#the thing is the treehouse is cool and you’re NOT cool?

[romulusfuckingroy]

(watching any episode of season 4) this shit sucks i miss too much birthday

[aurumalatus]

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 (𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔)

pairing. kinich x fem!reader

word count. 3.4k

genre/warnings. childhood friends to lovers (yes kinich literally invented this trope okay. sue me), mini-drabbles, childhood to university, modern!au, fluff and slight angst, lots of bantering but it's light-hearted i promise

summary.

you've always been a sore loser—kinich is just the only one brave enough to say it. or, you and kinich fall in love over the course of your lives, and one thing never changes—you're both idiots

author's note. credit to @/scythidol for the header images! a bit of a different fic format this time (who is she....). i'm sick over kinich, i have nothing clever to say or excuses to make. that's all, thank you for reading! i'm finishing this at 5am so i'll fix any errors later lol. reblogs/interaction highly appreciated!

I.

“You’re annoying.”

The old TV in your backyard treehouse buzzes with static and the constant thumps of Kinich’s fingers against the controller buttons.

It’s a summer evening—crickets chirp merrily in the grass and lightning bugs float lazily through the air, glowing among the stars. You’re sitting next to him, knees pulled to your chest and the straw of a Capri-Sun settled between your lips.

His reaction (or lack thereof) to your words leaves you less than entertained, a sour pout fixed on your lips as he sighs.

“You’re a sore loser. We said whoever got up here first got to play first.” Despite the intense game occurring on the screen in front of him, he diverts about half his attention to watching you out of the corner of his eye. “And I got up here first.”

“But you always win,” you whine. Kinich nudges at his own juice box with his knee, and you roll your eyes before picking it up and holding it to his lips—he drinks gratefully, still focused on his game. You’re not sure why you keep agreeing to this bet; you don’t think you’ve ever won.

“Then you need to get faster.”

Both of you know that such a feat would be impossible—Kinich has been the fastest kid in your grade since you started school. His athleticism affords him a bit of popularity, still at the age where winning a playground race is essentially the deciding factor between the cool kids and the lame ones. But he’s not interested in any of that, and he makes that quite clear in his actions.

After all, all the popular kids avoid him since he started a fight with them last year. 

“They were saying things about you,” he’d shrugged, like it was no big deal. The school seemed to think a bit differently, and his suspension felt like the longest week of your life.

The screen flashes then, a loud and colorful display that shows the words “you win”. Kinich leans back in his seat, a pleased half-smile spreading across his face. 

“Okay, now you can play.”

He tries to hand you the controller, but you huff, crossing your arms and turning away.

“I don’t even wanna play anymore.”

Kinich is far more mature than you at this age—even your own mother tells you as much—so he merely sighs, accepting of your tantrum.

“Okay, what do you wanna do then?”

You ponder that for a moment. There’s a lot of things you do often, but many of them are things that Kinich is much better at than you. Playing video games, climbing trees, riding bikes—he’s far more talented at them all. It’s one of the reasons you even became friends in the first place—you’d practically begged him to teach you to beat the final boss of Super Mario Galaxy, and the rest was history.

“I don’t know,” you mumble noncommittally, blowing your straw wrapper at him. It lands right on target, bouncing lightly off his forehead as he rolls his eyes.

“Come on, whatever you wanna do, we’ll do it,” he says, poking at your cheek. “I’ll even play house.”

And you know Kinich hates playing house—he has boundless amounts of energy most days, and house isn’t “challenging” enough of a game for him to expend it. But he does it occasionally, just for you.

You brighten at the prospect. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs, already descending the treehouse ladder, waving you along. “Let’s go inside first, though. I’m hungry.”

Scrambling to your feet, you jump down to meet Kinich, already standing in the grass.

“Last one inside is a rotten egg!”

II.

The rainstorm ends just as classes dismiss—when you walk out the school entrance, a slight drizzle is still letting up, fresh puddles lapping at your toes. Kinich’s gaze finds you instantly as he slinks out of the school gates, bag tossed loosely over his shoulder.

“My socks are wet now,” you whine, patting down the edges of your skirt to look down at your shoes. You’d only just bought them recently, and your mom likely wouldn’t be pleased with the prospect of you ruining them so soon.

Kinich chuckles at first, a snarky sound as thick as the gathering clouds, only to sigh when your pout persists.

“Alright, alright,” he relents, squatting to the ground and gesturing for you to get on his back. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

He’s a bit frail, still in his growing phase—his bones and muscles shift rhythmically under his skin as he walks—but he’s so distinctly warm. The heat makes you curl closer, nose brushing against his neck.

He walks you home most days like this, spending the day at your house until the sky grows dark with dusk. His home life is something he rarely discusses, but you know enough, and you’re happy to welcome him to yours.

“You’re slow,” you mumble into his shoulder. The steady thump of his steps is comforting, nearly putting you to sleep.

“You’re heavy,” Kinich replies teasingly, adjusting your weight atop his back. His words are biting, but he’s being careful with his steps nonetheless, taking each one lightly so as not to jostle you.

“You’re rude,” you scoff back. His nose scrunches in annoyance when you loop your arms tighter around his neck, pretending to choke him as punishment. “You’re not supposed to say that to a girl.”

He blows his bangs out of his eyes, peering up at the newly visible sun that starts to dip low in the sky. You watch a cat scurry through the bushes to your right, golden eyes peering through the foliage before disappearing into the darkness. 

“Yeah, that’s why I’m saying it to you.”

Kinich is always a bit wittier than you, a bit quicker to the punch, but you like that about him. You like a lot of things about him, and you’re sure he knows it, too. A weighty silence settles between the two of you, unnatural—it’s usually you who fills the silence, and Kinich who patiently listens.

But something bigger sits at the back of your mind, and the words are having trouble surmounting the obstacle of your tongue. 

You’re still floundering for something to say by the time your house appears in the distance. The sight lights a fire under you—you don’t want to discuss something like this with your mother in earshot. You force the words out, voice weak and small.

“I heard Mualani confessed to you yesterday.”

The rumor had flown through the school like wildfire. Mualani is popular with the boys after all, so there’s bound to be quite a bit of heartbreak if she ends up in a relationship. Someone had seen them together at that sakura tree behind the school, and it instantly became a hot topic—it’s all you’ve heard about all day.

And though you know it’s not really any of your business, you can’t help but be curious, and the thought fills you with dread.

You manage a glance at his expression, searching for any sort of unrest, but he doesn’t show any at all. In fact, he seems wholly uninterested in the topic.

He shrugs. “Yeah, so?”

You take a deep breath for courage—you’re not sure you want to hear his answer. 

“So? What did you tell her?”

And it’s nothing against Mualani, really—she’s kind and beautiful, and you wouldn’t blame Kinich for falling for her. She’s never done anything wrong to you at all. But a beat passes, and you’re already halfway through mourning the end of your long-time crush when he replies.

“I told her I was flattered, but I wasn’t interested.”

A sigh of relief escapes you then, but you reel it in quickly—he can probably feel you relax against his back at his response.

“Oh,” is all you say, as aloof as you can manage. Kinich latches onto your hesitation instantly.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” comes your hasty reply. “...Is there any reason you said no, though?”

He frowns. “I don’t know. She just isn’t my type.”

“...Then what is your type?”

You’re going too far, you know—even just speaking the words has your chest twisting painfully, and you want to crawl into a hole and disappear. If Kinich isn’t an idiot, he can surely tell why you’re practically breathing down his neck over the whole thing.

But maybe Kinich is a little bit of an idiot, at least about these things, because he merely shrugs.

“Not sure. Never really thought about it.”

A frost unfurls in your chest, bitter—of course Kinich wouldn’t know, he’s never thought about anyone that way. Including you.

“Right.” You attempt a laugh, teeth gritting. “It’s all stupid anyway.”

You drop your head into his shoulder, trying to hide the pained expression on your face, and only then does Kinich’s stare flicker to you, soft.

“Right,” he says, a quiet rumble from his chest. “It’s really, really stupid.”

III.

Walks turn to drives when Kinich turns sixteen and buys his own car.

He’d saved up for months, working part-time jobs on weekends and after school, until the day finally came when he pulled up into your driveway, keys in hand. Your mom had been overwhelmingly proud—bought a cake and everything—and you’d merely been grateful that you no longer had to beg her to drive you places. 

It’s nothing crazy, just a simple sedan, but it represents a freedom that the two of you have never experienced together before.

That’s how you end up parked underneath the flickering streetlight just outside your house, excitedly recounting a story to your best friend. He’d driven you home from your club after school, an errand that always ended in several other stops—today, it had been fast food and boba.

His eyes seem to glow in the fading daylight, a pretty jade and amber that you’ve always thought was beautiful. It feels a bit more intense with his stare trained on you—Kinich isn’t the talkative type, sure, but he always ensures that you know he’s listening.

“So then she was asking me about you.”

“Mhm.”

“And get this,” a nervous chuckle escapes you then, “she thought we were dating.”

Everything falls still.

It’s times like this that you really start to hate just how unreadable your best friend can be. Despite how much you tease him for it, you actually enjoy how difficult it can be to force an expression out of him—it’s a little challenge every day. But now, when you’re on the precipice of pouring your heart out, his impassive expression stings.

Nothing on his face changes, save for a slight tilt of his head—he’s considering your words. The silence feels endless; a lump starts to form in your throat, humiliation burning at your cheeks. 

“I know, it’s so ridiculous,” you assert hurriedly, trying to avoid the rush of shame. “I mean, we would never—”

“Tell her we are, then.”

You’re sure that in that moment, your heart stops. 

Truthfully, you hadn’t planned to get this far—you were planning on brushing over that part of the story and moving on, but something deep in your heart had forced it out of you. Now, you aren’t sure what you really want to happen.

It’s always been your underlying fear, that once Kinich finds out, everything will change. Or even if he does return your feelings, it’ll all go up in flames eventually and you’ll never be the same. It’s terrifying enough to have kept your mouth shut all these years.

A tense laugh erupts from your throat, cutting through the silence. “I—I mean, it’s not that simple—”

He arches a brow. “Do you not want to?”

That’s another difference between you and Kinich—he’s far more straightforward about getting things that he wants. It’s one of the reasons that people misinterpret him as cold, but he sees it as being logical.

You gnaw at your lip, fingers tracing over the car door. Do you?

If the countless daydreams and romantic notebook doodles are anything to go by, you do. You really do. You’re just not sure if you’re brave enough to take that step.

When you look at him again, he’s observing you carefully, a delicate fondness lying in his stare. You shrink under the weight of it.

“No, I do,” you admit quietly. 

The moment falls still, and your eyes are drawn to the only movement within your line of vision—the quick bob of Kinich’s throat. Then, his hand advances toward your face at a measured pace, giving you endless opportunities to retreat.

Of course, you don’t.

“Can I…?” he asks, barely a brush of a whisper. The tension runs thick in the air as his tongue peeks out, swiping over his bottom lip at a tantalizing pace. It’s nearly enough to drive you crazy, but you know he’s just as anxious.

“Yes,” you breathe, wincing at the sound of your own voice—it sounds almost too eager.

But Kinich presses his lips to yours all the same, soft and wanting, and your heart flutters in your chest. It’s a chaste kiss, nothing like the fireworks-exploding-making-out-with-tongue types you’ve seen on TV, but it’s just right—it feels like him, and that’s all that matters. He pulls away slightly, lips still millimeters away from yours.

“I like you. If I’m not wrong, you like me too. I think it’s that simple.”

You almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Though you’d never admit it, you’ve practiced this scenario thousands of times in front of your bedroom mirror—what you would say to him, what he might say to you. Leave it to Kinich to not follow the script.

But he’s always done things his own way, so really, you should’ve expected this.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, fingers slotting through yours with ease. You sigh.

“I guess it is.”

IV.

“...that far, huh?”

Kinich stares at you upside down, head dangling off the edge of your bed as you sit at your desk, laptop keys clicking rapidly. He knows you’re serious about your future goals; you both are. He just never imagined it would bring the two of you so far apart.

You pause with one hand resting on the mouse, still staring at the screen. The map looks so daunting, too daunting, and you can’t imagine being that far away from him. 

An awkward, weighted silence hangs in the air, and by the time a few seconds pass, you’ve already foreseen eighty different bad endings for this situation. Clearing your throat once, you force yourself to speak.

“Kinich, I—”

“I get it.”

He doesn’t mean to interrupt you so suddenly, but he does. He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. Because while he does understand—he really does—he also can’t help the stinging sensation of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. It feels pathetic. It feels selfish. Here you are, chasing your dreams and supporting his, and he’s caught on the fact that there will be a little space between the two of you. And it’s not like it’s anyone’s fault, but maybe you’ll get tired of waiting and—

“You’ll come back to me, right?”

There’s an unmistakable thickness to your voice, evidence of the steadily growing lump in your weary throat. It grows larger with every passing second, an insurmountable mass dwarfed only by the impending distance between you and him.

That question catches Kinich off-guard, and he nearly wants to laugh then; not because he doubts you at all, but because he doesn’t, and he finds it ridiculous that you would ever think otherwise. Here you are, worrying about him.

Kinich doesn’t have any doubts or fears. He never does when he’s with you.

Maybe that’s why.

With a light laugh, he lets his eyes flutter closed, finally allowing an uneven breath to fill his lungs. The natural light outside is slowly dimming, the fluorescent lamps dotting your street flicking on one by one. He knows he should go home soon. His car is sitting outside, the same one the two of you have had endless adventures, fights, and make-ups in. It’s the same one he will use when he moves an unfathomable distance away from you. The same one he will use on the day you will cry, clinging to him like your life depends on it, before watching him disappear into nothing but a mere dot in the distance.

His fist clenches at his side. 

But you’re still here, the closest feeling he has to home, and you’re still in love with him, and he is still in love with you.

Maybe that’s why this is enough, for now. 

Turning onto his stomach, Kinich sees you right-side up this time, and it’s like nothing has changed.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” 

V.

A knock echoes on your apartment door in the middle of the night.

You raise a brow at the sound, a bit unnerved—a lone college girl answering the door in the dark isn’t the safest thing, you think as you peek one eye through the peephole. But there’s a familiar figure standing outside, and it has your hand turning the knob immediately and flinging the door open.

He’s here.

“Kinich,” you breathe, in disbelief. Last you’d heard, he was somewhere halfway across the country, and certainly nowhere near your front door. But he’s here, in a black hoodie and grey sweatpants, looking like he’s just walked out of your dreams.

“Hey,” he says simply, as if his appearance hadn’t been totally shocking. He takes advantage of your shell-shocked state to invite himself inside, curiously looking through your apartment. “Nice place.”

You step aside in a daze. “Kinich—you—what are you doing here?”

He’s holding three flimsy bags in his fist, grocery store logos and restaurant labels stamped over the plastic, keys hanging off his pinky finger. He’d come prepared, clearly, but for what you’re not sure. 

He towers over you a bit more than he used to, hair a bit longer, and everything about him feels so grown up. It reminds you of all the moments the two of you have missed over the years, how much change has occurred beneath your nose, maybe without you realizing. 

He spreads the bags over your kitchen table—the mouth-watering smell of Chinese takeout filters through the air, and your stomach grumbles in reply. But it’s your tear ducts that react initially, a sting at the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut.

Kinich doesn’t notice at first, absorbed in inspecting the photos displayed on your wall—photos of you, photos of him, photos of the two of you together. It makes his chest warm that you still think about those times. He does too—after all, it’s rare that you leave his mind.

But he turns back to you, tears running rivers down your cheeks, and his breath hitches.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, carefully cupping your face. A lilt of panic laces his voice. “Does something hurt? Are you sick?”

“You’re here,” you sob, curling into his shoulder. None of it feels real. He’s warm and firm beneath your fingers, and you clutch at him tighter, half-expecting everything to disappear. It’s so much different than FaceTime or calling or anything else you do when he’s away. Because right now, he’s completely within your reach, and everything falls into place.

“Of course I am,” he murmurs. You cry into his hoodie, soaking the fabric with your tears, but he holds you close all the same. “Because you’re here.”

You spend a few minutes that way—you crying until your tears dry over your skin, and him comfortingly rubbing at your back. Air slowly returns to your lungs, and you sniffle, glassy eyes meeting his. 

“But why? I mean, it’s the middle of the semester, isn’t it?”

A rare half-smirk graces his lips.

“We made a promise. I came back to you first. So I do believe that means that I win,” he says. If you weren’t so emotional, you might have rolled your eyes—of course, all he ever focuses on is winning.

He drags you over to the couch, laying down and pulling you on top of him, safe. You draw closer to him, tangling your limbs together until you’re not sure where he ends and you begin.

“You’re annoying,” you whisper, muffled into his chest.

Kinich shakes his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“You’re still a sore loser. Thought you’d grow out of that by now.”

You grumble a few choice words at him, and he smiles—a sight that only you and the stars can claim to have ever seen.

And he’s right; you are a sore loser, and he’s been right just about every time he told you so. But you find it doesn’t matter, not really.

You could never win against Kinich anyway.

(Maybe you never wanted to.)

[capuccinodoll]

Honey love, dark eyes

Chapter eleven

Summary: After a tense moment, you and Joel find the perfect moment to be alone, to clear the air—and, well, to explore other things too. It seems he enjoys teasing you. In other words—he cannot contain himself anymore. WC: 23.5k A/N: OKAY. WHAT. THIS IS LONG AF. I got sick and all i could do was THIS lol sorry!! I hope you like this part <3 LET ME KNOW WHAT U THINK. Love u all!!! <3 Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notis!

The drive to the hospital was brief and quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t feel intentional but rather borne out of mutual focus. Joel’s hand rested on your knee, grounding you, though you could feel the tension in his grip—the only outward sign of his worry.

He relayed what Irina’s mom had told him. The girls were playing in the treehouse, lost in their own conversation, when a bee buzzed through the open window. Irina screamed, startling Sarah, who stepped back too close to the edge.

She fell—eight feet to the ground.

The impact knocked the wind out of her and left her unconscious for nearly a minute. Now she was awake, pale and shaken.

"She's okay," Joel said, his voice firm but tight. "They said it’s not as bad as it sounds."  

When you arrived at the hospital, Sarah was sitting up in a bed, a neck brace holding her small frame upright as a doctor shone a small light into her wide, watery eyes. Her cheeks were streaked with tears, her lips trembling, her hands balled into nervous fists. She looked so much smaller than usual, her spirit diminished, and the sight of her like this made your chest tighten.  

The diagnosis was straightforward—a fractured humerus and a mild concussion. Nothing life-threatening, the doctor reassured Joel, though the fall had clearly terrified her. Maybe the worst part wasn’t the injury but the fear that lingered, thick and immobilizing.

Joel moved to her side without hesitation, scooping her up gently, pressing his lips against her temple, whispering reassurances you couldn’t quite make out. Sarah clung to him, her little fingers clutching his shirt, her face buried in his chest.

When he walked into the room, a wave of absolute relief washed over her—the kind only her dad could bring.

“You’re okay, baby. I’ve got you now.” His voice cracked, but only slightly.

Irina’s mother waited just outside the room, wringing her hands, her face pale and guilt-stricken. The moment Joel had arrived, she’d apologized, over and over, her words tumbling out in a rush. He’d waved her off, his focus entirely on Sarah, but after seeing that she wasn’t in critical condition, his anger had softened into something closer to gratitude. He’d told her, gently but firmly, “It’s not your fault. These things happen.”

Later, after the doctor finished his evaluations and explained the treatment plan, you felt the tension in Joel’s shoulders ease, if only slightly. Painkillers, rest, home monitoring—nothing more. The doctor assured Joel that kids Sarah’s age were resilient. She’d bounce back faster than either of you expected.

“I’m happy you came with my dad,” Sarah said softly, her voice almost lost in the sterile hum of the hospital room. Joel had stepped out to handle the paperwork, leaving the two of you alone. She was nestled against the pillows, her small frame looking even more delicate against the stiff white sheets.

You reached out, your fingers brushing through her hair in gentle strokes.

“Of course I came, baby,” you said with a smile that you hoped looked relaxed, though you were still shaken from the chaos of the past two hours.

“Did he talk to you?” 

You nodded. “He did.”

“Cool,” she murmured, her head tilting against your chest when you pulled her closer. You were careful to avoid jostling her injured arm, adjusting her so gently it felt like you were holding glass. After a moment, she said, “Please tell me that now things will go back to the way they were.” Her voice cracked slightly, and you could hear the weight of the day pressing down on her. You knew this kind of vulnerability didn’t come easily to her, even as a child. 

Your chest tightened, the ache of guilt mixing with something softer, more protective.

“You have my word,” you said, your voice low but certain. “I promise you, no more ugly arguments.”

Sarah shifted, lifting her head to look at you with wide, serious eyes.

“You have to swear it,” she said, her tone firmer now, as if making sure you understood the gravity of her request.

You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Okay, well,” you began lightly, trying to ease her tension, “I’m not sure we’ll never argue again. That’s just being human, right? But I can promise you this: this horrible situation? The one we put you through? It’s over. No more of that. I swear.”

She squinted at you, her lips curving into the faintest smile.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” she said, her words carrying a hint of playfulness despite the exhaustion in her face.

“Well, fair enough,” you replied, grinning back at her.

It wasn’t long before Joel returned, his footsteps soft but calculated as he crossed the threshold. He looked calmer now, his shoulders looser, his face no longer drawn tight with worry. As he stepped beside you, his hand found the small of your back. His fingers slid beneath the hem of your shirt, his touch warm and deliberate against your skin. It wasn’t much—a small gesture, fleeting—but it sent a ripple of nervous energy through you.

You told yourself it was nothing. Joel had always been like this—touching your back, your arms, your hands. He was naturally affectionate with you, even before… before everything had changed. But this was different. The way his thumb brushed softly against your skin wasn’t just a casual gesture. It was conscious, intimate, a quiet declaration. And it filled your stomach with that familiar, fluttering sensation, like you were a teenager on the cusp of her first real crush.

Sarah, thankfully, didn’t seem to notice. Her head rested heavily against your shoulder, her breathing evening out as she relaxed.

You couldn’t help but glance up at Joel. His eyes met yours, a quiet understanding passing between you.

Your cheeks burned, the flush creeping up your neck as you looked up at him with a shy smile you couldn’t quite suppress. It felt ridiculous—how bashful you’d become under his gaze, like a teenager unsteady in her own skin.

Joel tilted his head, his lips curling into a small, sideways smile. His eyes lingered on your face, clearly amused by your reaction. He thought it was adorable.

Then, his attention shifted. His gaze moved to Sarah, who was watching the exchange with an exaggerated grimace, her face scrunched in mock disapproval.

“How are you feeling, baby?” Joel asked, breaking the moment as he leaned down to gently touch the cast encasing her arm.

“I’m okay,” Sarah replied with a sigh, like she was already bored of the concern, pretending to be over it. “I just wanna go home.”

He nodded, the smile on his face tinged with relief, though his eyes still carried traces of the fear that had gripped him earlier.

The drive home was unhurried, the car bathed in the warm light of the late afternoon. Unlike the trip to the hospital, the tension was gone now, replaced by the sound of Sarah’s voice as she filled the car with a running commentary. From the backseat, she recounted everything about the day—the bee that had sent Irina into hysterics, the moment she’d felt herself fall, the brief confusion when she woke up.

“I didn’t see anything,” she said, shaking her head with dramatic exasperation. “Like, nothing. I thought when people lost consciousness, they saw something, you know? Like a light, or maybe they dreamed.”

Joel turned in his seat slightly, glancing back at her with an amused expression.

“What did you want to see?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah said, shrugging. “God, maybe?”

You and Joel both laughed, the kind of laughter that comes easily after a day so heavy it felt like a release. Before either of you could respond, Sarah pivoted to a new topic with the abruptness only a child could manage.

“So, what, are you guys dating now or something?”

For a beat, the car went quiet—not because the question was particularly shocking, but because neither of you had an answer ready. You hadn’t talked about it, hadn’t put a name to what this was, not yet. 

Joel cleared his throat, his lips twitching with a suppressed smile.

“Hey, don’t be nosy,” he said, though his tone lacked any real reproach.

“I’m just asking,” she said, her voice rising defensively. “I mean, it’s obvious—”

“We haven’t discussed it yet,” you cut in, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Well, okay,” Sarah said, sitting back as if satisfied with your answer. “I get it.”

When you arrived home, Cassie didn’t waste a second. She practically flew out the door to greet Sarah, her face lighting up as soon as she saw her. You’d let her know you were at the hospital, keeping it brief, and mentioned you’d left a key under the flower pot—an old trick, a bit worn but reliable. And of course, it had worked.

Sarah's excitement was palpable, and she wasted no time making her promise to have a girls' sleepover. Cassie, grinning at the enthusiasm, agreed immediately, her eyes sparkling with the same energy.

“Tonight!” Sarah added, grinning from ear to ear.

Joel, who had been quietly watching the exchange from the door, intervened gently.

“Sweetheart, you need to rest tonight, okay?” His voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of concern, his protective instincts still sharp from the scare earlier. “We can do the sleepover another day, when you’re feeling better.”

Sarah looked at him for a moment, her excitement deflating just slightly. After a beat, she nodded, understanding but not entirely satisfied. She still wanted the sleepover—tonight—but she accepted it.

It didn’t take long before she was curled up on the couch, almost swallowed by the cushions. The rhythmic sound of her breathing filled the quiet house, a sound that seemed too calm after the chaos of the day. Joel stayed close, his eyes flicking to her every few minutes, still watching with that careful, uneasy vigilance. You could see it in his posture—the way his shoulders remained tense, the way his gaze didn’t quite relax, even as Sarah slept peacefully.

Cassie stayed with you for a while, chatting quietly, though it didn’t take long before she stood, stretching and yawning.

“I’m so tired,” she said with a sheepish smile. “I’m gonna shower and then just collapse in bed.”

You nodded, feeling the familiar warmth of her presence slowly fading as she moved toward the door. But before she left, she winked at you, a playful spark in her eye. You watched her go, feeling a strange flutter of anticipation as the door clicked shut behind her.

Minutes later, your phone vibrated on the counter. You picked it up, unlocking the screen to find a message from Cassie:

“You have to tell me  E V E R Y T H I N G”

It was frantic, a burst of energy that made you smile despite yourself.

You quickly typed back, promising her you’d share everything as soon as you could. Her reply came in a rush, the excitement practically jumping off the screen:

“Oh yeah don’t worry, are u kidding? stay with him. Tomorrow tho... all the damn details"

You were halfway down the stairs when you saw him stir from the couch. His broad frame moved toward you with that purposeful stride, his hand gesturing toward the kitchen, a silent invitation to follow.  

“Are you hungry?” Joel’s voice was low, but it carried the kind of warmth you had come to associate with him, his eyes already scanning the fridge as he opened it, ducking his head to peek inside.  

You approached him slowly, moving toward the counter and leaning back against it, your hands resting lightly on your lower back. You turned slightly to look at him, the cool, soft light from the refrigerator casting a glow on his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his profile. The fatigue was evident in his posture—the way his shoulders remained tense, the way his gaze drifted without quite focusing, as though the day had worn him down more than he cared to admit.  

“Yeah, what do you wanna eat?” you asked, peeling yourself off the counter, sliding to stand beside him, your body instinctively wanting to close the distance between you.  

“I dunno,” he muttered, his eyes gliding over the sparse contents of the fridge. Then, with a small chuckle, he added, “But I could eat a horse right now.”  

You laughed softly. “Okay, I’ll order something. What are you craving?”  

He closed his eyes then, letting his head tilt back slightly as if he were savoring the very idea of the meal.

“Pizza. Full of melted cheese.”

You took care of the order with quick, efficient ease, dialing the number and rattling off the specifics in less than two minutes. Two large pizzas—one with extra cheese and pepperoni, the other with extra cheese, peppers, mushrooms, and olives.

When the call ended, you placed your phone on the counter with a soft click, leaning back once again, your hands casually resting on your hips. Joel was angled across from you, his side against the fridge, arms crossed. The position made his biceps look even larger, emphasizing his strength in a way that was almost too natural. He had taken off his shirt earlier, and now only a thin, faded t-shirt clung to his torso, the smooth expanse of his skin exposed and catching the soft light of the kitchen.  

He was watching you with that mischievous glint in his eyes, a playful smile tugging at his lips, as if there were something he knew that you didn’t.  

You couldn’t help the way your heart skipped a beat, a warmth creeping into your cheeks as you met his gaze.  

“What?” you asked softly, unable to hide the slight flush that had taken over your face.

He blinked slowly, his gaze flicking down the length of your body before rising back up, a playful, flirtatious glint in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile wider, feeling the shift in the air between you two.

“You and I have some things to discuss,” he said finally.

“That’s true,” you replied, your voice quieter, teasing. You tilted your head to mirror his posture, a slow, deliberate movement. Your eyes skimmed down his body, the briefest of pauses at his chest before they lifted again, traveling up to his lips, lingering for a moment too long before meeting his gaze once more.  

A soft pink flush spread over his neck and cheeks, the hint of a blush creeping up as he caught your gaze. The sight made something inside you flutter, and you had to fight to keep your chuckle at bay, knowing the effect you were having on him. It was silly—almost too easy—but you couldn't deny how much you were enjoying this.  

“What's up, Miller?” you asked, stepping away from the counter. Your voice was laced with amusement, but you made sure to keep the playful edge intact, your posture still flirtatious, just enough to draw him in.  

When you were only inches from him, you reached out, resting your hands lightly on his broad shoulders. The moment your skin touched him, you fought the instinct to pull back, to mask the undeniable warmth that his presence stirred inside you. You tried to maintain your composure, to not let him see how his steady gaze and quiet intensity were making your heart race.  

Joel remained still, his eyes locked on yours, silent for a moment longer than you expected. There was amusement in his eyes, but it was tempered by a subtle nervousness. His breath was slow, measured, as if he were trying to read you, to figure out what came next in this strange little dance you were both playing.

It felt almost absurd to him, this moment. He was a grown man, someone who had known you for years, yet here you were—standing so close, your hands resting on him, that look in your eyes. It should’ve been ordinary, shouldn’t it? But instead, it unraveled something in him, leaving him completely unsettled, as if every instinct in his body was suddenly awake and alive in a way he hadn’t expected.  

His arms moved, almost instinctively, and before you could adjust to the sudden shift, he brought his hands to your hips, pulling you closer. It was a subtle change in the balance, a quiet power shift that took a little of the control from your hands and placed it in his.  

His hands didn’t stop there, though. They trailed up your back, fingers brushing the soft fabric of your shirt, but the touch was different now. It wasn’t just playful or teasing—it was tender, gentle, full of something deeper than either of you had allowed to surface before. The playful, mischievous grin that had been on his face moments earlier melted into something softer.

“You look beautiful,” he murmured. “You are beautiful.” His hand moved behind your back, threading through your hair, and he tugged a lock gently, pulling it upward until his fingers rested at the nape of your neck. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life.”  

The words hit you like a wave, and you could feel your face warm, the rush of heat spreading across your skin. You looked away, your gaze dropping to his chest, as if the weight of his compliment was too much to bear.  

“Joel…” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper, nerves creeping into your tone.  

He noticed immediately, his smile deepening with that familiar amusement.

“What? Do I make you nervous?” His laughter came softly, a rumbling sound that made your heart skip, as if it resonated deep within you. It vibrated beneath your hand on his chest.

“You don’t have to say all that!” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You lifted your eyes to look at him, only to find that familiar teasing glint in his gaze. “You’re just trying to make me nervous on purpose.”  

“No, of course I’m not,” he replied, his voice laced with sincerity, though there was a glimmer of something mischievous behind his words. He pulled you even closer then, wrapping his arms fully around your waist, his face sinking into the crook of your neck as if he couldn’t quite get close enough. "I’ve always felt that way about you. It’s just... now I can finally say it."

You could feel the heat of his breath against your skin, and it made your pulse race.  

“And I like making you nervous too,” he murmured, his voice husky, sending a shiver down your spine. “God, you smell so good.”

You smiled to yourself, a soft, satisfied curve of your lips. Of course you smelled good. The coconut and vanilla blend Cassie had gifted you worked its magic, and you couldn’t help but feel grateful. You made a silent promise to thank her later for that little touch of indulgence.

“I know,” you whispered. The smile stayed on your lips, unshakable, as your hands moved instinctively to his neck, pulling him closer in a gentle embrace.

“Mhm,” Joel murmured against your neck, his lips brushing your skin before he kissed your cheek, a fleeting, tender gesture. He followed it with a soft, lingering kiss on your lips. “Be careful what you say to me, I might just eat you.”

You couldn’t help the snort that escaped you, followed by an exaggerated eye roll.

“Is that a threat or a promise?”

Joel’s laughter rumbled through him, his throat vibrating with it.

“A premonition."

You grinned, your heart racing with a mix of affection and excitement, as you stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers weaving through his hair, and your lips met his with a quiet urgency. His hands found their way to the nape of your neck, fingers tightening in your hair as he gently pulled your head back, kissing you deeper, as if savoring every moment of the intimacy between you. 

You smiled against the kiss, and Joel pulled back, his eyes still warm, a playful gleam in them. 

“Does this mean you like me?” he jokingly asked.

It used to be that when you saw couples lost in their own little worlds, giggling and staring at each other like idiots, you felt embarrassed. How could they look so ridiculous, so wrapped up in each other? You’d watch them with something like amusement, maybe even mild distaste.

But here you were now, caught in the same web—completely, utterly lost in each other. And somehow, it didn’t seem silly at all. It felt so good.

You laughed softly, the sound escaping you more freely than you expected.

"Yeah, I like you."

Joel’s eyes softened, a warm, tender look settling there as he nodded, a quiet satisfaction in his expression.

“Great. You’ve never told me that before. I like it.”

“What, that I like you?” 

“Yeah.”

“Yes, Joel. I like you," you said, the words tumbling out before you even fully processed them. "I have the world’s biggest crush on you. You’re very hot, and I think you're amazing.” You paused then, realizing that no matter how lighthearted you sounded, you’d never quite said those words aloud. They felt heavier now, more real, and your chest fluttered slightly. "But don't let your ego get any bigger, okay?" You reached up to gently pinch his cheek, a teasing gesture, but the warmth in your touch was unmistakable.

Joel smirked, the corners of his mouth twitching into that familiar grin, but there was something a little softer about it now, something more assured.

“Like that’s even possible. I think you and Sarah do a pretty good job of keeping me humble.”

“Oh, Sarah keeps us all humble."

“True,” he agreed with a laugh. His hands found their way to your waist, gentle yet steady, and he squeezed the soft skin there. "Thank you for being with me today."

You met his gaze, your smile softening into something more serious, the air between you suddenly quieter, more sincere.

“You don’t have to thank me for anything. Even if things are bad between us, you can always count on me, Joel. I would never leave you alone during times like today.” 

“I know,” Joel nodded, his expression thoughtful as he looked away for a moment, as if sorting through his feelings. “But still, thank you. I got really scared today. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her.” His voice lowered slightly, the vulnerability in it clear. “And she’s growing up so fast. It’s hard to accept sometimes.”

You could hear the tenderness in his words, the quiet ache of a father watching his daughter change before his eyes. You nodded sympathetically, your lips curving into a soft, understanding smile.

“Yeah, but she’s such a smart kid. So capable. Sometimes she surprises me with the things she says.”

Joel furrowed his brows slightly, the familiar glint of pride in his eyes as he spoke again.

"This morning, she gave me this whole talk about how I had to accept that she’s growing up, that I had to let go of her a little at a time—like she was preparing me for something, even though, honestly, it was all just a strategy to leave me alone for the entire day." He shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. "She had a plan."

You raised an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued. “A plan?” 

Joel let out a short, affectionate sigh and looked away for a moment, as though recalling the whole scene. 

“Yeah. She was planning on going to Irina’s to sleep over so she could get me to leave her alone all day and force me to talk to you. She heard everything Travis told me this morning, and was pretty clear about what she wanted. But I told her she had to come back for dinner.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “You should’ve listened to her. She really knows how to manipulate me.”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t have to tell me anything. She’s been working the same magic on me too.”

Joel’s smile grew wider at that, his face lighting up. Then, he cocked his head to the side, his gaze teasing but warm.

“Oh, yeah?” 

You raised an eyebrow, unable to ignore the mischievous glint in Joel’s eyes. It was a look you had come to recognize, the one that meant he was up to something—something just a little bit dangerous, and entirely charming.

“Again with that sly look, Miller. What do you really want to ask me?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest, narrowing your eyes in playful suspicion.

Joel’s smile widened briefly before his head turned instinctively toward the living room, drawn by the faint sound of a small sneeze. When he looked back at you, his expression had softened into something tender, almost boyish. Without thinking, you mirrored his smile and took a step back, creating a sliver of space between you.

Just as you turned toward the sink, intending to get a glass of water, his hand closed gently around your wrist. The warmth of his touch sparked something electric under your skin, a slow, thrilling hum that coursed through you. Before you could fully process it—before you could form a word—Joel leaned in and kissed you.

It was soft but searing, a kiss that left no room for breath, only for the way his lips fit against yours.

“I’ll check on her, okay?” he murmured when he pulled back, his voice low and rasping.

You nodded, your lips still curved into a smile you hadn’t realized you were wearing.

Half an hour later, the three of you were gathered around the kitchen table, devouring slices of pizza that were too hot but too good to wait for. When Joel had stepped into the living room earlier, Sarah had been awake, though she kept her eyes closed, feigning sleep in a way that was almost convincing. Joel hadn’t pressed her about it—he suspected she’d overheard at least some of the conversation in the kitchen—but he let it slide. Instead, he scooped her up in his arms, and it didn’t take much to coax her awake once the promise of food filled the room.

Now, she sat cross-legged in her chair, a slice of pizza balanced in one hand. Her gaze flicked to the red-and-white logo on the pizza box—an old-timey man with a twirled mustache and a tall hat, forever winking.

“I wish Cassie stayed for dinner,” Sarah said between bites, her words slightly muffled. “How long is she going to be here?”

“I’m not sure, sweetheart,” you replied, trying to hide your smile as Joel, across from you, stuffed nearly half a slice into his mouth in one bite. “But I have a feeling she’s not leaving anytime soon.”

Sarah’s eyes lit up. “When can I have a sleepover with you?”

“When you’re feeling better,” you answered, leaning forward like you were letting her in on a secret. “Then we’ll have a proper recovery night—movies, treats, the works.”

“I feel better already,” she said, grinning wide enough that her eyes disappeared behind her cheeks.

Joel, now holding a glass of water, raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe next weekend,” he offered cautiously, glancing at you for confirmation. “If you’re up for it.”

“Out of the question,” you replied, feigning seriousness. “I’m in desperate need of a girls’ night.”

Joel chuckled softly. His eyes found yours, lingering just long enough to make your breath catch.

From her seat, Sarah cleared her throat dramatically.

“Uh-huh. Girls’ night,” she said, shooting Joel a pointed look. “No boys allowed.”

Joel snorted, leaning back in his chair.

“My own daughter,” he muttered, shaking his head with mock disbelief. “Unbelievable.”

You laughed, your hand brushing against the edge of the table as Sarah’s expression shifted suddenly, as if struck by inspiration.

“Wait!” she exclaimed, sitting up straighter. “Can we have dinner together tomorrow? Like, a barbecue? Dad hasn’t grilled in ages. We could celebrate.”

“Celebrate what, exactly?” Joel asked, his brow furrowing.

“Everything,” Sarah replied, as if it were obvious. “Cassie being in Austin, me not being dead, and you two finally stopping the whole... whatever that was.” 

You stifled a laugh, pressing your lips together. 

Joel shook his head, his mouth twitching at the corners.

“It’s not funny,” he said, looking pointedly at Sarah, though his voice had softened. “You scared the shit outta me, kid.”

Sarah just smiled, unfazed. “Good thing I’m still here, then. Right?”

Joel sighed, reaching over to ruffle her hair. 

*

After two more slices of pizza and a handful of pointed remarks—most of them carefully aimed at her father—Sarah stretched dramatically and announced she was heading to bed. Joel stood, ever dutiful, to walk her to her room. You stayed behind, gathering plates and wiping down the counters, feeling the quiet settle over the house like a warm, familiar blanket.

By the time you’d finished in the kitchen, the living room was dim and still. You sank into the couch, pulling your phone out of your pocket. Without thinking, your fingers opened the chat with Cassie, like muscle memory.

Everything’s okay. Sarah’s feeling sooo much better. Already asleep, she was really tired. She was happy, though—said tomorrow she wants us all to have dinner together, you included.

You paused, re-reading the message, realizing too late that you were smiling.

Cassie’s reply came almost instantly.

I’d love to!

By the way...

How are things going with Joel? 👀

You sighed, rolling your eyes but unable to suppress a small laugh. What were you even supposed to say? You started typing, then erased the words, then typed again.

All good🫶💕 we haven’t really had time alone yet tho

There’s still... stuff we need to talk about.

You hesitated over “stuff” but left it there. It felt vague enough to be safe.

Cassie’s response was exactly what you’d expected:

Boring.

Don’t worry, I’ll think of something.

Love you.

You snorted, shaking your head.

??

What do u mean?

Love you too!!!

"That girl is out cold," Joel said, walking into the room with a soft, almost amused smile that seemed to smooth the worry lines on his face. "I was talking to her, and when I turned around, she was completely knocked out. You think I should wake her?"

You set your phone down on the coffee table, tilting your head at him.

"Wake her up? Why?"

"You know, because of the contusion." He dropped onto the couch next to you, his knee brushing lightly against yours as he leaned forward, frowning in thought. "Do you think we should be worried?"

"I don’t think so. Her scans came back fine, remember? And the doctor said not to stress. She was in good spirits, don’t you think?"

"She was," Joel murmured, almost to himself, leaning back into the couch. His arm stretched along the backrest, just behind your head. "Before she fell asleep, she told me she had a lot of fun today."

You laughed, short and surprised, a sound that made Joel’s gaze flicker to your mouth and linger there for a moment too long.

"She said that?" you asked, shaking your head in disbelief.

He nodded, his lips curving into a small, private smile.

"I was really scared today," you admitted, your voice quieter now as you shifted closer. "How many emotions can a person go through in two minutes? Because it felt like I was on a roller coaster or something. You Millers are going to drive me completely insane."

"Sorry," Joel said, his smile softening into something almost sheepish. His hand found your thigh, his fingers squeezing gently, as if to anchor you both. The touch felt warm, familiar, unspoken reassurance. "I promise you, on behalf of both of us, we’ll calm down. But I can’t make too many promises for Sarah. She’s a wild card."

You let out a small laugh, your head tipping onto his shoulder. His scent—faint soap, a hint of cedar—wrapped around you.

"I love her, and I like how quick she is, how clever."

"Me too," Joel replied, his voice low and warm. 

The flickering light from the television bathed both your faces in soft, uneven glows. An old episode of The Sopranos played in the background. It was just noise, a placeholder for words that neither of you had spoken yet.

Your eyes burned from exhaustion, the weight of the day settling into your body, but the sensation vanished in an instant when Joel’s hand shifted on your thigh. He squeezed gently—not enough to hurt, but enough to wake you up in a different way. You couldn’t tell if it was intentional or just a subconscious movement. Then he did it again.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “How are you feeling? About today... about us?”

The tenderness in his tone made something in your chest soften. You moved your hand, placing it over his and threading your fingers through his. A small smile tugged at your lips, one you didn’t let him see. There was something endearing—almost vulnerable—about the way he spoke, as though the words themselves were fragile.

“I feel happy,” you said, your voice light and firm. “Calm, finally. I missed you so much.”

Joel turned his head to look at you, his eyes searching your face. When you met his gaze, the intensity in his expression made your breath catch.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, the words heavy with regret. “I promise I’ll be better.”

Before you even realized it, your hand had lifted to his face. Your fingers brushed against the rough scruff of his cheek, a tender gesture he loved. His eyes softened, but there was still a flicker of pain there, the kind that came from knowing an apology could never fully undo the hurt. It was as if he didn’t believe he deserved your forgiveness—or your touch—but he was desperate for both.

Your thumb brushed over his lips. Then, closing the distance, you pressed your mouth to his.

Joel responded instantly, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your neck. His touch was firm but gentle, like he was afraid of breaking something precious. The kiss deepened, his lips warm against yours, but it wasn’t enough. It never seemed to be enough.

His other hand slid up to your waist, pulling you closer until the space between you was nearly nonexistent. Still, he wanted more—needed more. The taste of you, the feel of you, was intoxicating, and the quiet hunger in his movements made it clear that no amount of closeness would ever feel like enough.

Joel moved swiftly, shifting down the length of the couch and pulling you on top of him in one seamless motion. His arms wrapped tightly around you, grounding you in his hold as if he couldn’t bear to let you go. The suddenness of it made you let out a small, breathy whimper, your hands instinctively finding his shoulders to steady yourself. You leaned back just enough to adjust, settling against him more comfortably.  

He rolled onto his side, bringing his face so close to yours that your breaths mingled in the small space between. His eyes, bright but laced with exhaustion, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your stomach flip. He smiled then, a soft, unguarded smile that revealed those dimples on either side of his mouth, the ones that never failed to make your heart flutter. He was so achingly beautiful it felt almost unfair.  

Without thinking, you leaned forward, pressing a firm kiss to one cheek, right over a dimple, then the other. The affection in the gestures made his eyes soften even further. Finally, your lips found his.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmured. Your fingers toyed with the curls at the side of his head while your other hand rested on his chest, tracing idle patterns over the fabric of his shirt. “And I forgive you. You don’t have to keep apologizing to me—I don’t want you to feel like you need to.”  

“I’m sorry, I—ah, shit, I really am,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. "Fuck."

“Oh my God,” you laughed, biting your bottom lip to stifle the sound.

His lips quirked into a grin, and his voice softened.

“I love you too, sunshine.”  

Your heart swelled at the nickname, and you nodded gently.

“That’s the way I like it,” you teased, clicking your tongue playfully. “Now, I know you’re sorry. But instead of saying it all the time, just show me, okay? Before anything else, we’re best friends. That doesn’t mean you have to tell me everything all the time—you’re an adult, and you’re entitled to have things that are just yours and—”  

Joel shook his head, his expression growing serious as he interrupted,

“No. I don’t want to hide anything from you. You’ve always known everything about me. The Sienna thing...” He trailed off, his brow furrowing under your touch as his voice dipped lower. “That was a one-time situation. And I swear, it’ll never happen again with anything. It was... it was bad. I know that. But it’s over. It’s done.”  

You studied him for a moment, his face so open, so earnest, and you could feel the weight of his words. You let your thumb stroke over the crease in his brow, smoothing it away as a small, knowing smile crept onto your lips.  

“It won’t happen again? What’s that supposed to mean—are you giving up on dating altogether, Joel?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you going celibate now?”

He stifled a laugh, the sound low and warm in his chest.

“It’s not that, no. I actually think I’m looking for something serious now.”

“Something serious?” you repeated, your tone dripping with mock skepticism.

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” you asked, tilting your head as your fingers idly traced down the curve of his neck. “I always thought you were more of a lone wolf.”

“Not at all. I’ve had plenty of time to think about it. I know what I want.”

“Well, since you mention it,” you said, grinning slyly, “I think I might have someone for you. You’re going to love her.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, intrigued but cautious.

“Oh yeah? Who?”

You leaned closer, feigning a conspiratorial tone.

“It’s kind of like fate, actually. I was on my phone earlier, and this Facebook post came up. I couldn’t believe it—it was Brianna! I thought; ¡No way! And now here you are, saying this. It’s fucking perfect.”

Joel groaned, shaking his head as he laughed.

“Oh, fuck off.”

“I’m warning you, though,” you continued, straight-faced. “She’s married. You’ll have to sneak around. Climbing out windows, that sort of thing. Although, judging by the sounds your knees make, I wouldn’t recommend it. Doesn’t seem safe.”

“Oh, she was crazy about me,” Joel interjected, cutting through your playful monologue with a smug grin. He leaned back, his expression exaggeratedly self-satisfied. “Couldn’t get enough of me. Always on top of me.”

You propped yourself up on one elbow, your mouth falling open in mock disbelief.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, really,” he said, his grin widening, clearly enjoying your reaction. “My knees are just fine, by the way. Not a problem.”

You squinted at him, shaking your head.

“I never pictured you as the type to get involved in an affair, Miller.”

“Neither did I,” he said with a casual shrug. “But this is Brianna we’re talking about, I mean.”

You shook your head, narrowing your eyes at him, and said with mock seriousness, “Okay. That’s it. I’m done.” You started to shift away, pretending to leave, but he was faster.

Joel wasn’t having it. With a laugh, he grabbed you around the waist, pulling you back against him in one smooth motion, laying you flat on your back, over his chest. His mouth found the spot between your neck and shoulder, leaving playful kisses that sent shivers up your spine and made you squirm.

“Come on,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and full of amusement. “We’re too old for this shit.”

You laughed, your hands tangling in his hair as he continued to tease you.

“Speak for yourself. My knees don’t pop.”  

Joel let out a low laugh, shaking his head.

“Shut up.” 

For a while, neither of you said anything more. The air between you thickened, the silence soft and heavy. Joel stayed close, his lips brushing over the back of your neck, the curve of your jaw, trailing to your shoulder with a deliberate slowness. You could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, his hand at your waist. And, though you tried not to focus on it, the unmistakable pressure of him, half-hard, pressing against you.  

“I'm serious,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the quiet but holding onto its gentleness. “I want to be with you. Only with you.”  

His words hung in the air, sinking into you like a weight you hadn’t realized you were craving. Your smile came unbidden, immediate and impossible to suppress.  

Joel didn’t stop. His mouth pressed lightly to your shoulder as he continued, his voice low, like he was confessing something secret.

“I don’t want to waste any more time. I’ve already been without you, and I don’t ever want to feel that again. And I know what it’s like to just be your friend, and yeah, I fuckin' love that too—but it’s not enough. I want everything.”  

Your heart swelled in your chest, so full it almost hurt.

“Me too.” 

Joel stilled for a moment, his breath hitching.

“Yeah?” 

You reached down and placed your hands over his where they rested on your waist. Your fingers laced together, holding on tightly, grounding him in your touch.

“Yes,” you whispered.  

The smile that broke across Joel’s face was something you didn’t want to forget. You wanted to hold onto it, to remember the exact way his features softened, the exact way his dimples deepened.  

Without thinking, you shifted, turning to face him in one fluid motion. His smile lingered, and you leaned closer, unable to resist the magnetic pull of him.

“What are we, Joel?” you teased, your voice light, your grin playful as your hand slipped under his shirt. Your palm brushed against the firm plane of his stomach, and you felt the way his muscles tensed at the contact. You would never get tired of this: the feeling of his skin under your touch, the way his body responded to you so effortlessly.  

You fucking loved it.

*

Saturday. That morning, it was official.

You woke up on the couch, wrapped in your boyfriend's arms, his warmth anchoring you to the quiet serenity of the moment. At some point in the night, after he’d pulled you close and draped the blanket over both of you, sleep had claimed you effortlessly. The faint memory of his steady breathing and the way his hand had rested protectively on your hip lingered as you stirred awake.

Sarah had slept in, leaving the two of you to share a rare moment of solitude. The kitchen was bathed in soft morning light, the air carrying the faint hum of the world outside through the open window. There was something about mornings like this—unhurried, gentle—that reminded you of the way things used to be, before everything got complicated. That harmony, that unspoken ease, had found its way back to you.

Joel sat beside you, his coffee cup in one hand, the other resting casually on your leg. His fingers pressed into your skin with a gentle familiarity, an unconscious gesture that felt like it belonged exactly where it was. His hair was damp from the shower he’d just taken, curling slightly at the edges, and he wore a black T-shirt and gray sweatpants.

And it was too much.

Something wild stirred inside you, something uncontainable that you weren’t sure you could keep from surfacing much longer.

The first moment you saw him come down the stairs, you’d nearly choked on your breath. The way the T-shirt clung to his broad shoulders and chest, the way the soft fabric of his sweatpants hung low on his hips, hinting at every solid line of his body—it was maddening.

You felt like a feral animal, like every nerve in your body was tuned to him.

It didn’t matter what Joel was saying—something about the weather, or the coffee, or maybe asking if you wanted more toast. His words barely registered because your attention was completely hijacked by him.

The way his lips moved when he spoke. The subtle flex of his biceps every time he reached up to open a cabinet. The way his fingers curled around the handle of his mug, big and thick, and how your mind betrayed you, fixating on how those fingers would feel on you.

Your pulse quickened, your breath catching in your throat as he turned to look at you mid-sentence, a faint smile playing on his lips. You were convinced he could see the heat rising in your cheeks, feel the way your gaze lingered too long.

And still, you didn’t care.

“Tommy’s coming today,” Joel said, his voice pulling you out of the increasingly vivid direction your thoughts had taken. You blinked, focusing on his face as he glanced at you with an amused smile that suggested he had some idea where your mind had been. “I texted him a while ago, after I got out of the shower.”

You nodded, barely processing his words because now you were thinking about him in the shower. Water sliding over his broad shoulders, the way the muscles in his arms flexed as he reached for the soap, how the steam would cling to his skin.

“He seemed excited when I told him Cassie was in Austin,” Joel continued, his casual tone slicing through the haze in your mind.

You rolled your eyes, trying to refocus.

“Sure,” you said, shaking your head to clear it. “Did you even know our relationship was a frequent topic of conversation for the two of them?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, his face settling into a thoughtful expression, though there was no mistaking the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah,” you said with a grin. “Apparently, they talked all the time about which one of us would make the first move. Honestly, I wouldn’t even be surprised if there was a bet involved at some point.”

Joel’s lips twitched like he was trying not to laugh.

“Well,” he said, his voice teasing, “I guess we’ll find out today. If I see any suspicious money changing hands, I’ll let you know right away.”

You let out a soft, involuntary laugh as you rose from your chair, coffee cup in hand, and the sound of it lingered in the air as you crossed the room toward the sink. The familiar weight of the mug, still faintly warm from the coffee, felt grounding against your palm. You turned the faucet on, the hum of water filling the quiet kitchen as your movements shifted into the mindless rhythm of washing the cup.

“Hey, leave that,” Joel’s voice interrupted from behind.

You turned your head just as he came up beside you, his own mug in hand. It was only half-full, a dark swirl of coffee still clinging to the sides, but he set it down on the counter without much thought. His eyes, however, stayed on you.

“Come here,” he murmured, his hands already reaching for your hips.

The gesture was fluid, practiced even though this—all of this—was still so new. He guided you around, one swift, calculated motion that left you pressed between the solid counter behind you and the even more solid presence of him in front of you.

His hands didn’t leave you, palms settling firmly against your sides as if to anchor you, or maybe to ground himself. He leaned in, close enough that you felt his breath skim your skin. You caught your own breath, felt it catch somewhere in your throat, an almost embarrassing giveaway of how much his nearness affected you.

Your cheeks warmed—no, burned, really—and you knew he could see it, the flush creeping over your neck and jaw like a slow tide. At the same time, your eyelids dipped, your gaze meeting his with a softness that you couldn’t hide, no matter how much you might have wanted to. Honeyed, you thought vaguely, the way your eyes must look now, like you’d been caught in some dreamy, sunlit haze.

This was the part you hadn’t yet gotten used to: the closeness, the unapologetic intimacy. And the desire. Unfiltered, unrestrained, and so startlingly mutual. You’d spent so long wanting him from a distance that now, having the freedom to act on it, felt almost dizzying.

If you wanted to kiss him, you could. If you wanted to trace your fingers over the line of his jaw, you could. There was nothing in the way now, no reason not to. The knowledge settled deep in your chest, warm and thrilling, and it made you smile despite yourself.

Joel’s gaze flickered, like he caught the thought behind the curve of your lips. What would he say if he knew the places your mind had wandered since the moment you saw him that morning? If he knew that this—his closeness, his hands on you—was exactly where your thoughts had been circling all day?

Would it undo him the way it was undoing you?

“Joel,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. Your hand drifted to rest lightly on his abdomen, the firm warmth of him radiating beneath your palm. Slowly, your fingers began to move downward, the motion unhurried. “I really like these sweatpants,” you added, the corners of your lips curving into a small, playful smile.

Joel’s brow furrowed slightly, a flicker of confusion crossing his features, though his pupils were already wide, his dark eyes fixed intently on yours.

“Mmm?” he hummed, the sound low and almost distracted. His attention shifted as your fingers dipped just beneath the waistband of his pants, teasing the elastic of his underwear.

“Yes,” you repeated, your voice softer now, as though the moment demanded a certain quietness. Leaning in, you brushed your lips against his—once, quickly, the briefest of kisses that left him chasing after your mouth when you pulled away. His lips parted, his breath warm against yours, as if drawn to you by some invisible force he couldn’t resist.

“And I’ve been thinking about a lot of things, actually,” you added.

“What things?” he asked, his voice rougher now, as though the words had caught in his throat. He bent his head, his mouth finding the soft curve of your neck. The kiss he placed there was gentle but deliberate, lips brushing the delicate skin just over your pulse. You felt the rush of your blood beneath his mouth, the heat spreading outward, your legs suddenly unsteady beneath you.

You closed your eyes and instinctively gripped his shoulders, your fingers curling against the firm breadth of them. He was solid, grounding you as much as he was unraveling you. Joel’s body pressed harder against yours, the cool edge of the counter biting into your back in sharp contrast to the heat of him in front of you. 

Warm, firm and hard.

“What things, baby?” he asked again, his voice dropping lower, his breath warm against the line of your jaw as he kissed his way upward.

Your hand slid up to his hair, your fingers tangling in the soft, unruly curls there. You tugged lightly, and the sensation drew a quiet sound from him, a low, satisfied hum that sent a thrill through you.

A soft, unbidden moan escaped your lips as one of his hands moved down, his palm gliding over your thigh before curving firmly around you. His fingers squeezed, hard, his grip grounding yet electric all at once.

You couldn’t help the amused smile that spread across your face. Tilting your head back slightly, you let the moment linger, savoring the way his hands fit against you, the heat and weight of him pinning you there.

“You’re impatient,” you murmured, your voice laced with a quiet tease as you leaned closer, your lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

“I’m impatient?” Joel echoed, his tone almost incredulous, though the rough edge in his voice betrayed him.

“Yes.” You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your eyes flickering with mischief, a playful challenge. For half a second, the two of you hung in that charged space, your words hanging between you like a dare.

And then his mouth was on yours. This time, there was no hesitation, no half-measure. The kiss was demanding, almost desperate, as though he’d been holding himself back until now. One of his hands stayed where it was, firmly gripping you, while the other slid upward, his fingers finding the back of your neck.

He tugged gently at your hair, the movement tilting your head back, giving him better access to you. You let him, the sensation sending a fresh rush of heat through you, the tension unraveling in slow waves as he kissed you.

A soft, involuntary moan escaped you, muffled against his lips, the sound reverberating through him as though it had been made for him alone. His tongue brushed against yours, savoring your mouth, a careful yet desperate dance, and the juxtaposition of tenderness and urgency sent a shiver down your spine.

Something inside you shifted, a spark igniting into a flame. Your breath caught sharply, your chest rising and falling as if trying to keep up with the intensity. Your hands moved instinctively, threading through his hair, the strands thick and soft beneath your fingertips. You held him there, pulling him closer, needing him closer.

Joel broke the kiss, his breath coming in uneven bursts as his lips found the side of your neck, pressing there for just a heartbeat before reclaiming your mouth. The brief reprieve only heightened your awareness of him, the way his presence seemed to surround you completely.

His hand drifted down, fingers trailing along your side before settling firmly on your thigh. With a quiet motion, he lifted it, shifting your weight so that your leg hooked over his hip. The movement pressed your bodies together more intimately, and the sensation was so overwhelming, almost too much; his cock pressing hard against your core through the fabric.

Your hands roamed restlessly, sliding over his head, down the strong column of his neck, and across his broad shoulders. Every touch was filled with a kind of desperate, unspoken need, your fingers tracing him as though you were trying to commit every detail to memory.

Joel’s hand left your thigh, his palm gliding upward to rest against your throat. He didn’t grip, didn’t press—just let his thumb stroke gently over the soft skin there, his touch both grounding and electrifying.

“Um,” he murmured against your lips, his voice rough and breathless, tinged with the smallest hint of humor. His mouth lingered for a moment longer, kissing you softly, reluctantly, as if he were trying to savor the last taste of you. Then, inch by inch, he began to pull back, his forehead resting against yours briefly before he looked at you.

“We’d better get started on our day, don’t ya think?” he asked, his tone casual in a way that made you almost laugh if you weren’t so undone. “We’ve got a lot of things to do.”

Before you could answer—before you could even process the sudden shift—he stepped back, the warmth of his body disappearing so abruptly it left you cold. The space he left felt vast, too vast.

For a moment, you just stood there, your breath still catching in your chest, your body still humming with the ghost of his touch. The abruptness of it all felt almost unfair, like you’d been woken from a dream before the best part. And yet, you couldn’t help but watch him, trying to make sense of the way he could pull you apart and put you back together all at once.

Joel moved to the table with a casual ease, gathering the empty crystal glasses in his hands. His movements were natural, almost unremarkable, but there was something in the simplicity of the act that made your breath hitch. You stayed where you were, your hands braced against the counter, the smooth surface cool beneath your palms. You felt anchored there, as though moving might break the tension crackling in the air.

Your gaze followed him. Confusion fluttered in your chest—at him, at yourself, at the pull between you that seemed impossible to ignore. Your breathing was uneven, and your eyes betrayed you, shimmering with the kind of spark you couldn’t suppress even if you wanted to.

When Joel returned, he set the glasses down beside you, the faint clink of crystal meeting counter slicing through the charged silence. He didn’t touch you, not even the briefest brush of fingers, but his presence was almost unbearable, heavy. And then there was his expression—the look in his eyes, the slight quirk of his mouth.

Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. That was clear. And yes, he was hard. So fucking hard it was almost obscene. He’d done it on purpose.

“It’s okay,” you said softly, your voice firm despite the storm inside you. You straightened, peeling yourself away from the counter’s edge, and turned toward the table to retrieve your phone. “That’s right. I need to see Cass.”

When you turned back, Joel was leaning against the archway that framed the kitchen. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was anything but. He looked at you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, his eyes sweeping over you slowly. The grin that tugged at his lips was mischievous, infuriatingly so, as though he knew exactly how he was affecting you.

“Say hi to Sarah for me, okay?” you said, trying to sound casual as you stepped toward him. “I’ll be back later.”

When you reached him, you leaned in to press a quick, fleeting kiss to his lips—simple, restrained. But as Joel bent slightly to meet you, your hand moved without thinking. Your fingers found him, cupping him firmly through the soft fabric of his sweatpants, your fingers squeezing him with just the right strenght.

The groan that escaped him was immediate, low and guttural, and it sent a thrill through you. His lips parted, a quiet, breathless chuckle slipping out.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, his voice rough, the words caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement.

You smiled, a slow, knowing curve of your lips as you released him. Stepping back, you moved toward the door.

“So impatient,” you said over your shoulder.

*

After you had spilled everything to Cassie—every detail, every moment—you slipped into the shower, letting the hot water cascade over you like a protective veil. The rhythmic pounding of the water filled the small space, drowning out the noise in your head, but it didn’t stop your thoughts from wandering. Inevitably, they drifted back to Joel. They always did.

You moved your hands over your body absentmindedly, lathering the soap and rinsing it away, but it was him you were thinking about, him you were feeling. As you ran your fingers along your skin, you imagined his hands in their place—strong, deliberate, exploring every curve, every soft part of you. The thought was maddening, the memory of his touch etched so deeply into you that even the water couldn’t wash it away.

Each stroke of the loofah became a stand-in for him, for the way his fingers would trace your skin, lingering in ways that made you shiver. Your body felt like a live wire, humming with an energy you couldn’t contain. Desire coiled tightly inside you, building with every passing moment, every thought of him.

You tilted your head back into the stream, closing your eyes as the water ran down your face and neck. This isn’t sustainable, you thought, biting your lip against the flood of sensations threatening to overtake you. 

But you didn’t want to make it easy for him, either. No, he’d been cruel to you that morning, hadn’t he? Leaving you like that, strung out and wanting, while he stood there looking so smug, so maddeningly composed. The memory made your stomach tighten, heat blooming in your chest.

Of course, it wasn’t as though he’d walked away unscathed. You’d seen the way he looked at you, the tension in his jaw, the way his hands had gripped the wall like he was holding himself back. He wasn’t immune to this. You’d made sure of that.

But what choice did you have? The practical part of your brain—the part that always seemed louder in the light of day—reminded you of Sarah, sleeping just upstairs. She was the reason you couldn’t let yourself give in, not fully. What if she woke up? What if she came downstairs? You’d hate for her to see something she couldn’t unsee, to feel even a flicker of discomfort because of you.

The thought cooled you, just slightly, enough to keep you grounded. But it didn’t erase the ache, the way your body seemed to rebel against your restraint. Joel had set this fire, and now you were left with the smoldering embers, trying to keep them from flaring up again.

“So, what, what are you going to do when you get married?” Cassie asked two hours later, her voice cutting through the comfortable quiet of the living room.

The question caught you mid-thought, and you let out a soft, amused laugh, glancing at her from where you sat cross-legged on the floor tying your shoelaces.

“What?”

“What if, don’t give me that nonsense,” she said, waving a hand dismissively as she shifted on the couch, tucking her legs beneath her. Her tone was matter-of-fact, but her eyes were alight with mischief. “I’m already planning it all out in my head.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking.

“Oh, you are, are you?”

“Absolutely. I’m very detail-oriented, you know.” She leaned back into the cushions, folding her arms across her chest like she’d just made an airtight argument. “I mean, someone has to start thinking about these things. You’re not exactly in a hurry.”

“You just want to be someone’s maid of honor. I’ve seen how you watch those wedding shows,” you teased, pulling the knot tight on one sneaker before moving to the other.

“That’s not true,” she said, feigning offense, though the grin tugging at the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “I’m just honest. And a visionary. I always knew you and Joel would end up together—it was only a matter of time.”

“Right,” you said, rolling your eyes, but there was warmth in your voice.

Cassie shrugged with an air of nonchalance, though you could see how much she was enjoying this.

“It took longer than I thought it would, I’ll admit that. But all the drama? Totally worth it. I mean, if you’re going to take your sweet time, at least you made it entertaining.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at her.

“Oh yeah? So now what, you’re going to start placing bets with Tommy again?”

“Maybe,” she said with a conspiratorial smile.

You reached out to swat her knee playfully, and she let out a dramatic yelp as if you’d actually hurt her. Rising to your feet, you grabbed your purse from the coffee table and slung it over your shoulder.

“Get off your ass, Cass. Let’s go,” you said, heading toward the door, your voice carrying a note of mock authority.

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied, dragging herself off the couch with exaggerated effort, but the grin on her face remained as she followed you out.

When Sarah opened the door, her face lit up with the kind of radiant, unguarded smile that made you pause for a second. It was the sort of smile that could only come from her father, and it tugged at something tender inside you. You leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, your fingers brushing gently through her hair.

“Hi, sweetheart,” you said warmly. Sarah beamed at you, her eyes sparkling with a knowing look that made you feel like you were sharing some secret.

Behind you, Cassie stepped forward, wrapping Sarah in a gentle hug.

“Hey, kiddo. How’s the arm?” she asked, careful to avoid touching the sling.

“It’s fine,” Sarah said, her tone casual but proud. “I barely even notice it anymore.”

“You’re such a trooper,” Cassie said, ruffling Sarah’s hair lightly before stepping back.

Inside, the house smelled of fresh coffee and something faintly smoky—Joel must have been at the grill. It felt warm, lived-in. Your gaze swept the room and immediately found Joel and Tommy in the kitchen, their heads bent together in hushed conversation. Whatever they were discussing seemed fun, but it came to an abrupt halt when they spotted you.

Both men turned, their faces breaking into wide grins. Tommy was the first to move, crossing the room in a few easy strides toward Cassie. He pulled her into a hug, his hand resting on the small of her back as he murmured something that made her laugh softly.

“Are you free now, Cass?” Tommy asked when they parted, his tone teasing. “A little birdie told me Rome is ancient history.”

Cassie smirked, stifling a laugh. “Who’s this little birdie? Because they sound a lot like you.”

“I never said that,” Joel chimed in from the kitchen, his voice low but amused as he leaned casually against the counter. 

You moved toward him, your hand instinctively reaching out to tap his stomach in a playful gesture.

“No one mentioned you,” you laughed.

His hand was on you instantly, sliding around your waist and pulling you into his side with a practiced ease that felt both natural and thrilling. He dipped his head and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a greeting so sweet it made your heart flutter.

“I can’t believe it,” Cassie said, her voice mock-serious as she nudged Tommy’s shoulder. “They kissed!”

Tommy turned, feigning shock as he raised a hand to his chest.

“What? Really? Here? In front of all of us?”

Joel rolled his eyes, a small, indulgent grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“What happened?” Sarah’s voice cut in, and you turned to see her standing in the kitchen doorway, her expression a mix of curiosity and amusement. She had her phone in one hand and a pair of headphones draped around her neck.

Tommy chuckled, clicking his tongue as if she’d just stumbled upon some juicy gossip.

“Yeah, well, get used to it,” Joel said, his tone dry as he ruffled Sarah’s hair. She scrunched her nose in exaggerated annoyance but didn’t bother hiding her smile.

“What happened?” she asked again, stepping closer to you.

“Babe, they kissed!” Cassie exclaimed dramatically, throwing her hands up as though she were announcing the news to the world.

Sarah rolled her eyes, but her grin widened. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Joel smirked, glancing down at her. “You’re just jealous,” he teased, reaching out to tug gently on her shirt.

Sarah crossed her arms, pretending to think.

“Hmm, no. I think I’m just glad I wasn’t here to witness it.”

Everyone laughed, the sound filling the room with a kind of easy warmth. Joel leaned closer to you, his breath brushing your ear as he murmured, “They’re never going to let us live this down.”

You tilted your head up to him, smiling. “I think we can handle it.”

“Famous last words,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth twitching in a smirk.

Cassie clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough romantic comedy. Who's hungry? Oh, I brought beers!”

Joel raised his hand like a schoolboy, and even Sarah nodded enthusiastically. You laughed, stepping back to let the chaos of the moment unfold, your heart feeling full in a way it hadn’t in a long time.

*

The late afternoon sun poured over Joel’s patio, softening the mild autumn chill with a warm golden hue. The air smelled faintly of delicious grilled food and freshly cut grass, a perfect backdrop for the lively conversation happening at the table. Cassie, Tommy, Sarah, and you were gathered around, full glasses and opened cans scattered between you, as Cassie regaled Sarah with the story of the time she’d met Robert Pattinson at an airport.

“I’m serious,” Cassie said, leaning forward with her elbows on the table. “He was wearing this beanie, sunglasses—clearly trying not to be noticed. But I noticed, because, you know.” She gestured vaguely to her face, grinning. “It’s Robert Pattinson.”

Sarah’s jaw dropped, her eyes wide with disbelief.

“No way. What did you do? Did you say something?”

Cassie waved a hand dismissively.

“Of course not. I played it cool. Just casually texted everyone I know while standing three feet away from him.”

“You didn’t talk to him?” Sarah gasped, leaning back in her chair like she’d been personally betrayed.

“Nope. I just let him exist in peace. But I swear, the man has an aura.”

“A Robert Pattinson aura,” you added, chuckling.

Sarah shook her head, her expression still incredulous.

“I can’t believe it. I’ve been in love with him since I saw him in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Cedric Diggory was the perfect guy. And then, you know…” She mimed an explosion with her hands.

Cassie’s grin widened. “Oh, just wait until you see Twilight.” She leaned back in her chair, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “That movie… it was an awakening. Like, I don’t think I’ve ever been the same since.”

Tommy groaned audibly, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat.

“Come on. Vampires are supposed to be grotesque. Evil. You know, scary. What’s with the glitter skin? It doesn’t make any sense. If you want vampires, Sarah, you’ve gotta watch 30 Days of Night. Now that’s a vampire movie.”

“Tommy,” you interjected, placing your hand flat on the table for emphasis. “You’re missing the point entirely. Twilight isn’t about scary vampires. It’s about vibes. It’s an experience. I love grotesque, evil vampires—trust me, I’m a fan—but Twilight is something else. It’s special.”

“Special how?” Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cassie jumped in before you could respond.

“It’s not about realism, Tommy. It’s about longing. It’s about standing in the rain in a forest and declaring your undying love to someone who might kill you at any moment.”

“Yeah, sounds healthy,” he deadpanned, taking a sip of his bear.

“Listen,” Sarah said, her voice rising with enthusiasm as she gestured dramatically, “if Cedric Diggory is in it, I’m watching it. I don’t care if he’s sparkly or scary or made of actual glitter.”

“See?” you said, pointing at Sarah with a grin. “She gets it.”

Joel’s voice cut in from the doorway, where he’d been quietly watching the scene unfold. “What exactly are we getting?”

“Twilight,” you said, turning to him with mock seriousness. “We’re educating Sarah about the cultural phenomenon that is Twilight.”

Joel walked over to the table, grabbing an empty chair and sitting down beside you.

“I’ve seen it. I’m pretty sure it’s just two hours of people staring at each other dramatically.”

“Don’t forget the running through the forest,” Cassie added, laughing.

“And the baseball scene,” you said, grinning. “You can’t forget vampire baseball.”

Joel shook his head, a bemused smile on his face. “I’m not sure what’s worse—vampire baseball or glitter skin.”

“Neither,” Sarah said decisively. “The worst part is that none of you appreciate cinematic brilliance when you see it.”

The table dissolved into laughter, the warm sound filling the patio and blending with the rustling of leaves in the breeze. Joel leaned closer to you, his arm brushing yours as he said quietly, “You’re really defending this, huh?”

“Always,” you replied, smiling at him. “Someone has to.”

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the patio as the conversation at the table meandered through topics, laughter punctuating the air. Joel sat beside you, his beer bottle in hand, absently turning it by the neck as his gaze shifted toward the horizon. Something about the sky had caught his attention, his brow furrowing slightly, as if he were reading the clouds. He loved to do that.

Without a word, he stood and walked toward the grill, the sound of his shoes scuffing lightly against the patio stones. His movements were deliberate, unhurried, his body relaxed but purposeful. Your eyes followed him, and you noticed how the soft plaid of his gray-and-black lumberjack shirt shifted with the broadness of his shoulders. Beneath it, the snug black T-shirt clung to his torso in a way that made your pulse quicken. The dark jeans and worn black Converse completed the look, effortlessly rugged and so distinctly him.

You swallowed, trying to tune back into the conversation at the table, but the sight of him at the grill was distracting in the most infuriating way. He flipped a couple of pieces of meat with a practiced ease, one hand gripping the bottle of beer, the other wielding the tongs. His head tilted slightly as he examined the food, his focus so precise it felt unfair. He looked...hot. Infuriatingly, heartbreakingly hot. His hair was neater than usual, like he’d taken an extra moment to tame it, and his beard—God, his moustache—was perfectly trimmed, the edges sharp and intentional. His lips, soft and full, curved into a barely-there smile as he took a long, slow sip of beer.

The conversation around you had continued, but you realized you hadn’t heard a single word. Joel was all you could see, all you could think about.  

When you finally tuned back in, it was clear everyone else was engrossed in a debate about something trivial, their attention elsewhere. Seizing the moment, you stood, smoothing your hands over your clothes as you made your way toward him.  

His eyes met yours immediately, dark and warm, and his lips tugged into a soft smile that made your knees feel weak. You reached him, the air between you buzzing with something unspoken. Without hesitation, his free hand slid to your waist, a gentle but possessive gesture that sent a thrill through you.  

“How are you, beautiful?” he asked.

“I’m okay,” you replied, your voice softer than you intended. “What about you?”  

“Couldn’t be better,” he murmured, leaning in so his breath tickled the shell of your ear. The closeness made your heart stutter. “I love what you’re wearing.”  

A shiver ran down your spine, his words and the way he said them settling low in your stomach. His hand on your waist gave the faintest squeeze, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your shirt.  

“Yeah?” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper, your pulse roaring in your ears.  

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes dipping briefly to your lips before meeting yours again. “You look incredible.”  

You smiled knowingly, the kind of smile that came from being perfectly aware of the effect you had on him. It wasn’t just the dress—it was that dress. The one you’d worn on his birthday, the one that had made his eyes soften and linger on you for just a beat too long. You’d noticed, of course. Joel didn’t have the best poker face, not with you. He had always found excuses to touch the fabric when you wore it, his fingers brushing against the light, soft material as you passed by him, as if he couldn’t help himself.

Today, you’d paired it with a denim jacket, the kind thick enough to ward off the gentle Austin autumn chill but casual enough to downplay the deliberate choice of the dress. A little armor, a little effort—it was all a balance.

As you stood in front of him now, his hand slipped up your back, fingertips grazing the fabric before settling on the base of your ponytail. He gave it a gentle tug, a playful motion that sent a little thrill through you.

“Careful,” you said, your tone light as you gave him a soft punch to the stomach, the flat of your hand connecting with his firm abdomen.

Joel laughed, a deep, warm sound that spread through the air and settled somewhere low in your stomach. He brought the beer bottle back to his lips, taking a slow sip before lowering it again.

“I love this dress,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. His lips curved into a smile, but this one was mischievous. “I've missed it.”

You raised an eyebrow, but before you could respond, he added, “And don’t think I forgot about this morning.”

A laugh bubbled up from your chest, and you shook your head at him, your smile widening.

“You started it, Miller,” you teased, leaning in just enough to make your point.

“Ooh, I love it when you call me that,” he said, squinting at you in mock challenge, his grin deepening into something boyish and utterly irresistible.

You rolled your eyes dramatically, but the fondness in your expression betrayed you. Your hand came to rest on his bicep, your fingers pressing lightly against the muscle there, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

“I’ll go get more snacks,” you said, using the excuse to step back from him, though your smile lingered.

As you made your way toward the sliding door, you heard his footsteps following you. Without turning fully, you stopped and glanced back over your shoulder, a flirtatious smile tugging at your lips.

“Stay right there, Miller,” you commanded, your voice soft but firm, playful yet full of intention.

Joel halted in his tracks, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender, his lips quirking in amusement.

“As you say,” he replied, the deep timbre of his voice laced with warmth, his eyes never leaving you as you disappeared inside.

Inside, the kitchen smelled faintly of warm spices and freshly chopped herbs, the remnants of the day’s earlier cooking. Sarah had joined you at the counter, her movements precise and calculated as she tipped the bags of chips and Doritos into bowls with one hand, each small tilt of the bag executed with care, ensuring no crumbs or stray pieces fell on the counter. It was something you’d always noticed about her: this quiet attention to detail, the way she moved through the world like it deserved her reverence.  

She was like that—careful, gentle. A quiet kind of sweetness radiated from her, as if she were always making sure everything was in its proper place, just so.  

Standing behind her, you watched her delicate moves, and for a brief moment, you let the noise of the world fade into the background. You felt your heart swell with something soft, something protective.  

“You have no idea how glad I am that you're okay,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, your hand resting lightly on her shoulder, fingers brushing against the softness of her skin. 

She stiffened slightly under your touch, a sigh escaping her lips before she turned to face you, her expression tinged with a mixture of guilt and uncertainty.  

“I’m sorry,” she began, her voice low, almost apologetic. “It was unintentional. I just wanted Dad to talk to you. And I'm not even afraid of bees,” she added, rolling her eyes as if to dismiss the whole thing with an almost self-deprecating laugh. 

You could see the sincerity in her eyes, the weight of the worry that had hung over her all day. You stepped closer, resting a hand on her arm.

“Of course it was unintentional,” you reassured her, brushing your thumb gently across her skin. “I know that much.” 

She nodded, her lips turning down at the corners, still not entirely convinced that it wasn’t her fault.  

“Irina felt really bad,” she continued, her words coming a little more quickly now. “She says it was her fault. I told her that’s not true, that it was just an accident.”  

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement creeping into your voice.

“She’s afraid of bees?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Sarah replied with a laugh, her eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and disbelief. “She's terrified of them!” 

“Well, all the more reason,” you said, the corners of your lips turning up in a gentle smile. “Fear often paralyzes you. You don't know what to do or how to react in the moment. It was an accident, sweetheart, nothing more.” 

You leaned down to kiss the top of her head once more, a soft brush of your lips against her hair, and then pulled back with a playful look in your eyes. “But for the love of everything good, please don’t climb on tall things again.” 

Sarah laughed, the sound light and easy, as though the weight of the situation had finally begun to lift.

“Okay,” she agreed, popping a chip into her mouth with a dramatic crunch that echoed in the still kitchen.  

The sudden, sharp noise made you laugh, too, as you threw the empty bags into the trash and rinsed your hands under the cool water. You turned back around, wiping your hands on a towel, and found Sarah looking at you, her gaze softer now, almost wistful.  

There was something in the way she was looking at you, like she had something to say but wasn’t quite sure how to start. The silence hung between you for a few seconds before she finally spoke, her words wrapped in the kind of sweetness only she could manage.  

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice just above a whisper, as if afraid her question might break something.  

You paused, your heart suddenly lighter in your chest. You had no idea why the question made your pulse quicken, but it did. There was a tenderness in it, a care that spoke volumes.  

“Yeah, sweetheart,” you responded, approaching her again, your smile growing softer. “What is it?”  

She hesitated, her fingers tapping the side of the counter nervously.

"I... I know that now that you and Dad are together, some things are going to change," Sarah said, her voice quiet but firm, as if she was trying to convince herself of it. She paused for a moment. "And... and I'm happy about that. I mean, I love you, and I love that you're always here. And if you're with him now, I mean, as a couple, that means you're going to be here even more, doesn't it?"

You paused, absorbing her words, trying to place the depth behind them. There was something tentative in her tone, something that told you she was still figuring out exactly what all of this meant. You offered her a soft, reassuring smile, trying to make sense of her nervous excitement.

“I think so,” you replied with a light laugh, sensing her need for reassurance. "I think you're right. I'll definitely be around more."

Her eyes brightened, and she nodded quickly, as if the idea of you being there more—of you becoming a permanent fixture in her life—was something that brought her comfort. She let out a small sigh, like she’d been carrying this weight on her shoulders for too long and could finally let go of it. 

“Well, that,” she continued, her voice softening, as though the very idea of it was still sinking in. “I love being with you. You really are the most amazing, fun, and cool girl, and my dad is lucky to have you... and so am I. I'm so glad you're here." 

Her words tumbled out in a rush, the sincerity in them so raw, so real, that it hit you like a wave. You felt a sudden swell of affection for her, for how easy it was to be with her, to feel her warmth and openness so effortlessly. But then, just as quickly, her expression shifted, her smile fading as a new, softer vulnerability crept in.

"I was so scared when you guys fought," she said, her voice quieter now, her gaze lowering slightly, as though the memory of it was still too fresh. "My dad was... bad all the time, and I seriously thought you were going to go off and leave me."

The confession, the fear in her words, made your chest tighten. You moved closer to her, instinctively placing a hand on her cheek, brushing your thumb over the softness of her skin. 

"I would never do that, baby," you reassured her. "You’re stuck with me, alright?"

Her lips curved into a small, relieved smile, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. She leaned into your touch, seeking something—comfort, maybe.

“I know,” she said softly, her voice more certain this time, but then it dipped again. “But it still scared the hell out of me, because I love spending time with you, and sometimes, almost always, I wish you were my mom.”

She pouted slightly, a small, almost childlike gesture, and your heart fluttered with a mixture of tenderness and sadness.

Your heart tightened at the look on Sarah’s face. It was fleeting, barely a blink, but it was enough. Just a fraction of vulnerability slipped through before she masked it with a smile. But you saw it, and it pierced something deep inside you, a quiet ache that you couldn’t ignore. 

For a moment, she seemed younger than her years, the way her eyes reflected something you couldn’t quite name, some quiet sadness that she didn’t often show. She never spoke about her mother. Never. The absence of that conversation hung in the air like a shadow, one you could feel even when it wasn’t mentioned. 

You didn’t know much about of she felt before —how things had been before you entered her life, she never told you about it—but you had learned that she never spoke of her mother, not even in passing. The silence around it was telling. It was as if there had been a permanent erasure of that part of her history. 

But you, you had always been there for her. You had seen Sarah grow from a shy girl into someone who could light up a room with her smile. You had been the one she turned to when she needed someone to go with her to her school functions, the one she took with her to every event that called for a mother figure, even though you knew the absence weighed on her. 

You remembered the mother-daughter day at her school. It was one of those moments where you had tried so hard to be what she needed, to fill a space you knew wasn’t yours to fill, but that she still wanted filled nonetheless. You had spent the entire morning trying to reassure her, to make sure she didn’t feel too different, to make her feel like she wasn’t missing something that everyone else had. But Sarah? She’d been absolutely radiant, grinning from ear to ear, as if she were the happiest girl in the world. When she told Joel about it that evening, her voice was full of excitement, her eyes sparkling with pride. 

Joel had tried to talk you out of it at first, telling you that you didn’t need to put yourself in that position if it made you uncomfortable. But it didn’t, not really. What would have made you uncomfortable was not being there for her. You adored Sarah from the moment you first met her. The way she fit so seamlessly into your life, as if your heart had already known her before you ever met. 

You were lucky. She was incredible, and you had the privilege of watching her grow, of being a part of her life. 

But in that moment, as you held her, you could feel the weight of everything she had been carrying—the quiet fears, the quiet grief, the things she had never voiced. And it broke your heart all over again.

You reached for her, your hands trembling slightly as you wrapped her in your arms. You held her close, smoothing a hand over her hair, letting her feel the steadiness in your embrace. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” you whispered softly, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m sorry for putting you through all of this. We’re adults, but sometimes we get it so wrong, don’t we? I promise... I promise we’ll never put you through anything like this again.” 

She pressed her cheek against your chest, her body shaking with the soft tremors of her sobs. Her words were muffled, but you heard them clearly. 

“I know,” she murmured.

“I’m never going to leave you, you know that, right?” You pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, your heart in your throat. “You’re my special girl, baby. My favorite girl. I love you too much for you to ever doubt that.”

Her eyes were glossy with tears, but there was a faint smile tugging at her lips, a small, fragile thing. She pulled back slightly, looking up at you.

“I know,” she said, her voice still thick, but with a softer, more vulnerable quality. “And you’re my favorite girl, too.” Her smile flickered, but it was sincere. “Please don’t trade me for my dad, though.”

The seriousness in her tone was almost too much to bear, and despite the tears that still lingered in her eyes, you couldn’t help but laugh softly, your chest tightening with affection.

“Never."

*

“Oh, I’m so full. I’ve never eaten so much before,” Tommy groaned dramatically, stretching out in his seat, his hands settling protectively over his belly as if it might burst at any moment.

“You always say that,” Joel replied, his smirk almost too smug for the moment.

“And it’s always true, man,” Tommy shot back, raising his brows in mock indignation, “but don’t worry, I get over it. I’ll be eating again in like, two hours.”

The kitchen and dining area were finally in order, everything cleared and wiped down. Tommy, much to everyone’s surprise, had volunteered to clear the dishes after Cassie had jokingly called him a slob. The patio now had a tranquil, almost magical atmosphere. The warm lights Joel had strung up above flickered softly against the growing darkness, casting a golden glow over the space, while quiet music vibrated through the air in the background, a perfect close to the evening.

Sarah, having finished her ice cream, set the empty bowl down on the table with the same serious face someone might give after finishing a marathon.

“Done,” she declared, eyes wide with accomplishment as if she’d conquered an Olympic event.

Cassie, shaking her head with laughter, shot a glance at Sarah. “What a champ."

Sarah just shrugged and grinned. “It’s a talent,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Hey, speaking of talents,” Cassie continued, still amused, “I was thinking, how about we watch Twilight tonight? What do you think?”

Sarah’s face lit up immediately, a wide smile stretching across her face.

“Definitely!” she answered with such enthusiasm you would’ve thought she was agreeing to a life-changing event.

“I’m so excited for you to see it,” you chimed in, grinning. “You’re gonna love it.”

“Oh no, no... No, this is between me and Sarah,” Cassie interrupted, draping an arm over the back of Sarah’s chair, her voice taking on that dramatic, teasing tone she was so good at. “Besides, you look tired. Joel, you better keep an eye on my friend tonight.”

Joel raised an eyebrow but smiled, nodding gently.

“I can handle it,” he said, glancing over at you with that half-smile that only he could pull off.

You groaned in mock despair.

“Hey, I feel left out!” 

Cassie rolled her eyes with a laugh.

“Don’t worry, we can watch it again when you’re feeling better. Promise.” She stood up, grabbing a few stray dishes—just a bowl and some empty glasses, which she began carrying toward the kitchen.

She paused at the edge of the table and turned to Joel.

“Is that okay with you, Joel? I’ll just borrow your little girl for the night. I promise I’ll take good care of her.” She raised an eyebrow, her voice dripping with feigned innocence.

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Analgesics every eight hours. She took them at five, so she should take them again at one in the morning. Do you have your alarm set, honey?”

Sarah nodded, eyes wide as she took her responsibilities seriously.

“Yes,” she said in her most mature voice.

Cassie beamed and added with a grin, “I’ll set one too.”

You watched the exchange, amused. Had they coordinated this already? Was this some kind of pre-established routine? Did Sarah know? It felt like a well-oiled machine.

Tommy, clearly not feeling like he was getting enough attention, sighed dramatically as he stood from the table.

“Okay, I see everyone has plans but me,” he said, feigning offense as he adjusted his hoodie. “So I think I’ll go home. Alone. And watch 30 Days of Night. You know, real vampires, kids.”

Cassie rolled her eyes but not without punching him lightly in the arm. Tommy made a theatrical groan, acting as though he had been mortally wounded.

“Ow, that hurt!”

Cassie didn’t let up. “You can come watch Twilight too,” she said, narrowing her eyes in mock contemplation. Then she turned to Sarah with a teasing glance. “Well, are you okay with that, kiddo?”

Sarah, always eager to please, nodded with the same enthusiasm she’d shown earlier.

“Sure,” she said, not even questioning it.

“Perfect,” Cassie said, grinning as she made her way toward the kitchen, but not before giving you a playful wink. 

After the three of them gathered their things, the house filled with the sound of their chatter as they made their way to the door. Sarah clutched her bag tightly, its contents bulging with snacks and her medications, her cheeks pink from excitement. You followed her, smiling as you stepped closer to say goodbye.

She turned to you, her small frame leaning into your embrace as you wrapped her in a warm hug. You kissed her on the cheek, catching the faint scent of her shampoo.

“Don’t miss me too much,” she joked, her eyes glinting with mischief.

You laughed softly. “I’ll try not to. Have a great time with Cassie, and tomorrow, I want to hear all about the movie.”

Sarah grinned, the corners of her eyes crinkling. "I promise to watch it with you too, though. Cassie said you’d want to see it again."

Before you could respond, Tommy appeared beside her, his large hand resting lightly on her shoulder. He glanced at you briefly, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Alright, let’s get this over with. Take me to Robert Pattinson,” he deadpanned, the teasing tone unmistakable.

You bit back a laugh as he guided Sarah out, pausing just long enough to murmur a quick, “Good night,” over his shoulder.

Cassie lingered behind, stepping closer to you with her usual energy. Her hand squeezed your arm gently, grounding you in the moment, before she leaned in and pressed a loud, exaggerated kiss to your cheek.

“Goooood night,” she said, her tone light but her eyes carrying something softer. Then she added with a wink, “Sleep well.”

You smiled at her, a quick, reflexive gesture, though no words came. By the time your brain caught up with your mouth, the door had already clicked shut behind her.

You stared at it for a moment, the faint sound of her footsteps receding on the other side. Then the quiet settled in.

Turning on your heel, you walked into the kitchen. The soft glow from the overhead lights cast a golden hue across the space, warm and inviting. Joel was there, leaning against the counter like he’d been waiting for you—or like he simply belonged there, effortlessly a part of the room. His hands rested on either side of him, gripping the edge of the counter, fingers splayed.

His posture was relaxed, but there was a charge to his stillness, a barely-contained energy that made your pulse quicken. His dark blue t-shirt clung to the broad planes of his chest, and his hair was damp, though almost dry now, messy in a way that suggested he hadn’t given it much thought after his shower. And then—those damn gray sweatpants. 

“I had to wash off the smoke,” he’d said earlier, a faint smirk playing at his lips. You hadn’t fully bought it then, and you still didn’t. But you weren’t exactly complaining.

Now, his eyes met yours, firm and unflinching. A smile curled at the corner of his mouth, slow and calculated, like he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Is it just me,” he said, his voice smooth and teasing, “or are we the only ones left in this house?”

You took a step toward him, and then another, closing the distance between you.

“I think so.”

When you stopped in front of him, you let your hands drift upward, settling on his chest. The warmth of his body beneath your palms made you feel reckless. Your fingers trailed over the fabric of his shirt, and then up to his shoulders, as if you needed the excuse to touch him. You looked up at him, your eyes tracing every detail of his face: the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his lips, the dark intent in his gaze.

“Do you think we’ll survive?” you asked, the hint of a smile playing at your own lips.

Joel didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his hands left the counter and found your waist, his grip firm, grounding you as he pulled you closer. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a murmur.

“Not a chance.”

Before you could reply, he leaned in, his face burying in the curve of your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and the weight of his arms wrapping around you made you feel momentarily weightless. You closed your eyes, letting the sensation of him—his solidity, his heat—anchor you.

“Take me to bed,” you said, your voice quiet.

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with something equal parts playful and lustful.

“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” he asked, his tone light, though the way his hands tightened on your hips betrayed him.

You raised an eyebrow, challenging him.

“I don’t think you’re the one who should be asking that question.”

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through you as he pushed off the counter, taking you with him. His hands stayed on you, guiding, insistent, as he walked you backward, step by step, out of the kitchen.

“Are you going to show me all those things you’ve been thinking about?” he asked, his voice dipping, teasing.

In one smooth motion, he turned you around, his chest pressed against your back now, his hands steady on your hips. His lips found your shoulder, brushing lightly before trailing up toward your neck. His touch was both grounding and electric, his grip possessive but not unkind.

“That’s right,” you whispered, tipping your head back to rest against his shoulder, exposing your neck to him. Your voice was breathless, barely audible, as his mouth moved against your skin. 

Joel leaned in close, his lips pressing softly against your cheek, the briefest pause making the touch feel heavier than it was. When he pulled back, there was something unhurried in the way his hand slipped from your waist, like he was giving you time to notice the absence. Without a word, he turned in direction to the stairs, his eyes flicking upward.

You climbed the steps quickly, your movements unthinking but purposeful, every step creating a subtle sway in the fabric of your skirt. You were hyper-aware of Joel behind you, of the weight of his gaze on your body. When you paused at the landing and turned, expecting to meet his eyes, you realized he hadn’t followed. 

Joel stood frozen on the first step, his hand gripping the banister like it was the only thing tethering him to earth. His eyes were locked on you—not just you, but the sway of your hips, the taut curve of fabric stretched over the soft flesh of your ass. It wasn’t subtle, the hunger in his gaze, and it wasn’t kind. It was primal, raw, like he’d been stripped of language entirely and left with nothing but the aching weight of desire.

His breath had slowed, deepened, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep himself in check. But his expression betrayed him—he didn’t just want to touch you; he wanted to claim you, to mark you, to press his hands into the softness of your thighs until his fingertips left indents in your skin.

The thought of it made his jaw clench. He could imagine the give of your body beneath him, the warmth, the way you might shudder if he let himself take what he wanted. His desire wasn’t just to hold you—it was to devour you, like something sweet and delicious. He wanted to feel the heat of your skin against his lips, to sink his teeth into you, to taste you fully, selfishly. You were a dessert he’d never been allowed before all of this, and the ache of it—of you—was driving him mad.

Then he started to climb. You turned instinctively, flashing him a knowing smile before continuing upward, each step deliberately slow, each sway of your hips almost a dare.

Joel was right behind you now, close enough that you could feel the heat of him, his breath catching as his hand found you. He didn’t hesitate, his fingers sliding under the hem of your skirt, brushing over the fabric of your underwear with a teasing familiarity. For a fleeting second, he played with it, tugging just enough to make you gasp, to let you feel his intent before he moved.

By the time you reached the second floor, he was no longer pretending at patience. He caught you by the waist, pressing you back against the wall with a force that was more need than control. His body pinned you there, hard and unyielding, and his hand claimed you again, squeezing the curve of your ass like he couldn’t bear to stop touching you. The other hand traveled upward, tracing the line of your body—your waist, the curve of your ribs, the softness of your breasts—until it rested at your neck, his thumb brushing over the delicate pulse that betrayed your excitement.

You tilted your head back to look at him with a sweet smile, and that smile—God, that smile—was the final blow to whatever scraps of restraint he had left. With you, there was no self-control, no measured response. There was only this.

His mouth found yours, not in a rush, but with a softness that startled you, the contradiction of it almost undoing him. Your tongue flicked over his bottom lip, and when your teeth grazed the soft flesh, biting just hard enough to leave a memory, the sound he made was something between a groan and a plea, weak and broken.

With a subtle shift of his weight, Joel used his leg to nudge yours apart, his knee pressing gently but insistently until you gave in, letting him part you. He stepped closer, the heat of his body almost unbearable, and lifted you effortlessly against him. Your feet barely grazed the floor, leaving you suspended between him and the wall. His thighs held you steady, and his hands, rough and sure, gripped you.

Your fingers curled around the back of his neck, tangling in the damp strands of his hair as you pulled him closer. You kissed him like you couldn’t get enough, your lips claiming his, your breath uneven against his mouth. But even as you touched him like you were desperate, you refused to give him control.

Tilting your head, you deepened the kiss. Your hips moved against him in lazy circles, teasing, testing, drawing a low, guttural sound from deep in his chest. Joel groaned against your lips, his breath catching as you felt him harden beneath you. Impatient.

You broke the kiss abruptly, the wet sound of it lingering in the charged air between you. His lips were parted, his chest rising and falling like he’d been running. You let the silence stretch, your breath warm against his cheek as you leaned in just enough to whisper, “No.”

The word slipped from your lips like a challenge, accompanied by a devilish smile that made his jaw tighten. Your palm pressed against his chest, just enough to create distance, and you slid down from his thighs until your feet found the ground again. His hands twitched at his sides, like he was trying to decide whether to let you go or pull you back into him.

“You said you wanted me to show you what I’d been thinking,” you reminded him, your voice soft but laced with mischief.

Joel smiled, though his breath hitched halfway, the sound uneven. His flushed neck betrayed him, the blush creeping higher as he nodded.

“Show me,” he rasped, his voice rough and low.

“Okay,” you murmured, taking a deliberate step back, your fingers trailing down his chest, then his abdomen, as you pulled away. His muscles tensed under your touch, his body reacting as if even the absence of your hands could break him.

“Then behave yourself,” you instructed, your tone playful but firm, “and do as I say.”

His smile vanished, replaced by something raw, a look so intent it left no room for words.

Joel nodded, his obedience immediate, though there was nothing passive about it. It felt like restraint—barely held, dangerously close to snapping.

You spun on your heels without waiting for more, walking toward his room with a confidence that made his chest tighten. When you reached the door, you extended your hand behind you, and he was there in an instant. His palm slid into yours, warm and firm, and his other hand found your waist as if he couldn’t help it—couldn’t stop himself from grounding you to him, needing to feel the curve of you beneath his fingers.

Inside the room, you guided him without a word, leading him toward the edge of the bed.

When you turned to face him, your hands slid up his arms, tracing the muscles there as if committing them to memory. You kissed him, soft at first, then deeper, coaxing him closer with the press of your lips. His need was palpable in the way he moved, how his fingers twitched like they wanted nothing more than to grab you, to pull you to him completely. But you didn’t let him.

Each time his hands wandered, you gently pushed him away, your touch firm but teasing, a silent reminder that this was on your terms. His frustration mingled with desire, but he obeyed, his breath uneven as he let you take the lead.

You reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it up slowly, watching as his skin was revealed inch by inch. The sharp lines of his abdomen, the faint freckles scattered across his chest—all of it made your pulse quicken. But before you could finish, Joel took over.

With one sharp movement, he yanked the shirt over his head and tossed it somewhere in the room without looking, his focus entirely on you. His chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths, the tension in his body evident in the way his shoulders tightened, the way his gaze locked onto you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

With a sly smile, you slipped your fingers into the waistband of his pants, tugging him closer, closing the gap he’d been aching to erase since the moment you walked into the room. His body yielded immediately, drawn toward you like gravity itself demanded it.

Joel leaned forward, his lips searching for yours, but you pulled back just enough to keep him chasing. The mischievous curve of your smile sent a flicker of frustration across his features, but it was fleeting, replaced by a raw, almost pleading desire.

“You looked so good this morning,” you murmured, your voice low and edged with something tender. “All I could think about was feeling you, all of you.” Your hand slid beneath the fabric of his pants, and when you discovered the absence of anything underneath, you let out a soft sigh. “Just like this.”

Your fingers wrapped around him, warm and firm, tracing the silken skin that stretched over his hard, heated cock. You brushed your fingertips over his swollen tip, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him. Joel’s eyes met yours, dark and glistening, completely consumed. 

Rising onto your toes, you pressed a kiss to his jaw, your lips trailing upward with deliberate slowness until they found his mouth. This time, he met you eagerly, his kiss filled with hunger but tempered, restrained in a way that showed he understood your game. He knew that if he pushed too far, too fast, you would pull away, and the knowledge seemed to both frustrate and excite him.

When you finally broke away, your breathing was shallow, your pulse a frantic rhythm in your chest. You slipped your hand from his pants, your fingers tingling from the lingering heat of him, and took a step back.

“Take everything off,” you commanded, your voice trembling slightly, though whether from emotion or need, you couldn’t say. “And lie down on the bed.”

Joel stared at you, his chest heaving, his cheeks flushed with color. For a moment, it seemed like he might resist, might challenge you just to see what you’d do. But then he nodded, his obedience laced with something deeper, a quiet devotion that made your thighs tremble in response.

Joel obeyed without hesitation, stripping off his sweatpants and shoes. When he stood before you, completely bare, the sight knocked the air from your lungs. Your gaze raked over him, tracing every line, every plane of his body, and the sudden rush of heat pooling in your stomach was almost overwhelming.

Your lips parted involuntarily, your mouth watering at the sheer, unapologetic beauty of him. Joel’s body was solid and soft, every muscle taut, and his skin flushed with a faint warm pink.

He moved to the bed without a word, lying back as you had instructed, his body stretching out across the sheets. His cock stood thick and proud, resting against his stomach, hard and swollen. The sight made your pulse quicken, each beat loud and insistent in your ears. He was completely, devastatingly yours to devour.

You kicked off your shoes, the thud of them hitting the floor barely registering as you climbed onto the bed, and the mattress dipped under your weight as you crawled toward him.

Joel propped himself up on his elbows, his dark eyes fixed on you like you were some kind of vision. He didn’t speak, didn’t need to—his expression was enough. It was desire laid bare.

Your hands found his thighs first, your fingers spreading wide to press into the soft, warm skin. You let your thumbs drag along the length of his muscles, kneading gently, savoring the way his body tensed and relaxed beneath your touch. You could feel the heat radiating from him, the slight tremor in his legs as you moved closer.

You leaned down, your mouth hovering just above him, so close that you could feel the heat of him against your lips. Then, slowly, deliberately, you dragged your tongue along the length of his cock, savoring the taste of his skin and the sharp inhale of breath it drew from him.

Joel’s head fell back immediately, a low, ragged sigh escaping him, as if the air had been knocked from his lungs. But the moment didn’t last—he was looking at you again within seconds, his gaze burning with an intensity that pinned you in place.

No, he wasn’t going to miss this. He’d be insane to look away.

Without warning, you dipped lower, your lips wrapping around the delicate curve of his testicles. The softness of the skin there was warm against your mouth, and you sucked gently, your tongue pressing in teasing circles as your hand found his length. Your fingers wrapped around him with just enough pressure, sliding slowly, deliberately, up and down, as if testing the limits of his restraint.

Joel let out a sound that was more than a sigh, something raw and unguarded slipping past his lips.

“Oh my God,” he murmured, the words breaking apart under the weight of his breath.

You released him with a deliberate slowness, your mouth leaving him with a wet, audible pop that seemed to echo in the charged air between you. The sound hung there and you couldn’t help the sly smile that curved your lips as you glanced up at him.

Your hand stayed on him, stroking with a rhythm that made his head tip back for just a second before his heavy-lidded eyes found yours again. You licked your lips, savoring the taste of him as you spoke.

“I want my mouth full of you,” you said, like a promise. “But you can’t touch me. Do you understand?”

He smiled faintly, though his eyes stayed closed, as if keeping them open might be too much, the desire too sharp to look at you directly. His eyelashes cast shadows against the flush of his cheekbones, and his voice, when it came, was low and rough.

“Why?” he asked, though the word felt like an offering more than a challenge. “I wanna touch you.”

You leaned closer, your breath warm against him, and his eyes flickered open, meeting yours with a helpless kind of longing.

“'Cause you said you wanted me to show you what I’d been thinking,” you replied, your tone tinged with playful authority. “And this is exactly what I’ve been thinking.”

Joel exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling in a way that betrayed the weight of his surrender. He nodded, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his face as his gaze locked on you.

“Of course, baby, do what you want with me,” he said, his voice a little shaky, a little wrecked. “And I’ll do whatever you say.”

You smiled, a small crack in the veneer of control you’d been wearing, and Joel’s lips curved into something sweet in response, so genuine it almost made you falter. He reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek with a tenderness that felt out of place amid the heat coursing between you. But you allowed it, leaning into the touch, savoring the contrast of his warmth against your skin.

The moment didn’t last long. Joel, with visible reluctance, withdrew his hand and let it fall back to his side. His fingers fidgeted restlessly, his knuckles tense as though he was fighting the urge to reach for you again.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmured, his voice soft, like he wasn’t even aware he’d said it aloud. His head tipped back, exposing the long line of his throat as a groan escaped him. Your hand had resumed its slow, deliberate movements, stroking him with just enough pressure to keep him teetering on the edge of composure.

You licked your lips deliberately, watching him intently, your eyes following every flicker of tension in his body, every barely controlled breath. He was utterly undone in your hand—so ready, so hard, his need for you written across every muscle, every exhale.

Leaning forward, you let your lips wrap around the head of his cock, the taste of him warm, salty and intoxicating. You moved slowly, letting your tongue trace lazy patterns over him as your mouth took him in.

Joel moaned, low and broken, the sound sending a thrill through you. His eyes fluttered open, fixing on the sight of you, your lips and tongue working against him with calculated precision. His hands shifted restlessly at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling into the sheets as if he was clinging to the last shreds of his restraint.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough, almost hoarse. The way he looked at you—awed, overwhelmed—was enough to make your pulse race. And still, he didn’t move, didn’t touch, even though you could see how much he wanted to, how hard he was holding back.

Your hand began to move faster, your strokes gaining a steady urgency as your mouth took him deeper, inch by inch. Your lips formed a tight seal around him, gliding up and down in a rhythm that was both deliberate and merciless. Your tongue teased him with flicks and swirls, tasting him fully, the heat of him filling your mouth. The wet, obscene sounds of your efforts filled the room, a raw, unfiltered symphony of desire. Saliva gathered at the corners of your lips, dripping down his length and soaking your fingers as you worked him.

Joel’s breathing grew uneven, every exhale sharper than the last. You glanced up at him, catching the tension in his jaw, the way his chest rose and fell in quick succession. His eyes were open, heavy-lidded and glazed, but still focused on you, as though he couldn’t bear to look away. He was determined, it seemed, to take in every detail—the way your lips stretched around him, the way your hand tightened and twisted in sync with your mouth.

With your free hand, you moved lower, cupping him gently, your fingers tracing the soft skin of his testicles. You massaged them with care, applying just enough pressure to make his hips shift, his thighs tensing under your touch. The coordination was effortless—your hands, your mouth, your tongue—all working in perfect, relentless harmony.

Joel let out a low, guttural sound, the kind of noise that came from deep within, and you knew you had him. His head fell back, his throat exposed as he surrendered completely. His eyes fluttered closed, his body arching slightly, seeking more of you.

Then his hand rose, trembling slightly, hovering just above your head as though drawn there by instinct. Before it could rest against you, you pulled back, slowing your movements to a near halt. His cock slipped from your lips, glistening and swollen, throbbing visibly as you left him wanting, teetering on the edge.

Joel let out a weak, broken moan, his chest flushed a deep pink, every muscle in his body radiating heat. He looked like he was coming apart in slow motion, and the sight of him like this—undone, vulnerable, entirely yours—sent a thrill coursing through you.

You ran your tongue along the length of him, the motion deliberate and unhurried, savoring the way his body seemed to tremble beneath your touch. When you reached the tip, you cupped the base of his arousal with one hand, anchoring him as you leaned forward, letting your lips brush against him.

Then, in one slow, fluid motion, you took him into your mouth, sliding down his length until the swollen head of him bumped against the back of your throat. You paused, steadying yourself, and then pushed further, letting him fill you completely, your lips meeting the base.

“Baby,” Joel hissed, his voice ragged, the word barely more than an exhale. His eyes flew open, and he propped himself up on his elbows as if the intensity of the moment had drawn him back to consciousness. His gaze found you, dark and heavy with pleasure, and the sight of you like this—your mouth stretched around his cock, your nose brushing against his skin—seemed to undo him further.

You pulled back slowly, the motion precise, controlled, before taking him again, and again, each time deeper, smoother. Your movements built into a rhythm, your lips and tongue working in tandem, your nose bumping against him with every descent.

You surprised yourself with how easily your body accommodated him. Once or twice, with boyfriends in the past, you’d tried something like this, and it had felt impossible. They hadn’t even been as big as Joel. But with him, it was different—effortless, almost as if your body had been waiting for him.

Your pace quickened, the suction stronger, the hollow of your cheeks pulling tighter as you worked him. Joel’s breathing became erratic, his chest heaving, his whimpers breaking apart as he struggled to contain himself.

When you sensed him teetering on the edge, you slowed, pulling back until just the tip of him remained in your mouth. You flicked your tongue over the sensitive head in a playful, deliberate motion, a quick, teasing lick that made him shudder. Then, with a soft, audible sigh, you released him completely, pulling back and meeting his gaze with a knowing smile.

Slowly, with deliberate patience, you settled on top of him. Your palm pressed lightly against his chest, keeping him anchored to the mattress as though you needed to remind him who was in control. The steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your hand felt grounding, a contrast to the heat sparking between your bodies.

You shifted, positioning yourself so that your thin underwear brushed against him, wet and slick against the hardness pressing up beneath you. Joel’s gaze followed every movement with unflinching intensity, his lips slightly parted, his chest flushed with color.

Taking his hands, you guided them to your thighs, and he followed your lead willingly, his touch reverent. His fingers spread over the soft skin, squeezing gently before sliding down to cup the curve of your ass. He traced the same path back up, his hands moving as though he couldn’t decide where he wanted to linger most.

When you reached for the hem of your dress, lifting it with ease, his hands stilled briefly, the air between you charged with his anticipation. You slipped the fabric over your head in one fluid motion, letting it fall to the floor beside the bed.

Joel’s expression softened as he took in the sight of you, his lips curving into a small, unguarded smile. His eyes lingered on your bare breasts, the tender curve of your skin illuminated in the soft light of the room. You could see the restrained hunger in him, the way he longed to sit up and take your hard nipples into his mouth, but he didn’t move. His hands remained where you’d placed them, his obedience surprising you.

You leaned forward, your hands finding their place on his chest, steadying yourself as you began to move your hips in slow, deliberate circles. The friction was electric, the fabric of your soaking wet underwear brushing against him, creating a sweet, torturous sensation that sent a shiver through you. Joel’s hands tightened on your thighs in response, his breath catching, but he still didn’t move beyond what you allowed.

You let your eyes flutter closed, your head tipping back slightly as a soft gasp escaped your lips. Your breathing grew heavier, your chest rising and falling in rhythm with the pounding of your heart. A flush spread across your skin, a warm bloom of heat that seemed to radiate outward, pooling low in your belly.

Joel’s hands tightened on your ass, guiding your movements as your hips ground harder against him. The sound of the bed shifting beneath you, the quiet creak of wood and mattress, felt like a rhythm, a melody carrying you both closer to something inevitable.

You opened your eyes slowly, drawn to the point where your bodies met, the place where your need was most visible. Your core moved against him with urgency, dragging along his length through the damp fabric of your underwear. It wasn’t enough—it couldn’t possibly be enough. Without thinking, your fingers moved to the side of your panties, tugging them away to reveal the slick heat of your cunt, glistening and ready.

The sensation shifted instantly, impossibly more intense. The soft, hot skin of his cock pressed directly against you, his swollen tip brushing your clit with every movement. A choked moan escaped you, your hands finding purchase on Joel’s thighs as you arched your back, your head tilting to the side as your body chased the feeling.

“Oh my God,” you whispered, the words spilling out unbidden, your voice trembling. Your hips rocked against him, every motion sending sparks skittering up your spine. You couldn’t look away from him—his gaze locked on you, dark and focused, alternating between the slick heat of your center and the flushed expression on your face.

Joel’s hands gripped your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your skin, leaving behind the promise of bruises. His restraint, so palpable moments ago, seemed to dissolve entirely. There was something raw in the way he looked at you, his need unraveling in real-time.

“On my face,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and barely audible, like a secret meant only for you. His words sent a fresh wave of heat through you, and when you looked up, his dark, desperate eyes locked onto yours.

“Sit on my face,” he repeated, this time a little louder. The intensity of his gaze, the hunger in his expression—it was impossible to refuse him.

You nodded, a silent affirmation, and let Joel guide you. His hands gripped your thighs firmly, their strength undeniable as he pulled you higher, positioning you exactly where he wanted. The warmth of his breath on your bare skin sent a shiver down your spine, and then his mouth was on you.

The first touch of his lips and tongue came with a guttural moan that reverberated through your core, primal and hungry. It unraveled you instantly.

“Joel,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hand shot down to his hair, tangling in the soft strands and pulling tight.

He groaned again, the sound vibrating against you, his arms locking around your thighs to hold you in place. His fingers hooked the fabric of your underwear to the side, his mouth moving with intent and precision. He kissed your cunt as though worshipping, his tongue gliding in slow, deliberate circles over your clit. His eyes fluttered shut, his focus entirely on the taste of you, like you were his favorite meal.

Then his rhythm shifted, alternating between soft sucks and teasing flicks, the motions perfectly tuned to your body. The room filled with the wet, intoxicating sounds of his mouth and your uneven breathing. You couldn’t stop the soft cries spilling from your lips, each one punctuated by the heat building low in your stomach.

You were so close, the edge of release within reach, your body trembling under the weight of it. Almost instinctively, you began to move, rolling your hips against him, seeking more.

Joel smiled against you, the curve of his lips unmistakable even as his tongue worked its magic. His hand gripped your thigh tighter, grounding you, but his voice, low and wrecked, sent you spiraling.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his words hot against your skin, breaking only to drag his tongue across you again. “Ride me. Ride my face.”

The command was all-consuming, as though it was etched into your very bones. Your hips moved faster, a rhythm driven by need, and you threw your head back, your hair spilling over your shoulders as your body surrendered entirely.

“Joel, I’m going to—” The words tumbled out, but before you could finish, the sensation overtook you, a shattering wave of pleasure crashing through you. It consumed every nerve, your body vibrating with release, your voice caught in a broken cry as you clenched around the ecstasy Joel had pulled from you.

Your cries filled the room, raw and unrestrained, as Joel’s mouth continued its devoted work, tasting every shiver of your release. His hands gripped your hips firmly, holding you steady even as your movements slowed, your body trembling from the aftershocks.

It was too much—your sensitivity heightened to a point of near-pain, your breaths coming in shallow gasps. You tried to lift yourself away, but Joel’s hands stayed firm, his mouth lingering, as if he couldn’t bear to let go of you just yet.

When he finally relented, his lips releasing you with a soft, wet sound, you exhaled a shaky breath, shifting your hips lower to rest against his waist. Your eyes found his, and the sight of him stole what little air you had left.

Joel looked wrecked. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes dark and gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and longing. His beard glistened with traces of you, a visible reminder of his devotion, and when he smiled—a slow, tender curve of his lips—it wasn’t just desire; it was love.

You leaned down, unable to resist him, and pressed your mouth to his in a kiss that spoke of both gratitude and need. It was slow but full of intent, your hands cradling his face, your fingers brushing against the scruff of his jaw and curling behind his neck.

Joel’s hands shifted to your waist, his touch gentler now, his thumbs tracing soothing circles into your skin. Even so, there was tension beneath his tenderness, a barely restrained hunger that made his fingers tighten slightly as if reminding himself not to pull you closer just yet.

When you broke the kiss, your forehead rested against his for a moment, both of you catching your breath.

“Okay, cowboy,” you murmured, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the warmth of his skin grounding you. “Show me what you’ve got.”

Joel’s grin was slow and crooked. His eyes glinted with mischief, but there was something deeper there too, something darker and hungry.

He didn’t hesitate. In one fluid motion, he pulled you closer, keeping you perched on top of him as his mouth found your breast. The warmth of his lips was immediate, the gentle pull of his tongue sending a ripple of pleasure through you. His hands gripped you firmly, one kneading the soft curve of your ass, his fingers digging in just enough to anchor you.

You let out a soft laugh, the sound turning into a moan as his tongue flicked over your nipple, teasing and circling. Your hands slid up the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair, tugging lightly in encouragement.

“Joel,” you whispered. He moved to your other breast, his mouth just as eager, as if he were discovering a secret he couldn’t bear to leave untouched. The wet, rhythmic sound of his lips meeting your skin filled the room, and you felt the edges of your control begin to fray.

Then, without warning, Joel shifted. In one swift movement, he laid you flat on the bed beneath him, the sudden change making you gasp. He hovered over you, his breath warm against your neck as he began to kiss his way downward, leaving a trail of heat in his wake.

His mouth lingered at your collarbone, your sternum, then the soft curve of your stomach. Each kiss felt deliberate, reverent, as if he were committing every inch of you to memory.

Joel’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear, and you lifted your hips instinctively, a silent invitation. He slid the fabric down your legs, his eyes fixed on you as he moved. The garment joined the growing pile on the floor, completely forgotten.

He knelt between your legs, his hands warm and firm as they pressed into your thighs, guiding them apart. The way he looked at you—unwavering, almost in awe—made your heart race.

“So fucking gorgeous,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, the words washing over you like a confession.

He leaned down, his lips brushing yours in the lightest kiss, his breath mingling with yours as he whispered against your skin, “Let me show you how much.”

Your hands framed his face, your fingertips brushing the rough stubble on his jaw as you pulled him into a kiss. It wasn’t gentle—it was consuming, your mouths colliding with a desperation that neither of you could hide.

Joel’s weight shifted over you, pressing you deliciously into the mattress. The heat of his body settled against yours, his chest flush with your own, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The angle was perfect, the pressure achingly close, and the promise of what was to come made your breath hitch.

His tongue swept into your mouth as the blunt tip of him brushed against your entrance. The tease alone had you gasping into the kiss, your nails digging lightly into his shoulders.

“Joel,” you murmured, your voice trembling, your gaze locking onto his. Your eyes searched his face, wide and full of something raw, something vulnerable. “I love you, I love you so much.”

His expression softened, his features melting into something so tender it made your chest ache.

“I love you too, baby,” he said, grounding you as he pushed into you with aching slowness. His eyes never left yours, and the stretch of him inside you stole the breath from your lungs. “So fucking much. I’m so in love with you.”

A smile curved your lips, but it was short-lived as his mouth found yours again, swallowing the soft moan that escaped when he moved deeper, filling you completely.

Joel’s rhythm started slow, calculated. Every thrust was controlled but steeped in need, his body pressing into yours like he wanted to crawl inside you, to dissolve the space between you entirely. You felt it in the way his hands gripped your hips, the tension in his muscles under your palms.

The wet, rhythmic sound of him moving in and out of you filled the room, each stroke slick and purposeful. It made you shiver, and when he let out a guttural groan, his head dropping to bury his face in your neck, it was as if something inside you unraveled.

His teeth grazed the delicate skin at your throat, his lips brushing over the mark he left behind. The sharpness of it sent a jolt of pleasure down your spine, and his pace quickened, his hips colliding with yours harder, deeper.

“Yes yes yes— Oh, God—J-Joel,” you gasped, your hands clutching at his back, his name breaking apart on your lips. He was everywhere—inside you, around you, consuming you.

The rhythm of his movements grew frantic, unrestrained, and his moans became muffled against your ear, a wrecked symphony of desire that made you melt beneath him. Every thrust pulled you closer to the edge, your body arching into his as his name fell from your lips in a litany of surrender.

You bit into his shoulder, your teeth grazing the firm muscle as if to anchor yourself to the moment. Your nails left faint crescents in the skin of his back, a soft contrast to the unrelenting force of his body pressing you into the mattress. The sound of your bodies meeting, skin against skin, filled the room, a rhythm in perfect time with the erratic beating of your heart.

Joel shifted, bracing himself on one arm beside your head, the other wrapping firmly around your thigh. He pulled you closer, his grip possessive and sure, holding you exactly where he wanted you. The angle changed, sharper, deeper, and the intensity of his thrusts became something primal, something unrestrained, like he was staking his claim.

His gaze fell between your bodies, and you felt it as much as you saw it—the way his eyes darkened at the sight of you taking him, the slick evidence of your need coating his big swollen cock. A low groan rumbled from deep in his chest, his focus unshakable, as though the act of watching you like this was driving him just as mad as the sensation of being inside you.

Your hand reached up, shaky but insistent, pulling him back to you.

“S-so fuck-ing good,” you gasped, your voice fractured, the words tumbling out as if you could barely hold them together. “S-so good, baby. Please don’t stop—don’t stop.”

Joel’s lips curved into a smile, something rough and beautiful, his cheeks flushed with effort and desire.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you briefly, the heat of his mouth a quick reprieve before he was pulling back, thrusting harder. “Come for me again. Come all over my cock. All fucking yours.”

His hand shifted, pushing your legs higher, opening you up to him in a way that had you gasping. The angle was perfect, his cock hitting that devastatingly tender spot deep inside you with every thrust. Your back arched involuntarily, a sharp cry escaping your lips as you tipped your head back, your hands fluttering uselessly before finding purchase against his shoulders.

Joel pressed his mouth to your neck and bit down softly, the sting of it swallowed by the overwhelming pleasure radiating through you. His movements grew wilder, faster, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

His hand slid against you, his thumb moving in deliberate, smooth circles over your clit. The sensation caught your breath, dragging a choked gasp from your lips. You opened your mouth, soundless, helpless, as the tension in you coiled tighter, your orgasm cresting just out of reach.

"Joel," you whispered, the name breaking out of you like a plea. Your eyes met his, and you found him already watching you. His face was undone, raw and aching. He looked wrecked, like he was hanging by a thread, his chest heaving, his skin flushed a deep red that spilled down his neck.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he stammered, his voice hoarse, barely more than a breath. That sound, the way he said it, was all it took to tip you over the edge.

Your head fell back, and the moan that broke from you wasn’t something you could contain. It ripped through you, sharp and desperate, splitting you open as Joel’s movements quickened, harder, deeper, like he couldn’t bear to let you go.

He watched you, unblinking, his gaze full of something that felt like worship. His voice was a low, guttural sound, raw with want and need, as he thrust into you, chasing his own undoing. You felt it in the way his rhythm faltered, his body trembling.

And then, with a shuddering groan, he came, his release pulsing hot and deep inside you, spilling into every inch of you like he was giving you everything he had.

You wrapped your arms around him, pulling his body flush against yours. His weight pressed down, heavy and grounding, knocking the breath out of your lungs in the most exquisite way. For a moment, he let himself rest there, his warmth sinking into you. 

When he pushed up slightly on his arms, the loss of him—his weight, his closeness—made you moan softly, an involuntary sound. His smile spread slow and lazy across his face as his hand came up to your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin. His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked on yours.

Then he kissed you. Slow, tender.

Your hands moved to his curls, fingers threading through the soft hair at the nape of his neck. You looked up at him, your gaze betraying just how deeply you were lost in him. Irrevocably, helplessly in love.

“Stay on top of me.”

His smile deepened, dimples flashing in the dim light. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your cheek.

“I’m going to crush you.”

“I don’t mind. I like it,” you said, your fingers trailing along the curve of his lips, tracing the shape of him like you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Fine,” he relented, dropping his weight just a little more, still not enough. His mouth brushed your cheek, then your jaw. “But only if you let me taste you again.”

You laughed, your hands tangling in his hair, tugging lightly, playful.

“See? Impatient.”

His grin widened, that familiar mischievous glint lighting up his face.

“Darlin', I’m not rushing anything,” he murmured, his lips brushing yours with every word. “We’ve got all night.”

[03jyh23]

🌷⌇facing the truth finding our way back part 8; a choi jongho mini-series

ex-boyfriend! idol! jongho x ex-girlfriend! single-mom! reader

│ series masterlist│ next │

│synopsis: five years have passed since jongho last saw you. your lives have taken drastically different paths, with jongho achieving fame and you focusing on raising your daughter, nari, in quiet anonymity. when jongho discovers he has a daughter, he's determined to be a part of her life.

│genre: a slice of life, romance, fluff, some angst

│trigger warnings: emotional distress, mature language, confrontations, anxiety and mental turmoil⁠⁠​

│words: 8.4 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there my lovely people! it's been three months since my last update, I finally managed to have some time for writing during my Christmas/New Year break! honestly, i'm as nervous as the first time i ever posted on here but there's also a huge excitement. i missed you guys and this story so much! can't wait to hear all of your opinions!

as always

love, mon ♡

│taglist: │ @seventeenthingsblr │@DALSUWAHA │

│ @ateez-atiny380 │ @yoonshiiu │ @sndeoki │ @bomi-ja │

│ @vixensss │ @all-fandoms-rise │ @finnydraws │

│ @jonghosbrainrot │ @ateezswonderland │ @stayatinykatsy

│@chickenscoups │ @ana-stasssiaaa │ @starryunho │

│ @originalcupcakenacho │ @ultrapinkvoidbouquet │

│ @sweetinsaniiity│ @jennifermakmur│ @mitchii │

│ @hannah-97 │ @hyuckiesgf │ @treehouse-mouse │

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│@thedistractedwriter  │ @satans-arse-crack │ @soreberry │

│ if you wish to be tagged let me know here! ♡

Jongho stormed into his car, his body trembling with a mixture of rage and frustration. He slammed the door shut behind him, the sound echoing. For a moment, he sat there, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of his emotions. Slowly, he unclenched his tightly gripped fists, wincing slightly as he felt the sting of his nails digging into his palms. With a heavy sigh, he leaned forward, gently resting his forehead against the cool surface of the steering wheel. The tension in his muscles began to ebb away, replaced by a profound sense of exhaustion and regret. As the adrenaline faded, the weight of the confrontation settled over him heavy. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself. The image of you standing between him and Hyunwoo, your eyes pleading for peace, flashed in his mind. Guilt washed over him as he realized how close he had come to losing control.

"Fuck..." he let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. The weight of the situation crashed down on him, and he felt a mix of anger and disappointment in himself. He had promised you he would handle things differently, be better, but he had nearly lost it back there. The thought of disappointing you, made his stomach churn. Jongho ran a hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in frustration. He knew he needed to calm down, to think clearly about what to do next. But the image of Hyunwoo's smug face kept flashing in his mind, reigniting his anger. He took another deep breath, trying to focus on what really mattered -you and Nari. "I need to fix this," he muttered to himself, his voice barely above a whisper in the quiet car. He knew he had to make things right, but he also knew he needed time to cool off first. With a heavy sigh, he started the car, deciding to take a drive to clear his head before facing the consequences of his actions.

As Jongho drove aimlessly through the streets, his phone suddenly lit up with an incoming call.

The caller ID displayed his manager's name, and Jongho's stomach dropped. With a heavy sigh, he answered the call, already anticipating bad news.

"What is it?" Jongho asked, his voice still carrying the rough edge of lingering anger, a testament to the confrontation that had just transpired in the hallway.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" his manager's voice thundered through the speaker with such force that Jongho had to pull the phone away from his ear, wincing at the volume. "I just got a call from Minho at KpopDaily. You know what he asked me? He asked me to confirm if Choi Jongho from ATEEZ has a three-year-old daughter! Do you have any idea how blindsided I was by this?"

Jongho's blood ran cold, a chill spreading through his entire body as the implications of those words sank in. His grip on the steering wheel tightened until his knuckles turned white, the leather creaking under the pressure. "What?" The single word came out as barely more than a whisper.

"They have photos, Jongho. Multiple photos. Clear shots of you with Nari, you putting her in the car, and even you talking to San and Wooyoung while she's with you. They're planning to run the story tomorrow morning." His manager's voice dropped dangerously low, each word dripping with barely contained fury. "Do you have any idea what kind of shitstorm this could create? The company executives are going to crucify me for this! Years of careful image management, gone in an instant!"

"Did... did they publish anything yet?" Jongho managed to ask, his throat constricting as waves of panic began to wash over him. His mind immediately raced to you and Nari - imagining the chaos that would descend upon your lives, the reporters that would hound your every step, the peaceful existence you'd carefully constructed crumbling under the weight of public scrutiny.

"No, thank god. I managed to convince Minho to hold off by promising him an exclusive interview instead. But listen to me carefully - this isn't going to stay buried for long. You need to get your ass to the company building right now. We need to handle this before it explodes in our faces and becomes completely unmanageable. The other members must be briefed too - this isn't just about you anymore. This affects all of ATEEZ, everything we've built together."

"I had a meeting with the CEO and PR team. They were so supportive before—everything was under control," Jongho said, his words barely above a whisper, more to himself than his manager. The manager let out a heavy sigh before answering.

"The company representatives only supported you because you agreed to follow their plan. Now everything's hanging by a thread. Don't you understand, Jongho? This has spiraled out of control. They didn't want to force your hand before, but that's about to change. I'm calling the CEO right now."

"Do you have to call them right now?" Jongho pleaded, his voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and fear. His fingers tightened around the phone as he tried one last time to delay the inevitable conversation that would change everything. "Maybe we could discuss this first, find another solution—" His desperate attempt to stop his manager was abruptly cut short.

"Yes I have to," the manager said firmly, his tone brooking no argument, each word carrying the weight of years of experience in the industry. "We can't keep this from them, Jongho. This isn't something we can handle on our own anymore, and every minute we delay could make things worse."

Jongho pulled over to the side of the road with trembling hands, his mind spinning like a tornado of worst-case scenarios. Everything he'd been desperately trying to protect - his precious relationship with you, Nari's innocent childhood, the delicate balance he'd been struggling to maintain between his two worlds - it was all threatening to come crashing down around him. The thought of his daughter being thrust into the harsh spotlight, of becoming fodder for entertainment news and social media speculation, made his stomach churn violently. "I'll be there in twenty minutes," he said quietly, his voice hollow as he ended the call. He sat in the suffocating silence of his car, his hands shaking uncontrollably as he tried to process the magnitude of what was happening. The weight of impending disaster pressed heavily on his chest. He needed to tell you, but the very thought made him feel sick with dread. How could he possibly find the words to say to you that your worst fears were about to become reality? That the peaceful life you'd built for Nari, the normal childhood you'd fought so hard to give her, was about to be turned upside down because he couldn't stay away because he'd been selfish enough to want to be part of your lives without considering the consequences?

Jongho pulled into the company parking lot with a heavy heart and trembling hands. The walk to the building entrance felt like the longest journey of his life, his footsteps seemed to match the thundering of his heartbeat as he approached the glass doors, his reflection distorted in their surface.

His manager was already waiting in the lobby, pacing back and forth with nervous energy that seemed to electrify the air around him. The moment he caught sight of Jongho, his hurried steps faltered, and his eyes widened in shock, immediately focusing on Jongho's swollen lip. The manager's expression shifted from surprise to barely contained frustration as he took in Jongho's disheveled appearance.

"What happened to your face?" the manager hissed through clenched teeth, stepping closer to examine the injury with a mixture of concern and exasperation evident in his features. His voice dropped to a whisper, tight with tension, "Please tell me you weren't in a fight. That's absolutely the last thing we need right now, of all possible moments."

Before Jongho could formulate a response or attempt to explain himself, a company representative approached them with quick, purposeful steps. Her usually perfectly composed expression wavered slightly as she noticed his injury, a crack in her professional facade that spoke volumes about the gravity of the situation. "The others are waiting in the main conference room," she said, her tone maintaining its professional edge but carrying an unmistakable undercurrent of tension. "We need to address this situation immediately - there's no time to waste."

The walk to the conference room felt surreal, like moving through a thick fog in a dream - or rather, a nightmare that was becoming increasingly vivid with each passing moment. The familiar corridors seemed longer and more imposing than ever before, the walls closing in with each step. When they finally entered the room, Jongho found all seven of his members already seated around the large table, their presence both comforting and intimidating. Their expressions ranged from deep concern to visible confusion, and the room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence as they collectively took in his disheveled appearance.

Seonghwa was the first to break through the thick tension that had settled over the room. His voice, gentle but laden with worry, cut through the silence like a warm knife. "Jongho, what's going on?" The genuine concern in his tone made Jongho's heart clench with guilt and apprehension.

Before Jongho could respond, the door swung open and the CEO strode in, followed by several members of the PR team. The atmosphere in the room immediately shifted, becoming even more tense as everyone straightened in their seats. Jongho's throat went dry as he realized this was the moment everything would change.

The CEO settled into his chair at the head of the table, his expression grave as he surveyed the room. The weight of unspoken words hung heavy in the air, pressing down on Jongho's shoulders like a physical burden.

"I'm sure we all know why we're here," the CEO sighed, massaging his forehead. The lines of exhaustion and concern were deeply etched on his face as he looked around the room, his gaze finally settling on Jongho. "The situation has escalated beyond our control, and we need to make some immediate decisions about how to proceed."

The tension in the room thickened, and Jongho could feel the questioning stares of his members burning into him.

"What exactly is going on?" Hongjoong's leader instincts kicked in, his voice steady but concerned as he looked between the CEO and Jongho, trying to piece together the situation.

"At KQ Entertainment, we pride ourselves on trust and friendship," one of the PR heads began, her voice laden with authority that filled the room. "But we can't ignore this situation any longer, Jongho." She paused, her steely gaze fixed on him. "From now on, we'll be making the decisions for you. You no longer have a choice in this matter," she declared with a finality that sent a chill down Jongho's spine.

"Can somebody enlighten us?" Hongjoong's voice cut through the tension, his tone firm yet controlled. "I'm the leader of the group. I should be the one representing our approach to whatever this situation is."

"There was... a media leak," the CEO spoke carefully, his words heavy with implications. He paused, gathering his thoughts before continuing to explain the situation. "The media has obtained photographs of Jongho with his daughter," the CEO stated bluntly, causing several gasps around the table. "They're planning to run a story tomorrow morning about his secret child. We've been managing this situation privately until now, but circumstances have forced our hand."

"Our PR team has already drafted a statement," he continued, sliding folders across the table. "We'll announce that Jongho has a daughter, frame it as a personal choice to maintain privacy and request understanding from fans. The statement will be released before the media breaks the story."

Hongjoong's chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly. "With all due respect, sir, this isn't just about PR. We're talking about a child's life here. Jongho's family. We can't just—"

"This isn't up for discussion," the PR head interrupted sharply. "The statement goes out in four hours. We need to control the narrative before it controls us."

Jongho sat there, shoulders slumped, feeling the weight of defeat crushing him. Everything he had feared was unfolding before his eyes, and he felt powerless to stop it. The heated exchange between Hongjoong and the executives continued around him, but their voices seemed distant, muffled by the roaring in his ears.

"You can't make unilateral decisions about our member's personal life!" Hongjoong's voice cut through Jongho's daze, sharp with anger. "We should at least discuss alternative approaches—"

"The time for discussion is over," the CEO's voice thundered through the room. "This is no longer just about Jongho or his family. This affects ATEEZ as a whole, our company's reputation, and the careers of everyone in this room."

"Jongho," the CEO's tone shifted, becoming deceptively calm, his fingers interlacing on the polished conference table as he leaned forward with an air of calculated authority. "We need you to contact Y/N immediately. As Nari's legal guardian, there are several time-sensitive documents that require her immediate attention and signature."

"Documents?" Jongho's voice emerged as barely more than a trembling whisper, his hands clenched tightly beneath the table as dread pooled in his stomach.

The PR head cleared her throat, adjusting her wire-rimmed glasses with practiced precision, her expression a masterclass in corporate calculation. "Yes. After careful consideration of all available options and extensive market research, we've determined that the most strategic course of action is to announce your engagement. A formal marriage ceremony, properly timed and publicized, will help significantly soften the blow to your public image and create a narrative that our PR team can effectively manage—"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Hongjoong exploded, his chair screeching against the floor as he slammed both palms onto the table with enough force to make the water glasses rattle. His face was flushed with unbridled fury as he stood, shoulders tensed like a coiled spring. "You can't possibly think you have the right to force them into marriage! This goes beyond crossing a line—this is a complete violation of their basic human rights—"

"Watch your language and compose yourself immediately," the CEO snapped, his face flooding with color as he straightened in his chair. "This isn't some playground where you can throw tantrums, Hongjoong. This is a serious business matter that requires professional conduct."

"Business?" Hongjoong spat the word out like it was poison burning his tongue, his eyes blazing with righteous indignation. "We're talking about real people's lives here—actual human beings with feelings and rights—not some goddamn spreadsheet you can manipulate for profit!"

The room descended into absolute chaos, with voices rising and crashing against each other like waves in a storm. Heated protests collided with corporate justifications, profanities mingled with policy citations, and emotional pleas clashed with cold business logic. Through the deafening cacophony of the escalating argument, Jongho remained completely motionless in his chair, a statue of despair. His mind raced frantically to thoughts of you, his heart constricting painfully as he grappled with the impossible task of finding words to explain this new nightmare that was unfolding—how could he possibly tell you that their solution to protecting your privacy was to thrust you even further into the spotlight?

"Hyung, it's alright," Jongho said softly amongst the chaos. His quiet voice somehow managed to cut through the heated arguments surrounding him.

The room fell silent as all eyes turned to him, the sudden quiet almost deafening after the previous uproar. His shoulders were slumped in resignation, but there was a quiet determination in his eyes as he lifted his gaze to meet Hongjoong's concerned stare. "I'll talk to Y/N myself - she deserves to hear this from me, not through some corporate statement."

"No," the PR head's voice sliced through his plea, her tone leaving no room for argument or emotion. "This isn't a request, Jongho. This is a direct order from the company. Put her on speaker now. We've already dispatched a car with security personnel to collect both Y/N and Nari. They need to be present in this room immediately to handle this situation according to company protocol."

Jongho's face drained of all color as waves of panic clawed mercilessly at his chest, his breathing becoming shallow and rapid. "Please," he begged, his voice cracking with raw desperation that filled the room, his hands trembling visibly as he leaned forward in his chair. "I'm begging you to at least let me handle this part myself. They deserve that much consideration - let me explain everything to them in person, face to face—"

"That's not an option," she interrupted with glacial finality, her expression hardening into an impenetrable mask of corporate authority as she extended her hand across the table, fingers splayed expectantly. "Your phone. Hand it over. Now."

The silence that followed was electric, charged with a tension that could almost be physically felt. Yeosang's voice, usually soft and measured, cut through the stillness with unexpected force.

"We will all terminate our contracts immediately if you don't allow Jongho to handle this situation with the respect and dignity it deserves," Yeosang declared firmly, his usually gentle voice carrying an unmistakable edge of steel. The quiet member's unexpected declaration sent shockwaves through the room, causing everyone present to turn toward him in stunned silence. His words hung heavy in the air, transforming the already tense atmosphere into something electric with possibility.

As if choreographed, all seven members rose from their chairs in perfect synchronization, the sharp scraping of chair legs against the floor creating a symphony of defiance. Their unified movement, performed without hesitation or discussion, conveyed a message more powerful than any words could express. The solidarity emanating from their stance transformed the corporate meeting room into a battlefield where the lines had been clearly drawn.

Yunho's voice cut through the tension, steady and unwavering, his usual playfulness replaced by iron determination. "You'll have my formal resignation letter on your desk first thing tomorrow morning," he declared, each word carefully measured and delivered with devastating precision. His typically bright and cheerful features had hardened into an expression of unmovable resolve, his eyes blazing with a fierce intensity that none in the room had witnessed before.

San's quiet but firm voice joined the chorus of solidarity. "My contract will be on that desk too," he stated, his usually bright eyes now dark with determination. The atmosphere in the room shifted as the executives exchanged nervous glances, clearly unprepared for this united front from all eight members.

"All of you calm down right now and sit down!" the CEO demanded, his voice thundering through the room as he slammed his fist on the table. His face had turned a dangerous shade of red, veins visibly pulsing at his temples. "Jongho, go and talk to that girl. The car's probably already waiting for them."

The other members remained standing, their expressions unwavering despite the CEO's outburst.

Jongho stood up slowly, his movements heavy with the weight of what was to come. His members' protective stance gave him strength, but the dread in his heart was overwhelming. With trembling fingers, he pulled out his phone, staring at your contact information on the screen.

"Give me fifteen minutes," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just fifteen minutes to explain everything to her before she comes here."

The PR head opened her mouth to object, but Hongjoong cut her off with a sharp glare. "Fifteen minutes," he stated firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "That's the absolute minimum of human decency we can offer in this situation."

The tension in the room was suffocating as Jongho stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps echoing against the walls. Finding a quiet corner, he pressed your number with shaking hands, his heart thundering in his chest as he waited for you to answer.

The call connected after three rings. Your voice, warm yet worried, came through the speaker, filled with a mixture of relief and concern. "Jongho? Oh my god, are you alright? I've been worried sick about you. I'm so glad you finally called. I've been beside myself with worry ever since everything happened. I'm so, so sorry about all of this—Hyunwoo has never, ever acted like this before... I still can't believe it happened. Your lip—how bad is it? Have you been able to put any ointment on it? Does it hurt much?"

Jongho's throat constricted painfully, making even the simplest words feel impossible to voice. A heavy weight settled in his chest as the reality of what he needed to tell you pressed down on him. How could he possibly find the right words to explain that your carefully constructed world was about to come crashing down around you? That the delicate balance you'd both worked so hard to maintain for all these years was about to splinter into countless irreparable pieces?

"I'm... I'm fine," he finally managed to say, his voice emerging as little more than a strained whisper. Each syllable sent a sharp twinge of pain through his split lip, "Hyunwoo was... upset. I understand why he reacted that way. Finding out about everything like that, the way he did..." He trailed off, his words fading into silence as the crushing weight of what he needed to tell you threatened to overwhelm him completely.

"The ointment... no, I haven't had the opportunity to take care of it yet," he continued, struggling to maintain some semblance of composure even as his voice threatened to break with each word. The genuine concern and warmth in your voice only served to make his next necessary words feel even more impossible to speak.

"Please come home to us, Jongho," you said softly, your voice carrying all the tenderness and care that he'd grown to love so deeply. "I have plenty of ointment here, and we can sit down properly and talk through everything that happened—"

"Y/N, I need you to listen to me very carefully," Jongho cut you off, his voice strained with an emotion so intense it seemed to physically pain him to speak.

"There's a company car on its way to pick you and Nari up right now," he continued each word feeling like glass in his throat. "The situation... it's escalated beyond our control. I tried—" His voice cracked, heavy with the weight of his powerlessness. "I tried so hard to protect you both, but they're demanding you come to the company immediately." Jongho's voice trembled, thick with emotion. "The company... they've made some decisions about how to handle our situation. I fought against it, we all did, but—" He drew in a shaky breath. "There are documents they need you to sign. Important ones. Time-sensitive ones."

"Jongho, you're scaring me," your voice wavered. "What kind of documents? What's happening?"

"I can't... I can't explain everything over the phone. But you need to know that things are about to change drastically. The company has a plan, and they're not giving us much choice in the matter."

"I'm not bringing Nari," you said firmly, "If things are this serious if you sound this frightened, there's no way I'm exposing my daughter to whatever's happening at the company right now."

"They specifically requested both of you," Jongho's voice cracked. "As Nari's legal guardian, they say your presence is mandatory for these documents—"

"Legal guardian?" Your voice rose with mounting panic. "Jongho, what does Nari have to do with any of this? What kind of documents could possibly require her involvement?"

"Please," he begged, his voice barely above a whisper. "Trust me when I say I never wanted any of this. The car will be there soon. I'll be waiting for you both when you arrive. I promise I'll explain everything face to face."

"If what happened this morning meant anything to you," Jongho continued, his voice dropping to an intimate whisper, heavy with emotion, "if that kiss meant what I think it did... please, Y/N. I know it sounds crazy, I know you're worried about Nari, but if I still mean something to you—anything at all—get into that car and come to me. Your answer, you being here... it means everything right now."

The moment you ended the call, your hands were trembling so violently you nearly lost your grip on your phone, the device slipping precariously between your trembling fingers. Something in Jongho's voice - that raw edge of desperation and fear, that unmistakable tremor of barely contained emotion - sent waves of ice cascading through your veins, leaving you feeling cold and unsteady. You took several deep breaths, your fingers gripping the kitchen counter's edge so tightly that your knuckles turned white, trying desperately to ground yourself.

"Nari!" you called out, summoning every ounce of strength to keep your voice light and casual, fighting against the growing storm of anxiety that threatened to overwhelm you completely. "Sweetheart, we're going to visit Uncle Jongho and the others, you can pack your backpack!"

The excited squeal that echoed from her room brought a bittersweet smile to your face, your heart clenching painfully at her innocent joy. You could hear her little feet pattering energetically across the floor, the familiar sound of drawers being yanked open with unbridled enthusiasm filling the apartment.

"Can I bring my Woo?" she called back, her voice filled with childlike excitement as she referred to the treasured stuffed rabbit. "And the drawing I made for Uncle Wooyoung? The one with all the hearts and stars?"

"Yes, baby. Bring whatever you'd like," you responded, your feet already carrying you toward her room to help. You found her in the middle of organized chaos, toys flying through the air as she enthusiastically tossed them into her favorite pink backpack, her face glowing with pure, unrestrained excitement.

As you methodically helped her fold clothes properly and pack the essential items, your mind raced uncontrollably with possibilities, each scenario your imagination conjured more concerning than the last. Legal documents involving Nari? The mere thought sent your stomach into painful knots, acid rising in your throat as you contemplated the implications.

"Mommy, are you okay?" Nari's small, worried voice pulled you abruptly from your spiraling thoughts. You realized with a start that you'd been holding the same dress in your hands for several minutes, staring unseeing at its familiar pattern.

"Of course, sweetie," you forced what you hoped was a convincing smile, reaching out to gently tuck a wayward strand of her soft hair behind her ear, your touch lingering for just a moment longer than usual. "Just thinking about how happy Uncle Jongho and Uncle Wooyoung will be to see you."

With movements that felt both hurried and somehow underwater-slow, you quickly zipped up Nari's backpack, grabbed your own bag, and took her small, warm hand firmly in yours, drawing comfort from her innocent touch.

"Remember what we always say about being brave?" you asked her softly as you carefully locked the front door, your keys jingling quietly in the hallway.

"That being brave doesn't mean not being scared," she recited proudly, swinging your joined hands back and forth with carefree abandon. "It means doing what's right even when you are scared!"

You blinked rapidly to hold back the hot tears that threatened to spill over, squeezing her tiny hand gently as you approached the sleek black company car that seemed to loom ominously in the afternoon light. The driver stepped out, bowing politely as he opened the door for you both.

Throughout the seemingly endless drive, Nari chatted animatedly about seeing her beloved uncles, her voice rising and falling with excitement. Her innocent enthusiasm and pure joy stood in stark contrast to the growing knot of dread that had taken up permanent residence in your stomach, becoming heavier and more suffocating with each meter the car drew closer to the company building.

As you stepped out of the car, the late afternoon sun caught the gleaming glass facade of the building, its reflective surface seeming to mock the turmoil churning inside you. Nari bounced excitedly beside you, her small hand warm and trusting in yours, completely oblivious to the weight of the moment. The security guard's usually friendly smile was replaced with a carefully neutral expression as he wordlessly directed you toward the executive floor.

In the elevator, Nari hummed softly to herself, clutching her backpack. You found yourself studying her reflection in the polished elevator doors - her innocent excitement, the way she swayed slightly to her own tune, the pure trust in her eyes when she looked up at you. Your throat tightened painfully.

"Look, Mommy!" she exclaimed as the doors opened, pointing eagerly down the hallway. "I think I can hear Uncle San's laugh!"

But you knew better. The muffled voices coming from behind the closed conference room door held none of the warmth and joy that typically characterized the members' presence. Instead, there was an edge of tension, sharp and dangerous, that made your steps falter slightly as you approached.

Just before you could reach for the door handle, it swung open from the inside. Jongho stood there, his usually bright eyes shadowed with an emotion you couldn't quite read. The split in his lip was an angry red, a stark reminder of this morning's chaos. Behind him, you could see the other members standing in a protective semicircle, their faces unusually serious. The sight of suited executives seated at the far end of the conference table made your heart skip several beats.

"Uncle Jongho!" Nari squealed with delight, launching herself into his arms. Despite the gravity of the situation, Jongho's face softened as he caught her, pulling her into a tight embrace. For a brief moment, his eyes closed as he held her close, as if drawing strength from her innocent affection. But the tender moment was interrupted by a gentle but firm hand on your shoulder. Turning, you found yourself face to face with one of the company's senior managers, her expression professionally neutral but her eyes cold.

"Miss Y/N," she said smoothly, "if you'll follow me, we have some matters to discuss in private first. Nari can stay here with the members while we talk."

"I'll follow you once I make sure my daughter is properly settled," you said with an icy edge to your voice, turning deliberately towards the conference room. Your eyes moved methodically across the members' faces, searching each expression for any hint of reassurance or warning, desperately trying to read between the lines of their carefully composed expressions.

"Nari, my precious princess!" Wooyoung's excited voice cut through the suffocating tension like a warm ray of sunshine. Without hesitation, Nari's small hand slipped from yours as she bounded across the room, her little feet carrying her straight into his welcoming arms. Despite the crushing weight of anxiety pressing down on your chest, you couldn't suppress the small, genuine smile that tugged at your lips watching their interaction. The pure, uncomplicated joy on your daughter's face provided a momentary respite from the mounting tension.

"Hello, I'm Y/N," you said with as much composure as you could muster, and the members each bowed respectfully in response, their movements carrying a gravity that seemed to acknowledge the weight of the situation.

Wooyoung's eyes brightened with recognition, a flash of warmth breaking through the otherwise tense atmosphere. "We already met at that fan meeting, haven't we?" You nodded, feeling a small measure of relief wash over you at the sight of his familiar, friendly face amidst this increasingly unsettling situation.

"If I could ask you to watch over Nari..." you began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to maintain your composure. But there was no need to complete the request. The members all responded with immediate and enthusiastic agreement, their genuine affection for your daughter evident in their eager nods and warm smiles. The sincerity in their responses provided a small measure of comfort, even as uncertainty about what lay ahead continued to gnaw at your insides.

With one final glance at Nari, now happily settled in Wooyoung's lap and showing him her treasured drawings, you turned to follow the manager. Your steps felt leaden, each one carrying you further from your daughter and closer to whatever life-altering documents awaited your signature. Jongho's worried gaze followed you down the hallway, his presence both a comfort and a source of mounting anxiety as you approached the adjacent meeting room.

The executive boardroom felt oppressively small as you and Jongho took your seats across from the CEO's imposing desk. The leather of your chair creaked softly as you shifted, hyperaware of how Jongho deliberately angled his body away from yours, his gaze fixed firmly on the polished wood surface before him. The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife.

The CEO cleared his throat, shuffling some papers on his desk with practiced precision. "Miss Y/N, we appreciate you coming in on such short notice. We have a rather delicate situation that requires immediate attention."

"With all due respect," you interrupted, your voice tight with barely contained anger, "I'd appreciate if we could skip the corporate pleasantries and get straight to why my daughter and I were summoned here like this."

The CEO's expression hardened perceptibly, his features settling into a mask of stern professionalism. "Very well. The photographs that emerged this morning showing Jongho with your daughter have created what we consider to be an extremely delicate and complicated situation. Our public relations team has been working diligently around the clock to minimize the spread of these images across social media platforms, but I'm afraid the damage to our carefully maintained public image is already quite substantial."

"What photographs are you referring to?" you interjected sharply, your heart suddenly thundering against your ribcage with such force you could feel each beat in your throat. "I need to know exactly what was captured in these images. When were they taken? Where?" Your eyes darted frantically between the CEO and Jongho, desperately searching their expressions for any hint of reassurance as waves of panic began to crash over you, threatening to pull you under. "I have every right to know precisely what kind of 'damage' we're discussing here."

The CEO's jaw clenched visibly as he reached for a sleek tablet on his desk, his movements deliberate and controlled. With a swift motion, he slid the device across the polished surface toward you. The screen displayed several crystal-clear, high-resolution photographs that had obviously been taken by a professional photographer. They captured moments between Jongho and Nari outside the KQ building just yesterday - tender scenes of him holding her small hand in his as they walked together, their body language speaking volumes about their close relationship.

"These images were captured yesterday evening," the CEO explained, his clipped tone barely masking his displeasure with the situation.

Your hands shook uncontrollably as you swiped through the collection of photographs, each new image feeling like another heavy blow to your carefully constructed world. The quality was undeniable - every detail crystal clear. Your throat constricted painfully as you raised your eyes to meet the CEO's stern gaze, dreading whatever would come next.

"After extensive consultation, our public relations team has developed what we believe to be the most effective damage control strategy," the CEO continued, his voice taking on an almost mechanical quality in its professional detachment. "We propose orchestrating a controlled media reveal - an exclusive interview where Jongho can properly introduce Nari to the public. We'll carefully craft the narrative to emphasize his role as a father figure in her life. Our market research indicates that the public tends to respond very favorably to these kinds of heartwarming human interest stories."

"I absolutely refuse to even consider that proposal," you interrupted, your voice trembling with a combination of barely contained rage and protective instinct. "My daughter is not some convenient plot point in your corporate damage control narrative. She is a child - an innocent child who has every right to privacy and protection from this kind of exploitation."

The CEO's expression remained carefully neutral, though a muscle twitched in his jaw. "There are additional considerations we need to address. Given the sensitive nature of these circumstances, our board believes the most prudent course of action would be to accelerate the implementation of certain pre-existing contingency plans - specifically, the wedding arrangements-"

The word 'wedding' struck you with the force of a physical assault, causing your vision to swim and blur around the edges as your mind struggled to process this devastating new development.

"Wedding?" The word escaped your lips as little more than a breathless whisper, your wide eyes snapping to Jongho's face, but he steadfastly avoided your gaze, his shoulders tense. "Are you telling me you agreed to this? All of this? Without even discussing it with me?"

The crushing silence that followed your questions seemed to stretch for an eternity. Unable to contain your turbulent emotions any longer, you abruptly pushed back from the table, your chair scraping harshly against the floor. "How could you do this to us?" The words emerged as a broken whisper, heavy with betrayal. "How could you be so reckless with our daughter's safety?"

Jongho finally lifted his gaze to meet yours, his eyes swimming with anguish and regret. "Y/N, please, if you'll just let me explain-"

"No," you cut him off sharply, instinctively backing away from the table as if physical distance could somehow lessen the emotional pain. "You don't get to explain anything right now. You carelessly allowed yourself to be photographed with her in public. You knew exactly what risks that entailed. You understood perfectly well what was at stake, and yet..." Your voice cracked under the weight of your emotions. "I placed my absolute trust in you. I entrusted you with the most precious thing in my entire world."

"Please believe me when I say I never intended for any of this to happen," Jongho pleaded, rising from his chair and reaching toward you desperately, but you instinctively recoiled from his attempted touch. "The company had already prepared contingency plans for various scenarios. I thought I could handle-"

"You thought what exactly?" you interrupted, your voice sharp with pain as tears of anger and betrayal burned in your eyes. "That you could make decisions about our future without even consulting me? That you could allow my daughter to become nothing more than a convenient publicity opportunity?"

The CEO cleared his throat diplomatically. "Miss Y/N, I must emphasize that this solution we're proposing represents the most advantageous outcome for everyone involved in this situation-"

"Advantageous?" A bitter laugh escaped your throat, the sound entirely devoid of humor. "I'd very much like to know exactly who benefits from this arrangement. Your company's bottom line? Your carefully cultivated public image? Have you given any thought at all to what might be advantageous for my daughter's wellbeing?"

Turning back to face Jongho, your voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, laden with years of careful sacrifice. "For years, I've lived my entire life in the shadows, keeping our past relationship hidden from the world, doing everything in my power to protect Nari. And you managed to demolish all of that careful protection in one thoughtless moment."

The raw pain evident in Jongho's expression was almost unbearable to witness. "Y/N, please... you know how deeply I love Nari. We can work through this together, find a solution that protects everyone."

"Love?" Your voice broke on a single syllable. "If this is love, then it should have manifested as protection. Love would have meant thinking through the consequences before acting. Love would have demanded consulting me before allowing our private lives to be transformed into fodder for public consumption."

Jongho suddenly surged to his feet, his chair scraping violently against the floor. "I want to be absolutely clear - I did not agree to any of this!" he insisted vehemently, his hand reaching out toward you in a gesture of desperate supplication. "All I want is to do what's best for our family!"

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught painfully in your throat as a tempest of conflicting emotions raged within you. Before you could gather your scattered thoughts, Jongho pressed on, his voice raw with emotion and desperation.

"Just this morning, you told me you wanted her to know I'm her father!" His eyes searched yours pleadingly, desperate for understanding. "What changed between then and now? Help me understand what's different!"

Your hands clenched into tight fists at your sides as the full weight of his words crashed over you. "Everything changed the moment you allowed our private life to become a public spectacle," you responded, your voice quavering with an overwhelming mixture of anger, fear, and protective instinct. "I wanted her to discover you as her father in our own way, on our own timeline - not as part of some hastily constructed corporate strategy to minimize scandal."

The CEO's voice cut through the tense silence, his tone carefully measured. "Miss Y/N, I understand your concerns, but we need to address this situation immediately. The longer we wait, the more difficult damage control becomes."

You turned to face him, your expression hardening with renewed determination. "The only 'damage' I'm concerned about is the potential harm to my daughter's wellbeing, and I will not allow her to become collateral damage in your corporate crisis management."

Without another word, you spun on your heel and strode purposefully toward the door, your footsteps echoing sharply against the polished floor. The sound of chairs scraping and voices calling after you faded into background noise as you focused solely on reaching Nari.

You had barely made it halfway down the hallway when a gentle but firm hand caught your arm, causing you to pause mid-stride. "Y/N, wait." Hongjoong's voice was soft but steady, his grip loosening slightly when you turned to face him.

You laughed bitterly, the sound catching roughly in your throat as raw emotion threatened to overwhelm you completely. "With all due respect, you're the last person I want to talk to right now," you managed to say, each word carrying the weight of your internal turmoil. "I need to get my daughter and leave," you repeated, your voice tight with barely contained emotion as you struggled to maintain your composure. "Right now."

"I know," Hongjoong replied softly, maintaining steady eye contact as he spoke with careful deliberation. "And I won't stop you. But please, just take a moment to breathe and center yourself. Nari is safe and happy with the others right now, playing and laughing without a care in the world. She doesn't need to see you this upset."

His words hit home with devastating accuracy, forcing you to acknowledge the painful truth in them. Your hands were still trembling uncontrollably, your breathing coming in short, uneven gasps that betrayed your emotional state. The last thing you wanted was to frighten Nari with your current emotional turmoil, to let her see how deeply shaken you were by these unexpected developments.

"Y/N," Hongjoong began again, his voice maintaining that perfect balance between gentleness and firmness, "I know you're scared and angry right now, and believe me, you have every right to feel this way. But please, just listen for a moment - that's all I'm asking." He paused meaningfully, waiting until you reluctantly met his unwavering gaze before continuing with careful precision. "This isn't just about damage control or corporate image - it's about protecting Nari in the most effective way possible."

"The photos are already out there in the world," he continued softly, his voice carrying a note of regrettable certainty. "Even if we pursue every possible legal action against the media outlets, we can't undo what's been done. Nari's face is now recognizable to the public. Without the company's extensive protection and comprehensive security measures, she'll be completely vulnerable to constant harassment from aggressive reporters and obsessive fans who won't hesitate to cross boundaries."

"By controlling the narrative ourselves," Hongjoong explained, his tone remaining calm and reasonable even as he delivered these difficult truths, "we can provide her with proper security measures, carefully manage media access, and create clear, enforceable boundaries that will protect her privacy as much as possible. It's not an ideal situation, I know that better than most, but it's the safest option we have available to us right now. One way or another, the media will run this story - it's inevitable. At least this way, we can protect her on our own terms, maintaining some control over how this sensitive information is presented to the world."

You felt the fight slowly drain from your body as the weight of Hongjoong's words settled over you. As much as you wanted to deny it, to rage against the unfairness of it all, you couldn't ignore the undeniable logic in his argument. Your fingers unconsciously twisted the hem of your sleeve as you struggled to process this new reality, where protecting Nari might mean sacrificing the very privacy you'd fought so hard to maintain.

Looking at Hongjoong now, you couldn't help but recognize the stark contrast between his measured, thoughtful approach and Jongho's impulsive actions. While Jongho had acted rashly, potentially compromising Nari's safety, Hongjoong was offering a voice of reason and genuine concern for your daughter's wellbeing. His leadership qualities shone through in this moment of crisis, demonstrating why he was trusted with guiding the group through countless challenges. The way he presented the situation - with clarity, empathy, and an unwavering focus on Nari's protection - made you see things from a different perspective. Unlike the cold corporate strategy meeting, Hongjoong took the time to understand and acknowledge your fears while offering practical solutions. It was a stark reminder of how true leadership should function - not through unilateral decisions, but through understanding and guidance.

You couldn't help but wish Jongho had approached the situation with the same level of thoughtfulness and consideration that Hongjoong was displaying now. Perhaps if he had, you wouldn't be standing here, feeling like your world was crumbling around you.

"And about Jongho..." Hongjoong's voice softened, his expression shifting to one of gentle understanding. "I know you're hurt and feeling betrayed right now, but try to see this from his perspective for a moment. He's navigating completely uncharted territory here."

The leader's eyes held a mix of empathy and earnestness as he continued. "Being thrust into fatherhood in the public eye, trying to balance his responsibilities as an idol with his desperate desire to be there for his daughter - it's overwhelming. He's terrified of making mistakes, yet that fear itself led him to make one."

"When he saw Nari that day, all his careful planning went out the window. The pure joy of being able to openly interact with his daughter, even for just a moment..." Hongjoong paused, choosing his words carefully. "It clouded his judgment, yes, but it came from a place of love and longing."

"I'm not excusing his actions," Hongjoong added quickly, holding up a placating hand. "But I've seen how this situation has been tearing him apart. He wants nothing more than to be the father Nari deserves, even if he's still learning what that means."

Your breath caught in your throat as Hongjoong's words sank in, forcing you to confront the complexity of emotions swirling within you. The anger was still there, burning hot and fierce, but it was now tempered by an understanding that left you feeling hollow and uncertain. Standing in that sterile hallway, you found yourself at a crossroads between protecting the careful life you'd built and accepting that perhaps it was time for something new to take its place.

Hongjoong's gentle smile and understanding demeanor provided a small measure of comfort amid the chaos. "How about we borrow some time and sit down to talk this through properly, hm?" he suggested, his voice carrying that same reassuring steadiness that had helped ground you moments before.

You found yourself nodding, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Despite the tempest of emotions still churning within you, you had to admit that taking a moment to breathe and think clearly wasn't the worst idea. After all, any decisions made in the heat of anger rarely led to the best outcomes - especially when those decisions would affect Nari's future.

"Coffee?" Hongjoong smiled warmly, and you finally released a breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"Yes, coffee," you agreed softly, feeling some of the tension leave your shoulders.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

500 Followers = 500 Words Event: Seonghwa

Cravings

-> Pairing: Husband!Park Seonghwa x Pregnant!Reader -> Requested by: @treehouse-mouse -> Prompt:  Prompt 17: pregnancy cravings -> Warnings: mentions of pregnancy. protective Seonghwa. a little teasing (not in the kinky way) -> Word Count: 516 -> Request: Closed.

500 followers = 500 words Masterlist | Main Masterlist

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. reblog instead

Feeling restless and not wanting to disturb her husband’s sleep, Y/N quietly slips out of bed, making every effort to not wake Seonghwa up. Feeling the chill in the air, she finds one of Seonghwa’s oversized hoodies and pulls it on before she makes her way into the kitchen being pretty sure that it’s her light night pregnancy cravings keeping her awake. 

As she switches the light on, her stomach rumbles loudly. She searches the cupboards and fridge for something to eat but finds nothing that will satisfy the growing human inside her. Grabbing her phone, she browses through food delivery apps, but still, she can’t find anything she wants.  

Instead, she takes her handbag off the hook it’s on and checks inside making sure her wallet is in there before tossing her keys inside with it. She quickly pulls on her coat without changing out of her comfy pajama pants.  

Just as she reaches for the door, Seonghwa's voice startles her. “Where are you going?” 

“I’m hungry,” she replies, turning to look at him. “And your son is being really picky right now,” she adds, resting a hand on her baby bump, which is barely concealed by his oversized hoodie. 

“You shouldn’t be out this late, especially not alone,” he said, his voice softening as he moves to the entrance of their home and reaches for his coat. 

“I’ll be quick, I promise,” She tries to assure him that she’ll be okay. 

Putting his coat on, he shakes his head. “Write a list of what you feel like and I’ll go get it for you.” 

“But I don’t know what I feel like,” she pouts and rubs circles on her belly. “Like I said, he’s being picky.” 

“I’ll go with you then,” he says. There's no way he's allowing her to go out this late at night on her own, pregnant and craving or not.   

“Seonghwa, it’s really not necessary. I know you need the sleep,” she tells him.  

“I’d rather be there with you, making sure you’re safe. Plus, it’ll be fun! We can make a little adventure out of it,” he says, more awake now. 

She can’t help but smile at him as he helps her put her shoes on before putting his own on. "Alright, if you insist," she finally relented.  

He smiles in triumph and takes her hand bag, putting it over his shoulder before opening the front door. 

As they step outside, the cool night air hits them, causing them both to shiver and tighten their coats around them. As they begin their walk, the streetlights cast a soft glow, lighting their way to the 24-hour convenience store just up the road.  

"You really think a trip to the convenience store can be an adventure?" Y/N teases thinking back to what he said, her voice light and playful as she slips her hand inside his. 

“Why can’t it be?” he asks. “If you think about it, with your weird cravings who knows what will happen?” His eyes sparkle with mischief, and she can’t help but laugh, playfully hitting his arm. 

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@forever-atiny -

[formulafics]

VALENTINES DAY

Scenario: a peak into some of the grids Valentine’s Day with yn. <;3

Includes: charles leclerc, alex albon, lando norris, george russel, mick shumacher, yuki tsunoda, and logan sargeant.

A/N: this is another super short post, BUT AT LEAST ITS A POST 🙌🏻 as always, shoutout to my beloved @renarots for fueling ideas that go into these fics 🥰

charles_leclerc and ynln

liked by ynln, georgerussel63, alex_albon, landonorris, and 432,651 others

charles_leclerc Happy Valentines Day - Mr & Mrs. Leclerc ❤️💍

view all 5,631 comments

ynln obssesed with you for life 😚

⤷ formulaleclerc SOBBING I LOVE YN AND CHARLES

arthur_leclerc ❤️❤️

lovelyleclerc CHARLES AND YN ENGAGEMENT WAS NOT ON MY 2024 BINGO CARD WHAT THE FUCK

alex_albon and ynln

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alex_albon valen-time for a valentines dump

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ynln were literally so cool 😎

⤷ logansargeant the coolest 💯

⤷ formulaoneoneone logan is NEVER beating the yn and alex are his parents allegations

lando.jpg and ynln

liked by ynln, georgerussel63, oscarpiastri, danielricciardo and 653,762 others

lando.jpg 4 years down, forever to go. 😚

view all 4,372 comments

ynln I love you forever my sweet boy

⤷ ynln and happy Valentine’s Day, everyone! 🥰

norriswrld their anniversary being on Valentine’s Day may just be the most devastating thing in the world

⤷ ln4nation LITERALLY.

ynln and georgerussel63

liked by landonorris, alex_albon, charles_leclerc, mercedesamgf1, and 234,563 others

ynln my forever valentine. ❤️

view all 3,567 comments

georgerussel63 love you to the moon and back. 🌙❤️

⤷ amgr63 this is so sick and twisted george 😭

mickshumacher and ynln

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mickshumacher my favorite girls for life. happy valentines day ❤️

view all 2,532 comments

ynln micky, the people want to know - do you love me or Angie more?

⤷ mickshumacher yes.

⤷ shumishumi THIS IS SUCH A CUTE RESPONSE IM ON THE FLOOR

yukitsunoda0511 and ynln

liked by lando.jpg, liamlawson40, and 212,432 others

yukitsunoda0511 happy valentines ❤️

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ynln you’re my favorite human 🥹

cryingoverf1 what do y’all know about yn and yuki being the best couple on the paddock? NOTHING.

yukisgirl these are my parents btw guys (yn and yuki adopt me challenge)

logansargeant and ynln

liked by alex_albon, mickshumacher, oscarpiastri, and 214,567 others

logansargeant happiest man in the world 🫶🏻

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ynln happiest girl in the world 🥰

⤷ formulasargeant GOD THEYRE SO CUTE

taglist | @renarots @treehouse-mouse @jsjcue @piasstrisblog @vellicora @leclercvsx @sadieurlady @motorsp0rt @marshmummy @lovstappen @illicitverstappen @spidersophie @lokietro @arkhammaid @stopeatread @vroomvroomverstappen @kortneej81 @fastcarsandshit @elliegrey2803 @i-love-ptv @pretty-little-bunny382728

thank you for reading! <3

[obsessed-with-fake-men]

looking at you

when your movie date with Jeremy doesn't go how he planned, he has you put on a private show...not that you know he's pulling the strings

Jeremy Frazier x F!Reader

Rating: Mature/Explicit 

Content warnings: nsfw, mdni, dubcon, stalking/peeping, mutal(?) masturbation, he calls you a slut

Author's note: This fic can be read as a follow up to forever or as a standalone. Jeremy is still a pervy creep and will continue to be one.

Word count: ~3300

Jeremy loves looking at you. Honestly, it might be his favorite thing to do. He’s slyly watching you now, carrying yet another box of belongings up to your room. God you’re beautiful. He loves the way you puff out air to get a piece of hair out of your face when your hands are full. And the way you put your hands on your hips when you’re lost in thought. And not to mention how cute you are when you think no one is watching. How you dance around in your panties, singing into your hair brush. A little strip tease just for him.

He sees you pause and look down, then pick up a paper airplane.The note he sent your way moments ago, unfurling in your hand. 

meet me at 7, bring popcorn - j

Your eyes dart to the window, searching. For him. But Jeremy is safe in the shadows, free from your gaze. He watches you shrug and draw the curtains. Not to worry, he’ll see you soon.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Jeremy is pacing next to his house. He’s waiting for you. It’s 6:58 and you’re not there. 

Fuck what if you don’t show?

With your curtains blocking his view, Jeremy can’t be sure whether you’re coming or not. He glances at his watch: 6:59. 

I’m such a delusional idiot of course y/n isn’t coming.

The chime of the bell tower begins, signaling the top of the hour. Jeremy runs a hand through his hair in exasperation.

What would you want with a pathetic, no good, murde-

The creak of a door startles him out of his thoughts. Head jerking toward the sound, he sees you.

The tightness in his chest evaporates instantly and he unclenches fists he hadn’t consciously made. 

You look divine in the light of the setting sun. Jeremy’s eyes roam your figure, he notices you changed from what you were wearing earlier. The tight sundress hugs your upper body and is absolutely inappropriate for the October evening. 

Jeremy feels a smug sort of satisfaction at the thought that you chose it just for him. 

You clear your throat. 

“Like what you see?” you tease with a giggle.

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand and gesturing at your dress with the other.

“What can I say, you make me speechless.”

Warmth rises to your cheeks as you smile shyly. 

“Ummmm anyway,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I brought the goods.”

You produce a bag of pre-popped popcorn from behind your back.

“Skinny Pop?” Jeremy asks dubiously, quirking an eyebrow.

You shove his arm playfully. 

“My mom heard somewhere that the microwave stuff gives you cancer or something,” you shrug.

“We wouldn’t want that, now would we,” Jeremy jests.

You swear you see a dark gleam in his eyes, like a wolf staring down a doe before striking. But upon blinking you’re left looking into the warmth of his brown irises.

“Soooooo, are we heading inside?” you ask, moving to walk toward the house.

Abruptly, Jeremy grabs your hand and halts you in your tracks. 

You feel like you’ve touched a live wire as an initial cool jolt of electricity runs through your hand and arm, quickly fading to a warm tingle.

“Actually, I have a surprise for you,” he says with a grin, pulling you toward the backyard.

Turning the corner, you see a rustic treehouse glowing from within.

“Woah, a treehouse!” you exclaim. “I didn’t know this was back here.”

Jeremy watches you look up in awe. The lights of the house reflecting like stars in your eyes.

“Yeah, I come here to get away from everything,” he sighs. “It’s the only place I feel like I can really think, you know?”

Glancing up at him, you see a melancholic expression you know well and you give his hand a squeeze. “Yeah, I definitely get that.”

Jeremy lifts your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, he gives them a light kiss.

“Ladies first,” he murmurs, nodding toward the rungs leading up the tree. 

Reluctantly, you relinquish his hand and begin the climb. Leaning against the trunk, Jeremy looks up to enjoy the view. Your dress flicking up, tantalizes him with each rung you mount. Squinting, he can almost make out the color of your panties. Jeremy makes a silent vow that he’ll know the answer by the end of the night. 

When you reach the top you pause to gaze around the tree house. Its simple, worn wood was made enchanting - illuminated by fairy lights and the soft glow of a television. There was a nest of comforters and pillows on one side and an old CRT TV with a built-in VCR on the other. 

Arms snake around your waist, seeming to appear out of thin air. Jeremy pulls you into him, pressing your back to his body.

“What do you think?” he whispers into your ear. His cool breath feels like the autumn breeze, leaving a trail of goosebumps down your neck.

“It’s beautiful,” you sigh.

Jeremy spins you in his arms, hugging your waist tightly. 

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. Leaning down, he glances from your eyes to your lips and back.

You do the same, heart racing as you see his adam’s apple bob. Pushing up on your tiptoes, you almost close the gap between your mouths. 

“Is this the part where we kiss?” you ask breathily, looking up at Jeremy through fluttering lashes.

He answers with action - a palm flat on your back, pulling you together. His lips are soft, but you feel the need, the urgency behind the kiss. You grip the front of his soft flannel in one hand, attempting to pull him even closer to you.

Jeremy groans into you, he loves knowing that you’re just as desperate as he is. Testing your limits, he nips lightly at your bottom lip. You let out a soft moan and Jeremy quickly swallows it, heart soaring at the sound. Threading your fingers through his messy brown hair, you feel a dizzying weightlessness. 

Jeremy feels it too. Peeking his eyes open just a crack, he realizes the two of you are levitating.

Oh shit.

He pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours. Willing his rasping breath to come easier, he feels his feet settle back on the ground. In an attempt to keep your suspicions at bay, he pulls your body close in a tight hug before setting you down. You blink up at him, dazed. Leaning down, Jeremy kisses your forehead.

“At this rate we’ll never watch the movie,” he chuckles.

You settle into the blankets as Jeremy pops the VHS of Casablanca into the old television. As the tape slides into the machine, he sits next to you.

The title card appears in curly cursive script and the black and white film begins in earnest.

Leaning over you whisper, “I didn’t realize it was a classic!”

“I hope that’s alright,” he says, glancing over at you.

You nod vigorously and Jeremy chuckles, returning his attention to the screen.

“But the others wait in Casablanca,” the narrator’s mid atlantic voice bellows out. “And wait and wait and wait.”

Jeremy mouths along. He’s memorized all the movies in the house by now, and he’s always identified with that line. But now, he wonders if all this time he’s been waiting for you.

The two of you are sitting a respectable distance apart, as is you weren’t trying to swallow one another moments before. You both have one hand strategically placed in the space left unoccupied. Pretending to play with the blankets, a ruse to inch fingers closer and closer. Finally you touch, it’s a light, innocent brush. Over in a second. But the electricity is there again, sending a shiver down your spine.

Jeremy’s head snaps to you.

“Are you cold?” he asks. 

Before you can reply, his flannel is off and he’s helping you into it. The worn fabric smells earthy, like fallen leaves and wet dirt. It’s an odd but comforting smell, and you pull it tightly around yourself. 

“C’mere,” he says, opening his arms for you to snuggle into. And snuggle you do. Laying your head on his chest, you drape a leg across his hips. Jeremy wraps his strong arms around you, holding your body to his. 

The two of you stay like this for a while, unmoving. Relaxing into the steady rise and fall of Jeremy’s breathing, you notice how cold he must be in only his t-shirt. Just as you start to feel guilty about taking his flannel, Jeremy begins to trace light circles onto the exposed flesh of your thigh. His touch is maddeningly gentle and leaves a trail of burning desire. Two can play this game. 

You softly run your nails from his chest down across his stomach. Jeremy’s breath hitches as his muscles tense under your touch. He grips your soft flesh, squeezing your thigh tightly once before returning to those damn circles.

Biting back a moan, you turn your head to trail featherlight kisses along his collarbone, up his neck and to his adam’s apple. His cock twitches against your leg as Jeremy's wandering fingers trail up to cup your ass. You moan, playfully nipping at his jaw. 

“You’re not paying attention,” Jeremy groans. 

“I am paying attention, I promise,” you giggle. Shifting your weight to rub against his growing erection. 

“I'll show you paying attention,” he growls.

Pushing back to sit up against the wall, Jeremy pulls you onto his lap. 

You look so pretty perched there, with your hands resting on his chest, blinking those beautiful eyes at him. One hand finds its home on your hip, and he gently strokes your cheek with the other. He would do anything for you in that moment. If you said you wanted the moon, he’d spend eternity pulling it down from the heavens. 

“Here’s looking at you, kid,” Jeremy whispers, in perfect time with the movie. 

You giggle and your plush lips beckon his attention and grabbing the back of your neck, Jeremy pulls your mouth to his. 

His aggression takes you by surprise, causing you to gasp. Jeremy wastes no time delving his tongue into your open mouth. You freeze at the sudden intrusion. Jeremy softly rubs his thumb along your waist, coaxing you to relax into the kiss. He nips and sucks at your tongue, swallowing the moans you spill as he grinds his hips up into you. 

Jeremy snakes a hand up to your throat, squeezing gently and you practically melt for him. Arching your back, you break the kiss as you thrust your tits into his face. He releases your waist to take them gladly. Grabbing your soft flesh, he groans. You’re not wearing a bra. 

My little slut.

Pulling at your nipples through the fabric, you gasp and squeeze your legs around his thighs. Claiming your lips once again, Jeremy decides it’s time to find out what color your panties really are. Grabbing a handful of your ass, he slowly pulls your dress up and up and…you pull away, panting.

You’re so beautiful with your face flushed and eyes dark, he thinks this must be a preview of what you look like when you orgasm and he can’t wait to find out. As he starts to pull your dress up even farther, you put a hand on his chest, halting his action. Turning, you look over your shoulder to see that the credits are rolling. 

“Shit!” you laugh. “It’s over!”

Jeremy grabs the remote and dangles it from two fingers.

“It doesn’t have to be over if you don’t want it to…”

“Okay that’s true,” you giggle, “I'll actually watch it this time. I promise.” 

You hold out a pinky to him and Jeremy links his long finger with yours.

“I won’t hold you to it,” he winks

Laughing, you roll off of his lap. He groans at the loss of contact. 

“Is it okay if we don’t go any further tonight?” you ask, looking up at him with innocent eyes.

“Of course,” he sighs, cupping your face.

He gives you a light kiss on the forehead and you snuggle back up against him. Rewinding the movie, Jeremy finds the last part you remember. 

What a fucking tease. He’s going to make you pay for this later. 

You’re fully engrossed in the movie this time and Jeremy lightly plays with your hair. All the while he is dreaming up just what to do to get you back. 

When the movie finishes you reluctantly sit up. 

“I guess I should head home,” you yawn. “Unless you need help taking all this down?”

“Nah, I’ll take care of it later,” Jeremy replies. “Let’s get you home.”

Jeremy descends the treehouse steps first, something about being there to catch you if you slip. Hugging his flannel tight to your body, you carefully make your way down the rungs. When you near the ground, you feel Jeremy’s strong hands on your hips. He helps you hop down and you walk hand in hand back to the front of the house. When you near the edge of his yard, he pulls you into his body and presses his forehead to yours.

“See you tomorrow?” he murmurs hopefully. 

“You know where I’ll be,” you laugh.

Leaning up, you press a soft kiss to his lips. Jeremy’s greedy hands want more. They want to drag you up to his room so he can touch every inch of your flesh. To give you pleasure you haven’t even dreamed of. Instead, he simply squeezes your hands before releasing you into the night. 

He stands, unmoving as he watches you go. Once you’re safely inside, Jeremy slips up to his room. 

----------------------------------------------------------------

Turning on your lamp, you look out your window at Jeremy’s room. It’s still dark. 

He must be picking up the tree house.

Taking off Jeremy's flannel, you breathe in the scent of him when a sudden strange feeling comes over you. It’s like you’re moving on autopilot or something. Slipping your dress over your head, you saunter toward your full length mirror. You adjust it a bit, tilting and turning the mirror until the reflection is just right. Then you take a step back and get a good look at yourself. Almost naked, except for your red panties. 

I thought they were red, a smug thought echoes in your head. 

Your hand reaches for the flannel and you shrug it back on, thankful for its warmth. You must have forgotten to close the window earlier. Instead of shutting out the night air, your legs take you to the edge of your bed. Before you sit down, you slide your panties over your ass and down your legs, flicking them across the room at the mirror with your foot. 

You don’t even have time to question the action before you’re settling down on the edge of your bed, spreading your thighs wide. You take a moment to admire yourself in the mirror, naked except for Jeremy's open shirt. 

Such a perfect little slut, the smug voice taunts. 

You want to argue, but your hand begins to lightly trace up your body. From your knee, up your thigh, ghosting across your stomach and resting on your breast. You squeeze, and it feels eerily similar to how Jeremy touched you earlier. The thought evaporates when you roll your hard nipple between your fingers. You fall back onto the bed, as your other hand starts toying with your clit. 

----------------------------------------------------------------

He's done it. He never tried before, no one seemed worth the energy. But Jeremy has successfully possessed you. He isn’t sure the power really reaches that far, so maybe it’s more like influencing you. But that means you wouldn’t be doing the actions he’s implanting in your psyche if deep down you didn’t want to…right? 

The first thing he did was make sure he could watch you. He had you adjust your mirror so he can perfectly see you spayed out on your bed from the comfort of his desk. 

And splayed you are. 

Here’s looking at you, kid. 

Jeremy was teasing his cock before, lighting stroking it as you disrobed. But now that you have two fingers poised to enter your tight wet pussy, he can’t hold back any longer. 

He grips the base of his cock hard and groans, your cue to sink those fingers into your core. Jeremy’s hips stutter up into his fist as he hears a faint moan float through the window. He can see your hand moving faster and faster, hurriedly he speeds up his strokes. Desperate to match your pace. Your other hand snakes to circle your clit, causing your back to arch off the bed. Jeremy is hunched over his desk, eyes glued to your mirror. If he had an ounce of self respect, he may feel ashamed. Fisting his cock like a pervert to the little show he’s making you put on. But fuck, seeing you like this. His will being done so perfectly. It has to be right.

“Another finger baby,” he whispers. 

And instantly you respond. The resounding moan you release knocks the breath from his chest. So desperate. So hungry. A sound that says your fingers aren’t enough. His cock pulses in his fist. He’s dangerously close, but so are you.

“Cum for me,” he huffs, fucking up into his fist in earnest.

You whine, thighs trembling as your fingers pump in and out of your core.

Fuck you’re perfect.

As you orgasm, his name tumbles from those perfect lips. If it had just been once, Jeremy could’ve convinced himself he’ imagined it. But then you cry it over and over, chanting his name like a prayer. He can’t hold back any more. With one final buck of his hips, Jeremy cums with your name on his tongue.

It’s the most intense orgasm he can remember. Maybe it has something to do with the semi-possesion, maybe it’s just what you bring out in him, but Jeremy swears he’s seeing stars. 

When he finally comes down, he realizes he can’t sense you any longer. 

Fuck.

He must’ve lost the connection. His heart is beating so fast, he can’t hear a thing. But he stares intently at your mirror. At your frozen form, still spread perfectly for him to see. 

Then you stir.

----------------------------------------------------------------

You come to after what is maybe the hardest you’ve ever orgasmed. Definitely the best orgasm you’ve had with just your fingers. Why you didn’t grab your vibrator, you’re not sure. Groaning, you prop up on your elbow and look into the mirror. For a second you swear you see a pair of eyes shining back at you in the shadow of the reflection. Blinking, you sit up further. But the mirror is empty, reflecting only your open window. 

A cool breeze dances across your exposed skin and you shiver, pulling Jeremy’s soft flannel tight across your body. 

Jeremy…did I really just call his name when I…

You shake your head, dismissing the thought and get up to stretch out your tight muscles. Crossing the room, you go to close the window. Before you shut it, you lean out. The moonlight illuminates your form perfectly, naked save for that damn flannel. You can’t see him, but for some reason you think you can feel his gaze on you.

“Goodnight, Jeremy,” you giggle softly and you pull the window closed.

When the frame thuds shut, Jeremy finally breathes out a sigh. Shaking his head, he lets out a soft chuckle.

Playing with you is going to be so much fun.

[babyleostuff]

[ 💿 ] . . . TAPE 6

모두 함께 노래 부르자 / 힘찬 노랫소리 슬픔 가려지도록 / 괜찮을 거야 시계의 바늘처럼 / 다시 돌고 돌아 제자리로 오겠지

☁️ "circles" by seventeen

being loved by jeon wonwoo means having someone who will look at you as if you hung stars in the sky. he is rather shy and introverted, he doesn’t like grand and loud gestures when he wants to convey his love, he doesn’t see the appeal in buying expensive gifts for every date. that being said - they way he looks at you is something no words could ever describe. not only do his eyes hold the unconditional and utter love he has for you, but you can see how fucking proud he is of you, how you keep on fighting, even on your bad days. appreciation for how smart and beautiful you are. gratitude for appearing in his life. his eyes hold a palette of emotions, and you’d have to be blind not to notice how much you mean to wonwoo. the whole room could be filled with thousands of people, and he'd still be looking at you, as if his only thoughts were where are they where are they where are they.

being loved by jeon wonwoo means inner peace. maybe it's just his aura, maybe it's the fact that he is a (rather) calm person, but when you are around him you just feel peace. the paralysing pounding of your heart, the nagging thoughts that more often than not make you want to cry, the helplessness that you sometimes feel when coming home - all of that does not exist when wonwoo is next to you. maybe it's because you know that he will always be next to you when you fall to help you get up and keep going, maybe it's because you simply feel safe with him. but with him you just feel at peace. beautiful, blissful peace.

being loved by jeon wonwoo means that from now on you have a fan nr. 1. honestly, it’s kind of alarming how obsessed he is with you - others could try to argue that they know you better than he does, but no one can beat wonwoo, nah. oh, so you think you know them better than me? okay, cool, sure - and then he proceeds to take out a notebook with at least a hundred pages written down, explaining why you are the most talented, smart, brilliant and beautiful person in the world like it’s the most normal thing ever. moreover, no matter what your interests are, wonwoo always wants to be a part of them. he truly loves indulging in your hobbies, for him the greatest gift the universe could give him is watching you do something you love - how you radiate with happiness - that’s something wonwoo could watch for ages. he's the biggest loser when it comes to you, there's nothing he wouldn't do for you - he'd happily twirl if you asked him to.

being loved by jeon wonwoo feels like the smell of a new book, like the air after rain, like a hug when you’re too tired to say anything, like a single tear falling down your cheek, like a soft smile and gentle eyes, like a quiet promise of forever.

“we loved with a love that was more than love.” - edgar allan poe, annabel lee

taglist (if you want to be added, check my masterlist): @jeonghansshitester @weird-bookworm @sea-moon-star @hanniehaee @wonwooz1 @byprettymar @edgaralienpoe @staranghae @itza-meee @eightlightstar @immabecreepin @whatsgyud @hyneyedfiz @honestlydopetree @vicehectic @dkswife @uniq-tastic @marisblogg @aaniag @daegutowns @carlesscat-thinklogic23 @embrace-themagic @ohmyhuenings @nidda13 @hrts4hanniehae @k-drama-adict @isabellah29 @f4iryjjosh @bangantokchy @mrswonwooo @bangtancultsposts @lllucere @athanasiasakura @chillseo @onlyyjeonghan @haecien @caramyisabitchforsvtandbts @hannahhbahng @valgracia @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @mirxzii @hhusbuds @wonranghaeee @rosiesauriostuff @gyuguys @aaasia111 @tomodachiii @veryfabday @lilmochiandsuga @asasilentreader @mrsnervous @bewoyewo @sharonxdevi @wondipity @gyuguys @raginghellfire @treehouse-mouse @waldau @wonootnoot @hellodefthings @dokyeomkyeom @sourkimchi @bbysnw @haneulparadx @zozojella @hoichi02

[sanjisboyfie]

playlist : tender by blur

(pre-timeskip) monkey d. luffy x male reader

this was a special i wrote for my fanfic (thats not published here on tumblr) but i realized it could be a good standalone one shot so i wanted to post it hereeeee :) the relationship status is ambiguous, but its obvious luffy and reader have known each other since chidhood/foosha village and luffy really really really loves clinging to reader ! another thing, if u want this could be a soft yandere luffy as well cause hes definitelllyyy showing summ tendencies here lol

“tender is the night, lying by your side. tender is the touch of someone that you love too much. tender is my heart, i’m screwing up my life. lord, i need to find someone who can heal my mind.”

luffy’s first impression of [name] was that he was strong. he looked up to him, he wanted to be as cool as him and as capable as him. how many times [name] had saved luffy’s ass when they were children was uncountable. and all those memories live so vividly in the captain’s head.

and when he made [name] promise that he’d find him in the grand line - made him swear that he’d join his crew and not anyone else’s, it was all so serious. the most serious luffy had ever been in the face of [name].

because to luffy, there would be no reason sailing out to sea if [name] wasn’t by his side. it sounds childish, especially if luffy were to ever verbally say that, but overtime he had realized that it was another genuine sentiment. there was no way luffy could become the pirate king without [name] by his side.

"luffy, stop running over the mud, you’re gonna fall on your face!” [name] worriedly called out from the treehouse, seeing the rubber boy play in their yard. it had just recently rained and all the soil that was surrounding their treehouse was still sludgy.

of course, luffy wanted to play in the mud like the child he was. [name] wasn’t going to stop him, but he could at least warn the younger one of injury.

"come play with me, [name]! let’s make mud pies!”

“no! you’re just gonna get hungry and actually eat them! gross!”

“i won’t- i am hungry though!”

[name] didn’t reply, only leaning over the wooden railing of the treehouse and watching as luffy got himself all mucked up and dirty. somehow, his straw hat stayed clean the entire time. he sighed, fiddling with his own piece of shanks, the cloth on his wrist before smiling gently.

just as he was about to turn around and get some naps in, luffy’s shrill voice started screaming, “[name]! [name]! save me!!! save me!”

he whipped his head around in an instant, eyes widening when he saw that luffy was caught in a mud slide.

"i can't breathe!!"

his voice was getting farther away and [name] jumped out of the treehouse without hesitation.

“luffy! luffy!” he shouted desperately, grunting when his ankle got caught in the mud and he was being dragged into the disgusting substance as well. he jerked his body upwards, wanting to at least see where luffy could’ve possibly been.

and then he saw it — his tiny palm waving frantically around in the air. [name] grit his teeth, twisting his body every which way to break out of the sticky grasp the environment had on him.

"[name]-” the boy’s scream was cut off and the sound of coughing began to fill his ears.

”luffy!” he grabbed a vine that was on the side of a tree and ripped it off, unlocking a newfound strength in himself to save luffy. he threw it right into luffy’s palms and tugged as hard as he could.

he dug his heels into the ground, his jaw clenched as he put all of his strength in pulling luffy out. and when he finally did, the first thing he did was wrap his arms around the boy’s torso.

"can you breathe?! are you okay?!” he frantically asked, patting the boy’s back in case anything was lodged in his chest - hindering his breathing. but luffy just collapsed into his arms and began wailing.

“i thought i was going to die, [name]! thank you!!”

[name] protectively wrapped luffy up in his arms, hugging him as tight as possible as he tried to reassure himself that luffy was alright. and he steadied his breathing, allowing luffy to cry into his arms for however long he wanted.

“you stupid idiot, don’t ever play in mud again!” he scolded luffy, pushing away the black locks of hair out of luffy’s face. he grimaced when he felt how dirty his hair felt, reminding himself to bathe with luffy to ensure all the grime was washed out.

and despite luffy’s face almost being completely covered in mud, he still flashed that bright smile, “you saved me, [name]! thank you!”

[name] blinked a couple of times before laughing, “of course i’d save you! i’ll always be there! just scream like the little baby you are and i’ll come running!”

luffy frowned, hands balling into [name]’s mud ridden shirt, “i’m not a baby!”

“yeah, you are,” [name] corrected, “but it’s alright, i’ll take care of you no matter what! so you get the excuse of acting like a baby! but! only for a little while longer, you gotta start maturing soon, luffy!”

“don’t wanna, that sounds boring!”

“captain’s can’t be immature, y’know! i don’t want an immature captain!”

“i’m mature, the maturest captain out there!”

[name] laughed as loud as possible, finding luffy’s eagerness to please and obliviousness more heartfelt than anything he’s ever seen before.

and as [name] was sitting in the crow’s nest, watching luffy run around the deck whining for adventure, he realized how lucky he got that his captain was still an adventurous, reckless, and immature as he was. he fears that if luffy had lost any of those traits, he’d make for a boring captain.

as if knowing that [name] was watching from above, luffy looked up and grinned happily to see that his e/c eyes were looking at him. in a second, he stretched himself up to where [name] was and crashed into his chest.

“don’t you want to go on more adventures, [name]?” luffy asked, rubbing their cheeks against one another. the grin on his face could be felt along [name]’s skin. his rubbery, but soft, skin was already making [name] crack into a smile of his own.

“yes, i want to go on more adventures, but we need to find an island for that to be an option,” [name] reasoned logically, making luffy’s smile turn into a frown.

“but i wanna go now! can’t you take us to an island?!”

“it doesn’t work like that, luffy!”

“it so does, you liar!”

“you’re right it does, i was lying!” [name] grinned, laughing as luffy began play fighting with him. “but aren’t you on an adventure right now?”

luffy paused, stilling in his fake attacks as he mulled over the question. then his signature grin came back onto his face, “i guess i am!”

“what makes you say that?”

“if you’re here, i’m on the best adventure!” luffy sincerely, and unapologetically, shouted.

[name] was shocked at first before his expression melted into a loving stare, “i feel the same way,”

“good! it’d be wrong if you didn’t!”

luffy calmed down from when he was running around on the deck. he still had [name] wrapped up in his arms, but the man wasn’t fighting against his embrace. so he only tightened it further.

“i’m really, really, really, really, really happy you’re here, [name].”

luffy’s statement came out of nowhere, but [name] didn’t bother showing his surprise. he simply let luffy continue on.

“i don’t ever want to be seperated from you again,” luffy said, out of nowhere his voice was now trembling, “you’d leave and leave and leave and then i never knew when you’d be back — if you’d even come back! and i don’t want that ever again…don’t ever leave me again!”

[name] frowned, fists clenching at his sides as he heard luffy’s shaky voice.

“and then you left for three years and there was no way i could talk to you, you and ace left me by myself! but you promised me we’d find each other, so i knew you’d come back! and now that you’re back, you can’t ever leave again,” luffy tightened his hold on [name], nuzzling his now cold nose into his neck. it had turned cold due to the sudden rush of tears that were clouding his vision.

“no! no! don’t take him away! don’t take [name] away!” luffy shouted, fighting against the uniformed men. his fists were pathetically pounding into their legs, his cries filling the night air.

“[name]! don’t go! please, don’t go!!"

for [name], those cries that came from luffy lived in his mind on repeat. whenever he’d have to leave, against his will, luffy would wail and cry until he was too far that he wasn’t able to hear him. he’d never make luffy suffer like that again, he’d sworn it to himself.

he was supposed to be the one protecting him, not causing him pain. no more suffering would come to luffy, if [name] could help it. he’d never have to cry for him again.

“i won’t let you leave, i won’t let anyone take you away — never again!” luffy said stubbornly, his teeth grazing the flesh of [name]’s shoulder.

the captain never got sentimental like this — nearly coming to tears for apparently no reason. but, it was not a secret that he had an unseen side to himself when it came to [name].

it was a side that no one else on the crew had really witnessed for themselves (yet). a side of vulnerability that only [name] was capable of bringing out. it was like the way [name] could command luffy stop stealing food off of other people’s plates and the captain would listen (for a solid 5 minutes, then he’d have to cave in and steal more food for his stomach).

“i won’t leave, luffy.” [name] said in a determined tone, “no one is going to take me away. i belong here with you, so don’t worry about anyone coming for me.”

“if anyone tries taking you away, i’ll kill them. i’ll send them flying that they’ll never try coming back, ever again!” luffy shouted once more. a deep pit of anger lived in him, a secret that he kept hidden for the most part.

it was a sense of guilt, probably, that fueled it so wildly. the guilt of not being able to do anything when he was a child. so he feels the need to overcompensate now that he has become stronger. if [name]’s position in their crew was ever threatened, someone tried taking him away, luffy would have had years upon years of pent up anger to release.

no one really knew how angry he was. only himself. it was the type of anger he would showcase when one of his crewmates, his nakama, was threatened on a personal level. when he saw nami crying for help against arlong was the one instance he can remember the clearest.

but the thing is, if anything like that ever happened to [name], he doesn’t think he’d be able to control himself. if [name] was ever pushed to the point of begging and crying for help, luffy doesn’t know how sane he could act.

just thinking of how frail [name] was whenever he’d be taken away when they were younger made him feel blood thirsty.

and it was an odd feeling. he almost never feels this way. never so violent. but when it comes to [name], everything is a free for all in luffy’s mind.

ever since he was a child [name] has been nothing but kind, a protector for luffy. and the captain would rather die than fail in protecting the one person who was always there for him.

“ace, quit being so mean to luffy!” [name]’s voice shouted, scolding the freckled man. he ran over to the younger one’s side immediately, collecting him in his arms and creating a physical barrier around luffy and ace.

“you baby him too much! how is he supposed to get stronger-”

“he’s just a kid!!!” [name] would shout, as if the three year age gap between himself and luffy amounted to decades. “don’t be so mean to him, don’t hit him anymore! i won’t allow it!”

“there’s no way he’ll survive in the real world if you keep this up!”

[name] grit his teeth, standing up and socking ace right in the face, “you can’t decide that!!”

“i’m being realistic!”

“you’re bullying him, enough!” [name] spat out, once again gathering luffy into his arms, “i won’t allow you to hurt him any more! don’t ever think about laying your hands on luffy again!!”

luffy hid his face in [name]’s torso, a feeling blossoming in his chest. he didn’t know the name for it and in the coming years, it seems he’d never learn how to properly state this feeling.

but he did know that whenever [name] was nearby, luffy was protected. he felt protected. [name] was, as he is for so many people, a protector. natural instincts make him a self-sacrificial person. if taking a bullet in the place of someone else meant they’d live, he’d jump in front of the gun in an instant.

it was a trait of [name]’s that luffy genuinely hated. not how protective [name] was, but how involved he was in making judgement calls without regards to his own health.

that self-sacrificial mindset that made [name] think more irrationally than he’d ever notice. luffy hated that.

only tiny instances has ever been seen by luffy when they were growing up. taking scoldings and beatings from garp in order to save luffy the pain, shadowing luffy’s body with his own if there was a sudden danger directed towards him, things along those lines that would leave [name] with some injuries or scars.

but to think that this attitude of [name]’s could lead to more serious injuries, or even death, was what made luffy uncomfortable. made him want to punch a hole in the wall. it really, really infuriated him.

because in his eyes, [name]’s life was something more important than anything else. he didn’t understand how [name] could be so careless with something so important to luffy.

the idea that one day, someone may be in a life threatening situation, and [name] would take their place makes luffy’s heart start beating at impossible speeds and his breathing quicken. his mind would get cloudy in dark thoughts. and then he’d have to snap himself out of it to remind himself that he was day dreaming and nothing of those sorts was going to happen any time soon.

he’d make sure of it, as captain he was determined to.

”is he going to be okay, dadan?” luffy sniffled, tiny hands curled into fists as he stared at [name]’s bandaged form.

recklessly, [name] had jumped in front of an animal attacking luffy and took the attack for himself instead. it was a tiger slashing out to draw blood from luffy. [name] had caught the sight from the corner of his eye and ran as fast as he could, hoping to god he had made it in time.

and when he looked down and saw luffy unscratched, he weakly smiled in victory. three slashes were bearing into his skin and making him bleed profusely, but to see luffy unharmed in front of him was enough for him to pass out without a worry in his mind.

imagine luffy’s fear as he had to carry [name] on his back, on his own, not knowing if the ragged breathing coming down on his ears would suddenly stop. the fear and dread he’d feel if he took him all the way back to dadan and it was already determined to be “too late” to save [name].

and the way it would have all been his fault.

now, in reality, the damage wasn’t as bad as luffy had thought it out to be. but he was still only a child. the fact he had seen that much blood was enoug reason for why he thought [name] was really going to die. it was a relatively valid fear.

“he’s going to be alright, this brother of yours is the toughest one of the whole pack of you rabbid animals,” dadan grunted, taking her seat across from luffy by [name]’s side.

“not my brother,” luffy grumpily corrected, tired of people getting the wrong idea. how many times has he had to tell people [name] wasn’t his brother. to luffy he was so much more than that.

as rude as it sounded to his two other brothers, [name] was so much more than a simple title of “brother.”

“apologies,” dadan sarcastically said, “but really, he’s going to be fine luffy, he’ll be better if you just leave him alone, though.”

she stood up, going to walk out of the room and held the door open for luffy. she waited for him to join her side, but he was glued to being by [name]. seeing his resolve in staying by [name], she gently closed the door behind her.

luffy already promised himself he wouldn’t move until [name] opened his eyes.

he wouldn’t sleep until [name] opened his eyes. he wouldn’t eat until [name] drank water — since luffy knew that would be the first thing the boy would need when waking up.

he wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of things [name] was missing out on. especially when it was luffy’s fault he was in this state in the first place.

in the crow’s nest of merry, [name] could only rub up and down luffy’s arm in hopes of calming him down. he felt guilty for being the reason of luffy’s tears, but realized that there was nothing he could have done to prevent them.

the two were too familiar with why he was crying in the first place. they knew that combatting it before the tears would start was useless. luffy had broken down to [name] many times before, especially when they were younger. it would end in sleepless nights and sweet nothings being echoed in the air for luffy’s ears and luffy’s ears only.

and the best way to take care of it was to let it happen. whispered nothings weren't really effective to luffy. he didn’t want to be fed empty promises, he could tell when things couldn’t be guaranteed. but, he thinks, if [name] is the one saying them he wouldn't mind at least hearing them. that didn’t necessarily mean he was listening though.

there was something else he would never pass up on hearing over and over and over again from [name]. it was four simple words. it could be false hope being put into luffy’s head, but he’d believe it for as long as he could.

“i’m not going anywhere,” [name] whispered into luffy’s arms, twisting his body around so now he was properly hugging luffy as well. before luffy had simply suffocated him in his arms, chest to back. but now that they were in a proper embrace, luffy could really hide himself in [name]’s arms.

it was like they were in the treehouse again. in their own world.

“i’m not going anywhere,” [name] repeated more slowly, raking his hands through luffy’s hair and gripping him tight. to emphasize the fact that this was a promise that he’d try his best in keeping.

to luffy, [name] was not a brother.

“i won’t let you,” luffy said in a stubborn voice, the syllables shaking as they left his lips. “you belong here, only here! you belong with me!”

[name] weakly laughed at luffy’s childish exclamation, nodding his head to ease his worries.

luffy never really got to vent these emotions out, so when did they come to surface, they were almost like a tsunami. they’d drown him in saying things he might’ve not even understood, but felt right to say.

and he’d blabber on about things he might not understand because he knew keeping them suppressed wasn't an option.

luffy didn’t know how to talk about the emotions he felt regarding [name], not in a way that would do them justice at least. he didn’t know how to articulate how protective he felt of [name], so instead as a compromise he’d attach himself to him whenever he could.

if someone tried sweeping [name] off of his feet, he wouldn’t know how to tell other people [name] was only his, so instead he’d yell about how annoying that person was to him and [name].

he didn’t know how to properly say how much he loved [name] so he’d boil it down to thinking [name] was heaven on earth.

[name] smiled gently when he felt luffy bury his head into his neck, tears pouring out of his eyes. he wondered what spurred luffy into being so open at the moment, but he wasn’t going to ask. it wasn’t appropriate and it didn’t matter.

he didn’t care why luffy was suddenly so worried on him no longer being there, he’d only focus on assuring him that he really wasn’t going anywhere. because someone would have to pry his cold, dead hands off of luffy if they wanted to separate the two. there’s no way he’d ever leave luffy again, especially after hearing his worries so vividly spoken now.

sure, luffy would say things relatively similar things to this when they were young. but there was always a sense of uncertainty in [name] when he would comfort luffy back then. he wasn’t sure if he was really going to be able to stay with him. the circumstances were so confusing back then.

but now it’s a clear picture. he knows that there is no way anyone could come between the two. after being pulled apart so sporadically in their youth and then being separated for three years due to [name] setting sail earlier, there was no room for argument in this matter.

[name] and luffy wouldn’t ever be separated for long ever again. [name] would do everything in his power to ensure that didn’t happen. anything to keep luffy happy. anything to keep luffy safe and protected.

“will you always leave like this when we are older, [name]?” luffy innocently asked one night. the two were awake due to the younger one having vivid nightmares regarding [name].

a nightmare that was reoccuring nowadays. [name] would be taken away and then he’d never come back, leaving his status unknown to luffy. and he’d wake up screaming and crying and [name] would be at his side in an instant.

”i’m working on it, lu, i really am,” [name] consoled him, holding him as they bathed in the moonlight. “i hate being away from you too, but there’s nothing we can do abuot it — for now.”

“i’ll get stronger and then i’ll beat all those stupid guys up!” luffy said in pure determination, his eyebrows furrowed together in anger and frustration, “i’ll fight them next time,”

[name] chuckled, shaking his head, “don’t fight them. just promise to me you’ll always be waiting for me when i leave and i’ll always, always come back,”

luffy blinked owlishly before settling on that compromise. he wiggled his pinky finger in the air, right in front of [name]’s face, “i’ll promise to always be here waiting if you promise to always come back,”

[name] paused, thinking of he really should make empty promises. but then he shook his head, refusing to think so negatively and in a pessimistic way when luffy’s smile was bringing nothing but optimism to their conversation.

so he interlocked their pinkies together, shaking slightly as he nodded, “i promise.”

[name] was tender.

in his earliest memories of [name], luffy has known him to only be tender. the tender care [name] would show him, the love that was delivered to him so tenderly. the touch that would ghost over his skin, not because he was scared of holding him, but so he wouldn’t startle him.

no matter what, [name] would always be tender to luffy.

[rebouks]

Previous // Next

Hi Alex!

I don’t think it’s stupid or cheesy to miss someone, I miss you too! Going back to normal after being on holiday is always horrible, especially after this one, and especially having to go back to school, I’m not a big fan! Do you go to school too? I wanted to ask if you did but I couldn’t… it’s nothing personal, by the way, sometimes I just can’t speak to people and I don’t really know why. I thought it was my decision if I did or didn’t before I met you but maybe not. My parents n’ the teachers at school call it selective mutism but I won’t bore you with all that crap.

I can’t see your new teeth but they grow fast so maybe next time! If they don’t maybe you could get some gold one’s like your dad has, unless you don’t wanna look like a pirate lol.. my littlest sister has four teeth now, and I have all my big teeth! I haven’t counted the twins though cos they’d probably bite me if I tried haha!!

Ava is the tiny one with the blonde pigtails! She’s cute but she still sleeps and poops a lot haha, she’s sorta chill though and definitely doesn’t cry as much as Wren and Byrd used to (have you noticed we’re all named after birds yet? I guess my parents thought it was cute since our last name is Finch) Wren’s the ginger one with plaits! She’s pretty funny but she’s super grumpy sometimes and likes to bite and kick (not me though, she loves me) I think it’s cos she’s tired a lot cos she never sleeps at night, kinda like dad.. they’re twins but Byrd is way different, I couldn’t get a picture of him cos he kept running off, he’s crazy like that but he’s super snuggly and loves playing doctor! He likes to pretend to break my legs so I can’t go anywhere then fix them for me haha. Brothers and sisters are fun but they can be a pain in the butt sometimes! We have a cat called Lou too, his full name is Toulouse and he likes to bring us leaves from the garden and scream about ‘em, and he loves stealing food when you’re not looking.

Dad’s been teaching mom how to cook cos she sucks at it (don’t tell her I said that though cos I always pretend it’s not THAT bad) she’s sorta getting better though so I suppose the whole practice makes perfect thing pays off eventually. I got a school project to make a lame volcano that I didn’t wanna do as well, but my parents made me do it anyway.. we all know that real volcanoes aren’t full of baking powder and vinegar though so I dunno if there was much point to it but they seemed to think it was important so I did it anyway, at least I got a picture of it “going off” I guess. No one likes homework, even if it’s supposed to be fun, right?!

It’s cool you set Amber free!! I’m sure she’s happier wherever she is now so I guess you could just think of that when you miss her? The rocks are way cooler anyway! My aunt Aspen has loads of crystals too, sometimes she even charges them in the sun or the full moon.. I keep forgetting to ask her why but I’ll try and remember so I can tell you next time!

Hahaa your poor dad with those birds! I’ll definitely keep the picture cos it’s hilarious, Wren found it the funniest but don’t worry, I’ll keep the picture safe from her sticky hands! I have a hiding spot in the attic for all the stuff I don’t want them touching. I guess birdwatching is sorta fun sometimes but you’ve gotta be quiet (easy for me I guess.. hah!) I’m not sure there’s any other birds round here other than seagulls since we live right next to the sea, those are the ones you can hear the most anyway cos they never shut up! My dad jokes that he used to be a seagull in a past life cos he’s loud and greedy like they are lol.. he’s been building me a treehouse too, I bet that’d be good for birdwatching!! It’ll be super cool once he’s finished but it’s taking ages cos he mostly does it all by himself, I try n’ help sometimes but I’m still too small to carry or lift most things.. I wanna be as strong as him one day, he can build and fix almost anything (he swears a lot during it though haha!) Do you ever think about what you wanna be when you grow up? I don’t really think about that sorta stuff cos working sounds boring, especially if it’s as lame as school!!

I’m ten, by the way! How old are you and when’s your birthday? Mine’s February 22nd. I don’t think I have a favourite food, anything my dad makes is amazing cos he’s a good cook and my mom makes the BEST pancakes! We’re always stuffed after dinner but dad says (lies) that pudding goes in a different part of your stomach so there’s always room for cake haha.. I think I like it best when he makes spicy food but Wren and Byrd hate it so he doesn’t make stuff like that too often. It’s fun to see how much you can eat before your mouth feels like it’s on fire and I’ve decided I’m gonna beat him one day so he better watch out!!!

I didn’t know what to write at first but I guess I sorta ended up writing quite a lot since I had some catching up to do! Are you and your dad on holiday in the tower or are you living there for now? It sorta sounded like you’ve been there a long time, where do you usually live? What kinda stuff does your dad dig up for work? It’d be cool if he dug up dinosaur bones!! I watched something like that recently and they were HUGE!

It’s hard to think of questions on the spot but you can talk about anything you want too! I probably owe you a million answers as well so you can ask anything you want too! I had fun reading your letter and I’m glad we can be pen-pals even if we don’t get to see each other! Maybe next time we meet in person I’ll be able to say something, but writing would still be fun too so I guess it doesn’t really matter, right?

Love Robin c:

ps. I’m keeping the funny photo of you yelling at your dad and there’s nothing you can do about it!!

pps!! I don’t have a way to print out photos yet otherwise I’d have sent some new ones. Dad gave me an old polaroid ages ago but it’s still broken, his friend said he might be able to fix it though so hopefully I can use that next time. Mom said you can have some of our old ones and the ones from her disposable camera whilst we were on holiday for now though so I’ll send those to you as soon as they come back!

[merxcywritesthings]

𝑆𝑎𝑙 𝐹𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑅𝑒𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝐻𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠

Characters: Sal Fisher

TW: None, this is all fluff :)

a/n: My first ever written piece for Tumblr! I’m very excited to publish this for you all to read. The rest of the gang will be coming soon, don’t worry! With that being said, enjoy!

𝐒𝐚𝐥 𝐅𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫:

♡ My favorite baby blue boy 💙

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩:

♡ You two met when you moved into Addison Apartments!

♡ You and your family had moved in the apartment that was beside Todd. Your family had encouraged you to go around a meet your neighbors since you had already finished unpacking, and lucky for you, you just happened to run into the blue haired boy with pigtails talking to a kid with glasses, who you presumed to be his friend.

♡ Not wanting to interrupt their conversation, you figured you would introduce yourself to them later. Little did you know you caught the attention of the pigtailed boy as you walked past them, kind of had the look he gave towards Ashley in the second chapter!

♡ Asks Larry or Chug if they had met you and asks a million questions about you also.

♡ He goes out of his way to find more information about you, that cool book you just read about? He will finish the entire book or series that night. Just saw this cool movie? He’s watching it as soon as he gets home from school. This band you recently got into? He’s buying all their albums. He wants to learn everything about you.

♡ Finally, he goes up to apartment door—thankfully you answer and not one of your parents—and introduces himself and soon he finds himself enthralled by you.

♡ Now you two are officially attached at the hip, going where the other goes.

♡ Larry can see Sal growing more and more fond of you each day that passes. Even poking at Sal to make a move already.

♡ Sal finally works up the courage to ask you out that night and asks you at school if you wanted to hang out at his apartment later, and of course you agree.

♡ Freaks out. Tremendously. Is running around the apartment like crazy making sure everything is tidy and neat before you arrive. Even has Larry come up to help him.

♡ Larry tries to calm down Sal, telling Sal that he just needs to breathe and stop worrying because she likes you for who you are and isn’t going to judge you.

♡ That isn’t to say you aren’t freaking out about this too, you have only ever hung out with Sal at school, the treehouse, Larry’s room or Todd’s room.

♡ Panicking, you call Ashley and she tells you the same thing Larry said to Sal.

“Just breathe, Reader; Sal cares for you in his own quiet way, I’ve seen the look in his eyes whenever you’re near. The way he remembers the things that matter to you, it’s obvious that he loves you. You just need to tell him.”

♡ Those words brought you comfort, and little did Sal know you planned on doing the same thing he was doing.

♡ Soon, the time arrives for you to head over to Sal’s place to hang out.

♡ You two are having so much fun, playing with his Gearboy, Messing with Gizmo, watching horror movies, etc.

♡ You even got to meet Sal’s dad, who tells you to call him Henry instead of Mr. Fisher—he jokingly told you that Mr. Fisher is name you would use to call an old person and he isn’t ready for that title yet.

♡ Then the time comes where he feels confident enough to ask you to be his.

♡ When he does ask you out, I picture you guys having a Luz and Amity moment from the Owl House—when Luz tries to ask out Amity but she’s beat Luz to it first.

𝐃𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩:

♡ He 100 percent trusts you—after all you did ask him to date you—but it takes him a while to take his prosthetic off around you, like months.

♡ Once he feels more comfortable with you, the mask is always off.

Side note: Sal loves it when you take in consideration of his skincare, I headcanon that Sal has very sensitive skin after the incident and can only use certain brands of soap to wash his face with. One time you found a brand that wouldn’t aggravate his skin and offered to help him wash his face with it, he started to cry.

♡ Sal would try and be the best boyfriend he could be: never forgetting anniversaries, reminding you of your schedule, helping you with homework, etc.

♡ Would absolutely teach you how to play guitar in your guys spare time.

♡ Writes little songs for you on and sometimes plays them for you.

♡ I feel like Sal’s type of love is physical touch—since he was deprived of it at a young age—quality time, acts of service and words of affirmation.

♡ Sal will go out of his way to get you little gifts or trinkets (whether bought or found somewhere random), he always makes sure to take mental notes whenever you mention you want something from a certain store.

“Hey I found this flower, and it reminded me of us.”

♡ Loves prolonged hugs and cuddle sessions with you, like I said earlier, I picture Sal being touched deprived so any chance he could take you to either his room or the nearest sofa with Gizmo laying near you guys, it is like heaven for him.

♡ Would let you paint his nails, do his hair, or even put makeup on him. He loves being your personal model, it makes him feel pretty.

♡ Sal is not really big on looks—for obvious reasons—he just wants someone who will accept for who he is.

♡ Sal is obsessed with wearing your clothes. Sal is a short king and if you and him are the exact same size or your taller than him, you best BELIEVE he will be walking around Addison Apartments with some form of your clothing on.

♡ If you wear something of his though? Game over.

♡ One time you went into Sal’s room thinking he was in there, only to find him gone and his sweater lying neatly on his bed. Surely he wouldn’t get mad over you wearing his black sweater for a little bit, right? Once Sal returned back to his room after trying to find ghosts around the building, he found you sprawled out on his bed , wearing his sweater, with Gizmo in your lap, purring. This boy’s face became completely flushed under his mask and couldn’t even bring himself to look at you for the remainder of the day.

♡ Dates are more lowkey between you two. Staying home and playing video games or movie nights are two of his favorites.

♡ Please kiss him all over, prosthetic or not. He adores it. 💙

♡ Calls you Bluebell, Love, Princess/Prince, Sunshine, Sweetheart, Dear, Beloved.

♡ Would absolutely cook for you if you ask him too. For me, I feel Sal’s mom used to be the main cook of the household, reading recipes she would find from cookbooks. After her passing, Sal secretly took one of her cookbooks and stashed it away in his room in New Jersey and still has it even as an adult.

♡ Whenever you guys are public, he makes it known you are taken—not in a jealous kind of way, more like showing public affection.

♡ Locks pinkies with you.

♡ Loves just wrapping his arms around you and laying his head on your shoulder. It brings him comfort.

♡ Reads you like a book, even though he’s not great with his emotions, he can tell whenever yours have changed.

♡ Has matching bracelets with you, that he never takes off, unless he’s showering.

♡ Absolutely sees a future with you.

𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑑𝑜 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑧𝑒 𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛. 𝑇ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑑𝑜 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘𝑠! <3

𝐷𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑏𝑦: 𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑑𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑝ℎ𝑖𝑐𝑠-𝑛-𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒

[tickletastic]

Drink or Dare

Fandom: The Inheritance Games

Ship: N/A

Summary: Takes place during the game of Drink or Dare played in the treehouse in The Brothers Hawthorne. My take on how they managed to get a smiley face on Grayson's tummy during the game.

“No,” Grayson grits through clenched teeth, but his brothers can see the glint in his eyes, he's nervous.  “Absolutely not.”

Drink or Dare had always been a bit embarrassing, a bit vulnerable and silly. It’s an even playing ground for the Hawthorne boys, a way for them to get some semblance of real vulnerability from each other. So far, the dares hadn’t been too bad, at least not on Grayson’s end, but he figured his brothers were working their way up, there’s no way they’d go easy on him the entire time. 

After Xander was made to create a Rube Goldberg machine just to slap his own ass, and Nash chose to eat a piece of his cowboy hat instead of drinking the toxic slurry the brothers had made as the alternative option, Grayson figured the embarrassment and silliness would soon target him. His brothers were here to take his mind off of things after all, and Hawthornes have always been partial to believing that embarrassment could be a great distractor. 

“You know the game, little brother,” Nash says in his smooth, Texan timbre. How he’s the only Hawthorne brother with the signature Southern drawl is beyond Grayson, but the authority in his voice still sends a shiver down his spine, and the way his laid back demeanor lends itself to teasing his brothers.

“This is juvenile,” Grayson shirks, avoiding eye contact with all of his brothers, glancing shiftily around the treehouse. 

“I’d expect nothing more from a Hawthorne Drink or Dare,” Jameson remarks, signature lazy smirk on his face. He keeps capping and uncapping the Sharpie, the click-click-click working up Grayson’s nerves.

“Okay Mr. Broody McBrooderson, we’ve known that you’re crazy ticklish since, like, birth, basically. So why don’t you just let us draw you a new face? That, or my newest Hawthorne patented concoction is all yours to savour.” Xander buzzes, reaching out to poke Grayson in the side, to which he recoils so violently that he practically ends up in Nash’s lap. Nash offers Grayson no favours, and he digs into his younger brother’s ribs with two clawed hands. 

“Nash! No! Nahahash, stop it!” Grayson yells, trying to keep his normal edge of authority in his voice, his cool demeanor cracks with every knowing wiggle to his sensitive ribs. He starts to squirm away, nearly a mess already from Nash’s short row, and Xander, adding his teasing fingers to the mix, gets him begging embarrassingly quick. “Fuhuck! Okay! Ohohokay!”

“Begging for mercy already, little brother?” Nash teases, withdrawing his fingers from Grayson’s ribs and ruffling his brother's hair. Grayson huffs out of his nose and shakes his head out of Nash’s grip, batting away Xander’s lingering fingers.

“What will it be, Gray?” Jameson asks, grinning from across their makeshift circle. 

Grayson glares in Jameson’s direction, and sneaks a look at the grotesque mixture he can choose to drink as an alternative to his brothers’ silly dare. The “liquid” is a strange, mildewy colour, a terrible concoction of ketchup, A1 sauce, hot sauce, milk, and lemonade. It bubbles and curdles at the top, unendingly since Xander added the final ingredients to it more than an hour prior, and it’s enough to convince Grayson that maybe, just maybe, the dare would be more bearable. 

“Fine, but this is still a childish dare,” Grayson gripes while he begins unbuttoning his silky white dress shirt, revealing the white tank top beneath it. He grimaces at the feeling of cold air over his torso as he strips the tank top too. 

“Lay down,” Jameson demands, smirking at his brother, reaching out to grab the Sharpie he had placed on the floor. He’s on his knees quick, approaching the other side of the circle to kneel above Grayson. 

“Am I gonna have to hold ya down, Gray?” Nash asks, looming over Grayson with a far too pleased look on his face.

“I’m not five, Nash, I can stay still for a stupid dare.” 

“Something tells me that you’re going to regret that attitude,” Nash teases, kneeling at his brother’s side in case Jameson needs some help finishing the job.

“Alright, Gray,” Xander starts with a smile, a face of pure glee at the possibility of seeing his brother laugh for once, “this might tickle.”

Jameson uncaps the Sharpie, and brings it down slowly to Grayson’s skin, the anticipation making his older brother squirm. When the tip finally touches down on Grayson’s belly, he gasps, and curls completely into a ball, pushing the Sharpie away.

“Grayson, bud, I know you can do better than that sorry excuse for staying still.”

Grayson blushes bright red, and he hates that the embarrassment of it makes him blush even more. Its mortifying. He brings his hands up to cover his face, groaning in a rare display of vocal frustration.

Jameson takes this as the opportunity that it is and brings the marker down again to work on the eye of the smiley face he’s drawing. 

Grayson screeches, hands thrown down to protect him from the tickly, wet ink of the permanent marker, and Jameson levels him with a bored look. The reversed roles, Grayson acting out and Jameson responding with a bored indignation, flusters Grayson even more. He’s trying to get ahold of his expressions again when Nash grabs both of Grayson’s wrists in one of his hands, hauling them above his head.

“I warned ya, Gray,” Nash teases, nodding at Jameson to continue. 

Jameson tries to finish the first straight line he had started for the smiley face’s eye, dragging the Sharpie from under Grayson’s pec to the bottom of his ribs, but his older brother’s squirming, and the huffy, aborted giggles he’s letting out, distract from the attempted masterpiece. Grayson even starts bringing his legs up in an attempt to block his brother from continuing. 

“Xan, some help, please?” Jameson asks with a mischievous wink. Xander nods like an excited puppy before climbing on top of their brother’s legs, effectively pinning him so Jameson can have unrestricted access. 

“Wait! I’ll drink,” Grayson tries to reason, while Xander makes finger wiggling motions in his direction, making him dizzy with restrained laughter and anticipation. 

“No can do, Gray,” Jameson snorts, “you already chose your fate.”

“Them’s the rules!” Xander exclaims. 

This time, when Jameson’s marker makes its inevitable descent, there’s nothing Grayson can do but accept the giggles that are pouring out of him, the thought of the tickly feeling making him giddy even before the marker can touch down. When it finally does, Grayson snorts, throwing his head back into Nash’s knees, a smile creeping up that threatens to split his face.

Jameson is able to finish the first eye this time, despite Grayson’s wigglyness, and he gets halfway through the second when Grayson squeals, the Sharpie hitting a sensitive spot on his ribs. Jameson, always the troublemaker, presses down with the marker, wiggling it around in the same spot, going over the first half of the second eye again and again. 

“Ja-Jahahamie! Mercy, plehehease!” Grayson screeches, pulling desperately at his arms in hopes that Nash will show him some mercy. He’s been tickled absolutely silly by his brothers many times before, but something about this time is so flustering. Maybe it’s because it isn’t really supposed to tickle, or because he’s trained himself to be completely serious all of the time, or maybe even the stress with Gigi and Savannah. Whatever it is, it makes the Sharpie tickle a hundred times more.

“It’s a wonder you’re this ticklish and alive, Gray,” Nash teases, but he can’t help his own smile at his normally serious brother giggling himself silly. 

Grayson’s blush sits high on his cheeks, creeping up his ears, but there’s nothing he can do but take the silly torture. His giggles are high-pitched and bubbly, forcing out a playfulness he hasn’t experienced in ages. 

“JAMEHESON!” Grayson shouts, snorting through his laughter when Jameson begins to use the canvas of Grayson’s tummy as the location of the smiley face’s mouth. The repeated back and forth motion sends Grayson into a flurry of snorts and squeals, only egged on by Jameson deciding that the face should have a tongue exactly where Grayson’s belly button is. 

While Jameson fills in the tongue he drew with the marker, Grayson screams so shrill and panicked that it shocks him into stopping. When Grayson keeps squealing and shrieking, tears of mirth in the corners of his eyes, Jameson grins down at him, lopsided. “Gray, I’m not even doing anything.”

“Oh,” Xander says, and Nash and Jameson both look his way, “that might be my bad.” Xander’s fingers are going to town on Grayson’s socked feet, and Grayson is laughing so hard that it’s coming out in wheezes, hiccuping for breath.

“Pl-p-puhuhlehehease! Cahahan’t! Gohohonna die!” Grayson begs, too weak to wiggle or pull for escape.

Just before Jameson can bring the marker back down to Grayson’s tummy, Nash’s voice, in his designated Big Brother Tone, cuts through the air, “alright, alright, kid’s had enough.” 

Jameson snickers, and Xander makes a vaguely disappointed noise before backing off of Grayson. Once he’s free, he curls up into a ball, stray giggles and wheezes leaving him breathless still. Nash can’t help but reach out to ruffle his little brother’s hair again.

“Thahat was hehell,” Grayson sputters, but the smile on his face has yet to go away.

“Could’ve been worse,” Xander says, “it could’ve been a Rube Goldberg machine to slap your own ass.”

[berzahoes]

you and me | izzy stradlin

summary: no matter what axl told him, izzy could never stop loving you.

an: it’s about time i wrote something for my man izzy <3 not an exact timeline of how things actually went but hey, that’s fanfiction for ya!

warnings: axl rose that should always be a warning

the moment izzy saw you, he swore he was in love. at the time, you were both in high school. he had long hair and beat up shoes that were years old. on the other hand, you were the nicest clothes and shoes while your hair was perfectly cut and brushed. he noticed that you always wore a locket, maybe a family member had given it to you as a present.

you were known as the nicest girl in school. nobody had anything bad to say about you until a certain lead singer saw how in love his friend was with you.

“she’s a prude. why waste your time on her?”

izzy would immediately defend you. “you don’t know her. stop saying shit if you don’t know her.”

it was after your high school graduation that you and izzy began to talk. your family had thrown you a party. as you were helping your mom bring in decorations from her car, izzy just so happened to walk by since your houses were close to each other. you noticed him and waved for him to come over. he couldn’t believe that the most popular girl from high school was about to talk to him.

“hi, jeffrey.” you said in your sweet voice that izzy loved.

“you know my name?” he asked.

“well, yeah. we went to the same elementary school. remember mrs. smith? she wore those big glasses?” you said.

“i remember now and i remember you doing a project about the ocean and you said your favorite animal was a betta fish and some kid made fun of you for liking a fish.” he realized how much information he remembered. was it normal to remember all that? he probably looked like a creep—

“it still is. it’s a pretty fish.”

izzy only nodded.

“do you want to come over later? i’m having a graduation party and i would love for you to come.”

“yeah, thanks. maybe i’ll drop by. i’ve been busy with my band.”

“you’re in a band? that’s cool! what kind of music do you play?”

izzy wished he didn’t even the band, but at the same time, he wanted to share what he loved with you. “it’s just a . . band. you know, rock, we play that.”

“cool, maybe i can come see you guys perform?” you questioned.

“if you don’t mind sitting on a old couch in a garage.” he joked.

“every band starts somewhere, jeff.”

“izzy, i go by izzy.” he was nervous about what you thought about his name. did you like it? did you hate it so much that it made you not want to talk to him ever again?

“well, izzy, i still mean what i said.”

during the party, you introduced izzy to your parents. izzy thought it was a bad idea since most parents took one look at him and instantly thought he looked like trouble. but your parents weren’t that type.

“mom, dad, this is izzy. we went to the same elementary school. he graduated too.” you said as izzy shook hands with your parents.

“nice to meet you, izzy. congratulations on your graduation. any plans for your future?” your mom immediately asked.

“honey, the boy just got out of school. the last thing he wants to do is think about college,” your dad said. “our daughter says she wants to travel for a bit before she goes to college. we told her that as long as she has the money and she’s with someone we trust, she can travel as much as she can.”

then you whisper something into izzy’s ear that had both of your parents wondering. when you finished, izzy chuckled and nodded.

“he let me say this, izzy is actually in a band.” you blurted out.

“a band? that’s great. you know, i was almost in a band once. . .” your dad spoke.

and that was your cue to take izzy someplace else so you ended up in your old treehouse that your dad built. the party was still going on as you and izzy layed on the wooden floor.

“do you want to go to college?” izzy asked.

you sighed. both your parents went to college so they expected you to go as well. but all of you wanted to do was travel. you were born and raised in lafayette, the only time you went out of state was for your cousin’s wedding in georgia that you didn’t remember because you were five years old.

“I don’t know. you know how our teachers always say you have to go to college to get a good job and good money? i don’t think that. i want to go anywhere, everywhere. i don’t need a math degree or read shakespeare,” you explained. “i want to go to los angeles, i want to experience it so bad.”

“then let’s go.” izzy said casually.

“what?” you turned to him.

“let’s go to los angeles, you and me.” he repeated.

“but what about your band?” you asked.

“we were never going to make it out of the garage anyways. maybe los angeles has something for me.”

so after a few weeks, it was decided. you and izzy were going to the city of angels. when you told your parents, they were hesitant, but you reminded them of your dad’s words. they helped you pack and even gave you extra money so you wouldn’t worry.

back at izzy’s house, axl was trying to talk him out of leaving, especially with ‘the prude’ as he nicknamed you. but izzy wasn’t listening to him. he continued packing as axl listed all the reasons why it was a bad idea.

“she’s not going to survive the streets of los angeles, izzy. look at her! she’s going to break and then she’ll come back crying to mommy and daddy.” axl stated.

“she won’t because she’ll have me.” izzy replied.

“then you’re both dead.”

soon, you and izzy were on your way to los angeles. your parents had payed for your plane tickets. when the plane touched down in lax, you smiled at the feeling of being out of indiana.

“you ready?” izzy asked, grabbing your hand.

you nodded. “ready.”

1982

you and izzy now called los angeles your home. it took months of working and saving up money, but you and izzy found a nice small house in a good neighborhood. your parents often called to make sure you were okay. you would sometimes find izzy on the phone with your dad.

when you and izzy arrived to the city of angels, you immediately started looking for a job. a record store owner hired you since the store had just opened and the way only had two employees. it was definitely a dream job for you.

it was a spring break when izzy’s friend, axl, decided to join you and permanently move to los angeles.

“you’re still here?” axl asked you when he saw you walk through the door of your house. he was sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. he definitely took the phrase ‘make yourself at home’ too literally.

“yes, axl, i’m still here. this is my home.” you clarified as you walked towards your and izzy’s shared room. you dropped your purse on the floor then threw yourself on the bed. you were exhausted from work and all you wanted to do was sleep, but of course when axl rose is in your house, sleep is not an option.

“hey, you hungry?” you heard izzy ask from the doorway.

you could smell mac and cheese. “not right now, izzy. my feet hurt, i have a headache and i have the opening shift tomorrow.” you groaned.

“you have to eat something.” izzy encouraged.

“she doesn’t want to eat, let her starve i guess.” axl took the pot of mac and cheese from izzy’s hands so he could eat it.

“what is he still doing here?” you had enough and got up from your bed.

“don’t even start with me, bitch!” you heard axl yell as izzy closed the door to your bedroom.

“i’ll make him leave. he’s only here because we were rehearsing. we got a few gigs coming up. i promise he’ll be gone soon.” izzy assured you.

“he just gets in my nerves.” you sighed.

“i know. but he’ll be gone soon and you and i can continue where we left off this morning.” he started kissing you. then axl happened.

“you guys fucking in there?” he pounded his fists on the door.

“i’m going to fucking kill him.”

[thevampiremarie]

treehouse chapter 34 (tumblr version)

🔞 Dream of the Endless I Lord Morpheus x reader 🔞

Unplanned pregnancy, SMUT

In the Waking World, Morpheus finds the cure to your recent ailment. Read on AO3 here.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, MALIGAYANG PASKO, HAPPY HOLIDAYS, AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR TO YOU ALL! THANKS FOR READING I LOVE YALL SO MUCH! One of my fav things about fanfiction is that oftentimes it can be a more ethical way to consume certain media, especially when the original creator is exposed for doing fuck shit. So consider this guilt free, cruelty free, organic Sandman! This chapter takes place canonically at a made up lake in the Philippines, which I modeled after Lake Sebu. Lake Sebu is notable for its significance to the local indigenous T'boli tribe, who are known as the Dreamweavers. Traditionally T'boli women weave t'nalak, a sacred textile made up of patterns that come to the T'boli weavers at night in their dreams. Thus Lake Sebu is known as the cradle of the Dreamweavers. Additional note: I had to change my usernames everywhere because I was being cyberstalked. As a result I accidentally broke all of my masterlist links, I fixed them

Reader POV:

Shortly after you lose yourself in the pale ivory maze of halls and doorways that capture you the second you step beyond the confines of your chamber, Morpheus finds you.

These halls are a labyrinth without a single splash of color to relieve the oppressive, endless uniformity. White tiles and black tiles forming a checkerboard pattern, then you turn down a path constructed of ivory and ivory alone, another of deep black granite without a shade of light or a window to relieve the deep shadows drowning you.

You hold your hand to your temple to stop the pressure building in your skull, pain churning through your nerves like white-capped waves. Your fingers come back damp with sweat.

It feels as though you’ve been swept away. Carried around the Dreaming by forces you can hardly comprehend, much less control.

Are you still asleep in your feather bed?

“Wake up,” You whisper to yourself. “Wake up.”

“You’re awake,” A deep voice says. The sound distorts between the skewed, unnaturally-placed walls.

You turn on your heel and find yourself face to face with the source of that displeased, rather put out voice.

Morpheus crosses his arms over his chest as he leans against a pillar with pursed lips. “I’ve been looking for you, darling. I had an interesting conversation with Johanna Constantine.” The blush drains out of your face.

Before you can respond, your stomach contracts and twists into itself. Before you even realize it you’re bent over in two, watching the apple cider splatter out of your mouth and onto the floor.

His cool hands pull your loose hair away from your face and back behind your head. “Hardly my best look,” You mumble as you bat away his helping hands and try to stand on your own. You should know better at this point. Morpheus isn’t easily deterred, especially when it comes to you.

He helps you stand anyway, shrugging off your rejection like water rolling off a duck’s back. “Unfortunately, no. But I’ve seen worse.” In your head, you translate that from Endless to English to mean ‘yeah, you do look like shit.’

Tactful as always. “It’s all your fault,” You mutter. When he offers an arm for you to slide under, you do so gladly, clinging to him like a lifeline. It even feels like one, like a lifesaver for two idiots stuck in deep water of their own making.

Your head hurts so much less when your eyes are closed to the Lovecraftian chaos in your surroundings. It’s second nature to bury your face into his shirt and let the soothing rhythm of Morpheus’s heartbeat distract you. “Come along,” He urges you, taking a few steps to some unknown destination without deigning to inform you where.

Despite the kindness in his voice and the softness of his shirt against your cheek, more comforting than any blanket on your great bed, you push back. “No.” Your feet stay where they are. Morpheus would not drag you somewhere. It would be undignified.

After a few seconds pass, Morpheus seems to come to the conclusion you had already decided; that you will not go. “Wait- stop-“ His arms sweep you up off your feet as if you’re nothing more than a flower to be plucked out of the ground.

You open your eyes to see his stupid smirk oozing with victory. “It’s for your own good, little darling. Or would you prefer I put you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes?” It would be even less dignified for you to be treated so and Dream knows you’d refuse it.

He continues on with no further resistance. You haven’t lost all your pride just yet. His lengthy stride carries the two of you farther in a minute than your legs could in an hour and your surroundings fade into a blur, like paint dripped into a bowl of water.

Morpheus doesn’t have to say anything for you to feel the stymied laughter moving his chest. “Stop gloating.” You poke him once, twice, three times. No reaction.

“I’m not doing anything.” 

“Yes, you are.” Your legs kick gently in the air to make your point.

Morpheus sighs under his breath and mumbles something that sounds like he’s calling you ‘impossible’. And as you’re very mature, perhaps the most mature person here, you decline to respond. It feels like you’ve won after all.

He pauses for a moment to glance at your surroundings. For all you know, you could be anywhere in the world. But you’re with him and that’s enough to keep you calm. For now. “What you have is called sleepy sickness,” Dream says. When he notices you staring, doe eyed and blushing from being carried in his arms like the queen he calls you, his mouth places the faintest kiss upon your forehead.

A humid breeze brushes your cheeks, warm as a hug and carrying the scent of dew-covered grass and clear running water. “It’s not that bad,” You mutter. You’re lying of course, just to be contrarian. It’s only fair to cause him half the headache he’s caused you.

Morpheus sets you down on a fallen tree trunk covered in soft, jade green moss. His hand lingers on your wrist, as smooth as polished marble, and then he takes a gentle, yet firm hold of your jaw. His fingertips barely skim your cheeks, close enough that you could kiss his hand if you wanted. 

Morpheus kneels in the dirt without a care, peering into your eyes for a long moment.

“I do expect an explanation on why it took that… exorcist for me to know you were suffering,” He tells you in a low timbre. “I cannot take care of my love, my queen, my heart itself, and the beloved child you carry without you… talking to me.” Silver moonlight highlights the deep, shadowed worry lines on his face. 

Morpheus has called you his heart. He’s wrong. You can see his heart still in him, cracked open for you to observe, not quite on his sleeves but beating through his chest.

Even you have to admit his admonishment is more than fair. No complaints. You duck your head. Anything to get away from his gaze. “…I’m sorry.” You are, truly. He stops your chin from dipping with the same soft touch used between lovers, between those who share knowledge of each other’s souls.

Morpheus hums softly. “Don’t apologize, and don’t do it again.” He calls you out as if he’s approaching a frightened deer, coaxing you towards him with sweet words, the hand cradling your face like petting the raised spine of that startled animal. “Now come - we will remedy your illness now. I’ll not have you spend another second in such a state.” His outstretched hand helps you to your feet.

A canopy of branches stretches above both your heads. The long, friendly finger-like branches of old growth trees dance and wave hello in the wind you felt earlier. Between the gaps in the large leaves, stars wink at you. Some of them even move, and you realize those unique flecks of light aren’t stars. They’re planes flying in the night and satellites spinning through space, chattering back and forth with each other and the rest of humanity.

You recognize the faint red glow of Mars and the pale yellow fleck of Venus in the dark firmament. “Where are we?”

It feels… real. It feels right. What binds your feet to the grassy earth, covered in scattered fallen leaves and the new buds of wildflowers is gravity, not magic mimicking it.

Morpheus leads you through the old growth trees without hesitation. “Ordinary mortals cannot spend unnaturally long periods of time in the Dreaming. It happens but rarely, most recently when I was imprisoned and unable to uphold the laws of the universe that separate the Waking World and the Dreaming,” He says without looking at you. His skin gleams like mother-of-pearl under the silvery moonlight. “The soul wants to stay as much as the body yearns to go. They grow sicker and sicker as the connection that keeps their dreaming souls attached to their waking bodies weakens. Eventually that connection snaps, leaving behind a comatose body and a wandering spirit in my kingdom with no name or face.” Such respectful words for a nightmarish fate.

Through the trees, the moonlight finds something else to reflect off of. The shine beckons you closer and closer, until you see a large, tranquil lake. The water is the clearest you’ve ever seen, tinged a naturally bright turquoise. Through the glass pane surface, you see the sandy surface of the lake bed dotted with small, smooth pebbles, at most a few feet deep. Vibrant pink water lilies spread open their great green pads at the lake’s edge and birds sing songs to each other in the trees. A white heron picks its way through the lake with meticulous, stilted elegance. It stops to consider the pair Morpheus and you make, then magnanimously decides to give you your privacy and fly away

Something stirs at your side, breaking the spell. You turn to watch, still dazed from the sweet, clean air, as Dream gathers your fingers and kisses them. “The only cure is to take you back to the Waking and allow your soul and body to rest as one, as they were meant to,” He apologizes. His lips are so pink, and his eyes are so wide.

“I can breathe again,” You murmur as your lungs fill with the scent of fragrant banana leaves and papaya trees brought out by the humidity.

It’s all real. You tell yourself that over and over. You sink to the ground and bury your fingers into the earth. When you rub your fingers together, you can feel the grains of dust separate and stick to the grooves of your fingerprints.

You want to touch everything. The rough bark on the trees, the ribbed surface of the lily pads. You want to smell the blossoms and feel the cool water of the lake wash away the clinging, disorienting remnants of the Dreaming from your mind.

Dream joins you on the banks of the lake. “I know,” He coos, dabbing away the sweat shining on your cheeks. “That’s it, darling. Feel better?”

Your dirt-marked hands meet his, seeking reassurance that he’s just as real as you. That he won’t slip out of your grasp and flee into the night like a stranger, now that he has delivered you home.

His palms only have a few lines compared to the meandering map of creases on yours and Morpheus patiently lets you explore them until you’re satisfied with what you find. You leave smudges on the backs of his hands. You go to wipe them off, about to mumble an apology, but Dream stops you. He wraps his fingers around yours even tighter, even as you protest that you’ll get him dirty.

“Now listen carefully,” He begins. His grip trembles, a single, uncontrolled movement in the edifice of composure. Chaos, barely leashed. “I want you well. I want you to smile and forget any time you were unhappy because of the Dreaming. But if you run, I’ll come after you. You know I will. Decide for yourself if you’ll take the relief and pleasure I’m offering, or if you want another chase and the tears that come with it.”

A dream is nothing without a dreamer. Morpheus has long since decided that you are his dreamer, so like all dreams, he fears your eventual abandonment. He fears you might decide that he adds nothing to your life and discard him, leaving him purposeless, a book abandoned on the shelf unread watching as you move on and never look back. Pick me up, his eyes beg. Read me, need me, keep me by your side. Find me a home in your home.

Later, you’ll blame it on the sweltering tropical heat. You’ll blame it on the silver tongue of the god of dreams, slithering its way into your head.

“Is the water swimmable?” You ask instead of answering. In the periphery of your vision, he nods.

So you rise.

What need is there for running? You’re home. The wind has danced through your hair before. The trees have whispered secrets to you since you were old enough to look up at their leaves and make up fairytales. You can empathize with how Morpheus and the Dreaming are bound together. You’re bound to here, birthed and raised here.

The sand grows damper the closer you walk to the edge of the water. It sticks to your toes in clumps. You shed your clothes as a snake sheds its skin. You leave them behind you, a trail of breadcrumbs followed by the sight of your back, bared to him.

You hear a sharp inhale. “Are you sure you want-“ Morpheus’s voice is strangled as if he’s fighting his own dark urges, extinguishing them so that the flames won’t singe you.

The water is much warmer than you thought it would be. It ripples gently across your skin and you walk further into the lake’s embrace.

Once the water envelopes your hips, barely brushing where your belly naturally folds over your hips, you turn to look at the god watching you on his knees from the shore.

You’re aware of everything- your nipples hardening, his narrowed dragon-like eyes feasting on your breasts, your soft arms and plush thighs, and a warmth stirring in your core that only Dream can awaken.

But there in your thoughts is the cold reminder of Johanna’s warning. There is no doubt that Morpheus has been cruel and capricious, carelessly tearing apart anything in his path like a tornado ripping trees and telephone poles from the ground.

But he’s yours. He’s pursued you, chosen you, fought for you. He loves you enough that he’s risking letting you go, where before he locked you in his realm like a songbird in a cage.

You hold out your hand. “Join me.”

Morpheus doesn’t make you wait a second longer. “As you wish, Basileia.” He practically rips his shirt off, losing a button or two in the sand in his haste to reach you.

The hard, muscled planes of his chest beckon to you. You could never get tired of Dream, of looking at him, of wanting him. He’s already half hard against his thigh and he walks into the lake with the smooth, prowling gait of a leopard stalking some helpless prey.

His arms catch your waist and pull you closer. You melt into Morpheus’s familiar touch, impossibly strong yet cradling you as if you were as fragile as spun glass. It’s not until you’ve tucked your head into the crook of his neck, his salty skin so close to your lips that you can almost taste him in the air, that Dream finally relaxes. The water wraps the both of you in a warm cocoon, heightening your senses. Every move he makes ripples against your skin and you’re so painfully, acutely aware of his hips, his legs, how close they are to your own…

Droplets of water trickle between your breasts. Dream follows their path with reverent, covetous eyes. Those beads of water are more precious than diamonds to him because they have the privilege of touching you.

Your skin is painfully sensitive. His grip tightens, shifts, he palms your ass and his other hand cradles the back of your neck, warm and possessive. The pregnancy hormones are no joke; you’re starved, desperate to take him apart with your teeth and hands, and to be taken apart in return until all you know is his taste.

You trace his arched cheekbones with damp fingertips and run your thumb over his plump, flushed lower lip. Dream’s white teeth glint as they sink into your thumb. Not deep enough to cut, but just enough to sting .

Your fingers slide through his dark hair. You graze his scalp with your nails, you pause to take a fist full and tighten your grip. You tug. Morpheus gasps, then curves his mouth into a lazy, listless smirk.

When he kisses you, you kiss him back furiously, your mouth dancing with his and one arm slung around his neck to draw him into you. You moan into the kiss and he hums at the back of his throat in response. Dream’s lips leave yours, much to your displeasure, only to settle on the top of your nose, then your eyelids, the corner of your mouth…

Water streams around your thighs as Morpheus practically drags you up, easily holding most of your weight with one of his arms. The heat in this place is such that sweating does nothing to cool your body, and the muggy air makes stitching yourself as close as possible to his body even sweeter. You bare your neck to Dream’s kiss-swollen lips and the hickies he sucks into your skin.

Your thighs quiver, each sensation so much stronger and brighter than they were the last time he knew you like this. A sweet, drawn out sigh tears itself from your chest as he bites down like a wolf marking his mate. Morpheus groans in return, mouthing against your skin like he’s starved. He mutters and growls as he makes his way past your collarbones and his hands shake where they cling on to you.

And when his nimble, clever fingers drift from your back to find your nipples, thumbing them firmly, you shriek and pull on his hair so hard his head snaps back. He stares back at you with eyes of inhuman obsidian and a furious snarl on his face at being denied your body. “Gentle, please, Morpheus. Please,” You whimper, trembling in his arms from the too-intense pain and pleasure echoing through your sensitive tits.

Your chest heaves. The air is so heavy that it feels like you can’t get enough of it into your lungs. Dream makes a wordless noise of an apology before lavishing you with kisses, his lips moving with the most careful pressure across your flushed breasts. “The shore,” You plead with him. “Take me to the shore, my love.” The endearment steals out of your mouth like a thief. It’s the only thing that cuts through Dream’s lust-filled haze.

His beautiful eyes lighten from black to deep sapphire and the silvery fangs you felt earlier at your vulnerable throat retract ever so slightly.

Before you can blink, Morpheus deposits you on the shore with your back to the sand. The stars above bear witness as he kneels between your legs spread open to invite him, joy and love practically fucking radiating off of him. What he told you in the aftermath of his forced unmasking was true. He loves you. No matter what you do or say, if you cry or flee, his love only grows.

His luminous beauty is so overwhelming that it eclipses the world around you. All you see is him. You reach up to make his perfect hair messier, to bring his perfect mouth close enough for you to kiss until he’s ruined.

You push on his shoulders until he rolls over. His strong arms take you with him and help you drape yourself in his lap, grinding your dripping folds into the thick, heavy weight of his cock.

Morpheus tries to reach for your hips first but you bat his straying hands away. “My tigress,” He moans as you show him what your teeth and nails feel like digging into his alabaster skin, running over his abs, returning in abundance the bite marks and hickies he left on you. Your tongue lathes over the red and blue bruises scattered down his chest, warm and wet, and Morpheus’s heart beats so furiously that you can taste his pulse.

“Stay,” You pant as you plant one hand into his sweat-covered chest. Your lips move lower and lower, leaving kisses along the deliciously-firm ridges of muscle that jump whenever you touch them.

You give into every possible intrusive desire. Your fingers trace his hip bones, the long, elongated lines of his thighs tensing as you wander closer to his flushed, veiny dick, and up again to that muscled v at the bottom of his stomach…

“It’s yours,” Dream says hoarsely, his eyes glowing in the night. “I’m yours.”

This is your world. Your home. And your Endless. Saliva gathers under your tongue and Morpheus beckons. He’s somehow even more desperate for you to carve yourself into his body and soul than you are to wield the knife.

You hover over him, about to take him in your hand. You’ve done horrible things for Morpheus with your hands. You ended a person’s life and you’d do it again if you had to.

The tenderness in his voice makes you weep. “I love you.” He knows. You don’t have to say anything in response. You just have to be here with him and be loved.

His cock is warm in your palm, so long and thick that you have trouble understanding how Dream makes it all fit inside of you. Your tongue darts out to lick the salty precum dotted on his shaft and your cunt flexes with need. Soon, soon, you promise yourself, you’ll let him fuck you into the ground until you’ve forgotten your name.

You watch him as you start at the base, kissing your way up his cock until you reach the fat, rounded tip. Morpheus inhales sharply and a brilliant red flush colors his cheeks. You slowly envelope the head of his cock between your lips and his fingers dig into the ground, trying anything to keep him anchored.

His eyes roll back in his skull like you’re quite literally sucking the soul out of him. You briefly flirt with the idea of pulling away, of depriving Morpheus of the sweet torture that has rendered him speechless.

But since you’re his queen, you can be benevolent if you wish. You’ll make him come so hard that no other woman or goddess will ever compare. You’ve never wanted to do this with a partner as badly as you want to do it for him.

Your hand works the part of his shaft you can’t shove into your throat. You build a strong rhythm, alternating between sucking his dick and running your tongue along the underside where the taut skin is most sensitive. His cock jumps in your mouth when you flick your tongue over one particular spot. “Fuck,” He hisses. “You’re so good to me, beloved…” His needle-thin fangs erupt again, only to dig into his bottom lip. Dream grinds his hips up, forcing another inch of his cock into your sloppy mouth dripping with saliva.

Your surprised moan is completely stifled by his thick, painfully erect flesh. He laughs wickedly and finally reaches for your hair. “I know your game,” Morpheus taunts. A faint tingle of pain flashes through your scalp when he wraps your tangled tresses in his fist and takes control. Saliva runs from the corners of your stretched, bruised lips with each thrust.

His salty, musky taste is addictive and you want more, more than what he’s giving you right now. You won’t be satisfied until he’s spilling his seed down your throat.

Your nails run down his thighs, leaving angry red furrows, and you bob your head, relaxing your throat so you can take him even deeper. This god, this great and powerful creature, full of magic and fury, groans and shakes underneath you.

“Wicked creature,” Morpheus accuses between gasps for breath. You smile up at him with your mouth full before returning to your feast.

You turn your spare hand to another task. You’ve never done this before, but Morpheus inspires a boldness in you, a mindless lust for moremoremore. He grits his teeth, holding back guttural moans. You reach out to cradle his heavy balls in your palm and carefully massage them while you redouble your mouth’s efforts on his cock. Your jaw aches something fierce and you gag once, and then again.

He cries out. You can read the thoughts painted across his face. You’re his confessor and his executioner. Only you have this power over him - to bring him to the highest ecstasy or to brutally cast him out of Heaven.

Your reward is so sudden that it surprises you. All it takes to send Morpheus over the edge, into the most beautiful orgasm you’ve dragged out of him yet, is that gentle caress. His eyes widen, glistening with tears, his pupils dilate. His silver tongue has fallen silent. His face contorts in exquisite agony.

He drags you forward until your lips touch the base of his cock and comes with a low, pained groan. Salty cum floods your tongue and you pull back in surprise. His cum drips down the column of your throat and between your tits. You cough, smearing more of the mess on your cheeks.

Morpheus doesn’t give you even a moment to recover. It must be unbearable for him to be separated from you, like breathing with only one lung instead of both. You carry half his soul. His heart beats in your chest. He kisses you and clutches your shoulders, your face. He licks his cum off your cheeks and drags his fingers through the remnants on your breasts. He brings his fingers to your swollen lips. You open your mouth even as your jaw protests and let him feed you his cum. Not a single drop is wasted.

You suck his fingers one last time before he withdraws them. Your doe eyes stare into his lidded, pleasure-drunk gaze. Finally, you answer him. “Perhaps I’ll keep you… if you make yourself useful.” A smile blooms on his angular face, more heavenly than an archangel.

Or perhaps he’s an incubus here to enslave you. “I’ll be gentle,” He promises. Moonlight flashes off his sharp teeth. Your nerves prickle at the contrast of his sweet words against the sheer primordial force that emanates off of him. Your animal hind brain wants to flee, but the rest of you wants to give in, to reach for the bright flame of his love and let it burn you.

His palm caresses your cheek, sliding over your skin as if you’re made of the most precious silk. But you’re not silk and this is not a dream. You’re real. Flesh and bone.

You look at him through your lashes as you sink your teeth into his wrist.

Dream responds as you want him to. His pale hand, white as a sword, around your throat, squeezing just enough to restrict blood flow into your brain. Your dark angel looming over you, the Endless simply taking your submission, not just demanding it.

When he guides you to lay on your back once more, you go gladly.

The stars in his irises glow as he takes in the sight of your breasts moving everytime you take a breath and your thighs slowly, slowly parting. “My poor darling, have you been this needy the whole time?” Morpheus asks in that low, raspy voice that makes your stomach twist with desire. His finger trails from your bent knee and down, down towards your inner thighs.

It feels like everything is too hot, too much. You’ve been wet since you took your clothes off, and after making him come so furiously, your pussy is practically crying for him to touch your folds, to fuck you, to remind you who you belong to.

He traces the arousal coating your cunt, playing with the slick but carefully avoiding your pussy. “Morpheus…” You moan, your nipples so hard that every gust of wind feels like the press of his mouth. Playing is a good word for it. Morpheus plays you and your body, teasing you with his hand as he wanders away from your hips and over your chubby belly, always touching, feeling. 

Your back arches in the sand. He’s the only one who can do this to you, you think. The only one you’d let have you in such an open, vulnerable way.

Just when Morpheus reaches the curve of your breast, he leans over you and holds your face with both hands. “You come first.” One of his thumbs hook into your mouth and pull your jaw open. You can feel the pad of the thumb wedged against your teeth.

You feel so delicate and fragile underneath him. So helpless, like a flower he plucked from the ground. Your cunt pulses in time with your rapid heartbeats. “Heed my words. You always come first. For next time,” Morpheus commands softly. He’s dead fucking serious.

Rushing sounds fill your ears. “But-“ You murmur around his fingers. You’re dizzy, drunk on the love painted so boldly on his expression. It’s like a solar eclipse. You can’t look away. You come first. That is what would please Dream more than coming himself. You find yourself nodding along.

When he bends down to kiss your forehead, it feels like a brand. You lean into the warmth and let it soothe you. “Obey me, beloved, and you will be rewarded with anything and everything you desire.” You surge forward to kiss him square on the mouth. His spit-covered thumb rests in the hollow of your throat.

Morpheus’s fangs prick your bottom lip and you whimper. It’s so easy to surrender to him and it feels so good. “Do you… enjoy that? Obeying?” He pulls away to ask with an uncharacteristic frown marring his smooth forehead.

You murmur something wordless and begging, then loop your hands around his neck, urging him to return to you. He raises a single eyebrow until finally, you turn your attention to the question instead of pouting over his reluctance to kiss you. “I do. I really- I think I do,” You whisper.

It’s the truth. It feels right. And for the most part- if you’re honest with yourself, for the most part, Dream has never failed you.

How do you reconcile these puzzle pieces together that just don’t fit? With each day, your rage and feelings of betrayal fade. Something new has been growing inside to replace it. A strange longing to throw your principles away and give in.

Morpheus nods soberly. “If you decide to keep me, Basileia, we should discuss this later, at length. I know that the relationship you expect might be different from what I can give you.”

It’s far too easy to read between the lines. “What can you give me?” You are critically, keenly aware of the implications of you asking. Why else would you want to know the conditions of a long term, most likely life-long relationship if Dream has his way, if not to seriously consider them?

Well. You’re seriously considering it.

He spreads his fingers out slightly off-center from your sternum, right over your heart. “What I’ve always given you.” He kisses the tip of your nose. Can you trust him with your heart?

Dream is trying to tell you with his actions that you can. That he wants to cradle your heart so gently and hide away where no one else can hurt it. He’d breathe fire on anyone who tried, even himself.

“Care, above all else,” He murmurs in your ear. His breath tickles your hair and you gasp. He kisses your soft, delicate skin covered in goosebumps as an apology.

There are spikes of white in his irises like the points of a star. A single black eyelash rests on his cheekbone. You wipe it away with your fingers, utterly fascinated by this strange new intimacy.

It’s so lovely to feel his radiant smile with your fingertips at the same time as seeing it.

You’ve missed it.

“Tending to.” Another kiss, this one on the edge of your jaw. You blush from your scalp all the way down to your toes.

“Possession. Belonging.” His voice drops to a growl and the fingers over your heart curl into claws. Morpheus buries his face into your throat. Some of his hair gets in your mouth and you giggle as you try to pluck it out. He growls again, this time properly, when you try to dislodge him.

His torso presses yours into the sand. He’s like a tall weighted blanket hiding you from the sight of the celestial bodies above.

One of his claws moves to your waist. They open and close rhythmically. Morpheus is kneading you like a cat. “Let me be your compass so you’ll never feel lost again, let me tend to your every scraped knee and anxiety. Trust me to give you commands for your well-being and to fix things when you make mistakes.”

How long have you waited for someone to say these exact words to you? How many years have you spent dreaming about this very moment, where someone grants you your truest wish; to never have to face the world alone? Not just at your side. In front of you, leading you into the future so you have someone to follow.

Finally, he kisses your lips. A chaste, almost innocent kiss, like between a husband and wife on their wedding day. “All I need is your submission to my authority. It’s too much to ask of you at this moment, but you should know these things about me so you can make your decision in the future,” Morpheus says softly.

All he ever had to do was ask.

“We can talk about it later.” You kiss him back firmly, dragging a low moan out of him.

“You’re not opposed?” He says between kisses, between your fingers threading through his hair and his knee nudging between your legs, giving you something to grind against.

Morpheus freezes when you smile at him, as if he’s been hit by lightning. “I’m not,” You promise, your eyes shining more than they ever have before.

He exhales an amused huff. He’s laughing at himself, you realize. “Later then, my queen.” He’s been so silly and wasted so much time. You laugh too, until the two of you are just giggling helplessly in the sand.

He strokes your belly for a moment, then bends and places his cheek over the curve where your baby is growing. Crickets sing and fireflies chase each other through the night sky. Something moist touches your belly. When he lifts his head, he tries to wipe away tears before you notice. You reach for him and dab them away yourself.

“I hope the baby has your eyes,” You whisper.

Morpheus’s hands are as warm as his smile, like a little candle flame in the dark flickering on its own. “I hope the baby looks like you, so the world can see how much I love its mother.”

Maybe his smile will light your way back to each other.

His face is the first thing to shift. His gaze narrows, his mouth flattens into a severe, imperious expression. “Now, where were we?” His muscles coil and tense as he rears up on his knees. His marble skin stretches taught over his prominent bones.

You suddenly remember watching him disintegrate the nightmare that haunted you so, how Morpheus took pleasure when it screamed in pain. This is the god-king, the careless devil, the eater of worlds.

He kisses your knee while massaging the strained muscles in your calf. “You- you were… ah… Morpheus, I can’t focus when you do that.” Your voice is hushed in prayer to the only god you care for. He kisses your thigh again, slightly above your kneecap.

You spread your legs wider, wordlessly begging for more of his attention. “I was instructing you on the importance of obedience, I believe.” He blows a soft puff of air across your heated cunt, and you squirm in the sand. The cold only heightens how sensitive you are.

Morpheus leans in to lick the trail of arousal that has been steadily dripping down your thigh all evening. He laps at your skin over and over in tiny kitten licks.

He waits until you’re looking at him to moan into your skin, his eyes wild with hunger. Another, longer lap of his tongue, still holding eye contact. He can’t get enough of your juices. He wants you to know how much he wants you. Morpheus wants you to witness his devotion. Not want- he commands it.

And still, he won’t touch your pussy. “That feels so good,” You whimper. You draw your legs towards you to try and urge him towards your core. Morpheus teases his fangs along your flesh. You can feel how sharp they are, how easy it would be for him to bite and puncture your skin. He would never, but the suggestion is enough to get your blood running hot.

Morpheus rises up between your legs to grab the long column of your throat. “As much as I love your voice, right now I’d like to hear it only when you’re screaming my name. Understood? Nod for me.” Your mouth waters as you nod. “Good girl.”

You almost feel like crying. This evening has been such a fucking rollercoaster and here you are, getting dicked down for the whole world to see. And Morpheus adores you so much that he wants to possess every part of you, to make you completely beholden to his will.

He releases your throat before grasping one of your heavy tits, palming it greedily. “Your body was made to be adored by me, to be loved and worshiped,” Dream hisses. He swats at your breast, catching your painfully sensitive nipple with the tips of his fingers.

You jerk upright and moan in surprise, making an embarrassing, slutty, needy sound. Pain and pleasure radiate from your swollen nipple and as much as you want to cower away, you want Dream to do it again…

He slaps your neglected other breast and you gasp, tears finally beading in the corner of your eyes. Your cunt drips all the way down to the sand under your ass. You pant, your tits bouncing with the moment. The motion draws an equal groan out of Morpheus and the desire burning in his blue eyes frightens you.

Morpheus leans forward to capture one of your nipples between his lips. He sucks gently, flicking his tongue over the hard, pebbled bud, and you arch your back. He switches to your untouched nipple, sucking and kissing over and over as you shiver and whine beneath him. Maybe he wants to make you come like this, untouched except for the sweet torture he’s subjecting your tits to. You try to grind your hips against his leg, to give your pulsing clit some relief, but he hisses and pushes your hips down with more force than you expect. Message received, though it turns you on even more.

You’re pinned down and there’s nothing you can do but submit. “I am utterly enamored by your breasts, your rich and luscious thighs, and the feel of your soft belly under my fingertips,” Morpheus tells you when he lifts his head. His hand makes good upon his word. His fingers caress your stomach, not just the roundness of your growing baby, but the folds of skin and fat that come with a body like yours, that the rest of the world often finds unattractive.

But he is Endless. The god of dreams himself. Humanity’s mirror cut out of black glass. And your body is so desirable to him that he knocked you up the first time and fucks you like he can somehow get you more pregnant each time. Morpheus kisses the skin below your belly button and you have a feeling that tonight, the whole universe is dreaming of you.

He raises his head and reaches out his fingers to tap against your kiss-swollen lips. “Dampen these for me,” Dream orders. They’re glistening with your saliva by the time he pulls them out of your mouth.

You prop your torso up on your elbows and watch Morpheus inhale quietly as he brushes the pad of his thumb over your clit. You bite back a combined moan of relief and surprise. He does it again, waiting for your hips to jolt and your eyes to flutter. His fingers caress your slick folds, luxuriating in the volume of shiny, sticky arousal that has dripped out of you. He kneels there for a long moment, just playing with you, and your lungs seize when he lingers too long rubbing your clit.

Then Morpheus very unceremoniously shoves one of his palms under your ass, tilting your pelvis up so he can eat you out better. His tongue wanders over your clit and between the folds he was so fascinated by earlier.

You cry out into the night, looking up at the stars while Dream makes you see stars. You moan again and desperately clutch for his hair so you can grind your clit into his mouth. He mutters something to himself, completely lost under your whimpers, before slipping two long fingers into your tight cunt. He sets a fast though gentle rhythm immediately, carefully curling his fingers inside you to stroke your walls as he fucks you with them. Each one of your cries is rewarded with the hot, wet pressure of his tongue or his fingers brushing the sensitive spot deep inside you. It’s almost like Morpheus is trying to make you come faster than you ever have before-

For a single, blindingly bright moment, your lungs stop. You can’t breathe. Your stomach wrenches violently and your walls squeeze his fingers so tight they start to slip out. “Come,” Morpheus demands, his gaze furious and fixated on your slack, pleasure-drunk face. Your pussy opens for his fingers and this time his grip on your thighs is too firm to wriggle out of, forcing you headfirst into the riptide of your orgasm.

Your high-pitched scream rings in your ears and you slump into the ground, boneless and exhausted. Morpheus withdraws his fingers and licks your folds clean, shushing you when you whine from the jolts of overstimulation moving through you. You’re so tired, but it feels so good.

He leans in for one more taste. This time, you tense and push his head away. Your clit is still humming with faint, delicious aftershocks, and even his breath puffing across your swollen folds is painful. Morpheus apologetically kisses your hip. “I could spend eons buried between your legs. Tasting you, touching you, inside of you. Perhaps I should relinquish the Dreaming to some other god so I can spend the rest of eternity serving you, hm? Would my queen enjoy that?”

Pebbles and sand dig into your back but you barely notice. You’re too busy blushing the darkest shade of red possible at the vivid imagery and his unrepentant lust. His smile is wicked. You’re both thinking the exact same thing - you perched on the throne next time, and Morpheus making you come on his fingers and tongue as many times as you can. Knowing him, probably until you black out.

You open your mouth to say something, but his command from earlier holds fast. You want to obey.

Then he nods, releasing you from it.

“Holy shit, I’ve never come that quickly before,” You sigh.

Morpheus straightens up and squares his shoulders. “I know,” He fires back with a lewd smirk, his lips still damp with your juices. Morpheus moans softly as you kiss him. You sweep the rest of your arousal off of his lips with your tongue, your own salty taste filling your senses.

You understand all those little offhand quips now, all the various odd remarks under Dream’s breath about your life and dreams. He knows. Literally. He has stood there in the back of your dreams and watched.

His cock is angrily hard against his pale thigh, flushed red with blood. Morpheus likes to watch. A shiver runs through you. Not a bad one. An eager one. “Fuck you,” You bite back. He’s never looked more beautiful to you, all messy dark hair and your crimson love bites dotting his pale skin.

After too many drawn-out whines and your hands eagerly tugging at his hips, much too far away from yours, Morpheus holds your thighs down. If you were more flexible, you’d have your knees pushed up to your tits.

Starlight shines between strands of his hair, surrounding his face like a dark halo.

Your lips part, wordlessly begging for a kiss. His broad shoulders press you further into the soft sand and he kisses you with fervor. “Be good,” Dream murmurs into your ear.

He eases his cock inside of you slowly. You gasp, your eyelids flutter. He rests his head against your temple, panting as your muscles flutter around his length. His hips cant forward again, nudging your clit. You clutch his shoulders to drag him deeper into your embrace. Your whole world narrows to just Morpheus; the weight of him against your ribs, the whole night sky contained in his eyes, the scent of his skin, his thick cock sinking as deep into your cunt as it can go.

You make a choked, keening noise when he shifts and inadvertently brushes against your g-spot. Maybe not so inadvertently. Morpheus does it again, languidly rolling his hips in a drawn out rhythm. Your stretched cunt milks him, trying to keep him with you, inside of you.

He buries his face in your hair spread out under your head. You feel his moans rumble in the crook of your neck, deep and desperate. It’s too much, too good, like blue flame burning in your veins, and you can practically feel him in your belly.

“Morpheus,” you sob, raking your fingernails down his back, anything to ground you, to keep you from losing your mind as he fucks you, forcing you to feel every inch sliding in and out.

Dream growls, gripping your hips so tightly he’ll leave faint bruises. He rests his forehead on your own and his eyes are screwed shut with pleasure. They shoot open when you scream, your whole body trembling. “Tight, fuck, so tight, feels good- that’s it, darling…” You hear him murmur, voice so low that he’s talking more to himself than to you. It’s like he’s praying to you, worshiping you at the altar of your body.

You spread your legs wider and meet each thrust, moaning in unison with him. The words “Love you-“ steal from your mouth like a thief, fleeing before you register they’re gone.

One of his hands slips between your hips to play with your needy clit. He circles the pads of his fingers over and over across your bundle of nerves, sending shockwaves through your whole body. The full length of his dick thrusts into you at the same exact time and you forget how to breathe; you can feel how tight the fit is, almost painful but not quite, riding that razor-thin edge of pleasure. A rush of slick gushes from your core and smears onto his skin.

Your head lolls back as your vision starts to go hazy around the edges. “Look at me,” Morpheus’s voice orders. You blink once, twice, too overstimulated to focus.

“Morpheus-“ You sigh breathily. “Ah-“ He switches how he plays with your clit, now teasing you with light, gentle touches so you can listen to him instead of being too cockdrunk to think.

Your lips parts, your tongue tastes the hot, tropical air filled with moans and lust. “Look at me.” You do. His eyes are so blue and bright that they almost blind you. His thrusts grow rougher, faster, and you shake in his embrace and wrap one of your legs around his hips to get closer.

The great, deep blue of the night sky, scattered with stars, is pinning you down and kissing your mouth. The wine-dark ocean lies between your thighs and fucks you mindless, pushing and pulling inside you like the tide.

High, keening noises fall from your open mouth. Your cunt sucks him in, pulsing around his length. Pleasure wracks your body, rushing through your nerves like white lightning. And still you stare up at him and the love for you that he wears so raw and undisguised on his godlike, unfathomably beautiful face.

You’re so close that you can almost taste it, you feel your stomach wrench and your thighs tighten around his hips. “Fuck, that’s it, make yourself feel good. Take what you need.” The sound of his low, raspy voice in your ear guiding you, talking you through it, tips you over the delicious, overwhelming edge.

Every muscle in your body holds itself taut as your orgasm shakes you like an earthquake. You bite into his shoulder hard enough to fill your mouth with golden blood. Your lungs fucking ache from screaming into his skin. He holds your hips down, never pausing the furious pace of his thrusts, and your cunt convulses once, twice. Your mind goes foggy and finally, finally, you can breathe again.

Morpheus comes as your body unlocks, the feeling of your pleasure around his cock too much for his self-control. He clutches onto you desperately, even tilts his head to the side to welcome your bite. Sticky warmth floods your body, once more marking you as his. Hardly a single drop of cum trickles from where he’s buried deep inside of you.

You whine as he suddenly pulls away from you, only to arrange himself on the beach next to you so he doesn’t squish your bump further. You rest your head on Morpheus’s arm and the two of you lie there for a while with intertwined hands as his index finger traces the veins on the back of your hand. The breeze feels cool on your skin - the feverish tropical heat has broken its grasp on your mind and your thoughts are no longer clouded and instinct-driven.

Dream speaks softly, almost fearfully quiet. “You said you loved me.” His fingertip stills where it is on your hand, and you keenly feel the loss of that simple affectionate gesture.

“I…” You begin before stopping just as suddenly. White noise echoes in your ears, a strange buzzing that grows and grows and keeps you from turning to see his face. You’re afraid, you realize.

“If you do not truly feel that way, don’t say it. Ever again. Please. I can’t-“ His voice breaks, breaking the static holding your tongue prisoner with it.

What are you afraid of? The truth?

No, you are not.

You pull your hand away from his. “Morpheus.” When you meet his eyes, he looks away.

He’s rambling now, panicked, rushing to get the words out before it’s too late. “I couldn’t bear it. Anything else. Tell me anything else.”

It’s not too late.

Your hand cradles his angular cheek. Pale blue veins stretch under his skin from his eye to his temple. You are the only person he will let close enough to see them, you realize. “I love you,” You say, waiting long enough to see Morpheus actually register it before leaning in to kiss him. You mean it, cross your heart.

YAAAY WE'RE IN THE KISS AND MAKE UP ERA NOW!!! Thanks everyone so much for reading, we're finally making progress. I'm really excited for what's coming next. See y'all next year!

[amethystarachnid]

we have to hear the ikea story from the tony first christmas one now you can’t keep us from that 😭

FROGS, GLOBES AND BURNT CHOCOLATE (prequel)

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: prequel of this one shot but can be read separately

ᯓ★ Word count: 3.3k

ᯓ★ Summary: the story of how Tony got banned from IKEA

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing just some innuendos

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as the two of you stepped through the automatic sliding doors, the cool air of the showroom washing over you. The familiar scent of cinnamon rolls and fresh-pressed particleboard filled the air, promising adventure—or chaos, as Tony had so ominously predicted on the drive over.

“IKEA,” he said, dragging the name out like it was the punchline to a joke only he got. “A labyrinth designed by the gods to test your patience, your endurance, and your willingness to assemble furniture using a pictogram manual written by a sadist.”

“You’re being dramatic,” you replied, grabbing one of the oversized yellow shopping bags from the stand by the entrance. “It’s just a furniture store.”

“It’s an obstacle course,” he countered, slipping his sunglasses into the pocket of his leather jacket. “But don’t worry, I’m here to guide you through it. Like Theseus in the maze, except I’m way better looking and much less likely to be eaten by a mythical bull.”

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a grin as you pulled him toward the showroom. “If you’re Theseus, does that make me Ariadne? Should I leave a trail of meatballs so we don’t get lost?”

“I like the way you think,” he said, draping an arm casually over your shoulders as you walked. “But let’s be real: I’d find the meatballs, eat them, and then leave you to fend for yourself. Every Stark for himself.”

The first few minutes were surprisingly tame. You strolled through mock living rooms and kitchens, picking out lamps and throw pillows while Tony alternated between critiquing the design choices and pointing out absurdities in the naming conventions.

“‘LÅNGFJÄLL,’” he said, squinting at a sleek gray office chair. “Sounds like a sneeze.”

“It’s Swedish,” you reminded him, tossing a cozy-looking blanket into the bag. “Not everything is meant to be Stark-level glamorous.”

“Oh, I’m not judging,” he replied, smirking. “I’m just saying if I had a billion-dollar empire to name, I’d go with something a little less…phlegmy.”

You nudged him playfully as you entered the bedroom section, where rows of neatly made beds stretched out like a sea of linen-covered clouds. Tony immediately flopped onto the nearest one, spreading his arms wide and letting out a dramatic sigh.

“This,” he said, his voice muffled against the pillow, “is where I live now. You can come visit, though. Bring snacks.”

“Get up,” you said, trying to keep a straight face. “We’re here to buy furniture, not embarrass ourselves.”

“I can multitask,” he quipped, sitting up and ruffling his hair. “What’s next? Coffee tables? Nightstands? An overpriced abstract rug we’ll regret in six months?”

“Beds,” you said firmly, dragging him toward a display of frames. “We need a new one, remember?”

He groaned but followed, occasionally pulling out his phone to snap pictures of the more outlandish setups. “For posterity,” he explained, zooming in on a loft bed shaped like a treehouse. “Or blackmail, depending on how this trip goes.”

It was around the third mattress test that things started to go off the rails. Tony, determined to prove that one of the memory foam options was subpar, launched into an impromptu demonstration of its bounce resistance by dramatically flopping onto it like a stage actor fainting in a Shakespearean tragedy. The mattress responded by launching a decorative pillow halfway across the room, narrowly missing a disgruntled shopper.

“Oops,” he said, feigning innocence as you tried to stifle a laugh. “Maybe they should rethink calling it ‘memory foam.’ Seems like it forgot how to be stable.”

“Tony,” you hissed, grabbing his arm as the nearby employee shot you a warning glare. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

“Relax,” he said, pulling you closer with a grin that was equal parts charming and infuriating. “It’s IKEA. Getting kicked out would be a badge of honor. Now, where’s that bunk bed section? I’ve always wanted to test a slide.”

“I am not bailing you out if you break something,” you warned, though you were already losing the battle against his infectious enthusiasm.

You knew you’d regret saying it, but against your better judgment, you followed him anyway.

The bunk beds came into view like a beacon of impending chaos, a forest of miniature ladders and plastic slides. Tony’s face lit up with the kind of mischievous glee that usually preceded a major scandal or a ruined dinner party. You grabbed his arm, your reflexes honed after months of living with a man who turned everything into a science experiment.

“Don’t even think about it,” you warned, your voice low and firm.

“Think about what?” he replied, his tone laced with mock innocence. “I’m just admiring the craftsmanship. The ergonomics. The sheer audacity of a bed that doubles as a jungle gym.”

“You’re plotting something,” you accused, narrowing your eyes.

“I’m plotting nothing,” he said, raising his free hand as if swearing an oath. “Except maybe how to convince you to let me buy one of these for the office. Imagine the brainstorming sessions we could have on that bad boy.”

His gaze lingered on a particularly garish bunk bed with a bright red slide attached, and you could practically see the gears turning in his head. Before he could make his move, you steered him away, your fingers tightening on his arm.

“Focus,” you said, dragging him back toward the section with grown-up beds. “We’re here to find something for us, not for your inner child.”

“But what if my inner child needs closure?” he countered, pouting dramatically. “I was deprived of the bunk bed experience as a kid. I think it’s why I’m so emotionally stunted.”

“You’re emotionally stunted because you’re Tony Stark,” you retorted, though your lips twitched with the effort of holding back a smile.

“That’s fair,” he conceded, following you begrudgingly into the adult furniture section. “But I stand by my point. Bunk beds are an untapped market for innovation.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you released his arm. “Why do I feel like every time we go shopping, I end up babysitting you?”

“Because I’m irresistibly fun,” he replied, flashing you a grin. “Admit it, you’d be bored without me.”

Your response was cut short when you reached the display of bed frames, an array of sleek headboards and minimalist designs stretching out before you. Tony let out a low whistle, stepping closer to inspect a dark wood frame with clean lines and a tufted headboard.

“This one,” he said, running his hand over the polished surface. “It’s got that ‘classy but secretly kinky’ vibe. Like us.”

You choked on a laugh, shooting him a scandalized look. “Tony!”

“What?” he said, smirking. “Am I wrong?”

You glared at him, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed your composure. “We’re not buying a bed based on…that.”

“Why not?” he asked, leaning casually against the frame. “It’s an important factor. A bed’s gotta be functional and…multifunctional.”

“Tony, I swear—”

“Relax, I’m kidding,” he said, though the glint in his eye suggested otherwise. “Mostly. But seriously, what do you think? Too much? Not enough?”

You stepped closer, trying to focus on the actual furniture and not the way Tony’s voice dipped into that low, teasing register that always made your thoughts wander. The bed was beautiful, its understated elegance perfectly suited to the vision you had for your shared bedroom.

“It’s nice,” you admitted, running your fingers along the smooth wood. “I like it.”

“See? We’re already agreeing,” he said, straightening up. “That’s progress.”

He moved to another frame, this one with a sleek metal design that practically screamed “modern bachelor pad.” Tony turned to you, raising an eyebrow.

“This one feels very ‘I make poor life decisions but look good doing it,’” he mused. “Too on-the-nose?”

“Way too on-the-nose,” you agreed, stifling a laugh.

You continued down the aisle, pausing every so often to inspect a bed or debate the merits of storage drawers versus a minimalist frame. Tony, of course, turned every option into an opportunity for mischief.

“What about this one?” he asked, gesturing to a canopy bed with flowing white curtains. “We could hang fairy lights and make it all romantic. Very Princess Diaries. Except with, you know, significantly fewer rules about what’s allowed in the castle.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are, furniture shopping with me,” he said, his voice dripping with mock smugness. “If that’s not love, I don’t know what is.”

As you moved toward the couches, the banter continued, each piece of furniture becoming a springboard for Tony’s running commentary.

“This one’s great if we ever decide to host a sitcom,” he said, pointing to a beige sectional with a vaguely 90s aesthetic. “Can’t you just see a laugh track playing every time I walk into the room?”

“No one’s laughing, Tony,” you deadpanned, though your grin betrayed you.

He plopped onto a sleek gray sofa, stretching out dramatically. “Now this is a couch. Look at this. Perfect for late-night movies, spontaneous naps, and—”

“Don’t say it,” you warned, holding up a hand.

“—strategic cuddle sessions,” he finished, his grin widening. “What did you think I was gonna say?”

You rolled your eyes, sitting beside him and nudging his shoulder. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“I know,” he said, his voice softening as he turned to look at you. For a moment, the playful spark in his eyes was replaced with something quieter, something tender. “And for the record, I love you too. Even if you do have terrible taste in throw pillows.”

“Excuse me?” you said, feigning offense. “You’re the one who picked out that hideous pineapple ornament for the Christmas tree.”

“That ornament has character,” he shot back, leaning closer. “Just like me.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you leaned into his side. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “you’re still here.”

Before you could respond, his lips brushed against your temple, a fleeting but deliberate gesture that sent warmth flooding through your chest. You turned to meet his gaze, and for a moment, the chaos of IKEA faded into the background.

“We’re really doing this, huh?” you said softly, your voice barely audible over the murmur of nearby shoppers. “Building a life together.”

He nodded, his hand finding yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “Yeah,” he said. “We are.”

The moment was interrupted by a loud crash from a few aisles over, followed by the unmistakable sound of a frustrated parent trying to wrangle a toddler. Tony glanced in the direction of the commotion, then back at you, his grin returning.

“Speaking of chaos,” he said, standing and offering you his hand. “Shall we?”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. “If you promise not to break anything—or test any more mattresses.”

“No promises,” he said, leading you toward the next section with a wink. “But I’ll try to keep it under control. For you.”

“Lucky me,” you muttered, though your smile lingered as you followed him, ready for whatever chaos came next.

Tony was on borrowed time, and you knew it. You’d seen that particular glint in his eye—the one that said he was about two minutes away from unleashing some kind of chaos. It didn’t matter how many times you tried to corral him. Tony Stark’s ability to turn a mundane situation into a headline-worthy event was unmatched.

“Do you think Frank needs a friend?” Tony asked as he stopped at a display of oversized fake plants, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets.

“Frank the Tree doesn’t need a friend,” you said firmly, pulling him away before he could grab the monstera that had caught his eye. “He needs a stable environment where his caretakers don’t cause disasters.”

“Wow,” Tony replied, feigning offense. “Did you just call me a bad tree parent?”

“I called you a disaster magnet,” you clarified, steering him toward the dining section. “Which, frankly, is generous.”

Tony grinned, unbothered by your jab. “I prefer the term ‘agent of chaos.’ It sounds more distinguished.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” you muttered, eyeing the sleek dining tables on display. “Now focus. We need something durable but not too big. Just enough for the two of us and maybe a couple of guests.”

Tony trailed behind you, his attention drifting from the tables to the bright blue dining chairs at the next display. “What do you think about these?” he asked, pulling one out and spinning it around. “They say, ‘I’m stylish but approachable.’ Like me.”

“They say, ‘I’m a bad idea in any room with white walls,’” you countered, shaking your head. “We’re sticking to neutrals.”

Tony groaned, slumping into the chair dramatically. “Neutrals are boring. Where’s the zing, the flair?”

“You are the zing and flair,” you shot back, flicking his forehead lightly. “The furniture doesn’t need to compete with you.”

Tony smirked, leaning back in the chair with a casual air. “That’s a good point. But you know what else I’m good at?”

“Causing scenes?” you guessed.

“Testing durability,” he said, standing and pulling another chair from the display. “These bad boys need to hold up to the wear and tear of daily life.”

Before you could stop him, Tony had stacked one chair atop another, balancing precariously as he climbed onto them like a child on a jungle gym.

“Tony, no—”

“It’s fine!” he called down, waving a hand as a couple of nearby shoppers turned to watch. “They’re built for this. I’m helping them with quality control.”

“Tony, get down before you—”

The chair legs wobbled ominously, and before you could finish your sentence, Tony was sent sprawling onto the display floor in a crash of tangled limbs and scattered chairs. A shocked silence fell over the aisle, broken only by Tony’s groan as he sat up, brushing imaginary dust off his jacket.

“Well,” he said, wincing as he stood. “I’d say they pass the durability test. Ten out of ten for resilience.”

You pressed a hand to your forehead, torn between exasperation and laughter as an IKEA employee rushed over, his face a mix of concern and annoyance.

“Sir, are you all right?” the employee asked, helping Tony steady himself.

“Never better,” Tony replied, flashing his trademark grin. “Just giving your furniture a thorough evaluation. You’re welcome.”

The employee’s polite smile faltered as he glanced at the scattered chairs. “Sir, we’d appreciate it if you didn’t, uh, climb on the furniture.”

“Noted,” Tony said, holding up a hand as if making a solemn promise. “I’ll stick to the ground level from now on.”

The employee looked unconvinced but nodded stiffly before walking away, leaving you to deal with the aftermath. You turned to Tony, arms crossed and your best glare locked in place.

“You’re impossible,” you said, though you couldn’t quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“And yet, you love me,” he replied, reaching out to straighten your scarf like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“God help me, I do,” you muttered, grabbing his hand and dragging him toward the next section. “Now behave, or I’m leaving you here.”

The brief lull in chaos didn’t last. By the time you reached the children’s section, Tony had regained his momentum. He wandered into a brightly colored play area filled with miniature furniture, his eyes lighting up as he spotted a bright red rocking moose.

“You’re not—” you began, but it was too late. Tony had already plopped down on the moose, his knees nearly to his chest as he attempted to rock back and forth.

“Look at this,” he said, his voice full of mock wonder. “Functional, stylish, and fun. Perfect for our future kids.”

You choked on air, your face heating instantly. “Excuse me? Future kids?”

“Don’t panic,” he said, grinning as he rocked harder. “I’m just saying, this moose has potential. We should take it for a test ride.”

“Tony, get off before—”

The rocking moose groaned under his weight, and with a loud snap, one of the legs gave way, sending Tony tumbling backward in a heap. A horrified employee appeared almost instantly, his face a mask of barely contained panic.

“Sir, you can’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Tony said, waving off the employee as he stood, rubbing his back. “No horseplay in the children’s section. My bad.”

The employee’s face turned several shades of red as he examined the ruined moose. “That’s not a horse. It’s—”

“Don’t worry, I’ll cover it,” Tony interrupted, pulling his wallet from his pocket. “How much for the moose? Name your price.”

“Sir, I don’t think—”

“It’s fine,” Tony said, patting the employee on the shoulder. “Put it on my tab.”

You groaned, stepping in before things could escalate further. “We’re so sorry,” you said to the employee, your voice apologetic. “We’ll pay for the damages and leave right away.”

The employee nodded, muttering something about speaking to the manager as he hurried off. You turned to Tony, your glare now fully justified.

“You’re going to get us banned,” you hissed.

Tony shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “If you’re going to get banned from somewhere, it might as well be IKEA.”

Before you could respond, the manager arrived—a stern-looking woman in a crisp uniform who radiated the kind of authority that could terrify even the bravest soul. She approached with an air of barely concealed exasperation, her gaze flicking between you, Tony, and the broken moose.

“Is this the gentleman responsible?” she asked, her tone flat.

“That’s me,” Tony said, stepping forward with a confident grin. “Tony Stark. You might’ve heard of me.”

The manager’s eyebrow twitched. “I have, and that’s exactly why I’m surprised by this behavior.”

“Hey, I’m just a man of the people,” Tony replied. “Testing the furniture, making sure it’s up to IKEA’s legendary standards. You’re welcome.”

The manager didn’t flinch. “Mr. Stark, we appreciate your enthusiasm, but your behavior is disruptive. And destructive.” Her gaze hardened. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

Tony’s grin widened. “What, no second chances? That doesn’t seem very festive.”

“Effective immediately,” she continued, ignoring him. “You’re banned from this location.”

“That’s fair,” Tony said, nodding as if he’d just been handed a parking ticket. “Honestly, I’ve been kicked out of worse places.”

“—and every other IKEA store worldwide,” the manager finished, her voice firm.

That wiped the grin off his face. “Wait, worldwide? Isn’t that a little harsh?”

The manager crossed her arms, unimpressed. “You broke a rocking moose, stacked chairs like a Jenga tower, and disrupted our other customers. Consider yourself fortunate we’re not pressing charges.”

Tony looked genuinely scandalized. “You’re telling me I can’t set foot in any IKEA? Even the one in Sweden?”

“Especially the one in Sweden,” she said, her expression unyielding.

Tony turned to you, his face a perfect mixture of indignation and amusement. “Can you believe this? Banned for life. I’m a living legend.”

“You’re a living nuisance,” you replied, grabbing his arm and pulling him toward the exit. “And we’re leaving before you make it worse.”

“Fine,” he said, though he couldn’t resist one last parting shot. “But for the record, your rocking moose has design flaws.”

The manager didn’t respond, but her glare could’ve melted steel.

As the automatic doors slid shut behind you, Tony let out a low whistle, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “Well, that was a first.”

“You’re incorrigible,” you muttered, your tone somewhere between exasperation and affection.

“And yet,” he said, leaning closer as the chilly air nipped at your cheeks, “you’re still here.”

You sighed, shaking your head as a reluctant smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah. I am.”

He grinned, brushing a snowflake from your hair. “See? I knew I picked the right person to get banned from IKEA with.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation washing over you. “Just promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” he said, his tone turning soft as he met your gaze.

“No more rocking moose incidents.”

“Deal,” he said, pulling you closer and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “But you have to admit, it was a hell of a ride.”

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Hiking.

-> Pairing: Lee Know x Reader (You)

-> Request: This is a repost from my old account

-> Synopsis: You regret agreeing to go on a hike with your boyfriend.

-> Warnings: None. No use of pronouns

-> Word Count: 439

-> Requests: Closed. I will make a post when they are open again.

Lee Know Masterlist

©️ 2024 dancinglikebutterflywings - do not copy/modify/repost anywhere. Likes, comments & reblogs are welcomed and appreciated, thank you. 

“Are we almost there yet?” You ask well into your hike with Minho. 30 minutes into the walk you started to regret agreeing to his offer of going on a hike with him.  

Despite being in the shade, it’s hotter than hell, the bugs seem to be immune to the cheap bug spray you used, and your feet are aching, hot and sweaty and your pretty sure you have blisters that are beginning to form. Minho’s always been the more active one out of the two of you, unless it involves water. But you agreed to go with him because it's been a while since you got to do something, just the two of you.    

“Another 10 minutes, Jagiya,” he assures you.    

“You said that 10 minutes again," you pant as you stop walking. "Next time could we go see a movie? Go out for dinner? Maybe do something that doesn’t involve a 40-minute hike?” you suggest.    

“We can do whatever you want,” he says turning around when he realizes your no longer right behind him. He moves his backpack to his front and crouches down a little in front of you. “Jump on.”   

“Are you sure?” you ask a little uncertain. You’ve always admired his strength, but he would be carrying you as well as the backpack filled with supplies and food. "We still have another 10 minutes." 

“If it’ll stop you complaining, I don’t mind,” he assures her. 

“I wasn’t complaining,” you pout but jump onto to his back.  

"Yes, you were," he teases with a little smirk. 

Carrying you the rest of the way, you reach your destination in less than 10 minutes. In front of you is a beautiful river. The water is shallow and crystal clear. You didn’t doubt it would be freezing cold but nice and refreshing.  

Minho lets you off his back. The first thing you do is kick off your shoes and dip your feet in the nice cool water. You turn back to Minho, seeing him crouched down and pulling food and water out of his backpack.   

“I’m sorry I complained and that you had to carry me,” You apologize feeling slightly guilty.  

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, looking at you. You can see the mischievous look in his eyes, “But I won’t be carrying you back to the car.” 

“The walk back always seems to go quicker,” You smile. “I think I’ll be fine but you’re cooking dinner tonight.” 

“I’m fine with that,” he agrees. “Your cooking is terrible anyway.” 

Pretending to be offended even though you know he’s right, you kick water in his direction, splashing him. 

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