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viennakarma · 4 months

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Wreck my plans (that's my man)

Part 2 of Say Something

Lewis Hamilton x Reader | Fernando Alonso x Reader

Summary: Juggling a new life as a divorced woman, a toddler and maybe a new (old) love.

Word count: 4.5k

Tags: Female reader, new love, a kinda asshole Lewis, co-parenting relationship, smut, oral sex (f receiving), a lot of spanish pet names, not beta read

Relationships: Fernando Alonso x Reader, Ex!Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Notes: I know some of you wanted forgiveness for Lewis, and another bunch of you wanted Toto Wolff but I blindly opened the doc and these 4 thousand words just happened. If you really want an alternate ending (forgiving Lewis), drop something in my inbox and I might write a lil something for you ;)

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“Look, mama!” Luna pointed the little finger at the big poster of George Russell, “Uncle Joje!”

“Yep, that’s uncle George, my love!”

“And Dada! Dada!” She pointed to the next big poster, a big picture of Lewis wearing the team gear.

It was the first time you went back to a Grand Prix, in a little more than two years. And it was Luna’s first time ever attending. You and Lewis had a great co-parenting relationship, the world knew about Luna, but the Silverstone GP was going to be the first time she’d be seen publicly. You knew Lewis had hired the best security team just for this, and he had called you with a confident pep talk the night before.

As soon as the car stopped, you pulled Luna closer.

“Baby, stay close to mama, yes? We’re going to see Dada and Papa Anthony too, ok?”

Your daughter nodded but you knew she didn’t really understand, so you just smiled at her and opened the door. You could feel the flashes popping around the two of you, and could imagine everyone wondering what Lewis’ ex wife was doing there.

The bodyguards walked you and Luna over to the Mercedes’ hospitality. You found Lewis in the privacy of his little driver’s room.

“Dada!” Luna squealed as soon as she saw him, casual jeans and the team shirt.

You smiled, setting your little girl down so she could run to her father’s arms. Lewis smiled big, that one smile he only directed to his daughter. Lewis picked her up, kissing her face and hugging her.

“Hi, Lewis!” You greeted him with a side hug, since Luna was still in his arms.

“Hi, Y/N! Are you two ok? Was the trip here alright?” He asked, attentive.

“Yes, thank you. How is your schedule? You wanna stay with her a little?” You asked.

“Yes, I want to be with her. My dad’s at the hospitality too, he’s dying to see Luna.”

You gave him your daughter’s bag, with nappies, toys, drinks and snacks. You told him to call if needed, anything. Kissing your baby’s cheek, you left Lewis’ room to give them a little space and privacy.

Walking around aimlessly, seeing the energy flowing was kind of fun. You walked by Ferrari and greeted both drivers, who you had known back when you were married to Lewis. A good part of the grid had changed, but the few from before still recognised you and talked to you.

You were going back to Mercedes to check on Luna when you hit someone chest to chest.

“Oh, god! I’m so sorry!” You whispered.

“Y/N” he greeted you. You met the gaze of beautiful brown eyes, in an almost green kind of shade.

“Fernando! Hi!” You finally recognized the spaniard.

You had met Fernando the same night you had met Lewis, introduced by Sebastian and his wife after you created the project for their family home.

“It’s good to see you,” Fernando said, still holding your shoulder.

“You too.”

“I’m sorry about the divorce.”

“Uh, don’t worry. It’s been a while, Lewis and I are friends now.”

Fernando nodded, his eyes on your face. You stared at his eyes, trying to find something to say, to fill in the awkward silence.

“You’re just as beautiful as ever,” he whispered almost in a daze. You felt the blush creeping up your face.

“Thank you, you look handsome too,” you said, and you phone started ringing, you checked to see it was Lewis calling, “sorry, I gotta go,”

“See you around?” Fernando asked.

“Yeah, I’ll see you around, Fernando.”

You started walking away feeling butterflies in your stomach, like a silly teenager. You were walking but as you looked back, Fernando was still there staring at your distancing figure.

Fernando never forgot your pretty smile. He had met you so long ago, in a party hosted by Sebastian and his wife. Fernando had been enchanted by you, by the way your presence lit up the room, by how smart you sounded, by how clever you were. The problem was Fernando had gotten to the party late, and when he arrived, you had already met Lewis, fully entranced by the British man's charisma.

Fernando still had a silly crush on you when you were dating Lewis and he saw you around, but after you got married, he had forced himself to move on.

Now it felt like some sort of miracle, bumping into you again.

He didn’t lose any time. As he went back to the Aston Martin garage, he called someone.

It was a couple of hours later and you were by the Mercedes garage chatting with Anthony and keeping an eye on Luna who was running around with George and Lewis, greeting engineers and mechanics, enchanting everyone with her charm.

Someone wearing green came into the garage and everyone stopped, looking at the intruder from the Aston Martin team. The Aston Martin lady handed you a big bouquet of lilies and excused herself.

Every single pair of eyes were set on you and the mysterious bouquet. With your face red, you pulled the card, opening.

“Glad to see you again, hermosa. - Fernando”

You smiled, covering your face. On the back of the card was a phone number.

“Who’s that from?” Lewis asked and suddenly everyone was silent, tension rising up.

“Lewis,” you said between gritted teeth, “you’re making a scene.” Lewis seemed to realize everyone had an eye on you two, so you just turned to Anthony and said, “can you keep an eye on Luna for a couple of minutes please?”

After confirmation, you walked inside, taking your bouquet with you, and putting the number on your phone.

“Who’s it from?” Lewis followed you inside.

“It’s none of your fucking business, Lewis.”

“It is because you’re the mother of my kid.”

“Which means the only topic concerning you is our kid!” You whispered angrily.

“You’re dating, now?”

“Fuck off, Lewis!” You exclaimed, a surge of anger coming through your chest, “Don’t come at me all high and mighty now. You cheated on me, and I still let you be close to my daughter, and I still treat you with respect! I kept the secret of why our marriage ended to save your reputation and we only have a good relationship for her sake!”

You knew the words struck a nerve because his chest was heaving. You had been respectful to Lewis ever since the pregnancy because you wanted your daughter to grow up in a safe and happy environment. But that was where you drew the line.

“My life doesn’t revolve around you anymore.”

Leaving Lewis behind, you went to a room in the hospitality and managed to send a thank you text to Fernando.

You ended up accepting going on a date with Fernando after a few weeks of calling and texting. He ended up going to your place in Edinburgh for a cozy dinner, in a week Luna had gone traveling with Lewis for the summer break.

After the divorce you faced a lot of backlash from Lewis’ fans, even if they didn’t know any details, they still blamed you for breaking their idol’s heart. A few man had flirted with you here and there, but pregnant for nine months and then raising a baby after, you didn’t have the time or energy to find romance. Dealing with the aftermath of your divorce with a world superstar athlete had been something else.

So you had been living a low profile life, one that Fernando fully respected. He and you opted for cooking dinner yourselves, preparing a pasta dish with lots of pomodoro sauce and cheese.

He was easy to talk to. So openly into you, complimenting you, talking about how pretty and how interesting you are. The Spanish charm was so real and delightful, after years of feeling rejected.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked, over a glass of wine while Fernando mixed a saucepan.

“Anything.”

“Why are you interested in me?” You sounded honestly confused.

You were a divorced woman, with a toddler, still trying to figure out the relationship you had with your ex, and living under the radar after having your face plastered all over the media. You couldn’t help but wonder if he was really into you or if it was some sort of vendetta against Lewis. You knew that despite them being on good terms now, there’s history between them, and many layers of rivalry you weren’t privy to, since it happened long before they met you.

“Is this to get back at Lewis in some way? Because I’d like to manage my expectations if that’s the case.”

He understood why you would be guarded and suspicious of his intentions. Your last relationship had imploded in a way that he could only imagine left you devastated. It must look off, a known rival of your ex-husband sweeping in and showing romantic interest. But Fernando didn’t mind showing you his true intentions as long as you allowed him.

Fernando turned the stove off, and walked around the kitchen island, standing in front of you, so close he was almost between your legs.

“It has nothing to do with him because I have always been interested in you,” he whispered like a secret, seeing you confused frown, he kept talking, “remember the night we met? Lewis left early, we went to the garden, and sat down by the fountain. We shared a bottle of wine and a cigarette. Just me and you watching the sun rise.”

“Fernando…” you whispered back, remembering. Of course you knew about that, but for so long your life was entangled to Lewis, that the memory of that night was only attached to him in your brain.

But that had happened. You and Fernando had talked late into the night, chatting about life and the future, sitting barefoot on the grass, passing a wine bottle between you. Fernando didn’t flirt with you that day, he just chatted.

At the time you were so infatuated with Lewis already, that you didn’t see what was right under your nose.

“And for years after that,” Fernando gulped, looking a bit guilty, “I wondered if I had gone to the party earlier, if I had met you first, wouldn’t it be me by your side?”

“You’ve been into me all these years?” You asked, shocked.

“I have been in love all these years.”

You held his face, pulling him into you, kissing him. He was shocked at first, but as soon as it wore off, his hand slipped around your waist, pulling you flush into him. With the other hand, he cradled your head by the nape, his lips leaving your mouth, to kiss down your neck and nip at your earlobe, which had you moaning softly, melting against him.

“I’m sorry, hermosa,” he apologized, taking a step back.

You were panting softly as he stared at you, red face and lips, hair a little disheveled from his hand.

“Fernando,” you stood up, holding his hand, “come back here.”

You pulled him back, pressing your lips into his. He held you close, flush against his chest, opening his lips and deepening the kiss. You felt hot all over.

“I have dreamed about this, diosa.” He moaned into your lips.

“Can we-” you muttered between kisses, “can we skip dinner?”

You turned around to go back to the living room, hearing Fernando hearty laugh, and he immediately hugged you from behind, kissing your shoulder and neck. Finally making it to the sofa, you sat down. Fernando just knelt in front of you, pushing your dress up.

“Dessert first, sí?”

Laughing, you nodded, kicking your panties after he pushed them down your legs. Fernando bit into your thighs, and you moaned at the feel of his beard on your skin. With his head between your thighs, he mouthed you, licking a stripe into your cunt. Using a hand to open you up, he lapped your pussy like a man starved, pressing face, nose and tongue into your wetness. You had gone so long without another person, that now you were mushy under his ministrations. He still couldn’t get enough, so he put one of your legs over his shoulder, diving deeper, tongue over your clit and finger entering your cunt.

“Fuck, Nando. Too good, too good,” you gripped his hair, grinding on his face. He curled his fingers up inside you, finding your g-spot, making you shake, “I’m so close, baby. So, so close.”

He latched on to your clit, and you came hard, shaking, hips pressing into his face as you tried to come down. You were panting, breathless, as you came down from your high. Fernando stood up, sitting by your side, kissing you. You tasted yourself on his lips, and he held you.

You cupped the bulge in his pants, and he kept kissing you face gently, holding you in his arms like he wanted to never let go.

“We should take this to the bedroom,” he whispered into your ear, making goosebumps arise in your skin.

You two stumbled to the bedroom, laughing as you pulled each piece of clothing off, tossing them to the floor. You were fully naked by the time the door closed behind you in the bedroom.

You didn’t actually lay in the bed, since Fernando made you keep one foot on the floor and pushed your other leg on the mattress, leaving you open for him.

“Dios, I want to keep you in this bed for days until I have tasted all of you, cariño,” he said, running a calloused hand up and down from your back all the way to your butt, pressing his fingers over your cheeks, making you moan.

“Nando, please fuck me, just- I need you, please,” you begged, feeling the way he lined his cock to tease your entrance but not actually putting in, just coating himself with your wetness.

Then finally, he pushed inside, slowly, your walls pulling him in a perfect tight grip. The two of you cursed as you adapted to the feel of him inside, of having someone fucking you for the first time in years.

Fernando started fucking you softly, and you let him manhandle you as he pulled you back to stand up, your back against his chest, one of his hands snaking around your middle to keep him pressed to your backside and the other hand cradled your face by the jaw, forcing you to look ahead.

“Mírate, cariño (look at you, dear)” he whispered, making you face ahead, finding the full length mirror on the other side of the room, you could see perfectly, Fernando fucking you from behind, his sweaty face above your shoulder, your tits bouncing with each snap of his hips and his hands claiming your body like you were a fucking masterpiece, “you look so pretty taking my cock.”

You looked at the mirror, his hand keeping you up like a toy and he started pounding into you, and you could only moan his name as you felt the orgasm buildup, you threw your hand back, holding his head and pulling his hair and your other hand down to your clit as his thrusts became harder and slower. You felt yourself clench around him, coming hard as he whispered in your ear.

“Oh, you feel so good, hermosa. I bet it feels so good coming around my cock does it not?” He talked you through your high.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me. Please, baby.” You moaned and that did it for him, and you had him cumming with a couple of sloppy thrusts.

You two fell on the bed, breathless.

“Goddamn, Nano, you’re going to ruin my life,” You whispered.

“I’m happy to be of service,” he joked and you ended up laughing out loud, him accompanying you with a few giggles.

You two showered, and then dressed in robes, ate dinner on the living room floor, sharing the wine straight from the bottle just like the first time you met.

After talking for what felt like hours, he took you back to bed, feasting on your cunt until he pulled two more orgasms from you, and then fucking you slowly. Mouth on your nipples and a hand keeping your hips high as he fucked into you. You held onto him for dear life, fingers tangled on his soft hair and kissed him whenever he gave you the opportunity. He worshiped your body like you were the only woman to ever exist, intense eye contact and praising you every step of the way.

The next morning you woke up naked, spent and happy. You barely had the time to feel Nando’s absence in your bed when he entered the room, carrying a big tray with breakfast.

“¡Buenos días!” He greeted you with a peck and set the tray in front of you. There was coffee, juice, toast and cheese.

“Buenos días, baby” you said, lazily taking a sip of coffee, “this is nice. I’ve never been surprised with breakfast in bed before.”

“You deserve it, you took me so well last night, hermosa.” He kissed you quickly again, and you blushed because of his words.

You kept eating when he went to the opposite side of the room to take a phone call. You spoke intermediate Spanish because of work, but you didn’t pry in his conversation, instead focusing on recharging your energies.

“Duty calls?” You asked as he came back. He only nodded, which made you a little sad, “well, I was going to ask you to stay the weekend, but I understand you’re busy.”

“I’ll cancel my plans.” He shrugged.

“No, no, you don’t have to.” You said quickly, feeling guilty for messing with his schedule.

“Do you want me to spend the weekend?” He asked softly. And you just nodded, not wanting to be the cause of him getting in trouble with work. “Then I’ll spend the weekend.”

He immediately got into a phone call again, and from what you could gather, he was rescheduling his commitments for the next week.

“Why did you do that?” You reprimanded him, but deep down you were kinda giddy because he was going to stay the weekend.

“You’re a priority, not a second thought.” He said it like it was the most obvious thing ever. “Besides, I’ll never say no to spending more time with you, cariño.”

Throughout the next six months, you and Nando kept in touch and met here and there whenever Lewis had Luna over. He officially asked you to be his girlfriend when you spent a week with him in a secluded villa close to the beach in Spain. It’s not that you didn’t want Fernando to meet Luna, but you two were still figuring out your relationship and you didn’t want to introduce them and in case he ended up not sticking around for the long run.

“Are you sure?” You asked him suddenly one night when you two were cuddling on the balcony, staring at each other and at the sky.

“Sure of what?”

“Are you sure you wanna be with me, Fernando?” You asked absentmindedly, running your palm up and down his back.

“Yes, I am sure.”

“Why, though? I come with a kid and a lot of baggage?” As you said the words, Fernando pulled your hand and kissed your palm, putting it against his cheek, looking into your eyes.

“Because I want you.”

“Even with all the complications? Even if we never find a way to go public?”

“I don’t mind if I have to spend the rest of our lives reassuring you. I’m with you because I want you, simple as that” he said with his serious voice and thick accent, as a lump stuck on your throat, “I’m not with you because of what you look like by my side or what you can do for me. I’m with you because I love you.”

Your tears fell down and Fernando caught them with his lips, kissing your cheeks and tears away. It was so good and so safe, you never wanted to leave his side.

“The rest of our lives, eh?” You giggled, “I’m not gonna lie, I like the sound of that.”

“Bueno. I like the sound of that too.”

“Gracias, Nano. Yo te amo y te deseo también. (Thank you, Nano. I love you and I desire you too)”

“Wait-” he pushed himself up, “you speak Spanish?”

“Sí, lo hablo. (Yes, I do)” You laughed out loud at his dumbfounded face, and he held your wrists up above your head.

“Todo este tiempo hablaste español? (All this time you spoke spanish?)” He clicked his tongue, “eres tan mala y te voy a castigar. (You're so bad and I'm gonna punish you)”

You squealed as he carried you back inside, tossing you on the bed.

Eventually, you made up your mind about telling Lewis. Not because he had to know, but from a standpoint that he should know for the sake of Luna. So you stopped him one day when he came to drop off Luna.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” You asked after greeting your baby, “Luna, why don’t you take your new toys inside while Mommy and Daddy chat a little?” You watched your girl run inside, “Careful! The porch is slippery!”

“What happened?” Lewis asked, putting both hands on his pockets.

“I’m seeing someone.”

Your words made his stomach drop. The dreaded day had come. Lewis had noticed how you looked happier and healthier than before, how you were wearing more makeup and pretty stylish clothes. The other day you had a mysterious tan on your body when he came to drop Luna off, way too strong tan for Scotland, anyway.

You are one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, he found it a miracle it took you so long to find someone. Maybe deep down Lewis thought you two could mend your relationship.

“Who?” Was all he said.

“Fernando.”

“Fernando?” He frowned, “who’s Fernando?”

“Alonso.” You bit your lip, waiting for an explosive reaction, but Lewis went silent, thinking.

“I can’t believe this. He’s just using you to target me, can’t you see?”

“So that’s all you see me as? An object? A ploy crafted to only be used for you or against you?” You asked, crossing your arms defensively.

“That’s not what I mean! He’s- he’s evil, you know that!” Lewis bared his teeth, getting angrier by the second.

“I don’t. That’s not how he is to me.” You shrugged.

“Do you have any idea how messy this will look when it comes out? Are you ready to face the consequences of this stupid adventure to get back at me?”

His words made you raise your walls, defensive, that sounded dangerously like a threat. You remained collected, because if Lewis wanted to go low, then you’d go lower.

“I’ll let this one slide, but it sounded dangerously close to a fucking threat,” you started, your voice so cold it sent shivers up his spine, “This had nothing to do with you. Nothing. But if this information leaks, I’ll know who did it. And if you do this to damage my image to the world or try and force my hand into leaving him, then everyone will finally know why we divorced, and how the other woman kept harassing me while I was pregnant!”

“What?” His expression dropped.

He didn’t know because you didn’t tell him, because after a few months of mockery and threats through texts, you changed your number and it stopped. You still had the screenshots though.

“Luna will always be my greatest priority, and I love my baby girl. But my life has revolved around hers ever since I was pregnant, and before that my life revolved around you,” you felt a lump in your throat, eyes watering, “can I have this one thing for me? Is it selfish wanting to be loved?”

“I do. I love you.” He said, his voice wavering too.

“No, you don’t.” You shook your head, “you loved the idea of someone living solely for you. You loved that I was there during the good and the bad, picking up the pieces when you were down and popping the champagne when you were up. You loved that I loved you.”

You looked back, where Luna was calling you from the door.

“I am with Fernando now, and as Luna’s parents, I just didn't want you to be blindsided,” you turned around but looked at him over your shoulder, “don’t go ruining my future a second time.”

He flinched before your words. You knew it would cut deep, but you were tired of that conversation and his entitlement to your life and decisions.

A few weeks later, you introduced Luna to Fernando, and to your surprise, they got along so well. Probably because he bought her a lot of presents. She liked his presence most of the times, despite feeling jealous sometimes when he hugged you or kissed your cheeks.

When you and Fernando made it to a one year anniversary, you two adopted a kitten who had been abandoned by the road. Luna fell immediately in love with the pet, which found home with you. For Christmas, Nando’s gift to Luna was to install a swing and a see-saw on the garden, which ultimately made her completely enchanted by him, asking him to play all the time whenever they were at your place at the same time.

You were sitting on his lap while Luna played with the cat, throwing toys around.

“How would you feel about a baby?” You asked him. He straightened up, searching your eyes.

“Are you pregnant?” He sounded shocked.

“Of course not, tonto! (silly)” You giggled, “I’m just- mulling over the idea, wanting your opinion, you know.”

“Yes, I want more kids if you want too,” he said honestly, his hand softly caressing the side of your hip.

“Mhm,” you nuzzled into his neck.

“Your question came with good timing, you know, I have been thinking,” he mumbled, thinking, “Do you want me to retire?”

“What? Are you insane? You love racing, it’s like- it’s in your blood! You know I do-”

“That’s not what I asked,” Fernando interrupted you, “I asked if you want me to retire? We could move in together, spend more time together, I could move here.”

“You’d drop your sunny and warm Spain for Scotland?” Your voice was laced with doubt.

“I’d drop anything for you, don’t you see?” He lowered his voice, closer to your ear, “besides, we could always go back and forth here and Spain. I’d do it if it means I get to make love to you every day, and wake up by your side every morning.”

“You’re so cheesy,” you rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were deep red.

“You love it.”

“That I do.”

“That sounds tempting but I could never ask you to stop racing, it’s literally your favorite thing!”

“You are my favorite thing.”

“Fernando…” you whined and he laughed.

“Ok, let’s meet in the middle, sí?” He proposed, kissing your cheek, “if you get pregnant, I drop everything. Meanwhile, we let things run their course as it is, ok?”

“That’s perfect, mi amor” You laid back on his chest, watching Luna playing.

#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula one #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso #Spotify

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literaila · 3 months

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eavesdropping

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: seriously, the door was already open

warnings: satoru is an idiot, as per usual, sad tsumiki :(

last part | next part

year one.

satoru approaches the door to tsumiki’s room and he pauses.

after two weeks straight with the kids, you’d finally returned back to work--leaving the three of them to fend for themselves for the day--but you'd insisted on coming over for dinner.

to which satoru suggested, for the twentieth time, that you might as well stay the night. might as well move in already.

really, there's plenty of space.

but you'd pinched his arm and pushed past him at the door, telling the kids that you brought dinner. you didn't stay behind to watch satoru cradle his arm or smile at the back of your head.

and, seriously, he doesn't mean to eavesdrop (if he meant to he would've planned out something much more sophisticated than this) but the door is already slightly cracked.

“—but megumi doesn’t like it," he hears tsumiki say, soft and concerned. her tiny voice is a whisper through the opened door, so satoru takes another step towards it.

“that’s okay," he hears your voice saying, "you can talk about it if you want.”

one eye appears through the crack and he can see you and tsumiki, curled up on the bed, her eyes looking up at yours, tear stains an obvious sin.

satoru is quiet as he pushes the door, ever so slightly.

“he always ignores me when i talk about my mom or his dad, or he says something mean about them. sometimes he won’t talk to me for the rest of the day.”

this seems plausible. just five minutes ago satoru had witnessed an influx of cursed energy coming from megumi when tsumiki merely mentioned their old house and the dolls she kept on her windowsill.

he can still feel that anger brewing now, but megumi, so you’ve said to him, needs to breathe. you didn't exactly tell him to exit the table and leave the little boy alone, or come to tsumiki's room to check on the two of you, but, he knows that's what you meant. you don't have to say something for satoru to help out. he’s just doing what’s best for all of you.

honestly, you probably wouldn't even mind that he's listening in on this conversation.

you tilt your head at her. “did you ask him why?”

tsumiki sniffles, she pushes a sticky hand at the hair matted to her head, so you gently push it away and move it for her instead, much gentler with her than you've ever been with him. satoru almost complains, before he remembers that he's not even there.

“he thinks that they don’t care about us,” tsumiki answers, the hurt obvious in her voice, "he—he can’t remember everything that i can, but he doesn’t care. he doesn't want to.”

you coo at her softly, nodding your head with every word.

satoru has never heard the little girl so sad--he's used to her smiling face and bright energy. honestly, if there's an opposite to cursed energy, it would be tsumiki.

you must feel as disturbed by the difference in the little girl as he does because he watches as you try to restrain a frown.

satoru's eyes are wide through the crack as you attempt a smile. “it’s okay to not feel the same,” you tell her, “wanting to remember your parents isn’t going to make megumi hate you.”

“but it upsets him.”

“well not talking about it upsets you, right?” you say this the same way you chide satoru. and, yeah, you typically know best.

not that he'll ever admit that.

but tsumiki nods.

“then you should talk about it. don’t worry about megumi. you can tell me about them, or satoru.”

he wants to open the door completely just at the sound of his name.

“really?”

“you can talk about whatever you want with us. we’ll always listen," your smile is genuine now.

satoru tries to imagine you as a little girl, with someone wiping your tears away. but he doesn't quite believe that you were ever as small as tsumiki looks now. you'll always be this to him, he supposes, safe and infallible.

even when you were younger, blinking idly at him as he introduced himself to his new underclassmen, you were certain. he's always been sure about that.

tsumiki frowns, her eyes wide. “gojo put his hands over his ears and started singing yesterday when you asked him to take the trash out.”

he has to catch a laugh. you shift around on the bed, your face is stern but satoru can see you about to laugh.

you nudge her with your head, teasing. “i didn’t say he always listens to me.”

the little girl laughs as you nuzzle her nose and for a moment, satoru thinks he's invading.

but how can he walk away when the two of you are cuddled so close, looking so cute together? he should probably take a picture, just so he can always remember this.

but then again, a camera probably wouldn't capture the supple sound of tsumiki's laugh as you cuddle her, or your smile as you hold her closer.

so he just stands there, observing.

you don't say anything as the girl thinks, merely rub your hand up and down on her back, like a reminder that you're still there.

tsumiki remains quiet for a moment, and then she whispers, “i’m afraid that i’ll forget about my mom."

satoru is shocked by the statement, little pricks of guilt perusing through his chest. during all of the digging he did about toji zenin, he wasn't sure where the woman was, or if she was worth finding. he hadn't even thought of it, really. he wasn't very good at that.

and he watches as you pause, feeling kind of eager to see how you'll respond.

your hand continues its circles, and you smile, gently, knowing. “i used to feel that way too," you tell her, just as softly.

and maybe that hurts satoru even more.

“really?”

“yeah. i don’t talk to my mom anymore, but i used to worry that i would forget how she smelled," your nose falls in tsumiki's hair, and you pause for a moment. satoru almost smiles as you close your eyes. "or the way she hugged me," you add, squeezing.

he's never really heard you talk about your parents before. the vauge comment here and there, sure, but nothing more. he knows the bare bones of when you left home—if only from what yaga told suguru, a million years ago, but nothing more. you don’t talk about that.

or maybe he's just never asked.

tsumiki nods, her wide eyes kind of amazed at the confession. and satoru is suddenly glad that he let you follow tsumiki to her room, that he knocked on your door that first night when he wasn't sure what to do with either of them.

you understand this better than he ever could. better than he ever will.

“did you forget?”

you smile. “no. it’s hard to forget those little things, no matter how long it’s been," you consider it for a second, "i don’t remember a lot about her but i remember hugging her when she got home from work, and the way she said my name.”

tsumiki's perks up, “do you think it’ll be like that for me?”

“i don’t know, sweetheart. it could be. you might remember more than i do," you cup her face for a moment, hoping with her.

“my mom always wore rose perfume,” tsumiki's hands cover your own, and she looks closely at you, like satoru wishes he could. “do you miss your mom?”

satoru holds his breath for a moment, and your eyes narrow as you think.

“sometimes," you admit.

“does it make you sad?”

“every once in a while.“

tsumiki swallows, her face falling. “i miss my mom."

you kiss her head. satoru sees your eyes flutter closed as you speak to her, so softly he almost misses it. “it’s okay to be sad without them.”

satoru closes his eyes with you, for just a moment.

he thinks about aquariums and trips to abandoned houses and souvenirs that he couldn't keep but covet.

and his eyes open again.

“really?” tsumiki asks as if she doubts it.

“yeah. that’s just the way love comes out sometimes. it makes you sad.”

“will it always?”

“well, you’ll always love your mom, right?” the girl nods without thinking, and you smile at her. “then being without her will always make you a little sad. and sometimes a lot. but it’ll find its place in your heart, like everything does.”

tsumiki thinks about this for a moment.

satoru wants her to ask how many holes you have in your heart, and if you think they could ever be filled.

and he also wants her to never ask you anything again. he shouldn't be listening to this, but he's stuck at the door.

“do you think about your parents a lot?”

“almost every day,” you say, looking away from the girl for a moment. and then you look back. “but i think about how my mom is happy where she is, and how i’m happy where i am.”

satoru almost falls through the door.

“you are?”

“well yeah,” you say, obviously. you squeeze her a bit. “i’ve got you here. and megumi and satoru. how couldn’t i be happy?”

tsumiki settles into you, she nods in agreement, but considers something, frowning up at you. “i don’t want megumi to be mad at me. he’s my best friend.”

“he’s not really mad,” you tell her--and, well, satoru disagrees. megumi is mad at everything. “and even if he was, he’ll always forgive you. that’s what best friends do. they argue and then make up.”

“who’s your best friend?”

your lip twitches. “satoru. and we fight all the time.”

“really? gojo?”

satoru wants to ask the same question. shoko, he might've assumed. nanami, even. if you knew he was there you would probably say that tsumiki was your best friend, just to mess with him.

but he's there, and you don't know.

you shake your head, acknowledging how crazy this statement is. “yup. i’m stuck with him.”

“has he always been your best friend?”

“oh no,” you laugh at the suggestion. “we met just a couple of years ago, at school. and he always had more friends than i did.”

“…but now?”

“he’s been my best friend for a while, i guess, but i haven’t been his for very long.”

satoru frowns.

“cause you always fight?”

you laugh. “something like that.”

something like what?

and then you turn to her, eyes on eyes, making sure that she’s looking at you. “tsumiki, you know—“

and satoru thinks that he’s heard enough. he doesn't want any more secrets or any more questions. he closes the door as quietly as possible, letting his ear linger on the wood when he hears the two of you laugh.

satoru sits for a moment, almost able to see your smile through the door, without all of his eyes, like he really took that picture.

and then he walks away, into the dining room, where megumi is pushing his dinner around on a plate.

satoru sits down.

“what are they doing?” megumi asks, gruffly. he's calmer now, satoru notes, though grumpy as ever.

“girl stuff.”

“it’s dinner time.”

“oh, megumi,” satoru tsks, shaking his head. “you’ve got lots to learn about women.”

megumi frowns. “i know more than you.”

“okay, i just came here to have a good time—“

later on, you’re unloading the dishwasher, trying to be quiet while the kids get ready for bed, and satoru walks in.

in striped pajamas naturally. no glasses. he is already grinning at you as he leans against the counter, his fingers tapping on the granite.

you roll your eyes automatically, pushing him a little because he's in your way.

"what, satoru?"

“so, i’m your best friend, huh?”

you turn. “i knew that door was open—“

next part

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matchingbatbites · 1 year

Text

For @steveshairychest and based on their post here. I read it and just couldn't resist <3

The thing is, Eddie knows that Steve is straight. Honestly, that's the only reason Eddie is as bold as he is, why he starts flirting with him in the first place. He's got years of repressed feelings towards the younger boy, and now they're friends, good friends, and Eddie feels comfortable letting loose some of that pent up attraction, knowing that Steve won’t shun him for it.

He does start off small, just to be safe, with pet names and terms of endearment like handsome, honey, sweetheart. Just little things that make Steve's mouth quirk in a smile, nothing to make him feel uncomfortable. The longer Eddie goes, though, the bolder he gets.

The first pickup line is a joke. They’ve been talking about some new beach movie that's just been released onto video when Steve mentions his lifeguard certification, and before Eddie can stop himself he says “It's a good thing you're a lifeguard, because I'm drowning in your eyes.”

Steve laughs at that, not mean, just surprised, and is still grinning as he gives a half-hearted “Shut up, Eds,” and turns back to what he was working on.

And, oh, Steve has no idea what he's done, because Eddie is instantly obsessed with the need to make Steve laugh, to pull out that playful side of him that’s so rare to witness. So Eddie pulls out every dumb pickup line in the book, tries his best to make him laugh again.

“Hey, Stevie, your hand looks lonely. Can I hold it for you?”

“Did you just come out of an oven? Because you're too hot to handle.”

“Is your dad a boxer? Because baby, you're a knockout.”

Most of the time Steve just rolls his eyes and grins, but every so often he’ll make that surprised laugh, or god forbid, he’ll giggle, and Eddie mentally crows in victory every time it happens.

The kiss thing is spur of the moment one day, when Eddie has been hanging out just to be around Steve, and causing a little bit of a racket in the store. After a while, Steve playfully shoves at Eddie's shoulder and says "Get out of here before you get me in trouble, man," and Eddie just grins as he leans into Steve's space.

"What? No goodbye kiss before you send me off into the world?"

And oh god, Steve actually blushes this time, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink, and oh fuck, Eddie is such a goner. Steve shakes his head and tries his best to hide a smile as he says "In your dreams, Eddie."

"In my dreams it’ll be, then, handsome," Eddie replies with a grin, giving a mock salute on his way out the door.

It becomes a usual thing, Eddie hanging out and flirting and asking Steve for a kiss before he leaves. Every time, Steve's response is the same, that delightful blush covers his cheeks as he grins and pushes Eddie away with a "Keep dreaming," or a "You wish,” or even a half-assed “Fuck off, Eds.”

It all comes back to bite him in the ass when, for once, Eddie arrives at the video store to pick up Robin, instead of just doing his usual lazing about and bothering Steve.

Walking in, he doesn't see Buckley immediately, but he does spot his favorite person behind the counter and he beelines to Steve. He leans on the counter, elbows on the clean surface and chin in his hands as he bats his eyelashes at Steve.

"Hi Stevie! How's the prettiest boy in Hawkins today?"

Steve looks over at him and Eddie feels like a deer in headlights when the man gives him a sly grin. He leans on the counter, arms crossed as he presses into Eddie’s space.

"I dunno, gorgeous, how are you doing?"

All of Eddie's higher brain function just stops as Steve speaks. It’s such a stupid response, something that anyone else might have said if asked the same question, but for some reason it makes Eddie go dumb, cheeks flooding with color and mouth dropping in shock.

Steve’s grin widens and he tips his head to the side, looking like the cat who got the fucking canary. He reaches up and grabs a curl that had fallen from the messy bun Eddie had thrown his hair into, and twists the lock around his finger as he leans even closer.

"You look so fucking good today. Drives me crazy when you wear your hair up like this, sweetheart. Puts your whole neck on display, all that pretty skin just begging to be bitten and marked up."

And yeah, Eddie's brain must be leaking out of his ears, because it’s him, it’s Eddie, the master wordsmith who always has something to say, and all he can manage to get out in response is a single, stupid sounding "Uh.”

Steve's expression shifts to something more condescending and god, Eddie is so into it when he tugs on the curl again and coos "Aw, got nothin’ to say, baby doll? Can't take what you dish out?"

An embarrassing whine finds its way into the air between them and fuck, Eddie has to go. He needs to leave before he makes an even bigger fool of himself than he already has, because Steve is looking at Eddie like he wants to eat him and his knees feel like jello and where the fuck is Robin??

As though summoned by just a thought, Robin breezes through the shop and throws out a casual “Steve, can you stop? I need him to drive me home and he can’t do that if his brain is mush.”

Eddie glances over as she walks past them, thinks Traitor! as she leaves him at Steve’s mercy and heads outside to his van. He looks back to Steve, at those hazel eyes alight with amusement and tries to get his brain to work.

“I need- uh- Robin-” he stammers, unable to even complete a thought as Steve smirks and leans in even closer, his nose almost brushing against Eddie's when he asks, "Can I get a goodbye kiss?"

And Eddie could never say no to Steve, especially when the other is looking at him like that. He nods dumbly, hoping he doesn't look as desperate as he feels, and there's another tug on that curl.

"I need you to use your big boy words, sweetheart," Steve says, still tinged with condescension, and Jesus fucking Christ, this whole dynamic is really doing it for Eddie, more so than he ever thought it would.

"Yes, Steve- Please-" he says, fully prepared to start begging if he has to, if he can find the words to, but he's given a bit of mercy when Steve closes the gap between them.

It feels like he’s being electrocuted, and that's all he needs for his brain to get with the program, for his hands to finally respond as they fly up and tangle in honey locks as he kisses back.

Steve groans and presses closer, his tongue bullying its way into Eddie's mouth and Eddie can feel his limbs turning into goo as Steve kisses him thoroughly, those old King skills being put to good use as he wrecks Eddie with just this.

A car horn sounds from outside the shop and Steve pulls away, smirking again at Eddie's soft whine of protest. “You better go before Robin pitches a fit.”

Eddie nods, still dumbstruck from the last few minutes and says "I- Yeah, okay. Uh, call me? Tonight?"

Steve hums and stands up straight, and Eddie can feel his brain power returning with the little bit of distance now between them.

“Why don’t you come over after my shift? Say, 9?” Steve asks, giving Eddie that hungry look once again, and Eddie’s breath hitches.

“Yep, yes, I can- I’ll definitely do that,” he answers, taking a few steps back and trying his best not to stumble. “I’ll, uh, see you then, Stevie.”

Steve calls out “See you later, baby doll!” as Eddie scrambles for the door, and oh god, Eddie is fucked.

#the prompt was delicious and I totally ripped a line from it #ily and hope you like it #steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #joey writes #i wanted eddie to be very silly goofy 'haha joking around with my best bud...unless👀'#and steve to be very straightforward cutthroat 'i know what i want and im gonna fucking get it'#because i feel like that fits them both well #ficlet

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jiminrings · 2 months

Text

fail-safe (2)

pairing: yoongi x reader

wordcount: 8k

glimpse: yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you've heard nothing about it, so you're thankful.

alternatively, yoongi reminds you of home in more ways than one.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale ]

[ a Lot of angst, brother's best friend AND single dad au, eventual fluff, a lot of yearning but For What, they reunite but at what cost rlly, jealousy, self-loathing, unrequited love (initial), deja vu but in the worst possible form, eventual redemption in the next parts ]

notes: i am So sorry for this .

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!! even reading ur thoughts in the tags give me life :) | series masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

The trip back home wasn’t as rough as Yoongi expected it to be.

Somehow, there’s a huge difference between sitting in economy seats versus first-class seats, even if they’re situated on the same aircraft. When he left, Yoongi was irritable (amongst other things) to keep bumping elbows with everyone else; now that he’s back, he almost misses the ruckus in the cabin that’s far too cramped for everyone who could afford it.

Yoongi used to hate people like himself — atleast the version that he is now. He hated bastards sitting upfront in seats that reclined all the way back and ate off plates instead of noisy, flimsy plastic containers. Back then, deep down to his very core, he wanted that lifestyle for himself. To become bigger and better than he could ever imagine for the life ahead of him was always the goal.

Now that he’s at the peak, maybe even being the peak himself, he feels weirdly homesick.

“You need to bundle up all the way, Haneul. They’re gonna scold me if you’re not covered from head to toe,” Yoongi playfully chides his son, the insecurity and nervousness underneath his tone flying right over his head. It’s not even that cold, but still, a huge part of Yoongi worries.

He worries everyday if he’s a good dad to his four-year old. He worries if he’s good enough to be a solo parent because after all, he’s the one who has main custody of Haneul anyway. He worries and worries, but there’s nothing quite like the trepidation he feels being back home with everyone who has ever known him prior to all this success, suddenly seeing him come home.

It should be the opposite way around, that’s what everyone says to him. Yoongi had been queasy the whole flight back home despite the flight being one of the smoothest trips he’s ever been on in his life. He’s nervous to be back where he had been born and raised and he doesn’t know what’s that supposed to mean, except for the fact that he has an inkling of what the weight in his chest pertains to.

He’s back because it’s your mother’s 60th birthday. He’s back because her and Namjoon had asked him to, and he obliged without even thinking about it. Yoongi had offered numerous times to throw a party for the woman who had practically raised him alongside his closest friend, and even if Namjoon had backed him up on the grand idea for such a large milestone, she said no. All she wanted was for everyone to be back home, and Yoongi couldn’t say no.

Neither could you.

Yoongi is not the most modest person alive, but he is at his humblest when he drives the long way home just to delay the inevitable. He’s happy to the point he could be sick. He can’t tell if it’s the joy or the anxiety in his chest that makes it tighten, almost unbearably so, that he makes Haneul reach up to his forehead to check if he has a fever.

Yoongi’s home.

Not Los Angeles home, and not New York home. Not his home with a closet that’s the size of his childhood house’s living room, and not his space with the big windows and concierge downstairs.

Yoongi’s home — where the streets are narrow and the stairs are creaky; where this time, it’s all of him and none of you.

Enduring is different than working.

You’ve realized that the two concepts are drastically different as soon as Yoongi left, leaving you to survive the remaining years of your degree before you had to face the reality that you had to work to the bone for the rest of your life if you wanted a shot at living an average, food-stocked-in-the-fridge kind of life.

You didn’t know anyone who was connected to someone of importance one way or another, your family had zero ties, and you graduated from a university that raised more eyebrows in confusion than it tilted heads in awe. Your degree does havehigh promises as far as everyone in your town was concerned — it does and it should be, if only you were born and raised in different circumstances.

There’s not one acclaimed and high-profit company that would ever accept the likes of you. You worked hard and even if there were no exchange student agreements and Latin honors to show for it, you really did. You gave your best to graduate with a degree you never really liked and was only forced upon you, all for the promise of a future. It didn’t matter if it was extremely good or bad — everyone else just said you had to have one.

Your misfortune is what it is. It’s empty and haunting and the two weeks you had spent in the city right after graduating is truly something you never want to relive.

In hindsight, gambling the rest of your pocket money on a bus fare in your last day of job-hunting in the city at the time was a stupid decision. It was impulsive and irresponsible and everything your family scolded you for, what Yoongi hated you for, but it ended up being the single best gamble you’ve ever made, even above entry-level lottery tickets.

The same circumstances that held you back from where you’re supposed to head ended up propelling you to somewhere far, far different. Your degree became completely irrelevant, and the fact that you had nobody of significance in the city– no person to pass malice and gossip onto— made you a manager.

It had been a gamble to go work for an unknown entertainment company, much more a sinking one. It was an insult to have busted your ass back in your hometown, studying and working at the same time, only to work professionally in the city for a field that you didn’t even study about.

Your fate is what it is. You’ve endured and worked hard enough to the point that you had finally lucked out. Being the manager of someone who had later turned out to become the biggest actor in the industry, even in Hollywood, became your biggest break up to date.

Your way back home feels like an embrace you’ve denied yourself for far too long. You’ve mainly stayed in Seoul apart from the several hundred times you had to come with Jungkook for filming outside of the country, yet you could only count on one hand the amount of times you came home without anyone telling you to.

Coming home had become foreign to you as much as leaving it had become familiar.

“I’m near, Joon,” you hum to your phone, taking a quick glance at the cake you’ve strapped to your front seat. “It’s only us, right?”

“Yeah. Just us.”

Maybe it’s your fault for changing what us meant throughout the past five years, but Namjoon’s definition never changed. Maybe it’s your fault for not clarifying what he meant when you’re still kilometers away, when you can still leave, but nonetheless, you were cornered.

Us meant what it used to be when you were a kid in your childhood home — when Yoongi was still in the picture and you didn’t hate him for it.

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that Yoongi was right — nothing valuable was left for him in your hometown anymore. He was as right as you were wrong every time he went on a monologue of how he thinks there’s no problem in him admitting that he’s full of envy. He had been right for being bitter that there’s people who have and get much more than him, more than what they deserve, by not even putting a fourth of the effort that he does.

In the same way that he was right, you were wrong for thinking each time that Yoongi would soon outgrow his ambitions and instead, see things for what they are. You were wrong for thinking Yoongi would stoop down to your page, much less ever think of it.

Yoongi was right for saying that his stomach’s made of steel, and you were wrong for trying to convince him otherwise. He’s always had the appetite for more, the digestion of whatever life throws at him coming easy. Yoongi can choke down the reality of leaving Namjoon, your brother, who’s been buddies with him even before they could talk. He could forgo the only brother figure he’s ever had in his life if it means making something of himself.

He doesn’t get constipated from the reality of no longer having the homemade meals your mother would make that the younger, more innocent, and less ambitious version of him would literally jumps fences for. In fact, Yoongi’s palate craved something more foreign and sophisticated; not familiar, hearty meals served in dinnerware dulled from years of routine.

His stomach doesn’t turn thinking about how the skyline he said he’d never get tired of, wouldn’t appear in his new side of the world. The little, unassuming, and far too comfortable version of him who used to chase sunrises with his bike as a child and chase sunsets with his car as a teenager, doesn’t feel like he’d be poisoned if he were to see the sunlight in a high-rise instead of a run-down pavement.

Yoongi’s right when he said he had a tolerance because he doesn’t even get heartburn when you cry for him to no longer leave. You’re not in the position to beg him to stay (and you probably never will be) because as you’ve come to realize, he would only stay for the big things.

The only thing that would anchor Min Yoongi into place and dissuade him from chasing more is by being the most. One would have to be extremely significant, even bigger than Namjoon’s brotherhood, your mother’s impact, and what your hometown has to offer. You can’t even hold a candle to the aforementioned.

In Yoongi’s grand plan that’s as big as the galaxy, you’re merely a speck of dust that had the luck of hovering around him. You realized it back then when you blew over and fought with him right before his flight; right when Yoongi was clutching his one-way ticket, right when one foot was already out of the door.

“But the future that you want is not easy, Yoongi!” you gritted through your teeth, the grip you had on his suitcase too visceral that it bends under the pressure. Yoongi snatches his luggage from you in a blink, nostrils flaring in annoyance.

“Of course you’d be the first to say that,” he seethed, eyes wild and unforgiving. He drills his finger into his temple, inching towards you with an anger he had never shown before. “You don’t work as hard as I do, Y/N! You always settle. You always go for mediocre. You never put your head into anything because you’re too immature for any of this shit!”

“I’m not immature, you asshole!”

“Yes you are, you dipshit!” Yoongi scoffed, throwing his head back. “You cave and you bend and you let the whole world fuck you over, then you come running to me whining. You don’t have a passion in life, Y/N! You’re begging me to stay in the same predicament that you’re in now, what’s not immature about that?”

“When you leave now and decide to come back one day, Yoongi,” you spat with resentment, the tears that pour down your cheeks no longer out of sadness but instead, out of promise. “Nothing will ever be the same.”

“Good,” Yoongi clipped, turning his back on you for the last time. “Good for me.”

In the grand scheme of things, you realize that when Yoongi left five years ago, he also took the large chunk of your soul that had been shaped over and over again the entire time that he stood by you. He’d gotten his hands on the security and contentment you used to take pride in, weaponizing them against you.

You’re unsure if you have to thank him for that, the uncertainty being on par with the insecurity you had felt when he left you with his truth.

When you visit your mother for her birthday and see Yoongi emerge from your childhood bedroom, hand-in-hand with a toddler that looks like an exact carbon copy of him, you’re unsure of what to do either.

You’re not hysterical in the same way you stood before him when you even considered ripping up his plane ticket, but on the other hand, Yoongi’s inconsolable in the way he flounders before you.

“Y/N,” he says breathless, the lump in his throat even bigger than the tiny fist that grips his hand. “I… I-I didn’t-…” Yoongi tries again, his mouth dry at your appearance. “You came home.”

“I’m only visiting,” you answer, the curt smile on your face that Yoongi recognizes to be the one you’d give to strangers making his blood run cold. “I don’t plan on staying.”

You’re numb if that’s the word for it.

Your chest buzzes emptily the same way your fingers clench around nothing. You look at everywhere and everyone but Yoongi and his son. It’s nauseating to even think that everyone’s eating dinner as if everything’s okay; what’s even more sickening is that somehow, you’re willing to settle for it.

Yoongi is your mom’s cross-stitch project of a teddy bear that she hung up in your room one day when you were in school that you never took off by the time you came home. He’s a dent at the corner of your gate that could’ve only been made by Namjoon when he was practicing his soccer skills. He’s a Snellen chart that nobody really uses, stuck to the side of the refrigerator that you walk past.

Yoongi’s here, there, and everywhere, but you don’t question it. He’s simply there in your orbit and even if he exists, you don’t follow up on him.

You stay quiet at the talks of the sleeping situation because it turns out that Yoongi’s family had long sold their house. You never knew that throughout the several times you came down to visit.

Frankly, you’re relieved to barely know anything about Yoongi these days.

“You and Haneul can take my room,” you half-heartedly offer, not because it’s Yoongi who tugs at your heartstrings and demands your pity, but his child instead. The two, three (?) year-old baby (read: you’re too hesitant to ask what his age is because if it’s anything higher, then that meant Yoongi had moved on earlier than you did) you didn’t even know existed because you’ve completely cut off Yoongi from your life and refused to listen to Namjoon every time he talked about him, will be sleeping in your room; it just happens that he’s with his dad.

Yoongi’s awed at your preposition but he’s even more worried. He can’t tell a single thought that’s going on behind your eyes nor a single hint behind your tone. You’re formal; neutral. You’re detached even when you utter Haneul’s name and gesture them to your bedroom as if he hasn’t spent years and years of his life in your home.

“Where will you sleep?” he furrows his brows, his hand that had been rubbing circles on Haneul’s back faltering.

He’s asking because he doesn’t know anything about you at this point. He can’t tell if it’s the indigestion he has from resisting to talk your ear off at the dining table (like he’s always did when you were young) because you barely even spoke to him, or if it’s the overwhelming feeling of being back home with everything feeling familiar but you — either way, Yoongi thinks he’s gonna be sick.

“I’ll sleep at my mom’s,” you purse your lips, leaving him at that.

Between the yearning, demanding looks you get from Yoongi, the nosy and concerned glances from Namjoon, and even the guilt that you get from keeping all of your emotions from your mom when you used to confide in her religiously when you were younger — you’re drained. The urge to wash off all your anxiety can’t be done in your childhood home’s small bathroom. You can’t with the faulty water heater (you have to keep one finger pressed on the button at all times to keep it running) because you can’t even cry in peace under the either scorching or freezing water.

You can’t evade everything by grabbing a drink from the fridge that runs loudly as if it’s excavating oil from underneath your floors. You can’t curl up on the couch that’s become worn with age because there’s dents of you and Yoongi, the only two people who had sat on it the most every late night for years on end. You can’t romanticize any of the things in your home that have brought you joy all your life at this point in time.

To sleep under the same roof with your mother and brother again after so long feels foreign. It’s a language you can perceive but can’t translate and the frustration that comes with it seeps into your bones. There must be some common ground between the three of you; it should be anything and everything. With Namjoon being a world-renowned football player and you being somewhat accomplished and decorated in your field, you’ve managed to retire your mom early.

The three of you are doing fine. Not one interaction in the past five years has ever felt this tense and unfamiliar, but if you could pick just the odd one out, the very reason why you feel like falling to the floor and crawling your way out of your own home because you feel like you don’t belong to it — it’s Yoongi.

You feel awkward in your own four walls, whereas Yoongi finds your nightlight that you keep tucked in your closet without breaking a sweat.

Namjoon tugs you right when you’re about to call it a day in your mom’s room, his hushed whispers taking you back to when he pleaded for you not to rat them out whenever he and Yoongi crashed at the couch drunk.

“Give them this,” he shoves the can of bug spray into your hands, your immediate reaction making him wrestle with you just to push you closer to your own bedroom.

“No, Joon. You give it.”

“Y/N, no. You give it,” he whines, purposely having given Yoongi extra sheets and blankets earlier without the bug spray so you’d have something to take to him.

“I don’t wanna see Yoongi,” you whisper, trying to pathetically regain your footing even if you know your attempts go futile against an athlete for a brother.

“You think I don’t know that?” he snarks, giving you one last shove with a stern finger. “We’re gonna talk about whatever the hell happened between you and him, but right now, you’re gonna offer him bug spray like the gracious hosts that we are!”

You crash too far to your door that it could be mistaken as a knock, making you hiss because you know you can’t retract it. You actually knock this time, being met with nothing but a quiet Yoongi behind your own door.

Even when he opens it fully, even when it’s your own room — you enter hesitantly.

Yoongi’s already made a home out of your room. He knew where your nightlight was, knew which good extension cord (that didn’t spark every time it shifted) to plug into the wall, and even knew where you kept the magazine that you had to wedge between your windows whenever they didn’t fully close.

“Namjoon told me to give you this,” you put your hand out, looking at everything but Yoongi. You could look at Haneul who’s sprawled in the middle of the bed, but it isn’t any different than looking at his dad himself.

Yoongi, on the other hand, can’t see anything but you. He feels like an intruder who just happened to know the confines of your life almost better than his own, holding bug spray and the remainder of whatever recognition you have left for him.

“Will we ever be alright?” he whispers, not for the sake of keeping Haneul asleep, but for the sake of his sanity. If he makes his voice any louder, he’ll spill all his grievances and question if he had ever meant anything to you.

“We’ve always been alright,” you smile tightly, wrapping your hands around your back.

“You know what I’m talking about,” he pleads, swallowing the lump in his throat. “When did you ever give me bug spray? When did you have to knock on my door, o-or when did you ever have to treat me like I’m some guest and not a huge part of your life?” Yoongi stumbles over his words, correcting himself with a huff. “Most of your life.”

The sarcasm that coats the last of his words makes you twitch, the clench in your jaw being unmistakeable. Yoongi almost forgot what you looked like whenever you argued with him — talked to him, even. “Why are you only bitching about this to me and not to Namjoon? He’s the one who told me to give you the bug spray.”

“This is not about the bug spray!”

“What is it about then? Is this, is this some sort of long-winded euphemism that involves bug spray? What is it Yoongi, are you gonna hound me for an essay about it?” you spit, exhaling heavily. Haneul twitches in his sleep from the corner of your eye. “You grew up and so did I.”

Yoongi flinches like you’ve shot him.

“Don’t do this to me, kid. Don’t do this to us.”

You flinch because anything is better than to have him dig up his old nickname for you as if he’s close; as if he’s still the Yoongi that you chased, as if you’re still the Y/N he looked out for.

“Don’t call me that.”

( ♡ )

Yoongi’s in the kitchen with your mom.

He looks domestic this way, hair tousled and pajamas loose. Even if you have unbridled internet access (courtesy of the high-speed package you split with Namjoon for your mom even if the most she does online is repost motivational quotes, reels of Namjoon and his team, and clips of Jungkook where you’re seen), you can’t muster the courage to search Yoongi’s name and what he’s made of himself.

You’re too scared to search up articles about his success as a producer because if you do, you’re terrified by the thought of accidentally clicking a link that leads you to a page of him and his ex-wife.

You’re too weak to search up the songs he’s had a hand in (that is if you hadn’t heard them before) because you fear that if you even listen for a single second, you might hear how perfect his life has been ever since he left behind everything that he’s ever known.

Even now, you’re too uneasy at the sight of him. He’s in your home and he looks like the version of himself that had never left. The Yoongi in front of you, sitting on your seat at the dining table and peeling tangerines with your mom, resembles the Yoongi that would top off your glass with water whenever you ate with him.

It’s as if you’ve always been in touch for the past five years; it’s as if Yoongi has never aged and you never drifted apart.

“You’re awake,” he remarks, greeting you first before your mom could even register your presence.

“You’re still here,” you reply, the exhale that leaves you making you deflate in reflection. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but Yoongi’s already slid over a plate to you.

“There. Just how you like them.”

There’s tangerines with barely any pith on them, and iced tea that had more ice cubes in them than there are in the freezer.

Yoongi smiles at you like you’re the old you again; the one who is more forgiving, and the one who is more hopeful.

( ♡ )

If it wasn’t for your brother guilt-tripping you into joining the impromptu road trip, you never would have come.

You didn’t want to come with them in the first place because the very thought of hanging out with Namjoon and Yoongi like old times, this time with the addition of the latter’s son, was too close; too familial. The three already knew each other and had kept in touch and you’re the odd one out. You’re the only planet out of the system and once you’ve come to think of it, that bit of their galaxy never failed. Whether you were in it or not didn’t matter — atleast that’s what you thought.

Yoongi got everything he ever wanted and you’ve heard nothing about it.

You blocked his number and on every social media account he had to his name. Even with Namjoon as a prominent variable, you’re amazed to how you’ve heard little to nothing about Yoongi ever since he left your hometown. You still talked to your brother, of course, but there was an obvious difference to how your conversations went because none of them ever went to Yoongi.

You didn’t tell him to not talk about Yoongi at all. You didn’t instruct him to never utter a single word about his closest friend whom you also grew up with. You never told Namjoon anything concerning Yoongi and what unfolded between the two of you before you left, and yet, it’s almost as if he had already been in your mind and knew exactly what to do.

You’ve come to realize that the prospect of growing up never used to be in your cards. The whole concept of it sat at the very back of your mind, the only times you used to pay attention to it being whenever Yoongi picked at your brain.

You thought your world would have ended when you were 19. You didn’t think you would grow up and see past high school. You didn’t think you would finish college, much less pick a degree to pursue in the first place. You didn’t think of having a future — you didn’t think you’d be living it now in this way.

“Joon,” you mutter, voice barely being heard at the expanse of the balcony you’re in. It’s his balcony in his vacation house he barely stays in, overlooking the waves by the beach he isn’t even that fond of to begin with.

Yoongi and Haneul are already asleep, the father-son duo knocking out way ahead than everyone else. They stayed with the two of you in the balcony hours ago, the bug spray in both the adult and kid edition being proof of it.

Tonight, alone, felt different. It’s as if the younger version of you was gazing out to what was supposed to be your future, except neither the past nor present variant of you could have ever had it for yourself.

“Hm?” he hums, sipping the last of his drink while he’s sat at the far end. You know about each other’s presence, and while years ago, the two of you would’ve been giddy staying in a house as grand as this whilst drinking behind your mom’s back, you and Namjoon grew up. You didn’t fight or anything — you simply grew up and grew apart.

“I never said it before, but thank you,” you exhale, clenching Haneul’s towel as you try to warm your hands. You may have spent the better part of the day not even acknowledging his dad, but you did fawn over him like you would with any other child. “Thank you for not telling me a thing about Yoongi.”

“You’re welcome,” Namjoon finally speaks as soon as he grasps what you were talking about, the smile on his face only lasting for a second. “If it were up to me though, I would have told you everything.”

“Good thing it’s not up to you, hm?” you laugh uneasily, running your hand through your hair. You didn’t know how much you had to be grateful for until Yoongi came back and reminded you of how little you knew about him.

Namjoon breathlessly laughs, looking up at the sky to try and condense everything that has happened through his words before you leave again. “I would have told you that he confessed what happened that time you ran away from home a couple years back, and I beat his ass. We didn’t talk for like, I don’t know, three months? Even when I was still training in the US that time.”

Your lack of a reply is what makes him take notice, the stunned look you have on your face making him snort.

“What?” he questions, eyebrows furrowed as he throws a stray bottle cap at you. “Why are you so shocked? I love him like a brother, but you’re my actual sister,” he confides his loyalty to you, yet you don’t even have a second to express your awe before he opens his mouth again. “I would have told you that I became the best man at his wedding. Even mom was there.”

“You can stop telling me these things now.”

Namjoon exhales, already feeling deep in his chest that you’re gearing up to leave. He wants to get the last word in, not to prove himself, but to try and vindicate you and the quiet suffering you endured without telling anyone.

“I would have told you that Yoongi kept trying to come back to you.”

( ♡ )

Haneul wakes up before Yoongi does.

You’re confused for a second because the moment you hear the lightest footsteps that you ever could pad along the kitchen, you become completely disoriented. There’s a child that looks like Yoongi, wandering off to where you are.

For the briefest second, your heart drops because the whole situation resembles a vignette. In another lifetime, it could’ve been your child, your Haneul, waking up before his dad, trudging to the kitchen where you are is if you’re his mom.

He’s an observant kid, far too trusting unlike his dad who used to scold you to hell and back for even entertaining strangers that asked you for directions. He’s friendly to you; to someone Yoongi had introduced as appa’s close friend. There isn’t even a single hint in how he introduced you to Haneul that the two of you stopped being close. Yoongi didn’t leave the faintest indicator to him that you most probably hated his guts and would probably choose a lifetime where he hadn’t even been in your life at all.

Haneul is innocent to yours and Yoongi’s history and it’s going to stay that way. You don’t meant to change whatever he introduced you as because by the time your mom’s birthday week is over, or by the time Yoongi takes the hint and leaves your hometown again, you would be a fleeting persona in Haneul’s life.

You’re not his mom. You’re not anyone of significance to either him and his dad.

“Good morning,” he greets shyly, his diction telling of how just attentive Yoongi is as a dad. You mostly listened to whatever Namjoon told you last night anyway, tuning out the parts where he rounded to how Yoongi had been miserable not having any contact with you (you don’t believe that at all), and instead zeroing in on the large details that you’ve missed. “Auntie.”

You smile tightly, patting the empty seat beside to you to which he climbs effortlessly.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you do know him. You know that his dad is a doting, slightly paranoid one whose current dilemma is whether or not enrolling him in kindergarten early or waiting for one more year. You know that Yoongi doesn’t want him to know about the existence of iPads for probably ever, so he spends almost every waking moment talking to him to the point that Haneul’s eloquent at speaking for his age. You also know that Namjoon’s his godfather, and that he had looked after him for a whole day by himself when Yoongi went to settle his divorce.

Haneul doesn’t know you, but you know his parents. You know Yoongi is his dad, and more importantly, that Hyewon is his mom — the same Hyewon who had been with him in your room before, and the same woman Yoongi shared his success with when he made it big.

“Hi,” you greet him softly, handing him his bottle for him to drink from. It’s a warm, domestic vignette for a split second. You’ve watched Yoongi far too many times at the corner of your eye to know where he gets the distilled water. “Why are you up already?”

“Uncle Joonie promised yesterday we can watch the sunrise together,” he says in between sips, letting you comb his hair into order unconsciously. You didn’t even think of it before your hand sweeps the strands scattered on his forehead, the hum you have at the back of your throat pausing when you realized what you’ve done.

“He’s still sleeping right now. He had uh, a long night,” you mutter, at a loss for a child-friendly alternative word for hangover. You keep your hands to yourself because you fear falling into the domesticity that isn’t yours to relax into; if you think about it for a second longer, you’d think that Haneul is yours and Yoongi is the final piece to your puzzle.

“Oh. But I, I wanna watch,” Haneul frowns, brows softly furrowed at your revelation. He’s not close to throwing a tantrum, but the upset expression on his face keeps tugging at your heart to cave.

“You can take your dad with you,” you offer, willing to knock on Yoongi’s door if it meant his son smiling again.

Haneul shakes his head at that, looking up at the ceiling as he recalls the events of last night before being tucked in. “Nuh-uh. Appa had a long night too. He just kept crying.”

A part of you wishes that Haneul didn’t speak so clearly.

“What?” you clarify, heart skipping a beat the more you replay his words in your head.

“Crying?” Haneul repeats, tilting his head as he tries to figure you out. He says it again for a third time as if you needed any clarification of the word and not because of your disbelief that his dad was capable of it. “Like this,” he adds, pretending to bawl with his hands wiping at his eyes.

The scene before you is your brief moment of reprieve, making you chuckle breathlessly as you try to regain your senses. Whether or not Haneul was sure of what he was saying, if Yoongi had cried, it’s most probably not because of anything that has to do with you.

“Oh. So that’s what it means. Thank you, Haneul,” you laugh lowly, patting him on the head until you retract your hand again in realization.

Haneul thinks nothing of your trepidation; he thinks nothing of the yearning behind your eyes, and thinks nothing of the tremble in your voice.

“Can we watch the sunrise together?” he asks, eyes looking up at you as if doing so would be the equivalent of hanging the stars up for him in the sky.

(Read: it probably is, and in another lifetime, or in the far-shot that it happens in this one, you’d do it if he asks you to do so.)

You want to ask Haneul why it’s you who he wants to accompany him, but you don’t. You can wake up either Yoongi and Namjoon to go with him instead, but you won’t.

In another lifetime, this would have been your son, your Haneul asking to watch the sunrise with you. There’s a Yoongi-shaped hole and a Haneul-shaped vacancy in your chest, but you don’t prod about it further.

You don’t question what’s happening, and maybe, just maybe, there’s a tiny part of you that wants to fully accept it instead of hesitating to do so.

“Okay.”

Haneul puts his hand in yours, but you don’t pull away. You just hold him tighter.

( ♡ )

A large part of you forgot that for as long as Yoongi’s here, he’ll treat every interaction you have with Namjoon as an open invitation for him. He had always been this way; for as long as you could remember, he’ll include himself even if he isn’t needed nor wanted.

You can’t count the amount of times your mom had berated Namjoon for something and oddly enough, Yoongi also happened to be there. Whether it was to rat out on his own best friend or being at the receiving end of said scolding, Yoongi jumped at every opportunity to come along as a package deal.

When you asked Namjoon to drink with you at the balcony two days ago, Yoongi butted in and asked what brand of alcohol he should buy you at the convenience store. When you were on the way home and asked your brother what he wanted from the rest stop, Yoongi said he wanted the biggest can of coffee you could find.

And when you asked Namjoon what time you should come to the stadium to watch him practice, Yoongi said he’ll pack you an extra cap while Haneul bonded with your mom.

Sometime long ago, you and Yoongi saw each other eye to eye. You can’t determine when and how exactly, but there was a point in your life where everything you had to say to each other was what the other was thinking all along. Nowadays, you can’t even look at Yoongi in the eye while all he wanted was for you to return his gaze.

If there’s just one thing though, one single variable that remained unchanged between the two of you, it would be Namjoon.

The way Yoongi engages you in conversation this time around is not to trap you and to ramp himself up to apologize again, but purely, it’s to talk about your brother. Namjoon’s a lot of things, and one thing you pray would remain unchanged is the love you have for each other.

“Who would have thought, right?” Yoongi nudges, asking you sincerely. “Who would have thought that the Namjoon who had knockoff cleats years ago would become this world-famous athlete?” he chuckles, shaking his head as he once again tries to digest the fact that this very stadium in your hometown had been built and refashioned in his honor.

You laugh genuinely, the sound being the first he’s ever heard in such a long time.

“Abibas.”

Yoongi has his lips parted, shocked that you were even answering him.

“Abibas. That was the brand of his knockoff cleats,” you chuckle, bowing your head as you try to contain your laughter. “He could’ve bought the original with his allowance and everything, but he split it so he could also buy me knockoffs.”

Yoongi laughs at the memory you jog up in his mind, remembering distinctly how Namjoon kept asking for his opinion repeatedly on which colorway of the knockoff pair he should gift you.

Even if things are still tense between you, even if Namjoon is the only salvation that Yoongi could bring up in a conversation to which you don’t run from, nothing from the past five years could ever take this moment away from you.

The three of you have grown up. Some faster than they’d like, and some because they had no choice but to — nonetheless, in this moment, it’s the three of you back at home like it used to be.

“Namjoon was always meant for greatness. Even from the start,” you murmur, your attention waiting on Yoongi’s response even if your eyes were on Namjoon in the field.

“You are too,” he interjects quickly, voice defensive at the lack of your name to your own sentence.

“No I’m not,” you snort, crossing your arms. You’re not angry when you say it; in fact, you’re calm as if you’ve always seen it coming. “You told me I’d amount to nothing.”

You’re calm, seemingly at peace with what you just said and what Yoongi had ingrained in your head before, but he’s the furthest thing from it. His mouth hangs open, chest tightening impossibly as he shakes his head eagerly.

“I never said that!”

You’re about to counter him when you hear a familiar holler reach you at the lower section of the bleachers, eyes perking to see a familiar figure who isn’t blood-related to you.

“Y/N!” Jimin runs up to you faster than to whenever he passes the ball to Namjoon, engulfing you in a massive hug that forces you up to your feet before you know it.

“Oh my god, Jimin! I didn’t know you were gonna be here!” you awe at the sight of him, unwilling to break away from the embrace until he does so. It’s been ages since you’ve seen him, the second-best player in the team (you’re biased because of course Namjoon had been the best player to you since you were kids) being the closest member to you out of everyone.

Jimin doesn’t care for Yoongi. He knows of the guy and he doesn’t want to know any more than he already does. He doesn’t even acknowledge the guy’s presence; all he does is squeeze you tighter and twirl you briefly in his arms.

“Fuck, me neither. Heaven must’ve healed my ankle quicker so I could come here and see you,” he flirts playfully, earning a well-deserved eye roll from you.

“And you know, play for Korea.”

“Eh. That too, I guess,” he shrugs, sitting at the seat beside you. He looks straight at you and only you — Jimin only pauses to snort to himself when he notices that Yoongi’s squirming in his seat, beyond annoyed and frustrated.

( ♡ )

On the fifth day of Yoongi staying over at your house, there’s a power outage.

The sound of everything shutting off together in sync makes you jolt, the collective groan you hear outside from the neighborhood comforting you in solidarity.

You can only make out a grunt from Namjoon and a gasp from your mom until you hear the trembling voice of Haneul, the sound of a cry that crawls up his throat putting everyone on their feet.

“Oh baby, it’s okay, it’s okay! It’s just a little dark, that’s all,” Yoongi pipes up instantly, scooping him up in his arms without having to fumble for where he is because he could practically locate his son in his sleep.

You didn’t want for it to be a power outage, but oddly enough, you feel sorry that it happened while you’re here. “It’s okay, Haneul,” you whisper as consolation, the dark of the night shielding you from how Yoongi’s eyes widen at your cooing for his son. “Mom, where did you put that generator I got you?”

“About that,” she sheepishly shrugs, turning on her phone to illuminate her shyness. “I donated it last year to the public school nearby.”

“It’s gonna get so hot,” Namjoon groans, the sound of him clumsily feeling around for the lights alerting Haneul briefly. He comforts him instantly, finally turning on the torch in his phone instead of relying on his instincts. “Don’t cry, Haneul, alright? Uncle Joonie’s gonna get the candles and the flashlights.”

“I’ll go try to find a guy,” you get up as soon as Namjoon hands you a flashlight, your contribution to help instantly being shut down.

“You can’t just try to find a guy, Y/N. That’s dangerous,” Yoongi scoffs, putting a hand on your forearm to pull you.

“I meant on my phone, Yoongi,” you grit. “I was gonna go outside to try and look for a signal.”

“That’s still dangerous,” he narrows his eyes at you as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Give me a break,” you mutter, removing his hold from you. You’d save your pride and actually go outside if not for your mom interjecting that she knows an electrician from her contacts.

Namjoon comes back after his quest for battery-powered fans and flashlights, unaware of how Yoongi’s protective streak for you practically never disappeared; in fact, it came back twofold. “Whole neighborhood’s out. Must be a broken transformer or something.”

Your mom consoles Haneul in her arms.

Namjoon waits by the gate for the electrician.

You and Yoongi clean the fridge up before anything spoils.

In between getting food out and embracing Haneul every now and then who insisted on obediently sitting atop the counter so he’s closer to his dad, Yoongi holds your hand.

“That’s my hand that you’re holding,” you murmur, assuming that he had mistaken yours for Haneul’s as he’s always chuckled how yours always seemed to be small against his.

Yoongi only hums.

“I know.”

( ♡ )

You’re falling back into your old routine.

Maybe it’s how your mom has to shake you awake because otherwise, you’d sleep through the afternoon and would therefore be unable to sleep through the night. On the other hand, it could be Namjoon who either hounds you to hang out with him or tell you off for clinging to him too much.

Maybe, it’s just Yoongi. It’s him who’s tricking your brain into thinking that has nothing changed with the way he keeps peeling fruits for you and telling you to be safe even if you’re only buying ice cream from the convenience store.

It’s only been a week and a half of almost normalcy, save for the fact that there are certain things and connections you can neither reverse nor rekindle.

You’re convinced, almost fully convinced that history is repeating itself except for the bitter, ugly parts of it that you never want to pop in your head again.

Like the past, Namjoon blocks you for whatever reason in his head but this time he does it to you while you’re on the way to your room, on the quest to retrieve your charger for your phone that you barely even used for work purposes.

“It’s my room. Why can’t I go in my room?” you furrow your brows at him, your amusement turning into annoyance the more that Namjoon pushed you with actual strength instead of playfulness.

“Are you hungry? Let’s go out for dinner,” he changes the subject quickly, turning you towards the stairs.

You shouldn’t have questioned him further — you should’ve left it at that.

“I guess? I’ll just get my purse,” you concede, dodging his attempts to haul you downstairs.

“I’ll pay,” Namjoon insists and although it’s not out of the blue for him, his franticness is what keeps you on edge.

“I still need my-…” you counter, being interrupted when he holds you firmly as you attempt to walk towards your door. Namjoon grips you with a silent plead, one that you can’t even decipher. “What the fuck is going on with you?”

You finally break off his grip at once, walking into your room with a renowned determination.

It’s not only your routine that falls back into place, but it’s your whole worldview that does.

Love is terribly human. It’s a loose thread on your shirt that gets snagged on your doorknob. It’s a coat in your closet waiting to be worn for the supposed perfect time, and when you do, you realize that it no longer fits you.

Love is terribly human, and it is terribly Yoongi, Hyewon, and Haneul.

Love is terribly human and fragile, and it’s Yoongi, Hyewon, and their son sleeping on your bed.

#target audience im on my knees IM SO SO SORRY HOW R U FEELING!!!!#yoongi imagine #yoongi oneshot #yoongi oneshots #yoongi series #yoongi angst #yoongi angst imagine #yoongi fluff #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi au #min yoongi imagine #min yoongi scenario #yoongi fanfic #yoongi x you #bts yoongi imagine #bts yoongi x reader

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honeyedmiller · 6 months

Text

Checkmate | Joel Miller

pairing: dbf!joel x f!reader

warnings: dbf!joel, age gap (reader is late 20’s, joel mid 40’s), reader is depicted as shorter than joel but otherwise has no other physical description (picture in mood board is for aesthetic purposes only), mutual pining, making out, smut (thigh riding, brief mentions of f oral receiving, unprotected [bc] piv, slight cockwarming, riding), reader’s best friend’s name is hailey, no use of y/n. 18+, minors dni.

huge thank you to my baby @party-hearses for beta reading this for me. i love you to a million pieces 🖤

a/n: also this is my 900 follower celebration?! i still can’t wrap my head around the fact that so many people follow me and enjoy what i reblog / write. i love u all so, so much. i also feel kinda bad bc i hyped this one shot up a lot only for the smut to not be that descriptive, but this is more about joel and reader’s feelings than what they essentially do with each other. hope y’all still enjoy it :’)

word count: 4.6k

synopsis: you and your dad’s best friend play a dangerous game, and one of you ends up losing faster than you both anticipated.

dividers by the lovely @saradika

You wiped your sweaty brow on your forearm as you lugged a fifth box into your new apartment. You’d finally saved up enough to move out of your parent’s place. Your master’s degree had paid off after all, landing you a job in the heart of Austin, Texas. You were only a thirty minute drive from your parent’s house, which your mom totally loved. She couldn’t wait to help you decorate your place and hand you down the pots and pans that’d been in the family for quite some time.

The move wasn’t necessarily a tough one, because you were ready to get out of your parents’ hair. You all got along well, but you were dying for your own privacy and space that you could call your own. You couldn’t be happier now that you had it.

In the midst of the move, your dad insisted he’d phone his best buddy, Joel. You’d only heard about him a handful of times while you were away at college, and in the months you’d been back with your parents, your dad always went over to his house to watch sports or hang out. When the whole family was invited over to his house for barbecues, you always found yourself either already having other plans with your friends, or you were working. Today was finally the day you’d meet the mystery man that is Joel Miller.

And that’s when you saw him. Tall, broad, ruggedly handsome, body clad in an army green shirt that showcased his biceps and veiny forearms, dark jeans that showed off the muscle of his thick thighs, and scuffed up boots from plenty of days, weeks, hell–months of hard work that added an inch or two to his already towering height.

He must’ve been in his forties if you had to guess. His dark brown hair was dusted with slight specs of gray, the scruff on his jawline mirroring the hair on his head. His nose was strong, and was perfectly fitted with his face. He had dark brown eyes that were kind yet held some kind of sternness—a look that made your panties easily dampen. His mustache framed his lips that were pursed into a slight frown, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they’d feel like all over your body.

He looked at you just the same, all but hungry eyes roaming your body as he caught a glimpse of you for the first time. Like a damn deer caught in headlights.

He was your dad’s best friend?

Oh, you were truly, utterly, royally fucked.

You introduced yourself to him and he shook your hand, the calloused pads of his fingers meeting your soft skin sending a string of butterflies through your stomach.

You genuinely don’t think you’d ever been this attracted to someone at first glance.

After he and your dad helped you move all of your stuff into your new place, you’d concluded two things: one, Joel Miller was a man of very few words–at least, around you that is, and two: you were sure he was attracted to you just as you were to him.

Was it so wrong to want someone a little bit older? Perhaps not. What was wrong was that he’s your dad’s best friend. You shouldn’t want someone like that. Someone you were absolutely sure could handle you in the best way possible.

About a month after you’d finally gotten settled into your apartment, you invited your best friend Hailey over a movie night and a glass of wine. You told her about your predicament, to which she couldn’t help but be the little devil on your shoulder and encourage you to go after Joel.

“Look, I know he’s your dad’s best friend n’ all, but what he doesn’t know wouldn’t hurt him, right?” She questions, legs tucked underneath her body as her lips curl into a sly grin before she takes another sip of her wine.

“I mean yeah, but I’ve never done something like this before. An older man, who’s closely acquainted with my dad? I oughta be out of my damn mind.” You sigh, rubbing your temple.

“Live a little, babe. You’ve been a good kid to your parents your whole life. It’s time you do something for you for once and go after it. Make a subtle move on him next time. That might spice things up a bit.” She suggests, pursing her lips.

“You’re right. But if I make a move and it backfires, I’m completely fucked and I’m moving to the other side of the country.” You laugh exasperatingly.

She reaches over to pat your thigh softly. “Only one way to find out.”

You hadn’t seen Joel as of late, but you weren’t phased by it. It’d been a really busy couple of weeks at work, and you were joining your coworkers tonight for a celebratory t.g.i.f. drink.

Hailey was over at your apartment getting ready with you and you both were already two shots of tequila in. You weren’t much of a drinker, but truth be told, you needed this night out.

“So I’m either between this dress or this one.” You explain to Hailey, and she studies the options you held up for her to thoroughly inspect. It was either between a black satin mini dress with sparkly straps, or a strapless maroon bodycon dress

“This one,” She points at the black dress. “With your red kitten heels.”

You toss the maroon dress onto your bed and take the black one off of the hanger, changing into the dress after Hailey goes to pour herself another shot. You slip aforementioned heels on and give yourself a once over in your full body closet mirror, satisfied with your appearance.

You wanted to look and feel hot tonight, and it was safe to say you achieved just that. Maybe you’d pick up some hot guy at the bar tonight. He may not be no Mr. Miller, but anyone to take the tension of the past couple of weeks away would suffice.

You were applying one last layer of lipgloss when Hailey’s knuckles rapped on your door twice, head peeking into your bedroom.

“Uber’s here. Let’s go get fucked up.”

You laugh at her enthusiasm, hot on her trail as you locked up and headed down to your Uber.

The ride was only fifteen minutes before you pulled up to the bar that was already packed. You both slipped inside, spotting your coworkers at a table. They were laughing about something when you and Hailey walked up, and they all cheerily greeted you with hugs.

It wasn’t long before the DJ was playing some line dancing songs, and multiple people made their way to the dance floor to move their bodies. You and Hailey were the only ones left at the table as you laughed at your coworkers trying to keep up with the beat of the song.

“Mr. Hottie over there has been checking you out for some time now.” Hailey leaned into you, nudging your side with her elbow as she jutted her head toward a man at the bar.

You felt your body drained of warmth as you saw none other than Joel Miller standing at the end of the bar, sipping on his beer tentatively. His eyes were locked on you, and the stupid butterflies rumbled around in your stomach once more.

“Hailey, that’s him.” You say, swallowing thickly.

“Who?” She gives you a questioning look, the drinks she’s had tonight making her mind a bit fuzzy.

“My dad’s best friend. That’s Joel.” You say, and her eyes nearly bug out of her head.

“Oh, girl, if you don’t make your move I’ll force you to make one. He’s a fucking hunk.”

Your eyes trailed back over to him, taking in his appearance. He switched out the green t-shirt for a gray one, dark wash jeans, and the same boots he wore when he showed up to help you move into your place.

The way he was looking at you made you want to do extremely sinful things with him. Fuck. Now or never.

“I’ll be back.” You tell Hailey, and her expression brightens up and cheers you on as you slip off of your seat.

You saunter over to Joel, drink in hand, and you sip on it through the straw as you approach him. He looks down at you amused, eyes nearly black as he scans you from head to toe.

“You stalking me now, Mr. Miller?” You tease, leaning up against the bar top.

Joel scoffs a laugh and sips on his beer once more. “Y’think I don’t have something better to do with my time than to see where you are on a Friday night?” He retorts, but it wasn’t mean. You were sober enough to hear the hint of playfulness in his tone.

“Mm, not really.” You shrug, feigning an innocent smile up at him.

So you could be a brat. He bet he could fix that attitude in no time.

He chuckled at his own thoughts, finishing off his beer as he set the empty bottle down on the sticky bar top.

“You caught me, darlin’. Any woman as ravishing as you is worth stalkin’.” The slight curl of his lip made you smile. You sipped on your drink some more as you watched the patrons of the bar dancing to the current song. Your eyes avert back up to his gaze, and you step closer to him.

His eyes move down to your glossy lips wrapped around the straw, wishing so badly that your lips were wrapped around something else right at that moment.

“What brings you here tonight, Mr. Miller?” You ask, reaching a hand out to touch his bicep. His body goes rigid at your touch, and you fear you’ve gone too far so your hand immediately drops. Joel does a quick scan of the bar before wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you flush against his sturdy body.

“My brother’s best friend’s birthday.” He shrugs, and you nod. You felt like a fucking hummingbird with how fast your heart was beating, and you were sure Joel could feel it with the close proximity between the two of you.

The air became thick and heavy. Your breathing accelerated, looking up at Joel and into his lust-clouded eyes. His grip on your waist tightened in the slightest, and you nearly whimpered as you felt his bulge through the denim fabric of his jeans.

“Joel.” Your voice was merely a whisper, and he smirked down at you.

“Care to line dance, darlin’?” He asked nonchalantly. Your eyebrows furrowed as disappointment shot through you. Were you reading the situation wrong?

“I don’t really know how.” You say, setting your now watered-down drink on the counter.

“I’ll teach you.” He shrugs, grabbing your hand and dragging you onto the dance floor. He showed you step by step how to move, but your mind was so hazy with lust that you could barely even focus.

It’d been months since someone touched you in an intimate way, and the burning need and desire was aflame through your body. All you could think about was Joel’s hands and tongue on you as you moaned his name. The thought nearly made you pout.

“You even listenin’ to me?” Joel pulls you out of your daydream, and you look up at him with half lidded eyes. He was teasing and holding out on you and he knew it.

His face held pure amusement as he watched you squirm under his stare uncontrollably, fidgeting like a little kid on Christmas Eve waiting for Santa to stop by.

“I’m gonna go get another drink.” You sigh, walking back to the table Hailey was waiting at.

“What happened?” She asks, looking behind you at Joel who was burning a hole in the back of your body.

“No idea. Guess I’m not getting lucky after all.” You shrug with a disappointed huff of a laugh. You looked back to see if Joel was still there, but he seemed to have disappeared.

You grabbed your purse and made your way to the bar, leaning over it. The back of your dress rode your thighs significantly, barely covering your ass at this point. Before you could get the bartender’s attention again, you felt a hand on your shoulder pull you back and press you into their body. You were about to mouth off on this person before you realized it was Joel.

“Fuck, c’mon.” His hand slid down to your wrist, gently tugging it. You looked at Hailey as you started to follow Joel and pointed at him discreetly, and she gave you a thumbs up.

Joel led you out into the cool air of the night, immediately chilling your whole body. Goosebumps raised onto your skin as he led you to his truck, your heels clicking against the unevenly paved asphalt.

“What are you doing, Joel?” You ask as you stop in front of a dark truck.

“I’m about to give us what we both want.” He said before trapping your body against his truck and between both of his strong arms that landed on either side of you. You cocked an eyebrow up at him, eyes and lips glossy underneath the dim parking lot lights.

“Can’t believe I’m fuckin’ doin’ this.” Joel murmurs before leaning down, smashing his lips with yours. You moan softly into the kiss, carding your fingers into his longer locks. You give the ends a slight tug and he moans into your mouth. You feel the arousal pool in your panties and your untouched core starts to throb. You whine into the kiss, and Joel takes that as an opportunity for his tongue to invade your mouth.

He tastes like mint now, probably having popped an altoid in his mouth before coming back to get you from the bar. His hands travel downwards and find purchase on your thighs underneath the dress, rubbing circles into your soft skin. He starts to rut his hips into yours, the bulge in his jeans catching onto your clothed clit deliciously.

“Joel, please.” You choke out as his lips disconnect from yours, hot kisses traveling down your neck and onto your collarbone.

“Please what, baby?” He asks, voice raspy and muffled as he breathes against your neck.

“Need you. Fuck, please, just touch me.” You don’t care how desperate you sound to him at this moment. His touch left a trail of flames everywhere his hands landed, and you couldn’t get enough.

Joel wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you away from the back door of his truck, opening it and helping you slide in. He got in right after you, closing and locking the doors. Your chest was rapidly heaving up and down, trying to catch your breath from the intense moment.

Joel didn’t give you much leeway, though, because as soon as he spread his legs to get comfy in the backseat, he was pulling you on top of him. You closed the gap between you two this time, rutting your hips forward so your heat sat right on top of his bulging crotch. He groaned lowly, looking down to where your dress had ridden up. He saw your pink lace panties that you had on, and god were you grateful you chose to wear those tonight.

Joel hummed in appreciation as he slid his calloused hands up the smooth skin of your thighs, looking back up to meet your gaze. Your lipgloss was nearly gone off of your lips and onto Joel’s, and he had to admit he liked the sticky cherry flavor.

“Your daddy would kill me with his bare hands right now if he saw what I was doin’ with his darlin’ daughter.” Joel chuckles, shaking his head.

“That’s why he won’t find out,” You shrug. “Besides, I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions and decide what I want… and what I want is you, Mr. Miller.”

Joel raises an eyebrow and huffs a small laugh. “That right?” He questions, grip getting slightly tighter on the soft flesh of your thighs.

“Mhm.” You nod, hand cradling the back of his head.

“What we’re doin’—this is bad.” Joel chastised, mostly to himself.

“Relax, Joel. I won’t tell if you won’t.” You twirl the hair at the nape of his neck through your fingers, applying more pressure onto his groin. He grunts in response, adjusting himself slightly as the confinement of his jeans was nearly torturous at this point.

“Fine. But we’re endin’ this whole hookin’ up thing if anyone gets even the slightest bit suspicious.” He negotiates, and you nod.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, Miller.”

Joel chuckles and shakes his head, leaning up to capture your lips into his once again. You hum against him, hands moving down to his chest as your nails scratch over the thin fabric of his shirt.

You start to grind yourself onto him again, and he groans once more before separating his lips from yours to mumble against them. “Use my thigh, baby.” He shifts you onto his left thigh, and you steady yourself on him by gripping his shoulders.

“I don’t wanna ruin your pants.” You sigh, the pressure of your clothed clit on his thick thigh already providing the tiniest bit of relief.

“I don’t give a shit about my pants, baby. Soak ‘em for all I care.” He presses his lips to your neck once more, and you shiver at the contact. You’re shy at first, not ever having gotten yourself off on someone’s thigh before.

Joel senses your hesitation, so he moves his hands back up to your hips and shifts them forward, causing your soaked cunt to glide along his jean-clad thigh.

You take over yourself, rocking your hips back and forth at a languid pace. Desperate moans are falling out of your mouth as you fist his shirt into your hands, feeling yourself so close already.

“Joel, feels so-so fucking good.” You whine, head dropping back. Your jaw goes slack and eyebrows thread together, picking the pace of your hips up.

“Yeah? Such a good fuckin’ girl, takin’ what she needs to get off.”

“I need you, Joel, please.”

Joel moved his hands to fumble with his belt buckle and jeans button to take his jeans off in the slightest, finally relieving his erection. You moaned at the sight of his thick cock, pre cum gathered at the tip. You brought your thumb to his slit, gathering the pre cum onto your finger before bringing it up to your mouth to gently suck on it.

Joel’s jaw ticked, resisting the urge to bend you over the back of his seat and fuck you senseless then and there. Luckily, he had a lot more restraint than he thought, because all he did was just stare at you sucking seductively on your thumb.

You shifted yourself so you were straddling both of his thighs now, and you grabbed his cock into your hand to give it a few slow tugs. Joel sucked in a breath at your touch, head being thrown back onto the headrest of the seat. You tugged your panties to the side before you ran the tip of his weeping cock through your slick folds, a lewd wetness sounding throughout the cab of the truck.

You moaned as Joel hissed at the contact. It’d been awhile since Joel had been with someone, so he prayed to whatever god was out there that he’d be able to last.

“C’mon baby, don’t be a fuckin’ tease.” Joel grunts, fingertips digging into your hips. You look down at him with half lidded eyes as you sank down onto his length without much resistance.

The stretch was fucking heavenly. Your lips parted as you puffed out a pant and sucked in a breath shortly after, reaching the hilt.

“So fucking big. Fuck.” You mewl, fingers digging into his shoulders for balance once more.

“Stay still for a little.” Joel’s voice was strained, sounding nearly pained as he choked out his words. You felt so good wrapped around him that he just wanted to appreciate your warmth.

Joel slid the sparkly straps of your dress down your shoulders, tugging down the neckline of your dress to reveal your breasts. His tongue darted out of his mouth to briefly wet his lips, large hands moving up to gently squeeze the soft flesh of your chest.

“So fuckin’ perfect.” Joel whispers, moving his head down to envelope one erect nipple into his mouth while his thumb and index finger toyed with the other. You moved one hand up his chest and to the back of his hair, threading your fingers through the thick locks once more as you pushed his face deeper into your pillowy flesh.

The feeling of his expert tongue and heavy cock in you was beginning to be too much. You needed him to move, or at least let you move. You weren’t above absolutely begging him until he gave in, but he seemed to have the same idea as his hips thrusted into you.

You took that as an initiative to move, so you began to slowly glide yourself up and down on him. You sucked in a sharp breath as the feeling of him repeatedly filling you made your legs shake. He took his mouth off of your swollen flesh to avert his gaze to yours, eyes locking as you moved up and down. He moved a hand down to generously rub at your aching clit, causing your cunt to deliciously clench around him.

“Gonna ruin this tight little pussy. Just you wait.” His voice is throaty and deep, sending shivers down your spine. The dangerous glint in his eye let you know that he was dead serious.

You wanted Joel Miller to ruin every other man for you.

That’s how this, the dangerous thing—the game—started.

You both were determined to win at something that wasn’t even tangible; something so lucrative to both of you that the consequences wouldn’t even fucking matter.

It didn’t matter as he took over and fucked his hips up into you at a brutal pace, causing you to orgasm violently on his cock within minutes. It didn’t matter when the windows of his truck fogged up and the drag of your fingertips adorned the glass. It didn’t matter when you reassured him he could cum in you because you were on birth control.

As months went on after that night at the bar, him fucking you up against the wall of his shower or pounding you into your bed or eating your pussy until you physically could not breathe anymore was all that dazed your mind.

Fuck the consequences.

None of it fucking mattered.

Because, over the months, Joel Miller was the kind of man you didn’t mind having in your bed after you two’ve fucked. You didn’t mind when he slept over, or when he wanted to be the little spoon, or when you both went out on dates like a normal couple would.

The euphoria of it all didn’t last forever, though. You knew it wouldn’t, but the heavy weight and reality of it all came crashing down on you one day when Joel was buried deep into your warm cunt, both of you teetering on the edge of a climax, when your dad came knocking on your front door. Pure panic seized your body and you had to make Joel hide in your closet like a fucking teenager.

That’s when you realized you both were way in over your head with this whole thing. Getting caught was going to be inevitable if it kept up like this.

You were eternally grateful that your dad was a man who didn’t hover. He left your apartment after fifteen minutes and when Joel came out from hiding, you told him that it was way too close and it was too risky to keep doing what you both wanted to never put a stop to. You’d silently promised yourself that was the last time with him.

Joel tried to argue against it, but you put your foot down. That is, until you got slightly buzzed one night and begged Joel to come fuck you. Truthfully, you didn’t even really need the sex from him. It was just a plus. You just enjoyed being around him so much that having him in some way, even if only physically, was to suffice.

Little did you know, he felt ten times stronger than what you felt. Joel Miller would worship the ground you walked on, if you allowed him to do so.

He was at your doorstep in no time, pushing you against the wall and kissing you with such neediness as if you’d disappear right beneath his fingertips. You were wearing one of his oversized t-shirts and a pair of panties to which Joel discarded immediately. His thick fingers rubbed against your slick heat, hips bucking to meet the languid pace he set.

Joel shouldn’t be here.

You promised yourself the last time would be the fucking last.

And yet, you found yourself willingly shoved up against the wall of your living room by none other than the man you swore you’d stay away from as he leaves hot, fervent kisses along the slope of your neck.

“Joel, we—fuck, we shouldn’t be doing this. We have to stop.”

“Yeah? Not what you were sayin’ when you were practically beggin’ me to fuck you again over the phone.” He grits. He sinks his fingers into your aching cunt, prying a strangled moan from your throat.

He’s frustrated with himself.

Frustrated that he so easily succumbed to you, allowing himself to wrap himself in the greedy need and carnal desire he had for you. Frustrated that you were twenty years younger than him, and frustrated that you should’ve been off limits.

You were supposed to be off limits, god damnit, but Joel Miller was a greedy fucking man. He just had to have you in a way that nobody else could.

He really didn’t blame your father if he strangled the man with his own bare hands if he ever found out what you two did behind his back, in secret, and for months at that.

Joel knew better.

He fucking knew better and still decided to get a taste, get a feel, fuck you like no other man had. Something his greed deliciously sunk its teeth into, allowing himself to indulge in the forbidden realm you offered to give him.

You knew better, too. But you did get one thing you wanted, after all.

You’d be a fucking liar if you didn’t admit that Joel Miller had officially ruined every other man for you.

The dangers of the game had sunk its teeth so deep into both of you. It was like the world’s most impossible chess match, and one of you was finally waiting for the other to say “checkmate.”

The thing is, Joel lost a long while ago.

He fucking lost the game.

He couldn’t stay away from you no matter how hard he tried, and when you called him begging him to fuck you tonight, his need for you practically drowned him in his weakness.

Joel Miller was not a weak man. You had him under a fucking spell that he couldn’t seem to reverse.

It’s like you were his fucking kryptonite.

He was the one that royally fucked in the end.

Joel wished he didn’t have these feelings that clawed at his fucking rib cage every time he glanced at you, some sort of animalistic creature trying to escape when you were under him, legs spread wide, your warmth wrapped around his cock as he buried himself in you.

Every single time he had you like that, had his lips on you, had you moaning his name like a prayer on Sunday mornings, saw your sweet smile, smelled your perfume that he loved so much, heard your contagious laugh, he knew he lost.

Checkmate.

tags: @nostalxgic ; @ilovepedro ; @bastardmandennis ; @tinygarbage ; @amanitacowboy ; @holesandlividity ; @planet-marz1 ; @joelmillers-whore ; @cool-iguana ; @janaispunk ; @freakygothgirl ; @survivingandenduring ; @clawdee ; @danaispunk ; @kiwisbell ; @untamedheart81

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagines #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #dbf! joel smut #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #pedro pascal imagines #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot

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slytherinshua · 4 months

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CHERRY BOWS

genre. fluff. cheol as a dad. warnings. toddler/parent stuff. cheol gets jelly. pairing. husband!scoups x wife!reader. wc. 1k. request. request by @blue-jisungs: you asked for soft hours n i shall give!! it’s been in my mind for a hot while actually but i’m too busy rn to do it myself… and you’re the perfect person bc U MADE ME THINK IF TJAT 🫵🫵 jealous dad seungcheol :( ofc he loves u n ur kid but give him some attention too smh >:T and requested by anon: i love your svt as dads!! they’re all so cute and i’d like to request one for cheol! a/n. i love love love dad cheol omg :( my second dad fic for him hehe <3 hes so girl dad coded and SOOOOO ADORABLE SKDJKS I LOVE HIM!!!!

“You ate without me…?” Cheol’s sleepy mumble was the first thing you heard from him. He had tiredly trudged downstairs when he had woken up and you weren’t next to him in the bed. It was already a bad start to the day when that happened, and he was frowning and pouting and generally sulking about it by the time he found you.

He wrapped his arms around you from the back, trapping you in the middle of the living room so you couldn’t continue without giving him the attention he needed. You smiled at his clinginess and deep raspy morning voice, but scoffed at how baby-like he was in the morning. Sometimes he acted even more like a child than your actual child.

Eunha was your now 2 year old daughter. She was adored by everyone and constantly doted on. She could be a handful at times, but only because she had started to take after your bossiness and knew exactly how to appeal to Seungcheol. If she ever wanted something, all she had to do was look at them with those big boba eyes that she got from him, and he’d be folding.

He loved her more than anything. Probably even more than you, but you were okay with it. It warmed your heart how much he cared for his daughter. He’d die for her in a heartbeat without a second of hesitation. You were learning more and more every day the love a father could hold for his children. You had expected this attitude when you married him, of course. Because you knew him and you knew how caring he was. He was so filled with love for people and the world, and you were so lucky to have him.

Starting a family had always been a dream for both of you, and Eunha’s birth had been your biggest blessing. It was challenging to take care of a toddler, but you and Cheol always did your best.

Eunha was happily playing with her toy dolls after eating breakfast— the entire living room spread with her mess. It was always a constant of cleaning her toys in the evening just for her to make a new mess the next day, but you didn’t mind. It was worth it to see her so happy, and though it could be stressful to have a messy space sometimes, her happy giggles made up for it.

“Were you playing dolls with her without me as well?” Cheol asked, the pout he was wearing somehow finding its way into his tone. You giggled and he squeezed you tighter out of jealousy. He didn’t want to admit that he missed your attention being only on him, but it was true.

You were getting up earlier to feed Eunha and play with her in the morning. The sleepy morning cuddles that Cheol looked forward to every time he fell asleep next to you were becoming rarer and rarer and he felt bitter about the change. It just wasn’t the same with Eunha. It wasn’t worse, it was definitely better in most aspects, but the free time that he had enjoyed before was being sucked away by the little child.

“She wanted me to be the doctor.” You told him, explaining the dynamics of Eunha’s favourite game. She would be the mother to her little baby doll, and either Cheol or you would usually be the doctor.

“The bed was so cold without you…” He murmured, pushing his cheek against your neck. His skin was warm against yours and you leaned into him more, savouring the feeling.

“I’m sorry. You know that Eunha likes to get up early…” You whispered.

“She should’ve woken me up instead of you. Aren’t you tired?”

“A bit. Eating breakfast with her was nice, though. She insisted on having strawberries with her yogurt since she had seen me eat it like that once.” You smiled. Seungcheol pouted.

“I thought I was her favourite…” He was mostly joking, of course, but slightly hurt. He had always been susceptible to jealousy. Maybe he was a little too greedy— he loved watching you and Eunha spend time together, but he also hated being left out.

Your little moment of warm embrace was interrupted after 2 minutes, a giggly Eunha running up and clinging to her father’s leg. She babbled something about her doll and wanting to get ice cream later today, which you were sure Seungcheol would indulge her in. He spoiled her too much.

You were happy to see your husband’s pout lift up into the sweetest of grins. He picked up Eunha, holding her so that she was resting on his hip. He kept one arm around you; almost if you would run away and leave him if he didn’t. Which was probably partially true since you hadn’t cleaned up from breakfast yet.

“Give daddy a kiss?” Cheol asked Eunha, giggles ensuing amongst both of them. She leaned forward and kissed his cheek cutely and you smiled. Now that Seungcheol was awake as well, the two would be inseparable for the rest of the day— especially since Cheol didn’t have any work to get to.

The morning happily proceeded with a small second breakfast and playtime. Now that your husband was being included in every activity, he was all smiles and giggles. He liked being the centre of attention; you had discovered that fact throughout the years. He was the happiest man in the world when he knew he was making his daughter happy.

Her happiness always came first, even when it relied on Seungcheol’s hair being tied up in pigtails with little cherry-coloured bows because Eunha wanted to play hairdresser. You were almost envious of how cute he looked in them. It was impossible not to love everything that Cheol did.

Along with the bows came matching sweaters with a cherry pattern for father and daughter. One look at the two and you could easily declare them the two cutest human beings in the entire world.

↳ svt taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @yeonjuns-redhair,, @ddeonudepressions,, @hannahsophie0103,, @skz-minchan-enthusiast,, @shuabby1994,, @icyminghao,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @edensgardenn,, @wonwooz1,, @cyberpunksunwoo,, @cienlvrs,, @amara-mars

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bakubunny · 2 months

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uh…hehe i don’t know who else to tell😚

thinking about daddy! toji and his smart lil’ girl who he spent time dumbing down. takes pride in it actually. loves when you babble, loves when you wanna suck and drool on his fingers like a binki. loves when you call him daddy…and dad…and dada. he loves how innocent you look, especially compared to him (all big and scary and totally scares everyone away so no one dares look atcha wrong). but he’s so so so mean….likes to keep you in pretty pastel panties and lay that hefty cock of his over your clothed core. likes to rock back n forth over the warmth, over the wet patches you leave while you cry and beg to be filled up.

“no no angel…much too small for that. i’ll break you.”

he’s a sucker for the way your eyes flutter and that damn pouty lip.

“but i wanna..i want-“ everything just sounds so ‘adult’ to saw right now. maybe you were trying to say ‘be good. i wanna be good for you daddy.’

“my lil doll wants me to break her, that whatcha tryna say?”

you nod.

okay so um. it’s been what? four days? i still can’t think straight when i reread this. bc i have been putting on daddy toji blinders since day one of my time in the jjk fandom. i was rly trying to avoid it, but we’re going all in now i guess. 😔

because honestly. this screams toji to me. he’s in it for the whole bit, not necessarily because he’s turned on by the same things. sure, you look cute and innocent and he’s very into that (corruption kink), but i feel like more than anything, he loves you all dumb and teary eyed and needy and hhhshsjshhd. starr what have you done to me 😵‍💫 he’ll do anything to get you in that head space, he doesn’t give a fuck if you’re embarrassed. in fact, that’s probably better; you turn into a cute lil ball of mush so much faster when you’re squirming with hot cheeks, no matter what the reason is.

so when he’s rocking into your pretty pastel panties with his massive, heavy cock, listening to your glossy eyed mewls, he’s just shy of heaven. the only thing better is hearing you cry when he gives you what you want and wiping away your tears.

“alright, doll. i’ll give ya my cock. remember you were the one who asked for it when you’re cryin’….”

he spits on his cock and splits you in half without warning, grinning when you cry out, tears quickly spilling down your cheeks as his hips roll into yours again and again.

“daddy wait - ah! too much, s’too much-”

“none a’ that, princess. s’too late now. daddy’s gonna give you what you need.”

#send help #i was trying to avoid doing this to another character #toji smut #tw dark content #tw daddy kink #tw age play #x reader #toji fushiguro #toji zenin #jjk toji #toji x reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk #bakubunny

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soberscientistlife · 1 year

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“A grown man looms behind my three-year-old daughter. Occasionally he will poke or tickle her and she responds by shrinking. Smaller and smaller with each unwanted advance. I imagine her trying to become slight enough to slip out of her booster seat and slide under the table.

When my mother views this scene, she sees playful taunting. A grandfather engaging with his granddaughter. “Mae.” My tone cuts through the din of a familiar family gathering together. She does not look at me.

“Mae.” I start again. “You can tell him no Mae. If this isn’t okay you could say something like, Papa, please back up—I would like some space for my body.”

As I say the words, my step-father, the bulldog, leans in a little closer, hovering just above her head. His tenebrous grin taunts me as my daughter accordions her 30-pound frame hoping to escape his tickles and hot breath.

I repeat myself with a little more force. She finally peeks up at me. “Mama . . . can you say it?”

Surprise. A three-year-old-girl doesn’t feel comfortable defending herself against a grown man. A man that has stated he loves and cares for her over and over again, and yet, stands here showing zero concern for her wishes about her own body. I ready myself for battle. “Papa! Please back up! Mae would like some space for her body.”

My voice is firm but cheerful. He does not move. “Papa. I should not have to ask you twice. Please back up. Mae is uncomfortable.”

“Oh, relax,” he says, ruffling her wispy blonde hair. The patriarchy stands, patronizing me in my own damn kitchen. “We’re just playin’.” His southern drawl does not charm me. “No. You were playing. She was not. She’s made it clear that she would like some space, now please back up.”

“I can play how I want with her.” He says, straightening his posture. My chest tightens. The sun-bleached hairs on my arms stand at attention as this man, who has been my father figure for more than three decades, enters the battle ring.

“No. No, you cannot play however you want with her. It’s not okay to ‘have fun’ with someone who does not want to play.” He opens his mouth to respond but my rage is palpable through my measured response. I wonder if my daughter can feel it. I hope she can.

He retreats to the living room and my daughter stares up at me. Her eyes, a starburst of blue and hazel, shine with admiration for her mama. The dragon has been slayed (for now). My own mother is silent. She refuses to make eye contact with me.

This is the same woman who shut me down when I told her about a sexual assault I had recently come to acknowledge.

This is the same woman who was abducted by a carful of strangers as she walked home one night. She fought and screamed until they kicked her out. Speeding away, they ran over her ankle and left her with a lifetime of physical and emotional pain.

This is the same woman who said nothing, who could say nothing as her boss and his friends sexually harassed her for years. This is the same woman who married one of those friends. When my mother views this scene, she sees her daughter overreacting. She sees me ‘making a big deal out of nothing.’ Her concerns lie more in maintaining the status quo and cradling my step-dad’s toxic ego than in protecting the shrinking three-year-old in front of her.

When I view this scene, I am both bolstered and dismayed. My own strength and refusal to keep quiet is the result of hundreds, probably thousands of years of women being mistreated, and their protests ignored. It is the result of watching my own mother suffer quietly at the hands of too many men. It is the result of my own mistreatment and my solemn vow to be part of ending this cycle.

It would be so easy to see a little girl being taught that her wishes don’t matter. That her body is not her own. That even people she loves will mistreat and ignore her. And that all of this is “okay” in the name of other people, men, having fun.

But. What I see instead is a little girl watching her mama. I see a little girl learning that her voice matters. That her wishes matter. I see a little girl learning that she is allowed and expected to say no. I see her learning that this is not okay.

I hope my mom is learning something, too. Fighting the patriarchy one grandpa at a time.”

~ By Lisa Norgren

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featherandferns · 1 month

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orange juice (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | inspired by noah kahn's incredible music

content warning: mentions of drinking and drug use; mentions of abuse; mentions of bodily harm (vague, non-graphic); sexual content | feel free to message me with questions of detail if any of this concerns you before reading!

word count: 7.5k

blurb: in the most unlikely of settings, you and JJ reunite after five years apart in radio silence.

“You know, on my way here, I saw a dead rat.”

A cloud of cigarette smoke dispels into the air.

“It was funny, you know? Cause I felt bad that it was dead, even though it was a rat. I mean, I knew nobody was going to miss it, and that it didn’t have any rat family or friends which would mourn it or anything. But still…It looked like it had been hit by a car, and it was only small so it didn’t look very old, and it seemed so harmless lying there. It probably had a million and one diseases, but just laying there, it seemed harmless. And it felt weird to be sad about this thing dying which would have only maybe caused more damage if it had stayed alive – nibbling through electrical wires and all that.”

JJ takes another drag of his cigarette as he digests the anecdote.

“Anyway. This just made me think of that,” you quietly finish before sinking back into the silence.

“Did you just compare my dad’s funeral to a dead rat?”

You clear your throat. JJ watches in his peripheral as you look down at your feet and fidget your fingers.

“Shit, I guess I did.”

His eyes cut ahead the moment yours seem to flick up.

“Can’t believe that’s the first thing I’ve said to you in years.”

JJ inhales and exhales the nicotine of his cigarette. “Well, I can.”

That makes you laugh. Small and sheltered.

“I weren’t sure that you were going to come,” JJ tells you.

“Could say the same thing to you,” you reply.

Sighing, he drops the cigarette and crushes it under the heel of his boot. He probably should have worn smarter shoes. But then, why would he? Waste of money and space in his truck. Not like his dad was going to see them anyway.

“I only decided yesterday. Practically drove all night.” As if reminding himself of the sleep deprivation, JJ lets out a yawn.

“How is it, being back in Kildare?” you wonder.

JJ shrugs. “Weird. But also not weird at all. I guess I just feel old. I was driving through town and everything looks different.”

“I mean, it has been five years.”

“Jesus,” JJ chuckles, shaking his head. Had it really been that long?

He shoves his hands in his pant pockets and finally finds the nerve to take you in. His eyes scan over you like one might survey potential damage to a car after a close call. He never lets them go below your waist though. As if losing nerve, he flicks them back up to your head and meets your eyes.

“You look well.”

“Thanks. Right back at ya,” you smile.

With that smile – sweet and simple – JJ finds himself being hurled back through time to his teen years. The reminiscing of his youth and the memories that your presence stirs up feels like reflecting on a past life. Something that he almost had, and something that he didn’t exactly lose, but something that changed.

Everything had changed, really. The streets that he used to drive down with his friends, running away from security and darting to and from keggers and house parties, they all had new homes, new paint, new families. Old mom-and-pop shops were now trendy smoothie spots and hippie bars. Empty plots of land that were a good spot to share a joint had now been bought and developed into stylish holiday rentals. None of JJ’s family was left here, not even his cousin. None of his friends were here anymore either. Well, except for you. Is that what you were to him? A friend?

“It was a nice service,” you say.

“Was it?”

For someone like Luke Maybank, ‘nice’ is probably a generous term for a funeral service that’s void of cheery anecdotes and tender memories. It’s a shame that all the memories JJ held in high regard of his father – of the moments that they were bonded and close – often came with the overarching theme of alcohol or drugs. He wasn’t sure there was ever a genuine moment shared between the two. Whatever praise and pride he gathered from his dad was short lived and sparse. When his dad left the island on the boat he stole, JJ never heard from him again. And now he never would.

“Did they ask if you wanted to say anything?”

“What’s there to say? He was a guy and he died in a bender. Short and simple, I guess.”

You nod and go silent once more.

JJ knows that his answer evaded the politeness markers of small talk, but it was true. Luke Maybank was a human who lived on this earth with no mark to be left apart from those which he laid on his own child. The only way that he’d be remembered was in the nightmares that still sometimes have JJ waking up in cold sweats and reaching for the box of cigarettes by his bed.

“I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t have come,” you say.

“No, it’s not…” JJ shakes his head and offers you a smile, but he knows it looks unnatural. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling right now. Perhaps everything, if that’s even possible. “I’m glad you came. I’m just tired and…well, you know.”

The funeral of my father.

“Right. Of course.”

He watches you tuck your hair behind your ears and glance towards the graves. He remembers how you used to do that when you were both younger. It was funny to him: you’d go through the fuss of trying your hair back in one way or another, but you’d always leave out a couple of strands. “To frame my face” you’d tell him, and then you’d precede to spend the rest of the day tucking your hair behind your ears. He liked it though. When you’d be concentrating on something, like surfing or fixing something up or writing, you’d lean forward and they’d come lose and hang over your pretty features. He’d want to mess with them; tuck them behind your ears for you. Sometimes he did. He remembers when you’d be on top of him, kissing him senseless, and they’d come lose and tickle his face. Somehow it would make the whole thing more sensual, with his laughs and your giggles.

He feels his face flush as the memories of nights like those creep back into his head. He shouldn’t think of you like that, not after all this time. Not with how things turned out. And especially not at his father’s funeral.

JJ had come over to you once his father was safely tucked away in the ground, six feet under. You’d attended the service at the church, hiding near the back, and then the burial, and as everybody else departed to give JJ ‘a moment’ (whatever the hell that meant), he’d turned to find you stood near a bench, lost in thought.

“It was nice of you to come,” JJ thanks.

“I��m surprised none of the others are here.”

“They don’t know. I sort of kept it close to the chest,” JJ admits. “I’m actually impressed by the turnout.”

You go to laugh and JJ sees you stifle it. It helps him ease up, smile a real smile for a second, as wicked as that sounds.

“People have layers, I guess.”

“Not my dad.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

You meet his gaze again. Your eyes make it clear that you haven’t shed a tear and neither had JJ. He wasn’t sure if maybe that would come later, once the so-called shock had worn off. He doubted it though. And yet, there was a haze of sadness about him. Death is weird as a whole. The death of a parent like JJ’s, even weirder. Maybe it wasn’t just the funeral causing the sadness. Maybe it was you.

JJ makes a move to leave but before he can even shift his foot one whole step, you’re talking.

“Do you wanna come back to mine? We could catch up. I’m sure you’ve been doing all sorts since I last saw you. Maybe have a drink or two, for old times’ sake?”

“Oh, I don’t drink anymore.”

“Oh,” you say. A pause for thought, then, “well, I have orange juice.”

It’s a strange thing to offer in place of a bottle of beer or glass of wine. Most people would say a cup of coffee. But no - orange juice: that’s where your mind went. It makes JJ smile. It seems so on-par for you to offer him that.

“Okay. Sure. Orange juice sounds good.”

“Do you need a moment, before we leave?” you ask, glancing back over your shoulder to the gravesite of JJ’s deceased father.

The dirt atop of his plot is fresh and stark brown against the green grass. JJ stares a second. The groundkeeper is dusting some muck off the gravestone. The funeral director had offered him a fine granite with award winning chiselling, after recognising JJ from the articles of El Dorado and assuming some high-placed budget. JJ had opted for a simple thing though. Cheap and likely to be hard to read within half a decade. It’s what Luke deserved. Probably what he would have invested into JJ, if the roles were reversed.

“No, I don’t. We can go,” JJ says, voice vacant. He looks back to you. “I’ll drive.”

You don’t live in your childhood home anymore. The place that you’ve settled in is a small home in a sweet looking neighbourhood. In fact, it seems the only part of Kildare that feels familiar to JJ. The front garden is quaint but well kept, with trimmed grass and flower beds that clearly garner a lot of attention and care. The fence is in need of a lick of paint: the blue fading and peeling. A sticky note is attached to the door frame of the front door and it makes JJ smile. ‘Doorbell’s fucked – shout “ding dong” really loud’.

“This is a step up,” JJ says.

“Nice, right? My neighbour is a dick though. Always complaining that I leave my driveway light on in the middle of the night. As if I can even afford to that.”

JJ chuckles as he follows you inside. There’s an instant warm smell that hits him. JJ can’t seem to describe it in any other way than that it smells like you. The interior is safe and homely. The wallpaper and wooden floors pair nicely with the throw pillows and crystals and plants and flowers. Fairy lights are strung from end to end. A kitchen, open plan, feeds nicely into a sitting room. A dining table is tucked in the corner which seemingly functions more as a desk: books piled atop with sheets of paper strewn out. There’s a small corridor to the right and the walls are lined with framed pictures which JJ can’t make out from where he’s stood. He assumes it must lead to a bathroom and bedroom. It isn’t unlived in though. There’s a small pile of clothes which need ironing; they’re sat in a basket, next to the TV. Near the backdoor is an arts and crafts project of some kind strewn about on the floor in organised chaos, blocking the exit.

It's still early in the afternoon so you don’t bother flicking on a light, instead opting to soak in the last few hours of daylight before dusk. Kie used to compare you to a cat, basking in the sun and chasing the rays until there was none left to follow.

JJ closes the door behind him and leans against it.

“You can take your shoes off, if you want.”

“Alright,” he mumbles. He toes them off and kicks them to the side, amongst a pile of your own. He notices how there’s nobody else’s shoes there: just yours, and now his.

You pour out two glasses of orange juice and turn around, handing one to him. He takes it, lost in thought. It all feels surreal, stood here with you, after a five-year pause. When you go to the sofa to sit, he assumes he should follow. You sit on opposite ends. A part of him wonders why you haven’t stretched out your legs and dumped your feet in his lap. ‘These stink’, JJ jokes, poking your toes. You wiggle his fingers off. ‘Shut up, no they don’t.’ Force of habit: he always seems to get stuck on that past. Instead, you go to pull one of your legs up onto the sofa, and JJ flicks his eyes around the room another time. He sips his juice.

“So…” You start. “Any news?”

“Well, my dad died, so there’s that.”

You kick out your leg, aiming for his thigh. “Come on now. Be serious.”

“I am; you were at the funeral. Thought you might remember that,” JJ jokes.

Rolling your eyes mirthfully, you have a sip of your juice. The sun paints shapes on the coffee table, weaving through the thin curtains that line your window. It makes your skin glow, healthy and happy. He’s torn between staring at your face and remembering every detail of your features and avoiding you completely.

“When did you move in here? It’s nice.”

“About two years ago. Mom and dad are still at the old place. They’ve rented out my room though, for tourists and stuff.”

“That’s nice of them,” JJ snorts. “How’s your brother? Is he doing good?”

“He is. He’s at college actually. Graduates later this year.”

“The fuck? That’s so trippy,” JJ mumbles, almost to himself.

JJ can remember your brother as nothing more than a preteen, sulking around the house and begging for rides to soccer practice. Now he’s nearly got a whole ass degree. His eyes naturally fixate on the dining-table-come-desk in the corner.

“What do you do for work then?”

“I’m a teacher at Kildare high.”

Of course you are. JJ smiles, eyes still fixated on the table. It seems to prompt you to continue.

“It’s kinda weird sometimes cause some of the old farts still work there,” you say.

“Oh shit. Mr Rumble still there?” JJ asks, perking up a little, meeting your gaze.

You laugh. “Mr Rummel does still work there, yeah. Still likes to bring you up to me, actually.”

“Really? In what way?”

“Just likes to add the odd little ‘you remember when your boyfriend used to steal my stapler’ kinda things.”

JJ’s laugh is different this time. The word ‘boyfriend’ coming out of your mouth has his thoughts short circuiting. You glance down at your juice and swirl it around the cup.

“Anyway, it’s a pretty good gig. I like teaching, and I actually think I’m making a difference to some of these kids lives sometimes, which is sort of strange.”

“I bet you are. You were always good at helping people,” JJ tells you. Your smile turns soft.

“Thanks, JayJ.”

The nickname is like another sucker punch to the chest. JJ takes it like a champ. Washes it down with water; pretends there’s vodka in there somewhere.

“How are the others, then?” you ask. “How are they?”

“Good. Happy. John B and Sarah are expecting a kid soon.”

“Fuck off.”

“No joke,” JJ laughs. He leans back into the sofa, reclining in the soft throw pillows. It’s strange how easily relaxed he is in this new setting. “They’re debating between two names. Esmeralda or Eton.”

“No. Please God, tell me you’re joking.”

“I wish,” JJ snorts. “Not that I got much of a leg to stand on.”

“What do you mean?” you frown. You lean over and place your juice down on the coffee table.

“JJ? Kinda dumb name.” JJ has a sip of his own before mirroring your actions.

“Hardly. ‘John James’ is pretty proper sounding to me.”

“Meh.” JJ shrugs and props an arm up on the back of the sofa.

“What about Kie, and Pope?”

“Kie is on her environmentalist shit. Investing in rebuilding the coral and things. Pope is studying like crazy. Got a good job lined up too.”

“Only Pope would get a degree when he has literal gold in his savings,” you chuckle. “Didn’t you buy a shop too, or something?”

“A little surf shop with John B, yeah,” JJ nods, smiling proud. The surf shop is something that he would always take pride in. What felt like a pipedream was now his nine-to-five. “It’s doing real good, actually. We’re thinking about expanding.”

“Well, that’s good,” you say, nodding. The two of you lock eyes. Your smile holds steady. “I’m happy for you, JJ. Really.”

“Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you’re doing good, too.”

And now the polite small talk is over and the catch-up is done. It’s so bizarre seeing someone again after so long. So many things in life have passed – relationships, jobs, fights, conversations, achievements, ailments – but when you finally come to sum it up, it only takes ten minutes. Going through a heartbreak lasts for months, but then a year later and the relationship is summed up in a sentence or two. Time doesn’t only heal, but it also shrinks. It seems to have shrunk whatever used to exist between yourself and JJ too, as you both sit, searching for things to talk about which avoid the dark and ugly. Things which avoid the obvious.

“Do you think you’ll stick around in Kildare for a bit?”

“I don’t know. I ain't really thought about it,” JJ admits. “I weren't even sure if I was gonna go to the funeral.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” you wonder.

He laughs to himself and shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “I have no idea. Probably just crash in my truck.”

“You’re loaded as fuck and you’re gonna crash in your truck?” you laugh. It isn’t mean when you say it. Just amused.

“I don’t know. You don’t really get used to having money when you grew up without it. I still feel guilty buying a new pair of boots or something when my old ones ain't coming apart at the soles and shit.”

You nod. “That makes sense. Eminem had a similar thing.”

“Yeah, I’ve always thought me and Eminem were similar,” JJ deadpans.

It seems to strike well with you because you’re cracking up, laughing like he’s just told the best joke you’ve ever heard. He smiles. He always liked making you laugh. You have a horrendous laugh: truly awful. Cats in a bag being bashed against the wall-howling dog parade level of terrible. JJ loved it though. He used to tickle you just to hear it. Watching you now, head titled back, eyes shut and mouth agape, guffawing like a damn hyena…He feels like throwing up.

“Sorry, that…That was good,” you chuckle, wiping your eyes and catching your breath. “You were always good at making me laugh.”

“Fuck knows why,” JJ chuckles.

“Cause you’re funny,” you reply, as if its obvious. “You were always funny.”

It’s strange how the tone of the conversation rises and falls like a mountain range the longer the two of you sit on the sofa.

Your smile turns sombre, like when someone reminisces over a funny memory of their dead pet. Nice at first, amused, and then dampened with the reminder that those times have passed.

“It’s weird, to be honest. You’re so different now but you’re also still JJ.”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh. You glance around the room for a moment, as if you’d find the answer hidden in code on the spine of the books stacked on the windowsill. You look at him again. “Your face looks different.”

“It does?” JJ asks. He lifts a hand and strokes his jaw. He could do with a shave, he supposes. The vanity tries to bite through to ask how, but before he can, you’re talking again.

“You don’t drink,” you add, nodding to the orange juice still sat on the coffee table. “You’re quieter. Less…”

You seem to lose the words and so you gesture with your hands. Explosion.

“Calmer. Sadder, but not sad.”

“I can’t tell if these are good things or not,” JJ says, half-joking.

“You look at me different too.”

That makes him pause. He meets your eyes and holds your gaze, steady. The whole room shifts in a moment, from carefree catch-up to tense confrontation.

“Different?”

“Yeah. You look at me different.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” JJ mutters, going to reach for his drink.

“Yes, you do, JJ.”

Your smile is gone now. He can tell, catching it from his peripheral. Suddenly he doesn’t want to be here. Doesn’t want to be in Kildare, doesn’t want to be in this house, in this room.

“You could at least acknowledge it, you know?”

“I don’t understand—”

“It’s actually more rude to not acknowledge it,” you snip.

“I’m not being rude, I’m just making conversation. You’re the one who’s got me on blast like you’re some God damn therapist,” JJ hits back, meeting your steely stare.

“You feel like you’re on blast?”

“I feel like I’m being observed, that’s for fucking sure.”

“Maybe you are. Maybe you are being observed, JJ,” you return, voice harsh and cutting like how a blade slices through paper. “Because it’s fucking weird having you back.”

“You’re the one that invited me here.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it,” you say.

JJ takes a breath and closes his eyes. The anger never went away, despite what you’ve just told him, he just got older. Got better at hiding it. Got enough money to try therapy. He takes another moment to breathe through it. Push it down his throat and back into his stomach and let it burn out in the acid.

“I’m sorry,” you quietly say. The venom is gone. “I shouldn’t have…I’m sorry.”

He isn’t sure why – can’t pinpoint a perfect reason behind it – but behind his eyelids, JJ feels tears swell. Feels his lips twitch like a child when they hit their funny bone. His next breath in is shaky.

“JJ?”

“Just…”

His voice cracks and he clears it, shaking his head. He wants to open his eyes but he’s scared he’ll start crying, and he’s not doing that, not right now, not today. It’s not even you. You’d seen him cry before. Held him through it and patched him up; made him smile after the sadness. But he refuses to cry today because he can’t give his dad that satisfaction, even if it’s not about him. Opening his eyes, no tears escape. He reaches for the juice and downs it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” he snaps. Then, softer, “please.”

You nod. There’s a quiet. Then, you move to stand and he closes his eyes again because it’s a struggle for you to stand. It’s a struggle. He rubs a hand over his mouth as if trying to shove the welling emotions back inside. There’s the sound of running water in the background as JJ tries to gather himself. The crack-crack-crack of a gas stove turning on and then the clink of metal on metal. You’ve put the kettle on, boiling water. There’s the tinker of porcelain mugs being taken off a stand. He seems to zone in on the peaceful sounds of you making coffee.

When you pour water into the mugs, he remembers the sound of your voice years back. ‘Did you know humans have the ability to hear the difference between hot and cold water being poured?’ ‘Why the fuck do you know that?’ ‘I don’t know. Just thought it was interesting.’

As the teaspoon repeatedly brushes against the inside of the cup as you stir in the instant coffee and milk, JJ finally feels all the emotions even out. As your footsteps make their way back over to him, you flick on the lamp by the front door. JJ opens his eyes to see you place a steaming cup of Joe in front of him on the coffee table. The mug is cute. It’s peach pink and says “I’m drinking tea instead of committing crimes” on the front in an innocent type-writer print.

“Cute mug.”

“Thanks. Thought of you.”

He silently laughs. You sit closer to him this time and your mug sits next to his. There’s no funny quote written across the paint. Then your hand is on his back, barely rubbing him, and it hits JJ that this is the first time you’ve touched him in five years.

“I shouldn’t have gotten so angry,” you tell him. “It ain’t my place to say any of that. Especially not today.”

“It’s true, though. That’s the kicker, ain’t it? That it’s true,” JJ replies.

He sighs and leans back, sitting upright once more. Your hand falls away and you clasp it in the other in your lap. He glances down and takes in your side profile. That stupid piece of hair has come lose again, fallen in your face. He distracts his twitching fingers by twisting one of his rings.

“I’m okay, you know,” you tell him. You look up and meet his eyes. Yours are damp with emotion, just like his were moments earlier. “I’m really okay.”

“You almost weren’t though.”

“Is that the problem? That I almost wasn’t?”

“It’s not the problem. You were never a problem.”

“I ain't mean it like that,” you tell him. You shake your head and JJ isn’t entirely sure why. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Am I the reason that you left Kildare?”

A bird calls outside and JJ seems to latch onto it like a lifeline. That question makes him feel stranded and scared. He wasn’t ready for it despite being fully prepared.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?”

“I…It ain't that simple.”

“Can you explain it to me, maybe?” you wonder. There’s no wrath to your tone anymore – no vendetta against him. There’s just curiosity and care, and this wonderful tenderness that JJ always associated with you from day one, when you offered him your cap to keep his hair off his face.

“I didn’t like the person I was in Kildare.”

“Okay,” you quietly say.

“I didn’t like how I acted. I didn’t like how reckless I was, and how I didn’t care who got hurt in the process.”

“Like me?”

JJ swallows. He doesn’t tear his eyes from yours though. “Yeah. Like you.”

“Okay,” you repeat, quieter still, nodding.

“After El Dorado, coming back here, everything felt tainted. I just…I needed to escape it. My dad and my past and…And you. I couldn’t face it. I felt like I’d caused some freak accident and had gotten away, and then I'd come back to face the aftermath and I just couldn’t stomach it. I just ran.”

You nod.

“I just ran,” he hears himself repeat. “And I’m not proud of it. Of any of it.”

“Okay.”

“And I wanted to fix things, but I didn’t know how. Every time I thought of coming back to Kildare, or picking up the phone, or going on Instagram and finding you…I just got so fucking scared, like a stupid shithead kid. I was so scared of becoming the guy I was again.”

And, again, you nod. When he doesn’t continue, you fill the space. “How long have you been sober?”

“The minute I left Kildare.”

“Fuck.”

“Cold turkey. It sucked ass. It still does. You don’t miss it any less. I miss the rage too, sometimes. I miss my dad sometimes, too. Miss him beating on me. How fucked up is that? That I miss him beating on me?”

You don’t seem to know what to say to that. You just look down at the coffee mugs and watch how the steam is slowly but surely going away.

“I am sorry. I know that ain't worth anything, but I am sorry.”

“It is worth something.” You clear your throat, voice coming out stronger when you say, “It’s worth everything.”

Your smile comes back, timid and tiny. You meet eyes for the millionth time that night.

“It feels like I’ve been ready for you to come back, for so long, and now you’re actually here and…I don’t even know where to start.” He watches your tongue dart out and wet your lips. “I wasn’t expecting you to look so good.”

“Disappointed?”

“Massively. I would have got my ass in the gym more if I knew it was a Goddamn competition.”

JJ smiles. “You were always a sore loser.”

“Says you,” you snort.

There’s another peak in the conversation after the long slug of the last dip. It’s so bizarre. So wonderfully bizarre.

“I’m proud of you, for getting sober. Do you feel better for it?”

“Depends.”

“Well, you look better for it,” you say.

“You’re drooling, I think,” JJ teases, reaching a finger out to prod your cheek.

Rolling your eyes, you mirthfully bat his hand away. “You’re hallucinating.”

“Well, withdrawal does crazy things,” he quips back.

You chuckle and shake your head. “I missed you like crazy.”

“I miss you too.”

Your lips part a little with that. Miss. You seem to hesitate to hold his gaze then, like it’s too intense. JJ feels as though he can see every emotion flash across your face in a second, like watching a car crash in slow motion. Surprise, shock, joy, anger, then sadness. It’s that sadness that hammers hard when you speak, voice weak.

“You left without saying anything, JJ. For five years. You just left me.”

“Don’t make it sound like that. Like I abandoned you.”

“But you did,” you whisper. The tears are back. You’ve both fallen from the top of the mountain. “You abandoned me.”

“You don’t get it,” JJ replies, voice suddenly thick.

“I was in it with you.”

“You didn’t see it,” JJ forces out. His tears are falling: they didn’t wait this time. “You didn’t see how it looked – how you looked. You looked so fucking fragile and tiny and small and your leg was so bent and twisted and black – it was black – and I thought you were already dead.”

Your breathing is shaky and broken. The two of you sit on your sofa in the sunset, eyes locked, tears streaming, chests heaving like you’ve run a marathon. The word ‘dead’ hangs in the air and haunts the room.

“I thought you were dead, and I thought it was because of me.”

“Do you hate me for it?”

“Why the fuck would I—”

“Because I didn’t die? Do you hate me for it?”

JJ blinks back his bewilderment. He physically shifts back in his seat, as if you just spat in his face. Horrified, he tells you, “Of course I don’t. Why would you even ask me that?”

“Because I’m still here, JJ. But you acted like I wasn’t for five years. You didn’t even come see me in the hospital. Didn’t sit with me in the ambulance. Hell, you can’t even look at my leg now! You think I didn’t notice? At the graveyard, and now. You think I can’t see it on your face?”

JJ whispers your name in a tearful plea. Stop.

“I’m still here, JJ. And I invited you back here, and I went to the funeral, because I wanted to see you.”

“To show me what I did?” JJ asks, harsher than needed.

You hold his gaze. “To show you I’m okay.”

He shakes his head, insistent. “It was my fault. If I hadn’t been drinking and if I’d been thinking straight, I would have never let you jump off the bike like that. It was fucking reckless and stupid and I would never, ever do it again. It was all my fault.”

“I don’t care who’s fault it was, JJ,” you whisper. Your hand reaches out and traces his cheek and jaw, and he can’t help but lean into your warm touch. There you sit, cradling his face as if he was the victim in this whole thing. It calms him almost immediately. “Nobody forced me on that bike. Nobody forced me to jump, not even you.”

“I shouldn’t have let you.”

“JJ,” you sigh.

He closes his eyes as you shift in your spot, and somehow you end up with your forehead pressed against his. He reaches out one of his hands for the other of yours that rests in your lap and he clenches it, tight. You’re both still crying but they’re silent tears now.

“I forgive you, JJ.”

He shakes his head whilst you nod.

“Yes, I do, I forgive you. I always have. You know why?”

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

“Because you were dealt the shitest hand I’ve ever known and look who you are. You’re sober, and you're healthy, and you have loving friends and a steady income and a job which you love, and a boathouse, and so much of your life left. And you didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t kill me, JJ. You didn’t even lose me.”

“I don’t—”

“We’re more than our mistakes.”

When JJ opens his eyes, you pull back enough to let him meet your gaze. As if you know what he’s about to ask, you smile. That smile…JJ feels like he’s coming home.

“You’re more than your mistakes, JJ.”

The moment his lips slot against yours, tentative and hesitant, like a bird exploring new ground for the first time, he’s home. There’s hardly a moment of reluctance, of confusion and mismatch from the time passed, before you’re kissing him back. The softness of your lips against his and the brush of your tongue. The sigh in your voice and the tilt of your head. It’s so seamless and sweet and safe. JJ feels safe here, with you. He feels like all the shit doesn’t matter. He feels like sober might actually be synonymous with happiness, with you. When he lies you down on the sofa, JJ doesn’t want to leave this room, this house, or Kildare. He wants to stay here, worshipping you, breathing you in until you consume all of his senses, because after five years, nothing has made him feel as alive as this. As you.

Everything is a wonderful illusion of being rushed and well-paced all at once. He revels in the way your skin gives gently beneath the scrape of his teeth. When he sucks at your throat, the skin is so delicate, and this close to you JJ can smell nothing but your perfume. He wants to fucking drown in it.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he pants. You’re gasping too. Fingers sliding through his hair, down his sides, along his face.

“I missed you,” you whine.

And that phrase gets repeated over and over like a mantra or a prayer. He hears himself whispering it against your skin with every button he undoes on your blouse. Basks in the sound of your voice, older and mature but still you, as you say it whilst pushing his dress shirt off his shoulder.

There’s a stalling pause when his fingers finish tracing down your stomach to your pants. You seem to notice it. Your hand comes to his face and thumbs at his cheek. They’re still sticky from dried tears.

“JJ,” you whisper, coaxing his attention back to your face. You’re glowing. You’re happy, you’re healthy, and you’re here. “It’s okay.” Nodding, you repeat. “It’s okay.”

Then, he watches your own fingers land on the button of your pants, slowly undoing it. Then the other and the third until they’re lose. He watches you wriggle out of them, pulling them down, struggling somewhat from the tight position on the sofa. Watches the scars emerge, faint but clear, and how they grow and spread like ivy on the side of a house. They merge with the cellulite and stretch marks. With a random bruise you must’ve gotten from hitting your leg on the table the other day. They’re a part of you – plain and simple. At the knee, there’s the connection for your prosthetic right leg. Once your trousers are off, JJ finds himself reaching out to touch it. This thing that he was partly responsible for, this marvel of medicine, the reason you can walk. He loves it and hates it desperately all at once. Glancing back up to your face, you’re watching him just as carefully as he was watching you. But you’re smiling.

“You’re okay,” JJ finds himself saying quietly. Because you are. You’re here, laying almost bare before him, just like you had years before.

“It’s rude to make a girl wait, JJ,” you tease.

With that, JJ’s smile is blossoming back like the returning of spring flowers following a brutal winter. He leans forward and catches himself above you with his arms, kissing you like you’re all the oxygen in the world. Your left leg rubs at his calf, still covered by his trousers, and you giggle against his mouth.

“Fuck, I missed this,” you say. “I missed you.”

“How much?”

“So much,” you say.

“Oh yeah? What’d you miss?” JJ persists, kissing down your neck.

“Your mouth,” you say through a moan. His hands slip behind your back and unclasp your bra. You arch your back enough for him to tug it off.

“My mouth?” he wonders, breathing it against your skin. You’re practically writhing. JJ laughs. “What about my mouth?”

“Don’t be a jackass, JJ,” you mutter.

“You want my mouth?”

“Yes,” you quietly beg.

“You do?” he checks, kissing over your breast, sucking at your nipple. “Where do you want it?”

“You fucking know where,” you sigh, impatience shining through.

He grins at the sudden hitch of your moan as he softly nips at the sensitive skin around your nipple. Then he’s kissing down your stomach until finally his fingers hook into the sides of your panties. He slowly, tauntingly, pulls them down. You kick them off at the ankles, a clear act of frustration, and he bites back his laugh.

“What? Here?” JJ plants a kiss to your hipbone. “You want my mouth here? Or…”

Another kiss, to your pelvic bone.

“Here?”

“Fuck you, Maybank.”

“You wanna?”

“I swear to fucking God,” you huff, laughing through the annoyance.

With that, JJ settles himself between your legs and praises you like you deserve to be. The noises you make are downright evil, considering he can do nothing about it and has to hold it together. You taste so familiar on his tongue.

“Fucking missed you,” he groans against you.

When he sucks on your clit, your hands latch into his hair. Your back is arching and you’re gasping and panting and desperate, and JJ feels like a young God. Pulling back, he slips a finger into your hole and it welcomes him so easily. He cusses at how wet you are.

“Come on baby. Come on, I know you’re close.”

The tells of your body haven’t changed since the last time you two were in this position. The way your mouth hangs open in a silent moan when you fall over the edge is so surreal to see after five years apart. He feels you spasms around him and basks in the scratch of your nails against his scalp as you try to ground yourself. He hardly has time to suck his fingers clean before your pulling his mouth to yours and kissing him stupid.

“Fucking missed you,” you repeat against his mouth, making him laugh. “Nobody fucks me as good as you.”

“Jesus Christ, you can’t say shit like that,” JJ chuckles. “Won’t last.”

“Don’t care,” you say. “Only thing bigger than your ego is your dick.”

JJ can’t help but laugh at that. He loves your giggles in response. And then your hands are shoving at his trousers and the humour is gone, replaced with nothing but raw lust and desperation. There’s nothing performative about it, when the two of you hurry to strip his clothes away as soon as possible. He takes note to get his socks off. You’d always had a weird thing about it, sex in socks, and nothing was going to taint this night. Not after so long.

Being inside you…JJ missed it more than all the alcohol and weed in the world. Nothing compared to the feeling of you clenching around him. The vice of your leg hitched up and over his back as he grips into your thigh, mean and firm, perfecting the angle. The senseless, endless whines falling from your agape mouth, eyes closed tight, lost in the feeling of it. JJ wants nothing to be less than perfect for you, for this. Every stroke, every kiss, every clench of his fingers…it all has to be perfect. He knows when you’re close and he’s more than fucking relieved. It’s taking everything in him not to come. He needs you to fall over the edge first.

“Do the thing,” you whine. “Do the thing, John.”

With that, JJ remembers five years back, to late nights and later mornings spent rolling in bed with you. He bites into his lip, holding back his shit-eating grin as the memories flood back, and he leans forward to your ear. Gently taking the lobe within his teeth, he croons into the shell of your ear.

“That’s my good fucking girl.”

And finally, you fall apart, taking JJ with you like you always would.

When the high finally passes and the endorphins settle down, the two of you are laying on the sofa, only covered by a throw blanket JJ had dragged down from the back of the sofa. You’ve somehow shuffled so you’re laying mostly atop of him. His arms are locked around your damp stomach like a vice, nose nestled into your hair, just behind your ear, breathing you in with every inhale.

“Will you stay in Kildare, just for a short while? For me?”

JJ wants to laugh but he knows how wrong that would be in this moment. The humour doesn’t come from the question, but from the notion that he’d leave after finally having you back in his life, safe and happy, after five long years.

“Anything,” he whispers, pressing a kiss against your hair. Anything for you.

“You look like shit by the way,” JJ says.

His hands are warm in his cargo pant pockets. Head tilted down and gaze steady, he sighs.

“Guess you didn’t have chance to clean up though, right?”

Shockingly, the gravestone says nothing back. Well, says nothing asides form Luke Maybank in barely legible font.

It still feels surreal, that his dad is gone. That they’d never remedy anything, or even attempt to fix their relationship. That JJ wouldn’t be able to face him and show him what he’d become. How he’d risen past it all and grown from the pain and the agony. That he’d taken the shitty hand that he was dealt and turned it into nothing but flushes and full houses. That he hadn’t grown into a petty criminal or a tax-evading lowlife, but a strong, good-willed, well-intentioned man. The thought, bittersweet at heart, makes him smile.

“I’m happy dad. I know you probably hate that, being dead and all, but I am.”

As if on cue, there’s the high pitch giggles from afar that catch JJ’s attention. He glances over to spot you and your wonderful mini-you, sitting on your shoulders, waving at him. He waves back, small and short, smiling.

“I’m glad you never met her,” JJ tells his dad, never tearing his eyes away from the pair of you. You ease her off your shoulders and take her hand, pointing to a small bed of daffodils. “I was so scared I’d be bad at this. I was so scared that I’d be like you.”

She’s so fragile as she picks a flower free from the bunch, holding it by the stem, up to you. You nod and presumably smile in approval.

“But I’ll never be like you. She’ll never know what it feels like to live in fear,” JJ states, firmly. He looks back down to the grave. “I’m not your mistakes, and I’m not mine.”

He lowers to a squat and wipes some of the dirt off the stone, revealing the dates. “Happy birthday, dad. You suck, and I hope you’re finally at peace.”

“Daddy, daddy…”

There’s an insistent tug at his jacket sleeve. JJ smiles and looks down at the best mistake he ever made. Mistake is a strong word. ‘Oops, I think is better’, you’d said when you first showed him the pregnancy test.

“What’s up, bub?”

“I found this flower. Can I give it to papa?”

JJ takes the daffodil and glances to the grave. A brief moment of anger passes over him like the breeze of winter. He doesn’t deserve this. He isn’t your papa. I’m glad he’s dead. But he closes his eyes and breathes. Your hand squeezing gently at his shoulder tells him you’re there. It helps ground him.

“Yeah, bub. I think that’d be nice,” he smiles, handing it back.

She giggles as she puts it on the grass just before the stone. Her laughter is brighter and louder still when JJ scoops her up as he stands, looping her around him until she’s a backpack.

“You wanna get ice cream?”

“Hell yeah,” you whoop.

“Hell yeah!” mini-you copies. JJ laughs.

“Alrighty, lets go.”

As the three of you make the small walk back to the car, you intertwine your fingers with JJ’s, holding his hand tight and secure. JJ takes one last glance back at the gravestone. It all began here, in a way, the re-introduction to a life he thought he’d lost. Perhaps the nicest thing JJ’s dad ever did, the kindest act he ever performed, was dying. Perhaps that was his way of paying him back for all the crap he gave.

“Hey.”

JJ glances down at you.

“You okay?”

He smiles. Then, he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Everything is going to be okay.

#JJ #JJ Maybank #JJ x reader #JJ Maybank x reader #jj x oc #jj maybank x oc #outer banks #outerbanks #outer banks jj #outerbanks jj #outer banks jj x reader #outerbanks jj x reader #outer banks fic #outerbanks fic

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soulofapatrick · 4 months

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Falling Into You - Stiles Stilinski x Female Reader

Summary: you and stiles finally give into your unknown crush on each other

Words: 2.6K

Warning: Heated makeout session; if you squint there's dry humping

Y/N’s POV

Living with Stiles has been far from boring. Ever since my dad was killed and my younger brother - Isaac - went to live with Derek, Sheriff Noah Stilinski graciously opened his home to me. That meant living with Stiles too, and let me tell you, it has been anything but dull. Stiles has this knack for turning even the most mundane day into a storytelling session filled with the antics he and Scott get up to.

I’ve grown to love it here. The Stilinski house is like a second home, and the sheriff is like a second dad to me. He’s been incredibly supportive, especially during the tough times. And then there’s Stiles. He’s… well, he’s Stiles. Quirky, witty and always wearing that mischievous grin.

Lately, though, something’s shifted. I’ve caught myself stealing glances at Stiles when he’s not looking. His passion for solving mysteries, his loyalty to his friends—there’s something undeniably endearing about him. Maybe it’s the way he cares for everyone around him, or the way he throws himself into every insane situation without hesitation. But it's more than that. There's a warmth in his laughter, a genuineness in his concern, that makes my heart flutter a bit faster. And as much as I try to ignore it, I can't deny that a crush has been slowly blossoming.

Living under the same roof, it’s hard to keep these feelings under wraps. I find myself wanting to spend more time around him, hoping for moments where it’s just the two of us, away from the chaotic everyday that is Beacon Hills. Yet, I’m also terrified. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if it ruins our friendship or makes things awkward while living with him?

Stiles is currently sat cross legged on my bed, looking so engrossed in whatever supernatural mystery he's delving into. His dedication is admirable, even if it means sacrificing proper posture for the sake of research. I can't help but steal glances at him every now and then, admiring the furrow in his brow as he concentrates.

I wish I could tell him how I feel. But the fear of ruining what we currently have, the fear of changing the dynamic between us, it’s suffocating. So instead, I go back to focusing on my assignment, the words blurring on the page as my thought drift back to him.

The room is quiet except for the clicking of keys and the occasional muttered comment from Stiles. As I sit at my desk, trying to concentrate on the assignment in front of me, my mind wandering again—this time an entirely different scenario and it’s one that feels both exhilarating and terrifying.

I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to set aside the fear and uncertainty, to sit next to Stiles and lean in, closing the distance between us. What would it be like to press my lips against Stiles’? Would they be as soft as they look, as warm as his laugh? My heart races at the mere thought, a flurry of emotions dancing within me.

I picture the moment vividly: closing the space between us, feeling the warmth of his breath mingling with mine, and the anticipation before our lips meet. I imagine his hands, tentative yet steady, finding their place on my skin, maybe on the curve of my cheek or the small of my back. How would it feel to have his touch ignite a thousand sparks, to feel the electricity between us?

There’s a mix of longing and hesitation, the desire to experience that connection, yet the fear of disrupting the comfortable equilibrium we've found in our friendship. But in my mind's eye, it's a beautiful chaos—a leap into the unknown, a chance to explore something deeper, something that might exist beyond our late-night conversations and shared moments.

Before I can continue imagining me and Stiles the said boy breaks my thoughts, “Hey Y/N! Come here,” He speaks, excitement in his voice but his eyes never once leaving the screen.

I force myself out of the reverie, blinking away the vivid daydreams as Stiles called out to me. His excitement is palpable, contagious even, and I push aside the rush of emotions to focus on the present.

I rise from my chair, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and nervousness as I make my way to where Stiles is seated. He’s still hunched over the laptop, his attention entirely captured by the screen. With a careful step, I settle on the bed behind him, leaning over him enough to rest my chin on his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of what’s got him so intrigued.

His warmth seeps through the fabric of his shirt, radiating against my chest, a sensation I try desperately to ignore. The scent that envelopes me—a blend of old books, faint traces of motor oil and a lingering hint of coffee—should be distracting, but it’s oddly comforting. It’s quintessentially Stiles, a unique combination that feels inexplicably familiar and reassuring.

I glance at the screen, feigning interest in whatever supernatural phenomenon has grabbed his attention. But truthfully, my focus wavers between trying to understand what he’s showing me and the proximity between us. His presence feels magnetic, drawing me in, yet I fight the urge to let my thoughts drift into forbidden territory.

“Look at this,” He exclaims, pointing to a section on the screen. His enthusiasm is infectious, and for a moment, I forget the inner turmoil, getting lost in his excitement.

Stiles is engrossed in explaining something on the screen, his energy palpable. I try my best to keep up, nodding along as he talks, but the proximity between us amplifies every emotion within me.

Suddenly, he turns his head, excitement lighting up his russet eyes as he tries to make a point. His words trail off mid-sentence, and in that suspended moment, our faces are unexpected close. I feel his breath, warm against my skin, a sensation that sends a shiver down my spine.

As if in slow motion, I notice every tiny detail—the freckles scattered across his pale skin, the way his eyes dart down to my lips for the briefest moment before meeting my gaze again. My breath catches in my throat, and I’m sure he can heart the erratic beat of my heart. There's a shift in the air, an unspoken tension that crackles between us. His cheeks flush with colour, a shade of red that matches the intensity of my own emotions. I can't tear my gaze away from him, from the way his eyes flicker between mine and the way his lips part, as if searching for words that elude him.

For a moment, time seems suspended, our silent exchange speaking volumes. I feel a surge of courage and vulnerability intertwine within me, a silent plea for something more, a leap into the unknown.

But just as quickly as the moment arrives, it slips away. Stiles blinks, breaking the trance, and clears his throat, shifting slightly away. "Um, sorry, got carried away there," he stammers, his voice a tad higher than usual.

The air feels charged with an awkward tension, heavy with the weight of unspoken words. I try to ease the discomfort by standing up, intending to head back to my desk and salvage what’s left of our usual camaraderie. But before I can even take a step, Stiles’ hand shoots out, wrapped around my wrist in a swift motion that catches me off guard.

Caught off guard by the sudden proximity, I stumble and practically find myself in Stiles's lap. His warmth envelopes me, and for a moment, our heartbeats synchronise in a chaotic rhythm that seems to echo the unspoken emotions between us.

Stiles’ eyes lock onto mine, a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability swirling within their depths. His tongue darts out to wet his pretty pink lips, a nervous gesture that betrays the intensity of the moment. Before I can fully comprehend what’s happening, his hand finds the back of my neck, drawing me closer.

In that heartbeat before our lips meet, the world around us seems to still. His touch sends a surge of electricity through me, igniting a fire that I didn’t know was simmering within. And then, finally, our lips touch in a kiss that feels both anticipated and inevitable.

As our embrace intensifies, the laptop becomes a mere afterthought, pushed aside to make way for the burgeoning heat between us. Stiles's movements are deliberate, his hands finding my hips with a confident touch, guiding me to straddle his lap as our bodies mold together.

The kiss deepens, the connection between us sparking a newfound intensity. Stiles’ hands, warm against my skin, slip under the fabric of my teeshirt, sending shivers cascading down my spine. His touch is electric, fingers tracing patterns along my hips, a gentle yet possessive hold that ignites a fire within me. I tangle my fingers in his messy hair, feeling the soft strands between my fingertips as I tilt his head back slightly, deepening the kiss. There’s a dominance in his action, a confidence that surprises me but also excites me in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

His lips move with purpose, fervent and seeking, a silent demand for more as our breaths mingle in the shared space between us. Each movement, each touch, feels like an unspoken confession of desires long kept hidden.

My heart races as I lean into him, relishing the sensation of his lips against mine, the way his body responds to my touch. And as I lose myself in the passion of the moment, it becomes clear that Stiles, despite his usual playful demeanour, possesses a commanding presence that takes my breath away.

As the intensity of the moment heightens, Stiles’ touch remains both from and reassuring, his hands guiding me with a tenderness that contrasts his newfound dominance. With a gentle yet firm pressure, his long, nimble fingers press against my back, coaxing me to lower myself onto him. There’s an undeniable pull in his touch, drawing me closer until I’m lying atop him, our chests pressing together in a shared rhythm. Our breaths mingle in the small space between y=us, the heat of the moment making the air around us feel charged.

His chest rises and falls with each breath, syncing with mine, creating an unspoken harmony. The sensation of our bodies pressed together sends jolt through me, an electric current that ignites every nerve ending.

As I rest against him, feeling the steady thud of his heartbeat against mine, a rush of emotions floods over me—desire mingled with a newfound intimacy, vulnerability meshed with a sense of comfort in this uncharted territory.

Stiles's gaze holds a mixture of passion and tenderness, a silent understanding passing between us in the shared silence. His fingers trace gentle patterns along my back, a gesture that speaks volumes, conveying a reassurance amidst the fervour of the moment. His lips part as if to speak but instead, in a very Stiles fashion, a torrent of words spill out in a hurried stream.

“I-I've wanted to do this for so long, and I'm sorry, I should've asked, I mean, I wanted to ask, but then this moment happened, and I just... I didn't want to ruin it, but I should’ve—" He babbles, the words tumbling out faster than I can comprehend. His apology mixes with an admission that he’s wanted this as much as I have, and amidst his rambling, I can’t help but laugh softly, finding the sudden flood of words endearing.

Before his apologies and explanations can continue, I decide to silence him the best way I know how. With a gentle yet decisive motion, I cup his face in both hands, capturing his lips in a kiss that speaks volumes, stealing away his words and replacing them with the silent language of our shared desires.

The kiss is deliberate interruption, a way to convey everything I’ve been feeling in a single moment. It’s a tender yet firm assertion, an assurance that words are unnecessary amidst the eloquence of our connection.

As our lips meet, I feel a shift in the air, the nervous energy dissipating into something more serene. Stiles’ initial surprise melts into a reciprocated warmth, and soon, the kiss becomes a dance of shared affection and unspoken apologies. In that suspended moment, the kiss becomes a story of its own—a narrative of unspoken emotions conveyed through the gentle meeting of our lips. Stiles's initial surprise gives way to a newfound ease, his lips molding against mine with a familiarity that feels surprisingly natural yet exhilaratingly new.

His touch, tender yet assured, ignites a cascade of sensations. His hands explore, tracing the contours of my back, sending tingles racing along my skin. There’s a delicate balance in his touch, a mix of reverence and longing that speaks volumes about the dept of his emotions.

As our kiss deepens, I’m enveloped in a whirlwind of emotions. Stiles’ lips against mine feel like a discovery—a blend of softness and fervour, an unspoken language that surpasses any verbal communication. Each movement of our lips is a revelation, a testament to the unspoken connection between us. His closeness has a gravitational pull, drawing me in and enveloping me in a sense of security and desire. In this moment, I feel cherished, desired, and seen in a way that goes beyond mere words.

The intensity of our kiss, a universe of emotions contained within, is abruptly interrupted by the jarring ring of Stiles’ phone. Startled, we break apart, a shared groan escaping both of us as the moment fractures, replacing by the intrusion of reality. Stiles fumbles for his phone, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. With a sigh, he answers and puts it on speaker, revealing Scott’s urgent voice on the other end, asking if Stiles had found any leads.

As Stiles responds to Scott’s inquiries, I take the opportunity to sit back up, adjusting my position so that I’m straddling his waist. The shift seems to catch Stiles of guard, his breath hitching slightly, and I can feel the bulge pressing against my ass. I watch as Stiles bites his lip, a subtle attempt to suppress any involuntary sounds, his focus divided between the phone call and me, shifting on his lap. His eyes meet mine for a fleeting moment, and I can see a hint of frustration at the interruption, mixed with a smouldering intensity that sends a thrill through me.

Leaning closer, I offer an apologetic smile, silently acknowledging the disruption but unable to resist teasing him but grinding my hips against his, pretending to get more comfortable on his lap. I notice the way his breath catches again and his hands dart for my hips unsure if they want to stop my hips or help me roll them against that growing bulge.

“Sh-shit,” A moan escapes him and Scott falls silent as Stiles’ cheeks bloom a pretty shade of red, “Fuck, I gotta go, talk later.” And with that Stiles is hanging up, practically throwing his phone on the floor and in one quick moment has us flipped over so I’m laying underneath him.

“Hi.” I breathe quietly, an ache between my legs.

“Don’t you ‘hi’ me you little tease.” He grumbles, leaning on his elbows either side of my head.

“What you gonna do about it?” I challenge, loving the gleam in his eyes.

Stiles chuckles softly, his eyes dancing with mischief as he leans closer, his breath brushing against my lips.

"Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea what you've started."

Teen Wolf Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 21st Dec 2023

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artiststarme · 5 months

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It's No Secret... Anymore

Thank you to @mx-jinxous for the prompt! This took a really long time to write but it was so much fun playing with everyone's dynamics. I hope you guys like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~

Steve felt like he was dreaming. It felt like he was looking through someone else’s eyes, dissociating far from his own body. He couldn’t feel the weight of Eddie’s slowly-fading body in his arms or the burning of the wounds in his sides. He wasn’t aware of where he was or if anyone was following him. He was purely relying on muscle memory and muscle memory alone.

He didn’t see the speeding car in front of him that swerved into a nearby bush and fence post. He hardly noticed the hands pulling him backward and out of the road. He came back to himself though once he heard his brother’s voice.

“Steve? Steve-O? Come on buddy, you’re worrying me here. Where have you been? I haven't seen your ass all week. Come on man, are you… are you fucking bleeding? Brother, answer me. We can’t be out here, there’s an earthquake going on. Come with me.”

Steve blinked just to come face to face with Phil. He was shining his flashlight on Eddie’s face against Steve’s shoulder but his eyes were focused directly on Steve’s.

“You with me, bro?” His mustache twitched unhappily and Steve rushed to answer.

“Um, no. Not really. I think he’s dying and I kinda might be too. And I think my friends are missing? Where am I?” Steve couldn’t get his thoughts together cohesively. His mind was fractured, overcome with too much trauma in too little time.

Phil just looked more concerned at his words with his face becoming vaguely panicked once he looked at Eddie. He looked quickly up at Steve, down at Eddie, then back at Steve. “Is this Eddie Munson? The murderer Eddie Munson? The Eddie Munson that has been on the run all week? Good golly Steve, I’m trying not to curse but what the fuck?”

Steve just looked at the pinched expression of pain that Eddie held and murmured, “he’s my friend.”

“Oh my god, Steve. Fine, we’ll deal with this later. Think you can walk to my squad car? I kinda damaged the front end but I’m sure it's semi-driveable. Powell’s tied up with the gates to hell opening up, I have plenty of time to take care of you.”

“Yeah, I can- I can walk,” and he could with the support of Phil. He felt his brother supporting both his and Eddie’s weight until they were deposited into the backseat of the patrol unit.

“And uh, is the girl hiding in the bushes with you? She’s kinda been watching us for awhile. You might have a stalker, little bro.” He shined his flashlight over to the bush and saw a sandy bob duck behind the foliage.

“Robin?” Steve muttered, still out of it and only on the verge of consciousness.

“Buckley, is that you? Come on, you’re coming with us back to Steve’s place. Let’s go,” Phil waved the light between the two. He had both hands on his hips and stood like a disappointed middle-aged dad. “I don’t have time to be doing things willy-nilly. Let’s go!”

Robin poked her head out of the bushes and scooted gracelessly over to the car until she was able to bump elbows with Steve. They both relaxed a smidgen within the same space, the two brain cells reuniting after a stressful ten minutes apart.

Phil hopped in the driver’s seat and bumped his head against the steering wheel. What had this idiot gotten himself into now?

~*~*~*~

By the time Phil arrived at his house at the edge of the suburbs, all three kids were out cold in his backseat. He stood at the open back door for a moment before sighing and lugging first Robin, then Eddie, then Steve into his living room, huffing with exertion all the while. He would definitely have to cut back on the station donuts and start exercising again. Right after he dealt with the dying fugitive on his brother’s couch, the blood seeping through Steve’s shirt, and his brother’s unconscious best friend that was snoring atrociously.

Jesus Christ.

Well, he had plenty of practice with medical care from his EMT training so he got to work. He got the first aid kit out of the squad car and started with the murderous Munson. Phil didn’t know what had happened to these kids but it couldn’t be any good. Munson’s entire torso was torn apart like he’d been gnawed on by a wild animal. It wasn’t bleeding too bad but he was missing chunks of skin, so much so that Phil couldn’t sew him up with just sutures. Hell, this kid was going to need skin grafts. A lot of them.

He put gauze on the worst of the wounds then cautiously stepped over to Steve. What he’d seen on Munson made him hesitant to look at the damage but surely it couldn’t be worse than that. Right? As soon as he lifted Steve’s shirt, he came immediately to two conclusions.

1. Steve had a lot more chest hair than he did and that was totally unfair.

2. The wounds on Steve’s abdomen were deep, infected, and horrific.

Just like with Munson, there was nothing to close. All he saw were missing chunks of skin and muscle that should have been in his sides. The marred remains were covered in grime and yellowish puss that made the entire room smell of infection.

Fuck, he couldn’t help them here. He had to get them, all three of them because he wasn’t touching an unconscious girl for anything, to a hospital. But that begged the question; which hospital? Munson… Eddie was wanted all through the state of Indiana for at least three murders and an assault. If he took him to any nearby hospital, he would be arrested and surely there was more to the story if Steve was protecting him so much. He couldn’t let one of Steve’s only friends get arrested without hearing the story from the both of them.

He had to take these three up to a hospital in Illinois. Chicago was roughly four hours away, he knew from his and Steve’s annual visits to their great aunt in Evanston. It was a risk, both for aiding and abetting a wanted fugitive as well as hoping he survived that long of a drive, but his gut told him to trust his brother on this one. So that’s what he did. He loaded the three teens back into his patrol car and mumbled swears under his breath when he passed the “Leaving Hawkins” sign. He hoped to all that was mighty that he was making a good call.

~*~*~*~

Steve woke up to familiar voices; one hushed and one screeching.

“You kidnapped them?! You’re a cop, I thought you would help them but instead you drove them all the way to goddamn Chicago like some middle-aged pervert loser?” Steve came around to a loud argument between what sounded like Dustin and Phil. It was weird though because he’d never introduced the two.

“Hey, listen here shithead, words hurt. I am not middle-aged, I’m 28. And why would I kidnap my own brother? I can legally take him anywhere, it's practically my birthright. I don’t have to go through all the work of kidnapping him.” Phil shook his head at Dustin.

“Stop trying to trick me, I know Eddie is an only child!”

“Munson?! I’m Steve’s big brother, you little gremlin. Can’t you see the resemblance?” He gestured between where Steve was groggily looking up at him and then back at himself.

“No, but I can’t see anything past your outrageous mustache.” Steve saw Phil’s jaw drop and knew that Dustin had crossed a line.

“You short fucker, that is too far! I take a lot of pride in this ‘outrageous mustache’,” Phil put air quotes around the offending remake before pointing an aggressive finger in Dustin’s direction. “I will absolutely take you off the visitation list, toothless. Do not test me.”

“Don’t threaten me, I’ll report you to the authorities!” Dustin countered.

“I am the authorities!” Phil dropped all decorum and screamed at practically the top of his lungs.

Sensing enough was enough, Steve tried to push himself up to a sitting position before a burning in his sides caused him to fall back down. Both men (or one man and Dustin) stopped their squabbling and rushed to his sides.

“Steve, you’re hurt so don’t try to get up. Shit kid, let me get a nurse or something. You weren’t doing too hot.” With that Phil sprinted out of the room, presumably to the nurse’s station and Steve was left with Dustin, Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin.

He looked blearily at all of them before asking the most important question, “where’s Eddie?”

They all parted to reveal Eddie lying in the bed next to him. His neck and chest were covered with bandages but his face looked peaceful. There were no cuffs on his wrists as Steve assumed there would be. He laid back again and let out a sigh. Everything was as it should be, he could finally relax.

“Um so Steve, don’t be mad but your brother can be really persuasive when he wants to be and you never introduced him as your brother so I just kind of assumed that we were getting captured by the police and that it was going to be so much worse than the Russians because I always thought Officer Callahan was kind of psycho. But then I woke up here and he bought me Cheetos so everything is fine. Except it's kind of not because you and Eddie have been out for a couple of days and I told Big Not-Harrington about the Upside Down and now he’s really worried. Why did you have to stay asleep so long, dingus? I missed you!”

Steve honestly zoned out when he heard “Cheetos” and only tuned back in when Robin, the usual physical affection-hater, threw herself on top of him in a hug. He withheld the grunt of pain and held her back just as hard.

“What the hell just happened, bro? Like that was a lot of words, little bird lady. Woah.”

Steve didn’t know if he was hallucinating the long-haired surfer in a Hawaiian outfit or if Vecna had somehow managed to melt his mind after all but he had never been more confused in his life to see the new visitor make themselves known.

“Who the fuck is that?” He muttered in absolute bafflement.

Dustin sighed as he too wrestled a hug from Steve, “that’s Argyle. Come on, Steve. Keep up.”

“Like the sock pattern? How many drugs am I on right now?!”

~*~*~*~

“... and that’s kind of why I didn’t tell you about the Upside Down,” Steve finished from his seat beside Eddie, their hands tangled together as they both sat across from Phil.

He looked at both of them with a completely deadpan stare. “Again, but the truth this time.”

Eddie huffed in annoyance. “We are telling you the truth, man! An evil wizard guy named Vecna-”

“Slash Henry, slash One,” Steve and Robin interjected in unison.

“-possessed four teenagers to end the world or something and broke their bodies apart with his mind. Then the angry mob thought it was me but I would never kill anyone, especially not Chrissy. She was always really nice to me and remembered my band from the talent show in middle school. And then we got stuck in Hell where evil demon bats ate our flesh and tentacles ripped through the earth. Then we saved Nancy from the evil mind melt powers by playing her favorite song. After that, we made a plan and she shot Vecna and killed him while Dustin and I were decoys where I was attacked.”

“Then I went back for Eddie and carried him out where you almost ran us over. The end,” Steve emphasized the finale with a deliberate nod of his still-aching head.

Phil looked at them with the most exasperation Steve had ever seen in his life. He let out a pitying chuckle, his poor brother didn’t sign up for this. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

Phil's eyes rolled so hard that Steve could tell he saw stars. He could almost see the scream being prepared in his throat and couldn't gather enough strength to escape it.

"STEVEN MICHAEL HARRINGTON, WHAT THE MOTHERLOVING FUCK?!"

"Look Philly, I'll say it one more time then I'm done, okay? It first started way back when Will Byers went missing in 1983..."

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#Phil gets Eddie's name cleared by walking into the station and telling Powell it wasn't him #Powell is so fucking stressed that he just drops it and blames Jason when Phil suggests it #As soon as they're all healed up Phil gives Eddie the shovel talk of all shovel talks feat. his gun #Eddie hands him a donut and all is forgotten #stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #officer phil callahan #officer callahan is steve’s brother #it took me so long to write this and I still don't know if I like it

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forcemeanakin · 6 months

Text

𝗙𝘂𝗰𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗯𝗼𝘆𝗳𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱 ('𝘀 𝗱𝗮𝗱) - 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝘁 𝟮

•WARNINGS: Semi-smut. Age gap !!! Infidelity kink !!! (you’ve been warned, so if you do not agree pls leave because I’ll delete any hateful comments about this). Dirty talk, teasing in a public space, voyeurism, make out session. Mentions of an unhappy relationship/divorce/troubled marriage.

Pairing: dilf!Anakin Skywalker x female!reader.

Series Summary: Luke takes you home for Life’s Day. On the edge of giving up on you two, Skywalker manages to light up a fire inside of you again. Problem is… wrong Skywalker.

Part Two Summary: After your little moment with Mr. Skywalker last night, you’re determined to persuade your father-in-law into fucking you. Right on the dinner table with everyone else around. Including your boyfriend.

Word count: 3.5K.

Link to Part One

A/N: NOT PROOFREAD, english is my second language, so please be gentle. If there are any mistakes, pls let me know in private so I can correct them, thanks :) Also I have a serious issue between differentiating “in” and “on” situations, so bare with me lmao.

I’m super excited to announce that I’m very motivated to continue the journey of this pairing, so I’ll be turning FYBD into a series! :) but please be patient! I don’t usually deliver short fics, that’s why it takes me so long to post ! (also look at me trying to polish my themes, omg who am I?)

NEXT PART WILL BE PUBLISHED ON SATURDAY !!!! <3 Consider this as a Part 2.1. If you wanna be tag on it, leave me a comment below :)

“Alright, everyone gather at the table! Dinner 's ready!” Padmé yelled, placing the last set of plates while Leia dropped the center piece.

“Sugar, you look like a million bucks.” Luke complimented your outfit while you finished up accessorizing, hiding your eye roll by clipping your earrings.

Last night, you eventually made it to bed with him, feeling uneasy the rest of the night. You gave Luke your back, refusing to cuddle or respond to his arms wrapped around your waist. Tossing and turning, every time you shut down you dreamed about Anakin and his lustful orbs. And, unlike someone with common sense, you didn’t feel guilt from your forbidden target. No, it riled you up even more.

Being spooned by your boyfriend while thinking about his dad.

The naughtiness of it was a thrill you didn’t want to stop chasing.

“Is that dress new?” From the moment you woke up to this very instant, Luke hadn’t stopped apologizing and drowning you in compliments and demonstrations of affection.

Yet you still hadn’t responded to him with the same tenderness, prolonging your fight. The reality was that you had already forgotten all about the “slut” bomb, but staying angry at him somehow justified daydreaming about fucking Anakin.

“Thank you.” You replied coldly, checking yourself one last time in the mirror, turning around to make sure the back side wasn’t wrinkled.

You had chosen the tight, long, black dress even before making it your personal mission to seduce your boyfriend’s dad. You were now thanking Y/n from the past for packing something so flattering and form fitting to this particular event. It’s not like you were out of place, everyone was dressing up as well.

“Guys! I’m not calling you again!” Padmé rushed.

“Y/n I don’t want us to keep fighting… Not this weekend, please?” Luke caught your attention by trapping your hands inside his palms. “I’ll do better. Be more adventurous for you…” He murmured, caressing your arms with tenderness. Arching an eyebrow at your cleavage, “Maybe make it up to you tonight?”

Disappointment settled in your chest at the prospect of not spending the night with Anakin.

“Sure.” You faked a smile. “I’d like that.”

“Great.” He kissed your cheek, missing your horrorized face. “Now, after you, m’lady.” He exaggerated a bow for you to walk in front of him.

You snorted, “You’re such a dork.”

Luke escorted you to the table, pulling your chair to sit right in the middle of him and the empty head of the table. Right in front of you was Padmé, with a gorgeous light blue gown and beside her was Leia, who was trying to sit down Han at the other head of the table.

“I don’t want to sit right in front of your dad!” He whispered-yelled, being harshly pushed by his girlfriend to sit his ass down. To be such a tiny person, she sure was strong.

“Try to bond!” She whispered back, fanning herself so the sweat wouldn’t ruin her makeup.

“I'll get food poisoning” He huffed, crossing his arms in a childish manner. “And he’ll puke in my face.”

You couldn’t help but giggle, accepting Padmé’s offering of a glass of wine while observing Han’s pout.

“Easy for you to laugh, newbie.” He scoffed with his usual feistiness. “Could you please do something despicable so he hates you instead of me?”

Oh, you sure had done something to scare him off.

After he practically ran away from you at full speed, you hadn’t seen him all day. Leia and Han adopted you the whole morning, taking you to pick up some stuff for dinner and showing you around the area. Luke joined in at lunch time, after dealing with a way-too-long call from his friend Din. And even when you came back to the house, Anakin was secluded in his little cave, his personal workshop, in the back of the house and hadn’t showed up at all.

“Y/n, love that dress, you’ll have to lend it to me.” Leia complimented mid sip.

“Manners, Leia.” Padmé scolded her, head moving in disapproval as she set her napkin on her lap.

“You can borrow it whenever you want.” You winked at the short girl, earning a heartfelt smile.

“It’s perfect for my funeral.” Han dramatically threw himself on the backrest.

“Han, I can’t think of something I could do that would make him dislike me more than you.” You joked, cracking a breadstick.

Yes, you could.

“Maybe you could kick R2. At least that’s what Han did.” Luke snorted, Han’s head snapping to send daggers to the blonde.

“I didn’t kick R2!” Han raised his voice while wincing.

“Yeah, you did.” Leia murmured under her breath.

“I accidentally fell on him! How was I supposed to know that he was behind me?” Han freaked out, dramatizing the scenery. “Oh, who am I trying to convince? You already made up your mind about it.” He dismissed the potential debate, shooting the rest of his beer.

“Han, you’re overreacting, he doesn’t hate you.” Padmé reassured him with a soft smile. “That much.” She said under her breath.

“How bad could dad actually be?” Luke rolled his eyes, picking one of the entreés to stuff into his mouth in one bite.

You googled him while you were supposed to be showering: the “Hero with No Fear” had enough battles, manslaughtering and war crimes under his belt for Han’s panic to have grounds, your deep investigation showed.

“Ha! You haven’t endured his bullying for two years.” Han crossed his foot over his knee.

“And counting.” The voice that had you clenching around nothing boomed through the air, his figure appearing just when Han was about to eat a piece of breadstick, immediately choking. “Good, now I don’t have to do it myself…” Anakin muttered under his breath.

Anakin’s eyes widened when he distinguished that the seat reserved for him was right by your side. His usual seat was always at the head of the table, but having you at arm's reach was exceptionally dangerous after the occurrences of last night. It felt like all his hard work of avoiding you all day was just thrown into the trash with a single sweep. He convinced himself that he had to push through dinner, eating faster than usual and quickly returning to his workshop and wait until everybody left the dining room, so he could safely seek refuge in his bedroom.

Nonetheless, faith had a different path for him. One of painful blue balls and heavy sweating.

Why did you have to wear that dress? Was it indeed appropriate for a family dinner or was it just him thinking too much of it with the head inside his pants?

And why were you smirking at him like he was the meal you were about to devour?

“Anakin, good, you’re here. Let’s say grace so we can properly start eating.” Padmé announced, glaring at her son that was currently on his third appetizer.

Padmé thanked the Maker for having the whole family here, making special emphasis on being grateful for you this year, the new member of the family. You popped an eye open, and voilá, Anakin was staring at you while her wife praised you to the rest of the table. Separating your palms from praying position, you dropped one on top of his, careful not to make a single noise. You drew random figures inside his palms with your nail, biting your lip as you checked him out. If his handsome face wasn’t enough already, he was wearing a full suit, black tie on top of a white buttoned up.

Perfect to rip apart.

“And please bless this delicious meal that it’s about to feed us… Amen.” Right before she could pronunciate that final word, Anakin had slapped your hand away. “Alright, let’s dig in! Ani, honey, could you do the honors and carve the turkey?”

Whatever that would keep him away from temptation.

Getting up, Anakin picked up the utensils, turning the turkey around to cut into it. Doing the proper round, he asked every single person their meat preferences before making the incision, starting with his wife. Anakin quickly ruled that him with knives and using his strength to lash a large piece of meat wasn’t the best evasive mechanism when he spotted you drooling over his flexed bicep.

“Dad, I want a leg.” Leia requested, passing up her plate to him.

“Sure, darling.” Anakin propped the leg on her plate carefully. “Good choice.”

“I want one too, please.” Han put his plate up in his direction.

Anakin glared and huffed, but eventually dumped the requested piece on Han’s dish. “Fucking child…”

Giving up, Han dropped on his chair, violently biting the leg. After Luke picked white meat, Anakin had no other choice but to pay attention to you.

“Y/n-” He cleared his throat, ignoring your subtle attempt to press your cleavage against the table so your tits would pop into his vision. “How do you like your meat?”

Anakin regretted that question the second he formulated it. Although, he was appreciative that the brawl between the twins deprived everyone else from your answer.

You offered your plate to him, wide doe eyes as your foot grazed his shin. “I like my meat tender.” Your velvety voice sent an electric wave directly to his groin.

The rest of the dinner was no better.

Playing footsie, curling your hair with your finger, glancing at him longer than necessary, more lascivious than necessary. There was this particular moment that still had his mind-blown: You, leaned over to Luke to whisper something in his ear, gaining a laugh from him in complicity and sealing the adorable scene with a quick peck, all while your sandal made its way up to an escalating boner inside Anakin’s underpants.

“Pass the salt, please.” Anakin requested out loud, clearing his throat, seeking a distraction.

But you were fast as a bolt.

“There you go, sir.” Flashbacks from your face all flustered calling him that kicked in, the salt shaker falling from his hand at his nervousness and the contact of your hand.

“Y/n, question.” Leia broke through the madness of noises.

“Of course, shoot.” Anakin was amazed at your ability to smile like nothing was happening underneath the table, like you weren’t trying to touch his thigh underneath the table cloth with the hand that wasn’t supporting your chin.

“What’s your major? I think I haven’t asked you that yet.” Leia swallowed a spoonful of sweet potato casserole.

“I’m a psych major.” You drank a bit of your wine.

“Oh, that solves the mystery. You’re dating Luke as an experiment, aren’t you?” Leia mocked, earning a kick from her brother. “Auch, laser brain!”

“Leia!” Padmé scolded her.

“My God, have you been psychoanalyzing us this whole time?” Han stopped chewing his biscuit as he stared deep into your soul. “How bad is it?” He was dead serious.

“Oh my- No! No! I haven’t, I promise.” You totally had.

“Could you please prescribe something to mom so she relaxes once in a while?” Leia begged. “Or give her a session, whatever works.”

“Bet you are thrilled to hear Y/n is a psychologist, huh, sir? Know how much you love shrinks, Mr. Skywalker.” Han’s sarcasm revealed -in a very obvious way- how much Anakin did not like your profession.

“Still better than being a smuggler.” Anakin bit down on a piece of meat with venom directly right at Han.

“Oh, dad!” Luke exclaimed. “You should do dad!”

You grinned at the way Anakin almost spit his drink.

“I’m so open to that, sir.” You turned to meet the former Jedi’s face and smirked with mischief at Anakin’s knuckles turning white on his grip on the chair.

“Do you do the little shrink couch thing?” Han wondered with his mouth full.

“I mean, if the patient wants to lay down while I do all the work, that’s fine by me.” You laughed innocently, batting your eyelashes to Anakin the second everyone got distracted trying to guess what you would diagnosed Han with.

Sensing Anakin’s heavy breathing, you did the whole charade of dropping your fork onto the floor, obliged to pick it up. As much as Anakin tried to nervously hide the bulge in his pants, you confirmed that your little game was in fact working. You sat back on your chair with a victorious snicker.

“Oh, c’mon dad! Let Y/n work her magic on you! You bottle so much stuff, it’s good to let them out.” Leia reasoned, completely missing the panicked face of the woman that gave birth to her.

“Suddenly, I’m full.” Anakin announced, cleaning the sauce off the edges of his mouth and tossed the napkin to his plate, getting ready to leave.

“You can’t go, we haven’t had dessert yet.” Padmé frowned, signaling with a harsh glare to sit back down.

“Why don’t Luke and I take care of that?” You stood up, picking up the empty plates around.

“Oh, no, sweetie, you’re a guest-”

“No problem at all! Please let me take care of you.” The fact that you said that while collecting Anakin’s plate was a true coincidence.

“Only if you let Han and I wash the dishes!” Leia negotiated, following her mother’s welcoming values.

“Shut up, I bet they were going to do it anyway.” Han grunted with gritted teeth.

“We’ll be back with dessert.” You declared, dividing the tower of plates and walking to the kitchen with your boyfriend.

While Luke threw away the leftovers, you came back to scoop up the rest of the plates with the side dishes and so. You surveyed everyone about their dessert preferences, until you reached a spot next to Anakin.

“Padmé, back me up here! Wouldn’t it be cool if we save money on rent and live in the Falcon?” Han upped his voice to match Leia’s.

“I'm not living on a ship that’s falling apart, Han!”

“It would be an adventure every day!”

Sliding by Anakin’s side to hoist up the gravy bowl, you briefly grazed his shoulder with your chest, excusing the lame contact by your need to stretch for the dish. While you were leaned over him, the low-cut of your dress exposed to his delight, you turned your head and asked him:

“Would you like dessert, sir?” No one would figure that your question had any double meaning, but Anakin knew the filthy desires your eyes hid.

“Not for me, thanks.” He smiled curtly, doing a superhuman effort not to fall into the teasing of your playful peaks behind the tight fabric.

“Are you sure, Mr. Skywalker? The pie’s so soft and warm, very creamy. Baked it myself.” Anakin visibly shuddered, inhaling sharply as he closed his eyes while gripping the armrest.

You grinned, thanking your hair for covering your expressions to the rest of the family so you could bite your lip lecherously.

“On a diet.” He spat, playing with his fork to avoid the magnetic pull of your wanting eyes. And if you hadn’t taken the hint, he rubbed his eye with his left hand, showing off the gold band in his ring finger.

“Please, it’s cheat day.” You curved your lips into a smirk, feeling clever at the pun. “Just a taste? Bet you’ll love it.” That tortuous glint in your eyes. It had him, it had him good.

“He’s always playing hard to get, Y/n. Bring him a piece!” Padmé interrupted the moment, smiling at you and Anakin, unaware of the tension she had just cut off.

“I see that.” You finally left the table, not without grazing his back with your swaying hips.

“You know what? I’ll help you with these.” Anakin barked, standing up and picking the few dishes left.

“Oh-” You stiffened at his huge figure walking towards you. You were not prepared for him to bite into the trap. “Not necessary, sir. I’ll come back for the rest.”

“Let me. It’s the least I can do.” Standing in front of you, he raised his eyebrows to hurry you.

Nervously, you made your way to the small aisle before the kitchen, feeling the powerful pounding of your heart. His presence hung heavy behind you and suddenly the bravery you had flagged during supper had magically disappeared, the only trail it left were your jelly legs. Mere feet from the kitchen door, you felt a pull from your waist, your back stamping against the wall.

“Is this funny to you?” Anakin glared at you, pressing your torso enough to threaten your ability to breathe. “Trying to break up a marriage, being the homewrecker of your boyfriend’s family? While he’s at the table?”

You tried to escape, fighting against him for your release. But if the enlarging of his nostrils was any sign, you were not going anywhere anytime soon. It was time to summon that feistiness back.

“You can’t mess up something that’s already broken.” You snapped, squinting your eyes. “Why are you really here Anakin? To tell me off?” You cocked an eyebrow, glancing down at him. “You don’t seem rather convincing.”

Being between a rock and a hard place had a whole other meaning when you were sandwiched between the wall… and Anakin’s crotch.

“Stop it.” He demanded, seeing the way you put aside the dishes on a nearby table to play with the lapels of his suit.

“That’s not what you were saying last night.” You grazed your lips against his chin, enjoying the quivering that came from it. “Why do you fight it, Anakin? And don’t pull up your lame excuse of a marriage, when we both know that’s not the reason.”

Anakin pushed you by your throat, your head hardly banging against the wallpaper. He overlooked your whining, taking advantage of your dizziness to get his point through.

“Forget me, Y/n. All about me. All that happened.” He warned in a deeper voice. “For my sake. For yours.”

“Tell me you don’t want me, Anakin, and I’ll stop, hell, I’ll fucking leave.” You murmured with a fire in your eyes letting him know that you weren’t joking around. “Just say the words and I’ll be out of your face.”

Disappointment settled in Anakin’s chest at the prospect of not seeing you anymore.

So he stayed silent, waiting for the duel inside his head to end and speak the winner’s name: lust or reason. Luke’s voice calling for his girlfriend helped the struggle come to a conclusion.

“You haven’t answered the question.” You reminded him, to his disdain. “I want you, Anakin, you-”

“Forget me, Y/n. It may be too late for me, but there may be salvation for Luke and you.” He advised, pushing the plates back to you, stepping back.

“Y/n! I need help over here!” Luke again.

“Alright. Loud and clear, sir.” You spat, brushing past Anakin while he still stared at the floor.

Marching down to where the voice was calling you, you encountered Luke elbow deep into the water.

“Hey, you brought the rest of the-”

“Did you mean it? When you said you wanted to be more spontaneous?” Your breathing was irregular from the adrenaline rush.

“What?” Luke frowned, drying up his forearms with the hand towel.

“Kiss me, Luke. Kiss me now.” You demanded, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pressing against him.

“It’s everything okay? Why-”

“Luke! Please.” You purred on his ear, peppering smooches along his cheek. “Kiss me, please.”

Once Luke caught up with your level of neediness, he delivered the antidote for your hornyness. Hands fixed on your hips, Luke’s lips found yours and played along at the dangerous pace you set. The makeout session quickly escalated: out of nowhere you were roughly jammed against the counter top, manly hands sliding to your back side to squeeze some of the fat. You reciprocated Luke’s attention by playing with his hair as you sucked his bottom lip. It wasn’t nearly as exciting as kissing Anakin; because even when you and Luke were almost sucking each other’s face off, he was still too gentle for you.

But thrill didn’t take long to appear through the door.

Anakin’s stroll to the kitchen ceased at the door frame, when he spotted the heated embrace you two were entangled in. Thankfully, the only person he could see was you and barely because of Luke’s back. So your visual connection was only possible because you managed to angle your boyfriend so you could see Anakin above his shoulder.

Luke moaned when you hugged him tighter, kissed him harder.

“Y/n.” He moaned, unaware that your sudden passion was boosted at the sight of his dad’s heaving chest.”You’re so hot, sugar.”

“I want you.” You whimpered, staring dead into Anakin’s eyes. “I need you.” Your naked leg escaped the slit from your dress, surrounding Luke’s hip. “Just do it. Give it to me.”

Whatever sweet nothing Luke murmured into your ear flew right under your radar as you delighted yourself with the view of Anakin’s hurting frown. The image was ripped away from you when Luke physically circled your attention back to you.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n. You’re too much for me.” Thanking him, you came back to kissing, the only escape route you had at hand to evade his love bombarding.

However, Luke’s cringy dirty talk was the second most disappointing thing to happen in that kitchen, just after Anakin leaving.

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