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queers-gambit · 8 months

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Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

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Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

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sungbeam · 2 months

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𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧

nonidol!choi san x gn!reader (no prns mentioned)

turns out your upstairs neighbor has a cat who adores climbing through your window — oh, and said neighbor is also fine as hell.

3.7k words, neighbors au (2 lovers), fluff, maybe like two swear words, drinking, lots of mentions of food

a/n: low-key just read this like ur watching the highlight reel of a romcom lol but @jaehunnyy for u 💖 i hope u like it :'))

It all started about seven months ago when a gorgeous Thai cat waltzed into your apartment via the open window. It was a late July afternoon, stifling hot and sticky, meaning you had your window opened and the mobile fan set up to blow cool air into the apartment.

You were, for once, not at work. Because the art museum you worked at downtown was currently undergoing reconstruction, you were stuck in your apartment trying (failing) to sell prints off your low-traffic Etsy shop while also trying (failing) to make popsicles.

“Why is this so complicated?” You grumbled aloud as you sat on top of your kitchen counter with your knees pulled beneath your chin. You scrolled down the recipe again on your laptop screen, nose wrinkled at the amount of convoluted steps listed. “Too fancy,” you decided, slamming your laptop lid closed.

Immediately, you hissed, lifting the lid to make sure you hadn't cracked the screen from closing it too hard. Thankfully, there were no cracks visible and you breathed out a sigh of relief. You could not afford a broken—

“Holy shit!” You nearly fell off the back of the island counter at the sight of a light gray cat with black tipped ears, paws, and tail seated on the floor before you.

The cat meowed an innocent greeting.

You pressed your hand to your hammering heart and shifted to get a grip on your position atop the counter. “How—? Where…?” Your eyes drifted to the open window.

Oh. Well, that would explain it.

You glanced back at the cat, who peered up at you once more. “Meow.”

Carefully, you climbed down from the counter as to not scare the creature with any sudden movements. “Hey, baby. Where did you come from, hm?” You cooed, extending your hand out as an offer to be sniffed.

The cat unfurled its tail out from around its body and crept toward your hand. With an experimental sniff, you were deemed safe, and the cat rubbed the side of its face affectionately against the back of your knuckles.

Your chest nearly exploded from the cute interaction. You lowered yourself to your knees, gently taking a peek at the silver charm attached around the collar. There you found the engraving of a star in the metal circle.

“I'm guessing this has something to do with your name?” You hummed, reaching up to scratch the feline behind the ears and head. At least you had an inkling that this little one belonged to someone. You just didn't know how to find out who they were.

“I guess you can hang out with me,” you sighed and stood up with your hands on your hips. You didn't mind the company, after all, and maybe this could be a point of inspiration.

About three hours later, the summer sun still hung relatively high in the sky and you were trying to figure out what to feed the cat when there came a sudden knock at your front door. Really, the “sudden knock” was a series of rushed, panicked DUDUDUDU sounds. You nearly jumped out of your skin for the second time in one afternoon, and even the cat seemed to leap.

Well, the cat only looked mildly annoyed that her nap was interrupted, but she seemed content to give a languid stretch and join you in seeing who was so alarmed at your door.

When you peered out the peephole, your eyes shot open.

There was a pretty man at your door.

You glanced down at the cat who looked back up at you. You mouthed to her, pointing at the door, ‘Do you know this guy?’

As expected, she did not answer. Lovely.

You weren't exactly in appropriate garb to see people. You had thrown on something cool enough to not make you melt like one of the popsicles you weren't able to make earlier, and enough to cover any necessary areas. You were sure your hair looked about as luxurious as a barn, and there wasn't a lick of cosmetics on your face.

It was fine, you told yourself. You probably weren't even going to see this guy ever again.

You opened the door. “Hello? Can I help you?” You asked through the chain linking the door shut.

The man flashed you a flustered, dimpled smile at you. His dark hair was damp, like he just came out of a shower, and he had on a muscle tee that was definitely doing its job, and a pair of basketball shorts. “Hi! So sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you've seen a Thai cat wandering around here about yea high—?”

“Meow.” The cat at your feet shoved her way between the gap you made with the door and out into the hallway.

Your eyes widened another smidge, until the man outside released a gasp of relief and bent down to scoop the feline up into his arms. You unlatched your door and opened it fully now, the man holding the cat to his face as if he was communicating with her telepathically.

“That's the cat, I'm guessing?” You mused.

He tucked her back into his arm and his smile became sheepish. “Yes, I am so sorry about her. I came back home from work and she wasn't in the apartment, but thank you for dealing with her for however long she was here.”

You waved off his concern with your hand, sending him a kind smile. “Don’t worry about it, really. She's adorable. What's her name, by the way?”

“Oh, this is Byeol,” he cooed, lifting Byeol's paw up to wave at you.

Swoon. Your smile widened as you waved back at them both. “Well, it was nice to meet you, both Byeol and…?”

“San,” he answered. God, he was gorgeous. That smile… “And you are?”

“Yn.” You shook each other's hands in the dim hallway light.

“Nice to meet you, too, Yn.” He lit up, pointing up to the ceiling. “Hey, I'm pretty sure I'm your upstairs neighbor!”

You opened the door to your apartment wider so you could show him your open window. “Well, that would definitely explain how she got down onto my fire escape,” you chuckled.

He whistled lowly. “Man, cats are scary sometimes. I'll definitely try to keep an eye on whenever she's near my window now.” He ran the back of his knuckles down Byeol's spine. “I don't wanna take up any more of your time, but thanks again.”

“No worries! Have a nice night.”

“You too!”

San began walking back toward the stairs at the end of the hallway, and you were about to close the door when you thought you heard him chastising his cat in hushed tones. You laughed to yourself as you locked up your front door. You wouldn't mind if Byeol came traipsing down your fire escape again.

And she would. About three times a week when San had a later shift at the boxing gym he worked at (yes, a boxing gym… good lord). Byeol oftentimes expected you to have your window open, and if you didn't already have it open, she would sit out on the fire escape until you did.

Two months into the fire escape escapades, you gave up and left the window open just enough for her to squeeze through while you returned to work.

San would always come down to your apartment to retrieve her, and at some point, decided to swing by your apartment on his way up instead just to make sure she wasn't already here.

By month four when the days were shorter and the nights dragged longer and colder, you couldn't exactly keep the window open, lest you wanted to freeze your ass off in the safety of your apartment. Byeol would hop down the fire escape in the evenings when you were back so you could let her in, only for her owner to come barreling down the stairs, dimpled cheeks flushed and exasperated.

“I swear she likes you more than me,” he guffawed from where he stood out in the hallway as he always did. He shook his head as he watched the Thai feline waltz around his legs once, then circle back into your apartment. He arched a brow at her. “Look at her strutting. She knows exactly what she's doing.”

You swore there was a dash of red gracing his cheekbones now.

You bit your lip through a smile. “Well, you're welcome to come in. I was just about to eat dinner and I don't really think I can finish this roast chicken alone.”

“Ah, I don't really wanna impose,” he drawled, scratching the back of his neck and peering at you from beneath those lengthy lashes of his. He knew what he was doing—he had to know what he was doing. If Byeol could strut, then so could Choi San.

He promised to take you up on your offer as long as you let him run upstairs to grab a bottle of wine to contribute.

The last thing you expected to happen was to hear a knock on your window less than ten minutes later. You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sound, folding over in laughter when you saw him waving to you on the other side with cold-bitten cheeks and a red-tipped nose. He clutched a bottle of red in one hand and gestured furiously to the window latch. “It's fucking freezing!”

“Okay, okay,” you grinned, walking over to let him inside. “Just so you know,” you said as Byeol welcomed her owner into your apartment, “usually it's just cats who come in this way.”

“Well, you might have to get used to a cat and a human coming in now,” he teased. San presented you the wine bottle with a flourish. “Milady, your beverage.”

“Why, thank you, good sir,” you jested and accepted the offering. “Make yourself at home!”

What you didn't expect was for such a statement to be taken so literally, and yet, you had no complaints.

Three months further along—making it seven in total since that first hot July day Byeol came in through the open window—you and San (and Byeol) were cooped up in your apartment as usual. It was a Friday night with dinner on the table, a TV show playing in the background, and a pair of wine glasses for the pair of you. Over the past few months, sharing a dinner together had become a weekly event wherein San would come in via window, and the two of you would have the evening together.

Sometimes it was just dinner, sometimes it was dinner and a movie, and sometimes it was even dinner, a movie, and drunk Pictionary. But every Friday night was yours and San's night.

Plus, he turned out to be a much better cook, so you definitely couldn't argue when he somehow wrestled his entire Le Creuset pot down the fire escape to feed you the most divine lobster mac 'n’ cheese you had ever tasted. (As if you'd ever had lobster mac 'n’ cheese before…)

“I feel like it would just be more convenient if I came up to your apartment instead,” you said with enthusiasm, your free arm flailing around as you melted dark chocolate on a double boiler upon the stove top. While San had the right side of the stove for his chicken and gnocchi soup, you had the left to prepare tonight's mousse for dessert. If San made dinner, you figured you could at least learn a thing or two about a dessert course.

He chuckled, “I mean, I'm not opposed if you ever get tired of hosting. I'm kind of a creature of habit though, which is why I don't mind coming down every week, but it's up to you, sweets.”

Oh, right. And the nickname. You couldn't even pinpoint when that started, but again, you weren't complaining.

“I don't mind hosting either,” you told him, “it's just that it's either you leave your super expensive cookware here or I go upstairs. I don't think Le Creuset has fire escape insurance.”

“You're not wrong about that.” You felt his hand gently brush against your waist as he slipped past you to get to the spice cabinet on your left. “Behind you,” he murmured by your ear before grabbing the jar of Himalayan salt (also his) and returning to his station behind his pot.

You couldn't deny the pitter-patter of your heart around him either. Things were coming to a point that you didn't know how to label. But perhaps that was the beauty of everything slipping into place. You carried on, “I think I've seen your apartment once, and that was when Byeol wouldn't stop meowing until I followed you guys.” You laughed to yourself at the memory. That had been an interesting night.

“If it's any consolation, your apartment has much more life in it than mine.”

“That's a lie,” you said pointedly. “Yours is just more meticulous.”

He snorted. “Meticulous. Might as well be as barren as a clinic.”

You passed him a glance. “I offered to paint your walls…”

San beamed back at you, dimples creating divots in the apples of his cheeks. “And I never said no! But—I do think that it should be something the both of us do together.”

Your brows creased as you took the chocolate off the stove to fold into the other mixture you'd set aside. “You wanna paint with me?”

“Yeah,” he said, almost bashfully. “I think it'd be a fun bonding and learning experience. And it would be cool to see you in your element, besides when you're drunk.”

The latter comment had you turning away to laugh. “Fair enough.”

When dinner was ready to be dined, and the mousse was freezing in the fridge, you and San sat at the kitchen island with your matching bowls of hot soup and glasses of lemon water for the night. Neither of you had remembered to buy wine for the week (surprisingly), but one week without alcohol wouldn't hurt.

The two of you clinked your glasses together, toasting to another week survived.

You took a sip, then spooned the soup into your mouth, wiggling around on your stool in a little happy dance as the flavors did their own dance on your tongue.

San smiled around his own bite. He swallowed, then said, “You know, I always know I did well when you do that.”

“Do what?”

“That cute little dance,” he chuckled. “I’m glad it tastes good, is what I'm saying, sweets.”

Your skin warmed, and you managed to convince yourself it was the soup or the heater or something and not the beautiful man beside you. “Then get used to the happy jig, because everything you cook tastes divine. You should be a chef, San.”

“I could've,” he shrugged, “but I kind of like this little life.” He gestured to you with his spoon, a twinkle in his eyes. “Don't you?”

For a moment, you let the smile slowly unfurl onto your lips. You lifted your own spoon in agreement. “You're right. It's a lovely, little life.”

Now that you were in agreement, you fell into a comfortable silence as you both enjoyed your dinner in one another's presence. Byeol was hunched over her own bowl of food just by the foot of your stool, against the adjacent side of the island. You'd gone out and bought her a pair of food and water bowls, as well as her preferred food. San had been touched by the gesture, and Byeol most definitely appreciated it.

San wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Oh, by the way, next week.”

You hummed. “What about it?”

“Are you doing anything?”

You perked up, eyebrows lifting to your hairline. “Why do you ask?” It was usually unsaid by now that Friday nights were set aside for the two of you to share an evening, which was why you were confused by his question.

And then he explained, “It's Valentine's Day, so I just wanted to make sure I didn't interrupt or assume anything.” He'd said it so casually and easily that you nearly missed the slight nervousness in his voice, or the minor intonation of hope. “I mean,” he fumbled, “if you do have something planned, then it's no worries, really. There are plenty of other weeks—”

You shook your head, finishing off your water after having scraped your bowl clean. “I'm not doing anything,” you said. “Well, besides what we usually do.” You chuckled to yourself, “To be honest, Valentine's Day completely slipped my mind this year.”

And if you were truly being honest with yourself, every Friday felt like Valent—no. You shouldn't think like that. It would only make things worse about how you felt for him now. Plus, these past few months with San felt far too casual, too domestic, to be like Valentine's Day. Was Valentine's Day not for grand gestures and romance? This wasn't grand… though, you could probably argue about the romantic part…

“No, I feel the same way,” he nodded. “My friend Wooyoung just asked today if I was up to go to a single's party, which was why I suddenly remembered.”

Ah. “Oh, are you planning on going?” Wine sounded pretty good right about now.

He grimaced. “Probably not. I—I was kind of hoping you wanted to still do dinner next week—but, like, it doesn't have to mean anything besides how it usually is. If that's what you're comfortable with.”

It doesn't have to mean anything besides how it usually is. What if you wanted it to mean more than how it usually was? There was nothing inherently wrong with how it usually was, but you couldn't deny that a part of you yearned for more. That part of you imagined what it was like if San didn't have to come see you via fire escape, and he was always in the same space as you.

There was a pause as you wrestled with your own conscience about how or if you were going to admit it to him.

He pressed his lips together. “I've made you uncomfortable.”

“No, you haven't made me uncomfortable,” you assured him swiftly. “I just…” You sighed, pressing a hand to your forehead then returning it to your lap. “Of course, I would love to have dinner with you next week, but I’d like it to mean something else—if you are comfortable with that.”

You watched as that beautiful smile you'd come to grow more fond of blossom onto his face. “I'd be more than comfortable with that—I’d be really happy with that, actually.”

“Good,” you said softly, unable to bite your own smile away. “Then dinner next week, it is.”

There was something fundamentally different about this next Friday night compared to the others. Specifically, the context by which you and San went into the Friday evening of Valentine's Day was completely different. The apartment was aglow with the same warmth as it usually boasted, but there was a bouquet of blood red roses in a glass vase on the kitchen counter beside a bottle of red wine.

San was at the stove, finishing off the last bit for dinner before it needed to simmer for a good thirty minutes. You were in the living room portion of your apartment, flipping through the vinyl records to play before you pulled one out and set it up. As you moved the needle onto the record, you placed the empty cover back into its slot and turned toward the kitchen.

You froze in your spot, skin warming at the sight of San leaning over the island counter with an adoring look in his eyes as he watched you. “What?” You laughed, subconsciously adjusting the sleeve of your blouse.

“Nothing,” he smiled. “You're just—you’re gorgeous.”

You were sure if your face didn't give it away, there must have at least been hearts floating around your head. “You cannot just say that,” you chided weakly as you walked over to where he was, your expression growing shy.

His smile widened and he rounded the counter to stand in front of you, your back pressed against the edge of the counter. “I can, too,” he teased. He stepped back once and held his arms out, fingers flicking toward him to beckon you forward. “C'mere. Can you dance?”

“Some.” Your eyebrows arched upward as you stepped forward and took his hands in yours. “Dancing and romancing, Choi San? What magic do you hope to enchant me with tonight?” You joked, moving your left hand to his shoulder.

“Perhaps magic that will leave your window open for me on nights other than Fridays,” he said sheepishly as the two of you began to sway to the music waltzing out from the record player. “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your fire escape—”

You let out a laugh, ducking your head toward your chests. He did the same, an embarrassed grin coming onto his face as his nose nudged against yours.

“That was god awful,” he winced in apology.

“It was,” you agreed teasingly, “but I'll let it slide because you're cute.”

He shot you a bright smile. “Oh? So I'm cute? I guess that makes two of us.”

You weren't really sure at what point you realized you had fallen for this man. It was sometime between the Himalayan salt lectures and the dancing like an old married couple in your kitchen, maybe. You thought about the day he showed up at your door panicking about a missing cat, and to a future where you might have found yourself in his living room painting murals on his walls. Or perhaps… not his living room, but both of yours.

As you danced with your chests pressed together, hearts beating rapidly in sync, you gazed into those beautiful, dark brown irises of his and sank further and further into those feelings. They were gradually making themselves a home in your chest.

“What're you thinking about, sweets?” He murmured as you tucked your head against his shoulder and the arm he had around your waist rubbed the small of your back.

The smell of his cologne made you inhale deeply. You could get used to this—his smell, the feel of his body under your fingertips, his presence intertwined with yours taking up space in the best possible way. “I'm thinking that Byeol is a good matchmaker.”

His chuckle rumbled through him and softly into your ear. “You're definitely right about that.”

a/n: pls remember to reblog and comment if u enjoyed!

atz m.list

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#kflixnet #ateez x reader #choi san x reader #san x reader #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez fluff #choi san fluff #choi san imagines #choi san scenarios #choi san drabble #ateez drabbles #ateez oneshot #choi san oneshot #ateez fanfic

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niki-phoria · 1 month

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YOU GOT ME FALLIN' IN LOVE, I'M IN LOVE

pairing: gojo satoru x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 591

notes: teen gojo, based off of that one scene in the credits, title from wayv - let me love you, i started watching jjk s2 PREPRARE TO BE SICK OF ME

“y/n!” gojo smiles brightly, peering at you over the rim of his black sunglasses. a clear umbrella is perched against his shoulder, protecting him from the downpour. he splashes through little puddles lining the streets, kicking up water in his path until he reaches your side.

his umbrella is only meant for one, as evidenced by how close he has to lean in to cover the both of you. his side brushes against your own with each step you take. if gojo notices your embarrassment, he’s courteous enough not to make a comment about it.

“fancy seeing you here,” he teases, leaning in towards you. deep cerulean eyes meet your own; gojo’s lips curl upwards into a soft smirk.

you roll your eyes, chuckling beneath your breath. “we’re both headed back to jujutsu high. we were bound to run into each other.”

“always so cynical,” gojo whines.

his complaints are cut off when you perk up, glancing at something in the distance. “hey, look!” heat spreads across gojo’s cheeks when you grab onto his wrist, tugging him along with you as you rush off towards a nearby alley.

you stop near the edge of a building, only a few meters away from a nearby plant pot. hidden among the terracotta ceramic and the overflowing greenery is a small, unmoving, white form. gojo squints. “what is it?”

instead of answering, you carefully step forwards. water soaks your hair and drenches your uniform as you kneel down, hesitantly reaching your hand out.

gojo’s eyes widen slightly when a small kitten emerges from behind the vines, rubbing its face against your hand. you turn to look back at him with a bright smile, coaxing him over with a soft. “‘toru, come here.”

you take the kitten into your arms, cradling it against your chest. gojo smiles when it purrs as it nuzzles itself against you, leaving stray, white hairs against your uniform in its wake. you miss the way he tilts the umbrella forwards to protect you from the rain. “look how cute she is.”

gojo smiles, kneeling down beside you. the kitten shifts slightly in your arms, blinking up at him with beautiful, golden eyes. her ears flick when stray droplets of rain land on the top of her head. her fur is damp to the touch when he tentatively extends his hand out to pet her back. “she is pretty,” he murmurs.

“can we keep her?”

gojo bites his tongue, swallowing the “yes” that wants to crawl out of his throat. taking in a stray cat isn’t exactly the most responsible decision, but then again, saying no to you has never been one of satoru gojo’s many talents.

what’s left of gojo’s resolve crumbles when you hug the kitten a little tighter. she responds by stretching out in your arms before blinking at him as if expecting an answer. “please?”

maybe you should leave the kitten behind. set her back down on the ground and hope that she’ll be able to comfortably fend for herself. or perhaps you should take her to a shelter; you could drop her off into the capable hands of a vet and wash yourselves clean of the responsibility.

but maybe you should take her home. maybe having a friendly face greeting you at the end of a hard day wouldn’t be so bad. maybe - if gojo gets to see you smile like this - the risks are worth it.

“fine,” gojo smiles softly, welcoming you - and your new kitten - back underneath the umbrella. “we can keep her.”

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familyvideostevie · 3 months

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it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked.

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed.

You’ve only been open for two hours.

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it.

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns.

Your coffee shop.

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it.

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works.

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure.

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand.

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him.

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired.

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter.

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember.

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint.

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush.

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks.

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on.

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize.

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question.

You laugh. Joel looks pleased.

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders.

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot.

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee.

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him?

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

Joel stops by again.

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron.

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting.

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying.

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning. When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped.

“I’m honored,” he says.

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window.

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash.

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask.

He smirks. “Miss me?”

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy.

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck.

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy.

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise.

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one.

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw.

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear.

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him.

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone.

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place.

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says.

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day.

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags.

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is.

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.”

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles.

They both wave at you as they drive away.

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted.

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb.

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing.

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work.

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk.

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one.

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus.

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked.

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering.

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you.

And you still barely know him. But you want to.

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime?

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back.

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back.

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.”

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says.

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually.

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?”

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.”

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting.

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says.

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables.

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate.

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe.

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel.

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light.

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff

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mydearlybeloathed · 4 months

Text

𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃'𝐒 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after rejecting a boy in your hometown, he goes around spreading rumors about you and him. luckily, you have full faith in your wizard boyfriend, who just so happens to be coming back form his fancy wizard school in just a few days.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: remus lupin x gn!muggle!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: gender neutral reader, a menace old lady, scarlet letter allusion, several random muggles

𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐤: my boyfriend's back

It was laughable really, for Ben Waters to think your boyfriend would believe any of the lies he’d spread around town. You had full faith in Remus, your super cool wizard boyfriend who could totally crush Ben into next week.

Still, the whispers all around that snobby little town were starting to get to you.

“Did you hear…?”

“Don't they have that boyfriend, though?”

“With Ben? Really?”

“Just wait till Remus hears…”

Just wait indeed. The sooner he got back from his fancy wizard school, the sooner you could kiss him in front of all the kids who think they’re so cool. In front of Ben even, the man of the hour, who’d done all of this just because you rejected him.

It was all so laughable.

That's what you thought as you sank deeper into your seat at the local diner. A group of your school mates whispered at the opposite booth.

So, so laughable, that it wasn’t very funny at all.

Remus would be back in three days. You could last another three days of this little letter ‘A’ Ben branded you with.

In the meantime, you could continue to practice on Remus’ skateboard he left behind, maybe go by his place to see his parents, or hide out in your room for seventy two hours.

You inevitably chose the last option, and soon the day of Remus’ return arrived.

His train from Hogwarts should’ve stopped at King’s Cross Station an hour ago, and the short train from there to home was probably a few minutes away.

You were just swinging a leg over your bike to go wait for Remus at his house, maybe have tea with his dad in the meantime, when the voice of your sweet old neighbor called you back. Mrs. Ketburn hobbled down her porch steps, waving with a frail hand.

A sigh hissed from your nostrils as you forced a smile at her. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Could do me a favor?” she asked ever so sweetly.

Every inch of you wished to snap back a decline and pedal away as fast as possible, but you couldn’t do that. Your parents would have your neck for it. “Sure, Mrs. Ketburn.”

“Perfect,” she smiled, showing off her dentures. “It won’t take but a few moments, dear.”

You were counting on that. You needed to see Remus before any other kids from school found him. (You trusted Remus, you really did, and he trusted you, but a strong string of anxiety was still taut around your chest).

Mrs. Ketburn led you into her musty house that always smelled of cat litter despite no other indication that she even had a cat. She needed help reaching the flour on the very top shelf of her kitchen cabinets, so she could finish baking apple turnovers, she said.

With a glance at your watch, you pulled around a chair and stepped up, easily reaching for the bag of flour and quickly hopping back down. You practically shoved the flour into her hands and muttered a goodbye in one breath.

“I really gotta—” Time came to slow, slow stop as the bag slipped between her wrinkled fingers, a cloud of flour billowing up around the both of you.

“Oh,” she gasped. “Oh, dear. I’m sorry.”

You took an even breath and glanced down at your watch. “It’s fine.” You still had time. “Let me help with the mess.”

She grinned up at you. “You’re a dear. I’ll fetch a broom.”

“Don’t forget a dustpan,” you called after her.

It felt as if forever and then some passed by before she came back with a broom, of course having forgotten a dustpan. You gritted your teeth and tried not to be too harsh as you took the broom from her hands.

You swept the flour into a neat little pile at the center of the kitchen, going to savagely search her supply closet for a dustpan only to come back hands empty. You were on the cusp of asking her to get it when you stepped back into the kitchen, finding Mrs. Ketburn holding the dustpan and asking, “Did you need this, dear?”

You didn’t even bother looking at your watch again, not wanting any more stress to weigh down on you. For all you knew, Ben himself could have tracked Remus down on his way home from the station by now.

That in mind, you probably broke a world record in sweeping with how swiftly you finished the task, leaving Mrs. Ketburn’s tools leaning on the counter as you shouted a goodbye over your shoulder.

You hopped onto your bike and set into action, pedaling down the road to make it to his house. That was your best bet at finding him in a timely manner. Around a corner, across the street, you sped through town, that horrid scene replaying in your head.

Remus would never believe Ben’s lies. Never ever… but you had to see him to be sure.

As soon as you reached his driveway, you abandoned your bike on the pavement and ran up to the door. His mom’s car was parked out front. Remus was home from his stupidly far away magic school. At last. You nearly forgot why you were stressed at all, but then the front door swung open as Remus met you halfway.

His smile was as blinding as ever as he rushed forth and enveloped you in a warm embrace. Throwing your arms round his neck you held him close and just breathed him in after so many long months apart.

You wanted to ask him about his friends, about what new magic he could show you, and if his Quidditch team did well—but first, you pulled back and stared deep into his eyes, blurting, “Ben Waters is a liar and a creep.”

The way he grinned at you told you all you needed to know. “Tell me something new.”

“So someone told you already?” you asked tentatively, drawing a roll of his eyes.

“I was told,” he began as if on his last leg, “by an overly enthusiastic Heather Law that you’d betrayed me and gone 'n slept with Ben.”

You pictured the girl from your class clear as day, waltzing up to him ever so confident she was about to gain a new boyfriend. You waited, but all he did was chuckle at the notion. “And you said?”

Remus pressed his forehead to your own, nudging your nose with his. “I told her to have a good day, and I came home to you.”

That was enough to have you connecting your lips in a feverish kiss, smiling into it. You knew Remus would never believe them. He was too good to ever even play with the idea. You just couldn’t wait till everyone else knew that too.

But first, you had a year's worth of kisses to catch up on.

#remus #remus lupin #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders x reader

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dorkszn · 25 days

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DATES WITH THE BROTHERS + choso, yuji, ryomen

SYNP — what dates with the brothers are like

PAIRINGS — choso kamo x reader, yuji itadori x reader, ryomen sukuna x reader

not proofread, big brother sukuna au, gn reader

YUJI

yuji is a fun and hyper person. he always tries to take you somewhere fun. places like amusement parks, carnivals, trampoline parks, arcades, etc. it’s never a sit-down or dull date with him.

“hey, i betcha i can win you one of those prizes.” yuji suddenly says. you turn your attention from the funnel cake that was in front of you and to the boy. “no way. these games are rigged, yuji, you can’t win.” you shake your head with a small laugh. “there has to be some way to win, there’s a few people around with prizes.” yuji replies, looking around for a moment before he finds his target. “the bottles game. first try and you got one of those huge stuff animals.” he challenges, grinning at you. “try if you wanna, you’re wasting tickets.” you hum. “you’re so mean.” yuji sighs, giving you a sad puppy look. “i am not.” “you are.” “I’ll be nice if you buy me some fried oreos.” yuji eyes light up. “deal!”

CHOSO

choso is just a bit calmer than yuji. his dates are more authentic, you can say. things like picnics, drive-in movies, top golf, aquarium trips, and fruit picking are choso’s ideas of dates. wherever he can just hold your hand and stare at you lovingly is great for him.

“woah choso, look! it’s the penguins!” you gasp, standing barely inches away from the glass of the enclosure. choso stands beside you, your fingers interlocked. suddenly, a penguin with a black stripe on his beak approaches the glass. it stares at the two of you with a blank expression. “oh my god, cho, it looks like you!” you squeal, facing your boyfriend. choso’s face flushed slightly. “no it doesn’t.” he pouts. “it has the same stripe on it’s nose. i think it’s cute.” you scoff, turning to look back at the bird. “y—you do?” choso stammers. “yeah, i do.” you nod, giving him a soft smile before pressing a kiss onto his blood mark.

RYOMEN

sukuna spoils you. he likes to act he doesn’t or as if he doesn’t like it but he does. he likes taking you to fancy or expensive places even when you tell him not to. places like nice restaurants, almost courtside seats at sport’s games, concerts, snowboarding, things like that.

“ryo, come back!” you exclaim, struggling to find your balance. the pink haired man stands just a few feet ahead, watching you with an amused expression. “c’mon! don’t be a scaredy-cat, just come down.” he shouts. he stands on his snowboard confidently while you stumble on yours. you reluctantly push forward on your board. you glide down just for a few seconds before a squeal leaves you and begin tumbling through the snow, eventually landing at ryo’s feet. “get up, you’re fine,” he says, taking your hands and helping you up. you stare at him with a sad glare. “what’s wrong?” he questions. “you left me, asshole!” you scoff, hitting his chest. his coat protecting him from the blow. he sighs before grinning at you, shifting the black markings on his skin. “don’t be a baby, I was right here. want me to your hold your hand the rest of the way?” ryomen teases, cooing at you. “sure, whatever.” “i think you mean ‘thank you, ryo.’”

#dorkszn #dorkfilmz #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #sukuna x reader #ryoumen sukuna #choso kamo x reader #choso kamo #kamo choso x reader #itadori yuji #yuji itadori x reader #itadori yuji x reader #jjk fluff #yuji itadori fluff #sukuna ryomen fluff #choso kamo fluff

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husbandhoshi · 3 months

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TO GROW LOVE (AND EAT IT TO THE CORE)

pairing: mingyu x gn!reader wc: 8.1k summary: your whole life, you've only wanted one thing. then you meet mingyu. suddenly you want too much, and you wish the summer never ended. notes: farmer!au, established relationship, angst/hurt/a little comfort

this is a birthday fic for my one and only cat @wuahae ! yes this is about half a year late but what can i say. all good things come with time. thank you for being so kind, funny, and thoughtful (and patient)! not a day goes by where i’m not thankful for our friendship :)

and a million thanks to hana @wqnwoos and jackie @97-liners for helping me with edits. literally you guys are insane writers and i will never stop looking up to you.

i. strawberries (the summer we were young)

When a strawberry is ripe, the seeds push out from the heart of the fruit, as if it's bursting from the inside out.

This is one of the few and only things you've learned by living in Seogwipo, where strawberry season comes like a supernova. The May sun, full and heavy, peels into summer, and the roadside farms open their doors, trying to catch stray vacationers from Jeju City on the other side of the island.

That being said, there are approximately two things to do here. One of them is farm. The other is pretend like you have a life, which is your childhood friend Yizhuo's favorite thing to do when she's back from university on summer break.

Today, this involved convincing her ritzy, too-good Seoul friends that they're missing out on this side of Jeju. (Missing out on what? You're not sure. Perhaps the chipped paint of the mural walls, or the endless flat-topped stretches of seagrass. Yizhuo isn't fooling anyone, but you've always liked stretching your legs out in the bed of her pick-up, even on the long drive to nowhere.)

Unsurprisingly, her friends quickly came to the same conclusion. Just one look at your local strawberry patch, with none of the glamour of the bloated tourist traps in the city, and they decided they'd rather spend the afternoon at the beach.

It was then, between the fragaria blooms, when you met Mingyu. He asked for your name, and the rest was history. Yizhuo and co. scattered like the grasping hands of an overripe dandelion and you learned that he was, one, the newly-graduated son of a pair of local farmers, and two, very, very attractive. Almost too much so, especially for a place like this.

Now he holds up a berry, a bright red murder between his fingers, and tells you to try it.

"You must be delusional if you think i'm taking food from a stranger," you laugh, perched on the fence bordering the field. It sprawls before you, melon stripes on the sunbaked ground.

"No, my name is Mingyu," he replies. "No idea who delusional is." His smile, all bright lip and snaggletooth, tears into the scarlet belly of a newly picked strawberry.

"We all know what happened to Persephone."

"Well, if the underworld was a strawberry patch, I wouldn't mind being stuck there for all of eternity."

"What're you picking all these for, anyway?" you ask, watching Mingyu struggle with his too-big straw hat between the vines. His woven basket bleeds over with little berries.

"Jam. I make it on the very first day of every summer."

"Why?"

"You ask a lot of questions for someone who trespassed on my farm. You're cute, but I won't let you off easy."

He laughs at how you balk, clearly red-handed. You're not sure how to tell him you don't think you were supposed to be here either. You don't do things like sit in the back of trucks, trespass, or talk to pretty farmer boys who take a fancy to you, but it's the summer before you graduate and you're not even sure how long you'll have to continue making bad decisions.

"Are you gonna take my first-born now?" you joke instead. The daylight runs down the rim of Mingyu's hat, trickles down his brow, and you wish you could pour the image of him into a jar and keep it forever.

"No, but I will invite you in for some fresh jam on toast. I baked a loaf this morning." and when you say nothing, he continues. "The strawberries are only good once a year. It's the best you'll ever have. Promise."

It's a whine and a half, and somehow you convince yourself this will be the last bad decision you'll make. You've been here long enough to know that good things don't come twice in Seogwipo, and he is unlikely to be an exception.

Yizhuo blows up your phone, you tie the gingham apron around Mingyu's tiny waist, and the basket turns to blood in the saucepan.

Mingyu is right. Love comes to you in that kitchen, high and red like the sun, and the jam never tastes as good as it does that summer.

ii. watermelon (hollowed out, like a magic trick)

"A good watermelon sounds like a heartbeat."

You watch Mingyu heave the fruit, small and striped, out of his grocery bag. It joins the array of egg sandwiches and banana milks you picked up from the store together earlier. (There should have been chocolate Pepero too, but you split the box on the walk).

You're on a picnic, sprawled out on the outcropping overlooking the water. The path up is basically right behind your house, but you had never cared to visit. It had always been the local makeout spot, a schlocky teen crawl for those with nothing better to do, and yet, with Mingyu stretched out beside you, it seems newer. More exciting.

You're still just friends, or at least that's what you told Yizhuo. But ever since you sat on Mingyu's kitchen counter and ate from his jam-covered spatula, you don't think you've gone a week without seeing him. It's been almost two months, which seems so long and yet not long enough—he makes it easy to be greedy.

"See?" He thumps the watermelon with the heel of his palm. "Try it."

You already went through this entire charade at the grocery store, right in front of all the local aunties, but you indulge him. There's little point to triple checking if it's still ripe, but you think he just likes hitting it.

"It sounds good," you say. "But how are we even gonna eat it? We don't have a knife."

"Watch this." Mingyu procures a coin from his pocket. "You didn't learn this in elementary school? I feel like everyone was doing it."

"Here?" you ask, incredulous.

"Yeah, here. I grew up here too, you know."

He holds the edge of the coin to the skin and slams his palm into it once more, so that it lodges itself into the rind, and begins dragging it around the fruit. You start to wonder if he bought the watermelon just to show you a party trick—not that you mind, though. The strain of his biceps peeks through his rolled up white tee, and you remember why he was able to stop you with just one look back when you first met.

"No way." The watermelon is so ripe, it bleeds around the incision. "I feel like I know everyone here. And I definitely would have remembered you."

"I was probably, like, two grades above you," he replies. "And my parents shipped me off to live with my cousins after elementary school. They said I should get out of Seogwipo and experience the real world."

"Good call. There's nothing here." You watch Mingyu spin the melon over to cut through the other side. The coin catches the sunlight, and it looks like gold. "I wish I left for university. The one here is so small."

"Really?" He pauses to show you his handiwork. The two melon halves roll over on their backs, their cut edge cruel and jagged. "Cool, huh?"

"Impressive," you say. "Honestly. I really didn't think that would work."

"I didn't either when I first saw someone do it. But I’ll try anything once," he replies, ripping open the packaging of the plastic spoon from the bag. "I can't believe you don't like it here."

"You do?"

"Yeah. A lot." He shoves the spoon in his mouth, and you watch the watermelon juice pool around his lips. "I missed home. The trees and the tall grass and the ocean. All the fruits. Everything. I learned to ride a bike, right down there by the water."

"Hm." He passes you the spoon. You don't want to hog it, so you carve out a piece bigger than you need. "Are you gonna work at the farm?"

"Maybe. Haven't decided yet," he says. "I think I want to be here, though. Maybe do something with food, but I want to be home."

"That's funny, because I think I’ve always wanted to live a different life. Or at least one somewhere else."

"You want to go to law school, right?"

"Yeah." Mingyu is right. The watermelon is all sugar, and you would almost feel guilty for eating it if it wasn't technically good for you. "I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer. It's something about the people watching, I think."

"That’s really cool," Mingyu says, mouth full but no less sincere. It's then that you notice your shoulders are almost touching, and your heart crawls back up to your mouth. "You know what you want. I admire that."

He makes it sound like a compliment, but you're sure it's a curse.

You think of your parents. There's a permanent wrinkle ironed into their foreheads, the paper crease of expectations and high standards. It's not that they didn't care, but their kind of care was a humbled sort, made heavy by a hard life. It didn't help that your big sister Seohyun went straight from Yonsei to work a big tech job in San Francisco and never once looked back.

But you can't blame any of them—wanting has always been a hereditary failing. Sometimes Yizhuo will catch you frowning at nothing, and then you remember that life isn't a performance and every day ends at the same time no matter how hard you work. But you don't know how to tell her that the only thing you can do sometimes is want, because otherwise you wouldn't really have much at all.

It seems like the exact opposite of how Mingyu lives—everything about him seems to pass like the seasons. Maybe that's why you can't seem to get enough of each other.

"Thank you. Really." You dig the spoon into your half of the melon. There isn't much left. "You're way too nice to me."

"It’s not hard to be," he laughs. "Maybe you're just too hard on yourself."

You're losing track of the distance between the two of you. You can almost feel the heat playing off his skin.

"Maybe."

It's then, under the veil of summer, where you meet Mingyu's gaze and, finally, things seem close to simple.

All you know are his eyes, heavy with sun, and then the slow, slow move of his lips against yours. He tastes like August, long and sweet, and for once you know what it's like to not only want, but to have, and to have again.

The ocean sings on the horizon, and the watermelon bellies weep.

iii. adzuki beans (or, the blood of a headless taiyaki)

Mingyu eats taiyaki headfirst because he says it hurts less.

"That makes no sense," you tell him, your pinkies linked. You never really liked holding hands, but yours fits so perfectly in Mingyu's and there's some girlish, childlike shine to it when you watch his finger search for yours after just a moment separated.

"What do you mean."

He breaks your gaze to eye a red bean taiyaki, like an unwilling predator sizing up their prey. It's the lamest, most embarrassing iteration of National Geographic you've ever seen, and yet you cannot find any fiber within yourself not deeply in love with the lion.

Fall is a forgiving place for your relationship to settle. You're now a senior at university and he's started his gap year. Gap implies he's in the middle of something, but in true Mingyu fashion, he leaves it up to fate, or chance, or something not nearly as kind (whim).

"Taiyaki isn't alive. And why would you want to pretend it is? Eating gummy bears would become an extinction event."

"It kind of is." He holds out the tail end of the taiyaki, the pastry almost explicitly flayed open, in front of you to eat. "Why does the Haribo bear have a face? Why do the gummy bears live in a gummy forest?"

"Great, so now I can’t even enjoy gummy bears without feeling like a serial killer?"

You dig your pointer into his shoulders, broad from all the time he spends on the farm. To think that his hands, big and weathered, were made to pick berries (and now wrap around your pinky finger) is bruising, if not ridiculously funny.

"It's a crime of passion. Gummy passion. Prosecute that."

He kisses your cheek and your heart almost squeezes into two.

The terrible thing about being with Mingyu is how seemingly endless his affection is. Now he's feeding you in public and buying the two of you matching socks (cat and dog, to be exact), although you'll admit it's a little charming, even if the neighbors do gossip.

He's sweet, too sweet, and his kisses stick to the back of your throat.

But you can't be fooled. There's an unsaid violence to the way Mingyu loves. (The meticulous spiral of the peel he carves when you ask for him to cut you an apple. The grind, decisive and cruel, of a knife against a cutting board. A pair of canines against your neck, your jaw.)

Even now, he bites the head off another unwitting taiyaki before stuffing it back in the bag.

"We're still splitsing, right?" he says, with perhaps 1% of his mouth available for speaking and the other 99% murder machine.

Splits, he always says before you share food. You never had the heart to tell him that it's in the same family as mines or sharesies or takebacks—silly childhood relics, ones that no one uses anymore because they don't mean anything.

This time, you don't hear him because you're thinking about the law school fair you went to before Mingyu picked you up. The future is so close, it scares you. A year from now, what ground would you be standing on? Would it smell like this—the peat, the thread-spool fields, the balm of the ocean? Would you still have Mingyu's finger wrapped round yours?

"Have you decided if you're staying at the farm?" you ask.

"Not really." He uses the back of his hand to wipe off his chin. "If my sister decides to take over, I’m actually kinda thinking of going to pastry school instead of getting a masters."

Mingyu had been toying with the idea for some time after you had talked about it on the outlook. It started off as a joke (September; a galette), then a what if (October; green tea mochi), and now it sits at a kinda.

"Kinda?"

The word gathers speed in the pachinko machine of your mind. You never liked being a kinda person. For Mingyu, it seems like a luxury of a word, but for you, it's really just another thing to hide behind. Kinda talented, kinda ambitious, kinda just there. You're always one foot in, one foot out of something better.

"Yeah, kinda. Why?"

"I dunno. What if we both end up leaving?"

"Maybe. You still want to, right?"

You would be lying if you said you didn't—it's what you always wanted. Seogwipo has been a sun-rot, too-small crutch for you, but you would also be lying if you said you weren't terrified that you'd eventually come back, limping like some doomed Icarus, unable to truly make it in the real world.

Then you think of the pockmarked farmland beside your home, lacy with the fall harvest. Even now, you can trace the endless blue of the coastline all the way there, cut through all the maybes and just let the sound of the ocean fold you into sleep like you were a child again. You wonder if Seohyun, all the way on the other side of the world, ever misses it.

"I’m not sure," you say, because, as much as you don't like it, it's the only answer you have.

"It's ok. You'll figure it out. You always do." He squeezes your cheeks together between his thumb and index, laughing at how they pillow out underneath his fingers. "Screw pastry school. I could come with you. Who else would keep you fed?"

Mingyu's complete and unfounded belief in you makes you feel something close to betrayal. How could he say any of that? With what proof? Only someone like Mingyu would be able to hold the wrinkled fruit of your unremarkable life between his palms and see something better than that. Maybe it's because he grew up on a farm. Either that, or he already cares for you too much, too painfully.

Secrets are easy to keep when they look like yours. At least here, in the pit of your stomach, you can keep count, take attendance of them, all your tittering, small anxieties. Some days it feels like your ribs are pressing out, but it's better than cutting everything loose to spill out over what little you do have control over.

You can handle a little pressure. You have to.

What concerns you is the hand Mingyu's got across your chest. With one look, he just might gut you. A twist of the heart-knife, and all those carefully wound insides carved out in an instant—maybe he'd pity you, but worse than that, he'd likely be disappointed.

For you, expectation has always stood taller than shame, and the idea that he sees something past you makes you want to run away.

"I could be a house husband," he says as easily as ever. "You'll be off saving the world, arguing with whoever, and I'll be there to run you a bath afterwards."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves," you reply, binding up the strange, hollow feeling in your stomach with a laugh.

There's a scared little girl hiding inside you, and whether Mingyu sees her or not hurts the same. A spade is a spade. You can only pretend so long.

You look at the taiyaki floating in their wax paper bag, blinded and wrought open by the same grin that now peels you down, and you're not hungry anymore.

iv. winter pears (rotten, outside your parents' house)

Mingyu's family loves Christmas.

You think it's because of the pear trees they have in the front yard. They stand bravely before the house, all emerald ash and wisdom in the December freeze. Run your palms over the knobs and it's like you can see into a sleepy visage of simpler days past. (Below its heart, carved: 1982, the year the farm was bought. Along the tangle of the roots: gyu waz here, in an unsure, childish scrawl.)

Winter comes to the countryside crawling on its hands and knees. On days it doesn't snow, there's a mist, boggy and clingy. You've come to realize the cold is more of a threat than a promise, and so the pear trees still bear fruit; the silvery branches hang heavy, faithful.

The first day of December, Mingyu's parents had tasked the two of you with decorating the farmhouse, a duty you took very seriously. You wrapped Mingyu up in string lights and watched him blink in and out like your own personal firefly.

It wasn't until you watched the rafters, the barn doors, the joyous vault of the ceiling all glow, like a spectacular firework, that you finally started to understand why Mingyu was so into the holidays.

It was in the yellow blush of the string lights that you had your first pear from the tree, which Mingyu insisted was a holiday tradition. We make poached pears, he said, mid-bite. You simmer the pear in syrup until it gets so soft, you can cut into it with a fork. Just like butter.

That same night, he kissed you, mouth hot and trembling and tasting of honey, and pressed you against the bark so hard, you could feel the grit of its veins against your skin.

You think December became your favorite month, and pears your favorite fruit.

So much so, that for the entire month, you try to put away your worries about law school applications to celebrate with Mingyu and his family.

You learn his mom makes the best hot chocolate (a cinnamon stick and a dogged devotion to the whisk), and that Mingyu has no clue on God's green earth how to ice skate. (He careens right into your chest the first time. You spend the next hour with him attached to you like a backpack—he manages to find the most impractical ways to do anything, which you somehow admire the most). On Sundays, Yizhuo ditches her Seoul friends and instead accompanies you to the mall two towns over, where she watches you compare different ties and watches and collagen creams as you decide on gifts for his family. (Lilac is so last year, she'd say, stirring the straw of a watered-down milk tea.)

It's not until the weekend before Christmas when you realize just how serious things have gotten. Your feet understand the meander of the dirt path to the farmhouse, your bones the scent of the yellow-skinned apple, the faded wildflowers. Your palms crave the plush of the rug they have in front of the fireplace. Hell, you can't even eat soondubu without thinking of the kind Mingyu's dad makes, with extra anchovies and green onion.

You don't think about what this means. There are ten days left in December and love poured from a full cup never seems to run out.

"Please let me carry some of those," Mingyu wheedles. "Oh my god. I'm like the worst boyfriend in the world."

"No, you are not." you make your way up to his doorstep, taking care to one-two step over the stray roots of one of the pear trees. It's second nature to you by now. "The moment I hand you a box, you are gonna start trying to figure out what it is."

He harumphs and plucks the big one off the top anyway, the one he knows you can't reach. "I didn't even know you were getting us gifts. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do. Who shows up to a holiday dinner emptyhanded?" You stop at the front door. "And stop shaking it," you laugh, using the tip of your boot to nudge his shin.

"Okay. Okay," he says, saccharine, adoring, before grabbing the doorknob. "Ready? Are you nervous? You shouldn't be nervous, right? It's not fancy or anything, if you were worried about that."

And that's the thing that wedges itself between your ribs. Mingyu and his whole family are like this. They love and worry and love again; it presses deep into you, fills you, and overflows.

So here you are, standing in your nicest dress and balancing a stack of gifts you hope will amount to something, never enough but something, to repay the people who you feel have loved you more than you deserve. It's all you really have. You do your best, and yet you know when that door opens, it'll all be washed away in a high-tide flurry of hugs and laughter and the familiar press of Bobpul's wet nose against your leg. They're just those kinds of people—they would be just as happy if you didn't bring anything at all, and somehow that makes you feel even more guilty.

"No, no," you wave him off. "I’m fine. Excited."

When Mingyu opens the door, everything goes just as you expected. His sister takes your coat, your gifts are whisked away to the tree (Aji has already figured out which one is his), and his parents descend upon you in a choking swell of warmth and charity.

We baked some fresh bread for your parents (—Thank you so much, but you really shouldn't have.). You look so beautiful in that color (—No, no, you flatter me too much.). Mingyu better be taking good care of you (—He is. He really, really is.).

The kitchen is gauzy with cinnamon, anise. They must be making their famous poached pears, which Mingyu remarks on, just like clockwork.

Dinner passes the same way. It bubbles over with affection, and you feel swallowed by an impossible yearning. This—a full table and a hand to hold underneath it—did you deserve this? And could you keep it?

For an instant, you picture yourself, years later, at this same seat. Mingyu would be fussing over the rice cakes, his apron still gingham because it reminds him of the day you two met. His parents, grayer but no less happy, bickering over the shade of tinsel on the tree. And the dogs, coiled at your feet like they are now. The vision laps at your bones like you're a raft in a storm.

You're pulled back into the moment when Mingyu squeezes your hand, grounding and insistent. "Mom asked how school was going. I told her I think you're basically the smartest person I know, and I’m pretty sure you're getting into whatever law school you want."

Mingyu's parents laugh, and they cut through their pears.

"Oh, sorry," you say. "Um."

Clink. Knife meets flesh, meets porcelain. Your cheeks are hot. You wanted to talk about anything other than yourself tonight. Clink.

"The top programs are a reach, but it'd be nice." clink. "I just want to get in somewhere."

"They’re all so far away," Mingyu's mom remarks. "So grown up. Any school will be lucky to have you. You'll get into all of them."

Clink.

"Or maybe you can stay here." You watch the prongs of Mingyu's father's fork disappear into the pear. "Keep us old folk company."

"No, no, I think Mingyu should take notes and get off his lazy ass," his sister says, teasing. "Going back to the city will be good for him."

"So you can, what, burn down the kitchen again?" Mingyu grumbles, and the whole table seems to boil over with laughter.

"We’re kidding," his mom tells you. "No matter where you go, I’m sure you'll do great. We can even throw you a party at the end of the year. For graduating."

Clink. Clink.

There's a horrible uneasiness writhing around in your stomach. It's pear and syrup and clove and a blackness, an anxious, selfish one that sucks up all the generosity of the evening and turns it into shame.

Mingyu's mom is talking about throwing you a graduation party, something you didn't even think to do for yourself, and here you are, thinking about the shaking moment you open your rejection letters and the lonely path you'll draw on your way back home.

It's ok. They missed out, Mingyu would say, pouring you a consolation drink, and then it would be over. You'd go home and sit on your bed and the trifold piece of paper would go round and round your head like it was in a washing machine.

Your heart, an inventory of tasks and goals and tally marks. Things you've taken and things you've owed. It's a soft, boneless excuse. Be grateful. Give them that, at least.

Clink.

Dessert ends before you can tell his family not to get their hopes up. Mingyu's mom sends you off with your loaf of bread and a kiss on the cheek, and the moment is gone.

"Gyu," you call out on the steps in front of the house.

There are words at the seam of your lips. You want to tell him you're sorry for worrying so much. For making the whole dinner about you and then very possibly having nothing to show for it when it matters. For the heaviness in your chest. Your cowardice. But none of it comes out.

Instead you watch Mingyu pull at the leaves of a pear tree, watching the frost-filigree they get at the end of the season. He looks over his shoulder and smiles at you, as if he's on the hazy cover of a magazine. His eyes bend so wonderfully at the corners when he looks at you, and it breaks your heart.

"You had fun, right?" he asks. "My parents like you a lot, you know. I think they really do."

But that's the problem, you want to say. You all do, and I have no idea why.

Some of the pears are beginning to rot now. You watch one drop off the vine, and it caves to the pavement like it was made of nothing at all.

v. wild barley (grows like weeds)

In March, you play house.

Your parents leave on a two week trip to see relatives, and Mingyu takes it upon himself to make sure you survive.

It's a kind, blinding charade.

(7 am, breakfast. You usually don't even eat breakfast, but you wake up to doenjang and a smile, one that presses itself to yours until you're wearing it on the long walk to school.)

(4 pm, the stretch between lunch and dinner. You're muddling through another useless club meeting when Mingyu sends you a picture of him in your mom's apron, making kimchi. Kiss the chef, he texts you. You promise to, over and over and over.)

It's good until it isn't.

That isn't to say that it's Mingyu's fault. In fact, it's never really Mingyu's fault, and that's the worst thing about your relationship. Sometimes you wish he was worse just so there was someone else to blame.

(1 am, a fridge-cold glass of water and a hand on the column of your spine. Can't sleep? He asks. Just had a weird dream, you say.

It's a lie. You're a liar.

You miss your parents and the first wave of acceptance letters comes out in two days. You're not like him. Sleep has never been a cure for the exhaustion you're feeling, and you have no way of telling him that however warm the bed is won't fix that.)

It's on a Thursday afternoon when you open your mailbox and see the tiny, thin envelope that you've been expecting for the past week. You don't need to open it to know what it says, and yet you do it anyway.

The sun is white, a ghost in the spring sky. The ocean bleeds into the overcast, the curly barley stands tall around your feet, and you let the worst letter you've gotten in your life fall upon your shoulders, word by terrible word.

Then you close it, pinching the seam shut, and draw up your brave face. Nothing left to do but be brave. You're convinced you've used up all the sadness in your relationship—spend in pennies and the well still runs dry. Mingyu will cup your cheek and call you darling, pouring into your emptying basin, holey and broken.

You see him now through the kitchen window, Venus in his clamshell of a kitchen. Galbijjim day, he had said this morning. Now, he waves at you, glittery with recognition.

Your throat feels like crumpled paper.

Mingyu smiles at you, hazy through the glass. Your cheeks hurt and your mouth is paper mache, but you smile back anyway.

///

The letters come one after another.

You know what the envelopes hold and yet you keep opening them. The little folder you keep stashed in your bottom drawer gets fatter every passing day because you can't help but revisit your misery, almost as if you need to remind yourself it exists.

Mingyu is none the wiser. Today he decides he'll put off pastry school for one more year. "It doesn't feel like the right time," he says, rolling a log of burdock kimbap up. "You know what I mean?"

No, you don't. You never really do.

You do know, however, that it would feel really fucking bad that, come the end of the year, to have nothing. All your friends would be going somewhere—even Yizhuo opened her acceptance to an MFA program in Shanghai yesterday—and you would be here, still, feet firmly planted in the muddy Jeju dirt like they always had been.

"Hey, don't look so disappointed." he jokes. "Don't tell me you're already trying to get rid of me."

You're not, you really aren't. But part of you wonders if it's just a race to the bottom. If you got rid of him before he decided he wanted to get rid of you, maybe it would hurt a lot less. One less letter for the folder.

"Never. But imagine if you picked up a French accent at pastry school. Then I’d consider it. Maybe."

You watch his knife rock back and forth on the cutting board as he cuts the kimbap.

"Some for you. And more for me," he says, in what you can only describe as someone attempting to speak French when they've never heard it before. "Unless you want more, mon cherie."

He brings the plates to the table, his grin nothing short of dizzying.

"I’m irresistible, huh? Still wanna leave me now?"

"You're gonna have to try a little harder than that, I think."

The words roll off your tongue, easily, traitorously.

You watch the kimbap disappear off of Mingyu's plate.

Going, going, gone.

///

Seogwipo is always dark at night, only kept alive by the glow of the moonlit sea.

You can't sleep. Again. And so you sit out on the steps in front of your house, letting the twilight wrap around you like a blanket.

You got your last letter back earlier today. You held your breath and tore it open like you would a birthday card with money in it.

Waitlisted.

It was surely better than a rejection, but some naive, child-eyed part of you thought that if you had just closed your eyes and hoped hard enough, things would work out the way you had planned. Tragically, it wasn't enough this time. You wanted and wanted and you thought maybe that would mean you'd come close to deserving it.

Your parents called today. After managing to sideline the issue of basically the rest of your entire life, they had finally cut through your sad little charade. No good news yet, huh?

No, but—

It was always like that with you. No, but it's not as bad as you think. No, but give me a chance. No, but I’m trying. I've been trying.

You wish things didn't come out of you so complicated. That you could be like Seohyun, who could go through school with her eyes closed and still graduate at the top of her class. Instead, you parade around your little failures, trying to convince people it all could mean something only if they squinted. See? It isn't so bad.

You think you're past the point of crying about it. Your stomach hurts, you're cold, and most of all, you just want to go back to bed. Plus, although Mingyu sleeps like a log, you think he's developed a sixth sense for whenever you get up too early.

Time to be brave, you've been telling yourself, although you don't know who you're pretending for anymore.

So you nudge the front door open—it's so old, it wails if you come at it with any more force—and, to your surprise, see the light above the kitchen sink turned on.

It's not very bright, but it's enough to make out Mingyu's broad silhouette, back turned to you as he makes a cup of tea. He's humming one of his made-up songs.

"Mingyu?"

"There you are," he says, turning around. "Just came out to check on you. And make you some tea."

The kettle whizzes. Your gut twists.

You still haven't said anything to Mingyu. To manage your own disappointment was one thing—you don't think you could handle another person's. And yet when he stands there, Pororo mug between his huge hands, you feel as if you are holding a knife, big and guilty and bloody.

"I-I'm fine, Gyu. Honest." you watch his expression flicker, unreadable in the persimmon lamplight. "Sorry you had to come out. It's chilly out here."

"You know, you can tell me what's going on. I won't judge."

No, no, no. This is the last conversation you wanted to have, with the last person you wanted to have it with.

You feel feverish. You think your hands are shaking.

"Mingyu, I swear—"

"Whatever it is, we can fix it. I know we can."

That almost makes you want to laugh if you didn't want to cry so bad. Of fucking course he would say that. Mingyu, who treats life like it's the watermelon trick he showed you on the outlook, wants to put a bandaid on this whole thing, as if that could come close to fixing it.

He'd tell you to curl up on the couch with a bad movie while he orders takeout. Kiss you on the top of the head. It's ok, baby. Just another bad day for the person who has the worst luck in the world. Another lump of problems for him to try and make better. If he isn't sick of you now, he sure would be soon enough.

"It’s okay," you say, steeling your voice. "It really isn't a big deal. Let's just go back to sleep."

You try to walk away, but the hardness in Mingyu's eyes roots you down to the tile.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Pushing me away," he swallows. "Like you always do. I know something's going on."

"I’m not, i just—"

"You just what? You can't help it?"

"No, I—"

"Because you like to know that you can? That you can say whatever and then watch me come back?" A fragmented, heavy silence thrums between you. He's looking at you like he's daring you to say something, anything. His gaze is black. "What am I good for if you can't tell me anything?"

There's that familiar, stinging pressure behind your eyes. You think you're crying, but you're not sure. Maybe you've been crying this whole time.

"Fine," you bite. Your blood feels like hot metal. "You really wanna know? I didn't get into law school. There. Happy now?"

Mingyu looks stung.

"W-why didn't you tell me?"

Because I thought you would stop loving me. I thought you would have finally had enough.

"Because it's not all about you, Mingyu."

The words, selfish and damning, burn your tongue. Mingyu is right. This is what you always do. You fuck up and then make everyone else hurt for it.

"I'm sorry," Mingyu says. His voice doesn't sound like his. Instead, the words seem to hang in the air, trembling and holding their breath, waiting for an apology you can't give yet. "I shouldn't have—"

"It's ok." You swallow hard, and it hurts. "Let's just go back to bed."

It's getting colder and colder. You think there's a little hole in your sock, right above the cat's whiskers.

Mingyu doesn't reach for you as he passes to get to the hallway. Maybe he doesn't know how to anymore.

The Pororo cup is left abandoned on the counter. You walk over and read the label on the tea bag—barley, because you have class tomorrow morning.

You pick it up, let the ceramic buzz between your hands with whatever warmth it has left, and hold it to your lips.

It's cold now, but all you can think to do is drink it. Erase all the evidence that tonight ever happened, and maybe it'll be nothing more than a bad dream in the morning.

There's honey at the bottom of the cup. It sears the back of your throat, but you drink until there's nothing left.

vi. the peach blossoms (without fail, bloom every August. I miss you.)

You broke up the next day.

Even now, you remember what happened. You had woken up early that morning to make your own breakfast because you couldn't allow Mingyu to give you any more of himself. Your hands could only hold, shatter, so much.

"Mingyu, I think we should...." You looked at the zigzags of jam on your toast, angry and uneven. "I think we should stop seeing each other. For now," you had added, as if that made anything better at all.

Somehow that seemed more merciful at the time. Really, you think it just showed your cowardice. If you were going to break his heart, you might as well have gone all the way the first time.

Maybe it was a good thing that Mingyu saw right through you. He always did.

"So that's it, huh? You're just gonna give up on us?"

"No, I just...need some time."

"How long?" he asked. "Be honest with me. Because you know I’ll wait."

"I don't know." You couldn't meet his gaze. His eyes reached and reached over that kitchen table and you denied him even that.

"Don't you always know?" he asked, pitifully, desperately. "Don't you want this to work?"

And you did. In fact, you don't think you had ever wanted anything more, and it was that that scared you. You had already lost law school—you couldn't let the only other thing in your life let you go. So you pulled the trigger first.

"We should just end things. I'm sorry. I can't give you what you need."

He packed his bag within the hour, and you think everything, from then on, froze inside you. You didn't move from your seat until your parents came home from the airport later that day and asked why there were two plates of toast still on the table.

You think you knew, someplace, inevitably, this would happen. You, who only knew hunger, had reached deep inside Mingyu and rooted out a love you didn't think you were worthy of having. And yet you still ate from the vine, bite after guilty bite, until you couldn't take any more. The only time he asked you for anything at all, you couldn't give it to him—such was the irony of your relationship.

Maybe you were doomed the moment the first strawberry hit your tongue, just like you had said, all that time ago.

About a month later, you got another letter in the mail. Chungnam National University Law School, it read. This one was fat, in one of those brown envelopes lined with bubble wrap. Somehow, miraculously, that position on the waitlist had turned into an acceptance. You held the package to your chest and cried, loud and with abandon, as if taking a deep breath after almost drowning.

Ironically, the first person you wanted to tell was Mingyu. But the good news you needed to save your relationship came too little, too late. Perhaps that meant it had no legs to stand on in the first place, but that didn't stop you from missing it. Instead, you told Yizhuo, and she drove you to Jeju City and treated you to dinner. "You should just call him," she had said. "Hey, don't look at me like that. He'd probably pick up on the first ring."

The city is swathed in August's crimson summer—peach season. The narrow streets are lined with peach trees, the fruits glowing like fat drops of sunlight. All you do these days is plan for your eventual move to Daejeon and the start of a life that seems newer and shinier than your own. But surrounded by the cicada song, the velvet treeline, the rain-soaked asphalt, somehow you think you're going to miss Seogwipo more than you think.

(Fickle, fickle heart. You always needed things to be taken away to really be able to appreciate them. Somehow, all that wanting had boiled down to something more satisfying, more filling.)

You wonder how Mingyu is. Now that you think about it, he seems just as much a part of Seogwipo as the farm he lives on. It was only last summer when you had first met him in the field, set on fire by the strawberry harvest. You think about him now, peddling around that ridiculous wicker basket to make jam. Maybe talking to another pretty girl, someone as naive, cruel as you had been.

Not long ago, you considered calling him to apologize, but that'd just be another thing to be selfish about. A little time and some warm weather, and I’m calling to finally wash my hands of you. That's what it would sound like, no matter what you said. Still, it didn't stop you from thinking of him, every flower, every season.

"You know, I always wanted to grow peach trees. But I think we've always been a pear kind of family."

Mingyu. If a voice could cut through air, it'd be his.

You whip around, half-believing you're hearing things. Certainly that would be easier, but you're learning that there are some things you can't run from.

And like a picture, Mingyu stands tall, golden, framed by the peach blossoms. Not a thing about him has changed. Not even the way he looks at you.

"Mingyu," you breathe. Unfortunately, none of the times you replayed your last conversation with him help you come up with something to say, because in none of them did you anticipate him coming back. "W-what are you doing here?"

"I live here, silly."

"No way," you reply, scrambling. "Crazy, because I live here too."

You both laugh nervously, a silly, bubbly thing, but you feel like you're going to throw up. It's only now that you realize you're kind of on the walk to his place. Seogwipo has never had places to hide.

"I...um." You try and disentangle the guilt from the nostalgia from the scent of the peaches and the warmth on his face. They all look the same. You missed him. "I got into law school. In Daejeon."

"I heard," he says. "Not surprised at all. I always knew you would."

"Thank you. I mean it." The cicadas buzz around you, as if they know they have an important silence to fill. "You're staying in town, right?"

"Actually, I decided to apply to culinary school. It finally felt right, you know? I'm leaving at the end of the summer, but it's just in Jeju City. I couldn't leave the island."

"Thank goodness. I don't know if you could tell, but I kind of always hoped you would. I don't think I’ve ever eaten better food." Your voice wobbles, but it gets there. "You'll do amazing."

Then time stretches and forces you to recognize, reckon with, the moment you're in. You wonder if he feels the same way you do—bruised, overripe. If there's still a space in his heart for you.

Deep breath. Life only gives you so many chances.

"Mingyu, I’m sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't make us work. You deserved better." Saying it feels like peeling the skin of your heart back. There's still a palpable distance between the two of you—you think that had always been there—but it feels more comfortable in a way it never did before.

"Don’t apologize," he says, easily, as he always does. Everything seems to flow off him like water, and you think that's the part of him you loved the most because it was the one thing you couldn't touch. "We loved each other. I think that much was true."

A jasmine breeze curls through the trees, sending the blossoms fluttering around you like ink in water. The very first time you met Mingyu, you thought the image of him, haloed with the sunset, was the one you wanted to keep forever. And yet, somehow, you don't think you'll ever forget the way he looks right now.

"Will you ever come back to Seogwipo?" you ask.

"I was gonna ask you the same thing—you were always the one who wanted to get out of here." He grins, ear to ear. "Of course I'm coming back. There's nowhere I'd rather be."

"Yeah. I think I know what you mean."

The sea, the clay dirt, Mingyu. Even yourself, clumsy and care-worn. You think, somewhere along the line, you forgot how to love. But you're learning—one step at a time.

"Friends," you say. "Let's be friends. If you'll let me."

"Thought you would never ask. Gladly. Always." The space between you seizes, like it's holding in a breath. Maybe one day, you'll think of closing it once more, but you like where you stand now. You can admire him better from a distance, without your fingerprints all over him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, something he does before he gets ready to leave. But before he does—"I'll see you soon, okay? You better come back. Promise me."

For the first time, you see the honesty in his eyes and you really, truly believe him.

"Promise."

The Seogwipo sun is high and red in the sky when you wave Mingyu goodbye. It feels like you're coming to an end of a long summer, but you're not afraid. You watch the wind dance through the peach blossoms, their branches never searching, never wanting, and you finally feel as if you've arrived home.

#literally on my hands and knees begging for the tags to work #mine #mingyu #mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #mingyu angst #seventeen angst #mingyu imagines

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bel1ewrites · 6 days

Text

Booth Five (Sam Carpenter x Reader)

A/n: Here's another one, love you guys.

WC: Idfk

Warnings: smut, top!Sam, bossyish!reader, slightly public sex, thigh riding, more thigh riding, Sam in fancy work clothes

NUMEROUS visits to her favorite place after a long, hard day of work had forced Sam's ears to grow accustomed to the deafening thunder of sensual music that pumped through the hazy club.

Ever since the very first week of her new life in the the city, Sam had made sure to become somewhat of a regular at The Vanity. She made sure to commit each and every worker to memory, even went out of her way to tip a little extra every visit. It was just who she was. She loved to pay attention, and she loved to be aware.

She did not, however, love to be confused.

From her spot on a cracked leather couch, she sits with a drink in her hand, the top few buttons of her shirt undone, and she watches you move. The colored lights run over your body like waves on a shore, black lace the only thing stopping you from being fully exposed. It's euphoric, the way you move. It's familiar and free, icy hot. Sam takes a pull of her drink.

------

"You've got a private booking, honey," your boss calls as you fuss with your hair in the vanity mirror. She's a firecracker of a woman, short and curvy. The voice of a smoker mixed with the tone of a caretaker. "Booth five."

It hadn't taken you long to understand the inner workings of your place of employment. Annoyingly, nothing was ever straightforward, and booth five was not an exception to this rule.

You'd learned that an hour with one of the dancers in booth five had to cost more than your rent; which, albeit, didn't say much. It was the coldest spot in the whole club, nothing but dark red walls and a single black couch, and you couldn't really tell if it was the air vents or the dark aura that made you shiver when you passed it.

This is the first time anyone has requested for you to be in there.

"Um," your voice is steady as you turn around, smoothing a hand over non existent fabric out of nervous habit, "Is it cool if Amber takes this one?"

A beat passes.

"The patron requested for it to be you." If she notices the way your heart drops, she doesn't mention it. Only smiles crookedly and nods, effectively dismissing you from the comfort of being alone.

The beat of your heart doubles that of the music as you walk out of the room, a little unsure and a little irratic. Your heels feel too tall, your chest too tight.

Dancing was different. Dancing didn't bring forth any unwanted social interaction. Sure, there was the occasional creep, but they never really bothered you much when you could tune them out with thoughts of being beneath your covers with hot Chinese food and your cat curled up on your lap.

This was intimate. This was private and there was really no practical way of getting out of it.

You're sure you're going to pass out when you reach the outside of the booth, nothing but a thin curtain separating you from the unknown man waiting inside. Is he married? Is he demanding? Does he expect anything more than a lap dance from you?

A job is a job, you remind yourself, breathing deeply once, twice before stepping inside.

The air is charged. Static pulses around you. So its a woman. There's a woman a few feet in front of you.

She sits there, back against the couch and legs spread like she owns the place, shirt slightly unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up. She's tall and dark and has the look of someone who's grown accustomed to getting what she wants one way or another. Her eyes drop down your figure, lingering at certain parts unabashedly. They run over every inch of you slowly, methodically. She wets her lips.

"Hello." She speaks. Her voice is fire and ice. It's raspy and smooth, dark and calculated and so insanely perfect that it makes your ears ring a little.

It's your turn to say something, anything, really. You really do try to greet her, even open your mouth for a second before promptly shutting it again.

"It's reasonable to expect a greeting after one says hello, is it not?" Her brow raises. It seems that all it takes for you to gain your composure is a little confrontation.

You close the still open door and take a step forward, trapping a palpable tension in the room along with the sound of muffled music.

"Sorry about that, I just wasn't expecting... this." Amusement flashes in her eyes. "You weren't expecting a woman?" She questions, patting the space beside her and signaling for you to sit.

There's room for her to scoot over and create a comfortable amount of space between your bodies, but that doesn't seem like something she wants.

Your body moves without your mind's consent, "no, I wasnt," you answer, taking your seat.

She hums, the scent of her cologne wafting over you like a drug. "Disappointed?" she asks, bottom lip puffed out in a teasing pout.

The couch is cold beneath you, but that doesn't stop the fire from rushing to your cheeks. Nervously, you run a hand through your hair and smile, trying not to let her undeniable smoothness get in the way of yours.

"Oh, hardly," you let out a raspy huff of laughter and you can't help the way your eyes flit to her mouth.

A smirk tugs at her lips, pout dropping entirely. "Well aren't you fiery."

"Why did you ask for me?" you pry, gaze hooded.

"Why wouldn't I?" She questions, tone serious and eyes on yours. The air feels thick around you.

She truly is a beautiful woman, silky black hair and dark eyes surrounded by thick lashes. The muscles in her arms pull at the fabric surrounding them. You suddenly feel underdressed.

"Amber normally takes this booth," you offer truthfully.

Amber was a favorite amongst the club. She was all dark smiles and sinful moves. You appreciated her for her wit and ability to seem completely calm at all times; a skill you wish you had.

Her hand drops to the bare flesh of your upper thigh. "I didn't ask for Amber, did I?"

Sam had interacted with the girl numerous times. She'd been working here since that first night and was undoubtedly beautiful, but she didn't feel drawn to Amber like she did you. Her body didn't light up when she saw her like it did with you. You were different.

"What's your name?" you pry.

The heat of her gaze along with that of her palm on your thigh sends jolts down your spine. You can see the muscles in her jaw move as she grits her teeth, swallowing hard.

"Sam."

"Why did you ask for me?" you ask again, eyes on her dark and blown pupils. Your own gaze is hooded, lashes low as you look up at her.

She smiles wolfishly, teeth flashing. "Can't a girl want to get to know someone?"

"Well," you look down at her mouth, "I guess when you put it that way."

The air around you seemed to grow thick, tension lacing through it. Her aura was intoxicating, the way it consumed you so quickly, made you want to give her everything.

She hums, tightening her grip on your thigh, "For such a pretty girl you sure do ask a lot of questions," the words fall from her lips, tone low and dripping with want.

"Yeah?" You smile.

"Yes." She shoots back.

"Really?"

She ignores you, looking at you so intensely you almost think you did something wrong.

"Can I kiss you?"

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly but you can't help it. When she kisses you it's softer than you expect it to be, like she's testing the waters. Her hand runs up your thighs, teases its way to your hip and squeezes the flesh there. It makes your head spin and your heart race, heat settling in your lower stomach.

Teeth graze your bottom lip as she pulls back a little. "Come here," The woman breathes into your mouth. She guides you onto her lap, smiling and leaning further into the couch. You have to arch forward to kiss her again, something that isn't an accident on her part.

Hands grip at your waist, your hips, your ass. She's deepening the kiss like it's pushing life into her and she can't get enough. it's a needy, panting scene as her lips and tongue slide over yours.

She kisses you like you've never been kissed, skill and need intertwining into a moment that makes you dizzy. She's all soft lips and rough teeth, nipping and sucking and soothing.

The musky scent of her cologne messes with your head and you can't stop your hips from moving, seeking pressure to tame the heat inside of you.

She trails her lips down to your neck, hand pulling at your hair to tilt your head back. "That's it, baby," Sam coos, teeth scraping under your jaw, "use my leg." She shifts the two of you before you can do anything, moving you to straddle her thigh. Her lips latch onto a sensitive spot on your neck as she pushes her leg up and into you.

"Fuck," you gasp out, gripping her shoulders and arching further into her. The position gives her mouth easy access to your chest.

The fabric of your lace bra is easy for her to move to the side, baring your hardened nipple to her.

"You're so pretty," She groans beneath you, pressing her tongue to the sensitive bud.

Pleasure shoots through you and you suppress a moan at the feeling of her skilled mouth against you. She's pulling at your hips, guiding their movements as you rock into her. It's hard to remember where you are, how any of your coworkers can walk in if they want to. All you can think about is how muscular her leg is through her pants as it presses into your clit in just the right way, how strong her hands are as they grasp at your body like it's her lifeline.

It's almost embarrassing, how worked up this stranger has you. She's touching you like she knows your body, and you can feel your wetness soaking through your fabric. Truth be told, you'd been wet since she first spoke, voice smokey and addicting.

She sucks your tit into her mouth, tongue lashing at your nipple and you have to push her away before you get loud. She protests as you send her back to leaning against the couch, but ultimately keeps quiet when you bury your head in her neck to muffle your moans.

"That's it, just like that pretty girl," She whispers in your ear while you grind against her, leg rubbing your clit just right each time. "You sound so pretty."

Needy whines and sighs escape your throat, lips pressed to her neck while she pushes her thigh harder into you. She hums at the feeling, sound deep and rasped.

You would be disappointed in yourself for being so close this fast, and over the clothes no less, but you can't feel anything other than the pressure in your lower stomach building and building.

"It's so good," you admit breathily into her neck, nails digging into her upper back through the button up. You can feel the firm muscles there, and you can't help but picture them rippling as she fucks you.

"What's so good?" she asks like she already knows the answer.

Her voice sends you spiraling further, the almost taunting tone laced in her words. "The way you touch me."

She laughs lowly, "Oh? You close?" Her head turns as she presses a kiss to your cheek, you pull your head out of her neck and look her in the eyes.

"Use your hand," you order, grabbing her right wrist and dragging it towards where you want it.

The look that washes over her almost pushes you over the edge, the way she listens to your command and presses her fingertips to your clit.

The texture of the fabric rubbing against you feels overwhelmingly good, tension building in your body. You watch her with your eyes half open and your lips parted, watch as she drinks you in with her eyes.

Everything about her is skilled, the way she moves her hand in hard circles and pushes into you. Her free hand wraps around your neck gently and pushes you back a bit so that she can see more of you, your free nipple and the blush spreading across your chest. The action combined with the slight pressure on your neck makes your eyes roll back, a curse falling from your lips.

"Faster. Fuck, Sam," you tilt your head back and move with her hand, "I'm so close."

She listens so good, movements speeding up just how you asked. It feels so good, the warmth spreading throughout your body and coiling in your stomach. You're panting needily, orgasm rushing towards you, its presence overbearing.

"So bossy," She teases.

A slew of words grace your lips, body falling forward to mask the volume of your moans in the crook of her neck. She moves with precision, never once slowing down or faltering.

"Come on, baby," She urges, "cum on my hand."

It only takes a few more movements before you're doing just that, body tensing up and shuddering above her. The orgasm hits you like a bullet train and drags itself out, lasting longer than any other you'd ever had.

The feeling of her arm around your back, fingers still moving on your clit to guide you through makes it last longer. Her voice is in your head, grounding you as she whispers.

Her hand is gone from your clit and her neck is sweaty from the combined body heat by the time you pull back, shaking slightly. The reality of the situation doesn't hit you, just lingers in the back of your mind as you look at her.

"Hi," you say, hair sticking to your forehead slightly.

"Hi," She smiles sweetly back. "Sorry about the hickeys, I got a little carried away."

Your nipple hurts a little from the intensity with which she sucked at it, and you know your neck is riddled with marks.

"It's okay," you smile back, "but you'll have to be the one to let my boss know where they came from."

Her smile turns sheepish, though you can tell she doesn't regret leaving them. "Only if I can see you again," her arms tighten around your waist, lips brushing yours.

"Deal."

#sam carpenter #wlw #lesbian #melissa barrera #samantha carpenter x reader #scream #screamxi #sam carpenter x reader #sam carpenter x female reader

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cosmo-shell · 2 months

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Nothing like drawing sapphics on your birthday lol

#jellystone #jellystone!#hanna barbera #top cat #fancy fancy #top cat fancy fancy #super snooper #snooper #fancy x snooper #snooper x fancy #ship art #my artwork

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specialagentlokitty · 28 days

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Bau x reader - family time

something where there’s a case in readers hometown, and readers mom invited the team over for dinner ?? - Anon💜

It was a small community, so it didn’t surprise you when your mom texted you a few hours after your arrival demanding that you go to her house.

With a sigh, you messaged her back and explained that you couldn’t because you were working, but you’d come by after the case was finished.

After deciding that was too long your mom came down to the station you were working at.

“(Y/N) (L/N)!”

The whole team shot up and spun around, so did you.

“Mom?! Seriously?!”

She grinned from ear to ear, and you laughed softly, walking over to hug your mom, and she held you tightly in her arms.

“I can’t believe you wouldn’t come see your mother.” She lightly scolded.

“Come on mom, I’m working I already told you this. How come you’re here? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

Pulling away, you led your mom to your chair and sat her down, then leant against the table as you looked down at her.

“You know you shouldn’t be walking so far with that hip of yours mom.”

“Ah my hip is fine, I can still walk.”

You sighed.

“Your doctor told you to take it easy, remember what happened last time? You couldn’t get out of bed for two days without help.”

Your mom waved her hand dismissively at you, then turned to the rest of the team who were watching with curiosity and amusement.

“Who are your friends?”

You smiled at her, letting them all introduce themselves to your mom.

“Wow, (Y/N) never said their mom was such a beautiful woman.” Derek grinned.

“Dude! That’s my mom!”

They laughed, and you huffed a little, turning to Reid who had gone back to working.

While JJ and Emily were asking your mom for any embarrassing stories about you, you walked to your friend, standing next to him.

“What’s up?” You asked.

“I just had a thought. What’s in this area?” He asked.

You looked at the map, and you grabbed his pen, drawing some things on it before gesturing to it.

“This bit is part of the school, just after the river that part is empty, abandoned, I think it used to be a processing facility or something like that, a lot of local kids go exploring in there, sometimes graffiti and stuff that’s about it.”

Reid nodded his head, and he looked over at you.

“I need to go to the first crime scene, will you come with you.”

“Of course.”

Grabbing your jacket, you pulled it on whim Reid spoke to Hotch and you walked over to your mom, kissing the top of her head.

“I need to go, but I’ll come see you after the case, love you.”

“I love you too, be safe.”

You nodded, jogging to meet Reid by the front door.

When the case came to an end, you messaged your mom that you’d be coming after, and she asked you to bring your whole team.

You laughed a little, putting your phone in your pocket.

“Hey, do you guys fancy a little trip?”

“Where to?” Hotch asked.

“Mom wants you all to come for dinner before going, I don’t think we get a choice in this.”

The laughed but eagerly agreed.

Of course the first place Emily, JJ and Derek went was to go and find your room, trying to see if it had changed or not.

You mom had reached out to Rossi to get him to invite Garcia, so it wasn’t long until she arrived.

“Oh I can’t believe it’s your home! Where’s the baby pictures?!” She grinned.

“No!” You rushed you.

Quickly taking the folder from your mom, you held it closely.

“Aw come on! Let us see!” Garcia pleaded.

“Nope.”

“Aw darling you may have been a fat baby but you were still adorable.”

“I wasn’t a fat baby…” you huffed.

“Oh my god were you a fat baby?” Emily asked.

“No!”

Your mom lightly hit your arm.

“Yes you were, let them see.”

She took the folder back from you and you huffed, sitting down on the couch as you stroked the cat that came to cuddle with you.

Picking him up, you held him in your lap.

“I can’t believe you still have fluffy, he’s so old now.” You mumbled.

The old cat purred a little bit.

“Oh my god look at your little grin!” JJ laughed.

She turned the folder to you so you could see the phone of you covered in dirt just grinning from ear to ear.

They were having the time of their lives learning about you and what you did when you were little.

Rossi and Hotch both back back, having been given a box by your mom and set it on the table.

Rossi opened it to see your macaroni you made in second grade.

“A little artist I see.” He chuckled.

Hotch knelt down, taking a few class photos out and paintings.

“Honestly I was expecting more skateboarding or something along those lines.”

“Hotch I was four, the only thing I was interested in was eating dirt and collecting stones.”

They all laughed, and your mom came back announcing dinner was ready, so you went to help her set the table up.

You enjoyed this, just your team and your mom all together, all the people you loved under one roof

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x you #criminal minds imagine

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storiesofsvu · 2 months

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City Views

Rafael Barba x reader warnings: language, smut, oral, a form of cock warming i guess? lol, dirty talking, cum shot. requested: yup. can't remember who lol. Havent written for Barba or watched his eps in a while so hopefully this isn’t ooc.

Rafael was in his home office later than he had originally planned, one thing simply turned into another and another and another, the next thing he knew the small pile of paperwork had become a mountain. Normally this was just a minor frustration, but tonight was supposed to be date night.

When you’d first gotten home you’d checked in, leaving a kiss on the top of his head, asking how long he thought he would be. An hour and a half later and you were back, sliding a glass of scotch onto his desk with a small sigh and a raised brow that silently asked when he was going to close up shop. An hour after that you’d given up hope for stage one, wandering back into the office to place a take out container on his desk, making sure that he at least ate. Every intrusion pulled his focus, causing him to lose his train of thought and have to start all over again, even if you didn’t actually say anything. Which is why when the door creaked open again he let out a huff, his pen lifting up off the paper as he started to speak.

“If you interrupt me one more time so help me god I will—” He completely forgot how to speak when his eyes moved from the paper in front of him to the doorway and his mouth practically started to water.

You’d changed out of your clothes, a simple yet stunning black lace three piece set hugging your skin perfectly, adorned with light pink flowers, though the kicker was Rafael’s favourite shirt draped over your shoulders, hanging open in the front so he could get a glimpse of the lingerie. You let out a small chuckle, sauntering through the room up to the side of his desk and your fingers curled under his chin, closing his mouth.

“Cat got your tongue?”

“I...” he started, gulping as his eye swept over your body, lingering on the swell of your chest and you smiled.

“See something you like?”

“I most certainly do.” His hands came to grip your hips, tugging you towards him as they slid up your sides, spreading warmth across your skin, “querida you look amazing, but you know I have to finish this.”

“No one said anything about you stopping.” With a smirk you sunk to your knees, hands spreading his legs so you could settle between them, “I’m sure I can find something to keep me occupied.”

“Christ.” Muttering, he shook his head at you, nudging you backwards slightly so his chair was closer to the desk and he picked up his pen again.

Only a moment later your hands were softly rubbing up and down the inside of his thighs, squeezing every so often and every time he glanced down he had a perfect view of your cleavage, pushed up by the fancy bra, your nipples nearly peaking over the top of the lace. He took a deep breath, feeling himself twitching in his pants already and did his best to focus on the work in front of him.

Your hands continued to rub up his thighs, one of them coming even higher to palm at his cock through his pants and he let out a groan, unable to control his hips rocking toward the touch. You continued to grope him, smirking at the feeling of him starting to get hard, knowing just what kind of an affect you were having on him. Your hands reached up to his belt, undoing the buckle before slipping into his pants, pulling them down a few inches to pull his cock out and he let out a hiss.

You spat into your hand before wrapping it around him, beginning to lazily stroke, letting out a needy whine as he got hard, twitching in your hand. Above you he let out a soft sigh, his eyes briefly closing, fingers clenching around his pen before he attempted to shake out of it.

“You like that?” You asked, a smirk in your voice as your hand tightened around him, squeezing ever so softly and a drop of pre-cum began to leak out of his tip.

“You know I do.” He groaned, hips rocking toward you, thrusting his cock further into your hand.

“If this is too distracting I could always just play with myself…” You teased, your hand leaving him and trailing down your own body. You barely got it to the waist of your panties before Rafael let out a low growl, catching your other wrist in his hand, tugging you closer to him.

“Uh-uh.” He shook his head, “you know better than that.”

Grinning, you leant forward on your knees, your hands braced on his upper thighs and your tongue darted out to wet your lips, “you want me to suck your cock while you work? Keep you nice and warm and hard until you’re finally ready to fuck me?” You licked a broad stripe up from the base of his cock to the tip, flicking it, lapping up the pre-cum as you did so and he twitched again, “stretch my pussy out, fuck me nice and deep, filling me up completely.” Your words were accented by kisses along his shaft, sucking at the sensitive skin, “I’m wet already just thinking about it.”

Rafael’s free hand tangled into your hair, redirecting your mouth so he could drive his cock between your lips, “then get to work.”

“Mmmhm.” You mumbled back, slowing sinking down on his cock until the tip of it hit the back of your throat.

You held yourself there, tongue drawing patterns across his cock, tracing the veins as you moaned around him, sucking him deeper into your mouth, feeling him throb. You hollowed your cheeks, relaxing your throat so he could press even further into you. You could hear the scratching of his pen as he scribbled through whatever he was working on, but you could also hear that his breathing was getting laboured. Rafael began to shift uncomfortably in his seat, your mouth incredibly warm and wet around him, holding him there, tickling at his cock with your tongue. He twitched inside your mouth, letting out a quiet swear when you moaned around him, the vibration enough to make him stall in his words. You could feel the drool pooling in the corners of your mouth beginning to leak out of your lips, smearing around the base of his cock and you finally pulled off, taking a gasping breath.

Your hand replaced your lips, stroking up and down his length while your mouth moved down to his balls, sucking them into your mouth, your tongue toying with them. A groan left your lips as you rubbed your thighs together, pussy pulsing around nothing, eager for Rafael’s cock to fill you up. Your mouth slipped off his balls, a string of drool connecting the base of his cock to your lips and you glanced up at him with a smirk when you felt his eyes on you.

“God you’re so pretty like this…” he mumbled, his hand caressing your cheek gently, thumb tracing the outline of your lips and you were quick to suck it into your mouth. “Such a good little cock sucker.”

He pulled his thumb out of your mouth, causing you to chase after it, your lips landing on the head of his cock when he wrapped his hand around it, redirecting it into your mouth before his hand moved to the back of your head. He guided you up and down, pressing ever so lightly on your head when you deep throated him, setting up a languid pace for you to bob on his cock. As relaxed as you were, you weren’t afraid to start to make a bit of a mess, spit slicking his length, coating your lips, smearing across the crotch of his pants, a bit of drool dripping down your chin.

Rafael could feel his heart racing in his chest, the sounds coming from below him were driving him absolutely wild and he knew by the way you’d began rocking your hips in time with your bobbing that your pussy was completely drenched. His writing was getting sloppier and he knew he was going to have trouble reading it in the morning, but the thoughts of work were slowing slipping from his mind as the only thing he began to worry about was the feeling of you choking on his dick. He managed another sentence before tossing down his pen and letting out a louder moan, leaning back into his chair and closing his eyes.

You pulled off his cock with a lewd pop, a small giggle escaping your wet lips, “finished?”

“Something else came up.” He muttered, smirking down at you and you chuckled, still stroking him.

“Certainly did.” With a wink you wrapped your lips around his cock again, picking up the pace as his hips began to rock up to meet your mouth, hands tangling into your hair again. You took him as deep as you could, hands massaging his balls and he grunted, throbbing in your mouth before he finally pulled you off, leaving you panting.

“If you keep that up you’re gonna make me come.” His hands slid down to your shoulders, yanking you up and into his lap, where his hand found its way between your legs, cupping your heat, “and considering you’ve ruined these panties it would be a waste to not feel that gorgeous pussy.”

With a quick smirk Rafael leant in, catching your lips in a kiss, groaning over the taste of himself in your mouth as your tongues quickly started rolling against one another. His arms wound around you, holding you close as he stood up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. You couldn’t resist grinding your clothed cunt against his hard on, your panties dampening from both sides now. He crossed the room to the couch across from his desk, gently dropping you onto it.

“Why don’t you get rid of that excuse for underwear?” He asked, his hands making quick work of his shirt, letting it drop to the floor behind him.

Your hands reached up behind your, un clasping the bra and tossing it aside, “you could just pull them to the side?”

“God you’re feeling dirty tonight, aren’t you?” Rafael grinned, stepping toward you so he could cup your tits, thumbs brushing over your nipples and you let out a happy sigh that morphed into a moan when he pinched at them, gripping the flesh harder.

“Got bored,” your eyes fluttered shut as he continued to play with your tits, “watched a few videos…”

“And were you touching yourself?”

“Only over my panties.”

“Good girl.” His hands left your chest, one cupping your cheek to direct you into a kiss before he shoved his pants down, “now get up on your knees and turn around.”

You eagerly did as asked, bracing yourself on the back of the couch and sticking your ass out as Rafael dimmed the lights in the room, making the view through the darkened window come a little more to life. Stories above the city streets below, the skyline full of sparkling lights, night sky twinkling with stars, you were high enough there was a very little chance of anyone seeing you, but the thrill was still there and sent shivers through your body. Rafael’s hands soothed up your thighs, pulling your cheeks apart before his fingers slipped into your thong, pulling it off to the side to expose your glistening pussy.

“God you’re just fucking drenched.” He muttered, bending over you to swipe his tongue through your folds, pulling a gasp from your lips as he sucked on your cunt for a moment, growling at the taste of your juices. “Always so sweet querida.” Two of his fingers easily sunk into you and you couldn’t help but push back onto them, whining as your eyes fluttered shut and he chuckled, “and already ready for me… you really are needy tonight.”

“Raf.. please…” Your head fell forward onto your forearms, practically panting in need as his fingers danced across your body, a feather light touch on your skin that left fire in its tracks.

“God you’re so hot when you beg.” He replied, hand wrapping around his cock as he guided it your leaking cunt.

He rutted against you, cock sliding through your folds, smearing your juices all along it and you let out a long moan, body shaking as wetness leaked out of you. It wasn’t a want, it was a need, your pussy absolutely throbbing, your clit swollen and sensitive, twitching every time his dick rubbed past it. He finally gave you some relief when the head of his cock nudged at your cunt and your body relaxed, a sigh escaping your lips as he sunk deeper into your heat inch by inch.

“Fuck…” You groaned, pushing your hips back toward him, making sure every inch of him was fully seated inside your throbbing cunt.

“You’re squeezing me so tight already, shit.”

Rafael braced his hands on your hips, starting to pull his cock out until only the tip was left inside you before he sunk all the way in again, moaning right along with you. You were perfect, pussy fitting him like a fucking glove, pulsing around him like heaven, just the way he craved, the way he loved. He couldn’t help but set a steady pace, knowing you were both so riled up already he didn’t want to waste time but also didn’t want to come instantly. Each thrust of his hips were met with a little squeak or whimper from you, the harder ones earned moans, soft swears, his name tumbling from your lips like a sweet prayer.

“S-so good.” You groaned out, gripping the back of the couch harder when Rafael circled his hips, cock hitting every spot of your walls.

“Take me so well.” He husked, picking up the pace, a hand sliding up your back until it tangled into the roots of your hair, tugging your head up so you could see the faint reflection in the dark window.

“Fuck…”

“Like that don’t you?” He chuckled, “bet you wish they could see how you take my cock, hmm? How messy this little pussy is? God you’re dripping down your thighs that’s how much you like the way I fuck you, isn’t it?”

“Mmhmm.” You managed out, a strangled moan breaking free from your throat, “ ‘m close…so close…”

Rafael knew what you were begging for, and he knew he wasn’t far behind you, hand winding around you to find your clit, pads of his fingers rubbing at it, pressing harder with each circle. You were slick with wetness, clit hard and throbbing under his fingers while your pussy pulsed around his cock, juices coating it, squelching noises and the sound of skin on skin bouncing off the walls of the room.

“Come for me querida, come all over my cock.” He grunted, feeling himself throb inside you, his hips beginning to lose their rhythm, stuttering against yours as you cried out, pussy clamping down around him as your juices dribbled out, leaking down your thighs.

“Fuck!”

It was only a second later that he groaned, his hips hitting yours, cock deep inside your cunt as his cum shot out of him, coating your walls and you let out another whimper at the sensation. He squeezed at the base of his dick, making sure to fill you with as much cum as he could, your pussy milking every last drop out of him. He dropped his torso over yours, holding you flush to him as he panted, messy kisses pressed to the back of your shoulders as your bodies trembled together.

“Oh my god…” He mumbled and you laughed softly, shifting to collapse to the couch underneath him, whining when his cock slipped from you.

“Still mad about the interrupting?” You asked with a smirk as you rolled over and it was his turn to laugh.

“Absolutely not.”

_____________________

@fandom-princess-forevermore @thatesqcrush @alexusonfire @bisexualcrowley @detective-giggles @plaidbooks @averyhotchner @beccabarba @permanentlydizzy @prurientpuddlejumper @letsdisneythings @neely1177 @mrsrafaelbarba @lv7867 @bisexual-dreamer02 @skittle479 @amelia-song-pond @madamsnape921 @altsvu @svulife-rl @caracalwithchips @mysticfalls01 @ssaic-jareau @barbasbodaciousbeard @alwaysachorusgirl @beardedbarba @michael-rooker @rafivadafreddy @darkheart-brightsmile @australiancarisi @ex-uallyactive @lawandorderuswnt @lustvolle-liebe @sia2raw @narvaldetierra @lannister-slings-and-arrows @poisonedcrowns @anlin2058 @xoxabs88xox @momlifebehard @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @godard-muse @somethingimaginative17 @alexxavicry @dextur @onmykneesformarvel @kmc1989 @valentinesfrog @silversprings-mp3 @wittygutsy

#rafael barba #rafael barba x reader #law and order svu #svu #law and order #law and order special victims unit #rafael barba smut

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mermaidgirl30 · 1 month

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✨Take Me to Wonderland✨

A/N: Thank you so much @5oh5 for being my beta, I so appreciate it 🩷 This fic took over my mind last week and I just had to write it out. This one was super self-indulgent for me. I’ve always loved Alice in Wonderland and thought I could definitely pull Joel into the mix. I hope you enjoy going to Wonderland with Joel 🥹

Summary: You find yourself in Wonderland, but you think you’ve been here before. And the handsome stranger, Joel Miller, is someone that definitely seems familiar.

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Word Count: 14.7k

Rating: Explicit (18+ Only MDNI)

Tags: Soft Joel, soft dom! Joel, no outbreak, Alice in Wonderland AU, smut, creampie, unprotected p in v, oral receiving (fem), reader finds Wonderland, lots of fluff

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The bright lights from the lavish dinner party hall give you a blaring headache. This is the third one this week you’ve had to attend. It’s just the same routine. Another dinner, more socializing you don’t want to be a part of, putting on fake smiles to impress some higher up rich snobs just so you can make a good impression for your company.

You’re exhausted, so brutally tired that you could probably crawl up on one of the window sills and take a much needed cat nap with the way your body is lagging in your sparkly wedges. You drag your feet across the polished wooden floor and press your hands down firmly against your short sky blue dress, the fabric swishing around your soft thighs as you smooth the skirt out.

The smell of expensive wine and top brand steak lace through the air, the sound of soft classical music buzzing through your ears as you casually slide by important business men and women intermingling on the middle of the dance floor.

You pick up a glass of champagne and let the harsh taste slide down your parched throat, letting the liquid bubble inside you as you set it back down against the silky white table cloth. You want to go home, leave this fancy feast where talk of money and stocks fly through the air. If only there was some sort of distraction that could take you away from it all.

Suddenly, you see fast movements from the corner of your right eye. You shoot your head that direction and see what looks to be a white cotton tail jump through the sea of Coach shoes and fancy tailored suits. You move your head to see around a woman’s long silky coat and see flurries of hopping movements, the color of snow dancing through the crowd.

You take a few steps forward to see just what it is, your curiosity getting the best of you. You take one more step and stop the moment you see just what it is. A small white rabbit sits in the middle of the crowd. It has long white ears, probably as smooth as a feather, and big blue eyes that seem to look inside your soul. It holds up a golden watch and points straight at the hour hand and turns back around, running toward the long, empty hall outside of the ballroom.

A white rabbit? Did no one else see that? Are you just that tired that you’re hallucinating?

You look around to all the people in the crowd, but no one seems to notice the white rabbit that just leapt its way through the ballroom, and no one seems to notice your wide-eyed gaze. You turn to the brown wooden door and see the white rabbit point once more to its shiny watch, nodding its head as it runs outside of the room and disappears.

You take a step forward in the direction the rabbit went, but then stop a moment. Are you really going to chase after something that has to be an illusion? You look back to the sea of faces you don’t even know, watching as their fake laughter and imposter stances make you sick. You take one more look to the open door and nod. Hell yes you’re going to chase after a white rabbit.

You sprint to the door, careful not to trip over your high wedges as you chase after the rabbit. You see it at the end of the hall waiting for you, fluffy ears standing high as it holds the ticking watch in its hands as the shine of the watch reflects off the clear glass windows. It runs around the corner, not waiting for you as it keeps going. A clear game of tag as the rabbit seems amused at your clear exhaustion of trying to catch it.

“Wait!” you shout down the echoing halls, hoping the rabbit will hear you, but when you turn it’s disappearing yet again. This time, going through a small, dark hole in the wall as it drops the grand watch to the marble floor, not stopping to pick it up.

“Wait, you forgot this!” you shout frantically as you run over and bend down, picking up the watch as your fingers run idly over the golden watch. The watch strikes 7:30pm as its golden second hand spins in a cycle, the minutes ticking by as you hear the faint noise of the watch.

Tick, tick, tick. As the seconds pass by, the ticking seems to stir something in you as you look over to the dark hole in the wall, just big enough to crawl through. You could squeeze in, but should you? You don’t know what’s past the darkness of that wall.

You look back down the long hallway and hear the vacant laughs and chimes of silverware floating down the hall. You have a choice. You either go back in that loud, rambling room of rich pricks or you can go explore the darkness of the hole the white rabbit went through.

You only have one choice. Go chase a fantasy or walk back into a room of people you don’t care about. Your head turns quickly back toward the dark hole, and you decide then.

You choose the fantasy.

You hold tight to the golden watch and sink to your knees as you leave the crowded party down the hall and enter into a quiet, dark tunnel- like hole. The walls are hollow, damp corners filling your vision until you can see nothing but pitch black. You keep on pushing your way through, grunting with all your might as you squeeze through the narrowing walls.

The floor turns from marble flooring to thick, rich grass as you crawl and crawl and crawl until suddenly the opening of the room is large, towering above you. Deep green grass surrounds you, a lofty ceiling made of moss hangs freely from the darkness, and then you see a bright light.

You shift your way through the plushy grass and look through a little keyhole as warm light bursts through. You place your hands on the intricate pink doorway and look through the tiny hole. There, in the middle of a cobblestone path, stands the rabbit. It looks back at you, nodding its head as if to say “Come on now, you’re late.”

You push on the heavy door, putting every ounce of strength into your arms as you can until you hear a locking sound click into place. You shove once more and then you’re falling forward as the doorway jars open.

You land with a thud on the concrete steps and take a minute to smooth out your dress as you stand up. Once you do, you watch the white rabbit speed off ahead of you, daring you to chase after it. You’re awfully sick of playing this game of tag, but you run after it into a sea of green as you enter into a maze of thick bushes.

The rabbit jumps through the green maze, zipping around tight corners as you huff to try to keep up. You nearly run straight into a tall, mangy bush as you slide amongst the slippery pebbled path.

“Wait!” you call out. “You’re going too fast, please!”

Just as the rabbit disappears around another corner and you follow after it, you wind up in a massive open area. You stop and gasp as you take in the tall, colorful wildflowers, the rush of the lilac scented breeze, the mist of a flowing river as a rushing waterfall tumbles into the clear, blue water.

What is this place?

The rabbit hops up to you and grabs the golden watch from your hand, stealing it back as its furry paw flexes around it.

“You’re late.” The voice comes out deep, the sound of a male’s voice as he hops off into a thick, green forest. Before he disappears completely, he sticks his furry ears out behind a tree and curls a paw his way. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on! He’s waiting,” he calls as he disappears behind a sea of thick trees.

He’s waiting? Who is waiting? And did that rabbit just talk? You must be losing your mind.

You shake your head clear as you walk past a patch of colorful wildflowers. Lilies, tulips, and flowers you don’t know the names of all sprawl out in a thick patch of colors. Vibrant purples, blues, pinks, greens, yellows, and reds collide together in a row of lavish intricacy.

As you look across the patch of lush green grass you see white roses that drip red, mixing the colors together as if blood stains the pure white roses. You find it kind of odd to have a field of untouched, beautiful wildflowers and then a row of rose bushes that seem to be tainted by paint.

“Odd. This place is so odd,” you murmur as you move along the straight trail that will lead you to the trees where the rabbit disappeared. “Silly rabbit, what am I possibly late for? Who was he talking about when he said he’s waiting? Who is he?”

The questions swirl through your head as you pass through the flower field. You hear whispers, quiet and meek as they dance through the large, colorful field. She’s here. She’s finally here! Oh, finally. He’s been waiting for so long.

Are the flowers talking about you? Is that what you’re hearing? No. It can’t possibly be. This is too much. You have to be hallucinating or asleep. This isn’t real. None of this is real.

You push yourself further up the path, passing painted butterflies of orange, blue, and white colors as they flutter above your head. The area is so green, lush grass and vibrant plants every which way you look. Glowing mushrooms the color of hot pink line the way through the thick trees, and you follow.

You end up on a winding path, a soft, salmon colored dust path that splits off into four different directions. You turn to the left, to the right, looking all four ways as your mind races like a ticking clock.

A large white wooden sign sits to the left of the path, arrows pointing in all different directions as the signs read This Way, That Way, Up Here, Wrong Way, Down Here. There’s no rhyme or reason to any of this madness. How the fuck were you going to get out of this mess if the signs couldn’t even be read?!

You stomp one of your shoes into the dirt and kick some pink dust up, feeling yourself losing your patience as this place isn’t making any sense. First, there was a white rabbit with a golden watch, then you crawled through a small hole that led you to some sort of fantasy land, then the rabbit accused you of being late, and now this.

You kick the edge of the wooden sign with your foot aggressively and let out a deep huff. “How do I get out of here?” you sigh as you cross your arms and furrow your eyebrows together.

“You want to get out of here? But you only just got here!” A slithery, deep voice slips down from one of the jacaranda trees and startles you as you jump back from the voice.

“Who’s there?” you ask shakily as you look up into the big purple leaves of the massive trees. You search and search until a large cat comes out of the shadows and shows its face. You stop in your tracks and look up as a pair of big green eyes appear on a low hanging branch. Its body materializes next as thick lines of purple and pink paint its long-haired fur.

“Who is there is a good question, isn’t it? I know who you are, but you don’t know me. How intriguing,” he smiles as he hangs off the branch and twists his body to where his face is right in front of yours. His green eyes glow like fairy lanterns and his pearly white sharp incisors seem to go on for miles.

“How do you know who I am?” you ask nervously as you stare back into eyes that lock on yours. His smile widens as he drops his body further, seeming to float in space as he places his sharp paws underneath his chin.

“Oh, my dear. Everyone knows who you are here. It’s no secret. We’ve been waiting. Mostly he’s been waiting. And what a treat that’ll be. You’re even prettier than I imagined,” he chuckles deeply as he spins his body around yours, floating in thin air.

“Who is he that everyone seems to be talking about?” you ask annoyed as you cross your bare arms over your chest and turn to follow his floating body. You want answers and you want them now.

“You’ll find out soon, very soon,” he laughs as his fanned out tail glides against your shoulder, leaving a feather-like touch to your skin.

“Fine, if you won’t tell me then just tell me which way I’ll find him,” you demand as you place your hands on your hips, letting the soft material of your blue dress sink through you.

“This way,” he points to the left, his claws sharp like knives as he switches directions and points to the right. “No, this way. Actually, maybe it’s north of here,” he smiles as he points up from where he floats.

You purse your lips to try to keep yourself calm. “Please, just tell me where to go,” you plead, eyes burning red as you try to keep your composure together, but it’s slowly breaking the more this cat plays with you.

“You’re exactly where you need to be, my dear. Just hold tight,” he smiles as he disappears into thin air, his voice carrying through the wind as it slowly slips away. Vanishing just like that.

You look every which way while fisting your hands to your side and turn back toward the direction you first came, looking out into the wildflower fields that paint the ground a sea of rainbow colors. You close your eyes and take a deep breath, letting the cool breeze hit your skin as you inhale scents of fresh roses and lilty daisies.

“Home, I need to get back home,” you whisper silently.

Just as you take another deep breath, you hear the deep sound of a throat being cleared and then a rugged, gravelly voice break you free of your thoughts of home.

“You lost there, darlin?”

You turn back around, as quick as a bolt of crisp lightning, and you’re about to chew the cat back out until you realize it’s not him. It’s a man. Him. It has to be the one they were all talking about.

You watch as he leans up against the rough bark of a winding tree, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he leans and watches you closely, eyes trailing down your body as he takes you in nice and slow. Suddenly you’re completely nervous and forgetting your words as you take him in.

Tall. He’s so tall, a little over six feet if you had to guess. His eyes are like pools of honey. Deep, brown eyes that seem to have flecks of warmth sprinkled all around them. And his arms. God, his arms. Large, muscular as his biceps pull at the blue flannel button-up that wraps tightly around him. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, exposing large veins that seem to thread and skate down his arms as they end in massive hands. Hands that probably feel warm, safe.

His blue jeans cling to his thick thighs as clean leather boots lace up over his large feet. He smirks over at you, a flirtatious, playful look that says he’s trouble written all over that gorgeous face. A smooth, patchy beard and mustache cover his face with silver lining the edges. And his hair. Dark tousled curls that spill over the edges of his forehead, and you think they look soft to the touch, maybe even like velvet.

He looks like trouble to you. Warm, inviting, fun trouble.

God, he’s so handsome.

“Well?” he asks again, waiting for you to answer.

“I…I…” you stutter out, unable to even form a comprehensive sentence. What the fuck is wrong with you?

“Cat got your tongue?” he chuckles as the deep sound from his chest seems to reverberate right off the hollow tree barks, landing right into your own chest. It’s like you can feel his laugh. Warm, syrupy, infectious. He’s like a dream. A dream that doesn’t seem to be quite real.

You shake your head, clearing the fog as you find your words again. “I was just looking for my way out of here. Back home,” you answer as you take a step forward and lace your fingers together as you hold them nervously behind your back.

“Back home? You already want to leave so soon?” he laughs as he pushes himself off the tree and takes a few steps forward, crunching his leather boots over the salmon colored dirt of the road.

“Of course she doesn’t. She hasn’t even seen all of Wonderland yet,” the cat replies as he comes out of thin air and rests on the handsome man’s shoulders, his lined purple tail curling around his long neck. “I think she wants you to show her Wonderland,” he says with mischief written all over those glowing green cat eyes.

“Wonderland?” you ask with your eyebrows knit together in concentration. “What’s Wonderland?”

The cat twists its flexible body over the man’s arm, floating off to his side as he smiles brightly up at him. “I’ll let you lead the way. Good luck,” he grins as a loud laugh carries through every path of the massive forest. “Goodbye, pretty girl,” he calls as he vanishes once again into thin air, only the glow of his jagged smile staying in the cotton clouds, high above the trees.

You shake your head and laugh under your breath. This place isn’t real. It can’t be. “Who was that?” you ask the man as he crosses his arms and looks over at you with a gleam in his shiny brown eyes.

“That’s the Cheshire Cat. You can just call him Ches for short. That’s what we all call him,” he replies as he takes another step toward you, getting so close that you can smell him. Rich mahogany and the scent of deep pine needles. Intoxicating.

“And you? Who are you?” you ask as you flick your eyes over him, seeing just how large in stature he is.

“The name’s Joel. Joel Miller,” he nods as he sticks a large hand out to you, edging you to take it as he shoves it closer to you after you do nothing but stare at it.

You finally get the courage to reach your hand out and place it in his. You gasp as soon as he closes his strong grip on yours. His fingers are thick, calloused, warm as you slowly shake his hand.

His eyes lock on yours and it’s like you’re frozen in time, flecks of golden brown staring back at you as you quickly come back to reality. You drop his hand and take a step back, breaking the soft introduction as you stare at the small crevices in the ground.

“I know who you are.” He says your name softly as if he’s known you for years. And it sounds so good coming off his tongue, like a melody that sweeps past the breeze and lands right into a large bed of wildflowers. Gentle. He says your name so gently, soft. But how does he know your name? This doesn’t make any sense.

“How do you know my name?” you ask suspiciously as you watch him shift his weight back and forth against the firm ground.

He chuckles like this is all a game to him, like you know him already when in reality he’s a complete stranger. Someone you’ve never met. You would’ve remembered if you met someone like him before.

“There’s a lot I know about you, sweetheart,” he smirks, a devastatingly handsome smile that you can’t help but melt over.

Sweetheart? Something shifts inside you as you take in his handsome face, his warm eyes that seem to drip like flowing honey. A gleam in his eye that tells you you do know him. But how? You want to stare into those entrancing eyes, want to walk over and trace your fingers against the starry flecks of warmth, but there’s no time for that. You need answers, now.

“What is this place? Wonderland is what Ches said. What’s Wonderland?”

Joel just laughs and shakes his head. “Wonderland has been here for a very long time. It’s been here waiting for you. It’s been so long, darlin’. So very long. We didn’t think you’d ever come,” he says quietly as he huffs a sigh of relief that you’re actually standing here in front of him.

“You’ve been waiting? What? I don’t understand. I’ve never been here before. This has got to be some sick fantasy. I must’ve fallen and bumped my head. None of this is real.”

“You sure about that, sweetheart?” he asks as one of his dark eyebrows raises high on his forehead, eyes staring at you as if he’s waiting for you to say something else.

You question his stance but quickly shake your head out of the daze. “Yes, this isn’t real. Now I’m going to close my eyes and pinch myself and then I’ll wake up back in the real world,” you confirm as you close your eyes tightly and dream of home.

Home. You mean back to your overwhelming, overworked life as you engage in endless meetings and parties with people that don’t matter. Is that what you really want to go back to? Is that what you want?

You keep your eyes sealed closed as you grit your teeth together and think of home. Home. Back to your warm bed and back to your cat, Duchess. You feel a pinch sting your arm as you squeeze your fingertips together, but to no avail. It doesn’t seem to work.

You hear the sounds of a deep chuckle rumbling in front of you, and then you peel your eyes open to see Joel standing a few paces away as he crosses his strong arms and shakes his head in dismissal. He’s laughing at you.

“What’s so funny?” you ask annoyed, huffing out as you see you’re still in Wonderland. It didn’t work.

“Didn’t work, did it?” he smirks, his large hand dragging down his coarse beard as his penetrating gaze keeps you in place.

You gulp, catching your own breath as you answer quietly. “No. I guess it didn’t…”

“That’s because this is real,” he confirms as he takes another step closer to you, boots scuffing against the dirt as he takes another and another and another until he’s standing right in front of you, wild brown eyes sinking down into yours.

You shake your head, unwilling to accept that this may very well be real. “This isn’t real. You’re not real.”

“Not real, huh? Reach out and touch the trunk of the tree,” he instructs as his gentle voice carries through the crisp air.

“Why?”

“Just do it, will ya?” he asks with more force in his rugged voice, the sound making you stand up straighter as it reverberates down your spine.

“You’re a stubborn one, ain’t ya?” he chuckles, a Southern drawl carrying through the wind as it lands straight through your ringing eardrums.

“Guess so,” you laugh.

You reach your arm out timidly and stroke the dark bark of the tree, feeling the rough edges snag against the palm of your hand.

“There ya go, just like that,” he praises as you feel his hot breath breathing down your neck, your skin suddenly boiling alive as you breathe in the scent of fresh bark and wood as it seems to cloud your racing mind.

You take a step back out of his reach and look nervously around you. It sure felt real, but it still didn’t explain how you were here.

As if he sees the wavering expression on your face, he speaks again. Low and gruff sounds falling off the tip of his tongue. “This place is real. Just as much as I am. Here, close your eyes for a second,” he says nicely as he takes another step forward.

You take a step back, and he holds his hands up to say he’s not going to hurt you. “Please, just for a second. Close ‘em. Need you to trust me, sweetheart.”

As your mind caves to his request, you find yourself obeying. You close your eyes and twist your fingers around the hem of your dress, letting the nerves drift away as you try to relax.

“Now, take a deep breath. Focus on the sounds of the rushing water, the trees gently blowing through the wind, the air around you as it blows through your hair. Just listen, get lost in the sounds, in yourself,” he instructs with a lilty voice, the sounds instantly calming you as you follow his instructions.

You slow your breathing down, taking nice, deep breaths as you lose yourself to your surroundings. You hear the faint hum of honey bees dancing through the wildflowers, feel the rush of spring air as it blows gently through your flowing hair, hear the trickle of the river as the distant waterfall clashes against rocks and smooth water.

Focus. Deep breaths. This is real, this is real.

Before you can take another breath, a large palm slides against your cheek, and you almost jolt at the electric spark it ignites in your body.

“Does this feel real to you?” he asks quietly, the volume of his words coming off as composed, soft, warm.

You carefully place your hand over his as you feel the opposite textures of his skin. The back of his hand is soft, smooth as your fingers timidly graze along his tanned skin. His palm is rough, calloused fingers hovering over your jawline as his thick fingers stay right there on your face.

It feels strange how warm and inviting he feels, how vaguely familiar he seems as you breathe in the taste of mahogany and pinewood, letting the scent coat your lungs as you drink it down. You want to box it up, wrap it tightly in a jar so you can fill your surroundings with the smell of him.

“Open your eyes,” he whispers, his hand still grazing your jawline as you flutter your eyelids open.

Your eyes grow wide as you see him standing right in front of you, boots meeting the edges of your open wedge shoes as you see just how clear and coated his glossy brown eyes are now.

“This real enough for you?” he asks quietly as he slides his calloused thumb across your cheek once more, filling your insides with warmth and peace. A peace you’ve been craving for months.

“Yes,” you whisper out, voice deceiving you as he drops his hand and chuckles, taking a step back as he digs his fingers into the pocket of his dark jeans. You’re suddenly aware that the warmth is gone from your face. It left the moment he dropped his fingers from your jawline.

You take a moment to breathe, letting the warm sunlight wash over your fair skin as you let the scent of lilies and forest scents bring you back to earth. You take one more deep breath and ask the question that haunts your mind.

“What am I doing here, Joel? How am I? I just… I just don’t understand.” Your right hand grabs the edge of the satiny material of your light blue dress as your eyes wander back over to the man with broad shoulders and beautiful eyes.

He shrugs a little, but smiles underneath the hoods of his brown eyes. “You needed an escape, darlin’. You opened the door to Wonderland. You found it, with a little help from the white rabbit,” he responds with a deep chuckle. “But, ultimately, you found it on your own. It’s your fantasy land.”

“My fantasy land? But I… I’ve never been here before. How could it be mine if I didn’t even know about it? And you. How could you possibly know I was coming?” you ask with your voice raised, endless questions brewing as if this was all impossible in the first place.

Impossible. This place is impossible.

“I wasn’t sure you would come. I only hoped you would,” he says softly as warm brown eyes look down into yours, feelings stirring inside you that you can’t quite decipher. Too twisted, too tied in knots, too risky to untangle.

“Why do I feel like I’ve known you for years? I only just met you…” you whisper vacantly, your voice hollowing out on the last syllable as something snaps inside you. A feeling of… tranquility.

“A funny feelin’, ain’t it? Those feelings are never really wrong though, are they?”

His pondering questions make you feel crazy, mind boggling as you slowly shake your head. No. That can’t be true. Or is he just twisting your mind to make you believe whatever he says? But somehow you know he’s not lying to you. He wouldn’t. Somehow you know he’s not playing tricks on you. Deep down you know, he’s telling the truth.

You run your fingers through your hair and let them fall back down to your sides unfaltering. “Am I mad? Have I lost my mind?” you ask distraughtly as you bite your lower lip and knit your eyebrows together in deep thought.

He takes a step forward, golden eyes shining in the sunlight as he laughs and shakes his head. “We’re all a little mad here, darlin’.”

You stifle a small laugh and shake your head knowingly. “Mmm,” you hum as you take in the madness of the words.

We’re all mad here.

He nods his head as a curl falls down against his forehead, leaning toward the winding path that’ll take you north into a forest of wonders. “C’mon. Follow me.”

Follow me. The words twist off his tongue as they echo through your mind. Follow me. What will happen if you do follow him?

You turn back toward the way you came, eyes searching for a hidden door you can’t see anymore. Covered by twisting vines and a sea of green mazes that snake around the overflowing garden. No turning back now.

You feel Joel’s large presence behind you, drawing closer and closer until he’s right behind you as his dark shadow falls across the salmon colored pathway. You inhale a deep breath, but all you smell is pine needles and fresh wood and maybe a hint of fresh cut grass. You smell him.

“You’ve gotta stop lookin’ back from the way you came, sweetheart. I know that’s the last place you want to be right now. You want to be away from the noise, the stress, the fake smiles.”

His voice slides against the shell of your ear, reverberating down to your chest as his words sting your insides. Of course you don’t want to go back to that. So why are you looking back?

“What are you so scared of, sweetheart? Hmm?” he asks quietly, his fingertips grazing the edge of your arm as goosebumps form over the sensitive areas he touches. Wildfire burning in the thick brush of trees is what it feels like. Fiery, tempting, smoldering. You can almost taste the flames. Those stirring, enticing flames.

“Everything,” you whisper, pulling all the courage in your gut to answer his question. What are you so scared of?

“Everything, huh? Darlin’, you don’t have to be scared of me. You don’t have to fear this place. This is your safe haven, your sanctuary. Take a leap of faith. Come join me. Follow me through the trees. There’s nothin’ to fear. The only thing you should fear is time itself. So relax. Can you do that for me?” he asks, his hot breath blowing down your exposed neck as you feel his large hand slip down to your waist, barely grazing your light blue dress as his lips sit dangerously close to your jawline.

You don’t have to be scared of me. Relax. This is your safe haven. The words simmer in your mind as your heartbeat races in your blood. The only thing you should fear is time itself.

“The only thing you should fear is time?” you repeat, the words leaving your lips as you feel his calloused fingers trace a flyaway hair behind your ear, tucking it back neatly as he lines his soft lips up to your earlobe and whispers.

“Time, darlin’. You can’t escape it, can’t run from it. But you can run with the madness, let your mind unwind just a little as you slip away into wonder. Let me show you the way,” he coaxes, a sweet melody that enchants your very soul, pulling you toward him, away from all the noise of the outside world, away from normalcy.

You feel him slip from your grasp as you open your eyes up and turn slowly in his direction, seeking his soft brown eyes and deft fingers again. He smirks over at you, a mischievous grin as he nods his head and holds out his hand.

“Follow me through Wonderland, sweetheart. Let me show you exactly what I’m talking about.”

You look at his outstretched hand and look back behind you, back to the way you came in. No going back. This is your chance. Take a leap of faith. Follow him through Wonderland.

You turn once more and see him nod his head, a gentle smile curling up against the sides of his mouth as his warm eyes wade into yours. It’s like you hear his calming drawl as you look at his outstretched hand, calloused fingers reaching your way, convincing you to take it.

Follow me through Wonderland. Let me show you.

You lift your hand, curling your fingers as you think twice about it. His soft brown eyes relax, the crow’s feet pulling at the edges of his tanned skin as his crinkled eyes tell you it’s okay. You can take his hand.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You can trust me,” he says softly, his large palm reaching out a little more, coaxing you to take it.

It’s like you hear the swaying whispers of the wild flowers in the fields, their small trills of voices as they carry through the wind. Take his hand. He’s safe. He’s been waiting so long for you. Let him take you to Wonderland.

You feel it inside your chest, the building breaths and aching longing that leads you to him. Just one more glance at those brown flecks of warmth and that’s all it takes to convince you.

You reach your hand out and press it slowly into his palm, letting his calloused fingers lace through yours as you gasp at the warmth that simmers there. Safe, he’s safe.

He leads you forward through the thick trees, passing peculiar species of birds and plants you’ve never seen before. All shades of the rainbow laid out like a colorful map for you to take in. As you look around in awe, Joel turns his head back and smiles at you. A warm, gentle smile that makes your insides melt with affection.

He continues leading you through this beautiful, strange world. Further, further, further until you’re almost to the end of the pink road, following Joel as he takes the lead.

His hand presses into yours more, calloused fingers brushing over yours as comfort embeds your entire skin.

Familiar, he seems so familiar like you’ve been here before, like you’ve held his hand before, like you’ve known him for so long. And it’s strange, such a strange feeling that encompasses your whole being.

You reach the end of the path and then end up in a wide open space that looks like an enchanted forest. Rows of colorful tulips, marigolds, and lillies cover the area. Green hills in the far distance tower high in the sky, lush grass covers the ground, and a running river crashes lightly to the left of a cobblestone path.

As you walk through the path of vivid flowers, you swear you hear them whispering, calling your name as your bare legs brush past them. And it sounds like they’re talking about you.

Joel chuckles quietly in front of you as he shakes his head, ruffling his tousled curls as he turns and looks back at you.

“Did I hear the flowers whisper my name? Or am I hearing things?” you ask as he looks at you with sun kissed lips and brown flecked eyes.

“They uh… they were definitely talkin’ ‘bout ya. Don’t mind them. They like to gossip to each other,” he laughs, the infectious sound flowing through your ears as you can’t help but smile shyly back up at him.

He really is handsome.

“What are they saying?” you ask as he continues to lead you through the glowing sunshine of the glittering forest.

“They think you’re pretty,” he blushes as if he’s hiding something else, but you don’t push for more answers.

“Pretty, huh? That’s what they think?”

“Mhm. Beautiful…” he whispers under his breath, making your cheeks blush crimson as you fight a growing smile on your glossy lips.

As you continue walking through patches of soft grass, past more whispering tulip fields, you can’t help but wonder if this is all a trick of the eye. Everything is so beautiful, so surreal like that it’s hard to wrap your head around this place.

Joel looks back your way and squeezes your hand, assessing your wandering gaze as you watch a bright blue butterfly land on Joel’s shoulder, the butterfly seeming to stare up at him as Joel smiles down and nods. “Hello, Absolem.”

“Absolem?” you ask as the butterfly turns your way and crawls on the back of your hand, looking up at you as if he’s trying to talk to you. No words come out of his mouth, but you swear you see a tiny speck of a smile on his lips as he flies away and leaves you standing there watching in awe.

“Absolem,” Joel confirms.

“You talk to butterflies in your spare time?” you laugh as you casually tease him. He squeezes his hand around you and shakes his head.

“We’re in Wonderland, remember? You can pretty much talk to anything, even the trees. They’ll eventually answer you.”

“Strange, this is so strange.”

“Just wait till you see the mad tea party up ahead,” he responds as he pulls you deeper into a shaded area covered by big, purple leaves that fill the trees.

“Mad tea party?” you ask with a raised brow.

“You’ll see,” he smirks as he pulls you along.

You walk around a big, shaded tree and come to stand a few feet from a long, narrow table that has tall wooden chairs surrounding it. A lacy white table cloth hangs low over the edges as various icing topped cakes, intricate tea pots, fine china, and pastries litter the table in a heap.

You gasp as you see a mangy rabbit with discombobulated ears yelling about unbirthdays and tea sitting about the table. The white rabbit sits on the opposite side assessing his golden watch while arguing with the other rabbit, and the Cheshire Cat floats above the table as he curls his striped tail around his neck. But what wracks your brain a little is the tall, peculiar man that sits at the head of the table.

He has a large green top hat with a decorative pink ribbon around the rim of the hat. His clothes are odd. A red velvet jacket sits atop a purple frilly shirt with a large multicolored bow around his neck. His pants sit pressed against his legs as stripes fill the cotton material.

When he looks up, a large white smile fills his face as bright red hair sticks out underneath his top hat and flashy green eyes stare wildly your way. He drops his cup of tea and sprints over to you in a hurry, wide eyes staring your way in shock.

“It’s you! You finally found your way,” he says out of breath, voice elated with excitement as he looks over at Joel. “Joel, you found her. You brought her back!” he shouts as he jumps up and down in a crazed manner.

“Brought me back?” you ask confused. But you haven’t been here before. Have you?

“She found Wonderland herself, hatter. I didn’t bring her here. She found it on her own.” He looks over at you, and you swear you see pride in his eyes, a fondness that could only be explained by looking into his eyes.

Safe. He’s safe.

“Darlin’, this is the mad hatter.”

The mad hatter takes your hand as he says your name and bows his head as he tips his oversized hat to you, making you feel like you belong here. Like you’re not a stranger to this world.

“Nice to meet you,” you say as you give him a courteous greeting.

He smiles up at you with a big Cheshire grin and asks you the most curious question you’ve ever heard before. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” he asks with big green eyes as he leans forward with his hands clapping together in anticipation.

“Umm I’m not sure…” you say quizzically, eyebrows knit together as Joel just shakes his head.

“Hatter, she doesn’t have time for questions like that. Let her be. Her and Joel have places to go,” the white rabbit says as he holds up his ticking watch, the other rabbit just pointing and laughing at nothing in particular.

“Oh, right. Well you must come back for tea! We can celebrate your unbirthday and have lots of tea and cake,” he shouts loudly as he bows and skips back over to the table, joining the madness of the tea party again.

“Go on now,” the Cheshire Cat says as he waves you off with the flick of his purple paw. “Have fun with Joel.” He smiles a wide, bright smile at you as it curls into a devious smirk, pure trouble behind those blinding green eyes.

Joel chuckles under his breath and shakes his head. “C’mon, darlin’. Got a lot more to show you.” He grabs your wrist and pulls you the opposite way of the tea party as you hear the faint shouts and laughs from the ridiculousness of it all.

As you walk through a trail of wispy willows and white rose bushes, you ask him another question as you follow his lead. “You live here? In Wonderland?”

“Mhm. Got a house right up that winding path.” He points to a cobblestone path that leads into a valley of tall, green trees that overlook the side of a flowing waterfall.

“It’s just you?” you ask, eyes fixed on the large veins in his neck as he purses his lips together and nods his head.

“Jus’ me, darlin’.”

“It must get lonely here. By yourself, I mean,” you say as you nip at your bottom lip, hoping you’re not overstretching your questions.

“It can be, I suppose.” At those words, his thick fingers wrap tighter around your wrist, almost as if he’s latching on to you, hoping you won’t leave too soon. You can almost hear the wallowing of his words as if he speaks them out loud to you.

Don't go away. Stay here with me.

You continue walking, the green grass catching on your shoes as you come across a large, glistening pond. Massive green lily pads with pink flowers that sit atop them wade in the water as they float gently in the breeze. Joel nods his head and takes a step forward, but you take a step back, fear coursing through you.

“You want me to cross that?” you ask all wide-eyed and mouth falling open as you see no other way across. “Wouldn’t the lily pads just sink?”

“They’re solid, made for crossing by foot. It’s alright. I do it all the time.”

He holds his hand out, his large palm facing up as he nods for you to take it. You weigh your options carefully. Either turn back to the mad tea party or take your chances here with Joel. You know which one you want to choose.

His brown eyes become warmer, golden flecks dancing in his irises as he spreads his fingers wider, taking a step in your direction as he asks you once more to put a little faith in him.

“C’mon, sweetheart. You trust me?” he asks as his eyebrows knit together in a tight line, his eyes searching yours as he waits for an answer. There’s that look again, the one you saw back at the entrance from where you came. You hear the words so carefully.

You can trust me.

“Yes,” you breathe, putting your hand in his as a smile curls up on his lips that forms a dimple against his cheek.

He’s so fucking handsome.

“Well, c’mon then, sweetheart. This way,” he responds as he carefully leads you across the floating lily pads.

Glowing coy fish glide under the water as sparkling dragonflies hover over the surface of the crystal clear water and dance around the green lily pads. The smell of spring and rose bushes fill the air as the glowing sun warms your soft skin. This place is so magical.

When you finally cross over to the other side of the pond, Joel leads you over to a sea of giant mushrooms. Pastel pinks, dark blues, violet purples, and shades of ember reds fill the area. And they look so soft to the touch, like velvet beds you can crawl up and take a cat nap on.

Joel turns you around, his eyes softening as those flecks of warmth sink deep into yours. He stands so close to you, so close that you can smell the pine wood and mahogany scent that drip off his very being. You want to inhale that scent, drown in it as it coats your insides, bottle it up so you remember exactly what he smells like.

And then he smiles. That deep, warm smile that seems to pull everything into place. It’s so warm, so calming, so soothing. You’ve seen it before, you know you have. But where? When? You don’t even know. All you know is you have seen him before. You must have.

You gulp and twist your fingers nervously through your skirt that blows gently in the wind, your lips parting open as you find your words. “Why do I feel like this isn’t the first time I’ve met you? I feel… I feel like I’ve known you for so long,” you murmur out carefully as your gears grind together in your brain.

He chuckles, a deep, sated sound that seems to fill your body up with a splash of warmth. “You think you’ve been here before?” he asks curiously, eyebrows raising as he places all his attention on you.

“I don’t… I don’t think so. I would’ve remembered this place. I would’ve remembered you,” you stammer out, your brain cells firing off as you try to remember.

Remember, remember, remember. But you can’t. You can’t.

Your brain starts to go foggy, all memories of this place nonexistent. If you’ve never been here before then why do you feel this way about Joel? Why is he clouding your entire mind with his warm eyes and gentle smile?

“Why do you think you’re here, darlin’? Why do you think you opened up that locked door to Wonderland?” he asks with a tilted head, eyebrows knitting together as he concentrates solely on you.

You gulp as his intense stare lingers on you. Your fingers grip the hem of your dress as you stutter out nonsense. “I… ummm I don’t know…”

“No?” he asks as he crooks his head, a hand sitting deep in the pocket of his jeans as his eyebrows mold together in a tight line. “I think you do, sweetheart.”

You take another breath as you blow it out through your mouth, letting it fall through the wind as you swallow back nerves. “You seem to know, Joel. So tell me. Tell me why I’m here.”

He smirks before he starts to move forward, his broad form coming closer and closer until he’s standing right in front of you. Joel circles you slowly, calloused fingers trailing up your bare arms as he slides behind your tense shoulders. He drags his index finger along your collarbone gently, making you squeak as nerves pull through the pit of your stomach.

“This is why you came here, remember? To let go, to lose yourself in this fantasy,” he purrs as his lips slide against the shell of your ear, breathing hot air down your neck as your body seems to still against the lull of his deep voice.

His thick fingers trace your jawline, your chin, your neck as he courses down to the strap of your delicate sky blue dress and lingers there, slowly hooking a finger under as he whispers seductively into your ear, “So let go.”

Your breath hitches as his sloped nose brushes against yours, his lips hanging inches above yours as you stare at them. Big, plush, enticing lips. Soft. They look so soft, like they’d fit perfectly over yours.

His forehead drops down to yours as you breathe him in deep. Pine trees, wood, sunlight, ecstasy. It’s all you smell, all you feel as his calloused fingers brush over your jawline, lingering under your chin as he brings your face up, up, up. Just enough to be able to brush his lips against yours as you feel hot warmth flood through your insides. Anticipation builds as you nearly moan his name out, your lips parting slightly as you gaze into his warm, starry eyes. And in that moment you want him, badly.

“Is this what you want, sweetheart? Wanna let go and lose yourself in me?” he blows over your lips, his fingers brushing a curl behind your ear as they tease your jawline, making you arch up more as your fingers dig into the soft material of his flannel. “Say yes, let me show you how to let go,” he coaxes.

Without thinking, you let your body take control as you slur the words out effortlessly. “Yes, show me. Show me how to let go,” you whisper.

He wastes no time and crashes into your lips, his large hands cupping your face as he presses deeper against your mouth. Soft. His lips are so fucking soft as they ravish yours deftly.

You part your lips for him, letting him slot his tongue inside your mouth as he glides the tip of it against yours. He dances around your mouth, meticulous circles as you breathe him in, tasting the honeysuckle flavor of his large tongue. You run your fingers through his tousled curls and feel the moan that catches in his mouth, making you burn like wildfire against the sound.

He starts pushing you back and you walk backwards and feel yourself stop as something hits the back of your thighs. He doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop as he takes and takes and takes. Continuing to twist his savory tongue around your mouth.

After a few more seconds of intense kissing and fingers twisting in hair, he breaks the kiss and leans his forehead against yours as his large hands run down your sides, landing on your hips as he starts to hike your dress slowly up. Your breathing is ragged, desperate as you want more.

Give me more, please.

It’s like he senses your need as he asks, “You gonna let go for me, sweetheart? Let me give you what you need?”

“Yes, yes,” you whisper rapidly as you hear him chuckle under his breath.

“Good, let me take care of you, baby. Sit back for me.”

He pushes you back further as you land sitting on top of a dark blue mushroom. It’s big, soft, almost velvety as you lay your palms flat against it. It almost feels like a bed made of feathers. How strange. He puts a hand on your shoulder and gently shoves you back until you’re laying flat against the mushroom, the softness of it all taking over as your heart pounds in your chest.

You look up and see him stalking toward you like a starved dog, his smirk widening as his eyes darken and hound you. When he reaches the edge of the mushroom, he grabs your legs and slides you forward as you hear a small yelp escape your vocal cords.

“What are you… what are you doing?” you ask nervously as he slowly starts to part your legs while dragging his thick fingers up and down your thighs languidly.

“What’s it look like I’m doin’, hmm?” he asks, smirking as he cocks an eyebrow up and digs his nail beds into your flesh, making a coat of slick fall against your now sticky panties.

He moves up, up, up until he’s hovering over your clothed folds, brushing ever so gently against the damp material. Oh, fuck. He teases the waistband of the material and skims over the soft skin underneath, making you bite your bottom lip as you practically beg him with your needy eyes to keep going.

“You want me to keep goin’, baby? You gotta tell me what you want. Use your words, c’mon.”

“I… yes, I…” you stutter out, unable to say anything else as he barely slides the waistband down, just enough to where you feel the gentle breeze blow against your nearly exposed pussy.

Oh, fuck.

“You want me to make you feel good? Want me to take all that stress and pent up energy away?” he asks as his eyes start to pulse into dark pits. “Hmm?” he hums as he brushes the heel of his palm into your dripping center, making you jump at the jolt of electricity.

“Please. Fuck, Joel. Please,” you beg as he hikes your light blue skirt over your hips and presses his thumb into your clothed folds that are already soaking for him.

“Goddamn, darlin’. Already so fuckin’ wet for me,” he hisses as he slips his thumb inside the lace material and brushes his thumb against your soft folds.

He groans as he feels just how wet you are for him. “You have no idea how good I’m gonna make you feel, baby. Just lay back and let me take care of this pretty pussy,” he smirks.

He grabs the edges of the material and slides them fluidly down your legs as he throws them to the ground. He stands back and rakes his hand painfully through his scruff as he knits his eyebrows together and groans at the sight of you.

“Goddamn it, you’re so pretty, baby. Fuck,” he groans as he pushes your knees apart and stares at your pulsing core, a look of pure pain crossing his tan face.

He falls to his knees on the bed of grass as he slowly starts to trail kisses up your legs. He starts at your ankle, slowly working his way up the side of your knee, then pressing sweet kisses to the inside of your thighs as he works you up nice and slow.

He slowly blows a wave of air across your exposed center and lavishly runs his hands up and down your thighs as you feel more slick start to form between your thighs.

“Oh, baby. Fuckin’ drippin’ for me. You look so sweet, just wanna eat you up,” he groans as he places a tender kiss into the crease of your thigh and then slowly, slowly reaches your center, right where you want him.

“Oh,” you breathe out, forgetting how to take even breaths as your body starts to shake.

“Eyes on me, darlin’. Want you to watch,” he purrs, his eyes dark pits as he hooks his meaty hands around your thighs and smirks up at you. “Eyes. On. Me.”

He slowly licks a thick stripe from your dripping hole and glides it up against your soft folds as he repeats the action two more times. You let out a breathy moan as his tongue makes all your nerve endings come alive. Wildfire burning through your body, begging him to give you more.

“Joel,” you moan as he teases the tops of your folds with his large tongue, smirking as his drool runs down your pussy.

“You taste so fuckin’ sweet, darlin’,” he coos out. “Just hang on.”

He lifts his mouth and slowly lets saliva that’s pooling in his mouth drip over your throbbing pussy, letting the warm sensation cover you in bliss. He breathes in deep and then spits on you as he meticulously rubs the fluid around and around and around, rubbing his thumb in tight circles around your aching clit.

You writhe against him and part your lips open, knitting your eyebrows together as the sensation makes your head feel dizzy and light. You choke on another moan as he stares deeply into your eyes as he circles and circles and circles. Rubbing just the right areas as more slick drips down his calloused fingers.

“Joel,” you whine as his calloused thumb presses deeper against your clit.

“That’s right, baby. I’ve got you. Hang on, sweetheart. Not gonna stop till I have you coming on my tongue,” he growls.”

He plunges his soft lips down on you as he parts your folds with his fingers and laps soft circles against your puffy clit. You moan as he devours you and tilt your head back in pure bliss as you stare up at the fluffy cotton candy clouds.

You flutter your eyelashes as you tilt your head to look down at him, his blown out pupils staring up at you wide-eyed as he feasts on you nice and slow. He pulls your throbbing bundle of nerves into his warm mouth, and it takes everything in you to keep from coming in that instant.

He slips two fingers inside your dripping hole as he plunges deep inside you, curling his fingers up to hit that spot that makes you see stars in your blurry vision. You twist your fingers into his tousled curls as he moans against you, pulling your clit back into his mouth as he sucks you down, down, down.

You hear the squelching noises of his fingers plunging in and out of you, feel the pressure building in your spine as he licks and sucks your glistening clit. You feel like you’re on cloud nine, feel as if it’s just you and Joel in this fantasy land, feel as if you could come undone at any moment as the wet noises seem to echo through the blowing breeze.

You feel your walls start to clench up as he quickens his pace of his fingers inside you, licking long stripes up your core as you moan out his name again and again and again. You’re so close, so close to spilling yourself all over him as you tighten your fingers through his curls and arch your back off the matte blue mushroom.

“C’mon, baby. Come for me. Let me see you let go,” he coaxes as he presses against your spongy walls and pulls your clit into his mouth as he sucks you deep. That’s what does it for you.

“Fuck, Joel. I… I’m coming,” you moan as you feel your walls clench up one more time and then release, white hot liquid spilling down as he laps you up nice and slow.

Your vision goes black as you tilt your head to the sky and let your body ease into a relaxed state as you come down from your orgasm. You feel your breath come in rapid waves as you fight for air to build back in your lungs, your core still on fire for Joel as he laps up all your slick in between your legs.

He stands tall as his large body leans over you, your legs straddling around him as he stands in between your thighs. Your slick glistens on his patchy scruff and mustache, and it makes you that much wetter as your eyes trail over his ravenous features.

“Did so good, baby. So good,” he praises as he brings one hand to caress your cheek affectionately, making you tingle all over at the fondness of the touch.

“That was… that was incredible,” you gasp out as he smirks down at you, the warm flecks of his eyes shining down on you like a golden ray of sunshine.

Warm. He’s so warm.

“Glad I could indulge in your fantasies,” he chuckles as he brings his hand back down your side, his fingers tracing delicately down your hip as he makes his way over your thigh, slowly trailing up and down in slow motions.

“You’re gonna give me another one,” he smirks, his pupils expanding into black pits as he brushes against your sensitive folds.

“Another one? But I’m so sensitive, Joel. I don’t know if I can…” you whine, panting between breaths as you think about him giving you another mind blowing orgasm.

“Oh, trust me. You can and you will,” he growls between his teeth as he starts to move his fingers up and down your folds again, starting a fire down in the pits of your core. “Tell me yes, sweetheart. Tell me it’s okay.”

Your mind fogs over as you nod your head and whisper out, “Okay. Okay.”

“You trust me?” he asks with a cocked brow, his fingers slowly gliding up and down your center, already building slick against his thick fingers.

“I trust you,” you nod, biting your lip as you hold back a moan.

“Yeah ya do,” he smirks. “Don’t hold back now, baby. Wanna hear those loud moans.”

He presses his calloused fingers deeper against your center, spreading your folds as he starts to circle his slick coated fingers against your puffy clit. He spits down again on your pussy and gathers the spit on his fingers, making you more soaked as you hear the sticky, wet sounds of thick fingers against drenched skin.

He hovers over you, leaning against his arm as he stares intensely down at you with those big black pits of his. Your mouth drops open as he flicks against your clit faster, faster, faster until your eyes start to roll back as you feel the blood rushing between your legs.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises as you moan at the sweet words, nearly blacking out as the intense sensations wash over your entire body. You grab onto his flannel shirt as you fight for your life, your second orgasm so close to breaking that you feel like you’re about to lose control.

“C’mon, give it to me. Let me see you come again, baby,” he coos as he presses down harder onto your throbbing clit, his hand moving side to side faster and faster as you feel your back arch off the velvet mushroom.

It all happens so fast. You let the vibrations buzz through your body, starting at your head that slips slowly down your body as you curl your toes and roll your eyes back. You feel the hot heat start to slide out of you as you release for him, more come pouring out than last time as you feel the ecstasy encase your entire body.

“Oh, that’s a good fuckin’ girl. Goddamn,” he moans as he slows his fingers to gentle strokes and makes sure he works you through your orgasm entirely.

You lay there with half hooded eyes, your fingers still curled around his flannel as you slowly release and drop them down next to you. You feel satiated, satisfied, but yet you still want more.

When he starts to back away, you grab his wrist and prevent him from moving out of your range. “Wait, Joel. I need… want more,” you gasp out, your breath winded and tired as you fight to stay completely in one piece.

He knits his eyebrows together and turns your head to face him, his large fingers cupping your chin as he stares down at you with intense eyes. “You want more?” he asks softly.

“Yes, yes,” you whine out, almost embarrassed by how needy you sound.

He chuckles and shakes his head back and forth. “Think you can handle it, sweetheart? Not too tired?” he asks with a sly smirk as the crow’s feet pull at the corners of his eyes.

He’s so fucking perfect.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, your hand reaching for his flannel as he lets you grasp on to him.

“Alright, but you asked for it, darlin’. Gonna give ya what you need,” he smirks as he slowly unbuckles his leather belt, unzipping the zipper of his denim jeans as he slides them and his black briefs down, letting his leaking cock press against his soft tummy.

You gasp at how massive he is, the precum spilling over as you wonder what it tastes like, what it feels like inside you.

He crawls on top of your body, crowding your space as you feel overwhelmed by the smell of his woodsy, pine scent. It intoxicates you, drives you mad as you fist at his flannel shirt, desperate to get him as close as humanly possible without completely jumping into your skin.

“Joel,” you whine, pawing at the flannel material as you beg him to take you.

He cups your chin in his large palm and looks you deep in the eyes. “Relax, sweetheart. Let me give you what you need,” he coos.

He lines up with your entrance as he teases you, sliding the tip of his cock up and down your folds as he collects your slick and his spit, already starting a fire in your core as he brushes past your sensitive clit.

“Fuck,” you hiss as his teasing torments you.

“Mmm, that’s right, gorgeous. Gonna take ya now, gonna make all your worries disappear,” he whispers as he hooks your legs over his shoulders and slides his slippery cock inside you.

Your mind goes numb, your brain stilling as the air seems to shift colorfully around you. It’s like the clouds turn pink, misty blue as colors swirl around your vision, making it look like you’re inside a make believe dream. Ecstasy, blinding pleasure erupts through your body every time he ruts up deeper inside you. His cock thrusting, thrusting, thrusting, so deep that it hits that spot that has your ears ringing with white noise.

He gives, gives, gives himself to you, making you cry out with blissful moans as he bends your knees to your chest and fucks into you deeper, harder than before. The sensation builds, your third orgasm right on the edge every time he gives more of himself to you, ravaging you until you can barely take it anymore.

“You’re so fucking beautiful moaning my name, sweetheart. Squeezin’ me so tight,” he breathes out raggedly as sweat builds against his forehead, making his curls stick together as he breaks the distance and crashes his lips down on top of yours.

The kiss is hungry, needy, starving as your tongue collides with his; his hips rocking back and forth between yours. You taste yourself on him, let the salty, sweet flavor run down your glossy lips as your moans twist together in unison. A sweet melody that fills the air as you get lost in each other’s ecstasy.

He bottoms out in you, thrusting faster and faster until you’re on the verge of tears. You’re so sensitive, your body on the edge of spilling again as you hear the slick slap of skin on skin through the air.

“Joel, I’m gonna… I’m about to…” you cry out as a tear licks at the corner of your eye. You’re not going to last any longer.

“Come for me, baby. Let me feel you,” he coaxes against your lips, his forehead leaning on yours as he speeds up his thrusts. He hits your spongy spot one more time, and that has you clawing the back of his neck as your hands tangle in the hair at the scruff of his neck.

You clench up around his thick cock and then spill all over him, milky hot come leaking down your thighs as he groans against your lips as you echo a low moan back to him.

“Fuck, that’s a good girl,” he praises as he thrusts deeper, deeper, deeper until he’s bottom out time and time again. You’re on cloud nine as you feel his cock drive into you, feel your body go numb against his hold on you as you feel him start to lose control.

“Gonna-fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna-” His mouth drops open and his eyebrows furrow together as he moans out your name, thick ropes of come painting your insides as your eyes roll back at the warm sensation.

He ruts up once more in you, spilling his entire seed as you both breathe in foggy, dense air. Arousal and the smell of sex envelop the wind, blowing down your body as you smell nothing but you and him mixing together to paint the skies red. He takes a minute of just keeping his cock inside you as he runs a hand down your cheek affectionately, warm eyes sinking into yours as his lips curl into the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen.

“Did so good for me, my girl. So good,” he praises as he cups your cheek and plants a gentle kiss across your lips. You drink him down, wanting to remember how he tastes like honeysuckle and sugar cookies. He tastes like something you want to imprint in your memory.

When he releases, he slowly slides out of you. You moan at the loss of him, but he scoops you up in his arms when he lays flat on his back. He feels warm, secure, safe. He feels like someplace you want to stay forever. Your eyelids start to flutter closed, your body unable to stay awake any longer. You’re so tired, so worn out from the sex. You just need to rest a little, let your mind enter into the thick fog.

“Joel, I’m so tired,” you slur as your words start mixing together, your eyelids growing heavy against your eyes.

“Go to sleep, baby. I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” he hums out, his strong arms pulling you closer into his chest as you let your mind fade into the darkness. Your vision goes black as you fall asleep instantly, knowing you’re safe in Joel’s arms.

When you start to wake up from your nap, you smell the scent of fresh roses lingering in the air and hear the sounds of cheerful birds chirping in the distance. As you start to shift your body and start to flutter your eyes open, you feel movement underneath you. You feel the broad chest underneath you as he slowly breathes in and out, feeling how warm he is with your fingers tangled in his soft flannel.

When your eyes finally open, he smiles up as you as his fingers rake down your scalp. “There you are, darlin’. Was starting to wonder when you’d wake up. You were out for a couple hours,” he says with a deep, sleepy edge to his voice. He must’ve fallen asleep at some point, too.

You hum out against his chest, your chin laying on his chest as you look up at his warm eyes, those eyes that make you melt with longing. “You just wore me out so much that I couldn’t stay awake any longer. You really know how to get a girl to fall asleep, huh?” you ask with a smile widening on your face.

He laughs and hugs you tighter to him. “Just givin’ ya what you needed, sweetheart. Happy to oblige anytime,” he smirks as you laugh again and shake your head.

You relax against his body as his hand runs gently up and down your scalp, sending you into a trance-like state as you rest your hands under your chin and stare up at him. His eyes are so warm, the smile that’s curled at the corners of his mouth sending sparks down your body. He feels so familiar, like you’ve known him for much longer than a day.

Your eyebrows knit together as you study his features, tracing the lines on his forehead with your eyes as you look deep into those golden brown irises. And something like a flash of lightning hits your mind, a distant memory flashing before your eyes as you go wide-eyed. You do know him. You’ve seen him before. You’ve been here before.

“You… this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you before, is it?” you whisper as your throat runs dry. “I’ve been here before, haven’t I?” You know him. You know him.

He sighs, a held in breath leaving his lips as he smiles affectionately at you. “Yes. You’ve been here before, sweetheart. This isn’t the first time.” It’s like all the weight is emptied from his body as his face relaxes and his chest feels less tense now.

“I knew you all along…” you whisper out incredulously.

“You did, baby. Welcome back. Didn’t know if you’d ever find your way again,” he says sadly as his eye color changes to a somber brown.

“But how did I… how did I even get here?”

“You were drowning, sweetheart. You needed an escape. You unlocked the door. You found us again. We’ve been waiting so long, so very long,” he whispers as he hooks a loose curl behind your ear, his eyes slipping into yours as he rests his forehead on yours, a form of intimacy that feels like home. He feels like home.

You lay there breathing each other’s air like oxygen, your lips tangling against each other as you lap up his honeysuckle taste, burning the taste into your memory as if it’s the most important thing in the world.

After a few minutes of getting lost in each other, he helps you up as you stand firm against the lush green grass. He helps you slide the lace panties back into place, covering your sticky center as you fall back into his chest, wrapping your arms around his broad back.

You hear a faint buzzing a few feet away from you, the sound like white noise in your ears. When you turn, you see an open doorway as painted red roses spill over the dark entryway. Your eyebrows crease together as you look at it carefully. It’s calling to you, almost like it wants you to follow.

Joel sighs, a defeated sound rasping from his throat as he looks at you with sad eyes. “Think it’s time for you to go back, sweetheart,” he huffs, his calloused fingers twisting around yours as he holds you close.

“Go back? But I just got here,” you say with wide eyes, feeling your stomach drop as you take in the meaning of his words.

“I know, darlin’, I know.” His face contorts with agony, his eyes on the verge of falling apart, but he puts himself back together as he cups your chin. “You’re needed back at the party. They’re waiting for you,” he says as you hear the distant noise of champagne glasses and classic music floating through the air. The party, it was still happening?

“But I’ve been here for hours, how is it still going on?” you ask with your nose scrunched up in question.

“Time is different here, it moves slower, much slower than the outside world,” he says as his honey eyes flick to the open door. “Wonderland moves on its own time. Funny thing isn’t it? How time works.”

“Yeah, very strange,” you say with your words drifting off as you stare at the door. The door that’ll take you back to reality, to a place you don’t want to go back to.

He sees your distant glance and pulls your face back to him as he looks distinctly into your glistening eyes. “You need to go back, baby. Go finish the party.” He’s telling you that you need to go, but his hollow words are drifting into the void. He doesn’t want you to go, not really.

“But what if I don’t want to go back…” you say quietly with a locked jaw, tears pricking at the backs of your eyes.

Let me stay. Please, let me stay.

“The door is open, sweetheart. It won’t close again till you go through,” he says with a pained expression, his calloused fingers burning your skin as he glides his fingers over your jawline delicately.

You nod your head slowly, telling him you understand. Your eyes wade into the painted door, but your eyes snap back up to his. “What if I want to come back? How do I come back?”

He smiles down at you as he pulls a chain out of his back pocket, a glistening necklace shining brightly in the sun as he opens up your palm and closes your fingers over it. “With this. This is the key that opens Wonderland. It’s yours now. Anytime you want to come back, all you have to do is ask. Think of me, think of Wonderland and hold the key. The door will open for you. All you have to do is ask.”

You open your palm and trace the edges of the golden key with your fingers, letting the cool metal stain your skin as you see the intricate letters carved into the gold. Wonderland is written in cursive letters on the side as they reflect against the sunlight. Wonderland. The key that’ll take you back to wildflowers, twisting paths, and Joel.

He takes the necklace from your open palm and unlatches it as he circles behind you and places the necklace against your chest. “Hair up for me, sweetheart,” he asks as you quickly oblige. You lift your hair and let him latch the necklace into place as the cool metal key sears into your skin. You lift the key and smile, your whole world now in your hands.

He steps in front of you and cups your chin, letting his thumb trace your bottom lip as his eyes sink deep into your own. “Well, I guess this is goodbye, for now,” you say sadly as you let your hand linger on his flannel, hoping you can stay like this forever instead of going back to your boring dinner party.

“Hey,” he says as he brings your face closer to his, leveling his eyes with yours, “this isn’t goodbye, sweetheart. Not even close.” He leans down and kisses you deeply as you latch onto his flannel, promising yourself that you’ll be back. This isn’t goodbye, it couldn’t be.

He releases your lips and walks you to the door. As you look in, you see the long, lit up hallway that you came from earlier. You can hear the music, hear the muffled voices down the hall as you see fluorescent lights from the ballroom. This was it, you had to go.

Before you step through, Joel grabs your wrist and turns you around to face him. “I had the most perfect day with you, sweetheart. I can’t wait to see those beautiful eyes of yours again,” he says with a curled smile on his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You run your fingers through his tousled curls and hold his gaze just a little longer, memorizing every single golden fleck in his irises as you take in his chocolate eyes. “Thank you for showing me Wonderland again. I can’t believe I forgot. How could I have forgotten you,” you say wide-eyed. You’d never forget him, how did you forget in the first place when he was your favorite thing in the entire world.

“Guess you got lost in the outside world. I’m so glad you found your way back to me, my love.”

My love. The words crash into you like a colliding car crash, hitting your insides with those familiar words that sound like music to your ears. My love.

Before you can question his words, he kisses you gently on the forehead and shoves you through the door as it closes behind you. You end up back in the long hallway as the sound of faded music seeps down the corridor. When you turn back around, there’s no door, only the painted white wall that burns into your eyes. You sigh and turn back around.

When you turn, your breath hitches. In the center of the hanging mirror with gold coated around the winding edges, you see Joel staring back at you. Your eyes widen as you walk up to the clear mirror. He looks like he’s standing right there, as if you can reach him with your mind.

You reach your arm up and place your palm flat against the glass, his hand mirroring yours as you wish with all your might you could just feel his calloused fingers again pressed against your skin. You can’t feel him through the mirror though, he’s only a reflection in the glass that you so want to slip into.

He gives you a small smile as nods his head in the direction of the party. You turn toward the end of the hall, your eyes flicking toward the crowded room as you hear laughs and loud voices carry down the corridor. When you look back to the mirror, you only see your reflection. Joel’s gone. You hold back a tear as you sigh out heavily and turn back around. You guess you have to go back in there.

When you turn from the mirror and start to head down the hall, you gasp as you see a small blue butterfly fluttering its wings on the back of your hand. You take a closer look and go wide-eyed.

“Absolem?” you ask. You see what looks to be a gleam in his eye as he suddenly flies off and disappears into a dark corner of the room. You smile, feeling your insides calm down a bit as a piece of Wonderland slips into the real world. It’s a sign, a promise that you will be back to Wonderland.

You head down the long hallway as your click of your heels echo down the corridor, keeping your wide grin stretched across your face. When you turn into the sea of jewel cladded necks and pressed suits, you can’t help but think of painted roses and honey brown eyes. And it’s then you know you can get through the rest of the evening because you went to Wonderland. Your escape, your dream, your sanctuary.

Wonderland. You’d be back, you just know it.

When you walk back into your cozy apartment and shut the door, you flick on the dim lights and start to walk to your room. You play with the golden key that’s latched around your neck, tracing the smooth edges as your thumb glides across the word Wonderland.

Wonderland. God, you wish you could go back right now. You want to, you need to.

Suddenly, a thousand feelings crash into you all at once. It’s like you get struck by lightning, zapping your brain into a dense fog as if you suddenly wake up from a deep sleep. You remember, you remember it all.

You close your eyes and the vivid pictures paint your mind. You can see you and Joel back in Wonderland painting pictures by the pond, can see yourself tumbling in the wildflowers with him, can taste his sugar coated lips after he fed you a piece of cake, can smell the rose scented air as he told you he loved you that first time in a bed of white and crimson red roses. It wasn’t all a dream. It was real, he is real.

Joel, your love. How could you forget?

When you open your eyes, you jump as you see exactly what you were pining for all evening. Joel. Joel’s leaning against your cream colored walls, his arms crossed over his chest as he smirks up at you with those honey glazed eyes that you can’t get enough of.

“Joel?” you breathe out, your voice cracking as you can’t believe he’s in your room at this very moment.

“Miss me already, darlin’?” he chuckles, his lips coated in warmth as the door to Wonderland stands wide open behind him, different shades of roses and flying butterflies leaking into your dimly lit bedroom.

“How are you here?” you ask amazed as your eyes go wide.

He’s here. He’s here.

“You were calling to me,” he says as he nods to your key hooked around your neck that your finger is still sliding against. “You haven’t even been gone a couple of hours, baby. You missed me that much?” he teases as his laugh fills the room.

“Yes.” You let the key fall back against your chest and run over to him, slamming your body against him as you wrap your arms around him.

“I remember, Joel. I remember it all,” you say out of breath as a tear falls down your cheek. “How could I forget. How could I fucking forget?” you ask wildly as another hot tear runs down your face. You feel his calloused thumb wipe the tears away as he lifts your face up to his.

“It’s alright, baby. It’s all okay now. You just got lost inside the chaos of the outside world. I’m so happy you made it back, my love. I’ve missed you so so much,” he coos as he pulls you into his chest and runs a hand soothingly up and down your back, calming the storm that swirled inside you just seconds ago.

“Take me home,” you beg as you run your fingers through the edge of his scruff, causing him to groan in response.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s go home.” He grabs your hand and pulls you through the wide open door, watching it close tightly behind you as it locks in place and disappears behind a bed of painted white roses.

Joel smiles and pulls you to his chest as he hooks his hands around your hips. “Sweetheart,” he coos as he gently cups the sides of your face and brings his forehead down against yours, “please tell me you’re never leaving again. Stay, stay with me. Stay in Wonderland where you belong. We’ve all missed you so much, but especially me. I’ve waited for your return for so long. I can’t bear to lose you again.”

You smile up at him as you brush your lips over his, breathing in his honeysuckle taste as you nod your head slowly. “I’m never leaving again. Never ever. I’m staying here with the white rabbit, with the Cheshire Cat, with everyone. But most importantly I’m staying with you, my love.” You echo his words of my love back to him as he smiles down at you.

“Welcome home, my love. I’m never letting you go again.”

He crashes his lips down to yours as you melt into his touch, his taste, his scent. You feel the warm air encase you as you get lost in him, in all of him. And you know now that this is where you belong. You belong in Wonderland with Joel.

And so you begin your lifetime full of adventures with the best way you know possible, getting lost in Joel, in your favorite Wonderland.

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