised as a plea. She did want him. God, she did. But there was still a part of her holding back, questioning whether this was what she really wanted or if it was just the heat of the moment talking. Lando seemed to sense her hesitation because he pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

"I want you," she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. "I’d never wanted anyone like this before, but..."

"What’s wrong?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. It was such a stark contrast to the dominance she had felt moments ago that it caught her off guard. "Do you not feel it too?"

She shook her head quickly, feeling guilty for making him question himself. "No, it’s not that. I do feel it. I just—" She paused, unsure of how to explain the tangle of emotions swirling inside her.  "I’ve never been this close to someone before. Not like this."

His expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting into a small, reassuring smile. "I have," he admitted, his voice steady. "But none of it ever felt like this. This is different. It’s real, y/n. Can’t you feel it?"

She nodded, unable to deny the truth in his words. There was something different about this, something that felt raw and unfiltered. It wasn’t just about the physical attraction—though that was undeniable—it was about the connection, the way their hearts seemed to beat in sync.

"Then stop overthinking," Lando said, his tone playful but firm. "Just feel."

And with that, he kissed her again, deeper this time. His tongue parted her lips, exploring every inch of her mouth with an urgency that left no room for doubt. One hand traveled up her side, slipping beneath her shirt to press against the bare skin of her lower back. The other slid around to the front, palming her breast through her bra.

The sensation was overwhelming, her body arching involuntarily into his touch. A moan escaped her lips, swallowed by his as he continued to kiss her with a fervor that set her blood ablaze. The world around them faded away, leaving only the two of them in that moment, lost in each other.

"You’re so beautiful," Lando breathed, his voice ragged. His thumb brushed over her nipple, already hard with arousal, and she gasped against his mouth. "Every part of you."

His words sent a thrill of pleasure through her, her mind spinning with the implications. She’d never felt this desired, this wanted. And it was intoxicating. “Lando…” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. “Don’t stop.”

His response was immediate. He broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “I won’t,” he promised, his voice thick with intent. “Not unless you tell me to.”

The weight of his words settled over her, leaving no room for uncertainty. This was happening. Right here, right now, with Lando looking at her like she was everything he’d ever wanted. She nodded, her decision made without a single doubt.

“Then don’t,” she said, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart. “Take me.”

His pupils dilated at her words, the hunger in his eyes unmistakable. Without another word, he reached for the button of her jeans, his movements quick but careful. The sound of the zipper sliding down echoed in the quiet space, a reminder of the intimacy unfolding between them.

“Spread your legs for me,” he commanded, his voice deep and gravelly. The tone sent a shiver down her spine, the mix of dominance and tenderness overwhelming.

She obeyed, shifting her hips until her legs were parted, allowing him access. His hands moved with purpose, slipping beneath the elastic of her panties to gently cup her warmth. The contact was sudden, his fingers brushing against her clit with a precision that made her gasp.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured, his voice laced with satisfaction. “Did you know that?”

She shook her head, too overwhelmed to speak. All she could do was watch as he dipped a finger inside her, his touch sending shockwaves through her body. The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt, the way he filled her completely, tilting his finger just right to stroke her walls.

“So tight,” he groaned, his voice strained. “God, I can’t wait to be inside you.”

His words ignited a fire within her, her hips bucking against his hand as she chased the pleasure. Lando obliged, adding a second finger and curling them in just the right way to make her knees tremble.

“Fuck, Lando…” she moaned, her voice breaking. “Please…”

“Please what?” he growled, his eyes dark with desire. “Tell me what you want.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat. How could she even begin to articulate the craving building inside her, the desperate need to have him fully, completely?

Before she could form the words, Lando took matters into his own hands—literally. He withdrew his fingers, replacing them with his tongue. The sensation was overwhelming, the warmth and pressure of his mouth sending her spiraling into sensory overload.

“Oh my god…” she gasped, her hands flying to his hair as she tried to anchor herself. Lando didn’t hesitate, his tongue flicking against her clit with relentless precision. Every movement was deliberate, calculated to bring her closer to the edge.

“You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, his voice muffled against her core. “I can’t get enough of you.”

His dirty talk only added fuel to the fire, her hips rocking against his face as she struggled to hold on. But Lando wasn’t done yet. He pulled back, positioning himself between her legs before guiding his cock to her entrance.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice trembling with restraint. His eyes met hers, and for a moment, it was just the two of them, locked in a silent exchange of trust and desire.

She nodded, biting her lip to keep from begging. “Yes. Please.”

With one swift motion, he pushed inside her, filling her completely. The sensation was almost too much, her body stretching to accommodate him. She gasped, her nails digging into his shoulders as she adjusted to the feeling.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” Lando whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “I don’t think I’ll last.”

But then he started to move, slow and steady at first, giving her time to adjust. Each thrust was measured, his hips meeting hers with a rhythm that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her veins.

“Lando,” she moaned, unable to hold back any longer. “Harder. Please.”

He listened, picking up the pace until the sound of their bodies connecting filled the air. The pleasure built with every thrust, consuming them both until all that was left was the raw, primal need to reach the peak together.

“Come for me,” Lando growled, his voice commanding. “Let me feel you come apart.”

He didn’t stop moving, not even for a second. His arms tightened around her as he carried her down the hallway, her legs still wrapped securely around his waist, his cock still buried deep inside her. Her breath hitched with every step, the sensation of him twitching within her only heightening the anticipation that built with each passing moment.

“You feel so good,” Lando murmured into her ear, his voice low and gravelly, sending shivers down her spine. He nuzzled her neck, peppering soft kisses along her skin, making her shudder. “I can’t wait to have you like this, completely at my mercy.”

Mercy. The word sent a rush of heat through her body, pooling between her legs. She bit her lip, trying to steady her breathing, but it was no use. She was already lost in the haze of desire that Lando had created.

He kicked open the door to his bedroom with one swift motion, and then he was laying her down on the bed, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His hands were everywhere—in her hair, on her hips, sliding up her thighs—as if he couldn’t get enough of her. And maybe he couldn’t. She certainly couldn’t get enough of him.

“Lando,” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Please,  move… don’t make me wait.”

His lips curved into a wicked smile, and he leaned down to kiss her again, deep and possessive, his tongue dominating hers. He pulled back just enough to look into her eyes, those piercing green/blue  eyes that seemed to see straight through to her soul. “I won’t,” he said, his voice a promise. “Not tonight. Not ever.”

Before she could respond, he spread her legs apart, repositioning himself between them. He looked down at her, his gaze intense, almost primal. “Are you sure?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

She nodded, unable to speak, her heart pounding in her chest. Yes, she thought. Always yes.

With one quick, deliberate motion, he made an in-and-out motion and sank into her again, filling her completely. She gasped, her body arching up to meet his, desperate for more. His name escaped her lips in a breathless moan, and he groaned in response, his forehead resting against hers.

“Fuck, y/n,” he muttered, his voice ragged. “You feel so damn good.”

He began to move, slow and steady at first, giving her body time to adjust again. His thrusts were measured, deliberate, each one hitting her in just the right spot. She clutched at his shoulders, digging her nails into his skin, as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her.

“Lando,” she cried out, her voice breaking. “Please… harder.”

He listened, picking up the pace until the room was filled with the sound of their bodies coming together. His thrusts grew deeper, harder, each one sending jolts of electricity through her veins. She could feel the orgasm building inside her, closer and closer, threatening to consume her.

“Come for me,” Lando demanded, his voice commanding. “Let me feel you come apart.”

His words pushed her over the edge, and she did exactly as he said. Her body convulsed around him, her walls clenching tight as the orgasm ripped through her. She screamed his name, lost in the throes of pleasure, as he continued to thrust into her, chasing his own release.

“I’m close,” he gritted out, his voice strained. “God, I’m so close.”

She reached up to touch him, her fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. “Don’t stop,”she breathed, her voice barely audible. 

He didn’t. With one final, powerful thrust, he came. He let out a guttural growl, his body going rigid as he spilled inside her, his warmth mingling with hers.

For a few moments, neither of them moved, caught in the aftermath of what had just happened. Lando collapsed onto the bed beside her, pulling her into his arms. She lay there, her heart still racing, her body buzzing with the remnants of pleasure.

“That was…” she trailed off, unable to find the words to describe what had just happened.

“Incredible,” Lando finished for her, his voice soft but filled with conviction. He kissed her forehead, then her cheek, before finally capturing her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss. “And it’s only the beginning.”

She smiled against his lips, feeling a sense of contentment wash over her. But before she could fully bask in the moment, Lando pulled away slightly, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Ready for round two?” he asked, his voice teasing.

As the night drew to a close, Lando and Y/N lay tangled in the sheets, breathless and content. Lando's fingers traced small circles on her skin, a soft and soothing contrast to the intensity of earlier. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to her temple, and she smiled, feeling completely at ease in his embrace.

"You know," Lando murmured, his voice playful yet tender, "I think we just set a new standard for our dates."

She laughed softly, turning to meet his gaze. "Is that so?" she teased, her fingers gently caressing his chest.

"Yeah," he grinned, his eyes sparkling. "But no pressure. I think we can take it slow from here on out... unless you're ready to break some more records."

She chuckled, snuggling closer, feeling his warmth surrounding her. "Maybe we should just enjoy the moment, Lando."

He nodded, his expression softening as he held her tighter. "You're right. This... us... it feels real. And that's all that matters."

She rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Just the quiet, simple certainty that something beautiful had begun between the two of them.

[goron-king-darunia]

This. While it's almost natural for the movie-making model we have now of the paint-by-numbers, written-for-the-test-audience, focus-group-approved to emerge under capitalism (because if everyone likes it, then the film can be sold to EVERYONE and everyone is a bigger audience of wallets to sell to than just "that weird niche of freaks that likes musicals" [affectionate, I am one]) the fact remains that when you write a film "for everyone", you inevitably end up writing a broad, shallow, pleasant nothing for nobody. Because when you start worrying about "alienating the audience" by including stuff that's too niche or too weird or too "woke" or too sappy or too dark or too much, you smooth out all the character of the media and sell everyone the same soft polished sphere every time.

And I don't mind polished spheres. A little meaningless fluff is nice from time to time. And I get that there's nothing new under the sun and we have classic literature and classic movies and tropes that get repeated often for a REASON.

But art isn't about catering to everyone. Art is not a product, or at least, it is not ONLY a product. Art shines, is best, when we are getting a story that only one person could tell, because every bit of it, even if it's "the same story we've all seen before", absolutely drips and oozes with the creator's perspective, their thoughts, their feelings.

The weirdly specific way they draw insects or the insane reverence they have in their writing for ceramics, or their abject hatred for canned soup or whatever weird and wonderful thing that becomes apparent from someone's work.

Art is not solely a product. It is communication. That's why AI can't make art. It can make decent-looking images if you fuck with it enough or whatever. But AI has no experiences. It has nothing to say. It cannot be art.

Art is not about parading around a set of characters that everyone and their mom can look at and go "oh. that's me!" It's about grabbing a few people by the throat and violently shaking them. "This is you. This is me. We are the same" and at the same time grabbing several other people by the throat and slapping the shit out of them like "this is me. This isn't you. Either learn to accept that or we go our separate ways and never speak of this again."

And above all, art is about vivisecting yourself as the artist, picking the weird and gross and beautiful things out of your insides, smearing them on a paper or screen or canvas or instrument, and at the end of a long and grueling process, you understand yourself better. And you send the hideous, wonderful mess into the world, and a few people out there just... get it. And a few more understand. And a few more sort of get the general message. And a few more are catching things you didn't know were there, and a few more are taking absolutely wild leaps of logic to things you're sure aren't part of your work, and maybe a few more just absolutely hate it with a passion and don't even want to understand it.

But by god, for the people that get it, or learn to get it, or get something out of it you didn't even know was there? That's magic. And you lose that when you get rid of the ugly parts, or the parts that seem too strange and specific. Because then the story written by committee becomes just another story that anyone could have told that doesn't show the artist anything about themselves and doesn't show the audience anything new about the world or the creator.

The same generic story-line written by committee to get the maximum number of dollars in revenue is always going to be a cheap imitation of the exact same sort of story told by a little gremlin that just REALLY wants to tell you that story.

On the other hand, though, with how toxic internet culture can be, I absolutely do not blame people for telling the dime-a-dozen slop stories over and over because those are safe. When the Internet's knee-jerk reaction to any production that's less than perfect is to bully the creators for, like, not even slights or malice or objective problems, but for, like, not telling the exact story they wanted to hear, let alone keeping slightly weird elements in, or whatever, I can see why people don't want to be vulnerable like that. Back in the day if people didn't like your stuff, the worst that could happen was you wouldn't get published or work in the industry anymore. Nowadays some guy with a Twitter and too much free time will just doxx you for, like, telling an off-color joke or liking the wrong ship in a kiddy show you liked in the year 2000.

We need more art that doesn't condescend to the audience, that doesn't have to explain itself, that doesn't have to fill some formula for maximum sales, that doesn't have to be vetted by 12 different focus groups to make it into stores or theaters.

And to circle back to Ysolt's original point, it is good and healthy and normal to engage with something weird and new that you might not like. Because that's how you find out you like new things. Putting off watching an indie cartoon because "the art style is ugly." Fuck it. Watch it anyway. If you don't like it, you can stop watching. See a book that piques your interest but the blurb doesn't seem like something you'd like? Read a few pages. You can put it down if you don't like it.

I understand that there's more media to consume than any mortal can in one lifetime and you need to be discerning to maximize the time you spend enjoying things. But if you don't approach new media with an open mind, no expectations, and no recommendations on occasion, you're going to miss out on a LOT of stuff you would like if you gave things a chance. Someone had to watch The Amazing Digital Circus first before it became popular. Someone had to read Gideon the Ninth. Someone somewhere played Undertale for the first time, never having heard of it before, and loved the hell out of it.

Approach new media on occasion. Not everything is tailor made for you. And that's a good thing. Because not only does that mean it was tailor made for someone else, but it also means you are broadening your horizons when you choose to engage with it as it is.

fuck an "intended audience" how about we normalize engaging with new and unfamiliar art pieces on their own terms

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts - Pt II

Pairing - Teacher!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader

WC - 4.3k

Contains - slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, single motherhood, kindergarten teacher AU, school field trip, awkward bashful stevie, ONE use of y/n bc the story called for it sorry i don’t make the rules, mention of parent death

AN - here’s part two! I’m so thankful for the love and support you all showed on the first part and continue to show on all my works. It means so much that you guys enjoy my silly little delusions that i happened to turn into silly little stories!

Much love ~ emma

“Well, she’s excelling in English and reading, but struggling a bit with our math unit,” your daughter’s new kindergarten teacher informs you across a maplewood desk clad with plenty of miscellaneous trinkets; Abbey sits on a plastic chair next to you. Normally, it’s not recommended to bring your child to a parent/teacher conference, but with the cost of hiring a sitter lately, this was your only feasible option.

“That being said,” he continues optimistically, “I have plenty of practice worksheets I can send home with you, and if she’s still not getting it in a few weeks, I'm more than willing to stay after hours to work with her.”

You cringe at the idea of him working overtime for you or Abbey, even if it’s literally his job.

“That’s very generous, Mr. H, but–”

He cuts you off, speaking your name in a reassuring tone, “I promise, I’m happy to. It’s not as if I have anywhere else to be,” he chuckles, gesturing to the empty room where you sit.

He senses your hesitation but continues anyway, “Look, I’ll give you the worksheets, and check back in next week. Deal?” he’s clearly asking you, but Abbey beats you to the punch, “Can I use my crayons?”

“Obviously,” he phrases it as though he would expect nothing less.

Abbey gives a barely noticeable little pump of her fist. She’s wriggling around in her seat and you can tell she’s getting antsy with all the ‘grownup talk��. Steve rises first and sticks his hand out for you to shake and when you return the gesture, he takes your palm in both of his.

“Hey, Abbey’s doing great, seriously. You have nothing to worry about,” maybe you look anxious at the prospect of your child struggling in a subject because you somehow weren’t attentive enough, or maybe he can just read you like a book. Either way, his hands on you are dizzying.

“I appreciate that,” you offer him a tender smile as he releases you from his grasp. “What do you say, Abbey? Wanna head home?”

She immediately deflates at the question. School has been in session for barely two months, and all she can seem to talk about is her new teacher. The car rides home and dinners at the table are spent telling tales of his Star Wars impressions, or how he hangs up every picture he’s given on the corkboard behind his desk– how he lets the class have extra recess time if they behave all day long, and how he ‘never ever’ raises his voice.

You can always picture it so easily. There’s something naturally whimsical about him, and anyone can tell he was made for this career. There’s a distant fear that the infatuation Abbey seems to have with him is caused by the absence of her own father, and you wish constantly to be able to give her that– to be two parents for the price of one– but as much as she adores you, there’s always going to be a void in her life that you alone can’t fill. It makes you ache to dwell on it for too long.

“Can’t we stay just a little bit longer?” She pleads with glistening eyes.

“I’m sure Mr. H wants to get home too, Ab,” at that, her features twist into a pout.

Steve kneels in front of her, “I’m gonna see you on Monday though, right?” She tearfully nods, “Good,” he grins and gives her hair a little ruffle when he stands.

“You two have a good weekend, and drive home safe, okay?”

You send him a shy wave, “You too, Mr. H,”

As you’re making your way down the hallway towards the exit with Abbey's hand clasped tightly in yours, you hear a voice along with heavy footfall echo after you, “Wait!--”

When you turn around, Steve’s lightly jogging towards you with a flyer in his hand, “I forgot to give you this,” he pants when he catches up. He hands you a colorful paper advertising a class field trip to Spiller Farm– an orchard a few miles outside of town.

He runs a hand through his hair, mussed from a stressful day doing exactly that, “We still need a few more chaperones, I wanted to ask if you’d be able to?”

Abbey’s demeanor becomes instantly lighter as she begins tugging on your arm, “Please, mommy?!” she begs, as if she’d even have to. “Definitely! Let me double check my schedule and make sure I’m not working,” you smile kindly, “I’ll let you know on Monday when I drop her off,”

For a split second, Steve considers just giving you his number before he thinks better of it. You barely know him, for Christ’s sake. I’d look like a complete creep, He thinks.

“Y-yeah– that’s fine,” he winces at his own awkwardness, “Trip’s on Wednesday,” again feeling like a blundering idiot, as the flyer he just handed you clearly states as much.

If you notice though, you don’t mention it. You simply say,

 “See you Monday,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Abbey seemed to be in better spirits by the time you made it home and popped a frozen pizza into the oven. You’ve always envied the rebound rate of her sour moods; maybe you should take a page out of her book.

She sits at the table playing with two perfectly groomed Barbie Dolls. Her other toys were a different story– baby doll’s with botched haircuts, stuffed animals with unidentifiable stains and the occasional hole, but her Barbies were always considered with the utmost care a five-year-old could offer.

“Mr. H says his favorite pizza is pepperoni,” she says from where she sits behind you, “is that what kind we’re having?”

“No, silly goose, you don’t like pepperoni,” you remind her, “you always say it’s too spicy,”

“Oh, okay,” she sounds indifferent; she trusts you to remember what she likes and dislikes on her behalf, sparing no room in her growing brain for such trivial facts.

“Can I have four slices?” She asks sweetly. You hum and pretend to give it some thought before bargaining, “How about I give you one slice first, and then if you’re still hungry, you can have more?”

She nods, taking the bait. You eventually make it to the table, plates in hand, and eat the greasy slices in a comfortable silence until Abbey asks,

“What kind of pizza did my daddy like?”

It’s not the first time she’s asked questions about Jeremy, and you know it won’t be the last, but your heart still sinks a little every time she does.

“Your dad liked hawaiian pizza, that was his favorite,”

“‘ha-way-en’?” she mispronounces, “what’s that?” her little features contort with confusion.

You correct her pronunciation and reply, “Well, technically It’s a state, but hawaiian pizza has ham and pineapple on it,”

Her confusion morphs to disgust and she giggles, “Ew!”

“I know,” her laughter is contagious, “I don’t like it either,” you wave your hand in front of your nose in a ‘P.U’ gesture.

Her father is no longer a topic of conversation after that. It was always like this– the questions generally mundane and inconsequential, not realizing that the images she’s conjuring are covered in cobwebs and dust; buried deep in the forgotten corners of your subconscious.

When you’re a kid, nothing holds that kind of weight. Petty things like broken toys or an early bedtime are the most of her worries and memories aren’t so burdening– yet another thing you envy of her youth.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The next few days go by without a hitch– school, ballet class and homemade dinners every night– that is until Wednesday morning when you wake up and are immediately confronted with the sun cascading through your curtains, and your alarm that's been beeping for thirty minutes longer than it normally does.

Abbey is straddling your lap and vigorously shaking your shoulders, “Mom! Mom, we have to go!” The panic you feel outweighs the embarrassment of being woken up late by your own child, and you rush to slip on a pair of jeans and the first sweater you make out on top of your hamper.

A sideways glance at the clock tells you that you have exactly three minutes to get out the door– it appears that your go-to look lately is bags under your eyes and your hair scooped up into the nearest claw clip. The trend continues today, though you’re able to dab on a little concealer while Abbey puts her boots on in the mudroom.

You’re both shocked and amazed that she’s dressed– her outfit even mostly coordinating. Unfortunately, the remains of what was supposed to be a ham and cheese sandwich are littered all over the counter. Crackers for lunch today it is.

Grabbing her mostly empty backpack, you ask, “You got everything, Ab?”

“Yep!” She shouts, mostly because she was already outside and standing in the driveway, waiting for you to unlock the car for her.

When you get to the school, several golden buses are parked in a single file line and opening their doors for dozens of children to pour in.  A little mortified, you realize you’re the last parent here, and silently pray that there’ll still be a seat for you and Abbey on the bus.

You’re searching for Steve, albeit unconsciously. You aren’t acquainted with any of the other teachers, and he’s your life raft in this sea of chaos and PTA soccer moms. You don’t have to look for very long though, before your name is being shouted from a few feet away on the tarmac. Grasping Abbey’s wrist, you shoulder your way over to where he stands waiting.

“Hey–I’m so sorry, I somehow slept through my alarm this morning,” you blush and muss Abbey’s hair, “this little gremlin woke me up, actually,”

She shakes your hand off her head, “Hey!” she frowns.         

“You’re good, promise. I saved you a seat, and Abbey,” he redirects his attention, “Clarissa B. asked to sit with you, is that okay?”

She’s too excited to bother responding, instead dashing inside in an attempt to find her friend. You hear a muffled warning of ‘no running!’, eliciting a shared laugh between the two of you.

“After you,” Steve steps back to let you in first. You spot the only available seat which is dead in the front of the bus– and when you sit down, Steve sits down next to you.

“Well, uh,” he scratches his neck nervously when you scoot to make room for him, “I saved us a seat. Is what I meant.”

“It’s okay,” you give a reassuring breath of laughter, “I don’t mind,”

“Right,” he clears his throat and you feel the bus shift gears to make its way towards the

orchard.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You’ve never been this close to Steve before and right away the space is enveloped with whatever cologne he’s wearing and the spearmint scent of the gum he’s been absentmindedly chewing. He smells of cedar and something musky; cinnamon and spice. You notice now all of the freckles and moles that form constellations over his forearms and neck.

When the silence between you becomes a little too stiff– pleasantries about the weather having subsided nearly ten minutes ago– he asks, “Have you ever been to Spiller Farm?”

“Yeah I– I have,” you say, unsure why you’re suddenly nervous, “My parents used to take me every year when I was Abbey’s age to go apple picking. Have you?”

“Oh, no,” he’s fixated on his hands folded in his lap, shaking his head, “this’ll be my first time, I actually grew up in Indiana,”

“Indianapolis?” You question curiously.

He gave a humorless laugh, “I wish. It was a uh…much smaller town,” he finally looks at you then, faces much closer than you realized in the cramped bus seat, “I came to Maine for college, liked it so much I guess I didn’t want to leave.” This time when he smiles, it looks genuine.

He clears his throat and continues, “Abbey tells me you work in a hospital– RN?

It was remarkable how much you knew about each other despite having very little conversations that didn’t surround Abbey; thanks to your oversharing kindergartener.

You wish that you could tell him you were a nurse, feeling increasingly embarrassed at your lack of a college education, but instead you reply, “Reception,” with a tight lipped smile. Having Abbey so young, and doing it alone at that, left no time for degrees or prestigious jobs.

You expect a sympathetic expression in response, maybe even distaste, but you find only sincerity etched across his features when he says, “That’s really neat, I could never do that. Hospitals they…kinda give me the heebie jeebies,”

“It’s definitely not for the faint of heart,” you agree, “I have so many crazy stories,”

“Well, I’d love to hear them sometime,” he smiles at you so tenderly that it makes you want to disintegrate and float away among the air that breezes through the open bus windows.

“Yeah, I’d like that”, you say, distracted by the hazel flecks in what you had previously thought were brown eyes. Luckily, the distinct jolt of tire on gravel bails you out of more awkward silence and before you know it, you’re filing off the bus and breathing in the scent of freshly picked apples and cow manure.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You foolishly forget that Steve isn’t just here with you and your daughter on his own accord, and does actually have to do his job of wrangling children and organizing the day's activities. He proceeds to do a headcount, looking like he means business with one hand propped on his hip and a clipboard gripped in the other.

He captures everyone’s attention with ease as he does a quick call and response gesture, ‘Clap, Clap, Clap Clap Clap,’ you’re shocked at how efficiently it works to halt their chattering.

“Good morning, everyone!” He beams and the class responds with a choir of high-pitched ‘Good Morning, Mr. H!’’s, he continues, “Alright, so, I’m going to be splitting everyone into small groups. Each parent will have about five kiddos, and I’ll just be floating around to make sure everything goes smoothly. Sound like a plan?”

Everyone agrees in a sea of nods and murmurs and the kids bounce with anticipation– hoping that they might get placed in the same group as their friends. Finally, you hear your name called and Steve pairs you with five children: your own daughter, her friend Clarissa B., a little boy named Beck, his younger sister and a timid little girl named Sophia. You breathe a sigh of relief that you hadn’t realized you were holding when it becomes obvious that all the kids you were assigned seemed to be fairly reserved and not too rowdy.

You lead your little flock over to the barn, where several farm hands are waiting to assist the children in petting the cows, pigs and other various animals. There are red buckets full of pellets that you assume is feed for the goats scattered along the ground, and you can practically feel Abbey buzzing with excitement beside you. She had been begging you for a pet practically the second after she said her first word.

Steve makes his way over to you from the rows of apple trees in the orchard section of the farm while you supervise the kids holding their tiny palms out to the ravenous livestock– slightly anxious that one of them might lose a finger.

You feel a strong hand on your shoulder, “C’mon, don’t wanna pet a dirt-covered sheep?” Steve quips when he reaches you.

“Not particularly,” you huff a laugh, “I was never really a ‘farm animal’ person. I think a dog would suit me just fine,”

“Do you have one?”

“Oh, no. Abbey’s been asking me for one since she was, like, two? I think? I just don’t have the time, you know?”

“Believe me, I get it.” He seems pensive when he responds, looking out over the expanse of the farm, “I never had a pet growing up, either,”

Before you have the chance to express your remorse, Abbey calls, “Mommy, look! Come pet the goat!”

“Be right there!” You call back with thinly veiled reluctance.

“You heard the girl,” Steve pats your shoulder where his hand had been as if to say ‘Go on’. He has an amused if not smug expression when you turn to face him.

“Why don’t you go pet the goat, Mr. H,”

“Hey, she asked for you! Don’t shoot the messenger,” He laughs, “Don’t worry, I'll take over supervising for a minute,” he sends you a wink and it makes your stomach drop, just a bit, like when you miss a step on a staircase but catch yourself just before you fall.

A similar feeling strikes you when you actually do fall, slipping on a particularly slick patch of mud and landing flat on your back. It temporarily knocks the wind out of you, but the sensation is quickly replaced by a white hot embarrassment. Steve’s at your side in an instant, albeit poorly concealing a laugh, “Oh my God, are you okay?” he asks, a little bewildered as he kneels down to help you up and getting his own jeans muddy in the process. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.

You groan, out of discomfort or humiliation, you’re not sure. He wraps two calloused hands around your biceps and hoists you up with a surprising amount of strength. By the time you’re on your feet again, Abbey’s also rushing towards you.

“Mommy, you have mud on your butt,” she giggles. Always Captain Obvious, your daughter.

“Thanks baby, I see that,”

She’s trying to shrug off her jacket to tie around your waist, even if she finds your current predicament rather amusing, but you stop her before she can get very far, “Keep it, Ab, it’s chilly out. I’m okay,” you falsely promise.

“Here, you can have mine,” Steve takes his windbreaker off to hand to you.

“Oh– you don’t have to do that, Steve,” feeling guilty that he’s even offering, “I’ll get mud all over it– and won’t you be cold?”

“Nah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “I run warm, plus I hear they just came out with these cool things that clean your clothes for you when they get dirty– washing machines I think they’re called?”

You playfully smack his arm and he smirks, “Don’t get smart, Harrington,” taking the jacket from him nonetheless, “Thank you. I’ll wash it for you tonight,”

He shoves his hands in his pockets after you take the garment, unsure what to do with them now that they’re empty, “Don’t mention it,” and there's that damned smile again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You promised Abbey yesterday that you could pick a bag of apples to make a pie together, so once everyone is satisfied with the time spent at the barn, you all make your way to the dozens of rows of trees, adorned with fresh, bright red fruit for plucking.

“What kind of apples do you think, Ab?” you look down to ask her, “They have Gala, Empire, Granny Smith,” you read off the signs marking each aisle.

“Whichever is the most juicy!”

“That would probably be HoneyCrisp, those are over this way, I think,” you say, putting a hand on her shoulder to guide her in the right direction.

Abbey does more eating than picking, leaving you with all the heavy lifting, despite the numerous ‘No Eating’ signs. You just can’t bring yourself to stop her– not when she looks at you with so much unbridled joy. Eating the apples straight off the tree had always been your favorite part, too.

A row over from the one you were in, you watch as Steve lifts another student onto his shoulders so he can pick the specific apple he was jumping for, and you have to fight the corners of your lips from quirking up into a smile.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There was a small wooden cabin near the gravel parking lot that doubled as a gift shop, and the shelves were stocked full of handmade knick knacks, glass bottles of maple syrup, and all sorts of treats. It smelled wonderfully of freshly baked fritters and cinnamon.

“Can I get this candy apple, mom?”

“I don’t know, baby, we have to make sure it doesn’t have any peanuts,”

Petulant whining follows before a cheerful, silvery voice declares, “Don’t worry, dear, It doesn’t.” When you turn to find the source, you’re met with an older, stout woman with grey hair adorned in a bandana– the owner, you presume.

“Can I, mommy?”

“Alright, okay. Put it on the counter with the bag of apples,”

She makes a beeline to the wooden counter, barely able to reach over the top as she slams the treat down, sporting a toothy grin.

“Thank you–” you search for her nametag but find nothing.

She fills in the blank for you, “Dorothy,” her lips wobble just a little when she smiles, face wrinkling from decades of laughter and grinning.

“Any time, honey. You two take care now,” she says when she finishes checking out your items. She wags a finger at Abbey, “You be good for your momma, missy,”

“Yes ma’am,” Abbey replies politely.

She skips in front of you contentedly, apple in hand, out of the shop and towards the rest of the waiting students.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Back on the bus, Abbey naps against your chest despite being slightly too big and the candy apple she begged you for is now getting stuck to your sleeve, but you don’t dare disturb her. Steve sits beside you again and this time the silence is much more tolerable; both of you exhausted from a day of governing twenty children, give or take.

“Abbey, uhm, told me about her dad,” he says timidly, nervous that the subject might cross a boundary, “I wanted to offer my condolences.”

You’d already resigned yourself to the fact that you’d have this conversation eventually– especially with Abbey being school aged now.

“I appreciate that,” you reassure, “It was a long time ago, I don’t think Abbey even remembers anything about him.” You realize in real time that this is the reason her questioning of her father has increased in the past few weeks.

He nods and pauses before he continues; contemplating, “Can I ask what happened?”

You turn only your head to look at him and he clarifies, “Abbey only said he ‘went to heaven’,”

“He, uh– car accident.” you answer simply, returning your gaze back to the crown of Abbey’s head resting peacefully on your chest, “She was just about a year old,”

The expression twisting his features urges you to reiterate that you’re okay– you’re both okay. You’ve had nearly six years to reconcile the loss of Jeremy; you’ve mourned, you’ve grieved and you’ve placed his memory tight in a sector of your heart that was designated just for him. But you didn’t want the pity anymore– you didn’t want to be the widow.

He seems to comprehend this despite you having said very little, and decides to drop the topic for now.

“She talks about you all the time, you know.” You nudge him gently with your shoulder and he becomes suddenly shy– a slight blush tinting his cheeks.

“She talks about you all the time,” he counters, “just goes on and on about how her mom makes the best boxed mac and cheese, and always plays make believe with her– even when she says she’s tired.”

You feel the sting of unwanted tears welling behind your eyes, “Well, I–”

“--You do the best you can, and you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit,” he interrupts before you have the chance to discount yourself, “You’re a great mom, Y/N.”

One of the aforementioned tears breaches the edge of your lash line and falls rapidly down our cheek, dropping onto the soft cushion of Abbey’s hair. When the bus abruptly stops, you wipe your face quickly and smear the salty trail it left in its wake.

You harshly clear your throat, “Thanks, Steve,”

“You do that a lot,”

“I feel it a lot.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Back at home, you set Abbey up in front of the television and peel your mud stained jeans off to throw them immediately in the wash, along with Steve’s jacket; not bothering with the hamper.

Once you’ve taken a quick shower to rinse the remaining crusted dirt off your thighs, you make your way back into the dimly lit living room to find Abbey asleep, once again, with her knees tucked into her chest, and the technicolor screen illuminating her features in tones of muted blue.

You strain your back to pick her up, but it’ll be worth it when she’s no longer small enough to carry bridal style into her all pink bedroom, and set atop her princess sheets. You’re thankful to have gotten her into her pajamas already– foreseeing this would happen.

There’s a dull longing in the center of your chest as you kiss her forehead and tuck the comforter up to her chin. It’s that same tug you felt after Jeremy died, when you realized you’d be putting your daughter to bed alone from that point on. It festered and grew until one day it became so routine that you didn’t remember what it felt like to have your partner there next to you, and then it dissipated completely.

Until tonight.

Except for this time the longing wasn’t for Jeremy. It wasn’t even for that ‘perfect man’ you’d sometimes conjure up in your mind’s eye just before you fell asleep at night.

It was for someone new.

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

tag list - @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @cali-888 @jamdoughnutmagician @kolsmikaelson @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @mrsnarnian

[aurorawritestoescape]

A HELL OF A MORNING

Stepdad!Joel Miller x f!reader || 4,2k

part 2 of A Step Into Hell || can be read alone

Summary: Joel has his favorite thing for breakfast. His stepdaughter.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, step-cest, Joel’s POV, dub con but reader’s into it, big legal age gap, dark!Joel, perv!Joel, possessive!joel, f!oral, unprotected piv (wrap it up), blackmail, premature ejaculation, creampie, degradation, rough m!oral, brief choking on cock, slutshaming, praise kink, daddy kink, mention of public sex, spanking (1), cum eating, swearing. The pics are for the mood only. Reader has no specific physical descriptions. Joel can lift reader.

A/n: This mf wouldn’t leave my mind and after such a warm welcome of the first fic I’m happy to share more of his depravity with you. I hope you all will enjoy this new story❤️ A huge thank you to a lovely anon for this request and the inspo💕 Kisses to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing😘 Ilysm! Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST || more of stepdad Joel || stepdad Joel drabble

There you were. Sweet thing in her little shorts and a tight top, sitting across from Joel at the breakfast table. Beautiful and hot. Just like a week ago, and a week before that. The only difference was that this morning he knew the feel of your pussy squeezing his cock, knew the taste of your soft lips, the weight of your tits in his hands. This morning you were his.

While Joel’s wife was setting the table for the three of you, you were throwing shy glances at your stepdad from time to time. Joel fucking loved it. Loved how anxious you were about what you two had done the previous night, loved how you flinched every time he spoke, scared that he’d tell the secret to your mother.

‘Honey, got news for ya. I’m fuckin your daugher. Pass the salt?’

Fuck no! He’d never do that, never ruin this thing between him and his sexy stepdaughter. Having you on a leash like that, using your holes whenever he pleased was a gift. You belonged to him and he was going to do everything to keep owning you.

Joel felt like the luckiest man on the planet when his horny thoughts were interrupted by your mom.

“My head’s killing me. I’m going back to bed,” she complained after taking a sip of her coffee and then left the two of you alone in the kitchen.

Fuck. Yeah.

Joel bricked up in a second. His cock was already throbbing in his jeans from all the memories of the previous night that had been flashing in his mind as soon as he had woken up that morning. He’d jerked off in the shower, eyes closed, head full of images of his stepdaughter, coming on his fingers, his cock, her dildo. Thanks to you, his spank bank was full for months ahead but did he even need it when he had a real thing to corrupt and fuck?

After his wife went upstairs, his stiffness began to ache in anticipation. He got a mild kick out of it because he knew that the remedy was sitting right in front of him. Tight magic hole of his stepdaughter was within arm’s reach.

What a sight you were! Eyes downcast, chest heaving, you knew damn well what was going to happen. Maybe even wished for it. Joel had no doubts what a little slut you were. Surely you were excited about a good ol’ morning fuck just like he was. And Joel was ready to oblige, storing a thick breakfast sausage for his favourite girl.

“Ya know what I always wanted to do since you moved to mine?“

A shiver seemed to run over your whole body when his voice broke the ringing silence in the room and you saw your stepdad get up and plop into a chair next to you. You smelled good, sweet and flowery, and Joel began salivating like a hungry wolf over a bunny.

You looked up at him and shook your head.

“Wanted to eat ya out,” Joel replied and poked the wooden surface of the table with his thick finger. “Right — poke— here — poke.”

His heavy gaze fixed on you, he sneered at the way you squirmed in your seat and kept pressing your naked thighs together.

Gah! The horny slut was already soaking her lil shorts.

Joel had an hour or so before his wife would wake up and he was going to use every single second to play with his stepdaughter.

“Did you like your dickin down yesterday?”

You bit your lip, eyes fixed on your lap. Then you whispered, probably scared to be heard by your mother.

“Joel. It’s so fucked up.”

“What is, sweetie?” Joel cooed, scooting closer to you with his chair. “The part where you made recordings of your stepdad fuckin your mom? Or the part where you came hard stuffed full of my dick and your pink rubber cock? Aw, look at you squirmin, ya pussy achin?” he chuckled and pressed, ”What’s exactly fucked up? Tell me.”

“All of it.” Your voice was barely heard. Poor thing must be so confused, terrified, Joel thought. He almost felt sorry for you but the lust immediately took over and he put his bear palm on your naked thigh.

“Yeah, I reckon ya right. But what’s done is done. If hell exists we’ll be there together, babydoll. So let’s have some fun when we still can, yeah?” He roughly squeezed your thigh and you shook your head, looking elsewhere but him.

“Don’t you forget, missy, you have no other choice,” Joel reminded you with a dark smile and leaned forward, his breath fanning your cheek. Your gaze snapped up to his and your pupils dilated when his face got close.

“Ya scared we’ll get caught? I get it.” Joel’s hand slithered higher, inching closer to your covered pussy. “Don’t worry. I’m always careful. If I’m fucking you, means the coast is clear. Relax and enjoy the ride, yeah? And if by some wild chance we’re caught, come up with a lie. No offense but your mom ain’t the brightest. You’d be full of my cock on the couch and she’d think we’re just cuddlin.”

Joel took a sharp breath through his teeth.

“Fuck! why do I get so hard jus’ thinkin about it? Do I want her to watch me fuck you? What do you think?”

You scrunched your pretty nose but Joel didn’t fail to notice your squirming, your glossy eyes, your hardened nipples, tenting your top. He was happy to make you crazy for his cock and his dirty talk was working. Your body was succumbing to his horny taunting, but your mind was still fighting the inevitable.

“Stop it, please,” you begged, shaking like a little chihuahua. Your fear was making you tremble, but you were needy just as much as he was. A devilish smirk twisted Joel’s face as he continued,

“Let’s watch movies together. Every few days. We'll call it ’our bondin time’. You’ll be sittin snugly next to me on the couch. I’ll play with your pussy under a blanket, uh? You’ll try not to moan like a whore.”

“She’s not that stupid, Joel.” Your gaze got fiery, tone annoyed. Joel narrowed his eyes. Were you getting angry at him for tormenting you or at your mother for keeping you from getting railed by your stepdad on every horizontal surface in the house?

Smirking, Joel leaned back and spread his thighs wider. His cock was thumping in the confines of his jeans and he began palming it to get some relief.

He was torturing himself too, turning both of you to the max with his talk, but for sure the pay off was going to be worth it.

“Yeah, maybe we shouldn’t be that ballsy,” he rubbed his scruffy cheek as he spoke, “Damn, if I could tell everyone I’m fuckin your little cunt. Dream! Using your holes in the open. You’d be cockwarming me at the first poker night I hosted.”

Joel loved when your breath hitched.

”Imagine Tommy’s face when he sees my sweet stepdaughter creamin ‘round my cock in her short skirt. I’d love to show you off, babydoll. You’re a ten.”

Your eyes clouded up, fixed on the coffee mug in front of you, and you slowly licked your lower lip. You seemed to be imagining the picture he was painting and Joel knew that you loved what you were seeing in your little cock-obsessed head.

Joel snapped his fingers and you jerked, waking up from your depraved daydreaming.

“Ya were a good girl for me yesterday but here are my rules.”

Your glossy eyes were blinking at him as you mumbled,

“Rules?”

You looked so confused like there was no thought in your pretty head whatsoever. Hell! He wanted to fuck that head.

“Yeah. My house, my rules, sweetie. First. No panties allowed. I wanna know your pussy is free to play whenever I want. And ‘s hot to know that you walk around like that.. ready for daddy to use.”

“Ohh..ok,” you looked down and he saw a little smile dance on your lips. Joel’s face got dark.

“Ya wearin any now?”

You shook your head, your head still down.

“Good girl,” Joel smirked and slapped his thigh with a palm. His chest expanded thinking you’d done it for him and then his mind short circuited.

Almost holding his breath he asked,

“Ya still leakin me?”

Your gaze darted up as you murmured, “I don’t know.”

“Check. Now.”

His tone wasn’t leaving any room for discussion so you brought your hand to your shorts. Joel couldn’t wait to see it. His hand was palming his giant hard-on which was beating hard against his thigh when he saw your hand disappear in your shorts and you moaned softly.

“Two fingers. Stretched you good yesterday. Fuck yourself a little for me. Gather everything you can.”

You locked eyes with him, gaze foggy, while your digits were working your pussy. Joel cupped your cheek and stroked your face with his calloused thumb.

“Such a good slut for daddy.”

He saw you breathing faster as your hand was picking up the pace between your legs.

“Stop! Makin you come’s my job. Pull ‘em out.”

You retrieved your fingers and you both saw them glistening in the light of the morning sun.

Joel took your hand and you gasped when he shoved your fingers into his mouth. He licked them clean, humming at the taste and smacking his lips like a fucking TV chef.

“Yeah, delicious pussy … what’s that undertone? Ah! My jizz!“

Joel’s smile was full of lust and triumph.

“Your little pussy kept some of daddy’s milk. I bet she wants me to fuck it deeper into you. But I need a better taste first. Get up.”

Joel made you stand between his spread thighs and shoot his blown eyes up at your face as his hand grabbed your pussy and he began kneading your soft mound and folds with his thick fingers. His movements were possessive, harsh, but still pleasant, judging by your expression - lips parted, eyes hazy, ready to roll back any second.

“Now the second rule. No boys in this house or anywhere else. You can fool around with your girlfriends if ya into that, I don’t give a fuck, but I don’t want any dicks around her, ya hear me? I want your pussy hungry for cock. My cock.”

Joel’s dick was unbelievably hard, trying to poke out of his jeans. ‘Fuck it! I’m in my own house. If I wanna pull the shlong out I will,” Joel thought and unzipped the fly with a carnal smile. His cock jumped out as soon as it was free and bobbed, looking engorged and ready to explode. But after tasting you, Joel craved more.

He spread his thighs wider, noticing the way you darted your eyes down to get a peek of his length.

“Miss it, babydoll? haven’t seen him all night, yeah?”

Joel pulled you closer by your hips, leaned down and pressed his nose right into your clothed mound.

You gasped and grabbed him by the shoulders, trying to steady yourself.

“What are you…?” the only thing you had time to say before a moan escaped your lips when Joel’s hot tongue licked your pussy over the thin material of your cotton shorts. They soaked in his saliva in a second and through the wet fabric he could easily feel your pulsating clit under his tongue. He was sure you felt his hot muscle there too by the way you fluttered your eyes shut and bit your lower lip.

For a few moments he kept kneading your asscheeks and licking over your shorts, soaking them and turning you on more and more.

Then your eyes snapped open and you looked at the door. Joel parted from your clothed pussy for a second to reassure you,

“Don’t worry, baby. There’s a squeaky step at the top of the stairs. I’ll know she’s comin.”

His words seemed to relax you a little and you held onto his shoulder tighter, trying to sway less under Joel’s hungry groping.

And his hunger was getting unbearable.

“Hop on the table, little slut.” Joel’s chin and mustache were glistening with his saliva. His voice was gruff and impatient. You did what he said, like a good girl, and your stepdad lifted your hips and pulled your shorts down, exposing you. In a second they were lying on the floor. The next command sounded like a growl as Joel sat closer to you in his chair.

“Feet up.”

You obediently placed your feet on the edge, hands planted behind you on the table. “Hey there, beautiful. Daddy’s ready to play.”

The sight of your cunt was driving Joel mad. Like a starving man, he buried his nose between your wet folds and took a big whiff off your drenched pussy. He’s never smelled anything hotter and groaned at the scent. You were so wet he could drink you for hours and he didn’t see any reason not to start. His hot tongue began sliding all over your cunt, gathering your slick off every crevice and fold, slurping and licking with obscene noises. Joel spread you open with his thick fingers so he wouldn’t miss a drop of your tangy nectar and his eyes were closed as he groaned against your perfect cunt.

When he opened his hazy eyes an image of you— jaw slack, chest and belly heaving, lashes fluttering- almost made him jizz all over your thighs. You looked gone, absolutely overdosed on pleasure.

Joel had to stop. The taste and the feel of your little cunt sent his cock and balls into a frenzy and he had planned to pump you full.

But when you looked at him and whispered a quiet ‘daddy, please’, his mouth as if by itself latched onto your crying pussy and he continued sucking, licking, nibbling on your folds and clit. You raked your fingers through his curls, scratched his scalp with your nails, and Joel moaned into your heat. He’s never been so horny in his life, never wanted anyone so strongly and it felt like he might have died if his balls weren’t drenched soon. His cock was leaking rivers of pre-fuck juice but Joel wanted to last, wanted to come inside you again.

“Want daddy’s tongue in your hole, baby?” Joel asked, brushing your puffy clit with his thumb and taking in the sight of you. You were longing for a release and it didn’t surprise him when you nodded eagerly.

“No, tell me. Wanna hear it.”

“Please, fuck me with your tongue, daddy,” you murmured and your blown puppy eyes and a thirsty- slut expression sent his tongue right into your flattering hole. Joel moved his head back and forth, reaching with his thick tongue as deep as it would go, lapping off your slick that was flowing out of you generously. His hands were kneading your thighs, until one snaked up to your chest and under your top. He found your soft tit and began groping and squeezing it while his tongue was thrusting into your tight hole.

Joel’s plans crushed when you started coming. Your walls began clamping on his tongue, your legs trembling, but what caused his misfire was your needy ‘daddy—daddy— ‘m coming— ahhh’. That and the sight of your face all ecstatic and sexy made him thrust his hips up, his balls drew up and his cock began spurting cum all over the place like a damn volcano. Growling and cursing through his teeth, Joel grabbed it by the base, trying to minimize the damage but all in vain. His creamy jizz landed on your thighs, your twitching clit, puffy folds, his neck, his jeans and the table. It was a fucking mess.

When Joel stopped coming, he pushed his sweaty hair back with his hand and leaned back on the chair. Panting, you placed your feet on the floor and stood up on your shaky legs in front of him. Joel’s cum was sliding down your thighs so you padded to the counter and grabbed a paper towel. You cleaned yourself up, then came back and handed some to Joel. But he kept sitting, watching you, legs spread, cock softening but still huge resting on his left thigh.

“Bad girl.”

“Hm?”

“Made me come without stickin it up your pussy.”

“I —Joel, I didn't do anything.”

“Bullshit.” He was fuming. He hadn’t busted a nut like that since he’d been a teen. Fucking embarrassing.

You needed to be punished.

“On your knees. Lick it up.”

“Joel..”

“Lick. It. Up.” His tone was cold.

He saw you swallow loudly, eyes full of fear of the steel in his voice. He didn’t pity you at that moment, his hunger for you had been temporarily satiated and everything he felt then was the desire to possess, control, bend your will to his.

The sight of you kneeling between his legs put a dark smile on his face, and when you swiped your little tongue over his hairy thigh, gathering the spilled cum, it morphed into a grin.

”Everything, babydoll,” he commanded and leaned forward to grab his mug off the table. The coffee was lukewarm but it would do, he needed to rehydrate after busting such a big load. The load you were eating off his soft cock right that moment.

”Bon appetit, little whore,” Joel gloated, sipping his drink, as you were working on cleaning him, your eyes fluttering shut from time to time. You were swallowing his jizz again and again, your tongue soft and hot, and soon Joel began enjoying not only your humiliation, but also the sensation of your gentle tongue dancing over his dick, his balls, his inner thighs.

Joel was chewing on his lower lip, eyes blown, as his cock was waking up.

You were pulling away from his hardening length but suddenly Joel‘s strong hand pushed your head down, spearing your mouth with his cock.

Joel’s fat tip hit the back of your throat and you gagged. Your nails sank into his thighs, teary eyes snapped up to his face with panic, as he was making you choke on his thick dick.

“What is it, babydoll? Ain’t used to huge shlongs, uh? ‘s ok, we’ll train ya,” he cooed, bringing the mug to his lips. He took a sip and then let you free. You coughed, wiping your chin with the back of your hand and glaring at him.

Joel put the mug back on the table and his hand, wrapped around your upper arm, pulled you up on your feet.

While you were still catching your breath, Joel manhandled you down onto his lap. You whined but didn’t fight it. The sensation of your wet pussy pressed to his crotch, your juicy naked ass on his thighs injected a new shot of arousal into his veins.

“Daddy’s back in business, sweetie. C’mon, sit on ‘im.“ Joel lifted you up slightly and then, holding his cock at the base, slid the leaking head between your soaked folds, searching for heaven.

“Bull’s eye,” he chuckled when his fat tip caught on your sloppy entrance.

“Make her eat him—bet ya pussy’s hungry — yeah—hnggg”! he grunted, feeding your cunt his dick in one go. You arched your back and softly whimpered.

“Still tight as fuck. Shit.”

You were sitting on his length fully, warm and wet, and Joel’s arms snaked around your body, caging you in, keeping you close.

“Damn, this cunt of yours… fuckin made for me… to milk my cock… to drive me crazy.”

All you could muster to reply was a moan which came out louder than Joel expected.

“Fuck,” he growled and crashed his mouth against yours, his big hand on the back of your head. You didn’t fight him, maybe it would have been hot if you’d done a little, but your submission, your desire for his cock, was feeding Joel’s ego, making him throb harder, grow faster inside you.

Kissing you, he felt your pussy thump around him, squeeze his already stiff shaft tighter with every beat of your fluttering heart.

“Ride me, ride my dick,” Joel groaned, parting from your whimpering lips, and almost choked when you began moving up and down, slowly first, helping yourself with your hands planted on his broad shoulders and then picking up the pace. His bear paws were kneading your ass, lifting you up in assistance while your walls were massaging his cock just right.

“Yeah—she’s somethin, babydoll— best pussy I had— swear—fuckin hell.”

You seemed to love bouncing on your stepdad’s dick. With sweat covering your forehead, you were glowing in the sunlight. If Joel were romantic he’d compare you to an angel. But he was a lust-driven, immoral asshole so he barked,

“Lovin it, horny slut?”

You didn’t reply, already cock dumb, too concentrated on your upcoming release. Suddenly you leaned forward and nuzzled his neck. Joel felt your tongue dance over his skin and he realized that you were licking off the cum left there.

“Good fuckin girl,” he praised you with a chuckle. “Ain’t even need to tell ya.”

Joel’s head fell back and his jaw got slack as you were kissing his jaw and neck, still riding him. When you pulled back, your lips and chin glistening, Joel dropped his head to watch your cunt swallow his shaft again and again. Your cream was gathering on the base of his cock and covering his coarse pubes.

Your movements were getting hectic, desperate, and Joel was ready to come too.

“Milk daddy again, babydoll. Make it right this time. Let me fill ‘er up.”

You pressed your body close to his with need and after moaning ’Daddy’ into the crease of his neck began shaking on his cock, squeezing it, pulsating, gripping it tight.

It sent Joel right over the edge and his dick spat a long rope of cum into your core, then another and another. He grabbed you by the waist and started moving you up and down, prolonging your orgasms, fucking his cum deeper. He wanted it inside you forever, claiming you, marking you, making you his. Joel squirted the final rope with his arms under yours, his hands pressing on your shoulders, pushing your whole body onto his cock. He emptied his balls to the last drop and you accepted his load moaning and whimpering.

Joel slouched in the chair, exhausted but satisfied, and you rested on his chest. A few moments later Joel looked at his watch and croaked, getting your attention with a light spank over your ass,

“C’mon up, sweetie. She’ll be up soon.”

Joel helped you to get up and cleaned his cum off the table with the paper towel. You weren’t helping. Standing by Joel, you looked drunk, your legs shaking. Your stepdad smirked after assessing your look and helped to put your shorts back on.

“Damn. Lookin like after a gangbang. Can you walk?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled and stumbled to the door, like a dear that recently learnt how to walk. Joel furrowed his brows. Your mom would definitely ask what had happened to you. Hopefully she wouldn’t see you sneaking up to your room.

Unfortunately, Joel’s luck ran out. He heard a squeak.

Fuck!

In three big steps Joel reached you and took you in his arms, bridal style. You gasped and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Follow my lead,” he said under his breath and carried you out of the kitchen.

“Oh my god, what happened?!” his wife exclaimed, frozen in the middle of the stairs.

“She hit her toe, honey. Clumsy girl. Don’t worry. I’ll help her up to her bedroom.”

You were nodding, looking sad, and Joel smirked in his mind. Little slut was ready to lie.

“Is it broken?” Your mom’s voice was worried.

“No, just hurts,” you replied with a shaky voice, ”I’ll be fine.”

Joel hurriedly walked up the stairs, carrying you in his strong arms, leaving you mother behind.

”Don’t worry, honey. I’ll get her everything she needs.”

“Thank you, Joel,” he heard his wife say on her way to the kitchen. Hopefully she won’t notice the scent of sex and cum there, Joel thought.

He shut your bedroom door behind him with his foot, carried you to the bed and laid you down.

“What did I tell ya? She’ll believe anythin,” he smirked, standing by the bed, his hands on his hips.

You smiled a little and leaned against the headboard with a sigh of relief.

Joel’s gaze slid down from your tired looking face to your shorts. An idea of pushing his cum back into your soft hole with his fingers flashed in his mind. No! He needed to return to the kitchen and reassure your mother. God forbid she’d come up to check on you and notice all the cum stains on your clothes.

“We had fun, uh, beautiful?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“Wasn’t talkin to you,” Joel gruffed before bending down and petting your pussy over your shorts. You scuffed and Joel barked a loud laugh.

Then he left your bedroom with a wide smile on his face and thoroughly drained balls.

Thank you for reading! Comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3

MASTERLIST || more of stepdad Joel || stepdad Joel drabble || more step family naughtiness

Tag list:@milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

People who might be interested @toxicanonymity @she-could-never @kiwiharrykiwi @joelalorian @tateypots @magpiepills @pedroswife69 @megangovier @baroness @witchofthedeepwoods

[cheraverse]

garlic. — lee minho 이민호

masterlist ; genre full fluff includes bestfriend!minho, cooking, mention of blind date, accidental burns, kissing.

“in which your best friend seemed to hate your recent blind date.”

“wait, what do you want me to do again?” you frowned, looking at the messy kitchen counter confusedly. so many things happened at the same time. you tried to remember minho’s instruction. crack the egg? chopped the garlic? something to do with the butter?

“nevermind, just sit down,” minho pointed at the dinner table on the other side of the room with his chin. both of his hands are too busy with the mixing bowl.

you obeyed his words and made your way to sit on the chair, “so, as i was saying,” you positioned the chair to be closer to the cooking scene, “i think he is almost perfect. like, he is arguably good-looking, and he treated me nice–”

CLANG!

you jumped a little, “dude, calm down,” the way minho threw the bowl to the sink is totally unnecessary.

“slipped,” minho seemed indifferent; he returned to the cutting board as if nothing ever happened. his furrowed brows and pursed lips made him look intimidating when he focused.

“okay, back to–” minho’s eyes didn’t stray far from his cutting board. the knife in his hand, satisfyingly cutting through the beef, “are you even listening?” the lack of response from minho irritated you a little. your mouth has been running, trying to tell him about your blind date earlier, and it seems like he didn’t pay any bit of attention.

“yeah, yeah,” minho finally answered, but still had his eyes on something else, “he smells bad, right?” he put the sliced beef on the frying pan. the pan sizzled loudly, filling the room with its sharp sound

“right,” you nodded, “do you think it’s a deal breaker?” you stood up to get closer to him. the scent of the food-in-the-making attracted your hungry stomach.

“well,” minho stirred the pan as he poured some sliced onion, “yes,” he juggled the pan like the chefs you see on a cooking show.

“but everything else about him is perfect,” you watched as he added things to the pan, secretly amazed at how cool he looked right now, “he likes cats, he's well educated, and he even brought a bouq—OW!”

some oil splashed onto your hand, not much, but enough to cause some scorching sting. without thinking much, minho quickly turned off the stove and dragged you to the sink. he gently brought your burnt hand under the running water, “didn’t i tell you to sit down?” his voice is sharp, cold, and clearly irritated.

“well, you kept ignoring me!” you flinched a little when the water touched a specific part of the burnt.

minho scoffed, still holding your hand under the running water, “your story sucks i don’t want to bother listening,” he kept turning your hand slightly, inspecting the damage on your skin.

“what the hell?” you freed your hand from him, causing water to splash a little, “what is wrong with you?!”

minho stood back but still tried to make you put your hand back under the water, “your wound need to be cooled down for twenty minutes,” he pointed at the sink.

“no, what is up with you?” you frowned, watching his flat expression. you asked out of sarcasm, “what? are you jealous or something?”

“yes.”

you opened your mouth, ready to counter his answer with another snarky remark. wait. you looked at his eyes, wondering if you were mistaken. did he just say yes?

“wha–”

“what?” minho raced your words. he awkwardly pointed at the sink again, “keep your hand under the water,” he brushed his nose and walked away to the other room, “i’ll look for a cooling gel.”

it took you some time to assess the situation, “wait—what did–minho!” you quickly turned off the sink and grabbed some tissues to dry your dripping hand. you stormed to chase minho only to find him standing in the doorway.

the look on his face is oddly serious, “you know what,” minho stepped closer to you, “i’m good-looking and i smell nice, why wouldn’t you date me?” he crossed his arms, watching you with his sharp gaze.

you blinked frantically, never expecting this kind of conversation to come out of his mouth, “no, wait–”

“no?” he dropped his hand, visibly looking upset. he scoffed loudly, “you’ve been complaining to me that you never met a decent guy,” minho took another bold step, forcing you to quietly retreat, “AND YET, YOU. NEVER. TAKE. MY HINTS.”

you took some time to go back to the lane of your memories. analyzing every interaction you had with him. but your brain short-circuited, “...what?”

“woah, are you that dumb?” minho brushed his hair back and laughed irritably.

you pointed at him angrily, “okay, now that’s just mean.”

minho wiped his face exhaustedly, “sorry,” he sighed. he buried his face on his palms, thinking how the hell he would escape from this situation.

“yes,” you said in the silence.

“what?” minho’s brows furrowed, looking at you confused.

“are you that dumb?” you asked, enjoying the satisfying feeling of using his own words, “your first question. yes.”

minho blinked a few times. his eyes stayed on you, yet his mind wandered around. it took him half the time to understand your words and half the other panicking, “wait, are you serious?”

“after this dramatic confession, you expect me to turn you down?” you crossed your arms, smirking at minho’s dumbfounded face, “took you long enough. i actually had a crush on you when we first met. i just buried it because i thought–”

minho abruptly squeezed your cheeks with both of his hands, “can i kiss you to shut you up?”

you could see how his eyes were studying your lips. you wondered if he had always been tempted to kiss you before, and you were too oblivious to notice.

at the sight of your nod, minho promptly put his lips on yours. the kiss was slow and careful, yet so passionate. something about it felt new and familiar at the same time. it’s probably his minty breath or the scent of his body wash; you realize you’ve never smelled it this up close before.

both of you pulled back, and the awkward tension started to storm in. you touched your heated cheeks, wondering if he noticed it. but the joke’s on you. minho’s face is painted just as red, probably redder than yours. he tried to dodge your gaze, “what?”

“your hands smell like garlic,” you blurted.

minho snorted, his usual smug grin returning. “you’re welcome.”

[kousanosgf]

men, minors dni

sevika x f!reader

this was written for a request by @moonylvs ᜊ about sweet but secretly strong reader. also this is heavily inspired by laufey's vibes.

tags: fluff that's it i guess haha

you weren't someone interesting. another one of those semi popular zaunites singers. performing your jazzy lovey dovey songs couple days a week in a bar. for sevika you were a background noise as she came and went for another round of drinks, a game or a more of a casual business meeting.

it's not like she didn't notice. it, probably, was impossible to ignore your presence, always sticking for an hour or two after your shift, chatting with your friends. it seemed like everyone was at least acquainted with you. you were a real social butterfly, flying lightly between tables, paying attention to everything the visitors had to say. sevika even shared a word with you the first time she came and you made sure to introduce yourself.

cute. all that she thought. nothing more really. and if you were a little more pushy with her, the overall sweet image of you would've turned annoying quickly.

another day, another evening at the bar. sevika chose to spend it with the group of friends after work, catching up. though there was nothing much to discuss. the week was relatively calm for all of them. sevika's eye wondered, scanning the rest of the patrons as she was half-listening to her friend's story. her gaze got caught on you in the passing. already finished with your set, you were lounging at the bar counter with the glass of your favorite cocktail in hand, talking to some guy. nothing new around here too, sevika thought. as hours passed, she continued to look around occasionally, wishing to go home and end this boring evening.

finally, something caught her interest. your frame was becoming more dense, little high-pitched giggles that were reaching her ears gave off strained tones every time sevika slid her gaze your way. she didn't paid it much attention at first. who knew how you reacted to your dates, maybe it's just an anxiety. now, though, it was pretty clear you didn't want to be there and the man wouldn't get a hint. no one else seem to notice your discomfort to come save you, but it's not really her deal. your fault for having no spine to tell the guy to fuck off.

her calm evening seems to come to an end when she notices the man slides his palm up your shin. sevika sighs and stands up begrudgingly. damn her sense of justice.

"sevika, where'er you going?" her friend calls out, making her turn to reply.

she has no time to do so though, because a heavy thump breaks bar's chill atmosphere. sevika's head whips around. and there you are, standing with eyes full off rage above the unwelcome companion.

"are you insane?" the man screams, holding onto his jaw in pain, stumbling to stand up.

"not my problem you don't understand human language!" you raise your voice.

sevika doesn't have much time to think everything through, her legs already on the way to you. she grabs guy's shoulder roughly when he tries to reach for you.

"back off, the woman said no" as he realizes who's speaking to him, he mumbles something bitterly and hurries away, too afraid of silco's second in command.

sevika's attention now on you. "you okay?"

"yeah- yeah, sorry." you shake your hand, something hurts from the punch you gave the man. one of the waitress, your friend possibly, runs up to both of you, fussing over, suggesting to use the stuff room to check over yourself.

"you good. maybe gonna bruise a little." sevika gives her verdict and lets go off your hand. "he's one of the finn's, those guys have metal all over. probably had his teeth or jaw done."

"thanks again." you say, wiggling your fingers. "i'm sorry to cause a scene."

sevika can only huff out. you just got harassed and that's your response?

"didn't know you actually had it in you." she says instead. "that was a nice hit."

"ah- my older sister taught me." you laugh embarrassed.

sevika walks you home that day, to "make sure you won't get into another trouble" as she says to you and herself. you share stories on the way, mostly about your siblings. "we use to quarrel a lot and i was the youngest so i always was losing fights, until my sis showed me some moves." it makes sevika laugh genuinely, imagine you as a child arguing with your brothers and sisters.

and that's where it starts for her. she can't stop thinking about you. sevika doesn't understand how a woman like you can hold so much gentleness and still have that edge underneath. her memories wander to that fire in your eyes.

weeks pass and she finds herself dropping by more and more, waiting to spend some time with you. it hits her one day, when she comes into the bar only for one of the employees to immediately inform her you don't work today, that she might have a problem. (it's called a crush, but she's too stubborn to call it that.)

a month goes by and she does nothing with it. either too busy to think about her feelings or spending her days in doubt. there's not a chance you with your bossa nova voice, denim overalls and sweet smiles would choose such a harsh and rough around the edges woman.

it all comes to an end one day. catching sevika alone, when her friends went out for a smoke (and, yes, she stopped since you mentioned you don't like smokers much).

she sits on the sofa, playing with an ice cube in her glass, when a shadow covers her and she raises her eyes, you standing over her, looming, your fist diggs into the hip, like you're some angry kids cartoon character.

"so? how long do i have to wait before you invite me on a date?"

sevika chokes on her drink a little, surprised. there's that fire again, brows creased, displeased, maybe even angry. sevika takes a moment to catch her breath, more because of the way you look and not her drink.

"yes... i-" she literally doesn't know how to react and stumbles over her words. she tries to compose herself. "i was actually about to-"

"good then." you don't let her finish, looking more like you're about to lecture her than be happy that something in your relationship moved. "cause girls started to make fun of me for running around you. hope you're free tomorrow evening."

sevika nods but you don't see it, already off to the little stage, to play the next songs.

a chain of laughter rings out, the waitresses run off as sevika turns to glare their way.

[simplyraeblue]

King and Captive

(Hunter and Hunted Spin-Off) read here

modern au a chance meeting with Sukuna quickly turns into a nightly routine you can't escape. as the lines between game and something more blur, you start to wonder—how long can you keep playing, or will Sukuna make you his next conquest? !Sukuna x !femreader

chapter warnings/tags: swearing, suggestive themes, use of "princess", "she/her" pronouns used, asshole ex shows up, first kiss, Sukuna is down bad and so are you A/N: okay I'm obsessed with Sukuna and reader's dynamic, and addicted to adding little Gojo bits bc that's my baby. sooooooo I also actually had smut in this chapter BUT THEN IT WAS LONG AS CRAP. look forward to it next chapter ;) also, if you have been cheated on like I'm writing in this story I'll literally fight them (ง'̀-'́)ง

index part three | part five

part four word count : 4,475

Sukuna couldn’t meet at your usual spot tonight—he had clients to squeeze in at the shop, leaving you to wander home alone. you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of disappointment, but exhaustion from the workday quickly took over. by the time you got home, you barely managed to kick off your shoes before collapsing onto the couch, letting sleep claim you almost instantly.

you weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but the sound of knocking at your apartment door jolted you awake. the room was dark, the only light coming from the faint glow of the streetlamp outside. rubbing your eyes, you stumbled toward the door, still half-asleep.

standing on your tiptoes, you peered through the peephole, and your breath caught. Sukuna was on the other side, leaning casually against the doorframe like he had every reason to be there.

how the hell did he figure out which apartment was yours? you’d only ever pointed him to your building in passing, and he’d never come up the stairs.

hurriedly, you unlocked the door and swung it open, leaning against the frame as you squinted at him. “let me guess—this is the part where you start stalking me and showing up uninvited?” you teased, though your tone held more curiosity than annoyance.

Sukuna smirked, that familiar cocky glint in his eyes. “took you long enough to open the door, princess. I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

“forgotten?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “more like I thought you’d finally taken the hint to leave me alone.”

his grin widened, sharp and teasing. “oh, sweetheart, you and I both know that’s not happening.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, though the warmth spreading through your chest betrayed you. “so? what are you doing here, Sukuna? don’t tell me you came all this way just to annoy me.”

“maybe I just wanted to see you,” he replied smoothly, the teasing edge softening ever so slightly.

that caught you off guard, but before you could reply, he raised an eyebrow, leaning slightly closer. “or maybe I figured out you’re terrible at locking your door and thought I’d save you from yourself.”

your lips twitched despite yourself. “you’re impossible, you know that?”

“and yet, here I am,” he said, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “you gonna let me in, or are we doing this in the hallway?”

against your better judgment—or maybe because of it—you stepped aside, motioning for him to come in. Sukuna sauntered past you, the smugness practically radiating off him as you shut the door behind him.

“make yourself at home, I guess,” you muttered, trying not to focus on the fact that your heart hadn’t stopped racing since the moment you’d seen him.

you turned to face him, only to realize Sukuna was standing much closer than before. his crimson eyes bore into yours, the smirk on his face sharper, more intense than you’d ever seen it. the space between you seemed to shrink, the air charged with something electric, something inevitable.

“you’re really going to let me in that easily?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his gaze flicking to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again.

you opened your mouth to respond, maybe to deflect with a teasing remark, but the words never made it out. Sukuna stepped forward, his hand rising to cup your face, tilting your chin up with a deliberate, almost possessive touch. then his lips were on yours.

the kiss was rushed, heated, and completely overwhelming. his other hand gripped your waist, pulling you against him as though he’d been waiting for this moment forever. your fingers clutched at his shirt, the fabric wrinkling under your grip as you melted into him, the rest of the world fading into nothing.

he kissed you like he meant to consume you, his movements bold and unapologetic, leaving no room for hesitation. and you kissed him back with equal fervor, your body moving on instinct, meeting him halfway in a dance that was all fire and no thought.

and it was perfect - until you woke up, still on your couch with the sun only just setting.

you felt like you were going insane. every thought began to revolve around one thing – Sukuna. that asshole had invaded your mind and planted himself firmly in the fucking limbic system of your brain. some guy checks out your ass at work? you imagine what Sukuna would do. you see someone on the street with a tattoo? you wonder if Sukuna did it.

it was getting ridiculous. every night your dreams were accompanied by his wolfish grin, and always ended with you waking up in a flustered sweat. and you hadn’t even seen his dick yet.

you didn’t want to fold that fast, but your urges were becoming stronger every time you saw him. lingering touches, suggestive teasing – last week on a date with Sukuna he leaned down to whisper to you, his lips barely brushing the shell of your ear, and your knees went wobbly.

he knew how to play the game, and obviously how to win it.

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it was almost inevitable that you’d find yourself standing in front of Cursed Ink unannounced that night. the bell chimed as you pushed open the shop door, but instead of Sukuna, someone else greeted you.

“ooooh, you’re back!” Gojo’s voice rang out, his trademark grin spreading across his face in an instant. “here to see Suku?”

you blinked at him, momentarily caught off guard by his energy. Gojo leaned against the counter as he watched you with obvious amusement.

“uh, yeah,” you replied, stepping further inside. “is he around?”

Gojo smirked, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “he’s in the back finishing up a design, but don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see you.” he tilted his head dramatically, lowering his sunglasses to peer at you more closely. “you’re braver than I thought, showing up here willingly.”

“should I be worried?” you teased, crossing your arms.

“only if you’re planning to let him give you a tattoo,” Gojo quipped, his grin widening. “though, I gotta admit, Sukuna’s been in a weirdly good mood lately. you wouldn’t happen to know why, would you?”

before you could answer, another voice cut through the air, cold and clipped.

“Gojo, stop pestering her.”

you turned to see Uraume approaching from the back hallway, their pale gaze flicking between you and Gojo. “Sukuna will be out in a minute,” they said flatly, their tone dismissive as if they were already tired of Gojo’s antics.

Gojo feigned offense, pressing his hand to his chest. “pestering? me? I’m just being friendly.”

“friendly isn’t in your vocabulary,” Uraume replied coolly before turning to you. “he mentioned you might stop by. I’ll let him know you’re here.”

with that, Uraume disappeared into the back, leaving you alone with Gojo, who was still grinning like he knew something you didn’t.

“so,” Gojo drawled, leaning closer across the counter. “what’s the deal with you and ol’ Sukuna, huh? friends? fuck buddies? future victim?”

you gave him a look, unbothered by his teasing. “just here to talk to him. that’s all.”

Gojo laughed, straightening up. “sure, sure. keep telling yourself that.”

before you could retort, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the back, and Sukuna appeared, wiping his hands on a towel. his crimson eyes locked onto yours instantly, his smirk curling into place.

“took you long enough,” Sukuna said, his tone low and teasing. “couldn’t stay away, could you?”

Gojo snickered in the background, clearly enjoying the show, but one sharp glare from Sukuna had him zipping his lips—for the moment, at least.

“come on,” Sukuna said, nodding his head toward the back. “let’s talk somewhere less… annoying.”

as you followed Sukuna into the back room, you couldn’t help but notice Gojo’s exaggerated wink and whisper behind you: “have fun, lovebirds!”

Sukuna didn’t bother looking back as he muttered, “I’m going to kill him one of these days.”

Sukuna led you into the back, where the noise of the shop faded into a quieter, more personal space. Sukuna tossed the towel onto a counter and turned to face you, arms crossed, his sharp grin still in place.

“so, what brings you here?” he asked, leaning casually against the table. “couldn’t stop thinking about me?”

“hard not to, considering you’re practically blowing up my phone all day,” you teased, a smirk tugging at your lips. “don’t pretend you’re not happy to see me.”

Sukuna scoffed, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “oh, I’ve been nothing but honest, princess. absolutely thrilled you’re here.”

you snorted at his reply, crossing your arms as you leaned casually against the wall. “yeah, sure. that enthusiasm is just radiating off you.”

before Sukuna could retort, the sound of laughter and bickering filtered in from the front of the shop, followed by Gojo’s unmistakable voice.

“hey, Sukuna! what’s taking so long? don’t tell me you’re getting hard back there!”

Uraume’s deadpan voice followed. “Gojo, shut up before he actually kills you this time.”

Sukuna groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “these idiots,” he muttered under his breath.

he shoved the door open with more force than necessary, stepping into the main area where Gojo was perched on the counter like it was his personal throne and Uraume stood nearby, arms crossed.

“out,” Sukuna said, his tone sharp and commanding.

Gojo tilted his head, feigning confusion. “out? but we just got here! this is a public shop, you know.”

“you don’t work here, but I do,” Sukuna growled, pointing toward the door. “which means I can throw you out whenever I feel like it. and right now, I feel like it.”

Uraume sighed but didn’t argue, already heading for the exit. “don’t bother arguing, Gojo. he’s not in the mood.”

Gojo hopped off the counter with an exaggerated pout, adjusting his sunglasses. “fine, fine. but you’re no fun, Suku.” he shot you a cheeky grin on his way out. “good luck with him! you’ll need it.”

the door shut behind them, leaving the shop in blessed silence. Sukuna turned back to you, exhaling heavily as he leaned against the counter.

“finally,” he muttered, shaking his head. “those clowns could drive a saint insane.”

“and you’re definitely no saint,” you quipped, earning a low chuckle from him.

“no,” he said, his smirk returning as his eyes met yours. “but I don’t mind being a saint for the right person.”

you rolled your eyes at his shameless flirting, but the heat rising in your cheeks betrayed you. Sukuna caught it immediately, his grin widening as he pushed off the counter and stepped closer.

“now,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “where were we?”

maybe tonight, you wouldn’t fight it. had he earned it yet? probably not—but you couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. he had put in the effort, and for now, that was enough. at least, it was enough for you.

Sukuna’s gaze lingered on you, his crimson eyes smoldering with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. he was close now—so close that the scent of his cologne mixed with the faint trace of ink. his smirk softened, just slightly, as he reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a calloused finger.

“you’re quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with curiosity. “that’s not like you.”

you swallowed, your pulse pounding in your ears. “maybe I’ve run out of insults for you.”

he chuckled, the sound deep and rich, and leaned in just enough for his breath to ghost over your skin. “doubtful. but I’ll take it.”

for a moment, neither of you moved, the air between you thick with tension. then, as if the world had paused around you, Sukuna reached out and cupped your face gently, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“tell me to stop,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze locked on yours.

you didn’t.

that was all the confirmation he needed. Sukuna closed the distance, his lips crashing into yours with a passion that left you breathless. his hands were firm yet careful as they pulled you closer, erasing any space that dared to remain between you.

your fingers found their way to his shirt, clutching the fabric as you kissed him back with just as much intensity. it wasn’t gentle—it was fiery, consuming, and completely inescapable.

when you finally broke apart, both of you breathless, Sukuna’s forehead rested against yours, his smirk back but softer this time.

“about fucking time,” he murmured, his voice rough, his thumb tracing your jawline.

you could only manage a shaky laugh, your heart racing. “don’t get used to it.”

he chuckled, low and full of mischief. “too late, princess. way too late.”

“you’re still a sleazeball, you know that?” you teased, your words carrying no real edge.

Sukuna smirked, but beneath his cool facade, he was wrecked. one kiss, and he was done for. he felt it in his core—the raw, unrelenting desire that coursed through him, igniting every nerve and overtaking his senses. he hadn’t expected this, hadn’t expected you to give in so soon. but though it surprised him, he certainly wasn’t about to complain.

“guess that makes you the fool for kissing a sleazeball,” he teased, his voice low and dripping with amusement.

you rolled your eyes, though the faint blush on your cheeks betrayed you. “don’t push your luck, Sukuna. one kiss doesn’t mean I’m letting my guard down.”

his grin widened, sharp and full of mischief. “oh, princess, I don’t need you to let your guard down. I’ll work my way past it just fine.”

he pulled you closer, his arms circling your waist now as if daring you to push him away. but you didn’t. instead, you let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head.

“god, you’re impossible.”

“only for you,” he said, his tone softer this time, though it still carried that teasing edge.

the moment lingered, a quiet intensity wrapping around the two of you as the world outside the shop seemed to fade away. Sukuna wasn’t used to feeling like this—like he could lose himself in someone else. but with you? it felt too easy.

“so,” he drawled after a moment, his smirk returning, “you sticking around for a while, or are you running off before I start bragging about that kiss?”

you scoffed, shoving lightly at his chest. “as if I’d let you have that satisfaction.”

his laughter echoed through the room, low and rich, as he held you tighter for a fleeting second before letting go. “good. I wasn’t planning on letting you leave anyway.”

so you hung around his shop for another hour, the place eerily quiet with his coworkers gone and nothing but the sound of his tattoo gun as he practiced a design to fill the silence. you swung your legs back and forth while sitting on his client chair, humming in tune with the buzzing of his gun, but every so often your hums would falter when Sukuna’s hand would reach over and deliberately brush your knee to “reach something”.

would he take you right here if you wanted? on his chair, in his shop? how far could you push before he snapped – or rather, how far could he push before you begged him for it?

you were lost in your sinful thoughts, so drowned in the daydream of being bent over the client chair, that you barely registered the door’s bell until Sukuna gave your leg a nudge. you followed his line of sight and froze at what you saw.

without a word, you slid off the chair and ducked behind the half wall dividing Sukuna’s workstation from the rest—quick and quiet, like a startled cat. Sukuna blinked at you, baffled. “uh, what’re you doing?” he asked, arching a curious brow at your sudden panic.

“shhh!” you frantically gestured for silence, pressing yourself flat against the wall. his eyes darted from you to the couple who’d just entered the shop. “it’s my ex,” you whispered, voice tight, “and the bitch he cheated on me with.”

oh. oh… he glanced at you, then back at them, and a devilish grin curled at the edges of his mouth. oh, this could be interesting.

turning his attention to the unsuspecting customers, he straightened up and spoke in his smooth, confident drawl. “welcome in,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, “what can I help you with today?”

you could only see the faintest glimpse of their feet from where you crouched, heart pounding. every fiber of you screamed to make a run for it, but the thought of darting past them felt worse than staying hidden. your shoulders tensed as you tried to breathe quietly, praying they wouldn’t notice you.

Sukuna, meanwhile, oozed confidence and calm, as if he were fully in control of this bizarre situation. “so,” he began, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter, “looking for something special today?”

you could hear the slight hesitation in your ex’s voice as he answered, “uh, yeah, I’m… I’m looking to get a piece done.” the muffled tone made you think he recognized Sukuna’s presence as a bit intimidating—or maybe he was just nervous about committing ink to his skin. the woman beside him, no doubt the reason you were pinned to a wall right now, added something you couldn’t quite make out. her tone was sugary, too sweet, and you wondered what Sukuna would make of her.

the only that thing Sukuna was not enjoying right now was the idea that you were making yourself small. you were shrinking into your hiding spot because of this guy, who he had already pegged to be a tool. surely you knew you were better than him, right?

Sukuna let out a low hum, taking his time as if sizing them up. “sure, we can work something out,” he said easily. “I’ve got a couple spots open tonight. first, though… mind telling me what you’re thinking of?”

a creak of footsteps on the floorboards made you tense further. were they moving toward your hiding spot? your jaw clenched as you tried to make yourself even smaller, practically molding into the wall. above you, Sukuna’s voice remained steady, casual, and you imagined the crooked grin on his face—especially now that he knew exactly who was shopping for ink in his parlor.

the silence stretched for a second, and you couldn’t help but picture Sukuna’s expression, that wicked fire flickering in his crimson eyes. he was enjoying this, savoring every second while you trembled in hidden terror.

your ex cleared his throat. “thinking something… minimalist. maybe a small phrase.” his voice sounded unsure, as if he was trying to impress the girl at his side but had no real clue what he wanted.

“minimalist,” Sukuna echoed, no judgment in his tone, only interest. “got a phrase in mind?” he paused and then, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, asked, “or maybe a name?”

the question hung in the air, loaded and dangerous. you stifled a gasp, your stomach twisting. he wouldn’t—

but Sukuna was nothing if not a master at stirring the pot. you could almost feel his amusement drifting down to you as you pressed yourself flat, praying that whatever he had planned would stay just subtle enough to keep your cover from being blown.

the new girl’s heels clicked slightly on the wooden floor. “a name?” she repeated, a note of suspicion creeping into her sugary tone. “did someone recommend this place to you?”

your ex cleared his throat, sounding flustered. “n-no, just... I’ve heard it’s good, that’s all.” there was a restless shuffle, and you imagined him rubbing the back of his neck. you recalled that nervous habit all too well. “I was thinking of something small. a word, maybe. something about fresh starts.”

you could almost see Sukuna’s grin widening. “fresh starts, huh?” he said, voice dripping with false innocence. “funny you should say that.” he paused just long enough for the tension to climb another notch. “I had a client once, real sweetheart. she’d come in here from time to time. got a little something done not too long ago after breaking it off with some jerk who didn’t know what he had.”

oh, god. you bit down on your lip, hard. did he have to lay it on so thick with a complete lie? you pressed yourself flatter, arms aching from how tense you were.

the girl was the first to speak up. “is that so?” her voice was tight, and you could picture her narrowing her eyes. “sounds like a lot of drama for a tattoo shop.”

Sukuna huffed a laugh. “you’d be surprised what people tell me when they’re under the needle.” another short pause. “y’know, you look a bit uncomfortable. why don’t we step over this way?” he took a step, leading them farther into the shop—closer to your hiding spot.

your heart lurched. each footstep echoed like a countdown to disaster. you could almost feel Sukuna’s presence looming overhead, his amusement rolling off him in waves. he was enjoying this too much.

your ex’s voice cracked slightly. “uh, well, maybe we should—”

too late. the girl’s gaze drifted, probably scanning the area. then a sudden hush fell. you knew it was over before you even looked up. her shoes came into view on the other side of the half wall. she must’ve caught a glimpse of you, maybe just your shoulder or the top of your head peeking out.

“what the—?” she said, stepping forward as if drawn by morbid curiosity.

the sound of her voice so close made your heart sink. slowly, you lifted your head, your eyes meeting hers from your crouched position. your ex let out a strangled, “you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Sukuna, for his part, didn’t even pretend to be surprised. he just crossed his arms, leaning against the wall with that lazy smirk. “ah,” he said, voice smug. “found something you like, doll?”

you pushed yourself to your feet, cheeks burning, arms stiff from holding yourself so still. every part of you wanted to vanish on the spot, but here you were—caught red-handed.

your ex’s eyes widened, disbelief warring with embarrassment and maybe even a hint of guilt. the girl at his side set her jaw, looking between you and Sukuna as if trying to piece together a puzzle.

Sukuna’s grin practically dripped satisfaction. “well, now that the gang’s all here, how about we figure out exactly what kind of ink you need,” he drawled, his tone low and mocking. “I’m sure we can find something… fitting.”

you straightened, trying desperately to summon your usual composure despite the heat creeping up your neck. your ex opened his mouth, probably searching for some kind of explanation or retort, but Sukuna beat him to it.

before you could blink, Sukuna draped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you close against his side. his smirk softened into something affectionate as he addressed the pair, acting as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “sweetheart, I didn’t know you were expecting visitors,” he teased, his tone dripping with insincerity. “you should’ve told me. I’d have rolled out a red carpet.”

your ex’s face twisted, a mixture of shock and annoyance flickering across his features. the girl beside him stiffened, arms crossing defensively. “we’re not here to see—” she stumbled over her words, glaring at Sukuna’s arm around you. “we just wanted a tattoo. that’s what this place is for, right?”

“sure is,” Sukuna agreed, casually squeezing your shoulder as if to emphasize his claim. “but I’ve got to say, I only do my best work when the vibe’s right. isn’t that what you said earlier, princess?” he dipped his head slightly, nose nuzzling the top of your head for added effect, as though waiting for you to chime in.

you swallowed hard, noting the challenge in his gaze. fine. two could play at this. “uh… yeah,” you managed, forcing a small smile. “he’s very particular.” you settled your hand on his chest, partly to play along, partly to steady yourself. the hard muscle beneath his shirt didn’t help calm your pulse, and you found your fingers drawing circles against the fabric to lay it on extra thick.

your ex’s jaw tightened. “we don’t need the attitude. we came for a tattoo, not… whatever this is.” he waved a hand at you and Sukuna, clearly unsettled by the dynamic.

Sukuna responded with a slow, dismissive chuckle. “you know, I’m getting the sense that we’re just not the right fit for your ink tonight. could be my mood, could be the… circumstances.” he let the implication hang.

the girl scowled. “forget it,” she snapped, turning on her heel. “come on, let’s find another place.” she seized your ex’s arm, tugging him toward the door. your ex hesitated for a heartbeat, his gaze lingering on you—was that guilt in his eyes, or just frustration? you couldn’t tell, and honestly, you didn’t care. he’d made his choices long ago.

“fine,” he bit out, finally letting himself be pulled away. his voice dropped, grumbling under his breath as they retreated toward the exit.

the bell above the door jangled softly as they slipped out into the night, leaving just you and Sukuna behind. his arm remained comfortably around your shoulders, and you were acutely aware of every point of contact. the nerves that had been wracking your body gave way to the heat you’d been feeling earlier, just from his touch.

finally, he released you, stepping back with that signature grin still firmly in place. “well, that was fun,” he said, tone light, as if you two had just won some sort of game.

you forced a laugh, hand rising to rub the back of your neck. “fun, huh?” the adrenaline still buzzed in your veins, and you weren’t quite sure what to make of what just happened.

Sukuna shrugged, eyes gleaming. “sure. just doing my civic duty. asshole exes deserve a little show, don’t they?” his smirk softened—just a fraction. “hope I didn’t overstep.”

your heart still hammered, but you managed a smirk of your own. “I’ll let it slide… this time,” you teased. “next time, maybe give me a warning before you pull something like that.”

Sukuna chuckled, heading back toward his station as though nothing unusual had happened. “where’s the fun in that, princess?” he called over his shoulder.

you rolled your eyes, but there was a smile tugging at your lips.

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. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . taglist : @mangiswig @sorahatake @osohchoso @clp-84 @sterzin @csolya @emochosoluvr @aldebrana @ravester @marie-is-in-the-dark @makingtimemine

[sundropflowerr]

Keep Me Warm? | Steve Harrington

★ Warnings: soft but slightly intense make-out session, fluff, established relationship, playful teasing, cozy domestic vibes, light banter, Steve being a human heater, mutual affection, soft touches, silly moments, clumsy attempts at making s’mores, cuddling, lingering glances, emotional softness, brief moments of flustered tension

★ Summary: When the weather turns cold, you and Steve love getting cozy together—warm sweaters, lots of laughter, and kisses that start sweet and fuzzy, and end breathless and hot. 2.9k

★ Pairings: steve harrington x fem!reader

★ Fic inspiration: "love to keep me warm” - laufey & dodi

★ Banners: thank you to @saradika for the adorable banner, it’s greatly appreciated!

★ Author's note: steve definitely gives off “let’s stay home and cuddle” vibes on a cold night, which brought me to write this! i hope you all enjoy, this isn’t anything serious just relationship material. ignore how messy this is…

★ REMINDER: this has a slightly intense make-out session, if you are under 16 DNI!!

It was December, and the first real snow of the season had finally fallen.

The flurries were delicate at first, the kind that dusted the world like powdered sugar, covering the streets, the roofs, and the trees in a soft, white blanket.

It wasn’t quite Christmas yet, but the air had that distinct wintery feeling—a calm that came only with the cold and the promise of something festive just around the corner. The holiday season always seemed to make everything feel more alive, more full of possibility, and tonight was no different.

Inside Steve’s house, the warmth of the living room stood in stark contrast to the chilly air outside. A fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows that danced across the walls. The Christmas tree, freshly decorated, was proudly displayed in the corner, its lights twinkling like stars in the dim light. The soft scent of pine mixed with cinnamon candles, creating a cozy, inviting atmosphere.

A few stray ornaments that Steve had clearly hung haphazardly were balanced on the tree, reminding you that this wasn’t some pristine picture-perfect holiday home—it was Steve’s home, and it was perfect just the way it was.

You and Steve had been dating for a while now—this was your second Christmas together as a couple—and it still felt surreal at times.

You hadn’t started out as a love story. No dramatic confessions, no grand gestures. Just two friends who had spent countless hours together, laughing, talking, and eventually realizing that maybe, just maybe, they didn’t want to spend their time with anyone else.

The transition from friends to something more had been easy. It had happened gradually, like a soft shift you barely noticed until one day you were holding hands or stealing soft kisses when no one was looking, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

This December had been especially busy—Christmas events with your friends and the kids had filled up most of your days. You’d gone to Robin’s Christmas movie marathon, attended parties with Eddie and Jonathan and Nancy, and of course, you couldn’t forget the Secret Santa party with the kids—Dustin, Max, Eleven, Mike, and Lucas. It was always chaotic and loud, but you loved it. Still, after all the festivities, there was nothing better than this quiet evening with Steve, just the two of you tucked under a thick blanket on the couch. It felt like the calm after a storm of holiday cheer.

And tonight, with the fire crackling softly in the background, you couldn’t help but feel like this was exactly where you were meant to be.

“Okay, okay,” Steve said, breaking the comfortable silence. His voice was light, playful, like he was about to reveal some grand idea. “I know you said we’ve watched this movie, like, a million times, but I’m telling you—this one is different.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at the TV screen where another classic holiday film was playing. “Steve,” you said, half-laughing, half-sighing, “this is literally the third time we’ve watched this exact movie in the last week.”

He grinned at you, his eyes twinkling mischievously. “I know, I know, but this time, you’re going to feel the magic. You’ll see.”

You shook your head with a smile, snuggling deeper into the blanket. You loved the way he could turn something as simple as watching a holiday movie into an event, even if it was the same thing over and over. It was one of the reasons you liked spending time with him—his enthusiasm for even the most mundane things was infectious.

You found yourself settling into his side as the opening credits played, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm comfortably around your waist. The warmth of him seeped into you, wrapping you in a feeling that was just… right.

“I’m just glad we’re having a quiet night in,” you murmured, your fingers gently tracing patterns on his sleeve.

“Yeah, me too,” Steve agreed, his voice softer now, the playful edge gone. He shifted slightly, turning toward you, his gaze lingering on your face for a moment longer than usual. His fingers gently brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, a gesture so simple yet intimate that it made your heart flutter.

He’d always had this way of looking at you—like you were the most important thing in the room, like he was seeing only you and no one else. It was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place. Despite his loud, sometimes goofy exterior, Steve had this quiet intensity to him, a depth that showed in moments like this.

He never rushed anything. His affections were slow, steady, but always filled with a kind of warmth that made you feel completely at ease.

The movie continued to play, but the two of you weren’t really paying attention to it anymore. Instead, you both leaned into each other, enjoying the rare peace and stillness that a night like this could bring. The fire crackled in the background, its warmth creating a cocoon of comfort around the two of you.

Every now and then, Steve would chuckle at a cheesy line from the movie, and you’d tease him, calling him out for quoting it verbatim. But the laughter was lighthearted, natural. There was no rush, no pressure. Just the simple enjoyment of being together.

After a while, Steve broke the silence again, this time with a more mischievous tone. “Hey, what if we do something really holiday?”

You glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Like…” He paused, clearly considering his words. “Like make s’mores.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “It’s freezing outside, Steve.”

He was already pulling his jacket off the back of the couch, throwing it over his shoulders with excitement. “Exactly. That’s what makes it perfect.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound coming out more easily than you expected. “You’re insane.”

“No, no,” he insisted, reaching for his boots.

“You’ll see. It’ll be fun. S’mores and snow. Firepit. Hot chocolate. It’s the ultimate December date.”

You sighed, but you were already getting up with him. “Fine, fine. You better not burn down your backyard, though.”

He flashed you an impish grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” Then he added, “Plus, you love my ridiculousness.”

Rolling your eyes, you followed him outside, immediately hit with the chill of the night air. You pulled your scarf tighter around your neck, the soft fabric warming you only slightly against the cold. Steve was already at the firepit, fiddling with the lighter and looking overly proud of himself.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered under your breath as you made your way over.

Steve’s eyes lit up as he glanced over at you. “What’s ridiculous about a cozy firepit in the snow? This is perfect! The holidays, marshmallows, and us.”

You tried to hide your smile, but it slipped out anyway. There was something about his childlike excitement that made everything feel a little lighter, a little brighter.

He lit the fire with a flourish, the flames licking at the air as the warmth of the fire began to reach you. You held out your hands to warm them, watching as the snowflakes continued to fall softly around you both. The world had slowed even more out here, and it felt like you and Steve were the only two people in it.

“Alright, let’s roast some marshmallows!” Steve cheered, grabbing two skewers and handing you one.

You stared at the marshmallow bag, then back at him. “Are you sure we can pull this off? I don’t want a repeat of last year’s burnt mess.”

He waved you off confidently. “Trust me, I’ve totally got it under control this time.”

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. You both started roasting marshmallows, laughing as Steve kept getting his too close to the flames and setting them on fire. You couldn’t help but laugh each time, even though you were pretty sure he’d managed to set his marshmallows on fire on purpose at least once.

You were concentrating on getting your own marshmallow just golden enough when Steve suddenly let out a loud groan.

“I swear this is impossible,” he complained dramatically, inspecting his marshmallow like it was an insult to his very existence. “Why is this always harder than it looks?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Because you’re holding it in the flames, Steve.”

He held it up proudly, the marshmallow now completely blackened. “That’s called advanced roasting. It’s gourmet, trust me.”

You shook your head but couldn’t stop laughing. You gave up on trying to control your own marshmallow for a second, just to enjoy watching Steve with his ridiculous, over-the-top attempts.

Once you both managed to salvage your s’mores—admittedly, with a bit of extra chocolate and a lot of mess—you headed back inside, shivering from the cold but laughing from the silliness of it all. You couldn’t remember the last time you had so much fun making s’mores that weren’t exactly perfect.

As soon as you stepped back into the warmth of Steve’s living room, you felt the tension leave your shoulders. Steve immediately grabbed the blanket from the couch, pulling it over both of you as you settled back in, curling into his side. You could still feel the chill from outside in your fingertips, but it was quickly replaced by the steady warmth of the fire and the even steadier warmth of Steve next to you.

The movie was still playing on the TV, but neither of you were paying attention to it anymore. Your focus was completely on each other. Every so often, Steve would catch your eye, a soft smile playing on his lips as he brushed a stray lock of hair from your face. You’d smile back, your heart fluttering at how natural it all felt.

“You know,” he said, his voice light but with a trace of affection, “I think this might be my favorite way to spend a cold night.”

You raised an eyebrow, playfully nudging him. “What, getting all cozy and not having to do anything productive?”

He laughed, shrugging. “Pretty much. But I think what really makes it great is having you here.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the sincerity in his words making the room feel even warmer. “You’re cheesy, Harrington,” you teased, nudging him back. “But I’ll admit, this is pretty perfect.”

Steve’s smile softened, his eyes locking with yours as his hand gently brushed a lock of hair from your face. “I mean it,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, “this—you—are perfect.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat, the space between you two suddenly feeling much smaller. Without saying another word, you both leaned in, your lips meeting in a kiss that started sweet but quickly deepened, the quiet of the evening wrapping around you both like the softest, warmest blanket.

You found yourself completely forgetting about the outside world-the snow falling softly against the window, the movie still playing in the background, the fire crackling quietly in the hearth.

There was only him, and only this moment.

His lips were gentle but eager, as if he couldn't wait to close the space between you both. Steve's hand came up to your cheek, the pad of his thumb softly brushing your skin as if memorizing every contour of your face. His touch was warm, steady, and it made your heart flutter. 

You kissed him back just as gently, your lips fitting perfectly against his, a rhythm forming between you both that felt natural, like you'd been doing this forever.

The air between you two seemed to thicken, the room growing quieter despite the sounds of the fire. It was a comfortable quiet, one that let the moment linger, unhurried, like the two of you were savoring the closeness of each other. 

Steve's other hand moved down to your waist, pulling you just a little bit closer, his body now aligned with yours. The subtle shift made your breath hitch, but it wasn't uncomfortable-quite the opposite. There was a sweet urgency in his movements, like he wanted to feel as close to you as possible without pushing you.

He wasn't rushing.

Neither of you were.

You could feel the heat of his body through his sweater, the soft, worn fabric brushing against your skin as his hand slipped under the blanket and found the bare skin of your side. You shivered slightly at the warmth of his touch, the contact sparking a deeper sense of closeness. His fingers were light, almost tentative, as if waiting for a sign from you to pull him closer or back off.

But you didn't want him to back off. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, your hands instinctively finding their way to his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. You could feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, steady and soft, as your kiss turned a little more insistent. It was gentle, but there was a hint of longing in the way your lips moved together-an ache that seemed to build with every press of your mouths, every soft exhale.

Steve let out a low hum of approval, a sound that made you smile against his lips. He responded to your kiss with a new intensity, his hand sliding further up your back, his fingers splaying against the back of your neck, pulling you even closer as if he couldn't get enough of you. His other hand drifted from your waist to your cheek, gently cupping your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw as though he were trying to memorize every inch of you. 

It was a soft, slow kiss-every movement deliberate, every touch more intimate than the last. His lips parted slightly, and you mirrored him instinctively, your breath mingling as you pressed a little closer to him.

The kiss was becoming deeper now, the kind that made your heart race, the kind where time seemed to stop. There was no hurry, no rush to go anywhere else. The entire world outside felt far away-just the warmth between your bodies, the comforting softness of the blanket, and the warmth of Steve's hands, which were now trailing lightly along your arm.

You felt your chest tighten with a fluttering sense of warmth, a mix of affection and longing. You wanted more-more of him, more of the feeling you were creating between the two of you. And without thinking, you shifted slightly in his arms, pressing yourself just a little bit closer, letting your hands slip from his chest to his shoulders, your fingers brushing along the soft fabric of his sweater. 

The simple touch felt like an unspoken promise, a mutual understanding that the connection between you was growing deeper, the bond between you two thickening. 

Steve's kiss deepened as well, his lips soft and persistent, his body language conveying a kind of quiet desire that matched your own. He pulled you just a little closer, his chest brushing against yours. You could feel the steady rise and fall of his breath against you, his heartbeat faster now, as the kiss became more urgent, more heated-but still tender. 

Every inch of his touch felt like a question, a gentle inquiry into how far you both could go, without pushing each other too fast, without rushing.

But in that moment, neither of you cared about the pacing, the slowing down. There was no reason to hold back anymore, not when this was so perfect, so right. You both seemed to move in sync, as if your bodies were finally telling each other what you had known all along-that you belonged together, in this space, at this moment, in this soft, intimate exchange.

 You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the intensity of the kiss slowly beginning to match the warmth of the fire that still flickered in the background. 

His lips, though warm and soft, had a new kind of desperation to them now, as if he was afraid that if he pulled away, the moment would slip through his fingers. 

He kept his hand at your neck, pulling you slightly up into him, the angle of the kiss shifting so you could taste him more, feel him more.

Your hands moved to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands, and you heard him sigh softly in response. That sound, soft and needy, sent a wave of warmth rushing through your chest, a deep connection settling in your bones.

The kiss breaks, and you both pull back just enough to catch your breath, eyes meeting, soft smiles playing on your lips as you stay close, the space between you two still small, your foreheads resting against each other in that moment of shared intimacy. 

The silence was thick with affection, both of you a little breathless, hearts still racing in the wake of the kiss. 

Steve's eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently brushing across your cheek, as if savoring the moment. He smiled, a little sheepish but with genuine affection in his gaze.

“You know,” he said, his voice low and a little teasing, “I think you’re the best thing about this cold weather. You keep me warm.”

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, your heart fluttering at the tenderness in his voice. “Yeah? Is that so?” you replied, raising an eyebrow playfully. “You sure it’s not just your sweater doing all the work?”

Steve looked down at his oversized sweater, the sleeves of which were too long, making his hands disappear. “Hey, don’t underestimate my sweater,” he said with a mock defensiveness, pulling you even closer as if to prove his point. “It’s a crucial part of the equation.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “Well, maybe it’s the combination of your sweater and you,” you teased, leaning in just slightly to brush your lips against his once more.

Steve’s grin widened, his eyes twinkling with affection. “Well, I guess I’m glad I’m not just a walking blanket,” he chuckled, his voice light. “But seriously, if it weren’t for you, I’d just be a big pile of cozy clothes, no personality.”

You laughed, the sound warm and easy as you cupped his face in your hands, your fingers brushing against the soft stubble along his jaw. “Good thing you’re more than just your clothes, Harrington.”

He grinned, kissing you gently again, his lips warm and soft against yours. “Yeah, I’m pretty great, huh?”

You smile, feeling your heart swell with warmth, both from the kiss and from the words. You lean into him again, your lips barely brushing his as you whispered back,

“Definitely.”

thank you so much for reading! please like/reblog or comment if you did, it would be greatly appreciated. have a great day!

[petitemouse]

Another fantastic chapter Dee but there was never any doubt about that; you never disappoint with your writing.

I still can't believe that this is the first time you've written Logan. I'm not hugely into Marvel, but I've seen the majority of the films (and all of the ones involving Wolverine; can you tell I have a favourite) and I just think you write him perfectly. He doesn't seem OOC nor forced into a ready existing story. His relationship and storyline with Sunshine is just so natural, and I love how you explore the many facets of his character. And of Sunshine's character too.

I know this is the morning after their bed-breaking, mind-blowing, dear-glob-this-is-probably-illegal-in-several-states sex, but I also really enjoyed reading the Logan's casual softness with Sunshine after their night together. I mean Logan is always gentle (but never patronising) with Sunshine almost as if he has never encountered someone as precious as her and is in constant awe; but the way he played with Sunshine's hair, referred to her as 'princess' and allowed her to play with his dog tags had me swooning all over again. It must be such a relief for Logan to feel that he can be vulnerable even just a little bit with Sunshine. Physically she is far weaker than him, but he still feels safe enough to show some of his vulnerability around her.

With such shows of affection, it's really no wonder Sunshine is creating playlists for her and Logan.

On a more serious note, I am pleased that Julie is telling Sunshine to calm down and try to take it slow with Logan. On the one hand she is happy for her friend especially knowing that Sunshine had to abandon her carefree early 20s and her dream job to focus on being a single mother with no monterary or physical support.

But on the otherhand Julie is rightfully worried that Logan has Sunshine's heart in the palm of his hands and that he could break it if he wanted to. Julie doesn't know him, has heard only bad things about him from Jamie who, although admittedly not the most objective, is right when it comes to Logan's dangerous profession and the crazy big age difference between the two. What with the quickness and intensity of Sunshine and Logan's relationship coupled with Sunshine's lack of experience in healthy romantic relationship, Julie is more than justified to voice her concern.

The way you potray adult friendships is great. Julie is being sensible without being prudish; gently warning her without being nagging; but forever being supportive of her friend. And I know the same would be true for Sunshine. Just amazing writing again and again from you.

Back to Logan and Sunshine though...

I love the fact that Logan jumped out of the shower when he heard Sunshine arrive at the academy. He is like a crazed dog begging - no demanding her attention. I honestly can't imagine how he was like during that mission...well apart from being impatient.

And that little scene between Logan, Sunshine and Theo is but a teasing glimpse into what their future homelife is going to be. It sounds as though Logan understands why Sunshine hasn't told Theo about them yet, but was he still disappointed? When it is all out in the open I can't wait to see more of this little family unit.

((Oh and poor, poor Caleb. His life flashed before his eyes when Sunshine started talking to him.))

This chapter just had absoultely everything in it, my lovely. So so good.

Sunshine [8] - Scorching

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: The morning after can be peaceful.

Word Count: 4244

CW: Explicit language, mentions of sex, drinking, adult themes MDNI

Series Masterlist

There was a reason why you kept telling everyone you couldn’t do casual. You had tried it numerous times, and every single time you ended up getting attached but this?

With Logan?

This was a whole different level.

When the alarm pulled you out of the deep haze of sleep, it took you a couple of seconds to be able to even lift your arm to grab your phone. Your whole body felt sore in the most pleasant way as you pulled back from the warmth and rolled to your side to check the time on the screen before hitting snooze, and while you were more than ready to fall back to sleep, the urge disappeared immediately the moment you heard Logan’s groan.

It was almost insane how you were still hungry for him. The dawn was breaking by the time you had fallen asleep -to be honest, you were quite sure you had passed out- but as soon as you turned around and your eyes fell on him, the spark of the familiar fire of desire shot through you, making your lips curl into a smile. He ran a hand over his eyes as if trying to get rid of any trace of sleep before he lowered his hand to smirk at you.

“Morning,” you said softly and he pulled you closer to himself and cupped your cheek to brush his lips against yours, coaxing a sigh out of you.

“Hi sweetheart.”

You could feel your heart skipping a beat at his morning voice and you rested your chin on his chest, fiddling with the dog tags hanging from the chain around his neck as he brushed his knuckles against your cheekbone.

“Feeling okay?”

“More than okay,” you said and thought for a moment. “I’ll have to ask if Jamie knows someone who can teach me how to walk again but zero regrets.”

A chuckle vibrated deep in his chest and you beamed at him, turning the tags in your hand. He ran his fingertips up and down your spine, awakening goosebumps on your skin and you pecked him on the lips but the moment you pulled away, he pulled you back so that he could kiss you again. He rolled over so that he could get on top of you, making you let out a happy squeal before the loud alarm of your phone went off again and you hit snooze once more.

“Call in sick,” Logan murmured and you tried to focus, scratching at the nape of his neck softly but before you could say anything, his phone started vibrating somewhere on the floor-you were guessing in his jean pockets. He dropped his head to the croak of your neck, making you giggle.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?”

“Nope.”

“But it could be important.”

You could almost feel his smirk. “I swear to you, nothing is more important than this.”

“Someone could be dying!”

“They should find a doctor then.”

“Logan!” you exclaimed, pushing at his broad shoulders and he lifted his head with a sigh, then grabbed his phone off the floor with a sigh. You toyed with the tags swinging above your face as he looked down at you with a fond light in his eyes before dipping his head to give you a small kiss on the lips, then answered the phone.

“What do you want?”

Your jaw dropped as you squeezed at his hand beside your head.

“Be nice!”

He shook his head slightly, his brows pulling into a frown.

“Find someone else,” he told the person on the other line and rolled his eyes. “I’m not at the mansion right now Scott, I can’t go up to the roof—” he stopped talking as Scott said something you couldn’t hear, making his frown deepen. “How the fuck do you know where I am?”

You tilted your head to the left while he heaved a furious sigh, then gritted his teeth.

“Just wait there,” he snapped and hung up, a growl rumbling in his chest before he cleared his throat and put the phone down.

“I’m really sorry princess,” he said softly, turning to you. “I…I’m going to kill Scott, but I gotta go.”

The change in his tone almost gave you a whiplash. You knew he was annoyed, if not angry at Scott, but there was no trace of that snappy tone he used with him when he spoke to you; instead his voice was gentle, and held none of that sharp edge it held just a moment ago. You could feel a smile curling your lips and you nodded your head.

“No problem,” you said. “Is everything okay?”

“He brought the jet here.”

You blinked a couple of times. “Sorry?”

“Yeah, waiting on the roof right now.”

“This roof?”

“This roof,” he said. “I have no idea how he knew where I was.”

You grabbed his phone and waved it at him. “This maybe?”

A look of realization dawned on his face.

“Right,” he muttered before kissing you on the lips and you giggled, cupping his cheek before pulling back to look up at him.

“Your friends are waiting,” you told him and he heaved a sigh, then pecked you again and got off of you to grab his clothes. You let your eyes roam his naked body hungrily while he put his clothes on but as soon as you rolled over to his side, you felt the significant dip that made you frown before the memory hit you.

You—

Oh.

You had in fact broken the bed last night.

You pulled yourself to the edge of the bed to hang down halfway, trying to see under the bed and you reached down to feel underneath the frame where it had broken but Logan stopped you.

“Don’t, it’ll cut you,” he said and reached down before you felt the unmistakable sound of metal bending into its place.

“Oops,” you said with a giggle and he smirked at you, crouching down to get to your level while you rested your chin on your hand, still on the edge of the bed.

“It should be good for now,” he said. “I’ll fix it when I get back, okay sweetheart?”

You nodded your head, beaming up at him.

“When will you be back?” you asked, your voice soft and he stole a kiss from your lips, his fingers caressing your hair.

“Scott seems to think it’ll take the whole weekend and if we’re not back on Monday, I’ll leave him there and come back.”

“You would never.”

“I might,” he muttered, making you let out a small laugh.

“But seriously, it’s fine,” you insisted. “I’m going to be with Theo whole weekend, it’s not as if we’d be able to see each other until Monday.”

He paused as if he hadn’t considered that before nodding his head.

“Right,” he said. “Of course.”

“See you on Monday then,” you said with a smile and he pecked you on the lips, then pressed a kiss on the top of your bed and straightened his back.

“Be careful, please?”

“Always am,” you said. “And you too.”

He shot you a smirk before walking out of the room and you heard the front door open before it closed again and you heaved a sigh, then rolled onto your back and smiled to yourself. You pressed your fingertips on your lips, then attempted to sit up but your eyes widened as all your muscles protested, and you took a deep breath.

“Moving slow today,” you muttered to yourself. “So worth it.”

                                        *

You’d always liked weekends but ever since Theo had started attending the school for the gifted, weekends was becoming your favorite time of the week. You missed Theo so terribly from Monday to Friday, so every weekend you tried to make sure he was happy to be home. You would take him on picnics, to movies, to wherever he wanted to see and always made sure to cook and bake his favorites so that when he went back to school, he knew he still had a home to go back to whenever he wanted.

So, your weekend with Theo had gone well. You took him to a new exhibition in one of his favorite museums and had a documentary night at home with his favorite snacks, as it was your tradition before he started school.

He was also beyond happy to have Cheeto and Popcorn. He had hugged you and told you that you were the best mom ever, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t make the tears rush to your eyes.

When Monday arrived and you dropped him off to school, you had texted Logan but apparently he still wasn’t back. You could almost hear him grumbling about it even if it was on text, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t a bit disappointed, but you knew you had to go to work anyway so the best-case scenario you would be seeing him in the evening even if he were back.

But apparently, Theo had forgotten his book home so after work, you had to drop by home and drive to his school to drop it off.

“So,” Julie’s voice reached you from the speaker of the phone as you kept your eyes on the road. “Is Mr. Break Your Bed gonna be there?”

“I don’t think so,” you said with a small grin. “I texted him but he hasn’t seen it yet. And either way, he probably won’t be back by the midnight, so…”

“Maybe a midnight visit then?”

“I mean I don’t want to be pushy but…” you trailed off. “I hope so. Can you have withdrawals when it comes to sex? Because I’m pretty sure I’m having withdrawals.”

“It’s barely Monday evening,” she said. “You’re not having withdrawals, you’re just horny.”

“Julie, that night changed me,” you said. “I’m a changed woman now.”

“I’m happy for you but how about we slow down for a moment?”

“I think at some point my soul left my body.”

“I don’t think so.”

“It was floating in space or something.”

“No it wasn’t.”

“I saw myself in an alternate universe and she was also with Logan.”

“That’s not what happened.”

“Julie—”

 “I’m really proud of you for having orgasms but at the risk of sounding like Jamie,” she cut you off. “You need to take a deep breath and calm down for a moment. I don’t care how good he is in bed, let’s keep in mind that he’s still just a guy.”

“I am calm.”

“You’re not calm,” she said. “We’re on family account so I know you listened to Crazy in Love - Fifty Shades of Grey remix on loop all night last night.”

“I was making a trailer for me and Logan in my head.”

“Which doesn’t fall under the category of being calm.”

You took a deep breath, lazily turning the steering wheel.

“You know how much I support you getting laid,” Julie said. “But let’s not put the guy up on a pedestal just because he’s great in bed. Please?”

“I’m not doing that,” you said, your voice coming out way too petulant. “It’s just…you know, I’m happy.”

“And that makes me happy,” she assured you. “I promise you. But I don’t want you to get hurt, so let’s go slow with this whole thing with Logan.”

You nodded your head.

“Yeah I know,” you said as you pulled over, looking up at the mansion. “Gotta go, I’ll call you?”

“Okay!”

“Love you!”

“Love you too sunshine,” she said and hung up, and you grabbed your phone off the holder before stepping out of the car. You knew Logan wasn’t there, but you still felt your heart skipping a happy beat and made your way into the mansion.

Considering it was late in the evening, Theo and the most of the younger students had to have gone to bed, and you didn’t want to wake him up from his sleep just to give him his book. Some of the older students were around so you stopped the closest guy and smiled at him.

“Um, hi.”

His eyes widened as he looked at you, then he looked up at the ceiling as if forcing himself to drag his gaze away.

“Hi miss—ma’am,” he said and you tilted your head.

“Uh, are you okay?”

“Yes ma’am,” he stammered. “I just have been told not to even look at…how—how may I help you?”

“I was wondering where Professor X is,” you said even though you were confused about why he refused to look at you. “I’ll give him Theo’s book, I’m his mom.”

“I know,” he said. “I can give it to him tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Oh that’d be wonderful, thank you!” you said as he took the book from you and you frowned.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Caleb!” someone called out and he turned his head, then nodded.

“I’d better go,” he said. “Uh, see you around—or not! Not see you around, I’ll just…” he waved his hand vaguely before walking away from you in a hurry, and you leaned on your hip.

“Well that was weird,” you muttered to yourself and turned around to make your way through the hallway but as soon as you turned the corner, someone pulled you by the arm, making you let out a squeal before you saw who it was, your heartbeat getting faster in a second.

Logan.

He had to have just stepped out of the shower judging by his wet hair. His hazel eyes was shining with that fond light they always held whenever he looked at you, making your chest feel all warm as a smile curled his lips.

“Hi princess.”

“Hi!” you chirped, smiling wide at him, painfully aware of the heart eyes you were giving him. “You’re back!”

He hummed, dipping his head to pull you into a kiss and you heaved a pleasant sigh, wrapping your arms around his neck when his arm sneaked around your waist to press your body to his.

“I didn’t know you were back,” you said when you pulled back to look up at him and he stroked your cheekbone.

“Arrived like half an hour ago,” he said. “I heard your voice when I stepped out of the shower. What are you doing here?”

“Theo forgot his book,” you said. “I texted you actually, but…”

“My phone died,” he mumbled apologetically and you let out a laugh.

“Why do I get the feeling you and technology don’t get along well?”

The corners of his lips twitched. “Maybe.”

“How was the mission?”

“It was good,” he said. “Missed you though.”

Happiness bloomed in your chest, making you beam at him. “Did you?”

He hummed and stole another kiss from you, entwining his fingers with yours before stepping back and tugging at your hand.

“Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

He shot you a playful smile, making your stomach do a happy flip.

“Well, like I said, I missed you,” he said, pulling you to himself to peck you on the lips again. “And my room is closer than your place.”

                                                   *

Okay.

Well—

Perhaps you weren’t exactly going slow.

Perhaps sex with Logan was making you plan your future cabin in the woods but as long as you kept it to yourself, you figured it was fine.

You had no idea what time you had fallen asleep but when you woke up to your stomach growling, it was still midnight. You looked up at Logan’s sleeping figure before smiling to yourself, and very carefully moved in the bed but as soon as you turned around, Logan threw an arm over your waist to pull you back to him.

“Where are you going?” he muttered into your hair, his voice still sleepy and you let out a giggle, squeezing at his arm.

“Burning energy leads to hunger, strange as it sounds,” you said. “Aren’t you hungry?”

You could hear his smirk; “Nah, I ate.”

A fire spread over your face as you pulled the pillow from under your head to smack it on his arm, making him chuckle.

“Want me to get you something?” he asked and you thought for a moment, then shook your head.

“I don’t know what I want, so I’ll check the kitchen,” you said as you sat up in the bed and grabbed your dress but tilted your head when you saw the broken zipper. You raised your brows and held it up, throwing a look at him over your shoulder and he held up his hands.

“Sorry about that.”

You tilted your head. “You don’t sound very sorry.”

“That’s because I’m not.”

You scrunched up your nose at him, narrowing your eyes.

“I’m so stealing your clothes tomorrow before going to my place,” you told him and grabbed his shirt to put it on, then got up from the bed despite your muscles protesting every single movement. He got up as well and got into his jeans then followed you out of the room.

It was clear that everyone was asleep, the hallway completely dark and empty, and you smiled when Logan threw an arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer. Entwining your fingers with his, you let him lead you to the kitchen downstairs and as soon as you took a step to the fridge, he slapped your butt, making you whirl around with a gasp.

“People are sleeping!” you whispered, pointing a finger at him while trying your hardest not to laugh, then opened the fridge door to see what was inside. You hummed, then took out some bread, butter and cheese and held them up.

“You want some grilled cheese sandwich?”

“Sure,” he said with a soft smile on his face and you nodded, then kicked the fridge door close to make your way to the counter.

“At the risk of sounding arrogant,” you said. “I make a killer grilled cheese sandwich.”

“Yeah?” he asked, coming up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist, dipping his head to bury his nose to the crook of your neck. A giggle escaped from your lips as you fidgeted in his arms.

“Logan!”

“You smell so good.”

“I highly doubt that,” you retorted, cutting the cheese. “We’ve been um…busy for hours.”

You could feel his smirk against your skin; “Busy?”

“Stop,” you chided him lightheartedly, your cheeks burning a little as you held up a piece of cheese over your shoulder for him to bite it. You popped the rest into your mouth, then looked around.

“Where’s the pan?”

“It’s—” Logan started, but raised his head to look behind him, making you frown.

“What?”

“You don’t want Theo to know yet, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“He’s awake, coming here,” he muttered, stepping back from you and you frowned but before you could ask anything, you heard the familiar footsteps.

Uh oh.

Any observer would’ve been able to tell what was happening, considering Logan was only in his jeans, and you were in his flannel but Theo was still little and you hadn’t brought anyone home before so you knew he wouldn’t be able to understand. Either way, you fixed your hair hurriedly and threw your shoulders back when Theo appeared at the entrance, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses with his fist, then he lowered his hand to pull his brows together.

“Mommy?”

“Bean!” you said breathlessly and smiled at him. “Hi. Why are you awake?”

Theo blinked a couple of times as if trying to focus, then fixed his glasses, his lips pulled into a pout.

“What are you doing here?”

You exchanged glances with Logan who was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, then you turned to Theo.

“I brought your book and the car broke down so I decided to spend the night here,” you lied. “You were already asleep when I got here. What are you doing up?”

“I was thirsty,” he said through his pout and Logan filled a glass of water to give it to you so that you could give it to Theo. “Hi Mr. Logan.”

“Hi bub.”

Theo downed the water and gave the glass back to you, then hugged your legs with a small whine. You smiled to yourself and lifted him up for him to wrap his arms and legs around you like a little koala, and leaned his head to your chest with a yawn.

“Want me to carry him to bed?” Logan asked and Theo frowned, then shook his head, holding onto you tighter.

“We get a bit cranky when we’re sleepy,” you whispered to Logan and pressed a kiss on top of Theo’s hair. “It’s fine, right bean?”

Theo nodded quietly.

“His room is—”

“Down the hallway, I know,” you told Logan with a smile. “Be right back.”

You walked out of the kitchen with Theo in your arms, humming an old song that used to put Theo to sleep when he was a baby. He mumbled something in his sleep and you reached the half open door of his room, then pushed it to step in.

Theo having a room to himself wasn’t something you had thought about when you enrolled him but when you came to pick him up at the end of his first week, Professor X had informed you that it was a precaution, after all Theo still didn’t know how to control his very destructive powers so it was both for his safety and the other students’. You could see his books on the table and his animal drawings on the walls, as well as him in a superhero suit. You repressed a smile, then gently put him down on his bed and pulled the covers over him.

“Mommy?”

“Yes my love?” you whispered, stroking over his hair before taking his glasses off to put them on his bedside table. Theo yawned.

“I had a dream about Cheeto and Popcorn.”

“Really?”

“Mm hm,” he said drowsily. “They’re friends right? Best friends?”

You smiled to yourself.

“They are,” you said. “And they love you.”

 Theo hugged his pillow tighter, already half asleep. “Love you mommy.”

“Love you too bean,” you said, pressing a kiss on his forehead before pulling back to see whether he could hear you but he was deep asleep already. You smiled to yourself and heaved a sigh, then made your way back to the kitchen where Logan was already turning the sandwich in the pan on the stove.

“Hottest chef I’ve ever seen,” you joked as you jumped to sit on the counter and he gave you a smile.

“I doubt making grilled sandwich counts as being a chef.”

“It totally does,” you told him and he put it on a plate, then put it in your lap.

“Here.”

“Yay!” you said and took a bite, then closed your eyes. “Ugh, I love bread.”

Logan chuckled, making you open your eyes as you chewed on your bite, then swallowed it.

“You’re great with him, you know?” Logan asked and you pulled your brows together in confusion before the realization dawned on you.

“With Theo?” you asked and let out a small laugh. “Well, comes with the territory.”

“Not at all,” Logan said. “Not every parent is like that.”

A bright smile lit up your face.

“Thank you,” you said. “For saying that. It means more than you know. Half of the time I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Logan said. “He’s the happiest kid I’ve ever seen.”

“Yeah?” you asked, your smile widening and he nodded.

“Mm hm.”

“Good,” you said. “I mean his happiness is the most important thing for me. Everything else comes secondary to that, even myself which is…not something I thought was possible before.”

That soft light was shining in his eyes again and you took a deep breath, then scrunched up your nose.

“Sorry,” you said as you put down the sandwich in the plate. “This is the part where people get scared.”

He hummed, leaning his hands on either side of you, caging you in, making your heart skip a happy beat and a mischievous smirk curled his lips.

“Do I strike you as a man who gets scared?” he asked and a small giggle climbed up your throat.

“No,” you admitted. “But…”

“But?”

“But I’d get it if you did.”

He shook his head, his hazel gaze locked in yours.

“Not gonna happen.”

You could feel the warmth spreading from your chest to your whole body and you leaned in to press a feathery kiss on his lips.

“Good,” you managed to say. “I happen to like having you around, and your cooking skills aren’t so bad.”

“Oh is that right?”

“Could use some more practice but I figure two hundred years is a bit early to learn and—Logan!” you squealed as he took the plate to put it beside you on the counter, then pulled you to himself, making you slide on the counter, a laugh escaping from you before you covered your mouth.

“People are sleeping!” you reminded him again and he shrugged his shoulders, that irresistible smile curling his lips again.

“Well,” he muttered, leaning down to kiss you again as you wrapped your arms around his neck with a pleasant sigh. “Guess you’re gonna have to be quiet, sweetheart.”

9 - Tranquility

[please-destroy]

A Lifetime

Natasha Romanoff

Word Count: 1.5k

.

Her words:

‘Life is just a series of moments.

I didn’t understand what you meant when you told me what you wanted. You asked for a lifetime with me.

I didn’t know that I could love you like that.

Not that I didn’t. 

You were already my family. You had been since that day in the park. When I sat between your legs on the grass, and we drank lemonade in the sun. 

But I didn’t know that I could. I didn’t think I had permission. 

And when you asked me for a lifetime, I told you of course. But, it wasn’t until that night that I really thought about it.

You were sleeping next to me with this smile on your face, and I knew it was because of me. I touched your fingers because you’d left them lying on my chest. And I realised right then, that you were the only person I wanted to be with. And that now, I was going to get a lifetime because you wanted me too.

When no one’s ever seemed to want you, it’s hard not to hold onto whoever does. I kept joining these families of misfits that didn’t quite make sense. I kept trying to become a person who belonged to something.

Then, I met you.

You don’t remember it. But, there was a night at that bar. The one across the street from our first apartment, with the green door.

I told you about some of it there. I knew you’d seen the gaps in me, but I didn’t know if you’d seen what was missing, what should have been there.

You were so focused on peeling the label off your bottle and, somehow, it made everything easier to say. I didn’t know if I was saying it for you or for me. I hadn’t told anyone those things before. 

I talked about all the parts of me that won’t heal right, no matter how hard I try.

And when I stopped speaking, I realised I didn’t know what you were going to say. And you looked up at me, with this silly smile on your face, and your hand outstretched with your palm up. 

And I realised you’d been tearing me a paper heart the whole time.

I don’t have baby photos, but I have that heart. I lost a lot of chances in life, but I know that I won one with you. 

Life is just a series of moments.

You held my hand when they gave me that shot at the hospital. Noone’s ever done that before. I’d told you it wouldn’t hurt. I told you I wouldn’t even feel it. You kissed my forehead. You wanted to be there just in case. 

You were the first person to really want me. And, you were also the best person to want me.

Wanting you back was so easy. 

I hadn’t thought of anyone like that before. Not in that way. Everything felt transactional or hurtful. I didn’t realise that there was anything in between.

You bought me a balloon. It’s so silly even saying it. Because it wasn’t the balloon. Or that day together at the beach. 

It was when I let it go and it flew away. I didn’t want you thinking that you could have me just by buying me a balloon.

I thought you were going to be so angry when I did it. I think I wanted another reason for you to walk away.

Your eyes looked so warm in the sunshine. You squeezed my hand and I remember you said that you liked watching it fly away. You told me that you liked watching me be free as well. 

That’s why I bought you that painting of the girl with the balloon for our anniversary. I knew you’d love it because the girl looks so happy. I knew you’d understand why it made me think of you.

Life is just a series of moments.

You kiss me in elevators. You pull me onto your lap when I walk past you in the morning. You tell me stories that you’ve saved up just for me.

When you asked me for a lifetime, I told you yes, because I want that too.

Our lives are going to be a series of moments. I want to spend them all with you.’

.

The day it happens:

She takes your hand outside the building, her touch makes your skin tingle. Natasha’s eyes are hesitant. She smiles nervously. 

You squeeze her hand and she blinks with subtle relief. Her smile gets wider, floating like a small boat on the ocean. 

You walk together to the front of the small room. Yelena catches your eye. She’s sitting it the very front row. She’s holding a smartphone upright on her lap, almost submerged by her fluffy coat. You direct a tentative smile at the phone’s camera. Melina is watching from the far side of the room. Natasha hadn’t expected her to come.

Natasha’s hand is still in yours. Everything about her feels warm.

Maria is standing ahead of you. You don’t know her well, but she was Natasha’s choice.

When you stop in front of her, Maria nods her head and you feel something universal shift as the moment begins.

Exchanging the vows would be easy, except Natasha’s looking right at you. She’s wearing a red dress. She wore it on your first date. Your heart is beating through your chest. 

Natasha tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. Her voice hitches and you feel like you’re in a dream. 

The world pauses when she speaks. 

‘Life is just a series of moments.’

.

When Natasha finishes, her throat is hoarse. Her words linger in your heart, ready to become embedded in your soul. There are tears in her eyes and she blinks self consciously. 

You squeeze her hands gently between yours. You want her to know it’s okay, that there are tears burning in your eyes too.

Before Natasha says I do, she nods twice to herself, swallowing obviously before she says the words.

She slides the ring over your knuckle and you feel the eyes of the room fall to your finger. You start to smile because the cold metal feels new but Natasha’s touch feels eternal. 

And then you notice that Natasha has started crying, happy silent tears that make you forget your own name.

Your own vows aren’t quite right, but they never would be. There’s a lump in your throat just looking at her. 

After you say I do, you tap the back of her hand with your thumb. I really do, You add emphatically, just to see her smile.

Natasha holds your gaze when you slide her ring onto her finger. 

Her eyes are always a darker green than you expect. Maybe you just see more of her each time you look. 

.

At last, on Maria’s word, you kiss her. 

It occurs to you that you have known Natasha for a thousand sunsets. You have lost count of her kisses. You wonder when gravity left you and she became your anchor to this world instead.

She is the place that will always be your home. 

Her warm lips brush yours like they do every day. You feel your own tears on your cheeks. You will always be her something familiar. 

.

You shoot another small smile at Yelena and her smartphone camera when you leave the room. You are still holding Natasha’s hand, but now your thumb is rubbing the back of her wedding ring. 

Yelena insists on taking photos of you both outside. Natasha’s smile is glorious.

.

There is no after party, no-one else knows. 

You take a taxi back to your apartment. Natasha opens a bottle of champagne and you sit together on the wooden floor of your living room with a pizza box between you.

Earlier, you’d both promised not to eat on the brand new sofa and risk a stain. This is your ridiculous compromise. 

You watch Cheaper by the Dozen because Natasha likes films with big happy families. It feels like an acknowledgement of the future you want together. The champagne hits as the sequel begins. You lay your head on her shoulder as the night slips away. Her hand brushes your neck. You both laugh when her ring gets caught in your hair. 

Every part of your day felt momentous as if you’d hit a big scene in the story of your lives. But the moment is stretching out and you think it might last forever.

Natasha brings back another bottle of champagne and when she returns she kneels over your outstretched legs. She kisses your neck, her free hand twisting in your hair. 

You skim the hem of her dress, careful and longing.

You both forget the champagne. 

You wake up the next morning, and the perfect moment has stretched into the next day.

Natasha is lying next to you. You can tell from the shadows under her eyes that she will wake up tired. You see the red dress thrown on the floor, you spend a minute grinning at the ceiling. 

This moment will go on forever. She will always be.

[writingbluerose]

a song just for you | Idia Shroud x reader

summary : Idia has been keeping a secret from you, and also he has been working on something special just for you. As a thank you for everything he's done. Have patience with him, he's just nervous

warnings : none <3

a / n : Idia is literally the loml so I wanted to make this short story. ALSO HELLO IDIA FANS??? Idk if that AppleBloom card implies he's playing violin or not, he's playing it in this story idc

HAPPY BIRTHDAY IDIA HONEY ILY 💙💙

He's been at this for months. Trying and trying and modifying everything that didn't seem right to him. He practiced for hours in a day, days that he didn't even touch his gaming console, much to his brother's surprise and of course he's also very proud of his big bro. Idia wanted to make something special for you, something that would let you know how much he loves you without speaking too much, after all he wasn't that amazing with words, even tho you understood him and accepted him the way he is.

So, for you, Idia started doing something he's never done in years. Playing the violin. He remembers when he was little and found a super old violin in the S.T.Y.X headquarters at home, he started playing it and found out he actually has a nick for it! But, well, Idia is Idia so he quickly forgot about it. But when hanging out in his room one day, you mentioned that you really liked the sound of violins, also mentioning that on winter holidays you loved listening to a certain song played by a one. Idia never forgot that, of course he didn't, after all that's what he's doing right now, practicing just for you.

And just like that 4 solid months passed with Idia practicing and perfecting his song. And that meant that it was finalized the moment to show you. Calling his little brother Ortho to go fetch you, Idia was nervously pacing around his room, his violin not revealed yet as he wanted it to be a surprise. Minutes passed and his brother finally entered his room, beaming with anticipation with you smiling behind him. Idia could tell you were excited for whatever surprise he had for you. After Ortho left, you sat on his bed and looked at him. “Sooo, Ortho told me you have a surprise for me right?? What is it?? I'm excited!” “Well, u-uhm...uhh” Idia's hair slowly started becoming pink as well as his face, slowly fidgeting with his fingers thinking on how to start. You smiled softly at him. “Take your time Idia, no rush” He hesitantly looked at you again, then took a deep breath and started talking all at once. “I-IrememberthattimeyoutoldmeyoulikeviolinssoImadethisforyoubecauseIliterallyloveyousomuchandIwantedtothankyouforeverythingyou'vedoneformebecause I love you so much” The last 5 words came out slower, while Idia finally took the violin behind him showing you what the surprise really was. With a studded look and pink cheeks you looked at Idia in awe. “Idia... You- you didn't...” Idia learned violin for you? Oh goodness, that thought only made your heart beat faster and faster, you loved him so much.

“I- I did yeah...so uhm, — Idia coughed taking his violin and getting into position — this... is for you” And so he started singing. And God, it was beautiful. You knew Idia well, that means you easily knew that he was the one who wrote the song that was now slowly coming along on the beautiful thin strings of his polished violin. You slowly got lost in the song, your cheeks getting a pink tint while listening to Idia's gift for you. Because I wanted to thank you, that's why he did this, he wanted to thank you and that thought alone made a warm feeling in your chest. You looked up at him, Idia's eyes were closed and you were sure he wasn't aware his tongue was slightly out of his mouth indicating he was concentrating. The sight made you silently giggle, Idia's silly faces was one of the things you loved about him most.

After a while, Idia's singing came to a stop, the hand that was holding his bow came down to rest beside his body, his other one still holding the violin. He looked at you with his cheek pink and you didn't fail to see the tips of his hair getting pinker and pinker, some of them burning into little hearts. “How-how was that...?” Awaiting your answer, Idia shifted his weight from one leg to another looking at you expectantly. Before he could register what you were doing, you jumped on your feet and hugged him tightly. “I loved it Idia. It was beautiful” At your words, Idia let out a relief sigh then grinned at you. “Weehee, I unlocked the right route” You smiled at him in response. “I really didn't expect you to do all this for me, really. I mean learning violin that fast? That's something not all people can do” “Ah, well, it's not like I didn't know how to play it — he carefully set the violin down next to his bed — I played a bit when I was little but I kinda gave up after a while” You understood quickly that Idia probably found the magic of video games so that must've been the reason he stopped playing.

“Well, I must give you something in return,no?” You approached him putting your hand on his cheek, pulling him by his hoodie, kissing him on the lips. He was quick to return the kiss, he got better at this since you started dating him after all. After he let go, Idia's hands were still holding tightly onto your waist, his face pink while grinning at you. “Hehe, this was definitely an S rank kiss” “An S rank kiss for an S rank boyfriend” Idia's face turned fully red at your comment and so did his hair, he hid his face in the crook of your neck. “No fair! These comments do critical damage — he looked up at you — you can't use them so casually!!”

You knew Idia would give up the world to be with you forever, he loved you so much and he always made sure to tell you in his special ways. And now, while being in his bed, hugging his sleeping form, you thought that no matter what, you'd always do the same for him.

No matter the outcome.

[kinda-indecisive]

･˳ . ⋆   .˳⋆ Face Kisses pt. I ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳

Basically how I imagine their reactions to an onslaught of face kisses from you (MC). Fluff.

Part 1: The Xavier and Zayne Edition!

+:★:+* *+:★:+* +:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+* *+:★+:★:+* *+:★

Xavier

Xavier locked himself out of his apartment. Again.

You’re not sure what it was this time, whether he got distracted by the comic he’d been reading as he’d left this morning or if it was something else. But when he returned from the store carrying the two latest releases from that same series, he bumped into you outside the front door of your building and his eyes had widened in horror, then quickly settled into resignation. It was as if you had been a reminder of what he had forgotten and, before he said a thing, you asked, “You locked yourself out again, didn’t you?”

He admitted it with a sheepish nod, half-turning to return to chilly street. But you quickly stopped him by gently grabbing his sleeve.

“You can use the key you gave me. It’s on the kitchen counter. Or…”

“Or…?” He inquired, giving you a small squint and a smile as he tried to read your mood.

“Or you could come over for dinner! I was going to order something tonight, but I don’t have to. I'm sure I have the ingredients to make something simple.”

“Either sounds good to me,” he smiled, resolving to follow you up to your apartment, “And all food usually tastes better in good company.”

Your ingredients ended up being mismatched and a bit embarrassing, but Xavier hardly seemed to notice as the two of you decided on a menu to order from. You chatted over the meal, watched some funny videos on your phones together, cleared the table together, and now Xavier has made himself comfortable on your couch, his brow scrunched ever so slightly as he reads one of the comics that likely got him into this situation.

You pretend to be doing something, though if Xavier looked over he might be very confused by the strange way you wring the dish towel in your hands.

In all truth, you can’t help but watch him as he reads, his expression changing ever so slightly at the events in the story. A tiny frown appearing between his brows before his eyes soften and he lets out a tiny ‘hm’, though you can’t quite tell if it’s a sound of relief or annoyance from the character’s decisions.

He’s so cute. And devastatingly handsome. Sometimes you want to just squish him. And other times you just wanna smooch all over him.

Right now, it’s a bit of both.

You were so deeply into your own thoughts that you hadn’t realized you walked up to him. And now that he’s looking up at you in mild confusion and slight concern, you aren’t quite sure how to explain yourself.

“Is something wrong?” he asks, setting aside the comic and sitting up without taking his eyes off of you.

You shake your head and a little of the worry in his expression dissipates, though the confusion remains.

“Well then… have you come over just to say hi?” He chuckles, averting his eyes a little, his hand finding the back of his neck. When he turns back to you, his eyes widen in surprise when you take his face in between your hands.

“You’re just so… ugh!”

He looks up at you sheepishly while you resist the urge to squeeze his face between your hands. Sometimes your cuteness aggression goes wild around Xavier. Most of the time, you have a good handle on it. But right now, not so much.

His cheeks flush with heat when you start to place kisses all over his face, his eyes closing, his nose scrunching ever so slightly, only making him look even cuter.

Once your task is finished, he finally opens his eyes, his face still flushed, his lips parted slightly as he looks up at you.

“What was that for?”

“Did you really think I was going to let you just wander around after you locked yourself out? Didn’t I already tell you that you can always come here when that happens?” you say, placing your hands on your hips so that he knows you’re being serious.

He smiles faintly, “Okay, then. Besides, I really like it here. The hostess is very… friendly.”

Your own cheeks turn warm as you turn away, “You better not be meeting up with any other friendly hostesses.”

He shakes his head, chucking softly at your subtle jealousy, “Nope. I could never.”

+:★:+* *+:★:+* +:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+* *+:★+:★:+* *+:★

Zayne

When you wake up, you find the bed otherwise empty. It’s likely he’s already up and working, though it’s supposed to be his day off. That is, if he hasn’t already been called in for an emergency.

Peeking your head from the bedroom, you can’t help but grin at the sight of the dim lamp light and quiet sounds of the keyboard in the living room. He’s still here!

Slinking into the room, you buzz with excitement, but still manage to approach him without making any noise. As per usual, he is so focused on what he’s doing that he doesn’t look up for a second. And when you come up behind him and drape your arms around his neck, he acknowledges you with a tug at the corner of his lips and a small kiss against your forearm.

“G’morning,” you greet him, eyebrow raising when his typing doesn’t cease for a second.

“Good morning. Though it’s still quite early. You should go back to bed,” he says, his voice a mixture of affection and ‘doctor orders’ at the same time.

“But what if I wanna stay up with you?”

He acknowledges your somewhat rhetorical question with a hum, his eyes partially blocked by the light reflecting off the laptop screen as he types out a quick email and sends it off.

“Then you’ll have to keep yourself occupied a little while longer. I can’t provide much entertainment for you for at least three more emails.”

He still hasn’t taken his eyes off the computer once and you find yourself pouting about it, even though you know that most of the time when he does his emails this early it’s so he can give you his undivided attention later in the day, which you really appreciate.

The thought makes you want to squeeze him tighter, but you resist, settling on placing a quick kiss on his cheek. Lifting your head, you lean over his other shoulder to place a kiss on the same spot on his other cheek.

Back and forth you move, showering your good friend, your doctor, (the love of your life?!) with the affection you feel bubbling out of you. You are a little dejected, however, when he still gives you little more than a head tilt in response.

“Wow. Sometimes I’m impressed by how professional Dr. Zayne is. He really gives me no reaction at all when he’s in ‘the zone’,” you tease.

“Are you trying to get a reaction out of me?” he asks, clicking through his tabs before stopping on one with what looks like the results of someone’s EKG. When he is concerned about something he sees, he’ll spend a long while examining these kinds of results, his fingers steepled, his eyebrows furrowed. Today the patient appears to be lucky, as he glances over them briefly before sending it off to Dr. Greyson.

You ignore his question, “Are they having a busy morning without you or something?”

Silence. Then, “I had some trouble sleeping, so I offered to look over a few things before attempting to go back to sleep. However, it’s been about an hour or so since.”

Nightmares. That would explain the reason he still has yet to look at you. The reason he has yet to respond to your kisses. He’s right, however, that you would like a reaction from him.

You resume your playful kisses. This time, however, he sighs softly, slumping into the chair just a bit, placing his hand over your forearm.

“I wish I could fight your nightmares for you,” you murmur and he finally looks up at you, his eyes slightly humored behind his glasses.

“I imagine you would if you could, though the image of your attempt might be sufficient in chasing them away, as well. If nightmares were sentient things, I could easily imagine you putting it in a headlock and bullying it into doing as you wish.”

Heat creeps into your cheeks, “Is that how you see me? As a bully?”

He shakes his head slightly, his hair brushing your cheek, “Not a bully, exactly. But you have a tendency to get passionate about things. For example, you sneak into the room while someone is working and shower them with kisses from behind.”

“Oh? So you think I’m passionate about everything when it comes to you?”

“Certainly. I know that for a fact,” he murmurs, clearing his throat as his ear turns warm against your cheek.

Giggling, you concede that it’s true.

Lowering your head, you place a kiss against his jaw, just below his earlobe, causing the blush in his ears to deepen. You are quite pleased with the reaction you’ve finally gotten out of him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafayel and Sylus Edition coming soon!

Will update this post with a link in this section when it is added. Let me know if you wanna be tagged on the next post :)

[zepskies]

Omg yay!!! I'm so excited that you were excited loll. But thank you so much, Wayne. I haven't done an Omegaverse story in a long time, and I've never done a series before, so I was nervous/excited about starting to post it. 😅 Can't wait to dive into the rest of your thoughts below! 💞

When I said "amazing start," I really meant it! I like how I'm just being thrown into this setting and feel just as disoriented as the reader 🤓 (I also love the easter egg of it being set in Montana 😁)

Thank you so much!! 😭😭 I love a good "throw you into the action" beginning, and I thought this was a good way to do it loll. And yesss thank you for picking up on that! lol A little Barlen easter egg there. 😏

This whole description was just something else 👏😍

Ooh thank you for calling out one of my favorite moments with her waking up to Dean. 🥰

You mean like apple pie? Hahaha that makes so much sense for him 😂🥧

Ahahaha yeah basically. 🤣 He really does love him some apple pie. 😏

I'm a sucker for the super romantic "snowed-in in a cabin in the woods" type of story. I already know he's going to cook the best meals for her. Melting my heart here 😍

Girl me toooo. Now that I think about it, this aspect of it actually came from a convo you and I had a while back about having a fic set in a cozy cabin, steamy stuff happening by the fireplace, etc. 😘❤️‍🔥 So thank you for that inspo!! 💕

And omg yeah -- only Dean can make a basic grilled cheese and tomato soup sound like a 3 course meall; at least for me. 🤤

Oh, I'm sus 👀 Still wondering if she really was just out there for a hike after her dad's death or if there is more to it (and to her nightmares)

Oooh, as always, your instincts are spot on. 😉 We'll get deeper into that as we go along...

I also love how you characterize a post-season 15 Dean with Saileen going on. He'd totally become a bit of a reclusive loner and retreat to a cabin. Can 100% see that 😅 He really needs some love 💔

He really, really does! 😭💗 Dean's kind of aimless right now, and though he doesn't want to admit it, he's lonely. His brother is essentially moving on without him. And though it hurts him deep down, he understands it, just can't seem to move on himself (yet).

Totally sobbing as I reach the end of this cute moment 😭🥹

The thought of Sam and Eileen having the cutest lil' boy named after his uncle does things to me. 😭😭 Like, I was never much of a Sam/Jess shipper, but once Eileen came into the picture I saw them together so clearly. 💗

I actually snorted. He sounded a bit like PH Dean there 🤣🤣

LOLL yessss. I took some of that line straight from S12 when they have to go to Hollywood/L.A., and that totally fits with PH. 🤣

I can't tell you how much those snooping scenes always freak me out! I was on the edge of my seat the whole time, scared Dean was going to walk in and catch her, but phew... Will he know she was in his room? Can he smell she was in there? Will he notice the journal is missing? Ooooh, I'm so hooked! 👀

Ahaha are you getting Smoke Eater flashbacks? 😂😂 Dean didn't catch her...this time. Unfortunately Dean's a little distracted with her scent all over the place 😂, but you'll see if he catches her next time...

Welp, on another note, guess she's driving right into the monster lore 😂

Ooh she's going deep!! More on that in Part 2! 😬

Oh, I so can't wait to see him fail at that! 😂❤️ This was so fabulous! It hits all the right notes of romance and mystery. Seems like you've conjured up the perfect snow storm 😉

Lmfao oh he will eventually -- it's just a matter of how and when. 😂😂

Thank you again so much, my friend!! I tried my best to pack a good bit into Part 1 while still leaving room for some mystery and a bit of slow-burn friction between these two. ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

I can't wait to share what's coming up next!!

Against the Wind - Part 1

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x F. Omega!Reader 

Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.

AN: This is a canon ending-divergent AU, but still an Omegaverse story within the canon world. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: True Mates

Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: A/B/O dynamics, scenting, injuries, hints of angst, fluff and feels. 

Series Masterlist || Bingo Masterlist

Part 1: In His Hands

Your body is mostly numb when he pulls you out of the snow.

You utter a sharp cry when something in your side twinges, waking up your entire body like a white-hot shiv. Your ankle begins to throb as well.

“Hold on. I’ve got you.”

You only half hear the voice, a deep, coarse rumble. His form is broad and dark and blurry, but his male scent is the only thing you register with perfect clarity. 

Alpha. 

A small treble of alarm runs through you. It’s an instinct you’ve had to learn, as an omega traveling alone in rural Montana. However, something else disrupts that anxiety.

It’s his scent. His scent is like the crackle and smoke of a warm hearth. 

Safe. Your body is heavy and stiff and doesn’t respond to your commands, and yet, you feel a measure of calm when he maneuvers you into his arms. It’s a baser instinct, rooted deep in your chest. He begins to carry you down the slope of the mountain, and your vision blurs white…

Like the flurry of snow falling heavy on his jacket.  

You wake up freezing and shivering in pain. A sensation of small sharp needles begins to travel all across your skin. Slowly, as you're able to blink, your view of the dark wood cabin clears and focuses. You realize that you’re bundled in blankets, and laying on a chaise in front of a large fireplace. Still, you’re too cold. A keening whimper escapes you as you try to burrow in.

Alpha. Your body instinctively recognizes his presence, as he’s suddenly there, hovering close above you with a divot between his brows and a frown marring his face, where thick stubble threatens to become a beard. Stern, dark brows are furrowed over his concerned eyes. His plush frown is framed by a stubborn-looking chin. Your gaze wearily travels over his handsome features, his short brown hair, the flickers of firelight that splash across the side of his face.

He places a warm, calloused hand on your forehead, and he mutters a curse. Your body trembles further with cold. You part your lips, but you can't yet force your voice to escape them.

Again, he quite literally takes the problem into his own hands. He peels away the thick blankets just to slide himself in behind you. His arms wrap around your waist, and you feel their tempered strength when they cage you in against him. You manage to turn your head and rest your cheek against his chest, covered by red plaid. Thank you...

Almost on reflex, you breathe in his scent deeply.  The earthiness of it calms you, warms you from the inside. Your shivering eventually calms and turns to purring in your chest. 

“What’s your name, Omega?” he asks. His voice is deep and gruff, and it threatens to make you shiver for a different reason as the timbre of it washes over you. 

It’s difficult, but you manage to speak, clearing past your parched throat to give him your name. He nods, as if rolling the sound of it back and forth across his mind.

“Was somebody out there with you?” he asks.

You shake your head, even though the thought elicits a painful twinge in your heart. 

“Who…” you try to speak again, even though it hurts a little. “Who are you?”

You feel him take a deep breath. He hesitates, like he’s reluctant to give it to you. 

“Dean,” he says. 

You roll the name around in your head, over and over. Dean, Dean, Dean…

You smile slightly. “Yeah, makes sense.”

“What?” he says. You hear the raised brow in his tone. 

“You sound like a Dean,” you say, perhaps a little delirious. 

Anyway, that’s when your eyes close on you again. You fall back into the warm lull of sleep, to the sound of a crackling fire, and a feeling that permeates throughout your body.

Safe.

Can’t fucking believe this, Dean thinks, as he holds you. Just when he thought his life was done throwing him curveballs.

He tips his head back against the sofa cushion with a tired exhale. It would just be his luck to find a stray omega wandering his stretch of Big Sky. Montana can be gnarly in the winter, but for the past couple of years, Dean has learned to survive here in this rental cabin for a couple of months at a time, when wandering an empty bunker gets to be too much. At least here the quiet’s peaceful, if still a little unnerving sometimes. 

He glances down at you. Now that you’re warm and sleeping again, he should find something to wrap your ankle and ice it down. It’s swollen, and he wants to take an inventory of your other injuries, so he can determine how to get you back down the mountain and through the woods, back to civilization.

The sooner he gets you medical attention and back to your life, the sooner he can get back to his—even though the thought of leaving you in anyone else’s hands almost stirs a growl in his throat.

And that last part unnerves him, makes him anxious. He begins to untangle himself from you, but his movements falter when your sweet scent filters through his nose again. Cinnamon apples, with a hint of something floral. 

Fuck me.

It’s almost too sweet to be true, but Dean does his best to ignore it…and what that alluring sweetness probably means. 

Dean leaves you in the morning to revisit the site where you fell. He digs through the snow and manages to find your backpack, filled with your clothes, supplies, and your phone and wallet. He returns just in time. 

The falling snow becomes even more intense, until it becomes a quiet roar outside. You watch the snowstorm through the impact windows in the kitchen, and you know what this means. You’re snowed in with a stranger—an alpha, no less. 

You also have a bum ankle, which he wrapped for you. Doesn’t feel broken, he’d said, but it could be fractured, or at the very least sprained. You also likely have a couple of cracked ribs. 

“What were you doing out there, anyway?” he asks, while pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “This ain’t exactly hiking season.”

While you drink some hot chocolate he made you with a bit of whiskey splashed in (for extra warmth), you explain.

“Well, I guess it wasn’t my best idea in hindsight,” you say with a weak chuckle. “I was trying to find my way back, and I…well, I was a bit lost.”

He raises his brows wryly, still sipping.

“And to make a great situation even better, I thought I heard a wolf howl nearby,” you say. “I know most of them would rather run from us than attack us, but you can’t be sure, you know? I had my rifle on me, so I was turning around, trying to pinpoint what direction it was in…and of course, my foot slipped on something.”

You fell down that hill. You think you even hit a tree on the way down, which would explain your ribs. Everything gets a bit swirly, cold, and dark in your memory after that. 

Dean shakes his head. “Gotta say, going out there alone wasn’t a great idea either, especially now. This time of year, there’s no telling when a blizzard like this is going to come through.”

He waves haphazardly toward the storm raging outside. Your gaze falls to the mug in your hands. You don’t really want to talk about your reasons for taking that risk, but maybe giving him a little honesty will get him off your back.

“My dad and I used to hike up here every year,” you confess. “A few months ago…I lost him. So I guess this was just something I needed to do.”

You blow on your hot chocolate before you take another sip. This time when you glance up, Dean’s judgy expression has evened out into something more sympathetic. He lowers his glass.

“Well, hate to break it to you, but there’s no cell service up here,” he says.

You give a humorless huff. “Believe me, I know.”

“Which means no one can come up here and get you,” he continues, “and even when this storm breaks, I can’t carry you all the way down the mountain back to civilization. Not with the snow as deep as it’s gonna get. Now…maybe I can go down by myself and bring help back with me.”

“But another storm could snow me in,” you realize, with growing apprehension at the thought.

Dean nods. “It’s either I take that chance, leave you by yourself. Or we wait for you to heal up.”

He leaves the choice up to you with a gesture of his hand, the one still wrapped around his glass. You weigh those options with a tilt of your head. On one hand, you don't want to impose on him longer than you had to, but on the other, you really don't want to be left alone in this cabin for God knows how long while he scales the mountain by himself, for your sake.

“I think it would be better if we go down together, right? It can be dangerous, even when the storm breaks,” you reply.

Dean nods slowly, like that was what he was going to suggest too. “All right. Well, until you’ve got two working legs, you’re stuck here with me.”

“I figured as much,” you say. Your head tilts as you consider him. He has a gruff exterior, but all his actions so far have been kind, and far more than you’d expect from a stranger. And an alpha at that. 

Not to say that all alpha's are assholes, but you've had far too many experiences with the stereotype: arrogant, entitled, and handsy. Can't forget handsy. 

“Thank you for saving me,” you say, meeting his gaze, “and for…well, being a decent guy.”

Dean’s lips twitch. He nearly chuckles. Instead, he sits back on his side of the couch. 

“Yeah, well, there’s a spare room in this place for you, one bathroom. The kitchen is stocked. I’m a half-decent cook, if I say so myself, but help yourself.”

He gets up from the couch without preamble, to go to his room, you assume. It leaves you feeling at a loss, like he’s trying to get away from you. You know you’re a guest in his space, so you try to respect the way he wants to be alone for a while. He definitely gives off loner vibes. 

You look around and find a collection of vinyl records, and smaller collection of books on a shelf next to the fireplace. You find Gulliver’s Travels, Dune, The Odyssey, The Wizard of Oz—books you didn’t think a guy like Dean would be into. 

You take up The Wizard of Oz, reclaim your spot on the chaise, and start reading.

That night, your dreams are plagued by the crunch of dead leaves, your father shouting at you to run, and to keep running.

The coarse roar of a bear morphs into something other. It’s a sharper, whirring sound like wind howling amidst animalistic clicking, and then bones breaking—your father’s scream cut short.  

You wake with a start, your body both cold and flush at the same time.

Dean is there once again. It confuses you at first, but then it all returns to you in a rush—the where and the why you’re here, once again with the alpha standing over you in concern. He grasps your shoulder and asks if you’re all right. Your breathing is too erratic for you to answer him, your eyes too wide, your body trembling.

Had you been making noise in your sleep? You blush in embarrassment at the thought. You also feel bad for waking him, and all those things get trapped in your throat.

Seeing that you’re most definitely not fine, he sits on the edge of the bed, squeezes your arm, and reminds you. 

“It’s okay. You’re safe here,” he tells you. His tone is deep and even, reassuring.

You meet his steady gaze and manage to nod, trying to catch your breath. 

“I’m okay,” you say, with a shaky nod. He gives you a measuring look, both a question and a confirmation. You give it to him with a firmer nod. “Thanks, I…I’m sorry I woke you up.”

He exhales through his nose, accepting. “‘S all right. Don’t worry about it.” 

You feel the loss of his touch when his hand eventually slip away from your shoulder. As soon as he came into your room, he’s gone. 

Dean leaves swiftly, trying to brush off how the scent of your fear had tugged sharply at his gut even in his sleep. It not only woke him up, but compelled him to kick his blankets off and get out of bed to go to you.  

You were having a nightmare, reliving your fall, if he had to guess. You came out of it pretty quick when he carefully grabbed your shoulder. Every instinct in his body told him to gather you into his arms and cover you with his own scent and protective embrace to calm you down. 

Through sheer willpower, he managed to ignore every single one of those instincts.  

Two days pass, in which you and Dean say very little to one another, besides when he asks you what you want to eat, and how you’re feeling. The alpha seems genuine, but guarded any time you ask him about him; anything that’ll give you a clue into who this guy is, and why he’s here. 

You try again to strike up some kind of conversation over dinner one night. 

“Do you live here year-round?” you ask, around a mouthful of burger that’s absolutely delicious. He wasn’t lying when he claimed to be a good cook. He even made the fries himself.

“No,” he replies. “No Netflix, no internet? Think I’d die of boredom. I just come up here to uh…take a beat, I guess.” 

You smile. “I don’t blame you. Sometimes you just need a break,” you say, even though your tone is heavier than you meant it to be. Your gaze, a bit distant in that moment, sharpens and focuses back on Dean. “Where are you from, then?”

“Kansas,” he offers.

“Oh really?” You brighten with that scrap of information. “My older sister lives in Topeka. She moved there for a job, initially, but then she met her guy. He’s some kind of day trader. Which is just code for sits on his ass playing Call of Duty while she busts hers.” 

Dean huffs, then crams more burger into his mouth. He hasn’t been giving you a lot to go on while you two have been talking. Unfortunately, you have the tendency to ramble and fill the silence before it becomes even more stifled. 

“She works at a bank. Smart, driven, always knows what she wants. Meanwhile, I’ve had about seven jobs in the last three years, none of which were even remotely related to my almost useless degree in Communications.”

“Yeah, doubt you need a degree in communicating,” Dean remarks, popping another fry into his mouth.

 You purse your lips at him, but the glint of teasing in his eyes makes you fight not to smile. 

“All right, smart guy. So, what about you?” you ask.

Predictably, the man’s walls firm back up. “What about me?”

“Well…why’re you up here alone? Do you have family?” you ask.

Dean quirks a half smile. “I’ve got a brother.”

“Okay. Younger, I’m guessing?”

He tilts his head at you, a bit amused at your guess. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “I can’t imagine you with a brother who’s older than you.”

His lips twitch. “You callin’ me old, sweetheart?”

You begin to blush with embarrassment. But also, sweetheart?

You shake your head. “No, that’s not what I meant. I just mean like…”

Dean saves you with the return of his smile.

“Yeah, he’s younger,” he says. “But he’s the one with the quasi-wife and the apple pie life.” 

“Quasi-wife?”

“They’re mated. Just haven’t gotten around to the whole getting hitched thing,” he explains. “But they’re happy. Dean Jr.’s growing up fast, already running full speed into glass doors.”

His smile is genuine when he talks about his brother, just tinged with a bit of melancholy, you think. 

“Dean Jr.?” you ask in amusement. Dean Sr. laughs a little, and you enjoy the sound, the way it lightens up his face and pulls at the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah, can’t say I wasn’t surprised myself to get that honor, but…hey, it works for the kid. He’s got my chin,” he remarks.

He digs into his pocket to show you a picture from his cell phone. Even though it doesn’t have service, you can still view the many pictures of the adorable infant in his camera roll, courtesy of Sam and his mate, Eileen. You coo at the chubby cheeks, the bright little eyes, and the swirled tuft of dark hair on his head.

“Where do they live?” you ask.

“Out west, a stone’s throw from the City of Angels.” Dean’s smile dims. “He just had to go back to California.”

“What’s wrong with California?” you ask.

“It’s full of pretentious douchebags, that’s what,” he says, his voice a dry whip. “Waxed up to the fucking eyeballs, smelling like Botox, Adderall, and sweaty desperation.”

You splutter laughing so bad that your diet coke escapes you in a spit take. It partially goes up into your nose, burning, stinging your eyes, but it’s made worse by the way Dean waves a hand up incredulously. You’ve just gotten half his sleeve wet.

He meets your gaze, and you can’t help but laugh even harder. 

“Wow,” he says. 

“God, I’m sorry,” you say, still giggling. You get up, hobble over to the kitchen counter, and rip off a paper towel to try and pat his arm dry. He takes it from you and helps you back into your seat.

“I got it, Spit Take. Just finish your food,” he says, if with a dancing gleam in his eyes.  

From then on, it becomes easier for you to pull the alpha into conversation. Besides reading, napping, and staring out the window while it snows, you don’t have much by way of entertainment. Not to mention the pain of trying to get around without crutches, as it also jostles your ribs. Dean often has to help you from one room to another, which of course, you get embarrassed by.

“I’m sorry!” you yelp, when he saves you from another crash landing in the hallway. You’re fresh out of a shower, and it had taken you twenty minutes just to figure out how to wash your hair on one leg, let alone dry yourself off and get your shirt and borrowed sweatpants on. The main problem in getting back to your room happened to be the pants themselves. Their length and bagginess made you slip.

At least Dean’s learned to ignore your apologies. He now holds you by the waist, having pulled you against his chest on reflex. With furrowed brows, he notices your pained hiss when you grab onto his arms for balance.

“You okay?” he asks with a note of alarm.

“Ribs,” you gasp. They’re throbbing sharply with his hold, especially after being rattled by the near fall.

He immediately adjusts his hold lower, holding your arm and hip to support you. His hands are strong, but gentle. The warmth and pressure of his touch rattles you more than almost falling into a heap. Cliché as it might be, your heart is beating faster, what seems like in and out of rhythm. A feeling you can’t name stirs and tugs at your lower belly when you hazard looking up into his eyes. They’re a nice shade of green, like a forest floor in the spring.

“You just go ass over tea kettle at any moment, huh?” he quips, his lips tugging upward. “Come on. Where were you headed?”

“To my room, wise guy,” you say wryly, even as your blush heats your face and neck. “But this is a great taxi service.”

He snorts. “Yeah, call it the Winchestermobile.”

“Winchester. That your last name? Like the rifle?” you ask, while he helps you carefully down the hall. He nods in confirmation.

“That’s interesting. You don’t meet many Winchesters,” you remark.

“Yeah, well, ain’t that many left,” he mutters.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, easing you down onto the edge of the bed. His hands go to his hips as he scrutinizes your form for further injury. “You good? I was about to get cracking on some lunch.”

You offer him a grateful smile. “Yeah, I’m good. What’s on the menu?”

“Nothing fancy. I’m thinking grilled cheese. Maybe some tomato soup, assuming I can find a can in the pantry,” he says.

“Honestly, that sounds awesome,” you say. “Haven’t had a grilled since…God, probably since I was a kid.”

At that, Dean smiles. “Well, I happen to make an awesome one. No less than three kinds of cheese.”

“If they’re as good as your burgers, then I don’t doubt it,” you reply. He seems pleased at that, and maybe a little bashful as his gaze falls away.

Cute, you think. Your smile grows.

“All right, well, stay tuned,” he says. He winks, tossing you a “gun for hand” gesture that makes you laugh. Dean wears a rugged exterior as easily as his winter jacket, but he’s also kind of a dork.

After lunch (delicious, as you predicted), you take the afternoon just to sort through Dean’s records and alphabetize them for him. You hunker down on the floor in front of the shelf, close to the record player. 

“I don’t need all that. I know where all my stuff is…more or less,” he says, with a lazy wave of the beer he has in hand. 

“Oh really?” you raise a brow. “Okay, let’s test that theory. Where’s Boston.” 

“Right next to the White Album, there on the left.”

Sure enough, you find Boston, as well as the White Album by the Beatles.  

“Oh my God, you actually have the White Album?” You open up the double-sided case in excitement to read the list of songs printed on the inside. “This thing is so expensive.” 

“Beatles fan, huh?” Dean says as he takes a seat on the couch. You turn your smile on him, and he stills in his seat.

“Uh, yeah. Who isn’t?” you say.

Dean shrugs with a smile of his own. “Put it on if you want.”

You bounce a little with excitement before you figure out how to turn on his record player. You put the vinyl album on Side B, moving the needle until you find “Blackbird.”

“Of course,” Dean says, slightly teasing. You turn to him with crunched brows.  

“What? ‘Blackbird’s’ a classic.”

“Eh. Everyone likes ‘Blackbird.’”

“That’s what a classic means,” you argue.

“More like a mainstream copout,” he says. You think it’s just to needle you, but you still purse your lips. 

“Fine, Mr. Music Snob. Then what’s your favorite?”

“On the White Album?”

“Any Beatles song.”

“‘Hey, Jude,’” he says, after a moment. There’s some kind of weight in his eyes, a note of melancholy. You don’t miss it, even though you don’t know why it’s there.

“Everyone likes ‘Hey, Jude,’” you quip, trying to lighten him. 

He smiles a little. “Yeah. Fair enough.”

Finally, the snowstorm breaks. Dean ventures outside and brings you back a long, sturdy stick to lean your weight on when you want to move around, though he claims he’s working on a better solution. Now that the snow has let up, he’ll be able to go out to the shed and do some work. 

Whatever that means, you think.

You watch him from the living room when he goes outside to chop some more firewood. 

He should really wear a hat. His brown hair is getting dusted white with snow flurries as he continues to swing down the ax. You notice the power in his tall frame, even covered by layers of his jacket, pants, and boots. You almost feel each chop of the wood resonate in your chest. 

Heat rises in your cheeks when he looks up, as if he senses he’s being watched. You bow your head and pretend to read your book.

His boots continue to crunch in the snow as he makes trips back and forth from the surrounding forest. Aside from the firewood, he brings back a few long, thinner logs that he takes to the shed. Soon you begin to hear the steady back-and-forth cutting of a saw. You wish you could go out there and take a look, but you can’t even get around the house that easily, let alone venture outside.

Your curiosity about this man knows no bounds, and you decide to use the walking stick he found for you in the meantime to get around without putting pressure on your injured ankle. You know it’s wrong, but you end up traversing the long, dark hallway, pushing open the door to the right, and venturing into Dean’s room. 

It smells like him, earthy and tinged with smoke. His scent is seeped into every part of it—the bed, the dresser and nightstands, the dark blue bedsheets, the desk and chair, and even the drapes. It makes you almost lightheaded at the pleasurable feeling of it washing over you.

A shudder suddenly runs down your spine and tugs at your core in arousal. With a sharp intake of breath, you have to shift on your feet, pressing your legs together against the slick already forming down below.

You’re shocked and embarrassed at first. You aim to bolt out of his room, but you stop short in the doorway as it dawns on you.

Your sister is a beta, and so is her husband. She’s never completely understood you as an omega. She never understood your parents either, or the bond they had. She always scoffed at the idea of “true mates.”

Soulmates. It was fantasy and myth, the stuff of cheesy Harlequin novels.

Growing up, you’d agreed with her, even though a part of you deep down always protested. It wanted to tell her not to open her mouth about something she knew nothing about, and would never know. 

The day you met Dean, you knew she was wrong. 

Your more logical mind tries again to reassert itself though. You remind yourself that you barely know anything about this man, no matter how attractive, kind, funny, enigmatic… 

And yet, you can’t shake that part of you that doesn’t rest until you see his face in the morning; until you make him coffee and eat breakfast together, and take any opportunity to pull more threads from him. It’s more than passing attraction. It’s more than just being stuck together in this cabin, unable to escape each other. You know, because the feeling scares you, and it electrifies your blood at the same time.

All these thoughts go through your mind when you turn back around. Slowly, you continue to look around his room, your whole body tingling. The room is neat, more or less, with everything in its proper place. It’s pretty bare though, décor wise. There’s a desk with a few scattered books and a journal sandwiched in between. A smile of surprise forms across your face.

No. Don’t tell me this guy is Mr. Dear Diary? you think in amusement. Though you wonder if it’s another way he passes his time here, especially when he’s holed up in his room.

You know you shouldn’t be snooping, let alone contemplating what you’re about to do…but you can’t help yourself. Biting your lip, you slide out the journal and begin to flip through it. 

You frown at the strange drawings and odd entries—dates, narratives, scraps of information on different types of mythological creatures, and even more strange, on how to kill them. 

What the hell is this?

That’s when you hear the front door swing open. You bolt from his room as quick as you can, not realizing you took the journal with you in your haste. You stuff it up your sweater and pretend like you’ve just come out of the bathroom on the way back to your room. There you slide the journal under your pillow. You jump when Dean knocks on your door.

“Hey,” he greets.

The jolting pains your ribs, and your hand goes to your left side in a hiss. 

“You okay?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern. He takes a step into your room, but you turn to him with a nod and a placating hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine. You just scared me,” you say, with a bit of nervous laughter.

He gives a half smile. “Sorry. Just come ‘ere a sec. I wanna show you something.”

He reaches out a hand to help guide you to the living room.

There he presents you with two rudimentary crutches. Your eyes widen as your free hand passes over the smooth chestnut color of the wood. Dean keeps a light hold on your elbow, just in case.

“You made these?” you ask.

“Yeah, just a bit of woodworking. Picked it up over the last couple of years,” he says.

He’s downplaying it, but you’re nothing short of marveling. You set aside the walking stick in favor of picking up the crutches, and they’re even the right size to position them under your arms.

“Now you don’t have to hobble around like Long John Silver,” Dean quips. You meet the sight of his grin with a raised brow, but you soon begin to smile. When you get close enough to him, you lean the crutches against the couch and give him a warm hug, resting your head on his chest.

“Thank you,” you say. It’s something he was wholly unprepared for, but he hugs you back with a chuckle.

“Uh, you’re welcome.”

Just then, he tries not to inhale your scent. He tries not to focus on the feeling of your body pressed soft and warm against his. You fit just right. 

After a beat, you have mercy on him and pull away. You take your crutches back up and continue to walk around the living room experimentally. 

“You think I’d be okay trying to go outside?” you ask on your way to the door. Dean tenses.

“Uh, I don’t think—”

But you’re already halfway out the door. He shakes his head and follows you with swift strides. He watches you step out carefully onto the porch like a baby deer. He cleared the snow this morning from the deck and the steps, but he’s more concerned when he sees you considering how you might step out onto the snow.

“Stay on the porch, all right, Bambi,” he warns. “You’re not wearing snow boots and it’s still pretty deep. Not to mention, I’ve been keeping an eye out for a bear that wandered through here last week—”

You turn to look at him over your shoulder in amusement.

“Okay, Alpha. Calm down,” you say playfully. “I’m not gonna go ass over tea kettle.”  

His brow twitches as he frowns. Alpha. He fights not to show his reaction to the way you said it; it calls to his baser instincts, almost stirring a rumble in his chest.

Cheeky little omega.

You keep to the porch, but regardless, you’re happy. You don’t even mind the cold. You see your breath on the air, and you tip your head back, closing your eyes with a smile as the sunshine warms your face. You inhale through your nose and let it out slowly in contentment. 

“It’s a good day, Dean,” you say quietly. 

You don’t realize that he’s watching you with a more reserved smile on his face. When he realizes it, he shakes his head at himself. He’s only been here a week with you, and it’ll probably take a couple more for your ankle to heal up well enough for you to walk again, let alone get down the mountain. 

He doesn’t want to leave you alone up here, so he’ll have to somehow keep fending off your probing questions into his past and personal life. There's a lifetime of blood, nightmares, and death that he just can't let you see behind his eyes.

Hell, he's been trying to shove it all down for the past year—in booze and odd jobs and trips to nowhere, always coming back to an empty bunker. He still wonders how Sam's managed to do it, to move on, and build a new life for himself.

If Dean's honest (and he's not), he feels a bit like this cabin; old, falling apart, and forgotten.

But he’ll have to keep taking in your brightness and warmth, continue arguing with you about music and other inane shit, and pretend that every small touch of yours doesn’t ignite his skin. That it doesn’t make him have to beat down every instinct he has to pull you into his body and blanket you with his scent, ravage you, claim you, and make you his. 

He never thought this would happen to him. He never thought someone like you was out there…for someone like him.

He knows it though, deep in his gut. You’re meant for him. You’re meant to be his mate.

Which means he’s already screwed. 

AN: And we're off! Special thanks again to Michelle (@luci-in-trenchcoats) for being my sounding board when I was first writing this series. Let me know what you think of Part 1! 💜

Next Time:

I buried my wife today. Even as I write that down, I don’t believe it. Last week we were a normal family…eating dinner, going to Dean’s T-ball game, buying toys for baby Sammy. But in an instant, it all changed…

When I try to think back, get it all straight in my head…I feel like I’m going crazy. Like someone ripped both my arms off, plucked my eyes out. I’m wandering around, alone and lost and I can’t do anything.

This is Dean’s father, you realize. The more that you read, with no small amount of dismay, you also realize that this man is writing about his wife, Mary.

Dean’s mom…

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[svt-reneko]

📁 — 𖥔 falling into place . masterlist

previous word count: 1.5k timeline: february 2014 authors note: sooo this was meant to be posted yesterday but i forgot to save everything and had to restart LMFAOO

For a few weeks, everything had been going surprisingly well. Reneko’s Korean was improving faster than she had imagined, and whenever she struggled, Jeonghan would do his best to translate into Japanese for her. Practice had been productive—Hoshi often praised her dancing, and Dokyeom had even tried to challenge her to a sing-off. Seungcheol hadn’t spoken to her much, but she could tell he didn’t have an issue with her; he was probably just waiting for the right time to start a proper conversation.

The only person left was Woozi, who still hadn’t made any effort to talk to her.

Reneko quickly realized he wasn’t in any rush to change that. He kept his distance, always busy with something—whether it was his notebook, his laptop, or the piano. It wasn’t just his physical distance that made her uneasy; it was the way he avoided eye contact whenever she was nearby, as though he were actively trying not to acknowledge her.

At first, Reneko thought she might’ve been overthinking it. Maybe he was just shy or naturally reserved. But as the days turned into weeks, the pattern didn’t change. Woozi hadn’t spoken a single word to her since the day they’d met, and it was hard not to feel like he was deliberately shutting her out.

The others had told her stories about him—how hardworking and focused he was, how much he poured into his work. “Don’t take it personally,” Joshua had reassured her one day. “He’s like that with everyone at first.”

But Reneko wasn’t sure that was true. Woozi didn’t seem to have any trouble talking to the other members, even laughing with them during breaks. It was only when she was around that his demeanor shifted—quieter, more withdrawn, like he was waiting for her to leave. She tried to shake off the sting of his indifference, throwing herself into practice and bonding with the other members. Even Seungcheol had started to acknowledge her more, offering small smiles and occasional words of encouragement.

But with Woozi, nothing. No words, no smiles—just silence.

One evening, after another long day of rehearsals, Reneko sat in the corner of the practice room, watching the members pack up their things. Woozi was still at the piano, his back to the rest of the group as his fingers hovered over the keys. She wondered, not for the first time, if she should try to approach him. Maybe if she broke the ice, things would get better.

But something about the look on his face—the tight line of his mouth, the furrow in his brow—kept her rooted in place.

“Give it time,” Mingyu had told her earlier that week when she mentioned Woozi’s coldness. “He’s just… not thrilled about the change. But he’ll come around eventually.”

Eventually.

When was that? What if they debuted and he still hadn’t warmed up to her? What if he never did? How long was she supposed to wait before it became clear that things wouldn’t change?

Reneko let out a small sigh, staring down at her hands as she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. She didn’t want to make a big deal out of it—Woozi had every right to feel however he did. But still, the weight of his silence lingered, like a wall she couldn’t figure out how to climb.

She wondered if it was her fault. Had she done something wrong without realizing it? Or was this just about her being a girl in the group?

Reneko hadn’t intended to stay out long. The convenience store near the company building was the only place still open at this hour, and she had promised herself she’d only grab a quick snack before heading back to practice. The streets were nearly deserted, lit by the dull yellow glow of streetlamps, and she could hear nothing but the occasional hum of a passing car.

The clock on her phone read 2:06am by the time she slipped back into the building, the silence making her footsteps feel impossibly loud. She didn’t expect to run into anyone—the members had all left hours ago, leaving her to work alone. But when she pushed open the door to the practice room, she froze.

Woozi was still there.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, laptop balanced on his knees, one hand lazily scrolling while the other tapped idly against the floor. His headphones were around his neck, faint music playing just loud enough for her to hear. His hair was messy and his eyes were glued to the screen. It was clear he hadn’t noticed her enter.

For a moment, Reneko just stood there, unsure if she should say something or quietly back out. But finally, she cleared her throat, soft enough to not startle him but loud enough to get his attention.

“It’s late,” she said cautiously. “Why are you still here?”

Woozi’s head shot up, his gaze meeting hers. He blinked, as if processing her question, then slowly pulled his headphones off. “Why are you still here?” he replied flatly, his tone edged with exhaustion rather than annoyance.

Reneko held up the convenience store bag in her hand, feeling awkward under his stare. “I went to grab some snacks before i started practicing again.”

“At this time?” He raised an eyebrow, skepticism flickering across his tired features.

She stepped further into the room, setting the bag down. “I didn’t think anyone else would still be here,” she admitted.

Woozi let out a soft huff, turning his attention back to his laptop. “I don’t like leaving things half-finished,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

The practice room stayed silent for a moment, then Reneko spoke. “You don’t want me in the lineup, do you?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

His fingers paused mid-typing, his brow furrowing slightly as he turned to face her, a flicker of irritation in his eyes. “I’m not ignoring you, if that’s what you think.”

“That’s exactly how it feels.” Reneko replied.

Woozi leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “You’re new. It’s nothing personal.”

She let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. “It feels pretty personal when you can’t even say hello half the time. I’ve been here for almost a month now, Woozi. I dont know if its about me being a girl or if you think im not talented enough but its getting tiring trying to become friends with you.”

“No one asked you to try.”

There was a heavy pause, the only sound being the resumed click of the keys under Woozi’s fingers. Reneko’s words hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Forgetting about her snack, Reneko walked over to the corner of the practice room to turn the music on so she could continue the choreography she had to learn.

As she was about to click play, Woozi spoke up.

“I was worried things would get messed up—everything changed when you came here. It’s not your fault, I know that now, but I got so anxious about it that I ended up ignoring you and acting distant. I should’ve talked to you, been more open and nicer, but honestly, I just didn’t know how to approach you, especially after all the distance I put between us.”

The sudden confession from him caught her off guard, and she blinked in surprise, trying to process his words. For a moment, she couldn’t find the right response, the silence stretching between them. Finally, she spoke, her voice softer than usual. “I didn’t expect that,” she said, her tone a mix of surprise and something else—perhaps understanding. She paused, the weight of his words sinking in. It wasn’t an apology, not exactly, but it was an explanation—a reason behind his distance that she hadn’t been able to figure out on her own.

The room fell into a quiet that felt different this time, less tense and alot more comfortable. Reneko shifted her gaze, unsure of how to proceed. But now, the space between them didn’t feel as wide. She knew things wouldn’t be the same, that there was something different in the air, but whether that meant they were closer to understanding each other or not… she wasn’t sure yet.

“What im trying to say is I’m sorry.”

Reneko glanced at Woozi, her gaze softening. She hadn’t expected an apology, especially not one so genuine. For a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. It wasn’t that she wanted him to apologize—it was just that the way he said it, the sincerity in his voice, was more than she could’ve hoped for.

She took a deep breath, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “It’s okay,” she finally replied, her voice steady but calm. “I get it now. I’m not angry. I just… didn’t understand why you kept your distance.”

Woozi nodded, his fingers now still on the keyboard, his eyes meeting hers. “I know. I should have been more open with you from the start. I just… didn’t know how to handle it, and I ended up acting like that.”

Reneko offered a small smile, the tension between them finally starting to ease.

“You should go home now.”

“No.”

[stayteezdreams]

The Holiday Party

Plot: During the company Holiday party, your boss decides to give you a present in private, finally addressing the tension between you.

Pairing: Boss!Lee Minho x Gn!Reader

A/n: No pronouns or gender specific body characteristics are used but the reader is gifted jewelry (I kept it vague as a "chain" so it could be a bracelet or necklace) which can often be seen by some as feminine, but it is not intended to be so.

Warnings: Kissing, touching, mature language. Nothing is fully smut or barely even nsfw, but it does have its 18+ moments.

Words: ~2.7k

Tension.

That was all you could call it.

Whatever this thing was between you and Lee Minho. It was tense, and it was palpable.

He had been transferred to your division at the beginning of the year to act as your temporary supervisor. But then he ended up being hired full-time.

Ever since your first meeting, there was something that sparked between you. You noticed it, and you could tell from the way his gaze scanned over you that he felt it too.

It was just a spark at first, but it grew, and at times became almost unbearable, but you bore it, because you had too.

When others were around, you were able to act normally. Talk normally, laugh, tell jokes and stories. But there were always the lingering stares, the subtle nudges as he walked past, the glares when another coworker flirted with you.

You couldn't help but wonder what would happen if you ever gave in. If you said yes to him when he offered you a ride home when you left work late, if you had agreed to go on the work trip with him instead of saying your coworker was more qualified.

You were running and both of you knew it. Because it was wrong to be involved with your boss. It could cause problems and make you a target of the others in the office who had their eyes on him.

It wasn't a good idea. But you couldn't help but wonder if it would really turn out as bad as you thought it would.

People respected him. People respected you.

You built yourself up without the help of others and people knew that. There were no set rules against dating in the office, and other office couples existed. But he was the boss. The only one who seemed untouchable.

And then there was the doubt.

Doubt that he had serious feelings for you. Doubt that the tension between you was anything other than sexual. You weren't the type to date casually. You wanted a serious relationship, and you weren't sure that was what Lee Minho wanted to give you.

What if you gave in, fell for him, and he left you behind because all he wanted was a physical relationship.

That wasn't you. And you didn't want it to be.

So, you would continue to run, just as you had from the beginning. This was what you were determined to do. But, unbeknownst to you, Lee Minho was even more determined to have you.

He was tired of the tension, tired of the gazes, tired of the jealousy of seeing you with others.

He wanted you.

At first, he thought it was a physical attraction only, but as he got to know you, he realized it was more. You were alluring in every way you could be, and he wanted to know every part of you.

Yes, the physical tension was the most palpable, the most tempting, especially when you were alone together. But his desire to know you in every way was more enticing than anything else.

He wanted to know your morning routine, what shows you watch, what books you read. What your bedhead was like in the morning, and what weird eating habits you hid from others. He wants to cook for you, to hold you, to walk hand in hand wherever you went.

It started out as sexual desire and turned into the desire to love, and be loved.

Hell, you were the only reason he decided to stay with your division. He was meant to leave; he was supposed to leave. But after he met you, he pulled strings he had never dared touch before. Just to stay. Just for you.

But you continued to run from him.

Did you not want him? Did you not want to be with him? Or did you fear his intentions were strictly sexual?

Watching you from the window of his office as you worked diligently, his chest tightened. He would find out just why you were running, and he would finally tell you how he felt about you. No more rising tension, no more yearning, no more running.

You could feel his eyes on you since you entered the room. You had come a bit later than you meant to, so almost everyone had already arrived.

Everyone from your floor and the adjacent ones were mingling and drinking their definitely-not-spiked eggnog as Christmas music played around you. It was the annual Holiday party before you went on break for Christmas and New Years.

There were various tables around the room holding a variety of foods, snacks, desserts and drinks. You mingled with your friends from your department but couldn't focus entirely on what they were saying because of the eyes burning into the back of your head.

When you finally locked eyes with Minho, you felt a shiver run up your spine. You thought when you met his eyes, you would feel the familiar tension you had grown so used to. But this time, it was something else, something both intense, and enticing. He was trying to say something with his eyes, but you couldn't figure it out.

Being greeted by another friend from a different floor, you managed to pull your attention away from Minho.

He let out a sharp exhale as your attention was taken from him. The grip he had on his drink tightened as he nodded along to whatever the manager was saying to him, though he had no idea what it was.

Minho was waiting for people to begin leaving, or to get so drunk their attention wouldn't be on him. He wanted to sneak you away so he could properly talk to you alone. Though from the way you were avoiding his gaze, he figured it wouldn't be very easy.

The next couple hours were agonizing for both of you. Talking to people you barely knew, or those who were way too friendly, while those you did know got slowly more drunk throughout the night.

You were glad you decided not to drink tonight, too fearful you might end up like one of them, or, give in to different temptations...

Finally escaping the dreary conversation of a drunk guy from a few floors away, who had apparently been crushing on you for ages, you turned to leave but jolted to a stop as you nearly ran into Minho.

He looked down at you with a light smile ghosting his lips. How many of the man’s drunk rambles did he hear? Without speaking, he took the glass from your hand and set it on the nearest table.

You rose your brow in confusion as he stepped closer to you, leaning in to whisper into your ear. You held your breath as his hand lightly wrapped around your wrist as he spoke, his breath tickling your ear.

"I need to speak to you about something important. Go to my office."

As he pulled away, he locked eyes with you briefly before turning and walking away, towards his office. You swallowed harshly as your heart pounded. Looking around, you didn't notice anyone watching you, which made you feel a little less anxious about what just happened.

Nervously, you made your way through the room and down the hall towards his office. Your mind was scrambling, thoughts bouncing off each other rapidly. What could he want? How should you escape? Should you escape? It seemed serious, could it be about work?

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of his door. Hesitantly, you grabbed the handle before opening it and slipping inside. Your eyes immediately found him standing at the window, staring out at the night view of the city.

His hands were in his pockets, suit jacket removed and draped over his chair. He said nothing as you approached, but looked over at you when you stopped in the middle of the room, far from him.

His eyes scanned over you slowly and you felt your stomach quiver.

Looking back out the window, his voice came out low. "How long have you known him?"

You frowned before you realized he was talking about the drunk who had been rambling about his feelings to you. Biting back a smirk, you walked over to his desk, looking out the windows as you spoke.

"I don't really know him. I think I've only talked to him briefly a handful of times."

Minho nodded softly, relief washing over him as he realized the man wasn't a threat at all. Looking over at you again, he admired your profile as you looked out at the city.

Taking in a breath he turned and walked towards you, the movement catching your attention.

Your heart began beating quicker as he walked towards you, his eyes remained locked with yours as he stepped closer and closer. You turned to face him but regretted it as you hesitantly moved back as he came almost chest to chest with you.

You were now sitting on the edge of his desk as he peered down silently into your eyes. His gaze was intense, holding more emotion than you could recognize.

Slowly, he brought his hand to your face, hesitating as his knuckles brushed the skin of your jaw. You held your breath as he slowly began dragging his fingers along your jaw, before his thumb gently glided over your lips.

You should be pushing him away, regaining distance between you, or at the very least asking what he was doing. But you were frozen and speechless.

Minho admired your lips as he gently parted them with his thumb before he moved to cup your chin with his hand. Tilting your face so you looked directly into his eyes, he swallowed harshly before he spoke. His voice was deep, but tentative.

"You know I want you, yes?"

If your heart could have jumped from your chest, it would have. Your voice seemed to be absent out of shock, so all you could bring yourself to do was to nod softly.

He smiled softly as he continued, "But what exactly is it you think I want from you?"

You tilted your head slightly as you furrowed your brow. What did he want to hear you say?

"Sex?" He replied for you.

Your breath caught before you could react, but he didn't notice as he continued.

"Is that all you think I want?"

You let out a soft breath from your noise, finding your voice again, "Isn't it?"

He could hear a soft hint of resentment in your tone, and that told Minho what he wanted to know. A soft almost sad smile crossed his face. Moving his hand from your chin to your cheek, he gently caressed your face.

"I will admit at first my attraction to you was sexual. But..." he let out a soft sigh, "then I started to pay more attention to you. And slowly, but truly, I fell for you."

'What?' Your mind began reeling. 'Is this a confession?'

"I want you in more ways than physical. But I never get the chance to initiate it because you run from me. So now I have to corner you in my office to get you to listen."

Stepping forward, so his leg slit in between yours he cupped the back of your head as he tilted it up. He was looking directly down at you, face hovering just above yours, lips dangerously close.

"The tension between us whenever we're close is always so tempting to give in to, isn't it? But it's not just lust Y/n, it's desire. You feared giving in because you thought I would throw you away afterwards, right?"

Your heart was hammering in your chest as he seemed to speak your thoughts out loud. Everything you had worried about. Everything you had convinced yourself of.

Pulling your face just close enough for his lips to lightning brush yours, his voice turned into a whisper.

"I won't throw you away. I want to keep you. I want to keep you all to myself. I want to know everything about you, and I want to show you everything about me. Let me. Give in to me."

You let out a soft breath as his words overwhelmed you. The tension was unbearable as his breath ghosted your lips. Your eyes locked for an almost unbearable amount of time in silence before you slowly parted your lips and spoke, voice barely above a whisper.

"I give in."

How could you not?

If his words were true, if his eyes weren't lying, he did want more from you than you feared. He seemed to want what you wanted. More than just a physical relationship, more than lust, a desire to know and be known.

Minho let out a breath he had been holding before he captured your lips in a desperate kiss. It was harsh and passionate, his tongue gliding through your parted lips as his arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer as he stepped in between your legs.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you returned the kiss with equal fervor. Your tongues danced together as his hands moved to your hips where he gripped you and pulled you against him, your legs now on either side of him.

Your breaths were uneven and harsh as Minho pulled away, his lips gliding down to your exposed neck where he kissed and nipped at your skin.

Everything around you became a blur, the only thing you could think about was each other as you grabbed and kissed each other fervently.

It wasn't until a loud popping from outside, followed by drunken cheers that you came to your senses. Clothes loosened and nearly torn off, lips puffy, hair messy, breath's uneven and heavy.

He pressed his forehead against yours as he let out a soft laugh, making you smile.

"I guess right now isn't the best time to give in, is it?"

You giggled softly as he gently helped you from the desk, cupping your face he smiled at you, as if bashful. "I didn't mean to lose control of myself, I'm sorry. I really did want this to start slowly. To start right."

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a thin box wrapped in a bow, and you furrowed your brow. He cleared his throat softly as he opened the box and faced it towards you.

Your heart thumped as you saw a small delicate gold chain with a charm. You looked up at him with soft confusion. Taking it from the box he began to put it on you as he spoke.

"I wanted to give this to you as a promise that what I want is not completely selfish. I wanted it to signify the beginning of us, to show you I truly want more than just a physical relationship with you."

Gently touching the chain, you met his eyes and smiled, feeling your heart swell. "So... is this you asking me out?"

He let out a soft laugh as he scratched his neck and nodded, "Yes. it is. Or at least asking you for a chance to prove to you I am genuine in my feelings." Gently taking your hand, he smiled fondly at you, "Can I have that chance?"

You bit the inside of your lip as you thought for a moment. Nothing in his eyes told you he was lying. Yes, he did lose control, but so did you, and you still wanted more than just physical affection. If it was true for you, it could be true for him.

You smiled as you nodded. "Yes. You can."

His smile grew as he stepped closer to you again, putting his hands on your waist as he looked at you with an almost startling amount of affection. Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering before he rested his head against yours again.

“I won’t disappoint you.”

You smiled softly at this as you felt genuine belief in his words. Yes, part of you was still afraid, but you decided to take the chance, take the risk, after all, this could also be the beginning of the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

And though you didn’t know it for certain at this moment, you were right, it was.

xx End xx

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