#my heart feels so heavy every time i wake up from a dream with him in it

[my-mind-mansion]

A slow, peaceful morning in bed with the Radio Demon

(Alastor x reader/cuddles/motivation/care)

{Since my bedtime fic got a few likes, I wanted to post it’s sister story. Hope you all enjoy my imagination!! Requests/story ideas??}

It was about an hour before you had to be up for the day and you were sound asleep in Alastor’s bed. He had let you sleep in his room last night. You were honored. You felt a hand in your hair, gently petting you. You could feel yourself waking up, leaving your dream realm to be met with Alastor’s kind smile. You gasped and nearly panicked. “Oh no!! Am I late?!“ you started to sit up.

Alastor gently pushed you back down on the pillow. “Shhh.. there’s no need to worry, my dear. I made sure you were awake in plenty of time. You can relax for a bit in my bed before you actually have to get up.” He said as you caught your breath from the adrenaline rush of thinking you were late.

He chuckled softly, inching closer to you and pulling you into his chest. He put a hand in your hair and his other hand on your back. “Give yourself a deep breath for me, dearest.” He said, his radio-filtered voice bringing you the warmest sense of comfort. You took a deep breath and then a peaceful exhale. That felt good. Your heart calmed as he rubbed your back.

You smiled up at him as your body was nearly limp in his arms already. He smiled down at you, speaking soft sentences to soothe your soul. “Good morning, sweetheart. I trust you slept well!” Your heavy eyelids, still fresh with sleep, were fighting to stay open. He chuckled under his breath as he played with your hair, encouraging you to take another deep breath.

You were so relaxed in his arms. You were basically drunk on him. The radio host had you under his spell as you clung onto every word he spoke. “I once read a story about a flower that blossomed and thrived, despite its poor environment. It rarely got watered and it’s pot was way too small. The poor bud was neglected and abused, but somehow the lovely bloom persisted on.” he rubbed your back.

You had been smiling up at him. He was so charming and knew how to evoke whatever reaction he was seeking. He continued on. “That flower is you, my dear. Despite all your troubles and heartache, you continue on. I’m so proud of you. You are so important to me. I wouldn’t let anyone else sleep in my bed, you know.” You blushed slightly as you nodded off, teetering between sleep and wake. Alastor chuckled as he noticed. “It’s alright, my delicate rose. Close your eyes. You have time.”

You had immediately fallen back asleep in his arms; all part of his plan. He had given you 30 minutes to go back to sleep after waking up. Those 30 minutes felt more like 4 more hours. When he roused you awake for the second time this morning, you smiled and sat up. You were feeling refreshed and relaxed.

You stretched and dangled your feet over the edge of the bed, smiling back at him. “Ready to finish that to-do list?” he asked rhetorically, cheering you on. How out of character for Alastor to actually be supportive and encouraging. He snapped his fingers and your favorite breakfast appeared on a tray next to you.

You weren’t sure if Alastor was giving you this special treatment in order to manipulate you, or if he had ulterior motives. All you knew was you were really enjoying the attention, and didn’t care if he didn’t actually mean it.

He set out your clothes and shoes for the day as you ate the personalized breakfast he had made according to your taste. “You.. really don’t have to do all of this for me.” You said, slightly flustered as he knew the exact outfit you wanted to wear today. “I know. I only aim to make your life easier, dear. It’s my own personal responsibility to care for you.” He said. Slightly concerning, but oddly sweet?

[cryptidscries]

you ever miss someone so much that they start appearing in your dreams every night? ahaha.....me neither

[catchastarorten]

hey lovely, i don’t know if you take requests but i absolutely love your works!! i wanted to see if you can do a jun ho fic x fem!reader where jun is in a coma after in ho shoot him on that island and reader has been visiting him every day since at the hospital. and one day he finally wakes ip and reader just takes care of him? just like a baby, food, kisses, cuddles. i feel like our man needs that :(

tyy if you would do this, have a great day or night 🩷🩷

Hello, anon! Here's your request :), I hope I did Jun-ho justice because you're absolutely right, the man needs some love and care, and he's gonna get it here. Hope you enjoy this — lots of love! <3

—Feels better with you.

Pairing: Hwang Jun-ho x lover!fem!reader

Summary: after everything Jun-ho went through, he was in a coma, you were there with him when he finally woke up. He needed you. And you took care of him while he was recovering.

Content: fluff, comfort, kisses, yearning, a little bit of angst, Jun-ho in a coma then waking up, English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, not proofread, sorry!

Word count: ~ 1.0k

Seeing him lying there, hooked up to machines, pale and fragile in a way you’d never seen before, broke something in you. This was the man who had once held you so tightly, who had whispered promises into your skin, who had loved you with a quiet intensity that made you feel untouchable. Now he looked so far away.

You visited him every day after hearing about how he'd been pulled from the ocean. He was in a coma.

You talked to him, your voice soft but steady, telling him about everything and nothing. You read to him, held his hand, brushed the hair from his forehead like you used to on those lazy mornings. And every day, you hoped he’d come back to you.

The day he woke up, it was like the world stopped. His eyes fluttered open, unfocused and heavy with exhaustion. Your heart leapt into your throat as you leaned closer, your hands trembling.

Waking up felt like surfacing from a dream that had gone on too long—foggy and disorienting, the kind of dream where Jun-ho wasn't sure if he was still alive or dead. His body was heavy, every muscle aching, but especially from the shot on his shoulder, the weight that it carried.

For a moment, Jun-ho couldn’t remember where he was or why his chest felt so tight, why his head throbbed with such a sharp ache.

But then he saw you.

You were leaning over him, your eyes wide, tears brimming as if you held them back for too long. And when you whispered his name, the sound cracked something deep inside him.

“Jun-ho?” your voice echoed.

He tried to speak, but his throat felt raw, his voice coming out like sandpaper as he rasped your name back. Just your name, like it was the only word he'd held onto all this time. “Y/n…”

And just like that, the weight of the world fell away. You were there, holding his face, your touch soft and grounding, your presence the only thing grounding him to reality. “I’m here,” you told him, your voice thick with relief. “I’m right here.”

The look in your eyes nearly undid him. He wanted to say so much, to explain why he left, to apologize for everything—for leaving without a word, for the pain he knew he’d caused you—but his body betrayed him, too weak to form the sentences in his head.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered instead, the words barely audible.

“Stop,” you shook your head, tears falling from your eyes. “You don’t have to explain anything right now,” you said gently, your voice a balm to his soul. “Just rest, okay? Please.”

He didn’t argue. He never could with you.

In the days that followed, Jun-ho spent more time watching you than anything else. He was too weak to do much else, and honestly, he didn’t mind. Every time he opened his eyes, you were there—staying with him, and he held your hand as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

You’d talk to him in that soft, steady voice of yours, telling him about the most ordinary things. It didn’t matter what you said. All he cared about was the sound of your voice, the way it wrapped around him like a blanket, comforting and warm. Like he was home again.

There were times, late at night, when you thought he was asleep, and he’d feel your fingers brushing against his, hear the quiet, shaky breaths you took as if trying to hold yourself together. Those moments broke him more than anything else.

He hated himself for leaving you. For disappearing the way he had, knowing how much it would hurt you. But the guilt wasn’t as strong as the relief he felt now, knowing that despite everything, you were still here. You hadn’t given up on him, and he loves you for it.

When he was finally strong enough to sit up on his own, you started bringing him food—simple things like soup or porridge. He’d watch you blow on each spoonful, your lips pursed slightly as you cooled the soup before holding it to his mouth.

He ate obediently, his eyes never leaving you, his gaze flickering to your lips like he was counting the moments until the bowl was empty and he could kiss you again. 

He wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt.

The first time he finally did, you were brushing your fingers through his hair. Without thinking, Jun-ho reached up and caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, then your wrist, his eyes fluttering shut as if the touch alone was enough to heal him.

Your heart clenched as you leaned down to kiss him properly, your lips soft against his. It was slow, tentative. Your lips were warm, familiar, and he felt a shiver run through him as he let himself sink into it.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and raw with emotion.

“I missed you too,” you whispered back.

Jun-ho wanted to hold you properly, more than anything. To pull you into his arms and never let go. But the hospital bed wasn’t big enough for that, much to his silent frustration.

You let out a quiet laugh when he gave you a soft frown, but you gave him your arm instead, letting him curl up against you. He rested his head on your hand, his eyes focused on you as you gently ran your fingers through his hair.

The frown dissolved from his face, his eyes traced your features as if he was memorizing every little thing about you. His breathing slowed, and you knew he was at peace.

He needed this. All of it. And he needed you.

[goldfades]

HAUNTED BY YOU──FATHER MAYHEW

part two!!!!!!!!

─ summary | father mayhew is being tormented by dreams of a worshiper at the church, who appears both angelic and temptingly sinful in his visions. as the dreams grow more intense, he begins to wonder if they’re a sign from above or a test of his faith. when you confront him, father mayhew must choose between maintaining his distance or giving in to the passion that’s been haunting him

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x fem!reader

─ warnings | nsfw under the cut! mdni! wet dreams (strong start! i know!), description of self-pleasuring, oral (m!receiving), heavy degradation,hair-pulling, just overall rough sex, orgasm denial

─ ev's notes | like everyone and their damn mom, i've fell under nicholas's damn curse and i just had to come back to tumblr for this very self-indulgent fic. this is just porn with a lot plot LMAOOO. BUTTTTT my requests are open if you wanna send anything in! (please do btw i'm obsessed w nicholas LMAO)

ok love u bye!!! pls send me requests!!!!!!

⇨ missing out on updates? check out my masterlist!

Father Charlie had always believed in the purity of dreams.

They were, in his mind, the unfiltered whispers of God—or at least, they had been. Lately, those whispers had been replaced by something far more sinful, and the dreams that used to bring him peace now left him gasping for air, tangled in sheets soaked with guilt and lust.

It started a few weeks ago, innocently enough.

You—a devout presence in the church, never missing a Sunday mass—had always caught his eye, but only in the way a shepherd might glance over his flock. He admired the way they knelt at the altar, the reverence in your bowed head, the delicate movements as you lit a candle in prayer. He told himself it was only admiration. But then the dreams began.

At first, they were fleeting images: your hands, fingers brushing over rosary beads, your doe eyes glancing up at him, lingering just a moment too long. He could dismiss them as nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him, the remnants of a long day.

But the dreams grew more vivid, more demanding. He saw you standing in the chapel late at night, a halo of moonlight casting a soft glow over your features, and when you turned to him, your gaze held something more than devotion. Something in between desperation and lust, something that was pure filth.

Charlie would wake in the dead of night, his chest tight with guilt and desire. He’d slip out of bed and kneel before the small wooden cross in his room, praying for guidance, praying for strength. But no matter how many Hail Marys he whispered into the darkness, the dreams persisted.

And now, they were getting worse.

Tonight, the dream came again, but this time, it was sharper—too real. You stood before him, just as you did every Sunday, but there was no congregation. Just the two of you, alone in the quiet sanctity of the church. He could hear your breathing, could feel the weight of your presence as they stepped closer, your fingers grazing over his. He swallowed hard, his throat tightening as they looked up at him with eyes that seemed to hold the weight of eternity.

"Father," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with something dangerous, something that made the blood in his veins run hot.

He wanted to look away, wanted to pull his hand back, but he couldn’t. Instead, he stood frozen, his heart pounding in his chest as you moved closer, so close now that he could feel the warmth of your breath on his skin. You reached up, their fingers brushing lightly across his cheek, and he felt a shudder pass through him—half desire, half longing.

"Why do you run from this?" you asked, your voice a low murmur that echoed in the stillness of the church. "Why do you run from me?"

He swallowed thickly, words catching in his throat as he tried to speak. "This isn’t… I can’t…"

But before he could finish, you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him with a touch so gentle it felt like a caress. "You don’t have to speak," you whispered. "You already know the answer."

With that, you kissed him—soft at first, almost testing, as if waiting for him to push you away.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he felt himself melting into the kiss, his resolve crumbling as you deepened it, your hands sliding over his chest, pushing aside the fabric of his cassock. The feel of their touch was electric, every nerve in his body alive with sensation as they explored his skin, your fingers leaving trails of fire wherever they roamed.

"Please..." he heard himself whisper, though he wasn’t sure if he was begging them to stop or to continue. His breath was ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as desire overwhelmed him

Your lips traveled down his neck, leaving a path of heat in their wake, and Charlie groaned despite himself, his hands moving of their own accord to grasp your hips, pulling them closer. You pressed against him, and he could feel the softness of your body against his, the intoxicating scent of your familiar perfume filling his senses.

He knew this was wrong. He knew he should stop, should pull away and regain control of himself, but he couldn’t. His mind was clouded with lust, his body betraying him completely as your hands continued their exploration, your touch driving him to the brink of madness.

"Let go," you whispered, your breath hot against his skin as you slid a hand lower, your touch eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. The pleasure was overwhelming, surging through him like a wave as you stroked him, you movements slow and deliberate, coaxing him closer and closer to the edge.

Charlie’s grip on the altar tightened as he felt himself losing control, his body trembling with the force of his desire. He wanted more, needed more, and you seemed all too willing to give it to him, your lips pressing against his once again as your hand moved faster, pushing him closer and closer to release.

When it came, it was like an explosion of heat and pleasure, washing over him in waves that left him gasping for breath. He clung to you, his body shuddering with the intensity of it all, his mind spinning in a haze of ecstasy and guilt.

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Charlie woke with a start, gasping for breath, his body tangled in sweat-soaked sheets. His heart raced, pounding violently in his chest as the remnants of the dream clung to him, vivid and inescapable. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to shake the images from his mind, but they lingered—soft touches, whispered words, the sensation of heat curling through him in ways it shouldn’t.

It had been more than a dream. It was more sinful, more explicit, and far too real. His skin still burned from where you had touched him, your hands roaming over his body with an intimacy that made his chest tighten with guilt. His throat was dry, aching, but not with thirst—no, with something far deeper and darker.

"God," he muttered, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. "Please..."

He shifted under the blankets, feeling the undeniable evidence of his arousal—a sickening reminder of what had transpired in the dream. Shame washed over him like a cold tide, dousing the warmth that had gripped him so fiercely only moments ago. He didn’t dare move, his entire being consumed by regret and disgust.

He couldn't believe he came from the mere thought of you. It was sickening—he felt like a teenager all over again. How could he have let this happen? How could his mind, his very body, betray him like this?

Your face flickered in his mind again—those eyes, filled with longing and desire, the way you had smiled at him, that wicked, knowing grin. It hadn’t been innocent, not in the least. You had touched him in ways he had never been touched in a while, ways he wasn’t supposed to experience again.

He threw back the covers, the cool air in the room hitting his overheated skin as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet hit the floor with a soft thud, and for a moment, he simply sat there, head in his hands, struggling to regain some semblance of control.

A priest wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He wasn’t supposed to be consumed by desire, least of all for someone so... unattainable. Someone who had come to him for guidance, for spiritual comfort, not for whatever this had been.

He stood, shaking, the cold of the room biting into him. He needed to calm himself, to pray, to wash away the evidence of his sin.

But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t forget the dream. Couldn’t forget the way it had felt—the warmth, the pleasure, the ache of it all.

Father Charlie whispered a desperate prayer under his breath as he padded to the bathroom. As the water ran cold over his skin, he prayed again for strength—for a release from this burden that had taken hold of him.

But deep down, the fear gnawed at him: what if this wasn’t the last time? What if he wasn't strong enough to resist?

He shivered at the thought.

──

Father Charlie stood by the doorway of the church hall, his gaze sweeping over the room. The sounds of children’s laughter and the murmur of conversations filled the air as parents and volunteers mingled. It was a typical event—one that should’ve had his attention focused on the joyful chaos before him

But his focus was elsewhere.

You sat at a table on the far side of the room, your attention seemingly on the children around you, but there was an unmistakable shift in the air between the two of you. His eyes kept being drawn back to you, despite his efforts to look elsewhere, to find something—anything—that might distract him from the growing heat in his chest and the tightness in his pants.

Then, you slipped the bright red lollipop between your lips, the movement slow, deliberate, and utterly intoxicating. It was a seemingly innocent gesture, one that any onlooker might dismiss, but Charlie saw it for what it was—a silent taunt, a temptation that you knew he couldn’t tear his gaze from.

His throat tightened as he watched you, your eyes flicking up to meet his, a playful glint dancing behind them. You held his gaze as you swirled the candy in your mouth, the exaggerated motion sending a jolt of excitement and heat straight through him. It was subtle enough to avoid drawing attention from anyone else, but the intent behind it was clear.

You were tempting him. And he knew it.

Charlie clenched his jaw, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the back of a nearby chair. He felt torn between his duty—his responsibility to maintain control, to be the figure of moral guidance he was supposed to be—and the way his body reacted to you, the way desire simmered just beneath his skin.

You smirked around the lollipop, letting it slip slowly from your mouth before you spoke to the child beside you, your voice light and innocent. But your eyes remained locked on his for a beat longer, the unspoken tension hanging in the air.

Father Charlie turned away quickly, trying to suppress the fire burning through him. He felt as though he were in a battle with himself—a war between the man he was and the desires that he struggled to keep buried. His mind raced with guilt, knowing that this tension—this attraction—was something he should never indulge.

But when he glanced back at you, and saw the way your plump lips wrapped around the candy once more, his breath caught in his throat. The world around him—the event, the children, the laughter—seemed to blur into the background as you continued to play this dangerous game.

Every gesture, every glance, felt like a carefully orchestrated tease, one that made it impossible for him to look away, even though he knew he should.

Charlie’s heart pounded in his chest, the temptation pulling at him stronger than it had ever been before. He couldn’t let this go on, he told himself. He needed to leave, to step away before he lost control entirely.

But no matter how hard he tried to convince himself to walk away, the sight of you sitting there, sucking on that lollipop with a mischievous glint in your eye, held him captive.

He let out a sigh, feeling his pants tighten once more. He glanced down, there was a noticeable bulge poking out.

With a sharp inhale, he tore his gaze away from you and pushed himself toward the nearest exit, keeping his movements as natural as he could manage. His skin burned with shame as he walked, the feeling of his pants tightening only making his predicament worse. He kept his head low, praying no one would stop him on his way out.

Or worse, see the issue at hand.

The corridor leading to the church bathrooms was mercifully empty, the laughter and conversations fading behind him as he moved quickly toward the door marked Men. His steps were hurried, and by the time he reached the bathroom, his breath was ragged.

Charlie shoved the door open and stepped inside, locking it behind him. He leaned against the sink, gripping the edges tightly as he tried to collect himself. His reflection in the mirror showed a man torn between the roles he was meant to fulfill and the raw human desire threatening to break through.

The bulge in his pants hadn’t lessened, and the sight of it brought another wave of heat crashing over him. He squeezed his eyes shut, as if that would block out the image of you, teasing and playful, with that lollipop in your mouth.

The temptation was too much, and he hated himself for it.

He couldn't think about you. He couldn't allow himself to dwell on the way your lips had moved, or the sly glint in your eyes, or the overwhelming desire that had burned in the pit of his stomach. He needed to focus. To rid himself of this unbearable need before it consumed him entirely.

With shaking hands, Charlie fumbled at his belt, a silent prayer escaping his lips, though he doubted any words of faith could cleanse the guilt twisting inside him now. He fought to keep his mind blank, but the image of you kept resurfacing—your teasing smile, your suggestive glances, the way your mouth had played with that lollipop as if you knew exactly what it was doing to him.

His breath hitched as he unzipped his pants, his mind waging a losing battle against his body's demands. This wasn’t what he wanted—not really—but the heat, the tension, the pressure… it was all too much. He felt helpless, lost in a battle he had no hope of winning.

He cursed under his breath as his hand moved over the fabric, the friction both a release and a deepening source of guilt. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep silent, though the shame only made his body more desperate for relief. It wasn’t just physical; it was emotional, a chaotic mix of guilt, desire, and the thrill of crossing a line he had vowed never to approach.

His thoughts flickered back to the church hall, imagining you sitting there, your eyes still locked on his, your lips still playing that dangerous game. But instead of the lollipop, it was his cock instead. You were looking up at him with those doe eyes, the ones he could never get enough of.

This was wrong—so terribly wrong—but in this moment, nothing else seemed to matter.

A strangled sigh escaped him as the tension inside built toward its inevitable conclusion. His movements became more frantic, his mind clouded with both desire and self-loathing. He fought to suppress the groan rising in his throat, his body betraying him as he sought the release he knew would come all too quickly.

But before he could cum, he heard a knock. His eyes snapped open, his body shaking. But his movements didn't falter.

"Taken!" He groaned out, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"Father, it's me."

Charlie froze, his entire body going rigid at the sound of your voice. The very voice that had been the cause of his torment—the one that filled his thoughts during long, sleepless nights, and echoed in his mind during moments of prayer. Hearing it now, so close, made his stomach lurch with guilt and panic.

His hands were still trembling, his sticky arousal refusing to dissipate even as the cold wave of reality crashed down on him. He bit down on his lip, heart racing, his mind screaming at him to pull himself together. But the fact that you were standing just beyond the door, oblivious to the storm you'd stirred within him, made it impossible for him to think straight.

"Father?" your voice called again, this time with a soft, almost innocent lilt that twisted the knife deeper.

He swallowed hard, forcing his breathing to steady, though the heat in his chest hadn’t faded. His hand hovered over his zipper, shaking with the shame of what he had been doing just moments before. His body still ached with unresolved tension, but he pushed it down, trying to ignore the unbearable need that still pulsed through him.

"Yes?" His voice cracked as he finally spoke, hoarse and raw. He cleared his throat, trying to sound composed. "I... I’m a little busy at the moment."

There was a brief pause from the other side of the door, and he could almost imagine the look on your face—the innocent expression you always wore, one that belied the way you had been teasing him, testing him for weeks. You had to know what you were doing. There was no other explanation for it.

"Sorry, Father," you replied, your voice apologetic, but with that familiar hint of playfulness that made his pulse quicken. "I just... I wanted to talk to you. Is everything alright? You sounded a bit... off. You just ran off, and I was worried."

Worried? You knew damn well what you were doing.

His heart hammered in his chest. He wasn’t sure how to respond, especially when he could still feel the tightness in his pants, the shameful evidence of his struggle with temptation. He couldn’t let you see him like this. Not after what he had almost done. No, not almost—what he had done.

"I’m fine," he replied, the words rushing out too quickly. "Just—just give me a moment, please."

There was silence on the other side, and Father Charlie closed his eyes, cursing himself under his breath. He knew he needed to calm down, to suppress the lingering arousal that still throbbed through him, but it was nearly impossible with you standing just beyond the door, your voice echoing in his mind, a constant reminder of the desires he could no longer ignore.

"Okay, Father," you said after a long pause, your tone gentle, yet still laced with that underlying tease. "I’ll wait for you outside."

As soon as you spoke, he let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, his body slumping against the sink in a mixture of frustration and shame. He could still feel the tension coiled tightly in his core, but he had to ignore it now—had to push it down and find some semblance of control before he faced you.

Charlie adjusted his clothes quickly, forcing himself to focus on anything but the ache that still pulsed through him. He wiped the sweat from his brow, straightened his collar, and took a long, deep breath.

The door was still locked, but knowing you were just outside filled him with dread and anticipation in equal measure. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could withstand the temptation you had placed in front of him, but for now, he had to pretend. He had to keep up the façade of control, even as the cracks in his resolve grew deeper by the day

With one final glance in the mirror, Father Charlie steeled himself and turned the lock, pulling the door open to face the very source of his downfall.

And there you were, standing just a few feet away, your eyes wide and innocent—though he knew better than to believe it was all innocence. You were a temptation he could barely resist, and every interaction only pulled him further into the darkness he'd been desperately trying to avoid.

"Is everything alright, Father?" you asked, tilting your head slightly, that sweet, familiar smile on your lips. But your eyes—those teasing eyes—held a glimmer that set his heart racing once more.

"Y-yes," he stammered, his throat tight, doing everything in his power to keep his voice steady. "Everything’s fine."

But as you looked up at him, your gaze lingering just a moment too long, Father Charlie knew this battle was far from over.

Your eyes glanced down at his pants, his bulge evident. Your eyebrows rose as you blinked up at him, the same teasing smile on your plump lips. "You don't look fine, Father."

The way you said his title almost made his knees buckle. He couldn't handle it, not anymore. "What do you think?" He snapped.

Your teasing smile widened, clearly pleased by the crack in Father Charlie's composure. His words, harsh and unsteady, only seemed to encourage you. You took a small step closer, the space between you shrinking as the tension in the air thickened, palpable and dangerous.

"What do I think?" you repeated, your voice soft and sweet, but laced with a knowing edge that sent another jolt through him. "I think you’ve been struggling, Father. I can see it in your eyes… feel it in the way you look at me."

He clenched his jaw, fists balling at his sides. Every instinct screamed for him to shut this down, to end the conversation and walk away before he did something he could never take back. But the heat burning in his chest, the tightness in his pants, and the way you gazed up at him with those teasing, taunting eyes made it impossible for him to think clearly.

His breath hitched, his throat tightening as he tried to keep his voice level, to maintain the last threads of control he still had. "You... need to leave," he muttered through gritted teeth, though the command sounded more like a plea. He took a step back, trying to put distance between you, but his back hit the wall, trapping him in a corner.

You didn’t follow him, but your eyes stayed locked on his, your lips parting ever so slightly as you spoke again. "Do you want me to leave, Father?" you asked, your voice dripping with temptation, your tone making it clear you knew the answer before he could even speak.

He opened his mouth to respond, to say yes, to do what he knew was right, but the words wouldn’t come. His body betrayed him, still trembling with the aftermath of the temptation he had barely controlled just moments ago. The guilt twisted deeper in his chest, but with you standing there, so close, so dangerous, he couldn’t bring himself to push you away.

You took another small step forward, your eyes flicking down once more to the bulge straining against his pants. "You don’t look like you want me to go," you murmured, your voice low and intimate.

The way you said it, so confidently, so calmly, broke something inside him. His breathing quickened, the shame mixing with desire in a way that left him dizzy and unable to think straight. His hands itched to reach out, to grab you, to pull you closer, but he forced them to stay at his sides, his knuckles white from the effort of holding back.

"Fuck," he got out before he finally grabbed your wrist. "You know exactly what you're doing, don't you?"

You didn't respond, just stared back at him with a smirk. "What you mean—"

"Shh, shut up. Just shut up," Father Charlie got out as his grip on your wrist tighten. He looked around the empty corridors and pulled you into the bathroom, practically pushing you into it. He slammed the door behind him, locking it.

The slam of the door echoed through the small bathroom, the sound sharp and final. Father Charlie stood there for a moment, breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he fought to keep a grip on himself. The small, dimly lit space felt suffocating, the walls closing in as the tension between you thickened, charged with unspoken desire.

You leaned back against the sink, your expression still playful, teasing, as if you held all the power in this twisted game. And maybe you did. You watched him, your smirk never fading, as his eyes darkened with lust, the lines between what was right and what he wanted blurring faster than he could stop them.

"Father," you whispered, your voice lilting, almost mocking as it dripped with the weight of temptation. "We really shouldn't—"

"I told you to shut up," he growled, cutting you off. His voice was rough, raw with the conflict tearing him apart. But his body betrayed him, his hands trembling as he reached out, fingers wrapping around your arm with a grip that was both desperate and unsteady.

For weeks, he had tried to deny it—to push down the thoughts, the fantasies, the overwhelming pull of desire you had stirred within him. But now, standing here with you, the air thick with temptation, he felt like a man on the edge of a cliff, teetering between control and the abyss.

"Do you think this is a game?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous, though you could hear the tremor beneath it. He stepped closer, towering over you, his body radiating heat. "Do you think I don’t know what you’ve been doing? The looks, the way you talk to me, the way you… tease me?"

You met his gaze, unflinching, your smile widening. "Maybe it is a game," you said softly, tilting your head, eyes dancing with mischief. "But you’re the one who's playing along."

His grip tightened, his breath hitching as your words sank in. He hated how true they were. Every time he had looked at you, every moment his mind had wandered to the things he shouldn't have been thinking—he had been playing into this. And now, he was standing on the edge of a line he couldn’t afford to cross.

But he had already crossed it, hadn't he?

"Shut up," he whispered again, though this time his voice was weaker, the command laced with more desperation than authority. His free hand pressed against the wall beside you, his body leaning in closer, so close he could feel the heat radiating from your skin.

You tilted your chin up, eyes gleaming as you watched him struggle, as if you were daring him to let go of the last shreds of control he clung to. And maybe, just maybe, he wanted you to push him over the edge.

"Or what?" you whispered back, the challenge clear in your tone.

Father Charlie’s jaw clenched, his entire body tense as he wrestled with himself, his grip on you tightening. His breath was hot and ragged, his heart pounding in his chest as he stared down at you. For a moment, it seemed like he might pull back, that he might step away, regain the control that had been slipping through his fingers.

But then he kissed you.

It was sudden, rough, and filled with the weeks of pent-up desire he had been fighting so hard to contain. His lips crashed against yours, his hands pulling you closer, as if giving in to the temptation that had been haunting him was the only way to make the ache go away.

The kiss was hungry, desperate, and you could feel the conflict in every movement—how he both wanted this and hated himself for wanting it.

You moaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulled him closer. His hands slid up and down your back before suddenly finding your hair, pulling it back from the kiss.

"You're a whore," he gritted out as he gripped your hair impossibly rougher. "A whore in disguise, aren't you? You feign innocence but you're the most sinful in this Church."

Father Charlie's words were harsh, laced with anger and lust, but the grip in your hair sent a different message—desire and desperation. His brown eyes, dark and conflicted, bore into yours as he pulled you even closer, his breath hot against your skin. His control was slipping, unraveling faster with every second, and he knew it.

You smiled up at him, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. "If I'm sinful, Father, then what does that make you?" you asked softly, your voice teasing, daring him to continue.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing at your words, a low growl escaping his throat as he yanked your head back, exposing your neck. "It makes me weak," he muttered, his lips ghosting over your skin. "Weak because of you. Because of the way you tempt me."

His mouth hovered just inches from your neck, his breath warm, his body pressed against yours, every movement charged with the weight of the forbidden. His hands, still tangled in your hair, trembled with a mixture of restraint and hunger.

"You're what’s wrong with me," he whispered, his voice hoarse, as if he were trying to convince himself of the words as much as he was trying to convince you. "You’ve dragged me down to your level. Made me forget everything I stand for. Everything I’m supposed to be."

But even as he spoke, his lips brushed your neck, leaving a trail of heated, fleeting kisses along your skin. His body moved on instinct, driven by the desire he could no longer deny.

Father Charlie's lips pressed harder against your neck, his breath ragged as his restraint dissolved. His words, filled with self-loathing, contradicted the urgency of his touch. Each kiss grew more desperate, more reckless, as if he were trying to bury the shame and guilt in the taste of your skin. His grip in your hair tightened, pulling you closer, and the tension between you ignited into something explosive, something neither of you could stop now.

His free hand roamed down your body, fingertips pressing into your waist, his touch both rough and reverent, like he was grappling with the weight of his own desire. Every brush of his hand, every kiss, was a betrayal of the man he had once been. But the way your body responded, the way you leaned into him, only fueled the fire burning inside him.

"God help me," he whispered against your collarbone, the words barely audible, as if he were speaking them to himself more than to you. But he didn’t stop. He couldn’t.

You let out a soft moan, your hands tangling in his hair, encouraging him to continue, to give in completely. His resolve crumbled further with every sound you made, every movement of your body against his. The line between right and wrong, between control and surrender, had long since vanished.

Charlie pulled back for a moment, his eyes wild, filled with a mix of anger, lust, and confusion. His chest heaved as he looked at you, torn between pushing you away and pulling you even closer.

"I hate you for this," he rasped, though the heat in his eyes betrayed the truth. "But I can’t stop. I can’t stop wanting you."

You smiled, a knowing, satisfied smile, as your hand slid down his chest. "Then don’t stop," you whispered, your voice dripping with seduction, coaxing him deeper into the darkness.

That was all it took. With a frustrated growl, he crashed his lips against yours again, harder this time, as if punishing both of you for the sinful desire you had ignited. His hands roamed freely now, no longer held back by hesitation or fear. There was only the raw, uncontrollable need consuming him.

Whatever consequences lay ahead, whatever guilt or shame waited for him on the other side of this moment, Father Charlie couldn’t bring himself to care. Not anymore.

Charlie yanked your hair back again, then stared into your eyes. Without warning, he pushed you to your knees roughly. "How about you do something useful for once, huh?" He muttered breathlessly.

You blinked back up at him, your hands finding their place on his hips. You moved slow and deliberate, which angered Charlie more. Charlie’s eyes darkened as he looked down at you, his grip on your hair tightening, pulling at your scalp just enough to make you gasp. The frustration in his gaze was palpable—fueled by your deliberate slowness, by the way you reveled in the power you had over him.

“You think this is funny?” he growled, his breath ragged as he watched you, his fingers digging into your scalp. His frustration was obvious, but beneath that anger was a raw, unquenchable desire. He hated how much control you had over him, how easily you made him lose himself.

You smiled up at him, slow and teasing, your fingers trailing over his hips, letting him feel the barest touch of your hands. “Maybe it is,” you whispered, eyes gleaming with mischief, enjoying every second of his torment. "At least, to me it is."

You could feel the tension radiating from him, the barely contained hunger in his every movement. Slowly, teasingly, you ran your hands lower, grazing over the bulge straining against his pants, earning a sharp intake of breath from him.

Charlie’s hand tightened in your hair as a low growl escaped his throat. “You think you’re so fucking clever,” he rasped, his voice low and dangerous, his grip on you firm as he stared down with a mix of lust and anger. “But you’re going to regret this.”

Your smirk widened, and without breaking eye contact, you undid his belt, letting it fall to the floor with a soft clink. His breath hitched as you slowly unzipped his pants, the anticipation thick between you, hanging in the air like a loaded weapon.

“Prove it,” you challenged, your voice a soft murmur as you looked up at him, daring him to follow through on his words.

For a moment, Charlie stood there, his chest heaving, torn between the overwhelming desire that had consumed him and the guilt gnawing at the edges of his mind. But the pull of temptation was too strong—too powerful to resist any longer.

With a grunt of frustration, he grabbed the back of your neck, forcing you forward as he freed himself. “I don’t care what happens after this,” he growled, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with lust and anger. “Right now, you’re mine. And you're gonna do what I fucking tell you.”

You barely had time to respond before he pushed your mouth onto his cock, rough and demanding, his hand guiding you with a forceful grip. The suddenness of it made your breath catch, but you quickly adjusted, falling into a rhythm as he set the pace, his body trembling with the intensity of his need.

You wrapped your lips around him, moaning. His cock was dripping with pre-cum, and your saliva made it messier—but neither of you cared. The bathroom was filled with the sounds of his ragged breathing, punctuated by the occasional low moan as you worked him with sloppy, measured motions. His hips thrust forward, pushing deeper, his control rapidly slipping away as he surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure.

Your mouth was so warm and inviting, he couldn't stop. This was what heaven felt like, he swore—there was nothing better than this feeling, the feeling of your sinful mouth.

Charlie’s hand tightened in your hair, pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your scalp as he lost himself in the moment, all thoughts of guilt or consequences forgotten. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely more than a growl as his head fell back, eyes fluttering shut. “You… you’re such a fucking tease.”

He pushed you until you were gagging around his cock, much to his dismay. "Take it, whore. This is what you wanted, right? For me to use you?"

Your eyes were watering and your jaw felt like it was going to break, but his mean words egged you on. You hummed around him, a wicked smile curling at the edges of your lips as you kept gliding up and down his cock.

But just as he was on the edge, just as the tension in his body built to an unbearable peak, he suddenly yanked you off him, breathless and furious, eyes blazing as he stared down at you.

“Get up,” he commanded, his voice low and guttural, barely holding onto the last threads of control. “Turn around, whore.”

You barely had any time to react before he turned you around to face the mirror. He bent you over the sink as you let out a whimper, before his hands found your hair again and yanked it up.

"Look at you," he murmured as he forced you to look at yourself.

Your hair was a mess, your mascara running down your doe eyes and your sticky cheeks and chin. You caught your breath as you glanced back to meet his eyes through the mirror.

He bent you completely over the sink and landed a sharp slap on your behind. You let out a yelp, shutting your eyes at the stinging feeling. "Fuck,"

"What? Is it too much now, baby?" Charlie spoke, his voice dripping with mockery. His lips were curved into a smirk as he tutted. "This is what you wanted, right?"

He didn't give you time to respond before leading the tip of cock to your folds. You felt his heavy tip on your sloppy entrance, practically begging to get fucked. He hadn't even gotten the chance to touch you properly and you were already soaked.

He hummed at the warm feeling before pushing inside. He let out a huff of air, his head falling back in pure ecstasy. "Oh, yeah," was all he could get out. Your hands found the edge of the sink, gripping it tightly as you let out a desperate moan.

Charlie pushed himself all the way in, bottoming you out within a few quick seconds. He didn't even let you adjust to his size before he began slamming you into roughly, the edge of the sink burying into your stomach.

His thrusts were sharp and relentless, he wasn't letting up anytime soon. You felt like you were on a different planet, the feeling of his cock was dizzying as your eyes rolled back into your head.

"O-oh, fuck!" You cried out as your head fell forward.

Charlie gripped your hips even tighter as he groaned with each slam of his own hips, his head falling back. Your cunt tighten around his cock, and he felt your release coming. One of his hands reached up to grip your head roughly.

"Don't you dare cum, not yet," He got out breathlessly as you tried your best to nod. "Do not cum."

You squeezed, holding off your orgasm as you were told. You didn't know if you could—but you knew the consequences would be dire, Charlie wasn't playing around anymore.

A few harsh slams and he was cumming deep inside you, his moans echoing in the small bathroom. He rode out his high, his grip in your hair not easing one bit. "Fucking take it,"

You whimpered as you tried to hold off your orgasm, tears falling from your eyes as you gripped the sink. Without warning, he slipped out of you.

Your eyes opened and you turned around to face him. "Charlie—"

He cut you off swiftly as he pulled his pants up. "You don't deserve it,"

"Deserve it?" You practically cried out. "I just let you fuck me and you're not gonna let me cum?"

Father Charlie just shrugged. "Whores don't get to cum."

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[stylesispunk]

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

no outbreak! Joel Miller x f! reader

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

w.c: 6k>

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

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

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

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

It was his fault.

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

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

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

Call her, the voice in his head whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Merry Christmas. Please call me.

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

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

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

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

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

Now he wasn’t here.

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

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

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

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

 Joel.

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

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

But now... this.

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

You swiped at your screen, opening the message again.

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

But another voice whispered fearfully

 What if he’s just lonely?

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

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

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

….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go,” he said quietly.

Your breath hitched. “What?”

“I said you should go.”

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

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

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

“I’m tired.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart shattered.

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

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

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

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

“I hope you know what you’re losing.”

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

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

Because he knew.

He knew exactly what he was losing.

And he left you walk away with nowhere to go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he asked, hopeful somehow.

"To hate you" you said, bluntly.

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

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

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

“I tried,” Joel admitted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[inkdrinkerworld]

Fake I.D

synopsis: cowboy!james is infatuated with you and your flirting, so you take him line dancing to get him to make a love

cw: suggestive content, 18+ only, grinding, flirting, use of the word pervert, James and reader are kind of idiots in love

Your hot pink and white boots will be the death of James and he knows you know that.

He can count on one hand how many times he’s seen you out of them and the total number of times is one- every other time, it’s been those godforsaken hot pink and white boots with a thick heel that makes your legs look like something out of his teenage wet dreams.

You’re not new in town, you and James have known each other since primary school but it was in secondary school that you really plagued his every waking thought. You were pretty, and kind, but also confident and didn’t take shit from anyone. James found it wildly attractive.

You and James hadn’t been close friends, but you’d always been friendly. His friend Sirius had introduced you both at a party, and you’d been friendly since that.

The turning point in you and James’ friendship had come not too long after you’d started working at a salon.

James’ parents own the biggest horse farm in town, and you’d rescued a tiny colt that had been trapped up in some bushes while you were on a hike, and drove it to James’ family ranch in the back of your pickup with tears in your eyes because of the cuts on its legs.

James had never seen you, loud, confident you, in tears like that and his heart nearly jumped out of his chest as you hiccuped through your words to tell him about the colt. He and his dad had taken it out of your tray and everyday the colt was on the ranch, you went over to check on him.

Eventually, James was able to nurse the poor thing to perfect health and then asked you if you wanted to name it after his dad told him they’d keep it.

James wasn’t shy himself, but sometimes when you looked right into his eyes, lashes framing your eyes, it made his heart stutter.

“You really think I should?” You had asked, eyes wide with excitement but also a bit of apprehension.

“Yeah, ‘course. It’d only be right.” and as you had stroked the near blood coloured mane, the face of the horse in your other hand, the name came to you easily.

“Copper.”

You and that horse and James had been inseparable after that and James nearly lost his breath every time you went to the ranch after that- cutoff shorts, hot pink and white boots and shirts James swore made him feel like a pervert.

Now, you’re at James’ ranch, a brush in Copper’s mane as you look at James tending to his own filly- Moondancer.

“Please Jamie? It’s fun and you never stay for the dancing.”

He knows he’s fighting a losing battle. You’re doing those puppy dog eyes and you’ve got red eyeliner on to match your shirt and James feels a little overwhelmed with his attraction to you.

“I’ll be your partner all night, Jamie. Won’t leave you to be eaten up by the ladies- save that luxury just for me.”

You giggle when he sputters and his cheeks flush. “Alright, angel. What time do I meet you at the Boneyard?”

You gasp, all faux aghast. “You won’t pick me up at my house? Where’s your southern hospitality?”

James rolls his eyes, “I can do that too. Say eight?”

You pop your hip as Copper nuzzles into your hand. “Will you be all done by then? I don’t want you to cut into your chores and stuff Jamie?”

You’re so earnest, and the flirting has been put to a pause making James turn to goo.

“I’ll be all done, angel. Don’t worry.”

At seven thirty, you’re all finished with your makeup, nothing too extreme, just a smokey eye with glitter on your lids and the heavy black eyeliner you noticed James likes.

Your hair is out and ripples down your back in loose curls, your most recent haircut making them look even better than usual.

You’re not trying to impress him, but you have a plan for how tonight is going to end and you want James to finally take all your flirting as seriously as you mean it.

So you dress up and pull out all the stops that you know he likes- the hot pink boots a must, your low rise jeans, and your skirt that says, ‘save a horse.’

When James knocks, you squeal, boots clacking as you race to the door.

“Hey Jamie,” you sing-song as you pull the door open, James taking in a deep breath as his eyes rake over you.

“You look stunning.” There’s a little husk to his voice that you love.

As he gives you a once over, you do the same. He’s dressed in his most relaxed pair of jeans, a blue wash that makes his already thick thighs look ever thicker, a black t-shirt that clings to his arms and nearly makes you drool and his hat. God you love and hate his hat- you love it because he looks stunning in it; but you hate it because it hides away his pretty curls. God you love those curls.

“So do you, Jamie. I like your shirt, it makes your arms look nice.”

He smirks, a little emboldened. “Oh yeah?”

You nod, stepping out of your door, “Ready to go?”

James nods and holds his arm out to you, smiling to himself when your hand wraps around his bicep and not his forearm.

The Boneyard is packed as it usually is, most of the patrons are already more than a little drunk, but you spot some of the girls at your salon, some of James’ friends and some tourists who’re no doubt in tonight for the line dancing.

“A cherry vodka angel?” James asks, wanting a drink to dispel some of his nerves.

“Yes please, James. I’ll go see what songs they have for tonight.”

James nods, watching you walk off first before going over to the bar. Sirius is working tonight, a smirk on his face as he spots James and then spots where he’s looking.

“Finally doing something about all her flirting, Potter?” he asks and James flushes a little as Sirius passes him a beer and then makes your drink without James saying a word.

It takes him a little by surprise that Sirius knows it, but then it dawns on James that he talks about you a lot to his best friend. A lot.

“Trying, but she makes me so fucking nervous, Pads.”

Sirius laughs, patting James on the arm.

“Doesn’t sound so bad, Jamie. You’d be a fool not to be nervous about that girl. She’s trouble all over in the best way.”

James is very inclined to agree.

“Hey Siri, you being nice to James?” You take your drink gratefully and take a sip.

“I was about to ask you the same thing, trouble.” You shrug with a pretty devious smile on your face- James’ heart rate picks up. “Saw you looking at the setlist, you and Potter planning on dancing?”

You nod, smiling when you look up and find James looking at you with fondness written boldly on his face. He’s easy to read, never one to guard his feelings, James.

“Yeah, they’re finally doing Fake I.D again so I figured I’d take James’ virginity in that regard.”

James, bless him, doesn’t sputter, which he’s eternally grateful for. Sirius shares a wicked grin just like yours.

“Don’t make it too vulgar, Remus’ll run you off the dance floor.”

You put your hands up, “I make no promises.”

James is saved from any more teasing from either of you when the song starts playing.

“C’mon Jamie, it’s starting.” He lets you pull him after he downs the last of his drink.

“What if I mess it up?” He whispers as you tug him along. Your hair whips at his chest as you turn to look back at him and he can smell your vanilla shampoo and shuts his eyes for a brief moment.

“You won’t, just follow my lead. You’ll be perfect.”

It takes him a couple steps to get into the song, but seeing you smiling and giggling makes James fall deeper into the music.

The floor rumbles with everyone’s steps, but all you can think about is James behind you as you dance in a circle.

“James!” you squeal when you feel his hands hold onto your hips, James smiling wide as you lean into him a little.

As the guitar solo riff continues you know you have to stay close to James for this part. It isn’t hard because it seems like you’ve both magnetized to each other more than before. As the beat drops, you feel like time has slowed, the words filter into your ears all muffled and soft as you pull James close by his shirt, your chests pressed together. “Hey mister, won’t you sell me a fake i.d.”

You see his breath hitch more than you feel it. You’re both grinding on each other on the dance floor, and it’s way more erotic than anything else either of you could’ve been doing.

“Fuck,” you feel the whisper as James’ hand cements itself to your hip and one of yours buries in his hair.

You tip his hat onto your own head and you swear James’ chest rumbles. “Angel.”

You’re breathless as you and James dance, you feel like you’re the only people on the dance floor.

He dips you backward and you bite back a moan when one of his hands travels up your back to keep his hat on your head. As he picks you up, his fingers knot in your hair and your lips just barely meet.

“James.” You breathe his name and he groans.

“You really are trouble.” his lips meet yours, tentatively at first, and then his mouth consumes yours the moment you kiss him back.

You pull apart and smile, “Took you long enough, James.”

He shakes his head, his dimple poking out as he chases your lips. “You look so good in my hat.”

His stare turns you a little shy and you duck to hide your face in his chest; James laughs at the action.

“Come outta there, sweetheart. Can’t hide those eyes from me now.”

You groan, but look up at him. “Have you always been this smooth?”

James nods, tipping your chin up just a bit higher to kiss your lips again. “Just for you,” you beam at that. “My heart’s thumping.”

“Mine too,” You kiss his jaw, teeth scraping a second path. “Wanna get out of here?”

James slips his hand in your back pocket eliciting a keen he wants to hear more of. “Get your cute butt in my truck, angel.”

You giggle as James squeezes before releasing you, holding your hand with his hat sitting proudly on your head as you stomp your feet out of the bar to his truck. He really does love those hot pink boots.

[gojosatoruwifey]

ㅡgolden, sweet nectar & love of your dreams

just a passing thought...3.0 quest spoilers do not read if you haven't finish it yet

📜🖋️🎀SUPPORT MY KO-FI🎀🖋️📜

there is an agreed unspoken rule between the chrysos heirs when there is alcohol involved within the vicinity.

do not let phainon get drunk.

it’s a simple and easy feat, if one can say. phainon doesn’t drink that often unless the situation calls for it and he doesn’t seek inebriation especially he is a soldier—a warrior, he is always ready for combat, alcohol will only impair his judgement. in a world under the prophecy’s befall upon currently, phainon is one of the last people you could think will get drunk.

tribbie mentioned the rule in passing.

you definitely should have been more careful instead of brushing off his question ‘can i drink this?’, unsuspectingly making the hero of amphoreus drink all the content of a concoction you were brewing (a burst of inspiration from gallagher’s words when you wake up this morning and it’s always morning in okhema) just because you’re curious what will a drink made from three drops of celestial ambrosia and a half glass of beautiful enemy from penacony recipe tastes like.

a few minutes earlier, you’re playing with the items in your inventory in your private chamber. as a natural trailblazer, of course, you don’t just stay in one place when every cell in your body is itching to travel the stars but when you’re stuck in a world without a touch of communication outside and no chat from the astral express and your two companions—dan heng and scrappy raccoon—are sleeping.

you’re naturally bound to get rid of your boredom like an idiot cleaning their whole bedroom and found interesting things midway. in this case, you open your inventory.

all sorts of things including yes, even the dangerous ones like shards of desires, scattered around.

phainon comes in with a knock and without turning your back to face him, brewing mung bean soda and let’s be real together, you let him enter.

at first, phainon is expressing his excitement seeing your out-of-this-world items silently, occasionally asking questions that you didn’t mind answering—still brewing drinks. until he got nearer to your sitting figure in the floor, bottles and glasses of different drinks surrounding you and asked a question that will almost brand you as a criminal in amphoreus, “can i drink this?”

“sure,” you nodded without hesitation, distracted by the energy drink’s bubbly reaction.

all is well until phainon’s large arms wrap around your waist and his heavy body leans to you, his snowy head nuzzling to your shoulder from behind. “wha-! phainon??”

“let me kiss you please?”

you almost dropped the energy drink, “what?“

“i said, let me kiss you.” he murmured, voice barely audible if he isn't closer to you, you would miss it.

“what!?” you snapped your head towards him, trying to squirm away from his grasp but what can you do when his grip is tight and he is whining? one hand reached out to move his locks away hiding his face and you found his skin hot. “..are you drunk? what did you drink?”

you tried to ignored phainon’s drunken pleas but as much as you wanted to, it all went straight to your heart, his desperate words filling your ears—they sounded so sincere and passionate and you could almost feel your restraint weakening. your poor heart almost couldn’t resist his drunken desires, a young and handsome man like phainon is a temptation, and you found yourself giving in.

almost.

safe to say, you thank whoever titan heard you to not let nikador’s titankin attack during that time as you multitask in taking care of drunk phainon and looking for a drink that could knock him out in one go so he could sleep and leave you in peace.

lady aglaea wouldn’t interrogate you the second time, right?

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 BRING YOUR LOVE, I'LL BRING MY SHAME

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai knows he shouldn't be doing this. you haven't been sleeping well lately, and he could wait, but he has no self-control—not when it comes to you. (wordcount: 1.5k; nsfw)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i don't even know where this one came from i'll be real. the demons took over i suppose

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, somno, dazai lowkey degrades himself, thigh fucking, dazai doesn't shut up.

Dazai wakes up sweaty and uncomfortable.

His t-shirt is drenched and his sweatpants cling to his skin, body sticky all over. His breath is shuddered and hitched, catching over a moan before his hand flies to his mouth to smother it in surprise. Heart erratic in his chest, Dazai’s eyes are wide as he stares up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what’s wrong with him.

It doesn’t take long for him to put it all together—even with his mind fogged from sleep and the sudden horniness, Dazai can feel the way his cock is straining against his sweatpants, heavy and throbbing as if he’d just been on the verge of release when he was dragged out of sleep into the land of the waking.

Every time his eyes slide shut, he can catch glimpses of whatever his dream had been about. He can’t recall the details of it, but he can recall the feeling of your body sliding on top of his, the slickness of skin-on-skin and the tightness of your cunt wrapped around his cock. His lips part in a silent moan, lashes fluttering as his head drops back against the pillow.

Fuck.

He tries to even out his heartbeat, but it’s hard when he can hardly focus because of the image of you constantly flashing through his mind. His cock aches for release, body trembling, and Dazai is at a loss.

This has never happened to him before.

Dazai has a notably low libido. He used to seek out sex frequently, not because he found pleasure in it—sometimes because he needed something from someone and it was the easiest way of getting it, but most of the time, it was just a quick way for him to escape from his mind for a bit, for him to feel something other than the emptiness in his hollow chest.

Until he met you, at least. You stumbled into his life one random Tuesday and completely altered his viewpoint on everything from the concept of love and humanity to his ever-wavering place on the thin line between life-and-death. He’s experienced countless firsts with you: his first time being nervous about a date, his first time being in love, his first time feeling sick and anxious over a fight.

He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that he’s facing another first.

Dazai lets out a low groan as he rolls over onto his side, reaching out blindly over to where you should be sleeping next to him. He lets out a breath of relief when his fingers find purchase on your hip, tugging you closer to him until your body his flush against his, cock pressed against the back of your thigh.

“Baby, wake up,” Dazai breathes out, pouting as he nudges his noise into your hair, inhaling the familiar scent of you greedily. His breath is shaky as he rolls his hips, catching over a moan as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. “Please.”

He knows he’s being selfish. You’ve been complaining incessantly about upcoming exams and how shitty you’ve been sleeping because of preparation for them, and he should just ignore his hard-on and let you sleep or take care of it in the bathroom if he really needs to, but Dazai thinks he would rather die than fuck his fist after being spoiled so long with your pussy and mouth, and he definitely does not have the self-control to just ignore it.

He lets out a soft noise of complaint when you don’t even stir, hazy gaze flickering up to your nightstand, sighing when he sees your bottle of sleeping pills not properly closed on your nightstand.

“You’re not gonna be up for a while are you,” Dazai complains, voice edging on a whine as trails sloppy kisses across your neck, up to your jaw. He relishes in the way you let out a pleased, sleepy sigh when he nips at that spot you love behind your ear, body reacting to him even when drugged unconscious. “You’re so pretty, baby. Look at what you do to me.”

You won’t mind, won’t you? Dazai moans shakily as his hand slips down beneath the waistband of his sweats, tugging them down just enough to free his cock. His eyes half-roll back when he closes his fist around the base of his cock, kisses becoming a bit more desperate and bruising as he gives himself a few quick pumps.

He knows you won’t—in fact, the two of you have talked about this before. Given, it was him making lecherous comments about wanting you to use his body while he’s sleeping, but you’d given him a coy smile and answered with a prompt ‘only if you do the same with mine.’ Dazai naturally had agreed if only to get you to do it to him because he thought it would be sexy as hell, but he had no intentions of following through.

Yet, here he is.

“Want you so bad, baby,” Dazai breathes out, shifting forward to press his cock against your thighs, letting out a low groan as he rocks his hips forward and his cock slides between your plush thighs, tight enough and soft enough to have it twitching against you. “Don’t wanna fuck you while you’re sleeping, I’ll miss out on all your pretty noises.”

Dazai whimpers against your skin, fucking your thighs slowly. He shifts on his side a bit, just enough for him to catch sight of your peaceful face as you sleep next to him, blissfully unaware of your perverted boyfriend using your body to get himself off next to you.

“I’m such a creep,” Dazai whines, rocking his hips a bit faster, eyes rolling back as his tip rubs up against your damp panties. “You put up with so much of my shit, baby, I’m sorry, I just can’t get enough of you.”

One of his hands slide up your body, beneath the hem of your shirt to smooth over your warm skin. His breath is ragged as he palms your breast, thumb circling over your nipple, lips returning to your neck. He chokes over air when you shift in your sleep, letting out another soft moan, rubbing back against him, thighs squeezing a bit tighter around his cock.

“How can I when you’re so pretty?” Dazai gasps, rutting his hips faster, dark hair matted to his forehead and sweat beading at his skin. “And all mine. You’re so mine, baby, and I’m all yours. I’d do anything for you. Anything. You’re-hah, ffuck—so perfect, I’ll never let you go. Never.”

Dazai’s voice is ragged, ruined, the grip he has on your hips and breast firm and possessive. His lips slide messily up and down your neck, no longer able to hold his eyes open as he fucks your thighs faster, pushing himself closer and closer to the edge, moving with almost a primal type of urgency as he lets out muffled, wanton moans into your skin.

“I’m—ngh, shit—I’m so close, baby. Feel so good. What’re you doin’ to me, huh? Never-never felt like this before.” Dazai’s rambles are almost unintelligible, words catching over shameless moans and pants. He licks up your neck, tugging at your earlobe, and Dazai is almost frustrated; his abdomen is tight, his body trembling with desire. He can feel himself on the edge, so close, but unable to push himself over. The noise that spills from his lips is pitched and pathetic; he can feel tears build in the corner of his eyes as he thrusts his hips faster, desperate for release. “I wish you were awake, I need you, baby.”

His grip on your body tightens, he sucks below your ear, teeth teasing your skin. His eyes slide shut, he drowns in the sloppy sound of his cock sliding between your thighs, the copious amounts of precum acting as ample lube as he does his best to chase release but he can’t.

“You’re driving me crazy, baby.” Dazai’s words cut off into a sob as he presses his face into the crook of your neck. He rocks his hips faster, desperate for what seems like an unattainable release. "Ah, this is so embarrassing, you drive me crazy."

He gnaws his bottom lip raw in frustration, wants to slip your panties to the side, bury himself in your cunt. His fingers slide down your body, inching below the hem of your panties and-

Dazai should be fucking ashamed, he knows it deep in his heart, but he's so clouded with lust and pleasure that he can hardly even acknowledge that. Fucking your thighs while you're asleep when he knows you haven't been sleeping well and still wanting more?

“‘samu?”

At the sound of your voice, tired and sleepy, confused—it’s all it takes to send him over the edge. He gasps out your name, body shuddering, cock twitching as he cum coats your panties and inner thighs.

His arms tighten around you, chest rising and falling rapidly as he rests his forehead on your shoulder blade, trying to catch his breath. He smiles when he feels your hand come to rest on top of his, fingers lacing with his own.

“You didn’t wait for me to wake up,” you pout, turning your head to the side. Dazai lifts his head to press his lips against yours, a slow and deep kiss that rattles Dazai’s bones—god, he’s never loved someone like you before.

“Forgive me?” Dazai hums softly, smiling against your lips.

“Make it up to me,” you counter, eyes glittering as you look at him.

Dazai’s smile widens, flipping the two of you over so that he’s hovering above you. His lips ghost yours as he murmurs, “With pleasure.”

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

mornings with suguru feel like a pipe dream.

there’s something honeyed in the air, bleeding into the scent of freshly brewed espresso, fried eggs resting on the stove, newly bought flowers on the windowsill — apricot nectar heavy on your tongue, dripping down your lip in a sticky stream. his thumb reaches over to wipe it away before you can even try.

suguru is sitting right in front of you, looking like what dreams are made of. eyes a little bleary, mind still sinking into the reality of morning, hair put up into a messy bun; raven strands tickling his forehead and framing his eyes, warm and fond, a nice mocha brown. he’s wearing a white button-up, the scent of laundry detergent seeping into the fabric. he’s smiling, and you’re so in love you can barely breathe.

he always wakes up before you. always has breakfast prepared, or half-done, by the time you stumble into the kitchen on unsteady feet — you love clinging to his back while he cooks. but you love this even more.

outside the frail glass of your window, the world is subdued by the changing seasons. autumn is in full bloom, the sky enveloped by wet, molten clouds, a light layer of mist; on the ground are a row of golden trees. it’s a cozy, indoor kind of morning, the kind that makes your veins feel all sleepy, heart all tender, as if melted down by the gentle rain — the kind that has you sipping from your cup, rubbing your eyes, watching your fiancé from across the kitchen table.

there’s nectar on your tongue, espresso behind your teeth, and you wish you could open your mouth and speak. but you’re too tired, still far too groggy — far too sentimental. you can scarcely breathe. you can only sit there, and silently think: i could never love anyone like you. could never even come close.

do you have any idea what i’d do for you?

you’re sure he doesn’t. sure he prefers to see himself as your protector, not the other way around — that he’s most comfortable being a caretaker, rather than someone who gets taken care of. you know how he is. it’s in everything; the cup of coffee he made for you, the shirt he draped over you last night. his own, always, as if he thinks the fabric will bring you sweet dreams. it’s in the way he holds your hand when you cross the sidewalk, the way his thumb rubs over your knuckles when you’re anxious. it’s in the rain, gentle and comforting, watering your plant-like heart.

there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him.

nothing. absolutely nothing.

i’d drink a million cups of coffee, one after the other — i’d run out in the rain and pluck the apricots from every tree. i’d listen to that song you like. i’d listen to it until my eardrums bleed, and still wouldn’t stop.

nothing, nothing, nothing.

he turns his head, to gaze out the window, his bangs swaying gently as he does — and your gaze gulps down the lines of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, every flutter of his lashes. he parts his lips, and murmurs something about the weather. he’s smiling, a soft curve, his eyes just barely crinkled —

and you can’t breathe.

you’re so lovely it kills me.

your chest aches with yearning. you want to reach across the table and touch him, but you’re still too immobilized by how beautiful he is, how intense this love has come to feel. how devastating it is, to have this kind of life, to know you can do nothing but savour every bit of it. you can’t stop staring, drinking in his softened features, that content look in his amber-coloured eyes — the rasp under his velvety voice. your baby, your angel, your sun. 

(you want him to shine forever.)

when you look down at the table, there’s an open palm waiting for you. smooth skin, soft lines, gleaming under the dim glow of the kitchen lights. 

you look up, and suguru smiles.

he doesn’t speak until you’ve lifted your hand, tangled your fingers together with his. it feels good, the skin to skin contact, the sight of your rings pressed up against one another. his thumb begins to rub gentle circles into the knots of your knuckles, just the same as always. soothing, rhythmic, a mantra you’ve learned by heart.

”something on your mind?” he asks, softly.

(everything.)

”nothing,” you answer, a quiet lull of your tongue, averting your gaze with a heat to your ears. it’s too early for him to be so gorgeous, to aim his unbridled attention in your direction. ”i just love you…”

his lashes flutter, for a moment.

then his mind catches up to your words, and he laughs — breathy and sweet, the slightest gravelly residue. squeezing your palm in his own.

”i love you too,” he croons, lips curled upwards, and you swear you could never tire of hearing him say those words. ”is someone still a little tired, hm?”

”… maybe.”

a low chuckle. he tugs at your hand, gently, bringing it to his lips; they’re warm against your skin, his hot breath seeping out, gliding across your knuckles, stopping right by your ring finger. his eyes gleam with mirth, like the golden leaves just outside your window, pressed against the glass. his voice comes out as a purr. ”do you need another cup, my love?”

his lips trails down, all the way to your wrist, catching onto your pulsepoint. you can’t help but shiver.

”or should i wake you up just like this?”

he’s smiling, and something about it seems smug. he knows exactly how weak you are. and he must think he’s flustering you, acting so suave — but that’s not quite it. when he’s tilting his head like that, he looks more like a puppy than anything, so cute you think you might just melt right through the floorboards.

through the sleepy haze of your mind, to the tips of your fingers; your brain retaliates.

you tug his hand back, bringing yours with it; all the way to your puckered lips. lazily smearing a kiss on the inside of his palm, just barely catching the hitch of his breath, the inhale his heartbeat deigns to swallow down. it makes you smile, against his skin.

(and the tips of his ears bloom with heat.)

everything i need is you. the words are silent, unspoken, only barely mouthed against his skin. i don’t need the rain or the sun. just you, only you. 

when you pull away, your intertwined fingers finding their way back to the tablecloth, suguru gives you another smile. almost painfully tender.

you can’t help but feed into each other, like this. on sleepy mornings, when the words don’t come as easy, so actions are all you have. that, and loving gazes. all you can think is that you want more autumn mornings; you don’t want any of them to end before you’ve finished sipping from your cup of espresso, finished watching him from across the table. not until you’ve woken up enough to spill the words helplessly building up in the back of your throat, the butterflies stuffed in between your ribs. 

until then, this morning mantra will have no choice but to continue. until then, you’ll opt to stay silent.

until then, all you can do is stare.

(and all your mind can think, is nothing, nothing, could ever measure up to this. nothing in the world.)

[hee0soo]

Sleepless Nights

Pairing — Husband!Kim Hongjoong x afabWife!Reader

Summary — You gladly sacrifice anything for your kids and with a Husband like Hongjoong you couldn't feel happier if you tried....

Genre — fluff

AU/Trope Info — Idol!Au, SliceofLifeAu

Wordcount — 0.7k

Warnings — none

Rating — sfw

Disclaimer: this fic is written and copyrighted by ©hee0soo on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other plattforms without my permission.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED!

Before you had your children you had been a heavy sleeper. You were sure that a bomb could have exploded right next to you and you wouldn’t have woken up.

It had helped when Hongjoong was still actively promoting, sneaking in and out of your bedroom at the most atrocious of times without you so much as stirring buried underneath your blankets.

Now though, with a 3 and 1 year old in the house, even the spider spinning her web in the corner of the room could probably wake you!

And so it was no surprised that even the slightest noise leaving your sons mouth in the middle of the night had you sitting upright and ready to get up if your husbands hand on your hand hadn’t stopped you before you could.

“Go back to sleep, I’ll check on him.” Hongjoongs rough from sleep voice cut through the darkness. You felt the mattress shift when he got up and rested back against your pillows, not quite ready to go back to sleep before you weren’t sure that Ha-joon was safely back in slumberland.

Tethering on the border to fall asleep while waiting, you thought about those past few years. From the moment you proposed to Hongjoong, because doing it the normal way was boring, to Hongjoong holding your hand while waiting for the pregnancy test result and promising you th whatever would happen, you would do it together and the birth of your babies.

Joon-hee’s bright personality that Hongjoong had joked was more like her uncle Woo’s then his own and Ha-joon who was showing signs of starting to walk already while babbling happily to everyone who would hear it and entertain him. The fact that Hongjoong had immediately put his career on hold all those years ago to be with his family, making him able to experience every up and down with you caused your heart to soar.

“Is he okay?” you mumbled when you heard the door open again.

“Just lost his paci for the moment. However, I also found this little lady wandering the halls.”

You opened an eye and saw the shadow of your husband with a clingy Joon-hee attached to his front.

The little girl reached her small arms out to you, crawling into your open arms upon being sat down on the mattress before Hongjoong crawled back in bed.

“Mama…” The girl whined and hid her face in your sleepshirt.

“What’s wrong baby? Why aren’t you sleeping for mama?” you hummed into the soft curls on her head.

Hongjoong, a gentle smile on his face that you couldn’t see in the dark of the night, listened attentively.

“Bad dreamies! The sockie mons’er came and wanna eat my feetsies!”

Ah yes, the unfailable fantasy of your oldest baby that even came to hunt her dreams. Joon-hee was a dreamer, always in her head, living out the wildest storys when not whirling around like a fire cracker and it was no surprise by now that sometimes nightmares were full of that too.

“Oh, we can’t have that, don’t we ladybug? Gonna save the feetsies from the evil sock monster with mama and appa!” Hongjoong gasped out and tickled her sides to make her laugh and forget the horror of her dream. The girl reacted instantly, giggling at her fathers antics before settling down between you both.

“Mama ‘n appa protec’ me?” she asked with a sleepy pout and received 2 kisses from you and him to each chubby cheek.

“Always, ladybug.” Hongjoong promised her.

“N’ Ha-Joonie?”

“And Ha-Joonie too!”

Joon-hee nodded, eyes growing heavier by the second.

“Wan’ protec’ Ha-joonie too…”

You knew immediately that she was out like a light when she trailed off smuggled against you with soft puffs of air hitting the skin on Hongjoong’s neck after she turned to her father.

Silence settled over the room. You felt his fingers reach over your daughter to trail them down your face.

“Thank you,” He whispered into the dark which only caused a stir and sigh from you, already back asleep like Joon-hee. “for making me the happiest I’ve ever been…”

[earthchica]

Right My Wrongs

terry richmond x black fem! reader

summary: You and Terry had a good co-parenting relationship until he started dating a woman named Olivia who disrupted that dynamic.

warning: ANGST, toxic behavior, foul language, heartbreak, mention of fwb, mention of unexpected pregnancy, complicated situation, co-parenting, six-year-old daughter, name calling &, etc.

note: I was a little nervous about posting this, but here we go. Terry is an asshole in this; I'm sorry, lol. Part 2 will be out tomorrow; please let me know what you think.

series masterlist

You woke up suddenly to the sound of loud, urgent banging on your front door.

You glanced down at your daughter, still peacefully sleeping beside you.

You recall her coming into your bedroom because she had a bad dream.

With a weary groan, you glanced at the clock: it was almost midnight, and another knock reverberated at the front door.

You hurriedly got up, wrapped your robe around yourself, and slipped on your slippers to dash downstairs to the door.

Before opening the door, you looked through the peephole and saw that it was Terry.

He looked very upset; you immediately swung the door open and greeted him with a comforting expression.

"Terry... hey. Is everything alright?" you asked with a furrowed brow, your eyes filled with concern.

He looked up from his position and took a moment to meet your gaze before coming inside.

"She kicked me out." Terry expressed with irritation in his tone.

Oh, that bitch...Olivia.

You didn't know what Terry saw in her. She constantly causes him pain and breaks his heart, leaving you to mend the fragments every single time.

You have longed to express your true feelings to Terry and reveal the love nestled within your heart.

However, you knew it might never happen because Terry never gave you the impression that he saw you that way.

You and Terry were just friends, but your friendship blossomed into something sexual, leading to a complicated entanglement.

One night of unprotected sex resulted in an unexpected pregnancy.

You told Terry the news immediately, and he promised to be there for you and the baby.

Six years later, you two are raising a sweet, beautiful little girl named Jasmine.

She was a great mix of both of you: she inherited your beautiful nose and almond-shaped eyes while having her father's smile and eye color.

You and Terry maintained a strong friendship and a healthy co-parenting relationship until now.

He wasn't the man you once knew; she was transforming him into someone unrecognizable.

It was alarming you more than you'd like.

"Fuck, man. I give her everything she wants, and she always ends up fucking me over. What the fuck did I do to deserve this bullshit" Terry uttered, taking deliberate steps as he advanced toward the inviting comfort of the living room.

You let out a deep sigh, the weight of the moment heavy on your shoulders, before gently closing the door behind you.

Slowly, you approached him on the couch, ready to offer your comforting presence.

"You did nothing wrong, Terry. She doesn't deserve you; you deserve so much better. Like, for real, T... when will you wake up and see that?" you asked, placing your hand on his shoulder.

"I know....I know....It's just..." he says, his gaze intense as he looks at you with those piercing eyes.

"You love her?" You asked with a frustrated sigh.

"I do. I wish I didn't. I wish I could hate her, but I can't," Terry confessed.

"I'm sorry, Terry, but this isn't love. Love shouldn't hurt and leave you heartbroken. You deserve someone who makes you happy, makes you feel loved, and allows you to be yourself. Does she do that for you?" You asked.

With a deep breath, he shook his head. "No, she doesn't. Maybe you're right. I'm done dealing with her bullshit." He then offered a slight smile in your direction.

"Thanks, baby girl. I'm grateful to have such a great friend like you to lean on. Thanks for dealing with me and bullshit," He says, pulling you into a comforting hug.

"Yup! Let me get you some blankets," you said, quickly getting up to go to the hallway closet.

"Mommy?" You heard the sweet, melodic sound of your daughter's voice echoing from the top of the stairs.

Jasmine descended the stairs, wearing her cute bonnet and rubbing her eyes sleepily.

She looks at you first before turning to Terry, a slight smile growing on her face.

"Daddy!" She rushed over to him and hugged him, which caused Terry to burst into laughter.

"Hey, princess," he whispers softly, leaning in to gently kiss her forehead.

"Hi...daddy! What are you doing here?" she asked curiously, laying her head on his chest.

"What? Aren't you happy to see me?" he asked, a playful glint in his eye as he lightly tickled her side, causing her to erupt into a fit of giggles.

"No," she said emphatically, shaking her head.

"I'm always genuinely happy to see you," she explained with a warm smile, her words clear and sincere.

She was six years old, and always so sweet and expressive when she spoke her thoughts.

"I know, princess, and I'm always happy to see you. Your mom is letting me stay here, right?"

"Really? Mommy, is Daddy really staying over?" She asked, turning her gaze toward you.

"Yeah, sweetie. Just for the night. Now come on, let-" Jasmine excitedly interrupted you.

"Yayyy! Come on...daddy." She tightly grasps his large hand with her delicate, tiny fingers and eagerly pulls him into your bedroom.

You were about to intervene but decided to let it go because you were too tired to make a fuss.

You entered the bedroom to find Jasmine already asleep, cuddled into Terry's chest while his arm caressed her.

"I'm sorry. I hope this is okay. I can leave and sleep on the couch," he said with a tired expression.

"No, we don't want to wake her again. It's fine. Just get some sleep," you said with a yawn, getting into bed and trying to get comfortable in the blankets.

It was morning, and you woke up to find Jasmine sleeping on your arm, but Terry was not there.

You heard your phone ding; look to see that exact text. You were beyond pissed off.

Terry: Good morning! I'm sorry I left you and Jazzy like that. Liv called me, and we talked about everything. We're good again.

You didn't even reply to his text; you were in such disbelief at how he was so pussy whipped over this girl.

You knew you shouldn't be surprised; it was nothing new. Maybe you thought your words would finally reach him, and he would wake up.

You were so wrong.

It's been a few weeks since then, and you were coming to his place to pick up Jasmine after her week with him.

You exited the car and walked to buzz yourself into his apartment building.

You arrived at the fourth floor and knocked on his door. It slowly swung open, and Terry stood on the other side.

His face contorted in irritation, but just as quickly, a sense of ease washed over him when he saw it was you. "Hey, you!"

"Hi," You said coldly, pushing your way into his apartment, catching him off guard.

"Uh...how are you?" Terry asked as he closed the front door, then proceeded to follow you into the inviting living room.

"Good! Where's jazzy?" You responded with a brief answer, glancing around the room in search of your daughter.

"She's taking a nap. You good?" Terry asked, gazing at you with a touch of worry.

"Yup," you replied with a forced smile, concealing your true feelings.

You mistook the sound for Jasmine, but it was actually Olivia, which made you angry.

Terry had previously agreed not to have Olivia over when your daughter stayed with him.

This was it, you were fucking done.

Olivia enthusiastically greets Terry with a sloppy kiss, leaving a glossy on his lips before shooting you an irritated glance.

"Terry, what the hell is she doing here?" With arms crossed and a furious glare, you demanded his answer.

"I'm his girlfriend; I have every right to be," She explains, giving you a little attitude.

"Trick, I'm not fucking talking to you. I'm talking to Terry, the father of my child. Why don't you go, and make some tea while the grown-ups talk, okay?" You said with an intimidating gaze.

"Whatever, Terry will set you straight," She replied, rolling her eyes before heading into the kitchen to make some tea.

Terry gazed at you with a hint of irritation etched on his face and then spoke the words.

"What the fuck was that? You didn't have to talk to her like that," He asked with a frown.

"Why did you have this girl here...around my child when we agreed not to do that."

"It just happened; it's not a big deal. Olivia wanted to meet her, and I know I should've told you. I apologize," Terry said with a shrug.

"I don't give a rat's fucking ass...If she wants to meet her, you come to me first with this. Now go behind my back." You said with a look of intense anger etched on your face.

"Damn, woman. I fucking apologized, can you let it go? This shit ain't that serious," Terry sighed with frustration.

"It is fucking serious, Terry. This bitch got you so pussy whipped; you have lost who you are, your morals, and respect," You yelled, catching him completely off guard.

"What did you call her say?"

"You heard me. You are with a narcissistic, egotistical, manipulative ass bitch who doesn't treat you the way you deserve to be treated. She's changed you to fit her fantasy, and you're too fucking stupid to see it."

"Look...I don't appreciate you coming in here and talking-"

"I'm not done talking. You never seem to listen to me. This thing you think is love between you and her is not Terry. The man I once knew wouldn't tolerate this disrespect," You said, frustrated, uncrossing your arms.

"Look....It's none of your fucking business. You're just my baby mama," Terry said, clenching his jaw.

"Fuck you! You sure did make it my fucking business when you kept running your black ass to me whenever she did something wrong, but you know what? You're right. I'm nothing more than just your baby mama."

You found yourself overwhelmed with emotion, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to continue speaking.

"So I'm done with this; I'm done with you. I'm done being the shoulder you cry on, I'm so fucking done being in love with you and knowing I can't have you. I've been wasting my fucking time dreaming about us being a real family. I don't know why I thought you would wake up and see what's right in front of you. I guess that's my own damn fault," you cried.

Terry's heart dropped at your words, and emotion quickly washed over him.

His eyes were outstretched as he uttered your name and approached you, but Olivia stopped him.

"Let her go," Olivia said, wrapping her arms around his waist. You shake your head, rushing to get your daughter from another room.

She was napping, you are glad she didn't hear the yelling coming from the living room.

As you hurriedly gathered Jasmine's belongings, you couldn't help but overhear Terry and Olivia's arguing.

You swiftly picked her up gently without wasting any time and left the room.

Terry sat on the couch, his face in his hands, while Olivia was nowhere to be found, but you didn't care.

His eyes met yours, filled with a deep sense of regret. "I'm sorry...baby girl. I fucked up...I made Olivia leave. Don't leave, Let's talk, please,"

"No...I'm done, Terry. I made up my mind...Our communication will be strictly only about Jasmine, nothing more. Now let me go." You said that in a calmer tone of voice.

He didn't even put up a fight, which hurt a little. You stepped out of the door, making your way down the hall.

You exited the apartment building and went to your car. After securing Jasmine in her car seat, you closed the car door.

You got into the car, started the engine, and drove away with tears in your eyes.

You need to do this for your own well-being.

You couldn't be consumed by stress related to him and the current situation.

It's time to shift your focus towards prioritizing what is most beneficial for you.

It's been a month since you disconnected from Terry and his relationship issues, and you felt a weight lifted off your shoulders.

You still allow him to spend time with his daughter every other week, even after what he said to you.

You were not going to be the type of baby mother to raise hell and prevent him from seeing his child.

Terry was waiting for you to arrive at your house. He knew he had fucked up pretty badly by hurting you and disrespecting you.

His best friend and the mother of his child, out of all people in the world.

You both struggled to communicate feelings, so he was confused and surprised when you revealed your love.

He wasn't sure if he felt the same, but he was determined to apologize and make things right with you.

You were driving home just after dropping Jasmine off at your parents.

You needed some time to yourself, but it seemed like that wasn't going to happen.

You roll your eyes when you see Terry sitting on your porch with a bouquet of flowers.

"What are you doing here, Terry?" You asked, walking towards him with a frown.

"I wanted to check on you, but you haven't answered my calls. I was a little worried. Where's Jazzy?" He inquired, rising from the porch steps."

"She's fine, I'm fine. She's at my parents' house, and you can go now," you explained shortly.

"Baby girl, please don't be like that. I fucked up, I know, and I'm sorry for the way I've been treating you. I broke up with Oliva...she's gone, out of the fucking picture. You were right; you were always right. I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry," He speaks with genuine sincerity.

You let out a deep sigh and raised your eyes to the sky, feeling a mix of emotions.

"I forgive you, Terry, but...I meant every word I said. I'm done. It's just too painful for me. I'll be cordial with you when Jasmine is around, but outside of that, I'm done."

"I will respect that. I just have to ask why you didn't say anything before," he said, curious.

"It doesn't matter anymore, Terry. All that matters is raising Jazzy," you said coldly.

Terry looks down at the ground, disappointed with himself with an understanding nod.

Before walking away, he handed you the bouquet of your favorite flowers and whispered, "I'm sorry," once more.

You took a deep breath as you walked to the front door. "It's for the best," you thought to yourself.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

God ever since reading A Gilded Cage I cant get the thought out of my head of a part 2 where Reader doesn't see Jason for a few days after the revelation. Like maybe he thinks he's being kind and giving us some time to process, maybe he's on his angst again, or maybe some outside factor has taken his attention so the only time he's able to visit is while we're asleep.

And the whole night of the reveal feels like a fever dream when we wake up but there's a blanket draped over us and a fuzzy little kitten purring up a storm on our chest (in my heart his name is Bean (short for Toebean)), so we're at least kind of sure it happened. But as the time passes with no sign of Jason our certainty begins to wane and until we finally get fed up and write on the notepad the first thing we've asked for since that night: "You."

Or something like that idek okay I've been over here clawing at my walls frothing at the mouth I never really even liked ak!Jason before reading your stuff and now I'm feral for him and its all your fault and I'm not even mad about it

A Glimmering Collar

AKA Part Two of this series. Ahh, nonnie, you literally cooked with this. I love when my fics inspire people enough to keep thinking on them! Seriously, ty for dropping these ideas in my inbox cause I had nothing going on in my brain for a part two initially. Hope you enjoy!

~2.6k words

You wake up to something tickling your nose. Your body feels heavy, your mind even more so. Nothing in you is ready to open your eyes, to face the fact that last night could all have been a dream. That he isn't– that was just a dream.

Something soft flicks your nose again, and you force your eyes open. You blink hard once. Then twice. It's a kitten. It's tiny, and it's sitting by your face. Every few seconds, its tail sways and brushes your nose.

Oh. You sit up slowly, trying not to frighten the small thing. It looks at you contently over its shoulder and meows. The kitten stretches as you stare at it, then plops itself directly on the blanket resting over your lap.

Huh. There's a blanket you definitely don't remember grabbing sprawled over your legs. You carefully reach down to pet the kitten's head. Your heart melts a little when it nuzzles your fingers and purrs.

You look around the room slowly. Nothing else looks different. The notepad is still in place, but the kitten and blanket all point to one thing. Last night was real. Jason is alive. Jason is the Arkham Knight.

You're trying to wrap your brain around that when the door flies open, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

"Good morning!!" A flurry of voice call from the doorway. Your eyes widen as three brightly dressed people strut their way into your apartment, "Are you ready for your shopping trip, hun?"

"My– excuse me?" You stumble out, tucking the kitten to your chest as you stand.

They giggle, and one of them steps forward, "Your shopping trip, sweetie! And spa day, of course. Oh, ha, we haven't even been introduced, have we? I'm Krystal with a K, she's Destini with an i and he's Robbi also with an i."

Robbi huffs and walks up to you to pet your kitten, "Why can't you ever introduce Destini second? She can be Destini also with an i, ya know."

The other girl walks up to you as well and picks affectionately at your clothes, "Because it's alphabetical that way, Robbi. Now you better go get dressed, we have brunch reservations and mimosa plans!"

"I– sorry? What?" You ask, eyes darting between the three of them. Whatever this is, you can't keep up. You've barely processed Jason kidnapped you, and now you're supposed to go get a massage and drinks?

"The boss wants you to go out," a flat voice cuts in. You're the only one that stiffens at the sight of two large men stepping through the door.

Krystal speaks up, "We're here to make sure you have a good time! And Mack and John are here to keep us safe!"

"Mack and John," You echo weakly.

"Your body guards, silly," Destini chirps, ushering you to your room. She plucks the kitten from your hands, "Now get dressed! Wear something nice!"

You stare at the door as she shuts it. What just happened? You hear them chattering happily in the kitchen, idly talking about pregaming your shopping trip.

Your whole mind is a mess, and you sluggishly get ready, thoughts whirling. You've barely talked to soul since you were kidnapped, and now you have five new names to remember, a kitten, and a day out.

You're not exactly sure if you should be unsettled or grateful at how quickly Jason worked to get you what you asked for. By the time you've opened your bedroom door, Krystal, Destini and Robbi are passing around a flask, and playfully trying to get your 'bodyguards' to drink it.

You wonder what they must think of all this. Who they think you are. You're struck with the realization that Jason must be paying them to entertain you today.

You don't get to linger on the thought before Robbi hooked his arm with yours, dragging you towards the door, "Let's gooo, the brunch place we're going to does the best pineapple mimosas. Or cherry, if that's your thing."

"Wait," Mack– or John, you're not exactly sure which one is which– stops you, "Boss wants you to wear this."

The girls and Robbi coo in awe when Mack opens a box, revealing a glittery, jaw-dropping choker. You waver at the sight of it. It's not that it doesn't match what you're wearing. You'd dressed up like Destini suggested, but it feels like some kind of trap.

You reluctantly pick up the necklace, eyeing how it catches the light, "Is it– are sure it's safe to wear this out?" Safety isn't really what you're concerned about at the moment.

You're more worried about the crushing weight that this means more than you understand.

John nods once, "There won't be any problems."

Krystal happily plucks the necklace from your fingers, and before you have time to argue, she drapes the necklace around your throat. "It's beautiful, hun. Just like you. Let's go get you something to eat," her voice is soft, measured, and full of so much understanding it makes you want to cry.

You don't know much they know, but when she hooks her arm with yours to guide you out the door, you have a feeling there's more awareness than their bubbly attitudes let on.

The day ends up being wonderful. Being around people, out under the sun (the sun Gotham does get), was rejuvenating. You had fun, joked, smiled, and for a day, it was almost like you didn't have a prison cell to go back to.

The food was delicious, the spa relaxing, and you didn't have to carry back a single bag. Krystal had flashed a black card at every payment, every place ever could want to shop at, reassuring you it's all been taken care of.

But the time you've collapsed on the couch, exhausted but content, the uneasy feelings from this morning are gone.

You settle on the cushions to wait for Jason. To thank him for listening or to yell at him for still keeping you here, you're not exactly sure yet.

But he doesn't come, you fall asleep in your expensive necklace and pretty clothes with one hand petting your kitten. He doesn't come the next day either, at least not while you're awake, but Krystal, Destini, and Robbi do.

Your friends, the people being paid to entertain you are nice, perfect even. They're exactly what you would have asked for.

Your kitten is perfect too, it cuddles with you at night and nuzzles under your chin after you're left alone, when the unease finds its way back to you.

It's been days since you've seen him. It's starting to feel like a lifetime. You know he comes back after you fall asleep, he moves things. You think it's his way of showing that he listened, that he came back because you asked.

The notepad, the one you haven't written on since that night, shifts closer to you on the glass table if you sleep on the couch.

The glimmering choker gets pulled out of the drawer every time you try to put it away. Your kitten has a growing collection of toys and things to climb on.

It's obvious he's visiting, so why won't he let you see him? Day five of dancing around each other breaks you. You want to see him, want to talk to him, and understand. You want Jason.

Your hand shakes a little, when you go to write on the notepad, and when you wake up the next morning, the paper is blank again.

You wait. You wait some more. All day you wait for him. No one else comes. It's strangely quiet, with just you and your kitten. You've just about given up, collapsed in your bed, when the glowing whites of his helmet catch your attention.

You sit up quickly and throw your legs off the bed as you stare into the doorway, "You came."

"Did you mean it," he asks, any emotion he's feeling hidden by the aggravating modulator.

"Mean what," You question, standing off the bed to walk closer to him, "Will you take the mask off?"

He doesn't move for a moment, just takes in the sight of you. The silence that drags almost makes you regret the question, but he carefully pulls off his helmet, "What you wrote. That you wanted me."

"I– yeah, Jason. I haven't– it's been days since I saw you," You only notice mid sentence that his hand is reaching for your face, it makes your voice waver. "You never answered any of my questions," You finish weakly.

His hand stills and he drops it, "Questions. That's what you wanted?"

You nod a little, searching his face for any hint of what he's feeling, but he gives nothing away.

He sighs softly, and looks away, adjusting his helmet under his arm. You think he might look disappointed, "I can't give you the answers you're looking for."

"Why not," You question softly, worried to push him away.

Jason turns his focus back to you, "I just need you to stay here. Please," he sighs out your name, and his hand twitches as if to touch you, "Don't fight me on this."

"That's not fair," You mumble, "Why am I here, Jason? You know I would have listened if you came to talk to me instead of– this."

Silence falls again, and he steps past you into your room. He sets his helmet on your dresser and picks up the choker resting on the wooden surface, "I wish you would wear this. I picked it out for you."

"Jason," You start, tracking his movements.

"I know," he cuts you off, "but I told you, you don't need to understand anything." You stiffen when he steps back towards you and guides you to turn around.

The air leaves your lungs as his gloves brush over your skin. He sets the necklace around your throat, and even after it rests heavy against your skin, his touch lingers.

"You just need to stay here. It's safe. I've given you everything you've asked for, and everything you haven't," Jason says softly, stepping out from behind you. His gaze lingers on your neck for a moment, and the stifling, unexplainable feeling sets back into your gut.

Your words stick in your throat. There's a sense of danger, one that doesn't make sense. Jason wouldn't hurt you. Not the Jason you know. But is this the Jason you know? The thought makes you want to tear the choker from your skin and throw it at him.

"It feels like a collar," You say quietly, and your breath hitches when his gaze snaps go yours, "I mean, it's pretty. Really. But, it feels– like it's more," You stumble out.

He nods slowly, and he doesn't stop himself from touching you this time. His fingers trace the choker, linger over your collarbones, brush along your pulse, "Maybe it is."

You blink at him, every thought flying from your brain, "What?"

He hums softly, hooking a finger under the shiny jewels to draw you closer, "Does that scare you? Knowing that you can't leave? Knowing that no matter how pretty these are, it's just another way to keep you?"

"You wouldn't hurt me," you say instead, it sounds like you believe it, but you're not sure if you're trying to convince yourself or him.

"I don't want to," He admits, fingers leaving your throat to trail up your jaw, "but I probably could."

"I don't believe that. I remember–" He tuts, tapping your cheek. Your heart drops when you realize he's mirroring where his own brand is.

"I'm not what you remember," he says firmly, before whispering your name, "I'm not that Jason. Not really."

"Then who are you," You ask, even though you don't want to know the answer. You want to pretend he's still something you know.

His eyes dart over your face, then back down to the necklace, "I'm still Jason. But I'm also the Arkham Knight."

"What does that mean," You push, reach up to grab his wrist, demanding his attention, demanding real answers.

"It means that you stay. It means that I give you what you want. Everything and anything except leaving," he says, voice lowering to something kinder, gentler, "it'll make sense eventually. You'll be happy here. Safe."

"Will that make you happy?" You ask, fingers tightening on his wrist. Half of you wants to pull him away, stop him from tracing patterns over your cheek, but the other part of you wants to press his hand closer.

Something flicks in his eyes at your words, "Yes."

"Will it keep you safe?" You murmur, eyes locked on his.

He doesn't answer, clenching and unclenching his jaw for a moment, "Safety is an option I don't have."

"It could be, if you wanted it," You say, dropping his wrist. It must be true. Even with all the secrets he's keeping, his evasive disappearing act, he could take off the armor. Leave behind the new symbol engraved over his chest.

He laughs a little and swipes his thumb under your eye, "I'm glad that you don't understand. It's good, that they didn't twist you into something unrecognizable."

"Understand?" You prompt, unsettled by his laughter.

"That they need to pay. All of them do," he smiles a little, it's a mockery of the one you remember. Jason traces the choker one last time before stepping back.

"You're leaving," You say, not a question, a statement of fact. He's leaving, without explaining anything again.

"I am," he affirms, moving to grab his helmet.

"I want you to stay," You breathe out and he freezes in place.

He exhales softly and faces you again, "You don't know what you're asking."

"I do. I want you to stay," You repeat, reaching out to push his helmet back towards the dresser.

"And then what?" He asks lowly, a warning, "What do you expect to happen?"

It makes you waver, "I– I don't know. But it's what I want."

It's another long moment of nothing before he answers, gesturing towards the bed, "Go to sleep."

"You'll stay?"

He nods at your question, unceremoniously dragging the chair from your desk to your bedside.

"Is that going to be comfortable–" You begin, settling yourself in the bed.

"You're overthinking it," he mumbles, waving at you to lay down. You do, watching as your kitten jumps into his lap, curling up like this is something that happens all the time. (You have the feeling it is) "Have you named him," he asks quietly.

"The kitten? Mm, no. Wanted you to," You say softly, carefully not to unsettle either of them.

"I wouldn't be good at it," Jason protests, eyes flicking between you and the kitten.

"I don't mind," You murmur, "anything's better than 'kitten'."

He pauses, so quiet and still you think he won't answer, "Bean," he mumbles, reluctant as the newly appointed Bean cuddles into his armor.

You smile, "Bean's a good name."

He doesn't answer, seemingly engrossed with watching the kitten.

You take him in for another moment, memorizing his face before closing your eyes. It's not an accident that you leave your palm open and face up by the side of the bed.

There's no more pleasantries exchanged, no sweet goodnights or the gentle touches against your face you've grown used to. But just as you finally start to drift off, as darkness finally draws you to rest, a warm, rough hand weaves itself into yours and squeezes.

Part Three

[leonsgfpost]

note: Hi! this is my third official post, crazy stuff. Thanks so much for all the support, I didn't think my trash was any good 😭 Btw, I hope you enjoy this too. English isn't my first language, so sorry if there's a mistake. 💕

tags: smut, comfort, insecurities, Leon is so cute, Leon x fem! reader, doggy style, orgasms and more!

Leon loves you madly. He really does. So every time you ask that question, "Do you love me?" he answers honestly, just because he can't tear his heart out and give it to you.

This man is capable of lowering the moon if you ask him to, he would do anything for you. He is honest, he doesn't lie. He wakes you up with soft kisses, on his days off he hugs you as if you were the only thing that keeps him grounded. You are everything to him.

And it's not that you doubt him, but different situations in your past led you to be insecure, to a sour whirlpool forming inside you about it. About him. Even now, when he's balls-deep inside you.

"Leon, Leon-" You murmured between ragged gasps, feeling his chest pressing hard against your back holding you in place. Taking every thrust he gave you. "Do you love me-?" And that feeling inside you came again. You felt like crying. Maybe from the pleasure, or maybe from the overwhelming sensations.

For a moment you think he doesn't hear you because of his current state. Heavy breathing, eyes tightly closed, body sweaty and his mind blank every time he sinks down to touch that spongy spot inside you.

But he wouldn't miss a hair of yours.

"I love you, I do, dear.... More than anything." He affirmed again, because he would repeat it to you every time you want. And the question sounds unreal in his fucked up head, of course he loves you. You're the only person he can open up to, show that young man who died inside him in 1998. He even took the audacity to have hopes, dreams again. Because next to you nothing seemed impossible.

"I love you, I love you." He murmured in your ear along with the low moans he couldn't contain, not when your walls were sucking him in so good. And I'd be lying if I said not now he's the one who wants to cry. He'd kiss every part of your body, kiss you all over until he could make you forget everything. Just like he does when he's with you.

His hips try to keep his deep rhythm, while his arms search for a way to embrace you to keep him grounded. Your ass is smacked by his pelvis every time he plunges in, over and over again with ambition. The wet sound of your wet pussy is the complete opposite of the cute words coming from Leon's lips.

"You're the only one for me, you're everything to me...Oh, G-God-" Now he started to ramble, trying to get his whole cock inside you until he can fuck your brains out and make you forget.

"Fuck, I love you, baby-!" His voice was already shaking, but I didn't know if it was from the effort of pushing you or the effort not to cry over you like a fucking baby.

"C-Come on, say you love me too." His voice tried to sound demanding, but it sounded like a plea. A desperate plea to know that you loved him too, because he wanted to be loved. He needed it.

"I love you, Leon. I-I love you, I love you so much." You said obediently, your voice coming out choked from having your face buried in the sheets. Your hair was disheveled, little beads of sweat trickling down your back and trembling thighs trying to support your weight. And little tears began to fill the corners of your eyes.

Maybe he had already fucked your brains out.

And Leon's chest tightened, pushing his lips carelessly into your hot cheeks. He was always so sweet even when he was fucking you like you were a slut. His cock bullying your bruised pussy again and again, because he couldn't catch a break. You were the air he needed to feel alive.

You made him feel alive.

As alive as he was now, as his hips began to quiver and his thrusts became sloppy, feeling his cock contracting tightly inside your walls. He could lose his mind right now for you.

His fingers moved down to play with your painfully throbbing clit, you let out a high pitched moan and your walls tightened feeling the familiar euphoria explode inside you, your orgasm coming in a sloppy way. Your body immediately relaxed into the sheets, trying to recover, but Leon wouldn't slow down, not when he was so close too.

He released your clit to run a sticky hand up to one of your tits, kneading it as if it were his own anti-stress toy. He carelessly kissed your wet cheeks and his hips pushed all the way in, releasing all his seed inside you. His cock contracted and discounted with spasms, giving you all of him.

"I love you." He whispered weakly, hugging you and trying not to fall on top of you. His heart beating fast in his chest, beating for you.

Because Leon Scott Kennedy loves you more than anyone. And he would devote every day of the rest of his life to prove it to you, if you let him.

were there too many "I love you"s? haha, sorry! But I can't help but think that Leon really needs a lot of love.

Let me know if u liked this, thanks!! 🎀💗

bye, bye (💌)

[whorefordean]

Can you write some Dean Winchester head canons, preferably smutty ones if you’re up to it ☺️

for how often i think about being absolutely annihilated by this man, this took entirely too long to write. my apologies.

anywho... these are all actually factual because i say so!

p.s i apologize for this being so short :/

18+ mdni below the cut

- i stand by the fact that if you don't go on a hunt with dean, this man is sending dick pics or constantly asking you for nudes. usually, you send them just because it's fun, but sometimes you like to tease dean about it.

"but sweetheart, there's no telling how long this case is gonna take," he'll whine over the phone when sam leaves the room for a few hours to go interview a witness or something.

"dean, it's been less than twenty-four hours. i think you'll survive."

"what if i die from blue balls?"

"goodbye, dean."

"wait-" click. dean pouts when you end the call. it doesn't last long though because his phone chimes a few minutes later with a photo from you, followed by a text. "don't die on me."

he one thousand percent sends you a picture a few minutes later of his cum covered hand and cock.

————

-maybe i'm projecting but i think dean gets into the habit of waking you up in the middle of the night because he wakes up horny, like he has a wet dream about you, and bless his heart, he tries so hard to not wake you up. so he starts listing monsters in his head, and analyzes the lyrics to his favorite song. man even tries counting sheep just to distract himself.

but it's no use. so instead, dean starts rubbing your arm softly, cooing your name in an effort to wake you up. you might stir a little, just to get closer to him, but dean hisses when you toss your leg over his waist, brushing against his dick.

he's gripping your thigh tight and then he's biting down lightly on your shoulder, pulling you from your sleep. he almost feels bad for waking you up when you pout at him, but you shift against his cock again, making him groan as all his empathy is flying out the window.

"what's wrong, dean?" you're asking innocently while sitting up, still not having noticed his situation.

"fuck, sweetheart," he grunts in your ear. you look so confused but so pretty as dean stares up at you. before you can breathe he's shoving his lips onto yours and pulling you to sit on his lap. you moan when you feel his cock rubbing against your clothed pussy.

"fuck, dean, again?" you question, choking on a moan. it's the third time this week that he's woken you up like this.

"it's a wasted dream if it's not about me being buried deep inside you," he smirks proudly.

————

- dean finds out that you like listening to audio porn (in badjhur we trust) so he records some for you. finds out what your favorite tags are somehow and incorporates those into it. (the tongue clicks 🫣)

- dean is so used to slapping your ass at home that he will do it constantly in public. he doesn’t even smirk about it like he does at home. just stares at you with wide im sorry eyes while you glare at him with that so help me god look.

- dean is a munch. will spend all day buried between your thighs just because he can. you’re begging him to stop. whining bc it’s too much and he’s just all heavy breathing as he stares up at you. sweetheart please, i missed you. he’ll give the same excuse every time, even though he’s only been gone for maybe an hour to do a beer run.

- dean is soooo into face sitting. he’s definitely the type that will force you to actually sit because he does take personal offense if you hover.

- he's so into free use. you can't tell me different. getting to use and play with his sweetheart whenever he wants? say less.

- also he loves to cum inside you and make you cockwarm him after so none of it leaks out

-oh my god. he burns you a cd called "sexy time with my sweetheart." and now he refuses to listen to any of the songs on it outside of the bedroom because he's conditioned to get hard when he hears them.

[some-bunniii]

Lucifer in love with an artist reader

・❥ There’s only one good way to start the day… pancakes and ice cream.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

warning: mild swearing

You were awoken by something shifting against your chest. You stirred, adjusting slightly as you lay on your side. 

You let the covers slide around you, the cool touch of the pillow beneath your face made you smile sleepily. That’s right, you were in your bed snuggled warmly beneath your sheets. Which is not where you remembered falling asleep last night. 

Does that mean everything that happened yesterday was just a really weird dream? 

If it was, it was the most vivid dream you’ve ever had. And, it seemed a little too crazy to be real. Being thrown off a balcony and being seconds away from shooting a man, all in the same night, was not a usual day for you. 

Your brain was still foggy with sleep, and all you wanted to do was burrow your face farther into the pillow and drift off. Except, that pressure on your chest was making it hard to.

“KeeKee.. please, not right now..” You mumbled into the fabric, your voice laced with drowsiness. There was no response from the feline, but the form shifted slightly besides you, as if to nuzzle closer to you. 

Sometimes you’d find her sleeping beside you, but that was pretty rare. Even so, you weren’t going to let her ruin your beauty sleep. With gentle movements, you slowly slid your arm forward, and your fingers brushed against soft hair.

Your palms hit a firm surface beneath the silky strands. Did KeeKee always have this long of fur? Did she gain weight too? You only ignored your suspicions, and slowly pushed her off your chest, farther across the bed. Sighing happily, you pulled the covers closer to you, embracing its warmth. 

You felt something stir beside you, and the warm figure snuggled back into your chest. You groaned softly, you were too tired to take this attitude from the cat.

Lifting your arm again, your fingers quickly reached up and grasped the warm silhouette. This time, however, you let your hand travel down the form. Until you halted suddenly, your fingers grazing against something smooth and hairless. You didn’t remember KeeKee having any bald spots.

Slowly, you felt farther along. You could feel curves in the surface, cracks even. 

What in the worl-

“Is this how you plan to wake me every morning?” a voice grumbled sleepily through your fingers. 

Wait a second. There was a person in your bed?!

Your eyes shot open, the curtains thankfully covering the morning light from blinding you as you jumped out of the covers. Instinctively, your leg shot forward, kicking the stranger right in the side. He was sent tumbling off the bed with an audible “oomph,” and a heavy thump reverberated around the room. Followed by silence. 

You kneeled on top of the bed, heart pounding as your nerves settled. You blinked, you had recognized that voice. Had that been Lucifer?! 

You hurriedly crawled across the bed, your head peeking from off the side of it as you peered below you. Laying face down, was the familiar naked back of the fallen angel. His blonde hair messily spread across the wooden floor as he lay there motionless.

“Oh my gosh, I am so sorry!! Are you okay?!” You yelled down to him. He stirred, his head nodding slowly under the hair. 

“You know, not too bad actually. Believe it or not, i’ve taken harder falls.” He mumbled against the wood. 

Lucifer shifted, rolling onto his back. He looked up at you, before blowing a few strands of hair out of his eyes. He looked totally fine, if not tired from the sudden awakening. A few rays of the morning light beamed through the window, casting some of his features in a red glow as he watched you. God, he was gorgeous. 

“I don’t remember falling asleep in my bed, what happened?” You asked him, slowly sitting up from your position. He mirrored you, lifting his torso from the ground. 

“You didn’t expect us to sleep in a chair all night, did you? I’d be cracking my back for days if that was the case. You look so peaceful when you sleep, so I couldn’t bother to wake you. But yes, I moved us to the bed.”

“So yesterday was real..” You whispered, 

“Uh, yeah. I killed a bunch of scumbags and saved you from becoming a splat on the pavement. Yesterday was definitely real.” 

Lucifer sat up fully, before getting to his feet. He stretched, raising his arms above his head before opening his mouth up in a yawn. He was already dressed in a pair of loose fitting sweat pants as he strolled to the bathroom. Did he put those on using magic?

You stood from the edge of the bed, quickly walking to your dresser and pulling out a casual outfit. You began slipping it on, before turning towards the open bathroom door.

You watched Lucifer’s back flex slightly as he bent over to wash his face in the sink, your eyes drinking in his figure. Lucifer looked nothing like the ancient paintings visualized him to be. Your brain immediately recalled the image of Alexandre Cabanel’s famous painting, ‘The Fallen Angel’.

It depicted Lucifer as wide-shouldered, toned from head to toe with thick muscles. Nice calves too. Yet, standing here before you, he embodied an angel much more than he did in that painting. Elegant, serene, otherworldly. 

Like how the candlelight perfectly illuminated his pearly-white skin, as if he was being basked in moonlight. Or how his touch was like velvet sheets against your skin, soft and delicate as he ran his fingers down your waist. 

He exuded a certain feminine grace, that enraptured you when those pretty eyes of his sent you looks of adoration as you rambled about your current fixations, or gave him more lessons in art history. You smiled warmly at the thought, he was precious to you, no doubt. 

“You know what, I’m thinking.. pancakes! We’ll finally put that big kitchen downstairs to use and make some breakfast.” Lucifer broke you out of your thoughts, as he walked up to you, pulling up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Damn, did he change without you even noticing again? 

You smiled as he approached, the thought of food making your stomach growl. You were unbelievably hungry, seeing as there wasn’t exactly time last night to stop for a meal. 

“That sounds like a good idea, we’ll get everyone else in on it too and eat together, a big hazbin-family breakfast.” 

Lucifer nodded as he turned away from you, his eyes scanning the room. “Which reminds me, that means I can give Charlie the tuxedo…” He trailed off, turning to you slowly, a look of panic on his features.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

Lucifer rubbed a hand down his face, growling at himself. “I must have left the bag with her suit back at the club! Ugh, I'm such an idiot.” 

“It’s still early, it won’t take you more than a minute to get across the city. Go get her a new one.” You commanded, pointing towards the balcony doors in your room. 

Lucifer followed your finger, and then nodded quickly. “You’re right, I’ll go do that.” Quickly, he adjudged his bow-tie, before heading for the doors. 

It wasn’t until his hand was just inches from the handle, did you see the rather large reddish-purple mark sticking out from the crook of his neck. Your eyes widened and your cheeks flushed as you realized what exactly caused the bruise. How did you not notice that before?! 

Quickly, you ran up to him and grabbed his shoulders, turning him to face you. “Wait! You.. well-you, um… got something on your neck?” 

He regarded you for a moment, confusion written across his face. “Something.. on my neck?” 

Your cheeks heated again, and you quickly reached up to grab the top of his shirt. On even further inspection, and a slight adjustment of his collar, you could make out the fainted curved indents of teeth marks along his collar bone.

Did you bite him that hard last night? You shouldn’t have done that. What if Charlie saw it? That would be so awkward. 

“From.. last night,” you finally uttered, “when I got a little carried away.” 

Lucifer’s gaze narrowed, and then they widened slightly as he understood. A smirk tugged on his lips as he backed away from your grasp. “So?” 

“What do you mean ‘so’? It’s not normal for people to be walking around with hickeys all over them for everyone to gawk at!” You exclaimed, crossing your arms.

“Why, so they won’t know I had you screaming my name, drenched on top of that table?” He asked, motioning towards the very same dining table that you had been laid over in pure bliss the night before.

You quickly averted your gaze to stop a mental picture forming, and instead met his eyes. Sending him a glare for his bluntness. Walking across the room, you bent down and pulled his overcoat from the side of your bed. Brushing off any dirt, you made your way back to Lucifer.

Silently, you wrestled him into the white garment. He stood there and watched as you adjusted his tall collar, trying your best to hide any love marks. After a little more fussing, you felt satisfied with your work and stepped back. 

“There, you’re ready to go! Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go remind everyone that I am alive.” You spoke. Last night, Lucifer had told you Angel Dust had been dropped in the lobby. It was late enough where everyone should have been asleep, and since nobody came to look for you after that, you assumed Angel had passed out and was probably working through a nasty hangover somewhere in the hotel.

You leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss to Lucifer’s lips, before nudging him towards the balcony doors. He turned, pulling them open and crossing the threshold. You stood in the entryway, watching him stroll to the black, metal railing. He glanced over the side, contemplating for a moment.

“Now, watch how the pro does it.” Lucifer teased as he turned to face you, his back leaning against the railing. With a little boost, he flipped himself backwards and vaulted over the metal bars. Your eyes widened in shock as he began to fall.

Right as his feet left the balcony, you ran to the railing peering over the side as you watched him plummet to the ground. Beneath him, a large, golden portal swirled alive waiting for him. 

He waved up to you just as he crossed it, the portal swallowing him up and vanishing without a trace. You smiled, shaking your head at his little performance before turning back towards the doors. 

For a few more minutes, you were busy tidying yourself up and trying to look presentable. You quickly squeezed some soap out of the little yellow ducky on the sink counter, and washed your hands and face. Soon, you noticed you were also adorned with a few love marks from Lucifer, and you sat in front of the mirror trying to hide them the best you could. 

Feeling satisfied with your work, you turned away and headed for the doorway that led into the rest of the hotel. Grasping the handle, you slowly cracked the door open, peeking your head out slightly as you listed.

You could hear loud voices down the halls, in the direction of the lobby. There were multiple of them as if everyone was gathered in the same room, you exhaled a breath before straightening. Time to face the music. 

Heading down the stairs, you strolled through the hallways. The voices became more and more audible as you closed in on the large, open room.

“-and then, I looked behind them and there was this guy all bloody and shit, pointing a gun right at Lucifer! I barely saw anything else happen b’for I was sucked into this.. golden portal or something.” Angel Dust’s voice echoed through the lobby, as he retold the events of last night. He was standing in front of the T.V, the residents of the hotel listening from the couches circled around him. They leaned in, engrossed in his story. 

“Next thing I knew, my ass hit the floor right here. God.. I was just so out of it I practically passed out where I was. I don’t remember seeing either of them after that.. hey! you!” Angel’s eyes widened as he noticed you walking towards them. Suddenly, the entire hotel’s gaze was locked onto you.

Charlie quickly shot up from the couch, hurrying over to you. She scanned your figure, searching for any injuries as you stopped before her. After noting nothing serious was wrong with you, she took your hand, gripping it tightly. “Where have you been? Angel just told us everything that happened! Are you okay?” 

“Don’t worry, I'm fine. I wasn’t hurt at all.” You assured the princess, smiling at her. Turning to the spider-demon, you scanned him for any injuries as well. “How about you, Angel. Are you okay?”

“Pfft, yeah. I’m okay. Just a lil shaken up, especially after watching you almost get shot. It seemed you got a good sleep, though.” 

“Wait, you’ve been here this whole fucking time. Did anyone else know that?” Vaggie called from the couch, crossing her arms as she stood up. 

“I did. They’ve been here all night.” Nifty spoke from the floor, her single eye staring into you. 

How did she know that? Did Nifty.. hear anything?

“Uhm.. yes, that’s right. Yesterday was just rough. So, I went to sleep right away.” You answered, lying through your teeth.

“And my dad?” Charlie questioned.

You shrugged, “I have no clue.”

“Well, at least our dear friend is back safe and sound!” A familiar voice exclaimed from next to you. You jumped slightly, turning to see Alastor and his award-winning smile as he looked at you. “Charlie insisted that I come find you, but I assured her you are capable of handling your own affairs. Especially, with our lovely king to protect you.”

You smiled slightly at him, “Yes, indeed. I’m sorry for not coming to see you guys sooner. I just got.. distracted.” 

“With what?” Angel asked, an eyebrow raised and hands on his hips. You paused, before opening your mouth to speak.

You weren’t able to get a word out before you heard a thumping coming from the front doors of the hotel. Everyone turned towards the noise, and through the stained glass, you could make out the silhouette of a rather tall hat peeking from the bottom of the glass.

“Well, ain’t that a little too good of timing.” Husk grumbled from the bar, as he leaned over the counter to get a look at the doorway. You silently agreed, that was fast. 

Charlie recognized the familiar figure as well, and quickly ran to the door. She yanked it open, and there he was. Lucifer stood, adorned in his full outfit, a pink bag in his hand as he strode into the room. Next to you, you swore Alastor’s grip on his cane tightened. 

“Charlie, good morning! How are you doing, sweetheart?” Lucifer beamed as he embraced her, who accepted the hug gratefully.

“I’m good, dad. But, what about you? I heard what happened! Did you kill people?” She eyed him with a firm stare, as if in disapproval of his actions.

Lucifer shrugged, “Only bad people, I had to protect your spider-friend over there. You should keep a better eye on him.”

“Apparently,” Charlie sighed, glancing at Angel behind them before turning back to her father, “and where have you been?”

Lucifer’s gaze momentarily landed on you, and you shook your head slightly. ‘Don’t say anything about it,’ you commanded him through your eyes. Especially not with everyone in the room, hungry for more information. 

“Oh, wellllll, I was just in town and snagged this for you!” Lucifer lifted up the pink bag, a nervous smile on his lips as he held it out for Charlie to take.

Eyeing it curiously, Charlie gently took it from his hands. She peered into it, her eyes widening as she reached in and lifted the garment from its wrapping. 

It was that same red suit that you had eyed through the glass display the day before, gold lapels shimmered in the light above. It was very beautiful, and you thought it would look good against Charlie’s ivory skin. 

Charlie didn’t say anything, instead, she just stood there. The tuxedo in her grip, opened fully to reveal the entire garment. Her fingers lightly trailed down the front of it, grazing across the buttons and textured sleeves. Her eyes were unreadable, a mix of emotions you couldn’t quite place.

“Did you.. buy this for me?” She asked after a moment, looking up at Lucifer. He met her gaze, seemingly a little nervous from her reaction. 

“Well, you said the one you had was getting a bunch of wear and tear, so I thought that would look perfect on you. Do.. you like it?” 

“I love it!” Charlie exclaimed with glee, she set the suit aside and pulled her father into another bear hug. “Thank you so much! It's wonderful, especially since it’s from you!” 

Lucifer exhaled a sigh of relief at her words, he tightened his arms around her, trying to capture every second of her loving gesture in his hold. He smiled warmly, and for a moment it looked like he was going to tear up. 

He didn’t, instead he pulled away, straightening his back. He cleared his throat, rubbing at his face before looking back at Charlie. The adoration in his eyes was on full display, and if anyone ever doubted that the mighty king didn’t love his daughter, you’d slap them.

Adjusting his collar, Lucifer turned towards the group of onlookers. “Now, who wants some pancakes?” 

Everyone seemed to perk at that, and Nifty hopped from her spot next to Alastor, raising her hand in excitement. 

“As long as they are sssstrawberry pancakesss!” Sir. Pentious declared as he rose from his seat, slithering towards the swinging doors, where the large kitchen lay behind. His little eggs waddling after him, a chorus of ‘oh boy!’s rose from the shells.

“Cmon,” Husk beckoned Angel Dust as he left the bar, “Let's get something in your stomach to fight that hangover of yours.”

“Oh, yes please” Angel smiled, joining the bartender. Even Alastor seemed interested in joining them in the other room, as he slowly followed behind the group. 

“I’m kinda feeling waffles today.” Vaggie spoke up, her hand entwined with Charlie’s as they walked. 

“We can make whatever you wish,” you responded, smiling at her, “except, maybe not eggs. At least with the company we’re keeping.” 

Pushing open the red doors, the flooring shifted into large, white marble tiles. The room was stuffed with cabinets and pantries, multiple fridges also dotted its perimeter. Long, creamy-white stone countertops lined the walls, as well as a large kitchen island in the center of the space. 

There was an empty space on the other side of the room, big enough to hold a large dining table and chairs. It was actually a great place to do something like that, but where could 

Behind you, Lucifer was pulling different ingredients out of the fridge. The shelves were surprisingly well stocked, even the pantries above as he continued to pull out items of importance.

“Dad, shouldn’t you take off your coat?” Charlie asked beside him, as she tied an apron around her waist. You tensed, slowly pivoting to their direction.

Lucifer halted, a box of baking powder hanging in mid-air between his fingers. His gaze snapped to you, then back to Charlie. You were desperately hoping no one could see the sweat beading down your forehead.  

“You’re right,” Lucifer started, as he placed the baking powder on the counter, “I can’t cook with such loose sleeves.” 

He snapped his fingers, and it seemed like the coat began to melt against his skin, shifting into a white turtleneck. The long neck sleeve covered the hickeys that peppered the sides of his throat, continuing to hide your previous entanglement. And, damn, he looked really nice in that outfit too. 

Tying on a red apron with the words ‘Kiss the chef’ embroidered on the front. After pulling up his sleeves, Lucifer began to pull out mixing bowls and other utensils. 

“Just you wait, Charlie, after today you’ll never want anyone else’s pancakes again. My recipe is the best there is.” He spoke, puffing out his chest slightly as he addressed his daughter. 

Charlie only laughed softly, pulling out a box containing waffle mix as she sidled up next to her dad. “I don’t doubt that one bit!” 

As the two continued prepping to cook, you turned to grab an apron of your own. As you walked to the wooden hooks hanging on the wall, you took note of the others around you. 

Angel, Husk, and Sir. Pentious huddled together over another counter, a carton of milk and a jar of strawberry jam laid in front of them.

“How ‘bout we make ya some strawberry milk while we wait, snake boy?” He asked, a playful smile on his lips. Sir. Pentious nodded quickly, his hood raised in happiness. 

Using a tablespoon to take a few scoops out of the jar, he plopped them into an empty cocktail mixer that he borrowed from the bar. Pouring in the milk, he placed the lid on the mixer, before handing it to Husk. 

With a few shakes—and a couple of party tricks consisting of him catching the mixer behind his back, and spinning it across his forearm—the lid was popped off, and Husk poured the bright pink liquid into the glass cup in front of Sir. Pentious. 

Both demons clapped for the bartender, who smiled proudly at the reaction. Sir. Pentious gingerly lifted the glass to his lips, before taking a small sip. After a moment, eyes lit up, a large smile on his face.

He took another large gulp, before thanking Angel Dust and Husk for the drink. 

“Oh, and don’t forget about my egg boisss.” Sir. Pentious turned to Angel Dust, pointing at the small group of eggs looking enviously up at the drink in his claws. 

Angel looked down, his eyes darting to the ingredients in front of him, before he simply shrugged. “Alright, who’s thirsty?” 

“I would like some, please!” Frank yelled excitedly, the eggs behind him jumping in place with large smiles on their faces. 

Angel Dust chuckled, turning away to grab more glasses. Husk was already preparing the scoops of jam, licking a small mess of the red foodstuff from his claws. 

Grabbing the apron from the hook, you adjusted it to your figure, tying it tight behind your back. Next to you, Vaggie was holding a knife in her hand. She was looking down, a firm gaze aimed at Nifty.

“No, Niff. This is not a place to run around with a knife. You can get it back after breakfast.” 

Nifty’s shoulders drooped, a frown on her face as she walked away. She passed by Alastor, who stood silently, watching the bustling group of demons. Wasn’t he going to join in? He was technically part of the Hazbin family. 

Slowly, you approached him, and his gaze snapped to you. His smile widened as he turned to you, the cane at his side rolling between his fingers. 

“Ah, hello there, my friend! Good to see you alive and well, ha-ha,” His eyes squinted as he tilted his head at you, “what can I do for you today?” 

“Don’t you want some food? We’ll be cooking soon. It doesn’t have to be breakfast, I think we have enough here to make whatever you want.” 

Alastor actually contemplated your question for a moment, his eyes staring off in thought. “Hm, well, there was something I had in mind, but the seasoning it needs is not in my possession anymore.” 

“What happened to it?” You asked curiously.

“I simply gave it to someone more in need of it than I. Hopefully, she’ll be putting good use to it.”

A lady friend? You wanted to ask about this ‘someone’, but felt prying wouldn’t get you anywhere with the mysterious overlord. Instead, you beckoned him to follow as you walked towards the counter space Lucifer and Charlie were situated at. 

You both stopped at the creamy-white marbled island. On its surface, was a large recipe book and different ingredients spread across. Alastor had to like something here, even if it wasn’t a decaying deer.

“Let’s see.. we could do french toast, yogurt parfaits, breakfast burritos, oh! We even could make hash browns! What do you think?”

Alastor bent down to look besides you, his eyes scanning the pages. He opened his mouth to speak, before his gaze snapped to another demon coming into view.

“Darling, i’ve finished the pancake mix. I was thinking you could…” Lucifer stopped, locking eyes with the Radio Demon. A frown formed on his lips, and his brow furrowed. “Oh. It’s you.” 

That smile Alastor held widened, as he straightened himself and turned towards the fallen angel. You grimaced, not again.

“Your majesty! What a pleasure to see you this hellish morning, I apologize for not being able to greet you when you arrived earlier.”

“A tragedy.” Lucifer responded mildly, before his eyes settled on you. 

“Well isn’t this nice! The four of us, all working together to make this breakfast special.” Charlie appeared besides her father, a smile on her lips as she tried to lighten the situation.

“Yes, I was just asking Alastor what else he thinks we should make.” You nodded along, before turning to the demon for his input.

“It appears your menu contains a less-than-ideal amount of meat, my friend. Perhaps, some bacon roll-ups? They were a staple for meals back in my days on earth. Very simple as well, just cream cheese, bread, and bacon!”

You were aware of what he was talking about. They were made by putting cream cheese on a slice of bread, before using a strip of bacon to roll it into a ball. You’d spear it with a toothpick and bake it for about twenty minutes, and wala, an odd delicacy.

“That is a great idea! Isn’t it, dad?” Charlie asked, nudging her father with her elbow, prodding for a response.

“It sounds kind of gross.” 

“Dad!” Charlie turned, a slight growl in her voice. “Say something nice!” 

“Bacon is much better than venison, though!” Lucifer quickly responded, following his daughter’s demand. You place a hand to your face, sighing at his antics. A hint of smile played on your lips as you walked forward, pulling Lucifer away by the arm.

Charlie turned back to Alastor, their conversation inaudible as you walked away. You went to the opposite side of the kitchen, where the bowl full of pancake batter lay. Flour messily covered the countertop, 

“You two need to learn to get along, you bicker like an old married couple.” You said after a few moments.

Lucifer shot you a look, visibly distraught by your comment. “That guy gets on my nerves! If it weren’t for Charlie liking him so much, I'd smite him.” 

“Yeah, yeah, tough guy,” you teased, leaning against him. You both sat there for a few moments, silently indulging in each other's presence. Later, you’d ask to seek his company in the privacy of your room. For now, you pulled away, grabbing the mixing bowl.

“So, what did you need my help with?” 

“I thought you’d like to give the pancakes a little.. shape,” he started, turning towards the stove and spinning the dial, “use that artistic talent of yours and make a delicious masterpiece, hm?” 

You perked, he wants you to make pancake art? What a wonderful idea! This was something you have never done before, but you’ve seen enough videos to imitate it. “I’ll go get some dark food coloring, and another mixing bowl.”

Lucifer began placing pans onto the stove burners, placing small amounts of butter in each. They sizzled as the pan began to heat. You stood besides him, slowly stirring the batter as you hummed to the tune of ‘innsbruck, I must leave thee’ 

Soon, Lucifer was humming the notes as well, and you smiled warmly as the two of you stood-by-side, drowning out the other’s chatter with your little tune. 

Nearby, Vaggie and Charlie were giggling to each other as they placed the waffle mix into its designated maker. Small bowls of different fruit and syrup spread around, as they prepared the toppings. 

Alastor stood beside them, a large cooking fork floating mid-air in front of him. Small tendrils snaked around the utensil as it occasionally lowered to the pan in front of him to adjust the bacon. 

“Hey, Al! Why don’cha give us a table over here so we can have somewhere to eat?” Angel Dust called, a stack of plates in his hand. The egg bois stood patiently around him, each holding a set of silverware and napkins. 

Alastor turned to the spider-demon before humming a confirmation. Lifting his hand, he snapped his fingers. A large oak table materialized from a cloud of green smoke, a long, red table-runner rolled free as it hung slightly off the edges.

Chairs seemingly rose from the floor like the undead, rocking slightly as they settled around the table. The egg bois rushed forward, clumsily climbing up the chairs as they began placing the silverware. Using his extra arms, Angel quickly placed the plates down, before doing the same with the glass cups. 

Husk raised Nifty by the waist, allowing her to reach over the table and pour the different liquid contents into their respectable glasses. 

Strawberry milk for Sir. Pentious and his bois, water for Alastor, and chocolate milk for Vaggie and Charlie. Apple juice filled Lucifer’s cup, and your favorite drink was topped to the brim right next to his.

In front of you, two bowls of batter laid beside the stove you stood at. One was a dark brown, the other a much lighter shade. 

You had cleaned two ketchup bottles, before slowly pouring in the different batters and filling them full. Using the bottles, you’d make batter shapes on the pan, and use the lighter shade to fill in the lineart.  

Right now, you were attempting to make the outline of a duck—who would have thought?—for Lucifer. It was coming out surprisingly well, in your opinion. The lines were rather smooth, and the beak looked like a beak so all seemed good. 

You switched bottles, ready to begin filling in the pancake. Before you felt someone sidle up behind you, fingers grazed softly down your back with familiar warmth.

“What are you doing now?” Lucifer peeked from behind you, getting a glimpse of your work. You moved over slightly, inviting him in front of your cooking easel. 

“Take a guess,” you smiled next to him, “I figured you’d want something cute to start off your day.”

“Well, it seems you made it too cute to eat.” Lucifer pouted, as he stared at the little pancake. You laughed, reaching for a spatula and gripping the pan handle with the other hand. 

“And it’s too cute to let it get cold and then throw it away.” You spoke, lowering the spatula into the pan. You shimmied it underneath the pancake, before flipping it quickly. As it landed, the image of the duck became much clearer, the lines flat and smooth. 

“I’m just glad you love me enough to combine my two favorite things.” Lucifer smiled, before he nuzzled his cheek softly against yours. You moved your head slightly, letting your lips graze against his cheekbone. 

Looking down at the pancake, you lifted it slightly to check whether it was done. Seeing the golden-brown hue, you lifted the ban from the burner. Slowly, you slid the duck-cake onto the finished pile. 

There were two plates of hot, delicious pancakes. One was simply everyday pancakes, which Lucifer had made. Yours on the other hand were handcrafted  Each one was a unique shape. There was a smiley face, an octopus, a butterfly, a fish, and now, a duck. You smiled proudly at your creations. 

Picking up the plates of pancakes, the two of you walked towards the dining table. The egg bois were already seated, and the others were finishing up their tasks.

“Finally, let’s eat!” Vaggie called towards the group of demons slowly gathering around the table. Charlie picked up a few waffles from the stack, and placed them on a few plates. 

Vaggie appeared next to her, a small plate of french toast in her grip as she too began moving around the table. 

Alastor set a large, flat dish in the middle of the table. Small toothpicks stuck out of the bacon wraps, steam wafting slowly from the interior. Nifty reached out and grabbed one, placing it on her plate.

You turned towards the pile of pancakes, grabbing a spatula to begin setting them on a separate plate before Lucifer slid beside you, watching your movements.

“I’ve got this, Darling. You go sit down.” He nudged you away from the plates, towards the table. You sent him a warm smile, before turning and taking a seat next to Sir. Pentious and Husk. 

“Saved a seat for me, did’ya?” Angel Dust smiled at Husk, before plopping down into the seat next to him. He had a large fruit bowl, a multitude of sliced colorful produce nestled together.

“Only because you’d bitch if I didn’t,” Husk replied, a faint smile playing on his lips as he drank from his glass. To be honest, this was the first time you saw Husk take a sip of something that wasn’t alcohol. 

Charlie lowered the large plate of remaining waffles onto the table, before brushing her hands against her apron and walking to her own seat.

“Dig in, everyone!” she exclaimed, her smile infectious as she served herself a stack of french toast.

Nifty’s eyes widened in delight as she took a bite of the bacon wrap, while Sir Pentious marveled at the designs of your handcrafted pancakes.

“Here you go, little lady.” Lucifer bowed slightly to Nifty, setting down the steaming tower of pancakes in front of her. She clapped her hands with giddy, before turning to Lucifer and giving him a pat on the cheek.

“Good boy.” She teased, before bursting into giggles.

Lucifer’s smile faltered, and he leaned back. He chuckled nervously, backing away to grab more food. He quickly walked around the table, before setting waffles onto each of the eggs boi’s plates. They licked their lips hungrily, as they stared down at the delicacy in front of them. Lucifer stood up, a hand slowly reaching behind his back.

“A good friend of mine told me you boys fancy ice cream, is that right?” He looked at Frank, who nodded his shell rapidly. Lucifer grinned cheekily, as he pulled forth a large tub of vanilla ice cream.

“Well, good thing for you, nobody said you can’t mix a little dessert with breakfast once in a while.” 

The egg bois practically went berserk seeing the holy grail of yummy deliciousness. They vibrated happily in their seats as Lucifer scooped a large glob on top of each egg’s waffles. It began to slowly melt, running across the waffles surface like syrup. 

He stepped back, as the eggs began to devour the food on their plates. Mumbling a thanks through their full mouths as Lucifer strode away, grabbing pancakes for himself.

He sat down across from you, his eyes moving from the scene around him and then on to you. He stared at you for a moment, while you were busy stuffing your face with the food on your plate. After a moment, you met his gaze. 

“Food too hot, or something? You keep staring at me.” You teased, tilting your head at him.

“It’s just hard to tear my gaze away,” he spoke, “when there is something much more delicious in front of me than the pancakes on my plate.” 

Your cheeks heated, and you averted your gaze, reaching out to grab a bacon wrap. You twisted the toothpick between your fingers, and inhaled the scent as it wafted from the small bundle.

It wasn’t too bad, and you were about to take a nibble before you saw Lucifer’s watery eyes. You raised an eyebrow at him, and he only sniffled in response.

“You’re going to eat his wraps before you eat my pancakes?” He pouted, lowering his head in mock-defeat. Rolling your eyes playfully, you took a fork and cut a small piece of pancake from the rest. Taking the bacon wrap, you stabbed the other end of the toothpick through the small square. 

Lifting the bacon-pancake duo to your lips, you pulled them from the toothpick with your teeth. You swirled it in your mouth, your eyes rolling back as the flavors burst on your tongue. 

When you looked back at Lucifer, he was staring intensely at you. A smirk playing on his lips, before he sighed dramatically. 

“Now what is it?”

“Nothing.. just thinking about how that could be me.” 

You burst out laughing when those words left his lips, shocked at his sudden bluntness. Sir Pentious turned to you, giving you a look of worry as you almost choked on your food. 

After a moment, you cleared your throat. You sent Lucifer a glare for almost killing you, and he only chuckled before turning his attention from you.

Charlie, who had been sitting a few chairs away, turned to you. She smiled warmly as she spoke, “thank you for helping us with this. I really liked your butterfly pancake!”

You returned the smile, nodding your head. “It was no problem at all, I think we all deserve to have a good meal surrounded by friends. It’s you who brought us all together, so thank you.”

Charlie blushed at your words, before turning her attention back to Vaggie. Who was talking to her about an idea regarding the hotel. 

You looked around the table, taking note of the smiling faces and cheerful conversation. Alastor was helping Nifty cut some of her pancakes, his precise strikes with the knife seemed familiar to that of cutting steaks.

Sir Pentious was handing his eggs each a piece of french toast, helping them drown it in syrup as they sat there happily. Slight traces of ice cream still around their mouths.

Angel Dust and Husk were busy picking fruit from the bowl, with Angel making some kind of lude comment as he watched fruit juice dribble down Husk’s chin. Who only growled and playfully swatted at the spider-demon.

Your gaze stopped in front of you, resting on Lucifer. He had finished almost his entire plate, and now was resting his chin against his knuckles. His elbow rested against the table, and he shifted slightly to tilt his head at you. 

“Well, what do you think? Would you have preferred breakfast in bed?” He asked, taking another sip of his apple juice.

You shook your head, smiling at him. Contentedness spreads across your features as you let the food settle in your stomach. 

“No, I could get used to mornings like this,” you spoke softly. 

Lucifer nodded, his fingers reaching out to graze yours. You laced your index finger with his, and tapped his knuckles softly. 

“Yeah, me too.” 

who doesn’t enjoy some fluff about cooking with your lover? just pure fluff today, but i hope you guys enjoyed this! :)

sorry about that long wait, forgive me 🙏

taglist: @ohnoivefallen @doodlebob2726 @coleisyn @loslox @sukxma @undertale-is-sansational @nehy019 @mixplara @chewbrry @yellowsubiesdance @airwolf92 @laurenlaurie @lxkeee @jellybellyrulez @catnoirsleftnut @mbruben-stein @mint129106 @froggybich @moonlovers34 @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @lil-bexie @lowkeyhottho @wings-of-sapphire @kottenox

[endless-ineffabilities]

blue eyes so green (18+)

Ewan Mitchell x reader / Aemond Targaryen x reader

A oneshot where Ewan becomes cross with you for having a sensuous dream... about his character, Aemond.

a/n : yet another Ewan fic to ring in the season premiere! Expect a whole lot of Aemond fics while we're in the thick of the new season. Happy premiere day, my loves!

word count : 1k ▪︎ masterlist

The silver-haired Targaryen emerges from underneath your skirts, his deft fingers buried in the layers of cloth to keep them away from your prized cunny.

His curved lips are left puckered, parted and glistening from the sheen of your juices. He had practically lost his mind when you finally returned from your duties with the Septa, the hours far too long for him to be away from his lady-wife.

So, with only a few raspy words of desire -

You have kept me waiting

All day long I have longed for a taste of you, my wife.

I will make certain that you never wish to be parted from me again.

- he had lifted you atop the desk in his study, haphazardly shoving his heavy leather-bound volumes of histories and philosophies.

And in a haste, he delighted in a sweetness that can only ever be known to him. Just him, because you will only ever be his.

Your cunny is his. Your kisses all his own. Your heart, his possession.

And he is yours. All yours. He will never tire of making this known. "My love," his tone is desperate as he kisses you hungrily, the exquisite rarity of a prince begging, "I am yours to take for tonight, and every night, for as long as I am breathing."

"Oh, Aemond," you croon, tracing his features with your fingertips, "my sweet husband. Is that your fancy way of telling me that you wish to fuck me for eternity?"

He smiles against your skin. He has always loved the pert particularity of his wife's humour.

"Oh, my sweet sweet wife," his hands seek and they find the fastenings of your dress, the keys to his kingdom, "you know me so well."

And long into the night, you ride a dragon.

All throughout the morning, you can count on one hand the times your boyfriend actually spoke to you.

A few rushed, almost incoherent responses are all he seems capable of sharing.

And it is starting to bug you.

"Baby," you reach for Ewan's hand as the two of you peacefully have your Sunday breakfast.

He squeezes your hand in return, at least, but he doesn't fully meet your gaze.

You retract your hand, and for a split second, his hand scrambles to keep a hold of yours on instinct, but he lets it go with a sigh.

You try again, your tone now more demanding, "Alright, Ewan. Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing's wro - "

"Look at me."

He takes his sweet time in doing so, his blue eyes raking from his plate to the expanse of the dining table, to your arms and finally your face. He takes another deep breath, unfazed by the attitude you're showing him.

"Some dream you had last night, huh, babe?"

"Excuse me?"

"Oh yeah," he tilts his head, with the solemn confidence of someone who thinks he has the upper hand, "you just about woke me up with all your squirming and moaning."

"Oh." It dawns on you just what he is hinting at. Normally you would only recall some odd bits from your dreams, and sometimes they would even be gone from your mind as soon as you wake. But not the one you just had - no.

That one was just too good to forget.

"Baby, come on," a giggle escapes your lips, feeling less heavy now that you know what he is so worked up about.

"It's not funny," he pouts, fighting back a laugh as he can't help but mirror his beloved's glee. He dramatically pushes his plate away, but the annoyance isn't there. "You basically cheated on me," he pretends to complain.

"Do you even know who I dreamt about?" You amble over to where he sits, and his eager arms take you onto his lap. So much for being infuriated at you.

He doesn't answer, shaking his head as he absently caresses your hips.

"You," you clarify, and his eyes shoot up to meet yours, "well... you meaning Aemond. I had a dream about the one-eyed prince."

He shrugs, "I know."

"You... you know?" You try to stand up but his sturdy arms keep you firmly in place. "You know who I was dreaming about, and yet you sulk all morning?"

"So what? I can't deny that I'm still jealous. Aemond would be a pretty fierce competitor for your heart, darling."

"But he's you!" you squeal, lightly punching his chest. He takes your forearm and pulls you closer to press a soft kiss against your cheek.

"I know," he smiles. "I suppose I was just getting way into my thoughts."

"You think?"

"Hmm," he narrows his eyes, his features taking on that cheeky guise he expertly sports so often, "if you were to choose, between myself and Aemond - "

"Oh no," you laugh dryly, prying yourself from his arms and returning to your seat, "I am not playing this game."

"Who do you think would be a superior lover in bed?"

"Ewan - "

"Come on, darling," he prods lightheartedly. "Humour me."

"Well," you say, "why don't you hurry up and finish your breakfast so you can convince me to your side?"

His cheeky sneer disappears at your insinuation, in its place an indicative clenching of his jaw.

A moment passes. You take a delightful sip of your orange juice, satisfied.

Sure enough, you hear his chair scrape loudly as he stands and makes his way to you.

"Fuck breakfast," he rasps. "Time to make your dreams come true, darling."