#the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good.

[summer-oil]

COME REST YOUR BONES NEXT TO ME ; SATORU GOJO, SUGURU GETO

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most. 

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes. 

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks. 

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth. 

it’s beautiful. 

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded. 

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere. 

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again. 

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, surely, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s really lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling. 

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.” 

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face. 

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips. 

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs. 

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!” 

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there. 

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot. 

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.” 

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word. 

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology. 

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown. 

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again. 

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it. 

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.” 

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?” 

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.” 

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.” 

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow. 

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice. 

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter. 

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself. 

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest. 

he hopes it never goes away.

[nono-serves]

Headcannon ideas for you as you asked!!!

• Drivers after a bad race

• Drivers when they had a long day

• Drivers when reader had a long day

• Drivers after a first win (first game win or first home gp)

Long days

includes: OP81, MV1, LN4, IH6, CS55, CL16, GR63, KA12, OB87, DR3;

X gender neutral!reader

summary: drivers when the day has been too much and how they would they care of you!

Warnings!: 18+ activities mentioned in CL16, DR3, CS55;

Notes: i went with the long days cause it can include the bad race so i have 3in1 like mens shampoo, Thanks for the request<3

wordcount: 703

OP81

▪︎he had a bad day

-is even quieter than usual

-lays face down on the couch (don't ask me how he's breathing, thats his thing)

-if it was a bad race he calls his mom or she calls him

▪︎you had a bad day

-lays on top of you to assist as a weighted blanket

-gets takeout for the two of you, even when his trainer will cuss him out

-euns you a warm, scented, bubbly, relaxing, romantic,.... bath

LN4

▪︎he had a bad day

-shoves his head up your shirt

-just wants sleep (maybe some spring rolls too)

-in case of a bad race he will blame himself and you have to orevent him from zoning out and overthinking

▪︎you had a bad day

-flexes his biceps to make you happy again

-offers you to live off his money so you can quit your job

-gives you a massage (not the best but he tries)

MV1

▪︎he had a bad day

-lays on you lower stomach with your thigs over his shoulders

-you learn 50 new swearwords everytime he opens his mouth

-dump all the cats and yourself on him and he's okay again

▪︎you had a bad day

-threathens whoevers fault it was

-shows you real crime documentation ti shiw you things could be worse

-watches all your comfort movies/series with you after

DR3

▪︎he had a bad day

-eats all the ice cream he can find in the apartment

-sex is an efficient method to cheer him up btw

-wants his hair played with

▪︎you had a bad day

-tries everything to make you laugh, but whem you realise all you need is comfort he adapts quickly

-his comfort includes smothering you in kisses

-would offer to fuck the memories out of you though

KA12

▪︎he had a bad day

-in case of a bad race he will rewatch everything and analize every data he has, he just spirals a bit so you have to let him do this for a bit and drag him into bed or onto the couch

-pasta is his peak comfort food

-"Can you tell me about your day? I need to hear your voice so I can sleep."

▪︎you had a bad day

-if you cry, he cries

-tucks you in bed and feeds you cookies his mom made

-shows you all the funny titkoks he found today

OB87

▪︎he had a bad day

-needs you to cover him in kisses

-baby him and make him food, he's yours forever

▪︎you had a bad day

-makes you instant noodles (only thing he can do alone safely)

-king of higs and cuddles

CS55

▪︎he had a bad day

-talks about it like a mature person

-wants to distract himself (tv, sex, cooking)

- if williams messed he has a 2 hour gossip call with ales

▪︎you had a bad day

-takes you on a walk so the fresh air can 'reset you'

-trashtalks your co-workes in a funny way

-"Mi vida tell me all about it, I'll listen"

CL16

▪︎he had a bad day

-need you strokinh his ego, telling him he's still THE Charles Leclerc (if Ferrari messed up a race again you have some work to do)

-needs a mental support blowjob

-cuddle him too and he's like new

▪︎you had a bad day

-will try to cook for you (look at him go)

-tells you funny stories from his childhood

-scoops you up in his arms and rolls you into a caterpillar with the duvet

GR63

▪︎he had a bad day

-sassy about it, makes snippy comments towards everyone (he goes easier on you though)

-you almost have to chain him to the couch so he stops pacing the living room

▪︎you had a bad day

-tries to logically solve the problem(s)

-soon he realises you just need his silemce and open ear

-makes you a coffee/tea/hot chocolate

IH6

▪︎he had a bad day

-he is a simple man: give him some cuddles and affirming words and he's like new again

▪︎you had a bad day

-pets your head like you are an pet (he's trying okay?!)

-SPRINTS to the store to get you all your favourite sweets and snacks

[tofics]

When Time Stood Still

Pairing: no outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: In a universe where the apocalypse never happened, Joel gets drunk and regrets breaking up with you, resulting in a video tape he wishes he hadn't sent... Set in a timeline somewhere around Joel's 40th year around the sun, where he hasn't allowed himself to really love anyone since Sarah's mom - at least until he met you.

Word Count: ~3.5k

Tags/Warnings: alcohol, mentions of a stroke/aneurysm, broken hearts, angst, regret, fluff

A/N: This idea came to me after watching Pedro perform "For All The Lovesick Mad Sad Geniuses" by Ngozi Anyanwu as part of the 24 viral monologues by the 24 Hour Plays. This fic is based around Anyanwu's incredible monologue and Pedro's performance of it. Please give it a watch, especially if you'd like a visual representation for half of this fic 😅

They say that some things have to be felt to be understood.

A sentiment you had never subscribed to. If you could imagine it, you could understand it. That was how you saw it.

Until the day that Joel showed up at your door at 10am on a Sunday morning, hair disheveled and brows furrowed, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Time really did stand still then.

You hadn't seen him in months. Hadn't expected to see him now at your front door either. It just wasn't the kind of thing one expected after a break-up. Hoped for maybe, sure. But expect it?

Not in a million years. Not after he'd shattered your heart into a million tiny pieces, fragments so little that even months later, you were still in the process of gluing it back together; trying to find matching fragments in a sea of chunks and shards. They cut you sometimes, sharp edges and all, memories bleeding into the now. It made you wonder now, just for a moment, if you were hallucinating him.

"Did you watch it?"

The hallucination spoke with his voice - Joel's voice - and then it pushed past you (with all the force of a very real being) into your living room.

You watched as Joel marched over to your couch, shaking up the blankets you kept on it for comfort and warmth, then digging through the cushions.

A cold draft blew around your bare legs. While the Joel-shaped person blew through your living room, you stood by your front door, handle in one hand, a sagging slice of toast in the other. The bite that was still in your mouth had taken on the consistency of cement.

Is this what a stroke feels like?

You could only briefly wonder if you had blown an aneurysm before hands were on your shoulders and you heard your name being spoken in that awful, awful favorite voice of yours.

"Hey, hey. Focus. Did you watch it?"

This version of Joel was different than the one you knew. His hair was a bit longer. Messier too. There was more silver in it. Bags under the eyes, dark and heavy. They matched the dark irises that were boring into yours. Your Joel's eyes had always been warm, like a cozy fire that was happily crackling on in the background. This Joel's eyes had none of that. His were dull and empty, like a fireplace long forgotten.

You liked your version of Joel much better.

Like a bizarre game of ping-pong, you matched this Joel's eyes as they flicked back and forth between yours. Left-right-left-right.

A deep sigh, and though you didn't think it possible, the light in his eyes darkened even more.

"Of course you saw it. Of course. Fuck."

He sat on your couch, face in his hands. Another cold breeze blew through your open door and rustled the loose papers on your dining table. With goosebumps all over your legs you closed the door to your apartment, sealing whatever hallucination had blown through inside of your apartment.

"Would you like a glass of water?" Stroke, hallucination - you figured it couldn't hurt to be polite. There was a guest in your house, and you had manners.

It was also the only thing you could think of to say.

Because what was the alternative? Demanding to know what he was doing here? A plausible choice, if he was real. The jury was still out on that one.

You set your slice of toast down on the nearest end-table, the strawberry marmalade having lost all its appeal. It'd have to go on the "forbidden items" list once this was over, joining its brothers and sisters with memory-jogging-capabilities. Another thing lost to Joel Miller. Would the list ever end?

Once you dared looking over again, you found the Joel imitation staring at you like you were the alien in your own house, not him.

“I also have coffee.” Did figments of imagination prefer caffeinated water? You didn’t know.

He regarded you for a moment longer, then nodded slowly, as if coming to terms with something he’d been struggling with.

“Of course you’d wanna talk about it,” he mumbled, seemingly more to himself than you, then: “Coffee’s fine.”

Talk about what?

You filled a mug for him, then repeated the question out loud.

'Joel' accepted the cup with a dry snort. “You’ve always been too kind for your own good. Y’don’t gotta pretend. Go ‘head. Lay it on me. I deserve it.”

A somber expression took place on his face, one you’d seen him put on before meetings with clients he knew had a bone to pick with him.

You blinked at him, trying once again to figure out if this was happening or just a really absurd dream.

“Umh.” You felt the strong urge to reach for your phone. Didn't Google have an answer for everything? 'how to tell if a person is real' 'how to politely ask if someone is real without coming off as crazy' 'signs of mental breakdown' Wouldn't that be a fine addition to your digital footprint.

You cleared your throat, hands nervously twitching at your sides.

“Uh… don’t take this the wrong way. Please. But, umh, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Joel's fingers fumble across the screen, accidentally swiping back and forth between the photo and video option a couple of times. A frustrated sound bubbles up from the back of his throat before he finally manages to settle on the correct setting. A tap of his thumb, and the countdown starts.

10, 9, 8, 7...

The visual on the screen shakes as Joel hastily props his phone down against the makeshift stand he created out of books and manuals. It's not perfect, but it'll get the job done. Hopefully.

Little beeps accompany the dwindling numbers until there's silence. He glances up at the screen, half-convinced he's fucked it up again - but there's the big red stop button, along with counting numbers at the top.

The tape's rolling, metaphorically at least.

A grin breaks out on his face. Victory. He did it. He's doing it. He's doing this.

He's going to pour his all into this video. Gonna put into words what has been trudging through his brain in an endless loop. He's gonna make you see, that you're still here, in his heart, his brain, his every fiber-

The numbers are going, running away from him. The tape's rolling, and he hasn't said a word so far. Out loud.

The smile falls from his face as he sombers, focuses.

"Hi."

The greeting hangs heavy in the air. It sounds unfinished to his ears, lacking one of the many endearments that used to follow his hellos.

"I... I, I, I..."

He had a plan. A speech, if you will. All laid out and practiced in his mind, but now that he's doing this, talking to you... He knows it's just his phone. But it's not. He's not talking to a mechanical box, he's talking to you. And that knocks the wind out of him.

Joel takes a deep breath, steeling himself for what he knows he has to say. Needs to say, or his head will implode. His chest might too.

It's now or never.

"I was thinking about you. I always do, around this time - every time of the day, actually... Uh, anyway. You're probably not even thinking about me." He's moved forward, more subconsciously than purposely, leaning towards the camera.

"Do you? Ever think about me?" Please say you do. "A little?" Please.

The picture of your smile enters his mind, distracting him momentarily. God, he misses you like a desert misses rain.

You're getting off track. Shit.

"What was I saying. What am I... What am I saying...? Don't lose track. Fuck!" He straightens momentarily in the hopes of straightening his thoughts along with his spine. This is so stupid. What is he doing?

"What am I saying!" He can't help but grin at his own incompetence. You used to lovingly tease him for it, the way his mind would sometimes scramble mid-sentence when he looked at you. God, this is awkward. He had a whole speech planned. Where did it go? What did he want to say?

Joel rubs his hands over his face, then claps them together. Focus.

He had a speech. A point. Time to bring it across.

"Do you remember - d'you remember when we saw that - what was it? Uh..." Fuck, what was it called? He snaps his fingers like the memory will snap back into his brain if he just does it enough. What was it called?!

"You remember?" Please say you do. "They used to be in these big ass expensive fuckin' buildings - you remember? What are they called... Erm-" What's the fucking word! Joel can't remember for the life of him. Perhaps the various whiskeys he's had have something to do with it. Either way, this is going nowhere. He's trying to make a goddamn point, for Christ's sake!

What were they called, what were they called? He knows he has one of them lying around. The papers that used to come with them. Probably still do. The little leaflets, you saved so many of them...

Joel doesn't realize he walks out of frame, nor the ruckus his search causes. Shit, this place is a fucking mess. But he knows there's one of them somewhere. He has kept them all, even if he didn't keep you. Don't think about that now. Don't. This is why you're doing this. Focus! Too many empty beer cans. He swipes them off the counter, along with his toolbelt. It doesn't matter. The only thing that matters is... There!

Joel hurries back to the camera, holding up the leaflet triumphantly. It has the word "PLAYBILL" stamped across its front. "Plays!" He beams at the camera. Finally. "This dude." He raps his finger against the thick paper. "The Last of the Sad Mad Geniuses," he reads the title. It was one of the first ones you and him saw together.

"Remember plays?" You have to. There's no way you forgot. "Songs?" You used to sing them all the time. In the shower, in the car. "Poetry?" He'd read them to you, verses you found in old books you picked up at the flea market. Your head on his lap, one of his hands in your hair-

God, why did he let you go!

You probably don't remember any of it.

"Yeah, me neither." The beer and whiskey slosh around in his stomach. Fuck, his head is kind of spinny too. Wait, didn't he have a point?

"What was I saying?" A point, yes, he had a point. "Right, umh." The play.

Joel holds the pamphlet up again, taps its cover. "Remember we saw this play, and you laughed so hard you peed a little..." You had been so embarrassed, but it just made Joel love you even more. Your joy was contagious. It'd make everyone smile. Him. Sarah. Most of all him. It makes him smile now too, just thinking about it. What was that line again?

"What was that fucking line in the play? How the fuck did it go? If - if if if -" Get it the fuck together, Joel. Focus. What was that line?

"If you got one friend when you die..." He hears your echo in his mind. It's hollow now, not as clear as it used to be, your voice slowly fading into obscurity as the days without you begin to outnumber the days when you were still his. If you got one friend when you die...

"...then you got something most people never have." He finishes the line and takes the verbal punch to the gut. Who knew theater could predict the future? You'd been his, and he had cast you away. For all the good reasons, the good and bad, though they all seem bad now in retrospect. Why the fuck did he push you away!

"And I tried to quote that shit back at you..." He sees you clearly now, down in that alleyway about a block away from the theater, your eyes shining with tears of laughter. "And you laughed at me, cause I fucked it up-" Like he always did. Like he had, with you. Finish the story.

"And I kissed you-" And then he threw you away. Suddenly, the tears are too thick to hold back. They burn in his throat, on his tongue. Fuck, fuck, hold it in, hold it in. Joel's breath trembles as he speaks again. "And you let me-" God, it hurts to breathe. His chest is too tight for his lungs to spread. There's not enough air, not in his lungs, not in this room, not in his heart. Fuck, his heart. It hurts so bad.

"And it-" Breathe, he has to breathe. "And it rained like we were in a fucking movie! And life was never better than that." The sobs come as the truth hits him smack in the face. He loves Sarah with all his heart. But you? You completed him. Filled in the cracks that opened when Sarah's mother left him. You made him whole.

Which means that he not only broke your heart, he broke his own too. In trying to do what he thought was best, he broke the both of you.

Joel thinks this just might be the moment that death comes and takes him. Almost hopes for it as he faces the ugly truth of his own actions. "Shit," he curses through his tears, then again. "Shit! What am I saying?" Didn't he start this full of confidence, with a plan? "Wh-what was I saying?" Breathe, Joel, breathe. Focus.

"Right. Right!" He remembers, now. The question he meant to ask.

"Why did you have to love me like that?" None of this would have happened if you hadn't loved him, after all. He wouldn't be here, suffering worse than he did after the mother of his child left him, left them. He wouldn't have to face the fact that his good intentions had been anything but.

"Why did you have to love me back!" It comes out in a yell, all wound up and tight like his anger is inside of him. At you, at himself. Mostly himself.

"You know? Why'd you do that?" Why did you? Love him back?

"You'd have to have known that you'd - you'd send me into a kind of madness, you know. Sometimes... Sometimes I think, maybe, uh... I made you up." Say that you were real. Say that we were real. "Sometimes," Joel whispers and wishes nothing more than to hear you answer him.

"So I go into the quietest parts of this house and... I whisper your name. I wish I could scream it." He should. "I should." Should he? "Should I scream it? I will. I should." He inhales deeply, your name already at the tip of his tongue. Just say it. Scream it. He wants to. He does. But his throat is locked up, your name heavy on his tongue like lead. Try as he might, it won't roll off.

The air dissipates out of him like a deflated balloon. He's dizzy, his stomach in an uproar. His pulse pounds in his ears.

Joel glances at the screen of his phone. Five minutes in, and he's only made a fool of himself.

"Yeah, I... I can't send this." What the hell was he even thinking?

Joel sat on your couch like a statue made of stone as you watched the video. If you'd had looked up from your phone, you'd have seen him flinch and cringe during various moments, but alas, your attention was fixated on the video Joel had sent you.

You hadn't seen it before he arrived. As a rule, you avoided your phone until after you had finished your breakfast, and Joel had interrupted you right in the middle of it. To be fair, the rule had only recently come into place, more specifically after Joel had broken up with you. Not immediately after, only when you noticed that you would scroll through his old texts and stalk his business' website like a madwoman, or - well, like a woman with a broken heart. You knew it was unhealthy and getting you nowhere.

So you hadn't seen it, not when he had sent it and not the morning after. Not until he showed up at your door like a ghost from the past you had tried to summon with your heart every day since he had cast you out.

You could hardly believe your eyes nor your ears.

The Joel that had recorded this had clearly been intoxicated. That, or someone had switched out your version of Joel for one that spoke a lot more openly about what he felt.

Silence filled the room when the video ended. You saw your own stunned reflection in the reflection of your phone screen as turned black.

"Umh-" You searched your mind for the right words, for the appropriate reaction. What did one say in a situation like this?

"I know," Joel interrupted your thinking before you could get anywhere. "M' sorry. Shouldn't have... I shouldn't have sent that. Or recorded it to begin with." He scoffed. "Just goes to show wha'a fool I am. M' sorry you had to see all that." Joel didn't look you in the eyes as he spoke. His eyes landed on your half eaten toast instead. "Sorry I interrupted your breakfast too." You saw him run a tired hand over his face, heard him sigh. "Guess I'm sorry for a lotta things these days."

Was he? Sorry? For breaking up with you?

For all he'd said in the video, that much still wasn't clear. You could assume, of course, but you had also assumed that Joel had loved you enough not to send you on your way, and you had been wrong about that.

"Why did you love me, Joel?" It wasn't quite what you had intended to ask, but it was close enough. You could tell it caught Joel off guard by the way he froze in place.

He took so long to answer that you were almost convinced he wasn't going to, or that he didn't know how. You couldn't have blamed him for the latter. It was hard to summarize why you loved the people you did, especially when put on the spot. To his credit - and your surprise - he tried regardless.

"Because you made me whole." He said it quietly, but with conviction. And then, for the first time since you had clicked play, he met your eyes. "Cause you love loudly and without fear, n' I loved it so much - you so much - that it scared me. Terrified me, actually." Joel was on his feet now, slowly approaching you. "What you gave me, I haven't felt that since Sarah's mom left. Hell, if we're bein' honest, I never allowed myself. But with you..." He came to a stop in front of you, and now you could see flickers of that warm fire in his eyes again. "Never had a choice."

Though he looked more like the Joel you knew again, you were starting to doubt his realness once more. How else could you explain the man you loved so deeply standing in front of you, telling you all you'd wished to hear ever since he had cast you out?

"You took my choice, too." For all the good he was saying, there was still a lot of hurt inside of you. "When you told me to leave, you took away my choice of staying with you despite your fear." The words felt wide and heavy, awkwardly shaped lumps that you had to force out of your throat and over your tongue out into the world. You blinked ferociously, trying to keep the few tears at bay that had pooled in your eyes.

Joel's face twitched and crumpled at your words. His arm jerked, like he was fighting an instinct, and then he brought a thumb to your cheek regardless, wiping away a single tear that had managed to escaped.

"I know," he rasped, visibly trying to control himself. "N' I'll spend my whole life makin' it up to you. If you'll let me."

And despite the pain he had caused you, despite the many nights you had cried over him, you didn't need to think twice to know your answer. You still loved him, after all. And in spite of it all, it seemed that Joel Miller still loved you too.

Mobile Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

No pressure taglist:

@zepskies @silas-fanfic-favs @evolnoomym @peekyourinterest @strawberymilktea

@noisynightmarepoetry @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @picketniffler @frogsdeservelovetoo @orcasoul

@ashleyfilm @elli3williams @missladym1981 @keanustummyscar @oldmenenthusiast

@sunshineispunk @divine-timings

I hope you all don't mind that I tagged you, just figured you might have an interest in this 🥺

[vaginalvr]

oh my gosh the gif where you asked for requests, it has me thinking. perhaps like a spencer x bau! reader and it’s just kinda pillow talk and where they sort of talk about the future, ya know like getting married and having kids type of stuff.

i supposeeeeeeee 🤗🤗🤗

a/n This is super cutie. enjoy!

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! Come submit an idea :)

cw: Emotional intimacy, mild suggestive content, but mostly soft and romantic

Now, hours later, you’re wrapped up in a pair of Spencer’s sweatpants and one of his old cardigans, warm skin still humming from the shower, your body curled against his under the comforter.

The room is dim, moonlight pooling through the window. Spencer’s lying on his side, propped on one elbow, his fingers lazily stroking the bare skin of your arm. Your head rests on his chest, right over the steady beat of his heart.

Neither of you has said much since you got home—just a few soft kisses, a murmured “I love you,” the kind of quiet that only happens when you don’t need words to feel safe.

But now, as your limbs tangle beneath the sheets and sleep threatens, his voice finds you.

“Do you ever think about what comes after this?”

You tilt your head, chin resting on his ribs. “After what?”

“This,” he says softly, gesturing at nothing in particular. “The BAU. Chasing monsters. Jet lag and cold coffee and hotel rooms.”

You hum, shifting so you can meet his eyes. They’re thoughtful, distant in the way they get when his mind is half in a memory and half in the future. You reach up and trace your fingers down his jaw, gently grounding him.

“Sometimes,” you admit. “I used to be scared to.”

“Why?”

“Because I didn’t think I’d get an after,” you whisper. “Before you… I didn’t picture anything past the next case.”

Spencer’s eyes soften, and he brings your hand to his lips, kissing each knuckle slowly. “Me too.”

The silence that follows is full of understanding. You’ve both seen things that make the idea of ‘later’ feel fragile. But here, wrapped in each other, it feels possible.

“I think about it all the time now,” he says. “Not in a desperate way. Just… little flashes.”

“Like what?”

Spencer smiles, that boyish curve of his lips that still melts your heart. “Like you in a wedding dress. A quiet ceremony. Maybe just us and the team. And then this ridiculous honeymoon where we forget how to do anything except be happy.”

Your breath catches a little. He says it so casually, like he’s just listing grocery items. But you can see the honesty in his eyes.

“You want to get married?” you ask softly, more touched than surprised.

He gives you a look. “Of course I do. I’ve been in love with you for three years. I want everything with you.”

You blink back the sudden sting in your eyes, smile wobbling. “Well, you’re in luck. I want everything with you too.”

Spencer’s hand rests over your stomach, fingers idly brushing beneath the hem of your shirt. “Do you think we’ll know when it’s time to stop chasing monsters?”

You exhale, thinking. “I don’t know if we ever really stop. But I think someday we’ll want to stay. To build something instead of always cleaning up after what’s broken.”

He nods. “Yeah. I want that. A house. Not too big. Maybe a porch. Some bookshelves I can overfill.”

You grin. “You’ll overfill every room.”

He chuckles softly, then quiets, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want kids?”

The question lands gently, not like a bomb but like something sacred. Something careful. You swallow around the lump in your throat.

“I think I do,” you whisper. “I used to say I wasn’t sure. Too dangerous. Too messy. But lately… I see a life with you, and it feels different. Like it’s something we could protect.”

Spencer’s eyes shine in the moonlight. “You’d be such a good mom.”

You snort softly. “Yeah? Even when I swear like a sailor and get hangry on stakeouts?”

He laughs. “Especially then. You’re real. You care so deeply. I see it every day. And any kid would be lucky to grow up with you as their mother.”

You press a kiss to his collarbone, overwhelmed with love. “What about you? Think you could handle the chaos?”

His smile fades into something more vulnerable. “I used to be terrified I’d turn into my mom. That I’d pass something down without meaning to. But now… I think I’d be okay. Not because I’d be perfect. But because I’d have you. And because I’d try.”

Your heart swells at the tenderness in his voice.

“You’d be the most loving dad,” you say, fingertips brushing through his curls. “You’d read them stories with all the voices. Make them pancakes shaped like animals. Teach them to be kind and curious.”

Spencer closes his eyes, like he’s imagining it. “I want to teach them chess. And long division. And how to spot a lie.”

You laugh quietly. “You’d turn them into little profilers.”

“Just the healthy kind,” he promises. “Smart, but not afraid to feel things. I want them to know it’s okay to cry. That being strong doesn’t mean being silent.”

You rest your forehead against his. “We’d build something beautiful.”

He nods, and his voice goes soft. “You make everything feel possible.”

You lie there for a while, breathing each other in, wrapped in a future that hasn’t happened yet but feels real enough to touch.

After a few minutes, Spencer murmurs, “Can I tell you a secret?”

“Of course.”

“I already have a ring.”

You pull back just enough to look him in the eye, heart stuttering. “You what?”

He smiles sheepishly. “I’ve had it for a few months. I’ve just been waiting. For the right time. The right moment.”

You stare at him, heart thudding wildly. “Spencer…”

“I wasn’t going to do it tonight,” he adds quickly, voice warm and calming. “Not like this. Not after a long case, in bed with no grand gesture. But now that we’re talking about the future, it feels silly to keep it a secret.”

You bite your lip, eyes stinging again. “Is it weird that I love that you told me like this?”

He shakes his head, brushing your cheek. “No. Because this—us, talking about our lives in bed, dreaming together—this is what I want forever to feel like.”

You lean in and kiss him, slow and deep, full of promise.

When you break apart, you whisper against his lips, “So… when you do ask, I’ll say yes.”

Spencer smiles against your mouth. “Good. Because I plan on asking a hundred times over the years. Just to hear you say it again.”

You laugh, pulling him close, and he settles into the crook of your body, arms tight around you.

The future is still uncertain. The work is still hard. But for the first time in a long time, you feel like it’s okay to dream. To imagine wedding rings and bedtime stories and messy pancakes on Sunday mornings. A life that’s more than surviving.

And in Spencer’s arms, you know—whatever comes next, you’ll face it together.

[moonlit-bunny]

honestly, I can't think of a single reason to enjoy or tolerate k@t/ang - everything about it gives me the biggest ick. usually I'm not that frustrated by ships, but this one really nags at my "this feels unjust" part of my brain. what likable quality is there?? even before I had any real opinion, I knew it was eugh... the way their interactions were written and shown always made me uncomfortable. "the younger boy has a crush on the babysitter" canonically being the creators' intent for their dynamic is not cute, wholesome or appealing to me whatsoever - particulary when that dynamic never changes throughout the entirety of the storyline, and their fundamental disagreements and conflicts are left unaddressed (to the BOY'S benefit).

the worst part is that the shippers try to make it seem like they're more cognizant of social justice, genocide, interracial relations (especially against zk fans) and a girl's needs. but the thing is, their arguments fall flat because the main character is so clearly the white creators' self insert whose romantic portrayal undeniably gives major "Nice Guy" red flags and treads incel territory: he doesn't need to earn her love - no, he is entitled to it. this is actually anti-feminist messaging and we never saw our girl's needs met in that dynamic. instead, it was him who was one-way benefitting from her mothering (which he wasn't bothered by), and his actions kept pulling her back into that role. in TSR, we see it even more - assuming the worst, lecturing and imposing his beliefs based on his idea of how she should be, not trying to listen or be present when he very well could have due to shared experiences of colonial violence. not to mention the grace, presence and non-judgmental comfort she'd offered him when he lost his bison and lost his temper.

at this point I am reminded that this series was made by white americans, so while the other characters can push the boundaries a little, the main character must be an enlightened boy with a supposedly higher moral conscience (in contrast to the angry, irrational brown girl) palatable to an audience residing in an imperial core (in which the majority of us do not regularly encounter or fight off the horrors of an active genocide). in other words, he unfortunately plays the role of a white man's mouthpiece for lukewarm takes - telling us essentially doing nothing is the correct answer to your loved one learning that an imperial soldier who murdered her family has made no amends and is out there walking free - no haunting, no memory, no consequence.

how does all of this not make one raise an eyebrow? by season 3 I really felt like someone had just thrown a tantrum in the writer's room and that's how we ended up here.

in some ways we got to see a fuller development and journey for zuko: we find zuko confronting his father become a better parallel to her confronting her mom's killer (that he considerately does not bring up on her journey), with both of them overcoming a generational trauma that share the same root cause. maybe we are drawn to this, maybe this feels more gut-wrenching, maybe this makes for a richer character arc because he is not a wide-eyed baby-faced self-insert, journeyed alone, and therefore was not shielded from having to make tough choices (like the main character's s2/s3 final dilemma). to think - his story more closely mirrors Buddha's own origin story! the irony.

it really is mindboggling because there are so many beautiful ways to write a friends -> lovers story, and it doesn't even need to be complicated. (if anyone's read fma, just look at ed/winry - heartwarming, reciprocated, felt natural and earned.)

this one's an unfortunate, utter mess, and season 3 plus the comics and LoK seemed to rub salt on the wound instead of making any meaningful attempts at clarifying previous issues and improving their relations. I just feel like seeing this pair as overall wholesome or something is ignoring certain key moments in the storyline, especially those concerning our girl. you'd really need to AU-ify their dynamic to get to a point where a romantic relationship between them (that is actually mutual) feels right or compatible.

[laseracronym]

I was wondering if you could do headcannons of shouto and how he’d court/treat his omega (omegaverse of course) and if you want you could add some spicy hc too ? thanks in advance 🤍

Ohhh, I'd be happy to! (also I'm assuming Shouto's an alpha in this scenario)

Alpha!Shouto with Omega!Reader (NSFW)

Shouto grew up with a big, angry alpha in the household, and so he has a lot of conflicted feelings about his own alpha presentation.

When he takes interest in you, an omega, what he wants to communicate the most to you is that he's safe. He wants you to feel safe and protected with him and he doesn't want to come across as threatening or controlling. Not that he's very loud or harsh to begin with, but he's even softer around you, speaking softly and handling you gently.

In the courting phase, he's very big on gift giving, but sometimes he can go overboard. Either in extravagance or sheer quantity, the price is no object to him, even as a young hero he's making really good money because of his high ranking. It's really overwhelming, but also they're not empty gifts, they're centered around your interests, he really does pay attention to you. So you kind of feel bad telling him to slow down with the gifts, especially when he looks at you giving off the impression of a scolded puppy. You'll have to find a compromise, he wants to show you that he can provide for you, so you gotta let him at least a little.

Also, while courting, he absolutely goes to his friends for advice. Even when they have no idea about courting themselves, he'll still follow their advice, to varied and sometimes comical results.

(He once asked his mom, an omega, for advice, and it turned into such a bittersweet conversation. She never actually went through the process of being courted before her marriage. But she's super supportive and wants Shouto to be happy. She likes you, too, and knows her son is a good person that will treat you well.)

He loves loves loves your scent, but he also very much wants to smother you in his own scent. He's constantly scenting you, and maybe he thinks he's being sneaky, but he's absolutely not. His "accidental" brushes against you are very telegraphed, and his sudden announcement of "it's cold out" before he bundles you up in his jacket isn't very smooth either. But the obviousness is the cutest part about him.

If you scent him back, he's on cloud nine. It's all he can think about the rest of the day, your scent lingering on him.

When you're together, he constantly battles with his possessive urges, scared that they're too much. He wants to stake his claim on you, wants people to know that you're his omega, and how happy he is that you're his. But he has all those memories of the worst kind of alpha behavior in the back of his head, and it's haunting his every step. A way to comfort him in this is to let some of your own possessiveness show, let him know how glad you are that he's your alpha, be a little jealous, a little clingy. Show him his feelings aren't too much, because you're feeling them, too.

When he becomes more comfortable with himself in your relationship, he's all over you, constantly at your heels, very affectionate and very proud. You're his omega and he's your alpha. He has a habit of putting himself physically between you and other alphas, and he keeps himself distanced from other omegas, too.

Shouto's so excited when you first show him your nest. The whole area smells of you and it's just so, so comforting. He's honestly in awe. He's exceedingly careful when you allow him to enter it, sitting right in the middle, stiff as a board and not touching anything. Part of him worries that his mere presence will ruin it, but it can only make it better in your eyes. When he sees the articles of clothing he's loaned you weaved into the walls of your nest, again he's filled with that feeling of wonder. Once relaxed, he doesn't want to leave, and you want to keep him in there, too.

When he gives you the claiming bite, it's so intense. He's whimpering and whining so desperately for you, lost to his instincts as his knot embeds itself inside of you, swelling as he fills you beyond full. He sinks his teeth into your scent gland, and it's like he's finally home, he's complete.

He's extra protective of you when your heats approach, and he tries to be there for you when they happen. He's more than eager to tend to your every need, to lessen the effects of the heat, to let you use him however you need, as much as you need. Part of him loves how needy you become, slick running freely down your thighs as you beg your alpha for his knot. He likes being needed, he likes being able to provide what you need. But he can't always be there for your heats because of his job, and it's agony for him and fills him with such guilt. No matter how understanding you are, and how realistic he has to be about the situation, it still makes him feel like a bad alpha.

He'll definitely want pups. He has similar fears of fatherhood as he does with alphahood, but with you, he has a lot more confidence that things will turn out okay. If you do end up pregnant, his protective, possessive side comes out in full force. He has you swaddled in items that smell of him, and while he doesn't outright challenge alphas that come too close, he gets very tense like he's expecting a fight and most of them get the hint to stay away. He's dedicated to caring for you, even going so far as to take time off and free up his schedule so that he's around more. He doesn't want you to lift a finger. At the same time, his sex drive ramps way up, something about seeing you like that, belly rounded with his pup, really does it for him. At first he tries to hold himself back, but if you let him, he'll be all over you as much as possible. He's very gentle, however, rutting into you with slow, steady strokes, his hand resting protectively over that bump. He'd never let his desires bring harm to you.

Bonus weird headcanon: Because of his childhood, he has some habits that pups usually grow out of once they reach puberty. He sometimes kneads in your nest when he's feeling particularly relaxed and sometimes sucks on his knuckle in his sleep.

(I didn't anticipate this getting as long as it did lol thank you for the request, hope you liked it!)

(Requests)

[its-quiet-colter]

Hello! I’m not sure if you take requests but I’d love to see a Joel x M reader fic where Joel’s only started to experiment with his sexuality and reader is a long time friend of his who he’s confided in.

Maybe they sit down on the couch, have a few beers, and watch the game and Joel attempts to give reader a blowjob for the first time??

Again, I have no idea if you take requests so please feel free to ignore this if I’ve overstepped

Show me how to love you

Joel Miller x Male!Reader [Pre-outbreak]

Word Count: 4134

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, smut, denial of feelings, implied switch!Joel, come eating, blowjob, masturbation, slight internalised homophobia. also bisexual!joel referencing his ex-wife and Tess but this is 100% reader focused.

Notes: hello anon! never apologise! i love requests and you're my first one. they're always welcome, and this got me out of my writing slump so thank you!! i also apologise, i have only played the video games and i haven't seen show. so if this feels a bit ooc, it's because i'm going off of my experience with the games. i tried my best :)

| archive of our own |

Joel Miller is not a man who understands relationships well. Nor has he ever been good with them. He keeps to himself, choosing to remain closed off. Each offer for a coffee after school drop off ends or dinner at one of the nicer restaurants around town are all turned down with a tone that’s polite enough and borders on cold for anyone who doesn’t know him well enough. Emotionally unavailable, one of the women from the school’s mothers group had called him. He supposes there’s some truth to it. Joel is a man who swore never again to wear his heart on his sleeve after all.

It’s for a good cause, he tells himself. Sarah doesn’t need the stress of meeting a new woman, nor the inconsistency of being placed second in priority to any potential girlfriend. Not his babygirl. Joel is a dad now, a single dad. And he’s made peace with that. At least that’s what he tells himself each night. Maybe Sarah does want that female role model to call ‘mom’ at the end of the day and cheer her on at soccer practice beside Joel. He’s buried that long before he can ever begin to answer that question. 

He has his routine now, settled comfortably into the role of single dad. Bedtimes set, school lunches packed, laundry folded, in the car for school by seven-thirty in the morning. It’s not exciting but it's fulfilling. And that’s more than he can ask for right now. He tells himself there’s no room for anything extra in his day.

But as Joel watches Tommy and Maria, he can’t help but think about it. He’s lonely. The two of them leave a heavy feeling in his chest, like he’s stuck behind a shield of glass. Forever believing he’ll be unable to find the kind of connection he’d once known. It’s a far cry to hope for anything remotely similar to what his brother and Maria have. That feeling of security, domesticity, comfort. A pang of guilt hits him as he remembers the way Tess walked out the door and out of his life after the third attempt of trying to make it work. Both of them were unable to convince each other that they were anything more than friends. But that’s all far away now, faded memories and the phantom feeling of kisses he’d felt a long time ago. 

He can live with that, he tells himself. But it starts to feel less and less convincing each day that passes.

Joel hasn’t had sex with someone in well over a year. That number grows to be even greater for anyone who managed to stay longer than one night. He’s taken to sleeping in the middle of the bed, a book stacked on each bedside, collecting dust as the nights are spent alone thinking up at the ceiling. His home is sparsely decorated, with no one waiting for him at the end of a hard day’s work to tell him the house needs a spring clean or some serious redecorating. The divorce papers left on the kitchen counter from Sarah’s mother were merely just the nail in the coffin for Joel’s lackluster love life. 

It’s harder when Sarah is at school. The house is dreadfully empty, quiet. He considered getting a dog, if only to hear an extra set of footsteps in the house. The only real respite from his restless mind these days are your visits. Whether it’s meeting at the steakhouse for dinner, the weekly football game, or Tommy’s barbecue that Joel insists you tag along to for the sake of his sanity. You are one of the few people that doesn't make Joel feel lonely. He doesn’t look at you and yearn, he feels safe enough to lean on you, to confide in you over a beer and a good laugh. His best friend.

Whether it’s the stress of work or his struggles with the women in his life, or lack thereof, Joel knows he can trust you. Not once have you laughed or dismissed his emotions, even when it takes him half an hour of stubborn emotional inner conflict to admit he’s terribly lonely. You’ve always listened, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder with a firm squeeze. Stable. That’s what you are. The touch you provide easing all of Joel’s worries. You understand him, you’re all he needs.

And you’re great with kids, with Sarah. He trusts you more than he’s willing to admit.

Whenever Tommy needs to whisk him away for an extra hand on fixing up the porch or finishing up whatever project he’s working on, Joel can always rest easy when you agree to babysit for the night and watch over her. There’s never any nerves when he gives you the keys before he waves goodbye. You are Joel’s longest and closest friend. You’re as much family to him as Tommy or Maria.

Only you can make his heart feel warm when he comes through the door well past midnight, just to find you asleep in front of the television with Sarah dozing beside you. Empty cups of hot chocolate sit on the coffee table and her head is pillowed on your shoulder. The sounds of your snores drowning out the movie. 

Joel always notices the smell of home cooked dinner that lingers in the house, and the spare plate you leave for him to eat later. Or the way your boots are plonked alongside his and Sarah’s at the door, coated in a layer of damp snow. You’re an integral part of Joel’s life, of Joel himself. 

The next morning, when he watches you get back in your pickup and pull out of his driveway with a wave to him and Sarah, Joel silently wonders what it would be like if you lived together.

– 

School’s back in swing from the holidays, the cooler weather bringing along the ever-present loneliness now that Sarah is out for most of the day. Even at work, it’s barely enough to keep his agitated mind at bay. Too much free time to think now that he’s not playing board games and watching movies during the break.

He waits in the car outside of the gates, the heater keeping him warm whilst he waits to pick up his daughter once the bell rings. Joel’s fingers rub over the worn leather on the steering wheel as the engine hums silently in the background. It’s boring, he thinks, tilting his wrist to recheck the time on his watch. It’s been three minutes since he last checked. He sighs, rubbing a tired hand over his face, thumb brushing over the stubble on his chin. Sitting idle with his thoughts is not Joel’s forte and yet he finds himself doing it whenever he’s alone.

It’s really an afterthought when his eyes drift over towards two men walking across the street, unimposing and going about their day. With a coffee in hand, they walk towards the direction of Joel. it’s not until he notices their free hands are intertwined with each other’s, engrossed in an effortless conversation. He wonders what they’re talking about.

They look like old lovers, not youngsters in their twenties. But it’s the ease in which they walk hand in hand with each other, comfortable and light, that has Joel’s chest aching, a sour feeling settling over him. Their eyes hold so much affection for one another, like their whole world is standing right next to them. An everyday intimacy Joel has long forgotten about.

The brunette laughs at something the redhead says, his head falling back to reveal a faint mark that peeks out of the collar of his shirt. He can almost picture how it was put there, placed along the curve of the brunette’s neck. Something heated, warm and passionate underneath the cover of darkness, pressed against the heat of a mattress. Or maybe it was something far softer; a press of lips against warm skin and stubble. Protected under the early morning sunshine that filters through the window.

He tries to visualise it in his mind, but it’s blurry. Joel understands the basics of two men together, but the details elude him. It’s not something he ever thought it was worth thinking about. He’s never been in a situation where he’s on the receiving end of another man’s attention. Except for that one dreadful time at the pub when he had been oblivious to the flirty words of another patron at the bar.

You had laughed, warm and rumbly from your chest after Joel sat down beside you with your drinks, unaware that the entire interaction had been an attempt to get his number.

Joel watches as the brunette and the redhead pass by his car, the fog seemingly to clear and the moment is lost. Reality crashes back down at the sound of the door opening and closing as Sarah hops into the backseat of the car, shaking off her jacket. The image is gone, but the ache in his chest never truly fades. 

“Hey kiddo, how was school?”

–

The image of the couple remains with Joel well into the months passing. Winter has truly settled in now. With frost coating the windows, the shovel taken out of the cupboard and left by the door for everyday use, a snowman guarding the front lawn. Joel finds himself making hot chocolates for Sarah and trying hopelessly to stitch up the holes in her coats and beanies. 

It’s in the dead of night, when he’s alone under a layer of warm blankets, whiskey settling heavy in his gut to compliment the hum of arousal that simmers and brews away. Joel slides a hand under his boxers, pushing past the waistband. It’s a feeling so foreign with just how long it's been. 

He lets his mind wander, trying to think of long hair, sticky lipstick and scented perfume that borders on too sweet– relying on the same old fantasies which stopped feeling exciting years ago but that get the job done. He wraps a hand around himself, arching slightly as precum makes the slide over his cock easier. Joel bites his lip, brow furrowed as his imagination gives way to the thought of a solid chest, the sprinkle of hair across warm skin that trails down to a navel. The scrape of stubble over his inner thighs, leaving kisses and marks in their wake. It's easier to picture than he assumed, the roughness of his own palm gifting the illusion he’s not alone. Perhaps it’s one of the other single dad’s, or the lad who works over at the hardware store, or you.

Heat pools in his stomach at the thought of you, his best friend. 

“Ngh, fuck.” he mumbles.

Joel thumbs the slit, his cock twitching in his hand as he imagines you next to him, your weight settled on top of him like a security blanket as he chokes back a moan and gives himself over to you.

A hand covers his mouth as his orgasm hits suddenly, far closer to the edge than he thought he was. His chest heaves and his thighs shake as he rides out the strongest orgasm he’s had in a long time. Come coats his fist as he strokes himself, grinding up into his palm to draw out the last of his pleasure.

In the darkness of his room alone, all sated and spent, Joel brings his palm up and licks the come off his hand whilst it’s still warm. For a moment, he can pretend it's yours.

–

When he sees you for the weekly game that plays on cable, Joel’s stomach all but drops and guilt washes over him and settles uncomfortably in his chest. He takes it all back. Feeling lonely and wanting is far better than whatever feelings he’s holding for you. It’s more than just your looks, he realises. Joel really loves you. He feels safe with you, enough to be vulnerable and confide his turmoils with. The thought of ever telling you what’s going on in head scares him shitless.

As you walk into Joel’s house, it’s warm and inviting. Enough to strip your coat, shaking it off to remove the excess snow. Joel’s left space for you in his life, an extra space on the coat hanger by the door, a dozen eggs instead of six, an extra beer placed in the fridge. Little things you’ve noticed. You occupy his living room, his kitchen and now almost always, you take pride and place in his bedroom when he’s alone at night.

Joel watches as you sit next to him on the couch, hyper aware of the space between you two, or lack thereof. He tries to focus on the game. The cheering, the scorecard, the pass of the ball from player to player, but it all feels a million miles away. You, however, feel all too close and Joel feels like he’s about to say something stupid.

“You okay?” You ask softly, breaking the silence of the room. He watches you turn towards him, shifting on the couch with your beer balanced on your knee. You’ve always listened to him, given him the space he needs to talk if he wants. Joel almost hates the soft gentle tone of your voice, it makes him want to tell you everything.

“Yeah, ‘m good.” He says, it sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. “Just stressed with work and Sarah’s school and stuff..”

You know he’s lying. Joel’s never stressed about work, the tasks come easy to him, working away with his hands helps him think rather than stress. And he takes to looking after Sarah like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Of course he worries like any dad would, but it’s not like him to get all quiet and fidgety through a football game.

“Alright.” Your voice is gentle, understanding he doesn’t want to talk about it. You place a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing in reassurance. Trying to convey without words that you’ve got him, that he’s not alone.

Joel’s quiet for a long time, but the way he leans into your touch doesn't go unnoticed. The game rumbles in the background, both of you watching it and neither paying attention.

“Have you ever… have you ever been with a man?” Joel asks, awkward and shaky. Uncertain. His arms folded over his chest as he shuffles uncomfortably, silently scolding himself for asking outright. But how else was he supposed to say it?

You can hear the tremble in his voice, the underlying fear written within the words. Unsaid and yet read all the same. Joel knows you’re more accepting than most, there’s been countless instances throughout your friendship to suggest you’d have no problem with such a question. And yet the man who is a born and bred Texan, who knows the way neighbours talk and strangers stare. His mind falls back to the brunette and the redhead, and the kind of things they must have to face.

“Yeah, I have.” You nod, your expression soft as you see the range of emotions crossing over his face. Shock, relief, confusion and fear.

“You have?” Joel asks in disbelief, like he won’t believe it until he’s heard it again. You’d tell him a million times if you had to. “How did you know…? That you were interested, I mean.”

“Well,” You start, a hand rubbing over your chin. “I kind of figured it out when I was real young, you know, a boy in my class, the neighbour's son, that kind of thing. But I didn’t really get it all figured out till I got to college. You know how the south is.”

“Yeah… I know.” Joel nods solemnly, it’s something he’s been thinking about over and over for months now. He opens his mouth, ready to speak and then a beat later not so ready. Joel closes his mouth, fidgets awkwardly under the silence. He doesn’t know what to do with the information of knowing that you, his best friend, have probably already gone through all the inner turmoil he has right now. But you’ve come out the other side, comfortable with yourself all these years later. Joel would be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous.

“Is that why you’ve been so stressed lately?” You ask, watching as Joel nods and takes a swig of the beer, wishing it was whiskey.

“You know you don’t have to hide how you’re feeling with me, Joel.” You place a gentle hand on his elbow, the touch grounding and Joel realises how desperately he needs to let it out. He’s held it in for far too long.

“I know, it’s just-” Joel cuts himself off, frustrated with himself that he can’t confide in you how he usually does. He needs you, your comfort. The normalcy you bring. “It’s something I've been thinkin’ about for a while now. But it ain’t as simple as just acting on it.”

Your hand moves up from his elbow to his shoulder again, your thumb brushing over the warm skin of his neck where the collar of his shirt ends. He shivers slightly, the touch lovely and cosy with the cold weather raging outside. Joel looks down at your hand on his shoulder. Then to your face where his eyes trail down to your lips.

Oh, you think. Realize. You know that look. Joel’s clearly thought about it and he’s thought about you specifically. There’s a hint of vulnerability and guilt in his eyes, his expression so raw. Like he’s finally decided to drop that emotional stoicism and reach a hand out for you.

The empty beer bottles are put down on the coffee table, as you turn to face Joel. One hand gently coming up to cup his cheek as the anticipation builds.

“Can I?” You ask softly, not wanting to break the fragile moment.

“Please.” Joel nods, and you lean forward. Lips press against lips and you feel the bristling of his stubble against your own as he leans into the kiss. His hands hesitate against the couch, curled into fists before he relaxes into the feel of your hands against his cheeks and your lips parting to feel each other more.

Your tongue swipes across his teeth and you feel the vibration of his moan as he opens his mouth and lets you explore your mouth. Joel’s hands unclench from the couch and he holds onto your shirt, pulling you closer so your legs start to tangle as you both spread out on the couch. When you pull away for breath, Joel is panting against your lips, the tip of his nose brushing over your cheek in a warm gesture.

“Too much?” You ask, not wanting to push him too far too soon. 

He shakes his head, still holding onto your shirt as if he’s afraid to let go. “No, not at all.”

You kiss him once, and then again. Then, before you know it, the halftime break is up and the game resumes in the background, but it’s lost on you both. The feeling of Joel pressed against you, the low thrum of arousal that grows between you. It’s far better than any game going on.

Joel slides down off the couch, and for a moment you think he’s fallen with the way he settles on his knees with a soft thud. But as he looks up at you, his chin resting on your leg, you know he went there willingly.

“Can I?” He says softly. Now it’s his turn to ask you, to want to be given permission as he tugs at your jeans slightly.

“You don’t have to–”

“I want to.” Joel says, shaking his head as he looks up at you with more certainty than he’s shown all night.

He’s wanted this for months now, the feel of another man. And yet, Joel is ill prepared for the intimacy of the moment. The warmth of your skin, the scent of sweat and arousal. The way your fingers slide through his short, shabby hair, guiding him down onto your length for the first time. You moan softly, hands cradling his head as he takes your into his mouth. God that’s good. Both of you are lost in the sensation of the other. The feel of your cock, warm and heavy under his tongue. And the warmth in your gut as Joel licks away the precum that beads from your tip.

The faint flicker of blue light from the game in the background bounces off his hair, catching the dark strands and illuminates a faint silver glow. A halo of soft light around his curls and the shadows cast over the curve of his nose as he looks up at you, the head of your cock swallowed around his lips. It’s intoxicating and you can’t help but moan at the sight of Joel below you.

Arousal settles in his belly, the strain of his own erection pushing at the zipper of his jeans. But Joel barely passes a thought for his own pleasure, instead captivated by the jut of your hips as you begin to thrust shallowly into his mouth.

“Steady, there you go baby.” You drawl, your voice heavy with arousal. Just the sight of Joel between your legs, moaning on your cock is enough to make you feel close. He gets too ahead of himself, too desperate and eager to feel you as he tries to take you all the way down. A gag is torn from him, and he can’t help but drool and splutter, pulling back from your length as it rests against his cheek, connected by a line of spittle.

“I don’t know what I'm doing.” Joel admits. The statement takes more vulnerability than he’s willing to admit, but it’s masked by the roughness in his voice, his accent raw and drawn out. 

“Just open your mouth wide and let your tongue fall over your teeth, darlin’.” You soothe, hands cupping either side of his head. 

Joel does as you’ve told, taking comfort and pleasure in your instruction. He likes it when you’re in charge. He can lose himself in your calming words, your experience helping him let go. He’s not worried about impressing you or messing up. Instead he just focuses on the heavy weight of your length on his tongue and the salty taste of precum. His own cock twitches in his pants and he realizes he could come untouched if he really wanted. But he had a feeling you’d take care of him regardless.

This is what he has been missing for so long now. Not just sex. But intimacy and safety. You’re his confidant, of course he trusts you to take care of him. Joel moans around you, his hands clutching at your thighs as he feels you move in and out of his mouth.

“Joel– ‘m close darlin’.” You warn gently, fingers tightening around his hair as your hips start to lift off the couch slightly. Joel groans, the thought of you finishing in his mouth causing his eyes to close as he buries his nose in your curls and sucks hard.

“Oh fuck.” Your moan is drowned out by the crowd cheering for a touchdown, and your hands stroke his sweaty hair off his forehead. Joel moans as he swallows your come, warm and a little salty. It trickles down his chin when you pull away, and if it wasn’t for his own arousal starting to ache, he’d have stayed down there on his knees for another hour.

You reach down, your thumb brushing away the mess on his chin before you’re kissing him and pulling him back up onto the couch with you. The taste of yourself lingers on his lips and Joel pants for breath between kisses, shuffling out of his jeans whilst trying to stay plastered to you.

“You know, for your first blowjob, you’re not too bad, darlin’.” You chuckle lightly, watching as he settles back against the armrest of the couch, a hand wrapped lazily around himself as he strokes his length.

Joel can’t help but laugh soft, trailing off into a soft gasp as you start to kiss your way down his chest to his navel. 

“Gonna let me repay the favour, mh?” You ask with a smile, wrapping your hand around his own to set the pace.

“Ngh, don’t leave me hanging, darlin’.” He moans softly, laying back against the couch as his eyes close.

Your smile is warm and playful as you settle between his legs, knowing just how good you’re going to make your man feel. Because he’s yours. He has been for a long time, it just took Joel a while to realise it.

[ladykailitha]

Forever Young Part 8

Welcome to the new home of this fic. Every Sunday until it's completed, I will be posting this here.

In this we peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, opinions and all, Wayne making an mistake and having to live with the consequences, and Mike knows more than he's letting on.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

~

Wayne gently shook Little Steve’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go find Ed, and get some snacks? You must be hungry.”

Little Steve opened his mouth to protest he wasn’t hungry when his stomach let out a low, menacing growl. Everyone looked at him wide-eyed and he was off that couch and into the kitchen lightning fast.

“Well,” Wayne said dryly, shifting on the couch to get more comfortable, “I think we just solved the mystery of how they’re growing. The same way it is for kids the world over.”

Dustin looked to Will. “You think the memory thing could be connected, too?”

Will opened up the notebook and compared what they knew about the growth spurts and the timeline of them remembering things.

“Yeah, that tracks,” he said with a nod, closing the notebook. “Their memories are tied to them waking up from either naps or overnight.”

“So then what caused Steve to regress?” Dustin said, crossing his arms. “It’s that part that doesn’t make any sense. Because if it was just tied to being sad or upset like Nancy thinks Robin would have regressed when Nancy was going to throw the frog, but she didn’t.”

“We’ll have to watch closer,” Wayne said, “now that we know how they grow maybe we get a better idea of what made Steve shrink on himself.”

The two boys nodded and then got up to go into the kitchen, but Wayne sat there a moment, thinking back on the past couple of days. There was something there, something just out of the corner of his eye, that every time he tried to focus on it it would slip away.

After a few minutes of trying he got up and wandered into the kitchen looking for something a little harder than Kool-aid to calm his nerves. When he walked into the kitchen, he stopped cold. There was a sight he never thought he would ever see.

Mike was helping Little Steve make his sandwich, the younger older boy was spreading the peanut butter and jelly over the beard while Little Steve told him which jelly he wanted. Mike had a small smile on his face as he listened to Little Steve prattle on about something.

Wayne stepped further into the kitchen and he could hear Little Steve going on and on about how Mom was mad that Dad had taken him to see some movie about a boy and his coon hounds because the dogs died at the end, but that she was okay with him watching ‘Bambi’ so it just didn’t make sense why she was soo upset.

“Yeah,” Mike was saying, “they made us read the book in fourth grade. It’s really sad.”

Little Eddie’s eyes went wide. “There’s a book? Man, the book is always sadder then the movie, so the book must have been extra sad!”

Mike chuckled and shook his head. “Both are pretty sad for sure, but I couldn’t tell you which one was sadder though. I think it depends on you.”

Little Nancy was pouting in the corner and Little Jonathan was awkwardly trying to soothe her, but he didn’t know why she was so upset. Wayne huffed. He knew why.

“What’s on the menu today?” he greeted joyfully.

“Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” Little Eddie said with a grin. “The owners of this house have six kinds of jelly and three kinds of peanut butter! I didn’t know there was anything besides grape and strawberry jellies and crunchy and smooth peanut butter.”

“Yeah,” Little Robin agreed, wide-eyed. “Honey peanut butter? Who would have though that was a thing at all?”

Wayne smiled at her. “So what are the other kinds of jelly then?”

“There’s marmalade!” Little Steve said with a grin. “That’s orange jelly! It’s my mom’s favorite!”

“There’s plum jam!” Little Jonathan said with an even bigger grin. “Like my mom makes!”

Wayne smiled at that one, because no doubt the jar in Steve’s cupboard was from Joyce.

“There’s raspberry!” Little Robin called out. “That one’s my favorite! It makes my mouth pucker soo good!”

Wayne turned to Little Nancy. “And what’s the final flavor?”

She looked up at him at wide-eyed surprise at being included. “Peach. It smells so good. I think I’m gonna try that one this time!”

Wayne turned to Mike. “You want me to help make some of the other sandwiches to help speed this along?”

Mike looked up at him, blinking, pausing his spreading of the plum jam he was doing for Steve’s sandwiches. “Oh. Uh, yeah. Thanks that would be great.”

Wayne started on Eddie’s because he knew that order like the back on his hand. When he was done he cut it down the middle, just the way Eddie liked them and slid the plate over.

“Who’s next?” he asked looking around at the bright faces beaming up at him.

“I’ve got Nancy’s,” Mike said and she visibly preened.

“I’ve already done me and Jonathan’s,” Will said from beside Mike.

“Right-o,” Wayne said and then turned to Little Robin, “the last the best of all the game...” she giggled. “What do you want on your sandwich?”

“I want to try the marmalade and honey peanut butter please,” she said, blushing brightly.

“One marmalade and honey peanut butter sandwich coming right up!” he said with a grin.

Little Robin giggled again. “You talk like Benny! He’s a short order cook! Or at least that’s what my dad says!”

Wayne grimaced. He didn’t want to tell this child that Benny was no longer around because of the assholes in the government was looking for the other girl who was standing there already having finished her sandwiches long ago, wordlessly watching everything with those all-too-knowing brown eyes of hers.

“Benny is a good man,” El said softly. “He makes the best burgers.”

Little Robin just beamed at her and then took her sandwiches from Wayne and sat down next to El to eat her food.

Then there was a glass of milk floating Little Robin’s direction to her absolute delight. “Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches always need a glass of milk to go with them.”

Suddenly there were glasses for all four of the other kids. All of them giggling in absolute glee at having their milk handed to them by telekinesis.

After everyone was full and cleaned up, jelly having gone everywhere including their mouths, Wayne sat them down. “We know how you re-age, but unlike what Nancy thinks the de-aging isn’t negative emotions otherwise Robin would have de-aged yesterday with the frog.”

Little Nancy scowled, eyeing Little Robin.

“Hey don’t look at me!” Little Robin shrieked. “It’s not my fault I disproved your little theory. Plus Steve and Jonathan didn’t de-age with their fight this morning. Something I think they have completely gotten away with with no punishment.”

“He started it!” Little Steve cried. “Even if he did remember something bad I did, that gave him no reason to hit me.”

“The reason he wasn’t punished, Robin,” Wayne said sternly, “is because we don’t know what caused the de-aging and it could have affected your behavior as well as your size. We just don’t know enough.”

Little Eddie scoffed. “It’s clearly the stupid wish we made. I don’t know why it worked when none of our other wishes seemed to have come to past, but yeah. Make one stupid wish drunk and boom!” He indicated to his tiny form.

Wayne and Dustin shared a shocked expression.

“Ed, what do you mean?” Wayne asked coming to kneel in front of his nephew.

But Little Eddie’s face screwed up as he tried hard to remember what he was talking about. “It’s gone now. I’m sorry Uncle Wayne.”

“So it is magic!” El said with glee, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. “Just like I thought!”

“Well,” Will said, “I’ll be damned. Good job, El!” He gave her a high five, then went back to the living room and came back with his notebook.

“Let’s write down,” he suggested. “Maybe the others will remember something like it later. We’ll just have to keep an eye on them in the mean time.”

They had Will write it down and then El took the notebook from her brother and wandered off with it.

“I have an idea what could be causing Steve to shrink,” Mike said, watching her go with a shake of his head. “It’s kinda like Nance’s but I don’t want to say anything yet, because I’m not not sure.”

“Well, whenever you feel like sharing with the rest of us, let me know,” Wayne groused. “Because honestly the novelty is wearing thin.” He looked over at the hurt faces of the now eight to ten year-olds. “No offense, but I’m not as young as I used to be.”

Then something strange happened.

All five of the cursed adults shrank before everyone’s eyes. All to varying degrees, Little Steve the worst, and Little Nancy the least but they all shrunk.

“I wonder what the hell that was about?” Wayne growled. He turned to Mike. “You sure it’s not feelings because that looked an awful lot like feelings just now.”

Mike shook his head. “It’s not. But the fact that it’s happened again, means that Steve’s wasn’t just a fluke.”

Dustin smacked his head. “Right. It has to be repeatable and with it just happening with Steve it could have been just him, but now that we’ve seen it happen to all of them, we can test out different theories to find out what makes them want to revert back to children.”

“I don’t wanna be a test subject!” Little Eddie wailed. “You’ll poke needles in me and I hate needles!”

El inserted herself between Dustin and Little Eddie. “We don’t need to do experiments on them. It’s been increasingly clear to me that if we leave them alone, they’ll sort themselves out.”

“But they’re super little again!” Dustin cried. “Yesterday was bad enough and I thought it would be better today with them being older, but now we’ve got them little again.”

“Yes,” El growled. “And if you test out different ideas on what makes them de-age then they’ll get younger than they are now. I’m not sure I want to be dealing with toddlers in the case of Eddie and Steve and infants in the case of the other three, do you?”

Dustin blinked at her for a moment. “I hadn’t thought about that, actually. You make a very good point.”

El stared at him warily for a moment and then nodded curtly. “So we leave them alone until they’re old enough to take care of themselves and can remember enough to do so.” She turned to Wayne. “You do not have to stay. I can call another adult, like Mrs. Henderson or Mrs. Wheeler if necessary. Plus my parents should be home today or tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll be able to assist us.”

Wayne stared at her for a moment and then looked at the boys. They all seemed resolute in watching them. He put up his hands in surrender. “My mistake. I’ll see this through to the end.”

She looked at him for a moment or two and then nodded.

El quietly gathered up the kids and shepherded them outside. “We’ll be playing Red Rover if anyone wishes to join us,” she said icily, over her shoulder.

“I’ll be out in a minute, El,” Will said, “I just need to put my notebook away.”

“Yeah,” Mike agreed, “I’ll be out soon too. I want to put the food away first.”

“There is no way in hell you’ll catch me playing that game,” Dustin huffed putting his hands on his hips. “My mom would kill me if I broke my teeth after it took so long for them to come in.”

“That is fine, Dusty,” El said sweetly. “I understand, I wouldn’t want to upset Mrs. Henderson.”

And then they were out the front door.

Wayne blinked at the direction they had gone and turned the boys. “Is she always this intense?”

Mike snorted, starting to clean up the mess the kids made with their lunches. “No. Sometimes she’s worse.”

Wayne’s mouth worked around trying to find something to say about that but no words would form, so he settled on a curt nod.

“I’m going to the store to refresh the groceries we used,” he said instead. “Anyone got any requests?”

The three boys clamored to ask for their favorites, but after a moment or two of them talking over each other, Wayne made them write it down.

He got into his truck and let out a sigh. He watched as Mike and Will joined them for Red Rover and let out another sigh. Eddie and Steve seemed to be really enjoying themselves, not a care in the world. He should just let Eddie be a kid for awhile. It wasn’t as though he had a great childhood and getting to play with kids his own age without judging about whether or not his clothes fit.

Hell, two of the other kids came from poor families, too. And it seemed that Nancy and Steve weren’t judging any of them, so...why not just let them play?

He started the truck and drove off down the road, content with that thought for now.

~

Part 9 Part 10

Tag List: CLOSED

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2- @gregre369 ​@tartarusknight @gloomysoup @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @oopsallgender @fearieshadow @dragonmama76

6- @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman @counting-dollars-counting-stars

7- @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gutterflower77 @wheneverfeasible

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10- @morallyundefined @best-thing-at-this-party @ollieolive @exasperatedsighohmy @watermelonmite

[slytherinshua]

2AM CRISIS

genre. comfort. sickfic. warnings. reader is sick specifically throwing up so don't read if you find that rly gross... some comments abt it being reader's first time sleeping over and the hyungs being extremely cautious lmfao. not proofread. pairing. yujin x fem!reader. wc. 1k. request. requested by @theriizeler a/n. i hope this makes u feel better dodo :(( first time writing yujin i hope i did okay he's rly such a sweetheart :( ppl need to write more for him cause i get not writing for him cause of his age but he's always skipped over...

“Ew…” Yujin mumbled, crouched on the floor of the bathroom with you as you heaved again. For this being your first time sleeping over (with extremely watchful eyes from Hao and Hanbin), it definitely was not going as planned. You had felt something was wrong the entire day, but your boyfriend Yujin was so excited to spend the night with you that you didn’t have the heart to cancel on him.

You should have trusted your gut, though, because now you were throwing up in the toilet in painful gags, your throat burning and a disgusting acidic aftertaste left in your mouth. Was it something you had eaten? Or maybe you had caught a stomach bug at school… You envied your boyfriend for evading it, though you guess it made sense. He rarely attended because of his schedule.

“Stay right there.” Yujin whispered, getting up and leaving the bathroom to find some water for you. 

He didn’t have much experience taking care of someone since he was usually the one always being pampered and babied. He tried his best to recall what his mom and Hao had done when he had gotten sick, but the memory was foggy as he had mostly just slept until he felt better. They did force him to take some horrible-tasting medicine, though… God, did he have to persuade you to do that as well? He’d rather just die than possibly give you an excuse to despise him.

Once he was back with a bottle of water, he handed it to you and sat back down on the floor of the bathroom. It was almost 2 am by now, and he wasn’t exactly sure what to do. He could see tears prickling at your lashes, and his absolute worst fear in the world was seeing you cry. He had no idea how he’d make the tears stop once they started.

You swished your mouth with the water and spat again into the toilet before taking a proper drink. The cool water soothed your burning throat, but it didn’t ease all the discomfort. You still felt like shit, and your stomach still hurt. Your head was also pounding, but it wasn’t as bad as the nausea. 

You turned back to Yujin who’s eyes were blown big and confused, though you could tell he was worried about you. His under eyes looked tired and you suddenly felt really bad for waking him up to go puke in his bathroom. If you had been able to get up without disturbing him, then you would have. But he had fallen asleep clinging to you like a koala, and there was no way to escape his grasp without waking him up.

“I’m sorry… you should just go back to sleep.” You muttered, but Yujin was quick to shake his head.

“I can’t just leave you throwing up by yourself… I’ll stay until you’re ready to go back to bed.” He told you, stroking your hair gently. You tried to breathe steadily in hopes of stopping the urge to throw up again, but it didn’t work. You quickly pushed Yujin’s hand away from your face and discarded more of yesterday’s meal into the bowl. Both you and Yujin grimaced in sync, and he hesitantly pulled back your hair and stroked your back.

The tears that you had tried to keep at bay finally started to stream down your face. You hated everything about the situation. You felt awful, not just physically, but for ruining your first sleepover with Yujin like this. No one wanted to be sitting next to their girlfriend who couldn’t stop vomiting at 2 am. 

“Don’t cry— please, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Yujin panicked. The only thing he could think of doing was offering you more water, which you took amidst broken sobs. He wrapped his arms around you hesitantly, knowing that he always calmed down in your arms. Maybe it would help you, as well. Your sobs slowed a bit, in turn slowing down Yujin’s anxiously beating heart. 

“Hey, what if I just get you a bowl? You can keep it by the bed and then you won’t have to stay here on the floor, hm? We can cuddle too… if you want?” You would’ve smiled at how cute Yujin’s suggestion was if you weren’t too focused on calming yourself down. You knew he was trying his best, and while he was a bit slow on ways to help (you were pretty sure there were some pills to help with nausea that Hanbin had bought last time Gyuvin had felt nauseous during a shoot, but you were certain that your boyfriend had no idea where they were stored), his presence alone was enough to make things a little better.

“Yeah… let’s just do that.” You agreed, standing up slowly. You flushed the toilet and rinsed your mouth once more with water. While Yujin was getting a metal bowl for you, you brushed your teeth, relieved that your mouth no longer had the awful aftertaste of stomach acid.

Once you were back under the blankets on the mattresses that the older members had set up on the floor of the living room (which was almost too overkill as neither you nor Yujin would even think to attempt anything like that, protesting Hao’s carefully thought of set-up would’ve seemed even more suspicious), you felt your stomach ease a bit. 

You curled up against Yujin’s chest, wanting nothing more than to be as close as possible to him. The soap and shampoo scents from his earlier shower lingered on his skin, and you were surprised at how effective it was in stopping your nausea and relaxing you. Your head was still pounding, but you’d take the pain over feeling sick. Maybe you would even be able to get some sleep again like this.

Your boyfriend kissed your forehead and started talking softly, trying to get you to fall asleep to the lull of his voice. It was extremely effective and you found yourself dozing off within minutes. You smiled when the last thing you heard Yujin say was a whispered “feel better soon, princess.”

↳ zerobaseone taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @eternalgyu,, @okshu,, @chewryy,, @haecien,, @sobun1est,,

@emmylksblog,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @chenleszone

[bingbongsupremacy]

I love your stories so much! Could you write one about Fanboy bringing his girlfriend to meet his family and she finds out he has like a gazillion family members,and she ends up insecure(maybe she’s an orphan or estranged from her family) and he comforts her? Angst/comfort if you know what I mean. I need to cry a bit 😭

Mi Familia Es Tu Familia

Pairing: Fanboy x Fem Reader

Warning: Cursing

Summary: You've never had a good relationship with your family. You're scared you'll mess up meeting Mickey's.

*Not Proofread*

No description of reader's weight/body type or race.

A/N: Tysm! I'm so glad you like my fics! I hope this is what you were looking for!

In case of confusion: Mijo/Mija mean My son/My daughter but are also used as terms of endearment by people who aren't their parents.

Mickey's been excited for weeks.

He's counted down every passing day, excitement growing more and more the closer his brother's birthday weekend gets. It's the first time I'll be meeting his family, and the first weekend I'll be spending with them.

He's spent hours, listing every dish his mom is making, promising that his abuela's (grandma) tortillas are "literally life-changing," telling me which cousin is most likely to embarrass him in front of me.

He says "my family" with so much joy, like the words themselves are warm and safe. I smile back, echo his jokes, pretend I don't feel the quiet ache blooming in my chest. I try to pretend that I understand, that I know the feelings he experiences every time his family's brought up.

The truth is, I don't understand what he's feeling. I've never had a family like that. Never had a house full of laughter and too many people talking over each other, or the comfort of knowing there's always someone waiting for me at home. My parents never showed up for big events in my life, and the idea of an entire extended family there? Unimaginable. I don't know what it's like to live in a house so alive and full of happiness, that it makes me want to tell everyone about it.

Sometimes it feels like Mickey's got enough families stories to fill a book, and I... I don't even have enough to fill a pamphlet.

I'm happy for Mickey. I really am. I'm glad he had a good childhood and was surrounded by so many people who loved him. Every kid deserves that. And Mickey, he deserves all the love in the world.

I want to be just as excited as Mickey to meet his family. This is a huge step in our relationship. I just can't help but feel a little nervous.

What if I don't fit in? What if they can tell I'm different, that I don't know how to be part of a family? That I don't understand what it's like to actually get excited to come home.

I'm worried I'll stick out like a sore thumb, and that Mickey will realize I'm not enough. What if he thinks that because I don't know what it's like, that I can't give our potential future family the life and love that he's used to. The life and love that he's told me he wants for our kids some day.

So far, whenever the topic of my family's come up, I've been able to dodge the subject. I just... I don't know what to say. Unlike Mickey, I don't have many good memories from my childhood. And I don't talk to my parents anymore. They made their decisions, and I made mine. And even though it hurts, this is how it has to be.

So I keep it in. I haven't told him how nervous I am, and I don't plan on it. I don't want to ruin his weekend.

I don't want Mickey to feel bad for me or like he can't talk about his family with me anymore.

I just need to keep it together and it'll be okay.

Now, as we walk up to the front door and I hear the shouts and music spilling out onto the porch, my heart pounds so loudly I'm sure he can hear it.

I want to belong here. I want to be enough for him.

But as he squeezes my hand and flashes that wide, unstoppable smile at me, I'm terrified he'll realize just how empty my world is compared to his.

I try give him as normal as a smile as I can muster as I squeeze his hand back.

"Don't worry. They're going to love you."

I know he means them as reassurance, but to me, they sound like a standard I'm already afraid I'll fall short of.

I don't have a chance to respond before the door is thrown open, startling me. Music and laughter from inside spills onto the porch, completely surrounding us. Amazing smells waft outside, instantly making my mouth water.

The face of a little girl immediately pops into view. She looks exactly like Mickey, just a lot younger and with lighter hair. "Tio (uncle) Mickey! You're here!" She immediately launches herself at the man, wrapping her small arms around his legs. She squeezes him tightly, a wide smile on her face.

"Whoa, hola chiquita (little girl)." Mickey chuckles, bending down to properly hug her, his hand slipping out of mine in the process. She immediately wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly against her.

"I missed you so much!" She exclaims.

"I missed ya too, kiddo." He ruffles her hair softly.

A shout from inside draws my attention. "Tío Mickey's here!"

"Tío Mickey!!" Another little voice exclaims.

Within seconds more children spill onto the porch around us, each of them trying to get to their uncle. Little arms and hands are thrown around Mickey, surrounding him completely. Their little voices and Mickey's laugh blend together, creating a chaotic buzz that's hard to understand.

I quietly take a small step back, trying to give them enough room for the reunion. I feel my heart begin to race at the sudden burst of energy buzzing around us.

"Guys, I promise I’ll hug every single one of you!" Mickey's voice is full of happiness and laughter. "Just give your Tío Mickey a little room to breathe first, yeah? I got a lotta arms to go around, but only one body!"

He wiggles around, trying to make space as little hands grab at him from every angle, his grin so wide it looks like it might split his face in half.

I watch him kneel down so he can be eye-level with the smallest ones, letting them pile onto him like he's the safest place in the world. The way his eyes crinkle, the way he calls each kid by name without even thinking. It's so natural. So easy.

I wrap my arms around myself without meaning to, trying to keep the sudden cold out of my chest. There's a warmth here that feels almost too bright to stand in.

A little girl with curly hair peeks up at me, hiding half behind Mickey's shoulder. She gives me a shy wave, and I try to smile and wave back, but my fingers feel stiff.

Mickey looks over his shoulder at me then, his grin wide and bright. "Come here, hermosa (beautiful)," he says, reaching a hand out toward me without hesitation, like there's no question that I belong right there next to him.

But all I can think is that I don't.

I don't know how to jump into the middle of a crowd like that. I don't know how to jump into someone's family when they already all know each other better than I could ever imagine.

My throat tightens as I force a small step forward, but my feet feel heavy, like they're stuck in cement. My heartbeat thunders in my ears.

I extend my hand to Mickey's waiting on, trying to focus on the happiness on his face instead of the anxiety twisting in my stomach.

"Alright, alright. Guys," he says, standing up slowly, making sure not to knock any of them over. "Can I get a second? I wanna introduce someone real quick."

He turns to me then, that big, bright Mickey smile on full display.

"Babe, these little monsters right here... these are my nieces and nephews," he says, ruffling one kid's hair while another tugs at his shirt. "And guys, this… this is my girl."

All of the little eyes turn to me, their attention completely focused on me, the stranger. Immediately the questions begin, sending my head spinning.

"Are you and Tío Mickey going to get married? My papa says Tío Mickey's in love with you, and mama told me people in love get married."

"Do you have a dog?"

"Are you gonna come to my birthday next week?"

"What's your favorite color? Mine's purple. Wait! Do you like princesses? I have a princess dress inside. Wanna see it?"

"My brother says Tío Mickey's 'down bad' for you? Are you 'down bad' for him too?"

Their voices pile on top of each other, a chorus of pure, unstoppable curiosity. I try to keep up, nodding and smiling and laughing in all the wrong places. My mouth feels dry, my palms start to sweat.

I can't remember the last time anyone asked me so many questions. Or any questions at all, really. The words start to blur together, my pulse roaring in my ears.

Mickey finally glances over, his brow pinching just slightly when he really looks at me. "Hey," he says softly, stepping closer and ducking his head so his eyes meet mine. "You okay?"

I swallow, nodding too quickly. "Yeah," I lie. "I'm good, just… a lot of energy, you know?" I try to laugh it off, but it comes out too thin, too forced.

He studies me for a second longer, like he's conflicted, but before he can say anything else, a voice calls from the doorway.

"¡Niños! Déjenlos en paz (Kids, leave them in peace)," a woman says, her tone warm but firm. A beautiful woman a few years older then us stands there with her hands on her hips, a practiced mix of affection and authority in her voice. "You can ask your questions later. Let them come inside first."

The kids groan in chorus, a few of them whining that they're "not done talking to Tío Mickey yet!" One of them clings to his leg dramatically, and he laughs, ruffling the boy's hair.

"We'll talk later, okay?" Mickey promises, leaning down to press a quick kiss to the top of the toddler's head.

Before they scatter, one little girl, the same one with curly hair, steps forward, her big eyes fixed on me. Without warning, she throws her arms around my waist in a bold, sudden hug.

I freeze, my hands hovering awkwardly in the air for a beat too long before I gently pat her back, trying my best not to look awkward.

She pulls away with a big grin and runs after the others, leaving me standing there a little tense. They're children. This shouldn't be this hard.

Mickey chuckles softly, sliding an arm around my shoulders as he turns us toward the doorway. "Hermosa (Beautiful)," he murmurs again, but I barely hear it, my mind too focused on how I'm already screwing this up.

"Hey," his sister says, stepping forward with a big, welcoming smile. "You must be the girl I've heard so much about." She opens her arms for a hug without hesitation.

"This is my sister, Rosa," Mickey says, his voice warm with pride. "Rosa, this is-"

I manage a shy smile, trying to push down the swirl of panic rising in my chest as I step into her hug, hoping she can’t feel how tense I am.

"-the famous girlfriend," Rosa finishes for him, laughing as she gives my arm a gentle squeeze before stepping back. "You don't need to introduce her, Mickey. We've all heard plenty already."

I force another small laugh, trying to keep my breathing steady. It feels like there's a spotlight on me, and I don't know any of my lines.

Just keep breathing. It's okay. Be normal. Stop acting so weird.

"Come on inside," Rosa says, gesturing warmly. "Mamá's been asking when you'd get here, and everyone's dying to meet you properly. But don't worry, I'll help you escape if they get too annoying."

She's joking, but the words only make the pressure in my chest tighten. Meet everyone properly. As if the porch scene wasn't already too much.

Mickey squeezes my shoulder again, pressing a quick kiss to the side of my head like he can sense the storm behind my smile.

"You're killin' it," he murmurs, so low only I can hear, his breath warm against my hair. "Seriously… you're doin' so good, hermosa."

I nod automatically, even though I don't feel like I'm doing good. I feel like I'm balancing on a frayed tightrope, terrified of falling in front of all these people who mean so much to him.

What if I fuck up so badly they all hate me? The last thing I want is to be that in law the one everyone hates but tolerates because they love their family member.

The interior is cluttered in the best possible way: toys scattered across the floor, mismatched blankets draped over couches, half-finished coloring books on the coffee table. Little knickknacks line the shelves: tiny ceramic animals, old candles, family souvenirs... each one probably holding a story of its own.

Framed photos cover almost every inch of wall space: family parties, graduations, babies in tiny outfits, old wedding pictures. Evidence of a thousand shared moments, each one humming with life and love.

It's messy, loud, and impossibly warm. A house that feels alive, like it's been breathing and growing alongside the people inside it for decades.

It's exactly the kind of home I'd wished I'd grown up in as kid.

I try to focus on the warmth of Mickey's hand on my back, on Rosa's easy chatter as she walks ahead, but my head feels like it's full of cotton.

I'm supposed to belong here. I'm supposed to win them over, be charming, be enough. I don't even know where to start.

I take a shaky breath, forcing another smile as more faces turn toward us, ready to greet the girl they've "heard so much about."

I hope I can live up to their expectations.

Rosa leads us deeper into the house, her voice floating back to us as she laughs at something Mickey says. We turn a corner into the living room, and I'm hit by another wave of warmth and noise.

The couches are overflowing with people. Older men with easy, booming laughs, women who happily catch up together. Plates of food balance on laps, someone's music hums low from a speaker in the corner, and a little boy darts between legs holding a toy plane above his head.

As soon as they spot us, the energy shifts. All eyes turn, wide smiles breaking out everywhere.

"Mickey!" one of the men booms, pushing himself up from the couch with surprising speed for his age. He claps Mickey on the back so hard I hear the impact. "¡Mijo! Ya era hora que trajeras a la muchacha! (My son, it's about time you brought the girl)"

Another woman, who must be one of Mickey's tías, leans forward, eyes sparkling. "So this is the famous girlfriend we've all heard about," she says, practically singing the words.

Before I can even respond, she's standing and pulling me into a warm, firm hug that smells like perfume and spices.

"Welcome, mija," she says, her voice low and sincere against my ear. "We're so happy you're here."

When she lets go, another uncle steps in to shake my hand, his grip strong but kind. "So you're the girl brave enough to put up with my nephew." he jokes, nodding at Mickey with an exaggerated, knowing look.

Everyone laughs, including Rosa, who slips to my side and squeezes my arm as if to say You're okay, I've got you.

A few more aunts and uncles introduce themselves one by one, each one showering me with questions about how the drive was, if I'm hungry yet, telling me to make myself at home.

It's overwhelming, but the kindness is undeniable. The room buzzes with shared memories and teasing inside jokes I don't understand, but no one seems to mind that I'm an outsider. In fact, it feels like they've already decided I belong here, whether I'm ready or not.

Mickey stands beside me the whole time, his hand resting between my shoulders, his thumb brushing slow, reassuring lines against my sweater. I force myself to keep smiling, to answer questions, to nod and laugh when everyone else does.

News travels quickly through the house and minute by minute more family members pile into the living room to meet me. Each of them is as kind and curious as the other. Very quickly the already pretty full living room is completely packed. The buzz of voices is loud and distracting. The feeling of their eyes, although full of happiness and welcoming, weighs heavier and heavier on me with every pair that joins. Each new face adds another layer of pressure pressing down on my shoulders, another invisible hand squeezing at my ribs.

Mickey doesn't seem to notice. He's laughing, fully swept up in a story with his cousins, head thrown back, his entire face lit up in a way I've never seen before. He looks so at home, so effortlessly part of this world.

I want to be happy for him. I want to match that warmth, that easy glow. But I can't. I can't even hear my own thoughts over the roar in my head.

Questions keep flying at me, too fast to catch. Names I can't hold on to. Laughter I'm not sure is meant for me or about me. I nod when I think I'm supposed to, force out a brittle laugh that scrapes at my throat like broken glass.

Children shriek somewhere down the hall, music shifts into a new, louder song, a can hisses open behind me. It's all too much. Too loud, too bright, too close. The room feels like it's shrinking with every breath I take.

I feel like an animal trapped in a cage way too small for it's body.

Mickey's family's so kind, they haven't done anything to hurt me. Why do I feel this way? Why?

I try to focus on Mickey's hand on my thigh, but even that feels distant, like I'm underwater and someone's tapping on the surface far above me.

My fingers dig into the cushion beneath me, nails biting into the fabric so hard they start to ache. My chest is tight, my heart jackhammering against my ribs.

I can't breathe.

I can't breathe.

I feel tears threatening at the edges of my vision, hot and humiliating. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard I taste blood, anything to stop them from falling here, in front of all these people who just want to love me.

Don't cry. Don't fucking cry!

My insecurities repeatedly replay in my head like a broken, screechy record.

I don't belong here. I never did. I'm going to ruin this for him. I'm going to ruin everything. Why can't I be stronger? Why can't I be normal?

All I want to be is normal.

"Um, where's the bathroom?" my voice shakes as I ask Mickey's family around me.

"Down the hall, mija." One of Mickey's responds. She gestures vaguely to the left, but her hand might as well be a mile-long maze for all I can process.

I somehow find the strength to push myself off the couch, my knees threatening to buckle under me.

"Babe?" Mickey's voice sounds distant, even though he's inches away from me. "Hey, where you goin', huh?"

My vision tunnels, the edges of the room going dark and wavy. Every step feels like I'm trying to walk through deep water, my feet heavy and slow, the floor tilting underneath me.

My chest tightens to the point of pain, every breath coming up short and sharp. The knot in my throat rises higher, strangling me from the inside out.

I mumble broken apologies, stumbling past hands and knees and warm bodies that all blur into each other.

"She's very quiet, isn't she?" I faintly hear someone ask.

"I thought she'd talk more." Another person comments. "Maybe she's shy?"

Deep in my heart I know they're talking about me.

I reach the hallway and catch a glimpse of a familiar figure. Rosa, maybe? She looks so far away, her face warping and melting at the edges.

"Are you okay?" Her voice cuts through the static in my head, distorted and echoing as if she's shouting down a long tunnel.

"Bathroom," I croak out, the word scraping out of me like shattered glass. It's all I can manage before my vision tilts again, the floor lunging up to meet me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, desperately trying to force the world to stop spinning, but when I open them, it's worse. Colors smear together, faces melt into a single vibrating mass, voices blend into a deafening roar.

A loud static buzz fills my ears, growing louder and louder until it swallows everything else. My heart slams so hard I think it might burst through my ribs.

Somewhere in the distance, I hear my name, a terrified shout, urgent and sharp.

But it's already too late.

My eyes roll back, and my knees buckle. My body crumples to the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.

The last thing I feel is the rush of cold air against my cheek, and then-

Nothing.

Only darkness.

-----

When I finally start to come to, the world feels heavy and muffled, like I'm swimming up from the bottom of a deep, dark pool.

I hear my name first. Soft. Nervous.

"Hey… hey, mi amor (my love). C'mon, open those pretty eyes for me. There you are."

Mickey's voice. Closer now. It cuts through the fog like a hand reaching into the dark.

My eyelids flutter open, sluggish and heavy. The first thing I see is the ceiling, dim and unfamiliar. My head feels like it's packed with wet cotton. My body feels so heavy.

Then Mickey's face leans into view, his features pinched with worry, his dark eyes wide and frantic. He's kneeling beside me, one hand cradling my cheek, the other gripping my fingers so tightly it almost hurts.

"You're okay," he breathes, like he's trying to convince himself as much as me. His thumb brushes across my cheekbone, over and over. "You're right here with me… you're okay."

I realize I'm lying on a couch now, different from before. The living room is completely empty. The chatter, the music, the constant hum of life. All gone.

It's just me, Mickey, and Rosa, who stands a few feet away with her arms crossed, her expression tight with concern but gentle.

"You scared the shit out of us," Mickey says, his voice breaking on a shaky laugh. "One second you were there, the next… fuck, mi amor (my love)…"

I try to speak, but my throat burns and the words crumble before they reach my tongue. All I manage is a small, choked sound.

"Shh, take it easy," he whispers, leaning in to press his forehead gently against mine. "Don't push yourself, okay?"

I feel a tremor run through me, and my own tears finally spill over, sliding hot and helpless down my temples.

Rosa steps forward then, her voice soft and steady. "We cleared everyone out. Gave you some space. You're safe, okay? You're safe."

I try to nod, but everything still feels too heavy. My chest aches with embarrassment, shame wrapping around my ribs like barbed wire.

This is not how I wanted things to go.

I ruined Mickey's weekend.

I haven't even gotten to meet his mom yet. She was picking up something she forgot at the store when we arrived.

Mickey pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes scanning every inch of my face like he's memorizing me all over again. "Baby, what happened?" he whispers, asking himself more than me.

The dam inside me finally breaks. A sob rips through my chest, raw and sharp, and I cover my face with my hands as if I can hide from him, from all of this.

Mickey pulls me up gently, wrapping his arms around me so tightly I feel like I might disappear into him. He rocks us slowly, one hand smoothing up and down my back, the other cradling my head against his shoulder.

"Shh… it's okay. You're okay. I've got you," His voice cracks on some of the words, and I feel his lips press to my hair, my temple, anywhere he can reach.

Gradually, my sobs start to soften, turning into small, hiccupping gasps. My fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt, trying to ground myself in his presence.

Rosa reappears beside us, her face full of quiet understanding. She hands me a glass of water, and my shaking fingers barely manage to hold it.

"Thank you," I croak out, voice shredded and small.

I sip the water, trying to steady my breathing. My throat still feels tight, my face hot and blotchy.

"I'm sorry," I whisper finally, words tumbling out like an avalanche. "I'm so sorry, Mickey. I ruined your weekend. I know you were looking forward to relaxing and having fun with everyone. I… I've just been so stressed and in my head, worrying about your family not liking me. I… I ruined everything."

Rosa lays a gentle hand on my shoulder, squeezing once before glancing at Mickey. "I'll give you two some space, Mick." she says softly, her eyes kind. She slips quietly out of the room.

Mickey shakes his head immediately, cupping my face between his hands again. "Hey. No. You didn't ruin anything," he says firmly. “You didn't ruin anything, hermosa (beautiful). You don't gotta stress about any of that. My family? They already love you. They loved you before you even stepped through that door.”

"How do you know that?" I shoot back, my voice rising again, full of panic. "I probably messed everything up. I embarrassed myself. They probably think I'm-"

"Stop," he interrupts, his thumb brushing over my damp cheek. "I know because that's how it is with us. Family loves family, no matter what."

"But I'm not your family," I choke out. "I'm just… I'm your girlfriend."

His eyes flinch slightly at the word "just," the hurt flashing across his face before he schools it back into softness.

"You are my family," he says, low and steady, like he's anchoring himself in the words. "You're my girlfriend, and that makes you family. It doesn't matter if we're married or not. I love you with my entire heart. I would do anything for you. You're family." his gaze is firm, and his words are serious. "My family? We don't have no checklist or tests before deciding if someone deserves love. If you love 'em, they love you. That's it. No conditions. No strings attached."

I stare at him, my mouth opening and closing as more tears well up.

"Mickey," I whisper, my voice barely there, "I don't know how to do this. To have a family." I admit, embarrassed.

His eyebrows pull together, confusion. "What do you mean?" he asks, his hands still gentle on my face, thumbs catching each new tear as it falls.

"Mickey," I whisper again, my throat tightening so hard it hurts. "I don't know how to have a family because… I don't talk to mine. At all. None of them."

His eyes widen, his hands frozen on my cheeks.

"I don't see them on Christmas," I continue, my voice breaking in new, jagged places. "I don't eat with them on Thanksgiving. They don't call me on my birthday. I haven't seen them since I left the house."

He looks like he's about to say something, but the words keep pouring out of me, unstoppable, each one tearing something open inside.

"All of this. The big family dinners, the birthday parties, the aunts and uncles who want to know everything about you, the kids who run up for hugs... I never had that. I never did. Not as a kid, not as a teen, not now."

My voice cracks again, my entire body shaking.

"They didn't want to be a part of my life from the beginning, so they just… weren't. They left me to take care of myself. They didn't come to my graduation or any of my soccer games. They didn't help me move out. They just… disappeared. I tried reaching out to them. I tried for a long time. They just don't give a shit. So I gave up."

Mickey's eyes fill with tears, his mouth parting in a silent, horrified gasp.

"I never spent time with extended family either," I force out, my shoulders curling in like I'm trying to make myself smaller. "I don't even know who my grandparents are. Or my cousins. I've never met any of them. I don't even know their names. I don't have a family, Mickey. I never did. Not like yours."

I feel myself shrinking under the weight of my own words, under the truth I've carried alone for so long.

"I had a lonely childhood, Mickey," I whisper, almost inaudible now. "Lonely in every way you can imagine. I didn't have any of this. I don't know how to exist inside it. I don't know how to let so many people love me."

He looks like he's been punched, his tears finally spilling over as he pulls me closer, wrapping his arms around me like he can protect me from the past itself.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he chokes out, his voice shaking almost as much as his hands. "Why didn't you ever tell me any of this? All this time...you never said anything."

I bury my face against his chest, my eyes blurry with tears.

"Because I didn't want to make you feel bad," I rasp, the words muffled against him. "I didn't want you to feel like you had to stop talking about your family around me, or like you had to hide your happiness just because I… because I didn't have it."

"I'm so sorry," Mickey breathes out, his voice ragged and full of pain. He presses his forehead to mine again, his fingers trembling against my cheeks. "I'm so sorry you had to deal with all of that alone. If I had known… if I'd known, I would've done this so differently."

His voice is full of regret. "I wouldn't have put you in this position," he continues. "I shouldn't have… I should've started small. Just my parents first, eased you in. I actually thought about that at the beginning, but then…" He lets out a shaky, bitter laugh. "I was just so damn excited for everyone to know you, to see how wonderful you are. I got carried away. I didn't think about how stressful... how completely overwhelming, this all must've been for you. It was selfish. I'm so sorry I put you in that position. That you felt like you had to be here. That you couldn't be honest with me." His head drops slightly, guilt pooling in his eyes as they flick up to mine. "That's on me. It is."

I shake my head quickly, my hands flying up to grab his wrists. "No, no, Mickey… this isn't your fault," I manage to croak out, my voice cracking under the weight of the words. "I handled it wrong. Me. I made the decision not to tell you. How were you supposed to know? You can't read my mind."

I bite my lip.

"I was scared," I confess, the words spilling out in a rush now. "I didn't handle it right. I just… I wanted to support you, no matter what. I thought I could handle it. I thought if I just kept smiling, I could get through it for you. That eventually, I'd find a way to fit in and like it. That I'd get used to it and learn what to do."

I suck in a sharp breath, fighting the tremor in my jaw.

"I was scared you wouldn't want to be with me anymore if you knew," I whisper, my gaze dropping to our joined hands. "You love your family so much. You're this… big family guy. You light up so much when you talk to them... when you're around them. And I thought… I thought if you knew I didn't have that, that I didn't even know how to have that… you'd think I'd be bad at it. That I couldn't ever be good at having a family with you someday if I can't even keep my own. I was so scared," I choke out. "So scared of losing you."

Mickey's arms tighten around me immediately, his fingers digging into my back like he's terrified I'll vanish if he loosens his grip even a little.

"Hey… hey, look at me," he whispers, his voice rough but so gentle. He pulls back just enough to tilt my chin up, his beautiful brown eyes looking into mine.

"Listen to me, hermosa (beautiful)," he says, his voice firm but trembling. "No. Don't you ever think I'd leave you over that. Ever. That's not even… that's not even a thing. That would never even cross my mind. It's not your fault," he says, shaking his head, his dark hair falling into his eyes. "You tried. You tried with them, and they made their decision. That's on them. You deserved so much better than what they gave you. You deserved a family that showed up. A family that celebrated you, protected you, loved you without conditions. And I hate... I hate that you didn't get that. I hate that they made you feel like you had to do it all alone. Because that's not what family is supposed to be like."

He takes a small breath, like he's trying to calm himself.

"I would never love you based on whether you had a good family or not," he whispers, his thumb stroking slow circles against my skin. "That has nothing to do with it. Nothing. I love you because of you. Because of who you are. Your heart, your kindness, your patience, your stubbornness when you care about something, because you look at me like I'm the only guy in the world, even when I'm being an idiot. I love you because you're funny and you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. Inside and out."

He draws in a shuddering breath, his fingers tightly drawing around mine.

"I wanna build a family with you someday," he murmurs against my skin. "Not 'cause of what you did or didn't have. But because of who you are. You're gonna be such an amazing mom someday, I know it. You're already the most patient, sweetest, strongest person I know."

He lets out a shaky breath, leaning back just enough to see my face, his hands still framing my cheeks.

"Your family didn't teach you how to love, but you still do it better than anyone I've ever met. You didn't have them, but you still became you. And that's what I love. That's why I love you. You didn't get the family you deserved growing up, but… you got me now, okay? You got me. And I'm not going anywhere. And they might seem a little intimidating right now, but you've got my entire family too. I've got enough for the both of us."

I let out watery laugh. "You do have quite a few family members." I sniff, trying to wipe at my cheeks.

Mickey laughs too, this soft, breathy sound that shakes against my forehead.

"Yeah, you're tellin' me," he teases, a playful glint cutting through the tears in his eyes. "Trust me, I lose track of cousins all the time. I'm pretty sure there's a few I still haven't met yet."

He leans in, brushing a gentle kiss over my lips, quick and tender, like he's afraid I might break if he lingers too long.

"But that's okay," he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine again. "You don't gotta memorize them all tonight. You don't gotta do anything but just… be here. With me. That's all I want."

His thumb strokes my cheek again, and he gives me that soft, crooked smile I've always loved. The one that makes me feel safe, seen, and wanted all at once.

"You got me, my vida (my life)," he whispers one last time. "Always."

-----

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Mickey asks for the 3rd time.

"Yes, I'm really sure. It's just your mom and dad, Mick." I reassure him.

He squints at me, tilting his head a little like he's trying to see through me. "Mmm… I dunno. You sure you're not just sayin' that 'cause you think I'll stop asking?"

I roll my eyes, giving him a gentle shove to the chest.

He snorts, but his face softens right away. "Alright… but hey... if it gets to be too much, you tell me, okay? No toughing it out this time. You already scared the crap outta me once, let's not go for round two. You didn't get a concussion last time, but let's not push our luck."

It's been about an hour since I passed out, and honestly, I feel so much better now. Telling Mickey everything lifted a weight I didn't even realize I was dragging around.

We decided together that it'd be better to meet people in smaller groups. No more full-house ambushes. We're going to start meeting with people right after I meet his parents.

I'm a little nervous. They're his parents, after all, but it's nothing like the tidal wave of panic I felt earlier.

This time, I actually feel… ready.

Mickey gives my hand a quick squeeze before leading me toward the kitchen, where his parents are waiting.

"Okay, deep breath," he whispers, leaning in close enough that his nose brushes my cheek. "You got this. Remember, they already love you. No need to try to impress them."

I laugh shakily, squeezing his fingers back.

When we step into the kitchen, his mom is bustling around near the stove while his dad stands by the counter, sipping a mug of something warm.

The second his mom sees me, she gasps, dropping the towel in her hands.

"Ay, mija (daughter)!" she cries, rushing over so fast I barely have time to react. She cups my face, her eyes wide and glossy. "Are you okay? Miguel told me what happened. you scared us all half to death!"

Before I can answer, she pulls me into a tight hug, strong and all-encompassing, the kind of hug that feels like it might hold you up if your knees give out.

"You need some water," she declares immediately, pulling back just enough to look me over, like she's checking for injuries. "And food. You have to eat something. You need energy. Sit, sit!"

She practically ushers me to a chair before I can get a word in, already reaching for a glass.

Mickey's dad steps forward then, his eyes kind and warm, a gentle smile on his face. "We're so happy to finally meet you," he says, offering his hand before leaning in to kiss my cheek. "Bienvenida (Welcome). Welcome to the family."

My heart twists, the warmth of it all settling deep in my chest.

"Th-thank you," I manage to stammer, overwhelmed but in a completely different, softer way than before. "It's great to meet you both."

"It's great to meet you too." Mickey's mom smiles.

Mickey slides in beside me, grinning like an idiot as he watches his mom fuss over me. "Told you," he teases under his breath. "She's gonna coddle you all evening."

His mom shoots him a sharp look. "Mickey! Let her drink her water first before you start making jokes."

"Sí, señora, (Yes, Ma'am)" he laughs, raising his hands in surrender, though he's still clearly beaming with pride.

She turns back to me, gently pushing a glass into my hands. "Drink," she insists, her eyes kind but firm. "And eat something too. You're family now. You don't leave my kitchen without a full plate and a full heart."

I can't help it. My eyes sting again, but this time from something so warm it almost feels like relief.

"Thank you," I whisper, voice trembling as I take a sip.

"Of course, mija," she says, pressing a kiss to the top of my head like I've always belonged here.

Mickey wraps his arm around my shoulders then, squeezing gently. "Told you," he murmurs again, softer this time. "You got us now. All of us."

For the first time, I have what I've always wanted.

A family.

[alien-magnolia]

Ani. <3

Anakin skywalker (dom-coded) + fem!reader (sub-coded) use of the force in certain <3 ways, night terrors, hurt/comfort, angst, ani shows you his strength! (Size kink) soft and then rough -ish sex, crying, etc (daddy!issues, sorry I had to)

You wake up, shaking. You had that dream again. The one about how your father died. You missed him a lot, especially since he had passed away such a long time ago — for half your life, he was gone. You were lost when your father died. Did not know what to do with yourself. You got yourself in trouble with some slave traders on Tattooine — you were theirs for a week or so: until some Jedi saved you. That Jedi, just happened to be Anakin Skywalker, who then took you under his wing as his padawan. He knew you were force sensitive right away. He convinced the council to personally train you, himself. 

Everything was fine, at first. He was greatly skilled, and you had much to learn from him. Yet you could tell that something was brewing between the two of you. The way his big eyes looked at you, sometimes you felt that when he sparred with you, he was noticing something else besides your technique with your lightsaber.

He revealed how he felt about you, eventually. He told you that you were the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, and that he couldn’t help but devote himself to you from the first moment that he saw you. This is why you were his padawan. Shortly after, you became his woman. After that, his wife. It was a secret marriage, of course, yet you still loved him all the same. You remembered your wedding on Endor, the forest moon shining over the two of you, how beautiful he looked all dressed in black. You felt like the two of you were the only humans in the galaxy. You loved how deeply he loved and cared for you. 

Waking from this dream clearly upset you, and upset him therefore, too. Of course he would notice right away, he was extremely force sensitive, after all. His metal arm feels cool placed on your shoulder. “My love. Are you okay? I can sense fear in you.” “I had that dream again, Ani. It just hurts,” you tell him. 

He knew that dream, all the same. You kept having the dream about how your father died, in an industrial accident on Tattooine — where you were raised. You were only a little girl then, but the pain you felt when you saw how mutilated his body was, was immeasurable. It traumatized you. You relived the moment a lot in your dreams. Your dad always loved you more than your mom — it’s just how it was. Ever since he passed, you couldn’t find anyone to replace his love and care for you. Until now.

“It’s just a dream, sweetheart. It’s in the past. I know you are hurt. Memories are only in your mind. They won’t come to reality. Trust me,” he says, his thumb caressing your cheek, his other hand rubbing circles on your back in an attempt to calm you down. 

You stifle back a sob, he brings you in close to his chest, you listen to his heartbeat and it soothes you. You didn’t want to lose him like you lost your dad. You were so grateful to have someone care for you like that again, to feel special, to feel loved by your husband. It’s a feeling you wouldn’t trade for anything across the galaxy. 

“Your heart rate is still high, my love. Why don’t you try and sleep, hmm?,” he gently chides at you, his big eyes looking down at you in his arms. Anakin was passionate. He loved deeply. Cared deeply. 

“Can’t, Ani. Too tense,” you sigh. You told him that you’d maybe want to take a walk out on the balcony. “Dressed like this?,” he asks, fingers running over your silk nightgown. “Passerby’s might see you. Come. I have a better idea,” he kisses your temple, leads you by the waist back into your bedroom. He decorated the whole room with the moon and stars, things he knew that you loved.

“You are tense. Let me take care of you, sweetheart. Relax,” he softly commands you, and gently pushes you back onto the bed. He’s on top of you, his knee gently pressing into your core, as his hand pries your legs apart. “By the force. You’re so beautiful. My wife. Fuck,” he barely whispers, his thick fingers trail along the soft pillowy part of your thighs. His large hand comes up to cup your cheek, bringing you in for a hot kiss. His soft lips dance with yours, you feel his love through the force as his kiss deepens, you trace the nape of his neck, it’s so warm to the touch <3. He pulls away from you, his lips red and swollen from all the love he’s given you. “You’re an angel. Really,” he breathes, his hands now working to undo your silk nightgown. “Thank the force that you saved me from those slave traders, Ani,” you breathed back, your small hand reaching for his large Jedi robes. Your hand pulls away all of a sudden. A force trick.  “I’m the one taking care of you, no? Hands to yourself, my love. Just rest.” You sigh, and lay your hands to your sides. “Eager, aren’t we? Patience, sweetheart. Patience,” he chides, those emotional eyes staring through you again, as he takes off his robes, his broad, muscular chest and metallic arm shining in the pale moonlight glow. He’s on top of you again, kissing every inch of your body, slowly, smirking as you get more and more flustered. He loves to toy with you ever so gently. He knew that when it came to him, patience was one thing you could not have. You wanted him immediately, and who was he to deny you what you want? He just always loved to stall a little.

His fingers harshly squeeze your breasts, you let out a squeal, and he chuckles, his soft lips coming up to bite the fabric of your bra, and his hands coming over to undo it. As soon as it was off, his mouth was latched onto your nipple, you could tell that he used the force to put as much of your breast into his mouth as he could fit. His hands firmly squeezed your hips as he brought you as close to him as possible. The sound of his plush lips suckling against your soft and sensitive tit were driving you up the wall.

“Ani. Ani. Want more. Please!,” you beg, as the pressure his mouth is putting on you making you wetter and wetter by the minute. You attempt to squeeze your legs together for a semblance of relief. You feel his hand stop you. “Angel. Don’t interrupt me until I get my fill, hmm?,” he paused for a second, gripping your cheek, his hand a little rougher this time. You started to cry, tears slowly dripping down your cheeks. “Aww. Is my girl upset?,” he taunts you, a somewhat sinister smile could be seen from his place in between your tits. “Hurts!,” you cry out, tears streaming down your face faster. You feel his length grow, harder, thicker, it was pressing into your thigh at this point. Your crying made him thirst for you even more.

He continues on your chest, your body now covered in red marks, wet with his spit. He moves down to your stomach, your hips, pausing to take his time there. He finally reaches your sopping cunt, pressing gentle kisses onto your hot core, pausing a minute just to breathe you in. His fingers wipe some of the tears off your face. “So cute when you’re upset. Want more?,” he asks. You nod, sniffling. Without a second doubt, he dives in, practically attached to your core, making a meal of it as he does. You squirm in an attempt to get away from his lips, but his strong hands hold down your thighs, he holds you down so much that you can barely move, his metal hand making painful indents in your thighs!! 

You squeal and squirm beneath him, and he only emits that low, low chuckle that drives you insane, as he keeps his ministrations on your clit <3 harsher and harsher by the second, until you come on his face, covering his perfect cheeks, nose, in your cum. 

“Fuck. Angel. So good. You taste as sweet as you look,” he patronizes you as he presses a wet kiss to your forehead. “Up, come on, now,” he chided at you, bringing you to your feet, he knew you could barely stand from what he already gave you, yet the man was not satisfied. He loved his wife too much, and he had to give every single inch and centimeter of her body <3 the love it deserved. 

His hands grip your hips like a vice, pushing you against the wall, your body caged between his strong arms. “My wife,” he sighs, his metal hand feeling cool against your cheek as he grips your face gently, pulling you into the trap of his kisses. At this point, almost your entire body was covered in marks. His other hand trails down to cup and squeeze your wet cunt, and you almost stumble over from the pressure he’s putting on it. 

“The force made you so strong, Ani,” you moan out, in between kisses. ”Haven’t seen it all yet, sweetheart,” he huffs, spinning you around so your chest is against the wall, faster than you can blink. You feel his hard and hot bulge press against you, his soft lips come up to press a few kisses on your ear, and he gives you a little bite there <3. “Ani!! More,” you whine, incredibly flustered from this act of dominance. His broad chest presses against your back, as you hear him shuffle and take off more of his clothes. “Stay there,” he commands, and then you feel his soft, leaning tip pass through your folds. 

“Just want it in. Ani!,” you beg him. Suddenly you feel pressure on your neck. “Take what you’re given. Tired of your begging, angel,” he states, his face serious and stoic. “Okay, Ani,” you look at him in shock, more tears streaming down your face, taken aback yet satisfied with the show of power he just had over you. You liked it. He knew. 

“That’s my good girl. So beautiful. Stay still now,” he brushes your cheek and turns your face around again. His chest against yours, arms holding your body, you feel him slide in, his cock girthy, throbbing. You loved his size. He was tall and it showed!! 

You feel white hot pleasure, pressure building as he drives his cock into you, faster, faster, to the point where you start to see his hand make a crack in the wall you were pushed up against. You hear his grunts, getting louder by the minute, you feel him bury his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth biting down onto your shoulder. His heavy balls slap against your soft thighs <3 

“Fuck. Angel. Have to. Ah,” — he grunt, and finishes in you. You smiled and squeezed your thighs as you felt his hot seed dripping around your walls. “There you go, beautiful. All better now, hmm?,” he turns you around, the both of you chuckling at the cracked wall behind you. “Yes, Ani. So much better. Thanks to you,” you reply, and wrap your arms around his neck, jumping up to him for a long, chaste, kiss. He returns the kiss gratefully, his big hands smoothing down your sweat covered hair. 

“Come. Let me take you back to our room,” he offers, and as if you were as light as a feather, he carried you back to your shared bedroom, gently laying you down on the satin sheets. “Did you like it? I hope I wasn’t too rough,” he asks you, sheepishly rubbing his hand against the back of his head. “No, Ani. Was great. You always know how to make me feel so much better. So safe,” you confide in him, your hands holding his face, his hands holding yours, as the two of you lay wrapped in those silky, soft, sheets, under the soft glow of the moon. 

“A man should protect his wife, my love. Make her feel safe, loved. Loved in every way,” he whispers to you. You felt as if you and him were the only ones on Coruscant. “You sure know how to do that, Ani. I haven’t had a man that made me feel so loved, ever since my father,” you sniffle. “I don’t care about anything else in this world, you know. Only you.” he brings you in for a long kiss, his hand lifting up your chin. “Come. Sleep now. I am sure you’ll have a good dream,” he moves both of your bodies onto the pillow, and you lay your head on his chest, breathing in his scent, deeply. You fall asleep on him in under a minute, and he looks at you in adoration as he falls into a deep sleep as well.

Author’s note: My first Anakin fic! I fell in love with the whole Star Wars series (but especially him <3, he’s soooo… ugh. I hope i got his personality down nicely. I was thinking of doing a sequel, or prequel to this, something either about how reader and Ani meet, or if they decide to start a family. I wish he had all this with Padme :( . Anyways! Enjoy fellow Ani lovers <3, and comments and reblogs are always welcome!! Don’t we all want a man like him.

[pumpkinbxtch]

ᬊ Serenade ᬊ

— LEO VALDEZ X FEM!READER

─────────────•~❉᯽❉~•────────────

─────────────•~❉᯽❉~•────────────

☆ radiostar is playing... paloma querida by josé alfredo jiménez!

warnings; language, a pinch of angst with comfort at the end. a/n; I wanted to do this one so much, I finally got to finish it, I hope you like it. The translation of the song is below each verse, as well as the vocabulary at the end.

— You know what? Go to hell!

You slammed the bedroom's door behind you, trying to shut it with a bang, but Leo managed to catch it with his hand to follow you. Although in fact, it wasn't to try to solve the things.

He let out a loud huff when he saw you grabbing your keys and your things.

— Well, actually you’re the one leaving so, why don’t you just go there and give me the address later?

The regret was immediate, but he was just as angry and ignored it. For a second, he feared for everything as you turned back to him with flared nostrils and a frown, your eyes starting to tear up.

— If that's how things are. Good, then I won’t have to come back to this dump. — You threw the keys at his face and left with a door slam that echoed in the apartment.

Within two seconds, Leo was already running down the stairs, shouting your name, but it was too late when he saw your car turning the corner, almost leaving a trail of fire on the pavement. Feeling down, he ran his hands through his curly hair and sighed.

Who started the fight? It was hard to tell, but maybe Leo's response wasn’t the best. Actually, it had been the worst of all their fights, and he saw that reflected in the way you left. You two weren’t the type of couple to fight with sharp words, so this was almost like saying he’d rather see you dead.

— I’m- uh que pendejo¹ ! —he exclaimed, throwing himself onto the couch and complaining while rolling around. How would he apologize now? This time, flowers or a card saying "Sorry for being an idiot" wouldn’t cut it, and even if it did, he knew you deserved more.

Then he had an idea, triggered by a memory from his days in that old neighborhood when his mom was still alive. He could remember that place was lively, colorful, and sometimes noisy because people like his mom and him lived there, never letting a place so far from home feel as cold and foreign as it actually was. And there was something moms and grandmas children would do for on their birthdays, big block parties, or even when there were small couple fights: a serenade seemed like the ace up the sleeve to ease the pain and give a heartfelt apology. For Leo, that was fair.

Where would he get mariachis? But that was the least of his worries. He’d done more impossible things than finding a mexican musical group in the middle of the night.

— Hephaestus, help me — he muttered -almost like a prayer- as he put on his green military jacket and grabbed the keys you had thrown at him earlier. The raccoon keychain wearing a Camp Half-Blood shirt left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Before leaving, the candle illuminating the picture of his mom on the shelf next to the TV flickered intensely, catching his attention, and he took that as a response from his dad that was something like: " I Pass, I’ve had enough with my wife," and he honestly understood what he meant. One thing was a fight, another was being cheat repeatedly.

He turned off the lights and fearlessly wandered around to find his grand musical apology.

You were curled up in your bed with a frown and some tears in your eyes. You never thought any of your fights would reach this point, even if Leo's response had been in a joking manner, fighting with him was already too much for your heart. You wondered if this was the beginning of the end, if he was really angry, or if his response was an expression of how tired he was of you.

Were you done? 'cause you had thrown the keys at his face and had no way of getting back into that place.

Your anxiety flooded your body, and a slight tremor in your lip kept asking you to finally release the tears you had held back. Would you go to bed this sad and empty? Even the mattress seemed too big without him by your side.

You turned to switch off your bedside lamp when you heard a small object bounce against your window. You turned around and nervously played with the laces of your hoodie. Was it him? You looked at the clock and could see through your blurry eyes that it was around 2 AM. No way Leo could be here at this hour, maybe it had just been the wind

You turned to reach the switch when the sound repeated, and before you could get up, two more pebbles hit the glass. At the foot of your window, before opening the curtain, you heard a whistle and some trumpets starting to play.

— Amor!

You opened your eyes wide and clumsily pulled out the curtain. What you saw through the glass left you speechless. There were mariachis, about seven of them, and Leo was there with a bouquet of roses, waving his hand at you. When you opened the window, he smiled broadly, though there was a noticeable hint of shame.

— FORGIVE ME, MI AMOR — he shouted, cupping his hand to his mouth to amplify his voice, and you, speechless, kept watching the scene. Your boyfriend turned around and gave some instructions to one of the mariachis, who nodded and started a count of three. The music began, and not only did the singer's voice echo in the street, but so did Leo's.

— Yo no sé lo que valga mi vida. Pero yo, te la vengo a entregar.

( I don’t know what my life is worth, but I’m here to give it to you!)

You smiled. You couldn’t understand much from the distance, but the way he clutched his chest with each word made you tear up.

— yo siento quererte... con todas las fuerzas que el alma me da.

(I feel I love you with all the strength my soul can give...)

Leo impatiently gestured for them to continue while he looked for a way to climb up to your window. Though the vines weren’t entirely safe, he decided to risk it.

— Paloma querida! — he shouted off-key as he walked on the roof, short of breath, and beneath your window, he stood on tiptoe to hand you the roses. You leaned on your stomach to grab the flowers wrapped in red cellophane, and without taking your eyes off him, you smelled them.

He stepped back enough for you to see each other clearly. Again, he placed his hand over his heart and with a sincere smile mouthed, "I’m sorry."

What felt like seconds were actually minutes until the song change brought both of you back to reality. You leaned out to be a bit closer to him, and he jumped up to barely kiss your lips.

— No that, dummy! — you said giggling, nodding towards the group who continued playing with smiles, seeing that the serenade had achieved its goal. — The neighbors, Leo.

Leo raised his eyebrows and pointed to the front of your house, where people in nightgowns peeked from their windows, and some kids were dancing. An elderly couple watched the scene with tender eyes. Apparently, there were no complaints, so everything seemed cool.

He bowed without taking his eyes off you, and opening his hand in the air, let the keys jingle sweetly. You smiled, and he mimicked you.

— I love you.

— Te amo más.³

❉᯽❉

¹ que pendejo: I'm an asshole!

² paloma querida: dear dove; It's the name of the song translated to eng, an expression too or a kind of petname

³ te amo más: I love you more

⁴ amor, amor mio, mi amor: love, love of mine, my love.

[artemisthemooner]

Pool Shark!Reader

This is basically a self indulgent Pool Shark!Reader playing pool against Johnny and beating his ass, completely inspired by the fact that I recently started learning how to play from my mom. Has just a tinge of Johnny x Reader but it's just kind of on the edges, also Soap is kinda pushy and definitely tipsy. Enjoy!

A quiet night. That’s all they wanted. It was all they needed, especially after the complete shitshow of a mission they had just been on. No one was sure who suggested it, but at some point, the idea of a night out at the local pub came up. It didn’t matter. A local pub would be perfect. None of them could stand a second longer in the glorified concrete box that was their base of operations. They had to get out. They had to go somewhere where no one knew them, to quell the noise coursing through their heads. That’s why the pub was perfect. It had all they were looking for, although none of them were really sure what exactly that entailed. 

But at the very least, they could get plastered, or maybe even somehow stumble their way into a bed that wasn’t their own. For them, that would be the perfect evening.

Although, beyond that, they also had their own separate goals for the night.

Like Price, who just wanted to feel something. In order to accomplish that, he was turning to a good whisky with the hopes that it would burn nicely when it made its way down his throat.

Or Soap. All he wanted from the night was to get drunk off something noxious and wake up the next morning in a strange bed with no memory of how he got there. He thought that would be perfect.

Gaz on the other hand was planning to stay sober for the express reason of laughing at Soap when he inevitably struck out. After that, he would find his own way into some stranger’s sheets for the night.

And then there was Ghost. Honestly, he just wanted a beer and a nap, if he could manage it.

While they might have had their own hopes and desires for how the night would go, they were still going to stick together. Just as a team should after all they had been through together.

Soap was first to push through the dirty pub doors, his head tossed back over his shoulder in a boisterous laugh, “C’mon, Gaz, Ah’m jus’ sayin’!” A winter scarf was wrapped loosely around his shoulders, curled up over his mouth. It almost made his speech more indecipherable than before. Almost.

“Oh, you’re just saying, alright,” Gaz scoffed as he followed him in, shoving his shoulder, “Just saying bullshit, that is.” He rolled his eyes, untucking his chin from his jacket’s popped collar.

Soap just laughed harder, uncaring when he nearly went careening into the bar and a nearby patron. He parked himself there to wait for the others.

Price chuckled from behind them, but said nothing to stop their squalling. He was off duty after all. He had no reason to play the role of their Captain, and therefore, no need to tell them to knock it off. He slipped one hand from his jacket pocket and caught the door, holding it open for Ghost to come in. He used the other hand to swipe his snow-covered beanie off his head, “Watch yerself, Simon.” He warned.

Ghost nodded when he ducked through the pub door, large hand scratching at his cheek through the black mask he was wearing. Once he was fully inside, he shook off the snow that had accumulated on his shoulders, only slightly shivering from the cold waiting for their return outside.

Luckily for them, the pub was warm, comfortably so. There was a crackling woodfire going somewhere towards the back of the room, with soft conversations buzzing from every corner. The distinct clacking of pool balls hitting together echoed somewhere amongst the din. The ambient noise filled the room in a way that shut the noise off in their heads, just as they wanted in the first place. It was just what they needed after the hell they had been through recently.

One by one, they saddled themselves by the bar and ordered their respective drinks. Of course, that was when Soap just happened to catch the smallest glimpse out of the corner of his eye of what he called a ‘sweet thing’ standing by the pool table. Not to mention, they were just his type. 

He smirked and whacked Gaz in the shoulder, “Gaz, have yerself a gander over there. What d’ye see?”

Gaz glanced halfway up from his beer, “Mm, where?” His eyes scanned across the pub, clearing the room just like he would when on a mission.

Soap used his own bottle to point you out from across the pub, “Tha’ bonnie thang over there. Y’see em?” He took a long sip, “Ah bet Ah could get them like that.” He snapped his fingers, “What d’ye think?”

He snorted, shaking his head, “I think you’re fucking bonkers, mate.” He gulped down another pull of beer, “But you go right ahead. It’ll be a proper riot watching ye bomb that up. Your speciality.”

“Haw haw.” He rolled his eyes, pushing himself off from the bar. He purposely left his drink behind to condensate, “Jus’ ye watch, Kyle. Ah’ll have them eatin’ outta the palm of my hand in no time. Ah’ll see ye.” He sauntered off towards the pool table.

You stared at the pool balls from the opposite side of the table, leaning on your cue and rolling the cue ball in your hand. Mentally, you were calculating the perfect angle, power, and shot to send as many of the pool balls into as many of the pockets as possible. It was a trick you had been working on for a while but hadn’t quite perfected yet. It took a lot of knowledge about angles and velocity. That’s why you were just standing there, a pensive stare on your face.

You were just getting ready to finally attempt the shot when a strange man with a mohawk came over. He leaned into your field of vision, blinding smile on his face.

He didn’t say anything, so you didn’t either. You were actually intending on waiting him out, hoping he would leave you alone if you just stared at him long enough. You were practically daring him to keep standing there like some sort of drunk idiot. Based purely off the smell of him though, you were pretty sure staring at him was not going to work. It almost never did with drunk idiots like that. He would need a more direct telling off than just a look.

You sighed, rubbing at the bridge of your nose, “Can I help you, sir?”

A visible shiver echoed through him at your words, “Just saw ye standing here..All alone. Ah jus’ thought ye might need a wee bit o’ help. Pool can be a really difficult game if ye dinnae ken what tae do.” He bit his lip and gestured to the pool cue in your hands, “Do ye mind?”

You did mind. 

In fact, you minded very much. Of course he would see you and automatically assume you were in distress and that you needed help, just like every other drunk idiot in the pub had at some point or another. And just like all the others, he needed to be taught a lesson.

You plastered a very sweet, near saccharine smile across your face, playing up the helpless angle for his sake, “Oh, how kind of you to offer.” You purposely frowned, “But…Are you sure? I mean,” You forced a disbelieving laugh, “I’m not sure I even know the rules!” You lied.

His eyes lit up with delight and that was when you knew you had him, hook, line, and sinker. He leaned on the table, his smile growing broader, “Dinnae worry a lick about it, bonnie. Ah’ll help ye through it.” He outstretched his hand, “Johnny.” He introduced himself, absolutely beaming.

Oh, if only he knew how much he was going to be the one learning new things.

You took his hand in your own, smiling right back when you told him your name.

He pushed himself up off the bumpers and got behind you, his warm hands trailing up your arms to your pool cue, “Now, what ye wanna do here is shoot what’s called the ‘break shot’” He slowly bent you over towards the table, adjusting your cue towards the cue ball, gently aiming it. You would’ve almost found it attractive, if he wasn’t such a prick, and if he had been your type at all. Which he wasn’t.

He guided the pool cue into position beneath your hands, breathing the smell of cheap beer right into your nose with every word he spoke in his misguided attempt to teach you, “Ye donnae wanna use too much power here, but ye also donnae wanna use too little either, ye ken?”

“Mhm..” You swallowed your instinctual first reaction to gag at the smell of alcohol, instead pushing your hips and ass back into him as a means of distraction. It allowed you to gain full control over the situation and the pool cue. In that one moment, you were able to send the ball forward, knocking it into the others for the break shot, just like you had done a million times before. It was less than perfect, you’ll admit that much, but it was still pretty good all things considered. You straightened, forcing him off of your back and out of your space. Once he was away from you, you turned to face him, plastering your best innocent smirk across your face, “Like that?” You cooed.

He nodded, seemingly a bit dumbfounded and completely tongue-tied, “A-Aye. Just- Jesus Christ- Just like tha’.” 

You moved down the table before you could laugh and ruin everything, “So what’s next on this lesson plan of yours?” You ran a slow hand along the edge of the table, shooting him a long look, practically eye-fucking him without eye-fucking him. 

He audibly gulped, staring at you. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again.

You couldn’t hide your smile, “Johnny?”

He quickly snapped out of his stupor, “Right, next. That’s right.” He cleared his throat, “Next, we’ll try tae sink a ball intae that pocket o’er there.” He reached for your pool cue, “May Ah?”

Eager to see where he was going with this, you handed the cue right over, “Absolutely! Show me all your ways, master!” You leaned forward on the table, smiling a little more. From behind you came the snickers of the regulars. They were the ones who had been through this song and dance and they were the ones who had seen you do this exact thing plenty of times to a few dozen others. They knew how this was going to end. You shot them a sharp glare over your shoulder, silently threatening them into submission. 

Almost immediately they all shut up, just in time for Johnny to make his shot. He sank one of the solids, the 2 from what you could see. Damn, he wasn’t all too bad. That would make him harder to beat in the end, but no one ever said a challenge wasn’t good for the soul.

He straightened, “See? Like tha’.”

You clapped your hands together in carefully practiced excitement, “How fun! Can I try next?” You batted your eyelashes. You knew what his answer would be, but you were curious to see how he was going to let you down.

A red flush crossed his face, followed quickly by a smug smile and a half glance towards a few guys sitting at the bar. They were probably who he came in with if you had to guess. His eyes returned to you, “Ah wish tha’ were the case, bonnie, but unfortunately fer ye, Ah get tae go again cause Ah made my shot.” He played with your pool cue, tossing it side to side between his hands, shrugging. Finally, he stopped and leaned on your cue, “Ye get me?”

You had to resist rolling your eyes so hard. God, you could not wait to show this guy his ass. You forced a smile to your face, hoping you were playing it off as playful and flirty as you were intending it to be, “Oh, absolutely. Go right ahead. I’ll just have to wait my turn.” You sighed, making it long and drawn out, like you were saddened by it.

He gave you a sheepish smile in return and lined up for his shot. It looked good. Solid. You could definitely see what he was trying to do. Except, you were pretty sure he was going to miss.

And you would’ve been right. 

He missed. Badly. Instead of hitting the cue ball into another one of the solids closer to one of the pockets, he tipped it. The ball didn’t have enough power behind it. It barely even knocked into the solid he was aiming for, let alone hit it into the pocket he was aiming for. 

He handed you back your cue, muttering so vehemently about how he meant to miss, and you had to hide your smile behind your hand. You didn’t say anything, only leaned down to aim for the cue ball. You were sure if you spoke, you wouldn’t be able to stop the snark bubbling deep in your vocal cords. You couldn’t have that. Not when you had a game to finish.

Now, unlike him, when you made your shot, you didn’t miss. Your aim was true with just enough power behind it to sink one ball and send a few others scattering into position for a later shot. You stood straight again, clearing your throat, “Like that, sir?” You hummed, glancing to him.

His jaw had dropped, his mouth wide open in shock. Exactly the reaction you were hoping for. 

A nice feeling of pride ballooned in your chest that you had to smother before you preened too much.

He snapped his mouth shut and nodded, “Aye, exactly.” He rubbed his hand along his chin, “An’ now ye go again.”

“Oh, I do? How nice!” You beamed. More laughter came from the peanut gallery behind you as you leaned forward to aim again. The laughter increased in volume when you sank yet another ball. It just got louder when you kept going.

Every single shot you tried, you made. All the while, Johnny could only watch, completely dumbfounded. It almost made you feel a little bad for him.

Almost.

Finally, when it came to the final ball, the 8-ball, you had ever so carefully nudged it into place with every other shot you had already made. So all you had to do to finish out the game was barely hit it, just enough to push it into the pocket. No big deal. You had done it so many times. You tapped your fingers on your cue, “Corner pocket.” You called out, just as you had done a thousand times before.

It was a beautiful shot. Really, it was. The ball slipped into the pocket, right where you had purposefully put it, just like you predicted in the first place. You sighed and straightened, cracking your back a little and leaning on your cue again, “And that, I believe, is a win, yeah?”

Johnny didn’t answer you. He was too busy staring at the corner pocket. You had to gently tap him with your cue stick before he snapped out of it, “Uh- Aye! It- It would be..” He stammered, trailing off, still in shock.

You laughed and passed by him, patting his shoulder as you went to disappear behind the bar to put your pool cue away in your room on the second floor.

Soap couldn’t believe it. It just couldn’t be possible. He could’ve sworn you were a total beginner, but apparently that was wrong. You were no beginner. You were a total pro. You had hustled him! He had been hustled!

He walked numbly to the bar, plopping himself down in the seat next to Gaz with a dull thud. The bartender immediately slid a beer in front of him, but he couldn’t even get himself to open it, let alone take a sip. He just couldn’t stop going over the game as a whole in his head. Every single turn of yours, every hit, replaying over and over again.

Gaz clapped him on the back, “Sucks to be you, mate, but I believe that warrants a good I told you so.” He cackled, “I cannot believe you just got your ass beat to smithereens by a beginner! How bad do you have to be to manage that?!”

The bartender chuckled from behind the bar, shaking her head, “You boys are awfully funny if you think they’re just a beginner.” She set a bowl of crisps in front of Ghost, “‘Fraid to say it, but you just got hustled and bustled by the owner of this place.”

Soap and Gaz froze, staring at her.

“The owner?” Soap whimpered in shock. Not only had he been beaten by you, but he had openly flirted and bent you in half. You had every right to kick him out at that point.

She smiled, “Yeah, they’ve been playing since they were a kid and they find great joy in tormenting newcomers.”

That was when you appeared behind her, wiping your hands with a towel, “I wouldn’t call it tormenting, thank you for that, Ava.” You scoffed as you grabbed yourself a beer from behind the bar and took a long sip.

Ava walked off with a serving tray of drinks, calling over her shoulder, “Your victims would say otherwise!” 

You huffed out a small breath, rolling your eyes.

“Yer the owner?” Soap asked in a voice so quiet, you almost didn’t hear him.

You smiled softly, if not just a little smug, “Yup. That’s me.”

He groaned, burying his face away in his hands, “Why the hell didja let me talk tae ye like tha’?? Ye should’ve jus’ slapped me silly an’ saved me all the embarrassment.” He complained.

Gaz snorted, “Honestly, I think you should’ve done both. Smacked him first, then followed it up with a one-two of pure embarrassment.” He laughed loudly, narrowly avoiding Soap aiming a beer bottle for his head.

You shrugged, “I suppose I could’ve, but that wouldn’t have been much fun for me.” You sipped at your drink, swiping your thumb over the condensation on the label, “It was nothing personal, Johnny, I swear. I do it to every overzealous newcomer that comes in here.” You smirked, “Think of it like a tradition of sorts.”

“More like hazing at this point.” Ava came back, commenting from behind you as she reached to get another glass, “All those overzealous newcomers they’re on about? Inevitably, they become regulars just so they can get another try at beating them. Of course, it’s useless.”

Gaz grinned and leaned forward, “Why’s that?”

She leaned forward in return, “They never lose.”

“Get back to work, Ava.” You hipchecked her into disappearing again.

Soap was quiet for a second, thinking long and hard. Finally, he looked up at you, “That true?” He asked, a small ounce of hope flickering through his voice. Before you could answer however, he jumped to his feet, nearly tripping over his stool, “Ah’ll do it!”

You and everybody else in the bar stared at him. You blinked slowly, “You’ll do what?” You were almost afraid to ask.

He grinned, “Ah’m gonna be the one tae beat ye! Ye jus’ wait!” He boasted, pointing to you like you were the one to blame.

You figured though, if anyone were to be blamed, it would be you. You were the one who decided he, like all other overconfident drunks, needed to be taught a lesson. But you had yet to regret that decision.

You almost didn’t believe him, but you knew that if you said that to him, it would only serve as encouragement. You had seen it happen to tens of others just like him. 

You sighed in defeat, “Alright then. You know where to find me.”

Soap beamed, “Aye, Ah do!”

You did not like the look in his eyes, at all. It was something completely feral and much too determined. Somehow, you were 99% sure he was going to make very good on his promise to beat you, no matter how long it would take him to manage it.

Just what had you gotten yourself into here??

[cattlemons]

heyy, it’s the anon that sent in the request about wanderer with a reader who has a bad relationship with their father :) if it’s alright maybe i can just go by 💿 anon? i have another kinda personal request, and again if you don’t feel comfortable writing it please let me know. 

I have a control freak mother, who is obsessed with our family looking perfect from the outside. for example, about a year ago i had plans to k!ll myself, and i broke down and told my mom, and her response was taking away my phone, computer, everything that i could communicate to people with. She called me an attention seeker and told me that i wasn’t allowed to tell anyone else about it.  

It can either be new or a continuation of my first request, whatever you feel like writing :) thanks so much, lovely <3

The Weight of A Memory

TW: Suicidal ideation, emotional distress, pretty sure there's a cuss somewhere, 1,7k words

a.n. can be read as a continuation to this but fine as a stand alone. More below for you, 💿anon

“So, you’re saying it can work? Erasing a memory from the Irminsul, I mean,” you prodded the man beside you for what felt like the fiftieth time after his prior admission.

The wanderer’s eyebrows twitched in annoyance as he scoffed at your question; a desperate one he suffixes. 

“I only told you that because it seems plausible but even I don’t know the complexity behind the damn tree,” he hissed before adding a quiet “yet” to the back of his remark. 

“Honestly, I don’t think we can progress anymore on this topic,” the aloof puppet gruffed out, “the best we can do at this point is to abandon the title entirely and find an object much easier to study than the Irminsul. It’s a massive retrospective joke that we thought ‘Selective Memory Alteration via Mental Connection to Irminsul’ would be a good research title. We can’t even get access to the tree, much less experiment on it.”

He’s definitely right, but you can’t bring yourself to agree, not when he just alluded to the possibility. 

“We don’t have to gain direct access, we can just connect through the meditational route, you know, incense and the likes?”

The Wanderer let out a mocking snort as he looked at you like you’d said the most absurd thing he’d ever had the privilege to hear. 

“The ‘meditational route’ you throw around so easily takes years to hone, idiot, it’s not just smelling salts and candles. You’re a researcher of the esteemed Akademiya and this is your idea? I don’t want to be that person but it looks like you’re desperately clinging onto a failed idea.”

On a normal day, you would know well enough that he’s only trying to dissuade you from wasting your time on something pointless but, unfortunately, for both you and him, today has been an absolute shitfest for you. Where you’d normally sigh at his crass way of speaking, today you decide to one-up him and say some rather nasty things as well. 

You suppose it’s only fair that monkeys see, monkeys do. 

But what started off as annoyance quickly turned into genuine anger as more ugly words and defined poison spewed out of what was supposed to be a discussion session on your research. He said some painful things and, admittedly, you did too. It, soon, spiraled out of both of your control as things started getting painful especially when he asked what all this insistence was for. 

“Why are you so hellbent on going through with this title–and don’t you dare tell me it’s just because it interests you! You’re much too smart to make such a lame excuse.”

You were silent as embarrassment leaked from the corner of your eyes because truly you did not know. 

Or, rather, you did. You just didn't want to admit it to him. 

Taking what you hope are your things, you rush out of the grand hall, passing by the walls of books and scrolls. You need to get out of there before it suffocates you alive, whatever ‘it’ may be.

The Avidya Forest is a good ways away from the main city of Sumeru but The Wanderer took it all one stride at a time, all in the name of tracking you down. 

Truthfully, in the empty echoes of the cavity he calls his heart, he feels bad for the things he’s said. He knows he shouldn’t have questioned you too harshly, not when you seemed so unsure of it in the first place, but he needed to know why you wanted this so badly; partially because of the intuition he spent millennials sharpening told him to and the other half because he’s seen this desperation before, back when he donned red, black, and gold. 

He followed the path he’s sure you must’ve taken and started guessing when the beaten path petered off. 

He was right to place his bets on the left fork because he found what he was looking for, albeit not in the condition he was hoping for. 

You were hunched over under a tree, clearly sobbing.

The Wanderer almost scoffs at how pathetic this all was, more so his insistence to come find you than your evident sadness. 

Making sure to step a little louder, he made his presence known. He hopes you’ll extend an olive branch of sorts and start the conversation but he supposes it’s too much to expect such mercy after how the situation unfolded. 

He sat beside you but you made no effort to acknowledge his existence, much less be forgiving. He’s fine with it. If you won’t talk, he’ll just have to talk for the both of you. He’s not particularly good at discerning human emotions but you mirror a certain grief he’s experienced three times too much. So, even though he’s probably extremely behind the curve in expressing human sympathy, he can, at least, offer the empathy of a hurt soul. 

“I don’t know what the fuck happened to you but the divine can’t fix it for you, you know. It’s stupid and damn near fruitless to place your hard-earned hopes on a tree. I don’t know what you’re trying to fix but whatever it is you’re trying to erase, I guarantee it'll bite you back in the end if you do it this way.”

He expected at least another hour-long silence but you took the bait and he’s grateful that you did; even if it did hurt him a bit to see the effects his words had on you. 

“You know what’s stupid? Not telling me how you know all of this. How do you know I'm trying to erase something? How do you know it won’t work? How do you know it can’t fix the hurt I’ve been through? How in all Teyvat do you know forgetting won’t make things better because I am about 99% sure I’d be much happier if I don’t remember the attempts I cry about at night,” you heaved as a wave of heaviness you did not know you carried wracked through you. 

You’re not quite sure how he’s got you to open up about your father once before but, damn it, he’s going for another record by digging deep into your personal hardships. 

He stayed silent in what you assumed to be stunned silence but by the time you turned your head to look at him, his eyes carried no surprise, they carried a shared sorrow instead. That’s when you knew that this whole debacle was a mirrored event for him. Something he witnessed himself go through and is now witnessing in you. Epiphany struck like thunder because now you know that's probably how he knew what you were planning; he's done it once before.

If you had any piece left to break in your heart, you’re sure it’d break for him too.

“You’ve tried it before, haven’t you? Erasing a memory in the Irminsul?”

Your question was met with a mocking scoff but unlike the last time he did it, this one was targeted towards himself.

“I’ll do you one better, I tried erasing myself off of it.”

You greeted his admission with silence, you’re not quite sure if it’s some sort of absurd understanding or profound shock. The man beside you has not only tempered with the Irminsul by erasing himself but lived to tell the tale. You have no clue what would drive someone to do such a drastic measure but you realize, in a way, you were not much different. 

“I was abandoned by my creator, by the people I ate and drank with, by a god and by its maker and the pain made me bitter so I tried it yet I’m still here. I know that the whole research is just a facade for your true goal.”

You can’t help but avert your gaze, caught red-handed. 

As you let his words sink in, your realize the hope you once carried were diminishing by the second. A weight dropped onto your shoulder making you curl into yourself even more. You held yourself in a shoddy attempt at mimicking some comfort.

“So, there’s no end to this, is there? Not even the Irminsul can help me,” you asked, sullen and all of a sudden so tired of everything. 

He let the quiet fester just long enough to have you break down again. He did not mean for more tears to fall from your eyes but he’s not sure how to tell you that there was no hope in the Irminsul to fix your hurt. How should he phrase what he thinks you need to hear?

“There is no way for the Irminsul to help you, us. Even if you forget, there’s no assurance it won’t come back to your mind and make things feel ten times worse,” he tells you in a tone so close to a whisper. 

He watched as you sobbed at how futile everything was, how hard it all was. 

He let you grief for your loss of an easy way to happiness.

“But I won’t say there’s no way out.”

You looked at him, your tear-filled human eyes meeting his glass puppet ones.

“It’s a lot of effort, much more than I’d like to give sometimes. Hell, it took a god and some otherworldly intervention to get me back to the baseline of a decent human,” he laughed pitifully, “but it’s possible. If it is for me, I don’t doubt for a second it is for you too.”

His words did little to ease the barrage of tears streaming past your cheeks but amidst the throes of emotion, it comforted you, much like the weight of a blanket on top of a sore body, a heaviness that seeks to drown out the sorrow instead of crush the happiness. 

You looked away to wipe the snot and waterworks away. You wanted to thank him and maybe say your fair share of apologetic lines but when you turned back around to face him, he was gone. 

The tree branches swayed as the wind rustled the leaves off of their seat on the bark. On the space that he occupied just a few seconds ago were some of the stuff you must’ve left back when you rushed out of the Akademiya and amongst it was a small note. It wasn’t the neatest of handwriting and it was a crude, almost cold letter (if it even counted as one considering it consisted of only a few words) but it brought a tiny spark of warmth into your heart.

I’ve done it before. I believe in you.

To 💿anon, I'm so sorry this took so long. My exams drained my energy and I did not want to write you something half-assed so I waited until my schedule cooled down a bit to continue where I left off. Just like last time I hope this brings you some comfort and if you need to share please feel free. Much love <3

[inkedwithcharm]

Almost Yours | Kim Seokjin

Chapter 8

You woke up to the soft clatter of dishes and the faint smell of garlic and sesame oil. The kind of scent that wrapped around your memories like a blanket—cozy and layered in childhood.

It took a moment to remember where you were.

Home.

Back in the neighborhood where he still lived, just across the street.

You stretched quietly, walked to the bathroom, washed up, and followed the scent to the kitchen.

Your mom was at the stove humming something old and comforting, flipping jeon in the pan.

Soojin was already at the table, scrolling on her phone like she owned the air in the room.

You poured yourself coffee, said your good mornings, and sat in silence until your mom peeked out the window.

“Oh,” she said with a little gasp, “Jin’s up early today.”

You stiffened slightly.

“He’s across the street,” she added with a smile. “Throwing out the trash. Still wearing that ugly hoodie. I’m going to call him in. He can eat with us.”

You looked up. “Umma—”

But she was already at the door.

And then—

Minutes later, you heard his footsteps.

Seokjin entered your house like he had a thousand times before. But it wasn’t the same.

Because now, you weren’t sixteen.

And you weren’t smiling.

He gave a polite bow, and your mom welcomed him in like a long-lost son.

“Come, come—have some breakfast! You must be hungry.”

“I was just making toast…” he began, but your mom waved her hand like that was a crime.

“Nonsense. Sit.”

His eyes flicked to you. You offered a small nod. Nothing more.

He sat beside your mom.

Soojin lit up. “You should wear that hoodie more often,” she said. “It’s cute on you.”

He gave a quiet smile. “It’s old.”

“It’s very you,” she replied, brushing nonexistent lint from his shoulder like she had a right to touch him.

You stared at your rice.

The table filled with quiet clinks of metal against ceramic.

The morning felt like a memory someone else was living for you.

After a few minutes, you finally said, “I’m heading back to Seoul later. Need to catch the last train.”

Your mom turned. “So soon? Can’t you stay another night?”

“I have work tomorrow. Early consults.”

Before she could try again, Jin spoke up.

“I can drive you.”

You blinked. So did your sister.

“I’m heading back today too,” he added, calmly, like this wasn’t anything.

Soojin immediately chimed in. “Perfect! I’ll join too.”

You inhaled.

“It’s okay. I already bought a train ticket,” you said quickly.

But your mom cut in. “Why waste money and time? Jin has a car. You’ll get there safer.”

“I don’t want to inconvenience—”

“You’re not,” Jin said, meeting your eyes. “Really.”

You hesitated.

Then nodded.

“Alright.”

Soojin clapped once. “Road trip,” she said with a grin, as if she had no idea that once, a long time ago, the idea of you and Jin driving to Seoul used to be a dream.

Now it was a ride you never planned on sharing.

You helped clean up after breakfast. Jin offered to dry the dishes you washed. Your hands worked side by side in quiet rhythm.

He didn’t say anything.

But when your fingers accidentally brushed, he didn’t move away.

And neither did you.

You packed lightly. You always did.

You said your goodbyes. Hugged your mom tightly.

And then you stepped outside to find Jin already by the car.

Soojin was adjusting the passenger seat. “I get carsick in the back,” she said.

So you sat behind them.

Quiet. Watching the neighborhood blur through the window as the car pulled away.

The streets were the same. But you weren’t.

And maybe… neither was he.

You hadn’t seen the inside of his car.

The leather interior was sleek. The dashboard was pristine. The quiet hum of the engine sounded more expensive than it needed to be.

It fit him now.

Seokjin — CEO of one of Seoul’s fastest-growing tech investment companies.

No longer the boy who used to throw pebbles at your window.

Now the man who parked a black German car outside your childhood home like he’d never left the neighborhood.

He didn’t look at you when you slid into the backseat.

Soojin was already in the passenger seat, adjusting her sunglasses like she was starring in a drama.

You didn’t mind. You just wanted the ride to pass.

The first half hour was filled with her voice.

“I still can’t believe you’re a CEO now,” she said, practically glowing. “It’s so impressive.”

“It’s just a title,” Jin replied calmly, eyes on the road.

“Come on, don’t be so humble. Everyone in our building knows your name. I saw that article about your AI fund the other week.”

You tuned out, watching the trees blur past the window.

There was something suffocating about hearing someone else praise the version of him you never knew — the one that bloomed after you stopped growing beside him.

“I can’t imagine how crazy your schedule is,” she continued. “Still working with Namjoon and Yoongi?”

He nodded. “We started it together. They still keep me grounded.”

Soojin laughed. “I should’ve studied business. Or tech.”

You could almost hear her smiling.

Eventually, she began to quiet. Her voice slowed. Her sentences trailed.

Around the one-hour mark, she fell asleep — head tilted to the side, cheek resting against the window, phone slipping onto her lap.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But the silence suddenly felt… intimate.

The kind that only comes between two people who have too much to say, and no idea where to start.

Jin turned the music on low. A quiet acoustic playlist filled the car — soft guitar, gentle voices.

One song made you flinch. It used to play on his old iPod, back when you used to cram for exams at the local café together.

You stared out the window.

“I didn’t know you still listened to that,” you said softly.

“I don’t usually,” he admitted. “It just came on.”

You nodded. “It’s fine.”

He glanced at you in the rearview mirror. “Are you?”

You met his gaze in the glass. “I think I am.”

Another few minutes passed in that silence again.

Then he said, without looking, “You work at the hospital, right?”

You were surprised. “Yeah. Counseling department.”

He nodded once. “I heard.”

You didn’t ask from who. You didn’t need to.

You stared at the back of his head for a beat longer than necessary.

“You know,” you said, “you’re really different now.”

He laughed under his breath. “I hope that’s a good thing.”

“It’s just… strange,” you said honestly. “You were always the goofy one. The one who didn’t care about numbers or suits.”

“I still don’t care about suits,” he muttered. “I just wear them because the world does.”

That made you smile.

Only for a second.

As the city skyline appeared in the distance, his voice cut through the quiet again.

“I wanted to text you. So many times.”

You looked up.

“But every time I tried,” he continued, “I couldn’t figure out if I wanted to check in… or take it all back.”

You swallowed. “What would you even take back?”

He hesitated. “Hurting you. Not seeing you when I should have.”

You let his words sit in the air.

“Do you regret everything?” you asked.

“No,” he said. “Just… how it happened.”

Soojin stirred then, groaning lightly, rubbing her eyes.

“Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” Jin said smoothly, as if nothing had just passed between you.

You leaned back, heart a little heavier.

As the car pulled off the highway and into the city, Jin asked quietly, just for you to hear:

“Would it be too much to ask if I could… see you again?”

You didn’t answer.

You only looked out the window.

And said, “Let’s just get through today.”

He dropped her off first.

Soojin was staying with a friend in Gangnam, apparently. She talked about the brunches she had planned, the people she hadn’t seen in a while, the dresses she didn’t pack.

He wasn’t listening.

He just nodded. Pulled the car to the curb. Waited as she unbuckled her seatbelt.

She leaned over to touch his arm. “Today was nice.”

He didn’t answer.

She left. And then it was just the two of you.

You didn’t say much for the rest of the drive.

He knew you wouldn’t.

But when you asked him to drop you near the subway station instead of your actual apartment, something in his chest turned cold.

Still protecting your space.

Still keeping your distance.

He pulled up to the curb. You thanked him with a small nod. Hand on the door handle.

And then, just before you stepped out, you said:

“Thanks for the ride, Jin.”

Not Seokjin.

Not CEO Kim.

Just Jin.

It punched the breath out of him.

You shut the door softly behind you. Walked away.

And didn’t look back.

He didn’t drive off right away.

He sat there, engine humming, hands frozen on the wheel.

Because it hit him.

You weren’t the girl across the street anymore.

You weren’t the childhood best friend who used to sneak leftover tteokbokki into your pockets to share at the playground.

You weren’t the teenager who scribbled your dreams in a notebook, always assuming he’d be beside you when they came true.

No. You were someone else now.

A woman who looked him in the eye… and no longer waited.

He drove home on autopilot.

Took the long route. Avoided the expressway. He didn’t want to be anywhere, really.

By the time he parked outside his apartment, the sky was turning orange.

His phone buzzed. A message from Namjoon.

Yoongi says you ghosted the meeting. Everything okay?

He didn’t answer.

He sat on the couch in his living room, elbows on his knees, phone face-down beside him.

All he could think about was the way your voice sounded in the backseat. Calmer. Slower. Tired in the way people are when they’ve worked through grief and moved forward without applause.

He missed your chaos.

He missed your loud opinions. Your ridiculous playlists. The way you used to mock him when he said he didn’t like spicy food, then purposely made everything with extra gochujang.

He missed knowing when you were upset — before anyone else even noticed.

But what he missed most…

Was being the person you used to run to.

Now, you didn’t run.

You walked away.

He picked up his phone.

Scrolled to your old chat.

A thread of nothing. Empty bubbles.

Last message: Y/N left the conversation.

He closed the app.

It was strange, he thought. To be surrounded by everything — titles, numbers, glass offices with his name on the door — and still feel like he had nothing to offer the one person who mattered most.

You were right.

He had been happy when he got accepted.

Too happy to notice you were devastated.

Too focused on someone else to realize you were quietly breaking.

That night, after the results…

That was when he lost you.

And this ride, ten years later — was just him realizing…

He never really got you back.

The cold air nipped at your cheeks as you walked the short distance to your building.

Your boots echoed across the pavement — calm, unhurried. Your heart felt quiet too. There was no storm this time. No ache like before.

Just… stillness.

He didn’t know where you lived now. You had changed your number years ago, deactivated everything, peeled away from that version of yourself like old wallpaper.

You weren’t hiding anymore.

But you were still careful.

You hadn’t asked about Soojin.

He hadn’t mentioned her.

And that unspoken space between her name and his silence — you didn’t fill it with assumptions. You didn’t dig anymore. You didn’t want to know unless he offered.

And he didn’t.

By the time you reached your apartment, the sky was dipped in navy blue. The city was winding down, but your thoughts were already turning toward tomorrow.

Work.

Routine.

Your name on the clipboard outside your office door.

Hoseok’s familiar wave from the nurses’ station.

Jeongguk’s session after lunch.

The people who knew you now — not from childhood or heartbreak, but from quiet, ordinary consistency.

You set your bag down inside. Kicked off your shoes. Let your coat fall onto the back of the chair.

The place was warm from the heating you’d left on low. It smelled faintly like fabric softener and herbal tea. Homey. Lived in. Yours.

Not a trace of Seokjin in it.

Not anymore.

You turned on the kitchen light. Opened the fridge. Took out a container of soup you had prepped last Thursday. The kind of thing no one taught you to do. The kind of quiet survival that became habit.

There had been a time — years ago — when seeing him again would’ve shattered you.

But tonight, after the ride, after the small glances and light conversation…

You were surprised to realize:

You were glad you talked.

Not because you needed answers.

But because you finally stopped needing to carry the silence around like armor.

You ate at the table with your laptop open — half-reading an article for the hospital, half-listening to an old playlist in the background.

A notification popped up.

[HOSPITAL ADMIN 📅]

Updated schedule – Monday

✔ 9:30 AM - Pediatric consult w/ Dr. Min

✔ 11:00 AM - Staff support session: Jung Hoseok

✔ 1:00 PM - Jeon Jeongguk - Individual

✔ 3:30 PM - Grief Group (youth)

✔ 5:00 PM - Staff Meeting (Psych Dept.)

You scanned the list. Your eyes paused at 1:00.

Jeongguk.

You didn’t know why seeing his name made something settle inside you — like grounding wires after a turbulent flight.

Maybe it was because your life now had structure.

Weight. Purpose.

People who entered and left without breaking you.

You shut the laptop. Washed your bowl. Turned off the kitchen light.

Then sat on the edge of your bed and exhaled slowly.

It had taken years to get here.

To a version of yourself that didn’t flinch at memories.

To a place where even Seokjin — the one name that used to unravel you — could exist in a sentence again without swallowing you whole.

Maybe this is what healing looked like.

Not forgiveness.

Not forgetting.

Just choosing peace in place of pain.

You glanced at the clock.

1:02 PM.

You liked when Jeongguk was late by a minute or two. It wasn’t because he forgot. You knew that by now. He was always close — waiting just outside the door until the moment felt right.

Sure enough, you heard the knock.

Three gentle taps.

You stood and opened the door.

Jeongguk stepped inside, hoodie sleeves pushed halfway up his arms, a quiet expression on his face. He nodded once, the way he always did, and you gestured toward the couch.

“You can sit wherever’s comfortable,” you said, the usual welcome, even though he always chose the same spot. End of the couch, closest to the window.

He sat down. Crossed his ankle over his knee. Kept his gaze on the floor for a moment before looking up at you.

“You seem rested,” he said.

You blinked. “I am. Thanks.”

“You went somewhere?”

You were caught off guard — not by the question, but by the tone. Curious. Not clinical. Not like a patient asking a therapist something to be polite.

“Just home. My mom’s birthday.”

“Was it nice?”

You smiled softly. “It was… necessary.”

He tilted his head at that, but didn’t press. You both knew what restraint looked like.

You sat down across from him, notebook in your lap.

“Anything you want to talk about today?”

He hesitated. Shifted his fingers along the seam of his jeans. Then looked up at you.

“I had a dream,” he said. “Two nights ago.”

You waited.

“I was underwater,” he continued. “Not drowning. Just… floating. I could hear things from the surface. Familiar voices. But I couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.”

You nodded slowly. “Were the voices clear?”

“One of them was my brother.”

You jotted a note, but your eyes remained on him.

“Is that unusual?” you asked.

Jeongguk gave a quiet huff of a laugh. “Yeah. We haven’t spoken in years.”

“What did he say?”

Jeongguk looked toward the window. “He kept saying, ‘Come back.’ Over and over. But I didn’t know what he meant. Or maybe… I didn’t want to.”

The silence lingered. This wasn’t something he’d brought up before. He rarely talked about his family at all.

You softened your voice. “Do you think part of you wants to go back? To that version of your life?”

He shrugged, jaw tight. “I don’t know. Back then I was a different person. Quiet. Careful. Always trying to make people feel comfortable.”

You raised a brow. “You still do that.”

“Not on purpose,” he said. Then glanced at you. “Except maybe with you.”

That stilled your pen.

You tilted your head. “Why me?”

“Because you don’t treat me like I’m broken.”

You didn’t answer for a moment.

“I don’t think you are,” you finally said.

He smiled — just slightly — and looked away.

The session continued, but differently. Jeongguk didn’t resist the questions today. He let them happen. He followed your prompts, opened up about the pressure he felt since childhood, the need to excel, to be “the good one.”

You saw it then — the same shape of pain you carried years ago. Different story. Same ache.

At the end of the hour, you closed your notebook but didn’t stand yet.

Jeongguk lingered too.

He finally spoke. “Have you ever stopped talking to someone you cared about?”

You blinked. “Yes.”

He nodded like he expected that answer.

“And did you ever think about what you’d say if you saw them again?”

You looked at him carefully. “I thought about it for years.”

“Did you ever get to say it?”

“I did,” you said. “Recently, actually.”

His gaze sharpened slightly. “And did it help?”

You smiled. “I think it saved me from holding on any longer.”

He didn’t say anything for a while.

Then: “I think I’d like to say something to someone too. Someday.”

You stood gently. Walked to the door.

“Well,” you said, “when you’re ready — I’ll be here.”

Jeongguk looked at you.

Not like a patient.

Not like someone seeking help.

But like someone who suddenly realized he trusted you more than he meant to.

He nodded once.

And left.

The bar was loud — too loud, really. But that was the point.

Seokjin nursed his second drink, swirling the half-melted ice in the bottom of the glass. A half-eaten basket of fries sat between him, Yoongi, and Namjoon, who looked entirely too sober for the time of night.

Yoongi leaned back in the booth, sipping something darker and bitterer than Jin’s drink. “So,” he said finally, “you saw her.”

Jin didn’t answer right away.

He hadn’t told them everything — just that you were back, and that you ended up sharing a ride home from your mom’s birthday dinner.

Namjoon stirred his straw absentmindedly. “Did you talk?”

“We talked,” Jin said.

“…And?”

Jin let out a low breath. “She told me she used to love me.”

Yoongi didn’t flinch. Namjoon paused for half a second, but didn’t look surprised.

“I didn’t know,” Jin added quietly.

Namjoon looked up. “Seriously?”

Jin blinked. “Why would I?”

Yoongi chuckled, but it wasn’t a kind sound. “You’re a genius in a boardroom, hyung, but emotionally? A brick.”

Jin frowned. “Come on, how would I have—”

“She followed you around like a shadow,” Namjoon said. “In high school, middle school….”

Jin’s throat tightened.

“I thought we were just… close,” he murmured. “She was my best friend.”

Yoongi tilted his glass. “And you were in love with her sister.”

The weight of the words hit him harder now than they ever had.

He’d spent so long trying not to feel guilty for what happened. Telling himself he didn’t know. That it wasn’t his fault.

But sitting here now, under the haze of warm lights and low music, all he could think about was your face when you ran — that first time, ten years ago. The sound of your voice when you finally confessed, days ago.

How it was steady. Resolved.

And too calm to be holding onto anything anymore.

“She said she’s past it now,” Jin said, running a hand through his hair. “She said she’s fine.”

“That’s the worst part,” Yoongi said.

Namjoon nodded. “When someone doesn’t hate you anymore? When they don’t even feel enough to stay mad? That’s when you’ve really lost them.”

Jin looked down at his drink.

Yoongi didn’t say anything. He just looked at him like the silence was the answer.

Later, when they left the bar, Yoongi offered to drop him off.

“Nah,” Jin waved him off. “I’ll walk a bit.”

Namjoon raised a brow. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He wasn’t sure. But he didn’t want to go home.

He walked the streets for a while, head down, breathing in cold air to steady his thoughts.

Then, maybe out of reflex, maybe just habit, he pulled out his phone.

Scrolled down a long list of names. Names he hadn’t talked to in months. Some he never really talked to — just existed in his contacts for nights he didn’t want to be alone.

He picked one. Texted.

Hey. You up?

The reply came fast.

Always. Wanna come over?

His thumb hovered over the keyboard.

On my way.

But he didn’t send it.

Because even now — even after trying to forget, after trying to drown it out — all he could think about was how you looked in the backseat of his car.

Calm. Poised.

Not the girl who used to giggle at his bad jokes.

Not the best friend who once tied his scarf for him in the winter because he never learned how.

Not the shadow of someone who once loved him in secret.

Just you. Grown. Distant. Fine.

Without him.

He locked his phone.

Shoved it back in his coat.

And walked home alone.

Chapter 9

[princessamericachavez]

There’s really not much to talk about after Chris brings up Shannon. Buck wants to say something more, to ease the kid’s pain, to reassure him that people who love him won’t always leave, but he’s still a little shaky on that department himself and doesn’t want to be hypocritical about it. So they deflect, change the subject, and a couple minutes later he lets Chris to his homework.

Eddie, of course, was listening. Buck knows. He almost expects to find him waiting by the door as he steps out of the room, but he’s not in the hallway, or in his room. Finally, he finds his best friend standing in the kitchen with a sour look and two unopened beers.

Buck opens one beer with another (a trick he’s used many times to impress dates) and settles for a bottle opener for the second one. Eddie accepts the drink and all but collapses on a seat by the kitchen island.

“He’s mad at her,” Eddie whispers into the bottle’s neck after two long gulps.

Buck tries desperately to find words of comfort but fails once more. His eyes fixate in his own hands instead. Waiting.

“I- I was so angry, too, but I thought maybe he could… I thought I could protect him from it.”

“You’ve done so much for him, for her,” Buck offers. “You’ve kept her memory alive.”

“It’s not enough.”

“It’s better than the alternative, trust me,” he says, thinking of the brother he only just started mourning. “Christopher loves his mom, and he knows she loved him. Even if… if the other stuff hurts, it was also part of her.”

“I don’t want him to judge her harshly.”

“Maybe you couldn’t help it.”

Eddie’s eyes snap towards him, pinning him with something defensive that could be mistaken for anger. But Buck doesn’t let himself flinch away.

“Eddie, Shannon was a person. A whole person. With her… mistakes, too. You can’t really love someone who is just a pretty picture. Chris can’t think his mom was just… just a perfect mom. She was more than that, the way you are more than a perfect dad.”

“In far from perfect,” Eddie scoffs, shaking his head.

“Not arguing with you there,” Buck huffs, teasingly, hoping to ease the tension. “But you’re a pretty damn good one, and you’re doing your best. And that’s what Chris knows, and that’s why he loves you.”

“Shannon was trying her best too.”

“I know. And… I think Chris knows it too. But he also gets to be a little angry about the not so perfect parts.”

Eddie puts the beer down. For an instant, like a flash, Buck is afraid of having pushed too far. Even with all the years and the trust between them, he will never truly shake the fear of one day crossing a line he can’t walk back and lose his best friend like everyone else in his life. But he has grown enough to not let that fear hold him back. Not with Eddie. Never with him.

“I’m kinda lost here, Buck. I feel like I screwed up somehow.”

“You didn’t.”

“How do I fix it.”

“You taught me that’s not always the answer, Eds.”

But Eddie looks at him with those big pleading eyes and, dammit, Buck wants to help him fix this too.

“Okay, so… if Chris was mad at you, what would you do?”

“Give him some time to cool off,” Eddie replies almost immediately. “Then try to talk to him, explain myself, see each other’s side of things.”

“Right,” Buck frowns. “Though I guess that’s…. Not a possibility with Shannon.”

“No,” Eddie rubs a hand over his face, “it’s not. Unless-“

His gesture freezes. He’s had an idea.

“Oh, Buck you’re a genius!”

“I am?”

“Yes! No. Yes… I- okay I think I have an idea. Maybe. I gotta think about it.”

Buck is eager to know the plan, but the way Eddie’s words are bouncing around it makes him feel like it’s a complicated topic. Or at least one his friend isn’t ready to voice yet.

“Well, I’m glad I could be of some help. Since my attempts at keeping Chris from turning into a little Buck 1.0 kinda failed,” he offers instead, as a change of topic.

It works. Eddie startles with a laugh that makes the kitchen feel five times lighter.

“You did alright, Buck. I really appreciate your help.”

And he means it. Buck can tell by the way their eyes meet, with an electric intensity, like they did before at the changing room. The ghost of Eddie’s hand on his shoulder lingers like static over his collarbone.

“Maybe you can ask Marisol to try next. You know, get some female wisdom in there.”

Buck doesn’t know why he says it, wants to kick himself in the teeth immediately, but then Eddie’s reaction fills him with relief. He looks appalled by the idea. Buck tries not to think too hard about why that reactions feels so good, tells himself not to let it go to his head.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” he laughs nervously. “I mean, she’s great! But I don’t think we are there yet.”

Yet. Yet, yet, yet. Not yet, but some day. Soon, probably. Buck has been quietly living with that dread for weeks now. Knowing his days of… this are counted. That some day, soon, Eddie will have someone else to rely on for this. That the day is approaching when Eddie will sit him down to talk about his will again, to let him know he’s changed it all over again. For a better choice. A more permanent one.

“Better not to rush into things this time,” Eddie keeps talking.

“Right. Yeah. Yeah… no rush,” Buck barely remembers to smile.

Eddie sighs, takes a sip. Buck mirrors him.

“So, anyway,” Eddie stretches on his chair, “you got time?”

Barely enough.

“Always.”

As much as he has left.

“Cool,” Eddie smiles, “because I do believe I promised Chinese in exchange for this.”

“Really, Eddie, it was no favor. You know I’m happy to help with Chris.”

“I know, I know,” he rolls his eyes, standing up. “Just bare with me, okay? Will make me feel less like a failure tonight.”

“You’re not a failure, Eddie. Don’t say that.”

Eddie pauses on his way out. Puts a hand on Buck’s shoulder.

“Thank you, Buck. Seriously.”

The touch is almost as electric as lightning. Buck ducks his head, feeling his heart stop and restart all over again.

“Anytime, Eddie. Now, about that Chinese…”

“Right, Chinese,” Eddie perks up. “Your usual?”