#tangle and whisper new roads | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jezebelblues · 1 month ago

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talk to me | h.s

summary: holland tunnel for a nose, it’s always backed up! or, harry struggles with sobriety after y/n leaves

cw: cocaine usage/addiction, angst!!! ex!harry, fem!reader, unedited. ladies imagine the vine boom sound as i dare to say.. toxic!harry 🤨

word count: approx 6.1k

| pls don’t read if you’re sensitive to substance abuse. this is pure angst. i literally wrote this on a whim after seeing the car photo on my tl.

masterlist

harry was stubborn. but then again, so was YN.

he didn’t mean for things to end the way they did, he was stuck in a lull since love on tour ended. it was always the inbetween—purgatory, he would call it. a euphoria cut short, leaving him marooned in a space before the settle.

touring ignited his soul, an always occurring rebirth every time he steps upon the stage. but now it’s march, and he’s standing alone in the heathrow airport after his self-imposed exile in italy.

the air was crisp, biting, and tangled with the faintest trace of her perfume—vanilla, the one he'd bought her, the one she wore on the nights they'd venture out together. if he closed his eyes, he could picture her bathed in neon, colors playing on her skin like she was something holy.

if he thought hard enough, he could feel the phantom burn in his nose as it did in october. he could feel the warm trickle of blood drip down his cupid’s-bow if he overdid it. he could taste the metallic crimson that would slip past his lips and stain his teeth. he could remember the look of horror on her face as he shot her a bloody smile, eyes too dilated to come into his senses—too far gone.

but if he fished through his wallet, he wouldn’t find his old debit card—the one he had closed out in 2011 when his fame started to rise. it’s what he always used to form his lines, and remnants of the white powder were a staple on that card. a relic from a life he was beginning to lose control over.

after that night in october, when they got home, YN had snatched it from his wallet and cut it to pieces in front of him, her face twisted in anguish, not anger. she loved him, and that was the worst part.

a superstar like him could indulge, sure. a line here, a hit there—california sober, he used to joke. but as the tour ended, that fleeting thrill had turned into something darker, something that clawed at his insides when the spotlight faded. something he’d turn to for the semblance of exhilaration he had on the road.

so, now he was out of his lucky, unusable debit card. and, sometimes at night, he would think of the way the pieces are drifting around a landfill, scattered and forgotten.

but then he would think of YN. and no, that couldn’t compare, it wouldn’t.

he didn’t have to squint or fish through his contacts, she was just gone. and he knew it.

that night she had threatened to leave if he didn’t get sober, and harry fell to his knees, wrapping his arms around her bare thighs and begged her to stay. he could feel the lotion lift from her skin because of his tears, the way it burned his eyes. she had fell down to the floor with him that night, combing through his curls and whispering promises that she wouldn’t leave if he just tried. that’s all he had to do. they fell asleep on the couch that night.

harry thought he had gotten rid of everything. he had one slip up, and he remembered how YN’s eyes glossed over when she told him he had one more chance.

it was the day before halloween when she found a dime bag of the familiar white powder stashed away in one of his drawers—an afterthought. a remnant, a leftover.

harry tried to explain it wasn’t new, something that remained forgotten. he desperately followed her out to her car in the rain, holding the drivers door open as he pleaded. but she started the engine. she was leaving, and he knew it.

he remembers the way his frustration boiled over. maybe it was projection, withdrawal, or the pain of watching the love of his life walk away. but he had slammed the drivers door shut, slapping his palm against the window with a shaky sob as she drove off.

he hadn’t seen her since. he disappeared into italy afterward, hiding in his villa. he would have virtual therapy sessions every thursday, lots of which ended in his tears.

he knew he was blocked, he could tell by the way his blue messages no longer had the word delivered underneath them. because they weren’t. just conversations with a ghost. a stonewalled grave.

he had only started to come to terms with the end of their relationship in february, after his thirtieth birthday. there was no message, no phone call, no knock upon his door. he was just alone in italy.

harry thought about relapsing that day. he thought about calling a friend of a friend and falling into the vibrant world only the blow could offer.

but he didn’t, he called his mum. he called his therapist. he drank some wine, sang himself a somber happy birthday over a strawberry cupcake, and then slept for thirteen hours.

now he was at the airport in the heart of london. he only had his carry on, roses from the gift shop, and so many words left unsaid. the airport was unusually quiet that afternoon, the fluorescent lights casting a sterile glow over harry as he stood there, unmoving. london was a different reality, pulling him back into the damp chill of march and the weight of everything he'd left unresolved. he tasted a tinge of salt in the air, his nerves raw as he thought of her—the girl he'd lost, the girl he couldn't let go of.

he didn’t even know if she still lived in the same brick townhouse, but it was worth a shot. he didn’t really even think this through, he had enough clothing for about three days, and his car was about thirty minutes away from her place at his own house.

but he ubered there anyway, grateful it was only an older fellow who had no clue who he was. he would shove his nose into the flowers occasionally, smelling them with a gentle inhale. he shifted in his seat, turned his phone on and off with every passing minute to watch the time pass. he was restless, he was nervous.

her flat looked the same as it always did when he was dropped off, but there was a festive little reef still hanging on her door from christmas. a whisper of a smile tugged at his lips from that.

his own body felt heavier on his feet as he stood before her door, it felt like he could topple over and perish in that moment. harry thought it wouldn’t be the worst thing if he did, perhaps she would even miss him—no, he thought, tempting as it was—really messed up.

right?

he shook his head at his own thoughts, raising his fist to knock on her door. it was light, he wasn’t even sure if it’s something she’d hear. the brunette debated knocking again, harder this time, but he heard her voice behind the barrier.

“coming!”

he felt weak in the knees. it was her voice, no mistaking it. she was real, still here, just behind the door. YN’s voice felt like a fresh sherpa blanket, still soft and unused. it sounded like honey stirred into tea. harry really thought he could topple over at that point.

the door swung open and there she was, only a foot away after being hundreds of miles apart for so long. her hair was different, and she had a pair of glasses he hadn’t seen before resting on the bridge of her nose. her lips were parted, face drained of all color as she stared at him.

the words caught in harry’s throat, and he stood speechless. he only raised the roses toward her with a shaky hand, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

she looked down at the deep red flowers, then back into his green eyes. the eyes that were so familiar, eyes that took in every part of her being and imprinted into his brain. but the petals resembled the blood pooled between his teeth only a few months ago, the way it dripped onto her new dress as she eased him out of the club that night.

her throat ran dry as she swallowed hard, her stomach lurching and threatening to spill all over her porch and harry’s beat up sambas. “what–what’re you doing here?” her voice barely a whisper, both broken and brimming with something he couldn't place. she had missed him—he could feel it—but the anger lingered, a smoldering ember just beneath the surface.

the bouquet continued to tremble in his hands. “i had to see you.” he murmured, voice shaking underneath his nerves. he couldn’t hold eye contact with her, something he had never struggled with before. “i couldn’t—i miss you, YN.”

she pressed her lips together, the sight of him here in front of her resembling that of whiplash. it’s been five months, how do you even respond to that? he dropped off the face of the earth after she left, and she understood that to an extent. she’s the one who left, she’s the one who blocked him after he would constantly reach out.

she called his mum on his birthday, needing to reach out in some form, needing to know how he was. she begged her not to tell him that she phoned, something anne kept away from her son with an ache in her heart. “why now?” she mustered out, the pressure behind her eyes almost to much to bear.

he blinked, surprised by the softness in her tone.

he had expected a door slammed in his face, anger, roses thrown onto the snowy pavement. but this—a fragile, weary version of her—felt like a wound laid bare. the question hovered in the air, unanswered. he wasn't sure if he had the words to explain.

"i know i hurt you.” his voice cracked, breaking under the weight of his guilt. he hated himself for it—for leaving her, for drowning in his own mess, for not being stronger. "i thought maybe if i went away, if i fixed myself, i could come back."

"come back?” her laugh was bitter, sharp. "you think this is something you can just come back to, like nothing happened?" she shook her head, taking a step back, as if his presence was suffocating her. "you don't get it, do you? i spent my days worrying if you were okay, if i were going to find you dead on the floor next to a bag of coke. and now you just show up?"

harry flinched at her words, at the coldness in her tone, though he couldn't blame her. he had done this. he had broken this.

“i messed up," he said, his voice thick with desperation. "i know i should've done more. i should've been better f’you, but i wasn't. i’m trying now. i’ve been trying every day, YN."

she stared at him, her eyes glossed with unshed tears, but her expression was hard, unreadable.

she wasn't going to make this easy for him, and he knew it. she shouldn't. "trying?" she repeated, her voice dangerously quiet. "you’re trying now? after everything? after the lies, the broken promises? after you begged me to stay, told me you'd quit, and then i found that–” her voice broke, "–that bag? that was it for me, harry. that was it.”

harry opened his mouth to speak, but YN’s soft, wavering sniffle filled the space between them. her pretty eyes fell shut, and she muttered, “you should go.” the words barely made it past her lips before she closed the door, shutting him out in one quiet, final motion. no glance back.

for a moment, he just stood there, arm hanging loosely at his side, the roses brushing against his knee. his shoulders sagged as the reality settled—he had expected this, even told himself it was inevitable. but still, some desperate part of him had clung to hope.

with a sigh that cut deep, he turned, trudging down the narrow stairwell outside her flat. his heart felt like dead weight in his chest, and each step echoed softly, swallowed by the damp, early evening air. at the last step, he sat, letting his jeans absorb the chill from the wet concrete. he laid the flowers beside him, petals dark against the fading light, and clasped his hands in front of him, jaw tight as he fought the burning in his eyes.

harry couldn’t bring himself to go back to his house. he knew what waited for him there: bits and pieces of her, scattered reminders he couldn’t bear to see right now. a sweater still draped over his armchair. little notes she’d left him during the tour, folded scraps of her handwriting. even the faint smell of her perfume clinging to the blankets. no, he couldn’t face that.

he tilted his head back, gazing into the overcast sky. gray clouds swirled above, blurring the line between evening and night. he sniffled, noticing a modest inn just down the street, its sign hanging askew, light dimly flickering. it wasn’t much—a little rundown, with the look of a place that had seen better days. perfectly unremarkable. and right now, all he needed was a bed.

inside the hotel room, he dropped his backpack onto the chair and stood there, staring at the neatly made bed, the cheap, plush white blankets tucked in tight. the silence pressed in on him, too thick and heavy. without much thought, he shrugged off his jacket, toed off his shoes, and sank into the mattress, the springs squeaking under his weight. sleep embraced him like a reluctant lover, drifting in after nearly an hour of restless thoughts. but it didn’t stay. he awoke after just four hours, staring up at the ceiling as moonlight spilled in through the thin curtains, casting faint shadows across the room.

he groaned, reaching under his pillow for his phone, squinting as the screen lit up his face. only the usual notifications—nothing out of the ordinary, but still, he’d hoped. he didn’t know why. YN had been clear. she’d left no room for misinterpretation.

his fingers hesitated, then he opened her contact anyway. the photo still there—the one he’d taken on the tour bus last summer. a blurred shot from above, a silly close-up she’d protested, but they’d both laughed at it, something shared just between the two of them.

he typed the words, fingers slow, deliberate.

i love you.

his heart twisted as he pressed send, watching the message linger for a second before the familiar rejection—not delivered.

still blocked. still gone.

harry let his phone fall onto the mattress, dragging a hand over his face, groaning into the empty room. his chest tightened with frustration, desperation edging close to something frantic. he didn’t want to seem like he was clinging, but this couldn’t be the end, could it?

would it be futile to try again? sure. definitely in vain. he just wanted to give it one more try.

he sat up, slipping his sambas back on, the leather scuffed and worn from tour, loose enough he didn’t bother with the laces. he left the jacket where it lay, grabbed his wallet, and in a few determined strides, pushed himself through the door into the night, unwilling to let go just yet.

the cold bit at harry’s skin the moment he stepped outside, the wind cutting through his thin sweater as he walked down the dimly lit street. he barely noticed the sting. his breath puffed in front of him in small clouds, quickly dissolving into the frosty air. snow had begun to fall again, light flakes swirling under the streetlamps, but he didn’t slow down. each step was deliberate, his sneakers scuffing against the half-melted snow on the pavement, but his mind raced with a dozen unfinished thoughts. he hadn’t even grabbed his coat. he hadn’t thought it through.

he just needed to be close to her again.

the city was quiet, the usual rush dulled by the late hour and the snowfall blanketing everything in a soft silence. as he turned the corner toward her flat, his heart picked up speed, thudding painfully in his chest. her building was just down the road, its familiar outline coming into view. every step toward it felt heavier, each one laced with the weight of the unsaid things between them.

when he reached her street, he stopped for a moment, breath clouding the air in front of him as he tried to steady himself. his eyes scanned the row of cars parked along the curb, and there it was—her car, parked in the same spot it always was, snow gathering over the windshield, the roof, coating it like a layer of frost. the sight of it hit him harder than he expected. It was the last tether to her, something still close, something that made her feel real, just beyond that door.

but he didn’t go to her flat. he didn’t knock on her door. his feet carried him to her car instead, the snow crunching softly under his shoes as he approached. harry paused, standing before the vehicle, his breath hitching in his throat. his fingers hovered at his sides, the air biting into the exposed skin, but he didn’t care. the snow covering the windshield was smooth, untouched, and he stalled for a moment, the night wrapping around him like a blanket of quiet.

this was weird. he knew it was. but he couldn’t stop himself.

slowly, almost hesitantly, harry reached out, his fingertips brushing against the icy layer of snow on the glass. it was cold, stinging his skin as he dragged his fingers across the surface, but he kept going, his touch leaving a thin, delicate trail through the frost. he could feel the slight resistance as he wrote, each stroke of his finger deliberate, like the weight of his feelings pressed into every curve of the letters.

we should talk

the words were simple, almost too simple for everything he wanted to say, but they were enough. enough for a desperate message left on a windshield, at least—all he could offer now, standing out against the stark whiteness of the snow like a whisper in the dark. his hand lingered for a moment, fingers resting against the cold glass as if he could reach through the car, through the frost, and touch her somehow.

he stepped back, breath shaky, eyes fixed on the message he had left behind. the snow continued to fall, light and steady, the flakes already beginning to gather in the grooves of his writing, slowly erasing it even as he stood there. his hands dropped to his sides, curling into fists, and he closed his eyes for a long moment, the cold finally seeping into his bones. he felt exposed out here, vulnerable, like every part of him was on display in the silence of the night.

he also felt like he was doing something illegal.

but still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave. he looked up at her flat, the windows dark and still, like nothing inside had changed. for all he knew, she was asleep, completely unaware that he was standing here, just feet away. or maybe she wasn’t. maybe she was lying awake, thinking about him too, wondering what could possibly come next after everything they had been through.

the snowflakes clung to his hair, his clothes, but he didn’t move. he stood there, staring at the message on her windshield, his heart caught between hope and fear.

the words seemed to echo in the quiet, fragile and fleeting, like the snow itself. he didn’t know if she’d see them, or if the snow would bury them by morning, but for now, it was all he had left to say. he turned to walk away, his heart heavy but his resolve set. it was up to her now.

inside her flat, YN lay in bed, the dim glow of her phone the only light cutting through the darkness. she had been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, trying to force herself to sleep, but her mind kept circling back to him—harry. the knock at her door earlier had left her rattled, emotions stirring like a storm inside her. she’d shut him out, forced the door between them because it was the only way she knew how to protect herself. but it hadn’t stopped the ache in her chest.

the soft chime of her phone interrupted the silence, a faint buzz. she frowned, lifting it off the pillow beside her. the notification made her heart stutter.

ring doorbell: movement detected.

her stomach dropped. for a moment, she just stared at the screen, unsure of whether to open the app, her fingers hesitating. maybe it was just a stray cat, or the wind shaking the snow loose from the trees. but deep down, she knew. she knew who it would be.

with trembling hands, she tapped the screen, and there he was—harry. standing in the cold by her car, his figure a shadowy outline under the soft glow of the streetlamp. his hands were stuffed into his pockets, his head bowed slightly, his breath visible in the cold air. she watched, her heart pounding in her chest as he lifted a finger to the snow-covered windshield, slowly writing something in the frost. the words began to take shape, and she felt her throat tighten, her pulse quickening.

we should talk.

her heart constricted, emotions warring inside her. he hadn’t disappeared. even after she’d shut the door in his face, he was still here. the sight of him standing there, exposed to the biting cold without even a coat, tugged at something deep inside her—something she had tried to bury the night she walked away.

she swallowed hard, sitting up in bed, her fingers hovering over the phone for a moment longer. she could ignore it, let the snow cover the words he’d written and pretend none of this was happening—a biased fate. but she couldn’t shake the image of him standing there, shoulders slumped, his vulnerability written in the frost as clearly as the message itself.

with a sigh, she swung her legs out of bed and pulled on a hoodie, her mind racing. what was she even going to say to him? she was angry, she was hurt, but she also couldn’t deny the pull he still had on her. the years of love and heartache had tangled them together in a way that was impossible to untangle in one night. and now, he was standing outside her flat, waiting in the cold.

YN slipped on her shoes and grabbed her phone, her heart pounding harder with each step as she made her way to the front door. her fingers shook as she unlocked it, pulling the door open just enough to peek outside, the cold air rushing in.

there he was, standing by her car, his back to her, staring down at the message he had written, threatening to step away. his breath puffed in front of him, his head hung low as if he wasn’t sure what to do next. the sight of him, so lost and alone, tugged at her heartstrings in a way that made her chest ache.

“harry,” she called softly, her voice carrying through the quiet night.

he turned slowly, his face pale in the moonlight, eyes wide with surprise. for a second, he just stared at her, as if unsure if she was real or some apparition conjured up by his restless mind.

maybe he got frostbite and this is the last thing he’d see before decaying into the snow, he thought.

but then his expression softened, his shoulders relaxing just slightly, though the tension in his eyes remained.

she stepped out onto the snowy path, the cold biting at her skin as she approached him. “what are you doing here?” her voice was steadier than she felt, but the cracks in her resolve showed through.

“i–” he faltered, glancing down at the words on the windshield, then back up at her. “i’m sorry. i’m not stalker. i just–” he paused, sighing exasperatedly. “m’blocked and had to try.”

her breath caught in her throat, the rawness in his voice unraveling her. she looked down at the words he’d written in the snow, her heart twisting painfully at the sight of them. he was trying, she knew that. but it didn’t make it any easier. her chest tightened, memories of him crashing over her in waves—good ones, bad ones, all tangled together in a mess of emotions she hadn’t quite sorted through. she opened her mouth to speak, but the words jumbled in her mouth, only letting out a delicate, fleeting stutter. she wanted to stay strong, to protect herself, but looking at him now, standing in the freezing night without so much as a coat, the walls she’d built began to crack. “you don’t even have a coat,” she whispered, her voice softer now, laced with concern.

he looked down at himself, almost sheepish, his lips curling into the faintest of smiles. “i didn’t really think.”

her heart ached at the sight of him, so lost, so vulnerable. for all the hurt, for all the walls she’d tried to put up, a part of her still missed him—missed this. missed the sound of his voice, the way he always found his way back to her, even when things seemed broken beyond repair.

before she could stop herself, the words slipped out. “come inside.”

harry blinked, surprised, and for a moment he didn’t move, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d heard. YN stepped aside, opening the door wider, the warmth from inside spilling out into the cold. “you’re freezing, and we need to talk,” she said, more firmly this time, gesturing to her snowy windshield he wrote upon.

he hesitated for a beat, then nodded, shuffling forward. she watched as he walked past her, his footsteps slow and unsure, like he was afraid the invitation might disappear if he moved too quickly. once he was inside, she closed the door behind them, the soft click of the lock somehow louder in the quiet that followed.

the contrast between the freezing air outside and the muted heat inside hit him all at once, his body tensing, unsure if he should relax. the space felt familiar, yet foreign—like stepping into a memory that had shifted in his absence. the soft hum of the radiator, the faint scent of her lavender diffuser, the quiet—all of it made his chest tighten.

he stood by the door, unsure of what to do with himself. his hands hovered at his sides before he stuffed them into his pockets, glancing around.

the apartment was exactly as he remembered, yet somehow smaller, more intimate. her big winter coat was draped over a chair, a half-finished cup of tea sat on the coffee table, and a pile of books lay stacked by the corner of the couch. there were still traces of their life together—small things, like the framed picture on the shelf they made together on a whim—glued seashells and colorful iridescent beads. the frame was still there, but the photo had been replaced, its new image hidden behind a layer of dust. he didn’t know what it was, all he knew is that he didn’t see the familiar photo of them at his mum’s house during christmas.

he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was erased, like a ghost she had swept away in her effort to move forward.

his throat tightened as he took in the subtle changes, the pieces of her life that had moved on without him.

she hadn't moved far from the door, standing with her arms wrapped around herself, her eyes flicking between him and the room, as if she, too, was seeing the space differently now that he was in it again. her silence isn't cold, but it wasn't inviting either. It was careful.

“you can sit." she murmured, nodding toward the couch, her voice steady but distant. "if you want."

harry hesitated, then nodded, slowly making his way to the couch. he moved carefully, as though the wrong movement might shatter the fragile understanding between them. he sat down, feeling the familiar creak of the old cushions beneath him. the last time he'd been here, he hadn't thought twice about dropping onto this couch, sprawled out with her beside him, both of them laughing at something ridiculous. now, every inch of space between them felt heavy.

she moved to the armchair across from him, settling into it with her legs tucked underneath her, but still keeping a distance. she watched him, her gaze cautious, as though waiting for him to explain himself. to fill the silence.

harry opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came at first. his mind was a blur, his heart pounding louder than the words he wanted to say.

he looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since he walked in. she seemed different, but not in a way he could pinpoint. her hair seemed softer, her glasses discarded, left upstairs on the nightstand. she had a new freckle he didn’t notice till now, and it immediately fell into the category of his favorite parts about her. “i don't even know where to start," he finally admitted, his voice low, breaking the stillness.

she didn't respond right away, just looked at him, her expression unreadable. "then why are you here?" she asked softly, her tone not accusing, but raw, like she was trying to understand. "you disappeared and now you’re back with no words.”

his breath caught, and he shook his head quickly, trying to explain. "no, i didn’t–” he paused, sighing, running a hand through his hair. "i didn't just leave like that. you left me, YN. that night, you walked out and–”

"–of course I did," she cut him off, her voice rising slightly. "you didn't give me a choice. i couldn’t recognize you. you relied on blow, harry. it wasn’t just for fun.”

harry flinched at the words, guilt settling like a heavy stone in his chest. he’d seen it happening, but at the time, he couldn't pull himself out of the spiral. "i know i fucked up. but leaving me? blocking me?—" his voice caught, raw emotion surfacing as he gestured helplessly. "y’just just cut me off. i had my slip ups, and i regret it immensely, y’didn’t deserve that. y’promised one more chance, and that i did. you found an old bag and didn’t even give me the benefit of the doubt.”

her face hardened, her arms tightening around herself as she shook her head. "i couldn't watch you destroy yourself anymore. that bag wasn't just an accident, h. it was a reminder of everything i’d been fighting to save you from. and you–you didn't see it. all you saw was me leaving, that’s it.”

his heart ached at the truth in her words, the weight of his failures crashing down on him. he ran a hand down his face, pinching his bottom lip, frustration and pain coursing through him. "i cared. god, i cared. but i didn't know how to pull myself out of it. i didn't know how t’fix what i was breaking. ‘nd then you were gone, and i didn't know how to–how t’do it without you."

the silence that followed was heavy, both of them sitting there, lost in the mess of emotions that had been left behind. YN looked away, her jaw clenched, her eyes misting over as she stared at the floor. the tension in the room was suffocating, the distance between them widening, and harry felt himself slipping, like everything he had come here to say was unraveling before he even had the chance.

"i didn't want to hurt you," he said softly, his voice barely a whisper. "i never wanted to be that person. i’m trying to be better, YN. i’m getting help. i’ve been sober since halloween. m’not perfect, but i’m getting better.”

her gaze flicked back to him, her expression softening just slightly, the anger fading into something quieter, something sadder. "you should have told me," she whispered. "i was supposed to be your person, harry. you shut me out, and I had to pick up your pieces on my own."

he swallowed hard, the knot in his throat tightening. "i know. and i’m so sorry. for everything. i’m here now because i don't want to lose you. not again."

she didn't respond right away, her eyes searching his face, as if looking for the man she had once loved—the man she wasn't sure still existed. but something in the way she looked at him, the way her guard wavered, told him that part of her still wanted to believe him. still wanted to believe in them. "you’re asking me to trust you again," she said finally, her voice small, barely above a whisper. “i don't know if i can."

“m’not asking for your trust.” his lip quivered, shaking his head as he slipped from the couch onto the carpet. he crawled over to her, sitting on his heels as he hesitantly raised his large, cold hands to her knees.

it felt like a shock, his touch in general and the temperature of his hands. his eyes burrowed into hers, as if silently gauging on whether he was crossing a line.

“i love you. even if y’never want to be my love again. i just want back in. i want to know you’re okay. i want to be able to send you a good morning text, or if you’d like to come to the studio like y’use to.” his voice almost sounded like that of a whimper, a stray tear falling from bloodshot eyes. “i can’t live without even a semblance of you in my life.”

she let out a choked sob, quickly wiping her fallen tears with the back of her hand. “don’t say that, harry.”

he ducked his head, leaning in to catch her averted gaze again. he rubbed small circles into her kneecap with his thumb, his voice cracking. “i don’t mean it a horrible way. yes, i can live.” he sadly chuckled, trying to backtrack how pathetic he must’ve sounded. “it just won’t feel like a life without you in it.”

her hand was hesitant, painfully hesitant as she stretched it out toward harry’s, softly lying it over his. she stared down at his hands, his skin warming just being against her, though his medal rings were still cool to the touch. she traced the veins with a shaky breath, shifting her eyes up his arm, past his shoulder, and finally onto his face. his cheeks were red, glistening in the warm glow of the lamp from his tears. his lips were swollen, hair disheveled and a bit damp from the melted snowflakes. “i want you in my life, too.”

his gaze was unwavering, all he could do was squeeze her knee gently, urging her to continue.

“slowly. friends, just friends. and we can see what happens from there.”

it felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders, a weight that only got heavier after five months.

he wanted to kiss her, tell her how in love with her he was. he wanted to hold her until the sun rose, he wanted to put their stupid christmas photo back into their diy picture frame. he wanted to kiss the ground she walked on and follow her around like a lost puppy. he wanted her to be his again.

but friends? it’s a start. it’s something he could live with. even if all she remained was his friend, he would still thank his lucky starts for her decision to come back.

he couldn’t control his tears at that point, moving his hands from her knees to loop his arms around in a makeshift hug around her legs.

it reminded him of the time he had begged her to stay.

but this time he wasn’t begging, he was thankful.

he nestled his head between her thighs as his shoulders shook from his sobs. she combed her fingers through his hair, softly shushing him and reminding him it’ll be okay.

her pink silk pajama bottoms dampened from his sorrow, a messy mixture of his tears, snot and saliva staining the fabric as he let out his loud whimpers, but she didn’t mind. her fingers fell from his curls onto his back, tracing soft circles into the trembling muscles.

his raw, unguarded grief tore her heart in two, each shuddering sob a reminder of the man she loved, a man who was struggling to rise from the ruin he’d left in his wake. and in the quiet of the room, as his sobs filled the space, she realized his tears, painful as they were—were stitching back together the shredded pieces of her heart.

he’s healing. he’s sober. he’s alive.

and that was enough.

#harry styles #harry edward styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles au #harry styles angst #harry styles sad #harry styles ex #harry styles drugs

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matchamiko · 8 months ago

Text

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Daydreams about Yuuji

₊˚⊹ ᰔ Warnings: Oral (m -> receiving): sloppy, messy oral; masturbation: dirty talk; AFAB reader (use of girl, girlfriend,); established new relationship; mentions of oral (f -> receiving).

Daydreaming about giving Yuuji his first blowjob. Being his cute, soft, bundle-of-fun girlfriend for a few months before asking him if he wants to fuck your mouth, a little crudely in your tone but quietly, a whisper from your quivering lips. Quivering only in anticipation and the mere thought of him spread out, spilling down your throat. You’re painting your nails on a book on the floor, polish bottles positioned carefully so they don’t tip. A glass of iced yuzu tea sits next to Yuuji’s on the side table, forgotten in your concentration and forgotten in your distraction.

Your nails are long dry now, a pretty pearl that glimmers in the light. They’re fisted on your folded thighs, clenching and cracking when Yuuji shifts uncomfortably under the heat of your gaze.

“You wanna - what?” Golden thighs fog any semblance of sobriety you have left, craving the warm supple skin before you like a wolf to prey. He’s reclined on the foldaway couch he’d thrifted from the side of the road, gym shorts pulled tight over the very tops of his thighs and over his crotch. Staring down at you with sweat beading his hairline and his lower lip dropped open at your sultry admission,

“Please? Should I have said please first?” You shuffle towards him, not touching but so desperately obvious in your lust that Yuuji struggles on where to look, “please can I suck your cock? Pretty please? With a cherry on top?”

You two hadn’t had sex yet, not that it hadn’t come close. Something had always interrupted, whether it was a noisy neighbour or an irritating friend or mentor, or even the cat that roams your apartment as if it was his own. Kissing him was a dream, touching him made you too hot for your own skin and only he had made you come so far, fingers deep and a little clumsy but deft and strong in their wringing of your orgasm(s) on steamy summer’s afternoons tangled up on the couch.

So asking him for favours wasn’t really out of the question. Yuuji adored it when you politely asked for a kiss, positively beams at you before swallowing your radiating embarrassment with his lips. He’s not beaming now, not in the same way.

He’s - sweating. Squirming as he nods with a dry throat, swallowing and grinding his mouth shut. You’re picture perfect between his thighs, pearly nails digging welts into his muscle and humming at the give of the blonde hairs there. He’s afraid of what might happen if he opens his mouth, some kind of animalistic whimper or a loud sob? He feels rather pathetic before you, but gloriously so, bent to your will and your pretty painted nails.

“Bet you taste so good Yuuji,” you simper, lips picking out the moles and freckles leading up to his groin, “might give me some kinda oral fixation,”

Yuuji moans then, out-loud and deep from his chest. You grin wolfishly, fingers deft as they slip over the sweat resistant material of his shorts and up under his t-shirt. It’s tight, a little musty from drying in the bathroom and it gives way for the trail over his belly,

“Hold this f’me Yuuji,” broad hands hover over the edge of his shirt and then over you, biting his lip and then biting the fabric, “Mhm, thank you for letting me do this, been wanting to taste your cock for ages,”

“Yea-sh,” his voice is crackled and muffled by his shirt, spittle damping it but you’re pulling down the band of his shorts and suddenly it’s a little too real, hands raising to pause you, “Baby wait - I -,”

Anything he was going to say dies in a guttural grunt as you envelope the top of his weepy cock in your mouth. Hands that were intended to push you away grab you closer, cradling your throat and squeezing your shoulder.

“Mmmm,” you hum, one hand squeezing the base and the other squeezing his thigh, eyes rolling into the back of your head with the salty, bitter taste of him. Little sucks and kisses have Yuuji barely containing his groans and choked whines, hips flexing beneath you. The shirt has fallen to just below his pecs, belly tightening and flexing with every kick of his cock against your soft palate, but you don’t mind because he’s still trying to keep it out of your sloppy, drooly way, fisting the fabric and giving you a peak of a soft brown nipple, hard and aching.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop, please please please,” he babbles, the hand on your neck moving to the back of your head, shaking as he follows your bobbing movements. His dick is thick, long and warm in the cavern of your mouth, the mushroom tip pink and slimy with pre, and you swallow every drop a little over enthusiastically. Humming and moaning and whimpering, you’re practically dripping through your underwear, positive you’ve wet through to the carpet.

And when you breathe in through your nose and take him as far as you can, the tip of your nose just shy of his pubes; the two of you practically lose your minds. Yuuji trembles above you, hunched over and incoherent; and you shimmy your thighs together in a squeeze of relief, drool coating the base of his cock and tears skimming your lashes.

“Y-you’re so hot baby look at ya’,” he can see the way you’re wiggling your hips, craning over you with sleepy eyes and heavy pants, “why - why don’t you play with your pretty pussy? Seein’ as you’re practically milking me dry,” Yuuji’s words come out slurred and muffled, as if his mouth were socked with cotton. A large hand comes down on the back of your neck, sweetly holding you and a stark contrast to the way his cock jerks in the tunnel of your throat as you deftly skim your fingers into your shorts.

The angle is all wrong and you can barely feel the hard bud of your clit but you can feel the pearly arousal that sloshes around your underwear, loud but not loud enough over the slurps and kisses over his cock. You make it work, squirming and widening your knees a little but it still isn’t really enough, not that it mattered because he’s enough, Yuuji is always enough to get you off whether he’s touching you or not. And the heavy head of his cock popping from the seal of your lips is just that right kind of salacious that has your mind fuzzy and dizzy with lust.

“Ah - fuck!” Yuuji chokes on his spit, throwing himself back against the folded futon that serves as the padding of the couch, one arm slumped over his eyes as you focus your attention on the root of his cock, looking up at him through your lashes and fluttering them when your index finger catches on your clit. His breathing comes out in heaving huffs, chest expanding gloriously above you and abs flexing with every clench of his belly. It’s heaven to you, a vision you always knew would be one to keep locked away in the deepest caverns of your mind, something precious and treasured and so disgustingly debauched. You slow your ministrations for a moment, content with just watching the reactions your boyfriend has when you twist your hand, squeeze a little harder, suckle at the vein on the side of his dick. Yuuji seems to appreciate the little break, catching his breath and adjusting his hips, jutting his length into your cheek and it’s amusing that such a kind boy doesn’t even apologise for it.

“D’you want me to make you cum? Or - do you wanna fuck my mouth?” a long, drawn out groan answers you and you return it with a long lick right up the thickening root of him,

“I - get to choose?” Yuuji’s voice is hoarse, cracked and strained from his addictive noises, deep with lust and something a little darker, “Really?”

At your nod, you delve back into the leaking warmth of him. Yuuji gives a strangled grunt and gives his hips a little experimental thrust, pulsing upwards into the deeper depths of your throat. He seems torn between letting you do as you pleased, and giving in to his most debauched fantasies. He’d been given oral before, blowies or whatever his friends called them but they were nothing like you, none of them paid attention to his every reaction and noise, none of them gave him any choice or option on what he wanted to do. So to have you licking him deep and soft and all things sweet, eyes open and questioning with little bias; he’s all a fluster.

“You - you can do it, I want you to make me cum baby,” the words were supposed to be gentle, coaxing, all the things Yuuji wished he was to you but his jaw is set and his voice is more of a growl, especially when he spots your tongue lathing over the base, leaving a trail and a string of drool. He tips his head back, bottom lip tugged into his mouth and his thighs drop open further,

“But make sure you don’t stop playing with that pretty pussy, want you to feel just as good as me,” a whimper answers him and Yuuji isn’t sure if he’ll actually last as long as he thought he would, as he conveyed through his words. And he definitely isn’t sure because you abandon his cock in favour of his balls for a moment, and he’s suddenly all tight in his belly. You’re still squeezing and jerking and flexing your fingers around him, but your wet little tongue is skimming over the soft skin of his sac and drawing them into your mouth with the most wanton moan he think he’s ever heard. You’re visibly more aroused than before, wrist working diligently in your underwear, stretched tight and a much darker colour than earlier, but Yuuji can’t focus on your pleasure right now, for once, for the first time in your relationship. All he can think about is himself and how good it feels to have his pretty girl absolutely worshipping his cock, and he doesn’t care that you’re getting sloppy in your clouded lust; you’re back to sucking him feverently and whining around the thick of him.

“Gonna - baby you’re gonna make me c -,” His admission has you shuffling even closer, abandoning your poor, suffering cunt and slapping a gooey, sticky hand on his thigh to brace yourself.

And it's the wet little smear you leave behind, webbing between your fingers and joining the pre dripping down his cock as you hold him with both hands that has him positively howling your name. Hips pulse into your face, forcing his cock deeper as it swells down your throat and shoots hot, wet and salty into your belly. A hand comes down to his hip, the other fisting the shirt over his chest and catching on his nipple with a startled yelp. You’re strong in your restraint, letting him thrash and writhe beneath you, keeping yourself rooted in his lap and swallowing everything you can, shivering at the taste and the feeling of his cock kicking and twitching with every pulse of his orgasm.

“I gotta - you gotta get off baby,” you don’t realise that he’s come down, don’t realise that he’s still twitching but with overstimulation and softening against the limp muscle of your tongue, “I can’t, I can’t do another yet, m’sorry but -,” Yuuji, through the jelly-like jitter of his limbs, heaves you off the floor and into his lap with a grunt, “That was the best head anyone’s ever given me,”

You’re shy all of a sudden, as if you’re not still swallowing the remains of his spend and sporting the slickest arousal you’ve ever experienced. Yuuji kisses your nose with an appreciative smile,

“Really? I just wanted to do it y’know? You make me wanna suck your cock all the time, s’just something about you,” you tuck your chin into your chest, almost giving in to the little kisses he pecks all over your face, stopping at your temple and deflating with a sigh at your admission,

“You’re cute baby,” his cock twitches from where it’s nestled between his stomach and your cotton covered crotch, “But a meanie, I swear you’ll be the death of me, thought I was gonna black out at one point,”

“Yeah, yeah,” your fingers twist into the fine hairs at the back of his neck, sagging into him and kissing him with a deflated breath. Yuuji licks into your mouth lazily, hands squeezing up the length of your waist and back down again, urging your hips into a soft grind. You’re still sat up on your knees, so all you can feel is the syrupy chafe of your underwear over your cunt and you huff,

“S’okay pretty girl, I got you,” Yuuji smiles at your apparent distress, “You want me to return the favour huh? Let you fuck my mouth instead? That what you want?” his long, thick fingers trickle into your underwear, choking at the slick he finds there, slipping and sliding over the swell of your clit, “Fuck - you got so fuckin’ worked up, bet you won’t last long, not as long as me,”

“Just, I don’t know - Yuuji, please,” a little circle of your hips puts his fingers where you need them most, “Do something or I’m gonna cry,” he shushes you, kissing you again with a loud smack,

“I got you baby, gonna make this pretty pussy feel better, I promise,” Yuuji physically flinches when he pulls his hand from between your thighs, covered nearly to the wrist with your arousal and he inhales deep, dark, nostrils flaring at your scent. His tongue drops between his fingers, slurping up to the knuckles and down to the callouses on his palms, eyes fluttering and reopening to stare at you, “You taste insane - fuck - ‘m gonna eat you so fucking good, you’re not gonna know what hit you,”

#miko.writes #yuuji itadori smut #yuuji itadori x reader #yuuji itadori x you #jjk smut #jjk x reader #itadori yuuji #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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baronessvonglitter · 6 months ago

Text

Blue Hour

outlaw!Joel Miller x runaway hitchhiker!f!Reader

Word count: 2.8K

Summary: hitchhiking in the cruel Texas desert, you're picked up by a handsome stranger

WARNINGS: outlaw!Joel (not mentioned exactly what criminal activity he's involved in, but he does bear scars and looks as if he's been in a fight recently), also he's on the run, brief mentions of parental abuse and alcoholism, strangers to lovers, loss of virginity, unprotected p in v sex (birth control is briefly discussed), soft!Joel (he's respectful of boundaries)

Author's Note: I had initially wanted to do a trucker story, but thought that the criminal element fit better here. I would absolutely love to see a trucker!Joel fic if it doesn't already exist. Please do tag me if it does! Also this is lightly edited but the love is there..

JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST | FULL MASTERLIST

You're both running from something; that's how you find each other.

On a lonely stretch of highway in West Texas, Joel Miller picks you up on the side of the road, his mindset one of penance. If he does a good thing by saving someone maybe he can save himself. You're just glad to get away, as far away as possible from a mom who drank all the time, berated you, beat you, and was only at her most peaceful when she was passed out cold.

It's a danger in and of itself to get into Joel's truck, and a danger to come into his motel room, but to you, any other place is safer than where you grew up. The little roadside motel is brightly lit, welcoming, the sign neon against the cerulean summer evening sky.

By the fluorescent glow of the cheap TV screen with its staticky channels you exchange your stories. Joel doesn't tell you much apart from the fact that he's headed to New Mexico, and the scar on his nose, the way he's healing from a black eye you surmise is probably from a couple weeks ago. He carries a gun and his wallet is thick with cash. You can tell he's bad news but you don't care. You're just happy to have a roof over your head for the night and a plan of some sort of future taking shape in your mind.

With only one bed he offers to take the floor, but you insist it's fine to share. He's been a gentleman so far, despite the obvious flirtatious vibes you've been giving. It's impossible to keep to yourself as you both settle down to sleep. Your new life started the day you walked away from your home. You're a different person in this bed, laying on a cheap mattress with a handsome stranger. And, though you've never gone much farther than kissing, the newness of desire tugs at you from deep within.

"Joel.." his back is turned to you and he barely catches you calling for him. You press your hands to his back, which immediately gets his attention. He looks at you with slight confusion, as if he'd forgotten you were there, and when he sees the meaningful look in your eyes he knows what it is you want, and you don't stop him when he pulls you close.

Joel's fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand roaming over your waist and hip, caressing and claiming you with a hungry and desperate fervor. You moan softly, your tongues dancing against each other, and you melt under the sweet shared pleasure. Your fingers slip beneath his shirt, feeling the broad smooth expanse of his back.

His senses are afire as your fingers trace along his bare skin, and his own hands continue to wander, skimming along your sides, gently caressing the curve of your hip. He pulls back just enough to take a breath, his forehead coming to rest against yours, breathing in short, shallow gasps.

"I like the way you taste," you tell him, your confession soft and simple in the twilight glow of the room, your words caressing his lips. Joel's eyes darken with desire as he gazes at you in the semi-darkness.

"Yeah? And how do I taste, darlin'?" There's an edge of a growl to his words, his fingers stroking softly along your cheek, a fusion of longing and restraint etched into his expression.

"Like cinnamon, and whiskey," you whisper. "You taste like pleasure.."

He pulls you closer, nudging his nose against yours as a low, possessive growl rumbles in his chest. "You taste like sunshine and sweetness, sugar.." He dips his head back down to capture your lips in another searing kiss, his tongue slipping between your lips, swallowing your moans. Every sound, every gasp you make, fuels the fire burning within him, igniting an intoxicating blend of desire and hunger.

One arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand slides down your back, trailing fire along your skin as he moves lower, gently cupping your ass and pulling you against the heated length of his body. You gasp at the intimate touch. The way he presses you to his hardness awakens and excites something in you. "Joel!" you gasp.

The sound of his name, breathed out so sweetly from your lips, sends a shiver down his spine. "That's it. darlin'.. say my name.."

You whimper at the sweet friction as he continues to deliberately press you to his hardened arousal, kneading your cheeks. "Joel.." you say obediently, whispered in innocent pleasure.

He groans softly. "That's my good girl.." He presses you against him once more, allowing you to feel the full extent of his arousal, the heat and weight of it grinding against your core. Desire floods your veins and you slowly undulate your hips, finding little comfort in merely rubbing against him. "Fuck, you drive me crazy, darlin'," his voice is husky and raw with need.

"I want you.. please don't make me wait.." you tell him.

"Yeah? You want me.. like this? Is this how you want me to fuck you?" Joel's voice drips with primal need as he grinds against you, feeling the heat and wetness, his own arousal painfully hard at this point.

You nod, your breath catching in your throat. "I can't think about anything else right now. Just you.. with me."

"Darlin', I can't hold back anymore.." he warns, but he takes time to ask about birth control, and you assure him you are covered.

You reach up to kiss him, before breaking apart a moment to take off your top and help him remove his own. The feel of his warm flesh against yours is heavenly. He bears scars and old wounds upon his flesh, evidence of a life lived in danger. But right now you only think about how warm he feels, how strong he is. "I just want to feel your skin against mine for a little bit.."

Joel's touch is almost reverent as his large, calloused hands roam your bare skin, learning the contours of your soft supple flesh, cupping each breast. "My sweet girl.." he whispers in awe.

Likewise, you trace every little scar, thinking on how each of those fights, those deadly interactions, brought him one step closer to you. "I need you," he whispers, feeling more alive, brand new under the heat of your palms on his chest. His fingers find the waistband of your panties and his eyes quickly flick to yours, seeking permission. "Is this all right?" You nod eagerly, "Lift up your hips for me," comes his quiet command, and he gently tugs at the elastic, slowly pulling your panties down your thighs. He sees you laid bare before him, your inner thighs moist with desire, the curls on your mound dewy with want. "God damn.. you're so beautiful.. I wanna taste you.." he groans, pressing a heated kiss against the sensitive skin just beneath your hipbone.

You sigh at his kiss, his beard pleasantly scratching your skin. "Yes.. please.."

Joel's tongue flicks out to taste the heated flesh between your thighs, groaning softly at the flavor of you on his tongue before he begins to lick through your slick, puffy folds. He smiles as you gasp, your eyes wide and mouth parted in an O. "Joel!" you moan, panting as his tongue explores you. When he said he wanted to taste you, you assumed he meant more kissing. You hadn't expected this, hadn't known this was possible. Your fingers fist in his hair as he continues. He groans against you, the sound vibrating deliciously against your cunt. "Taste so sweet,.. like heaven.. my sweet girl.." he whispers between long, languid licks, his arms wrapping around your trembling thighs, holding you open for him as he feasts. His tongue flicks and dances over your clit, swirling and teasing, wanting to learn every inch of you, what makes you scream and what makes you whimper, getting drunk on your taste like a thirsty man lost in the desert.

Your hips arch up to meet each lick, each worshiping swipe as his pace becomes more insistent, following the sound of your moans and sighs, feeling the shivering in your body, his tongue flicking and circling in a hungry rhythm, determined to bring you to the brink.

Your thighs start to quake but he expertly keeps them spread open, feasting on you. "God! Joel, I'm coming!" Pleasure uncoils from the very center of you, radiating outward, controlling every other sense and thought. His hands grip your shaking thighs, lapping up all your sweet nectar. "That's it, darlin', let go for me.. I got you.." he whispers. He gently eases you through your orgasm, tongue slowing, savoring every drop he can. "God damn, sweetheart.. you taste so damn good.. you doing okay?"

"Yes," you pant, a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin. "Oh, Joel," you moan, bringing him to you for a kiss and tasting your flavor on his lips and tongue. He rises, crawling up your body until his weight is draped over you, his arms caging you in as you kiss, sharing your taste with you. He gazes down at you, the way you trust him implicitly ignites a mix of feelings: a raging, possessive need, a deep sense of responsibility, and a swelling of unbridled affection and adoration. He lifts a hand to gently caress your cheek, his thumb tracing soft patterns against your skin. You can see his heart and soul bared to you in that simple touch. Your skin is flushed, hair mussed, eyes bright. You've never looked more beautiful.

Joel shifts his weight, pressing closer against you, the pressure of his hard length against your hip undeniable as your eyes meet. You take him gently into your hands, grasping and feeling him. He groans at the softness of your hands wrapping around his arousal, eyes glazing over with pleasure. "God.. I want you.. need to feel you around me, sweetheart.."

You sense now that you have the power. Slowly you run your hands over his rigid cock, swiping your thumb across the tip, wiping away a bead of moisture. "Is it going to fit?" you ask, feeling the heft of it, both length and girth.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest and his head bows down to bury his face against your neck. "It'll fit, sugar, I promise. Just take your time."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the ultimate thing that can bring you together, and will forever change what you mean to each other. "I'm ready for you.."

Joel's hands gently grip your thighs, guiding you to move and open further as he positions himself between your legs, the head of his cock resting against your entrance. His heart pounds as he looks down at you. "You sure, darlin'? I promise I'll go slow."

"I'm sure. I've never been more sure of anything in my life."

"Okay, just tell me if you need me to stop. I don't wanna hurt you." He presses to you a little more, eager to fill you but waiting on your word.

"Kiss me," you whisper.

He pours all his love and need into the kiss, swallowing your gasp as he presses forward, his thick cockhead just barely breaching you, his groan joining with yours at the feel of your tight heat around him. You break the kiss, resting your hands on his shoulders as he enters you, a little at a time. His fingers dig into your thighs, his expression a cross between pleasure and concern as he pauses, giving you a chance to adjust to him. "How is that, sweetheart? Am I hurtin' you at all?"

"Wait." You press your hands to his chest. "Wait a little bit," you pant, forcing yourself to relax around him in order to accommodate him.

Joel nods. "Take your time, sweetheart. I ain't goin' anywhere." He stills himself, using every inch of willpower in his possession, "Just breathe, darlin', you're doin' so good," he coos. "You feel so damn good... touch yourself, darlin'," he growls.

Your breath falters as you acquiesce, fingers flitting lightly over your distended clit, adding pressure, circling the cluster of nerve endings, making yourself wetter, letting him slide in a little bit more. Joel fights to maintain his control. "Fuck, you feel so good, so tight."

Despite his willingness to take it slow, your hormones are asking for something else. "Take what's yours," you whisper. "I want you to."

A deep groan rips loose from his chest at your words, the sound thick with need and desire, his control fraying at the thought of claiming you with a hard and deep thrust. "Take a deep breath, darlin'." He takes your hand, lacing your fingers together, his grip reassuring. "I love you, my sweet girl, my sunshine.." He pulls out slightly, his body tensing as he prepares, and his eyes lock with yours as he thrusts forward, hard and deep. You cry out in surprise and pain, which is little more than a brief shock before you become acclimated, leaving you with a lingering dull throb.

"Hey, shh, it's okay, it's okay darlin', breathe for me. You did so good, you took me all, such a good girl," comes Joel's praise as he cups your cheek with one hand and stroking your belly, easing the pressure there from his length taking up room so deep inside you. When you inadvertently squeeze around him, stretching to fit him, it sends a shock of pleasure spiraling through him. "Damn.. if you keep squeezin' me like that I ain't gonna last long, darlin'," he warns. He takes a deep breath, slowly pulling out, savoring the drag of it, before slowly pushing back in, starting a gentle, deliberate rhythm. "You're perfect, sugar."

Soon the friction begins to cancel out the dull ache, more so with each thrust. "Feels good," you sigh.

Joel's eyes flutter closed, his rhythm remaining slow and gentle, the feel of you surrounding him, the feel of being buried inside your warmth as the most perfect sort of pleasure, his breath coming in short pants. "Sweetheart.. oh sweetheart.. oh god.. damn you feel so right, like you were made for me."

"You were right," you smile, "you do fit."

"Yeah darlin', I'm right where I'm meant to be, buried so deep inside my sweet girl." He keeps moving against you, spine tingling with delight as he feels you moving with him, naturally, your bodies in sync with one another. "Yes, just like that.. move with me, sweetheart."

Your brows furrow in pleasure, heart swelling at his praise. "Joel.. give me more.."

He groans, his eyes darkening as his pace quickens, hips rolling forward with a little more determination, the sounds of your flesh slapping together filling the air. "Like this, sugar?"

"Yes! Fuck!" you groan, lightning filling your veins as you move quicker together. Your words shoot straight to his soul, heat pooling and coiling in his gut. "God, Joel, I'm so close!" you whimper. His breath comes in sharp pants as he drives you closer to the edge, his rhythm growing rougher, less controlled. "Me too, sugar. I'm right there with you.. wanna feel you come around me, wanna hear you say my name. Say it, darlin', come for me and say my name."

"God!!" Eyes scrunched tight you let go, coming hard as your cunt clenches around him, fluttering hard and fast. "Oh!! Joel!!" you scream. Joel's pushed over the edge, giving a few jerky thrusts before you feel him twitching and pulsing inside you, filling you with his cum, his thighs shaking from the force of his pleasure. "Oh, fuuuucckk," he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths, heart pounding wildly.

You feel his heart racing next to yours, almost as if beating with the same cadence, both of you trembling, spent, satisfied. He raises himself on his arms to look down at you. "You're so damn gorgeous, you know that? Especially when you're all breathless and flushed, still quakin' from comin' so hard."

Despite the breathtaking passion you'd just shared, you still blush. "Came hard thanks to you," you give him a soft kiss.

Joel grins, a cocky, proud smirk tugging at his lips, feeling a warm glow in his chest. He gently brushes back a strand of your hair. "How you feelin', sugar?"

"A little sore," you admit. "But I think, considering what we're working with, a little pressure was to be expected," you smirk, still feeling him inside you.

He chuckles, the sound of it making your heart thrum, as he slowly pulls out, knowing your still sensitive. "You took me like a goddamn champ, sweetheart."

You whimper at the loss of him, feeling his cum dribble out of you, and your eyes light up at his praise. "Really?"

"Really." He gazes down at you, his eyes a mixture of speculation and resourcefulness. "You wanna come with me to New Mexico, darlin'?"

divider by @saradika-graphics 👑

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dreaming-medium · 1 year ago

Text

Thanksgiving With You

Relationship: Lee Minho x reader

Tags: Pure fluff

Summary: Your plans to go home to America for Thanksgiving are uprooted the night before you're supposed to leave. Unable to stand seeing you upset, Minho decides to take matters into his own hands and make sure you get to celebrate no matter what.

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The TV was on in the shared apartment, all of the boys were laying all over the couches in various comfy positions. Legs tangled up in knots, blankets draped over different laps.

Living in the same building as one another definitely had its perks, that’s for sure. Even if everyone starts their days in their own apartments, by dinner time, everyone congregates to one.

Today, you and Minho’s apartment was the lucky winner.

When you answered a roommate ad two years ago, you didn’t know it would come with seven other men on top of that. But, you wouldn’t change anything that’s happened since then.

Felix’s head rests on Hyunjin’s lap while he plays on his phone with Changbin watching over his shoulder. Seungmin takes up two seats while Jeongin sits on the ground next to his legs. Minho is lounging in the corner seat of the couch, Chan on his left, Jisung on his right.

For the first time, they’re all silent. Each of their conversations were cut short when a news broadcast cut through the movie they were “watching”.

A female news anchor sat behind a desk looking directly into the camera.

“We interrupt your program with a breaking news report from The National Weather Service. Please be advised that there is extreme adverse weather expected to affect Seoul beginning tomorrow. All airports, roads, and businesses will remain closed starting tomorrow, November 22nd, until further notice.”

Normally, none of the boys would care about a storm. This meant time off from work, time to relax and stay inside while everyone gets some much needed rest but…

“Minho!” your voice calls out into the living room. Your roommate perks up off the couch, tearing his eyes away from the news broadcast. “Can I borrow your neck pillow? I’m going to need it for the flight. Sixteen hours on the plane is going to be killer without it.”

His jaw clenches and he looks around at the other boys on the couch who all have equally flustered expressions. They each stare at one another like deer in headlights.

“Ah,” he hums and looks around the room.

Oh, you were so excited to go home for Thanksgiving, how was he going to tell you that the airport is closed due to the incoming storm? Why does he have to be the one to break the news to you?

The news anchor continues talking about the snowstorm, predicting record levels of snowfall and high speed winds.

All month, all you could talk about was how much you missed Thanksgiving: the turkey, the parade, the pie, everything.

He didn’t really understand it.

“Minho?” You ask again when he doesn’t answer. Your figure appears in the doorway into the living room.

As soon as you stand in front of all of them, their heads snap towards you.

Your eyes widen, obviously startled. “Guys?” You ask, laughing nervously. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

Felix moves a bit, his mouth opening to say something before the news anchor cuts him off again.

“Again, we repeat the broadcast: Please be advised that there is extreme adverse weather expected to affect Seoul beginning tomorrow. All airports, roads, and businesses will remain closed starting tomorrow, November 22nd, until further notice.”

Your mouth drops open and you step further into the room to look at the TV.

“What?” You say to yourself, your heart dropping to your stomach. Everyone else’s does as well from your devastated tone.

Chan reaches forward with the remote, turning the volume up for you to hear.

“No, no…” you whisper.

Minho watches you, feeling his own heart break for you.

“M-Maybe I can book a flight for tonight. The storm starts tomorrow, maybe I can get out at the last minute.” You practically run back to your room, frantically looking for your phone.

All of the boys stay silent.

Apple pie this, mashed potatoes that, homemade pineapple … something. Minho couldn’t remember what you had said. You would always talk too fast when you were excited.

It only got harder for him to understand when you would go into English.

On top of all of this, you haven’t been back to America since you moved here two years ago. It was going to be your first time home.

You were just so busy when you started your new job that there was never any time to take off.

And now that you finally could? It’s falling through your fingers.

“Such a shame…” Hyunjin is the first one to break the silence. His voice carries the same sadness that they all hold on their shoulders.

Minho keeps looking down the hall where your room is, hoping to try and hear anything— any news of an earlier flight, a phone call, anything.

Only a few moments pass before Minho gets too antsy to sit still. He stands up from the couch and makes his way down the hallway.

Your door is cracked open a bit.

When he gets closer, he hears you on the phone. “N-No, you don’t understand, I was going home for the holidays— Yes… Yes I understand that everyone else is too, b-but I haven’t been home in two years.”

You sound so heartbroken, it’s physically killing him.

“There are no open seats? ….. the 5:30 flight? That’s in… that’s in ten minutes I live forty minutes away from the airport!”

Minho leans against the wall behind him, your open door to his left.

“There’s nothing else? … No, I understand. Thank you very much for your time... You as well.”

There’s a long moment of silence and a thump against your mattress.

Ten more seconds pass before he hears hiccups and sniffles coming from inside your room. That’s when Minho caves in, coming up to your door frame.

He can never withstand hearing you cry, on the rare occasions that you do.

You look so small curled up on the edge of your bed, your head in your hands. Your suitcase is open on top of your bed with various clothes and toiletries all over the place.

Your shoulders shake as you sob quietly into your hands.

A frown pulls at his face. Minho reaches up and knocks gently on the doorframe.

Your head shoots up in surprise, hands furiously wiping away the tears under your eyes.

“Oh, hey Minho!” You try to smile, but the tears won’t stop, but you continue wiping them away. “Sorry, um… I don’t think I need your neck pillow after all.”

A sob wracks your chest.

“Sorry,” you apologize again and wipe the tears some more.

His frown depends and he walks over to the bed, taking a seat directly next to you.

“You don’t need to apologize, Y/N.”

You sniffle and look down at your lap, the sleeves of your sweater coming over your hands. “It’s dumb to be this upset, I know. I was just really looking forward to Thanksgiving, you know?”

His entire side is pressed against yours. His warmth seeps into you in a comforting manner.

Minho listens to you carefully. He’s never been the best at comforting a crying person, he knows that, but he’s learned that all you ever crave when you’re upset is someone to listen.

“We have this tradition in my family, god, it’s been so long since I’ve been able to do it,” you sniffle and wipe your eyes. “We wake up around nine, and my sister and I make cinnamon rolls and watch the Macy’s parade from New York while we eat them. Then, while we get ready we watch the National dog show and ugh…”

He leans back on one of his hands placed behind you on your bed. The cogs in his brain are already turning.

Cinnamon rolls… Parade…

“God, I really missed my mom’s Pecan Pie.”

“Pecan Pie.” Minho mouths to himself. You don’t see it.

You sniffle.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” he whispers to you, his hand coming up to rub your back gently.

“It’s alright, there’s always Christmas. The airline said they can move my ticket without me losing money. I guess it’s better to go then.” You hum and wipe the tears off your face again.

Not knowing what else to say, Minho stays quiet, his hand continuing to rub up and down your spine.

He knows next to nothing about Thanksgiving; it’s an American holiday. All he knows are the little things he’s seen in movies: turkey, hats with buckles on them, eating until you explode.

What parade did you say? Macy’s Parade? Okay…

Minho loses track of how long you both sit there, you trying to pull yourself together while he rubs your back.

His eyes dart around the floor unfocused as he makes a mental checklist in his head. He’s definitely going to need to employ the help of the seven other men in his living room if he hopes to pull this off.

“Thank you, Minho.” Your voice pulls his attention. He looks over at your face, hand pausing between your shoulder blades.

Your eyes are red rimmed and cheeks are rosy from all your crying. A sad smile sits on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he responds, getting a bit flustered under your gaze.

You move your head to rest on his shoulder, like second nature, his arm wraps around your shoulders and keeps you close.

Butterflies swirl in his stomach at the contact. Yes, you’re his roommate, but it was in the last six months or so that his heart started seeing you as so much more.

It all started with you cooking his favorite dinner when you knew he had just had one of the worst days of his life.

He had texted you around noon complaining about the rough day he was having, you consoled him shortly, and that was that.

The day had dragged on, getting worse and worse; he opened the door to your shared apartment around midnight to find you moving around the kitchen.

When he peered over your shoulder and saw his favorite meal, his heart melted.

“To cure your bad day,” you smiled at him.

He fell so hard for you, there was no coming back.

Minho turns his head to rest his chin on the crown of your hair.

“Well, I have off work; maybe I can take the day to catch up on a project without being bothered to join meetings.” You trail off.

“Or you could take the day to relax.” He chuckles.

You pause. “Nah.”

He laughs again and hugs you close.

“I better unpack everything.” You peel yourself out of his arms. Minho’s body already feels so much colder without you pressed against him.

“I’ll leave you to it.” Minho stands up from your bed and makes towards the door.

“Minho,” you grab his attention. He turns back to look at you.

You’re smiling at him again, but the sparkle is missing from your eyes.

“Thank you, really.”

“Of course, Y/N.”

Minho pulls your door closed behind him and makes his way down the hall. He has a mission and a checklist.

And he needed to get to the grocery store tonight if he wanted to pull it off.

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Three quick knocks rap against your door at 9:00 AM sharp on November 23rd.

With a disgruntled groan, you shift around in bed and pull the blankets up over your shoulder more.

After a few seconds, the door cracks open slowly, the hinges creaking loudly in the silent morning air.

A huff-like laugh forced through the invader’s nose.

Slippers pad against the carpet of your room and the mattress dips down on the side of your bed.

Gentle, warm fingers push your hair off your forehead. Your eyes squint a bit and you snuggle further into your blanket.

“Minhooo…” you whine without opening your eyes. “I have the day off, remember? I don’t need to wake up.”

“Ah,” he hums, fingers still carding through your hair. “But the parade is on.”

Your brain is still booting up. All your movements pause, your eyes snap open and you look at the man sitting on the side of your bed.

He’s in his cooking apron; the blue one you got him for his birthday last year.

“What?”

That smirk of his spreads over his face, his eyes squint the more he smiles down at you. “The parade is on, Y/N, don’t you want to watch it?”

With wide eyes, you stare at your roommate. “The.. parade? The Macy’s Day Parade?”

He hums with a beautiful, genuine smile. “I didn’t think you wanted to miss it.”

You sit up and kick the blankets off, leaping out of bed and down the hallway. Minho’s laughter follows you.

Sure enough, playing on your TV, is the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, from New York City.

“Wha…” you trail off. If it’s 9 AM here… it’s only 7 PM the night before Thanksgiving in New York, how is he…?

Your eyes scan the TV to see the small graphic that displays “2022” in the corner.

He’s playing a recorded broadcast of last year's parade. A laugh of disbelief bubbles out of your chest and you whirl around to look at your roommate standing in the hallway.

“Minho!” You squeal.

“We still have to bake cinnamon rolls, come on.” He waves you to follow him to the kitchen. Your jaw drops and you can only stare at him.

Minho looks over his shoulder and sees you’re not following him. “Are you coming? I’m not baking them by myself!”

Another snort of disbelief forces its way out. Your one hand reaches over and pinches your arm.

“No, I’m awake,” you whisper to yourself.

The sound of the parade announcers talking in their thick New York accent makes you feel right at home. There was a specific sound quality of audio that comes from these events and it brings you right back to the East Coast.

Minho walks into the kitchen and you follow after him with an extra spring in your step.

———————————————

“And here comes Snoopy and his good friend Woodstock!” The TV announcer says happily.

You take another bite of your cinnamon roll, chewing happily and watching the TV. Doongie curled up next to you, tail swishing around.

Minho can’t decide what he wants to watch more: you or the TV. You’re positively beaming, and he hasn’t even told you the best part yet.

He scratches Soonie’s head absentmindedly.

There’s a couple knocks on the door.

“Come in!” Minho calls out.

The door creaks open. “Minho, your timer went off. I think you need to baste the turkey.”

Your head whips around to see Felix poking his head into the apartment. He makes eye contact with you and his smile brightens instantly.

“Hi, Y/N! Happy Thanksgiving!” Felix chirps from the door.

“Thank you?”

Minho stands up off the couch, “Thanks, Felix, I’ll be right over.”

“Gotcha, see you soon, Y/N!” Felix closes the door behind him.

You look up at Minho. “Turkey? You’re making a turkey?”

He stands in front of you and smiles. “I am, you can’t have Thanksgiving dinner without turkey, right?”

“You– Are we..?”

“We are. But not until after the parade, and the dog show, of course. I told everyone to come around 2:00, that works, right?”

You stare up at him, cinnamon roll still in your hand.

“Y… Yeah, that works.” You truly cannot believe your ears. Are you sure you’re not still sleeping? Do you need to pinch yourself again?

“Good, I’ll be right back.”

Minho moves past you towards the door, scratching your head a few times as he passes by. You make no move to fix your hair after he leaves.

Slowly, you take another bite of the roll, eyes spacing out watching the parade.

Inside your chest, you can feel your heart stutter and swell, heat rising to your cheeks and turning your ears red. He’s really doing so much for you, isn’t he?

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“Y/N! Come on out, Chan and Jisung are here and Jeongin needs help with the mashed potatoes!” Minho calls down the hall.

Like a kid on Christmas, you peel down the hall, adjusting the earring you’re wearing.

You’re in a black turtleneck tucked into a cute light brown pencil skirt with black tights and fuzzy socks. The most typical Thanksgiving outfit.

Your favorite jewelry adorning your body.

The four boys turn around and greet you happily. Each of them in their own fuzzy sweaters and comfy pants.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” They all say to you in unison.

“Ah, happy Thanksgiving!” You cheer back and wrap Jisung and Chan into a tight hug since they were the closest. “Thank you so much for this!”

Both of them wrap an arm around you with giddy smiles. “It was all Minho’s idea,” says Chan. “If you wanna thank anyone, thank him.”

“Or you could help, instead.” Minho teases from behind the kitchen counter, sliding over a can of cranberry sauce.

“Oh my god!” You squeal and come around to grab it. “Where did you find this? I didn’t think any stores in Korea sold this!”

Minho hums happily and stirs a pot on the stove. “There’s an American store a few blocks away. It’s where I got most of the groceries for today.”

A timer beeps at the same time the door swings open.

“Hot bird coming through!” Felix calls into the room. “I have a turkey too!”

Everyone gives Felix a pity laugh as briskly walks towards the kitchen and places the cooked turkey onto the counter. The smell that wafts through the house is heavenly.

Jisung hands you a glass of sangria with a wink. You clink glasses and take a small sip.

Changbin walks through the door after Felix, holding a stack of about three pies in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Happy Thanksgiving!” he calls inside as he kicks his shoes off.

Everyone responds with the same greeting.

“Minho, where do you want desserts?”

“Just put them on the side by the main table for now!”

There’s more hustle and bustle next to you while Jisung attempts to use the can opener for the cranberry sauce.

“Y/N, could you help me? I don’t think I’ve ever made mashed potatoes before…” Jeongin trails off in front of a pot of boiled potatoes.

You beam at him and skip over to his side. “I absolutely can, it’s a lot easier than you think!”

Chan walks over to the living area with the couches.

“What do you usually have on the TV at home?” he calls in to you.

You’re dumping all of the potatoes into a mixing bowl while you answer him. “Typically, my dad commandeers the TV and has football playing all day, but I really don’t want to watch old football reruns.”

Jeongin watches over your shoulder as you shake the bowl to settle the potatoes. “Could you grab the butter and milk from the fridge?” You ask him and he nods and walks off.

Seungmin comes in with Hyunjin, both of them holding trays of food.

You greet the two of them happily.

While Jeongin is gathering the ingredients from the fridge, you take a moment to look around at all of the boys in your apartment.

They must have looked up ‘What to wear to Thanksgiving’; each of them is in a sweater and dress pants. Some of them have turtlenecks underneath the sweater, some don’t, but they all look like the same font as one another.

“What can I do to help?” Seungmin asks, him and Hyunjin further crowding the kitchen.

“Go set the table with Hyunjin.” Minho points to the long dining room table, shooing them out of the already small space. Plates, napkins, forks, knives, glasses– everything you can think of, is placed on the corner of the table in stacks and piles.

“I’ll help too!” Felix chirps and makes his way over with the two men.

“Y/N!” Changbin calls your attention. Both him and Chan have beer bottles in their hands, bodies facing the TV. The two of them look like dads with the way they’re standing. “What about a Christmas movie? Is that allowed on Thanksgiving?”

Jeongin plops the milk and butter on the counter next to you.

You call back into the living room. “Yeah, that’s fine! But make it a good one– a classic! Oh! What about Christmas Vacation? That’s my favorite!”

“I’ll find it, don’t worry!” Chan responds.

Another timer beeps, Minho opens the oven and pulls out a tray full of fresh rolls. Jisung finally wrestles the can of cranberry sauce open.

Your heart grows three sizes.

“Ten more minutes on the Pineapple Bake.” Minho says to himself but you hear it.

Your head snaps around so fast it might tumble off your shoulders. “Pineapple Bake? You made Pineapple Bake?”

A flush crawls up Minho’s neck to his ears when he turns and meets your sparkly eyes.

“You had mentioned it…” he trails off and finds something else on the counter to fidget with.

“How did you get the recipe?”

“Ah, well,” he rubs the back of his neck nervously. “I have your mother’s number from when you first moved in and all.”

“You texted my mom?”

“Is that alright?”

The hustle and bustle of the seven other bodies around your apartment fades into the background. Even with Jeongin standing directly next to you, he seems to disappear.

“You texted my mom and asked for her Pineapple Bake recipe?” You choke out again, your eyebrows raising, lips parting in an emotionally shocked expression.

Minho visibly gets a bit more nervous at your repeated question. His jaw clenches and he plays with the tie of the apron. “Did I overstep?”

Without any warning, you cross the few steps of the kitchen towards him and throw your arms around your roommate, burying your face into his shoulder. Small tears of joy well in the corners of your eyes, throat constricting with so many emotions.

After a moment of hesitation, Minho wraps his arms around you and rests his cheek on top of your hair.

“Thank you, Minho,” you whisper to him, squeezing him even tighter.

Minho’s shoulders visibly react from your hug, relaxing from the tension of the past few moments.

He smells like the holidays, the softness of his sweater is so comforting against your cheek. You just want to bury your nose in it and drown in the scent.

“This means so much to me.” Your words are so sincere, he could cry from hearing them. His arms tighten around you, eyes closing to relish in your hold.

He basks in it. Despite a third timer screaming in his ear, he continues to hold you like if he let go, you would disappear forever.

Having you in his arms like this has always been the equivalent of drinking warm tea before bed. It sends a wave of comfort and safety through his entire being.

The timer continues to beep.

“You can thank me after you eat.”

You giggle, any sadness he’s ever felt disappears for a split second.

Hyunjin calls into this kitchen. “Can you please turn that thing off before I go insane?”

Minho sighs, the air blowing into your hair. He keeps you close for a few more heartbeats before letting go.

“It’s time for dinner anyway.”

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Everyone was quiet, the TV still playing Christmas movies in the background. The streaming service that Chan had put on had autoplayed movie after movie while you ate dinner and then dessert.

The last surprise Minho had for you was that he also had asked your mother for her Pecan Pie recipe two nights ago.

Everything about today left you floored and speechless. Your heart has never felt this full in your life.

All eight of them sat around the table looking uncomfortably full. The table that was once filled with every side dish known to Thanksgiving enjoyers, every dessert you could dream of, was now littered with empty dishes.

“We should just be thankful for being together. I think that’s what they mean by Thanksgiving, Charlie Brown.” Marcie’s animated voice rings through the apartment.

Again, your throat tightens up with so many happy emotions, you clench your jaw to keep them down.

From directly next to you, Minho must’ve noticed your expression, his hand reaching under the table and resting on your knee, squeezing it once to comfort you.

You look over at him.

His heart catches in his chest.

There’s that sparkle in your eyes. The one that disappeared two nights ago, he got it back. His entire face softens as he stares at you as if you hung the moon and vice versa.

“I need a nap,” Felix groans from his chair.

You hum and look over at him. He’s slumped in his seat, head back, eyes closed.

“That’s the best part of Thanksgiving, sleeping with a full stomach.” You tell him.

“Full is an understatement.” Jeongin adds.

“I think I found a new favorite holiday…” Changbin trails off.

“Ditto,” adds Chan.

“Yeah? Well maybe we can have a Friendsgiving next year and do it all over again.” You tell the table.

Minho groans. “I’ll need more help next time, then!”

Everyone grunts in agreement.

You reach under the table and take a hold of Minho’s hand still on your leg. Your fingers wind together and you beam at him again with that dazzling smile.

“I would do anything to do this again.”

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“I still can’t believe they took that many leftovers,” Minho mutters, dipping the sponge in the sink.

“I can’t believe we had that many leftovers.” You dry a dish with the towel and place it on the other clean ones.

The exhaustion from eating is still heavy in your bones; but both you and Minho decided it was better to get all the washing out of the way so that you could just relax for the rest of the night.

It felt like you’ve been washing dishes for hours.

Soft twinkling of Christmas music plays through the speakers of the TV from the movie.

“Minho?” You ask suddenly, your voice is a bit weak and unconfident.

He looks over at you with his undivided attention, one eyebrow raised.

“There’s one more Thanksgiving tradition I didn’t tell you about.”

His eyebrows furrow more and he puts the dish down in the sink full of sudsy water. “What is it?”

Smiling, you put the towel down.

“Will you dance to Christmas music with me? To ring in the Holiday Season.”

Minho’s taken aback for a moment, he laughs– almost in disbelief. “Really?”

You bite your lip nervously, nodding once.

With a playful smile, he grabs the towel and dries his hands. “You want to dance? We can dance, Y/N.”

Squealing, you happily skip to the living room. “Alexa, play Christmas music!” You call out and she immediately begins to play music at the perfect volume.

Frank Sinatra’s ‘I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm’ plays through the speaker. The happy saxophones and trumpets blare and your spirits lift even more than you thought they could.

You bounce on your heels to the beat a few times, swaying with the rhythm in a silly way.

When you turn around, you see Minho stepping towards you to the beat. One of the happiest looks ever on his face. His hair still slightly styled from this morning, just a bit more relaxed as the day went on.

His sweater is so cozy with a black turtleneck underneath, heather gray dress pants on the bottom. Lee Minho looks like the Holidays wrapped up in a warm, cable knit package, and he’s currently dancing towards you.

Once he is up on you, he takes your one hand and places the other on your waist. Both of you look like absolute goof balls, swaying and bobbing to the rhythm of Frank Sinatra in your living room.

The scent of Thanksgiving dinner still hangs in the air; the warmth from the ovens and stove hasn’t faded one bit.

Minho leads you all around the living room in a beautifully clumsy dance. The smiles on your faces never drop, even for a moment. They only grow with each giggle passed from one to another.

His eyes stay locked with yours the entire time. Nothing could interrupt your moment,

You mouth the lyrics to him; it’s English, so he’s not really able to keep up as much. But the emotion is there. And just the idea that you’re singing to him makes his heart soar.

“What do I care how much it may storm,” you sing, “I’ve got my love to keep me warm.”

Minho spins you around, you squeal with happiness with your arm above your head. He brings you back in and grabs your waist with both hands, lifting you into the air and twirling more as the music swells. You place both of your hands on his shoulders for balance.

He gently places you back on the ground, the song ending and fading into the next one.

Michael Buble’s ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’ follows it up. The rhythm of the song slows down the energy in the room dramatically.

Neither you nor Minho let go of one another. Instead of backing away, the two of you step even closer. Your arms wind around his neck, his hands interlock on your lower back.

Your eyes look all around his perfect face, meanwhile his stay locked on your eyes. He’s so enchanted by you, it feels like you placed him under some sort of spell.

If he could, Minho would do this entire day over and over again until he died, just to see this beautiful look in your eye each time, to hear your glee filled laughter after each surprise.

Instead of moving around the room, the two of you simply sway side to side in time with the beat of the song. Minho spins the two of you very slowly in place.

A beautiful, festive, Christmas bubble begins forming around the two of you.

“I cannot even begin to tell you how much today meant to me, Minho.” You break the silence between the two of you.

He chuckles. “I’m glad I was able to do it for you, Y/N. I don’t think I’ve ever run to the store that fast in my life.”

Mirroring him, you laugh softly. “I can only imagine what you looked like trying to get everything together.”

He moves his head side to side. “I had a lot of help.”

You shake your head. “This was quite possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“You deserve it.”

Another laugh from you. He just watches you. He watches each emotion cross your face with such admiration, with such a fond, sweet gaze, it could rot your teeth.

Piano keys tinkle in the music. Michael Buble’s smooth voice wrapping around your private bubble.

“I am endlessly thankful for you, Lee Minho.”

His gaze softens even more.

You’re his soft spot. You– beautiful, wonderful, joyous you– are Lee Minho’s weak point.

Slowly, the swaying to the song begins to slow down as you both get lost within one another. Everything about the scene was like a movie, down to the storm swelling outside your window.

Minho’s eyes flicker down to your lips for a split second.

You grin. His heart thuds in his chest.

“I don’t suppose you got any mistletoe?” you ask cheekily.

His eyes widen for a second, but he quickly catches on to your joke. “That wasn’t on any of the Thanksgiving websites I found.”

“Oh well.”

Without another word, and with the goofiest of grins on both of your faces, you pull Minho in for a kiss.

His entire world stops when his lips meet yours, everything pauses and the only thing that exists is you. Nothing else matters except for the girl in his arms.

The world could end right now and he would be the happiest man on Earth.

Both of his arms tighten around you, one hand comes up to cup your cheek, cradling it softly.

Your arms around his neck bring him even closer to you.

His kiss is everything, it’s sugar cookies rising in the oven, it’s a sunrise on the beach, it’s waking up to the smell of cinnamon rolls on Thanksgiving– everything.

It’s everything you’ve always needed. He is everything you’ve always needed.

Eventually, the two of you pull away from one another, but not without a last few stolen pecks on the other’s lips.

The kisses end up short, you both keep smiling and pulling away, too happy to continue.

Minho keeps his eyes closed, his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “I think I have a new favorite holiday.” Another peck to your lips.

You giggle and kiss him again and again, “Me too, Lee Minho.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #lee know x reader #lee minho x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know drabble #lee minho x y/n #lee know reader insert #lee know fanfic #lee know is the definition of If He Wanted To He Would #stray kids x y/n #skz x y/n

529 notes · View notes

sunraies · 2 years ago

Note

hiiii can u do rafe x reader? she is really shy and a very nice person and maybe she is jj twin and one day she is just browsing on a second habd bookstore cause obvi she cant afford to buy books all the time and rafe sees her there cause he took weezy there and he buys the books that she looked more interested at and later he approaches her and jj all protective

idk where i want it to go🤣 u can be tyr judge

thank uuuu

This is so cute! I hope this does the request justice. x

Second-Hand Books

Rafe Cameron x Pogue!Reader

Warnings - Fluff, protective JJ, Reader is JJ's sister, but no description given. Hints of Luke being a shit dad.

As requested above

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

You loved the second-hand bookstore in Kildare. It sometimes felt like a second home. Its name and sign was by no means magical "Secondhand Books" written in cursive golden letters, but the atmosphere was.

The old converted shop was a treasure trove of wonders, tucked away in a little side alley. It smelt like an old library with its shelves filled with countless stories and adventures waiting to be picked up and read. There were plants dotted all around, and even ivy tangled amongst the fairy lights on the ceiling.

Mixed matched lamps, tables, and plush armchairs were scattered around. If you caught Ms. Peggy, on a good day, she would let you sit and read until closing. The old lady enjoyed your company, often making you tea and giving you cookies.

You returned the favour by helping clean, unbox shipments, and take orders. You never accepted a penny from her, even if it was desperately needed it.

"Wheeze, why are we here?" You knew that voice as it carried through the aisles. "The store up the road has brand new books, not these dusty, old shit ones."

"They aren't dusty. Some are old. But none are shit." the youngest Cameron's voice protested. "I like it here. Plus, there is no chance of finding first editions of classics in that one"

"Just look online." Rafe sighed as you peaked around the corner.

He stood close to the door, which bell had jingled as they entered, with his hands stuffed in his shorts pockets. The backwards baseball cup gave him a boyish charm as his sunglasses were tucked into the collar of his pink tee.

He looked a little out of place, but only by his uninterested expression. Rafe Cameron would most likely fit in anywhere if he wasn't jugding his surroundings.

Wheezie, on the other hand, had a smile so bright as she practically skipped into the store. "There is no fun in that. You can't smell the books"

"You're a weird kid, Wheeze." Rafe shook his head, but you caught the small smile as he watched his baby sister happily search the shelves.

"Shut up and help look for Little Women." Wheezie called over her shoulder. "Make sure it's first edition"

You were shocked as Rafe chuckled and held up his hands before helping Wheezie look. He checked the higher shelves that she was unable to reach.

One problem with Ms. Peggy was her store had no order to it. You had offered to organise and arrange in alphabetical order, but she claimed it took away the magic of finding the perfect book.

"Here." You smiled as you approached Wheezie. Rafe had given up looking about 20 minutes ago and was slumped in an armchair, scrolling on his phone. "It's not a first edition, but the cover is beautiful."

"Oh. It's beautiful!" Wheeze smiled, taking the book and admiring the cover. "It's ok, I just said that, so it would give me more time in here." she whispered, making you laugh.

Your laugh caught Rafe’s attention as he quickly glanced up from his phone. His eyes looked you up and down.

Damn, how did you look so beautiful. He was sure he'd seen the crop top you were wearing on Kie before, but it looked so much better on you. He loved the way your shorts hugged your ass and waist. He even smiled a little at the shell anklet at the top of your greyish white Converse.

"You find it?" He asked, having shook the thoughts from his mind and tucking his phone into his back pocket.

"Yeah, Miss Maybank helped me," Wheezie smiled, remembering her manners, even if you were the same age as Sarah. "But I wanna look around some more."

Rafe sighed and rolled his eyes at her pleading look. "Alright, fine. One hour, and then we gotta go."

As Wheezie bounced around the store, he flopped back into the chair, even picking up a book from the table and glancing at it.

What you didn't realise was that as you looked away, he would glance over the top of the book every so often and watched as you moved around the store. He noticed that you would read the back of a book, flick to the first page before smiling and tucking under your arm if you like it.

"Just the one, Ms Peg." You smiled at the old lady behind the till before digging into your old, tattered, looking tote bag and pulling out your purse.

"I can put the others to the side for you, dear." She offered as you had walked up to the till with a pile of five.

"It's ok. If they are gone by next week, then it wasn't meant to be." You said as handed her the cash.

You didn't know why you even admitted to buying all five as you should have known your card would bounce. Maybe this time, you had just been hoping that Luke, your father, hadn't run up the credit bill.

You wished a goodbye to Wheezie as she walked up the counter with a pile of books and even gave Rafe a smile and wave as you left the store.

*-*-*-*

The sound of a dirt bike coming up the road broke you out of the world you were emersied in. You had been reading your new book on the creaky old porch swing on the porch outside. Enjoying the evening coolish before sunset.

At first, you thought it was JJ coming home, but then you realised he'd come home an hour ago with John B and Pope. You could hear them laughing in the house.

"JJ?!" You called into the window open as you stood up, placing your book on your blanket. "Are you guys expecting anyone?"

You were a little nervous as unplanned visits from people not in the Twinkie or Kie's car normally meant your father or JJ had caused trouble.

The rider stopped a few feet away, and your eyes widened in shock as Rafe Cameron removed his helmet. His hair tousled from the helmet and his cheeks little pink.

"Rafe?" You frowned and hugged your hoodie around your body as you hid your hands in your sleeves.

He looked a little unsure of himself as he walked over to you, a cotton tote bag in his hand. "These are for you." He held the bag out to you as he glanced around, not looking at you directly.

You took the bag, completely confused before gasping as you looked inside. It was the books you had to leave at the store.

Before you even had a chance to question it or say thank you, the screen door burst open as JJ came flying out "What the fuck are you doing here, Kook?"

You tried to pull him back as he got right in Rafe’s face "Jayj. Stop"

JJ looked between you and Rafe "What the fuck did he say to you?" He asked you before turning to Rafe again "What'd you say?"

"What's it to you, Pogue" Rafe looked like he was trying to hold back his anger but with JJ right in his personal space it was hard.

"Stay away from my sister, pretty boy" JJ pushed Rafe a little "Get the fuck outta here"

John B and Pope appeared in the doorway but before they could back up JJ, you got between the two that were squaring up to each other.

You stood with your back to Rafe as you spoke to JJ but could feel him breathing heavily behind you.

"Jayj. Go back inside" You sighed and got annoyed as he stared at Rafe over your head "JJ, go the fuck back inside. I will call if I need you"

It took you actually pushing JJ a little for him to snap out of it. He looked at you before nodding "He tries anything. We beat him. He's on our terf now"

You rolled your eyes "I'm sure, he won't. But sure, you boys can protect your territory if needed"

You knew Rafe was taking a risk being in The Cut, especially after the stunt he pulled the other week. You knew why the boys were bitter as you hadn't been too happy either after finding out he'd jumped Pope at the Country Club.

You watched JJ walk backwards and stand on the porch with the others. You sighed before turning to face Rafe.

"I can't take these." You held the bag out to him, but he stook his head.

"They're yours," He said, rubbing the neck of his neck. He seemed nervous and not because of the boys glaring at him from the porch. "Bin them, read them, do whatever you want with them."

You looked in the bag again before smiling. "Thank you, Rafe." You smiled at him.

"I better go." He sighed after nodding at your thanks. He looked like he wanted to say more but walked back to his bike

"Bye," JJ yelled. "Don't come back. The Cu- Ow!" You cut him off as you shoved into his shoulder

"You guys are fucking unbelievable" You muttered walking into the house, leaving them looking offerened at each other.

As you sat on your bed, you pulled the books out of the bag before finding a note, tucked into one of them. Your heart fluttered as you read it.

'I would buy you all the books in the world, just to see that smile - R'

#rafe cameron #outer banks rafe #outerbanks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fanfiction #outerbanks fic #rafe x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron fic

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waywardrose · 6 months ago

Text

SIDETRACKED

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated: teen | word-count: 900

for @theold-ultraviolence

mechanic!eddie, gn!reader, slice of domestic life, complete fluff

Eddie's late getting home. You turn the oven off, yet leave the casserole in to keep it warm. He's never late. He always clocks out at six and is home within fifteen minutes. According to the clock above the sink, it's nearly 6:45. Something is wrong. You eye the phone, debating if you should call the garage. Maybe something last-minute happened.

Like an emergency tow. Or a quick flat-tire fix. Or a gaggle of geese had waddled into one of the bays — again.

He'd called you that first time, laughing and insisting you had to see it. When you'd pulled up, geese were honking and flapping and pooping all over the garage floor. A giggling Eddie crouched behind a station wagon while Wayne rubbed at the seat of his coveralls and Jeff waved a dirty rag at a couple of unimpressed geese. You saved the day by turning on the hose and threatening the gaggle with cold water.

Eddie proclaimed you their knight in shining armor and the slayer of winged beasts. You'd kissed him and told him to bring home dinner. He'd been home at 6:30 with a pizza and a six-pack of Miller.

You walk to the front window and check the street. The old lady down the road sweeps her front porch. Across the way, two kids' bikes lie tangled on the stoop.

Fuck this.

You march to the kitchen phone and dial the garage. The line rings and rings and rings. Wayne and Jeff must've already left for the day. With a sigh, you hang up. If they'd left, Eddie had as well.

For a distraction, you pull the casserole out of the oven. One edge is darker than the others because of the extra cooking time. You pick off the dark bits, flinging them into the sink for later clean-up, and cover the dish in foil to steam it.

That took a whopping five minutes. It's now almost 7:00.

Maybe there'd been an accident. Hopefully, not one Eddie had been in. He had enough trauma for one lifetime. Maybe it's road construction, though you hadn't heard about any…

The front door bangs open. You spin, brandishing the serving spoon. Eddie stands in the doorway, boots grubby and top of his overalls knotted around his lean waist. He raises a stained hand, the other hidden behind his back.

"Where the hell have you been?" you demand as you shake the spoon at him.

"Sorry." He winces and lowers his hand. "I know I should've called."

"Damn straight, you should've called."

"I left work a little late. And, uh, well… I got sidetracked."

"Sidetracked."

That isn't anything new with Eddie. He's a menace when it comes to cleaning alone. He'd volunteer to dust and neaten the living room while you went grocery shopping. When everything was in piles, he'd discover something cool, or something he'd forgotten, and focus on that for the rest of the afternoon. You'd come home to a bigger mess more than once.

He holds out his hand for the spoon.

"Trade ya."

You frown.

"What?" you ask, though you offer the spoon.

His calluses rasp over your skin as he takes it. He sweeps his other hand from behind his back to present a bouquet of orange ditch lilies. He'd used one of his hair-ties to keep the long stems together.

A tightness you hadn't been aware of before uncoils in your chest. Your eyes prickle with unexpected tears.

You whisper, "They're beautiful," and rub a silky petal tip between two fingers.

His voice is rough as he says, "I didn't mean to scare you."

You shake your head and give him a smile.

Silly boy. Sweet, silly boy — the one you fell in love with years ago.

He spreads his arms with a self-deprecating grin and shrug. As if to say he knows he's beyond hope, or useless, or incompetent.

You scoff. "Oh, shut up."

You wrap your arms around him. His old Metallica t-shirt smells like sweat and fresh air. He hugs you tight. The lilies' petals caress your neck, making you shiver.

You pull back enough to look into his warm eyes.

"Thank you for the flowers."

He sways you a little.

"Next time, I'll get you roses."

"Oh? Going to ruin some poor lady's garden?"

"For you? Of course."

You thump your palm on his waist with a delighted laugh. He grins roguishly and moves in to kiss you. Your lips meet, and it's still a spark. You've been burning for him since that first date, that first kiss. Your whole body heats at his touch.

The serving spoon clunks on the floor. His hand presses at your lower back. His lips are as soft as petals and hot like embers. He kisses you harder, deeper. His clever tongue slides against yours.

Urgency like a fever has you pulling him farther into the house. He kicks the front door closed, a grin against your lips. You take the bouquet from him and place it by the sink.

Dinner can wait.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #waywardrose writes

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number-onekidqueen · 9 months ago

Text

𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐝

Part Two Part One

Luke Castellan x Apollo!fem!reader

warnings: character death, depression, lots of crying.

Summary: you’re still feeling awkward about what happened that night with Luke. And then you get the news that changes everything.

Days passed, days since your ki- hang out with Luke.

Hang out? Who were you kidding? It was clear it wasn’t him.

But you’d laid yourself bare to him, been about to confess all your feelings and he had just shut you down and run away.

Of course you didn’t wanna talk about it in the morning.

The tragedy was he did.

And just when you were feeling better, and your conversations weren’t so awkward, fate tossed you to the ground again, as it often did. You still didn’t really believe it.

Cecilia, your cabin counsellor, your beloved older sister had died on the road to college. It seemed impossible.

Of course, they’d had a brief ceremony, a burning of a golden yellow shroud weaved with her own fingers. And then they’d appointed you as cabin counsellor, announced a bunch of new kids had arrived and everyone forgot.

It made you sick to think people would forget Cecilia. That the three Apollo kids your cabin had greeted would grow up without her and never know of her presence.

Obviously, your cabin was upset, but they didn’t make it so as Aphrodite always did. The sun keeps shining, and Apollo kids kept going, laughing, training, even if muffled sobs could be heard the first few nights. They never talked of her, and after the first week, she was a sad little scar that had scabbed.

It still hurt a little, but the memory was what hurt the most.

Except for you. She was still a mortal, lethal wound for you. And it was getting harder and harder to keep your composure and pretend everything was okay.

Shortly, it all cracked and spilled out from you. It hadn’t been anyone’s fault really. Chiron was just trying to be supportive to little Will, but when he praised enthusiastically that he was the best archer he’d scene for 300 years, tears seemed to burst from you.

Because that had been Cecilia’s title. She had been the best archer, training all the little ones supportively and making people gasp with the precision of her shots.

It seemed Chiron had already forgotten. Everyone had.

It was like losing her all over again.

No one saw the little sun cracking on the archery field. They just noticed you disappearing behind some clouds.

You didn’t pay attention to the stares and whiplash glances of some, as you ran back to your cabin with tears streaming, and your heart in your throat.

Didn’t notice as a tall brunette boy on the sword plains spotted you, dropped his sword immediately and with a shouted apology behind him began to sprint after you.

Your bed was warm and comforting, the covers swaddled around your shoulders in a safe cocoon as you sobbed your heart and soul onto your pillow.

Cecelia was dead. Dead. This is what you would deal with every day for the rest of your life, she was dead and she would be replaced and forgotten and no one would even know her and-

The door creaked open and immediately you stilled, pretending to be asleep.

“Y/N?” It was Luke.

Not the timing, you thought to yourself miserably.

“Y-yeah,” you tried for a sleepy yawn, but it came out cracked and pained. Ugh.

“You ok?” He asked quietly, and you heard his footsteps approach.

“Yeah, yeah. Just woke up.” But your voice was hollow and very much awake.

He sat softly at the edge of your bed, and for a while you were both still. Only your breath was audible. Then, tentatively and slowly, you began to feel his warm fingers slide through your hair. It was so comforting and lovely that you had to swallow down the wave of tears that surfaced.

“It’s okay, you know,” he murmured, your hair in glorious tangles around his knuckles, “to cry. You don’t have to pretend. Especially for me.”

“Yeah, I know,” you whispered back, “it’s just-“ you hesitated.

I love you.

I don’t want to burden you with all my stupid problems.

“You probably don’t want to talk about this to anyone, right? Me included.” He guessed, and he began to retract his fingers and you felt like screaming at how utterly wrong he was. “I’m sorry, I should give you space.”

“No, you don’t have to. You can stay here.” You tried not to beg, but you were inches from clinging onto him to stop his departure. He understood.

“Would you like me to stay?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Then here I’m staying. In your bed.” He reassured comfortingly, “I mean, on.”

His flustered stuttering made you smile weakly and turn to face him.

His whole face softened, lost all his fluster and stress when your eyes met, but you were too busy setting your head into his lap so you faced up at him to notice.

He traced your tear tracks, brushing any remaining ones away with his thumbs.

“I know the pain feels awful,” he said suddenly, “but if you ever feel bad, like you can’t breathe or you’re about to burst, don’t keep it in y/n, come find me. I’m always here for you, always.”

“Thank you.” You said near inaudibly.

“I hate seeing you cry,” he confessed, his forehead crinkling, “or being sad. It just hurts me. But I love making you feel better, I’d do anything in the world to make you happy, I promise.”

“Thank you.” You said louder this time, your cheeks beginning to heat up.

It was a peaceful few seconds you gazed at each other, smiling. Then you closed your eyes, comforted.

You felt warm hands lift your body, and your eyes fluttered open. But it was just Luke lying down beside you and repositioning yourself on his chest.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “just figured we might be here for a while.”

His arms encircled you, and even in your drunken state of misery, your heart rate sped up. You turned your head slightly, so you could hide your bashful grin in the orange folds of his shirt. His chest was warm, comforting, and you could feel every deep breath he took.

“Sorry,” you murmured, facing up once more, “your shirt’s probably going to be all soggy after this.”

“I don’t mind a soggy shirt if it makes you happy.” He breathed, and your heart was bursting from the love that statement invoked when you saw his eyes flicker. Your eyes. Your mouth.

Could he really-

Surely not-

Eyes. Mouth.

The air was electric, as if Zeus himself was in the cabin. The space was getting tighter and smaller and everything was so close and dizzy and what in the gods before you knew it you were nose to nose and you could feel his warm breath and he was leaning down to kiss you against the pillow.

It might’ve been the best kiss you ever had. With salt on your tongue, and sweetness from his lips, the tastes of all your emotions were combined, giving way to the most passionate and fantastic kiss you’d ever had. Your head was pressed to the pillow, and he was moving above you, warm, soft and pouring his heart out to you, the gateway his lips. It seemed every single ‘I love you’ either of you had ever been too afraid to say was expressed strongly now, each drop of attraction and love and feeling was encapsulated between the movement of your lips.

“I’m sorry I didn’t stay,” he breathed, against your lips, when you finally pulled apart, both of you panting, “I didn’t want to do anything while you were drunk. But of course I wanted to. I wanted you. I have for so long.”

“It’s okay. I have too,” and you laughed, all those emotions and secrets finally free. You were so giddy with joy! But Luke remained tense, nervous for a reason you couldn’t determine. You calmed down, scared it was all about to come crashing down.

“It’s- it’s not just that, y/n,” he paused, sitting up further away, eyes still looking profoundly into yours, “I love you. I love you, all of you, and you should know that to me you’ve never been a burden, only a miracle to have been with.”

Your breath was caught in your throat, blown away by his confession. You were expecting he might’ve been crushing on you? But loving you? You’d never dared to consider that as an option. And you were beyond thrilled.

“Now would be a great time to say anything,” he laughed nervously, fingers brushing over your shoulders restlessly. You immediately felt awful for keeping him waiting.

“I love you too.” You blurted, letting silence ensue. “You make me so happy every time you make a joke or take care of the new unclaimed kids. I’m just in shock.”

And then the pair of you were laughing together, foreheads pressed together before you were tangled in an embrace, that led to another heated kiss on your bed.

You knew soon other campers would arrive to see two head counselors kissing, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care. In fact, while Luke’s like we’re on yours, you couldn’t seem to form any coherent thoughts at all.

In the back of your mind, you were still sobbing over Cecilia. Deeply, you knew you always would. Your heart would always be chipped in that way, the missing fragment forever in her fist as she wandered Elysium.

But you also knew how happy she would be to see you thriving, dating and loving Luke, a boy she had always suggested and approved of. She imagined her now, giggling in delight and grinning at what had transpired. And slowly, the pain began to lift.

Maybe a scar would be okay, as long as you loved and remembered it.

Most of all, you knew that for as long as you required a shoulder to make soggy, Luke would always be there to be your comfort person.

taglist:

@lifeonawhim

@sflame15-blog

@star611

I think this was all, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just comment or message me :)

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muzansfangs · 1 year ago

Text

Enjoy the silence.

Starring: Shinji Hirako x f!reader;

Format: one-shot;

Warnings: nsfw, fluff, slight somnophilia, oral sex (f!reader receiving), slight overstimulation, morning sex, enstablished relationship, Shinji’s piercing on his tongue is a warning itself.

Plot: you had convinced your boyfriend Shinji to accompany you to a concert. He loved music, but he loathed the band you supported. For the sake of you, he had let it slide, although he complained all the way back to your flat. The morning after, you woke up to an immense pleasure engulfing your nether regions, only to find out your boyfriend’s shit-eating grin giving you a sweet good morning.

Track: Enjoy the silence – Depeche Mode “All I ever wanted, all I ever needed is here in my arms. Words are very unnecessary, they can only do harm”.

MASTERLIST FOR THE EVENT.

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Some golden rays seeped through the curtains, lazily illuminating the bedroom with a soothing orange light and the comforting warmth of the sun raising up in the sky. It was early, right, and you were still peacefully sleeping into your bed with the white blankets tangled in your legs and your boyfriend’s head resting on your chest. The sound of the chirping birds outside your window woke him up, his heavy eyelids slowly opening to greet the new day ahead of him.

His head ached a little, the aftermath of the rock concert you had dragged him to still affecting him quite badly. Maybe he should have stayed sprawled on your sofa yesterday night. Still, he could not turn you down. Not after the puppy eyes you had given him to his first refusal to accompany you there.

He lifted himself up the elbows, eyes darting on your body and your delicate features. You were still sleeping, chest raising and falling rhythmically, lips parted as you navigated through the mysterious roads of dreamland.

You were so beautiful, so perfect for him, even if you literally drove him mad at times. If he closed his eyes, he could still see you dancing beside him, screaming at the top of your lungs all the lyrics of the band he loathed oh so much. Still, you were so happy and dashing, shining among thd dancing crowd, and he loved seeing you smile like that. Yet, he had to somehow get back at you. He could not resist and restraining himself was not an option.

Being into a relationship for quite a while had granted you the chance to explore each other limits. You had told him more than once in the past that you were not bothered by the idea of him initiating intimate activities, while you were asleep. You trusted him blindly and, being touched by the person that had saved your life countless times in past, felt right, no matter the circumstances.

Shinji sighed, crawling down your body and carefully grasping your left leg to make some more space for him to move during the act. As he switched his gaze from your sleepy face to your panties, he made sure to slip his slender fingers underneath the straps and slowly pulled the item down your legs. A goddess, you looked like a real goddess.

From that position, the former Captain of the Fifth Division could enjoy the way your chest raised and fell in your slow and steady breathing, admiring the gentle curves of your body in awe. His pierced tongue swept out of his mouth, as he was lost into thinking about the way the the metal sphere over his tongue would have soon stimulated your bundle of nerves.

“Here we go, love…” he whispered lowly, a shit-eating grin plastered over his face as he lowered his mouth down to your heat.

At first, you did not even seem that affected by the gentle licks of Shinji’s tongue. You were clearly still too tired for having danced all night long, singing and pestering your boyfriend with facts about the singer only a true fan could know, to wake up right away.

You should have probably clamped your mouth shut on your way back to your flat, but you were too euphoric not to comment on the event you had attended. Maybe, though, you just wanted to enjoy the pained face crossing your boyfriend’s sharp features, whenever you praised the band.

Now, as Shinji delicately gripped your thighs, half-lidded eyes scrutinizing your face in hunger, you could sense something stimulating your pearl deliciously. As you stirred in your sleep, you whined softly and your hips bucked, causing Shinji’s nose to unintentionally bump onto your clit.

“W-What… Shinji?” you whispered softly, eyes still closed as your mouth hung open in pleasure.

“Good morning, darling” the blonde man replied, his hot breath fanning your soaked cunt as he greeted you with his slightly high-pitched voice.

Oh, now you knew what was going to happen.

You sighed and smiled lazily, your hand reaching down to allow you to run your fingers through Shinji’s irregular bob. It was an affectionate sign for him to continue, because he knew you could never get enough of him and his own special way to give you oral.

“Ah, no. That’s not how things work. Your voice is so melodic, ya know? I enjoyed listening to you use your voice all night long yesterday! Use your words for me one more time. What is it that you want?” the man asked, a snarky smirk on his glistening lips, as he flicked his tongue teasingly over your most sensitive area.

Jolts of electricity made your body shake, as you gasped and bit onto your bottom lip in pleasure. He knew where to touch you, how to drive you insane and push your buttons.

“You’re mean…” you muttered, pouting down at him, as you finally opened your eyes and met his bright ones.

And, dear God, what a sight to wake up to.

“Blame it on the Hollow inside me…” he purred, biting the inside of your thigh softly and leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses down to your heat. His lips felt heavenly on you and the small moans falling from your lips were the unconfutable proof that you were loving his touch and that you craved more of it.

“Shinji, please. Baby, please, I can’t take it… Make me cum” you breathed out, making him wink at you and chuckle at the pathetic state you were in so early in the morning and he had not even involved his fingers yet.

“I got it, I got ya, baby… Now, let me treat that pussy right” he purred, not caring about punishing you anymore, as his lips started to suck at your aching clit passionately.

There was only one thing that mattered to him and it was not driving you crazy, or getting back at you. Shinji Hirako only cared about you, your needs and your love.

No matter how many times he had to follow you down roads he did not like, he would have endoured anything to see you happy. No matter what, no matter where.

AUTHOR NOTE.

Hello there! I’m sorry for being late with updates, but I have been so busy. However, I have completed another one-shot for my event. Yay, I feel at peace with myself. Why? Because it’s a smutty one and it’s officially kinktober! This is a little shorter than I had originally planned, but I guess it will suffice this time.

Likes, comments and re-posts are appeciated!

Until next,

x o x o

TAGS: @stygianoir @quinnies-blog @electronicwitchcollection

#shinji hirako x reader #shinji hirako #hirako shinji x reader #shinji x reader #shinji x y/n #bleach x female reader #bleach x reader #bleach x you #shinji hirako x you #hirako shinji

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morose-melodies · 2 years ago

Note

i love your genshin works :) i was hoping you could do separate headcanons on yandere capitano, pantalone, and pierro getting back their lover after she escaped. thank you sm

hide and seek | yandere! various! fatui harbingers

CAPITANO

he was surprised.

but he was disappointed with the house staff and fired them all.

there was a lingering thought at the back of his mind, "what did I do wrong?"

whatever it was he wanted to make it right.

he unacknowledged his safety just to find you and make sure you're safe.

once the initial surprise of you escaping faded, capitano was determined to find you.

saying that capitano was determined was an understatement - he was going to find you.

though it was dark out, he went looking for you, his mind full of worry.

you could freeze to death, get hurt, get mauled to death by wolves, or worse.

he set out, looking for you alone with only his horse, light, and a dull blade.

he couldn't allow himself to be overwhelmed with emotions at a time like this. he needed to find you. he needed to know that you were safe before his emotions got the best of him.

and then he saw you.

dress muddy, hair tangled, and limping.

you didn't seem to hear him coming, so he stopped his horse and trailed behind you.

until he got close enough to grab you.

...

"no!" was all you managed to scream as a string pair of arms wrapped around you and lifted you from the ground.

"what made you come out here, (y/n)? what caused you to leave me?" you were tense as capitano carried you back to his horse.

"I want to go home! please- let me go!" you cried, legs kicking around ceaselessly.

"i cannot let you go home. i'd miss you far too much," capitano's voice lowered as he adjusted you onto the horse before also getting on.

his arm remained tight around you, as he said, "ive tried my absolute hardest to satisfy you. tell me, (y/n), what have i done wrong?"

PANTALONE

honestly, he wasn't too worried.

but he sure did miss you.

he put GPS in your jewlrey ahead of time, in case this happened.

he would ask soldiers to go out and find you.

and be a little more strict on you after you were home.

coming into your bedroom to see you gone was... upsetting to him.

he provided for you, gave you a house to live in, and loved you, and you left?

you are unappreciative, and that upset him.

not only did you leave the room a mess, but you also left with all the jewelry he had bought for you.

silly you.

you can't have your cake and eat it too.

so he sent out three fatui soldiers to retrieve you, seeing that you were just down the road all thanks to the GPS in one of the necklaces he gave you.

he waited patiently, knowing you'd be back within his reach soon enough.

...

"don't you ever," pantalone pulled you into your room, hugging you, squeezing you in his arms, hard, "try to leave me again. do you know how worried i was for you?"

you refused to reply, your eyes narrowed and face in a permanent pout.

"no, don't look at me like that, this," he pointed at your arm, which was brushed and red, "didn't have to happen if you hadn't tried to fight the soldiers when they came for you."

all you could do was as pantalone pulled you into bed with him, hugging you harder and tighter as he whispered to you about how much he loved you and missed you.

PIERRO

he was disappointed.

very, very disappointed.

he couldn't understand why you kept trying to leave him.

your persistence to leave was annoying him.

though he says he's given you too many chances and he won't give you anymore, he continues to give you more chances.

it had been less than five minutes since you escaped, and pierro had already sent soldiers looking for you.

shamefully, the guards weren't able to stop you from escaping, pierro sighed. It was disappointing. he'd have to get new, more useful guards to watch after you.

and then finally, the doors to his office opened, and you walked in, a soldier following closely behind you.

"(y/n), sit down and you can leave," pierro watched as you sat down and as the soldier left.

"what were you thinking? did you truly believe you'd get away from me?" pierro questioned, watching as you uncomfortably avoided his gaze.

"I'm sorry, lord harbinger. please forgive me."

"no. i cannot forgive so easily this time. how many times have you tried to leave me (y/n)?"

"six times."

"when will you give up, (y/n), why are you so hellbent on leaving me? tell me why."

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again, I promise. I really won't."

pierro smiled, as he stood up and walked overto you before wrapping his arms around you, "i believe (y/n) and let you with a gentle warning one last time."

#yandere x reader #yandere genshin impact #yandere #yandere scenarios #capitano x reader #capitano #yandere capitano #yandere capitano x reader #yandere pantalone x reader #yandere pantalone #pantalone #pantalone x reader #pierro #pierro x reader #yandere pierro x reader #yandere pierro #yandere fatui harbingers

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whispangleblogger · 1 year ago

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If you haven't yet, hop over and check out my Friend Ava's Fan Comic, Tangle and Whisper new Roads ! :>

"Tangle & Whisper: New Roads" Issue #1 Animated Cover!

With Issue 2 coming soon, here's a treat for all our patient fans! We showed this off at our panel at #SonicRevolution and I love how great this turned out! I'm just as excited as everyone else and hope you all will enjoy issue 2!!!

Original Cover by: https://twitter.com/_Karl0_

Animation & Music by: https://twitter.com/Michael_States

#Amazing animation !#I love the creepy vibes #it looks so smooth #Tangle and Whisper New Roads #Whisper the Wolf #Tangle the Lemur

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fandomnerd9602 · 10 months ago

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Rusty Compass

Jack Reacher x Sibling!Reader

The neon sign of the Rusty Compass bar cast a jaundiced glow across Jack Reacher's face. He nursed a beer – his third, probably, judging by the empty bottles lining the counter. Rain splattered against the window, washing away the neon in blurry streaks. Not a bad night for a ghost town, Reacher thought, swirling the last drops of his beer.

Then, the bell above the door jangled. A gust of wind swept in, carrying with it the scent of wet asphalt and teenage angst. A skinny figure stood silhouetted in the doorway, blinking against the sudden brightness. Reacher squinted, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"You lost, kid?" he rumbled, his voice as gruff as his military background.

The figure stepped into the light, revealing a mop of rain-soaked hair and wide, eyes that seemed to hold the weight of the world. It was a young kid , barely sixteen, face pale and drawn. Yet there was a stubborn echo of Reacher's own face in there too.

"Are you Jack Reacher?" the person asked, with a voice barely a whisper.

Reacher raised an eyebrow, surprised by the question. He wasn't exactly in the habit of advertising himself. "Depends who's asking," he drawled, playing along.

The young adult took a shaky breath. "My name is Y/N. Y/N Reacher. I'm your sibling."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. Reacher had no siblings besides Joe, or so he thought. His past was a tangled mess, buried deep within him like a scar. This kid, with their haunted yet familiar eyes, was dredging up memories he'd spent years suppressing.

Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken questions. Rain hammered against the roof, a drumming accompaniment to the internal war raging within Reacher. Curiosity battled distrust, a tug-of-war played out in the depths of his gaze.

Finally, he sighed, the sound like a weary sigh of an old mountain. "Get yourself a lemonade, kid," he muttered, gesturing to the bartender. "Let's talk."

The next few hours were a blur of stolen glances and hesitant words. Y/N, it turned out, was the result of an indiscretion, a secret Reacher never knew existed. Y/N spoke of a childhood spent in shadows, a mother's love a fragile shield against a harsh world. They spoke of searching, of yearning for a connection that felt undeserved.

Reacher listened, the calluses on his soul softening with each story. He saw himself in Y/N’s eyes, the same hunger for belonging, the same wariness of trust. It was a mirror he couldn't ignore, a reflection of the man he could have been, should have been.

By the time the bar closed, a silent pact had been forged. Reacher wouldn't turn this scrawny kid away, wouldn't let them wander the same lonely road he once had. He wouldn't be the father the kid never had, but maybe, just maybe, he could be the sibling he never knew was needed.

They stepped out into the rain, the moon a pale smudge behind the thick clouds. The road ahead was still shrouded in mist, but it didn't look like an endless escape anymore. It looked like a shared journey, two Reachers, bound by blood and circumstance, carving their own path through the storm. And for the first time in years, Jack Reacher didn't feel alone.

The Rusty Compass faded into the darkness, leaving behind the echo of unspoken promises and the flicker of a fragile hope. The rain kept falling like a baptism, washing away the past and paving the way for the new. Jack Reacher, the lone wolf, had found his pack. And sometimes, that’s all the shelter you needed from the storm.

#jack reacher #reacher #reacher show #lee child #reacher x reader #jack reacher x reader #amazon prime #detective #sibling reader

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oceandolores · 2 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 14

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"You put your hands into your head, and then smile cover your heart,"

summary: Joel's paranoia is getting worse, and with the new dark truth you found out and the mysterious man...

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 14

masterlist!

previous | chapter 13

next | chapter 15

It’s been a month on the road now, slipping in and out of sleepy towns, worn-out motels, and weathered diners with Joel by your side. The two of you have made a life between highways and backroads, sharing the kind of intimacy that comes from being each other’s only constant in a world that’s always shifting. The hum of the car engine and the crackle of old country songs on the radio have become the soundtrack to your love, which only grows deeper with every mile.

You find beauty in the simplicity of it all—sharing a cup of coffee in a diner that smells of old leather and rain, Joel’s fingers brushing yours across the table as he sips from his mug. The road stretches out before you like a promise, endless and full of possibility, with the sun painting the sky in shades of pink and orange as it sinks behind the hills. Joel’s hand rests on your thigh as he drives, his touch a steady comfort in a world that feels anything but certain.

Every town you pass through becomes a canvas for your love. In every motel room with flickering lights, beneath the worn sheets that smell of something familiar and foreign all at once, you find each other again and again. There’s a certain wildness to it—making love in unfamiliar places, the thrill of knowing that it’s just the two of you against the world. Each touch feels more urgent, more meaningful, as if the act itself can solidify the bond between you, making it unbreakable.

It’s in these moments, tangled together in a bed far from home, that you feel the weight of your connection grow stronger. You’ve seen every side of Joel now—his vulnerability, his fears, his longing—and you know he’s seen the same in you. Your bodies move in sync, a language spoken without words, where every breath, every whisper, binds you closer together.

Joel’s lips find yours in the quiet moments between the thrill of the open road, his touch both gentle and possessive, like he can’t get enough of you. And you welcome it—every kiss, every whispered promise in the dark, grounding yourself in him as he grounds himself in you.

With each new town, each new night, it’s as if you’re carving out your own sanctuary, a place where nothing else matters but the two of you. It’s more than just physical; it’s the way you share the same pillow, the way his fingers trace patterns across your skin as you drift to sleep, the way he holds you after, like you’re the only thing tethering him to this world.

But after New Orleans, you begin to notice a change in Joel, like the shadows he once outran have caught up to him. The nights grow heavier, darker somehow. He doesn’t talk about it, but you feel it in the way he holds you tighter when you sleep, as if he's afraid of losing you to some invisible force lurking just outside the window. His nightmares come more frequently now, muttered words and restless movements pulling him deeper into some past torment you can’t reach.

You wake to find him sitting up in bed, his breath uneven, his brow furrowed in worry. His eyes dart toward the door, as though he’s expecting someone to burst in at any moment. You slide closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist, your cheek pressed to his back, trying to ground him in the present.

“Joel,” you whisper, voice soft and tender, “You're okay, I'm here with you, It's okay, honey, we're fine." you held him into your arms and give his temple reassuring kisses, just like he did to you when you used to had nightmares.

Joel never says much after, just holds onto you tighter, as if he’s afraid to let go. Sometimes he apologizes, his voice rough with guilt. Other times, he just buries his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. You always tell him the same thing: “It’s okay. We’re okay.”

But you know it’s not just the nightmares anymore. There’s something else. A shadow that follows him in the daylight, too, creeping in at the edges. Joel’s become more paranoid, glancing over his shoulder when you walk through unfamiliar towns, his body tense in a way that puts you on edge too. You notice how he lingers by the windows in your motel rooms, peeking through the blinds, his eyes scanning the parking lot like he’s expecting someone to be there.

“Joel, what’s wrong?” you ask one afternoon, after you catch him staring out at the empty street for far too long. But he just shakes his head, offering you a tight-lipped smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nothin’, baby. Just… keepin’ an eye out. Gotta be careful, that’s all.”

You don’t press, even though the unease in your chest only grows. You haven’t seen anyone following you—no suspicious figures lurking in the shadows, no strange cars parked outside the motels—but Joel’s fear feels contagious, spreading like a dark cloud over the freedom you thought you’d found together.

At night, when you’re tangled together in bed, you still dream of your father. His voice, sharp and condemning, echoing in your head. You wake up gasping for air, your heart racing, only to find Joel beside you, his presence an anchor. He strokes your hair, his voice low and soothing, but you can’t help but wonder if those old wounds will ever fully heal. If either of you can truly escape the past.

But now, the roles have reversed. It’s Joel who’s haunted. Joel who can’t escape the feeling that someone is coming for him. You try to comfort him the way he’s always comforted you, whispering reassurances into the quiet of the night, holding him close like you can keep the darkness at bay. But his worry clings to him like fog in the early morning, impossible to shake.

In the daylight, everything feels lighter. You’re back on the road, wind in your hair, Joel’s hand resting on yours as the miles slip by. But even then, you can see the flicker of something in his eyes—a wariness, a question that never leaves his mind. You watch him scan the rearview mirror more than usual, his fingers tightening around the steering wheel whenever a car lingers behind you for too long. And though you want to tell him it’s all in his head, you know better than to dismiss it. He’s been through too much to brush off his instincts.

So, you do the only thing you know how to do. You love him. In all the small ways. In all the quiet moments. You press kisses to his temple when he needs reassurance, you hold his hand a little tighter when the weight of his thoughts becomes too much to bear. You let him know, in every way you can, that you’re not going anywhere—that whatever is chasing him can’t touch you. Because it’s just the two of you, like it always has been, like it always will be.

One evening, as the sun dipped low and cast long shadows across the room, you stood at the doorway, watching Joel step out onto the motel balcony, his phone pressed to his ear. The gruffness in his voice softened when he spoke to his brother, Tommy. You could hear the low rumble of his conversation but couldn't make out the words.

You glanced at the soda cans on the small fridge beside the bed, all empty now. "Joel, I'm gonna run downstairs to grab some soda from the store. You want anything?" you asked, stepping toward him.

Joel glanced back at you, his brow furrowed slightly. "Alright, but don’t take too long, okay? And avoid talkin' to folks if you can," he warned, his protective nature slipping through in his voice. "Just get what you need and come right back."

You nod, offering a small smile to reassure him before slipping out the door. The motel’s hallway smells faintly of old carpet and dust, the sound of your shoes echoing in the quiet. As you make your way to the store downstairs, you can’t help but wonder what Joel’s talking about with Tommy. You know he misses them, misses Ellie. The weight of it is always there, just beneath the surface.

On the balcony, Joel exhales deeply, listening to Tommy talk about life back home. "It's good to hear your voice, man,"Joel says, running a hand through his hair. "How's Maria? Luke?"

Tommy’s voice on the other end is calm, steady. “They’re good. Luke’s growin’ so fast, it’s like he’s got a new trick every day. Maria’s been keepin’ busy with him, but she’s doin’ well. Misses you, though. We all do.”

Joel smiles faintly, though his thoughts are elsewhere. "That's good to hear," he says, pausing for a moment before his voice grows quieter. "How's uh...how's Ellie?"

There’s a silence on the other end of the line, the unspoken tension hanging heavy between the brothers. Joel’s heart clenches in his chest. He’s been running from that guilt, pushing it down, but it’s always there, clawing its way back up.

"She's good, Joel. Don't you worry about her," Tommy replies gently. "She's a strong kid, you know that."

Joel nods, though the guilt gnaws at him. “I know. I just…” He swallows, unsure of how to say it. “I shouldn’t have left her. I hate myself for it sometimes.”

“You did what you had to do,” Tommy assures him, but Joel’s not so sure. “She gets it. She just wants to know you’re safe. You’re happy.”

Joel forces a breath out, eyes flicking to the horizon. "You wanna talk to her? She's here actually," Tommy said to Joel.

“Tommy, no, wait—” Joel starts, but it’s too late. He hears Tommy call for Ellie in the background, his heart pounding in his chest. He hasn’t spoken to her since he left. Not directly. Not like this.

Ellie’s voice comes through the line, a mix of sarcasm and warmth masking her deeper emotions. “Well, well, if it isn’t my old man Finally found some time to call, huh?”

Joel winces slightly at the edge in her tone but tries to match her energy. "Hey, kiddo. Missed you."

There’s a beat of silence, and then Ellie softens, though her voice is still guarded. “Yeah, well… I missed you too, dumbass.” She pauses, her tone growing serious. "You okay? You both… safe?"

Joel’s throat tightens. "Yeah. We’re good. How ‘bout you? School goin’ alright?"

Ellie snorts, but there’s a softness in her tone that Joel doesn’t miss. "School?" she repeats. "Yeah, sure. You know, same old bullshit. But don’t worry about me. I’m fine."

Joel closes his eyes, leaning heavily against the railing, the cool metal biting into his palms as he tries to steady himself. The guilt is an ever-present weight, always lingering just behind his ribs.

"I’m sorry, Ellie," he says after a beat, his voice thick with emotion. "I’m sorry I left you. I had to… I had to figure things out. And I’m sorry for not bein’ there."

There’s a pause on the other end before Ellie’s voice comes through, softer now. "Joel… it’s alright. You had to do it. I get it." She hesitates, her words catching in her throat.

"Yeah, I was pissed off for a bit. Hell, I’m still pissed off. But I understand. You love her. It’s weird as fuck to say it out loud, but I understand. People do crazy shit when they’re in love. I’d probably do the same."

Joel can’t help but smile at the honesty in her voice, even if the situation is far from funny. “Oh, you’re in love now? Alright, kiddo, who’s the lucky kid?” His tone lightens, teasing, hoping to ease the tension just a little.

Ellie laughs, the sound full of teenage exasperation, and Joel can practically hear her blushing through the phone. “Yeah, right. As if I’d tell you.” She pauses, adding with a grin, “Maybe when you come back… if I’m feeling generous.”

Joel chuckles, shaking his head. The levity in their conversation fades after a moment, and Ellie’s tone shifts, more serious now. "But… Joel, there’s somethin’ else. People talk. At school, about you… and her."

Joel’s stomach tightens, his jaw clenching as he braces himself. “What kind of talk?”

Ellie hesitates, her voice quieter, almost like she doesn’t want to say it. "It’s not good, Joel. They’re callin’ you… a p-word." The word hangs in the air between them, unspoken but heavy.

"Pedo," she finally says. "I have to fucking punch the people calling you that shit, that's ain't true, they are fucking assholes." Ellie says again.

"I also heard her father reported you to the state police. They’re lookin’ for you. He’s sayin’ you kidnapped her, but… I don’t know. ‘Cause now she’s legal, right? I heard the cops might drop it, like… you just ran off with her or whatever. Like some… runaway lovers thing."

Joel’s grip tightens on the railing, his knuckles turning white as he absorbs the weight of her words. His voice, when it comes, is steady but strained. "Where’d you hear about this?"

Ellie sighs, sounding almost guilty. "I kinda overheard Tommy and Maria talking. They don’t know I was listenin’, but… it’s all over town, Joel."

Joel’s fatherly instincts kick in, his voice firm. "Ellie, you know eavesdroppin’ ain’t good. You shouldn’t be listenin’ to stuff like that."

He’s trying to sound authoritative, but the concern seeps through. "Let me and Tommy handle it, alright? You don’t need to worry about any of that."

“But I am worried,” Ellie says, her voice cracking just a little, the vulnerability slipping through the cracks in her armor. “I’m worried about you, Joel. This shit is fucking serious."

Joel’s heart lurches at her words, but he forces himself to sound calm, reassuring. "Ellie, I’m gonna be alright. Don’t think about that, okay? Let me deal with it. You’ve got enough on your plate. School, life… I don’t want you stressin’ about me."

There’s a long pause on the other end, and Joel knows Ellie’s fighting back her emotions. When she finally speaks again, her voice is quieter, softer. "You’re all I have, Joel."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. Joel feels his chest tighten, the weight of everything—his choices, his past, the danger lurking around every corner—pressing down on him all at once. He knows he’s failed her in so many ways, knows she deserves better. But he loves her, and he hopes that’s enough.

"I know, kiddo," he says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I promise you, I’ll be careful. We’ll see each other again soon, okay? I won’t let anything happen to me. Or to you."

Ellie sniffs, trying to keep her composure. "You better keep that promise, Joel. Just… be safe, alright? Please."

Joel’s heart aches as he listens to her, knowing how much she’s had to endure, how much he’s put her through. "I will, Ellie," he promises. "We’ll be okay. I’ll see you soon. I swear it."

"Tell her I say hi and me and Emma misses her terribly," Ellie says again, Joel chuckles a little, "I will."

There’s a soft rustle on the other end, and Joel hears Ellie hand the phone back to Tommy. Tommy’s voice fills the line again, steady and matter-of-fact.

“Alright, brother,” Tommy says, his tone shifting back to business. "Let’s talk about her father. He’s still making noise, and it’s getting harder to keep him at bay. We need to figure out what the next move is."

Joel leans against the railing, the weight of the conversation with Ellie still heavy in his chest. He glances out into the darkening sky, thinking about the storm that’s coming and wondering how much longer they can keep running.

"Tommy," Joel starts, his voice low but determined. "We’re gonna keep movin'. California’s the plan. We’ll settle there, lay low. By the time she’s old enough… well, legal enough… the cops might drop the charges. We’ll be free."

There’s a pause, and Joel exhales slowly. "Ellie will come with us, when things calm down. We’ll start over, build a life there."

The words hang in the air like a promise, a hope for something better. Joel’s mind drifts—he imagines a small house by the coast, the two of you living quietly with Ellie, finally free from the weight of the past. Maybe He'll get married. Marry you. Maybe even… kids? The thought stirs something deep in Joel, a mix of longing and fear. After all the trauma, the loss, the heartache—could he even think about kids again? and are you even ready for it after all you've been through?

But the idea of a new life, of peace… it feels like heaven. A place where you and Ellie are safe, where he can protect you both and build something that lasts. "That’s all I need," he murmurs to himself, eyes tracing the horizon.

"Joel?" Tommy’s voice pulls him back. "What’s the plan for now?"

Joel clears his throat, shaking off the haze of his thoughts. "We’re headin’ to Boston next," he says, leaning back against the railing. "We’re in Chicago right now, but we won’t stay long. Got too much heat on us here."

He pauses, thinking carefully before bringing up the subject weighing on his mind. "Listen, I heard somethin’ on the news. About that Lee boy… and the new pastor at Ellie’s school." He keeps his tone casual, not wanting to raise any suspicion. "They say anything about that?"

There’s a beat of silence, and then Tommy sighs. "Yeah, man. They’re callin’ it a serial killer case now. The cops found parts of Jamie Lee’s body out in the desert. Scattered. They think he was murdered somewhere else and dumped out there. They’re throwin’ everything they got at it, trying to find the killer."

Joel’s stomach twists into knots. "Fuck," he mutters under his breath, his hand gripping the railing tighter. How could he have been so careless? He remembers rushing, panicked, after everything went down—he must’ve left something behind. A piece of Jamie’s body, missed in his hurry to bury them. Now the cops were closer than ever.

Cold sweat beads on his forehead as the full weight of it crashes down on him. If they connect the dots… if they find more evidence, they’ll come after him. And what will happen to you? His mind spirals into dark thoughts—what if they find him before he can get you to safety? What if everything he’s been running from finally catches up?

Joel is so lost in his thoughts, he barely hears Tommy still talking on the other end. His mind is miles away, trapped in the worst-case scenarios of what could happen next.

"Joel?" Tommy’s voice breaks through the fog in his mind. "Joel, you still there?"

He blinks, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, sorry," he says, voice distant, trying to steady himself. But something in his gut feels off.

He glances back toward the door of the motel room, realizing how long it’s been since you went to grab soda from the store downstairs. "Tommy, listen…" His voice tightens with concern. "I gotta go."

Tommy senses the tension in Joel’s voice immediately. "What’s goin’ on, brother? You alright? You sound… panicked."

But Joel’s already hanging up, his heart racing as he pushes open the motel door and steps back into the room. It’s empty. Quiet. He checks the clock. You’ve been gone too long.

Panic claws at his chest, and before he knows it, Joel’s out the door, rushing down the hallway, his mind racing with a thousand dark thoughts.

Joel’s heart pounds in his chest as he pushes through the motel’s front door, heading toward the store. He forces himself to stay calm, but the dread creeping up his spine is impossible to ignore.

When he reaches the counter, the fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a harsh glow on the teenage cashier slouched behind the register. Joel’s voice is tight as he speaks.

"Hey, you seen a girl—'bout this tall, brunette, wearing a light brown dress? She came in for soda."

The cashier looks up, nodding lazily. "Yeah, the pretty girl? She was here. But then she left… with some dude."

Joel’s breath catches in his throat. "What?" His voice sharpens. "What man? Who was it?"

The kid shrugs, barely paying attention. "I dunno, man. Older guy, cool lookin’, maybe her dad or somethin’. Think they went to one of the diners across the street."

Joel’s pulse roars in his ears. "Which diner?" he asks, but the kid just shrugs again, not helpful in the slightest.

Frustration churns in Joel’s gut. "Great," he mutters under his breath before pushing out of the store, his steps growing quicker with each heartbeat. His mind is racing, dread gnawing at the edges of his thoughts, paranoia creeping in like shadows stretching across the pavement.

Was it someone from the police? A detective? Had her father finally found them? His thoughts are jagged, sharp, stabbing at his calm like shards of glass.

He moves through the dimly lit street, crossing between diners, pushing through doors, scanning each place with eyes wild, searching. Every face he sees isn’t yours, and with each diner he leaves, his panic tightens its grip.

"Where the hell are you?" he whispers to himself, his breathing growing ragged.

It’s as though the world has closed in on him, every step forward feeling like running against the tide. The buildings loom like cold, indifferent sentinels, mocking him as he moves from one diner to the next, desperately searching.

His thoughts spiral—what if it’s not just some guy? What if it's someone looking for you? What if they know who you are, who he is? Joel feels his stomach twist, his worst fears wrapping themselves around him like chains, dragging him down into a pit of dread.

And then, across the street, he sees you.

Standing outside one of the diners, you’re talking to a tall man, his back turned to Joel. The guy’s wearing a black leather jacket, his salt-and-pepper beard catching the faint glow of the diner lights. You’re smiling, carefree, like you’ve known him forever.

Then, you hug him, a quick goodbye before the man climbs into his car and drives off, leaving you standing there with a wave.

Joel’s blood runs cold.

You spot him across the street and wave, holding a six-pack of soda in one hand, your sandals slapping against the pavement as you walk toward him with that same innocent smile.

"Hey, Joel!" you call out, your tone casual. "What are you doing out here?"

But Joel doesn’t respond. His body moves on instinct, storming toward you, his jaw clenched tight. The second he reaches you, his hand shoots out, grabbing your arm with a harsh grip.

"Joel?" you say, confused, your eyes widening. "What’s wrong? Ow."

But Joel’s beyond reason now, his mind locked in panic, anger bubbling just beneath the surface. He pulls you with him, his grip firm, dragging you toward the motel without a word. Your steps stumble to keep up, your free hand clinging to the six-pack.

"Joel, what are you doing? You’re hurting me," you plead, but his grip only tightens as he hauls you into the motel room, slamming the door shut behind him.

You nearly fall as he shoves you inside, the six-pack slipping from your grasp and hitting the floor with a clatter. His back presses against the door, locking you both in the small space. His chest heaves with the effort of trying to catch his breath, but the rage boiling inside him leaves no room for calm.

"Didn’t I tell you not to talk to anyone?" His voice is low, rough, a dangerous edge in his tone that makes your heart pound in your chest. "Who the hell was that?"

Your eyes widen, fear flickering across your face. "Joel, I’m sorry, I was going to tell you, I just didn’t want to be rude—"

"Who was that?" Joel’s voice is sharper now, and he moves toward you, his face dark with fury. His hand reaches for your wrist, squeezing hard enough to make you wince. "Tell me."

"That's Negan," you blurt out, your voice shaky. "He—he used to visit my father. He was one of his guests. I met him at my house. We were just talking, that’s all. Joel, please, you’re hurting me."

Joel’s grip doesn’t loosen, his mind whirling. "Your father’s friend? Is he still in contact with your dad? Did you tell anything about us?" His jaw is tight, teeth grinding together, his breath coming in quick, shallow bursts.

"No, no, he’s not," you insist, trying to steady your voice. "He’s not in contact with my dad anymore. He doesn’t know anything about us. I told him I was just on summer break with some friends."

Joel’s eyes bore into yours, searching for any hint of a lie, his fingers digging into your skin. "What did you talk about with him?" he demands, his voice a low growl.

"I'm sorry, Joel, I'm sorry. Nothing important, I swear. Just catching up." You can’t stop the tremble in your voice. "He doesn’t know anything about us, Joel. I promise."

But Joel’s mind is still clouded, still trapped in the dark corners of his paranoia. Every word you say feels like a thread unraveling in his head, and all he can think about is the man—the man who was too close, who might know too much.

You stand there, frozen, your body trembling as Joel finally lets go of your wrist. His breath is shaky, his hands falling to his sides as he steps back.

The anger that just consumed him is replaced by a heavy wave of regret washing over his features, but it doesn’t make the sting of his grip—or the terror it left behind—disappear.

“You… you can’t just do that,” he mutters, his voice quieter now, almost defeated. “You can’t just walk off and talk to people. You don’t know who’s lookin’ for you… for us.”

You nod, mechanically rubbing the spot where his fingers had dug into your skin, still too shocked to fully grasp what just happened. The image of him, face twisted in rage, flashes in your mind, and you feel your heart tighten painfully in your chest.

For a moment—just a moment—you saw someone else standing there. Not Joel.

Your father.

The way his jaw clenched, how he towered over you, the grip on your wrist—it was too much like before, too close to the nights you feared your father’s wrath, his cruelty.

It rips open an old wound you thought had healed. You take a shaky breath, but it comes out as a sob, your chest heaving with the flood of emotions crashing down on you.

Joel’s gaze flickers to your wrist, and when he sees the angry red marks his grip left behind, his eyes widen in horror.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, trembling. “I didn’t mean to— I’m so sorry. I…”

He reaches out to you, but the second his hand moves closer, you flinch, stepping back instinctively, your arms wrapping around yourself protectively.

“Don’t touch me,” you manage to choke out, your voice small and broken. “I just… I want to be alone. Please.”

Joel’s face falls, a look of devastation crossing his features as he lowers his hand. He takes a step back, guilt weighing heavy on his shoulders. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, I swear—”

“Just leave,” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes. “For a moment. Joel… I need space.”

He swallows hard, his expression tortured, but he doesn’t push you any further. He knows he’s hurt you in a way he never intended, and the regret in his eyes is almost unbearable.

Joel opens his mouth as if to say something else, but he sees the way you’re trembling, sees how scared you are. He doesn’t want to make it worse.

With one last look, he turns and leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind him.

The second you hear the click of the door, your knees give way. You sink to the floor, your body shaking as the sobs come harder now, the weight of it all too much to hold inside any longer. You feel like you can’t breathe, the air thick and suffocating, and the tears spill over uncontrollably.

It was Joel… but it wasn’t.

The man who held you just now, who gripped you so tightly you thought he might hurt you… that wasn’t the Joel you knew. And that scared you more than anything.

You scramble to your feet, rushing into the bathroom. You slam the door shut and lock it, as if that simple action could somehow keep everything out. But nothing stops the flood of memories, the fear that curls around your chest like a vice.

The way your father’s face twisted in anger whenever you crossed him, the sting of his words, the threat of his hand. You always knew when it was coming, that moment when his patience snapped, when you’d become the target of his rage.

And for a moment, Joel had looked just like him.

You press your back against the door and slide down, hugging your knees to your chest, your body trembling as you sob. You cry for what feels like hours, the weight of it all crashing over you again and again.

You don’t understand why Joel acted like that. What was he so scared of? Why he's so paranoid? And what stuff that Joel hadn't told you?

It feels like something is unraveling between you and Joel, something you didn’t even know was fragile until now. Joel has always been protective, always had that edge of anger simmering beneath the surface, but never toward you. And now… you don’t know what to think.

After what feels like forever, your sobs finally quiet. You sit there, leaning against the bathroom door, your mind racing but your tears spent. It hits you then, harder than before—you have no one else.

Your father is gone, your mother is tied to him in a way that leaves her powerless to help you, and the life you once knew, are all out of reach now. You’re alone in this world except for Joel.

It’s just you and him.

You clutch your knees tighter, the realization sinking deeper. Everything you have, everything you are, depends on Joel. He saved you when no one else would. Pulled you out of the hell that was your life, gave you a way out.

You owe him more than you could ever express—more than you could ever repay. There's a part of you that feels indebted to him, like you have no choice but to obey him. He’s all you have left.

And it scares you. You’ve never felt this dependent on anyone before, never felt like your entire world revolved around one person. But with Joel, it does. If you lose him, what would you even have? You wouldn’t survive.

You can’t survive alone. And even though his anger tonight terrified you, you can’t shake the feeling that you need to do whatever it takes to keep him. Even if that means obeying him without question, doing whatever he says. Because without Joel, you're truly, utterly alone.

Tears well in your eyes again, but you quickly wipe them away. You can’t let that fear rule you. You’re strong. You’ve survived too much to fall apart now. But this feeling of being so utterly dependent on Joel, of having no one else to turn to—it gnaws at you.

Even as you cry in the shower, trying to pull yourself together, you know deep down that you’ll have to go back to him. Apologize, make things right, because you can’t lose him.

He’s your only tether to this world, the only person who keeps you from feeling completely lost. And you know, despite everything, you’ll do whatever it takes to keep him in your life.

As the water runs down your skin, you close your eyes and take slow, steady breaths, trying to ground yourself. You can’t keep hiding in fear. You need to know what’s going on. You need to talk to Joel, to figure out what’s haunting him so badly that it’s making him act this way.

He’s always protected you, always cared for you, but now it’s clear there’s something deeper going on. Something he hasn’t told you. And if you’re going to stay with him, if you’re going to trust him again, you need answers.

When you step out of the shower, you feel a little more in control. You towel off, get dressed, and take a deep breath. You have to be mature about this. You can’t let fear rule you. You’re not a child anymore—you need to face this head-on.

Joel needs to tell you the truth, whatever it is. You need to know what’s driving him to this edge, why he’s so terrified of losing you, of being found.

You dry your eyes, gather yourself, and make the decision. You’ll talk to him. You’ll make him talk. Because you can’t keep living in the dark, and you can’t let fear take root between you. You need to understand what’s going on in Joel’s mind—and in his heart.

Slipping out of the room, you feel the cool evening air hit your skin like a reminder of the space between you and him now. You think you know where he went—the bar.

You’ve learned Joel's patterns well enough by now, and after what happened earlier, you’re certain that’s where he’d go to drown out his anger and regret.

As you walk down the empty hallway and push open the doors of the motel lobby, your nerves tighten with each step. You can feel your pulse quickening, the sinking fear that things between you and Joel might never be the same.

But you need to fix this. You need him—more than he probably even knows.

When you step into the bar, it takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. Your gaze scans the room, searching, hoping. And then you see him—sitting at the bar, his broad back turned toward you. Relief floods your chest, but it’s short-lived.

Joel isn’t alone.

There’s a woman beside him, by the look of her, she looks like she's near his age, younger, probably in her 40s, and she is close enough that her body leans into his space, her fingers brushing his arm as she speaks.

She’s beautiful, with soft waves of auburn hair and an easy smile.

She’s holding something in her hand, showing it to Joel—it looks like a bottle of perfume, and Joel is leaning in slightly, smelling it. They’re laughing. She’s too close, far too close.

Jealousy flares in your chest, sharp and immediate. It burns through your veins as you take a step forward, unable to keep your eyes off them. The way she touches his arm, the way Joel doesn’t pull away—why isn’t he pulling away?

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to move forward. Each step feels heavy, weighed down by doubt, fear, anger—all swirling into one mess inside of you.

When you finally reach them, Joel doesn’t notice you at first. He’s still laughing at whatever the woman said, his head tilted down toward her.

“Joel,” you say, your voice shaky but loud enough to cut through the laughter.

He looks up, surprise flickering in his eyes as he meets your gaze. "Oh… hey, baby." he mutters, his voice slurring slightly, like he’s already had one too many drinks. "Sorry, I didn’t realize how late it was…you uh okay now?"

You stand there, arms crossed tightly over your chest, the jealousy clawing at you. You stare at the woman, waiting for Joel to introduce you. But he doesn’t—he just awkwardly shifts on his barstool, rubbing the back of his neck.

The woman turns toward you with a kind smile, not realizing the tension hanging in the air. “Oh! You must be Joel’s daughter, right? I'm Tess, nice to meet you,”

The words hang in the air like a slap, the shock hitting you square in the chest. You blink, feeling the ground tilt beneath your feet. His daughter?

Before you can speak, Joel clears his throat, his voice low but firm. “She's not my daughter, she’s my partner.”

Tess freezes, embarrassment washing over her features as she glances between the two of you. “Oh… oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she stammers, clearly flustered. “I just assumed…"

"It’s fine," Joel cut in, his hand resting on your back protectively. "Tess was just being friendly."

But you saw the way Tess glanced at him, the way she lingered just a little too long on his eyes. She’d been flirting, and though Joel hadn’t seemed to notice—or maybe he had and didn’t care—you couldn’t help the jealousy that simmered beneath your skin. You shot her a tight smile, pulling Joel closer as if to remind him where he belonged.

"It’s okay," you said, though the tension between you and Tess lingered as Joel excused himself from the bar.

You feel your heart race, the awkwardness settling in the pit of your stomach like a stone. Joel looks at you, guilt flickering in his eyes, and you can see it—he didn’t mean for this to happen.

Tess tries to laugh it off, waving her hand as she takes a step back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll, uh, leave you two alone. Nice to meet you, Joel."

Joel mumbles something, but you barely hear it. Your focus is on him—on the way he avoided introducing you, the way he let Tess get close to him, the way you feel so small in this moment. You're so insecure, because she's like the type of Joel's woman, like she's age appropriate for him.

You glance at Tess as she walks away. You’re left standing there with Joel, the silence between you growing louder with every second. He looks at you, regret heavy in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Where have you been?” you ask, trying to steady your voice. “I was waiting for you…”

Joel sighs, running a hand through his hair, clearly at a loss for words. "I—I'm sorry," he mutters again, his voice softer this time, tinged with guilt. "I didn’t mean to stay out so long."

You nod, feeling the sting of his absence, of watching him with someone else, of realizing how fragile everything between you suddenly feels.

But you push it all down, reminding yourself of what you came here for—to talk, to understand.

“Let’s go,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. “We need to talk.”

And Joel, with all the weight of his mistakes hanging heavy on his shoulders, simply nods, following you out of the bar into the cool night air, where everything is waiting to fall apart or be made whole again.

As you both step into the room, you push the door open and walk inside first, the familiar surroundings offering a brief moment of comfort in the storm brewing between you.

Joel hesitates at the threshold, his hand hovering near the door as if he’s afraid to follow. But after a moment, he steps inside, closing the door behind him and locking it with a soft click that echoes in the stillness.

You sit on the edge of the bed, a nervous knot twisting in your stomach. The air is thick with unspoken words, and you pat the space beside you, inviting him to sit.

Joel moves slowly, as if every step is laden with the gravity of what’s unsaid. The silence stretches, taut and heavy, both of you caught in the weight of the moment.

Finally, Joel breaks the stillness, his voice low and filled with concern. “Are you alright, doll?”

You nod, though the tremor in your hands betrays you. “I’m fine.”

“I'm really, really sorry,” he continues, his words tumbling out like stones from a burdened heart. “I didn’t mean to…” His voice trails off, as if he’s searching for the right words but can’t find them.

“It’s alright,” you cut him off gently, wanting to soothe his pain even as your own heart races with anxiety. But the pause hangs between you, heavy with unresolved tension.

You shift your position, turning to face him fully, the intensity of his gaze making your chest tighten.

“What’s going on, Joel?” you ask, your voice softening. “I need to know what’s bothering you. Is it me? Is it something else?"

"Why are you so scared? You’ve been acting different since New Orleans... I need to know, Joel. I… I can’t lose you. I’m scared.”

His expression shifts, the rigid lines of his face softening as he takes your hands in his, holding them close as if they’re a lifeline in the tumultuous sea between you. He leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, and tears threaten to spill from your eyes.

In that moment, he wants to tell you everything—the shadows that have been haunting him, the demons that lurk in the corners of his mind.

But he hesitates, his heart racing with the fear that you wouldn’t understand.

The guilt of what he’s done looms over him like a dark cloud, heavy and suffocating. He’s terrified that revealing the truth would shatter the fragile bond you’ve built together.

Yet, as you look up at him, something in your eyes compels him to speak. “It’s about your father,” he lies, his voice barely a whisper.

“He still reported me… I’m just scared that the detectives will find you and take you away from me. I can’t let that happen.”

You feel a rush of emotions course through you, sensing the half-truth in his words, the fear that lingers behind his stoic exterior. He’s afraid—not just of the detectives but of losing you, and that realization cuts deep.

“Joel,” you say softly, your heart aching for him, “he’s not going to take me away from you. We’re safe. I promise.”

His eyes narrow, skepticism etched on his face. “You don’t know that,” he counters, his voice thick with concern. “He could be lying in wait, ready to pull some strings."

You shake your head, a flicker of frustration igniting within you. “Joel, he’s my father. I know him better than anyone. He’s just bluffing. He’ll eventually let me go; I mean… I’m nothing to him. He hates me. He doesn’t want me in his life, so why bother wanting me back?”

The raw honesty of your words hangs in the air between you like an echo of an unshakable truth. Joel’s expression softens, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction as he searches your gaze.

He can see the hurt beneath your bravado, the wounds your father has inflicted that run deep, yet he struggles to reconcile that with the danger he feels looms just beyond the horizon.

“Doll,” he murmurs, his voice tinged with both tenderness and fear. “I don’t want to think about the worst. I just… I can’t bear the thought of losing you. You’re everything to me.”

You look up at him, conviction burning in your chest. “You will not lose me, Joel. I promise, I will not lose you either. We’re in this together. Always.” But even as you say the words, a nagging feeling churns in your gut, whispering that there’s more he’s keeping from you.

“Are you sure there’s nothing else, Joel?” you ask, your voice steady yet gentle, searching his eyes for the truth. “What do you mean by that?”

He hesitates, his gaze drifting away as if the weight of his secrets is too heavy to bear.

“Joel,” you plead, reaching out to touch his hand, “you can trust me. We’ll stick together, no matter what. Just let me in. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

But he still doesn’t budge, the wall between you seeming insurmountable. You nod, accepting his silence for now. “Okay, but remember that you can tell me anything. My love for you will not change, no matter what.”

The words hang in the air, a vow that wraps around him like a warm embrace. In that moment, something shifts within Joel. He meets your gaze, his heart melting under the weight of your unwavering love, your sincerity cutting through the chaos that clouds his mind.

“What did I do to deserve an angel like you?” he whispers, his voice cracking just a little.

“Just being you is enough,” you reply softly, feeling the tenderness in the space between you.

And then, unable to resist the pull between you any longer, you lean in, kissing him deeply. This time, it’s pure, unfiltered love that surges between your lips—a promise sealed with every gentle brush of skin, every soft sigh that escapes into the air.

The world fades away as you lose yourselves in each other, the moment stretching into eternity, filled with a warmth that chases away the shadows of fear.

When you finally pull away, breathless and glowing, a smile dances across your lips. But as you gaze into his eyes, you see a flicker of something else.

“You haven’t eaten,” he says, concern threading through his voice. “You should rest. I’ll order something from downstairs and bring it back up for you.”

“Joel, I can wait—”

“No,” he interrupts gently but firmly. “You need to take care of yourself. I’ll be quick.” He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before moving away, leaving you momentarily in the warmth of his embrace.

As he steps outside the room, you sink back onto the bed, feeling a mix of warmth and longing. The air around you is still charged with the magic of your shared moment, but the unanswered questions linger, dancing just beyond reach.

You let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes for a moment, willing yourself to rest, knowing he’ll return soon.

Joel heads down to the bar, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He orders food, feeling the pressure of his emotions begin to lighten just a little with each passing moment away from you.

Yet, even as he waits, the shadows of his past loom large, reminding him that he’s not just fighting for himself—he’s fighting for you. And it’s a fight he intends to win.

As Joel waits at the bar, the world around him is alive with laughter and chatter, a stark contrast to the heavy weight pressing against his chest.

The air is thick with the scent of whiskey and lingering conversations, people mingling as if the night holds no threats, but he knows better. Shadows of his past linger, whispering reminders that the fight he’s waging is not just for himself—it’s for you.

You are the light of his life, fire of his loins, and he’ll be damned if he lets anything threaten that.

He watches the crowd, the chaos swirling like a tempest around him. In the corner of his eye, he catches sight of a man ordering a drink, but his view is obscured by a group of women animatedly chatting nearby.

Joel shifts, trying to get a clearer look, but the bustling bodies block his view.

“Got a lot on your mind, fella?” a voice cuts through the noise, pulling him back into the moment. He turns slightly to see the man leaning against the bar, a sly grin playing on his lips. Joel's brow furrows, he can't see his face.

“Yeah, life,” he replies curtly, not in the mood for small talk.

The man chuckles, taking a sip of his whiskey. “I saw you with a young girl. She your daughter?”

At that, Joel’s heart skips a beat, and he freezes, “No…” he responds, his voice low and cautious.

“Oh, she looks young enough to be your daughter,” the man presses, his grin widening, but still Joel can't see his face because the women blocking his view “Who is she then?”

“None of your business,” Joel bites back, his tone cold and defensive, but the man merely laughs, clearly unfazed by Joel's irritation.

“Got a fire in you, my friend,” he remarks, his tone almost mocking.

Joel tries to catch a glimpse of the man’s face, but he’s constantly blocked by other patrons milling about, laughter and chatter drowning out his mounting anger.

“You know she’s a pretty little thing,” the man continues, leaning in closer. “What’s her story? You fucked her, didn’t you? Kidnapped her from her abusive family?”

The words hit Joel like a punch to the gut, and a primal instinct surges through him—protectiveness mingling with anger.

“What?” he snaps, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he struggles to see the man’s face, but the crowd shifts, obscuring his view further.

“Have you heard about this cannibal running around, kidnapping and eating young girls? If I were you, I’d be careful to keep her safe, ‘cause damn, she does look delicious.”

With that, something inside Joel snaps. He stands abruptly, every instinct screaming to confront this man, to demand answers.

But just as quickly as he rose, the man leans back, disappearing into the throng of bodies, leaving nothing but a ghost of a threat lingering in the air.

Joel’s heart races, panic seizing him as he realizes what he has to do. You’re alone up there, and he needs to get back to you—now.

The laughter and warmth of the bar fade into the background as he pushes through the crowd, each step fueled by fear and urgency.

The thought of you, vulnerable and alone, drives him forward.

His breath quickens as he navigates the throng, his mind a whirlwind of protective instincts and dread. The very idea of losing you ignites a fire in his soul, and he bursts through the door to the hallway, urgency pulsing in his veins.

Each step toward your room is a promise—a vow to keep you safe from the dark corners of this world that threaten to creep in.

Joel bursts through the door, and the sight that greets him sends a jolt through his veins. You sit on the bed, your eyes wide and haunted, riveted to the flickering television.

“Baby, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” he rushes to you, concern flooding his voice.

“Joel...it’s Pastor Ben,” you manage to say, your finger trembling as you point to the screen. The news report unfolds like a nightmare made flesh—Pastor Ben, the man who had cloaked himself in righteousness, is revealed as a predator, a monster who has sexually abused, raped hundreds of children in Mexico.

A visceral reaction surges within you, a repulsion that knots your stomach. You remember the moments in his car, the way his fingers brushed against your arm, the unsettling questions he had asked about your age, each touch a violation that makes your skin crawl.

It feels as if the walls are closing in, suffocating you with the realization of the betrayal you had trusted. The reporter’s voice booms through the room, detailing the horrors of the youngest victim—only six years old.

The words resonate with a sickening finality, and you rush to the bathroom, the taste of bile burning your throat as you heave into the toilet.

Each retch feels like a release of the poison that has been festering within you, a violent expulsion of the memories that threaten to drown you.

Joel stands frozen for a moment, grappling with the revelation. His heart races, a chaotic mix of anger and relief coursing through him.

The man he killed had been a monster, but the weight of that truth is heavy. The knowledge that you were entangled in his web, even briefly, gnaws at him.

When you emerge, pale and trembling, Joel swiftly turns off the TV, the silence in the room suddenly deafening.

“Doll, are you okay?” he asks softly, his hands moving to cradle your head, fingers brushing gently through your hair, a comforting gesture meant to ground you.

“Just… let’s go to sleep, please,” you whisper, fatigue washing over you like a tide.

He nods, understanding the weight of the moment. With gentle strength, he scoops you into his arms, carrying you to the bed where safety awaits.

As you lie together in the dark, bodies intertwined in a protective embrace, the weight of the night hangs heavily in the air.

You are cocooned in the warmth of each other, yet your minds are worlds apart.

Each fleeting memory of his touch feels like a branding iron against your skin, igniting a fury within you that is both righteous and shameful.

You lie in a spooning position, the two of you entwined like vines clinging to each other in a storm. The heat radiating from Joel feels like a sanctuary, a barrier against the outside world, yet the weight of your thoughts is heavy as you drift further into your own mind.

In the dark, you wrestle with the shadows of your past. The image of Pastor Ben’s face looms large in your thoughts, a grotesque reminder of the trust betrayed.

You can still feel the ghost of his hand, a specter lingering just beneath the surface, haunting your skin. With every breath, the bile of betrayal rises in your throat, intertwining with anger—a tempest that threatens to erupt.

You are caught in the eye of a storm, where calm meets chaos, grappling with the lingering questions of why you didn’t see the monster hidden behind the mask of a man of God. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, a reminder that safety is often an illusion.

Meanwhile, Joel is lost in his own labyrinth of thoughts, the weight of the evening pressing heavily on his chest. The man he met at the bar—the specter of danger—lingers in his mind like a shadow refusing to dissipate.

He feels the knot of fear tightening in his gut, an ancient instinct urging him to protect you at all costs. He remembers the words the stranger flung at him, laced with menace, and the realization that the world is a cruel place, full of predators who prey on the innocent.

In this moment, he clings to you as if you were a life raft in turbulent waters. The warmth of your body against his is a reminder that he has something worth fighting for—a reason to face the darkness head-on.

Yet, beneath that fierce resolve lies a flicker of doubt, a gnawing fear that perhaps he can’t shield you from everything, that the ghosts of his past may find a way to reach you.

It eats at him, the thought that the world could steal you away from him just as it had stolen so much before.

Both of you are wrapped in a cocoon of silence, where your breaths mingle and become one. You can feel Joel’s heart beating against your back, a steady drum that soothes you even as your thoughts churn.

It’s a reminder that you are not alone in this battle, that there is strength in the bond you share, even amidst the chaos that swirls around you.

“Promise me,” you whisper into the darkness, “we’ll get through this together.”

Joel tightens his grip around you, his body a fortress. “I promise, doll,” he murmurs, his voice low and steady. “You’re safe with me.”

In that moment, you both find a flicker of hope amidst the storm—two souls entwined, standing against a world that threatens to tear them apart.

Each heartbeat, each breath becomes a testament to your love, a silent vow that even in the darkest of nights, you will hold on to each other, no matter what the dawn brings.

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