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#MONTHS of me wondering what this is from and i finally found it after my downloading spree this weekend it was about time goddamn
mehiwilldoitlater · 2 days
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first part
Two years.
The last time you saw his smugface was two years ago. Now you were there, dragged before him by some clowns, under the gaze of some of his colleagues. They wondered why one of the neo-formed Cross Guild leaders wanted you there; you weren't angry or anything at all.
Two years ago, your life was simple on that small island, in the garden that reminded you of Eden in your old books. Nothing mattered; your life was easy. He came from time to time and was always busy with his work. The hero of Alabasta is your lover.
Lies, all lies.
You never knew anything; he kept you from knowing everything about that.
Two years ago, the newspaper came, and then you knew. The lies that he told you are his true colors.
Baroque works, the dancing powder, the lives that he had taken...
The horror that engulfed you sickened you to the point that even his face on the newspaper was enough to send a chill down your back.
Then hell came.
You were a civilian, and you tried to explain that to the Marine that had taken you away for a few questions. They said that it was something like a few days, nothing more. You stayed in that somehow prison, near the Marine base, for almost a month, with the same questions and the same dirty looks every day. You were a criminal for them, just like him.
"How long have you known Crocodile?"
"Not so long..."
"How much did you know about his connections with that organization?"
"Nothing, I don't know..."
"Did he ever mention you about his plans?"
"I don't know..."
"Did you know about his activities?"
"I don't know..."
Every day, the same questions were asked, and you were forced to remember the few moments of happiness that you had with that man. 
Until that woman came. A captain that was present on the day of the crocodile arrest decided to finally take over your case.
"She's a civilian; the only connection with that criminal was a romantic one. Hina's surprised that you all didn't get it before. Let her go."
When you left that damn place, you had nothing but the few things that you had the day you came. You had nothing—nothing but the grief of his betrayal.
Then something changed. Your grief set aflame, a new one—hate.
You hated him; you hated everything about him—the memories, the moments of kindness, the lies. EVERYTHING.
You sell everything that you have—every detail that could lead you to him. The ring, the earring, the clothes—all of it. You didn't need them; those staff were nothing to you!
With the money that you gained, you were able to start anew, far away from everything.
On an island, away from the memories and your past, you found work in a small flower shop, a small apartment, a small world, and a new future.
Everything there was simple; no one knew you, and no one needed to know. You were a mistery for everyone there, but no one bothered to ask or to pry on. Even the old owner of the shop was content enough to just have you around.
"Ummm...today someone will come to court you again. my dear Y/n..." He said this while rocking in his chair. You almost dropped the watering can for the surprise.
"W-what?! No, no, what are you saying? Hehe, don't mock me!"
"Hehe, are you sure?" He was eyeing the young man who was reaching the shop.
Well, that was true... 
In a few weeks, you became one of the most courted girls in the village. Even after your continuous refusals, the confessions made you feel giddy. Despite it all, maybe you wanted that kind of new start.
There was a boy, a little older than you, who never gave up on you. He kept visiting you, asking about yourself, your dreams, your hopes...
A part of you wanted to open up to him. Maybe tell him about everything... Maybe you deserve to love again.
Then they came.
Two strange men looked like some kind of clown. No one knew who they were or where they came from, but they knew you. They take you away, forcing you to follow them on a ship, away from your new life and from your future.
They brought you back to the crocodile.
And now you were there, back to him, in that place full of criminals. The same ones that he hides so well from your mind, not letting you know. All the eyes were on you, but you felt only his eyes. You were too scared to look at him.
"Welcome back, Y/N..."
You said nothing; you stayed there, holding your hand, avoiding his gaze or responding to him.
"You seem well; I'm happy."
"..."
"Those boozes treat you? I hope they didn't manhandle you too much."
"..."
"I tried to find you, but you were gone. Avoid the Marine has been a-"
"I want to go home."
A new silence fell there. Your voice trembled a little, but you held on with enough strength to not fall down on your knees. The ex-warlord looked at you, waiting for something else for you. You said nothing; you didn't need to say anything else.
"This is your home."
"No, I have a work and a new home. I don't need you... It's over."
He inhaled deeply, and his teeth bit the cigar in his mouth to the point of cutting it in half. In a few seconds, his hand was attached to your wrist, dragging you away from the tent and the other members of the guild. You protested all the way to his own private tent, scrambling and punching, trying to get free from his grasp.
He threw you inside, blocking the passage from the outside. The only light came from a few lamps on his desk.
" Over? This is what you think? That is over?"
"I don't think it's over; I know it! I don't care about you! Not anymore!"
"Where's your ring? ...The one that I gave you?"
"...I sold it. I needed money to find a new place. After your...I-I lost everything. I wanted to start again."
Of course, that was almost natural. Everything that was yours was under his name; of course, the Marines would have your house confiscated. You needed to survive—such a clever girl.
If he only knew the feelings of freedom that you felt once you got rid of that small gift.
"You can start here with me."
"No! I said, I want to go home!"
"I AM YOUR HOME, GODDAMMIT!"
His bigger hands grasped your shoulders, squeezing them with force, like you could run away at any second. something that you were considering.
"You're nothing to-"
"You think that you can just walk away like this?! Do you have any idea what happened?! Two years in that prison, not a chance to know anything about you?!"
Then he stopped, and you saw something dark in his eyes. He wasn't angry, not anymore, but he was something else, something scarier.
"Did you find someone else?"
All the strength that you had left in your body, like the oxygen in your lungs, You were scared—no, terrified. You never had anyone else; you were too afraid to be betrayed again, but it wasn't even like you never thought about it. You avoided his gaze, not knowing what to say. All the answers that you could say end in the same way, and you didn't want any of the outcomes.
"Did you?"
"I didn't, but I wanted... I wanted to forget everything and start over."
You were always so easy to read, so he knew that you were telling the truth. He wanted to keep you away from everything that belonged to his normal life, to secure his flower, and to keep you to himself. The final outcome was something that he didn't expect, but he never imagined that, in the end, you would have been one of the victims too. 
A long pause, one that scared you. Once you saw a movement from him, you closed his eyes. He sighed deeply; this one hurt him deeply. To believe that he could hit you...he was a rough man, but not to this point, not to you at least.
His calloused hand gently stroked your head, softly touching your cheek, trying to convince you to finally look at him. A gesture so in contrast with his entire being, so gentle and delicate, away from prying eyes. Something that only you should know. You opened your eyes, full of fears and tears, ready to spill.
"You belong by my side... You weren't supposed to know anything."
He took away one of his rings from his hand, a deep red ruby gemstone, gently placing it on your forefinger. It was larger compared to you...
"This time we'll make it right... No one will take you away again."
He gently held your figure, too scared to fight him. His perfume brought back all the memories that you tried to erase with every fiber of your mind.
This time, he would have to make sure that no one took away his flower.
"You're mine, got it?"
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pov: matty taking care of you after a night of too much drinking
mostly fluffy thoughts but with some slight smutty mentions.
this was something i tried to write months before i started this blog just to see if i could do it. that's when i quickly found out writing full fics is not my thing, lol. nothing special, just a stream of consciousness ramble really.
warning: smutty thoughts if you squint, alcohol. grammatical errors, typos.
other bf matty blurbs & rambles here.
“c'mon, it's time to go home, love.” there’s this ungodly pounding inside your head, a confirmation that, yes, one too many pints were consumed this… evening? night? hard to tell, really. you have no idea what time it is or where you’re right now—all that registers is the warm feeling of his arm on your waist, leading you toward the exit of whatever this place might be.
the cold air bites your skin as soon as the door opens. wearing a short dress feels like a silly choice now, but he said you looked beautiful so that makes it all right of course. you lean into him as he drapes his coat around your shoulders, the same leather garment he's let you wear countless times before because he knows you love it so.
“okay, your flat's just a few blocks away. let's walk, get some fresh air. it will do you good.” his lips brush the top of your head before you both start to slowly stumble alongside the dimly lit streets of london. “i like it when you kiss me, matty.” he leans down to plant a soft peck on your cheek and for a fleeting moment it makes you wonder if maybe he feels the same way. just maybe.
walking never felt so difficult. perhaps it was when you were a child, but obviously you have no recollection. his arm around your shoulders continues to guide you as you just focus on placing one foot in front of the other until you reach your destination. it was a fast trek but you don't mind. in fact, you are thankful for it.
“don't think i’ve ever had this much trouble openin’ a fuckin’ door.” none of the keys seem to work, ugh. he chuckles behind you (rude) and grabs them from your shaky hands, unlocking and swinging the door open with ease (show off). you try to walk on your own, but it doesn't quite go as planned as you stumble on the mat right behind the entrance.
"shit, are you alri—“ you cannot help but quietly laugh at yourself and the embarrassing situation you're in, and it catches you by surprise when he picks you up, one arm under your knees and the other one around your waist. he gently places you on the green couch so you're finally sitting down, your drunk mind spinning as you gaze at the boy kneeled down in front of you, working on getting the patent heels off your feet.
“m’sorry you have to see me like this.” for a split second you wonder how it happened, how did you get to this state, but quickly realize that’s too much thinking for your clouded mind to process. you’ll figure it out later. it’s not often you get flat out drunk, especially outside the confine of the four off-white walls you call home. you prefer to drink in your flat as you don't like the thought of making a fool out of yourself in front of others. much like right now. oh well. it probably won't be the last time.
with your shoes off now (thank you, matthew), you slowly stand up and somehow manage walk over to your bedroom successfully without tripping over your feet. you sit down on the floor, facing your full length mirror as you take your earrings off and try to undress. “matty?” you attempt to reach the zipper on the back of your black dress, but your limbs just can't seem to bend far enough “please help me take this bloody thing off!” you give up after a few seconds and get distracted by the red marks on your knees from where you fell just a few minutes ago.
“hold on, darling."
you lazily stare back at yourself in the mirror as matty walks through the room to set a glass of water on the bedside table. he takes a few steps and kneels behind you, fumbling his fingers to undo the pesky zipper. it's maybe the alcohol in your system or some wishful thinking, but you seem to notice a blush on his cheeks when he realizes you aren't wearing a bra as the straps of your dress fall to the sides. for a moment you catch his eyes gazing at your reflection, making you smile as a warmth, familiar sensation in your navel continues to grow.
a smile of his own tugs at the corner of his lips when he holds your elbows to raise you up on your feet, your silk dress sliding and pooling at your ankles in the process. he turns you around so your eyes finally meet, big brown loving eyes looking straight at you.
your head finds his chest, you can hear his gentle heartbeat, a soft repeating thud that you never grow tired of. "i think i could jus' fall 'sleep right here..."
“unfortunately, i don’t think that’s really going to work here, love. c'mon, get your arms up so i can put this shirt on.” you obey by raising your flimsy limbs up to the best of your ability while matty attempts to get the fabric on you. it takes a few tries, but he manages.
you now find yourself dressed in nothing but your shirt and underwear. you watch as he pulls the covers off the bed, getting your spot ready. once it’s set, he grabs your hand and slowly brings you over.
“please stay.” it wasn’t much of a question as much as it was a plea for him to keep you company.
he doesn’t argue with you, he knows better than that. he nods. “i'll just be on the sofa in the other room but let me know if you need anythi—" you shake your head. "this bed is big enough for you, too." you lazily pat the extra pillow besides your head. you get scared as he doesn't say much, but you breathe again once he starts to walk over in your direction, lifting the covers and making himself at home next to you. he doesn't bother getting undressed, but maybe that's best for your (and his own) sake.
you rest your head on his chest, letting your body melt into his as your lids grow heavy from the mix of alcohol and exhaustion. “thank you for keeping me safe, matty.” you feel as he brings you slightly closer, one hand running through your hair while the other grabs on to your shoulder, his lips softly planting a kiss on your forehead. “always, darling.”
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wrengrif · 2 days
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Are we ready? It's Time...
For more GOOD OMENS WILD META.
I have been chewing on this one for awhile. Like, really ruminating on it. Probably because it's so far-reaching. For me, for others. It's a matter of the Journey From The Final Fifteen.
I will openly admit it, when I first came off the Final Fifteen, sometime in August/September (yeah, I was so worried about Season 2 I didn't watch it for a month after it came out and I realized I was right to do so.). I was, and still am, heartbroken. I was angry, despairing and wondering what the point of an ending like that was. I was angry at Neil Gaiman, I was angry at all the creators behind Good Omens. I was angry at Aziraphale, first, and then after about five minutes, I was angry at Crowley too.
Note, I was never mad at David Tennant or Michael Sheen. I respected their acting choices so much in the Final Fifteen. It was beautiful. It ripped my soul out through my chest. They are both brilliant. I know everyone has their favorite GO counterparts - they are mine.
Then a funny thing happened. A few weeks passed. I started fumbling around Good Omens Tumblr again. I'd been a big contributor during Detroit: Become Human (of which I am still a HUGE FAN, god I love that game.), and until Good Omens 2 came out, I was on the side of Good Omens fandom. Reading, mostly, but at the time I was very deep into my Wangxian fixation (haaaaah, I say, like I have ever left it. My dream AU is Aziraphale and Crowley in the Sunshot Campaign, causing trouble with Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian.). That changed after Final Fifteen. Now I was hurt, I was looking for comfort. I was looking for my fellow fans.
Clearly, I found you, you gorgeous bastards (saying nothing about your moms, unless you want me to). I started to read more meta, started having my own thoughts and carefully posting them. Reading fanfiction, and ... becoming less angry. Stepping back, to really look at the story. I was swallowing content like Aziraphale swallowed ox ribs. In the midst of this, I realized this wasn't The End of Good Omens, but merely the second part of a Trilogy. I'm a writer, I know what the second part of a trilogy is. It's where your heart breaks, it's the cliffhanger episode. I stopped being mad, and started loving the craft. I started to actually look at the scenes instead of just watching.
With that, I started to realize I had been missing so much. I realized I had been wrong, about a lot of things. My perspectives, and thoughts changed. Aziraphale wasn't at fault, he was a victim of the situation as much as Crowley was. Crowley left the bookshop, but he never left Aziraphale. He waited. He's still waiting. As more time passed, the more my thoughts evolved. Changed, formed anew, and I felt better for it. I decided to be hopeful about the whole thing. Yes, it was bad now, but there were enough signs and easter eggs to say this wasn't the ending we were going to get.
I healed, in short. I forgave. I'm waiting for our next chapter, because I know this story isn't done, not by a long shot. I'm waiting to see how our heroes will cope.
Rather like, I think, Aziraphale and Crowley will. The initial pain is going to fade, the anger, the feeling of rejection (whereas they will some day realize neither one of them were in fact, rejected.). The longing is going to kick in. They're going to miss one another more than they will ever be angry. There's going to be moments of grace, of forgiveness, partnered with sadness. What I think we forget, sometimes, is that Aziraphale and Crowley are 6000 years old. They've fought before. They'll fight again. With the fullness of time though, they'll come back to one another. They'll talk again.
Right now though, they've had time. Time to hopefully process (I really, really hope Aziraphale has had SOME time to process), time let the anger fade a little. Maybe not enough time - some of us here still need time - but enough to let them wonder ... is it really over? Maybe to realize, no. No it's not.
Time doesn't heal all wounds, but time does allow you to find equilibrium. I hope time will do the same for our angel and our demon. I know time helped me. I hope time will help us all.
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dollerines · 4 months
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How I entered the void so easily after 1 year of trying
So after 1 year and half of trying to enter I finally did it and I am so mad because it REALLY IS SOOOOO EASY and tbh if in this post you are looking for any sort of validation or info you smart ass already know then please REMEMBER THIS : entering the void is extremely easy. You just have to do it in a way that resonates with you.
Personally for me since I had adhd I couldn’t just stay still and affirm for 1 or even a few for 10 mins. Not just because I was lazy but because just repeating “I am in the void” for so long gets me tired and makes me think of the void more and you actually don’t want to think too deeep about it. I couldn’t wake 3 hours prior and then affirm or even have the patience to do the psych k, yes I was extremely lazy back then and unpresistent but one thing that helped me even backed then was THE ALPHA STATE MEDITATION !
You just have to find what works for you, find a method technique whatever you want to do that doesn’t seem like a chore. So In a post back then I found on @gorgeouslypink acc talking about doing the alpha sate meditation and I tried it back then and I felt really relaxed and it was a good feeling but like I said back then I was realllly lazy so after a few mins I stopped. Then many months later passed and I was still looking for anything and everything on the void. Then just like two days ago I came across another post which was pretty simple and the technique I used was called the DISTRACTED TECHNIQUE.
All there was to do was the usual you get into a comfortable position and then she said to use the alpha state meditation and used the one gorgeouslypink recommended. So I used it and then what she tell you to do is to just think of anything else just get distracted basically and this WAS SO GOOD 4 ME because back then I had adhd so it made it harder to concentrate on just affirming and so yeah I just thought of random things and then at some point where I was completely distracted I felt my body like lift up 😭 if that makes sense I just can’t clearly describe it. It felt really like a shift and I was like ‘panicking’ in a way but I wasn’t actually panicking I just kinda became aware what was going and then I got scared a little but I just relaxed shortly after. Also my fan that was making like a loud noises was coming in an out and then I only hear it in one ear and then I didn’t hear anything and I just stayed there wondering if I reached the void and i actually was!!! I didn’t feel my body it felt like I had no body at all and it was pitch black just like how I imagined the void to be. For a few minutes I just stayed there feeling the most surreal peace I have ever felt. I needed that peace fr 💀.
So then I affirmed for my desires all I said was “I have all my desired results from my subliminal playlist.” Then just to be extra sure I just said “I have everything I want.”
At that point I got really excited and then I wiggled my toes to get out because I was too dam happy I needed to see all my shit the moment I wake up and then I slowly started getting out and when I tell you I cried for like a good dam minute when I woke up and saw how DIFFERENT. My room looked. I literally screamed onto my pillow. I was so dam scare and yet excited to see how I looked.
WHAT I MANIFESTED :
Desired body and face
Having silky straight tailbone length hair cuz mines was originally curly
And everything in my sub playlist
My desired boyfriend and guys I made him be like Gojo Satoru ( because we are all delusional over him 🤪) and let me tell you he is so tall, handsome, sexy and a literal god. He is so silly too 🩷
Moving countries I now live in ny
Never actually meeting my ex and all the people in my old school forget me and have actually never even met me. Like if u asked them about me they have never heard or known me before
Extremely rich rich like hella bands
Got rid of my anxiety and mental health issue
Plus +++
NEVER EVER GIVE UP ON YOUR DREAMS.
Even if the circumstances seem to be eating you alive don’t mind that too much. Even if all seems hopeless don’t give up because you already know nothing can decide or be unless you give it power to be. So stop being goofy and take responsibility and DONT STRESS!! You don’t see God stressing do you. All he has to do is blink and whatever he wants to happen, happens. Plus a lot of confidence came from non dualism that I owe a huge thanks to @trynafindbarbiee she really said it like it is !!
YOU GOT THIS ML 🩷🩷🩷🩷
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nathaslosthershit · 23 days
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A Much Needed Interview (OP81)
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(Part 2 of Teen Dad) Summary: After the shock of Oscar revealing himself to be a former teen dad, he joins an interview in the hopes of clearing everything up and limiting the overwhelming amount of questions he has been getting.
“Oscar, it is nice of you to sit down with us. I know it has been an interesting few weeks for you and your family. How are you guys all doing?” The interviewer asks.
‘Yeah, y’know, I had expected to one day have to open up about it all, but I never thought I’d have to do it the way I did. It has been fine, obviously my kids are young enough to not be impacted because they aren’t on social media, but it has been strange for my fiancée who is now getting hundreds of requests on her private account. I have sort of decided to take a break from social media because the response has been overwhelming and like none before. Mostly positive but I think a few people have gotten the wrong idea so I was hoping to clear everything up.” Oscar rambled. He was more nervous about this interview than any he had done before.
“Of course. Why don’t we start at the beginning, how did you and your fiancée meet?”
“We actually met at one of my races. She went to support one of her close friend’s brothers. After the race that I sadly didn’t do too well in, I saw her with her friend and I was kinda frozen in my spot, immediately head over heels. Sadly, it seems like everyone but her noticed. I was too scared to do anything so I just watched her leave. I think I sulked for days, totally regretting my decision to do nothing. A totally heartbroken 16 year old. I looked for her every single race until she finally came back a few months later.”
“Oh please tell me you finally got the confidence to shoot your shot.”
“Nope! I just stared at her and stuttered when she caught me looking then ran off. I then had an amazing race, I think part of me was just trying to make up for the embarrassment and luckily it seems my car got the memo. After the race she came up to me and asked for my number.” God, he was blushing profusely at the memory. He knew he would be getting slack for this for a very long time. 
“Such a story! The young Oscar Piastri was no ladies’ man.”
“He was absolutely not. Soon after we started dating.” Oscar awkwardly laughed, sensing what was about to come up.
“And then kids came shortly after?” The interviewer asked with care in his voice, certainly able to sense Oscar’s change in attitude.
“Yeah. Uh, obviously not planned. I don’t think many people plan to become parent’s at 18. It was a shock… I didn’t handle it the best at first, something I think I will always regret. She was scared and while so was I, I should have been more supportive. I was embarrassed for a while. Felt like a total idiot. I didn’t tell anyone outside of my family and made them swear to secrecy. I also began to isolate myself from friends because I couldn’t bring myself to tell them but also felt terrible lying. A few months in I finally snapped myself out of it and began to focus on all the wonderfulness that was to come. I loved her more than anything and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t already imagined a life together in great detail. By the time we found out it was twins, a boy and a girl, I was ecstatic.”
“Well mate, I don’t blame you for your feelings. I definitely would have been a terrible father at 18 so I salute you.” The interviewer joked.
“Honestly, I had the same thought for a while, even when I was excited to have kids. I had so many doubts about it, I mean how could I not? But when it came down to it, I couldn’t afford to be anything less than a great father. Of course I had my moments, and still do years later, but I wouldn’t be able to let myself be anything less than I am. If you love your kids enough, you find a way.”
“How did having kids so young impact your career? Obviously it didn’t hurt it too much considering you are in your second year driving in Formula 1.”
“Well, I decided I wouldn’t advertise my situation unless a team was very serious about me. Prema knew, Alpine did too and of course McLaren does. All were welcoming and accommodating, as much as they could be. I don’t think I would have gone with any of them if they weren’t cool with it though. I realized the minute my kids were born I would give it all up for them, which scared the hell out of me.”
“That is admirable. All these years later you are still with their mother, correct?”
“Yes! I asked her to marry me over break. Everyone close to us had been confused as to why it took so long but we had discussed marriage together many times and made the decision that because our relationship moved so fast with having kids so young, we would wait a bit. I mean, we are still young but I honestly couldn’t wait any longer. She is everything to me and the most wonderful mother my kids could have.”
“Have your kids been around the paddock yet? I assume they are old enough to understand what you do.”
“They have been to the factory and come with me to meetings when we haven’t had a sitter for them. Luckily, they are both very well behaved in public, they also really like watching the races on tv and have somewhat of an understanding of what I do. They don’t believe I actually drive the car though.” Oscar rumbled. Trying to convince his twins that yes, their father actually does drive the cars they see going super fast, has been an ongoing issue. They seem to believe he is tricking them but have no problem believing Uncle Logan and Uncle Lando drive the cars. It has definitely humbled him immensely.
“Well you will have to fix that soon huh? Will they be attending races in the future?”
“I am trying to work that out with my fiancée actually. They are almost four so we don’t want them traveling too far, I also don’t believe they will be able to be entertained solely by the race the entire time so we have a lot to deal with. But I think seeing them on the paddock supporting me will be one of the best moments of my life. I selfishly can’t wait for them to come.”
The interview wrapped up shortly after that. Getting to reminisce on the start of his relationship and how far they have come and how many wonderful things are in the future put Oscar in a deliriously happy mood. He couldn’t wait to get home to his family. 
Walking through the door, he was immediately welcomed to the sound of toddler meltdowns. Fully entering the house, he saw his very tired fiancée rubbing her face as she tried to calm her babies down. Clearly this had been going on for a while.
Despite how upset she looked, she immediately perked up at seeing Oscar had returned. But that immediately went away as she remembered the screaming kids and how messy the house and herself were.
“Sorry honey, I know you are probably so tired after the interview and meetings earlier and these two missed their nap so they are so cranky and I just-” He cut her off with a kiss. Once he pulled away she looked at him, perplexed. A kiss from Oscar was never unwelcome but it was the last thing she expected at that moment.
“Hey, look at me.” He said as he put a hand on her cheek. “I love you and our little family so much and you never, ever have to apologize for something as trivial as this. Why don’t you go get in the bath and relax a little and I will try to wrangle these two, okay?” 
In her eyes, Oscar had never been hotter than he was now. Now it was her turn to surprise him with a kiss, even more passionate than the first. They would have continued if it hadn’t been for more screaming from their two kids.
Still, Oscar wouldn’t change a thing.
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Sweeter Than Fiction
James Potter x muggle fem!reader
Summary: After months of dating, James finally tells you he's a wizard.
Genre: Fluff <3
pt.2 to Enchanted
Warnings: tbh none
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6 months later, James is sprawled out on your couch in your small London apartment. He's dressed in your university sweater, which hugs him snugly but he doesn't seem like he minds. You'd switched into his so he doesn't have much of a choice anyway.
He's pretending to really read the book he had found on your dresser but he keeps his eyes trained on how absorbed you seem in the show you're watching.
James sees the title; "Sabrina The Teenage Witch". He smiles to himself when he sees you try and wiggle your nose like she does and you fall back onto James lap, sighing. 
"D'you think I'd make a good witch?" you ask suddenly and his heart almost collapses. 
He runs a hand in your hair, playing with the strands as he ponders your question, "Mmm, yeah, you would, lovie," he says and chuckles when you sit up and start to ramble. 
"I mean, can you just imagine having magic! I could–I could make all this mess disappear instantly!" you exclaim happily, gesturing to your slightly messy apartment, and then look into his eyes, "wouldn't having magic be fun, Jamie?" 
James frowns. You say it so innocently but he starts to wonder if you could know? It has been months.
He sits up, tilting his head at you. He's been wanting to tell you he's a wizard for a while now, plus James wouldn't admit this out loud yet but he knows he wants to marry you and you deserve to know the truth before he asks you to spend your life with him, don't you? 
"Y/n," he whispers but you interrupt him. 
"And I mean, flying on a broom! How silly! Can't you just imagine it?" 
James smiles, completely endeared, "Yeah, I can," he tucks some hair behind your ear and reaches into the back pocket of his jeans. He pulls out his wallet and you stare at him confused as he holds out a folded old polaroid. He hands it to you.
"What's this?" you ask curiously, crossing your legs.
At first, it looks like a simple picture of a group of boys. There are four of them and they look around sixteen if you had to guess. The tallest has his arms crossed and he's standing in the middle as the boy to his right, a shorter boy with long dark hair, has his arm swung around him. A short, stout boy looks timidly at the camera next to the taller one and next to him, what looks like a young James is happily grinning and holding up a fancy looking broom in triumph. James and the longer-haired boy are dressed in a maroon and yellow sports uniform while the other boys are dressed in simple school uniforms. 
The picture seems relatively normal for a second until it starts to move. James in the picture lifts the  broom and the long-haired boy continues to hug the taller one. You gasp, dropping the picture onto the couch and it flutters to the back where you see written, "Prongs, Wormtail, Moony, and Padfoot, Hogwarts 1976."
"What the hell?" you whisper, voice breaking, and you think you must be imagining things. You look up at James, who is staring at you intently. "James? W-why did that polaroid just move?" you ask and James's stare softens. 
He picks up the polaroid and smiles, he shows it to you again. "That's me and my best friends at school," he says but when he looks at you, his smile falters. You look terrified, "Love, it's okay it's just a picture."
"No, it isn't. It's moving!" you say, leaning away from him a little.
James's chest tightens. "I know," he says seriously, "Promise not to panic, okay? But, I'm a wizard." 
He says it so calmly you're silent for a moment until you start to laugh. You laugh so hard tears brim in your eyes and James is concerned.
He holds your cheeks in his hands. "No, Y/n, I mean it. I'm a wizard," he stands and walks to his jean-jacket hanging in the entrance. He pulls out his wand and points it at you.
You look scared again when he mutters an unfamiliar word and suddenly, you feel a drizzle of snow fall over your shoulders and unless your ceiling disappeared and it's snowing in July, you know it has to be James. 
You let out a shriek and cover your mouth as your eyes widen. James lowers his wand and rushes over, the snow disappearing. "It's okay. I promise I won't hurt you, lovie," he pauses and carefully sits next to you. He's relieved when don't scoot away from him, "I couldn't keep this from you anymore. I love you. You deserve to know who I am."
You're looking at him intensely and you pick up the polaroid again, examining it closer. After a moment you look up and narrow your eyes. You press your index on where James is in the picture. "Why are you holding a broom?" you ask simply and James almost laughs. 
"Gryffindor had just won an important Quidditch match, I think."
"Gryff-what won what?"
"Um, my house- um. Quidditch it's a sport. Where you—um, ride a broom."
You look at him and James can't read your expression.
"You can fly on a broom?" you suddenly ask, sounding less nervous now. You look at the picture and then you crack a smile. "You do look cute all dressed up," you put the polaroid near his ear, almost as if you're making sure the boy in the picture is actually James.
Your boyfriend nods and looks at you wearily, biting his lip. He has so much he wants to say. "So, have you always been a witch—" you ask.
"Wizard," he interrupts but you ignore him.
"—or did some creepy troll turn you into one? Oh my, are you the only witch to exist?" you sound almost excited now.
"Wizard," James says and then takes the picture from your hand and holds yours in his. "And no. I'm not. All my friends and family are. You believe me, yeah?"
You think for a moment. "Yeah," you shrug, looking up at the ceiling and then the wand in James's other hand, "you did make it snow, didn't you?" your smile widens and you point at his wand as you say, "Can you make it snow again! Or show me another spell. Please?"
James hesitates but when he sees a small scab on your hand from where you'd cut yourself earlier, he mutters a spell he knows by heart from all the Quidditch tumbles he's had and the wound suddenly disappears. 
Your eyes widen and you hold up your palm awkwardly. You look where the scab had been, mesmerized as you run your fingers over the now, non-existent, wound. 
"I know this is a lot for you to understand now, lovie. But, I want to explain everything. Anything you want to know," he says seriously and you look back up at him. 
You ask question after question, the reality of the situation becoming even more intense as you hear stories from his school and how unfamiliar he had been about "muggles" until he'd met his ex-girlfriend and then, well, you. 
"So, wait, witches and wizards exist and we– muggles? –just don't know?" you say after his little speech and James nods. He's sitting criss-cross in front of you on your couch and he's running his thumb over your hand, hoping his gesture is reassuring. You look confused, "Aren't you gonna get in trouble with the—"
"Ministry of Magic for telling you?" James finishes, understanding what you're trying to ask him.
You nod. 
James shakes his head and looks into your eyes. "No, because I didn't just tell anyone. You aren't some random person on the street, lovie. You're my girlfriend and I love you. I'm glad you know," he kisses your forehead quickly and you lean up to catch his lips. 
"I'm glad I know too," you smile and caress his cheek. It's your way of showing him you don't see him any differently. You turn to the polaroid picture still in your lap and pick it up. "I can't wait to meet more of your wizard friends now," you smile. 
James smirks, a twinkle in his eyes. "You already have, darling," he says. 
You look closer at the picture and your eyes widen, "No way!" you exclaim looking up at James in disbelief as you start to recognize two of the other boys in the picture. "Remy and Siri too?!"
James chuckles and nods. You turn the polaroid over again and look at the names scribbled in ink. "Then what's up with the weird nicknames? Prongs? Is that you?" you deduce from the order. 
James hums and kisses your temple as he pulls you in closer.
"Why Prongs?" you ask, pointing both your index fingers and putting them on your head, "like little devil horns? Or a fork?" you giggle at the last suggestion and James is entirely enchanted by you. 
He looks at you fondly and chuckles, "Like stag antlers, lovie."
"Why?"
"Because I can turn into a stag, if I wanted to," James explains slowly, realizing he'd forgotten to mention that tiny detail.
"You WhAT?!"
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swiftispunk · 2 months
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the wildest winter | joel miller x f!reader
a your summer dream one shot
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your summer dream masterlist | main masterlist | ao3 | follow @swiftispunkupdates and turn on notifications for updates
In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.
–Albert Camus, Return to Tipasa
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pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ word count: 9.3k
series warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] we'll call him dad's buddy!joel, fairly soft!joel, age difference (28/50), angst, smut (will specify with each chapter), fluff, alcohol, food, secret relationship until it's not. series summary: after falling head over heels for your dad's buddy on vacation, it's now time to navigate the real world together. or, a year in the life with joel miller.
chapter summary: your plan to tell your parents about your relationship doesn't quite go as planned. chapter warnings: smut, some angst, unprotected p in v sex, brief cockwarming, dirty talk, pet names, fluff and romance, exhibitionism, vaginal fingering, narcissistic mothers, actually reader's mom is just The Worst in general, mentions of babies and discussions of parenthood, the closest han will ever come to breeding kink (but like, hardly), a lot of unresolved drama, a lot of joel playing guitar, reader's dad's birthday is in january, alcohol, food. no use of y/n.
a/n: thanks to everyone who waited for this i hope it's ok and if it's not um please be nice i'm just a baby
You don't think you've ever seen Joel look more handsome.
Of course, it's not really a fair contest; he's handsome all the time. You'd first found him beautiful in patterned shirts under twinkling lights, tanned and glowing in tropical heat. He's still tanned, still glowing, still perfect–only now he's shrouded in the dim light of your childhood bedroom, clad in a white-button down and a simple black blazer. His hair's longer, pushed back out of his face and curling around his ears, flecks of grey poking through in places they hadn't before. His hand rests on the small of your back, taking in the space–taking in you in the space–perhaps wondering, just like you, how in the hell you've ended up here.
"That was my bed," you tell him, nodding to the twin-sized frame pressed flush into a corner on the far side of the room. "It used to be over there."
You point to the patch of wall beneath the window, now occupied by boxes filled with god-knows-what. "I'm never here, so they just use this room to keep all their old shit in now."
"Beats payin' for a storage unit, I guess," Joel shrugs, frowning. 
"The joy of being an empty nester, I guess."
He shakes his head. "I kept Sarah's room just how she left it when she moved out."
"Yeah, well," you roll your eyes, flicking the light off and leading him back out into the upstairs hallway of your parents' house. His hands wind around your waist, pressing into you as he follows you past the walls lined with family photos and mass-produced artwork. "You're the Best Dad Ever, we know this."
Joel laughs, the sound so sweet against your ear as you come to a stop in the hallway, gazing at the photos together.
"I remember when you looked like that," he says.
"Oh god, shut up."
His chin rests on your shoulder and you lean back into him without any fear; in the quiet of the upstairs hallway, there is only you and him.
You and him and the wall of photos, haphazardly hung in mismatched frames against a dark green backdrop. Three coats of green to be exact; you recall that month all too well. When your parents had stripped the walls and laid out canvas sheets across the carpet so the three of you could roll up your sleeves and Do It Yourselves. Your dad had been unwilling to relinquish control to anyone else, let alone hired painters.
Except Joel, of course. Because Joel had been there, on the second weekend for the second coat, something you only remember now that he's here with you again. 
"Yeah, look," he hums, reaching out from behind you to point at a picture of a much younger you on the front steps of this very house, yellow backpack slung over bare shoulders, Velcro sneakers strapped over tiny feet. First day of school. Fourth grade, you think. "Your smile ain't changed a bit."
His voice against your neck tickles, and sure enough, you mirror your past self, teeth poking out from behind your lips in a sheepish little grin. You shake your head and Joel kisses a spot just below your jaw.
"There it is," he murmurs and his scruff drags over your skin in a way that feels like he's smirking.
There's a sudden change in pressure as his hands drift up your sides and find a home above your rib cage. Your tummy flutters, meeting him where he's at.
"Some things have changed," you whisper, guiding his palms higher to daringly rest them over your breasts, pressing down and encouraging him to squeeze.
He does, kneading the soft flesh under the fabric of your dress, a low growl echoing in the hollow of your ear. He presses his frame closer into yours, his semi-hard bulge prodding at your lower back, and for a moment you both let yourselves forget where you are. Forget the clattering of dishes and the distant back and forth of your parents downstairs, forget the whole reason you're here in the first place.
Your head falls back against his shoulder as Joel trails one hand lower, emboldened when you sigh to slip it between your legs under the hem of your dress.
"They sure have, baby," he rasps, cupping your sex in his massive hand, feeling at the wetness staining the cotton of your panties, assessing it. "Fuck, they sure have."
Downstairs, silver clashes with porcelain and a whining timer dings but, as usual, you are lost in Joel. The slow circle of his fingers over your clothed clit makes your mouth fall open and your eyes slip closed and even though you know it's wrong stupid wrong to do this here, now, like this–you don't stop him. You never do.
Not when his teeth nip at your ear and his fingers apply more pressure to your clit, or when you start to think you might actually be able to come like this, breaths already shortening, stomach already fluttering. And Joel just laughs when he feels you loosen, when you lean back into him like you'd crumble without his arms around you.
"Naughty thing," he whispers as his fingers dip below the edge of your panties to touch you properly, his other hand moving to close over your open mouth and catch your gasp. "Yeah? S'at feel good?"
You can only nod, brows knitting together as he increases his pace, expertly swirling over your clit in slick little ministrations. You're barrelling towards climax at alarming speed, something about the risk and the setting and his tangible hunger for you causing heat to pool in your core all too quickly. 
"Shit," Joel grins when he feels you begin to shiver in his grasp. "You gonna come right here, baby? Just like this for me? Gonna come on my fingers with your folks downstairs?"
And as if that's what fucking does it. 
Joel's appreciative sigh soundtracks your silent orgasm as your body tenses then falls. He draws it out long enough to make your knees buckle but it still somehow ends too soon; not nearly as perfect as what you know he's capable of giving you, but blinding all the same. 
When your shudders subside, he pries his palm free from your mouth. You choke out a steadying breath and Joel plants a warm kiss behind your ear as he slowly retracts his fingers from your now-soaked underwear.
"Don't think I've ever seen you come so fast, baby,” he breathes reverently into your skin. "You're so fuckin' sexy."
"And you're–" You turn in his arms to face him, breathless as you lace your fingers behind his neck before pressing one fleeting kiss against his lips. "–a fucking menace."
He chuckles and shrugs, but doesn't deny it.
"You coulda just said the word n' I woulda stopped."
"Yeah, well," you roll your eyes, squish his sweet, scruffy, stupid face between your palms and kiss him again–just because you can. "You already know that'll never happen."
The man fucking giggles and your heart nearly explodes, fingers coiling into his curls like you could just burrow yourself into his scalp forever. 
You feel good, and not just because you're still riding the waves of an orgasm. It's a good night. You can feel it.
It's your dad's birthday dinner and you're telling your parents about Joel. 
You should probably feel scared, or nervous, or any number of things other than giddy but somehow, that's all there is. Excitement, anticipation, a fierce joy at the thought of making this thing with Joel into something real.
"Y'still wanna do this?" Joel asks, thumbs stroking soothingly at your waist. 
"I do," you nod, and his face breaks into a blinding half-smile. 
"No goin' back after this," he says. 
"After this?" you scoff, eyebrows shooting up your forehead. "I've been locked in for a while here, big guy."
"Oh yeah? Since when?"
"Hm," you ponder for a moment. Your bodies gently sway in the quiet of the hallway, and somewhere in the back of your mind it occurs to you that you've been gone for far too long; your parents are probably starting to get suspicious. But your imminent confession makes you bold. They'll know the truth soon enough anyway. "Remember that day by the pool? In Costa Rica?"
Joel laughs, the aquamarine memory dancing behind his eyes as he nods. "Yeah."
"Pretty much since then."
His laughter fades, something more pensive passing over his features. Staring at the floor beneath you, he shakes his head.
"What?" you press him. 
He reaches between your bodies to gently cup your chin, swiftly withdrawing his fingers to settle them over the shell that hangs from your neck. His gaze settles there too, at the place where his fingers are fiddling with the chain. 
"Think it was on the plane for me," he admits. You swallow tightly.
"Like the plane home?" you ask weakly, even though you already know that's not what he'd meant. 
Joel shakes his head. At last, his eyes meet yours from under his lashes, his stare all bashful and warm as he flashes you that familiar crooked smile.
"Nope," he sighs, infusing his tone with a sort of mock-solemnity, diffusing the weightiness of the moment. "'Fraid I've been locked in since day one, kid."
"Gross, don't call me that," you groan, pushing back on the suffocating emotion his words inspire and untangling yourself free from his embrace instead.
With nothing but adoration and trust–and something else you haven't voiced yet–coursing through you, you take his hand and lead him down the stairs. 
-
"What the hell were you two doing up there?" your dad asks when you and Joel walk into the dining room, no longer hand-in-hand, but with a respectable amount of space between your bodies. 
"I was just giving Joel a tour," you shrug, taking your usual seat at the dinner table.
"Joel's been here a thousand times, kiddo," he protests, but amazingly there's no suspicion in his tone. God, he really has no idea. You kind of start to worry you might break his brain tonight. "He comes around more than you. Least he used to."
He smacks a hand against Joel's shoulder, an affectionate gesture if not a little chiding. Because even though they're both smiling, you can sense the genuine hurt there. You've stolen your dad's friend away from him, a fact that haunts you more and more with each passing day. You twiddle your fingers in your lap and force a smile of your own, suddenly consumed by guilt. You work to rein it in; once the truth is out there, Joel won't have to hide anymore, and your dad can have his friend back. The thought keeps you tethered, solidifies your belief that telling them is the right thing, for everyone.
"Just been busy, you know how it goes," Joel says, eyes briefly flashing to you like he can't help himself. Your dad doesn't seem to catch it.
"I think he's got himself a new lady friend," your dad winks at you and your responding awkward laugh sounds so painfully put-on you think he must hear how much you're hiding beneath it. "Too busy with some woman to see your old man."
"Yeah, that sounds like Joel," you tease with a tight smile. Joel stifles a laugh under his breath and your dad looks like he wants to say something else but then your mother is emerging from the kitchen, announcing her presence with a clap of her hands. 
"Food's ready," she chimes in. "Can I get some hands in here?"
You're the first to follow her back into the kitchen, driven perhaps by some strange, childlike need to get on her good side.
-
"Well, here's to this little Costa Rica reunion," your mother toasts, holding up her third glass of wine over your near-empty plates. You all answer the call, your dad with a beer bottle, you with your own glass of wine, and Joel, sitting on your left, with the same crystal glass of bourbon he's been nursing for the past hour.
He's nervous, especially now as dinner is nearing its end and your time to share your news is running short. You'd agreed that it would be best to wait, ease into it, maybe let your parents get a few drinks deep before dropping a potential bomb on them.
The second Joel's done eating, his hand is on your thigh, concealed beneath the tabletop. It anchors him, you think–anchors you too.  
"And here's to you, dear," she adds, turning towards your father. "Happy birthday."
"Happy birthday, dad," you echo, punctuating the sentiment with a clink of your glass against his. Joel mirrors you, offering you an extra little nod of encouragement as he sips his drink beside you.
"Thanks, guys–thanks, honey," your dad smiles appreciatively, pulling at his beer and sitting back into his chair. "I'm just glad we could all get together for once."
Beside you, Joel squeezes your thigh–it's time–and your hand comes down over his. Anchoring. It's time. It's time. 
You take a deep breath and–
"I'm actually really glad you're here," your mother suddenly interjects, pointing at you across the table with the rim of her glass. "I've been wanting to tell you about this nice boy I met through one of the women in my yoga class."
"O-oh," you choke out, whatever words you'd been about to say dying on your tongue in an instant. On your left, Joel visibly stiffens, sucking in a haggard breath through his nose as his gaze drops to his lap. Fuck. You squeeze his fingers, as if to say, I'm sorry, I'm here, don't listen to her. 
"He's about your age, just got his Master's from UT, already has a job lined up and everything."
Fucking hell. 
Every word stings like a knife to the chest, but what hurts more is the way Joel's eyebrows pull together, the way his hand loosens on your thigh, the way he minutely shakes his head as she lists off reminder after reminder of all the things he doesn't have, things you know he wants to offer you but can't, things he thinks you deserve. She breathes life into every one of his anxieties and it makes you fucking livid.
"Mom–"
"And he's very handsome," she cuts you off. "Peggy showed me pictures. And I know every mother thinks the world of their son, but he really is a good-looking guy. I think he'd be your type."
"Mom, I'm really not looking to meet someone new right now."
Scoffing, she waves a hand at you dismissively. 
"It doesn't have to go anywhere!" she insists. Jesus, she's talking so fucking loud; every word rattles your bones and twists a blazing rage in your guts. Joel shrinks like he's been shot beside you and you need her to shut the fuck up, now. "But it wouldn't hurt to think about putting yourself back out there. You're going to be thirty soon and I just think–"
"I'm dating Joel, mom!"
Silence, thick and deafening, befalls the table. A weight you didn't know you'd been carrying disappears from your shoulders with a sigh. It settles in around you instead, tensing the air between you and your parents. You lace your fingers with Joel's and when you turn to offer him a gentle smile, you see that weight is gone from him too, his features relaxing as he meets your gaze, eyes all soft and grateful. 
It's not exactly how you'd planned for it to come out. But fuck, it feels good. 
Then you look up.
Not at your mother, but at your father.
Your father, who stares blankly between the two of you with his brows furrowed in confusion, frozen in place with his head tilted to the side.
"This Joel?" he demands, not like he's angry but like he genuinely doesn't understand.
And before you can even say yes, this Joel, your mother bursts into a fit of biting, mirthless laughter. 
"Of course, this Joel. What other Joel would she be talking about?"
Your father shakes his head, apparently still trying to make it all make sense. 
"I just–since when?"
You're about to answer him, but you're cut off once again.
"Since Costa Rica, obviously," your mother says, followed by another dark laugh that she swallows with a sip of wine. 
Something about her tone makes your blood boil but you can't quite figure out why.
"You knew?" you ask her.
She rolls her eyes and your burning anger only grows. "I had a feeling."
"Okay, well," you sit up a little straighter, refusing to let her attitude dissuade you. "Yes. You were right, okay? Is that what you want to hear?"
She laughs again, and the knife in your chest twists. "Not particularly, but here we are, I suppose."
Through the blinding fog of rage, you're conscious of your father beside her, staring across the table at Joel, his expression still painted with confusion. Joel seems unable to return his gaze, instead keeping his eyes trained on you. 
"Well, we–we're really happy," you continue, not unlike how you'd rehearsed it, though it comes out through gritted teeth in a way you hadn't planned for. "And we wanted to tell you guys–"
"At your father's birthday dinner?" she interrupts. Your heart sinks. "You thought that would be a good time to drop this on us?"
Drop this on us.
It's cruel–cutting–so overtly mean that it makes you want to run from the table, up to your childhood bedroom, so you can bury your face into your sheets and cry. But you are not a teenager anymore, and you are not hers to control. Instead, you channel your sadness into anger, and retaliate. 
"I'm telling you about my relationship," you argue. "I don't see the problem here."
"You don't see the problem?" She looks between the two of you, like the aforementioned problem is right there in the space between your bodies, clear as day to anyone on the outside looking in. And it is, you know it is, you've just become so desensitized to it that it's lost all meaning to you now:
Fifty. Your dad's friend. 
"What about you, Joel?" your mother goes on, speaking directly to him now. You imagine jumping in front of him as though her words were a bullet, as though you could protect him from the wounds you know she's about to inflict. "Do you see the problem?"
He opens his mouth like he wants to respond, but seemingly changes his mind when he locks eyes with your mother, succumbing to her glare and dropping his gaze back to his empty plate. And that kills you; it's one thing to feel the power she has over you, it's another to see it so clearly affecting Joel. 
You can't think of anything to say either, too dumbfounded and hurt and frustrated to form a half-decent response. Through a hefty breath of momentary quiet, you note that Joel has looked up from the table, but he's no longer looking at your mother. He's locked in some kind of silent staring match with your father, soft browns all pleading pleading pleading.
Your mother sips her wine, eventually cracking through the uncomfortable silence with a sigh when it becomes clear neither you or Joel are going to answer her.
"I'm never gonna have grandchildren, am I?" she asks to no one in particular, finally rising from the table with a shake of her head and disappearing towards the back door. 
It punches the air from your lungs, leaves you wide-eyed and cracked apart. Gobsmacked. 
Joel, you think. You need Joel. Need his tethering calm and his soothing drawl, need him to pull you back from the reeling like he has for so long now. 
But Joel is still staring at your father, still engrossed in some wordless, masculine conversation you can't get a handle on. 
Goddamnit. You know what needs to happen now. They need to hash it out. And you can't be here.
"I'm gonna go talk to her," you mutter and at that, Joel finally whips around to look at you, something like panic in his eyes.
"It's okay," you tell him, cupping his cheek in your palm and ignoring the sound your father makes in response. "You guys should talk."
His eyes flash to your mouth and you want so badly to kiss him, like you've grown so used to doing. You decide not to push it, opting instead to quickly squeeze his hand three times before unfurling your fingers from his, watching him steel himself as you stand and back away.
"Dad," you say, forcing him to tear his eyes away from Joel to look at you instead, that same befuddled glint in his stare.
"I'm really happy," you repeat, willing him to hear it. "I'm really happy, okay?"
He nods, mouth a straight line, eyes still searching. It seems like the best you're going to get right now.
So you nod back, offer Joel one last twitch of your lips–almost a smile–and go find your fucking mother. 
-
She's sitting on a lawn chair out on the back deck, legs crossed out in front of her. Somehow having procured another glass of wine, she's sipping on it lazily as she stares into the dark of the backyard. It's warm–always somewhat warm here, even in the dead of January–but her demeanor feels needlessly icy, like she's putting on a show of it.
You sigh, and take the seat beside her.
"I don't get why you’re so mad about this," you begin.
Now it's her turn to sigh, and in spite of her being nearly a bottle of wine deep by now, she seems strikingly sober.
"I'm not mad," she insists. "I'm just…baffled."
"What's so hard to believe?" you demand, leaning towards her with your hands on your knees, as if proximity will help her see your side more clearly. "Joel has been so good to me, mom. He's-he's kind and charming, and handsome–"
"And twenty years older than you," she interjects. "That man knew you when you were a child."
You vehemently shake your head at the suggestion behind her words.
"No. No, it's not some creepy thing, okay? We never even thought of each other like that until Costa Rica–"
"Are you sure about that? Maybe that's true for you, but how do you know it's true for him? What do you think a man his age wants with a girl like you?"
You just shake and shake and shake your head, defiant. 
"Joel is not a bad guy, mom," you say with finality.
She shrugs, sitting back in her chair, sipping her wine. 
She doesn't believe you.
"Why don't you trust me?" you ask, and it comes out like a whisper, some of the hurt you've been coddling finally coating your tone. It seems to affect her. Carefully assessing your pleading face, she frowns, and then finally, concedes.
Well, almost.
"Maybe you're right," she sighs. "Maybe it's better to just let you get it out of your system."
"Get it out of my system?" you repeat, taken aback. 
She hums, appearing contemplative when she sips her wine now, struck by some new train of thought.
"I mean, you never had a rebellious phase or anything like that," she muses, swirling dark red liquid in her glass. "Always did everything by the book. And then you met Chris and–I mean, there was your whole future right there, right? Then that ended and now…"
She nods to herself, clearly very proud of her little psychoanalytical assessment. 
"This is not about Chris," you assert. It burns your tongue to even say his name. 
"Well, no, not entirely, I'm sure," she agrees with an errant shrug. "I think it's also about me."
Oh, for fuck's sake.
"What?"
"Sweetie, come on. I know you resent me for wanting you to get back together with Chris. Someone you had something great with. And I know–" she holds up a hand to stop you from interrupting, leaving you to seethe in silence instead as she twists the knife even deeper than before. "–I know he hurt you. I don't think you should take him back. But what you're choosing now? This? Wasting time with a man you absolutely have no future with? Your father's friend, for Christ's sake…I can't help but feel like you're trying to prove some kind of point."
Every word, spoken with such flippant disregard for you or your feelings, has heat erupting in your veins all over again.
"Maybe the point," you spit, rising to stand over her, desperately fighting to feel less small. "–is that I fucking like him. Did you ever consider that?"
"I don't doubt that you do, sweetheart," she says, and the sympathy in her voice only serves to make you more enraged. 
"So that's it?" you huff and the hurt is there again in your voice; the hurt and the shame and the sting of betrayal. "You're just...not gonna approve of this?"
"You're an adult, honey, I'm not gonna stop you." She sounds so patronizing you could scream. "But you can't ask me to pretend to be okay with this."
You can't find the words to retort and she doesn't say anything else. All you can do is scoff, shattered and indignant as you leave her behind and storm back inside.
You can't stay here a second longer.
"Joel," you call as you make your way back into the dining room, stopping dead in your tracks at the scene you find there.
Joel and your father, unraveling from what you can only describe as an affable embrace. 
What the fuck?
They both turn to face you and you blink at them dumbly, your temper momentarily dissolving into confusion before you collect yourself.
"We're leaving," you tell him even though you have about a million and one questions to ask both of them. You don't care right now. You just need to get out of here. 
Joel immediately nods without question, sensing the urgency in your tone.
"Kiddo, wait," your dad protests as you grab Joel's hand and drag him towards the front door.
"Happy birthday, dad," you say to the welcome mat. "Sorry for ruining it."
You can sense he's about to say something, but you're already turning the doorknob and stepping through the threshold, tugging Joel along behind you.
"Do you need a ride to your apartment?" your mother's voice calls from somewhere you can't see.
From the front porch, your responding shriek–
"I fucking live with Joel, mom!"
You hear Joel curse under his breath at that; you weren't planning on telling them that part yet. It's a shitty note to end on but you're past the point of caring.
You slam the door shut behind you, and let Joel take you home.
-
In the shallow depths of sleep, a melody intrudes.
A distantly familiar tune that reminds you of hotel rooms and burgers and missed texts and Joel. You can't put your finger on why, your half-conscious mind still piecing it all together like a puzzle made from memories.
Then, a voice.
"She broke down and let me…shit."
You stir at that sound, that voice that feels like a getaway car and home all at once. 
Again, "She broke down and let me in…made me see where I–goddamnit."
You hear what he hears, a sour note on brassy strings. You also hear annoyance in his aggravated sigh, and then you hear him start again.
"She broke down and let me in…made me see where I've been."
You're awake now, creeping up out of his bed in the same dress you'd been wearing at your parents. Your underwear sticks uncomfortably to your thighs and your cunt, a bitter reminder of this evening's earlier pleasure, before it had all come crumbling down. You slip them off and leave them in a heap on the floor.
Your head feels heavy and hot in that way it often does when you fall asleep crying. Joel had let you stew, let you sob and rage and rant and eventually, sleep. Although apparently not for long; the clock on his nightstand lets you know it's barely past eleven. 
You follow the sound of his voice, pad down his stairs and find him in the living room under the orange glow of a floor lamp. He doesn't see you right away, so you allow yourself the time to stare, drinking him in in his boxers and his soft grey t-shirt, acoustic guitar resting on his bare thigh. He's not singing anymore, focused instead on the complex guitar part you remember he'd once told you he knew how to play. He struggles now, but only slightly. To you, his thick fingers move with astonishing skill over the strings, emotion stinging at your tired eyes as he plucks away at the winding melody until–
"Shit," he curses as he loses it, hands falling away from the strings with another frustrated sigh.
He sees you then, standing in the doorway of his living room, watching him. Always watching.
"Hey, baby," he murmurs, smiling up at you softly.
"Try it again," you tell him.
He laughs and shakes his head, bashful.
"I'm no good," he admits. "Can't remember it anymore."
"You sounded good to me. Try it again."
He huffs a little, shaking his head again as he sits up straighter, fingers retaking their place on the strings. He glances down at them for a moment, and then his eyes flash up to yours. 
"No laughin'."
You can't help it, the seriousness of the request makes you giggle. Joel shoots you an indignant glare. "Sorry, sorry–I won’t laugh."
"You're already laughin'."
You bite your lip to stifle any further giggles, silently gesturing for him to go on.
And he does, after a skeptical glance your way and a sigh. He focuses on the strings, and then he starts to play.
It's the same bright melody that awoke you just moments before, the same notes that had echoed out in the haze of a setting sun over room service and confessions all those months ago now. He doesn't sing, intent on his calloused fingers moving along the neck of the guitar. You're intent on him too, feeling the way a smile spreads across your face as you listen, some soft, golden warmth pooling down your spine and settling in the pit of your tummy. The feeling turns to tears in your eyes, the kind of adoration that aches, bursts from every orifice in a manner almost violent. 
You are so lucky. There never needs to be anything more than this, you think. Or at least it's what you tell yourself.
Joel plays until your chest hurts, and then he fumbles.
"Ah, fuck."
His hands abruptly fall when he loses his way, laughing at himself as he finally looks up at you.
"No good, see?"
The lingering ache between your ribs begs to differ.
"You're so talented," you tell him earnestly.
He seems to hear the emotion in your voice, a tenderness overtaking his stare and his lips melding into a tight, sympathetic smile. 
"I mean it," you insist. "You could've been a singer."
Joel chuckles, setting down his guitar and leaning it against the side of the couch. You take it as an invitation, hesitantly crossing the room to stand between his legs and let him take your hands in his. His thick thumbs stroke the backs of your knuckles, callouses catching on soft skin. 
"Maybe if I'd'a been braver," he shrugs. He's gazing up at you, but you can't seem to look away from his hands. "Kept the band goin'."
He winks, but the reminder only makes you think of your father. You quickly change the subject.
"I bet you sang a lot for Sarah, though."
His responding laugh rumbles in the space between you, low and fond, deep in his chest. 
"Did," he says. "'Fore she got old enough to tell me to stop."
You try to laugh too, but it sounds distant even to your own ears. A grating thought begins to claw at your insides as you conjure up an image of a younger Joel, little baby in his arms, sweet brown eyes all alight with devotion and love and fear. An image so foreign to you, a Joel you'll never know, a feeling you'll never know, one you've never even really wanted. And yet you can't unhear that voice–
I'm never gonna have grandchildren, am I?
"Did you ever…"
You quickly swallow the question back, frowning with your gaze still fixed on your conjoined hands. Joel squeezes your fingers lightly, sensing–always sensing–that you're holding something back. 
"What?" he presses. 
You take a deep breath, and let the words spill from you before you can stop to think them through.
"Did you ever think about having another kid?"
There's a long, excruciating pause, Joel staring at your face, you staring at his hands. When he finally speaks, his voice is level, and if he'd heard any sort of implication in your words, he doesn't let on. 
"Sometimes," he slowly nods. "I love bein' a dad. Think I'd'a had way more kids if I thought I coulda managed that. But Sarah was more'n enough."
You share an almost-laugh, two soft exhales passed through two sets of nostrils. You don't know what to say–because truthfully, you don't know what you're after–so all you give him in return is, 
"You did a great job with her."
Another loaded pause and you still can't bring yourself to meet his eyes. Joel's not having it. His fingers hook under your chin and he gently tilts your face up. Tells you, "Look at me," until you finally do. There's genuine curiosity there, in the deep brown of his gaze, a quiet ferocity that does little to put you at ease. 
"Do you…want kids?" he asks. 
You don't know what to say; you don't know the answer. 
"I…"
"It's okay," he assures you. "You're not gonna scare me away."
"No, it's–" You shake your head, feeling stupid. Your brain feels scrambled, all hazy and exhausted. One too many anxieties had been brought to the forefront of your mind this evening and you feel every one of them consuming you now. "I don't think I do."
"Then what's wrong?" he presses, almost pleads. 
Everything, you think. But mostly–
"I think my mom just…got in my head."
Joel's shoulders rise and fall in a deep sigh, his expression shifting to one of understanding. He resituates himself on the couch a bit, opening up his right side for you to crawl up into. His strong arm loops around your back, a warm palm stroking up and down your spine as you let your head fall tiredly against his chest. 
"I probably never will give her grandkids," you mutter after a quiet moment. "I'm her only daughter–it's like, my one job. And it doesn't matter how much I tell myself that's not true, I just always, always come back to this feeling that I'm letting her down."
He waits until you've fallen completely silent, squeezing you into him a little tighter as you speak. You don't cry; you don't think you have any tears left. You're just seeking, needy for that comfort only Joel can provide, the sense of safety he's offered you since that day on the beach when you'd first bared your heart to him. 
He doesn't disappoint. 
"You know, sweetheart," he sighs gruffly. "There ain't a whole lot in my life that's gone the way it was meant to. Hell, I don't think there's been one goddamn day that's gone by where I haven't asked myself if I'm doin' the right thing or if I coulda maybe done somethin' different."
You peer up at him and his big hand cups your face, thumbpad stroking lightly over your cheekbone. 
"You make the most of what you get, and do it for you and the people you care about," he whispers. "There's no schedule. You ain't got some kinda job–" his soft voice twists bitterly around the word, like he's offended at the very suggestion. "–That's not what you're here for. I'd never expect grandkids outta Sarah and it's…fucked up your mom expects that of you."
You can hear him getting worked up, his obvious frustration only further endearing you to him, as if that were even possible. Suddenly, you don't feel nearly close enough, moving to straddle his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. He welcomes you with open arms, holding you firmly against his chest as you bury your face into his shoulder. 
"Thank you, Joel."
"I got you."
A hint of frustration lingers there in his voice, but mostly you feel it in his embrace, his hold so fierce it's like he's trying to carve it right into your muscles–he's got you, he's got you, he's got you. 
You hold each other like that till your breaths match his and you finally feel safe enough to ask what you'd failed to ask before you'd fallen asleep. 
"Joel?"
"Hm?"
You pull back to see his face, knotting your fingers into the soft curls at the nape of his neck. 
"What did you say to my dad? Why wasn't he mad?"
To your surprise, his brows furrow and his eyes flit to the shell around your neck as he swallows nervously. 
"He was mad," Joel admits softly. His hand cups your face, dull fingernails scratching at the side of your head as he speaks. Anchoring. "S'mad as any father'd be if he found out his buddy was screwin' around with his daughter, I reckon."
As mad as I'd be if the roles were reversed, you think he wants to say. 
You nod slowly, searching his face and waiting for him to go on. Joel frowns at your necklace, seeming to just notice the shell is facing the wrong way against your chest. He takes his time readjusting it, like it's the most important thing in the world–and it kind of is, you guess. Eventually, he sighs, resting his palm above your left breast, fingertips brushing your collarbone. 
"'Cept I…" His voice drops an octave, so low and quiet it's like he's talking to himself. "I told him I wasn't just screwin' around with you."
"Oh."
You're not sure why the confession makes your heart pound hot in your ears and butterflies dance in your stomach; you've always known it was more than that with Joel. But something about hearing it out loud has a brightness stirring in your chest, the words so dangerously close to the ones you've almost said for months now.
His other hand wanders up your spine to curl his thick fingers around the nape of your neck. At last, his eyes find yours, two soft, brown, adoring orbs that burn with an intensity so powerful and fearful that you feel his next words before you even hear them.
"And I…I told him I think I'm in love with you."
"Oh."
The air leaves your lungs in a shuddering breath, as a tingling wet warmth pricks at your eyes.
Oh god, you know this feeling, have known it so long. And now Joel breathes life into it, makes it real. The hand behind your neck pulls you in closer and you go without question, let your forehead collide with his as the tears you thought you'd run dry steadily begin to fall. 
"Yeah," he murmurs. 
"Is that true?"
You feel him frown, his body shifting under yours to clutch you into him tighter, like he's trying to show you. 
"Yes," he admits hoarsely. It's hard to see from this angle, but you can just make out the fact that his eyes are wet too, and his forehead feels hot where it rolls under yours. "God, yes–yes, it's true. I'm sorry."
"Don't you dare," you protest, crushing your mouth against his, kissing away the doubt and the guilt and the apologies from him like sucking venom from a snake bite. Between sniffles and kisses, your own hushed confession–
"I love you, Joel. I love you so much."
You feel the change in him the second he hears it, the abandon with which he begins to kiss you. His tongue slips past the seam of your lips, sitting up beneath you just to get you closer still.
"Fuck, I love you," he groans, kissing feverishly along your jaw until he finds your ear, nipping at the lobe while his fingers tangle in your hair. "I'll be whatever you need, baby, whatever you want. M'not goin' anywhere. S'long as you want me."
Your breathing stutters as he trails his lips down, down, down, over your pulse point, past the shell around your neck to suck at the skin above your sternum. 
"I'll fuckin' show her, sweetheart, I'll show her how good I can be for you."
He keeps his face buried against your chest as he rocks his hips upwards, making you gasp when you feel the hard line of his cock make contact with your bare pussy.
"I'll give you a baby f'you want one," he rambles on gruffly, pulling you down into his lap over and over and over. "I'd give you a hundred kids f’that's what you wanted."
You gasp at that, dizzying arousal clouding your vision, drunk on his devotion and the feeling of his clothed cock grinding against your velvet warmth. You imagine him filling you, really filling you, making you his in every conceivable way and it makes you fucking needy. You match his shallow thrusts upwards, chasing contact as you arch your back and press your chest into his, never feeling close enough. 
"Talk to me," he grits out, breath hot against your bare chest. 
But words evade you, lost in his touch as Joel slips the sleeves of your dress off your shoulders to palm at your breasts. He feasts on you, mind and body, bites down hotly on your jawbone and rolls his hips beneath you.
"Talk to me," he repeats, grunting it into the space behind your ear. He grips the hair at the nape of your neck with one hand and pulls your face up to meet his eyeline. His eyes are nearly black, shining with leftover emotion and blazing with covetous need. 
"Fuck me," you sob.
Joel wastes no time, breath shaky as he reaches between your bodies to free his cock from his boxers. He taps your sides and you lift your hips, locked in his stare as you lower yourself back down onto his length. Joel's grip on your hips encourages you to move slowly, though it makes no difference; your jaw still falls open at the stretch, and you pause when you're fully seated just to appreciate the space your body makes for him. 
"Keep talkin'." Joel growls as you adjust. Slick drools from your cunt as you experimentally roll your hips, but Joel's arms around you hold you perfectly still. The tip of his cock tickles the deepest parts of you, his open mouth hovering over yours. Finally as close as he can get, he holds you there.
There are no words for this feeling.
"Can't–I don't–"
You gasp when he shifts beneath you, his thick cock moving inside you just enough to ease the ache, if only for a fleeting moment. Your pussy pulses around him, sticky-wet and so fucking full.
"Just–say anythin', please," he begs. His forehead falls haplessly into your shoulder, heavy and hot and damp with sweat. You bury your face into his curls while his arms around you loosen and at last you start to move–slow, reverent rocks of your hips against his that have you both moaning softly into each other's skin. "You make me feel so fucking good," you breathe raggedly. "No one–no one's ever made me feel as good as you do."
Joel groans, sliding his hands up your spine as you begin to ride him in earnest, impaling yourself down on him again and again and again. 
"Don't–" Joel protests, grabbing at your hips to slow your movements, encouraging you to grind on him instead. "Wanna feel you come on it."
You whimper, letting Joel guide your movements till he pinpoints that perfect spot inside you, each roll of your hips making his cock prod against it while you wet the coarse hairs at his base. 
"Show me how good I make you feel," he huffs as you chase your release, devouring your lips in a kiss that's more shared breaths than anything else. His lower belly rubs at your clit and you feel it start to build, that deep-seated pressure growing in your core and threatening to swallow you. You moan into his mouth and his hand tightens in your hair, clutching you impossibly closer as you increase your pace, greedy in the way you're using him. Joel's obvious pleasure in watching you fall apart stops you from caring. 
"Show me, pretty girl," he rasps, voice low against your lips. "No one else gets to have you like this, do they?"
"No–fuck, Joel!–only you, only you."
"Yeah, baby–you're fuckin'...all mine, huh?" he groans. "My girl. And I'm all yours. All yours, baby. Lemme hear it. Lemme see."
"I'm yours–please," you cry as your orgasm licks up your spine, building slowslowslow then crashing into you all at once. Your hips stutter and you clench around his cock, a high-pitched wail pouring from your mouth into his and Joel just talks you through it, a quiet refrain of there you go, there you go, there you go as you gush down onto his balls. 
"You're so fucking perfect," Joel growls before it even ends, unable to stop himself anymore from fucking up into you. The hurried drag of his cock moving wetly in and you of your spent hole prolongs the pleasure, shooting aftershocks through your veins until you lie limply against his chest and let him find his own high. 
You whine into his shoulder while you let him ride it out, his arms so tight around your back you wonder if your bodies won't just melt into one. 
"Come in me, Joel," you implore him weakly, clawing listlessly at his scalp. Fresh tears collect in your eyes and spill out onto your cheeks and you can't imagine there is anyone on Earth as full as you are right now. As full of love and warmth and Joel. 
"Oh, fuck," he moans, losing his rhythm slightly as he nears his edge, pounding up into you harder. "I will–m'gonna–"
His rambling chokes off into a laboured grunt, his entire frame shuddering under you as he comes. He pumps his seed into the deepest parts of you until hot cum seeps past your walls and down his length. He doesn't stop moving till he's emptied himself completely, breathless and faded when his lips find yours again, his cock still buried inside you. 
"I don't want any babies," you tell him as you come down, clutching at the sides of his face and kissing every part of him you can reach. "I just want you. Just me and you."
Joel nods, pulling you into a sticky-warm embrace, breathing unevenly into your hair.
"Just me and you, babygirl," he vows, voice barely above a whisper. "Just me and you."
one month later
Winter is so long.
You know on some level that with each passing day, the sun hangs in the sky a little longer than it did the day before, but it never really feels that way, does it? It's just winter, cool and dark and barren, until suddenly, it's spring. The leaves will return and the flowers will bloom and you'll be left wondering when the hell winter even started in the first place.
For now, you remain in the thick of it. Mid-February brings with it a rare weekend of snow, barely enough to coat the earth, a pitiful dusting destined to melt by Monday. Not that you need much of an excuse these days to spend your free time sheltered inside with Joel, but it's nice to have a reason for once. Cross-legged on his living room floor with Henry in your lap, Joel sitting above you on the couch with his guitar across his knees, you'd be content to stay this way forever.
Of course, a grey cloud of irresolution still hovers over you; you don't try to reach your mother, and after about a week of ignoring her texts, she stops trying to reach you. And it's fine. It's fine. You don't need her approval and you don't need her judgment. Beside, the more time that passes since your father's birthday dinner, the more you accept that her response had–probably–been coming from a place of concern. You know she's not an evil person. It's still easier to stay angry with her, though.
Then there's the other cloud, somehow darker and even more ominous, the nimbus that's been following you since before Costa Rica. Heather. Apparently she's changed her number, because she's been texting you non-stop for the past week, pleading for the chance to be forgiven, to meet for coffee, to come over and catch up–anything.
And the worst part is, you're starting to consider it.
It's not lost on you that you've been isolating yourself with Joel since last summer, and while your parents now know you're dating, it's not really like you can talk about it with them. Plus, you'd be lying if you said you didn't miss her–at least, what you had with her before…everything. You're not sure you can ever truly get that back but you're beginning to wonder if maybe some version of it still exists.
"You don't gotta take the high road or nothin'," Joel had said when you'd told him. "But you can always hear her out. Ain't no shame in that. But only f'that's what you want."
Supportive to a fault. For once–just once–you wish he'd just tell you exactly what to do.
Anyway, most days you barely think of Heather, or your mom. Most days are consumed by work and Henry and Joel. You aren't thinking of them right now, for instance.
"Right–sing that high part again," Joel tells you, after accompanying you through the first verse of Fleetwood Mac's "I Don't Want to Know" for the third time in a row now.
You frown. "The…high part?"
Joel rolls his eyes–a little dramatic. "The part you were just singin'."
You sigh exasperatedly–you'd just been messing around, casually jumping in when he'd started strumming the familiar intro. But then he'd gone and looked all proud and smiley and impressed and curious and now it may as well be a goddamn singing lesson with the way he's bossing you around.
You straighten your spine, fill your tummy with air just like Joel had taught you, and nod. "Okay, okay."
He plays you in, and then you sing for him.
I don't want to know the reasons why Love keeps right on walking on down the line I don't want to stand between you and love Honey, I just want you to feel fine
He lets you get through half a verse before he stops you. 
"Good," he says. "Feel where that's sittin'?"
"No," you scoff. You don't even know what that means. "I can't sing, Joel."
"You can," he insists, smirking. "And you're doin' great. Try it again."
You roll your eyes now, taking another deep breath before he leads you into another refrain.
Only this time, when you start singing, he joins in too. A harmony, lower than the part you're singing, the two lines perfectly melding together in the space between your bodies. Your eyes widen at the sound you create, something beautiful crafted from two voices coming together as one. It tickles your ears in the strangest way, and by the time you get through a verse together, you're laughing in wonder, Henry finally jumping out of your lap, clearly betrayed by the unpleasant vibrations of your joy.
"Sounded pretty good, huh?" Joel grins.
Your eyes are still wide with shock and even if you still highly doubt your abilities, you can't deny that it did, in fact, sound pretty fucking good. "That was so cool."
"See?" He cocks his eyebrows, setting the guitar down beside him so it's leaning against the front of the couch. "You can sing."
"Yeah, yeah," you laugh. From the other room, you hear the front door open and close–right on time. "You're just a good teacher."
"Who's that? Joel?" a familiar voice says, your father rounding the corner from the hallway into the living room, shrugging off his jacket as he goes. "Yeah, right."
"Hey, dad," you greet him, as casually as you can muster.
He hesitates in the doorway, still a bit uncertain of his place here, even though it's become fairly standard now for him to pop in on the weekends like this. The three of you had made the decision to work towards normalizing your relationship with Joel even if it feels…less than comfortable sometimes. You try to think of it as a win-win; your dad gets his friend back, and you get to feel like at least one of your parents supports your relationship. 
You smile warmly up at him from your place on the carpet, and at last he eases into the room, stopping to pull you into a one-armed hug on his way to the La-Z-Boy.
He's giving you his own best attempt at a smile as he sits himself down on the chair next to Joel, the two of them greeting each other in that grunted, male way, hands slapped on shoulders with all the casual friendliness of two people who've known each other for years.
It's a work in progress. But you're grateful that he's trying. 
"Can I hear?" your dad asks, nodding towards the guitar perched beside Joel. You cringe at the thought of that, immediately glancing at Joel with barely-concealed horror in your eyes. 
"Oh, I don't–" you begin to protest but your father cuts you off. 
"C'mon, just a little."
Joel's cheeks flush a light shade of pink, his own embarrassment showing through the crooked smirk he's wearing. He tilts his head at you and shrugs, resigned. Might as well. 
"Alright," you reluctantly agree. "Sure, okay."
Joel's lips split in a genuine smile then, as he reaches for his guitar and your father sits back into his chair. You can feel him looking between the two of you, assessing the silent conversation you share with your eyes, the familiarity, the safety, the love. The way Joel nods at you encouragingly and shoots you a little thumbs up, watching you with furrowed brows until you nod back, a quiet indication you're as ready as you'll ever be. 
Then he starts to play.
You keep your eyes on Joel, not just because the even nodding of his head helps keep you in time, but also because it's just too embarrassing to look at your dad. Joel holds your stare, and together, you sing. His voice rings out in that same harmony from before, seamlessly knotting with yours. He lets it go on longer this time, watching your confidence grow as he guides you through the song, all the way through once, then again. Eventually you start to forget your father is there at all, honestly too enraptured by how easy it's starting to feel to hold your harmony alongside Joel's, how satisfying it feels to hear the two melodies intersect and resolve, stronger and stronger with each passing refrain. 
It's kind of magical, how something that once felt so foreign feels so comfortable with Joel. 
You get through two rounds of verses and choruses before Joel finally cuts it off with a chuckle and a final little flourish of his guitar. 
It's quiet for a moment as the remnants of your duet fade into the ether. You're still staring at Joel. 
"You guys sound really good together," your dad eventually says and when you turn to face him, you find his lips are pressed into a tight smile, an earnest sort of warmth swimming in his eyes. "Real good."
1K notes · View notes
angelfic · 9 months
Text
— CALM AFTER THE STORM
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pairing: remus lupin x reader
summary: the 4 times you hate each other, and the one time you don’t. alternatively, remus lupin is a pain in your arse and yours alone.
warnings: enemies to lovers, swearing, kissing, mention of blood and wounds, some bad writing as always which is unedited
author’s note: just a little e2l fic for my own indulgence as its my fave trope and its criminal how i barely have any e2l fics… also haven’t written anything in ages soooo enjoy!
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when he just has to be controversial
The sun was beaming, colourful rays reflecting over your book through the stained-glass windows of the Gryffindor common room as you lounged on the sofa with your head in Lily’s lap. You were barely paying attention to the chatter of your friends around you, choosing to focus on your copy of ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ and Marlene’s soft guitar playing. The lazy afternoon is a welcome break from the increasingly stressful N.E.W.T lessons that have had you all so exhausted, you’re not sure if Peter is asleep or dead from his curled-up position on the rug.
You don’t even realise someone is saying your name until Marlene tickles the sole of your socked foot with her guitar pick, making you yelp and draw your legs in from where they were previously tucked in between Marlene and her guitar.
“What was that for?” you grumble, nudging her arm with your foot.
Marlene smirks, nodding over to James. “He told me to get your attention. Didn’t specify how.”
You roll your eyes and turn on your side to face the boy in question, his grin unfaltering as he multitasks polishing the handle of his broomstick and talking to you. “Not my fault you’re dead to the world when you’re reading,” he says, matter-of-fact, continuing when you raise your eyebrows in impatience. “I was just wondering how you could look so interested in that book. Remus said he’d do my homework for a month if I finished it the other day and I couldn’t get past five arse-numbingly dull pages.”
You scoff, adjusting your position again to face Remus as well. “And why was Remus betting you to read my book, exactly?”
“It was my copy,” Remus replies, scribbling away on his parchment, cross legged on his chair, to undoubtedly finish the Potions essay that Slughorn had set yesterday. You’re transfixed on the way his hand is moving across the page for a second, unable to fathom how someone can have such messy handwriting. You aren’t surprised in the slightest that the next words coming out of his mouth are ones you disagree with. “I wanted to see how long he lasted reading the slowest-paced book in the world.”
You abruptly sit up at this, shutting your book and forgetting plans of relaxation.
“Hey, watch it!” Lily exclaims, lifting the bottle of black polish she’s using to paint Sirius’ nails from its balanced position on her thigh to avoid you spilling it all over her white top. “If you’re about to argue, please refrain from throwing things until after I’ve done the second coat of nail polish.”
You pointedly ignore this and narrow your eyes at Remus who, infuriatingly, still hasn’t lifted his head from his essay. “I’m surprised you found it hard to read such a slow book. Thought that’d be perfect for you.”
“Look what you’ve started, Prongs,” Sirius sighs, examining his nails.
Seeing the corners of Remus’ lips pull up into a slight smile at your comment just spurs you on in defence of the book you were previously enjoying. “Besides, it’s about a real-life teenager with real-life struggles, not The Hobbit on his latest adventure.”
“Who’s Hobbit?” James mumbles, scratching his head in confusion as Marlene just shrugs, equally oblivious.
“It’s overrated,” Remus insists, finally setting down his quill to look at you. The amused expression still hasn’t left his face and you make a noise halfway between a scoff and a high-pitched squeal of indignance. “Even James agrees.”
“Oh, and James’ opinion on literature is the standard now?” You raise a brow, tutting when James starts to protest. “The only book James has finished in the last six years was Quidditch Through the Ages.”
The way James slowly slides the aforementioned book under one of the sofa cushions doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. Sirius starts snickering, much to Lily’s annoyance as she tries to control his hand. “She got you there, in fairness, mate.”
Sirius’ chortling seems to stir Peter from his sleep and he opens one eye to peer at you. Seeming to catch sight of your irritated expression, he frowns. “Are these two arguing like an old married couple again?”
“Merlin help us if these two ever decide to get married,” Marlene utters under her breath, bent over her guitar and avoiding the weight of your glare.
“Yeah, he wishes,” you grumble, shuffling around on the sofa to get back into a comfortable position with your book. Remus’ smile has only widened in response and he seems to enjoy your discomfort as you overcompensate for showing your annoyance by wriggling about.
“I dream about it every night,” Remus replies, dryly and Peter giggles below you before turning over to sleep again.  
You overcompensate a little too much by moving around, because Lily huffs from beside you and starts scrambling around for a tissue. “What did I say about the second coat?”
“I didn’t throw anything this time!”
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2. when he won’t let you give someone a black eye
Defence Against the Dark Arts is your favourite N.E.W.T subject for a lot of reasons. You enjoy the lesson content, it’ll be useful in future years, and it’s the one lesson you share with every single one of your friends.
You’ve gotten used to James and Sirius messing around while Professor Marigold recites fact after fact about spells and creatures and wizards of dark nature. Its like soothing background noise to you and your classmates who all concentrate in silence most of the time.
Which is why your quill stops on your page and leaves a growing ink blot when you hear snickering and whispers from the other side of the classroom rather than from in front of you where the marauders sit in a line.
The scoffs of disgust coming from Snape and Mulciber are loud enough to attract the attention of the rest of the students and even the teacher, who eventually sets down her piece of chalk in the middle of talking about Wolfsbane potion with an impatient sigh.
“Is there some sort of pressing issue that can’t wait until after class to discuss, boys?” Professor Marigold asks with a tone of ire that would impress Professor McGonagall. “Even Black and Potter have decided to give it a rest today.”
She’s not wrong, you think, noting how they’ve been less disruptive than usual for this lesson, probably tired out from setting each other’s robes on fire in Charms the hour before.
“The pressing issue is werewolves,” Snape mutters quietly, as though he doesn’t want to make a big issue but can’t stop himself from speaking up. “We should be learning more about how to kill them and less about the price of potion ingredients.”
Lily gasps from beside you and Sirius and James tense up at his words. Remus doesn’t lift his head, but you absently notice how his grip tightens around his quill when Peter nervously turns to him. Peter isn’t one for conflict and he’s always been nervous around this particular group of Slytherins, so you’re not surprised he’s anxious.
“Werewolves are still people, you can’t just go around killing them!” you find your mouth moving on its own, before your brain can catch up. When Snape turns to direct his scowl at you, its matched by your own as well as Lily’s disappointed frown. “They didn’t ask to be werewolves, they physically can’t help it! How would you feel if people wanted to kill you for not being able to control being such an arse.”
“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor Marigold warns, setting her stern eyes on you. You’re not one for disrupting lessons or getting into trouble, so when Remus turns around to look at you with a raised eyebrow, your cheeks start to warm and you stubbornly don’t look his way again.
Snape ignores her to continue glaring at you. “I don’t have the capacity to kill people in a feral rage now, do I?” His gaze flits from you to Lily and Marlene and then lingers on the boys. “Of course, you’re defending werewolves. It’s no surprise considering who you choose to associate yourself with.”
“Mr Snape.”
“You have no need to fly into a feral rage to kill people,” you reply, voice steadily rising in volume. Sirius and James turn their heads back and forth like they’re watching a tennis match and you know the only reason they haven’t piped up to agree with you is because they’re too entertained watching the way you’re about to jump out of your seat to pounce on Snape. “All you need to do is show someone your face for them to die of fright–”
“ENOUGH!” Professor Marigold’s booming voice cuts through the laughter of everyone on the Gryffindor side of the classroom and when you turn to look at her, you see even Remus’ shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. You’re not sure why this pleases you, but it doesn’t last long enough for you to figure it out before Marigold waves her wand in the direction of the door and sends it flying open. “Both of you will wait for me outside the classroom until the lesson has finished so I can discuss your appalling behaviour.”
You gape at her for a second, before relenting and grabbing your bag, not wanting to argue with her authority. Your friends have different ideas.
“That’s not fair!” Marlene exclaims, standing up in protest. “She didn’t even do anything wrong.”
“Yeah,” James agrees, also standing up. “Snape’s the one who was being an annoying pri–”
“Sit down, everyone,” Marigold cuts him off, pursing her lips. “Everyone except Mr Snape and Miss Y/L/N. Do not even think about speaking Mr Black, or I won’t hesitate to suspend your and Mr Potter’s Quidditch privileges until further notice.”
Sirius shuts his mouth after a nudge from James and you shoot your friends a grateful smile before making your way out of the classroom, followed closely by Snape.
The door shuts behind him and you don’t bother sparing him a glance before dumping your bag on the ground and leaning against a wall to focus your gaze on a suit of armour for the next five minutes. You’re about half a minute in when you notice that one of the hands are slightly wonky and the classroom door suddenly opens.
Remus, of all people, enters the hallway to join the two of you and quickly shuts the door.
“What are you doing here?” you ask, furrowing your brows and getting up from against the wall.
“Yeah, what are you doing here?” Snape sneers at him, and you give him a scathing look before turning to Remus for an answer.
Remus pointedly ignores him to stand next to you against the brick wall. “I just pointed out to Professor Marigold that you both have your wands and she may not have two students left out here by the end of the lesson.”
“I can defend myself,” you snort, folding your arms. You aren’t sure if you’re annoyed that Remus is insinuating otherwise, or if you’re touched that he doesn’t want you to be hexed into oblivion by Snape. “Especially from him.”
“Oh, I know,” Remus raises both hands in surrender as his tone becomes grave. “It’s not you I’m worried about, trouble.”
“Ha ha,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes at the nickname. He started it around a year ago when you got your first ever detention for helping Sirius and James Charm the Slytherin chairs to throw them off every time someone sat. Your friends had kept quiet about your involvement, but Peeves had spotted you, the nosy bastard. The nickname stemmed from the fact it was the first time you had ever gotten into trouble and it never failed to irritate you. “You better be careful I don’t hex you.”
“I wouldn’t dream of annoying you,” he says, but the serious tone of voice is ruined by the way his lips are twitching in an attempt not to laugh at you. “After what happened when I said I didn’t like that one Jane Austen book? Forget it.”
“Hey, you insulted one of my favourite characters,” you point out, resting a hand on your hip. “What did Emma ever do to you? You had that hex coming.”
“I had pink hair for a week,” Remus narrows his eyes at you, but you can tell he isn’t really angry. Although he refuses to admit it, you know for a fact he didn’t hate the pink hair considering how good he looked with it. An annoying indiscretion on your part. Remus looks behind you for a split second before leaning in a little to whisper. “I won’t get in the way if you want to turn Snape’s hair pink, though. Preferably a very bright shade of flaming, hot pink.”
At risk of your own cheeks flaming up from how close he is – really, what’s the need? – you shake your head let your hair fall into your face. Almost having forgotten Snape is also there, you start when he scoffs (for what you think is the millionth time this afternoon) and you sigh before facing him begrudgingly. “What now?”
“Couldn’t handle the content of today’s lesson?” he asks, tiling his head. You’re about to ask him what the hell he’s talking about before you realise, he isn’t actually talking to you, but to the boy behind you.
“Uh…” you trail off, not sure how to respond. All three of you currently standing in the corridor know that Remus is smart enough to tackle any type of content, especially something as memorable and interesting as werewolves.
Remus’ amused demeanour has been wiped away and you can’t determine his exact expression, but his voice is cold when he talks to you. “Just ignore him.”
“You and your group of friends can’t help themselves when it comes to defending strays and all sorts,” Snape continues, much to your confusion. “It’s not enough that you’re a group full of blood-traitors and mudbloods…”
Remus tenses up behind you and you find yourself frozen for a second.
The next thing you know, you’re lunging at the greasy-haired Slytherin with every intention of hurting his face with your fists, wand long forgotten. Your fingers barely brush his robes, however, when you feel yourself being hauled back by strong arms that wrap around your middle.
“Let go!” you snarl, enjoying the way Snape has backed away, eyes wide and worried. “Did you hear what he said? Remus, let me go.”
He doesn’t relent, still holding onto you when he leans down to speak in your ear. “You’ve already gotten into trouble. You’ll get into a whole lot more when everyone walks out to see Snape with a black eye and you with bruised knuckles.”
“Worth it,” you grit out, still pulling away from his grip and throwing daggers with your eyes at Snape. After a few more seconds of pointless struggling, you relax very slightly just to turn in his arms so you can direct your next words to him more pointedly. “Not only is he a slimy, blood-supremacist twat, but he also wants to kill a poor bunch of werewolves. We should be throwing him into the bloody Black Lake!”
“I know, I-” Remus is cut off when the door opens and students start flooding into the corridor to provide a barrier between you and Snape, indicating the end of the lesson. Remus finally lets you go when he realises you’re in direct view of Professor Marigold who stands behind her desk, waiting for you. “I had no idea you were such an advocate for werewolves.”
It’s the last thing you expected him to say and you immediately look up at him and frown. “Again, they’re people. They don’t deserve to be victims of prejudice just as no one does.” He doesn’t respond, staring at you with an unreadable expression and a hint of a smile. Your frown deepens in confusion. Was he… laughing at you? Especially after you had just gotten along. “I’m so glad you find me amusing,” you say, scowling and storming back into the classroom and away from Remus.
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3. when he's too good for flower crowns.
“Tell it again,” James insists, grin wide as ever plastered onto his face despite the withering look you send his way. “Getting a glimpse at even the possibility of Snivellus getting pummelled by Y/N would have made my entire year.”
“The galleons I’d give up to have been there,” Sirius releases a wistful sigh, closing his eyes as he lies down, facing the sun.
You hand him the daisy chain crown you just finished and he dutifully dons it. “I’ll alert the Ministry of Magic to order in a time-turner for an issue of utmost urgency,” you say sarcastically as you start on the next daisy chain. Sirius merely winks at you.
“I think you should’ve let her have at him, Remus,” Marlene states, unapologetic. You nod vehemently in agreement, a little too enthusiastically as you end up splitting a daisy down the middle.
Lily tuts, adjusting her own flower crown as it slips against her silky red hair. “I’m glad you didn’t. Godric knows what Professor Marigold would have done,” she shudders at the thought, ever the diligent student.
“Forget Marigold,” Peter chimes in. “Imagine what Professor McGonagall would have done.”
You don’t miss how he looks over his shoulder in case your head of house is taking a stroll along the grassy grounds.
“She would have combusted when you called him an ugly arse,” Remus pipes in, unhelpfully might you add, from where he sits slightly away from the group under a tree, reading.
The comment sends Marlene, Sirius and Peter into a fit of laughter – James is too busy staring at the way the sun is making Lily look ethereal and she’s too busy pretending not to notice while being secretly pleased. Doing a quick survey of your friends, you see everyone now has a flower crown except Remus. You make your way to the tree he’s resting against while the others chat, and sit yourself down with purpose.
Remus lowers his book very slightly to peer at you and your too-sweet smile. He raises a sceptical brow. “Should I be scared right now?”
You drop the fake smile and hold up your flower crown expectantly. “Everyone has one, but you.”
“How observant,” he says, setting his book down to look at you in mock astonishment. “Have the Aurors at the Ministry caught wind of you yet?”
“Don’t be a pain,” you groan, dropping it onto his open book. “I want everyone to wear one for the picture!”
Remus sighs, looking at the large camera over by your bag. You had saved up all summer to buy a magical camera to be able to take pictures of you and your friends in your final year at Hogwarts. The time you used your own muggle camera was a disaster of sparks and broken bits of plastic that took hours to mend. “I already agreed to your incessant picture-taking,” he reminds you, acting like it’s the most painful thing in the world. “The flower crown is not happening.”
“Fine, you miserable git,” you flick a handful of grass at him, sending him sputtering. “Now come and sit for the photo.”
You return to the group with Remus behind you and get everyone in position before hunting down someone to take the photo. Glancing around, you spot a close bunch of first-years and send Lily to use her Head Girl credentials (and warm and inviting personality, of course) to rope one of them into coming over.
“Okay, smile everyone,” you order, plopping down on the grass next to James. You elbow him in the ribs, not even having to look at him to know what he’s doing. “Stop looking at Lily and look at the camera.”
With a couple of mutterings and some nudging, the nervous first-year Hufflepuff girl shakily takes the picture and hurriedly hands you the camera in the middle of the picture sliding out of it. James and Sirius go back to playing with a golden Snitch while Peter watches, while Remus returns to his book.
Lily looks at the picture and coos over how cute everyone looks at the same time as Marlene complaining about her hair. You impatiently take the picture back to slide it into your photo album and something catches your eye.
Sirius is making a peace sign behind Remus’ head. His head that wears a flower crown.
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4. when he bleeds out on you.
You’re not sure what time it is – either very late at night, or very early in the morning. You do know, however, that you want to finish your Herbology essay so you can enjoy tomorrow (or today) and cheer your friends on in the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw Quidditch game. You only have the conclusion left and you’re confident it’ll be done in the next ten minutes.
If you can find your damned quill, that is. You could have sworn you had it ten minutes ago, just before you snuck down to the kitchens to persuade the house-elves to give you the strongest cup of coffee they could make. You take a quick sip and grimace at the lukewarm temperature before setting it down and getting up to search. After turning every sofa cushion upside down, you go to crouch behind the sofa.
You hear the door to the common room being swung open and the hushed voices of the Marauders enter, but you don’t take too much notice as you squint for your quill. It isn’t unusual for the boys to be roaming around the castle at odd hours of the night, but a hiss of pain grabs your attention at the same time you spot the quill.
“Can you guys manage taking him up to the-” Sirius cuts himself off when your face pops up from behind the sofa. He freezes in his efforts to hold up Remus, who you notice is leaning on him and James and Merlin’s balls he’s covered in blood.
“What the fuck happened to him?” Your voice comes out weak as you walk over to the boys. Remus has deep, bleeding slashes over his chest and an assortment of little cuts on his face and hands. He seems barely able to keep his eyes open but when his gaze meets yours, he winces. He isn’t the only one hurt and you realise Sirius’ arm is damp with blood and trembling, the same going for James’ thigh. “What the fuck happened to all of you, oh my God…?”
“Peter, you were supposed to keep watch,” James hisses at the boy who looks like a deer in headlights. He looks a lot better than the others, with only a couple of small cuts scattered around his face and arms.
“She was behind the sofa!”
James’ leg buckles and you snap out of your state of shock to dart forward and keep him steady. “Right. Shit, okay,” you breathe out, holding off asking any questions to prevent anyone from bleeding out. “James, Sirius, set Remus down on the sofa and take off his shirt. Peter, help these two up the stairs and go find a first-aid kit or something.”
“We’ve got a couple in the dorm,” Sirius says, summoning one of them down with a quick Accio and handing it to you. He hesitates for a second, probably unsure if he should stay and explain things, before deciding to turn in the direction of the stairs with James as Peter rushes to help them up. “Look after him, please. We’ll be right back, Moony.”
“Take your time, I’ve got him,” you utter, already fiddling with the first-aid box and trying to open it with shaky hands. You’re no healer, but you know enough to panic when you see Remus has had his eyes closed for the last few seconds. “Remus, keep your eyes open!”
He groans, cracking one eye open to look at you. “I’m injured and bleeding out and you still manage to yell at me.”
“I wasn’t yelling,” you frown, unscrewing the bottle of dittany and scrambling for the cotton pads. You try to avoid Remus’ gaze because you feel extremely silly about being more panicked than him when he’s the one with claw marks down his chest. “Don’t move, or it’ll hurt.”
While dabbing the liquid onto the deep gashes in an attempt to close them up, you ponder on the fact that he probably knows it hurts from experience. You’re not completely clueless.
“What are you thinking?” Remus whispers in the stifling quiet of the common room, looking unsure.
You don’t cease in your movements, changing cotton pad after cotton pad. It takes you a minute to muster up the courage to meet Remus’ gaze again and this time he looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”
Remus gives you an almost imperceptible nod, like he doesn’t want to admit to it. You take a deep breath.
“Who else knows?” you ask calmly, as if you’re asking him about the weather.
“The boys and Lily,” he admits, swallowing hard. “Oh, and Snape.”
“Snape?” you exclaim, halting your dabbing to gawp at Remus. “I’m not saying you had to tell me or anything, but Snape?”
 Remus winces and you don’t think it has anything to do with his injuries. “In my defence he found out on his own and hates me for it,” he rushes out. “And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you… I-”
“It’s fine,” you cut him off, waving him off and wondering how good you’re hiding the fact you’re a little hurt. “You didn’t have to tell me.”
“No, I wanted to. I did,” Remus insists, looking earnest. There’s something in his voice that’s a little pained and desperate that has you meeting his eyes. “I just couldn’t have dealt with it if you started looking at me differently. The boys and Lily sometimes do, y’know? Like I’m made of glass or something. It’s refreshing whenever you scowl at me or call me an idiot or an arse or a stupid gi-”
“Okay,” you stop him, stifling a grin. “I get it!”
Remus’ eyes flash with relief for a second before you notice doubt start to creep in again. “You don’t need to hide it, by the way. I won’t hold it against you if… If you’re scared or disgusted, or-”
“What?” you cut him off again and scrunch your nose in confusion. “I’m not scared or disgusted. Why would you think that?”
“You’ve been a bit too calm,” he points out.
Rolling your eyes, you grab a bandage to start patching up the worst of the injuries before you move onto the minor cuts and bruises. “I didn’t want you to think I was freaking out, or looking at you differently,” you quote his own words to him with a pointed look, making him smile again. “I don’t, you know. Think of you any differently, I mean.”
His expression is unreadable as he just looks at you and you just look at him, bandage hovering over his chest before his fingers come up to brush the back of your hand. He lightly holds your hand, softly running his thumb over your knuckle as his voice drops to a whisper again. “Thank you.”
You offer him a gentle smile, holding his gaze for a second longer before focusing on bandaging him up again. His hand drops to the side and you oddly find yourself missing his warmth. The large bandage adheres to his skin and you run your fingers along the sides to stick them down, feeling him shudder under your touch.
You quickly busy yourself with looking for more supplies in the kit to hide the way your own breathing has increased slightly. “Hey, anyway, I almost walloped Snape right in the eye for you. If that wasn’t any indication of my standing on werewolves, I don’t know what is.”
“Ah, my knight in shining armour,” Remus chuckles before breaking into a wheeze as the muscles of his injured abdomen contract. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh.”
“Don’t laugh at me then!”
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5. when you’re definitely not jealous… you’re not!
Three cups of coffee. You’re on three cups of coffee. It’s also the same number of hours you’ve slept and by Godric can you feel it in every inch of your body as the muted chatter of the Great Hall buzzes around you. Your head is in your hands as you contemplate stealing some Polyjuice potion and bribing a first-year to take a dose with your hair in it so you can go to bed and they can pretend to watch the Quidditch match.
You knock back the last sip of coffee when you sense a presence sliding onto the bench in front of you. Groggily setting the cup down, you see that its Remus. It takes a second to remember why this is concerning.
“Morning, h- Wait, what the hell are you doing out of bed?” you hiss, leaning forward to avoid anyone listening in. You scan your eyes over his chest, two seconds away from ripping his shirt off to check his bandages. “How are you even standing?”
“Relax, Florence Nightingale,” Remus says, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. He does his own quick sweep of the table and sees that most people are out in the Quidditch stands already, so he proceeds to pull the neckline of his shirt down slightly to reveal an already fading scar. No bleeding in sight. “I went to Madame Pomfrey with the boys this morning and she hurried up the process like she usually does. I feel achier than a 90-year-old woman with a metal hip, but the brunt of it is gone and Pads and Prongs are good as new.”
“Okay,” you say slowly, narrowing your eyes slightly. “If you’re sure you can sit out in the stands…”
“I can once I’ve consumed every cup of tea on the premises,” he says, reaching for the teapot. An annoyingly smug smirk starts to appear on his face while he pours. “What, are you worried about me, trouble?”
You scowl instantly. “No, I just don’t want you collapsing on me in the Quidditch stands while I’m cheering the boys on.”
“Right.” He hides his grin behind his cup of tea.
“Hey,” you mumble, nodding to Patricia Holloway who looks like she’s making a beeline to your table. More specifically, towards Remus. “Bright and cheery Hufflepuff incoming.”
“Merlin, it’s too early for this,” Remus whispers, taking another sip of tea before his face breaks out into a charming smile directed at the girl who slides into the empty seat next to him. “Morning, Patricia.”
“You look good today, Remus,” Patricia rests her elbow on the table and tilts her head to look at him with simpering eyes. It’s no secret Remus is good-looking and you’ve heard a million girls talk about him before. You’ve never seen any of them approach him yourself, though. You can’t say you enjoy it. “Are you… okay, Y/N?”
You didn’t realise you were scowling until she addresses you and you rapidly smooth out your expression, clearing your throat. Remus looks amused, which makes it harder to keep the scowl off your face. “Fine! I’m fine, just a bit confused since Remus looks half asleep,” you attempt a laugh through gritted teeth and are spurred on when Remus is actively trying to fight a grin. “And his hair currently makes him look like he’s been dragged through the Forbidden Forest.”
He can’t stop himself snorting at that, but Patricia just looks confused as though unsure how to react. She settles on a nervous little laugh, turning back to him. “I can fix that for you, here,” she says, scooting closer and starts to run her hands through Remus’ hair. You poke your cheek with your tongue, marvelling at how bold she’s being and how Remus is just sat there, still looking amused as ever. “There, what do you think?”
“A hairbrush couldn’t have done a better job,” you deadpan, softening your expression slightly when Patricia begins to look a little disconcerted. “You keep doing that, I’m going to head off to the Quidditch field.”
You all but storm out of the Great Hall, exhaustion having left you completely. It’s replaced by a newfound whirl of irritation that pools in your stomach and creeps up your throat, making you feel a little sick. It must be the coffee, you think, and you’re trying to remember if the beverage has ever made you experience this when all of a sudden there’s a hand circling your wrist.
“Stop, Y/N,” Remus says, a little breathless. You didn’t realise he’d run out after you and you feel bad about his injuries before your gaze snags on his newly tousled hair. “Godric, you walk fast.”
“I didn’t ask you to catch up to me,” you snap, purposely scowling this time. The cheeky bastard still looks amused and your irritation is growing faster than ever. “Besides, the match doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Plenty of time for Patricia to give you a whole new hairdo. Maybe she can give you plaits or– Why are you laughing.”
“You’re jealous,” he exhales with a smile, sounding positively delighted. Any feelings of concern have disappeared and are being rapidly replaced with wanting to thwack him upside the head. “Oh my God, you really are jealous.”
“Jealous, my arse,” you scoff, turning your back to him with every intention of speed walking out of the castle. His long legs keep up with you easily and he rushes in front of you to stop you going anywhere. You glare at him. “Leave me alone, Lupin.”
“Not until you admit that you’re jealous.” Remus is positively giddy with glee and you feel a flush of heat crawling up your neck. You set your jaw stubbornly and he’s incredulous as he shakes his head. “Merlin, you really have to argue with me on everything don’t you? I don’t care about Patricia Holloway and I’m glad you’re jealous. Means you’re less likely to break my nose when I kiss you.”
You barely get the chance to make an incoherent noise when Remus grabs you by the waist and presses his lips against yours, kissing you like he isn’t prepared to let you go anytime soon. His mouth slides hot and wet against your own and you gasp into the kiss when he nips lightly at your lip, your hands coming up to slide into his hair, making it unruly all over again.
Remus is the first to break apart, too soon, and you physically restrain yourself from chasing after his lips. He pulls back slightly, breathing fast to look into your eyes, searching for the answer you’re unable to speak yet.
“You… uh, I-I’m…” you trail off, dazed and breathless and head swirling with every emotion under the sun.
Remus laughs, pulling you impossibly close and leaving a soft kiss on your jaw, which doesn’t help your current speech issues. “If I knew that was all it took to shut you up, I’d have kissed you years ago.”
“Wha-!” You slap his arm, snapping out of the haze. You hide your current uncertainty behind a glare. It hit you like a ton of bricks, but you realised about five seconds into the kiss that you wanted Remus Lupin in every way, shape and form. You’re more than a little terrified, so what better defence mechanism than anger? “Why did you actually kiss me, you prick?”
“You are the densest, most clueless,” Remus begins, pausing to kiss you lightly a couple times when you start to scowl. “Most stubborn and most beautiful little witch I’ve ever known. And if you haven’t figured out after almost seven years that I love you, then I’m afraid we might have to admit you to St Mungo’s, because really-”
“Stop,” you whisper, lifting a finger to press against his lips, effectively silencing him. “You love me? You actually, seriously love me?”
He rolls his eyes and nods, like it’s obvious or something. You huff. “Then why have you been such an annoying pain in my bloody arse, Remus Lupin?!”
“Because,” he says, the word coming out muffled and you hastily remove your finger. “It was a good way to keep your attention. Plus, I like when you’re angry. It’s cute.”
You scowl without thinking and his smile impossibly widens.
“See?”
“Shut up and kiss me again,” you say dryly, pulling him in by the collar to give him a short, searing kiss. “Oh, and I guess I love you too.”
“So, no broken noses in my future?” Remus asks hopefully, softly sliding his nose against yours.
“No promises.”
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© angelfic 2023.
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loveshotzz · 4 months
Text
We’re supposed to be eating breakfast
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older!steve x fem!reader an AIRWIY oneshot
summary: You wake up after your first sleep over at Steve’s house feeling bold.
wc: 3.1k
warnings: 18+ older!steve, smut, p in v, cream pie, breeding kink, mentions of past drinking, reader is wearing Steve’s baseball jersey but it’s not really described how it fits on readers body, no real descriptions of readers body.
authors note: this took me over a month to write with everything going on in my personal life, so I’m excited to finally give it to you. thank you all for your patience and encouragement to keep coming back on here every day despite me not writing as much as I used to and to keep me opening my word docs. this one was spurred my @palmtreesx3 brilliant mind and an idea that’s haunted me day and night. This takes place in the All I Really Want Is You universe, but can be read as a stand alone. Just know you’re wearing Steve’s personalized cubs jersey. :)
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The harsh sounds of the coffee grinder is what wakes you up, but the golden rays of morning sunshine that leaks through the cracks in the blinds is what gets your eyes to open. Slow soft blinks, with fluttering lashes and brain still fuzzy from the kind of sleep that makes you temporarily forget what year it is, you need a moment to recognize the unfamiliar, much nicer surroundings.
You were in Steve’s room.
A smile you can’t contain spreads wide across your face, butterfly wings tickling at your rib cage. Stretching your still sleeping limbs, your body melts into the soft cushions of his mattress. The feathers that fill his pillows contour to your head perfectly, and the memories of the ways he had you pressed into it resurface, skin igniting with the ghost of his hands on your curves. Biting your bottom lip, the kind of nerves that you haven’t had since the Fourth of July make themselves known again, having never spent a morning with him at his home.
Rolling over, your face hits the cotton of his pillowcase that you’re not surprised is cold. Shamelessly you inhale the cedar and spice that still lingers on it, and the faint ache between your thighs, along with the clinks of glass you hear from his sink, reminds you that he’s just down stairs. It takes a little bit of willpower to leave the cozy cocoon you’ve found yourself in but the need to see him over powers the comfort of his duvet that feels like just the right amount of weight against your body.
Shuffling out of the covers, your bare feet hit the cold hard wood of his floors, a shiver crawling up your spine that you tell yourself is from the chill of the winter air that seeps through his unsealed windows, definitely not your nerves catching a glimpse of your naked body in his dresser mirror. The same mirror you’d seen him in almost five months ago.
Padding across his bedroom you wonder if he can hear your steps as you search for any sign of your clothes that had been haphazardly thrown around after an old bottle of red wine. The clean white color of his jersey catches in your gaze, the blue bold lettering that spells out his last name has your thighs pressing at the memory of your second date as it sits folded on top of his dresser.
The thought of how good he looked with it stretched across his broad shoulders, and the top two buttons undone, teasing the chest hair that your nails dragged through last night makes your skin warm. The praises he whispered in hot merlot against your lips, your neck, and between your legs is what gives you the confidence you need to slip it on instead.
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The stairs creak under each step, but the popping grease of the bacon that fills his house with the smell of maple lets you go undetected. Familiar voices of who you’re learning are sportscasters, spill out from the small speaker on his phone that you know is propped up on the little plastic holder he always sets it on when he charges it. He mumbles something in response to the commentary under his breath, and you hear the beeping of the oven telling him it’s finished preheating.
Your cheeks hurt from how high they push up when you realize Steve’s making you breakfast.
A little shy from his affections already, your fingers wrap around the wood frame of the entryway with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. With his back to you, it gives you a perfect view of the way his white cotton undershirt stretches tight over his shoulder blades that move with every flick of his wrist, forearms flexing as he whisks whatever is in the bowl in front of him. Black sweats sit low on his hips, giving you a glimpse of his boxer briefs underneath, the font across the top of his waist band says Burberry, making your palms sweat. A personal favorite pair.
He turns his head to look at a replay of a game he missed in favor of spending time with you on his phone screen, still completely unaware of your presence. The new angle reveals the silver glasses he wore a few weeks ago in his office, dark chestnut and peppered hair sticking out wild at the ends, a mess you know was made by your hands.
“Seriously? Keep him on the bench.” He grumbles, shaking his head before bringing his attention back to the bowl.
You watch him for a few seconds longer, but his butt jiggling with the force of his whisking makes a giggle slip past your lips blowing your cover. He jumps at the noise no matter how sweet it is, meeting your eyes from over his shoulder. Steve gives you a smile that you’re learning is only reserved for you and sometimes Eddie, punching the air out of your lungs. Watching the way it only continues to grow across his stubble covered face makes your heart swell even more.
It’s only when his gaze finally lands on the only thing you’re wearing that the gold shimmering inside his eyes darken, a starless night lingering where the bottom hem of his jersey sits at the very tops of your thighs.
“Jesus honey, look at you.” The metal whisk hits the glass of the bowl with a loud clink as he turns around to really drink you in, “good morning to me.”
“I hope this is okay,” your voice comes out smaller than intended, suddenly self conscious you might have overstepped despite the way he watches you take your first steps into the kitchen like he wants to eat you alive.
“Okay?” His huffs out a breath like he’s wrecked, long fingers coming up to scratch at his jaw, “I’m afraid you’re not allowed to wear anything else in my house ever again.”
You giggle again, and you swear you hear him groan because of it.
“I think we might be able to arrange something, a deal, an agreement of some sort.” you smirk, tapping your nails along the smooth black marble of his kitchen island, giving your hips a little extra sway with your slow steps.
Both his palms curve around the counter behind him as he leans back, chest puffing while he licks his full pink lips. They pull up into a lopsided grin, a hungry gaze roaming freely as you come to a stop right in front of him. His confidence only falters a little when he has to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, but the gesture only makes your heart swell especially when the tops of his ears redden.
You lean against the island with a smile that tells him you’re up to no good. Heat from the oven and the man across from you warms your legs against the chill that bounces off all the glass and stone in his kitchen. Electricity sparks in the space between your bodies making the tips of your fingers and toes buzz, your pulse jumping when he reaches a big hand out for you.
“Just a little bit too far for me still baby,” He wiggles his fingers at you making you smile shyly before you slip your hand into his palm, your eyes glaze over watching it disappear in his grasp.
His gentle tug makes you squeal, hitting his chest with a soft thump, he grins down at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Wrapping an arm around you to keep you from leaving, he lets go of your hand to cup the side of your face. The pad of his thumb traces the length of your cheek bone, and he smells just his pillow. Your hands find themselves tangled into the cotton of his shirt, leaning deeper into his touch. It makes the playfulness that dances in the chestnut of his eyes turn soft with something lovesick.
“Good morning handsome,” you say in a content sigh, and the hand that's spread across your back starts to work a path up your spine pulling the fabric of his jersey with it.
“I could really get used to this you know,” He hums, dipping his head down so the tip of his nose runs up the length of yours, mint and coffee on his breath “waking up to you.”
Your stomach flips at his words, all the blood rushing to your cheeks when you feel the cool breeze hit where your underwear should be.
“Oh yeah? What about Bandit?” You tease leaning closer, letting your top lip catch his bottom one.
Steve snorts a little, reminded of his dog who he knows is soaking up the sun outside, and the palm on your back squeezes you even closer.
“Are you kidding me? We’re obsessed with you over here honey.” The whites of his teeth show a little before they nip at your pout. He takes advantage of the gasp he earns, closing the gap completely in the kind of kiss that doesn’t give you any time to catch your breath before he’s licking at your bottom lip.
Your fingers untangle themselves from his shirt, and find a new home to get lost in the locks at the nap of his neck. Tongues meet in the middle with eager enthusiasm, and your front teeth hit as you push up on your tippy toes on the search for more. A deep groan vibrates from his chest, and his palm starts working its way down the dip of your back. When he’s met with the bare swell of your ass as he reaches the bottom hem of his jersey, you feel him kick up in his sweatpants.
“Tough girl.” He says your nickname like he's scolding you, leaving open mouthed kisses up your jaw, nipping at your earlobe before whispering with the kind of gravel in his voice that makes the inside of your thighs sticky. “We’re supposed to be eating breakfast.”
You hardly register him turning the oven off beside you.
“Who says -“ your sentence is cut off by a gasp when two thick fingers trace up your slick lips with ease, the pads of them pressing down on your bundle of nerves just long enough to make you whine with shaky knees.
“Who says what huh?” He whispers against the sensitive spot behind your ear, rubbing small circles on your clit with pointed pressure, obsessed with the way your jaw goes slack, and your eyebrows pinch together because of it.
“Who says we can’t do both?” You manage to get out with fluttering lashes, as he spreads you apart.
“You’re right, I don’t think breakfast is gonna be sweet enough for me.” He tuts, letting his middle finger push just a knuckle into your already greedy walls, and the soft moan that he gets from you has him leaking in his sweats. “You gonna help me with that, honey?”
Too lost in his teasing all you manage is a nod and a breathy ‘mmhmm’ looking up at him with big glassy eyes. He lets his lips ghost over yours, with a smirk tugging at the corners of them before spinning you around. Your palms land back on the cool marble of the kitchen island while both his hands wrap themselves firmly around the soft dough of your hips keeping his Jersey rucked up with them. He pulls your ass flush with his hips, letting you feel the hard length of him that begs to be released from the fleece confines of his pants against the ache in your core.
“This is what you wanted when you came down here lookin’ like this huh?” He asks with a low voice, hooking his thumbs under the bottom of his jersey. Lifting it higher up your back, he grinds against you while his eyes drink in all the soft dips of all your curves.
“Maybe,” you giggle a little breathy looking back over your shoulder at him with half lidded eyes.
His smile steals all the warm light from the room as he looks down at you with a cocked brow.
“I was trying to wait till after breakfast, which was hard waking up to you naked in my bed.” He can’t stop his heavy gaze from wandering to his last name covering the top of your back, unlocking something primal and possessive inside of him that he thought he’d lost forever. He wants you to leave it on, he’ll get it dry cleaned. “But honey, I can’t keep my hands off of you lookin’ like this.”
His palm feels heavy as it slides over the curve of your ass, squeezing at the fat with strong fingers spreading you apart a little before shoving his sweatpants half way down his hairy thighs. With hot cheeks, you flutter around nothing when the thickness of his cock springs free, standing at attention just for you. Somersaults in your stomach as you watch his tight grip pump himself a few times. Your hips wiggle in anticipation, whining when he teases more, gliding his tip through your slick, a small moan spilling from between your lips when he catches your clit.
“Always so needy for me,” he groans with a hint of disbelief, “fuck, what’d I do to deserve you?”
Steve doesn’t waste anymore time, slowly pushing in and the feeling of your walls wrapping around him while your body tries to accommodate the stretch has him chanting your name under his breath. Half way in, he regrips your hips a little rougher than before. His cock twitches watching your back bow, making his last name shine against the light while your nails scratch at the cool marble when he bottoms out.
Legs shaking, still sensitive from the night before, his hold on you tightens. You keen at the feeling of his thumbs rubbing small circles into your soft skin giving you time to adjust. It doesn’t take long for the initial sting subside, giving you the strength to rock your hips a little, a breathy sigh escaping you when it feels good.
“Yeah?” He hums, meeting your hips with his own hitting that spot that makes your toes curl.
“Uh huh” You manage to utter as he pulls almost all the way out, a moan of his name long and drawn out bounces off the walls when he pushes back in letting you feel every inch.
“That’s my girl,” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and it makes you want to turn around and see it.
Your eyes meet from over your shoulder again as he starts to roll his hips, finding the perfect pace. The sound of skin slapping fills the quiet space between moans every time your ass jiggles from the force of it. That strand falls messily over his forehead when he looks down at you, brows pinching together and jaw going slack like seeing your face only intensified everything he was feeling. He holds your stare, and the snap of his hips starts to get rougher. Burying himself deep focusing on that spot, the one he’s only ever been able to find.
“Oh, oh- Steve. Right there -shit - oh my god.” Your head falls between your shoulders, when he starts to barely pull out anymore. The tip of him making your eyelashes flutter as he reaches the spot that had you screaming his name last night, over and over again.
His eyes wander the expanse of your back, keeping his pace while his hands slowly start to slide up your sides, pushing his jersey with it. He wants to see more of you, but his hips stutter hearing the noises he’s getting out of you with his last name plastered across your hunched shoulders.
“You look so good - shiiit, like this baby. My name on your back, letting me bend you over in my kitchen while I cook you breakfast.” He babbles as your walls start to flutter, already dangerously close to falling over the ledge, your body threatening to take him with you. “Wanna do this all the time, please, let me do this all the time, honey.”
“Whatever, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want, I’m - oh fuck, I’m yours.” Your words break off in a moan when he starts to circle his hips at the same time you push yours back and he holds you there, repeating the motion.
“Yeah? You’re mine?” Steve grunts, cock twitching at the thought of filling you up, and for the first time in over a decade he feels the need to mark what’s his in the most primal way he knows. The thought of you round with his kid brings a new kind of intensity to the way he starts to fuck you, and he knows he’s not going to last much longer. “Tell me again.”
“Mmmhmm, always yours.” You whine, feeling yourself reaching the edge. Steve leans forward, somehow going deeper. Long thick fingers find their way between your thighs, where the two of you connect and he starts rubbing messy circles on your clit, pushing you off the cliff.
You flutter and squeeze around him hard enough to almost push him out, but he continues rutting his hips fighting against it, white spots explode behind your lids, his name falling out of your mouth broken in a gasp and a shudder.
“That’s it, fuck, that’s it.” He groans, watching the way your forehead hits the cold marble with another tremor that makes his cock twitch. “Gonna cum baby, let me cum inside, need it, please.”
He can make out the nod of your head, and with the little strength you have left, you push yourself further back encouraging him more. He knows you're on the pill, he’s seen you take it, but right now in the heat of it all, a small part of him hopes you missed a day. He blames the blue letters on his Jersey staring him right in the face, or the way you coat his cock with the remains of what he did to you every time you suck him right back in.
He pushes himself deep enough to make you fall forward a little, a low groan rumbling deep from his chest as he spills hot inside of you the rock of his hips slowing down as he falls apart. His forehead hits your back, with one last lazy thrust, and you can feel the heat of his breath as he pants to catch his breath. You wish the fabric of his jersey wasn’t so thick when he plants a kiss between your shoulder blades, before slowly pulling himself back up.
“Yeah, it’s official. This is absolutely the only thing you’re allowed to wear here.”
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evermore-fashion · 2 months
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Did I make a mistake?
As you're all well aware of I said goodbye to my blogs and Tumblr thinking my decision was final. However after reading all your wonderful messages I started to have doubts about my decision. So for the last few weeks I've been trying to pinpoint why I thought I had fallen out of love with high end fashion as well as Tumblr itself and the answer has been in front of my face for the best part of four years. A broken down friendship that has been plaguing my mental health… until recently and I'm going to finally explain why. I had a best friend for the best part of 15 years that went downhill both slowly and unexpectedly. We met on a forum back in 2005 and hit it off instantly. We then met up and went on various holidays, attended concerts together, did mini weekend breaks away and got to know each other's families really well. More importantly they were the only person in my life who knew about this blog and shared my love for high end fashion. Like most friendships though it had its ups and downs but no matter what we always gravitated back towards one another, until March 2020. A week or so before COVID and lockdown took hold of our lives they told me they had met someone. I was genuinely happy for them, except for the fact they had let slip that I was the last person to know. This broke my heart and their trust as they continued to let slip more details that indicated that I was being pushed out in favour of a new crowd (aka university friends who they had told me they disliked a few months beforehand) alongside their new partner. They stayed with their partner on and off throughout COVID and I was either pushed out the door or let back in depending on their relationship status. The relationship came to an end for good towards the end of 2022 and as always I was let back into their life with plans for 2023 being made. However I held back knowing the hurt it would cause me if things suddenly changed again. This was also my breaking point with them as I wanted to protect my heart from anymore hurt, and I believe this is where my love for creativity began to faulter. Whilst I found my love for gaming I felt this mental block around Evermore-Fashion and Evermore-Grimoire which I thought was down to my passions changing. I was clearly wrong. The friendship was up and down for another six months, until last summer. They had got back in contact with me despite the fact they had started acting cold towards me which manifested in a crap Christmas and Birthday. Yet I was still willing to hear their side of the story, but it never came as they ghosted me and I haven't spoken to them since which hasn't been fun to deal with both mentally and emotionally. Although I now fully believe this is what was killing my spirit and everything I had loved for so long. Anyway fast forward to January 2024, I've said goodbye to my blogs and Tumblr when lo and behold I come across a social media post that changed everything. The ex friend had written something personal that contradicted everything they had told me (over their relationship break up) which not only angered me but it lit a fire under my butt to stop stewing in the "what ifs?" as well as holding on to a small bit of hope that they'd finally apologise for treating me like a piece of shit on the back of their shoe for so long. Not only that but I started to miss why I enjoyed being online in the first place. I checked out Vogue to see what was occurring during Paris Fashion Week and I yearned to share the Spring 2024 Couture collections on Tumblr (even though I still think it's still a toxic cesspit). Yes I could easily start this up on Wordpress or Instagram but let's face it, Tumblr is still the easiest place to start blogging creatively. So here I am. The fog surrounding my love for fashion has lifted alongside the mental and emotional baggage I've been holding on to for far too long. There's just one thing I'm still wondering though… do you guys forgive me (as I feel like I've messed you all around ) and is it okay to come back? 🥹
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youryanderedaddy · 3 months
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Summary: You're a princess locked in a tower and guarded by a big, scary dragon. But is he as scary as it seems? tw: female reader, deceit, manipulation, murder (not reader), stockholm syndrome(?) My ko - fi <3
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As the youngest princess, you'd always known you would end up like this. In some far off land with little to your name other than some jewels, stuck in a tower just like your mother had been before she got married to a foreign lord, and finally allowed to re-join society. It was such a cliche it was funny at first, but now you just felt like screaming at the top of your lungs from boredom.
At first you didn't feel the unknown presence. The tall man was lurking in the shadows, as if part of the ancient building. You could smell the herbs in the air around him - the minthy fragrance trailing long after he had retired to his chambers. Then little by little you started to recognise him - in certain shades of sunlight, in the back of mirrors, in the tiny lizards crawling at the corners of the stone walls. But nothing could prepare you for that first morning when you saw him - really saw him.
You had woken up early, startled by noise reminiscent of that a bird makes during flight - but multiplied tenfold. You had looked through the window with a weak, fluttering heart. And then you saw his true form - massive yellow wings covered in what looked like pure gold burning brightly in the sky. Long, hard body made of sun - kissed flakes; so sharp they could be used as arrows. And a thin, curled tail drawing circles around your tower.
One of his empty moonlit eyes turned towards you, and it was all over. He immediately dissapeared into thin air, the only evidence of his existence being miles of thick gray smoke. But you weren't going to let the only living creature around run away so easily.
"I saw you!" You screamed long before you could even begin thinking of proper etiquette. Ladylike behavior be damned, you were dying of loneliness in this stupid tower. "Please..." You begged, voice hoarse and desperate from weeks of forced silence. "Come here." You continued ruefully, playing with your hair, chest riddled with anxiety - after all you hadn't spoken to a human being in so long.
You heard a long, almost pained sigh, which made you turn around. You were greeted by a tall brooding figure. It wore the face of a man, but its long golden hair and broad, muscular shoulders pointed to something a lot less human and a lot more devine. He must have been twice your size - trully intimating in all his shining glory. Even in his human form his skin seemed to glow just like his sharp almond - shaped black orbs, constricted in his yellow pupils.
"I'm always here, Your Highness." You remember his exact words simply because you were taken aback by how soft his voice was - just like fine silk. It wasn't the voice of a dragon, but the voice of an angel. "You just never see me." He added with what you then assumed was a hint of playfulness, but now recognised as annoyance. With that he leaned against the wall, crossing his hands together.
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Many months passed since that fateful day. You slowly got to know your new companion - or perhaps, guardian. You learnt that many called him Cain after the fallen son* - once a strong soldier of the Lohemian Kingdom, his injuries had made it impossible to keep fighting. That's how your father found him - abandoned by his brothers, lying in a mudded puddle of his own blood. The rest was history.
He didn't speak very much - but he never left your questions unanswered.
"Cain..." You'd call out with practised uncertainty. Even so far removed from your peers, you still couldn't escape the twisted societal ideals of propriety. You could never be too eager to speak to a man - even if he wasn't fully human. "Is that your real name?" You wondered, genuinely curious. You slowly looked away from the book you were holding and towards your friend, the book long forgotten. The dragon was sitting in the other corner of the room. Despite all the time you had spent together so far, he was still hesitant to come near you. There was a certain stiffness in his strong shoulders - as well as his jaw.
"Princess..." The man mumbled softly, your heart aching by the sheer tenderness of the term. Usually you'd pay it no mind as it was your right from birth, your title - but titles didn't matter here. There was no place for status or riches between those four intimate walls that always felt small despite the spacious squares. "Don't you know curiousity got the cat's tongue?" He responded with a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes - even his smiles were serious and stoic.
"You have it all wrong." You huffed, standing up from your comfortable chair just to make a big, dramatic gesture with your hands. "It's curiosity killed the cat." You stated confidently, waving your finger at the dragon. He let out a soundless chuckle and averted his gaze away from you. He still couldn't get over the fact that you weren't afraid of him.
"Whatever my Princess says, goes." Cain teased, eyes narrowing further - now they looked like two pitch black slits. He tuck one disobedient lock of gold behind his pointy ear, making the glass beads of his earring jingle in tone. "Just don't say I didn't warn you." He whispered with slight condescension, toying with the dancing little crystals. "My name is Kaajin, if you must know. I doubt you can spell it. It's in Lohemian." He suddenly stared at you as if in a challenge. "Does this change anything? Anything at all."
You shook your head - of course no. There was little your protector could do to make your feelings change; not when you had been so terribly alone without him. Not when he looked at you as if you were precious - breakable, yet precious.
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The days went by slowly. There was nothing there to help pass the time - just your voice and his voice blending together in the echo of the tower. Again and again and again.
"Entertain me." You asked authoritatively, looking at your friend from down below while you were sitting on the ground. You were bored - so very bored. "I don't remember ever signing up to be your personal jester, my Princess." Cain, no, Kaajin replied succinctly, showing off two pointy fangs - and you couldn't help recalling the story of the Sleeping Beauty and the spindle that sent her into deep, eternal slubmer. You wondered how his teeth would feel against your finger - and your throat. Whether they'd tire you or save you with the kiss of true love.
"Please?" You asked sweetly, just the way he liked - just like you had done that cold winter day in December when you first met face to face. It seemed to work, because soon after that you could feel him move through the room with a tired step - ever so dramatic, closing in on you. "Sure." The dragon breathed in your ear, enjoying the way the flesh quickly reddened with emotion. He reached behind the sensitive shell and slowly waved his fingers just short of your nose. In his hand just milimeters from you was hanging a thin silver chain with a little red rose dangling down. "Here. Have fun." He let it slip past his slender fingers and you swiftly reached to catch it before it could break in thousand pieces.
"What am I supposed to do with it?" You asked, puzzled - still looking at the delicate bracelet and the way it seemed to come alive under direct sunlight. "I am not a child." You suddenly puffed, stuffing it into the pocket of your long skirts. Kaajin only clicked his tongue, gently tugging at your wrist until you took it out of your pocket. "Don't be so ungrateful." His strict yet plush voice took you out of your little outburst, and you finally looked up. His eyes were measuring you up, scanning for any hidden movement - any secret emotion. "I am a dragon, remember? We tend to be awfuly protective of our things."
Your eyes filled with curiosity once again. "You mean your jewels?" He nodded rhytmically, trying to keep his composure at the mention of his old, forgotten customs. "I've read some stories about dragon kings stealing piles of golden coins and locking them away for all eternity. "You chuckled to yourself. "Like they could ever use them." Even after all those years you still found the thought amusing. Humans spent their youth slaving away so they could waste the money gained once they were old and wise. Dragons, on the other hand, were satisfied with holding onto wealth and jewels and all those shiny human things - with little understanding of the subejctive value they held in the human world.
"Yes. It's true indeed. Dragons-" Your guard nodded yet again, now somewhat uneasy. "We take good care of our..." He averted his eyes far away from you. "treasures." He finished stiffly, gaze basically burning the ground. "So you shouldn't take my gift lightly. You should wear it with pride. And perhaps in time you'd find another use for it, too." The man explained, a slight blush spreading across his usually high, cold cheeks.
You smiled gingerly, kissing your fingers around the chain before pressing it to your chest - close to your heart.
"I shall cherish it forever, then." You exclaimed, feeling warm inside. You were uncertain as to why, but your stomach was spinning wildly, as if filled with bubbles. "But you still owe me some fun." You giggled, running to start the old phonograph in the corner of the room. It was your favourite thing in the whole world - which didn't mean a lot up here, but it was enough to make your legs move on their own.
As you danced to Vaarlen's famous spring waltz, the air seemed lighter and the cramped hall just slightly more grandiose. It was easier to breathe. You extended your hand towards your dragon, asking him to join.
"You know I don't dance, princess." He grunted, his mood souring. He never told you why he hated it so much, but the man was never too fond of music. Still, you decided to try again. "Oh, come on. Just this once." He didn't seem convinced. "Let me teach you as a thank you gift. I'm serious." You tapped your chest playfully. The man rolled his eyes, then gently took your hand in his. You almost broke into a giddy giggle - for the first time since your family locked you up in the rotten tower you felt happy.
And he always gave into you.
So you two danced, both lost to the music and your own racing thoughts. Kaajin kept his distance, but his hold was strong onto your wrist - unrelenting, like he never wanted to let go. Your body twisted and turned, perfectly synced to the chords, blind to the pass of time. You only realized it had become evening once your back hit the window - it was dark outside. Yet another day gone. Yet another day lost.
"Kaajin..." You could feel the tears burning at your wet lashes before you could stop yourself. You had promised yourself not to think about it anymore - not today, or ever for that matter, but it was impossible once you were faced with the Creator of All. The Master of everything, of everyone - time. How could you ever pretend otherwise?
"Do you think-" You bit the inside of your cheek, your hands fighting the guilt as you let go of his. "Do you think my father would ever let me go into the outside world?"
The guard gulped dry, taking a step back to give you space.
"I-" He took a deep breath, gaining the courage to look at you. "I don't know. The war is still going. Your kingdom has lost many brave men and women. Even the strongest soldiers are starting to capitulate." He couldn't bear to look at your pretty face all messed up by the pain and sorrow, but it was for the best.
"I understand." You muttered, turning your back to him - curling back into yourself. You felt his arms wrap around you, and you remained quiet - neither fighting it, nor embracing it. "Don't cry, my princess." The man whispered. "No matter what happens, I will always be by your side." He meant it. You knew it by now, and that only made it all the more tragic. "I swear on my life." You believed him, you had no reason not to - he was the only one you had left.
As for your father, he couldn't really give a proper order now, Kaajin thought. After all, dead men tell no tales.
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primofate · 5 months
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You, Wriothesley's therapist.
TW: mentions of murder, depression, trauma
Sigewinne takes care of the physical injuries in the Fortress...but that place must have a lot of mental instabilities, trauma, depressive states as well, right?
Enter you who is hired by the Iudex to take frequent visits to the fortress and check on a list of people's well-beings.
The Iudex hired you, not the duke, though it WAS the duke's idea, he didn't think he was fit to choose and hire a "therapist", Neuvillette was probably more adept at that.
On the first day of your job, the list or people to check on is rather extensive and you talk and meet with a lot of new people just on the first day.
That guy who killed his best friend and is haunted by dreams of the scene.
That young lady who has spiralled into depression because she's separated from and unable to see her daughter.
That old man who has anger issues because he just didn't think he had done anything wrong.
It was probably a week or two after you were appointed that you finally met the person in charge of the place. The Duke, as they call him.
He seemed like a pretty strict guy, but when he thanked you for looking after the people here, you thought he wasn't that bad.
"I'm just doing my job,"
"A really hard one at that," he comments.
The next time you see him is months after, but this time he only passes you a glance, and rather quickly strides off to his office.
The next day, he seeks you out and apologizes for it.
"I was...in a bit of a rush,"
You wonder why he even apologizes. "...It's no big deal,"
"...I hope that you know that you're welcome here. I don't think you quite understand how difficult your job is, trying to shoulder everyone's past and fixing their psyche for their future,"
You look up at him, and tilt your head a little, squinting your eyes and trying to get a good read out of him...then it hits you.
The Duke needs therapy too.
"...I think you're a little stressed, your grace. Is there a quiet place where we can comfortably chat in?"
How were you to know it was going to end up in tea time? Yes the duke had issues, some deep seated ones, but not as much as the common folk that you were trying to work with. And yet you found yourself having tea with him even though it wasn't "work" related anymore.
All the two of you talked about were stories of the past, and shared a laugh or two about some silly or outrageous story he or you shared.
Weeks later there came a time when the angry old man you'd been working on had an outburst. He didn't mean to. None of your patients ever mean to, not when they had such big emotions, such big events to get over, such pent up emotions and such deep, deep regrets.
Old man had thrown a wrench at you, he was surprisingly strong, probably from working in the fortress for a while. You were caught off guard, not to mention you weren't even sitting too far away from him. You managed to shield yourself from it, but your arm bruised hours later.
You didn't think it merited a visit to Sigewinne, besides it was nearly home time for you.
"Done for the day?" You bristled a little at the sudden voice of the Duke, not expecting to see anymore of him today.
"Mmhmm," you simply answered his grin. You also didn't think it was something to hide from him. So your bruised arm was there for him to see in plain sight.
His grin disappearing and his eyes narrowing at the sight alerted you that it was perhaps something that you should've kept from him. "Where'd you get that?" He was 1000% sure you didn't have it when you had tea with him at noontime today.
"This...Well...Corrin was...having a particularly bad day," you moved your arm behind your back with a small smile, wanting to brush it off, but Wriothesley puts his hand out in expectation.
"Let me see it,"
For a moment the two of you just stare each other down. You wondering what the big deal was, him not backing down. When you didn't move an inch he gives in and adds the magic word. "Let me see it, please,"
You lift your arm up towards his head with a sigh and he receives it shockingly gently. He inspects it like it's some kind of puzzle he needs to solve, thorough and detailed. "Did you let Sigewinne see?" before you could even reply he adds "How did this even happen? Why was I not told?"
"It's..." You start. How do you explain? That you were supposed to be your patients' safe space. That nothing is supposed to harm them when in a session with you, that everything was in confidentiality. Working with troubled people, things like this were bound to happen, and it was only the first time.
He catches on to it quite quickly. "...It's your job," he finishes for you.
"...Precisely,"
The big sigh he lets out at the same time as releasing your arm has you wondering, really, why he seemed so stressed all over again. Over you.
Did you really not know the reason? You had an inkling why, you were a therapist after all. You got into people's minds for a living and Wriothesley wasn't exactly being subtle, but... you didn't want to assume.
"...How about I come with you next time?" he offers. You smile a little. "I don't think Corrin would be comfortable enough to talk with you hovering around,"
He grumbles something under his breath, like a defeated, stubborn puppy. "He doesn't have to know... I'll stand outside, or something,"
You laugh a little. "...The Iudex already has terms on my working contract when things like this happen. I'm supposed to drop the patient if "physical disputes" happen a total of three times and after three warnings are given."
Wriothesley huffs, though it sounds more like a scoff. "Leave it to him to think of everything. Doesn't seem fair," he moves so that he stands next to you, and places a hand on your upper back, pushing you the slightest bit to walk with him. You notice he's steering you towards the Fortress' infirmary.
"What doesn't seem fair?" You ask with genuine curiosity, not knowing what he was implying.
He's silent only for a beat more, but he doesn't look at you as he answers, only continues walking forward. "That he gets to protect you and I don't,"
You can't mistake the somersault your heart makes, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling silly.
The Duke needs the occasional therapy.
Or maybe he just needs you.
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exhaslo · 5 months
Text
Kinktober Day 20- Roommate!Miguel x Reader
*Requested by Reader ;) *
        It was your third year of college and you had decided to get one of the dorm houses right next to the college. Finally! No more small apartment in a large dorm hall; no more random fire alarms because someone didn't know how long to cook popcorn; no more being locked out of your dorm room because you were in a shared bathroom; and finally, no more loud and obnoxious roommates. Having this house meant that you picked your roommate. You had your freedom.
        What better than a roommate who is going to have their heads stuck in the books or at the library? You interviewed so many people, but only one caught your attention as the perfect roommate. 
Miguel O'Hara
         The man was not only eye candy, but one of the smartest students on campus. Correction, he was the smartest student. You were surprised when he was in the hunt for a roommate. The two of you got along and you decided to go with him. All you ever heard about him was either girls wanting to fuck him, or that he was a hardass who kept his head in the books. A perfect roommate.
         Things were going smoothly for the first few months. You barely saw him due to your conflicting schedules, but he kept his part of the house clean. There was never any loud noise from his room, nor was there any reason to complain. The only little issue you were having was that he was too fucking sexy.
        Lord did the impure thoughts start when you saw him exit the shower one day. You swore drool was coming out of your mouth as you stared at him. You would have never thought that Miguel was so fit. No wonder why all the girls on campus wanted to date him. The man had a body of a god!
"Perhaps I should charge a fee," Miguel said, waking you from your trance. Your face was flustered,
"Sorry! I was just surprised!" You admitted, hiding your embarrassment. 
"Surprised it took you long enough to know why I like to hide here instead of the library?" You could have sworn you saw a smirk on his face, "Midterms are coming up. Let me know if you need help...studying."
        Oh man, you were embarrassed. Since then, Miguel had gotten a little more snarky with you. In a playful manner. Honestly, it felt like he was pulling st your heart strings. The man was smart, hot and a menace to your thoughts. You were ashamed to say that you had thought about your roommate a lot at night as you played with yourself.
        You weren't the only one. Miguel was pumping his dick in his hand every night to the thought of you under him. You were pretty dangerous to be around. Walking around in your underwear and a shirt; laying on the couch; hell, Miguel was even aroused by you cooking dinner. In his eyes, you were already his. He just hadn't sealed the deal yet.
"Argh, I hate men!" You cried out, planting your face onto the couch. Miguel was sitting on the side chair,
"Including me?" He asked, not straying away from his essay. You huffed, face him,
"No..."
"Good, now who do I have to beat up for annoying my precious roommate?"
"Hahaaa, just one of my classmates. We were doing a project and he had the gall to tell me I had no idea what I'm doing. I fucking major in the subject!"
       As you were venting, Miguel was staring at you. He found it cute how red your cheeks got when you were angry. How tight your clothes were against your body. Miguel wanted to see you strip. To get lazy and comfy. It was something only for his eyes to see. He moved his laptop over his bulge, wanting to hide the fact that he was getting turned on from just staring at you.
"And then he had the absolute nerve after all that to ask me out! Like, why would I want to date a rude snob like him?! After I said hell no, he called me a bitch and went to shit talk me to his friends!" You whimpered, tears threatening to spill. 
        Miguel immediately went to your aid. He brought you a box of tissues, sitting beside you now. You rested your head against his shoulder, trying your best to not cry.
"I can beat him up for you, amor. (love). You can do so much better."
"Haha, thanks Miguel."
---------------
          After that, you went back to your hard studies since Finals were around the corner. That boy who had bothered you prior stopped bothering you completely. In fact, he avoided you. It was strange, but you were happy about it. All you needed was to pass your classes. Miguel helped you study for midterms, perhaps he was willing to help you again for finals?
        You were sitting in your shared living room, waiting for Miguel's class to get out. You were getting frustrated from trying to figure out stuff from another class. Glancing at the time, you inhaled deeply. There was still plenty of time before Miguel came home, you could use a little destress. Laying against the couch, you spread your legs and began to rub your clit was massaging you breast.
"Mhm, Miguel," You closed your eyes, imaging that it was Miguel toying with your body.
        Raising your hips, you started to feverishly rub your clit. Whines coming out as you desperately wanted Miguel to touch you. You lowered your fingers to your aching hole, doing your best to finger yourself.
"Miguel!" You whined.
"Fuck," Miguel groaned as he walked through the door. You gasped loudly, fixing yourself, 
"M-Miguel!? Y-Your c-class-?!" You panicked. Miguel hurried to your side,
"Don't you fucking stop now." He groaned, his hands making haste into your shorts, "Fuck, hearing your moans when I walk in. Cómo puedo contenerme? (How can I hold myself back?)"
       You gasped as Miguel had you pinned to the couch. His hands quickly replaced yours and he entered two digits into your wet cunt. You moaned, arching your back into the couch as he pumped his fingers roughly. Your pussy clentching down against his hand whike your hips moved against his palm. His fingers were so thick, bigger than some of your toys. He was already stretching you out.
"Hah, ah, M-Miguel..." You whimpered a moan as he curled his fingers. Miguel licked his lips,
"Qué hermoso. Tu cuerpo se está desmoronando por mi culpa. (How beautiful. Your body just falling apart because of me.)" You trembled as you reached your first orgasm, "What a naughty roommate. Teasing me so much."
        You panted heavily, never experience an orgasm like that before. You followed Miguel's gaze, watching him undo his pants as he licked his fingers. His pupils almost looked blown once he had a taste of you. It made you wetter. Finally, all of those wet dreams you've had of fucking your roommate was about to come true. Miguel cussed lowly as his belt got in the way.
"I never seen you this stressed," You teased, helping him undo his pants, "How long have you been wanting this?"
"Why do you think I became your roommate?" Miguel watched your reaction towards his large dick, "You?"
"Before midterms,"
        You stroked his dick with both hands. His low rumbling groans were turning you on more. You brought your lips to his tip, licking the precum that had started to drip. You winced at the salty taste but continued to suck him. Miguel's hand rested on your head as you bobbed your head against him. It was difficult and you could not take him fully, but Miguel seemed to enjoy it. Tears formed from the corner of your eyes as Miguel forced your head lower.
        Muffling against his dick, Miguel stopped, allowing you to breathe. You crawled over his lap, positioning his dick over your soaked hole. Miguel held your hips and placed you on your back before entering. The two of you moaned in unison. Miguel held your legs up as he stretched you out. Miguel was destroying your pussy and he hadn't even moved yet. You gripped the couch's blanket, raising your hips as he kept pushing himself inside.
"Looks like you need help with your finals," Miguel groaned, watching your pussy suck his dick as he finally fit his whole length, "Let me start by teaching this naughty pussy a lesson."
"Mhm, p-please," You begged. Miguel pulled back then slapped his length into you with force, "Ah~!" You cried out.
"Qué compañera de cuarto más cachonda. ¿A punto de romperse después de un solo empujón de mi polla? Tu coño fue hecho solo para mí. Mira lo mojada que estás, sólo para mí. (What a slutty roommate. About to break after just one thrust of my dick? Your pussy was made just for me. Look at how wet you are, just for me.)"
"M-Miguel!" 
        You gasped for air as he fucked your brains out. Each thrust was bringing your orgasm closer and closer. Miguel grabbed your breasts, playing with them as he sucked on your collarbone. His dick pounding you relentlessly. He had his body pinned against you like an animal in heat, refusing to let you go. You wrapped your arms around his neck, moaning into his ear as you reached another orgasm. Miguel shivered in delight and decided to reward you. He slammed his cock a few more times, filling your womb with his cum.
"Looks like you're going to need a lot more lessons, cariño (sweetheart). But don't worry, I won't charge my dear roommate."
"Y-You better not." You huffed. Miguel smirked as he gave you another slap of his dick, "W-Wait~ Mhm, d-don't...d-do that." Your whines turned into moans as Miguel kept abusing your poor cunt.
"After waiting this long, you really don't think I'm not going to fuck you dumb? Gotta make sure I keep tutoring you."
"Hah, hah, y-yes," You replied, throwing your head back in pleasure.
        You did not care how many times you needed to ask Miguel for help. You knew that he would tutor you seriously. It was your payment that you really looked forward too. Anytime either of you were stressed, you two had some of the best sex. When it was time to renew your lease for the house, both you and Miguel did not hesitate to agree. Miguel was the perfect roommate. Perfect boyfriend. You were not letting go of him, and neither was he of you.
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lots-of-pockets · 2 months
Text
Braids
Pairing: Nat x you
Words: 1100
Warnings: none
Summary: You and Natasha had only been together for a few weeks when you ask to braid her hair.
Notes: Yikes. It’s been a while. I’m so sorry. I hope this cute fic makes up for it.
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The atmosphere was almost peaceful as both you and Natasha lounged on separate sides of the couch. You were idly watching her from the corner of her eye as she focuses on the laptop screen in front of her, hands distractedly flickering through the pages of the book you were planning on starting.
She was clad in one of your hoodies along with a pair of grey shorts; her hair down and a little mused from the way she would continuously run her hand through it. You often found yourself wondering if it was as soft as it looked. How soft it would feel in between your fingers.
You see, you and Natasha had only been together a little over four weeks, so the tentative relationship you did have was still very new. You'd held hands once or twice. Kissed a few times more. Chaste pecks that never trailed off into anything more. But that was it. No hugs had been given, and you'd yet to know how it felt to hold her body against your own.
Though you longed to hold her in your arms, you found that you didn't quite mind waiting. Good things come to those who wait after all. Well, that and the fact you knew months before you'd started dating that she was a very guarded person, and that wasn't going to change just because the label on what you were was different.
"I can feel you watching me, you know." You hear her speak, and your eyes flicker away from her hair to her face. Her eyes, you notice, remain on her computer screen, but the tiny smile present on her lips does not go amiss.
You sigh contently as you turn in your seat to face her, your back now pressed against the arm of the couch whilst your legs sprawl out in front of you. "Just admiring." You admit, your voice a mere murmur.
Natasha's fingers still on the keyboard of her laptop as her eyes finally meet your own. The emotion in them was undecipherable, just like always, but they do soften at the sight of you sitting before her. You couldn't help but melt slightly at the sight as you reach over to the coffee table and set down the book you never did get the chance to open.
Eyes once again meeting her own, you finally bring yourself to ask the question that had been on the forefront of your mind since you'd sat down.
"Can I braid your hair?"
You brace yourself for the rejection, but much to your dismay, it doesn't come. At least, not straight away. Natasha simply stares at you, mouth slightly agape as though she was attempting find a plausible answer to your question.
She clears her throat, eyes flickering away from you for just a moment before they return.
"Braid my hair?" She seems to finally find her voice, the sound of it alone making your heart race.
You nod, swallowing the sudden tightness in your own throat. Natasha stares at you for a little moment longer before she nods. It was just once, almost unnoticeable, but it was all the confirmation you needed. With more confidence than you felt, you let one of your legs fall to the floor and pat the now open space in between them.
Natasha hesitates for only a second before she was setting down her laptop and scooting herself towards you. As she settles, you place your hands on either side of her waist in a silent question. It was only when she nods again do you tug her backwards just slightly, the insides of your thighs now settled snuggly on either side of her hips.
"Good?" You question in a mere murmur, and she vocalises her agreement with a soft hum as your hands begin combing through her hair. It wasn't necessarily tangled, but you didn't want to accidentally snag any loose strands like you tended to do with your own hair. Soon, you'd parted the top her hair into three thin strands in preparation to start the intended dutch braid.
A comfortable silence seems to settle upon you, and you can't help but smile softly when you feel Natasha's hands rest almost tentatively on each of your thighs. You risk a gentle kiss against the back of her head, immediately rewarded by the feeling of her body relaxing completely against you.
"Nearly done." You reluctantly break the silence as your fingers begin to quickly finish the braid, and Natasha hums in acknowledgment as you grab the hair tie off of your wrist and secure it with ease. As you bring your now unoccupied hands back down to your lap, you watch as one of Natasha's own rises to feel the top of her head. It lingers for just a second before a satisfied hum escapes her lips.
"Dutch?" She questions knowingly, and you smirk slightly as you nod your head and place another kiss to the back of her head.
"Good guess." You muse, and Natasha looks back at you with a smirk of her own.
"It wasn't a guess." She tells you simply as her head settles against your shoulder.
"You're just that good huh?" You tease, craning your head slightly to you were more or less face to face with her.
"Damn right." Natasha smirks as she leans forward to affectionately graze the tip of her nose against your cheek, the appendage scrunching up cutely when you press a gentle kiss to it, and you roll your eyes fondly as your arms settle around her waist.
Tight enough for her to feel secure, but loose enough that should she choose leave your arms, she could do so without issue.
Your heart races when Natasha settles her hands atop of your own, choosing wisely to ignore the way they tremble slightly with what you could only assume was nerves. Instead, you simply press your lips against her forehead hoping to alleviate whatever fear may be there.
"Nobody likes a smart ass." You murmur as you pull away.
"No?" Natasha grins slyly as she turns herself in your arms so she was more or less cradled. You accept the change of position with ease, keeping one of your arms beneath her whilst the other loops around her stomach to meet the other that had come to rest on her hip. "You like me."
You sigh heavily in fake exasperation, "Unfortunatel-Hey! What was that for?!"
**
I hope you enjoyed 😊
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appocalipse · 8 days
Text
that guy ⊹ steve harrington
summary: After he's been to yet another failed date with yet another random pretty girl, Steve Harrington, your best friend, stops by at the diner your family owns for a late-night chat, same as he'd done a thousand times before. Steve is totally unaware of how much he's hurting you with his endless parade of dates, because after all — the two of you are only friends and nothing more, right? It's not like you have any secret feelings for him… | 2.6k words
── ࣪˖ ࣪ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ ──
The moment Steve steps through the glass doors of the diner, you wonder, for about the millionth time that month alone, what is it that you've done so wrong to deserve this kind of punishment.
It's Friday night, and on Friday nights, Steve Harrington goes on dates. It's just like clockwork, really: he meets a pretty girl, thinks she's the one, takes her out on a date, realizes quickly enough that she isn't quite what he was looking for, then comes here after having dropped her back home to sulk with you, in the diner that your family runs, still clad in the outfit he'd chosen especially for his failed date.
To be honest, he never looks sad, per se — more like disappointed. Frustrated, maybe.
You watch as he weaves around tables occupied by laughing friends, past booths filled with couples sharing desserts, then slides into a seat in front of you at the bar. Steve sits down with an exhausted sigh, ruffling up his hair before shooting you a tired smile.
"Hi."
You don't look up from where you're polishing the counter. "Bad date again?"
"Not even close. She talked about horses non-stop."
A quiet laugh slips past your lips despite yourself, and finally, you tear your gaze off the dark wooden surface of the counter to look up at him; he's got this pleased little smile on his face, the corners of his eyes crinkled ever so slightly in the way they always do whenever he succeeds at making you laugh, even if just a little.
How are you supposed to keep acting like nothing's wrong when he looks at you like that?
You clear your throat awkwardly and make yourself busy stacking clean glasses next to the coffee machine.
"So...not the one, I take it?"
Steve leans forward against the counter and props his head up with his hand, sighing deeply.
"I'm starting to think she won't ever show up," he says quietly, running his other hand through his hair. You chance another glance at him and note how genuinely worried he looks. It breaks your heart almost as much as it annoys you. "What is it that's wrong with me, huh? I just don't get it."
"Nothing is wrong with you."
"You don't need to be nice to me. We've been friends since forever, remember?"
The word 'friends' makes you wince a little bit inside, but you hide the reaction behind a neutral frown. "Do you think there's something wrong with me? Because I haven't found the one yet either, you know."
Steve's expression softens as he looks at you, and once again you feel that horrible twinge in your stomach that you wish would just stop already.
"It's different. I mean—you're not actively trying to find someone." He reaches out to pull one of the half-melted mints out from the glass bowl on the counter and pops it into his mouth with a shrug. "I go out looking for her and she just doesn't come. If she even exists, that is."
"She does."
"Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I wouldn't hold my breath. God, why am I such an idiot, y'know?" Steve slumps over the counter with a groan, burying his face into his crossed arms. "My love life is a trainwreck."
"At least you have one."
He glances up at you curiously and lifts an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"
"Nothing. Forget it. Do you want some pie?"
You're not about to tell him what you've only admitted to yourself mere months ago — that you're actually hopelessly, madly, stupidly in love with him, and that you have been ever since the two of you were just dumb kids racing around your parents' diner.
What makes it even worse is that you had no idea your feelings went that deep until Steve started going on these dates of his again. Before then, everything was normal — you met up every weekend and binged on candy, watched bad movies on your couch, drove around town together blasting The Clash on his BMW's speakers...it was good.
Until it wasn't.
"Wait, c'mon, you can't just leave me hanging like that," Steve presses. He shifts a little on his stool to better face you, then gestures at you with his hands. "You've clearly got something you wanna say, so, like—hit me. Lay it on me."
"Nothing. I'm just saying...at least you're trying, you know," you say carefully, measuring each word before speaking them. "And at least you're the one doing the rejecting. Could be worse."
Steve's eyebrows rise high up on his forehead and he looks at you incredulously. "Whoa, wait—are you trying to tell me you've been rejected?"
You busy yourself by filling two tall glasses with soda, then slide one to his side of the counter and keep the other for yourself. "Uh...kind of, yeah. But it's fine."
"But who the hell would even do that?" he blurts out. There's anger in his voice all of a sudden, a defensive fire in his eyes that makes you feel as if someone has punched you in the gut. "To you? You're like, the nicest person on the planet, and super pretty to boot. That's just—that's crazy!"
Your heart gives a violent little jump in your chest. He thinks you're pretty. Steve Harrington thinks you're pretty.
Pretty as a friend, you correct yourself immediately, and sigh as you sip your drink. Of course, it's nothing more than that — just meaningless words spoken in a moment of unthinking kindness.
"Seriously, who?" he presses on. "Give me a name. I'll fight him."
"You mean like you fought Jonathan Byers?" you smile behind your glass, looking at him from over its rim.
Steve looks embarrassed at the memory and drops his gaze for a second or two before meeting your eyes again with a playful little smile of his own. "Different situation, okay, but that's not the point. So? Who's the guy?"
"You...don't know him," you hedge.
"It's Hawkins. I know the stray cats here by name."
"Fine, well, even if you did know him, it doesn't matter. He didn't reject me, exactly...not really."
Steve frowns a little. "Okay, you're gonna have to start making sense now. This is hurting my head."
The funny thing is, he actually looks confused, as if he can't possibly fathom the idea of someone rejecting you. It's sweet, really — way too sweet for your liking, especially when you know fully well he doesn't see you in the way you'd want him to.
You lower your gaze to avoid his and instead focus on drawing random shapes on the counter with your index finger, where tiny droplets of condensation from your glass have pooled up on the dark wood. "I mean, I never really told him how I felt. Not directly. It just…never happened."
"Oh. Well, then how do you even know if he feels the same way?" he asks you, looking rather doubtful.
You steal another glance at him and almost regret it instantly. His eyes are trained on your face, patient and attentive like you're the only thing worth watching in the world. It makes you feel horribly small and selfish and guilty, because after all, what right do you have to want him when he so clearly wants someone else?
You feel like you could cry. You might, if you don't distract yourself with something fast enough.
"I just know. Do you want some pie? I'll go get you some pie."
Without waiting for a response, you rush off to the kitchen even though there's plenty of pies sitting on the display counter at the bar, and you make a beeline straight for the back exit.
The alley behind the diner is blissfully empty as usual, just a lonely dumpster and a handful of sad-looking shrubs and weeds peeking out from under the concrete.
No, you aren't going to cry.
This is stupid.
You press your back against the rough brick wall of the diner and breathe in deep the warm night air, then exhale slowly as you count to ten in your head.
When the door opens behind you and the diner's familiar chatter and clatter of cutlery spill into the alley, you wince, mentally cursing yourself for being so goddamn weak. You should have known better.
You don't have to look up to know that it's him.
"Are you hiding from me?" Steve's voice comes, quiet and curious and maybe just a little bit hurt, even.
"I got...suddenly nauseous," you explain weakly, still refusing to look up and meet his eyes.
There's a long stretch of silence, and you feel Steve move closer to you until he's leaning against the wall by your side. You finally look up and find him smiling, this gentle, amused little thing that makes your traitorous heart skip a beat.
"You look just fine to me."
You stare up at the sky, head against the wall. "I thought I was gonna throw up."
He's still watching you, you can tell; you're keenly aware of his eyes on you, so much so that your skin prickles at the attention. "No, you didn't."
"No, I didn't," you admit with a sigh, and turn your head to finally look at him. He's got this little half-smile on his lips, the very same one you fell for years ago, and you curse yourself silently for never learning how to let him go. Really let him go.
"Hey. Listen. You don't have to tell me, okay?" Steve says gently, pushing himself off the wall to step closer to you. He brings his hand up to your face and tucks a loose lock of hair behind your ear, letting his fingertips linger on the edge of your jaw for the briefest of moments, just long enough for you to wonder whether he knows what he's doing to you.
You don't dare to move. You're afraid of breaking whatever spell has seemingly come over him.
"I should've never asked. That was selfish."
"Forget it," you say.
He's standing close now, close enough that you have to tilt your chin up to be able to look up at him properly. There's a strange kind of tension in his eyes, something dark and unsure and tentative, and his gaze darts down to your lips just the slightest bit.
You're fairly sure you're just seeing what you want to see, your foolish heart playing tricks on you. But you panic nonetheless, feeling a sudden, irrational fear that if he moves any closer, he'll realize the truth — that you're a liar and a coward, that you've been harboring these feelings of yours for him for years.
"I should—I should go. Back inside," you mutter, pointing vaguely at the door with your thumb. "In there."
"Sure, yeah. Okay. In there," he echoes, not making a single move to leave. "Not out here."
"Yup. Exactly. In there."
"So you said."
"Yep."
The wall of the diner is digging into your spine uncomfortably, and your mouth is dry, and your knees feel weak, and your stomach is doing somersaults, and the longer he stares at you with those eyes of his the more you feel like you're burning from the inside out and—
He's not moving. All he does is look at you, really look at you, as if it's the first time he's really looked, as if he's seeing something that wasn't there before.
"Okay, so—"
You try to push past him towards the door, but Steve grabs your arm, making you stop dead in your tracks. He lets go as soon as you look up at him, lifting his hand in front of him in an apologetic gesture.
"Sorry. I'm sorry," he says. He swallows hard and rubs his palm on the front of his jeans, a nervous little habit you think he's always had. He runs his hand through his hair, mussing up the carefully gelled strands, and it's probably the first time you've ever seen him look so flustered.
He laughs nervously and gestures at the ground with his hands as he speaks. "Look, this is just—this is just crazy, okay, but I think I, uh, maybe sort of realized something."
You blink at him, not quite certain you're hearing him correctly.
"Realized what?" you ask, the words barely more than a whisper.
Steve clears his throat and nods at you, seemingly pleased that you've finally spoken. "Yeah, well, this is stupid, but you know how you're always telling me to listen to my gut?"
"You're not making a whole lot of sense right now, Steve."
"Just bear with me for a sec, okay? This is like, totally new to me." He holds his palms up, and you notice his hands are shaking a little. "I just need a minute, alright?"
He breathes in deep and exhales slowly, then shoots you an apologetic look.
"Sorry, this is just...really weird," he confesses. "Weirdly real."
"You're freaking me out," you tell him, but Steve only smiles at you.
"Maybe I should just show you. Because, I mean, what if I'm wrong? That'd be terrible, obviously."
"Steve."
"Yeah, I know, but hear me out, okay?" he says quickly, and takes another step closer. You stand your ground this time, if only because you don't trust yourself to actually move without your legs giving out. "So, look. Here's the thing. You're, like—you're one of the most important people in my life. You've been there for me when nobody else was, and I...you mean a lot to me."
"Steve—"
"Shut up, you're ruining the moment."
He takes another step forward until he's crowding you against the wall, hand coming to rest next to your head on the brick. He's close, so close that you can smell the scent of his cologne and shampoo and laundry detergent, and if you were to lean in even the slightest bit, your faces would bump.
Steve is a little out of breath, his lips parted ever so slightly. And he's still looking at you with that strange, searching expression of his.
"Is this okay?" he whispers.
"I don't—what?"
Your voice catches in your throat. There's no room for doubt in his eyes now, not even the tiniest, slightest sliver of uncertainty left.
"This," Steve murmurs.
He tilts his head to the side a little and leans in until you're sure your noses are touching, and you feel your eyes slip closed in anticipation.
"Is this okay?" he repeats in a whisper. "Please tell me I'm not crazy."
"I think I am."
His lips brush yours. It feels like an accident, doesn't last long enough to be anything but a dream. You can still taste the faint, sweet trace of sugar and mint on your tongue when he pulls away, though.
"Just to be clear," Steve whispers, his fingers brushing lightly over the skin of your neck, tracing invisible lines that make you shiver, "am I the guy from earlier? The one you like?"
You don't have it in you to deny it anymore.
"Yes. It's you."
A wide grin breaks out across his face, and suddenly he's everywhere; he cups your face in his hands, pressing eager, fervent kisses along the line of your jaw, trailing hot and open-mouthed down the side of your neck.
You giggle helplessly, grabbing Steve by his collar to pull him away from you and up to your eye level. He's breathing just as heavily as you are, his hair messy and his eyes bright.
"How do you do this to me, huh?" he pants, kissing your forehead, the tip of your nose, the corner of your mouth. "You just—you just completely knock me out."
A pleasant little thrill rushes up your spine at that.
"Oh yeah?"
"Completely."
You kiss him this time.
974 notes · View notes
nightdiary · 15 days
Text
first dates with enhypen
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word count: 5.4k genre: fluff, gender neutral reader, suggestive bits in jake's and hoon's but nothing too crazy imo author's note: been wanting to write more for enha so this was born... i am down bad for all of them i fear ): also it was almost too easy to get carried away in some spots but i didn't! i'm thinking of making more specific and individual bf posts for each of the members... saving my juicier ideas for then 🤍 as always, feedback is appreciated greatly<3!!!
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✧ heeseung - tinder date
you have a routine with all of your tinder dates. after three months on the app, you’d learned how to cycle through the guys quick enough so as not to waste a minute on someone who you didn’t see fitting into your life.
there are three stages to the cycle: one, they had to pass the initial profile check. simple enough, and yet most failed right at the beginning. half-naked photo holding a fish? swipe left. in a douche-baggy frat you’d never heard of? swipe left. 27, not sure what he’s looking for, and republican? hard swipe left.
the second and third stages took the longest, but that’s when the disappointment came in. after a few days of texting, the inevitable message about meeting in person would come. if the guy seemed normal enough, you’d agree, and finally meet. you’d build up the moment in your head and pick out a cute outfit and dance excitedly in your room beforehand, going through the possible conversation starters you could use if it got awkward.
you’d sit through a date with them and wait to be asked questions, wait for them to express some sort of interest in you as a person, but it would never come. instead, you would sit and listen to them harp about themselves for hours. every time, without fail, it was almost as if they didn’t care enough that you were there.
then, they’d presumptuously ask if you wanted to come home with them and, well, your decision couldn’t be clearer.
as much as you hated generalizing, the men from your tinder dates were proving to be pretty shit. they looked good on paper, but when it came down to dating you, they fucking sucked. and you were beginning to lose hope.
you’d sworn that you would take on one last date before deleting the forsaken app. lee heeseung is everything you’re looking for in a man, and you think it’s a wonder he matched with you instantly. the texts you exchange pass your perception of normal, and before you know it, he’s proposing you meet up at a japanese restaurant downtown.
you find yourself sitting across from a man you think god sent as an apology for all of the other 4 billion and some men.
“you are suspiciously perfect,” you frown, squinting at your date across the table. “like it’s weirding me out. what is wrong with you, lee heeseung?”
“quite a lot actually,” he jokes, “but my mom says i’m a good boy. i’d trust her, if i were you.”
snorting, you reach to snatch the last dumpling with your chopsticks. heeseung’s grab the dumpling before yours do, but he’s quick to place it onto your plate and tell you he’ll order more. as he politely calls the waitress over and thanks her when she brings over a new plate of dumplings, you can’t help but think you’re fucked. either your standards are low, or heeseung is just one remarkable man.
but as the afternoon progresses, you begin to lean towards the latter. heeseung takes a genuine interest in your hobbies and work, asking you thought-provoking and personal questions that don’t toe the line of being intrusive and passive-aggressive. you realize that this is the first date you’ve been on where you’ve talked so much, and it feels so weird to not spend the entirety of your date looking forward to going home.
“i think i’ve found out what’s wrong with you,” you tell him once both of you are standing outside of the restaurant. heeseung had paid for the bill no questions asked, and when you’d gotten up to shrug your coat on, you realized with a start that the sky outside was pitch black.
as heeseung hums unassumingly and fixes you with a questioning look, you grin and say, “you hate mint chocolate. you’re a walking red flag, lee heeseung.”
your date bursts out into laughter and shakes his head. the wide smile stays on his face as he offers his arm to you, bringing you close to his side when you take it. “fine, you’ve got me there. can i at least walk you to your bus stop before you block me?”
you pretend to think about it, tapping your chin with your forefinger, before sighing and agreeing with a matching smile. your walk to the stop takes you through a busy central street that’s alive in the early evening, and you can’t help but press yourself closer to heeseung. he steers the two of you through the crowds with relative ease, and you somehow manage not to bump into anyone for the entirety of the walk, all thanks to him.
as you sit on the bench together and wait for your bus to show up, you use the cold as an excuse to huddle up to heeseung’s side. he laughs again, a lilting noise that tugs at your heartstrings, and you quickly realize you’ve gotten yourself in far too deep from the first date.
you have to move off his shoulder when he begins taking his jacket off. confused, you watch as he drapes the material over your back and urges you to slip your arms in through the sleeves so he can zip it up. you notice your bus rolling up to the curb and panic, turning to heeseung with a frown.
“don’t worry about it,” he reassures you. kissing your cheek sweetly, he helps you get up and walks you toward the bus door. “you have to walk home from the bus, i don’t want you getting cold. just give it to me on our next date, yeah?”
stunned, you nod shyly and step into the bus. as you scan your card and take a seat next to the window, you peer outside and grin when you find heeseung waiting to wave goodbye. he’s a bit blurry because the glass has fogged up from the heat, but you can make out the way his face softens when you trace a heart into the window.
with the promise of a second date and heeseung’s cozy coat on your shoulders, you begin making your way home, feeling oddly warm and thrilled beyond belief.
maybe tinder had finally worked out in your favor. you’d make sure to leave a 5 star review when you got home.
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✧ jay - rollerskating rink
for what it’s worth, you weren’t the one that chose the location for your first date.
you’d left the decision up to jay, who, in all of his dependable glory, seemed to have chosen the worst possible location– at least for him.
“jay?” you call to the panting boy behind you. “are you sure you’re okay? we can always go sit down for a bit and come back later.”
your date shakes his head adamantly and pushes himself forward using the railing, scrunching his eyes shut like he’s anticipating another fall. he looks awfully adorable in the hot pink skates that the rink had lent him, even if he’s faring worse than a newborn deer with them on. the juxtaposition of his carefully crafted and sophisticated outfit with the cartoonish design of the skates is oddly endearing to you.
“wow, i really thought this looked harder than it actually was,” jay pauses by the railing, leaning down to rub at his ankle with a pained expression. “these skates are beating my ass.”
“why’d you choose this place if you’ve never been rollerskating before?” you can’t help but ask.
“okay, don’t laugh,” jay warns, avoiding your curious eyes. his cheeks are all red as he continues to massage his ankle, and you doubt it’s entirely because he’s exhausted from skating. “your best friend told me you like to come here a lot, but that you never have someone to go with. figured i’d be that person for you, even if i suck a lot.”
the thought of jay willingly sacrificing his comfort and the wellbeing of his ankles for you makes you feel warm all over. you help him stand up and regain his balance without relying on the rail, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his cheek as encouragement. poor unsuspecting jay crumbles down immediately after, clutching onto the rail for support. you can’t help but laugh, though it isn’t unkind.
“just know i appreciate all of your sacrifices,” you tell him. offering your hand, you pull him up and continue to hold on to him as you lightly push backwards with your skates. “we can go slow, i’ll teach you some basic moves to get you moving around on your own.”
jay gulps but nods nonetheless, staggering forward after you. it’s relatively easy to keep him upright when you’re going at such a slow pace, his soft hands encased between the firm fingers of your own. you throw a look over your shoulder every now and then to make sure you don’t run into anyone, but the rink’s empty enough at this hour that you have enough space to move about freely with jay attached to you.
“bend your knees a little– yeah, that’s good, now glide forward one foot at a time, lean into your strides a bit,” you instruct, gaze focused on your date’s wobbly legs. the tight fitting jeans he’d worn are admittedly hot, but you feel a bit guilty thinking about jay’s thighs while he’s trying not to break the bones in them.
as soon as jay gets the basic motions down, you switch to skating side by side with him, your linked hands suspended between the two of you. he’s still slow and careful with his movements, but you can tell he’s fallen into a rhythm that works for him. you don’t mind having to inch your way across the rink with him. if anything, it’s nice having him by your side.
“i think this was just a big ploy to get me to hold your hand,” you tease.
jay flushes and, very tellingly, doesn’t say a word.
snickering, you begin to swing your hands between your bodies. jay’s hand is big and warm, and you don’t want to let go soon. “you should know i would’ve held your hand anyway. next time, let’s hold hands at a place that won’t break your tailbone.”
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✧ jake - bowling
“you know what they say about men and bowling?” 
“no, jake,” you deadpan. you knew exactly where this was going, and yet you still decide to give jake the satisfaction. something about being a good date, even if jake has always been a friend you’d teased first and foremost. “what do they say?”
“they’re either good in bed or at bowling,” jake steps back from the lane and looks over his shoulder to wink at you. his arm swings back an exaggerated amount as he walks toward the foul line, sending the ball rolling onto the wood with zero coordination. it immediately goes towards the gutter. “these are mutually exclusive, scientifically proven.”
but in all of jake’s infinite luck, the ball veers towards the middle at the very last minute, hitting the front-most pin and knocking down the rest in succession. above you, the screen plays a cute animation of bowling pins running away from the ball, only to be smothered with a large neon text spelling out STRIKE! in bold letters.
“oh this is so bad for you,” you bite back the urge to laugh. jake’s mortified face turns towards you and you almost lose it at the sight of his heartbroken expression. “you’ve got another turn, by the way. let’s see if you can get a double, babe.”
jake’s next ball ends up in the gutter and he cheers loudly, earning him very confused looks from the kids in the lane next to you. one of them offers their dinosaur bowling ramp to help jake out, but he kindly turns them down and tells them he’s trying to let you win.
unfortunately for the both of you, you don’t hold up too great score-wise either. even with your one lucky spare and otherwise average abilities, jake ends up winning by 20 whole points, a feat he doesn’t seem too keen on celebrating. the light in your lane turns off after the round is over, and jake proposes you two get some well-deserved food.
“do you think this is a lame date?” he asks you once you’ve sat down at one of the plastic benches. you instantly frown at the question and reach out to spear a handful of fries with your fragile plastic fork.
“don’t worry, i think it’s sexy when men are good at sports,” you reassure him, “also it’s cute that you wanted to let me win. and that you bought me loaded fries with extra cheese. it’s super romantic.”
jake snorts, but you notice how his shoulders visibly relax at your words. navigating your friendship-turned-something-bigger was harder than you’d anticipated it would be, and acknowledging your reciprocated feelings was proving to be the easiest part.
you knew that jake was equally on edge about fucking this whole thing up. there was a lot more at stake here than with someone you hadn’t known for years prior. you were afraid of diving headfirst into something that could potentially rip away an important part of you, afraid that one wrong move would send jake tumbling out of your life. you had cherished him long before you had realized you loved him differently.
but as you watch jake chew through a forkful of fries, you realize that there’s nothing complicated about this. things have always been simple with him, and they’ll continue to be no matter if you’re dating or not.
“cmon, next round is on me,” you stand up and wipe the last of the cheese from your mouth. “if you can beat me again, i’ll consider letting you prove that silly bowling theory wrong to me.”
the speed at which jake gets up is dizzying. he’s at the counter paying before you can even catch up to him, sliding a few bills over to the employee and turning to you with a playful grin. “we’re at lane 7, babe. go get warmed up.”
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✧ sunghoon - laser tag
your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your head. clutching the plastic gun to your chest, you press yourself closer to the wall and still your breathing. the red light on your heavy vest has stopped blinking, meaning you’d recovered from the last hit, but you know you can’t risk running just yet.
the undeniable sound of footsteps creeping closer makes you inch toward the corner of the wall, where you know sunghoon is waiting for you. you bite your lip and tense your finger on the trigger, peering over the bricks that are obscuring your vision.
surely enough, even in the darkness of the laser tag arena, you can make out sunghoon’s determined face. he’s crouched down behind a beat-up car, wearily scanning the area. most likely looking for you, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction just yet.
the blue on his vest has dimmed down– you’d hit him several times earlier and knew this was probably one of his last lives left. your own indicator showed that your lives were also running low, and based on how exhausted you felt, you knew you couldn’t have much time left from the round. you had to move in soon, or risk tying with sunghoon.
in your case, you thought that would be worse than losing.
taking a deep breath, you lift your gun and peer around the corner one more time, and in the split second it takes for sunghoon to notice you, you manage to send a shot straight at his vest. but the light on his vest doesn’t budge, and as you realize you had horribly misaimed, your date takes the opportunity to aim at you properly.
your vest makes a video game-like noise of defeat and you feel your gun power down. you know you have to hide for the next minute to let it recharge, but as you spin around and try to figure out where to run toward, you notice sunghoon already closing in.
“such a shame,” he drawls, holding up his gun with a smirk. you frown, backing up until you feel your shoulders hit a concrete wall. sunghoon’s voice is quiet enough not to draw attention from your teammates, but it sends shivers down your spine nonetheless. “thought you’d finally beat me this round. what happened, babe?”
“i still have one more life left, don’t get all cocky.” you mumble, shaking your gun frustratedly. the minute needed to pass by quicker.
looking over his shoulder, you realize with a frown that you’re in quite possibly the most secluded part of the arena. there’s no hope calling out for help or trying to make a run for it.
sunghoon squints down at your indicator and moves in even closer. you feel your breath quicken when the front of his vest hits yours, and you’re left caged in to stare up defiantly at him. he’s grinning at you like he’s already won.
“i’m not going to let you win,” you lean in toward him and whisper. sunghoon’s eyes flit toward your lips, and you try not to think about throwing your chances out the window and kissing him.
“you don’t have anywhere to run,” he places a hand next to your head on the wall, and to really drive the point home, you feel him press the muzzle of his gun against your side, where you know your sensor is. you’re pretty certain he can hear how fast your heart’s beating, and it makes you flush red from embarrassment. “you ready to admit defeat yet? or are you going to keep being stubborn?”
there’s no reason you should feel this lightheaded, but sunghoon’s so, so close to you that you can’t think properly. he’s practically pressed up against you, warm and solid and he’s barely a few centimeters away, and if you lean in just a bit more, you’ll be able to kiss him.
so that’s what you do.
“sure,” you say simply, and lean up to softly brush your lips against his. you grab at his neck with your free hand, bringing him flush against you so that you can fully slot your mouth with his. he’s surprised– you can tell from the way his gun clatters loudly to the floor next to you, and you try not to smile into the kiss.
seconds later, you distantly hear your gun make a familiar rebooting sound. you hold sunghoon firmly against you as you blindly aim your gun toward the sensor on his side, and with one last peck to the side of his mouth, you pull the trigger.
sunghoon’s vest goes dark. you don’t think he registers this, though, because he stares at you wide-eyed and adorably confused as you pull back from the kiss.
“i win,” you tease, and your date blinks down at his indicator.
“you win,” sunghoon affirms quietly. conveniently, the overhead lights turn on as the round draws to a close, and you can’t help but notice the way he’s reddened all over.
“victory kiss?”
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✧ sunoo - picnic
ten minutes into your date with sunoo, you make the most devastating observation ever: sunoo has freckles.
they’re visible for only seconds at time, when the sun hits his face at just the right angle, but it still makes your breath catch in your throat every time you see them. they’re littered across his face like miniature stars, dipping across his cheeks in multitudes and scattering off toward his temples and brow bones.
your hands itch to reach out and trace them.
“–and then once we finally got to the place, it turned out to be super cute and they had some of the best lemonade i’ve ever had.” sunoo’s voice slowly trickles back into your ears, and you blink the world into focus once again.
you find your date looking at you with crinkled eyes, studying your features with amusement. almost like he knows exactly what’s been going through your mind.
“sorry,” you laugh sheepishly, reaching out to grab another chocolate-covered strawberry. sunoo had made them himself for the occasion, that much he’d eagerly disclosed within the first few minutes of the date, and you had found it too endearing for your poor heart. “i got distracted. what was this place called again?”
"auntie lim’s diner,” he answers slowly, smirking when you nod off-handedly. “hey, what’s on your mind?”
“lemonade,” you respond just a bit too quickly, face blanching when sunoo’s grin grows impossibly wider. whining and covering yourself with your hands, you try not to focus on the way his melodic laughter rings out like bells.
“lemonade, huh?” sunoo’s teasing is light-hearted, but that doesn’t stop your heart from leaping up into your throat. “was there some on my face? because you’ve been staring an awful lot for the past few minutes.”
groaning, you duck your head and try to focus on finishing your strawberry. you can feel the heat rise from your cheeks to your ears though, and are certain sunoo’s made note of this when he giggles and leans forward to get a better look at you.
“you’ve got freckles,” you mumble, picking at the leaves of the strawberry. when sunoo doesn’t respond for a while, you look up and bravely gesture toward his cheeks, pointing at where you’d seen the aforementioned spots with a shaky finger. “and like– it’s super cute. you’re super cute. but it caught me off-guard so, like. yeah. sorry for staring.”
sunoo hums. you can feel his eyes roving through your face, but you immediately look away once they finally meet yours. then, you feel something warm encasing your hand, and nearly jerk in surprise when your fingers come to brush against the soft skin of sunoo’s face moments later.
“don’t apologize,” he mumbles, leading your hand down the side of his cheek, where you’d pointed just seconds ago. “i’m really flattered you noticed. and you don’t have to be shy about stuff like this, i’d honestly be a bit worried if we were on a date and you didn’t find me attractive.”
reveling at the supple skin beneath your fingertips, you feel the weight ease off of your chest almost instantly. despite having known each other for a limited amount of time, sunoo’s come to be quick at recognizing when you feel out of place or uncomfortable, and he’s become too good at easing you back into safe waters. he’s too good to you.
“don’t get ahead of yourself,” you tease back instead, unable to handle the growing wave of emotions in you. “i only said your freckles were cute.”
sunoo looks up at you through his lashes, and your hand freezes where it’s fallen by his chin. flitting your eyes downwards, you watch his rosy lips part, almost like they want to voice your hidden intentions. gulping, you subconsciously feel yourself draw in closer, until you can feel his breath wash out against your cheeks like water on shore.
your heartbeat’s in your ears and sunoo’s pretty mouth is right there. glancing back up at his eyes, you notice that he’s also looking down at your lips, tracing the minuscule movement of your tongue peeking out to wet them.
he’s so close. you can almost just lean in a bit and–
“yeah? so then my second date invitation to auntie lim’s diner has been rejected?”
pausing, your eyes widen as you stare back at sunoo in bewilderment. he’s grinning at you slyly, the edges of his eyes crinkling with laughter as his whole body shakes with amusement. you can’t help the string of giggles that bubble out of you almost like second nature. it’s nice, you think, having someone like sunoo to laugh with.
“i mean, i guess i’ll have to try this lemonade you speak so highly of."
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✧ jungwon - boba place
in retrospect, choosing a first date location for you and a total stranger was easier than you thought it would be. yang jungwon, as your best friend had briefly introduced him to you, seemed simple enough to enjoy normal things. you already had a place in mind before your friend showed you his photos, but you really couldn’t help it once you laid eyes on him.
“has anyone told you your eyes look like tapioca pearls?”
jungwon’s cat-like features curl in amusement and he pops his lips off of the boba straw. he chews through his last gulp, wiping at the droplet of milk tea that had trickled out onto his bottom lip. you follow the movement with your eyes, coughing when you absentmindedly swallow a pearl without chewing it fully.
“no, but should i take that as a compliment?” jungwon asks, passing you a napkin.
you take it and wipe at your own mouth, cheeks growing red out of embarrassment. “yeah. but now that i think about it, it does sound kind of weird. i don’t want to eat your eyes, i promise.”
jungwon laughs, mouth pulling into an endearingly wide grin. okay, your friend had definitely undersold him. jungwon was cute as fuck.
“why’d you choose a boba place, anyway?” he continues, fiddling with the cup in his hold. he’d finished his drink surprisingly fast, and you have half a mind to offer him some of your own. “not that i don’t like it. great choice, honestly. but why?”
you shrug. “the atmosphere is nice. and if you’re going to go on a date with someone you don’t know that much, might as well go somewhere you can talk. it would be pretty awkward to watch a movie with a stranger, don’t you think?”
jungwon nods seriously, hair bouncing along with his movements. “your friend was right about you being smart.”
“yeah?” now that you thought about it, you hadn’t considered how your best friend had sold you to jungwon. given that he’d agreed, you figured it must’ve been pretty alright. that, and the fact that it was your beloved best friend in question, you had no doubt you were probably oversold, if anything.
still, there was a nagging curiosity in your head that you couldn’t ignore. “what else was my friend right about?”
“that you’re easy to talk to, and that i’d feel comfortable around you,” jungwon muses, glancing down as he traces the rim of his plastic cup. he seems to be mulling over his next words carefully, lips twisted into a cute pout. “they also said that you were pretty. the photos they showed me really were great, but you’re even better in person. not that looks are the most important thing but, y’know. you’re a package deal, basically.”
you feel the way your ears burn red from his words, and you stutter your way through a shocked thank you. jungwon grins knowingly, but doesn’t comment on it further. instead, he asks you if you want to share one of the cake slices in the display window that you were eyeing earlier. you try not to look too eager as you nod, choosing to ignore jungwon’s mumble of cute as he walks away. for your well-being, of course.
jungwon returns with a slice of red velvet and two forks in hand. he waits for you to take the first bite before sinking his own fork into the cake. “your turn. what’d your friend tell you about me?”
you know you have to word your answer carefully, or else you worry you’ll come off as a weirdo. jungwon’s too good to chase off just yet, and you haven’t had this much luck with a date in a long while. or ever, you think.
“my friend told me that the most important things about you were that you’re a psychology major and that you look like that one campus cat,” you trail off, unsure, “charles? was that his name?”
jungwon barely manages to set his fork down before he’s bursting into laughter. you would think you’d said something wrong but his entire face is crinkled with amuse and you can’t help but join in on the giggling, ignoring the glaring teenagers from the table over.
“charlie, yes, of course i know him,” jungwon manages to squeeze in between giggles, “oh my god, i didn’t know people outside of my friend group knew about this joke."
“so you’re the cat that’s always hanging around the quad,” you say, dead-serious, and jungwon meows cutely as if to agree with you.
“okay, so,” he puts his hand up and begins listing off on his fingers, “i look like a boba ball, the infamous cat on our campus, and what else?”
“my next boyfriend,” you say before you can stop yourself, and you slap a hand over your mouth in surprise as your cheeks color in embarrassment.
jungwon grins. “that can be arranged.”
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✧ niki - arcade
“okay, now i’m actually convinced you’re cheating,” niki whines loudly, letting go of the controller and slumping back in his seat with a pout.
the game you’ve been going at for the past half hour– a car racing game set in an alternate reality– dramatically replays the moment your character crossed the finish line and won. the stark contrast of the accompanying confetti on the screen next to niki’s misery makes you giggle, and you reach out to slip the tickets that the machine spits out into your backpack.
“will you feel better if i get you something with these?” shaking a strand of tickets enticingly, you watch as your date immediately sits up and abandons his sulking to nod at you eagerly.
the teenager working the prize desk looks at the two of you with such a deadpan expression you nearly mistake him for a robot. gathering your pile of tickets onto the counter, you look up at the various different stuffed animals and boxes on display, frowning once you notice the ticket prices taped onto them, denoted with far too many zeroes for your liking. almost like inflation’s gotten to the arcades as well.
“see anything you like?” you turn to niki, brushing your shoulder against his.
you watch him survey the different rows, expression growing grim once he comes to the same exact realization as you.
“um,” it’s almost comical how you can hear the frown in his voice. “actually nevermind, these prizes are crazy. holy shit, three thousand tickets for a snorlax plushie?”
“right!” you nod, ducking your head and stifling your laughter when the employee sighs out loudly.
with your meager six hundred and thirty-seven tickets, you and niki manage to get a handful of smaller, yet arguably better things: a sticky frog, two chinese finger traps, a whistle that sounds like duck quacks, and three boxes of different pocky flavors.
“i had no idea that coconut pocky existed,” you mumble in awe, reaching into the packet to draw out another stick. you observe it under the fading sunlight, popping it into your mouth with a happy hum.
after you and niki had spent your fortune of tickets, you’d decided to take your business elsewhere (or, alternatively: leave before the employee ended up kicking you out). you found yourselves on a bench right outside of said establishment, going through each of the prizes that you’d tucked away into your backpack.
“me neither, but i really like ‘em. here, have some of the mango ones,” niki holds out a second box towards you, and you eagerly reach in to pull out some of the sticks. 
the sun’s begun to descend down the horizon, and you realize with a start that you’d managed to spend the entire day in the arcade with niki. the date seems to be drawing to an inevitable end, much to your disappointment, but you can’t help and savor the warm feeling that the day has left you with.
“it’s getting dark,” niki seems to read your thoughts. you hear shuffling and turn to see him stand up and collect his belongings, reaching out to offer his hand to you once he’s done. “i should walk you to your bus stop.”
staring up at him, you blurt, “do you want to go get a proper dinner instead?”
the words rush out of you before you can think, but no matter your shyness, you’re glad you’ve said them. niki’s surprised expression quickly morphs into something gentler, and he nods almost like he’s relieved. “oh thank god, i didn’t want to go home yet either.”
laughing, you take his hand and stand up from the bench you’d been sharing for the past hour. but even after he helps you up, niki doesn’t let go of your hand, instead threading his fingers through yours to hold you more comfortably.
you don’t say anything, but when niki looks over at you to make sure it’s okay, you smile at him brightly.
“so– fried chicken?”
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