#my cheeks are warm and my heart is beating too fast

[yael-things]

AHHHHHH VENT POST

[kamaluhkhan]

ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY

pairing: vi x fem!reader word count: 10.5k summary: after years away, vi returns home for the holidays and reunites with you, her ex-girlfriend. the universe (*cough cough* and your meddling families) push you together again, and neither of you can ignore the feelings that linger. (or: you, vi, and the ghosts of christmas past, present and future.) warnings: reader is ekko's older sister but not necessarily biological so appearance isn't specified; childhood friends to lovers + second chance romance; reader gets hit on by a creepy guy + gets into a fight (injury + blood mention), smut [strap mention (reader receiving), oral (both receiving), fingering (both receiving), biting, spitting, tribbing, sub!vi makes an appearance...kinda rough + possessive sex but there's aftercare too <33] (18+) ! a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR GIRLS AND GAYS <33 tbh i debated whether to post this now bc xmas was like....3 weeks ago but figured i might as well. so pls enjoy what is essentially an x-rated sapphic hallmark holiday movie.

♪: ‘tis the damn season by taylor swift (sun); winterbreak by MUNA (moon); last christmas by wham! (rising)

track 1: thank god it’s christmas by queen

(winter — age 17)

“okay, just relax your fingers — no, but keep some tension, apply a bit of pressure on the string….yep, that’s better. now, straighten your back….”

it’s dark and snowing outside, and the cold’s seeping in through the window of her attic bedroom, but vi still almost melts into the floor when you follow her advice and press against her chest. she worries that you can feel how fast her heart is beating — faster than it maybe should for someone she’d been calling friend ever since she could remember. 

you shift in her lap, her arms still wrapped around yours from when she offered to guide you through an instrumental version of wham’s “last christmas.” you tilt your head towards her, nose almost brushing against hers. 

“vi?”

“....yes?”

“maybe we should finish our lesson another time. we better hurry up, anyways. i bet ekko and powder are already arguing over whether we should watch home alone or home alone two.”

vi snorts. it’s practically a tradition at this point, along with the annual post-christmas-dinner pyjama movie night.

you try to hand her the bright pink guitar pick, but vi shakes her head.

“it’s yours. you’re gonna need it if you want more lessons.” 

“hm, or maybe i could sell it for a billion dollars once you’re a big rockstar,” you tease. “i can picture thousands of fangirls painting your portrait and writing mrs. violet lanes in their notebooks.” 

you get up, shoot her a wink, and leave vi on the bed, clutching her guitar and trying to get her pulse under control. 

neither of you say anything as you both get changed. the stereo plays the mixtape you’d made for her — you got her for secret santa this year.

“my mom loved this song,” vi hums, a warm ache growing in her chest when the next song plays. this is the second christmas without her, but vi is still not used to using past tense. “she thought freddie mercury was the best rockstar of all time.”

“i remember. you…you must miss her.” 

of course she does, and she could run through a million reasons why.

“vander says you’ll be spending new year’s at your dad’s,” is what she says instead.

you let out something between a scoff and a laugh. “yeah.”

“your mom going, too?”

“just me and ekko. i swear, it’s like he’s trying to be this perfect dad to his new stepkids, meanwhile he’s the one who left us here to deal with his mess, the one who just ran away, and….whatever.” this time, you do scoff. “hey �� do you have a shirt i could borrow?”

vi looks over to find that you’ve switched from the velvet dress you wore during dinner into a pair of flannel plaid pants; her cheeks flush when she sees that you’re only wearing a black lacy bralette on top. 

she clears her throat and pulls a clean jersey from her dresser, tosses it over to you. 

“that’s a shame. i was looking forward to spending new year’s eve together.”

you hum and slip the shirt over your shoulders. the only sources of light are the moon and the stars and the multicoloured christmas lights strung along vi’s walls, but she swore that your eyes flick down to her lips. 

“why’s that?” you ask. 

there’s something absolutely dizzying about being this close to you, the way your sparkly eyes wait patiently for her to respond. joni mitchell sings about skating away on a river, and vi wishes she could skate away from this conversation, but there’s nowhere to go. 

vi blinks away from your gaze and fixates on one of the many things she’s pinned up on her bedroom walls throughout the years. it’s a page torn from an old notebook of yours, something from seventh grade math class, but vi always loved your little drawings in the margins. 

vi?” you prompt, never one to let go easily.

“i want to kiss you at midnight,” she confesses.

“yeah?” 

vi nods. she’s tempted to walk out of her room, down the stairs and out into the winter night, until you weave your fingers through hers and squeeze her hand. she looks up — and you’re beaming, a smile that brightens vi’s entire being. 

“i want that too.”

vi finally, finally crashes her mouth onto yours, lips sticky with marshmallow fluff.

you taste like vanilla and gingerbread and hot chocolate that is definitely not spiked with irish cream that vi slipped into your mugs while you distracted the adults. 

you taste like home.

….

so, slight change of plans….i’m gonna stay here in london with the rest of the band. apparently the kirammans throw a super fancy holiday party with super fancy people every year, and cait convinced her parents to let us perform. fingers crossed someone important discovers us.

merry christmas, baby. and, if i don’t get the chance to say it: happy new year.

….

track 2: winter wonderland by darlene love

(winter — age 12)

you’re supposed to be looking after ekko while your parents are at work, but all that really means is making a big bowl of kraft dinner and stove-top s’mores for lunch and watching old christmas specials on the worn-out living room couch while you draw in your sketchbook and your brother, only 7 years old, programs the doorbell to play ‘jingle bells.’ 

when someone rings the doorbell, the tune floats through the house and wakes up your dog who starts barking like it’s the end of the world. 

“easy, ziggy.” you click a marker closed and run a hand through the husky’s fur, attempting to calm him down. “let’s go see who it is.”

you open the door, and there’s vi: snowflakes sparkling on her eyelashes, pink hair hidden under a knitted hat, and a toothy grin that brings out the dimple in her flushed cheeks. she’s also got a split lip and crooked nose from her last hockey game.

“we’re building a fort,” she tells you. she shuffles to the side so that you can see powder, who’s making a snow angel. “well, we’re going to. wanna join?”

you nod, smiling. “ekko!” 

your brother’s already behind you, slipping on his chunky boots and oversized coat that used to be yours before running outside and collapsing onto the fluffy snow next to powder. ziggy bolts outside, too, running circles around them. 

you stumble to get your winter gear on as fast as possible, the cold air rushing inside your front hallway as vi waits for you, kicking her snowy boot against the concrete entryway step. not even a heartbeat after shutting the door behind you, vi takes your gloved hand in hers and pulls you forward, the two of you a flurry of laughter.

…..

hey, pretty girl. i was at this party and one of your songs came on! every time i hear it, i’m in awe of how amazing it is….how amazing you are. i’m basically walking home in a snowstorm, so i’m gonna go before my fingers freeze off, but i just wanted to say that i’m so proud of my rockstar girlfriend.

i was also wondering: are you coming home any time soon? the holidays are coming up, and i really miss you. we all do.  

…..

track 3: last christmas by wham!

(winter — now)

vi should have learned from sonic youth and fleetwood mac: 

no sex or romance between bandmates. it never ends well.

it was bad enough giving into the rumors and fooling around with cait, but it’s another layer of messiness now that cait and maddie dating. meanwhile, cait is very much still bitter towards vi, vi is very much pining after someone whom she’s pretty sure never wants to see her again, and steb and lorris are very much caught in the middle. it’s no wonder the band’s manager suggested everyone take some time apart to ease the tension. frankly, while others protested, vi was almost relieved at the suggestion.

so cait’s off to london, maddie’s off to glasgow, the boys are going god knows where, and vi —

vi’s heading back home, back to you.

she wakes up in the bed of her childhood for the first time in a long time. her dad put on fresh sheets, but they’re still the same ones from back then — worn flannel with cartoon penguins. it takes a lot of willpower to untangle herself from the warmth and cloud-like softness, but eventually she heads downstairs to the kitchen.

powder still has exams so she’s not home from college until tomorrow, and vander’s gone to work. it’s just vi in her too-small christmas pyjamas (she has yet to unpack), eating a box of stale cinnamon pop-tarts for breakfast even though it’s well past noon. curiosity gets the best of her, so she peers through the window to see if anyone is next door.

your mom’s car is in the driveway, completely snowed in. there had only been a dusting of snow while vi was devouring the first pastry, but four pop-tarts in and it’s about doubled. she waits until the snow stops falling; with nothing better to do and a sugar rush to burn off, vi pulls on her old winter coat and snow boots she hasn’t worn since she was 18, grabs a shovel from the garage, and gets to work. 

it doesn’t take her long to clear the driveway, and she has some adrenaline to spare, so she decides to be a good neighbor. 

vi’s heaving one last shovelful of snow over her shoulder when she hears:

“violet? is that you?” 

she turns around. and, okay the first thing she registers is ziggy running towards her, the husky toppling her over into the snow.

“i missed you too, zig,” vi laughs. 

she gets up as ziggy’s still bounding around in the snow, and sees your mom standing in the doorway, looking a little more tired and a little more gray. but the smile on her face when she sees that it is, in fact, vi — it’s so bright that the snow might not exactly melt away, but the years sure do. 

vi remembers making snow angels with you while your moms gossiped over tea, how the two of you would stomp inside with a mess of slush and snow while laughter echoed from the living room. vi remembers your mom keeping a comforting arm around her shoulder through her mom’s funeral while you held her hand. she remembers your mom helping her pick out the perfect corsage to match your suit at prom, making a joke about how next time it might be an engagement ring, and telling vi how proud her mother would have been of her at your high school graduation party. 

with the golden glow of nostalgia comes a crashing wave of guilt at what vi said to you last time you spoke. 

“come inside, sweetheart. i’ll make you some hot cocoa as a thank you.”

vi is tempted to reject the offer, but your mom looks so hopeful and vi’s fingers are about to freeze off, anyways. 

so your mom makes hot cocoa as vi defrosts, the two of them chatting in the familiar yellow kitchen that you and vi once almost burnt down while trying to bake a cake for powder’s birthday. even the magnets and paper memories decorating the fridge are the same, with the addition of an article about vi’s band that was featured in the rolling stone, pinned up by a ceramic cow. 

“she’s an art teacher now,” your mom tells vi after giving an update on ekko. she glances at the oven clock. “speaking of which — i know you just finished shoveling our driveway, but do you mind helping me with another favor?”

“after the world’s best hot chocolate? anything.”

“i told my daughter that i’d pick her up from work, and i’m wondering if you would be able to take care of that.” your mom smiles. “i’m sensing a bad migraine coming on.”

the last sip of hot chocolate trickles down vi’s throat like cement. she knew she’d be seeing you, but didn’t quite plan for how that….reunion might go.

“of course,” vi says. 

vi puts both of their mugs in the dishwasher, about to grab the car keys from the hook by the door when your mom calls out: 

“oh, and violet?” vi turns around. “i’m so glad you’re home.”

you’re talking to a student when vi enters the art room of your old high school. nothing else in the building had changed — same boring concrete, same scratched up lockers, same graffiti immortalizing whom hooked up with whom. this room is the exception, vibrant with how students’ art is displayed all around, paintings and drawings and collages, and you’ve strung up multicolored christmas lights that give the whole space a cozy ambiance. you look the part of a cool, young art teacher: wearing a simple dark purple turtleneck tucked into black jeans and the same combat boots you’ve had since tenth grade, paint stains on your skin that is exposed by rolled up sleeves, and a marker behind your ear. you’re standing in front of an easel, talking to the student who happens to notice vi before you do.

“holy shit. is that violet lanes?”

vi watches as your face scrunches up in confusion, and then falls into shock when you see her standing there.

“it seems that it is violet lanes,” you state coolly while the student squeals. “what are you doing here?”

“oh, i, uh,” vi clears her throat, her palms sweaty. why is her body reacting like she’s a teenager about to ask out her crush for the first time? “your mom wasn’t feeling great, asked if i could pick you up from work.”

“you guys are friends?” the student asks, eyes wide as they flick between you and vi. 

“we used to date, actually,” vi clarifies. wrong move, she realizes, because you can’t help but glare at her.

“oh my god.” the student squeals again and reaches in their pocket to whip out their phone. “i need to tell alyssa that ms. l/n was in a relationship with the violet lanes. are you guys gonna get back together? oh my god, have you come to win her back —”

“layla,” you clip, and by the furrow of layla’s brow, it seems like you’re not usually so stern. you smile at layla, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “you’ve done some great work today, but you’ll have to finish this when we’re back from winter break. do you mind giving ms. lanes and i a minute?”

layla nods once, gathers her things. when she walks past vi, she can’t help but ask for an autograph. vi complies, of course, even lets her take a selfie. a fan is a fan, after all.

and, quite frankly this is the only part of being in the band that she still enjoys: hearing how excited young girls are at the music she writes, the music that vi wished she had growing up, about girls liking girls, about girls falling in and out of love with each other. everything else is just an occupational hazard that vi’s getting more and more fed up with. 

when vi turns her attention back to you, you’re finished putting all the material away, wiping your hands with an already paint-stained towel.

“i meant what you’re doing back in town,” you explain, not quite meeting vi’s eyes. you pack away some books and your laptop into a supple leather briefcase, and slip on your coat. vi’s cheeks flush when you catch her watching you. 

“it…it doesn’t matter. i’m here for a while, though.” 

you sigh. “okay.” and you don’t say anything more. vi keeps up with you as you switch off the lights, lock the door, and stride to the parking lot in silence. when you get to the car, you extend your hand.

“i’m driving,” you say, gesturing at her to give you the keys. “we both know that you’re a terrible driver.”

“i’m not a terrible driver,” vi guffaws. 

“says the lesbian who gives the rest of us a bad name,” you quip, a hint of a smile dancing across your lips, like the first bout of sun after a winter storm. “c’mon, pretty girl. i’m not giving up, so unless you wanna freeze to death….” 

the nickname slips effortlessly from your tongue, so much so that you don’t even seem to realize it, but vi’s breath hitches and she’s more than happy to fold to your every whim if it means hearing you call her pretty one more time. 

“so….” vi glances over at you from the passenger seat. a snowy landscape passes outside the window, and you tap on the steering wheel to a generic christmas song that plays through the stereo. “you’re teaching high school now?” 

she wonders if you remember the last fight you had, almost two years ago to the day.

you keep your eyes on the road. “yeah. guess i graduated from finger-painting with kindergarteners.”

vi feels her cheeks heat up all over again. 

so, you do remember. 

she wonders if you’ve replayed it over and over again and hoped for a different ending like she did. she should have thought more about what to actually say to you —

“you know, i never understood why you liked this song so much,” you suddenly say when the radio starts playing dolly parton’s cover of ‘i’ll be home for christmas.’ 

vi can read between the lines, but she’s waiting for you to point out the irony in her preference for a song that’s about someone wanting to go home for christmas, something vi has deliberately avoided at all costs these past few years. 

“it just seems kinda sad,” you continue. 

“you love ‘last christmas,’ and that one’s pretty sad,” vi points out.

“sure, but it ends hopefully.”

“oh?” vi tilts her head towards you. “how’d you figure? 

“sure, it’s someone singing about heartbreak and how much it sucks during christmastime, but then there’s this hope that they still find true love down the line. it’s a maybe that isn’t hopeless.” you shrug. “meanwhile, your song ends with the lyric ‘if only in my dreams,’ which just seems too accepting of the fact that going home for christmas, being with the person they love — it might just be a dream.”

“i don’t know. some dreams do come true,” vi muses. 

by now, you’ve made it home. you put the car in park but keep the engine going, presumably to avoid becoming icicles. neither of you make a move to leave. 

you glance over at vi. “your dreams sure came true, ms. violet lanes,” you joke, but there’s an air of sadness to it.

“not all of them.”

“yeah? which ones haven’t?”

vi swallows the lump in her throat and hopes that you understand the look in her eyes. “let’s just say i’m working on them.”

you blink away and cut the engine.

….

you’re still dealing with the shock of seeing vi back in town when your brother, freshly home from college, suggests going skating. 

he can be fairly convincing, especially when he mentions that it’s a christmas season tradition, so, you prepare for what is essentially a double date with your brother, his girlfriend/your ex-girlfriend’s sister, and your ex-girlfriend, with isha as a fifth wheel.

should be fun. 

it turns out, despite all her past hockey experience, vi really cannot skate. in fact, skating seems to be the complete opposite of riding a bike: she’s terrible at it after years off the ice, essentially reenacting that scene from bambi. it’s easier to ignore vi’s presence when she’s sitting next to the snack bar, by herself, but then powder skates up next to you and asks if you’d be kind enough to please help her sister have a good time. you roll your eyes at her shit-eating grin, but it is a bit sad, watching vi on the sidelines. she’s wearing a beanie and a pair of sunglasses to hide her identity, and now she kinda looks like a divorced dad watching his grown kids pass him by while he’s stuck in a midlife crisis.

you convince vi to give skating another shot — it’s tradition after all — and pull her out onto the rink. you start by holding her from behind, keeping her hips steady until she gets the hang of it. you try to let go, but vi stumbles and reaches out for your gloved hand, and you melt into the familiarity of her fingers curled around yours. the two of you fall into a comfortable rhythm, first with you pulling vi along, then with her taking the lead, until vi almost knocks into a small child.

“see what i mean by you being a bad driver?” you jest, successfully maneuvering to avoid collision. 

then, you follow where vi’s eyes have settled — on powder and isha laughing and chasing each other around the rink. vi had asked earlier when isha had dyed her hair blue; you still have some residue under your nails from last weekend, when powder came for a study break and the three of you ended up helping isha achieve a new look she’d apparently been itching to try. 

“you know powder’s graduating this year?” 

“she overloaded her credits so she could get out of there as soon as possible,” you explain, having had many conversations with powder leading up to the decision. 

vi nods, her jaw clenched. you already know what she’s thinking, and frankly, you agree: that vi hasn’t been here, literally and figuratively. you also feel the warmth of vi’s skin radiating through her glove to yours, notice the slight flush to her freckled cheeks, how chapped her lips are from the cold, so much so that you’re tempted to share the vanilla chapstick you’ve got on your own lips, to kiss her deeply like you did last time you were here, together.

it’s only been three days since vi’s been back home. this is only the second time you’ve seen her, and you’re already falling back into old patterns, tempted to ask her to stay, to try again, even though you already know the answer.

except….not staying isn’t the deal breaker it used to be, so maybe trying again isn’t as hopeless as you think it is.

vi squeezes your hand, and you realize that you’ve stopped skating entirely. 

“hey. you still with me?”

you nod, decide to enjoy this moment for as long as you can, and the two of you glide across the ice.

…..

when you suggest making stove-top s’mores, it’s another item on the list of things she’d missed. 

a list that’s been growing a lot these past few days.

vi offers to make more once you’ve all run out, and ekko follows her into their kitchen while you, powder, and isha keep watching christmas specials in the living room. she turns on the gas stove, stabs a marshmallow through a wooden skewer and waits for it to roast — and, for ekko to say something.

“i don’t know what happened between you and my sister, but i need you to promise me that the tabloids aren’t true. that you and that kiramman chick didn’t hook up…at least until after y’all broke up.” 

“or, what, you’re gonna challenge me to an arm wrestle? think you can finally beat me?”

“oh, i know it.”

a pause. the marshmallow catches on fire and vi blows on it to quell the damage.

“i didn’t cheat on her.” she throws out the burnt marshmallow and gives it another shot. “i would never. does….does she think i did?”

ekko shrugs. “not sure. some of those articles are pretty convincing. but, since you’re promising me that you didn’t…”

“i didn’t.”

“then that saves me from kicking your ass.” ekko nods once and uncrosses his arms, handing vi some graham crackers and chocolate. “actually, i could use your help with something.”

“sure.”

“she applied to this great art residency in new york, like, on whim. the only people she’s told are me, powder, and vander….i think she’s nervous to tell mom, at least until she knows for sure she’s gotten in, but this is the most excited i’ve seen her be about something in a while, and she worked really hard on her application…” 

“i’m sure she did,” vi states. “what do you need my help with?”

“convincing her to go.” 

“i’d love to help, but i’m not sure i’m someone she’d wanna hear from, especially about this. she was never a fan of me leaving to pursue my dreams.”

“she was never a fan of you leaving,” ekko corrects. “she’s still a fan of you pursuing your dreams.” he juts his chin out at the article stuck to the fridge. 

vi had just assumed that your mom had pinned that up.

“okay.” vi says. “i’ll talk to her.” 

a plateful of semi-burnt s’mores later, and vi and ekko return to the living room with the rest of you. 

vi forgot how nice this felt, all of you cuddled on the couch, ziggy included, watching how the grinch stole christmas. she half expects her mom to walk in through the door without even knocking, shake the snow off her hair, and hold up a batch of pre-baked gingerbread people she’d gotten for the kids to decorate.

but that’s not happening. other than isha, none of you are kids anymore and things can never be the same.

and yet — you glance over at vi and give her a sticky marshmallow smile, and she feels her heart grow three sizes.

….

baby, i swear it’s not what it looks like. the record label thought it would be good promo to get a picture of me kissing under the mistletoe…’tis the season and all that…..cait and i were both really drunk and things got a bit out of hand….but it looks worse than it is. i swear on my mother’s grave that nothing happened.

please call me back, baby…..i’m so fucking sorry….please. 

it’s not christmas without at least hearing your voice. 

….

track 4: river by joni mitchell

(winter — age 23)

it’s hard to believe that hours ago, you were kissing vi backstage and showering her with praise after the concert. she was happy to indulge in your excitement, even though she was all sweaty and her ears were still ringing from the crowd. 

more than happy, in fact. phone sex can only go so far, and it’d been too long since vi had seen you writhe and heard you whimper for her firsthand. 

“i missed you so fucking much,” you groan, tightening your grip on vi’s hair. it’s now an inky black instead of fuschia — the band’s starting to lean more punk rock. 

a particularly hard thrust is her way of telling you that she missed you too. so fucking much. she throws your legs over her shoulders, pushing the strap deeper inside you and digging her knees into the mattress as she coaxes you through another orgasm. you pull her down for one last searing kiss, your tongue searching each crevice of her mouth. 

“i can’t believe you’re here,” vi continues a few moments later, after you’re both cleaned up and getting dressed. she wants to add something along the lines of i love you, but she bites back the sentiment. she’ll save that sappy shit for later tonight, when she finally gets down on one knee for you. 

you glance back at her from where you’re pulling out a sparkly silver dress from your side of the closet (and isn’t that such a slip of the mind? your side, as if it’s a shared closet and a shared bedroom and a shared home; if she thought about it more, though, she would realize that, though she has no problem asking you to marry her, she’s still terrified at the thought of staying in one place for more than a few months).

“me neither,” you smile. 

vi walks over to you, presses her half-dressed body against your lingerie-clad form (vi’s sure you wore this fuschia set just to drive her insane; it’s working). she lodges her hand behind your ear and pulls you in closer, kisses you deeply because you’re here and she missed you so fucking much and she’s so ready to make you her wife.

she could write a whole record just about the taste of your lips: the sweetness of vanilla chapstick, the saltiness of sweat and the headiness lingering from the wetness you lapped up from between her legs.

you pull away first. vi tries not to stare at how your chest heaves, your breasts straining against intricate lace. 

“we, um.” you clear your throat. you slip your hand underneath vi’s blazer, and she groans when you make contact with the exposed, burning skin of her abdomen. vi thinks you’re about to suggest another round, or two, or ten, but instead you untangle yourself from her and say: “we should probably get ready.”

the after party is going well. the club’s busy, the music’s good, and the drinks are flowing.

you seem to be having a great time until someone (probably cait or maddie, on cait’s behalf) lets it slip that the band’s heading to london later in the month to start recording their new album before the end of the year….something vi decidedly did not want to tell you until later tonight, after the high of the proposal, after she’s promised you that she’s dedicated to this relationship, that she’s always been dedicated to you. 

instead, vi’s trailing behind you as you angrily stomp towards the bathroom, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out of this argument.

there’s a line, but you cut in front and slip inside as soon as someone walks out. 

“wait, what the fu —”

you slam the door and lock it behind you once you’re both inside, ignoring the subsequent banging and jiggling of the handle.

“please, baby, let me explain —”

“i can’t fucking believe you,” your voice is steady, measured, and for some reason that makes vi even more nervous. “you give empty promise after empty promise that you’ll be more present, but something always gets in the way, is always more important than —”

“don’t you dare say that you’re not important to me. i offer to fly you out anywhere to be with me, but you’ve only taken me up on the offer once. twice, now.”

“it’s been five years, vi. five years of us staying together because….god, at this point i don’t even know why — ”

“do you not understand how much i love you?” vi raises her voice over the sound of the club music outside. “i was gonna propose tonight.”

you stare at her, then start to laugh.

“please tell me you’re joking.”

“i’m not.”

“if you think marriage will save us, then you’re delusional. what was your plan — call me your wife while we’re thousands of miles apart, but not even have the time to answer my calls? we’re barely in a relationship now, vi. all that’s left between us are missed calls and voicemails —” 

“oh that’s really all that’s left between us?” 

“i love you, violet. i have since we were kids. but, now, there’s also all this — the parties, the crowds, the fame….you’ve gone all over the world, and you can’t even be bothered to visit your family during the holidays.”

“well i’m sorry that my ambitions are bigger than that nothing town we grew up in,” vi snaps. “i can’t believe you’re throwing a tantrum because i’m not making it home for christmas. for what? so we can all reminisce by the fireplace, pretend that we can be kids again, even though things can —” vi chokes back a sob, soothes it with a healthy dose of anger. “things can never be the same. you need to grow the fuck up.”

“maybe you should be the one to grow up!” you finally yell. “convincing yourself that this relationship is working, meanwhile you’re running away from everything and everyone you grew up with because it reminds you of your —”

“at least i’m not afraid to actually go after my dreams,” vi cuts you off before you can finish that sentence, uses the broken shards of your words against you. “don’t you want more for your life than finger-painting with a bunch of kindergarteners? you’re gonna end up just like your deadbeat mom, going nowhere, drinking yourself to sleep, all alone, with nothing to show for the life you’ve lived.”

as soon as the words leave her mouth, vi wishes she could take them back. you don’t bother swallowing your tears, letting them rush down your cheeks. vi digs her nails into her palms to prevent herself from reaching out and wiping them. it wouldn’t make sense, anyways. she’s the reason you’re crying. 

you take a deep, shaky breath.

“yeah, well, i’m glad that your mom isn’t alive to see what a selfish asshole you’ve become.” there’s a pause, and vi feels her stomach turn at your casual cruelty, your quiet anger. “i’m gonna pack up my stuff and catch the first flight out of here. merry fucking christmas and happy fucking new year. have a nice life.”

vi screams and throws the velvet box against the door you’ve slammed shut behind you. the hot tears that were building in her throat finally boil over. the engagement ring clatters onto the floor.

…..

vi? it’s me. not sure if you’ve blocked my number. i wouldn’t blame you. i know it’s been, like, a year, but it feels weird not hearing your voice for this long, especially around the holidays. well, i guess i could just turn on the radio….it’s not the same, though. anyways, merry christmas. happy new year, too. and….and i’m sorry. 

please come home.

…..

track 5: i’ll be home for christmas by dolly parton 

(winter — now)

karaoke at the last drop used to be one of vi’s favorite christmas traditions, so you decidedly avoided it at all cost since the breakup. vander always tried to convince you to join, but he understood and even made sure to not give you a shift during that time after you started working there at 21. 

you kept the job because, evidently, high school art teachers don’t make a ton of money, and you would one day like to move out of your mother’s house. 

which, as it turns out, might happen sooner rather than later. you applied for this artist residency in new york, and, yeah, you put time and effort and heart into your application, but you were sure that you’d be rejected. while you got your acceptance email this morning, and you were so fucking overjoyed at first, the thought of leaving still terrifies you, so you’ll postpone worrying about that until after the holidays. that’s what they’re for, anyways: a break from reality, a peek into a cozy snow-covered world where everyone is festive and joyous and worry-free.   

right now though, you’re feeling neither festive nor joyous. gert called in sick, and no one else is able to cover for them, so you’re stuck at the last drop on christmas eve, listening to one of your old high school classmates drunkenly fumble the lyrics of darlene love’s ‘christmas (baby, please come home).’

about three verses in, vi walks into the bar with mylo and claggor, flakes of fluffy snow melting into her grayish pink hair. you’re already pouring their drinks before they reach the counter. mylo and claggor offer their sincere appreciation, chattering away as they leave to snag a booth in the corner. vi stares at her drink before grabbing the beer glass. 

“you remember.” 

“are you surprised?”

vi smiles. “no. it’s just nice. cait keeps insisting i order gin martinis instead. says it’s classier.” 

something sour curdles in your stomach. “yeah, well. i’ve always liked you the way you are.”

that probably ended up sounding like you’re still pining after vi (which you’re….not) rather than the bitter comment you intended it to be. 

vi’s soft blue eyes search yours. 

“i better get back to the boys,” she finally says. “maybe sign up for a song or two.”

you’re busy clearing a table when you hear her voice again. actually — a silence fills the bar, and it’s replaced by the lush rumble of vi singing ‘last christmas.’

you watch her as she performs, eyes locked on yours, and it’s over before you know it. you feel like you should go say something to her, but then there are a bunch of excited fans that she has to attend to, signing autographs, taking photos.

as you swallow your disappointment, the normal chatter of the bar resumes. you’re walking back to the kitchen when you feel someone pinch the back of your thigh, right under your ass. you whip around to find that old classmate who butchered a christmas classic an hour or so before (james, you think his name is, from ninth grade science), with the most arrogant smirk.

“hey, gorgeous. my friends and i were just arguing over who should take you home tonight.” he gestures towards a table of guys who look like equally preppy assholes. “i won the chugging contest.”

“good for you,” you say, balancing a tray of empty glasses. “grope someone in here again, and you’ll be sorry you did.” you turn around to get back to work, but james grabs your wrist and stands up abruptly so you’re chest-to-chest.

“i don’t think you understand what i’m offering, baby.” you gag at the nickname and the stench of beer on his breath. you’re a bartender, you’re used to getting hit on, but creeps like this are the worst.

you rip away from his grasp. 

“i’m not interested,” you snap. “and i’m not your baby.”

“listen.” james puts his hands on your shoulders, and if both of your hands were free, you would promptly push him away. everyone’s having a good time and you don’t wanna cause a scene, so you try to think of ways to get this asshole out of the bar and into the snow without much of a fight. “you know, santa might come down your chimney on christmas eve, but if you’ve been a good girl this year i’ll come down your —” 

“there you are!” powder’s voice is loud over the sound of someone singing another generic christmas carol. she knocks into your side, breathless. “sorry we’re late. had some car trouble.”

“well, hello.” he removes his hands from your shoulders, shifts his predatory gaze from you to powder. 

oh, fuck no.

“powder,” you keep your voice steady even if your heart is racing. “go back to the table. i’ll be there in a sec.”

james reaches out for powder, but you punch him square in the jaw before he can so much as touch her, the tray of glasses crashing on the floor. 

james’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only egotistical, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a blow to their ego. 

in fact, he’s angry enough to deliver a punch right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but powder manages to catch you before you tumble into the broken glass. she holds you as people start yelling. you think that vander rushes over, too, shouting at james to get the fuck out of his bar and never step foot in it again. 

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is all a bit fuzzy. powder tries her best, but you slump your body weight into hers and she almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” vi’s surprisingly calm voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. 

somehow, you find yourself in the bathroom, sitting on the counter as vi stands between your legs. she carefully examines your injury, but you notice how she avoids making eye contact. 

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while.

“remember teaching me how to throw a punch?” the question slips past your lips before you can stop it.

vi looks slightly amused, and she finally meets your gaze. “‘course i do,” she hums. “you tried to convince me to help you start an all-female fight club at school.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the pain from your nose.

she remembers. 

somewhere within her, vi holds on to fragments of you.

“thank god the principal vetoed it. would’ve been a disaster,” she continues.

vi wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of her silk red button-down now stained a darker crimson. “how’s your hand?” she asks. 

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

vi smiles sadly. “i guess you’ve been the one protecting my sister while i’ve been away.”

while i’ve been away. 

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart. 

vi’s back home, sure, but only for a limited time. 

her fingers graze your cheek, and the breath hitches in your throat.

“you know, i only wanted to start that fight club as an elaborate plan to spend more time together,” you confess, opting to preserve the delicate bubble of nostalgia you’d stumbled into together. “we were each so busy….i had studio, and you were always away at hockey games. it wasn’t realistic in the end, though.”

“i would’ve stayed if you asked,” she tells you, and you wonder exactly what she might be referring to. 

you swallow the lump in your throat. “it’s what you loved, though.”

“but i - i loved you, more. you had to have known that.”

“yeah, well. i loved you, too,” you explain, and it’s clear that neither of you are talking about a lesbian fight club. “whether it was hockey, or music….as long your heart was in it, it was more worth it to let you go, to not stand in the way of your dreams.” 

“you were my dream.”

you scoff, cheeks heating up, and look away. “you probably say that to all the girls.”

“no.” vi guides your chin towards her. “just the one.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on vi’s— messy, urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. she cradles your face in her hands, and you wrap your legs around her waist to bring her closer. you taste beer on her tongue, and maybe a hint of lime, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the adrenaline, but dizzy from her. vi’s gaze is heavy on yours as she traces your top lip with her thumb.

“vi,” you whimper, itching to kiss her again. 

“you’re still bleeding.”

vi wipes away the blood with the sleeve of her shirt. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s a knock on the door. vander, wondering if you’re okay and if maybe you could hurry up and get back to work. 

you can’t sleep that night. before, staying up on christmas eve was an elaborate operation to catch santa. now, it’s overthinking a very hot kiss and all the unresolved tension between you and your ex-girlfriend next door. 

logically, you knew that you missed vi, everything about her and who she is, the way you would laugh and argue and make love. but the rush of feeling her tongue licking into your mouth, her body melding into yours after being apart for so long….

you’re scared that she won’t feel the same, but you’re even more terrified of letting the moment slip through both your fingers without at least trying. 

so, you grab your phone, deciding to finally reach out to her, when by some christmas miracle you get a text from her.

she climbs through your window not long after, wearing plaid boxer shorts and a zaun university sweatshirt you’ve been looking for, for about five years. you didn’t bother to change, either, only wearing an oversized shirt. you sit cross-legged on your bed as she waits by the window. vi stares at your chest for a good few seconds, and you remember that you’re wearing one of her band’s concert tees, faded from years of wear. 

“so, um,” vi starts, her voice as soft as the well-worn cotton of your shirt. “we have so much shit to talk about and figure out, but, i, uh, can’t stop thinking about early tonight —”

“vi.” the swarm of butterflies in your stomach is replaced by something more delicate, more urgent. “do you wanna come sit?”

vi swallows thickly, looking between you and the still open window. a winter breeze rushes through. you shiver, thinking she might just turn around and disappear into the cold night. instead, she shuts the window, removes her snow-covered boots, and settles onto the bed next to you.

you place a tentative hand on her cheek, still cold and slightly flushed. she shudders when you run your thumb over the tattoo under her eye.

“i know there’s a lot we have to work through.” you take a deep breath as she shifts closer, suddenly dizzy from the familiar scent of her winter pine old-spice body wash. “right now….right now, i just want you.”

“yeah?” vi smirks, her shyness melting away. she settles a warm hand on your bare thigh. “how do you want me?”

you exhale sharply when her hand travels higher, dull nails scraping at the fabric of your underwear. 

“it’s cute that you’re flustered,” she quips, leaning in even closer. her breath is warm and heavy against your lips. “because i’ve spent so many night replaying all the dirty, nasty things we used to —”

you tug her sweatshirt and pull her back onto the bed, feeling her body solid against yours. the vibration of her groan shudders through your body when you crash your lips onto hers with such hunger, you’d think you had been starving without her. 

“how’s about an encore, superstar?” you drawl. 

you bite your lip hard at how vi nods at you desperately, eyes all dark and lustful.

“you read my mind,” she breathes. by now, her hand has reached the hem of your shirt, and she pushes up the cotton to reveal the supple skin of your stomach. you give her permission to remove it, leaving your top half exposed.

her lips nip and suck down your body until she reaches the waistband of your panties. she pulls it up with her teeth, the elastic snapping back when she lets go. you whine her name, and she looks up at you with dark eyes. 

“can i?” her breath fans over your navel, her nails digging into your hips as she waits for your answer.  

“yes. please.”

you hadn’t meant to sound so desperate, but you could feel vi smirk against your inner thigh before sinking her teeth into it. you whimper, and vi salves her tongue over the area to ease the sting before removing your underwear. she positions your legs over her shoulders for better access to where you need her most.

vi moves her tongue and fingers in all the ways she remembers makes you shake, curl your toes, and grind down on her face. in return, you grip her pink hair, tightly, and utter praise in all the ways you remember makes her shake. 

“just like that, pretty girl,” you encourage, practically melting into the mattress. it feels so good — dangerously good, intoxicating, even — to be devoured by vi.  “keep doing a good job and i’ll return the favor later.”

vi’s moan vibrates throughout your body and she becomes faster, reaches her tongue deeper, bringing you over the edge. she leaves a few more bites on your body on her way up to meet you and when she does, vi’s lips and chin are shining with your release.

you lean forward slightly to lick it up. you ghost your mouth over hers.

“your turn,” you taunt and run your thumb over her tattooed cheek. 

you twist your calf around vi’s leg and flip your positions. she lets out a yelp when her back hits the mattress. once you’re hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you do what you’re sure you’d never get tired of doing: you kiss her, passionately, deeply. you bite her lip as you pull away. 

there was always a bit of jealousy that gnawed at you, became your very-own shoulder devil that you just couldn’t shake when you were together, no matter how hard you tried. it was no secret that vi was admired by many, that girls around the world were crushing on her, hoping they’d catch her eye, get their chance with her. you never felt like she was yours, and yours alone. 

but you do get a deep satisfaction knowing that right here, right now, you’re the only person who gets to see her like this — pink hair splayed across the pillows like her very own halo, but the rest of her telling a much less-angelic, much more sinister story: her lips swollen and kiss-bitten, her cheeks a devilish shade of red, her eyes dark and lustful and waiting for you to make the next move. 

"you want me to have my way with you?" you whisper, voice honeyed with desire.

vi whimpers, a sound that fuels the fire in your abdomen. "yes."

you practically rip off her sweatshirt, kiss down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and sternum down to her stomach. vi lifts her hips from the bed so that you can remove her boxers, and you’re delighted to find nothing else underneath. 

you’re greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you run your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already feel her slick coating your lips. vi spread her legs even wider, and you take the opportunity to sink two fingers into her cunt. you know her body, as well as you know your own, as well as she knows yours. you flick your gaze up, view slightly blocked by the pink curls of her bush, but you can still picture it — how her eyes roll back, how her mouth opens to release a perfectly delicious gasp.

"god, i've barely touched you and you're already about to cum. did you miss me that much?" you tease, feeling her clench around your fingers. as if you aren’t subtly rutting your hips against the mattress, eager to ease the throbbing between your legs. 

all you get in response is whine. it’s muffled, and you crane your neck upward to see her biting down on her knuckles, so hard you’re worried she might break skin. 

unacceptable.

the rest of the world gets to hear her every day, any time they please. you want to be serenaded by the lyrics of her want, the notes of her desire. all for you and you alone.

with your other hand, you reach up to pinch one of her pierced nipples, always so sensitive. "answer me, violet."

vi props herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you remove your mouth from her.

"yes!" she sings, practically sobbing. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel the throbbing between your thighs intensify, hearing the frantic lilt of her voice — like she needs you and only you. "i missed you so fucking much. please, just do something."

at her request, you move up the bed so that the two of you are face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other is two fingers deep in her cunt. you add another, just to reveal in the timber of her sultry moan. she tries to bring her hand back, to quiet herself, but you shake your head. 

with your thumb, you trace over her lips, uneven and scarred and imperfectly beautiful. "open." 

vi obeys you instantly. you spit in her mouth, heart racing as you watch her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.

you continue fucking her with your fingers until she moans, louder and louder as she reaches her peak.

removing your fingers from her pussy, you lock eyes with her as you bring your syrupy fingers to your mouth and suck off her juices. then, you kiss underneath her ear, lips sticking slightly to her skin, and you whisper: "now i know why they say you have the voice of an angel.”

“fuck,” she exhales, the breath turning into a chuckle as you kiss underneath her chin, where you know she’s ticklish.

"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whisper. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."

vi nods, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts are touching. you start fucking her down into the mattress and she sits up slightly so that your nipples brush against each other, the cold metal of her piercings encouraging the roll of your hips, her nails digging into the curve of your ass to bring you impossibly closer. 

“i missed you too. so fucking much,” you finally admit.  you flick one of the silver rings before leaning down and wrapping your lips around her nipple. 

“i missed these, too,” you add as you release her nipple with a pop, and vi moans. you’re grinning from ear to ear because, holy shit, vi is here and you’re together and you’re both happy, if only at the ecstasy of your silken cunts gliding against each other, at the taste of the other slicking your tongues, as thick as nectar and twice as sweet.

she laughs — love and magic and everlasting bliss — and you have to capture her lips now if you want to swallow the sound. you feel it bounce through your ribcage, awaken something deep within you that you feared was lost to time.

vi thrusts her hips upwards, presses harder against the seam of your cunt until you’re gushing against each other, not quite sure who’s making what mess. 

strings of cum connect you as you remove your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath. vi drapes an arm over her eyes, chest heaving. 

you throw on some clothes and leave the room, hoping that vi’s still there when you get back.

….

vi worries that if she opens her eyes, she’ll wake up from this dream. 

she’ll be in some uncomfortable bed in london or tokyo or los angeles. the dull ache between her legs would be thanks to some girl who’d be eager to text all her friends and spill all the details about what vi likes in bed, or caitlyn who would tell vi to shave next time, darling, or i won’t let you fuck me again anytime soon.

instead, vi hears the creak of a door opening, feet tiptoeing along the floorboards. the mattress shifts with the weight of someone between her legs, though their body is not touching hers. 

“vi, baby,” a gentle coaxing, a familiar voice, pulling towards something she forgot she needed. her heart soars when she finds you kneeling on the bed, holding a damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in another. 

“yeah?” her voice is hoarse, but her throat doesn’t sting in the same way it does after a concert. it feels tender, well-used, well-loved.

you hold out the cup of water, watch vi eagerly gulp down half of it before she realizes what she’s done.

“shit, i — did you want some?”

you smile and shake your head. “i had some downstairs after my shower.” it’s then that vi registers the water dripping from the ends of your hair, soaking the fabric of her (fine, your) sweatshirt. “i’m gonna clean you up. is that okay?”

vi nods.

okay? okay? vi thinks she might have whiplash. 

it’s been a while since someone has fucked her so well she’d be satisfied for years and then touched her so tenderly afterwards. you run the damp cloth over vi’s sticky, sweaty skin, occasionally leaning down to press soft lips where you’d left teeth marks and bruises before. 

“there.” you throw the cloth on the floor. “so, um. do you wanna stay….?” 

you bite your lip as you wait for vi to answer. you start picking at your nail polish, too. vi sits up and grabs your hand. 

“i do,” she soothes. “do you want me to?”

your smile brightens the entire room and you kiss vi before muttering:

“i do.”

vi slips on her boxers as you settle into the bed next to her, leaving her top half bare. she notices the sketchbook on your bedside table, and she lifts it up at you, a silent question if she can flip through. you take it from her as you shift to sit between her legs, her chest warm against your back. the room’s only illuminated by the string of multicolored christmas lights you’d left on, but vi can see the talent, the passion behind your work as you walk her through your sketchbook. you tell her about the techniques you’ve been working on and new mediums you want to explore, about how you want to make the kind of art that makes people appreciate the beauty in the everyday. 

“i always loved your art,” she muses. vi cranes her neck slightly, places a kiss on your shoulder then one on your cheek. “the world would be more beautiful if you shared it.”

you hum and place the sketchbook on your bedside table. you each shift to your sides, facing each other; vi notches a leg around your hips, and you throw an arm around her waist, fingers trailing down her tattooed back. 

“ekko talked to you, huh?”

“i would have said that even if he hadn’t,” vi promises. “so….have you heard anything yet?”

“well….yeah,” you sigh, smiling shyly. “i got in, actually.” 

“really? that’s amazing, baby.” she beams at you, excitedly cupping your face in her hands, leaving small kisses across your cheeks until you’re giggling. 

“okay, okay,” you laugh. “i don’t know if i’m gonna go yet.”

vi hums knowingly. she presses her forehead against yours. 

“i know you’re scared, baby,” she says softly. “but sometimes it’s just a leap of faith.” 

“i know.” you pause, gnawing at your bottom lip while your eyes fixate on the scar on her upper lip. “can i ask you something?

“anything.”

“when you proposed to me….” her body tenses up, but you brush your hand over her bicep and the tension in her muscles dissipates. “was that a leap of faith? like, were you scared?”

“well, not at first.” she takes a shuddery breath, her voice suddenly small. “i always thought that we’d be together….i just didn’t think through how we’d make it work, i guess. i didn’t mean to mess things up, though.”

“hey.” vi leans into the hand you cup around her cheek. “we both messed up. we never actually talked, you know? but….i’m glad we are, now.” you swallow. “i still love you, vi.”

vi exhales. “you know, girls tell me that they love me pretty much every day.” 

you can’t help it — you roll your eyes, and vi laughs. because, truthfully, her heart has felt more full at your admission of love just now than it ever has for an area of screaming fans.

“there’s a point to this, i promise,” she says, nudging her nose against yours. “i used to get such a thrill from it….but then i think about what you said earlier. my heart — it’s just not in it anymore. all the band is now is drama and gossip and compromises of fame over art, and…. i don’t know. it’s not really what i want anymore. i want to be with you. for real, this time.”

you blink at her; she can feel your chest pulsing against hers like a hummingbird.

“would you, um, if i were to take that leap of faith and do that artist residency, would you —”

“anywhere you wanna go,” vi promises. she thinks about it a bit more….how nice it’s been to be home for the holidays, how nice it would be to come home year round.  “preferably close enough so we can have dinner at home on the weekends.” 

“sounds like a plan,” you smile.

the two of you twist closer underneath the flannel sheets, sink into the mattress, and gaze up at the faded glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to your ceiling until you fall asleep in each other’s arms.

you jolt awake a few hours later, several firm knocks on the door and ekko shouting:

“it’s christmas! get the fuck up before ziggy eats all the bacon!”

beside you, vi protects you from the frosty winter morning. her body radiates warmth, and her eyes flutter open, ever so slightly, as you gently shake her shoulder. 

she groans, turning on her back, rubbing sleep from her eye. 

“i better go.” 

“....yeah.”

you flush when you glance over as vi’s slipping on her sweatshirt, rose-petal bruises delicate across her skin. she opens the window, hair still mussed up, and a gust of frigid air rushes into the room. 

the image is so familiar: vi, one leg in your room and another out the window. you feel like a teenager again, scrambling to get dressed and avoid anyone hearing that you’d snuck your girlfriend into your room late at night. but there’s something else now, too — you imagine this becoming routine: waking up next to each other every day, swapping clothes, kissing over coffee and pancakes at breakfast. a place where the two of you might create some new memories, build a shared life together. and much more, so much more that feels like it could be your reality, sooner rather than later. 

you’re so deep in thought that you don’t notice vi rushing back towards you. she kisses you and kisses you, until your lungs are burning.

"merry christmas, baby,” she mumbles against your lips.

you grin back at her. “merry christmas, vi.”

....

hi baby, i know you’re at studio right now, but i forgot to ask you this morning: how do you feel about sending out holiday cards this year? i know they’re kind of cheesy, but it seems like the type of thing married couples might do…..

anyways, we’ll talk about it when you get home. i’m test-driving this new recipe for brussel sprouts to bring to dinner at my dad’s. 

i’ll see you later. love you!

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Sweet

Sevika x Female Reader

Soft, emotional sex with Sevikidiki where you end up sobbing ‘cause she’s too sweet.

Cw: Sex: fingering, strap on, praise. Soft dom Sevika. Sub Reader.

MEN DO NOT INTERACT!!!!!!!

Proofread || Note: It was so fun writing this, I hope you enjoy :) Also, please ignore any spelling/grammar mistakes, i tried my hardest to keep them out!

Her flesh arm wrapped around your waist and you found yourself pinned against her chest. Her lips latched onto hers as she kissed you with an abundance of care and love. Never was there a moment of roughness, of the slightest bit of pain; being a grip or a pull.

Sevika’s hand slithered down to your shorts, entering from your front and pressing against your clit. She slowly moved, causing your breath to heavy and your heart to spike.

Your bedroom was prepared for a movie night, a night where you and your girlfriend could just cuddle. But, things seemed to escalate. There was a change of plans.

The warm light from your lamp illuminated the room, and your freshly lit candles now made the situation much more romantic. The room smelled heavenly, and so did Sevika’s kissing. She was gentle with how much pressure she applied, not wanting to get too intense. You didn’t mind her softness, matter of fact you actually wanted more of it. She’d taken off her prosthetic in order to cuddle with you better. In order to keep away any sharp metals from you. That was the kind of woman she was; only with you, however.

Her middle teased your entrance, finertip going in before slipping right now. She was testing the waters, seeing if you she’d need lube or not— she didn’t. Tongue slipping out of your mouth, lips unattaching, Sevika pulled back with a heavy breath, her eyes opening and she met yours.

“Can I?” Her voice quieter, slightly shaky. “Yeah, I want you to.” And with your approval, she let her finger, carefully, move in. “Y’want me to add another? You don’t have to.” Her grey eyes watching as your teeth sunk into your bottom lip. “Uh-huh, go ahead.” You, barely able to hold yourself together, nodded. A hand on her cheek with the other on the side of her neck, you hold back a whimper as she added another. It didn’t hurt, no, but it definitely took you a few seconds to get used to. Considering Sevika’s fingers were quite large. “Does it hurt? Tell me to stop if y’need me to, alright?” Her dark lips pressing a kiss on your forehead, letting you know you could say no whenever you wanted to.

She slowly picked up her pace, from slow curls to harder ones, the tips of her fingers found her target and she hit it. You clung to her as she did so, moaning into her shoulder all the while having her kiss your neck. “Is this good, baby?” Her low voice vibrating through you. “Yeah. Yeah, it’s.. good.” Awsome was what you wanted to say. It felt awsome.

Her warm breath brushed against your heated skin, causing you to feel hot. Burning hot. The fast beating of your heart and the heavy breaths you were taking only added to the fire; your body was sweating. And the thought of Seika being in you had your mind giddy, had it working extra hard to make you feel good. And you did. Even in the process of making you cum you felt a sort of high you’d only experience with your girlfriend.

“God, you’re so beautiful like this,” she’d whisper with a suck at your neck, leaving a trail of hickeys. “Don’t stop.. Sev.. that’s so.. fucking good— don’t stop, please!” You’d ramble on, jaw dropping at the familiar pooling in your core. “Y’think I would? I’m offended, love.” Her lips hidden and curled into a smile, she was proud of herself.

Your walls squished against her middle and ring, responding to the experienced curling she was doing inside of you. Your girlfriend even commented; “Feeling good? You’re all tight.” And, yes, it made your face feel hot. How could it not? Her smugness added to the sensation she was, lovingly, providing. It was the way she acknowledged how you reacted that made you whine, made you embarrassed. It even made you further more attracted to her.

“My pretty girl’s so close, I can feel it.” Smothering your neck with hickeys and kisses; only so you’d have a constant reminder of her. “Mm-hm, I am.” Your breathless words causing your woman to fasten her pace. “I can’t.. please! god it’s so good..”

Your hands clenched onto her shoulders as you, yourself, clung onto her. A cry of pleasure escaped your lips and your hips slightly shuddered against her as she helped you ride out your orgasm. Sevika even pulled back to see your face, watch as you came all over her fingers, it was a sight she never truly got used to. It was addictive being able to make her girl so happy.

“Perfect. You were perfect.” Slipping out of you and pulling you close with her wrists; her hand avoiding any contact. “How’d that feel, pretty thing?” Lips pecking yours before she gave you a chance to talk. “Like you said, it was perfect.”

A low humm of acknowledgment came from your girlfriend and she nuzzled into you, forehead resting against your shoulder. “It’s only ten. Can I get the strap?” Know this stuff knocks you out in a few.” She was reffering to the fact that she, herself, could have you asleep faster than any melatonin could. “Sure, but only one round.” You were already exhausted from a little fingering, you doubted you could get through Sevika’s pounding.

At your approval, she quickly grabbed, and slid on, the strap. Clicking the belt in place before plopping down next to you. “What position, ma’am?” Tone all teasing as she had a hand on your arm. “Mm.. I dunno? From the front? That’s the easiest?” She nodded in agreement. “You don’t mind if I have on my mech, do ya?” “Nope.”

From the front was what you got.

Ankles on her shoulders, arms overhead, and your body ready, your girlfriend pressed the tip of her strap to your entrance. Her mech and flesh holding onto your thighs as she slowly, and oh so carefully, pushed inside. Sevika’s strap was thick and long, easily larger than her two fingers— and it took you a while to get used to. “Deep breaths, babe.” Flesh hand pressing down on your lower abdomen, it was her way of making you feel more.

“Trying.” Was your breathless response, head tilted to the side to see the bulge in your skin. Sevika only smiled down at the sight, soaking in the way her strap looked with you wrapped around it. “Convinced every inch of you is beautiful.” The woman leaned forward, holding onto your ankles and slowly beginning to thrust. Your body, as usual, recoiled, and your hands clenched onto the the pillow beneath your clouded head.

Your eyes rolled back as Sevika’s hips rolled deep into you, hitting her target all the while rubbing against your tight walls. She could feel the pressure, the repeated squishing everytime she entered, even the way she had to push hard into you. You were wet, soaked, and it made the job easier. Louder, too. The quiet yet noticeable squelching noises from you filled the room, thanks to your girlfriend.

Not even a few minutes in and you were feeling your stomach pool again. The same heat that would make you feel good formed and you found yourself utterly taken away by the sensation jolting throughout your body. Every part of you enjoyed it.

“Close already?” The woman grunted, wrapping your legs around her hips and deciding to pull you against her chest. “I can’t..” you managed to say, barely able to keep yourself composed. “Sev, I.. fuck— it’s too much,” “need me to stop?” She knew you’d say no, she’d never heard the word leave your mouth. “Don’t.. please, I’m close.”

And she didn’t. Sevika never slowed her pace. Her only goal, at the moment, was to make you cum, all the while feeling loved. She showed so by peppering your forehead with kisses, intertwining her fingers with yours, holding your hands above your head, and whispering soft words in your ear. “You’re doing great, love,” she’d say as she pressed a kiss on the shell of your ear. “Gonna cum for me, hm? Go ahead, baby.” All the while pounding into you. “My girl sounds so pretty, don’t you?” As she lets you burry your face into her shoulder and whimper, moan, as much as you wanted to.

Even though your girlfriend was thrusting hard, she wasn’t being rough. She knew how you needed it, how much you could handle. She’d never push your limits, if that had even crossed her mind. “Vika,” your voice shaky as you sniffle against her skin. Her warmth mixing into yours, her grunts sending a light shiver through you, and her breath tickling your neck. “Is something wrong?” Her pace slowing as she wiped at your wet cheek. “No, don’t stop.. please.” Heart racing in your chest as you said those words. You’d repeated them a thousand times; but they really were true.

“Baby, I’m not.” Sevika, though worried, fastened her pace again and leaned on her arms to get a better look at you. Brows furrowed, eyes lidded and wet, lips parted, with your face heated. As cute as you looked, she had to ask the question. “What’s wrong?” Grey eyes staring deeply into yours. “Later.. I’ll tell.. you later.”

There was nothing wrong, just the fact that you were overwhelmed with the amount of care and love she put in every thrust, every touch. It was adorable and just so sweet that it had you sobbing.

Your orgasm was just as good as the last and, afterwards, Sevika slipped off her strap and decided to cuddle you. “Too much?” She asked, voice quiet and soft, “No, I never said that.” Your face showing your embarrassment. “Then, what? Did I hurt you?” your girlfriend had her prosthetic off again, so her flesh hand did most of the touching. “No, you’re just really nice. That’s all.”

“Nice? I’m really nice?” She repeated, “what does that mean?”

“It means I love you.”

“Oh? That’s.. new.” Her brows raised in surprise. “I love you, too. Even though you cry over stupid things.”

“Those were happy tears—“ “Yeah, alright. You had me worried about happy tears.”

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

Pretty Boy | s.r. x fem!reader

a/n: you know i had to do something for glasses reid i’d be crazy not to.

“oh, here comes your pretty boy. capital p and b.” derek’s smooth voice entered your shared office with jj. you didn’t bother asking who, even coyly, he would just say something along the line of “your other half, pretty girl.”

so you rolled your eyes while scanning over a case file, not bothering to direct attention to the man. “and why the need to visit my space?” a teasing reply, both knowing his visits to the double liaison office were once in a blue moon.

there was the sound of shuffling before derek responded, “cause i wanna see your reaction.” such a vague answer that it caused you to pick your head up with a quizzical look, “what are-“ and you stopped when spencer poked his head through the cracked doorway.

“hey y/n, i brought you…” you didn’t hear the rest of his sentence. eyes too focused on spencer’s face and the new wardrobe attire perched along his nose.

your heart beat fast in your ears and you could feel your body warm in temperature. it was like you were sent back in time to high school and spencer was the insanely smart, pretty student ripped right from your fantasies. you hoped you weren’t drooling at the sight.

“y/n? you alright?” spencer’s voice was much closer now and when you blinked he was directly in front of you with the back of his hand to your forehead and a frown on his face. derek’s chuckles filled the crowded space and you couldn’t even manage a side eye.

“you feel warm. you didn’t happen to catch anything from the last case, did you?” full concern with round puppy eyes shining behind black frames. your heart was the picture of a popsicle melting on a hot summer day.

you took a swallow, “not- not that i know of.” eyes honed onto a freckle placed to the left of spencer’s chin.

derek laughed again, “ease up on her, pretty boy.” he moved closer and stood behind spencer’s left shoulder, a smug expression painted on his chiseled face.

“i’m just checking if she’s physically well.” spencer’s voice got high from defending himself and his actions while glaring at derek.

derek then jerked his chin at your sheepish expression, “well it’s declining each second you’re in her space.” joking at the expense of your crush, but spencer took it the wrong way and pulled his arm back to his side. “sorry, right boundaries. should’ve asked first.”

you managed to bounce back when he started moving away, “no! no, it’s- derek’s just joking. i- i don’t mind you touching me.” and it took two, two seconds, for your mind to process your wording.

“oh this is a great morning.” derek howled then decided he’s seen enough, leaving both of you hot and pink cheeked.

squeezing your eyes shut you wished for the floor to swallow you hole and drag you away from this situation. “i’m- i’m sorry… about that. bit- bit scattered brained right now.” trying to play everything off.

“you- you sure you’re alright? i’m certain hotch will let you leave early.” spencer’s brows pinched in the middle turning his face into more of a pout. oh he has no idea the effect on you.

you smiled gentle at his worry, “i’m well, just been staring at potential cases too long, that’s all.” fingering at the edge of the manilla folder in your lap.

“also i like the new look,” circling a finger around your eyes to play charades with him than just mention the holy glasses. “they suit you nicely.” friendly but said with a hint of flirty.

spencer’s smiled widened and his cheeks turned from bubblegum pink to a rosie hue, oh how you wish to just cover him in thousands of kisses. “thanks. i ran out of contacts for the month so i’m stuck with these until then.” making it sound like an inconvenience, but oh how you were gonna suffering for a month of those handsome frames.

you turned your head away before you were caught staring for too long and saw a baby pink bag sitting beside your picture frames. you reached out to grab it then pulled it apart to see a sweet morning treat awaiting for your teeth to sink in. “did you bring this?” asking spencer since you then remember that he said something when arriving but you didn’t hear what.

spencer straightened up and happily beamed, “yeah! i was walking past that pastry shop you like and thought you’d enjoy something for all your hard work.” you both knew that was a straight lie since that pastry shop is an extra ten minutes out of either of yours work routes.

but you didn’t comment on it just looked spencer in the eye and said softly, “thank you, spence. you’re very sweet.” and with a sudden boldness you leaned forward to press a delicate kiss onto his right cheek.

pulling back you noticed spencer’s lips were slightly parted, he looked almost winded from the sudden action. you were gonna apologize if you over stepped but then jj entered her office with derek trailing behind.

“uh… hi.” she stopped two steps inside then saw the way you both fidgeted to appear normal. as if you were doing something you weren’t supposed… “hi, welcome.” “everything normal here.” you and spencer talked over each other.

“okay, not even gonna ask…” waving a folder about, “but i found a case and hotch approved so into the conference room for debriefing.” jj gave both of you a final stare then walked around derek to flee the scene.

“come on pretties, you can smooch later.” “derek!”

[chancloud8]

Lose My Breath

Pairing: han jisung x reader x lee know

Word count: 5,5k

Summary: for their youtube series where they look for new hobbies, Jisung and Minho come to your studio for a lesson in pole dancing. neither of them expected to find more than a new hobby..

Tags: youtubers!minsung, pole dancer!reader, established minsung, fluff, smut, nsfw, 18+, fingering, oral (f), a bit of m/m kissing, threesome, nipple play, vaginal sex, mirror sex, creampie, pet names -sorry if i forgot anything!-

a/n: happy birthday to the lovely @staylovesmiley this one is for you! <3

‘Good morning lovely people,’ Jisung grins into the vlogging camera he’s holding. ‘Today Minho and I are going to try out a new activity in our quest to find a new hobby.’ 

You watch in silence as the gorgeous man who walked into your studio about fifteen minutes ago, explains to their audience what they’re about to do. He’s dressed in some loose grey sweatpants and a black tank top that shows off his broad shoulders. His black hair is tousled and he’s wearing black eyeliner that’s making his eyes pop. 

‘He’s a stunning little creature, isn’t he?’ a voice whispers next to you and you jump in surprise, bringing up your hand to cover your chest where your heart is beating so fast you can feel it thump against your palm.

‘You scared me,’ you laugh softly, not wanting to interrupt Jisung who’s still babbling to the camera and showing everyone the room. 

‘Sorry,’ Minho grins, bumping his shoulder against yours. ‘I have very quiet feet and you were pretty distracted by my man doing what he loves.’ 

You feel your cheeks heat at being caught staring at someone else’s boyfriend. Jisung and Minho are a very popular Youtube couple and you’ve been following them for years, silently crushing on both men as they made their way through life with their own camera’s following their every move. 

‘Oh, look who finally decided to join us!’ Jisung says then, turning the camera to you and Minho. ‘Say hi, baby.’ 

‘Hi,’ Minho says, waving a peace sign next to his face as his lips turn up in a small smile. 

‘And this is y/n, she will be teaching us today,’ Jisung introduces you and you too wave at the camera. 

Jisung turns the camera to himself again. ‘Wish us luck,’ he grins and then he lowers his arm and shuts off the camera. ‘Okay I’m all ready now.’

‘Did you bring any shorts like I requested in the email?’ you ask them, eyeing the sweats they’re both wearing. They may look ridiculously good in them, but wearing pants like that did not go well together with pole dancing.

‘Oh yes, we’re wearing some underneath,’ Minho says and then he promptly pushes down his sweatpants, revealing black athletic shorts. 

You blink and Jisung giggles. 

‘Min, baby, you can’t just start undressing in front of y/n,’ Jisung says, reaching over to help his boyfriend pull his pants over his shoes. 

‘I’m wearing shorts? It’s not like I’m naked,’ Minho mumbles, but his ears turn red. 

‘It’s fine,’ you smile at them. ‘I’ve seen it all after six years of dancing and teaching.’ 

Jisung makes a face as he too gets rid of his sweatpants, leaning heavily on Minho as he pushes them off his feet. ‘I can’t even imagine how some people probably show up to pole dance.’ 

‘Yeah, you don’t want to know,’ you laugh, not missing the curious glint in either of their eyes. 

You put on some soft music and start warming up, instructing the man what movements are best to prep their muscles and they easily fall into your warm up routine. 

‘Very good,’ you praise them when you’re done. ‘Do you want me to show you the whole routine I’ll be teaching you first or would you rather I’ll take you through it step by step?’ 

‘Routine,’ Minho says at the same time as Jisung goes; ‘Step by step.’ 

They look at each other and for a moment they seem to have a whole conversation with just their eyes until Minho raises his eyebrows and licks his lips, causing Jisung to let out a little whine, sagging his shoulders as his cheeks turn red. 

‘Routine first,’ Jisung agrees and you let your eyes wander between the two of them. 

Sexual tension seemed to roll off of them and you’re pretty sure that if both you and the camera weren’t here, Minho would have had Jisung pressed up against one of the mirrors in a heartbeat. 

‘What just happened there,’ you ask with a chuckle as you try to ignore what their interaction just did to you. It shouldn’t have been hot, but it was.

‘Nothing,’ Minho smiles. ‘Please show us the routine.’ 

Pushing away your feelings, you nod and get in position, winking at Jisung who’s still blushing. You start with the pole in front of you and grab onto the cold metal with one hand, easily maneuvering your body around it until your back is against the pole. You move your hips in a sensual way and reach up with your arms before arching your back as you move to lower your body and spread your legs. It’s a pretty sexy, but easy routine and you let your muscles move on auto pilot. 

When you end with your back against the pole again, only slightly out of breath, you can’t help but notice how both men have moved closer. Jisung his mouth is open in a little ‘o’ while Minho has his hands in his pockets, watching you with his head cocked as if he’s trying to figure out how you just did that. 

‘You want us to do that?’ Jisung asks. ‘That was–’ he clears his throat. ‘Very sexy.’ 

‘Agreed,’ Minho nods. 

‘Thank you,’ you smile. ‘And yes I will teach you how to do this.’ 

Jisung frowns, but when Minho pats his butt, he slowly walks towards one of the poles and stands before it like you had. 

‘Put all your fingers together, like this,’ you show them your hand. ‘And place it at forehead level on the pole. ‘Then you go ahead and sink under your arms,’ you instruct, moving your body to get in front of the pole with a sexy sway in your hips. 

When you look back at Jisung and Minho, they are nodding to themselves and get in position, placing their fingers against the metal. Both men follow your instructions and move smoothly to the front of the pole, just like you showed them. 

‘Very good!’ you grin at them, clapping your hands.

You show them the next move and once again they execute it perfectly. 

Jisung beams at you with sparkling eyes and you can’t help but compliment them again. ‘You have great form! I told you, you could do it!’

Jisung giggles and moves on the ball of his feet in excitement. ‘Show us the next move!’  

You go through the next few moves with them, correcting their postures here and there, but overall they take to the routine like a duck to water. 

‘There you go, very nice!’ you compliment the both of them with a little cheer when they finish going through the entire routine for the first time. 

You give them a few more pointers and at Jisung’s request you join them for the entire routine one more time before he goes to the camera’s to shut them off. 

‘That was way more fun than I thought it would be, easier as well,’ Minho admits, sitting down next to you on the floor as you start your cool down stretches. 

‘I haven’t heard someone say it was easier than expected in a long time,’ you chuckle, leaning forward to touch your toes. 

‘Oh,’ Minho frowns. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you.’ 

You sit up and shake your head with a smile. ‘You didn’t, don’t worry. It’s also been a while since I’ve seen someone take to it so easily, but I guess it makes sense with your dance background.’ 

‘Did I just hear you say we’re naturals?’ Jisung pipes up, letting his body fall to the floor on Minho’s other side, his head resting on his boyfriend's thigh. 

‘Yes,’ you laugh. ‘You have lots to learn, but if you commit to it, I am very sure you’ll be upside down in that pole and spinning around in no time.’ 

‘I’d rather focus on the fact that you know I have dance experience. You watch our videos?’ Minho asks, watching you carefully. 

‘I do,’ you nod, your cheeks heating up until you’re sure you’re as red as a beet. ‘I’ve been following you guys pretty much since the beginning.’ 

'Awww, really?' Jisung coos, sitting up again to also start stretching. ‘That’s so sweet.’ 

‘Why didn’t you say so sooner?’ Minho asks. 

You shrug and lift your arms above your head to stretch your back and shoulders. ‘You didn’t ask and I was being professional I guess.’ 

They both smile at you and the three of you chat about their channel for a while as you lead them through a cool down. 

‘Do you have any more lessons after this?’ Jisung asks when the three of you get up again and you offer them a bottle of water from your mini fridge. 

You look at your watch. ‘I do, but not for a few hours.’ 

Jisung shares a look with Minho. ‘Would you want to join us for lunch?’ 

‘Oh, uhm sure,’ you nod. ‘Why not!’ 

*******

In the next few weeks Minho and Jisung come back about twice a week for more lessons from you. Sometimes they film, sometimes they don’t and you love watching them grow each week, picking up on the movements quicker than any of your other students. They often bring you coffee or homemade treats that Minho made and you can comfortably say that the three of you have developed a bit of a friendship. 

There’s lingering touches sometimes and heated gazes when they watch you do your thing on the pole, but not once have they been inappropriate. They make you feel seen, sexy and safe. 

‘I have a question,’ Jisung says on a Thursday evening when you’ve just finished your lesson. 

‘Mhm,’ you hum, moving into your stretch. 

‘What do you think about us? I mean, how do you feel about us?’ 

‘What do you mean?’ you ask, sitting up so you can look at him. ‘Are you asking if I like you? Because of course I do. I’m very happy the two of you came into my life and I’d like to think we’re friends.’ 

‘Friends,’ Jisung mumbles and his brows furrow. ‘Right.’ 

You tilt your head in question. ‘Was that not what you wanted to hear? You don’t think we’re friends?’ 

Jisung’s eyes widen and he crawls closer to you, already having finished his stretches. ‘No, no I didn’t mean it like that! I love that you consider us friends, I just..’ he bites his lip nervously and glances at his boyfriend. 

Minho chuckles from your other side. ‘What he was meant to ask was, are you attracted to us?’ 

You nearly choke on your own spit at the unexpected question and you start coughing violently. Minho gently pats your back and Jisung hands you a bottle of water, his cheeks are red, but his eyes are hopeful. 

‘Sorry,’ you mumble when you finally feel like you can breathe again. ‘Did you just ask me if I think you’re hot?’ 

Minho lets out a laugh and Jisung giggles. 

‘Basically,’ Minho nods. 

‘Wow, okay,’ you mumble, taking another sip of water. ‘I mean, how can I not? Have you seen yourselves?’ 

The two of them share another look and Jisung scoots even closer to you until his knee touches your thigh. 

‘So you are attracted to us?’ Jisung repeats Minho’s question. 

Nervous butterflies swirl in your stomach and you suddenly feel hot all over by the way they both stare at you with the same heated gaze you’ve seen before. 

‘I- yes,’ you admit, licking your lips. ‘I am.’ 

Jisung smiles and beams at Minho, causing the older to chuckle at his boyfriend and lean closer to you to reach out and pinch Jisung his chin. ‘Patience, baby.’ 

‘I’m not patient and you know it,’ Jisung pouts and both Minho and you laugh at his sad face. 

Minho lets go of Jisung and places his hand on your thigh. His touch immediately heats up your entire leg and when you look down to see his long fingers against your bare leg, you nearly groan out loud. 

‘We have a question for you, pretty,’ Minho says, his voice sounds lower than usual and it makes you shiver. ‘And I need you to answer honestly, can you do that?’ 

You nod and look up at him, meeting his eyes. ‘I can.’ 

‘Good,’ he smiles. ‘If you say no, I promise there will be no hard feelings between us and we can still be friends.’ 

Your mouth suddenly feels dry and you wish you were still holding onto that bottle of water, but you nod again anyway. 

‘You see,’ Jisung starts, placing his hand on your other thigh. ‘We’ve had this fantasy for a while now, but never found the right person.’ 

‘But now we did,’ Minho continues. ‘You fit with us perfectly and we both like you very much.’ 

Jisung nods enthusiastically, his fingers tightening on your thigh a bit. ‘We’re kind of hoping that you feel the same way about us.’  

You blink at them, your head moving left to right to look at them both. ‘I’m flattered, but I’m not sure what you’re asking of me? Is it sex? A one night stand? A relationship?’ 

‘For now it’s sex,’ Minho grins. ‘But we’re open to more if it leads to that.’ 

‘Alright,’ you say, nodding slowly, your thoughts racing about as loud as your heartbeat. ‘And you want it now?’ 

Jisung lets out a little whine and leans in to press a sweet kiss to your shoulder. ‘We wanted it yesterday, last week, hell the day we met actually, but now works.’ 

You laugh at his ridiculous babbling and place your hand on top of his own. ‘Now works for me as well, but one of you will have to get up to lock the door.’ 

You’ve barely finished the sentence when Jisung jumps up and jogs towards the little hallway where the entrance for your studio is. You giggle at his eagerness before turning towards Minho who’s already looking at you. 

‘You’re sure?’ he asks.

You nod and feeling bold, you move and crawl into his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. ‘Oh, I’m sure.’ 

Minho’s hands immediately clasp your hips to pull you even closer, pressing your clothed chores against each other. You bite your lip when you feel how hard he is already and without a second thought you crash your mouth against his. He responds right away, one of his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you in place against his body while the other moves so he can grab onto the back of your neck. 

‘Hey, you started without me,’ you hear Jisung’s voice say faintly behind you before you feel a strong warmth pressing against your back. 

A hand moves your hair to the side, freeing your neck and a heartbeat later lips are pressed against your skin. Minho slips his tongue inside your mouth when you gasp and a moan escapes your throat as he tangles it with yours while Jisung leaves open mouthed kisses on your neck. 

‘Hmm if I'd known you wanted this, I would have asked earlier,’ Jisung says against your skin while gliding his hands from your sides to your bare thighs and then back upward towards your breasts. 

You can only moan again in response, too busy kissing Minho, which he is obviously very good at. It’s messy, wet and hot and you love every second of it. 

‘Hmm you make such pretty noises,’ Jisung whispers against your neck, his fingers slipping underneath the sports bra you’re wearing. ‘I can’t wait to make you scream when I eat you out.’ 

You arch your back for as far as you’re able to and a violent shiver goes through your body when Jisung teases your nipples, twirling his fingers around the sensitive buds. Minho breaks the kiss and leans back a little so he can look down at where Jisung’s hands disappear underneath your sports bra. 

‘Take it off,’ he says to his boyfriend. 

Jisung does as he says and frees your breasts in one quick motion, slipping the top over your head and throwing it behind him on the floor. 

‘Hmm beautiful,’ Minho mutters, moving his hands to caress your stomach and up towards the underside of your breasts before cupping them. ‘So perfect.’ 

You claw at Minho’s shirt, trying to take it off and make it even. He chuckles at your efforts and leans in to capture your lips again, successfully distracting you from your task. Behind you, you hear the rustling of clothes and when Minho lets go of your lips again, he turns you around and basically drops you in Jisungs lap. 

‘Hello baby,’ Jisung grins, eying your naked breasts that heave with every pant that leaves your mouth. 

He has taken off everything but his boxers and you take a moment to appreciate his lean form, smooth skin and the tattoos that cover his chest. He’s absolutely mouthwatering. 

‘Hi yourself,’ you purr, reaching out to trace the large tattoo on his side. ‘I like your tattoos.’ 

Jisung preens under the compliment and pulls you closer. ‘How much?’ 

Giggling you lean forward to press your lips against the black compass on the left side of his chest. Your tongue sneaks out to trail a wet line all over the ink and Jisung lets out a surprised grunt at the feeling. He grabs onto your neck and pulls you up to kiss you. 

His lips are even softer than Minho’s and you melt into him, moving your hands to his strong shoulders and then to his hair to tangle your fingers in the soft black strands. 

It should surprise you how fast you adapted to this situation with the two men you only met a few weeks ago, but seeing as you’ve been crushing on them for years, it probably wasn’t that hard for your brain to accept. 

A naked chest presses against your back then and hands move from your hips to the front of your black yoga shorts, cupping your clothed pussy. Liquid heat spreads through your entire body and you let out an embarrassing whine against Jisung’s lips when Minho pulls his hand away again to tug at the waistband.

‘Can I take it off?’ he asks, pressing a small kiss on your shoulder. 

You pull back from Jisung’s mouth and giggle when he pouts at you. His lips are swollen and red and his pupils are elated, he looks even prettier than usual like this. 

‘Stand up, baby,’ Minho says and you’re not sure if it's to you or Jisung, but the both of you get up with his help. ‘Good, now take it off.’ 

Minho smirks as once again, both you and Jisung follow his demand. Jisung pulls off his boxers, his dick springing free against his toned stomach, a drop of pre cum already drips down his length and your mouth waters at the sight. You quickly follow his lead and take off your shorts, shedding your underwear as well. 

‘Look at that, I’ve got two lovely stunning creatures now,’ Minho hums, licking his lips as his eyes devour every inch of naked skin in front of him. ‘Ji, baby, why don’t you get on your knees for y/n.’ 

Jisung drops to his knees right away, his hot breath tickling against your pelvis bone as he scoots closer to you. The sight of his mouth only inches away from your pussy makes your legs feel weak and you look at Minho with pleading eyes, hoping he’ll understand you’ll need his support if his boyfriend is going to make a meal out of you. 

Minho grins, drops his own boxers to the floor and strides over to you with three big steps. He pulls you against his chest, his arm hooking around your waist underneath your breast to hold you steady. 

‘Feast away, baby,’ he tells Jisung. 

One of your legs is placed over Jisung’s shoulder and then he licks a fat stripe between your already slick lips, all the way from your hole to your clit. If it wasn't for Minho’s hold on you, you would have collapsed. 

‘Fuccckk,’ you moan, your head falling back against Minho’s shoulder. 

Jisung hums and dives in again, this time putting even more pressure with his tongue. Your hips buck on their own accord and Jisung reaches up to hold you in place against Minho. 

‘Hmm you taste delicious, baby,’ he murmurs against your folds, nipping at them with his teeth. 

‘Unnghh,’ is all you are able to let out, your brain feeling hazy with lust and pleasure. 

Minho starts placing wet open mouthed kisses against your neck as his free hand plays with your nipple, while Jisung keeps lapping at your clit with his skillful tongue. Heat curls in your stomach and when he adds a finger and curls it just right, you cry out so loud that it startles you a bit. You’ve never been this loud before. The thought immediately leaves your brain when another finger is added to your heat and your legs are starting to shake.

‘Please, Sungie,’ you moan, trying to buck your hips again. 

Jisung picks up the pace, moving his tongue and his finger in tandem. 

‘That’s it, kitten, let go for us,’ Minho whispers in your ear as his fingers twist and pull your already sensitive nipple. 

‘So close,’ you whine, the coil in your belly getting tighter and tighter. 

When it snaps your eyes roll back and you moan Jisung’s name. Your legs give out, but Minho’s hold keeps you up as Jisungs keeps moving his fingers until he’s sure you’ve ridden out your orgasm. 

‘Hmm so sexy,’ he says against the inside of your thigh, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your skin there. 

Your legs shake and Minho gently lowers himself and therefore you to the floor. He sits you down in his lap and moves your limbs around like you're a doll. 

‘Look at that,’ he hums, leaning his chin on your shoulder. 

‘Hmm?’ you hum, still a bit hazy from your release. 

‘Look in the mirror,’ Jisung says, moving to sit behind Minho. 

You do as he says and gasp at the sight that greets you. You barely recognize yourself, naked, flushed skin, big eyes and wild hair. Your feet are on either side of Minho’s thighs, causing your legs to stay open and displaying your glistering pussy for all of you to see in the mirror. 

Minho moves his hands from your breasts towards your core and when his finger gently dips into your soaking folds, you shiver. 

‘Mhhgh, sensitive,’ you mutter, but you don’t slap his hand away. 

‘You can take it,’ Minho whispers, biting the skin between your shoulder and neck. 

Jisung moves to your side and lays down onto his stomach, his chin resting on your thigh as he stares at your pussy with big hungry eyes like he hadn’t just eaten you out already. His tongue is peeking out of his lips and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was drunk or at least a little tipsy. 

‘Can I go again?’ he asks, looking up at Minho. 

‘No,’ Minho growls. ‘It’s my turn to play.’ 

Jisung huffs, but stays where he is, pressing a soft kiss on your thigh. You reach out to pat his hair and he smiles up at you. 

‘You ready, kitten?’ Minho asks, his free hand coming up to circle your throat lightly. ‘I want you to keep looking in the mirror the entire time, okay?’ 

All you can do is nod, your gaze connecting with his through the mirror. 

‘Good girl, now watch how easily you’ll take my finger.’ 

Minho slips his finger inside and your mouth falls open at the sensation. It’s only one finger, but it still feels so unbelievably good. Your head falls back against Minho’s shoulder, but you make sure to keep your eyes on the mirror, watching as he starts pumping his finger in and out of you. Wet slopping sounds fill the studio and soon your moans echo off the walls as well. 

‘More, Minho, please,’ you beg, the sensitivity from before completely gone. 

Minho’s fingers leave your throat to play with one of your nipples again, pinching the bud between his thumb and forefinger. Jisung sits up beside you and takes the other nipple in his mouth, sucking and twirling his tongue around it until you’re a shivering mess. A second finger is added to your core and your eyes fall close as the pleasure nearly overwhelms you. 

‘Eyes open,’ Minho growls in your ear, pinching your nipple so hard a yelp leaves your mouth. 

It’s a good type of pain and when your eyes lock with Minho’s once more and his thumb brushes over your swollen clit, you fall over the edge for the second time. Your legs are shaking violently and it takes everything in you to keep your eyes from rolling back inside your head. 

‘Such a good girl,’ Minho murmurs, kissing your neck as he fingers you through your orgasm. ‘So tight and responsive.’ 

‘She’s perfect,’ Jisung says, his mouth still attached to your breast. 

‘God,’ you groan, coming down from your high. ‘You guys are.. fuck.’ 

Jisung laughs and pulls back to look at you, his hand coming up to push a sweaty piece of hair behind your ear. ‘We’re just Minsung, baby.’ 

You smile at hearing their nickname and reach out to touch his chest. ‘That’s enough for me.’ 

‘Good, because we’re not done with you yet,’ Jisung smirks. ‘How’d you feel about riding my di–’ 

You don’t let him finish and push yourself up against Minho’s thighs to basically launch yourself against him. Your legs still feel like jelly, but Minho’s hands on your hips help you straddle Jisung who laughs in pleasant surprise at your attack. 

‘I guess that’s one way to answer,’ he grins. ‘You’re that desperate for me, huh?’ 

‘Oh shut up,’ you laugh, lining yourself up with Minho’s help. 

‘You can just say you want to be fu–’ Jisung’s mouth falls open when you sink down, your walls clenching around him. ‘Fuck, fuck fuck,’ he groans, throwing his head back and exposing his long neck. 

You waste no time to lick a fat stripe from his collarbone all the way to just behind his ear and he shivers beneath you. Minho moves to sit beside you and grabs onto the back of Jisung’s neck, pulling his head back up. 

‘How does she feel, Jagi?’ he asks Jisung when you roll your hips forward before bouncing up and down. 

‘So good,’ Jisung whines. ‘So tight and warm.’ 

Minho groans and leans forward to catch Jisungs lips with his own, kissing him feverishly. The sight of their tongues tangling is breathtaking and you can’t help but slow your movements to enjoy the view. 

Jisung moans and grabs onto your hips, his tongue still battling Minho’s, but the instruction is clear and you slowly increase your speed again before leaning in to press open mouthed kisses against Jisung’s neck. 

When Minho pulls back and Jisung whines at the loss, you tilt your head up and press your lips against his instead. The kiss is messy and wet and your rhythm fails again as you’re too focused on both the kiss and the noises Jisung makes. 

‘Such pretty noises, right?’ Minho murmurs, burying his face into your neck and biting down on your skin again. 

You hum against Jisung’s lips and arch your back when Minho’s fingers twirl around your hard and abused nipples. They're so sensitive that it sends a shock through your body and you moan into Jisungs mouth, your hips faltering. Both their hands find their way to your hips and help you move. 

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room and the feeling of being sandwiched between two hot bodies makes the coil in your stomach tighten once more, heat spreading through your veins as your third orgasm approaches. 

Jisung comes first, his hips rutting up with little shocks as he moans into your mouth. Minho quickly moves his hand down to your folds to circle and pinch your clit. You’re a withering mess in seconds and when he bites down on your shoulder you actually come with a scream this time. 

Your body sags against Jisung and for a moment the three of you just sit there, hugging each other and catching your breath. 

‘Do you think you’d have one more in you?’ Minho asks when the sweat on your skin is starting to cool down enough for you to shiver in their arms. 

Never in your life have you come more than three times in a row, but the thought of saying no doesn’t even cross your mind, especially when you feel his cock twitch against your ass. 

‘Only if you take me against the mirror,’ you tease, looking over your shoulder to wink at him. 

You’re only partly joking, but Minho just grins at you and stands up. He gently pulls you off of Jisung, chuckling softly when the both of you shiver when his softening cock slides out of you, before he easily hauls you up in his arms and wraps your legs around his waist. 

‘I’ve had a dream about this,’ Minho mumbles as he approaches the mirrored wall and presses your naked back against the cold glass. 

‘I’ve thought about this too,’ you admit, blushing. ‘But it was actually you fucking Jisung against the mirror.’ 

‘I want that!’ Jisung squeals behind you.  

Minho laughs and repositions you in his arms so his cock is teasing your soaking entrance. ‘I’m sure we can make that fantasy come through as well.’ 

Your eyes widen and that’s when he sinks home, pushing all the way into you with one smooth movement. 

‘Oh, fuck,’ you moan, his cock stretching you deliciously.

‘How are you still so tight,’ Minho pants, his hands squeezing your ass. ‘Fuck.’ A droplet of sweat drips down from his hairline to his chin and you follow it with hazy eyes before focussing on his lips where his teeth are biting into his bottom lip. 

‘She feels amazing, doesn’t she?’ Jisung has gotten up from the floor and is now pressed up against Minho’s back, his chin leaning on his shoulder.

‘So good,’ Minho agrees, squeezing his eyes shut as he ruts his hip upwards. 

‘Mhmh,’ you moan, pleasure is already building in your belly again and your eyes flutter shut as your head falls back against the mirror. 

This time Minho doesn’t scold you to keep your eyes open, he just buries his face in your neck and attacks your skin with his tongue and teeth. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about him today, it’s that he likes to bite and leave marks.

The sensation of his cock pounding into you, the cold mirror at your back and the warmth of his tongue against your neck is almost too much. Your muscles tremble and when Jisung reaches around Minho to let his hands travel all over your body, you start to feel dizzy. 

‘Please,’ you murmur, clenching your walls around Minho. ‘Please, Minho.’ 

You’re not sure if you’re begging for him to come or to go faster, you just know that it’s all getting too much. Tears start to leak from your eyes as your body doesn’t know what to do with the overload of sensations. 

‘I’m close, Jagi,’ Minho murmurs against your neck, nipping at your collarbone. ‘Let go for me, yeah?’ 

You sob and dig your fingers into his shoulders as the strongest orgasm you’ve ever had takes over your body. Your mouth opens in a silent scream, your limbs are spasming and your vision turns black for a second or two. 

A grunt leaves Minho’s throat as he comes inside you, his hands holding you close as he presses soft kisses all over your shoulders, neck and face while Jisung runs his fingers through your hair and whispers sweet praises in your ear. 

When your body goes lax in Minho’s arms he sinks to the floor and cuddles you close. Jisung curls his body around your back and once more the three of you just sit there and cuddle into each other's warmth for a while. 

‘Next time we’re doing this, we need to pick a more comfortable place than the floor of your studio or against the mirror,’ Jisung says, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. ‘As hot as it is.’ 

‘But the mirrors,’ Minho pouts. 

You and Jisung both giggle and you reach out to tap his bottom lip with your finger. ‘So you want to do this again?’ you ask, smiling up at him.  

Minho raises his eyebrows at you and tightens his arms around your waist. ‘Don’t you?’ 

Oh fuck yes.

a/n: i'm still pretty new to writing smut so uhm I hope that was good lmao. (it was a lot of fun to write hehe) If you enjoyed reading, please consider leaving a comment and/or reblog <3

shoutout to @staybabblingbaby for helping me brainstorm, u rock <3

general taglist: @jaeminie-cricket @jeonginsbaee @staylovesmiley @newbbystay @cashtonsbetch @mariahxrrera @kaleigh-2002 @silencionyx @smileykiddie08 @my-neurodivergent-world @yaorzu-blog @yoongiismylove2018 @staytinyluv @bookswillfindyouaway @queen-thiccness @notastraykid @ateez-atiny380 @estella-novella @furfoxsake22 @hyunjinhoexxx @insomnjen @girl-in-love-with-kpop @vivilovesuu @velvetmoonlght @skz8love @corgilover20 @littlelostdemonofthelight @stephanieeeyang @zulie-and-cats @chanshugsaretherapy @pizzalove5000 @dazzlingjade @milie-com @thequibbie @channiesrightasscheek @strawbrriz @delulustardust

[xoamiiren]

MOONSTRUCK , ⋆｡°✩ 𓈒𓈒 crazy over you

𖥔 PRECIS. In which, sunghoon’s feelings for you start to feel like more than he can handle… PAIRING. smitten!sunghoon x tipsy!reader GENRE. fluff, suggestive WARNINGS. skinship, mild kissing, mentions of drinking

authors note ୨୧ I have nothing to say. get into it hoon!

─────────

You were… tipsy. Sunghoon knew that much. The proof was in the flush that colored your cheeks, a vivid contrast against your bonze-toned skin.

Despite the alcohol in both your systems, it didn’t take away from the fact that his mind was reeling.

The two of you had been in attendance for Jake’s birthday trip. A small , cozy gathering at his grandparent’s lakehouse for the weekend.

After a day filled with laughter, games, and a few drinks, the group had winded down for the night.

It was late, and you and Sunghoon were the last ones still awake, sitting on the porch talking under a shared fluffy blanket. It was nice… comforting. Just the two you, sharing quiet laughs and whispered stories under the stars.

But, Sunghoon couldn’t defy the nagging urge at the back of his mind to tell you. Tell you he was in love with you, so in love that it hurt.

It had started to get chilly, and with the others already asleep, you had both decided to move inside to a guest room with two twin beds—it was the only available space left.

Too relaxed to worry about where else to go, you agreed to take up the two beds, facing each other with drowsy eyes and lingering smiles.

As time passed, still laying in silence, Sunghoon couldn’t help but begin to toss and turn with the intention of sleep. The silence that was strangely comforting before, had started to become deafening, heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, Sunghoon rolled over to face you, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you blinking slowly, eyes glazed over yet intensely focused on him.

“You know…” His voice broke the silence, low and hesitant, almost drowned by the pounding of his own heart.

“Hm?” Your eyebrows arched, your gaze still locked on his, those large, innocent eyes piercing through the darkness.

“It’s… it’s nothing.” The courage he had mustered slipped away like sand through his fingers.

“What…?” your voice was soft, the edges frayed with weariness.

“I… really, it’s nothing.”

The silence returned, thicker this time, a suffocating blanket that wrapped around you both.

“Can you sleep now…? Are you sleepy…?” he murmured, voice hushed as though even in the solitude, someone might overhear.

“Mm…” you nodded, pushing yourself up to a sitting position, rubbing your eyes with a pout that made his heart tighten.

“I think I’ll sleep there.”

Sunghoon’s heart skipped a beat, then raced ahead as you slipped from your bed and into his own with a graceful clumsiness that only you could achieve.

When you landed with a soft thud, your noses were mere inches apart, your hushed giggles mingling with his own chuckles as you adjusted yourself under the covers, and rolled over so your back was pressing against his chest.

Warmth flooded Sunghoon’s senses, as if the bed weren’t already small enough. He prayed you could feel the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat against your back…

Feel how fast it was racing. How honest would that be?

You were so warm…

“Use my arm as a pillow…” he offered, his voice barely a whisper as you lifted your head to rest on his arm.

“Why…?” you asked, your voice a breathy murmur.

“So we can be closer…” he answered, the words tumbling out in a rush, his heart still pounding.

You stayed like that, the quiet punctuated only by the sound of your breathing, soft and steady. You shifted again, clearly in discomfort, and a breathy chuckle escaped Sunghoon’s lips.

“Why didn’t you bring your pillow over…?” he teased, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at you.

You glanced dismissively at the abandoned pillow on your abandoned bed before your gaze snapped back to him, piercing him to the core.

Your glassy eyes glittered under the moonlight streaming in through the window, long lashes casting delicate shadows on your flushed cheeks as you blinked slowly.

You were… breathtaking. Sunghoon’s heart constricted painfully at the sight of you.

Slowly, you reached up to smooth down your own bedhead, and without thinking, Sunghoon followed suit, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with trembling fingers.

Your eyes never wavered from his, tracing his every feature, studying him with an intensity that left him breathless.

What were you thinking? He could never tell, and as of right now… he was desperate.

You blinked slowly, your lips parting as you finally broke the thickening silence.

“Is this… not a good idea?” your voice was soft, laced with innocence yet tinged with a challenge, your doe eyes searching his own for an answer.

“No…” His voice was hoarse, his throat dry, but he kept his gaze steady on yours.

“It’s good.” He added, pulling the comforter snugly around you both.

“Hm?” you hummed, your eyebrows lifting ever so slightly in curiosity.

“It’s definitely good…” he repeated, his words barely more than a breath.

You smiled then, a fleeting, gentle curve of your lips before your expression softened once more, your eyes large and unblinking.

Sunghoon fought to contain himself, the air between them thick with tension, every innocent thought he tried to hold onto slipping away. God, you were divine.

So pretty, it hurt.

You pulled the covers tighter around your chest, your hands disappearing beneath them. Just then, Sunghoon could feel your cool, slender fingers intertwining with his.

The touch seemed almost electric, almost overwhelming, as you slowly and carefully guided his hand down the length of your body, the soft fabric of your sleep shirt barely a barrier to the heat of your skin, which felt like a burn the moment you guided his hand beneath it.

His heart thundered in his chest, anticipation and desire warring within him, but he never broke eye contact.

Your gaze dared him, testing his resolve with a demure boldness that sent shivers down his spine.

His breath caught as your hand guided his lower, fingers brushing the waistband of your shorts. He watched your expression shift ever so subtly, your lips falling open the slightest bit more, your eyes darkening with something he couldn’t quite name, and yet the innocence remained.

Your head tilted back faintly, almost in a pleading nod when he pressed his fingers down to apply pressure, his palm settling on your lower belly. 

Feeling the warmth of your skin beneath his touch, the tension in the air was almost unbearable.

Finally, Sunghoon tore his gaze from yours, letting out a shaky breath as his head fell back onto the pillow you now shared, his hand slipping from your grasp.

You watched him, silent, your chest rising and falling with a matching intensity.

You were nervous, scared…? Excited?

Sunghoon raked a hand through his hair, a pained laugh escaping his lips as he groaned in frustration, draping a heavy arm across your waist.

“(Y/n)…” he whispered, your name like a prayer on his lips.

The bashful grin on his face failed to go away, he could feel the warmth of a fresh blush dancing across his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears.

You said nothing, simply turning your head away and closing your eyes, seeking solace in sleep, an escape from the tension threatening to suffocate you both.

Sunghoon lay still, staring into the dimness of the room, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

He tugged at the covers, fidgeting restlessly, squeezing his eyes shut in a desperate bid for sleep.

But the racing of his heart wouldn’t let him rest.

He sat up once more, needing air, needing water, needing…

And then, your eyes fluttered open as you looked up at him again. Without a word, you grabbed his chin, pulling him down into a kiss that stole his breath away.

Sunghoon’s heart nearly exploded, a small sound of surprise catching in his throat as he melted into the kiss, your soft hum of pleasure reverberating through him.

Suddenly you shifted, and it was Sunghoon lying on his back, your lips never leaving his until you broke away, straddling him with careful, deliberate movements, as if afraid of causing him harm.

His heart swelled with emotion as he gazed up at you, completely captivated by the girl who had just turned his world upside down.

“Did I keep you waiting…?” you whisper, expression filled with worry despite your rose dusted cheeks.

“So long… I waited so long.”, Sunghoon teased, squeezing the soft flesh of your thighs as you giggled softly and captured his lips again.

[sunsburns]

i couldn't help myself and wrote a quick blurb for my girlfriend vi with one eye open (allusions to smut, no explicit smut.)

vi could’ve sworn she had something good going on for her. something consistent. she was so sure she had found it in the pit.

it was there, hidden somewhere in those fights. the way her whole body felt hot when her chest was freezing over. that heat was what she was searching for, the warmth. whether it be the ache in her fists, the blood soaking her bandages, the sweat on her skin or the black paint that's started to stain it.

the ache was consistent, it kept her stable.

besides, the drinks were strong enough to numb it. vi liked the drinks. loved them, really. the drinks weren't going to leave her, drinks weren't going to change.

drink. fight. drink. sleep. drink. fight. drink. sleep.

see? consistent.

the drinks brought a warmth to her, a burning, but warm enough to keep her sane. warm like the way the sun would beat down on her skin in those few weeks she spent in piltover. she liked the sun. vi missed it sometimes. but warm, warm like the way her old cell used to get if she beat that old punching back enough times. warm, similar to the way the tears run down her cheeks. warm, the way your hands used to feel against her skin.

those feather-like touches, tender, as if you were afraid you'd hurt her if you pressed too hard. you couldn't hurt her, you could never hurt violet, no matter how hard you tried. but you still tried not to, even if you knew you couldn't even take her a in fight, it was just your way of nature. you were tender, like a bruise. you were warm, like the sun.

and you used to kiss her the same way. soft lips, warm breath, and how it used to tremble when you got nervous or flustered. the way you used to press your lips on her cheek, smiling at the way you watched the pale skin grow rosy when you pulled away. she'd grin at you, a little dazed, a little giggly, before reaching for you, pulling you close and kissing you deeply.

again. and then again. and again.

she used to kiss you.

fuck yeah, she used to kiss you and that used to cause a fire to roar in her chest. and she loved to kiss you. she loved the ache you put in her chest, the way her heart used to beat too fast. holy shit, she loved to kiss you.

and she used to kiss you over and over again. kissed you sweetly, kissed you with fever. and she'd kiss you until the both of you were breathless. until you're squirming on her lap, gripping her shoulders, nails barely biting the skin but she loved the faint sting nonetheless. she loved the way you were too flustered to ask for what you wanted.

vi loved the way you looked at her whenever she asked you: "what do you need?"

she loved the way the corners of your lips would twitch in annoyance, a scoff puffing from between your lips as your skin warmed up even more. "c'mon, vi."

she used to laugh.

she used to laugh at you, at they way you got shy sometimes, but still bold enough to bring a hand to her face. bold enough to press your thumb against her lower lip, parting it, running it over her teeth before you mumbled, "want you to touch me. please."

she used to never say no to you. vi could never find it in herself because you used to ask so damn nicely.

you were warm, like the way a fire would burn in the winter, glowing embers. she loved your moans, the little cries you made, the faces you pulled, the salty tears she used to kiss away.

you made her feel warm. a warmth she'd been looking for since it was taken from her all those years ago. that similar warmth she used to feel whenever vander closed the bar for a few hours so he could take her, powder, mylo, claggor and ekko to the edge of zaun so they could watch the sun set behind the buildings of piltover.

you made her cheeks warm, her blood burn, and her heart used to ache for you. she used to ache for you.

she used to call your name in low groans, in your ear, just for you to hear. just so you and no one else could hear the way she yearns for you, shaky breaths against your burning skin. no one else needed to hear how she used to say your name like some kind of prayer under your tender touches.

and how tender they were, delicate. you used to treat her that way, when vi was used to punches, blood and broken bones, you treated her delicately, kissed her delicately, lips soft and pillowy, tongue slipping past her parted lips, mouth swallowing her sighs.

vi's hands, rough to the touch, scarred, blood-stained and permanently bruised at the knuckles, used to find a home in your hair, used to curl against strands and tug hard enough to make you whine against her mouth. she loved that sound.

she loved how you were nothing like her.

how even with her unworthiest hand, her lips ready to smooth that ache with a tender kiss, you never hesitated. and you loved her.

and you found a way to keep her warm. you kept her warm.

so warm. so loved.

and to be warm is what vi aches for.

so god be damned if she drinks until that dying fire in the pits of her stomach reignites. because at least those drinks burn. they burn and they blister, and she thinks they might be turning her to ashes but it's the closest comfort to warmth she's gotten since you'd left.

[bunnis-monsters]

I'll keep this one simple: Shy merman you befriend as a child and visit as often as you can throughout the years. He slowly gets more confident over time and- that's all I thought of- Whether it be sfw or nsfw is up to you! (I think I'd prefer either both or just sfw) Sorry if this is too vague!

A/N: this is a request for my 5K event! I am doing ALL requests I get within the next 24 hours, send one while you can!

It had been a few months since you last saw him. The two of you grew up together, friends ever since you helped untangle his tail from some fishing line.

He didn’t tell you why, but every summer since his 13th birthday he had been traveling away during the fall, leaving you all alone and missing him.

This time, when he returned during the winter, he was… different.

Large scars littered his belly and arms and he looked hungry and weak… but strangely satisfied. When you rushed to meet him, tears streaming down your cheeks, he smiled wider than he’d ever smiled before.

“I did it, (Name)…”

He gathered you in his arms, making sure you didn’t touch the icy cold water. You could barely make out anything he said through your tears, but blubbered out a quick response. “D-did what!? You’re hurt, I-“

He quieted you with a kiss, setting you down gently on a rock so he could move his face to your neck and deliver a mating bite.

“I defeated a great white… now… I can officially become your mate…”

Your mind was reeling from the new information and fuzzy feeling his kisses and bites gave you. You attempted to speak again but his tongue was already down your throat.

He seemed desperate, as if he wanted this for a while.

“All these years, I’ve never been able to beat one. Since I was 13, I knew I wanted to be your mate…”

He undid your thick pants, pushing them down to your thighs. He was too focused on pushing into your warm cunt to bother with undressing you completely, wanting to form the mating bond as quickly as he could.

You cried out as his large cock entered you, his webbed fingers holding onto your hips as he fucked into your needy cunt. His eyes were half lidded, animalistic noises leaving his lips as he mated you for the first time.

“I love you… I’ve always loved you, since the day you saved me… I’ll always be yours, and you’ll be mine…”

He kept fucking you, filling your womb with his cum until your thighs and ass were red from the cold. Despite wanting nothing more than to breed you until your stomach was heavy and swollen, he took you back to shore to make sure you didn’t freeze.

“I… missed you…” you said, still processing everything. You felt too good to care much about the cold or how fast it all happened, your heart soaring at the way he cooed and kissed you as he kept your body above the water.

“And I missed you, my love…”

From then on, you made sure to save up and get a house on the beach where you could visit your mate… and make sure he could see how your belly swelled with his young.

———————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y

[fear-is-truth]

NASTY – tate langdon x f!reader

tags: mature content 18+・fem!reader・smut・unprotected p in v・mirror sex ・choking

a/n: super rushed due to school n shit.

you came home from school early, greeted briefly by moira as you walked in. everything felt normal, like any other day. you climbed the stairs, expecting to find tate sprawled out on your bed, waiting for you like always.

but when you opened the door just a crack, you saw him at your desk, not on your bed. his back was hunched over your laptop, lips slightly parted, cheeks tinged pink, and brows furrowed in concentration. your stomach twisted in a strange mix of shock and amusement, watching him for a moment, trying not to laugh. you nudged the door open a bit more, letting it creak this time. his head snapped up at the sound, eyes wide with panic.

“shit—!” he hissed, slamming the laptop shut so fast you thought the screen might crack, before frantically fumbling with his belt and jeans.

you frowned, walking over before he could say anything. without thinking, you opened the laptop back up. the screen flickered on, and your face immediately flushed with heat. porn. he had been watching porn on your laptop. it wasn’t anything too freaky, but the actress… she looked a lot like you. same skin tone, hair, eyes. you stared at the screen for a second longer, before pausing the video. then turned to him, biting back a smile. “seriously, tate?”

his face was still flushed as he avoided your gaze, picking at a strand on his ripped jeans. “i… i missed you,” he mumbled, “you were gone all day, and… well…” he trailed off, clearly embarrassed and fumbling for any excuse.

“so, you thought this was a good idea?” you teased, gesturing toward the laptop. “you know you didn’t need porn, right?” tate looked up at you, eyes wide like a deer in headlights, unsure if he should be relieved or more embarrassed. “wait, what?”

you leaned in closer, pressing your lips to the side of his neck. “i’m right here. you don’t need that anymore.”

•••

you were lying in a tangled heap of limbs on the mattress, your clothes discarded carelessly on the floor. curling an arm around your torso, tate flipped you over to lay flat on your stomach. warm palms pressed onto the globes of your ass, fingers kneading the soft flesh. he drew back one hand before bringing it down firmly, the smack ringing in your ears. “you like it when i’m nasty, don’t you?” he gritted out in a voice that was slightly more raspy than his own.

“y-yeah.” you managed breathlessly, the rapid beating of your heart in your chest was suffocating. you knew that tate was only re-enacting the porn video he had been watching, but the dominance sent a rush of desire through your loins.

“hm, good girl.” he ran his forefinger slowly down your folds, sending a delicious shiver down your spine. “haven’t even touched you and you’re so wet for me already.” the pad of his finger circled your entrance, spreading your wetness. you whimpered and wiggled you hips hopefully, desperate to feel some sort of friction to free you of the ache between your legs. “so needy for my cock, hm?”

tate leaned back to sit on his ankles, kneading your asscheeks before spreading you open; exposing your pussy. already swollen and dripping, eager for him to use. he wrapped his fingers around his member and gave himself a few harsh pumps, before lining himself up at your sopping entrance. your breath hitched when you felt the tip breaching your hole, precum mingling with your slick.

he rocked forwards and bottomed out in one single thrust, a whimper escaped your lips, fingers clawing at the bedsheets. the sudden intrusion stung, and you were used to more prep and a much slower pace, but the second he pulled out and slammed back into you, you almost choked on your own spit. gone was the burning sting of the stretch in your cunt, replaced by euphoric pleasure. each thrust hit deep within you, the ridges and veins mapping his cock sliding against your walls before pulling all the way back before slamming himself to the hilt.

not slowing down his pace, rough hands closed around your shoulders and pulled you upwards flush against his chest, arching your back like a strung bow and pinning your wrists behind your back. a strained moan sounded from above you, the delicious way your tight walls milked his cock only spurring him to fuck you with abandon.

fingers tangled in your hair and yanked your head back, practically folding you in half. tate admired the way your eyes bulged and rolled backwards as you met his gaze, slack-jawed and a glistening string of saliva on your chin.

“hngmm– ack!”

you spluttered when the grip he had on your hair tightened, the tip of his cock nudging your g-spot sending sparks exploding under your eyelids. the constantly moving shadow of your joined bodies danced across the wall opposite the bed, and you felt tate’s lips brush lightly against your ear, warm breath tickling your skin.

“i want you to look in the mirror and see yourself, taking my cock so well.” his voice was dangerously soft, the filthy words squeezed through clenched teeth as he continued to piston himself inside you, the flesh of your ass rippling with each forceful slam. tate’s hand snaked to the column of your throat, four fingers digging against one side of your neck while his thumb occupied the other, rubbing slow circles along your jugular.

you gulped for air when he slackened his grip around your neck, oxygen filling your lungs with a sting. you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, looking like a complete wreck — skin glistening with sweat, breasts bouncing in tandem with his thrusts.

“ugh f-fuck, m’ gonna cum.” he grunted as your cunt tightened around him like a vice. and yet he persevered in his pace, continuing to thrust into you despite the fact that his movements were starting to get sloppier by the second. your vision momentarily turned white as you screamed out your climax, velvety walls pulsating around him, falling apart from the force of your pleasure. you felt him still against your body, chin resting on your shoulder before he spilled himself inside of you, pumping you to the brim with his come.

 fear-is-truth 2024 — all rights reserved. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[saetiate]

love, pancakes & robots

sae x reader fluff (suggestive) for @pixelcafe-network 's challenge friday!

excerpt: "You," you stab him in the chest with a finger. "Are a robot whisperer."

"I read the instructions on the box like a normal person."

"I did too!"

"Oh really? You can read? That's surprising." He grips your wrist before you can smack him again, eyeing you playfully like he's just daring you to try, pulling you in until his arms are wrapped around you.

“What are you doing?”

Looking for you the moment he's up is rare for Sae. It's the weekend, you love to sleep in, and he's usually heavy enough to keep you tucked into him even if you rise first.

“I was trying to make pancakes." There's a set of ingredients to your left, a plate of half-baked and burnt ones to your right…

"Doesn't look like it's working."

He says the comment off-handedly, but you catch that almost-grin of his before he manages to turn away and you shove him, your hand meeting the hard muscle of his chest. He barely budges, but he presses a hand to himself like you knocked the wind out of him, eyes wide with faux-pain that finally has you out of your pancake-making stoop and laughing.

"It's a fancy pancake maker! The one we got gifted, remember? They're meant to pop out perfectly every time."

"Y'know, there's nothing wrong with making them the old fashioned way." He grabs the box to the side, casually flipping it in his hands.

"This is new tech, Sae! New tech! It's supposed to just spit a pancake out at you like a robot!"

"Like that dumpling maker that doesn't actually roll a dumpling together no matter how you put it in?"

You wave your hand. "That's just proof that dumplings need to be folded with hands and made with love."

"Hmm," Sae puts the box down, pours the pancake mix in along with some chocolate chips.

It pops out perfectly.

"You," you stab him in the chest with a finger. "Are a robot whisperer."

"I read the instructions on the box like a normal person."

"I did too!"

"Oh really? You can read? That's surprising." He grips your wrist before you can smack him again, eyeing you playfully like he's just daring you to try, pulling you in until his arms are wrapped around you.

He dips his head to speak softly in your ear. "Maybe the robot just likes me better."

You pull away from him, tapping your hands on his cheeks. "Then the robot is misogynistic."

"A robot with skewed moral values? Governments might start using it for politics."

He spins you around in his arms so you're both facing the pancake maker, where he pours it in again and watches as it chucks out yet another perfect piece. The pure shock on your face has him chuckling into your shoulder, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

"It's alright. I love you enough for both me and the robot."

He squeezes your waist, and you miss his warmth immediately as he moves towards the doorway.

"Hey! Come back here and do the rest, magic robot man!"

"Mm," he makes an act of considering it, tilting his head. "What do I get in return?"

"Outside of chocolate pancakes?"

"You know I don't care about pancakes." He swoops towards you fast and lifts you up by your thighs, placing you on the countertop, hands on either side of you as he leans in. "So?"

"Well," you wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him in even closer, "what do you want?"

He grips the back of your calves, tipping you until you're lying flat on the counter, looming above you.

"I think it's clear," he tells you in a low tone, "what I want."

"Sae," Heat rushes through you, hyperaware of everything -- how warm his hands are, the cool countertop underneath you, the way his stature is the only thing that makes a position like this even possible.

"Pancakes first, you try to tell him, your heart beating fast in your chest, "or we'll never eat today."

"You sure?" He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee, then one higher up, and it has you gripping at his hand.

"We eat at this table."

"Who says that's not what I'm about to do?"

"You're cruel."

this is my first time doing a challenge!! the prompt i was given was: “What are you doing?” “I was trying to make pancakes but it didn’t exactly work” i hope i've done it justice!!

[cute-sucker]

note: thank you @.princessbrunette for creating boxer!rafe !!

extra note: this is an unofficial part 2 !! link

˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.˚❀༉‧₊˚.

you clutched the pregnancy test, clammy hands shaking as you felt more scared than ever. rafe was still in his match, and you- you were forbidden from coming to his matches. the last time you came his opponent had made a pass at you after rafe brutally beat him. 

the guy plummeted to the ground before he could utter another word, and rafe decided that enough was enough. so he sat you down, in your little cameo shorts and baby white tee. your thick lashes battered as he tried to come out the truth. the two of you were in the completely vacant locker room. 

"listen, kid, i don't think you should come to my matches anymore," he said gently, as you gripped his arm. you had a sweet expression on your face before you heard what he had said - quickly wilting as you frowned at him. before you could open your mouth he had already cupped your face as softly as he could.

his hands were rough and warm on your face, you could smell the brutality on them, yet you felt yourself at ease in his embrace. you could never admit it - but rafe had some control over you that you could never explain. 

"i know you're going to say it's your calling," he quipped, leaning in closer. his hot breath fanned your neck, as his mouth nipped at your cheek, "but baby i don't think this place is good for you." you felt yourself unwind and opened your mouth to blubber something. 

you finally gasped out, "but i wanna see you!" 

he groaned, steady hand moving down to your waist. there was an amused expression on his face, but he stayed firm. 

"rafe? please." 

"no."

that was it. so you got another job, and later on, rafe told you to stay at tanyhill with him. you were overjoyed that you would get to see him more and that he was being so gracious. all the girls in the ring had told you he was a playboy and nothing more than that. and you would never tell rafe but it was nice not being a ring girl. sure it was a way to get money fast, but your thighs ached from the amount of times you shined and plucked them.

but it wasn't just that. it was also the dark humid lights that dawned upon you, and trotting while people eyed you like a piece of meat. and now, you felt free, and while rafe would never understand why you chose it - you were a waitress. 

the owner, delany liked you, so she didn't give you a hard time about anything. it was a cafe where time seemed to slow and it was as if nothing could go wrong. you got up early in the morning, giving rafe a goodbye kiss while he was in bed as he groaned about you leaving so early. you took life at strides. things were great. 

but here it was. a sign that maybe everything was going to go to shit. be fine. your heartbeat quickened and you could barely breath - that was when you knew it was going to be bad. you could barely imagine yourself pregnant. 

how old were you? 25? yeah, that was too young and quite frankly did rafe even want a baby? sure he mentioned it sometimes, when you went to baby showers and cooed a baby clothes. but would he-? it was another mouth to feed and god you didn't know if you could support that. rafe, sure, but if he left you? and it was an actual human being to love.

finally, you found yourself rushing out of the bathroom. you had to tell him now, as your heart was on fire, and your hands were stinging. quickly you gathered your stuff and headed over to delany. 

"i have to go." 

˚❀༉‧₊˚.

the ring was the same as usual. the same musty smell, and that feeling of everything being possible. you weren't recognised - though you did see a couple of familiar faces in the crowd. but you weren't here to chit-chat. 

urgency drummed through your veins as you found rafe. 12:35. it was almost time for his first match, and you couldn't dump on him like that. no, you really could there was this feeling. this feeling that ran through you like wildfire as you stumbled to him. 

he looked good, better than good, but he looked alarmed as you twisted yourself around his body. 

"hey, hey kid," he laughed at you furiously hugging his middle, "i love that you're here but i told you about visiting me, didn't i? we had this conversation-" he was stopped right there as you kissed him, cupping his face. he was out of breath, pupils dilated when it finally set in. 

maybe he saw the way you sweet doe eyes were welling up with tears, or the way you swayed in his arms as if he let you go you could crumble, or the way you were trying to mouth words, but nothing was coming out of your mouth. he furiously swore under his breath, and pulled you along with him - you followed like a puppy. 

the dim lights of the corner he had pulled you in soothed your state. no longer did your skin ich, but your head still pounded. rafe looked down at you with a worried expression, as he rubbed your back. you were still holding on to him, wide-eyed. 

"hey?" he snapped his fingers, "can't be doing that here. not right now. what's wrong?" he asked harshly, and you shook your head, completely nonverbal. he raised a hand through his buzzed hair, concern evident in his eyes. whenever you got like this- which was never he had to remind himself to be gentle. 

finally, he dropped himself, voice quiet. he didn't care if people saw him like this- all vulnerable. "sweets are you okay?" he probed again. finally with trembling hands, you reached out into your bag to get the pregnancy test- and broke into tears. the two double lines spread fear throughout his heart. 

rafe had changed. that was a fact, he no longer was plagued by his fathers words as much as before. but could he be a father? suddenly he looked down at you, wispy lashes wet, and doe eyes pleading. suddenly, he felt something blossom in his heart. he imagined you running around in tannyhil, round with his kid. you would be wearing a pretty sun dress, as laughter rang through you. 

finally, he closed his eyes, "it's gonna be okay." 

you seemed to take that as a bad sign, gasping out muffled words, "no, rafe, i didn't know what was going to happen, please-" your hand reached out for his, hoping that things were going to be okay. 

rafe was still looking at the test, as he closed and opened his mouth before shaking his hand, "we're gonna get married, all right? yeah, and i want you to stay here with me. 'cause i need you here." he said tapping your head. there was a watery smile on your face, as you jumped into his arms. 

he held you tightly, and you sniffed. before letting go of him to look into his eyes. it was at that moment that you realised how much he loved you. when he's staring at you like you are his world, and his steel eyes are soft. when his eyes are welling up with tears. 

"just really happy and shit," he chuckled, "i can't believe this," he murmured out before pressing his lips on yours. finally, he pulled apart from you, still gazing into your eyes. 

 "you should go," you found yourself whispering out "it's time for your match." yet your hand found a deathly hold on him.

you saw him smile, and give you a peck on the lips, "want you to watch, 'kay? i'm fighting this match for you," and then his hands travelled down to your stomach, "you and baby." 

dazed you watched him step up into the ring and sighed. if this was love, you'd fight for it any day. 

[milla-frenchy]

Home

3k7 | Marcus Acacius x fem reader | ao3 | masterlist

Summary: Acacius returns from Numidia several months after his departure, and comes back to his wife

Warnings: 18+ mdni. fluff, smut, established relationship, Acacius and reader are married and deeply in love, Acacius is devoted to his wife (he’s soft, protective, caring and slightly possessive), oral (m/f), oil massages, size kink, piv, creampie. No age specified

a/n:  this fic is just soft and sweet and I hope it will bring comfort to those who need it. This is my love letter to Acacius, basically, after watching Gladiator 2 (no spoilers towards the movie). I love this character so much. I did some research but I'm not an expert on ancient Rome at all.

Thank you @aurorawritestoescape for always holding my hand and for beta-ing, @joelmillerisapunk for cheering me up, @iamasaddie for being a sunshine- 🫶💓 dividers @saradika-graphics 🙏

You felt his presence before he even spoke. 

You knew he was here, because all your worries, all the tension in your body, dissipated instantly. All the weight accumulated during those last months was removed from your shoulders, allowing your body to relax and open up.

"My lady..," you heard. 

You stood up and faced him, turning away from the fish pond. You murmured his name then hurried towards him to snuggle against his broad, protective chest, where nothing bad could reach you. His arms surrounded you, as his lips kissed your forehead and your hands slid along his waist to his back. The warmth radiated from him, warming your entire being, body and soul.

"You are here, my love," you whispered, feeling tears well up in your eyes. You had been holding them back for so long. Too long. Because you didn't want to seem weak, and because you didn't want to let your brain swallow you up in its darkness.

But now Acacius was here, and you could allow your fragility to consume you for a moment,  to be your true self, letting your emotions overwhelm you. Because you knew that he would want to absorb them for you, to protect you. To be your man.

"I'm finally here. I missed you, you have no idea. You were always in my thoughts, my beloved.”

You hugged each other tighter, and you buried your face in his chest, rubbing against him, like a cat that marks its territory with its scent. 

"I missed you too, Acacius," you replied, finally raising your face to his, staring into those soft brown eyes that you missed so much. The eyes of your husband who had returned from Numidia. Returned victorious, as always, but the worry never left you when he was gone. The intrusive thoughts that made you fear that he wouldn’t come back to you, that he had perished. Or worse, taken prisoner. The highest representative of the Roman Empire on the battlefield, the general of Rome, gods only knew what they would do to him.

Caressing his cheek with your thumb, you chased away those dark thoughts to let yourself enjoy the present. Your husband, your love was there. You brushed his wrinkles, as you took the time to admire his slightly grayer curls, before running your fingers through them.

"You are even more beautiful than when I left," he said in a low, calm voice. You smiled when you heard him, moved by his love for you that was radiating from him. Love that had never wavered during your marriage. He always came back to you, as soon as he had dealt with the burdens placed upon him by the emperors he hated.

"Let me feed you, my love," you said. "And bathe you."

You walked toward the caldarium, his arm around your shoulder, yours around his waist, your body pressed against his. You were holding each other close as you were walking, it had been so long since he left for Africa nova.

“I cleaned myself before I went to the coliseum. You don’t have to, you know?”

“I know. But I love to do it, even if it’s only symbolic.”

He smiled warmly and saw you melt under his stare, then pressed a kiss on your temple to forget the fast beating of his own heart.

You undressed him slowly, layer by layer. Taking the time to place your hands on his chest before you would remove the last fabric, to feel his torso rise under your fingers. To process the fact that he was really back with you. He watched you roam his chest, shoulders, arms along his body, face lowered towards you. Smiling, patient. Soothed. 

Once you managed to stop staring at his skin, his muscles, the way his body reacted to your touch, you tilted your head up to meet his eyes. You both smiled, happy and relieved to finally find each other again. You always marveled at his softness, that side of him only you knew. 

Your fingers ran along his skin, and you frowned at each new wound you felt under your digits.

“You have so many new scars,” you said with a trembling voice. “I thank the gods for bringing you back to me.” 

“Thank the soldiers, my love, they kept me alive,” he replied, brushing your cheek with his thumb. He had great respect for his men, treated them well, and had their complete trust. Tears appeared in your eyes again, and he gently took your chin between his fingers to lift your face up to him.

“I’m here now,” he said, his voice still low and calm. He knew you needed to be reassured, that meeting again always made his next departures more difficult, for both of you. He knew you were already anticipating them.

“I know,” you stammered. “I know. I just missed you a lot.” You tried to push aside the worries that were already trying to infiltrate your mind.

“I know, and I’m sorry about that, I wish I never had to leave. But I have great news: I won't have to go for now. I told the emperors that I wanted to rest and spend time with my wife. Darius will lead the next battle, he's ready.”

“This is such great news, Acacius!” you said, wrapping your arms around his shoulders, and nestling your face in his neck. “I'm so relieved.”

He held you against him, before cupping your cheeks in his hands and resting his forehead against yours.

You moved slightly aside to pull off the last layer of clothing, freeing his half-hard cock. You thought about it so often when he was away as your fingers were buried inside you.

You covered him in oil and massaged his shoulders to relieve his physical tension. Then his chest, arms, palms and belly, taking your time. Gently, your fingers worked his skin, finding their favorite spots and his. Lingering there.

Finally, you faced him and took his shaft in hand, before jerking him off gently under the pretext of applying the oil, but you both felt the need grow.

You then asked him to sit in the warm water, and got undressed. The expression in his eyes changed from softness to eagerness and desire while he was watching you. 

Fully hard, he stood up when you approached the bath, holding out his hand to accompany you down the steps.

“Sit on me,” he murmured in your ear, his beard brushing your skin. You straddled him, placing your hands on his cheeks before playing with his curls. You leaned down and finally kissed him, tasting his warm, soft, luscious lips. You both moaned and it made you smile, as you felt yourself mesmerized by him being finally there, with you. 

He caressed your lips with his tongue, then slid it between them. Your tongues found each other, for the first time in months, and you felt dizzy, savoring him again. His hands roamed your back, squeezed your skin sometimes, while your kiss was only growing more feral and needy. Unable to wait any longer, you grabbed his cock and nestled it at your entrance, making him growl from the depth of his chest.

“Slowly,” he stammered. “No foreplay… don’t hurt yourself.”

“Can’t promise it,” you smiled. It was almost a lie, both of you knew it, you couldn’t take him slowly, your need to feel him being too strong. You sank onto his shaft with your arms resting on his broad shoulders, and you had to bite him slightly when the fat head of his cock began spreading you wide open, until you welcomed him fully, leaving both of you breathless for a second.

“That wasn’t exactly slow,” he laughed once he caught his breath, his hand against the back of your neck as you peppered his collarbone with kisses, your cunt full of him.

“Couldn’t wait,” you breathed and kept kissing him, slowly moving up and down his shaft, mixing your moans with his, your forehead against his. Your breaths mingled, similar in their urgency.

“I missed you. I missed you,” you repeated, while one of his hands was caressing your back, the other resting on your hip to accompany your movements, but sometimes pushing you slightly more down his cock.

“Me too, my love. Finally feeling you like that, wrapped around my cock, is almost unreal after all that time. But I won’t last, I’m sorry,” he said in a breathless voice. “It’s been too long since I felt the warmth of your cunt. Only my hand could give me a release when thoughts about you invaded my mind.”

“Now I’m here. Use me. Come,” you added, rubbing yourself against his lower stomach, knowing you would come soon too.

He held you tight in his arms, setting his pace, fast, powerful, to the point that the water overflowed from the bath with every move. He chased his orgasm, growling in your ear, his body surrounding yours, and you let him use you willingly until his grunts turned into moans and he froze, coming inside you. You pulsed on his shaft just after, milking his cock, feeling him shudder inside you.

You let him catch his breath and his wits before facing him, your hands on his cheeks, and covered his lips, cheeks, forehead with kisses. Already thinking about the moment you would go to your bedroom, and finally take the time to rediscover each other.

Washed, you had dinner, and you told him what happened during his absence. Life in Rome, the dream of Marcus Aurelius long forgotten. The emperors were hated by the subjects, and the cruel games were still allowed.

His worry was growing as he was listening to you. Each time he left, he was afraid a revolt would take place and he wouldn’t be there to protect you. 

He asked you the question that had been burning his lips since his return, but that he was holding back, afraid of your answer.

“Did… did anyone hurt you while I was away?” he asked, eyes lowered to the ground, your hands in his. Then finally forcing himself to look at you and hear your answer.

“No, Acacius,” you answered quickly, eager to remove that weight from his shoulders and his heart. “Nothing happened to me, don’t worry.” You knew that he would lose his mind if someone hurt you, just like those who had hurt you would lose their heads. 

He kissed your hands when he heard you, keeping them between his, brushing them with his thumbs.

“I couldn't stand it if that happened,” he added, voice shaking.

“I know, my love. But the guards protect me. The ones you chose, and trust completely. I am safe.”

He nodded, even though both of you knew he would never be calm during his absences.

Once fed, he told you about the new conquests. You felt the weariness on his shoulders and in his eyes. His anger. The emperors were making him lose patience, every day a little more.

“Enough about this,” he said finally. “I don't want my return to be full of sadness and bitterness. I saw how tense your body is, I will help you relax with some oil, like you did to me.”

“Acacius… you need to rest after these last few months. Not to take care of me,” you replied softly.

“I am your husband,” he said gently but firmly, moving closer to you until he took your hand in his and kissed it. “Your man. There’s nothing else that I want to do more.” You looked at him and smiled.

Once in the bedroom, he asked you to undress and lie down naked on your stomach. He poured some oil in his hands, and rubbed them together. He didn't take his eyes off you until you were on the bed. "You're so beautiful," he said. “I’m gonna take care of you. I missed it.”

He started by massaging your neck, with perfect pressure. Hands flat, he pressed his thumbs against each tense spot, helping to release the tension step by step. You felt your muscles relax at his touch, from your neck to your shoulders. Once satisfied with the way your body responded to his movements, he coated his hands with oil again, then he took care of your lower back. Your pelvis had been stuck for weeks, and you knew that he would do wonders, as always. That the next day, when you woke up, it would be free of its tensions.

“Do you feel better?” he asked, kissing your shoulder, his moustache brushing your skin.

“Better than ever. Thank you, my love.”

“Perfect. Turn around now, please." You rolled onto your back, and you saw his eyes linger on your breasts for a few seconds, nipples hard after his hands on you.

“Well, General?” you chuckled.

“Mmm. I was staring, wasn’t I? I missed them too,” he confessed, blushing slightly, which was cute, coming from him.

He massaged your arms then your thighs, one by one, down to your ankles and feet, careful not to touch your breasts or even look at them, as if that would end the session prematurely. You didn't take your eyes off him, watching his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, his tongue brushing his lip, his teeth nibbling on it.

Finally, you saw his gaze fixed on your pussy, something he had also avoided until then. The candlelight certainly didn’t allow him to see, but he probably knew you were flowing down to the bed. His hand slid from your ankle to your thigh, then brushed your folds before slipping between them, making you whine, as you heard the grunt of approval when his finger got lost in your wetness.

He took a deep breath and said “I’m too eager to taste you, now. But tomorrow I will touch, lick, worship your whole body. I want to kiss you, from your forehead to your toes. Take back what’s mine.”

“I’m yours, always, Acacius. Whether you are here or not.”

“I know, my sweet girl, I know. As I’m yours. Ad vitam aeternam. (forever)”

He got undressed and you loved that he took his time doing it, with a soft smile on his lips. You loved knowing that he would be there with you for several weeks. Every day and every night. 

You were never tired of looking at him. His body was a gift from the gods. His strong neck, with veins bulging every time he thrust into you. His broad shoulders, his belly slightly softer as the years passed. His large hands, next to which yours seemed tiny. 

His cock.

So massive that on your wedding night you had been so afraid that you had thought of running away. But he had assured you that he would be gentle and go slowly, that he would take care of you. After another hesitation you had chosen to trust him, his tone, his gaze, and two nights later it had seemed that you had been physically made for each other.

But more than his body, his personality, his loyalty, the way he cared about you, made him a loving, reliable, protective husband. You thanked the gods every day for making him yours.

Once naked, he knelt on the bed between your thighs, gently spreading them, finally revealing your pussy. Again, he took a deep breath. His thumb ran over your wet folds.

“You’re drooling for me.”

He lay down, bringing his face closer to your pussy and breathing it in. “Gods, I missed it.”

His tongue traced a stripe between your folds, up to your clit, making you whine. He looked up at you, adding “now, you’re gonna feed me.”

He dove between your thighs, eyes closed, your folds spread by his thumbs, burying his tongue in your core. Feasting, like he did each time he came back, but not only. From the wedding night, and all the others that followed, he had shown you how much he loved eating you out, pulling orgasm after orgasm, sometimes two in a row because he didn’t want to or couldn't stop.

“Acacius,” you whimpered while his nose was rubbing perfectly against your clit. As he had learned during all those years the way your body responded to him.

Back arched, hands lost in his curls, you moved in harmony with his mouth and his tongue, reaching for him, rolling your hips towards him. He pulled back for a few seconds to look at you, and smiled when you cried for his loss. His beard and mustache glistened with your slick and his pupils were dilated as if he had consumed opium to heal a wound. He leaned towards you again, pushing one thick finger between your folds and then sucking your clit. He quickly added a second digit when he heard your needy moans, and licked at your clit. Your hands moved from his curls to your breasts, then to the sheets, your fists clenching on them.

“I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come,” you whimpered, pelvis tilted towards him as far as possible, as if he wasn't already so close to you. The pleasure that was growing in your core finally exploded, hands and thighs holding his head against your cunt, not wanting him to stop. Docile, he kept licking and pumping you with his fingers, until you stopped clenching on them and released him.

He straightened up, crawling between your thighs, taking one nipple in his mouth, sucking on it like his life depended on it before moving on to the other, leaving them glistening with his saliva. Finally, lying between your thighs, he kissed you, his mouth and lips tasting like you.

“I want to taste you too, please,” you begged.

“Of course, my sweet girl. You don’t have to ask. I’m all yours.”

You kissed him before he rolled onto his back, and you straddled him. Covering his cheeks, lips, neck with kisses, then moving down to his torso, hands roaming over his skin. You took one of his nipples in your mouth, sucking, nibbling, licking, then the other, without taking your eyes off him. Admiring his beautiful face. You continued to move down, kissing his belly and hips, your breasts brushing his hard, oozing cock. You took his shaft in hand, and licked his balls, eyes still fixed on him, to see him drop his head back on the bed. “Gods..,” you heard him breathe. 

You smiled and left his balls to suck on his tip, lingering on it, giving you some time to get used to its width, to savor him in your mouth again. His precum flowed in your throat. He had been gone for so long that you were afraid you had forgotten the taste, but it was so familiar again now. Your head bobbing on his shaft, you wanted to make him feel good, wetness dripping from your cunt, moaning on his shaft, and you closed your eyes until you heard him growl louder. Then opened them to see his head raised towards you. One of his hands was placed on the back of your neck.

“You like it, General?” you asked playfully, then licked his shaft tongue flat.

“It’s divine.”

You crawled towards him, arousal dripping from your core after sucking him, you kissed his body again and then his lips, before murmuring “take me.”

His eyes darkened and in one movement he laid you down on the bed, under him. Pressing his cock to your entrance, this time he didn't wait, hands tight on your hips, he pushed his whole lenght into your cunt. His massive cock, so hard that you lost your breath. He never took his eyes off you, dark gaze lowered towards you, soft eyes forgotten in favor of a feral stare. He was possessive, claiming your body as he claimed cities during battles, like his body and mind needed it. Like you needed it too.

You tried to keep your eyes open, to look at him, leaning towards you, eyebrows furrowed, veins throbbing. But the relentless rhythm of his shaft spreading your walls made you forget where you were, leaving you moaning and repeating his name. You clung to his shoulders, telling him how much you loved to feel him again, how much you needed it. 

“Always taking me so well”, he growled, and you hummed with approval.

He slid his hand to the back of your neck, holding you close, his nose against your ear. He breathed you in, focused on your moans, eager to have all his senses filled with you, after months of being surrounded by dirt, screams and blood. 

He was home now, you were his home.

“Acacius,” you whined, his crotch rubbing perfectly where you needed it. 

“Come for me. Soak me.”

“Oh gods… Acacius… Acacius,” you whimpered, your orgasm rushing over you, making you pulse on his shaft, your clit throbbing against his skin.

“Just like that, squeezing me so hard… you were made for me,” he murmured, his breathing now ragged as his own pleasure rose.

“I’m… oh gods,” he said, just before cumming inside you, long spurts of cum painting your walls in white. You held him tighter against you, as he moaned in your ear. Your general of Rome, now the most vulnerable man in your arms.

His jolts finally stopped and he straightened up slightly, careful not to crush you under his weight. He covered your skin with kisses, from your neck to your lips, before rolling onto his side and welcoming you against his chest, arms wrapped around your bare body. Both of you waited for your breathings to calm down.

“I cherish it, you know,” you said, curled up against his chest.

“What do you cherish?” he asked, caressing your skin with his large, loving hands.

“Having you like this, in these moments. It always seems unreal to me, your softness and protectiveness towards me, knowing that you lead battles for Rome. Everyone who fought near you evokes your cold blood.”

He hugged you closer and kissed your forehead, brushing it for a moment with his moustache.

“I love you. I’m only myself when I’m home, with you.”

Thank you for reading 🙏

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated ❤️

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[rafeandonlyrafe]

gold medal

words: 1k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, volleyball player!reader, college au, established relationship, p in v sex, unprotected sex

“good luck out there baby.” rafe presses a kiss to your cheek before smirking. “not that you need it.”

“oh, stop.” you roll your eyes. sure, you're the favorite to win your states collegiate volleyball championship, but you're not discounting the other college.

“all aces for me, yeah?” rafe asks, hoping no one can manage to get a hand on your powerful serves.

“you know it.” you run your hands over rafes chest, admiring his jersey, knowing your name is on the back.

“im gonna be in the front row.” rafe says. he always is, your biggest supporter and number one fan, always traveling with you to your games no matter how far away they are.

“okay.” you turn to look at your team entering the locker room. “gotta go.”

“love you.” rafe presses his lips against yours, knowing that the next time he kisses you, he'll be kissing a state champion.

--

your heart beats fast, sweat dripping down your forehead. it's your last serve of the game. already a blowout, but you won't get ahead of yourself by celebrating too early.

you do your usual routine. bounce the ball three times. look up, find rafe in the crowd, back down, two more bounces, then up. your open hand makes contact with the ball, slamming it forward. it barely skirts over the net, so much power that a girl on the other team takes a step back to avoid it.

the ball hits the floor and the crowd erupts into cheers.

the front row, all of your teams closest family and friends, rushes onto the court. you ignore the clapping on the back from your teammates and their attempted hugs as you look for rafe.

“told ya.” you whip around at rafes voice, launching yourself into his arms.

“never had a doubt.” rafe holds you close, your arms wrapped firmly around his shoulders as he lifts you, allowing your legs to wrap around his waist.

“couldn't have done it without you.” you say. it sounds corny but it's true, rafe is such a constant that he's become part of your routine.

“y/n.” your back stiffens at the voice of your coach as you slide out of rafes arms, waiting for a scolding at the public display of affection, but her usual cold face is warm as she pulls you into a tight hug. “im proud of you.”

“thanks, coach.”

you look to rafe with surprise in your eyes, and he is equally shocked. “who knew all it would take to soften her was to win the state championship.” you roll your eyes before stepping back into rafes hold. it's all you want.

--

“no, no, no.” rafe says, slotting the ribbon back over your neck. “keep the medal on.”

you are completely naked except for the chunk of gold hanging from your neck, the image of a player spiking the ball over the net carved into it.

rafe moves you effortlessly, wanting to see your face as he angles you towards the mirror, kneeling behind you. his big hands run over your bum and then between your thighs, his fingers swiping through your folds.

“fuck me.” you whine out, making rafe swat at your ass, a silent warning that you know means to be patient.

rafe doesn't leave you waiting for long, it's your celebration after all. he pushes his hips forward and buries his cock in your cunt in one smooth and quick motion.

“oh god.” you moan out, eyes moving to meet rafes in the mirror, seeing the way his jaw drops as he moans.

“so warm and wet for me baby.” rafe says, hands swirling over your ass while he gives you a second to adjust, but he can't give you any longer than a moment as he begins to thrust.

your eyes roll back in your head as he pounds into you. as much as rafe likes teasing and drawing your lovemaking out, he needs to properly congratulate you and bring you to your high.

the medal is swinging as your body moves with every powerful thrust, the slick sounds of rafe entering your pussy spreading around the hotel room.

“that's my girl, let me hear you moan.” rafe doesn't care that your team is in every room on this floor of the hotel, certainly they won't judge you for celebrating.

you let your voice free, moans starting out softly before they grow with every pump of rafes hips, his cock hard and long inside of you, pushing against your walls.

his hand wraps around your midsection, dropping to your pussy to rub directly on your clit instead of his usual swiping around in circles, smiling as he watches your face in the mirror.

“feels good?” rafe asks, even though he doesn't need to. he just wants to hear you say it.

“feels so good, rafe.” you whine out, brows scrunching together as your eyes close, having to squeeze them shut from the pure pleasure pushing through your system.

“yeah? gonna cum for me baby? my good girl?” rafe bends over, pressing his front into your back. “my champion?”

rafes finger speeds up, keeping his cock buried inside of you as he feels you pulsing around him, able to tell exactly when your orgasm hits by the way your entire body shudders in pleasure, cunt clamping down so tightly on his cock that rafe cums without having to move.

your moans match each other as you both cum, rafe pressed close to you as your highs ride out.

“god, baby.” rafe groans, pulling out as you collapse forward, his hands quickly spreading your cheeks to watch as his cum slips out of your pussy.

“shit, that was good.” you drop to your side, turning to smile up at rafe as he also breaths heavily, chest rising and falling.

“yeah it was.” rafe grabs your thigh, pulling your legs apart. “ready to go again?”

“huh?” you question, blinking your eyes open to look at rafe.

“you're my champion, you think im going to stop after one orgasm?” rafe leans over you, giving a press to your lips and then a kiss for the gold medal resting against your chest. “we're going to be celebrating all night long.”

[marsdql]

Enhypen reaction to you falling asleep waiting for them ! —

— ˗ˋ ୨୧ ˊ˗ — AWW... " REACTION OF EACH ENHYPEN MEMBERS WHEN THEY COME HOME AND FIND YOU ASLEEP | wc: 1.8k | TeeTh rOttIng FluFF —

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨

이희승

Heeseung walked into the apartment, his footsteps soft as he tried not to disturb the quiet. The faint light from the lamp cast a warm glow over the room, and there you were, curled up on the couch. Your phone had slipped from your hand, and the blanket barely covered you.

Heeseung stopped in his tracks, his heart skipping a beat at how adorable you looked. He crouched beside the couch, a fond smile spreading across his face.

“You really waited for me, huh?” he whispered, his voice filled with affection. “You’re so precious, I swear.”

His fingers brushed against your cheek, admiring how peaceful you looked, completely unaware of his gaze. “What did I do to deserve you, my angel?” he murmured, shaking his head in awe.

He leaned closer, his breath warm on your skin as he spoke again. “I’m sorry for making you wait, but it’s okay now. Let’s get you to bed.”

You shifted slightly at his words, your eyes fluttering open for just a moment. Heeseung’s heart melted when you blinked up at him, barely awake.

“Hey there, my baby,” he whispered, running a hand through your hair. “You’re still so beautiful, even like this.”

Without waiting for a response, Heeseung scooped you up in his arms. You instinctively snuggled against him, letting out a soft sigh of contentment.

“Alright, my sleepyhead,” he said softly as he walked toward the bedroom. “Let’s get you tucked in for real.”

Once he laid you down and tucked you in, Heeseung lingered for a moment, brushing your hair back from your face.

“Sweet dreams, darling,” he whispered, planting a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll always be here for you.” -- REST OF THE MEMBERS BELOW !

박종성

Jay stepped into the apartment, the day’s exhaustion hanging heavily on his shoulders. The soft glow of a single lamp illuminated the cozy space, but it was the silence that caught his attention. He set his bag down quietly and slipped off his shoes, calling softly, “Y/N? Babe?”

When no response came, he walked further in and stopped in his tracks. There you were—curled up on the couch, a throw blanket barely covering you, your phone resting loosely in your hand. You were fast asleep, your face relaxed, your lips slightly parted.

Jay couldn’t help the soft smile that tugged at his lips. He knelt beside you, resting his chin in his hand as he watched you.

“Ahhh, you waited for me,” he murmured to himself, a wave of adoration washing over him. His eyes softened as he took you in, your peaceful expression melting away the stress of his day. “My girl… you’re too cute for your own good.”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingertips gentle. You stirred slightly, mumbling something that made him chuckle under his breath.

“You could’ve just gone to bed, you know,” he whispered, leaning closer to get a better look at your face. “But no, you had to wait up for me, didn’t you? My sweet little angel.”

He sighed playfully, shaking his head at how much you made his heart ache—in the best way. “Alright, baby,” he murmured, “let’s get you to bed.”

When you didn’t respond, Jay chuckled to himself. “Of course, you’re going to make me do all the work,” he teased softly.

Sliding one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, he lifted you effortlessly. You groaned in protest, your face scrunching up as you instinctively buried your face against his chest.

“Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart,” he said, his voice tender. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got you.”

Jay carried you to the bedroom, carefully laying you down on the bed. He started pulling the blanket up over you when your eyes fluttered open slightly.

“Jay?” you mumbled, your voice soft and groggy.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me,” he said, crouching beside the bed to look at you. “You fell asleep waiting for me again. You’re too cute, you know that?”

A small, sleepy smile tugged at your lips, but your eyes drifted shut again before you could reply. Jay chuckled softly, tucking the blanket up to your chin.

“You’re lucky I love you this much,” he whispered, leaning in to press another kiss to your forehead.

As he stood to leave, you reached out weakly, grabbing his hand. “Stay,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Jay felt his heart melt all over again. “Of course, baby,” he said, slipping into bed beside you and pulling you into his arms.

You instinctively snuggled closer, your head resting against his chest. Jay let out a contented sigh, holding you close as his own eyes grew heavy.

“Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, his lips brushing your hair. For the first time that day, everything felt exactly as it should.

심재윤

Jake opened the door as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb the peaceful apartment. When he saw you curled up on the couch, he froze, a soft laugh escaping his lips.

“Ah, you waited for me,” he said quietly, kneeling beside you. He gently tapped your nose. “You’re too precious, you know that?”

You stirred slightly but didn’t wake, so Jake decided to take matters into his own hands. He scooped you up carefully, cradling you against his chest.

“Come on, baby. Couch time is over. Let’s get you to bed,” he said softly, smiling when you nuzzled into him.

Once he laid you down and tucked you in, you mumbled, “Jake?”

“I’m here, love,” he whispered, kissing your forehead. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right here.”

And he stayed, sitting beside you until he fell asleep with his head resting against your shoulder.

박성훈

Sunghoon stepped inside, glancing around the quiet apartment. When he spotted you on the couch, his lips curled into a soft smile. You were wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, your head resting on the armrest.

Kneeling beside you, he tilted his head, admiring how peaceful you looked. “Aigoo, you really waited for me, huh? You’re adorable,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

He ran a finger down your cheek, his heart swelling at the sight of you. “What am I gonna do with you, hmm?”

Carefully, he lifted you into his arms, chuckling when you murmured, “Noooo, leave me here.”

“Not a chance, baby. You need a proper bed,” he said, carrying you to the bedroom. He tucked you in, smoothing the blanket over you.

As he turned to leave, you reached out and grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t go.”

Sunghoon smiled, slipping under the covers beside you. “I’m not going anywhere. Sweet dreams, love.”

김선우

Sunoo’s heart melted the second he walked in and saw you curled up on the couch. The blanket you were using was sliding off, and your hair was a mess, but to him, you looked perfect.

Kneeling down, he tilted his head, admiring your peaceful face. “You’re seriously the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, his voice filled with affection.

He adjusted the blanket over you, then gently shook your shoulder. “Y/N, let’s get you to bed. You’ll regret this tomorrow if you don’t.”

You groaned, turning away from him. Sunoo pouted. “Don’t make me do all the work! Fine, fine. I’ll carry you.”

He picked you up and carried you to the bedroom, tucking you in with extra care. As he leaned down to kiss your forehead, you opened your eyes slightly.

“Sunoo?” you mumbled.

“Yes, it’s me, your favorite person,” he teased, grinning. “Now go back to sleep, my angel.”

양중원

Jungwon stepped inside and immediately spotted you curled up on the couch. His lips tugged into a small smile as he walked over, crouching beside you.

“You’re really something, you know that?” he said softly, brushing his fingers against your hair. “Waiting for me when you’re this tired. What am I going to do with you?”

He debated waking you up but decided against it. Instead, he carefully scooped you up into his arms, chuckling when you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You’re making this too easy, Y/N,” he said quietly, carrying you to the bedroom.

Once he tucked you in, he leaned down and whispered, “Sweet dreams, love. I’ll always take care of you.”

니시무라 리키

Ni-ki walked into the apartment, expecting you to be awake. Instead, he found you fast asleep on the couch, your phone still glowing faintly in your hand.

He let out a small laugh, crouching beside you. “Yah, you really fell asleep waiting for me?” he teased, though his voice was soft and full of affection.

He carefully took the phone from your hand and set it on the table. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, or I’d scold you for this,” he joked, brushing your hair back.

“Come on, lazy,” he murmured, slipping an arm under you to lift you. “Let’s get you to bed.”

You mumbled something incoherent, making him laugh quietly. “Yeah, yeah, you can thank me in the morning.”

After tucking you in, he sat on the edge of the bed, watching you for a moment. “Goodnight, Y/N,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

ps: this was originially only for heeseung and jay so thats why theirs have longer vers.

Hope you enjoyed!

Reblogs appreciated `_-- !! ( marsdql )

[joelsrose]

First Date: Part III

hi cuties, highly recommend reading part 1 and part 2 first! this might be my favourite part so far they are both stupid stubborn idiots xx

Part 1 Part 2 My masterlist

Next part

The morning light crept through the window, soft and golden, spilling across the room like a gentle caress. It bathed everything in a warm glow, turning the space into something ethereal, where even the dust drifting through the rays seemed like part of a dream. You blinked, your body still heavy with sleep, and stretched beneath the blanket that had settled lazily around you.

Your mind struggled to catch up with the present, as if the world itself was moving too fast for you to fully grasp. The night before felt like a haze, a collection of fragmented moments scattered in your memory. There had been a storm—vivid in your mind, its howl still lingering somewhere in the back of your thoughts. Joel had made you dinner, the warmth of his presence still echoing in the quiet of the room. Then you had fallen asleep on the couch, the weight of exhaustion finally pulling you under. That much was clear.

But now, you were here, lying in your bed, the morning light creeping through the window. How had you gotten here?

And then it hit you, sudden and sharp. Joel.

Joel had stayed the night.

The realization sent a foreign sensation rippling through you, a wave of warmth spreading fast and unrelenting, flooding your chest. He must’ve carried you upstairs. You could almost picture it—the hesitant strength in his arms, his shoulders stiff as he cradled you close. Maybe his breath hitched with the effort, his body groaning like old floorboards beneath the strain of the climb. But still, he carried you.

He could’ve left you on the couch. It would’ve been easier—less fuss, less risk of waking you. Yet he hadn’t. Instead, he’d brought you to your bed, his footsteps purposeful even as exhaustion must���ve weighed heavy on him. He’d laid you down gently, careful not to disturb your dreams. And then, almost reverently, he’d pulled the blanket over you, tucking the edges like it meant something. Like you meant something.

You shook your head, trying to push the thought away as your cheeks warmed. Swallowing against the rising tide of emotions, you swung your legs over the side of the bed. The cool floor met your feet as you padded softly downstairs, the familiar creak of the floorboards underfoot the only sound in the stillness of the morning.

The storm had passed, leaving the world outside blanketed in fresh snow, the kind that made everything look quiet, untouched. But inside, the house was warm, the air thick with something that made your heart race. Something delicate, like a memory that hadn’t fully formed yet.

The living room was still, bathed in the faint glow of dying embers that crackled quietly in the hearth. You scanned the room instinctively, expecting to find him there—perhaps sitting by the fire, his shoulders slouched in that weary way of his, or maybe still sprawled on the couch, lost in the kind of sleep that comes only to those who carry too much.

But the room was empty.

The stillness felt sharper in his absence, like the air had been stripped of its weight, leaving behind something hollow and cold. The quiet pressed in around you, heavy and unyielding, until you felt it—a strange ache lodged beneath your ribs, foreign yet familiar. It was the sensation of missing something you’d never really had, a fleeting presence that hadn’t even belonged to you, slipping through your fingers before you could hold onto it.

Your eyes fell on the coffee table. There, a whiskey glass sat, the faintest trace of amber liquid clinging to the bottom. You moved closer, instinctively reaching out to touch it. The cool glass felt oddly reassuring, like a connection to something real, something that hadn’t been a dream. And then, beside it, something caught your eye.

A small piece of paper, neatly folded in half. Your heart skipped a beat, your fingers trembling as you picked it up, slowly unfolding it. The words were written in rough, uneven handwriting, unmistakably Joel’s.

Storm’s over. Didn’t wanna wake you. See you at patrol.

He didn’t have to leave a note. He could’ve just slipped away into the quiet morning, leaving no trace. But he hadn’t. He’d taken the time to leave this, a small piece of himself that seemed so simple, yet meant everything.

You set the note back down gently, your eyes lingering on the words for a moment longer. A faint smile tugged at your lips, a bittersweet tug of emotion that seemed to echo in the silence around you. Despite the hollow ache in your chest, you felt a sense of warmth, something tender, like a secret shared between the two of you. He’d been there, in the stillness of the night, and even though he was gone now, his presence lingered in the quiet corners of the room.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

You had always prided yourself on being above jealousy. It simply wasn’t in your nature. Your heart had learned early on to celebrate the victories of others, to find genuine joy in their happiness as if it were your own.

Even in your past relationships, you’d carried yourself with a quiet confidence, never rattled by passing glances or the occasional flirtation from other women. It was a strength you valued—a steadfast anchor in the stormy seas of insecurity.

But here you were, clutching the back of Toby’s jacket with a grip far tighter than necessary, your knuckles blanching against the fabric as you fought to ignore the unfamiliar, unwelcome twist coiling in your chest.

This wasn’t your usual patrol. Today, they’d needed four people— three horses, one extra for hauling tools and spare parts to repair a broken generator at a far-off safe house. That’s why you found yourself riding behind Toby, and that’s why Joel rode ahead, with Tiffany seated behind him on his horse, her arms looped snugly around his waist. Her golden hair shimmered faintly in the weak winter light, the strands catching like threads of sun against the dreary gray.

Tiffany. You’d seen her name on the patrol roster often enough, always eager to volunteer. She helped in the infirmary too, a picture of competence wrapped in a prettiness that seemed almost unfair. She was younger than you, blonde, with a laugh that rang out far too easily over the frosty air, like it didn’t know the weight of silence. It wasn’t her fault, you reminded yourself. She was charming in the way that came naturally to some people.

Meanwhile, Toby—kind, affable Toby—kept up his attempts at small talk as he maneuvered your horse behind Joel. His words were soft, floating past your ears, half-heard, like snowflakes that melted before they even landed. He was pleasant enough, even handsome in a quiet way, but your attention refused to settle on him. It kept slipping ahead, tethered to the pair riding in front. To Joel. To the way his broad shoulders seemed unbothered, unmoving under Tiffany’s easy, confident hold. To the slight tilt of his head as if he might actually be listening to her, somehow engaged in the rhythm of her words.

And each time you saw it, the same unwelcome twist coiled tighter in your chest, a quiet pressure building that you couldn’t ignore.

Joel didn’t do this. Joel didn’t listen to people. He wasn’t the type to entertain idle chatter or humor someone’s need to fill the silence. That was part of what made it feel so special—so quietly significant—that you were one of the only people, perhaps the only person, he allowed to talk his ear off. There had been pride in that, a quiet warmth that bloomed in your chest whenever his usual stoicism gave way to the rare, begrudging attentiveness he reserved just for you.

Watching this unfold in front of you felt like a punch to the stomach—sharp, sudden, and utterly breathless. The sight of her leaning into him, her body angled toward his like she belonged there, was enough to twist something deep inside of you—something jagged, something you weren’t ready to name.

Her laughter reached you on the icy wind, light and careless, cutting through the quiet like a blade. You wondered bitterly what she could possibly find so funny. Joel was no comedian, after all. Sure, he had his moments—his gruff, deadpan humor slipping out in dry remarks that could catch you off guard if you weren’t careful. But it was never the sort of thing to make someone tilt their head back, the sound of their laugh ringing out like they couldn’t help themselves.

Your chest tightened as you watched her, and that bitter voice in your head whispered that maybe she was trying too hard, leaning in too close, laughing too loud. You shook your head, trying to shove the thought away, embarrassed by the weight of your own pettiness. It wasn’t fair—to her, to him, or to yourself.

But even as you forced yourself to look away, the bitter sting of jealousy lingered, coiling tight in your chest like a bruise you couldn’t stop pressing.

“Leaking faucet,” Tiffany was saying, her voice carrying that lilting, sing-song quality women sometimes used when they wanted to sound effortlessly charming. “I keep telling myself I’ll fix it, but it’s just such a pain. You think you could help me out, Joel?” You didn’t need to see her face to imagine the way she’d be batting her eyelashes, her head tilted just so, a coy smile playing at her lips.

Your grip on Toby’s jacket tightened, your knuckles blanching as you bit down hard on your tongue to keep from snapping. The fabric bunched under your fingers, and you hoped he couldn’t feel the way your nails were digging into his sides, betraying the simmering frustration you couldn’t quite swallow. Of course, she’d ask Joel. Who wouldn’t?

Joel could fix anything. Hell, he’d fixed your fireplace when it wouldn’t light properly, straightened the cabinet hinges that had been hanging crooked since the day you moved in—all without you even asking. He’d just shown up with his tools and that quiet determination of his, like helping you wasn’t a favor but a reflex. Unspoken. Natural. As if making your life a little easier was second nature to him.

You knew women found Joel handsome. It wasn’t exactly a secret. How could they not? He was steady and grounded, the kind of man who made you feel like the world couldn’t touch you when he was near. And then there was the way he looked—tall and broad-shouldered, the kind of solid presence that seemed built to weather storms. His patchy beard, somehow charming in its unevenness, softened the sharpness of his jaw, and his brown eyes, deep and warm, had a way of holding yours like he was trying to tell you something he couldn’t quite put into words.

So why shouldn’t she ask him for help? It made sense. Logical, really. But knowing that didn’t make it sit any easier, didn’t stop that bitter edge from scraping against your ribs.

You muttered under your breath, the words barely audible even to yourself, “Yeah, I bet you need help with your faucet.”

Joel’s head turned slightly, his sharp ears catching your muttered words—of course he did. His dark eyes flicked back toward you, one eyebrow arched in that familiar, infuriating way, a glimmer of something unreadable—curiosity? Amusement?—dancing in his gaze. “You say somethin’?” he drawled, his voice low and deliberate, cutting through the cold air.

Your stomach flipped, heat blooming up your neck and spreading to your cheeks, a betrayal that had nothing to do with the biting wind. “Oh, nothing,” you replied too quickly, your voice pitched with an almost exaggerated casualness, a clumsy attempt at innocence. You glanced away, focusing on the snow-dusted trail ahead, as though it might swallow your embarrassment whole.

“Uh-huh,” Joel drawled, his voice low, measured, and dripping with that maddening sense of knowing. His gaze lingered on you for a beat too long, dark eyes glinting with unspoken amusement before he turned back to the trail. But not before you caught it—the faintest twitch of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, subtle but unmistakable. The sight sent your pulse into an unsteady rhythm, a warmth curling in your chest despite the frosty air. Damn him.

Tiffany, blissfully oblivious, kept talking, her words floating on the wind, meaningless background noise. Toby didn’t notice a thing either, still trying his best to make polite conversation—something about your interests, maybe? You answered in clipped, one-word responses, barely registering his efforts. You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It wasn’t just Tiffany’s laugh, too loud and too bright for the quiet frostbitten air, cutting through the stillness like it belonged there. It wasn’t just the way her hand lingered a second too long against Joel’s arm as she shifted in her seat, her touch easy and unthinking, like it wasn’t a privilege she should’ve been more careful with.

You kept waiting for him to scold her, to tell her she was being too loud, to mutter something about the risk of infected or raiders, his voice low and serious like it always was when he took charge. But he didn’t. Instead, he nodded along, his expression neutral, even engaged, as if whatever she had to say was worth hearing.

And it wasn’t just the way she leaned in closer, her voice dipping low and conspiratorial, like every word she spoke to him was meant to be savored, something special she couldn’t share with anyone else. No, it wasn’t just that.

It was that Joel wasn’t supposed to notice her.

He wasn’t supposed to nod at her coy requests, to respond with that gruff, reluctant “I’ll take a look,” or to let her steal fragments of his attention that, in your mind, had always felt like they belonged to you.

He was supposed to—

What? Be yours?

The thought struck like a lightning bolt, sharp and sudden, leaving you breathless and scrambling to banish it. But it lingered, stubborn and unyielding, its warmth curling into your chest, making it ache with something raw and nameless.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

By the time the safe house came into view, your nerves were strung so tight it felt like a single word might unravel you completely. Joel slowed his horse, his broad shoulders shifting as he glanced back over his shoulder, his voice cutting clean through the icy air. “You good back there?”

If you hadn’t been drowning in your own jealousy, you might have noticed the way he looked back often, his gaze lingering just long enough to make sure you two were still keeping up. You might have remembered how, back at the stables, he’d checked to see if you were dressed warmly enough, the extra scarf tucked into his supplies just in case you weren’t. Or the second canteen of coffee he’d packed, brewed the way he knew you liked it—strong and just a little sweet.

Your breath caught, a knot forming in your throat. His question was simple, almost casual, but the weight in his gaze said otherwise. You swallowed hard, forcing a stiff nod. “Yeah. Just cold.”

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either. And from the way his eyes held yours for a moment longer than necessary, you knew he wasn’t convinced. Still, he nodded, his expression unreadable as he turned back toward the trail.

You let out a shaky exhale, trying to steady yourself as the safe house drew closer.

Joel Miller wasn’t yours.

He didn’t owe you anything.

He wasn’t supposed to mean this much.

But no matter how many times you told yourself that, it didn’t change the ache in your chest or the quiet, desperate wish that things could be different.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

As the safe house approached and the horses were tied securely, Joel’s voice cut through the biting air, sharp and commanding in a way that left no room for argument. “Alright, you two stay put,” he said, his dark gaze sweeping between you and Tiffany before flicking to Toby. “We’ll scout the area first. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to head in.”

Tiffany responded instantly, her “Yes, sir,” leaving her lips with a practiced ease that grated on you more than it should. She stood straight, eager, like she’d follow him into a blizzard if he so much as nodded in her direction.

You, on the other hand, barely registered his words, the simmering jealousy in your chest leaving little room for anything else. It gnawed at you, hot and persistent, the weight of it threatening to crack you open as your gaze drifted somewhere far past the safe house, into the snowy blur of the horizon. You weren’t even sure what you were looking at—what you were trying not to feel.

His voice broke through again, quieter this time, but closer. “Hey.” The word hung in the air, soft but unmistakable, followed by the solid warmth of his gloved hand resting on your shoulder. The calloused grip anchored you back to the present, a grounding presence that broke through the fog of your thoughts.

You snapped your gaze to his, and there it was—that steady, unreadable look that always seemed to peel back layers you weren’t ready to expose. It was the kind of gaze that made you feel like he saw more than you wanted him to, that he knew exactly what was hidden beneath the surface. His brow furrowed slightly, the faintest shadow of concern crossing his face, as if he were trying to piece together what had you so lost in thought. The stern edge in his voice softened, the hard lines of authority giving way to something genuine—concern. “You listening?”

You startled, the words pulling you sharply back to the here and now. His eyes were locked on yours, and it was clear he hadn’t missed a thing. The way your attention had wandered, how your focus had drifted without you even realizing it. He knew you.

A brief flash of guilt tightened in your chest, the weight of being caught off guard sinking in. “Yeah,” you replied quickly, straightening your posture as though that might make up for it. “Wait here until you say it’s safe. Got it.”

Joel nodded, the motion slow and deliberate, but his eyes didn’t leave you. They lingered, warm despite the cool detachment he so often wore, the hard lines of his face softening just enough to disarm you. There was something in the way he looked at you—quiet, steady, and just gentle enough to stir an ache deep in your chest, one you didn’t quite know what to do with.

His gaze searched yours, like he was trying to piece you together, trying to find the root of your distracted state in the curve of your mouth or the flicker of your eyes. He wasn’t fully convinced by whatever mask you’d put on, not yet, but he didn’t push.

“Good,” he said at last, the single word dipping lower, softer now, as if it was meant only for you. It hung in the air between you, more weighty than it should’ve been.

He turned to Toby, motioning for him to follow with a gesture that was brisk, decisive—clearly focused on the task ahead. But just before they disappeared through the door of the safe house, Joel paused, glancing back at you one last time. It wasn’t a casual look, either. His eyes lingered, heavy with something unspoken, a tension that hung in the air between you.

You didn’t notice it, though. Your gaze was already fixed elsewhere, pulled away by the weight of your own restless thoughts, the cold air settling around you like a cloak.

And then he was gone, disappearing into the building with Toby close behind, leaving you and Tiffany alone in the biting cold. The silence between you felt louder than it should have, the weight of his absence pressing on you more than you wanted to admit. You hugged your arms around yourself, trying to shake the unease settling over you, but it stayed, stubborn and unyielding, like a shadow that refused to let you go.

As soon as Joel was out of earshot, Tiffany turned to you, her cheeks flushed from the icy wind, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her entire body seemed to vibrate with barely contained excitement, her breath misting in the cold air. “Oh. My. God,” she said, her voice low but brimming with giddy energy. “He is so hot.”

You blinked, momentarily stunned, your mouth falling open in disbelief at the sheer boldness of her statement. You didn’t even know this girl that well, and yet here she was, openly fawning over Joel. Your Joel. No—not yours. He wasn’t yours. But the thought still burned, unwelcome and insistent.

“Who?” you asked, feigning ignorance as you busied yourself with Winnie’s reins. Your fingers betrayed you, fumbling clumsily with the stiff leather.

Tiffany let out a laugh, light and almost musical, as if your question were ridiculous. “Um, Joel,” she said, her eyes narrowing in playful exasperation. “Obviously.”

You stared at her, forcing your expression into something neutral, though the words caught in your throat, stuck like a splinter you couldn’t dislodge. Tiffany tilted her head, her sharp gaze narrowing as if she were piecing together a puzzle. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, her eyes widened in realization.

“Oh, shit,” she said, drawing out the word with theatrical flair, a spark of mischief lighting up her face. “Wait. Are you two—?”

“No,” you cut her off, the word flying out of your mouth before you could stop it—too quick, too defensive, and far too loud. “No. Never. Absolutely not.” You shook your head so vehemently you half-expected it to detach and roll into the snow.

Tiffany’s shoulders relaxed, and a sly, knowing smile curled across her lips. “Thank God,” she said with a dramatic exhale of relief. “Because, girl, he is something else.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. Too stunned, too caught off guard to even formulate a coherent reply. She was still talking, though, completely oblivious to your silence.

“His voice? So commanding and deep. And don’t get me started on his arms.” She sighed dreamily, her voice laced with admiration, before smirking, eyes glinting with shameless confidence. “I bet he’s got a big—”

“Oh my god,” you snapped, cutting her off sharply, your voice sharp and cutting enough to make her blink in surprise.

She laughed, raising her hands in mock surrender, her lips twitching with amusement. “Alright, alright. But you’ve gotta admit…” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You see it too, don’t you?”

You didn’t respond—couldn’t respond. Your heart was pounding too loudly, drowning out any coherent thought. The idea of Tiffany—or anyone else—seeing Joel the way you did, noticing the little things that had etched themselves into your heart, made your chest tighten, your teeth clench.

But Joel wasn’t yours. The reminder echoed in your mind, firm and unrelenting, no matter how much you wished otherwise. You had no claim to him. No right to feel this twisting, burning knot of jealousy tightening in your chest. And yet, it was there, clawing at the edges of your composure.

You shifted your weight as you did your best to avoid answering her loaded question. “Don’t you think he’s…” you started, your gaze fixed on the snow below. You shoved your hands deep into your pockets, your shoulders curling inward. “…I don’t know, a little too old for you?”

Tiffany’s brows shot up before furrowing, her expression a mix of disbelief and defiance. “No way,” she said, shaking her head like the idea was absurd. “He’s older, sure, but that’s what makes him so… ugh.” She let out a dreamy sigh, glancing in the direction Joel had gone, as though the mere thought of him deserved its own reverence. “That just means he knows what he’s doing, you know? He’d take care of me.”

Her words sank into your chest like stones, their weight heavy and unwelcome. You nodded absently, your throat tight as you forced a small, noncommittal sound of agreement. But inside, you couldn’t shake the image of Tiffany’s words wrapping around Joel, claiming something that didn’t belong to her—or anyone else.

Tiffany grinned, utterly oblivious to the turmoil simmering just beneath your surface.

But Joel? Joel was never oblivious when it came to you. He noticed things—things no one else ever seemed to.

The way your fingers drummed a restless rhythm against your thigh when anxiety crept up on you, the tapping growing quicker the harder you tried to stop it.

Or how you bit the inside of your cheek when words pressed against the back of your teeth, ones you couldn’t quite bring yourself to say. Your eyes would dart away, searching for an escape, but Joel always caught the struggle in them.

He even noticed the little things—like how you could never quite manage Winnie’s saddle buckle in the biting cold, your gloved fingers clumsy against the frozen leather. At some point, he’d started fixing it for you beforehand, tightening the strap just enough, leaving it ready without saying a word. He’d never draw attention to it, either, just let you think it had been fine all along.

So, when Joel stepped out of the safe house, his broad shoulders framed by the doorway as he motioned for you and Tiffany to come inside, it was no surprise that his dark eyes immediately flicked between the two of you, scanning with that same sharp attentiveness.

But his gaze lingered longer when it landed on you.

For a fleeting moment, as his eyes met yours, something shifted. It wasn’t loud or obvious—just a subtle change, like the faintest crack in the ice on a frozen river. But it was enough. Enough to make your breath hitch, to make the storm brewing inside you feel seen, felt, understood.

It was as though, in that brief heartbeat, he saw past the walls you’d hastily built around yourself, past the quiet bitterness and the effort to bury it. Like he felt it too—the unspoken undercurrent that had been pulling at both of you for weeks now.

And then, just as quickly as it came, the moment was gone.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The four of you took turns unloading the supplies from the horses, hauling them into the safe house in strained silence broken only by the occasional creak of floorboards or muffled clank of tools. Once everything was settled, you all gathered around the broken generator, its rusted, hulking form looming like an unspoken challenge in the small, dimly lit room.

The conversation quickly turned to mechanics, the others exchanging jargon and ideas about what needed fixing, which parts could be salvaged, and how to rig together a temporary solution. Even Tiffany crouched beside the machine, sleeves rolled up, poking at wires and bolts with a confidence that made your stomach twist. She spoke up, offering suggestions like she’d built the thing herself, her voice bright and assured.

You stood off to the side, shifting uncomfortably, arms crossed against the weight of your own awkwardness. When did everyone else get their degrees in engineering? you thought bitterly, watching their easy back-and-forth. You weren’t an expert on generators, sure, but standing there, silent and aimless, you couldn’t help but feel useless. The twinge of inadequacy gnawed at you, sharp and insistent, and no amount of repositioning your weight could shake the heaviness pressing down on your chest.

Joel’s sharp eyes flicked toward you, narrowing slightly as he caught the tension in your posture, the way you hovered at the edges of the group. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and steady, cutting through the hum of conversation. It felt like the millionth time he’d asked today, but this time, there was an edge of something softer, quieter, in his tone. “You alright?”

You forced a quick smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes, and nodded. “Yeah, uh… what can I do to help?”

For a moment, Joel just looked at you, and then there it was—that Joel smile. The one he seemed to reserve just for you, though you didn’t know that. Small, fleeting, barely curving the edges of his lips, but warm in a way that made your chest ache. “Uh, there’s coffee in my canteen,” he said, his tone light.

Your brow furrowed, confusion flickering into irritation. “You want me to get you coffee?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. What were you, his assistant?

Joel let out a quiet chuckle, the sound low and genuine, as if the thought amused him. “No,” he said, shaking his head. His hand gestured toward the old couch shoved up against the far wall. “I’m tellin’ you to sit down. Get warm. Take a break.”

You blinked, his words catching you off guard. “Oh,” you said slowly, the pieces clicking into place. Then the irritation flared again, sharper this time. “Right. Because I’m too incompetent to actually do any work, so you’re just gonna sideline me with coffee?”

Joel’s expression shifted instantly, the warmth draining from his face as his brow furrowed deeply. “What?” he said, his voice low, confused, and tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

But you didn’t let him finish. Turning on your heel, you headed toward the couch, your boots thudding against the floor as you plopped down with a frustrated huff, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

“Whatever,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze. You could feel his eyes on you, heavy with an unspoken question, but you stared straight ahead, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the unwelcome sting of emotion at bay.

Joel stood there, dumbfounded, his hand dragging briefly over the back of his neck, a gesture that betrayed his frustration and uncertainty. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, the word heavy with a weight he didn’t know how to put down.

He hadn’t meant it like that—not even close. If anything, this was Joel taking care of you in the only way he knew how. Quietly. Thoughtfully. If you had seen the look in his eyes, you might have known that. But you didn’t, because your insecurities had already twisted his words into something they weren’t. To you, this was Joel’s way of letting you down easy, of reminding you that you weren’t capable enough, that you didn’t belong in this space. The distance between his intentions and your perception only seemed to grow, and the weight of it settled heavily on your chest, suffocating any hope of clarity.

Toby and Tiffany exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them as they stood awkwardly by the generator. Toby shrugged, bending back over the wires and bolts like nothing had happened, while Tiffany hesitated, her gaze flicking between Joel and you, perched stiffly on the couch across the room.

Leaning closer to Joel, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Is she… okay?”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening for a moment before he let out a low, almost imperceptible sigh. “She’s fine,” he said gruffly, but there was a softness beneath the words.

Tiffany raised a skeptical brow, but Joel didn’t elaborate, instead turning his attention back to the generator. Still, his hands hovered over the tools without moving, his focus clearly elsewhere. His gaze flicked toward you for a fraction of a second, lingering on the back of your head as you sat on the couch, facing away from the others—just long enough to reveal what he wouldn’t say.

And though he forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand, a part of him remained tethered to you, as if trying to figure out how to bridge the distance you had just placed between you.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The muffled sounds of tinkering and low conversation from inside faded as you slipped out quietly, the cold biting at your cheeks as your boots sank into the snow. The horses stood where they were tied, their breaths visible in soft puffs against the growing storm. Snow was falling harder now, swirling in the wind and settling in uneven patches along the ground.

“Take a break,” you muttered under your breath, mocking Joel’s earlier words as you tugged your scarf tighter around your neck. The bitterness in your tone lingered in the cold air, sharp and unwelcome. You knew it was petty—childish, even. You shook your head at yourself, frustration simmering just below the surface. Acting like this wasn’t going to fix anything, but your moral compass was hazy with unresolved feelings.

Winnie greeted you with a soft nicker, her warm breath puffing against your chilled hands as you reached for her. Each snowflake bit at your cheeks, but you found solace in the gentle rhythm of her breathing and the softness of her mane beneath your fingers.

At least Winnie didn’t make you feel small. Out here, with her, you had a reason to linger—an excuse to stand watch for threats, even if the cold gnawed at your bones. Leaning forward, you pressed a kiss to her forehead, the gesture as much for your comfort as hers.

You didn’t hear him until his voice cut through the icy air, sharp and unmistakable.

“The hell’s gotten into you?” Joel’s tone was low, rough around the edges, carrying frustration laced with something softer—something almost like worry. His boots crunched steadily against the snow as he approached, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Even in the dim light, you could see the familiar crease of concern etched across his brow, shadowing the sharp angles of his face.

“What?” you muttered, barely bothering to glance his way. The word came out colder than you meant, but Joel didn’t let it slide.

His hand came up, firm but careful, gripping your shoulder just enough to turn you toward him. His touch was steady, grounding, and you felt the warmth of it even through the thick layers of your jacket.

“I said,” he repeated, quieter now but no less insistent, “what’s gotten into you?” His dark eyes bore into yours, unflinching, searching for something beneath the ice you were so determined to hold in place.

“Nothing,” you snapped, the sharpness of your tone surprising even you. It hung in the space between you like a shard of glass, but Joel didn’t flinch. He didn’t back away.

You shifted on your feet, your boots scraping against the packed snow as you dropped your gaze to the ground. Maybe if you didn’t meet his eyes, you could shake the feeling that he saw too much, that he could pull apart the knot inside you with just a look. “Are you guys done yet?” you asked, the words clipped and distant.

“Almost,” he replied, his voice softer now, a steady patience beneath the gruffness. “They’re finishing up. But I came out to check on you.”

The words hit like a stone dropping into still water, rippling outward, unsettling. He came to check on you. Not because someone asked him to, not because it was his job, but because he noticed. Because he always noticed.

Because he knew you.

And that made it worse.

Even when you tried your hardest to disappear, to bury whatever storm was churning inside you, Joel saw straight through it. It wasn’t fair—the way he always noticed, the way he cared. Why couldn’t he keep you at arm’s length, like he did with everyone else? Why did he have to make it so damn hard to keep your guard up?

“What’re you doin’ out here in the cold?” he asked, his voice quieter now, laced with a thread of concern that made something in your chest tighten.

“Hanging with Winnie,” you replied, your tone sharp, deflective. You ran your hand along the horse’s neck, your fingers brushing through her mane more to avoid his gaze than anything else.

Joel sighed, a sound low and rough, like he was already tired of whatever battle you were picking with him. He shifted his weight, his eyes narrowing as he studied you, his expression unreadable. Then, just under his breath, he murmured your name. Not sharp, not scolding—just your name, quiet and raw, like it had slipped out before he could stop it. “Jesus,” he added, shaking his head, his voice softer now. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Your breath hitched, your hand freezing mid-stroke against Winnie’s neck. His words hung in the icy air, wrapping around you with a weight you didn’t know how to carry. There was frustration in his tone, sure, but there was something else beneath it—something warmer, deeper. It wasn’t anger; it was something softer, and it dug into you in a way you weren’t ready to face.

“Come back inside,” Joel said, his voice steady and firm, the kind of tone that didn’t leave room for argument.

“I’m fine,” you muttered, but the edge in your voice had dulled. It came out quieter, fragile even, though you still couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

“Please.” The word wasn’t loud, but it cut through everything else. His voice softened, almost pleading, and the sound of it struck somewhere deep inside you. “Come inside. You’re gonna freeze to death out here.”

Something about the quiet desperation in his tone broke through your defenses, like a sharp wind slipping through a crack in the walls you’d built. You hesitated, your teeth catching your bottom lip as you finally, reluctantly, met his gaze.

Joel’s face was hard, his jaw set like he was bracing for a fight. But his eyes—God, his eyes—were raw. They held so much, too much. Concern, guilt, and maybe even something else, something that made your stomach twist and your chest ache all at once. Whatever it was, it rooted you in place, the tension between you taut and crackling with everything neither of you would say.

“Okay,” you breathed, the word barely audible, softer than the snow crunching beneath your boots as you took a tentative step forward.

Joel waited for you to move first, his presence steady and unyielding against the biting cold. The harsh wind tousled his hair, his muttered curse words barely audible, slipping through the frigid air. You glanced back at Winnie, her dark, liquid eyes following your movement, her breath rising in soft, rhythmic clouds that disappeared into the night.

“I feel bad for her, out in the snow,” you murmured, the words escaping before you could stop them. It was a silly thing to say, really—she was a horse, built for weather like this—but the thought tugged at your chest all the same.

Joel exhaled long and slow, his breath hanging in the frosty air as he spoke with quiet reassurance. “She’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

But he could see it, the hesitation still flickering in your eyes, the way your gaze lingered on Winnie like you weren’t entirely convinced. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, watching you, his dark eyes weighing something unspoken.

“I don’t know…” you mumbled, almost too quietly to hear.

Joel let out a barely audible sigh, his expression softening in a way that felt rare, almost sacred. Without a word, he moved toward Winnie. Each step was deliberate, almost reluctant, as though he wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing. Slowly, his hand brushed over her mane, his fingers steady and careful, before he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

It was a gesture so small, so out of character, that it stopped you in your tracks. Joel Miller didn’t do sweet things. He didn’t fuss, didn’t coddle, didn’t waste time on gestures that didn’t need doing. And yet, for you, he did.

“There,” he muttered, straightening back up with a grunt, his tone gruff like the act hadn’t meant anything at all. “Happy now? She got her kiss. She’ll be fine. Let’s go.”

But there was something in his voice—something unspoken that gave away more than his words ever could.

His attention shifted back to you then, his eyes flickering with something warm, steady. His hand hovered near your elbow, close enough to catch you if you stumbled, though he didn’t touch you. Not yet. “C’mon,” he said, softer this time, his voice carrying the kind of gentleness that wasn’t meant for just anyone.

As you started walking, his muttered grumble followed you, “Gonna catch a damn cold out here.”

You couldn’t help it—your lips curved into a small smile, your chest tightening at the tenderness of it all. Joel Miller, the man who kept everyone at a distance, who never showed softness, had just let you see something no one else got to see. A fleeting glimpse of something raw, unguarded.

And for a moment, the cold didn’t seem so sharp, and the world felt just a little warmer.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

Once inside, you made a beeline for the couch, your body moving on autopilot, determined to avoid the curious glances from Toby and Tiffany. Your fingers fumbled with the scarf wrapped around your neck, tugging it loose as the warmth of the safe house began to seep into your chilled skin. You kept your head down, your focus on the worn floorboards, irritation still simmering beneath the surface.

“Where d’you think you’re goin’, young lady?”

Joel’s voice sliced through the quiet, low and deliberate, with an edge of calm authority that made your steps falter. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be—the weight of it, the command in it, was enough to bring the room to a standstill.

Your hand froze mid-motion, the scarf slipping from your fingers as you turned your head slightly, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He stood near the generator, his broad shoulders squared, one hand resting casually on his belt, the other hanging loose at his side. But his eyes—they were locked on you, steady and unwavering, pinning you in place like he had all the time in the world to wait for you to answer.

You gestured vaguely toward the couch, barely lifting your hand, refusing to meet his gaze for more than a fleeting second. “Back to the couch,” you muttered, your voice quiet, almost defiant.

Joel tilted his head just slightly, his expression unreadable, but there was something in the way he moved—slow, deliberate, like he already knew he’d won this exchange before it even began. “Nah-uh,” he said, shaking his head with a finality that sent a shiver down your spine. His voice dipped lower, calm but firm, the kind of tone that made your pulse quicken against your will. “Over here.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It wasn’t even a request. It was a command, plain and simple, and the way he said it left no room for argument.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling into fists at your sides as you hesitated, his presence tugging at something inside you that you couldn’t quite place. Joel didn’t move, didn’t press, just stood there with his gaze fixed on you, patient but unyielding.

“Now,” he added, and the single word, spoken low and rough, sent heat curling low in your stomach despite the stubborn irritation you clung to.

A soft groan escaped your lips, but you turned on your heel, trudging reluctantly toward the group. The warmth in the room felt stifling now, crawling up your neck as you crossed the space. Joel’s eyes stayed locked on you, steady and unyielding, his hand lifting in a subtle motion to beckon you closer.

“Alright, step back for a sec,” Joel said, his tone firm but not unkind as he glanced at Toby. Toby gave a good-natured shrug and moved aside, leaving Joel with a clear path to the generator. Joel turned to you then, gesturing for you to come closer. “C’mere.”

You hesitated, crossing your arms defensively. “What is this, Joel?” you asked, annoyance still coloring your voice. “You’re gonna put me to work now?”

“Yeah,” Joel replied without missing a beat, his tone matter-of-fact as he crouched beside the generator. “You wanted to help, so here’s your shot.”

You blinked at him, your irritation faltering as you stared at his calm, steady expression. He wasn’t mocking you—if anything, he looked entirely serious. “What am I even supposed to do?”

“Alright,” he said, motioning for you to kneel next to him. “See this here?” He pointed to a cable dangling loosely from the side of the generator, its end frayed and useless. “This needs replacin’. I’ve got the spare part, but you’re gonna hook it up.”

Your eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “Me?”

“Yeah, you,” he said, his tone laced with patience, though his steady gaze left no room for argument. “It ain’t brain surgery. I’ll walk you through it.”

You hesitated, glancing between him and the generator. “And what if I screw it up?”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Then I’ll fix it,” he said, his voice calm, but the steadiness of it hit like a promise. As he handed you the new cable, his fingers brushed yours for a fleeting second, his gaze holding yours. “I’ve got you. Just listen,” he added, his tone steady, before that familiar mischievous glint lit his eyes. “Which I know is sometimes difficult for you.”

Your head shot up, a sharp “Hey!” slipping from your lips, though you couldn’t keep the grin from tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Joel huffed out a quiet chuckle, his voice dipping lower. “Kidding. Mostly.”

Still, you couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he handed you a small wire stripper. “Alright, fine. What do I do?”

“Strip the end of that wire,” he instructed, his voice calm and patient. When you hesitated, his hand came up to guide yours, warm and steady as he adjusted your grip. “Like this,” he said softly, before stepping back to let you try on your own.

With a shaky exhale, you worked the tool, fumbling at first but managing to peel back the rubber to reveal the copper beneath.

“Good,” Joel murmured, his voice quieter now, carrying a subtle hint of approval. “Now, take this.” He handed you the replacement cable, his fingers brushing yours again. “Line it up, and use the crimper to lock it in place.”

You glanced at him, still unsure. “And if I—”

“You won’t,” he interrupted, his gaze steady, grounding. “Just trust me.”

The words settled something inside you, and you followed his instructions, slowly crimping the wire until the connection clicked into place.

“Now tighten it with the wrench,” he said, his tone lighter now, gesturing to the tool beside you. “You’re doin’ fine.” For all his teasing, he was there, steady and close, watching you with the kind of patience he rarely showed anyone else.

Your hands moved more confidently this time, the task less intimidating under his quiet guidance. When the connection was secure, Joel flipped the switch. The generator sputtered before settling into a steady hum, filling the room with its soft, rhythmic whir.

Your lips parted in surprise. “I did it?”

Joel straightened, crossing his arms as a rare, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Told ya you could,” he said, his voice low, filled with quiet pride.

For a moment, you just stared at him, the warmth in his expression catching you off guard. “Alright,” you muttered, brushing your hands against your pants. “Maybe I’m not completely useless.”

Joel chuckled, a deep, warm sound that sent a flush creeping up your neck. “Never said you were,” he replied, his voice softer now, his eyes lingering on you for just a moment too long.

You glanced away quickly, your eyes darting to the floor as you tried to steady your breathing. Your hands fidgeted nervously, brushing against your thighs, but the telltale heat creeping up your neck betrayed you. You prayed he wouldn’t notice.

But Joel always noticed.

His gaze lingered, steady and sharp, like he could see straight through the layers you worked so hard to keep intact.

After all—He knew you.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The supplies had been sorted, divvied up neatly between the group, and the preparations to head back to Jackson were nearly complete. With one less load to carry, the four of you now had three horses. The arrangement seemed obvious: you’d take Winnie, Toby would ride the spare, and Tiffany—of course—would ride back with Joel.

Without hesitation, you made your way to Winnie, your hand brushing her mane as you placed a boot in the stirrup and began to climb. You barely had a chance to settle before Joel’s voice cut through the air, firm and commanding.

“Nuh-uh,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You froze, your hands tightening instinctively on the reins as you glanced over your shoulder. His gaze was fixed on you, sharp and unwavering, the same look he always gave when he was about to insist on something that would, undoubtedly, irritate you.

“What?” you asked, frowning as you slid halfway out of the saddle, your voice tinged with confusion and just a touch of annoyance.

“You’re with me,” Joel said casually, already adjusting the stirrups and swinging onto his horse with a practiced ease that made your stomach twist. He settled in, one hand gripping the reins, the other resting comfortably on the saddle horn, as though this arrangement had been decided long before you’d even thought to protest.

Your heart stuttered, the weight of his words hanging heavily between you. “Why?” you asked, though the word came out softer than you intended, your irritation unraveling under the quiet intensity of his gaze.

“Because I said so,” Joel replied, his tone carrying that familiar, no-nonsense finality. But there was more to it—something unspoken in the way he looked at you, something quieter and deeper. He wasn’t offering an explanation, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that his reasons had nothing to do with logic or practicality.

You blinked, confused, your eyes darting from Winnie to Tiffany, who stood frozen, her gaze bouncing between you and Joel. Her shock was almost palpable, her wide-eyed expression practically begging you to do something—anything—but the words lodged in your throat.

“What about—?” you started, gesturing toward Tiffany.

“Oh,” Joel interrupted smoothly. His voice was as nonchalant as ever, his gaze not even meeting hers as he adjusted the reins. “Tiffany, you can take Winnie back. Be good practice for you. She’s a steady horse—solid as they come. You’ll manage just fine.”

Tiffany’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened again, like a fish gasping for air. Clearly flustered, she blinked at Joel, then at Winnie, as though trying to process what she’d just been told. “Uh… sure,” she finally stammered, her voice weak, her steps hesitant as she moved toward Winnie. Her fingers fumbled with the reins, and for a fleeting second, you thought she might actually refuse. But Joel’s attention had already shifted.

His gaze was back on you, steady and unyielding, as though he had all the time in the world but wasn’t planning on letting you waste any of it. One hand rested on the saddle horn, his other loosely gripping the reins, his posture impossibly calm. Then he tilted his head, motioning toward the empty spot behind him.

“Any day now,” Joel drawled, his tone light but carrying an edge of insistence that made your cheeks flush. It wasn’t impatience—it was something else. Something that said he expected you to listen, and not just because he’d asked.

You stood there, caught between confusion and something deeper, something warm and disorienting that made your heart race. The cold air seemed to fade into the background as you hesitated, but Joel’s steady gaze didn’t waver, as if willing you to close the distance. Reluctantly, you stepped toward his horse, feeling every inch of his attention follow your movements.

When you reached him, he extended a hand, his grip firm and effortless as he helped you up onto the saddle behind him. The ease with which he did it—like it was second nature—only made your pulse quicken.

“There ya go,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, “Good girl.” It was rough around the edges, the kind of tone that sent a shiver racing down your spine. Soft, almost intimate, like the words were meant for you alone. They lingered in the air, carried on the quiet hum of his breath, settling warm against the cold, like a secret shared between the two of you in the stillness of the moment.

You swallowed hard, the world narrowing to the feel of him, the scent of leather and pine and something unmistakably Joel. Your arms instinctively wrapped around his middle as the horse shifted beneath you, the motion jarring enough to force you closer. The heat of him pressed against you, steady and solid, the rise and fall of his breath grounding you in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Behind you, Tiffany’s silence was deafening, the weight of her unspoken words hanging in the frosty air. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care—not when Joel clicked his tongue softly, urging the horse forward, his body shifting ever so slightly against yours with each step.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The snow crunched beneath the hooves, the wind tugged at your scarf, but none of it mattered. The steady rhythm of the ride, the warmth of Joel’s presence, and the quiet between you felt louder than anything else.

“Hold on tighter,” Joel said gruffly, his voice cutting through the quiet, tinged with that dry humor he always used to mask his concern. “If you fall off, I’m leavin’ ya here.”

A small huff of laughter escaped you, but you didn’t argue. Instead, you tightened your grip around his middle, your fingers curling into the thick fabric of his coat. He was warm—so warm—and it was impossible to ignore the way his steady presence seemed to anchor you against the sway of the horse.

“You comfy?” he asked after a moment, his voice softer now, carrying a gentleness that made your breath hitch.

“Yeah,” you managed, your voice barely a whisper, nearly drowned out by the rhythmic hoofbeats and the wind weaving through the trees.

Your heart thudded wildly against your ribs, the steady rhythm betraying your attempt to appear unaffected. It wasn’t just the ride or the chill of the air—it was Joel. The way his solid frame seemed to fit perfectly against yours, the rise and fall of his breath syncing with yours like a quiet, unspoken conversation. You pressed your cheek lightly against his back, pretending it was to shield yourself from the cold, but the truth sat heavy in your chest.

Your thoughts churned, tangled in the events of the day, each memory looping back to him. Joel. The way he always seemed to look out for you, in ways so quiet, so understated, that you often didn’t realize until later. How he’d noticed when you were off, and without a word, had come out to check on you—always in the background, always with that steady, unwavering presence. His quiet insistence that you help with the generator, his subtle pull to bring you back into the fold when you had been so tempted to retreat.

And now, here you were—riding behind him. Not Tiffany. Not anyone else. Just you, just him, the steady rhythm of his horse beneath you, the cold wind brushing against your skin. You weren’t sure what had changed, but something between you two felt different now, heavier in a way that made your chest tighten.

“You alive back there?” Joel’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and gruff,

You blinked, jolted from your reverie, your fingers tightening instinctively against the fabric of his coat. “Alive and well,” you replied, your voice quiet but steady as it carried over the sound of the wind. The way he always seemed to notice your silences made your chest ache in ways you weren’t ready to name.

“Good,” he said, his tone a little lighter now, almost teasing. “Ain’t ever heard you this quiet. Started to get worried.”

You laughed faintly, the sound barely escaping your lips, but it felt hollow even to your own ears.

“Hey,” Joel said again, softer this time, his voice a low rumble that seemed to cut straight through the cold air and settle deep in your chest. Before you could respond, you felt his hand leave the reins briefly, reaching back to rest gently against the outside of your leg, just above your knee. His touch was warm, steady, and it sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

“You’ve been off all day,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your pants in a way that was almost absentminded, but undeniably grounding. “What’s eatin’ at you?”

You cursed him silently—for knowing you so well, for noticing the cracks in your armor even when you tried to keep everything bottled up tight. Joel always had a way of seeing straight through you, no matter how hard you worked to hide it. It was maddening, the way he seemed to sense when something was wrong without you having to say a word. You clenched your jaw, resisting the urge to let out a sigh. How could he always be so damn right about everything?

“Nothing,” you replied quickly, but the tremble in your voice betrayed you. It didn’t sound convincing, even to your own ears, and Joel wasn’t the kind of man to let something like that slide.

He hummed softly, a deep, unconvinced sound that made your heart skip a beat. “It’s not nothing if it’s got you upset,” he said, his voice low and steady, but carrying a weight that made it impossible to brush off.

“Who said I was upset?” you countered, your tone sharper than you intended, laced with a defensiveness that felt as transparent as glass.

Joel didn’t respond immediately. He let the silence stretch out, his patience steady and deliberate, matching the slow rhythm of the horse beneath you. It wasn’t the kind of silence that felt like surrender—it was the kind that made you squirm, made you feel like he was giving you enough rope to hang yourself with your own words.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but firm, each word measured and deliberate. “You’re always talkin’ my ear off, crackin’ jokes,” he said, the faintest hint of a drawl softening the edges of his tone. “Today? You’re quiet. Somethin’s wrong.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even an accusation. It was a statement—plain, simple, and as unyielding as the man himself. The matter-of-factness in his voice left no room for argument, no space for you to twist your way out of the conversation.

You stared at the back of his head, your jaw tightening as his words settled in. The worst part wasn’t that he was calling you out—it was that he was right. He always was, and that fact chipped away at the wall you were trying so hard to keep standing.

You sighed heavily, your breath rising in soft clouds and disappearing into the cold air. Without thinking, you rested your forehead against Joel’s back for a brief moment, the worn fabric of his jacket grounding you as you struggled to find the words.

“I just…” You hesitated, the sentence catching in your throat. The weight in your chest felt too big, too complicated to explain, so you grasped for something simpler. Something safer. “I didn’t feel good not being able to help back there.”

It wasn’t the whole truth. Not even close. The tangled knot of jealousy twisting deep inside you wasn’t something you were ready to touch, let alone untangle—not here, not now. This was easier. A deflection you hoped he’d accept.

Joel shifted slightly in the saddle, the motion subtle but enough to make you feel the steady strength of him. His hand left the reins for just a second, reaching back to your leg. His fingers pressed firm and reassuring, a brief squeeze before returning to their place, as if to say, I’m here. I’ve got you.

“You did help,” Joel said, his voice calm, steady, but with that unshakable certainty that made it clear he wasn’t just humoring you. “You figured out that generator, didn’t you?”

You shook your head, frustration bubbling to the surface as you sat up straighter. “No, Joel. You told me what to do. That’s not the same thing.”

Joel let out a huff, somewhere between exasperation and amusement, the sound rough but carrying a warmth that softened its edge. “So what? You’re the one who actually did it. Doesn’t matter how it got done, just that it did.”

“Joel…” you began, your voice quiet, but he cut you off before the words could form.

“Hey,” he said, firm but not harsh, the kind of tone that didn’t leave room for argument. His gaze flicked over his shoulder, catching yours for a fleeting second before settling back ahead. “No one’s perfect at everything. You think I was born knowin’ how to fix a damn generator? Someone taught me, same as I just taught you. And now, next time? You’ll know what to do.”

His words hung in the air, steady and grounding, wrapping around you like the warmth of a fire after hours in the biting cold. You hated that he was right—how easily his logic chipped away at your frustration—but you couldn’t deny the comfort it brought. The knot of doubt in your chest loosened, and for the first time all day, you felt yourself exhale fully.

“You gotta stop doubting yourself,” Joel added after a pause, his voice quieter now, almost tender in a way that made your throat tighten. “First your shootin’, now this.”

He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to catch the edge of his gaze, those dark eyes softened with something that looked like quiet insistence. “Why can’t you see what I see?”

The question hung in the air, soft and startling in its honesty. It wasn’t just about the generator or shooting—it was about everything. Every hesitation, every moment you second-guessed yourself, every time doubt crept in and clouded your own view of who you were. Joel saw through it all. He always did. And somehow, he saw something in you that you struggled to see in yourself.

Your heart stuttered, his words cutting through defenses you hadn’t even realized you’d built. They sank into the quiet, guarded parts of you, the parts too afraid to hope for anything more. You swallowed hard, the question slipping from your lips before you could stop it, barely more than a whisper.

“What do you see?”

Joel exhaled slowly, the sound heavy, deliberate, like he was weighing every word before letting them free. “I see a smart girl,” he said, his voice low and rough, carrying that familiar steadiness that never failed to settle something inside you. “Someone who believes in werewolves and damn near caught pneumonia because she couldn’t be bothered to fix her fireplace.”

His tone lightened just enough to coax a faint laugh from your chest, the smallest flicker of humor breaking the tension. But just as quickly as it came, it faded, replaced by something deeper, something more grounded. His gaze lingered on the horizon, the line of his shoulders unwavering as he spoke again.

“But I also see a strong woman. Someone who gives a damn about people, about her horse, about things most folks don’t even notice.” His voice softened, dipping lower, the words like a steady drumbeat, calm and sure. “Someone who doesn’t give herself near enough credit for all the good she’s done.”

The air seemed to still, his words settling over you like a weight—steady, grounding, but not suffocating. You blinked, swallowing the lump that had formed in your throat, his words cutting through every self-doubt you’d held onto for so long.

For a moment, you couldn’t respond. The truth in his voice was too much, too raw, too unflinching. And yet, it was exactly what you needed. Joel had a way of making you feel seen, even when you didn’t want to be. Especially when you didn’t want to be.

You blinked, your chest tightening as his words hit like a slow-burning flame, warming and terrifying all at once. They wrapped themselves around your heart, tugging in ways you weren’t ready to admit. He hesitated for a moment, his hands tightening on the reins as though grounding himself before continuing.

“Someone I’d trust to have my back any day,” Joel said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent, like the weight of the words cost him something to say. His tone was steady, but there was a fragility beneath it, as though he was laying bare something he rarely allowed anyone to see.

And then, his words faltered.

You held your breath, the space between you thickening with tension, so heavy it felt like it might collapse in on itself. Joel’s jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening as his hand gripped the reins a little harder than necessary. For a fleeting second, it felt as if the world had gone silent, holding its breath with you, caught in the moment between what was being said and what wasn’t.

“Someone I…” His voice broke off, the words caught somewhere in his chest, as if there was something else, something he wasn’t sure he could say yet. His eyes stayed forward, distant, but you felt the shift in the air around you—like the world was teetering on the edge of something that might change everything between you.

The pause stretched just long enough to steal the breath from your lungs, long enough for your heart to thunder in your chest, half in anticipation, half in disbelief.

Joel exhaled sharply, a sound full of frustration and resignation, before the words came rushing out, quick and clipped. “Someone I trust.”

His tone was rough, almost harsh in its delivery, but it didn’t quite mask the emotion beneath it—the quiet vulnerability that came with saying something so simple, yet so much more than it seemed.

He kept his gaze fixed forward, his shoulders tense and unmoving, but the heat radiating from him told a different story. It was an intensity you could feel, like the storm brewing inside him was threatening to spill over, and he was holding onto his control by a thread.

Your hand tightened instinctively in the fabric of his coat, fingers curling into the worn material as if anchoring yourself to him could steady the whirlwind of emotions threatening to spill over. Your cheek brushed against his back, the warmth of him seeping through your layers, grounding you in a way words never could.

“I trust you too,” you said softly, the words barely louder than a whisper, but in the stillness of the moment, they felt as loud as thunder.

Joel stiffened for a beat, his shoulders going taut beneath your touch. Then, slowly, you felt the tension ease, like the weight of your words had sunk in, like they’d settled something inside him he hadn’t realized needed settling.

“Good,” he murmured after a moment, his voice low and rough, carrying that unspoken warmth only Joel could manage. “’Cause you should.”

The ache in your chest felt sharper now, edged with something you couldn’t name but knew you didn’t want to lose. It wasn’t fleeting—it was steady, insistent, rising in you like the calm before a storm. A quiet thing, both grounding and overwhelming, wrapping around your heart in a way you couldn’t shake.

You didn’t press him, didn’t dare to push further, afraid that if you did, the fragile thread stretched between you might snap. But the unfinished sentence—Someone I…—lingered in the space between you, like a ghost of what he couldn’t quite bring himself to say. It haunted you, impossibly sweet and maddeningly incomplete, yet somehow you knew. You felt it.

The way Joel’s voice had faltered, the stiffness in his shoulders as though he’d fought the words even as they clawed their way to the surface—it wasn’t hesitation. It was restraint. Careful, deliberate restraint. He hadn’t said it, but it was there, just beneath the surface, written in the rough edges of his voice, in the way his hand lingered, warm and steady against your leg.

For now, it was enough. It had to be.

The silence that settled wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy—thick with everything neither of you could quite bring yourselves to say. Trust, longing, and that quiet, undeniable pull that had been building between you, so subtle yet so unrelenting. It hung there, unspoken but certain, a feeling neither of you acknowledged but both of you knew was there.

And in that moment, you realized something that made your breath hitch: Joel felt it too. The same aching, restless longing that had been twisting inside you for months now—it wasn’t just yours to bear. It was his, too. He carried it in the way he looked at you a second too long, in the soft scrape of his thumb brushing against your leg, in the unspoken words he couldn’t quite bring himself to say but didn’t need to.

Sometimes, the words left unsaid carried more weight than anything spoken aloud. You didn’t need him to finish the sentence. You already knew how it ended.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The rest of the ride passed in a quiet companionship that didn’t need filling, the kind of silence that felt intentional, almost sacred. Your cheek rested against Joel’s back, his steady warmth radiating through your layers of clothing.

You could’ve fallen asleep if it weren’t for the adrenaline still coursing through you, your pulse thrumming with a restless energy that refused to settle. It wasn’t the ride, or the cold, or even the events of the day—it was him. Joel. His voice, his words, the things he’d said to you, quiet and deliberate, in a way he wouldn’t have said to anyone else.

They echoed in your mind, soft and sharp all at once, replaying in fragments that left your chest tight and your thoughts tangled. Every word he’d spoken felt like it had been pulled from some part of him he rarely let anyone see, as if they’d been meant for you and you alone.

And they had been. You knew that.

You stared ahead into the darkness, the steady rhythm of the horse beneath you doing little to quiet the storm inside. He hadn’t said much, not outright, but Joel didn’t have to. Everything he did, every glance, every touch, every unspoken word was loud enough if you knew how to listen.

And yet, there was still that lingering thought, the one that tugged at the corner of your mind with quiet disbelief: You’d managed to turn Joel Miller soft.

It left you breathless, unmoored, and entirely unsure of what to do with the way your heart kept leaping at the memory of him saying, “Why can’t you see what I see?”

When you reached Jackson, the warm, golden glow of the stables cut through the icy night, casting flickering shadows against the snow. The sight was familiar, comforting, but it did little to steady the adrenaline still humming beneath your skin. Joel dismounted first, his movements efficient and deliberate, every motion controlled in that quiet way of his.

He turned toward you without a word, his hand extending. You hesitated for only a second before placing your gloved hand in his, the firmness of his grip grounding you. As he guided you down, his hands settled at your waist, strong and steady—but they lingered.

It was subtle, barely more than a heartbeat, but it was enough. Enough to send a rush of heat crawling up your neck, enough to make your breath hitch. When your boots hit the ground, you looked up, startled by the intensity of his gaze. His dark eyes met yours, holding them with a weight that made the air between you feel thick and electric.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t speak. His hands dropped slowly from your waist, but not before his thumb brushed against you—just barely, just enough to leave a ghost of his touch behind. There was something in his expression, something unspoken that flickered in the shadows of his face. It was soft, but it wasn’t weak. It was raw, searching—something he wasn’t ready to name but couldn’t seem to hide.

The warmth of the barn enveloped you as you turned toward Winnie, the steady rhythm of her breathing a small comfort against the quiet storm raging inside you. She watched you with those calm, knowing eyes, her presence grounding you in a way you desperately needed.

Leaning in, you pressed your lips softly to her muzzle, the coarse texture of her coat grounding you further. Your fingers brushed against her fur, your voice low and reverent as you whispered, “Thank you.” The words felt heavier than they should, like they carried the weight of everything you couldn’t bring yourself to say.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

Once the horses were cared for and the supplies unloaded, the four of you stepped out into the crisp evening air, forming a loose circle near the stable doors. Without realizing it, you and Joel had gravitated toward each other, standing shoulder to shoulder as though drawn by some invisible thread. The connection felt instinctive, unspoken, as if some subconscious part of you couldn’t bear the thought of being too far from him.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, leaving the sky a deep, velvety blue speckled with faint stars that were just beginning to peek through. The chill in the air nipped at your cheeks, sharp but invigorating, though the warmth of Joel’s presence beside you seemed to soften its edge.

Toby shifted, turning to face the group, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets as his breath curled into soft clouds of condensation. His grin spread wide, mischievous and full of suggestion, the kind that made you instantly wary of whatever he was about to say.

“I think,” he began, his tone playful, dragging the words out for effect, “we deserve to celebrate. Drinks, anyone?”

Tiffany lit up at the suggestion, clapping her hands together despite the cold. “Yes, please,” she said, her voice bright and eager, like she’d been waiting for someone to say it. “We’ve definitely earned it.”

You hesitated, the thought of heading to the Tipsy Bison pulling at your frayed nerves. The day had left you raw, every emotion worn thin and exposed, stirring feelings you weren’t ready to confront—let alone share in a room filled with people. The idea of it seemed overwhelming, too loud, too much.

Before you could summon the words to decline, your gaze flicked to Joel. He stood beside you, his hands resting loosely at his sides, his posture casual, but his eyes—his eyes—were locked on you. Steady and searching, they seemed to hold a kind of quiet understanding, as if he already knew exactly what you were thinking but was waiting to hear it anyway. He wasn’t looking at the others, wasn’t waiting on anyone else’s answer. Just yours.

For a moment, the cold evening air seemed to pause around you, the rest of the world fading into the periphery until it was just him, just the space between you. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you searched his expression, looking for answers you weren’t sure you were ready to find.

And then you saw it. The flicker of something in his gaze—soft, unspoken, but so certain it made your chest tighten. A question that mirrored the one twisting in your own heart.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t grand. But it was there.

Only if you go.

It was in the way his gaze softened, in the subtle shift of his shoulders like he was already prepared to follow wherever you led. It was a pull you couldn’t ignore, a quiet promise that wrapped itself around you and settled in your chest.

Your breath caught, and for a fleeting second, the decision felt impossibly simple. You didn’t want the noise, the crowd, the chaos. But if Joel was there—if he stayed close, if he was by your side—suddenly, it didn’t seem so unbearable.

“Why not?” you heard yourself say, the words slipping out before you had time to second-guess them. They surprised even you, but as they hung in the crisp air, the idea settled somewhere between distraction and quiet surrender. Maybe a drink—or two—was exactly what you needed to take the edge off the rawness of the day.

You turned back to Toby, a small, reluctant smile forming despite yourself. “Alright.”

Toby’s face lit up instantly, his enthusiasm almost infectious as he clapped his hands together. “Let’s go, then!” he said, already heading toward the glow of the Tipsy Bison, his breath puffing in soft clouds in the cold night air.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The boys walked ahead, their conversation already dipping into something mundane—probably the generator, judging by Toby’s animated hand gestures. You trailed behind, your steps slower, your thoughts heavier, the cold air tugging at your coat and weaving its way through the cracks in your defenses.

Your gaze drifted toward Joel, his stride steady and sure, his hands buried deep in his coat pockets. Even without seeing his face, you knew how he’d look: his brows drawn together in that familiar furrow, his cheeks tinged pink from the cold, the rough edge of his jawline catching the faint light of the stable lanterns. Your eyes followed the line of his neck, lingering on the way his curls wrapped loosely around the nape, slightly tousled by the evening chill. You wondered, almost absently, what they might feel like under your fingers—soft or coarse, maybe both.

But even as Joel walked beside Toby, you didn’t miss it: the way his head turned back, a quick, deliberate glance over his shoulder. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t meaningless. He wasn’t just looking—he was checking. Making sure you were still there, still close, his dark eyes searching the space between you with a kind of quiet vigilance that made something in your chest ache.

The gesture was subtle, but it spoke louder than words ever could. Joel Miller, with his guarded heart and gruff demeanor, was always watching for you, always attuned in a way that felt both protective and deeply, undeniably personal.

Before you could fully unpack the strange warmth flickering in your chest, Tiffany slipped her arm through yours, her cheerful presence cutting through your reverie like sunlight through frost. She pulled you closer, her steps light and bouncy, her tone a little too bright for the quiet weight that had settled over you.

“This is good,” she said, practically humming with optimism. “Maybe he’ll loosen up after a few drinks.”

Her words stopped you cold, your steps faltering as the implication hit like a rock in the pit of your stomach. For a moment, you’d forgotten Tiffany’s obvious interest in Joel—forgotten the way she leaned into him earlier, her laugh lingering in the air like an unwelcome echo. But now, it landed with uncomfortable weight, stirring a sharp, uneasy ache deep inside.

You glanced at her, her face lit with a kind of hopeful mischief that made your stomach twist. Her eyes sparkled with the kind of intent that sent your thoughts spiraling, an unwelcome reminder of what she wanted, of what she might be hoping for tonight.

You sighed, the sound barely audible, as the weight of her words settled heavily in your chest, pressing against that fragile warmth Joel’s glance had sparked. “Yeah, maybe,” you said, forcing the words out carefully, your tone deliberately neutral. But even as they left your lips, they felt hollow, brittle, like a lie you were trying too hard to believe.

And yet, the sharp ache lingered, twisting inside you with a quiet persistence that you couldn’t quite ignore. The idea of Joel loosening up for anyone but you—for Tiffany, of all people—was a thought you didn’t want to touch, didn’t want to examine too closely.

You ached for it—to be only you, only you, only you.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The Tipsy Bison enveloped you in its warmth the moment you stepped inside, the air alive with the low hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, and the faint crackle of a fire in the corner. It was a stark contrast to the biting cold outside, the warmth sinking into your skin and loosening the tension in your shoulders.

Joel held the door open for you and Tiffany, his broad frame silhouetted against the chilly night beyond. He didn’t say a word, just gave a gruff nod when you murmured your thanks, his eyes flicking to the room ahead as though cataloging every face, every movement.

As you wove your way through the crowded space, Joel stayed close, his presence a quiet, protective force at your side. His hand brushed yours briefly—not intentional, just the result of navigating the narrow space between tables—but it sent a jolt through you nonetheless. You couldn’t help but notice the way he positioned himself just slightly ahead of you, his body instinctively shielding you from the lingering gazes of a few too-drunk men slouched near the bar.

When you reached a booth at the back of the room, Toby slid in first, his grin wide as he made himself comfortable across from you. Tiffany slipped in beside you, her shoulder brushing yours as she adjusted her coat. Joel stayed standing for a moment longer, his gaze sweeping the room once more before he turned to you.

“What’s everyone havin’?” he asked, his voice low but carrying enough weight to cut through the noise.

Toby rattled off his drink of choice with the same enthusiasm he approached everything, while Tiffany leaned forward slightly, her tone bright as she added hers. You hesitated, the noise of the room making it hard to focus, but Joel’s eyes found yours, steady and waiting.

“I’ll just have—uh, whiskey,” you managed, your voice quieter than you intended. Joel gave a small nod, then stepped away toward the bar without another word.

When he returned, he slid into the seat across from Tiffany, his broad shoulders cutting an imposing silhouette in the dim light. The flicker of the firelight caught the edge of his jaw, casting shadows across his face as he set the drinks on the table. His eyes flicked briefly to you, a silent check-in, before he leaned back, one arm draped casually over the back of the booth.

You wished you were sitting next to him. The thought was quiet, almost shameful, but it burned all the same, stubborn and unrelenting. You wished you could feel his warmth—not just the kind that wrapped around you when he glanced your way, but the literal heat of him, the inexplicable way he always seemed so warm even in the coldest rooms. Instead, you were pressed against Tiffany, who shifted closer with an air of practiced ease, her presence a sharp reminder of just how far away Joel felt.

Across the table, the men had fallen into an easy rhythm, their voices low and steady. Joel was explaining something about perimeter checks, his tone calm and deliberate, completely unbothered by the din of the bar around you. Toby nodded along eagerly, his enthusiasm almost boyish, leaning forward like every word Joel said held the weight of a lesson he couldn’t afford to miss.

Joel, on the other hand, looked perfectly at ease, one arm draped over the back of the booth, his broad frame filling the space with that quiet authority that was just him. He spoke in that deliberate, grounded way of his, the rough timbre of his voice cutting through the chatter in the room like it was meant for you to hear, even if it wasn’t.

Tiffany let out a quiet sigh beside you, rolling her eyes dramatically as she leaned back in her seat, her lips quirking in mock annoyance. “Men can be so boring,” she muttered, her voice just loud enough for you to catch.

You barely glanced at her, your gaze flicking back to Joel—at his steady presence, his calm focus, at the way his brow furrowed slightly as he gestured toward Toby with the faintest hint of impatience.

Tiffany shifted closer, leaning into you as her voice dropped, her tone suddenly conspiratorial. “Let’s make this a bit more interesting,” she murmured, her words laced with mischief. Her smile widened as though she’d just decided to stir the pot, her eyes darting toward Joel with a spark of intent that made something sharp and uneasy twist in your chest.

The glint in her eye made your stomach tighten, a warning bell you couldn’t quite ignore. “What do you mean?” you murmured, hesitant, but before you could get an answer, she straightened in her seat, her expression shifting in an instant.

“Joel,” she said, her voice taking on a saccharine lilt that set your teeth on edge. The single word dripped with calculated sweetness, pointed in a way that made you tense. Whatever she was about to say, you knew it wasn’t good—not for you.

Joel glanced at her, his brow raising slightly, his posture shifting just enough to show that he’d heard her. The low rumble of his attention settling on Tiffany made your stomach twist, and you braced yourself, wishing you’d found an excuse to sit somewhere else, anywhere else.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Tiffany asked, her tone light and casual, as if she weren’t dropping a conversational grenade right in the middle of the table.

Your drink nearly went down the wrong pipe. You coughed, hurriedly setting your glass down as heat crept up your neck. Joel’s gaze snapped to yours immediately, sharp and searching. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, but his hand moved to the back of his neck, his fingers rubbing there awkwardly—a tell you’d come to recognize when he felt cornered.

“Uh,” Joel started, clearly caught off guard. “No. No, I don’t.”

Tiffany’s eyebrows lifted, her curiosity far from sated. “Are you seeing anyone?” she pressed, her voice teetering between casual curiosity and something more pointed, something that made your stomach twist.

Joel’s lips pressed into a thin line, his brows furrowing as though the question itself was so foreign it didn’t make sense to him. “Seeing anyone?” he echoed, his tone incredulous. “No.”

You stared down at the table, willing yourself to focus on the worn grain of the wood instead of the tension stretching across the booth. Your chest tightened, nausea creeping into your stomach as Tiffany leaned in slightly, her persistence unrelenting.

“So, you’re single?” Tiffany pressed, the words dripping with a coy curiosity that made your stomach twist. She already had her answer—everyone at the table did—but the way she lingered on it felt pointed, deliberate.

Joel let out a heavy sigh, his jaw tightening as he glanced between her and you. His gaze lingered on you, just for a moment, but it was enough to send a ripple of something sharp and unspoken through the space between you. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice gruff, clipped, almost reluctant. “I guess.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortably final, the kind of answer that felt more like a line drawn than a simple admission. Joel shifted in his seat, his movements restless, his broad shoulders stiff with an unease you knew he was trying to suppress. But his eyes flicked toward you again, catching yours in a way that felt like he was trying to gauge your reaction—or maybe bracing himself for it.

For a fleeting second, you saw something there. Something quiet and fleeting, like a crack in his otherwise impenetrable exterior. Regret, maybe. Or hesitation. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it left you reeling all the same, your chest tightening under the weight of emotions you couldn’t untangle.

Tiffany smiled faintly, her satisfaction evident as she leaned back in her seat. The grin tugging at her lips was far too pleased, the way her gaze flicked briefly to you far too calculating. She didn’t press further, content to let her words linger like a mark she’d just left on the conversation.

“Good to know,” she said, her tone light but pointed, as though she’d just tucked away something she planned to use later. She picked up her drink, taking a long, slow sip, her attention sliding back to Joel as though you weren’t even there.

You weren’t sure what to feel. You knew Joel wasn’t seeing anyone—not like you’d asked outright, like Tiffany had, but because you just knew. He kept himself too guarded, too closed off to let anyone in. And a part of you was relieved, a quiet reassurance settling in your chest. But alongside that relief came a sharper, more insistent pang of disappointment.

Whatever you had with Joel, whatever this was, it wasn’t enough to be labeled. Not enough to be classified. Not enough to be his.

The thought sent your mind spiraling, a whirl of feelings you couldn’t untangle. The whiskey only muddled things further, the warmth of it spreading through your chest, making it harder to focus, harder to keep the storm in your head from spilling over.

Joel cleared his throat suddenly, the sound breaking through your haze. His hand curled tightly around his glass, his fingers flexing against the smooth surface before he took a deliberate sip. His expression was unreadable, but his shoulders were rigid, the tension rolling off him in waves that even the dim light couldn’t hide.

The conversation stumbled forward awkwardly, Toby and Tiffany exchanging light banter as though nothing had happened, their words brushing over the jagged edges left behind. You barely registered them, your focus caught on Joel—on the way his jaw tightened, on the way his gaze flicked downward, avoiding the weight of the moment like he could somehow will it away.

His answer had been so simple, so clear—and yet, it left your chest aching in a way you couldn’t explain. As if the truth of it, the finality of it, only underscored the gap between you, the unspoken space that stretched like a chasm no words could bridge.

You stared down at your drink, your fingers tightening around the glass, the room suddenly feeling unbearably hot. The whiskey wasn’t helping, its heat mingling with the tension pressing down on you, suffocating and unrelenting. You debated excusing yourself to the bathroom just to escape, to breathe, or maybe claiming you were sick—any excuse to get the hell out of there before you unraveled completely.

But before you could make a move, Toby’s voice cut through the din.

“What about you?” he asked, his tone softer now, shy in a way that caught you completely off guard.

Your head snapped up, your thoughts scattering. “Huh?”

“What?” Joel’s voice joined yours, sharp and immediate, cutting through the noise with startling precision.

The suddenness of his reaction startled you, your brows knitting together as you glanced toward him. Joel’s head was turned, his gaze fixed on Toby, and there was something in his expression—something hard, unrelenting—that sent a faint ripple through the tension already gripping the booth.

“Sorry,” Toby stammered, his cheeks flushing crimson as he stumbled over his words. “I mean… uh… do you have a boyfriend?” He glanced at you sheepishly, his gaze darting between you and the table like he wasn’t sure where to land.

You barely had time to process his question before your attention was pulled back to Joel.

He didn’t say anything, but his reaction was immediate and impossible to miss. His broad shoulders, which had been leaning back against the booth in an uncharacteristic moment of relaxation, stiffened. His entire frame went taut, coiled with a tension that radiated through the air like a live wire. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he straightened, his jaw tightening until the muscle there ticked with the effort.

His hand, still wrapped around his glass, tightened visibly, the faint sound of the glass creaking under the pressure cutting through the muffled chatter of the bar.

The intensity of his reaction wasn’t lost on you—or anyone else at the table. Tiffany’s gaze flicked between you and Joel, her brows arching in mild curiosity, while Toby seemed to shrink under the weight of Joel’s sudden, silent focus.

“Oh,” you breathed, the word soft, caught somewhere between surprise and discomfort. You hadn’t realized Toby was interested in you—though, now that you thought about it, maybe you should have. The signs had been there, subtle but undeniable: the glances, the way he always made sure to include you in conversations, the warmth in his tone whenever he spoke to you. It had probably been obvious to everyone but you.

All day, Toby had made an effort, his kindness impossible to ignore despite the heaviness of your mood. When you’d ridden together, he’d kept the conversation light, asking questions to fill the silence, his laugh lingering a little too long at things you hadn’t meant to be funny. He’d gone out of his way to grab your pack when you stopped to dismount at the safe house, his actions quiet but deliberate, his presence steady in a way that had felt, at the time, more comforting than intrusive.

At the generator, when you’d fumbled through Joel’s instructions, Toby had stood off to the side, patient and smiling, offering soft reassurances with every mistake. He’d been there, consistently and reliably, as though he’d been waiting for a moment like this one—to ask outright.

You looked at him now, his cheeks still tinged with color, his eyes flicking nervously between you and the table. He wasn’t pressuring you, wasn’t pushing for an answer, but the vulnerability in his question hung there, quiet and earnest.

“No,” you said finally, the word slipping from your lips like a quiet sigh. Your gaze dropped to your drink as you spoke, unable to meet his eyes. “There’s no one.”

Why did those words burn in Joel’s chest? There’s no one. They echoed in his mind, sharper each time, digging in like barbs he couldn’t pull free. He kept his eyes downcast, his gaze fixed on the scuff marks on his boots, the grain of the table—on anything but you. But he couldn’t shut out the sound of your voice, soft and steady, carrying a truth that shouldn’t have hit him the way it did.

No one.

Not even him.

The thought scraped against him, raw and unrelenting. His grip on his glass tightened imperceptibly, his knuckles brushing the rough wood of the table. He hated the way those words settled inside him, heavy and unwelcome, pulling at something he’d locked away for so long he’d convinced himself it wasn’t there.

He didn’t know why it bothered him—not in a way he could explain, at least. But deep down, in the part of him he never let anyone see, he knew. He knew exactly why those words had knocked the air from his lungs. And it wasn’t something he could afford to think about—not here, not now.

Across from you, Toby nodded, his expression softening into something that made Joel’s jaw tighten. That quiet hope, the kind that only seemed to grow with your answer, set Joel on edge. He could see it—the way Toby leaned forward slightly, his lips parting, already building the courage to say something else.

But you moved first.

“I, uh…” Your voice wavered, just enough to betray the turmoil swirling beneath your carefully composed exterior. Your hands fidgeted in your lap, and you glanced toward Tiffany, a polite but forced smile flickering across your face. “Mind letting me out? I need to use the bathroom.”

Tiffany blinked, surprised by your sudden shift, but she didn’t question it. Sliding out of the booth with a quick, “Sure,” she gave you just enough room to slip free.

You needed to get away—needed air, space to think, to pull yourself together before you unraveled entirely. The hum of the crowded bar pressed in from all sides as you weaved toward the back, the warmth of bodies and chatter brushing against you like a tide, but your mind was elsewhere. Stuck on Joel. On the way he hadn’t looked at you—or, worse, the way he had.

The knot in your chest tightened, sharp and unrelenting, as you slipped out of sight.

Joel’s eyes stayed on you until the last possible second, tracking your movement through the crowd like it was second nature, like he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to. His hand tightened around his glass, the condensation biting into his skin as he forced himself to look away. He dragged his gaze back to the table, and it landed on Toby.

The younger man’s face was a mix of nerves and quiet hope as he watched you disappear toward the back, his expression so open, so transparent it made Joel’s stomach churn.

Something sharp twisted deep in Joel’s chest, hot and unwanted. He swallowed hard, the tension in his jaw spreading like wildfire through his shoulders. His knuckles whitened against the glass, his grip unrelenting, like holding onto it might keep the rest of him steady.

“Damn it,” Joel muttered, the words low, barely audible, swallowed by the hum of the bar.

He hated this.

Hated the way his chest ached with every second you were gone. Hated the way Toby’s poorly concealed interest made his blood run cold, a visceral reaction he couldn’t suppress no matter how much he told himself it didn’t matter.

He regretted coming, regretted letting the night drag on when he should’ve found some excuse to leave. But you had said yes—and that was the only reason he was in this room right now.

Joel knew he had no right to act this way, no right to feel the sharp ache twisting in his chest every time Toby glanced at you, every time you spoke, your voice quiet but steady, a voice Joel had grown far too attached to hearing. He knew it. Knew he should be better than this, stronger than this. He was a man, after all—he should have the courage to make his intentions known.

Because you deserved that.

Hell, you deserved better than that. Better than someone too afraid to speak up, too scared to say the things that had been clawing at him for months. Better than drunken words and lingering stares. Better than half-formed sentences where he revealed only fragments of his true feelings, leaving you to piece together the rest like a puzzle. Better than someone who could only show their care by fixing things in your house or cooking you dinner because words felt too heavy to say out loud.

You deserved more than his gazes—those heavy, unguarded looks that carried everything he wished he had the courage to say but never did. Better than someone like him—a man worn down by the weight of his past, by the things he’d lost and the things he was too scared to want again. A man who couldn’t even admit what he felt, not even to himself.

The truth? Joel wasn’t sure he even knew how to do it anymore.

He was broken in ways he hadn’t expected, fractured in ways that made the thought of claiming someone—of making you his—feel both impossible and inevitable.

The idea of letting someone in again, of letting you in—God, it terrified him more than anything else ever had. Not the cold, not the infected, not the countless threats he’d faced over the years. None of it came close to the fear that gripped him now.

And yet, sitting here, watching Toby try to step into a place Joel didn’t even have the courage to admit he wanted to fill, made him feel worse than any fear ever could.

Because deep down, Joel knew.

No matter how hard he fought it, no matter how much he tried to convince himself it wasn’t smart, wasn’t safe—he wanted you. Needed you. And that truth, unspoken and fragile, burned hotter than anything he’d felt in a long, long time.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

You stood in the bathroom, gripping the edges of the sink as cold water dripped from your face, an attempt to clear your mind. “Snap out of it,” you whispered, staring at your reflection. The water cooled your skin, but it did nothing to extinguish the heat lingering in your cheeks or the tightness in your chest.

You were single. Joel was single.

There was no reason for this knot twisting inside you. None at all. Whatever this feeling was—this ache, this ridiculous yearning—you needed to shake it off. You were a big girl. You’d faced down men and infected alike. You could deal with this.

But as you stepped out of the bathroom and made your way back to the booth, a flicker of dread sparked in your chest. You prayed the earlier tension had dissolved into the hum of the bar’s chatter, prayed the conversation had moved on.

It hadn’t.

The moment you slid back into your seat, Toby’s hopeful eyes locked onto you, bright and unwavering, the same way they’d been all night. It was clear he hadn’t let it go, and your stomach twisted uncomfortably as his next words spilled into the space between you.

“You wanna maybe go fishing with me one day?” he asked, his voice hesitant but carrying just enough optimism to make you want to curl into yourself.

The question caught you off guard. You froze, the words forming on your tongue but refusing to come out, unsure of how to let him down gently.

You didn’t have to.

“She doesn’t like fishin’.”

Joel’s voice cut through the air, low and deliberate, a statement delivered with the kind of certainty that left no room for argument. His gaze stayed fixed on the glass in his hand, his thumb brushing absently along the rim as though he hadn’t just claimed something that only someone close to you would know.

It wasn’t a suggestion.

It was a fact.

He knew you.

And Joel said it like it was as obvious as the sky being blue, as though the thought of you sitting on the edge of some lake with a fishing rod in hand was laughable.

Your breath caught, and you turned to glance at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes. His focus stayed stubbornly on his drink, his shoulders tense, his posture casual but betraying none of the calm he was trying to project.

You forced a laugh, thin and strained, trying to dissolve the tension that had thickened in the air. “Yeah, too slimy for me,” you said, your voice a touch too bright, the kind of tone that begged the conversation to move on. But it didn’t. You couldn’t ignore the weight of Joel’s words, the way they lingered, heavy and unspoken, loud in the space between you all.

Toby chuckled lightly, shifting in his seat as he clearly tried to salvage the moment. “Alright, then,” he said, his tone turning curious, his gaze warm as he leaned forward slightly. “What do you like?”

Joel’s hand tightened around his glass, the faint creak of condensation against wood almost audible in the pause that followed. His knuckles whitened, his grip unrelenting as his jaw clenched just slightly, his body stiffening like he was bracing for something he didn’t want to hear.

He didn’t need to ask. Joel already knew.

“Um… movies,” you replied finally, your voice quieter now, softer, as if trying not to stir the delicate balance.

Toby’s face lit up immediately, his boyish enthusiasm shining through. “Well,” he said, leaning a little closer, “next movie night’s what, three days away? You, uh, wanna go with me?”

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening at the question. The silence that followed felt deafening, pressing in from all sides as the weight of Toby’s words settled between you. You didn’t answer—not immediately. Instead, your eyes flicked toward Joel, searching for something, anything.

Hoping.

Hoping for some kind of reaction, some sign that he’d heard, that he cared. Hoping for the impossible—that Joel, so steady and guarded, might do something completely unlike himself. That he might surprise you, surprise everyone in the room, with some grand declaration.

Something that said, back off, she’s mine.

But Joel didn’t look up. His gaze remained firmly fixed on his glass, his fingers gripping the curve of it so tightly you thought it might shatter. His knuckles were pale, his jaw clenched, but his expression was maddeningly unreadable.

The weight of Joel’s silence pressed hard against your chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. Toby waited, his eyes wide with nervous hope, and beside you, Tiffany poked your leg under the table, her gaze practically screaming, Say yes.

Finally, with a soft sigh, you shook your head at yourself, forcing a smile onto your lips, even as your heart twisted painfully. “Yeah,” you said, the word falling like a stone in the heavy, suffocating air. “I’d like that.”

You didn’t have to add the last sentence. You could have left it at that, but bitterness rose in your throat, sharp and unrelenting, and you felt a surge of anger you didn’t know how to contain. Over the last few months, Joel had fooled you—fooled you into thinking he cared, in his own quiet, guarded way. The way he fixed things in your home without you asking, the way his voice softened when he said your name, the way his eyes lingered on you just a second longer than necessary.

It had all made you believe there was something there, something unspoken but tangible, fragile and real. And now? Now, Joel sat there like it all meant nothing.

He couldn’t even meet your eyes.

You turned your gaze to Toby, offering him the kind of polite smile you knew wouldn’t reach your eyes. Your chest burned with a mix of anger and hurt, the ache twisting deeper as Joel’s silence echoed louder than the words he refused to say.

If this was how Joel wanted to play it, then fine. You could play along too. Even as your heart fractured, even as your pulse betrayed the sharp longing still buried deep inside, you could pretend none of it mattered.

Tiffany squealed beside you, her hand squeezing your leg in excitement, completely oblivious to the storm brewing across the table. “Why don’t we go together?” she chirped, her voice bright and eager as she turned to Joel. “Like a double date!”

The words hung in the air like a slap, the tension snapping taut as though an invisible wire had been pulled too tight.

Joel’s gaze snapped up instantly, his dark eyes sharp and cutting as they locked onto Tiffany. The flicker of something raw crossed his face—anger, disbelief, or maybe something deeper, something he was trying and failing to bury.

Your head whipped around to look at him too, your pulse roaring in your ears. Joel’s jaw worked, the muscle in his cheek ticking like he was physically holding back the flood of words teetering on the edge of release. His knuckles were stark white against the glass in his hand, and for a moment, you thought he might crush it in his grip.

“I’m not much for movies,” Joel said finally, his voice low and rough, each word clipped like it had been dragged out of him against his will.

His eyes flicked to yours for the briefest second, and the intensity there—sharp, unguarded, and fleeting—stole your breath.

The statement echoed in your chest, hollow and biting. Not much for movies.

The words clashed violently with a memory so vivid it still felt warm: Joel, saving you a seat at movie night, his thigh pressed firmly against yours in the crammed room. The quiet weight of his presence had grounded you in a way you hadn’t even realized you needed. He hadn’t cared about the film—not even a little—but he’d stayed. He’d endured the crowded room, the flickering screen, the buzz of voices, not for himself but for you.

And now?

Now he was saying this. Throwing out a statement that felt too final, too deliberate, as if he was trying to rewrite the kind of man he was when he was with you. You couldn’t decide if it was a feeble attempt to escape the night ahead, an excuse to sidestep the tension in the room, or something else entirely. Something sharper. Something that felt like he was trying to carve out distance between you, to create space where there hadn’t been any before.

Your chest tightened painfully, the ache sharp and unrelenting. You weren’t sure what hurt more: the possibility that he meant it or the fact that he was saying it at all.

For a moment, you thought about calling him out. The words hovered on the edge of your tongue, ready to push back against the quiet wall he was trying to build between you. But you stayed silent, the weight of the room pressing against your resolve, and let the ache settle quietly inside you instead.

Your eyes flicked to him again, searching, needing to find something—anything—that might make sense of this. But Joel’s gaze was firmly fixed on his glass, his hand tightening around it like it was the only thing keeping him steady.

“Aw, c’mon, Joel,” Toby said, his laugh nervous but attempting to sound easygoing. “Could be fun. Loosen up a little.”

You couldn’t help but think how foolish Toby was—pressing Joel when his silence wasn’t indifference but a storm brewing just beneath the surface. You knew that rage, knew it by the hard set of Joel’s jaw, the slight flare of his nostrils, and the way his words came clipped and measured, each one carrying a weight that didn’t invite a challenge.

Joel’s rage wasn’t loud or explosive; it was the quiet, simmering kind, like the heat of a blade just before it burned. You’d seen it before. You’d seen what it looked like when it boiled over—the ruthless precision with which he’d ended men without hesitation, his movements sharp, controlled, but brimming with fury.

And now, though his attention stayed fixed on his drink, his fingers still curled tight around the glass, you could feel the same tension radiating off him in waves. Toby, oblivious, was pressing where he shouldn’t, nudging a sleeping bear with nothing more than nervous laughter and misplaced optimism.

Joel didn’t reply, but his silence was louder than words, a force that seemed to thicken the air around the table. His grip on the glass tightened just slightly, his knuckles stark against the dim light.

You bit the inside of your cheek, torn between stepping in to defuse the moment and letting Toby figure out his mistake on his own. Joel wouldn’t lose control—not here, not now. But the storm brewing in him was unmistakable, and you couldn’t help but feel the undercurrent of it dragging you under too.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

As you all stepped out of the Tipsy Bison, the night air bit sharply at your cheeks, wrapping itself around you like a second skin. Your breath rose in soft clouds, vanishing into the dark sky as the group lingered in an awkward silence. Toby and Tiffany filled the void with their chatter, their voices light and carefree, but their words barely registered in your mind, lost in the din of your own thoughts.

Your gaze drifted to Joel, standing a few paces away. It was strange—almost surreal—how just a few hours ago, he had poured his heart out to you in his own quiet, reserved way. His words had been understated, simple, but they had carried the weight of trust, something you knew didn’t come easily for him. Now, that connection felt miles away, the distance between you unbearable.

Joel stood with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, his shoulders drawn up against the cold. His head was tilted slightly downward, his gaze fixed on the ground like it held all the answers he couldn’t face in you. His jaw was set, the faint movement of muscle betraying the storm he was holding at bay.

But what stung the most was the absence of his attention. Joel didn’t look at you—didn’t even glance your way. His avoidance felt deliberate, each second of his silence cutting deeper than any sharp remark or cold shoulder could have.

You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself, the chill biting at your skin, but it couldn’t compare to the ache swelling in your chest. You had dealt with Joel’s silences before—they were almost as much a part of him as the way he carried a rifle or the way he fixed things in your house without you asking. His silences were familiar. But this? This was different.

This was him shutting you out entirely, retreating behind walls so high and impenetrable you weren’t sure if you’d ever be able to reach him again.

And the worst part? It made you feel like the last few months had dissipated into thin air, like the fragile progress you’d built between you had crumbled under the weight of his silence.

It felt like you weren’t partners anymore. Weren’t friends. Weren’t something more than friends. You weren’t anything. Just two strangers standing in the cold.

Your eyes burned, the sting sharp as you stood there, biting the inside of your cheeks to stop the tears threatening to spill.

You ached—for him to just look at you. Just once. For the barest flicker of acknowledgment, a sign that the moments you’d shared hadn’t been a figment of your imagination. That the trust he’d spoken of, the way he’d stayed close, the unspoken pull between you, had been real.

But Joel didn’t move. His gaze remained fixed on the ground, his posture rigid, like even looking at you would be too much.

And it broke something inside you, something you weren’t sure would ever heal.

“Well,” Toby started, his voice tentative but hopeful, “I can walk you home?” His shy, earnest smile met your gaze, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets against the cold.

It wasn’t that Toby wasn’t sweet—he was. But he wasn’t Joel. No one was.

The words stuck in your throat, heavy and impossible to force out. How were you supposed to say no to that? If you refused, you’d look rude, ungrateful. Toby was only trying to be kind, but the thought of him walking you home felt unbearable.

Because what you wanted—desperately, achingly—was for everyone to leave. For the night to thin out and for it to be just you and Joel, standing in the cold and unraveling whatever the hell this tension between you was.

But you couldn’t say that. You couldn’t find a way to cut through the polite veneer Toby’s question was wrapped in, couldn’t put into words the weight of what you truly wanted.

You wanted Joel.

The realization clawed at your chest, sharp and undeniable, as you stood there frozen, the words you should say trapped beneath the ones you wanted to say.

Before you could respond, Tiffany’s voice cut through the tension like a blade, bright and pointed. “Hey, Joel,” she said, her tone deceptively light, though the slight curl of her lips gave away her intentions. “Don’t forget about my faucet. Whenever you’re free.”

The words seemed harmless, casual to anyone else, but to you, they landed like a punch in the gut.

Joel’s jaw shifted slightly, the muscle flexing under his stubble in that restrained way you’d come to recognize. He swallowed once, the movement subtle but telling, and for the briefest moment, his gaze flicked toward you.

But those eyes—they weren’t Joel’s eyes.

They weren’t the dark, steady eyes that had grounded you through the hardest days, the eyes that had softened when he spoke of trust, the ones that lingered too long in moments neither of you dared to name. These were distant, cold, guarded. It was like he’d already decided to shut the door—to leave you standing on the other side before you’d even had the chance to reach it.

The warmth you’d caught glimpses of before, the softness that had made your chest ache—it was gone. He was somewhere else entirely now, and the sting of that realization stole the breath from your lungs.

“Actually,” Joel said, his voice gruff and deliberate, cutting cleanly through the cold air. “Why don’t we go now?”

The words were like a knife to your chest, sharp and unrelenting. Now? It was almost midnight. The insinuation—that this might be more than a leaking faucet—settled heavily in your chest, the ache spreading hot and fast.

Your heart clenched as Tiffany’s face lit up, her victorious gleam unmistakable and unashamed. She didn’t even bother to hide it, her laugh light and saccharine as she nodded enthusiastically. “Really? That’d be great.”

Joel’s reply was curt, clipped, the rough edge to his tone cutting as much as the words themselves. “Yeah,” he said, his voice low and almost harsh. “Not doin’ anything else.”

You froze, your breath catching as his words twisted the knife, each syllable heavy with something unspoken but unkind. Not doin’ anything else. Like the night—like you—had already been written off.

Your pulse hammered in your ears as Joel turned, his movements brisk and deliberate, his goodnight nod sharp, impersonal. And what hurt the most—he didn’t even look at you. Not once.

“Bye, guys,” Tiffany said, her voice bright and breezy as she waved back at you.

You opened your mouth, the beginnings of a question—Why?—clinging to the edge of your tongue, desperate to be spoken. But before you could say anything, stop him, anything, Joel moved. His hand reached out, brushing against Tiffany’s lower back, a light, easy touch to guide her forward.

Their steps carried them into the cold night, away from you.

Your breath caught in your throat, sharp and uneven, the air freezing in your lungs as you watched them walk away. The sight of his hand on her, of the way he didn’t hesitate, didn’t look back—it hollowed you out completely. The weight of it was unbearable, pressing against your ribs, crushing every ounce of composure you had left.

Everything else dimmed, muted, as your gaze stayed locked on Joel’s retreating figure. His shoulders were stiff, his head bowed slightly, as if the night pressed heavily on him too. But he didn’t falter, didn’t stop. And you stood frozen, the knot in your chest tightening unbearably as you realized you’d never felt further from him than you did at that moment.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊��໒꒱⋆✩

As you walked away with Toby, his voice a soft murmur beside you, you couldn’t help but glance back—just once. Your heart twisted painfully, an ache you couldn’t quite name tightening in your chest as your eyes found Joel’s silhouette still visible under the faint glow of the streetlights. His frame was as sturdy and unyielding as ever, his posture impossibly rigid, but Tiffany’s laugh carried through the cold air, sharp and unwelcome.

It made you whip your head back quickly, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat as Toby asked you something—something about your favorite movie, his tone light and kind. You forced yourself to focus on the sound of your boots crunching against the frozen ground, each step feeling heavier than the last.

What you didn’t see—what you couldn’t see—was that Joel looked back, too. Not once, but twice.

The first time, his steps faltered slightly, his jaw tightening as his eyes found you walking away. He caught the sway of your shoulders, the way you leaned just slightly away from Toby, as if instinctively creating space. His shoulders hunched, bracing against the weight of his own decisions, the words he hadn’t said, the actions he already regretted. He told himself to keep going, to let you go, to stick to the silence he’d wrapped himself in for so long.

But the pull of you was too strong.

His feet disobeyed him again, halting mid-step, and his head turned slower this time, his eyes lingering on you as if hoping—praying—you’d stop. That you’d turn around. That your gaze would meet his, and in that fleeting moment, he might find the courage to say something. Anything.

But you didn’t.

He knew he shouldn’t have agreed to Tiffany’s request—not now, not like this. The regret had hit him the moment he’d caught the way your face fell, the way your shoulders slumped ever so slightly before you masked it with a forced smile. That look—it was seared into his mind, burning hot and bitter, a reminder of the mess he’d made.

He knew he’d fucked this up.

His chest tightened, a heavy sigh escaping him and fogging the cold night air. He set his shoulders, trying to force his gaze forward, to focus on the path ahead, but it didn’t help. Tiffany’s chatter barely registered, her words a dull hum of white noise against the roar of thoughts pounding in his mind—all of them stuck on you.

On the way you’d looked at him, your eyes full of a hurt he hadn’t been able to face.

On the way you hadn’t looked back.

That stung the most. That you’d left without so much as a second glance, like you’d finally decided you’d had enough of his silence, his distance, his inability to be what you needed. And maybe you had.

Joel’s grip on the strap of his pack tightened, his knuckles white as he tried to swallow down the ache clawing at his chest. But it was no use. His thoughts kept looping back to the same thing—the unbearable image of your retreating figure, Toby by your side, his presence there filling the space Joel was too damn afraid to claim.

And it killed him.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

You hadn’t seen Joel in three days—not since the Tipsy Bison, not since he walked home with Tiffany. And every one of those days felt heavier than the last, the silence stretching taut and unyielding, leaving too much space for your thoughts to spiral. Your chest tightened every time you let yourself think about it, the memory clawing at you with sharp edges: Joel, guiding Tiffany home, her laugh echoing in the cold night air as if it belonged there, as if it belonged to him.

The idea of them together gnawed at you, twisting like a knife in your gut. Alone at her house—her warm smile filling the quiet spaces you’d once let yourself believe were his and yours alone. She was beautiful, undeniably so, with her easy laugh and golden hair that seemed to catch every sliver of light. And she was interested in him. That much had been painfully obvious.

And Joel—at the end of the day, he was just a man. Who wouldn’t find her beautiful? Who wouldn’t be drawn to her warmth, her charm? The thought clawed at you, bitter and relentless, planting seeds of doubt you couldn’t seem to shake no matter how hard you tried.

Your mind betrayed you with vivid, unwelcome images: Tiffany’s hands brushing against his, lingering just long enough to spark something between them. Her laughter, soft and close, drawing out a rare smile you’d thought might’ve been meant only for you. And worse—so much worse—the possibility of her feeling what you longed for but couldn’t admit.

The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers. You wondered if she’d notice the roughness of his callouses, the way they scraped gently over skin, leaving a ghost of his touch behind. The weight of his body, steady and solid, grounding her in ways you imagined too often but never dared to reach for.

And his lips—God, his lips—brushing against hers, trailing lower. The thought was suffocating, unbearable, the sharp edge of your imagination turning against you as you pictured her being the one to feel the prickle of his moustache, sharp and brittle, the way you’d imagined it too many times to count.

Your breath caught painfully in your chest, the ache spreading deep and fast as you forced the thought away. But it lingered, bitter and raw, filling the cracks that had already begun to form inside you.

The ache in your chest didn’t ease as you walked into movie night with Toby, his arm draped casually around your shoulders. It felt wrong, forced, like you were playing a role you hadn’t auditioned for. Toby was sweet, sure, but his presence didn’t settle you. Instead, it only made you hyperaware of everything that was missing—everything that wasn’t Joel.

“Over here, guys!” Tiffany’s voice rang out across the room, bright and sharp like a bell, cutting through the low hum of conversation. You spotted her instantly, her hand raised in a cheerful wave, her golden hair catching the dim light. She was sitting beside Joel, her entire body angled toward him in a way that made your stomach twist painfully. Her legs were crossed, her arm resting casually on the back of the seat, as if she belonged there.

There were two open seats beside them, unmistakably meant for you and Toby.

Your chest tightened, a sinking feeling dragging you down. You had hoped—foolishly, desperately—that they’d forgotten, or that Joel had made up some excuse to avoid coming altogether. Maybe Tiffany, too embarrassed to show up alone, would’ve stayed home. But no. They were both here. Together. And Joel—solid, unbothered Joel—sat there like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t tearing you apart from the inside out.

When you reached the seats, Tiffany’s smile widened, her expression radiant with a charm that felt too calculated to be real. “So good to see you guys,” she said warmly, her gaze flicking between you and Joel before settling on you.

You slid into the seat beside Joel, your movements stiff and awkward, your body hyperaware of his presence beside you. He didn’t acknowledge you—didn’t even glance your way. His eyes stayed fixed on the blank screen ahead, his jaw tight, the faint clench of muscle in his temple betraying the tension simmering beneath his calm exterior.

Tiffany’s arm brushed against Joel’s as she shifted closer, her laugh light and melodic as she leaned toward him again. “Joel fixed my faucet,” she gushed, her tone laced with admiration. Her hand drifted to rest lightly on his forearm, her fingers brushing against his jacket as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “It was so easy for him—he’s got magic hands.”

The laugh that followed was soft and tinkling, perfectly timed, and you hated how easily it seemed to fill the space between them. You forced a small smile, though it felt tight and hollow, your voice quieter than usual. “Oh,” you murmured, your gaze shifting to Joel, hoping for some kind of reaction.

But he still wouldn’t look at you. His jaw remained tight, his eyes staring straight ahead as though you weren’t even there. Why wouldn’t he look at you? Why couldn’t he?

“How are you two?” Tiffany asked suddenly, her tone shifting to something playful and teasing. Her eyebrows wiggled, her grin wide and knowing as she looked between you and Toby like she was in on some secret.

“We’re good,” Toby answered quickly, his voice a touch too eager as his hand slid over yours. He gave it a squeeze, his palm warm and steady against your own.

The gesture startled you, and for a moment, you couldn’t respond. The claim hung in the air like a flag planted on foreign ground. Your heart sank further, a sick twist of emotions tangling in your chest. Was this what everyone thought? That you and Toby were a thing now?

The weight of Toby’s hand on yours felt wrong, the warmth clashing sharply with the icy pit that had taken root in your stomach. You sat rigidly, the pressure of his fingers a constant reminder of the disconnect between your heart and the situation. Your chest tightened as you glanced sideways at Joel, a quiet, desperate hope flickering in you—Say something. Do something.

But he didn’t. Joel remained silent, his broad shoulders stiff, his jaw locked as his eyes stayed firmly ahead. He wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t acknowledge the unspoken chaos swirling between you.

Except for one thing—his gaze flicked, just once, to the way Toby’s hand wrapped around yours. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but you caught it. The hard set of his jaw deepened, and his fingers curled into a fist against his knee. Then, just as quickly, his focus snapped back to the screen, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

“That’s so cute!” Tiffany cooed, her voice saccharine and pointed. Her eyes sparkled with mischief, a teasing smile tugging at her lips as she glanced between you and Toby, clearly enjoying herself far too much.

You tried to muster a response, something polite and dismissive, but the lump in your throat wouldn’t budge. Instead, you swallowed hard and turned your gaze to the screen as the lights dimmed, the room sinking into shadows. The opening credits began to roll, the flickering glow casting faint reflections across Joel’s profile beside you.

You told yourself to focus on the movie, to let the dialogue and music pull you out of the tangle of emotions knotting in your chest. Toby’s hand remained in yours, steady and warm, but it felt foreign—like something that didn’t belong to you. No matter how hard you tried to redirect your thoughts, your focus kept drifting back to Joel. To the tension in his shoulders, the unrelenting stillness of his posture, and the sharp edge of his silence.

Your fingers twitched, tempted to pull away from Toby’s grasp, to reclaim something of yourself, but the weight of the moment pinned you in place. All the while, Joel sat just inches away, close enough that you could feel his presence, the steady heat of him. Yet, he might as well have been a world apart.

And as the movie played on, the words and images passing in a blur, you couldn’t stop wondering—what would it take for him to look at you again?

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

It was almost too much.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Tiffany’s hand on Joel’s arm, her fingers curling there like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her head tilted toward his shoulder, resting lightly against him in the same way you had done—not long ago, in this very room. The memory was sharp, jagged, cutting into you as she leaned in, her laugh soft and airy at something on the screen.

It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving you suffocating under the weight of it all. The ache in your chest clawed at you, sharp and relentless, and for a moment, all you wanted was to leave. To cry.

You couldn’t fathom it. Joel, of all people, was letting this happen. Joel, who never let anyone close, whose walls were so high and impenetrable that every glimpse of what lay beyond them felt like a rare and precious miracle. Joel, who’d been deliberate with you, careful and steady, treating the moments you shared like something fragile, something worth protecting.

And now? He sat there, unflinching, as Tiffany leaned in, her presence slipping so easily into spaces that had once felt like yours alone. Her hand lingered on his arm, her laugh soft and melodic as though she belonged there, as though she hadn’t just barged into something you’d thought was sacred. And yet, Joel didn’t move, didn’t brush her off, didn’t even tense like he would’ve with anyone else.

Tiffany. Of all people.

The thought burned hot and bitter in your chest, threatening to bubble over. Was he that shallow? Was he that simple? Had you been wrong about him all along? The questions clawed at you, sharp and relentless, each one cutting deeper than the last. Was his gruff exterior, his guarded silence, nothing more than some calculated act? Some false intrigue meant to mask the truth?

The ache in your chest twisted into something darker, sharper—a betrayal that was quiet but devastating. And you couldn’t stop the thought from taking root: Maybe you’d been wrong about him. Maybe you’d misread it all.

Because the man sitting there now—the man letting her touch him so freely, so effortlessly—didn’t feel like the Joel you thought you knew.

This wasn’t the good, honest, protective Joel who had always noticed you. The Joel who had seen you in ways no one else ever had. The Joel who fixed your fireplace without you asking, who remembered how you liked your coffee, who walked just slightly behind you whenever you traveled, as if shielding you from the world.

No, the man sitting there now felt like a stranger. Someone distant and cold, letting Tiffany take up space where you used to be. Letting her laugh, touch, lean in as if none of it mattered.

The knot in your chest grew tighter, your breaths shallower as you stared blankly at the screen, the images flickering without meaning. You told yourself to stop, to pull your thoughts away from him, from her, from the endless loop of hurt you couldn’t escape. But you couldn’t.

Because no matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the Joel sitting there now wasn’t the Joel you thought you knew. Or worse—that he was, and you’d been fooling yourself all along.

The movie played on, the flickering screen casting shifting shadows across the room, but it was all a blur. The dialogue was muffled, drowned beneath the storm of emotions raging in your head. Every sound, every laugh, every beat of the film seemed distant, muted, as though you were underwater.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, each relentless beat sharp and insistent, matching the ache clawing at your chest. It was a steady, cruel rhythm that refused to let you forget the scene beside you. Every muscle in your body was taut, your hands gripping your knees so tightly it hurt, the tension in your shoulders creeping up to your neck.

You willed yourself not to look.

Don’t look. Don’t look.

And then you felt it.

Warm and steady, Joel’s hand rested on your knee, the weight of it so faint at first you thought you might have imagined it. But then his fingers tightened, just slightly—a small, deliberate squeeze that sent a ripple through the storm raging in your chest. The air seemed to still, your breath catching and holding, the noise of the room fading into nothingness.

It was subtle, quiet, too dark for anyone else to notice. Tiffany didn’t see, too focused on her easy laughter and soft touches. Toby didn’t notice, his attention fixed on the screen. But you noticed. You felt him.

Joel.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, loud and chaotic against the quiet stillness of your body. You didn’t dare look at him, afraid that meeting his eyes would unravel the fragile composure you clung to. But you didn’t need to look. His touch said more than his words ever could.

He knew.

He always knew.

Joel had seen the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers gripped your knees like they were the only thing keeping you grounded. He’d felt the unspoken anguish radiating off you, the ache that you hadn’t been able to hide, not from him.

And this—this was Joel’s answer. Not a grand declaration, not a scene-stealing moment, but something quieter, something him. His hand on your knee, steady and unyielding, grounding you when everything inside you felt like it was crumbling.

It wasn’t an accident.

It wasn’t meaningless.

It was Joel, always Joel, his way of saying what he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud. I see you. I’m here.

The heat of his palm seeped through the fabric of your jeans, sending warmth spreading through your body in sharp contrast to the cold ache in your chest. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. All you could do was feel—feel the strength of his presence beside you, feel the weight of his touch, feel the way that small, simple gesture cracked open something inside you.

You stared straight ahead, the flickering images on the screen blurring into meaningless shapes and colors. Your throat tightened, your chest constricting as the world tilted, your heart twisting painfully at the sheer tenderness of it all.

And then, just as you thought the moment might pass, his thumb moved—barely, softly—tracing a faint circle against your knee. You felt it like a quiet promise, like a steadying hand against the chaos that had taken root in your chest.

The movement was achingly deliberate, careful in the way only Joel could be. It wasn’t just a gesture; it was him. Him saying what his words hadn’t, what his silence couldn’t. It said I’m sorry.

And then, slowly—too slowly—his hand moved back to his lap, retreating with a quiet deliberation that left the warmth of him behind. It was like he knew he couldn’t linger, like he knew what that might do to the already delicate thread stretched between you.

It was enough to make your throat tighten, your chest ache with the weight of it. Enough to make you want to cry, to scream, to grab his hand and hold onto him as tightly as you’d been holding onto the quiet moments, the lingering glances, the fragments of his care he offered so carefully.

Instead, you stayed still. Your breath came shallow, uneven, as the ache swelled into something too big to name. It wasn’t just pain. It wasn’t just longing. It was something more—something that felt like hope and heartbreak, wound tightly together in the space between his touch and the absence it left behind.

And as the flickering light of the screen cast shadows across his profile, you dared to believe, just for a moment, that maybe Joel wasn’t letting go.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

Before the lights in the room flickered on, you swiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, the darkness offering a fleeting sanctuary—a moment to compose yourself before anyone could see. You told yourself to breathe, to calm the racing in your chest, but the bitter taste of tears lingered in your throat, thick and unforgiving. You held your breath, praying no one would hear it, see it, feel it.

“That movie was so good,” Tiffany’s voice rang out, bright and oblivious, slicing through the quiet like a blade. Her cheerfulness only made the ache in your chest throb harder. She turned toward you, her enthusiasm unrelenting. “No wonder you come here every month. I’m definitely coming back!”

And then, like an afterthought—like a punctuation mark to everything else—she squeezed Joel’s arm and said, “Well, we’ll be back, won’t we?”

Her words hit like a slap, sharp and unwelcome. No. This place is mine. The thought burned hot and bitter in your mind, but you swallowed it down, burying it deep beneath the ache already pressing against your ribs. You forced a smile, weak and fragile, hoping it would be enough to mask the storm raging inside you.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your voice barely loud enough to hear. “It’s... great.”

The words tasted wrong, forced, but Tiffany didn’t notice. She was too busy chattering on, her voice filling the spaces that felt like yours and Joel’s—not hers. Never hers.

“I’m, uh, really tired,” you said suddenly, turning toward Toby. Your words felt rushed, uneven, as if saying them faster might make them hurt less. His face softened, concern flickering behind his kind eyes as he waited for you to continue.

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Toby said, stepping closer, his hands awkwardly tucked into his coat pockets. “I’ll walk you home.”

You hesitated, the offer hanging in the air between you like a thread you didn’t know how to untangle. You didn’t want to be alone, not with your thoughts. But you didn’t want company, either. Not now. Not like this.

“Actually,” you blurted out, sharper than you meant to. The words escaped before you could stop them, your voice tight. “I’m fine. I just need... some time.”

Toby blinked, taken aback but kind enough not to press. You didn’t give him—or anyone else—a chance to respond. Your feet moved on their own, carrying you quickly toward the door, your breath hitching as the heat climbed up your neck, your ears burning with the weight of humiliation.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

But you felt it.

Joel’s gaze burned against your back, heavy and unrelenting, pulling at you like gravity itself. You didn’t need to turn around to know he was watching, his silence saying more than words ever could.

The anger in your chest roared louder with every step you took. It didn’t make sense—none of it did. You were the one who had said yes to Toby. You’d agreed. This wasn’t Joel’s fault. You had no right to be mad at him.

And yet, you were.

Because he hadn’t stopped you. Because he hadn’t said anything. Because his silence as you sat there, unraveling in the dim light of the movie, was somehow worse than anything else.

Worse than Tiffany’s hands on his arm.

Worse than the way she leaned into him, her laughter too loud and too easy.

Worse than the crushing realization that you didn’t know where you stood with him anymore, or if you ever had a place at all.

Your chest tightened as you stepped into the biting cold, your breath fogging the air as you pressed your arms around yourself, trying to ward off the chill that was seeping deeper than the weather.

You didn’t know why it stung so much. But it did. It felt unbearable. It felt like him.

The walk home was long, the cold biting at your skin and your thoughts too tangled to focus on anything else. The tears came freely now that you were alone, each breath you took fogging in the icy air. Your puffs of breath were sharp and visible in the cold night, drifting like smoke, fragile and fleeting as you tried to breathe past the ache in your chest.

And then, just as you thought you might collapse under the weight of it all, you heard it—the crunch of boots against snow, fast and deliberate, cutting through the quiet like a lifeline you didn’t realize you’d been waiting for. The sound grew louder, heavier, paired with uneven breaths carried on the cold air. You froze, your heart lurching painfully in your chest.

“Shouldn’t make an old man run like that,” Joel said, his voice uneven, the roughness of his breath curling in the icy air. His chest heaved as he came to a stop in front of you, his broad frame shadowed under the faint glow of the moon. The sound of his voice, the sheer weight of it, hit you like a blow—raw, unguarded, and full of something that left you unraveling faster than you could stop it.

He stood there, catching his breath, but his eyes… His eyes never wavered from yours. They locked onto you with a kind of intensity that made your skin prickle, like he wasn’t just looking at you but through you, past every wall you’d so carefully built. It was unbearable. And it was Joel—always Joel—cutting straight to the heart of you without even trying.

“What are you doing, Joel?” The words burst out before you could stop them, edged with the frustration and anguish you’d been swallowing all night. You crossed your arms over your chest like a shield, a feeble attempt to create space between you and the unbearable pull of him. But Joel didn’t move, didn’t look away, just watched you, his eyes dark and steady, the weight of them making your pulse race.

And then he gave you that look.

That look.

The one that made your breath catch, that stripped away every defense you tried to throw up, leaving you bare and aching under its intensity. It wasn’t just a glance; it was knowing. Knowing you in a way that no one else ever had, seeing the raw, vulnerable parts of you you’d never dared show anyone. It was infuriating and disarming and heartbreaking all at once—the way he could cut through all of it without even trying, as though your walls were made of glass and Joel Miller had always known how to shatter them.

“I couldn’t just let you leave like that,” he said finally, his voice softer now, rough around the edges but laced with something that felt like regret—or maybe hope. It carried the weight of everything he wasn’t saying, everything he couldn’t say.

“Why?” The word slipped out before you could stop it, trembling with the weight of every question you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

It was too small for everything it carried but too heavy to ignore, encapsulating the storm raging in your chest.

Why did you go with her?

Why did you let me walk away?

Why do you make me care?

Why did you let me love you?

The unspoken words clawed at your throat, burning to escape, but you swallowed them down, fighting against the ache threatening to consume you. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, hot and stinging, but you blinked them away, refusing to let them fall. You wanted to scream at him, to shatter the silence, to demand answers he’d never dared to give.

Joel’s gaze stayed on you, steady and unreadable, his shoulders tense as if bracing against a storm. He didn’t answer right away—just looked at you, his expression unreadable, like you were something he couldn’t quite figure out.

The silence stretched too long, pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t bear. Your frustration boiled over, your voice breaking as you finally snapped, “Seriously, Joel.” The words hit harder than you intended, sharper than you meant, but you didn’t care. “Why’d you leave Tiffany? Your date,” you spat, bitterness lacing the word like poison. “Why’d you come here?”

Joel’s jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitching as his dark eyes pinned you in place. “Wasn’t a date,” he said, his voice cutting clean and firm through the cold air, carrying no room for argument.

“Sure looked like it,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended, the bitterness slipping out before you could stop it. The words hung between you, heavy and brittle, daring him to respond.

His expression hardened, a shadow crossing his face as his jaw tightened further. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths like he was trying to rein himself in. Then, without warning, he stepped closer, the movement deliberate and unrelenting. The heat of him was palpable now, the space between you charged with something raw and volatile. His voice dropped, low and dangerously calm. “And you?” he asked, his words like steel. “Didn’t want Toby to walk you home?”

It was a low blow, and he knew it. The words hit you like a slap, sharp and unexpected, leaving you reeling. You wanted to lash out, to fight back, but instead, all you could do was turn away.

“Stop it, Joel,” you murmured, your voice low and uneven, the exhaustion clear in every syllable. Your back remained turned to him, as if the distance might shield you from the storm brewing between you. You couldn’t look at him—not now, not when everything inside you felt so raw, so exposed. “Just… stop.”

But Joel wasn’t letting you go that easily. Not this time.

“No,” he said, his voice rising with a rough, unrelenting edge. Each word was sharp, cutting through the cold air like a knife. “No, tell me. Why did you say yes to him?”

“What?” You spun around, the surprise in your voice masking the way your chest tightened, the ache twisting deeper.

“You heard me.” Joel stepped forward, the crunch of his boots against the frozen ground the only sound between you. He stopped just close enough for you to feel the weight of him, steady and inescapable. His dark eyes locked onto yours, blazing with something that made it impossible to look away. “Why. Did. You. Say. Yes,” he bit out, each word deliberate, his frustration simmering just below the surface, “if you can’t stand bein’ around the guy?”

You froze, his words hitting harder than you wanted to admit, slicing through the fog of emotions you hadn’t been able to untangle. The air between you crackled with tension, heavy with things unsaid.

“I know you,” Joel continued, his voice low now, steady but no less intense, as though he were forcing himself to keep his composure. “Better than you think.” He took another step closer, his gaze holding yours, unwavering. “I’ve been watchin’ you long enough to know. Don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile once around him. You flinch every time he touches you. So, tell me—” His voice dipped, almost a growl now, the words sharp with accusation and something deeper, something raw. “Do you have feelings for him?”

It was the kind of statement that cut deeper than you wanted to admit, because it meant he saw you. Truly saw you. All the quiet moments, all the things you thought you could hide, all the small, delicate shifts that only someone who truly knew you could pick up on.

The question hit like a punch to the gut, and you could feel every bit of your composure unraveling in that moment. You tried to swallow the lump that formed in your throat, the words catching painfully as you struggled to maintain control. The truth sat there, heavy and unwelcome, but you couldn’t back down now—not with him looking at you like that. Not with him knowing.

“No, I don’t, okay?” you snapped, the words tumbling out with more force than you intended, the sharpness in your voice betraying the rawness beneath. Your heart pounded, and you could feel the flush of heat rise to your cheeks as the tension between you seemed to stretch and tighten.

You hadn’t meant to sound so defensive, but something in his gaze—the way he was able to see through you, to strip away the layers you’d carefully built—had shaken something loose inside you. Something that had been waiting to be said.

His eyes narrowed, searching your face for cracks in your defenses, as if he needed you to be telling the truth, as if not telling the truth would break something in him. Something fragile. Something he was now realizing he had to acknowledge, or he might lose you. The weight of the silence pressed in around you both, and for a moment, everything seemed to stand still—like the world was holding its breath.

“Do you have feelings for Tiffany?” The words slipped out before you could stop them, sharp and raw, a challenge wrapped in vulnerability. They felt reckless, like you were ripping the bandage off something you weren’t sure either of you were ready to confront. Your pulse pounded in your ears, your breath shallow as you waited for his response, terrified of what he might say, but even more terrified of what he wouldn’t.

The question hung heavy in the cold night air, like it had just taken root between you, twisting and turning in the space between your hearts. His jaw tightened, a flicker of something crossing his face before he quickly looked away. But then, his gaze returned to yours, direct and unyielding.

“You know I don’t,” he muttered, shaking his head as if the very idea was so ridiculous that he couldn’t fathom why you’d even ask.

“No, Joel, I don’t know that,” you said, your voice breaking on the last word, a fragile edge creeping in. The weight of his gaze made your chest feel tight, suffocating, but you couldn’t look away. “How the hell would I know that? Didn’t you go to her house? Fix her "faucet" or whatever?”

The question hung in the air between you, stinging with the sharpness of things left unsaid. He shook his head again, frustration visible in the set of his shoulders, the way his lips pressed into a thin line. “Yeah, and I left right after,” he said, the words coming out with a quiet finality that felt almost like an apology, even if he didn’t mean it to be.

“She was holding your arm,” you said, the words slicing through the tension like a blade, sharp and trembling with something you couldn’t quite name. Hurt. Jealousy. Anger. All of it twisting together into one unbearable knot. “What the hell was I supposed to think?”

Joel’s eyes flashed, dark and stormy, his jaw clenching hard as he stepped closer, his voice dropping low, rough. “And he was holding your hand,” he snapped, each word striking like a match against the cold. “What the hell was I supposed to think?”

That shut you up.

The world seemed to freeze in that moment, both of you standing there under the weak yellow glow of Jackson’s streetlamp, two stupid idiots locked in a battle neither of you wanted to win. The silence stretched between you, thick and unyielding. Two hearts beating loud enough to echo in the stillness, both too stubborn, too scared, to give the truth a name.

You didn’t respond, your breath coming out in shudders, each exhale a visible puff in the cold night air. Your chest tightened, but it wasn’t the cold that made your eyes sting—it was the sharp, aching bitterness of the moment, the weight of everything unsaid crushing you beneath it. Your cheeks were streaked with tears now, betraying the calm facade you’d tried so hard to keep in place. You hated it. Hated that he could see it. Hated even more that he caused it.

And yet, when he murmured your name, it broke something fragile inside you. His voice was so soft, it could’ve disappeared into the night, but it didn’t—it found you, sharp and unrelenting in its tenderness. It was the way he said it, like a plea, like a thread stretched taut and fraying at the edges. It made your heart ache so fiercely it felt like it might break apart entirely.

“Are you okay?” Joel asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer, like he was bracing for something he wasn’t sure he could handle. His hands hovered at his sides, trembling, uncertain—like he wanted to reach out, to cradle your face the way he used to, but wasn’t sure if he had the right to.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat, the words thick and heavy in your chest. “Yeah. Good night, Joel.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, the ache in it betraying more than you wanted to give away. Then, before he could respond, you turned and started walking, your steps slow but deliberate.

He didn’t move right away, didn’t say anything. He just stood there, hesitating, long enough for you to feel the weight of his gaze burning into your back. His presence lingered, heavy and unshakable, the kind of pull you couldn’t quite escape even as you forced yourself to keep moving.

Joel’s eyes stayed on you, watching as the snow began to swallow you, the misty cold rising like a curtain until you were nothing but a shadow in the distance—and then, finally, gone. The night seemed to close in around him, the silence deafening except for the soft crunch of snow beneath his boots as he shifted.

A low, frustrated “Fuck,” escaped his lips, rough and quiet, as he rubbed his hands over his face. His breath came out in a harsh exhale, misting the icy air, before he dropped his hands to his sides, clenching them into fists like he could keep himself from reaching after you.

But he didn’t follow. He just stood there, alone under the weak glow of the streetlamp, his chest heavy with everything he couldn’t say, the space between you stretching farther and farther with every step you took away from him.

✩˖ ࣪‧₊˚໒꒱⋆✩

The next morning

The dining hall buzzed with morning energy, the low hum of conversation punctuated by the occasional scrape of chairs and clatter of dishes. By the time you dragged yourself inside, most of the good food had already been claimed, leaving behind a few sad scraps that no one had bothered with. The smell of burnt toast and weak coffee lingered in the air, doing nothing to ease the tension in your chest.

You hadn’t slept. Not really. Tossing and turning all night, you couldn’t escape the replay of the words you and Joel had exchanged, the weight of them pressing into your ribs like stones. It was as though your bed had conspired with your thoughts, refusing you even a moment of peace.

You wanted to stay buried in the covers, to let the day pass without you, but you weren’t a teenager anymore. You couldn’t get away with hiding from the world like you used to—not when Jackson hummed with its usual demands, not when life kept moving whether you wanted it to or not.

But the truth? The real reason you’d dragged yourself out into the light of day wasn’t responsibility, or resilience, or even a shred of dignity. It was coffee. You’d run out of the good stuff at home, and the craving had gnawed at you until you gave in.

Your stomach grumbled in protest as you poured yourself a coffee, eyes scanning the remnants of breakfast. Stale toast. Some overcooked eggs. Nothing worth the effort. You sighed, the ache in your chest from the restless night pressing heavier with each passing moment. You settled at a table in the corner, wrapping your hands around the coffee mug like it might anchor you. The bitterness of the brew matched your mood, its warmth doing little to chase the chill that lingered from last night.

Then you saw him. Joel.

Joel wasn’t supposed to be here. He never ate breakfast—or at least, not in the dining hall. Never. Ever.

You hadn’t even noticed him until he was there, sliding into the seat beside you, the wooden chair scraping softly against the floor. He didn’t say a word as he balanced a tray in one hand, the movement practiced and deliberate.

“Here,” he said, his voice low but steady. He set something in front of you with the same no-nonsense grace he applied to everything he did. Your heart stuttered when you looked down.

A biscuit. Warm, golden, with a pat of butter nestled beside it, the edges still glistening as though it had just come out of the oven. Your favorite. The kind you always picked at whenever it was on the table, your eyes lighting up like it was a rare treat.

You blinked at it, your hands tightening slightly around your mug. “What’s this?” you murmured, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Breakfast,” Joel replied simply, his tone as gruff as ever. But there was something else there—something softer, hidden just beneath the surface. “Figured you didn’t eat yet.” He leaned back slightly, one hand resting on the edge of the table as his eyes flicked over you, watching your reaction like he was bracing for something.

“Joel.” You sighed, his presence catching you off guard, unraveling the fragile calm you’d been trying to cling to. “What are you doing? You usually don’t come here for breakfast.”

He shrugged, leaning back slightly in his chair, but his eyes never left you. “Felt like a change.”

The words were simple, but they hung in the air between you, weighted with a truth neither of you were willing to name. You both knew it wasn’t about breakfast.

You stared at him for a moment longer than you meant to, trying to read the lines of his face, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands gripped the edge of the table. Finally, you gave in, breaking the biscuit in half, the warmth of it grounding you in the moment even as your mind raced. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice so soft you barely recognized it as your own.

You took a bite, the buttery warmth melting on your tongue, but it did little to ease the simmering tension between you. The silence was heavy, pressing against your chest, and you weren’t sure what to do with it—what to do with him. You were still mad, the ache from last night raw and fresh, and yet, here he was, sitting across from you like nothing had happened, like everything was fine.

Joel broke the silence first. “You sleep okay?” he murmured, his voice low, tender in a way that made your breath hitch. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, cutting through the veil of your hair where you’d tried to hide your face.

You sighed, rubbing your temple absentmindedly as you avoided his eyes. “No,” you admitted quietly, the single word carrying all the weight of your exhaustion, emotional and otherwise.

Joel sighed, the sound heavy as his shoulders sank. His hand moved to his coffee cup, fingers curling around it, but his focus remained on you. “Don’t like seein’ you upset,” he started, his voice rough but steady. He shifted forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table as he leaned in closer. “Don’t like seein’ you cryin’. Especially not ‘cause of somethin’ I did.”

Your breath caught in your chest, the words hitting you like a quiet storm. His eyes—so open, so achingly sincere—locked onto yours, cutting through all the walls you’d tried to rebuild since last night. The air between you crackled with unspoken things, emotions too big and tangled to unravel all at once.

“I ain’t good at this,” he admitted, his voice low and rough, the corner of his mouth tugging into a small, self-deprecating smile. “Talkin’, I mean. Sayin’ what I feel.”

“You think I am?” you countered, raising an eyebrow, though your voice lacked any real bite. It was softer, almost trembling, betraying how much you wanted this moment to matter.

His smile widened, just a fraction, a brief flash of warmth cutting through the tension. “Maybe better than me,” he said, his voice lighter for just a moment.

But then Joel leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, the weight of his presence pulling you closer like gravity. His voice dropped lower, quieter, like the words were meant for you alone.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured. “I know you, more than you think.” He paused, his gaze steady and unyielding as he took a breath. “And I…” His voice faltered for a moment, before he found the courage to continue. “I care about you. You know that.”

The words landed with a force you hadn’t expected, leaving your chest tight and your mind spinning. You could barely speak, barely think, the depth of what he was saying rooting you to the spot. But Joel didn’t stop there, his eyes never leaving yours as he pressed on.

“And I don’t want to see you settlin’ for somethin’ that don’t make you happy,” he said, his tone so firm, so resolute, it felt like he was carving the words into the air between you.

The weight of it made you look away, your gaze falling to the table as his words swirled around you, threatening to unearth everything you’d been trying so hard to bury. But then he added, his voice cracking slightly, “But if that’s… if he makes you happy, then—”

“He doesn’t,” you cut in, the words spilling from your mouth before you could stop them. You raised your eyes to meet his, your voice shaking but sure. “I don’t want him.”

He nodded, his words firm, “Good. Because you deserve better.”

“Maybe I don’t know what I deserve,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in your words hanging in the air between you.

Joel’s expression softened, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to something raw and unspoken. “Everything,” he murmured, the word coming out rough, like it wasn’t meant to leave his lips. His eyes found yours, steady and unflinching, and for a fleeting moment, it felt like the rest of the world had fallen away. “You deserve everything.”

Your breath caught, the weight of his words settling into your chest. You looked up at him, startled, unsure how to respond to the quiet conviction in his voice. But before you could take it in, he shifted forward, breaking the spell. He nudged your plate closer, the scrape of porcelain against wood grounding you back into the moment.

“Start with this,” he said, his voice gentler now, the intensity replaced with something more familiar. “You deserve the damn biscuit.”

It was so absurd, so perfectly Joel, that you couldn’t help but smile—a real one this time, not the polite kind you offered out of habit. And in that instant, you swore you saw the faintest flicker of relief in his eyes, like he’d been holding his breath, waiting for your reaction.

“Thanks, Joel,” you said softly, your voice steady even as your heart fluttered.

He nodded, and for the first time in what felt like ages, the silence between you wasn’t weighted or strained. It was comfortable, almost soothing, like the first breath of fresh air after being cooped up for too long. Joel lifted his coffee, taking a slow sip as his eyes flicked toward you.

Quiet moments like this, he thought, shouldn’t have been so rare. He ached for this—for mornings with you, the sound of your laugh filling the quiet, the easy way you teased him. He could picture it so clearly it hurt.

But Joel was patient. He’d wait. He’d wait as long as it took for the timing to be right, for you to see what he’d already decided—that this could be everything.

Then, just as the moment began to settle, you let out a sudden laugh, shattering the quiet with the sound of your joy.

Joel’s brow lifted as he glanced over at you, his lips quirking into a curious smirk. “What’re you laughing at?” he asked, his tone light but laced with amusement.

You tried to answer, but another giggle escaped, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as you shook your head. “I just... I can’t,” you managed between bursts of laughter, waving a hand as if that clarified anything.

Joel leaned forward slightly, his smirk deepening. “What? You’re gonna choke on that damn biscuit if you don’t—”

“Can you fix my leaky faucet?” you interrupted in a high-pitched, overly saccharine voice, batting your eyelashes dramatically for emphasis.

Joel groaned, dragging a hand over his face as his head shook in disbelief. “Jesus,” he muttered under his breath.

You leaned back in your chair, grinning so hard your cheeks ached. “I can’t believe you actually went out with her,” you teased, barely holding back more laughter.

“I didn’t go out with her,” Joel said defensively, his voice dropping into that familiar low growl that he used when he was embarrassed.

“Mhm,” you hummed, dragging out the sound and arching an eyebrow at him with mock disbelief.

Joel huffed, shaking his head as he took another sip of coffee, but his tone was softer when he finally spoke. “Don’t know how I put up with you.”

“You love it,” you shot back, leaning back in your chair with a smug grin, the kind that lit up your whole face and made it impossible not to smile along with you.

Joel didn’t answer right away. He just looked at you—really looked at you. There was laughter still lingering in your eyes, the faintest smudge of crumbs on the corner of your lips, and that easy way you filled the room with warmth, like you carried the sun inside you and didn’t even know it. It knocked the air right out of his chest, left him aching in a way he couldn’t quite name.

He shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, like he couldn’t believe you sometimes—how effortlessly you made him feel things he’d long since buried. Things he hadn’t dared let himself want. But there you were, unraveling him with every smile, every laugh, every quiet moment like this that left him wishing the world would stop spinning so he could stay here a little longer.

Yes, he thought, the realization hitting him square in the chest. Yes, he did love.

He loved the way you made him feel lighter without even trying, loved the way you teased him like it was second nature, loved... you.

But Joel didn’t say any of that. He couldn’t. Not yet.

Instead, he let out a quiet breath and picked up his coffee, sipping it slowly, letting the silence stretch between you like a bridge he wasn’t quite ready to cross.

Still, he let the moment linger, soaking in the way you looked at him, the way the corners of your mouth curled as if you knew exactly what he was thinking.

---

Tag List

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@jethrojessie @eddiemunsonsbedroom @flowerydindjarin @anoverwhelmingdin

[surielstea]

Dancing With Fate

Original request.

Pairing: Nyx Archeron x Tamlin’s Daughter!Reader

Summary: While struggling with her relationship with her father, Reader goes to her first ball and stumbles upon a male she has never met, but feels a distinct connection to.

Warnings: slight angst with a parent, mostly fluff between Reader and Nyx

A.Note: I apologize for how long this took me to get out, I really struggled with how to format her back story but I ended up fairly happy with it, let me know if y’all want more of these two I’d be happy to write a few one shots of their dynamic as well as all the family drama since I’m such a sucker for the forbidden love trope ;)

6.4k word count.

"Can you do that again for me, my sweet?" my mother whispered, her voice trembling as she crouched down to my height. I watched her eyes fill with a glassy shine that I didn't understand. She reached out, her hands shaking as they wrapped around my small wrists. I blinked up at her, wide-eyed and oblivious, only feeling the warmth of her touch and the tremor of her fingers.

I balled my hands into tiny fists, scrunching my face with all the concentration I could muster. I wanted so badly to make her proud, to show her what I could do. I willed the claws beneath my skin to surface, squeezing my fists tighter until, with a soft tearing, they slid out, small and sharp, shining like new silver. Her breath caught, and her eyes went even wider as she stared at the claws that had split through my knuckles. A single tear slipped down her cheek, and I tilted my head, wondering why she was sad. I reached out, my claws joining the action as I moved, but she stumbled back, evading the sharp silver, her hand pressed over her mouth.

"What's wrong, Momma?" I asked, my voice tiny. I tried to reach for her cheek, to wipe the tear away like she'd done for me so many times, but she shook her head, forcing a small, shaky smile.

"Nothing, it's alright, my sweet," she whispered, her voice soft and a little broken. "I just... didn't think you'd be able to do this so soon." Her fingers lingered on my cheek, warm and tender. She looked at me like she was memorizing my face, like every part of me mattered.

I gave her a proud smile, lifting my hands. "Isn't it cool?" I grinned widely, my innocence unbroken. I had no idea what my claws really meant, or the sorrow that darkened her gaze as she watched me slash the air with them, filling the quiet night with soft, sharp swishes. She just sat there, quiet and sad, holding her own hands close to her chest as if they couldn't bear to let me go.

It was a late night, much too late for me to be awake. I clung tightly to my mother's hand as she led me through a garden filled with roses that gleamed under the moonlight. The flowers were tall and beautiful, and I wanted to reach out to touch them, but my mother's grip kept me close. She moved so fast, her cloak wrapped tightly around her, like she was hiding from something.

"Where are we going, Mom?" I asked in a small voice, but she didn't answer, her steps quickening as she pulled me along. The roses seemed to shiver in the breeze, their petals brushing against us as we passed, and the moon above us was high and cold, casting everything in a silver glow.

Ahead of us was a huge mansion, bigger than any house I'd ever seen. It loomed in the night, dark and quiet, like it was waiting for us. My mother slowed as we neared the porch, her breathing heavy as she crouched down in front of me, her face serious in a way that made my heart beat faster.

She pressed a folded piece of paper into my hands, her fingers cold and firm around mine. "We're going to play a game, okay?" she said, forcing a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Her fingers brushed my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.

I nodded eagerly, happy that she wanted to play. Games with Momma were always fun. She pointed to the paper, her hand gentle but urgent. "Whoever opens that door," she said, her voice steady but quiet, "you give them this paper, okay?" Her gaze held mine, as if she was trying to pour a message into me with her eyes. "And, my sweet," she paused, swallowing hard, "I'm going to hide now. And no matter what they ask you, you can't tell them I was with you. It's a big secret."

I blinked up at her, not fully understanding, but I nodded anyway, like a good girl. She reached out, her fingers lingering on my cheek again, her eyes shimmering with something I couldn't name. "I'll meet you at the window, okay?" Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. "It'll be fun, I promise."

I reached up to brush the tear away, but she was already rising. Before I could say anything else, she knocked on the tall doors, and with a last, lingering look, she turned and melted into the shadows. Just like that, she was gone.

Suddenly, the night felt enormous and empty, the shadows stretching out around me, dark and cold. The noises from the forest grew louder, like the trees and animals and everything hidden within the dark were whispering all around me. My heart pounded, and I almost wanted to cry out, to beg for her to come back and take me home. But before I could make a sound, the massive doors creaked open, casting a sliver of light onto the porch.

A man stood in the doorway, tall and fierce, with wild red hair and eyes that seemed to cut through the darkness. One of his eyes gleamed gold, like a piece of metal, and he looked down at me with a frown, his expression stern and sleepy. "Excuse me, Mister," I squeaked, trying to remember my mother's instructions.

His gaze softened just a bit as he took in my tiny figure. "And who might you be?" he asked, his voice rough but not unkind.

"I'm supposed to give this to you." I held up the paper, my hands trembling as I waited for him to take it. He knelt down, eyeing me carefully as he unfolded the note, his expression unreadable. I gave him a polite smile, remembering my mother's lessons, but his gaze flicked from the note back to me, his eyes narrowing.

"Where's your mother?" he asked, his voice soft but sharp.

I shrugged, fidgeting under his gaze. "I don't know," I whispered, my heart thudding in my chest.

"But she brought you here, didn't she?" he pressed, his gaze steady. I swallowed, unsure of how my mother would want me to answer. After a long, quiet moment, he sighed, opening the door wider. "Come inside. You shouldn't be out here alone."

I followed him into the mansion, the silence thick and heavy as he led me up a grand staircase. My shoes clicked against the cold, polished floor as we climbed up and up, stopping finally at a pair of wooden doors wrapped in ivy. I was too small to open them, so I just waited, feeling very small in the middle of the enormous hallway.

"Wait here a moment," he said, giving me a nod before stepping through the door. I looked around, mesmerized by the golden chandelier hanging above me, its glow casting strange, twisting shadows that moved as the lights flickered.

"I already told you I'm not in the mood to talk, Lucien." A deep, heavy voice sounded from beyond the door, and I jumped, hugging my cloak tighter around me.

"It's not that," Lucien replied, his tone shifting in a way that sounded unsure, even a little nervous. "You have a visitor."

The other voice was silent for a moment, and my stomach knotted up as I realized they were talking about me. "Tell them to leave," the man said finally, his tone cold and final.

Lucien sighed, and I heard the soft rustling of paper. The silence felt like it stretched forever, but then footsteps approached. The door swung open, and I looked up to see a tall man with golden hair, his eyes dark and sharp as they fell on me. I could tell by the way he looked at me that he wasn't used to children, that maybe he didn't know what to do with me.

But he crouched down slowly, his gaze softening just a bit as he held his hands up, like he wanted me to know he wasn't going to hurt me. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice low and gentle.

I told him, my voice a quiet whisper, but he nodded as if he'd heard every word. "Do you know who I am?" he asked, tilting his head, and I shook my head, looking down at my hands.

"I'm the High Lord of the Spring Court," he said softly, his tone proud but his eyes sad. My eyes widened, a little smile pulling at my lips. I'd heard of a High Lord in my mother's stories, someone powerful and magical.

"But, more importantly," he continued, his gaze searching my face, "I'm your father."

I blinked up at him, the words hanging in the air like they were something heavy, something I didn't yet understand. I wanted to ask him what it all meant, but all I could do was stare up at him, my fingers curling around the edge of my cloak, wishing I was safe in my mother's arms again.

———

Ever since that night, I've been confined to this estate on every special occasion, under the watchful eyes of my father's maids, lest I sneak away the moment I'm alone. Tonight, like many others, I'm left looking out the window of my bedroom—the same spot where I'd waited endlessly as a child, hoping my mother would come back for me.

But tonight was going to be different. I'd make sure of it.

I storm out of my room, my heels clicking with determined steps as I march down the hall. I swing open the doors to my father's study without knocking. He looks up from his papers, brow creased, clearly taken aback by my abrupt entrance.

"I'm going to the Dawn Court tonight," I say, my tone leaving no room for discussion.

"Absolutely not," he replies, shaking his head and dipping his quill back in the ink, dismissing me with the kind of finality he's used to exerting over me.

"All the courts are invited," I argue, stepping forward. "I'm obligated to go."

"No," he says again, his tone colder. "It's a high-profile ball. You're not ready."

I draw in a sharp breath, struggling to keep my temper in check. "Not ready? Father, I'm nineteen. If not now, then when?" This age had been difficult for him for some reason, I don't know why but ever since my birthday he's been acting strangely, started keeping me shut out and less involved—I may as well have just been imagining it or it was a coincidence it started happening after I turned nineteen, but once I got the thought in my head it was hard to get it out.

His expression hardens, his voice annoyingly calm. "Just, not now."

A chill spreads through my hands, and I have to resist the urge to bear the claws that hide beneath my skin. "I'm so tired of having every decision made for me," I say, pressing my palms to my temples as frustration wells up. "Of being treated like a prisoner in this house."

He stands, his temper fraying. "And I'm sick of you thinking you know best," His voice rises, echoing in the silence of the study. "You don't understand half of what's at stake."

"No, maybe I don't. But neither do you, apparently," I snap back. "Or maybe it's just that you're afraid to lose the only company you have left in this house. Is that it, Father?"

His hands ball into fists, metal-like claws gleaming from his knuckles. Mine slid out as well, a metallic gleam in the dim light.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he snarls, eyes darkening.

"Maybe I do," I bite back. "I hate this house." It came out as more of a confession than a retort, but his face falters, pain flickering through his eyes before he regains his composure.

"You don't mean that."

"I do," I insist, voice shaking with anger. "I hate this house, and I wish my mother never abandoned me here." The words are barely out of my mouth before I turn on my heel and stride out, slamming the door behind me so hard the walls shudder, my claws snagging on the wood of the door and scraping the paint off, revealing the bare, slightly rotted wood beneath. It felt like a metaphor, in a strange way.

I make my way to the garden, desperate for air. The night breeze is cool as I step out onto the deck, and I close the glass doors behind me a little more gently this time. Taking a few deep breaths, I walk along the garden path, letting the silence and cold soothe my frayed nerves. Winter's grip is finally loosening, and the garden is starting to come alive with buds and leaves. My favorite time of year.

I reach for one of the rosebuds, my claws retracting ever so slowly, my skin morphing over the hideous metal that gleamed in the moonlight. I forget the feeling of the power my father gifted me and remember the feeling and comforting warmth of my mother's power flickering beneath my fingertips. The flower blooms in my palm, reaching out toward me, and I smile faintly as I coax the other buds open along the path. Flower by flower my frustrating emotions ebb, and by the time I've reached the stone bench, my anger has cooled, replaced by something heavier, more complicated.

I sit, feeling the familiar weight of regret settle over me. I don't hate this house, not really. I hate the way I'm trapped in it.

The glass door opens, and I know without looking that it's him. My father takes a seat beside me on the bench, and I shift away, making it clear I'm not ready to forgive him just yet. We sit in silence, watching the newly-bloomed flowers sway in the night breeze. Finally, he sighs.

"You can go to the Dawn Court tonight," he says quietly.

I turn to him, my eyes wide with surprise.

He hesitates, looking down at his hands. "I'm..." He struggles around the word. "Sorry that you feel like you can't make your own choices," he mutters, his voice filled with a vulnerability I haven't heard ever before. "I'm trying to do better. And, you're right. I am afraid."

My heart softens, and the walls I've built up slowly crumble. "Afraid of what?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Of losing you, in turn losing everything." He looks up, his eyes—a shade of green I've always found comfort in—filled with an emotion that makes my heart ache.

Without thinking, I wrap my arms around him, and he pulls me close, his hand gently stroking my back. "I'm sorry, too," I murmur into his shoulder.

He shakes his head. "Don't be. You're my daughter. You're allowed to be angry with me." He pulls back to look at me. "Just promise me one thing," he says. "Promise you won't run away tonight."

I give him a small smile, the request so obscene that u couldn't help it. "I'll be perfect. Thank you, Father." I reassure.

He nods, satisfied, and rises from the bench. "We leave in an hour. You'd better start getting ready."

———

My dress is a soft lavender that hugs my waist and fans out into a beautiful, flowing skirt, the slit running up my thigh edged in delicate embroidered flowers. The open back crisscrosses with delicate ties, and the neckline is just low enough to be elegant without being too revealing. One of the maids has styled my hair in a half-up, half-down look, a few braided strands framing my face. For once, I feel exactly how I want to feel—elegant, feminine, and free.

I leave my bedroom and make my way down the hall to the marble staircase, where my father waits at the base. As I descend, his eyes widen, his mouth opening slightly as he takes in my appearance.

"Well?" I do a small spin, laughing at his awestruck expression.

He swallows, a proud smile slowly spreading across his face. "You look beautiful," he murmurs, pulling me into a hug.

I hug him back, letting him hold me close, and in that moment, it feels as if all the tension of our earlier argument melts away. We're just father and daughter again.

———

The Dawn Court ballroom is bathed in golden light, warm and inviting. I've barely stepped inside when a tall, dark-skinned man in white robes approaches, a halo of gold atop his head.

"And who is this lovely lady?" he asks, his voice rich with curiosity.

"My daughter," my father answers gruffly, his protective tone unmistakable.

The man blinks in surprise before offering a sheepish smile. "Ah, well then." He turns and makes a quick exit.

"Who was that?" I ask, amused by his reaction.

"High Lord of Day," my father mutters, a hint of irritation in his voice. "He has a reputation."

I raise an eyebrow, smiling as I unlink my arm from his. "Are all High Lords so... pretty?"

"Careful," he growls in warning.

A cheeky smile appears on my lips as I unhook my arm from his. "Only observations." I shrug. "I'm going to get a drink." I take a step away and he takes it with me. "Father, I'm only going to the refreshments table, not war. I'll be fine." I promise and he solicits a sigh.

"No wine." He demands and I shake my head in disbelief.

"Yes sir." I mock salute before spinning on my heel and walking across the ballroom, I make my way to the refreshment table and pour myself a glass from the fountain of cider, admiring the way the bubbles shimmer in the golden light. My father had said no wine but mentioned nothing about spiked cider. I take a long sip and begin to explore the ballroom, watching dancers swirl in gowns of blue and pink that mirror the sunset outside.

Lost in thought, I wander past an indoor garden filled with gardenias and evergreens. I couldn't help myself but slip inside, a few guests were inside, admiring the flowers just as I wished to do, so I deemed I was allowed to. I approached an arch of budded flowers, standing beneath the green vines that soon would be sprouted in color. I reached out, gently brushing a bud with my fingertips, watching as it blooms in reply.

"Your touch has improved since the last time I saw you," a familiar voice murmurs from behind me.

I turn, eyes lighting up as they land on a tan-skinned male with striking red hair. "Lucien!" I throw my arms around him, grinning.

He chuckles, pulling me into a warm hug. "You look stunning, little Fawn," he says, holding me at arm's length to take in my dress. "How did you manage to get out of the house?"

I smirk with a casual shrug. "Whipped out the claws."

He raises an eyebrow, clearly impressed. "Like father, like daughter." He mused and I chuckled, looking down at the flowers reaching towards me, asking for my attention again.

"You want to dance?" His hand comes to my shoulder and I shake my head.

"You go ahead, I think I'll need a few more glasses before I step foot on the dance floor." I scoff and he shakes his head.

"Nonsense, you're a terrific dancer." He bumps my shoulder.

"I'm okay uncle, really," I reassured and he clamped his lips shut.

"Okay, find me if you need me." He presses a kiss to my temple and I nod.

He saunters away towards a group of friends I didn't recognize and I continue exploring, sipping my champagne as I wander through the crowd.

My gaze is caught by a group of strangers dressed in dark clothing. There's a woman in deep maroon, a honey brunette who smiles at me softly, and beside her, a tall man wearing a black-jeweled crown. I study them curiously, trying to place who they might be.

Distracted, I accidentally walk straight into someone's chest.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," I stammer, stumbling back. I trip over my heels, but a pair of strong hands catches me, steadying me before I fall.

"You alright?" an unfamiliar voice asks, deep and soothing.

I look up—and up—and up—at a broad-shouldered man with rugged features and half of his shoulder-length hair tied back. He has a friendly, easy-going smile that immediately puts me at ease.

"Yeah, sorry," I mutter, flushing slightly.

He chuckles, the sound rich and warm. "No need to apologize. I should have been watching where I was going. You'd think five centuries would be enough time to figure that out." He snorts, red siphons gleaming on his chest and hands.

I blink in surprise. "Five centuries?"

He grins, raising an eyebrow. "Hey, no need to make me sound ancient."

I laugh, feeling unexpectedly comfortable around him. "Right. Apologies again." I clamp my lips shut, embarrassed.

"Who's the lucky person that brought you here tonight?" He asks, sensing my embarrassment and switching the topic, shifting to face towards the crowd.

"Couldn't I have come on my own?" I counter, crossing my arms.

He laughs again. "Touché. But I'll bet that doesn't mean you'll be lacking for dance partners." He gestures to the dance floor.

"Maybe," I say with a smile, "but that depends on who asks."

"Well, I would, but my mate would probably have my head if I danced with anyone else," he says, feigning a solemn look.

"Pity," I replied playfully. "But it's alright—you don't seem all that familiar with your feet anyway."

He gasps, feigning insult. "Hey! I'll have you know I'm a world-class dancer!"

"Oh, really?" I raise an eyebrow. "Shame, then. You missed your chance."

He chuckles, backing away. "Well, it was nice talking to you—mystery lady."

"Likewise," I call after him with a smile, watching as he disappears into the crowd.

The music is lively, filling the ballroom with a vibrant energy as dancers swirl and laugh under the golden chandeliers. I sip the last of my cider, feeling a pleasant warmth spread through me. For the first time in ages, I feel, free. Maybe my father had been right to keep me close all these years; maybe I wasn't ready for this world of strangers and their sharp eyes. But as I watch the colors and movement around me, I know I wouldn't trade this feeling for anything.

Lost in my thoughts, I wander past the terrace doors and step outside, onto a balcony that overlooks a sprawling garden filled with glistening fountains and delicate white flowers. I take a deep breath, savoring the crisp night air, and let my fingers trace the cool stone railing wrapped in ivy.

Then I hear it—a quiet, amused hum from just behind me. I turn, startled, and my gaze falls on a young man leaning casually against the doorway, watching me with a slight, crooked smile.

He's tall, with jet-black hair that falls in tousled waves, and eyes that are strikingly, disarmingly blue. He wears a dark, impeccably tailored suit, with a midnight-blue shirt beneath, the top buttons undone enough to reveal tan skin beneath. There's an effortless elegance to him, a quiet confidence, like he belongs in every corner of this glittering world.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he says, stepping forward with a charming half-smile. "But I had to wonder what you were doing all by yourself out here. Parties like these are hardly tolerable alone."

I raise an eyebrow, feeling my cheeks warm under his gaze. "And yet here you are, all by yourself."

He chuckles, eyes gleaming with a mischievous glint. "Fair, though technically, I'm not alone anymore, am I?"

I laugh, feeling my earlier irritation with my father melt away as I look at him. "I suppose not. Though I doubt you're here to keep me company."

He raises a hand in mock innocence. "You wound me. I've been nothing but kind since we met."

"Have we met?" I ask, tilting my head. "I think I would've remembered," I say with an angled head and something flickers in his sapphire gaze that I can't quite place.

He seems to consider this, tilting his head thoughtfully. "No, we haven't officially met," he concedes. "Which feels like a shame, honestly."

The corners of my mouth lift in a smile. "So, are you going to introduce yourself, or are we just going to continue being strangers?"

His eyes sparkle with something like amusement as he extends a hand. "Strangers sounds nice," I say flippantly, looking out at the Dawn Courts skyline, a sliver of the sun barely visible. This party was supposed to last until dawn, until the sun returned and the entire court could watch the outmatched sunrise of this court.

I wasn't ready to commit to making any friends, I had just gained my freedom, I wished to revel in it for a few moments longer, nameless was my way of doing it.

He laughs, a rich, genuine sound that makes my heart skip. "Alright, stranger," he says, leaning casually against the railing beside me. "What brings you out to the edge of the ballroom?"

"Some air," I reply with a shrug, looking out over the garden. "I hadn't expected to feel so claustrophobic."

He nods, understanding flickering in his eyes. "Parties can be exhausting. All the faces, all the names. It's nice to step away."

I glance at him. "You sound like you've been to one too many of these."

"Oh, you have no idea," he says with a grin. "I think I've been to so many I could navigate them in my sleep."

"And here I thought you looked like you were having fun," I tease.

"Maybe I'm a good actor," he says, his tone playful. "Or maybe I just needed a reason to enjoy it."

I roll my eyes, but I can't help the smile that tugs at my lips. "Does that line actually work for you?"

"More often than you'd think," he says, laughing. "But since you're clearly immune to charm, let me try a different approach." He holds out a hand, bowing slightly. "Would you do me the honor of a dance, stranger?"

I hesitate, glancing back at the ballroom, but something about his easy smile, the spark of humor in his eyes, makes me want to take his hand. I place mine in his, letting him lead me closer.

The music inside changes as his lithe fingers make contact with my waist, shifting to a slower, softer melody. He adjusts my stance, guiding me with a gentleness that surprises me. There's a warmth in his gaze that makes my heart pound just a little faster as I look up at him.

"So, princess," he murmurs as we begin to move, his voice barely audible over the music echoing from inside. "Are you here with family? Or did you sneak away to attend the most boring ball of the season?"

I laugh, looking up at him with feigned offense. "Boring? I'll have you know I'm having a wonderful time."

"Are you?" he asks, eyes twinkling. "Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"Maybe a little of both," I admit, a smile tugging at my lips. "And you? Do you always call balls like these boring?"

"Only when my mother's not here to overhear," he replies, grinning. "But tell me, how did you get here?"

I hesitate, wondering how much to tell him, but there's something about his gaze that makes it feel safe, to be honest. "My father brought me," I say, keeping it vague. "He doesn't let me out much."

"Really?" The stranger's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I would've pegged you for someone who went wherever they pleased."

"I'd like to think so," I reply, laughing. "But apparently, my father has other ideas."

He raises an eyebrow, curiosity in his eyes. "What does he think you'll do? Start a rebellion?"

"Maybe," I say with a shrug, a playful glint in my eyes. "He's probably right."

His laughter is warm, and he holds me a little closer as we spin across the marbled balcony floor. "Well, if you ever need a partner in crime, let me know. I'm an excellent accomplice."

I arch an eyebrow, smirking. "How do I know you're any good at sneaking out?"

He grins, leaning down until his voice is a soft murmur in my ear. "Trust me, princess. You don't survive my family without learning how to slip away now and then."

I glance up, meeting his gaze, intrigued by the way his words hold a hidden depth, a story he's not telling. "Your family sounds, interesting."

"That's one way to put it," he says with a chuckle, eyes flickering with a momentary shadow. But it's gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his easy charm. "Let's just say they have certain expectations."

"Well, then maybe we have more in common than I thought," I say, softening.

"Seems that way," he murmurs, his voice softening too. There's a gentleness in his gaze now, and I feel his hands hold me just a little more securely as if he's anchoring me.

We dance like this, quietly, for a few moments, simply enjoying the music and each other's company. He spins me once, drawing a soft laugh from me, and when he pulls me back, I'm closer than I realized, his breath warm on my cheek.

"Do you think we'd have met otherwise?" he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

I blink, a little caught off guard by the question. "Maybe. Maybe not."

"Fate has a funny way of working, doesn't it?" He's still holding me close, his gaze warm and thoughtful, and I feel the world fade away a little as we look at each other.

"It does," I reply, almost breathless, my heart pounding in my chest.

He's quiet for a moment, his eyes glimmering with something I couldn't place. "I hope—I hope fate lets us meet again."

For a moment, I forget about the ballroom, about my father's rules, about everything except him. I don't know who he is, or why he's here, but something about him feels achingly familiar, like we're old friends, like I've known him in some other life.

When the music fades, he slowly lets me go, and I feel the loss of his warmth, his presence. He steps back, bowing with a playful, courtly gesture.

I scoff a laugh and give my best attempt at a curtsy. "You're a natural," He muses as the music dies down and I sidle closer to the balcony, eager to look out at the world beyond that I had never witnessed before.

The balcony feels almost timeless as we stand there, his presence beside me grounding in a way I hadn't expected. We talk as if there are no constraints, just the night around us, a quiet space carved out in the world. His words flow easily, a mix of humor and teasing, sometimes dipping into moments of gentleness that make my chest tighten.

I can't help but keep stealing glances at him, trying to memorize the sharp line of his jaw and the warm, playful gleam in his eyes. And every time I meet that gaze, I feel the strange, unshakable familiarity tugging at me—a whisper in the back of my mind that insists I know him, that maybe I've known him far longer than this one night. But I can't let myself get swept away in that feeling. Not yet.

We talk for hours about anything and everything, I tell him about the flowers below us, and what they symbolize, and in return, he tells me of the stars in the sky, the constellations, and each of their names.

We talked about things that I never voiced before, but there was a steady comfort in his presence that made me feel like I could confess even my deepest mistakes and he'd nod with understanding in his eyes, not a flicker of judgment.

We didn't go into the ballroom the entire night, had taken up the small seating area that curved around the side of the building I hadn't noticed before.

"So, princess," he says, smirking as he leans his back into his chair, arms folded in a lazy, practiced ease, "if you weren't here, what kind of trouble would you be getting yourself into?"

I think for a moment, letting my fingers graze the ivy-covered stone. "Trouble? I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I'm sure you don't." He smirks, an amused glint in his eyes. "I pegged you for the rebellious type the moment I set eyes on you." He goes on.

I shrug, glancing out over the shadowed garden below. "Well, clearly you don't know me very well," I reply in a snarky tone, my lips curling into a teasing smile. "Perhaps I'm a perfectly obedient daughter who follows all the rules."

His laugh is low and rich, sending a pleasant shiver through me. "Now, I find that hard to believe," he murmurs, tilting his head to meet my gaze. "A wildflower like you, growing in a gilded cage? No, I think you're meant to be out there—" he gestures to the dark mountains beyond the garden, "—living on your own terms."

My cheeks warm under his gaze, but I lift my chin. "And you? What about you, oh wise stranger? Surely you're not the type to follow anyone's rules but your own."

"Oh, I'd follow them," he says, his voice dropping to a playful murmur, "if you were the one making them."

I feel my face flush at his words, but I can't resist matching his grin. "Be careful what you wish for. I'd hate to ruin that roguish charm with a few boundaries."

"Boundaries?" He raises an eyebrow, laughing. "I don't believe you’re the kind of girl to put them in place, life's far more interesting without them, don't you think?" He cocks his head in an all too demeaning fashion, as if he knows me better than to even suggest such a thing. I can’t help but smile at the familiarity, of being truly seen and known, it was foreign, but welcomed. “More than you know,” I reply, a softer atmosphere taking over with the tenderness in my voice.

"So, what does someone like you dream of seeing?"

It's a simple enough question, but I find myself hesitating, surprised by how much I want to answer, how easy it feels to open up to him. "I want to see everything," I admit, my voice almost a whisper. "Every corner of the world. The mountains, the seas. I want to taste the air in different places and feel the ground under my feet where no one else has walked. I want to be free."

It's more than I've ever shared with anyone, especially someone who doesn't even know my name. I swallow, feeling suddenly vulnerable, but when I glance at him, his gaze is warm, and understanding. As if he knows exactly what I mean.

"I think freedom suits you," he says softly like he's revealing a secret. "It's in your eyes—the way they look past this place, like you're already somewhere else entirely."

His words send a shiver through me, and for a moment, I can't find any words at all. So instead, I look away, watching as the sky shifts from deep indigo to a paler shade, hinting at the dawn. "Maybe one day I'll get to see it all," I say, more to myself than to him.

"I have a feeling you will." His voice is quiet, almost wistful, and I glance back to find him watching me with that same, unsettling familiarity, as if he, too, feels this strange pull between us.

We fall into an easy silence after that, leaning against the railing side by side as the stars start to fade. Occasionally, he says something that makes me laugh, and I find myself telling him things I'd never tell anyone else—about the books I love, the dreams I've buried, the way I crave a life that's different from the one set out for me.

He listens, really listens, his attention never wavering. And in return, he shares pieces of himself, though I sense he's careful, holding back just as much as I am. He speaks of a family that has expectations, a life lived beneath a weight that isn't always visible. I don't pry, but I nod, letting him know I understand.

The sky lightens, a faint glow spreading over the horizon, and I can't help but feel a pang of regret as the world around us starts to wake.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice low, "I think this might be one of the best conversations I've ever had."

I laugh softly, though my heart aches a little at the thought of this night ending. "You don't get many opportunities to talk with strangers on balconies?"

"Not like this," he says, glancing down at me, his expression unreadable. "Not with someone like you."

There's something so earnest in his gaze that I feel my resolve waver. I want to tell him who I am, to share every piece of myself, but a part of me resists, clinging to this fleeting anonymity.

"Thank you," I say softly, and I mean it more than he could ever know.

"For what?" he asks, his tone warm.

"For reminding me that people can be kind. That they can listen." I smile up at him, feeling a strange mixture of sadness and hope. "I think I needed that."

The first light of dawn glimmers on the horizon, casting a soft glow over the garden. Slowly, he reaches out, taking my hand in his, his touch warm and steady. I feel his thumb brush gently over my knuckles, and it sends a wave of warmth through me, a silent promise in his touch.

"Maybe one day," he says softly, his voice barely a whisper, "we'll meet again. Maybe fate will give us that."

I can't bring myself to say anything, so I simply nod, letting myself savor the feel of his hand in mine for just a moment longer.

As the first rays of sunlight touch the garden below, he releases my hand, stepping back with a soft smile. He gives me one last, lingering look before turning, disappearing through the terrace doors and back into the world from which he came.

I stay there, watching as the light fills the sky, feeling like I've lost something precious and found something rare all at once.

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