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cno-inbminor · 16 hours ago

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zayne x non-mc!fem reader -- married, but you worry it's only because mc (emcee) had left and was never sure on when she'd return. six years later, emcee moves back to linkon, and you feel your worst nightmares start to fester. self-indulgent angst (tw: miscommunication), mentions of alcohol and getting drunk , use of Y/N wc: 5.4k | part 1

a/n: thank you to everyone who has interacted with and enjoyed part 1! i sincerely hope that this final part does not disappoint. stay safe and hydrated, and i hope you all are well <3

You can do this for as long as you need to, no matter how draining it may be.

When you wake in the morning, you find yourself tucked into your blanket the way that Zayne would often do if he felt the material wasn’t doing enough to keep you warm. A pang of guilt makes itself known when you come to the realization, and it’s clear that Zayne had to leave early again. The side of his bed is cool beneath your fingers, but after a single grip of the cotton, you fling the blanket off your figure and get up to start your morning routine.

It’s a tiny hassle to make your own coffee and figure out a quick breakfast without Zayne – tiny in the sense that you had done it yourself before having moved in with him, and you shouldn’t be so reliant on a partner whose schedule is as crazy as his. There had been a time when things were more consistent and regular, but ever since Emcee returned…

Like clockwork, you step on the scale in your shared closet, letting the device gather all the numbers it needs. It gives you a chance to observe the sorry state of your feet. The bandaids that you slapped on are worn at the edges, your toenails looking a little rough, wrinkles and blisters decorating other parts of your toes. You feel the roughness on the balls and arches underneath. When you step off the scale, you move towards the counter and lean back against it so you can lift a foot up and get a better look at the backs of your heels.

The sight of them makes you wince internally, bloodied and skin peeling. Once pristine, the cotton pads of the bandaids are splotched with crimson, paint from yours truly. You take little care in replacing the bandages and dolloping some antibiotic ointment on them to make you feel like you’re doing something at least. After getting dressed, brushing your teeth, and deciding to buy coffee on the way instead, you’re out the door in your most comfortable pair of work flats.

As you walk towards the nearest bus station, your phone vibrates, and the music in your earbuds softens before returning to its original volume. The notification tone sends a spike of anxiety through your system, your fingers shaking as they push things around and fish your phone out from your bag.

Husband 💙: Have you left for work yet? I can come back and drop you off.

It’d be rude not to reply.

You: I have, so no need. Thank you though.

An immediate reply.

Husband 💙: Don’t walk around too much today, and replace those bandaids when you’re on your lunch break.

You: Okay, I’ll try.

Needless to say, you don’t – more like, you can’t. No one in your office has bandaids for some reason, nor can they remember where the first-aid kit is. To be fair, you hadn’t planned on changing them had Zayne not said anything.

The hours tick by, and your boss stops by your desk to ask if everything was okay yesterday. You thought you could fake it, but your voice is telling when you reply, “Oh yeah, everything’s just fine. We’re fine.” Your boss cocks an eyebrow at your tone, and you assume a facial expression that screams, “Really, we’re not fine but there’s nothing you can do about it, so thank you for even asking.”

Just as you’re putting your stuff away to leave work for the day, your phone buzzes.

Husband 💙: Don’t forget to eat dinner. I have a late surgery. Also, kettle corn is not a meal.

You can’t help but quirk a smile at his words, as they rarely fail to elicit a reaction from you. But you’re tired, still feeling the effects of everything that happened yesterday, and you type out a quick response.

You: Okay. Good luck.

In another part of the city, a man with hazel eyes reads his phone for a little too long, his eyes squinting slightly as they circle around those three words. Your bland, unfeeling response is highly unusual and unsettles him. But he has to toss it aside somewhere in his mind so that he can focus wholeheartedly on saving this upcoming patient.

You, on the other hand, have decided to camp out at the bookstore again until late. Unable to hide forever, you slip back outside and are greeted by a slight chill in the air. It seeps through your thin blouse, and it isn’t until your head hits your pillow that it is, in fact, the middle of a hot summer.

Zayne has texted you more this week than he has in the last month.

At first, you thought things may be returning to a sense of normalcy, and that whatever you heard come out of his mouth that fateful day was just a fluke. But when he mentioned offhandedly that Emcee was gone for a week or two because of a mission a few hours away, you deflated and berated yourself for even hoping.

The second choice, weren’t you?

Every day, there is something. A reminder to change your bandaids, dry humor, some slightly snarky comment about the highly incompetent doctor in the neurology department that he swears must’ve bought his way to become board-certified, the occasional picture of his makeshift meals, general questions about your day – you don’t know how to feel about all of it. Because what happens when Emcee comes back?

What happens when you can no longer be the priority again?

The very question makes you throw a shot of soju back at this company dinner to celebrate someone’s promotion. You had taken it as a chance to, once again, stay away from your actual sanctuary, while also getting a free meal. A win in your books, right?

Even in your drunken haze, when your phone, face down, vibrates on your table by your chopsticks, you know immediately who it is. When you flip your phone over, your husband’s face greets you, and you have a slight moment of panic. Did you ever get around to telling him you were at a work dinner tonight?

“Fuck,” you murmur before nonchalantly swiping up the green circle.

“Hello?” you quietly answer, your voice already a little heavy.

Zayne seems to pick up on it almost immediately. “Is everything okay?”

Before you can answer, a crowd roars at some drinking game happening two tables down, and your phone cannot be bothered to filter it out.

“Where are you?” he asks.

“Work dinner,” you reply while trying to step away from your table and towards somewhere quieter.

“Was it an impromptu dinner?”

“No,” you say, tone sheepish and sluggish, much like your steps towards the bathroom. “I think I forgot to tell you about it.”

“Do you need me to pick you up? I’m about to leave the hospital.”

You pull your phone back and search for the time. Was it already 10:30PM?

“You don’t have to, it’s late. You should go home and get some sleep.”

Several miles away, a tiny layer of ice decorates Zayne’s right hand.

“I can’t imagine you need to be there any longer. Surely your boss would understand. Where are you?”

For the life of you, you could not recall the name of the restaurant. Looking around, you hum, almost lackadaisical, until you catch sight of a flashy sign. “I think it’s called Chodang? Korean barbeque.”

“Stay where you are. I’m on my way.”

“No,” you nearly whine, “it’s okayyy.”

There are the jingling of keys and two quick beeps in the background. “Y/N.”

His voice is final, stern, and sobers you just a tiny bit.

“Thank you,” you surrender with the cadence of an apology, your tone sheepish.

“Wait inside. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Don’t forget to gather all your things.”

“Yessir,” and fingers mock salute to no one before hanging up. Well, at least you can finally be done with this event. If you’re lucky, you won’t have a hangover in the morning.

When you start grabbing your jacket and bag, your coworkers ask if you’re leaving, and you have to pretend that you don’t want to. “My husband’s picking me up.”

“Well, there’s nothing you can do about that then. See you tomorrow!”

You wave goodbye to everyone and do your best to remain as steady as possible. The warm summer night is a nice contrast to the aircon that had no business blasting as hard as it did. Your mind drifts off into another world as you stare off at nothing, eyes unfocused and slightly glazed over. Without any warning, you find yourself thrown back to the day you walked aimlessly around the park.

“Perhaps, but there’s no point in dwelling on the what-ifs.”

That was not a “what-if” you could ignore. How could you, you think to yourself, a half-sob sitting lodged in your throat. Would you even be here in this position now, waiting for Zayne, your husband, to pick you up late at night out of love and concern? Would you have been a spectator at their wedding instead of his bride? Everything that you had built with him would be nonexistent – a life devoid of love, hazel eyes, tender care, and icy hands that could be so warm.

A sleek car pulls up in front of you with a gentle purr of its engine, causing you to blink and remove yourself from your stupor. How interesting, that’s the same color as Zayne’s car. And make. What are the odds?

Oh, the person even looks like your husband, too. What a coincidence.

Are you forgetting something important?

“Y/N,” the person says as they approach you. How do they know your name?

Cold hands hold you by your upper arms in an attempt to steady you. But your vision blurs, and you feel the desperate need to hide. You drop down to a crouch which is not wise in your dress, but there’s very little else you can do at the moment.

“I have a husband, and he’s coming to pick me up,” you announce with false bravado, voice barely loud enough for the person to hear because you have your head tucked against and your arms wrapped around your knees. To further bolster your argument, you throw up your left hand and turn it so your ring is visible. “See?”

The person in front of you lets out a deep sigh as if they’ve been dealt with the most cumbersome inconvenience possible, which makes you frown because how dare they display exasperation when they, themselves, of their own volition, approached a drunk person. A rustle of clothes, a shadow overcast, and against better judgment, you peek over your crossed limbs. The person is now crouched in front of you to meet you at eye level, which must be painful for someone so tall. However, it is not the time to feel sorry.

“I do see. In fact, I gave you that ring.”

You splutter and fail to scoff. “No, you didn’t. My husband gave me that ring, and I don’t even know who you are!” you argue and whine, failing to pull back when a cold hand rests against your head to pat down stray hairs.

“You’re telling me I don’t look familiar?”

With a pout, you shake your head, petulant and stubborn. “Nobody can really look like Zayne. He’s suuuper handsome, and no one,” you emphasize before wagging a finger in front of you, “can compare.”

Zayne’s eyes sparkle with mirth and affection, and he can’t help but indulge himself just a little bit more.

“Is that so? Anything else I should know about this…Zayne?”

Your eyes remain closed as you turn to the side, resting a cheek against your forearms. “He’s really, really sweet, which is funny because he’s – hiccup – like, obsessed with sweets. Annddd, he’s the best car–, cardi–, cardia–, heart doctor in the whooolleee world. Zayne saves lots and lots of lives all the time.”

“And what if I told you I was a cardiologist as well?”

“Doesn’t matter, because Zayne is the best. No one is better than Zayne. He’s really funny, and he makes me laugh a lot. He’s…he’s the best person I know.”

And he is. He really, truly is. The fondness brings you back to the earlier existential dread that you had been spiraling down before this man appeared in front of you. It’s the alcohol, you tell yourself as your eyes begin to water, and you can’t help the sniffle that ensues.

The sound sends Zayne into a world of panic. He has long been able to differentiate between your crying sniffles and runny-nose-flu sniffles, and he knows you’re not usually an emotional drunk.

“I don’t know what I would do without him,” – sniff – “and if he…if he ever left me, I know exactly who he’d leave me for.” Your voice warbles and shakes more and more with each word before you’re thrown into a fit of sobs. “And I wouldn’t blame him be – hic – because,” you try to elaborate before pausing, “because..”

Oh god, you can’t even get yourself to say it. The thought plagues you as the cries plague your chest, leaving you defenseless with no other option but to let it all out. It’s the last thing you do before you proceed to pass out from exhaustion.

Zayne catches you just in time and brings your barely conscious body home with a heavy heart. Any other day, he would’ve found your groggy voice and minor complaints on the way home to be endearing. But now? He doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know what to do besides taking off your shoes, changing you into your pajamas, and tucking you into bed. He doesn’t know what to do besides feeding you honey water by the mouthful because you refuse to drink from a cup like a sober person. He doesn’t know what to do when you so readily accept his kisses and the soothing liquid in your sleepy state.

When he finally lays beside you, all he does know is that you two urgently need to talk.

(He hears the last few grains of sand start to trickle through the neck of his glass timer.)

And soon.

Your eyes shoot open the next morning, and after recalling everything you word-vomited last night, you want nothing more than to plant yourself six feet under and turn into a tree. That way, you would never have to see Zayne again without being riddled with guilt, stress, and disbelief in your boorish behaviors. You two can never talk about this.

Zayne is this close to stabbing a cadaver from the nearby medical school’s anatomy lab with a scalpel in a manner that would laugh maniacally in the name of science. What does a man need to do to have just one – one, whole, uninterrupted – day to spend with his wife?

It has to be karma, at this point. He must’ve done something horrific to have emergencies land in his lap at the most inconvenient times possible. After all, it seemed that at every available opportunity, something unavoidable called for his attention. Whether it be an urgent consult, some patient code, nurses knocking urgently at his door, covering for someone at the last minute, Yvonne paging him, literally anything –

At this very moment, one could find Zayne leaning down in surrender at his desk – back hunched over, elbows on the glass, forehead resting against intertwined hands, thumbs rubbing circles into his temples, glasses cast aside atop a messy pile of folders in a haphazard fashion – all while muttering to himself, “I just need to talk to my wife, for the love of Astra.” After a long sigh, he rubs his eyes and looks up, his fingertips now meeting over the bridge of his nose. In his peripheral vision, a glass sand timer sits. To anyone else, it is an innocent decoration – but to him, its very existence now mocks him.

A cherished gift from you, despite its simplicity. But as he reaches over in a daze to turn it on its axel, he cannot help but wonder if it meant anything deeper. When you gifted this to him two years ago, was it supposed to remind him that time with you was finite?

“It’s a three-minute sand timer,” you had said, bouncing in excitement on your feet as you stood in front of his desk and watched him open the box. “I know you’re endlessly busy, but you should at least be able to have a few minutes to yourself when you want or need it.”

Zayne’s vision focuses on the grains of sand trickling through the neck and into the bottom bulb. As usual, he is mildly fascinated by its unique frosty blue hue, its looks more akin to snow gently piling up in a pristine tundra. He remembers the cheeky smile spread across your lips, the adoration in your eyes, the way your hands were crossed behind your back. He remembers holding out his hand, gently gripping yours when it had found its home in his, and pressing his lips against your knuckles as a gesture of gratitude, love, and respect.

“Do you think anything would’ve happened between you and her had she stayed six years ago?”

Grayson’s words had unnerved him more than one could realize.

Zayne had never questioned his marriage before. Though there had been some hesitancy in moving on from Emcee and acknowledging that he felt some type of affection for you, the one he hadn’t been enamored with for many years, he learned to love you. It was easy, in hindsight, and it still is. Even when Emcee had come to the wedding, Zayne had felt nothing but appreciation that she had made it all the way out there despite her busy and chaotic schedule.

But what if she had stayed? What if she never moved across the country?

He groans and leans back in his chair, his head slightly hanging over the top edge. His shoulders protest, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders ache. If there was anything he could wish for at this very moment, it would be your presence behind him, your fingers kneading methodically to relieve him of his discomfort. “You’re too good to me,” he would say, and you would chuckle. “Nonsense,” you’d reply quietly. “If anyone is too good to me, it’s you.”

“See, that’s nonsense,” he’d argue and look over his shoulder, a hand reaching back to cover yours. And you would laugh before placing a tender kiss on his forehead, almost Spiderman style. He would relish in the tiny gesture, so wonderful and full of pure bliss, and know that he could make it through the rest of the day.

The pride in his gait as he has you on his arm during awards ceremonies, the peace in his eyes as he watches you snore in deep sleep, the reverence in his touch when he keeps a hand on the back of your neck as he kisses you with all abandon, the trained ear to hear your voice in a noisy crowd – every moment, every memory, every bit of life that he has lived with you, he would never trade it for the world. It doesn’t matter what would’ve happened if Emcee had stayed put six years ago.

And he really, really, wishes he had told Grayson that.

Zayne wakes his computer screen and pulls up his calendar to see what his schedule looks like for the afternoon and tomorrow. It’s relatively light compared to the last few months, and he feels like he can finally breathe. Reaching into his whitecoat pocket for his phone, and without looking, he uses your speed dial – 2, and only because 1 is occupied by his voicemail inbox. Each dial tone causes his anxiety to spike, but somebody must be answering his prayers because you answer right before it’s forwarded to your voicemail.

“Yes, Zayne?”

“Do you have any meetings tomorrow?”

“Oh, umm,” you hum, and he can hear the faint mouse clicks in the back, “there’s nothing urgent. What is it?”

“Take the day off tomorrow,” he suggests in a gentle tone. “Call in sick, and spend the day with me.”

Zayne receives a few moments of silence, and he can practically hear the gears grinding in your brain, even miles away.

“I miss you,” he adds, his voice like a confession, and you cannot mistake his tone for anything but pure, genuine longing.

“...I miss you, too,” you reply, your own tone just as yearning as his. “I’ll do it.”

Zayne’s absolutely thrilled, already logging into his employee portal to submit his sick day absence. “We’ll sleep in, cook something together. Is there anywhere you want to go or do?”

“Not that I can think of right now.”

Good. That’s what he was hoping for.

“Then I’ll see you tonight. Let me know if you want me to pick you up from work.”

“Will do. I’ll see you later.”

“One more thing, Y/N.”

“Hm?”

“I love you.”

“...I love you, too.”

“Goodbye, dear.”

“Bye, A-Shen.” Call ended chime.

Despite the selfish desire to keep you on the phone until it’s time to leave work, he cannot help but smile at the use of his Chinese nickname. You’ve always said it so affectionately, so full of care and tenderness. His heart rate never fails to spike and simultaneously melt at the sound of it, even after all these years.

Who knew that, to get one free day with his wife, it takes one drunken rant, the impatience of a toddler, and two individuals playing hooky?

Part of you wishes you never have to wake up. You have a very, very bad feeling about this day off, seeing as Zayne, of all people, was the one to propose such a day. For the first time in months, you feel his presence as soon as you awaken. You stir, and lithe fingers brush away a few baby hairs with precision and care. Your eyes stay shut. You desperately beg yourself to fall back asleep, to deny reality for just a few more hours.

But Zayne has other plans – he kisses you on the cheek before moving slightly to murmur in your ear, “Good morning, dear.”

Fuck.

“G’morning,” you mutter. At the very words, your eyes flutter open. His smile is incredibly gentle and so rife with adoration that you find it almost…blinding.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

God, even the thought of eating makes you nauseous. “It’s okay, I’m not hungry.”

Zayne frowns. “But–”

You take an abrupt turn and roll out of bed. “Let me start the coffee and whip up something for you.” Anything to get you away from him, or you might just combust.

A few minutes later, you definitely are.

Zayne has caught up to you now, arms wrapped around your middle as you poke some eggs frying in a pan. His chin rests on your left shoulder, and you’re panicking. It has been so long that your body barely has the muscle memory to act at this moment. Do you remain slightly stiff? Do you relax in his hold? Do you nuzzle your cheek against his? Do you turn to kiss him on the cheek? Do you start light conversation and exchange sweet nothings?

“When was the last time we had a day like this?” Zayne asks, his voice soft against your ear.

“It‘s been a while,” you reply and attempt to mask the bitterness in your tone.

“I know,” he sighs and squeezes you a little tighter. “The hospital has been occupying too much of my time.”

Amongst other things…and people.

Your hands tremble slightly as one lifts the pan and the other uses the spatula to push the eggs onto the empty plate next to the stove. Right on time, two pieces of wheat toast pop out from the toaster, and you place them with the eggs. Zayne reluctantly unlatches himself as you grab the plate without a word and walk them to the round dining table. You place it at his usual seat, a silent gesture for him to sit and wait as you grab a knife, fork, and cup of coffee with a little too much sugar and cream. The best you can do is send him a half-smile before retreating to the sink and busying yourself with the dirty dishes. Washing a frying pan should not take long, but your motions never stray from slow, thoughtful, and methodical.

There’s a part of you that never wants this day to end – but the other part wants it to end now. You’re not ready for this conversation that you bet he’s trying to have.

Usually, Zayne would give you some time to settle before sitting down and having serious talks. But today? He’s restless, abuzz.

The two of you are cuddling on the couch with a random documentary on, his fingers tracing patterns across the length of your arm. They leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake, and Zayne takes it as a sign to drape the blanket from the back of the couch over both of you, but mainly your legs and lower torso. “Thank you,” you whisper.

“Better?” he murmurs in question.

You hum and nod, allowing yourself to snuggle just a bit further.

Several minutes pass before Zayne bites the bullet.

“Do you…remember that work dinner you had last week?”

You gulp, and it’s not exactly subtle.

“Mhmm.”

“Do you remember what happened when I picked you up from the restaurant?”

Well shit. “Umm…it’s a bit fuzzy…”

Zayne hums, his fingers now running through your hair. “You said something to me.”

“Did I?”

He stays silent before grabbing the remote, pausing the show, and turning to look you in the eye.

“I think you’ve been avoiding me,” he lets out, his gaze sweeping over every inch of your face and studying every little reaction of yours, “and I think it has something to do with what you said that night.

“Well first, there’s the situation where you couldn’t even recognize me, but I also understand that inebriation can greatly affect one’s vision. What concerned me the most was,” he pauses before continuing, “this idea you had in your head that I would leave you for someone else.”

Zayne lifts his free hand to softly grasp your chin between his thumb and index finger – not too harshly, but not soft enough that you could escape him.

You watch all pretenses fall from his face, and something in his eyes breaks.

“Why,” Zayne starts, his voice gravelly and raspy with disbelief now, “would you ever think that?”

Is he serious?

“Have I done something, Y/N? To make you doubt me?”

You snap, “Think for maybe five seconds about that before you ask me again. You know I wouldn’t be irrational enough to be upset with you over nothing.”

Zayne’s eyebrows furrow, the crease between them becoming more and more pronounced. “I…”

Perhaps there was no use to beating around the bush. Your voice trembles as you confess, “I heard what you told Grayson in your office a couple weeks ago.” Even as Zayne’s eyes seem to widen, you push through, “I was going to drop off lunch, but then I heard him ask about Emcee, and if anything would’ve happened between you two had she stayed all those years ago.

“And you said, ‘Perhaps’, Zayne.”

Even in the most harrowing surgeries, his hands could remain stable. But now they shake as they move to cradle your face, and you push yourself completely off the couch. “Tell me, Zayne Li. Tell me what things would be like if Emcee never took that job six years ago. Would we still be here today?”

“Of course we would–”

“Then why?!” you yelled, whirling on him with fresh tears tracking down your cheeks. “Why would you say that to Grayson if it weren’t true?! Obviously, there’s some truth to it!”

“Please, listen to me–” he begs, but you cut him off once more.

“How can you sit there and lie to me? You wouldn’t have said it if you didn’t mean it, Zayne. You are rarely, if ever, unintentional in your words. So, the fact that ‘perhaps’ even slipped out of your mouth means something.”

“I,” he starts then pauses, his brain fighting for the right words. “I don’t…I don’t know.”

His words trigger a sharp pain in your chest, and your cries begin to worsen. The feeling like you’re on the verge of hyperventilating draws closer and closer. “You still love her, don’t you?”

“No!” Zayne immediately fires back. “Not in the way you’re thinking, and not in the way that I love you.”

“She was your first love, Zayne, and it wasn’t the kind of first love that anyone can easily brush off. You,” your lungs scream for air in between your words, “you only went out with me because she left. Had she not…”

Zayne shakes his head with vigor. “No, I would still be here. With you.”

“Then why–”

“Even if she had stayed, if anything had happened between me and her,” Zayne interjects, looking straight at you. It takes everything in him not to crack at the sight of your grief-ridden gaze. “I firmly believe that I’d still end up here with you. I meant what I said to Grayson when I said there was no use in dwelling on the what-ifs. The words didn’t come to me at the time, but I said it because I knew that no matter what, I would still be married to you.

Always encased in subtle pride and unwavering willpower, Zayne slides off the couch and plants his weight on buckled knees. He takes hold of your hands and is beyond relieved when you don’t pull away. There is no way to count the number of times he has held your hands with love and reverence – but he hopes, he prays, that this is the only time he will ever need to hold them in repentance, a sinner seeking divine forgiveness.

“Please believe me,” he implores, and you’d have to be deaf and blind to miss the desperation in his grip, tone, and eyes. “I love you, Y/N,” Zayne professes. “I told you on our wedding night that there isn’t a single moment when I’m not thinking of you, and that hasn’t changed at all. Astra permit, that will never change.”

Your silence terrifies him, but at least he hasn’t been greeted by an onslaught of fresh tears from you. “You were promised the world from me, and I have failed you,” he said softly, almost drowning in self-disappointment. “I’ve neglected you these past few months, and I am so, so sorry.”

Zayne can’t bear to look at you and drops his head in your hands. He presses venerating kisses on your fingertips and palms as he waits for your answer.

You can’t look at him either, begging on his knees like he would be nothing without you. It’s hard to imagine that of someone as established and renowned as him, but…

The sunlight that pierces through the blinds catches just right on a sliver of your diamond ring that hasn’t been covered by his hands.

You take a quivering breath, another, and then another.

“If you ever,” and Zayne lifts his head with the speed of light, “give me reason to seriously doubt what we have ever again…”

His heart pounds, and he waits with bated breath. God, is this what they feel like in all those romance movies?

“...I’m dragging you to marriage counseling, and if you refuse to cooperate with even one of those sessions, I will leave.”

A torrential wave of relief passes over, causing him to release all the tension in his bones. “Thank you,” he whispers against your hands, “and I understand. You will never be taken for granted – never in this life or the next.”

And when your fingers are running through his sweaty strands, his face pressed against your stomach, his arms wrapped around you, his hands grasping firmly onto your shirt – really it’s his, but everything of his belongs to you and you only – you allow yourself to forget the insecurity that has laid dormant within you for all these years.

Zayne did not settle for you.

#lads zayne #zayne x reader #zayne x non mc #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace #lnds zayne #zayne lads #doctor zayne #zayne angst #zayne li #tw: miscommunication #tw: alcohol #zayne x you

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choerykiss · 3 days ago

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Journal Entries When They Like You

𝜗ৎ comedy/fluff/romance/gn!reader ─ #word count: around 320 each

✦ warnings : light embarassment/overthinking, mild swearing (like "loser," "dumb"), internal panic (tone: Silly, flustered, humorous, very relatable crush anxiety.)

─ twst [first years] ace . deuce . jack . epel . sebek

﹒𝓝𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: My first twisted wonderland post! I hope you guys enjoy this as much as I did writing it~ I've paid close attention to capturing each of their personalities perfectly!

Ace Trappola

Okay, okay, okay. I’m not freaking out. I’m just… casually writing in a book that’s definitely not for pouring out my feelings or whatever. Just, y’know, observations. Normal stuff. So… yeah. They smiled at me today. I KNOW it’s not a big deal—they smile at everyone—but it was different this time, okay?? I swear it lasted like… 0.7 seconds longer than usual. That means something, right? Right???

And when they laughed at my dumb joke during alchemy class?? I wasn’t even trying that hard to be funny! It just came out! But they laughed!! I saw it! AND they even nudged me with their elbow. Touched me. That’s physical contact. That’s basically a proposal in some cultures, probably. Also—I may or may not have stared at them a little too long at lunch. Deuce elbowed me and was like “Dude, you’re drooling.” WHICH I WASN’T. I was just… admiring. Appreciating. Being… observant! Like a good student of love—NO. NOT LOVE. It’s a crush. A tiny crush. A lil’ baby one. Like, “oh hey, they’re cute, whatever” kinda crush. Harmless. Innocent. …Okay maybe I imagined us holding hands. Once. Or twice. But still! I’m not like, obsessed or anything. … I wonder if they like red roses or white ones. Not that I’d buy them any or something, that’d be weird… Unless?? Ugh. Why is liking someone so dumb? I feel like a loser. But also… a little happy. Like, when I think about them, my stomach does this weird flip thing. Kinda annoying, but also kinda nice. Anyway. If Deuce ever finds this journal, I’m deleting myself from existence. This never happened. – Ace Trappola

Deuce Spade

Time: 9:43 PM Location: Dorm room, bed, hiding under the blanket so Ace doesn’t see me writing this. I think I like them. No—I know I like them. I’ve been trying to ignore it but… it’s getting kinda impossible. They smiled at me in flight class today and asked if I wanted to partner up and my heart??? Literally tried to escape my chest. I thought I was gonna pass out right there on the broom. And when they cheered me on after I nailed that loop?? I nearly crashed straight into the Spelldrive tower because my brain short-circuited. They’re just… so nice?? And funny. And when they talk, I actually want to listen. Like, really listen. Not just nod and pretend like with the teachers. They could talk about mushroom biology and I’d be like “yes, tell me more.” I tried to compliment them earlier. Said their outfit looked cool. They smiled and said “thanks” in that soft voice of theirs and I—GHHH. My ears turned red. I KNOW THEY DID. I felt them burning. I probably looked like a tomato. Or worse… a beet. I dunno how to deal with this. I want to tell them how I feel but also… what if they laugh? Or what if it ruins everything? Or what if Ace finds out and tells everyone and then they find out before I even get to say anything and think I’m a coward???? Ugh. Being a guy is hard. Feelings are hard. They make everything hard. …But maybe someday, if I get stronger… cooler… better… maybe I’ll be brave enough to tell them. For now, I’ll just protect them from afar. And maybe sneak them their favorite snack between classes again tomorrow. Not because I like them or anything. Okay maybe a little. Okay maybe a lot. (Okay, I’d fight an overblot just to hold their hand. There, I said it.) - Deuce Spade

Jack Howl

Note to self: They waved at me today. I panicked and waved back too late. Looked dumb. Need to practice reacting faster. Also: They complimented my running form. Didn’t know what to say. I said “thanks” but it came out kind of gruff. They smiled anyway. …They have a really nice smile. I saw them stretching after PE. They’re really flexible. Noticed their hair had a braid in it. Looked cool. Kind of cute. Not that it matters. I mean, it does. Not in a weird way. Just. Cool. Okay. Moving on. They said I’m “reliable.” …I don’t know why, but hearing that made my chest feel tight. Not in a bad way. Just… kind of warm. Proud. But nervous. I want to stay reliable. For them. All the time. Ugh. What’s wrong with me lately?? I keep thinking about them when I’m supposed to be focused on training. I messed up my form on reps because I was thinking about the way their voice sounds when they laugh. Not acceptable. I’m better than this. I need to stay focused. …But they’re just so— They said they might come to the Spelldrive game this weekend. I said “do whatever you want,” but I meant “I hope you do.” …I want them to see me win. If they’re watching, I’ll play even harder. I don’t really get these feelings. I’ve never had a crush before. It’s kinda embarrassing. But I think I’d like to walk with them sometime. Maybe… after the next full moon run. I could show them my favorite trail. Quiet. Peaceful. Just us. That sounds… nice. – Jack Howl

Epel Felmier

Alright. I ain't no sappy poet or nothin', but I gotta get this off my chest before I go crazy. I think I’m in love. Or… somethin' close to it. They walked past me today wearin’ that cute lil outfit and smiled like it was nothin’. Like it ain’t the most powerful weapon in all of Twisted Wonderland. Like my brain didn’t just implode. I was literally holdin’ a potion vial and almost DROPPED it. Rookie move. Real smooth, Epel. Real tough. Then they sat next to me in class and leaned in real close to ask a question?? I swear on Granny’s apple pie, I forgot how to breathe. My face was probably redder than a Cortland apple. Had to pretend to cough so no one’d see me blushin’ like some weak lil farm boy. And they laughed at my joke?? A real laugh too! Not a polite one. I don’t even remember what I said. Probably somethin’ dumb. But they looked so happy I wanted to say it again a hundred more times. Ughhhhhh. What’s wrong with me?! I keep tryin’ to act all cool and manly and then they show up and I start stammerin’ like a kid seein snow for the first time. I bet Vil’d say it’s “uncouth” or “unsightly” or whatever. But he doesn’t get it! They make me wanna be real—like the me from home. The one that ain’t pretendin’ to be perfect all the time. I wanna take ‘em to my village someday. Show ‘em the orchard, the wildflowers, the quiet spots down by the creek where I used to fish. I wanna pick apples with ‘em, hand ‘em one, and kiss ‘em under the trees. ...OH GREAT NOW I’M WRITIN’ POETRY. I’m doomed. They probably don’t even like me back. I’m just the weird country kid who talks with an accent and gets too fired up over gym class. But… maybe someday… if I can work up the courage… I’ll tell ‘em. And if not, well—I’ll still protect ‘em. I’ll be strong enough to do that, at least. …Dang it, I think I am in love. – Epel Felmier

Sebek Zigvolt

FOR MY EYES ONLY — UNAUTHORIZED READING WILL BE MET WITH HOLY RETRIBUTION. Today, once again, I found myself distracted from my sacred duties. No—not distracted, merely… temporarily pulled from my focus by an unexpected variable. That variable… being them. They were walking down the hallway in that uniform—the one that fits them so impeccably well—and they looked directly at me. ME. With those eyes that shimmer like moonlight on the Briar Valley lakes. And then—they waved. WAVED. My heart nearly halted. I almost saluted them back out of reflex. But no, I stood firm. I nodded with proper dignity befitting a knight. Though I may have bowed slightly too deep. And my voice cracked when I greeted them. …Shameful. Absolutely shameful. I must regain composure. I am Sebek Zigvolt, loyal retainer of Lord Malleus. I must not fall prey to these mortal trivialities! I must uphold honor! Poise! Strength! And yet… When they speak to me, I forget how to breathe. When they laugh, I feel like I’ve been blessed by the very spirits of the valley. When they merely exist near me, I feel… strangely compelled to protect them. Not because they are weak—no, they are strong and clever in their own right—but because… I want to. I caught myself watching them during lunch. Again. What if they noticed? What if they didn’t? They were speaking with someone else. Smiling. Laughing. I felt… displeased. Irritated. The nerve of that fool to monopolize their attention like that! Who were they anyway?! What did they do to earn such joy from them?! …I may have dropped my tray. That is unrelated. I MUST STEEL MYSELF. I will train harder, speak with sharper clarity, and resist this… heart-pounding nonsense. I must not fall in love. But… if I did… would they accept a knight like me? …What a ridiculous thought. – Sir Sebek Zigvolt, Future Knight Commander of the Briar Valley Guard

#𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐫𝐲'𝐬 #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios #twst imagines #twst scenarios #disney twisted wonderland x reader #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #jack howl x reader #epel felmier x reader #sebek zigvolt x reader

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youthereader · 3 days ago

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Be the Thing I Want

pairing: joel miller (the last of us) x femsexworker!reader

summary: 3.7k words. Your body still trades well when you move to Jackson. Though ostracized by the majority of the town, you find an ally in Joe Miller.

rating: E for sexual content, rough piv sex, angst, age gap (reader is in their 20s, Joel is in his 60s), resolved sexual tension

a/n: non-beta’d; all mistakes are my own.

You knew it wouldn’t be easy.

Still, you weren’t prepared for the cold. Not the Wyoming kind that sinks into the seams of your coat and stiffens your bones. Not the way the sky opens wide over you, or how the air here smells like horses and pine and judgment.

They don’t ask what you did to survive before this. They already know.

You arrived on foot, escorted through the gate by a man named Jesse who kept his rifle across his chest the whole time, like maybe you'd bite. You hadn’t said much - just your name, when pressed, and even that wasn’t real.

They gave you a house at the far edge of Jackson, past the vegetable plots and the dead power lines, where no one would have to look at you unless they wanted something. You didn’t mind. You were used to being kept at arm’s length.

Still, the silence stings. No one welcomes you. No one brings bread. One woman at the trading depot glares openly as she hands you a pack of tampons and a cracked bar of soap. You thank her. She doesn’t answer.

It’s not like the QZs. There, people just wanted to know what you charged. Here, they want to know if you're diseased, if you’re dangerous, if you're going to lure their husbands behind your door and then cry rape when it suits you. The way they look at you says everything: You don’t belong here.

You keep to yourself. You patch the holes in the roof with scrap wood and an old tarp. You sleep with a knife under your pillow. You trade a blowjob for antibiotics on your second day, and then again two days later for spare tampons, a battery-powered lantern, and a jar of instant coffee. You’re not proud. You’re not ashamed, either.

The town council is talking about whether you should be allowed to stay. You hear that from one of your clients - a wiry, fidgety man who doesn’t take off his boots and won’t meet your eyes after. You lean against the wall and listen as he fumbles with his belt.

“They think you’re a liability,” he mutters, not looking at you. “Maria said this ain’t Boston. People here do things clean. They don’t want kids seein’... you.”

You don’t say anything, just pick up your pants and start pulling them on. There’s no use arguing. You’ve already decided - if they come to throw you out, you’ll go quietly.

Later that night, sitting on your porch steps with the coffee warming your hands, you see him.

Joel Miller.

He walks past, slow and steady like the world’s never rushed him. You’ve heard whispers about him, same as everyone - lost his daughter, saved a girl, killed for her. He doesn’t look at you, but you look at him. Before he turns the corner, he glances back.

Your eyes meet. After that, you start seeing him more.

You’re not sure if he changes his route or if you’ve just become better at noticing him. Joel walks like someone who never learned to flinch - solid, unreadable, that permanent set to his jaw like he’s always one second from spitting on the ground. He doesn’t look at you again,but he knows you’re there.

The first time he passes while you’re with a client, you catch his silhouette from the window. He doesn’t pause. He doesn’t turn his head, but your spine goes tight anyway, and the man between your legs mutters something like fuck, that’s good just as your mouth goes slack with distraction.

You don’t think Joel heard. You hope he did.

That night, the man you blew—Caleb, maybe, or something close—leans against your doorframe and tells you there’s talk you’re bad for morale, that the kids are asking questions. That even Maria’s kid saw you once and asked what it means when a woman keeps getting visitors but never comes to church.

You don’t apologize. You don’t explain.

“Town’s too small,” you say, shrugging. “I don’t make the rules.”

He laughs, but not kindly. “You don’t follow ’em either.”

You close the door in his face. You don’t lock it.

The next day, someone spits at your feet.

A little wad of phlegm on the frozen dirt path outside your porch. You don’t see who does it, but there are only three people in view. An old woman carrying a basket of dried beans. A man on a bike. And Joel, standing near the stables, feeding something to a horse.

You don’t look at him this time. But you feel his eyes on you.

You think about that later, when you’re in bed and your legs are open, two fingers inside yourself while the wind howls through the boards you still haven’t fixed. You imagine what his mouth would feel like on your throat. How heavy his body would be. Whether he’d be rough or gentle - not that it matters, not really. You’d take him either way.

You’d beg, if he made you.

You come hard that night, biting your knuckles so you don’t cry out. When you roll onto your side, your heart thudding, your chest sticky with sweat, you tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything.

It’s just hunger, that’s all it is.

In the morning, someone’s left a half-loaf of bread on your porch. No note, wrapped in old newspaper, still warm.

You pick it up, sniff it. It’s not poisoned. You eat it all in one sitting, butterless and tearing each bite with your hands. You don’t ask who left it.

The next time Joel walks by, you meet his eyes again.

This time, he doesn’t look away.

You don’t know his name.

He doesn’t offer it, and you don’t ask. He smells like smoke and horsehair, sweat soaked deep into flannel. He closes the door behind him and stands there awkwardly, like he’s forgotten why he came.

You sit on the bed, one knee bent, arms resting on your thighs. You let him look. That’s part of the transaction - give them a second to make it real.

He clears his throat. “How much?”

“Three ration cards,” you say. “More if you want to finish inside.”

He nods, jaw twitching. “Just… just the regular.”

He’s nervous. They always are, the first time. You don’t take offense. You lead him by the belt to the bed, get his pants down, take him in your mouth while he bites down hard on the sleeve of his coat. When it’s over, he doesn’t say thank you, but he leaves the cards on the table and pulls the door gently shut behind him.

You wipe your lips, wash your face, brush your teeth with baking soda. It’s cold in the house. You bundle under a blanket on the couch, heart steady, no guilt crawling up your spine. This is what you do. What you’ve always done.

Still, when you hear the front gate creak, your pulse stutters.

You move to the window and watch.

It’s Joel again.

He’s not looking at your house. He’s passing it, same as always. But this time he’s not alone. A boy walks beside him—early teens, messy dark hair and eyes sharp as glass. They’re talking, or something like it, the boy waving his hands while Joel mutters something low.

You shouldn’t stare. You do anyway.

He glances up, catches you in the window, watching.

For just a second - just long enough to burn - he stops walking.

The boy doesn’t notice. Keeps going, rounding the corner. Joel lingers.

He holds your gaze like it means something. Like he doesn’t care who sees. Like he wants you to know he sees you.

He moves on. You close the curtain slowly, heart knocking once - twice - hard in your chest.

Later that night, when the wind howls and the cold settles into your bones, you think about him.

You imagine what he’d sound like saying your name.

You wonder if he’d be rough, or if he’d touch you like a man trying not to break something already half-shattered. You imagine calling him sir, just to see what he’d do.

You fall asleep with your hand between your legs and your lips parted, whispering nothing.

The next morning, you find the hinge on your back door is fixed.

No note. No knock. Only the rusted screw tightened, the cold less cutting in the hall.

You press your hand to the metal. It’s warm, still.

You know it was him.

The next time it’s the faucet.

It started leaking a week ago—thin streams of water hissing from the base whenever you used the sink. You tied a rag around it, then a second when the first got too soaked. You’d meant to fix it yourself. The parts were wrong. The tools you had were dull. If you were being honest, you didn’t want to try that hard.

You come back from the depot with half a can of powdered eggs and a crust of cheese in your bag and find Joel in your kitchen.

He doesn’t startle when you step through the door. Just glances over, crouched low, forearm braced against the cabinet, one big hand twisted around the pipe. There’s a wrench clamped between his teeth and a bucket full of cold water at his side.

Your instinct is to freeze, then speak. He beats you to it.

“You had the washer backwards,” he says, muffled around the metal, spitting it into his hand before standing slowly. “It was leaking into the floor.”

You drop the bag on the counter and try to keep your voice even.

“Didn't realize I put in a request.”

“You didn’t.” He wipes his hands on a cloth. “Figured you might not’ve known it was that bad.”

“I knew,” you say, before you can stop yourself.

He doesn’t react, only folds the cloth and sets it aside like everything in the world is calm and neutral and perfectly quiet. The silence builds between you, thick and dense. You watch him, arms crossed. He won’t meet your eyes.

“You want something for it?” you ask, tilting your head. “Not much I’ve got to trade, but—”

“No.”

“You sure?” You step closer, smile thin. “Freebie’s on the table.”

That makes him look up. His eyes meet yours for the first time in your house. They flick across your face, then away, like it hurts to hold your gaze.

“That’s not why I came,” he mutters.

You shrug. “Alright.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. You watch the muscle tick in his jaw, his shoulders square under that thick green jacket. Then, just before he leaves, he says it. Soft, like he knows it’s already too much.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

You nod. “Yeah.”

But inside, something pulls. He’s not like the others. He never was. You believe him.

You believe he doesn’t want payment, doesn’t want to humiliate you, doesn’t even want to judge. He wants you to be okay. It feels worse than being used, worse than being hated.

It feels like something close to care.

You sit on the floor after he leaves and press your fingers to the place he knelt.

You think not for the first time how easy it would be to fall in love with a man like that. Too bad he only sees you as a girl to fix.

The freeze sets in early.

By mid-October, your breath fogs inside the house. The windows weep. Frost licks up from the floorboards like a warning. You run the stove too long trying to heat the kitchen, until the smell of gas becomes more threat than comfort. After that, you start sleeping in your coat.

People stop speaking to you altogether. Not that there were ever many words to begin with. But now even the trades are silent—hands held out, items passed over like you’re contagious. They think you’ll break the town open from the inside, like rot.

You stop going to the depot. Clients still come. Not as many, but enough. They leave their boots on, keep their hats low. They don’t want to see you in daylight. You’re a mistake, a moment of weakness wrapped in flesh.

You feel it, deep in your stomach, the way loneliness starts to turn sour.

You dream of Joel.

Not always sexually. Sometimes he just sits at your kitchen table, watching you read. Or fixes the broken latch on your gate without being asked. In one dream, he pours coffee into your cup and presses his fingers to your wrist just to feel your pulse.

You wake up sweating.

The next time you see him is outside the school.

You’re on your way back from the well, bucket heavy in your hand, boots slipping in half-melted slush. He’s standing with Maria, talking low, his hands in his coat pockets. She doesn’t look happy. You don’t stare, but your gaze flicks over, quick and sharp.

He catches it. Of course he does.

Then he does something stupid. He tips his head. Barely more than a nod, but it cracks something open inside you. Not pity, not distance. It’s recognition. You look away fast, but it’s too late. You know Maria saw.

That night, there’s no one at your door.

The next day either.

You go two full weeks without a single knock.

The food runs low. The cold creeps higher.

You patch the window in the bedroom with cardboard and duct tape, fingers numb. You’re half-bent over the sill, trying to press the corner flat, when a voice cuts through the quiet.

“You missed a seam.”

You jump. Joel stands at the base of your porch, coat zipped high, snowflakes gathering in his hair.

You wipe your hands on your pants. “Didn’t think you made house calls.”

He squints up at you. “You need better insulation.”

“I need a better life,” you mutter, and then immediately regret it.

Joel doesn’t flinch. Just climbs the steps slowly, boots crunching, and reaches out for the tape. You hand it over.

He patches the last corner in silence. He doesn’t ask to come in and he doesn’t linger. When it’s done, he nods once, turns to leave.

You stare at his back, mouth open. You don’t say thank you. You don’t say please stay.

You try not to wait for him.

You try not to sit too long near the window or light the lamp at dusk just in case someone walks by and sees you glowing from inside like a lighthouse for lost men. You try not to listen for boots on the step or for the knock you’ve been imagining so long, it feels like it’s already happened.

But you do wait. You wait like it’s your job.

Jackson keeps pretending you aren’t here.

One night, a bottle breaks against your porch. It’s dark out, too dark to see who threw it, but you can hear the laughter as they run. You find the pieces the next morning, sharp and green and still wet with something sugary.

You sweep them into a pan and dump them over the railing.

No one comes that day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

It’s been nearly a month since the last client.

And still, he hasn’t come.

You tell yourself that’s good. He’s better than this. Better than you. You tell yourself that if he were going to show up, he would have by now. He would’ve knocked and stepped through the door and placed the cards on the table like everyone else. Simple, easy.

But Joel Miller doesn’t do anything easy.

You start walking at night, past the closed shops and quiet stables, past the school where kids leave chalk marks you step over like tombstones. You keep your hood low, keep your eyes down. But sometimes you find yourself near his house.

You never go close,never pause, but you look.

You wonder if he’s inside. If he’s thinking about you. If he’s fighting himself every day just to keep from opening your door.

You want to think he is.

You’re down to half a jar of oats, the last three tampons, and a broken lamp wick. You ration everything: your food, your heat, your pride. You boil snow on the stove and bathe with a cloth. You use the last of the coffee and don’t even cry.

You stopped feeling shame a long time ago.

This is the first real silence.

You’re sitting on the floor in front of the stove when you hear it.

Three knocks.

Not frantic. Not timid. Only certain.

Your stomach drops. You push yourself up too fast and your knees ache from the cold. The air inside your house is still and thin, like even the walls are holding their breath.

You cross the room, grip the doorknob.

You pause.

You already know it’s him.

There’s no reason to open it unless you want to change everything.

So you do, you open the door.

Joel’s standing there just beyond the threshold.

No coat today, just a flannel shirt under his jacket, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms like he meant to fix something. Except he doesn’t hold anything in his hands. No tools. No rations. No excuses.

You say nothing. Neither does he.

The silence stretches between you, heavy as lead. You don’t know what you’re waiting for—permission, maybe.

“Can I come in?” he asks, finally.

You step back without a word.

He crosses the line like he’s walking into a church, careful and reverent. His eyes sweep the place—thin blankets, patched windows, the rusted stove hissing faintly in the corner.

You feel exposed. Not naked, not yet, but close.

Joel stands in your kitchen. The same spot he fixed the sink weeks ago. This time, he doesn’t look at the faucet.

He looks at you.

You try to hold his gaze, but it’s too much. Too steady. You glance down.

“I ain’t here to fix anything,” he says, quiet.

“I know.”

You wonder if he does.

He takes off his gloves, folds them into one hand. His knuckles are red from the cold, thick with old scars and newer ones. You wonder if he’s ever touched someone gently. If he ever will.

“I brought payment.”

You nod.

He reaches into his jacket, pulls out a cloth-wrapped bundle, and sets it on the counter. You don’t open it. You know what it is - ration cards, likely more than your usual rate.

You don’t ask what he wants. You wait.

Joel looks at you like he’s memorizing something. Like he’s about to do something unforgivable and wants to remember who he was before it.

You want to say something - to break the spell, maybe. Except there’s nothing left to protect, not anymore.

“Alright,” you whisper. “What’ll it be?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he crosses the room slowly, stands in front of you, close enough to feel the warmth coming off him in waves.

You lift your chin. You’re brave, even now.

His hand comes up - not to grab, not to press, but to hover. Just above your waist. Like he’s asking.

You nod. He touches you.

His hand settles on your hip. Rough palm, warm fingers. You shiver.

Joel breathes out like it hurts.

Still, he doesn’t kiss you. You wouldn’t let him anyway.

You told yourself that was your line. Your boundary.

Still something aches as he brushes your hair back, so careful you could cry.

You’re not afraid of his body. You’re afraid of his care. Care means ruin. Care means wanting more. You can’t afford that.

You take a step back and you start to undress.

You undress slowly, because you want him to look.

You want him to see what he paid for. You want to know if it hurts him to ask.

Joel says nothing. But his eyes follow every inch of skin you uncover, like he’s starving. His hands flex at his sides. You can hear his breath, even now, even in the quiet.

You keep your shirt on. Pull your pants down and step out of them, bare from the waist down.

He steps forward. You don’t move.

When he touches you, it’s not rough—not at first. Just steady, like he’s anchoring himself. His hand slips between your legs, fingers brushing soft curls before dragging slowly and deliberately through the wet already there.

You let your head fall back, let him feel what he’s done to you.

His fingers press deeper.

You don’t moan. You don’t say his name. But your breath catches, sharp in your throat, and his grip tightens in response.

“Turn around,” he says.

You do.

He tugs your hips back, lines himself up behind you. You reach forward and brace against the table, cold wood pressing into your ribs.

He doesn’t tease, doesn’t ask.

Just pushes in, thick and solid and real, filling you in one long, aching stroke.

You gasp. Not from pain—from relief.

Joel groans behind you, low and wrecked. One hand digs into your waist, the other sliding up your back like he needs more of you.

You rock back into him.

He starts to move.

It’s not slow. Not careful. Not sweet.

You didn’t want it sweet.

You want to be fucked. Used. Wanted. You want to feel his restraint snap. You want to know how long he’s been thinking about this, how many nights he’s imagined your legs shaking, your throat tight with his name bitten back.

He drives into you harder. You arch. Your eyes roll. You reach between your legs and rub yourself fast, frantic.

He growls something you don’t catch—maybe a curse, maybe your name, maybe just a sound.

Your orgasm hits like heat lighting—fast, cracking, white.

Your legs give out but he holds you up, still fucking into you with that brutal, punishing rhythm.

When he comes, he swears low. Bites down on your shoulder—not enough to break skin, just to mark. Just to claim.

You don’t turn around when he pulls out.

You stay facing the table. Breathing hard. Waiting.

He tucks himself back in.

You feel his hand ghost your back, then pull away.

When you finally look over your shoulder, he’s at the door. The payment still sits on the counter. You think about telling him to take it back. You don’t.

Joel glances back once. His eyes linger on your mouth.

You shake your head. No. He nods.

And then he’s gone.

I'm debating making this another Joel series. lmk what you think ❤️😘

tagging: @joeldjarin

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller x you #fem reader #pedro pascal fanfiction

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lizardho · 1 day ago

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This is a thing I have noticed in my clinical training - I learned at my first practicum placement that when I’m nervous I put on what I call “The Liz Show” to entertain supervisors. In reality, it just hid certain needs I had from my supervisors, and those needs were never met at that site. I noticed me putting on The Liz Show again sometimes during internship (my equivalent of residency) and it was definitely impeding my ability to benefit from supervision. Fortunately, this time I was able to catch it, and this time it was happening with a supervisor who is an expert at working with neurodiverse people, so she was able to adapt REALLY quickly once I told her what was going on. The result was that I learned SO much more - about myself as a therapist, about how to implement specific skills, and about how to begin unmasking around others (especially those who have seen me masked previously). It’s REALLY hard to do, and I would never fault anyone for not doing it, but unmasking and being my full freak self made me a better therapist and a better wife and friend if nothing else.

As part oft brand, I feel compelled to share a story. I know it’s not an actual expectation, but I feel it amyways, and I’m gonna share it regardless. Learning how to unmask, I am reminded of a time on my mission when we were waiting to cross one of the many many many many many many many busy streets in Mexico City. It was hot as hell, we were late for a lesson, I was sweating, my garments were new and itchy and I hated them, and I just wanted to Cross The God Damned Street but I couldn’t because there were ALL these fucking cars, and then suddenly a kind bus driver saw me and my companion and took pity on us. He pulled into the middle of the two lanes on that street and stopped his bus, allowing us to cross.

In Mexico City if you keep your fingers close together and raise your hand, with fingers extended (see pic below) to face level or below, it is understood to mean “thank you.” If you raise it above face level, APPARENTLY, it is the equivalent of the middle finger. I had no idea. Nobody had ever told me, because why would anyone ever teach a missionary to flip someone off? That’s just dumb. So, back to my predicament, this guy has just cut into his earning, delayed the arrival of his passengers, and stopped traffic so my dumb gabacha ass could cross the street, and I say “thank you” as emphatically as I can and BWOOOOOOOOMP he lays into his horn and I hear angry chatter from the bus’s passengers and my companion grabs me HARD like I just did something bad so I ask what his deal is and he asks why I did that and I say “I was saying thanks, he’s letting us cross dude, duh” and he actually fully facepalms and yells to the driver “SO sorry, she’s American! She thought that was ‘thank you.’”

I still didn’t know what I did wrong, but suddenly everything was hilarious and everyone who WAS yelling at me was laughing at me, not like in a mean way but in the way you laugh at a puppy who is confused by a doorstop or a baby who doesn’t know what a word means and uses it wrong. And my companion wouldn’t explain the joke until we arrived at the lesson and he tells the investigator about what happened and the investigator told me the difference in hand gestures.

And this is was being neurodiverse is like. Your brain is speaking a different language and when you do it wrong people get mad at you sometimes, and sometimes it seems like it’s for NO REASON, so we learn to mask our confusion and language barrier with humor or silence or austerity or whatever and it WORKS but then we never learn the language right AND nobody else ever learns to speak OUR language even a little bit.

By unmasking at work, I learned the language of a trainee therapist and GOT BETTER AT WHAT I LOVE DOING. By unmasking with my wife I GOT BETTER at communicating with her and she got better and understanding me. By unmasking with friends they have learned to speak to me about as well as I can speak to them, and the occasional accidental middle finger to the proverbial bus drivers in my life stopped being a source of secret shame and self-punishment and became a genuine way to learn about other people and their ways of functioning.

Just like transitioning, just like leaving the church, just like changing majors, just like most things, taking a step to be more genuine about my own experiences with neurodiversity has made me happier, and has made it easier for me to understand others and for them to understand me.

I love y’all, and I especially love @inbabylontheywept @cintailed @flowerologists and @optimisticdad-blog for showing me how to live as someone who’s brain was installed upside down and backwards or something. Be good to each other. Be curious about yourselves and each other. Be gayer. Read more Terry Pratchett. You are deserving of all the love you feel towards your special interests or hyperfixations, and you are deserving of all the understanding you give others when they misunderstand you.

i can be quite charming in short bursts, but it really tires me out. like being charming isnt quite as mentally taxing as, say, chess, but its maybe like playing very aggressive checkers with someone who cheats. so i have to pay very close attention. and while the irony of the cheating thing is not lost on me, this is still my post, goddamnit, and if the universe is fair against my favor it is my constitutional right to complain about it.

anyway, i can feel a little guilty sometimes because i will crank my charm up really high for strangers, because i want them to like me. but ill take it a lot easier when around people that i like because

i really cant do that all the time

they already like me. it worked. i tricked them.

okay i didnt trick them but it can feel like that sometimes and it can give me weird friend guilt

my wife, bless her, pointed out that i was actually reversing on this: that i was calling my parents, and really Performing Babs while pacing around the living room, and then ending the call and immediately worrying that i hadnt done a good job. and she was like, babs, they're your parents, you can relax. they already like you. and i was like yeah, they do, but they're far away and i havent seen then in a while and i cant just see them at will and i only call them once a week and i want to Perform Babs to the best of my ability every time and it upsets me when i dont.

but she told me to chill, and i called my parents this week, and it felt a lot nicer. it turns out that sometimes its easier to be a charming person by focusing more on the person thing than the charming thing. they also sent me pictures of elk eating someones flowers which i really appreciated. my parents do like me, i just miss them quite a lot.

@optimisticdad-blog hope your trip to keeps being awesome. very excited to have you and mom visit utah this summer :)

#autism #tgirl swag #ex mormon #mormon #exmormon #trans pride #autism pride #neurodiversity #adhd #terry pratchett #gnu terry pratchett

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ivyyisbored22 · 2 days ago

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𝑰𝒗𝒚𝒚'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏—𝘚𝘮𝘶𝘵 (𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘶𝘦) 𝘗𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘵 𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵

Thank you so much for 1000 followers!!!

When starting this account because my friend @mrs-hwangh encouraged me to do so, I never expected to reach such a big number this quickly🥹 Thank you so much to everyone out there who gave my fics a chance and spent your time to read it. I so really appreciate your support!!! <3

To celebrate this milestone, I created a prompt list of 24 dialogues where you can request a short one shot for a member from SKZ. Feel free to drop a trope as well if you want something in specific.

Example: "Prompt 3 x Bang Chan". (Please note that I ONLY write for SKZ and it'll be "*Title*—Member x (fem) Reader".) Drop your requests in my ask box ♡

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊

♡Spicy Prompts with Kinks♡ Minors do not interact!!!

"You’re not wearing anything under this, are you?" (Teasing & Exhibitionism) WIP

"Look at yourself." (Mirror Sex & Praise Kink)

"I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else." (Possessiveness & Marking)

"You'll listen to Daddy won't you Baby?" (Cockwarming & Daddy Kink)

"What’s the matter? Can’t take it?" (Size Difference & Degradation)

"Since you love talking back so much, why don’t you put that mouth to use?" (Oral Fixation & Brat Taming)

"Take it just like that." (Size Kink & Manhandling)

"I could stay between your thighs forever." (Slow & Deep, Worship)

"Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you." (Soft Dom & Aftercare)

"That’s it, be a good Doll for me." (Praise Kink & Pet Names)

"What if someone walks in?" (Cum Control& Risk Play)

"I’m gonna fill you up until you can’t take it anymore." (Breeding Kink & Dirty Talk)

"You're so sensitive. Do you want me to stop?" (Consent Play & Gentle Teasing)

"You can’t even move? That’s cute." (Exhaustion & Overstim)

"Ride me, let’s see if you can handle it." (Cowgirl & Dominance Swap)

"Not until you say it." (Humiliation & Degradation)

"I. Said. Sit." (Face sitting & Mouth Worship) WIP

"I can feel your heartbeat against my lips." (Slow Teasing & Body Worship)

"You're so warm, baby. I could stay inside you forever." (Creampie & Clinginess)

"Let me do everything for you." (Lazy morning sex & Service Dom)

"Fuck baby...yeah...yeah..just like that." (Sub member & Restraints) WIP

"I know you're awake, baby. You're clenching around me." (Somnophilia & Sleepy Arousal) WIP

"Aww but let me ruin you princess, it'll be good, I promise..." (Corruption kink & loss of virginity)

"Did this fulfill your fantasy baby?" (Mask play & rough fucking)

The prompt list related fics will be added to a seperate library/perhaps linked here until it's finished but if you feel impatient, check my general masterlist to find my other work ;) ♡ I will try to post the requests as fast as I can but please do be patient.

Once again, thank you for 1K & for reading my work!!!

xx,

Ivyy

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batfambrainrotbeloved · 3 days ago

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Went to sleep, dreamt of the most gut wretching batfam angst I woke up in literal tears- now I must accept this idea has to die with me because writing it would leave me dehydrated and devestated jesus christ-

I need to yap to process wtf the horrors but read more at your own risk-

The idea started simple enough, universe shenanigans another batman appears in the watch tower (with convinently the entire batfam there, dont ask why, doesnt matter)

This Batman basically says "Hey theres a universe virus host from my dimension I thought I destroyed- its now here and we gotta kill it"

JL & Other bats are ofc wary as this Batman begans demanding all these precautions and despite OG Batman's insistance- refuses to disclose anything else. Any attempt of martian mind tricks or golden lassos is thwarted so they just have to go along with it

This part of the dream gets fuzzy but then it was a time skip to this like space universe storm- kinda like the ITSV reactor scene where everything is floaty and suspended but still movible.

This Batman takes the tech gun thingy he had this universe build and aims it- only for POV shift a figure begin to form in the storm.

Batclan tries to interfere, wanting to understand wtf is going on- but is stopped by a voice suddenly cutting through the chaos

"Oh my boy..."

Its Bruce voice-

The Batman's gun clatters to the ground, they scream about this being a cruel trick, to themselves? To it? Unclear. They scramble for the gun but their hands are shaking too much

Bruce emerges but its- so bad. He looks like a half abstracted ADC character- half his face and body seeming to fracture and distort as if hes moments from falling apart at the seams.

Then faster than they can react- Bruce moves and is suddenly looming over The Batman. But instead of looking like a threat- he just looks sad.

The glitching hands wrap around The Batmans head and slowly lift off the cowl to reveal to everyone-

Its Dick.

Older, and bright blue eyes already spilling with tears "Its not you," repeting over and over.

But seems he realizes this IS his Bruce- at least enough of him- and they embrace. Dick begins rejoycing that he was wrong- that he wasnt too late- that they can fix this. But Bruce just looks sad again and explains he has time- but that its running out fast.

And the part that fucking killed me- and I curse my vivid dreams is Dick starts just SOBBING- and spilling every little thing.

He says he and Kori finally got married, and that shes pregnant. That Jason finally got his degree and wore a stupid pink bowtie because Lian picked it out for him.

Tim moved out of the stupid houseboat and was planning to take a summer backpacking with Cass-

Steph developed her own clothing line and was in the new york times last week-

The Thomas's were cured, that Duke went home but still visits just about every day-

And that Damian got a gallery in Chicago- that the main display is a painting of Bruce, before they lost him (the exact words- I was dying)

Bruce is crying now, Background Batfam as well- so am I to the point I started becoming more aware and the dream was slipping which was NOT HELPING

Because self aware lucid ass meant Bruce started crying harder saying he wished Dick hadnt taken the burden of the cowl- and Dick says some stupid shit about its not a burden its a path and one he cant stand walking without his dad-

"Dick?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." And Bruce discorperates as the virusy storm cloud self implodes and leaves Dick kneeling on a chunk of rubble.

Oh no- but thats not the end- because Dick then keels over and SCREAM sobs for his dad- while the rest of Batfam and JL try to contain the mess and reenter the tower

Hes inconsolable- im half awake, and ending the cream de la resistance- Is OG Batman approches and for once (to my dismay) gains emotional competency

Goes "Im not your dad- but I am a dad, and if you'd let me, id like to hug you kiddo-"

Dick accepts, and practically collapses into his grip still wailing- and then finally, mercy kicks in, and I wake up

Now this was 1000x more emotionally devestating considering I had a VIVID animation style reel of this whole ass thing- and even now writing this I cannot do it justice because jesus christ I have no words to come close to this madness.

Anyways rant over- im going back to sleep- if I happen to dream anymore of this- might become an all nighter- to be determined

#my dream #I rarely vivid dream #once a blue moon (literally)#but goddammit every fucking time-#i read too much fanfiction #NOW my brain went #“Oh you want MOREEE :D???”#NO NO I DIDNT #IM STILL SNIFFLING-#Thankfully I have chugged water #sunny rambles #batfamily #batfam #batfam angst #fanfic angst

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chroniclesofskz · 2 days ago

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Embraced by Love

Bang Chan sat quietly in the dimly lit studio, tears silently slipping down his reddened face as he struggled to hold back a quiet sob. His shoulders trembled with the weight of exhaustion and heartbreak—feeling helpless to protect everyone, especially after having to end their set early. He watched helplessly as fans in the venue started passing out from the heat, the frustration gnawing at him. The venue’s unconscionable price—eight dollars for a bottle of water—only fueled his anger and despair. He felt utterly powerless, overwhelmed by the chaos surrounding him.

Suddenly, the door eased open softly, and Y/N stepped inside, her heart aching at the sight before her. She moved gently, sensing his vulnerability so raw that he didn’t even try to conceal his silent tears. Carefully, she approached him and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tender, reassuring embrace. His trembling shoulders pressed against her, and for a moment, all the weight of the world seemed to melt away as he buried himself into her warmth.

Y/N pressed a gentle kiss to his chest, her lips soft and loving as she held him close. She could feel his body trembling—shaking with the silent storm of emotions—his breath hitching as tears threatened to spill over again. Without saying a word, she softly wiped the tears from his flushed cheeks and stroked his hair gently, her fingers soothing and tender. Her voice was delicate but firm, filled with love and reassurance. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t cry.”

He leaned into her, muffling his trembling cries against her shoulder, and slowly, he sank further into her love, wrapping his arms around her waist. His face pressed into her neck, feeling her heartbeat steady underneath his cheek. His swollen lips trembled as he struggled to speak—his voice thick with emotion—"I just... I feel so helpless. I wanted to do more. I wanted to protect everyone."

Y/N gently brushed a lock of hair from his face, her hand tender and warm. Then, softly, she reminded him, “You paid for every person in that venue so they could have water. Your own money, your hard work. You made sure they were cared for, even if it meant ending the show early. That’s what truly matters. Your heart, your effort, your love—those are what count the most.”

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and as he looked into her eyes, overwhelmed, she leaned in closer and cupped his cheek. Her lips found his in a tender, loving kiss—slow and warm, expressing her understanding and unwavering support. His breath hitched once, then slowly, he mirrored her—the way his lips gently pressed to hers, full of gratitude and love. The kiss felt like an affirmation of everything he was feeling—her love anchoring him, soothing his broken heart.

When they finally parted, his voice cracked as he whispered, “Thank you. For everything. Your support, your love—that’s what keeps me going.”

Y/N smiled softly, her eyes shining with affection and understanding. “I’ll always be here for you, baby. No matter what. We’re all in this together—eight of us—your family, your team, your fans. We love you, and we believe in you.”

Gradually, the tears slowed, and he let himself relax deeper into her arms. In her embrace, he felt a fragile surge of hope—the warmth of her love making everything feel a little less heavy. As his trembling eased and he rested his forehead against her shoulder, he knew that, no matter how tough things got, he wasn’t alone. Because, in her loving arms, he found the strength to face anything.

And in that moment, surrounded by her tenderness, Chan felt forever grateful—for her unwavering love, for her support, and for knowing he was more than enough in her eyes.

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linkcharacter · 2 days ago

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just played mouthwashing myself for the first time. i’ve been really into it for the past months (tho deltarune kinda consumed my brain ngl lmao) but i’ve only ever seen playthroughs of it. and even though the game is more of a visual novel and only has one ending there’s still something about playing it yourself that gets me.

there’s nothing we can do to change anything about the situation, the ending is already set in stone from the moment you boot up the game. but being the one to control jimmy, and having to fulfill his objectives and watch everything through his eyes, really hammers home the story and his character. idk it left me with a lot of Feelings once again QvQ it’s such a brilliant game. not sure if it’s just me but i felt such sorrow and guilt watching everything that was happening </3 even though there’s literally nothing we can do, i couldn’t stop apologizing to anya and daisuke and curly. everyone in this game is so human.

and the soundtrack is so well done too i couldn’t stop pointing it out as i played lol the menu/credits theme is so melancholy but also?? there’s a sense of life and hope to it i think. like it’s trying to show that this story and these people mattered, despite the ending. it’s not a purely despairing song to me. it’s like 1am so maybe that’s why im still thinking about it so hard but it’s such a good game. anyway thanks for being such a cool n inspiring MW artist o77 i always love seeing your art of the guys <3

Moral of the story is: Play Mouthwashing. It's a genuine masterpiece of a game in my opinion.

I have played it over and over and I agree that it is a special feeling you won't replicate by watching a playthrough. Glad you enjoyed the experience :]

#asks #mouthwashing

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electric-guillotines · 1 day ago

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You Remember How To Live, Don't You?

Wanda x Female Reader

Summary: As the Wundagore temple collapsed, Wanda spirited herself away, unwilling to let herself die yet directionless. She tries to find peace again, settling into a residential suburb of Seattle. Then her next door neighbour comes back from working abroad…

Content: Reader is enhanced, fluff and angst, post-MoM Wanda, eventual smut but for now its two people who have been through so much beginning to circle each other

Part 1 || Saltskin au

Words: 4,817 Also available on AO3

Wanda Maximoff knew she would always be watched, even if it was at a distance, a passive monitor to alert those concerned parties if her activity became too alarming. There wasn’t much of anything they could do, of course, but when the temptation began to creep in she thought of her boys. Not the happy, energetic children she had within the Hex but the terrified, tearful pair who cowered and begged her, of all people, not to hurt them.

The image of their scared, wet eyes staring up at her brought any such thoughts of trying again crashing back to earth.

She destroyed the Darkhold for a reason, and Stephen Strange let her go because he wanted to believe there was a happy ending on even the loneliest paths.

She wanted to believe that too.

She was still trying to convince herself she wanted to be alive at all. It would have been easier to let the collapsing temple kill her but her survival instincts kicked in like a cornered animal, a reflexive plume of magic that threw her out of danger, out of mind and out of sight of everyone except Strange.

He knew. He understood.

He made it easy for her, a show of faith - to the general public she was framed, held prisoner in Wundagore as a rival witch attempted to take her power and ruin her standing as one of the heroes who went toe-to-toe with Thanos at the Battle for Earth. Only recently did they unravel this conspiracy, and now the doppelgänger was dead, buried under the temple.

Not everyone would believe it, certainly not the people of Westview, but it gave her room to try again, and it was so much more than she deserved. Wanda was thankful for it even if she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

What remained of the Avengers were scattered to the wind, Shield was gone, and she had no desire to disrupt Clint’s life with her presence, so she left the east coast and travelled west, finding a quiet suburb of Seattle to settle in, which was where she found herself now.

Her house perched at the end of the street where it terminated into a hiking trail, surrounded by trees and far enough from the hustle of downtown to be quiet without it being out of reach.

The weather in Seattle suited her just fine, raining half the time and cloudy for the rest, grey and peaceful. Today was different, the sun shining defiantly and casting a warm glow on everything, making the greenery pop.

Wanda enjoyed her tea, sipping slowly as she perched in a reading nook she’d put together on the second floor landing. The large windows gave her a perfect view of the street all the way down to where it intersected with others.

She liked being able to see if anyone was approaching.

No one had come for her, yet, and a dark corner of her mind refused to relax until someone did. It didn’t feel correct to just be here, unbothered, unpunished—she was guilty of so much.

Swallowing hard, she pushed the thought away.

What was the price for all her sins, exactly? Execution wouldn’t bring anyone back and her magic would react without her. What cell could hold her? Who could torment her with thoughts of what could have been and what never will be better than herself? No, this was exactly why Strange let her go once the Darkhold was gone.

Wanda was in a limbo of her own making, a slow, existential sort of hell only she could find her way out of if she wanted to.

Maybe if she convinced herself enough times that she did want to, it would take root in her. The last two months she spent walking through all the parks and nature reserves, spiriting herself further away to the coastal trails and beaches where she would occasionally stop and talk to people, otherwise taking her time to sketch what she saw from the environment to people to animals. It was soothing, safe, something meditative to quiet her mind.

A car turned down the street and Wanda straightened.

It was unfamiliar, a dark blue pickup truck with a hardtop.

Her curiosity climbed as it drew closer, passing by every other house on the street until it finally pulled into the driveway of the house next to hers.

Wanda sat up properly.

That house had been empty since she moved in. Rather, it was unoccupied, she’d seen through the windows that it was furnished with an industrial, monochromatic style quite different to the cosy, modern comforts of her own house, but the only time she’d seen someone was a gardener who let himself in through a side gate.

Most of the backyard was taken up by a covered pool and a deck, but there were raised beds full of what seemed to be herbs and salad greens, and the trees were all fruit bearing.

Finally, she saw you step out of the truck, a tall and athletic woman wearing jeans, work boots, and a leather jacket, long hair tied in a braid. You pulled a large duffle bag out with you and carried it into the house, shoulders loose and head low with exhaustion.

You came back out a moment later, retrieving a couple of grocery bags and locking the car. You turned to go back into the house, only to pause, alertness returning to your posture as you looked up to see her watching.

Wanda froze, unwilling to move. You were an unknown, she knew the basics of her immediate neighbours, but not you and that would have to change.

Politely, she waved.

You didn’t blink, dark eyes peering up at her simply observing, not hostile, not accusatory, and after a long moment you waved back, a brief and subdued gesture of connection before your attention shifted and you disappeared into your house.

Wanda exhaled slowly.

She would need to resolve that gap in her awareness as soon as possible. For now, it was time to start working on dinner.

. . .

Wanda didn’t expect to have her curiosity sated so soon. She planned to head out the following day, pick up a bottle of wine, and introduce herself all polite and courteous, only for you to beat her to it, ringing the doorbell around lunchtime.

She opened the door to find you standing there, looking far more alive and present, all cleaned up with loose hair and a soft sweater.

You were taller face to face, and you were holding a foil covered dish.

“Hello,” Wanda said abruptly, feeling a little out of sorts.

“Hi, sorry to bother you,” you said, reserved but not impolite or cold, “I didn’t expect someone to move in while I was away but it would be rude not to say hello and introduce myself.”

Wanda blinked, a quiet laugh sneaking up her throat that she hid behind a cough. “Funny, I was going to do the same but you beat me to it. I didn’t think anyone lived next door.”

“When did you move, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“About two months ago now.”

Your eyebrows raised. “Huh, must have been right after I left then.”

Wanda tilted her head at that. “Long vacation?”

Shaking your head, you smiled sourly. “I wish,” you said, “contract. I work in private security. But I should have plenty of time to myself for now.”

You lifted your hands, drawing her attention back to the dish. “Time enough to make something for a new neighbour, anyway.”

Wanda arched her brow, lightly asking, “such as?”

You smiled, a little more genuine now, “strawberry crumble. They were fresh from yesterday. I was going to have them but I can always buy more later, this was more important.”

“You make it sound so serious.”

“Do I? I like to make positive impressions when I can.”

The soft laugh slipped out of her and Wanda stepped back, opening her door fully. “Would you like some tea, coffee?”

You nodded graciously, accepting her offer and stepping inside to follow her to the kitchen.

Exchanging names, Wanda pretended not to be invested in how you reacted, busied herself with mugs and coffee grounds, but when she introduced herself you just nodded, commenting on what a lovely name it was.

She didn’t know how to respond to that, it wasn’t hatred or anger or accusations she could simply weather and push away, it was something much softer and kinder that could seep between the plates of her armour like rainwater, or poison.

Brushing it off, Wanda was relieved to find she could still carry a conversation, sitting at her kitchen island and talking over coffee like a normal person, with someone who actually seemed to see her as one and not everything her name entailed. It felt good to just talk to someone with intent and not the passing tension of two travellers on a quiet hiking trail.

She talked about her nature walks and her sketching, that she was learning to paint with watercolours but wasn’t ready to show anyone yet, she was catching up on films she hadn’t watched yet and falling in love with cooking again.

You confirmed that the beds in the backyard were indeed for herbs and salad greens and you normally took care of the gardening yourself, sharing a passion for food and telling her about all the good spots for the best produce. You were intrigued by her artistic pursuits but respected her need for privacy, revealing that you enjoyed wood carving but rarely let anyone see the results.

You were clearly withdrawn and reserved, your mannerisms polite and calm but your eyes watchful, and not a single thought was known to her. Your mind swam constantly, giving her the mental image of sharks gliding through the ocean at night, a stark white reef lit by moonlight, lithe shadows passing peacefully overhead.

It was something else to add to the pile of things she needed to understand about you.

What Wanda knew for certain was that the woman in her kitchen was enhanced, but you weren’t Shield, Sword, a former Avenger, or even one of Strange’s people, you just happened to be here already.

She doubted it was really ‘private security,’ just the easiest way to summarise why work would take you away from home for two months at a time, and she wasn’t about to try and dig for more when she was hiding more than enough.

You hadn’t even mentioned the Avengers, Thanos, or the Blip–none of it. You just talked to her.

She wasn’t going to shoot herself in the foot by pushing.

Finishing your coffee, you asked, “have you seen the sights yet or is that not your kind of thing?”

Wanda hunched her shoulders, sighing. “No. Other than my walks I’ve kept to myself.”

She chewed her lip, looking down at her empty mug. “I am still adjusting to just…” she trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

You did it for her, low and understanding, “being a person?”

Wanda looked up, meeting your stare to find it without judgement, no sneer, no narrowing eyes, just the look of someone suddenly miles away, exhaustion pressing in from all sides.

Her throat tightened and she nodded once, feeling too exposed for words.

Sensing the shift, you gracefully slid out of your chair. “I shouldn’t take any more of your time,” you said, “but thank you for the coffee. If you’d like, could I show you around the city some time?”

Clearing her throat, Wanda stood as well, walking you to the door. “I’d like that,” she said, smiling despite the anxious thoughts rattling around her head telling her this was a terrible idea, that she would only be hurt again when something horrible inevitably happened.

She made sure to swap contact details before you left.

. . .

It would have been impressive to mess up a crumble, so Wanda hadn’t necessarily expected it to be bad, she just hadn’t expected it to be so delicious either, finishing it within two days, one and a half if she were being honest. There was a sticky note on top telling her to microwave the portions on high for twenty seconds if she wanted it warm, which made for a perfectly comforting treat as the Seattle weather returned to its natural state–fog, drizzle, and rain.

Wanda made sure to send a thank you message, adding that she had to get the recipe if you were willing to part with it, which you were, and you had more to share if she was interested, recipes and food talk constituting most of the conversation.

While you were curious about if she was still ‘working,’ you didn’t linger when she gave short answers, moving on quickly to ask her about books, favourite films, favourite shows, and of course she told you about her fondness for sitcoms.

She discovered you were a horror fan, which she had no input for and felt a twinge of guilt over because you were quick to recommend a sitcom she hadn’t heard of yet. Wanda made a note for herself to look for something you might like once she had a better understanding of what you got out of the genre.

It was on the third day Wanda found herself approaching your front door, intent on returning the crumble dish now that it was clean. She tried not to think too much about how she was dressed and if that would matter to you. It wasn’t that she looked horrible, it just didn’t feel like something that should concern her as much as it did. You were practically a stranger, albeit a kind one, and she had no business thinking along those lines.

That was what she tried to tell herself, at least.

You answered the door promptly, wearing jeans, knee high boots, and a heather grey shirt that seemed to hug your body and show off your athletic build.

“Hey,” you greeted, a small smile on your lips.

“Hey,” Wanda returned, tearing her eyes away from the slope of your shoulders. “I believe that was the best crumble I’ve ever had, thank you,” she said, holding out the dish.

Your eyes crinkled and you took the dish, opening the door further. “You’re very welcome. Would you like some tea or coffee?”

Wanda nodded, stepping inside to the faint smell of sea salt and sage.

Just as she’d seen through the windows, you seemed to have a preference for darker tones but it wasn’t as cold as she first assumed. The dark walls and ceilings gave a sense of being closed in and hidden, and paired with warm lighting and soft carpets across the hardwood floors it felt a lot cosier than she expected, even with the industrial touches.

The kitchen didn’t have an island but it did have an open wall above the counters where bar stools were arranged, allowing Wanda to sit on one side while you prepared tea on the other.

She asked how the garden was doing and what kind of plants you grew, learning that the trees were mostly lemons, limes, and pears, with a couple of bay laurels among them.

You handed her a cup of steaming hibiscus tea, the liquid a beautiful bloody red. “Hopefully the weather will improve as we head into summer, I can make a delicious Brazilian lemonade.”

“And make use of that pool I bet.”

“Yes, it was still freezing outside when I left. You’d think a saltwater pool wouldn’t need protection but it’s just as vulnerable to winter.”

Wanda raised her brow. “A saltwater pool?”

You nodded. “It’s easier on your skin, hair, and eyes. I like swimming but sometimes I just don’t want to go out.”

Wanda knew that feeling well, not wanting to be seen, as if the weight of other people’s mere presence were somehow too much.

Checking your watch, you sucked your teeth in annoyance.

Wanda set her cup down. “What is it?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Lost track of time,” you said, smiling placidly. “I planned to head out to Pike Place around now, there’s a great farmer’s market, lots of seafood, wonderful produce. I grabbed some groceries when I got back but I like going round the markets for the good stuff.”

Curbing her disappointment, Wanda smiled and slid out of her chair. “That’s no problem at all, I won’t keep you.”

A brief look of conflict crossed your face before you asked, “would you like to come with me?”

Wanda froze, contradictory impulses pulling her in opposite directions, the part of her that desperately wanted to connect again and the part terrified of feeling those connections ripped away like they always were.

Seeming to sense her indecision, you rubbed the back of your neck. “There’s a chiller in my car so if you see something you like there’s plenty of room to keep it cool, but I don’t want to pull you away from anything.”

With no small amount of effort, Wanda fought down the anxiety trying to strangle her from within and smiled. “Well, I do need to see more of the city,” she said lightly, “why not?”

Contrary to any regular person on the street, Wanda felt no particular concern about getting into your car for the drive. If you were a threat she could break your body into a dozen pieces with a flick of her hand, yet even with your slippery thoughts evading her at every turn it didn’t give her pause, she could tell it wasn’t a purposeful attempt to keep her out and even if it was she wouldn’t have blamed you. No one liked their privacy invaded, no one liked feeling exposed, and she really did try not to indulge her curiosity beyond what escaped people’s heads when they were around her.

You, however, were a walking curiosity.

The drive was pleasant enough as you pointed things out to her, easily finding space in a parking lot only a couple of streets over from the market.

The market was lively without being overwhelming, colourful chalk signs and overhead string lights making it easy to navigate, lined with stalls that had everything from fruits & vegetables to various small businesses selling soaps, honey, cheeses, alcohol, crafts and the like.

Wanda couldn’t help but smile, picking over everything with great interest. She tried not to linger but you made no effort to hurry her, unbothered or perhaps expecting her novelty. She hadn’t visited this place before, after all, and she appreciated the indulgent pace.

It was only when it came to the fish section that a small bump in the road presented itself. Wanda had acquired a small bag of items over the last hour and decided with your input to purchase something for dinner later, a side of salmon.

You were served before her, politely telling the man behind the ice laden counter that you wanted monkfish, a tub of pickled herrings, and a side of salmon.

Wanda arched her brow at you as the fishmonger went about your order, and you had the audacity to smile innocently at her. “What?” you asked, a playful edge entering your voice. “You might hate it, the least I can do is buy it for you.”

“I can pay for myself, thank you.”

“I believe you.”

“And yet.”

Your smile widened just a touch, enough to show a flash of teeth in a thin white line like a knife’s edge, yet there was nothing threatening to your sharpness, it was just how you were and Wanda had the distinct impression that if you meant malice it would be unmistakable.

Chuckling softly, you relented somewhat. “You can pay me back if it makes you uncomfortable,” you said, more sincere now. “But you’re a newcomer in my home. Let me welcome you?”

Despite her pride flaring, Wanda sighed, softening her expression. “Haven’t you already welcomed me?”

You shook your head in mock seriousness. “No, the crumble was a housewarming thing. This is totally different.”

“Ah, yes. Would you explain how?”

“No, it’s a secret.”

Wanda managed to hold a straight face for exactly three seconds before the laugh bubbled out of her. You cracked too, a bright little grin warming your face.

She let it go, accepting the carefully wrapped salmon and enjoying the walk back to your car, chatting about the different stalls.

Everything that needed to be cold was placed in a dark green cooler in the back of the truck and Wanda was one step away from opening the passenger door when you cleared your throat.

You closed the trunk and stepped around to her side, leaning against the car. “So, odd question,” you started, “how do you feel about aquariums?”

Wanda blinked.

Of all the questions you could have asked, she hadn’t expected that.

She supposed she was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, to be barraged with accusations and demands for answers, and she kept finding herself on the back foot when it didn’t come.

Reining her disparate thoughts in, she tilted her head. “Honestly, I’ve never been to one. Why?”

You nodded. “Well, we’re right next to Seattle’s and it’ll be a few hours before it closes. I thought it might be something nice to do, a sight to see before the day is over.”

Wanda lifted her chin. “I could be interested,” she said, crossing her arms with a smile. “If I’m allowed to pay.”

A brief flash of surprise crossed your face and you laughed. “Ah, should have seen that coming. You win this one, Miss Maximoff.”

The aquarium was an unexpectedly soothing affair, the quiet dark of the exhibits, the silent grace of different animals swooping behind the observation windows. Aquatic animals weren’t something Wanda found herself thinking about often, it was easy to forget there was an entire world beneath the surface.

You were clearly familiar with the place, sharing little titbits about all the different animals that called the aquarium home, attentive to things that caught her interest like the sea otters holding hands while they slept and mother otters making sure their pups were too fluffy to roll over in the water when they left to forage for clams on the sea bed.

It wasn’t until walking by the main reef enclosure, so alive with all manner of fish from yellow tangs and rays to eels and dogfish, that she noticed your attention finally slip away from her.

Your eyes fixed on the slender, gliding forms of black tip reef sharks, entranced to the point that your muffled thoughts, always in motion, always shifting, finally went quiet, as if you were finally looking at something that made sense to you.

Curious, Wanda stood close enough to lean against your shoulder, keeping her voice low to avoid startling you. “I see we’ve come to your favourite animal,” she teased lightly.

You smiled, soft and peaceful, your eyes never wavering. “Not just the black tips, all sharks are beautiful to me. They’re graceful, perfectly built for their environment, they help keep everything else in check, and most of the time they’re just curious.”

A tinge of sadness entered your voice, “they’re not malicious. They would rather eat anything other than humans for a meal. But when all you have is a mouth full of sharp teeth to explore the world, everyone knows you as the thing that bites.”

The words hit Wanda like harpoons, hooking deep beyond her ribs and lodging far too close to home, to memories of terrified faces and words thrown in anger, justified and otherwise.

Clearly, you knew how that felt, and it only made her even more curious as to who exactly you were if you weren’t tied to any of the groups she’d known before.

With a sharp inhale, you half-turned to smile at her. “If you can look past the teeth, however, some sharks love getting pets and scratches from their favourite divers. Like sea puppies.”

Wanda couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of her, caught off guard by the juxtaposition, and when she managed to look up at you she found you grinning, your eyes soft and warm, your thoughts still soothingly placid in this moment.

With only so many hours in the day it had to end eventually and you made it home without incident, talking on the way back about the aquarium and great spots along the coast for Wanda’s nature walks.

You handed Wanda her things and hauled the cooler out of your trunk, nudging it shut with your elbow.

Wanda glanced at her house, almost feeling rooted to the spot as she realised she didn’t want the day to end. She couldn’t remember the last time she felt so normal, so utterly mundane. Yet another part of her needed to decompress, needed to retreat and let her mind relax.

Swallowing her restlessness, Wanda smiled. “Thank you for inviting me out,” she said, “today was wonderful.”

You nodded. “Of course. Thank you for coming with me.”

“I should get back.”

“Or you could…uh.”

Wanda blinked, watching you fumble for the first time, a break in the otherwise unflappable exterior. “I could, what?”

Clearing your throat, you tried again. “Well, I wondered if you’d like to stay for dinner. I was going to make a nice garlic paella with seared monkfish,” you said lightly, your eyes on her but your shoulders tense, the line of your throat shifting with a swallow.

It struck her that you were nervous.

You continued. “I have a nice wine to pair with it too. But I understand if you’ve had quite enough socialising for today.”

She tried not to smirk at your expense, settling on an amused smile instead. “Careful now, I would’ve dressed up if this was meant to be a date.”

It would be a lie if Wanda said she wasn’t testing you, trying to see how you would respond to the idea, and she expected to fluster you at the most. She did not expect your eyes to lit up or for you to smile.

You leaned towards her a little, all traces of anxiety falling away. “Would you say no if it was a date?”

Wanda nearly bit her tongue, cursing herself for prodding you and trying to ignore the mild flush creeping up her neck. “Well,” she started, busying herself with her bag of items. “As first dates go I’ve certainly had worse.”

With little care for her good mood, her thoughts slid backwards as if on freshly oiled tracks, sinking somewhere dark and bitter and wounded, a yawning chasm between her ribs she had only just begun attempting to close.

Her stomach lurched.

Sighing, she looked up to meet your earnest eyes with an apologetic smile. “Rain check?”

You didn’t argue, you didn’t even look disappointed, you simply nodded and leaned back to avoid crowding her space. “Of course. And please, if you’d prefer me as a friend please say so,” you said, a gentle seriousness coming over your face. “I know what it’s like to feel unmoored and out of place, and I’d like to help if I can. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or awkward, especially when we’re neighbours.”

A fraction of the pressure lifted from her chest and Wanda tilted her head gratefully. “Thank you.”

She chewed her lip, unsure how to answer when she didn’t really have one. She wanted, of course she wanted, she wanted so many things, ravenously, greedily, jealously, but rushing into anything new would not end well for anyone involved, and she wanted more than anything to stop hurting people.

Her hands were stained with enough blood already.

Sometimes she dreamt that they were still tipped black, poised over the throats of her own children.

Violently pushing those thoughts to the back of her mind, Wanda somehow managed to smile with a little more warmth. “Let’s just see where this goes, hmm? I admit you’ve made a wonderful impression.”

You nodded with a coy little smile. “At your pace then, Miss Maximoff,” you said lightly, bowing. “Good evening.”

As soon as the front door closed, Wanda leaned back against it, clutching the market bag to her chest and trying to untangle everything squirming between her ribs, a tall ask at the best of times and not helped at all by the fluttering hints of something painfully soft trying to alight within her.

She sighed.

Being the one left alive would never be easy.

But she had to try.

She had to try and not be the monster her boys saw that day.

Pushing away from the door, Wanda went about unpacking her things, allowing herself to smile ever so slightly at the parcel of salmon.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda x reader #reader insert #wlw fanfic #wanda maximoff #lesbian #Series: Saltskin AU #wanda maximoff x female reader

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chevxyn · 1 day ago

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the lonely bee — with bachira meguru.

syp; you saw the cute guy sitting alone, wondering who he is, you went to socialize with him.

sfw, reader being described as popular & attractive.

you have been a very social butterfly, almost everyone knew who you are— including teachers, janitors, even the cafeteria employees, you were a fairly popular figure.

as you stepped into the courtyard of your school, people greeted you and you would wave back to them— and looked around the area, you saw a guy.

he has a medium length hair that is black with painted with a yellow underdye— he was cute, you wonder why noone else is there.

so with your confidence, you approached him, he was holding a football and wore a smile as he noticed you were coming to his way.

you greeted him, “hello!” you sat down next to him, “i’m [name], you are?” with an enthusiastic expression, he replied, “bachira, meguru.”

“you’re very attractive.” he suddenly said, looking at you directly in the eyes and you could feel a little heat coming up to your cheek as you denied with your hand waving a way to say ‘no’— “no, what?” you let a small chuckle as you calmed yourself.

“uh— what are you doing?” you asked and he just looks down at the ball he’s holding, and you nodded. “right, sorry, stupid question.” you said, and your head tilted, speaking once more;

“sorry if it comes out as rude, but— why are you here alone?” you asked looking over the field near the courtyard, “the football team is at the field, you don’t socialize with them alot?”

“he doesn’t like them.” he said and your eyes scanned the area to find the ‘he’ the boy was talking about, “uh— who?”

“..a friend,” he said, smiling— “he says you’re fine though,” he flashed another charming smile as you gave a small nod; you’re not sure who’s the ‘he’ actually is, but you assumed it’s a friend that might be away from this area.

as the two of you bonded for a while, the bell eventually rang and the two of you had to leave, you had a good time; the boy was cute, cheerful, and friendly— he genuinely gave you one of the best times in lunchtime.

you gave him your number as you left to catch up with your friend, as he waved his hand ‘goodbye’ — when you walked aside your classmate, the other opened their mouth.

“what were you doing with him?” they suddenly asked and you let out a small ‘hm?’, “what about him?” when the two of you talked, your impression of him was everything good.

“[name], the football team talks alot about him.” they said and you made a small frown, “why?” your curiosity filled and your friend said—

“he has an unknown friend that noone has seen, some even think he is insane.” they started to explain, “at matches he would talk to himself and doesn’t try to play like a civilized player.”

“it’s a miracle that he plays a crucial part to win the match,” hearing that, your eyebrows frowned— “just because he acts a little different doesn’t make him insane; when he talked to me he was sweet.”

“everyone is sweet to you, [name].” they muttered, “you’re attractive, you got privileges noone else does.” hearing that— your anger came up and you can’t help but to give a small frown at their words, “i’ll go to class alone, thanks for walking me all this way, [friend name].”

not leaving room for discussion, you went alone to your class; you met the boy for just one day, and he gave you one of the most exciting lunchtime you could ever get.

you met him again infront of the school when you saw that he was talking to himself— as the curiousity grew; you went to him, and he quickly noticed you.

“hey bachira.” you smiled and he waved to you, “hi [nickname],” as he said that, you raised your eyebrow, he already gave you a nickname— cute.

“who are you talking with?” you asked and tilted your head, “was just talking about football to.. ah— you can’t see him.” he said, and that’s when the confirmation hits you— your friend was telling the truth.

but who are you to judge? as long as he’s a generally good person, you don’t mind it one bit. “so, are you going home?” you asked and he nodded; when he revealed his directions you can’t help but realize the area will pass your home.

you quickly offered him to walk together and so, the two of you did— and that’s when you decided; if noone was gonna be his friends due to the ‘monster’ that only he can see, then you will.

besides, you’re positive it’ll be just a little friendly relationship.

back to collection.

©chevxyn

the og script for this was bachira and [name] was gonna meet when they were kids (puppy love implication), but tbh for some reason i js wanna make a loner x popular 💔

#— chevie’s 1k milestone.#blue lock x reader #blue lock #bllk x reader #blue lock x you #bllk #bllk x you #bachira x reader #bachira meguru x reader

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matchalovertrait · 1 day ago

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We have landed 😌

NOTE: I used the "Japan Train Station" lot by LeeWangWei

NOTE: I also used the "Komerobi Little Dreams" lot by deedaadoodii

Start from the beginning (Gen 2)

Previous | Next

[Now Playing; First Song; Zachz Winner, Gaiyu, Roga.]

[Once the plane touched down, the three ladies boarded a train to the city where Rubiya, Dulce’s longtime friend, resided. Though springtime was an ideal time to visit, Dulce saw that autumn was majestic, too. The crisp air and warm-colored foliage, combined with the shoin-zukuri style architecture, created an enchanting atmosphere.]

[It was also her first time in a country where she didn’t speak the primary language. Luckily, Dani could speak some Japanese – mostly conversational, but it was enough to get by, and her accent wasn’t terrible. Dulce listened with awe. The phonological similarities between Spanish and Japanese were pretty cool.]

[Then, Dulce spotted Rubiya! She wanted to squeal, but she didn’t want to be a rowdy tourist. Despite how new and exciting everything felt, this was the everyday commute for mostly everyone else here.]

DULCE: Rubiya! It’s so good to see you again.

RUBIYA: Same here! How was the flight?

DULCE: Super long, but I’m used to it from frequently visiting my family back in Tartosa. I just watch plenty of movies like 13 Going on 30.

RUBIYA: That movie is a classic.

[Rubiya pulled back to greet her other guests.]

DANI: Hi again! Um, I’m not sure if you remember me.

RUBIYA: You’re the paralegal who showed me that remarkable taco place!

RUBIYA: And you’re Amethyst, of course!

AMETHYST: The one and only. Thanks for inviting us to stay at your place. We could’ve booked hotel rooms.

RUBIYA: I don’t mind it at all. Speaking of which, let’s start heading over there.

[After studying abroad, Rubiya chose to stay in a duplex where she ran a halal restaurant. It was modest, but certainly not unpopular. Those “Top Places to Eat At” videos often featured the establishment.]

AMETHYST: You won in that episode of Diced Junior, huh? I watched it when it aired.

RUBIYA: Yeah! I know some people expected “more” from me, but I’m perfectly content with where I’m at.

DULCE: The people who think you fell off are losers. I say you’re living the life. You received an education and you’re doing what you love.

DANI: I get you, Rubiya. I’m more than happy being a paralegal. Even when I was a teacher, I didn’t aspire to become a principal or school administrator.

AMETHYST: It’s unfortunate that teachers aren’t supported enough. The students must’ve loved you.

DANI: I miss them but I love where I work now. When I moved from Ciudad Enamorada with Yoltic, I took the chance to start over.

AMETHYST: Would you have missed Dulce as a student, though?

[Rubiya smirked. She also attended Tartosa High School, so she was aware how Dulce was like.]

DULCE: Oh, gosh... I used to sneak into the school kitchen to make my own food.

DULCE: I have to take matters into my own hands. The school lunch really ain’t it.

DULCE: Hey, Prescott. Do you want a sandwich, too?

PRINCIPAL PRESCOTT: No cheese. Extra mustard.

DULCE: My future kids better not do stuff like that. The disrespect.

[Dani snickered.]

DANI: Sometimes the most difficult part about dealing with students displaying misguided behavior is trying not to laugh.

[Before long, it was time for lunch. With two chefs in charge of the food, you knew they ate well! Dulce found it intriguing how the cooking styles of Rubiya, Lewis, and Alex remained unchanged from their Diced Junior Days. They each kept their unique flair even after all this time.]

#:>#dulce alegria #rubiya jabal #oc mlt: amethyst bailey-moon #oc mlt: daniela maravilla #tjolc gen 2 #tjolc #matchalovertrait #joy of life challenge #joy of life legacy #ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 story #sims 4 legacy #Spotify

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maincharactermuse · 2 days ago

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Come Back To Me: The Beginning.

Author’s Note: So… welcome to the prequel. This is where it all begins: the banter, the tension, the soft little moments that turned into something bigger than either of them expected. I hope you enjoy falling in love with them all over again - or maybe for the very first time.

Also… I know Dad Harry got requested a bit more as a trope… but that one is taking a little bit longer to finish as I’m a bit stuck. But here is firefighter Harry for those that care…

> Read ‘Come Back To Me’ here

> Find my masterlist here

———————————————————————————

Amelia Lockwood wasn’t one for surprises. But sometimes, the universe handed you one with broad shoulders and a clipboard.

It was just past 10 a.m., and the classroom buzzed with quiet energy. Seven-year-olds, it turned out, had infinite questions about everything - especially when Amelia asked them to describe the world’s most unusual animal for their creative writing task.

“A flying lion,” Willow announced, pencil tapping her cheek. “But it only flies when it’s happy. Like, if it eats spaghetti.”

Amelia smiled, crouching beside her desk. “That’s very specific. I like it. What kind of spaghetti?”

“Tomato,” Willow said confidently. “But not the chunky kind. That’s gross.”

She moved between desks, offering encouragement, keeping the calm rhythm of the morning intact. This was her favourite kind of day - smooth, focused, a little silly. No glitter spills yet. No lost lunchboxes. A miracle, honestly.

Then the fire alarm screamed through the halls.

Amelia stood instantly. No panic, just motion. “Alright, everyone,” she called over the wail. “Just like we practiced. Grab your jumpers, push in your chairs. We walk in a line - quietly and calmly.”

Some students jumped, others hesitated. One boy clapped his hands over his ears. But they trusted her, and within thirty seconds, they were filing out of the building in neat-ish rows, Amelia at the front with her clipboard and register.

Outside, the air was crisp, edged with the smell of fresh-cut grass. A line of fire trucks was parked by the staff lot - right, the drill. Today was the fire department’s annual safety review.

Amelia directed her students to their spot on the field, kneeling to tie a shoelace and patting one boy gently on the shoulder as he whispered that the alarm had made his tummy feel weird.

“I know,” she said softly. “But you did everything right. And we’re safe. That’s what matters.”

“That’s exactly what I told my little sister,” a voice said beside her.

Amelia looked up. And up.

A firefighter stood nearby, broad-shouldered, holding a clipboard and a stopwatch. His navy blue uniform hugged strong arms, his curls tucked beneath a cap with the station logo stitched on the front. His face was open and kind, with a bit of stubble and - okay, those dimples were unfair.

“Oh,” Amelia said, blinking. “Hi.”

He smiled. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

She stood, brushing grass from her skirt. “No worries. I’m just glad they didn’t scream.”

He chuckled, nodding toward the class. “They did great. Some of the best drill times we’ve seen today.”

“We practice,” she said. “And I may have promised extra recess if they didn’t run in circles.”

He looked impressed. “You’re good.”

“Thanks. I try.”

There was a brief pause - not awkward, just full of something unspoken.

She glanced at his clipboard. “Do you do this often?”

“Fire drills?” he asked. “More than I’d like. But we rotate between the primary schools. I’m usually assigned here. Familiar faces, you know?”

Amelia raised a brow. “I’ve worked here three years and don’t think I’ve seen you before.”

He gave a sheepish shrug. “Must’ve gotten lucky. Or unlucky, depending on how you feel about alarms.”

One of her students tugged her sleeve then, asking if it was time to go back in. She gave a soft “Almost, sweetheart,” and turned back, only to find the firefighter already stepping away.

He hesitated, looked like he might say something - then nodded once, as if deciding against it.

“Thanks for being here,” Amelia said instead.

He tipped his head. “Anytime.”

Then he walked off, clipboard in hand, calling out to another firefighter across the field.

She didn’t catch his name. He didn’t ask for hers.

But she watched him for a second longer than she meant to - watched the way he moved like someone used to carrying heavy things without complaint. Watched him scratch behind his ear when he laughed at something another firefighter said. Watched him glance back once, just once, before turning away completely.

Amelia shook her head and turned back to her class.

It was nothing. Just part of the job. A fire drill, a kind face, a strange little flicker in her stomach that would probably go away by lunchtime.

Still, that night, as she sat grading spelling tests on the couch, she caught herself doodling tiny flames in the margins.

———————————————————————————

He didn’t even get her name. Rookie mistake.

By the time they were packing up the trucks and wrapping hoses back into tidy coils, Harry couldn’t get the image of the schoolteacher out of his head.

She’d crouched so easily beside that kid, voice calm and sure, like she’d done it a hundred times - which, maybe she had. And the way she’d looked up at him like that? A bit startled, but with the kind of eyes that stuck with him.

“Earth to Styles,” came Rachel’s voice, teasing and way too loud. “You’ve coiled that hose three times. You planning to sleep with it?”

Harry blinked. “Right. Sorry.”

Mick, one of the senior firefighters, snorted from across the bay. “Don’t tell me it’s the teacher from this morning.”

Harry straightened. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Rachel grinned, tossing a rag over her shoulder. “You were talking to her for, what, thirty seconds? And we all saw it.”

“She was just being polite,” Harry muttered, though his ears were already pink.

“She smiled at you, Harry,” Rachel said. “Like, real smiled. I thought your knees buckled.”

“They did,” chuckled Dev, the youngest on the squad, as he pulled the door to the rig closed. “He stood there for a full five seconds like he’d forgotten the alphabet.”

“I didn’t forget the alphabet.”

“You did,” Mick agreed. “Didn’t even ask her name. You okay, Romeo?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t have time.”

“You had time,” Rachel shot back. “You just short-circuited. Classic crush symptoms. Next time, maybe don’t let a literal fire drill catch you off guard.”

“Alright, alright,” Harry laughed, waving them off as he stepped into the gear room. “I’ll coil your bloody hoses if you keep talking.”

“Yeah, but will you ask her out?” Dev called after him.

Harry shut the door behind him but not before muttering, under his breath, “I really, really might.”

———————————————————————————

The worst part wasn’t that her car had died. It was that it had the audacity to die in front of a bakery she liked.

The engine made a sound like it was clearing its throat, twice, then sputtered into silence as Amelia pulled to the curb.

She blinked, tried the ignition again. Nothing. Just a click and that quiet sinking feeling in her chest.

Perfect.

She sat back, hands on the steering wheel, lips pressed together. It had already been a long day - glue in her hair, a child’s nosebleed mid-maths, and a parent who thought “gifted” meant superior in every measurable way. She had been planning to grab a sourdough roll and an aggressively sweet coffee and eat it in silence with the windows down.

Instead, she was in a stalled car in a side street that suddenly felt far too small.

Amelia pulled her phone from her bag and dialed roadside assistance. The woman on the line was apologetic and kind, but not particularly helpful.

“Soonest we can have someone out is seventy to ninety minutes,” she said. “Is it in a safe location?”

“Define safe,” Amelia mumbled, glancing in the rearview at the stream of cars squeezing past her.

The woman chuckled. “If it’s driveable, try a parking lot. Otherwise, hazard lights and deep breathing.”

She hung up, threw her head back against the seat, and let out a frustrated groan. She’d just reached for the emergency chocolate in the glovebox when someone knocked gently on her window.

She jumped, a tiny yelp escaping her, then turned and saw a familiar face bending down, squinting slightly through the glass.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It was him. Fire drill guy. The firefighter with the clipboard and the navy shirt that fit a little too well. The one who had haunted her Thursday night brain like an unsent email.

She rolled the window down.

“Hi,” he said, voice warm with recognition. “Looks like you’re having a rough one.”

She let out a dry laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“I’ve seen car fires look calmer.”

“Wow. Harsh.”

He grinned, dimples and all. “Didn’t mean it like that. Want some help?”

She glanced toward the steering wheel. “Unless you moonlight as a mechanic…”

“Actually,” he said, already stepping back, “I do a little moonlighting.”

He opened the driver’s side door, and they swapped positions without much thought, he slid in and popped the hood like he’d done it a thousand times - because he probably had.

He leaned out, propped it open, then disappeared from view for a moment.

Amelia stood there, stunned by how quickly this had escalated from my car broke down to I’m sharing airspace with clipboard firefighter and he smells like cedar and engine oil.

He returned a few minutes later, wiping his hands on a rag. “Your battery’s likely shot. Might’ve been coming for a while. Do you have jumper cables?”

“I think so,” she said, rifling through the boot. “Somewhere under the… emergency blanket and three different tote bags.”

He laughed, properly laughed, as he found them himself and popped the hood on his truck, which was parked just ahead.

“I swear I’m more competent in a classroom,” she muttered, cheeks warm.

“I never doubted that,” he said, hooking the cables in place.

She leaned against her car, watching. “Do you rescue stranded teachers often?”

“Only the ones who bribe their students with recess.”

Her mouth curled. “You remembered.”

“I tried not to,” he teased. “But I’ve had a few people at the station grilling me about a mysterious schoolteacher, so it stuck.”

“Oh no,” she groaned. “I’ve caused gossip.”

“Harmless stuff.” He glanced over, eyes crinkling. “They’re just surprised I didn’t get your name.”

Amelia held out a hand, playful. “Amelia Lockwood. Year Two teacher. Slightly stressed but a highly functional adult.”

He took it, firm but warm. “Harry Styles. Firefighter. Reasonably decent at car trouble and remembering faces.”

Their hands lingered a second longer than necessary before the engine clicked back to life behind them.

Harry gave the car a pat. “There she goes.”

Amelia beamed, genuine and bright. “Thank you. Really.”

“No worries. I’m off-duty… you saved me from having to fold laundry.”

She hesitated, nerves dancing across her stomach. “Can I… buy you a coffee? As a thank-you? Assuming you drink sugar with your caffeine.”

Harry smiled again, softer, this time. “You don’t have to.”

“I know. But I want to.”

“Then yeah,” he said, tugging his truck keys from his pocket. “Let’s get that coffee.”

———————————————————————————

The bell above the café door jingled as Amelia stepped inside, the warm smell of roasted coffee beans and bread wrapping around her like a soft jumper.

Harry held the door for her, his other hand still on the keys to his truck, which he’d parked around the corner. “After you.”

“Chivalry and jumper cables,” she muttered. “You’re ticking boxes.”

He glanced sideways as they joined the short queue. “Is that so?”

“Not saying it’s a list,” she shrugged, “but if it were a list…”

He grinned, and it made his dimples show - one on the left deeper than the right. “Well, I’ll try not to blow it before you get your coffee.”

They stepped forward in the queue.

“You come here a lot?” he asked, scanning the blackboard menu like he hadn’t already picked something.

“Sometimes,” Amelia said. “It’s walking distance from school, and they know to put two sugars in my order without judging me.”

“That’s rare,” Harry said. “My team judges me if I put honey in my tea.”

“Do you put honey in your tea?”

“Depends,” he said. “Am I being judged?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Absolutely.”

When they reached the counter, she ordered her usual - a strong oat flat white and a sourdough cinnamon roll - and Harry followed suit, nodding like it was his idea all along. They took their drinks and sat by the front window, sunlight slanting in across the wooden table.

“So,” Amelia said, stirring her coffee, “do you always stop to help strangers with car trouble, or am I special?”

Harry raised a brow, smiling. “Bit bold of you to assume you’re a stranger.”

Her lips twitched. “Oh?”

“You’re Amelia Lockwood. You teach Year Two. You bribe your students with recess. You’ve got impressive clipboard power. And you panic when your car dies.”

“Only slightly.”

“Also, you were eating chocolate at the wheel.”

She gasped, laughing. “You saw that?!”

“Caught a glimpse. Bold move in a crisis.”

“Emergency chocolate,” she said with a mock-serious nod. “Standard teacher protocol.”

Harry sipped his drink, eyes warm. “Well, now I know who to call next time I’m dealing with a paperwork disaster.”

“You fill out a lot of forms as a firefighter?”

“Too many. Health and safety, incident logs, truck checks…”

“And here I thought you just saved cats and looked good in navy.”

He leaned back, playful. “You think I look good in navy?”

She made a face of mock horror. “I said what I said.”

A silence settled - not awkward, just gentle - as they ate. The roll was flaky and warm in her hands. Harry seemed content to let the conversation drift, but not disengaged. His eyes flicked to hers often, with a kind of quiet interest that made her pulse tick up.

“How long have you been a firefighter?” she asked.

“Five years,” he said. “Before that, I was a mechanic for a while. Thought I’d stick with it, but…” He shrugged. “Something about it didn’t feel right.”

“And this does?”

“Most days,” he said, then smiled. “Especially when there’s a school drill and someone makes faces behind me while I’m talking.”

“I wasn’t making faces.”

“You were,” he said. “Little ones.”

She bit into her roll, grinning. “You were so serious with your clipboard. You looked like you were about to write someone up.”

“I was trying to be professional.”

“You had a pen behind your ear and everything.”

Harry chuckled, and she could tell by the softness in his eyes that he was enjoying this - not just the conversation, but her. The kind of enjoyment that went beyond politeness. It made her chest feel… light. Untethered.

When they finished, Harry stood to toss their plates and napkins. He lingered by the bin, then returned with a slight shuffle of nerves.

“So,” he said. “I’ve got a couple days off this week.”

“Oh?”

“I was wondering…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Would you want to do something again? Not car-related, I mean.”

Amelia blinked, lips curling. “Like a date?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, then paused. “Well. I was gonna say a second date.”

She raised an eyebrow, amused. “Second?”

He gestured between them. “Coffee. Bread. Laughing. I don’t know what your standards are, but where I’m from, this feels like a date.”

She took her time answering, purely to make him sweat - though the smile tugging at her mouth gave her away.

“Alright,” she said finally, standing with her empty cup. “Then I guess you’re asking me on a second date.”

“I am,” he said, trying not to look too pleased.

“Okay, then,” she said, brushing past him with a flirty grin. “I’ll let you know if you make it to a third.”

As they stepped out into the sun, Harry matched her stride, and for the first time in a long week, she felt her shoulders drop and her cheeks ache from smiling.

———————————————————————————

Harry wasn’t nervous. He was… alert. That’s what he was telling himself.

He adjusted the cuff of his button-down shirt for the fourth time, then checked his phone again. Amelia had texted she was “two mins away,” which realistically meant five. He liked that about her already - honest, but also human.

The little Italian restaurant he’d picked had low lighting and linen tablecloths that didn’t take themselves too seriously. The air smelled like garlic, olive oil, and red wine. Soft jazz played somewhere near the back. His palms were slightly warm. Not sweaty. Just warm.

He’d just taken a sip of water when he looked up and stopped mid-swallow.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, standing a little too quickly.

There she was.

Amelia Lockwood, walking toward him in a dress the colour of ripe cherries, heels clicking softly against the tile. Her hair was down, glossy and effortless, and her lips were curved in this smug little smile that said yeah, I know I look good. And she did. More than good.

She looked like the reason the lights dimmed. Like the music slowed just to match her steps.

“You’re staring,” she said as she reached the table, voice low and playful.

Harry huffed a soft laugh. “Sorry. I forgot how to talk for a second.”

He pulled her chair out, brushing a hand along her back as she sat. “You look… incredible.”

Her smile tugged wider. “Thanks. You clean up alright too.”

He raised an eyebrow, sitting across from her. “Alright?”

“Okay, very alright,” she allowed, eyes drifting over his open collar and sleeves rolled just enough to show his forearms. “Happy?”

“Getting there.”

They ordered wine, something Italian that neither of them could pronounce, and settled into easy conversation. The tension between them wasn’t awkward, just… charged. Like they both knew this was going somewhere, but were having fun pretending not to rush it.

“So,” Amelia said, twirling pasta around her fork, “were your firefighter friends invested in tonight?”

Harry groaned. “You’ve got no idea.”

“They grilled you?”

“Relentlessly. I’m pretty sure Dev tried to slip condoms into my jacket pocket when I wasn’t looking.”

She laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. “Tell him I’m flattered.”

“Oh, he already assumed you’re out of my league.”

“Smart man.”

They moved from pasta to shared tiramisu, leaning in closer across the table now. Her elbow brushed his once, then again. Each touch was casual, but deliberate.

He watched the way she laughed with her whole face - eyes crinkling, nose scrunching slightly. She was sharp, warm, quick. And she looked at him like he was interesting, not just there.

Halfway through telling a story about one of her more chaotic students, she shifted slightly in her chair and Harry felt the unmistakable press of her foot along his calf.

It was slow. Intentional.

She didn’t break eye contact.

His breath hitched.

“Trying really hard to look unbothered right now,” he said, voice a little lower.

Her lips curved, wicked and sweet. “You’re doing a terrible job.”

He sipped his wine to cover the grin tugging at his mouth. “You always this forward on your ‘second’ dates?”

She leaned in, chin resting on her hand. “Only with firefighters who rescue me and then feed me carbs.”

“Good to know.”

Her foot stroked up his calf again, deliberate.

Harry cleared his throat, sitting back a little like that might save him. It didn’t.

“This restaurant’s nice,” she said innocently.

“Is it?” he said, tone tight. “Haven’t noticed anything besides your leg.”

Amelia bit back a smirk, then finally - mercifully - withdrew her foot and popped the last bite of dessert into her mouth.

He let out a slow breath.

“I like you flustered,” she murmured, dabbing at her lips with a napkin.

“Yeah,” he said, running a hand down his jaw. “I can tell.”

By the time the cheque arrived, Harry was mentally shifting his whole evening around. He hadn’t made any assumptions, she didn’t seem like the kind of woman you assumed anything with, but there was something decided in her posture now. Something open.

“You want to go for a walk?” he asked as they stepped into the warm night air.

Amelia looked up at him, eyes a little darker than before. “Only if you don’t take me home yet.”

Harry blinked.

She smiled. “Told you. I’m forward.”

He swallowed hard, then offered his arm with a half-smile. “I’m starting to like that about you.”

They strolled down the street toward the quieter end of the block, the air between them heavier now. Not uncomfortable - just simmering with all the things they hadn’t said yet. The kind of tension that felt like a question hanging in the space between heartbeats.

And Harry… was already imagining what the answer would be.

———————————————————————————

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected from Harry’s place, maybe a chaotic bachelor pad or something halfway furnished and smelling faintly of smoke and aftershave. But the minute he unlocked the front door and stepped aside for her, she knew she was wrong.

His home was warm. Lived-in, but tidy. Shoes neatly lined up by the door. A record player in the corner. Soft lighting. A throw blanket draped over the arm of a leather couch that looked far too comfortable to just be decorative.

“This is… not what I expected,” she said, slipping out of her heels.

He turned, raising a brow. “Is that good or bad?”

She smiled. “It’s good. Just… soft. You’re kind of soft.”

Harry snorted. “Please don’t tell my coworkers that.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They stood there a beat too long in the entryway - the air between them humming, charged.

“I want you to know,” he said suddenly, voice a little rougher now, “you being here doesn’t come with expectations. I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

Amelia stepped closer, her fingers brushing lightly along the collar of his shirt. “But what if I want to meet those expectations?”

His eyes darkened - just a flicker, but it sent her pulse skittering. “Then I’d say… we should probably stop talking.”

She kissed him. It wasn’t a sweet first-date kiss. It was hungry. Breath-stealing. Like something pent up over two weeks of glances and brushes and low laughter had finally snapped loose inside both of them.

Hands fumbled with buttons and zippers, urgent and clumsy. His shirt landed somewhere on the hallway floor, and she barely registered him lifting her into his arms until her back hit the bedroom wall. There was tongue, teeth, breathless laughter - and then no more laughter, only sighs and low, desperate sounds as they found the bed.

Clothes peeled away like they were in the way. And then it was just heat and skin and hands everywhere, mouths on necks and thighs and hips. It was messy and all-consuming and absolutely everything she hadn’t realized she wanted until now. Every time she thought they’d slowed down, it was only a pause to catch breath before diving back in.

When it was over - or at least, when the haze of it settled - they were tangled together in the sheets, the room thick with the scent of sex and the quiet buzz of his bedside fan. Her skin glistened. His chest rose and fell, still heavy with effort.

Amelia let out a breathy laugh, arm draped across his stomach. “So… that happened.”

Harry turned his head on the pillow, eyes glinting in the dim light. “You’ve ruined sex for me.”

She grinned, half delirious. “Come again?”

“No one else is ever going to feel like this. This-” He gestured between them. “It’s unfair. You’ve raised the bar to an unattainable level.”

Amelia leaned over and kissed him, slow and messy and lingering. “I’ll try not to feel too guilty about that.”

They lay in silence for a few minutes, their breaths syncing without trying. The kind of silence that didn’t need filling.

Then she shifted onto her side, propped up on an elbow. “I didn’t think I’d like someone this quickly.”

Harry glanced at her, one hand resting loosely over his stomach. “Yeah?”

“I was kind of on a break from dating, to be honest. Told myself I didn’t have the energy to learn someone new. The awkward beginnings, the texting games, all of it. And then you…” She trailed off, shrugged lightly. “You made it easy.”

He reached for her hand, threading their fingers together. “Same.”

She looked at him. “Yeah?”

“Wasn’t looking either,” he admitted. “Just kind of thought… I’d be doing my job, living my life. Never expected to get handed a clipboard during a fire drill and then meet the woman who’d flip everything upside down.”

She smiled at the memory. “I looked like a disaster that day.”

“You looked like the best kind of disaster,” he said, deadpan. “Totally distracted me from checking the fire exits.”

She laughed, letting her head drop to his shoulder. “I still can’t believe you’re real sometimes.”

He kissed her hair. “I know the feeling.”

There was something soft in the way they curled into each other after that. Not sleepy yet - just wrapped in the kind of closeness that made the room feel smaller, safer.

She ran a fingertip across his chest, idly tracing the faint scar near his collarbone. “So… are you one of those guys who panics after things get too real too fast?”

Harry snorted. “No. I’m the guy who already knows he wants to see you again tomorrow. And the next day.”

She smiled into his skin. “Good answer.”

———————————————————————————

The smell of something sweet drifted into the bedroom before she even opened her eyes - warm, sugary, familiar. There was a soft hum, too, low and tuneful, and the faint sound of a spatula tapping against a pan.

Amelia blinked awake slowly, the sunlight slanting through Harry’s curtains casting soft golden lines across the bed. The sheets beside her were empty, still warm.

She sat up carefully, her limbs deliciously sore in that deeply satisfied, post-wonderful-sex kind of way. The t-shirt she’d been wearing last night was somewhere lost in the hallway, so she reached for the first thing she could find - one of Harry’s button-ups draped over a chair. It smelled like him when she slipped it on: soap, cedar, a little bit of smoke, and something purely him.

Padding barefoot out to the kitchen, she leaned against the doorframe quietly for a moment, just watching.

Harry stood at the stove in grey sweatpants, bare back flexing slightly as he flipped a pancake. The radio played softly and he was humming along under his breath, hair mussed and curls flattened on one side. There were two mugs of coffee already poured on the counter, steam rising lazily from both.

She smiled without meaning to. This didn’t feel like a one-night thing. It didn’t feel like a fling. It felt real.

She took a step in, and the floor creaked. Harry turned his head, and when he saw her - his shirt barely buttoned, sleeves rolled to her elbows, eyes still sleepy - he grinned so wide it made her stomach flutter.

“Well, good morning,” he said, voice warm and teasing.

“Hi,” she murmured, brushing hair from her face.

“You’re shy this morning,” he said, stepping away from the pan and walking over. “Very different vibe from the woman who bit my shoulder last night.”

Amelia laughed, blushing, trying to duck her head - but he caught her around the waist and pulled her in, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He kissed her there softly, arms wrapping fully around her as she melted into his chest.

“I like this look on you,” he said into her skin. “You can keep the shirt, by the way.”

“I was planning on it,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

He leaned back just enough to kiss her temple, then her cheek. “Coffee’s ready. Pancakes are fluffy. You picked the right morning to stay over.”

She smiled. “Is that a routine thing? You cooking breakfast after all your conquests?”

“Bold of you to assume I have conquests,” he replied, handing her a mug.

“Right. You’re very chaste. I can tell.”

He smirked. “You’re the first person to wear that shirt, for what it’s worth.”

Amelia looked up at him, surprised at the sincerity in his voice.

“Really?”

Harry nodded. “Didn’t want to share any of this with someone until it felt… right.”

She took the mug from him and took a slow sip. “I’m glad I stayed.”

“You never actually left,” he said, grinning.

———————————————————————————

They sat at the small round table in his kitchen - Amelia curled up in the oversized shirt with her legs crossed under her, and Harry sitting across from her, flipping more pancakes onto her plate with the pride of a man who had truly mastered his Sunday morning game.

“Okay, but seriously,” she said, mouth half-full, “these are like… next level. What’s the secret?”

“Love and cinnamon,” he said.

“You’re lying.”

“A little. It’s buttermilk.”

She laughed. “I’m genuinely impressed. You may have ruined pancakes for me. It’s these or nothing now.”

“Good. My plan is working.”

He passed the jar of blueberry jam across the table. Amelia scooped a little onto her knife and tilted her head, smirking at him.

“Lean in a sec.”

Harry obliged, suspicious but curious. She reached forward slowly, and very deliberately dabbed a smear of jam just outside the corner of his mouth.

He froze. “Did you just—?”

“Just trying to see if jam makes you more kissable.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Scientific method?”

“Always.”

Before he could say anything else, she leaned in and licked it off - a slow, deliberate movement that immediately turned the air thick. Then she kissed him. Open-mouthed, teasing, too short.

When she pulled away, she was grinning, smug and completely unbothered. He blinked at her, stunned.

“I- Okay,” he said, clearing his throat. “So we’re doing that now.”

“I was being very mature about breakfast. You started this.”

“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered, wiping his mouth with a napkin and shooting her a pointed look that didn’t quite hide the twitch of his lips.

“Thanks,” she said sweetly, stealing a piece of pancake from his plate with her fork. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

He reached for her hand and held it over the table, thumb brushing slowly over her knuckles. “I like you, Amelia Lockwood.”

She smiled, a little softer now. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

The moment held - something warm and slow settling between them, comfortable and promising. She didn’t say anything at first, just traced her fingertip over the back of his hand.

Finally, she looked up. “I like you too, Harry Styles.”

“Even though I make dad-joke level puns and leave my boots by the door?”

“Especially because of that.”

———————————————————————————

Harry was halfway through cleaning one of the ladders when his phone buzzed in his pocket. He wiped his hands quickly on a nearby towel and pulled it out.

Amelia

you left something at mine

looks important

and very firefighty

Harry

that’s not a word

Amelia

and yet you understood me perfectly

do you need it?

i can drop it off… i’m near the station on my way to lunch

Harry

yes. thank you!

He shook his head, laughing, and told Rachel, that he’d be stepping out front for a second.

She raised a brow. “Is this a ‘certain school teacher’ kind of errand?”

He grinned. “Possibly.”

Rachel just chuckled and waved him off. “Tell her to come say hi sometime. We’re all dying to meet the woman who has had you smiling for the last three months.”

Outside, Amelia was waiting by the sidewalk, hair tied up, sunglasses on, holding the small canvas bag that had his multipurpose tool belt in it - something he absolutely needed back. She looked casually beautiful in jeans and a plain tee, and when she saw him, her whole face lit up.

“This looks important,” she said, holding the bag up.

“You have no idea,” Harry said, taking it from her, and without a second thought, leaned in to press a long, grateful kiss to her lips. “You saved me.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, but before she could step back, she glanced over his shoulder and hesitated. “I’d kiss you goodbye again, but I can feel about twelve people staring at me.”

Harry turned slowly.

A part of the crew was at the garage door. Rachel. Alexa. Mason. Dev. A few of the newer recruits. All very unsubtly pretending to be engaged in absolutely nothing while watching him like it was a damn rom-com.

Harry sighed. “Great.”

Amelia bit her lip. “Well. You’ve been caught.”

“Might as well do this properly, then.” He reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You want a tour?”

Her eyes widened. “Wait- are you sure? I didn’t mean to crash your shift.”

“You didn’t. Come on,” he said with a grin. “We’ll get the public shaming over with all at once.”

The moment they stepped through the door, Alexa immediately clapped. “Aww, look who finally brought his girlfriend to work!”

Harry didn’t correct her - just glanced at Amelia. Their eyes met for a beat, a small flicker of something unspoken passing between them. It wasn’t official, not technically. But neither of them flinched from it.

Amelia tilted her head, clearly amused.

“She looks like trouble,” Rachel said teasingly.

“Oh, she is,” Harry said, slipping into his usual smirk. “Total menace.”

Amelia gave him a sweet, sarcastic smile. “Right back at you.”

Mason stepped up next, extending a hand. “I’m Mason. I’ve been waiting to meet you just to verify that he didn’t make you up.”

“Nice to meet you,” Amelia said, giving a firm shake. “And don’t worry - he definitely didn’t. Although the amount he talks about this place, I could probably pass your certification exam.”

“Great,” Rachel said, leaning against the wall. “We’ll just throw you into the next live burn. Trial by fire. Literally.”

“I teach seven-year-olds. Nothing scares me anymore.”

“Respect,” Alexa murmured, eyes wide.

Harry leaned over, whispering, “This is why I’m obsessed with her.”

Amelia rolled her eyes but didn’t let go of his hand. They spent the next ten minutes walking through the main areas - the rec room, the kitchen, the bunk spaces. Harry showed her where they hung out during downtime, where they ran drills in the lot, and even pointed out the infamous fridge that Mason swore was cursed.

“This is very much like a dorm,” Amelia said, inspecting the lineup of mismatched mugs on the counter.

Harry chuckled. “Pretty much. Except we’re legally responsible for saving people.”

“Terrifying.”

“Yeah.”

She looked around once more, clearly trying to take it all in. “Thanks for showing me. It’s… really cool to see it.”

“I’m glad you came.” He lowered his voice a little. “And also, I’m glad you’re not scared off now that you’ve met the crew.”

Amelia laughed, placing a hand on his chest. “They’re not that bad.”

“Give it time.”

She checked her phone and winced. “Okay, I actually do need to go - staff meeting in fifteen and I still haven’t eaten.”

“Want me to walk you out?”

“No, you’ve already risked enough mockery for one day.”

“Not mockery,” Mason called. “Celebration.”

“Leave now while you still have dignity,” Alexa added.

Harry rolled his eyes and walked her toward the garage entrance anyway. Just before she stepped out, she turned around and tugged him in for another kiss - softer this time, but no less sure.

“Thanks for not pretending I was just ‘dropping something off,’” she said quietly.

“Thanks for not pretending I wasn’t worth the stop.”

They smiled at each other, and for a moment, the noise behind them faded.

Then someone (probably Mason) made a very loud kissy noise, and Harry flipped them off over Amelia’s shoulder.

“I’ll text you later?” she said, already backing away.

“Yeah. And hey,” he added, watching her with a soft smile, “thanks again.”

She gave a tiny wave, then slipped around the corner and out of sight.

Back inside, Harry barely got ten feet before Rachel and Alexa ambushed him.

“She’s pretty,” she said, amused.

“Very pretty,” Alexa added. “And fiery.”

“She’s a schoolteacher, not a dragon.”

“Same thing.”

Mason dropped onto the couch dramatically. “We were starting to think you made her up.”

“You all are obsessed with my love life,” Harry muttered, tossing the bag Amelia had brought onto the counter.

“Because we’re invested,” Alexa said.

Rachel nodded. “You smile like an idiot every time you get a text.”

Harry rolled his eyes again but couldn’t hide the grin sneaking onto his face. “Alright, alright. Can we get back to work now, or do you want to ask what our first date was like too?”

They immediately all raised their hands.

He groaned and walked away.

“Her foot on your calf under the table during dinner,” Alexa called. “That’s my guess!”

“I’m never bringing her back here again,” Harry muttered.

But the truth was, he absolutely would.

———————————————————————————

The roof of the firehouse was still warm beneath them, radiating the last of the day’s heat into the soles of their shoes. A soft breeze tugged at the edges of Amelia’s t-shirt as she leaned back on her palms, head tilted to the sky, legs stretched out in front of her. Crickets chirped somewhere below, and the town’s hum had finally quieted, like even it was letting itself exhale for a moment.

Harry handed her a cold bottle, the label already damp from the cooler they’d brought up.

“Cheers,” he said, clinking his against hers.

“To what?”

He thought for a second. “To me not falling asleep mid conversation this time.”

She snorted, sipping. “To that.”

It was easy with her. Even after months, it still surprised him sometimes - how natural it felt to sit beside her, without the need to impress or fill silence. She didn’t demand noise. She just let him be. And he liked who he was when he was around her.

“You know,” she said, nudging his sneaker with hers, “for a place that smells like smoke and sweat ninety percent of the time, this rooftop’s kind of romantic.”

He gave a quiet laugh. “Don’t let the guys hear you say that. They’ll start hosting date nights up here.”

“Oh god, no,” she said, grinning. “Could you imagine Rachel with a cheese board?”

He leaned back on his elbows, his shoulder brushing against hers. “You say that like Rachel doesn’t have a Pinterest board called ‘Apocalyptic Charcuterie.’”

Amelia laughed - properly, head thrown back, nose crinkled - and the sound bounced between the walls like it belonged there.

They kept chatting, the kind of soft, rambling talk that only shows up late at night - about songs that reminded them of childhood, ridiculous school stories, weird foods they swore were actually good. Every so often, their knees bumped, or she’d brush a hand against his when reaching for the bottle opener. He didn’t move away. Neither did she.

Eventually, the conversation drifted, the space between words growing as they both stared up at the sky. The stars were clearer here than in town. Dozens of them scattered across the dark, like someone had flung glitter on velvet.

Harry turned to say something - maybe a joke, maybe something about constellations he half-remembered - but stopped short.

She wasn’t speaking. She was just looking.

Head tilted up, eyes soft, lips parted slightly in thought. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the label of her beer. The light breeze lifted the ends of her hair, and her profile was etched against the moonlight in the kind of way that felt like a painting.

And in that moment, everything just… settled.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t overwhelming. It was just clear.

This was it.

He didn’t want anyone else on this rooftop. He didn’t want anyone else drinking his beer, or laughing at his stories, or showing up at his station holding something “firefighty” he’d forgotten. He wanted her. Fully, with no blurred lines or half-definitions.

His voice was quiet when he spoke.

“Hey, mills?”

She glanced over. “Yeah?”

He swallowed. “I know we’re already sort of… doing it. Whatever this is.”

She raised a brow, playful. “Your powers of observation are incredible, firefighter.”

He smiled, a little sheepish. “I just mean… I’d really like to call you my girlfriend now. Like, properly.”

Amelia blinked. It wasn’t surprise exactly - more like that moment when you finally find the thing you’ve been wondering if they’d say first.

She didn’t answer right away. Just looked at him for a second. Then she smiled - slow, crooked, teasing.

“God, it’s about time, Styles.”

Relief bubbled up through his chest, laced with warmth. He laughed, hand coming up to cup the side of her face.

“So that’s a yes?”

“Well,” she said, leaning in like she was considering it, “only if I get to call you my boyfriend and make fun of how much you cry at Pixar movies.”

He groaned. “That was one time-”

“Luca,” she reminded him. “You sniffled into your hoodie.”

“That was a sad fish-boy situation.”

She tilted her face toward him until their noses brushed. “So is that a yes to me being your girlfriend?”

He kissed her before answering - soft and smiling against her mouth.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “It’s a yes.”

They sat there for a while after that - not needing to fill the silence with anything more. Just the occasional sip of beer, the brush of a hand across a knee, her head leaning on his shoulder as the stars burned above them.

And when she eventually sighed and said, “Okay, boyfriend, now I’m cold,” he shrugged out of his hoodie and draped it over her shoulders like it was instinct.

Because by now, it was.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles x oc

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glubglubgurgle · 2 days ago

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honey crisps (end)

calebmc college au! they finished the semester and we're finishing the fic with some fluff!

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 end

pairings: caleb/unnamed afab mc

tags: college alternate universe, FLUFF, calebmc are both freshmen, AU where they both have parents lol..., childhood friends to lovers, fake dating/practice dating/practice kissing/practice more...?, caleb third person pov, caleb yearns as usual, their moms are best friends with each other lol how cute, TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF ENDING

word count: 2.6k

a/n: end of honey crisps!! thank u to everyone who enjoyed, i love you all mwah mwah gimme a smooch back!! i'll be doing one shots and stuff for the meantime until i write the CALEBMC OFFICE AU heehee im excited!! i hope u like the ending!

ping list!!: @mcdepressed290 @st4rlight707 @auroranavi @plzdonutpercieveme @ippilulu (it wont let me tag u TT) @honeycrispangels @kiyadeleine

CROSS POSTED TO AO3

end

The school semester went by insanely quickly. Once the two of them were together, everything worked like clockwork. Caleb was worried that his jealousy issues would turn things for the worst until he realized that she was really into it. And then he found out that she had it almost as bad.

For his finals, he had a group project and one of his teammates happened to be the girl that asked for his number on the first day of school. “Can’t you move teams…?” She huffed when he was talking about his group. “Or do it yourself! I’ve been learning that coding language thingie. I can help you instead!”

Caleb couldn’t help but laugh at her attempts. He caught her using a coding program for kids one night when she fell asleep at her desk, and it warmed his heart knowing that she tried to understand what he was doing. “I would do it myself if they let me, pips. And I don’t think they have a drag-and-drop function for this project.” He said, trying to contain his teasing tone. “It’ll just be for a few weeks. If we have to meet outside of school, I’ll invite them here so they can see that I’m very much taken.” He was sat on the living floor with his laptop on the coffee table while she sat pouting on the couch, covered in textbooks and notebooks. Caleb brought his hand up to caress her cheek, massaging the frown from her face.

She glared at him. “Oh, so you wanna bring another girl in this house?”

His hand moved swiftly to the back of her neck, pulling her down for a kiss, earning a yelp from her. Quickly muffled by his lips. A few books and pencils fell off from the sudden angle change. Their teeth knocked against each other, but she instantly gave into the kiss. Her hand held his cheek. When he pulled away, her face was flushed but the scowl returned once she was aware again. “You’re really hot when you’re jealous.” He smirked, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.

“Don’t make it a habit…I’ll end up killing someone, I think.” She wriggled away from his grip and sat back up. “Hmph. I trust you. I just don’t like people staring at what’s mine.” She smoothed out the paper that accidentally crinkled and then held her hand out for Caleb to hand her the fallen items.

Caleb’s cheeks felt hot and his pants tightened. Despite her saying it casually and lovingly multiple times, the possessive sentence made his head whirl.

“I can see you’re hard, mister. I’m not doing anything about it until you finish that paper, and I finish this paper.” She huffed, snatching the pencil from his grasp.

He immediately got back to work, typing twice as fast as usual and intently focused. He knew she was almost done with hers, and all he had to do was be done with his. Once he finished, he slammed his laptop shut and immediately got on his feet.

“Cal-” She started, before he pushed away every book and lifted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Caleb!”

“I’m done! Maybe you should remind me who I belong to now.” Caleb said as he walked them into their bedroom. “My neck’s been really empty, what if they think I’m single?”

–

The two of them planned to visit home once the semester finished, but their moms decided to visit their home instead. They were confused when they arrived in two separate cars when they could have easily carpooled, until Caleb’s mom jumped out and stuck a bow on the roof. “Surprise!” She handed him the keys and got next to her mom, both with an excited smile on their face. “We were worried about the two of you living alone, but you guys made it! And thank god you guys are together.” His mom explained.

Her mom chimed in, “Yeah, we’ve been planning on getting this since the start, but it would have been awkward if you guys weren’t dating yet! The car’s for the two of you! But let’s be real, my daughter got my bad driving gene…”

“Mom!” She groaned, covering her face.

Caleb laughed, slightly agreeing with her. Despite having her license, he always wondered if the instructor just felt bad for her. He really should have felt bad for the cars driving beside her. “Thank you guys, this is really cool.” He hugged the two of them, one at a time. “Quick question though…were you guys betting on us?” He asked once he let them go.

“What? No!” His mom said, clearly lying.

“Yes! I won!” Her mom cheered. “Caleb, you’re truly a strong man, but I’ve never met a bigger coward when it comes to this…no offense. I knew she would make the first move, just like me back in the day.” She daydreamed before pulling her daughter into a hug.

She reacted like a deer in the headlights. “You knew I liked him?”

“Please, honey. You always asked for extra copies of all our vacation photos, even when you weren’t in them.” She tousled her hair.

She covered her mouth with her hands, stopping her from saying anything more. “Haha! Let’s go upstairs! He made his famous braised chicken!” She dragged her into the apartment, leaving Caleb and his mom on the street.

Caleb gave her another hug, “Thank you again. Sorry you lost the bet.”

She rolled her eyes, patting his back. “Don’t even worry about it. I’m just glad you’re finally happy. It’s so funny…I remember back when you two were in elementary school and she received a Valentine from another boy, you came home crying. Silly kid. I didn’t even know why until her mom was gushing about it on the phone.”

He blushed from remembering the scene. It was the first time he’d seen another guy so close to her. They were really young, but it triggered something in him, and at the time his child brain couldn’t comprehend why he was so sad, so he just cried. The kid was also taller than him, but when he hit his growth spurt, he was able to keep them away. “I guess I loved her a little more than anyone realized.” He smiled at the floor, his face burning. “Come on, let’s eat together.” He beamed at her, dragging her up the stairs.

Their first dinner as a couple with their moms. Embarrassing stories were exchanged throughout the night, explaining how everyone knew they would end up together. Whilst she was embarrassed to all hell, he was enjoying every minute of it. Laughing at the idea that he ever thought otherwise. Everything felt pure.

Despite the hopes of having them altogether for the weekend, the parents were called back into work the next day. This left their weekend free to celebrate however they wanted.

“Since we have a car now…we should go to the amusement park in Skyhaven!” She beamed at him, excitement filling her eyes. They had just woken up and she instantly got on her feet at the new plans. “I’ll even drive!” She put her hands on her hips, posing like a superhero.

Caleb couldn’t help but laugh at her, “I would love an amusement park date…I would also love getting to said amusement park in one piece. Soooo I’ll drive, pip.” He removed the blankets covering him as more warm sunlight shined through their window. He stretched his whole body, eyes shut, and then he felt her weight on top of him.

“Woah, you’re really hot.” He opened his eyes and found her straddling him.

“So are you, baby…but if you want to go to the amusement park today, I suggest you go get ready. Otherwise, I’ll have you in this bed all day.” Caleb stated, perfectly fine with either option.

They went to the amusement park the following day.

The two of them had to park their car before riding a ferry to enter the park as it was on an island off of Skyhaven. She was slightly limping when she got out of the car, and she glared at him as he tried to help her.

“Hey, if we went yesterday…you’d probably be walking fine.” Caleb held his hands up as a surrender. “And weren’t you the one who was begging me to go har-” He was muffled out by her hands slapping over his mouth.

“Oh my GOD, Caleb…there’s PEOPLE around.” Her face was red as she looked around them. “You’re carrying me if it gets too much, okay? This was your doing anyways.” She dropped her hands from his mouth, poking at his chest. “Jesus…do you ever stop growing. I feel like I never see you workout.” She stood up straight and poked at his chest again.

“You have to be awake before noon to see me workout.” He rolled his eyes. “Now come on, the ferry’s gonna leave soon.”

The amusement park was much more than they remembered as kids. New rides popped up whilst the old ones were revamped. Which was slightly comforting since they surely would have not been up to safety standards. It was a sunny day, clouds scattered throughout the sky. The ferris wheel always had the perfect cloud at the top to peek over once you reached the peak. His pocket grew heavy at the thought of going on it at the end of the night.

She was instantly dragging him onto the most outrageous adrenaline seeking rides. High drops, looping rollercoasters, and spinning cups. Her favorite being the pendulum swing. Yet it was also the ride that tested her stomach. Afterwards, she was on the bench clutching at her stomach.

“I told you not to skip breakfast…” He came back to her with an ice cream cone. Caleb wanted to get her something more filling, but she swore the sweet treat would be the only one to fix her. A line that suddenly reminded him of their old neighbor-friend from when they were kids. “I thought you were a pro at these nauseating rides? You’re getting old, pips.”

She shook her head, licking the ice cream that was placed in front of her by him. “I think I just got too excited. And besides, if I had a good Caleb breakfast, I would have projectile vomited everywhere. We eat AFTER the fun rides.” She finally took the cone from his hands and licked away, suddenly no longer needing to clutch at her stomach.

He sat beside her, her head dropping on his shoulder like it was by instinct. “You wanna take a nap?”

He could feel her shake his head against him. “Caleb, in a happy place like an amusement park, no one wants to waste time sleeping.” She stated.

“Really?” He looked around them, noticing the bright colors. The chipper of people and their children glowing with excitement. “Well, this place kinda feels like a dream. And I don’t think it’s a waste of time to sleep in a dream.” He shrugged softly, hoping not to move her too much.

“Hm, what if the world explodes tomorrow and I wasted our precious time together by taking a nap at this great place?” She responded, taking another lick of her ice cream.

“The world we live in is already in mid-explosion.” He recalled the doomsday documentaries she made him watch. “So even if it comes to an end, we can always move on to the next one.” Caleb joked, although he would truthfully move mountains to be with her. “Let’s ride the ferris wheel, we can start scouting for cooler planets once we reach the top.”

She eagerly lifted her head from him, pressing a soft kiss on his cheek. Her lips were slightly cold from her treat. “I love you, silly.” She said before grabbing his hand to pull him up, dragging him to the ferris wheel.

The ride up was filled with giggles and pranks as the two of them kept trying to scare each other by moving around too much inside the carriage. The closer they got to peeking over the clouds, the calmer they got, excited to see the view. The sun was setting as well, the sky turning orange with shades of purple. Caleb’s hand was in his pocket, gripping onto a box that felt insanely hot to the touch, whilst his arm was wrapped around her waist. Her head was nestled under his chin while her arms were wrapped around his chest. “I’m so glad we’re here.”

“I’m happy, baby.” He said, a smile spreading across his face. They were almost at the peak and he knew it was time. He pulled back slightly so he could look her in the eyes. “You have no idea how happy I am that I have a place in your heart that’s different from before…I want to share every adventure with you in the future.” His other hand began to slip out of his pocket, gripping onto the box. He saw her breath hitch, eyes darting at his pockets. “Now…don’t completely freak out. It’s not what you think just yet…” He pulled out the light blue box, dropping his hand from her face to open it. Inside was a ring, the stone was purple with hints of orange, matching the skies and his eyes. “It’s more of a promise…” Caleb was going to continue until her hands grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss. He moaned softly out of surprise.

She stopped the kiss, still touching lips as she looked at him with teary eyes. “I love it…I want to promise my future adventures with you also. I honestly would have said yes if you popped the question, right now…” She laughed, her eyes crinkling, forcing a tear to fall. She moved back to wipe it and then held his hand that was holding the box. “It’s beautiful…”

His eyes widened, “Wait, can I change the ques-”

Her finger touched his lips, shushing him. “Too late. Now put it on me!” She held her hand out, wriggling her ring finger.

He faked a pout before taking the ring out to slip on, admiring how it looked on her. It felt like a mark on her, for everyone to see that she’s his. Caleb brought her hand up to his mouth, kissing it softly. “I love you.”

“I love you more.” She replied, pulling him into another kiss. She giggled against his lips, “We’re engaged to be engaged.”

–

The drive back home was quiet. She fell asleep holding his hand as he drove. He couldn’t help but admire her the whole ride back, and admiring the ring on her finger. It made him more excited for the next chapters and the next set of rings. Just thinking about waiting for her at the end of the aisle made him tear up, he knew that when the day came, he would be a sobbing mess.

He pulled into their underground parking spot for the apartment, now of use to them since they finally had something to park. Caleb looked at her sleeping soundly and moved to unfasten her belt when she turned towards him, blinking awake.

“Hehe, good morning.” She said, sleepy eyed.

“Hey, princess.” He smirked.

“This reminds me…” She yawned before continuing her sentence. “...of a certain thing we were about to do in your best friend’s car.” She reached to poke his nose, her other hand pressing on the button of her belt, having it reel back with a thud. “We should finish what we started back then, shouldn’t we?” Her hand reached out to hold his face, before she turned it to look at the ring on her finger. “Our first time with a promise wrapped around my finger.”

Caleb grabbed her hand, “Anything for you.”

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lila-lou · 2 hours ago

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✨Beyond his true fate - Part 10/14✨

Summary: Sequel to "His true fate".

(Jensen hasn't been happy for years. But it seems almost impossible for him to escape. After another nasty argument between him and his wife, he decides to visit his ´former´ best friend for his birthday. Back in Austin, an encounter awaits him that will turn his life completely upside down.)

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: Language, age gap, tough topics

Word Count: 3614

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes. I love them all.

Two days later, golden hour spilled lazily through the open glass doors of the beach house, casting everything in that dreamy, late-summer glow. You sat cross-legged on the cozy sectional in the airy living room, a light throw over your bump, phone propped against a cushion as your parents filled the screen with warm smiles.

“…and you’re glowing, sweetheart”, your mom gushed, leaning closer to the camera like it made a difference. “I swear you’re carrying just like I did with you”.

“She’s always glowing”, your dad chimed in proudly, though his eyes flickered—likely trying to spot Jensen in the background.

Before you could respond, your aunt Lisa popped her head into frame with the kind of enthusiasm only she could deliver. “Okay, okay, but more importantly—where’s Jensen? Is he shirtless again? I swear, the man gets better with age. Like wine. Or… whatever’s better than wine”.

You groaned, laughing as you adjusted the phone. “Lisa, please”.

“What! I’m allowed to appreciate the view”, she shot back, winking dramatically. “You did bag a certified DILF”.

Just then, Jensen let out a muffled curse from outside, followed by the unmistakable sound of a metal utensil clattering against the deck.

You craned your neck toward the open porch doors, trying not to laugh. “He’s out there fighting with a grill, actually”. Like always, you thought to yourself.

Lisa’s eyes lit up. “Oh my God, pan the camera—come on! Let a woman live!”.

Rolling your eyes but grinning, you turned the phone just in time to catch Jensen in a pair of swim trunks and a white linen button-down left completely undone, barefoot, hair tousled by the salty breeze. He was halfway hunched over the grill.

Your mom chuckled. “Hi Jensen!”.

He startled, then turned around with a sheepish grin, tongs raised in mock-surrender. “Busted, huh?”.

Lisa practically squealed. “God bless America”.

“Lisa!”m you gasped, laughing so hard it made your bump jump slightly. Dean gave a solid kick in return, like he was laughing along with you.

Jensen crossed the deck and leaned in through the door, eyes twinkling as he kissed your temple before peeking at the screen. “Hi, everyone".

Lisa waved dramatically. “You’re doing amazing, sweetie. Don’t put the shirt on”.

Jensen chuckled, his grin stretching into that lazy, irresistible smirk he seemed to save just for moments like this. “Lisa, you keep talking like that and I’m gonna start charging for these beach house appearances”.

Lisa leaned in closer to the screen like she was ready to throw money through it. “Honey, I would pay. You could retire on what I’d fork over for a calendar”.

You groaned, flopping back dramatically against the cushions. “Oh my God, please stop encouraging him. He already catches himself flexing in windows”.

Jensen raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “That was once. And it was a mirror, thank you very much”.

Lisa cackled, delighted. “I knew it! I knew he was one of those ‘just checking for posture’ types”.

“Okay”, you muttered, pulling the throw over your face. “This is my actual nightmare. My aunt thirsting over my baby daddy while he flirts back”.

“I’m just being polite”, Jensen said innocently, leaning down to kiss the top of your bump through the blanket. “Gotta keep the future in-laws happy”.

“She’s not an in-law, she’s a menace”, you mumbled from under the throw.

“Excuse you”, Lisa said proudly. “I am a gift to this family”.

Your mom was laughing so hard she had to wipe her eyes. “You three are something else”.

Jensen stood again, giving a little mock-model spin on his way back to the grill. “Dinner in ten—unless the grill wins this battle”.

“Take your time!”, Lisa called out. “We’re all very entertained”.

You peeked out from under the throw just in time to catch Jensen looking back at you with a wink, and despite your mortification, your heart melted a little more.

As the laughter settled into soft chuckles and the screen shifted slightly while your mom tried to wrangle Lisa out of frame, your dad leaned in closer, his tone changing just a bit—still kind, still warm, but laced with that steady, protective edge only a father could have.

“So, Jensen…”, he started, casually folding his arms as he squinted toward the porch. “Still treating my girl right?”.

You looked up at Jensen just as he paused mid-turn with a plate of grilled vegetables in one hand, brows raised in amused surprise. He clearly hadn’t expected the shift either.

“I like him better shirtless”, Lisa muttered in the background, earning a swat from your mom.

Jensen gave your dad a small smile and stepped back into view of the phone, his voice dropping into that sincere, grounded tone that always made your heart flutter. “I promise you, I’m treating her like she’s everything. Because she is”.

You felt your throat tighten, blinking fast at the sudden swell of emotion. Your dad’s gaze didn’t waver, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “She better be”, he said, though his voice was softer now. “You’ve got something real special there. I knew it the second she started smiling like she had a secret”.

You smiled, brushing a hand over your bump. “It’s not a secret anymore”.

Jensen came up behind you, resting the plate on the nearby table and leaning over the back of the couch to press a kiss just behind your ear. “Nah”, he murmured, “I’m the lucky one—and I know it”.

Your dad nodded slowly, satisfied. “Alright then. You’re good in my book. But just know, if you ever screw it up…”.

“Dad!”, you gasped, laughing despite yourself.

“I won’t”, Jensen said quickly, holding his hands up. “But message received. Loud and clear”.

Lisa fanned herself dramatically in the background. “This is better than Netflix”.

You groaned, half-laughing. “Can someone please mute Aunt Lisa?”.

“I will not be silenced”, Lisa declared proudly, holding up a wine glass like she was giving a speech. “You’re having a baby with a Hollywood heartthrob who grills shirtless and says things like she’s everything. I mean, come on!”.

Jensen leaned in closer, his voice low against your ear. “I feel like I should be worried she’s already planning a shrine”.

Your mom sighed, shaking her head with a smile. “We’re just happy to see you both happy. That’s all that matters“.

Later that night, the house had quieted, save for the faint sound of the shower running. The windows were cracked just enough to let in the ocean breeze, salt-tinged and cool against your damp skin as you sat propped up in bed, wrapped only in a towel. The sheets were warm beneath you, still rumpled from earlier laughter, dinner, and kisses that lingered too long.

Your phone’s screen glowed dimly in the dark room as you scrolled through the comments on Jensen’s post. You hadn’t looked in a while—too wrapped up in the softness of the vacation, the safety of him. But curiosity tugged, and so did something a little deeper. A little more fragile.

Most were loving, excited, bursting with heart emojis and congratulations. But, as expected… not all. You paused as a few sharp ones popped up in the middle of the flood:

@danneelandjensenforever: Guess true love doesn’t mean forever anymore. Sad to see him throw away his family for a new girl.

@acklesfanpage33: So THIS is what he moved on to? Doesn’t even compare.

@n.sim23: Y’all act like this is cute—what about his kids with Danneel? What about the woman who supported him all those years?

@deansgirlxoxo: I don’t care if they’re happy. Some things just don’t sit right. Feels fast. Feels fake.

You swallowed hard, fingers hovering over the screen.

Even though you knew better, even though you knew Jensen, and the truth, and the reality of every long conversation and tear-filled night he’d gone through to get here, it still stung. That old ache in your chest, the one that whispered maybe you weren’t enough.

You locked the phone quickly, pressing it face-down on the nightstand just as the water shut off.

A few moments later, the door opened, steam curling around Jensen as he walked in, towel slung low on his hips, his hair damp and wild. He caught your eyes instantly, something in your expression, maybe the way you weren’t quite looking at him.

“Hey”, he said gently, running a hand through his hair as he crossed the room. “You okay?”.

You forced a smile, one he saw right through.

He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand finding yours beneath the blanket. “Talk to me”.

And even though part of you wanted to brush it off, you knew you didn’t have to carry the weight of it alone, not with him.

You hesitated for a second, eyes on his hand as his thumb brushed over your knuckles. Then, quietly, you said it. “I looked at the comments”.

Jensen’s gaze didn’t waver. He didn’t sigh or tense—he just gave your hand a gentle squeeze, like he’d already guessed. "And?”.

You bit your bottom lip, trying not to sound too small. “Some people… think I ruined your family. That I’m just a phase. A placeholder. That I’ll never compare to Danneel”.

Jensen let out a soft exhale—not angry, not surprised. Just steady. He shifted closer, still damp from the shower, towel clinging to his hips as he tucked one knee onto the bed, turning to face you fully.

“Okay, first of all”, he said, his voice calm but firm, “anyone commenting that kind of crap doesn’t know a damn thing about what’s real”.

You looked up, and his eyes were already locked on yours.

“Second of all”, he continued, brushing your still-damp hair behind your ear, “you are not some temporary chapter in my life. You’re the part that finally made everything make sense”.

A lump formed in your throat, but you didn’t look away. You needed to hear him—needed to feel it in your bones.

“I spent years staying quiet for the sake of appearances. Letting people assume whatever they wanted because it was easier than explaining the truth. But not with you”, he said. “I chose to go public because I was tired of hiding something I’m proud of”.

You blinked quickly, and he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“Do you know how lucky I feel every time I wake up next to you? Every time I feel Dean kick under my hand? They can comment all they want. Let ’em zoom in, let ’em speculate. They’ll never know what we have”.

You let out a shaky breath, and he grinned, that Jensen smile—the one that could make everything feel lighter.

“And just for the record”, he added, quirking a brow, “you’ve already outshined anyone from my past. Especially when you’re wearing nothing but a towel and that fire in your eyes”.

You laughed, the sound catching you by surprise, and he immediately smiled wider.

“There she is”, he said, nudging your nose with his. “There’s my girl”.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his chest, the towel be damned. You curled into him, his warmth chasing away every lingering shadow.

“They don’t get a say”, he murmured. “Not in us. Not in what we’re building”.

And with your ear pressed to his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heart, you finally believed it.

A few days passed in a golden, sun-drenched blur, and just like that—it was your last day in the Maldives.

You’d both gone from pale and worn out to tanned, tousled, and so relaxed you almost forgot what stress felt like. Your skin glowed with it, the sun, the sea, the sleep. But Jensen—tanned Jensen? That was a whole different level of danger.

Something about the way the sun kissed his shoulders, how golden his freckles got, and the deep bronze of his chest every time he stepped out of the water made you absolutely feral. And now that your energy had returned and your hormones kicked just right… yeah. You were back to climbing him like a tree at any given chance.

Which was exactly what had led to the current moment.

Round three had just ended, the sheets a chaotic mess, the ocean breeze sneaking through the open doors, both of you panting, bodies tangled and flushed. Your head was on his shoulder, one leg still thrown over his hips as you shamelessly pressed your lips to his neck, already trailing lazy kisses along his collarbone.

He groaned, rolling his eyes like he was in deep, delicious agony. “Baby”.

You didn’t stop, letting your fingers skim down his stomach. “What? I’m appreciating the view”.

Jensen flipped you onto your back with a low laugh, arms caging you in as he hovered over you with mock seriousness. “You’re gonna kill me”.

You gave him your best innocent look. “You’re very alive”.

He dropped his forehead to your shoulder dramatically, voice muffled. “I need to eat, Y/N. Like actual food. Protein. Hydration. Oxygen”.

You giggled, fingers sliding through his hair. “You had coconut water. That counts”.

“That was four hours ago”, he muttered against your skin, “and it was laced with rum. A lot of rum”.

He pushed up just enough to look at you, eyes narrowing. “You need to eat too. You’re growing a whole human and have burned enough calories to qualify as cardio queen of the island”.

You opened your mouth to argue, but your stomach growled—loudly.

Jensen grinned. “See? Even Dean agrees with me”.

You sighed, flopping back against the pillow. “Fine. Food. But just know… I definitely could go for round four after”.

Jensen laughed, standing up and stretching with all the confidence of a man thoroughly ruined and proud of it. “Get some fruit in you and I’ll see what I can do”.

You watched him head toward the kitchen in nothing but a pair of loose shorts, golden skin glowing, muscles flexing with every step—and you already knew round four was absolutely happening.

If you made it past breakfast.

You bit your lip, letting your gaze shamelessly trail after him as he disappeared around the corner. A moment later, you tugged the robe from where it hung on the hook, loosely tying it around your body before padding barefoot across the cool tile floor.

The sun poured in through the massive glass doors, the scent of ocean salt and ripe fruit lingering in the air. And then there he was—Jensen, half inside the fridge, bent at the waist, completely unaware of the visual he was giving you. Just a pair of loose gray shorts hanging low on his hips, and that gloriously tanned, bare back.

His shoulders flexed with every slight movement, muscles shifting beneath golden skin like they had a mind of their own. His hair was still damp from… the cardio, messy in that just-fucked way you couldn’t stop touching, and your throat went dry.

You leaned against the doorframe, biting your lip harder now. “If you’re trying to convince me we don’t need another round, this isn’t helping”.

Jensen let out a deep chuckle, not even turning yet. “I’m trying to find yogurt, not tease you. But now I’m rethinking my priorities”.

You stepped closer, fingers running lightly down his spine, feeling him straighten slowly under your touch.

He looked over his shoulder with a smirk. “Woman. I am fucking starving”.

“So eat”, you whispered, lips brushing just behind his ear as you pressed your body to his back. “You have options. Me, or the leftover mangoes”.

Jensen groaned, standing fully now, a container of yogurt in one hand and his patience clearly running thin. “You’re evil”.

“I’m pregnant”, you countered sweetly. “I’m supposed to crave things”.

He turned, eyes sweeping over you in that silky slow way that made your knees weak. “Crave all you want, sweetheart. Just let me get some food in me… and you before I’m forced to carry your fainting ass to bed”.

You laughed, wrapping your arms around his torso, head resting against his chest. “I like when you carry me”.

He kissed your hair, arms wrapping around you in return. “I know. That’s the problem”.

Still holding you close, he moved toward the counter with the yogurt and some fruit he finally managed to grab, letting you cling to him like a koala. It wasn’t practical, but he didn’t complain.

Because in this moment—in this sun-soaked villa with your growing baby between you and love in every lazy touch—you were his whole world.

And he’d gladly starve a little longer just to hold you like that.

After breakfast—and, yes, another round—you and Jensen finally managed to pull yourselves together enough to leave the beach house.

The sun was high now, the island buzzing softly with life. You walked barefoot down a shaded path lined with swaying palms and soft sand beneath your feet, Jensen’s hand wrapped around yours, the both of you moving like you had nowhere to be. Like time wasn’t real here.

Eventually, you reached the nearest beachfront restaurant, a little open-air spot nestled right against the water with colorful cushions, white linen umbrellas, and the scent of grilled seafood floating on the breeze.

You settled into a shaded corner booth, the sea stretching out just beyond the railing. Jensen sat close—closer than necessary—with one arm slung over your shoulders and your thigh pressed against his. You curled into his side without a second thought, your head resting lightly against his shoulder, that post-lovemaking, post-breakfast, sun-drenched haze still draped over you both.

He had his phone in his free hand, casually checking through a few messages while waiting for your food to arrive. You weren’t paying much attention—tracing lazy patterns on his forearm—until you felt his body go still for just a second.

Subtle, but there.

You glanced up, just in time to see his thumb pause over a new message on the screen.

Dad: “If you’re serious about her, the least you could do is put a damn ring on her finger. Don’t make that baby come into this world out of a marriage. Thought I raised you better”.

Silence stretched between you. Not awkward, just… heavy.

You didn’t say anything right away, just watched Jensen’s jaw clench slightly, his eyes narrowing at the screen. He locked the phone after a beat, letting it fall face-down on the table as his fingers flexed along your shoulder.

Your hand slid up to his chest, resting gently over his heart, and you leaned in closer, your voice barely a whisper against his shoulder. “You know I love you… even without a ring, right?”.

Jensen didn’t respond right away. You could feel the way he inhaled, slow and deep, and then let it out through his nose like he needed a moment to steady himself. His arm around you tightened slightly, anchoring you both.

“I know”, he murmured eventually, voice low, roughened by something deeper than just emotion. “I really do”.

What you didn’t know—what he didn’t say—was that he’d thought about it. For weeks now.

That after everything, after swearing off marriage, after telling himself he was done with those kinds of promises, he’d started to wonder if maybe he’d been wrong.

He'd said the same thing about kids. That he was done. That the chapter had closed. But then you came along and shattered every rule he thought he’d live by.

And now? The idea of you wearing his ring didn’t feel like a trap or a performance. It didn’t even feel like a necessity.

It just felt… right.

He wouldn't say it out loud yet. Not because he was scared, but because this moment, this life you were building together, was too precious to rush. You deserved more than a reaction to a text. You deserved something intentional. Something real. And if he was going to ask you to be his forever, it’d be on his own damn terms, not in response to pressure or expectations.

Still, he looked down at you now, so close, so soft, so his, and the words danced on the edge of his tongue. Instead, he kissed your temple, lingering there like a promise unspoken. “I don’t need anything to know you’re mine”, he whispered.

You smiled softly, tilting your face to meet his eyes. “Good. ’Cause I’m not letting you go”.

His mouth curved into that familiar, quiet smile—the one that only ever came out when he was completely at peace. “Then I guess we’ve already got everything we need”.

But still, somewhere deep in his suitcase, tucked in a small velvet box he hadn’t dared open since buying it weeks ago, sat the ring.

Just in case.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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