#going from having two people who you’re not even sure consider you family back

[mjrtaurus]

Have you considered the comedy potential? Of Dragon and Robin teaming up to pull on of the biggest pranks in history?

And by that I mean they pretend to be father daughter

Cause like the theory is awesome but it’s so much funnier if the whole thing is just them lying

Dragon (known homosexual) - ah yes this is my daughter who I got from a woman I was in a sexual relationship with

Robin (known shitdisturber) - yes it is I his daughter who was produced through sexual intercourse with my female mother.

The whole thing gets way too out of hand during the two year arc and results in one very angry ex warlord kicking down Dragons door.

You’re right, this is so much funnier.

And people believe it because not only do they look similar enough to pull it off, but Robin’s weirdgirl energy and Dragon’s commit to any and all bits energy just. Click. Right into place. No gaps. Seamless.

I’m on Zou Arc right now and Robin is fucking with everyone like “my god, they’re cannibals”. Meanwhile, if he were there, Dragon- 100% running with her shit-stirring because it’s the funniest thing ever- would have gone “can they really be called cannibals since they’re Mink? Or does the term apply to all sapient humanoid species?” Cut to Usopp screaming because if the leader of the Revs (who’s there for whatever reason) is saying that, then it MUST be true!

Except everyone knows he’s bullshitting because everyone knows- including him- that Robin is bullshitting.

And it just kind of happens one day at the end of a discussion, back in her two year stay on Baltigo. Dragon’s been talking with her a lot, getting to know her, making sure she knows that she’s as welcome and accepted among the RA as she is with the Strawhats. The standard practice of “feed the stray cat so they know you’re a nice human and can be trusted”. You know the one.

Just.

A sip from the drink in her hand, like she’s already concocting more schemes.

“I hope you’ll forgive me, but some have been asking me- indirectly at least- if I’m your daughter. And I’ve been telling a few fibs here and there because of it.”

A twitch at the corner of his mouth, like he’s fighting a grin.

“Interesting… What sort of fibs, for the sake of keeping the story straight?”

Full shit-stirrer to shit-stirrer communication. Except it goes a little too well when Robin has reunited with the Strawhats for a while, and Dragon gets a very livid call from his dear and beloved nicotine addicted reptile. Accusing him of… sleeping with a woman? How rude! How unoriginal!

And that’s how Dragon learns that Robin’s been using her talents for fucking with people in a “good and friendly” manner to routinely put Crocodile through the wringer. Untraceable calls in the middle of the night that have the man feeling like he needs to be locked in a padded cell. Seastone muzzle and straitjacket optional.

The sudden shock of that revelation makes Dragon break, and then he’s cackling and wheezing like a madman until even the snail is concerned for his health.

“Wani, are you really that surprised that she would gaslight you for fun?”

“… Fair point…”

Oh, if Robin wasn’t going to get adopted into his dysfunctional garbage fire of a family before, she definitely is now.

[headfullof-ideas]

What’s this? Two doodles in one day? Absurd. And even more absurd, it’s a doodle I’ve been meaning to do for a while now! Just like the one i posted earlier!

Ant’s opinion and situation regarding his family structure changes greatly over the years, as he goes from having practically no family, with his relationship with Gobber and Gothi strained and complicated and filled with self-doubts, to collecting family members like Pokémon.

[wandixx]

Danny, the Young Justice member snippet nr 3 GIW made a lot of mistakes and the biggest one was going against Young Justice part 1

As you can see by the title (I need better ideas, you're all welcome to share yours), this is kinda part of "Danny, the Youg Justice member" but as something I have more of actual idea about. So while I encourage people adding their stuff to other snippets, please let this one be. I will be adding to it. It's even partially written :D

unrelated snippet nr 1, unrelated snippet nr 2

"Hey guys" Danny greeted clearly winded, phasing through the wall. Whole Team turned towards him, some giving him a side eye “Sorry I’m late” 

“You’re good, my dude” Wally answered, patting him on the back as soon as halfa landed, turning into his human form. They gave him a moment to catch his breath(just how fast he tried to fly there?) before grabbing their bags. Dick jumped and threw himself over the speedster's and halfa’s shoulders.

“Happy Harbour, we’re coming!” he yelled.

He fixed his grip when he caught Danny’s quick wince under the pressure as they left the headquarters. Judging by look on his face, Kaldur caught it too.

“So what’s on the agenda?”

“There is an amusement park in city, so we’re going to enjoy our free time there” M’gann explained with excited smile “I can’t wait to see it, I heard it’s fun”

Artemis nodded with a grin.

“I bet I can win more plushies than all of you. No powers,” she demanded after a moment, slamming her hand n a random tree for better dramatic effect.

“Stakes?” he asked, competitive like always. While blonde shared her idea of ‘no locker room duties for a month’, Danny explained all the questions M’gann asked about what even bet was and what stakes meant. Dick was sure she knew the answers to all of them but he didn’t say anything. He was trained well enough to catch Conner listening intently, despite his clear effort to hide it.

It turned into a whole Team competition.

It was going to be an aster.

***

M’gann was having a blast. Everyone already had two to four plushies, stomach full of unhealthy food and manageable nausea from the roller coaster. Wally and Danny were throwing popcorn to each other's mouths, Robin challenged Conner and Artemis to the next game. It really was fun just like she was told!

It was much less fun when literal blast shot a few feets away from them. Ground where it hit was burned. Halfa squealed, projecting a strong wave of distress. Without second thought he threw his hood on and changed his posture, frantically looking for a hiding spot.

Few children started crying, their families scrambling to get away before attackers started shooting again and hurt them. Workers, already used to working in less than ideal circumstances, quickly, but without panic warranted by recognised villains or outright invasion, shut down reinforced blinds and probably walked out to inform someone. At least they didn’t have to worry about potential civilian casualties. 

“Do you know who they are?” M’gann asked, quickly establishing the Mindlink.

“Don’t worry about it” he answered, putting on crazy big sunglasses that Wally won some time before.

“My dude, we just got shot at. We have every right to worry”

“Calm down, Wally. I got shot at, you’re just close by. I’ll handle it” With a ruffle of his hair and a piece of popcorn thrown in his mouth,he turned around, just moment after the next blast almost caught his arm. He plastered a smile on his face.

“Hey, I’ve seen guns like these in laser tag! But I’ve never found them cheap enough to get without selling my kidney!” he yelled enthusiastically.

When the rest of them turned around, M’gann saw ten people in sunglasses and pristine white, holding guns straight from the mad scientist’s lab. THey stood still, projecting surprise bordering on shock. She could also feel hunter's happiness underneath it, intense enough that she considered breaking the ‘don’t mess with people’s brains’ rule. As a treat.

“Don’t worry guys, they won’t harm you. Act like you  don’t believe you’re in danger. Like they're a bunch of LARPers or something” It was easier said than done, especially when Danny, who nearly always underestimated the danger, was so terrified. 

“Who are they?!”

“Wally throw me a bit of popcorn, please” Halfa asked, ignoring Artemis almost yelling in their minds. In turn, he was ignored by the speedster. Three of the men turned to check something on weird sort of scanner. Danny's false smile went from cheerful to embarrassed. 

“Dang me and my poor communication skills” he said, loud enough for men to hear but not enough to sound like he was talking to them, before asking louder “I meant to ask, where have you brought it and how much does it cost?”

This seemed to actually shake men out of their shock. They got furious.

“You won't trick us this time, ghost scum” one of the guys with a scanner snarled. Danny pursed his lips in childish gesture of displeasure.

“Rude much” he muttered as if he wasn’t shining with terror like a lighthouse. Robin perked up as if something got him curious.

“Wait, ghost? What do–”

“What are you cosplaying?” Artemis blurted out. Men got visibly angry but Danny smirked.

“Don't antagonize them,” Kaldur commended. 

“If shit goes south I'll get you out of there, half a second flat” Wally offered.

“Thanks dude. Good job Artemis, they hate to be treated like a joke they are” halfa praised but out loud asking:

“Ghostbusters? No, they had different uniforms. But who else got a thing for ghosts?”

“Quit joking around, we caught you Phantom! You ran far from Amity Park but-”

“Who is Phantom?” Robin interrupted rudely (they deserved to be rude to them).

“Where is Amity Park, Utah? Cali?”  Conner asked, adding fuel to the fire of chaos with barely contained glee. He liked messing with anyone even slightly resembling Kadmus staff and these guys marked almost all of the boxes.

“Illinois” provided chubby man who looked and felt like he didn't want to be there almost as much as they teens did. Danny relaxed slightly.

“Agent W you have no clearance to share this information“

“You were in Illinois and didn't tell me, Tommy?” M’gann finally spoke, jokingly punching his arm.

“I wasn't, I swear! I've never set a foot outside of this state in my life!”

“Quit messing around, you freak!!!” the guy, with the biggest ego and probably the leader, screamed.

“Can I please mess their heads up?”  M’gann asked, pushing hope through Mindlink as hard as she could.

“Again, rude. What did I even do to deserve that?”

“Like you–”

“Operative K, I think they really don't know anything “ Agent W, the nicest out of the batch, interrupted “Maybe it left some ectoplasm on this boy to throw us off?”

“They called you it, Danny” Conner seethed, looking like only Kaldur’s hand on his shoulder was stopping him from punching all of them straight to the sun. M’gann was already reaching for their minds.

“We need to run a scan to be sure. Come here boy”

“Now, who are you?!” Robin got defensive, sliding to shield Danny from asiliants. Conner and Artemis joined him, so clearly furious that M’gann almost retreated from Mindlink. She wasn’t any calmer, it just felt overwhelming to be backed up by five other people.

“It’s classified”

Kaldur took a photo with an obnoxiously loud sound effect. Wally appeared right behind Danny, ready to evacuate him. Artemis barely kept herself from tackling the nearest ‘agent’ to the ground.

“What are you doing, boy?” Operative K splurted, absolutely flabbergasted.

“Calling the police”

“Why?”

“Robin, throw some laws, please”

“Oh, that’s easy,” the boy jumped in gleefully “You assaulted our friend and refused to state why you would have credentials to do so or even who are you. You carry modified weaponry openly in public and I doubt you have a permit, carelessly use it  against minors, endangering innocent bystanders while we’re at it. You disturb public peace. I think that’s enough to get you arrested. Wait you know what, call ‘Supervillain emergency hotline’ instead, this is serious attack”

“Right ahead of you, already calling them”

It wasn’t that big of a problem even if someone tried to qualify this as spam. Young Justice Team was first to respond to all threats in Happy Harbour anyway.

Danny let out a low ‘uuuu’ with a smirk. Someone powered up a gun. Wally slightly raised halfa of the ground, ready to bolt.

“It’s okay young man,” the nice agent started, raising his hands in a placating gesture “We’re searching for a dangerous supernatural entity and may have overreacted. In our defense, Phantom is known to be tricky and we wouldn’t be surprised if it used human disguise to hide from us. Your friend gives off the same type of energy like what we use to track it so we assumed they’re the same. We’re sorry”

“Agent W you don’t have clearance to disclose that to-”

“Operative K, after the last few incidents we have to be more throughout before jumping to assumptions. Agent Gamma wouldn’t be pleased if your temper caused the next scandal,” Agent W look at them again, with a forced ‘warm’ smile “We’re really sorry for bothering you. We have reasons to believe Phantom is somewhere around but don’t worry about it, we will be on the lookout. If you see it, please contact us and we will take care of it” M’gann grabbed the ‘WANTED’ poster from man’s outstretched hand. She barely restrained herself from doing something irresponsible, like turning every man in white into a brainless vegetable.

“Later M'gann”

“But Robin…” she whined before sending a small laugh so they knew she wasn’t serious. She knew that Conner and Danny were anxious about this use of her powers.

Agent’s left and everyone relaxed. Wally put Danny back down and leaned back, jokingly rolling back his arms as if he got tired. Halfa stopped with a loud thump to sit on the ground. He was paler than usual.

Artemis shouted, alarmed.

“That was way too close” he started, aiming for a cheerful tone but missing by a mile “I’m fine, just need a moment to cool down. Sorry for that, guys. I thought I lost them over Ohio”

“That’s fine, personally I don’t care, we knew better than to expect a whole day without something going wrong, but who were they?” Wally asked, already back to eating popcorn.

Danny sighed, so deeply M’gann felt it in her bones even though she didn’t try to read him.

“I think this is the talk we should have in the Mountain”

[atrwriting]

more, more, more — carmy x reader

carmen berzatto x coworker!reader

listen to me. this man? this man?? so fucking slutty. so fucking slutty i can’t even think straight. i am absolutely AGHAST at how little writing there is of this man online. absolutely OUTRAGEOUS. he looks like that and none of us have done his character justice?? DISGRACEFUL.

i wrote this in direct response to how angry i am at how little there is.

as always, warnings… SMUT!, alcohol consumption, alcohol consumption with sex, smoking, p in v penetration, work relationships, overstimulation, carmen berzatto being an absolute mind blowing fuck on a table i mean in bed

also, minors fuck RIGHT the fuck off

barely edited we die like men

i stole that joke don’t come for me

anyway....

you didn’t really know how it happened.

you were once an unemployed law student, scared of drowning in bills, and eagerly awaiting a call back from anyone that would hire you — when she called.

natalie berzatto.

her voice was warm and comforting on the phone, and very eager to have you come in. she was relaying important information to you on the phone, and while you grabbed bits and pieces, it was hard to focus on anything else besides the sheer excitement of finally having a job. the job would be stressful, sure — but at least you wouldn’t be broke and stressed.

unfortunately, your first couple of shifts were a mess and a half. you took instructions well, and performed well, but in the hospitality business — that means nothing when an oven burner is out, a dishwasher doesn’t show up for a shift, richie starts barking, or when carmen’s upset.

carmen.

fucking carmen.

while soft spoken, there was nothing that could compare to the look of approval in his eye when you had completed a task to his standard. most people would consider the job of a hostess useless, or not a job at all — something to laugh at, but carmen? no. that man took your job very seriously, as he knew what it meant to provide the full experience to the customer.

however, when something was lacking in the kitchen and that experience was interrupted… carmen took the look of approval, almost gratefulness, away and replaced it with something that everyone felt like they had to walk around shards of glass.

when he was angry? oh, fuck… that could ruin anyone’s night.

the worst of it happened when his sister unexpectedly went into labor. two weeks early.

carmen had left the place screaming, and, in the process, had also left his things at the restaurant, including his jacket, wallet, keys, the lot — so to be nice you went to drop it off at his place. worried that he might be at the hospital, you texted him.

you: hey, going out for a drink. saw you forgot your stuff at the restaurant so i grabbed it because you’re otw. you home?

carmen: oh shit thanks. i’m home

so there you stood. at his front door, his stuff in hand.

you quickly adjusted your long hair, worried about your appearance. it was weird to show up to carmen’s place in your regular attire — seeing as though your regular attire on a night with your friends was black flare jeans, a tight black long sleeve v-neck that showed off your cleavage — you were concerned that he might be concerned with who he exactly employed. however, his niece was just born… he had more important things to worry about.

so you knocked.

and barely waited.

carmen was barely at the door a few seconds later before you came face to face with the man who constantly let exhaustion ride on his back.

“you good?” you immediately asked, handing over his stuff.

he nodded. “yeah, uh — thanks.”

“you look like you could use a drink,” you laughed. “want to come with?”

he shook his head, the corners of his lips somewhat curving upwards. “nah. day was hectic. you want one? come in — for a drink?”

you smiled. “i don’t want to intrude, especially after the berzatto family excitement of the day.”

“i owe you,” he sighed. “but don’t let me hold you up if your friends are waiting.”

you smiled. “one drink won’t hurt.”

one drink definitely did not hurt.

drink two and three definitely didn’t, either.

how much carmen made you laugh definitely made your stomach hurt, though. in a good way.

“you’re killing me,” you cackled. “who knew quiet carmen berzatto was such a good host.”

“you can call me carmy, y’know,” he spoke, saying his cigarette before pouring you another drink. “everyone else does.”

you shrugged. “you’re pretty professional in the kitchen. didn’t want to impose.”

“i don’t think you could impose a day in your life,” he chuckled. “i think you’re the only one that knows boundaries in that fuckin’ place.”

“says the mysterious one,” you giggled. “the only reason any of us know your nicknames is because richie likes to share your baby stories.”

“speaking of babies…” he took a drag. “thank you for helping sugar out so much. she told me to tell you how much she appreciates it.”

you shrugged. “‘s nothing.”

“nothing?” he scoffed. “you keep her sane. definitely keep me sane.”

“always got your back, chef,” you giggled.

he smiled, and ashed his cigarette once more. his long, thick fingers stretched around the circumference of his glass. one fingertip tapped against the glass and a few droplets of condensation fell to his countertop.

you were twisted around in your seat to face carmen, eyeing his attractive hands. in your peripheral vision, you saw him lift his head to cock it towards you and stare at you. the longing look sent shivers up your spine, but you gazed at him through your long lashes as you waited for his response.

“you do,” he spoke. “always have. we were lucky to find you. i - i was, i mean.”

“more like i was lucky get a call from natalie,” you laughed. “it’s so hard to find a well paying job nowadays.”

“heard,” he rasped. “you happy at the bear?”

“very,” you replied. “staff keeping you happy, chef?”

he chuckled. “when i’m not made to scream, yeah.”

“that’s fair. we’re lucky to have you.”

there was only so many things you could think of to say to carmen before you began to consider that you were imposing. you slapped your hands against your thighs — a implicit signal it was time for you to go. he led you to the door, where he reached out for your coat. you smiled at him, thanked him for the drink, and slid your arms through the jacket as he held it out for you.

you don’t know what caused you to, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was you — or maybe it was how good carmen smelled — but you glanced up and over your shoulder at the polite man behind you.

you didn’t have anything to say. frankly, you said something last — it was his turn. however, carmen’s sense of societal expectations started and ended with the door to the kitchen. but there, by his front door? basically holding you by the shoulders, and staring back down at you? he had nothing to say.

however… his eyes could share a thousand things about him. more specifically, emotions. carmen’s eyes showed exhaustion, a bit of dehydration, to keep it a buck, but there was so much intensity in those crystal irises. they were a stunning, clear blue… but with the way carmen was gazing down at you, there appeared to be no clear thought in his head.

and he did nothing.

so you could do nothing.

you found yourself disappointed at his actions, or rather — lack thereof.

you simply smiled, and went to turn away. you reached for his door knob, when you felt the slightest brush of calloused fingers against the skin of your wrist. the feeling shocked you, pricking at your nerves, but you didn’t stop until you felt those fingers enclose around the circumference of your wrist.

like they had with the glass, moments ago.

you turned back, letting your long and thick eyelashes ghost over your line of sight. all you could see was a frozen chef, standing tired, but staring back at you.

when his gaze fell to the floor, you stepped closer. he glanced up.

you felt the heat rise to your cheeks as you softly asked, “what’s up, carmy?”

“first time i had someone over.” his parted lips closed so he could swallow, and his eyes drifted between your lips and the floor. the words were right there, on his tongue. they were so close you could feel them, taste them. he replied, “i, um… don’t want it to end, uh — i guess.”

you smiled and turned around in place, barely inches from his face. his breaths were pushing past his lips in small, light puffs that hit the tip of your chin. it was like he was conscious of everything he was emitting; his vibe, where he was looking, even his fucking exhales. he was cautious and frozen and all you wanted was for him to be relaxed, or as close to, as he was moments ago.

“already drank you out of house and home, carmy. what else you got in mind?”

his eyes widened, but his voice stayed level. “what else i got in mind?”

you hummed in agreement with a coy smile on your face. you folded your lip between your teeth and stepped backwards. carmy glanced at your hips and feet hesitantly, shifting his weight slightly. while his eyes were trained on you, his parted lips quivered slightly which told you that there was still some nervousness lingering in him. with every step you took, carmy took one as well. you kept stepping backwards, and carmy kept stepping forwards, until your back was pressed against the wall.

carmy’s lips weren’t slightly quivering anymore. there was no hesitation in his figure when he leaned down slightly and rested a flat palm against the drywall above your head. his breath was hitting you on both cheeks — as if they weren’t hot enough already. inside you were screaming. you were screaming, and screaming, and screaming and all you wanted to do was grab both sides of his face and smash your lips to his. you wanted to, but you wouldn’t. you wanted to see if he would.

“you know,” you spoke, raising your back. your cold palm pressed against his cheek. it was burning — almost as bad as yours. “even though you’re the boss… never seen you actually taste anything.”

“no?” he rasped. the gruffness in his voice pricked at your cheeks and went straight to your core. “and what do you want me to taste, sweetheart?”

you released your grip from his cheek and brought your hand down to your face. with a manicured nail, you tapped the plumpness of your bottom lip. you stared into his eyes — a dare.

“fuck.”

with his free hand, carmen wrapped your hand in his own and pressed it to the middle of his chest. he held it there, pressed against his heart, and surprisingly it was the exact spot you wanted to hold him. you wanted to hear — no, feel his heart that was beating slightly faster than normal. when carmen finally pressed his chapped lips against yours… you saw stars.

the alcohol coursing through your veins made you melt into the man before you. his hand on the wall slid down until he was rubbing the side of your neck, and then gripping the base of your skull. his fingers, his beautiful, skillful fingers threaded through your hair like it was one of his pieces of art and he was creating something. he twisted your strands until he had your head bent back, practically supported by the heavy palm of his hand. the motion made you gasp into his mouth. carmen swallowed it whole. every. last. bit.

“y’taste so fuckin’ sweet,” he moaned against your lips.

you hummed with him. the warmth of his body engulfed your body into his until the moment started and ended with carmen anthony berzatto. you could taste the liquor on his tongue that danced with your own. with every breath he took, bits of smoke would linger between the two of you. it went straight to your head, swallowing your senses whole. you didn’t know if it was the alcohol, the cigarettes, or carmen himself, but you felt like you were swimming.

“this okay, sweetheart?” he asked, pulling away for a second. a thumb of his stroked the skin of your cheek as he stared at you, waiting for feelings of regret from you. “d-do you want me to stop?”

“please don’t stop, carmy,” you gasped, pulling him back into. “you’re perfect.”

you didn’t expect that would make carmen slide his hands down your body and grasp the back of your thighs. his fingertips pressed into your skin, pulling your legs up and around his waist. you squealed against his teeth and couldn’t believe you had found yourself in this situation.

it’s not that carmen wasn’t handsome, no. the man was drop dead gorgeous in a tortured artist way, and you always had a thing for men that looked like they needed a hug but wouldn’t admit it. but… he was your boss.

what could you do about that? it’s not like you could stop now. even if you had told him to stop, got your shit and left — the damage was done. you both had crossed the boundaries, and you were going to reap what you sewed.

in that case… might as well have a little fun with it.

he had placed you on a neighboring table. his large hands gripped the flesh of your thighs and you couldn’t help but whine into his embrace. his tongue glided over your lips and teeth and with your tongue in the messiest way possible and all you could chant in your head was more, more, more.

and that’s when you found yourself pulling at the bottom of his t-shirt.

he stepped back slightly, throwing his shirt over his head. his swollen lips were parted, and his eyes searched your face. you found your chest rising and falling with anticipation, and realized you should’ve been more concerned with how he was dealing with all of this.

“you okay, carmy?” you whispered.

he nodded, letting a few fingertips of his ghost over the skin of your cheek. his crystal eyes glanced down to your lips.

“we can stop, you know,” you whispered again. “it’s okay.”

he nodded again before dipping his head down to the side of your neck. his plump lips left wet kisses on the sensitive skin and you moaned into the open air. you widened the space between your knees, allowing for carmen to wedge himself between your thighs.

“you’re always talking such good care of me, sweetheart, so good to me,” he rasped against your throat, sucking on the skin. “but all i want to do right now is have my fingers inside you. y’gonna let me?”

“yes, carmy,” you whined. “yes please.”

“such a polite girl f’me.” carmy’s mouth was attacking your throat. moans escaped passed your lips like carmy was squeezing them from you, claiming them. his fingers traveled down the front of your clothes and stopped at the button of your jeans. sliding it open, carmen berzatto slipped his perfect hands into your jeans.

“right there, please,” you gasped once his fingers found your bundle of nerves.

his fingers dipped into your core and spread it all over where you needed him most. warmth began to spread through your hips and your knees widened for him. his drew circles different ways until he noticed that when he drew counterclockwise circles, you bit your lip and your eyes appeared to involuntarily flutter shut. you felt carmy smirk against the skin of your neck.

“what made you this wet, baby?” he hummed, sucking at the base of your throat.

“you, carmy,” you whined. “felt it as soon as i saw you when i first walked in. needed you so badly.”

he smirked again. “so bringing my things wasn’t of the purest intentions?”

heat rose to your cheeks with the sensual actions that were taking place below the belt and carmy’s accusation. you grew worried at what he would say if you said no, that you honestly just wanted to help him out… but if carmy wanted to play like that, you could play.

“n-no,” you whined as the pleasure began to spread throughout your whole body.

carmy was holding you so close to him. it was like he was your support — supporting you through such a physically vulnerable moment. your legs were practically shaking at this point, trying to take everything he was giving you and not start sobbing. you were grabbing at any piece of him you, wanting to kiss him — but he wouldn’t let you. fucking bastard.

“good,” he stated, staring you dead in the eyes. your mouth fell open at his response, a pant pushing passed your lips. “i don’t have the purest of intentions when i do this.”

carmen berzatto slid two long, thick fingers inside you ever so slowly. the motion pulled small moans out of you like you were a pathetic mess of a puddle and the sun rose and set with him. you felt his fingertips press against the upper wall inside you, while another finger worked at your clit, and all you could do was hold onto him tighter.

“it feels so good, carmy,” you whined. “i love your fingers so, so much.”

“yeah, baby?” he breathed against your ear. “you wanna cum f’me?”

“faster, please, i will,” you sobbed. you fucking sobbed as the tapping motion inside you hastened. “oh god — oh my fucking god —“

“that’s it, sweetheart? that’s what you needed?”

“yes, yes — fucking — fuck — yes.”

“f-fuck —“ he groaned broken, incoherent phrases against your throat. his breath was hot and heavy on your skin and all you could think about was how good he felt inside of you, and also how badly you wanted all of him inside you. interrupting your thoughts, he spoke, “show me how good it feels, baby. finish all over my fingers f’me.”

that broke you.

that fucking broke you.

it was like a shock of lightning hit you straight in your core and the power from the strike spread throughout your entire body. every muscle of yours went taut as you arched your chest into carmy’s.

with his expert hands, he fucked you through the orgasm. “that’s it, baby. that’s it. keep cumming for me.”

it was like carmen berzatto knew everything to say to make you shatter. you couldn’t even breathe — all you could do was give into the spreading feeling of bliss and hold your breath while it washed over you. it was wave, after wave, after wave of mind-numbing orgasm and carmen held you through all of it.

“pretty girl.”

“i know, baby. you’re such a sweet girl f’me.”

“that’s it, sweetheart. take it.”

once the waves finished hitting you, your chest was rising and falling heavily. carmen peppered light kisses along your neck, being gentle as to your state, but you were having none of it. you reached for his belt.

“greedy.”

you smiled lazily at him. “any objections, chef?”

he smirked at you, letting his fingers ghost over your sensitive core. a shiver ran up and down your spine at the almost painful action. “be careful — or i’ll make you cum again.”

you knew he wasn’t joking. you let out a slight giggle before you dragged the zipper and his boxers down. freeing his cock, you pumped his shaft.

carmy was once dominantly kissing your neck and whispering mean things in your ear, but now he was using the crook of your neck to support his forehead.

“you have such a pretty cock, carmy,” you whispered in his ear. there was something so comforting about being intimate with a man where you both could be vulnerable, and you weren’t sure if you would ever let it go. you want him everywhere he would let you have him. “i don’t know if i want it in my mouth or inside me more.”

he chuckled at that, crooning back into your embrace when you would touch a very sensitive part of him. “dirty girl — you’re so fuckin’ evil.”

you were worried the friction was becoming too much for him, but you didn’t want to raise your hand to your own lips, so you swiped some of the juices from your core and used it to lubricate the skin of carmy’s cock. it was a quick motion — you didn’t think he’d notice, and plus his eyes were most likely closed.

but when he spoke, you froze.

“do-do that again.” his voice was rough with lust. “do that again for me.”

you were hesitant at first, but you decided to make a show of it. you slowly dragged two fingers up the length of your slit and rubbed a very slow circle around the circumference of your clit. you gasped at the sensitivity, slightly jumping at the touch.

“fuck, that’s hot,” he groaned, breath humid on your neck.

you smirked at his response and reached for his cock. your hand slipped along the smooth skin of his cock, drawing a deep groan from carmen. the poor man was so sensitive — almost aching from what giving everything he had to you previously felt like.

“so big, carmy,” you breathed. “so big and pretty.”

“y’know what would be prettier?” he asked, pressing a kiss to your jaw line. “watching you put it inside you. can you do that, baby?

you smiled at him devilishly. carmy’s hands shoved the rest of your jeans down your legs and flung them somewhere in the room. your pussy was aching — dripping for the man before you. the sensitivity had left you, no longer prickling at your nerve endings. all that was left was the want for more — anything carmy had to give you.

“please,” you whined, rubbing the head of his cock against your glistening folds.

“i love when you beg f’me,” he groaned. “such a good fuckin’ girl.”

both of your lines of sight drifted down to the view of your hips. you both watched in awe as you lined carmy up with your entrance as he pushed his hips towards you.

the throws of passion and want for carmy were intense, sure — but so was the want to enjoy this while he could. he pushed in the tip of his cock, groaning slightly as your tight hole encased him. you whines at the barely filled feeling — so empty, needing more. carmy, however? carmy didn’t care. he wanted to feel every push and pull of your muscles between your hips.

carmy kept his eyes turned down at your pussy and you swallowed more and more of him inside you. he gripped the flesh of your waist, fingertips digging into you. your own hands were splayed our flat against the cool countertop of the table — a direct juxtaposition of the boiling feeling that electrified the top of every inch of your skin. you whined as carmy took his time with his thrusts, pulling back every so often when he felt resistance, and then pushing back in ever so slightly, yet slightly farther, each time.

“please, more,” you gasped, folding your lip between your teeth. “i want all of you.”

“baby isn’t patient, huh?” he asked, continuing with his motions. “gotta have it all, when you want it?”

“i can’t be teased right now,” you sobbed. it was pathetic how needy you were, but fucking christ did it turn carmy on.

“this what you want, baby?” he asked, pushing into you deeper.

your walls were squeezing him like he was the only thing that existed to you. the burn at your entrance was something so bittersweet, something so delicious — you didn’t know how you were going to keep control and make this special for him as well, let alone how you weren’t going to cum right then. but you didn’t care — you didn’t have the strength to care.

“yes, carmy — please,” you begged, bucking your hips into him weakly. “fuck — your cock feels so good.”

“yeah, baby?” he pressed into deeper. “so impatient you can’t handle it slow?”

“i want you to fuck me, carm,” you bit with lust dripping from every word. “fuck me — use me however you want — please.”

fuck.

that set him off.

carmy was a patient and low maintenance man, sure, out of necessity and convenience mostly. however, when he had the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, with a dirty mouth to match, talking back to him, and begging him to be selfish?

fuck patience. fuck ease. and fuck being selfless.

carmen’s grip tightened on your waist, and he pushed the last parts of his cock inside you.

it immediately hit you right where you needed him — that soft, sensitive spot so deep that barely anyone before him could dream of reaching. your walls gripped the smooth skin of his cock and you screamed. you fucking wailed when he finally pounded into you painfully, but so fucking sweetly.

“dirty — fucking — girl,” he grunted, thrusting upwards into your pussy.

there was nothing like the sight of carmy finally taking what he wanted. no expression of shame, or guilt, or hesitation on his face — just a man, slightly bent over before you, inside of you, holding you so close to him because, in that moment, you could give him what he wanted — needed. and, in that moment, all he needed was you.

the side of his face was pressed against yours, breathing heavily into your ear. the few groans he let escape his throat were guttural — almost animalistic. they went straight to your core, practically flooding around his cock. your whines of pleasure forced his hips forward and back faster and harder with each motion. balancing your weight and carmy’s with a firm hand of yours behind you on the table, you clamped your free hand on the back of his neck. you twisted a few stray strands of his hair around your fingers, tugging at them. every thrust caused you to pull his hair, him, closer and harder into you.

“laythefuckdown,” he spat, to your surprise.

the command startled you, sure — but it also made you bite your lip in anticipation. he pressed a wet, heavy kiss to your cheek, throwing butterflies in your lower stomach, as you released him. before you could lay down, he stopped you.

“you want to give me what i want, baby?” he whispered against your lips.

you nodded, gazing at him with dark, lust filled eyes.

“then i want your pussy to finish around my cock,” he stated. “think you can do that f’me?”

“y-yeah,” you replied, shakily, but full of trust.

you laid down and carmy regained his footing at the end of the table, keeping his cock pressed firmly inside you as he stood above you. his cock twitched against your most sensitive spot inside you, and you whined at the new angle. he gripped one of your hips firmly, but let his other hand ghost up your glistening lips.

“such a pretty fucking pussy,” he rasped, gazing at it. “takes my cock so well. but right here…”

he pressed his thumb against your clit.

you would’ve jumped if his hand wasn’t keeping you locked to the table.

“this is what i want,” he spat. “so fucking pretty.”

he began rubbing rough, fast circles on your clit. your legs were shaking from the overstimulation, and you thought you could cry from the sensation. your back arched off the table, and your hands struggled to find something to grip — to balance you as carmy tortured you.

but then his cock started working itself back into you again, hitting that spot that needed him so badly.

“think you can cum like this, baby?” he asked, taunting you. “be a good girl for me, yeah?”

“yes — !” you groaned, reaching for the end of the table with one hand. grabbing it, you tried to steady yourself, but it was no use. not with carmy. “fuck — it’s so much — it’s too much carmy —“

“gonna cum for me, sweetheart?”

you threw your head up to stare at the man. he was rocking into you like that was the only thing he knew, fucking you like it was the only thing he wanted, but there was so much focus on his eyes. so much focus on you.

“gonna give me what i want?”

“yes, yes,” you were nodding your head so pathetically, so sweetly for him. tears were practically threatening to spill over the corners of your eyes, but they glistened at him, and only him, and god did it fuck with him. “please, carmy — let me cum for you.”

“do it,” he ordered. “fuck, baby — cum for me.”

your hips were bucking against his pelvis and his hand, too erratic for him to be precise like he wanted to. you were chasing his fingertips, chasing the orgasm that even in his selfish state he was so generous to give. whines left your throat involuntarily as the intensity in your lower abdomen grew, and grew, and grew. your eyes were screwed shut as you pushed yourself to your elbows, holding yourself up as you couldn’t help but curl into yourself. carmen may have been looking at you, or something else — it didn’t matter. all you saw was the black of your eyelids, until is was white.

white. pure white.

your finger nails dug into the meat of your palms as the heat spread from your womb to the entirety of your body. every nerve ending and hair rose to the highest point of height they could, and you held your breath. the feeling of immense pleasured you washed over you — wave after wave, after wave, after wave. it hit you, it crashed into you, it fucking drowned you — it swallowed you whole until you were gasping for air. your orgasm was violent — practically mine splitting. you were shaking. you were sensitive beyond belief, beyond repair — and the prickling feeling wouldn’t stop. you were gasping for air as you looked down, only to find carmy’s hand still working between your thigh.

still rubbing those fucking circles.

“c-carmy,” you sputtered, tears wet in the corner of your eye. “please — i c-can’t.”

“shhh,” he whispered. “just keep cumming, baby. just keep cumming for me.”

your chest split open at that, throwing you back against the table top. shivers went up and down your spine as you took carmy’s torture.

“that’s it, baby. that’s it.”

his words were music to your ears as you screamed for him.

“ohh, fucking shit — that’s it —“ he hissed. “just like that. take it all for me — oh, fuck.”

you were dazed and confused on carmy’s table, basically seeing stars. absolutely useless, fucked out beyond words. you felt the weight and warmth of carmy’s body lean over, and rest against yours, as his hips sloppily rocked into you.

you wrapped your legs around the middle of carmy’s back, locking him in place. one hand went to clamp on the back of his head, and the other pressed against the side of his cheek.

against his lips, you whispered, “cum for me, carmy, please. i want to feel you inside of me.”

“good — fucking —“ he grunted, pressing his lips to yours in a farm, hard kiss as he shook. carmy’s tongue shoved itself into your mouth, and down your throat. carmy was everywhere — so deep in every part of you. you hummed with each moan of his you swallowed, rocking your hips against his and rocking him through his orgasm. gasps left his lips as he gripped any part of you he could, doing anything he could to hold onto you and keep you in place.

“holy f-fucking shit,” he gasped against your cheek, pressing kisses to your cheek and the length of your neck. “that — that was — it was so —“

“i know,” you spoke, giggling slightly.

carmy laid his head against your collarbone and you weaved his wet curls around your fingers. he rested fully against you, completely relaxed.

“fuck your friends,” he mumbled. “stay here tonight — as long as, um — you want to, that is.”

your giggle hummed in your chest. carmy’s confidence leaving him in the middle of the sentence surprised you slightly, but not enough to leave you unamused. “‘m not imposin’?”

he chuckled at that, and pulled you up from the table and into his arms. "fuck off."

-----

lmk what you think :) love yall -L

[priniya]

📸 BETTER THAN REVENGE

synopsis. after a fight with sirius, regulus comes to his girlfriend sulking and she decides to have a little talk with his older brother.

notes. regulus black x malfoy!reader

you and regulus had many more similarities than anyone could guess just by simply looking at the two of you. the most obvious included your background — ancient, pureblood families, who were nuts about purity, both in slytherin, both richer than most of the hogwarts students together, and in everyone’s eyes you were petty, stubborn and pretentious.

you two were petty and seemed pretentious, but it wasn’t all that. the two of you both had siblings, who maybe cared about you in some way, but never showed it well enough for you to be sure they cared. you were sure sirius cared, but you weren’t sure if lucius did. your brother was far from being a family guy.

both you and regulus were also painfully ambitious, and it kind of made the two of you so close as you were paired to one group in slughorn’s classes, and to secure yourself a top spot, you had to work together. and so half a year later, you were planning a trip to france, lying next to each other on the bed in his dorm.

after that one summer everything has changed, and now you two were an official couple, though not many people knew since neither of you wanted to make a big deal out of it. the amount of classes you shared had shrunken since you took different ones, but it just made your bond stronger.

it all happened on a week before both of you were supposed to return to your respective houses (though, regulus would be staying at potter’s), you were wrapping your present for barty, when your boyfriend stormed into the room. pandora, who sat there with you, claimed she would leave you two alone and left. you could easily see that something happened from the look on his face.

“reg,” you began, eyebrows furrowed at his sudden appearance. “is everything alright, love?” a soft ask left your lips as he just laid down on your bed, face buried in a pillow.

silence filled your room right after you finished your sentence. it was time for you to just sigh quietly, putting a hand on his back and scratching it gently. “you know you can talk to me, right?” your soft tone and the sensation of your nails on his back made him grunt.

“i’m not leaving for christmas.” he stated, catching you a little off guard. you were sure it was about the upcoming christmas ball that slughorn threw and since you were invited, regulus was ought to go with you. “i… got into a fight with sirius, so either we make up or i’m gonna go to my parents.” now, he was looking at you with misery and sadness flickering in his eyes.

“he thinks james is more of a brother to him than i am.” regulus adds, his head now resting on top of your laps as you play with his hair, trying to comfort him at least a little. “and he says it’s not that big of a deal, since i consider evan and barty my brothers and i’d probably say that they’re more of brothers to me than he is, but that’s not true.”

his words made your heart ache. it was clear to everyone in your friend group (including remus, who often just tagged along) to know how much regulus needed sirius’ validation, how much he needed to be reassured that he doesn’t hate him as much as regulus thought he did.

“i know we haven’t talked until he moved out, but it still hurts.” he whispered, not even looking you in the eyes. “and he doesn’t even recognize how much he means to me. he’s the only one in our entire family that matters more than everything. i got his initials and constellations tattooed and he thinks i would choose barty and evan over him?”

“you’re brother is an idiot, and i mean it.” you murmured, showering his head with kisses. if regulus was in his usual mood, he would say he just acts like an idiot, but now? he didn’t even want to defend him. “i’ll stay with you. i’d go nuts if i had to spend a minute with lucius.” you say softly, fingers running through his hair.

it took you a few more minutes to comfort him enough to leave your dorm for his evening practice, and even though you were supposed to finish packing your presents before christmas. you had to talk to one, annoying gryffindor, who was no other than sirius black.

getting into their common room was easy, lily, friend of a friend of yours, let you in after hearing your explanation, showing you how to get into sirius’ dorm that he shared with james, remus and peter. “one of you better hold me or i might kill your friend.” you let out, looking specifically remus, who looked at you with a glint of surprise.

“what did he do again?” lupin asked, his expression scolding. “what’re you doin’ here, malfoy?” peter began, but before he could elaborate, remus put a hand on his shoulder and shook his head as you looked for the perfect words.

“how can you be such an asshole, black?” you hissed, the end of your wand pointed at his throat. “one time you’re all on being the best older brother you can, but next time all i see in yourself is my brother, and believe me, that’s the furthest from a compliment.”

“i’m not done, yet.” your teeth gritted, eyes narrowed at him. “he’d never choose anyone over you, yet you’d always choose him —” you looked at james for half a second, then turned your eyes to sirius, again. “— over your own brother, who’d jump into flames just if you asked him to? unbelievable.” you sighed, putting your wand down, sliding it into your boot. “and you know what’s the worst in all that? that i wish he’d pick anyone else over you, but he won’t, because he can’t even get mad at you for not choosing him, he’s just sad.”

the atmosphere in the room is so tense, someone could cut it with knife. “you’re an idiot for making regulus feel so little about himself, and y’all are idiots for letting him.” another sight left your lips as your eyes were locked with sirius. “maybe even regulus will let you treat him like shit, but i won’t, black. i’ll make sure to haunt your dreams and turn them into nightmares, i can promise you that.” you gave him your most ironical smile. “i’m a malfoy, don’t underestimate me, cutie pie.” you sent him a wink,

“protective girlfriend, huh?” remus chuckled as you passed him, giving you a high-five. “oh you bet, lupin.” and you left, sirius almost shamless at your sudden outburst, but… it was quite impressive — though, he’d never admit it.

you haven’t seen neither of them till the next morning at breakfast, when they walked to the great hall together, talking about something until each of them got to their respective tables. “what did you do?” regulus asked, sitting on the bench beside you.

“what?” you asked with a sweet smile, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “just had a small talk with sirius, why?”

“a small talk? with the tip of your wand pressed against his throat?” you nodded at his words, sending him a fake-puzzled look. “you know i love you?” he bit back a smile, leaning closer to whisper those words right to your ear.

“oi, malfoy.” barty started, interrupting your somehow intimate moment with regulus. “theoretically, if i paid you, could you do that to me as well? that must’ve looked bloody hot.” crouch grinned, getting a light punch on the shoulder from your boyfriend.

“i would rather not touch you, crouch. i don’t know where the hell have you been.” you laughed, your head resting on regulus’ shoulder as his arm was wrapped around your waist. “don’t worry, baby. if any of them bothers you, i can fight.” you winked at him playfully.

[misstycloud]

Haunted House

Ghost yan x ghost reader

TW: suicide mention

——————

It was with curiosity you stared out the window. A car had pulled up in the drive way. Through the car windows you sa two adults and three children in the backseat. Well, it was definitely not a maintenance company then. It always bothered you so when they came and meddled with your house; though it technically didn’t belong to you anymore you still considered the building as you home, and prison.

You watched as the kids ran out of the vehicle to inspect the house. You had to admit, they were rather cute. Before you hadn’t really thought about having kids and weren’t sure if you ever would, but now you found yourself wondering if you would have made a good mother. One always ponder about the choices out of one’s reach.

They seemed happy, the family of five. Perhaps you would be fine with them around.

“What are you thinking about, dear?” A voice interrupted your dazed thoughtfulness as your mood instantly soured.

“Nothing so you can leave.”

The man behind you sighed. “Do you always have to act like this whenever I’m around?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look back at him, fearing that the sight of him would send you into a frenzy. “I do when you’re the one who ruined my life.”

“Ruined your life? We were happy together, in fact, I remember you telling me ‘I promise to love you even in death’ but I guess that doesn’t apply, not with the way you treat me.”

You nearly gasped at his audacity. The nerve some people had!

“What? Are you actually serious right now- you can’t be? The way I treat you? You want to talk about the way I treat you? You killed me!” You shouted.

You had turned around now. Your eyes took in the handsome man you had once called the love of your life. Despite the hatred for true actions and pain he caused you, a small part of you still felt something when you looked at him. Maybe it was affection? Maybe it was the anguished feelings of a happy life that could have been? You weren’t sure.

He stilled for a moment before speaking again. “I know, and I am sorry it had to go that way-“

“Had to? You weren’t forced to do anything. At least take responsibility for your actions!”

“I wouldn’t have had to do it if you had just stopped flirting with those other men.” It seemed like it was his turn to become angry. “Don’t think I didn’t see how you looked at them, how your eyes lit up when you saw someone you very clearly fancied.”

“Oh my- we’ve been over this a hundred times, they were just coworkers nothing more. Besides, they have wives and kids of their own!”

It didn’t matter how much you insisted, your (ex)husband did not relent in his accusations.

“That doesn’t mean they’ll be loyal. You have no idea what a treasure you are, many would do anything to get to have you.” The man twirled a strand of your hair around his finger, entranced by your beauty.

“Oh, like you, you mean?” You fired back.

“Stop that.” He said. “I don’t want to fight with you, we’ve already done enough of that. I did what I had to do and nothing will ever change that. Now we’ll be together for ever, even in death, just like we promised each other at the altar. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I hope that one day you will understand how deep my feelings for you go and see things from my perspective. I love you, I really do.” He turned to leave you to your lonesome. Before he left, he told you one final thing, “No one else will adore you as much as I, especially now considering no man will ever see you besides me. You’re nothing more than a ghost after all.”

The tear threatening to escape earlier finally welled up. You cried and wiped your eyes with you cold, dead hand.

——————

Just as you had imagined, the family did bring you a new sense of happiness. Whilst not exactly ideal, watching over(spyin on) the parents and the children made your days more fulfilled. They brought laughter and fun back into your undead life.

Unfortunately you weren’t able to look out for them unless they stayed in the house. It was a real pain in the ass, not being able to leave the building. If you could, you would have left decades ago- much to your (ex)husband/ dismay. You suspected he was relieved to find that you were both confined to your place of death. It meant you couldn’t leave him, which was his goal the entire time. He got what he wanted in the end.

After stabbing you out of jealousy, you died in his arms, crying and demanding answers to why he would hurt you. When you (surprisingly) woke up again, you were in the same position you had been when your life drained out of you. Your man was clutching you tight to his chest and he was stroking you hair. At first you had believed it was all a dream, then you thought you survived the whole thing. He was still petting your hair and rambling on how he loved you and how he would rather die than be separated from you. You hadn’t expected him to be so literal.

You were shocked when you had pulled away from him, only to discover a second version of him lying unmovingly on the floor next to you. Then you noticed the pool of blood spilling out from his neck, and the knife he stabbed you with in his hand. With disbelief you glanced back at the ‘living’ version of him. He smiled somewhat solemnly at you as you took in his too-pale skin and the large scar he had on his throat.

You tried not to think about it too much. No matter what he did, you would never forgive him for taking your life away from you because of his irrational fear of you cheating on him. Well, it was impossible for you to leave or cheat on him now. You were the only ghosts in the house and didn’t have the ability to take even a small step outside the front door.

Instead of spending your days avoiding him as usual, you now followed the family around the house. Mostly the children of course. They had the habit of getting into trouble whenever their parents weren’t around. You had forgotten how many times you had saved them from tripping or bumping their heads. You were lucky you could touch things in the real world for a short second. You couldn’t before so you assumed it was because you were a young and weak ghost back then.

The whole babysitting act also appeared to bother your husband, which you relished in. You remembered one day when he approached you after the family had left for the grocery store.

“Don’t you think you’re spending an awful lot of time with those children?”

“I like them so I don’t mind.” You answered and continued staring at the drawings they made that afternoon, right before begging called to get dressed and meet by the car.

“Well, I don’t think it’s right for you to do the parents job.” He sneered.

Rolling your eyes, you said, “Like I said, I don’t mind.” Your wanted to leave it at that but your (ex)husband had other plans.

“Sweetie, I will be honest; I believe your getting too attached to this family, it’s not good.”

You sent a glare in his direction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What I mean is I think you should let them be. They’ll eventually move on whilst you’ll be stuck here. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

You scoffed at the audacity he had again. “A little late for that, don’t you think? This is the only source of happiness I have, don’t take anything more from me, please.”

“I don’t make you happy, then?” He asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.

You could look him in the eye, choosing silence. He grumbled something incoherent. After another long minute of silence, he sighed. He did that a lot these days, you thought.

“Alright, my love. Continue to look after these living people if it brings you joy, but remember, it won’t last forever. I will be here when you’re done.”

Once more he left you alone to look out the window. Despite your will to disagree, you knew he was right. These people- this family- they were all still alive. You were not. Your time was over, your life stolen from you. It was only a question of when they’d leave. Until then, you’d be their guardian in this haunted house.

[otakusheep15]

Flufftober Day 31 - Proposal - Heartslabyul

Characters included: Riddle Rosehearts, Trey Clover, Cater Diamond, Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade

Word count: 2993

Riddle

Who proposes: Riddle

Riddle likes for everything to be perfect. Even after his overblot, that’s one thing he couldn’t shake off. 

This includes your relationship. He would never try and force you to be perfect, but he wants your relationship to be. He wants to be the perfect partner, the perfect gentleman. 

It takes him forever to propose, for better or worse. Riddle is definitely the kind of person to date for a super long time before even considering marriage. 

He wants to marry you, of course, but that’s a big commitment, and he has a lot he’d like to work out before he fully commits himself to you like that. It’s actually very mature of him. 

When he does propose, it’s after several years of courtship and dating. Everything is planned out perfectly and to his liking. 

Riddle decided to propose to you at a local park. There’s a lovely hidden clearing with a gazebo surrounded by rose bushes. It’s the perfect spot for a picnic date. 

The date is going so well. It’s a sunny day, there’s no other people around to disturb you, and you’re having an amazing time. 

Riddle is obviously nervous, and you can probably guess what’s going to happen. It’s cute watching him squirm as he waits for the perfect moment. 

Then, it happens. He stands up and moves to your side. He kneels down, and you wait eagerly in anticipation. He’s just about to speak…

And then thunder sounds throughout the park. Suddenly, rain is pouring everywhere. Luckily, the two of you are protected by the gazebo, but there’s no getting out anytime soon. 

Riddle looks between a mixture of annoyed and dejected. All of that planning, and he forgot to check the weather. Of course this would happen to him. 

And yet, you’re smiling. It’s the most perfect smile he’s ever seen, and even through his annoyance, he can’t help but melt at the sight of it. 

You look at him, urging him to finish what he was doing. He stares for a moment, slightly baffled that you seem so unbothered, but he continues on at your reassurance. 

He gives his perfectly prepared speech, and the smile never leaves your face. You say yes, of course, and he slips the ring on your finger. 

You then pull him off of his knees, pulling him into a tight hug. He’s shocked for a moment, but is quick to reciprocate. 

You’ve always been his rock, the calm to his storm. When his mind is racing about every little detail, you’re the one to pull him back, allowing him to see the pretty picture. 

Sure, it may have rained, but the day was still good, and you helped him see that. 

Your wedding is pretty much the two of you eloping. Riddle was hesitant at first, but he eventually agreed. You let your closest friends and family know, but made sure not to tell his parents for fear they might try and stop you. Of course, you let them know after the fact, and they were very displeased. Not that either of you cared. 

Trey

Who proposes: you

Trey is a very simple man. He always planned on getting married at some point. He never had much of a timeframe of when exactly it would happen, but he knew it would eventually. 

He also assumed that he’d be the one to propose. It’s not like he’s super into gender roles or anything; it’s more like he’s always been the one to take the lead, always caring for others above himself. He just kind of assumed it’d be the same in a relationship as well. 

However, he was very, very wrong about all of that. 

You’re nothing like he expected when he pictured his ideal relationship. You actively take care of him instead of it being the other way around. In school, you helped him wrangle his unruly dorm members, you help out with his siblings when he’s babysitting, and you even help out around the bakery. 

From the moment you began dating, you’ve been a major support for him, which he never really expected. He absolutely loves it more than anything. 

Still, as your relationship continues on, he still assumes that he’ll be the one to propose. He loves you and wants to marry you more than anything, so why wouldn’t he? 

And yet, you still manage to find ways to surprise him. 

It’s early in the morning, just as domestic as any other day. You let Trey sleep in, sneaking to the kitchen while he was still asleep. You do your best to be quiet as you scurry around the kitchen, preparing him breakfast. 

When he wakes up, you’re not in bed, which is a bit strange. He usually wakes up first, or you wake up at the same time, so it’s weird to not see you. 

Then, right as he’s about to get up to look for you, you come in, smiling as you show him the breakfast you worked so hard on. He stares for a second in shock before looking up to you, smiling that adorable, love-sick smile he dawns every time he sees you. 

Trey asks if today is some sort of special day, to which you immediately bow off the question, telling him you just want to spoil him today. He’s tempted to tell you that you spoil him everyday, but he decides against it. Instead he thanks you for the breakfast, digging in once you place it in front of him. 

Once he’s finished eating, you take the platter the food was on and place it on the bedside table. Then, you tell him to close his eyes because you have one more surprise for him. He smiles before complying. He’s already guessed what’s coming, but he’s willing to play along with your antics. 

When you tell him to open again, you’re holding a box with a ring inside, and even though he guessed this was coming, his breath is still taken away. He takes a moment, glancing between you and the ring as if making sure you’re serious. 

You give your small speech, asking him if he wants to marry you. He says yes, of course, and you put the ring on his finger. 

Later that day, you call his family and show them the ring over video call, and they’re so happy for both of you.m

There will always be a small part of him that feels bad for how much you take care of him. After all, he’s supposed to be the caring, supportive type. And yet, how can those thoughts eat away at him when you smile at him so sweetly as he shows his parents the ring? You’re happy, and so he’s happy. 

Your wedding is a small gathering of close friends and family. It’s a cute little ceremony with a nice reception. The cake was, naturally, made by his parents. Trey is tempted to let you plan the whole thing, wanting it to be your perfect day. He may be doing better, but those people-pleasing tendencies don’t go away that easily. But, you are able to get him to put his own input in, supporting him like you always do. 

Cater

Who proposes: Cater

Cater has commitment issues. It took so long for him to start dating you because he was always scared of you leaving once you saw the real him. Even as your relationship progressed, he still often had thoughts about you leaving, and there were several times he almost considered breaking up with you because of it. 

But you persisted, sticking with him and constantly assuring him that you’d never leave him. As he continued through life and gained more experience, he even started believing it. 

Still, the idea of marriage is scary, even after all that development. It’s literally the biggest commitment you can make to someone, and while he loves you more than anyone ever, it’s still a terrifying thought.

But still, it’s a thought he can’t seem to get out of his head. Like most things Cater does, he buys you a ring on a whim, not even really thinking about it much. It’s only after the purchase is made does he start to question himself. Sure, you love him, but would you want to marry him? 

He holds onto the ring, keeping it in a safe spot he knows you won’t find. It’s not like he’d be able to explain himself if you did. How could he when he’s not even sure what he’s thinking? 

One day, he sits alone in your shared bedroom, holding the ring box in his hands. He’s been holding onto it for a few weeks now, and yet he still hasn’t found the courage to give it to you. At this point, he’s contemplating just returning it. 

Then you walk into the room without warning. He didn’t even hear you come in, and he’s startled when you ask him what he’s holding. 

Cater is quick to hide the box behind him, telling you that it’s nothing to worry about. You’re not satisfied with that,a nod you walk closer to him, standing in front of him. You look him in the eyes, asking him to tell you the truth. 

He’s so tempted to lie. Even if you know he’s lying, he knows you won’t push it if he’s not willing to share. You’re always considerate like that, and it’s just one of many reasons why he loves you. 

But, he knows you deserve the truth, and so, with a heavy sigh, he pulls the box from behind him, opening it up to show you the ring. As you stand there in shock, he’s quick to begin rambling, coming up with excuse after excuse about why he bought the ring and why he hasn’t given it to you yet. 

He only stops when you place your hands over his and the box, gently pushing them down as you lean in just a bit closer. You give him that smile you always give him when you’re trying to comfort him. It normally has him melting, but he’s far too on edge right now. 

You assure him that it’s okay if he’s not ready for something this big. You know how he is, and the last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable. If he’s not ready for marriage, then neither are you. You want both of you to be happy. 

And that finally manages to calm him down. Somehow, that was exactly what he needed. He holds up the box again, telling you that he is ready. He wants to marry you. 

After making sure he’s not just doing it for you, you agree, and he puts the ring on your finger. That night, the two of you stay up late, just talking and existing with each other. This is a big step, and there’s so much to talk about. As long as it’s with you, Cater is sure he doesn’t mind. 

Your wedding is basically nonexistent. At first, Cater was convinced he wanted a grand, Magicam-able wedding, but you were quick to shoot that down. You know him better than he knows himself, and you’re right once again. A wedding that grand would only stress him out. Instead, the two of you simply show up to the courthouse and sign the papers, but he does convince you to dress up to the nines anyway. 

Ace

Who proposes: Ace

This piece of shit (affectionate). 

Since the moment you began dating, he’s been absolutely unbearable in the best way. 

Ace has always been quite the jokester, and that does not stop just because you’re dating him. If anything, it gets so much worse.

He’s never done anything mean or harmful. It’s all just silly little jokes meant to make you laugh. Most of them do, but sometimes he’s just weird. You still love him anyway.

One of his favorite jokes is the classic fake proposal. It started in high school before you even began dating. 

In the middle of the cafeteria, he got down on one knee in front of you, holding a RingPop, asking for your hand in marriage. You jokingly said yes, and it’s been an ongoing joke ever since. About once a year at random times, he’ll get down on one knee with a RingPop and “propose” to you.

To most, this joke would get old fast, but you’ve never gotten tired of it. It’s his way of expressing his love for you, and you think it’s cute. Plus, you get candy out of it, so it’s a win-win all around.

You really should have seen this coming from a mile away.

It’s insanely obvious when Ace is planning something. You assume it’s yet another prank, as he always gets like this when he’s attempting to surprise you.

It happens during dinner with him. Ace gets up, very obviously holding a ring box. You prepare yourself for the same joke, ready to give the same acceptance speech you give him every time.

However, all words fail you when he kneels down and opens the box. It’s a real ring. Not some shitty candy ring, but an actual, expensive-looking ring. Your eyes are wide with shock, and you can’t look away from the ring.

Ace is smirking, clearly proud of his long-con. He knew this would work since the moment he first played this joke, and now it’s all paying off.

Eventually, you’re able to pull yourself together, and you ask him if he’s for real. He confirms that, yes, he is for real this time, and he does actually want to marry you. Naturally, you say yes, and he puts the ring on your finger.

As one last joke, he does pull out a (still-wrapped) RingPop from his pocket, handing that to you as well. You laugh, accepting the treat.

Your wedding is fairly standard as far as weddings go. Family and friends alike gather at your ceremony, and it’s a wild and fun party. Ace is still the clown he was in school, and that side of him really shows during the reception. It’s an amazing night. Of course, you hand out RingPops as party favors, much to the annoyance/amusement of everyone else attending. 

Deuce

Who proposes: Deuce

Deuce never really thought about marriage much growing up. It’s not like he didn’t want to get married; he just never had the time to think about it. In middle school, he was more focused on his gang, and in high school, he was too focused on being an honor student. 

Even while dating you, marriage wasn’t something that crossed his mind until recently. It was actually his mother who brought it to the forefront of his mind during a solo visit back home. 

She brought it up in a joking way, asking if he’s finally popped the question to you yet. However, Deuce is nothing if not oblivious to most jokes, and it flies right over his head. Instead, he ends up panicking because he never even thought about proposing to you. He had no clue how you felt, or if you were waiting for him to propose. 

His mom turns from joking to comforting quickly after that. She reassures him that she was only kidding, and that she’s sure you’re not upset with him for not proposing yet. That seems to calm him down for the most part. 

It does keep him up that night though. Now that it’s been brought to his attention, it’s all he can think about. Deuce has been so happy to just be with you. He never once thought he’d be this happy, especially as a kid. You’ve brought so much joy to his life, and he’s so lucky to have you. 

He’s content like this, having you simply be with him. However, he can’t help but yearn for more now that he knows it’s a possibility. What would you think about marrying him? You love him, obviously, but is marriage something you want? It’s not something the two of you discussed at length, but it’s not like he can just outright ask without making you suspicious. 

The next day, Deuce goes out to the market with his mom. While there, he spots a stand selling jewelry. He spots the most gorgeous ring he's ever seen, and if that’s not a sign from the universe, he’s not exactly sure what else it could be. He buys the ring immediately, much to the happiness of his mom. 

When he returns home, he’s greeted by you, and he’s practically sweating bullets. You can tell that something is up, and you ask him if everything is okay. He takes that moment to pop the question, deciding it better to do it rather than let himself wallow in worry. 

He kneels down on one knee, taking the ring box out of his pocket. He stutters his way through his proposal, opening the box to reveal the ring to you. You haven’t seen him this nervous since he asked you out all those years ago, and it’s adorable that, despite how much he’s grown over the years, some things just never change. 

You, of course, say yes, kneeling down in front of him and pulling him into a hug. Deuce sits in stunned silence as he processes your words, but when his brain catches up, he’s absolutely delighted. He puts the ring on your finger, and he immediately calls his mom to give her the news. 

Your wedding is small, but nice. It takes place in his hometown since he knows a lot of people there, and they’re all very happy for him. A bunch of other friends and family attend as well, and it’s a beautiful ceremony. He cries during the vows, and he cries even harder at his mother’s speech during the reception. It’s absolutely adorable.

[lostgirlmuseum]

Who the Hell is Daryl?

Summary: Bucky is in love with you, and finally finds the courage to tell you. But what happens when it sounds like someone else is already in the picture? (Miscommunication!)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Avenger!Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings: Miscommunication trope! Only one small mention of “Y/N”, teensy bit of yelling, let me know if I missed anything.

A/N: Wrote this a couple days ago and put it in drafts, spontaneously posted bc I'm procrastinating on an essay. Okay I'll get back to hw now :(

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

He was going to do it. He was really going to do it. 

He was finally going to ask you out.

-----

To the surprise of everyone on the team, you and Bucky had become fast pals after you joined six months ago. Something about the two of you clicked. ‘Opposites attract’ and all that, but Bucky always felt it went deeper than that.

The two of you had never argued, something he felt very proud of, considering he argued with most people. But not you. Never you.

The moment he decided that he needed to man up and ask you out wasn’t anything fancy. You were sparring with Wanda across the gym, and he was simply watching you work in tandem. He watched the entire 15 minute session, and didn’t take his eyes off you, even as you approached him. 

“Buck, I’m out of water, can I take a sip of yours?”

He nodded, “Sure, Doll,” and tossed you his bottle. 

You shot him a charming smile and opened the cap, and not-so-gracefully chugged half the bottle. You wiped your upper lip and handed it back to him. 

“Thanks, Jamie,” you breathily said, and jogged back to the arena. 

His head was completely empty except for a single thought, tumbling through his desert mind like a tumbleweed.

I’m going to marry her someday.

He shocked himself with the thought, he wasn’t sure where it had come from. But he couldn’t help the grin that snuck its way onto his lips as he realized he didn’t disagree with the thought.

Of course before marriage is dating. One step at a time Buck. 

After his realization, he had spent the next three days planning the perfect way to ask you out. He went through an entire list of ideas, but none of them seemed good enough for you. He wanted it to be perfect. But as the clock ticked on and he started running out of paper, he realized it was best to just be honest about his feelings. 

You had just gotten back from a solo mission, and Bucky was hanging out in your room as you showered.

He was blushing like an idiot and fidgeting like crazy on your bed as he waited for you to hurry up. It was surprising he had so much self control as to not blurt it out while you were showering.

“Oh, Bucky,” you called from the bathroom, the sound of the water pausing.

“What’s up?”

“Could you set an alarm on my phone for 7:30 A.M. tomorrow before I forget? I think I left it on the side table.”

“You got it, Doll.”

“You’re the best! I’m almost done, I’ll be out in like two minutes,” you called, and soon after the sound of rushing water resumed.

Bucky grabbed your phone and typed in the passcode, his heart fluttering a little as he thought about how you trusted him enough to know it.

But the flutter stopped almost as quickly as it started, the moment your phone turned on and resumed on your text string with someone. He would’ve ignored it, but a red heart at the top of the screen caught his eye.

Who the hell is “Daryl,” and why does he have a heart emoji next to his name?

Bucky couldn’t help himself as his eyes flitted over your last texts.

Daryl ❤️ I’m back in town, lemme know when you’re around 

You About to leave for a quick mission, but I’ll be back tmw evening. I miss you sm :( how about we meet up Monday morning at 8 at Bernie’s cafe?

Daryl ❤️ Lets do it. And I miss you too, can’t wait to see your beautiful face!! I love you, be careful

You Love you too, and Im always careful 😘

Bucky felt sick to his stomach. You had never mentioned a brother named Daryl, or any other kind of family member. And you’d told him about all your closest friends, and none of them were named Daryl. How did Bucky not know you had a boyfriend?

Bucky fought the urge to scroll up, and quickly tapped out of the app, and set the alarm you asked him to set. 

So you were meeting this “Daryl” tomorrow morning?

Bucky heard the water stop, and the sound of the shower curtain shuffling.

Shit. You were getting out. Fuck, he wasn’t ready to face you.

You’d never mentioned you were in a relationship before. He would remember. How long have you been dating? And more importantly, why did you keep this from him? Did you feel like you couldn’t trust him? Maybe you weren’t as close friends as he’d thought.

“Which movie did you want to watch tonight?” You asked, peeking out of the door with a turquoise towel wrapped around you.

“Um, I’m actually really tired, suddenly. I think I’m going to go to bed.” Bucky stuttered, avoiding your gaze as he quickly stood up.

“Oh, okay,” you responded, disappointment and concern lacing your voice. “Everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. Glad you got back safe. Good night.”

With that, Bucky ducked out of your room and practically ran back to his.

Bucky tossed and turned, and once he got over his embarrassment, he settled into a familiar depressive feeling. Of course you didn’t like him back. What the fuck was he thinking? He’s—well, he’s Bucky. Broken, only destined to ever be your friend. How could he be foolish enough to think you would love him like he loves you. At about hour 4, the heartbreak started turning into betrayal. Betrayal that you kept this from him. And soon enough, that betrayal festered into a kind of resentment, something he’d never felt for you before.

He didn’t get much sleep that night.

Bucky checked the clock for the 20th time in the past 5 minutes. 7:45 A.M. You were probably about to leave. Bucky felt his heart clench. He was usually up by 7, and eating breakfast in the common area by 7:30. He sat at the barstool, dragging his spoon around his now soggy Coco Puffs, waiting for you to appear. Why he felt the need to torture himself, he didn’t know.

Finally, he heard your steps coming down the hall. 

And there you appeared, wearing the most beautiful sundress he had ever seen. It was lavender, and had small white flowers adorning the skirt, and it fell just above your knees. 

Bucky took you in, and his momentary adoration turned back to his heartbreak. You were dressed up as if you were going on a date. There was no chance this wasn’t your boyfriend.

“Good morning Bucky, did you sleep okay last night?” 

“Yes.” He lied. Maybe you would tell him the truth if he asked. Yes it would hurt hearing the truth from your mouth, but he wanted to give you a chance to tell him your secret. “Where are you headed?”

“To meet a friend,” you nodded smoothly. 

Maybe Bucky was crazy. Maybe he was overthinking all of this. Maybe Daryl really was just a friend.

“Which friend?”

“Penny.”

So you were just flat out lying to him now. Bucky nodded and waited for you to leave before moping back to his room. He wanted to cry. And he did for a minute, or two, but his tears turned from sad to angry when he remembered you were now lying. You never lied to Bucky, and Bucky never lied to you. At least, he thought that was how it was. He clenched his fists, mad at you for betraying him, but more mad at himself for believing he could ever have you.

He didn’t move from his bed.

“Bucky?” Your voice emerged after three knocks to his door.

He couldn’t get himself to respond. 

The door slowly creaked open, a stream of light flooding his dark room.

“Hey Buck. You okay? You seemed a little off this morning.”

“Fine.” He mumbled, not turning over in bed to face you.

A pause. 

“Jamie, what’s wrong?” You asked, closing the door behind you and flicking on the light. 

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?” You asked, slightly taken aback. You thought he loved your affectionate nickname for him.

“I don’t want you to call me ‘Jamie’ anymore.”

“Okay…”

He felt the bed dip as you sat next to him. 

“Bucky,” you whispered, “please talk to me.”

He sat up and gave you a pointed look. Was he being immature? Yes. But what could he do, he just discovered that his best friend has been lying to him, and doesn’t love him.

“Where were you?” He asked.

You furrowed your brows a moment, trying to piece together where he was going with this. 

“I was at Bernie’s with Penny.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He sneered.

Your eyes widened at his bite.

“I’m not lying? Bucky, what is going on?”

“What’s going on is that you’ve been keeping the fact that you have a boyfriend from me. Why don’t you want to tell me?”

“A boyfriend?” You blinked. “I don’t have a boyfriend,”

“Why won’t you be honest with me?” He yelled, and you scooted back.

“I am!”

“Then who is Daryl?”

“What?”

“I saw your texts last night, when you asked me to set your alarm.” Bucky looked down at his lap, ashamed.

“Bucky,” you sighed, and a look of understanding crossed your face. A moment later you held out your phone to him.

“What?” He asked, dumbly looking at your outstretched hand. The screen was on your text string with Daryl.

“Call the number.” You simply said.

“What?” He repeated.

“Take my phone, and call the number.”

Confused and suspicious, Bucky grabbed your phone and hesitated over the call icon. 

“Go ahead,” you urged.

He pressed the button. 

Ring.

Ring.

Ri—

“Hey!” A familiar feminine voice rang through the speaker. “What’s up hon?”

“Hello?” Bucky said, looking from the phone to you to the phone.

“Uh, hi? Is that Bucky?”

“P—Penny?” He sputtered.

“Hey Bucky! What’s up, is everything okay? I thought Y/N was calling.”

“Hey Pen,” you interjected, “Everything’s fine, I’ll call you back in a bit, kay’?”

“Sure thing, bye, love ya,” Penny added, and hung up.

Bucky stared at the now blank phone, baffled.

“I don’t understand.”

“Bucky,” you sighed, and tilted his chin to look at you. “I don’t have a boyfriend. Penny is in my contacts as “Daryl” because it’s my funny little nickname for her. My Dad has had a best friend since grade school named Daryl, and they don’t see each other often, but when they do it’s like nothing has changed. They get along like no time has passed. I call Penny “my Daryl” because I know that even if we don’t talk for years, we are so close that I know we would be the exact same.”

Bucky sat quietly for a moment, simply taking in your story. He felt really stupid.

“I’m sorry,” he started, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry I called you a liar.” He struggled to meet your gaze, ashamed of what he did.

“Jamie—can I call you Jamie now?”

He nodded sheepishly.

“Jamie, I forgive you. But I wish you had just talked to me about it, and asked me. We are usually so good about being open with each other. What happened?” You asked, wide eyes looking into his.

“I know, I’m sorry. I flipped out, I guess I was just shocked, because I was going to—” he licked his lips, “well, I was…”

“You can tell me, Bucky. Honesty, remember?” You soothed, placing your hand on his leg.

He gulped.

“I was going to ask you to be with me.”

You tilted your head, not quite understanding.

“Like, I was gonna ask if you’d let me be your boyfriend.” He mumbled. “So when I saw that you were texting and saying ‘I love you’ to some guy, I guess I was just blindsided.”

“James,” you smiled, moving yourself to sit on his lap. You brought your forehead against his. “You silly, jealous man.” You gently stroked his cheek with your right hand. “You want to be my boyfriend?"

"It sounds so juvenile, I don't know, I just want you to be mine, and for you to call me 'yours,'" he mumbled.

"I accept," you giggled, and watched his glittering eyes shoot to yours.

He had started to say something, but he stopped when you brought your soft lips to his.

“I'm so happy,” he whispered between kisses.

Suffice it to say, Bucky completed step one of the path to marrying you.

A/N: Tysm for reading! If you liked it, please feel free to let me know!

Also I'm sorry if the ending sucks, I wrote this in a couple hours and Idk why I'm so bad at endings gahh

Here's my Masterlist if you'd like to read more!

[sailorrhansol]

hi! long time reader, first time submit-er :) could i request a dilf!wonwoo fic where you’re trying to get your kids out the door to trick or treat with a friend or a family member because you and wonwoo have a halloween party and you get self conscious that you don’t look hot enough in your costume but wonwoo disagrees? very fluffy, maybe even smutty if that works for you hehe

❀ Pairing: Dad!Wonwoo x Mom!reader 

❀ Summary: For the first Halloween in years, you and Wonwoo are able to enjoy it together without the kids. When you feel a little nervous about your costume, Wonwoo is determined to show you that you’ve always been the sweetest thing. 

❀ Word Count: 2,278

❀ Genre: Slice of Life, Married Couple/Parents

❀ Type: Smut, Fluff

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Light mentions of anxiety regarding letting kids go trick-or-treating without them, slight body insecurity and light mentions of a skirt not fitting comfortably, sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, spitting, hair pulling, stupid and corny during sex. 

❀ A/N: Hey so anyway I’m not even that big of a fan of dilf-teen or parent-fic but here we are and I am ACTUALLY VERY INTERESTED IN DAD WONWOO NOW. SO THIS IS NOW YOUR FAULT THAT I’M THINKING ABOUT IT. Also the visual of Jihoon with a kid on his shoulders sent me into an early grave. 

❀ A/N 2: PLEASE THE BANNER IS NERDY BUT THEY’RE DRESSED AS COWBOYS OK LMFAO

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Haliween

“Soonyoung, her crown!” You warn, watching as your friend smacks the plastic crown off Haen’s head. She doesn’t seem to notice, too busy digging her greedy little hands in the pocket of his tiger onesie where she knows she’ll find candy. “Are you sure you can do this?” 

Soonyoung scoffs. His outrage is lessened by the ridiculous tiger onesie he’s in, the suit zipped to the neck and the hood pulled up over his head. He’s got Iseul in his arms, cradling her in her dragon costume as she pulls on his hood while Haen reveals a Jolly Rancher. 

“Maybe we-”

Wonwoo’s hand on your lower back cuts you off as he steps through the door frame. He pitches his voice low and gentle as he crouches down, eye level with your eldest child. “Hey, no candy until after. We agreed, remember?” 

Pouting, she shoves the candy back inside Soonyoung’s pocket. Behind him, Jihoon and Jeonghan snort. “Yes, daddy. Sorry, I excited.” 

Mouth pressed firmly to hide your smile, you feel the overwhelming sense of love for her as she puts her hands behind her back, waiting patiently for Soonyoung to escort her down the steps and sidewalk to go trick-or-treating. 

“We’ll be fine,” Soonyoung assures, pouting as he takes Haen’s hand and spins around. Your other friends hold out the empty buckets made to be filled with candy. “We promised we had them, and we do!”

Wonwoo stands, hand sliding up your back as he does. “You remember where the key is?” 

“Yes, daddy,” Soonyoung calls over his shoulder. He passes Iseul to Jeonghan, who holds her far less precariously. “We’ll let you know when we’re back. Go out on the town or whatever it is parents with no kids do.” 

Children and parents line the streets. You watch your little group of friends with your two kids meander down the sidewalk, Jihoon immediately lifting Haeun to put her on his shoulders. Nerves eat away at you as they finally vanish from your line of vision, lost to the other swarms of trick-or-treaters and bobbing halloween lights hanging from trees. 

“Maybe we should-”

“Nope,” Wonwoo says gently, pulling you toward him. “They’ll do fine. Jihoon is with them, what could go wrong?”

Blowing out a sigh you nod, taking a moment to just drink him in. As much as he hates dressing up on Halloween, he’s done it again this year for you, dressed in the exact cowboy costume that you had put together for him. It’s less a costume than it is precariously picked clothes - the tan, suede button up and brown leather pants had already been in his closet, along with the belt and bolo tie. You’d just purchased the hat and the boots to complete the look.

And it is a look.

Wonwoo has always had the annoying ability to look good in whatever he wears. It doesn’t matter if he’s sitting on the couch in a shirt with juice stains from Iseul spilling her apple juice all over him or if he’s in a pressed suit at a company holiday party - he looks good in everything. 

Heading back inside, you catch yourself in the mirror near the entrance, tugging at your skirt a little. It’s a little higher and tighter than you remember, and the button digs into your stomach a bit more than you like. Chewing your lip, you quickly turn from the mirror, busying yourself in the kitchen looking for your car keys and purse.

Wonwoo follows you silently, leaning against the door frame as he watches you. His eyes are heavy on you, your stomach fluttering as you drop a credit card onto the floor. Cursing, you bend down to get it, feeling the skirt hug you tightly and restrict your movement for a second. 

“I’ve got it,” he says quietly, pushing off the wall.

“No, no,” you manage to peel it off the tile. “This damn skirt is so much tighter than it used to be. God.” Standing up again, you shove your card into the wallet, not meeting his eyes as he drifts toward you. “Maybe I should change.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just… I don’t know.”

“I think it looks fucking fantastic.” You roll your eyes, looking at him with a deadpan stare. His mouth twitches a little as he drops his gaze to the jean skirt in question. “You look fucking hot.” 

“We’re married. You have to say that.”

“Weird. I don’t remember that being in our vows.” 

“It definitely was.” You fiddle with the zipper on your wallet, nibbling on your bottom lip. “I think it was right after in sickness. It said and always tell your wife she’s hot.” 

His laugh is throaty and he reaches for you. You let him, his hands soft as he pulls you toward him by the waist. He smells like spicy cologne and something that is distinctly Wonwoo. Instead of looking up to meet his gaze, you focus on the pocket of his shirt, lifting your hands to fidget with it and press it flat.

“Baby,” he murmurs. You still don’t look up at him, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. “I really like the skirt, but you can wear whatever you want.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhmm. It makes your legs look good. Not to mention…” One hand drifts from your hip to your ass, squeezing generously. Your breath catches and your eyes flick up to meet his. They’re dark, a playful edge to his gaze that you’re intimately familiar with. “You look good in everything to me.” 

“Hmm.”

“Hmm?” he imitates. Wonwoo’s fingers skim the edge of the skirt, brushing across your thighs. You shiver, clinging to him a little as your eyes flutter shut at the contact. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest as he says, “Want me to help you out of it?” 

The two of you have been together for nine years, married for six. You know every part of your best friend turned boyfriend turned husband. There is no corner of his heart he has left unturned to you, no thought that you cannot complete, no words he can speak that you don’t already know.

So when he asks if you want him to help you out of it you know what he’s asking you. He isn’t saying he’ll help you out and to pick out a new skirt. He isn’t asking you to change it. He doesn’t even want you to put the skirt back on, if his hungry gaze and the low pitch of his voice tells you anything. 

“I thought you wanted to go to the halloween party.”

His laugh comes out in a huff. “I’d like to get you out of that skirt more.” 

Wonwoo’s fingers curl around the edge of your skirt, a question. “Please.” 

Wonwoo has never denied you anything, and he doesn’t now. He spins you against the counter so that your hips are pressed to it, your back to his chest. He sinks his hands down your front, fingers deftly undoing the button. His hot breath is on your neck, his lips barely skimming your skin in an almost-kiss. 

Button popped, Wonwoo pulls the material open. Instead of rolling it down at the waist, his hand snakes into your skirt, pressing against your underwear as his mouth connects with your throat. You let out a breathy noise, melting in his arms as he presses his fingers to your clit over the silk of your underwear. 

“Oh,” you breath, going slack against him. He doesn’t mind, pinning you between him and the counter as he circles his fingers teasingly. He keeps his mouth busy, pressing wet kisses up your throat and toward your jaw. “Thought you wanted me out of it.” 

“I will,” he promises, nipping your jaw. You tilt your head to the side, giving him more access. The lower pit of your stomach burns with desire, sparking at his lazy touch. “Just wanted to touch first.”

“Slow ain’t your thing, cowboy?” 

“Nah, I’ve got a pretty thing that wants to take a ride.” 

Your laugh is cut off by a hiss, your head falling forward, as Wonwoo glides a finger down to press at your entrance. You feel your muscles clench, your stomach lurching as he teases you. A hand shoots to his wrist and you dig your fingers in, nails biting. 

“Be nice,” you warn sternly. 

“Mmm. You’re using your mommy voice.” 

“I wouldn’t have to if daddy was being nice.”

“Daddy says he’ll make up for it.” 

Daddy does. He always does. Wonwoo loves to tease you and make you beg for it, but he doesn’t now, fingers pulling your underwear to the side so he can stroke your pussy in full. He moans at the wetness he finds, hooking his chin over your shoulder to watch as he works his hand between your legs. 

Wonwoo’s fingers are deft and skillful, applying just the right pressure and stimulation to work you up. Your breath becomes stilted, feeling the ripples of pleasure as he gets you where he wants you. Pinned between him and the counter, you can’t move. Can’t squirm. Can’t buck your hands to meet his strokes when he sinks a finger into your cunt. 

“Fuck,” he rasps, pressing a messy kiss to your shoulder. “Like fucking silk.”

Heat creeps up your neck. You feel breathless under his attention, the heel of his palm pressing into your clit as Wonwoo leisurely fucks you with his finger, dragging it out only to slide up to your clit, circling gently. 

Your fingers dig into him as Wonwoo strings you along, enjoying the way your sounds turn airy and weak. He plays you perfectly, working you up until you feel your thighs twitching, eyes shut as you let him steer you toward your peak.

Wonwoo pulls his hand from your skirt, making you eyes fly open, mouth hanging open. Turning to yell at him over your shoulder, your words are lost as he drops to his knees, fingers yanking your skirt as he goes.

Cool air hits your legs as he taps your ankle, asking you to step out of the skirt. You do and he rewards you with a gentle kiss on the back of your thigh, his hands skimming up your legs. You feel the coolness wear his wet fingers leave a slick trail on your skin. 

Leaning forward, he plans another gentle kiss on the curve of your ass, making you laugh. He hums pleasantly, hands warm and explorative. He presses the small of your back gently, making you lean onto the counter, ass out. 

Delicately, he peels your underwear from your hips, tossing them somewhere else. His hands return to your legs, pressing gently to pry your thighs apart. He groans at your messy cunt, no doubt proud of his work. 

The marble countertop is freezing cold, ground you as you rest your cheek on it. You feel your chest heavy, holding your breath for a moment when Wonwoo leans forward and dips his tongue between your folds tentatively. 

“Soonyoung should take the kids more often,” Wonwoo notes, breath hitting you between the legs. You make a strangled sound, distracted by the way his fingers squeeze your thighs, digging into the meat of them. His tongue dips back in, dragging upward again. “Want to do this more.” 

“You - fuck - did this last night.” 

“Not with you bent over the counter and this pretty ass in my face.” His hand smacks your ass lightly, making you squeal. He laughs deep in his throat, a little bit of a groan as he mutters, “Exactly.” 

Wonwoo stops talking, mouth busy as he fastens his lips to your heat, sucking gently. He drives you insane, losing yourself in the way his tongue circles gently around your bundle of nerves. He alternates between tongue and lips, a shattering combination of heaven and hell as he works you toward an orgasm. 

His mouth isn’t the reason you fell in love with him, but as you start breaking apart, you think it might be a solid entry on the list of reasons. You reach back with one hand, knocking the hat off his head to tangle your fingers in his hair. He grunts, appreciative as he gives a particularly greedy suck, making your toes curl. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, breaking away for a second. His fingers peel you open and you moan when you feel him spit against your hole, clenching around nothing. “Who needs candy when I have the sweetest thing right here?”

“Wonwoo.” 

“You even melt in my mouth.”

“Wonwoo.”

He chuckles. “Yeah baby, I know.”

He always knows. He attaches his mouth back to you, slick and messy and loud as he works you to your orgasm. Your nails dig against his scalp - he doesn’t care. He lets you tug him further in, happy to press his face as close to your heat as possible. 

You press back into him, muscle clenching. You burst like a bubble, completely coming undone under his mouth as you come against him, face pressed to the counter. He pushes you through it, not letting you escape him when you try and wiggle away, tongue hot and hungry until you’re begging him to let up. 

Wonwoo pulls away, breathing heavily. His hands skate up and down your legs and suddenly you’re grateful your weight is all on the countertop, thighs totally useless. 

“God damn,” you pants, eyes shut.

“Yeah,” he agrees and stands. You feel him crowd you in, touch seeking your hips. “Catch your breath, partner. You still got a ride to go on.” 

-

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[love-quinn]

—PEACE OF MIND

summary — when carmen finds out that you're putting yourself in danger to come in to your waitressing job at the bear, he admittedly gets pissed. he's not super proud of his reaction, but the two of you manage to work something out to ease his worries.

warnings — swearing, mentions of customers being assholes, the implication that if reader isn't being fed at the restaurant she doesn't eat due to money reasons, very brief mentions/implications of the possibility of reader being attacked at night

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!waitress reader, not established relationship

pronouns — she/her, reader is HEAVILY implied to be female, also there's technically no pronouns in this one but i consider this to be the same waitress reader as my last one which does have pronouns

word count — 1.9k

note — this can 10000% be read as a standalone but i do have another carmy x waitress fic here that i think takes place kinda in the same universe if you wanna check that one out?? i hope u enjoy <333

If you were somebody who wasn’t a fan of the cold, then Chicago wasn’t the city for you. It’s one of your least favourite parts of living in Illinois, having to wear four layers to bed if you don't want to freeze in your sleep. Your apartment doesn’t have proper heating because proper heating is for rich people, apparently. You barely make enough to afford rent as it is. 

You’re doing fine. You make rent and utilities, you eat lunch and dinner at the restaurant most days. You’re not swimming in gold coins by no means, but you’re fine. That’s the reason you show up early to every single shift, if you’re being honest, you’re guaranteed at least a sandwich. 

The fact that it makes you look like a dedicated employee doesn’t hurt either.

Even when you have to trek from the train platform after getting off the L. You’re not the first person punching in the code to the service entrance that afternoon, but the kitchen is free of yelling. Sydney’s at the end of the line, it’s her shift for Family, and she flashes you a smile as you shove your duffel into your locker.

It’s not raining outside but the air is so cold and damp outside, and you dab your face with a towel. The kitchen is so much warmer than outside that for a moment it’s uncomfortable. Sydney watches you out of the corner of her eye as she sautes a collection of vegetables. “Are you alright? Is it wet out there?”

You shake your head, grabbing your apron and using the mirror you hung up on the back of your door to fix your appearance. “Just cold, sorry. I’ll be fine. You get in okay?”

Sydney nods, holding out a spoon for you, hand cupped to prevent anything from landing on the floor. You don’t question it, opening your mouth and accepting the sauce while trying to minimise the contact between your mouth and the spoon as much as possible. “Fuck, that’s good. Is there sesame oil in there?”

You didn’t know a whole lot about food if you were honest, there’s a reason that you’re not a member of the kitchen staff. But Sydney’s been teaching you slowly but surely how to recognise different flavours, which ones go best together, which ones don’t.

Her eyes light up. “Yes! You like it?”

You shut your locker, moving to stand right behind her. Your chin lands on her shoulder, watching the way she rotates her medley of ingredients. You and Sydney have started becoming actual friends rather than just work friends, the two of you went out to dinner last Sunday, miraculously neither of you had to work. “Love it, need any help?”

“No, you’re all good. Go find Richie, I’m sure he needs help with whatever shit he’s doing.”

You leave her alone with a squeeze on the elbow, heading out into the dining room to find Richie. Richie isn’t out there but you do find Carmen pulling the chairs off the tables. You don’t bother talking, you and Carmen both appreciate the quiet in a workplace as loud as the restaurant. The second you put the first chair down Carmen is flinching. “You’re early,” he says, trying not to show his irritation.

He’d left the kitchen to feel productive while being alone, but he doesn’t want to yell at you. You deal with that enough. Yelling in the kitchen is natural, it’s fucking loud in there. If he doesn’t yell, he doesn’t get heard. People aren’t moving fast enough, people aren’t using proper technique, they’re running out of ingredients, things are being moved. If Carmen didn’t yell in the kitchen it would probably burn down somehow.

You deal with all that and you have to keep a smile on your face. You get yelled at for mistakes that other people make, and you never yell back. You take it all and yeah, sometimes you need to step out into the kitchen with tears in your eyes, but you cop it all and you go back out there.

You don’t need Carmy yelling at you as well.

You shrug casually, smoothing the tablecloth. “I am a slave to the public transit system.” It’s less embarrassing than admitting you’re trying to save money by eating at work whenever you can. 

Carmen stops at that. He doesn’t know why that’s surprising to him. He’s always here before you and he’s always here after you leave. He assumed he’d never seen your car in the parking lot because of that, but apparently, it’s because you don’t have one. “You took the train here?”

It’s early afternoon and people are turning their headlights on already. The closest train station is a fair walk away and it’s freezing out there. 

You nod, not taking much notice of the change in tone. “Yeah, I usually do.”

Carmen’s abandoned the table he’s dressing to turn around and look at you. It’s almost completely dark outside, it’s the middle of winter. “You walk to work?”

You look up at him. “Yeah, Carm.” You’re really hoping he’ll drop it, but he doesn’t seem to pick up on the way you avoid looking at him. 

“That’s so fucking dumb,” he doesn’t mean to snap, but the mood in the room is frozen now. “It’s like two degrees out there, why the fuck would you do that?” You regret coming out to help him. Usually, this stuff is already done by the time you show up to work, early as usual. 

You put down the last chair at the table you’re working on and brush off your apron. “It’s not like I have any other choice, Carmen,” you’re trying to keep your voice even. The dining room is empty, it’s still, and it feels much more awkward than having the conversation anywhere else would’ve felt. “I don’t really have many other options.” 

You look around the dining room and decide that leaving Carmen to finish setup isn’t an awful fate. 

“Yes, you do!” He doesn’t drop it. His fists are clenched at his side to stop him from flinging his arms up in frustration. “You have so many other options! Why did you pick the fucking stupid one?” You can handle being yelled at. It’s a part of the job. It happens to you every single day without fail. You can handle it.

That doesn’t mean that you have to take it from Carmen, though.

“Stop it,” you don’t raise your voice at him, but you’re not quiet either.

“I just don’t fucking get it,” he huffs. Once he’s started he can’t make himself stop. 

You sigh, loudly. “Yeah, I’m not asking you to, Carmen. Okay, but don’t treat me like garbage because I can’t afford a car.”

That’s the final straw in the conversation with him, and you turn to go back into the kitchen. Maybe Richie will be playing Angry Birds on his phone in the office and he’ll let you watch. Carmen’s frown deepens. “What the fuck are you talking about? Who gives a shit that you can’t afford a car?” He dodges the table he was working on and rushes to follow you. He’s a lot less graceful than you always are with it and that’s without the tray of drinks. “Do you see that shit out there?” He stands in front of you now, pointing a heavy, tattooed arm out at the front window. “It’s fucking Chicago. You can’t be walking here in twenty fucking degrees, honey! Do you not get that? Look at you! If someone pulls a knife on you out there what the fuck are you gonna do?”

You’re frozen in front of him now. He’s throwing so much at you that you don’t know what to say. 

He’s going back to setting up now, but as he turns he blows out a breath. “Get that through your fucking head, yeah?”

That’s the part that frustrates you the most. He does this all the time, he presents you with ten different problems and no solutions. You don’t need Carmen to tell you how to live your life when you’re struggling as it is. “How else do you want me to get to work? It’s either that or you find a new fucking waitress, okay? So can we let it go? What the fuck do you want me to do about it, Carmen? ”

Carmen doesn’t want to let it go. You take the train in the fucking pouring rain and walk every night only to be yelled at by a bunch of assholes over steak. 

“I want you to not walk through Chicago in the middle of the night!” He’s exasperated. “Yesterday you left after eleven, do you know how fucking dangerous that is? Fucking… Fuck?” It comes out as a question. “Why the fuck have you been leaving me here at night to go walk home alone? What the fuck do you think I’m here for?”

You’re getting upset by the yelling, and now that he’s said everything he needs to say he can see that he’s making you visibly panicked. “I don’t know what you want from me!” You let out finally, words exhaling from your chest with force. “Just tell me what you want or stop fucking yelling at me!”

He says your name quietly, letting out a frustrated huff. “Fucking- Okay. Okay.” He runs a hand through his hair and has to bend at the waist, leaning on the table you just fixed up, head buried in his arms. He takes a quick three second breather, trying to force down the ugly bubble of anger that’s rising familiarly to the surface, ready to spill out of his mouth. “If we are at the restaurant together and it’s the middle of the night, and I have a car…” he pauses, trying to give you time to follow along after previously overwhelming you. “... and you don’t.” You blink over at him. “Why the fuck would you not ask me to drive you home?”

“Because you’re my boss?” The answer comes easily, and it almost startles him how quickly you respond. “What? Why are you asking me this?”

Carmen knows, deep down, that he wouldn’t offer the same courtesy to Marcus or Fak or god forbid Richie. Sydney or Tina? If they asked, sure. But he would never stand in front of them in the dining room to yell at them for not asking. He likes to think it’s because he knows you’re different. You don’t yell back, you don’t antagonise him, you don’t push like they do. You handle it, and you’re gentle and you’re soft and for some fucking reason the idea of anything happening to you makes him feel like he has just been mugged in the street. 

“Just,” he waves a hand in front of his face. He can hear Sydney calling out, probably something important knowing her. “Please, honey, promise me that you’ll let me at least drive you to the fucking train station? Okay? For my own peace of mind. How far away from the station do you live?”

You tell him and he’s immediately groaning. “No, alright. I’m driving you home.” He sounds frustrated, not mad at you, but less than pleased. You don’t take it to heart. “Now please, go back inside the kitchen and fucking eat something, you’re giving me an irregular heartbeat.”

[satoruhour]

omg I’d love to hear more about baby fever + gojo 🥹 just watching him match a babies babbles like he can actually understand them is killing me!!

a/n: omg stop anon this is so CUTE?? and ik i posted like three things today but posts will be slower this week since i still have work to do technically even if i have a school break ! / one sex joke lol

gojo always had a knack for caregiving — whether it was defending yuta against the higher-ups and advocating for yuji’s life (even if it had to be delayed) and making sure that one kid had gotten home safely after getting trapped in an abandoned home. but you realised you’ve never really seen your boyfriend around babies. it wasn’t a good idea in the first place, to mix babies and sorcerers — part of why nanami had waited so long before starting a family with his partner, or how utahime turned in her resignation for good after getting pregnant.

but now that you’re past terrible things in the world like sukuna and kenjaku and you both have properly buried your best friend’s body, you’re looking ahead to better things. you’re not too keen on kids, but you do sometimes spiral into what your kid with satoru would look like, probably taking the bulk of his features while some of yours are fighting to take first place. that sentiment is changed more and more when you see how gojo interacts with kids.

it’s when nanami first invites everyone to their (long overdue) baby shower, only wanting to introduce his partner and kid only a year after they’ve been safe. nanami is the happiest he’s ever been but so is gojo, dancing so foolishly in front of the kid to get her to like him that all she does is scrunch her face and hide back in her mother’s neck (“yeah, that’s nanami’s kid alright.”). soon, she’s let go to interact with the students, playing around with megumi’s dogs, running around the house from yuji and inumaki, doing silly battle poses with the girls. her laughter is like beauty to all the grown-ups in the room, something meant to be protected and cherished.

gojo tries to win her back, sitting on the floor so his height wouldn’t be too imposing and she almost runs into him. his infinity stops her and her head cocks to the side in confusion — she continues to run into gojo’s shield again and again, giggles at being constantly pushed back with a silly sound gojo makes with his mouth; it convinces her enough that she’s running into a bubble of some jelly. 

it’s some time later where you’re mingling with nanami’s partner, talking to shoko and utahime while your boyfriend chats with nanami (weirdly normal, you note) about everything. but you’re broken out of conversation when you hear gojo quietly squeal to his junior who only sighs. it’s all a facade; you know he’s actually glad his daughter succumbs to gojo’s charms soon enough, letting him carry the small toddler who’s already oh so tired from the day. she melts into satoru’s arms, mumbling something incoherent that he replies just as incoherently and bounces.

satoru strokes her hair, speaking in a hushed tone now, something that rarely happens in your home and it convinces nanami just a little to make him her godfather. he’s still considering it.

the next time it happens is when he meets utahime’s baby boy for the first time, coming over to provide some gifts and to just see your old friends. it’s a little hilarious how the first two people to have children are the people who are not particularly fond of gojo but both nanami and utahime are surprisingly tame when it comes to the strongest handling their kid. she’s giving him her baby carefully with a clear threat behind her eyes but he knows not to fuck anything up. the baby is clueless enough to not know who he was even being handed to, babbling mindlessly while drool leaves his mouth.

“babba boo-boo,” it’s gibberish, but satoru matches it perfectly, making stupid sounds back at the baby that you can’t help but grin. “wahbaba boo!” gojo continues to coo and mumble insults with a pointed finger to hime, “your mom is too uptight, can you tell her to calm down a little?” which gets a little hey! from the retired sorcerer and the baby attempts to copy his pointing. “mambama!” utahime’s and her partner’s soft gasp is all you need to know that they haven’t heard their baby call any of them, yet.

the baby continues his babbles and blows a raspberry, face lighting up at the bubbles he manages to make with saliva and gojo just has to laugh at how easily entertained children are. you’re stood there, heart melting with the gentleness in which he treats kids, because once the little one is handed back to utahime and you’re saying your goodbyes, you can’t even look at your lover without feeling lightheaded.

“you’re good with kids, y’know.” you’re saying as you remove your coat while satoru toes off his shoes in your home, your shared space. it feels unreal.

gojo pfts, “of course, baby!” he does a cute pose with thumb pointing toward him, “i’m just that good at everything.”

you laugh, “’course you are…” pulling him down, you have to kiss him or else you’d be overflowing with all the love you have for him and it’ll spill everywhere. gojo eases you into the kiss, humming and sighing in contentment.

“i’m just wondering…” you mumble, a little nervous. you’ve never thought of kids that much even but you think it might be due time even if you didn’t have a ring on your finger. “if you ever thought of having a kid with me?”

satoru’s face softens and you can hear his smile, “of course i do, princess. every time.” his voice is soft when he says it and the way it flips your heart makes you dizzy. “but only when you’re ready. and only when i’ve put a big fat rock on your fourth, although if you’re interested in a shotgun…”

you have to shoot him the finger before you’re nodding to yourself just to remind that everything depends on you. even if it takes 5, 10 years, or even if you didn’t want any children at all, gojo is enamoured with you too much to let it be a dealbreaker.

“i want it… soon.” gojo laughs softly at that, taking you into his arms right at your doorstep and kisses you deeply once again. you brace yourself against his toned chest, clutching at his coat with tippy toes. in classic gojo satoru fashion, he has to pull away to make a dirty joke.

“i’m surprised that you aren’t knocked up already with how much i c—”

“gojo satoru. if you finish that sentence—!”

“—um in you…”

you pull a face, resorting to smacking him on the arm and he surrenders with loud laughter and an apology filled with pecks and kisses. standing at the doorway, you’d never think it would happen so soon.

two months later, satoru is getting down on one knee and asking you to marry him.

[elodieunderglass]

Hi Elodie! I was wondering if I might ask about your process for choosing names for the daemons in His Delicious Materials? I have some daemon characters knocking about in the back of my brain, but I’ve never been able to settle on names for them. I know that in His Dark Materials, some daemons have more common names, and some have more fantastical, but beyond that I don’t know much about daemon naming conventions, and yours sound so delightful to hear and say.

Oh jeez sure! I unfortunately love making sweeping decisions and then forcing myself to live up to them.

(In reference to His Delicious Materials fanfic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56658973/chapters/144024799 )

The only set HDM daemon naming constraints I can recall are that they’re set by the daemon’s parents and thus relate to the parental names and desires; this Stelmaria, Greek, “Star of the sea,” has a son Pantalaimon “multitude of blessings.” But other daemons, such as the nurse who was severed, have names like “Nicholas.” Thus they can be what feels right, I think, with reference to internal family-feeling. people from Lyra’s Oxford are clearly going for Greek names - even the character who’s a “kitchen boy” has the lofty Salcilia, which seems to connect to “salt” - but the witches in HDM give their daemons Finnish names.

I think where possible it can’t be the language you’re reading the story in - I.e. if you’re reading in English you shouldn’t have a daemon named Trustworthy - and be three syllables. It would be ideal if it secretly revealed a piece of character, but could also be an aspiration. Will’s “kirjava” (multicoloured) is a description.

I had a few constraints. I set them early on. I think constraints make things easier but that’s possibly a personality flaw.

One thing that doesn’t happen much in daemon AUs is that I had different species of human to consider. This made me decide that they had to have relatively distinctive naming cultures.

- Bee was the one who sprang into my head without invitation and instantly suggested “wouldn’t it be great if it lengthened into Bibelot, which is French for trinket?” And I was like, such a great idea bestie! Let’s write a novel about you! Maybe two! So if that happens to you, let that happen.

- this led to all half-foots having a daemon naming convention where they had to have three-syllable French names with the first syllable shortening to their everyday name and their long name being reserved for intimates; the short name should shorten to a word preferably in English. At first this was fine and made things easier because the only other half-foot daemons instantly presented themselves as Chatelaine and Chiendegarde. If you have a good convention/restriction it can make things easier at first and makes you sound confident.

- I felt that Greek-inspired names for daemons in OG HDM felt very cool in that setting. Laios is a Greek name IRL (Falin is Irish I think but ignore that) so I mentally fixed the convention of the siblings having Greek names.

- then I used Google Translate to find a word that meant gentle or feathery and found Elafros, which alludes to both, and also having the highly desirable -os ending which matches Laios and obviously creates a cohesive, family feel

- everyone reading this is probably like, no the hell it doesn’t

- I liked the three syllables and sense of parental expectation so I researched it a bit more and settled on it.

- I wanted Laios’s daemon to start with a P, three syllables, Greek and match Falin in some way. I scrolled through the P entries on a 1990’s website with a list of “dead words”. Palinode was chosen for being obviously a cohesive and familial resonance with Falin (rhyming first syllable.) it also shortens to PAL and has connotations of sounding like paladin. She’s Falin’s paladin.

- everyone reading this is probably like, no the hell it doesn’t

- Palinode’s a terrible name actually. Oh well moving on

- I wanted Marcille’s daemon to have a Greek name too, this choice feeling synonymous with a certain expectation of class/education as well as species to me. I wanted it to start with a P because at that point I had read more of the manga and she had a pet bird named Pipi.

- the pyx- beginning is super cute to me because I originally pictured Marcille as being a pixie.

- while scrolling through the list of dead words looking for Greek inspired names starting with py- I saw Pyxis and was instantly in love. It was listed as meaning “small pot for medicine and cosmetics” but upon more research I realised it was a constellation and apparently also means “compass,” all of which felt absolutely perfect.

- Pyxis is an absolutely crap moral compass though

- I wanted Anne to be named Anne but that needed to be longer, so I tried putting the word “shield” into Google Translate and cycling through languages until Welsh gave me Tarian. It means shield and shortens to Anne! It’s also a very pretty word.

- This then set the convention of dwarves getting Welsh names, and at that point I was happier for them to have proper names, so Aneurin (a Welsh men’s name meaning honorable, and shortening to Nye) and Gethin could just be chosen from a list.

- in conclusion it’s a lot of meaning+vibes!

- thank you for this question!

[trippinsorrows]

give me a reason + two

authors note: wow! so humbled by people's interest in this one! forgot to mention that i'll be playing around with joe's career, in terms of the timeline and whatnot.

also, if ya'll ever watched the bernie mac show, i was very much inspired in one section by that scene where vanessa and them was doing that car wash at bernie's house lmaooo

in addition (last point, i swear lmao), i can do faceclaims for the character, mainly mariella's family. if ya'll want. i know some people prefer to visualize for themselves. just lmk.

i don't own any lyrics used.

previous chapter

words: 7k

song inspo: just give me a reason by p!nk and nate ruess

warnings: language, fluff, some angst, blink and you'll miss it sexy time.

Spring, 2005

Spring break.

The time looked forward to by most students, especially college students, who are granted a free week to get into all kinds of trouble, mischief and then return to campus like nothing ever happened. 

Joe and Byron can’t deny that they’ve definitely had their fair share of that the first part of college, but now with two years under their belts and only two years left to go, they’re focused on having killer seasons and landing their dreams of going into the NFL.

It’s why when coach decides to give the players a break, canceling all practices during said break, there’s not even an initial question about what they should do with their time.

Home.

They’re going home.

Because while being away is nice at times, there’s absolutely no place like home and being surrounded by the people you love the most.

Byron glances at Joe who’s looking down at his phone. “You gonna see Brianna while we in town?”

Joe looks up. He can’t say he hasn’t thought about it. Brianna, Joe’s last high school girlfriend, was inarguably the easiest of all the girls he’s ever dated. And if not for him not wanting to be tied down while away at college, he would have tried to make it work. 

“I don’t know,” he answers, truthfully. “We’ll see.”

“Well, I’m definitely hitting up Tamia. Heard she and ole’ dude broke up.”

Joe shakes his head. Tamia has been Byron’s on and off girlfriend since freaking middle school. They date, break up, date other people, break up with said other people and start right back over. Truthfully, Joe can see Tamia being the one for Byron considering how long they’ve been in this little cycle. 

“Just make sure you’re safe, man.”

Byron looks like he’s just been told to make sure he wears a seatbelt. “Always, bro. You know me.”

Joe knows him alright. Knows he can be reckless at times. And with so much at stake in the next upcoming two years, they can’t afford to be reckless. 

“I do. That’s why I’m saying it.”

“Man….” Joe laughs at Byron’s dismissal. “What do we have here?” Joe turns his attention to where Byron has set his gaze only to quickly scowl with disgust. “Ugh, they in high school.”

Joe is also instantly repulsed. “That’s fucking gross.” 

Byron shakes in his seat, as if trying to shake the disgust off himself when he sees something. “Wait a minute…” Joe again tries to see what’s triggered the exclamation of irritation. “Oh hell no.”

“What are you—what the hell!” Joe shouts out as Byron suddenly swerves into the next turn lane, barely missing hitting a car. “The fuck are you doing, man!”

“That’s Ella out there!” He answers, speeding near the station where a bunch of high school girls are operating a car wash, trying to raise money for who knows what. 

At the mention of Ri, Joe’s attention is snatched. “What?” He’s looking around as Byron looks to quickly park the truck, clearly eager to get out. Joe doesn’t see her just yet. It’s not until they’re parked and out of the car that his eyes land on her.

Her smile is the first thing he notices. She’s laughing. Not surprising. For as long as he’s known her, which has been his whole life essentially, she’s always the one in the group to make everyone laugh.

Usually from her klutziness. 

It’s never a dull moment with Mariella Holmes. 

Moving closer, he can see that it’s definitely Ri, and she’s giggling along with the other girls, dancing to what he recognizes is Black Eyed Peas latest song, “My Humps.”

It’s that realization that helps Joe understand why Byron is so annoyed.

The dancing could be seen as a bit provocative.

“Ella!”

Her head snaps up at Byron’s voice, easily landing on him. Joe watches her mouth drop open in shock before she shouts, “BJ!”

Dropping the soapy rag in the bucket, she’s nearly sprinting over to the two of them, tackling Byron with a hug first. “What are you doing here?”

It’s when she steps back that she moves over to him. She smirks, crossing her arms. “Should have known you wouldn’t turn down a chance to come see me.”

Joe laughs, pulling her in for a hug. “Never.”

“What am I doing here?” Byron cuts in, angrily gesturing to her. “What are you doing out here dressed like this?”

She looks down at her outfit, frowning. Joe does the same. It’s a bathing suit top with jean shorts and flip flops. What’s so bad about that?

And she expresses as such.

“Ummm, the dance team is having a car wash. We’re trying to raise money for travel costs this season.”

This doesn’t seem acceptable to Byron as he asks, “well, you ain’t having nothing else to wear? All exposed and everything.”

That’s when she rolls her eyes. “Oh my god, you’re so annoying.” 

He starts to pull his shirt off when even Joe chimes in, “dude, come on.”

“She’s half naked!”

“I’m wearing a bathing suit, BJ.” Mariella says it like he’s slow. Like he was on the short bus. “I know you’ve been away at school, so you haven’t been around as much, but I have boobs now—”

At that, both Joe and Byron turn up their nose. The last thing they need is that type of visual.

She continues, gesturing to her body. “I hit puberty, and allll the areas started filling out. It happens!”

“I’m gonna be sick.” Byron covers his mouth. “I don’t give a damn. You’re sixteen, not twenty-one.”

She gives a sly smile. “That’s not what my fake ID says.”

Joe catches her gaze, seeing that she’s just messing with him. It makes him laugh. 

“Your what? Girl, you done lost your damn mind.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “Relax, BJ. You know I can’t get a fake ID. My dumbass would feel too bad and turn myself in.”

“That’s true,” Joe chimes, and she glares, reaching over to hit him. She starts to say something, only for her eyes to go wide. “What’s wrong?”

She says nothing, just awkwardly shifting her weight from one leg to another. He starts to ask again when a new voice joins the conversation. 

“Hey, babe.”

Byron jumps to a new level of annoyance. “Babe?” He and Joe watch as some scrawny looking little boy, who’s really not that scrawny in actuality but looks it compared to Byron and Joe, walks up to Mariella, kissing her. 

Byron looks like he’s about to have a stroke. He asks with all the smoke. “Who the hell are you?” 

Scrawny scoffs and has the audacity to throw the question back at him. “Who the hell are you?”

“Oh my god.” Mariella murmurs, slapping her hand against her forehead. “BJ, this is my boyfriend, Derrick—”

Mariella having a boyfriend makes sense to Joe. She’s 16 now. Why wouldn’t she be dating? It’s normal and expected. 

If only Byron saw it that way. “Boyfriend? Since when do you have a boy—”

“Derrick, this is my brother, BJ or Byron, and basically like my non-blood brother, Joe.”

Scrawny AKA Derrick looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Oh shit, my bad—”

If only he knew that Byron doesn’t forgive nor does he forget when it comes to his little sisters, especially Mariella. 

He steps toward the shorter young man. “Naw. You bad. You wanted to know who the hell I was, so let me tell you, I’m the nigga that’s gon fuck you up if you ever—”

“Byron!” Mariella is now fuming, grabbing him by his arm as she tugs him in a different direction. “Give us a couple minutes.” She flashes a sweet smile at Derrick and a pleading expression to Joe for him to also be nice.

Joe waits until they’re out of hearing distance. He then slaps Derrick on the arm. “Don’t take it personally. That’s just Byron. He’s always been a hothead.”

Derrick gives a nervous laugh, showing off braces that Joe didn’t notice before. He refrains from frowning. Ri could definitely do better than this dweeb. “You like Ri?”

Derrick shrugs, offering an unimpressive. “She’s alright.”

And that’s all Joe needs to hear to know what this kid is really about. Stepping toward him, he keeps his voice leveled and expression ice cold. “Do anything to hurt her, and you won’t have to worry about Byron.” He gives a steel smile. “I’m the one you’ll never see coming.”

———-

Present 

Post-traumatic amnesia (PTA) 

Or some milder form of it. 

Amnesia, at the very least.

That’s what Dr. Reynolds says is the cause of Mari’s complete loss of memory. A result of the head trauma she received from the accident. A prognosis that somehow feels almost worse than the coma, at least to Joe.

Because for the life of him, he doesn’t know how to look at the woman he’s known his entire life, and have her look back at him like he’s a stranger, like she has no idea who he is. 

Because she doesn’t have any idea who he is.

As devastating as that blow is, he knows it hits harder for her parents. April nearly collapsed in Byron Sr’s arms as Dr. Reynolds informed them of Mari’s memory loss.

She was in tears, desperately asking, “but—but she’ll get them back, right, doctor?”

And Joe only has to glance at the doctor, the way his lips press together before he informs sympathetically, “we don’t know. Some patients do eventually retrieve their memories. Others….others never do.”

Joe can’t even allow himself to think of the latter option. 

A couple days post coma, he knocks on her door, seeing she’s alone, her parents most likely grabbing food or something.

She glances at the door offering a small smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. It’s insincere, and he doesn’t know how to feel about that either, because one of the things he’s always loved about her has always been her smile. So big and infectious. Just like her personality. 

“Hey.” There’s nothing big and infectious about her almost unsure tone. 

“Hey.” He doesn’t wait for her to welcome him in, just walks in, taking the seat on the side of her bed. “How you feeling?”

She gives a one sided shrug. He notices the cuts and bruising on her face have gone down tremendously. That's a plus in a situation full of minuses. “Don’t know.” After obviously thinking about the question more, she offers a more descriptive answer. “Very...confused.”

“About?” He then adds. “Maybe I can clear it up for you.”

“I don’t know. It’s….it’s mostly about who I am.” He could definitely answer that one for her. She shakes her head, providing an example. “Like, I’m apparently this big singer, but I can’t even think about singing right now. It doesn’t—it doesn’t even feel like me.” She chuckles bitterly. “Not that I know who me is.”

“You love music. Always have. And you’re good at it. Singing. Writing. Producing. Dancing. All of it.” She looks over at him as he says with all the honesty and sincerity, “there’s nothing, creatively, you can’t do.”

Mariella nods, as if taking in the information to analyze later on. “What about you?” She asks. “What do you do?”

A lot of things. A lot of things he now regrets deeply. But, that’s not her question. “Professional wrestler.” He starts to say WWE to see if she knows what that is, but that isn’t important. Shit about him isn’t the priority. 

Mariella looks him over, nodding. “It fits.”

He smiles a bit. The first he’s done in weeks. “What else do you want to know?”

She’s quiet for a few moments before asking the question he didn’t know he was dreading until now. “How did I end up here?”

What a loaded question he was absolutely not prepared for.

There’s a lot of things that led them to where they are right now. A lot of which he blames himself for, and her as well, but not nearly as much as he blames himself. They both played a role in how badly their relationship deteriorated, but Joe puts the bulk of it on himself. 

He’s older and should know better.

But, the specific incident that resulted in her accident, the blowout that ended with her requesting the one thing she always swore she never wanted to have happened when they got married…that’s it.

That is the truth she is probably looking for. It’s a truth, however, he can’t find it in him to tell her.

Because selfishly, he doesn’t want that to be the thing to trigger her memories, or any memories of all the things that have gone so terribly wrong the past two years. He doesn’t want that for her.

Doesn’t want it for them.

It’s why he settles on an answer that’s neither a lie but also not the full truth.

“You had a lot on your mind and went for a drive.” His voice shifts into something quiet. He’s still trying to process his feelings about that part of this whole thing. “You were hit head on by a drunk driver.”

Silence.

For a brief second, he’s unsure if he should have just told the truth. Been honest with her and let the cards fall as they may.

And then she speaks.

“Well, that’s unfortunate.” He looks up. Joe sees it. That sense of humor that some could only take in doses, but for him, it’s always been a highlight. She’s always been able to put a smile on his face even in the darkest of his days. “How long have we been married?”

Another unexpected question, but he answers truthfully. “This March makes 11 years.”

“Wow.” This seems to take her by surprise. “And how long have we been together?”

“That….that’s a bit of a long story.”

She lifts her brow, gesturing to her hospital bed. “Not like I have anywhere to be.”

He chuckles. She has a point, but the story of them…that seems too complicated or detailed to share in a freaking hospital. Because in his mind, he’s started to sort the different ways and things he can do to help remind her of who she is. 

Of who they were. 

Finally, he answers, “I just—I think you should—” 

There’s a knock on the door, Joe turning to see April and Byron Sr.

April is the first to speak, walking over to them. “I’m sorry to interrupt.” She’s almost hesitant to move too close. Joe can see she wants nothing more to engulf her youngest in a hug but recognizes the same almost uncomfortable expression Mariella wore the minute he walked in.

“It’s okay.” He assures, going to stand up. “I’ll leave you guys—”

“Actually,” Byron Sr. interjects, shooting Joe a sympathetic expression. “We were hoping to speak with you.” He looks toward Mariella, and Joe hates it. Hates the almost discomfort that exists between them. She’s always been super close with her parents. Especially her dad. “If that’s alright, sweetheart?”

Mariella shrugs, clearly unbothered. “Sure.” She starts to lay back in her bed a little. “I’m kinda tired anyway.”

Joe wonders how much of that is truth, and how much of it is her just wanting to be alone from people who are virtual strangers.

Strangers…

That’s definitely a word he never thought could be used in any context regarding Mariella.

Once outside the room and in the private waiting area, her parents wait until a set of nurses pass before April is the first to speak. She reaches over and places a comforting hand. “How are you doing, Joe? Really?”

A mess. He’s a fucking mess. Joe has seen much, much better days than the past few weeks. But, he also doesn’t want to make this about him, about his mental state, so he provides a half truth.

“Been better.” His response is gruff as he quickly moves to change topics. “What about you guys?”

Having his wife have no idea who he is is brutal, but he can’t even begin to imagine what it’s been like for two parents to not have their youngest child recognize them, to have no idea who they are.

Byron Sr. is the first to answer, mirroring his son-in-law’s words. “Been better.” 

April shifts in her seat, bringing her hand back to her lap. “We umm—we spoke to Dr. Reynolds earlier today.”

Joe looks up, partially wondering why he wasn’t present for that meeting. “Okay.”

“She doesn’t remember anything, Joe. Not her childhood. Not her family. Not…not even us.” April voice breaks at the end of her statement as Joe looks away. Hearing this again isn’t exactly helpful, though he would never disrespect her parents by asking them to shut up. Even if it’s what he wants. “And we—well, we just think—”

Byron Sr. cuts in, hand on his wife’s knee. “We want to take her back home with us, Joe.” Joe’s stomach drops. “We want to take her back to Florida.”

———-

Spring, 2022

Cameras.

That’s the one thing Mariella, Mari, still struggles to get used to. The bright lights flashing in her face as her photo is taken, whether on the red carpet, on the stage, or even when she’s just making a run to the grocery store. The latter one hasn’t happened as much as it used to, for which she’s grateful, but still.

So there’s a bit of an adjustment as she looks around the room, the hair and makeup team touching up her face once more before they kick off the segment.

She doesn’t regret it. Doesn’t regret it at all. It’s a good look for him. For her too. And beyond any type of benefit for their careers, she’s just happy she gets to see him.

Because that’s the part she doesn’t think she’ll ever truly get over or be okay with.

The distance.

As directed, she walks down the hall, making sure not to look directly into the camera. This is made infinitely easier by pretending she’s shooting a music video. Which, truth be told, it isn’t very different. 

Mari wears the confused expression perfectly, looking down at her phone as if it has information that could help her when she ‘accidentally’ walks into him.

Head up, she gasps and immediately gets to apologizing, just as was in the script. “Oh my gosh, I am so sorry. I wasn’t even looking where I was going.”

His eyes widen as he ‘realizes’ who she is. “Wow. No, you are absolutely fine. Wow. You’re Mari!”

Smiling, she points at him, “and you are…..”

He seems a bit taken back at first, like he’s waiting for her to also recognize him. When that doesn’t happen, he offers his hand. “Sami Zayn. Master strategist and locker room leader.”

She nods, perfectly conveying another confused look at just what that means. “Does—does that mean you’re good with directions? Cause I suck at them.”

“It absolutely does, and you are in luck, because I just so happen to be free right now and would love to give you a tour.”

She opens her mouth to protest, “oh, that’s so sweet, but I really should—” she looks down at her phone. “You know what, I’m a little early, so why not?”

“Awesome.” He claps his hands together and offers his arm. Mari smiles and links hers in his as he starts leading them down the hall, pointing out the most obvious of things. 

The camera cuts, and she engages in conversation with Sami, who’s actually a lot like the ‘character’ he plays. Super charismatic and engaging. Kinda reminds her of herself. So much so that before she realizes, they’re back to recording after having moved across the arena. 

“And lastly we have—” His eyes suddenly widen as he realizes where they are, Sami moving his hand to her back as he directs them in the opposite direction. “Wait, we do not want to go—”

“There it is!” Mari, however, is smiling brightly as she walks toward the door.

Sami looks like he’s about to have a panic attack, frantically warning, “Mari, I know you’re like an international mega star, but trust me, you do not want to bother that man—” He’s silenced by her knocking on the door. 

His face is turning red as he urgently whispers to her, “we should really get out of here. Like right now!.”

She turns to him, confused. “Why?”

And before Sami can respond, the door is ripped open, the scowling faces of the Usos the first thing Sami lands on. He’s preparing to get chewed out only for them to look at Mari and instantly start smiling.

“Whassup, Mari!” Jimmy is the first to greet her, pulling her in for a hug. Followed by Jey, the two of them engaging in some secret handshake that ends with a ‘Yeet’.

Sami, however, laughs nervously, gesturing between the three. “Wait, you—you guys know Mari?”

Jimmy answers, slinging his arm around her. “Man, of course. This family!”

“You’re related to them?” Sami asks, eyes wide. 

Mari opens her mouth to answer when another person emerges from the private locker room, taking up almost the entire door frame, face stoic and eyes cold. 

Sami looks like he’s about to piss himself. He swallows. “My Tribal Chief, I’m so sorry—”

He’s interrupted by Mari who smiles and pulls away from Jimmy to walk up to Roman.“Hi, baby.” Sami looks on stunned as she leans up and kisses his cheek, pressing her body into his, hand on his abs. “Sorry, I’m a bit late.” She grins over at Sami. “Sami was giving me a tour of the place.”

The reddening of his cheeks is about what and what with the red of his hair. “I don’t—I’m not—”

Playfully rolling her eyes as Roman continues to look like he’s contemplating murder, she lifts her left hand, showing off a beautiful diamond ring. “Roman’s my husband.”

Mouth open like a child who just found out Santa isn’t real, Sami does his best to reel in his surprise. “Of course, you’re married. I totally knew that!” He laughs nervously, hands on his hips. “That’s why I gladly brought you to the Tribal Chief myself. Wanted to ensure nothing but the best for the Bloodline’s first lady.”

“That was really sweet of you. Thank you.” She continues to smile, and Roman continues to send daggers with just one, stolid expression. Mari peers up, kissing him again as she reaches for his hand. “Come on.” She tugs him toward the inside of the locker room, Roman finally budging as he gives Sami one last look that has the redhead contemplating requesting a switch to Raw. 

However, as Jimmy and Jey go to follow along with their cousin, Roman is quick to slam the door in their faces. 

“Hey, Uce, uhhh,—” Jimmy tries to jangle the knob only to realize it’s locked. He starts knocking. “Roman! Hey, you gon let us in?”

A couple seconds later the door does open, but it’s Solo, followed by Paul Heyman. Wise Man closes the door behind him. He looks around, briefly bewildered and clears his throat, announcing, “The Tribal Chief has requested to be left alone this evening.” 

Sami is the only one to laugh, playfully shoving Solo and pointing to the locker room. “I bet he has.” Solo, however, also looks like he’s also contemplating murder. Sami coughs awkwardly and turns to walk away, just as the camera crew announces ‘cut’.

The remaining men share laughs about the promo, meanwhile inside the locker room Mariella relishes in the feel of being reunited with her husband in real life, and now in the WWE kayfabe verse.

She’s pressed against his body, arms around his neck with his locked around her waist, holding her to him. “Hey, Big Daddy.”

Roman, Joe, rolls his eyes. Mariella giggles. She knows he has such a love/hate relationship with the term of endearment, one of many she has for the massive man before her. “You miss me?”

He makes a sound, leaning down to connect their lips. “Always, baby.” 

She smiles into their kiss, “good answer.” His big hands venture down to squeeze her ass, Mariella moaning into his mouth which triggers something for him. He lifts her up, her legs locking around his waist as he goes to sit back down in the big leather chair. Joe’s tongue entering her mouth is enough to elicit another moan but also alert her to the fact of where he wants to take this.

“Baby, we cannot do the nasty at your job.”

“I don’t know why you still call it that.” His fake irritation makes her giggle. It’s an inside joke between them that she’ll never let die so long as she lives. “And who says we can’t?”

“I don’t know. The FCC?” He rolls his eyes as she grasps at his beard that she can tell he dyed recently. Most likely because of his job. She wishes he could leave it be. She likes the gray. It does….things to her. “Besides, you know the deal. If we do it right now, we can’t do it tonight.” He continues to move his hands across her ass. “Mama’s got a show this Sunday, and I’d rather not be rendered immobile because my husband impaled me on his big ole’ dick.”

Again, Joe rolls his eyes, even though there’s more truth to her statement than the typical playful jokes she cracks at any given time. Joe has a high sex drive. She’s known this for some years. Mariella, however, does not. And it’s not even that she doesn’t enjoy sex with her husband. It’s that her husband doesn’t know how to stop, doesn’t know how to come, make her come one time for the one time, and just be done with it.

No. This man wants rounds. And truthfully, she just doesn’t have the stamina to keep up with him. Outside of porn stars, she doesn’t know who would.

Man is an absolute beast.

“So damn dramatic,” he chuckles against her neck. “You know I be doing most of the work anyway.”

She opens her mouth to protest. “Okay, that may or may not be true.” She can feel him smiling against her. It’s not like he minds. Joe is dominant in the sheets, wanting to be in control at all times. Her preference given he’s much more well versed in the sexual arts than she is. “But, in my defense, you’re built like a Greek god.” A Samoan god. “I get winded walking up the staircase in our house.”

“Bullshit.” He pulls back, pointing out. “You be on that stage dancing your ass off for damn near three hours.” 

She rolls her eyes, murmuring, “okay, that also may or may not be true.” Mari’s eyes flutter as he moves his hand under her dress. Long, thick fingers easily pushing aside her underwear, feeling the pool of her arousal. She squeezes his shoulders. “Joe….”

He grunts almost, gliding his fingers across her wet folds. She exhales sharply. “You this wet already and really want me to think you don’t want Big Daddy to fuck this tight lil’ pussy?”

Whining against him, Mariella unconsciously tries to move around on his lap to get his fingers back on her. In her, preferably. And it’s when he enters one of those deliciously talented fingers inside of her gushy opening, she caves. “Fine.” He smirks as she warns, “but you’re pushing me around in the wheelchair after!”

———-

Between a rock and a hard place.

That’s how Joe has felt the past few weeks, maybe even longer. But especially now.

He knows Ri’s parents are right. That they have every right to want her to spend time at home with them, in the place where she grew up, where most of her formative years and subsequent formative memories lie. Logically, it makes sense.

But, he can’t seem to get past his discomfort at the fact that Ri won’t be getting discharged and coming home with him. No, she’ll be discharged and hop on a plane with them back to Florida. Selfishly, he was hoping the doctor wouldn’t clear her to fly, but that plan went out the window. Dr. Reynolds is clearly on the same page with her parents about the potential benefit of being around constant triggers. Triggers that could help generate memories.

And Joe isn’t against that. At all. 

It’s just the fact that he won’t be there that rubs him the right way. 

“Joe.”

His eyes shut, an instant headache coming on. This is the last thing he needs. 

Turning around, he’s met with Olivia “Liv” Holmes default stare of icy indifference. Out of all of Mariella’s siblings, her family in general, Liv has always been his least favorite.

For a lot of different reasons. The main one being how she always treated Mariella when they were younger. Not mean, per se. But not kindly either. She always acted like Mariella was annoying, and she definitely could be at times, but not to the extent that Liv made it seem.

Like Mariella was just this big nuisance. It’s part of the reason she always wanted to hang out with him and Byron when they were growing up, because Liv spent most of her time with her twin sister, Everly, and her own friend group.

“Liv.” He really doesn’t feel like talking to anyone, let alone her. Their interactions have always been brief and limited to what is essential. For good reason too.

“I take it my parents told you we’re taking Ella back home to Florida with us.”

Joe has to bite back a smartass comment. Liv’s smirk and the almost smug tone of her voice isn’t what he needs right now.

“Yes.” He matches her energy a bit, reminding. “For the first couple weeks, at least. Then I’m going to bring her back home with me.” 

Where she belongs.

Liv smiles, but there’s nothing friendly about it. “We’ll see.”

Joe gives her a look. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You know she called me.” He freezes. “The night of the accident.” Joe manages to keep a calm face despite his surprise at her words. Mariella has never been close with Liv, most of their communication occurring via texts and family group chats. 

There’s only one reason she would call her sister who happens to be a divorce attorney.

“I want a divorce.”

Liv continuing to speak is ironically appreciated, as it pulls him from the memories of what is now an infamous argument. “I was sleeping and missed her call, but she didn’t leave a message. Kinda wishing she did, because I’m still trying to figure out just what the hell she was doing out on the road that late at night.” 

He keeps his cool. Somehow. “I already told you—”

“I know what you said, Joe.” Her interruption is sharp. “I also don’t believe you, because what the hell could she have so heavy on her mind after winning 5 Grammys?” She crosses her arms. “It doesn’t make sense.”

When he doesn’t say anything, she continues her accusatory assault. “You seem to forget that we were in high school together, Joe. I know how you were.” At this, he can’t say anything, can’t necessarily defend himself against truth. “You and Byron fucked damn near half the girls in our school, probably at college too, and then all of a sudden you turn in your hoe card to be with my baby sister? Because you love her? I never bought that shit for a minute.”

While he can’t deny his promiscuous past, Joe isn’t about to stand here and let this woman act like he’s this horrible person who took advantage of Mariella. “What’s your point, Liv? Huh? I’m not fucking stupid. I know you never approved of me being with Ri, but just like I didn’t give a fuck then, I still don’t give a fuck now.”

Liv does relatively well hiding her disapproval among her family, to some extent. But Joe has always been hip to her truth. She thinks Mariella should have gotten with someone else, anyone else probably. Anyone who wasn’t him.

Liv, who has never done well with being challenged, steps forward, glare intense and purposeful. “I’m gonna find out what happened that night, Joe. Because I know there’s something you’re not telling us.” He keeps up his unreadable expression, though there’s a small chunk of guilt swimming around the back of his head. Not even about not being completely honest with Mariella’s family.

More about not being honest with her.

She lowers her voice. “And when I do find out—”

“Liv.”

Joe and Liv turn to see Byron Jr. standing before them with a disappointed expression.

Arms crossed, he steps toward them, focused more on Liv than Joe. “Don’t be starting no shit today, alright? This the last thing we need.”

In recent years, especially since becoming a father, BJ has matured from his hotheaded days, often even a voice of reason. One of the reasons he’s been voted Locker Room captain for his team, the 49ers, 3 years in a row.

Liv rolls her eyes. “You’ve always been blinded by your friendship with him—”

“Hey.” Byron raises his voice a bit. “I mean it. You blaming people doesn’t change what happened, and you know damn well Ella would have a fit at you coming at Joe like this.”

Not really. Maybe before. Before everything collapsed so tragically between the two of them.

“Whatever.” She gives a final almost warning glare to the two of them before stalking off, probably to go see Mariella.

BJ places a comforting hand on Joe’s shoulder once she’s gone. “You good, man?” 

Not at all. “Yeah.” He clears his throat. 

BJ gives a sad smile. “Don’t let Olevil get to you.” Her nickname from back when they were in high school makes Joe chuckle. “You going back to work next week?”

Joe blows out a breath. That hasn’t even crossed his mind the past couple weeks. He doesn’t even really know what storyline they came up with to cover his absence. Nor does he care really. “I haven’t even thought about that, man.”

“I think you should.” And before Joe can protest, Byron lifts his hand. “Hear me out. She’s gonna be with our parents for a few weeks, so you know she’ll be in good hands. What you gon’ do while she’s gone? Sit around the house sad and moping and shit? You know she would be chewing you out for that, telling you that you gotta get back in the game.”

Joe gives a bit of a smile. Byron is right. Knowing Mariella, she’d have a whole theatrical ass presentation as to why he should return to work, song and dance included. 

“Yeah…”

Byron slaps him on his shoulder. “Just think about it, alright?” 

Joe nods, because he will. And not for himself, not even for his job, because he doesn’t give a fuck about that right now.

But for Mariella.

His Ri. 

Because she’ll always be his Ri.

And he’s determined to make sure she doesn’t forget it this time.

———-

Spring, 2022 [cont.]

“Baby!” It’s a distant voice that becomes closer as it's repeatedly conjoined with a small hand shaking at his shoulder. “Baby, wake up.”

And he does. Eyes fluttering open, his vision is blurred initially, gradually clearing up to reveal the face of his beautiful wife. Cognizant of his surroundings, Joe realizes she’s sitting on top of him, notebook and pen in hand.

He smiles. It’s been a while since she’s woken him up for this. And while he’ll regret it in the morning, he’s grateful for it now. Grateful for these little callbacks to when they were broke, living in a crappy apartment, trying to chase the dream as inspiration struck her at all hours of the night. And she would wake him up, wanting his feedback. 

He didn’t really mind then. 

And he doesn’t really mind now.

That’s just his Ri.

Eyes squinting, she asks, “you up?”

He chuckles, also enjoying the sight of her straddling him wearing only his shirt. “Yes, baby. I’m up.”

“About time,” she complains, and he rolls his eyes. So damn dramatic. “I’m feeling inspired.” She says it while giving almost jazz hands, pretty brown eyes landing back on him. “Wanna hear the lyrics?”

He yawns, glancing at the digital clock that reads 2:37AM. “What else would I be doing at this time?”

She glares. “Is that sarcasm I detect, mister? Is it my fault my musical muse comes alive at night? That she flourishes when most—”

“Ri.”

“Huh?”

He closes his eyes. Joe loves Mariella with everything in him, but he’s not in the mood for one of her theatrical tangents at damn near 3 o’clock in the morning. “Lyrics.”

“Oh! Right!” Chuckling, he watches as she reads over whatever she’s written to herself at first. A bit of a habit. She’s always initially self-conscious about her lyrics. “Now, it’s just off the top of my head, so be nice, okay?”

“I’m always nice to you, Ri.” It’s the truth. As annoyed as he can get sometimes, she’s never been on that list. “And I’m sure it’s fine.” 

She smiles appreciatively, slightly taking him by surprise as she quietly sings the lyrics versus just reading them to him.

Yellow diamonds in the light

Now we're standing side by side

As your shadow crosses mine

What it takes to come alive

It's the way I'm feeling I just can't deny

But I've gotta let it go

We found love in a hopeless place

Finished, she looks down at him, expectantly, “well?”

“I love it.” He loves most of what she writes though. He especially loves to hear her sing. “What inspired it?”

“I don’t know. I was just thinking about us. About how far we come.” She shrugs, his hands rubbing circles on her hips. “Your show was sold out tonight, Joe. Mine is sold out too. Like, we both sold out Madison Square Garden. That feels almost too perfect to be true.”

He makes a sound. “But, it is, baby.”

“I know.” She sighs heavily and asks in a partial hypothetical tone. “We’re like really hot shit, huh?” Joe chuckles as she gasps and places her tablet down on his chest, quickly writing something down. He says nothing, having been with her for so long that none of her quirky ways really surprise him anymore.

“Also.”

“Also?”

She glares but moves to place the notebook and pen on the nightstand, resting her hands on his chest. “I was thinking about our conversation earlier…” He’s quiet, waiting patiently for her to finish her sentence even if it does have him a bit on edge. He’s never been good with waiting. “Let’s do it.”

Her answer takes him by surprise. “You sure?”

She nods, tugging at his beard. “We’re not getting any younger.” She giggles, eyes playfully narrowing. “Especially you, old man.” 

At that, he sucks his teeth. “Who you calling old?” He squeezes her side, and she squeals. He knows that’s where she’s ticklish. She falls out, laughing, and he takes the advantage of her being distracted to flip them so she’s flat on her back. “Naw, say it again. I ain’t hear you.”

“Joe, stop,” she giggles as he hovers over her, tickling her until she pushes back against his shoulder. He grabs her hand, restricting her when she opens her eyes. Her laughter quietly dies down when their eyes lock. 

Love. 

So much love.

Joe leans down and connects their lips, softly, slowly, just as meaningful as any other kiss they’ve shared. She moans into his mouth, feeling his hardened length graze against her opening, her essence already making its way down her inner thighs.

He feels this too, groaning and lifting her thigh to widen her as he carefully enters her, watching her arch her back at the entrance. She whimpers, hands moving around his shoulders.

He kisses her wrist, watching the pleasure on her face as he gives her deep strokes, slow and plunging, just how he knows she likes it. “Shhhh….let me take care of you, baby.”

And he does.

He always has.

He always will.

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA OSAMU x FEM READER

On a bad day, Onigiri Miya becomes your new comfort restaurant. Not only is the food good, but the man who takes your orders is always kind. You think the Miya you’ve been venting to on the phone is the same Miya who shows up at your door to deliver all of your orders.

It’s too bad you don’t know there’s two of them.

wc — 2k

tags — fluff, romcom, miscommunication, miserable corporate girl x small business owner who teaches her joy

The email doesn’t even do you the courtesy of being short. They make you read through two whole paragraphs before you get to the point of it all in the final sentence. 

Your termination is effectively immediately. 

You sit back in your chair to allow yourself a moment to take it in. It’s…not terrible, all things considered. 

You get to leave this job that you hate. They’ll pay you severance. You have enough savings to be comfortable for the next few months. 

It might even a blessing.

But it still doesn’t feel good. You worked hard to land this, and now you’ll have to start all over again. Change is always hard, especially when you haven’t asked for it. 

You look at the clock. It’s currently 8:30 in the morning. You’re giving yourself exactly twenty four hours to wallow, and then it’s back to business. 

First things first - a good meal. Food always make everything better, and you really deserve something special today. For a moment, you entertain the idea of calling your friends over to get breakfast somewhere fancy, but then you remember - 

They’re all at work. 

Where you would be, if you hadn’t just been let go. 

That does sting a little, so maybe you’re not as okay as you thought you were. Hurriedly pushing those thoughts to the side in favor of scrolling through your options, a plain blue banner catches your eye. 

Onigiri Miya, it reads. 

Japanese comfort food. Family owned. 

When you click on the link, it takes you to a page that’s as simple as it’s name. It’s just a menu and a series of pictures, but it’s what you need right now. Your head hurts. You don’t have the capacity to deal with anything more. 

You want something straightforward and easy to digest. Onigiri Miya it is, then. 

“‘Miya speakin’. What can I get ya?” 

It’s a pleasantly accented voice. When you rattle off your order, you suddenly find it a little less pleasant after he says, “Er. Ya sure?”

This is some shoddy customer service. 

“I’m placing the order, aren’t I?”

“Those two don’t normally go together,” he says. “I’d suggest number nine and number thirteen instead. Trust me.” 

You don’t trust him, actually. This is probably just an upselling tactic he tries on every customer, but you’re not in the mood to argue. You had thought when you called a family owned restaurant, you’d be speaking to some kindly old grandma who might let you cry and vent into the receiver for just a little while, not whoever this is. 

At least the delivery is quick. 

A series of sharp raps on your door alerts you to the arrival. You pull it open to a man in a baseball cap and a uniform with onigiris on both. Their merch is cute. You’d wear it unironically. 

Underneath the cap, yellow blonde hair peeks out. On his shirt, a name tag reads Miya. 

Instantly, you feel a little worse for thinking poorly of him. Your bad attitude from work is no reason to take it out on this hardworking entrepreneur who’s running a one man show by himself. 

“Here ya go,” he says, thrusting a paper bag at you. “Eat it while it’s hot!” 

And then he’s off, scampering back down the stairs instead of taking the elevator even though you’re several floors up. You suppose there’s a reason he has those thighs. 

That the food is good is an understatement. 

Your former coworker Aiko used to work in food advertising before she pivoted. She loved to talk about how fake the industry was during lunch, both in terms of people and actual product. It’s through her that you know that half of the food in commercials aren’t actually food, but styrofoam and plastic painted to look appetizing. 

Onigiri Miya, in contrast, doesn’t look perfect. Appetizing, certainly, but not like a work of art. It just looks like what it is - a ball of rice with special ingredients for flavor.

So why are you crying as you finish your first onigiri and reach for the next? 

It’s been so long since you had a home cooked meal. You’re trying not to be maudlin, but you can almost taste the love that went into everything you’re eating. Imagining Miya carefully packing each triangular ball of rice by hand with a smile has you reaching for another, then another, until eventually the entire order is gone before you know it. 

Exhausted from crying and eating, you sink into your couch with a satisfied sigh and fall asleep. 

It’s 1:30 P.M. by the time you rise again, feeling a little better. Sleep really was the cure to all evils. Now you have 20 hours left to indulge yourself as much as possible. 

You’re not in the mood to turn off your brain by binge watching a show. You want to do something. You want to use your hands to craft something from scratch. 

Learning how to make onigiri could be a start. A quick run to the grocery store and the first recipe that popped up on Google later, you have a half formed, crumbling mound of rice with pickled radish shoved inside. If you squint, it looks almost like what you got from Onigiri Miya this morning. 

Who are you kidding?

That’s an insult to Miya’s craft. He put so much care into each dish - you can hardly compare your shoddy workmanship to his. There’s only one thing to do. You have to taste the real thing again to see where you went wrong. 

“Miya. What d'ya want to order?” 

“I’d like-“

“Hold up. Didn’t ya call this morning?” 

Flustered, you nearly fumble your phone. You’re breathless as you clutch is tighter and bring it back to your ear. “Yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “Is that bad?” 

“I mean, yeah, a little,” Miya says. “I appreciate the business but ya shouldn’t be eatin’ onigiri for two meals a day. Yer going to make yerself sick.” 

“It’s a special day,” you tell him. “I got laid off.” 

In the resounding silence that follows, you have ample time to berate yourself for sharing that. What is wrong with you? Why would you say that? He’s a stranger that you’ve randomly dumped your misery onto and you’re sure he’s -

“Ouch,” he says. “‘Kay, I’ll make an exception just for today. What’s yer order?” 

Miya shows up at your door promptly. He’s ditched the cap so his yellow hair is on full display. It looks like he’s run his hands through it. It sticks up at odd angles. 

“Here ya go,” he says, almost distractedly as he hands you your bag. “Enjoy.” 

You bring the bag inside and start rummaging through it immediately, excited to try new flavors you hadn’t gotten the first time around. Out comes the four onigiri you had ordered, a cup of miso soup, and…

A little takeout container of sushi with a cat’s face drawn on it. A speech bubble next to its head reads, “You can do it, meow!” 

Laughter echoes around your apartment. To your surprise, the world feels less daunting already. You hadn’t realized how quiet you had been the entire morning. Miya’s the only person you’ve spoken to the entire day, and even that was a quick and whispered thank you. Your throat almost hurts with the force of your giggles after disuse all morning, but it’s a good kind of pain. 

Onigiri Miya, family owned. You can almost feel the warmth of an embrace around you as you bite into your steaming onigiri, still a little too hot. 

All too soon, it becomes a tradition for you to order Onigiri Miya as your comfort meal. It doesn’t even have to be a bad day - you actively try to avoid associating things you like with painful feelings by using them as treats for hard days. Instead, Onigiri Miya is anything from a reward for getting to the second round of interviews or a celebration for successfully starting a new hobby. 

Onigiri has become your favorite food, and the person on the other line who takes your orders and even spares a few minutes to chat with you when it’s not too busy has quickly become someone irreplaceable in your life. 

You think you might need to redownload Tinder if you’re this attached to the man who fulfills your onigiri orders. 

Even though you know it’s strange, you can’t bring yourself to sever your connection. Miya is warm and kind, and you’ve quickly come to think of him as a friend. It’s a culmination of lots of little moments piling up over time. 

When you had forced yourself to go on your first date after a while, determined to get back out there, it had crashed and burned catastrophically. Onigiri Miya had been there to pick you back up. Miya had even recognized the sniffles in your voice that you were fighting and drawn you another little cat. 

The next time you had ordered, before you could even tell him what onigiri you wanted, Miya had asked you what happened last week. Maybe that’s just how family owned businesses are. They actually care about their customers. Enough so to play therapist to the girl that orders from you every week. 

Then there was the time you had gotten your first call back for a job application, and you had called Miya to celebrate. 

Well, not Miya. You didn’t have his personal number, but you had called Onigiri Miya, which is more or less the same thing at the moment. This time, he had been the one to be interrupted as you blurred out your good news. 

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he says, “What’d I tell ya? I knew ya could do it.” 

There’s no container of sushi with a hand drawn cat this time, but there is a little note written on a napkin. It’s accompanied by an origami star. 

You don’t cry, exactly, but your eyes water up as you read the note. He’s proud of you. The star is to wish you luck on your continued journey. The knowledge that he’s proud - his own words - fuels you as you keep applying and interviewing, never letting rejection stop you. 

He’s just the guy that takes your onigiri order, but at some point, he’s become someone special to you. 

He cares. He spends an extra two minutes on the phone with you to ask about your day even when you can hear the sounds of a busy environment in the background. He remembers your accomplishments and failures. Whether you fall or rise, he’s there with you every step of the way. 

Sometimes, you get a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he laughs at you, calling you silly for whatever mistake you’re relying to him. You miss his voice when you don’t have an occasion to call, and when something happens, your first thought is always to tell him about it. 

Maybe he feels the same way, because the next time he comes to deliver your order, he tells you, “We’ve known each other long enough, ya order every week. I don’t like being called Miya. My name’s Atsumu.” 

Or maybe not, because he never treats you in person the way he does on the phone. There’s no spark of connection, no bright laughter, no willingness to linger, to stay, to listen. 

Perhaps he’s just shy. In that case, you’re willing to take what he’s offered you and make the first move.

The next time you order, you end the call with, “Thanks, Atsumu. I’ll talk to-“ 

There’s an abrupt interruption from the other end immediately. 

“What’d ya call me?” His voice sounds funny. 

“…Atsumu?”

Even when you’re confused, the sound of his belly deep laughter makes you feel all shivery from your toes to your head. It makes your joints feel weak, like they can’t support you, and you ease into the dining chair as you wait patiently for whatever laughing fit that’s gripped him to pass. 

“Atsumu,” he repeats, with another snort of laughter. “Atsumu, really?”

“What?”

“Ya know Onigiri Miya’s a five minute walk from yer place, right?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Come here,” he says, and hangs up. 

When you enter Onigiri Miya, you get instant whiplash. There’s two of them! 

You’re just wondering if you should get your eyes checked when you start seeing the subtle differences. They have different hair colors, and their eyes are just the subtlest shades apart. 

The most discerning difference is the way the one with grey hair is looking at you. 

“There’s the girl of the hour,” Atsumu says. “I’ll leave ya to it.” 

When Atsumu leaves, Miya gestures for you to sit at the bar in front of him. He’s still packing onigiri. 

“I’m a little hurt, ya know. Can’t believe ya mistook me for my twin.” 

“It was an accident!” You protest. “How was I supposed to know?” 

“I’m teasin’ ya,��� he says, laughing. “Yer so easy to rile up. Remember this, okay? I’m Osamu. The nicer brother.” 

“I heard that,” Atsumu yells from the back. 

“Atsumu’s just the delivery guy,” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eye. You don’t think it’s that funny, but you like seeing him mirthful. “I’d rather make the food than deal with the people, so he does it.”

“Am I part of the people?” 

He gives you a look. 

“Stop fishing for compliments,” he says, and your cheeks grow warm with delight. “Ya know ya aren’t.” 

“Here,” he says, sliding you a napkin with a series of numbers and a hand drawn picture of a cat. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.” 

By the cat’s head, the speech bubble reads, “Miya Osamu’s personal number.” The cat is winking at you. 

“Is this…?” 

He smiles at you. “Stop clogging up the line cause ya miss me-“

“I don’t-“

He ignores you. “I got a business to run, ya know? Just call me next time.”

Then, he leans over the bar. He’s too close. Your cheeks feel warm under his attention as he whispers to you, “I’ll make something just for ya, compliments of the chef.” 

Trying to recover, you swallow to bring moisture to your dry mouth. You’re trying to be playful when you say, “It’s a date, then?”

He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “It is.” 

[seokgyuu]

Strawberry Wine - Part 1

Pairing: Lee Jihoon (Woozi) x Fem!Reader

Genre: Romantic Comedy, Strangers to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Fake Dating, Smut (not in this part) MDNI!

Synopsis: After breaking off your engagement to your cheating fiancé, you decide to take the planned trip to Paris anyway. A vacation alone with the honeymoon suite all to yourself seems like the perfect distraction. Just that, due to an internal error at the hotel lost soul Jihoon, who still isn't over his first love's death five years ago, is staying in the same honeymoon suite as you.

Warnings (in this part): mentions of cheating, alcohol consumption, angst, probably a not so good description of paris tbh, the word "cock" is mentioned once, slight sexual tension

Word Count: 7.9k

A/N: hi everyone!! this is part one of my story for the world tour collab hostes by @svthub!! check out the masterlist here! this one is a bit of a... beginning, i guess, lol. the real drama and smut and all that will be in part two. but i still think this is a a fun part to get to know our characters! this not beta read and i might edit it later... thanks for reading i hope you enjoy <3 header & divider credit to @okiedokrie!

one; the author

The flash of the camera goes off and you’re almost sure your eyes were closed. The teenage girl next to you smiles brightly and waves at you once more before rushing off to go over to her mother. You lightly smile back and look over to your right where Minghao is giving you a thumbs up. Apparently, so you interpret his gesture, you’re holding up quite well for someone who just caught her fiancée cheating two weeks ago. 

You’re aware that you could have canceled the book signing today. No one would have been mad. But even though your heart is shattered to a million pieces and you don’t think you’ll ever heal from this hurt - you still need to earn money and make those who give you that money happy. Just sucks that the person you build this with is somewhere on the Bahamas with your biggest rival on the romance book market. Or, well, as your publisher says: your bestest friend on the romance book market. Since you’re both making money, of course. You can’t count the times you and her have been sent to events together, not saying a word to each other on the way there and playing happy family the second you are in front of the cameras. 

Her books weren’t even good! Boring and predictable if anyone asked you. Your ex had always agreed with you, even if he was her agent as well as yours. But Jaehyun was slick - he told her the same about your books. 

“Hi, oh my god, I love your books so much! I can’t wait for the next one!” It’s a boy with the brightest and whitest smile you have ever seen and for a second you can forget your sadness.

“Thank you so much. What name do you want me to sign?” 

The book signing ends about half an hour later. You’re in the car with Minghao who’s typing something on his phone as he sits in the backseat with you. 

“You did great, you know.” He says, not looking up. His words make your stomach turn uncomfortably even though you know he means well. 

“Thanks,” is your mumbled response, your head slowly turning to look out of the window. Minghao sets down his phone, realizing his words didn’t come out the way he wanted them to. He sighs.

“Best friend dearest,” he starts, “you know what I meant. Considering you have been in your room with no lights on and Adele on repeat for the last few months - you did exceptionally well socializing with people you don’t know.”

“It’s my job after all, isn’t it?” 

“No, your job is writing brilliant books, Y/N. This is just a bonus. Your books would sell wonderfully even without you doing this.”

Three months ago this would have made your chest fill with pride. You’d be beaming and agreeing with Minghao, content with your life and what you had made it to be. But now, it’s different. 

Now, all you feel is ache in your chest. No sense of pride, no smile in sight. No contentment with how your life is going. Joy has been missing in your palette of feelings for a long time. 

The city lights are what keep you awake. Exhaustion and the feeling of sadness that you have become so used to are close to make you falter, to make you want to go home and put those Adele songs right back on repeat. It’s not fair, you think. Not fair that your life was ruined this way and you can’t get back up. That all you’re able to do is live because you have to, not because you want to. And the closer July 17th comes - the more you feel yourself falling deeper into a hole. 

It’s hard to believe that three months ago you were a completely different person. A person who loved to laugh, who had fun game nights with her friends, cooked every day, went for runs in the morning, planned a wedding. You were a person who loved to love. All of this was accompanied by the person you had been sure you’d spend the rest of your life with: Jaehyun. He was tall, handsome, kind. You had met him through work - he had been assigned your agent when you switched publishers. He was your muse. Helped you with your books, made the sales sky rocket with the way he marketed you. 

For five years he was your everything. In some ways (ways you loathed) he still is. Your whole life revolved around him. Wherever you went - he did too. Whenever you fell - he was there to catch you. Nothing in the world could have ever prepared you for what was going to happen. But then again, when is someone ever prepared to be cheated on by the person they trusted the most in their life? 

To say it was a shock would be an understatement. Accidentally finding the messages he sent to her on his iPad. Confronting him and seeing his face fall, his expressions change into something you had never thought possible. He looked caught. Mainly because he was. Also because he never thought the truth would come to light. You had been the only one left in the dark. Everyone at the publishing house knew what he was doing. He and her. 

It wasn’t fair, you knew that, but in the beginning you couldn’t handle being mad at Jaehyun. Instead you focused all your anger on her, all the hurt you felt. It wasn’t like you had particularly liked her before - she was your rival, the person everyone always compared you to. She was younger than you, didn’t have as much experience - but she was more successful. At least to an extent. Her books regularly went viral on ‘booktok’, mainly because she wrote them like she worked in a factory. Every couple of months there’d be a new one - and people ate it up. You, on the other hand, liked to take your time, liked to write stories with captivating characters, with characters people could relate to - fall in love with. 

Suddenly your biggest rival became the person you hated and wanted to be like the most in the world. To be her would mean to have him. Him, who you still love so much, who still means everything. 

It is a little different now. 100 days later and you feel like you don’t love him as much anymore. Yes, it still hurts like hell and, yes, you want to stay home most of the days. But you don’t miss him as much as you used to. 

“Do you want to grab a drink?” Minghao asks now even though he already knows the answer. Gosh, you wish you could give him a yes. A smile and a yes. Instead, you only present him with the first, stretching out your hand and reaching for his.

“I need to get home, Hao. Today has been a lot.”

Minghao nods slowly, a sad smile on his pretty lips. He understands, he really does. But he also misses his happy best friend. Misses the way your eyes crinkle when you smile wholeheartedly , misses the sound of you honest laugh. No matter how many time will pass, he doesn’t think he could ever forgive Jaehyun for what he’s done to you.

Fighting with a french man on the phone at the crack of dawn surely had not been on your agenda for today. 

“I’m sorry, miss, but the cancellation period ended two weeks ago, there is nothing we can do.” 

It’s too early and you are too tired. He is probably too by now, considering he has been saying this sentence at least five times in the past seven minutes. You pull a hand through your hair and let it drop back onto the mattress after.

“My wedding isn’t happening anymore, and you really won’t let me cancel the honeymoon suite?” Usually, you’d never snap at anyone over the phone - especially custom service personnel, but this is different. What he’s implying means you won’t get any money back from one of the most expensive purchases you’ve made. Worst thing about this: you paid for this yourself. Jaehyun had paid the location - which of course could still be canceled. But the freaking hotel stay in Paris of course was set in stone! 

“I am very sorry, miss. I wish there was more that I could do. Perhaps you can take the trip yourself and enjoy our beautiful honeymoon sui-“

You hang up on him. It’s not polite, you’re aware. But just the thought of being alone in the suite you were supposed to enjoy with your freshly baked husband… no, absolutely not. Then, fine, you’d have to live with having spent thousands of dollars on a hotel suite you wouldn’t be able to use. 

As if life isn’t horrible enough already.

When you sit at brunch later that day with Minghao and your mutual friend Mingyu, they both stare at you like you’ve just told them you decided to get Jaehyun’s face tattooed on your thigh. 

“Are you kidding me? You basically get to have a Paris vacation for free for yourself!” Mingyu says, the glass of mimosa he is holding in his hand is almost spilling with the way he moves his arm. You scoff.

“What do you mean “free”? I literally paid for it months ago!” 

“Okay, and did you already make that money back?” Mingyu continues and raises his brow. You stay silent for a moment. 

The restaurant Minghao chose is filled with people enjoying the vegan food made from scratch. Your own very delicious avocado toast with a side of fresh fruit and soy-yogurt is laying in front of you, waiting to be eaten. The mimosa Minghao had ordered for you remains untouched. 

“She has.” Hao decides to answer for you as he sips from his mug of matcha. You shoot him a glare.

“So what! I’m not going to go to Paris by myself when this was supposed to be my honeymoon!” You try to stay quiet, looking from Minghao to Mingyu and back. Judging by their faces, they don’t seem to understand the big deal. 

You envy them. God, how much you wish you could just do it. Go on that already paid for vacation by yourself, not give a single damn about Jaehyun and his new girlfriend. Your heart sinks. Just thinking these words is making you feel like crawling back into bed. 

Minghao groans and puts his mug back on the table. 

“Y/N,” he starts and his voice sounds more serious than you’ve ever heard him talk before - even Mingyu seems startled, “I get it, okay? I get that he hurt you, that he made you believe in something that was never going to work. He is an asshole, if not the biggest asshole walking freely on this earth. But you’re young! You’re young and you deserve better than this! Keeping to yourself, barely leaving your apartment - your bed, honey, it’s not good for you. I understand that you want to stay away, that the world is a fucking scary place without the person you thought was your person right there next to you,” he grabs your hand over the table, “but do you know what all of this means? That your person is still out there! That you can still find them! And what better place to start than Paris, the literal city of love!”

He means well. Just like the other night after the book signing. He means well and he wants just what’s best for you. No one wants you to feel better as much as he does. Then why does it make you so mad that he is asking this of you? That he is calling you out this way? 

You pull your hand away from his and grab your purse from the free chair next to yours. Both men gawk at you, startled.

“Y/N-,” Mingyu tries, but you raise your hand to interrupt him.

“You get it, Hao? Really? Has your significant other of five years also cheated on you with your biggest rival? Did you also have to cancel a wedding you put hours and hours of work and money into? Because I don’t remember this happening to you! So, I would really appreciate it if you gave me the time I need to grieve this relationship and decide for myself when I am ready to get out again!”

Without giving them another look, you storm out of the restaurant. Everything around you is a blurr and you only notice that you’re crying when you reach your car. Cursing to yourself, you move to open your car, tears dripping from your cheeks down onto your shirt. God, what a pathetic little woman. Crying in your car after yelling at your best friends for what? For caring? For only meaning to help? 

It takes a while before you manage to start the engine and get on the road to drive home. The radio is silent and for a second you wished you could turn off your brain the same way. Just one switch and all thoughts gone. All the self doubts and the hurt, all the thoughts of what-if and the wish to travel back in time and never have you take his iPad. 

You stop at a red light and wipe away some more tears. You don’t dare to look into the mirror and check your make-up. 

Never finding the iPad, you circle back, if you had never found it, you wouldn’t be in this situation. No, you’d most likely still be in a relationship with a man that cheated on you. That didn’t love you half as much as he claimed, that didn’t deserve the time and care you’d given him. 

When the light turns green, you continue your way, your thoughts still roaming around the what if. And while your heart yearns for him back, for what you believed you had - your head knows it’s better this way. Jaehyun isn’t the one for you, as much as you would have loved him to be, Minghao is right. It’s just that the thought of starting over with someone new makes you cringe, makes fear rise within you. Someone new to give your heart to and hope they don’t break it the way Jae had. 

Once you’re on the highway you think back about the time you had decided to travel to Paris for your honeymoon. It had been your idea, your wish. Your first ever book, even if it never made it onto a bestseller list or into the mouths of the best romance critics - it was set in Paris. The city of live, the city you decided would become your favorite even though you had never been. Spending two weeks there with the love of your life after becoming his forever, seriously, nothing had ever sounded as wonderful as that. 

Minghao’s words ring in your ear. Your person is still out there, he said. And that Paris, as the city of love, would be the perfect place to go look for them. Your knuckles turn white around the steering wheel. You never wanted to spend time in Paris with anyone but Jaehyun. 

Or maybe, you think as you take the exit leading to your neighborhood, the only Person you need to spend time with in Paris is yourself. 

two; the lost soul

He never should have listened to Jeonghan. No one should ever listen to Jeonghan. The cab driver is speaking in quick french that Jihoon knows he wouldn’t understand even if he spelled out every word for him. Then again, he isn’t even sure the driver is talking to him or just about him. Jihoon can’t really blame him. After all, he is the stupid American with the stupid big guitar case and a backpack almost bigger than himself. 

The backseat is hot and Jihoon’s sunglasses do little to keep the sun from blinding him. 

Paris in the summer sounded better on paper than it does actually experiencing it. It’s nothing compared to the summer in Arizona, where Jihoon grew up, but having lived in Vermont for a while now, he wasn’t used to the burning hot, scorching sun that threatened to give him the sunburn of his life if he didn’t re-apply his sunscreen every few hours. 

Tara had always laughed at him and his easily burned skin. She never burned, no, she got a tan right away, looking beautiful in the rays of sunshine dazzling on her skin like they belonged there. 

Right now, he misses her more than he has in a while. When he passes the beautiful architecture of his first love’s favorite city, he smiles even with the sun shining directly into his eyes. 

In all seriousness, Jihoon doesn’t know why he is here. It feels wrong to be here without her, but it also felt like he had to take the invitation from his friend. She would have never forgiven him, if he let this opportunity fly. Visit the city of love, the city she had always dreamt about, he knows as wrong as it feels, it’s the right thing to do. 

A few minutes later, the cab stops in front of an old looking building. Without saying anything, the driver takes Jihoon’s Euros and drives off after heaving Jihoon’s suitcase out of his trunk. 

Jihoon looks after the car, his dark hair falling into his forehead. Once the cab takes the next corner, he looks at the building, something stirring in his stomach. This… doesn’t look like the pictures on AirBnb at all. Quickly, he fishes his phone out of his pocket, happy he booked the data package at the airport back home. Opening his app, he feels like he’s about to throw up his airplane food.

It’s not there. The apartment is gone from the app, not newly put in under a different name, not just gone because of a glitch. It’s like it never existed. Jihoon curses, moving his fingers over his screen, calling the customer service only to be met with a french speaking automatic voice that doesn’t help him in the slightest. 

Hanging up again, he stares at his phone for a few seconds. He shouldn’t have come. It feels too much like a sign. Maybe he should try changing his flight to this evening, maybe he should try to run after that cab and-

The phone in his hands rings and he quickly picks up.

“Hello?”

“Jihoonie!” It’s Jeonghan, the only reason he is in Paris in the first place, “did you make it to the city of love?”

“Yeah, and I wish I didn’t,” Jihoon mumbles in response, brushing his hair out of his face.

“Why? What happened?” Jeonghan does sound concerned, which might be a first.

“My Airbnb doesn’t exist.”

Silence. Jihoon just knows his friend is trying his hardest not to laugh. Oh, to be Yoon Jeonghann and always get entertained by his friends’ miseries. 

“Jeonghan, this isn’t funny, okay? I’m about to call another cab and get my ass back home.”

“No! No, you can’t go home! You’re here and I’m going to make sure these will be two of the most amazing weeks of your life, alright? Look, instead of home, get your ass to my hotel. I think I might have a solution for your problem.”

When Jeonghan texts him the address and Jihoon hails another cab, he doesn’t dare to hope that his friend has an actual solution. 

Perhaps Jihoon should have asked Jeonghan more thoroughly what kind of Hotel he works at. Because this looks very different to the building Jihoon just left. This is art, this is a fancy hotel in the middle of Paris’ most elegant streets, people in expensive clothes walking around Jihoon who has only a backpack and a guitar on his back. Jihoon gapes at the building, words he has read a million times suddenly filling his head, suddenly coming to life.

The façade of the hotel stands proudly on the bustling Parisian street, an exquisite testament to classical elegance and modern charm. The building’s cream-colored stonework is adorned with intricate carvings and ornate embellishments, each detail meticulously crafted to perfection. Above the entrance, a grand arch frames a large window, its glass shimmering in the soft light of the early evening.

Striped blue-and-white awnings shade the windows, their cheerful colors contrasting beautifully with the building’s stately architecture. Delicate wrought-iron balconies extend from the upper floors, offering glimpses of lush potted plants and inviting chairs, perfect for an intimate evening under the stars.

The entrance is framed by deep blue columns, and a passageway, warm light spills out from within, hinting at the luxurious interior that awaits guests. A pair of elegant lanterns flank the doorway, casting a gentle glow on the stone steps below.

Above the entrance, a crest adorned with elaborate scrollwork and a regal shield stands as a proud emblem of the hotel’s storied history. The name of the hotel is etched in graceful letters, a promise of the enchanting experience that lies within. 

He doesn’t dare to move from where he is standing. Doesn’t dare to step foot into the hotel that looks exactly the way he had envisioned the one Tara would always read to him. Goosebumps erupt all over his skin and he swears there are tears threatening to spill out of his eyes. This must be a dream, a different reality, because there is no way Jeonghan works here. 

But when Jihoon lets his eyes wander over the façade and into one of the magnificent windows - he spots his friend. Spots him on the phone behind the wooden counter, writing something down. He is here and this is real. 

So, Jihoon slowly moves. One foot before the other, eyes glued to the entrance, nis heart beating in his chest. He feels silly, but he wonders if Tara had seen this as clear as he had back when she had read the book to him over and over again. 

A welcome warmth meets Jihoon inside. It’s just as beautiful as the outside, he finds, his stomach turning over once more. 

The lobby exudes a warm, inviting glow, courtesy of the golden chandeliers that hang from the high ceilings, casting a soft light over the polished marble floors. Rich hues of deep blue and soft gold dominate the color palette, creating a sense of opulence and sophistication. Jeonghan stands behind the mahogany desk, still talking on the phone, still not spotting Jihoon. 

Jihoon, who feels so insanely out of place in his worn out jeans and the old leather jacket, with his hair unkempt and his eyebrow pierced. He moves over to the front desk, trying his hardest not to care about the stares he is getting from the people who clearly know he doesn’t actually belong here.

Jeonghan’s eyes light up when he sees him, a wide smile now on his lips as he holds up a finger as if to tell Jihoon to just be a little more patient. Jihoon carefully puts his hands on the top of the counter, his eyes roaming the lobby again. 

“Of course, we can’t wait to have you back here again so soon, Miss Jones. Have a great day, bye bye!” 

Jihoon’s eyes fly over to Jeonghan again when he hears the phone click. 

“You’re actually here!” Jeonghan’s smile grows and he moves forward to give Jihoon probably the most awkward hug of his life over the counter. Jihoon laughs at that, patting his friend on the back. 

“Well, it’s either this or the streets,” he smiles, “you never told me how… grant all of this is.” He gestures with his hands, as if to make sure Jeonghan knows he means the hotel. His blonde haired friend chuckles.

“Yeah, I thought it would come off like bragging if I did say so. I never would have heard the end of it from the boys.”

Jihoon nods. He knows exactly what Jeonghan means. Still. He can’t shake the feeling that if he had known about this… his stomach drops again.

“It’s beautiful.” Is all he eventually says, ignoring the worried look of his friend. Jihoon doesn’t know (and Jeonghan will never tell him) but there was a reason he had never mentioned this to him. 

“That, it is,” Jeonghan finally responds, wiping the worry off his face and replacing it with a broad smile, “and you will get to live here for the next two weeks!”

“I will what?!” Jihoon’s eyes widen in surprise, “Jeonghan, I can barely pay rent at home, what do you-,”

“Obviously for free, dummy,” Jeonghan chuckles, “we have a free suite that has already been paid for, full price.”

Jihoon raises his brows, his hands feeling damp on top of the fancy counter.

“How come it’s free when it’s fully paid?” He asks.

“Well, there was supposed to be a wedding and…. now there isn’t one. They didn’t meet the requirements for the full or the partial refund. So, it’s free for the next two weeks since we can’t legally double book. You want it?”

It feels a little bit too good to be true, but Jihoon is in no place to turn down Jeonghan’s offer. The little voice in his head is trying to get to him, trying to make him speak the words to himself. It tries to get him to admit that this feels a lot like fate. Like a sign from above, from Tara. He doesn’t let it get to him. He’s not ready for that, and he’s certainly not melancholic enough for thoughts like this - even as a songwriter. 

“I do, thank you, Han, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you right now.”

“Oh, most certainly sleep on the streets. Find a rat for a friend, or maybe a pigeon. They are crazy over here,” Jeonghan sings as he types something in the computer, scanning one of the key cards he takes from the drawer beneath him. Jihoon watches him with his heartbeat in his ears. 

“Yeah, never been a big fan of rats. Or pigeons.” Jihoon dares to look around the lobby again, seeing all those people living their life, probably never worried about any of the things he worries about. He wasn’t lying when he said he has trouble paying his rent. Work hasn’t been easy these days. 

“Aaaaand, here we go!” Jeonghan grins brightly, “your key, Mr. Lee.” He holds it mid air, pulling it back slightly as Jihoon is trying to grab it. The latter gives him a funny look. Jeonghan pouts as he thinks.

“That rhymes. “Your key, Mr. Lee”.” Jihoon closes his eyes for a second. Jeonghan chuckles happily.

“Watch out, I’m coming for your job.”

“Well, stop it and do yours instead,” Jihoon replies, allowing himself to grin back at his friend and take the card from his hands, “where is this suite you promised me?”

-

Jeonghan hadn’t mentioned what kind of suite this is. There is nothing Jihoon can do but stare at his surroundings with his mouth and backpack dropped, his guitar slowly sliding down his arm. 

He is in the honeymoon suite. In retrospect, it makes sense. Jeonghan did say a wedding had been canceled. 

There are three rooms. Right now, Jihoon is standing in the enormous entrance way. Golden and blue like downstairs, with wood accents, a big round table in the center of the room that connected all the different rooms, a centerpiece of flowers as beautiful as a summer day adjoining it. The walls are high and plastered with fine drawing, ornating through all of the hallway and over to the other rooms. Flowers and patterns so elegant Jihoon doesn’t know how to even describe them. 

He feels out of place as much as he feels content. Letting his luggage rest on the floor, he moves into the first room. It’s a large sitting room, probably as big as his whole apartment back at home. Two couches of rich dark blue; cushions in different colors, some of them reminding Jihoon of the ocean, some of the sky, rich blues and light blues, and then there is the color of dawn, orange and yellow. 

A majestic cremé colored carpet lays beneath the sofas, a glass table standing between them. On top of it magazine stacks and a glass tray holding what looks like whiskey and two glasses. High windows let the sun shine through and Jihoon spots a balcony leading around the living- and bedroom, holding his breath as he imagines himself out there softly strumming his guitar with a glass of whiskey or wine. His heart warms at the thought of finally having peace. Peace in the city his former lover had loved so much. 

Next up he walks into the bedroom, a king sized bed greets him with white linen covers and pillows almost as big as his torso. It looks incredibly comfortable and he couldn’t wait to lay down and relax after the day he’s had. Golden curtains sway in the wind let in by an opened window, and the view is so poetic he almost feels himself tear up. Quickly, he looks away and instead finds his way into the master bathroom. It’s all held in gold as well, gold and white for a change, an enormous tub next to a high rain shower behind a glass wall. He sighs.

This is perfect. And he most definitely needs a shower right now. 

So, he retraces his steps and grabs his luggage, setting everything down next to the bed and letting his guitar rest in the corner of the room. He decides to actually unpack his backpack that probably doesn’t even hold as much clothes as he probably needs for this trip (he did think he had a washer, though) and places everything in the large closet opposite the bed. 

Finding himself humming, Jihoon allows a little bit more of that earlier peace to find place in his head and heart. Perhaps there is no reason for him to be worried - to look for something to go terribly wrong on this trip. Jeonghan is off work by now, and they’ll go catch dinner together, then he’ll come back here and maybe watch a movie, fall asleep to the sound of Paris outside his window. He doesn’t know what it sounds like just yet, but he’s already excited to find out. 

Ridding himself of his clothes and feeling another threat of tears when he touches the towels hanging in the bathroom, Jihoon finally lets himself step into the shower and wash all of his worries away. 

three; the mix-up

You don’t think your heart has ever beaten as fast as it does when you walk out the Charles de Gaulle airport and right into the arms of the driver Minghao has arranged for you. It’s not about the driver or the airport - but where you are. 

Paris, the city of love, the city you feared to visit after what had happened with Jae. Yet, here you stand. Handing the driver your luggage and fishing for your phone in your purse, texting Minghao you already found your driver and are now on the way to the hotel. It all feels surreal and like you’re going to wake up any second.

Minghao forgave you without hesitation. Hugged you close to his chest and cried with you as you told him you were sorry and that he was right. You needed to do this - needed to face your demons. Together, the two of you had finalized the plans, popping open a bottle of expensive champagne and gossiping about Jaehyun and who he left you for. Little by little, you knew, you would find yourself again. And perhaps Paris was the perfect way to start. 

The drive from the airport to the hotel was spent staring out the window. First you saw the highway leading from the airport to the city - greenery with trees on each side, all passing by you in a blurr. And then the beautiful streets of Paris. The fine architecture, the elegant bridges over the Seine. Heart warming at the sight of the city you dreamt about so much. Your first ever book had taken place right here, you had let your main characters kiss for the first time right there on that bridge leading from one side of Paris to the other, so close to the Louvre, to the glass pyramid you made them fight and make up all the same, just months apart. The sun is dazzling onto the dark water of the river, light dancing on the surface. 

The driver comes to a stop in front of the hotel about 45 minutes after your departure from Charles de Gaulle. He holds open the door for you and helps you out of the car, smiling at you warmly and finally getting your bags out of the trunk. You thank him in some broken French and he nods at you before finding his way back to the driver’s seat. 

One of the bell-boys spot you right when you walk in, their English sounding a bit like your French just now. You thank them and hand over your luggage, letting them help you carry it to the mahogany reception.

It is exactly like you remember it. You had never seen it in person, no. But you’ve found this hotel during your research, falling in love with it right away. It was a no-brainer that your honeymoon was to be held here. 

You felt overwhelmed at the sight of the colors you had tried so hard to bring to paper, at the sound of soft music in the background, at the knowledge this was real and you were gonna stay here for two whole weeks. 

Finally, you reach the counter where a small man stands and smiles up at you, his hair styled back.

“Welcome, how can I help you?” He says in perfect English and you place your hands on top of the counter.

“Hi,” you tell him your name, “I have a reservation.”

The man nods, looking up the reservation and finding it right away. Not marked as checked in, he notes and gives you another big smile.

“It is wonderful to have you, Miss. Will your husband be joining you?” 

You expected as much. While it does hurt a little, having to say these next words, you know it’s a step in the right direction.

“I will be staying here alone, thank you.”

It is more beautiful than you could have imagined and it takes you a whole lot not to start crying. Your luggage gets brought up by the nice bell-boys and you thank them by tipping them each 50 Euros. Their smiles make the loss of the money worthwhile. 

Once the door closes behind them, you dare to look around. See the beautiful entrance way in all its glory. See the living room in all it’s elegance, the high ceiling and windows, the smaller bedroom with a queen sized bed and a little reading nook, two ceiling high bookshelves standing around a comfortable looking loveseat. This must be what heaven looks like. 

There is nothing that can wipe that smile off your face. Everything inside you tingles with happy excitement, moving to go look at the master bedroom with the on-suite bathroom you remembered staring at for at least five minutes when you booked the room. Imagining yourself in the enormous bathtub with a glass of champagne and classical music playing, letting all the stress and hurt from the past months fade away with the notes. 

You don’t notice the closet and how there are clothes hanging inside it. Neither do you see the guitar case in the corner of the room. It fascinates you - how your mind tricks you into thinking you already hear the sound of water running, accompanied by humming along to a tune. Magnificent, what the mind can do. 

When you finally reach for the doorknob to push it down, yanking the door open in one swift move, you realize perhaps your mind isn’t as magnificent as you thought.

Jihoon doesn’t notice you until you scream. He swirls around, which is inherently a foolish thing to do inside a wet, slippery shower, his eyes widening whe spots you, reacting to your scream by screaming himself. He realizes he’s naked and tries to find something to cover him, taking a step forward to reach for the towel and forgetting there is literally a glass wall separating you two. 

Watching the man walk face-first into the glass and stumbling back, slipping on the wet floors and falling onto his ass would have made you laugh if it wasn’t inside your shower. 

“What the hell!” You yell, turning around so you don’t look at the naked man any longer.

“Who are you?!” He yells back and you almost gasp.

“I should ask you that!”

The two of you need to yell because Jihoon has not yet managed to turn the shower off. Only now does he (while rubbing his hurting back) get up, struggling in the process, his hand finding the lever to turn off the water. His nose hurts and his ass and his back. 

He moves out of the shower without running into glass this time, and wraps one of the soft towels around his waist. 

“I’m Jihoon,” he finally says. You think you’re suddenly stuck in a really bad movie.

“That- you’re telling me your name?!” You turn around again, staring at the stranger with disbelief in your eyes. 

“You did ask who I was, didn’t you?”

For a few moments the two of you continue to stare at each other. With every passing second you notice just how naked he is. Yes, there is a towel around him now, but you certainly did not… miss what was under there when you first walked in. As much as you don’t want to, your eyes scan the stranger, or well, Jihoon as he told you, stopping at his wet torso, the defined abs and the broad chest. He might be small in height but the rest of him seems… big. 

You swallow.

“If you’re done checking me out, would you mind telling me why you’re in my room?”

Heat spreads through your body and right into your face, your eyes jumping from his torso to his face.

“Your room? I’m sorry, this is my room!”

While Jihoon did hit his head, he isn’t hurt enough not to understand that you’re most likely telling the truth. But Jeonghan had said the wedding was off… that you wouldn’t come here. So, why on earth, where you here?

“I- I can explain,” he begins, taking a step forward only for you to take a step backward. He holds out his hand as if to signal he wasn’t going to do anything.

“Go right ahead,” you hate that your voice is shaking, but it’s not like it is an everyday occurrence you find a beautiful stranger in your hotel room. If this wasn’t your actual life but a book this might have been sexy, might have led to the bed behind you finding the two strangers entangled, giving in to the sexual tension between them. Not that there was any of that in this situation.

“My friend, Jeonghan, he- he works here. He told me this suite wouldn’t be used and so I- well he asked me if I wanted to stay here for my trip after I told him my airbnb didn’t actually exist and I needed a, uh, a place to stay.”

You blink at him.

“He just- he gave you my honeymoon suite for free?

Jihoon swallows.

“Well…,” he thinks a little longer on his answer, “yes. Yes, he did.”

Telling the truth is probably his best bet. 

You take a deep breath, turning away from him, clenching and unclenching your hands.

“As you can see, I am here. So, please, find somewhere else to stay.”

Jihoon saw it coming, obviously. It was all too good to be true. Without saying anything else, he walks over to the closet, ready to dress himself. Just that he didn’t quite calculate the new luggage now laying in front of the bed. 

It all seems to happen in slow motion.

Jihoon tripping over your suitcase, his hands desperate trying to find something to hold on to before he falls. As if on reflex, you grab his arm, yanking him up so he doesn’t fall flatly on his face, just that you somehow manage to yank him so hard, you fall off balance. With a high pitched squeak, you fall onto the bed, Jihoon landing on top of you, his towel falling off in the process of the fall and save. 

A naked man is on top of you, brown eyes wide with shock staring into yours. His hands somehow moved right to the sides of your head as if to catch himself from falling even further on top of you. 

You can feel him. Feel his breath on your face, his skin on yours, his friend against your thigh. More heat rises, your face, your neck, your chest, your core. It’s bad. This shouldn’t be happening right now. 

The two of you are so engulfed in the moment, you don’t even realize when the door opens yet again. When voices you would normally recognize without trouble seem to fail your ears this time. Jihoon’s face so close to yours - way too distracting.

“What the fuck?!” 

Realization hits you at the same time as recognition and you gasp, your knee coming up, right into Jihoon’s lower parts, a yelp escaping him as he slides off the bed, hands now covering his private area and his face in a grimace of sheer pain. 

You don’t even notice it. Not really, at least. Now it’s not his face that’s distracting you but the one you used to love for so many years.

“Jaehyun?” You whisper. And for a second you think he came here to make amends, to win you back, to get on his knees and apologize - then you spot her walking in, her eyes scanning the room with distaste. 

“Who is that?” Jaehyun asks and you feel your blood boil. 

“What are you doing here?” You ignore his question. He isn’t looking at you, but at Jihoon still on the floor. 

“Oh, well, you know. We thought that it would be such a waste to let this suite go to waste,” it is her who answers you now, her deep red manicured hands now curling around Jaehyun’s biceps. 

This bitch. Your blood starts boiling. Anger makes you see red. 

“You brought her here?” You hiss at Jaehyun who has the decency to look guilty at least. You snort. Then, your eyes find Jihoon who’s still on the ground, Jihoon who is still naked. Jihoon, who desperately needs a place to stay. 

God knows what makes you do what you do next. Desperation? Foolery? Who knows. But you move to help Jihoon up, grabbing the towel and holding it in front of his lower half. 

“Y/N,” Jaehyun starts but you interrupt him.

“I see that we both had the idea to bring our new partners, or in your case old partner, to the suite we booked together, Jae. But since I was the one who paid for it, I would kindly ask you to leave.”

New partner. Jihoon needs a few seconds before he grasps what you just said. 

“New- new what?” He mumbles, but you clear your throat to drown out his voice. Jaehyun’s face is priceless and you don’t want the bluff to be uncovered so quickly.

“That is your new boyfriend?” She asks, her brows raised. You can see that she’s checking him out - his abs, his cest, his pretty face. It makes your insides turn with hatred and disgust. 

“Got a problem, Sierra?” You reply, your jaw tense. Her eyes only briefly meet yours.

“Oh, absolutely not. I’m glad to see you finally got out of that moping phase, honey. It really didn’t suit you.” 

Your grip around the towel tightens. 

Slowly, Jihoon begins to understand what is going on. Who these people are. There was supposed to be a wedding and a honeymoon, but neither of these happened. You are the bride, or well, were supposed to be the bride. And he, the man you called Jaehyun and who had caused all the color to fade from your face, surely seems to be the groom who… never got to be the groom. And judging by the way you reacted to him and her, he guesses the reason the wedding didn’t happen was… the woman you’d called Sierra. 

Blinking a few times, Jihoon realized that you were trying to convince him that he was your new boyfriend. That you had brought him here, to this hotel. It was ridiculous and straight out of a bad movie, but somehow… even if he didn’t know you, he felt like he should help you. And so, he let his arm wrap around your waist, catching you by surprise. 

“I would kindly ask you to leave us be. You have done enough.”

Your head swirled to look at the man next to you. His stern face and his wet hair. Drops of water sliding down the side of his neck. 

“How long has this been going on?” Jaehyun asks, ignoring Jihoon’s request. You turn to look at him again.

“That’s none of your business. You heard him, Jae. Leave. This isn’t your room anymore.”

Another beat of silence falls between the four of you. You try your best to ignore Sierra and cling onto Jihoon’s hand like it was the only saving grace. Perhaps that was true. Holding Jae’s gaze and trying to calm down your hurting heart, your wishes to throw something at him. 

“Fine. I heard the honeymoon suite in the Hilton is much nicer than this one, baby.”

It is then that you see it. The rings on her finger. Your stomach drops. He married her. Oh, you’re about to throw up. Jihoon seems to notice your change of emotions, quickly clearing his throat.

“Great. Have fun in Paris then.” 

He carefully takes the towel from your hand, wrapping it around him fully again. Then, he looks at you. The overwhelming urge to give you a hug is almost unbearable.

“Maybe,” Jaehyun said, “since we are both seeing other people and have moved on - we could grab dinner sometime this week. All of us.”

Jihoon sees the way your eyes shake at the suggestion. And he is just about to say no, that that’s not a good idea, when you push your shoulder back and hold your head high.

“What a lovely idea. We’d love to, isn’t that right, baby?” You interlock your fingers with Jihoon’s and he stares at you for just a second, before nodding.

“Sure,” he breathes out, looking at Jaehyun and Sierra. 

It most certainly isn’t a lovely idea, he is well aware of that. This whole thing isn’t a good idea. But here he is. Holding the hand of a woman he barely met twenty minutes ago. A woman who has seen him naked, a woman who had his half hard cock against the inside of her thigh. A woman he had been closer to than any other in the last five years. 

No, this wasn’t a good idea. This was an awful, horrible idea that could only go so, so wrong. 

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller's ff) - chapter 3

chapter 2 | series masterlist | main asterlist | chapter 4

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader.

summary: you're at your wits' end with joel. so you have to do something about it.

warnings: 18+. nsfw. mdni. mention of sarah's death. probably absolute filth. some slapping. explicit smut with a plot. softdom!joel. biting. masturbation (m and f). finger sucking. unprotected piv. a bit of ass play. pet names (darling, sweetheart). sir kink. a slight breeding kink. some violence towards the end. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 36. no use of y/n. joel's and reader's pov.

a/n: buckle up, my friends. i apologise in advance, but this has been coming for the last two chapters lmao. who am i to deny them? no one. all interactions welcome! enjoy and thank you all for reading! <3

w/c: ~3k.

It had been a week since Joel almost lost his mind, and he still couldn’t comprehend what had possessed him to do such a thing. For a split second he had lost control of his own actions and gave in to his yearning. A yearning for human connection he did not know he had. The last few months had been living hell, to say the least.

Every time he closed his eyes to try and sleep, Joel could only see Sarah’s face. Her smile, her warm hugs, her giggles, her vivacity. And then, the light abandoning her eyes, her blank expression, her limp limbs as he would press her dearly against his chest. The desperation he felt then had still not deserted him. He had been a man of God because that was what his family had imparted him, but since Sarah’s death his faith was wavering. Why would God take her away from him? Sarah was an angel sent from above, she should have not suffered such demise. So, either God was a cruel entity, or an imaginary one.

That night Joel did not even attempt to get some rest so decided to do the first night shift instead. They were still at the same cave as it had proved to be a good spot to rest up and plan what their next steps would be. Tommy had suggested they checked out the quarantine zones the government had set up in big cities, but Joel was not so keen on the idea. In the last nine months since the outbreak, they had been witness to too many ungodly acts ― all committed by the living, not so many by the dead.

That was why they were in Ouachita National Forest, further north than what they were a few months ago. They were still debating whether they should head towards Kansas City, Chicago or remain in the wilderness. Although resources were scarcer, so were the clickers. They had not encountered too many people either, which, considering their past experiences, it was a good thing. No one could be trusted anymore.

Joel sat down on a tree stump by the entrance of the cave, rifle on hand. He had his worn-out, unbuttoned military jacket on as temperatures dropped considerably after sunset. The night was so quiet it felt eerie. He could not see anything when he looked up as the treetops fully covered the night sky. He assumed it would be a starry night, clear of clouds. He kept his mind occupied with made-up scenarios to avoid drifting away into Morpheus’ world.

Hours had gone by when Joel heard the slight twitch of a branch from behind him. He rapidly stood up, gripping the rifle with tension. When he turned around and saw you, he clicked his tongue with disdain.

You were too sleepy to pick up on his rude gesture. You stretched your back, which hurt like hell. You had tried to fashion some sort of cushioned bed with leaves and grass, but your makeshift bed was still hard as a rock.

“What time is it?”, you asked grumpily.

“Not sure, around four in the morning?”, he answered without looking at you while he sat back down.

“You have a wristwatch, don’t you know how to read the time?”, you said sneeringly to get some sort of reaction out of him.

“Huh, you’re so fucking funny I’d laugh if I could”, he rolled his eyes in annoyance. “It’s broken”.

You looked at him in silence, as you had done many times in the last week. You didn’t understand how this man could kiss you like the world was ending and then, a second later, he would pretend you were nothing more than an annoying moth flying around him.

It infuriated you. He infuriated you.

He was there as if nothing had happened between the two of you, while you just woke up because of a very realistic dream. Or should you say a nightmare? Your body had some unreleased, built-up tension that was damn hard to ignore. You blamed Tommy for interrupting you ― had it not been for him, you might have known what it felt like to be under Joel. Or on top of him.

You shook your head, angry at yourself and at the man in front of you.

“Sure is, I bet they didn’t teach you how to read the time when you went to school, hmmm, when? Back in the 50s?”, you teased again.

He stood up, leaving the rifle on the ground, leaned against the stump.

“Seriously, what is your fucking problem?”, he growled, his fists tightly closed on his sides.

Finally ― a breakthrough.

“My problem?”, you chuckled. “You are my problem, Joel Miller. Are you telling me you have forgotten about what happened a week ago, huh?”, you ventured.

“What happened a week ago was a mistake, that is what it was. I don’t even know what kind of demon possessed me, because I wouldn’t even touch you with a ten-foot pole”, you could almost hear his teeth grinding against each other.

His words hurt you, but they made you even madder. Who did he think he was anyway?

“You are a fucking mistake. And what you say is complete bullshit. Do you think I have not noticed how you look at me when you believe I’m not paying attention? You pretend you are not interested, but you need a goddamn reality check if you really think so”, you snapped back, the palms of your hands tingling ― you wanted to punch him so bad.

“You are frigging delusional, darlin’. You are the only woman I have seen in the last few months, it’s not like I have much to choose from, do I? It was a desperate move, nothing else. Stop imagining things―”.

That was it. He had crossed a line. So you slapped him to shut him up. His rugged face turned ninety degrees with the force of your blow. His cheek reddened slightly.

And then you grabbed him by the neck of his flannel shirt, forcing down his face towards you so he would not have time to react. You were going to prove him who was right ― and it wasn’t him.

You kissed him, separating his lips with your tongue. You outlined his top teeth with the tip of your tongue and then he let you in. You would have smirked if you could. You mapped out his whole mouth with quick but insisting twirls, Joel following your lead. You helped him remove his jacket.

One of your hands was still holding onto his plaid shirt while the other travelled south. You could swear Joel had stopped breathing, but you distracted him by breaking the kiss and looking at him with intent. His lips were parted and wet with your spit, slightly red. You grazed the prominent bulge on his jeans with the palm of your hand, biting your bottom lip down when he heavily sighed with some relief before he trapped your mouth with his again.

You let go of the flannel shirt to work on the buckle of his belt, unfastening it with some difficulty. Joel groaned loudly when you pulled down from the brim of his jeans to bring them down just below his ass, giving you plenty of access. One of Joel’s hands darted to your neck, circling your throat with the span of his fingers and squeezing lightly. Not to the point where you couldn’t breathe, but to the point where it made the whole experience even more pleasurable.

You moaned while your hand trespassed the elastic of his underwear and dipped your fingers down. You grabbed his manhood, already hard and leaking from the tip. You smiled as your thumb rubbed the precum against his sensitive skin and then slowly started to pump him. You had not seen his cock yet, but judging by the girth of it, you were not to be disappointed. You put some pressure on his shaft before upping the rhythm of the pumps.

“Fuck it, fuck this”, Joel wailed as he broke off the kiss.

For a second, you thought he was going to push you away.

His mind was spinning like a Ferris wheel coming off its hinges. He was mad, utterly mad. He shouldn’t but wouldn’t stop. Not now when you had enticed him this far. His dick was pulsing in your hand, and he was panting like a thirsty dog which had not tasted water in days.

He grabbed your adventurous hand and forced you to take it out of his briefs. Then he pushed you towards a fallen tree nearby. Joel was right behind you, his manhood hard pressed against your ass as he bit your neck, then pecking it where he had marked you. He took off your shirt before you could complain. You wore no bra, so when the cold air touched your sensitive nipples, you sighed. Joel’s hands were resting on your hips, but both quickly moved upwards until they gently cupped both of your breasts. He massaged them with care while he left a path of kisses on the side of your neck.

Then his left hand ventured south at the same time he twirled your right nipple between his fingers. You whimpered audibly when he dunked two fingers in your wet slit. He traced you up and down, your knees trembling with delight. Your cunt was so soft with your own fluids that it felt like velvet. Joel wondered how it would taste if he flattened his tongue against the damp skin and fucked you with his tongue. He groaned at the thought, and instead he paid special attention to your clit with his dextrous fingers. Your back arched, your ass touching his bulge ― you unconsciously wiggled your hips to grind on his cock. Then he tested your entrance with one fingertip, circling it slowly, while your bottom lip was quivering.

“You want this?”, he said in a coarse voice.

You nodded.

“Speak up, sweetheart”, he demanded.

“Yes, please, sir”, you whispered.

You closed your eyes and suspired loudly when his ring finger got greedily engulfed by your dripping hole. He started slowly, then fingered you relentlessly with two digits, to the point where you had to grasp his wrist to steady yourself. He curved them towards the front of your insides, stroking the right spot. You couldn’t help but watch as his fingers disappeared between your soaked folds. Your mouth shaped a perfect ‘O’ before you let go and came violently on his fingers. But Joel gave you no truce, he carried on masturbating you until you orgasmed twice more in quick succession with tears in your eyes. Your cunt was gushing for him ― you could feel the trickle of your cum going down your inner thighs. Your knees bended and you almost fell to the floor, but Joel held you by your hips with the firm embrace of his right arm.

“Good girl”, he purred in your ear, offering you his wet left hand.

You wrapped both of your hands around his wrist to hold it in place and sucked on his fingers with wanton need, his digits touching the back of your throat. You showed him explicitly what you would do to his throbbing dick if you had the chance. You licked him clean, tasting yourself on him.

Joel understood exactly what you were doing, feeling the tip of his cock touching his lower belly. He pushed down your trousers and underwear in one swift movement. Joel placed one hand on your back to make you go down on your knees. You kneeled on the ground, and he did so behind you. You put your hands down on the fallen trunk and looked over your shoulder for a minute. Joel had freed his dick, and he was holding it from the base. For a moment you wondered if it would fit, and you bit down your lip at the idea. You felt hypnotised by the sight, pondering how it would feel against your tongue, its glans pushing past your uvula, suffocating you.

“Lean forward for me, darlin’”, he muttered, and you happily obliged with dreamy eyes.

You rested your left cheek against the fallen log in between your hands, ass up in the air. You heard the rustling of leaves as Joel positioned himself right behind you. He placed his hands on your butt cheeks and cracked them open to have a peek. Joel groaned at such blissful picture. He could see your pussy literally throbbing for him, beckoning him like a siren a sailor. What a sight to see, he thought. With a pained huff, he let go of your buttocks and guided the tip of his dick to kiss your entrance. You hissed with pleasure. Finally, you thought. But he didn’t go in ― instead he trailed the tip of his cock along your slick cunt a few times.

“Joel, please, I beg―”.

“Shh”, he hummed at the exact time he went back down to your needy hole and pushed in his tip. Your flesh parted to make way. Your pussy was aching for him, burning to feel him inside. You have never felt this aroused in your life.

He took his sweet time, caressing your clit again as he went in inch by inch until his whole length was inside you. He stayed there for a long minute, letting you get used to him filling you up entirely. Your pussy choked his manhood at irregular intervals ― you just couldn’t control your own muscles anymore. It felt like heaven for both of you.

Then he moved back slowly, his shaft almost slipping out before he pushed back in with brute force. Joel freed your clit from his touch to grab your hips and started fucking you mercilessly. He found a devilish rhythm and you just went along with it. Both of your moans could be heard from yards away, as well as the squelching sounds coming from where you two connected ― luckily for you, Tommy slept like a log.

The roughness of the wood scratched the skin on your cheek, but you didn’t care. It felt too good. Your fingers clutched, trying to hold on to something as your body was being rocked by Joel’s thrusts, an orgasm creeping up on you. And then you came again, almost screaming into the dead of night, like you never came before. You could feel your whole cunt squeezing him uncontrollably, your clit burning with electricity. You felt extremely overstimulated, but you let Joel ride you to find his own release.

Joel’s eyes had rolled to the back of his head ― he had never felt this horny before. This damn woman ―you― was doing something to him, albeit he didn’t know what. He felt your inner walls tightened firmly around his cock and he almost lost it. Every time he locked eyes on where you two met, seeing his shiny dick pulling out of you, he thought you the most beautiful woman in the whole world.

His balls were so tense he feared he was going to spill his seed in you. But he found the last bit of sanity within him ― as much as he would love to claim you for himself, he couldn’t. And so, he pulled out just in time, lodging his shaft between your buttocks. He put his hands on each side of your ass to squeeze his manhood in the fold of your skin. He leaned forward, his chest against your back, to bite you between your shoulder blades before straightening himself again. Joel pumped himself a couple of times in between your buttocks and came on you abundantly. What a waste, you thought out of nowhere.

Both of you stayed in the same exact position for a hot minute, breathing heavily with effort. You were the first one to move, although your limbs felt like jelly. You grabbed some leaves and cleaned the cum off your lower back as Joel watched you avidly.

Joel stood up and pulled up his briefs and jeans, while his mind was racing with doubt. He shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have let it go this far. What was meant to be a lesson for you, ended up being a lesson for himself too. Concealing his concern, he offered a hand to help you get up. You gladly took it and proceeded to clothe yourself again, being fully conscious of Joel’s hungry gaze.

You smiled at him.

“That was fun―”.

“A mistake”, he cut you off before you could say anything else.

You were left speechless. What did he just say?

“Are you fucking shitting me right now, Joel?”, you shouted at him. “Because if you are joking, I swear to God I will―”, your anger was raising up fast.

“No, I ain’t joking, we shouldn’t have done this. You don’t understand, I’ll just get you k―”.

“JOEL!”, you screamed at the top of your lungs when you suddenly saw a man a few yards behind him.

Before Joel could grab the rifle, a gunshot was heard and impacted on Joel’s right shoulder. He fell to the ground in agony, and you hastened to kneel beside him. Blood was quickly soaking his flannel shirt.

“No, Joel, please―”, then you felt someone pulling your hair back and yelled in pain. “Let go of me, you jerk!”. It was a different man.

The first man who had shot at Joel came towards you. Joel tried to sit up to fight back, but the man with the gun hit him in the head with the grip of the weapon and Joel fell back down on the dirt.

He was not moving. Was he dead? No, he couldn’t be. You felt the bile rise up in your throat but managed to hold it.

“Joel, Joel―”, you said with tears running down your cheeks.

“Shut up, bitch”, said the second man before slapping you.

You fought them back with all you had, but in the end, they hit you in the head too, rendering you unconscious, and dragging you away.