#even when it was hard and even when it hurt

[6qubed]

to quote Harry Loman; elon musk is liked, but he is not well liked. and I think he knows that. and I think it eats him up inside

As Elon Musk cements his place in history as a fascist tech overlord and the rest of the world looks at us in horror, I really do want to reiterate what I feel will be lost to the history books

Nearly everyone in america has thought and continues to think that Elon is very cringe.

[rodolfoparras]

A Man Can Dream (or so he’s been told)

+18 MDNI +18

Synopsis:

In which he doesn’t mind the age gap

comments, not at all

Cw: top male reader, dom male reader, age gap, exhibition kink, someone thinks he’s your dad and he likes it, Valentine’s Day date!

Thinking about dating an old man who isn’t bothered about the age gap comments matter of fact he finds that he enjoys them, especially when he comes across someone who thinks you’re his son, and the two of you just happen to have a really close bond

“Raised him right” of course, taught you how to keep a cock in your mouth, brought you to your knees and stretched your throat just right til he was sure you carried an indent of his cock on your tongue.

“Like father like son,” the words echo in his mind as he watches you spit into the palm of your hand, eagerly stroking his tip, before spreading it to the rest of his dick, just like he had showed you when you first fucked him.

Those people probably think he’s a pervert , a disgusting old man taking advantage of someone so young and innocent, walking hand in hand with someone who could be his son or something

But they don’t know how’d you’d willingy bend him over in front of those very same people, spreading his legs so wide you’re sure to give a show to whoever’s behind, force his hand behind his back before driving up into him.

He’d beg and plead: for you to slow down your brutal pace, to spare him the embarrassment but you wouldn’t listen to him, only using him as a hole to sheath your cock in, all while grinning at the people watching.

He wonders if they’d realize then that you’re the perverted one here, that he’s tried to reject you multiple times, thought the very same thing as the onlookers are thinking now but you wouldn’t give up, practically cornered him riled him up til he was painfully hard in his pants and couldn’t do anything else but shove his cock into your mouth, letting someone who could practically be his son give him the best blowjob he’d ever gotten.

He’d continue to watch the onlookers and the flurry of emotions on their faces : the look of surprise that turns into disgust before something else bleeds into it, something he’d almost dare call desire. The sudden realization would make him tightening around your dick which in turn would fasten the brutal pace you have on him. Eventually he wouldn’t be able to ignore the heat coiling in his groin, and he’d realize belatedly he’s fucking himself back onto your cock, even though his body aches in protest and his thrusts are nothing but sloppily and sporadic.

Somehow you’d find it in yourself to show him mercy: slightly shifting your positions to give him a bit more leverage. In that very moment he’d be sure the sky had been cracked open, pearly gates of heaven practically welcoming him, stairs cascading right at his feet. But the sudden white light that flashes past his eyes would blind him, the pearly gates disappearing as something else is presented to him: his orgasm, washes over him in violent waves til he forgets all about god angels and heaven , cock spurting ropes of cum til he’d feel like he’s been wrung dry.

God, heaven and angels be damned.

“Love? Love?“

Suddenly a voice breaks through the daze. Mellow and sweet. Had an angel decided to wait around for him?

But when he blinks a couple of times, he sees your concerned face staring back at him, the aroma of coffee surrounding him, a half finished coffee cup clinging onto his fingers it’s almost hurting him

“Are you okay?”

Right.

Coffee shop. Date. You. Him.

“If it’s about the waiter from earlier..”

Right. Waiter. Curly hair. Warm eyes. Thought it was sweet that you were spending Valentine’s Day with your dad, like that very same man wasn’t palming your cock under the table, like he hadn’t sucked you off before you got to the coffee shop, like he wasn’t fantasizing about all the ways you could fuck him in front of these people.

Dad. Dad. Dad

Suddenly he springs up in his seat, mutters something about needing the restroom before scurrying away from where you’re sitting.

Jesus christ.

[celiababy]

Ain't Right part 3

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel thinks you deserve better.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (56/20), swearing, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral f!receiving, cockwarming, size kink, skinny dipping, angsty, kinda asshole/grumpy Joel, mention of alcohol

Celia's note: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG OMG. but i threw in that much request angst i hope yall enjoy!!!!! Also happy valentines day!!! peace n luv fr

Aint Right part 1 Ain't Right part 2

Recently, life has been great for you.

Winter was gone as fast as it came, and spring started to take root in Jackson. Your favorite season.

The months that passed since Christmas had been like a dream. You and Joel's relationship had been all unicorns and rainbows—well, to you, anyway.

Finally, you were starting to pry open the gates to Joel's thoughts. Becoming close with him meant so much to you, even when he would off-handedly share information about himself by accident, you'd immediately commit it to long-term memory.

He didn't like to talk about himself much, but when he did, you were all ears.

Joel, on the other hand, didn't have to try as hard with you.

There was a constant flow of words out of your mouth, especially around him. You couldn't help it, really. You talked when you were nervous, and you were always nervous around Joel—that never went away.

But all in all, you were overflowing with happiness.

Joel, however, was feeling a little differently.

Ever since this relationship with you started, he's had this subtle ache about it.

His insecurities of being an old man were eating at him, day by day. His conscious just couldn't stop pestering him with the idea that you deserved better.

He felt that by being intimate with you, as much as he liked it, was holding you back from living your life.

By allowing you to indulge in this relationship with him, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was setting your life up for failure.

He was picturing some White Fang situation where you were some wild animal that was getting too close to him, and in order to prevent you from getting hurt by domestication, he'd have to throw rocks at you and tell you to 'go on an' git'. Even though he deeply cared about you.

These insecurites really came to the surface whenever you two were in bed together.

He was 56 years old, for crying out loud. He had two rounds in him max, anything more might give him a heart attack.

He'd clock the little disappointed pout you'd make when he couldn't go again, even when you tried to act otherwise. He was just in his head about the entire thing—which was so unlike him.

You were doin' things to him, thats for damn sure.

Joel couldn't deny the affect you had on him anymore. You were starting to become a top priority; he was unable to stop himself from putting you first.

How was it so easy for you to become to important in his life?

He pondered this thought while coming back from a supply run, riding in on horseback. The sound of hooves crunching twigs and rocks was an oddly theraputic sound, one that helped stop him from thinking so much.

Upon his return, Joel drops off his supplies and guides his horse back into its stable. He gives it a few loving pats before leaving, walking down the main road with the breeze in his hair.

His eyes scan the people crowding the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of his favorite face.

And he does.

Eventually, Joel spots you, helping an older lady up her porch steps. You’re smiling, eyes sparkling like everything in the world was all fine and dandy.

It never got easier seeing you wear cooler clothes in public.

Sure, he's seen your naked body plenty of times, but there was something about you in a tank top, jean shorts and cowboy boots that just did things to him.

His heart tugs in his chest as he watches you complete the kind act, skipping back down the steps once the lady waves you goodbye.

That’s when you see him, across the street, just staring at you.

Your face lights up like fireworks when you notice. It always did. But Joel never got tired of seeing it.

He watches you jog his way, nearly running straight into him but managing to stop yourself last second.

“Hey! How’d that run go?” You ask, beaming up at him and trying your hardest not to smack his lips with yours.

“Good.” He nods, clenching his jaw.

Jesus, you looked so good right now—Joel was having a very hard time focusing on what to say when you were distracting him with your bangin’ bod.

“Good.” You copy, finding a moment to assess him. He seemed tense, more tense than usual. Joel knows you’re about to ask him what’s wrong—and he can’t face that question right now.

So he speaks before he knows what he’s saying. “You should come out with me again, next time, I mean. Actually try n' help instead of.. flirt.”

He's disgusing his intense feelings for you with an insult, because of course he is.

You scoff at his diss, rolling your eyes. “You loved my flirtin’.” You copied his texan drawl to mock him, earning you a glare.

“Well, I’d love to. Is it a date?” You purr, stepping into his personal space, prompting Joel to make quick use of his self control.

If he could act on his impulse, he would have bent you over and fucked you right there on the sidewalk.

He clears his throat before nodding. “Sure. Tomorrow. It’s a date.” He bites out like it pains him, because in truth, he'd rather take you out to dinner or something than another stupid supply run.

You’re smiling again, swaying on your feet. You make a few glances around to make sure no one’s watching before popping up and kissing him on his cheek.

“Kay, see you then." You chirp ever so sweetly, walking away in your small jean shorts.

You were really tugging on his heart strings.

When tomorrow comes, you're sitting on your porch swing, waiting for Joel to come and get you.

You were excited—mainly because you two would be out of sight from prying eyes. You could act on all your impulses.

You didn't mind people figuring you two out, you're kind of sure they already had, but you felt that Joel did care, and you wanted to respect his boundaires. Even though he never made those clear.

But, you felt you were pushing it with that kiss on the cheek yesterday, and you didn't want him upset with you.

The sudden thought made you worry.

Maybe he was upset with you. He did glare at you yesterday.

You probably did something, your anxious mind tells you.

You're snapped out of your thoughts due to the sound of hooves clopping against the road. Looking up, you're met with the pleasure-inducing sight of Joel.

He's walking with a horse beside him, holding its lead with a trained hand.

He's wearing that faded gray shirt and those jeans that seem like they're hanging on by a thread. So casual.

But, then you take a closer look at his appearance. He...trimmed his beard and attempted to slick back his hair...?

...Was he trying to look nice for you?

"Did you get all pretty for me?" You ask with a giddy smile, skipping down your steps.

He grumbles something incoherent under his breath before rolling his eyes. Yet, you swear you can see the faintest bit of blush on his cheeks. "You ready to go?" He asks, gesturing to the horse.

He's trying to change the subject, but you need to let him know you appreciate his efforts.

"You look really good, Joel. I mean—you always look good, but today especially." You bring your hand up to feel his hair, smiling happily. He can tell you're being geniune, but he's never been good with compliments.

"Thanks, sweetheart—now get on the damn horse." He sounds exasperated, but theres a small smile on his lips.

He helps you up onto the back before climbing on himself. "Wrap yer arms 'round me. Don't fall off." He murmurs, steering the horse towards the gates.

You slide up so that your chest is pressed against his back, and outstretch your arms to wrap around him. Once you two successfully leave the town and no one is watching, that's when you rest your cheek on his shoulder blade.

It's cozy. It's intimate. It's Joel.

You could fall asleep against him like this.

He remains silent because he knows how peaceful you feel right now. He wants to let you enjoy the moment.

You're admiring the forest scenary, occasionally resting your eyes. You don't know where Joel is taking you—maybe he's heading straight towards the middle of nowhere to drop you off and leave. Getting rid of you probably would've been in his best interest.

You're smiling at the thought because you know yourself. Even if he did do that, you'd find a way back to him. Like a loyal dog.

"Wait," Your voice cracks through the silence. Joel stops the horse, turning his head back to look at you. "Is that a lake?" He turns his head to where you're looking, his eyes catching the blue water that you're so enamoured by.

"Don't know what else it would be."

You roll your eyes at his smartassary. "...Can we go?"

"To the lake?" He reiterates, a confused look on his face. "'N do what?"

You shrug your shoulders, feeling stupid for asking all the sudden.

Immediately, Joel notices how you shrink into yourself. He wants to punch himself in the dick because he's being an asshole.

To fix his mistake, he makes a clicking sound with his tongue and steers the horse down to the body of water.

You're giddy again in no time, a soft but excited squeal escaping your throat.

He manages to find a small clearing within the brush; open tall grass, a fallen tree trunk perfect for sitting, and direct access to the lake.

"So pretty." You muse, simply in awe of the nature around you.

You didn't really leave town much—only when you had to. So, seeing stuff like this, really meant a lot to you.

Joel gets off the horse and immediately turns to help you down. His hands find themselves on your hips while yours latch onto his shoulders.

He lowers you effortlessly, his grasp lingering for longer than it needed to.

Your skin lights on fire at his touch, dirty thoughts instantly flooding your brain.

The lake, the seculsion, the tension...there was really only one thing you were thinking about right now.

"Hey, what if we just...didn't go on that supply run?" You muse, avoiding eye contact for a moment because no matter how close you've gotten with Joel, he still made you nervous.

He shoots you a questioning look, which gives you the idea to show rather than tell.

You step closer to the waters edge, beginning to take off your boots. Joel's watching with that stern look, but it quickly fades, replaced with lust when you start shedding off your clothes.

First your shorts, then your tank top.

"Let's go swimming!" You say with that happy smile, the one that makes his heart beat soar.

He can't stop his eyes from devouring every inch of your stark naked body.

Not only did Joel enjoy your pert breasts and supple ass, he was also equally obsessed with the not overtly sexual things about you. Your hair, shoulders, collar bone, forearms, the curve of your spine—everything, he was consumed by it all.

He realizes that he needs to answer you, but all that comes out is a scoff.

"Hey—no. We don't know what the hells in that water." He huffs as his boner peaks through his jeans.

"Fine, guess I'll swim alone then." You say nonchalantly, knowing if you went in, odds were, Joel wouldn't be far behind.

And you were right.

As soon as you enter the cool water, you see Joel starting to undress in the corner of your eye.

You pretened you're not watching, and eventually he joins you in the lake.

You've waded out rather far into the water, waiting to speak until you know Joel is close.

"Doesn't it feel nice?" You ask, letting your body float above the surface, limbs outstretched while you stared up at the fluffy clouds.

If you could do this forever, you would. Naked as the day you were born, floating in warm spring water with Joel's company—maybe this was heaven.

Sure felt like it.

You almost don't even notice Joel's palm run up your shin and thigh, only when his hand lightly drifts over your lower stomach, is when you become all too aware.

Yet, he doesn't venture south.

Instead, he makes a path further up your stomach, then your ribs, then the valley of your breasts, until he rests his hand over your heart.

You stare at his face as he completes this insane act, completely baffled at the fact that he seemed so entranced and calm, while you were trying not to freak out.

He notices your stare, and finally meets your eye contact. No words leave his mouth—he can't seem to find any that feel right.

But he's thinking about how beautiful you are. How sweet and doting, how smart and witty. Everything about you encompassed into a few short words just didn't feel worthy enough.

But you can't just leave things the way they are.

Slowly, you situate yourself around him, attaching to his body like a koala bear. Your arms slide around his shoulders while your legs wrap around his waist.

Skin to skin, face to face, so fucking intense.

Joel's strong arms find themselves around your torso, keeping you close to him.

"Yeah, it does feel nice." Joel replies, his voice soft, his eyes even softer.

You smile, big and geniune, a feeling of bliss taking over you. "Isn't this so much better than some silly supply run?"

Joel rolls his eyes, which spurs you on even more.

"Come on, admit it; you'd rather be out here with me, than some stinky convience store looting pills." You tighten your legs a little around his torso, feeling your cunt become flush with his bare stomach.

You feel a surge of pride when his breath hitches and his erect cock prods at your ass.

But it doesn't take long for his expression to fall back into its natural scowl.

"M'not admitin' shit." He murmurs, bringing a hand up to move your wet hair over your shoulder and onto your back. It's an absentminded motion, one that Joel isn't really thinking about doing.

He just felt the urge to touch you.

You giggle at him, dropping your forehead to his shoulder to laugh.

Joel huffs, trying to stop smirking because your giggle is contagious. "Quit." Is all he says, shaking his head. "Can't believe you got me out 'ere doin' this shit." He grumbles, adjusting his hold on you slightly.

"What 'shit'?" You mimick him and his texan drawl, earning you a stern glare.

"Naked in a lake like m'some fuckin' teenager." He speaks with an unamused expression, before his eyes land back onto you and his gaze softens. "What're you doin' to me, huh?"

It's a rhetorical question, but he says it like he's truly desperate for an answer.

You're not sure how to respond. His eye contact is making your brain all foggy.

It's silent.

You can only hear the rustling water, your breathing, and the general nature sounds in the distance.

Joel knows he confused you with his words, so he takes a moment to look away.

"Alright," He huffs out eventually. "Time to go."

He doesn't give you a chance to protest because he's already walking back to the shore, his arm remaining secured tightly around your back, basically carrying you.

You're not ready to leave, but you know Joel is, so you just opt for a dejected sigh.

He lets you back down on your feet when you're both on the grass, lingering his hand on the small of your back when he picks up your clothes. He uncrinckles your shirt before opening it up so you could easily put it on.

"This is becoming a habit of yours." You murmur softly, putting on the tank top and cringing at the way it sticks to your wet skin.

"Mm?" Joel doesn't know what you're referring to. He's never realized his pattern of clothing you. It was a simple act, but one you found endearing.

"Nothin'." You chirp, sliding on your shorts and boots.

Joel looks at you assessingly while buttoning his jeans back up, sucking in his stomach to zip them.

You're looking right back at him, admiring the way his wet hair looks, how the grays peak out in the most perfect way.

In a nervous manner, you shift on your feet, sliding your hands down into your jean pockets. "You sure you don't wanna...fool around?" You muse, looking at him with raised eyebrows.

Joel smirks down at the ground as he continues to button up his shirt, shaking his head.

"You're too late kid, should've asked when we were naked." He's teasing, walking back over to the horse and gesturing for you to come.

You groan out, dragging your feet as you walk over to him and the horse. You were being dramatic, and Joel see's right through it.

"Quit whinin'. C'mon," He mutters, grabbing you by the hips to hoist you back onto the saddle.

"You're no fun, old man." You mumble, which freezes Joel in his tracks.

He doesn't know why, but that one off-handed comment ignites a blazing string of destructive thoughts.

As if he wasn't already insecure enough about being old and no fun.

His brain is jump-starting the self-depricating train of thought he had grown accustomed to, only this time, it had more fuel because you unknowingly confirmed it.

Of course, that isn't what you meant at all. It was just a teasing little comment, one you didn't think twice about. You weren't actually upset—at all.

Nevertheless, Joel's already in deep.

Slowly, he swings himself behind you onto the horse, grabbing the reins and starting forward.

You're quick to notice his demeanor, but choosing to keep your mouth shut.

The entire ride back is silent.

It was just like the ride there, only with a more suffocating air.

You have an inkling, but you have no idea the extent of his turmoil behind you.

Eventually, you two make it back to the stables. Joel helps you down from the horse, moving like a robot with no facial expression.

He's got that look in his eye that worries you. Every atom in your body wants to ask him what's wrong, but you also don't want to pry.

However, Joel would never open up to you unprompted. So, you at least try.

Your hand drifts upwards to his face, smoothing some of his hair down by his ear. "Is everything okay?" You finally ask, your voice purposefully soft and light so you don't startle him like he was some wild animal.

He inhales through his nose and clenches his jaw.

Oh.

Something was really wrong.

Your gaze goes from slightly weary to concerned in a flash, nervously biting down on your lower lip. "Is there anything I can do to help?" You ask, very evidently willing to do whatever he needed.

Joel had never been good with emotional timing. At the end of the day, he was still a man.

“We’ve gotta stop this.” He blurts.

You’re still for a moment, confused with his abrupt and vague words. You wait patiently for an elaboration.

Eventually, one comes, to Joel’s own dismay.

“We can’t see each other anymore—not like this.”

A beat passes.

Then another.

And then another.

You’re frozen with dread.

It’s like your body has forgotten all functions as you sit there and stare at him.

Surprisingly, the only thing you’re able to think of in this life changing moment, is the Christmas party at Maria and Tommy’s.

You’re thinking about how Joel fucked you in the guest bedroom, and how he said he didn’t want you having sex with anyone else.

You remember how happy you felt—like you two were exclusive or something.

How stupid were you?

With a quick intake of air, you swallow and look away.

“Did I do something wrong?” You croak, your voice akin to a wilting flower.

Joel is wracked with guilt the moment he hears you. But his mind is forcing him to do this.

“No—no. You haven’t done anythin’ wrong. This is all me, I fucked up and let this go on for too long.”

His answer provides no relief.

“But, I thought we—I thought you liked me?” You’re stumbling over your words because you’re so distraught, trying to blink away your persistent tears.

Shit.

Joel can hardly look at you. He would crumble and die if he did—the sadness in your expression is like several stabs to the gut.

Truth is, he did like you.

Thats why he wants to end things.

“I’m sorry.” Is all he can manage, head hanging down to look at the dirt.

You’re not looking at him either, instead opting to blankly stare at one of the horses in the stable.

“So,” You start, your voice cracking because you’ve started crying at this point. “You don’t wanna hook up, does that mean we can still hang out?”

Joel takes a big deep breath before answering.

"It would be best if we didn't see each other at all." Finally, he makes eye contact with you, and immediately regrets it.

You look like you've just been shot, for christsake—might as well have.

It was like he just tore your heart out, threw it to the ground, curb-stomped it, and kicked it down a gutter.

"Okay," you murmur, nodding slowly, trying to seem some-what chill about things. Inside, however, it was like World War III. "Uhm, I'm just gonna go home." Your voice is a croak, and Joel watches with the utmost remorse as you walk away.

It feels like shock.

Was this a break up? Were you even together in the first place? Why didn't he want to see you at all? Questions, questions, and more questions rattle in your brain as you shuffle away, hands shaking and eyes pouring.

You look down at the ring Joel gifted you on your finger, debting whether you should take it off or not.

Joel feels awful.

And it's not like the awful he felt the very first time he regected you—this time it's far more painful. It's a deeper wound, an uglier, gross, puss-infested cut that keeps getting worse the farther you walk away.

He thought he'd feel some relief.

He thought that after ending things, he would be rid of that nagging voice in his head.

But no, it remained.

Only now, it barked thoughts of wrong-doing.

'Why would you do that? Things were going great, you've fucked everything. You just broke her heart—’ and it goes on and on and on.

For a moment, the panic he feels registers in his mind as a heart attack. Thats what it felt like, anyway.

He has to brace himself against one of the wood beams in the barn, aggressively rubbing his chest to try and get his heart rate normal. Joel loses his breath in the process, not realizing that he's having a panic attack.

Whatever happens next, you don't see.

You never looked back after you walked away. *** "I don't know why you're all caught up about this, Joel." Tommy admits, a disappointed expression on his face.

Joel glares at his younger brother from the bar top, clearly disgruntled by Tommy's inability to understand his side of the situation.

It had been exactly 17 hours since Joel cut things off with you. He'd been drinking for at least 10 of those hours.

Somewhat drunkenly, he had told Tommy a very short and curt version of what happened.

But he got the picture. Tommy sighs, hanging his head for a minute before bringing it back up to speak again. "All m'sayin' is, it's the end of the damn world, Joel. Her 'future' ain’t graunteed; she'll be lucky if she makes it past 30 with the way things are. She's been 'round long enough to know that herself, n'for some fuckin' reason, she wants you—"

"She don't know what the hell she wants."

"See—that's where you're wrong, Joel." Tommy slams the whiskey glass that he was cleaning down on the bar, fed up and frustrated. "I've known 'er longer than you. She's a smart girl n'you're sellin' her short. Wake the hell up." He bites out before walking away, clearly finished with the conversation.

He had been watching and listening to Joel mop and groan about it all day and night—he had enough.

Other than the anger from being talked to in that manner welling inside of Joel, there was also a moment of clarity.

As much as it killed him to admit, Tommy was right.

He was selling you short.

The world is too ugly and fucked up for him not to act like everyday might be his last. He would be stupid to not just settle down and be happy with you for however long he had left.

Shit.

All alone in Tipsy Bison, Joel was slowly beginning to realize how majorly he screwed up.

He ruined things because he was too damn scared.

He didn't think there was a worse feeling than this—dealing with this huge fucking mistkae.

He wasn't sure if he would be able to come back from how things ended.

That look that you had in your eyes...Fuck. Joel didn't think he even deserved a second chance.

But goddammit if he didn't try.

After throwing the rest of his whiskey back, Joel got up from the barstool and hurriedly walked out, slamming the doors behind him.

He marches all the way to your place, ignoring whoever tried to talk to him on the way.

He had to do this. He couldn't live with himself if he didn't.

Finally, he makes it to your quaint little home, haulting in front of it. There is some imaginary force stopping him, something pulling him back.

It's that nagging voice in his head again, the one that caused this whole mess in the first place.

But this time, he ignores it, and trudges up your porch steps.

Joel knocks rather forcefully, his jaw clenching when you don't answer within seconds.

He bangs on the door again with his fist, hard, his patience wearing dangerously thin.

When you still don't answer, he enters anyway with your spare key (he always kept it on him), calling out your name as soon as he steps inside.

You hear him from your bed upstairs, though you honestly think you're hallucinating. You've been crying for hours, the only sound in your ears were your sniffles and sobs.

His heavy footsteps seem to get louder and louder, and when he calls out your name outside you're door, that's when you realize you weren't hallucinating at all.

You sit up just as Joel opens your door, your eyes wide with shock and tears.

He takes a couple steps inside before he sees how utterly devastated you looked. The sight of you renders him immoveable.

He feels…like the biggest asshole-asshat-douchebag-fuckwad-dickhead thats ever walked the planet.

“Why…are you here?” Your broken voice asks, trying your best to hold back tears.

Even after all he did, you still spoke so softly, all your respect for him still there.

He had talked himself up the entire walk over, but all his words were dying on his tongue.

He was beginning to think that there was nothing he could say that would make what he did right.

“Babygirl I—”

He sees you psychically flinch at his voice, and it makes his heart break all over again.

His feet carry him to the edge of your bed, hands coming out to hold your face.

You’re not sure how to process his touch, not sure how to process any of what’s happening, but you’re trying your best.

“I was wrong,” his thumb is wiping off the tear stains on your cheeks, a forced gentleness to his touch. “So fuckin’ wrong, babygirl. I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

Upon hearing his words, you can’t stop the floodgate of your tears. You start bawling, your shoulders shaking with each sob.

“I was so scared.” You cry, bringing your hands up to latch onto him. You wanted to explain more, explain why you were scared—because having Joel and then suddenly not having him, was like ripping your heart out.

He can’t scoop you up in his arms fast enough.

He gets in the bed with you, lifting you onto his lap while he cradles your head to his chest, kissing the top of your scalp.

"M'not lettin' you go. I promise." He husks, his grip on you strong.

And Joel kept this promise.

He held you the entire night, ensuring that you were secure and warm.

In the morning, you immediately asked what changed his mind.

"I was frustrated." He starts, exhaustion etched into his face. "I couldn't understand why you wanted me. Felt I was keeping you from some great life—a young husband n' some white picket fence. But..life here is probably as good as it's gonna get. And this," He looks to the both of you, alluding to the relationship you shared. "Is really fuckin' good."

Your heart is crumbling at his confession.

Discovering that he spent so much time insecure about things, both infuriated and saddened you.

When you were about to respond and explain away his worries, he speaks again.

"M'not lettin' you go. What I did was a mistake. M'sorry."

You're crying again, sniffling softly against him.

"You should've just fuckin' talked to me," You whimper, burying your face into his neck. "I could've—”

"Ain't nothin' you could'a done. You never did anythin' wrong." Joel reassures, pulling you from his shoulder so he can look at your face. "You gon' forgive me?"

"Obviously," you mumble, looking at him with a fake frustrated expression. "I meant it when I said I've always been yours."

And just like that, things were resolved.

You brought your hand down to grip his flannel, sighing into his chest. Joel also sighed in relief, realizing that you weren't going anywhere.

To raise the spirits in the room, you crane your neck up to look up at him, a soft smile playing at your lips.

"M'still mad at you. How are you gonna make it up to me?" Initally, you weren't really insinuading anything sexual—you were thinking he could take you for dinner or ice cream or something.

But Joel has something different in mind.

He gently grabs your jaw, angling your face so he could kiss you how he wanted. His tongue is warm in your mouth, his mustache prickly against your face.

When he breaks away, you're out of breath, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"I got an idea." Joel mumbles, carressing your jawline with his thumb.

Slowly, he sits up only to position himself between your thighs. With his calloused hands, he slides his palm up the planes of your legs until he reaches your pants.

You shiver when he dips his fingers under your waist band, pulling them down agonizingly slowly.

"This okay?" He asks in a gentle tone, one that makes your stomach do flips.

"Yes," You say immediately and breathlessly. "Very okay."

The corners of his mouth turn up to resemble a smirk, before his gaze returns back to the area between your legs. He runs his fingers down your clothed slit, feeling the way your wetness coated the stringy fabric.

You let out a soft gasp, slightly bucking your hips, hungry for more of his touch.

He plays there for a while before finally taking your underwear off, setting it somewhere on the bed.

Joel inhales through his nose when he sees your glistening cunt, trying to not cum in his pants at just the sight. He doesn't stop his impulse to pull your folds apart, running his thumb along your lips.

He's being so slow and gentle—it’s making your heart rate each dangerous levels.

His thumb then ventures up to lovingly rub your clit, his eyes scanning your face to watching your reaction.

Your legs are shaking as you kept them apart for Joel, your hands fisting the sheets as you cope with the sensations he's allowing you.

Your chest is heaving up and down and your eyes are glazed over with a hazy fog—one that Joel loves to see.

Then, out of nowhere, Joel lowers his head and connects his lips to your clit.

The act makes you jolt, mostly because you weren't expecting it.

His tongue laps at you, slowly at first, but then something shifts in Joel.

It's like the hunger for your cunt overwhelms him, and his grip on your thighs tighten. Within seconds, he's devouring you like a man starved, licking long strips up your cunt before focusing on sucking your clit.

You can't stop the moans and mewls slipping past your lips, and you don't really want to. You want Joel to know how good he's making you feel.

"OhhhfuckJoel," You whine, shooting your hands down to grab his salt and pepper hair. He focuses solely on your bundle of nerves with his tongue, using his fingers to give your desperately empty hole some attention.

When he slides two fingers inside, you effectively fall apart.

Tear prick in the lining of your eyes, your thighs clamp around his head as you cry out his name.

The fact that he's never eaten you out before and he's been this good at it the entire time, felt criminal. You honestly might've been more offended that he waited so long to reveal this talent than when he tried to end things.

"Dontstopdontstopdontstop," You sob, feeling yourself reach that climax you craved.

You come with a loud moan, and Joel lets you ride it out on his tongue and fingers.

When your body goes limp, thats when Joel lets up. He brings his head out from your legs and slips his digits out of your spasming hole.

You mewl at the feeling, looking at him with teary eyes.

"Where the hell did you learn to do that?" You asks, voice quiet and cracked.

"M'fifty-six years old—been around the block, babygirl." He's face is glistening with your juices, and his mouth is wearing that lopsided smile of his. It makes you wanna smile back.

"...Damn. So I'm not the first, huh?" You huff, not upset in the slightest, just wanting to tease him a little.

He chuckles and unzips his pants, letting his cock slap against his stomach. "No sweetheart, you ain't the first." He rasps, effortlessly manhandling you to straddle his lap. "But you are gon be my last."

His hands caress the plush surface of your hips, kneading them like dough while his eyes scan your face.

You're blushing so hard, your face probably looks like a spanked ass.

He really did have a knack for leaving you breathless with those one-liners of his.

You steady yourself by placing your hands on his shoulders, looking back down into his big brown eyes. All you can do is stare, because your brain is too focused on how hard your heart is beating to come up with a response.

"What? Now you ain't got nothin' to say?" He husks, his massive palm venturing down to your grab and squeeze your ass. Your back straightens and your lips part like you want to say something—but you're not quite sure what. "C'mon, use those pretty lips."

An idea pops into your brain.

"I'd rather use these lips," You whisper close to his mouth as you raise your hips up to hover over his member, slowly dipping his tip inside your warm hole.

"Fuck," Joel grunts, exhaling through his nose.

You grin at his reaction, lowering yourself down further with bated breath. You watch as his head lolls back and his grip tightens on your waist.

"What? Now you have nothing to say?" You mock, even though you're equally as breathless as he is.

He flashes you a glare before sliding a hand up to the back of your neck, pulling you in for a searing kiss. His hand doesn't let you break away from his lips, and you don't plan to.

His tongue establishes dominance in your mouth, which you eagerly let happen. It's passionate, deep, bordering on punishing—sometime during, he manages to rip your top off, leaving you completely nude. But sooner or later, you both decide breathing might be a good idea.

You break away, chests heaving, mouths panting.

Eventually, you sink all the way down on him, giggling deliriously when you make eye contact again. You decide to forget your fake little fued, nuzzling your head into his neck.

"Have I ever told you how big your dick is?" You mewl, squirming your hips around a bit but not lifting them up and down. It has Joel reeling.

His hands are holding you so tight, you're sure that it'll leave a bruise. "No," Joel huffs out rather distractedly, his eyes laser-focused on the way your cunt is gushing all over his lap. But you swear you can see the faintest blush on his tan skin.

"Well—your dick is real big." You whisper nearly inaudibly, making Joel snap his gaze back to your face. A lazy smile curls at your lips before you begin dragging you tight cunt up and down on his violently erect cock.

Joel shakes his head in disbelief, as he often does, but is unable to answer becase the feeling of being inside you is rendering him speechless. His hand absent-mindedly dips down to rub your clit—the act has you doubling over onto his shoulder, starting to bounce on him like your life depended on it.

"OhJoel, Iloveitsomuch," You blabble into his ear, noticing how he had taken the reigns at this point. He was manually lifting your hips, bringing them down with intense vigor.

He was stretching you out so good and his tip was so fucking deep—you were having a hard time staying conscious and not going brain dead.

It appears Joel's in the same boat too. "Fuck—you're killin' me." He grunts, bucking his hips up to meet you.

You giggle airily before immediately getting your karma—his dick paired with the position and the way his face looked—your cunt clenches down on him and you cum hard.

Your body jolts as you grab onto him, not expecting him to keep fucking you. But his grip on your hips doesn't falter, and Joel continues to bounce you up and down.

The sensation is unlike anything you've ever felt. Just letting him manhandle your body and do what he wanted was a surprising relief—even if you did just come.

You're reduced to whimpers and moans as you slump into his chest, letting him ground you and fuck your abused cunt.

Finally, slams you down one final time, unloading deep into your warmth. His groans sound like music to yours hears, especially because you know it's you that's making him feel so good.

He's panting in your ear, slowly starting to move his hands up to wrap around your torso.

He's hugging you before you can register it; his big arms securing you tightly to his chest while you both tried to catch your breaths.

Seconds pass...which turn into minutes, and you're wondering if Joel ever plans on letting you go.

He's made no efforts to remove his dick from inside you—it's soft now, but still buried deep nonetheless.

Your pussy will occasionally flutter around him, which'll earn a soft sigh from his lips.

You place a soft kiss on his temple before straightening your back to look at his face. "You tryin' to make sure your seed takes or something'?" You murmur, that teasing lilt in your voice that Joel is all too familiar with.

"Somethin' like that." He mutters into your chest, pulling you down with him to lay on the bed. "Want me to pull out?" He asks after a moment, scanning your face for any traces of displeasure.

You nestle into his chest, hooking your leg over his waist to lodge him deeper inside. "Never."

You and Joel fuck all day, all night and even into the morning. With, of course, breaks in between so Joel can recharge his stamina.

It happens multiple times in your bed, in the shower, on the couch, in the hallway, and even in the kitchen come morning.

Joel was making coffee while you were traipsing around with just his flannel on—humming along to some made-up song. It was like you two were an old married couple; him hovering over the moka pot and you scowering the fridge for some breakfast.

"Blueberry pancakes orrrr...." Joel watches as your head is stuck in the fridge, trying to find ingredients for meals. "Blueberry pancakes."

He snorts. "Surprise me." He huffs sarcastically, knowing he'd be eating a plate of blueberry pancakes.

You grinned and started making the batch, feeling Joel's eyes all over you because of the way his flannel was slipping off your shoulder because it was far too big on you.

His stare was turning you on—so you just bent yourself over the cool surface of the countertop and Joel did the rest.

Eventually, your safari of fun had to stop sometime during lunch. You both had succesfully cleaned yourselves and had started dressing for the day.

"I just told Maria I'd help set up." You murmur distractedly, tying your hair up in the bathroom mirror. Maria was holding a little town party in one of the recreational centers, and asked you, as well as some others to help her with the decorations.

There's a pause before Joel steps into the tiny bathroom, situating himself behind you and sliding his large hand over your stomach. He places a soft kiss to your head before dropping his hands to softly squeeze your hips.

"I'll walk you there."

A beat.

"You will?" He nods in confirmation, which has you turning around to look at him. You smile and tilt your head playfully. "You gonna walk me to first period too?"

Joel immediately rolls his eyes and scoffs, though you swear you can see him smirk.

"Smartass." He huffs out, grabbing your forearms to move you out of the way.

"Kidding." You chime, leaning on your tip toes to kiss his cheek. You weren't sure why you were so surprised by his offer, but you could tell it was a sign of something.

Maybe he wasn't stressed about people finding out about you two anymore. He never said that he was—but you could tell.

And it wasn't like he was embarrassed of you or anything—he's just always been a private person. It wasn't anyone's business who he was falling asleep next to every night.

But you—he'd be willing to change that for you.

When you both are ready, you exit your house, locking the door behind you. You look up to see your neighbor watching as you and Joel descend your porch steps.

You never liked her—gossipy woman who was always sticking her nose in places it didn't belong.

Quickly, your gaze snaps to his face, wanting to see if he was okay or anxious or whatever it may be.

But Joel's just looking right back down at you. "Lead the way, pretty lady." He murmurs lowly, his jaw clenched but his eyes soft.

You smile, and fall into step with him as you both walk down the sidewalk. The birds are chirping, the breeze feels amazing, and Joel is cracking smiles at your jokes.

Life felt good again.

Suddenly, Tommy appears out of nowhere, as he often does, blocking you and Joel's path.

You freeze, trying to keep a neutral face. You still weren't sure how to act around people with Joel, so you were just planning to play if off like you guys were just two buddies walking or whatever.

"Hey," Tommy greets, looking at you and then Joel, his eyebrows pinched together like he was confused at seeing the two of you in the same vicinity.

Oh. He probably knew what happened, or bits and pieces of it.

For some reason, you feel anxious that Joel might be feeling anxious, so you look down at your feet and nervously fidget with your hands.

"What're you two doin'?" Tommy asks, a detective look in his eyes as he shifted on his feet.

Joel clears his throat before looking down and grabbing your hand, intertwining your fingers with his calloused grip. He can't help but glare at Tommy with a stern face, squeezing your hand reassuringly.

Your breath catches.

Tommy's eyes venture down to your joined hands, then you, then Joel.

After a beat, a sharp and knowing grin spreads across his face.

"Well I'll be damned." THE END.

[blakelywintersfield]

obvs I know it wasn't intended to be, but. this ask kind of makes me uncomfortable with that last part because it feels lowkey arophobic. "What do you mean it's my fault"

Its not.

If it's your fault, that means you're the one to blame. But we would never blame a lesbian for not being sexually attracted to a man. We would never blame a gay man for not being sexually attracted to a woman. So why would we blame someone for not being romantically attracted to another?

People can get over their romantic feelings. It's not your fault. If that person can't learn to move on, it's their own fault.

aro culture is seeing hanahaki as a horror story. what do you mean this person is dying and it's my fault if they die?

fr fr

[azrielsdove]

Fated Souls

Warnings: Angst, Light Smut, 18+

***

You observed the celebration around you, watching your friends as they interacted with one another. You brought your wine glass to your lips, taking another slow sip. You had chosen to stick to the edges of the room for this gathering. It was easier that way. You didn’t have to pretend that your heart wasn’t being tortured with every beat it made.

Truthfully, you’d lost count of what glass of wine this was. You enjoyed the way the edges of the room blurred the more you drank, allowing you to pretend it’s all a horrid nightmare instead of your devastating reality.

Until your eyes caught upon them once again. You scowled, tipping your head back as you emptied your drink. Your eyes narrowed as you watched him smile down at her, his hand itching to hold onto her waist. She looked at him with such adoration that you’d have to be brainless to miss it. Everyone knew about the Shadowsinger and middle Archeron sister. You could argue that they turned a blind eye because they wished to see the pair happy, if it weren’t for the fact that their mates were just as widely known.

You rolled your eyes as she let out a soft laugh, placing a hand on the chest of the male that was supposed to be fated to you. Not that he cared. You were tired of this, the constant pining for someone who would never want you. Growing sick of their love-show, you slipped quietly from the room. No one noticed, or if they did they didn’t care. You had become quite a depressing specimen since Elain entered your life.

And since the mating bond snapped to Azriel, who only had eyes for her. Your friends did not know how to speak to you these days, always teetering in awkward conversation. They looked at you as if they stared too close you’d shatter into a thousand pieces. You were fragile, breakable.

It wasn’t always that way. Before this you were one of the fiercest warriors the Night Court had. You held your own against Cassian, earning a place of honor as his right hand. You were a force to be reckoned with. “The Lovely Demon” they called you, whispers of your power and beauty flitting throughout all of Prythian. It made sense for you to be fated to Azriel, the devilishly handsome spymaster. Together you were a death sentence.

A death sentence indeed. You moved throughout the halls, searching for the only one who understood your pain. You were pleased when you found him alone on one of the countless balconies in the House of Wind, leaning over the railing with his own drink in hand. You walked out to him, your heels clicking softy on the stone. He did not turn to look at you, even when you leaned on the railing next to him.

“Beautiful night,” he spoke first, looking intently at the stars. You followed his line of sight, humming in response. Nothing was beautiful to you now.

The two of you stood like that for some time, in an understanding silence. The silver fabric of your dress glowed under the starlight, a sight that would have filled you with confidence before. Now you hardly even noticed.

“Were they…” he began, trailing off. The words were too hard to be spoken aloud, but you knew what he meant. Were they all over each other again? You nodded, noting the way he slung his whiskey back at the action. “Do you think it will ever hurt less?”

Did you? You couldn’t imagine a world in which it didn’t, but surely it wouldn’t be this way forever. You turned to look at him then, taking in the defeated form of the once strong man you knew.

Lucien had been through a lot in the last five centuries. Hel, you all had. No one was the same as they once were. But your friend had suffered more than most, and yet his suffering was brushed under the rug by the Inner Circle. You loved them dearly, yes, yet they oftentimes only focused on themselves. In all honesty you had been the same way before. All that mattered was that you and your family were happy. Others problems could come later.

Once the bond snapped and Azriel chose to ignore it, things changed. You quickly discovered that he meant more to them than you did. Not that they didn’t try to help you, of course. Mor spent many a night lying in your bed with you, holding you tight while tears ran down your face. Nesta brought you books, the closest to acknowledging the messed up way Azriel was acting. But in the end, his feelings would always win. His happiness was more important than yours.

“I can only hope it does,” you finally answered. He finally turned to face you as well, the pain in his eyes like looking in a mirror.

“How do we cope?”

You shook your head, a sad smile playing on your lips. “When you find out, please let me know.”

You stared at each other for a long moment. Perhaps it was the copious amount of alcohol you had ingested, or perhaps it was the deep sadness controlling your heart, but you couldn’t help to notice how stunning Lucien was. Even in his pain drenched form he radiated a sense of power and confidence not many others could. You simply could not wrap your head around Elains distaste for him. You understood she had her own traumas to work through, but she could do worse. You knew Lucien would be kind to her.

Unfortunately she wanted your mate instead. The thought sends a wave of nausea through your body. Lucien noticed the subtle change in your already heartbroken demeanor, reaching his hand out to yours. You gladly held on to him, tears brimming in your eyes. “It’s not fair,” you whispered, the pain building up inside of you. He shook his head, pulling you close to him. He wrapped his arm tight around your waist, the hand on his other one tangling into your hair. You rested your face on the crook of his neck as gasping sobs tore through your very soul. Your nails dug into his shirt, holding onto him as if you were desperately searching for something to ground you. Something to remind you that life still existed, and it wasn’t just you lost in the tumultuous sea of your grief.

Your heart was falling apart. You knew you were not only going to lose Azriel if this continued. If he did fully choose Elain, and she him, your life would be over. Your family would gladly welcome them as one, celebrating their love and joy. You wouldn’t be able to live as you once did. You would flee the Night Court entirely, possibly leaving a note for Rhysand. You couldn’t be sure if he would even notice your absence in the wake of joy for his brother. Though could you blame him? Your soul sang for Azriel’s happiness. It was tearing you apart that it wasn’t with you.

You clung tighter to Lucien, hands shaking. His fingers were tracing patterns in your hair, trying to soothe your fractured mind. “He doesn’t deserve you,” he murmured. His words gave you pause, pulling your face off his shoulder to look up at him. His eyes were glassy, the tears he held refusing to be shed.

“What?” You asked, your voice weak. Lucien looked intently at you, moving his hand to cup your face. His thumb brushed away your tears, a deep sorrow in his eyes.

“It is wrong of him to allow you to be in pain as such. Elain, I give her more grace than most would. But Azriel?” He spoke the shadowsingers name as if it were a curse. “He has no excuse. You have been together centuries now, close as two can be. It should have been an instant joy, the mating bond between you. And yet,” he sighs deeply, thumb tracing your skin once more. “He’s gotten it into his head that he has to be with an Archeron like his brothers.” Your heart stutters as his thumb traces your bottom lip, a fire beginning to rage in his eyes. “He’s taken it upon himself to steal away my mate, while ignoring his own. A sorry thing, too, when she is as lovely as the night she so graciously represents.” His hand slides down to trace your jawline, fire burning your skin wherever he touched. This was wrong. You were both heartbroken, tossed aside by your mates. Friends, yes, but lovers? No. You should pull away, stop this before it goes too far. This was wr-

Oh.

Your head tilted back and your mouth opened slightly as Lucien’s lips met your neck. He kissed your skin like it was his honor to do so, like he would never get the chance again. His lips traveled up to your jaw, kissing slowly across your cheek. You couldn’t breathe as your eyes fluttered closed, lips ready for his.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered against your skin, nose brushing yours. You knew you should. If you allowed him to kiss you fully you would be fully admitting that Azriel was a lost hope and dream. Allowing another male to touch you in a way only your mate should.

Did it matter when that mate was too busy catching the attention of someone who wasn’t you? When all he wanted was her pretty little mouth on his? What is the harm in you finding what pleasure you could in the wake of the pain he had bestowed upon your very being?

“Kiss me.”

Lucien’s lips met yours with a fervor, an intensity you didn’t know you craved. Arousal began to spread through your body, a need for him that overtook all other thought. You pulled him closer, allowing him to cage you in against the balcony railing. You welcomed his tongue into your mouth, moaning quietly at the taste of him. His hands fell to your waist, one fisting the fabric as his restraint was rapidly fading. “He’s a fool for letting you go,” he said into your mouth, a shiver of delight running down your spine at his words.

“So is she.” His eyes flared and he kissed you again, his hand slowly working your dress up. You gasped as the cool night air danced across your heated skin. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this at all, much less right where anyone could see. The thought of someone catching you made your heart race with scandalous excitement. Not that anyone would have even noticed the two of you were gone.

Lucien’s hand flattened against your bare thigh, having pulled your dress high enough to expose the skin there. You felt alive under his touch, like you were finally being seen. You kissed him as if he were the sun and you were lost in an endless night. His fingers trailed to the inside of your thigh, a hum of surprise coming from him when he discovered you wore nothing under your gown. He found you quickly, pressing gently down on your clit. You gasped into his mouth, arching against him in pleasure. He worked you expertly, moving his fingers like he was put on this world just to please you.

His lips fell from yours, pressing quick kisses on your neck. “I want you hear you,” he whispered into your ear, allowing his thumb to take over the delicious pressure his fingers had been providing. He moved them down, sliding them gently into you. He curled them once he was deep inside, the feeling overpowering. You tilted your head back as you moaned his name, forgetting everything except for him. When Lucien touched you there was no pain from an unwanted mating bond, no thoughts of why you weren’t good enough. There was only you and him. He was painting fire into your soul, giving you the light you needed to live.

Until you felt him be ripped away from you as something cold wound it’s away around your body.

***

i have two separate endings for this! one for lucien and one for azriel <3. i just loved this idea and then couldnt decide which way i wanted it to go haha. i hope you enjoyyyyyy

[00valentina-writes00]

Sevika eating pussy under a table cause there are people around?

♡♥︎Keep Quiet, If You Can♥︎♡

Warnings: Sevika is a menace, oral sex in a public place, almost getting caught, I pray for you

You don’t know how you let Sevika talk you into this.

A dinner out, she’d said. Something nice, somewhere upscale, just the two of you. And like an idiot, you’d believed her. You’d worn the little black skirt she liked, the one that barely covered anything when you sat down. You’d even let her pick the restaurant, some high-end lounge with dim lighting and jazz humming low through the speakers.

And now?

Now you’re sitting at a table, legs spread just enough for Sevika to be tucked beneath it, her broad shoulders wedged between your thighs, her mouth so fucking deep into your pussy you can barely breathe.

Your fingers are digging into the tablecloth, gripping it so hard your knuckles ache, and all you can do is stare at the half-empty plate in front of you, your lips parted as you try not to let a single sound slip out.

Sevika, the absolute menace that she is, doesn’t make it easy.

She eats you like it’s her last meal, her tongue working you over with slow, practiced strokes, curling deep inside you before dragging up to flick over your clit. Her lips seal around it, sucking just hard enough to make your thighs twitch, her rough hands keeping you spread open so you can’t squirm away.

She’s fucking enjoying this. You can feel it—the way her tongue moves, the way she groans against you like she’s the one getting off on this.

And then—

Oh, fuck.

A shadow falls across the table.

A waiter.

You nearly choke on your own spit, scrambling to school your features into something normal.

“Hey there,” the waiter says, flashing a polite smile. He’s handsome, clean-cut, his white button-down crisp against his tanned skin. “Can I get you anything else?”

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out, because at that exact moment, Sevika—fucking Sevika—doubles down.

Her tongue presses flat against your clit, slow and deliberate, and then she fucking shakes her head like she’s trying to bury herself even deeper.

You jolt, hands flying to your lap to grip at the fabric of your skirt, as if that’ll somehow stop the way she’s devouring you.

The waiter’s brows raise, his head tilting. “You okay?”

You clear your throat. Swallow. Try to pretend like your pulse isn’t hammering in your throat.

“Y-Yeah,” you manage, your voice embarrassingly thin. “I just—um—”

Sevika sucks on your clit. Hard.

Your fingers clench the tablecloth so tightly you’re surprised it doesn’t rip.

The waiter’s looking at you funny now, his polite smile slipping into something a little more confused.

You need to get rid of him.

“Water,” you blurt out, your words too rushed. “Can I get a glass of water?”

The waiter blinks. “You have a full glass.”

Oh, fuck. You do.

Sevika chuckles against you, the vibration making your whole body jerk.

“I meant—uh—” You suck in a sharp breath, trying to keep your hips from bucking up into Sevika’s face. “A… a refill?”

The waiter glances at your untouched water, then back at you.

You’re sure you look insane—face flushed, eyes unfocused, hands twisted in your lap like you’re trying to keep yourself from falling apart.

“Sure,” he says slowly, still looking at you like you’re a little unhinged. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as he turns away, you grab the edge of the table, yanking the fabric up just enough to glare down at Sevika.

Her smirk is fucking filthy.

“Having trouble, sweetheart?” she murmurs, her voice husky, laced with amusement.

You shoot her a murderous look under the tablecloth, but before you can hiss out a threat, she dives back in, tongue swirling around your clit before sucking it between her lips, her fingers tightening on your thighs.

Your back hits the seat, head tipping back as you bite your lip so hard it hurts.

She’s relentless now, fucking devouring you, her tongue fucking into you deep, her nose pressing against your clit in a way that has your stomach twisting, heat pooling low and sharp

You’re close. Too close.

And Sevika fucking knows.

She slides two fingers into you, curling them just right, pressing against that spot that makes your whole body tighten.

Your toes curl in your heels. Your breathing turns ragged. The tablecloth hides her, but it can’t hide the way your legs tremble, the way your chest rises and falls too quickly.

Sevika’s pace doesn’t let up, her tongue flicking, fingers thrusting, dragging you to the edge so fast it’s dizzying.

And then—

The waiter returns.

You barely manage to snap your head up, your hands flying to your lap again, gripping the fabric of your skirt like it’ll somehow ground you.

The waiter sets the glass down, eyes flicking to your face. “You sure you’re okay?”

No. No, you’re not. You’re seconds away from fucking losing it.

“I’m—”

Sevika presses her fingers deeper, curling them just right, her tongue flicking over your clit in fast, precise strokes.

Your whole body jolts.

A strangled noise catches in your throat, your jaw tightening as you fight to keep it in.

The waiter’s eyes narrow slightly, suspicion creeping into his expression.

Fuck, fuck, you can’t do this. You can’t—

“I-I’m fine,” you gasp out, your voice just a little too high, too breathless.

Sevika hums against you.

Your thighs clench. Your stomach tightens.

The waiter hesitates for a second longer before nodding slowly. “Alright, well… let me know if you need anything else.”

He turns to walk away.

And that’s when Sevika finishes you off.

Her fingers thrust deep, her tongue pressing firm and perfect against your clit, and you’re gone—coming so fucking hard you see stars, your thighs shaking around her, your breath stuttering as you force yourself to stay silent.

You grip the table so hard your nails dig into the wood, every muscle in your body locking up as your orgasm tears through you.

The waiter disappears into the crowd.

Sevika doesn’t stop. Not until she’s wrung every last aftershock out of you, not until your body is trembling and you’re sagging against the seat, your legs numb, your heart hammering.

Only then does she finally pull back, her fingers sliding out of you, her tongue giving one last, slow lick before she chuckles, low and satisfied.

You barely have the strength to lift the tablecloth again, glaring down at her.

She licks her lips. Smirks.

And then, the smug bastard winks.

[kleptokure]

Silent Affection ⭒˚.⋆ ✴︎˚ ⋆˙⟡

Truthless Recluse x GN!Reader

Contains slight spoilers if you are not past 8-18.

·˖✮ ✮‧˖

You fail to remember the last time the environment around has been so quiet. Getting used to the bustling habitat of each region you traveled to, accompanying Gingerbrave, came as easy.

Now, left without the lively setting, everything feels astray. It feels otherworldly, even. But the worst part of it all is the stranger Pure Vanilla Cookie has morphed into.

Change can be a good thing, and you kept an open mind to those who reverted to different opinions. Yet this? No, this entire situation regarding your dearest is a case you cannot bring yourself to accept.

You never thought you would see Pure Vanilla Cookie's eyes modify themselves into such a dull state. The sparkle that was average to spot in his eyes seemed to fizzle out, but you swear you see the flicker of one when his stare lies onto you.

At the current moment, you stand before him as he sits on the edge of the bed in his gifted headquarters, residing inside of the unnerving tower.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie! You have to snap out of it. Our friends are in danger, we have to rescue them!" You try your earnest to get through to him, but all you receive is his eyes piercing into your own.

All of the warmth that used to trail after Pure Vanilla Cookie seems to have left. Uselessness strikes your dough, and motivation is not given from your emotionless lover. What else is there to do to convince him?

Pacing around the room, you attempt to think of another way to persuade Pure Vanilla Cookie back into his common traits.

You are unaware of why you were to be left at his side, now thinking about it. Shadow Milk Cookie did not afflict you with the same treatment he gave the others. As of right now, you've been permitted to stay beside Truthless Recluse for an unknown reason.

Expressing gratitude for your handling differing from your allies comes as hard. The fact that they can easily crumble from a tearing of the feeble cards they've been transformed into does not come as heartwarming.

Now, you put yourself before the silent cookie. You would hate to guilt trip your partner, you truly would—but it seems to be your last option.

"What if it were me? Would you turn me away, too? Leave me to be stuck as a tarot card?" You give your best to sound disheartened.

Truthless Recluse narrows his eyes at you, the grip he holds around his staff tightening. That counts as a reaction, much to your favor. Though would it do much in the long run?

He fails to see reason in why his heart feels heavy. Oh, but it is not with remorse. The gloomy cookie feels angered. How dare you suggest such an event could ever happen? He refuses to allow you to be turned into a small card, put inside of a bag and shrouded in complete darkness.

Yet he allows the misery to fall upon his other companions. Why must you be a discrepancy? He should've pushed you away long ago, yet he decided to complete the exact opposite.

Truthless Recluse feels ridiculous, causing to add onto his frustrations.

He stands up, towering over you with his absurd height. Pure Vanilla Cookie is one to be feared with his current body language, but you still stand in your place.

"You will not," he asserted, like a king to his pawns. Pure Vanilla's frown appears more prominent. You did not expect your short speech to cause such a reaction, coming off as wordless for a few seconds into your staring contest with him.

Then, you feel upset yourself. His single words, the few ones he's ever spoken to you, are hard to digest. Truthless Recluse can say that, but not hold to that same promise for your comrades?

Your hands clench into fist, standing with your chest puffed before the intimidating cookie.

"I don’t understand you. I never thought I would say this, but you are becoming insufferable!" Part of him feels hurt by that, and again, he falls short in knowing why.

"If you are so resistant to helping, then I will do it myself. You can stay here for as long as you'd like. I’m leaving." With that said and done, you turn on your heel, walking towards the exit of the room that you grow sick of.

But then, your feet prevent you from progressing. In fact, you do not seem to be touching the ground any longer, lifted a few feet above ground. Your hands remain fixed at your side, entirely incapable of moving.

That being said, you are unable to avert your stare towards the obvious culprit. Though there seemed to be no reason to worry, as the said perpetrator of your rigidness whirls you around to face him.

You were about to give him a mouthful, but Truthless Recluse reaches words before you have the chance.

"Stay."

"What?"

"You are not going anywhere."

"Pure Vanilla Cookie, release me," you shout, yet, as anticipated, his lips are shut thin. You become weary of his orders. He declines to hear you out, so why would you give ear to him?

But you soon realize, there is not much of a choice for you here. The look in his eyes signal that, and the fact that the strength difference between the both of you is quite measurable.

With the power of his staff, Truthless Recluse hovers you over his given bed, plopping you down onto the cushioning afterwards.

Quick to straighten yourself up, you look in his direction. There is irritance noticed in your stare, though it is miniscule. It goes difficult to stay mad at him, because at the end of the day, he remains your husband. Even within this form he takes.

Truthless Recluse takes a seat right next to you, your legs pressing together. Despite the harsh tone his talk is spoken with, there's little to no hesitation in his decision to be near you. Perhaps Pure Vanilla Cookie is not as far away as you would believe, judging off of that noticeable trait.

"So you disapprove of helping out our friends, but you also disapprove of me rescuing them?" You question, because you want him to know the absurdity of his own actions. Nothing appears to add up.

"Just say you want me here. That deep down inside, you still love me," you taunt him, more so to get back at him for his pettiness. Guilt tripping and persuasion are clear to have no affect on him. Taunting is not guaranteed to work either, but you can give it a shot.

Unbeknownst to you, your little tease did gain a reaction from the apathetic cookie.

Truthless Recluse dislikes the emotions that you, and you alone, are able to make him feel. Your simple words send him into strange mindsets, ones that he believed he would abandon after becoming a deceiver.

Liars are not known to have such close relationships, so he came prepared to dump his old friends. But you? Ditching you is easier said than done.

Maybe he can come to face the truth he has avoided. The reality is, you are no mere friend. Your title to him is far greater than that, which is why he is reluctant to allow your departure. Back then, he was more proud to call you his lover. Even though now, he would concede it, you are still his beloved. He loves you, and he hates that.

Why must you make his conversion so difficult?

It is as if Pure Vanilla Cookie reset. Again, he keeps as quiet, like prior, to any words you say.

But, you took note of his dramatic response to your attempt to flee. In this case, may it be that your actions cause more feedback than your conversation? There's one way to find out.

Scooting even closer to him, you gaze into his eyes. What a beautiful man he is, even with his drastic transformation.

Lowering your palm, you place it atop his own. You begin to hold his hand, a heartfelt gesture that was common between you pair, but will he return it this time around?

To your shock, and his own, he does. A sweet man can never truly be erased, it seems. That sprouts a smile on your face. But, why end it at holding hands? What else can grow to make him act out?

Tilting your head, you press a kiss to his cheek. He appears as unmoving now, but with how short the distance is, you can see the twitch in his face.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie," you whisper. "I love you."

He is no longer Pure Vanilla Cookie, he mentally asserts. Your love is in vain, as the cookie you once knew is shoved deep down and far removed.

Nevertheless, he accepts your affection all the same. That aspect is the most bothersome for him. He ought to silence you with your foolish declarations, but he falters in doing so.

Gaining his attention yet again, your face shifts to be placed right in front of his own. Truthless Recluse finds his mind to wander to how attractive you are, but he soon cuts those thoughts short for himself. He no longer believes in such facts, he would say.

Though if he deems himself a liar, that might be a lie.

"Truthless Recluse," you spoke in a gentle tone. "I love you."

Oh. That surprises him. He reckoned you would never utter his new label, but you have, which indicates you are directly addressing him, and he's lost on how to process it. All he can comprehend is the warmth radiating in his dough, as if he's back in the oven in which he was baked.

As your prior statement of admiration came with a complimentary kiss, the next remark shall have the same acclamantory.

You angle yourself closer, your lips coming into contact with Truthless Recluse's cold ones, meeting in a delicate kiss. As frigid as he is, you will be glad to share your heat to him.

Just as happy as he is to embrace it. Truthless Recluse finds himself returning your affection, leaning in to push your mouths closer. His eyes closed, he rediscovers how enjoyable affection can be.

His grip on his staff almost slips from how weakly he holds it. Truthless Recluse finds that possessing you in his arms is far more preferable, yet he refrains, as you already pulled away, much to his disappointment.

With a satisfied sigh, you rest your head against his shoulder.

"I don’t think we should keep the others waiting," you spoke amidst the silence. "Perhaps we should go check up on them?" You wonder if your mounds of endearment caused to change his point of view. If not, then luck has long left you.

Witches, now Truthless Recluse is sure he has been tricked yet again. How can he let you get away with your foolery so easily? You are such an infuriating cookie, and he despises that his feeble heart wants more of that. He would tear it out if he could.

Though he comes to terms with it quite quickly. That is just your personality, and well, Shadow Milk Cookie does plenty for his own indulgences. Would it hurt for him to take a cookie in for his own appeasement?

"No," he concedes. You have a dumfounded expression. This cookie proved to be tough to crack, and that tends to be a good factor. But now, it shrivels in appearing as a perk.

"...Huh?"

"You, too, shall reside in this tower. Alongside me." He has got to be joking. Although he carries the title of a liar, even you can tell there is no deception in his tone.

"I'll... I'll give you another kiss if you grant my farewell?" Truthfully, that came to wilt his spirit. In spite of that, his silence as a response shows he has abstained.

Your husband developing a possessive trait catches you off guard. There's a chance those few kisses became disastrous in the end, as you see his eyes linger onto your lips rather than your own stare.

Oh boy. You’re in for a ride.

·˖✮ ✮‧˖

A/N: I wanted to say thank you for the lovely welcoming on my first post! All of the notes are what encourage me to write, so it's heartwarming to see so many haha. About a part two for my first fic, I didn't really think about that. Perhaps I will if I brainstorm hard enough. Thanks for reading! (*´ڡ`●)

[aliencheeks]

Okay, to be fair though, computers are also just hard!! Any given computer interface will have like 30-50 input options (i.e., places you can click) at a time, and that’s not even including keyboard inputs - that’s like expecting someone to read (and comprehend!) a small page of text/icons in the 2 seconds it takes for you to expect a response.

When you’re showing someone something on the computer, it doesn’t hurt to specify where on the page it is. Or better yet, just point

why does my mother suddenly fail kindergarten whenever she tries to do anything on the computer

[bettys-redwinesupernova]

BEGIN AGAIN

rafe cameron x fem!reader

SUMMARY: a revenge plan turns complicated when y/n falls for rafe cameron—the one person she was never supposed to love. but was it ever just revenge?

based on this ask !! this request has been in the works for a couple weeks (hence the 5k word count😝), i really really enjoyed writing this and as soon as i read it i knew i had to make it inspired by ‘begin again,’ and i hope you don’t mind me taking creative liberty on this one anon, so thank you !! <3

(check out my other rafe cameron & drew starkey works here !!)

WARNINGS: some angst but a fluff ending, cheating (jj to reader), soft!rafe, cursing, allusions to sex, revenge plan to lovers (?), alcohol consumption, rafe has a normal family in this one (😀). (lmk if i missed anything !!)

WORD COUNT: 5.3k (i got insanely carried away🫣)

THIRD PERSON +

Y/N could still feel the sting of JJ's words, the way they sliced through her like a dull knife—slow, painful, irreparable.

"It just happened, okay?" he had said, desperation laced in his voice. "It didn't mean anything, baby. I swear."

But it did.

If it had meant nothing, he wouldn't have done it. If it had meant nothing, he wouldn't have shattered her trust, her love, her belief in him with a single, reckless mistake.

She stared at him, chest rising and falling with the force of her breath, hands curled into fists at her sides. The night air was thick with humidity, the salty ocean breeze doing nothing to cool the fire burning inside her.

"You cheated on me with Kiara?" she spat, her voice trembling, though not with sadness—no, sadness was something she'd felt the moment the words left his mouth. Now, it was only rage. "And you expect me to just—what? Pretend it didn't happen?"

JJ ran a hand through his messy blonde hair, looking more disheveled than usual. "I was drunk, Y/N. It wasn't planned. It wasn't—"

"Don't," she cut him off sharply. "Don't stand there and try to make excuses." She scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief. "You know what hurts the most, JJ? It's not even just the cheating. It's the fact that I defended you to everyone. My parents, my friends. They all told me I was stupid for choosing a Pogue over every other guy who actually makes sense for me. But I didn't care, because I loved you."

Her voice broke, but she swallowed hard, forcing herself to keep it together.

"And what did you do with that?" she continued, taking a step closer, her eyes blazing. "You threw it in my face. You embarrassed me."

JJ's jaw clenched. "I never meant to hurt you, Y/N. You know that."

"Yeah? Well, you did."

Silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.

Y/N could see it in his face—the guilt, the regret. But it didn't matter. It wasn't enough. It never would be.

She took a deep breath, exhaling shakily. "We're done, JJ."

His head snapped up. "Y/N—"

"Don't," she warned, her voice final. "You made your choice. Now I'm making mine."

And with that, she turned and walked away, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her break.

She didn't cry.

Not when she got home, not when she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, not even when the memories of JJ and everything they had crashed over her like a tidal wave. No, she didn't cry.

She just got angry.

Because she had been loyal. She had been good to him. She had given him everything, only for him to betray her with Kiara of all people—the one girl she had actually trusted.

And now? Now, she wanted him to hurt.

Which was exactly why she was standing in front of Tannyhill, her heart pounding in her chest.

This was reckless. Dangerous, even. But she didn't care.

She needed this.

She needed revenge.

And she knew just the person to help her get it.

—

Rafe Cameron was a lot of things—arrogant, temperamental, a little unhinged—but he wasn't stupid.

So when Y/N showed up at his door at nearly midnight, looking like she was on the verge of either committing murder or breaking down completely, he knew something had happened.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, blue eyes scanning her face. "What do you want, sweetheart?"

She swallowed, straightening her shoulders. "I need your help."

Rafe raised a brow. "With what?"

"Making JJ regret everything."

A slow smirk curled at the corners of his lips. "Interesting."

She exhaled sharply, stepping closer. "Are you in or not?"

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You really wanna do this?"

She met his gaze, unwavering. "Yeah, I do."

For a moment, he just studied her, as if trying to figure out how serious she was. Then, something shifted in his expression.

"Alright," he said, pushing off the doorframe. "Let's make him suffer."

The plan was simple.

Make JJ jealous. Make him see what he lost. Make him regret ever touching Kiara.

But some point during that evening, the lines blurred.

Because Rafe was Rafe—intense, intoxicating, dangerously charismatic. And Y/N was already teetering on the edge of self-destruction.

So when they ended up in his bedroom, the door slamming shut behind them, it wasn't just about JJ anymore.

It was about the way Rafe looked at her, like she was the most interesting thing in the room. The way his hands skimmed her waist, his touch possessive yet careful. The way his breath fanned against her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

"Still thinking about JJ?" he murmured, fingers tracing slow patterns on her hip.

She met his gaze, lips parted, heart pounding.

"No," she admitted, and it was the truth.

Because in that moment, it wasn't about revenge. It wasn't about making JJ jealous.

It was about the fire in her veins, the ache in her chest, the desperate need to feel something other than betrayal.

And Rafe—Rafe was more than willing to oblige.

His lips crashed against hers, and suddenly, nothing else mattered. Nothing except Rafe Cameron.

—

Y/N lay beside Rafe, her body still humming from the events of the night. The air between them was thick with something she couldn't quite name—satisfaction, exhilaration, maybe even something deeper. The sheets were a mess, tangled between them as she stared up at the ceiling, trying to steady her breathing.

Beside her, Rafe propped himself up on one elbow, smirking down at her. His hair was tousled, his lips still slightly swollen from their heated encounter. There was something different about the way he was looking at her, but Y/N shoved that thought away before she could entertain it. This wasn't about them. This wasn't about feelings.

It was about revenge.

"So, how do you wanna play this?" Rafe asked, tracing his fingers lazily over her bare shoulder.

Y/N turned her head to look at him, eyes sharp despite the haziness of their moment. "We make it obvious enough that JJ notices," she said, her voice steady, as if the way his touch sent shivers down her spine wasn't affecting her. "But not so obvious that it looks fake."

Rafe chuckled. "So, we make it look real then?"

Y/N hesitated. She knew what he was doing—he liked to mess with her, push her buttons, see how far he could get under her skin. But she wouldn't let him win.

"Exactly," she said, rolling onto her side, meeting his gaze head-on. "You're his biggest enemy, and I'm his biggest mistake. Nothing will drive him crazier than seeing me with you."

Rafe's smirk widened. "You really are ruthless when you want to be."

"You have no idea."

Rafe hummed in amusement, and with that, their arrangement was set.

This was about JJ. About making him regret everything.

At least, that's what Y/N told herself.

—

The first time they made their "relationship" public, it was calculated. Rafe had picked her up from the country club in his Pogue-killer truck, windows down, music blasting—just in time for JJ to see them as he passed by on his dirt bike.

JJ had stopped in his tracks, his eyes narrowing, jaw clenching so hard Y/N thought his teeth might break.

Rafe had played it up, resting his hand on her thigh, flashing JJ a taunting grin before speeding off.

Y/N had expected to feel triumphant.

Instead, her stomach twisted in a way she didn't understand.

—

The first time Rafe showed up early, it threw her off.

She had told him to meet her for coffee on a random Wednesday, expecting the usual—him strolling in twenty minutes late, making some sarcastic remark, turning their little arrangement into something that felt like a joke.

But when she walked in, he was already there.

Sitting at a corner table, legs stretched out, arms crossed over his chest. And when he saw her, he stood up, gave her a small nod.

"You're early," she said, eyebrows raised.

"You sound surprised."

"I am surprised."

Rafe smirked, pulling out the chair for her. "Sit down, princess."

She hesitated before taking the seat, watching him as he slid into the chair across from her. It felt... strange. Unfamiliar.

JJ had never been early.

JJ had never pulled out her chair.

She shook the thought away, focusing instead on the game they were playing. That's all it was—a game.

Still, she couldn't ignore the way her chest tightened when Rafe leaned back in his chair, looking at her like she was something worth paying attention to.

After they made their orders, they sat with their freshly brewed drinks.

"Didn't take you for a latte girl," he teased, nodding at her cup.

Y/N raised a brow. "Didn't take you for someone who hangs out anywhere that doesn't serve alcohol."

Rafe smirked. "Touché."

It should have been a quick meeting—just another public sighting to stir the pot. But somehow, they ended up talking.

Really talking.

Y/N had expected him to flirt, to push the boundaries of their deal, but instead, they talked about their childhood—about summers spent at the club, about the times they'd been forced to sit at boring Kook events together as kids.

Rafe had made her laugh. Genuinely laugh.

She had almost forgotten why they were doing this in the first place.

—

A week later, he picked her up for a party, and she made a point to wear heels.

JJ had always hated when she wore them, always made a face, always grumbled something about her being too tall next to him.

But when she climbed into Rafe's truck, he barely glanced at them before smirking. "Damn," he muttered, eyes dragging up her legs. "Trying to make it harder for me to behave?"

She rolled her eyes, but her stomach did something weird. Something dangerous.

Rafe drove with one hand on the wheel, the other draped over her thigh, his fingers warm and steady.

It was meant to be for show.

For JJ.

So why did it feel like something else?

Later that night at the party, Y/N and Rafe were standing just close enough that people whispered.

JJ was across the yard, watching them with a glare so sharp it could cut through steel.

Y/N should have been paying attention to him, should have been relishing in the jealousy that was the whole point of this.

But instead, she was too focused on Rafe's hand on the small of her back. The way his thumb moved in slow, absentminded circles against her skin.

When she turned to look at him, he wasn't watching JJ.

He was watching her.

—

A couple days later, she almost slipped up.

They were walking down the street after grabbing dinner—something casual, something that wasn't supposed to feel like a date.

She was about to bring up JJ, to remind herself why they were doing this in the first place.

But before she could, Rafe started talking about his family.

"My dad's obsessed with old westerns," he said, shaking his head. "Every Christmas, like clockwork, he makes us watch The Good, the Bad and the Ugly."

Y/N blinked. "Seriously?"

Rafe chuckled. "Swear to God. Every single year. Sarah and I know every damn line."

She found herself laughing, imagining Rafe and Sarah rolling their eyes as Ward Cameron sat in front of the TV, quoting the movie word for word.

JJ had never talked about things like that.

JJ had never let her in like that.

She pushed the thought away, but the seed had already been planted.

—

Then came the night that the shift between them had started to show.

It was late, and they were sitting on the hood of Rafe's truck, looking out over the water.

The party was still going strong down the beach, but they had drifted away from it, neither of them in the mood for drunken chaos.

Rafe took a swig from his beer, then turned to look at her.

"You ever gonna tell me why you were with him?"

Y/N frowned. "What do you mean?"

Rafe tilted his head. "I just don't get it. You're smart. You've got standards. And yet..." He let the sentence hang.

Y/N huffed, kicking a loose rock off the side of the truck. "He was... fun. He made me feel like I wasn't just another Kook girl. Like I wasn't just..." She trailed off, feeling stupid for saying it out loud.

Rafe was quiet for a second before saying, "He didn't deserve you."

She turned to look at him, expecting the usual sarcasm, but there was none. Just quiet certainty.

Her throat tightened.

"Yeah," she said softly. "I know that now."

And when Rafe threw his head back, laughing at something she said a few minutes later, she thought it was strange.

Strange that he thought she was funny.

Because JJ never did.

—

Another night, they found themselves in his truck, parked by the beach. It had started raining, heavy droplets drumming against the windshield, the air thick with the scent of salt and rain.

Y/N had been rambling about something—some ridiculous Kook drama that, in the grand scheme of things, didn't actually matter.

And then, out of nowhere, Rafe had reached across the console and tucked a strand of damp hair away from her face.

Y/N had gone silent, her heart doing something it definitely shouldn't have been doing.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the rain.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she had asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe had only smirked. "No reason."

But there was a reason.

And it scared her.

She knew things were getting complicated when she started noticing things about him she shouldn't.

Like the way his voice softened when he said her name.

Or the way he always made sure she got home safe, even when they weren't together.

Or the way he never pushed her, never made her feel like this was just some game.

Somewhere along the way, the lines between their act and reality started to blur.

And Y/N wasn't sure if she was ready to figure out what that meant.

—

The moment that nearly shattered her resolve happened at another party.

They had been standing close, laughing about something she couldn't even remember now. And then, without thinking, she had reached up and brushed a piece of hair out of his face.

It had been instinctive. Natural.

But when she realised what she had done, her breath hitched.

Because Rafe was looking at her like she had just changed everything.

And maybe... maybe she had.

Y/N kept telling herself that this was just revenge.

That the way her stomach flipped whenever Rafe touched her was just part of the plan.

That the way she found herself looking for him in crowded rooms was just to keep up the act.

But deep down, she knew.

She had fallen for Rafe Cameron.

—

The room was still heavy with the lingering heat from the night—sheets twisted around their legs, the soft hum of the air conditioning barely cutting through the thick humidity of the night. Y/N lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling, trying to process the whirlwind that had completely changed her life in the past few weeks.

Rafe lay beside her, his body close enough to feel the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, but far enough that there was space between them—a silent invitation, as if asking her to fill it. His hand rested on his stomach, but his fingers were almost touching hers.

The silence stretched comfortably between them. It wasn't awkward. It wasn't forced. It felt...right.

Y/N turned her head to look at him, the soft glow of the moonlight filtering through the window, casting a glow over his face. He was still as handsome as ever, his jaw sharp, eyes intense even when he was relaxed, and the faintest trace of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. But it wasn't the same cocky smirk that had first drawn her in—this was something different. It was real. It was genuine.

She couldn't stop herself from smiling too. "What are we doing, Rafe?" she asked softly, voice barely above a whisper.

Rafe turned his head, his blue eyes locking with hers. There was a quiet intensity in them, a look that said he knew exactly what she meant but wasn't sure how to say it either. "I don't know," he murmured, his voice rough with unspoken emotion. "But I think it's something good."

Y/N's heart fluttered, the vulnerability in his voice catching her off guard. Rafe was always the tough guy, the one who hid behind arrogance and bravado, the one who never let anyone see the cracks in his armor. But with her, it was different. She could see it now—the cracks were there, but they weren't flaws. They were pieces of him she could understand, pieces that were human, not just a cold façade.

She reached out, her hand finding his, fingers brushing gently over his knuckles. He didn't pull away. Instead, he laced their fingers together, holding her hand with a tenderness that surprised her.

"Do you regret this?" she asked, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them. She had to know. There were so many things between them, so many things left unsaid, but that was the one question that had been haunting her the most. Did he regret it?

Rafe blinked, the intensity in his gaze softening as he turned his hand to squeeze hers. "No," he answered, his voice steady but with an underlying depth she couldn't ignore. "I don't regret it." He let out a breath, his gaze turning towards the ceiling, as if trying to find the right words. "I thought it was just supposed to be a game, you know? Make JJ jealous, show him that you could move on...but it's not a game anymore."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. Her mind raced. She didn't know how she felt about that—about the fact that it had started with a plan, a scheme, to get back at JJ for everything. But as the days passed, the more time she spent with Rafe, the more she realized just how much they had in common, how well they fit together.

Her fingers traced the lines of his hand as she spoke. "Neither did I," she confessed. "I started this thinking I'd get back at JJ, but...I don't know, something just changed. Somewhere along the way, it stopped being about him."

Rafe's eyes met hers again, a small smile playing at the edges of his mouth. "Yeah," he said, his voice low, but with warmth now. "I know what you mean."

They both lay there in the quiet, holding hands, letting the moment stretch out. There was something peaceful about it—something intimate that neither of them had ever expected when this all began. What started as a plan to make someone else jealous had somehow turned into something much deeper, something neither of them had seen coming.

Y/N shifted slightly, turning onto her side to face him fully. She couldn't deny how she felt anymore. The chemistry between them was undeniable, but it wasn't just that. It was the way they laughed together, the way he made her feel like she was the only person in the room, the way he protected her without even thinking.

"Rafe," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, "I think I'm falling in love with you."

Her heart raced in her chest as soon as the words left her mouth. She had said it before, in the past—I love you—but never like this. Never in this way.

Rafe's breath hitched, his chest rising and falling a little faster now, and for a moment, he didn't speak. Instead, he reached out, gently cupping her face in his hands, as if needing to touch her to make sure she was real. His thumb brushed over her cheek, soft and slow, sending a wave of warmth flooding through her.

"You're not the only one," he whispered back, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm falling for you too, Y/N."

Her breath caught in her throat. The words she had always wanted to hear from him, the words she had never expected to come, were there now. And they were real.

Rafe leaned in slowly, his lips brushing against hers in a tender kiss, soft and slow, like he was savoring it. It wasn't heated or urgent like some of their previous kisses—it was gentle, sweet, and full of the unspoken feelings they had been holding back. It was everything they hadn't been able to say out loud.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against hers, and they both just breathed, their hands still entwined, hearts racing in sync.

"I never thought I'd say this," Rafe said quietly, eyes closed as he let out a shaky breath, "but you make me feel like I'm actually worth something."

Y/N's chest tightened. She could feel the weight of his words, the vulnerability he was offering her. He had always been the guy who seemed so confident, so sure of himself, but in this moment, Y/N saw something different. She saw the cracks in his armor, the part of him that had never believed he was good enough for anything—anyone.

And Y/N? She couldn't let him think that way. Not anymore.

"You are worth everything, Rafe," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. "More than you know."

For a long time, they stayed like that—just holding each other, letting the night wash over them, the silence comfortable and full of promises. There were no expectations, no pressure, just the understanding that something had changed. Something real had blossomed between them, and neither of them was running from it anymore.

"I've never felt like this before," Rafe admitted after a while, his voice soft but full of sincerity. "With you, it feels like...like I could actually have something real. Something that isn't just a mess."

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with affection. "You have it, Rafe. You have me."

And for the first time in a long time, both of them believed it.

—

It had been a couple of weeks since the night Rafe and Y/N had finally confessed their feelings for each other. Their relationship had progressed quickly, but neither of them had hesitated. They had fallen for each other in a way that felt right—organic and effortless. The label was there, official now, and it felt like both of them had finally found what they were looking for.

But as expected, the whispers started circulating quickly. Word of their relationship had gotten out, and it wasn't long before people started noticing—especially JJ.

The evening was warm and humid, a perfect night for a party at the Boneyard. The music was thumping, people were scattered around the yard, drinking and chatting, while others danced under the string lights. Y/N, Rafe, Topper, Sarah, and a few other Kooks were lounging around a table near the fire pit, drinks in hand, chatting casually. For the first time in weeks, Y/N felt at ease. There were no whispers, no judgment about her being with Rafe—only the people she cared about and a sense of belonging she hadn't felt in a long time.

Y/N had spent most of her time with Rafe over the past couple of weeks, getting to know him in a way she never had before. She had always known the confident, rebellious side of him, but she was starting to see the softer side—the one who cared deeply and would go to any lengths to protect the people he loved. They had spent lazy days by the beach, late-night drives, and spontaneous trips to places that weren't on any map. She was falling for him harder every day, but it wasn't just the physical attraction. It was the little things—how he cared about her, how he made her feel, how he treated her like she was everything. He had given her more than she could have ever imagined.

She glanced at Rafe as they laughed with Topper, Sarah, and the others, her hand naturally finding his under the table. Their fingers intertwined, and for a moment, she just savored the feeling of being with someone who made her feel seen, understood, and loved.

But as she was about to say something to Rafe, a familiar figure appeared in her peripheral vision. She stiffened. It was JJ.

JJ stormed over, his face a mixture of anger and desperation, his jaw clenched as he walked straight toward them. Y/N's heart skipped, not knowing what to expect. She knew this confrontation was coming—it was inevitable.

Rafe noticed it too, his hand tightening around Y/N's as JJ approached, but he didn't move. He didn't flinch. He stayed calm, but Y/N could see the subtle tension in his shoulders, his jaw tight as he prepared for whatever was coming.

"Y/N," JJ said, his voice loud enough to be heard over the music. His eyes were frantic, scanning her face. "We need to talk."

Y/N narrowed her eyes, her grip on Rafe's hand tightening. She could feel the anger brewing inside her, but she was trying to keep her composure. Rafe gave her a reassuring squeeze, his thumb brushing the back of her hand gently.

"I don't think we need to talk, JJ," Y/N said coolly, her voice steady despite the boiling fury inside her. "But if you really need to hear it from me, I'll tell you. I definitely don't want to be with you anymore."

JJ's eyes widened, his face contorting in disbelief. "What the hell, Y/N?" He snapped, glancing at Rafe briefly, his expression turning hostile. "This isn't about him, is it? You don't really like him. You're just trying to get back at me for what I did. It's all a game to you, isn't it?" His voice wavered, a hint of panic creeping into his words.

Y/N could feel the heat rise in her chest, but she didn't back down. "It's not a game, JJ. It's not about you anymore. It's about me." She stood up, her voice booming over the music, silencing the chatter around them. People had stopped what they were doing, watching the confrontation unfold.

"You're such a horrible person," Y/N continued, her words sharp and cutting. "You broke me, JJ. You cheated on me with Kiara—our friend. You think I can just forget that? You think I'm some fool who's gonna let you walk back into my life after everything you did?" She took a step closer to him, her eyes locking onto his. "You humiliated me. And you have the audacity to stand here and beg for me back like nothing happened?"

The words tumbled out of her, each one heavier than the last, and with each syllable, Y/N felt like a weight was being lifted off her chest. She was finally letting him have it. All the hurt, all the frustration, the betrayal she had been carrying for weeks—it was all spilling out now, and she couldn't stop it.

"I wish I had gotten with Rafe sooner," she spat, her voice laced with venom. "Because with him, I know what it's like to be truly happy. He doesn't lie to me, he doesn't cheat on me. He shows me what love really is. What I've always deserved."

The group around them murmured, and she noticed Rafe's expression go from unreadable to... something else. He was staring at her, his eyes wide, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. His face softened, and Y/N's heart skipped a beat. This was the first time she'd seen him like this—vulnerable, open, and completely in awe of her.

"Y/N..." JJ began, his voice faltering, but he didn't get the chance to finish his sentence.

"Shut up, JJ," Y/N snapped, glaring at him. "I don't want to hear it anymore. You lost me the second you cheated. And now you're just proving how pathetic you are by begging me to take you back." She shook her head in disgust. "You don't deserve me. And you definitely don't deserve to have me back."

The words echoed in the air as Y/N turned her back on him, her chest heaving with emotion. She felt alive, empowered, and something else—something she hadn't felt in so long. Free.

The group erupted into cheers. Topper raised his drink in the air, Sarah clapped, and a few others cheered Y/N on. It was like she had just dropped a bomb, and the energy in the air shifted. The Kooks were no strangers to drama, but this felt different. This felt like the culmination of everything Y/N had been holding in.

Rafe didn't say anything at first. He just stared at her, wide-eyed, his face unreadable. And for a brief moment, Y/N wondered if she had gone too far. But then, without warning, Rafe stood up. He took her hand in his, pulling her gently away from the crowd, leading her toward the exit.

Y/N didn't say anything as she walked with him. She just wanted to get away from the scene, to take a breath and let the adrenaline settle in her chest. The confrontation had been messy, but it had been cathartic. She had finally stood up for herself, and in doing so, she felt like she had reclaimed something she thought she had lost forever.

When they reached Rafe's car, Y/N paused, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of the scene. She turned to face him, her brows furrowed in concern. "I'm sorry for making such a scene back there," she said, her voice quieter now. "I just... I couldn't hold it in anymore."

Rafe looked at her, his expression softening, and before she could say anything else, he pulled her into a kiss.

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise, but she melted into it instantly. His lips were soft against hers, the kiss slow, deep, as if he was trying to convey everything he felt in that one moment. She kissed him back with equal intensity, the heat of the night surrounding them, but the only thing she could focus on was him—the way he made her feel.

When they pulled apart, Rafe rested his forehead against hers, both of them breathing heavily. "I've never had anyone defend me like that before," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "No one's ever stood up for me like that, Y/N."

Y/N's heart swelled, the warmth of his words wrapping around her like a protective embrace. "I meant every word," she whispered. "I love you, Rafe. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

Rafe's eyes softened, a smile tugging at his lips. "I love you too, Y/N." He kissed her again, a slow, lingering kiss that held all the unspoken things between them.

In that moment, Y/N knew. She had fought for herself. She had found her strength, and now, she had found her true love too.

(divider by @kodaswrld !!)

betty’s notes ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

this was such a labour of love and i had SO much fun writing it and i’m so sorry it’s taken a while anon, i just wanted this to be PERFECT !! this has got to be in my top three faves that i’ve written and i hope it’s what you wanted <3

i’ve had this in my drafts (as well as a few more) from the past month of requests, and i’ve just been editing them all now (that’s the toughest part💔), but i’m getting there so thank you all for being so patient <3

[pixiefelixie]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ MY VALENTINE KIM SEUNGMIN

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ synopsis your 17-year-old dog, who had survived chocolate poisoning, a bicycle accident, and a raccoon fight, finally passed away peacefully—proving that even the most legendary warriors must one day retire. in your grief, you completely fell apart, only to realize your usually sarcastic boyfriend might actually be capable of being soft and supportive—something even more shocking than your dog’s immortality finally running out.

pairings: menace!seungmin x menace!reader warnings: death of a pet, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, seungmin is a sweetheart i need a seungmin for valentines day thank you very much, they're in love your honour

before seungmin was your boyfriend, he was your best friend. there was no messy talking stage, no drawn-out situationship—just years of friendship that seamlessly shifted into something more. it happened on prom night, after one unexpectedly deep conversation that peeled back layers neither of you had ever touched before. from that moment on, everything changed.

your friends had seen it coming long before you did. they used to roll their eyes and exchange knowing glances whenever you and seungmin bickered, convinced that it was only a matter of time before one of you caved. it wasn’t hard to see why. your friendship with seungmin was filled with smacking, bullying, and calling each other mean names. naturally, that dynamic carried over into your relationship as well. 

but sometimes, you wondered if seungmin ever really took you seriously. saying serious things—things that mattered—never came easy for either of you. the words always got tangled in sarcasm, deflected by jokes. even kissing was often a game, a teasing challenge where he’d lean in just to pull away at the last second, smirking as you huffed in frustration. it wasn’t that he didn’t care. it wasn’t that you didn’t care. it was just easier to dance around the depth of your feelings than to dive straight in.

one evening, after seungmin had spent nearly an hour tormenting you with relentless tickles, leaving you breathless from laughter and weak from squirming, you huffed in exasperation.

“why do you always have to be such a menace?” you asked, still catching your breath.

he grinned, eyes crinkling at the corners as he leaned back. “because i only act like this with you.” his voice was quieter now, softer, like a secret he was finally ready to share. “you’re special to me.”

for once, you didn’t have a comeback.

the city lights blurred outside the bus window, distorted by the tears welling in your eyes. you blinked rapidly, willing them away, but the tightness in your throat only grew stronger. with every stop, every jerk of the bus, your composure cracked a little more. you clenched your jaw, staring hard at your reflection in the dark glass. just a little longer. just until you got home.

finally, your stop came. you shuffled off the bus, stepping into the cool night air. the walk to your apartment felt longer than usual, each step heavier than the last. your breaths were shallow, uneven, as you swallowed back the lump in your throat. the world around you moved as if nothing had changed—cars rushing by, a couple laughing in the distance, a stray cat darting across the sidewalk—but inside, you were unraveling.

by the time you reached your door, your hands were trembling. you fumbled with the keys, cursing under your breath when they slipped from your fingers. picking them up, you took a shaky inhale and forced yourself to steady your grip. just get inside.

the lock clicked. the door swung open. and the moment it shut behind you, the weight of it all crashed down.

a broken sob slipped from your lips before you could stop it. your legs gave out, and you sank to the floor, pressing your back against the door. tears spilled over, hot and relentless, as you buried your face in your knees. your shoulders shook with every quiet sob, the sound muffled in the empty apartment.

you had held it together for so long. but now, there was no one to see. no one to hear.

you had known this day would come. you had prepared yourself for it—at least, you thought you had. but no amount of knowing could have made it hurt any less.

seventeen years. that was how long he had been by your side. longer than some of your friendships, longer than any relationship you'd ever had. he had been there for every scraped knee, every heartbreak, every lonely night you spent crying into his fur. you had practically grown up with him—your childhood, your teenage years.

he was ancient. seventeen, as a reminder. practically immortal by dog standards. he had outlived all expectations, defied every vet’s cautious prognosis. he was ancient, crusty, and had the worst breath imaginable—like a mix of old socks and something you didn’t even want to identify. his teeth were a disaster, barely hanging on in his later years, and he had been blind in one eye for the past three birthdays. and yet, somehow, he had powered through everything.

there had been that one time he ate an entire bag of chocolate chips when he was seven and walked it off like it was nothing. then, at twelve, he somehow got hit by a bicycle and bounced back as if he had merely tripped. at fourteen, he got into a fight with a raccoon over a slice of pizza (and won). he had survived stomach bugs, a tumble down the stairs, and countless other incidents that should have been his undoing. but no—he had refused to go out in some dramatic, action-packed way. 

instead, he had peacefully fallen asleep like the stubborn little shit he was.

he was gone.

you let out a shaky breath, a tear-streaked chuckle slipping past your lips. of course, that’s how he would go. no theatrics, no grand exit. just quietly, in his sleep.

it wasn’t fair, though. he had survived so much—how was he not invincible?

you wiped at your face, but the tears kept coming. you had always known this day would come, but losing him felt like losing a piece of your childhood. 

you hadn’t been there for his last moments. that was what made it worse.

moving out for university had meant leaving him behind, but at the time, it hadn’t felt like a real goodbye. it never even crossed your mind that one day, you’d walk out that door and never see him again. it was impossible to imagine a world where he wasn’t waiting by the door when you came home, tail thumping lazily against the floor, his cloudy old-man eyes lighting up at the sound of your voice.

but time had finally caught up with him, and instead of being there to hold him one last time, instead of pressing your forehead to his like you always did, whispering, you stink, you had gotten the news over the phone.

you hadn’t heard the footsteps. hadn’t noticed the faint creak of the floorboards or the quiet rustle of movement in the room. you had been too lost in your own wreckage, sobs wracking your body as you sat crumpled against the door, drowning in the weight of it all.

but then—something made you look up.

seungmin was standing there, just a few feet away. his eyes were wide, his expression frozen somewhere between confusion and alarm. his lips were parted slightly, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out where to start.

you hadn’t expected him to be here. but of course, he had a spare key. and from the way he was standing there, it was obvious—he had been in the apartment the whole time, long before you walked through the door and completely fell apart.

the realization sent a fresh wave of humiliation crashing over you. you weren’t sure how much he had seen, but judging by the way he was looking at you—like he was seeing you for the first time—you knew it was enough.

seungmin had never seen you like this before.

he had seen you annoyed, frustrated, even stressed to the point of snapping. but never this. never crumpled and shaking on the floor, barely able to catch your breath between sobs. never so completely wrecked that you couldn’t even find it in yourself to throw out a sarcastic remark or tell him to get lost.

and you knew what was about to come.

like the absolute asshole he was, he was going to crack a joke. probably something about how ugly you looked when you cried, or how your face was so red it could stop traffic. any second now, he was going to open his mouth and say the exact wrong thing, because that was just who he was. that was how he dealt with anything remotely emotional—sarcasm first, actual feelings second.

you almost wished he wasn’t there. right now, you had nothing in you to deal with a seungmin-style remark. not today. not when everything already felt like too much.

you squeezed your eyes shut, bracing yourself, but nothing came.

no snarky comment. no teasing jab.

but instead, seungmin walked over to you and he sank to the floor.

he didn’t fidget, didn’t sigh like he was uncomfortable. he just sat there, his body close but not overwhelming, his presence solid and steady. his eyes never left you, his usual sharp, mischievous gaze replaced with something softer, something that made your throat tighten even more.

another sob tore through you, and you curled in on yourself, burying your face in your knees. you felt exposed, raw in a way you had never been before. you weren’t used to this—falling apart in front of someone, letting yourself be seen like this. and seungmin… he wasn’t used to it either.

to him, you were always either a ray of sunshine or a little menace who pinched his cheeks just to annoy him. you were the one who smacked his arm when he teased you, who gave as good as you got. but now? now you were shaking, struggling to catch your breath between broken sobs, completely undone in a way he had never witnessed before.

seungmin hesitated for only a second before reaching out, his hand barely brushing against your back at first—like he was testing the waters, making sure you wouldn’t flinch away. when you didn’t, his touch grew firmer, his palm pressing against the fabric of your shirt as he slowly rubbed circles between your shoulder blades.

your sobs didn’t stop right away. they came in waves—some stronger, some weaker, but always there, shaking through you, making it impossible to catch a steady breath. you tried to quiet them, tried to swallow them down, but your body refused to cooperate.

at some point, you lifted your head, your cheeks damp, your lashes clumped together from tears. seungmin’s hand stilled, but he didn’t pull away.

and then—his eyes met yours.

there was no teasing glint, no smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. just seungmin, staring at you like he was seeing every crack, every broken piece, and accepting them without hesitation.

he didn’t say anything. he didn’t need to.

instead, he gave you the smallest smile—soft, quiet, a silent i’m here.

seungmin let out a slow breath, his fingers pressing just a little firmer against your back, grounding you. his other hand hovered for a second before he reached up, brushing his knuckles gently against your cheek. his touch was warm, deliberate—like he was trying to memorize the shape of you, trying to let you know in the only way he could that you weren’t alone in this.

“you know,” he murmured, his voice quiet but steady, “boyfriends are supposed to help with things like this.”

you blinked at him, your chest still rising and falling unevenly, your throat tight.

“this whole… carrying everything by yourself thing?” he shook his head slightly, his thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. “yeah, i’m not letting you do that.”

your lip trembled.

as if reading your mind, seungmin exhaled, his thumb brushing against your cheek again, slower this time. “you’re allowed to let me be here for you. you know that, right?”

something in you cracked at that.

a fresh wave of tears welled up, and seungmin didn’t even flinch. he just shifted closer, his hand finding yours, threading his fingers through yours, squeezing lightly.

“i’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “so cry, tell me to shut up—whatever you need. but don’t shut me out.”

seungmin’s fingers tightened around yours, firm but careful, like he was anchoring you to him without holding on too tight. his eyes never left your face, searching, waiting—until finally, he spoke again.

“come here?”

it wasn’t a command. it wasn’t even a suggestion. just a question, soft and open, giving you the choice.

your breath hitched.

you weren’t used to this. him, like this. and maybe that was what made your throat tighten even more.

you nodded, barely a movement, barely a breath. but it was all he needed.

seungmin let go of your hand only to wrap his arms around you, pulling you in like it was second nature. you barely had time to react before your face was pressed against his shoulder, the warmth of his hoodie soft against your cheek. his arms settled around your back, firm and unyielding, his fingers curling against the fabric of your shirt.

your hands hovered for a second before you clutched at the fabric of his hoodie, gripping tightly, your body still shaking with uneven breaths. seungmin only held you closer, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head.

seungmin didn’t say anything for a long time. he just held you, his fingers tracing absentminded circles against your back, like he was letting you take your time, like he wasn’t in any rush to hear whatever was weighing you down.

but eventually, he shifted slightly, just enough to glance down at you. his voice was quieter now, softer, like he was trying not to break whatever fragile thread was holding you together.

“do you… wanna tell me what happened?”

your throat was tight with the weight of it, and when you swallowed, it felt like trying to force down something solid. you wanted to tell him. you had to tell him. but how were you supposed to say it? how were you supposed to explain why you had completely fallen apart, why your entire body had given out the second you walked through that door?

your heart pounded, your throat burned, and for a moment, you considered lying. saying it was stress, a fight with a friend, anything that made more sense than the truth. you were afraid that he would find it stupid that you were sobbing over your dog who was always on the brink of death.

but you couldn’t keep it in.

your vision blurred again, fresh tears rising as you forced yourself to swallow the lump in your throat.

“my mom called,” you said, barely above a whisper. “after my lecture.”

seungmin said nothing, but you could feel the way his grip on you tightened ever so slightly. he was listening. he was bracing. his jaw tensed. you could see it, the quiet dread settling behind his eyes.

and then, with everything in you screaming to keep it in, you let it out.

“my dog.”

two words. that was all you could get out.

but seungmin understood right away.

his breath hitched—so slight, so subtle, but you caught it. his fingers stopped moving against your back, and when he blinked, it was slow, like the weight of what you had just said was pressing into him, too.

“oh.” his voice was quieter now. 

you knew what he was thinking.

this was stupid. it was just a dog. people lost pets all the time. you weren’t supposed to cry like this, to feel like something inside you had been ripped away.

frustration bubbled up through the grief, your throat tightening even more. you pulled back slightly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve as you forced out, “i know it’s dumb.” your voice was thick, shaking. “but i grew up with him, seungmin. what am i supposed to do—just smile and move on?”

his brows furrowed instantly. “no—”

“i mean, it’s just a dog, right?” you let out a bitter, shaky laugh, but it barely even sounded like you. “that’s what you think. that i’m being dramatic, that it shouldn’t hurt this bad—”

“no, no, no—what?” his hands tightened around yours, his voice firm now, almost urgent. “y/n, don’t even—”

you froze.

his expression had shifted completely—no teasing, no softness diluted by hesitation. just pure, unwavering certainty.

“you have every right to feel like this,” he said, his voice steady, his grip grounding. “this isn’t stupid. you aren’t stupid.” his brows pulled together slightly, and for a second, he looked almost upset—not at you, but for you. “you loved him. of course it hurts.”

your breath hitched.

seungmin was looking at you like your grief mattered, like it was valid.

you didn’t know what to do with that.

a fresh wave of emotion crashed over you, tangled and overwhelming, pressing into your ribs until you could barely breathe. your fingers curled against his wrist, gripping onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from unraveling completely.

“i don’t know, seungmin,” you whispered, your voice barely holding together. “i just—” your throat tightened. “i don’t know.”

his face softened, but he didn’t rush to fill the silence. he just waited, his presence steady, unwavering.

your chest ached. everything ached.

your next breath came out shakier than the last. “i’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice breaking. “i—”

“hey.” his hands shifted, firm but gentle, like he could hold you together if he just held on tight enough. “none of that.”

you swallowed hard, but the lump in your throat refused to go away.

“don’t be sorry,” he said, quieter this time.

you sniffled, shaking your head as you wiped at your face with the sleeve of his hoodie. “i don’t even know why i’m crying so much,” you mumbled, voice thick and uneven. “it’s just—he was so old, you know? like, ancient. i should’ve been ready for this.”

seungmin didn’t say anything right away. he just watched you, his expression unreadable but steady.

“i mean, seventeen years? that’s… that’s insane for a dog,” you continued, half-laughing through your tears. “he was supposed to go out dramatically—choking on something stupid or picking a fight with another raccoon, not just…” your breath hitched. “not just fall asleep and never wake up.”

“i used to joke about this all the time.” you sniffled, rubbing at your nose. “like, literally all the time. i’d always say ‘on my dog’s life’ like it wasn’t a big deal, and now—” your voice wavered, and you took a shaky breath. “now i can’t say that anymore.”

seungmin exhaled sharply and nodded. “yeah. you did say that a lot.”

you groaned, leaning back against the door and covering your face with your hands. “god, that’s so messed up.” you exhaled sharply, rubbing your temples. “i don’t know, seungmin. i don’t even know why i’m crying this much. i really really knew this was coming.”

seungmin tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read between the lines. “so what?”

you blinked at him. “what?”

“so what if you knew it was coming?” he shrugged, shifting so that he was leaning a little closer. “that doesn’t mean it’s supposed to hurt any less.”

you let out another wobbly breath, staring down at your hands. your fingers still trembled slightly, the weight of everything pressing down on your chest.

seungmin sighed and reached out, hesitating for just a second before tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “you don’t have to justify why you’re sad,” he said quietly. “you loved him. of course this sucks.”

you swallowed, your throat tight again. “yeah, but it’s not like he was—” you paused, exhaling. “it’s not like he was a person.”

seungmin’s lips pressed together, and for a second, he just looked at you. then, shaking his head slightly, he said, “so what?”

you huffed. “you keep saying that.”

“because you keep acting like you need a reason to be upset.” he gave you a pointed look. “you don’t. he was family. that’s all the reason you need.”

your breath caught.

family.

you hadn’t said it yourself, but hearing seungmin say it so plainly—like it wasn’t even up for debate—made your chest ache even more.

you bit your lip, trying to swallow down the lump in your throat, but it was useless. your vision blurred again, and before you could stop yourself, you were crying all over again.

“gosh, i hate this,” you choked out, your voice barely above a whisper. “i hate crying this much.”

seungmin exhaled through his nose, then—before you could react—he reached out and flicked your forehead.

you yelped, your hands flying up to rub the spot where he’d hit you. “ow! what the hell, seungmin?”

he just raised an eyebrow at you. “you hate crying, but you’re crying anyway. so what’s the point of hating it?”

you glared at him through your tears. “what kind of messed-up logic is that?”

“the kind that makes you stop talking nonsense.” he leaned back against the wall, stretching his arms behind his head. “look, if you’re gonna cry, then cry. don’t fight it.”

you sniffled, pouting. “easy for you to say. you don’t cry.”

seungmin scoffed. “that’s not true. you think just ‘cause i’m a boy, i don’t cry?” he shot you a fake offended look, crossing his arms. “that’s kinda sexist, don’t you think?”

you rolled your eyes, sniffling. “no, that’s not i meant. you’re just… seungmin. that’s why”

seungmin tilted his head, lips pressing together. for a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared at you with an expression you couldn’t quite place. “well, i’ll tell you right now… looking at you like this is making me kinda—”

but he stopped.

your breath hitched. “what?”

“nothing.”

“seungmin.”

“drop it.” he huffed, looking away so fast it was almost comical.

and that’s when you saw it—the telltale redness creeping up his ears, the way his eyes looked just a little too glossy, like he was barely holding it together.

your mouth parted slightly. “wait, seriously?”

seungmin exhaled sharply through his nose. “don’t push it.”

but you weren’t even teasing anymore. you just stared at him, chest tightening, because somehow, knowing that he was feeling this with you—that this was hurting him, too—made the grief just a little more bearable.

you exhaled softly, the last of your resistance slipping away as you leaned against him, your head resting against his shoulder. seungmin didn’t move at first, but then—slowly, almost hesitantly—he turned back to look at you.

for a moment, neither of you spoke. you just sat there, breathing, the weight of everything settling between you. then, without a word, he shifted slightly and rested his head against yours, his warmth pressing into you in a way that made your throat tighten all over again.

you felt him move, just barely, and when you glanced up, you caught the way he wiped at his eye with the sleeve of his hoodie—like he was trying to be discreet about it. like he wasn’t supposed to be feeling this much either.

the realization hit you all at once: you and seungmin, two of the world’s most unserious people, were sitting here—silent, exhausted, crying into each other.

and somehow… it didn’t feel sad. at least, not just sad.

it felt real.

it felt like something deeper than grief, something bigger than just missing your dog.

it felt like you weren’t alone.

"please never leave me," you whispered, your voice barely a thread, fragile, like you're afraid if you speak too loudly it might shatter something between you two.

he tilted his head, his expression gentle, but there’s an edge of confusion in his eyes. “why would you ever think i’d leave you?” he asked, his voice calm and steady.

but you couldn’t stop the words that rush out next. they spilled from you in a torrent, raw and vulnerable, as if you were confessing something you��ve been holding inside for too long. "it’s only a matter of time before you die too. everyone is going to leave. i don’t want—” your voice cracked. “i don’t want anyone to leave.”

seungmin didn’t say anything. his silence wasn’t empty—it was heavy, filled with something unspoken, something that lingered between you like the last notes of a song fading into quiet.

“can i just… go first? like—die.”

seungmin stilled beside you. his head turned, his gaze sharp, his expression unreadable. for a second, he didn’t say anything—just studied you, like he was trying to figure out if you were joking.

then, he scoffed. “no.”

you blinked, startled by how immediate and certain he sounded. “what do you mean, ‘no’?”

“i mean no. that’s dumb. don’t say stuff like that.”

your chest tightened, and your fingers curled harder into the fabric of your sleeves. “but i wouldn’t be able to handle it if i didn’t,” you murmured. “if i had to be the one left behind. i just—” you took a shaky breath. “i don’t want to be the one who has to keep going without everyone else.”

seungmin’s jaw tensed, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. he just sat there, letting your words settle in the quiet between you.

then, with a sigh, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “do you think i would?” he asked, his voice low but firm.

you hesitated. “…what?”

he turned his head slightly, glancing at you. “do you think i’d be fine if you went first?”

the question caught you off guard. you stared at him, struggling to process the idea, the weight of it pressing against your ribs.

seungmin let out a soft, humorless laugh. “you’re not special, you know.” his voice wasn’t harsh, but there was something sharp underneath it. “you think you’re the only one who’d be wrecked? you think i’d just—what, move on?”

your breath caught.

“don’t be stupid,” he muttered, shaking his head. “i’d be pissed. and sad. and probably really, really pissed at everyone around me.” he huffed. “so no, you can’t go first. because i don’t want to deal with that.”

you stared at him, your throat tight. “seungmin—”

“too bad,” he interrupted, like that was the end of the discussion. then, softer, “you’re not leaving me either.”

you let out a small, breathy laugh against his hoodie. “god,” you mumbled, voice still thick with the remnants of your crying. “how are you so bad at comforting, ” you sniffled, shifting slightly against him. “but… somehow, i feel better anyway.”

there was a beat of silence before you felt his chest rise with a quiet sigh. “sounds like a you problem.”

your lips parted in disbelief. “are you serious right now?”

he hummed, completely unfazed. “you’ve just got bad taste in comfort.”

you pulled back slightly, just enough to glare up at him. “that’s not a thing, you ass.”

he raised an eyebrow. “then explain why you’re still clinging to me.”

your face heated, but you refused to let him win. “because i need it. and you just—” you swallowed, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric of his hoodie. “happen to be here.”

you exhaled softly and, without thinking, slumped forward, resting your head against seungmin’s chest. his hoodie was warm, the fabric slightly worn, and beneath it, you could hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in. his chin rested lightly on top of your head, and his hand found the small of your back.

seungmin blinked at you, then—without warning—let out a quiet laugh. it wasn’t mocking, not really, just a small, breathy chuckle. “why are we like this?” he asked, shaking his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes.

you frowned. “like what?”

“like…” he gestured vaguely between the two of you. “this. one second, we’re crying, and the next, you’re calling me an ass. it’s weird.”

you huffed. “it’s not weird.”

seungmin gave you a pointed look.

“…okay, maybe a little,” you admitted, sniffling. “but i don’t know. it just works.” you hesitated for a moment, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his hoodie. then, softer this time, you murmured, “and i don’t want that to change.”

seungmin stilled slightly, his head tilting just enough for him to look down at you. his expression wasn’t teasing anymore—just calm, steady. “it won’t.” then, without any hesitation, seungmin added, “as long as you know i love you.”

your breath caught, warmth spreading through your chest. you looked up at him, surprised but not really, because of course he’d say it like that—so casual, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

and maybe it was.

you exhaled softly smiling slightly, then leaned up just enough to bump your forehead lightly against his. “i love you too.”

then, before you could process it, he leaned in and kissed you.

it wasn’t rushed or urgent—just slow, steady, like he had all the time in the world. like this was something he’d thought about before but never quite let himself do until now. his hand found your cheek, fingers warm against your skin, tilting your face just enough to deepen the kiss.

you melted into him without thinking, your hands gripping the front of his hoodie to keep yourself grounded. the warmth of him, the quiet steadiness of the moment—it made your chest ache.

when he finally pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you let out a soft, shaky breath.

“i’m glad you found me like this,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

seungmin didn’t hesitate. “i’ll always find you.”

your chest tightened, something deep and aching curling in your ribs. you opened your eyes to meet his, and for once, there was no teasing, no playful sarcasm—just him, just seungmin, looking at you like you were something worth holding onto.

“i mean it,” he continued, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. “no matter what. no matter where. i’ll always be with you.”

you let out a quiet breath before he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead. then, he pulled you in again, arms wrapping around you like he could shield you from the world, like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

and for the first time in what felt like forever, you believed him.

epilogue.

the scent of vanilla lingered in seungmin’s room at the dorm, mingling with the faint chill of february air slipping in through the window. the soft glow of fairy lights bathed everything in a golden hue, casting flickering shadows against the walls. it should’ve felt like any other night. but it didn’t.

because you were here with him.

seungmin turned the baseball cap over in his hands, his fingers tracing the stitching of a little heart next to his name. it was his present for valentine’s day, simple and classic—just his style. you’d been nervous about whether he’d actually like it, but judging by the way he kept admiring it, you had nothing to worry about.

“this is so nice,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. his thumb brushed over the small embroidered heart hidden on the inside, and a slow, satisfied smile tugged at his lips. “really nice.”

your stomach did an embarrassing little flip. “you like it?”

seungmin scoffed, glancing up at you with a look that made your breath catch. “obviously.”

and then, with that effortless ease of his, he slipped it onto his head—backwards, of course. like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. like he knew that the casual way he ran a hand through his dark hair, adjusting the fit, was going to make your heart trip over itself.

you swallowed. hard.

“that’s not how you’re supposed to wear it,” you muttered, if only to distract yourself.

seungmin let out a soft laugh, adjusting the cap one more time before pushing off his desk.

you barely had time to process the way he closed the space between you before he was kissing you—soft, sure, like it was second nature. his hands found your waist, tugging you just a little closer, and you barely managed to catch your breath before melting into him.

when he pulled back, his lips still ghosting over yours, he murmured, “thank you, y/n.”

your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice. you met his gaze, your hands still gripping the fabric of his sweater. “of course,” you whispered.

his lips curled into a smile. “you ready for yours?” seungmin took a step back, tilting his head toward the door. “come on,” he said, nodding for you to follow.

you frowned. “where are we going?”

he didn’t answer, just grabbed your wrist gently and tugged you along. his grip was warm, steady, and despite your confusion, you let him lead you out of your room and into the dimly lit hallway.

before you could ask again, from felix’s room, you heard a hushed, “shh.”

you blinked, confused, and turned to seungmin. without a word, he nudged the door open, and the sight inside made your breath catch. felix was crouched on the floor, his hands cradling the tiniest, cutest puppy you had ever seen. 

a soft golden ball of fur with round eyes blinked up at felix, its tiny nose twitching as it snuggled closer into him. the moment it spotted movement, its little tail wagged.

your heart squeezed, and you gasped, stepping forward on instinct. “oh my goodness.”

felix grinned while walking over to you, then carefully—almost reverently—placed the tiny puppy in your arms. you barely processed the movement, too busy marveling at the warmth and softness of the small body now curled against your chest.

“oh my goodness,” you whispered again, cradling the little thing like it was made of glass. the puppy let out a tiny sigh, its nose nudging your sweater, already settling into you like it belonged there. you tore your gaze away just long enough to look up at him. “he’s perfect. he looks just like—”

felix nodded. “seungmin made sure of that.” he glanced over at seungmin, who was standing beside you with his hands in his pockets, watching your reaction with a satisfied smirk. “i don’t think you realize how picky he was about this whole thing.”

you blinked, looking at seungmin in surprise. “really?”

felix scoffed. “oh, absolutely. he made me visit like five different places with him just to find one that looked exactly like your old dog.”

your heart squeezed. you looked back down at the puppy, feeling an overwhelming rush of emotion. you turned to him, eyes soft. “you did that?”

seungmin rolled his eyes, like he was trying to play it off, but his ears were tinged pink. “well, yeah. i wasn’t gonna get you just any dog.”

you let out a soft laugh, still in awe. “i can’t believe you.”

felix then chimed in. “he’s got a ton of energy, you’re gonna have your hands full.”

you glanced down at the puppy, who was now settled in your arms, and smiled. “i don’t mind.”

felix grinned. “didn’t think you would.” he patted seungmin on the shoulder before stepping toward the door. “alright, i’ll leave you to it.”

you looked up. “felix, seriously. thank you.”

felix waved a hand. “yeah, yeah, just make sure seungmin doesn’t pretend he did all the work.” he shot seungmin a pointed look before slipping out of the room, leaving you alone with him—and your new puppy.

overwhelmed, you looked up at seungmin, your heart racing. he was watching you with that familiar, amused expression, lips twitching before he rolled his eyes.

“happy valentine’s day, you freak.”

you made a sound that wasn’t quite human, still in shock. “thank you, thank you, thank you! i love him!”

seungmin barely had time to react before you surged forward, wrapping your arm around him—careful not to squish the tiny dog between you. you pressed a quick, eager kiss to his lips, catching him slightly off guard, but he recovered fast, letting out a small laugh against your mouth.

“you’re so welcome,” he murmured, his hands finding your waist.

still buzzing with excitement, you pulled back just enough to nuzzle into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. he smelled warm and familiar—like fresh laundry and something unmistakably him.

“i can’t believe you did this,” you whispered against his skin, voice thick with emotion. “you’re actually the best.”

seungmin scoffed, though his grip on you tightened. “obviously.”

“i don’t know how to thank you,” you murmured.

he shrugged, his fingers slipping under the hem of your sweater, just barely grazing your skin. “just don’t forget who your favorite is.”

you blinked, then smirked. “between you and the dog?” seungmin gave you a warning look, but you only hummed playfully, tapping your chin like you were seriously debating it. “i mean… he’s really cute, seungmin.”

seungmin narrowed his eyes, pulling back slightly. “alright, that’s it. i’m returning him.”

your jaw dropped. “what? no!” you clutched the tiny puppy closer to your chest protectively, like seungmin was actually about to pry him from your arms.

“take it back,” he demanded, arms crossing over his chest.

you blinked at him, tilting your head slightly, all wide eyes and innocence. “take what back?”

seungmin inhaled sharply, as if willing himself to be patient. “don’t play with me, y/n.”

you barely held back a grin, feigning confusion. “i’m sorry minnie, i really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were doing this. “last chance,” he muttered, stepping closer.

you bit your lip, letting the anticipation build. then, just to push your luck a little further, you whispered, “never.” you giggled, reaching out to poke his cheek.

seungmin swatted your hand away. “i surprised you with the cutest valentine’s day gift ever, and you’re over here debating whether the dog is better than me.”

still cradling the sleepy puppy, you tilted your head, grinning. “you’re really worked up over this, huh?”

“i am not—” seungmin cut himself off, exhaling sharply before dragging a hand down his face. then, quieter, he muttered, “i just want to hear you say it.”

your heart clenched at how utterly serious he sounded, despite the dramatic display.

softening, you reached out, wrapping your free arm around his beck and pulling him close. “you are, you idiot,” you murmured against his chest.

seungmin stilled against you for a moment before pulling back just enough to look at you, his expression unreadable. “i’m what?”

you blinked up at him, already biting back a smile. “my favorite.”

his eyes narrowed slightly, as if trying to decide whether you were messing with him again. “say it again.”

you rolled your eyes but indulged him anyway, pressing a hand against his chest. “you’re my favorite, seungmin.”

a slow, satisfied smirk tugged at his lips. “damn right, i am.”

you huffed, laughing softly. “god, you’re so annoying.”

seungmin rolled his eyes like you were being slow on purpose. “i love you too, idiot.”

you opened your mouth to argue—just out of sheer principle—but he kissed you before you could, effectively shutting you up.

and, really, you weren’t complaining

[little-jana]

"Fractured Edges"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: angst

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: raised voices, emotional distress, fighting, case-talk, self-doubt, unresolved conflict, no comfort, mentions of Maeve

Summary: Spencer’s anger and fear explode after you put yourself in danger without telling him.

You had never seen Spencer Reid this angry before.

Not when cases went sideways. Not when he was on the receiving end of ridicule. Not even when his own life was at risk.

But now? Now, as he stood in front of you, his hands clenched into fists, his chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths—you realized there was an entirely different side of Spencer you had never seen before. One that wasn’t built from logic and facts, but from raw, unfiltered emotion.

And it terrified you.

"You lied to me," he snapped, his voice like glass breaking against concrete.

Your stomach twisted. "Spencer, I didn’t—"

"Don't." He shook his head, his jaw tight, his entire body rigid with barely restrained fury. "Don't insult me by pretending like it wasn’t a lie."

You swallowed hard, the weight of the situation settling deep in your chest. "I didn't tell you because I knew how you'd react."

His laugh was hollow, bitter. "Oh, so you knew I’d be upset? That makes it better?" He took a step forward, his eyes burning into yours. "What else have you kept from me?"

The question hit you harder than it should have.

"It wasn’t about you, Spencer," you said, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I made a choice, and I stand by it."

"A choice?" His voice wavered, disbelief coloring every syllable. "You put yourself in danger, you took risks that could’ve—" He cut himself off, running a shaking hand through his hair.

You knew he was struggling to keep his composure. To hold back the fear that had transformed into anger.

And somehow, that hurt more than the words themselves.

"I did what I had to do," you said softly, but the words felt weak.

Spencer let out a sharp exhale, pacing now, hands gripping his hair in frustration. "God, you sound just like—" He stopped himself.

Your stomach dropped. "Like who?"

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t have to.

Maeve.

The name sat between you like an open wound, fresh and bleeding.

You sucked in a breath. "Spencer..."

"Don’t," he said again, but this time it wasn’t sharp—it was broken.

You wanted to reach for him, to tell him that this wasn’t the same, that he wasn’t losing you, that you weren’t her.

But the look in his eyes told you it didn’t matter.

He felt like he was losing you. And maybe, in a way, he already had.

“Tell me why you did it.”

The demand was quiet, but it didn’t lack force. Spencer had stopped pacing, his gaze pinning you to the spot.

You hesitated. He deserved an answer. You owed him that much.

But how could you explain it to him?

How could you put into words the way your stomach had twisted when you realized the danger—how it wasn’t a reckless decision but a necessary one? How could you explain that if you hadn’t done what you did, people would have died?

That he could have died?

You forced yourself to meet his gaze. “Because it was the only option.”

“That’s bullshit,” Spencer snapped. His voice was sharper now, cutting through the tension like a blade. “There are always options. You just didn’t trust me enough to find another one.”

Your throat tightened. “That’s not true—”

“Isn’t it?” He let out a bitter laugh, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t name. “You didn’t tell me. You didn’t talk to me. You just—just decided without even thinking about what it would mean for the rest of us.”

For me.

The words weren’t spoken, but you heard them anyway.

You took a step forward. “Spencer, I wasn’t trying to shut you out.”

“But you did.” His voice wavered. “You did, and now you’re standing here, acting like I’m the one being unreasonable for being angry about it.”

You flinched. “I don’t think you’re being unreasonable.”

“No?” His arms crossed tightly over his chest, his entire posture defensive, bracing. “Then why do you keep acting like this is something we can just move past?

Because you had to.

Because if you didn’t, if you stayed in this place of hurt and anger, you weren’t sure you’d ever come back from it.

But looking at Spencer now, at the way his hands were shaking, at the way his breath hitched when he tried to speak—you realized that maybe he wasn’t sure if he could come back from this either.

“I was scared,” you admitted. The words felt foreign, raw. “I knew what I was doing was dangerous, but it wasn’t about shutting you out, Spencer. It wasn’t about you.”

His jaw clenched. “That’s the problem, though, isn’t it?”

You frowned. “What?”

His voice was quieter now, but the anger hadn’t faded—it had only settled, simmering beneath the surface.

“I wasn’t part of the equation,” he said. “You didn’t think about what this would do to me. To the team. You just decided that you’d handle it alone.”

The words stung.

You wanted to argue. To tell him that he was wrong, that you had thought about him—about all of them.

But had you?

Had you really stopped, for even a second, to think about what it would feel like for them to watch you put yourself in danger without so much as a word of warning?

Your silence must have given you away because Spencer exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That’s what I thought.”

“Spence, I—”

“You keep saying it wasn’t about me.” His voice cracked, and that was what finally shattered you. “But don’t you get it? It is about me. About all of us. About what happens when we lose someone else because they thought they could do it alone.”

He didn’t have to say her name.

The ghost of Maeve lingered between you, unspoken but deeply felt.

And now, you had wedged yourself into the same space—another person he cared about, another person who made a choice without him, another person who could have been taken away just as easily.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered, and suddenly, it wasn’t anger in his eyes anymore. It was fear.

A deep, bone-deep kind of fear that made your chest ache.

You took a shaky breath. “You won’t.”

His lips pressed together in a thin line. “How can you be so sure?”

Because you weren’t.

And neither was he.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and fragile, like a thread pulled too tight.

Finally, Spencer inhaled sharply and took a step back. It was small, barely noticeable, but it felt like a chasm opening between you.

“I need time,” he said.

Your heart clenched. “Spencer—”

“I need time,” he repeated, and this time, his voice was steady. Firm.

Final.

And then he turned, walking away before you could stop him.

You didn’t chase after him.

You didn’t call out his name.

Because for the first time since you had known him, you weren’t sure if he wanted to be caught.

And that?

That hurt more than anything else.

[thedailydescent]

Thank you for being civil in your reply; that is rare to see on here.

While the examples you have provided have definitely happened, and you have full right to do what you want with your money, if you have suspicions but not definite proof to back them, you should not be reporting fundraisers or encouraging everyone not to donate. If there's even a possibility you could be hurting a family's chance of survival, just ignore and move on! Turn off your dms to people you don't follow if necessary. Gazans have a hard enough time as it is. English is not their first language and they are being forced to use a platform they are not familiar with, liking using google translate or a copy-paste template, which looks awkward but that's what they have to contend with. That's what the actual Gaza vetters on here are there to do- they speak the language and can translate for you.

Don't use someone's post to give examples of when you have been previously scammed either. Make your own post if you want to do that. $16,000 is also not enough to live on for a family, especially one in Gaza. In Gaza, not only is there is a gofundme transfer fee, there is also the commission fee they have to pay in Gaza to withdraw money from the bank, which can be as high as 30%. So if they are withdrawing $100, they'll only get $70 of it. And this is on top of the extortionate grocery prices. $200 for a bag of flour, and it might not even be good.

I am not familiar if Issa Amash is hosting 6 families include Yahya's or not. But just fyi when transferring the Arabic spelling of a name to English, the results can vary. Issa Amash could have different abbreviations of the same name. There could be more than one Issa Amash. It's just something to keep in mind.

No donations for more than 9 days 🚨🇵🇸

Please don't stop supporting my family. We still need you so that I can rebuild my destroyed home, treat my baby Mira outside Gaza, and live a decent life for me and my children.

And to compensate them for all the pain they suffered in the war

I still live in tents in cold weather It was a very rainy night. The tents of most people living in tents were flooded ❄️⛺️

Please donate to us 🙏❄️⛺️

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #110 )

[randomshyperson]

Wanda, touching, 20.

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

prompt: bandaging/stitching up an injury | warnings: kissing, fluff.

The pain from small cuts is minor and easy to ignore with the close proximity of your faces.

Wanda is so busy checking your focused features on the task of preparing her bandages, that she only realizes she’s staring when she catches the teasing smile you’re not bothering to hide.

She feels her face warming, but she doesn’t look away.

“It doesn’t take a mind reader to know what you’re thinking.” You mumble, a bandage stained with her blood folded between your fingers. The item is discarded in the trash under the iron desk, and Wanda misses your gaze on her when you have to pull away to do so.

“It doesn’t.” She retorts. “You never needed powers to read me anyway.”

You grin at yourself with her words, adjusting the chair near the counter to sit down. You shuffle your feet so that you’re sitting across from her, at an uneven height due to the counter Wanda is leaning against. Looking up at her face, your hands move to play with the hooks of her jeans.

“You think I’m mad at you.” You say, looking her in the eyes. Wanda swallows, but your expression softens and she feels a significant amount of the weight leave her shoulders when you shake your head no, signaling that you really aren't. There's a pause before you continue speaking. "It's true that I wish you would be more careful. But I will never be mad at you for doing your job."

You pull the hooks gently, and her body moves forward. She waits for you to plant your feet on the floor so the chair doesn't sag backward under the extra weight once she sits on your lap.

She almost gets too distracted to talk, but still manages to mumble: "You say you're not angry, but I can feel your energy."

Your arms wrap around her, and the warmth is quite welcome. But even though you’re looking at her face, you don't focus on her eyes. You seem unable to ignore the bruises across her face. Wanda knows how much you hate seeing her hurt. So she adds: "And I also don't need to read your mind to know when you lie to me."

You sigh, a small smile forming on your lips then. "Maybe I cursed Steve on the way here." You murmur, arms hugging her a little tighter. Wanda lets her hands rest on your shoulders, unable to resist the urge to lean towards you. With narrowed eyes, you add: "Maybe I even punched him."

The confession comes half an inch from her lips, and Wanda ends up chuckling against your mouth. You pout when she pulls away and pats your shoulder in reprimand.

There are murmurs about it being no one’s fault, about the job being hard or something, but you stand up with a sudden urgency. Wanda chokes on an affected sigh as she is pressed against the counter, your mouth firm and hungry on hers.

Neither she nor you remember where you are, or how visible you are when with your mouth pressed into hers, tongues dancing and fighting for dominance. Everything is background when you're together. At least, for a moment.

Someone clears their throat behind you, and suddenly she does remember that you’re both in the compound’s infirmary and the glass windows of that room too.

You hide your state with a rusky groan and a crossing of your arms, but Wanda feels very self-conscious about the flush on her neck and chest. It’s easy to hate the cleavage of her outfit at times like these.

"Bruce thinks it's best to run some tests on you, Maximoff. At least an x-ray, just in case." Natasha lets you both know, a small smile playing on her lips at interrupting such an inappropriate make-out session in the middle of the day. "Will you give us a minute, Miss Stark, or should I wait until you get your medical degree to run the tests yourself?" 

You roll your eyes at the teasing. Natasha will definitely mention to your dad that you've been skipping classes again to take care of your girlfriend, but you steal another kiss from Wanda on your way out anyway. 

She's worth every bit of trouble.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

Huge thanks to hattiemagix for commissioning this!

Doey & motherly fem reader

★ When Doey first met the reader, he was immediately wary of her. Her kind nature was unfamiliar and he couldn't tell if it was an act or not, it made him suspicious. Even though he liked it when you were around he tried to keep his distance. Can you really blame him? He’s met a lot of people who’ve pretended to be nice, only for them to end up hurting him. 

★ Doey tested the reader's boundaries to see if her kindness was genuine. Slowly challenging her patience. "Let's see how long she can keep this up," he thought, observing her reactions closely. Shurely she would slip and show her true colors. 

★ Even though it was a tad annoying, you were still patient with him. You never raised your voice or showed anger, even when he was acting difficult. Whether it was explaining something for the hundredth time or dealing with his defensive attitude, you remained steadfast in your kindness. 

★ He started to realize that the reader genuinely cared for his well-being. Something he’s not at all used to. Doey never expected to meet someone, an ex-employee no less, who would try so hard to make him feel safe. He misses having someone to look after him, it's been so long, he almost forgot what it's like to be cared for. 

★ After that he quickly got used to you, your presence became a comfort. As the days in the factory slowly passed he grew even closer to you. Soon enough he started seeing you as an adoptive mother. But he decided to keep that to himself, for now at least, he wouldn't want to make you feel uncomfortable.  

★ If anything were to happen to you, he would be devastated. If you need to leave the Safe Haven, Doey becomes visibly anxious. He begins clinging to you, reluctant to let you go. He asks you to make a promise to stay safe and be careful. The thought of losing you fills him with dread."Promise me you'll be careful, okay? I need to know you'll come back safe” 

★ After defeating the Doctor and the Prototype you bring him, and many of the other toys, home with you. Because of course you had to bring Kissy, Poppy and those who called the Safe Haven home out of the factory where they were starving. 

★ Doey feels a mix of emotions—relief, uncertainty, and a bit of excitement—as he steps into the reader's home "This is... home?" he asks, looking at the various objects you have hung up and strewn about. “Of course” you declare, looking at him as he turns his head. Doey’s expression unreadable, “that is, If you want it to be.” you quickly add. 

★ And of course he stays with you! Where else would he go? He's so attached to you he couldn't imagine living anywhere else. By this point, it was clear as day that he needed you around. The way he beams when you compliment him or how he always lingers by you gave it away.

★ After spending the past 10 years in the abandoned shell of a factory, Doey is very eager to make up for lost time. He's really excited to try something new. You take the opportunity to teach him various domestic skills. His new favorite thing is baking with you!

★ He still has nightmares about the factory. When Doey wakes up from a nightmare he's immediately disoriented and filled with fear, the trauma of the factory still lingering in his mind. His breathing is heavy and a sense of panic is overwhelming him. His panicked cries always wake you up.  

★ You’re quick to comfort him, rushing to his side and hugging him close "It was just a bad dream. You're okay, and nothing can hurt you here." your gentle touch helped to ground him, "It's okay, Doey. I'm here. You're safe now." it's working, because now his cries have dissolved into a quieter whimper.

★ To help Doey calm down, the reader reaches for his favorite book, "The Adventures of Word Wizard." She knows how much the story means to him and starts reading aloud, her voice steady and comforting. As she continues, doey feels his eyelids grow heavy. 

★ Just before he falls asleep, Doey murmurs softly, "Goodnight, Mom." The reader smiles softly, her heart melting from Doey's words. For the rest of the night, he sleeps soundly, knowing he's safe and cared for.

[noodlemoondle]

Promise Me You Won’t Cry Anymore

Zayne x Reader

word count: 800

summary: just a lil blurb about how Zayne reacts to accidentally making you cry

tags: not proof read!!, hurt/comfort, fluff, mentions of medicine. just zayne being a worried doctor really

authors note: hello again guys! ੭ ᐕ)੭*⁾⁾ I fully wrote this on a whim rn in like 10 minutes so pls take that into account lolol. (also it’s another hurt/comfort lolol it’s my fav tag and i don’t have any ideas for anything else) i also wanted this to be like a rlly short blurb but i think im genuinely unable to write anything that isn’t like around 1k words (´；ω；｀) i don’t really have anything else to say besides i hope i get motivation to write one of the million fic ideas i have saved in my notes soon.

as always hope you enjoy!! ✧*。٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و✧*。

Zayne is a strong man. Emotionally strong that is. The countless years he spent both studying and working in the medical field gave him thick skin and it made it difficult for things to truly get to him. It takes a lot for something to hit him in the heart and truly bring him down.

However, the one thing he absolutely can’t stand is you crying. Something about it he doesn’t truly know what. Something about the way your eyes tilt downwards with your head soon following, the small tremble of your lips he knows you’re fighting to keep still, the tear-glazed distant look in your eyes that just shows how hard you’re fighting back tears, nothing breaks his heart more.

Zayne knows, he knows he can be oh so overbearing when it comes to your health and safety, but god he can’t help it. Nothing worries him more than your, in his opinion fragile, wellbeing. Everyday on his drive to the hospital he prays to whatever god is out there that will listen to him that he won’t see you during his shift, at least not you being wheeled in through the back doors, completely unconscious on a gurney. He can’t even handle the thought of it.

It leads to his constant nagging over you. His constant worry. His constant lectures and scoldings whenever you even slightly overlook your health.

Which led to here. Another conversation that began as an overbearing reminder to take your medicine, only for Zayne to quickly discover you haven’t been taking recently. You’ve already had a tiring and stressful day and didn’t have any energy to fight back at him. So instead, you just stood there in front of him. Only looking at him as he continued his scolding on how important it was to take your medicine, why you need it, and never forgetting to remind you of just how fragile you truly are.

All you could do was look back at him, and just take everything he had to say without a fight. Not like you had the energy to speak anyways. To be honest, you didn’t even have the energy to think, or to even listen to him in that matter. All you really heard is just his upset voice, saying what?You’re not really sure, but his tone was enough to make you feel inferior.

Zayne didn’t notice. He honestly couldn’t. He was too caught up in his worries and imagination of what could possibly happen to you to be able to properly see you, but in the middle of his rant he did. He saw the look on your face that absolutely breaks his heart and makes him want to fall to his knees. He saw your head hung low, you fighting your trembling bottom lip, your downcast, distant eyes, that had tears in the brink of flowing through your pretty eyelashes and falling onto those darling cheeks he loves; especially when he sees them rise and round out whenever you smile.

And when he sees it, he stops. Instantly.

There is a quick moment of silence where he hesitates. Where he hears your uneven, haggard breathing and mentally scolds himself, grimacing at his actions.

He takes a few steps over to you and leans down to hold your face in his hands. Lifting it up so he can see you properly, however your eyes don’t follow and remain locked onto your fuzzy-socked feet. His gentle hold, contrasting his previous tone made it so difficult to keep it together. Just as he noticed a tear welling up to fall from your eyes he gently kisses it away before it could reach any further than the corner of your eye.

He softly rubs the apple of your cheek trying to coax you to bring your eyes up to him.

“Look at me… Please?” Zayne says ever so gently.

You knew if you did you wouldn’t be able to hold back your tears anymore, but the soft rub of his thumb brings your eyes up to look back at him. The moment you do, his eyes soften in guilt and regret, a slight frown forming on his lips when he sees your eyes welling up with more tears.

He slightly stands up, just enough to place a soft, delicate kiss on your forehead as he whispers against it.

“I’m sorry.”

Then you can’t hold it anymore. A soft gasp for air leaves your lips as tears begin to flow from your eyes. Zayne slowly pulls you into his chest, holding your head and running his fingers up and down your back in an effort to comfort you. In an effort to get you to forgive him. In an effort to get you to stop.

Guilt spreads throughout his whole body as he listens to your sobs and feels your tears wetting his shirt. He whispers apologies to you, offering soft kisses on the top of your head in between each one.

He’ll make it up to you. He doesn’t know exactly how yet, but he will. He’ll do anything. Whatever it takes to stop the flow of tears and broken sobs. Whatever it takes to see those darling, rosy cheeks rise up with the sweetest, brightest smile he’s ever seen. He’d do it in a heartbeat; because there is nothing, nothing Dr. Zayne can’t stand more than you crying.

[embbarnes]

This took me so long I'm so sorryyyyy. I meant to do this like, last week. I've just been busy prepping for my new addition lol.

I adored this one, you did such a good job writing him and I think this is one of my fav Logan fics from you!

Like always my thoughts and such are below the cut ~

He hates how commercialized the holiday is thanks to the multi-billion dollar corporations that fill department stores with trinkets the second that Christmas is over. He hates all of the pressure and unrealistic expectations that come with planning the perfect date. And as much as he hates to admit it to himself, he hates that it's a stark reminder that he's just as alone in this universe as he had been in the last one.

My first thought was yes, I feel this hard.

He'd never admit it aloud, but just maybe the fact that he can’t keep his thoughts from straying to a specific next door neighbor certainly doesn’t help. He hates to use the word crush at his grown age, but he can’t really think of a better word for it. If it’s not a crush, why else would he be wondering what your plans are for this evening? Why else would he feel the unmistakable, undeniable twinge of jealousy when he thinks of the mere possibility of you spending your night in the arms of someone other than him?

I love a jealous Logan. I love the neighbor trope so much too, it was one I never really thought about until reading your fics.

“Oh, no. Not a date,” you correct him quickly with a bashful grin. “Well, maybe. Is it considered a date if I’m dining by myself?” “You’re going to dinner by yourself?” Logan asks, unable to hide the surprise in his tone. “Looking like that?”

Ay ay ay...Logan, don't judge. Sometimes it's nice to go out and treat yourself

All it takes is one look at the table that the host takes the two of you to for Logan to realize that he has indeed never had Korean barbecue. You don’t appear to be the slightest bit confused so he assumes that the circular grill built into the middle of the table is normal, though he’s never seen anything quite like it in a restaurant before. You giggle when you notice the curious expression on his face. “It’s kinda like hibachi,” you begin. “Except instead of someone cooking it in front of you, you cook it yourself.” Logan takes in the array of various meats on the tray to the left of him. You pick up a piece of what appears to be some kind of beef with a pair of tongs, and place it on the grill. It sizzles, and he watches as you add a few more pieces of meat onto the hot surface. “Isn’t that kinda the whole point of going to a restaurant? To have someone else cook the food for you?” He asks the question as gently as he can, not wanting to hurt your feelings. He’s just happy to be here with you – even if he doesn’t fully understand the appeal of going to a restaurant to pay to cook your own food.

I've never been to a place like this or had Korean bbq at all and my first thought was the same as his, but I've always wanted to try it lol.

“Last week, when we got stuck in the elevator together,” you begin in a low voice. He swears that your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second before meeting his gaze once more. “Were you nervous?”

She's better than me I'd NEVER work myself to ask him this lmaoo

“Do you wanna come up to my place?” you breathe, nodding your head in the direction of the apartment building. “What? You don’t wanna come to mine and hang out with Al?” he teases, nudging you in the direction of the building’s entrance. “As tempting as that sounds…” You trail off, following his lead. The second that the elevator door comes to a close, his hands are back on you. He backs you up against the wall, his hands gripping your hips as you spread your legs enough to allow one of his thick thighs in between them. This time, he’s the one who kisses you, wasting no time in slipping his tongue between your lips. You whimper into the kiss, your tongue fighting his for dominance.

Yesss this is what I was waiting for! She's so playful lol and he's a big ol' tease.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you groan. “Not this again.”

No no...this is good.

There’s a mischievous look on your face. Before he can question you, you’re sliding down the wall until you reach the floor. You reach for his belt with your hands, making quick work of undoing the buckle and then the button to his jeans. Oh. All Logan can do is stare down at you in wonderment as you tug his zipper down. “This okay with you?” you ask, but the look on your face says that you already know the answer.

This okay with you - girl, he's about to bust rn. He's def okay with this lol

Later, he tells himself. He’ll get you naked later, in the privacy of your apartment, where there’s no risk of the elevator doors sliding open at any given moment.

A gentleman, don't argue w me.

Your cunt tastes as sweet as the fruity wine from the restaurant did on your tongue. He eats you like he wants to get drunk off of you, alternating between soft licks through your folds and fervent kisses to your swollen bud. He feels your legs quiver around the sides of his head. He supports you from below, letting you go all but limp above him. He glances up at you, your head thrown back in pleasure and your chest heaving with ragged breaths.

He is diving in there 😩 Grab his hair and tug -

“Do you.. wanna wait until we get back to your..?” “God, no,” you exhale, and pull him to you by grabbing his flannel in your fists.

LMAO same girl 😭

“Mind if I still come back to your place? I know we just…” He trails off, glancing down at where he’s still tucked inside you. “But I just realized I forgot to pick up cigarettes for Al and she isn’t gonna be too happy with me.” You roll your eyes, and playfully push him away from you so that you can tug your skirt back into place. “I think I can find a way to be okay with that,” you smirk. “If we ever get out of this fuckin’ elevator.”

This ending was so hilarious too I absolutely loved it from start to finish. The fin little moments and the build up, the smut scene was HOT and the funny little quips added into the fic were MUAH. You did sooo good with this one ~ 💕💕💕

either way, i'm going your way

logan howlett x reader (worst!logan x reader)

word count: 4k

summary: logan doesn't remember the last time he celebrated valentine's day, and he doesn't have any reason to believe that this year will be any different. then he runs into you, wade's neighbor, who happens to love the holiday despite not having anyone to celebrate it with.

warnings/tags: smut, 18+ only mdni, sex in a public place kind of, oral (m&f receiving), unprotected p in v, logan's pov, neighbor!reader, reader is afab, reader is described as being shorter than logan, no use of y/n, hints of grumpy x sunshine

this is my entry for @yxtkiwiyxt & @lubdubology valentine's writing challenge! thank you both for hosting this, i can't wait to read the other submissions ❤️

logan howlett masterlist

Logan has been alive for two centuries worth of Valentine's Days. He can count on one hand how many he’s actually celebrated, and he can't recall the last time he had a reason to even acknowledge the day.

To him, Valentine’s Days have always been just another Tuesday, or Thursday, or whatever day it falls on that year.

He hates how commercialized the holiday is thanks to the multi-billion dollar corporations that fill department stores with trinkets the second that Christmas is over. He hates all of the pressure and unrealistic expectations that come with planning the perfect date. And as much as he hates to admit it to himself, he hates that it's a stark reminder that he's just as alone in this universe as he had been in the last one.

Technically he can't say that he's entirely alone. Romantically? Yes. Sexually? Yes.

Physically, however, he’s lodged between a blind eighty-year-old cocaine addict and a ten pound living tumor - the latter of whom keeps trying to French kiss him.

Wade might be out with Vanessa for Valentine’s Day, but for Logan, this is any other Friday night – watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire reruns with Al and Mary Puppins.

Something about his current predicament makes him feel even more alone than if he actually were alone. Maybe it’s how unfamiliar and foreign this universe still feels in so many ways – he’s been here for some months now, but there’s some things that remind him that he still has a ways to go in terms of adjustment.

He'd never admit it aloud, but just maybe the fact that he can’t keep his thoughts from straying to a specific next door neighbor certainly doesn’t help. He hates to use the word crush at his grown age, but he can’t really think of a better word for it. If it’s not a crush, why else would he be wondering what your plans are for this evening? Why else would he feel the unmistakable, undeniable twinge of jealousy when he thinks of the mere possibility of you spending your night in the arms of someone other than him?

He has no one to blame but himself, and he knows it. He had the perfect opportunity to ask you out just last week, and he didn’t take it. The two of you were both taking the elevator up to your neighboring apartments when it broke down for the third fucking time in the last month. It took nearly an hour for maintenance to get it back up and running, and he couldn’t find the nerve to simply ask if you have any plans at any point during the time you were trapped in the fifteen square feet of space together. Instead, he awkwardly rambled about he had walked in on Wade and Vanessa in a compromising position the day before.

He cringes at the memory, tossing back another swig of whiskey when he realizes the bottle is empty. He sighs, earning a side-eye from Mary Puppins.

If this is how he’s going to be spending his evening, he should at least be a little intoxicated.

“I’m going to the liquor store,” Logan announces as he transfers Mary Puppins from his lap to Al’s before standing up from his position on the couch for the first time in hours. “You need anything?”

“Pick me up a couple of scratchers and a pack of Newports.”

Just her usual requests, then.

Logan throws on his leather jacket, dreading the cold and dreary February night but willing to face it for a bottle of bourbon and some cigars. He’s been out of those since yesterday, so a trip to the nearest convenience store is much needed, anyway.

The door to the apartment complex’s singular outdated elevator is sliding to a close when Logan hears a familiar, feminine voice call out.

“Hold up!”

Logan immediately pushes the hold button, freezing the door in place. A second later, you appear in the doorframe. You’re slightly out of breath, with a relieved expression on your face.

“Thanks,” you greet him as you lean against the wall of the elevator, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your plaid skirt. “I’m running late to my dinner reservations and really didn’t wanna have to take the stairs in these.” You glance down at the heels of the uncomfortable looking thigh high boots that you’re wearing.

Uncomfortable looking and hot, he thinks, before your words sink in. Dinner reservations – of course you’d have plans tonight. He feels a slight pang of disappointment (and jealousy, if he’s being honest with himself) at the realization, but he isn’t surprised.

“Well, let’s cross our fingers that we don’t get stuck in here again and that you make it to your date on time,” Logan says with a forced laugh and smile as he pushes the button once again to close the door, followed by the button that says lobby.

“Oh, no. Not a date,” you correct him quickly with a bashful grin. “Well, maybe. Is it considered a date if I’m dining by myself?”

“You’re going to dinner by yourself?” Logan asks, unable to hide the surprise in his tone. “Looking like that?”

Your eyes widen in shock. “What’s wrong with how I look? And what’s wrong with going to dinner by myself?”

“Nothing!” Logan begins to backtrack when he realizes how his questions came across. “You - you look great. I'm just a little surprised. Would’ve assumed that you had a date tonight is all—”

He trails off when he realizes that you’re pursing your lips together in an obvious attempt to hide a smirk. The mischievous glimmer in your eyes gives you away.

“I’m just fucking with you, Logan,” you snort with a playful slap to his arm. “I know it’s a little unconventional to take yourself out on Valentine’s Day. But I’ve always loved the holiday despite being painfully single, so I thought why not? Better than sitting at home and sulking all night.”

The corners of his lips threaten to twitch upwards at the words painfully single as he contemplates the rest of your response. He can’t help but admire your way of thinking. He was content with staying holed up inside the apartment and drinking himself into a stupor, but he can’t deny that your outlook on the holiday is far less depressing and boring than his.

“What about you?” you ask as the elevator comes to a stop with a melodic ding. You exit, looking back at him over your shoulder. “Are you on your way to your Valentine’s plans?”

He chuckles at the question. For a second, he considers lying to you. He considers telling you that yes, he is on his way to pick up his date right now, just so he doesn’t have to tell you the truth – that he’s on his way to buy bourbon, cancer sticks, and lottery tickets for him and his elderly roommate. But with his luck, you’d run into Wade tomorrow and he’d open his big fucking mouth about how Logan actually spent his night, and the thought of that is even more mortifying than telling you the truth to your face.

“Not unless you count making a liquor run as Valentine’s plans,” he sighs, averting your gaze as he opens the door to the apartment building for you. “The only thing I plan on doing tonight is listen to Althea scream at her game shows.”

You come to a stop outside of the apartment building, wrapping your coat tightly around your chest to fight off the chilly night air. There’s a peculiar look on your face that Logan can’t quite read – something between amusement and hesitation.

“You could have worse dates, I suppose,” you laugh.

“That’s true,” Logan agrees. “At least I have Vanessa to thank for a Wade free evening. But I’ll let you go, don’t wanna make you late for your—”

“Do you like Korean barbecue?”

Logan freezes, taken aback by the question. He snaps his mouth shut, realizing he’s staring at you like a deer in the headlights.

“Korean barbecue?” He asks lamely. “Don’t think I’ve ever tried it.”

He’s had barbecue. He’s had Korean food.. maybe? He’s been alive a really long time, he’s sure he’s had Korean food at some point in the last two hundred years.

But he can’t say that he’s had Korean barbecue.

A nervous looking grin appears on your face, and you cross your arms over your chest before taking a small step towards him.

“Are you hungry?”

••••••

All it takes is one look at the table that the host takes the two of you to for Logan to realize that he has indeed never had Korean barbecue.

You don’t appear to be the slightest bit confused so he assumes that the circular grill built into the middle of the table is normal, though he’s never seen anything quite like it in a restaurant before.

You giggle when you notice the curious expression on his face.

“It’s kinda like hibachi,” you begin. “Except instead of someone cooking it in front of you, you cook it yourself.”

Logan takes in the array of various meats on the tray to the left of him. You pick up a piece of what appears to be some kind of beef with a pair of tongs, and place it on the grill. It sizzles, and he watches as you add a few more pieces of meat onto the hot surface.

“Isn’t that kinda the whole point of going to a restaurant? To have someone else cook the food for you?” He asks the question as gently as he can, not wanting to hurt your feelings. He’s just happy to be here with you – even if he doesn’t fully understand the appeal of going to a restaurant to pay to cook your own food.

“It’s about the experience,” you explain with a shrug. “To be fair, when most people come to a Korean barbecue restaurant, they usually come with a group of people – hence the large amount of meat.” You nod towards the arrangement of the meats that have yet to be cooked.

“It’s a social thing. But all of my friends had plans with their significant others tonight, so…”

You trail off as the server places another tray on the table – this one covered in various colorful side dishes that he’s definitely never had before. He wouldn’t exactly describe himself as adventurous when it comes to trying new foods – for the most part, he lives off of ham and cheese sandwiches and frozen TV dinners. But he tried shawarma when he’d first arrived in this universe and ended up loving it, so he’s determined to try a bite of everything on this table.

“Sounds like it’s a good thing that you ran into me, then,” Logan murmurs when the server walks off.

You take your eyes off of the pieces of meat that you’re paying careful attention not to overcook, looking up at him through your lashes with a soft smile.

“I'd say that you’re right about that.”

••••••

Despite the breeze and the chilly night air, Logan feels perfectly toasty on the walk back to the apartment thanks to your tight hold on his arm and the wine that you had insisted that he try.

He'd learned a lot tonight – a lot about you; your hobbies and your interests. He’d learned all about Korean barbecue, and that he likes bulgogi and buldak.

Most importantly, he'd learned that he was stupid for ever being nervous about asking you out.

He feels at ease with you. He already knew he enjoys your company from all of the times that you’ve joined Wade’s movie nights and get-togethers – but he’d never been alone with you (with the exception of getting stuck in the elevator with you last week). Wade, Vanessa, Al, Peter, Yukio, and countless others always seemed to be present, making it near impossible for him to get to know you in the way that he’s wanted to since he first met you.

But now, with your arm intertwined with his and the scent of your perfume hitting him each time there is a gust of air, he knows that he is going to do all that he can to keep having moments like this with you.

“I have a question,” you state as the two of you turn onto the street where your apartment building is. Logan glances down at you in curiosity, but you’re not looking at him – you’re looking ahead, your teeth biting into your lower lip.

“What’s that?” Logan murmurs.

You hesitate, your eyes flickering up to him before quickly looking away again. “Did you actually like the kimchi?”

Logan can’t help but cackle, taken off guard by the question.

“That’s your question?” he laughs, thinking back to the spicy and tangy flavor of the fermented vegetables.

You come to a stop next to a streetlight outside of your apartment building, pulling your arm away from his to stand just inches in front of him.

“No,” you admit with a smirk. “Though I am curious about that, too.” You take a step closer to him, your chest ever so slightly brushing against his. He feels his breath catch in his throat at the way that your eyes twinkle in the glow of the streetlight.

“Last week, when we got stuck in the elevator together,” you begin in a low voice. He swears that your eyes flicker to his lips for a split second before meeting his gaze once more. “Were you nervous?”

He thinks back to his nervous rambling in the elevator, to how you looked so pretty that he found it difficult to hold direct eye contact with you, and to how it felt like half of his brain was screaming at him to ask you out and the other half was screaming at him to not make himself look like an idiot.

Yeah, nervous is accurate.

“That obvious, huh?” he sighs.

“Just a little,” you shrug. “But don’t worry. I was too.”

“Is that right?” Logan asks, trying not to give away just how happy the confession makes him. “And what about now?”

He doesn’t have to ask – he's standing close enough to you that your increased heartrate is easy for him to detect.

“Something like that,” you whisper, and before he fully process what’s happening, you’re raising up on your tippy toes to capture his lips in yours.

The taste of the fruity wine from dinner still lingers on your lips. He places his hands on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him. Your hands cradle his face, pulling him down closer to you. The warmth of you is a balm against the brisk night air, making him feel like he can’t get close enough to you. You don’t pull away until you’re breathless, looking up at him with dilated pupils in the florescent street lighting.

“Do you wanna come up to my place?” you breathe, nodding your head in the direction of the apartment building.

“What? You don’t wanna come to mine and hang out with Al?” he teases, nudging you in the direction of the building’s entrance.

“As tempting as that sounds…” You trail off, following his lead.

The second that the elevator door comes to a close, his hands are back on you. He backs you up against the wall, his hands gripping your hips as you spread your legs enough to allow one of his thick thighs in between them. This time, he’s the one who kisses you, wasting no time in slipping his tongue between your lips. You whimper into the kiss, your tongue fighting his for dominance.

It isn’t until he pulls away for air and opens his eyes that he realizes the elevator has come to a stop. It couldn’t have been moving for more than ten seconds –

“Fuckin’ hell,” you groan. “Not this again.”

Logan looks at the panel of buttons to his left. Sure enough, the number reads that you’re still a floor beneath your apartments. He beats his fist against the elevator wall, as if that’s actually going to help the matter.

Still pinned between his body and the wall, you pull your cell phone out from an interior pocket of your coat. You quickly find the number for building maintenance in your call history, but it just rings, and rings, and rings.

“I could probably pry the doors open,” Logan muses as he begins to pull away from you. He thinks back to how it took maintenance nearly an hour to get the elevator back up and running last week, and knows that he wouldn’t have the patience for that now. The thought of having to wait even a fraction of that long to get back to your apartment…

“Let’s not do anything that could potentially put the elevator out of commission permanently, yeah?” You pull him back to you, grabbing his face in your hand and making him look at you. “I think that we'll be just fine right here for a while.”

There’s a mischievous look on your face. Before he can question you, you’re sliding down the wall until you reach the floor. You reach for his belt with your hands, making quick work of undoing the buckle and then the button to his jeans.

Oh.

All Logan can do is stare down at you in wonderment as you tug his zipper down.

“This okay with you?” you ask, but the look on your face says that you already know the answer.

He nods, his mouth suddenly feeling too dry to speak. He helps you shimmy his boxers and jeans down enough for his cock to spring free. He glances around the elevator, double checking that there aren’t any security cameras. Considering this elevator is ancient and doesn’t even function half the time, he isn’t surprised to see that there aren’t any.

You take the base of him in your hand, languidly massaging the length as you tease his slit with your tongue. You lap up the beads of pre-cum before easing him past your lips.

The sight of you on your knees for him is enough to have him twitching in your mouth. Add in how your soft lips and tongue feel working his length, and he knows he won’t last long like this.

You bob your head around him, gagging when his head juts against the back of your throat. You pull off of him, leaving a thick rope of saliva that trails from his cock to your mouth.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything prettier. He could spend hours looking at you like this.

But this isn’t how he wants to finish – in your mouth, before he’s even had a chance to make you feel good. So as much as it nearly kills him to do it, he pulls himself away from your sweet lips and yanks you back up by the tops of your arms. There’s the slightest hint of disappointment on your face, but it quickly disappears when he pushes your coat off of your shoulders and down your arms. It falls to floor, leaving you in still too many articles of clothing for Logan’s liking.

Later, he tells himself. He’ll get you naked later, in the privacy of your apartment, where there’s no risk of the elevator doors sliding open at any given moment.

For now, he settles for pushing the restrictive fabric of your skirt upwards, bunching it around your waist. He sinks to the ground in front of you, splaying his palms on your inner thighs and spreading your legs open for him. He rubs the pad of his thumb over the soft material of your panties, right over your clit. He feels shudder at the sensation, and notices the goosebumps that appear on the skin of your thighs.

He hooks his index finger through the cotton fabric, pulling it to the side. He looks up to see if there’s any kind of hesitation on your face, but you quickly pull him to your center by the back of his head, erasing any doubt. He chuckles lowly, and flattens his tongue over your slit.

Your cunt tastes as sweet as the fruity wine from the restaurant did on your tongue. He eats you like he wants to get drunk off of you, alternating between soft licks through your folds and fervent kisses to your swollen bud.

He feels your legs quiver around the sides of his head. He supports you from below, letting you go all but limp above him. He glances up at you, your head thrown back in pleasure and your chest heaving with ragged breaths.

His name slips through your lips, your voice strained with desperation. He loves the sound of it, and wants more than anything to hear you keep saying it. He snakes one of his hands between your thighs, and teases your hole with the tip 9t his finger. You involuntarily sink down, nudging the tip of it past your entrance.

He groans against your clit at how fucking tight you feel around his finger. God, he can’t wait to be inside you. He pumps the digit, your walls already clenching around him.

“Logan,” you moan from above him. “I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he hums against your clit. “Let go. I got you.”

Your climax washes over you with a sharp cry of his name and Logan mentally prays that the elevator walls aren’t as thin as the apartment walls.

When you go still above him, he reluctantly takes his mouth off of you and stands up. His jeans and boxers are still bunched just above his knees, his erection painfully hard and his balls full. He wipes the excess of your slick from his mouth with the back of his hand, and then begins to stroke his own length in his fist.

“Do you.. wanna wait until we get back to your..?”

“God, no,” you exhale, and pull him to you by grabbing his flannel in your fists.

His lips crash against yours as he nestles himself in between your legs, teasing your slit with the head of his cock. He coats it in your juices and eases into you slowly. You groan into his mouth and he has to try not to cum on the spot.

You’re tight, and warm, and your walls flutter around him just right. He hikes one of your thighs over his hip, deepening the angle before he pulls almost all the way out. He rocks back into you, working up to a steady pace.

The small, confined space is filled with the sound of your body meeting his and the sweet noises you make that are music to his ears. You grip around him like a velvet vice and he knows that he isn't going to last long.

“Gonna cum, honey,” he warns in a grunt next to your ear. “Ya feel too fuckin’ good.”

He feels your walls pulse around him at his words and he can tell that you're just as close as he is. A few more deep thrusts that hit your cervix just right and he’s spilling into you as you cum around him.

When he’s empty, his movements cease but he doesn’t pull out. He nuzzles his face against your throat, pressing kisses to the soft but sweat-slicked skin.

“Happy Valentine’s Day to us,” you murmur in a borderline delirious voice. He laughs, pulling back just enough to press his lips to yours.

“Mind if I still come back to your place? I know we just…” He trails off, glancing down at where he’s still tucked inside you. “But I just realized I forgot to pick up cigarettes for Al and she isn’t gonna be too happy with me.”

You roll your eyes, and playfully push him away from you so that you can tug your skirt back into place.

“I think I can find a way to be okay with that,” you smirk. “If we ever get out of this fuckin’ elevator.”

not my favorite thing i've ever written by any means, i've been feeling really unmotivated to write and have felt kinda burnt out, but i still wanted to get this out before valentine's day bc if i didn't then i never would have finished it at all, lol. so i'm sorry it's short 😭 hope you still enjoyed

reblogs/comments are always appreciated, thanks for reading!