#ao3-anon-ask

[ao3-anonymous]

Hey, can I ask how you pull the data into your dashboard from ao3? I’m just another curious data nerd - thanks!

Sure! I use a webscraper (Beautiful Soup) to scrape all the fandom category pages (e.g. https://archiveofourown.org/media/TV%20Shows/fandoms) and basically use a bunch of string functions to parse through a giant piece of HTML to pull every Fandom Name and it's associated fic count.

(Note: some people have pointed out that occasionally the number on the Category page does not match the number at the top when you click through and I have no idea what causes this discrepancy. Take it up with AO3 lol. I just use whatever the Category page says.)

I have the scraper set to run once a week on Monday, so I just match up the new count with previously collected data and calculate fandom size change from there! I store the raw data in a bunch of nested dictionaries in a JSON locally, which then powers a Google Sheet where the calculations are run. The dashboard is then connected to the Google Sheet as a data source!

I pretty much taught myself Python just for this project initially (although now I use it at work too and am getting a pay raise for it - thanks ADHD!) so it's definitely not the most elegant solution, but it works!

The only part of the workflow that isn't fully automated is the weekly Tumblr post - I have a script that creates the post, but if I set it to run automatically, the images never come out right. So I have to remember to click the button once a week, which I'm not great at (thanks ADHD), so that's why they don't always come out on Mondays.

Hope that helps! LMK if you have any questions!

[i-will-write]

The thing nobody tells you is that you can just write down that one scene you've been replaying in your head with no connections to anything. You don't have to wait until the plot get there or until you come up with the rest of the story around it that makes that scene makes sense. You can just write that one scene.

you are so right

[likesomeoneinlovee]

𝐈 𝐒𝐞𝐞 𝐑𝐞𝐝

Pairing: Dbf!Joel Miller x F!reade

Word Count: 6k

Summary: Joel has had a ‘crush’ on you for a long time now and will make sure no man gets in the way of that.

Warnings: PORN-WITH-PLOT. Kinda. Reader is not legal to drink but still legal. Polite reader just trying to not be a bitch while dealing with a pervy old man! Joel has a crush on you, a BIG one. Bro gets so mad he gets a boner. Mutual touching he drives, daddy stuff, a teeny bit of spanking & nipple play, unprotected P-In-V, tummy bulge, aftercare for once wow!! No beta.

A/N: ANON REQ!! (you know who u are and here’s my take on a bit of a jealous Joel) I would've done way more smut if I didn’t have a high fever rn + writers block 😵‍💫! so VERY rushed.

No man should covet a woman he doesn’t own. 

And you weren’t his. 

Your daddy would make sure you would never be. 

Joel tells himself that. Over and over again, the only prayer in his head, the hymn he lives by ever since you’ve been staying with him per your father’s request. You yourself slowly recognizing Joel’s patterns of life. As he wakes up he takes pills for his headaches, swallowing them dry without a blink. His body is accustomed to the feeling. Every Saturday he’d take a weekly drive to the liquor store to stock up on the much needed provisions to his day-to-day routines. Booze, in much less dramatic terms. 

Your father was out of state for work forcing you to settle up with Joel for a couple of months, the only man your father would allow you to actually be around. In fear of you doing something bad. Bad as in… Sex? You could only assume that’s what your darling daddy meant. 

A rocky relationship in the cruel reality. 

Joel’s home. It was livable, there isn’t much to say when it’s the house of a man who’s been living alone twenty years. Indications of life scattered upon furniture the only real telltale signs that someone actually lives there. Coffee table littered with rings from mugs he’d simply leave for too long, the way the worn, vomit-colored green couch sags in the middle. Any prints that were on the buttons of the TV remote had been rubbed off by pressing around them, the last time he had gotten a new television was probably going on fifteen years now. Sad. Truly and utterly sad. 

Then you came along. 

Remnants of your liveliness woven into the once so dreary place. Something as so simple as a hair tie left on the counter, the very vague scent of perfume you left lingering in the small space of the bathroom every time you’d leave it. Now at night he’d walk past the second bedroom of his home that had been left unused, once depressed and dark, had the warm glow of your lamp being left on, leaking through the gap between the door and the floor. The littlest things.

Joel pretends not to notice. 

Though, he does. 

He notices the way you hum so very quietly the times you’re obligated to cook your own breakfast. How you pull your knees up onto the couch when you sit. Rolling your eyes at him every time he’d vexingly tell you to make sure to lock the front door when you came in. You listened. 

You’re too comfortable here. Too at ease. 

And what’s worse is he was getting used to it.

He’s not your fuckin’ father. He’s not your keeper. He’s just the man your daddy trusted well enough to take care of you when he was gone. Sorry excuse for a babysitter all the while you weren’t a baby. An adult who can well take care of herself. Only agreed because he wouldn’t want you to discover how he’s been living for practically twenty years by being alone for two months. The dark quietness of a home when it was just you there. 

He told himself it would be easy. Two months. He’d keep his distance. 

It’s almost impossible. The way you made him feel was sickening. You’re always around. Sinking deep into the couch, marveling in whatever boring sitcom would play on the box of blue light that flickered throughout the room. How you���d take sips from his beer just to tease, wrinkle your nose at the taste deep down you liked. Making your tongue buzz. You were making yourself at home in a place that was never meant to be yours. 

The only thing that worsened it for Joel is that you were so blissfully unaware of what you were doing to him. 

He thought the hardest part of this arrangement would be keeping you out of trouble. Your father acting like if he was gone you’d fall apart as a person. Be out partying or fuckin’ every night. Far from the truth. Laying so contently home every night.

Coming back to reality, the hardest part was keeping himself out of it. 

It’s the way you’d walk around his house in whatever you had slept in that night, no matter it be a tank-top and those tiny, plaid shorts that went up your ass. Appreciating the comfortability, though, he fucking hated it. You acted like you belonged there. 

Often he’s finding himself watching you too long, staring at the curve of your mouth while you speak, the plump of your lips as you stay entertained by the television with your face at a gentle rest. He was always seemingly gawked. 

Fifty-seven wasn’t the age to have crushes. 

And on Sunday’s, the day of the lord, of course. Joel Miller goes to the local bar.

Nighttime was surprisingly when the crowd died down. You were surprised to see that as you walked through the doors that sheltered the poorly kept saloon style establishment. Tables seated with older men closer to Joel’s age, some luckier than others to be accompanied by a woman. Smelled like stale beer and sweat which in reality was more disgusting than appealing. Loud breaks in the casual conversions of the crowd as pool balls clacked together. Rejoicing coming soon after. 

Usually you had something better to do on these nights. Going out with your friend’s always suffices though of course they canceled out today. Great, stuck with Mister Miller for a night of drinking all the while you weren’t allowed to let alcohol in your body at your age.He wouldn’t lie for you either, he was supposed to take care of you. Not turn you into the starts of an alcoholic. 

Torturous. Did the man want you to shoot yourself?

He led you through the slim pickings of a crowd there really was, hand grazing the small of your back to keep you close. Nothing more. Both sliding your bodies onto the leather tops of the barstools. Uncomfortability was the price to pay for the first hand of drinks. A squeak in your stool that no one had the patience to fix. 

“Whiskey.” The request sounded more like a plea from his lips. “Two.”

You knew the second one didn’t mean for you. 

Rubbing his temple as he flagged down the waitress. She was all too polite for what seemed to be the shittiest bar on earth. As if a small town in Texas would give you any better. Nodding her head in your direction. Your lips pursed as if ‘Beer” was gonna be the next thing to move past them. Though, you digressed. 

“Soda. I guess.” Joel gave a nod to you. Of course he approved of that action. Rubbing a hand over his jaw he sighed. Forgetting to take his pills this morning. Fuck, the throb behind his eye was something only the alcohol could numb by now. 

“You could’a stayed home.”

“Yeah, I could’ve.” You shrugged, admittedly so you rather be home- no. You rather be out with your friends as you were supposed to be tonight but in an act of such kindness, you came here with Joel. “Maybe I wanted to see why you liked this place so much.” It was a simple muse to him, though it did strike your curiosity. 

“Quickest bar from home. Quickest way to get drunk.” Curiosity met with an undeniably depressing answer. You were used to it by now. His lips pressed into a thin line. Once the barkeep came back she handed Joel his drinks, plural. As she also came with yours. Soda rimmed with ice. He picked up the first drink given, perspiration coating the glass. His thumb pressed against the cold lowball as he took the first sip. Heavy hot liquid sliding down his throat. Numbing him, his mind. Felt refreshed. 

You hum, stirring the ice in your soda in circles with your straw. He hears the clinking over the din of the bar. Louder than his own thoughts. 

You crossed your legs. Your thighs squishing together through the denim of your jeans, the material a bit loose on your body, a choice out of comfortability to buy baggier bell bottoms instead of the ones that hugged your ass tight. Drawing Joel’s eyes unintentionally.

Fuck this. 

He drags his palm down his face, trying to wipe away whatever the fuck he was feeling. It’s sickening for him. It’s so easy to not feel like this when it’s something so simple, so selfish as a one night stand, a whore he had paid to suck his cock. Different. Far different, especially since the last month he’s spent his time admiring the woman before him. You. The innocence in your eyes that served your beauty. It was this crawling under his skin he wanted to rip away from. 

So fucking vigilant on the scent of you, the sound of your voice, the way you shift ever so slightly closer to him as another group of men pass.

Joel breathes out slowly, averting his eyes to the sweet sight of you. 

The night goes on, the whiskey dulling the edges of restraint with every slow, steady sip. Slowly the place was growing on you, the night seemed to cool it down, less noise less chatter. Seems everyone needed to knock out a couple drinks before settling. You would’ve been happy to say the same if you were allowed to order that beer. You propped your chin in your palm, your elbow flat against the bartop avoiding any of the sticky substances that would coat some unfortunate patches of it. Your eyes scan throughout the place. Not much to take in, not much to see.

Though the slow deliberate movements draw the tiniest bit of attention from a table your eyes accidentally glance at for too long. Subtle but inevitable. 

Joel catches the way the men sitting at that table glance your way. The way you adjusted your body to once again sit straight up. Clearing your throat. 

And that’s when it starts. 

The first one wasn’t particularly bold about it. Just a flick of his gaze in your direction before returning to his minutes-til’-flat beer. The second man, greying, looks a little longer. Too closely. He nudges his friend, mutters something incoherent- something probably offensive to earn a laugh from him. Now he looked again.

Joel knows that look.

The kind that lingers for too long. That waits for an opening.

The kind that makes Miller’s teeth grind, his shoulders go rigid. His fingers slowly begin tightening around the glass of gold as he keeps his eyes forward. His eyes flutter just a bit to the left, seeing your smile. Trying to hide it by gently pressing your lips to the rim of your glass. Pretty pink lips. Before time heat is bubbling in his belly. Praying to god that was the fuckin’ whiskey. 

Those men are still watching. 

The next sip of booze doesn’t quite help as much as he’d want. It doesn’t smooth out the sharp edges of this feeling, the low simmering deep inside his pelvis. It keeps getting worse. 

He’s coming over. Walking with heavy legs. 

Joel sees it from the corner of his eyes, the way the man pushed back the chair, unhurriedly, sloppily walking straight towards you. From what Miller could gauge from the corner of his eye and what the wiry grey hairs covering the man’s beard told him is that he was older. Older as in his own age. Fifties either early or late. Joel wanted to die. Exhaling sharply, slamming down his glass a bit too hard. 

Muddled, you’d lift your head from your glass to look at Miller with an eyebrow cocked. And before you could even speak-

“Evenin’.” The man spoke.

You’d blindly blink at the man now standing beside your barstool. Startled for only a second before schooling your expression into something- polite. Something surely this man was undeserving of yet you really couldn’t help it. Instincts. 

“Hi.” Joel wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t acknowledge him. Not yet.  

“Can I help you?” You smiled, sweetly.

The man would lean in as expected. The strong smell of beer radiating off his breath. Open-mouthed ogling like a fucking dog. He was clearly absolutely wasted. Just those words were an absolute understatement. 

“Is this your daddy?” Of course he’d say that. Gesturing to Joel who was looking straight on before he turned a glance to the man, his eyes slits as he glared. Understandable. If you weren’t trying to give this man the benefit of the doubt you’d be glaring too. This guy was undeniably a fucking dick.  

“No- no,” You’d giggle. “My babysitter.”

You didn’t like how your mind and soul was making you act, unfortunate your internal instincts were to be tooth-achingly sweet in public.

You wanted to die. 

“S’my lucky day, huh?” You’d blink again. Silence as if the man had stole all the thoughts from your head- not in the good way. 

“No. Not- not quite.” 

You’d laugh, trying your best to brush it off. The man should go away soon. Probably just mistaking you for something you’re not while you’re here trying your best to avoid something awkward. Joel’s jaw clenched. 

“Well,” He hushed. A finger twirled into one of your soft locks. Your body tensing as you kept up another nervous giggle– you were only egging him on more. “I just wanted to see you up close.”

“She ain’t interested.” Miller told the truth with that. You weren’t and you were further from interested. Though the nervous, dumb smile on your lips told the fuckin’ pervert otherwise. 

“She didn’t tell me that.” He pushed. “I’d much rather hear that from your mouth, sweetie.”

You hesitated, your lips parted though words weren’t falling. Refusing. Alas, Joel Miller reached his breaking point. 

He popped up from his stool as he moved over to the guy. The greying man hesitated at the sight, of course. He wasn’t gonna be the kinda man to get his ass beat over something fucking stupid. Though, Joel was willing to beat his ass for your sake. 

A long beat of silence through the access chatter swimming around the bar enters the space between you, Joel and this sad fuckin’ man. 

Joel doesn’t blink.

He doesn’t breathe. 

He just stares. 

The man exhales a chuckle, deep down he didn’t want to walk out of here with a broken nose for flirting with a girl he wanted to fuck. A girl he thought was alone, dumb enough to possibly join him and his sad excuses for friends sitting around his table.

“Didn’t mean any trouble, pal.” He threw his palms up in a mock surrender though, he didn’t mean it. That’s what that beer was for afterall. Stepping back only an inch, letting the hair that was between his fingers fall back to your shoulder. 

“Just bein’ friendly.” 

Joel didn’t answer, why should he? The man let out a scoff as he walked back to his table with his tail between his legs. That was good. All Miller could do was sigh. His shoulders still at unease as he sat back down on the bar stool. Your heart at a slow thump against your ribs. 

You knew deep down that really, you were fine with that. Sure that man was a cuck, sure, you were uncomfortable, but you also knew yourself and you knew if that man would have touched anything else other than the tip of your hair. Oh fuck. He would’ve been gone.

Or– would he? 

It doesn’t shake the feeling that Joel was annoyingly protective if that was the right word for it. That man wasn’t your dad. He didn’t need to stick up for you.

He never did. 

He ran a palm down his face –again– he couldn't take the way he was around you. 

“Ohh, what the fuck.”

He was tired of this.

Goddamn if that happened a month ago chances are he wouldn’t have done anything other than roll his eyes and tell the fucker to go jerk off somewhere else but– oh my god did Joel wish he was the one that close to you. Breathing you in. 

Of course, you weren’t a random woman at a bar.

If only he had enough balls to speak to you. 

Pent up hormones ready to blow out of him every moment he was around you. He was too fucking old for this. 

Too fucking old.

If he felt the rush of blood to his cock one more time this night he was gonna–

Joel was already moving by now. Already shoving back from the bar, the scream of the stool leg against the glazed wooden floor of this god forbidden place made you inherently flinch. His jaw tight, the muscle in his cheek ticking as he reaches for his wallet, tossing a few bills onto the counter without counting. He didn’t fucking care about the act of either over-paying or under-paying right now. He had one, sinfully unfortunate thing on his mind. 

He knew he’d never do it. 

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t thinkin’ it.

Then his hand was on your wrist.

Grasping.

Firm. Unyielding. 

“C’mon.” He gritted. “Time to go, baby.” 

That was a new one. The name melting of his tongue like an instinct.

His grip was tight. Breathing hitched at the feeling of the grip. He was lucky it didn’t hurt. It was enough to make it clear he needed to get out of there. The reason wasn’t clear. It could be innocent on his part: he didn’t want you in a space where old men are looking at you. Ogling you like a slab of fuckin’ meat. 

His real reason was sickening. 

“Joel– c’mon!”

You’d whine, maybe you had a good reason to stay. Maybe you were just being defiant. 

Typical, like a child.

He didn’t give you time to finish.

The bar stool nearly topples as he pulls you up. Stumbling in the boots you were wearing. Tugging you in tightly to stand beside him. He was tensed, heat radiating off his body like a goddamn furnace. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t speak as if there was a point to. Nothing he said got through to you anyways. He just moves.

People are watching. Who wouldn’t? 

Your pulse spikes as you catch the amused glances throughout the pub. Folks who weren’t looking before now blinking. Causing a scene. Again, 

You. Wanted. To. Die. 

And to make it all better Joel’s eyes rip to the table those men from earlier were sitting at. The ones who eyed you. That same man who had harassed you muttering something to his friend beside him. Fuck. 

He thought he couldn’t get any more pissed. 

His palm covered his lips with no way to read. The music playing throughout the room covered any sounds of a hushed whisper into another man’s ear.

Though, Joel is pivoting. 

His grip on you released as he took a heavy-footed stomp over to that table. He frowned. He wanted to kill them. He would if he could. “What the fuck did you just say?”

“Jesus Christ, man.” One of the men mused. Of course, Joel Miller was just another sorry excuse of a man to them. “You don’t give it up do you.” Your babysitter wasn’t intimidating in a setting like this. To a man drunk as a fuckin’ skunk sitting with a bunch of men who reeked of the same stench. 

Joel doesn’t move.

He goes to walk away. No. There was absolutely no point in doing anything.

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

“All I said is that if I were you I would’ve fucked her by now.” No. Nope that was it.

A quick turn back around and Joel had slammed his fist into the man’s face. Heavy handed. Joel’s knuckles cracking with the impact in the same note as the man’s nose. 

“Fuck!!!” The man cried. It was well deserved. Why would Joel let a man talk to his–

You weren’t his.

Miller couldn’t breathe in the moment. His breathing ragged, watching the blood quickly drip out the man’s nostrils. God was it satisfying.

Your stomach plummets. You can confidently say you’ve never heard a man yell like that. Before the next tick of epinephrine hits Joel his hand now runs to your waist instead. Pushing you out the doors before running into the parking lot.

Holy fucking shit.

The air of the night hit you like a bucket of ice quickly. Suddenly you were regretting only wearing a thin hoodie with a tank top underneath. Joel was dragging you to his truck, practically throwing you into shotgun. 

Slamming the door to your side.

He rounds the front quickly. Pulling open the driver’s side as he slid into the seat. You swore you could hear the way his breath shudders in his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he pulls his seatbelt over his body– safety first, right? 

The truck was suffocating. Too small. Too fucking warm. 

You lick your lips, tasting salt. Your nerves were shot to hell. “Jesus Christ, Joel.”

He frowned. Fist on the shifter before pulling it into drive. He was speeding away, far away from that bar. Yeah, that one punch may had ruined his personal ‘holy day’ for a good while. If him and that man are ever in the same room again most likely one of them is getting there shit rocked and Joel worries that next time it may be him. 

He doesn’t necessarily wanna take that chance. All because of something so FUCKING stupid.

He doesn’t speak. Nothing to say on his part as for you– too stunned to say anything. You had no understanding of why Joel Miller of all people, of all the men you know was acting like this. His fists balled against the steering wheel. Knuckles turning pale. Ghostly. 

“Fuck.” 

He broke the silence with a curse. He was mad. At least, he sounded so. The growl in his voice masked the need. He could feel every twist, every coil in his gut. All because of you.

He can’t keep hiding it. 

“You’re makin’ me so fuckin’ crazy, baby.”

The smell of hard booze on his breath impregnated your nose. Slowly beginning to understand the acts in the bar. “That wasn’t me trying to flirt.” You quickly retorted. That was the honest truth that you’d be abiding by. You were too nervous to do anything except giggle like a dumbass so that’s what you did.

“I can’t help the fact I try to be polite. Even if they’re verging sexual harassment.” 

You’d try to keep it light hearted with a quip. Joel didn’t laugh. Pursing his lips into a line before speaking. It only pissed him off more.

“Not what I’m sayin’.”

You breathe. What the hell did this man want from you if it wasn’t some reasoning from your lips? The road was wet, asphalt glistening with a sheen of rain making light reflect easily off like a mirror. As Joel turned his brights on to properly see through the dark road that light reflected into the truck. The formally dark truck.

Your gaze was pulled to his lap. An accident at first but–

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His cock would writhe against the tightening denim of his jeans. If that didn’t tell you enough you didn’t know what would. 

Joel’s hands flex against the wheel, the veins in his hands popping.

“Whatever you say, M’not fuckin, jealous.”

No no, he was.

And the tension rolling off of him is suffocating, filling the small front space of the truck like a thick fog. Choking you. You could almost still feel the touch he left on you. The phantom of his fingertips that had branded your skin only a few minutes ago now.

He wanted you to touch him and it wasn’t a secret anymore. 

You reached your hand out to place on his thigh. The way his teeth sunk deeply into his bottom lip. Yeah, he fucking needed this. You felt your own stomach bloom with heat as your fingertips just barely scathed the denim of his jeans. You were just so close. Closer than you’ve ever been. And if this is something to forever be forbidden,

For all you know this could be as close as you’ll ever be. 

He adjusted his hips. Spreading his legs as if to coax you, as if to tell you this is the right thing. Maybe it was too vague. He took a hand off the wheel as he began soothing more into things. His shoulders finally relaxed as he took a long. Deep breath in. Then out. His fingertips danced along the crotch of your own jeans. Pressing the pad of his middle against your extremely clothed clit, muscle memory of where he knew it was.

He knew.

It was that touch that made your legs wanna buckle. Your cunt clench. 

Your palm soothed up his thigh as he focused on the road. Eyes adjusting, focusing. While his cock focused all by himself. Finally your smaller hand went to the tent in his jeans. Taking your pointer and tracing a line up the curve of the bulge. Wooing a twitch from him. His finger pushed harder into your clothed heat. Rewarding him in your first gasp of the night. 

“Jesus, baby. Soon enough I’ll be the one with the broken nose.”

A jest like that was hard to process currently. 

“What do you mean-?” 

Joel takes his hand away from between your legs just for a second to turn the radio on. Very very low, some old 80’s rock song came on. The background noise almost calming.

“Your daddy.” He’d grunt. “If he ever knew I was touchin’ you–”

“I know. My mouth is shut.”

It was a promise. A promise as your palm slipped beneath his belt.

Home sweet home.

Once the front door was closed the exchanges between your mouths were all teeth and tongue. Messy, sloppy. No shortage of drool dribbling down either of your chins. His fingers latching around the hem of your tank top as he pulled it over your head. No bra. Less work for him. 

It was like clockwork how his big, rough hands scooped under your thighs to grab you, pick you up with a strained grunt ripping from his chest. He couldn’t remember a time where his cocks been this hard. He could almost completely promise that it’s never been. It was heavy and once his jeans were pulled down it was hanging heavy, loose in his boxers. Though his flannel stayed on. Unbuttoned, fabric framing his tummy and bare, soft chest. 

You laid on his bed, splayed upon his blankets like a goddess as you awaited for him to finishing taking his clothes off. But he just couldn’t fuckin’ wait. The sight of you laying there, helpless. Those pretty, lace panties he wanted to rip off with his teeth made his brain turn to mush. He crawled on top of you, leaning down to place a hot kiss on your throat as his hands moved down to your ass. 

“Don’t got time to take you over the knee, baby.”

This sentence came with a squeeze to the soft flesh of your ass. Flipping you over belly-down with his fingers tangled in your hair. Face stuffed into the pillow.

His hand came down firm on your lace clad ass. Watching the thickness of the skin ripple. 

Again. Harder.

You let out a sharp whine at the feeling. Each left with a stinging buzz that lingered within the plush skin. You were addicted. Though, what was fun for a moment was soon boring for Mister Miller, his cock in a painful state in the confines of his boxers. Feeling like he was gonna burst any good moment now. 

But were you ready?

He flipped you back on your back in a sinfully quick motion. One of his practiced, old hands laid flat against your stomach before slipping down beneath the lace of your panties, hooking a finger to the side before pulling them down. They were damp. That just wouldn’t suffice for him. His finger tested the waters, how gluey, slick your folds were. Taking what was currently dripping out of your hole and spreading it around like a glaze. 

He dipped his head down into your sternum, his lips pressing firmly against the skin there before he deliberately moved to one of your tits. Brushing the pad of his thumb across the already hard nipple before taking it between his teeth. 

“Fuck-! Joel-”

Funny, when you touched yourself you weren’t nearly this loud. 

This sensitive. 

The tip of his tongue swirled around the bud, it was smooth against his tongue. Warmer than your skin. His hips dug down deep into his own mattress. Mussing the blankets beneath both of your bodies as if they were neat before. He squeezed your other breast with his free hand, continuing his ministries just for another moment. Keeping his moments practiced and planned for the time being. He flicked your unintended, rock-hard bud with his free hand. Mind Numbing stimulation coursing throughout your body. 

Your hand came down to paw at his erection straining painfully against the grey cotton of his boxers.

“Oh–”  

He groaned, his hips pressing into yours before you could touch more. Clamping himself down so the only way you could feel him throb would be against your thigh.

“You think you’re ready, baby? Ready for my cock?”

Of course the answer was yes. He knew the answer was yes how you were writhing, practically salivating at the thought. Both panting like dogs. He pulled himself out of his boxers. The dim light of the room making it impossible to see was was between your legs. The details left unseen and unsaid as all you could rely on was feel.

You felt his head begin running up and down between your folds. With a girl so fuckin’ wet who needed lubracant. Your eyes squeezed shut as he began to push in. 

You’ve never felt anything like it.

Funnily enough. He’s never felt a girl like you either.

“Joel!” You’d squeal. “Fuck, Joel– JoelJoelJoelJoel–”

You were quickly chanting his name under your breath like an invocation. He was big though a three-letter word so simple as big was a fucking understatement. He was stretching out every ounce of your gummy walls. Your head craning backwards into his pillow. His pillow. The scent of his hair, his scent all seeping into your nose mixing with the sensations throughout your body.

“S’fuckin’-- shit, babygirl…”

Joel’s words were slurring together as if he had drank more than those two lousy whiskeys at the bar. Your legs wrapped tight around his waist as you enveloped him. Clenching up every time the tip of his fat cock would graze your cervix. His hand pressed just over your pelvis. Feeling around, ‘til– oh fuck.

“Fuckkkkk… Feel that, baby?” You felt a lot of things right now, your body all too hyper-fixated on the feeling of him to focus on anything other than that. Then Joel took your hand. Trailing it down your stomach as he weakly supported himself with his left arm. Palm flat against the sheets. His bicep tense.

He brought your smaller hand down to your low stomach, feeling the bump there. The bump he was oh-so obsessed with. Jutting out against your palm. 

“S’my cock. Yeahhh. He wants you, s’fuckin’ bad.” 

He was barely there.

“--So. Fuckin’. Bad.”

He punctuated his words with every thrust. You wanted to call out, say something over and over again like your only fucking prayer. But words defied you in the moment. As soon as you felt the unbearable pressure build up in your gut, the pressure that took over, spilled from your pelvis to your pussy. You felt the wiry hairs that crowned his cock scratching against your clit only adding to the feeling. The feeling that was building and building. 

“Joel– I’m gonna–!”

It was so cliché. The need to finish that sentence was gone as you couldn’t control it. Feeling the knot tied so uncomfortably tightly in your pelvis untie. You tried to keep it back, hold it in but it refused. Your hips wriggled against his as your orgasm came ripping through your body. Leaning up as best you could to bury your face in his neck to gasp. Cry out into his ear as much as you well pleased as you felt your legs kick out, your thighs buzz.

His cock curved inside of you, kissing a soft spot that you weren’t even aware you had. His pace slowing, becoming sloppier, rushed. His hips snappy. The way your walls squeezed around him, trying to milk him til’ he was dry. Just wasn’t safe for an old man like him to blue-ball himself like this, huh?

“Fuck- she’s gonna milk daddy dry, ain’t she–?” He was trying to kill you.

With that it was only one more thick, deep thrust into your tight, throbbing cunt where he spilled his cum inside of you. Using what little energy he had left to paint those pretty walls white. Rolling his hips to drive his semen into your pretty little hole. His thumb pushed past your parted lips, your mouth quickly latching on. Cock-drunk, suckling on his thumb to muffle any whimpers. No more cries.

“Atta girl.”

He’d praise. His sweaty, damp body pressing heavily against yours. He didn’t wanna pull out. It’s almost like his body wanted him to stay this way until he was passin’ out. Though, he wouldn't let that happen. He slowly unsheathes his thick cock from your pussy with a wet, squelch as your walls adjust back to normal. Opaque, pearly cum dripping out of your cunt, drooling down your inner thighs all the way to your ass was pornographic. 

Reaching around the back of his head to seize a chunk of his greying, soft-to-the-touch curls. Your tongue licking his way into his mouth instead of his thumb. 

You felt absolutely and utterly euphoric. 

Laying with the blanket lazily draped over both of your bodies. Joel took a long sip from the bottle of alcohol, drinking it like water to refresh his mouth. He felt exasperated. He wouldn’t be able to pin point the last time sex made him feel this good if you were paying him a million bucks. But now he could say with you.

You tucked your face into his neck, taking in the scent of him, the stickiness of his skin. The salty scent of sex still lingering in the air around. 

It was silent. Like you were both trying to process what had happened within the last hour- hell, the last three. Even the whole bar thing seemed like an impossible daydream you’d watch on a soap, something that you’d say is unrealistic. 

“I was jealous.”

He murmured. Turning his attention back to you as the silence was officially broken. You could’ve figured as much.

“I guess I should be flattered.”

You’d giggle. Real and genuine. Not the fake one you put on for that pervert at the bar. 

“I’ve never had a man break another guy’s nose for me before.”

Joel rolled his eyes. Wrapping his warm arms around your body as he pulled you in close. The first time in twenty years his bed wasn’t empty and cold. A warm body tucked right against him, perfectly as if you belonged. 

“Don’t get used to it.” 

[littlerequiem]

Hello!! I hope you are having a wonderful day/night! I was just wondering if you have any good Levi fanfic recommendations? Preferably x reader and canon-compliant? Ik this is so random lol I just feel like you would have good recommendations!! And in general even if they aren’t x reader or canon-compliant. Your writing is so good and I just know you would have good taste🥰

Hi, of course, happy to share recs :D Excuse the length of this, but I somehow ended up giving you my 5+ years worth of i-am-once-again-hopelessly-addicted-to-Levi AO3 bookmarks, heh. I tried to categorize them best I can.

These beautiful stories are mostly x Reader, a few x OC. Please heed the tags & if you can, let the authors know that you appreciate their writing (:

LEVI x READER RECS

CANON* LONG-FICS (*some are pre-canon or post-canon)

Dust, Diamond by maotkitty

Death's Door by SongsOfApollo

Veins of the Citadel by cinnamads

Felines and Canidae by veratrance / @veratrance

Through Peril and Refuge by post_academic

To You, 2,000 Feet Above by PrettyxVenom99 / @prettyxvenom99

His Wounded Heart Beats For One by UrbanDeity / @urbandeity

North Star by sixpennydame / @sixpennydame

Silver Soul by oi_levi / @bibblelevi

First Time Anthology by Levmada / @rivangel

Freedom & Death by killerpillar / @killerpillar

silver underground by tothestrongones / @amywritesthings

One Brushstroke At A Time by missEmpress

AU LONG-FICS

Paychecks with a Side of Intimacy (sugar daddy AU) by Milmie / @leyyvi

A Soul Beyond Salvation (western AU) by ananimegirlhasnoname / @ananimegirlhasnoname

Lessons in Patience (college AU) by almondblossoms1000 / @capricornlevi

As the Sparks Die (zombie AU) by wellitcouldbeworse3

Project Arcane (urban fantasy AU) by missEmpress

The Romance of Reimbursements (modern AU) by taomyou / @taomyou

To Sing a Song of Steel (fantasy AU) by CaptainDegenerate

House of Cards (royalty AU) by darlingheichou / @h0neylevi

Percolate (coffee shop AU) by heichoe / @heich0e

Kintsugi (figure skating AU) by @humanitys-strongest-brat

BOUND BY DUTY (royalty AU) by mrsackxrman / @atruewarrior

dark side of the moon (sci-fi/yakuza AU) by sixpennydame / @sixpennydame

To You, 1000 Years From Now (isekai) by darlingheichou / @h0neylevi

Unspoken Words (modern AU) by chaos_on_main / @chaotic-on-main

ONE-SHOTS/TWO-SHOTS (AU and canon)

Melt by chimeragarden / @chimera-garden

Mise En Place by gothgril69 / @gothgril69

[watch me fall apart, watch me fall apart] by djmarinizela

the mortal price of crossing twice by heichoe / @heich0e

we're all alone, ride it by alleviate / @alleviate-ao3

Kiss It Better by oi_levi / @bibblelevi

It's a Wrap! by jayteacups / @jayteacups

Thundershower by Levmada / @rivangel

SHADES OF GRAY by mrsackxrman / @atruewarrior

One Step from Hades by silesy

waking reverie by captain-hawks

All Too Familiar by jayteacups / @jayteacups

Your Safe Space by humanitysstrongestbamf / @humanitys-strongest-bamf

Desperation by veratrance / @veratrance

Under the Mistletoe by youre_ackermine / @youre-ackermine

Welcome Home by FlameTrashira / @flametrashira

Tea and Therapy by misspearlmd

For the Living by BreakingGround / @thechaoticarchivist

Last category is a Levi x Erwin x F!Reader story that I always recommend bc it altered my brain chemistry.

this is a story of the sea by shinzouing / @shinzouing

I didn't go into specifics or share fics from Tumblr bc this post would never end but, if you want, check out my rec tag and go give the fics on here all the love they deserve <3

( also, adding to that: the stories mentioned in this post are simply what I've personally read, it is by no means meant to exclude other fics/writers. Truth is, I have not read everything out there as I am just one person, so if anyone has any recs to add, feel free to add and continue to show support for different creators! )

Happy reading!! Divider by @/enchanthings.

[hedwig221b]

any fics with stiles being the darling of the hale family like the whole fam just loving him and really supporting derek’s relationship with him

Hello! Found these ones, but I feel like I'm forgetting some, so if anyone has suggestions, please, leave them below (I wanna read more)

can you tell me what was ever really special about me all this time? by whiry

There's something strange about Beacon Hills. Stiles can't really put his finger on it, but the way certain classmates look at him at school and the way certain adults look at him in the grocery store has him curious. And it's not the sort of pitying looks that his mom's coworkers used to give him, but these ones are longer, more searching, like they're looking for something. Not to mention the weird noises that sometimes come from the woods when he runs, too human to be animal and too animal to be human. Plus the way the Hales have seemed to sequester themselves to the wild and give Stiles serious Cullen family vibes. But Stiles, like everyone else apparently, ignores it. Until it becomes too great to ignore and he has to investigate for himself and find out what is actually going on in Beacon Hills. +++ Or, the one where Stiles and Derek meet, hate each other, slowly get to know one another, and fall totally head over heels for each other all while avoiding curious classmates, an angry ex-girlfriend, and, oh yeah, imminent death.

here in the heart (of my sanctuary) by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Talia accelerates through the tunnel, and Derek looks up, watches the light that makes it through the bramble dance and shift over the hood of the car as they drive, fingers gripping the sides of the tank. It’s beautiful, like a gateway to another world. He’s lived in the preserve his whole life, and he didn’t know this was here. She eyes him. “You should know this man is very important to me. I take the responsibility of his care and counsel very seriously. Handing him over to you…it’s not a small thing. Please keep that in mind.”

Northern Blues by kaistrex (weishen)

When Stiles steps into the room that the Hale house has conjured for him to stay in, the first thing he sees is a window already open, letting in a pleasant breeze. The second is a door in the right-hand wall. Laura clears her throat, scratching at her nose. “That leads to Derek’s room.” Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up and a laugh bursts out before he can stop it. Now he understands how the pack knew this room probably wouldn’t belong to his dad (which, gross). He looks over his shoulder at Derek who’s glaring pointedly at everything except for Stiles with pink-tipped ears. “Presumptuous. I like it,” he says to the house, patting one of the walls and throwing a wink at Derek hovering in the doorway. _ When the Hale pack transitions to a new Alpha, Stiles is thrilled to be assigned to Beacon Hills to try out as their new Emissary. He and his dad are immediately enamoured with the idyllic little town, fitting right in with the rest of the Hales – except for Derek. The new Alpha shows no signs of welcome, but it will be hard for him to stay stubborn in the face of his family’s encouragement and a sentient house that has plans for the two of them whether Derek likes it or not.

Don't You Worry (Stiles) by Watermelon Wolves (RogueMarieL)

After Scott was bitten, Stiles told a very small lie in exchange for a very huge prize -- pack membership -- and he has spent the intervening years winning every Best Fake Boyfriend award on the books. Now, however, Scott wants to be in an actual relationship, and Stiles is losing his pack. Enter Derek.

Hung The Moon by BurnItAllClean (nrnyx)

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

Bonded to a Spark by AMatchInWater

Derek comes back to Beacon Hills after living in New York with Laura as a deputy. His mom wants to retire and has enlisted Stiles to be their emissary in training since he's such a successful spark. Derek hates all of it at first until he cracks when Stiles wakes him up in the middle of the night to fix the wards, and he starts to fall for the Omega living in his home.

sanctuary where i stand by ceserabeau

"We're happy to have you, Stiles," Laura says, and nudges Derek hard, "Aren't we?" "Of course," Derek says through gritted teeth. When he looks at Stiles, the kid has a smug grin on his face. What a little shit. AU where Stiles is sent to the Hale pack to be their emissary.

What Fresh Twilight Bullshit Is This? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

"I am not Bella!” he insisted, shaking his fist angrily at Jackson, as if he’d been the one to suggest he was. “I am not Bella! I am, like, a Jacob, at least!” Lydia made a noise of debate from his right and he whipped around to look at her. “What?! What was that sound?!” “You’re more of a Mike,” she insisted, shrugging neatly and flipping some curls over her shoulder. “Wha—” Stiles had never been so offended in his life! “I am not! No way! I am a solid Jacob!” “Mike,” she argued. “Who’s Mike?” Scott asked. “Shut up, Scott!” Stiles insisted, pointing a finger at him but still glaring at Lydia.

Only By Entering The Wolf's Den by Spuri

Stiles gets a call for help from his old babysitter, Laura Hale, after a slew of magical sabotage to the restaurant/gastropub she runs with her brother Derek. Mysterious magical and supernatural shenanigans are Stiles' bread and butter, so who is he to deny what's basically family? Even if it does mean facing his age-old, hopeless crush on Derek again, and the fact that Derek hates him.

[masterlist link]

[erinwantstowrite]

Every day, I wait to see if the little Peter on your dashboard gets the microwave door shut on him, I wonder when it will finally happen...

alright alright if you wanna microwave him so badly here you go

[rainyfey]

I loved your momokarun fic art! Do you have any other fic recommendations?

Hello anon!! Sorry to make you wait so long and thank you for the ask!! 💖 I have read several fics that I really, really loved and want to draw fanart for :3 but time and inspiration were not on my side until now!

Here is some Fanart of Chapter 3 of Mitsu Boshi! I will never get tired of fanfics where we get a whole scene of Okarun infodumping about aliens and conspiracies to a Momo who has just met him and is quickly becoming convinced that he's crazy XD

I ramble and recommend another fic under the cut as well:

The one living rent free in my head right now is Mitsu Boshi, which I recommended recently in this reblog. Friendly to Anime-Onlys at the moment due to it being an AU and not set in a specific place in canon :3 it's soooosososo well done and an absolute joy to read (and reread lol). Def give it a look if you have time! Also listen to the spotify playlist the author linked in Ch.6 (I've had it on on repeat while I draw, it's awesome and every song is such a great fit for the fic!!)

Another very fun one that I am determined to draw for in the future (for one of the action-oriented scenes that is verrryyy beyond my current skillset so it's taking...time lol) is Chapter One of a fic called "Momo Ayase vs the World" by GoodEveningClarice and is a part of a series called "What's inside Turbo Okarun's Mouth?" (Can y'all guess why it caught my attention?? LOL) Chapter 1 is very cool and feels like a chapter right out of the Manga!! Chapter 2 is more fluffy and just as fun to read 💕 Be warned, though, it's written at a point in canon not covered by the anime. So i suggest catching up on the manga first to avoid spoilers and to get some context for what's going on~

Thank you again, I'm so honored you guys are enjoying the art I post and sending me asks 💖 it's been so much fun getting to love on the DanDaDan series with all the other fans here!!

[ao3-shenanigans]

I think my greatest accomplishment in fanfic ever is I have a fic where a character has DID (dissociative identity disorder). This character has shown some symptoms of it in the canon material, so I headcanon it, and since I have a degree in the field and have done extensive research on it plus have a good friend with the condition I used that research to help me write it as good as I possibly could. I remember logging into a03 when I was having a really bad day and seeing a long detailed comment of someone expressing admiration and gratitude for how I'd written it.

Not gonna lie, I sat there and cried a little.

Guys if you think your little comments don't matter? They really do.

That’s incredible! Congratulations!!

[strawlessandbraless]

got any fic recs that feature dean worshipping castiel (physically and/or emotionally) ? tysm

Oh, can do chief 😉

There may be a little bit of mutual worship in some of these fics, hope that’s ok, but here ya go:

you're holy to me by serenityfails

Eleven Erogenous Zones of a Fallen Angel by almaasi

i know the end by unicornpoe

for which no words exist by MediaWhore

maybe i like pleasure pain by tothewillofthepeople

Love is awful, and then it isn't by ImYourHoneyBee

the way back to you by Castielslostwings

Coals Aglow by imogenbynight

Being Led Home by someonetoanyone

When The Pressure Gives Way by Redamber79

Love in the Morning by Chiyume

Sweet Spots by LokiNeedsHugs1031

Tag List

@worrynoodle @dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you @whimblixseven @mercurialkitty @justjayisfine0 @mypeopleskillzarerusty @you-needajelloshot @readingthebones @my-comical-romance

Comment, DM me, or send ask if you’d like to be tagged in my fic rec lists. It will only be used for these fic recs, no other posts.

[brucedefender4eva]

Could we get your thoughts on this fic pliz :

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63644935

Mmm painful and delicious, yummy yummy in my tummy!

I love how the author gave us Bruce’s thoughts and explanations on why he did certain things, meaning we can sympathize and understand Bruce but that’s only because we’re privy to what’s in his head unlike his kids.

Each conflict is incredibly realistic, not just for normal people, but for the dangerous secretive life that they live.

I love love love how Alfred was angry at the kids for treating Bruce like shit and ultimately isolating him. Not enough fics include Alfred being on Bruce’s side. I’d say a majority have him scolding Bruce of placing all the blame on his shoulders.

If anyone were to come help Bruce that wasn’t apart of his family, it would be Clark. Their love for each other here is portrayed beautifully. I love Clark reassuring Bruce and loving him no matter what

And of course, in the end, Bruce forgives his children. I personally would’ve loved to see more groveling, maybe Clark refusing to let the kids see Bruce so broken, but that’s only would realistically never happen. Bruce would’ve forgiven his children even if they didn’t say sorry and Clark understands that as well.

In the end, the only thing he needed was them.

Such a great fanfiction! Thank you for bringing it to my attention!

[choccy-milky]

just the wedding pic bc i rly like it🥹💖

[daydreamerwonderkid]

"Another AO3 author with too much time on his hands"

Where the fics at?

[dailyheavymedic]

I think your portrayal of heavymedic is the most accurate I've seen. Most people just make them the stock happily married old men but there's so many levels of confusion and repression between them that most people just? Forget? And you keep it! And it's great!

Thanks for making stuff

Thank you anon! I love me some old happy married couple, but I find the idea of how messy their relationship would have been at first very interesting, think they are fun to think that way

I hope I could illustrate the idea of Heavy having been thinking about his feelings for Medic for a while now, while the latter didn't even question most of his own behavior or feelings until he was confronted with them, and he finds relief in that fact, compared to Heavy who wants to punch a whole in the wall

[hedwig221b]

I'm looking for some Sterek with soft Derek and happy endings. You know, the perfect mushy read after something dark and angst-ridden.

Okay, settle in for Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts time

Physical Touch by mybestfriendsarebooks

Scott has noticed that Derek isn't big on physical affection. Scott and the others had made peace with that and knew when not to push or back away quickly. One person seems to be the exception. Scott notices the progression of this affection over the years.

The Words You Speak by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

Stiles just stared at her. “Derek’s a Werewolf, why the hell would he be in the hospital?” Melissa gave him an odd look, then turned to Scott for help, who looked just as lost. At least it wasn’t another one of Stiles’ oblivious moments, though considering Scott’s IQ, it wasn’t exactly hard to be down at his level. Melissa turned back to Stiles, still looking confused. “Whenever Derek has a bad day, he always goes to the postnatal ward at the hospital. He likes being around all the babies, and he’s actually really good with them. The women up there love him, he can get the crying ones to stop in a second. Not sure if it’s a wolf thing or a Derek thing, but it’s very sweet.” Derek did what now? “Did you both not know this?” Melissa turned to include Scott in her inquiry. “He’s been doing this for well over a year, I figured you knew.”

Ain't Nothing so Good as the Cake and Eating it by sofonisba_found

Derek thinks he's doing alright in life, with his family at his side and a job he loves. Despite his family's concerns he remains adamant that he doesn't need a mate, afraid to take the risk of letting anyone close enough to try to hurt his family again. That is until he realizes that his true mate has been right under his nose for years, and that now through his inaction he may lose him.

what a big heart i have (better to love you with) by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Stiles has a massive thing for Derek Hale. This is not news. Stiles, after all, has been carrying a torch for Derek ever since they bumped into each other at a taco cart at the start of his freshman year. But what is news? With no hope of ever capturing Derek’s attention, Stiles is thinking it might be time to let that torch go. Try to let it burn out. (Derek might have something to say about that.)

Three Lost Kids, Two Minute Noodles and One Hot Mate. by MysticEdge

Stiles is leaving a local store and he notices a toddler wandering the parking lot by himself. worried for the childs safety he rushes to him to discover the child had wandered away from his mother’s mini van. Doors are wide open. Upon closer inspection looks like there are 2 more kids in the car crying because the mother is laying face down in the back. Like she passed out after putting 2 of the 3 kids in the car. Frantic he calls his father while checking to see if the mother is breathing. The mother is Laura Hale. No Hale fire, Derek is still weary with people as Kate attempted to set the fire but was thwarted. Stiles meets Derek for the first time when he’s called to the hospital for Laura and the children.

Little Promises by crossroadswrite

Derek doesn’t really know what happened. He just knows there was a lady and she was pretty but she was also really mean and she was trying to hurt his friends. “Holy fuck,” Erica mutters and is harshly shushed by Isaac. “Don’t swear in front of the kid.” “It’s not a kid,” Erica counters. “It’s just-“ “Derek?”

You Fit Me Better by Rena

Five times Stiles and Derek ended up wearing each others clothes on accident, and one time it's deliberate.

Of Puppy Piles and Sugar Dreams by StarShineForMe

In which Isaac and Scott get de-aged, the pack must learn to bond and protect their own, and Derek ("Dewek!") and Stiles ("Sti-ewes!") are mates…even if it takes them forever and two toddlers to realize it. “Oh, God.” Stiles buries his face in his hands, water dripping down his wrists. “What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Derek whips out a towel, wrapping it around Stiles’ forearms, pulling them away from Stiles’ body so he can look them over. “I’m fine,” Stiles says, a little blankly. Erica and Boyd have set Issac and Scott back onto the floor, tickling them both into fits of giggles. He huffs out a noise that’s not quite a whimper, not quite a laugh. “Just wondering when the hell I ended up in my very own episode of ‘Teen Mom’.”

Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me? by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

So if his dad hadn’t been the one to come home and get him into bed properly, and was now making him breakfast, then who…? Seriously, his embarrassment level couldn’t get any lower at this point. It was bad enough to imagine it was his dad, but to know Scott had come to take care of him was worse. But not nearly as bad as the absolute horror and astronomical levels of embarrassment when Stiles walked into the kitchen and found Derek at the stove making French toast. Because of course it was Derek. If someone was going to see Stiles naked and passed out cold on his bed, why wouldn’t it be Derek? His long-time crush and provider of fap material? Sure, why not, life wasn’t horrible enough yet, might as well make it downright dreadful!

The by kaistrex (weishen)

Snippets of the lives of four-year-old Derek and baby Stiles as they grow up together.

Finding Home by captaintinymite (augopher)

To teach them a lesson, a pair of mischievous pixies hit Derek and Stiles with a spell that makes them six years old again. Neither of them remembers anything about their lives beyond that age. What happens when the pair of them become immediate friends and declare that when they grow up they will get married? Will they remember anything when the spell wears off?

A Slight Problem by kaistrex (weishen)

The Hale family dog takes a shine to seven-year-old Stiles.

Are You the One? by Venrajade

Derek's sister works for a television network with a dating show that claims that they are able to find someone's True Mate. Cora steals a scent sample from Derek and matches him to an Omega applying to the show with a 99% chance of them being mates. Which means Derek is now a reality dating show star. Shit.

Sometimes Not Seeing Is Believing by FeelingFredly

Stiles gave him a lopsided grin. “I wouldn’t poison you, Der.” His grin turned sharp and sharklike. “At least not much. I just need to test it on you to make sure it will work on other weres.” Derek snorted. “And you didn’t think Peter would be a better target for your experiments?” That got him a shrugged shoulder. “He offered, but I didn’t think it was a good idea.” ---or that time when an invisibility potion helped Derek see things a lot more clearly.

Slugs, and Snails, and Puppy Dog Tails by yodasyoyo

kid!Derek being super taken with kid!Stiles. And their interactions.

We're Like Milo and Otis by tabbytabbytabby

Stiles and Derek meet each other before they can even talk. With Claudia being the Hale family Emissary, Stiles spends most of his time with the Hales. Stiles and Derek are immediately inseparable. Stiles learns early on that his magic reacts to Derek more than anyone else and because of that he is able to shift into a fox and go on adventures with Derek. Those adventures aren't always safe but one thing is certain, they'll always look out for each other.

Five Times Stiles Needed A Crash Course On Wolfy Behavior and the One Time He Figured Shit Out by 1lostone

Pretty much what it says on the tin. Written for hungrylikethewolfie (ladyblahblah) who had a bad day and requested possessive!Derek and Oblivious!Stiles.

Lying (By Omission) by redezon

College fic where Stiles has an adorable girlfriend. Only ‘D’ isn’t adorable. Or his girlfriend. Or: Five times people talk about Stiles’s mysterious significant other, and one time they actually see them.

and i'll just keep on stumblin' (right now it feels too humblin') by dee_lirious

Derek Hale is pretty much the worst person in the world to hypothetically develop a crush on, being a murder suspect, a dangerous werewolf, a weirdo who stalks people from the treeline, and also living in a train car, Jesus Christ. (In response to jennova's prompt: Five times Stiles tries to make Derek smile and one time he succeeds but doesn’t notice because kissing or something.)

Loud Love

There wasn’t a single moment when they weren’t touching. They didn’t notice anyone — obsessed with each other, they were blind to all jealousy. The circle of one another’s arms encapsulated their world. Close, tight, inseparable. They didn’t care if someone watched them, both lost in each other, entrapped.

[masterlist link]

[dreamsofbroflovski]

Hii!! I love your work sm, and you write so well. I was wondering if you could write something for Kyle 🙏🙏 Something smutty if possible 🤭 I'm not too picky, and I don't have anything specific in mind. It's totally fine if you can't, though!! Have an amazing day/night, take care of yourself, and I hope you're doing well <3

i see my giant thought transmission antenna i have in my roof is working properly. are we all just using 'shitter' alongside cartman and alec baldwin huh

because i was literally already writing for Kyle when i got this request sjkdkjsdkjsdkjsdikj so indeed i COULD write for him

i've been doing well. classes have started again (which means nowadays between 1 to 4 PST is prime 'yapping on phone' time because some of those classes can get pretty boring). it's been a little hard for me physically due to the disability but i'm glad to be doing something.

anyways, here it is! i'm aware it's a bit different from what i usually write, but i hope it's fire enough anyway. hope y'all have a great day/night too!

Kyle Broflovski x Reader - vodka, peach snapps, orange & cranberry juice

Also available on ao3!

Summary: Kyle Broflovski hated the beach. The sun, the sand, the sea, the people, nothing about it appealed to him. So, when you take him on a trip to one, he's not amused at all.

There might be something in there for the both of you, though, when he decides to remind you what happens when you upset him.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content (everyone involved is above the age of consent), Smut, Established Relationship, Public Sex, Beach Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Prone Bone position, Doggy Style, Possessive Behavior, Angry Sex, Arguing, Kyle just being an asshole

A/N: okay so! if anyone is confused about beach vibes in march, i'm in the southern hemisphere and it's hot AF in here because it's still summer. so i figured i might as well drag my favourite guy to suffer through the heat with me, as a final goodbye to bright sunny days and this table fan i have turned on 24/7 in front of the computer

kyle is such an asshole in this one it was hard to write the argument. i might just put him on a sex ban and focus on other characters for a bit (oh who am i kidding i love this ginger if he appears to me on a vision i'm definitely running right back to him)

it's a bit different from my usual work, but i hope you guys like it!

“Do we really have to do this?”

Because of course those had to be the first words that left your boyfriend’s mouth as soon as he settled on the driver’s seat beside you, the door not even fully closed before he voiced his complaint, like a child that reeeeeally doesn’t wanna go to the doctor instead of a grown-ass man on vacation.

You and Kyle had decided to go on a road trip to the beach during the first weeks of autumn. It wasn’t exactly prime vacation time - but it was when you two managed to get away from your jobs simultaneously to go on this trip, the rental places were cheaper, and global warming was slowly making sure all seasons felt like summer anyway, which meant it was still decently hot and proper beach temperature.

Unfortunately, another thing that had been scorching ever since you arrived at the place was Kyle’s temper. The reluctant way with which he accepted your trip idea - not that he had much of a choice, since he was the one who chose the last place you went to, and fair’s fair - should’ve been a warning sign, but careful negative comments and and sure, whatevers shifted into outright complaints upon arrival, and even though it was only your first day around, he already didn’t seem keen on anything that involved leaving the Airbnb.

“Kyle, we hardly even got here,” you responded while you both buckled in your seatbelts, “Of course we gotta see the sea!”

In spite of his complaints, he still started the car, continuing to talk while looking over his shoulder as he pulled out of the driveway of the rental. “We have a pool at the house. You could swim there! Clean water, no people…”

“It’s not just the swimming, baby, it’s the vibes! Sunny days like these practically beg for the beach!”

“Or we could’ve gone camping instead,” the mere mention of the concept seemed to bring a happier intonation to Kyle’s voice, but it got snuffed out quickly once he realized it was not the reality he was living in. “The weather’s also great for that right now!”

“We went camping a few months ago,” you reminded him, conveniently forgetting to add that the concept of a forest and insects and sleeping in a tent did not appeal to you at all in this hot weather. “It’s good to have variety.”

His response to that was a nonsensical grumble about the concept of ‘variety’, possibly to give himself some time to pick apart your argument in his mind, his eyes squinting both from anger and from trying to make out the road with the sun shining on the windshield. 

“I really don’t understand what it is that people like so much about the beach.” Well, that wasn’t exactly a direct counter to the case you were making, but if those were the straws his mind was giving for him to grasp at in this fight, then by God was he going to do so. “I mean, what is there to like?”

Ugh, the way he placed that question. Like something he was legitimately intrigued by, expecting an honest train of thought to understand - but years of knowing Kyle, both as friend and lover, taught you to recognize the traps he laid when he had a point to prove; whatever answer you gave, no matter how elaborate and efficient, or even if you decided to stay completely silent, it would be picked apart and analyzed in a way that particularly fit the concept he already had created in his mind. It was smart, and absolutely worked, but being on the receiving end of it had to be one of the most annoying things in creation.

Yet you just had to, this time. Knowing what was coming your way, you walked right into it, armed only with outstanding patience and love for him. “It’s relaxing,” you responded with a small shrug, “Come on, Kyle. Can’t you imagine it? Laying down in the sand, listening to the waves, warming up under the sun…”

Just as you trailed off in your genuine explanation, painting a picture of it in your mind’s eye, he laughed sarcastically. “Relaxing!” He shook his head to himself, “What’s relaxing about getting sand stuck everywhere and swimming in dirty, disgusting-ass water? Do you know just what goes in the sea every single day? It’s all bacteria, sewage, oil and dead stuff at the bottom. And people pee in there all the time.”

Wow, way to throw a bucket of cold water in your daydreams. “Eeh… People don’t usually think about that, no.”

“Of course they’d rather not.” He scoffed. “Because if they did, then nobody would go to the beach, and all those overpriced houses would lose value.”

“It’s a pretty environment,” you pointed out, “Just seeing things feels nice too, you know.”

“Ah yeah, because nothing screams beauty like dozens of half-naked people breaded in sand and salt water hanging out in the sun.”

“Some people are into that,” you shrugged, “You could chill out a bit too.” 

“And this thing!” Completely ignoring what you said and continuing his tirade, he gestured with his right hand encompassing your whole body. “Where did you buy something like this? The sex shop?”

Now it felt like you were getting to the root of the problem Kyle had. It had come up once or twice back at the house - actually, it surprised you that he hadn’t picked a bigger fight about it earlier; you liked to think that it was because he was too smitten to talk. But, now that you were actually wearing it to go out, it was like the situation clicked in his brain. “It’s not that small.” You looked down at the bikini you were wearing. It was new, and surely it might be smaller than what the conservative hicks back at your hometown were accustomed to, but it wasn’t by any means an affront to modesty. It covered everything that needed covering and kept in place what needed keeping, not to mention it was absolutely cute.

However, it was clear that all meant very little to your boyfriend. “You’re wearing basically nothing!” He insisted, making some more grandiose gestures with his arm towards nothing, maneuvering the steering wheel with only his left hand. If he wasn’t raging, that move would’ve been absolutely sexy. “You had a great swimsuit before! What happened to that?”

“I’m not wearing a one-piece to tan, Kyle! The markings are not gonna look good!”

Bzzzt. Wrong answer. “What markings? Look good to WHO?”

This was one of those times where your boyfriend’s lifelong experience with road rage served him well. Because if anyone else was in his position, visibly fuming like he was, the car most certainly would’ve swerved. “To myself! And you’re gonna like them too, Kyle, you’ll see.”

“I already like how you look!”

“Then you’re gonna like me after that too! And also, it’s healthy.”

He shook his head, putting his other hand back on the wheel. “I just hope you know what you’re doing. People get skin cancer doing that sort of thing, you know.” He shuddered and his knuckles turned white as he held a firmer grip, as if terrified by this scenario his own paranoid mind created.

 This time, the buzzer rang for his words instead. Frowning, you put one hand on his shoulder - not as a way to comfort him, but to grab his attention in the manner of a warning. “Don’t even joke about that.”

That more serious tone you used seemed to have gotten to him, a slight frown forming as he actually considered the words that left his mouth possibly without thinking.  “Look, I’m sorry. But I’m not joking! It happens!”

Your fingers dug more onto his skin, as if physically giving emphasis to what you were saying. “A few days of tanning isn’t gonna do that to me!” 

“Well, maybe we should avoid it just in case,” he shrugged lightly, “You know, go back home. Chill there.”

A deep, prolonged huff left your throat, as if you were physically exhausted. This was becoming ridiculous, and you were sure it wouldn’t get better if you kept feeding into it. So you decided to deploy the secret weapon - the one thing that was sure to stop this argument with your boyfriend, to get him right where it hurt.

“You’re acting like your cousin, Kyle.”

Quiet as a church mouse the rest of the way there.

However, in spite of the graveyard-like silence that held him back from voicing complaints, as soon as the both of you got out of the car, it clearly took everything in Kyle’s power not to push you right back inside and drive far away from anything beach-related. Whether you were aware of it or not, your body looked fantastic in your new bikini; with every step you took, men were turning their heads to you like sunflowers to the brightest star - with your very infuriated boyfriend right on your heel shooting them all glares that could also burn just as much as it did.

After not much deliberation and with very quick steps - because Kyle was absolutely frantic and scrambling to settle down before anyone else could get their eyes on you -, you both found an empty spot near some tall rock formations, with not many people around since it didn’t provide much of a decent access to the sea.

“I’m not gonna get any sun in here, baby,” you complained as you pointed to the rocks, which made the sand beneath your feet much more pleasant to stand on with the shadow they cast.

“Well, you’ll just have to make do,” he retorted gruffly, already in the middle of opening his beach chair and setting it on the ground with a bit too much force compared to what was required to do so.

Rolling your eyes, you decided to just let him have this. There was still a decent spot with sun for you to lay on, which was where you put down your beach towel, and hopefully chilling out alone and listening to the ocean might mellow Kyle’s temper enough for him to agree to move to the more open areas later on.

With all your belongings properly placed - a task made more time-consuming than necessary due to Kyle meticulously calculating the positioning of the beach umbrella so it would constantly create the biggest amount of shade from any position of the sun -, you both were free to finally enjoy, or morosely partake in, your bright afternoon out. And you came to find that even your boyfriend’s little fit had done little to dampen your spirits; by the time you were sat, relatively protected of the oh-so-annoying sand by the fabric of your towel, the sour moods had been all but washed away, replaced by a sense of calm and contentment. Even the man seemed less grumpy, seated in his chair with a bottle of ice-cold water at his side and a nice huge book in his lap, sheltered from the UV radiation by the trusty colorful umbrella.

In preparation for your sunbathing time, you took the bottle of sunscreen and spread it around the parts of your body that you were able to reach - arms, chest, legs and face, all properly covered, but still in a way that your skin could still tan. That left just your back without any protection. “Kyle…” Turning your face to him, you called out in a higher-pitched tone, one that you’d used with him quite a few times in the course of your relationship and that by now he had also learned to associate with trouble.

It took him a few seconds to acknowledge your voice and lift his own face up, almost as if he was expecting you to give up or for there to be another person with his name to take the problem for themselves. “Need anything?” He eventually asked, one eyebrow arched above the upper line of the reading glasses perched on his nose.

You lifted the bottle of sunscreen and shook it to draw his line of sight. “Can’t reach my back,” you responded using that same cutesy pleading voice, laying on your stomach while still keeping your eyes on him. “Help me here? Pleeeease?”

For a moment, you could almost see a tiny angel and devil in Kyle’s shoulders battling against each other - his ever-present proclivity to be a good boyfriend and help you out with whatever you needed versus the current desire he had to tell you to eat shit and let you burn yourself under the relentless rays while he chilled in the shade. Luckily for you, the angel did eventually win - whether by legitimate concern or by a lingering awareness that he was still willing to get laid that night, after all - and with a tired sigh, he let go of his book, took off his glasses and got up from his seat, grabbing your sunscreen and settling behind you, knees on the sand on the sides of each of your legs.

Hearing the tiny sound of the bottle cap opening, you closed your eyes, letting yourself relax while your boyfriend did his thing. Even though it was expected, never could you truly be prepared for the full-body shudder that coursed through you when the cold sunscreen hit your already sun-warmed back; but your boyfriend’s hands were already on the case, spreading the liquid into a shiny thin layer on your skin. A gentle pressure accompanied his slow movements, almost like a massage, an image enhanced by the small circles Kyle drew with his thumbs as his palms drifted around. Unnecessary to the work he was doing, but very much appreciated.

During a minute or two, that was all there was to it - Kyle silently rubbing around the sunscreen on your skin with determined concentration while you nearly dozed off, your arms crossed under your head for a makeshift pillow, crashing waves and faraway chirping birds providing a relaxing background noise that seemed straight from one of those ‘Meditation Music’ videos on Youtube. What prevented you from getting completely distracted was the steady increase in pressure you noticed as his hands made their way to the lower half of your body, not nearly enough to be uncomfortable, but certainly placed there with more purpose than it started off as. You could even swear his breathing had gotten a little heavier once he had reached your waist, fingers lingering at your sides just a little bit longer than necessary with an unintentional tickle before continuing their descent.

Until you couldn’t deny it anymore. Once he got to the base of your spine, he was definitely taking deep breaths through his nose and pressing down on your body almost as if he was making an active attempt on pinning you down rather than just holding you. His thumbs pressed down on your lower back, filling in the faint dimples there, before both hands moved even lower, grazing the fat of your ass before moving to the sides to get to your hips.

Then you figured you had to say something. Between the extra pressure, his dragged-out exhales and the fact that he was basically feeling you up in public, there was something abnormal about the way he was acting, which went past mere ‘just helping out with sunscreen’ behaviour. “Baby? Is everything alright?”

The surprise caused by the break in quietude would’ve caused anyone else to flinch and take their hands away from the situation altogether - but Kyle did the opposite, finger pads pressing down on your flesh further at the sound of your voice. “Yeah,” why did his voice sound lower now? “I’m just doing what you asked me to do here. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I know, it’s just…” This time, you cut yourself off. Considering that he was finally being cooperative, you weren’t about to start yet another pointless argument if you could avoid it. Besides, he wasn’t doing anything wrong or that you didn’t like; his hands always felt amazing on your body, in any context, so all opportunities to get a bit of that were appreciated. If both of you were getting something out of this, then the trip had been worth the money spent.

Satisfied with your compliance, he hummed sharply in agreement before turning his attention to your body again, this time making no attempts to hide the way his hands grabbed at your ass instead of just rubbing on it like he was doing before. Figuring you might as well help a man out, you giggled as you lifted it off the ground the tiniest bit - but still clearly noticeable, considering the low growl he emitted before squeezing tight on both cheeks, spreading them apart and pushing them together like his own twisted entertainment.

His palms wandered more and you expected him to go for your thighs this time, maybe paw at the soft flesh and watch everything jiggle. But he surprised you yet again when his dominant hand trailed inward instead, tracing the edge of your bikini bottoms, over your ass and lower still - until he reached your covered center. Your breath hitched at the press of his fingertips, relaxed eyes opening wide. 

Whatever doubt you might’ve had about that particular action being deliberate, any suggestion that maybe he just had gotten distracted looking at your body and struck gold by accident, was out the window when two fingertips pressed firmly over your core, as if trying to get inside of you through the barrier of your bikini; not getting very far in that specific mission, but enough for your boyfriend to show he knew what he was doing. With a slow movement that didn’t lose the intensity of the pressure, he then dragged those same fingers to hook at the edge of the fabric, pulling it to the side.

The moment of silence that followed seemed to scream Kyle’s thoughts straight into your brain. You didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know that he was unabashedly staring; the gaze of those darkened olive eyes burning into the lower half of your body could even tan you itself. His other hand pulled your cheek to the side a bit, giving him a better view of your cunt, glistening with a film of your arousal that had built up from his earlier touches and the proximity of his body. The effect he had on you, physically manifested.

That hand he still had on your ass then took to the job of tugging your bottoms further away from what they were supposed to cover while his fingers dipped between your folds, moving along your slit with a small wet noise that at that moment seemed louder than the very sea. Your eyes shut tight again when he breached your center, getting only to the first knuckle before retreating slowly, a move that appeared to tease him just as much as it did you.

Maybe you should say something, your possibly much more refined awareness of your environment told you. The lack of other people passing by might’ve allowed Kyle to forget that you were still at the beach, and silence plus relative privacy plus being half-naked equaled a perfect opportunity. It was up to you to be responsible, even if it meant dealing with a bit of his embarrassment for a while and depriving yourself of his touch. “Baby, maybe we should…”

“What?” The loud snarl had you startled. His tone was very much alert - this man had not been distracted. “A guy can’t even touch his own girlfriend anymore?”

You didn’t think you even understood what that was about. But clearly, he was still mad. “What? Kyle, it’s not like that…”

“It is like that!” The tone he used to bite back at you, stopping your train of thought, could probably cut through steel. All of a sudden, both his hands were planted at the sides of your head, supporting his body as he hovered dangerously over yours. Now it was his hips that were outright grinding on you, pressing his cock insistently against your ass, and his next words were punctuated by sharp hisses between his teeth. “You put on this fucking thing just to… To show off to everyone… All those motherfuckers staring at your body... While I can’t even touch you… Want me to sit here… Watching you… Like a fucking idiot…”

Only the feeling of him like this, babbling his frustrations away while rutting into you like a wild animal, was sufficient for your judgement to start clouding. You didn’t know what to do. He was as hard as he could possibly get already, straining against the fabric of his swim trunks, and you just knew it hadn’t been a recent development caused by his little massage alone. The idea that he might’ve been fighting his own arousal from the first moment he saw you in your beach ensemble, hiding behind his anger to deny his dirty thoughts amidst the petty arguing, was exhilarating - and to burst that bubble, even if it was the more rational thing to do given the public setting, would be such a waste. 

“It’s not like that at all…” Your repetition came off more stupid than you intended it to, fingers curling into the beach towel and grabbing a handful of soft sand through the cotton in the flimsiest tether to your good judgement. That same sand was spilling over the towel with the movements of your bodies, sticking to your skin. “I didn’t wanna make you mad…”

“It doesn’t fucking matter… You did,” he lowered himself to his elbows without stopping his grinding, lean chest just an inch or two from touching your back, caging you in even more.

“Just tell me what you want from me,” well, now it just felt like you were stalling time. His thick hardness pressing against your behind felt amazing, every movement of his hips feeling like a promise of a wonderful time for the both of you despite the tense atmosphere. “Tell me so I can help us out…”

“Telling you didn’t work earlier,” his voice got deeper, “I’ll just fucking show you.”

The rutting motions stopped. Swiftly, he lifted himself up and away from you, going back to the kneeling position he started out in, and you turned your head as much as possible to look over your shoulder and see him staring down at you intensely. He didn’t break line of sight on your face as his hands undid the string of his swim trunks, loosening them enough for him to pull the waistband down and take his cock out, giving it a couple tentative strokes.

Alright, he was definitely out of it now. Kyle Broflovski, ever prim and proper, who had taken his sweet ass time warming up to PDA and avoided talking about your sex life with his friends at all because he valued privacy that much - that Kyle was about to fuck you on a public beach in broad daylight because you had pushed the green-eyed monster inside of him to its limits. And now it was loose to attack.

“Kyle, we’re… we’re in public,” you tried to warn him, eyes moving around as if they’d capture anything else in your surroundings from the precarious position you were in. All you could see, though, was the vast sand, your little set of items you brought, and Kyle touching himself without a care in the world.

“Yes, and?” Another small wet sound began filling your ears again - this time, that of his precum spreading over his cock with the movement of his hand.

It was clear he did not give a fuck. You wondered, even, if you should. “What if someone sees us?”

“Then that’s their luck,” he responded plainly, “What, do you have an issue with other people knowing who you actually belong to?”

The way your heart raced in that moment was somewhat suspect in its meaning. Even if you were terrified of getting caught and facing the consequences, there was no denying the thrill of the entire situation, the rush of excitement that set your veins alight just from the prospect of getting so thoroughly taken by Kyle without a single thought to give to the world around you. Having your pleasure mean more than decency or morals or the law itself; return to those usually repressed primal instincts which always made for an electrifying reminder that, at the end of the day, humans were still animals. 

Relenting, but still with the last hint of shame that your logical mind didn’t shake off, you shook your head and planted your face on the beach towel, trying to hide the reddish tint that burned through all of it now - but there was no way to hide from him the fresher coat of arousal that dripped from your exposed cunt with the image his words painted in your mind.

“That’s what I thought,” he rasped, but there was an undertone of satisfaction, the proof that you were on the same wavelength as him on this matter chipping away at his anger, just a tad. 

The wet sound ceased and you felt the weight of his cock resting on your lower back while both his hands took the sides of your bikini bottoms and pulled them down slowly, until they were at your knees. Your attempt at lifting up your hips or legs to assist on that action were met with Kyle stopping altogether to press your body down - understanding that your movement was not required or appreciated, you stopped trying.

Once your panties were off, you felt the weight of his cock resting on your lower back, another small drop of his precum landing on your skin, before your boyfriend manually nestled himself between your cheeks and moved it slowly, tracing the line from your tailbone to your entrance. His non-dominant hand got hold on one side of your ass and spread it to the best of his ability to give him a better view of your cunt, while the other kept a firm grip on his dick.

“Fuck, I love you so much…” His barely audible declaration sounded most absurd amidst the little squelching noises that were being drawn again with Kyle beginning to rub the head of his cock around your entrance, coating the angry tip in a mixture of both your arousals. 

“I love you too… Kyle, please, just-”

Your attempt at calling out to him was interrupted once more with a scoff. “Oh, so now you want me, huh?” The sarcastic complaint was accompanied by him giving your ass a few taps with his cock, knowing exactly how he was getting to you. “Couldn’t have thought of that before you decided to make me mad, now could you?”

Well, for all of his complaining, he surely didn’t seem like he was willing to wait much longer, either. Thankfully, Kyle was rarely a tease - someone as short-tempered as him never took kindly to wasting time -, so it was just a few more seconds before he was pushing inside of your warmth with a prolonged grunt that seemed to bleed off every drip of impatience he had bottled up the past couple of minutes.

“Thank you… Thank you,” you murmured pathetically as his girth filled you up, the tension in your body caused by the expectation easing away with every inch.

You felt his hips pressing down on your ass before he did answer, forcing himself as far as he could go on your cunt, which, given his length, was a lot. “We could’ve been doing this the whole time back home… But no, you had to go and be such a bitch.”

That type of language should’ve earned him a good talking right back - especially since it was abnormal to him. Kyle was more into the praise section of his vocabulary when it came to you, so it needed to reach extreme levels of worked-up before he began really calling you names. At that moment, though, he could’ve referred to you by whatever goddamn word he fancied; because he had started moving inside of you, setting a steady pace immediately, and the way he reached deep inside you always managed to put out any argumentative fire you might have going on, leaving only the heat of passion.

“My bitch, though, right?” The almost full weight of his torso was suddenly down on yours - he was laying over you completely, chest flush against your back while he spoke near your ear. “Even when you’re acting like that… You’re still mine…”

You hummed in agreement, but considering the hard thrust that shook your entire body and had your cervix bruising, it wasn’t good enough an answer. “All yours,” the words seemed to quiver as they left your mouth, “Do what you want to me… Please…”

“Exactly,” he nodded against your shoulder even though you couldn’t see it, “And I will.”

Pearly white teeth sank down on the crook of your neck, making you squeal and leaving a reddish mark, before moving to your nape and tugging at the string of your bikini, yanking undone the small bow you had made to secure it while his hands simultaneously did the same to the knot behind your back. Soon your cute little top laid loose on the beach towel, your breasts squishing on top of the fabric without being constrained by it. They weren’t free for long, though - Kyle’s hands took to that job, being shoved under your chest and grabbing the perky flesh with a firm grasp that mirrored the roughness he used to pound into you.

“Much better… Much fucking better,” he growled, “Should’ve done this a while ago… Get rid of this fucking thing…”

His fingers dug so deeply into the soft skin that even his very short nails were managing to leave the shallowest indents on it, to be accompanied by bruises you’d only see building up hours later back home. Your ass jiggled with every hit of his hips as he thrusted, that thick cockhead absolutely bullying your sweet spot, your arousal coating his base as your cunt gushed even more. Whatever he was running his mouth off about died down as nips and quick kisses were peppered on your shoulders and the back of your neck, making you shiver and your breath hitch with electric goosebumps.

Fuck, did his weight and his hands on you feel amazing. Yes, he had you completely caged in under his body and unable to make any movement, completely at his mercy, but never had you felt more free. It felt like he was everywhere - warming up every inch of your skin, massaging every silky ridge of your walls, talking to your very mind when he whispered in your ear. Even your eyesight seemed to capture him in every aspect of your environment, conjuring images of a face and body it couldn’t see at that moment but which had been living in your heart ever since the first moment you saw it.

When under him, your whole world was Kyle. The pleasure he brought, the love he had, even his fury - nothing made sense if he wasn’t there to give it to you.

Overwhelmed with equal parts love and lust, your body began to tense again in a way that had nothing and everything to do with the weight placed over it. You were getting close, letting out small whines and squirming from the pleasure buildup, barely managing to move much under Kyle. But whatever movement you did have was noticeable - both your twitches and your constant squeezing around his cock told him what he needed to know.

Through his labored breathing, you could basically hear the slight smirk when he spoke to you again. “You’re close, aren’t you? Gonna cum for me, (Y/N)?”

Apparently, you were at a point where you’d only be granted the great blessing of coherent speech if it was to answer his questions. “Yes, Kyle, fuck yes, I-”

A sudden emptiness, like your whole physical body had been hollowed. Right as you called out your nearing orgasm, Kyle pulled out almost completely, keeping just the tip inside and stilling for a moment, his hands leaving your breasts so that he could lift himself on his forearms for adequate support.

“No, you won’t.”

Your immediate reaction, either a complaint or a whine, became little more than a choked sound from your throat once he placed that simple statement. He hadn’t lost his tempo - he never does that -, he hadn’t slipped; that was a calculated move.

“Not until you say it.” The shallowest of thrusts accompanied his speaking now, barely dipping his cockhead in and out of your begging entrance, teasing it with empty promises of bringing back the depth it basically screamed for. “Apologize for your bullshit.”

Though in other scenarios you might’ve asked for a bit more clarification on what your boyfriend meant, there was no time for such discussion in that specific moment; not with the little kisses from his tip distracting you, making your walls flutter stupidly around nothing as they missed the pressure on them. “I’m sorry,” you muttered almost absently, trying to channel all your focus into that sensation between your legs, taking whatever you could get out of it.

Given the way he clicked his tongue, that wasn’t enough. “Properly,” he insisted, “You have to tell me what you’re saying ‘sorry’ for. If you’ve truly learned your lesson, then it won’t be a problem.”

Trust and believe, you wanted to have learned it. Giving him what he wanted wouldn’t be an issue if you did. But everything had happened so fast - the bickering had worn you out, then the relaxing ambience of the beach and his touches on your body had fogged up your thoughts and made you forget what even the fight was about. All you knew is that you needed to apologize, appease him, if you wanted that release to be granted to you.

“I… I don’t know,” you admitted, “Kyle, I’m sorry… Just… Help me out here, please…” 

You weren’t sure if he would really dignify you with an explanation, considering how much he was making a point that you’d ‘learn your lesson’. However, Kyle was nothing if not impatient - he was struggling just as much as you, if not more, to keep edging the both of you like this, his whole cock throbbing with the need to have your cunt wrapped tight around it again. So, with a long sigh which emulated an annoyance that really didn’t reach his heart, he basically jumped at the opportunity to play teacher. 

“You pissed me the fuck off,” he finally stated, “You argued with me. Made me angry. Made comparisons I didn’t like. And then tried to act like nothing happened. But most of all…” 

A slight pressure on your back - shifting his weight to one arm, he pushed you down with the palm of his other hand, a tiny sample of the possessive cage he had you in earlier. “You let other people see what’s mine.” This last part seemed angrier than the rest of the explanation, as if it meant more in relation to everything else. “All those fucking guys staring. Eating you up with their eyes. You’re not supposed to be a sight for them. You’re mine.”

He spat those concepts related to other men like they personally hurt. Jealousy always managed to have a powerful hold on Kyle’s heart - his love for you and need to keep you close and protected becoming so overwhelming he couldn’t express them properly in situations he perceived as adverse -, and you’d seen it manifest into this deep sense of possessiveness a couple of times. Never before had it felt so real, though - like he’d do damn near anything to make sure everyone including yourself knew that anything related to your being belonged to him, that he was a threat to the world as long as anything tried to sullen your relationship.

And damned if you weren't going to help him. Because you wanted to be his. His protection made you feel safer than anything else, his presence soothed your pains and his love untangled your troubles until they were barely wisps, irrelevant in the wind. Also there was no denying that he was yours - a man that devoted could not belong to anyone else.

“You’re right, Kyle,” ah, those magical words that always had him a hundred times more willing to listen to whoever uttered them had to say. “I don’t need anybody’s attention, only yours… I’m sorry…”

“And are you gonna fucking listen to me from now on?” Another push on your back, like a nudge to continue speaking. “You’re gonna let me take care of you?”

“Always,” you were quick to answer, “You can do what you want… I need you…”

When he sighed and his hand left your skin, relief had washed over you, already anticipating the pleasure that surely was to follow. Yet, instead of pushing his cock fully inside again, he pulled away from you completely, straightening his posture and leaving you truly empty. You were about to lift yourself up to complain - you had done what he asked, goddamnit! Since when was he so mean? -, but all you managed was another squeal as he held your hips and pulled them up abruptly, your knees bending instinctively to accommodate the new position, leaving you face down ass up.

This time, there was no preparation before your boyfriend bottomed out in one strong thrust that almost made you lose balance, using his hold on your sides to pull you towards him, to meet halfway the speedy movements of his hips. This new position allowed him to fuck you even harder; the sounds of his skin slapping powerfully against yours could possibly be heard across the whole shoreline, and so could his wanton grunting and moaning. Your own frantic cries of pleasure were muffled by the beach towel, your face planted on it - if anyone else dared to hear them in their full glory, you’d have to move countries to escape the embarrassment.

That climax Kyle had denied you earlier was coming back with a vengeance, your whole body tighter than ever as if it had capitalized on the stress of denial. You swore you were able to feel the veins on his cock against your walls with how tight they were on him, and if you weren’t so focused on your own release, it would’ve brought a smidge of smug pride to your ego to know that he was definitely feeling it too.

“Fuuuuck… The things you do to me,” your boyfriend grunted behind you, thoughts from a brain that was swimming with desire being put into words. “Make me lose my damn mind… And I fucking love it.”

“I love you,” the little sentence came out downright desperate, “Kyle, please, I can’t wait anymore, I’m going to…”

“Do it.” Oh, the way he sounded when he was giving your orders. He was made for that role. And you were made to follow. “Show me what I do to you…”

Your whole body shook and you would have fallen if not for Kyle’s hold on your hips - the sun itself had come up to meet you as you came, boiling your veins with its warmth in a way that made everything in your skin spark with pleasurable fire. In a last burst of strength, you bucked your own hips back, ignoring Kyle’s pulls; and the way you deliberately moved dealt away with what little restraint he still had in him, his nails trying to claw at your skin as he also climaxed shortly after, thick loads of his seed spilling into you. His thrusting continued through it, fucking his cum into your cervix, painting it white as one last demonstration of possession - like the others, a very welcome one.

There was barely any time to bask in the afterglow, though. While you still tried to gather back your thoughts and calm down from your high, a thick fog of bliss mixing with the salty shoreline air that seemed to cover you completely, Kyle’s next actions were far more dynamic - you heard the rustle of the fabric as he pulled out and shoved himself back into his swim trunks, grunting like if physically pained when he quickly stood up, wobbling on his feet as if his limbs and brain hadn’t yet received their fill of the blood his racing heart pumped. Through unfocused eyes, you watched the blurry shape of his body tripping around in the sand while he scurried towards your stuff, those long legs of his not much more stable than stilts, carrying a spent body that refused to comply with the hurry its actions seemed to require.

“Uhm… Kyle?” You found it in yourself to ask, your voice still so weak it could’ve been overshadowed by the crashing of the waves. One of your arms stretched to the front of you, as if trying to grab at your boyfriend, who was already hastily shoving your few belongings back into the bag, definitely not in touching range. “What are you doing?”

“We’re leaving,” despite the firmness in his response that left no room for questioning, it was clear his vocal cords were also struggling to find strength to get the words out; he had left all of his energy inside of you with his orgasm, and was currently running on leftover anger, plus perhaps a little bit of panic.

After all that, the fight that was in you to get your sunbathing on and spending some relaxing time at the beach had vanished without a trace. You sat back on your heels and wrapped your naked, now sand-coated body with the beach towel like it was a protective blanket made out of whatever was left of your shame. Maybe you’d even have taken one more moment to collect yourself, but hurried callouts from your boyfriend had you quickly getting up on shaky legs and tripping over the bunched panties that fell at your ankles before you rushed to pick up your belongings and go after him.

You figured playtime was over. You’d go back home and never approach the subject again, dismiss it as another bout of angry sex and go back to your normal loving relationship. But, as Kyle grabbed your wrist tight and turned to you again, and his focused expression and furrowed brows belied the lust in his eyes, it was clear there was only a mere half-time in those plans, and the things he still needed to do to you required way more time and more private settings.

Weeks later, you’d even say it was worth the traffic tickets your boyfriend got while racing to the Airbnb, or the risk of jail time from the beach moment. Kyle, his wallet a couple hundred dollars lighter, gets bright red in the face when he weakly disagrees.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

[shesgaymichaelscott]

your stories are so good!! i started reading them on ao3 and was really happy to see you posting here as well :)

this means everything to me🥺. i love writing sm and the sweet cheeks fic is literally my baby so i'm sharing some other chapters! this is friendsgiving with the abbott fam and thanksgiving with melissa/the schemmenti family ❤️

Word Count: 8.9k

(fluff/romance, lesbian gfs in love, eventual smut, strap!, jealous melissa {thanks to kristen marie 😌}, melissa comes to a realization 🤭)

taglist <3: @writerspirit @schemmentigfs

Lilia stood at the front of her classroom, rubbing chalk dust off her fingers as she prepped the board for their Great Gatsby timeline. Outside, the late November wind howled against the windows, but inside, her eighth graders were buzzing with a whole different kind of storm—pre-break restlessness and a dangerous level of curiosity.

"Ms. Greenley," Jamir piped up from the front row, his eyes gleaming with mischief, "do you and Ms. Schemmenti share Thanksgiving dinner? Or do you just feed each other turkey and whisper sweet nothings about history?"

The class erupted into giggles.

Lilia turned slowly, eyebrow arched. "Do you want extra homework?"

"No ma'am," Jamir said quickly, but grinned. "Just curious."

"Oh my God, Ms. G blushed," Destiny whispered not-so-quietly from the side. "She totally did."

"Y'all are wild," Lilia muttered, turning back to the board with a small smile tugging at her lips. She wasn't about to let them know how accurate the teasing was—especially after the cozy weekend she'd had curled into Melissa's side, watching Real Housewives and eating leftover pumpkin pie like domestic queens.

A folded paper airplane sailed across the room and landed near her boots. She leaned down, unfolded it, and read the scribbled message:

Are you gonna be Mrs. Schemmenti someday?

Her jaw dropped.

"Okay! Everyone!" she called, trying not to laugh as she waved the note in the air. "Let's redirect our curiosity to the roaring twenties, shall we?"

The class groaned dramatically in unison.

Lilia was halfway through explaining the symbolism of the green light when a soft knock came at the classroom door.

Before she could even get the words "Come in" out, it swung open—and there stood Melissa Schemmenti, looking like sin in slacks and a cropped red cardigan, a smirk already on her face.

"Sorry to interrupt, Greenley," she said, eyes sparkling. "But someone left their lunch in the fridge again." She held up the little bento box with its telltale purple lid.

Lilia blinked. "I—how did I—?"

The class didn't give her a chance to finish.

"OHHH IT'S MS. SCHEMMENTI," Jamir practically sang, clutching his chest like he was watching a romcom. "She brought her girl lunch!"

"She's wife material!" Destiny squealed.

"Oh no," Melissa murmured, sauntering up to Lilia, "what did I walk into?"

"They're... being themselves," Lilia sighed.

One of the students in the back chimed in, "Ms. Schemmenti, are you gonna propose at Friendsgiving?"

Melissa snorted. "Not unless I wanna get tackled by Barbara Howard mid-sentence." She winked at the class. "But don't worry, I'm taking good care of your teacher. Make sure you are too, huh?"

A chorus of dramatic ooooohs rang out.

Melissa leaned in toward Lilia's ear as the kids erupted in whispers and laughter. "You owe me for this," she whispered with a teasing smirk. "Big time."

Lilia smiled despite herself, fighting a blush. "I'll pack you two lunches next time."

"I want something better than lunch," Melissa whispered, eyes dropping meaningfully for a split second before she turned to leave. "See ya later, kids."

"BYE MS. SCHEMMENTI!" they shouted, waving.

As the door clicked shut, Lilia turned back to the board and muttered, "We are never speaking of this again."

Destiny raised a hand. "I just wanna say... y'all are, like, endgame."

Even Lilia had to laugh at that.

⸻

The smell of too-strong coffee, orange-scented cleaning spray, and Janine's hand lotion filled the room as Lilia dropped into one of the cracked vinyl chairs with a dramatic groan.

"Tell me again why I chose middle schoolers?" she asked no one in particular, flopping her forehead to the table.

"Because they have the emotional range of a soap opera and you love the drama," Jacob chirped from the corner, where he was elbow-deep in paper turkey decorations and multi-colored string lights. "Also, because you're chaotic in a poetic way."

"Speaking of chaos," Janine said, breezing in with a clipboard and a mission, "Friendsgiving prep is in full swing, and I need everyone's food assignments locked in by the end of the day."

"Janine..." Gregory warned, lifting his eyes from his grading pile. "You said this wasn't going to be a production."

"It's not! It's just a lovingly coordinated, themed, potluck-based evening of togetherness," Janine replied with her signature grin. "Lilia, you're doing dessert, right?"

"Apple pie," Lilia said automatically. "Nonna's recipe. And maybe a pumpkin something if I survive grading these Gatsby character journals."

"Ooh," Ava called from the doorway, sauntering in with a caramel apple in hand. "I'll bring vibes. And drinks. But mostly vibes."

"We need chairs, napkins, serving utensils—" Janine began ticking off items.

"Girl, it's a Friendsgiving, not a wedding," Ava cut in, flopping dramatically on the couch beside Gregory. "Let it breathe!"

"Okay, okay," Lilia cut in with a hand raised. "What are we doing for music?"

"Oh thank God someone else cares," Jacob said, launching into a rant about playlists that didn't include "the same five Michael Bublé songs."

Melissa stepped in a few moments later with a bag of pretzels and a look that clearly said she was Not Here For The Nonsense. "Why is it every time I walk in here, it's like a therapy circle run by Pinterest?"

"Ohhh, the wife is back," Ava smirked.

Melissa didn't even blink. "And she brought pretzels. Which I'm hiding from Greenley if y'all don't get it together."

Lilia was still sitting with her head on the table and just gave a thumbs-up.

Janine, entirely unbothered, handed Melissa the clipboard. "You're on sides. Make your famous roasted garlic Brussels sprouts or face the wrath of Barbara."

"I fear God more than Barbara," Melissa muttered, scribbling her name next to the side dish column anyway.

From the hallway, they could already hear Barbara's familiar voice drifting closer—and with it, the realization that if they didn't at least pretend to be productive, the queen herself would give them all that patented disappointed mom stare.

"Alright, alright, back to work," Gregory said, pushing off the couch.

"Back to pretending to work," Jacob corrected.

Ava raised her caramel apple like a toast. "To chaos, carbs, and communal trauma bonding."

The Abbott crew all echoed with varying degrees of enthusiasm as they prepped for what was sure to be an unforgettable Friendsgiving.

⸻

Dessert prep meant extra practice, and Melissa of course was eager to assist. The apartment smelled like cinnamon, cloves, and sugar—an autumn dream wrapped in warm light and soft jazz from Lilia's record player. Her countertops were floured, her apron dusted, and a mixing bowl sat like a battlefield in front of her, halfway filled with peeled apples and brown sugar.

Melissa leaned against the kitchen doorway, one eyebrow raised, sleeves rolled up, and a suspiciously innocent look on her face. "So you're telling me this whole process takes, what—three hours? For one pie?"

Lilia didn't even glance up. "You're only asking that so you can calculate how much time you have to flirt and be unhelpful."

"Guilty." Melissa sauntered closer, wrapping her arms around Lilia from behind. "But I also brought wine. That counts as helping."

"It counts as bribery." Lilia reached for the cinnamon and shook it liberally into the bowl. "And I'm not falling for it."

"Mm," Melissa hummed, nose brushing against the curve of Lilia's neck. "That's what you said last time."

"Melissa."

"My love."

Lilia sighed dramatically, her cheeks flushed—whether from the warm oven or the woman currently pressing kisses to her neck was unclear. "If this pie ends up lopsided, I'm blaming you."

"I'm good with my hands," Melissa murmured. "Let me prove it."

"Oh my God," Lilia laughed, pushing her away with floured hands. "Go get the crust out of the fridge before I throw this bowl at you."

Melissa grabbed the chilled dough, smirking like the troublemaker she was. "Yes, chef."

"Don't you dare start that again."

Melissa rolled it out with exaggerated flair, and every time she bent forward over the counter, Lilia tried not to laugh. "You're doing this on purpose."

"I have never been so insulted in my life," Melissa said, eyes twinkling.

"You're literally wiggling your ass at me."

"Maybe I'm just happy to be domestic with my girl."

Lilia stopped, hands mid-stir. That made her heart flutter. "You're cute."

"I know."

They fell into a surprisingly productive rhythm—Lilia slicing apples, Melissa arranging them in the pie shell with shocking precision.

"I learned from the best," she said when Lilia complimented her layering.

"From who?"

"You," Melissa answered simply, brushing her flour-covered fingers against Lilia's cheek and kissing her temple.

The moment stretched between them—soft, golden, and heavy with something unspoken. Love, unhidden.

Lilia smiled as she slid the pie into the oven. "You're dangerous when you're sweet."

"And yet," Melissa said, leaning against the counter, "you still let me near hot ovens."

"I must really love you or something."

Melissa winked. "Must be."

⸻

Janine's place was warm, loud, and packed wall-to-wall with mismatched chairs, folding tables, and the smell of way too many side dishes. Her signature paper leaf garland was strung across the ceiling, and Luther Vandross crooned softly from her Bluetooth speaker in the corner.

Melissa, Lilia, and Jacob stepped in together, arms full of food and wine.

"Look at the throuple!" Ava called out from across the room, sipping champagne with one pinky raised. "Y'all look like a walking ad for gay Hallmark. I love it."

Jacob blinked. "I—wait, thank you?"

Lilia laughed as she handed her pie to Barbara, who was already eyeing it like it owed her money. "It smells amazing in here."

"That's because I handled the mac and cheese," Ava said, flipping her hair. "I don't play when it comes to soul food and vibes."

Melissa leaned close to Lilia and muttered, "You think she actually cooked anything?"

"No chance."

"Excuse you!" Ava popped her head between them. "I boiled the noodles. That counts."

Janine was bouncing between guests, beaming like it was her wedding day. "Okay! Melissa and Lilia are here! That means everyone's officially accounted for."

"I like that we count as one," Lilia teased.

"You're basically joined at the hip now," Janine said, pulling her into a hug. "You guys look cute."

"Thank you. It's my girlfriend's shirt," Lilia replied, smug.

Melissa made a show of rolling her eyes. "I knew I should've picked something uglier this morning."

Jacob was already mixing cocktails in the corner and gossiping with Mr. Johnson, who had shown up in a turkey hat "for morale." Barbara and Gregory were deep in conversation about stuffing techniques, of course, and Ava had taken it upon herself to critique everyone's outfits like she was hosting a roast.

They all squeezed around the table, plates stacked, glasses full.

At one point, Janine insisted on everyone going around to say what they were thankful for.

When it got to Melissa, she shifted in her seat, clearly uncomfortable with the spotlight. But Lilia gently touched her knee under the table, steadying her.

"I'm thankful for this weird little family we've made," Melissa said, glancing around. "And for good people. Especially one in particular who's made this year feel... lighter."

A chorus of soft "awwws" and some not-so-soft "ooh girl"s echoed around the room.

Lilia looked like she was about to melt.

Ava raised her glass. "To Abbott. And to love. And to me, for organizing the liquor table."

"To Ava," everyone said in semi-sarcastic unison, glasses clinking.

The night buzzed on with laughter, arguments over sweet vs. savory cornbread, and dance breaks every time the playlist hit a throwback.

Lilia caught Melissa swaying in the kitchen later, tipsy and relaxed, humming along to Earth, Wind & Fire while stealing bites of someone else's pie.

"You having fun?" Lilia asked, leaning against the counter.

Melissa grinned and pulled her close. "I always have fun with you."

They kissed behind the fridge door, unnoticed and unbothered, wrapped in the kind of ease you only find when you're truly home.

"What would you say about pulling an Irish goodbye and having our own fun at home?"

Melissa grinned with a glimmer in her eye, "Lead the way, baby."

The Friendsgiving chaos was finally winding down. Half the guests were slipping into food comas, sprawled across mismatched throw pillows and folding chairs. Someone had put on a slow R&B playlist, and the vibe had mellowed into cozy candlelight and lingering pie.

Lilia glanced up from Melissa's shoulder and caught Jacob yawning into his wine glass.

"You okay, honey?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Jacob sighed. "Just emotionally drained. Ava made me play Never Have I Ever with Mr. Johnson and now I know way too much about the Vietnam War and sex on the roof of the Franklin Institute."

Melissa snorted. "That's on you for agreeing to play anything with Ava after dark."

Jacob waved his fork weakly. "I need a night of warmth. Peace. Companionship. Maybe a heating pad and a romcom. Maybe a long sleep at your house—"

Melissa didn't even blink. "Nope."

Jacob blinked. "What?"

Lilia tried to hide her grin behind her cider. "Babe."

Melissa turned toward Jacob and patted his shoulder once—too firmly. "You've had a good run. But tonight? It's a no. You're cut off. Find another couch."

Jacob's jaw dropped. "You're kicking me out? After everything I've done for this couple?"

Melissa shrugged, standing and slipping her coat on. "Don't take it personal. You were always temporary housing."

Lilia stood up and kissed Jacob's cheek. "We love you. Truly. But I've had my hand on Melissa's thigh under this table for the last forty-five minutes and if we don't leave now, I'm going to start saying very inappropriate things in front of Barbara."

Jacob narrowed his eyes. "You're monsters."

Melissa threw him a wink over her shoulder. "Monsters in love."

"Just don't get anything on my weighted blanket," Jacob called after them.

"Too late!" Melissa shouted back as she tugged Lilia out the door.

The second the front door clicked shut behind them, Lilia felt the air shift.

It was quiet except for the rustle of jackets and the low hum of the hallway light. Melissa set her keys in the dish, then turned—slowly, deliberately.

Her eyes landed on Lilia like she was the only thing in the room. "You really had your hand on my thigh for forty-five minutes?"

Lilia stepped closer, unbuttoning her coat with lazy fingers. "Mmhm."

Melissa's gaze flicked down to the motion, her jaw tightening. "That's rude."

"You liked it."

"Did I?" Melissa closed the distance in two strides, backing Lilia gently against the wall. "You're lucky I didn't drag you out of there an hour ago."

Lilia smirked, breath catching at the closeness. "You tried."

"Yeah, but then you did that little thing with your fingers..." Melissa's voice dropped, her hands slipping around Lilia's waist. "Got me all distracted. You're dangerous, Greenley."

"Am I?" Lilia tilted her head, her lips just brushing Melissa's. "Maybe you like me dangerous."

Melissa didn't answer. She kissed her instead—slow, deep, claiming. The kind of kiss that made Lilia's knees buckle and her body melt. Melissa's hands slid lower, gripping the backs of Lilia's thighs and lifting her off the floor without effort. Lilia wrapped her legs around her, laughing into the kiss.

"Someone's in a mood," Lilia murmured against her lips.

"You have no idea."

Melissa carried her straight through the living room and into the bedroom, tossing her gently on the bed. Lilia landed with a breathy laugh, curls bouncing around her face as she looked up, flushed and wanting.

"Clothes," Melissa said, peeling off her sweater. "Off. Now."

Lilia bit her lip. "Yes ma'am."

She sat up slowly, teasingly pulling her top over her head and shimmying out of her jeans with a sultry roll of her hips. Melissa watched like she was starving, pausing only to kick off her own boots and unzip her pants.

Lilia leaned back on her elbows in nothing but a lacy bra and underwear. "Come here."

Melissa crawled over her like a predator, nipping along her collarbone, hands already everywhere—possessive, reverent. Her lips found Lilia's again and she murmured, "Mine."

"All yours," Lilia whispered, arching into her.

Melissa was already losing herself in her.

Lilia lay sprawled beneath her, flushed and breathless, those eyes half-lidded and shining like she'd been waiting for this exact moment. Melissa pressed kisses down her chest, open-mouthed and hungry, sliding Lilia's bra straps off her shoulders with slow, deliberate intent.

"You drive me crazy," Melissa rasped, her voice wrecked with lust. "All night, the way you touched me under the table—"

She kissed the curve of Lilia's breast, nipped gently, then soothed the bite with her tongue. Lilia whimpered, her fingers tangling in red curls.

"Keep talking like that and I'm not gonna last long," Lilia said, barely holding herself together.

Melissa smirked against her skin. "Then don't. I want to watch you fall apart."

Her hands trailed lower, slipping beneath Lilia's panties, dragging them down inch by agonizing inch until they were off and discarded. Melissa paused to look at her—just look—like she couldn't believe she was real.

"So fuckin' perfect," she muttered, mostly to herself, before moving back in, tongue tasting every inch of skin she could reach, devouring her in worshipful frenzy. She kissed down Lilia's stomach, eyes locked with hers as her hands gripped her thighs and pushed them open.

"Melissa—" Lilia's voice broke as her body arched off the mattress.

Melissa didn't give her a chance to breathe. She buried herself between Lilia's legs with single-minded purpose, her mouth greedy, tongue skilled and deliberate. Lilia cried out, one hand flying to the headboard while the other fisted in the sheets.

"Oh my—fuck, Melissa—"

Melissa moaned against her, which only pushed Lilia closer to the edge, her legs trembling, her moans turning desperate and high-pitched. Melissa kept going, relentless, arms hooked under her thighs, holding her in place as she coaxed every bit of pleasure from her.

When Lilia came, she came hard—back arching, vision white-hot, a scream tearing from her throat as Melissa didn't let up for a second, milking every last wave.

Melissa finally pulled away, mouth slick, eyes dark and wild with need.

"Still with me?" she asked, voice thick.

Lilia blinked, utterly limp and glowing. "Barely."

Melissa smirked. "Good. 'Cause I'm not done."

She reached into the nightstand and pulled out the harness she'd stashed there last week, eyes gleaming with intent. Lilia's breath hitched.

"Oh," she whispered. "You've been planning."

Melissa slid it on with practiced ease. "Damn right I have. You really think I'd let you tease me all week and not do something about it?"

Lilia's thighs squeezed together in anticipation.

Melissa climbed back on the bed, kissed her deep and messy, then guided Lilia onto her stomach, tugging her hips up gently. "Gotta show you what happens when you make me jealous and horny in the same night."

"Please," Lilia gasped, already breathless again.

Melissa lined up behind her, ran a hand up her spine, and pushed in slow—deep—drawing a long moan from both of them.

She set a rhythm that was steady at first, then harder, faster, as the room filled with the sounds of skin, breath, and Lilia's ragged, desperate cries. Melissa bent over her, biting her shoulder, panting in her ear.

"This what you needed?" she growled. "Letting everyone see how good you look, knowing you're mine?"

"Yes—yes—fuck, Melissa—"

They moved together like fire and gasoline, Lilia collapsing under the weight of it, Melissa driven by nothing but pure, aching hunger.

"You're so fucking beautiful under me, tesoro. Such a good girl."

Lilia barely had time to catch her breath before Melissa's hands gripped her hips again—tighter this time, fingers digging into soft flesh hard enough that she'd absolutely be bruised come morning. She didn't care. She wanted it. Wanted all of her.

"Mel—wait—" she gasped, but it wasn't a protest. Not really.

Melissa leaned down, teeth grazing her ear as she pushed in deep again, making Lilia choke on a moan.

"No waiting," Melissa growled. "You begged for it. Now you take it. Be my good girl."

Lilia whimpered, body shaking. "I am—fuck, I'm trying—"

"You're not trying. You're doing perfect." Melissa yanked her back by the hips to meet every brutal thrust, her rhythm punishing, obsessed. She was completely lost in her—sweat-drenched, flushed, and feral.

"Gonna fuck you until you forget your name," she snarled into Lilia's neck, one hand trailing up into her curls and yanking her head back, forcing her spine to arch, exposing her throat.

Lilia sobbed out her pleasure, eyes rolling, drool on her pillow as she took it, helpless under the overwhelming weight of Melissa's lust.

"You feel what you do to me?" Melissa gritted out. "You ruin me, Lilia."

The sounds were obscene—slick, soaked, absolutely drenched as Lilia's body responded without pause, her climax building again fast and furious.

"Melissa—I—I can't—" she cried.

"Yes, you fucking can," Melissa growled, snapping her hips forward so hard the headboard slammed against the wall. "You can give me one more. You're gonna gush all over me like the good girl you are."

Her hand snaked around Lilia's front, fingers finding her swollen clit, rubbing with expert, filthy precision.

Lilia broke.

She came hard, again, this time squirting, her whole body jolting as liquid splashed against the sheets beneath her. She screamed Melissa's name, her thighs trembling violently, breath gone.

Melissa moaned like she was the one coming, rutting through it, not letting up. "That's it. That's my girl. Fuckin' beautiful."

Lilia collapsed fully, face down, sobbing from the overstimulation, hips twitching as Melissa finally slowed her thrusts—but stayed deep inside her, still panting.

She kissed down Lilia's spine, easing her back to earth. "I got you," she murmured. "I got you."

And Lilia could only nod, completely wrecked, blissed out, and entirely, irrevocably Melissa's.

Lilia's body was boneless, melted into the sheets like warm honey, still twitching with aftershocks. She didn't even try to move—couldn't. Her breath came in soft, uneven puffs as Melissa gently pulled the strap from her, setting it aside before leaning down to kiss the small of her back.

"You alive?" Melissa whispered, voice wrecked but full of fondness.

"Mmm." Lilia made a soft, indecipherable noise that was half sigh, half giggle.

Melissa chuckled, warm and low. "That was a yes, right?"

"Barely," Lilia croaked, finally turning her head to the side. Her cheeks were flushed, eyes still glassy. "You were... out of your mind."

Melissa climbed off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Lilia heard the water run, then a soft rustle as Melissa returned with a warm washcloth and a tender look in her eyes.

"You make me crazy," she said, voice softer now, as she began to clean Lilia up with slow, reverent movements. "Don't act like you don't love it."

"I do," Lilia whispered. "So much."

Melissa leaned down, brushing her lips across Lilia's shoulder blade. "Let me take care of you, baby."

She helped Lilia up—though her legs were jelly—and guided her into the bathroom. The tub was already filling with warm water and lavender bubbles. She stepped in first, then reached out and pulled Lilia into her lap, both of them bare now, skin flushed and glowing.

Lilia melted into her like she was made to be there.

They sat in the tub, the water gently lapping around them, Melissa's arms wrapped securely around Lilia's middle. Fingers trailed soft, lazy patterns over her skin.

"You're gonna have bruises," Melissa said eventually, voice full of something tender and sheepish.

Lilia smiled. "Good. I want them."

"Naughty girl." Melissa kissed her shoulder, then tucked her chin into Lilia's neck. "I've never felt like this, you know."

"I do," Lilia whispered. "Because I feel it too."

They stayed there until the water cooled, trading kisses and quiet words. Melissa washed Lilia's hair, kissed the tip of her nose, and told her she was beautiful.

Later, tucked back into fresh sheets with candles flickering low and a soft jazz playlist murmuring through the room, Melissa pulled Lilia close, bare skin against bare skin.

"I love you," she murmured against Lilia's temple.

Lilia smiled, still drowsy. "I love you more."

Melissa chuckled, squeezing her tighter. "Not possible."

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains in soft golden stripes, casting a warm glow across Melissa's bedroom. The air was still, quiet, thick with the kind of post-Thanksgiving-Friendsgiving haze that left everything feeling a little dreamy. Melissa stirred slowly under the sheets, her body sore in the best ways, muscles relaxed and limbs heavy with satisfaction.

But the second she blinked open her eyes, she realized one very important thing: Lilia wasn't next to her.

"Mmm... baby?" she mumbled, voice rough with sleep, reaching blindly toward the other side of the bed.

No answer.

But then—then she felt it.

Soft kisses down her stomach. Fingertips smoothing up her thighs. And then the heat of Lilia's breath, hot and purposeful, nestled between her legs.

"Jesus Christ," Melissa hissed, back arching instinctively. Her hand fumbled down, tangling in Lilia's curls beneath the sheets. "You're gonna kill me."

Lilia didn't stop. In fact, the little grin she flashed upward—barely visible in the morning light—only confirmed her plan to do just that.

Melissa couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Lilia had barely begun and she was already falling apart, whispering her name like a prayer, cursing under her breath, one hand gripping the headboard and the other fisting the sheets.

And when she finally shattered, it was with a low, guttural groan that echoed off the walls—her thighs trembling around Lilia's shoulders, her voice breaking into a laugh as she collapsed back down.

"You're insane," Melissa panted, pulling Lilia up and kissing her fiercely, lazily. "But you're mine."

Before Lilia could say something smug in return, Melissa's phone buzzed on the nightstand.

She groaned dramatically and blindly reached for it, answering with a rasped, "Ma?"

"Melissa Caterina Schemmenti," her mother snapped immediately. "You sound like hell."

Lilia slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing and buried her face in Melissa's shoulder.

"I'm fine," Melissa said, clearing her throat. "We had Friendsgiving at Janine's last night. Little too much wine, that's all."

"I'll bet. Is my sweet Lilia there?"

Melissa raised a brow at Lilia. "Yeah. She's here."

"Good. Because she better be at Thanksgiving. If you show up without her, I'm locking the door behind you. That girl is an angel, Melissa. An absolute doll. She brought me wine and tiramisu. Tiramisu! You haven't even made me toast since '08."

"Ma, please."

"I'm serious. She's the best thing that's ever happened to you. I'll come back from the grave and haunt you if you mess this up."

"I know, I know. I'm treating her right."

"You better be. And for the record, I'm already telling everyone she's family. So don't screw it up."

Melissa rolled her eyes with a secret smile and caught Lilia's hand under the covers, intertwining their fingers.

"Lilia's coming. You've got nothing to worry about."

"Good. And tell her I want her cannoli this year. None of that store-bought crap. Tell her I said that. And give her a kiss for me. On the cheek, I mean. Jesus, Melissa, I'm still your mother."

Melissa hung up with a sigh and turned to Lilia, who looked far too pleased with herself.

"Cannoli?" Lilia teased, propping herself up on one elbow. "That's a big responsibility."

"You've already won her over. She's not gonna let me live it down."

Lilia kissed her with slow affection, their bare legs tangled beneath the covers.

"Don't worry. You've got me wrapped around your finger too," she whispered.

Melissa grinned. "Damn right I do."

"Coffee?" Lilia pouts.

"C'mon, baby," Melissa gets up and pulls Lilia with her, giggling happily the whole way downstairs.

The smell of coffee drifted through the kitchen like a warm blanket. Lilia, still wearing Melissa's flannel shirt with nothing underneath, stood at the stove barefoot, gently stirring a pot of oatmeal. She hummed softly to herself, hair messy, cheeks pink from earlier. Melissa leaned against the counter in sweats and a tank top, sipping her coffee and watching her with a fond, smitten look that she didn't even bother trying to hide.

"This is dangerous," Melissa said eventually, eyes trailing Lilia's bare legs. "You makin' breakfast like that. No pants. Soft music. Domestic bliss. It's giving wife."

Lilia glanced over her shoulder, smirking. "Then maybe you should put a ring on it, Schemmenti."

Melissa choked on her coffee.

"I'm joking," Lilia added, laughing as she handed her a small bowl of oatmeal topped with fresh fruit and a drizzle of honey. "Kind of."

Melissa took it, still smiling. "Mmhm."

Before Lilia could reply, the front door creaked open—and in stumbled Jacob, wearing sunglasses and yesterday's clothes, looking like he'd lost a fight with a bottle of whiskey and some bad decisions.

"Jesus," he mumbled, squinting. "Why is it so loud in here?"

Melissa raised an eyebrow. "It's not."

"Why does my soul hurt?" Jacob continued, dragging himself to the kitchen island like a dying man. "That bartender was a mistake. I'm pretty sure he ghosted me before we even said goodbye."

Lilia passed him a glass of water and a banana with the nurturing precision of someone who had clearly done this before.

"I told you not to try and match Ava shot for shot," she said, patting his back gently.

Jacob whimpered. "She called me 'lightweight supreme.' I had something to prove."

Melissa snorted. "What you proved is that your liver is made of glass."

Jacob groaned dramatically. "And yet, here you both are—radiating intimacy and morning sex glow. I hate it here."

Lilia kissed Melissa's cheek just to spite him, grinning. "We're heading to the store soon. Need anything?"

"Dignity," he mumbled.

Melissa finished her coffee and stretched, muscles loose and happy. "You can tag along. We're stocking up for Thanksgiving. Ma made it very clear that if Lilia's not there—and not bringing cannoli—it's gonna be a problem."

Jacob dramatically laid his head down on the counter. "I will be recovering on this surface for the next two hours. You go live your perfect domestic life."

Melissa smacked the back of his head lightly on the way out of the kitchen. "Come on, babe. Let's get outta here before his hangover infects us."

Lilia laughed and followed her to the bedroom to throw on a cozy sweater and leggings, stealing another kiss before they slipped out the door into the chilly morning.

The grocery store was bustling, a pre-holiday rush already in full swing, carts clattering and kids whining and cheerful oldies music playing overhead. Lilia had taken charge of the list, scribbled neatly on her phone, while Melissa—unsurprisingly—was already going rogue.

"Melissa," Lilia called from the produce section, holding up two different kinds of apples. "Honeycrisp or Granny Smith?"

Melissa appeared beside her, tossing a random bag of kettle chips into their cart. "We're makin' pie, not a damn science project. Honeycrisp."

Lilia arched a brow. "We're making pie? I thought I was making pie and you were distracting me with loud opinions and snacks."

Melissa leaned in, smirking. "Semantics."

They kept bickering playfully as they made their way through the aisles, grabbing ingredients, debating butter brands, Melissa trying to sneak more junk food into the cart while Lilia caught her every time. To onlookers, they were unmistakably one of those couples—easy rhythm, casual intimacy, little touches and teasing that gave them away as deeply, comfortably in love.

That was, until they turned into the frozen section—and there stood Gary.

"Melissa?" he said, blinking in surprise. "Hey!"

Melissa stopped mid-step, her hand still resting on the cart handle. "Oh. Hey, Gary."

Gary—tall, awkward, wearing a Phillies beanie and a windbreaker—offered a sheepish smile. "Wow, it's been a while. You look good."

Melissa reached for Lilia's hand immediately. "Thanks. You, uh... how's vending machine life?"

"Actually—no more vending machines! I opened a little shop with my brother. And I got married!" He held up his hand to show off a simple gold band. "Got a baby on the way too."

Lilia watched Melissa closely, but Melissa's smile was genuine. Warm, even.

"That's great, Gary. Really. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks. And, uh..." Gary glanced at Lilia. "This your girlfriend?"

Melissa's grip on Lilia's hand tightened proudly. "Yeah. This is Lilia."

Gary nodded politely, then gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "Guess you were right to say no, huh?"

Melissa chuckled. "Yeah. Guess I was."

They said their goodbyes, and Melissa didn't look back as they walked away. Lilia squeezed her hand gently, and Melissa glanced over with a little shrug.

"That was the guy who proposed?" Lilia asked softly.

"Mm-hmm."

"And you said no?"

"Twice."

They kept walking, but something about Melissa's posture had changed—just a touch of tension in her shoulders, her voice more careful. Lilia didn't press.

"You okay?" she asked gently.

"Yeah," Melissa said after a beat. "He's a good guy. Just... not for me. He wanted a life I didn't. Marriage. Kids. Suburbs. It was all mapped out, and I wasn't even sure I wanted to be on the road, let alone the destination."

Lilia nodded, sensing the weight in her tone. "That's fair."

Melissa gave her a glance, something fond but clouded. "I think I thought marriage was just another way to lose yourself. I'd already done that once. Didn't want to do it again."

Lilia didn't push. Instead, she slid her arm around Melissa's waist, leaning her head against her shoulder as they stood in the aisle between frozen peas and tater tots.

"You're allowed to want something different now," she said quietly. "You're allowed to take your time."

Melissa looked at her, the tension melting just a little at the edges. "Yeah. I know."

They kissed softly by the freezer door, and when a little kid nearby loudly yelled, "Ew, girls kissing!" they both cracked up laughing and pushed their cart along.

"Alright," Melissa said, recovering. "Let's go get your fancy vanilla and get outta here before we run into another ghost of boyfriends past."

⸻

The kitchen was alive with clatter, jazz playing low in the background, and the scent of cinnamon and brown sugar already wafting from the oven. Lilia had flour on her cheek, a dishtowel slung over her shoulder, and was elbow-deep in mixing the apple pie filling with practiced precision. Melissa, apronless and totally unhelpful, was leaning against the counter with an apple slice in one hand, smirking.

"I thought I was your helper," Melissa teased, tossing a slice in her mouth.

"You were supposed to be slicing apples. Not eating them one by one like a squirrel," Lilia said, side-eyeing her without pausing her stirring.

"I'm quality control."

Lilia chuckled, shaking her head. "You're chaos control."

Jacob wandered into the kitchen then, bleary-eyed, wrapped in a blanket like a robe and holding a mug that said #1 Reading Dad in faded letters.

"You people are too functional," he grumbled. "I just walked in on a Hallmark movie and it's not even 11 a.m."

Melissa didn't skip a beat. "You're just jealous because you woke up alone with a hangover and we woke up to an orgasm and coffee."

Lilia dropped her head into her hands. "Melissa!"

Jacob pointed at them dramatically. "See?! This is what I mean. This is what perfection looks like. You bake together. You banter. You bully me. I feel like I'm in a domestic cult."

Melissa handed him an apple slice. "Drink your coffee and peel these."

Jacob did his best, managing to mangle three apples before Lilia gently took the peeler back and gave him a mixing bowl instead.

"Here. You're in charge of filling the cannoli shells. Do not break them. We only have twelve."

Jacob made a face. "Cannolis too? You two don't stop."

Melissa, already leaning behind Lilia to nuzzle her neck under the pretense of checking the oven, muttered, "No, we don't."

Jacob fake gagged. "I'm calling Janine."

He pulled out his phone and immediately FaceTimed her. "Janine. I need refuge. They're baking pie and making cannolis while flirting. I can't survive this kind of love bubble. It's too powerful."

Janine's face lit up on the screen. "Awwww, I love that for them. But poor Jacob. Do you need a safe haven?"

"Yes. Take me in like a stray. You'll have one extra for Thanksgiving."

"Deal. But only if you bring a cannoli."

"Done," Jacob said, and then, to Lilia, "You heard the lady."

Lilia tossed a bit of flour at him. "You're lucky you're cute."

"Tell Janine that," he called over his shoulder, already grabbing one of the pastry bags and overfilling the first cannoli dramatically. "I have so much love to give."

Melissa watched him messily fill the next one, a glob of ricotta splattering onto the counter.

"You're banned from cannolis," she declared. "Stick to moral support."

"And commentary," Lilia added, sliding the finished pie into the oven with a pleased sigh. "You're very good at that."

The three of them settled into the rhythm—Jacob sipping his coffee and giving dramatic monologues about true love, Melissa trying to sneak more filling into her mouth than the shells, and Lilia wrangling them both like a saint.

It was warm. It was chaotic. It was the kind of morning that felt like the start of a holiday movie. And somewhere between the second pie and the last cannoli, Melissa caught Lilia in the middle of a laugh—her cheeks pink, hair a little wild, hands dusted in flour—and thought:

This is it. This is the life I never knew I needed.

It was late, the pie tins were cooling on the stovetop, and the smell of warm cinnamon still clung to the air like a blanket. The house was quiet now, dimly lit by the soft glow of lamps and the flickering light from the TV they'd left on but weren't watching. Lilia was in Melissa's oversized Phillies T-shirt, brushing her teeth lazily in the bathroom, while Melissa leaned against the bed, scrolling on her phone, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

She was texting furiously—quick back-and-forths, her thumbs flying across the screen with the kind of attention that was usually reserved for sports scores or dragging someone in a group chat.

When Lilia came into the room, toweling off her hands and flopping onto the bed beside her, she caught the tail end of Melissa tucking her phone under her pillow like a guilty teenager.

Lilia raised a brow, smirking. "You hiding your Candy Crush high score from me?"

Melissa shot her a casual look, even as a blush crept up her neck. "Nope. Just Kristen Marie being annoying."

Lilia narrowed her eyes playfully. "Annoying how?"

"You know. Sister banter. She's harassing me about what kind of wine to bring tomorrow, like I haven't told her twice already. She's gonna bring Prosecco anyway, just to be a brat."

Lilia gave a suspicious hum but let it go, snuggling in closer, one arm around Melissa's waist as she kissed her shoulder. "You two are weirdly close."

"We're weirdly Italian," Melissa corrected, tucking Lilia closer. "It's a lifelong disease."

Lilia chuckled and reached behind Melissa to turn off the lamp, plunging the room into warm darkness.

Melissa stared up at the ceiling for a beat after Lilia got comfortable against her chest, then slowly reached for her phone again under the pillow. She angled it away, typing something out with careful silence.

She's the one. I don't know when it happened but... I want this every day. Every night.

I'm seriously thinking about asking her to move in.

Is that crazy?

The bubble from Kristen Marie popped up almost immediately.

Not crazy. About damn time. You're in love, Miss Forever Bachelor.

And I better be your maid of honor or I'll throw hands.

Melissa smiled softly, biting her lip. She read the message over again, heart thudding. The idea of marriage had once been something she filed away as a closed chapter—a burned one. But with Lilia?

It didn't feel like a trap. It felt like home.

Lilia stirred beside her and murmured, half-asleep, "You still texting Kristen?"

Melissa smiled into the dark. "Yeah. She says you're a perfect angel and I don't deserve you."

Lilia giggled against her skin. "Well, she's not wrong."

Melissa kissed her forehead, then the top of her head, and whispered, "I know."

⸻

The morning sun streamed through the windows far too early for Lilia's liking, but there was no chance of sleeping in. Not today. Not with Thanksgiving at the Schemmentis' looming like a final exam she wasn't quite sure she'd studied enough for.

She stood in front of the mirror, hair curled and pinned to perfection, tugging slightly at the lower neckline of her gold blouse—the one Jacob had insisted would "bring out your eyes and make you look like a sultry forest nymph." She wasn't sure if it said "respectable and lovable potential daughter-in-law," but it would have to do.

"Babe, you look amazing," Melissa called from the kitchen, her voice muffled around a piece of toast. "C'mere and stop stressin'."

"I'm not stressing," Lilia lied, applying another thin layer of mascara with precision that could rival a surgeon's scalpel.

Melissa appeared in the doorway, barefoot and casual in black jeans and a rust-colored sweater, still chewing, one brow arched. "You've put on perfume three times."

Lilia whirled. "Your mother is terrifying!"

"She's five-foot-nothin' and wears bunny slippers that bark when she walks."

"That's what makes her so powerful."

Melissa laughed, crossing the room to wrap her arms around Lilia's waist from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder. "You've got nothin' to prove, Greenley. They already love you. Ma's been calling you 'the angel' for like three weeks."

"That doesn't mean she won't turn on me if I bring the wrong wine."

"You brought your nonna's favorite and homemade tiramisu," Melissa said into her neck. "You're already MVP."

Lilia took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. Okay. Let's do this."

They loaded into the car, Lilia clutching the dessert carrier like it held a Fabergé egg. The car ride was filled with a comfortable silence, broken occasionally by Melissa's soft humming along to the Motown playlist they'd started that morning.

"You're really not nervous?" Lilia asked, adjusting her hair in the passenger mirror for the third time.

Melissa glanced over at her, smile tugging crooked at the corner of her mouth. "Nah, you're my date. I already won."

That made Lilia's heart flip. "You're so cocky."

"I'm right, though."

Lilia reached over to take her hand. Melissa squeezed back. The car turned onto the familiar block just as Lilia's stomach did somersaults.

"I feel like I'm walking into the Colosseum."

Melissa snorted. "You'll be fine. Just don't tell Uncle Sal you like pineapple on pizza, and don't ask anyone if they've seen The Godfather. We've all seen The Godfather."

Lilia laughed despite herself, eyes wide as the Schemmenti family house came into view—cars lining the driveway, laughter already spilling out of the open front door.

Melissa parked, turned off the engine, and looked at her with warmth and a glint of mischief. "Ready?"

Lilia inhaled slowly and nodded. "Ready."

Melissa leaned in to kiss her gently, then whispered, "Try not to let Kristen Marie steal you. I'm already on thin ice."

"Oh, I'm definitely going to flirt back this time," Lilia teased, grinning.

Melissa groaned, threw her head back, and muttered, "I'm gonna have to fight my own damn sister today."

Lilia had barely unbuckled her seatbelt before one of the littlest cousins flung open the front door and shouted, "Auntie Mel's here! And she brought Lilia!"

That was all it took.

Within minutes, Lilia found herself swept into a sea of noisy greetings, warm hugs, cheek pinches, and a blur of names she could barely keep up with. Melissa stood back, watching with a mix of awe and smugness as her girlfriend charmed every relative from the toddlers to Nonna Lucia, who'd declared, "She's got the eyes of an angel. Don't mess this up, Melissa."

"She's perfect!" someone cried from the kitchen.

"When are you bringing her back? I wanna show her my science fair project!" another cousin insisted, tugging Lilia toward a folder on the table.

Lilia, radiant in her shimmering golden top and high-waisted slacks, laughed her way through every question. "School's been good! Of course I'll come back! Maybe I'll bring books next time?"

From across the living room, Melissa leaned against the doorway, Kristen Marie at her side, both of them watching Lilia like she was their favorite holiday movie playing out in real time.

"She fits in like she's always been here," Kristen Marie said quietly, nudging Melissa's side. "You love her."

Melissa didn't deny it.

Kristen Marie tilted her head, a rare moment of softness in her teasing demeanor. "You think maybe this one's it? Like... actually forever?"

"I think about it every damn day," Melissa said, her voice low. "Scares the hell outta me sometimes."

Kristen Marie put an arm around her sister's shoulders. "You deserve something that scares you in the best way. You've been stuck with me all your life—at least now you got a real upgrade."

Melissa huffed a laugh, eyes misting slightly. "She really is somethin' else."

Their mom joined them at the edge of the doorway, arms crossed, a dish towel thrown over her shoulder. "She loves you like it's the easiest thing in the world. And it is, for her. That kind of love doesn't come around every day, kiddo."

Melissa glanced back at Lilia, who was now holding one of the babies on her hip like she'd been born to do it. Her curls bounced as she swayed gently, her laughter mixing with the chatter and the music coming from the kitchen. She looked completely at home.

"I'm scared," Melissa admitted softly.

Her mom leaned in, kissing her temple. "You're allowed to be scared. But don't you dare let that fear make you lose her."

Melissa nodded, emotion catching in her throat.

Her mom smiled. "Now come on. Help me bring out the wine before your father pours it all into the sauce again."

The dining table groaned under the weight of platters piled high with roasted vegetables, lasagna, a golden brown turkey, and enough sides to feed a small village. Lilia was tucked beside Melissa, who took it upon herself to load Lilia's plate with exactly what she knew she'd want, adding extra stuffing and slipping her a wink when no one was looking.

Across the table, cousins shouted over each other about fantasy football, while Melissa's dad passed around his infamous homemade wine, sloshing generously into mismatched glasses. Babies were passed around like bread baskets. Lilia found herself holding a toddler one-handed while still managing to cut into her turkey. Melissa looked absolutely feral over it.

"She's gonna kill me," Melissa muttered to Kristen Marie, who smirked.

"You? I think she's already got plans to marry you."

Melissa nearly choked on her stuffing.

Dessert came next—apple pie, cannolis, and a mystery cake that no one admitted to making. Lilia got about three bites in before Kristen Marie flopped into the seat beside her with a wine-drunk grin and a conspiratorial lean.

"So," she said, propping her elbow on the table. "You and my sister. You makin' her soft on purpose or does it just come naturally?"

Lilia gave her a warning smile. "She's already soft where it counts."

"Oh-ho!" Kristen laughed, nudging her knee against Lilia's under the table. "God, you're fun. Are you free next Thanksgiving?"

Melissa appeared out of nowhere and set her wine glass down with a distinct clink between them. "No, she's not."

Kristen Marie just grinned wider. "There she is. Knew I could get your blood boiling."

"Careful," Melissa warned, arm sliding protectively around Lilia's shoulders. "You keep pokin' the bear, you're gonna get mauled."

"Ooh, a warning. How romantic."

Before Lilia could burst out laughing, the kids started yelling from the living room that it was game time.

Kristen Marie made it her mission to be on Lilia's team for every game. She whispered over-the-top guesses into Lilia's ear and leaned too close too often, until Melissa dragged Lilia onto her lap during Cards Against Humanity and declared, "We're a team now."

Kristen Marie winked. "Fine. But only 'cause she looks hot when she wins."

Melissa just growled and pulled Lilia closer, burying her face in her neck. "Gonna kill her," she muttered into Lilia's skin.

Lilia giggled and whispered back, "You love it."

Kristen Marie, however, showed no signs of slowing.

She curled up on the arm of the couch where Lilia sat, balancing her wine glass like she was born to flirt over cannoli crumbs. "So, Miss Greenley," she began with a slanted smile. "You always this good at charming Italian families, or are we just lucky?"

Lilia laughed nervously, cheeks pink. "I've had practice."

"Oh, I bet. You're all polite and warm and gorgeous—total teacher's pet vibes."

Lilia raised a brow. "Is that a compliment or an accusation?"

Kristen grinned, bold and unrelenting. "Both. You've got that 'read me poetry and then ruin my life' thing going for you."

Melissa, seated across the room in a recliner, had been nursing a bourbon and trying to play it cool. But her grip on the glass tightened with every passing second.

When Kristen leaned in, brushing a piece of imaginary lint from Lilia's sleeve and murmuring, "Bet you're dangerous when you want to be," that was the final straw.

Melissa stood abruptly. "Babe, come with me."

Lilia blinked, caught off guard. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just—come on."

She tugged Lilia by the hand, leading her down the hallway to the guest bathroom and shutting the door behind them with a little more force than necessary.

Melissa leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, trying to look unbothered and failing miserably. "She's doing it on purpose."

Lilia stepped closer, amused and touched. "Yeah. I know."

Melissa huffed, cheeks pink from more than just wine. "She's been like this since high school—likes to rile me up. But tonight she's pushing it."

Lilia leaned in and slid her hands around Melissa's waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. "Well, I've got news for you. You're the only Schemmenti I'm going home with."

Melissa finally let out a breath, her hands settling low on Lilia's hips. "Damn right you are."

They stood like that for a moment—quiet, close, their foreheads almost touching. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses drifted faintly through the door, but here, it was just them.

"You okay?" Lilia asked softly.

Melissa nodded. "Yeah. I just... she makes me feel like I gotta stake my claim sometimes. Like if I don't say it enough, you'll forget how much I—" She caught herself, then smiled. "You know."

Lilia kissed her, slow and sweet, fingers brushing over Melissa's jaw. "I know. And I love it. You, being protective."

"I'm not usually like this," Melissa murmured, a little embarrassed.

"I think it's sexy."

Melissa chuckled, leaning in to kiss her again, deeper this time. "Well in that case..."

They were still tangled up together, whispering and giggling, when someone knocked on the door and yelled, "You two makin' out in there or what?"

Kristen Marie. Of course.

Melissa rolled her eyes. "Go away!"

Lilia laughed against her neck. "You ready to go back out there?"

"Not yet." Melissa kissed her again, breathless and a little desperate. "Let me have a few more minutes with just you."

⸻

The night wound down in a blur of laughter, soft jazz, and the scent of leftover stuffing. One by one, coats were tugged on and kisses were pressed to cheeks. The kids emerged from the basement bleary-eyed and giggling, the adults moving slowly with the heaviness of wine and full bellies.

Melissa helped her mom clean up, tossing foil over trays and stacking dishes in the sink while Lilia said her goodbyes to the rest of the family.

Kristen Marie gave Lilia a dramatic, lingering hug and whispered in her ear, "Seriously. If she screws this up, I'll disown her."

"I'll keep her in line," Lilia whispered back with a smirk, and Kristen just winked.

Melissa's mom waited by the door, her warm hand cupping Lilia's cheek as she pulled her into a fierce hug. "You're a dream, sweetheart. Don't let my daughter be a pain in the ass, alright?"

"I'll do my best," Lilia chuckled.

"No, really," she said, holding Lilia's gaze with unexpected seriousness. "We've never seen her like this. Happy. Settled. Like... like she knows what she wants."

Lilia's heart squeezed. "That means a lot."

"She loves you," the older woman said quietly. "You can see it all over her. So don't go anywhere, okay?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

Melissa appeared then, coat in hand, tugging Lilia gently toward the door. "We outta here?"

"Before anyone tries to get us to take leftovers home we didn't ask for," Lilia teased, waving goodbye one last time.

They stepped out into the cold night, Lilia's hand finding Melissa's like it always did—naturally, instinctively. Their breath came out in soft clouds, and the crunch of leaves followed their footsteps down the driveway.

In the car, Lilia glanced over as Melissa let out a long, contented sigh.

"Wasn't so bad, huh?" Lilia asked softly.

Melissa smirked, eyes on the road. "You kidding? That was the best Thanksgiving I've ever had."