#friends offered to take me and I said yes

[buckiverse]

Lessons

☆--- paring: zayne x reader

☆--- summary: Your childhood best friend, Zayne, had always been there for you, loyal, supportive, and understanding. So, when you realized you had a crush on Caleb, you turned to him for help. Taking it upon himself to be your guide, Zayne offered to teach you a few lessons in love. But as the lessons progress, you start to wonder... was Caleb really the one you wanted all along?

☆--- word count: 9.9k

☆--- warnings: mdni, oral sex, fingering, missionary, zayne is literally so jealous, caleb is kinda the boy best friend you tell your boyfriend not to worry about ngl, reader is inexperienced, soft!dom zayne, size kink if you squint, zayne knows you so fucking well it's sickening (he's just so sweet), no protection is used (wrap it before you tap it)

☆--- a/n: loosely based on nightly rendezvous (yes im doing a childhood best friend au for everyone... i fear im obsessed)

↳ xavier | sylus | caleb | rafayel

Some part of you felt like it was a bad idea—you knew better. Even after all these years, it felt surreal that Caleb was one of your closest friends. In your small town, there weren’t many people to bond with. The tight-knit community had shrunk over time, and most people you knew were just memories now. But you’d never forget the two boys who lived next door. One was more charming, the other more reserved, but both were just as kind and reliable.

Years later, that sense of community felt like a distant dream. It was why you jumped at the chance to move closer to Caleb and Zayne after they relocated to the city. The passing of your grandmother had made staying in the countryside unbearable. But as you stood ankle-deep in snow, staring at the truck piled high with your belongings, you wondered if you were in over your head.

The cold wind bit through your gloves as you trudged inside the apartment building. Your eyes darted nervously to the heavy furniture that needed to be moved. You shifted your weight, glancing at the door every few seconds. If any of the boys decided not to show up, you would be screwed. 

“Y/N!” Caleb’s voice rang out, and your head snapped up. Relief surged through you as you saw him approaching. Without thinking, you rushed into his arms, your cheeks burning as his warm embrace enveloped you.

“It’s good to see you too,” he teased, his playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. His hands rested lightly on your back as he pulled away, studying your face. “How long were you standing out there?”

“Not long,” you lied with an awkward laugh. “I just—got lost in thought.”

How he looked at you made it hard to breathe, as if he still saw the same girl from all those years ago. The creak of the lobby door saved you from spiraling further. 

Zayne strode in, his dark coat dusted with snowflakes. His sharp gaze flicked from you to Caleb’s hands, still resting on your waist. For a moment, his jaw tightened, but he quickly smoothed his expression.

“You’re late,” Caleb called out, smirking.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” Zayne replied, his tone dry as his eyes settled on you. “I almost thought you forgot about me.”

“Never,” you said with a grin, stepping forward to hug him. His arms wrapped around you briefly, his touch warm but hesitant. You smiled before turning and walking over to the elevator. You missed your family, and now it felt a little closer to being pieced back together. 

You gave a debrief of the plan for the day, as there was plenty you could do on your own later. Though you were grateful to Xavier for helping you get a place, it needed…tlc. The boys agreed to help you move bulky items and clean up the remnants of a bug treatment. 

The boys retreated to the lobby—they had to move a couch and some other, far too heavy things. The three of you had been friends for years, bickering and fighting like siblings, but never with ill intent. Though Caleb and Zayne constantly teased each other more recently than anything, you weren’t sure what was a joke anymore. 

Your body jolted. A sound of a shout came from the hallway, distracting you from sweeping. 

“Damn—Zayne, pull up the couch—” Caleb strained and bit out. 

“You’re the one who’s not paying attention,” Zayne shot back calmly. 

You walked up to the unfolding scene, your hands resting on your hips when you approached them. The couch was now on the tile of the apartment hallway. You were glad they didn’t break your stuff while they messed around.

“And… Why is my couch on the ground?” you asked, your gaze shooting between them. 

“It seems Caleb’s grip slipped,” Zayne quipped. You could feel the air quotes around the last portion of his statement. His hands were resting on his hips as his breathing slowed and evened out.

“I just need a second—I’m sweating over here,” Caleb said, a deep breath coming from his lips. 

You watched as he lifted his shirt. His jeans rested low on his hips as he lifted the fabric, you could see faint trails of hair leading down his abdomen. He had a vein running above his hip to below his pants. 

Your eyes betrayed you as you shamelessly traced his body. Fuck, he looked good.

Zayne watched you in silence, observing, watching the surprise on your face when Caleb lifted his shirt. And he did not like it. First, why did Caleb always do shit like that, but besides, why did you seem to like it so much.

The three of you worked together to tackle the chaos of the moving day. With the bulky items moved, Caleb helped you clean the kitchen while Zayne focused on the living room. You stood on your tippy toes, wiping the cabinet the best you could, stretching to reach the top shelf. Caleb moved in behind you, his body brushing against yours. 

“Let me get that,” he said, his voice soft as he grabbed the cloth from your hand.

Your breath hitched as his warmth seeped through your back. His fingers brushed yours briefly, sending a jolt through you. You moved aside, trying to compose yourself. He stepped to the side after finishing, leaning onto the counter, “Why don’t I take over this part, since you’re so small?” a playful grin played on his lips, as he winked at you. 

“Always picking on my size,” you joked, your voice shaky. “Maybe you’re just too tall.”

His grin widened, but something in his gaze lingered a moment too long. “...Maybe,” he murmured, his voice low.

From the corner of the room, Zayne’s gaze flicked toward the kitchen. His hand paused mid-swipe on the wall, his eyes narrowing at seeing Caleb leaning close to you. His grip on the rag tightened, but he quickly looked away. This wasn’t the time.

You noticed all his progress when you made your way to Zayne. He almost successfully cleared the living room. “Can I help?” you said, approaching his side. 

Zayne’s lips quirked into a slight smirk. “I figured you’d be too busy with Caleb to remember me.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” you shot back, an uncomfortable laugh leaving your lips.

He attached the extended handle before handing you the mop, his fingers brushing yours slightly. “Guess I’ll have to remind you why I’m the favorite,” he said, his tone light but his eyes serious. 

☆

You fell into a routine in the following weeks, trying to adjust to your new life. Weekly meetups with Caleb became a ritual, and today, you waited for him at a quaint coffee shop Zayne had introduced you to. The warm smell of coffee and pastries filled the air as you spotted Caleb walking in, his black coat framing his tall figure.

“Y/N!” he called out, his smile lighting up. He hugged you tightly, lifting you off the ground for a moment.

When he set you down, his eyes held yours for a beat too long. Your stomach flipped as you sat across from him, trying to steady your thoughts.

You began your catch-up over a coffee and some food. Your discussion filled the silence, and you shared a laugh while discussing the latest work drama. You clued Caleb into the details about your coworker, and how the Hunter’s Association locked his file.

It was pretty peculiar in your field; most hunters had a public record, released by the organization they resided under, but in his case, it wasn’t as easily accessible, making him a high-profile individual. Which just made you curious. As talented as you were you couldn’t help but notice the difference in skills between the two of you. It was so obvious he’d been at this longer than you. 

Caleb listened intently as you shared the latest work news, his fingers tracing the rim of his coffee cup.

“And what are you going to do about it?” he asked, his voice teasing. “Detective work?”

You shook your head, biting your lip. “I don’t know. It feels like I’d be invading his privacy. I guess—I’ll wait for him to tell me when he’s ready.”

Caleb’s gaze softened. “That’s just like you,” he said quietly, his purple eyes glinting in the light.

Before you could process his words, your watch buzzed with an alarm. “I gotta get back to work,” you said, grabbing your things in a rush.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, gesturing to the table. “See you later.”

It was a lighter cold today, and no heavy snow blocked your path. As you walked back to work, you were honestly heavy in thought. You couldn’t stop thinking about Caleb. His smiles and touches felt deliberate, and you had no idea how to handle it. Dating had always been a mystery to you, and your nerves weren’t helping.  

This wasn’t the first time these nerves graced your presence. When you were much younger, you recall the party, the smell of alcohol, the loud music, and unfamiliar faces. You knew Zayne and Caleb of course, but them being a bit older than you made this crowd—one you hadn’t been exposed to before.

Making your way through the door was the worst. Caleb knew everyone, saying “hellos,” “hi’s,” and “what’s up, dude,” as he led the way. Making your way through the moving bodies was a challenge. You were thankful for Zayne’s hand holding onto yours as you made the way. You scanned the crowd, and everyone was dancing. The number of people grinding on others was mesmerizing, and you wanted in.

The music thudded through the walls, pounding against your ears. You remember making your way up the stairs, following closely behind Caleb, as Zayne sandwiched in behind you, finally letting go of your hand. Honestly, this didn’t seem like Zayne’s type of crowd, and he wasn’t the most outgoing. 

When you reached the room, it had fewer people than the rest of the house. You walked in, sitting on the couch while Zayne stood near the corner of the room. Some people sat in a circle with a bottle in the center, obviously playing a game. One of the girls asked if you and the boys wanted to join. 

You could feel the eyes of two important men in your life shift to you. Both were curious about your response. 

“...yeah.” 

Caleb also joined the game, sitting directly across from you. A girl with blonde hair spun the bottle, and before you knew it, it was your turn. 

Placing your hand on the bottleneck, you spun the bottle, watching its turning motion with curiosity. When it stopped on Caleb, the purple of his eyes glinted as he looked between you and the bottle. 

You could hear the circle of people urging you both on. It was just a kiss. You could do this. He’s your friend. You sat up on your heels, your hands burning as they rested on your knees. 

He got close to you and whispered, “Ready?” only for your ears to hear, and he kissed you, his lips connecting with yours softly, sweetly. Some people teased him for the gentleness at which his lips touched yours, but something shot through you when his lips touched yours. He softly bit your bottom lip before he pulled back from you. 

He kissed you. Zayne saw, everyone saw, and you liked it. 

You needed advice—something solid to guide your next move. You’d already admitted to yourself that you liked him, but how were you supposed to approach this? What did you even say? Zayne helped you through that kiss, reminding you it was just a game. But all these years later, you wanted to be more than a game to Caleb. Even in your shared youth, he had good advice for you, so why wouldn’t you trust him?

When you arrived at the office, your mind was still a tangled mess, buzzing with uncertainty. You decided it was no use overthinking it; it was better to rip the bandaid off.

You pulled out your phone, hesitating for a moment before texting Zayne:

You:

“Can I call you? I need some advice.”

When his reply came moments later—“I have a patient right now. I’ll call you after.”—you let out a relieved sigh. You trusted him, and you needed his help.

Relief washed over you as you read his reply, your heartbeat finally slowing to a steady rhythm. You let out a soft sigh, tucking your phone away. All you had to do now was organize your thoughts.

While you waited, you turned to your caseload, focusing on the profile you’d been compiling for a new wanderer-type you’d encountered during a hunt weeks earlier. Using old files as templates, you typed furiously, the steady rhythm of the keyboard pulling you into the zone. Minutes turned to hours as you worked, the world fading into the background.

The buzzing of your phone jolted you back to reality. You glanced at the screen and barely caught the call before it went to voicemail.

“You want me to teach you how to date?” Zayne’s voice drawled through the line, laced with amusement.

Heat rushed to your face as you groaned audibly. “That’s not—it’s not like that!” you blurted, but Zayne only chuckled softly.

You spent the next ten minutes stumbling through your explanation, your words tangling as you tried to paint a coherent picture of your situation. When you finally stopped, waiting anxiously for his response, all he said was:

“Okay.”

That one word was enough to knock the wind out of you. “Okay?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Okay,” he confirmed calmly.

Your heart soared. “Okay, then,” you echoed quickly, trying to mask your nervous excitement. You rushed to thank Zayne before ending the call, clutching the phone to your chest. Relief and joy bubbled inside you. You knew Zayne would come through for you. You trusted him completely.

On the other end of the call, Zayne set his phone on his desk, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. He began packing up for the day, shaking his head in amusement. The idea of you coming to him for dating advice was equal parts endearing and intriguing.

Of course, he would help you. That much was never in question. But who had caught your interest so suddenly? The thought gnawed at him, tempting him to ask outright, but he resisted. He’d figure it out eventually.

As he picked up his phone to draft a response, a quiet laugh escaped him. “Lessons,” he murmured, the word rolling off his tongue with amusement. He couldn’t help but smirk as he began typing out a plan. Lessons in dating and seduction? If anyone was going to help you succeed, it was him.

☆

Your phone buzzed with details for your first lesson. You had to admit you were quite excited. When you open the message, you read simple instructions:

Zayne:

“I’ll pick you up at 7 pm. Wear something nice, but comfortable.” 

A quiet scoff escaped your lips as you gripped your phone, its cool metal grounding you—way to give me nothing, Zayne. Still, you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you typed back.

You:

“Got it.” 

With a rare day off, you had more than enough time to overthink this date—or, well, lesson. You'd been on dates before, but this felt different—important. You wanted to impress Caleb later, but you also wanted to enjoy this with Zayne and learn from him.

Determined, you took your time getting ready—a long bath, smooth and refreshed skin, natural hairstyle, skipping the heat of flat irons. Your makeup was subtle, accentuating your best features—your eyes and lips. The outfit? Simple, with an effortless elegance: a black skirt, a beige sweater, and knee-high black boots. Something nice but comfortable, you echoed mockingly in your head.

The doorbell rang. Your pulse quickened. Taking a deep breath, you cracked the door open.

“I’m grabbing my bag—give me a sec,” you said quickly before shutting it again.

Zayne chuckled softly on the other side. You looked nervous, and he thought it was cute.

When you finally stepped out, his eyes swept over you, approval flashing in his gaze. “Ready?” His voice was warm, familiar.

You swallowed, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Yeah.”

Locking up, you stepped beside him, weaving through the apartment halls. The elevator was packed when it arrived, leaving just enough room for the two of you to squeeze in. When the doors slid shut, the crowd's pressure pushed you toward the back corner of the elevator.

Zayne stepped in after you, his body instinctively blocking the others from pressing too close. His warmth enveloped you, a wall of quiet protection. When his chest brushed against yours, your head shot up, startled by the contact—only to knock it against the cold metal wall behind you.

A low groan slipped from your lips, and Zayne chuckled. “Careful.” His hand came up, cupping the back of your head gently.

You stilled. Zayne’s touch was light but steady, fingers warm against your scalp. You let yourself settle into it for just a second, your cheeks heating.

Then, with a soft ding, the doors slid open. The moment was gone.

You followed him out quickly, slipping into his car. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable. Still, you were the first to break it.

“So… where are we going?” you asked, anticipation bubbling beneath your skin.

Zayne’s grip tightened subtly around the gear shift, veins visible against his skin. His lips curled into a faint smile. “You’ll see.”

—

You hadn’t expected this.

The setup was breathtaking—candles flickering softly, a picnic blanket spread on the grass by a lake, and wildflowers scattered around like nature’s own confetti. The crisp spring air carried the scent of earth and blooming petals, a reminder that winter’s grasp was finally loosening. The sun had just begun its descent, casting everything in golden light.

Zayne stood behind you, watching. He caught how your breath hitched and how awe softened your features. The faint flush that always seemed to bloom when he was near. He reveled in it.

“Lesson one,” he murmured. “A date.”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Zayne, this is…” Your voice wavered with something close to wonder. “This is perfect.”

A small, knowing smile touched his lips.

You hesitated. “I’ve never really—” You exhaled. “So… what do we do now?”

He motioned for you to sit. “First? We eat.”

You obeyed, watching as he unpacked the meal. Your gaze flickered over the assortment of sweets tucked beside the entrees, and you bit your lip. He remembered your sweet tooth.

Your heart squeezed.

He handed you a sandwich—one of your childhood favorites. You took a bite, savoring the familiar flavors and the quiet thoughtfulness behind it.

The evening unfolded like something out of a dream. The conversation was easy and flowing, as it always was between you two. You talked about everything and nothing, letting the city fade away, and the wine in your glass disappeared far too quickly.

At some point, you made the mistake of looking at him.

The sunset bathed him in amber light, the gentle hues accentuating the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint green specks in his eyes. He looked beautiful—effortlessly so. The sleeves of his powder blue dress shirt rolled up, revealing strong forearms, veins pronounced as his fingers idly toyed with the rim of his glass.

His gaze lifted, catching yours.

You panicked. Tipped your head back, draining the last of your wine, pretending to admire the sky.

And so the night went on.

Laughter. Warmth. The kind of company that made the world feel a little less lonely. It had been too long since you’d felt this way.

Maybe that was why—

—why you ended up tipsy.

The last thing you remembered clearly was Zayne’s hands on your waist, steadying you as you stumbled at your door. His voice, amused and gentle, coaxing you inside.

And then—

"You're drunk."

His voice was strained.

Your skin burned. “N ‘m not,” you murmured, reaching up, fingers clumsily ruffling his hair. “I w’nted to kiss you, Z-Zayne…”

His breath hitched.

You wobbled onto your tiptoes, pressing a sleepy, featherlight kiss to his cheek. “G’night, Zayne~”

Darkness.

And then—morning.

Your head throbbed. You groaned, pressing your palm to your forehead, and then—

The memory came rushing back.

Your stomach dropped.

Shit.

What did you do?

You kissed Zayne—just a kiss on the cheek, but no less a kiss. And you didn’t know how you felt about it. Maybe you liked it. And when you checked your phone, your heart skipped a beat. 

Zayne:

“Are you feeling better?”

It was a simple question, but your body felt warm, and a smile tugged at your lips as the cold metal burned your hand. 

You:

“Yes, I’m still a bit warm, but much better :)”

And from there the conversation flowed. 

Zayne: 

“So you’re ready for your next lesson?”

You:

“Duh.”

☆

This lesson was set up differently—as a more casual experience. Zayne held the door open, allowing you to enter as the scent of perfumes and faint traces of liquor—something you planned to avoid tonight—filled your senses.

Zayne trailed closely behind you, his eyes drawn to your fitted black dress. It hugged your curves just right, and while you were always beautiful, tonight, you looked divine. His gaze lingered, but he didn’t say a word, instead committing the image to memory.

You settled into the plush velvet seat, crossing your legs as you waited for him to join you. The slight pressure of the fabric against your skin and the low hum of jazz music set a tone of subtle sophistication.

“Lesson two,” he murmured as he sat beside you. “Body language.”

A sly smile crept onto your lips. This time, you were ready. Beyond your carefully chosen outfit, you had mentally prepared to hold your ground. Tonight, you would stay in control.

“So, what’s the plan today, Zayne?” you drawled, leaning forward as your fingers lightly brushed his bicep. You pretended it was a casual touch, but the way his muscles flexed beneath your fingertips sent a jolt through you.

Zayne tilted his head slightly, studying your face. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes. “You’re already ahead, princess,” he whispered, his voice low. The words felt like a direct hit to your resolve.

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, your lips parted as you scrambled to regain composure. “Head start?” you echoed, tilting your head and trying to sound nonchalant.

"I want to see what you've learned—think you can charm me?" he said simply.

The lounge was an upscale dream: dimly lit, lined with high-end paintings, and filled with the smooth rhythm of jazz. The swaying figures on the dance floor moved in tandem with the music, and for a moment, you let yourself get lost in the scene.

Leaning in closer to Zayne, you brushed your lips near his ear. “Should we dance?” you whispered, your hand steadying yourself on his knee.

The scent of his cologne—clean with a faint hint of jasmine—enveloped you. You felt his gaze sharpen, and when you pulled back slightly to meet his eyes, the faint green specks in them seemed to glow under the low light.

“Shall we?” he asked, his voice smooth, as he stood and offered you his hand.

On the dance floor, your movements flowed easily, the music guiding you. You pulled him closer, and your body pressed flush against his. His hands rested on your lower back, firm and grounding, while your fingers trailed up his chest. The hard muscle beneath your touch sent a thrill through you.

“You look so handsome tonight, Zayne,” you said softly, your lips curving into a small smile.

“Only tonight?” he teased, the corners of his mouth lifting.

Your finger traced lazy patterns on his chest. His heartbeat was steady initially, but you noticed the slight quickening as your touch lingered. You looked up at him, your gaze filled with something unspoken but deeply felt.

“You always do,” you whispered.

The air between you was charged, the tension pulling you closer. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, grounding you while simultaneously making you feel like you might float away.

When the tempo picked up, you spun away from him, creating a bit of distance as you swayed more freely. He matched your rhythm more stiffly than anything. You couldn’t help but smile—this was fun.

“You’re way too stiff,” you said, getting close to him. Watching him try to whine his hips to the upbeat tempo was amazing. A laugh left your lips as your hands gripped his hips. “Why are your feet so close together?!” you choked out. 

“I was never a dancer,” he said flatly, unamused by the tears in your eyes. 

“Move to the beat,” you said again, trying to show him the way, but he didn’t get it. If you asked him, he’d rather watch you move your body. You moved beautifully, rolling your hips with precision.

When the lounge prepared to close, your cheeks ached from grinning, and your legs were deliciously sore. You shivered slightly as you walked side by side through the chilly night air.

“You look cold,” Zayne said, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders before you could protest.

The warmth of the fabric—and his scent—wrapped around you. A soft, rich aroma of jasmine and something distinctly him made your heart flutter.

You nudged his arm, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “You know… I think this was the best night I’ve had in a long time.”

“I haven’t danced like that in forever.” you said.

“How could I forget?” he replied, his eyes briefly flicking to the stars above. “It’s your favorite thing.”

His fingers brushed against yours, tentative at first. You took the leap, intertwining your fingers with his. The warmth of his hand sent a pleasant shiver down your spine, and you caught the faint blush dusting his cheeks.

This man was everything.

☆

Later That Week

You had agreed to meet Caleb for a more eventful hangout—to meet downtown and do whatever caught your eye. 

You spotted him easily. His tall figure towered over most people. You walked up to him, and he hugged you tightly. The warmth of his body covered yours, but it didn’t raise your heartbeat. 

When he loosened his grip on you, his hands rested on your shoulders, “Long time no see, pipsqueak,” he said, his voice full of joy. 

Your cheeks felt tight from smiling—you were happy to see him, but not for the same reasons as before.

“I know, it’s been a few weeks,” you said, pulling back from him and looking into the purple of his eyes. “Let’s get back on schedule,” you breathed, a light smile plastered on your lips. 

Work had been busy, but the truth was that your lessons with Zayne had occupied your thoughts—and your time.

While you started your walk downtown, plenty of things caught your eye. The first thing you did was enter a record shop. The store was in the basement off of a side street. It was a little creepy, but it looked like an underground studio once you got inside. Records were all over the shop, on the wall, and in little baskets stacked in rows. 

He browsed next to you, shuffling through the records occasionally showing you one he thought you’d like or an album you’d enjoyed. And in spending this time with him, you realized that you enjoyed this. 

The simplicity between you, the light air, and the lack of expectations for anything more was all you needed. Caleb’s fingers softly brushed yours as he placed a vinyl behind the one you held up for him.

“Find anything good?” you asked, your feet planted evenly on the ground as you turned to face Caleb. 

His eyes bore into yours, something flickering over them before he answered you.

 “Nah—let's get some food,” he said quickly, his demeanor suddenly returning.

Exiting the store, you joined in step beside him, exploring the city's night scene. Your options were endless as you scanned the shops that lined the streets. You spotted a food truck and the smells coming from it were amazing. 

Altering Caleb, you both sat at the outdoor seating, waiting for your orders. The chill of the evening air seeped through your clothes, making you shiver slightly.

“Do you want my jacket?” Caleb asked, his tone playful. “You look like you’re freezing.”

“Only if you have an extra,” you said, bouncing your leg under the table to keep warm.

With a smirk, he reached into his bag and handed you a spare coat. “You’re my best friend, You know I always do.”

You slipped it on, grateful for the warmth but… that was it. There was no spark, no flutter of excitement. You tried to convince yourself otherwise, adjusting the collar and wrapping it tighter around yourself, but it felt like just a jacket.

In the quiet moment that followed, your mind drifted back to Zayne. His jacket had enveloped you in warmth and scent, and your heart raced when he was near. You glanced at Caleb, who was busy watching the street outside.

Nothing. That kiss was—just a kiss. Years ago, you wouldn’t have believed anyone. Not even Zayne could have convinced you it was a fleeting crush. But it really was. You felt proper chemistry, companionship, and care and wanted to keep experiencing that with Zayne.

The weight of your realization was crushing. All the time you spent—wasted on this man. You cared for him, you truly did. But, what about you? Why were you so pent-up and focused on this person you didn't even really like? Was it really him you missed? Or just how he filled your time and made you feel small—safe, even?

That's the point. You’re not small. You're a grown woman who can stand independently, make her own decisions, and provide her own entertainment. Relief washed over you in waves because what were you even doing? Holding onto a version of the past that no longer fits?

But right behind it, sadness crept in. Not for Caleb, but for the time lost—chasing something never meant to be yours. But you didn’t truly waste time if it led you here—to someone real. To Zayne.

You forced a smile, staring down at your lap, and tried to push away the sinking feeling in your chest. You used to admire Caleb. It should feel special, especially his attention and time, but—it doesn’t. 

Caleb was the person you had wanted—the reason for the lessons.

The contrast was stark, undeniable. And for the first time, you realized the answer had been clear.

☆

You had admitted to Zayne that you wanted a cozy evening. Work had drained you, but more than anything, your recent realization had knocked the wind out of you. It wasn’t just an idle thought—the truth that settled deep in your bones, undeniable yet terrifying.

You knew what you needed to say and do, but the effort of voicing it—of being honest with Zayne—made your nerves coil tight.

Your lessons have helped. You felt more confident, more self-assured. You understood what a date was supposed to be now, what it meant to be courted and wanted. But more than anything, you wanted something real.

With him.

So, he invited you over after work.

Zayne:

"How about I cook you dinner, and we watch a movie?"

You:

"How do you always know exactly what I need?"

…

Zayne:

"Make yourself at home. I just finished setting up."

When you arrived at his house, the living room instantly warmed you. The room glowed softly from the candles he had lined along the tables, their flickering light casting gentle shadows against the walls. The scent of something rich and savory drifted from the kitchen, mingling with the faint traces of his cologne.

But the sight of something familiar made your heart catch in your chest—small plushies, the ones you had won years ago, still resting on the couch.

He had kept them.

Your fingers grazed one absentmindedly as you took it all in, a lump forming in your throat.

You didn’t miss the sound of the shower running from the other room, and heat bloomed across your face. The thought of him stepping out—steam rising, droplets tracing the planes of his skin—sent your mind spiraling. He had just gotten off work, yet he still made time to set everything up for you.

As if on cue, the water stopped. A moment later, the door cracked open, and Zayne walked out, a towel slung low on his hips, another in his hands as he ruffled it through his damp black hair.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he said casually, his voice smooth. “Have a seat.”

Then, as if completely unaware of his effect on you, he strode into his bedroom and shut the door with a soft click.

You swallowed hard. That lasted less than a second, but it was enough.

His physique was unreal—his lean yet defined frame, the way his skin still glistened slightly, the tantalizing trail of hair disappearing beneath the towel… and God, you wanted to know where it led.

This was new. You had never felt this way before.

And he was making you crazy.

You forced yourself to move, settling onto the couch, trying to calm your racing heart as you waited for him. You distracted yourself with the snacks he had spread across the table, but your mind kept replaying that brief glimpse of him.

When he finally reappeared, dressed in a fitted shirt and sweatpants, looking effortlessly breathtaking, your breath caught in your throat.

Something about this moment—the candlelight, the scent of dinner lingering in the air, the sheer intimacy of being here with him—felt so real. So domestic. So much like something you wanted forever.

Zayne disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you in the glow of candlelight. A few moments later, he emerged with two plates in hand, setting them down on the dining table before motioning for you to sit.

“Did you make all of this?” you asked, raising a brow as you took in the spread before you.

“Of course,” he replied smoothly, settling across from you. “I figured you’d appreciate a home-cooked meal after the week you’ve had.”

Your heart ached at how thoughtful he was.

The meal was warm and comforting—just like him. You took a bite, letting the rich flavors settle on your tongue and savoring the moment. Zayne watched you carefully, his gaze flicking to your lips before he took a bite of his own food.

“This is really good,” you admitted, breaking the silence. “You’re full of surprises.”

He smirked slightly, tilting his head. “You act like you don’t already know I’m good with my hands.”

Your fork stalled mid-air. Heat crawled up your neck as your eyes snapped to his.

Zayne smirked slightly, taking another bite as if he hadn’t set your whole body on fire with that one sentence.

Your stomach twisted, and it had nothing to do with the food.

“I—” You cleared your throat, trying to regain composure. “I suppose I do.”

His gaze flickered with amusement before he leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the wood. Something was intoxicating about the way he watched you. It was like he was reading every thought running through your head.

The tension built slowly, lingering between every glance, every soft smile exchanged over the rim of your glasses.

At some point, his foot brushed against yours beneath the table. It was barely a touch—so light it could’ve been an accident. But when you met his gaze, you knew it wasn’t.

Neither of you spoke on it. Neither of you moved away.

It was almost unbearable, the weight of the moment, the way the air grew heavier, tighter.

After dinner, you both moved to the couch. The flickering candlelight cast shadows across his sharp features, making him look even more devastatingly handsome than usual.

You curled next to him as he flipped through the streaming options before settling on something. Not that it really mattered—you could barely focus because of how close he was.

The movie played, but you weren’t watching.

You were too aware of Zayne’s presence, the warmth of his arm resting along the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing against your shoulder. Every tiny touch sent a current through you.

Then, in the middle of a scene, Zayne suddenly reached for the remote.

Click.

Ring…Ring…Ring…

Your phone started ringing, now of all times, and you dropped your gaze to the device at the same time as Zayne. 

Caleb calls all the time, but the timing of this was just—it couldn’t be a coincidence. And you weren’t sure if you should answer. 

“Don’t pick it up,” was all you heard, as you gripped the metal of your phone tighter. 

“Why,” you whispered, your voice small now. The confidence you had before flickered, unsteady—like a candle caught in the wind. You felt tender, exposed. Unsure if you had the strength to do what needed to be done.

“I know you wanted lessons, because of Caleb,” he started, his eyes meeting yours. The air felt cooler now, and goosebumps ran over your skin. 

"I can’t do this if you’re still holding onto him," he murmured, his voice steady—but stretched thin, like he was barely holding himself together.

“I can’t bear to see you with him—now that your presence has graced me, I see small pieces of you everywhere I go,” he admitted, his voice soft and tortured. 

Zayne exhaled through his nose,  running a hand through his dark hair before finally speaking.

“I don’t want you to want Caleb—I want you to want me” he breathed.

The screen froze mid-ring. A silence stretched between you—thick, suffocating. Heavy with everything left unsaid.

Your brows furrowed as you turned to him, only to find his gaze already on you—serious, searching.

Your breath hitched.

The weight of his words settled deep in your chest, heavy and unshakable.

You swallowed. Say it.

“I thought I wanted to be with another man, Zayne…” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. He tensed slightly, his jaw tightening, but you reached for his hand, your fingers brushing against his.

“But I don’t,” you continued softly, eyes searching his. “I want this. I want you.”

The words left you in a breath, raw and real.

Zayne didn’t move, didn’t speak right away. But you saw how his eyes darkened, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“Please, Zayne,” you whispered, your voice breaking slightly as you leaned in.

Your breath stilled, heart hammering. He was too close—his scent, the warmth radiating from his skin, the slight tremor in his breath. And then… finally, you leaned in, and he met you halfway.

You pulled back slightly, your breaths intertwining in the room's dimness. Your eyes opened tentatively, and you saw Zayne staring at you, his chest heaving from the kiss you had just shared. 

“Again,” you murmured, a silent plea because now that you were here you couldn’t let this pass. And Zayne obeyed, kissing you again. You could feel him shifting your position. His hands found your back, and he briefly disconnected your lips to lay you on the couch. 

His knees straddled your hips, as he just watched you, “Beautiful,” he whispered before tasting your lips again, the weight of him on top of you was not only delicious but welcome. You gasped at the pressure, and he slipped his tongue in your mouth. A groan escaped your mouth when his tongue entered your lips. 

“Wait,” you said, your hands resting on Zayne’s chest as he lay on you. 

“I’ve never done this before,” you said, noticing the clench of his jaw, flushed face, and swollen lips. 

He waited for a beat, watching you silently, “I’ll take care of you, princess,” he exhaled.

“I don’t have much experience,” he admitted, his gaze shifting from yours.

Your eyes widened with shock at his admission. You had assumed he was experienced, and that was part of the reason you asked him for help. 

You took a breath, smiling at him. " Let's learn together,” you whispered in his ear before leaning your head back and resting it against the pillow. 

You pulled him flush against you, his weight pressing you into the couch. He began his thorough search kissing your temple, to the crux of your ear, “Another lesson, …hm?” he whispered. And that caused you to writhe beneath him—the sound of his voice in your ear, and the soft vibrato of his confirmation. 

He began his steady exploration with his lips and hands. Stroking up and down your body, though most of it covered, the cool of his hands made your skin get chills when he touched you. 

“Can I take this off?” he asked, gesturing to your t-shirt. 

“Yes,” you said too quickly, embarrassed by your eagerness. 

You adjusted your body, allowing him to pull the fabric over your head. You lay there sitting up on your forearms, just watching his explorative touch. His pointer finger traced the outline of your bra, hovering just above your skin. 

“You—” you started, biting the fat of your lip, “Zayne, I want you to take this off too.” 

And those emerald eyes watched you. In his head, he couldn’t believe you would be his—already prepared to memorize your every reaction. His hand trembled before steadying against your skin. The contact of his hand caused you to arch away from the couch. Click.

The bra fell forward as you shrugged it off your arms. Your whole body felt warm as you guided Zayne’s hands to hold your breasts. Your hands rested on his before you moved them back to the couch. His thumbs felt the hardening peaks beneath his hands, and he gave them a tentative flick, watching your face. You squirmed beneath him. 

Sensitive here. He made a mental note, before rubbing the hardened nub against his thumb at a steady pace. 

He moved his mouth to your other breast kissing it, before watching your face as his tongue made contact with it. Your hips jerked forward gently when he flicked it with his tongue. You bit your lip watching him play with your nipples. 

“Can—you touch me there?” you whimpered. His lips parted from your nipple. 

“Where?” he asked, and both of you just looked at each other. 

Before you took his hand and brought it between your legs. You held it there rubbing yourself on his hand through your pants, but you didn't miss the way Zayne trained his eyes on you. Watching each little reaction you had when he touched you. Even the lightest of touch made his lips part slightly even with the furious flush of his skin. 

His cock was straining in his pants, but he waited, wanting to learn you first.

He laid you down, your hands threading into his hair. Pulling him close to you he buried his face in your neck. The smell of jasmine filled your senses, as he groaned beneath you, breathing in your scent. You leaned back into the couch, shaken by the idea of him on top of you.

Your breasts pressed against his chest, the cool fabric causing a shiver to roll through you. He ran his face up and down your neck leaving a trail of light kisses. It was as if he was savoring you, imprinting your smell, your presence in his mind—as if you’d be done with him after this.

“You’re beautiful,” he groaned against your throat.

Zayne steadied himself on his hands on either side of your head, his gaze trailing over your body to where he would find himself next. His eyes stopped between your thighs, he watched intently as you squirmed beneath him, your body shifting under his gaze.

Your heartbeat felt loud in your ears, and the cold stillness of the air sent a shiver through you. His lips found your jaw, kissing a slow line tracing to your throat. Each touch of his lips sent heat between your legs, and you tilted your head to give him more access, a whimper escaping your lips. 

Zayne was just a friend, someone who supported and loved you but someone you felt you couldn’t have. Your change of heart made you act on a whim to take advantage of your time with him. You wanted him, and no one else could have him but you. He was a high you couldn't—didn't want to get rid of. 

You grasped the blankets on the couch, trying to ground yourself somehow, while he worked slow kisses down your chest with light scrapes of his teeth.

His hands ran down your sides, caressing your breasts to your hips, his thumbs brushing the naked skin beneath your sweatpants. It was a maddening sensation, and you only wanted him to keep going.

You could see his erection pressed firmly against his pants, and you felt tempted to reach forward, to touch it. To pull him closer firmly against you, to feel him where you needed him most. 

One of his hands left you cupping you over your pants. The pressure against your clit stole your breath. A quiet groan of approval left his lips, while you felt a pulse between your legs.

You ground your hips upwards into his hand. A breath left your lips as you moved your hips. 

“Touch me, Zayne,” you breathed, you felt like you were in a dream. 

He paused, his breath hitching at your words. His gaze darkened, the green of his eyes barely visible, as he searched your face. His jaw clenched, his voice dropping, rough with restraint. “Say that again.”

You observed him, grabbing the drawstrings of his pants. “Touch me Zayne, …Please” Your voice came out small, pleading. 

He exhaled slowly, his fingers twitching against your skin. He traced your pussy through your pants, his fingers burning through your pants—that you wished he’d taken off already. 

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, his thumb brushing over you, his touch reverent, like he was memorizing you.

You had never been undressed like this. And you wanted it, you wanted to be touched by him, to feel him grabbing you.

He gripped the waistband of your pants, adjusting his position to push them down your thighs, dropping them to the floor. You sat there in only black underwear while he sat across from you, still in his t-shirt and sweats. 

His attention was all yours, and it was thrilling. 

Your hands still gripped the blanket beneath you. Your feet were tucked next to your bottom. 

“Let me see you.” His voice was low and deliberate. His fingertips grazed your knee before applying the faintest pressure. His eyes searched yours, waiting. “Spread your legs for me.”

You took in an unsteady breath, and you did it. 

His hands ran up your legs, his fingers pressing into your thighs, making your stomach tighten unexpectedly. The cool of his hands felt good against your soft skin. 

The cool air brushed against your panties making you aware of how wet your panties were. Zayne’s gaze met you there, shooting warmth through you.

Your breath hitched when his thumb pressed down on your clit through the fabric. His other hand was steady on your thigh, pressing your thighs open wider. The brush of his thumb up and down sparked a heat in your lower stomach.

You leaned your head back and started to rock under his touch. And then he kissed your nipple, sucking it into his mouth. He groaned, licking and sucking your breasts with a slight scrape of teeth. A high-pitched moan escaped your lips, one of your hands gripping his hair. 

His mouth was so hot, and he kept licking you, how you’d never felt before. You felt like you could die. So, when he removed his mouth from your breasts, you thought you were going to scream. 

He removed your underwear, leaving them in a pile with the rest of your clothes, spreading your legs once more as his gaze fell between your thighs. 

His fingers glide gently along your inner thigh, his touch warm and deliberate, but never rushed. His gaze softens as he takes you in, his breathing slow, controlled—like he’s memorizing every part of you.

"Are you sure?" he murmured, his voice hushed, almost reverent. His thumb stroked lazy circles against your skin, a silent reassurance, a quiet promise that he won’t rush you.

When you nodded, his lips part slightly, his eyes locked onto yours, searching—making sure.

"Let me take care of you," he breathed, his hands smoothing up your thighs as he leaned in closer, pressing a lingering kiss just above your knee. "I want to make this good for you."

He wrapped his arms around the back of your thighs, pulling you closer to him, and his head lowered between them. You shuddered at the first touch of his tongue, pleasure running through you. Each soft lap of your clit rolled through you. 

His arms held you so securely that you couldn’t move your hips while he licked you. As much as he said he wanted to take care of you, it felt like he was doing this for himself. 

“Zayne,” you moaned, digging your hands into his thick black hair. 

He swirled his tongue over your clit before sucking. His eyes were on you, watching you writhe beneath him. His finger filled you, sending a tremor through you, with his mouth on your clit, licking and sucking, while his fingers moved in and out of you. And he did it with such ease, deep noises of satisfaction falling from his lips. 

He was taking his time, slowly working you out and the pressure was building up in you. You bucked your hips, feeling the heat growing throughout you. 

“Zayne…I need more,” you cried out, your voice trembling with desperation. 

His name fell from your lips like a prayer, and he answered it with slow, calculated movements—his pace steady, yet devastating. He added another finger, stretching you further, his touch unrelenting as he pressed deeper, curling just right. The pleasure was unbearable in the best way, a wave crashing over you with no hope of escape.

Your breath hitched as his dark, heated gaze met yours, watching, reading every reaction like it was the only thing that mattered. His free hand smoothed over your thigh, grounding you, soothing you—only to bring you higher moments later.

A choked-out plea left your lips, your body arching, back curving as the heat coursed through your veins, pooling low in your stomach. You clenched around him, muscles tightening as that sharp, dizzying pleasure built to a breaking point.

“That's it,” he murmured, voice thick with something unreadable, something possessive yet achingly tender. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against the soft skin of your inner thigh, his breath hot and teasing, sending shivers up your spine.

And then—release.

Your body trembled, pleasure crashing into you in relentless waves. He didn't stop, not right away, working you through it, coaxing every last aftershock from your sensitive body until you were completely spent.

You collapsed against the couch, fully fucked out, limbs heavy, your mind hazy with bliss. 

A shaky breath left your mouth, as you sat up slowly running your fingers through his hair.

Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to.

The air between you was charged, thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. Something real.

His jasmine scent invaded your senses as his body wrapped around yours. You closed your eyes, surprised by the sudden upward jerk of him holding your naked body. You held him close as he carried you to the closed bedroom door. 

He laid you on the bed gently, holding your stare, he slipped off his shirt and sweatpants, your cheeks growing warmer even as he stood before you in his briefs. You glanced at his erection pressed through the fabric. He was so hard, and it was hot. And all for you. 

Goose bumps spread across your skin, as he opened the nightstand drawer, pulling out a condom. 

“Do you want me?” he whispered, his gaze meeting yours, as he dropped his briefs. 

“Yes,” you breathed.

He crawled over you, kissing your stomach and breasts as he did. His body covered yours, so heavy. It made your skin sing with satisfaction. He kissed your neck, bracing his hands beside your head. 

Your fingers trailed the line of hair, you'd been desperate to touch. You hesitated, unsure how to touch him. 

Zayne felt your hesitation, and meeting your gaze, he whispered, “Your touch… I need it.”

Your heart fluttered with uncertainty, but you slid your hands down gripping his erection. His forehead fell on the side of your neck, encouraging you further. 

You wrapped your hand around his length. And he groaned. You ran your hand down to the base and all the way back up. 

"Don’t make me wait…please" you whispered in his ear, placing a kiss there.

"Tell me how much you need me,” he rasped, nipping at your neck.

"I’ve always needed you, Zayne," you said softly, dragging your hands through his hair. "I need you in every way… not just tonight."

His eyes met yours before kissing you while you stroked him again. Your breasts brushed against his chest, sending pleasure through you. 

“...Please” you breathed. 

He rolled onto the bed next to you, slipping off his briefs, the sound of the wrapper crinkling in his hands drawing your attention. You watched as he poised to tear it open, his gaze flicking to yours for confirmation.

“Wait,” you whispered, your voice soft but resolute. He paused instantly, his eyes searching yours.

“I want to feel all of you,” you said, vulnerability lacing your tone, the weight of your trust hanging in the air.

His expression softened, his brow furrowing with both tenderness and concern.

“If it’s too much, just say the word,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, a promise woven into each syllable. “I won’t do anything you don’t want.”

He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering as though to reassure you. Positioning himself at your entrance, his movements were deliberate, his focus entirely on you.

He took the head of his erection and rubbed it against your pussy. The tip caught your clit, causing your breath to hitch. He started to slip the head inside you, and it stung. A shudder rolled through you as you exhaled. Your fingers curled on his chest as he stayed still inside you, watching your face. 

He pushed deeper into you, his gaze dark and unwavering as he watched the way your lips parted, a soft whimper spilling free. The sound sent a shudder through his body, his breath coming out ragged as he struggled to hold himself together.

The stretch burned—a slow, intoxicating burn—one that sent heat rolling through your veins. You felt so full, every inch of him fitting into you as though he was meant to be there.

When he finally bottomed out, a cry tore from your throat, your back arching, pressing you flush against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, his weight solid, grounding, overwhelming in the best way.

He didn’t move right away.

Instead, he stayed buried deep, letting you adjust, letting you feel every inch of him. Your arms wound around his neck, and he exhaled against your skin, his breath warm and uneven.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your mingled breathing, the slow rise and fall of your chests as you both tried to catch air. He was everywhere, his presence consuming, intoxicating.

And then, he moved.

A slow, deliberate roll of his hips.

You gasped at the sensation, at the way he dragged against your walls with aching precision, each thrust filling you completely. Your nails raked down his back, and he shuddered at the sensation, his control fraying at the edges.

“You take it so good,” he praised, his voice thick, rough with something raw, something reverent. 

Every time his pelvis ground against yours, his head spread throughout you. The friction sent sparks up your spine, every movement of his body against yours pulling a new sound from your lips.

He was watching you, utterly captivated by the way you unraveled beneath him. His thrusts remained slow, deliberate, as if savoring every reaction, every little gasp and moan that escaped you.

His fingers traced down your side, over the curve of your waist, gripping you tighter as his pace deepened, intensified. His gaze burned into yours, filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

His eyes locked onto yours, his thrusts slow and deliberate. “So beautiful for me,” he rasped, his voice low, dripping with need.

The words ran over your skin, filling you with warm satisfaction, your head tilting back as another moan escaped you. Zayne’s lips hovered above yours. With each slow thrust, they brushed yours lightly. 

His pace faltered, his rhythm stuttering as he fought for control, his breath ragged against your skin. But he didn’t dare rush—he wanted to feel every second of this, every shudder, every tremor that wracked your body beneath him.

“You’re mine… all mine,” he groaned, voice thick with possession, his body tensing, muscles drawn taut as he drove his hips deep one last time.

A choked moan escaped you as you shattered beneath him, pleasure crashing over you in waves. His grip on you tightened as his own release followed, a deep, guttural sound leaving his lips as he buried himself fully, claiming every inch of you.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, your hearts hammering in sync as he collapsed against you, his weight a comforting warmth pressing you into the mattress.

Neither of you spoke right away.

Zayne traced slow, lazy circles on your bare skin, grounding himself in the feel of you, the reality of you. His forehead rested against yours, his breath still uneven but calming, syncing with yours.

Then, in the quiet, his lips tipped into a smirk against your temple.

“So… does this mean I can finally call you my girlfriend?” His voice was lower now, teasing but laced with something real—something hopeful.

He pulled back slightly, eyes searching yours in the dim light. “Or do I have to seduce you all over again?”

His grin was cocky, but there was something vulnerable in the way he looked at you—like he needed this answer.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, a slow, tired smile spreading on your lips as you exhaled softly.

"I think you already have," you whispered.

The tension broke as he let out a satisfied hum, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before pulling you closer, holding you like he never wanted to let go.

And you didn’t want him to.

Not now.

Not ever.

[dilf-docs]

You're a Daydream, Stay A While

joel miller x younger!reader

summary: you're jackson's designated bartender. well, your dad is, but after the arrival of a new face in town, maybe the inspiration to finally step up to your obligations kicks in.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., oral (f. receiving), fingering, foreplay (mostly breasts), creampie, breeding kink (kinda), angst/comfort, insecure!joel (love touch etcetc starved), needy!joel, pov switch mostly joel (he's down bad as well), collected shitty puns from across the internet like thanos collected the infinity stones

word count: 6,136 words

side note: yk what's worst than simping for old men? simping for old men who don't exist. since y'all know, tlou II trailer dropped, which got me searching for joel's ***** to brace/prepare myself. umm so, why did no one tell me jackson!joel is the hottest thing ever? can´t wait to see pedro being senior citizen level of hot and dying (again) on his bday month! 😍 anyway, this is based on this request and well, yes! i too would flirt with an old ass if he looked like that™ hope u like it bc for some reason I'm not sure of it JSJDLKDFK also 400 followers GUYS STOP (pls don't) IT'S TOO MUCH (give me more) HELP!=="))??! (that i do need tysm)

The truth is simple: you hate working.

An apocalypse later, you figure there are more important things. But on Jackson, it feels like the world before fungus and violence, and everyone's got a role to play. As the daughter of Tipsy Bison's owner, yours is to help around the bar, something no matter how much your dad scolds you, you don't seem to care enough to even do a decent job.

Of course, it could be worse: patroling, keeping the cattle or crops, but not even then you're moved enough to give a shit about it.

Enter Joel Miller.

He, who made sure his arrival in Jackson didn't go unnoticed, making heads turn at it, not only because of his emotional reunion with Tommy, the little girl with him, or the fact that he left yet still returned. But also (mainly to you) because he was hot. Very hot.

Joel was the type of handsome that was rough in the edges, his closed-off demeanor and overall mystery adding to the thrill. His face seemed to be in a perpetual state of grief and darkness, sprinkled with grey and wrinkles, that in your opinion, didn't mean about age but just something that made his features all the more attractive.

It was a lie to say there weren't any boys your age in Jackson, good-looking too, yet you felt yourself gravitate towards Joel's musky presence. Yes, he could be your dad, but again, it's the apocalypse, and there are plenty of things to worry about than some age gap.

That doesn't stop the talking, anyway. It may be the end of the world, but gossip is just like cockroaches: it never dies.

The Tipsy Bison owner's daughter is in love with Tommy's older, much older, brother.

It didn't bother you, thought. You were pretty open about it, giving Jackson more to talk. Whenever Joel arrived at the bar, all heads would turn in your direction, ready for the shameless flirting and compliments you showered the oldest Miller in.

Maria had warned you, of course. She was the closest you had to a friend―sometimes being like a big sister, and she seemed to know what he was up to before, at the QZ in Boston, thanks to Tommy. Safe to say, you didn't care, despite listening to every word she had said.

Joel could break your heart, yet in a dying world, you weren't afraid to live.

Which is why now, as he enters the bar, you offer your dad to take his place.

"Go rest, I'll take this client" you offer with kindness, but he knows better. You're his daughter: in the end of the day, he's aware Joel is here, your shift in attitude warning him about Miller's incoming presence.

"If you will take this client, take the rest too" and before your dad can throw a speech about everyone being equal in Jackson, you're accepting to do the job properly, despite your grumbling and lack of interest to anyone who isn't Joel.

"Joel" you greet as soon as he sits, one of the many flirty smiles you have for him only adorning your face. He nods, avoiding your eyes that look at him like he could give you the world. He can't, so he keeps focused on the glass you're pouring in front of him.

"See? Didn't even need to ask. I already know" you seem proud of it, and the ghost of a smile brushes his lips.

"Well" he raises the glass, "it's an easy drink"

You feign hurt, "is that how you treat your bartender? I could poison your drink" Joel now truly smiles, knowing you could never, "or I could just strip you of your my favorite customer rights"

Now he feigns hurt, playing along for the first time in ever.

"Copied" he raises his arms in surrender, not before taking a gulp. You watch hypnotized the way his adam's apple bobs, the liquid sliding down his throat until it looses itself in the peak his two buttons undone give, of what looks to be a broad soft upper body, blessed with a patch of greying messy hair.

"Have they ever complimented you before, Joel?"

You. He refrains from answering, scared as to where little encouraging had led you and your shameless mouth to. He can feel the rest of the people behind him whispering, holes burning his neck. He can't let you win again: make him seem a pathetic excuse of a man who can't say no to a sweet doe-eyed delusional girl.

But you don't stop, despite his silence and the growing pit on your stomach.

"I'll take that as a no. Wanna know why?" he takes a much needed sip, "because all the good pick-up lines are taken"

This he can handle, Joel thinks. It's silly, proper of your age-

"But you aren't"

Ah, of course. Hasn't he learned?

You have the nerve to laugh, free as a wind chime softly carresed by the wind. His face burns, and even thought he's heard plenty of worse from you ("No pen, no paper but you still draw my attention", "Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?" "You must be a dog person because you look fetching"), nothing had affected him this much.

Which is why he tries to pull the mask that had accompanied him since he first knew what grief was, so no feeling would ever made him weak again in a world hardened with pain. He's so good at it, wearing it like a second skin that doesn't scrub off no matter how much he wastes Jackson's water supply away, he sometimes sees the way your face is crestfallen at his indifference.

But you're young and stubborn, as so was he, before all the suffering and broken dreams.

So you won't listen to the past or doubts: the moment he stepped a foot into the community, you knew it was over, beating so loud you could barely hear your own breathing or him, when Maria introduced you and he shook your hand with his much bigger one.

"Joel" he'd said, with the sexiest voice you'd ever heard. His hands were covered in gloves, but despite that and the cold winter, the warmth that pooled from his palms had spread across your cheeks and chest. It had taken you a while to realize you hadn't said anything.

"Y/n" you hate the way your voice sounded small.

He nods, a way of saying Nice to meet you in his withdrawn nature. Then walks away, with Tommy and the girl, who looks curiously at you, Joel completely oblivious of how he's just turned your world upside down.

"Welcome to the museum!" you had said.

He tilted his head in confusion, Ellie's stare intense. "I thought this' Jackson?"

"This is a museum, because you're a work of art"

The tip of his ears instantly reddened, and the laugh Ellie was containing bursted like a bottle of champagne.

"Look at you, old man!" she laughed at him, making you wonder their relationship and how closer they seemed to be, despite initial assumptions. "Can't believe a girl gets the big, grumpy, scary Miller to blush like a boy"

You think that's the reason behind his apathy towards you, barely reacting to your pick-up lines or "subtle" flirting. It's probably not a reason as childish as that, but you'd rather be wrong than accept he may never feel the same way you do.

Because for a moment, despite the times you lived in, life made sense.

So no matter the stares, Joel's guarded posture and lack of reciprocation, you'll always be there, waiting: riding the roller coaster, enjoying the high.

The speed brings you closer, even if that means you'll crash.

Unfortunately for Joel, he knows who you are.

He's not even ten patrolling jobs closer to owning a bottle of whiskey of his own (he thinks earning it is bullshit, hasn't he done already enough?), so he's forced to go to the only place where he can get it.

And of course, there's you: a name and face he couldn't place upon his arrival, even if you had introduced yourself with your shitty line (which made him blush and Ellie laugh, so maybe it was a grudge what made him bent on removing you from his head) yet now is ingraned into his mind.

He doesn't know what's worst: your flirting or the fact that you seemed genuine about it. Or maybe it's the fact that he can tell you apart from the rest now, with a face full of life, always ready to give him your best smile and serve his glass the way he likes.

He needs to be the bigger person in this mess and stop it, Joel thinks. He isn't one to care about the talking, years of being brutal hiding any possible feeling that isn't rage. But then Ellie smuggled her way in his life, he found Tommy again, and Jackson was a reminder of old days when he would allow himself to feel anything else. So, in a way, he's become a bit susceptible to the talking behind his back.

How could he entertain a girl that could be his daughter? hushed, behind his stool. But then your fingers brush "accidentally", and his dick twitches between his legs when you bite your lip, pronouncing a Sorry like no one has said before: a tone so low and sultry, he's convinced wasn't even possible. Then you bat your eyelashes, and laugh (a sound both as delightful as addictive) before you're saying: "Don't mind them. They're just jealous you've got all my attention" and for a brief second, Joel let's himself believe he's special and worth of your time.

It's now a while since he's been there in Jackson, slowly settling into a life that doesn't involve running and fear.

If he thought your little crush was a phase, he's wrong.

You're still giving him time.

He's not supposed to get attached to you, Ellie, Tommy and Maria (future nephew in the way) more than enough. But then, when he's alone in a house too big for two people, Joel misses the way your loud voice fills the eerie silence that's followed him since death has been tracking his every step. Or how your interest on his life doesn't seem an act, listening to every word he says with tender eyes and soft smile, sometimes even making the effort of bringing things he's said before into new conversations; remembering. His heart flutter at your compliments, no matter how dumb they are, probably because he's not used to that stuff. As he lays awake at night, brain clogged with wounds too deep to bear, he finds comfort in things he has a feeling he's too old to get worked up about.

"Joel" you had said one day. God, he loved his name on your lips. The way you say it so sure, as if you'd follow him wherever he'd go.

He coughs. "Yeah?" and you smile, because at least he's looking in your direction.

"The chance of meeting a person like you is the only reason I talk to strangers"

The way your tone was straight, not flinching or faltering scared him. How something akin to sincerity dancing in the sparkles of your eyes, that now seemed to waver not out of whimsy but out of vulnerability, perfectly hidden in what could pass as another one of your attempts to woo him, but Joel's lived and seen enough to know it means much more.

So now, whenever there's darkness, he finds light on replaying those small moments on his head.

Dear God. What's he become? Ellie can't find out or he'll never hear the end of it.

But this things you don't know. All you see is a wall, and you're getting tired of hitting it.

The few words he spares your way are now a punishment you endure, cruel reminder that it's all you'll ever get.

Could you be in love forever? Could you even love?

It was a new feeling. Foreign, in fields of inexperience, but familiars in others. You may have never felt it, but the way your beat was steady when he showed up, worn out boots against the wood creaking under his weight, makes you believe when you know, you know.

"Hello, Joel" your father greets before you speak. Today, no matter how much you tried to shoo him away, he stayed.

You send a small smile his way, but he doesn't return it. You feel small, like a kid, undeserving of his attention. There's a bit of relief knowing your dad's there, so you let him take Joel for you.

There's always a first, and when both your dad and Joel notice, the latter feels a little sting on his chest.

But he's caused this, he thinks. It's what he wanted, after all: for you to stop chasing a man with scars in and out, bearing sins and blood where you had innocence and love.

"We're having a party tonight" he comments, making Joel quirk an eyebrow as he sips.

He gives you a brief glimpse, lost in the curve of your ass in those tight jeans, you giving him your back. He dryly scoffs on instinct at your deliberate choice to ignore him.

"Why's that?"

"My daughter's birthday"

He sees your body tense in the corner of his eye, wiping the glass in your hand with a bit too much force.

"Happy birthday" Joel speaks up, and you mutter a weak Thanks.

That's all he gets? No smile, no looking his way. Just a dry thank you that sounds more like something he would say.

Oh.

Was this how you felt?

"Time sure flies by" your dad sighs nostalgic, completely oblivious to the whole thing. "I feel if it was yesterday we came home from the hospital with you"

You smile, but it doesn't reach your eyes, despite the obvious adoration for your dad.

"Don't get sappy on me" you sound embarrassed.

"I don't care. Twenty-one years later and an apocalypse in the mix, you're still my baby"

"Dad!" your cheeks heat up, and Joel almost forgets he's there, his body back to life when your face goes back to its normal color and happiness.

"Which means" your dad goes back to Joel, "you're invited"

Your laughter dies and Joel's chest tightens.

"You need to stop saying that. All Jackson is invited" you respond, making him flinch. The bite is obvious.

You're not special, is what you try to say in between lines.

"I'll be there" tone daring, and your father feels something has shifted in the air.

You don't answer after that. What are you supposed to say? Don't come? I hate you for making me feel small? He doesn't owe you anything, but it still hurts.

"It's at seven" there's a sharp edge to your tone when looking at him.

"I'll be there" he repeats, still, but it sounds more like who he really is trying to convince is himself.

Joel is there, as promised. You don't know why, but after what happened earlier, for the first time ever, seeing him brings you dread.

He catches you in a corner, sipping on some drink.

"Hi" it's soft, the tone new, and it doesn't help the pit in your stomach.

"Hey"

"Why are you here?" he's curious., "ain't this supposed to be your party?"

It's funny, really. The way everyone else mingles around you, laugh and talk, yet here you are, bitter inside the shadows of your corner.

You raise your glass and chuckle dryly. "Well, cheers to that"

"You shouldn't be here" he insists, and you roll your eyes. Then, his voice goes soft. "Is... Is this because of me?"

You scoff, venom falling out of your bitter laugh. "Wow, big ego you got there. Newsflash: the world doesn't revolve around you"

He's so used to your pinning, it's hard to bear the change.

"I wasn't saying that, I just-"

"Please don't" you cut him off. "Don't ruin my birthday more than you already have, thanks"

You decide to walk away, but Joel won't let you.

"I don't want that" he insists, blocking your steps. "I want you to be happy"

"Don't bullshit me" your tone is icy, cutting like daggers. "Please, leave me alone"

"Not until you're fine"

You scoff at his incomprehensible behavior.

"Oh, now you care? Drop the act; you're just angry I'm not stroking your ego anymore like a lovesick puppy. Truth is, you don't owe me anything, Joel"

He looks like you've slapped him across his face.

"I know" his voice darkens, filled with tension. "But-"

You get tired at Joel's sudden insistence, overwhelming you with confusion. This is the same guy that has uttered less than fifty words your way, indifferent to your flirting and special treatment. Of course, it may have been a little silly of you to expect so much from a guy older even than your dad, but his apathy was borderline rude, and that you can't excuse. Or understand. Or let go.

So yes, you're being petty. And yes, it also feels good to have him begging to have your attention, the roles reversed.

"But what, Joel? Is there anything you can say, really? It's not that serious" you empty the glass in a chug, feeling dizzy. "Live a little and stop being so obssesed with me"

He shoots you a look hard to decipher. There is hurt: from all the emotions available, he chose the one thing you didn't think he'd be capable of feeling. Hell, he looked rather more like the cause than the affected on the other end. But then auburn fires flash behind his eyes, and the circle repeats itself, the danger and rage Maria warned you about.

"Obssesed with you?" his eyes carry a wild light in them. "If anyone is obssesed, well, it ain't me"

"I need air" you push past him, done with his shit.

"I'm sorry-"

The cold wind hits your face as you storm outside the bar. Is this a lesson to be learnt? Was this how heartbreak felt? The only thing you know is you need to get the farthest you can, even if your footsteps feel heavy with the weight of the snowed streets and frigidness of your heart.

"Y/n, wait!"

You turn around. Unbelievable: Joel Miller is running after you.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Joel?!" you shout, "why can't you just leave me alone?!"

"Because I-"

"There's nothing for you to say" you counter, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration. "If this is some sort of guilt thing, I need you to let it go. What I did- I mean, you should probably forget about the whole thing. It's my fault, and I'm sorry my reaction is immature and what not, but I should've known to read the signs. You're simply not interested in a girl who hasn't truly lived or known what pain is"

After you confession, you hear a laugh. You raise your eyes, anger and hurt flashing in tears.

"And you have the nerve to fucking laugh?! Fuck you, Joel" you want to walk away to save yourself from further embarrasment yet your feet seem to be stuck.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm not interested?" you roll your eyes, but he pins you by your shoulders, as if knowing you'd walk away. "Listen, I need you to know somethin': I'm not who you think I am"

"I don't care" you interrupt, defiant. "You're right, I don't know who you are. But I want to. Who you where outside this walls... It doesn't matter, not to me. You did what you had to do to survive, and that brought you here. Jackson... think of it as a second chance. You can still be happy, you know?"

With me, dies in your throat, not wanting to give more of yourself away.

"It's better this way" Joel insists, "hell, you'll even thank me one day. There's plenty of young boys here who'd love to be with you, trust me"

"I don't want them, Joel. What's so hard to understand?" what makes you get closer to him, you don't know, but in a sudden rush of force, you find the courage to look at him, body standing still as you exhale, fears condense in the air. "I only want you"

"You don't" you should roll your eyes again at his stubborn character, but his voice comes out so small, almost as if resignated, that it tugs your chest.

"I do" you reply firmly, cupping his cheek with tender care. He leans in your touch, despite it revealing his true desires when it comes to you.

"Why me?" Joel whispers, bigger hand covering yours, as to prove it's real and the warmth isn't a joke. "Why not a younger, charmin', happy boy your age? Why a broken violent older man?"

His voice breaks after the admission, quietly seeping into heavy silence that falls like the snowflakes in his hair.

"Joel" you call his name softly, making those sad brown eyes look at you. You gulp, nervous at the storm of emotions inside them, "is it so hard to believe you can be loved?"

Your words make him falter, his grip loosing strength as he tumbles back.

"Love?" he repeats with disbelief, as if you'd just say some kind of tale. "There isn't love in this world left for me. Men like me don't deserve good things, especially if they comin' from a pretty girl as yourself"

You shouldn't be blushing at times like this, but the maroon splash on your cheeks betrays you, warm as the drink from before and red as the dim lights casted by Jackson's Christmas tree in the middle of the town.

"Joel" you call again, and he's surprised you're still there. That you hadn't turn your back on him, or looked into his eyes and saw the monster in him, running away to never come back.

"If you let me" you hold his hands to steady him even as they tremble, "I could"

I could love you.

The promise hangs unspoken in the air, the wind now barely above a humming.

"You'd take me" his voice falters, "with all I've done, knowing I've hurted people?" Killed people, but he can't bring himself to say it when you look at him like that: like he could learn to love you.

"Yes" your voice doesn't waver a bit, "every part of you"

"And you'd take me knowin' that I'm years ahead in hurt, age and life?"

"Yes, Joel" you giggle. "Are you making me do an exam on your life? Because that's not fair, you've barely spoken to me, or anyone else for the matter!"

He chuckles, shaking his head.

"I s'ppose life ain't fair, sometimes"

"But it could be" the moonlight of the now clear sky shines over your eyes, and Joel is sure that the stars would be jealous.

"It could" he repeats, as to believe it himself.

Silence settles again, but it doesn't feel suffocating anymore.

"You know, we should probably get inside"

You dissmiss his words. "Nobody has even noticed we're gone"

"What about the cake?"

Your chest feels warm at his concern. He may not believe it, but the old-world Joel, the one who was a contractor in Texas and had a daughter, is still there, somewhere.

"Jackson is real, but miracles not" you laugh, "we don't have those. The party really is just an excuse for dad to drink with his friends during labor hours"

"And yours?" Joel inquires, "where your friends at?"

"Left early" then you lean to his ear, hot where skin meets cold. "I told them to"

He tries, but all words die on his throat.

"Wanna know why I did it?" your fingers wander to his tense jawline, tracing your sharp nails until they descent to his neck, sprinkled with loose hairs from his beard.

"Why?" voice barely above a whisper, his cock painfully hard between his legs. That you don't know: just the glint of dark on his hazel eyes.

"Why don't we find out?" and your hand takes his to lead the way. When he doesn't move, you try other way.

"I'm the birthday girl" you tease softly, but your orbs sparkle with something akin to dangerous. "You better make it up to me"

You've walked this road so many times, yet it's never felt longer.

The house is alone, you'd say, and Joel followed you because well, he'd follow you anywhere. He notices you said 'house', an indicator you still live with your parents. He wonders if you're embarrased, but by the way you smile, inviting him inside, to a part of you intimate and unknown until today, he knows he's chosen right.

When you open the door, cold creeps in through the cracks of warmth. You lead the way to your room, and once you're inside, he thinks it's very you.

"Very me?" you giggle, taking a seat in the bed. Joel watches from the doorframe, his bulky arms crossed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's cute" and you think it's not a frequent word in his vocabulary, thanks to the pink dusting his cheeks.

"I'm cute?" you repeat delighted, and the shade of pink turns darker.

He just nods, avoiding your gaze.

"Joel" you call, then pat the spot next to you "why are you so far away? Are you scared?"

He grumbles something under his breath before walking over to where you showed. The bed creaks under his weight, and now that he's closer, you hear the wavering beat of his heart and ragged breaths.

"You are scared" you repeat, a statement now. He thinks you're mocking him, until your sure hand grabs his. "It's okay"

Before he can add on that, your face is too close, your breath tickling over his nose. He feels the moist of your lips press over the brigde of it, with a tenderness that brings ghosts of tears he has since long shade to his eyes.

Then they smoothly move to catch him in a kiss. He lets out a shaky gasp against your mouth, letting himself loose on the whiskey drops inside, an intoxicating mix against his own. His hands find your waist, gripping the soft skin with calloused fingers, refusing to leave it. He squeezes your curves while infiltrating your mouth with his tongue, until he pulls to breath, making you whine.

"Fuck, sweetheart" he nips your lower lip, "ain't you the sweetest thin' to ever exist?"

The kiss gets more heated, his hands now traveling to your face as they hold onto you for support, rough digits meeting peachy skin. Just the mere act of kissing makes him groan against you, too old to be shameful about the needy sounds coming out of his mouth.

"Joel" you whimper his name. He stops and takes the time to bore his gaze over your flushed face, your own dazed eyes mirroring his.

His fingers find their way to your hips again, pulling you closer. The moment caughts you and the bed off guard, the furniture creaking while your eyes move to the hardness visible on his worn-out jeans. You move your head to free your mouth to talk, but that doesn't stop Joel, who hungrily kisses the trace of your jaw and the road starting in your neck and finishing on your collarbones.

"Is that because of me?" Joel whines against your lips, yet you can't stop staring at the very big silhouette. "Oh, happy birthday to me"

Joel whines when you tear way from him, his hands loosing grasp on your body. You move up against the headboard, spreading your legs for him to put himself in between them.

You take off your clothes, and his eyes don't leave your body as if it's a show for him. He can drool at the sight of your breasts, rosy skin waiting for his tongue and teeth to sink on it. He leans closer, eyes looming at moles he could beg to kiss.

Now you, your expectant eyes plea. Joel's posture adquires a guarded air, as he grows self-conscious.

"Stop staring at me like that" he nervously chuckles.

"Is there something wrong?" your sweet voice inquires, laced with concern. He gulps, kind of afraid and embarrased of what you would say.

"I'm..." his voice comes out strained, "I just-"

His mind briefly wanders to Tess, how she never said anything, rather busy seeking the warmth of his body without commenting about it. The act mattered over the feelings, which where in her eyes but not his heart. But now, his heart beats in a different sound, one where he wishes you won't judge a body crossed with the roughness of scars yet the softness of extra weight.

"M' just warnin' you, doll" the nickname brings butterflies in your stomach, "this body's seen better days"

He removes the layers of clothing: flannel first, and then tight white long sleeved shirt. He's left in his jeans, unbuckling his belt that falls to the floor with a thud. His breathing turns to panting, afraid to meet you in the eye.

"Joel" you repeat his name, bringing him back to reality. "Look at me"

He's killed people, faced raiders as much as infected, and other countless things, so he dares himself to look up, breath hitching when he finds you eating him with your eyes.

"Fuck, Joel. I didn't know you were so pretty under those dirty ass flannels"

You knew he'd be handsome; that's literally the reason why you chose to flirt with him. But now that he's completely stripped off his layers of warm clothing, it's even better. You can't stop your hungry eyes from roaming his body, lingering on the soft swell of his stomach, hanging over the waistband of his underwear. A scar that looks deep is near his belly button, and you wonder if he'll ever tell you why. There's a patch of hair over his soft chest your tongue wants to lick. And of course, his strong arms packed with broad shoulders that make you want to scream.

"Stop lying" he chastises, but there's a smile adorning his features. A true smile on Joel fucking Miller's face. What a rare sight; you need to see it more.

"W-where your condoms?" he asks, nervous.

That catches you off guard, too busy cooing over how a man so big and sturdy could fold that easily, looking and sounding small.

"I'm not sure. I mean, maybe on my parents room but I-"

You cut yourself. Joel's concerned gaze finds you. "Yes?"

"I want you, Joel" the intensity of your stare terrifies him. "All of you"

He falls closer to you, forehead against your own. He can't bring himself to look at you, so he closes his eyes and dares to ask:

"Are you sure you want this?"

Are you sure you want me?

"Don't you trust me?" you're all smiles, even if your voice is soft. "I want you. I truly do"

He's hiding his face into your shoulder until you feel his lips pressing against your now bare skin, making you shiver.

"Where you want me, birthday girl?" he says between kisses. "Tell me, sweetheart. I'm all ears"

"Please, Joel" you unhook your bra, letting your breasts free. His lips begin to kiss his way to your breasts, tongue teasing the skin before nipping it. Joel's teeth catch the hardened nipple, grazing it lightly.

"S'pretty" he sounds drunk, and you love the way he looses himself in the pleasure haze.

He continues kissing your breasts before positioning himself right so he can hover above you. The kisses turn wet and sloppier, as if all his energy was to be spent into the rosy skin.

"Can I taste you, sweetheart?" he lowers his head to your entrance, already soaking wet with your arousal. "Fuck me, if this ain't a meal"

"The best in all Jackson" you joke, but the laugh dies in your throat when Joel's nose ghosts over your throbbing pussy.

"I- fuck, Joel" you moan when he licks your folds, his tongue an expert. For a brief moment, you think of who came before you, and if this is what they got or you're getting the best version. His saliva mixes with your dripping juices, making you whine as his tongue licks your swollen folds. His fingers then slowly inserted themselves inside at the same time, moving in and out of your puffy walls. His groans mix with the sound of your whines and the furniture creaking, the sounds obscene and feeling so far from the outside world.

"You're so good at this, baby" his sweat mixes with the blush on his face because of the nickname, nose pressed against your clit as he keeps up the ministrations. "D-don't stop"

"This pussy's so pretty" he says, "and s'only for me, yeah?"

"Yes, Joel. Only yours" you whine, your orgasm approaching. All of your body feels on fire, every touch inching the burn in your stomach closer as his head remains between your legs, tongue insatiable. You come all over his face, your hands digging into his damp locks as you scream his name to the air.

Joel raises his head to capture your lips on a wet kiss, the taste of you inside your mouth and dripping from his coated beard.

"Ain't you sweet" you open your legs further. "You're such a tease, sweetheart. Gon'be the death of me"

"I just like seeing you like this" you admit.

"Means?"

"So fucking needy"

A borderline primal grumble births from his throat. "You've a filthy mouth on you, sweetheart" he chuckles while wrapping your legs around his waist and lining himself up. Joel's tip runs up and down your folds, grazing your clit long enough to make you gasp.

"And you're s'fuckin' tight" he mumbles under his breath. You gasp for air as you try to adjust yourself to the huge size of his girth, afraid you bit more than what you can chew. His pace starts slow but gradually picks up a rougher and quicker pace. Joel grunts between thrusts, yet takes his time to make sure his lips kiss every mole sprinkled across your face and chest, his favorite just above your left eyebrow.

"I want ya' to come first, like a present" blush crosses through his face again. He leaves teasing kisses against your face, as you wail, finally hitting you.

"I'll wait for you" you whisper, your hips aiding you to sustain his sloppy thrusts, "want you to come too. Inside"

You feel his softening dick twitch, suddenly rock hard again. Oh, so he was into that.

"Don't worry, I have a pill" you explain. "So go ahead, pretty boy. Show me if the size matches the talk"

"Bet" his voice acquires a darkness to it. "Gonna fill you with all of it, until you milk my cock dry. Gonna fill this pretty pussy until it's full of my seed and it leaks for days"

He follows right after, groaning into your shoulder, where he bits the skin. His tongue wets the area, to relief the pain, yet you like it. Thick ropes of cum paint your puffy heat creamy, Joel panting as he stares down at you.

"What?" you chuckle.

Maybe Jackson was a safe haven. Heaven incarnate. Maybe second chances were real, and for the first time in years, he feels safe.

"I don't deserve you" he voices his thoughts, forehead pressed against yours as he tries to even his breathing, yet each breath seems more labored than the last.

Your hands travel to his face, cupping it with tender hands. He leans on the touch, because despite his crimes and past dawning upon him, he's a man: one seeking comfort on a pretty face and anything that'll remind him of distant emotions that can still exist despite what the world has become. Joel's hands travel to yours, thumb brushing skin free of scars and pain. He envies and loves the beauty in your face, eyes full of something akin to affection looking back, blurring the pain mirrored on his own. You kiss him again, and he can feel the emotions in the tip of your tongue.

"You're wrong" your voice holds a quiet determination. Time was a precious gift, but in Jackson, time could be, and the resolve longing tells him you'll be there. I'm not going anywhere, Joel. Not without you. "We all deserve love, Joel"

Joel Miller is a man who finds it hard to trust, yet, when he takes a look at your eyes―warm as coffee, he allows himself to believe in you.

[peachesofteal]

The wallflower.

Johnny clocks it immediately, your shoulders practically pinned against the pale-yellow wall, pint glass slick with condensation cradled between your fingers. Your eyes dart around and then away, finding something to study in the carpet, or the stairs, on the coffee table.

You’re not comfortable here, that much is clear.

He elbows Simon. “Poor girl looks nervous.” Simon gives you a furtive glance over the rim of his glasses, and nods.

“Probably only knows one person. Or got dragged here.” It’s Kyle’s wife’s birthday party. She has a lot of friends it seems, well liked in all facets of her life, work and otherwise. He clucks his tongue. “Sweet thing.” Someone bumps into you, and then pivots, reaching out to grab your arm in apology. You don’t tell him off or pull away. You just glance at his hand, meek smile stretching your lips sour. It turns Johnny’s stomach.

“She needs rescuing.”

“Johnny.” There’s a warning in Simon’s tone, a reproachful sentiment that he knows well. No strays. No projects. No more shelter pets.

“Ach c’mon. Look at her.” That one muscle in Simon’s cheek feathers, the one that says everything without Simon saying anything at all. Broken resolve.

He sighs. Johnny grins.

“Ye alright?” The man who’s taken up a residence at your shoulder is now speaking to you. Worse, he’s asking you if you’re alright.  

“I… I’m good. Yeah. Fine.” You grip your glass tighter, ignoring the flip of your stomach. You snuck at glance at him when he first came over, and that was enough. He’s very handsome.

And you’re, well-

You’re… you.

“Someone ditch ye?” Oh god.

“Uh, no. My friend is over there.” You point to Anna’s back. She’s in the kitchen, laughing so loud you can hear her from across the living room.

“Ah. She did ditch ye.”

“No!” You glare at him, “No.”

“But she didnae offer to introduce you to anyone?” You wince, and his eyes flicker with sympathy. “Ah, she did.”

“I’m not good with… people.” The understatement of the year. You don’t do people. People are too unpredictable, too much of an unknown. A pattern of behavior will only take you so far, and it’s hard to forecast their actions, reactions, words, emotions… everything.

You prefer safer bets. Predictable things. Equations, mostly.

“Ye’re not good w’people, but ye’re at a party.”

“Yes, it’s quite a feat.” You snap your mouth shut, expecting him to give you a weird look, but he laughs.

“If ye’re uncomfortable, why stay?”

“Because, social interactions are good for me. And I promised myself a slice of cheese pizza if I made it an hour.” He should laugh. Most would. Most would think it’s fucking hilarious, how you’re bribing yourself, dangling a carrot in front of your face.

But this guy doesn’t. He doesn’t laugh. He cocks his head, and frowns. “So… ye’re torturing yourself so ye can earn a slice of pizza.” A nervous giggle bubbles up and out your throat.

“It sounds bad when you put it that way but-“

“It is bad.” A deep voice sounds from over your shoulder, and you jump.

“This is Simon.” Your new… friend, Johnny, motions to the hulking man at your side, and you manage a nod, spitting out your name. “He’s no’ scary, just looks it.” Johnny reaches for his hand, and the equation clicks to together with ease.

Oh.

“You here with a friend?”

“Uh. Yep.” You point to Anna, again, and they exchange a look.

“She ditch ya?” Same question, different accent, and you’re about to give the same answer, when Johnny intercedes.

“She’s here so she can have a slice of pizza.” Yeah. It sounds bad.

“Wot?”

“I… It’s good for me to be around people so I said if I could do it for an hour, I could have pizza.” They’re both wearing expressions you can’t translate, two faces you don’t understand, and it twists you up.

“Do you usually ransom yourself pizza?”

“N-no.”

“Is it… an eating thing?”

“Oh, no. It’s like… I’d rather be at home, but everyone says socializing is… important. So, for doing something I hate, I get pizza.” Simon sighs.

“Trying to fit a square into a circle.” The comment is puzzling, but as you’re trying to put it together, Johnny links his pinky with yours and tugs you closer. The room is quiet, the music, the laughing, the chatter, all of it goes silent. There are dozens and dozens of people in here, but right now, it’s just you and these two. Staring at one another. There’s a web thin string spinning from him, to you, to Simon, and it’s wrapping you up, cocooning you, holding you tight.

“This okay?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Ye wannae go get that slice with us?” Do it. Just do it. Do something. You take a deep breath.

“Sure.”  

They look comical, shoved into the pleather red booth across the table from you, Simon far too wide to comfortably accommodate Johnny, but they don’t seem to mind. “So, cheese then?” You nod, picking at the faded corner of a menu. This was a bad idea, this was stupid. What were you thinking? Why-

“Three slices of cheese please.” You hadn’t even noticed the server, and you panic when she starts to turn away.

“And a coke!” You blurt, immediately embarrassed. She stares at you for a second before nodding, forcing a smile, and walking off. Fuck. You press your palm down on the table, trying to focus on the texture, the feel of it.

“Hey,” Simon says softly, “you didn’t do anything wrong.” You bristle.

“I know that.” Of course you know… don’t you?

Clearly not.

They don’t try to force you into conversation, but they do talk to you. They don’t ask you pointed questions or try to dig into you, instead choosing to tell you about themselves, their dog, their jobs. They keep you involved without dragging you in unwillingly.

It’s nice.

You’re halfway through your slice when you realize they’re watching you.

 “What? Is there something on my face?” You frantically wipe at your chin, your cheeks. Simon’s mouth quirks.

“Nothing on your face, sweet girl.” Your brain scrambles. Words fail. You don’t think anyone has ever called you something like that before.

“Oh. Okay. Well. Good.” Stupid.

“Go on and finish up.” He instructs, pointing at the grease laden slice, and you bring it to your mouth obediently. “Want to come for a walk with us after this? Our favorite park is around the corner, and the moon is really bright tonight.” A walk. With them. A walk? What does that mean? Just like, a walk?

Do it. Just do it. Do something. Be brave.

You roll your shoulders, and take a bite of your pizza, chewing slowly and swallowing.

And then you nod.

“Yes.”

[nightingale-prompts]

(Ooo, I love it. You did great. Harvey is complex and I'm still learning too.)

Living a double life isn't easy. Sure, he isn't running around doing petty bank robberies these days despite what his Associate wants. Harvey has been keeping up a good image with a few backroom deals. No better than any other lawyer in Gotham. He placates his other half with plans to kill Batman as it is still his nature to destroy order as he is chaos.

But one thing he knew that would improve his reputation is to take a page out of Bruce's book. Take in a ward. The bonus was that the teen is just like him. A matching set. A two of a kind. A perfect match.

Just like he liked it.

His new ward was guarded but he was offered a fair trade. He helps Harvey with what he needs the boy for and the boy gets room and board.

"You're not some rich fruitloop, are you?

He beared his sharp canines at Harvey be fore his face softened.

"We don't like being around rich people."

Harvey laughed.

"Me neither but their money is good. I'd say wealthy, but not rich. Enough that you will end up in private school whether you want it or not."

"He sure complains a lot." The voice of his Associate rang out internally.

After a few weeks of waiting and paperwork the (not actually) orphaned Danny was now Danny Dent or Double D as Harvey called him. Danny hated the nickname and the amusement it gave his adopted father.

Danny wasn't even surprised when Harvey was revealed to be a bad guy. It wasn't the first time a crazy rich guy wanted to adopt him. At least Harvey didn't want to kill his dad and date his mom. Harvey wasn't obsessed with him either and preferred to leave him to his own devices while he worked.

At least Danny wasn't nearly important enough to be on TV like the Wayne brats.

Harvey even gave Danny his own set of goons to order around when he took off that prosthetic and let his Two-Face persona out. Danny felt almost jealous how liberating it must have been.

Call it misguided but Danny helps Two-Face when he decides to hold up the Gotham art auction. It was money laundering anyways and Two-Face promised Danny a hefty allowance. But Batman had to show up and stop them. Sure, it was robbery but it's the rich, they don't count. They steal all the time and they aren't killing anyone.

It ended up being a face-off with Robin who was definitely surprised to see him.

"Who are you?" He questioned between blows.

"Call us Twofold." They said.

Twofold as in twice as great. A sort of jab at Two-Face but even that monster couldn't help but laugh when he heard it.

"Twice as great? You're just in two. You have to prove to me you deserve that name but I'll allow it. For now."

The heist went well and Penguin now had a nice collection of art to fence for them. The Dents get the money and none of the risk of holding the art. Harvey wasn't willing to stain his reputation with Two-Faces actions and warned Twofold to do the same.

"Be nice. Keep your other half quiet today. We are meeting with the Waynes today."

"Those brats?"

"Yes, Bruce has been my friend for many years and we will keep it that way. These may come a time we're you will find the Wayne children helpful to your career."

"And kiss their ass?!"

"Don't argue with us!"

"Sorry, mister Dent. We'll nice. Promise."

"I know YOU will but keep the other under raps, even if they make you mad."

"Fine, but if they call me Double D I'm punching them."

"Don't say that. We need to be nice. Just tell them to stop."

"But it's more fun to hit them."

Harvey ruffled Danny's hair. He guessed he could understand Bruce at least a little. A kid was at least entertaining.

After Image AU- DCxDP prompt

"Do you hate me?" He asked rolling to face Danny.

"No." Danny said simply "Go to sleep."

They had found shelter for the night, it was only temporary though. It was an old abandoned church next to a cemetery.

"But it's all my fault."

"Hush. Hating you would be the same as hating myself."

"They could have separated us."

"That would have killed us both. I may not like sharing a body but we are meant to stay together."

Danny knew they were wrong. That's what happens when your conciseness was split in two. One remained alive the other dead. They had the same memories and emotions but they were so different. The other's logic just diverged when it came to ghosts vs mortals. More then that neither knew who was the original. If there even was an original. Maybe the Danny from before no longer existed and the split made them imprints of what was no longer there.

Now they were Danny. They both had to believe they were the original. Because if they weren't...what were they.

But after everything that happened at least they weren't alone.

"We ruined everything"

"We survived."

"I miss them."

"I'll protect us."

That's all that matters anymore. Survive.

They weren't heros or villains. They were just victims of a situation they couldn't change. They had to figure something out soon though. Gotham was their best bet so far. If there was anywhere where they could live normally it was here. They disagreed about how to do it though.

"Being a goon for a bit might get us enough money."

"And what? We won't be able to get out and who's going to hire a 16 year old?"

"Plenty I bet. What is your plan then?"

"Maybe join the league. We have powers and-"

"And what? Study us? Separate us?!"

"You don't know."

"You don't either."

So who could they go to? They looked like they were nothing more than a homeless mentally ill teenager. Talking to himself wasn't helping his case. At this rate they'll end up at Arkham.

[skylin-files]

girl code ⋆ na jaemin

pov: your best friend's former situationship started hitting you up. what could go wrong?

pairing: college student!jaemin x college student! yn

featuring! winter of aespa, nct members

note: this is part three (final part). i hope you like it; your comments will be highly appreciated. ♡

check other parts here: part 1 | part 2

── .✦

You found yourself zoning out in the cafeteria, barely touching your food, while both Haechan and Mark watched you with concern.

Winter’s silence—ignoring you and not replying for two days—wasn’t helping either. Perhaps luck was on your side, as your lab class with Jaemin had been postponed due to your professor’s flu.

Occasionally, you’d cross paths with Jaemin in the hallway. You tried to appear neutral, but the heavy weight in your stomach was impossible to ignore every time you saw him. At the same time, you couldn’t deny how much you secretly liked feeling his gaze linger on you as you turned away.

It had been two days since Mark sent the group photo and two days since you last heard from Winter.

It was the end of your final class, and as you placed the last of your things in your locker and slammed it shut, you nearly jumped at the sight of Jaemin leaning casually against the locker next to yours.

"Hey," he greeted, his voice soft. You blinked, trying to steady yourself, and whispered back, "Hey."

You watched him as he straightened up from his relaxed position, seeming to wrestle with his thoughts, hesitating before speaking.

"How are you?" he asked. His tone held a subtle weight, as though he wanted to ask more but held himself back. You hadn’t been replying to his messages like you used to, and though he clearly noticed, he chose not to press further.

"I’m okay, just busy," you answered—a tired, overused excuse. It was obvious Jaemin didn’t believe you, but he only nodded in response. "Can I get you a coffee?" he offered.

Did you want to say yes? Absolutely. But was it the right thing to do? You weren’t sure. Caught between the pull of a heart yearning for love and a mind that kept shutting it out, you felt a pang of helplessness.

"Sure," you murmured, almost to yourself, the word slipping out with a faint sense of defeat.

── .✦

"One americano and an iced caramel macchiato for Jaemin," the barista announced.

Jaemin gathered both drinks, and while you went to the restroom, he placed them at the table by the time you returned. The two of you settled into a cozy seat at a café near campus, the same place where you and Winter usually hung out. As you sat there, your thoughts drifted to your best friend, and a somber look crossed your face, which Jaemin quickly noticed.

"We haven’t seen much of each other lately," he remarked, though you couldn’t quite read his expression.

"Well, our professor has the flu," you replied. Jaemin simply nodded, taking a sip of his drink.

The silence lingered for a while, and once again, it felt like he was on the verge of saying something but was hesitating. Finally, he spoke up. "I missed you."

As you were about to take a sip from your cup, you froze for a moment, the cup hanging just a few inches from your lips.

"I missed you too, Jaemin," you replied, though deep down, you couldn't help but feel that developing feelings for Na Jaemin might be the most ironic twist fate had thrown your way.

"I want to be upfront," he started, and you could feel your heart race. "I’m not sure if you're intentionally ignoring me or if I did something wrong," he added.

"Your actions toward me have been confusing." You cut him off, attempting to conceal the real reason behind your behavior—the fact that you knew about him and Winter. As you spoke, you noticed Jaemin’s eyes soften.

"I know," he replied softly. "That’s why I’m here. I want to clear everything up."

For a moment, you found yourself wondering if what you had said was just an excuse, a way to justify your actions. Deep down, you realized that part of you was also eager to discover if Jaemin felt the same way about you as you did about him.

"The things I’ve done with you, the things I’m doing now, and the things I’m about to do—I'm not doing any of this just to be friends," Jaemin confessed. "I wanted to be clear and be 100% honest with you, because this is how it needs to be for it to work."

Hearing him speak so openly, you knew exactly where this conversation was headed.

"Your best friend, Winter... remember when you said she had a situationship here on campus?" Jaemin asked. You could only nod, finally bracing yourself to hear the confirmation.

"That was me," Jaemin admitted. You weren’t sure whether to feel heartbroken, knowing that your best friend was the failed situationship of the first boy you'd ever liked, or relieved, remembering how Jaemin had opened up about his past situationship with you.

"You told me that your first and last situationship was one of your biggest regrets. You said you didn’t want to go through it again, that it was pointless, a waste of time. That was Winter?" you asked, and Jaemin nodded in response.

Was it wrong to feel a sense of relief at his answer? He was clearly over your best friend, yet you couldn’t shake the guilt that lingered deep inside.

"I want to be completely honest with you," Jaemin said. "I like you, and if you feel the same, I’ll do everything I can to make it work. But that can only happen if I tell you this."

Both of you understood the consequences. You hadn't known that Jaemin was Winter's past situationship, and Winter hadn’t even mentioned it when you showed her the picture of you and Jaemin together. As for Jaemin, he was aware that you and Winter were best friends, but his feelings towards you all came naturally, and his intentions were sincere—what he felt for you was real.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner, but now that what I feel for you is clear, I knew you needed to know," Jaemin said.

His words made your heart sink. You appreciated Jaemin for being honest, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of sadness. Winter, your best friend for years, couldn’t even face you or talk to you about it over the phone.

You never understood why girls would lose their minds over a boy, not until Na Jaemin came into your life. You could only smile wistfully, never expecting to find yourself caught up in this kind of situation.

"I actually knew since two days ago," you finally confessed to Jaemin. "Winter, she’s been ignoring me. She even soft blocked me and my friends on social media," you added, referring to Haechan and Mark.

You paused for a moment, then looked at Jaemin and said sincerely, "Thank you for talking this through with me," feeling a deep sadness in your stomach. "But I need some time," you added, almost as if you were saying it to yourself rather than to Jaemin.

He nodded in response, and you could see a smile on his face, though it carried an undertone of sadness. "I understand," he replied.

You left the café and as you walked a few blocks away, the rain began to pour. Quietly cursing, you realized you didn't have your umbrella. But when you checked your bag, you found one tucked inside.

It wasn't yours, but it looked familiar.

You sighed as you realized it must have been Jaemin's—he must have placed it in your bag while you were in the restroom.

── .✦

The rhythmic sound of the cheerleading team's synchronized movements echoed through the gym as they practiced. For the past few days, Winter had dedicated all her time and focus to cheer, as if nothing else mattered.

When practice finally ended, she sat on the benches while the rest of her teammates left. She was alone in the gym, at least until footsteps echoed in, though she didn’t initially pay much attention. It wasn’t until the footsteps stopped in front of her that she looked up from her phone—it was Jaemin.

Winter froze as Na Jaemin stood in front of her in the university gym. "Are you lost?" she asked with a chuckle, trying to mask the uneasy feeling swirling in her stomach.

"We need to talk," Jaemin said plainly. Winter couldn’t stop the frown that formed on her face, starting to piece together the real reason he was there. Jaemin wasn’t there for her—he was there because of her best friend.

"If you’re here to tell me to talk to my best friend, then you should just leave," Winter snapped, standing and hastily gathering her things.

"You’re selfish, you know that?" Jaemin’s words caught her off guard, but she continued packing, determined to ignore him.

"You cut me off when I wanted to court you properly. And now that I’ve started liking someone who’s ready to commit the way I am, you’re acting like you’re the one who’s been dumped," Jaemin said, his usual calm demeanor replaced with frustration.

"She’s my best friend!" Winter lashed out, nearly throwing her things in her anger as her voice echoed in the empty gym. Jaemin and Winter locked eyes, tension crackling between them.

"This is the first time she’s liked a guy, but I know she understands what girl code is," Winter said, her voice faltering. Even as the words left her mouth, she felt foolish. Jaemin had never truly meant anything to her; their connection had been casual. Yet somehow, her pride and ego felt bruised, as if her very identity had been challenged.

"If you wanted her to follow girl code so badly, why didn’t you confront her about it?" Jaemin shot back, his tone sharp. "Why did it have to be me telling her about us? Why did her other friends have to find out before she did? You weren’t honest with her."

"I was honest! Not entirely," Winter countered, her voice rising in defense. "But when I said you two looked good together, I meant it. You did look good together." She paused, her voice trembling now. "But that doesn’t mean it didn’t make me feel sick to my stomach," she admitted, her frustration spilling out in every word.

Her hands trembled as she spoke, guilt crashing over her. Winter felt like the worst friend, the worst person, for the way things had turned out. She hated the way she felt but couldn’t deny it.

"You two looked so good together that it started to hurt," Winter admitted, her voice heavy with emotion. "But I don’t have the right to feel that way because I was the one who cut you off. We had nothing, and I didn’t do anything to change that. I didn’t stop her from seeing you."

Winter’s frustration was palpable, but it wasn’t directed at Jaemin or her best friend—not really. Deep down, she was angry at herself, though she desperately wished she could blame someone else. The weight of her own choices and inaction bore down on her, leaving her overwhelmed with regret.

Winter felt a wave of helplessness as she locked eyes with Jaemin, her mind briefly imagining what it might have been like if she had given him a chance—if she had taken him seriously. But reality pulled her back, and she could only shake her head in resignation.

"Just take care of her," she said softly, her voice heavy with emotion.

"I know you will, but please, take care of her. She's been looking out for me for years, and she deserves someone who will do the same for her." She was referring to her best friend. Clutching her gym bag tightly, she turned and walked out of the gym.

Jaemin stood frozen in place, the sound of the gym door slamming shut echoing in the empty space. Letting out a deep sigh, he pulled his phone from his pocket.

Your name was on the screen—the call was still ongoing. You had heard everything.

Every word, every emotion in Winter’s voice, every part of the conversation. You had heard it all.

── .✦

Your lab classes had resumed, but Jaemin was no longer seated beside you. At first, it stung, but then you realized why he had moved. He was doing it for you—giving you the time and space you said you needed.

Days passed, and you could still feel his gaze linger on you when you weren’t looking. The moment you no longer sensed his eyes, you found yourself testing your luck, stealing glances at him as if trying to grow accustomed to admiring him from a distance.

It was bittersweet, almost cliché.

A sadness settled over you as you wondered: Is this your reality with Jaemin? To admire each other from afar? The thought crept in—perhaps you and Jaemin were better at yearning for each other than at actually being together.

Not long after Jaemin spoke to Winter, you received a message from her. It was brief, only a few words:

Winter: “I’m sorry. I hope I can talk to you properly soon. I love you.”

You didn’t bother replying. It was clear she wasn’t ready to have an honest conversation or fully confront the situation. And as much as it hurt, you knew you had to face it on your own.

Weeks passed, and another group task was assigned during your lab class. As usual, everyone was instructed to write their partner's name on a piece of paper.

Glancing around the room, you noticed Jaemin's seat was empty. Your grip on the pen tightened as an internal battle raged between your heart and mind. Letting out a quiet sigh, you decided to follow what you truly wanted.

Carefully, you wrote your name on the paper. Just below it, you added "Na Jaemin."

Staring at the name, you gave a small nod before rising from your seat to submit it to your professor.

"He won’t mind, right?" you murmured to yourself, hoping you were right.

── .✦

Jaemin sat in the cafeteria with his best friend, Jeno, who was happily devouring his lunch.

“Are they not eating lunch today?” Jaemin asked, glancing at his watch. He was referring to you and your friends, who usually occupied the far end of the cafeteria.

“She’s in the library,” a familiar voice chimed in, followed by the loud clatter of a food tray being slammed onto the table, startling both Jaemin and Jeno. The voice belonged to Haechan, who had appeared out of nowhere, with Mark trailing closely behind, carrying his own tray.

“Be careful,” Jeno muttered, giving Haechan a side-eye, but Haechan merely shrugged as he and Mark casually settled into the seats across from Jaemin and Jeno.

“Why are you guys sitting here?” Jeno asked, giving Mark, his classmate, a friendly grin afterward, pointing toward the end of the cafeteria where Haechan and Mark usually sat. Both Jaemin and Jeno looked at them, confused by the sudden change in routine.

"You were looking for us, right? It would be easier if we sat closer to you," Haechan joked.

"It would have been easier if you brought your friend with you," Jeno retorted, referring to you, earning a glare from Jaemin. "As Haechan said, she's in the library," Mark added.

An awkward silence settled over the table until Haechan broke it, clearing his throat to grab Jaemin's attention. "Do you still like her?" Haechan asked casually, causing Jeno to nearly choke on his food at how blunt Haechan was.

"What?" Jaemin responded, and Mark rolled his eyes at the answer.

"One of our seniors is planning to ask her out," Mark added, prompting another "What?" from Jaemin, this time it was so loud that people nearby started giving them puzzled looks.

"Yeah, so you'd better get your act together. A month is plenty of time for space, right?" Haechan teased, casually chewing his food.

"Oh, and she wrote you down as her lab partner, so I guess that's your cue to stop this silent treatment," Haechan added, prompting Jaemin to jump out of his seat, leaving his food untouched as he rushed to the library where the duo had said you were. He had only missed one lab class, and this is what he returned to.

Jaemin silently thanked his lucky stars. If he had been there, would you still have written his name as your lab partner? No one could know for sure, but he quietly appreciated the universe's strange twist of fate—giving him a headache that day, which kept him from attending the class and the calls.

Jeno simply watched his best friend dash off, shrugging before going back to his food. He then looked at Mark and Haechan sitting across from him. "So, is it true that one of your seniors wants to ask her out?" Jeno asked.

"Nope," the duo replied in unison.

── .✦

Peeking through the library, Jaemin let out a sigh when he didn't see you. You must have already left. With lab class not until tomorrow, Jaemin considered texting you but hesitated, thinking it would feel strange to reach out after a month of silence. He decided to wait until the next day instead.

As the last period ended and he walked through the campus gates, Jaemin sighed again when rain began to drizzle. He scratched the back of his neck, deciding not to waste time by waiting for the rain to stop. It wasn’t too heavy, so he kept walking, feeling the droplets on his skin. Pausing at the stoplight, he waited for the signal to turn green. That's when he noticed the rain no longer falling on him.

Looking up, he saw you holding an umbrella over his head.

"You shouldn't walk in the rain, you might get sick," you said, making Jaemin freeze for a moment as he realized it was you. The umbrella he had placed in your bag during your last meeting at the café was now in your hands.

"I don't want my lab partner missing another class," you added, trying to sound casual, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you.

Jaemin couldn’t help but smile, a wave of happiness swelling in his chest. He nodded and reached for the umbrella, but your hand brushed against his, making him hesitate. Without thinking, he ended up holding the umbrella for both of you.

"Thank you," he said, his heart racing slightly. You could only smile in response, at a loss for words.

It had been some time since you were this close to Jaemin, feeling the warmth radiating from his body as you both shared the umbrella. Jaemin’s phone vibrated, a notification popping up. You couldn’t help but shake your head slightly, a bigger smile spreading across your face when you saw it was a message from Jeno.

Jeno: “Thank me later! She asked me about your last class.”

Jaemin smiled at the text before turning off his phone, his expression suddenly shifting to one of seriousness.

"Is it true that a senior wanted to ask you out?" he asked out of nowhere.

You looked at him, clearly confused. "What? What senior?" you replied, bewildered.

Jaemin studied your face for a moment, sighing as he realized Mark and Haechan had been playing a prank on him. "I hate your friends," he muttered, pulling you closer so you wouldn’t get wet from the rain.

── .✦

You and Jaemin resumed talking comfortably after that, with the two of you becoming lab partners again. Thankfully, Jaemin didn’t mind, and in fact, he was quite happy about it. He started sitting with you again in class, and during breaks, your friend group began sitting together with Jaemin and Jeno.

The attraction between the two of you? It was clearly still there, but now the signs were more obvious.

Jaemin no longer hesitated to hold your hand, kiss the back of your hand—whether it was randomly, out of boredom, or as a simple gesture to show his adoration for you—buy you lunch, carry your bag, and walk you home like before. He’d share his headphones with you, always finding a reason to walk by your side, even if it meant taking the longer route. Na Jaemin would take note of all the small things you liked, showing just how much he cared.

You weren’t being subtle either. Instead of admiring him from afar, you now had the chance to admire him up close as he focused on the lab report beside you. You’d make little excuses to talk to him, always try to sit next to him, finding small ways to be near him. You’d even send him little texts just to check in, and when you saw new art galleries or exhibits in town, you’d share them with him, suggesting that the two of you go visit together.

These are just a few of the many ways the two of you express your growing feelings for each other. After a few weeks, Jaemin began courting you, showing you just how serious he was about his feelings. This time, you chose to follow your heart.

Whenever you were with Jaemin, you’d find yourself staring at him for a while, watching a soft smile form on his lips whenever he caught your gaze. Every moment spent with him was filled with gestures of affection, and each one made your heart flutter with happiness.

── .✦

It was a special day—the annual cheer team competition, a major event for universities, where cheer teams from different schools came together to compete.

Your and Winter's universities were among them.

Since Winter was part of her university's cheer team, you knew you'd be seeing her today. Although you hadn’t spoken to her since her last message, you often found yourself checking her social media to keep up with her. From her posts, you could tell she’d been busy with cheer and had started partying less. You even came across a post where she had tried baking—a new hobby she had taken up to keep herself occupied. Sometimes, you wondered if she thought of you as much as you thought of her, or if she ever stalked your social media or checked in on your friends' posts to see how you were doing.

“Hi, here’s a free cupcake for you!” one of the students from another university said, offering a cupcake with their cheer team's name on it.

“Oh, but I’m from a different university,” you chuckled.

The person smiled and insisted, “This is a friendly competition! Take it.”

You accepted the cupcake with a thank you and made your way to your seat, where your friends and Jaemin were already waiting.

You glanced at the cupcake, noticing it had the logo of Winter’s cheer team on it. A soft smile crossed your face as you realized it was from her team. You missed Winter so much.

As you began nibbling on the cupcake, you shared it with Jaemin, unaware that Winter herself had baked it. She and her team had made the cupcakes for their supporters, and she knew you'd be there. Winter could only smile to herself as she watched you in the crowd, munching on the cupcake she had made.

Winter noticed Jaemin sitting beside you, opening a bottle of water for you while you enjoyed the sweet treat. This time, she didn’t feel that uneasy knot in her stomach. Her smile wasn’t bittersweet; it was genuine.

Fuck Girl Code.

Na Jaemin was truly looking after you, just as she had hoped.

"I hope you don’t think of me too much, I don’t want you to be sad over someone like me," Winter whispered to herself, watching as you and Jaemin laughed at something, Jaemin kissing the back of your hand as if it were second nature.

Suddenly, your eyes met Winter's. You were taken aback to see her looking at you, but instead of turning away or ignoring you, Winter gave you a warm smile. You returned the smile, and maybe, for now, that was all that mattered.

── .✦

tags: @carelessshootanonymous @taliaamara @zgzgzh @tinyzen @urlocalbeaner5 @profoundruinsunknown @lovesuhng @moryymor @haechanmybaechan @mmjhh1998 @cottonjaems @darumdarimdaa @hyucksnctzen @cherryynoir @haechanahceah67 @cigarettesafterjae @eternoange1 @yananluvclub @doubledoie @t-102 @nosungluv @aracy @haesluvr @charlunaotte @hyuksworld @maarslvr

[svetamillss]

Could you do squid game x emo reader? Like she dresses in like 2000s emo style and they’ve never seen anyone like her before

Headcanons: their reaction to the fact that you are emo🖤

Featuring: Thanos (Su Bong) x Reader(f), Nam Gyu x Reader(f), Cho Hyun Ju x Reader(f), Kim Young Mi x Reader(f)

A/N: It was very interesting to work on it, I hope something good came out!

🖤🖤🖤

Thanos (Su Bong) and Nam Gyu

You were sitting in the common room, after the first game you were very tired, so decided to rest all the rest of the time, although you were very restless. Suddenly you saw two tall figures walking towards your bed. They were players 230 and 124, you recognized the first one, because in the first game he behaved very loudly and carelessly. They sat down on the next bed and started a dialogue.

- What a beautiful angel came down from heaven straight to me. - player 230 said with a wide smile.

- Did you call me an angel?

- Yes, baby, I'm a rapper Thanos, who couldn't resist your beauty, it's like you're from another planet.

- He wanted to say that you look like an alien. - player 124 replied. By the way, he was hit on the back of the head by Thanos for this words.

- Don't say such shit to this beautiful lady. - he said irritably, then looked at you and continued. - Don't listen to him, your style is beautiful, what's it name?

- Emo. - you answered briefly.

- Well, that's all, Emo girl, the great Thanos will protect you and now you're in my team! - he said with a wide smile, his friend is completely shocked.

- Why are you taking her to our team? Why the fuck do we need girls at all?

- Shut up, my friend, I've already decided everything. - they both looked at you waiting for your answer.

After a little thought, you decided to join. After all, you can't handle alone here, and these guys are fun, especially Thanos, who really liked your style.

As it turned out a little later, after the second game, player 124, whose name was Nam Gyu, was somehow not against your style, he quietly approached you and quickly said:

- You look pretty sexy. - and then left you.

If only he had seen how you blushed from his words, you haven't been complimented for a long time.

Cho Hyun Ju

The was second game, you had to assemble a team of five people, but it was a big problem for you. After all, everyone rejected you because of your style, someone even calling you a stuffed, which hit you hard. You didn't do anything wrong, you just dressed as you like, why are you don’t liked?

You were already completely desperate, but suddenly you saw a beautiful and tall girl who, like you, approached many and was also rejected. You thought it was fate and decided to act.

- Excuse me, would you like to join my team? - you asked her a little embarrassed.

She smiled softly and agreed to your offer. Soon you found three more people. A mother with son and a shy sweet girl.

You were able to win and after the game you decided to learn more about each other. Everyone told own story, why he is here, but most of all you were touched by the story of Hyun Ju. It turns out that she was transgender and she needs money to finish the transition to a girl, she also wants to go to Thailand and start all over again. When you listened to her story, you fell in love with her more and more, it looks like it's love at first sight.

When night came, you couldn't sleep, as it turned out, Hyun Ju's bed was next to you and you saw that she was awake too.

- Fate seems to have decided to bring us together. - she said in a whisper so as not to wake anyone up.

- What are you talking about?

- We united into one team, were able to win, and now it turns out that our beds are quite close.

- Yes, it's really interesting. - you answered with a slight blush.

- You know, don't listen to anyone, your style is incredibly and unusual, you look like a fairy and you are very beautiful. - after these words you realized that you finally fell in love with this gorgeous girl.

- You are also very beautiful, Hyunnie. And don't pay attention to others either, they don't understand anything. They can only say how strange we are.

- We'll be weird together. - it seems that she hinted to you about the continuation of your communication or the beginning of something more. Well, you really hoped for it.

- Yes, let's be weird together.

Kim Young Mi

The food in this place was just terrible. You were very hungry, but you only got a small bun and a bottle of water for breakfast.

- How rotten it all is. - you were about to start the meal, when you saw the girl who was sitting and crying, you decided to approach her and find out what happened.

- Hey, why are you crying? - you asked carefully, but she was still a little scared of you, you hoped it was from surprise.

- No, everything is fine, really. - It was clear from her voice, she was very nervous.

- I see that something happened, tell me, I won't make fun of you.

- Really? - then you were shocked who she even took you for.

- Of course not, why did you decide that at all?

- Your appearance..you look like..a bitch. - she said the last word very quietly, as if she was ashamed to think so.

You were a little offended, but you decided not to show it to the girl.

- So what happened?

- The hooligans took away my food, and I very hungry. - she pointed to a group of guys, from them you recognized player 230, who was already very noisy.

Without thinking twice, you handed her your breakfast, she was sincerely surprised by this gesture.

- What? But why? I can't accept it!!

- Take it, you need to gain strength before the game, and a piece doesn't fit in my throat, there's nothing to lose food, take it. - she took food from you with slightly trembling hands and wanted to say something, but you already left, leaving her alone.

But who knew that in the second game fate will bring you together again and you will play in the same team? And it is after the second game that you will get to know each other better and she apologized for calling you a bitch.

🖤🖤🖤

[butcherlarry]

Weekly Fic Recs 88

This week's fic recs!

love comes quickly by TheResurrectionist @frownyalfred - Superbat, Unrated, 10648 words, wip.

Summary: Clark struggles with something his Ma might call jealousy after walking in on Bruce and Hal together after a mission. Instead of letting Clark's feelings ruin the Justice League's hard-won team cohesion, Bruce suggests an alternative arrangement: sleep together once, work the tension between them out of their systems, and then go back to normal afterward. The problem with that plan? It's not just casual, and neither of them can ever go back to normal once it's all said and done.

I love me a good jealous Clark fic, so I was very excited to read this. And Bruce??? Denying his feelings towards Clark?? And thinking a one night stand will get Clark's feelings toward Bruce out of his system?? So much emotional shenanigans are going to happen, I'm so excited :D

Caring for Cattle by Rgfellows - Superbat, General, 8783 words, complete.

Summary: “Do you have much experience caring for cows?” Batman asked. Clark stared. He tried to process the question. He kept staring. Batman offered nothing further to elaborate. “Cows?” He finally asked. Batman gave a small sigh from his nose. He was as close to fidgeting as Clark had ever seen him. “Yes. Cows." Clark learns more about his very secretive friend thanks to a very unexpected set of circumstances

I read the title and knew I had to read this fic. Super cute!!! So happy to read about Clark going back to his farm roots to bond with Bruce.

skythrush by pomeloquat @pomeloquat - Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Teen, 5292 words, complete.

Summary: While protecting his city from the animals that seek to destroy it, Bruce makes the acquaintance of a little bird.

Ok, if you know me, you KNOW that I love birds, I love birding, and I love taking pictures of birds. When I read this I was SO HAPPY to read about Clark being associated with Eastern bluebirds. I have always thought this and as SO HAPPY to read about it this fic too! Do yourself a favor and go Google them RIGHT NOW and you'll see why Bruce thought of Clark as a bluebird. Actually, don't bother, here is a link. DO YOU SEE NOW???

I have also been reading Absolute Batman and Superman as those comics have been released on the DC app and have been enjoying the heck out of them. So happy to be reading fics about those characters too!

precious things by TheResurrectionist - Pennywaynes, Unrated, 1556 words, complete.

Summary: Alfred was aware that Thomas would, inevitably, enjoy such a thing. Forcing him to dig half-moons into the Carpathian Elm, as if the hardwood tables and desks in the other rooms weren’t suitable. No, Thomas had insisted upon the antique, old-world desk with a softer, delicate finish. The one Alfred barely dared to look at in between cleanings.

PENNYWAYNES!!!!!! Love me some Pennywaynes. Also love me some Thomas (or Martha) trying to make Alfred lose his composure while being fucked within an inch of his life.

Jason and His Boys series by elluv_asun - Batfam, Teen, 17155 words, series not complete but the fics are :D

Series Summary: All stories about Jason interacting with his crew. They're not all boys, but they are all His Boys, thank you for understanding How to be a Leader: For Dummies Summary: Jason's been trying to recruit a good crew for awhile. Visiting the library finally helps him figure it out - he needs to inspire loyalty through loyalty. Gain trust through vulnerability. If he follows the rules of strong leadership he's been researching, he'll get a solid crew for sure. The only thing is… it works too well? Now it seems like they … like him?

Breaking News! Brucie Wayne Getting Cozy With Crime? Summary: Prompt: Bruce Wayne publicly adopts the crime lord Red Hood. The city is confused, but now that they're looking closer, the guy actually doesn't seem that bad...Or maybe he is. Bonus: A shot of him without his helmet or a personal conversation between the two leaks Story told through a multitude of perspectives. Bruce Wayne accidentally publicly adopts the Red Hood while the other kids are out of town.

Both these fics were so much fun to read! I loved Jason building positive relationships with his goons and caring for their well being. And the second fic where Brucie interacts with Red Hood was excellent! It was fun to read about Bruce rebuilding his relationship with Jason through his Brucie persona and Jason being thrown for a loop about it!

oh, lover (i'll cover you) series by handfulofteeth (s0norus) @etiolatedmutant - Poolverine, Explicit, 48947 words, series not complete but the fics are :D

guess Summary: Three months have crept by right under his nose. The air outside crisped and then froze over, the leaves bled orange and yellow before finally snapping off their branches and allowing thick snow to pile up in their stead, and Logan is so fucking fond of Wade it makes him wanna throw up. Logan stops talking. He’s mid-scold, tossing his soiled paper towel onto the counter and about to reach for another one when his eyes land on Wade. He’s got his pajamas halfway down his thighs, clearly trying to avoid sticking his fingers all over the gooey fabric, and whatever, that on its own isn’t a big deal. What is a big deal, a huge, massive fucking deal, is what Wade’s wearing underneath his pajamas. Panties.

happiness (like a bullet in the back) summary: What do you get when you cross a supercentenarian mutant alcoholic with anger issues and a chronic case of emotional constipation, with the world's single most irritating Canadian mercenary with a face like a rotten potato? Answer: domestic fucking bliss. OR Five times Logan Howlett is stupidly soft for Wade Wilson, and one time he isn't.

black irises in the the sunshine Summary: Really, when did Logan get so whipped for this loudmouthed little shit? Sometime between being yoinked out of his original universe by the scruff of his neck and realizing he was ill-advisedly in love again, he reckons, but even he’s willing to admit those events are separated by an infinitesimal gap. He falls hard, and he falls fast, and Wade Wilson was (is) no exception. OR Wade catches Logan engaging in some good ol' fashioned depravity and Logan has a lot of Big Feelings about bottoming.

This was a fabulous series to read! I enjoyed the first and third fics, mainly because I enjoy reading about Logan discovering new kinks about himself, trying to hide them from Wade, Wade discovering them, and then fun times (and feelings) are had by all. The second fic was a lovely fic looking at the domestic side of their relationship. I love reading about them caring for each other when they are both dealing with Bad Days.

Humble My Heart by CaptainDoofus - Poolverine, Mature, 3570 words, wip.

Summary: Wade Wilson, an overnight janitor at a military research facility, develops a mutual fascination with the captured wolf-man being held there. Or: Poolverine "The Shape of Water" AU.

I read "The Shape of Water" AU and came running. I fucking loved that movie and I can't wait to read where this fic goes!

Stay, Stay, Stay by Curupia @curupia - Poolverine, Teen, 3985 words, complete.

Summary: Wade took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, reaching for the doorknob. Fuck. Okay. Time to face the music. He opened the door to their bedroom, expecting to find a passed-out Logan sprawled on the couch, maybe a bottle (or seven) of booze scattered around the floor. He figured he’d sneak past quietly and get breakfast started, wake Logan up with the promise of bacon and a truce. They’d mumble some apologies, have earth-shattering make up sex, and everything would be back to normal. What he did not expect was an empty apartment. Well shit. ________ Logan and Wade have a fight and Logan storms out. Wade starts to panic that maybe this time, he isn't coming back. (Happy ending, I promise)

While I do love sappy and fluffy Poolverine fics, not everything about their relationship is sunshine and roses. This fic takes a look at the bumps that happen along the way.

sex pollen and scrambled eggs by LukeQatwalker @hondafuckingodyssey - Poolverine, Explicit, 4992 words, complete.

Summary: Logan gets back into the car and tosses the bag with the lube in it into Wade's lap, thanking god for self checkout machines, because he's pretty sure that's going to go down as the worst retail experience of his god damned life. He adjusts his dick, which is still rock hard and bordering painful, from where he had it tucked up in his waist band. Jesus, he hopes nobody recognized him, buying lube with a hard on, with just a ball cap and a jacket thrown over the wolverine costume. "Ok, so the plan is, we get back to the hotel, whatever happens happens, this stuff works its way out of our system in a few hours, and we can just pretend it never happened, right?" Logan asks. *** The boys get hit with the sex pollen on a mission!

I am a sucker for a good sex pollen fic, no I will not apologize (Very excited about the potential of a follow up chapter).

Happy reading!

[chiacanwritesometimes]

everybody adores you, at least i do.

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

based on “everybody adores you (quiet)” by matt maltese :)

ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 3.9k

authors note: i wrote this after listening to ^^^ on repeat, god i love matt maltese. there are scenes of alcohol intake, a panic attack and brief self harm. please dni if these topics bother, trigger, or make you uncomfortable. this was a pretty long drabble, hope you enjoy :D

============

you can act all shy, but you know that i want you.

you aren’t one for flattery, that much was obvious. every time bucky took the time to compliment you, he knew what your next words would be. like clockwork, you would turn red, look away, and sheepishly mutter, “thanks”. you fiddled with your hands, and quickly changed the subject. how desperately he wanted to hold your hands, and kiss them. for years, he pined over you, and you’ve always been almost at his grasp. these past couple of weeks though, it seemed to hit you, that he wanted you.

in the dead of night, i want to live with you.

it all started three years ago, after everyone came back from the blip. people were everywhere, and it seemed that all the noise that lacked from the world came back in an instant. after realizing what happened to you, your environment and your home, you couldn’t help but laugh. how comical, that it seemed like nothing changed. your family hadn’t contacted you, well, the distant family that you still had. you walked to a bar in the hazy hours of the night, and met him. some guys were bothering him about his glove, but he seemed unaffected. he just stared ahead, and drank his whiskey. you devised a plan, to distract the assholes and to maybe introduce yourself. you didn’t want to seem like you were trying to pick him up, but you were trying to make friends in this new world. you asked the bartender quietly to escort the two loud drunks out, and sat down next to him. you didn’t think you’d get this far, so you were at a loss on what to say. did people still talked the same five years later? of course they did, but how do you navigate yourself into talking? your thoughts piled up, and they kept piling up, until his gruff voice interrupted them.

“thanks.” he grumbled quietly.

“hm?” you didn’t catch what he said, as you were too distracted. he cleared his throat.

“i said thanks. for the, yeah.” he pointed to the two men outside. he wasn’t much for words, you realized. you sighed in relief and nodded.

“yeah, dont sweat it.”

he offered to walk you home, as a sign of gratitude. it amused you both that you lived in the same building. small world. you invited him inside, but he hesitated.

“we can take a rain check, if you’d like. ill write you my number.” you assured him, and walked inside to grab a post it. what were you doing? giving a stranger your number? you put those thoughts to rest as you wrote your number.

he awkwardly waited at the half open door. he was glad to have made a…friend? he didn’t know what to call you yet, but he was sure to catalogue you at the back of his mind to let his witch of a therapist know. over the next couple of weeks, you had began to know him better. he had a cat, alpine. he had a past that he wasn’t open to sharing. his apartment was empty, almost ready to be left without a tenant at any moment. he froze at your touch, so you made a mental note to not do that. what a strange person. you knew he disappeared during the blip as well, but you felt as if he had lost more than five years.

so terrified of the road that takes you, me too.

a year had passed for your friendship. you came to his apartment, unexpected, and brought two little cupcakes with candles on them.

“what’s this?” he asked, a little embarrassed to be touched by such a small little gesture.

“its our friendship anniversary, goofy.”

“do we sing happy birthday, or what?” you paused. you weren’t sure, you didn’t really think of singing.

“um, we can have toasts if you’d prefer that. yes, toasts! ill get the glasses.” you sprung to your feet and gracefully navigated yourself in his small kitchen. you had spruced up his place a little, buying him hand towels, candles, and little trinkets that make a house a home, or rather, an apartment into a cozier place to live. you brought the two flutes, and filled them with champagne. he frowned.

“that is definitely not mine.”

“i brought it to celebrate, we need something fancy.” he rolled his eyes, but went along to your little celebration. he sat on his couch and observed you placing the cupcakes on the coffee table, and as you passed him his glass.

“ill go first. um…” you didn’t want to admit that you had started liking him, so you decided to say general statements.

“i hadn’t had a friend since, high school? maybe…so thank you for letting me be yours. err, friend, that is. to many more.” you clinked your glass with his, and motioned for him to go next.

“my last friend died a year ago. you haven’t died yet, so cheers to that.” he said dryly, with a little smile on his face. he thought he was so funny. he clinked his glass with yours, and drank the liquid. you rolled your eyes and mirrored him.

you started watching a movie with him, but you weren’t really paying attention. he started to accept your touch more and more, and you watched the movie with your head leaning on his shoulder. he leaned his head on yours, and tried his best to not move, so as to not bother you. the second act of the movie was commencing, and he had something on his mind. he had to fess up eventually about who he is- who he was, that is. someone he no longer was, someone he despised so vehemently.

“doll?” he tested the waters. he started calling you that, a reminder of how much of a casanova he was when he was in high school. you protested but eventually let him continue calling you that, as it was more effort telling him to stop than you cared to give.

“mm?” you hummed softly, half asleep.

“i wasn’t joking about my toast.”

“i didn’t think you were. you don’t have to talk about it if you don-“

“i want to talk about it.”

you paused. this was rare. you didn’t know what to think, so you gave him the space to talk.

“there’s a reason i’m always wearing this glove, you know.”

“yeah, circulation problems.” you joked, but he didn’t laugh.

“doll, i was born in 1917.”

“…” you sat up. “what? james, you’re not being funny right now.”

he continued tentatively.

“my name is james buchanan barnes and i was born in march 10, 1917.” he recited as if giving a memorized speech, his monotone words hitting you, syllable by syllable.

“i was forced to be the winter soldier, and i was framed for the U.N bombing.” your facial expression must’ve hinted that you put the pieces together, and he stopped.

“and, yeah. i have a metal arm.” he added almost rushed, he wanted to explain that part as well. he gave you space to fully digest everything.

“so…your friend that died was…” he nodded.

“steve rogers.” he finished for you.

“wow.” you didn’t know what to say, you just sat there. everything made so much sense now, why he always wore a glove, why he never had any pictures of friends or family, nothing. suddenly, you smiled.

“doll?” he looked confused. your best friend admitted to lying about his identity to your face for a year, and you’re…smiling?

“the first friend i made in ten years is someone who’s older than me by eighty years.” you giggled.

“i don’t- you’re not mad?” his brain short circuited. you’re not responding the way he thought you would’ve. you shook your head.

“i mean, what kind of friend am i for you not to be able to trust me with that? yeah, im a little blindsided, but i understand. i still see you as my friend.”

he didn’t know what to do. tears threatened to fall.

“pay attention to this part, its my favorite.” you leaned back to your original position, as if nothing happened. you offered your hand, and he took it.

don't modify, every one adores you, at least i do.

“dont look at me like that.” you said, a little tipsy. you had been friends with him for two years now, and you had invited him over to your apartment, for new year’s. you both didn’t really have any plans, or friends, for that matter. of course, he had sam, but sam was with his sister for the new year. he had barged into your apartment with a six case of beer on him, and two little paper hats saying, “happy new year!”. how adorable. you weren’t dressed up, gracing yourself with an oversized shirt and a pair of shorts. you sat on the couch with your legs on his lap, his flesh hand holding his beer and his metal hand holding you. he traced small circles on your calves, which felt really intimate. you’re grateful he used his metal hand, because you weren’t sure what you would’ve done if he used his skin to tease you so.

“like what?” he asked. his tone was quiet, his eyes searching for permission in yours. permission for what?

“like you want to kiss me.”

“and what if i do?” there it was. you didn’t want to ruin any friendship you still had left after he threw that bombshell. you paused and looked away. you took another sip of your beer.

“i’m afraid i’ll have to decline your advances.” you quietly said. its not that you didn’t love him, but it all felt so wrong. the only reason he wanted to kiss you was because it was the new year, and that stupid fucking tradition.

“you know i could get lost in those eyes. i’d trip over my words trying to find my way back.” he admitted. he really did love you. god, he loved you.

“if you keep looking at me like that, i might think that you have a crush on me.” you teased, face red. from the intimacy or from the alcohol? you weren’t sure, maybe it was both.

“and what if i did?”

“bucky…” you sighed. you sat up and moved your legs away from him.

“i mean it. would that be such a crime?” he leaned his body towards you. you noticed that his cheeks had their own hue of red, and his eyes felt unsure.

“bucky.” you cut him off. you didn’t know what to say. its not like you could say, “i dont want you to kiss me for new year’s, because i want you to kiss me for real.” you didn’t know what to say, so you just shook your head slightly. he nodded, stood up, and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“i understand.” he whispered into your ear. you bit your lip, this was the friendliest he had ever been towards you, and you only wished for more. he smiled softly and said,

“happy new year, y/n.”

right where the black wood sighs, i look at you, through and through.

your birthday was coming up, and he decided to surprise you. he researched thoroughly about forests located next to you, and found the one. things had been a little rough post new year’s eve, but your connection through knowing who he was kept the friendship close. you soon were back to your old self, but remained a bit guarded.

your birthday was today. you hadn’t received any messages from him, so you felt a bit let down. you sighed throughout the day as you kept checking. suddenly, around 2 in the afternoon, he knocked on your door with a basket in hand, and flowers in the other.

“happy birthday, doll.”

it’s safe to say that you spent the rest of your day very content, and impressed at the picnic he had organized.

right where your father died I'll hold on to your hand.

you don’t remember much from your father, other than the fact that he died early in your youth. you detested seeing children with both their parents with them, even as an adult. you felt jealous, angry at your father for dying. you knew it wasn’t your fault, but still. you occasionally visited his grave, and the place where he passed on. it was a rainy day, the day he went with you. you asked him to go, as you weren’t feeling so well. he obliged.

the downpour matched the dreary mood, and as you stood near the bench he died on, a bench he felt was familiar. he started to panic, thinking that somehow he was the one responsible for the death of your father, wondering if you taking him here was some sort of ploy to avenge your father.

“he got caught in the crossfire of a crime.” you admitted. “police were chasing this guy, and he meant to shoot the…” you trailed off. he knew what you were trying to say and he nodded. he sighed, partly from the mood and partly from relief that he wasn’t the one that took him from you. you took his hand and held it. he squeezed your hand, and rubbed circles on your knuckles.

“thank you.” what an odd thing for him to say to you, but you knew that he meant for taking him to a place so sacred to you.

“now we’re even.” you smiled at him. no more secrets about the past.

so terrified of the road that takes you, me too.

panic attacks didn’t hit him often. it was around two weeks since his last one, and it wasn’t something he wasn’t thinking of at the time, until now.

he spent so much time at your place, so much in fact, that some of his mail correspondence was sent to your place by the mailman. how silly. he was over for some random dinner, and conversed with you as you cooked. you were making spicy chicken alfredo, or something along those lines. he didn’t really pay attention, he only focused on you. he noticed how fluid you were in the kitchen, as if you were dancing. when he thought you were going to run into a cabinet, you moved away just in time. wether that be for your reflexes or by chance, he wasn’t sure. he had shared with you a couple vinyls, a way of sharing his past with you. he hummed along to the smooth voice of ella fitzgerald, until you interrupted the noise with a yelp of pain. he turned to you, and noticed you had cut your finger with the knife, which confirmed to him that in fact, the reason you didn’t run into cabinets was by chance, maybe some guardian angel working overtime. he kissed your finger, and walked to the bathroom to grab the first aid kit. everything was going so well, too. its just a small setback. until, he came back.

you looked to be covered in blood everywhere, with a heavy concentration on your torso. there was a gunshot in your stomach area, and you hunched over the cabinet for support. at least, that is what he saw. in reality, you leaned on the cabinet, waiting for him. his heart dropped and his eyes scanned you so worriedly. he ran to you, inspected your arms, your eyes, your neck, your stomach. your confused expression felt almost like daggers at him, and he started hyperventilating. he felt hands all around him, suffocating him. he knelt to the ground, gasping for air. his hair started clinging to his forehead, his clothes suddenly felt too tight, the air felt too hot, his metal arm too familiar. did he do this? he kept thinking. he heard a voice, his voice, but different. it was him.

“of course you did this.” he said, full of poison. tears fell down his eyes, and they kept falling, even when he shut them so tightly. he clawed at his metal arm, at his reminder of who he was.

you tried your best to make him realize that you were there, and in fact, not dead. no matter your volume, he couldn’t hear you. he was rocking back and forth, and you kneeled to his eyeline.

“bucky?” you kept saying. you kept repeating, kept trying to open his eyes, move his hand from hurting his shoulder. soon, your hands were stained with the blood drawn from where metal met skin. you sat with him, and listened to his cries. you didn’t know what to do, he hadn’t discussed panic attacks with you, so you weren’t sure if you could hold him or not. you decided to take a risk and rub his back, and lean your head on top of his. a few minutes were spent like that, his quiet sobs filling the apartment. eventually, he calmed down enough to the point of hugging you, and whispered “i’m sorry”. that’s all he said, and he kept saying it. his face was nuzzled into your neck, and he kept saying that. your hands held him tightly, your own tears falling as well. he stopped hurting himself, but seeing him in this state broke your heart. you knew why seeing you bleeding affected him so badly. he didn’t often tell you of all the people he killed, but when he did, he was always filled with immense grief. you’d always remind him that it wasn’t really him, and that he didn’t have body autonomy. those words, although comforting, felt like a lie. he was scared you believed differently, thought of him differently. your words and your touch remained the same, though. after his panic subsided, you led him to the sink, and washed his hands. you cleaned his wounds, and wrapped them with gauze. you asked him to stay at your place, and he accepted. you set his bed, and have him some spare clothing you had. he sat down next to you, and watched you lay down, before looking at you. his blue eyes looked into yours, asking for permission. you held your arms up, and he instantly moved. he laid on top of you, almost tentatively. you ran your fingers through his hair, and he adjusted himself on top of you, holding your waist. no words were exchanged.

you two never spoke of that moment.

don’t modify, every one adores you, at least i do.

three years had passed since you first crossed paths, and he wanted to be the one to initiate the celebration. he didn’t know how surprise you, you two had already done a lot of things. picnics, dinners, sleepovers. he realized he needed to buy a gift. what should he get you? you already had enough jewelry, you always went thrift shopping with him, and you seemed pretty content with everything you had. it clicked in his mind. he got you a photo album for your pictures, and a star projector, showing how the stars looked like on the day you first met. he felt nervous, he hadn’t felt this close to someone in a while, and he was scared to ruin it.

you spent the anniversary gushing over your gift, and kept complimenting him throughout that night. his fears for being a bad friend were eased.

everybody has you up on their wall sometimes.

he wasn’t one for photography. his walls were bare, aside from the decorations you bought for him. you, however, loved your polaroid camera. you took pictures of anything you deemed important, like meeting someone with a similar outfit to yours, a cat you saw on the street, and him. you deemed him important, and he had to pretend like that wasn’t the biggest compliment ever. he had to pretend that every time you snapped a picture of him, he wasn’t blushing so hard, and how he loved being your muse. he started putting more effort into his appearance, so you would take more pictures. you noticed, of course you noticed. you had to keep a solid stream of film. one day, he held your camera. he often wondered how you saw the world, and seeing the little window in the polaroid camera made him smile. you were comically posing in the couch, giggling with every new pose. he clicked away, happily. he then sheepishly asked for a serious picture, for his new collection. well, your picture would be the first in the collection. how fitting, that you would be the one to star in the little joy you shared with him. your face flushed a bit as you sat up and smiled softly at him. he swallowed his nervousness, and took the picture. as he let it develop, he walked away, leaning on the wall. he didn’t want to let you see how red he was. you didn’t know if you were friends or not. of course, you were friends, but you weren’t sure if you were more. you walked to where he was, took the picture from him and placed it on a side table. you grabbed the camera from his hand, and tossed it lightly to your couch. you looked at his lips, his eyes, his scars. you lifted your hand and traced his eyebrows, his nose, his chin, his jawline. his eyes fluttered shut, as he grabbed your hand and kissed it. he pulled you closer, as if you were the air he so desperately needed to breathe, as if you were the water in the middle of the desert. he held you so gently, leaning you against the wall. he leaned his lips towards yours, but didn’t press forward. he just breathed deeply, breathing you in. you looked up at him.

“bucky?” you asked softly, as to not shatter the moment.

“please. you’re all i have ever wanted these three years. i’ve been…you’re…” he couldn’t find the words. he grew a little frustrated at his lack of ways to express himself.

“i love you. from the minute i knew you, from new year’s, every birthday, every anniversary. please, y/n. i need you, like i need air, like i need water, like i need…you.” his eyes looked into yours, waiting for a response in the almost deafening silence.

you leaned forward, kissed him, and were made his that night.

everybody thinks of you when they sleep at night.

he liked waking up next to you. he liked the way your hair ruffled up because of the pillow. he loved the way your eyelashes fluttered when you opened your eyes, and your sleepy smile greeted him.

“good morning, bucky.” you would say.

“dreams?” he’d reply. if you had any dreams, you’d go on in detail about them, and if not, you’d shrug and say,

“my subconscious took the night off.”

he’d tuck your hair behind your ear, and kiss you. how wonderful, that he was able to kiss you, show you how much you meant to him, make you his. how serendipitous, that the first words he ever said to you were “thank you.” fate knew. you knew.

when I say, "everybody", i'm actually referring to mе.

[adorerio]

Oh To Be Yours

Suna x reader

older brothers best friends plot! Miya reader! Ending opening for a part 2! Background info for the next part!

word count: 975

--------------------------------------------------

Growing up having Atsumu and Osamu as your older brothers was definitely interesting. They always kept you on your toes and was funny being around. The bad part? They never let you talk to boys they didnt aprove of. It started in junior high when a guy your age asked to walk you home. Safe to say your brothers scared him off because "he looked to funky"

Things didn't change when you came to Inarizaki High. Your brothers wanted to protect you so they insisted you join the vollyball team so they could keep an eye on you at first you said no wanting to join another club after school. But, after Atsumu gave your parents a multitude of reasons they started pushing you to join and reluctantly you said yes.

͙͘͡★

After school you walked over to the gym it would be your first day as the manager and the coach had suggested your first few days would be observing and getting used to the team. He said they were a well behaved group of kids - minus your brothers and the person who instigated most small arguments Suna Rintaro.

When he told you that the name sounded familair but you just couldn't grasp who the name belonged to. Maybe someone from your junior high? You kept wracking your brain to find an answer while you were so distracted you walked into the door to the gym and landed on your butt due to the impact

great I hope nobody saw tha-

*click*

did someone actually just take a picture??

Turning your head to see whoever the person was you recognized him-

"Hey your the guy that my brothers always bring home right?"

Offering his hand to help get you back on your feet he answered "yeah that's me your y/n Miya. Your brothers talk about you a lot its kinda annoying y'know."

"Im sorry what's your name again?"

"Suna Rintaro"

oh

͙͘͡★

"Ah y/n I see you met Suna"

The coach saw you two walk in toghether in fact- the whole team did talk about awkward. You noticed Atsumu staring daggers into Suna. Who you would assume was a close friend to him. At this rate he's going to tell Suna to never talk to you and your life would be practically over-

"Everyone huddle up! I would like our new manager to introduce herself. Then you guys can as well and we can start the drills."

god damn it

Having all types of eyes on you made you feel nervouse you actually forgot your own name for a second. You tried looking at your brothers but that just made it worse. Until you met eyes with suna again. It felt different. It felt safe. While locking eyes with him you decided to introduce yourself to him. Everyone else was just there.

"Hello everyone my name is Miya Y/N and I'm a first year here. If you cant already tell my brothers are Atsumu and Osamu but believe me I'm the better sibling. My hobbies are *your hobbies* and I love listing to *your favorite musician*.

The rest of the team introduced themselves to you and they included the position they played. Some people stood out more than others. Like Kita who said he was the captain and he even asked if it was okay to call you by your first name since there was now three Miya siblings instead of two. You were fine with it of course.

The last person to introduce himself was Suna. He kept it short really and avoided eye contact during it. It was weird because when you introduced yourself he locked eyes but now that it was his turn he avoided it. Maybe your brothers had already told him off. And if they did you would find out and probably yell at them for scaring away another guy.

After Suna walked away you decided it would be best to forget what happened outside the gym and focus on the team. Of course you studied them but you would help coach with tasks as well. Like filling up the water bottles, getting vollyballs and the coach would ask for your own input like what could have been done better.

Safe to say for your first day it wasn't that bad.

͙͘͡★

Once you got home you grabbed a snack and locked yourself in your room wanting to avoid any questions your brothers wanted to ask. As you approached your desk you reached for one thing in particular your diary. Your parents had bought it for you for your 13th birthday and you still kept it.

Sure your family was very open with each other and you trusted them fully but it was hard to talk to them for certain things and your parents knew that. That's what your diary was for.

"Dear Diary,

today is -------- and was my first day as the manager of the volleyball team. It was a smooth first day with not to much trouble so probably the best part. But, I also met a guy. I mean does it really count as met he's been to the house before but we never talked. If anything all I got was a nod from him. I always thought he was attractive I mean his eyes its like there's something he's always thinking about. There is never a moment he's just blankly staring.

But of course I never thought of the possibility of dating that's not how it goes with two overprotective brothers. I got to talk to him today tho outside with nobody watching. It was embarassing because of that stupid picture he took.

It might be crazy that over this one interaction I'm hoping for something to happen between us. And I'm hoping he's wishing for the same thing

Oh to be yours"

˚₊‧꒰ა 𓂋 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

AN: well that's a wrap for the first part. Originally it wasn't meant to be a two-parter but I didnt want to rush the ending or make this super long either. The second part will be out once I finish my other wips. Criticism and reqs are always welcome!!

[littlejoyss]

Do you write for more than just Hyunjin? If so can I request a Felix fic where he is comforting a plus sized reader? -Thanks!

Yes! I write for OT8. Sorry for the late reply, life has been busy. Here is the fic :)

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕

Stray Kids - College Au!Lee Felix x Plus Sized!Reader Warnings: Body image issues, bad self-talk, not proofread Word Count: 1.1k (short n sweet)

You and Felix have been friends since the beginning of freshman year, but your connection has always felt like something more. 

Sometimes, it’s in the way he insists on walking you home after a study session, brushing it off as “just being a good friend,” or how he remembers the smallest details about your likes and dislikes. Other times, it’s the quiet moments when you’re alone together.

Though you’ve never crossed the line into romance, there’s a subtle hint of it in your relationship, leaving you to wonder if Felix feels it too, or if you’re imagining it. 

You must be imagining it. He was handsome and you were…you. Chubby and shy. 

You tried not to think of it too much though. 

It’s a cool evening the city hums softly in the background as you and Felix walk side by side. He had texted you earlier, suggesting a late-night hangout, and you immediately said yes. 

Felix walks with his hands stuffed in his coat pockets, his breath visible in the cold air. “So,” he says, his voice low but bright, “are you ready for our adventure?”

You laugh softly, tilting your head. “Adventure? Isn’t this just us walking to the park?”

He grins. “A park at night is totally an adventure. Who knows what we’ll find? Maybe a stray cat or… a really questionable vending machine snack?”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. That’s always what Felix has done for you. He makes even the most boring things seem magical. 

When you reach the park, the two of you settle on a bench overlooking a frozen pond. Felix pulls out a thermos from his bag and offers you a cup of hot chocolate he made at home. You take a sip, savoring the warmth. 

His freckles are faintly visible in the dim light, and his expression is relaxed as he stares at the pond.

“Thanks for tonight,” you say softly.

He turns to you, his smile gentle. “Anytime. You know that.”

The moment stretches, the unspoken tension between you lingering like the mist of your breaths in the air. 

He speaks again, “The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

You glance up at the sky, the moon shining softly against the dark canvas of the night. It is beautiful.

You’ve read about that phrase before. It’s often used as a poetic confession, a subtle way of saying what someone might be too scared to say outright.

Your cheeks heat, the chill of the night doing little to cool the warmth spreading across your face. You glance at him, trying to gauge if he meant it the way you think he did. Felix is still looking at the pond, but there’s a slight tension in his jaw that wasn’t there before.

You take a steadying breath. “It is,” you reply softly, your gaze drifting back to the moon. You could leave it at that, let the moment pass as so many others have before. But you didn’t want to this time.

“Felix,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you say that?”

He hesitates for a moment, then shrugs, his lips twitching into a nervous smile. “Because it is beautiful,” he says, his tone not entirely convincing. “And because… I wanted to know if you’d understand.”

Understand. 

Your hands tighten around the cup of hot chocolate as you muster the courage to ask the question you’ve been too afraid to voice for years. “Are you trying to tell me something?”

He exhales, his breath fogging in the air. “I guess I am,” he admits, his voice quieter now. “But it’s hard, you know? You’ve been my best friend for so long, and I don’t want to mess that up. But…” He trails off, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I feel like I’d regret it more if I didn’t say anything.”

Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest. You set the cup down beside you, your fingers trembling. “Say what?” 

He looks back at you, his expression raw and open in a way that you’ve never seen before. “That I like you. Not just as a friend. I’ve liked you for a while now. And I didn’t know how to tell you because… well, because I thought maybe you wouldn’t believe me.”

You blink, his words taking a moment to sink in. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?” 

Felix gives a soft, almost bitter laugh. “Because you never see yourself the way I see you. You’re kind and funny and smart. You make everything feel easier, lighter. And you’re beautiful.” His cheeks flush, but he doesn’t look away. “I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”

“I thought… I thought you were just being nice. That you couldn’t possibly…”

“Like you?” he finishes gently, leaning closer. “Why couldn’t I?”

“I just…” you stammer, struggling to put your feelings into words. “You’re you. You’re amazing. And I’m… me.” You look down at your body.

Felix's thumb brushes over your knuckles, a gentle, reassuring touch that brings your gaze back to him. "Hey, don’t say that. I like you exactly as you are. I don't care about anything else, just you.”

You blink, feeling a mixture of disbelief and something else you can’t quite name."But I’m not like-" you start to say, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

"Stop comparing yourself to anyone else. You’re you. And that’s all that matters to me." His hand moves, slipping to the side of your face as he gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you didn’t even know had fallen. "I’ve always liked you for who you are, not some idea of what you think you should be. No matter what size you are and no matter what you look like, I see you, and you’re perfect. Every part of you."

"I don’t know what to say," you admit, voice small and unsure.

"You don’t have to say anything right now. I just wanted you to know how I feel." He lets out a small laugh, a nervous edge to it. "I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now, but I didn’t want to mess up what we had."

Your heart beats louder, and the urge to close the distance between you becomes overwhelming. "Felix..." you murmur again, this time with a quiet, but genuine smile. 

His thumb strokes your cheek once more. "You’re perfect just the way you are,” he says again.

You find yourself leaning into his touch, your heart swelling, and before you know it, your lips meeting his in a kiss. It’s gentle at first as if both of you are testing the waters, but when his hand moves to the back of your neck and pulls you a little closer, the kiss deepens.

When you finally pull back, your faces are very flushed. Felix grins, his forehead resting against yours. "So," he says with a playful glint in his eyes, "was that okay?"

You laugh, your heart racing in a way that feels right. "Yeah, that was more than okay." You breathe out, "The moon thinks the sun is beautiful too."

[valentine-cafe]

A strawberry and rhubarb crumble with a key lime pie, please?

(Male Reader)

Imagine that Alessio has been noticing that Talisen is bringing home cookies. Where is he getting these cookies? Alessio doesn't know, but they're good cookies, so he asks Talisen and he explains that he's been getting them as offerings recently from the reader (kingfisher hybrid) who has a cabin near the lake he resides in.

Sooner or later, reader finds himself with two rhytraari at his door, wanting more treats and possibly the reader as their husband.

Would that be okay? Sorry if this request is weird, feel free to ignore it! Thank you so much ❤️ love your works!

˖⁺. ﹙ snake god x male reader x sorcerer god. ﹚ .𖹭 ݁

. . . warm kind of love !! 🍒 :  talisen: snake god ˖ siren ˖ alessio: sorcerer ˖ forest eldritch﹙ verse 164 talisen & alessio. ﹚

talisen finds out that alessio was gifted cookies and decides to follow the trail back to your sweet self 

𖹭. ps : this request was sooo cute <3

“Can’t you take me there.” Alessio asks, throwing himself over his husband in all his dramatic glory. Face twisted to seem as though he weeps.

“Pray, hush thy tongue, Alessio, for I dost labor.” The taller man responds with his cooing voice, tapping at a vial to inject magic into it for a little test with his cult for later. Though a soft hand does move up to gently stroke at the base of the sorcerer’s horn in affection.

Pouting, the sorcerer moves off of the man’s back and moves towards one of the entrance windows to the grand cottage. That is veiled to look ever broken down and worn from the outside.

Emerald eyes move to gaze longingly at your cottage. While his hands cup at the underside of his face.

“I just want cookies…”

“Oh the horrors. Verily.” Alessio’s gaze moves from your abode to his husband’s form putting away his work to make way towards him, taking his hand gently and tugging him out of the cottage.

“Thus shall it be. I shall convey thee to the humble abode by the lake.”

. . .

You are baking. Busying around the kitchen. The kingfisher birds of your abode flying in and out of the expanse to aid you with the new project you’ve set to make. Cookies with brownie bits. You had some leftovers from the other day when guests came to your cosy cabin.

The usual audience consists of regular sanguinist cultists, sometimes wildmagic sorcerers. You’ve gathered quite the friend group— Though your favourite visitor would be the god within the lake you gift goods to.

You’d be lying if you said part of it wasn’t so you could make sure he kept allowing you to live by the lakeside. . . Many of those around the forest-y area weren’t as bright and fresh as this one, and the freshwater life within was so very delicious.

“Hand me three cups of flour and then some sugar— you know the measurements, don’t give me that look huh?” You chuckle to one of your smaller friends.

To you, these kingfishers are family. Always have been. Followed you around since you were a baby.

Soft humming was about to fill the kitchen, until the first note was interrupted by knocking at the door. To which you stare back at for a bit. Confused at the sudden appearance of visitors.

You hadn’t invited anyone over?

“Yvonne, take care of the mixing for me, yes?”

With the notice to the nearest bird, you make your way towards the door and open it. Only to gulp in slight surprise at the familiar sight of Talisen and his husband, whom he always speaks of.

“I bid thee welcome with naught but calm, mine dear. Thou shalt not be cast forth.” He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest. Causing you to feel flutters of warmth in your own.

“Oh I’m not assuming you’d be evicting me either, MR. Zhào,” you stifle a small giggle. Directing your eyes to the man next to the lake god, giving him a small nod and smile.

“And you must be MR. Agresta, pleased to meet you. Your sorcerers and husband all speak fondly of you.”

The rhytaari’s eyes light up and almost sparkle at the mention of his cult members.

“Oh?” He hums, “you are accquainted with my sorcerers?”

“Quite! They are good friends of mine! Aided me with my abode.” You watch as the man before you melts into his husband, yet his heart eyes remain on you.

Your attention diverts once more, when the taller man clears his throat and smiles at you.

“Pray, dost thou desire assistance in the art of baking?” The question bubbles away at the happiness in your tummy, making it explode with fluster and excitement at the same time.

“Well I see why not!”

“And would you perhaps be willing to marry as well.” The horned man asks with a smug smile, sending you into a downwards spiral of all sorts of emotions hitting you left, right and centre. Blabbering inchoherently to in your attempt to process the question.

[oldsoul007]

second chance

joel miller x teacher!reader

summary: y/n, Sarah’s first-grade teacher, and Joel, Sarah’s dad, find themselves drawn together through their shared care for Sarah, their connection growing from school meetings into an unexpected and heartfelt romance.

joel miller masterlist

The leaves of Austin, Texas, shimmered in hues of orange and red, signaling the heart of fall. Joel Miller stood at the edge of the elementary school’s drop-off line, hands shoved deep into his jeans pockets, watching as Sarah, his spirited seven-year-old, skipped toward the school building. Her ponytail bobbed as she waved at her friends and dashed inside. Joel smiled faintly, but his expression shifted to curiosity when Sarah stopped and turned to hug her teacher—a woman he’d only seen from afar.

Y/n L/n, Sarah’s first-grade teacher, was kind-eyed and quick to laugh, with a warm presence that immediately put parents at ease. Joel, however, had been distant. Ever since Sarah’s mom left years ago, he’d been cautious with relationships—friendly, but reserved. He was a father first, and everything else came second.

But as I turned, our eyes met briefly. I smiled—soft and genuine.

“Mr. Miller, right?” I called, walking over.

“Uh, yeah. Joel,” he said, his Texan drawl thick.

I extended a hand. “I’m y/n l/n. Sarah’s been telling me all about you.”

Joel raised a brow. “She has?”

“Oh, yes. Apparently, you make the best pancakes in all of Texas,” I said with a teasing grin.

Joel chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, I don’t know about all of Texas, but she seems to think so.”

For a moment, we stood there, the autumn breeze weaving around us.

Joel wasn’t used to small talk, but there was something disarming about y/n—something that made him want to linger.

“I’m having a parent-teacher night next week,” I said. “You should come by. It’s a good chance to meet other parents and… you know, see some of Sarah’s work.”

Joel nodded. “Yeah, sure. I’ll be there.”

When the night arrived, Joel found himself standing in the brightly decorated classroom, surrounded by miniature desks and crayon artwork. Y/n moved through the room gracefully, greeting parents and answering questions. Joel stayed near Sarah’s desk, pretending to study her carefully written alphabet chart.

“Joel,” my voice cut through his thoughts. I stood beside him, holding two cups of punch.

“Thought you might need a drink,” I said.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the cup.

We chatted about Sarah—her love for reading, her knack for storytelling, and her stubborn determination. Joel found himself laughing more than he had in ages, and y/ns laughter was like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“Can I be honest?” I said after a pause.

“’Course.”

“I think Sarah gets her storytelling from you.”

Joel blinked, caught off guard. “Me? I’m not much of a storyteller.”

I tilted my head. “I don’t know. I think you have stories to tell—you just don’t share them.”

For a moment, Joel was quiet. Then, he said softly, “Maybe you’re right.”

Over the weeks that followed, Joel found excuses to linger after drop-offs or pick-ups. I would share stories about Sarah’s day, and Joel would offer small glimpses into his life. Slowly, the walls he’d built around himself began to crack.

One evening, I invited him and Sarah to the school’s fall festival. We walked the pumpkin patch together, Sarah running ahead to pick the biggest pumpkin I could carry. Joel and I trailed behind, our hands brushing occasionally as we laughed at Sarah’s antics.

“She’s a good kid,” I said.

“She’s my whole world,” Joel replied.

I hesitated before asking, “And what about you? What’s your world look like?”

Joel glanced at me, his heart thudding. “It’s been mostly just her. But… maybe there’s room for more.”

I smiled, my cheeks tinged pink. “I hope so.”

Joel Miller was pushing a squeaky grocery cart down the cereal aisle, trying to decide between Sarah’s favorite sugary treat and something a little less likely to send her bouncing off the walls. The seven-year-old was a master negotiator, but Joel was determined to stand his ground this time.

“Daddy, this one,” Sarah insisted, holding up a box of chocolate puffs with cartoon marshmallows grinning on the front.

“Sarah,” Joel drawled, pointing at the label, “this is more sugar than you need in a week.”

Sarah pouted. “But it’s got a toy inside!”

Joel shook his head, smiling faintly. “Nice try, kiddo. How ’bout we compromise? You can pick the granola bars.”

Sarah rolled her eyes, muttering something about how compromises were just “grown-up tricks,” but she skipped off to the next aisle. Joel chuckled to himself and turned back to the shelves.

“Fancy meeting you here,” a familiar voice said behind him.

Joel turned, and his heart did a funny little stutter. Y/n, Sarah’s first-grade teacher, stood there with a basket in hand. She looked different outside of the classroom—more relaxed, almost vulnerable—and it caught him off guard.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice warmer than he’d intended. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same,” I replied with a smile. “Though I suppose teachers have to eat too, right?”

Joel chuckled. “Fair point.”

We stood there for a beat, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence. Joel wasn’t usually one for small talk, but something about y/n made him want to keep the conversation going.

“Daddy!” Sarah reappeared, clutching a box of granola bars. “Can I get these?”

Joel glanced at the box. “Good choice, kiddo.”

Sarah beamed, then noticed y/n. Her face lit up. “Miss L/n! What are you doing here?”

“Hi, Sarah,” I said, crouching down to her level. “Just getting some groceries. What about you?”

“Daddy wouldn’t let me get the good cereal,” Sarah said with exaggerated indignation, crossing her arms.

I laughed, glancing up at Joel. “Strict dad, huh?”

Joel shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. “Gotta keep her in line somehow.”

I stood, my smile lingering. “Well, I should probably let you two finish shopping, but it was nice running into you.”

Before Joel could stop himself, he blurted, “You could, uh… join us. If you’re not in a hurry.”

I hesitated, my cheeks flushing slightly. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“Miss l/n, you have to come with us,” Sarah said, grabbing my hand. “It’ll be fun!”

Joel gave me a small, almost shy smile. “What do you say?”

I glanced between us, then nodded. “Alright. Lead the way.”

As we navigated the aisles together, Joel was struck by how natural it all felt. I teased him about his choice of coffee, while Sarah chattered nonstop about her latest art project at school.

“Joel, you do know this instant stuff barely qualifies as coffee, right?” I said, holding up the jar he’d tossed into the cart.

“It does the job,” Joel said defensively.

I laughed, a light, melodic sound that Joel realized he liked far too much.

In the midst of our conversation, an elderly lady passing by smiled warmly at the little family and remarked, “What a cute family you are!” Joel, ever the reserved one, gave a polite nod, though his lips twitched with a slight smile. Sarah, grinning from ear to ear, looked at her dad for confirmation, and he responded with a soft chuckle. It was one of those rare moments where the world around us felt a little brighter, even in the mundane setting of a grocery store.

The encounter was short, but it left all of us with a small sense of connection and warmth as we continued with our shopping. It was a reminder that sometimes, even the simplest moments could feel special when shared with the right people.

By the time we reached the produce section, Sarah had darted off to examine a display of apples, leaving Joel and I by ourselves.

“This is nice,” y/n said softly, glancing at him.

Joel looked at me, looking surprised by my honesty. “Yeah,” he admitted. “It is.”

We stood there for a moment, the bustle of the store fading into the background. Joel wanted to say more—to tell her that he’d been thinking about her since the first parent-teacher night, that he hadn’t felt this comfortable around someone in years—but before he could, Sarah ran back, clutching an apple in each hand.

“Look, Daddy! Red or green?”

Joel smiled. “Both, kiddo.”

At the checkout, I placed my basket on the counter, glancing at Joel and Sarah. “I’ll let you two go ahead. Thanks for letting me tag along.”

“Miss L/n, are you coming to dinner with us?” Sarah asked, her big brown eyes hopeful.

Joel stiffened, his heart hammering in his chest. “Sarah, don’t—”

“I’d love to,” I said, cutting him off. My smile was soft but genuine, and my eyes met Joel’s. “If that’s okay with your dad.”

Joel cleared his throat, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

Sarah cheered, and I laughed.

As they left the store together, Joel found himself thinking that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t just an ordinary grocery run. It felt like the start of something—something he wasn’t quite ready to name, but something he didn’t want to let go of.

And as I glanced at him with a smile that felt like sunshine, Joel realized he didn’t have to face the future alone.

It wasn’t an instant fairy tale. Joel was cautious, and I respected his pace. We spent time as a trio—movie nights with Sarah, weekend trips to the park—but also carved out moments for just the two of them.

One evening, after Sarah had fallen asleep on the couch, Joel walked me to my car. The moon cast a silver glow over the driveway as we stood there, the air heavy with unspoken words.

“Y/n,” Joel began, his voice low. “I never thought I’d… let someone in again. But you…”

I placed a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to say anything, Joel. I—”

But before I could finish, he leaned in, his lips brushing mine in a tender, hesitant kiss.

When we pulled back, I smiled. “I think Sarah’s going to be thrilled.”

Joel chuckled, his hand still lingering on my cheek. “Yeah, she’s been hintin’ at this for weeks.”

As y/n drove away, Joel stood in the driveway, a warmth spreading through him that he hadn’t felt in years. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t feel so lonely.

And in the weeks that followed, as their relationship deepened, Joel realized he wasn’t just rebuilding his life—he was building something new, something worth holding onto.

[geopsych]

Reminded by someone else's post so here are some pictures from Glastonbury Tor in 2015. The Tor is often associated with summer solstice and the 3rd photo is from the midsummer gathering of a druid organization called OBOD. The horn player turned and played in the 4 directions calling the opening of the ceremony. Happy solstice, everyone!

[boomerang109]

i’ve been telling my school for at least the last six months to hire me as a stage manager. now that rehearsals officially start THIS WEEK, guess who came crawling back

[kuiinncedes]

asgkjdfghk

[kindnessoverperfection]

Some recent wins:

-Sang loudly and off-key with my partner. We were both laughing to tears. I was sober.

-Found myself actually thinking about musical theatre today. For myself, for my own interest in it. I wasn't chasing it for a narc high, nor avoiding it due to a crash. It's been a long time since I've thought about my interests for my own sake.

-Invited my friends to hang out