#seconded by morph's confession

[thevulturesquadron]

The fact that Lorna, Wanda and Pietro are on that boat alongside Rogue is EVERYTHING to me. They are the first thing he remembered!!! They are his heart, they are his anchor to humanity. Always have been in the comics, always will. I am so happy we got this version in the '97 animation as well. This scene is all I needed from the show. I am at peace. That's the best part of his soul on that boat, hope you understand.

[earthtooz]

in which: a moment of impulsivity has ratio knocking on your door at 3 am with a grand confession.

There is a great cloud of curiosity that surrounds Dr. Ratio.

His intelligence is far beyond the average person’s comprehension, mind working at insurmountable speeds to reach conclusions and answers that no others have come to before. Mediocrity and Ratio could never stand to be in the same room, intelligence and reputation as an academic preceding him.

When people find out that you have been in a long-term relationship with the scholar, you can almost see the question mark above their heads. How did you meet? When did you start dating? How did you start dating? How do you put up with him? (You always answer that with ‘I’m still trying to find out myself’. He always rolls his eyes when you say that, but it’s nothing a kiss to the cheek can’t solve.) 

Only your closest friends know the story of how you started dating, but it’s always one you love recounting, much to the dismay of Veritas. 

For the decades that he has lived for, there have been few moments he regrets, always critically scrutinising every move six steps before he makes them. No one has ever seen him messy, uncertain, or dishevelled- except you. 

Towards the end of your university years, with an urgent final assignment due soon, you’re rudely awoken one night by frantic knocks on your dorm’s door. You notice the clock reads 3 am, and since the knocks only got louder by the second, you throw your covers off with a groan.

Who could be at your door at 3 am? Perhaps a drunk dormmate who forgot their keys? Or someone knocking thinking it was their room?

Looking through the peephole, you’re stunned to see a certain violet-haired friend on the other side, trouble etched deeply into his features. His hair was messy, falling haphazardly around his face, and his usual accessory of a laurel wreath was discarded, flamboyant outfit discarded for something more comfortable. 

It’s clear that he’s troubled by something, but you have half a mind to leave him outside until he goes away (that’s what he’d do to you, or so you think).

Opening the door, you begin by scolding him. “You better have a good reason to show up at this godforsaken time or otherwise-”

“-I’m in love with you.” 

Perhaps if it were a normal hour of the day, and if you hadn’t just been rudely awaken from your sleep, you would have processed his words faster. Instead, you blink at him once, twice, three times, fatigue weighing heavily on your features as you struggled to keep your eyes open. 

“What?” You murmur, shaking your head as if that would clear up the mental blockage.

“I’m in love with you,” he repeats, firmer this time. 

You grab his wrist and drag him inside your dorm, blinded by the harshness of the hallway lights illuminating the outline of his figure. Turning on the softer light on your desk, you take a seat on the edge of your bed, gazing down at your hands. Veritas, however, stays near your door, annoyingly muscular arms flexed over his chest.

“I have so many questions,” you grumble, rubbing your eyes. “Why are you awake? You’re always asleep by 11 to get your ass up at 6 to exercise, or whatever.” 

“Are you avoiding the main point, or just stupid?” He grabs you by the shoulders and shakes. “I love you.” 

“Excuse me! You were banging bullets on my dorm room, I’m disorientated right now, not stupid- what?”

It’s almost like his statement from earlier only pierces through your brain now with the way you freeze, eyes morphing into something akin to disbelief and shock. He sees all the changes in your expression in the dimness of the room, nervously biting his cheek with every subtle shift.

“Did… I hear that right?” You whisper after what feels like an eternity. “You love me?”

He nods. “For a few years now.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Am I not doing so in this very moment?” 

Tonight has been nothing but agitating for him. First, he was kept awake by the pounding of his heart and the burning desire to see you, significantly delaying his sleep until Veritas decided to cast all caution into the wind, running to your dorm all the way on the other side of the University. Now, he is trying to pour his heart onto your hands, all because of a moment of impulsivity and bull-headed stubbornness, and a secret he cannot keep to himself any longer.

He may be stubborn (as are all geniuses), but Veritas is never impulsive. All truths will come to light eventually, no matter how hard he tries to hide them. 

“While I accept that my feelings may not be reciprocated, can you at least say something rather than stare at me blankly?” There’s an unfamiliar look of concern in his eyes, contrasting the usual pride and arrogance he always wears.

What happened to the Veritas Ratio you know? Who is this man by your feet?

“No- that’s not. I… I love you too, I have for a while now, but everything about this is… just… unbelievable.”

“Why?” 

“You’re aeons out of my league, Veritas. I never once considered you would return my feelings.”

He stifles back a laugh, dropping his large hands off your shoulders and clutching the mattress on either side of you. You won’t forget about the way the sheets crumple beneath his grip, or the way his head hangs, bangs tickling your legs.

Bravely, you raise a hand to his hair, running through it. Seemed like he could use the comfort.

“You make me too damn nervous,” he breathes, a hand coming to clutch at his chest. 

“Never thought I’d live to see the day you admit you get nervous.” 

“Why’s that?”

“The only thing bigger than your brain is your ego.”

His confession, and everything about that night, was unorthodox, never predicting that you’d end the day curled up next to Veritas, or the long relationship that would follow.

© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[raekensluver]

second to none

can be read as a stand alone but in case you want more- read part two here!

description: breaking up with your boyfriend spencer reid was difficult but not as difficult as realizing you were always going to be his second choice.

pairing: boyfriend!spencer reid x fem!reader

contains: angst, breakup, fighting, happens after jj’s confession to spencer in 12x15, toxic!spencer??, spencer not being a good boyfriend.

song rec: bored by billie eilish- "giving you all you want and more, giving you every piece of me."

w.c: 1.5k

an: i had to. the plot popped into my head and i couldn't not write it.

"spencer, i can't believe you." you muttered to yourself, glancing at your watch for the umpteenth time. the elegant restaurant buzzed with the muted chatter of couples enjoying their meals, the clinking of silverware against fine china, and the faint scent of gourmet dishes wafting from the kitchen. you had been waiting at the table for an hour, fidgeting with the delicate napkin in your lap, the anticipation of a special dinner slowly morphing into a sour knot in your stomach.

eventually, a staff member, impeccably dressed in a black suit, approached you with a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "miss," he began, "i'm terribly sorry, but we have a rather large queue of guests waiting for a table tonight. would you mind taking a seat in the lobby for a few minutes? you can notify us as soon as your party arrives."

you looked up at him, feeling the weight of the situation finally crash down on you. the rain outside had picked up, beating against the restaurant's windows like a symphony of impatience. your heart sank as you realized that spencer wasn't coming. not tonight, not ever, maybe. with a deep breath, you forced a smile and nodded. "of course," you said, trying to keep the tremble out of your voice. "i'll just go."

as you stepped outside, the cold rain slapped you in the face like a cruel reminder of your reality. the chilly water seeped through the fabric of your expensive dress, sticking it to your skin, and your purse grew heavier with every drop that soaked into the leather. the sound of your high heels tapping against the wet pavement echoed through the quiet street, the only music to your one-woman parade of disappointment. you hadn't anticipated the storm when you'd chosen your outfit earlier, the forecast promising a clear evening. but then again, you hadn't anticipated being stood up either.

then, through the sheet of rain, you saw him. spencer reid, your boyfriend, the man who was supposed to be waiting for you with a bouquet of roses and an apology on his lips. he was hunched over, his suit drenched and clinging to his lanky frame, hurrying down the sidewalk with a look of utter distraction. your heart jumped into your throat, a mix of anger and relief swirling in your chest like a tempest.

you sprinted towards him, your heels clicking faster against the wet ground. "spencer!" you called out, your voice strained and desperate. he stopped, looking up with a startled expression that melted into something close to guilt when he saw you. the rain continued to pummel down on both of you, but you didn't care. "where have you been?" you demanded, your voice tight with emotion.

he took a step closer, water dripping from his hair onto his face. "i had to talk to jj," he said, his eyes flickering with something you couldn't quite read. "about what she said yesterday."

"for two hours?" you ask, incredulous. your voice grew louder, edged with a mix of anger and betrayal. "while i've been waiting here, getting soaked, you've been with her? discussing your feelings? and without a text or call to tell me that you couldn't make it?"

spencer's gaze dropped to the ground, the rain plastering his lashes to his cheeks. "it's not like that," he mumbled, his words barely audible over the rain's crescendo. "you know we just got out of a tough situation."

you nodded, your teeth gritted. "yes, i know," you replied, your voice tight as a bowstring. "but that doesn't give you an excuse to ditch me like this. we had plans, spencer. important plans."

his eyes snapped back up to meet yours, a spark of anger igniting in them. "important plans? i almost died yesterday, and jj…she had to deal with so much. i had to make sure she was okay."

you took a deep breath, trying to push down the wave of anger crashing over you. "i understand that, spencer," you said, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "but jj has a husband, a family. it's not your job to fix her."

spencer looked up, his eyes searching yours, as if looking for a hint of understanding. "you don't get it," he said, his voice rising slightly. "you weren't there. you don't know what it was like."

you felt the heat of anger rising in your cheeks, your body trembling from the cold and the emotional turmoil. "no, spencer, i don't get it," you retorted, your voice strained. "what i do know is that i've been waiting for you, for hours, in the rain, because i thought tonight was important to us. because i thought i was important to you."

spencer took a step back, his eyes widening slightly. "that's not fair," he protested, his voice tight. "i had to do what was right for jj."

you felt the last threads of patience snap within you. "right for jj?" you echoed, your voice rising to match his. "what about what's right for us?"

spencer looked taken aback, his eyes darting around as if searching for a way out of the conversation. "i'm sorry," he began, but you cut him off with a wave of your hand.

"don't," you said firmly. "just don't. i've had enough of apologies and excuses. i thought after what happened, we could finally move forward, but it seems like i'll always be second to her, to your job, to whatever crisis pops up next."

spencer's mouth opened and closed, a silent protest forming on his lips. the rain continued its relentless symphony around you, a stark contrast to the silent tension that had taken root between you two. "that's not true," he finally managed to say, his voice strained.

but you were already shaking your head, the cold rain mixing with the tears that were now streaming down your face. "it is, spencer," you said, your voice cracking. "it's always been true. i can't do this anymore."

his eyes searched yours, desperation and confusion fighting for dominance in his gaze. "what are you saying?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

you took a deep breath, the rain feeling like a million tiny needles piercing your skin. "i'm saying that i can't be in a relationship where i'm always the backup plan, where i'm never the priority." your voice was steady, despite the storm of emotions raging within you. "i deserve better than this, spencer. i deserve someone who's all in."

his eyes searched yours, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his features. "i am all in," he insisted, taking a step closer. "you're everything to me."

but the words felt hollow, like they were being spoken by a stranger. "then why isn't it showing?" you countered, your voice strong despite the tears that continued to fall. "why do i always feel like i'm fighting for your attention?"

spencer's expression fell, the rain now a mirror for the sadness in his eyes. "i never meant for it to be like this," he murmured, his hand reaching out to touch your arm. but you stepped back, shivering from the cold, your resolve unyielding.

"actions speak louder than words, spencer," you said, your voice barely above the patter of rain. "and your actions have been speaking volumes."

his hand dropped to his side, the silence stretching out like a yawning chasm. the streetlights cast a sad, yellow glow on the puddles forming at your feet, reflecting the sadness in your heart. "i'm sorry," he repeated, his voice thick with something that might have been regret.

you stared at him, the rain plastering your hair to your face, your dress clinging to your body like a second, unwelcome skin. "sorry isn't enough," you said, your voice cold. "not this time."

without another word, you turned away from spencer, your heels clicking a staccato rhythm on the wet pavement as you made your way to the curb. raising your hand, you hailed a taxi, the yellow beacon of the approaching car's light cutting through the gloom like a lifeline. the engine rumbled closer, the wipers swiping back and forth in a futile attempt to clear the windshield of the relentless downpour.

as the taxi pulled over, you stepped in, slamming the door shut with a finality that seemed to echo through the night. the warmth of the car's interior was a stark contrast to the cold that had seeped into your bones from the rain and the even colder conversation with spencer. the driver looked at you in the rearview mirror, his eyes filled with concern. "where to, miss?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble.

you took a deep, shaky breath and recited your address, your voice sounding foreign to your own ears. the car pulled away from the curb, leaving spencer standing in the rain, looking after you with a mix of shock and despair etched on his face. you couldn't bring yourself to look back, instead focusing on the streaks of water racing down the window, blurring the streetlights into a kaleidoscope of colors.

edited 8.20.24

[brokenmenswhore]

Hiiii!! I love your writing and I have a request for Best Friend x Reader where Reader has had a crush on James for years and thought he never noticed because he was way to focused on Lily. But in reality he had been in love with her from the second they met on the train but every time je was almost caught he’d look to the closest person by you, which was usually Lily. Maybe smut too if possible. Thank you!!!!

i love this request!! james is just so 🥺🫶🏻❤️‍🩹

the closest thing | james potter

pairing: james potter x fem!reader

warnings: smut (MDNI 18+)

────── ☾ ──────

“Hey, can I sit here?”

You were eleven. The boys in the train compartment all turned their heads toward you. One boy in particular, with brown curly hair and glasses, stood and approached the door.

“Hi, I’m James,” he said, sticking his hand out for you to shake and giving you a warm smile.

You told him your name and sat down across from him.

That’s when the crush started.

Through your first few years at Hogwarts, you and James grew extremely close, and became borderline inseparable. He was your best friend in the world, and you were his. Your infatuation grew with time, watching as he grew up and came into his own, his features morphing and sharpening with age.

When you were thirteen, you met Lily. She had been sorted into Gryffindor the same year as you and James, but you never spoke until your third year. She was charming, pretty, and loved a good laugh. You and her became fast friends, and you introduced her to James.

Whenever you sat in a group for breakfast, you would steal glances at James, who would be looking at Lily next to you. During classes, when you sat between them, you could feel James’s head turn toward you, but if you looked back at him, he was staring straight across you, fixated on Lily as she tucked a piece of fiery red hair behind her ear.

For years, you watched him gawk at her, and it caused you to hold your tongue about your developing feelings for him. Your friendship was so pure, it wasn’t worth ruining with a confession, especially if it would lead nowhere. Why tell him you liked him, just for him to tell you he liked Lily?

By the time you were sixteen, James was on top of the world as captain and seeker of Gryffindor Quidditch. He, along with Sirius and Remus, knew everyone and everything happening at Hogwarts. James in particular was the top of the class, and often had to help you with assignments. He still maintained your friendship, working to make time for you, but his popularity meant one thing you hated: attention from girls.

Girls often threw themselves at him, as they did Sirius, but he mostly turned them away. Waiting on Lily, you thought.

You and James had fun, and you made a habit of jumping on his back and making him carry you around. You weren’t much different in size, but he liked showing off how strong he was, and you liked wrapping your body around him.

Girls would often approach him, and when he entertained their attention, you would complain, “James, I’m getting loopy.”

James would bend over slightly, continuing to talk to the girl in front of him as you jumped on his back. He would hook his arms underneath your legs, your arms wrapping around his neck.

“Gotta go,” James would say, dismissing himself as he stood tall, walking completely unobstructed with your weight on his back.

“You’re a child,” he laughed.

“Can’t help when I’m tired,” you would say, resting your head on his shoulder.

One afternoon, you were taking a walk on the grounds to find a quiet place in nature to study, and you saw James and Lily alone together. It would seem innocent to anyone else; they were side by side and just talking and laughing, but to you, it was so much more. James looked enamored, like he was the happiest he’d ever been, as they strolled along the path together. You desperately wanted to know what they were talking about, but you didn’t want to expose yourself for liking James, so you simply turned around and retreated back to the castle.

You were upset, but you knew you had no right to be. James wasn’t yours, and you had never told Lily of your feelings. If they liked each other, there was nothing you could do. Nothing, except, of course, pushing it down and asking Remus out.

“You’re kidding,” Remus said, shocked by your request.

“It’s just a trip to Hogsmeade, Remus, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

“You’re crazy if you think I’m saying yes.”

“Well that’s pretty rude,” you scoffed.

“No! Not like that, I just mean-“ Remus’s voice trailed off as you listened intently, “you’re James’s best friend.”

“Technically so are you,” you responded.

“But he, like— whatever. Not a date?”

“Not a date, sure,” you clarified, honestly just happy to accept the company, “just two friends hanging out. That’s a thing girls and boys can do, right?”

Remus looked at you strangely. “Yeah?”

You smiled at him, telling him you’d see him later that night before walking away. Sirius slapped his arm. “James is gonna kill you, you know,” he said.

Remus just shrugged. Of course he knew that James liked you, and always had, but this wasn’t a date, so what did it matter? He was also allowed to be friends with you.

You and Remus enjoyed the evening walking through the streets of Hogsmeade and sharing a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks, and you fought with every cell in your being to avoid bringing up James. Every time Remus tried to, you shut him down and changed the subject. You wanted to vent about him, but admitting your feelings to someone else made them all the more real, and you weren’t ready to face true rejection quite yet.

When you returned, you entered the common room together, and saw James and Sirius draped over the couch.

“Hey,” James said, sitting up as you both approached the couch, “where were you guys?”

“Just hanging out,” you shrugged nonchalantly, dropping down onto the couch next to him.

“I didn’t know you guys hung out, like, alone,” he said, forcing a small laugh on the last words to make them seem lighthearted.

“I didn’t know you and Lily hung out alone either,” you responded, catching his gaze for a full thirty seconds before you joked, “you just upset I finally have a friend that isn’t you or her?”

James forced a chuckle in response, but there was a slight bit of tension in the air between you both.

Things stayed the same as always as time passed. You hoped your time with Remus would spark some jealousy within James, but he didn’t seem to care. Every time you looked at him, his eyes were next to you and on Lily.

The one thing that did change, however, is James started throwing around a pet name for you.

You were excused from Potions one day to grieve the loss of your grandfather, who was an extremely important part of your life. You adored him, and you had a close relationship.

James found you alone in the west tower, crying at the bottom of the curved staircase.

“I figured something was up when you didn’t show,” he spoke, sitting down next to you, “what’s wrong?”

“My grandfather passed away this morning,” you explained, “I received word from my mother just before Potions. I just couldn’t bring myself to go.”

You wiped your nose with the back of your robe sleeve, taking a deep breath to calm your crying.

“Oh, angel, I’m so sorry.”

Your heart skipped a beat. James had never called you angel before. It felt so intimate, so endearing, and so personal. He threw around terms like “doll” and “baby” to other girls, but never angel.

You rested your head against his chest and calmed your breathing.

The next day, James missed you in the common room in the morning, first seeing you for the day in Defense Against the Dark Arts. “You doing okay, angel?” he asked.

You blushed at his words, and he caught it, but assumed it was because you were upset and fighting back tears. “I’m okay,” you smiled.

A few weeks later, James was shitfaced drunk at a Ravenclaw party, sat in a large group with you and your friends. You stood to get another bottle, and James called out to you, “Hey, angel, can you get me one too?”

That was the first time he ever used the term in front of Lily, or in front of anyone, and it slightly confused you, but also thrilled you. You handed him the bottle, and he watched you sink back down to the floor, sitting cross-legged next to Lily. When you met his gaze again, he diverted his attention to Lily, and you sighed.

He then started casually calling you angel.

It was nearing the end of your term, and therefore your time at Hogwarts, and your patience was gone. You had nothing to lose. If James was weird about it, or rejected you, you could just ice him out, and without Hogwarts, you could avoid ever seeing him again. That’s not what you wanted, but it was a possible worst case scenario.

After finals were over, you asked to speak to James alone.

You pulled him into a now-empty classroom, shutting the door behind you for privacy and taking a deep breath.

“Everything ok?” he asked, leaning back against one of the desks.

“I need to talk to you,” you replied.

“Yeah, I get that,” James giggled, “what’s up?”

Both of your hearts were pounding, and both of you assumed the feeling was solitary.

“I need to tell you something,” you said, your voice small and shaky.

“Okay, you’re kinda starting to scare me, angel.”

You took a deep breath, slowly exhaling as you tried to steady yourself. “You genuinely have no idea what I’m gonna say?”

James was slightly taken aback by your question. “I don’t remember doing anything bad.”

“No, James-“ you rubbed your hands over your eyes, desperate for him to understand you without you having to be clear or coherent at all. You didn’t want to say it out loud, you just wanted him to know already.

“I have no idea what’s going on,” he said.

You sighed. You closed your eyes and bowed your head, hoping you would be able to speak the words while simultaneously pretending he wasn’t there. “I like you.”

“Aweh, thanks, I like you too,” he said.

“No, oh my god-“ you spun around and paced for a moment, sighing loudly before stopping in front of him again. “No, like, I like you.”

“Oh.”

You looked up at him. That’s it? That’s all he had to say? Oh?

“Yeah.”

“I thought you liked Remus?” James spoke, confused by your confession.

“What would make you think I like Remus?”

“I don’t know, probably the dates you keep going on with him?” James threw his hands up, as if it was obvious.

“We’re just friends, I haven’t been-“ your voice trailed off for a moment. “James?”

He looked down at you expectantly. “Yeah?”

“I know we’ve been friends forever,” you started, “and I really don’t want you to hate me or this to be ruined, but term is ending, and you should probably know that I’ve had feelings for you since we first met.”

You exhaled, letting out a heavy breath that you weren’t aware you were holding in.

“I-“

You cut him off before he could respond, “and I know you like Lily, so I’m sorry I’m telling you this, I’m just kinda tired of holding it in.”

James furrowed his brows in confusion. “What?”

“I don’t want to fuck up whatever it is you two have going on,” you said, and it was genuine, “I know you really like her.”

James tilted his head to the side. “Based on what?”

You returned his confused gaze. “What do you mean?”

“Why would you think I’m into Lily?”

“Be-because you are?”

“No I’m not,” he defended.

“James, it’s okay, you don’t have to lie to me, every single time we’re with her I can see you staring at her.”

James instantly knew what you were talking about.

“No, no, that’s not it,” he stopped you, “she’s just always the closest thing to shift my attention to when you catch me.”

You paused for a moment. “Catch you what?” you asked.

“Staring at you.”

You were so taken aback that you physically stepped backwards. “What?”

“Mhm,” he said, confident.

“But- but I’ve seen you alone with her, walking the grounds-“

“Lily is the only person on this planet I talk to about you.”

“About me?”

James reached a hand out and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, and sighed of relief. “Angel, I’ve been in love with you since you first asked to sit with me on the train.”

You opened your mouth to speak several times, but only small noises came out. You were speechless as James wrapped an arm your waist and pulled you flush against him.

“But-“

“Get out of your own head and listen to me,” James said.

“But I-“

“Shut up,” James sighed, pressing his lips onto yours to keep you from refusing to believe him any longer. Your muscles relaxed as you melted into his touch, your hand caressing the side of his face as you kissed him back. Your lips moved in sync with his. Molded with him, you were home.

James’s hand moved down from your waist to grab the flesh of your ass, pushing your hips harder against his, causing you to whine into the kiss. James moved his hands lower and lower until they were behind your thighs, prompting you to jump. He caught your legs as they wrapped around his waist, and he spun you around, seating you on the desk, his lips never breaking from yours.

Once you were seated, his hands held the sides of your face, desperate to deepen the kiss even more. You had both waited forever for this moment, and you both wanted to savor it as much as you possibly could.

You whimpered when he pulled your hips against his again, grinding his clothed cock against your clothed core.

He pulled away and smiled at you.

“What?” you blushed.

James nearly growled, “you sound even prettier than I dreamed you would.”

You looked deep into his eyes, and could tell he was being genuine. “You’ve been dreaming about me?”

“Feels like every night,” he said, his voice low as he slowly pulled your shirt above your head, and then ran a hand up and down your side, sending shivers down your body, “I’ve dreamed about simple little things, like holding your hand, kissing you, holding you…”

A hand moved to your skirt, pushing it up to your waist and beginning to move your underwear to the side as he continued, “and I’ve dreamed about fucking you, and watching you come around my cock.”

His words sent chills down your spine, his lips connecting to your neck as you sighed in pleasure.

He ran a finger between your folds, sucking the side of your neck as you shuddered. He collected your wetness before slowly inserting a finger into you.

You threw your head back, holding onto James’s shoulders to keep yourself upright.

“This all for me?” James asked.

“Mhm,” you moaned, unable to speak.

He slowly pulled out and pushed in his finger, watching your mouth fall open.

Your fingers ran through the curls on the back of his head, holding him against you.

“J-James,” you moaned, his palm applying pressure to your clit and doubling the stimulation.

James dipped his head for a moment and released a low, guttural moan from his throat.

“You okay?” you breathed out.

James giggled, his hand never stopping. “Did you just ask me if I’m okay?”

You nodded your head yes.

“I’m literally fingering you right now,” James said.

The reality of the situation dawned on you, and you realized what you asked, and you couldn’t help but laugh. James laughed with you, continuing to fuck you with his fingers as he swallowed your noises with a kiss. You were so, so happy.

The joy and laughter of the situation brought you close to the edge, your walls squeezing around James’s finger. He felt it, and immediately pulled his finger out of you.

You gasped at the loss of contact, the cool air hitting your wet core. You looked up at James, your eyes confused and desperate.

James smirked at you. “I wanna fuck you, angel, it’s no fun if you come already.”

“Yeah, but, but I-“

“There’s more where that came from,” James said, placing a kiss onto your forehead, assuring you this was not a solitary event. “For right now, though, please just let me fuck you.”

You nodded your head up and down rapidly, as eager as ever to feel James inside of you.

James pushed his pants down and freed himself, giving his cock a few strokes as he looked down at your body. He lined himself up with your entrance, looking to you for permission.

“I’ve wanted you for so long, James, please,” you spoke.

James immediately pushed his tip inside of you, and you inhaled a sharp breath. James slowly pushed the rest of his length into you, stopping once he was fully inside of you, allowing you to adjust to his size.

“Shit, you’re big,” you moaned.

James moaned back in response, your words making him harder as he slowly pulled partially out of you.

“Can I?” he asked.

“Please, James, move,” you answered.

James pushed back into you, your wetness lubricating his cock as you laid your back down onto the desk, no longer having the strength to hold yourself up anymore.

James took the opportunity to grab your breast, watching as your body moved up and down in sync with his thrusts. Your head was almost entirely off the desk, your neck tilting slightly backward, causing each moan to come out strangled.

Laying down meant James could see your entire body as he fucked you, and he was losing control at the sight of your breasts bouncing with each hit of his hips.

He picked up his pace, harshly grabbing both of your hips in order to push you into him with each thrust.

“Fuck,” you cried out, the entire classroom echoing as the legs of the desk shifted slightly across the floor.

“You feel so fucking good,” James praised.

You whined and whimpered and moaned beneath him, unbearably turned on by the feeling of his cock finally inside of you.

James moved one of his hands to your core, rubbing circles against your clit as he fucked you.

Your body jolted upward and you grabbed at James’s shoulders, pulling yourself up and hanging off of his neck. You were eager to come around him, and you kissed him hard.

“Please, James, make me come,” you begged, hoping your pleas would help him reach his climax as well. Though the sex wasn’t too long, you were so aroused by finally having him, and you knew you couldn’t last much longer.

James began to piston his hips into you even harder, determined to bring you to your climax. He wanted to savor the sex, but it would be so fucking hot to see you come in a matter of minutes. It stroked his ego, knowing that you were so hot for him that you were going to come from just a few minutes of stimulation.

“James, I-“

“Come for me, angel.”

The use of the pet name in your current position was enough to push you over the edge. You squeezed James’s cock, your legs shaking around James’s waist as you came.

“Shit, where can I come?” James asked through shaky breaths, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he chased his own high after feeling you squeeze him.

“In me.”

“You sure?”

“I’m- yes, I w-want your come in me, please, Jamie, please-“

The nickname and the pleading had James coming inside of you with a final few sharp thrusts of his hips. He groaned as he came, settling inside of you for a few moments while he caught his breath.

He slowly pulled out of you, watching his seed spill out of your hole when he was out. He couldn’t help but lean down and lick the juices up, savoring the taste. You shuddered when his tongue touched you, you were so overstimulated.

James helped you stand, your body aching from the uncomfortableness of the wood beneath you.

“You alright?” James checked in.

“I’m alright,” you confirmed, leaning upward to place a kiss on his lips.

“You able to walk back out there?”

Your legs were shaky. You tried to take a few steps, but you nearly collapsed, and James caught a hold of you.

He smiled at you, turning his back to you and bending down.

“You serious?” you asked.

“‘F course.”

“James, I’m still wet. Won’t it get-“

“You jumping up or not?” James asked.

You hopped onto his back, holding onto him for dear life as he stood tall and swung the classroom door open.

At that very moment, of course, Sirius, Remus, Peter, and Lily walked past the room.

“Oh hey you two,” Sirius said, noticing how unkempt your hair was and how flushed James looked, “had some fun, did we?”

You reached a hand out to hit his arm as James stepped in front of him, joining the group with you wrapped around him.

“Child,” he whispered to you, referencing you being carried on his back.

“At least this time I have valid reasoning for not being able to walk.”

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧

→ premise: all of deans life pain has always ran parallel to love. he needs them both, he needs you to hurt him and take the pain away all at the same time, turns out you were more than willing to, you may even need it reciprocated.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: 2.3k words, small bit of angst that turns quickly into smut | 18+, kinda switch!dean, pain kink [slapping, biting, pinching, scratching, etc], praise kink [both reader and dean], unprotected sex, small bit of choking, multiple mentions of blood & reader nearly dying

→ a/n: kinktober 08

Dean was accustomed to pain, he learned to tolerate and push through it from a young age as his father hammered into him that it was his job to always look after Sam and conditioned him to become a hunter. Love always came alongside pain in his life, losing everybody he ever cared deeply for; it happened so often that he began to associate one with the other. And so somewhere along the way he came to yearn for both pain and love as he felt they always came together. When Dean began having feelings for you, he was scared like he’s never been before. He avoided telling you for a couple of years simply because he thought if he voiced it out loud then he'd lose you like he did everyone else.

However when a demon came very close to killing you when you were being reckless, that scared Dean a hell of a lot more and in a screaming match about it he revealed his feelings on accident.

“You couldve fucking died, ya’ know that right? If me and Sam got there even a minute later you’d have been laying in my arms dead not just unconscious” when he mentions sam, he gestures towards the couch in the small motel room where the younger brother last sat. Though when he turns to look over hoping for backup he finds Sam gone, he groans out in annoyance. Sam had figured it was best to leave the two of you to your fighting alone, yes he was also upset with your careless decision but not as heated as his brother.

“Well I didn't okay? I can take care of myself. I had it under control!” you scream out, punching your words out to get your point across, flailing your arms in frustration though the fast movement aggravates your injuries making you wince slightly. Seeing you in pain makes Dean stop short for a second, a ping in his chest as his heart aches, it however only morphs into making his blood boil more when the memory of finding you beaten and bloody on the floor of that warehouse flashes in his head. “I'm sooo glad you can take care of yourself, but what about me HUH?!” He screams out, sarcasm dripping from his voice until the latter half with his question where it breaks off taking you back. Confusion crosses your face but before you can say anything back to him he continues.

“I dont know what I’d fuckin’ do without you, im so pathetically and utterly in love with you that the thought of you dying makes me wanna lie in the dirt just so i can be buried with you!” he had been stepping closer and closer as he yelled out in frustration, not realizing exactly what he just said. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest, the adrenaline from his confession and proximity coursing through your veins.

“You love me..?” Your voice comes out softer than Dean swears he's ever heard it before and it melts all the anger out of his body. He knew there was no turning back now that he blurted that out and even though he was worried more than ever, he couldn't stand not being with you anymore. “I think i fell in love the moment i met you sweetheart” he sighs and brings his rough hands up to cup your face and wipe away the tears you hadn’t noticed we're slowly falling from your eyes. After a long stretch of comfortable silence as the tension of the fight has dissipated you speak up.

“Would you just kiss me already ya’ idiot” you tease, smiling softly at him through your tears as you stare deep into those stupid green eyes that turn your brain to mush.

Using his hold on your face he pulls your lips against his in a desperate kiss, trying to drown out all the swarming negative voices in his head. Your soft lips mold against his perfectly and he thanks any and every god he can think of for letting him have something he knows he doesn’t deserve. Your eyes flutter shut as you kiss back, the fight over your thoughtless decision not forgotten but put on the back burner. You were deans the second you told him to kiss you and if you thought you were gonna be able to continue with your bad decisions boy were you in for a surprise, he just finally got you he wasn't ever letting go now. You grab at his chest, your hands balling up his shirt as you try pulling him impossibly closer deepening the kiss. In a tangled mess of limbs and mouths still latched to one another’s you and Dean tumble back and fall down onto the rundown motel bed. Dean landed on his back in the middle cushioning your fall with you landing on top of him between his legs.

“Baby..” he mumbles against your lips making your heart skip a bit at him calling you a name normally reserved for his impala. He even squeezes your hips lightly to break your focus from the make out.

“I need you to do something for me” he groans out as the kiss heats up and your tongue slips in his mouth during his statement, your hands running all over his chest and arms. Your body was pressed up to his, hips flush against each other making it impossible for you not to feel his hardening cock on your thigh. “Anything, what do you need, baby?” You question, desperate to please him and more than willing to do whatever he asks. Now Dean was well aware if he said jump you'd ask how high, he just hoped this request as odd as it was didn‘t make you run for the hills.

Reluctantly he pulls away from the kiss to catch his breath as well as watch your face when he tells you what he needs. You open your eyes and look at him with that same sparkle they always hold when your gaze is locked on him. His cock was getting painfully hard now from the mixture of the make out session and your body so close to him.

”I- shit okay im just gonna say it uh. I need you to hurt me. I just- I need you to get the image of you laying in a pool of your own blood barely breathing out of my head” he rambles, his voice sounding unfamiliar to his own ears with how pathetic it comes out. He silently prays you won't just get up and walk out of his life at his weird desire. He avoids eye contact when you are still silent after a minute. A fire ignites in your body and settles in your core as a million and one thoughts are running through your head at the speed of light. Every single last one however being the different things you wanna and finally get to do to Dean.

You grab ahold of Dean’s face squeezing it as you turn it so he is looking at you again. You now have a small taunting smile on your face, your nails are lightly digging into his cheeks making his cock twitch. “I can do that, but can you be a good boy?” You teasingly question as you lean up maneuvering your body so you're straddling his hips, peering down on him. The sight of you on his lap, thighs spread either side of his body and lust blown hooded eyes staring down at him knocks the breath from his lungs. It's an image pulled from his many dirty depraved dreams of you that riddled him with guilt but now it's a reality, his wonderful heaven like reality.

He frantically nods his head yes while your hand not pinching his face is working at undoing his belt.

“Gonna be such a good boy, can be s’good for you baby” he huffs out and lifts his hips to help you out as you pull his jeans down and off his legs. You let go of his face and dean has to fight back an actual whine when the small sting of pain leaves with it. Though he swallows his complaint as he watches you strip yourself of your dirty still blood soaked t-shirt, going at a teasingly slow pace when you undo your own belt pulling it through the loops and discarding it on the floor besides his pants. “Come on don't be a tease sweetheart please” he softly begs as he grabs your hips, thrusting his up to grind his bulge against your core. The rough fabric of your jeans sends a jolt of pleasure up his spine as it rubs over his aching boxer covered cock. You bite back a moan and slap his chest to stop him before lifting your body up to help you rid yourself of your remaining clothes. He is quickly behind you nearly ripping off his shirt and tugging down his boxers making his leaking cock bounce free between your bodies.

Saliva practically pools in Dean's mouth at the sight of you stripped bare for his eyes scanning over every inch of you. Your thighs spread back over his hips leaving your pussy on display for him, your slick coating his cock as your hips take up his previous action of grinding. “Such a good boy” you praise and lean down digging your nails into his sides, the pain making his eyes screw shut in bliss. Lifting your hips once again this time however sinking your pussy down onto his throbbing cock. Your slick and his precum help to aid your cunt into taking every inch of Dean's cock to the base as you smash your lips against his in a passionate kiss. The mixture of stinging pain and sweet praise and pleasure drown out all bad thoughts, all images that were flashing in Dean's head of your limp body unmoving and bleeding fade from his head finally, his only thought being of how good you feel.

“Mhmm~” He whines out in pleasure and surprise, the sound muffled in your mouth. Your hips immediately set into a rhythm of grinding and softly bouncing, his cock dragging across your velvety walls and his tip hitting your cervix when you bounce down. “Ah- Ahh~ fuck sweetheart knew this fuckin’ pussy feel amazing” he grunts out, his fingers holding onto your hips in a bruising grip that has your head spining. You bite down on his plush bottom lip in retaliation making a small almost growl erupt from his chest. The sound vibrates through your body to your core making your hips flatter a bit and a whine escapes your lips.

Within the blink of an eye dean has your legs wrapped around his waist when he sits up and flips your position breaking the kiss. Laying you flat on your back with him nestled between your thighs his cock still buried deep inside you. “Dean~” your whimper morphs into a wanton moan when his hips start at a punishing pace, your slick already forming a creamy ring at the base of his cock as it pounds into you. His heavy balls smacking your ass creating an obscene noise that fills the room with your moans and his grunts. “As much as i love how you sound and wanna hear it for the rest of my life baby, you gotta be quiet sweetheart” he taunts as his hand slips up the side of your body to palm at your bouncing tits. you whine out and paw at his lower stomach and v-line almost pushing him away slightly to stop his tip from abusing that one spot deep inside you. “Mm~ I can’t, it s’good, feels too good, i needa cum” you whine out your words slurring together as the knot in your stomach tightens. “Aww well don't want the staff or other guests hearing you scream my name now do we?” He questions with a small smirk that morphs into an almost slack jawed look when your nails dig into his back and drag down. The stinging pain of you scratching at his back so hard he's almost certain you drew blood makes his hips speed up even more.

“Bite down on my shoulder to muffle yourself when you cum okay baby?” He softens a bit though his hips don't slow down, you nod desperately in understanding. “That’s my good girl” he beams at you praising you in a sweet tone making your pussy clench down on his cock.

You grab at his hand that rests on your breasts and pull it up to your neck hoping he gets the message. A smile forms on his lips as what you want registered in his head, you wanted pain the same as him. Dean didn't think he could love you anymore than he did and yet as his hand wraps around your throat his heart swells, you're the same as him, you needed the pain with the love and pleasure, he was the luckiest fucking man alive in this moment. He smirks and softly kisses your lips as he leans down and his cock somehow reaches even deeper inside you.

The new angle causes the knot in your core to snap and your high to crash into you, making you pull away from his mouth and bury your face in his shoulder. Baring your teeth you bite down a bit hard onto his shoulder to muffle your loud moans and cries as you cream on his cock. “Oh fuck yeah, there we go sweetheart good girl baby” he praises, his head going foggy in pain and pleasure as his climax hits him head on, spilling his cum deep inside you not caring about the loud noises that leave his own mouth.

→ a/n: as always this wasnt proofread and its late, whos shocked? anyway i got a bit carried away well more like a lot. this is only my second time writing for dean and i got excited i really like writing for him. It is however my first time writing smut for him so sorry if hes out of character.

[astraystayyh]

please fall before i fall

jeongin x reader. best friends to lovers. they think it's unrequited love so a bit of angst. but they're just idiots. happy ending :))

summary : 3 times you saved jeongin's ass and the 1 time he saved yours (and ended up confessing along the way). holidays themed.

winter falls masterlist.

a.n. : i am very happy to finally post my first fic for the winter falls collab with my author xi hehehehhe i hope you'll enjoy this one <333 it's very light and fluffy she's the cute one!! oh and my song rec is i bet on losing dogs by mitski

One. 

Jeongin’s thumb hovers over your contact name, his rosy lip pulled tightly between his teeth. He hesitates for a few seconds before finally dialing your number. 

“What do you want?” you start which makes an incredulous snort escape his lips, a gust of powdery air materializing before his mouth from the cold. 

“How much do I have to pay you for you to come over?” 

“Ten thousand dollars. Cash,” you precise as he mouths along to what you say, already guessing what your next words would be. 

He's come to know you at an abhorrent speed these past few months; since you sat right next to him in your biology class, head buried in an oversized navy hoodie. Your perfume knocked into him like a gentle breeze— Sicilian lemon and white bouquet notes, nostalgic summer amid an unforgiven autumn. Memories of sticky fingers from molten ice cream and feet soles meeting the warm sand wafted in the air, alluring him to the kindness of a long-gone summer, you. 

That is why he talked to you at first, because you smelled nice, incredibly so. He tells you it's because he liked the pair of shoes you were wearing. 

“What if I brought you your favorite coffee?”

“Are you outside my dorm?” you squeal and he imagines you must be scrambling to get up, opening the curtains. He knows he's right as your figure materializes behind the window. “Hi,” you wave, a small giggle escaping your lips. He can't help the fond smile that draws upon his lips. 

He thinks he likes you a little. 

“Hey, please help me wrap my family’s gifts,” he pouts, waving the coffee in the air. Your order that he memorized by heart, not even meaning to, it was just natural for him to order you coffee every day, to remember your preferences as if they were his own. 

“Why are you here if we're going to your dorm anyways?” you laugh, leaning against the window. 

“Because I know I need to bribe you,” he sighs, angling his head to the side. “Are you not going to hang up and come downstairs? The coffee will grow cold.”

“I’m coming!”

An hour later, four gifts are resting beside Jeongin's figure, perfectly wrapped thanks to your skilled hands. He's lying on the warmed tiles, and you're right beside him, so close your knee brushes against his thigh now and then. 

He is keeping count, well, more so his heart, constricting in his lungs each time you touch. 

He's so aware of you, so much he's sure you’ve crawled into his skin, morphing him into nothing but a shell of you. 

Perhaps he likes you a lot. 

“You're an insane man. Who leaves gift wrapping to the last minute?”

“You're best friends with said insane man.” 

“Remind me how did that happen again?” you ask, propping your head on your elbow, and turning to the side to look at him. Jeongin has to pretend that the sight of you hovering over him doesn't affect him. That his eyes aren't drawn to your lips, heart dissolving at your feet, hoping to brush against your own. 

Please fall before I fall, he nearly pleads.

“Why are you so close,” he feigns disgust, pushing your face away with his pointer finger. 

“What? Does that fluster you?” you question, amused, bringing your face even closer to his. He scrambles away before a blush sprouts on his face, one he wouldn't be able to justify to your scrutinizing gaze. 

“As if. You're ugly,” his eyes squint, lips thinning into that particular smile he knows annoys you. He moves to the side swiftly, anticipating the shoe you throw at him.

“You're literally— remind me to never help you again, asshole.”

“I'm kidding. Thank you for today, seriously. I didn't know wrapping gifts could be this hard.” He falls back to the floor dramatically, banging his head against the tiles in the process.

“Well deserved,” you whisper. 

“I heard that.”

“Good,” you giggle, before gently massaging the spot where he has bumped his head. He purses his lips against one another, afraid of what words might escape the confines of his throat, vocal cords moving to the gentle rhythm of your touch. 

“Will you keep on being this clumsy, Innie? mm?” you muse, tone quieter. 

The nickname makes his insides churn, it is always so tender when it falls from your lips. No one has ever called him this softly before. No one has ever called his heart before you. 

He shouldn't be this clumsy with it. It is a fragile organ, akin to glass, easily breakable, so translucent— it'd be easy for anyone to peer inside and find you in it. 

“Yeah, I probably will.”

He'll stop liking you next year. He hopes. He'll try. 

Two.

Next year has come, familiar frigid winds pulling you to Jeongin’s heart, perhaps even more so than before, cementing your being into the nooks and crannies of his soul, perfectly so, as if it was destined for you alone to fill the emptiness inside him. 

Seasons have changed and yet summer remains, its essence stored safely within the notes of your perfume, it tickles his nose as you're seated on the countertop, legs swinging lazily while he scouts through his fridge. 

“Remind me why we're doing this again?”

“Because I made a bet with Yoon.”

“Your sixteen years old brother?”

“Yes.”

“You are in college.”

“I know.”

“Why are you taking it to heart?” 

“Because I have my pride,” he says solemnly, hand on his heart and you roll your eyes. 

“You literally begged at my feet fifteen minutes ago to help you.”

A year later, Jeongin stood beneath your window once again, phone brought up to his ear, hand hidden behind his back. You pick up on the first ring. 

“Look out the window,” he quickly says before you can even speak. 

“Hello, Y/n, how are you, Y/n, are you surviving with the cold—” you say sarcastically as you pull the curtains, the words dissolving in your tongue as he brings a single flower before him— you recognize its pink petals easily, Camellia, the rose of winter.

“I did not have time for coffee, but I plucked this off the sidewalk,” he offers, an amused grin on his face. “Help me bake cookies, pretty please, I'll be forever indebted to you. Forever and ever and ever and ever—”

“This is such a poor rendition of Romeo and Juliet, I'm afraid Shakespeare is suffering in his grave right now.”

“Do you think he knows of every theater play that was done to his story?” Jeongin muses.

“That's a good question actually. I hope he didn't see mine,” you shudder before your face pales. 

“You did not tell me you ever did that!”

“I'll bake your cookies and you'll never bring this up again.”

“Deal. My Juliet,” he smirks and you throw a middle finger aggressively to his face before hanging up. He shouldn't find it as endearing as he does.

“Because, my dear Y/n, this is my holiday reputation at stake. I kind of raised the bar last year with my gift wrapping.”

“You did?” you raise an eyebrow promptly at his words and he sighs, taking out the butter before leaning against the fridge.

“We did. Which is exactly why I need your help again. Imagine how embarrassing it would be if Yoon wins,” he shudders and a giggle finally escapes your lips.

The kitchen warms up at the sight of your smile.

“It's cute when you need me once in a while,” you say nonchalantly, hopping off the counter and moving to wash your hands. Jeongin freezes in his place.

“I always need you though,” he confesses quickly, swallowing the words, hoping that this way you wouldn't be able to taste the sincerity coating them, sticky honey dripping from his tongue whenever it speaks of you.

“Good thing you'll always have me then,” you beam, your words hanging into the air, oxygen suddenly harder to inhale.

“Gross,” he fakes a shiver, as his heart drops in his chest, breaks, and twists at the weight your words carry.

He'll always have you, but not in the way he wants to, your eyes would never soften at the mere mention of his name, and you won't think that a season blooms into every room he is in. He has you, but just a fragment of you, not how you have him, as a whole, heart, body, and soul. 

He's already fallen, a terrible, terrible fall.

“Will you help me or just stare off into the distance?” you ask, tilting your head to the side. He smiles bashfully, rolling his sleeves and sidling by your side to mix in the eggs, one by one, per your instructions. 

It smells nice in the kitchen, the caramelized fragrance of browned butter, sweetened by the sugar dissolving into the warm liquid. Tentative sunlight streams through the window, and it falls perfectly on Jeongin's face, highlighting his sharp features. 

Not that jeongin needs any additional light, he reminds you of spring, a flower blooming on his face each time he smiles, his dimples two youthful fountains the roots strive from, brightening his face even more. 

He tentatively glances at you as he adds the chocolate chips to the mix, only to find you staring forward. He misses the fond look on your face by a few seconds, the tinting of your features with soft hues of pink, of spring, of him. He always misses it, always misses you. 

Three.

"I can't believe you have 37 pairs of shoes but not one nice shirt.”

“It's 36, please count correctly,” Jeongin retaliates and you snort, flopping around in bed till you land on your stomach, chin propped up by your hand. Jeongin is still rummaging through his closet, head almost disappearing into the dark void of his wardrobe. 

“What do you need this for anyway?” you question, as you scroll through your phone mindlessly. Jeongin’s eerie silence causes you to look up. 

“Um. I have a date tonight.”

“Oh.” 

His words hang over the room like a heavy cloak soaked with rain, the oxygen sucked out of your lungs and ensnared within that singular gasp.

Jeongin swiftly turns around, before kneeling beside the bed, eyes brimming with a hopeless search— you are too focused on steadying your breathing to notice.

“Should I go?”

“I mean… Why are you asking me?”

“If you don't want me to, I won't,” he speaks in an overflowing sincerity, as though he'd willingly surrender the reins of his life for you to guide, should you only dare to ask. 

A breath, a pause, and he adds, “In case you'll be lonely tonight.” Your hope deflates in an instant, akin to a birthday balloon tossed into the careless hands of children. 

Pity, that's what he feels for someone who hasn't had a date in a year while he went on ones regularly. Although they never transcended beyond that first meeting, always a first date, never a second. He says none of the people he meets are his type. 

“I have a date too.” It was the truth, Suhoo had told you to meet him at the ice rink. You said you'd think about it. You knew deep down that your answer would be no, solely because he isn't Jeongin.

Perhaps it is too late for him to fall for you.  

“Really?” 

“Yeah, with Suhoo, you know, the guy in our Economics class.”

“He's nice.”

“Mm.” 

Could you lose something you never had in the first place?

“You should wear Seungmin’s white shirt.” 

“Yeah. That's what I thought too.”

“And bring them flowers. The rose of winter, maybe.” 

You had preserved the plucked flower he gave you in a vase. The pink of the petals liquefying and bleeding into the blush on Jeongin’s cheeks once he noticed. 

“That one's just for you.” 

Four. 

You're alone on the ice rink, the frigid winds assail your form, fingers numb from winter's cruel grasp. Suhoo didn't come after all, perhaps he was offended by you calling him at the last minute to confirm your date.

The chill of disappointment is more biting than the frost— you want to melt off the ice, you want your spring. You want your Jeongin. 

But he isn't yours, perhaps he will never be. He is too sought after, too captivated by the fleeting chase of someone new to spare a glance at you. 

But in this instant, you need him. You need him to hold your hands in his larger, warmer ones and get you off the ice rink. You need the sight of his familiar dimples and blooming smile. 

So, you call him. He picks up on the first ring. 

“Are you that bored on your date?” He playfully taunts, and his voice becomes a gentle breeze that stirs the emotions you struggle to contain. Tears cascade down your cheeks in an achingly familiar path. 

“I-Innie,” you hiccup, and you’re instantly met with the sound of scraping chairs against the floor, the hastening cadence of footsteps hurrying out into the street. 

“Did he do something to you?” He speaks so coldly, a tone so foreign to the warmth of your Jeongin. He shouldn't be tainted with winter too. 

“He didn't come. Can you p-please pick me up?” 

“I will. I'm coming in a bit, okay?” 

He finds you rather quickly on the ice rink, a sore thumb unmoving between the gliding bodies. He skates over to you, almost falling twice in the process. 

“You're so clumsy,” you snort as he stands before you, sobs racking through your body once more at the sight of him.

You weren't mad at Suhoo. You were heartbroken over Jeongin.

“I'll beat him up for you. I'll tell Changbin to help me too,” he smiles, hands fidgeting as they land upon your cheeks, trying their best to wipe away your tears.

“Please don't cry. I hate seeing you cry, Y/n, I really can't bear it." The tears only fall harder at his words, as if he's stringing them forth with each touch of his.

“Did he do something to you?” an unknown voice startles you and you turn to your right to find a girl looking at you then at Jeongin, a frown etched on her eyebrows.

“No, I'm her friend I didn't-”

“I wasn't talking to you,” the girl cuts him off and you laugh despite you, as Jeongin’s jaw hangs open, before closing once more.

“It's not him, thank you so much though,” you smile gratefully and she nods, eyes wary as she glares at Jeongin one last time, before skating away.

“I can't believe that just happened,” He exhales, a breath tinged with bewilderment, before he delicately encircles a hand around your back. Gently, he guides your head to rest against the comforting refuge of his chest.

“What are you doing?” you mumble against his navy hoodie, the one he borrowed from you. You can still smell your perfume on him. 

“I'm comforting you.” 

“You don't like hugs.” 

“It's different when it comes to you.”

You close your eyes, allowing the tide of his warmth to envelop you like a cascade of spring petals.

“Where is your date?”

“I didn't go.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I love you. I'm tired of looking for you in other people,” he quickly says and you peel yourself away from him, feeling as if his clothes were suddenly made of fire. 

“What?” you whisper, eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“I love you,” he repeats, each word drawn out, much slower this time, his hands cradling your face, tenderly, as though holding the sun between his delicate fingers. “I'm tired of pretending you're not my summer.”

“Don't say things you don't mean,” your voice wavers. 

“I mean it. I've always loved you. You complete me in ways I didn't know were possible, and I know you only see me as a friend but-”

Your lips press against his, a culmination of aching desires that have lingered for two years. Distant laughter echoes in the background, ice cream melting onto your fingers, a soft breeze ruffling your hair, flowers blooming under the soft caress of the sun— two seasons melting sweetly into the kiss.

“You're literally so blind,” you giggle against his lips, and his smile widens, your noses brushing against one another. “I love you too, idiot.”

“You love me?”

“You're my favorite season.” 

“Don't steal my lines.”

“Hey—” he kisses you this time, the winter is long forgotten. 

Was it ever a fall if you caught him in the end?

[its-avalon-08]

Can you write one where lando has a crash and you are his best friend. lando isnt responsing over radio and you are freaking out and about to cry. the first thing he says is "tell y/n im ok" and you get together at the end of it. thanks and love ur works !

ruin our friendship (ln4)

y/n chewed on her bottom lip, anxiety gnawing at her stomach. the race had been chaotic from the start, a downpour creating a treacherous track. but nothing had prepared her for the radio silence that followed lando's crash. every tense second echoed in the sterile white of the garage.

"lando, lando, come in," the radio engineer's voice crackled with barely concealed panic. y/n squeezed her eyes shut, picturing lando's trademark grin, the one that never failed to calm her down. images of fiery crashes from past seasons flashed in her mind, each one a shard of ice in her already churning gut.

then, a voice, weak but undeniably lando. a strangled cough broke through the static, followed by, "tell y/n... i'm okay." relief washed over her in a tidal wave, threatening to spill over into tears. tears of gratitude, of terror temporarily subdued. she grabbed the radio, her voice thick with emotion, "lando, you scared the living daylights out of me!"

the crackle of a weak chuckle came through. "just a little spin, nothing serious." a beat of silence, then, "i'm okay guys. all ok. tell y/n to get back to the flat."

the flat. their flat. a shared haven in the whirlwind of the f1 circus. relief morphed into something more, a fluttering in her chest she couldn't quite define.

two days later, y/n helped lando, stiff and sore, out of the car after his hospital release. his arm was in a sling, but his smile, though weak, was genuine.

"careful there, clumsy," he teased, a familiar spark in his eyes. y/n rolled her eyes, guiding him towards the elevator.

inside their flat, the familiar smell of home greeted them. as she helped him settle onto the couch, a comfortable silence settled. then, lando cleared his throat.

"y/n," he began, his voice serious. y/n met his gaze, a million unspoken things swirling in her own blue eyes. "this whole crash… it made me realize something."

he paused, his hand reaching for hers, sending a jolt through her. "i can't… i won't lose you, not like this. not when…" his voice trailed off, a blush creeping up his neck.

y/n's heart hammered against her ribs. "when what, lando?"

"when i've been a complete idiot for the past five years," he blurted out. "i… i like you, y/n. more than just a friend. i have for ages."

the words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken feelings. y/n's breath hitched. "you… you like me?" she whispered, a smile blooming on her face.

"like you? y/n, i'm in love with you," lando confessed, his gaze intense. "always have been, scared to ruin our friendship."

y/n's smile widened, the last remnants of fear dissipating. "scared? lando, i…" she leaned forward, her lips brushing his ear, "i thought i was the only one going crazy."

a laugh, genuine and relieved, escaped lando's lips. he pulled her close, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. "so, what does that mean?" he asked, his voice a husky rumble against her cheek.

"it means," y/n whispered, her voice laced with newfound confidence, "that you're a bigger idiot than i thought, for waiting so long."

the kiss that followed was filled with the unspoken words of years, a promise of a future brighter than any podium finish. they weren't just teammates anymore, they were something more, something exhilarating and terrifying – a love story finally taking the checkered flag.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

well i hope you liked it! thank you for sending in your request and do send more <3 happy reading!

leave a like! leave a note!

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

[hanibalistic]

DRUNKEN WITH A SENSE OF LOVE | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | romance / drunken confessions / fake dating au

synopsis | you and hyunjin got drunk at different times, and you two took care of each other similarly. 

word count | 7.1k+

warning | mentions of insecurity / brief allusion to sexual themes / alcohol and drunkenness  

note | i changed almost everything about this.

Hyunjin has gotten himself etched to the back of your mind, and you genuinely did not like that.

You didn't blame him, though. If anything, you blame yourself for falling so head over heels for him.

For one, Hyunjin couldn’t help who falls in love with him. He couldn’t suppress his overwhelmingly good looks if he tried, which he never did. He enjoyed the positive attention, however shallow they often were. He also couldn’t put a pause on his decent personality, which came as a genuine surprise to you after you got to know him better through this fake dating scheme. You always thought beautiful people harbored the ugliest heart, out of envy and bitterness. Hyunjin wasn’t like that. You didn’t think he was, at least. 

For two, you should have known better than to fall in love with a man leagues above your selection pool. People called it self-degradation, a lack of self-esteem, having no self-worth, and whatnot. You considered it a down-to-earth trait, a reality check, understanding your limits, and whatnot. Hyunjin was a boy you should fall in love with in moderation but never utterly, ardently, absolutely. You were, unfortunately, the latter. 

For three, and this was the stupidest part, you two were temporarily dating. Hyunjin was honest when he approached you and said that his friends, at the ripe age of twenties and pursuing higher education, thought you were good enough to be the butt of a romantic joke. They had challenged him to chase you, get you into a relationship, and break your heart. It was a heinous and, frankly, childish game, but you agreed to it with him for the prize money. 

It was worth it at that time. It was easy money! Who wouldn’t want that? You didn’t feel that way now. Pretending to be in a loving relationship with him has short-term perks but long-term losses. 

Hyunjin was practically in you, etched to the back of your mind, tattooed on the inside of your skin, taken by your bloodied hands to the bottom of your grave. The degree to which your heart dropped for him was unexplainable by yourself. Therefore, having the excuse to go on dates and hold his hands in public, snuggle with him during outings with his friends, and maintain a pleasant friendship with him behind closed doors were great experiences. But when the time comes for separation, you will hurt, not merely over the breakup, but the reminder that he has never felt more for you, that your wonderful experience with him was just an experience.

Clumsy stumbling could be heard outside his apartment, and not a second later came a round of demanding knocks. Hyunjin's head perked up at the noise, his eyes wide in alert at the sudden banging. He looked at the door momentarily before finally looking over to the clock, his brows furrowing slightly at the late time. He waited to check if it could be a drunken stranger approaching the wrong door, but soon enough, another round of aggressive knocks sounded.

Holding the thought that it could just be his roommate, Han Jisung, coming back home late for yet another odd reason, and also praying inwardly that he wouldn't have to spend the night taking care of a loud, obnoxious, and very drunk Jisung, he made his way up and approached the door.

Flinging the door open, Hyunjin did a double-take before his annoyed expression morphed into one of surprise. His arm went slack against the wooden frame of the door, and he took an instinctive step forward when he saw your drunken state—your features were scrunched up in discomfort, your eyes squinted because astigmatism had taken over on your walk to the apartment building, and you were hunched over. You were not at all the way you used to look, not the way he was used to seeing you, which was always so presentable and well put together.

An amused smile appeared on his face as he eyed you up and down, wanting nothing more than to make fun of and tease you even without your ability to form the perfect retorts he has grown to be highly fond of. But you sniffed for a moment and took a step forward. In that exact second, you had Hyunjin doubling over to catch you before you could fall to the floor, concern lining up the crinkles of his eyes as he looked down at you.

"Woah, alright! Let’s stand slowly, okay?" he commanded gently, cooing at your side as if talking to a child. 

His arms curled around your shoulder and waist with a protective grip, and he hoisted your weight by supporting you with his own. Pulling you into the apartment, he shut the door slowly with his feet before returning his attention to you, hoping to bring you to the couch where you could lie down and rest.

“Jeez, babe, how much did you drink?” he laughed, dragging your unresponsive body along with him.

You groaned lowly, trying your best to hold down the acidic taste rushing at the back of your mouth. You wouldn’t know it, but this was not what you had planned for the night. Your friends did their job sending you home safely. Who would have thought you’d leave your apartment shortly after just to stumble to Hyunjin’s home? It was a short distance from your place, but what a miracle you made it without any major accidents! And what a disaster you made it to his home while being high on alcoholic honesty!

You snapped your head up. You were at the perfect angle to stare at his side profile, allowing you the premium shot of his perfect jawline, luscious locks, beautiful lashes, button tip of his nose, and just the most kissable lips you have ever seen. A grimace reached your face. It was an instinctive response. His good looks indeed couldn’t hide even behind the blurriest of eyes. You thought if you lied to your body enough, your mind would follow, so you grimaced whenever you looked at him, hoping to start disliking him. It hasn’t worked. 

"Hwang Hyunjin,” you muttered.

He chuckled. “Yes. That is me."

You gulped, still staring at him. Then, as you lowered your eyes to the floor, you leisurely suggested what’s been on your mind recently, “We should break up."

Of all the things you have done within these few months of him meeting you, including you agreeing to help him lie to his friends about this fake dating challenge to punching someone in the face for shaming his impulsive sex life, which you weren’t surprised he has, this one caught him off guard the most. This one also made him panic. It was fear, like sweaty hands and dry lips, like his mind racing with terrible thoughts, racing with made-up reasons as to why you would want that, racing with every single action he has done that could be counted as a mistake.

"Wh–what? Why do you–why? Why are we breaking up? We are fine. I didn't do anything–did I do something?" Hyunjin stuttered, unconsciously tightening his grip on your body before he let out a gentle but firm whisper, "No."

“I know, I am sorry. I don’t know–I’m just sorry,” you slurred, long stopped looking at him and instead was now leaning your entire weight against him like a wall. Your hands waved about in the air. "You are mad at me, aren't you? Of course–“ you snorted obnoxiously–“it’s a lot of money! I’ll pay you. Break up with me, don’t be mad.”

Hyunjin stared at you as you laughed manically. It sounded choked up, like you’ve got wet coughs prepared in your throat, but he could tell you were far from shedding tears, unlike good ol’ sensitive him, who remained in a state of anxiety and was still trying to process why you brought up separation. It wasn’t time for the fake dating to end. It was nowhere near it! To suggest breaking up so early must mean something was wrong with him, but what was? He couldn’t tell! To think he was just losing his mind over what to do once it was time for this fake relationship to end. 

“Hyunjin,” you called him once when you noticed his silence. Looking up at him, you furrowed your brows and reached up to brush his face clumsily with your hand, pushing your fingertips against his skull. “Hyunjin? Hey. Answer me. Hey. Hello. Hyunjin!”

He leaned away from your aggressive touch, his shoulders relaxing at your playful antics. A smile formed uncontrollably on his lips when you doubled down on smearing your hands all over his face after his dodges. He was left haplessly struggling between missing your direct eyeball pokes and keeping you from falling to the ground. You grinned out loud; he mirrored it, and he didn’t hear the sound of your laughs mixing together because he hears it all the time.

“You are very drunk, [Name],” he managed to comment after grabbing both of your hands and keeping them at his face level. His tight-lipped smile sparkled when you attempted a struggle, like a parent reprimanding their child, then he moved your hands to your face and squeezed your cheeks together. Your lip jutted out in response. He leaned in to kiss your cupid’s bow. “You’re being silly. Let’s get you cleaned up and back to bed.”

The frown on your face made him nervous. His hands slowly slipped from your face, and your hands fell to your sides. You remained silent, and he let the clogs in your brain move. Your thoughts weren’t clear. The only thing you were sure of was that the man standing before you was Hwang Hyunjin, your temporary boyfriend, and you’d spent the whole night trying to drink your feelings for him away. You came to his apartment for a reason—you needed to break up with him for your own good.

“No, I can’t go to bed yet. I have something to do.” You yawned and waved an arm dismissively. You spoke before you finished yawning, leaving your words hanging in the air in slow motion. “I came to tell you something.”

Hyunjin’s hands curled into fists. He let go, tightened them, and let go again to alleviate the sweat gathering at his palms. You were surprisingly hell-bent on the topic, which led him to believe it went beyond a moment of drunkenness. It must have been a conclusion formed long ago, and you have just now mustered the courage to let him know. But why? What did he do? What did he not do? 

He was more than nervous, if there was a word to describe the state of his heart. This was more than a personal problem, which he admittedly still has to work through, but far more significant than himself was you—his feelings for you, his immense affection for you, the fact that he loved you the way you warned yourself not to love him but did anyway. It wasn’t your fault. Your observant eyes, your sincerity, your care for him. It wasn’t your fault. He fell in love with you of his own accord.

If you left him, he would be like a dog without a leash, a dog without an owner. He would wander aimlessly, filled with rage and dread, sniffing every darkened corner for a whiff of your scent. 

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked meekly. 

You sucked in a deep breath to counter your congested chest, then you shook your head in agreement. “Yes.” 

You were very drunk. He shouldn’t take your words into consideration. “That’s fine,” he said as he stepped toward you, “can we get cleaned up and go to bed anyway? It’s very late.”

“No, I don’t want you touching me anymore.” You stepped back dramatically and hugged yourself into a protective stance. “It’s for the better.” 

He wondered what that meant. Were you repulsed by him? Did you finally realize how disgusting his inability to stay away from sexual and romantic validation was? Were you ashamed to be associated with him because of his impulsive behavior? He was only good for a short time; did you come to that realization? You were too good for him. He always knew that.

Hyunjin retreated his hand from mid-air. His hands met before his abdomen, his fingers immediately picking at each other as he uncomfortably shifted his weight. The corner of his lips arched downward at your rejection, but he tried to keep them neutral so he wouldn’t be influenced into crying. There wasn’t much else he could do with himself if being near you was no longer an option. He looked lost and wronged; he felt so.

“[Name], did I do something?” he asked, rubbing his elbow awkwardly. “Why do you suddenly want to break up with me?”

You blinked at a random space on the wall. Sitting below your sight was a messy square table with unwashed cups, scattered papers, and a closed laptop. Even in a state of haze, you knew they didn’t belong to him. Hyunjin was more organized than that. He told you once it made his school experience much easier to have everything in one place: his computer, which you knew he often kept in his school bag. You sniffed; you knew him like the back of your hand. 

“I can’t tell you,” you replied slowly, not looking at him. “It’s a secret.” 

Hyunjin tilted his head. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” 

He sounded convincing, so you gradually moved your eyes to access him. Standing in front of you, timid as a mouse, was Hwang Hyunjin. You knew that, and you knew that your secret was to be kept from him. Yet, somehow, all that did not register once you were engaged in a conversation with him. He was Hyunjin, just a person you were talking to. If he promised not to tell, then it should be fine. 

“You promise?” you asked. 

Hyunjin nodded. “I promise.” 

You pouted with a glare, willing him to waver and show any sign of deception, but he stood his ground and waited for you to expose your deepest and darkest feelings to him. A faint grumble sounded from your mouth. You looked around briefly to check for any eavesdroppers before you walked a few tentative steps toward him, and you confessed, “I’m in love with you.” 

It was like a shot through the heart, and the shot was aimed so successfully that the organ tore off its hinges and fell to his abdomen where his hands fiddled nervously with each other. It may be asking for an exit out of his body, it may be seeking its new owner, or it may come knocking boldly at your mouth and ask to fit inside you. Hyunjin remained perplexed at your confession. The confession had a bitter taste; he wasn’t sure what to make of it or if he deserved it from someone like you. 

“[Name]…” 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I am very in love with you. It’s stupid.” 

He couldn’t tell, but you understood, despite a fogged mind, that letting him know your affection for him was a cause for your demise. Your emotions were in a whirlwind, collecting up the fragments of all the heart pieces you've broken because of Hyunjin and how you had confronted yourself multiple times with your own delusions that this wouldn't be like the movies. He would never fall in love with you just because you two got closer from months of fake dating.

Even then, he was empathetic to your body language, especially how much they mirrored his. His shoulders slumped at how you turned away from him to trail your attention off somewhere safer, where he wasn’t in your sight. Registering his beautiful face was hard for you because you couldn’t have him; processing his existence and your proximity to him was difficult because you could never have him. You turned away from him to further signify to yourself the assumed truth, your trembling fingers pulling at each other to avoid an awkward standstill. 

Hyunjin was etched to the back of your brain. He was overwhelming, and he was far away. Unable to contain the sudden reminder that you were never going to get over him, a rush of tears started to tremble their way up to your eyes. Your face scrunched without remorse, and your head dropped near your shoulders alarmingly quickly that it startled him.

“I love you, I’m so sorry,” you sobbed. It made him panic. “Please break up with me.” 

“Why are we breaking up if you love me, silly?” he forced a laugh once he approached you. 

His lanky arms were clumsy and gentle after he pulled at his sweater sleeves to wipe your tears. They hovered awkwardly over your face, gauging how much strength to use to effectively dry your eyes but not push you any further away from him. He cooed a bunch of nonsense, but they were sweet like sleepy kisses on your hands. Eventually, he cupped your face and wiped your eyes with his thumbs. You let him; he made you laugh when he apologized for using too much force, even though he never did. 

“You don’t love me, Hyunjin,” you muttered. 

“Nonsense,” he retorted within a second, “who said that?”

You didn’t reply, so he stood with his arms raised for a whole minute while you leaned the weight of your head against his palms. He thought it terribly horrific that he ought to remember the shape of your face with his slender fingers because of his inability to sew his skin into yours. If his hands were like superglue, he could be attached to you forever—your face, your features, you, his most favorite thing in the world. His hands would burn, but what of it? Better you scorch him than to never be touched by you at all. 

“Hyunjin,” you called when you were finished zoning out.

“Mhm?” 

“I love you. I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m so ugly.” 

Growing up being valued for his beautiful features taught him to devalue it. He didn’t care for it. He wouldn't cry about it if he were to earn a permanent scar across his face. Yet, even then, if he were to have one, he was sure people would rave about how the scar ruined his face rather than talk about how he obtained it. Except for you. You’d ask about it, like you always asked everything about him. 

The kind of person you were, his most favorite person in the world—you were detailed like that, and you made him feel an essence of humanity others didn’t. With you, he wasn’t ethereal, he wasn’t a God, he wasn’t an angel fallen to Earth. He didn’t have to be because you never put him on some miraculous pedestal. He was just Hwang Hyunjin; his favorite food is his mother’s cooking, he makes clumsy mistakes and looks funny when he does, and he enjoys making art. 

Not a model, not God’s favorite, not pretty. Just a boy, and he’s in love with you.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m ugly too.” 

He didn’t deny your false claims; you were the prettiest he had ever known, but only he needed to know that. When there comes a time for him to praise and worship your physical body, he will. For now, there wasn’t anything much he wanted to say in return. Just that he was the same as you. 

Your souls didn’t collide that way, obviously. You two were completely different people with varying hobbies and friend groups. However, Hyunjin was willing to chase you like Hell to meet where you were. There wasn’t anything he wanted to be if he couldn’t be it with you. Whatever you are, he is.

There was another long pause. Hyunjin patiently waited, tender eyes concentrated on each crevice of your face as he stroked your stained cheeks with his thumb. You didn’t say anything more, only slapping your hands over his and pulling them from your face. He thought you were moving away, but you took a step forward instead and dove into his arms. You hugged him around his neck, hanging off him like a sloth. He chuckled, swaying you side to side. You were tired, he knew. 

“It’s getting late, baby,” he whispered, leaning back to watch your closed eyes and laughing. He ran a hand through your hair multiple times, getting a clearer view of your face. “Let’s clean up and go to bed, okay?”

You groaned and muttered in response. He didn’t hear what you said. He kept sweeping your hair back. Supporting you with his weight, you were heavy, but he didn’t mind. You wouldn’t be able to change your clothes by yourself, so he would help you. It’d be sloppy and slow, and he wouldn’t mind. You would take up most of the bed, sprawled out without a clue that you weren’t sleeping in your apartment. Your body heat would scratch up a fever in him, and he wouldn’t mind. He enjoyed taking care of you. 

Staring at him as he stroked your hair, you pouted before uttering three familiar words, “I love you.” 

Hyunjin smiled. Whatever you are, he is. He kissed your nose and your eyes. He told you he loves you too.

It was one of those nights when Hyunjin couldn’t spend time with you, and you were unreasonably disappointed about it.

You slouched atop the couch you got at a flea market, which Hyunjin had to convince you to get after repeatedly reassuring you that there wouldn’t be any actual fleas hiding in the creases. This uncomfortable position resulted from five hours of continuous mumbling about how you should not be upset that Hyunjin didn’t choose to spend the night with you, which he had done the past few weeks. He has been somewhat clingy lately, and you couldn’t imagine why. You thought your act was good. There was no way his friends doubted you. 

This could be the calm before the storm. Even though you two had concocted a detailed timeline for your fake dating, you wouldn’t be surprised if Hyunjin abruptly cut it short. If that was true, his current sweetness was nothing more than a buildup to a dramatic and convincing breakup. 

Pouting in dismay, you rolled up the bag of chips and reached for the tea table beside you, your fingertips wiggling to graze past the black binder clip you used to keep the plastic bag sealed. Amid your frustrated groaning, still refusing to get your ass off the couch even after more than ten seconds of struggling, the doorbell suddenly rang, and coming after that were loud bangs at your door.

A shiver ran down your spine as you snapped your head toward the direction of the noise, your brows rising abruptly at the fearful intrusion. Slowly throwing your chip bag on the table, you stood up and tip-toed your way over to the door where you pressed your hands to the wooden surface and carefully looked through the peephole.

A gasp caught in your throat when you saw Hyunjin’s face standing just a few inches away from the circle as if leaning against the door for support. You immediately moved out and unlocked your door, swinging it open to reveal him fully. Taking a good look at his face before he started to throw his little drunken tantrum—messy hair, concentrated brows, droopy eyelids, and a general look of discomfort—you concluded that he definitely has been downing more shots than he could handle.

“What happened to you?” 

You stepped up to put your hands on either side of his arm, carefully bringing him into your apartment. He stumbled with most of his weight straining on your shoulder. There were so many stutters in his steps that you almost dragged him into a fall with you on your way to the couch. After setting him down, he snorted at the cushy feeling of your couch. It took him a while to process the new environment, and then he arched his neck to find you. 

Hyunjin could barely make out your face. He couldn’t even be sure if he went to your apartment, but subconsciously, he could tell he was at your place. He felt it in your timid touches just now, and whatever scent he whiffed out of the air, it smelt like you. Licking his lower lip as his worries slowly faded away and his attention—as much as he could muster—returned, he mumbled a string of incoherent noises under his breath before he, much to your palpitating heart’s dismay, pulled you onto the couch next to him. 

He got on top of you; his legs had to bend in weird ways to accommodate the small couch, and he placed his palms on either side of your head to trap you under him. You felt heat forming on your cheeks as you shrunk beneath his shadow, your eyes widening at the proximity. Hyunjin has never done this before. The closeness wasn’t new, but the position of it was. Being under him was an unbelievable feeling. He looked beautiful, and his toned muscles became more visible by supporting his own weight. How your thoughts were smeared! You doubted your body would forget how well he could cage you in. 

Hyunjin stared at you with a low, drunken hum. Then, suddenly, he leaned down to meet your face. 

“[Name],” he started, lowering his head tiredly to your shoulder, “you wanted to break up with me?”

You blinked up at the ceiling, confused, but you figured it could be the alcohol talking for him, so you chose to disregard all the questions that popped into your head. Holding out your arms to push against his chest, you attempted to sit up. “I don’t want to break up with you, Hyunjin.”

He seemed to be processing your answer as he allowed you to set him aside and give yourself more space. You sat quietly next to him, letting him have the time to think over what he wanted to say. The thoughtful pout on his face told you it was difficult for him to use his brain, but it looked cute enough that you almost took a picture to tease him about it once he got sober. You wondered if his response would be nonsense as well.

“Why do you want to break up with me?” he whispered, causing you to sigh. He hasn’t heard you, after all. His lips were pursed into a frown, and his eyes were squinted to show that he was very close to leaking a few tears down his cheeks, but you couldn’t read between the lines and realize what his despair meant. Hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt, he abruptly turned to you and sniffed. “You can’t do that to me. I won’t–I won’t let you do that to me.” 

You tilted your head to the side, your brows constantly furrowed. Where was he getting this idea from? You tried to recall any off-handed comments you made. Still, they were primarily directed elsewhere and never at your fake relationship. You’ve never said anything bad about him, not to him, and never behind his back. There wasn’t anything outstandingly mean to say anyway, so what sprung this on? 

Returning to reality, your head faintly shook as you looked up at Hyunjin to ask his drunken state about the reason behind this outburst. Your eyes widened instead when you saw he had taken his shirt off, the lump of fabric discarded on the floor carelessly. Heat blossomed at the base of your neck, and you felt your joints sour in panic; seriously, what sprung this on! This was a much bigger issue than drunkenness! 

When you noticed his hands reaching to the belt of his jeans, you immediately lunged toward him and circled his wrists to stop his movements. Your panic became a surprised concern at his need to strip naked in your apartment. You doubted he wanted to show you his body. Even if he did, this wasn’t how you wanted to do it. 

Moving his hands away, you urged, “No. We’re not doing that.”

“No, I have to! I have to!” 

He snatched his hands away from yours and dove to unbuckle his belt again. His movements grew increasingly frustrated the more you blocked his attempt to remove his pants. You were annoying, but he wasn’t angry at you. He was scared. He wasn’t getting what he wanted, and he thought you might leave him if he didn’t show you what he could offer. It scared him that you didn’t want to see him whole, so eventually, he began to sob. 

“I have to show you, [Name]. Please let me!” Hyunjin whined, hands tugging harshly at each other by his chest.

“You don’t have to show me anything,” you assured as you grabbed a few tissues from the tea table. You dabbled softly at his eyes. “Come on, let’s put your clothes back on.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks like knives against your skin. He felt uncomfortable at this unfamiliar sequence. Things usually go smoothly after he reveals himself. Nobody has ever refused to see him, so why did you? What about himself was so repulsive that you couldn’t take one look at his bare skin? Why didn’t you love him back? 

“No.” he slurred, then paused to catch his breath. 

The moment of calm was gone too soon. His hands reached up to ruffle his hair in a frenzy. His heart hammering against his chest, yet his brain wasn’t sane enough to understand what the sudden panic was about, just that it had something to do with you. That obliviousness, as a result, was making him even more agitated.

“You need to love me again!” he exclaimed, eyes brimming with unknown tears. “People love me when I take my clothes off. You need to love me again!” 

A puff of air slowly made its way out of your half-parted lips. You could feel the stretching of your heartstrings. Hyunjin cried as he shrank into himself, his arms going around his cold body for a sense of comfort, and the sight toyed with your head by sending waves of deep anguish like mere laps of the ocean. The feeling deranged you—to realize Hyunjin experiences such a level of hopelessness and loneliness was heartbreaking. More importantly, you felt ignorant of his problems. You should have been a better friend, perhaps even a better lover.

“Hey,” you called out gently as you scooted toward him. You brought one hand up to his face to direct his eyes to you. You smiled softly when you found that he was opening his squinted eyes to stare back. “I’m going to get something, so wait here for me, okay?”

He sniffed, tasting the tears rolling down his mouth, and nodded. You rubbed his cheek with your thumb, ever so gingerly placing a hand at the small of his back, hoping to calm him down, but it turned out Hyunjin had a thought of his own. After feeling the warmth of your hand, he took it as a sign that you wanted to hug him, so he obliged immediately by wrapping his arms around your torso and putting his head on your shoulder.

You breathed a small chuckle when he made weird noises after finding a space at the crook of your neck. The transition from him throwing a tantrum to having a mini panic attack to being the clingiest person you have ever met was amusing. As was the transition from your mind being filled with annoyance and confusion to having your feelings torn into shreds to breathing out a chuckle. It was entertaining, and the fact that Hyunjin could bring out so many different aspects of your emotions was undeniably endearing.

He was that kind of person. He has always been. More than beautiful, he was expressive, selfless, and tender-minded. Watching him allowed you to live an emotional life vicariously. All the things you ignored in the past because of mental stress were repainted in colors by his hands. The movie you never watched, the ice cream you never tried, the districts you never visited, and the fireworks show you never stayed for—everything meant something to Hyunjin, so everything meant something to you. 

To him, love was a grave of sacrifices. Of his time, his space, his body, and his mind. He was willing to give, and he has given you all except one. You wouldn’t know any of it. 

You moved to the back of the couch, cautiously pressing your back up against the edge. Hyunjin followed you, shifting his position so he lay stuffed against your chest with your arms around his shoulders. His fingers played with each other shyly on top of his bare chest as he looked around your apartment absentmindedly. He couldn’t register anything but the fabric of your clothes and how small you made him feel. 

He finally looked at you after a moment. His cries had long ceased and left only trails of dry tears on his dearest cheeks. With his eyelashes still wet, glittering beautifully in the air, he blinked, his eyes widening after he found out you had been looking down at him. Suddenly, he grinned childishly with a hint of sun hidden in his smile. “What are you looking at?”

You hummed, finding Hyunjin utterly irresistible even with his tear-stained cheeks and slurred laughter. He was all messy and puzzling, but your heart pushed against itself to give him space to stay inside. “I’m looking at you, silly.” 

“Oh, you’re looking at me.” He giggled, covering half his face with his hands and shutting his eyes shyly. He squirmed around in your arms, but not once did he move far enough to not feel you against him. When he was done, he returned back to the original position, and he peeked an eye through the gap between his fingers. He laughed. “ I am looking at you too.”

“I know you are,” you said, fingers threading through his feathery locks with serenity, and a smile so heartwarming that Hyunjin couldn’t help but focus his sight on it.

“Why?” he asked, his eyes shaky.

You pursed your lips together and shrugged. “I can’t tell you. It is a secret.”

Hyunjin’s gaze hardened naively, a gasp ripping through his throat as he leaned back against your hand. “Tell me! I promise I won’t tell anyone else.”

“You promise?” 

“I promise!” he exclaimed, sitting up slightly and bumping his forehead against your chin. He burst into a fit of giggles then, rubbing his forehead for a while before reaching the same hand out to touch your chin sloppily. “I’m sorry, I hit your face.”

“It's okay,” you said, your thumb soothing against the spot he had bumped into you. “But you promise me you can keep a secret? It’s very important!”

He nodded eagerly. “I promise!”

“Okay,” you said as you looked up at the sky, pretending to think. “The reason why I am looking at you is really simple. It is because I love you.”

You glanced back down at him to find him looking at you in astonishment. He licked his lower lip. His mind cleared a little for the first time, and he felt all of the universe that was your body pressed close to him. Beyond that, there were more minor things. Your heart beat faster than his, making him chase after you like a madman; the warmth of your skin equated to the warmth he manually cultivated in his bed by stacking multiple blankets together, an attempt to replicate your presence at night; your soft voice, going through his blurry ears, sounded like the subconscious voice he hears all the time. Maybe his subconscious was all just you.

Those were all fragments of proof of how much he loved you. To think you returned his feelings—he didn’t know what to think. 

“Really?” He sounded so surprised. It was almost heartbreaking.

“Yes,” you nodded, “even when we both have clothes on.” 

He looked down and touched your shirt. “Oh, you are wearing a shirt.”

“Yes, I am.”

He gazed at it briefly before, with an invisible shrug, leaned his cheek against your chest. “You’re warm. I like it.”

You smiled, feeling like your lips were about to extend out of your cheeks to become wider. “You’re cold because you took your shirt off!”

He scoffed and said nothing. Hyunjin was unguarded and half-stripped before you, chastely snuggling up against your chest while slurred words spilled out of his mouth like a mantra. You didn’t try to understand him; he wasn’t looking to have a conversation. You just wanted to lay together without a thought or a worry. Occasionally, he would sit up just to look at your face, then hum and lay back down, continuing to rot. 

It was such a wondrous thing.

“Do you want to wash up and go to bed?” you asked. “Are you tired?” 

“No. I want to stay here. I like it here.” 

Hyunjin let out a dreamy sigh. He threw his head back with a smile, his hair hitting your jaw and sprawled over the crook of your neck. He tilted his head then, letting it fall along your shoulder. His eyes were closed with bliss, and he laughed to himself. When he opened his eyes, there was only the shadow of your side profile, which was good for him. He wanted to kiss the skin, filled with close-up bumps and blemishes. It was a side profile he’ll know for the rest of his life, and he’ll whisper ‘I love you’ to a million times. 

“I have a secret to tell you,” he mentioned.

You raised a brow, intrigued, and urged him to continue, “What is it?”

He bit his lower lip and scurried off your body. You sat up straighter then, watching as he stumbled over to the front door for the bag he discarded on the ground. He crouched to pull a small notebook out easily before returning to you. He stopped by the couch, his eyes concentrated as he stared at the notebook's cover. Then, without another word, he dropped back onto your body and made you wrap your arms around him like before. 

“I draw you all the time. In my sketchbook.” 

He grinned out loud in the same way you would grin at him. His fingers played with the blank pages before, finally, he arrived at one filled with traces of his pencil. You gasped. He wasn’t spilling nonsense. The page was filled with beautiful sketches of your face, and so was the next one and the next. He kept flipping his notebook, and everywhere you could find pieces of yourself dotted out sincerely by his hand. 

They didn’t look to come from memories, but they were definitely from moments not even you could remember. But Hyunjin remembered everything because he detailed it all in the lines. His inability to not consume all of you tied his hands together and made you his ultimate muse. Almost unconsciously, for a while, the only thing he knew to draw was you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t know how else to pour you out of his mind. 

It was overwhelming, and you could see that. He was showing you all his blood work: mornings spent missing you with the tip of a crooked pencil, afternoons spent recalling your features in his head, nights spent tracing your face with his lead-filled fingers under a desk lamp. If he could inhale these sketches of you into his bloodstream and poison himself with those images, leaving an organ tattoo of your presence, he would. 

“I love this one,” he said, pointing at a full-body sketch of you. “I was waiting for you at the coffee shop, and you were walking towards me. I love it. I was so excited to see you. I memorized what you wore.” 

This sketchbook stayed with him all the time; he felt like he was bringing you with him, like a kid refusing to let go of their blanket. You wouldn’t know anything about that. The beautiful boy in your arms admired you constantly, from the farthest corner of his soul to the tip of his button nose, and you wouldn’t know anything about it. 

“I draw you all the time,” he added. “I will never forget what you look like, but I always want to remember.” 

The implications of that didn’t fly over your head. His addition to telling you the truth disabled your ability to attribute the fact that he draws you in his free time to him being artistic. But more than being afraid of rejection, you feared a mutual connection. The only thing worse than you finding Hyunjin loveable was him finding that you were as well. 

“Do you know why?” he asked, looking at you expectantly. 

You wavered. You hadn’t spoken since he showed you his sketches. “Why?”

Hyunjin stared at you. Within the drunken fog of his eyes, there was earnestness. “Because I love you too.”

You didn’t know what to say, and you wouldn’t. There was solace in choosing to believe that he didn’t mean it. When tomorrow arrives, and he returns sober, you wouldn’t speak of this conversation at all. When night comes tomorrow, and he’s had a full day of rest, Hyunjin would vividly recall how you took care of him and told him you loved him, and he would draw you again. 

“Do you like them?”

His question snapped you out of your trance. Your sight blurred through a sudden quake before it focused on his face. Hyunjin pouted, his fingers tapping patiently at his notebook for your response. You softened with love and squeezed him in a hug, a smile blooming on your face. 

“I’ve never liked anything more,” you complimented, “except for you!”

His legs kicked when you nuzzled your face to the back of his neck. His heart filled, like the sun could fill up a piece of land and the moon could fill up a river, and in return for his joy, he let out a boisterous laugh. He didn’t hear how it sounded with yours. Still, it was such a wondrous thing. Your love was such a wondrous thing.

[melrodrigo]

my hair

Wednesday Addams x Fem Reader

Summary: Wednesday lets you braid her hair.

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N: I don’t think I used any pronouns, so it’s gender neutral really (at least i think so, i can’t rmb) inspired by none other than Ariana Grande’s ‘my hair’. happy halloween 🎃!

“Wednesday.”

The name tumbles out of your lips as easy as the flow of water on a steep channel, and you wonder how a simple word like a day of the week has turned into such a gratifying one.

“Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday.” You mumble mindlessly, combing your fingers through her jet black hair.

She makes a tiny huff of annoyance as she stirs in your arms.

She knows you have a thing for words, whether it be big love confessions or simply saying her name throughout the day, which is a thing she’s been trying to get better at, for you. It’s hard, but she’s morphed into the phase of getting used to your soft words and whispered endearments. She bites back the tiny part of her that wants to ignore them, instead letting them seep into and have their way with her.

You ruffle her hair fondly, but not too hard, well aware of how sensitive your girlfriend is about her hair.

It’s something you’ve come to learn about Wednesday, through your many years together.

She does not like her hair to be touched. She also famously doesn’t let anyone else but you touch it.

Admittedly, it only makes you want to touch her hair more.

You nudge her slightly, murmuring in her ear that you guys have to get up for class.

“Ms. Thornhill is going to be so pissed when she finds out I spent the night again.” You say mindlessly, feeling Wednesday tighten on top of you.

She’s still only a second before she’s sitting up straight, rigid, a classic Addams family stance.

“You did sneak in, didn’t you?” She asks.

You roll your eyes, nudging at her to loosen up a little.

“Yes, Wednesday. I attempted to sneak in. She, however, was waiting right outside your dorm room.” You recount, from just the night before.

She turns to you, eyes squinted.

The sight of you makes her heart do a little dance she wasn’t aware it could do. She’ll never understand it, the way you make her dull black heart race. It beats to the melody of her favorite symphony, fast paced and rapid.

Your hair’s a little ruffled, cheeks a little red, while you sit at the head of her bed in your best matching pjs.

She ponders about your words just a moment before she’s speaking again.

“Good. She should know that you’ll be sleeping in here for the rest of the year.” She says, finally.

You grin, childlike.

She purses her lips and makes the decision before she regrets it.

“Do my hair?” She asks, almost more of a command than a question.

You have to keep yourself from practically jumping off her bed in excitement. She’s never asked that before. You try to act nonchalant as you think about it.

Wednesday knows you better though, and she can already tell by the sparkle in your eyes that you’ll say yes.

You could never say no to your girl, after all.

You nod eagerly, following Wednesday out the bed and over to her desk like a love sick puppy.

“Enid better not come in and see this.” Wednesday grumbles, reaching over to grab her hairbrush, one as black as obsidian.

“It would be better than when she came in last night while we were-“ Wednesday squeezes your wrist tight, a sign to shut up, and so you do.

She takes a few rubber bands out her beloved spider shaped box, one you’d given her as an anniversary gift, and places them in a single file line.

You gulp as you realize what you’ve signed up for.

She turns to look at you expectedly, speaking with her eyes.

“Okay..braids.” You whisper underneath your breath, trying to remember how to braid hair.

To her credit, Wednesday doesn’t say anything the whole while you do her hair. Not a complaint about the way it looks, or how you’ve done it.

But you aren’t that dumb. You see through your girlfriends expression in seconds. And you’re self aware, you know you haven’t done the greatest job.

It’s not horrible, by any means. But it’s just not the Wednesday Addams picture perfect braids.

One side is noticeably looser than the other, and it looks more like a loop than a braid.

“Are you finished?” Wednesday inquires, about to get out her seat.

You push her shoulders down softly, and tell her you have a special surprise.

You pull out a set of dark blue bows, tiny compared to her long locks of hair.

“Absolutely not.” She says the minute you show them to her, shaking her head to affirm her statement.

You pout, giving Wednesday your best puppy dog eyes, but her face remains impassive.

“Just one?” You plead, playing with the tips of her braids.

Wednesday lets out a soft sigh and begrudgingly tilts her head so you can put on the bow easier.

“Love you so much.” You whisper, pressing your hand to her cheek lovingly.

You better, she thinks.

“Now, I believe we need to attend class in five minutes. You’ve already made me soft. Don’t make me unpunctual too.” She says, the edge coming back to her voice.

“Wait, are you actually gonna go out like that?” You ask, a little shocked.

“Going to, y/n. There is no such word as ‘gonna’.” She says, and turns on her heel out the door, sure you’ll be hurrying after her in minutes.

-

Everyone stares at Wednesday as you both enter the class. You’re not late, but everyone’s there already. They size up your girlfriend, questioning gaze apparent as they take in her hair.

“Um..Wednesday?“ Enid sounds from the back of the class, “Why does your hair look like that? And are you wearing a bow?”

You flush pink in embarrassment. Was it really that bad?

One look at you and Wednesday decides she has to once again come to your aid when she clears her throat, directing all attention back to her.

“My hair is normal. And I quite like the bow.” She says, in a tone of voice that indicates that that’s the end of the story.

Wednesday keeps her hair like that the rest of the day. Not once does she touch it, or take it out, even with random inquires coming from all the students at Nevermore.

That evening, you catch her grumbling before you enter her room for your nightly kiss on the cheek, words muffled by the door.

“Love has made me so feeble.” She mumbles dejectedly.

You push open the door, pretending you didn’t hear what you just did, and give her just a slightly longer kiss than you normally would, happy as a clam.

[boyfhee]

✶ YOUR LIPS, MY LIPS

aka types of kisses with them!

pairing enhypen x gn reader genre fluff warnings lots of kissing ofc requested

LEE HEESEUNG

playful, teasing— a game of chase. kisses with heeseung are like giggles echoing from a corner of the apartment. they resonate with happiness, yet with an undertone of annoyance. they're abrupt— he could kiss you in the middle of your call, on the stairs for the sake of romance, in the bed where a goodnight kiss lasts longer than it should and you have to push him away. his hands grip around your wrist to pull you closer and before you know it, his lips are on yours, moving in synchrony with yours. kisses where he leaves you dazed, and there's a smirk on his lips. you're used to it, but it's a kiss that you can't do anything for a few seconds after, mouth agape of you to try to process what happened. and when you feel like you're fine, his lips are back onto yours once again.

PARK JONGSEONG

a passionate promise, sheer devotion. it's like the feeling of gravitating closer to him every time you two kiss, like the silver of nervousness that lingers before getting on your favourite ride at the amusement park, one that dissolves amidst the adrenaline. kisses that are used to pass time— kissing against the kitchen counter while waiting for dinner to cook, in the local library till the rain stops, spending a lazy sunday afternoon with your lips on his because you don't have anything better to do. slow yet breathless, his hands in your hair, a few words shared in between. kisses with him usually start with a few pecks— one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, followed by a 'kiss me again' whispered against his lips, and then devouring each other.

SIM JAEYUN

messy, urgent, desperate. soft, innocent kisses that morph into the ones where you're intoxicated with the lack of breath, that is now kisses with jake feel like. they're like a warm hug after a long day, like a cup of hot chocolate shared while talking about your day to each other, sitting on the couch. like the few pecks shared while doing laundry or watching a movie, the kind of movement where soon enough, your hands are grabbing at the clothing, pulling each other closer. there are compliments shared against your skin, sweet nothings and soft smiles against his lips as you two move around while kissing, stumbling over things, pushing each other against the wall or the bed, or anything close by— the kind of kisses that make you fall for him all over again.

PARK SUNGHOON

shy, like the first ones, albeit flirty. kisses with sunghoon always feel like the first kiss shared between lovers, the ones where love interweaves in every breath shared. the kind of kisses that are short and unexpected, stolen while you're doing your make up or while he's helping you do the dishes. they're the ones where the lack of distance makes your heart beat faster, just holding each other closer than possible, moments that lead to cuddles while you both are bundled up on the couch. kisses with him and pure, ones that are broken by his soft nips against your lips, where his hands are pressing against your back, fingertips under you top, drawing gentle circles against the small strip of bare skin that make you pull away with a gasp. the kisses where both of you are obsessed with the feeling, utterly, willingly and wonderfully so.

KIM SUNOO

loud, warm, overflowing with love. kisses where you get lost and can't find a way out, a moment of ecstasy, where one moment you two are kissing and the other, laughing about the silliest things, hands wrapped around each other. they feel like a love confession said out in secrecy, like words whispered into your ears on the subway, like the feeling of your heart swelling up with love when you two run around on dates with your hands intertwined. something where the feeling of his lips against yours gets you giddy, where either of you hide their face in the other's neck, too shy to look up, chaste kisses where the slow movement of lips and his fingers fiddling with the hem of your dress makes you drown in happiness. with sunoo, it feels like love erupting every time you kiss, like drowning in love and breathing underwater.

YANG JUNGWON

protective but hesitant, like home. kisses that are laced with uncertainty, the unsettling feeling of accidently doing something wrong, but the moment he feels your lips on his, all the worries are turned into dust, spinning away in the air. kisses with him can be passionate, physically, metaphorically— ones that speak for a thousand unspoken words. he kisses you like you're the most precious thing in the entire world, brushing away strands of hair from your face and tucking them behind your hair, the soft gesture of him tilting your face to pull you into another kiss. he kisses you delicately, it oozes with love, his arms make you feel safe, and he feels like home. kissing jungwon is like walking into a storm with no worries, because he's right beside you.

NISHIMURA RIKI

exhilarating, yet soft and gentle. the kind of kisses that feel as if you're riding a rollercoaster. you could be kissing for the thousandth time, but the feeling sweeps you off your feet every single time. ones that are so unexpected and playful, they leave you flustered and frozen in your stance, something that makes him laugh at your confused gaze. they're like a busy summer morning, the rush, the urgency, the slight brushing of your lips against his before you two continue you day, the softest kisses that last a little longer before he leaves for schedules, the ones where his lips linger over yours but not touching because he wants to get a reaction out of you— an action that leads to you chase him down the house. kisses that feel like insanity, yet the only thing keep you two sane.

[strangersteddierthings]

Gut Instinct: Prologue

Here is the start of my fic for the @steddiebang2024! A HUGE thank you to my art, @calxeria, and my beta-reader, @zombiecreatures!!

[Art] [Ao3] [Prologue] [Chapter One]

On July 7th, 1985, Robin wakes up in Steve Harrington’s bed and begins to believe in the unbelievable, in the impossible. She's got a whole list.

The waking-up-in-Steve-Harrington's-bed would be the most unbelievable thing to ever happen to her, if not for the whole Russians-under-Starcourt, giant-flesh-monster, girl-who-can-throw-stuff-around-with-her-mind thing. So, second most unbelievable thing, because she’s going to count all of the aforementioned as one thing.

No, that's a lie. It's the third unbelievable thing. The second was before the giant-flesh-monster and girl-who-can-throw-things-around-with-her-mind, but after the Russians-under-Starcourt. In a bathroom. With Steve confessing his crush, and Robin confessing hers, but not for Steve. He didn't get it at first but then. Then his quietly spoken 'oh' morphed into a more excited 'oh! Me too!' and it was Robin's turn to be confused until he clarified: girls and boys.

Steve Harrington came out to her as bisexual while under the influence of Russian truth serum, or something, and that has to take second place.

Back to the third thing. She can’t lie, when Steve had first asked if she’d stay the night, she was wary. Yeah, they’d gone through hell together, but beyond surviving the worst days of their lives together, they didn’t exactly have a lot in common, and she'd really hate walking home alone if things were too weird.

Turns out, friendships are built on more than shared interests. Steve is bitchy in a fun way, hilarious, and so easy to talk to. They banter back and forth like they've known each other for years rather than weeks, a surprisingly easy transition from the (not-actually-very-friendly-at-the-time) teasing Robin had been giving him all summer at Scoops. They'd talked all night, sat on Steve's bed because the living room had felt too open, and Robin doesn't fully remember falling asleep the first time, but she does remember waking up from a nightmare and Steve was already assuring her she was safe, that he wouldn't let anything happen to her. He'd asked if it was okay for him to touch, and she'd launched herself across the bed and into the hug he offered. For a boy who had admitted to having a crush on her 72-hours ago, give or take, there was no romantic intent in the hug, and Robin fell asleep easily in his arms.

So, Robin wakes up in Steve Harrington’s bed but no longer in his arms because she's star-fished out on the center of the bed, half her limbs flung across his back because he'd rolled onto his stomach. She rolls off him and sits up to stretch and look at him. One arm is stuffed under the pillow, the other hanging off the bed with how close to the edge he is. His face isn't turned to her, but she can see a damp spot on the pillow. She's willing to bet good money that Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington drools in his sleep.

Then, the fourth most unbelievable thing happened - not that she realized at the time that it was going to make the Unbelievable But True list – as, for the first time, she witnessed Steve predict the future. Or something like it.

He rolled over, still asleep, and said, 'Dustin'll be here soon.'

It's been just a few days since Starcourt and Dustin was, as far as she could tell, Steve's best friend. It made sense he would show up and check in. The slightly freaky part was that she had assumed Steve was awake, but he was not. When he did wake up, he had no recollection of having said anything, but Dustin did try to crash through door about twenty minutes later.

Which, sure, Robin could choose to believe was an educated guess of Steve's subconscious. But then, the coincidences didn't end.

Over the summer, she witnesses him not once, not twice, but a whopping eight times buy a winning scratch card. Never a large amount but always enough for whatever he was wanting or needing, spanning from money for beer to money for some bill or another. When she questioned if gambling was the proper solution to pay the bills, he'd laughed and said gambling has a chance of losing, and since he's never lost, he wasn't sure scratch cards were actually part of the lottery.

More times than she wants to keep track of, he's reached out and halted her walking just in time for something that would have hit her to zoom past her face. Doors, other people, a few baseballs when they walk past the park, an entire stack of video tapes they'd been seeing how tall they could get once they got hired at Family Video, and even one memorable time of him hauling her back out of the crosswalk and a cyclist rounding the corner quickly. Sure, it wasn't saving her from a car, but she can't imagine it would have been a fun time getting hit by a bike instead.

He's always next to the phone when it rings, no matter where they'd previously been in his house or Family Video. He'll just meander away mid-sentence (his or hers) and stop near the phone just as it rings. He always knows who is on the other side of the door, though the doorbell ringing or knocking sounds startle him when he isn’t expecting anyone. When he is expecting someone, he never startles.

Of course, nothing definitive or proof-worthy happens. All of these things could be coincidental. Just Steve happening to be the luckiest person alive. The only option left is to ask Steve himself.

A perfect opportunity presents itself when she rides along with Steve to the gas station so he can purchase beer. They skip by the two closet places, and instead end up at the gas station on the far side of town. She stays in the car and just watches as he sets the pack on the counter and chats with the cashier, some guy with a voluminous beard. There's a bit of back and forth between the two, then Steve pulls out his wallet and pays, gets back his change along with two scratch cards, and then Steve's back in the car, placing the beer in the trunk before sliding back into the drivers seat.

"Here," he offers out the scratch cards, which Robin takes because she likes to scratch them.

"So, why did we come all the way to this gas station?" Robin asks as she take her thumbnail to the first card and Steve backs out of the parking space.

"What?"

"There are so many gas stations closer to where you live. Why this one?"

"Just followin' my gut, Robs," Steve's voice is cheeky, and she knows if she were to look up from the card to him that his face would have a cheeky grin on it.

"That makes no sense."

"What, you don't listen when your gut tells you things? You know, like the saying. Follow your gut, or whatever."

"People usually say to follow your gut for like trying to figure out what to do when faced with big decisions. Not to buy beer," she finishes the first scratch card. A fifteen-dollar winner. When no response comes from Steve, she looks over to him. His face is pinched in the way it gets when he thinks he's said the wrong thing and is trying to figure out what it was. He doesn't take his eyes off the road even when she adds, "hey. What's with the face?"

"It's just- when you make decisions, does it make you nauseous?"

"Uh, it was pretty nauseating when I was deciding whether or not to tell you that I was jealous because Tammy was looking at you."

"Yeah, yeah, sure, but I mean, like, not for big things."

She thinks on it. There have been little decisions, like what to wear, but they've all been tied up in bigger decisions or thoughts, like trying to catch the eye of a crush or auditioning for a solo in band. "Hmm, not really?"

Steve lets out a sigh. "That's what Tommy said when I tried to explain it to him. I just follow my gut. Like, I'm not always nauseous. Sometimes it's just like, a pull, or a good feeling? But that's kinda new."

The second scratch card is not nearly as important as this. She shuffles in her seat, struggling a bit against the seat belt, to sit more sideways and face Steve as best she can. "Explain from the beginning."

"Well, for as long as I can remember, I've just always had this feeling about things, and like, if the thought would have a bad outcome, I'd feel sick? Like, uhh, example... example..." Steve trails off before thumping his hand against the steering wheel in triumph, then snapping his fingers when he must recall something, "Oh! One time in middle school, my friends and I wanted to sneak into the school for- well, that doesn't matter but what does is this part. I thought about how getting caught meant my dad would be furious, and I was almost instantly nauseous. At that point I'd already learned the sudden queasiness meant I had to not do the thing I was thinking about. So, I stayed home. Learned the next day they had gotten caught breaking in. And a more recent event, you know that story Dustin told you about the junkyard and the demodogs?"

"How could I forget? Steve's so awesome, Steve's so brave, Steve's the greatest, isn't he, Robin?" She raises her voice rather than dropping it to mock Dustin. He was still in his Steve-and-Robin-should-date phase while regaling Robin with stories of Steve's heroics in the past.

They've come to a four way intersection, slowing to a stop. Steve looks all directions before going forward, then he speaks. "My only thought all night was, like, I have got to make sure these kids are alright. Nothing else matters, so long as these kids don't get hurt. And so, even though I knew leaving the bus to be bait was borderline suicidal, there was no sickness. No- not even a mildly upset stomach. And I just. I knew it would end up okay."

That eases something in Robin she hasn't even been aware needed eased. Steve has been quick to throw himself against dangers, so if what he's saying is true, he doesn't do it recklessly. "Hmm. And just now? Why that gas station?"

"I don't really... it's like, lately, I just know? I just knew if I tried the first two, they wouldn't accept the fake ID. I didn't know that the last guy wouldn't even bother to card me, just that the first two wouldn't sell to me. And it's... that's new."

"New?" Robin prompts.

"The just knowing. I've always been able to steer clear of bad decisions, or like, things that won't work out how I want them to. But the knowing that it's going to work out is new."

She looks down at the scratch cards in her hands. Both winners, she's sure, even though she hasn't scratched the second one. Certain enough to cover the cost of the beer and the cards, so the next second one has got to be at least five dollars, maybe ten, unless Steve is short on the electric bill again. "Do you think you're a psychic or just super lucky?"

"Psychic? What, like a fortune teller or something?"

"Mmm, I don't think you need a crystal ball or tarot cards, but sure."

The car comes to a complete stop and he kills the engine. Robin looks out the car to see they're back at his house. She hadn't even noticed the drive. "I can't tell the future, Robbie."

"Well, how do you know?"

He unbuckles, then shrugs. "I guess I don't. I can't, like, tell you if it'll rain tomorrow or anything like that, but if I get up in the morning and grab the umbrella on the way out the door, I know it's going to rain at some point. That feels more like luck to me."

She unbuckles and climbs out of the car, can hear Steve doing the same thing. "Well, maybe that's what seeing the future is? Just being lucky with what happens next."

He rolls his eyes and turns away, heading to unlock the door to let them in his house.

She watches him go for a moment, wishing, not for the first time, that he didn't have to live here alone. Robin's spent almost all summer here but with school starting again, her senior year, she'll have to spend weekdays at her own home. Her parents have always let her run wild during summer break, but they won't allow her to be gone as much once the school year starts.

Another unbelievable thing for her list. Everyone knew Steve's parents were gone a lot, but she never believed they'd just abandon him. That had been a late night confession, back on that first night she stayed. Kind of the reason she agreed to sleep over. He'd sounded so... neutral about the confession, when she'd asked if his parents would be bothered she was there.

"Not their house anymore, so who cares," Steve had said, emotionless.

"What?" She'd asked, surprised.

"Not their house anymore," Steve repeated before elaborating, "when I didn't get into college, they traded my trust fund for this house instead. Mom left me a voicemail letting me know." He pitched his voice higher after that, imitating his mom she guessed. "Steve, honey, your father thinks it best that we just give you the house. Since you aren't going to college, it'll be better. Won't have to worry about getting a good paying job for a mortgage, you see? Can just get started with the making-a-family part of life. We revoked the trust fund to buy a house in Paris with the money instead."

She learned later that it hadn't been worded exactly like that, and there was no mention of Paris, but it did boil down to them not believing Steve would make anything of himself, and they 'wanted him to be able to start on solid ground' which, apparently, meant home-ownership.

She hasn't told him yet, but she's planning how she'll decorate and paint her room after she graduates. She's going to take a gap year and live with Steve. Help him figure out what he wants to do in life, and then help him achieve it as best she can.

"Are you coming?" Steve shouts from the front door and Robin startles back to herself.

"Yeah. Just enjoying the outside world while I still have time."

"It's school, not prison!"

She just grins back at him as he shakes his head and goes inside without her, and it strikes her then and there. She loves Steve Harrington.

She's got a list of Unbelievable but True things she has to reorganize now.

5. Steve Harrington can predict (at least his own) future. 4. On July 7th, 1985, Robin woke up in Steve Harrington’s bed. 3. Steve Harrington came out to her as bisexual. 2. Russians-under-Starcourt, giant-flesh-monster, girl-who-can-throw-things-around-with-her-mind thing. 1. Robin Buckley loves Steve Harrington.

[luv-y0urself]

boynextdoor when they have crushes

boynextdoor x fem!reader genre: fluff, slice of life, mayhaps...? | wc: 2026 words | warnings: all sorts of tropes ahead !! all of the boys are the same age as the reader in the fic, although not mentioned :) 𖤐．thank you to the anon who requested this ! i'm so sorry it took this long to get out... i might've gotten a little carried away (psst... i didn't tell you this, but i might be using this as a small teaser for a future series...!)

boy #1: park sungho

to me, sungho genuinely feels like the type to fall for his childhood best friend. it’s the feeling of comfort that he feels with her that suddenly morphs into something more, y’know? he’s having a casual night out, grabbing a quick drink with his friend for successfully ending the semester in one piece when she shows up dressed with her hair done, makeup immaculate, and a dress that fits her curves perfectly and accentuates all the nice things about her. he can’t help but gape at her form once he lays eyes on her, and is dumbfounded for a few seconds before he’s able to murmur a soft compliment in her direction. she merely laughs it off, telling him that he looked rather dashing that night as well. it was common for them to care for each other in that way; they didn’t think of it much when they were complimenting each other… but on that night, at that moment, sungho meant every word. once sungho is able to fully mull over the situation (and fully realizes that he definitely has a crush on her), sungho would go out of his way to care for her. he’s always sending her texts (much more than usual), usually things like “your class starts soon, are you at school yet?” to things like, “don’t skip lunch even if you’re working.” he strikes me as the type to bring lots of sweets to his gal when mother nature decides to pay her a visit, or for him to cook her some of her favorite broth if she’s feeling under the weather. at one point, i feel like she would realize that sungho has changed a little bit; she asks the other friends in her group about it and her friends can’t help but smack their foreheads at how dense sungho’s crush is, then help sungho set something up for him to actually overcome the fear of losing his friend and confess to her.

boy #2: lee riwoo

to be completely honest, i feel like riwoo is the type to fall for a girl that he met at a dance competition. riwoo would be one of the judges, waiting for the last performance to go on stage and dance their hearts out. he’s beyond tired, having gotten at the site more than six hours ago, and having sat in his chair without moving for four of those six. but once she comes onto stage, riwoo would feel the spinning world stop. all he can see is her, dancing her heart out to the choreographed routine that she and her group mates put together for everybody to see. it’s unprofessional, really — riwoo should be watching the performance for all of the rubric points, but all he could focus on was the way that she moved; the way that she waltzed with the song, her arms elongated and her steps light but strong, hitting each beat with undeniable passion that she must’ve practiced with. riwoo isn’t able to do anything the day of, however — that would be even more unprofessional than how distracted he was during the performance. no, the real time he would be able to do something is when he holds a surprise pop up class with a limited number of students able to attend, and she’s one of them. when checking their form, i feel like riwoo’s eyes would subconsciously stay on her form for a little longer compared to the other students, and if she had a question, he answer it to the best of his ability, and then some. riwoo doesn’t strike me as the impulsive type, but with her in the room, i feel like he would change the choreo that he's teaching to a pair dance, choosing her in the room to dance with.

boy #3: myung jaehyun

god, myungjae would be the loudest guy out there once he has a crush. he definitely strikes me as the type of guy to go shouting in the group chat, saying that he just spotted the “goddess” of their school while walking around. he probably also wouldn’t waste any time beating around the bush; the very next time he spots her, he would probably go up to her and say some cheesy pick up line (“so, aside from taking my breath away, what do you do for a living?”) although the girl would definitely be surprised, and maybe even annoyed at his seemingly insincere ways of telling her, myungjae would do everything he can to regain her trust in him (aka. making her fall for him, according to his boasting). whenever he spots her on campus, myungjae makes sure to make himself known. he often waves at her from hundreds of meters away, running to her from wherever he saw her from (and ditching whoever he was with, which, most of the time, is poor woonhak) just to strike a conversation with her. he asks her about all kinds of things, like what she’s doing today, how she’s feeling, if anything happened to her in the past 16 hours which he hasn’t seen her, anything. (once, she replied back that she was going to go meet a long distance guy friend, and myungjae immediately got sooo jealous. he would ask all kinds of things, like what he looks like, how tall he is, whether she’s ever liked him in the past or if she does now, how long she’s known him for, etc. she would definitely tease him for being jealous before leaving in a flash, purposely mentioning that she needs to “get ready” for her hangout with the said guy. myungjae is absolutely distraught, to her delight.) but, if she’s feeling down, he’s there for her always, giving her a shoulder to cry on if needed. he provides lots of advice for her if she opens up to him in that way, glad that he was able to be of help to his one and only.

boy #4: han taesan

boy oh boy, han taesan. definitely the type to fall for the girl working at the lp shop that he’s a regular at. taesan was just walking around the shop, seeing if there were any albums that were recently added that he hadn’t seen the last time he was there. that’s when he spotted her listening to the legendary nirvana album (in his opinion), bleach (1989), and she was humming the melody to “about a girl” when he couldn’t help but be intrigued about her. the lp shop was old; taesan was close with the owner of the shop, since the old man had cared for taesan like his own son. taesan would definitely ask about her the next time he sees the man (which is very soon), surprised when he mentions that she’s working at the shop now; taesan came to the shop almost everyday following that short encounter, often staying at the shop much longer than necessary when she was around (and leaving the shop quickly when he wasn’t able to see her at her usual spot at the counter), trying to get a better look at what she was doing or if she was listening to anything else that he enjoyed listening to, too.  the first time that taesan would actually make a move is when he catches that she’s sick from the rapidly changing weather. he spots her erupting into small coughing fits, which she suppresses quickly with a quick drink from her practically steaming tumbler. the next day taesan walks into the shop, his pockets are a little heavier than usual; he’s carrying with him some cough medicine and tylenol, packaged nicely in a clear bag, perfected with a clean note inside (which he definitely didn’t take 15 minutes to write two lines of). when she’s not at the counter, cleaning something at a different end of the shop, taesan slips over and places the bag of medicine containing the note next to her tumbler so she can’t miss it, smiling a little as he exits the shop.

boy #5: kim leehan

would it be a surprise if leehan falls for the girl working as a docent at the aquarium? she's all he’s been looking for; an expert on fish that shared the same love for marine life that he did. i feel like leehan would meet her coincidentally at his local aquarium; usually he likes to stay home and just look at his own fish tank, but that day, he felt like going out. it had been too long since he left the house, anyway; the last time he’d left was a few days ago, when he went to go find some new fishies for his fish tank (if leehan has his fish tank and his phone, he could probably stay at home for a whole month without leaving it once).  usually, leehan is the type to walk around the aquarium by himself; he already knew a lot about most of the fish there, and if he didn’t know anything, he was the type to stand in front of the description for a while in order to read everything about the new fish. but, something about her voice stroke a chord in him; her voice was different from the other docents that he had walked by, and he saw himself just trailing the crowd that was following her, listening to her words that were flowing out of her like she was telling the story about the fish for the first time. after the entire tour, when she seems to go on break, leehan would call out to her according to her name that she had mentioned at the end of the tour, letting the people know that she was always happy to talk about fish if they ever spotted her around the aquarium another day. he would then proceed to question her about some of the new species that had recently been added to the aquarium tanks, piquing her interest in him as well. i think they would meet a couple more times at the aquarium itself before leehan would ask if she would like to see his own fish tank at his house ;)

boy #6: kim woonhak

woonhak is the epitome of boyish love. there’s no denying it… he just reminds me so much of the type of guys that would endlessly tease and poke fun at you just because he doesn’t know how else to express himself. i think the person that he would do this to would definitely be a somewhat calm person… like a student volunteer at his school’s library!! he would definitely fall for her when he’s checking out his textbooks at the beginning of the year — he’s never stepped into the textbook room prior to this (since this was all a new system that the school implemented) and woonhak just saw her working hard, interacting cordially with the kids she knew and genuinely looking like she was enjoying her job there. her genuineness sparked something deep inside of him, and after that day, i feel like he would visit the library all the time. he’s going to memorize the days and periods that she’s working at the library and get out of class during those days just to go to the library and try to see her. because he visits her so often, i just know that they would start to talk and that would just make woonhak fall even more for her — she’s such a passionate individual, always working hard for what she wants to achieve in the future. whenever she talks about her ambitions, woonhak just can’t help but be mesmerized about everything around her; her pretty, sparkling eyes, the soft breeze from the window that tickles her hair, being able to easily tune out the bustling of the students around them as if they were alone, and her voice, making him truly wonder if she was born under the extensive care of angels. at one point, though, i feel like she would ask him why he always visits her but never actually looks at any of the books or the library in general. woonhak’s ears would burn a bright shade of red before he clears his throat, finally asking her out on a date (“actually, speaking of which… do you want to, uh, go out this weekend?”)

reblogs + feedback are greatly appreciated ! © luv-y0urself / 2024

[mssalo]

safety - Part: V 

Summary: After years of isolation, Joel Miller's life revolves around control and keeping danger at bay, his past as a soldier leaving him constantly on edge. But when a sweet, soft-spoken young woman starts working at the supply store, her innocence stirs something inside him. Despite his efforts to remain detached, Joel becomes obsessed with keeping her safe from the dangers he’s certain are lurking everywhere.

As his protective instincts morph into darker desires, the lines between safeguarding her and possessing her begin to blur.

Warnings will vary by chapter depending on the content.

Warnings: Dark!Joel, 18+ MDNI, Joel has major Trauma/PTSD, Mentions of war and combat-related trauma, Power dynamics, Unstable mental state,, Explicit sexual content, fingering in nature, rough sex in nature, praise kink, breeding kink, unprotected sex, Dom/sub dynamics, Joel’s possessiveness, sexual tension always, Joel went and got therapy :)

10k. Smut. Ending.

Enjoy!

Part I Part II Part III Part IV 

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

The morning sun filtered through the thin curtains of the cabin, casting a soft golden hue over the room. Joel had been awake for hours, his mind running long before dawn.

It had been years since he’d slept that soundly, since his body allowed him even a moment of peace. His usual nightmares—filled with screams, gunfire, and failure—had been replaced by something softer last night.

His arm draped over your waist, keeping you close as if, even now, he feared you'd slip away. You stirred slightly, your body warm against his, and for a brief moment, he felt something he hadn’t in so long—relief. But that feeling quickly turned into guilt.

The events of the previous night replayed in his mind, each detail sharper than the last. The way he had dragged you out of the woods, convinced something was after you, how frantic and desperate he had been to lock you inside the cabin, to shield you from an imagined threat.

Joel’s eyes traced your peaceful expression, and a sense of possessiveness flared inside him.

Ever since he saw you—so trusting, so sweet, too naive for this world—something in him snapped. He couldn’t stand the idea of you out there, vulnerable. You had no idea of the real dangers lurking in the world, and that infuriated him.

But the anger had twisted into something darker, something he hadn’t fully understood until last night. His obsession with keeping you safe had grown into an all-consuming need.

You stirred beside him, your eyes slowly fluttering open, and Joel’s gaze softened. When your eyes met his, you smiled sleepily, unaware of the storm brewing behind his calm expression.

"Morning," you whispered, your voice thick with sleep, oblivious to the gravity of what had happened last night.

"Morning," Joel muttered, his voice rough. His hand tightened around your waist, fingers brushing over the soft skin of your side. You stretched slightly, yawning before nestling back into his arms, completely unaware of the tension radiating from him.

"I guess we’re safe after all, huh?" you mused softly, your innocent words hanging in the air.

Joel tensed, his jaw locking. You didn’t understand. You never would. You trusted too easily, believed in safety that didn’t exist. He wanted to snap, to shake you out of that naivety, but the softness in your eyes held him back.

"You don’t get it," he muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "I’ve seen what happens when you trust the wrong people. When you let your guard down for just a second."

You frowned, turning to face him more fully. There was confusion in your gaze, concern, but also an oblivious trust that Joel had come to both cherish and resent. "Joel, last night… you were so sure something bad was going to happen. I didn’t understand. I was—" You hesitated, chewing on your lip, unsure of whether to admit the truth. "I was scared."

His grip tightened at your confession, his eyes darkening with something you couldn’t quite name. "You don’t need to be scared of me," he growled, his voice raw. "I would never hurt you. But I can’t—" His breath hitched, his hand fisting the sheets. "I can’t lose you."

The desperation in his voice made your heart ache. You could see the fear behind his eyes, the fear of something deeper, something you couldn’t fully understand. But you had felt it last night. His need to protect you had been overwhelming, almost suffocating.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft, hesitant. "I trust you. I know you’d never hurt me. But last night… it wasn’t normal. You were so convinced something was out there. But there was nothing."

His body went rigid beside you, his jaw clenching as if he was trying to keep everything in. But you could see the cracks forming, the way his eyes flickered with memories he hadn’t told you about. And then, as if the dam finally broke, he spoke.

"There were these two girls," he muttered, his voice rough, strained. "Sarah and Ellie. Overseas, during the war. They were just kids… kids who trusted me."

You stayed silent, watching as his eyes clouded over with the weight of his memories.

"I was supposed to protect them. We were in a war zone, caught in the middle of a firefight. I told them to run. I thought I could get them out. But I didn’t see the sniper." His voice cracked, the guilt seeping into every word. "I didn’t see him, and… they didn’t make it."

Your heart twisted at the pain in his voice, at the way he carried the weight of their deaths as if it were his own fault. "Joel…"

"It was my call," he interrupted, his voice shaking. "I failed them, and now they’re gone because of me."

You reached out, your hand gently cupping his face, trying to pull him back from the darkness of his past. "You didn’t fail them. You were trying to save them. You can’t carry that alone."

But Joel shook his head, his eyes filled with so much anguish it made your chest ache. "I was supposed to protect them, and I didn’t. And now I’m afraid…" His voice dropped to a whisper, his grip on you tightening again. "I’m afraid I’ll fail you too."

You swallowed hard, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air. You didn’t know how to fix this, didn’t know how to ease the guilt that had been eating away at him for years. All you could do was be there, to remind him that he wasn’t alone.

"I’m here right now," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly. "I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’m here."

For a long moment, Joel didn’t respond. He just held you, his body tense, his mind still lost in the past. But then, slowly, he nodded, his breath shaky as he pressed his forehead against yours.

"I’ll try to get help," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I’ll try."

You smiled softly, brushing a thumb over his cheek. "You’ll get through this, Joel."

He didn’t respond, but the way his arms tightened around you told you everything you needed to know. He was still scared, still haunted by the ghosts of his past. But for now, you were there. And that was enough.

As the morning light grew brighter, the cabin was filled with a quiet kind of peace. You lay there in his arms, holding on to the fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, Joel could find his way through the darkness.

And for now, that was all you could ask for.

· · ────

As you and Joel made your way back to the campsite, the tension between you simmered just beneath the surface. His heavy footsteps matched your lighter ones as you trudged through the brush, but his presence seemed to envelop you.

There was something about the way he moved, always one step behind or beside you, that made you feel both safe and on edge.

Joel’s eyes kept darting from the treeline to you, his instincts always on high alert.

His protective nature wasn’t something new, but after last night—after everything—the intensity of it felt different.

You glanced over at him as you both reached the campsite, your heart sinking a little at the sight of the mess. Your tent was half-collapsed, your clothes and supplies scattered haphazardly.

Joel gave a grunt and immediately set to work, tying down the straps and packing up the gear. His movements were quick, efficient, but you could feel his eyes flicking toward you every few moments.

“I can help,” you said, reaching for the tent poles.

Joel’s hand shot out, gently but firmly grabbing your wrist and pulling it away from the sharp edges. His gaze locked with yours, dark and commanding.

“Let me handle the sharp tools, babygirl,” he murmured, his voice rough, gravelly.

The words sent a rush of heat straight through you, your cheeks flushing at the nickname. Babygirl. The way he said it—like you were something fragile, something that needed to be handled carefully—made you feel a strange mixture of annoyance and… excitement.

“Joel, I can handle a tent pole,” you argued softly, though the protest felt weak even to your own ears.

He didn’t back down, his grip on your wrist tightening just a bit. His lips curled into a half-smirk, his gaze flicking down your body before landing back on your face.

“I know you can handle a pole but `m not lettin’ you get hurt,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing. “You’re too goddamn precious for that.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension rise between you. There was something in the way he looked at you, like he was barely holding himself back.

His eyes lingered on you a little too long, dark and possessive, and you couldn’t help but feel like prey under his gaze.

With a quiet huff, you stepped back, letting Joel handle the rest of the packing. As you turned to grab your bag, your eyes fell on the spare clothes you had packed.

The heat of the day, mixed with the leftover tension from last night, made your skin feel sticky and uncomfortable. You glanced over at Joel, who was busy securing the last of your things onto his truck.

“I’m just gonna change real quick,” you called over your shoulder, grabbing your fresh clothes from your bag and slipping behind a nearby tree.

Joel didn’t say anything at first, but his eyes followed you as you moved, his jaw tightening when he saw you disappear behind the tree.

His body tensed, a wave of heat coursing through him as he pictured you undressing. The thought of you, soft and bare just out of sight, made his breath hitch.

He glanced down at himself, biting back a groan as he felt his cock stiffen in his jeans.

The image of you changing, pulling those jeans over your hips, slipping out of that old shirt—it made something dark coil inside him.

He was used to control, to keeping his emotions in check, but you were making it hard. Too damn hard.

Behind the tree, you quickly stripped off your dirty shirt, slipping into something clean and fresh. As you tugged your jeans up over your hips, you couldn’t help but feel Joel’s presence, even though he wasn’t directly in front of you.

His gaze, that possessive heat—it lingered, and you could feel it.

You barely had time to register the slip before Joel’s hands were on you, firm and unyielding, catching you before you hit the ground.

The rough bark of the tree dug into your back as he pressed you against it, his strong body flush with yours. You felt his breath hot against the side of your neck, his chest rising and falling, the grip he had on your waist almost too tight.

“Careful there, darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement as his hand lingered on your hip. “Don’t need you hurtin’ yourself on account of some pants.”

You blinked up at him, startled by how fast he had closed the distance. His hand stayed on your waist, firm and warm, and you could feel the heat of his body pressing close to yours.

His eyes were darker than before, filled with something that made your pulse quicken. His gaze dropped to the bare skin of your waist, his thumb brushing over the exposed flesh as he let out a low hum.

“You’re gonna make it real hard for me to concentrate if you keep slippin’ outta those clothes, little girl,” Joel drawled, his lips curling into a smirk.

His hand drifted lower, teasing at the waistband of your jeans. “Not sure how much more I can take.”

You swallowed hard, your breath catching in your throat as you met his gaze. “I didn’t think you minded last night,” you said, your voice a little shaky as you adjusted your shirt.

Joel’s eyes flicked back to you, dark and hungry. “Didn’t mind at all,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly.

His hands didn’t move immediately; they lingered, fingers splayed, and it sent a pulse of desire straight to your core.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice rough and gravelly, low like he was speaking more to himself than to you. “You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy all morning.”

You blinked, trying to steady yourself, but the way he had you pinned made it impossible.

The hard look in his eyes as he stared down at you, the way his fingers dug into your skin like he couldn’t bring himself to let go… it was overwhelming. He didn’t move away, didn’t give you any space to breathe, to think.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was thick, dripping with frustration, but there was no mistaking the hunger behind it.

“Every damn time I look at you… can’t get you from last night outta my head. Got me hard just from watchin’ you.”

Your breath hitched at the rawness in his words, the heat in his eyes as they raked over your body.

Before you could even respond, his hand slipped lower, fingers trailing along the waistband of your jeans. His touch was deliberate, teasing, but there was no hiding the raw desire in the way he moved.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he growled under his breath, his fingers sliding over the button of your jeans, popping it open with a swift, practiced motion.

“I can’t wait any longer. You’ve been torturing me all morning, walkin’ around like that.”

You gasped as his hand slipped beneath the denim, his fingers finding your already slick heat. Joel’s eyes darkened when he felt how wet you were, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he muttered, his voice rough as his fingers dipped between your folds.

“So fuckin’ wet already… you been thinkin’ about me too, haven’t you? Tell me, baby girl.”

His fingers pressed against your clit, rubbing slow, teasing circles that had your body arching toward him despite the tight grip he had on you. You whimpered softly, and that only seemed to spur him on, his touch growing more intense, more possessive.

“You like that, huh?” he growled, his voice thick with lust. “Like it when I touch you like this, when I make you feel like this.” His thumb pressed harder against your swollen bud, and you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your lips. “Fuckin’ knew it.”

His fingers slipped lower, one of them sliding inside you with ease, the wetness between your legs making it effortless.

He groaned low in his throat as he felt how tight you were around his finger, his breath coming out in heavy pants against your neck.

“Damn, you’re so tight,” he murmured, his voice rough with need. “You were made for me, baby girl. Fuck, just look at how you take my fingers.”

He added another finger, and the stretch made you cry out softly, your hands grabbing at his shoulders for support as your knees started to weaken.

Joel’s free hand gripped your hip even harder, holding you steady against him, making sure you couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to.

“Look at you,” he rasped, his breath hot against your ear. “Fuckin’ gorgeous, takin’ it so well… you’re so fuckin’ good for me, aren’t you?”

His fingers curled inside you, hitting that spot that made you see stars, and you moaned, your body arching into his hand.

Joel growled in response, his fingers moving faster now, thrusting in and out of you with a punishing rhythm.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his voice low and filthy. “You love it when I fuck you with my fingers, don’t you? So fuckin’ desperate for it.”

Your breath came out in ragged gasps, your body trembling with every stroke of his fingers.

He was relentless, not giving you a moment to catch your breath as his thumb continued to work your clit in slow, torturous circles.

“You’re gonna cum for me, aren’t you?” he growled, his voice thick with lust.

“I can feel it. I can fuckin’ feel you clenchin’ around me. Come on, baby girl, don’t hold back. I wanna feel you fall apart.”

His words, his touch, the roughness of his voice—it was all too much. You couldn’t hold on any longer. Your body tensed, and with a sharp cry, you came undone around his fingers, your walls clenching tight as the pleasure ripped through you. 

Joel didn’t stop. He kept thrusting his fingers into you, drawing out your orgasm, his breath heavy against your ear.

“That’s it, darlin’. Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight. You feel that? You’re fuckin’ mine.”

Your legs trembled, barely able to hold you up as the aftershocks of your release pulsed through you. Joel finally slowed his movements, his fingers still buried deep inside you as you sagged against him, breathless and spent.

He pulled his hand from your jeans, his fingers glistening with your release as he looked down at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded with lust. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, his voice still rough as he brought his fingers to his lips, licking them clean with a satisfied growl. “You taste so fuckin’ sweet.”

You were still trembling, leaning against him for support as he finally released his grip on your waist. But the look in his eyes, the heat still simmering there, told you he wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

“Don’t think I’m done with you yet,” he growled softly, his hand coming back to grip your waist, pulling you against him once more. You could feel the hardness of him pressing against your stomach, and the heat flared between your legs all over again.

“I’ve been hard all fuckin’ morning, thinkin’ about you, and now you’re gonna take care of that for me.” His voice was low and dangerous, full of promise as his fingers tightened on your waist. “Get ready, baby girl. I ain’t lettin’ you go anytime soon.”

Joel’s body stayed pressed firmly against yours, the rough bark of the tree digging into your back as you tried to steady yourself.

The heat radiating from him was overwhelming, and the weight of him against you was both grounding and dizzying. Your legs still trembled, the aftershocks of his touch lingering, but Joel’s presence only seemed to magnify the need burning inside you.

He let out a low growl, his hand tightening on your waist, pulling your hips closer to his. You could feel him—hard and ready, pressing insistently against you—and your breath hitched at the thought of what came next.

“Joel… what if someone comes?” you whispered again, your voice breathless, barely able to think through the haze of desire clouding your mind.

Your words trembled, but you couldn’t stop yourself from asking, the thought of someone stumbling upon you both sending a rush of nervousness through you. It was the only thing cutting through the intensity of the moment.

But Joel didn’t pull back. He didn’t even flinch. His hand slipped lower, his grip firm and possessive as he pushed your jeans down further, his movements slow, deliberate, and unwavering.

“Ain’t no one comin’, darlin’,” he muttered, his voice rough and gravelly, thick with lust and something darker. “This is my land. No one’s gonna find us. And if they do…” His lips brushed your ear, his breath hot and heavy, sending shivers down your spine. “I’ll shoot ’em dead for even thinkin’ about seein’ you like this.”

His words made your pulse race, the possessiveness in his voice sending a thrill through you, though something about the way he said my land confused you.

He’d never mentioned this before. But the thought slipped away as quickly as it came, overtaken by the rush of heat between your legs, the way his hands worked your clothes off with practiced ease.

You swallowed hard, your body aching for him even as your mind raced. “Your land?” you asked softly, your voice shaky with both curiosity and naivety. “You never told me—”

Joel cut you off, his voice a deep, rough growl in your ear. “Don’t worry about that, baby girl,” he muttered, his lips brushing the side of your neck. “You don’t need to know about that. All you need to know is that you’re safe. No one’s gonna touch you, see you, or hear those pretty little sounds you make for me.”

His words sent another wave of heat through you, your body arching into him instinctively, desperate for more. Joel’s hands moved with a confidence that made you dizzy, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear, tugging it down, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath him.

“And you…” Joel’s voice dropped to a dark, seductive murmur, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his hand slid between your legs again. “You’re not thinkin’ about anyone else right now, are you? Just me. Just this old man you can’t get enough of.”

Your breath caught at his words, the way he threw the nickname back at you.

You’d teased him that morning, calling him a handsome old man with a smirk on your face. But now, hearing it from him, laced with possessiveness and dark intent, it made your stomach flip in ways you hadn’t expected.

Joel’s hand gripped your waist again, his fingers digging into your skin as he pressed you harder against the tree. “You like that, don’t you?” he growled, his voice a low, filthy rasp. “You like the way I take care of you. No boy your age knows how to handle you like I do.”

You whimpered, the heat between your legs growing unbearable as Joel’s words wrapped around you, making your head spin.

His body pressed harder against yours, his hips rolling forward, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

You could feel him, thick and hard, pressing against your slick heat, and it made you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“I’ve been hard all damn morning,” he growled, his lips brushing your neck as he ground his hips against yours, making you gasp again.

“Watchin’ you… thinkin’ about how good you felt last night, how sweet you sound when you come. You’ve been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, baby girl.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body responding instinctively, arching into him, desperate for more.

The tension between you was unbearable, and the way he was pressing into you—teasing, taunting, never giving you exactly what you wanted—was driving you mad.

Joel’s hand slipped between your legs again, his fingers brushing over your swollen clit, making you cry out softly, your body jerking in response.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he muttered, his voice thick with lust. “You’re gonna take it so good, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, your hands clutching at him as his fingers toyed with you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Joel… please…” you breathed, your voice barely more than a whisper. You could barely think, the heat between your legs, the roughness of his touch, the darkness in his voice—it was all too much.

He chuckled darkly, his lips brushing your ear. “That’s it, baby girl,” he growled, his fingers teasing you with just enough pressure to make your body tremble. “Beg for it. Tell me how much you want it.”

You swallowed hard, the words falling from your lips before you could stop them. “I want you,” you whispered, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Joel…”

He groaned low in his throat, his hand gripping your waist even harder as he lined himself up with your entrance, the heat of him pressing against you, making you gasp. “You want this old man, huh?” he growled, his voice dark and filthy.

“You want me to fuck you right here, out in the open, where anyone could come?”

You nodded, barely able to breathe, your body trembling with anticipation. “Yes,” you whispered, your voice shaky and desperate. “Please.”

Joel smirked against your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he teased you with the promise of what was to come. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice thick with need. “But you’re mine. No one else gets to have you like this. No one else even gets to look at you.”

With that, he thrust forward, filling you in one swift, brutal movement, and you cried out, your body arching against his as he buried himself deep inside you.

Joel’s body was pressed so tightly against yours, it felt like the air had been sucked out of your lungs.

The rough bark of the tree scratched at your back, but the sharpness of it barely registered over the overwhelming sensation of him inside you.

His grip on your hips was almost bruising, his large hands holding you in place as he thrust into you, deep and relentless.

His breath was hot against your neck, coming out in harsh, ragged pants that matched the pace of his movements.

“You feel that?” he growled low in your ear, his voice dripping with rough need. “You were made for me, baby girl. Only me. Ain’t nobody ever gonna fuck you like this.”

You whimpered as Joel slammed into you again, each thrust harder than the last, making your whole body jolt with the force of it.

His hands tightened on your hips, pulling you back onto him with every brutal movement. He wasn’t holding back anymore. It was all raw, unfiltered desire, and it had you gasping for breath.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust as he pounded into you.

“You take me so fuckin’ good… like you were just waitin’ for someone to fuck you like this. Ain’t that right?”

You could barely form a coherent response, your mind clouded with the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely, stretching you in ways that made your legs shake.

Every word he said seemed to sink deeper into you, each one driving the pleasure higher, making it harder to hold on.

“Tell me,” he growled, his teeth grazing your neck as his hips snapped forward again, the force of it sending sparks of heat through your body. “Tell me no one else gets to fuck you like this. Say it.”

You gasped, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders for support, trying to steady yourself as the pleasure mounted.

“No one else,” you breathed, your voice shaky, barely audible over the sound of your bodies moving together. “Only you.”

A low, dangerous chuckle rumbled from Joel’s chest, his grip on your hips tightening even further.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Only me. You belong to me now, baby girl. You don’t need anyone else. You need this.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, each one sinking deep into your core, making you tremble beneath him.

The roughness of his voice, the filthy way he spoke to you, the way he claimed you—it had you spiraling out of control, and he knew it.

He could feel it in the way your body responded to every hard thrust, the way you clung to him, desperate for more.

“And you love it, don’t you?” Joel growled, his hips slamming into you harder now, his pace unrelenting.

“You love the way I fuck you, the way I make you come apart. Ain’t that right, little girl?”

You nodded frantically, your breath coming out in short, desperate gasps as he drove into you, harder and faster, pushing you closer to the edge.

“Yes,” you moaned, your voice barely more than a breath. “I love it.”

Joel groaned low in his throat, his hands roaming over your body now, possessive and rough.

His fingers slid up your shirt, finding your breasts, squeezing them as he slammed into you, making you cry out.

“Good girl,” he growled, his voice thick and commanding. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect. So tight, so wet… all for me.”

You could feel the tension building in your core, the pleasure mounting higher and higher with every brutal thrust.

Joel’s pace never slowed, his hips driving into you with the kind of intensity that had your head spinning, your body trembling under the weight of it all. It was too much, too fast, too intense, but you didn’t want him to stop.

“Fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight,” he groaned, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. “You’re gonna come again, aren’t you? I can feel it. Come on, baby girl, I want to feel you come for me.”

His words pushed you right to the edge, your body trembling as the pressure built to an unbearable point. “Joel…” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the pleasure threatened to overwhelm you. “I—”

But before you could finish, Joel’s hand slipped between your legs, his fingers finding your swollen clit with unerring precision.

The moment he touched you, your body shattered, your release crashing over you in waves, your muscles clenching tight around him as you cried out his name.

Joel groaned low in his throat, his thrusts becoming even more erratic as he felt you come apart around him, his hips slamming into you with a raw, primal need.

“That’s it,” he growled, his voice rough and breathless. “Fuck, you’re so perfect… so fuckin’ perfect…”

He buried himself deep inside you one last time, groaning your name as his own release hit, his grip on your hips tightening as he emptied himself inside you, the pleasure overtaking him completely.

His body trembled against yours, his breath ragged, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you close.

For a long moment, the only sound was the harsh, heavy breathing between you, both of you trying to steady yourselves, your bodies still pressed tightly together. Joel didn’t pull away, didn’t let go.

His hands stayed on you, holding you possessively, like he couldn’t bear to be apart from you, not yet.

“You’re mine,” he muttered, his voice rough and thick with satisfaction. “No one else gets to have you like this. No one else even gets to look at you the way I do.”

His words were a promise and a warning all at once, and though your mind was still spinning, you knew one thing for sure—Joel meant every word he said.

You were his, and he wasn’t letting you go.

You pulled in a shaky breath, trying to gather your scattered thoughts. The tension in the air was still thick, the weight of what had just happened between you lingering like a heavy cloud.

Joel’s hands reluctantly pulled away from your body, and you could still feel the heat of his touch, the way he had teased you to the edge before you both had to stop.

“I need to get home,” you murmured, your voice still unsteady, a hint of the recent intensity lingering in your tone.

Joel’s eyes met yours, dark and unreadable for a moment. His hand lingered on your waist for just a second longer before he let out a low sigh, stepping back.

You saw the way his jaw tightened, like he was trying to pull himself together, rein in whatever was still simmering just beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice gruff, filled with restraint. “We’ll get you home.”

You both moved around the camp, the quiet between you loaded with everything unsaid. Joel’s movements were deliberate, quick as he packed the last of your things.

His eyes occasionally flicked your way, watching you as you gathered yourself, but neither of you spoke about what had just happened, the charged silence saying enough.

His hand brushed yours as he handed you a bag, and you felt that familiar spark again—the one that had drawn you in from the start, the one that always made your heart race.

Once everything was packed, Joel turned toward you, wiping his hands on his jeans. He didn’t say a word as he walked over to your car, already starting to hook it up to his truck like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You blinked, watching him in surprise. “Joel, I can drive myself home,” you said, your voice still shaky but firm.

He didn’t even look at you as he continued to secure your car to his truck. “Not happenin’,” he replied, his voice full of that rough authority that left little room for argument. “You’re not drivin’ alone.”

You crossed your arms, a small frown tugging at your lips. “I’m not a child, you know.”

That’s when he stopped and turned to face you, a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His eyes darkened slightly as he stepped toward you, his presence immediately overwhelming in that way you’d grown used to.

“Baby, listen to me,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, his hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from your face. “You’re not drivin’ yourself home. Not after this. Not when I can make sure you get there safe.”

The way he said it, with such finality, made your heart skip a beat. He wasn’t asking—he was telling. His protectiveness, the intensity in his eyes, left no room for argument.

You huffed lightly, trying to fight back the flush rising in your cheeks. “Fine,” you muttered, avoiding his gaze, but you couldn’t hide the way your body reacted to his words, the way your pulse quickened under his watchful eyes.

Joel’s lips twitched, clearly catching the shift in your demeanor. “Good girl,” he said quietly, the two words carrying more weight than they should, leaving you flustered.

As he finished securing your car, you both climbed into his truck. The hum of the engine filled the air, but the tension between you remained. He glanced over at you as he pulled onto the road, his hand resting comfortably on the steering wheel, the other tapping lightly against his thigh.

“You know I’d do anything to keep you safe, right?” he muttered, his voice rough, but with an undercurrent of something softer. “No one’s ever gonna hurt you while I’m around.”

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words settle in your chest. “I know,” you replied quietly, glancing out the window as the familiar roads blurred by. “But, Joel… I’m not helpless.”

He let out a low chuckle, glancing at you with that dark, knowing look. “Darlin’, I know you’re not helpless. But that doesn’t mean I’m gonna let you face things on your own.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the possessiveness in his voice unmistakable.

He wasn’t just protecting you because he thought you needed it—he was doing it because he wanted to, because he couldn’t stand the thought of you being out of his reach.

Joel’s hand rested on your thigh, his fingers gently massaging as the truck hummed along the road. His touch was casual, but the heat of it was unmistakable, spreading through you like wildfire.

You could still feel the lingering effects of what had happened earlier—the way his hands had moved over your body, the roughness of his voice as he whispered dirty promises in your ear.

The way he claimed you in the woods, his protective instincts morphing into something darker, more possessive.

But now, in the quiet of the truck, you couldn’t ignore the practical reality of what needed to happen next.

As your mind drifted back to the present, a thought popped into your head, and you knew you couldn’t put it off any longer.

“I, uh…” you started, shifting slightly under Joel’s touch. His hand stayed firmly on your thigh, the pressure increasing just enough to make your breath hitch. “We need to stop at a pharmacy.”

Joel’s brow furrowed as he glanced over at you, but his hand never left your leg. “Pharmacy?” he echoed, his voice low and rough. “What for, darlin’?”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling a little shy. “I, um… I need to get the morning after pill.”

For a moment, Joel’s hand stilled on your thigh, his grip tightening just slightly. Then, without a word, he nodded, his jaw working as he processed what you’d said. His thumb resumed its gentle, circular motion, tracing patterns over your skin as he let out a low hum.

“Morning after pill, huh?” His voice was gruff, but there was a hint of amusement lurking behind it. His hand squeezed your thigh gently, possessively.

“You know… our babies would probably be real cute.”

You blinked, glancing at him in surprise. You couldn’t tell if he was joking or if there was something more serious behind his words.

His face was unreadable, but the heat in his touch remained, and it made your pulse quicken.

“Joel…” you muttered, shaking your head as a smile tugged at your lips.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me. Let’s handle one thing at a time. You get therapy first, old man.”

He chuckled at that, his grip on your thigh tightening, thumb brushing dangerously close to the edge of your waistband. His eyes flicked over to you, dark and intense.

“Still old man, huh?” he drawled, his voice dipping low, filled with that familiar growl that made your skin tingle. “You weren’t complainin’ about my age a few minutes ago.”

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked away, biting your lip. The reminder of what had happened in the woods—the heat of his body pressed against yours, the way his hands had claimed you so thoroughly—sent a shiver down your spine.

Joel’s smirk grew as he caught the look on your face. He leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear as his hand slid just a bit higher on your thigh.

“What’s wrong, darlin’?” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something darker. “You gettin’ shy on me now?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tension between you spike again, the air thick with unspoken desire.

His hand stayed firmly on your leg, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin just beneath your waistband. You could feel the heat of him, the intensity of his gaze, and it made it hard to think straight.

“I’m just… trying to be responsible,” you muttered, trying to regain some composure, but your voice came out breathier than you’d intended.

Joel chuckled again, his grip tightening. You couldn’t help but smile at that, a soft laugh escaping your lips despite the heat coursing through you. “But seriously… pharmacy first.”

Joel just grinned, his hand lingering on your thigh as he shifted gears, the truck humming beneath you both.

“Whatever you need, darlin’. But don’t think for a second I ain’t still thinkin’ about those cute babies.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a teasing smile. “Joel, again, you really should stop thinking about babies and start thinking about calling a therapist.” 

Joel chuckled, the sound deep and rich, his broad hand squeezing your thigh possessively. “A therapist.” His voice carried that rough, teasing edge, filled with warmth. “Darlin’, I’m already workin’ on that, but don’t pretend you didn’t like the idea of those cute babies.”

You shot him a playful glare, rolling your eyes, but couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at your lips.

His hand stayed firm on your leg, the heat of his touch seeping through your jeans, making your pulse quicken. Joel had this way of making everything feel charged, every touch more than just casual, every glance heavier with meaning.

The tension between you both was thick, that lingering heat from earlier still hanging in the air.

When Joel parked, his hand found yours, gripping it firmly as if he wasn’t about to let go anytime soon.

Without a word, he got out and came around to your side, pulling you out of the truck and keeping you close, his hand wrapped around yours as the two of you entered the pharmacy.

You were barely inside before you spotted the familiar face of the pharmacist behind the counter.

"Hey," you greeted with a friendly wave, feeling Joel's presence looming behind you, his hand tightening around yours.

His grip was solid, a constant reminder that he was there, watching, protecting—even when it wasn’t necessary.

You explained to the pharmacist what you needed, but Joel’s energy shifted beside you. You could feel the weight of his stare as the pharmacist smiled at you, his fingers flexing slightly against your hand.

The slight possessiveness was impossible to miss, his jaw clenching just the tiniest bit as if he didn’t appreciate the friendly exchange.

When the pharmacist handed over the pill, you reached for your wallet, only to have Joel beat you to it, pulling out cash before you could even open your bag.

“Joel, I can pay for myself,” you protested, giving him a look, but his eyes were focused solely on the pharmacist, his tone gruff and unyielding.

“Of course I’m payin',” he said, slipping the cash across the counter, his voice low.

“I was the one cummin' inside, wasn’t I?”

The air between you thickened, heat creeping up your neck at his blunt words.

The pharmacist awkwardly handed Joel the small paper bag, and Joel gave him a curt nod, his hand never leaving yours as he turned, guiding you firmly out of the pharmacy.

Once outside, you could breathe a little easier, but your heart still raced from Joel's possessive display. As he opened the passenger door for you, his hand brushed your back, sending a shiver down your spine.

His protectiveness was palpable, but so was the underlying heat between you, simmering just beneath the surface.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered once you were settled inside, watching as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“I know,” he said, his voice a bit softer now, though still laced with that possessive undertone.

“But I wanted to.” His hand was back on your thigh as he started the engine, thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over your jeans, the touch sending warmth through your body.

The truck’s engine rumbled quietly as Joel navigated the familiar streets, his hand still resting possessively on your thigh.

The drive had been mostly quiet, Joel’s fingers occasionally flexed against your leg, his grip steady and firm, as if he was grounding himself by touching you.

As the truck slowed down and turned onto your street, you blinked, glancing out the window. “Wait…” You frowned, turning to look at Joel. “How did you know where I live?”

He didn’t even flinch, keeping his eyes on the road, his thumb stroking over your skin in that calming, deliberate way. “You told me, baby,” he said smoothly, his voice a deep rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You paused for a moment, trying to recall when you’d given him your address, but the events of the past couple of days had been so intense, it was hard to keep track.

Maybe you had told him?

You were still shaken from everything that happened, and besides, Joel always seemed so capable, like he knew everything before you even realized it yourself. Naively, you shrugged it off, not questioning it any further.

Joel pulled up in front of your house, the truck coming to a smooth stop. His hand lingered on your thigh, giving you one final squeeze before he turned off the engine.

For a moment, the two of you just sat there in the silence, the weight of unspoken words heavy between you.

You shifted in your seat, glancing at him, your heart racing.

“Joel… I really like you,” you admitted softly, biting your lip nervously. “But you need to get help before we start anything serious.”

His eyes flicked to you, a mix of surprise and something deeper flashing in his gaze. It was like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing—that someone like you, soft and kind, actually wanted him.

Joel had been so used to shutting people out, to keeping his distance, but here you were, offering him something real.

“You…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly, as if trying to wrap his mind around it. “You actually want me? After all this?”

You nodded, your fingers nervously fiddling with the edge of your sleeve.

“Yes, Joel. I like you… a lot. But you’ve gotta work on yourself. Therapy could really help, you know? Before we can start something long-term.”

Joel exhaled slowly, his eyes scanning your face, searching for any hint of hesitation or doubt. But all he saw was sincerity, and that shook him to his core.

He wasn’t used to people sticking around—let alone wanting more with him.

He leaned closer, his voice soft but filled with a deep, raw emotion.

“If gettin' help means I can have you, baby… then I’ll do whatever it takes.” His voice dipped lower, almost a growl. “Everything, if that’s the outcome.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, the intensity in his voice sending a thrill through you.

Joel reached over, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as he gazed at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Darlin’,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. “If this is what you need, then I’ll do it. No questions asked.”

You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips, the vulnerability in his words touching something deep inside you.

But you knew this was bigger than just you—it was about Joel getting the help he needed, about him facing his past and his trauma.

“Good,” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. “Because I want you to be okay. For you, not just for me. You need it“

But the tension between you two didn’t dissipate—it only simmered beneath the surface, as his thumb brushed over your bottom lip, his gaze flicking down to your mouth.

“I’ll do it,” he whispered, his voice thick with promise. “I’ll go to therapy, I’ll get the help.”

Before you could respond, Joel was already opening his door, coming around the truck to your side.

He opened the passenger door and offered you his hand, pulling you out gently but firmly.

His hand stayed in yours as he led you to your front door, his fingers still wrapped possessively around yours.

As you fumbled for your keys, you felt his gaze on you, warm and intense.

He reached out, cupping the back of your neck, pulling you toward him with a soft but commanding grip.

“You make me wanna be better, baby,” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

The kiss that followed was slow, deliberate—filled with all the unspoken promises of what could come if Joel followed through.

His lips moved against yours, soft but insistent, his hand slipping down to your waist, pulling you close.

By the time you pulled away, your heart was racing, your skin tingling with the memory of his touch.

“I’ll see you soon,” Joel whispered, his voice low, full of intent.

You nodded, your breath still shaky as you opened the door, stepping inside.

As you glanced back at him one last time, you couldn’t help but smile.

This was the beginning of something new, something real—and for the first time, you were hopeful that Joel could find his way through the darkness.

· · ─────

It had been eight months since the night that changed everything. Therapy had helped Joel more than he liked to admit, but some parts of him hadn’t changed.

The protectiveness, the obsession with keeping you safe—those only seemed to have deepened. But the dark cloud that used to follow him had lightened considerably.

The nightmares had lessened, the guilt had dulled into something more manageable. Now, he could breathe again.

But the thing he still couldn’t get enough of was you.

You were at his place again, spending time together after a long week.

He made dinner—something simple but delicious—and the two of you had settled on the couch afterward, the fire crackling in the background, casting a soft, golden glow around the room.

Joel’s eyes never left you. It didn’t matter if you were laughing, talking, or just sitting there; he watched you with the same intense gaze that always seemed to heat your skin.

It was like he was memorizing every detail of you—the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, the small smile that played at the corner of your lips when you caught him looking.

“Joel,” you teased, catching his stare again, “if you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got an obsession.”

He smirked, his hand finding its familiar spot on your thigh, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your jeans.

“Sweetheart,” he drawled, his voice low and rough, “if you haven’t figured that out by now, you’re not payin’ attention.”

You laughed softly, the sound filling the cozy room. "Guess I should start taking notes, then,” you teased, leaning into him, your shoulder brushing against his arm.

Joel’s smirk deepened, and he leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured, “You should. Wouldn’t wanna miss a single detail about this old man, huh?”

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging him with your shoulder. “Well, you do make it easy to forget about the ‘old’ part sometimes.”

Joel chuckled, but there was a flicker of something more in his eyes.

He liked when you played with him like that—when you didn’t shy away from the age difference but turned it into something light, something flirty.

“Easy, huh?” he teased, squeezing your thigh a little harder. “I’ll take that as a compliment, darlin’.”

“It is,” you grinned. “I mean, you’ve definitely surprised me.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Surprised you, huh? What exactly are we talkin’ about here?”

You bit your lip, your smile turning a little mischievous.

“Oh, you know… how a certain someone hasn’t had any trouble keeping up.” You shot him a look that made your meaning clear, your cheeks flushing slightly even as you held his gaze.

Joel barked out a laugh, the sound deep and rumbling. “Well, I do what I can,” he said with a teasing wink, his hand sliding a little higher on your leg.

“Guess you make it easy for me to keep up, baby girl.”

You rolled your eyes again, but the grin on your face betrayed how much you were enjoying the banter.

Joel had a way of making you feel like the center of the universe when you were with him. It was in the way he looked at you, the way he touched you, and how he always seemed to find a way to make you smile—even when he was teasing you about the age difference.

The night wore on in that same comfortable, easy rhythm—talking, teasing, laughing together.

Joel had lit a few candles around the room, the flickering light adding to the warm, intimate atmosphere.

As you sat together on the couch, your legs draped over his lap, Joel’s hand continued its slow, steady path up and down your thigh, his thumb brushing the inside of your knee, sending little sparks of warmth through you.

At some point, the conversation drifted into something quieter, more meaningful.

You talked about the last few months, how much had changed, how much better Joel was doing.

He admitted that the therapy had helped, that he wasn’t waking up every night in a panic anymore. The nightmares still came, but they didn’t have the same grip on him they used to.

And it was because of you.

“I wouldn’t have made it this far without you,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion as he looked at you, his eyes filled with an intensity that made your chest tighten. “You know that, right?”

You smiled softly, your heart swelling at his words. "I’m proud of you, Joel," you said quietly, reaching out to brush a hand along his cheek. "You’ve worked so hard… You’ve come such a long way."

Joel looked at you for a moment, his eyes filled with something deeper than gratitude—something more like devotion.

"I wouldn’t be here without you, darlin’," he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. "You pushed me to get better. You gave me a reason to."

Your fingers traced the lines of his face, the strong curve of his jaw, his stubble rough against your fingertips.

"You did this," you replied, your voice soft but firm. "You put in the work. I just… I just believed in you. And I’m really proud of you, Joel."

He seemed to take in your words, his brow furrowing slightly as though he didn’t quite know how to accept the praise.

His hand tightened slightly on your thigh, his thumb still moving in slow, comforting circles.

"You’ve been staying here a lot," he said, his voice low, almost hesitant. "Feels good, havin' you here with me. Feels right."

You grinned, feeling the warmth spread through you at his words. "Yeah, well," you teased, "I guess I kinda like it here too. You’ve got a nice place, Miller."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "It’s not just the place, and you know it," he muttered, his voice deep and full of meaning. "I like havin' you around, baby girl. More than I can say."

Your chest fluttered at the nickname, and the way his hand slid a little higher on your leg didn’t go unnoticed.

There was a warmth in his eyes as he looked at you, the same kind of warmth that made your heart race every time he called you "his girl."

You’d been together for months now, but the way he looked at you still made your stomach flip.

"I never thought… I didn’t think I’d ever have this again," he admitted, his voice rough. "Someone like you. It feels too good to be real sometimes."

You smiled softly, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "I’m real," you whispered against his mouth. "And I’m not goin’ anywhere."

Joel’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer until you were practically sitting in his lap.

His hands slid up your back, his touch warm and comforting as he held you close. "You’re mine, and I’m keepin' you," he muttered, his lips brushing your ear.

"Can’t believe I’m lucky enough to have you here with me."

You grinned, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze, your hands resting on his chest.

"Well, I’m lucky too," you replied, your voice teasing but filled with affection. "Not every girl gets to say she has the strong, protective, handsome Joel Miller as her man."

He chuckled, shaking his head as his hand moved to cup your cheek. "Sweet talker," he muttered, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. "But I guess I like hearin' it from you."

For a while, you both stayed there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the warmth of the evening settling over you like a blanket.

The night felt perfect—easy, peaceful, and filled with the kind of love that made everything feel right in the world.

As you nestled against Joel’s chest, his arms still wrapped around you protectively, you couldn’t help but smile.

You’d come a long way together, and despite the obstacles, despite the darkness he’d had to fight through, you were here now. Together.

"Guess I’m stickin' around," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with certainty. "I kinda like it here with you."

Joel grinned, his hand sliding up to tangle gently in your hair. "Good," he whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "’Cause I’m not lettin’ you go, baby girl."

You laughed softly, resting your head against his chest as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat filled the quiet room. You were home.

The quiet of the night settled over you like a soft blanket, the only sound the distant rustle of wind through the trees outside.

Joel held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as if letting go would break the fragile peace you had built together.

He breathed deeply, taking in the scent of your hair, the steady rise and fall of your chest against his.

There was a softness to this moment, something sacred and rare. It was the kind of quiet Joel had never known he could have—one that wasn't haunted by ghosts of the past or shattered by the weight of guilt.

He had come a long way, you both had, but the road behind you was littered with moments of doubt, fear, and the suffocating grip of old wounds.

There had been days when the darkness had almost swallowed him whole, when the weight of his past, the endless guilt over what he had lost and failed to protect, had nearly driven him away from everything good in his life.

But you had stood by him, steadfast and unshaken, even when he couldn't see a way forward. You had anchored him, reminding him of what life could be beyond the nightmares, beyond the pain.

Your presence, your love, had given him hope���something he'd never thought he would find again.

And now, with you nestled into his side, the warmth of your body grounding him, Joel finally understood what it meant to live for something more than survival.

His eyes drifted to the window, where the faint light of the moon spilled across the floor, a reminder that the world was still out there—dangerous and unpredictable as always.

But for the first time in as long as he could remember, Joel wasn’t afraid.

He wasn’t looking over his shoulder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. He had something real, something worth holding onto, and for once, he felt like maybe he deserved it.

As the minutes stretched into hours, Joel’s thoughts softened, his mind no longer racing with what-ifs and could-have-beens.

The weight of his past wasn’t gone, but it had shifted, lightened somehow, transformed into something more bearable.

It no longer consumed him. He had found peace in the present, in the steady rhythm of your breathing beside him, in the warmth of your hand resting gently on his chest.

He had spent so long chasing redemption, thinking he needed to be better, to do more, to fix what had been broken inside him.

But you had shown him that healing didn’t come all at once. It wasn’t about erasing the past—it was about learning to live with it, to carry it with him without letting it define him.

And in that moment, with you curled up beside him, safe and warm in his arms, Joel realized that maybe, just maybe, he had found his way out of the darkness after all.

The future stretched out before you both, uncertain and unpredictable, but Joel no longer felt the fear that used to creep into his bones at the thought of what might come next.

He had you, and you had him, and together you had built something stronger than the shadows that once haunted him.

There would still be challenges, moments of doubt, but you would face them together—because that's what you had become.

A team. A partnership. Something real. Something worth fighting for.

And as the night faded into dawn, Joel closed his eyes, finally letting go of the burden he had carried for so long. He was no longer the man who had lost everything.

He was no longer just surviving.

He was living.

And for the first time in a long, long time, Joel felt at peace.

· · ───────────𖥸──────────· ··

Sorry, I had to let these two end with some fluffy happy end. 😭

The End with the main story!

Will probably do spin offs and also a few of Joel’s therapy sessions as well as smut if y’all are interested.

Thank you so much for the support and all the nice comments, they were my favorite :)

xoxo

[mbbmz]

Hiii may i request baji confessing to reader in the most baji way🤣 like grumpy and blunt but affectionate as well

Omg i got you love, hope you’ll like it even if it’s a bit short! 💕💕

Confession (Baji x reader)

All fluff and crack

You were watching the boy in front of you, a confused expression on your face. You recognized your classmate, whom you often helped with homework. You were used to see him with his black hair in a ponytail and a pair of obnoxious glasses on his nose. Seeing his long black riding his shoulders made your heart jump a little. He wasn’t even looking at you, finding interest in a tree nearby.

Your eyes trailed down on the object he was holding. An envelope? What could it be? Surely it wasn’t what you thought… right? He was always a little… hot headed, could it be possible?..

Your hands shakily reached for the envelope, there was even a little heart sticker sealing it. Wasn’t this a bit… cliché? Well, it was cute, in a way…

The content was… interesting to say the least. The thirty seconds you should’ve taken to read the two paragraphs turned into minutes.

- What… is that?.. You asked hesitantly, just wanting to make sure you weren’t imagining things.

- Dont you know how to read?

You scowled. "Don’t you know how to write?!", the words were on the tip of your tongue.

- I… I dont understand a thing.

He looked at you for the first time, before he frowned, snatching the letter from your hands.

- "Dammit… I shouldn’t have listened to him…" You heard him curse, a confused expression on your face.

- What I meant was… Go out with me.

You looked at him in silence, eyes widening. The school’s delinquent, asking you out? Sure, you helped him out often but… you didn’t think he would think of you that way.

- "… Please."

He added, looking away once again. You laughed a bit, finding it humorous how a simple "please" was so complicated to say for him. Yet, you were grateful. And happy.

- "I… I’d like to." You finally answered, after a few seconds of silence. He looked back at you, a somewhat surprised expression on his face. But it quickly morphed into a smile as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

- Good answer. Come on, I’m taking you home.

You walked a bit together, but after a few minutes, you got curious.

- "What’s with the letter anyways? I wouldn’t have took you for the type…"

- "Forget about that damn letter, it was a shitty idea…"

[gaycentral]

Can I ask you to write about spencer being in a relationship with y/n and jj confess her feelings to him as they're being held hostage and they're on speaker the whole time and the whole team and spencer's girlfriend hears it and after spencer and jj are safe and days passes by spencer just be confused and distended but his girlfriend didn't say anything about it even though she wasn't feeling okay about it at all until they have an argument about it.

Miscommunication

Spencer Reid x Gen!Reader

Spencer’s been avoiding talking to you since JJ confessed her love for him. You have had enough.

Warnings/Content: Angst, angry reader, sad reader, sad Spencer, Spencer can’t talk about feelings so great. Ends with fluff.

You couldn’t sleep.

It had been two weeks since the hostage situation, since you feared for your boyfriend’s life and the life of JJ—one of your closest friends. But the fear had morphed into confusion, then the horrible crushing feeling of betrayal. JJ had confessed her love for your boyfriend. Your boyfriend. She was a married woman, it had been ten years since Spencer had a brief infatuation for her but she couldn’t let go.

And now you couldn’t sleep.

Things had been awkward. Spencer didn’t really want to talk about what happened, and a part of you understood that. But a much louder, much angrier part of you wanted to grab him and shake him and tell him to for fucks sake just talk to you.

You sighed as you sat up in bed, hands rubbing tiredly down your face. You looked over, Spencer was asleep curled on his side, facing away from you. It was seemingly an innocuous position, but it didn’t ease the anxiety that maybe Spencer didn’t love you anymore—or worse, never loved you at all. Maybe he’d been pretending, maybe you’d been his second choice when JJ slipped out of his grasp.

Slowly, you climbed out of bed, careful not to wake him. The anxiety was growing, crushing, your stomach twisting into double knots then triple knots as your mind spiralled.

Breathe. You needed to breathe.

You shuffled to the living room, bare feet gently padding across the hardwood floors as you approached the window overlooking the street, cracking it open to let air in and bracing your hands on the windowsill, letting your head hang low.

Your heart beat so hard it ached, and the tears you couldn’t fight blurred your vision into watercolours.

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice nearly jumped you out of your skin. His sock-clad feet had allowed him to accidentally creep up on you. You didn’t know, but he’d woken up the moment he couldn’t feel you next to him, his hand blindly reaching out to find still-warm sheets but no you, and he immediately worried.

“Oh. Hey.” You force a smile as you turn around, hastily wiping your eyes and trying to make it look like you’re simply tired. But you’re both profilers, and Spencer isn’t an idiot, even without his glasses or contacts on in the late hours of the night he can see your red-rimmed eyes. His face falls.

“What’s wrong?” He immediately takes long strides towards you. One step, two, three, then he reaches you. He reaches out to you, but you step back.

“I can’t…I can’t be kept in the dark anymore, Spencer.” You don’t want to do this, you really don’t. You just want to go back to bed with Spencer in your arms or you in his but you know you can’t. You need to talk about this. You need an answer.

He seems to know what you’re talking about before you can even continue, as his gaze falls to the floor. He doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Can we just talk about this in the morning?” The exhaustion in his voice almost makes you crack, but you stand firm.

“No, Spencer. We can’t just talk about this in the morning.” The words come out sharper than intended, and you grimace, but you keep going. “You’ve been avoiding it—me, for two weeks!”

Spencer doesn’t say anything, but his hands clench into fists by his sides. He can’t bring himself to look up at you, the shame gnaws at his insides because he knows you’re right and it hasn’t been fair to you. He tried to ignore the way your crestfallen expression tugged at his heart whenever you tried to talk about it and he turned you away.

You finally ask the dreaded question, pulling it from beneath the lump in your throat and through your teeth. “Do you love her?”

Spencer’s eyes widen and his gaze snaps up to you in disbelief. He wanted to say no, he did, because he didn’t love JJ. Not like that, anyway. But seeing how angry you were, how tired you were, he found the air trapped in his lungs and all that escaped was a small sound that left him mentally kicking himself and calling himself the worlds biggest idiot.

And because of this, you thought you had your answer. He did. He loved JJ. Not you.

You force back the next wave of tears, your eyes and throat burning with the effort of keeping them unshed. You feel your heart shatter in your chest.

“I see.” You manage to say, trying to hide your heartbreak behind a cold mask. You were never good at that, not with him. With him you were an open book. “Well. I’ll get out of your way, then. I’ll take my stuff in the morning.”

You try to walk past him, but he stops you, his hand grasping your wrist. Not hard enough to hurt or bruise, simply a silent plea for you to stop and listen. You want so badly to wrench out of his grip, to scream and cry and hate him for hurting you but you don’t. You can’t. You love him too much. So you stop, and you wait.

“I don’t love her.” Spencer finally says, his voice so earnest you have a hard time not believing him but a part of you still doubts. “She’s my friend, and I’ll always love her as a friend. But that’s it, I promise. I love you.”

His hand slides down from your wrist to your hand, fingers curling around yours as his thumb lightly rubs across your palm. His eyes are wide and wet, pleading with you to believe him, not to push him away.

You don’t trust yourself to talk without crying, so you take a shaky breath to try and steady yourself without speaking. It doesn’t work, you can feel the tears falling as you open your mouth.

“Why didn’t you talk to me?” Your voice comes out more broken than you wanted it to as your face crumples. “I was scared you didn’t love me anymore, and when you didn’t talk about it…I thought I’d been right.”

Spencer frowns before bringing your hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand, voice muffled against your skin. “I was scared. And an idiot. I was scared that no matter what I said, you wouldn’t believe me. It was stupid, and I’m sorry.”

You nod, and even though you’re still crying, the knot in your stomach begins to unwind. “I’m sorry, too.”

Spencer visibly deflates with relief and gently tugs you into his arms, face dropping to your shoulder as one of his hands cradles the back of your head. Your fingers dig into the soft fabric of his worn sleep shirt, feeling the muscles in his back begin to relax beneath your hands.

“I love you so much. Please don’t forget that, even when I’m being an idiot.” He kisses your shoulder to punctuate the statement, his arms gently squeezing your waist.

“I love you too.” Your arms wrap tighter around him, and you feel the smile growing on your lips as you finally feel at peace for the first time in two weeks.

The two of you stand there for quite some time, simply holding each other, before Spencer yawns into your shoulder.

“Can we go to bed now?” He mumbles, pulling back but not letting go of you, a sleepy smile on his face that makes your chest feel fuzzy she warm.

“Yeah, as long as you hold my hand.” You’re half-joking, and you see Spencer’s smile grow as he begins to tug you along to your shared bedroom.

Once you get there, he all but flops onto the bed, but he takes you with him, laughing at your surprised yelp as you land on top of him. Once you gather your bearings, you adjust slightly, resting your head on his chest and curling your arms around him like a koala. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear and the sound of sheets crinkling as he pulls the blankets up over the two of you.

“I love you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head when your eyes slip closed, the scratchy five o’clock shadow on his skin lightly brushing your forehead. “Always will.”

You try to say it back, but it comes out a borderline incomprehensible mumble, and you can feel him smile.

He knows what you wanted to say.

[kozumelts]

the first time kirishima comes over, he leaves you with a splatter of deep, dark hickeys all over your neck. you'd been seeing each other for several months at that point, and he'd been eager–maybe overly so, feverishly pressing kisses against your skin, teeth catching on your nape.

you don't notice the marks until the next morning, when you're brushing your teeth in the communal dorm bathrooms. at that point, you're bleary-eyed and late for class, and the thought of layering concealer on seems like far too much effort.

so you throw on a scarf, weather be damned, and run to class.

when you finally make it to the lecture hall, kirishima looks almost shy, though his expression soon morphs into one of concern. "are you feeling alright?" he asks, watching you as you set down your things beside him. his eyes soften when you meet his gaze–then he's blushing, warmth dusting across his cheeks. "i mean, i just thought–you look really great, but, uh–isn't it a bit warm out for a scarf?"

you tug on your scarf, loosening the fabric. it falls away to drape across your collarbone.

kirishima leans over, glimpsing down at your neck. his eyes are wide when he looks back up, "was that–"

"yes, ei," you mutter, feeling the heat creep up behind your scarf. you tighten it and set your focus back to your notes. "last night."

he reddens even further–a feat you didn't think was possible. "oh," he says quietly.

just then, your professor storms in, rambling on about campus transportation and the lack of pedestrian etiquette in the vicinity. the two of you enter a bashful silence as the lecture begins, elbows rubbing together as you scribble down your notes.

it's only at the end of class–as you're packing up your belongings–that kirishima finally speaks, his hand warm against your upper arm.

"you look good like that," he whispers, the confession tumbling into the air. his eyes are lidded, intense–heated in the way they'd been the night before. "like–like you're mine."

you feel yourself grow warm, shifting under his gaze. the hall has emptied by now, leaving the two of you alone; unwatched. "we can do it again," you tell him.

his grip tightens.

"please," he breathes.

(he ends up back in your room for the second time that week.)