#trunks x y/n

[actuallysaiyan]

YAAAAAAAY you’re back! 😃

May I please request headcanons for Gohan, Goten, and Trunks reacting to their female singer S/O performing on stage with a male singer that they have a ton of chemistry with?

warnings: smut, oral sex(male receiving), spanking, jealousy, unprotected sex, possessiveness pairings: Son Gohan x Fem!Singer!Reader, Son Goten x Fem!Singer!Reader and Trunks x Fem!Singer!Reader

smut under the cut

Gohan

Look, he’s so insanely proud of you. You’ve come such a long way in your career. He loves watching you on the stage as well. He’s your biggest supporter.

He also understands that at times, you may look like you’re getting really close to fans or other performers, but he knows it’s just all an act.

Until that night, when he sees you practically grinding up against the guest performer. His blood begins to boil. This isn’t what you two agreed upon.

He’ll watch the performance, not wanting to cause a scene. But just know that things will go south when you get home. He’s got no patience for this kind of shit.

Once you’re done with your concert, he grabs you by the wrist and tells you there’s an emergency at home. You truly believe him somehow so you go along with it.

“You think this is funny?” he asks, his voice strangely calm. When you two get home, he’s pinning you to the wall. Your wrists are above your head and he’s kissing you so hungrily.

If you try to protest and argue, things will only get worse. He will pull your panties off, tug your dress up over your hips and he’s going to spank you until you’re crying.

“It’s not funny, babygirl. I warned you, I didn’t want to see you with another performer so close like that.” He says as his big hand soothes over your red ass. “Don’t forget it.”

Goten

More jealous than his older brother. Definitely is the type to keep a hand or his arm wrapped around you during afterparties and things like that. Wants everyone to know you belong to him and only him.

Probably spies on you from time to time, but he’s so goofy and sweet on the outside, he’s always got some sort of excuse for this behavior. And you believe it.

The night that you decide to dance so close and grind on the guest performer, he’s so jealous. He’s fuming and ready to pull you off stage.

He doesn’t let you have an encore. The minute you come backstage after your performance, he’s taking you away from everyone. The crowd is disappointed but he doesn’t care.

Goten is going to be fucking you in the backseat of the car while your driver drives you home. He’s feral and angry, leaving lots of marks on you.

“Fuck…do you have any idea how much that kind of shit pisses me off?” He asks, pressing his face in the crook of your neck while he fucks into you hard and deep.

You can barely think straight, clinging to him to keep yourself grounded as his cock rams into you over and over, bullying your sweet spot and cervix.

He’ll have you stuffed full of cum, disheveled. If there are paparazzi outside your apartment when you get home, he’ll proudly parade you around so that they get the pictures of you full of Goten’s cum and you look like you got your world rocked.

Trunks

He’s a jealous man, but it’s a bit different than Goten. He’ll be possessive at times, but he can also be a bit more reserved and watch you from afar. He saw first hand what jealousy does when it comes to his parents, so he’s got different tactics.

He’s got connections, so he always has tabs on you. He makes sure you’re okay, even when he can’t be with you on every part of every tour.

When you excitedly tell him you’re touring with one of your favorite performers, he’s a bit wary of this. But like a good boyfriend, he is excited and he supports your decision.

The only problem is that he is not happy with the chemistry you have with this performer. He wasn’t expecting this at all. He keeps a close eye on this man.

Then one night, you’re grinding and dancing with the performer, and Trunks grows so angry. His blood is boiling, he’s so close to going Super Saiyan. How could you do this to him?

The minute you’re done with your concert and you’re done with the meet and greets, Trunks has his hand on your shoulder and he’s guiding you towards the limo that’s waiting outside.

“Wait, there’s an afterparty!” you try to coax him, but he’s not hearing any of it. He has you in the limo with ease and you’re seated on his lap.

“What the fuck was that, princess?” He asks, tugging on your hair to make you look into his eyes. “Do I need to punish you?” But you already know he’s going to for the stunt you just pulled.

Trunks has you gagging and choking on his cock, watching as you try to catch your breath. Just know that if you pull that shit on him again, the consequences will be worse.

[thevelria]

I'm gonna make you mine... adult!Trunks x fem!reader (NSFW)

This story was a request from the lovely @sacredwarrior88 I do hope you're gonna like it <3

Summary: Y/N gave up on love a long ago, Trunks on the other hand fell in love with her the second they met. Oh and did I mention Trunks is Y/N's boss at the Capsule Corp? Warnings: swearing, heavy smut, going rough

“5 more minutes” you whined, trying to reach your phone on the nightstand and turn off that irritating ringtone you picked for the alarm. Rolling left and right in the bed, performing a smaller tantrum, finally you swung your legs to the side of the bed. Taking a huge breath and mentally preparing yourself for the day to begin.

“Am I too old to get a sugar daddy?” you wondered, while brushing your teeth with eyes closed. After you got ready in the bathroom you had to face the fact you had no idea what to wear. “Does the company have a dress code at all?” you frowned, browsing between your clothes in the wardrobe. A black tight skirt with buttons on the left side and a white also buttoned up blouse you picked. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna be late.” you cursed, trying to slide into your classic black heels, before grabbing your stuff and rushing to your car. 

Traffic. Yeah, you totally forgot about the traffic. “I cannot believe I’m gonna be late on my first day. Maybe it’s a sign, right? I should just go home. I can find another job somewhere else.” you bubbled, totally zoned out. A loud honk and an ever louder yell snapped you back to reality. “Move, bitch! It’s not gonna be any greener!” You rolled your eyes, while stepping on the gas and holding your forearm out of the window, flipping the bird.

“What did they say? Which floor?” you panicked, feeling totally lost in the building of the Capsule Corp. You held your papers close to your face, totally blocking the view from you. As you kept walking you bumped into someone. It felt like you'd walked into a brick wall. “What the…?” you lowered the documents, noticing a quite handsome man standing in front of you. His lavender hair and mesmerizing blue eyes made you blink twice.

“I’m so sorry, I should have…” -you bubbled, embarrassed.

“First day?” he pulled the sweetest smile ever.

“Yeah and I’m so lost.” you chuckled awkwardly.

“I’m Trunks” he held out his hand for a shake “Give me your paper and let me guide you to your workplace.”

“I’m Y/N” you accepted the offer, wondering how someone can be this beautiful.

Hushing the unholy thoughts out of your head as you followed him. You were completely shocked, his suit showed his perfectly builded body, his round ass and that back…that muscled back you would love to dig your nails in. Even if you gave up on love a long ago it didn’t mean you were blind and didn’t have needs. And Trunks looked just like your next mistake. 

“Here we are.” he opened the office door for you. Everyone in the room jumped up from their chair, bowing slightly, murmuring “Good morning, boss”.

“Boss?” your eyes widened, turning your face to Trunks.

“What? Oh yeah…” he chuckled, scratching the back of his neck “I’m the CEO here.”

“Holy shit!” you slammed your palm against your mouth “I’m so sorry sir, I didn’t know. I had no idea…” 

“Shh…” he hushed you, laughing “It was fun. Hope to see you soon.” he winked at you before leaving. 

You tried your best, focusing on your task, trying to adjust to the environment, to the nice people around you, but deep down you were daydreaming about your boss. Thinking about things, which you shouldn’t have. But who could blame you? Trunks was way too attractive. On the other hand Trunks was sitting in his big ass boss chair in his office at the top floor of the company. Tapping his foot to the rhythm of a random song he was listening to. Finding himself smiling, while thinking about you. 

“She’s so freaking beautiful.” he sighed, laying back in the chair, resting his hands behind his head, biceps flexing. “Is it professional, if I ask her out? I mean, why not. It’s not against any policy of the company. Not to mention I’m the fucking boss here, I can do what I want.” he fought with his thoughts. 

The next few days you bumped into Trunks every single morning, at first you thought it was just a coincidence, but after the 3rd “accident” it felt weird. Like he would have been waiting for you, talking about totally meaningless things, like how the weather was, how you felt at the company, were you satisfied with the equipment and things like that. Thursday was the day, when he asked you to have a cup of coffee with him, before starting your day.

“The cafeteria is the other way.” you cleared your throat.

“What? No! We’re not gonna drink that dish water, it’s gross. I have, on the other hand, a super cool coffee machine in my office. You get to choose from hundreds of types of coffee. You’re gonna love it!” he blabbered with sparkling eyes. He didn’t even notice how excited he got about the fact of you having a coffee with him. 

His office was huge, nothing like any other office on the lower floors. Huge windows caged the whole room, brightness danced across. All the furniture matched, giving you some serious, but still gentle vibes. Some relics on different shelves and his sword on the wall above a big, leather couch. Your eyes glued to the sword, while holding your cup of extra super special boosted coffee. Actually you had no idea what you chose, you just picked the first one on the list and hoped it was going to be tasty. 

“It’s so beautiful.” you pointed at the sword on the wall.

“So are you…” Trunks tried to whisper.

“What?” you frowned, turning to face him, because you couldn’t hear him clearly. You might have heard him calling you beautiful, but it would have been surreal, right? 

“I…I said it indeed is. And also pretty useful.” he grabbed the grip, swinging the sword, showing off his skills. Your eyes widened at the sight, he looked so damn hot, you had to fight the urge of jumping on him. “You really don’t know who I am, do you?” Trunks giggled, witnessing your shocked look.

“Uhm, I’m sorry, sir. I just moved into this town a few weeks ago.”

“Just call me Trunks, please.” he smiled, placing the sword back at its holder. “I don’t even remember when was the last time I met someone who didn’t know me. It feels great, truly great.” he took a deep breath. “I’m usually not like this, but Y/N…” he stepped closer, reaching for your hand “May I ask you out for a date?”

“Sorry, what?” you almost choked on your coffee.

“I have no idea what happened to me, but since I first saw you I cannot get you out of my mind. I just…I need to get to know you, I need to make you mine.”

“Thank you for the coffee, sir.” you cleared your throat, placing the now empty cup on the coffee table. “It’s time for me to start the day.” you span on your heels and were about to leave, when he gently grabbed your wrist.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t want to be disrespectful, really. But you are so beautiful, it drives me crazy.”

“Don’t say sorry. But I don’t date.”

“You don’t date your boss?” he raised one of his eyebrows.

“No, I don’t date at all. Love is dead to me, I gave up on it long ago. It’s the best way to keep your heart safe.” you sighed with so much in your voice. Trunks kept silent, letting you leave this time. 

2 weeks have passed and you didn’t see or hear from Trunks. You felt relieved, at first you truly believed he was going to fire you. But since nothing like that happened so far, it proved to you that Trunks was not a big headed, rich business man. 

Clocking out and driving home felt somehow different this day. You felt uneasy, but had no idea why. The second you parked your car you spotted the huge bouquet in front of your door. A tiny card hidden between the flowers was waiting for you. “Even if I tried, I cannot get you out of my head. Please have dinner with me!” The blush crawled upon your face rapidly, you slightly shook your head as you walked in the house with a huge smile on your face. A few hours have passed, when someone knocked on the front door. 

“Just a second!” you yelled, getting up from the couch in your typical evening outfit. The second you opened the door your breath stuck in your throat.

“What are you doing here?” was the only thing you could have pressed out from your mouth “How do you know my address at all?”

“I’m sorry that I…” Trunks looked nervous. “Your address is in the company’s system, so I just checked it.” he scratched the back of his neck. “Please, let me take you out for dinner. Please!” he begged. “If you won’t have fun I’m going to leave you alone, I swear. Just give me a chance, okay?”

Trunks was wearing light blue jeans with a buttoned up white shirt and a dark gray suit jacket. His whole outfit followed his body and showed his toned figure. Water ran through your mouth, when you rested your eyes on his sight. You bit your lower lip, before grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him inside the house. Shutting the door behind him, pressing him against the front door. 

“Y/N…what are you doing?” he looked confused.

“This is what you want, don’t you?” you leaned in, lips almost touching. His Adam’s apple bobbed, because you were right. He fantasized about you since the day he laid his eyes on you. The second Trunks nodded slightly, you released his shirt, smirking. Guiding him into your bedroom, closing the door behind him. His huge palms grabbed you, pulling you in and pressing his hungry lips against yours. You smiled into the kiss as you felt how eager his tongue was to find yours. His hands wandered up and down on your body, squeezing your ass hard. 

“Let me make something clear…” you said, while freeing him from his shirt, leaving him half naked.

“Anything, darling.” he kissed into your neck.

“It’s gonna be just sex, nothing else. I’m not gonna date you. I’m gonna use you for my own good. Do you understand that?”

“Y/N…” he tried to argue, but you pushed him slightly back, licking his abs. “Fuck” he growled, grabbing your shoulders and pushing you down on the bed. The arrogant smirk on your face turned him on even more. 

Trunks towered himself above you in an instant. Seeing his flexed muscles drove you wild. You grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss, as it deepened it got slopier second by second. His hand started to explore your body, running his palm up and down until it found its way under your shirt. Eagerly trying to free you from the cloth, pulling it above your head and tossing it aside, leaving you half naked.

“God, you’re so damn hot” he clenched his jaw, before his huge palm cupped your breast, squeezing it hard.

“Hm, I like that” you moaned.

“Do you?” his husky voice sent shivers down your spine “And what about this? Hm? You like that too?” he asked, as his fingers slid down on your body into your pants, softly rubbing your cloth covered pussy.

“I love it” you breathed heavily. “Trunks…” you moaned his name as he slid one of his fingers between your folds.

“Look at you.” he teased “Already so wet for me.”

“Shut up, you were fucking hard the moment I pressed you against the front door”

“True” he laughed, while freeing you from all of your clothes and starting to rub your clit with his thumb.

“Fucking hell.” you grabbed the sheet next to you.

He leaned in, kissing you again with so much passion it made your body jello, licking your neck, biting it hard. You knew he marked you, but the way he started to pump his two fingers in and out of your wet pussy kept you busy. His name rolled down from your lips, turning into lustful moans as you felt your climax was about to burst out.

“I’m gonna…I’m so close” you whined.

“Come for me, princess” he growled, keeping up the pace.

As he kept fingering you faster and faster you couldn’t hold it back anymore and rode your climax under him. After you finished, you pulled him into the deepest kiss ever, grabbing his shoulders and flipping him under you. You freed Trunks from his pants in an instant, admiring his huge, hard cock.

“Hm…” you smirked, spitting on it, then palming it immediately.

“Fuck, Y/N…” he threw his head back in the pillow. “You are so bad” he breathed heavily, as you kept palming him up and down. 

“But you love it, don’t you?” you clicked your tongue, slowly positioning him to your entrance. The second you lowered yourself down on his hard shaft you both let out an animalistic growl. It felt good, way too good. He filled you perfectly and the way your walls clenched around him drove him wild. He grabbed your ass hard, slapping your cheek and started pounding you without mercy.

“Fuck, yes” you moaned.

“You like it?” he hissed, grabbing your neck with one of his hands, choking you slightly.

“I love it, Trunks.” you placed your hands above his, gripping it tight “I like it rough” you smirked. This drove him insane, he grabbed your waist and in a second you were under him once again.

“Get on your stomach” he commanded and you obeyed without any hesitation.

“Lord…you are so big” you gasped as he entered you in an instant.

“You can take me, yeah? I’m sure you can take all of me.” he pushed himself in entirely. “Fuck, baby, you are so tight.” he bubbled under his nose. 

Pounding you roughly, gripping into the flesh of your hips, leaving behind marks pushed you closer to your climax.

“Trunks, I’m about to…” your words died mid sentence into a loud moan as you felt your orgasm rushing through your body.

“Come, baby, come on my cock.” he gritted his teeth, fucking you as fast as he could. The sound of the skin to skin contact and your lustful whines pushed him to his edge as well. “Y/N” his voice almost cracked from the unbearable pleasure “Baby I’m gonna cum…”

“I’m on birth control” you looked at him above your shoulder “Fill me up good” 

He didn’t need more, the second your words left your mouth you felt him twitching, pulsing inside of you. He thrusted once or twice more, before pulling out and dropping himself down next to you. 

“That was good” you giggled, pecking a quick kiss on his lips. “Let’s get a shower” trying to get up from the bed.

“Don’t you wanna stay a bit? Hugging or something?” he smiled, grabbing your wrist.

“For what?” you frowned “I’m literally dripping from your cum” you rolled your eyes.

“Fair enough” he laughed out loud. 

In the shower you had sex, twice more. After you finished and finally came out, you put on some PJ, crawled into your bed and was about to fall asleep. “Please lock the door behind you as you leave” you murmured. Trunks' eyes widened. He didn’t know what he actually expected, but he didn’t think for a second that you would kick him out. As he slowly got dressed and grabbed his stuff you fell asleep. He stepped next to your bed, watching for a few seconds as you peacefully slept. “I’m gonna make you mine” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on your forehead. 

[kiss-me-muchoo]

okay so yesterday I had a low blood pressure breakdown and the most intense colics of my life and while waiting in the doctor I thought about new ideas for fics, also I already am finding the balance between spring semester and writing fanfics so…

what do you want to read next? (Mostly writing everything but what do you want first?)

in the meantime, you can check my previous sh!tyy and pretentious fics in my MASTERLIST and listen to the also sh!tty and pretentious playlist I made for Gong Yoo in the iluvgongyoo playlist

[chososfaveaterrr]

~!♡Proper Introduction♡!~

♡Hello, hayyy! This is my first time ever having an account and actually writing so please be patient and gentle with me loll :) ♡

♡I am new to tumblr but I will try and stay consistent and post a lot, but I'm also in school and I work so just be mindful and remember I'm human!♡

♡I don't post or upload on any other platform yet so if you recognize something of mine somewhere else please report!♡

♡I don't really have any rules about requesting I just ask that it isn't anything weird/unhinged (example: incest, r*pe / noncon, ect).♡

♡I will definitely write smut/NSFW, Although I'm not that good at writing it yet but I will take any tips or suggestions to improve it!♡

♡Also you guys can call me lala, I'm open to make new friends and have a good time here!♡

♡I am black and Dominican, and fun fact I've always wanted to travel to nyc!♡

♡I will make a masterlist and a who I will write for page when I start uploading more fics!♡

Okay luv u bye♡!~

[supercap2319]

Y/n buying Peter one of them dissolving swimming shorts knowing Peter doesn’t wear underwear under his shorts when swimming

It was meant to be a prank as Y/N bought Peter some dissolving swimming trunks to wear to the pool. He had no idea what was in store for him. He was none the wiser as he put on the red and blue trunks and entered the pool with a cannonball splash. Y/N watched and recorded with a stifled laugh as Peter's shorts began to dissolve and break apart in the water, exposing his smooth toned ass in the sunlight as Peter sighed happily as he noticed there was a slight breeze downstairs and looked down with a gasp as he looked at Y/N's laughing face and phone recording him.

"Y/N... What the fuck dude?!"

"What? The reviews for it were legit."

"You're so going to pay for this later. I'm talking blowjobs and fucking you." Peter promised, covering his manhood.

"Oh, don't be shy, Tiger. It's nothing I haven't seen before." Y/N walked towards him and sank to his knees in front of Peter as he looked up at him. "Let me apologize properly." He pulled the wet fabric from Peter's crotch area and his dick hit Y/N's cheek as he stroked the wet dick and made it grow bigger as he opened his mouth wide and sucked Peter's cock.

[nova-aqua]

A Painful Goodbye

❛A PAINFUL GOODBYE❜

𑁍ࠬ¸𓍢 ❪MIRAI TRUNKS❫ ˖ 💜🗡 。

˗ˏ𖥸ˎ˗⠀┊DELICATE THEMES⠀┊ ⚠️❗

▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄

Trunks (pov)

I couldn't save her. I still remember that tender smile she gave me to fake her happiness. But she put up with everything for me... she didn't want me to lose my hope. I can't stop feeling the sadness that came over me when I lost her. Now the only thing in my memories is that painful goodbye.

Third Person (pov)

Inside the Capsule Corporation hideout were two people talking in a tone filled with concern. The lilac haired boy didn't want to appear nosy so he decided to announce his presence. With a wide smile on his face the boy began to speak.

Trunks: Hi mom, hi Y/N! -his mother and girlfriend turn nervously when they hear his voice-

Bulma: You're finally back, Trunks, we were so worried about you! -the older woman quickly runs to hug her son-

Y/N: how long was he standing there... Well he didn't notice anything different so he couldn't have heard our conversation. -she sighs thinking to herself then looks at her boyfriend feeling some melancholy-

Trunks: Y/N, did it make you so shocked that I come back alive?! -he smiles slightly noticing his beloved and her expression raising an eyebrow-

Y/N: Trunks, of course you didn't come back in the time you promised! -she runs towards him like her mother-in-law with tears beginning to flow from her (eye color) colored orbs-

Trunks: calm down sweetie -he strokes Y/N's hair, feeling the girl's face settle on his chest- there were some mishaps. Luckily it didn't get any worse and I was able to return safety. Those damned androids keep doing whatever they want in cities with a lot of inhabitants. -states saying angrily-

Y/N: -she froze when imagining the androids that end innocent lives- Trunks...-holds onto him sighing- well the important thing is you were able to come back...

Feeling his girlfriend's arms surround his body, the boy instantly relaxed. It didn't matter for now what he had to live to return home. Since he could remember, the cold and dark present always produced such a deep fear in him. But now with Y/N ​​by his side everything was different. The hopes he was protecting now are higher thanks to her. Trunks' mother smiled feeling a slight pain in her chest. If only moments like this didn't vanish like when the sun touches ice.

The couple was looking at the ceiling while they were both lying on Trunks' bed. After they had eaten, Bulma gave Y/N permission to enter her son's bedroom. The girl was laughing next to Trunks.

Y/N: I can't believe my mother-in-law still thinks we'd do "grown up stuff". -the girl laughs embarrassed with a blush on her cheeks-

Trunks: hahaha you already know my mother even though we are seventeen years old. She keeps thinking that because we are teenagers we wouldn't stand the temptation. -the boy kisses the girl's forehead smiling- but you know it's a bit tentative to think about our future. Just imagine the family we would have. -he breaths relaxing a bit-

Y/N: -smiles slightly- although the androids are still alive, I feel like after your mother finishes the time machine. Our future will be beautiful...

Y/N: You're such a big liar! You should tell him the truth.. Trunks has already suffered too much to continue lying to his face. -she watches the lilac-haired boy close his eyes thinking to herself- but I can't... I want to be selfish and be able to enjoy his warm expressions. -she sheds tears caressing her cheeks delicately- if only the necessary resources existed to be able to get out alive...

The girl didn't want a painful goodbye. She didn't want to make her loved ones suffer. Despite being in an apocalyptic place, that was not enough for her bad luck. After all her body decided to play with their happiness. Finding a tumor in her heart and without sufficient resources to be able to save her. Bulma was killing herself every day in order to build the time machine that would help them save her as well as humanity. Y/N couldn't give up hope after all that was the last thing that went missing.

Time Leap*

Bulma: the medicines are running out Y/N... -she pats her daughter-in-law starting to cry- the fuel for the time machine isn't full yet... -the girl looks at the corner of the room-

Y/N: the only thing I know...is that I can't keep hiding it from Trunks... -the girl hugs her mother-in-law- my symptoms are getting worse over time. At times I can stand the urge to cough in front of him. And my physical condition is worrying him. Trunks doesn't stop looking for food for me... He has to know the truth..

Bulma: I know it will be a complete torment to hear the news. But you're right, we shouldn't lie anymore... -she separates slightly as the girl gets off the table where she was for the medical check-ups-

Walking out of the room, Y/N starts debating nervously. Would there be no salvation for the girl? Arriving in the living room, she manages to witness Trunks lying on the sofa. He had recently returned again from a nearby town, he did not do very well trying to rescue people from there. News after bad news was really frustrating to have to diminish Trunks' hopes that were collapsing. She didn't hesitate so much and leaned on top of him like a little girl. She let out a slight squeal when she felt Trunks' arms around her body.

Y/N: ah, Trunks I wanted to surprise you! It's not fair...-she puffs her cheeks feeling her heart beating rapidly which at the same time hurt. Y/N thinking that she didn't want it to stop.-

Trunks: Well, you'll have to do more than climb on top of me like you're a cat. -laughs out loud but notices Y/N's expressions of pain- hey honey, is something wrong? -Upon hearing that question, the girl (hair color) hid her face in the hybrid saiyan's neck-

Y/N: hey Trunks... I have to tell you something. -she whispers in his ear, beginning to cling to him- I can't keep hiding it from you..

Trunks: what's up? -Sky blue eyes observe how the (eye color) orbs began to moisten. He didn't receive any answer, which worried him too much- hey...-he felt his neck get a little wet while his girlfriend got up from him-

Y/N:...I have something to tell you...and it's too difficult. -starts to cry shaking a little-

Trunks: calm down Y/N -places his hand on her cheek caressing and wiping her tears- I'm here...nothing bad will happen. Now tell me what is worrying you. I have noticed you've been to different. He kisses her nose trying to provoke a mischievous laugh from her. Not hearing her his heart sank a little.-

Y/N:..I...sh*t if only...if only... -she holds her head lightly in despair- if only I could keep hiding it. But it's not fair to you Trunks! I have hidden something from you for a long time. I...-pauses noticing her confused lover-..I only have a few months to live... -she looks down waiting for a reaction from Trunks-

But nothing happened, the Saiyan hybrid just couldn't believe the tremendous news. Was it some sick game on the part of his girlfriend? If he had hopes...it was all a sick game. But no...the tears and crying coming from Y/N. They were real...how could he not notice the pain she was suffering?!

Trunks: no, there should be a way to save you! My mother is a very smart person! -covers his face with his hand trying to hide the fresh tears- What sickness do you have?...-he waits for a response from Y/N and the girl swallows thickly, holding onto him bursting into tears again-

Y/N: I have...a tumor in my heart...-she takes a deep breath feeling the boy's body clinging to her-

Trunks: this...this will be resolved..I can't lose you too Y/N...I refuse to lose you like Gohan. I refuse damn it! -the girl gets attached to him caressing his back-

Y/N: ..you give me the hope that I was losing, your my treasure... My light in the dark... -whispers in his ear- with you by my side I feel safe...

Trunks: Don't worry, everything will be fine. We'll find a way. -smiles giving her a short kiss starting to play with her hair-

There are times when nothing goes the way you want. There are times when life tramples you so much that nothing can be the same. There was no time left for the (hair color)ed girl. Right now she was on the bed of the mini hospital that Bulma had in Capsule Corporation. Trunks held her delicate hand listening to her moans of pain. He felt so helpless not being able to do anything.

Y/N: hey Trunks...-she starts coughing looking at him. He had big dark circles under his eyes and you can tell he hadn't eaten anything. Without a doubt, her boyfriend was suffering as well.- I need... I need you to rest. I know it's difficult but... But it's time for you to rest..

Trunks: I can't Y/N...I'm afraid that when I close my eyes... you'll disappear... -he caresses his hand trying not to cry- please don't leave me... I won't be able to bear it.

Y/N: you have to keep your hopes up...the time machine. Bulma says that if you go to the past the tools to be able to do the surgery and treatments will be there. -holds her chest feeling a great pulse stopping her words-

Trunks: do you remember when we met? -He passes Y/N her medication, changing the subject a little. Starting to tremble a little he notices how the girl held her chest- you heh, you wanted to fight against the androids despite not having saiyan blood... You are brave and strong... I know you can handle this. You have me by your side always

Y/N: Trunks...you saved me...and I know you'll do it again. -Y/N smiles weakly at him, covering her mouth- Trunks, please go to sleep... You shouldn't neglect yourself because of me, I'm also worried about you... -she pouts- go on sweetheart, just a little.

Trunks: I can't say no to you. You are a cheater, you know that when you make that face I can't deny you nothing. -he gets up slightly, lying down next to her bed- I'll just take a little nap...

Y/N: It's hard to know that there's little time left for me... But I don't want you to lose your hopes. That's the least I want... -she sighs, coughing into a piece of paper, looking that it had slight blood marks- I would have liked... That we still had those dragon balls. I know they don't revive people who die of natural causes but...I would have liked. That Master Gohan was still alive. -closes her eyes trying to sleep-

A few hours passed and Bulma manages to watch her sleeping son next to her daughter-in-law's body begin to convulse. The blue-haired woman acts fast, fearing the worst. Trunks upon hearing his mother's screams stands up suddenly.

Bulma: no, no not yet please hold on! -she puts the oxygen mask sobbing- don't leave us little girl, don't do it!

Trunks: please you said to keep hope! How will I do it if I lose another person I love!? -The minutes seemed like an eternity. But finally his girlfriend stopped convulsing while still breathing-

Bulma: Trunks... we have to stay by her side... I'm afraid it could happen again. -the boy only nods feeling great sadness-

If only the time machine fuel would be easy to obtain. The girl's life would be saved. But now all that remains is to watch his beloved suffer. He wanted to increase his ki and shout an almighty cry. And drive away the pain of the three but could not. The girl started to wake up calling Trunks with little babbles.

Y/N: Trunks... I love you... -begins to cough- no matter what happens... Don't lose hope... I know since you were born... -slightly removes the oxygen mask and Trunks stops her-

Trunks: no please honey I don't want to! .. -screams inconsolably starting to cry waking up Bulma- I don't want a painful goodbye! Stay by my side... I need you... -he approaches her placing his forehead in front of hers- don't leave me... Don't leave us... -he breathes trying not to raise his ki- I love you...

Y/N: I know... that since you were born... A great burden took over... you. But Trunks...-she pauses, opening her eyes slightly- don't lose hope...-the girl places her hand on top of her chest, squeezing her shirt- you can't despite everything that's happening. You can't... please don't lose them. You're the light in this darkness...-laughs to herself, taking a breath- when you become...super Saiyan... You're the same as a light that turns on instantly...-watches Trunks while he didn't stop crying- ..don't let the only light go out..

Trunks: but...but you are also my light... -approaches her while she takes off her oxygen mask-..please resist... -approaches her kissing her gently- don't leave me...-the girl caresses his cheeks-

Y/N:...I won't leave completely... I will continue in your memories and heart... Until we can see each other again... For now I ask you to be happy... That you fight for what is right. ..-smiles slightly beginning to close her eyes-..I love you Trunks..

Trunks: no, it's not enough stop! Please -the girl's hand falls to the bed quickly. And her breath completely vanishes. Bulma quickly hugs him starting to cry next to him. Remembering the beautiful moments they lived thanks to her-

When Trunks finally managed to go to the past. The only thing he could remember about her is her painful goodbye. But also her words. Because the future and past would be saved thanks to him. The only thing that hurt was that Y/N couldn't witness it.

[santaasi]

obviously blind

pairing: james potter x bsf!fem!reader

summary: for years, james potter thought he was chasing love. sirius black knew better — he’d been holding it all along.

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, friends to lovers, idiots in love, james calls reader love, no use of y/n, english isn’t my first language

word count: 11.3k

a/n: it was probably the longest idea to write and edit. i rewrote every moment a bunch of times trying to bring it all to perfection. therefore, this time I hope more than ever that you will like it and you will support me with a like, comment or reblog. have a nice time reading this work! love u <3

ᯓ★ now playing…

slaves – footprints

You left your mark on me like footprints in the snow

Would you promise me you'll never let me go

November 15, 1971 My dear best friend, Hogwarts is brilliant! You should see the castle; it’s massive, with these moving staircases that sometimes take you to places you didn’t even mean to go! I tried to get to Charms class last week and ended up in the Trophy Room instead. Sirius says it’s part of the fun, and I’m starting to agree. Speaking of fun, I made a new friend! His name’s Sirius Black, and he’s a bit of a troublemaker like me. Don’t tell Mum, but we might’ve let some Filibuster’s Fireworks off in the Great Hall during lunch. The teachers were furious, but the look on their faces was worth it. How’s Beauxbatons? Is it true your castle is magical in a totally different way? Sirius said something about unicorns roaming the grounds. Is that real? Write me everything—I want to know what it’s like over there. Hope you’re having as much fun as I am.  Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WAS UTTERLY SPENT. Not the charming, rakish kind of spent he might brag about after a late night of mischief, but truly, completely, soul-drainingly done. The journey to the Potter family cottage, which should have been a brisk jaunt, had turned into a Herculean trial. Blame the snowstorm that had swept through magical London like some vengeful Norse curse, burying everything in its path under heaps of frosty misery.

It started with a delayed train — no, not delayed, imprisoned. Sirius and James were already aboard when the announcement came, trapping them in a stuffy carriage surrounded by loudly complaining wizards and at least one crying baby. And because the universe clearly found Sirius’ misery entertaining, the train came to a jolting halt halfway to their destination, snow packing the tracks so thickly that it took hours of magical clearing before they moved again.

When they finally arrived at the station, they discovered that Mr. Potter, their much-needed savior with a warm car and a better attitude than either of them, had been delayed at work. Thus, Sirius and James were left to trudge through the snow-laden countryside, dragging their trunks behind them, with James’ endless chatter about Lily Evans ringing in Sirius’ ears like a persistent curse.

“Her smile, Padfoot,” James had sighed dreamily at least seventeen times, his glasses fogging up as if even thinking about Lily caused them to malfunction. “And the way she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s concentrating—”

By the sixteenth sigh, Sirius had been sorely tempted to shove a fistful of snow into James’ face. By the seventeenth, he was mentally composing a list of Unforgivable Curses and ranking them by efficiency. Yet, even as he grumbled under his breath, Sirius couldn’t bring himself to abandon the trek. The Potters were the closest thing he had to a family, and spending Christmas anywhere else — no matter how dire the journey — was unthinkable.

When they finally reached the Potter home, Sirius didn’t so much step inside as collapse into it. He shoved the front door open with the dramatic flair of a man escaping death itself and sprawled across the polished wooden floor like a martyr for his own cause. His trunk fell beside him with a satisfying thud.

“Home at last,” he groaned, voice muffled against the rug. “Tell me, Prongs, do they serve last rites before cinnamon rolls, or do we skip straight to the feast?”

The cottage, of course, was as warm and welcoming as Sirius remembered. Strings of fairy lights twinkled across the beams, casting a cozy glow of red, gold, and green. A holly wreath hung crookedly on the wall — lil’James’ handiwork, no doubt — and the scent of pine mingled with the tantalizing aroma of cinnamon, butter, and something sweet. Sirius’ stomach growled audibly.

“Oi, shut it, you ungrateful mutt,” James shot back with a grin, though Sirius could see his friend’s eyes darting toward the kitchen. “You’re embarrassing us in front of the wreath.”

James hadn’t even set his trunk down before a figure appeared in the doorway.

At first, Sirius barely registered her presence. He was too busy muttering about the injustice of underage magic restrictions. But then — oh, then — she stepped fully into view.

A girl.

Not just any girl, but you.

You moved with a kind of quiet confidence that Sirius instantly clocked, your steps unhurried, your presence undeniable. The golden glow of the fairy lights danced across your hair, giving it a shimmer that seemed almost unreal. You were wrapped in a deep blue jumper — Sirius realized this after a moment’s brain lag — and your cheeks were rosy, likely from the heat of the kitchen.

You carried a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, the scent of melted sugar and spice trailing after you like some kind of domestic enchantment. Sirius’ mouth went dry, and for the first time in years, he was at a loss for words.

“Well,” he managed after a beat, hauling himself upright and trying for a semblance of decorum. “Now I see why you were so keen to come home, Prongs. You’ve got cinnamon-roll-bearing angels dropping out of the sky.”

You laughed, soft and melodic, the sound so unguarded it seemed to wrap the room in warmth. Sirius couldn’t help but notice the way your lips curled into a smile that was equal parts inviting and mysterious.

“Hello to you too, Sirius,” you said, your voice carrying a familiarity that made his ears perk up.

Sirius blinked. Wait. Of course. This wasn’t some celestial being summoned to his rescue; this was James’ childhood best friend. The one James had vaguely mentioned — just a handful of times over the years, always in passing and with a strange softness that Sirius hadn’t thought to question before.

And yet, here you were. In the flesh. Standing in the middle of the Potters’ living room with a tray of baked goods and a smile that Sirius suspected had the power to stop traffic.

“Well, well, Jamie-boy,” Sirius drawled, nudging James with his elbow and watching his friend with amused curiosity. “You never told me the famous cinnamon-roll angel was also — what’s the word? Ah, yes — real.”

You raised an eyebrow at Sirius’ antics, though your smile didn’t falter. Instead, you glanced toward James, who looked like he’d been hit with a Confundus Charm.

Sirius smirked. “James, mate, you alright? You’ve gone all... slack-jawed.”

But James wasn’t paying him any attention. His hazel eyes were locked on you, wide and brimming with something Sirius couldn’t quite place. He watched as James' gaze traced over the streak of flour smudged on your cheek, the stray strands of hair escaping from your ponytail, and the red apron dusted with flour and cinnamon.

Sirius almost snorted aloud. This was the James Potter who couldn’t shut up about Lily Evans — the boy who spent half his waking hours plotting ways to win her over. And yet, here he was, staring at you like you’d just descended from the heavens.

“Jamie,” you said softly, setting the tray down on the nearby table.

It was just one word, but the way you said it — warm, tender, and utterly unguarded — sent a jolt through Sirius.

Before he could process what was happening, James crossed the room in a few long strides and swept you into his arms. You squealed in surprise, and the sound was pure delight, echoing off the walls.

Sirius blinked, startled. The way James held you — hands firm on your waist, his head dipping into the crook of your neck — wasn’t friendly, not by a long shot. Sirius had known James since he was eleven years old, had seen him charm and flirt with half of Hogwarts, but he had never seen this.

“Missed me, Jamie?” you teased, your fingers slipping into his unruly hair with the kind of ease that spoke of years of familiarity.

“Always,” James murmured, so quietly Sirius barely caught it.

“Bloody hell,” Sirius muttered under his breath.

He glanced around the room, half-expecting someone to explain this baffling scene, but it was just him, James, and you, wrapped up in some intimate little bubble that made Sirius feel like an intruder.

James murmured something into your shoulder — too soft for Sirius to catch — and you laughed, your voice light and unrestrained. The sound pulled James’ head up, and Sirius couldn’t miss the way his eyes traced your face with a kind of devotion Sirius had only read about in sappy romance novels.

It was then that the memories began to click into place. The scattered mentions over the years, the odd tone James always took when he talked about you. “She’s not like anyone else, Padfoot. She just gets it.” Or that one summer when James had come back to Hogwarts looking utterly miserable and wouldn’t explain why. Sirius had teased him about it for weeks, thinking it was Lily-related. But now, seeing the way James looked at you...

“Wait a minute,” Sirius blurted, his grin widening as realization dawned. “You’re the one. The one he’s always sneaking off to write letters to, the one he’s all secretive about.”

James shot him a glare, his cheeks burning bright red.

“Padfoot—”

“—the one who sent him that hideous scarf last Christmas!” Sirius continued, thoroughly enjoying himself now. “I knew there had to be someone. Prongs doesn’t just get that moony-eyed look over just anyone.”

You laughed again, covering your face with your hands, while James muttered something about strangling Sirius later.

Before Sirius could needle him further, the kitchen door creaked open, and Euphemia Potter swept into the room. She was radiant as always, her cheeks rosy from the cold, her dark hair streaked with silver. Her eyes lit up the moment she saw James.

“There’s my boy!” she exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug before he could even attempt to protest.

“Hi, Mum,” James mumbled, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

Euphemia pulled back, cupping his face in her hands as though memorizing every detail. “It’s been too long, Jamie. Too long. You’re far too skinny — have you been eating properly at school? And what have you done with your hair?”

James groaned, though his smile was fond.

Then her eyes fell on Sirius, and the warmth in her expression grew tenfold.

“Sirius, my dear,” she said, moving toward him with open arms. “I’m so glad you’re home, too.”

Sirius froze for a moment, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this — the genuine affection, the way Euphemia made him feel like he belonged.

When her arms wrapped around him, the embrace firm and filled with love, Sirius felt an odd lump form in his throat. He couldn’t help but think of his own mother’s cold, perfunctory hugs, her disdainful gaze, and the way her affection always felt like a transaction.

“You’ve grown even handsomer,” Euphemia said, pulling back to study him. “Fleamont’s going to be jealous.”

Sirius managed a crooked grin, the lump in his throat still stubbornly there. “That’s the goal, Mrs. Potter. Keep him on his toes.”

Euphemia laughed, her eyes twinkling, before cupping his cheek briefly. “You’re family now, Sirius. Never forget that.”

Satisfied, Euphemia turned her attention to you. Her face softened even more, and she reached out to squeeze your hands. “Oh, there you are, dear. I was wondering where my helper had gone. The mince pies won’t bake themselves, you know”

You shot James a quick, playful glance before following Euphemia toward the door. “I’ll be back in a bit,” you said, your smile lingering. 

As Mrs. Potter ushered you toward the door to finish the pies, Sirius remained rooted to the spot. The warmth from her hug lingered, and for a fleeting moment, he thought of how lucky James was to have parents like that — and how lucky he was to have stumbled into their lives.

James watched you leave, his gaze following you until you were out of sight. Sirius couldn’t help but laugh.

“Mate,” he said, clapping James on the shoulder. “You’re a goner.”

James huffed, shoving him away, but the goofy grin on his face was impossible to hide.

And Sirius? Sirius couldn’t wait to see how this played out.

July 2, 1973 My Love, Summer’s only just started, and I can’t wait to see you. Mum’s already planning another one of her “legendary” tea parties, which means she’ll fuss over you endlessly. You’ll smile politely and charm her like always, and she’ll end up spoiling you with biscuits to take back to Beauxbatons. I’ve got so much to tell you. Sirius and I found this secret passageway that leads straight to Hogsmeade. We’ve been practicing spells to make it even harder for Filch to find us. Remus is shaking his head, but I think he secretly loves our schemes. Oh, and Lily—she’s still brilliant. She’s got the most incredible laugh. But you, my love, I bet your laugh would still outshine hers any day.

Do you still walk in those Beauxbatons gardens at sunset? I can imagine you there, glowing in the soft light. It suits you. Write me back quickly, won’t you? The days are always better when I hear from you. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK HAD ALWAYS KNOWN JAMES POTTER WAS A TACTILE PERSON. James spoke fluently in the language of touch — claps on the back that lingered just a second too long, overly enthusiastic shoulder bumps that almost knocked you off your feet, and the occasional arm slung around your shoulders like he was staking a claim. But this? This was something else entirely.

It wasn’t just the way James touched you. It was the way he seemed to orbit you, like some lovesick moon drawn to its planet. Wherever you were, James was never far behind — hovering, grinning, completely and utterly besotted without even realizing it. And for someone so allegedly brilliant, he was astoundingly stupid about it.

Sirius noticed it within minutes of their arrival at the Potter cottage for the holidays. As the snow settled outside, so did James — right beside you, always beside you. If you were arranging the flowers Euphemia had insisted on, James was there offering suggestions like he’d suddenly become an expert on floral arrangements. If you were curled up in the drawing room with a book, James was sprawled across the nearest sofa, pretending to read but actually just watching you out of the corner of his eye like some hopeless romantic idiot in a badly written Muggle novel.

Sirius had been rolling his eyes so much, they were practically stuck in the back of his head.

THE SECOND MORNING WAS WHEN THINGS REALLY CLICKED. Sirius had woken up earlier than usual — a rare and uncomfortable event for him. He had no plans to do anything productive, of course, but the faint sound of footsteps in the hallway intrigued him. Padding out of his room, he peeked around the corner just in time to see James sneaking toward the kitchen.

Naturally, Sirius followed. He found James standing at the counter, sleeves rolled up like some kind of domestic god, arranging breakfast with the precision of someone preparing an offering to Merlin himself. There was a plate of toast with cream cheese and thinly sliced avocado, a bowl of berries that looked like they’d been picked by woodland elves, and a steaming cup of coffee. The smell alone was enough to make Sirius reconsider his usual disdain for mornings.

“Fancy,” Sirius said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, voice still scratchy from sleep.

James jumped slightly but recovered quickly, flashing Sirius a sheepish grin. “Morning, Pads. Coffee’s on the counter.”

Sirius eyed the tray suspiciously. “Is this for you, or is it for your favorite person in the world aka me?”

James’s ears turned pink. “It’s for her,” he admitted, almost bashfully, like he hadn’t just spent ten minutes crafting the most meticulous breakfast Sirius had ever seen.

“Of course it is,” Sirius muttered with a smirk, grabbing a mug for himself. “You realize this is bordering on embarrassing, yeah?”

James shot him a look, but before he could respond, you appeared in the doorway, still looking half-asleep. Your hair was mussed, and the oversized jumper you’d borrowed from James was slipping off one shoulder, but you somehow managed to look effortlessly radiant. Sirius rolled his eyes again.

“Morning, love,” James said, his voice soft and warm in a way Sirius had never heard before.

“Morning, Jamie,” you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep as you shuffled into the kitchen.

James practically tripped over himself to hand you the coffee. Sirius watched, amused, as James’s fingers brushed yours in the exchange, his entire face lighting up like someone had cast Lumos Maxima directly on it.

You took a long sip of the coffee, humming in contentment. “Perfect, as always,” you murmured, looking up at James with a sleepy smile that could have melted a Dementor.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek.

Sirius nearly choked on his coffee. He wasn’t sure what was more painful — the nauseating sweetness of the moment or the fact that neither of you seemed to realize how completely ridiculous you were.

“Right, well, I’ll just... leave you two to it,” Sirius said, waving his mug in mock surrender as he backed out of the room. “Try not to get married while I’m gone.”

“Shut up, Sirius,” James called after him, but the way his voice wavered slightly betrayed his embarrassment.

By the time Sirius reached the living room, Euphemia and Fleamont were already seated by the fireplace, exchanging knowing glances like they’d seen this coming a mile away.

“Is he making her breakfast again?” Euphemia asked with a smile that was far too pleased for Sirius’s liking.

“Every detail,” Sirius confirmed, sinking into an armchair. “I’m starting to think he’s auditioning for Witch Weekly’s ‘Most Devoted Boyfriend’ feature.”

“Don’t tease him too much,” Euphemia said with a chuckle. “He’s just like his father was with me.”

“Merlin, it’s contagious,” Sirius groaned, dramatically throwing an arm over his face. “If I start acting like that, someone put me out of my misery.”

But even as he joked, Sirius couldn’t help but smile. Because for all his teasing, it was obvious to anyone with eyes that James was hopelessly gone for you. And judging by the way you looked at him, Sirius had a feeling the feeling was mutual — even if neither of you was bright enough to figure it out.

AND THEN THERE WERE THE SMALL, INTIMATE TOUCHES SIRIUS COULDN’T IGNORE, no matter how much he wanted to. James’s hand resting on the small of your back as he guided you through a doorway, like you might somehow lose your way without him. The way his fingers traced lazy patterns on your knee under the dinner table, as though the contact grounded him. Or how he’d tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering just long enough to make Sirius roll his eyes and fight back a gag.

It was maddening to watch, really. Not because Sirius minded the affection — no, James deserved a bit of softness in his life, and you were undeniably good for him. It was maddening because you were both so oblivious. James was a goner, sure, but you weren’t far behind. Every time you leaned into his touch, smiled up at him like he hung the stars, or called him Jamie in that soft, teasing tone, it was like watching two wizards tiptoe around a cauldron, waiting for it to explode.

One evening, as the three of you lounged in the living room, the dynamic was on full display. The Potters had insisted on a family movie night — Euphemia’s idea, of course, because family time was important. Sirius couldn’t say no to the fire roaring in the hearth, the massive bowl of popcorn, and the ridiculous Muggle Christmas film flickering on the screen. But as the minutes passed, he started to regret not escaping upstairs.

James had situated himself squarely in the middle of the sofa, with you tucked neatly under his arm. His hand played absently with the ends of your hair, fingers twisting the strands like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. You had your legs curled beneath you, leaning into him with the kind of comfort Sirius had only ever seen in old couples who had been together for decades. James pressed a kiss to your temple, murmuring something Sirius couldn’t quite catch.

It was unbearable.

“Oi, lovebirds,” Sirius interrupted, launching a piece of popcorn at James. It hit him square in the forehead, a small but satisfying victory. “Some of us are trying to watch the movie without choking on all this sap.”

You burst into laughter, sitting up just enough to toss a handful of popcorn back at him. “You’re just jealous, Black.”

“Jealous? Me?” Sirius placed a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Of what, exactly? Watching James Potter transform into a human puddle before my very eyes? No thanks. I’ll pass.”

James didn’t even flinch. He just grinned, looking every bit the lovesick fool he was. “You’ll get it one day, Pads,” he said with infuriating calm.

Sirius snorted, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing it into his mouth. “Right. Because what I’m really missing in my life is the chance to turn into that.” He gestured at the two of you with a dramatic wave of his hand.

But despite his teasing, Sirius couldn’t ignore the warmth spreading in his chest as he watched the scene unfold. James, the arrogant, Quidditch-obsessed, devil-may-care prankster he’d known all his life, was utterly, completely, hopelessly in love. And the worst — or perhaps best — part? He didn’t even seem to realize it.

BY THE END OF THESE COUPLE OF DAYS VACK AT THE POTTER COTTAGE, SIRIUS KNEW. James Potter wasn’t in love with Lily Evans — not really, not anymore and maybe not ever. He was in love with you. It wasn’t in the dramatic declarations Sirius had once teased James about making to Lily. No, this was quieter, deeper. It was in the way James’s gaze softened whenever you spoke, like he couldn’t believe you were real. In the way his hand always seemed to find yours, even when there was no need for it. And in the way his entire being lit up when you smiled at him.

And you? You weren’t much better. You laughed at his terrible jokes, poked fun at him with an ease Sirius envied, and looked at James like he was the center of the universe. It was so obvious it made Sirius want to scream.

“This isn’t normal, you know,” Sirius said later that night, cornering James in the kitchen as he made tea.

“What’s not normal?” James asked, far too casually for Sirius’s liking.

“You and her. You’re not just friends. Stop pretending you are.”

James frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “We are just friends. She’s my best mate, Pads. You know that.”

Sirius laughed, loud and sharp, shaking his head. “Oh, Prongsie. You’re an idiot.”

“Am not,” James shot back, but there was a flicker of doubt in his voice.

Sirius leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms. “If you’re just friends, then I’m a unicorn. Face it, Potter — you’re in love.”

James opened his mouth, probably to argue, but then you walked into the room, yawning and looking for all the world like you belonged there. James’s expression softened immediately, his gaze lingering on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

Sirius didn’t say another word. He didn’t need to.

Because James Potter was already lost, and for once, Sirius didn’t mind watching his best mate fall.

March 30, 1975

My Love, It’s been ages since your last letter, and I miss you like mad. Exams are coming up, and I’m hopeless at concentrating without your words to keep me sane. The Marauders are in full swing, though—our latest adventure involved sneaking a swamp into one of the corridors. Filch is still grumbling about it. I told you before how Lily has the most beautiful laugh, right? Well, I think she might finally be warming up to me. I’m playing it cool, but honestly, every time she looks at me, I feel like a kid with a new broomstick. And yet... you’re still the one I write to when I want to share everything. Funny, isn’t it? How’s the ballet going? I remember you mentioned your school recital. I wish I could see you dance. You’d be like a dream on stage, graceful and bright. Maybe one day. Forever yours, Jamie

SIRIUS BLACK WASN’T ONE TO BELIEVE IN LOVE — not the kind spun into poetry or whispered in secret corners of libraries. Sweet words, fleeting touches, long glances… all of it sounded like an elaborate prank. A fantasy created by people who hadn’t tasted the bitterness of the world.

How could anyone believe in love when raised in a house where affection was a weapon and the family motto might as well have been stab first, smile later? The Black family had given Sirius many things: wealth, privilege, and a last name dripping in infamy. But love? That was a foreign concept, spoken in a dialect he’d never been taught.

And yet, Sirius Black — child of darkness and rebellion — had found light. That light had a name: James Potter. From the moment James had barreled into Sirius’s life, grinning like the sun itself, everything had shifted. James had yanked him out of the shadows and dragged him into a world Sirius didn’t know existed — a world filled with warmth, laughter, and actual hugs.

It wasn’t just James, though. It was the whole bloody Potter family. Euphemia and Fleamont were like characters out of a Muggle holiday film. Euphemia, with her soft, unrelenting affection, had made it her personal mission to drown Sirius in love and sweaters. Fleamont’s laughter could fill a room, a deep, belly-shaking sound that warmed Sirius from the inside out. Together, they moved through the world as though their love was an unshakable force, a steady undercurrent in every shared look and word.

“Darling,” Fleamont would call from across the kitchen, leaning over the counter with a newspaper in hand.

“Yes, Fleamont?” Euphemia would reply, her smile soft and teasing as she stirred whatever heavenly dish she was making.

Never by name. Always darling.

Still, if love like that was rare, James bloody Potter seemed hell-bent on stumbling into it without even realizing.

James and you had been dancing around each other for years, so oblivious it was borderline painful. Sirius sometimes wondered if you two were practicing for a comedy sketch, the way you acted like best mates while exuding the kind of tension that could make a Dementor blush. If Sirius had a Galleon for every time James looked at you like you were the only person in the room, he could have bought his own Quidditch team by now. And he's only been watching you for a couple of days.

IT WAS THE FOURT DAY OF HIS CHRISTMAS STAY AT THE POTTER HOME, and the dynamic was impossible to ignore. You and James were practically inseparable, moving through the house like two planets caught in the same orbit. You helped Euphemia with the decorations while James carried boxes of ornaments up from the cellar, always hovering nearby like he was afraid you might vanish if he looked away.

“You know,” Sirius said, leaning casually against the doorway, “most people don’t need to supervise someone hanging tinsel.”

James didn’t even glance back. “She’s not most people, Pads.”

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “For Merlin’s sake, just marry her already.”

James froze, an ornament dangling from his hand. “What are you on about? We’re just friends.”

“Sure, and I’m a Muggle,” Sirius shot back, rolling his eyes.

You, blissfully unaware of the conversation, turned from where you were perched on a stepstool. “What are you two arguing about now?”

“Nothing,” James said quickly, his cheeks tinged pink. “Sirius is just being Sirius.”

“That’s never good,” you teased, smirking at Sirius.

“Oi! I’ll have you know I’m delightful company.” Sirius crossed his arms, feigning offense. “But if you’re not careful, pretty, you’ll end up trapped in Potter’s web of undying devotion.”

You raised an eyebrow, stepping down from the stool. “Potter’s web of what now?”

James shot Sirius a warning glare, but Sirius just grinned. “Oh, nothing. Just that James here is—”

“Hungry!” James interrupted, loudly and awkwardly. “Right, Pads? Didn’t you say you were starving?”

Sirius barked a laugh, shaking his head as James practically shoved him out of the room. “Subtle as ever, Prongs.”

From Sirius’s vantage point, it was painfully obvious. James was hopelessly, stupidly in love with you. And you? You weren’t much better. The way you smiled at him, teased him, trusted him without question — it was all the evidence Sirius needed. And yet, you were both blissfully, idiotically unaware.

One evening, as Sirius sprawled on the sofa in the Potters’ living room, he couldn’t help but notice the way you and James interacted. You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, rifling through a box of Christmas decorations Euphemia had set out.

“Jamie, hand me the gold bauble,” you said, tossing him a quick glance over your shoulder.

James, who had been half-heartedly untangling a string of lights, immediately perked up. “Which one?”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “The one in your hand, genius.”

James laughed, tossing it gently toward you. It missed entirely, landing with a soft thud on the carpet.

“Good aim, Prongs,” Sirius drawled from his spot on the couch. “Truly inspiring.”

“Shut it, Padfoot,” James shot back, but his grin never faltered. He turned to you, sheepish. “Sorry, love.”

Love. Sirius didn’t miss the way the word slipped out so naturally, like James had been saying it his whole life. And he definitely didn’t miss the way your cheeks flushed as you ducked your head, pretending to focus on the decorations.

LATER THAT EVENING, SIRIUS FOUND HIMSELF LAYING ON THE SOFA IN THE LIVING ROOM AGAIN (it probably was his favorite place in the house by now), a book abandoned on his chest as he watched Euphemia and Fleamont dancing in the kitchen once, a slow, swaying movement that didn’t match the upbeat Muggle music crackling from the wireless. Euphemia had rested her head on Fleamont’s chest, his arms wrapped around her like it was the only place in the world she belonged. It wasn’t dramatic or flashy — just simple and unshakable. And it made Sirius ache in ways he didn’t understand.

And a moment later they were in the same kitchen, preparing tea and laughing softly as they worked.

“Darling, pass me the sugar, would you?” Fleamont said, his voice warm and affectionate.

Euphemia handed him the sugar bowl without looking up, her smile soft. “Here you go, darlin'.”

It was the kind of exchange that Sirius might have mocked once. But now, as he watched the way Fleamont leaned in to kiss Euphemia’s cheek, or how she swatted him away with a laugh when he tried to sneak a biscuit, he felt something unfamiliar tugging at his chest.

“They’re sickeningly sweet, aren’t they?”

Sirius turned to see you standing in the doorway, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands.

“They are,” he admitted, sitting up and motioning for you to join him. “But it’s sort of... nice. In a vomit-inducing way.”

You laughed, settling beside him. “I think it’s lovely. They’re so in tune with each other, you know? Like they’ve been dancing to the same song for decades.”

Sirius tilted his head, watching you as you spoke. “And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you want that? The whole ‘dancing to the same song’ thing?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing the rim of your mug. “I don’t know. I suppose it would be nice, but... I’m not sure it’s in the cards for me.”

Sirius frowned. “Why not?”

You shrugged, a wistful smile tugging at your lips. “Because my dance partner’s too busy tripping over his own feet to notice I’m right here.”

Sirius stared at you, his mind racing. Did you mean James? Surely you meant James. But before he could say anything, James walked in, ruffling his hair like he always did.

“Alright, what are you two plotting?”

“World domination,” Sirius replied without missing a beat. “Want in?”

James grinned, flopping onto the sofa and immediately throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Always.”

Sirius watched as you leaned into James, your head resting against his shoulder. James turned to look at you, his expression soft and unguarded.

And that’s when Sirius knew — again, because he seemed to be realizing this every ten minutes — just how much trouble you two were in.

DAYS LATER, SIRIUS WAS STANDING BY THE WINDOW OF THE POTTER COTTAGE, a steaming mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. The world outside was a vision of winter — snow blanketed the ground in pristine white, the trees bowed under its weight, and the air held a sharp, crystalline stillness. Inside, the house was alive with warmth: the crackle of the fire, the gentle hum of Euphemia’s humming, and Fleamont’s cheerful banter as he set up a chessboard by the hearth.

But Sirius wasn’t watching any of that. His attention was fixed on the two figures trudging down the snow-covered path just beyond the window.

You and James walked side by side, your mittened hands brushing against each other with the kind of unconscious familiarity that spoke volumes. The path ahead glittered in the weak afternoon sun, the frost catching the light like scattered diamonds. Clouds of breath curled into the frosty air as you laughed at something James said, the sound clear and bright, even from a distance.

Sirius couldn’t hear the words, but he didn’t need to. He saw everything in the way James turned his head toward you, his face lit with the sort of joy that was impossible to fake.

Then it happened — your foot slipped on a patch of hidden ice. Sirius’s grip on his mug tightened for half a heartbeat, but James was already there. His hand shot out, steadying you before you could fall, as if the world might crumble if he didn’t catch you in time.

“Careful there, love,” James said, his voice carrying easily through the crisp winter air.

You laughed, brushing snow from your coat as your cheeks turned pink — not just from the cold, Sirius was sure. “You’d think I’d have learned how to walk by now.”

James grinned, tugging you a little closer to his side. “Good thing you’ve got me.”

“Good thing indeed,” you replied, your eyes crinkling at the corners, your voice soft and full of affection.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, James reached out to brush a stray snowflake from your hair. His fingers lingered for just a moment, his expression open and unguarded, filled with something so pure that Sirius had to look away for a second.

It wasn’t the first time Sirius had seen that look on James’s face. It was the same quiet, awestruck gaze he’d noticed a thousand times when James thought no one was watching. But seeing it now, against the backdrop of snow and laughter, it struck Sirius like a Bludger to the chest.

That’s how Fleamont looked at Euphemia, Sirius realized. He’d seen it that very morning, when Euphemia had walked into the kitchen with a sleepy smile and Fleamont had paused mid-sentence, his face lighting up as if she were the sunrise itself.

Sirius took a long sip of his hot chocolate, the sweetness of it sharp against the lump forming in his throat. He muttered to himself, a small smile tugging at his lips, “Never by name. Always love.”

“What are you smiling about, Sirius?” Euphemia’s voice broke the quiet, warm and curious. She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel.

He turned, raising his mug in a mock toast. “Oh, nothing, Mrs. P. Just watching James make a right fool of himself in the snow. Again.”

Euphemia chuckled, stepping closer to peer out the window. Her gaze softened as she spotted you and James, now engaged in some sort of playful shoving match, James clearly letting you win.

“Hopeless,” Sirius added, shaking his head.

“Like father, like son,” Euphemia said with a knowing smile.

Sirius huffed a laugh. “Yeah. Exactly like that.”

They stood in companionable silence for a moment, watching the scene outside. Sirius’s gaze lingered on James’s hand as it rested on your shoulder, the ease of the gesture speaking louder than words.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Sirius allowed himself to believe. Not just in the love he saw in James’s face or the easy affection between Fleamont and Euphemia. But in the idea that maybe—just maybe—love wasn’t the cruel, twisted thing his family had tried to make him believe.

Maybe love, real love, was something entirely different.

November 27, 1976

My Jamie, Winter has settled over Beauxbatons, and the mountains are kissed with snow. I wish you could see how the frost sparkles on the trees. I think of you often, imagining the mischief you’re up to at Hogwarts. I heard you’re Quidditch Captain now — congratulations! I can already picture you soaring through the air, the wind in your hair and that unstoppable grin. You were born to lead, Jamie, and I’m so proud of you. Your mum wrote me again last week. She’s sent another scarf, this one in Gryffindor colors. She says it’ll keep me close to you. It does, in a way — I wrap it around myself when I miss you most. Do you think of me as much as I think of you? You’re my constant, my warmth on the coldest days. Soon it’ll be Christmas, and we’ll have the stars and endless nights to talk about everything. Until then, stay safe, my Jamie. Forever yours, Love

THE CHRISTMAS CHAOS AT THE POTTER HOUSE STARTED BEFORE SIRIUS EVEN HAD A CHANCE TO GRUMBLE ABOUT THE HOUR. The sun wasn’t up yet, but Fleamont Potter most certainly was, barreling into James’s room with the energy of a man half his age. Before Sirius could properly complain — or hide under the covers — he and James were unceremoniously hauled to the garage. Their mission? Assembling the absurdly large Christmas table that Euphemia insisted on every year.

Sirius swore under his breath, wrestling with the oversized wooden monstrosity. “You know,” he grumbled, glaring at James, “if your parents had just gone for a nice, normal-sized table, we wouldn’t be out here freezing our—”

“Language, Sirius!” Fleamont interrupted cheerfully, though there was a definite glint of amusement in his eyes.

Sirius rolled his eyes but complied, though only because Euphemia’s kitchen smelled like heaven, and he was determined to earn his way to a plate of whatever was roasting in the oven.

Inside, the house was a picture of festive perfection: holly strung along the bannisters, twinkling fairy lights glowing softly in the corners, and a wireless by the fireplace playing carols just loud enough to make Sirius hum along when no one was listening. Euphemia’s soft laughter echoed from the kitchen, mingling with yours as the two of you prepared a feast fit for kings — or in this case, a house full of Marauders.

And James? Well, James wasn’t himself.

Sirius noticed it almost immediately. His best mate was usually a hurricane of enthusiasm during the holidays, cracking jokes, sneaking sweets from the kitchen, and generally making a nuisance of himself. But today, James kept glancing toward the kitchen like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

The idiot was besotted.

Every time your laughter drifted into the room, James’s head whipped around like he was under some sort of spell. If you so much as said his name, he’d stop mid-sentence, his eyes lighting up like the Christmas tree in the corner. Sirius would’ve teased him mercilessly if it weren’t so... obvious. Painfully, ridiculously obvious.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, WHEN JAMES AND FLEAMONT HAD VANISHED TO THE GARAGE — probably to charm something they had no business charming — Sirius found himself tasked with tidying up James’s room. He grumbled the whole time, of course. Cleaning wasn’t his style, and James’s room was a disaster zone: Quidditch magazines spilling off the desk, parchment crumpled in corners, and socks scattered in ways that defied the laws of physics.

“Honestly, Prongs,” Sirius muttered, holding up a suspiciously stiff sock with the tips of his fingers. “How are you supposed to woo Evans — or anyone, for that matter — when your room smells like the wrong end of a hippogriff?”

As he moved to clear a particularly cluttered shelf, a box caught his eye. It was tucked in the far corner, partially hidden behind an old textbook. Sirius raised an eyebrow. Anything stashed away like that was bound to be interesting. With a mischievous grin, he reached for it, only for the entire thing to tumble off the shelf, spilling its contents across the floor.

“Bloody hell,” he swore, crouching to pick up the mess. His hand froze mid-reach when he realized what had fallen out: letters. Dozens of them, bundled in ribbons of various colors.

Sirius sat back on his heels, eyeing the pile. His curiosity, as always, got the better of him. With a glance at the door to ensure James wasn’t about to barge in, he grabbed the nearest stack and plopped himself onto the bed, cross-legged and grinning like a kid about to open a box of Zonko’s best tricks.

The first letter he unfolded smelled faintly of vanilla. Your scent, Sirius realized, and his grin faltered for just a moment.

October 7, 1971 Beauxbatons is so different from Hogwarts. The professors here are so strict, James, sometimes it feels like I’m being watched all the time! I miss the feeling of freedom you must have at Hogwarts, even if you’re always getting into trouble with Sirius. Do you ever just wish you could escape the rules and run wild?

Sirius chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the elegant handwriting. “Trouble? Me? Never,” he muttered, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

But as he reread the letter, a strange tightness settled in his chest. The way you wrote about Hogwarts — it wasn’t just about the school. It was about James. Even miles away, you saw him as something larger than life, as the embodiment of freedom and adventure.

And James? The idiot probably thought you were just being polite.

February 21, 1971 Sirius sounds like a bit of a handful, but I bet he’s hilarious. I think I’d like him, even if he does cause chaos. You all sound like you’re constantly up to something, but I imagine you get into trouble a lot, don’t you? Anyway, I’d love to hear more about his pranks— I’m sure you and him must make a great team!

Sirius barked a laugh. “A handful? Pretty, you have no idea.”

Still, the words struck a chord. He could see it so clearly now: the way you’d woven yourself into James’s world with every playful question and teasing remark. You weren’t just curious about his adventures; you wanted to be a part of them, to understand the boy behind the Quidditch bravado and the wild schemes.

Then came the letters about Lily.

March 25, 1973 James, you always talk about Lily, and I think it’s sweet that you have such admiration for her. I bet she doesn’t even know how much you like her. She sounds like she’d be really hard to win over, but I’m sure you’ll figure it out. Just don’t forget to have fun along the way, yeah?

Sirius groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin’s saggy pants, Prongs, how thick can you be?”

He could almost picture you writing those words, the careful balance between encouragement and self-sacrifice. Even as you pushed James toward Lily, your letters were saturated with love — pure, unguarded, and heartbreakingly unspoken.

It was infuriating. How could two people so obviously meant for each other be so oblivious?

By the time Sirius reached the later letters, the humor had drained from his face.

December 5, 1974 Your mum sent me another gift! She’s so sweet, and I can’t believe how kind she is to me. It always makes me feel so loved. You know, when I’m away from you, it’s like I’m missing something... like the best part of my day. I never want to take our friendship for granted.

The parchment crinkled slightly as Sirius’s grip tightened. That wasn’t just gratitude — it was devotion, raw and aching. The kind of love that didn’t need fireworks or grand declarations because it was already woven into every moment, every memory.

And James? Sirius shook his head, a pang of frustration mixing with pity. James had spent years chasing the idea of love, blind to the fact that he already had it.

The final letter undid him.

December 12, 1975 I was thinking about you today, and how you’ve always been there for me — whether it was listening to me complain about the Beauxbatons professors or laughing with me when I’m in a bad mood. You’re always there, and I think that’s why I trust you more than anyone else. You’ll never know how much that means to me, Jamie.

Sirius closed his eyes, letting the words sink in. You didn’t just see James; you knew him. The real James — the boy who laughed too loudly, who lived for Quidditch, who couldn’t resist a good prank. You loved James, not the idealized version he tried to be for Lily or anyone else.

Sirius exhaled sharply, folding the letter with a reverence he didn’t usually bother with. His heart ached — not for himself, but for you, for James, for the years you’d both spent dancing around the truth.

“Merlin, you’re both idiots,” he muttered, though his voice was softer now. 

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it further into disarray, his mind replaying what he’d just uncovered. The letters — those bloody letters — had been the key. Now everything fell into place: James’s barely-there smiles over the past few days, the way his gaze lingered when you entered the room, the softness in his laugh when you said something clever. James Potter, his brash, unrelenting, wildfire of a best friend, was utterly transformed around you.

Balanced. Grounded. Sincere.

It was unbearably obvious now, as if someone had pulled back the curtain.

And yet, the idiot still had Lily Evans’s picture on his bedside table in his dorm.

Sirius’s gaze fell on the stack of letters once more, neatly tied with a ribbons that seemed far too delicate for James’s usual chaos. He could have left it alone, let James figure things out in his own thick-headed way — but that wasn’t Sirius Black’s style. If there was one thing he’d learned from years of pranks, broken curfews, and bending the rules until they snapped, it was this: sometimes people needed a push, even if it stung a little.

Sirius exhaled and leaned back against the headboard, the letters still in hand. "You're a fucking idiot," he muttered under his breath.

A slow smirk tugged at his lips. Oh, the look on James’s face when he confronted him — it would be priceless. Sirius wasn’t one for sentiment, but for you? For James? Maybe, just maybe, he’d make an exception.

The door creaked open, and James stumbled into the room, his steps heavy with exhaustion. Sirius watched as his best friend all but collapsed into the armchair by the bookcase, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He looked like he’d been wrestling dragons all day — or, more likely, his dad’s endless list of chores.

But there was something else, too. A tension in his jaw, a restless energy that practically vibrated off him. Sirius could see it plain as day: James hadn’t seen her all day, and it was driving him mad. She was so close — just a staircase or two away — and yet untouchable.

Sirius cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “So, Prongs, is this why you’ve been obsessing over the owl schedule for years? Didn’t peg you as the secret pen-pal type.”

James’s head snapped up, his hazel eyes narrowing in confusion. They darted to the bed, where the stack of letters lay exposed, and then to the shelf where the box had clearly been moved. He froze for a second before letting out a long, resigned sigh.

“Pads,” James said, his voice low and uneven, heavy with an edge Sirius rarely heard. “It’s not cool to read someone else’s letters.”

The room seemed to still, the words settling into the air like dust, soft but laden with weight. James’s eyes — those unmistakable hazel orbs that always held a spark of mischief — were guarded now, a flicker of something raw and unspoken behind them.

Sirius leaned forward, a grin stretching across his face like the blade of a knife, sharp and unapologetic. “Not cool,” he echoed, his voice laced with mockery, “is keeping this from me for six bloody years. Care to explain, or should I guess?”

James flinched, the tension in his shoulders visible even through the soft knit of his jumper. He moved toward the bed with the slow, deliberate steps of someone walking a tightrope, balancing the fragile threads of anger and restraint. The dim light of the room cast long shadows over his frame, making him seem taller, older — more vulnerable.

He reached for one of the letters, his hand hesitating for the briefest moment before his fingers curled around the parchment. His thumb brushed over the faded ink, tracing the loops of her handwriting like a blind man reading Braille. The edges of the letter were frayed, softened by years of touch, and as he lifted it to his face, Sirius caught the faintest smile tugging at James’s lips.

It was a small, private thing, that smile. Reverent. It wasn’t the boyish grin Sirius knew so well, the one James wielded like a weapon to charm or disarm. No, this was different — softer, as though the mere act of holding the letter in his hand brought James closer to something sacred.

Sirius felt his chest tighten. He’d seen James in every possible state — triumphant on the Quidditch pitch, livid after a prank gone wrong, devastated when the world seemed too heavy — but this? This was new. This was James Potter unguarded.

“She’s different, isn’t she?” Sirius said, his voice quieter now, almost gentle.

James didn’t look up. He sat on the edge of the bed, sorting the letters with a precision that bordered on ritual. Each movement was deliberate, his fingers careful not to smudge the ink or crease the paper. Sirius had never seen him handle anything with such care — not his broomstick, not his glasses, not even the Marauder’s Map.

“It’s not what you think,” James murmured, but the words lacked conviction, as though he knew they’d crumble under scrutiny.

Sirius scoffed, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated snort. “Not what I think? Mate, I think you’re in love with her and too much of an idiot to admit it. Am I wrong?”

James froze mid-motion, the ribbon he was tying slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he didn’t speak, didn’t move — just stared at the letters as if they might answer for him.

“She’s…” He trailed off, his voice barely audible. “She’s different, Pads. She’s… everything.”

There it was. The confession, raw and trembling in the space between them. Sirius leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his expression unusually serious.

“Yeah,” Sirius said softly. “She is. And that’s exactly why you’re a bloody idiot for pretending she’s not.”

James let out a bitter laugh, the sound low and fractured. He raked a hand through his already-messy hair, his movements frenetic, as though he were trying to shake off the weight of the moment.

“You don’t get it,” he said, his voice cracking under the strain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Sirius shot back, his tone sharp but not cruel. “I’ve watched you for years, Prongs. You talk about Evans like she’s some kind of bloody trophy, but her? You look at her like she’s the air you breathe. Like without her, you’d suffocate. And you’re sitting here telling me it’s complicated?”

James’s laugh turned hollow, empty. “Lily’s… safe. She’s who I’m supposed to want. She’s not my bloody childhood best friend.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Sirius said nothing. Then, he barked out a laugh, loud and biting.

“Safe?” he repeated, incredulous. “Since when have you ever played it safe, James Potter? Love’s not supposed to be safe. It’s messy, terrifying, and completely bloody worth it. Or are you seriously telling me you’d rather be ‘safe’ than happy?”

James looked up at him then, and Sirius’s breath caught. His best friend’s hazel eyes, usually so full of fire and mischief, were red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

“Do you think…” James’s voice wavered, barely above a whisper. “Do you think she feels the same?”

Sirius’s grin returned, slow and wolfish. “Mate, judging by these letters? She’s just as much of an idiot in love as you are.”

For a moment, James didn’t move, didn’t even breathe. And then, like a dam breaking, he laughed — a shaky, unsteady sound that grew louder, freer, until it filled the room.

“What do I do?” James asked, his voice raw and trembling with vulnerability.

Sirius stood, crossing the room to clap a hand on James’s shoulder. “You start by telling her everything. No more hiding. No more pretending. You owe her — and yourself — more than that.”

James nodded slowly, the faintest glimmer of determination flickering in his eyes. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Sirius said, smirking. “I’m always right.”

As James reached for the letters, carefully tucking them back into their box, Sirius watched him with a rare sense of pride. This wasn’t just James Potter, the fearless Quidditch captain, the prankster extraordinaire. This was James Potter, a boy on the cusp of something extraordinary.

And for once, Sirius Black wasn’t just causing chaos — he was helping someone find their way through it.

THE SNOW OUTSIDE FELL IN HEAVY, DELIBERATE FLAKES, BLANKETING THE WORLD IN A SOFT, UNBROKEN QUIET. Sirius stood on the second-floor landing of the Potter home, a mug of hot coffee cradled in his hands. The rich aroma mingled with the faint scent of pine and cinnamon wafting from the decorated tree below. The whole house seemed to hum with a kind of warmth that Sirius rarely allowed himself to imagine, let alone experience.

From his vantage point, he had a perfect view of the living room below. The fire in the hearth crackled gently, casting golden shadows across the walls. Mr. Potter sat on the sofa with an arm draped around Mrs. Potter, the two of them cocooned under a soft plaid blanket. A book rested on Fleamont’s lap as he read aloud, his voice low and steady. Euphemia’s head rested against his shoulder, her eyes half-closed in serene contentment. Every so often, she’d smile at something he read or reach up to adjust her husband’s glasses, her touch so light and familiar it made Sirius’s chest ache with longing — not jealousy, but something softer. A wistfulness for this kind of unshakable bond.

But his gaze didn’t linger on the Potters for long. It drifted to the corner of the room, where the Christmas tree’s twinkling lights bathed two figures in a kaleidoscope of warm colors. You and James sat on the floor amidst the chaos of torn wrapping paper and open boxes. The morning’s gifts had already been exchanged, but it seemed James had saved something special for last.

Even from here, Sirius could see the faint nervousness in his best friend’s posture. James wasn’t one to fidget, yet his hands moved restlessly, smoothing invisible creases on his trousers, brushing imaginary dust from the tree skirt. His eyes, though, were unwavering as they watched you. You were cross-legged on the fluffy white rug, your hair falling in soft waves over your shoulder as you picked idly at a ribbon. Sirius noticed how your gaze lingered on James, curious and full of quiet affection.

James leaned closer, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable lilt of mischief. “One of the owls was late,” he said, holding up a slightly weathered envelope. The parchment looked a little worse for wear, its edges crumpled as if it had been handled too often. “It dropped this off this morning… asked me to give it to the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you reached for the envelope. “Still using that line, are you, Potter?”

“Can you blame me? It’s worked wonders so far.” His grin was cocky, but Sirius saw the faintest flicker of uncertainty in his eyes as he handed it over.

You rolled your eyes, but the way you bit your lip betrayed your own anticipation. Turning the envelope over in your hands, you ran your fingers along the black-inked scrawl of your name before carefully breaking the seal. Sirius leaned forward slightly, his coffee forgotten as he watched the scene unfold.

The moment the letter emerged, the air seemed to shift. Your eyes darted across the page, your expression softening with each word. Sirius could see the precise moment the meaning settled in — the way your lips parted in surprise, the way your shoulders tensed, then relaxed, as if letting the weight of something long unspoken sink in. James’s hand rested on your knee, his thumb moving in small, nervous circles.

“Love?” James’s voice was barely above a whisper, his usual bravado stripped away. He was watching you as though the world rested on your reaction, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around yours. “You’re awfully quiet. Should I be worried? Say something. Anything.”

You didn’t answer immediately. Your eyes stayed fixed on the page, even as a tear slipped down your cheek, catching the light like a tiny diamond. James froze, his face paling slightly.

“Hey, hey, no…” His voice cracked. “Don’t cry. If it’s rubbish, just say so and we can forget it. Burn it, even.” He laughed nervously, though it sounded forced. “I’ll… I’ll pretend it never happened.”

That’s when you looked up, meeting his gaze with eyes so full of emotion it made Sirius’s breath hitch even from across the room. You didn’t say anything. Instead, you reached out, cupping James’s face in your hands. He stilled under your touch, his wide-eyed surprise melting into something softer as you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss Sirius might have teased him about — not fiery or impulsive. It was quiet, deliberate, and full of a tenderness that made Sirius feel like an intruder, even though he couldn’t look away. James’s hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though you might slip away if he let go.

Sirius smiled to himself, feeling a rare swell of pride. James had always been the heart of their little group, the one who wore his feelings openly. And now, here he was, finding a kind of love that Sirius knew would anchor him forever.

A sharp click shattered the moment, and both of you turned your heads to find Sirius standing at the bottom of the stairs, a wide grin plastered across his face as he waved a freshly developed photo in the air.

“Perfect!” he announced, shaking the picture. “This one’s going in the family album. And when my godchildren ask how their parents got together, I’ll tell them Uncle Sirius orchestrated the whole thing.”

You laughed, leaning your forehead against James’s shoulder, while James groaned, though the corners of his mouth twitched upward. “You’re a menace, Pads,” he said, though his voice held no bite.

“A charming menace,” Sirius replied, retreating toward the couch where the elder Potters were watching the scene unfold with amused smiles.

“Everything alright, dear?” Euphemia asked, her eyes twinkling with affection as she glanced between you and James.

James nodded, his hand still firmly clasping yours. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s perfect.”

Mrs. Potter’s smile widened, and she reached over to pat your hand. “Welcome to the family, my dear. Though, truth be told, you’ve always been part of it.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion.

THE REST OF THE DAY PASSED IN A GOLDEN HAZE OF LAUGHTER AND WARMTH. Euphemia roped you into helping her in the kitchen, insisting you learn the secret to her mulled wine. Sirius watched from the doorway, sipping his coffee and grinning as you tried to follow her directions, only for James to sneak in and steal a taste from the pot, earning himself a playful swat on the arm.

By evening, the fire burned low, and the snow outside had blanketed the world in an even deeper hush. Sirius sat in his favorite armchair, a blanket draped over his legs as he watched the scene before him. You and James were curled up together on the rug, a cozy tangle of limbs as you whispered to each other, your laughter soft and unguarded. The Potters sat nearby, sharing quiet conversation, their hands intertwined.

For a moment, Sirius closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the room and the sounds of contentment wash over him. He thought of his own childhood Christmases — cold, sterile affairs devoid of joy. And then he thought of this… the home James had built, not just for himself but for everyone he cared about. It was the kind of love Sirius had always believed was out of reach. Until now.

“Merry Christmas, Prongs,” he murmured, raising his empty mug in a toast to his best friend.

James glanced up, catching his eye. “Merry Christmas, Pads,” he replied, his grin soft but unmistakably James.

James had turned to you, his hand cradling your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. You smiled up at him, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his arm.

"Merry Christmas, love," James murmured, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that made Sirius’s chest tighten.

"Merry Christmas, Jamie," you replied, resting your forehead against his.

Sirius chuckled, settling back into his chair, the warmth of the moment settling deep in his bones. The world outside might be cold and uncertain, but here, in this house, surrounded by love and laughter, everything felt exactly as it should be.

He thought about how James Potter had once given him the home and warmth he never had. And now, it seemed, Sirius Black had helped his best friend find his way home, too.

FROM THE ARCHIVE OF SIRIUS BLACK:

To my future, undoubtedly brilliant, devilishly handsome, and wildly talented nephews,

Listen up, you little rascals. You don’t know me yet, but let me make one thing very clear: I’m the reason you even exist. That’s right, your ridiculously perfect Uncle Sirius is the mastermind behind it all. Without my charm, wit, and expert meddling, your parents might still be doing the whole "will-they-won't-they" nonsense.

So, when you’re out there ruling the world, remember to thank yours truly. The coolest, suavest, and most humble uncle you'll ever have — Sirius Black. You're welcome.

December 25, 1976 My Love,   It’s Christmas, and the house is quiet now, the soft hum of the tree lights the only sound. I’ve been sitting here for hours, staring at this parchment, trying to find words big enough for what I feel, but they don’t exist. Still, I need to try.   Love, I see it now—what I’ve been too blind to see all along. I’ve always thought of myself as brave, fearless even. But when it came to you, I was a coward. I didn’t want to risk losing you. You, who have been the brightest part of my life since the moment we met. You, who’ve filled every corner of my world with warmth and light, even when we were miles apart.   Every summer, when you stepped into my life again, it was like the sun breaking through a storm. You’d sit by the lake with that book you never quite finished because I was always distracting you. You’d laugh at my terrible jokes, your nose crinkling just so. And you’d hum when you thought no one was listening, always off-key but somehow more perfect than any melody I’ve ever heard.   I thought I was looking for the kind of love my parents have — their unshakable bond, the way they look at each other like the world begins and ends with them. And all this time, it was right here, under my nose. You were under my nose.   I think I was afraid, love. Afraid that if I let myself feel what’s always been there, I’d ruin us. That I’d lose the only person who’s ever truly known me, the only one who can look past the pranks, the bravado, and see me—the real me. But Sirius, being Sirius, knocked some sense into me. He said I’ve been acting like a fool, and for once, he’s right. Rereading our letters with him was like seeing my life laid out before me, and every line, every word pointed to you.   Even when you were far away, you were my everything. The letters you sent were more than ink on parchment; they were lifelines. When Hogwarts felt too big, too chaotic, you were the quiet in the storm. When I felt lost, you reminded me who I am. Do you know how many times I reread your words, just to feel close to you? I kept your letters in my trunk, hidden from the others like a secret treasure. Because that’s what you’ve always been — my treasure.   How could I have been so blind? How could I have wasted so much time thinking it was Lily I wanted when it’s always been you? I’ve spent so long chasing a dream when the real thing was right in front of me. I see it now, clearer than I’ve ever seen anything. You are my stars, my moon, my sun. You’re the laugh that makes everything brighter, the voice that feels like home.  

I love you. I love the way your handwriting gets messier when you’re excited. I love the way you argue with me over the silliest things just to see me smile. I love the way you hum when you’re nervous and how you always know exactly what to say to pull me out of my worst days. I love you.   I don’t know if you feel the same way, but I hope with everything in me that you do. And if you don’t, I’ll understand. Because having you in my life, even just as my friend, has been the greatest gift I could ever ask for. But if there’s even the smallest chance you might love me too, then I promise to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve you.   Merry Christmas, my love. You’ve been my greatest gift every day since I met you.   Forever yours,   Jamie

thankx for reading <3

god, this is my biggest work and I was so afraid to publish it, cause it seems to me that no one reads such long fics (I myself adore long fics).

and if you've finished reading this, thank u and I love you so much! I hope you enjoyed every part of it and I will be very glad if you leave a comment, because it seems to me that I have left all of myself in this work!

you can always share your opinion in comments or my inbox. btw my requests are open so… make a wish :3                                

– your santi 🪐

masterlist

[wildwestdean]

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park. 

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you. 

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait. 

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.” 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach. 

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together. 

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like. 

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.” 

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.” 

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets. 

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be. 

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo. 

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun. 

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.” 

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.” 

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building. 

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock. 

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?” 

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.” 

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold. 

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you. 

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?” 

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.” 

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.” 

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him. 

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance. 

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs. 

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker. 

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall. 

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way. 

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles. 

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you. 

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere. 

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!” 

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision. 

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you. 

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!” 

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her. 

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.” 

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent. 

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on. 

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.” 

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up. 

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood. 

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him. 

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.” 

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down. 

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand. 

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?” 

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.” 

“What?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?” 

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?” 

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently. 

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket. 

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks. 

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you. 

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat. 

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously. 

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?” 

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.  

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink. 

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker. 

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall. 

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say. 

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?” 

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion. 

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.” 

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.” 

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink. 

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam. 

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically. 

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer. 

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean. 

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away. 

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table. 

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.” 

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth. 

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you. 

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter. 

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar. 

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away. 

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you. 

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. 

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?” 

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car. 

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you. 

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats. 

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?” 

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?” 

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.” 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!” 

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance. 

“What, why?” you asked in confusion. 

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.” 

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off. 

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned. 

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.” 

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy. 

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders. 

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done. 

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom. 

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand. 

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran. 

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you. 

He couldn’t save you. 

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart. 

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him. 

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.  

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind. 

“Dean.” 

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came. 

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above. 

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut. 

“God dammit, Dean!” 

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer. 

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt. 

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.” 

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice. 

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him. 

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out. 

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current. 

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.” 

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order. 

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone. 

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name. 

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere. 

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order. 

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink. 

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him. 

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake. 

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang. 

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.” 

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?” 

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle. 

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?” 

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.” 

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice. 

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not. 

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.   

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself. 

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration. 

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.” 

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation. 

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.” 

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!” 

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed. 

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief. 

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!” 

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.” 

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?” 

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!” 

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?” 

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.” 

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!” 

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?” 

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?” 

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff. 

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-” 

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?” 

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!” 

“Right,” Sam said sceptically.  “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared. 

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively. 

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.” 

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.” 

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued. 

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.” 

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on. 

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin. 

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction. 

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen. 

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully. 

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen. 

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway. 

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly. 

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child. 

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.  

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do. 

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything. 

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.” 

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!” 

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him. 

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion. 

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife. 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?” 

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?” 

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily. 

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call. 

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more. 

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered.  So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do. 

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.” 

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” 

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?” 

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.” 

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation. 

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.” 

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner. 

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water. 

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water. 

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself. 

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding. 

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant. 

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.” 

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him. 

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.” 

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered. 

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you. 

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly. 

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again. 

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.” 

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?” 

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.” 

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.” 

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door. 

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out. 

“It’s not gonna kill me!” 

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?” 

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?” 

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.” 

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign. 

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” 

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!” 

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.” 

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.” 

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.” 

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” you scolded. 

“This is so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly. 

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.” 

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him. 

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.” 

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head. 

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.” 

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed. 

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully. 

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.” 

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.” 

“I do,” you agreed quietly. 

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.” 

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?” 

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.” 

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly. 

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].” 

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle. 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently. 

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.” 

“Right,” you agreed. 

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly. 

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.” 

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off. 

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.” 

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say. 

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.” 

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.” 

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while. 

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.” 

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build. 

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.” 

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat. 

“Okay,” he said with a huff. 

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly. 

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you. 

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened. 

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked. 

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.” 

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more. 

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.” 

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly. 

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?” 

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.” 

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?” 

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?” 

“Always,” you said honestly. 

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed. 

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly. 

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more. 

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things. 

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest. 

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares. 

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest. 

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

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[skywalkerslvt]

Rough Ride (so rough)

❥Pairing: RE2!Leon x AFAB!Reader

❥Summary: What happens when you have to sit on Leon's lap for a very long and bumpy car ride? Leon's pants get soaked 😍

❥CW: 18+, smut, sub!leon, dry humping, cumming in pants, overstimulation, crying kink, semi-public sex, sorta non-con at first? but both parties are consenting, 1.6k words

❥a/n: can you guys tell how much I like dry humping from the amount of times it shows up in all my fics? anyways RE2 Leon is so subby i need to make him cry so I wrote this. Also my requests are open if any of u leon sluts wanna request something 👀 Hope you guys enjoy! <3 pics are from pinterest

Leon Kennedy was utterly fucked. Both literally and figuratively. He was approximately one hour into the grand camping trip that your shared group of friends had planned, and it was already off to a bumpy start.

It started with the excessive amount of luggage you and Claire had decided to pack. The trunk was bursting at the seams, and the backseat was already crammed with more than it could reasonably hold, leaving the driver seat, the passenger seat, and a single seat in the back free for its intended use.

With Chris driving and Claire staking her claim on the passenger seat, that left you and Leon with the single seat to share.

And when you whispered a seductive “I guess we’ll have to make do,” with a mischievous glint in your eye, Leon knew he was done for.

Before he could respond, he was shoved into the car, barely even registering that you were manoeuvring yourself into his lap, carefully trying to find a comfortable position.

At first, Leon was awkward. It wasn’t every day that the girl he had a massive crush on was situated on his lap, and especially not for a 2 hour long drive like this one. But as you leaned against him and whispered a soft “Relax,” he eventually settled in, wrapping his arms around your waist and propping his chin on your shoulder.

The first hour was fine, enjoyable even. Leon had managed to stave off a massive boner, and everyone had been happy despite the luggage situation. But issues started to arise as Chris turned the car onto a bumpy gravel path in the woods.

“We’re gonna be on this trail for about an hour and then we'll be at our camping spot. It might get a bit bumpy,” Chris muttered quietly, not wanting to wake up his sister who had dozed off against the window.

As the car drove deeper into the forest, the road became more uneven, causing you to bounce slightly in Leon’s lap. His cock started to twitch, the boner he managed to avoid coming to as all his attention was focused on that single point where your ass was softly bouncing on his cock.

Leon was flushed head to toe, his teeth worrying his lower lip as the rate of his breathing increased. His cock was now fully hard and leaking pre-cum in his boxers, and by some miracle, you hadn't noticed. Needing to feel more friction, he pushed his hips up slightly, softly grinding his hard dick against your ass, playing it off as shifting to a more comfortable position. He felt like such a pervert, getting off against your ass while you were completely oblivious, but the weight of you on top of him felt too good to stop.

He had managed not to make a sound, harshly biting down against his surely bruised lip any time he felt like moaning, but when Chris hit a particularly hard bump, causing you to bounce harshly back into his cock, he let out a barely audible whimper, right against your neck.

Leon stiffened, panicking as he was sure he got caught. You were going to realize what he had been doing, and you'd think he was a disgusting pervert, never wanting to see him again.

But as you turned your head slightly, concern etched on your features, and asked him if he was okay, Leon went lax with relief. You didn’t know.

“Y-yeah- Sorry I was just startled by the bump,” he stammered out.

You smiled softly, seemingly unaware of the turmoil raging inside him. “It's okay. These roads are pretty rough. Just hold onto me if you need to, okay?”

Leon swallowed hard, nodding. “Sure, thanks.” You leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek, then turned back around and shifted your hips, moving in a more comfortable position. Leon’s hold around your waist tightened and his dick twitched at the feeling of you moving against him.

The car continued to jostle along the uneven path, each bump sending another wave of sensation through Leon’s body. He tried to focus on anything else–the trees whipping past outside, the sound of Chris humming along to the radio, the soft snores of Claire asleep in the front–but his mind kept coming back to the warmth and pressure of you against his twitching cock.

Desperate to maintain some semblance of control, Leon shifted slightly, trying to find a position that would ease his arousal. It was useless. Every movement, every slight adjustment only heightened the friction, the pressing of your body against him his own personal torture.

Minutes felt like hours as the car bumped along the trail, each jolt a reminder of the situation Leon found himself in. To make matters worse, you began shifting, unknowingly pushing your ass against his cock continuously, and Leon couldn't help himself. He just had to cum, so he began grinding against you again, timing his thrusts with your shifting.

He closed his eyes as his thrusts got sloppier, the building heat in his gut reaching its peak. He knew he couldn't hold out for much longer, and he was careless with his sounds, his heavy breathing against your neck becoming louder and louder.

Leon's body tensed, and with a muffled groan, he came, his cock twitching as he spilled into his pants. Relief washed over him, but it was short-lived as the car continued to jostle along the path, your ass still bouncing in his lap, overstimulating his already sensitive cock.

His breathing grew ragged, and tears began to well up in his eyes. He couldn't take it anymore, the friction becoming unbearable, and he bit his lip hard, trying to stifle his whimpers.

Despite the overstimulation, the continued friction of your ass bouncing against him caused his cock to twitch and harden once more, much to his confusion and frustration. The sensations were too much to handle; his body was a mess of sensitivity and arousal, and he couldn't stop the tears that began to spill down his cheeks.

Leon's mind was a haze of pleasure and pain, the overstimulation blending into a desperate need for more. His hips involuntarily thrust upward, seeking more friction, even though it was torturous. Each bounce of your ass pushed him closer to the edge again, and he couldn't understand how he could be this turned on despite having just cum.

Minutes felt like hours, and Leon's body was on the brink of collapse. The continued friction, combined with his heightened sensitivity, pushed him to the edge once more. He tried to stay silent, but soft whimpers escaped his lips, tears streaming down his face as he clung to you, desperate and needy.

Just when he thought he couldn't take it anymore, you turned your head slightly, a smirk playing on your lips.

The realization hit him like a freight train—you knew. You had known all along. Your smirk widened as you watched him, your eyes dark with arousal.

You leaned in, your breath hot against his ear as you whispered, "You've been such a good boy, Leon."

Leon's breath hitched, his body trembling as your words sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock. He was overwhelmed, his senses on overdrive as you licked the tears from his face, your tongue tracing a path along his cheek.

Without warning, you began grinding against him, your hips moving in slow, deliberate circles. The friction was maddening, sending shockwaves of pleasure through his overstimulated cock. Leon's hands tightened around your waist, his nails digging into your skin as he fought to hold on.

"You like this, don't you?" you murmured, your voice dripping with teasing amusement. "Getting hard again so soon after cumming. Such a needy boy."

Leon could only nod, his voice failing him as you continued to grind against him, each movement sending him spiraling further into a state of desperate arousal. He was completely at your mercy, and he loved every second of it.

Your pace quickened, and Leon's breath came in short, ragged gasps. Each grind of your hips sent jolts of pleasure through his overstimulated body, and he clung to you as if you were his lifeline. His tears mingled with sweat, his entire world narrowing down to the intoxicating friction and your teasing whispers in his ear.

With a final, deliberate roll of your hips, you sent him over the edge again. Leon's body convulsed, his cries muffled against your shoulder as he came for the second time, his cock throbbing and spilling more cum into his already-soaked pants. His tears of overstimulation turned to tears of overwhelming pleasure, his entire being consumed by the raw, intense sensations. You held him tightly, a satisfied smirk on your lips as you licked away his tears, savoring the sweet taste of his submission.

As the last waves of his orgasm subsided, you continued to move gently, coaxing every last bit of pleasure from his exhausted body.

Leaning in close, you kissed him tenderly, a silent promise of many more games to come. In that moment, Leon knew he was utterly and completely yours, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

When they finally pulled up to the cabin, Chris hadn't even fully parked before Leon threw you off his lap and bolted for the door. His face was a deep shade of crimson, and he mumbled a halfhearted excuse about needing to use the washroom, doing his best to conceal the completely soaked front of his pants. As he disappeared inside, you couldn't help but laugh softly, the image of his flustered expression etched in your mind. You exchanged a knowing glance with Claire, who raised an eyebrow in silent question. Smiling innocently, you shrugged, already anticipating the next opportunity to tease Leon further.

[kairiscorner]

feeding us well fr thank you for the meal @miguelswifey04

miguel o’hara as your sugar daddy

remember these are headcanons

he will spoil your rotten and i mean it…he will lavish you with gifts like gucci handbags, prada, YSL, oh em gee designer clothes, and even buy you a vacation home for you since you love vacationing !!

you want a car? he get it for you!! that man denies being in love with you but he is whipped for you. god he would buy you that car you wanted as a little kid and have it sent to your home the SAME DAY!!

he will kiss the ground you walk on…at first you and him would get into petty arguments but as time went on he got used to your personality and antics. he shuts you up when he gives you cash in hand 😭. “go by yourself something nice and cool off.”

whenever you come over to his penthouse he always cooks for you!!! he won’t ever let you touch a damn thing in his kitchen..he will get whatever you want at the palm of your hands. he’s actually a really good cook and you love his bomb ass food. he loves when you critique his food as he eyes you down as you take a bite of his deliciousness. improves whenever you give him constructive feedback.

he is not your typical sugar daddy!! he respects you 100% (bare minimum i know but it’s rare these days) he won’t push you to do anything that you don’t want to do. he’s content with just showering you with affection and money without you giving him anything in return. like yeah he loves it when you guys are intimate but he never pushes it. you wonder how you got so lucky with him!

people would ask if you two were a couple just because of how close you were with him. the relationship is complicated because you guys don’t put a label to it. but nonetheless miguel has a soft spot for you and genuinely cares. “how is my baby doing today?” just asking how your day went and how you’re holding up.

a big advocate for mental health…like besides being your sugar daddy he’s a huge advocate for mental health!! (i feel like he would tbh ONLY if he would actually heal his past traumas 😭)

if you’re a broke college student he would pay for your intuition and WIPE YOUR STUDENT DEBT FREE!! he will literally support your ambitions, goals, journey of whatever it may be in your life!! he will be there to support you if you don’t have anyone else in your life to support you!

he loves taking you on dates wherever he takes you around the world with him. he loves your companionship and you being by his side whether he’s on business trips or on vacation. you are his utmost attention.

…

my god miguel as a sugar daddy has me in a chokehold 😭🙏🏽 also if you guys wanna do your own spin on this, PLS DO IT!! js tag & credit me :)

[joeloverture]

deadfall | enemy!j.m. x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog | on palestine

pairing: dad’s enemy!joel miller x f!reader summary: joel miller, rival raiders with your father, is the last person you expect to save you from the group that captured you. he’s also the last person you expect to sleep with. [post outbreak] warnings: (mdni) canon typical violence (stalkers, mentions of death), porn with plot, game or tv joel, reader born before the outbreak, reader has a present/loving father figure (HAH), alternate universe — joel never went to boston, implied age gap but how big is up to you, self indulgent humor, quicksand, explicit smut, reader is a biiiit of a peeping tom, close proximity, only one bed, (brief) accidental somnophilia so dubcon, dry humping, degradation, humiliation, mirror sex, unprotected piv (he’s snipped dw), doggy style, manhandling (he fucks you in a headlock), mild breath play & choking, brief hair pulling (reader has hair!), scratching/biting, brief orgasm denial, hatefuck [no use of y/n] word count: 9.5k author's note: pwplot! a joeloverture first. also my first foray into somno! and post!ob joel! lots of firsts here. special thanks to @joelsdagger for taking a glimpse at this for me (and for being the PIONEER that forged joel fucking in a headlock) and @lovesickonmybed for being the best sounding board ever. i hope y'all like this one, i sure do.

There are no infected in the swamp — not this far out. They prefer the slant of buildings or the maw of split pavement. Blood-bloated leeches and black-trunked cypresses aren’t their domain.

You can’t say you blame them. One day in, and you’re already sick of this shit.

A few gnats have flown up your nostrils as you wade through the ankle-deep sludge. Mist curls at the edges of your vision. Your feet keep slipping on the slime covered stones that are half-submerged in the deep. Sweat crystallizes on your nape as your toe catches on a downed branch.

Before you faceplant in the sludge below, a burly hand snags your collar and hauls you up. “You always this much of a klutz?” It’s the first few words he’s said to you in hours.

A scowl buckles your lips. You shove Joel Miller’s arm off your back, splashing up scummy water as you step over the branch this time. You say nothing — don’t even dignify him with a passing glance.

“You’re a real peach, ain’t ya?” Joel says. When he takes his next step, water splashes at the backs of your calves. “Save your ass and this is the thanks I get.”

Joel Miller doesn’t want thanks. Up until he accidentally burnt his thumb with boiling hot coffee yesterday, you’d been convinced he didn’t feel anything at all. As long as his pulse is woven between bullets and stab wounds, he doesn’t give a damn what happens to those around him. His heart, much like the rest of the people at the end of the world, is calcified. Only beating out of necessity.

You’re silent as you footslog forward. The slurp of mud stretches between your shoe and the ground. Your pack jostles against your back. The ache in your bones has proven to be a better company than Joel – at least that is tolerable.

A deadfall lays flat ahead, a tree with cambered branches that droop with moss. Joel cups a hand over his eyes to block out the sun and squints past.

You go to walk past him, around the deadfall.

“Nuh uh,” Joel tugs you back by the scruff. You grunt. “‘S deeper out there. I’d sure like to see you get swallowed up by a gator, but that doesn’t work for me, kid.”

It sure works for you. If you see one of their bumpy snouts protruding out of the water, you’re using him as bait.

You don’t say that, though. Just hitch your foot up over one of the branches in the tree and start to haul yourself up. It’s a nagging ordeal – full of hissing through your teeth and feeling wood tear small cuts into your skin. Your hand tangles in an unoccupied spiderweb before you toss yourself through the other side of the bramble. Water sluices around you as you right yourself, rubbing a bead of blood from one of your knuckles.

Joel’s quick to follow, even quicker to take front again. You’ve learned he likes being ahead of you — unless you’re climbing a ledge or a fallen oak.

The hours wear on. You refuse to be the first to call it for the day. Even when you get stinging salt water into your open cuts, you grin and bear it. When the sun lounges on the chaise of the tree-sketch horizon, he drops his pack on an island of mulch that’s nestled in a grove of dead vegetation. 

You slump down next to him, rifling through your pack for a bite of jerky. Joel’s knees pop. He grunts as he slips down into the dirt and unrolls his sleeping bag. He rolls over, facing away from you. Hand wrapped around his gun like it’s a lover. 

When you do the same, it’s with a barbed insult on your tongue that’s better left unspoken.

At the end of the world, everything is ruleless. But you grew up with exactly one rule: don’t talk about Joel Miller.

You hadn’t been expecting him to kill you.

The Cockroaches, the lesser raider group in Northeast Texas, had captured you. Apparently your dad had some unpaid debts, and in taking you as leverage, they’d intended to get close to him. All they got were bullets in their heads.

You’d sighed in relief when the hatch to your basement confinement had finally opened. A spillage of sun sliced down through the opening, and you were expecting the familiar warmth of your father, an apology, and reassurance that he wouldn’t let them take you again.

Instead, you got Joel. With his hulking gun, broad figure that blocked out the sun, and the scowl that would be the last thing you’d ever see.

You had fumbled against the post you were tied to, feet scrabbling against the floor. You’d winced away when he raised his knife. “Don’t–”

…And cut into your restraints.

You’d rubbed the chafing from your wrists and stared at him, nebulous and delirious. “Get the fuck away from me,” you’d croaked.

“They touch you?” he’d asked. You’d shaken your head. “Hurt ya?” Another shake.

“Good. Now get up and get ready to haul ass.” He turned around, but not before throwing his knife to the ground next to you. The clatter it made against the concrete made your ears ring.

You grabbed the knife.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask him. They’re the only words you’ve spoken since you’d seen him in the cellar. 

“I ain’t,” he says. His voice is gruff. Sandpapery. 

“Looks like helping,” you say, nodding at the pack he’d given you. He’d come out prepared. To get you.

“Your daddy ain’t the only one with debts,” he says.

You stop, booted feet sinking into the mud. Shit. “So that’s what this is. You take me away just to hand me off to some other shitty group?”

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. He turns around, already mid-stride.

You yank his knife out of your pocket and dive at him.

“Hey, hey, fuck – you little brat,” he spats. He goes off balance before he twists around. You corral him against a tree, leg hitching around his waist as you knee at his thighs, aiming for his crotch. His spittle sprays your cheek as he grunts. His fist wraps around your hand, and the knife splats into the mud. His booted heel slips and he goes sliding back as he shoves you away, hard. You cough as you slam into a tree trunk. The knot that swells out of the bark digs into your head. You drag a branch up off the ground, pushing yourself off the tree as you heft it.

Before you grab it, he slaps you. Hard. Your head goes spinning as you stumble back into the muck. He jams his boot down against your chest, mud smearing across your tank top. “I gotta tie you up, or you gonna fuckin’ listen to me?”

You reach up to grab his ankle, and he just stomps harder against your chest. You wheeze, flopping back in the sludge. “B-bastard,” you hiss.

“Yeah, yeah, shut the hell up. ‘S your dad’s shitty group I’m talkin’ about.”

You give him an incredulous look.

“Your old man ain’t the only one with a coupla debts under his belt.”

“You’re shitting me,” you say. Voice squished in your throat from his tread against your chest.

He shakes his head and finally lets his boot up. You suck in a breath, another cough rattling your ribcage. “Quit being all uppity and pickin’ fights ya can’t win if you wanna learn, dumbass.”

“Why didn’t he just come get me himself?” you grit out as you lean back against a log. You use it to lift yourself, legs feeling gelatinous from being shoved about.

“You didn’t see? Cockroach shot ‘im in the leg.” Your lips tremble, but you straighten them. “He’s fine.”

You scowl. “And you didn’t tell me this sooner?” You march forward. Your arms cross solidly over your chest.

“Figured you wouldn’t take it well.” He looks you up and down. “And I was right.”

You curse under your breath. Dip to grab your knife. Toss it in your hand while you think. You don’t flinch when it slightly nicks your thumb — it’s hardly a poke with all of the scraping you’ve been doing through undergrowth — but Joel smirks. 

He sees you as juvenile. The product of a world that you haven’t earned the right to be in, always cowering behind your dad’s back. 

You’ll prove him wrong.

“How far are we from the nearest city?” you ask. You want to go home. Your arms ache not just from swinging at your side or lifting you up toppled trees, but to wrap around your father. Your bones protest at the thought of being in your skin. Your tank top sticks to your flesh with mud and the parasites that squirm in it.

“I’m not a goddamn fortune teller,” Joel says. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“Then we better get moving.” You readjust your pack and jostle him as you march on.

Three days later, and there’s no end in sight to the swamp. Whatever towns you’ve encountered are home to only a derelict gas station and ransacked mom-and-pop stores. They’re no place for pit stops.

You (reluctantly) stay close to Joel, who you’re lucky to hear so much as a murmur out of. Most of the time, he’s redirecting you, tugging you out of the way of half-decade old hunter’s traps or reminding you not to go too far.

“The world isn’t gonna end if I step out of your imaginary line, Joel,” you say. You test your foot on the side of the bank you’re walking on. Nothing happens.

“Ki–” Joel says, brows crunched up.

“See? Fine.” You press more of your weight into the ground. He reaches for you, but your body tilts.

Your foot is sinking.

“You’re a fuckin’ pain in my ass,” Joel says. He pinches his nose bridge. “Shoulda left ya down there.”

You glare at him, bending yourself at the waist so you can try to wiggle yourself with your upper body strength. Your free knee is propped up on the squishy ground. You grunt, palms slipping against the oily, grass-filled mud. “I got it,” you rasp out as he crouches in front of you.

“Uh huh,” he says, frowning pointedly.

“I got it.” You slap his hand away and thresh your leg in the sand. It barely even wiggles. “Fuck.” You strain your leg, huffing and puffing. Dirt fixes itself under your nails.

Joel wraps his arms under your shoulders and you flail in protest. “I said I can handle it!” Instead of listening to you, he tugs at you like pulling a toy from a dog. You keep windmilling your arms.

“Quit thrashin’!” Joel yells. “Any harder and you’re gonna drag me in with you.”

Your face is too close to his. Too close for the uncomfortable heat. His humid breath fans against your sweat-slippery cheek as he groans. Your foot loosens. You prop your calf up on his thigh as he wrests you out of the quicksand. You’re chest-to-chest with him as you tip over the muck, dropping flat against him. “Mmph.”

Joel shoves you off of him, and you fall on your ass in the mud. By all odds, your boot has remained strapped to your foot. He’s already up and moving when he says, “Jesus Christ, you are just like your fuckin’ dad.”

The mud still caked into your shirt has started to flake by the time you reach a city called Monroe. Just off of I-20, you and Joel trek further into what you imagine must’ve been a medium-sized city during its heyday.

You’re bone-weary. Your back keeps popping with every step with how you keep having to sleep on the ground. You’d be thankful for even a mattress of moss — but luckily, you won’t have to settle. Sunset is nearing, which means you can see the blue water (imagine that, blue water) tainted pink and orange below. Houses and the city clocktower reflect into the gentle pull and ebb of the tide.

Joel nods at a half-bent blue roadway sign. “YMCA up ahead,” he says. He wipes the sweat off his brow and clutches his gun closer to his side. “Stay close.”

You keep your hand around the grip of your knife, following him into the city.

It’s quiet as you navigate through a labyrinth of abandoned, rust-gutted cars. At one point, you manage to slip ahead of him, and he allows it for long enough (fifteen seconds) that you opt to take a shortcut through a parking garage. You climb over the edge and dip inside, feet scraping over roots that have grown between concrete slabs. The shade is a brief respite from the scorching sun, but the humidity still wrings the sweat from your pores.

Joel slips ahead of you again, taking long, dragging strides that look as exhausted as you feel. Four days of hiking through swamp and gunk and slapping mosquitoes against your skin has made you grateful to just be walking on solid ground again. Joel steps past a busted, sticker-covered van.

A streak flickers against the dark canopy of the garage. “Infected!” you shout, but Joel falls back on his ass.

His gun flies out of his hand and skids across the concrete. He grunts, shuffling backward, but the stalker’s already on him, its mouth sewn partially shut by fungi. It croaks and slashes at him, blind left eye battering and twitching. Joel throws a hooked punch, but the stalker takes the opportunity to grapple him, snarling in his face.

He’s going to get bit.

You launch forward, knife in-hand. You fling yourself into a tumble with the stalker, legs strewn over Joel’s. Adrenaline plummets through your body. You stomp on its shin and it shrieks. The knife almost slips from your grip as you start to stab blindly. You thrust the blade up through its eye socket.

The thing cackles and caws, its vocal chords clacking with mold and rot. Rusted blood trickles from its nose and down your wrist as you twist the blade further until you meet bone and then whatever is left of a brain is beyond it. You cringe as you drag the knife out and wipe it across your pants. It slumps back in a mound and then falls over.

Your chest heaves as you look between Joel and the stalker. His hands are scraped up as he grabs his gun.

You extend him a hand. He seems to think about it for a second before latching onto you and letting you help him up. He grunts in acknowledgment. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

This YMCA in particular isn’t like the others you’ve stopped at with your dad. Instead of glass windows and tin roofs, it’s brick and mortar. You and Joel climb in through the window, and you almost sob in relief when you see at least a dozen oversized yoga mats. That’s a suitable homemade mattress, you think. 

There’s a basketball court whose court has been warped and fossilized by the leaks in the roof. A peek of sunset dives in through a hole, lighting up the western side of the room. You expect the pool room to still smell of chlorine. It’s a little weird when it doesn’t even though the pool’s been drained for years, you imagine. From there, you two reach the showers.

Before you let yourself get excited, Joel fiddles with the knobs. Water sprays out of it. “Still hot,” he says, absorbed in the droplets that are spraying his hand. He turns it off.

“Fuck it,” you say, tearing your tank top over your head.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Joel says, turning to face the wall.

“You aren’t the one who’s covered in mud!”

“Yeah, you’re right, I ain’t the one who went jumpin’ into quicksand. I also ain’t the one who deserved an ass whooping.”

You glare at his shoulder blades as you unzip your jeans, fumbling out of them. They’re nearly crunchy with the amount of mud you’ve been traipsing through. “They did charity drives at these things, right?” You never really went to any YMCAs before the world went to shit. “Maybe they’ve got clean clothes.”

“Maybe,” Joel says. “Maybe you shoulda thought about that before you turned this place into a strip club.” You roll your eyes and hook your bra on the shower curtain, followed by your panties.

“I didn’t know you were a prude, Miller,” you say.

He bristles at the accusation. “Maybe I should get an eyeful. Being ‘round you is like wishin’ the Lord would strike me down.”

You laugh. Joel made you laugh. First (and only) time, probably. 

“Yeah, right, you’d get struck down for something a whole lot worse before he started getting mad at you for peeping.”

You fiddle with the shower curtain and step in. There’s old body wash in an automatic dispenser on the wall. It doesn’t work, but it’s easy to wrangle open and squeeze the pouch into your hand. The grout is odd under your bare feet, but quickly becomes familiar as you twist the lever. Water spits down at you, and a satisfied sound leaves you. “Fuuuck,” you sigh. “This is nice.”

Joel clears his throat. “I’m gonna go look for clothes. And deodorant.”

“You should shower too,” you say instead.

You can almost hear the face he makes.

“God, don’t be so much of a Holy Joe, Joel. It’s practical. This water isn’t going to last that damn long, and I am not taking a cold shower when the hot stuff is all right here.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass,” he says like he hasn’t already told you.

Eventually, you hear his belt unbuckle.

He strips down a lot quicker than you. Habit, maybe, you think. His jeans slump against the floor, and then he’s in the shower. You hear the other faucet come on as the water warms against your skin. You sigh, lathering yourself with the Dollar General body wash. It forms iridescent bubbles along your body, and it smells faintly like artificial strawberries. You wonder if it ever used to smell stronger than this.

There’s a slit in Joel’s shower that exists between the curtain and the wall. You should look away, but you shouldn’t have plunged your foot into quicksand, either. There’s many things you shouldn’t do that you take it upon yourself to do anyway.

So you watch the dirty water cascade down his sharp, scarred shoulder. You eye how the gnarl of his bone adjusts as he lathers himself with soapsuds. He stretches to get his hair and his bicep tenses with the movement. He’s built, and built well. From years of survival, trekking through swamps not so different from these, and aiming guns in places he wanted to and places he didn’t. The way the sun flits through the rectangular windows makes him look golden.

You imagine how it’d feel to walk up behind him, to massage the knots out of his sore muscles. You don’t even notice it, but your hands are traveling your own body now, fingertips going to pluck at your pebbled nipples. He’d been rough when tussling with you in the swamp. Would he be rough with you in bed, too? In your mind, you run soft, open-mouthed kisses down his back, reaching your hand between his legs to wrap around his—

A clanging noise stops your hand in its tracks. You drop it limp at your side. A wave of revulsion crawls like insects up your back.

“Shit!” Joel says, fumbling around in his shower stall.

The plastic body wash dispenser goes sliding out under the curtain, foamy with soapsuds.

You can’t help it. You snort. And eventually, your snort becomes full-fledged laughter, breaking the seam of your lips as you lean against the wall of the shower.

“Shut up,” he says, but you hear the tinge of a chuckle embedded between his vowels. You hear his half-huff of laughter before you force yourself to stop giggling.

You two stay under the shower streams until the water runs cold and bitter and all of the mud that had banded around your limbs is congealed in the drain. 

You leave the showers first, roaming around until you find a discarded cardboard box that’s brimming with clothes in your size. There’s jeans that should do well in the elements and another tank top suited for the crushing heat. 

When you’re dressed, you call out to Joel that you’ll be in the yoga room. You spend the down time arranging the yoga mats into two separate mattresses. Joel’s feet will hang off a bit, but you imagine it’ll be better than sleeping on the floor.

Footsteps scrape from the doorway, and your head snaps up.

Joel Miller cleans up nice, it seems. He’s kept his boots, but apart from that, looks like a completely different person; his jeans now hug his hips tighter, his raggedy tee from earlier has been replaced with a form-fitting ribbed tank top. Any traces of mud, sweat, or gunk have been washed off his skin and down the drain. His hair hangs in wet stripes, sticking to his crinkled forehead.

You haven’t realized you’ve zone out until he’s waving a calloused hand in front of your face. “Hey, peach, anyone home?”

You clear your throat and replace it with a scowl. “Don’t call me that.” It’s deflection, and you know it. You think he knows it, too.

He gives you a funny look. “Uh huh,” he says. He taps his fingers along his hip bone. “Well, what the fuck are ya doin’?”

You furrow your brows at him. “Setting up camp…?”

“This is a shit camp to set up,” he says. “Stalkers in the parking garage, city I ain’t ever been in before? No, we need a vantage point.”

“And I assume you have one in mind?” you ask.

“Yeah, I do. ‘S a hotel, ‘lil further into town. Got three floors, we probably can block the stairwell from the inside to keep any raiders out.”

You nod and heft your backpack over your shoulder. It’s bulging from the extra clothes you’d stuffed into the bottom, and your arms are sore from the wrangling you’d given it after the collar of one of your new shirts jammed the zipper. 

Joel turns to stand guard at the door while you collect your stuff. You can’t seem to focus much on that, though, not with his ass practically at your eye level. The tighter denim definitely does him favors. You swallow the newfound lump in your throat and stuff your water flash into the side of your pack.

It has to be the lack of human connection. It’s been two weeks since you’ve seen anyone other than your captors, and the majority of this week since you’ve seen anyone other than Joel. Joel, who with every word, breath, movement, flinch, gets a rise out of you. Joel, who stirs the pot with you at every chance he gets. Joel, who almost certainly looks at you and sees a reflection of your father whom he hates.

He’d said so, early on.

This isn’t only one-sided. It’s a living, breathing disaster.

“‘S a hotel’ my ass, Joel, this place looks like a loaf of moldy bread.”

Joel insists on staying on the third floor. Says that the second floor is ‘too low’ and that being on the third floor poses a good choke point for any raiders or infected who might stumble upon your camp. He wants to ‘bottleneck’ any intruders, whatever the fuck that means.

The issue with the third floor? There’s mold. Everywhere. In the days after the outbreak, a leak must’ve happened somewhere in the pipes that bled through the ceiling and all over the top floor. None of the rooms you’ve checked have been left unscathed so far. It’s embedded into the rugs, the walls, the ceiling, all of it. At least it’s a good deterrent for the people that pass through. The infected, however? You have a feeling they’d be just at home.

“Would you shut the fuck up?” he says through his teeth. He pinches his nose bridge – he does that a lot, or maybe you just stress him out a lot – and glares at you.

“No, Joel. I’m fucking exhausted,” you hiss. “I’ve been roughing it with you all week, all you do is give me shit. The only thing this voyage of ours has taught me is that my dad has perfectly ample reason to hate your guts.” You’re closer to him now, knocking him back with your fist to your chest.

“Quit bein’ cute,” he scowls. “I’m the only reason your ass isn’t eyeball-deep in quicksand.”

“Yeah, and you’d be stalker food without me. So I guess we’re even, aren’t we, Joel?” You shove past him. “I’m just a way for you to pay off your stupid ‘debts’ anyway,” you mutter under your breath. He wasn’t protecting you, pulling you out of that damn pit. He was saving his own skin.

The hotel room door at the end of the hallway is slightly ajar. You lift your knife just in case, and step inside. 

It’s lacking the mold that the rest of the rooms have. People have definitely stayed in here before, what with the rumpled blankets left on the bed and a flashlight situated upright on the dresser. The thick layer of dust on the flashlight tells you that they never came back.

The room itself is satisfactory enough. Beige, almost green walls, close in at all sides. A cloudy mirror is hung by the window. Moonlight stipples the room. There’s a busted, corded phone on the nightstand that’s propped up on a Bible, a shattered nightlight, and a small table. You toss your pack onto the quilted bedspread and collapse onto the mattress. For an old, creaking thing with a busted spring or two, it’s still the most comfortable thing you think you’ve ever felt in your life. You sigh in relief and nuzzle into the pillow.

Joel clears his throat from the doorway.

“Find your own room, dipshit,” you say, nudging your pack off your bed with your knee. It thunks against the floor.

“I don’t think so.” He crosses his arms.

“I’m not sharing with you. You snore.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You do.”

You don’t have to look up to know he’s doing that thing where he pinches his nose bridge again. “You’re a fuckin’ piece ‘a work, kid, you know that?” You hear his pack drop against the ground. He drags a chair across the room and you cringe at how it squeals against the floor until he jams it under the doorknob. Then, the mattress dips.

You look at him sideways. “Get off my bed.”

“‘Your’ bed? You just discovered it two seconds ago.”

“Finders keepers.”

“Well I’m takin’ it from you. Losers weepers.”

You grit your teeth so hard you hear the bone scraping bone in your ears. 

“That’s now how this works–”

“We’re even now. You don’t wanna owe me one, and I sure as hell don’t wanna owe you one. So roll your ass over, act like an adult, and go to bed.”

You grouse under your breath, but with Joel, you have to pick and choose your battles. So you roll back over and wiggle yourself under the quilt, tucking your face into the musty pillow underneath you.

You sit in silence for a couple of minutes, staring at how the moon spills milky light along the alabaster ceiling. Then, you roll over again, stretching out the knicks in your back. Despite being the comfiest you’ve been in days, you’re feeling restless. You know Joel wouldn’t hurt you in any substantial way – you’re a bargaining chip to him. Nothing less, and certainly not anything more.

In spite of that, you find yourself drifting off with your face to him.

When Joel first wakes up, he thinks a clicker’s gnawing at his leg

Blinking the crust from his eyes, he realizes nothing’s gnawing on him at all. 

Rather, it’s you.

In your sleep, you’ve thrown your leg over his thigh. Your crotch is angled up against the bulk of his leg, a furnace that sears him through his jeans. Your head has dipped, forehead overheated and angled against the crux of his neck. If it were just that, he’d roll you over (maybe hard enough for you to crash on the floor) and hog the blankets for himself.

But you’re thrusting your fucking hips into him, letting out sleepy little whimpers while you fuck yourself on his leg. That explains why you’ve been acting dumber than a box of rocks. He oughta tan your hide for this. Bitching at him all week and really, you just need to get dicked down. Ironic, ain’t it.

He should still shove you off the bed. Call you a whore and leave you to rub your pussy raw in the bathroom instead of on his leg.

You give a particularly hard thrust, a keening little sound catching in the netting of your teeth. He swears you’re soaking through the denim.

He bites his tongue. The moonlight accentuates your closed eyes, your lashes fan out across your cheeks, there’s a cute little pinch in your lips as you unwittingly try to muffle the sounds coming out of you.

He can’t help himself. He raises his knuckles to your cheek and taps, taps, taps at the bone until your eyes startle open.

When you first wake up, you think you’re dying.

There’s a shortness of breath in your lungs. You feel like you’re being burned alive, your skin hot to the touch. You’re mummified in the crusty, flaky hotel sheets. Each intake of breath is musty and clings to your nostrils. You’re throbbing. Between the legs and elsewhere. Confusion puckers your brows. There’s slick between your legs — and Joel’s leg between your legs.

You tear away from him, making a disgruntled noise as the sheets tangle around your legs. His hand is raised to your face. There’s a moment where all you register is the judgmental squint in his dark eyes.

“What the fuck– you pervert,” you hiss, slapping him across the chest. A queasiness squiggles in your stomach as you inch your way back.

“Oh, no, peach. That was all you,” he drawls. He wraps his thick hand around your hipbone and pulls you back. You kick him in the shin, but there’s no real force behind it.

“Y-you’re lying,” you snarl. But a brief look at his lap tells you he’s not. He’s barely touting a semi, yet you’ve got the entire Mississippi River in your YMCA-issued panties.

Joel shakes his head at you. “‘S why you been actin’ up, you little shit? Just needed to get fucked?” He grips your hip so hard that it stings and hauls you against him. You tell yourself that the moan you let out is more of a hiss.

“I don’t– you’re making shit up, old man,” you say, squirming in his grip. You can’t help the way your hips sway at the tease of friction his knee gives you. You feel lightheaded, a freshly kindled bonfire.

“Am I?” Another squeeze to your hip. “Don’t look like it.” He notches his knee tighter against your swollen cunt, and your head dips forward as you bite into your lower lip. “Look’s like I’ve got a ‘lil slut more worked up than a hornets’ nest that spent all night rubbing her needy fuckin’ pussy on my leg.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and whine.

“Jus’ say the word, peach. I’ll do ya real good. Make that ache go away.” He rubs his thumb in a circle along your skin. The calloused pad of his thumb slips underneath the hem of your tank top, a lit match dragging along your skin.

“I don’t think you have it in you, Miller,” you say. But your voice gives you away. It’s breathy, coarsened by your sleep-stained, lust-stained rasp.

“Yeah? Well I didn’t think you had it in you to be humpin’ this ‘old man’s’ leg, but ya learn something new everyday.” He doesn’t grind his knee into your cunt — more so wedges it up. Pain blurs a watercolor line with pleasure as your back arches. His hand drifts from your midriff to your thigh, arm hooking around it so he can heft you up against his thigh proper. You grunt as you end up chest to chest with him. Your hips rock into his, guided by the North Star of his hands clutching at your hips. “Can feel ya,” he says. “Drippin’ all over me.”

You grind your teeth, digging your fingers into his shoulders. He groans as your nails claw at the skin there. “Shut the fuck up so I can pretend you’re someone else.”

He chuckles. “You can play pretend all you want, but I’m the one you’re soaking, ain’t I?”

You make an aggravated sound. Your left hand drags down his arm, leaving angry red tracks in their wake. Before he can gripe about it, you slap your right hand over his mouth. His eyes flare. Eye for an eye, his teeth sink into the flesh of your palm. You hiss at the sting. It only makes you pump your hips against him faster. The friction of your shorts and panties against the bulk of his leg and the wrinkle of his denim jeans makes your clit twitch against him.

Your flesh stretches as you tug it from his teeth. Your hand plants itself in his hair instead, dragging his head to the side. His eyes flutter, lidded and dark. “Don’t act like you don’t damn near cream yourself when I talk to you like this. You like being told what a nasty. Fuckin’. Slut. You are. Don’t look at me like that. You are. Been cruisin’ for a bruisin’ this whole time — just didn’t know you were after a pussy beating instead of a real one.”

Your eyes roll back. Your hips roll more languidly, only jerking when Joel gives a particularly brutal tug at your waist. You let out a pathetic moan into his neck. You nip at the skin there, tongue laving over the scars and blemishes he’s collected over the years. He reaches down and grabs a handful of your ass, groaning. “Too pretty to be actin’ a fool, baby.”

You dig your teeth into his neck, hard enough to leave cavernous bite marks in your wake. Your tongue digs through the craters your teeth left behind, saliva pulling from your lips to his skin. He smacks your ass hard enough for your hips to jerk, and you almost glare at him as you separate from your throat. Instead, your eyes squeeze shut.

“Don’t wanna look at me, do ya peach? Mmmm, well thas’ okay.” He fists his hand in the roots of your hair and tugs your head to the side. You hear Joel groping at the nightstand in the dark, and then the flashlight ticks on.

Your eyes blink open to yourself reflected in desilvered glass. Mirror rot surrounds your luminescent face, but most of all, you can see your hips and how they rock shallowly into Joel’s leg. “Watch yourself fuckin’ yourself stupid on my leg,” he croons in your ear. When you go still, his thumbs press hard into your skin. You stare at him. “You already fucked yourself stupid or somethin’? ‘S a simple instruction, sweet cheeks.”

“That’s dumb, Joel–” you sneer, going to look away.

He jerks your head back to where he had it and rocks his leg into your clit. You watch your face contort around a ragged moan. Pleasure thrashes through your system. “C’mon, you’re a dirty girl. Watch how pathetic you look while you get yourself off. Pretend I’m your pillow if you have to, but it ain’t gonna change how I’m the one gettin’ you off like this.”

Your thighs clamp around his. He smirks at you in the mirror. Your knee grazes his bulge, and a breathy moan loosens from his lips. “Two way street, Miller,” you say. But you’re weak — and so, so wet.

You give your hips a languid roll, watching yourself in the mirror. You’re a mess, mouth parted, eyes lidded, skin slick with sweat. Your hips shudder and start against him as you start to properly buck yourself against the meat of his thigh. With the shelves of your teeth, you try to smother the depraved noises coming out of you. Joel rolls his eyes.

“Gonna wake the fuckin’ dead with all that whining of yours.” Mid-moan, Joel shoves two fingers into your mouth and pries your jaw open. His fingers are bulky and ridged with callouses against your tongue. His thumb presses a dent into your jaw. “‘S okay, baby. I like ‘em loud.”

“I like you shutting the fuck up,” you say around a mouthful of his knuckles. You can’t help it. You bite at his fingers, not hard enough to hurt, but definitely hard enough to sting. He hisses and presses down on your tongue. You make a sputtering noise.

“You were sayin’?” he asks, tensing his thigh. You whimper against his fingertips. He tightens his grip on your hair, and in the mirror, you see yourself bared raw for him to see in all ways but the physical. You rut into his leg with increasing need.

“Mmmph, Joel–” you say around his fingers. 

“Oh, now you’re moaning my name? What was it I said? Cruisin’ for a bruisin’, peach.”

Wetness leaks down the insides of your thighs. Your swollen clit hitches on a wrinkle in his jeans. You’re shaking, thighs trembling where they’re wrapped around him. Your fingers grapple for purchase and find some anchored in his hair, tugging wildly. You eye yourself in that damn mirror, the way your chest is slotted against his, how your hips pitch into his over and over again in your pursuit of release.

“Ask for it, baby.” Joel grinds his leg up into your cunt. “You wanna come on me, you gotta ask for it.”

You shake your head wildly. You aren’t a beggar — especially not for Joel Miller. You’d rather throw yourself back into quicksand. Jump in front of a clicker. Step on an alligator.

Joel pouts mockingly at you. “Stubborn for a slut who’s willin’ to spread it open all hours ‘a the day.” You rub your knee into his bulge, tenting his jeans, in hopes that it’ll be a suitable distraction. He groans, knee jerking. His thigh rams against you, and your back arches. You see your brows pucker in your reflection, your hips undulating against him.

“F-fuck,” you whine out, bouncing against him.

“You wanna come, don’t you, peach?” You nod frantically. “Wanna soak me, huh?” At that, you grit your teeth and snarl at him. You do you do you do. But you don’t want to admit it.

You squirm on his leg, desperately rocking into him. You dig your feet into the creaking mattress, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt. Tremors wrack your body as you work yourself on him. Your cunt flutters, and you almost taste your orgasm.

Joel tosses you off of him.

“You son of a–” you shriek, thrashing and out of breath. Your clit throbs and your hole twitches at the stolen promise of release. You bounce on the mattress, sprawled on your back and twitching.

“I told ya,” he says. “Gotta ask for it.”

“I’m not asking you for shit, asshole–”

“Yeah, yeah, you’ll change your tune when I stuff your right full.” He grabs you by the back of your shirt and coaxes you into spinning around. He yanks you onto all fours, forehead meeting the mattress.

You back your hips up as he reaches around your shorts for the button. The zipper squeals as it comes down and he shuffles them down your legs. He nudges your knees apart. You can feel his bulge, insistent and pressed against the back of your thigh. He grips the inside of your thigh, fingers sliding through the slick that’s there.

“Shit, baby,” he groans. “No wonder you were humpin’ me. Just needing someone to take away that ache, don’t you? Jus’ a horny girl wanting to go cock dumb.” His fingers graze over your clit, barely even a brush, and you let out a mangled sound into the comforter. “See? So desperate and sensitive. You’re cute when you’re not a pain in the ass.”

“That makes one of us,” you say.

Joel snorts. “She’s got jokes.” He rubs a circle into your clit, and then another, and all you can do is rock your hips into his hand. Impatient, you brace yourself on your elbow so you can reach behind him and fumble with his belt buckle. Joel laughs under his breath, working at the zipper while you undo the buckle. It chimes as his belt falls loose and his pants slump on his hips. You work the button open. 

You wriggle your hand into his briefs and pull him out, giving him a series of quick pumps. Joel grunts. “Just like that, peach. Fuck, yeah, you know what you’re doin’.”

He teases the tips of his fingers at your entrance. Razor sharp want slices up the insides of your warm thighs as you clench and drip more of your wetness along his hand. “I’ll throw you a bone,” Joel says. Then, with no warning, he slips a finger into your warmth and curls it just right. You claw against the sheets, whimpering.

“Nasty thing.” He hooks his finger and you fully mewl. Heat rushes into your cheeks. “Barely gotta do anythin’ to get you writhing and wanting.”

Warm tears brim at your eyes from the heady, deadly mix of arousal and hatred. Your cunt tightens around his finger, and without warning, he pushes another one in, twisting and hooking them brutally inside of you.

Your fingers fist in the sheets, temple pressed into the mattress. You can see the cocksure look on his face in the mirror, the way his forearm flexes with each thrust into you. “Fuck me already,” you spit. You know it’ll hurt if he fucks you without really preparing you. You want it to hurt. You want it to ache like the tread of his boot stamped on your chest. You want it to sting and simmer like the cuts that the wetlands left in a collage across your arms and legs. You want him to split you open and leave you flayed by your own pleasure.

“Alright, alright,” he says as he pulls his fingers out of you. He gives your clit a light slap that makes you squeal. You almost black out when you see him bring his slick-stained fingers to his mouth and suck. “Yeah, taste as sweet as a peach, dontcha sugar? Such a tasty little cunt for such a smart-mouthed brat.”

You could cry with how bad you want hi— no, his cock. 

“Gonna hurt, baby. But you want it to, don’t you? Wanna feel me all up in here.” He roams his free hand across your stomach, then back around to your ass where he tugs you back. There’s the smack of flesh as your hips meet each other, the whimper between your netted teeth as he nestles his cock between your slippery folds. You nod, head slinging forward. “Don’t gotta tell me. I know ya do. Girl like you, always such a smartass. Yeah, you want it rough.” His voice is gruff, lust-addled. “Act stupid all you want, peach. I got you all figured out.”

He slots his head against your hole and you let out a strangled noise into the mattress. Your vision swims as he pushes into you, thumbs dug into your ass cheeks so he can watch how you take him. You mewl, back arching into and away from him at the same time. Your body can’t decide where to go. If it wants to be further, or as close as possible to him. Joal groans as he sinks into you.

“Tight as a fuckin’ hose pipe, peach,” he says. He reaches around to give your flick your clit — a move that makes your entire body spasm. 

“So about as small as your dick, then?” It’s bullshit — you know it, and he knows it. He’s not even fully inside of you, but the difference is startling. He’s stuffing you to the brim, leaving you to scrabble and claw against the sheets.

He slams into you, a blatant disregard of your comfort. You feel his balls smack against your clit, and hear the same thigh you’d been humping slot against your own. A ragged cry rips from your throat. “Joel,” you whimper, hips trying to writhe against the bed. “Joel, fuck—”

“Feels pretty big now, don’t it?” You whine, petulant, but it breaks off into a moan as he pulls back and then punches back into you.

All you can do is take it, take it, take it as he bashes your swollen cunt with his fat cock. You gasp raggedly, each snap of his hip bringing pleasure-pain tears to your eyes. Joel’s nails dig into the meat of your ass and yank you back on him. The sting is renewed, then, as he props his leg up on the bed and pounds into you. You whimper, helpless to his whims.

Between one thrust and the next, the bite in your cunt turns into a thrum of pleasure. A persistent swarm of heat and your own slick leaking down his cock. “Like I said,” Joel grunts as he fucks you. “A nasty fuckin’ slut with a sloppy ‘lil cunt.”

You whine, squeezing around him. Your head spins. “Fuck,” he spits.

“Joel, please, please, ple–”

“Quit beggin’, it ain’t ladylike.” You prop yourself up on your elbow and reach behind him, tugging his wrist away from your ass so you can slip his hand between your thighs. His pistoning into you falters. “What’d I say?” Joel grunts. His knees adjust over the backs of your calves to hold you down.

“Keep touching me,” you whine. “Please, you asked me to ask for it, so I’m fucking asking for it.”

“Told you to ask permission, not cry at me like a kicked puppy,” he says. “I call the shots here. Like it or not.” He goes to yank his hand away from your clit, but you yank at his knuckle.

Joel scowls, and so fast you might get vertigo, his other arm’s bicep locks around your neck and heaves you back against his chest. You sputter, drool pooling in your mouth. Your hands briefly tug at his arm, but fall limp when he says, “Oh, shut the fuck up, I ain’t gonna kill ya. Gotta keep you on your toes, peach.”

You arguably shouldn’t. But you trust him. Enough to keep you alive, at least.

With another thrust into the warm vise of your cunt, your body’s running hotter than an engine and twice as fast. He squeezes tight enough that your air is in short supply, and with it, everything is amplified. Pleasure crinkles through your body like crumpled aluminum foil, serrated and clinging to you. The crook of his elbow is warm, and you can’t help your head lolling back to give him a look that’s purely salacious. He tips his head down at you and smirks.

“Yeah, that’s my hungry little cockwhore,” he says. With his free hand, he tugs your hair. You seize around him, struggling for what to hang onto. You let out a rasping, strangled moan. With your head tipped back, you can see the tilt to his lips as he moans, feel his scruff scraping at your forehead. “Takin’ it like you were made for it. Shit.”

Joel moans as you clamp down around him again.

Tears might be sliding down your cheeks – you don’t know. You’re too trapped in this, in this moment, in the feeling of his cock slamming into your throbbing, aching cunt. “Mmph,” you whine low in your throat as he fucks up into you. He’s damn near bruising your cervix. Each thrust makes your cunt flitter around him. 

“You look good like this,” Joel grunts against your ear, using the leverage of his propped-up leg to bounce you on his cock. “All quiet ‘n sweet ‘n whorish. Goddamn, never thought a slut could feel this fuckin’ tight.”

Your eyes slip shut, vision spotting behind your eyelids. He keeps forcing himself into you. Making room. Making a mark that you’ll never forget he carved into you.

Your body is limp as he gets himself off, his hand moving from your hair. He gropes at your tits, flicking your nipple in a way that draws a sloping moan out of you. He slides it down your side, each callous bumping against your skin until he reaches your clit. You nod wildly, and he chuckles into the shell of your ear. “You think you’ve earned it? All you’ve been doing is whinin’ like a little bitch, baby.” He taps his fingers against your clit, once, twice, mounting the tautness of the tension drawn tight like elastic through your body. You gasp down air as he ever so slightly loosens his grip around your neck. He keeps thrusting into you, jerking tiny moans out of you as he does.

Your legs tremble. Your brain feels like mush. You wring his cock with each strain of your pussy. “I don’t want you,” you gasp out between thrusts. “I want you for what you can — fuck — give me. So I guess… that makes… us even. Doesn’t it?” Joel’s finger stills where it hovers over your clit, and you almost don’t notice the falter in his hips with how subtle it is.

“Yeah,” Joel pants. “Guess it does, peach.”

He presses his thumb down on your clit and the whole world makes sense.

You cry out as your juices soak his cock, dripping down his balls and thighs. “Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel,” you chant in between moans. He’s holding you up now by the underside of one of your arms, his fingers toying with your nipples. Each touch sends laser hot electricity between your legs.

He slams up into you again and you shriek. “Fuck, you’re a mess,” Joel says. “All stuffed full ‘a me… yeah, that’s how you’re s’posed to be. Sprayin’ your pussy juices all over me while I ram my cock into this drippy little hole.”

You whine, clit twitching against his finger. Tears burn at the edges of your eyes like fire on parchment. “I wanna come,” you whisper, voice tinged with need. “Please, Joel. I–”

“Who do you want to make you come?” he asks as he rolls his hips up into you. An undulating pace that makes you want to scream.

The curdling pleasure in your stomach brims, stews, steeps. You’re drowning in it, in the fire lashing through your body. Fire that he lit and stoked and now, only he can put out. “You, Joel!” you cry out. “You! I want you to make me come, please, I need it, I want t-”

“I got you, peach,” he says. He mashes the pad of his thumb against your swollen nub, rubbing circles, circles, circles. You scream this time, head slumping against him. “Throbbin’ for it,” he growls out. “All swollen and whinin’ like you’re in heat. You needed this. Needed me.”

“I needed you,” you nod, exhaling. You think you’d agree to anything he said right now. “Fuck,” you wail. Your hands anchor themselves on his forearm.

“Don’t fight it, baby, don’t fight it,” he coos. Your nails scratch angry red tracks down his burly arms. “Come on me, see if it gives you an attitude adjustment.”

To your chagrin, that does it.

Your orgasm shatters you. You’re fragile as it tears through your body, tying knots around your racing heart and making your legs quiver. You feel yourself gush around Joel’s cock, gasping for air as your lungs empty. Your cunt flutters around him as pleasured tears spill from the corners of your eyes. Everything’s hot and melting, your arousal dripping out of you in droves. Joel rubs at your clit through it, coaxing in your ear, “That’s it, theeeeere it is. Shit, baby, I’m comin’— squeezin’ me so damn good—”

Joel twitches inside of you, and you whine at his absence when he pulls out just in time. With a throaty, reverberating groan, he sprays the small of your back with his cum. You gasp as it splashes against you, your chest heaving against his hand. 

You sit in the silence, high off of the come down, panting in delirium. 

Joel clears his throat. “You alright, peach?”

“You don’t have to pretend to like me now that we’ve had sex, Joel,” you say. “I get it. We fucked. We got it out of our systems. Hooray. Do you want me to pop some confetti poppers?”

“I was being courteous, goddamn,” he grunts as he stands up. You watch as he tugs his jeans back up. “Clearly ain’t nobody ever treated you gentlemanly before.”

“Says the man who got off on choking me out.”

He shoots back, “The feeling was mutual, if I remember five minutes ago correctly. I ain’t that old.” He buckles his belt up. As he redresses, you toss your own shorts off to the side. He’s already been in your whole pussy — you’d rather not sleep in the denim shorts.

When you’re done, you give him a look.

He pinches his nose bridge and sighs through his teeth. “We oughta hit the hay. Long day ahead. And you should be too exhausted by now to be wakin’ me up again.”

You clench your fists at your side. “Fine.”

You reach for his flashlight and turn it off.

Reunion Tower is the first building you see.

Dallas. Home sweet home, for better or worse.

The skyline slowly eases up and out of the treeline as you and Joel meander up the car-cluttered I-20. Remnants from a life that’s long gone, all but skeletons with the organs of another time.

You and Joel have scarcely talked. Mostly, it’s just him pointing out directions. But he does other things. He helps you through wreckage or rubble instead of leaving you to muscle through on your own. He gives you part of his rations. He tosses you a magazine he finds in a store. He keeps watch.

You had meant what you said. You fucked. That was that. He was still the man your father told ghost stories about. The thoughtless killer. The unforgiving bullet to a skull. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of peoples’ deliverance to the afterlife. The man who’d betrayed your father all those years ago, a story of which you only know the vague specifics of.

Maybe you’ll ask him while he’s on bedrest from that bullet wound. (Or maybe you’ll just ask him. He’s not the sort of man to stay down for long.)

Regardless, as you two cross the exit a couple blocks from your dad’s base, you ask him, “Do you think he sent people after me?”

“Maybe,” Joel says. “Probably went up to Oklahoma instead. Louisiana ain’t famous for bein’ easy hikin’ material. Shocker that them Cockroaches brought you all the way out there.”

You nod and kick a rock with the toe of your shoe. “You think your group’s doing good on their own?”

“Who fuckin’ knows,” Joel says. “Left Tommy in charge of the place, I’ll be lucky if it ain’t burned down by now.”

“Well, you’ve got a whole new world ahead of you. Free of debts and all. Maybe my dad will finally get off your ass. Could skip town, if you wanted.”

Joel’s feet drag on the concrete. You watch him out of the corner of your eye as he scratches the back of his neck. “There were never any debts, peach,” he says.

Your brows furrow as you stop in your tracks. “The fuck do y—”

“Got you of my own volition,” he says. “Your dad and I might be on shit terms, but that don’t mean I don’t care about him. I…” He pauses. “I know what it’s like to lose people.”

“Everyone does,” you say.

“Yeah,” Joel nods. He turns to make eye contact with you. “Everyone does. But I don’t exactly wanna go about losin’ you,” he says.

“That’s a bold claim, Miller,” you say.

“You’re good company. Even if you’re a shitass.” He pats you on the shoulder. His hand slides down your arm to your hand, and he gives it a squeeze before letting it drop. “Now c’mon. Let’s get you home.”

[actuallysaiyan]

Can I please request prompt #17 with Trunks?? 🥺🥺

Trunks is nothing short of the perfect boyfriend. He's funny and makes you laugh. He's sweet and will be romantic for you. He's even super protective whenever he feels like he needs to be, but never oversteps boundaries.

Everyone envies your relationship with him. Even his best friend Goten loves to tease you for stealing Trunks from you. You know he doesn't actually mean it, but it always makes you laugh.

The bond you and Trunks have is so special. Nobody could ever break it. But none of them truly understand all the aspects of your relationship. It's not just sweet and romantic affections all the time either. There's a power dynamic between you two that seems to only get more intense with each time you two find yourselves alone in the bedroom.

He takes you out dancing one night, keeping a tight grip on you. He's showing the rest of the world that you belong to him. Something has him on edge tonight, and you aren't quite sure what it is exactly. He's been kissing you a lot more in public, dancing so close to you. He has his hands on you a lot more than usual.

"What's gotten into you?" You ask him as you two make your way to the bar.

Trunks laughs, "Nothing. I just love you."

But you know something is wrong when he's dragging you into the bathroom. His hand is steady on your wrist. His teeth are gritted and he's practically fuming. All this because some guy looked at you. You wonder why this makes Trunks this angry, but you notice there's a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"What if I fuck you right here, huh?" Trunks asks as he licks his lips.

"Trunks," you whine softly.

He captures your lips in a passionate kiss. He can't believe that he saw that one guy checking you out. It's not you he doesn't trust, but other people just can't understand that you belong to Trunks. He's playing with your pussy through your soaked panties, nipping at your bottom lip. Then his eyes lock with yours, dark with desire.

"Can you be good for me and keep quiet while I fuck you right here? Or maybe you'll make enough noise for that asshole to get the hint."

[thevelria]

The day I met you (Future Trunks x Reader)

Author's note: This story contains swearing and some soft lemon. Because I think Future Trunks would be a softy in the bed anyway ;)

When did this madness start? I didn’t even remember anymore, all the pain, fear, bleakness washed the memories away. Dead bodies everywhere on the street, buildings still on fire or totally ruined to the ground. 

I was trying to make my way to a safe place I heard of the other day. That was my only goal at that moment, reaching a place where a saiyan was hidden as well. I might have a tiny bit of a chance to survive, if he would have been around.

-Where in the hell do I have to turn left? -I furrowed my eyebrows, trying to remember what the man said to me, while explaining the direction -This corner, I suppose -I took a deep breath, but regretted my decision in an instant. 

Seeing Black fighting with a lavender hair colored man frightened me to death.

-Wrong corner, wrong corner! -I panicked, trying to stay invisible. But Black spotted me easily, smirking at me with that disgusting devilish smile on his face. I couldn’t understand how such a good looking man could be such a freaking prick.

-Shit! Shit! Holy shit! -my eyes popped wide open as I made eye contact with the villain- Okay, that’s it. I’m going to die now on this filthy street, no one ever will remember me -thoughts rushing through my mind rapidly.

-Watch out! -I’ve heard someone yelling, grabbing me by my waist, flying me up high in the sky just the second before a huge blast slammed into the spot I’ve been standing a blink before. 

-Oh my God! -I grabbed the man's hand hard, digging my nails into his skin, drops of blood forming and starting to run down on his arm.

-Auch! -he hissed out loud.

-I’m sorry, I’m so sorry -softened my grip, looking still shocked- Please don’t let me fall! -I closed my eyes, my whole body shaking in fear.

-Don’t worry, I hold you still -he murmured in my ears. His warm breath slightly caressed my skin.

After a few minutes, at least it felt like it, we landed. His arm slowly was pulled back from around my waist and even if I felt the solid ground under my feet I still kept my eyes closed.

-You can open your eyes now -he giggled- You are safe.

-Oh, yeah, sure -I carefully opened them, blinking a few times to make my sight clear.

-I’m Trunks -he held his hand to me, smiling.

-I’m Y/N -I stared at him, while accepting the offered hand. His figure mesmerized me immediately, his beautiful blue eyes, the lavender hair, that handsome face and perfectly toned body. I felt blush rushing through my face, so I turned away in an instant.

Trunks smirked as he noticed how I reacted from seeing him. 

-Come inside! -he said- You’ll be safe here.

-Thank you -I looked at him again- For everything -I sighed deeply- I would be dead by now, if you didn’t save me from that maniac. 

-And that would be a shame. You are too beautiful to be dead -he winked at me and chuckled as he saw me blushing from head to toe one more time. 

*** 

6 months later:

I got used to the safe place and tried my best to be a useful member of the community. Since I was a nurse before it all started I mostly handled the injured soldiers, who were lucky enough to come back alive after a fight with Black. 

-Oh my God, Trunks! -I screamed as I saw the saiyan badly bleeding from several wounds all around his body. His face was covered with cuts and bruises, his bottom lip was ripped, just as his right eyebrow -Let me help you! -I ran to him, spinning my hand around his back to give him the opportunity to lean on my shoulder. 

Mai appeared in front of us and pushed me away immediately.

-Help the others! -she hissed at me- I will handle him myself. 

She never really liked me, because she was madly in love with the saiyan and hated the fact that Trunks didn’t feel the way she wanted him. 

-Don’t be rude to her! -Trunks gritted between his teeth, he hated the way Mai treated me and had an argument with her every single time. Now, on the other hand he was too injured to be able to stand up for me. At least I thought so.

-It’s okay -I smiled at Trunks- I will help the others -I spun on my heels, about heading to the opposite way. 

-No! -Trunks shrugged Mai’s hand off of him- She will be the one, who’s going to help them -he said with a cold tone, strictly. 

-Fuck you, Trunks! -Mai’s eyes widened, clenching her jaw and storming away. 

-Sorry, it’s going to be uncomfortable -I poured some alcohol on a cotton ball, pressing it gently against the cut on his lip. 

-Uhh… -he hissed.

-I’m trying to be as gentle as possible -I smiled awkwardly.

-I know -he put his big hand on mine, squeezing it softly.

After I took care of all of his wounds, bandaged them well, I was standing in front of him, staring blankly.

-What’s wrong? -he wrinkled his forehead, sitting on a chair.

-This eats me up alive -I sighed deeply.

-What do you mean? 

-I don’t know how much longer I can do this…Being terrified every single time you go out there to fight that bastard. The single thought of you not coming back frightens me to death -I clenched my jaw.

-Hey…hey come here -he held out his hands, grabbing mine, pulling me into his lap- Don’t worry, it’s going to be okay. Goku and Vegeta must arrive soon, they will help us to end this madness. And then we will be able to live a normal life. I will be able to take you on a proper date as well -he smiled at me, blushing slightly.

-You promise? -I caressed his face gently.

-I promise -he rested his cheek on my palm.

***

-Deal? -Mai asked Black with a devilish smile on her face.

-Hmm…I will consider your request, however tell me one reason not to kill you right here, right now.

-Because if you kill Y/N as I asked you, I will lead you to the biggest safe place we have in the town. And you can finish more than 200 people at once. I think it’s totally worth it.

-Well, alright mortal. But if you try to trick me… -he smirked at Mai- Death will be the most wonderful thing you will desire.

-Don’t worry, I’ll keep my words, just vanish that freaking bitch out from this world.

-Why do you hate her that much? -Black raised an eyebrow, trying to understand the situation more.

-She…she is just an annoying brat -Mai clenched her jaw- All was perfect til she showed up one day and ruined everything between me and… -she stopped mid sentence.

-Oh… -Black laughed out loud arrogantly- It’s about some kind of meaningless human feelings? You mortals really deserve to be exterminated. 

-Whatever -Mai shrugged her shoulders, heading back to the safe place.

-Y/N! -Mai ran to me in panic, totally freaked out-Y/N, you need to come with me. It’s Trunks! He got into a fight with Black and he’s barely alive. You are the best nurse here, you need to come and save him -lies were spluttering from her mouth. 

-Oh my God! -my eyes widened, as my heart was about to jump out of my body.

You can call me naive, but I would have never thought she could be this mean. Lying about Trunks being in danger, knowing I would never refuse to help him. 

The way she tried to hide her smile made me suspicious. I started to think she might have tricked me, but I had no idea how.

-Where is he exactly? -I asked following Mai into a questionable area.

-This way! Here…hurry! -she kept mumbling- We are almost there.

-But it’s not the place Trunks told me he was heading to before he left the safe place -I stopped walking, folding my arms in front of my chest.

-So what?  -Mai was getting impatient- They fought around and they ended up here. Don’t you want to help him or what? 

-No, of course I will -shaking my head slightly, following her again. 

-There we are -she smiled widely, spotting Black at the top of a building.

-What the fuck? -I looked terrified- Mai?!

But she didn’t answer me, while walking in the direction of Black, who landed on the ground in the meantime. 

-You bitch! -I yelled- You fooled me! I’m so going to kill you for that -my eyes were burning in fury.

-Well, good luck with that -she pushed her long black hair behind- It will be difficult, though…since you will be dead in a few minutes -she laughed maniacally.

I gulped hard, thoughts were running through my mind, trying to find a solution which could have saved me from this fucked up situation. Mai was chatting with Black, smiling at him, pointing in the direction of the safe place. 

-No way, she’s giving up everything -I hissed, fisting my hands in anger- What the fuck is wrong with this stupid bitch? 

-Alright! -I heard Black low voice- I keep my word and kill that meaningless mortal for you.

I froze and stood still. Running away? Hiding somewhere? But where? I sighed and took a deep breath through my nose, thinking of Trunks. I wanted him to be my last thought before I was seemingly going to die within seconds. 

Black didn’t use any blast or energy ball, he landed in front of me and grabbed me by my neck, pulling me up in the air, my legs waving in panic as I kept hitting his fist around my throat. 

-Please… -I tried to form words, feeling the air slowly disappearing from my body.

-Such a weak, useless body this is -he tilted his head slightly, examining my look as I was fighting for my life.

-Let her go! You fucking bastard! -I’ve heard Trunk’s voice behind.

-What? -Black hissed, dropping me to the ground hard. As I gasped for air, massaging my neck I looked back above my shoulder, seeing Trunks in his fighting stance, holding his sword tight. 

-Bitch, you lied to me! -he looked Mai in the eye, who now became more terrified than me. 

Trunks and Black started to fight, giving in everything, flying up high in the sky. Punches here and there, cuts and bleeding bruises started to cover them both up. When finally Trunks had the chance to cut into Black’s chest deep and hard. The villain screamed in agony, trying to land at the top of a building. 

Mai in the meantime was about to escape, running away, hiding from Black, because she knew exactly that the man wouldn’t believe her. He was going to think she was the one who let the saiyan know his whereabouts. And that was exactly what happened.

-Stop running, you sneaky little brat! -Black shouted, blinded by anger- You really thought you could have tricked me -sending a huge blast in the direction of Mai, which killed her instantly. 

Trunks used the situation to land next to me, grabbing me hard by my waist, flying away immediately. He didn’t even look back.

-Trunks…I think Mai told Black where the safe place was -I tried to collect myself.

-WHAT? -he yelled- I’ve heard them talking about a deal. If Black kills me, she tells him where the safe place is. But I didn't hear her say it out loud exactly.

-I don’t know… -I started to cry, the whole situation was so freaking overwhelming I couldn’t control myself. 

As we landed in front of the place, Trunks blinked quickly, trying to figure out what to do. 

-I wounded him pretty badly -he finally sighed- He will need some time to recover. One or two days maybe. Let’s go inside, we will find out something.

-Alright -I nodded- I will need to take care of your wounds, he harmed you pretty well, too.

Trunks didn’t say a thing, but let me guide him into one of the nursing rooms.

-I still can’t believe Mai was able to do this -he shook his head in disbelief.

-She loved you, Trunks -I pressed my lips together as I was taking care of his cuts on his chest. His shirt was torn apart, revealing his muscled torso. 

-That doesn’t mean she had the right to try taking away from me the woman I love -he said, slowly looking up into my eyes.

As I didn’t say a thing, he grabbed my waist slowly, pulling me into his lap, resting his face on my chest. 

-Trunks… -I took a deep breath, running my fingers through his silky, lavender hair.

He stood up, pushing me gently against the table and pressed his lips against mine passionately. We have never ever shared a kiss before, hence I was craving it from the first time I saw him. I kissed him back, throwing my hands around his neck as the kiss was deepend.

-I was waiting for this moment for so long -he smiled into the kiss, breaking it afterwards.

-So I was not the only one craving it? -I smirked at him, which made him smile devilishly.  

When he started to unbutton my shirt I felt the tension rushing through my body, I wanted him so bad. I grabbed the bottom of his jacket, which he pulled down immediately, tossing it away. After I looked at his already torn shirt, which he ripped off of him with one move, sliding it aside.

-Damn…you are so hot -I bit my lower lip, staring at his abs, at his perfectly muscled torso.

Trunks didn’t say a word, licking his upper lip, while eagerly unzipping my jeans. Pushing it down, guiding me to step out of it and leaving me standing in front of him, only wearing my underwear. 

-Fuck… -I moaned as he stepped closer, massaging my breast with one hand, grabbing my ass with his other hand, licking my neck with passion.

I felt his hand wandering down from my breast through my body until he reached my penties. 

-Can I? -he looked me in the eye. I gulped as I nodded yes slightly.

-Oh, Trunks -I threw my head back, when his finger slipped in my pussy. Moving the tip of his index finger on my clit made me wild.

I eagerly grabbed the buckle of his belt, trying to free him from his trousers. He smirked at me, while pulling me into a passionate kiss, still moving his finger in my now wet pussy.

-Damn…- he growled, breaking the kiss as I started to rub his bulge through his boxers. I felt he was already hard, ready to take me anytime. His eyes widened, when I slid my hand into his underwear, gently pressing my palm against his hardened shaft 

-Y/N -he murmured- you drive me crazy. I won’t be able to control myself -he breathed heavily under my touch.

-Then don’t… -I whispered, which made him wild, pushing his boxers down, grabbing my penties, ripping it off, turning me around, so my back faced him.

-Oh my God, Trunks… -I moaned out loud as I felt his huge cock entering me.

-You are so tight -he growled as started to thrust me gently with a decent speed.

When he slid one of his hands down to my pussy, slipping a finger in, I lost my control. I pushed my hip backwards.

-Fuck… -I panted- fuck me hard, Trunks! Please! -I begged and he obeyed. 

Speeding up, pounding me faster and faster from behind. The tension he made me feel sent shivers down my spine, I felt my climax could burst out in any minute.

-Don’t stop -I whined- Please, don’t stop, I’m so close -I grabbed the edge of the table hard.

-Come for me, darling -he murmured into my ear. 

He kept kissing my neck, while I was riding out my orgasm under him. When I finished he immediately pulled out. Turned me to face him, pushing me down on my knees. He didn’t have to ask anything, I automatically started to stroke him, massaging his balls gently.

-Yes…right there! -he threw his head back- Fuck, I’m almost there -he hissed, releasing his hot semen on my breast. I stroked him twice more, before I stood up smiling, trying to find something I could clean my chest with. 

-Sorry! -he chuckled, scratching the back of his head.

-It’s okay -I smiled, wiping the cum off with a towel. 

-Trunks -I looked at him seriously, while getting dressed.

-Yes, Y/N? 

-Will we survive? -I took a deep breath.

-I’m going to kill Black and I will take you on that date, I promise -he pulled me into one more passionate kiss. 

[bananayuyu]

Lust is in the Air

Pairing: Hongjoong x f reader

Genre: smut

Word count: 6.4k

Summary: Your best friend drags you along to a family wedding, wanting to add some fun to your all too serious life. Turns out her uncle is the one who really provides the distraction.

Warnings: smut, MDNI, age gap (Hongjoong is 40 reader is 23), some talk during sex about the age gap so really don't read this if you don't like that, some dom/sub dynamics, throat fucking, degradation and praise, bratty y/n, use of pet names (baby, doll), ass eating, anal, unprotected sex

A/n: Sometimes I see a random video of him and I'm reminded all over again how hot I think a very mature Hongjoong would be. Especially if he was mocking me and making me feel pathetic. Yeah this was pure horny, quite filthy for me. This isn't as proofread as my normal stuff so apologies for any mistakes

Read it on ao3

------

Well, maybe it was a good idea. You had been staying in every weekend since the breakup, and maybe being forced out of the house would be good for you. Force you to interact with a few people, to actually put some effort into your appearance. Maybe put on a little makeup, or actually brush your hair.

"Please don't say no," Beatrice says through the phone. "My family would love it if you came, and I'd love it if you came. And we haven't had a chance to spend a weekend like this in forever. There will be free food and free booze!"

"I know you're worried about me, Bea," you respond, sighing.

"I'm not inviting you out of pity," she says.

"I know, I know. Just, give me some time to think it over. I've got an assignment I need to finish for one of my classes, I think it's due this Sunday night. So if I can't finish it this week I'll need to do it this weekend," you reply.

"Okay, just text me. I'm not gonna invite anyone else as my plus one, if you don't end up coming. So no rush, take your time," she says.

"Thank you. You know I appreciate you so much," you say, sighing into the cushion of your couch.

"You know I feel the same," she says, sighing too. You'd both been through breakups recently. It seemed like your hardships always occurred on nearly the same timeline, making you both able to rely on each other for understanding. And she knew getting you out of the house, especially for a weekend wedding, would be good for you. Her cousin's family was rich and hadn't held back in their planning, booking the fanciest hotel in town for everyone. They were paying for everything; the food and drinks of course, and everyone's hotel expenses. You'd knew you'd go. You'd try to finish the assignment beforehand. But even if you didn't, you'd still go.

Driving up to the front of the hotel together felt surreal. Beatrice had asked to take your car, as it wasn't the bright purple color that her's was. This place was fancy, and though neither of your cars were deluxe, at least your's was black.

"Miss McArthur?" the valet asked once you rolled your window down.

"Yeah, that's me," Beatrice said from the passenger seat, reaching over you to hand him her ID. "This is my plus one, y/n. She should be on the list."

After a brief look at his clipboard the man gave you both a satisfied nod. "Do you ladies have any bags we can carry up for you?" he asked.

"Yes, in the trunk," Beatrice answered for you, which you were grateful for. You'd never interacted with a valet before, never been in such a fancy situation in your life. You stumbled out of the car a bit awkwardly, your jean shorts and t-shirt looking ridiculous next to the suit and tie of the man in front of you. He held out his hand to you and for a moment you paused, wondering if he was offering to take your hand. But then you realized he was actually offering to take your keys. Duh.

"Thank you," you said quickly, heading around the car to meet Bea as you walked behind the man carrying your bags.

On the sixth floor you entered your shared room, a spacious and beautifully decorated space with a huge window covering the far wall. It was a sliding glass door, that led out to a balcony overlooking the river below. In the afternoon sun the water glittered, but you knew the view at night would be the real show, absolutely magical.

"Everyone is meeting in the restaurant at 7," Bea tells you, glancing at her family's group chat.

"Well then I've got a little over two hours to make myself look at least a little bit nice. Like maybe I actually belong here," you laugh, opening your bag to grab the casual dress you'd packed.

"Oh dinner tonight won't be fancy, wear whatever," Bea replies, kicking off her sandals.

"Okay but, with your cousins family not fancy would still probably be a little fancy, right?" you ask.

"You don't need to worry about fitting in, dude. No one will care," Bea replies.

"I just don't want to look like an idiot," you say, eyeing her.

"Y/n, you really need to stop worrying. This weekend is about us having fun. I'm not even that close with my cousin Amana, to be honest. We'll probably barely interact with her family. But we get to attend this fancy wedding, all expenses paid. Just wear whatever you feel like, do whatever you want to. Just promise me you'll have some fun," she says.

"Okay, fine," you respond, rolling your eyes jokingly. "I guess I'll try to enjoy this super nice luxury hotel for the weekend."

Bea laughs in relief, at hearing you joke around. It was what you both needed more of; you both had serious work and school lives already to contend with. And seriously disappointing dating lives, too.

As seven approaches you both make your way to the elevator, pausing at you exit the door to inspect the slight amount of makeup you'd put on. You hadn't worn any in weeks and it made you feel really pretty, along with the flowly sundress and sandals you'd decided to wear. You weren't always one for such feminine clothing but today it felt right, and you both bounced down the hall, spirits high. Bea led the way through the lobby to a long hallway, past what looked like a bar and some other room that had a bouncer, to the large restaurant at the end. Immediately you saw the long tables lined up, clearly set up for the wedding party. This wasn't the dress rehearsal, just the welcome dinner. It was only Friday, and the wedding wasn't until Sunday. Immediately you spotted the wine and appetizers filling the table, scanning the tables to try to find your seats.

"I can't find us Bea," you laugh, awkwardly walking past family members you'd never met before.

"Y/n, you're at our table," you hear a familiar female voice say, and turn to see Bea's mom.

"Oh, hi! Thank you!" you say as you walk over to her, giving her a quick hug.

"So glad you could join us sweetie," she says, gesturing to your seats. "See, you and Beatrice are near the end there, across from Nathan. Oh and have you met Beatrice's uncle Hongjoong before?" she asks, gesturing down the table.

You look down to see Beatrice sitting, pulling her chair under her and smiling wide. Across from her, in a casual but fitted grey t-shirt, a man smiles back, handing her a glass of wine he's just poured. He is striking, with jet black hair and tattoos, piercings donning his right ear. His jaw is sharp, his teeth perfect when he smiles. He looks maybe 27, 28. He's wearing an expensive watch, or at least a watch that looks expensive to your eyes, and a small simple chain necklace. His hair is cropped short at the sides; he looks so put together, so professional. So mature. So fucking attractive.

"That's Bea's uncle?" you ask her. It's not just his age that makes you ask. It's the fact that he's basically your dream come true. You see the muscles in his arm flex as he pours Nathan a glass too, and it makes your eyes cross for a moment.

"Well technically I think he's a second cousin, once removed, or something like that. He's a part of Wooyoung's family." Wooyoung was her husband, Bea's dad. You'd met her parents, and her brother Nathan, but never anyone else in her extended family. And you struggled to recall ever hearing about a Hongjoong before. You stared at him a moment before he moved his eyes over to you, catching you off guard. His look was mischievous, like he wants to play or mess with you. It made it hard to believe this was someone Bea called 'uncle.'

"Do you want to sit?" Bea's mom asked you.

"Yeah, sorry," you smiled at her, making you way down.

"Y/n! This is my uncle Hongjoong, and Hongjoong, this is y/n," Beatrice says as you pull out your seat next to her.

"Very nice to meet you," he says with an outstretched hand, his handshake strong and confident in a way that makes your body tingle.

"You as well," you reply, with a bashful smile. Immediately Bea asks you a question and you respond on auto-pilot, not even really hearing. Because your head is swimming in water just from being in this man's presence, and you can't focus. You don't even notice the glass of wine he'd poured you until he sets it down by your appetizer plate, gently bumping the stem on the rim of the plate to make a gentle clink. The sound makes your eyes snap up, and for some reason he looks amused.

"Oh, thank you," you say to him, bowing your head slightly. That mischievous smirk is back on his face when you lock eyes again, like he's trying to tell you something, but you can't be sure what it is. You certainly hope he's thinking what you're thinking. God, he's fucking stunning.

Those are the only words you speak to each other for the entirety of dinner. With so many people in attendance the restaurant is loud, louder still as everyone becomes tipsy, and then outright drunk on the unlimited wine.

"Hey, my parents want me a Nathan to go take pictures with them on the golf course nearby. They booked a photo shoot or something," Bea tells you, rolling her eyes slightly. "I'm not sure when we'll be back but feel free to like, go to the hot tub or do whatever around the hotel," she says.

"Okay, sounds good. Thank you, seriously," you say as you hug her. "I hope it's fun."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," she laughs. "My parents and their family photos," she shakes her head, making you giggle, as she slowly makes her way to meet her brother at the front door of the restaurant.

You take stock of yourself for a moment, making sure you have your phone and your wallet in your purse, making sure your room key is still in your wallet. You take the last swig of your second glass of wine, patting yourself on the back for not overdoing it this first night when basically everyone around you did. You start sipping on your nearly empty glass of water too, knowing you don't want to wake up hungover tomorrow. The table is basically empty, with everyone slowly clearing out or making their last requests at the bar. You decide you'll go explore in a moment, go scope out the pool and hot tub situation, and maybe see if you can figure out what room is behind that bouncer. But just as you start standing up, Hongjoong approaches the table.

"I got some more waters for the table, but it looks like they've all left," he chuckles, his arms full.

"They went to do a family photo, Bea said," you reply, stuck for a moment awkwardly between sitting and standing. Hongjoong nods, like he already knew.

"Oh, were you about to leave too? Don't let me keep you," he says, the glint back in his eye again.

"I was thinking I'd go take a look at the pool and hot tub, maybe explore a bit," you say. It sort of takes you by surprise that you're sharing this with a total stranger, given your usual instinct to not share anything with people you don't know. You easily could have excused yourself, and been exploring the hotel alone. But deep down you know why you're sharing it. You hope he picks up on that reason, too.

"That's a great idea," he says, gently setting the waters down. "Mind if I join you? I was thinking of exploring the hotel some myself."

Bingo. You smile, eyes fluttering at him for a second. You truly don't even mean to do it, but the way he looks at you has you feeling shameless.

"Sure, I wouldn't mind," you reply, stepping out from your chair and gently pushing it into the table.

"Want to take a water with you?" he asks, holding one out.

"I don't think we can just take the glass with us," you reply, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Oh, who cares," he says glancing over his shoulder, seeing all of the wait staff occupied at the bar with everyone's last minute orders. "I'll carry it out, if you're that worried," he says, cocking his head slightly to the side and eyeing you with what must be mock pity.

"Fine," you roll your eyes at him, trying to fight the smile forming on your face from betraying how much his tone and facial expression are affecting you. You turn around and start strolling out of the restaurant, not even waiting for him. Once you're exiting he's already caught up, two water glasses in hand. You turn to your right, heading for the lobby.

"Wrong way, y/n," Hongjoong says lowly from behind you, making you stop in your tracks. "The pool is out those doors at the end of the hall."

"The sign in the lobby says the door to the pool is by the front desk," you reply, looking over your shoulder at him. The hallway is dimly lit, and the shadows on his face make his jaw look even sharper.

"Well that door also leads to the pool," he says, gesturing to the end of the hall. You just stare at him a moment, not sure why you feel the instinct to argue. "You don't believe me?" he asks, chuckling and looking you dead in the eye, before obviously snaking his gaze down the entirety of your body. Now that he's standing you see the fitted black pants and black dress shoes he's wearing, making his outfit look even more professional. His thighs look strong, and his stance is one of confidence, his entire demeanor cool and collected. You want to come up with a witty retort but can't think of anything, so you just start walking the way he's said to, again passing him by without slowing down to meet him. You open the doors gently but don't stop to hold them for him, brattiness taking ahold of you. Maybe it's the fancy hotel, or the wine, but you feel like a princess who deserves whatever she wants. And right now that's to piss Hongjoong off a bit, and see the pool.

"I thought nice girls hold doors open for the elderly," he says once he's exited too, sidling up to you. You stand by the long edge of the pool, taking in the lights below the surface that dance through the water. You turn to him and roll your eyes, taking the water glass he offers you immediately. "So, what do you do?" he asks.

"I'm still in school, I'm in my senior year," you say, turning back to the water. "And I work part time as an administrative assistant in the Dean's office, to help cover some of my tuition."

"College senior," he says, like he's mulling it over. "So that makes you how old?"

"Guess," you say, turning to him again, this time with your whole body.

"22," he replies. His voice low, like he's hesitant to say it.

"Close, 23," you say, not lowering your voice to meet his.

"And how old do you think I am?" he asks you, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mmm, like, 38?" you joke, squinting your eyes as you look intently at his face. The feeling of wanting to piss him off still hadn't left you.

"How astute," he replies, nodding. "People usually think I'm younger."

"You're actually 38?" you ask, bewildered.

"Actually, 40," Hongjoong replies, making your eyebrows shoot up.

"You're lying," you say, rolling your eyes and shaking your head at him.

"Wow, second time tonight you've thought that. I don't know what I've done to make you think so poorly of me," he replies, that mischievous look again painting his face.

"Oh, shut up," you say, rolling your eyes harder this time, wanting to reach out and playfully punch him. Or maybe not so playfully. He's looking more and more perfect by the second, and his attitude, the way he's just so confident and calm, is making you hot and bothered. You know it maybe it's wrong, but now that you know his real age you find this whole scenario even hotter. If you were honest with yourself you'd always dreamed of fucking an older man, but the few you'd gone on dates with or had the chance to talk to had always been so immature, insecure, and underwhelming. Just like all the other guys you'd dated. It was a massive disappointment to learn that age didn't often give people that self-assured demeanor that you so desired. But clearly it did sometimes; the proof was standing in front of you.

"That wasn't very nice," Hongjoong replies, fixing you with a look of disapproval that makes your thighs clench involuntarily, as the two of you stare each other down merely feet apart. You hold his gaze as long as you can before you look down at your feet, his stoic demeanor feeling like a brick wall you can't break through.

"You're very pretty, y/n," he says, stepping forward to lift your face up to his.

"Really?" you ask him, eyes wide. Playing it just the way he likes.

"I know you know how pretty you are, you've been giving me those eyes all night," he says, looking like he disapproves. "You're a bit of brat, too, aren't you?" he asks, his hand moving to the side of your cheek.

"No comment," you giggle, and he grabs your hand, bringing it to his upper arm. You grab onto his bicep as he moves his hand to your waist pulling you two closer.

"Dance with me," he says, pulling you slightly into his chest.

"There isn't any music playing," you say, laughing. And it's the way that he doesn't just automatically laugh at your little comments that really gets you going.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn't like me very much," he says seriously, pulling you in and starting to rock you back and forth. You dance together for a few minutes, no words being exchanged as your bodies get used to the proximity, as your mind begins to swim again, even more so now that his hands are on you. You want him to kiss you, do anything, now, but he keeps his hands where they are, still leading you around in slow circles. Fuck it, you think. You lift your hands to his face and pull him in, your lips meeting in a perfect kiss, his hand on your waist moving up your back as he holds you to him, leaning you back as he deepens it. You hold steadily onto his bicep for balance, your breathing fast as you stick your tongue in his mouth, not hiding your desperation. You don't care to, not when you've spent two months without this feeling, tortured over the idea that no one at your school would ever consider you an option after your last relationship ended the way it did.

And just when it seems like you're the only desperate one, Hongjoong moves his hands down, running them up your thighs and under your dress to find your panties. He finds none, much to his surprise, which makes his dick harden even further. He gropes your ass, deepening the kiss more, making you arch your back in neediness. And then he snakes his hand around, slowly moving to your core, before suddenly running a finger over your slit, making you gasp. You've forgotten where you are, totally engrossed in the feelings he's giving you. You buck your hips against his hand, moaning pathetically into his mouth, your legs feeling like they might give out on you. He starts circling your entrance, finally pushing one finger in maybe an inch, when you finally remember where you are.

"Wait, fuck, not out here," you say, pulling back from him. He pulls his hand away immediately, his fingers glistening in the lights of the night.

"You don't want everyone to see?" he asks, a smirk on his face.

"Not when the people paying for me to be here could see," you say. Your lips look swollen and wet from the kiss, and it makes him want to grab you again.

"You're the one who kissed me," he says, his voice low. And you know there's more he's implying, that you weren't just the one who kissed him but that you had rocked against his hand, had wanted his touch. That you'd kissed him desperately, making him unable to stop himself. The implication is inappropriate, the accusation he's laid on you not fair in the slightest. He has no way of knowing what you were trying to make him do, or what you wanted to happen. You hadn't said a word. And yet, he's totally right, making it hard for you to respond.

"That's-," you sigh, your pussy still throbbing from your proximity.

"My room is on the 7th floor," he says.

"Okay," you reply. It's all you can say. You stand completely still, stuck to the spot, waiting for him to move. Instead he puts his wet fingers in his mouth, sucking off your slick in one smooth motion, humming in satisfaction. Your mouth gapes at his lewdness, struck now by just how visible you both obviously are.

"Let's go," he says, motioning his head towards the door.

Your legs move automatically, your mind playing over and over the visual of him licking his fingers, the look of utter bliss on his face. As you walk the hallway he comes behind you, putting a hand on the small of your back, making your body melt into him slightly. It feels good but you gently remove his hand, not wanting anyone to see. You pray that neither Bea nor any of her family are in the lobby when you enter, and thankfully, your prayers are answered. Nor does anyone join you two on the elevator, which makes you willing to stand closer to Hongjoong than you would any other stranger. But still, you don't touch him. As you both exit you walk behind him, almost enough space between you that you could believably look like two total strangers, walking to separate rooms. Until he unlocks his door, holding it open as you slip inside, like you're really not supposed to be in here.

As soon as he closes the door he's pulled you to him, his back slamming into the wall as you nearly crash together, the air between you thick with lust.

"I'm almost twice as old as you, y/n," he whispers in your ear, feeling your pussy clench against his thigh that you're straddling, your mouth on his neck. "You like that," he states, not even asking you anymore. "You like that I'm way too old for you. Too old to be touching you like this."

It's wrong, so wrong and you know it, but the further he pushes it the more you're surrendering to what's happening, to what your body truly craves.

"You've never been fucked right by those stupid boys at your college, have you? You need me to fuck you right, to show you how good you can feel. That's why you were bratty with me, you wanted me to be riled up. Want me to fuck you hard, like I'm mad. Like I'm punishing you," he growls, his breathing heavy as you bite down on his neck, sending sparks of pain and pleasure through his head. "Fuck, you really want me mad, don't you?" he asks and you whine in response, your whole body tingly with anticipation.

"Get on your knees," he says, pulling you back from him, your hair already a mess from his hands, the straps of your dress falling down your shoulders and nearly making your tits spill out. "Open your mouth," he commands, and you follow immediately, your wide eyes looking up at him in desire, his thumb running over your bottom lip. "I like when you do what I say," he says, pinching your cheek and making you blush, the praise making your insides turn to jelly. He unzips his pants smoothly, undoing the button and swiftly pulling out his hard cock, the tip a slight shade of red and already leaking slightly.

"Look what you did to me," he says, palming himself, your tongue nearly falling out of your mouth as you salivate over his beautiful cock. "I thought for a moment I'd have to come up here and deal with this all on my own, after you eye-fucked me all dinner," he continues, slowly stroking his length, moving closer to your open and waiting lips. "I should have known you weren't wearing any panties from the way you were acting," he says, gently running his tip along your outstretched tongue, spreading your spit around your face with it and making a mess of you. "No bra, no panties. You wanted to be fucked tonight." Slowly he enters your mouth, gently holding your head as he pushes further in, gently tapping the back of your throat and making you gag. You moan, your pussy clenching around nothing, wanting him to fill all of your holes at once. "That feels good, doesn't it. Gagging on my cock," he smirks, your eyes fluttering closed as he pushes in again, this time a little harder. "Eyes on me baby, don't look away," he says, slowly beginning to fuck your throat, gently enough not to choke you but deep enough to make you repeatedly gag, your spit covering his cock and running down your chin, your face a complete mess. "Fuck, your mouth feels good," he groans, his face scrunching up in pleasure for a moment, before he looks down to meet your eyes again, which are now glued to him, glued to every change in his expression, every flick of his tongue across his bottom lip. "I'm gonna go harder baby, I know you can take it," he warns you before picking up his pace, his cock nearly bottoming out in your mouth as he holds your head in place, repeatedly fucking into your throat. You're automatically swallowing around him, your body's reflexive actions taking over. "Fuck, so good," Hongjoong sighs, your head feeling light from the lack of oxygen and your body swimming in pleasure. You could let him use your throat all night if he wanted to, especially if he keeps talking to you like that. Like you're dumb and you don't even know what you want. Like he has to tell you or you'll never figure it out.

Finally you choke hard, your body instinctively pulling you back, and he pulls out of your mouth letting you catch you breath, stroking a hand through your hair. You run a hand across your mouth, trying in vain to clean yourself up a bit, wiping the saliva on your dress and staring up at him open mouthed, your entire body covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Hey, don't ruin this," he says pulling at your dress, moving behind you to help take it off. He slowly undoes the zipper, gently pulling the straps down and off your arms before helping you stand to step out of it. Completely bare, you stand in front of him, his hand coming up to spank you, grabbing your ass hungrily in his hand. You yelp at the impact, like you weren't expecting it. Like you hadn't been sticking your ass out ever so slightly, arching your back to add to the affect. "Don't write checks you can't cash, doll," he says, making you giggle and turn your head to face him, a look of utter delight on your face. "It really makes you happy when I scold you, doesn't it," he says, staring you down.

"Why are you so clothed?" you ask, finding your words.

"You want to see me naked?" he teases.

"Just seems like you're hiding something. Maybe under all that nice clothing you're really not that built," you laugh, knowing it would strike a nerve. It wasn't hard to tell that he cared about his figure.

"Go sit on your hands on the bed," he retorts, his eyes narrowing, as he starts taking off his watch, undoing the clasp on his chain. He sets both down on the table gently, pulling his shirt over his head next, revealing that most of his abdomen is also covered in tattoos, his broad shoulders and broad chest. Slowly he sits on the side of the bed to untie his shoes, periodically looking up at you to make sure you haven't moved, moving almost comically slow. You wriggle in anticipation, watching him slowly reveal himself, his muscular thighs finally on display to you as he pulls down his pants and boxers, his cock hard and a deeper shade of red now, still glistening from your spit.

"Lay on your stomach," he says, moving over you when you oblige, raking the hair out of your face so he can see you. "This is what you get for sticking your ass out," he says, swiftly moving down to lick over your hole, making you gasp at the coldness of his tongue. Immediately the feeling runs to your clit, your entire crotch alive with pleasure, your back arching instinctively to meet his movements. He spreads your cheeks to get better access, moving his tongue in quick circles around your tight entrance, your body slowly relaxing from the pleasure he's providing.

And suddenly he's off of you, reaching into his bedside drawer and pulling out a bottle, swiftly lubing the fingers of his right hand and moving them to your waiting hole, gently pushing one in. You groan, the tight muscles stretching already, your body arching even further to give him the perfect angle as he gently starts pumping in and out of you.

"You like getting your ass eaten, I knew you would. So dirty," he says, making you whine in agreement, your brows scrunched together in pleasure. Soon he adds another finger, the stretch again making you groan, your body instinctively tightening up at the intrusion. "I know you can take it," he says, not even attempting to comfort you. "Don't brats like getting their asses fucked?" he asks, his words making your clit ache, your body finally releasing again as he works you open with two fingers, taking the opportunity to quickly add another. "I knew it," he says, satisfied with how quickly he's stretched you open, how pliant your body is in his hands, how he's getting exactly what he wants from you. Still fucking you with his fingers, he opens the lube bottle again with his other hand, generously dousing his achingly hard cock. Gently he pulls his fingers out of you, frozen for a moment staring at the way your hole has opened up, nearly drooling from the visual.

"Spread you legs," he says, pushing your knees apart himself, pulling you ass up towards him, just where he wants you. Lining himself up, he slowly pushes in, the stretch even more severe this time, making you whine in pain, your breaths short and stifled with your head now shoved into his pillows. "What, you can't take it? Is it too big?" he asks, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "My little brat can't take my cock in her ass?"

Tears start forming in your eyes from how turned on you are, the pain a secondary feeling as it all starts to feel just right, as it starts morphing into only pleasure as your muscles finally relent. You feel like you're being split open, like you're opened up more than ever before, like he's gutting you from the inside. Finally he bottoms out, reaching into you further than you thought you could feel, your clit throbbing painfully with need.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans from above you, brushing a hand along your cheek in an almost sweet gesture, seeing the single tear stain on your cheek. He waits a moment, waiting to feel if your body is ready, and suddenly your hips are moving into his like your body is begging him to move. He slowly pulls out, almost all the way, then thrusts back in, making you gasp at the intense pleasure, your breath nearly getting caught in your throat. Grabbing your hips he starts forcefully thrusting, chasing his own pleasure as he's sucked into your ass, the tight muscles threatening to make him come in an instant. Desperate for some relief you move your hand to your clit, desperately trying to circle it as he rocks you hard with the force of his thrusts. His eyes are glued to your ass, glued to the way his cock looks buried inside you, and your face, the way your mouth hangs permanently open as you moan in earnest, clearly not controlling a single sound that is coming out. The raw sounds make him fuck into you even harder, the way you sound so pathetically fucked out, like you can't believe this feels so good. Eventually his eyes roam down again and spot your hand, swatting it away in an instant, his anger boiling up again.

"Is my cock not enough?" he scolds, his voice gravelly from breathing so raggedly, the air in the room stiflingly hot. In this position it's hard, but quickly he finds a good angle and lands a sharp smack on your clit, the pain lancing through your core like lightning, and suddenly your whole body is shaking, your nerves completely on fire. "Even with my cock buried in your ass you want to piss me off, don't you?" His voice is raised, nearly to the point of losing control, but still very calculated. He lands another sharp slap on your clit, this time not as hard, but in an instant your orgasm washes over you, your whole body shaking hard as you squeeze down around his cock making it hard for him to keep moving.

"Fuck, baby, shit," Hongjoong curses, his climax hitting him by surprise, his cock milked by your tight walls squeezing down on him, your body taught with just how hard you came. His orgasm crashes over him fast and hard, his body going limp just after yours does, as you both collapse in a pile on the bed, his cum coating the walls of your ass in silky wetness. Your legs are still shaking, tucked up underneath you, his cock still buried deep inside. The position is awkward but you don't even feel it, the pleasure still rippling through you as you breath hard into the soft pillow. Hongjoong crashes onto your back, his arms instinctively wrapping around you, his chest and stomach rapidly rising and falling from his heavy breathing. His skin feels sticky and hot against yours, his hot breath fanning over your cheek as he plants a kiss there, intently watching your face as you come down.

"I'm gonna pull out now, okay?" he asks, eliciting a hum of agreement from you. Slowly he pulls backwards, his cum spilling out of you the moment he's pulled out entirely, spilling down your ass cheek onto the bedsheets. Hongjoong makes his way to the bathroom, quickly cleaning himself up before grabbing a washcloth for you, dousing it in luke warm water. Coming back to the bed he gently moves you onto your back, to the side of the pool of cum. He gently wipes you down, making you moan when he brushes over your clit, making himself chuckle.

Glancing over at the clock beside his bed you see it's nearly 11pm, your mind spinning. Quickly you move to the ground to rummage through your purse, glancing at your phone to see a text from Beatrice reading 'I'm back now, don't stay out too late miss.'

Be back soon, you write back.

"I should be going," you say, trying to stand up, your wobbly legs making it difficult. Hongjoong is at your side in a moment, stabilizing you, helping you to sit down on the bed while he grabs your dress off the floor. You hastily pull it over your head, running your fingers through your hair and feeling the knots that have formed. Quickly you zip the back of your dress, shove your phone in your purse and stand to slip on your sandals, not wanting to keep her waiting. The sudden quietness of Hongjoong also has you feeling slightly on edge, and really your head is just spinning, from every unexpected thing that happened.

"I'm not still mad, you know," he says gently, grabbing your hand as you move to breeze past him.

"Yeah?" you ask, looking at him with confusion.

"You don't need to still be acting like a kid who is in trouble," he says, kissing your hand. "That was just, that. You can talk to me like anyone else, now."

You eye him, swallowing thickly. What does one even say, now? Could he tell how inexperienced you were with hookups?

"I'm not sure what's going on in that pretty head of yours. I hope it's happy thoughts."

You nod, a smirk playing on your lips. You're speechless, unable to think a complete thought. It all just plays in your head, his tongue on your ass, his fingers stretching you out, his cock pounding into you so hard. And the smack on your clit, the way it made you come so fast, the ghost of the feeling still present in your core.

"Not those thoughts. You're gonna jump me again," he laughs, and finally you smack him, punching his arm soon afterwards. Pushing past him you walk fast, opening his door and spinning around, your eyes piercing as you meet his.

"What, you can't take my teasing?" he asks, but suddenly his door swings shut, your face gone in a flash.

As you saunter down the hall to the elevator you feel fucking amazing, swinging your purse over your shoulder and flipping your hair to the side, your sleepy eyes boring holes into the metal doors.

Well, she did tell you to have some fun. You just hoped Beatrice wouldn't be too mad you fucked her uncle.

[lowkeyerror]

Instant Attraction

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 11.5k

Notes: Stepmom!Wanda, pining, masturbation, kissing, thigh riding, cheating, mommy kink, lmk if there's anything else,

Summary: Your dad calls you home from college unable to afford for you to dorm. He doesn’t let you know that in the time you were gone, he had gotten married. When you meet his wife Wanda, you're instantly attracted to her. That attraction doesn't seem so one sided.

An: Could be persuaded to write another part... after I finish my request

Masterlist

You grew up in a single-parent household. Your dad spent most of his time at work, trying to provide you a better life. You could never hate him for that. Your mother, she decided that motherhood wasn’t for her when you were around 5. She left one night and never came back.

You weren’t a very social kid. You had a few friends, but no real affinity for going out. There was a preference on your side of things to stay in, watch movies, and play games. Even when you grew your interest stay the same.

There were times were your father nearly forced you out of the house, just so he could see the sun touch your skin.

You weren’t the smartest kid, but you weren’t an idiot either. You took your average grades and went to community college securing yourself a general AA before you decided to transfer to a Cal State University. Though your father originally paid for you to dorm, he mentioned that it was a bit expensive.

So next semester you’d be commuting between home and school. Honestly, you’d only dormed because your father had pushed for it in the first place. He’d thought it’d be a good opportunity for you to branch out.

Your roommate, Kate was pretty cool, but in actuality she was a bit of a loser just like you were.

“Back so soon Y/n L/n?”

The thick accent made a smile tug at the ends of your lips, “What can I say, I missed the scariest neighbor on the block. Who’s going to tarnish your hardcore image if it’s not me, Lena?”

You and Yelena had grown up together, she’d been your neighbor for as long as you could remember. One of the few people that you’d let into your social circle.

“I’m back to stay. My dad told me dorming was too expensive, so I get to come back home.”

Yelena laughs lightly, “I bet it’s out of his range now since he’s caring for a woman and her children .”

You look at her dumbfounded. Slowly the laughter stops and the smile disappears from her face.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you not know?”

Her eyes are wide as she stares at you.

“Know what Yelena?”

She begins to sputter, “Holy shit, what kind of father doesn’t tell his daughter this things?”

You grab her by the shoulders and shake her a little, “What kind of things, Yelena? Would you just tell me?”

“Y/n… you’re father. Sometime near the beginning of your semester, he got married.”

Your eyes bulge out of your head, “He did what?!”

“Her name is Wanda, she’s got 2 sons, twins.”

You open and close your mouth a few times. Laughter builds from inside of you and before you know it, it’s spilling out, “Good one Lena, you almost had me there. My father, married. Jesus Christ, this is why I don’t have too many friends.”

“Y/n, I’m serious.”

“Sure you are, now help me take some of this in the house, since you’re here,” you grab a bag from your trunk, shoving it into the blonde’s hands.

You don’t fumble around looking for your keys, instead opting to ring the doorbell. You told your dad you were coming this weekend, and he said he’d be home to let you in.

“Y/n, I’m really not lying about the marriage,” Yelena nudges you as you wait for the door to open.

You roll your eyes, “Even if I did believe you, what poor woman would marry my father?”

You ring the doorbell again, becoming impatient with waiting.

“Red head, green eyes, mother of 2 kids but you can’t tell from her body. She honestly a really attractive woman, don’t know how he did it,” Yelena goes into the details.

You laugh a little more, “This hypothetical woman sounds like my type. Maybe I could steal her from him.”

Yelena joins in on the laughter, “Not with your inability to speak to women.”

You glare at her, “Not funny.”

Finally the door opens, except it’s not your dad. It’s a woman with red hair, green eyes, a body that definitely doesn’t look like she had two kids. You can’t help but gawk at her.

“You must be Y/n, I’m Wanda. Your father told me to welcome you in, he’s working, but he’ll be back soon.”

“Hi, Mrs. Maximoff,” Yelena spoke with a smirk on her face.

“Yelena, it’s good to see you again. Helping Y/n with her bags?”

Yelena nods, “She needs all the help she can get.”

You shove the blonde while maintaining your gaze on the redhead, “You married my dad?”

She laughs at the disbelief in your voice, “Yes, I did sweetheart. Is that alright with you?”

You’re at a loss for words when you hear her call you sweetheart, “I um… I’m going to head to my room.”

You rush into the house and up the stairs past the red head. Yelena offers the woman a bright smile as she trails behind you a much slower pace.

When the blonde enters your old room she finds you pacing back and forth. Your teeth are sinking into one of your knuckles as you try to get your thoughts going.

“So…”

“You weren’t lying,” you whisper, more to yourself than her.

“I was not.”

You keep pacing, “She has two kids?”

“Yup,” she pops the ‘p', taking a seat on your bed.

You pull out your phone to call your dad. The phone rings, so long that you almost hang up.

“Hey kid, what’s going on?”

You feel your anger growing at his relaxed tone, “ I just got home… and there’s a woman in our house. A woman that Yelena told me that you are married to! Dad, what the fuck? When did you get married? Who is this woman? When did you start dating? She has kids?”

“One question at a time Y/n, please.”

You scoff over the phone, “No, you’ve been lying to me for months now, possibly longer. I deserve the truth.”

You hear him sigh over the phone, “You’re right. I wanted to tell you, but I just didn’t know the right time. Wanda and I had been dating for almost 2 years, I didn’t want to introduce you two before I was sure she was the one.”

“Well technically you still haven’t introduced us. You were supposed to be here today.”

He sighs again, “I know kid, but work called last minute. I know I should’ve been there for this, and I’m fucking it up, but I swear Wanda is amazing, you just have to get to know her.”

“When did you get married?”

“A week after you left, it was… spontaneous. We ended up at courthouse and next thing I know, I’m Mr. Shawn Maximoff.”

You furrow your brow, “You took her last name?”

“It sounds cooler,” he concedes.

It does sound cooler so you don’t argue with him.

“I can’t believe you kept this from me. We’re supposed to be in this together. Thick as thieves, I have your back and you have mine, but you’re lying to me about things this important,” you sit on your bed next to Yelena.

“Y/n, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to I promise. How about I come home right now, and we can talk about it in person?”

“That’s a start,” you relent.

“Alright, I’ll see you soon, love you.”

You let out a sigh of your own, “Love you, bye.”

When you hang up the phone, your head lands on Yelena’s shoulder. She pulls you into her side, rubbing your shoulder for comfort.

“There, there my friend. I’m sure everything will work out fine between you and your father. If not, you could always go with the plan of stealing Wanda away from him.”

You push her away from you, “Not funny.”

Yelena raises her hands in surrender, “It was just a suggestion.”

“Help me unpack,” you begin to unload your belongings.

Yelena deflates, but helps you regardless. When you’re done you can hear a car pull up in the driveway.

“Looks like your dad’s home.”

“Great.”

Yelena starts making her way to your bedroom door, “I love you, but I am not staying for whatever talk is about to transpire.”

“Fair,” you follow her to the front door.

“Last thing, will you be calling her mommy because-"

You open the door and push her through it, “Goodbye, Yelena.”

Your dad walks into the frame, chuckling at the scene. He waves to your friend, “Goodbye Yelena.”

She waves back, “Bye Shawn, bye Y/n.”

He closes the door behind him. Your dad turns to you and opens his arms. As upset as you are with him, you can’t deny him the hug. You wrap your arms around him, and he squeezes you tightly.

“Believe it or not, I really missed you kid.”

“Enough to get a whole new family,” you shot back him.

“That’s fair, let’s talk in the back.”

You agree, but you don’t make it to the backyard before running into Wanda again.

“Honey you’re home early,” Wanda strides past you and kisses your father.

The sight is strange to you. You knew that your father had dated after your mother, but he never brought anyone home. You had never seen him be intimate with anyone, it felt weird. At least that’s what you think the feeling is.

“I am, I owe Y/n an explanation for some things . So I thought it was best to come home and straighten things out.”

Wanda seems to understand what he’s alluding to, “Alright, while the two of you talk how about I get dinner started.”

They kiss again, and this time you turn away.

“Sounds good, let’s go kid.”

You follow your dad through kitchen and to the backyard. He stops for a second in the kitchen to grab two beers, before continuing outside. The two of you sit on the patio chairs, facing out towards the yard.

He opens both the drinks and hands you one wordlessly. You hate beer, but you’re not turning down this moment with your dad.

“I was lonely for a long time when your mom left Y/n. I wanted to unpack those feelings, but there was one feeling that I felt more than loneliness and that was fear. Fear that I wouldn’t be able to take care of you and that someone would take you away. There was nearly 10 years that I pushed those feelings of loneliness down, to focus on you, on us. It was what I supposed to do and I don’t regret it. I know I wasn’t always there for you in the way you needed me to be, but just know I was always thinking about how I could be better for you.”

He stops to take a swig of his beer, “Eventually, once I thought that you were old enough, I started dating. Nothing really stuck until I met Wanda. It was a chance encounter at some coffee place, she’d just had finalized her divorce. I wasn’t sure about it, but I also just couldn’t let her go without giving it a shot. Low and behold a shot turned into 2 years.”

You take a large gulp of beer, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared. I didn’t know how you’d react. We don’t really talk about your feelings about your mom, I just didn’t want you to think- that I was trying to put someone in that spot for you."

“I understand that feeling, but I would’ve like to meet her before you know, you got married.”

“It was so just such a quick decision. That we were already married before I realized that I fucked up. There wasn’t a ceremony or anything,” he explains.

You drink some more, “But it’s been months dad. You know I thought Yelena was lying to me in the driveway when she was saying something about a wife and 2 kids.”

He looks into his lap, “The longer I waited, the harder it got. I felt like a kid who was going to get scolded, I didn’t feel like I had the right words. I still don’t think I do. ‘Hey sport, so I’ve been seeing someone for 2 years and I got married how’s your first week of college going’.”

You laugh, “I guess I can see where you’re coming from, but I don’t want to be left in the dark like this ever again.”

“Yes mam,” he salutes you. “So how was your first semester? Get into any trouble, join any clubs, get a girlfriend maybe?”

You stop him there, “Pump your brakes, I still have questions about… your marriage. Like where are the two kids?”

“They’re at their father’s house. They usually do two weeks there, two weeks here. I think they might be spending more time with him this summer. Billy and Tommy are great kids, I think you’d get along with them pretty well. They’re into games and stuff like you. You’ll meet them. ”

“I’m assuming they’re younger.”

“15.”

Your eyes go wide, “She has two 15-year-old kids?”

Your dad chuckles, “Yes, she does. Wanda is actually older than me.”

“Bullshit,” you say in disbelief.

“Swear to god, I’m serious. She’s a really cool person once you get to know her.”

You hum, “Well she’s already in the family, so I don’t really have a choice, do I Mr. Maximoff?”

He gets up from his seat, beer bottle empty, “Isn’t your generation supposed to be the progressive one?”

You follow his lead, downing the rest of your drink, “You’re the one giving it negative connotation.”

“Whatever kid, I'm going to change out of my work clothes. How about you see if Wanda needs any help in the kitchen?”

You take in a deep breath, “I’ll do my best.”

He places a hand on your shoulder, leading you back inside, “She’s a nice woman Y/n, she’s not going to bite your head off or anything.”

Once you’re back inside, your dad heads upstairs, while to go towards the kitchen.

“It smells really good in here,” you say entering the space.

“Thanks, I’m trying something new today. Your dad said you’re a bit of a picky eater, but I hope you’ll like it.”

“Between us, I’ve always just said that because dad only knows how to cook 3 things,” you joke, and find yourself smiling harder when you hear Wanda laugh.

“Let me guess, burger, steak, salmon?”

“You survived eating the salmon?”

She laughs even harder, covering her mouth, “There were a few bones, but it was an honest attempt.”

“Is there anything I can help you with?” You ask, but you can see that she’s about done with everything.

“Could just get the plates for me, I know they’re right by me, but I have to keep stirring or-”

“It’s no problem, Wanda.”

You cut her off politely. The plates are stashed right above the stove. You come up behind Wanda, who is stirring the food in the skillet. You are taller than her so reaching above her is no problem. The only thing that you are unsure about is standing so close behind her.

Your front is only centimeters away from touching her back. When you reach over her, you think you hear her curse to herself.

“Is everything alright?”

“The food just got me a little, all good.”

You grab the plates and sit them on the counter next to her.

“So Y/n I hear you’re an English major.”

You nod, “I am.”

“I was too back in my day.”

You can't help but shake your head, “You look like you could still be in college.”

You see her blush at your words turning off the stove. You don’t know why seeing her blush makes you feel smug, but it does.

“Oh stop it,” she looks away from you.

“I’m serious, Wanda. I would’ve never guessed you were a mother let alone to two teenagers,” you continue to compliment her.

“A lot of people are surprised when I tell them how old I am,” she admits. “They all say that I look good for my age.”

You catch her gaze, “They should just tell you that you look good. Age is irrelevant.”

“You’re quite the charmer Y/n. I don’t blame them, I’m nearly 50.”

Your eyes go wide, “Wanda, I don’t believe you.”

She laughs, “It’s true, I’m 45.”

“I’d believe you if you said 25,” you’re serious when you speak.

The compliment flusters her, “Could you help me take the plates to the table?”

You grab 2 of the 3 plates sitting them at the table. You would’ve thought that Wanda would’ve set her plate next to your dad, but instead she sits next to you.

“You can dig in when you’re ready, no need to let the food get cold waiting for your dad.”

You take her words to heart and begin eating. After the first bite you find it impossible to stop. It tastes as good as it smelt while cooking. You could cry at the home cooked meal. Ramen packets and fast food could not compare. You had been prepared for a burger that your dad made or to go out for dinner, but this was better than you could’ve expected.

“I take it, you like it,” amusement present in her voice as she watches you devour the food.

“I haven’t had a home cooked meal in a long time and if I’m bring honest they never tasted like this.”

“Do you cook at all?”

You nod, “You’re looking at the family chef. I didn’t want to always eat steak, burger, and spaghetti. “

“How could I forget about the spaghetti? He’ll literally eat it all week.”

“Now you see why I was surprised when I found out he was married.”

Your dad finally makes an appearance, “What’s wrong with my spaghetti?”

“Nothing its good spaghetti, but all week dad?

“Well if it’s good, then I don’t see the problem.”

The three of you sit and chat through dinner. It comes surprisingly easy as you find yourself enamored by Wanda. You hang on every word she says, there’s this twinkle in her eye when she speaks. Her expressions are right there on her sleeves.

You don’t miss the way she bites her lip while she’s thinking, or the small hint of an accent in certain things she says. It makes you wonder more about how your dad could ever manage a woman like this.

When everyone is done eating, you stand up and begin to collect the dishes.

“I’ve got it Y/n,” Wanda tries to take them from you, but you stop her.

“No, it’s alright, you cooked it’s only fair I do the dishes.”

She smiles, giving your father a pointed look, “Maybe someone else should take notes.”

He gives you a playful glare, “Home for a couple hours and already making me look bad.”

You start on the dishes, taking the moment to yourself to gather your thoughts. No matter how many subjects you tried to shift through, the one your mind kept falling back to was Wanda.

She was truly one of the most beautiful women you had ever seen in your life. She was a virtual stranger to you, so there was nothing wrong with finding her attractive. You’d only just met her, it would take some time to get used to seeing her as your dad’s wife.

“I think that one is clean.”

Wanda’s voice startles you a bit causing you to jump lightly. Heat fills your face as embarrassment sets in.

“You caught me lost in thought,” your nerves are still high as you speak.

“What’s got you so far away sweetheart?”

You make the mistake of looking into her eyes. The genuine curiosity behind them paired with a gentle worry conveyed by the small furrow in her brow. You’re gawking again, your focus returns to the dishes.

“It’s just been me and my dad for long time.”

“I understand that , I know that you’re just meeting me-"

You stop her, “You’re lovely, Wanda. I’m not- I don’t have concerns about your relationship with him. I just… I don't know where I fit into all of this. With me moving back home, I feel like a stranger.”

Wanda takes the dish out of your hands and sits it in the rack. If she cares about the moisture level of your hands, she doesn’t say anything. She takes them in her own and looks into your eyes.

“This is your home Y/n. You will never be a stranger in it. It’s a lot to get used to, especially when it’s sprung on you so quickly and I'm sorry for that. Consider it my goal to make you feel at home.”

You don’t know when your eyes dropped to her lips, but it was abundantly clear they had when she stopped speaking.

“Sweetheart?”

You blink a few times regaining your awareness, quickly pulling your hand from hers, “Sorry, long day. I think I’ll turn in for the night, but thank you Wanda… for the food and the talk.”

You rush upstairs and close yourself in your room. What you never noticed was the faint blush on Wanda’s cheeks. She had seen you focus in on her lips while speaking. Honestly, she was finding the way you were looking at her hard to ignore. There was such a wanting in them. She was trying to ignore it, while still getting to know you, but that task was beginning to seem difficult.

She decided to wipe up the kitchen area. Her thoughts wander to when she opened the door for you. The way your eyes traveled the length of her body, the way your mouth stayed agape when she spoke.

You didn’t look a lot like your father. Wanda noted that you were tall and sort of lanky like he was, and you had a lot of his mannerisms, but physically she assumed you looked like your mother. You had soft features, that might have clashed a little with your urban aesthetic.

You presented yourself much how your dad described you. A bit shy, but truly a good mannered, funny kid. Wanda expected a little more social ineptitude, but she was surprised with how chatty you ended up being.

She wondered if it had anything to do with the way you perceived her. Truth be told she felt sorry for you, your father should’ve told you about this a while ago. She had heard about you and pressed to meet you, but he always had some excuse to why you couldn’t meet.

“So, what do you think?”

“I wish I would’ve met her a little earlier but she seems like a good kid,” Wanda turns to face her husband.

The man frowns, “I’m sorry, seeing you both interact made me realize that I could’ve done this much sooner.”

“How do you think she’ll interact with the boys?”

He smiles, “Y/n is basically one of the boys. You’ll see that side of her eventually. She’ll be in that room for the foreseeable future, until Yelena or someone else drags her out.”

“I could take her out for a girl’s day,” Wanda suggests.

Shawn laughs at her, “I’ve never known her to be into any of that stuff, but if that’s something you want to do, let me know. I’d probably have to convince her to agree.”

Wanda shakes her head, “I think I can get her to go all on my own.”

“Alright, don’t say I didn’t warn you. I’ll see you upstairs.”

The man makes his way upstairs to the bed. Wanda on the other hand, stays finishing up some minor things in the kitchen, before heading up herself.

She heads straight for the bathroom, ready to get the smell of the kitchen off of her. She wasn’t paying much attention on her way, looking at her phone. That’s how she found herself running straight into you. She would’ve fell if it weren’t your strong grip on her hips.

She went to apologize, but the words died on her lips as she saw water droplets falling from your skin. Her hands pressed against your slightly damp pajama shirt, in order to stabilize herself.

The shirt was thin enough, for her to feel your abdomen through it. She found herself at a loss for words.

“Are you alright Wanda?”

She nods meekly, “Sorry sweetheart, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

“It’s no biggie, as long as you’re ok,” you help her fully upright, hands not leaving her side.

“All good, thanks to you,” Wanda struggles to meet your eyes.

You are about to squeeze her sides when you remember who this woman is. Your hands fall to your sides quickly. Nervous laughter build up in your throat, “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Y/n I was wondering if you'd be interested in having a girl’s day with me, before my boys come. I think it’d be good to have some bonding time.”

“I um- I’ve never really had a girl’s day,” you scratch the back of your neck awkwardly.

“Well, it’ll be my treat?”

You nod, “Ok, like tomorrow or…”

“Tomorrow is perfect.”

You give a thumbs up and make your way to your room, while Wanda goes into the bathroom.

You plop straight into your bed, slapping your hand on to your face, “Really Y/n, a girl’s day. What were we thinking?”

You knew exactly what you were thinking. Alone time with Wanda, piqued your interest. The feeling of her in her hands felt like it was etched into your memory. The way she was looking at you made your heart pound in your chest.

As you lay in bed, your mind begins to paint vulgar images in your head. Ones that you had yet to experience due to your introverted lifestyle. The farthest you had gone with another girl was some lackluster dry humping.

That didn’t stop you from imagining your hands on Wanda’s body. The way she softly gasped when your hands stopped her from falling. The feeling of her fingers against your abdomen, blessed for the thing material of your shirt. The addictive color of her lips, and how they could move against yours.

You couldn’t sleep with her on your mind and the wetness pooling between your legs. You sit up in your bed, leaning back against the headboard. It’s only a moment of contemplation, before you stick your hand under the band of your pajama pants.

Your fingers are determined as they draw tight fast circles around your clit. You want to expedite the experience as much as possible. There couldn’t be anytime to dwell on who you were thinking about.

With your eyes closed you could see her taking her shirt off. Her skin soft and cool under your fingertips. A trail of goosebumps in your wake. You could see her craning her neck as you sucked on the exposed skin, marking her as your own. You could feel her hands tugging at your hair, moaning your name as you tasted her.

“Fuck, Wanda,” you came with a grunt. Your eyes still closed as your fingers stilled against the mess you made of yourself.

On the other side of your bedroom door, Wanda was standing there in shock. She had heard some sounds coming from your room after exiting the bathroom. When she realized what the sounds were, she thought she should leave. Yet the sound of her name being whispered on your tongue along with the sound of you playing with yourself, kept her in place.

She found herself worked up after her shower. Wishing that she would’ve cracked the door to see you, touching yourself with her in mind. Simultaneously scolding herself for having thoughts like this running through her head.

She married your father, she liked your father, he was a decent man. He was good to her and her boys. So what if he was always working, who cares that he hid their entire relationship from the most important person in his life, and does it even matter that he hasn’t ever really given her an orgasm. This was her new husband and she shouldn’t be thinking about his daughter in this way.

Maybe asking for a girl’s day, wasn’t a good idea. Being closer to you seemed like a dangerous game, lines that Wanda couldn’t allow herself to cross.

It was hard for her, knowing your young prying eyes were on her. From what she had heard, you already wanted her. The token of a youthful want and desire, it went right to her core.

When she finally made her way back to her room, she had decided that she needed some relief. She was going to seek it from your father, but the man already laid snoring. She shook him a couple of times in hopes to wake him up, but her attempts were met with swats of her hand and incoherent grunting.

Wanda huffed with irritation sliding into her side of the bed. She let herself get off to the thought of you that night unable to think herself guilty.

Your father was out of the house before Wanda or yourself had woken up in the morning. Wanda hated waking up to an empty bed, but it had become her new normal.

She didn't bother getting ready for the day yet. She simply stretched some, before brushing her teeth, and heading downstairs for breakfast. She was surprised to find you in the kitchen, cooking.

You hadn’t recognized her presence yet, too caught up in breakfast. Music played lowly through the kitchen and you hummed along. You thought it’d be a nice gesture to make breakfast since Wanda had cooked dinner last night.

The older woman watched you in somewhat of a trance. Your movements were a little clumsy, but it was clear that you had been doing it like this for a while. She could see herself coming up behind you and wrapping herself around you as you cooked for her.

Her muscles twitched at the thought. She took in a deep breath before she finally announced her presence, “Good morning.”

You turn away from the stove to smile at her, “Perfect timing, I'm almost done with breakfast.”

“You didn't have to do all of this, your dad’s not even here to enjoy it.”

You shrug your shoulders, “I figured he’d be at work anyway. Consider this a thank you for dinner."

You bring her a plate along with some coffee before getting your own.

“Y/n, this is amazing,” Wanda praises you.

You grow bashful, “It’s nothing really. So, what’s on the agenda for our girl’s day?”

Wanda ponders for a moment, “How about you tell me some things you like to do and we’ll go from there?”

You stumble a bit, “I uh- I don't really like to do much. Dad and I never really did anything more than like going to a park and sometimes fishing.”

“What about the mall? People your age are into shopping, right?”

You laugh, “I’ve only really been back to school shopping.”

Wanda shakes her head, “Today, I guess I’m going to introduce you to some of life’s little luxuries. I’m going to need you to trust me.”

You give her a small smile, “I trust you.”

You say it so earnestly that it nearly scares her.

“Good, so we’ll head out after we’re done eating and getting dressed.”

After cleaning up and getting dressed you regrouped in the living room. You tried your best to not let your eyes linger over Wanda’s attire. She wore a simple yellow sundress, it wasn’t anything extravagant but it looked good on her. It almost made you want to change out of your t-shirt and jeans, feeling a little underdressed.

“Ready?”

You answer her, and soon you’re in the passenger seat of her car with no idea where you’re going. You both make pleasant small talk, not really feeling the need to fill the silence. The only thing you make conscious effort to do is not stare at her cleavage in the dress.

It hard to erase the images that you pictured last night, but for your own sake you try.

The first place Wanda takes you is a nail shop. You had been before, but it had honestly been years. She opted for a manicure and pedicure, while you just got a manicure. You were usually a clear coat type of girl but today you decided to get black paint.

After your nails, Wanda decides to take you to the mall.

“Ok, whatever you want in here, is on me today,” she says as you enter the shopping center.

Your eyes go wide, “Wanda, I couldn't ask you for that.”

“Good thing you didn't ask sweetheart,” she responds and you feel yourself melt a little.

“I’m not even good at shopping, I don't really know what looks good on me,” you admit to the woman.

She pauses her steps to give you a once over. Her eyes dragging slowly across your body, as if she was personally undressing you then and there.

“Honey, you should've never told me that. Now, I’m afraid you're going to have to indulge me through these stores.”

“What does that mean?”

Wanda’s tone is playful, “Don’t worry your little head about it sweetheart, I’m going to help you find some clothes.”

It's not a second later that she’s grabbing your wrist and pulling you into a clothing store. She starts grabbing clothes and holding them up to your body, trying to see what looks good. She had a pile of clothes in her arms that she was shoving into your hands.

“Try these on,” she pushes you to the dressing rooms.

A lot of the stuff she had was stuff you’d never grab for yourself, but it did all look good on you. There were a few pieces, particularly crop tops, that you weren’t too sure about.

“I think I look weird,” you come out in the crop top.

You have something of a jacket over it. You look down at your exposed stomach before looking up at Wanda. There’s something in the way she’s looking at you.

“It looks good,” her tongue swipes across her bottom lip. “But if you’re uncomfortable then you don’t have to get it.”

“Do you really think it looks ok?”

She stands from her spot and makes her way over to you. Her hands fiddle with the end of the shirt. She adjust the waistband of your jeans. With a few quick tugs, she has you seeing the outfit in a different way.

“I do.”

You nod, “Ok, I see it.”

“You should wear it out,” she suggests and you comply.

You thought it’d be over after the one store but Wanda takes you into 3 more clothing store, racking up a whole new wardrobe. At the end you practically had to beg her not to spend any more money.

“Do you want to go in there, your dad mentioned you’re a big gamer?”

She nods her head to the video game store that you admittedly had been eyeing since the last store you went in.

You shake your head, “You’ve already spent so much and games are like $70 now.”

“ So I’m going to take that as a yes,” she starts walking ahead into the store.

You groan, but follow her in anyway, “Wanda, can I ask what you do for work?”

She laughs, “Why, so you can feel a little better about me spending the money?”

“Maybe,” you say browsing through a few games.

“Well, I used to work in real estate and now I do editing for major publications books, magazines, things like that.”

“That seems like a big jump,” you point out.

She nods, “It is, but I’m much happier editing than I was selling houses. The real estate did give me a good standing to be able to chase and finance my dreams. It’s honestly given me more money than I know what to do with. So I usually just don’t do anything with it.”

“Does my dad know?”

Wanda adverts her eyes, “No, he doesn’t. Your dad really enjoys being a provider. He wants to be the breadwinner and bring home the bacon. He doesn’t even let me pay for dinner. I pay for some of the bills at home and he doesn’t even want me to do that. I’ve been trying to coerce him into letting me do more but-”

“He’s a stubborn guy,” you finish her thoughts. “When I was in high school, I got a job at the movie theater to help out with some things around the house and for college. Dad was really…insecure about letting me help. He wanted to prove he could do it on his own.”

Her eyes soften, “Oh wow."

“Yeah, I think it has something to do with my mom walking out on us, but I don’t know. We never really talked about it,” you say picking up a game.

Wanda knew this topic to be sensitive to your dad. He had mentioned it, but never went into detail. When Wanda tried to press for information, he'd either shut down or get irritated, she wonders if he was the same with you.

“No pressure, but if you ever want to talk about it or vent, I’m here for you.” She takes the game from your hands, “I know it’s not your dad’s favorite topic and I know I don’t have the answers you’re probably looking for, but I don’t mind listening to you.”

You look at her for a long moment. Your eyes are watering against your will. You blink back the tears and nod silently. You never really talked about your mom, truth be told you never unpacked those feelings yourself.

“I- I’ve never really talked about it with anyone. I don’t know how I feel about it, I mean I was only 5.”

Wanda thinks of her words carefully, “Do you remember her?”

You laugh lightly, still pretending to browse the games, “Of course I do, she was my mom. She brushed my hair, tucked me in, put band aids on my scrapes and cuts, and she never got mad when I got grass stains on my clothes.”

Wanda keeps quiet as she senses you have more to say.

“She was a stay-at-home mom, so I spent most of my time with her. I don’t- I wish I remembered what she looked like more. I look like her, I know I do, but… I don’t know it’s not enough.”

Wanda rests her hand on your back. Rubbing small circles bringing you more comfort than you thought you needed. You place your hand in her other hand, sighing deeply.

“I wish I knew why she left. Dad never told me, I just know that one day I woke up and she wasn’t there. He told me she wasn’t coming back. I never wanted to ask him, he was already doing so much to prove that he could be enough. I’m grateful for that, for him… but in the back of my mind I can’t help but wonder, you know.”

A teardrop falling onto your cheek, pulls you quickly out of the moment. You wipe your eyes with your sleeve and take a step back from Wanda.

“Y/n-"

“I’ve heard really cool things about that game. I’ve been wanting it for a few months now,” you pivot topics, clearing your throat.

“Then it’s yours sweetheart.”

You were grateful that she just let it go.

After that you both decide to call it a day and head back home. You bring all of your new clothes to your room and begin to put them away. You decide to take a quick shower and change into more comfortable clothes before heading down to the living room. Usually you’d keep to yourself in your room, but you were secretly hoping Wanda would join you.

“What’re you watching?”

“Back to the Future, it’s one of my favorites,” you make room for her on the couch next to you.

She takes a seat, “Mine too.”

You perk up, “Really?”

She nods, “Me and my brother used to watch it all the time when we were younger.”

The two of you sit in silence as you watch the movie. Unbeknownst to either of, the space between you grows slimmer by the minute. You take a peek at the woman to find her eyes fluttering, before they finally close. She had already nearly been laying on the couch. Her feet are up, bent to lay over each other. She had been holding up her head in her hand. Now as she fell unconscious her head had drops into your lap.

You feel your heart rate pick up. The movie suddenly becomes uninteresting. You don’t want to move, unwilling to wake the woman. She looks peaceful in her sleep. You notice how she twitches lightly and though you shouldn’t your fingers begin to comb through her hair. She hums in your lap, but you don’t still. Your fingers work gingerly to bring her comfort.

She stops twitching and you refocus on the movie with your hand still in her hair. Eventually you find yourself dozing off as well.

“Well, well, well looks like girl’s day was a success,” it’s your father’s voice that wakes both you and Wanda.

The red head becomes alert first, she notes her position in your lap and your hand in her hair and immediately bolts up right. You’re slower to come to stretching widely before open your eyes.

“Yeah, it was pretty fun,” you say while yawning.

“I see some nail polish Y/n, that’s new.”

You shrug, “It’s not the first time.”

“I know but it’s been a while, having another girl around the house is nice, isn’t it?”

You let out a huff of irritation, completely aware of what he was insinuating. For the most part your dad was in support of your sexuality. However, there were some jokes he just couldn’t let go of. The “gay” thing was fine with him, but he still believed that you could stand to be more ladylike. Which was completely rich coming from the man that raised you on fishing trips, Miller Lite, and WWE.

“So, ladies what’s for dinner?”

Wanda goes to answer but you speak over her, “Honestly dad, I was hoping for some of your burgers tonight.”

Your father beams with excitement, “Will do kiddo, just let me shower first and I’ll be in the kitchen.”

You both watch as he wanders up the stairs.

“You didn’t want to cook, did you?”

“No, not really. Thank you for the save and for letting me nap on you,” she adverts her gaze as she speaks to you.

“I’m happy to help in any way I can,” you say to her, not noticing the undertone of your statement.

Her eyes become dark as she looks at you. The lust filled look in her eyes has you reeling at what you said. There’s no point in taking it back now. You swallow thickly under her gaze, but don't make any motion to move away from her. Instead, you find yourself compelled to lean in closer.

Wanda let’s you get within a few inches of her face, before breathlessly letting your name fall from her lips, “Y/n.”

You close your eyes, “You can’t just say my name like that, Wanda.”

“You can’t make statements like the one you made,” she fires back.

Both of you give leeway to how you’re actual feeling. You go to move closer to her, but her hand on your shoulder keeps you away. It honestly breaks you from whatever pulled you in, in the first place

The tips of your ears heat up as you stand abruptly, “Sorry, I- I’ll see you at dinner.”

Much like when you were a teenager you lock yourself in your room. Wanda picks up a pillow from the couch putting it over her head, pretending to scream into it.

You send a quick text to Yelena. Something along the lines of saying you should hang out tomorrow. She is in disbelief at the fact that you want to do something out of the house, but is equally as excited. She says she’s taking advantage of this and keeping you out all day.

You needed to get out of the house. You stayed in it so much because you deemed it as a safe space. However, with Wanda around… you didn’t know if you could truly call it safe. It had only taken two days for you to almost kiss her.

There wasn’t a bone in your body that was used to moving this quickly. It had taken you years to develop your first crush and even longer before you acted on any such feeling. Yet with Wanda everything felt different. You weren’t a believer in love at first sight, you wouldn’t call what you were feeling love. This attraction… for lack of a better term just felt intense.

It was almost as if every interaction had a double meaning to it. It was something that the other woman was clearly also aware of. Neither of you should be acting on it and technically you hadn’t done anything. The problem was that you wanted to, and you didn’t see those feelings going away anytime soon. It was only the second day and you had the rest of your life to go.

One day out with Yelena became a couple days of the week out with her. You even had started texting your former roommate to see if she’d be down to hangout as well. So save for the first two days, you spent every day out and about.

You had similar plans for the next week too, but they came to a halt quickly when your dad mentioned Wanda’s kids coming back from their dad’s. He made it clear that he wanted you to be there to meet them so your plans of avoiding home, became a little more complicated.

So once again you were stuck in your room. The doorbell ringing is the only reason you had left the space. You knew that your dad was out and Wanda was working in her office at the time, so you were the only option.

It rang one more time, before you got to it. When you open the door, you are met by two teenage boys and an older looking man. You stare at them and they stare back at you.

“Is Wanda in? I would like to have a talk with her,” the man in the middle speaks.

“She’s working right now.”

He rolls his eyes, “And who are you exactly?”

Something about his tone makes you jaw twitch, “I’m Y/n, Shawn’s kid.”

“Right, the one he was hiding away.”

“Dad-”

Dealing with stuck up assholes was unfortunately nothing new to you, “Billy, Tommy you guys can head on in.”

They look from their father to you before quickly making the decision to go inside. The man trues to go in behind but you block his entry.

“They live here, you don’t. I suggest you try talking to Wanda again sometime next week…” you smile at him.

“Jarvis,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Goodbye Jarvis,” you slam the door in his face.

You clap your hands together as you turn around. You slightly startle at the presence of the teen boys behind you. There’s an awkward silence as you stare at each other.

“So, your mom said you guys are gamers?”

That’s all it took for the three of you to hunker down in the living room and start gaming. From Mario Kart to Mario Party to Mortal Kombat, the three of you rotted the day away. You end up ordering some pizza and junk food, which is essential for all gaming marathons.

“I love your style by the way,” Billy says grabbing a slice of pizza.

You raise an eyebrow at him, “You might as well just ask me if I'm gay.”

Tommy laughs at this, which earns him a slap in the arm from Billy.

“Well… are you?”

“Yep.”

“Girlfriend?” Tommy asks.

“Nope, how about you two?”

Billy smiles, “I have a boyfriend.”

He goes on telling you some details. You genuinely feel happy for the boy. To be young, out, and dating is really cool.

“That’s really cool Billy.”

“Thanks, I wish my dad thought so too.”

Tommy jumps in the conversation, “Dad is fucking stupid, what does he know about any kind of relationship.”

You agree with Tommy, “I mean he did fumble your mom.”

They both laugh, but Billy brings the conversation back, “I just wish he was more accepting.”

“He’s either going to come around because he loves you or keep showing you who he really is. Either way you still have your mom, your bother, your boyfriend, and even me to rely on. So just cause your dad isn’t accepting doesn't mean you aren’t accepted,” you tell him sincerely.

“He wanted to talk to mom about Billy’s boyfriend. He thinks it’s… inappropriate,” Tommy spills.

“Well I don't think it's any of his business, and even if he did tell your mom she’d have your back,” you say like it’s obvious.

“If who told me what?”

Wanda comes out from her office and her kids greet her. She’s surprised to see you downstairs with them, but doesn’t comment on it.

“Dad doesn't approve of Billy’s boyfriend,” Tommy says again earning an agitated look from his brother.

“Yeah, he was going to talk to you, but Y/n kicked him out,” Billy says awkwardly.

You keep your focus on the game, “I didn’t kick him out… I slammed the door in his face.”

“Y/n!”

“It was well deserved. He asked who I was, I told him. Then the asshole has the audacity to refer to me as ‘the one he was hiding' when trying to get into my house. I think the fuck not.”

Wanda walks in front of your TV blocking the game. You pause it and look up at her to find an unexpected fury in her eyes.

“What did he say to you?”

You meet her eyes, urging her to calm down, “I handled it.”

She takes the hint, moving out of your way, “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

She then focuses on talking with her children, recapping the week that they had. Billy also goes into some less than nice details of what his father had to say about his boyfriend.

Wanda’s hand presses against her brow line hearing the details. She’s clearly irritated with the twin’s father.

“I’ll talk to him, and you tell me if he says anything else. I have no issue coming to get you guys if he makes you uncomfortable,” Wanda says hugging the boys.

You take this moment between the family to go upstairs. You breath in the minute to yourself. The twins were nice, and it was cool to have people in the house to game with. They’d seem like people who’d you befriend at their age.

“Thanks for hanging out with my kids and for the stuff with their dad,” Wanda stands in your doorway.

You give her a small nod, “Billy and Tommy are cool. Their dad… less cool. So it was my pleasure to slam the door in his face.”

Wanda chuckles, “Jarvis is an asshole.”

You join in on her laughter, “Yeah, I definitely can’t see you with that guy.”

“I was young and naïve. If I knew then what I know now, I wouldn’t have stayed for so long.”

“How young?”

Wanda sighs, “18. He was older, more appealing back then.”

You can’t hide your reaction, “Oh.”

“Yeah, but that asshole gave me my kids. So I guess he was good for something.”

You disagree with her, “Just cause a guy is good for something, doesn’t mean he’s good for you.”

“Where were you when I was in my prime, Y/n?” her words have a double meaning.

You look at her, more serious than a heart attack, “I’m right here, and your prime is far from over.”

She shudders under your look, “Y/n.”

“I wish you could feel how hard it is for me to do the right thing, Wanda. I hate leaving the house, but I know if I was here all day with just you, I’d lose it.”

You’re lying on your back in bed. Your eyes cut from Wanda to the ceiling.

“Y/n, I’m married to your father.”

“He doesn’t even fuck you,” you say with a bored tone.

“Y/n!”

You don’t return her reaction, “I’ve been waiting to see if I’d have to plug my ears, or move downstairs so I didn’t have to hear. But it hasn’t happened yet. Probably too tired from work.”

“Y/n my kids are downstairs.”

Your head falls into your hands, “I’m sorry. I-I’m going to head out for a bit.”

You get up and go for your door. Wanda doesn’t move out of your way. She stands still in your doorframe.

“Where are you going?”

“I don't know, Lena’s if she’s home.”

Wanda frowns hearing this, “You don’t have to-”

You lock eyes with her’s, “I do.”

Wanda’s hand caresses your cheek. You lean into her touch. You hear her take an unsteady breath.

“You make this so hard for me.”

She slowly removes her hand, only to replace it with her lips. It’s enough to ignite a fire in your body. They linger, much longer than they should.

“Be safe,” she fixes your clothes a little, before finally clearing your path.

“Wanda-"

“I’ll see you back for dinner,” she says walking away from you.

When you think she can't see you anymore, you touch your cheek. The spot where her lips had been. You slip out of the house and make your way to Yelena’s.

You knock on the door and wait for her to answer. When she does, you don't let her say anything. You drag her upstairs to her room. You lock her door, before you start pacing in her room. She sits on her bed watching you.

“So… are you going to tell me what this is about?”

“I need this to be a judgement free zone.”

Yelena tilts her head, “Then why come here?”

“Yelena, I’m serious.”

She raises her hands in surrender at your snappy tone, “Fine, what is it?”

“I’m attracted to Wanda, and I think… she’s attracted to me.”

Yelena laughs as you stare at her. The laughter goes on for minutes before she realizes that you aren't laughing.

“Y/n, are you being serious?”

You close your eyes, “Lena there’s this tension. I just thought it was in my head. I almost kissed her, I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve been going out, and stuff just to stay away from her. She’s driving me insane.”

“You tried to kiss her!”

“She gave me this kiss on the cheek. She said I was making it hard for her. Yelena I’ve never felt like this for anyone,” you tell your best friend.

“Dude you’re fucked,” is all that she says.

“I know.”

“She’s your dad’s wife.”

“I know.”

“She has 2 kids.”

“I know.”

“Did I say she’s your dad’s wife already?”

You groan joining her on the bed, “I- I don’t know if I care about it. I mean I do, but he doesn’t even treat her that good. It could be worse, but it’s not great.”

“And you think you can do better?”

“I’d worship her.”

Yelena shakes her head, “I can’t believe you right now. You’re trying to get with your dad’s wife, she’s like almost 30 years older than you.”

“Can you blame me, you’ve seen her? It’s not my fault. If I would’ve met her before, maybe it would be different. It’s just like I come home and there’s this undeniably attractive woman in my house. She doesn’t feel like my dad’s wife to me."

Yelena nods along, “That’s fair, but Y/n this is insane.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Let’s go to a club.”

Your eyes widen, “A club?”

“Lots of attractive people who are closer to your age and eligible,” she reasons with you.

“I’m not even supposed to be out right now. My dad says I have to be home to get acclimated with Wanda’s kids. They leave in a week.”

She claps her hands together, “Alright then, next week we’re going clubbing.”

You get a text from Wanda saying your father is on the way home. You know it’s her way of saying you need to be back soon.

“What should I do in the mean time?”

Yelena searches for an answer before landing on, “Act like she’s your mom.”

You gag at the thought, “Ew.”

Yelena reacts gleefully, “Exactly.”

You pause before exiting, “Technically… she is a milf though.”

“Y/n L/n get a fucking grip,” Yelena says with amusement.

“I’m trying, but she won’t let me,” you whine.

“You having a thing for older women makes so much sense. No wonder you had a crush on Natasha.”

You send her a playful glare, “We do not talk about the dark ages.”

“It’s alright, I forgive you. I don’t know if your dad will be as forgiving as I am.”

You shrug, “I’ll test it out and let you know.”

She leads you to her front door, “Think about the club. Focus on it, breathe it in. Dream about it. Do not think about fucking your step mom.”

“Too late for that,” you shrug again.

“Just get out already, I’m running low on things to say back.”

“Bye Lena,” you say as she basically pushes you out of her door.

You make it back just before your dad gets there. It’s interesting seeing him interact with Billy and Tommy. It’s clear to you that he favors Tommy a little more. It’s just in the way he speaks. It bothers you a bit and you make sure to include Billy any time that you can in conversation.

You can feel Wanda’s eyes on you throughout the dinner, but you keep your attention with the boys and your dad.

“So I have a bit of an announcement to make,” your father says, gathering everyone’s attention. “I have an opportunity to get a promotion at work.”

“That’s great honey, we’re so proud of you,” Wanda gives him a quick kiss.

You try your best to hold back any malice with a fake smile on your face.

“Well, the thing is I’d need to go out of town for a bit to secure the position,” he says and you feel Wanda’s mood shift.

“For how long dad?” you ask, taking a sip of your drink.

He winces, “At least a month, maybe more.” He begins to pile on in an effort to make it seem less drastic. “It’s really a once in a lifetime opportunity, I've been working there for so long it feels overdue, but with this money our lives could change dramatically. We could move, Y/n you could go back to dorming, it would be-”

“You already accepted it didn't you?”

Wanda’s tone is guarded as she speaks. It's clear that she's unhappy and you don't blame her.

You sigh pushing yourself away from the table, “Congratulations dad, I’m going to head up to my room now.”

“Wait.” Wanda’s voice stops you in your tracks. “How do you feel about this Y/n?”

“I uh-”

“Don’t drag my kid into this.”

Wanda starts gesturing with her hands, “I’m not, she’s bound to have an opinion. She lives here, she’s your daughter, and she came back home because of you. Now you’re bailing.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m used to him being busy,” you try to mediate.

Your dad throws his hands up, “What is that supposed to mean?”

You give him your honest opinion, “It means you’re busy. You were late to my graduation because of work. You missed my award ceremonies. There wasn’t any point in me signing up for extracurriculars because you’d never take me or show up anyway. It’s nothing personal dad, it’s just the truth.”

“I was providing for you,” he throws it back in your face.

Your shoulders drop, “I know and I’m grateful, but-” you stop yourself. Instead you just head for your room. You hear him call after you, but you don’t respond.

It’s not soon after that you hear footsteps coming up the stairs. There’s a soft knock on your door. You don’t say anything as Billy and Tommy slip into your room.

“They’re still going at it,” Tommy announces.

“Do they… do this a lot?” You ask the boys.

Billy answers, “When any sort of quality time is involved.”

You scoff, “Classic.”

Tommy places a hand on your shoulder, “We get it you know.”

“Sometimes you just wish they were there for you,” Billy finishes the sentence.

You feel yourself breaking down but refuse to let the tears fall. Tommy pulls you into a hug and Billy joins in soon after. You center yourself in their embrace. It’s not a comfort that you’re used to experiencing, you appreciate it immensely.

At some point during this moment the voices downstairs escalate to yelling. It quickly grabs your attention and has you realizing that you are the only other adult present in this moment. It feels like your responsibility to try to shield them from this, even if they are on the older side of things. Teenagers are still kids. Hell you still feel like a kid in your early twenties.

You place a hand on Billy’s head and the other on Tommy’s, “Thanks kids. I’m going to go handle downstairs, you stay up here.”

Tommy interjects, “I think-”

You stop him, “I’ve got it, trust me. They’re going to get noise complaint if things keep going.”

You steel yourself as you go downstairs to find Wanda and your father in the middle of a heated argument. They’re both standing, yelling in each other’s faces.

“SO WHAT SHAWN YOU LEAVE FOR OVER A MONTH AND DON’T EVEN THINK TO RUN IT BY ME FIRST?”

“RUN IT BY YOU FOR WHAT WANDA? YOU AREN’T MY MOTHER.”

“I AM YOUR WIFE, OR HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN THAT? TOO BUSY WORKING TO EVEN ACKNOWLEDGE ME.”

“WHEN DID YOU BECOME SUCH A NEEDY BI-“

“ENOUGH,” you cut your father off in the middle of his sentence. The couple looks at you, and you can feel the anger simmering in their gazes. “It’s late, you’re going to get the police called with all of your arguing.”

“Well if-”

“Stop. The conversation is going nowhere because you aren’t having a conversation, you’re just screaming at each other,” you tell them.

“Y/n, you should stay out of this,” your father glare at you.

“I would love to, only we can all hear you upstairs. You either need to table this conversation for another time or go somewhere else to talk. Neither of you should be acting like this in front of your kids. I don’t care who started it, if you both plan on staying here tonight it’s over right now.”

Wanda is the one to take in a deep breath. She looks between you and your father. There’s something behind her eyes but you’re focused on the task at hand.

“You’re sleeping on the couch tonight,” she walks away from the table, past you, and disappears up the stairs.

You muster up all the disappointment you possibly can as you take in your father’s appearance, “She has a right to be upset with you. It seems like you keep hiding these really important, life altering things from her. You have to be more upfront, more honest with her.”

“How was I supposed to know she’d react this way?”

You level with him, “You had to have expected something like this, it’s why you didn't tell her in the first place.”

“Maybe I did, I just… I really want this,” he says slumping down on the couch.

“Wanda doesn’t seem like the unsupportive type. It’s all in your delivery. You need to apologize, before you leave. When are you leaving?”

“In 3 days.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, “Christ dad.”

“I know, I know. I’ll take her out tomorrow and we'll talk it out there.”

You nod, turning to go back to your room.

“Kid wait.” You pause at his call. “What were you going to say back there, before you went to your room?”

It takes you a moment to respond, “Sometimes I just wanted someone to be there for me. My dad, my mom, just someone. You were always busy with work and I was always alone.”

You don’t give him a chance to say anything else as you go up the stairs. His eyes follow you until you disappear. He sighs, leaning back into the couch, feeling like he could scream. He was failing, and he had 3 days to fix it.

When go back upstairs the boys are passed out on your bed. You think about waking them up, but decide against it. You settle on going into their room. It’s not until you shut the door behind you, that you notice the red head sitting on one of the beds in the room.

You take a seat on the bed that she’s not sitting on. The silence is heavy as you stare at each other. You can see the emotions running through her eyes. The anger, the frustration, and the lust. Your heart beat is steady as you look back at her.

“Do you think I’m in the wrong?” her voice is small when she asks.

“No, I just don’t think you know what kind of guy you married. He’s never going to be around enough and he’s never going to pick you over work. I’m not trying to be an asshole, it’s just the truth,” you speak bluntly.

“If you-" Wanda stops her sentence in its tracks.

“Honestly if I were him, I’d turn it down. I wouldn’t want to leave you for a month, but he's not me.”

“No, he isn’t,” she breathes out.

There’s another silence. Then it happens, so suddenly that you nearly freeze. Wanda’s lips are on yours. Her hands are planted in your hair and yours rest on the dips of her hips. Your back lays flat against the mattress.

Your tongue slips into her mouth causing you both to moan. Her hips roll on your lap and you grunt at the sensation. Your lips leave her mouth only to kiss down the side of her neck. As much as you want to leave a hickey you don’t. It’s not until your tongue runs across the top of her breast that she partial breaks from the trance.

“Y/n,” it’s a whine from her lips. The sound is entirely to intoxicating.

You begin to guide her hips against your thigh. Her sundress not leaving much fabric between her cunt and your sweats.

“Y/n we shouldn’t,” her hips follow your movements though her words tell you different.

“Just let me make you cum, please. Please Wanda, get off on my thigh,” your words are low as you beg her.

“Fuck,” Wanda watches the way your eyes don’t move from where she grinds on your thigh.

She lifts the sundress slightly so you can have a better view.

“Oh god,” you groan at the sight of the dampness of her panties. It turns you on even more.

Wanda finds herself grinding down harder, chasing her orgasm. You hold her firmly, helping create more friction. You find yourself getting off on the image before you.

“Fuck, use me. I know he can’t do it, so let me be useful. Fucking use my thigh. You’re so hot, shit I wish I could have you like this every night. I’m so desperate for you. I’m going to cum just from having you on me, fuck mommy.”

Wanda’s body completely falls into your arms. She shakes as she cums, leaving a mess on your sweatpants. She’s trying and failing to catch her breath as you hold her upright. Her head lolls into your shoulder.

“Did you really cum?” she says lips brushing against your ear.

You nod dumbly.

She moans again, “That’s so fucking hot.” She places a kiss right below your ear. “And what did you call me?”

Your chest heaves as you breathe out a response, “Mommy.”

She purrs in your ear before pulling away some. She grabs a fistful of your shirt pulling you into a searing kiss.

“We’re doing this again. Do you understand sweetheart?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes mommy.”

She kisses your head one last time before getting off of your lap. You don’t miss the way her legs shutter as she gets up. You whine at the loss of contact.

“Don’t worry detka, we’ve got a little time to ourselves coming up. Mommy will let you go as far as you can handle, and maybe a little more than that.”

[rafecameronssl4t]

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun || Rafe Cameron x Thornton!reader

Summary: Rafe getting a late night call from the boys saying his girl and Sarah are dancing on a table at a party and he comes and possessively brings you back home 😛

Warnings: nothing really

Word count: 1,144

MASTERLIST (rafe x thorton!reader au masterlist)

The low buzz of Rafe’s phone broke through the quiet hum of the room. He grabbed it from the nightstand, glancing at the screen. Kelce. He sighed, already annoyed, before answering. “What?” His tone was sharp, almost a warning. On the other end of the line, Kelce hesitated. “Uh… I think you should come get Y/n.”

Rafe frowned, already feeling the stirrings of frustration. “Why?” “She’s… um…” Kelce trailed off, clearly searching for the right words. Rafe’s patience snapped. “Kelce, spit it out.” Kelce’s nervous laugh only made Rafe’s jaw tighten. “She’s drunk, man. Like, really drunk. And, uh… she’s on a table.”

“A table?” Rafe repeated, his tone flat. “Yeah, with Sarah. They’re, uh, dancing.” Kelce cleared his throat awkwardly. “Topper’s trying to get them down, but… well, it’s not going great.” For a second, Rafe didn’t respond, the disbelief sinking in. Then, he scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Wish I was,” Kelce said quickly, a hint of nervous humour in his tone. “Topper and Y/n are now just bickering. You might wanna hurry.” Rafe shook his head, the frustration bubbling up in his chest. He grabbed his keys from the counter, his movements sharp and deliberate. “Just don’t let her out of your sight, Kelce. You hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah. I got her,” Kelce assured, though his voice lacked the confidence Rafe wanted to hear. “Good,” Rafe muttered. “I’m on my way.” He ended the call without another word, shoving the phone into his pocket and striding out to his truck. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he fired up the engine, the deep growl filling the silence as he reversed out of the driveway.

~

Whatcha gon' do with all that junk. All that junk inside your trunk?I'ma get, get, get, get you drunk.

From outside the party, Rafe could already hear the heavy bass thumping through the house, the unmistakable beat of a Black Eyed Peas song rattling the windows. He pushed through the front door, the din of laughter and chatter blending with the music. His gaze sharpened as he weaved through the throng of partygoers, ignoring the greetings and drunken pats on the back.

Kelce and Topper came into view near the edge of the living room, standing together with bemused expressions, their attention fixed on something—or someone. “What the hell is going on?” Rafe muttered under his breath as he strode toward them. Kelce turned at his approach, an awkward grin tugging at his lips. “You made it.”

Rafe didn’t respond, his attention already shifting to where Kelce and Topper were staring. His jaw tightened when his eyes landed on you and Sarah, both barefoot, teetering on top of a table in the centre of the room. “Are you kidding me?” he muttered, running a hand down his face.

You were mid-spin, Sarah twirling you as you giggled uncontrollably. Your voice carried over the music as you belted out the lyrics, completely oblivious to the crowd forming around you. “I drive these brothers crazy, I do it on the daily,” you sang, your voice loud and carefree, earning cheers and laughter from the partygoers.

“They treat me really nicely, they buy me all these iceys!” you continued, tossing your head back as Sarah joined in, the two of you clumsily bumping hips in time with the music. Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the room, noticing how people—mostly guys—were watching, some with smirks, others with their phones out, filming the scene.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as his gaze flicked back to you, your skirt riding higher on your thighs with every exaggerated sway of your hips. “How long has this been going on?” Rafe demanded, his voice low but firm as he tucked his hands into his pockets, his irritation barely contained.

Kelce snorted, shooting Topper a glance before answering. “This is their second song.” Rafe arched a brow, his gaze momentarily shifting back to your exposed legs before snapping to Kelce. “What was the first?” “‘Pony,’” Kelce deadpanned, his tone dripping with disbelief. Rafe let out a sharp scoff, shaking his head as his lips twisted into a grimace. “Of course it was.”

Turning back to the scene, Rafe’s irritation simmered into something darker, more possessive. The sight of you, carefree and oblivious, with all those eyes on you—it didn’t matter if it was harmless fun. You were his, and he wasn’t about to let anyone forget it—least of all you.

“All right, that’s enough,” he said, his voice cutting through the music as he strode toward the table. His presence alone made heads turn, but Rafe didn’t care. His focus was solely on you. You looked down at him with a drunken smile, your face flushed and glowing under the lights.

“Rafey!” you exclaimed, your voice sing-song and laced with giggles. “Come dance with me!” Rafe’s jaw tightened as he rolled his eyes. “Not today, Princess,” he replied, his tone firm. He extended a hand toward you. “Get down. Now.” Your face fell into a pout, your lips pressing together as you leaned slightly closer to him.

“But I’m having soooo much fun!” you whined, swaying on unsteady feet. Before you could argue further, a loud squeal escaped your lips as Rafe’s strong arm wrapped firmly around your hips. With little effort, he hoisted you up and threw you over his shoulder.

“Rafe!” you shrieked, your fists lightly thumping against his back as laughter bubbled out of you. “Put me down!”Unbothered by your protests—or the amused whistles and hollers from the crowd—Rafe ignored you entirely, his steps deliberate as he walked out of the house.

“Rafe Cameron!” you yelled, your voice a mix of indignation and drunken giggles. “You’re ruining my fun!” “And you’re ruining my night,” he shot back, his tone clipped but not without an edge of amusement as he tightened his grip on your legs to keep you steady.

The cool night air hit you both as he pushed through the door, leaving the music and chaos behind. Rafe didn’t stop until he reached his truck, his irritation still simmering as he opened the passenger door and carefully set you down on the seat.

Your arms crossed over your chest, your lips still in a dramatic pout as you looked up at him. “You’re such a buzzkill,” you muttered, though your voice lacked any real bite. “And you’re a handful,” Rafe retorted, leaning down slightly so his face was level with yours.

His eyes softened briefly, though his tone remained firm. “But you’re my handful. Now sit still before you hurt yourself.” Your pout deepened, but Rafe had already moved to the driver’s side, his grip on the situation as firm as ever.