#[i never want to fall in love with you because i know you could break my heart - aflockoffeathers]

[aringofsalt]

we're going down, but not today

BUCKTOMMY | G | 824 WORDS | AO3 spec fic for the upcoming two-parter! entirely based on the bts photos. i got to thinking about potential bathena parallels and this happened 💛

The helicopter is so still in the air it looks like it's floating, like the entire world is just as frozen as Buck feels.

"Evan," Tommy's voice crackles softly over the radio. "Evan, I need you to know—"

"No way," Buck interrupts. "You're not doing this to me, Tommy."

He has a brief flash back to September, to the way they'd all told the story of Athena's landing over and over. Of how Bobby had been so, so sure of Athena.

"You tell me in person, okay?" He echoes Bobby's words. "You land that thing, you get the hell out of there, you come back to me, you hear me? You come back and you—you tell me in person." His voice wavers, cracks a little in front of Athena and God and everybody who's listening in on this channel—he doesn't even want to think about how many people are listening in on this goddamn channel—but his eyes never leave the chopper. "You're going to tell me, and I'm going to tell you. Okay?"

There's silence for a moment. Then,

"Copy that, Firefighter Buckley. See you on the other side." Click.

"Buck, I need the radio," Athena says softly. She takes the radio from him with one hand, wraps the other around his bicep and squeezes briefly. Distantly, he can hear her talking, coordinating with Tommy in the air. He doesn't understand a word of it; it all sounds like it's coming through water, all distorted and muffled. His heart is in his throat as the helicopter gets closer, as they're ushered backwards for the bomb squad to get through.

It's a tense few minutes, made worse by the fact that he can see Tommy now, through the windshield. He knows flying isn't easy, but Tommy always made it look easy; now the cracks are showing. But they all do their jobs, and finally, finally, the chopper is on the ground. The minutes it takes for the engine to stop and the blades to stop turning are the longest he's ever felt. Tommy very carefully doesn't look at him the whole time, entirely focused on his job.

It's so fucking hot, now that the danger is past.

By the time Tommy steps out of the cockpit, Buck feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. He's forcing himself to stay in place, ignoring Athena's amused smirk, but the second Tommy looks his way, he's done for.

He's halfway across the roof before he's even processed that his feet are moving, and Tommy's just as eager, stepping right around the guy he's been debriefing with. They crash together, wrapping around each other without a care in the world for all the people around them. Buck feels like he could crawl right into Tommy's rib cage and he still wouldn't be close enough. All he can do is cling tighter, bury his nose into Tommy's neck and dig his fingers into the coarse fabric of his flight suit and finally let the tears fall.

He doesn't know how long they stand there, just that by the time they break apart—eyes red and shoulders suspiciously damp—their corner of the roof is pretty much empty. There's some distant murmurs, people milling around the helicopter, but nobody is nearby to watch them press their foreheads together and breathe each other in.

"You said tell me in person," Tommy murmurs into the space between them.

"Well, here we are," Buck murmurs back. "Whatcha got for me, Kinard?"

"Dork," Tommy says fondly, then his face grows serious. "You don't know what you do to me, Evan. I'm not exactly a stranger to the idea of death—you know what that's like, this job. But this time...all I could think about was all the things I never got to tell you. All the time I wasted."

"We wasted," Buck breaks in, because he's not about to let Tommy take all the blame for the time they spent apart. "But that doesn't matter."

"No, it doesn't," Tommy agrees. "I'm...I'm done running from you, Evan. I love you—it scares me, honestly, how much. But the idea of being without you..." He takes a deep breath. "That scares me more. I'm so sorry."

"I am too," Buck laughs wetly, fighting down a sob. "God. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I'm never letting you out of my sight again, I hope you realize."

"Deal."

Buck looks up, and Tommy takes his breath away, as always. He's glowing golden in the setting sun, eyes wide, looking at Buck with that same look of fond amazement he always does, like he can't quite believe this is real.

He's missed this. Missed him. And he's waited weeks; he's not waiting another minute. He slides a hand around Tommy's neck, the other around his waist, and tugs him in, and it feels like home.

[manariee]

𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 (🕰️)

The look of love ───── Baby, take my hand I want you to be my husband 'Cause you're my Iron Man And I love you 3000

박성훈 & fem!reader wc: 478 cw: a teeny tiny bit angsty but then fluff and full on fluff

𝓜 anas notes: fic b4 i go to war (study for physics)

Sunghoon stood at the altar, hands clasped in front of him, trying to ignore the way his palms were sweating in front of everybody. The air in the room buzzed with anticipation, the soft melody of the piano playing in the background barely doing anything to calm his racing heart.

''She's not even here yet, and you already look like you're about to cry.'' Jay smirked, standing beside him.

Sunghoon scoffed, rolling his shoulders back in a weak attempt to look composed. ''I'm not crying.''

''You will,'' Jake chimed in, the signature grin on his face. ''Bet you 20 bucks he loses it the second she walks in.''

''I won't.'' Sunghoon bit back, though his voice lacked conviction.

''Dude, you cried to me once after a fight,'' Heeseung pointed out.

''This is different and it was once.'' Sunghoon said through clenched teeth, exhaling a shaky breath slowly.

''Yeah.'' Jay nodded, eyes glistening with amusement. ''It's worse.''

Sunghoon shot them all a glare as they continued making fun of him, but the truth was that he himself wasn't sure he wouldn't cry. Sunghoon was never the emotional type. Always so composed and sharp people were afraid to approach him. But the moment the doors finally opened and you stepped into the room ─── dressed in white ─── bathed in golden light, he felt like he couldn't breathe.

Everything else blurred, the whispers of the guests, the soft gasp from someone in one of the front rows. All he could see was you.

You, with that breathtaking smile.

You, walking toward him, toward forever.

His chest tightened, his vision blurred.

Ah, crap.

The teasing voices of his friends faded as he felt a tear slip down his cheek. He barely noticed it until Jake let out a victorious whisper. ''Knew it.''

Sunghoon let out a soft, breathy chuckle, shaking his head as he wiped at his eyes. His heart was pounding, overflowing, breaking and healing all at once.

And when you finally reached him, placing your hands in his he felt it ─── home.

''You're crying.'' you whispered, smiling up at him with so much love it almost hurt.

''I'm not.'' he whispered back, voice thick, but the way you gently wiped a tear off his cheek said otherwise.

You squeezed his hands, eyes twinkling. ''I love you.''

Sunghoon exhaled, a small, almost incredulous laugh leaving his lips before he whispered back, ''I love you more.''

He barely heard anything around him anymore.

Because in that moment, watching you right in front of him, knowing that you'd be the person declared as his wife, the only thing he could do was fall even more in love with you.

And if that meant shedding a few tears in front of everyone?

So be it.

He'd cry for you a million times over if it meant getting to love you like this.

lovliezᡣ𐭩: @chrrific @saemisic @heeaara

[22ayla21]

hello! I love your writing style, it’s so warm and almost nostalgic. I wanted to request a fem!reader (prefect/yuu) x Leona, who is tired of being strong. Who people see as a rounded person, but who’s not a pushover, but she hides the fact she wants to be soft and protected for just a bit. Maybe a cozy visit to Ramshackle with rain? (Bonus Grimy cuddles)

A Moment of Vulnerability

She had always been strong, independent, supporting others, but Leona showed her that she could also let her guard down and be weak, but protected.

The rain drummed on the roof of Ramshackle, enveloping the old mansion in a soft veil of sound. The room was dim, illuminated by the warm light of a bedside lamp. She sat on the bed, hugging her knees, listening to the sound of the rain.

The day had been long. Exhausting.

As usual, she was the one everyone could rely on. The one who could handle anything. The one who would never break. No one even considered that she might also have a hard time. Everyone saw her as strong, confident, well-rounded. Yes, she might not possess magic, but she always found a way to overcome difficulties.

But sometimes, she just wanted someone to say, "You can be weak. I'll take care of you."

A sudden knock on the door made her jump. Who else could come in such weather?

Getting up, she went to the door and opened it slightly.

On the doorstep, soaked, with disheveled hair, stood Leona Kingscholar.

"Did you stand in the rain?" she asked, amazed by his unexpected appearance.

He didn't answer right away. His emerald eyes studied her face carefully, as if trying to catch something. Then he sighed and, without waiting for an invitation, stepped inside.

"Couldn't find someone easier to deal with?" he smirked, shaking raindrops from his hair.

She frowned.

"What are you talking about?"

"You're always on your own, always trying to handle everything. I'm tired of watching you tear yourself apart."

She froze.

Leona looked at her intently, his gaze softening.

"You don't always have to be strong."

These words struck her soul. She felt something inside her tremble, like the lump in her throat grew heavier.

"But if I'm not strong..." her voice broke.

"What?"

She didn't know how to answer.

What if she broke, and there was no one to support her? What if it turned out that she wasn't really needed by those around her if she stopped being "that one"—reliable, stable, unwavering?

But Leona wasn't going to wait for an answer. He simply walked closer and, without saying a word, pulled her into a warm, firm embrace.

She stiffened.

His arms were warm, even after the rain. They didn't demand, didn't impose—they just supported.

She couldn't hold back.

The tears she had held back for so long slid down her cheeks. She buried her face in his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his uniform, afraid that if she let go, everything would disappear.

"Just be weak," he said softly.

And she allowed herself to be.

Allowed the tears to flow down her cheeks. Allowed the shivers to run through her body. Allowed herself to lean on someone, just once.

They stood like that while the rain raged outside.

When she felt better, she exhaled and said quietly, "Thank you."

Leona didn't answer, only cupped her head in his hand, gently smoothing her hair.

"Stop crying already, go to bed," he grumbled, but his voice was softer than usual.

She nodded, wiping away the last tears.

And then something fluffy nudged her side.

"Stop hugging Leona! Hug me too!" Grim declared indignantly, settling on her lap.

She laughed, hugged Grim, and Leona just snorted.

"Well, now you have another protector."

She smiled.

Today she allowed herself to be weak. And it turned out that the world didn't fall apart because of it.

[yourstrulyrani]

Hi luv!

I am new to Simon Riley but I am DOWN BAD lmao

Could u please write something about mommy reade being insecure and struggling with like body image after pregnancy and during post-partum. Like being a REAL MAN he is, he just adores his mama and loves how her body changed and created their baby.

U can totally change it however u like, i am bad at explaining 😭😭

I absolutely loved ur last dad!Simon imagine, I could never 😭

Keep it up 🫶🏻🫶🏻

dad!simon riley x mom!reader

blurb: dad!simon soothes your insecurities about your postpartum body. cw&tws: body image/weight, suggestive right at the end // wc: 1279

a/n: aw hii you’re so kind, thank you! & don’t worry you explained it perfectly and i am so in love with this idea so here it is, thank you for your kind words btw 🥹🫶🏼 i want to bring attention to anyone reading who needs to hear it, that no matter your weight or how your body looks: you’re enough. your looks are not “hideous” or anything else along those lines just because society tells you otherwise. in no way do i have the intention of promoting body negativity/shaming. every body is a body worthy of love and respect as long as you treat others the same. please take care of yourselves & love yourselves as much as possible 🤍.

With the spare time you have now as your baby is asleep in her nursery, you take off your tank top, now clad in only a nursing bra and your underwear.

You step in front of the mirror. You thought your heart sunk enough when you saw the number on the scale, but you were wrong. You run your hands along your stomach. The skin is still saggy from the pregnancy and birth, and the stretch marks from your pregnancy that were once faint now boldly start at your hips and vine their way to your belly button. At this point, you let the tears fall. You want the body you had before pregnancy. You want the body where you could see where your waist ended and your hips started. You want the body where your breasts don't have stretch marks. You want the number you had on the scale from before. You don’t even recognize yourself.

You think: How did I let myself go this much?

You break down on the wooden floor of the bedroom, the hot tears falling on the cold floor.

“Sweetheart?” His voice calls out to you.

You forgot he was home too.

You look up through your tears, a blurry image but enough to know it's your husband at the doorway of your shared bedroom. Simon doesn’t hesitate to walk over and sit down with you on the floor, placing his hands on your cheeks and rubbing your tears off with his thumbs. “Baby.”

Your eyes shut, letting more tears fall at the pressure. You can’t look at him. You can’t be with him. Your body isn’t enough. Enough for you. Enough for him. “Baby, look at me.” His voice tightens along with his hands on your face.

You whimper in pain, “No.”

His hands move from your cheeks to your elbows, lifting you up gently. “Here, let’s get you up on the bed.” You have been recently so happy with the arrival of your baby, Simon too. It pains him to see you like this. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.” He pleads gently until you finally open your eyes.

As soon as you sit on the bed and your bloodshot eyes weakly gaze at him, his chest tightens. Your breathing is labored yet you manage to get out a few words, “My body, Simon.” You wrap your stomach around your arms, clutching at the body that’s giving you trouble. “It’s so ugly. I’m sorry.” You hiccup, the crying making it harder to breathe. “My stretch marks, my belly, my swollen legs and feet. Everything. I’m sorry I’m not as pretty as before.”

“You don’t think you’re pretty?”

“I’m hideous, Si.”

Simon’s ears rang when you called yourself that word: Hideous. His gorgeous, dedicated, sweet wife. The mother to their baby, the love and light of his life, and here she is talking about herself like this.

“Stand up for me, sweetheart.” Simon grabs your hands and you reluctantly do as he says. He tugs at your bra, “Can I take this off?”

“But the doctor said no sex for six wee—“

“I know, baby. Don’t worry. Not planning on that right now. You need to heal." Your nod of permission makes him unclasp your bra. He cups your cheek and places a kiss on your forehead before guiding you by the shoulders to the mirror. Here you are, again, facing the woman you can’t stand.

Simon stands behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder and his hands on your arms. “You’re so beautiful.” He kisses your neck, the touch of affection featherlight but heavy with love.

Simon’s hands move down to your breasts, cupping one in each hand. His hands are big enough to let his thumbs trace over the stretch marks on them. “These stretch marks are normal and perfect. Your body grew selflessly for our girl and this shows it.” His eyes gaze into yours through the mirror. “I don’t think your stretch marks are hideous. I think they’re a physical sign of your strength.” His hands give your breasts a final rub, then move on to rub the stretch marks across your hips and stomach. You turn your head to the side, disgusted at looking at yourself for any longer.

Your husband clicks his tongue. “Look, baby. Please. Right there in the mirror. Look for me.” Simon glides his hands along your stomach. He squeezes gently, enough to feel the softness without hurting you. You turn your head back to face the mirror, and Simon gives you a warm smile through the mirror. You look at your body, analyzing every inch. The stretch marks you once saw as something that should be disgusted over, you now see them as a physical witness to your pregnancy. You start to think they're not so bad.

His hands circled all around your stomach. “And your belly you said? Here is where you carried our baby. You let her grow here. Your stomach is not hideous. It changed beautifully. It’s softer than before and I love it. I love feeling it. I love looking at it.” He keeps reassuring you in your ear and you can't help but to shiver. You always loved Simon's voice, but the combination of it and his honest reassurances does something else to you.

You slowly start to feel better, but your doubts still rise about how Simon feels. “But I don’t feel pretty enough for you. I’ve changed so much after this pregnancy.”

“You are always pretty enough for me. You are always beautiful. You’re perfect, mama. Your body changed because you got pregnant and that’s normal. I’m not disgusted. If anything I am in awe of you and your body’s ability.”

Simon walks around to stand in front of you now, making you look up at him by lifting your chin up with his finger. His head lowers to kiss your forehead, his lips kissing their way down to your cheek, and lastly to your neck. “Believe me when I say your body has changed in the best way possible, my love. Every inch. Every stretch mark and curve. It’s all beauty to me. You are beauty to me. Love yourself, please.”

Your eyes tear up. Not because you hate your body anymore, but now realizing just how much you should love it and how much the man you love loves it. "I love you," you whisper. Both of you look into each other's eyes, none of you denying the amount of love in each pair.

"I love you too, mama." Simon brings you into an embrace, wrapping his forearms around your upper back. His face finds the crook of your neck, his lips grazing your most sensitive spot as he speaks. "My beautiful woman. Just a few more weeks and I'll prove it to you just how beautiful you are." He softly kisses your neck, thinking about how fortunate he is to have a woman who loves him like you do.

You giggle and cross your arms playfully, “How so?” You know exactly what he means, but it wouldn't hurt to hear it out loud.

Simon chuckles before moving his head away from your neck to look down at your face. He admires every slope. He loves the way your eyelashes compliment your eyes, the way your lip color is the perfect shade to kiss, and your cheeks soft enough to hold in his hands. He does the latter, his words laced with suppressed desire as he whispers, “The same way I got you knocked up.”

You think: How did I get so lucky?

(brb gonna go cry UGH i need a man to praise me like he's doing RIGHT NOW.)

~ yours truly, rani ♥︎

[chaostudee]

max verstappen

summary : you are lando norris's younger sister and when you show up to the paddock to support him a certain driver for red bull falls for you. faceclaim : anna astrup warnings : language, suggestive content a/n : obsessed with this smmm <33

y/nusername happiest of birthdays to you baby brother ❤️

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen, charlesleclerc and 1,292,671 others.

landonorris i do not appreciate you publicly humiliating me like this

y/nusername ;)

user72 thank you y/n for giving us new lando pics !!

username12 im peeing at the last photo

f1fan no because wdym lando is 27?!?!

user123 no cause real istg he was like 20 yesterday tf

username89 my shaylah oooh my shaylah

user00 im scared

f1lover shdjdhdueb

user12 if my sibling ever embarrassed me like this i would acc like sob

user12 not lando with his 'putting up the middle finger' obsession 😭

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername on my way ✈️

liked by landonorris, kikagomes, lilymunihe and 372,992 others.

landonorris can't waitttt

user72 omggg y/n better come to the gp

username55 oh i just know she will eat her fits up

f1girl omggg her and alex better meet up !!

user35 girl how tf do u look this good on a plane i could neverrr

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername monaco ily

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, kikagomes, victoriaverstappen and 482,027 others.

user72 chat....is that....who i think it is

f1fan ik that side profile

user62 girl whattt we need the tea now

victoriaverstappen so so beautiful

f1girl f1 twitter is going crazyyyy

user62 imagine soft launching THE max verstappen

f1lover frrrr im so jelly

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername guess i'm a redbull girl now

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, sergioperez and 724,729 others.

f1fan me because i can never decided which team to support

user72 crying because why is this the most relatable thing i've seen all day

user82 okay girl i see u

f1lover omggg pls tell me you're a max fan

user6 ive never wanted to be someone more

f1girl okay her and max are defo dating

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername alexa play winter things by ariana grande !

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux and 371,610 others.

user62 max in the likes.....

f1fan ugh y/n's music taste is on top

username11 so aesthetic omggg

f1girl wait guys i swear max is gone skiing this weekend holy shit maybe they're together

user00 oh girl....u are delulu as fuckkk 💀

landonorris a little bit of credit would be nice

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername hehe

》 um what hard launch?!?!

》 DUDE

》 omgggg girl what

》 makes sense

》 max gets it

》 how does lando feel about this

》 isnt y/n like 22???

》 wait cause this is lowkey kinda crazy

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

maxverstappen my sweet girl

liked by y/nusername, landonorris, checoperez and 1,728,927 others.

landonorris cant lie this is weird asf but im happy for you both 💛

user82 awwww

username8199 chat this is acc so crazy

f1girl i loveeee

user00 savannah slow down-

charlesleclerc bro got rizz

oscarpiastri 😭😭

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername guess who's backkk 🤭🏁

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, alexandrasaintmleux and 528,928 others.

landonorris not happy with this 🥲

y/nusername redbull is better

user72 yesssss y/n gets it

user92 DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN

user62 redbull queen

f1fan y/n's a real one

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername 🌸

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, maxfewtrell and 712,991 others.

user72 omds i love them both sm i cant

f1fan body is tea

username22 y/n is just living that life

f1fan4eva holy shitt is that a charli xcx reference🙈

username111 max's bicepsss ugh yes godd

f1girl omgg where did she get thar bikini im so obsessed

f1lover so so gorge omg girl teach me your ways

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

landonorris some quality time with big sis

liked by ynusername, oscarpiastri, yukitsunoda and 1,628,028 others.

user72 best sibling duo

f1fan im sry this summer break has felt like an ageeee i just want the cars back on track :,(

username55 comeback on lando.jpg 👀

user00 omggg plss

y/nusername ngl u lowkey ateee

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername

liked by landonorris, maxfewtrell, maxverstappen and 527,310 others.

user82 nortrell forever ❤️

username82 y/n is so stunning omg

f1fan where is max??

y/nusername he's with his family

user728 did they break up 👀👀

f1girl omgg pls she doesnt have to post with him 24/7 to make u believe that they didnt break up

user00 fit devoured

f1lover ugh to be max

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

maxverstappen back at it 💪

liked by victoriaverstappen, nicohulkenberg, danielriccardo and 2,726,292 others.

user773 um where tf is y/n

f1fan oh they defo broke up.....she didnt even like it

user11 okay but it is hella weird that both lando and y/n are not in the likes

anon babes i fear it is not that deep

user00 ugh not all the fangirls in the comments

username13 omdss can we pls just seperate personal life from sport plsss

user236 max dominated this week

username666 frrr i know my goat 🐐

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

y/nusername life recently 💞

*replies have been turned off*

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messages between max and lando

dude did u propose to y/n lando

shit yeah yeah i did..... max

im sry if you're pissed but i asked your dad and he was chill and like i'm in love with her and i want to spend the rest of my life with her max

im not mad max 😭😭 lando

you're not....... max

well i mean a little lando

mad that i wasn't in on the proposal lowkey lol lando

ah it was a kind of private thing max

its chill man just dont hurt her lando

never max

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★

maxverstappen i promise i will love you forever

liked by landonorris, y/nusername, charlesleclerc and 3,929,772 others.

landonorris i will kill u if u dare hurt her 😈

user72 damn username88 yesss love me a man who stands on business f1fan im sry the emoji 💀 user72 that damn smirk

y/nusername this is just the start of forever <3

user62 sobbing.

f1girl this is my royal family

username72 omggg y/n verstappen

f1fan oh im counting down the days to this wedding fr

charlesleclerc bravo !!

taglist⭑.ᐟ

@lottalove4evelyn @sweetestgirlintown111 @mxryxmfooty @hadidsworld @llando4norris @heavy-vettel @love2readd @depressedriches @nichmeddar @seonghwaexile

[itsaintmebabe]

close enough

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ chapter five !

summary: vi's subtle longing for y/n grows with each lingering moment, and when their playful teasing takes an intimate turn, a sudden interruption leaves their connection unspoken but undeniable.

pairing: hockey player! vi x sports med trainer!fem! reader

notes: im loving building up the tension sm but i promise more couply stuff soon!! comment or message me if you wanna be added to the taglish and let me know how you guys are feeling about the story!!! <3

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ chapter six / series masterlist

The next few weeks passed with a rhythm that felt suspiciously like routine. Vi found herself waiting for moments with Y/N, not always deliberately, but somehow always lingering near the sports med room longer than necessary or cracking jokes that earned her soft laughs and those quick, fluttery glances she couldn't stop thinking about.

Their conversations were easy, more comfortable now, toeing the line between casual and something more. Their teasing had developed its own language, one that made Y/N’s stomach twist in that dangerous, excited way. The touches lingered a little longer, the glances held a little too long, and neither of them seemed eager to put distance between them.

Vi had a habit of getting her hands wrapped before every practice, always had, but it was never Y/N who did it. Not because she didn’t want to, but because Vi seemed to have made it a routine with another med staffer. Still, Y/N was always nearby, sometimes organizing supplies or tending to other athletes, always exchanging words with Vi, their voices laced with unspoken undercurrents.

Today was different.

Y/N was alone in the sports med room, cross-legged on one of the padded tables, a thick book splayed open on her lap. Her highlighter danced across the page, her brow furrowed in focus, lips slightly parted in concentration. She looked peaceful, tucked away from the cold buzz of the rink outside. Unaware of the pink-haired girl standing at the doorway.

Vi leaned against the frame, her arms crossed lazily over her chest as she watched Y/N, a slow smile creeping onto her face. She liked seeing her like this, absorbed, unguarded. Something about the way Y/N moved when she thought no one was watching made something in Vi’s chest ache in the best way.

“Careful,” Vi finally called out, breaking the silence. “You're gonna burn a hole through that page with how hard you’re staring.”

Y/N startled slightly, looking up with a breathless laugh and rolling her eyes as she set the highlighter down. “Maybe if you stared at your playbook half as much, your coach wouldn’t be so stressed all the time.”

Vi chuckled, stepping into the room. “Wow. Harsh today, huh? Remind me to bring you a coffee before I ask you for anything next time.”

Y/N smirked, sliding the book shut. “You always ask for something anyway. What is it today, tape, ice, emotional support?”

Vi moved closer now, her steps unhurried. “None of the above,” she said, voice softer now. “Well… maybe a little support. Think you could wrap my hands today?”

The shift in her tone wasn’t lost on Y/N. Her teasing smile softened into something quieter, more intimate. “Of course,” she said, hopping down from the table. “Just give me a second.”

She moved around the room with practiced ease, gathering the supplies. Vi sat on the padded table where Y/N had just been perched, spreading her legs a bit to make room.

Y/N returned, stopping in front of her and taking Vi’s hands gently in her own. Her fingers were careful, focused, but Vi noticed the slight tremor in her touch, the way her thumb grazed Vi’s palm like she was afraid of holding on too tight, but didn’t want to let go either.

“Didn’t think you’d ever ask me to do this,” Y/N murmured, starting to wrap.

Vi tilted her head slightly. “Didn’t want to make you fall for me too fast. Thought I’d ease you into it.”

Y/N laughed under her breath, glancing up briefly but not meeting Vi’s eyes. “Right. That must be why you’ve been hovering around the med room like a lost puppy lately.”

“Not a puppy,” Vi shot back, grinning. “A wolf. Cool. Mysterious. Very smooth.”

“Definitely not smooth,” Y/N muttered, and Vi swore she was smiling.

The two of them were so close, the space between them charged with something unsaid. Y/N focused on her work, but her pulse was pounding at the feel of Vi’s skin under her fingers. The tension in her shoulders, the way Vi’s legs bracketed her in gently, not in a trapping way but in something that felt oddly protective.

Vi couldn’t stop watching her. The crease in her brow, the way her lashes fanned over her cheeks when she looked down, the gentleness in her every movement. She wanted to say something. Something real. But the words stuck behind her teeth.

Y/N finished the last wrap, taping it off before carefully setting Vi’s hands down. She reached to set the supplies on the table beside them, and when she turned back, she met Vi’s eyes.

They were breathtaking, so blue, so focused. But not just on her. Into her.

Vi’s gaze dropped to her lips.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

Vi shifted forward slightly, one hand starting to reach for Y/N’s waist like it was second nature. Her palm hovered there, fingers aching to pull her close. Y/N didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned in, just a bit, her eyes flicking from Vi’s lips to her eyes again.

It was all happening slowly. Carefully. Like the universe was holding its breath.

“Vi!” Claire’s voice cut through the moment like a blade, the door swinging open with a loud creak. “Coach wants to go over the new forecheck—”

She stopped mid-sentence.

Vi and Y/N snapped apart like magnets yanked apart by force. Y/N took a full step back, cheeks flushed, and turned her head toward Claire with a small, “Hey.”

Claire blinked, her eyes bouncing between the two of them before raising a single eyebrow in unmistakable suspicion. “Uh… yeah. Coach. Playbook. Now.”

Vi stood slowly, clearing her throat and casting one last look toward Y/N. She didn’t say anything, just smiled, soft and a little crooked, and started toward the door.

Y/N watched her the whole way, arms folded across her chest to hide the way her hands still trembled.

Vi paused at the doorway, turning back just as Claire was already halfway down the hall.

“Thanks, Y/N,” she said, her voice barely above a murmur, like it was meant for her alone.

Y/N smiled, small, warm, everything in her chest fluttering. “Anytime.”

And Vi left, but the ghost of her hand on Y/N’s waist lingered long after she was gone.

—

Y/N couldn’t stop replaying that moment in the sports med room. The way Vi’s hand had hovered just shy of her waist, fingers twitching like she wanted to pull her closer but didn’t. And worse, Vi’s eyes had been fixed on her mouth like it held every answer she’d ever wanted. The warmth of her breath, the low murmur of her voice, it had left Y/N’s heart fluttering like a warning bell, or maybe a promise.

That ghost of a near-kiss followed her like a shadow as the rest of her shift blurred by. She was meant to leave early today, to slip out before the women’s team wrapped up practice, but Mel had texted from the library in a panic over a looming chemistry exam. Y/N hadn’t even hesitated before agreeing to cover her. And when a player from the men's team decided he needed a last-minute ice bath, her early departure turned into a stay that dragged thirty more minutes longer than expected.

By the time she pulled on her hoodie and adjusted the strap of her heavy, overstuffed purse over her shoulder, her limbs felt tired but her thoughts still clung to Vi. She stepped out of the sports med room, locking the door behind her, exhaling slowly, only to startle slightly at the sound of a familiar voice.

"Jesus, Y/N. Is that a purse or your entire apartment in there?" Vi’s voice came from where she leaned against the wall next to the door, arms crossed, smirk cocked like a loaded weapon.

Y/N turned, unimpressed but hardly annoyed. Her lips curled, a soft smile betraying her fondness as she raised an eyebrow. “Some of us like being prepared. You wouldn’t understand, you barely carry your keys.”

Vi grinned wider, eyes drinking her in. “I don’t need keys when I’ve got charm. Works like magic, actually.”

Y/N snorted. “Is that what you tell yourself when your charm doesn’t get you through a locked door?”

Vi pushed off the wall, walking forward until she stood in front of Y/N, eyes glittering beneath the dim hallway light. "Nah. That’s when I call you. My favorite fixer."

The teasing had become their language, smooth, effortless, edged with affection. It used to be playful, even impersonal, but now there was something softer curled beneath it. Y/N felt it in the way Vi looked at her, as if she were memorizing details she didn’t want to forget.

Vi glanced down at the purse strap digging into Y/N’s shoulder. Without a word, she stepped forward, her hand brushing against Y/N’s arm as she slid the bag from her shoulder with practiced ease. Y/N blinked, a flush crawling up her neck. Vi didn’t say anything about it, just threw the strap over her own shoulder like it weighed nothing.

“Come on,” she said, turning casually like she hadn’t just made Y/N’s stomach twist in knots.

They walked side by side in silence, the air between them no longer crackling with unspoken tension but buzzing with something quieter, something hopeful. The teasing didn’t stop entirely, though. Vi would throw in a comment here or there, about the way Y/N walked too fast, or the size of her hoodie sleeves. Y/N would roll her eyes, but she found herself stepping closer anyway, drawn to Vi like gravity.

Before long, they reached Y/N’s car. Vi opened the passenger side and set her bag down carefully, then moved back to stand in front of her, just like last time. Familiar, yet… changed.

Vi didn’t say anything at first. She just watched her, her blue eyes soft in the streetlight, shadowed and thoughtful. Then she leaned in, slow, almost unsure, until their noses nearly brushed. Her voice, when it came, was a whisper.

“You always look like you’re thinking about something important when I catch you off guard.”

Y/N blinked, her breath catching. She hadn’t expected that. Not from Vi. Not tonight.

“Maybe I am,” she whispered back, her hand instinctively reaching out to steady herself on Vi’s arm. She could feel the warmth of her through the thin fabric.

Vi’s gaze dropped to her lips again. Her hand hovered again at Y/N’s waist, then rested just an inch away, like she didn’t want to cross the line unless Y/N asked her to.

The moment pulsed between them, full of possibility. Y/N’s heart thudded in her chest, unsure if she wanted to close the distance or hold it just a little longer. She could feel the shift, the way Vi wasn’t just teasing anymore. This wasn’t just a game.

“I… should go,” Y/N said finally, her voice trembling slightly.

Vi stepped back immediately, something like regret flashing behind her eyes, though her smile never faltered. “Yeah,” she said, clearing her throat. “Yeah, I get it.”

Y/N opened her car door slowly, glancing back as she got in. Vi was still watching her, like she didn’t want to look away yet.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” she said, quiet but sincere.

“Night, Vi,” Y/N replied, closing the door gently.

As she pulled out of the lot, she saw Vi still standing there in her rearview mirror. Still watching. Still waiting.

And all Y/N could think was how badly she wanted to turn around and tell her she wasn’t ready to say goodnight just yet.

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ taglist !

@daughterofthemoons-stuff @strawb4kdior @lover-girl009 @aprilshireath @brianna-merlim @jinririz @arahiraaai @yeinbae @jupitism @ii-vee @vxtanne31 @brooks-lin @re1daway @st0nerlesb0 @starletfemme

[cod-bin]

when the walls crumble down

simon riley x reader

genre: angst to fluff

a/n: reqs are open! no smut yet but im bored so pls put in one if you want 💋

The door slammed shut behind Simon, rattling the picture frames on the wall. You flinched at the sound, your heart already fragile from the weight of his words. The fight had been coming for days—bubbling under the surface like a storm just waiting to break.

And now it had.

“You don’t get it,” Simon growled, pacing the room like a man caged in his own mind. His voice was rough, raw, laced with something dangerously close to desperation. His hands trembled at his sides, clenched into fists as if trying to contain something inside himself. “You sit here, safe, while I’m out there, watchin’ mates drop left and right, wonderin’ if I’ll be next. And I come back, and it’s like—it’s like you don’t even realize what could happen!”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. “I realize, Simon,” you shot back, voice shaking. “Every time you leave, I don’t sleep. I don’t breathe right until I hear from you. You think I don’t know what could happen?”

His eyes were wild, dark with something deeper than anger—fear. “Then why do you stay?” His voice cracked on the last word. “Why do you put yourself through this?”

You stared at him, chest tight, nails digging into your palms. “Because I love you, you idiot.”

Silence.

For the first time, Simon was still. His breath came in ragged pulls, shoulders rising and falling like he’d just taken a hit. He opened his mouth, then shut it again, eyes darting away like he couldn’t bear to look at you.

“Love me,” he scoffed, voice hollow. “You love a ghost, then. ’Cause that’s all that’s left.”

Your throat tightened. “Don’t say that.”

“But it’s true, innit?” His voice was barely above a whisper now, something broken clawing its way out. “You don’t know what I’ve done. The blood on my hands. If you did, you wouldn’t—” He stopped, sucking in a sharp breath. “Shouldn’t love me.”

The air between you was thick, suffocating. You took a step forward, but he flinched—like you might burn him if you got too close.

“Simon,” you whispered, heart aching. “Look at me.”

He didn’t. His jaw was locked tight, fists still shaking at his sides. The man before you—this wasn’t Ghost, the hardened soldier, the unshakable force. This was Simon. A man so used to losing people that he’d rather push you away than watch you be another name etched into the gravestones of his past.

But you weren’t going anywhere.

Slowly, cautiously, you reached out, fingers brushing against his wrist. He tensed—but didn’t pull away.

“I know who you are,” you said, voice steady now, because if he couldn’t believe in himself, then you’d do it for him. “And I know you think you don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve me. But you do.”

His breath hitched.

“You are not just what you’ve done, Simon,” you continued, stepping closer. “You’re the man who makes me coffee even though you hate the smell. You’re the man who tugs me closer in his sleep, even when he doesn’t realize it. You’re the man who comes back to me, every time, no matter how much it hurts.”

A sharp inhale. His fingers twitched beneath yours.

“You think you’re a ghost?” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper now. “Then why can I feel you?”

Simon finally—finally—looked at you. And for the first time, the walls cracked.

His face crumpled, and before you could say another word, he broke. His body folded into yours, arms coming around you like a man gripping onto his last tether to life. His breaths were shaky, uneven, his forehead pressed to your shoulder as if he was trying to hide.

You held him, fingers threading through his hair, murmuring soft reassurances into his skin. “I’ve got you,” you whispered. “I’ve always got you.”

And in that moment, Simon Riley—Ghost, the legend, the soldier who never faltered—let himself be held. Let himself believe, just for a second, that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t lost.

That maybe he was finally home.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Leave Us in Ruins

Eddie x reader, Steve x reader

Your relationship with Eddie becoming rocky as you discuss your future and when he begins to just tolerate you, he ends up sending you right into the arms of the person he always worried about.

cw: mention of pregnancy, Eddie and reader argue, hurt/no comfort

This is very loosely based on “Tolerate it” by Taylor Swift as well as the All Too Well short film. Special thanks to @the-witty-pen-name for letting me yap and giving me feedback!

The bed dips when Eddie’s sits on the edge, maneuvering himself so that he’s under the covers with you, pulling you to his chest. You bury your nose in his wet hair, giving it a whiff because for whatever reason, your shampoo smells a lot better on him.

His arms wrap around your tightly, giving you a squeeze like he does every night. It’s part of your nightly routine and you expect it every time he crawls into bed with you. He then follows that with a kiss to your lips, telling you how much he loves you before the two of you fall asleep.

You’re whispering in the dark even though it’s late and you both have work in the morning. But this is your safe space where you can tell each other anything. Your deepest fears. Your darkest secrets. And you know that Eddie will never judge you because that’s just not who he is.

“God, I wanna marry you,” you whisper and the giggles that have been falling from Eddie’s lips quickly fizzle out into silence and he hopes you can’t hear how loudly he’s just gulped. This is the moment he’s feared for so long and now it’s here and he doesn’t know what to say.

Bile is progressively rising in his throat and his mouth is so dry that he’s sure that no amount of water will help. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous-well, maybe he does. The idea of marriage terrifies him. And it’s not that he doesn’t want to be with you forever, because he does. He just doesn’t like thinking about standing in front of all of your friends and family in an itchy suit, vowing that he’ll love you until death do you part.

He doesn’t get why it’s such a big deal, why everyone wants to get married. You’re already together, why spend all that money and time just for a last name change and a couple of rings. You’re already as happy as can be so why make this big life change when it really won’t alter anything at all?

“You do?” He asks, trying to play it cool, but the man is sweating bullets. He can’t just tell you how he feels right here, right now. He can’t break your heart before bed, that would be cruel. And Eddie isn’t cruel.

“Yeah,” you say, snuggling into his chest and he doesn’t even have to look at you to know that you’re grinning. He takes a deep breath, trying his best to get the courage to tell you the truth. Should be easy enough. It’s just like ripping off a bandaid. Except this one is going to hurt so bad, the kind that pulls off the scab, leaving the wound open.

But he doesn’t tell you the truth. He just says “Let’s go to bed,” and turns out the lamp, leaving you in complete darkness, wondering if it was something you said. You’re blaming yourself, hating yourself for bringing something like that up with no warning and now you just wish you could go back in time and take it all back. You didn’t mean it. You were just so caught up in your love for him that you just blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

But the longer you think about it, the more you realize that you didn’t actually do anything wrong. He was the one who fucked up in this situation. You told him how you felt and he just dismissed it, suggesting that you got to bed instead of acknowledging your feelings. He’s even gone as far as turning the opposite side and you didn’t even realize that he had let go of you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, the room feeling like it’s ten degrees colder and you’re freezing without his body to keep you warm. He’s slipping through your fingers and you don’t know what happened to make him behave so coldly towards you when not even ten minutes earlier, he was telling you that he loves you through fits of giggles. This is the first crack and eventually the entire thing is going to crumble into a million pieces, you can just tell.

“So you’re saying that you don’t want to marry me?” Eddie can see the tears in your eyes and it’s breaking his heart seeing you like that. You’re crying now and this isn’t one he can hug you through because this time, he’s the one that hurt you. He can’t kiss this one better and that’s what’s really fucking him up.

Something wet drops onto his shirt and it’s only then that he realizes that he’s crying too. He quickly wipes his tears then rushes to you to wipe your tears away too, but you step away, looking at him like he’s a stranger, because at this point, he is.

“It’s over, Eddie,” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn away from him. This is it. It really is the end.

You’re getting further away and he’s running as fast as he can to get to you, but you eventually disappear into thin air. Eddie drops to his knees, sobs raking through him as he’s saying your name and the words “I’m sorry" over and over until they’ve lost all meaning.

Eddie wakes up in a cold sweat and lets out a sigh as he realizes that it was just a dream, he turns over in the bed to pull you to his chest, but your side of the bed is empty and cold. He hurries out of the bed and as he gets out of the room, he realizes that you’re just in the shower and he lets out a deep breath. So you really are still here and he didn’t fuck things up nearly as bad he thought he did.

He opens the bathroom door just as you’re turning off the water and as soon as he sees you, a wide grin breaks out on Eddie’s face, but yours stays the same. It’s weird, almost like he’s not even there at all. He reaches for the towel on the counter and hands it to you and you take it without a word. So you are mad. Message received.

You wrap the towel around your body then get out of the shower before pushing past Eddie to head to your room to get dressed for work. He follows you, completely understanding what’s going on, but he wants you to tell him so he can figure out how to fix it. In your two years together, you’ve never been this upset with him. But then again, he’s never been that much of an ass before so he supposes that he deserves it.

This is the quietest you’ve been since you’ve gotten together. There’s no sweet words shared between kisses and the worst part of it all is that you won’t even look at him. You just continue to get dressed like he’s not even in the room and with the way you’re treating him, he might as well not be. It’s so bad that you’re not even letting him pick out your shirt like you do every time he sleeps over.

“Did I do something?” Stupid question. He knows exactly what he did, he just doesn’t want to admit it. Because then he’ll realize that you’re anger is justified and then he has to accept just how badly he fucked up and he doesn’t to believe that he hurt you that badly.

“What?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “No, you didn’t do anything,” you shake your head, putting on a smile and Eddie lets out a sigh of relief.

“But you took a shower without me.”

“That’s because someone turned off my alarm and now I’m running late.” You’re putting your shoes on as quickly as possible before grabbing your jacket and heading out the door to your room in a blur.

He’s hot on your heels as he follows you into the living area of your apartment, standing there expectantly as you put on your jacket and grab your keys.

“Lock up when you leave, yeah?” You ask, then slip out the door, not even kissing him before you go. You always kiss him before you leave. Oh, you’re pissed.

You take a deep breath as you exit the building, trying to calm yourself down so you’re bringing your anger into work. But seriously, not even an apology or acknowledgment that he fucked up? You don’t know who that guy is, but he’s definitely not Eddie. Eddie would have gotten onto his knees and begged for forgiveness.

This just doesn’t make any sense to you. You thought you really knew him, but you guess that the two years you were together were just a load of shit. You really thought you wanteds the same things but now you’re realizing that you really don’t know Eddie at all. Now he’s just a stranger to you now that you know that he never actually did want to marry you. He’s progressively becoming the kind of man he’s always claimed to hate and you’re not entirely sure what to do about that.

-

The living room is quiet except for the tv that’s playing a show rerun softly. You and Steve are lying on the couch. Your shirt is pushed up and his hand is rubbing your now large baby bump, looking at it so lovingly that you feel like you could melt. He’s been nothing but a sweetheart throughout your entire pregnancy. He’s just been there to help, not even asking for anything in return.

“What about Olivia?” He suggests. You’ve been suggesting baby names back and forth and this is the first one that he’s given that’s actually had potential.

“Hm,” you say. “Olivia,” you repeat. “Olivia Robin. Oh, Steve, that’s perfect!”

You wrap your arms around him and give a tight hug, pulling him as close to your body as he can despite your bump being in the way. He hugs you back instantly, burying his face into your neck, taking a chance and pressing a kiss to it. He knows it’s risky, but he just can’t take it anymore. He’s gotta show you just how he feels about you after all these years.

You pull back to look at him, your gaze shifting to his lips and he’s realizing that you want this too. Well, to kiss him, at least. Your hand rests on his cheek and you both lean in slowly until your lips meet. It’s soft and sweet and everything Steve thought it would be. He can finally go to sleep tonight knowing what your lips feel like.

He feels fireworks in the pit of his stomach and for once, it’s like everything between the two of you makes sense to him. This just feels right and he hopes that this won’t just be a one time thing.

-

The kitchen is silent besides the sounds of you and Eddie doing dishes. Tension between the two of you is high and you’re both so in your own heads, so convinced that you’re both right that you can’t even see the other’s side.

You can still see the scene in your head so perfectly. You can still feel his hand setting yours back down on the table, silently telling you that he didn’t want to hold it like he always does.

And he doesn’t even understand why it hurt you so badly, trying to play it off like it was nothing when it was everything to you. He sees it as simply just not holding your hand in the moment, but to you, the small crack in your relationship has become even bigger to the point where it’s almost shattered like you’ve been fearing for months.

He’s turned on some music to try and lighten the mood and it’s clear that he doesn’t even get it. He doesn’t know that what he’s done was wrong. And you’re not going to spell it out for him this time. He’s gotta figure this shit out on his own.

He takes the dish that you’re washing from your hand and pulls you in for a dance like he always does when you do dishes together. And even if you were upset with him, you’d still join in, not wanting to let the whole thing ruin the moment, but not tonight. You’re staying strong.

He’s trying to spin you around, but you just glare at him, the anger bubbling inside you like a pot that’s about to boil over.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

“What’s wrong? Eddie, you dropped my hand.” Your voice is small now, almost as if you can’t believe what you’re saying.

“Oh, that,” he says, waving the whole thing off like it’s nothing. He honestly doesn't even know what you’re talking about, the moment that you clearly so vividly remember that Eddie has absolutely no recollection of.

“Yeah, that.”

“I just didn’t want to hold your hand. Why are you being so dramatic?” That’s the final straw. Dramatic? Oh, if he wants dramatic, you’re going to give it to him.

You slip your hands out of his and watch his face fall then screw up into offense.

“Not so fun now is it?” You ask, raising an eyebrow as you cross your arms over your chest. “Why didn’t you want to hold my hand?”

“I don’t know, okay?” He asks, getting progressively more frustrated, just wishing that you’d drop it already. “I was just trying to have fun with my friends. Is that so wrong? I-I don’t know what the fuck you’re even talking about. You’re acting weird, y/n.”

“I’m not acting weird, you are. I mean, who the fuck even are you? Because the Eddie that I know would have held my hand the entire night and made sure to include me in his conversations, but you’re some stranger now so I guess I should lower my expectations.”

“What the fuck is going on with you? Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what? I’m upset by something that you did and now you’re trying to convince me that what I’m feeling is wrong.”

“You’re acting like a real bitch. God, it’s like I don’t even recognize you anymore. All you do now is complain about what I’m doing when you’re just setting your expectations of me too high.” The anger is building progressively and you can’t believe he’s trying to flip this on you. What have you done to Eddie except love him despite his flaws?

You only realize what you’ve done when you see Eddie press his hand against his cheek. It all happens so fast that you’re staring at each other in shock. Neither of you expected it, you least of all. You’re usually pretty good at keeping your cool, but hearing him call you a bitch filled you with a rage that you’ve only seen but never actually experienced until now.

With that, you turn on your heel, tears streaming down your cheeks, blurring your vision so that you can barely see when you run into Steve by the stairs.

You throw yourself into his arms, desperate for a shoulder to cry on. He’s been there for you your entire life, the one person who you can feel like you can go to for anything. He’s been so helpful these past few months as your relationship with Eddie has gone up in flames.

He holds you and runs his hands up and down your back the way he knows you like as he just lets you cry. He doesn’t think he should say anything right now. He already knows what happened and is sure that you just want a shoulder to cry on, no advice.

“Sorry, sorry,” you sniff as you pull away, grimacing when you see that you’ve gotten snot on his shirt.

“It’s okay,” he assures you. “Do you want to crash on my couch tonight?” All you can do is nod and he takes his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before leading you out the front door, making sure to shoot Eddie a glare who’s watching the both of you from the kitchen. Eddie flips him off then storms towards the front door and slams it as soon as the two of you are outside.

Fuck this, he thinks. You two deserve each other. Even though Steve is his friend and even introduced him to you, Eddie’s always been worried about him and you being alone together. He trusts you, but he’s always been scared that Steve’s going to make a move with him being in love with you and all. He’s always afraid that one little moment between the two of you is going to be the reason why you’ll break up with him and he knows he deserves it.

He’s been nothing but a dick, progressively pushing you away more and more as the months have gone on. He’ll get into bed long after you’re asleep and will be gone before you get up. It’s like he’s purposefully ignoring you and he can’t figure out why. It’s like he knows this isn’t working and he wants to ignore the inevitable as long as he can. He can’t lose you. He just can’t. But seeing you leave with Steve, his jacket draped over your shoulders, it makes him realize that he’s pushing you into someone else’s arms and he’s going to beat himself up about this for the rest of his life.

-

You’re asleep when Steve pulls up to his apartment building having cried basically the whole ride there. The whole situation with Eddie clearly took a toll on you so he decides to let you rest, picking you up as gently as he can as he carries you inside the lobby.

He’s staring down at you as you sleep and hates how much he desperately wants to be the one to do this every night. But he lost his chance and then was forced to watch you fall in love with his other best friend while he had been pining for you for the majority of his life. And he loves that you’re happy but he’s still wondering what it would be like to be yours. But he doesn’t want to get between the two of you so he just sits on the sidelines and watches the two of you fall even more madly in love with each other as the days go on.

And he feels so selfish for feeling that way but he can’t help it. He’s been in love with you his entire life and has watched you date all of those other people, not even considering him to be an option. And it breaks his heart even more every time. Why isn’t he good enough for you? What has he done to make you not see him in a romantic sense?

He shakes the thought and gets to his apartment, struggling to get the door open but when he finally gets it, he carries you straight to his room, trying so hard not to wake you up. He lays you down onto the bed and takes off your shoes before putting the blanket over you and turning off his lamp.

Once he’s sure that you’re settled, he heads back out to the living room and grabs a blanket before lying on the couch, his bed for the night. He then turns on the tv to have some background noise, tossing and turning the entire night like he always does. Steve doesn’t think that he’s ever had a good night’s sleep in his life so why does he think tonight will be any different?

-

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee that wafts into the bedroom that you immediately recognize as Steve’s. Of course he would insist that you take the bed while he sleeps on the couch. That’s just the kind of guy he is.

You get up and realize that you’re still in your dress from the night before. You must have passed out before you could borrow some of Steve’s clothes. You pull back the blanket and head into the kitchen where Steve is at the table eating a bowl of the cereal you remember the two of you eating as kids.

You sit down across from him and take a deep breath, preparing to tell him what you had been mulling over for weeks, months even. It had to come to this eventually right? These past few months have been so rough and as much as you don’t want things to end, you know they have to. They can’t keep going on this way. It’s not good for you and it’s certainly not good for Eddie.

It was a long time coming, you think, as Steve pours you a cup of coffee, fixing it with just the right amount of cream and sugar. He knows you so well and it hurts so much that you thought Eddie did too. You really thought he wanted to build a life with you. But now all of the fantasies of the two of you at the altar and rocking cradles are all being packed up into boxes along with the Eddie you thought you knew.

You don’t even know who he is anymore. Now all he seems to care about is getting promoted at the record store where he works and doing gigs with his band. He’s not making time for you anymore, not even leaving space for you in his bed when you come over, lying directly in the middle. It’s almost like he’s purposely trying to cut you out of his life and it hurts even more knowing that you were the one who did all of that for him. You got him the job at the record store. You lined up all of those gigs for him and now it’s almost like he’s tolerating you.

“I’m breaking up with Eddie,” you tell Steve, almost too quickly, but you’re just trying to rip off the bandaid. The quicker the better. But as you rip it off, the wound starts to bleed, badly, so overwhelmed with the pain and the finality of your words that you just sit there, silently pleading Steve to respond.

He’s so shocked by your words that he ends up letting the coffee overflow and spill out onto the table. You’re quick to stand up and hurry to the sink to grab some paper towels and wet them before coming back to clean up the mess because he’s clearly too stunned to do so.

“You’re what?” He asks as he sits back down, trying to wrap his head around the whole thing. He knew you were going through a rough patch, but you didn’t think it was bad enough to warrant a breakup. God, this is going to kill Eddie.

“I’m breaking up with Eddie,” you repeat as you continue to wipe up the spill, more confidence in your voice this time. You say the words so nonchalantly as if you’re telling him what you’re going to order for lunch. This is big news and it’s almost like you don’t even care.

“I thought things were getting better.”

“Well, they’re not,” you huff, maybe scrubbing the table a little too hard and now Steve is concerned that you’re going to remove the finish. “You saw the way he treated me last night, Steve. I deserve better.” It’s so jarring having his own words thrown back in his face. He’s told you that so many times with other guys, but he never expected to hear it coming from you about Eddie of all people. This is all too much to take and now he suddenly feels the need to lie down.

He doesn’t know why it seems like he’s the one who’s being broken up with. Maybe it’s because in a way, he is. When it comes down to it, he’s eventually going to have to pick a side. And as much as he loves Eddie, you were there first. God, he feels like a child whose parents just told him that they’re getting divorced.

He’s already going over in his head about what he’s going to say to him, how he’s going to be there for you, how mad Eddie’s going to be. He doesn’t care about that, though. Steve was your friend first and the two of you are a package deal. Eddie knew that going into this.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. This fucking sucks. I-I really thought you were going to be together forever.”

“Me too,” you reply, feeling tears prick your eyes. Steve turns you to face him and wipes your tears with the pads of his thumbs before standing to pull you into his arms, rubbing your back sympathetically as he lets you cry into his chest. For the first time in years, it’s going to be the two of you and even though he should be happy, he just can’t be knowing that you’re so broken up about the whole thing.

-

Three minutes. Three minutes until you get your life altering results. You stand at the bathroom counter, breathing in and out deeply as you look at the little test in front of you. You stare at it, hoping that the results will show up sooner but you still have over two minutes left.

The anticipation is killing you and you’re not sure how you’re going to cope if it’s not what you want. You’ve always wanted kids; being a mother is something you’ve wanted to be your entire life and knowing that that tiny stick is holding your future is starting to make you sick.

The floor in the hallway creaks and you turn to your left and see Steve leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest as he gives you a wide smile. He then enters the bathroom and pulls your back to his chest, wrapping his arms around you as he rests his chin on your shoulder. He reaches towards the counter to turn the timer against the wall before lifting his head to smile at your reflection. It’s all teeth and it reminds you of his old school pictures, always smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt.

“You’re gonna be a mom,” he says, his tone nothing but loving.

“You don’t know that,” you roll your eyes. “It could be negative.” Steve laughs at that. You’ve been like this all morning, waiting for him to get home from work so he could be there when you took the test. There was no way he was missing this.

“I’m sorry, I’m just excited.” He has been looking forward to this probably more than you have. He’s wanted kids just as much as you have and now he’s going to have a chance to raise one with the woman he’s loved since he was six years old. He’s dreamed about this for years and can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

“Well of course you are,” you turn around to glare at him. “You’re not the one who has to carry the thing for nine months.” You didn’t even think about getting pregnant this soon. You wanted to be settled down first, married, even. But one missed period later even after being so careful, your life is about to change one way or another. Even though you can’t even imagine having a baby right now, you keep thinking about how heartbroken you’ll be if it’s negative.

“No, but I can get one of those fake stomachs if that will make you feel any better.” Steve has been there with you through everything. As soon as you told him that you missed a period, he ran to the store and got you the best pregnancy test on the market, according to an employee he asked. And then he went to work at the bar before you could take it so here you are at five in the morning, not-so-patiently waiting for the results.

“I’m sorry, you’re being sweet. I’m just nervous. There’s so much riding on this and-” the timer goes off and it’s like everything is in slow motion. You turn to the text and cover your eyes before holding it out to Steve who has to put his glasses on to even see it. The gasp he lets out makes everything so obvious and you have to turn the test around to confirm that he’s not just fucking with you. But sure enough, there it is, the faint pink plus sign. The one you wanted so badly to see.

“Congratulations, mama!” Steve says as he picks you up and spins you around, giggles pouring from both of your mouths. This is it. You’re getting exactly what you wanted and you get to do it with your best friend. The only person you can imagine spending this next chapter of your life with. For the first time in years, you’re finally starting to feel like yourself and nothing, absolutely nothing can change that.

[zaynessbeloved]

It was always you (and us)

⟢ summary: You were always a trio—Caleb, Zayne, and you. Bound by childhood, laughter, and a quiet promise that none of you would ever be left behind. But things change. And somewhere between late-night study sessions and growing up, you start to realize your heart is pulling in a different direction. The three of you were supposed to stay the same. But you’re not kids anymore. And some feelings don’t stay quiet forever.

⟢ pairings: Zayne x reader, Caleb x reader

⟢ word count: 8k

⟢ a/n: Content warnings: Explicit sexual content, emotional angst, pining, past abandonment/separation, oral sex, praise kink/soft dom energy, mutual consent/ongoing verbal checks, unprotected sex (condom mentioned, reader is on birth control), loss of virginity/first time sex, emotional vulnerability/confession of love

Chapter 3

The knock at the door is firm, deliberate. Almost impatient.

I hesitate. It’s late. Too late for someone to be knocking like that unless it’s an emergency. My stomach twists as I cross the room, gripping the doorknob before I finally pull it open. And there he is. Zayne.

Standing in my doorway like a ghost from the past, like something I tried to forget but never truly could. The dim glow of the porch light catches on his sharp features, the familiar storm in his eyes—gray, unreadable, but undeniably intense. He’s changed. Taller. Broader. But still him.

I blink, barely processing it before the words spill out. “How do you even know where I live?”

He exhales through his nose, the corner of his lip twitching up like he expected the question. “Your housewarming party.”

Oh. Right. His parents were there. Of course, they knew. Before I can say anything else, he holds something up. A small bouquet of flowers—the jasmines. The ones I left behind at the restaurant. 

“You forgot these,” he says simply.

I stare at him, incredulous. “You came all this way for that?”

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even shift under my gaze, but there’s something tight in his expression. Something restrained.

“Okay… thanks.” I take the flowers and step back, gripping the door. “Bye, Zayne.” 

I go to shut it, but he stops me. His foot wedges between the door and the frame, halting it before it can close him out completely. “…Please.” That one word—low, raw, defeated—makes my breath catch. “I just want to talk.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and release the door, turning on my heel as I walk back into my apartment, tossing the flowers onto the counter without a second thought. 

“Haven’t we done enough of that, Zayne?” I bite out, my voice sharper than I mean for it to be, but I don’t care. The words keep pouring, five years’ worth of pent-up emotions boiling over. “Or do you wanna catch up on the five years you weren’t here?”

I don’t wait for his response. I keep walking, shaking my head, my chest tight with every step I take away from him. But before I can put even a foot of distance between us, his hand wraps around my wrist. Firm. Unyielding. Then— he yanks me back.  My breath stutters, my body colliding against his before I can even react. And then his lips are on mine. It’s not soft. It’s not tentative. It’s fire—all-consuming, searing, desperate.

His hand tangles in my hair, pulling me deeper, like he’s trying to make up for every second, every year, every moment we lost. Like he’s been starving for this. For me. His other hand presses against my lower back, holding me in place, not letting me slip away. And I don’t fight it. I don’t want to. Because I feel it too.

The years of distance, the tension that’s always been there, unspoken but never gone. The way he kissed me then versus the way he’s kissing me now—like he’s afraid I’ll slip through his fingers again. I fist my hands in his shirt, gripping onto him as my knees nearly give out from the sheer force of it all. It’s overwhelming. It’s everything.

When we finally break apart, both of us gasping, his forehead falls against mine. His eyes stay closed, his chest heaving, breaths shallow. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t need to. Neither of us do. Because we both know. Whatever this is… whatever we just crossed into… There’s no going back. 

Your forehead stays pressed against his, the space between you nonexistent. Both of you are panting, breathless, caught in the silence stretching between you. Neither of you move. Neither of you speak.

Because there’s a war happening inside both of you. Zayne’s grip on your waist doesn’t loosen, his fingers still curled into the fabric of your shirt, as if he’s afraid that the moment he lets go, you’ll disappear. But you don’t pull away either. You kissed him back.

That realization sends a fresh wave of heat through you, your heart hammering so hard you can feel it in your throat. But another realization crashes over you like a tidal wave, sudden and unrelenting. Because now—now—it all makes sense. Not only had Caleb basically confessed to you in his own way, saying he wanted to be there for you in more than just a friends or family way… but now Zayne kissed you. And you let him. You wanted him to.

And suddenly, it hits you with terrifying clarity—it was always him. It was always Zayne you caught yourself looking at differently, the one who made something unfamiliar stir in your chest before you even had the words to define it. It was always him that ignited something different in you, ever since that day when you were just eight years old and saw him sitting alone under that tree, reading. It was always him.

Your lips part slightly, but you don’t know what to say. Do you even need to say anything? And Zayne… he notices. He notices that you aren’t running, aren’t rejecting him, and aren't pushing him away. He notices the way your fingers are still clutching onto him, gripping his shirt like an anchor, like you’re just as lost as he is.

And for the first time in five years, he finds just enough courage to break the silence. His voice is low, breathless, almost hesitant. “…Can this count as your first real kiss?” The words sink in, unraveling something deep inside you. Before you can even process them, he adds, quieter, rougher— “Not the one Caleb gave you that night?”

Your breath catches. His hands tighten against you, as if he’s bracing for impact, as if he already regrets asking but can’t stop himself. And then, just barely above a whisper—  “Or did that someone important already take that spot in the five years I’ve been gone?” 

His voice is strained. There’s something fragile about it, something raw. He’s giving you an out. A chance to tell him that he’s too late. That you’ve already given your heart to someone else. Your forehead stays pressed against his, both of you breathless, your hearts racing in sync. The silence stretches between you, thick with everything unspoken, with years of longing that neither of you dared to name—until now.

But the way he’s looking at you—like this moment is everything—makes you realize… There’s no one else. There was never anyone else. Not really. Because deep down, “it was always you.”

Zayne freezes. His breath hitches, his fingers twitching slightly where they still rest against your waist. It’s as if he wasn’t meant to hear those words at this moment. As if they escaped before you even had the chance to think them through. But you don’t back down. Not after tonight. Not after this. Not after the 13 years of knowing him, of loving him without even realizing it until now. Because this—this feeling in your chest, this heat rushing through your veins, this unshakable truth—isn’t something you can ignore anymore.

“Are you sure of what you’re saying?” His voice is quiet, careful. It’s almost like he’s scared to confirm if he heard you correctly, like he’s offering you an out, one last chance to take it back.

But then—he sees it.The look in your eyes. There is no mistaking it. Not anymore. His grip on you tightens, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as he takes a slow, shaky breath. His hazel eyes search yours, desperate, vulnerable, like he’s standing at the edge of something he’s feared for so long.

“Because if you are, I need you to know this.” He exhales sharply, voice trembling with the weight of the words he’s about to say. “I have loved you from the very first moment I laid eyes on you.” 

Your breath stutters, but he doesn’t stop. “I haven’t felt like I could breathe for the past five years. Five years of pure torture of not seeing your face, not hearing your laugh.” His voice cracks, but he pushes through. “There has never been another one for me. And there never will be.”

A pause—just long enough for you to see the raw, unfiltered emotion in his expression. Then, finally— “I—” He stumbles over the word, like it’s been lodged in his throat for years, fighting to get out. His hands shake slightly against you, but his eyes never leave yours. “I love you.”

And there it is. A confession that has been years in the making, the one truth that has lived between you both for so long but was never spoken aloud. Zayne’s words hang in the air between you, heavy, irreversible.

I love you.

Your chest tightens. Not because of the weight of his confession—but because suddenly, you see it. You see everything. All the years, all the moments, all the ways Zayne had been holding back—the way he let Caleb take the spot, how he always seemed to step aside without a fight. Because in his mind… Caleb was the right one for you. 

Zayne saw it. The way Caleb always looked at you. The way his fingers always brushed against yours a second longer than necessary. The way he protected you before you even realized you needed protecting. Even when you were kids, when none of you truly understood, Zayne saw it.

And so, he did what he always did—what he was used to doing. He stepped back. Because before he came into the picture, before you captivated his 11-year-old self with your little smile and big, curious eyes, it was always you and Caleb.

Caleb was there first. Caleb was your first friend. Caleb was your first everything. And Zayne… he was the outsider.  No matter how much he wanted you—no matter how much you became the only person who had ever made his world feel warm—he had convinced himself, even back then, that when the time came… You would pick Caleb over him. You always would.

And looking at him now, truly looking at him, you realize—he never once thought he stood a chance. His whole life, Zayne believed he was the one meant to lose. But the thing is…He was wrong. Because while Caleb was always there, while Caleb made you feel safe and loved in ways you thought were irreplaceable, there was something else.

There was always something else when it came to Zayne. Something different. Something more. Your heart is hammering in your chest, the realization hitting you like a lightning strike, like something that had been waiting to break free. And suddenly, you need him to know.

You step closer, your hands reaching up to frame his face, your fingertips grazing along his jaw, and his breath stutters. His wide hazel eyes, always so unreadable, crack open, vulnerable, as if he’s terrified you’re about to prove his worst fear right. As if he’s waiting for you to break him.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, feeling the years of emotions pressing against your ribcage, threatening to spill over. Then— “I was never going to pick Caleb.” Zayne stiffens. His lips part slightly, as if he wants to say something, but no words come out. His grip on you tightens just the slightest bit, like he doesn’t believe what he just heard.

“You were never second, Zayne,” you whisper, your voice trembling, but not with doubt—with certainty. “It was always you.” His breath leaves him in a quiet, broken sound—one he doesn’t even try to hide. And just like that, everything between you shatters. The space, the silence, the years of believing this moment would never come— Because now he knows.

Now, there’s no room left for doubt. And in the next breath, his lips crash onto yours again, his hands burying into your hair, his body pressing against yours as if he’s making up for all the time he lost. Because for the first time in his life… Zayne isn’t stepping back. He’s finally stepping forward. 

The tension crackles between you like a live wire, the air thick with unspoken words and the weight of everything you’ve yet to acknowledge. Zayne’s eyes, dark and stormy, bore into yours, a silent question lingering between you. Then, without breaking eye contact, he takes a deliberate step forward, guiding you backward. Your breath hitches when the small of your back meets the kitchen counter, the cool marble pressing against you even as heat surges through your veins.

For a moment, he hesitates. His hands flex at his sides, as if battling an internal war, before a silent decision flickers across his face. Then, with careful precision, he grabs your waist and lifts you onto the counter, your breath catching as your legs instinctively part to accommodate him.

And then—he’s there, between your legs, his fingers pressing into your thighs, thumbs stroking over your skin in a way that sends shivers rippling through you. You exhale shakily, fingers threading through the dark strands of his hair as his lips find yours once more. This kiss is different—deeper, more desperate. A collision of longing and uncertainty, of years of friendship melting into something raw and unknown.

His hands tighten around your thighs as you wrap your legs around his waist, drawing him closer—so close that there’s barely any space left between you. His breath hitches against your lips, and you feel it, the slight falter in his movements, the unspoken inexperience that mirrors your own.

Zayne has always been composed, unreadable, but now? Now, you can feel the subtle tremor in his touch, the way he lingers just a second too long, as if gauging your reaction. He isn’t as practiced as you might have thought. Neither of you are.

And maybe that’s what makes this all the more intoxicating. The realization that you are both treading into uncharted territory, discovering, exploring—together.

Your hands drift to his shoulders, nails lightly digging in as the heat between you grows unbearable. His lips ghost along your jaw, down the column of your throat, and you tilt your head back, giving him silent permission. There is nothing else in this moment—no past, no future. Just him. Just this. 

The touch of his slender, cold fingers on your bare thighs sends a jolt of electricity up your spine, a sharp contrast to the heat pooling low in your stomach. His hands, steady but hesitant, press against your skin, anchoring you in place as the space between you vanishes entirely.

The soft, heated press of his mouth against your throat has your breath catching, your pulse hammering so wildly you wonder if he can feel it beneath his lips. And then—his lips part slightly, the damp heat of his mouth pressing against your skin as he sucks lightly, not enough to mark, but enough to send a shiver rolling through you. Zayne exhales against your neck, a low, shaky breath that betrays just how lost in this moment he is too.

“You’re shaking,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice low and rough, the words vibrating against your throat. The sound of his voice like this—so close, so raw—makes something inside you unravel. You shiver, not from the cold, but from the sheer intensity of it all. He notices. Of course he does.

His hands tighten slightly on your thighs, his thumbs stroking slow, deliberate circles into your skin. But he doesn’t move them higher—not yet. Maybe he’s waiting. Maybe he’s testing his own restraint. Maybe, like you, he’s caught somewhere between curiosity and desire, balancing on the edge of something neither of you fully understand yet.

His lips continue their descent, each kiss burning hotter than the last, and your head spins—whether from the intensity of it all or the sheer realization that this is Zayne, your Zayne, pressing you into the counter like you’re the only thing that matters. And right now, in this moment, it feels like you are.

Your fingers tighten around him, your grip desperate as his kisses strip away every last ounce of hesitation you once had. There’s no room for uncertainty anymore, no space for second thoughts—just heat, just need.

Your body shifts instinctively, tilting forward as your lips find his again. You don’t even realize what you’re doing until you hear it—his breath hitching, his hands faltering for just a fraction of a second. And then, you do what he did to you.

Your lips trail downward, pressing slow, searing kisses along his jaw, down the column of his throat. You don’t stop—not when you feel the way his body stiffens beneath your touch, not when you hear the breathless groan that slips past his lips, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder like you’ve knocked the air from his lungs.

The reaction only fuels the fire burning inside you. Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, needing him closer, and that’s when you feel it. All of it. The proof that he wants this just as badly as you do— if not more.  A rush of heat floods through you at the realization, at the knowledge that Zayne, who has always been so unreadable, so careful, is completely undone because of you.

Before you can think—before you can even process—a small, breathless moan slips from your lips, muffled against the skin of his neck. Zayne stills. His hands flex against your thighs, gripping tighter, his breath coming in short, shallow pants as if he’s barely holding himself together. You don’t even have time to feel embarrassed before his voice, rough and low, cuts through the thick air between you. 

“Where’s your room?” Your breath stutters. Your thoughts are a tangled, hazy mess, but somehow, the answer falls from your lips.

“Down the hall,” you murmur, barely recognizing your own voice. “To the right.”

And that’s all he needs. His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly as he carries you through the dimly lit hallway. The heat between you doesn’t waver, doesn’t lessen—if anything, it only intensifies.

By the time he pushes your bedroom door open and steps inside, the air is thick, charged with years of pent-up energy, tension that neither of you ever allowed yourselves to acknowledge until now. 

The second the door clicks shut, it’s chaos. Lips crash together, hands tangle in hair, bodies press together with a desperation that borders on something dangerous. This isn’t just lust—this is anger, this is frustration, this is thirteen fucking years of waiting, of suppressing, of denying. Zayne isn’t careful anymore. You aren’t hesitant anymore. 

Your hands claw at his shirt, fingers desperate as you yank at the fabric, trying to get it off but failing in your impatience. He groans against your lips, his own hands just as frantic, pushing at the straps of your dress, his fingers gripping the soft material like he’s barely holding himself together. Your lips break apart only for a second, both of you panting, chests rising and falling erratically.

Then—his voice, low and strained, slips between the space between you. “Are you sure?”

You don’t even hesitate. You nod, heart hammering, body burning. But that’s not enough for him. He needs more. His hands still, his forehead resting against yours as he exhales a shaky breath. “Do you want to stop?”

Your answer comes before you can even think. “Fuck no. Do you?” The curse falls so naturally from your lips that you barely register it—until he chuckles, a breathless, almost wrecked sound, his lips brushing against yours as he grins.

“You’ve been cursing a lot today,” he murmurs, voice dripping with something almost teasing. You open your mouth, ready to snap back, but then— He cuts you off. “No, I don’t,” he breathes. 

And then he pushes you onto the bed. The breath rushes out of your lungs as your back hits the mattress, and before you can fully process it, he’s climbing over you, his body pressing down against yours, caging you in beneath him. His lips find yours again, and this time, it’s hungrier. Needier. The kind of kiss that drowns you, consumes you.

And then—his leg shifts. He presses his knee between your thighs, the sudden pressure sending a sharp bolt of pleasure straight through you. A whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, your back arching slightly at the sensation. Zayne stills. And then—he smirks. It’s dark. Breathless. Almost dangerous.

“Again,” he murmurs against your lips. Your breath catches, heat spreading through you like wildfire. And as his lips trail back down your throat, his hands gripping your waist, you know— You want him even closer. You want all of him. You don’t want this to stop. So you move.

Your back arches again, pressing into him, your hips rolling ever so slightly against his thigh, seeking more—more friction, more contact, more him. Zayne inhales sharply against your neck, his fingers digging into your waist, as if the realization of what you’re doing just hit him all at once. But he doesn’t stop you. He doesn’t dare stop you.

Your dress has ridden up now, bunched around your hips, leaving you bare against him. The friction—the press of your panties against the rough fabric of his pants—is intoxicating, a rush of heat that leaves you breathless.  Your body moves on instinct, slow and deliberate, as you chase the sensation, each drag of fabric sending shivers racing up your spine. 

And Zayne—God, Zayne—he’s barely holding on. His breathing is uneven, his hands twitching at your waist as if he’s torn between gripping you tighter or letting you keep moving on your own. His forehead drops to your shoulder, his lips parting against your skin as a quiet, almost strangled groan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked.  

You don’t stop. You can’t stop. The feeling is too much, yet not enough, and with every slow, aching grind of your hips, you swear you can feel him tensing on top of you, his control unraveling thread by thread. 

And then—his lips find your ear, his voice strained, heavy with something dark and dangerous. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

Oh, but you do. And you roll your hips again, a little harder this time. The room is hot, filled with nothing but the sound of your breathless gasps and the desperate, hungry way your hips move against his thigh. The years of tension, of waiting, of denying, all spill over into this moment—messy, unrestrained, needy.

Zayne's hands roam over you, gripping, touching, feeling every part of you he can get his hands on. And then, with one sharp tug, he pulls your dress over your head, tossing it somewhere neither of you care about right now. His breath stalls. For the first time since this started, he pauses.

You watch as his chest rises and falls, his throat bobbing as he exhales deeply, dragging a hand through his already messy hair, his dark eyes raking over you in a way that makes your skin burn under his gaze. His hands return, slow this time, as he drags them along the curves of your body—fingertips featherlight, reverent, like he’s memorizing you, like he can’t believe you’re real.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a…” He swallows hard, his voice dropping to something low and rough. “A long, long time.” 

The way he looks at you, like you’re something divine, something unbelievable, sends heat flooding through you, makes your head spin with the weight of this—of him. But you don’t let him linger in awe for too long. With a smirk tugging at your lips, you grab the loose tie hanging around his neck, twisting it around your fingers before tugging him down toward you.

“Well?” you breathe, your voice teasing, taunting. “Go on, Doctor. You wouldn’t want to keep me waiting any longer, would you?” 

A sharp inhale. His entire body tenses, and for a second, you think he’s going to snap. Then— His lips crash onto yours. It’s hungry, desperate, possessive—as if those words alone shattered whatever restraint he had left. His hands are everywhere—on your waist, your hips, tracing the delicate lines of your lingerie like he’s barely holding himself together. 

Your own hands find the buttons of his shirt, fingers fumbling as you push it off his shoulders, eager to finally see him. And when the fabric slides away, revealing bare skin, toned muscle, the faint scars and sharp lines of a body that has grown and changed over the years— You stare. Your fingers trail over his skin, taking him in, admiring just how insanely hot he became.

Zayne watches you, his lips curling into something smug, his voice laced with amusement as he breathes against your lips— “Like what you see?” 

Your lips curl into a smirk as your hands slowly trace the defined lines of his chest, your touch deliberate, teasing, enough to make his breath hitch.

“Oh, I definitely do,” you murmur, your voice laced with smug satisfaction as your fingers dance lower, skimming just above his waistband. “You got way hotter over the years, Zayne. Who knew you had this under all those damn coats?” 

His entire body tenses above you. For a fraction of a second, you see it—the flicker of genuine flustered surprise flash across his face. His lips part slightly, his pupils blown wide, and he looks like he might short-circuit from your words alone.

But it’s gone in an instant. His lips crash against yours again, swallowing the smugness right out of you as he presses fully into you this time. And oh, fuck—he’s grinding against you now, his hips rolling into yours with a slow, unrelenting pressure that makes your head spin. The friction, the warmth, the hardness of him against you—it’s intoxicating, overwhelming, making your body react on instinct alone. 

Your nails sink into the skin of his back, dragging down the ridges of muscle, and the sound he lets out—deep, low, almost purring—sends a fresh wave of arousal straight through you. It’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever heard.

Your hands drift lower, fingertips tracing down his toned back, until you reach the waistband of his pants. Your patience is long gone, your body aching with the need for more, and you don’t even hesitate as you tug at the fabric, your voice breathless, demanding— “Off.”  

Zayne chuckles into the kiss, his lips curling against yours as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes dark with amusement, desire, hunger.

“Yes, madam,” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice only making you want to wipe that smugness off his face.

His hands move to his belt, unbuckling it with ease. But as he pulls it free from the loops, the leather snaps against your thigh, the light sting making you gasp—a sharp, needy little whimper slipping from your lips before you can stop it. 

Zayne freezes. Then—he groans, low and wrecked, his fingers clenching around the belt as his jaw tics. “…Shit.”

You barely have time to process that reaction before he’s on you again, his lips devouring yours like he’s losing his mind over you. Zayne exhales sharply through his nose, his control slipping with every second. But the moment that little whimper escapes your lips, his restraint shatters entirely.

He feels it—all of it. The way your body reacts to him, the way you tremble beneath his touch, the way that tiny, innocent sound just made him ache with how badly he needs you. A strained groan rumbles in his chest as he shoves his pants down, not bothering to be careful, underwear and all. And that’s when you see it.  Holy fucking shit. 

Your brain stalls. Your jaw goes slack. Your mouth literally waters. Because of course—of course Zayne would be that big, because the universe is cruel and has been hiding this absolute weapon of a man under layers of clothes and an unreadable, quiet demeanor. 

You don’t even hesitate. Your hands fly up, grabbing his face, and you yank him back down into a desperate, almost feral kiss. He groans against your lips, caught off guard by your sudden enthusiasm, but he doesn’t dare complain.

His hands start roaming again, sliding down your sides, over the delicate lace of your lingerie, tracing the curve of your waist as he drinks in every reaction you give him. And then, one hand moves beneath you, fingers skillfully finding the clasp of your bra.

With a single flick, he undoes it. Your breath catches—because what the fuck. For the briefest moment, a twinge of jealousy creeps into your chest, an irrational, burning thought that maybe, maybe he’s done this before, that maybe you’re not the first person he’s—

But then, like he can read your mind, Zayne pulls back just slightly, his dark, heavy-lidded eyes meeting yours as he deadpans—  “I’m a surgeon. I have to be good with my hands.”

Your mouth opens. Closes. And then— A breathless, almost giddy laugh escapes you, because fuck, that was smooth. But whatever comeback you had dies on your lips the moment he kisses you again—this time with pure, ravenous intent, his hands sliding up your bare skin like he’s starving for you.

A sharp breath escapes your lips, your body burning under his touch, your skin hypersensitive to the contrast between the cool air and the heat radiating from his palms.

Zayne is everywhere—his hands kneading your breasts, fingers teasing your hardened nipples with slow, calculated movements, his breath warm as he trails wet, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, your collarbone, your stomach. Your head tilts back, a needy sound slipping from your lips as your hips lift on instinct, begging for some kind of friction, some kind of relief.

Zayne stills. You feel him exhale against your stomach, feel the way his hands pause just for a fraction of a second before he presses a lingering kiss to your skin.  

“Impatient,” he murmurs against you, amusement lacing his voice, but there’s no mistaking the rough, wrecked edge to it—the proof that he’s barely holding himself together either.

Then, his hands move again, sliding down your body, fingertips tracing the sensitive skin of your thighs, caressing, teasing, before finally stopping just below your knee. And then—he grips your leg, lifting it, spreading you open for him with ease. You swear you stop breathing.

His eyes darken as he takes in the sight before him, a quiet groan rumbling in his throat like he loves seeing you like this. And then, ever so slowly, his lips trail even lower—hot, wet kisses branding every inch of you, driving you absolutely insane as he takes his time exploring you. 

Zayne doesn’t hesitate. One moment, his fingers are teasing along the edge of your underwear, and the next—he yanks them down, the fabric sliding down your legs with a swift, desperate movement. His breath catches the second he sees you, his pupils blowing impossibly wide, his expression shifting into something starved, something dangerous. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice barely more than a growl, his fingers gripping your thighs like he’s trying to ground himself. “Look at you…”  

Before you can even form a response, he dives in. The first stroke of his tongue has your back arching, a strangled, broken moan ripping from your throat as pleasure crashes through you. He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t ease you into it—he’s ravenous, desperate, like he needs this just as much as he needs air. And fuck, he’s good. 

He moves like a man possessed, tongue flicking and curling in ways that make your vision blur, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you exactly where he wants you. His name tumbles from your lips in breathless, high-pitched moans, your fingers threading into his hair, pulling, needing.

Zayne groans against you at the rough tug, the vibration of it sending another wave of pleasure through your body. His grip tightens, his tongue working you over with an intensity that borders on overwhelming. You’re so close, teetering on the edge of pure bliss, but then— Your dazed, pleasure-filled gaze drifts downward, and— Your breath catches. 

Zayne isn’t just enjoying this. He’s fucking losing himself in it. Because he’s touching himself. One hand gripping his own cock, slowly stroking himself to the sound of your moans, to the taste of you on his tongue. Something inside you snaps. A sharp, needy whimper spills from your lips, your hips rolling against his mouth as desperation floods through you.

“Z-Zayne—” you gasp, breathless, frantic, your nails digging into his scalp as you tug him up, your body demanding more. “I need you—now.”

He groans, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, his lips shining, his jaw slack, his expression wrecked with desire. The next thing you know, his mouth crashes against yours, hot and messy, and you can taste yourself on his tongue as he growls— “Fuck, I want you.”

Zayne is gone, lost in the heat of you, in the way you’re begging for him, in the way your body trembles under his touch.But even now— even now— he won’t let himself lose control completely. Because this is you. And the last thing he ever wants is to hurt you.

So instead of giving in immediately, he slows himself down— just enough. His lips trail along your jaw, down your throat, his free hand gripping your thigh as the other moves between your legs. His fingers trace over your clit, teasing, stroking, coaxing you with slow, deliberate movements. And then, finally, one finger pushes in—just enough to make you gasp, your body tightening at the new sensation.

“Relax, you can take it.” he murmurs against your skin, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, his voice dark, rough, wrecked. 

His fingers work you open with skill and patience, scissoring inside you, stretching you, preparing you for what’s to come. And by the time he adds a second, your body is on fire, pleasure pulsing through you in waves, your breath coming in sharp, needy gasps. It’s not enough. It’s not fucking enough. 

You grab at him, tugging him closer, legs wrapping around his waist as you whimper against his lips— “Zayne, please.”

His entire body shudders. He almost gives in right then and there, almost loses himself completely— but then— He pauses. His tip brushes against your entrance, teasing you, making you whimper as you try to pull him in, but instead of pushing forward, he stills—his breath coming in hard and fast.

“Oh, fuck—” his voice is strained, suddenly sharp with realization. “I—I don’t have a condom.”

For a split second, the haze clears, and you both just stare at each other, panting, wrecked, the weight of that hitting him all at once.

But then, without missing a beat, you grip his jaw, pulling him back down to you, and whisper— “Zayne, I’m on the pill.”

His pupils blow wide. For a moment, he just stares at you, like he just heard a damn choir of angels. His fingers flex against your thigh, his throat bobbing as his jaw clenches. And then— He kisses you, deep, desperate, grateful, as he finally pushes in. Slow, careful, letting you feel all of him, inch by inch, his forehead pressing against yours as he groans—

“Fucking hell—” And nothing—nothing—has ever felt like this. 

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as he pushes in, the stretch overwhelming, a delicious pressure that has your eyes rolling back, your mouth parting in a silent moan. He’s big—you knew that the second you laid eyes on him—but feeling him is something else entirely.

Your walls flutter around him as your body struggles to accommodate him, adjusting inch by inch, every nerve igniting in fiery pleasure. Your breath comes in short, desperate pants, your nails digging into his shoulders as you take a moment to breathe.

Zayne is wrecked. His forehead is pressed against yours, his arms trembling as he holds himself up, his jaw tight, his breath ragged. His fingers twitch against your hips like he’s barely hanging on, like he’s using every ounce of restraint in his body not to move—because fuck, he wants to. Badly. His first time, this sensation—nothing, nothing could have ever prepared him for this.

A sharp, guttural groan rumbles in his chest, his body tensing as he struggles to keep himself from completely losing it before he even starts.

“Holy—fuck,” he rasps, his voice raw, broken, his lips hovering over yours as he squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re—shit—I almost—” 

You don’t let him finish. Because despite the stretch, despite the initial pressure—you need him. Your hands slide up his back, fingers tangling into his hair, your lips brushing against his as you murmur, breathless, aching— “Move, Zayne.” 

His breath stutters, his hands gripping your thighs tight. And then—he does. Slow at first, a careful roll of his hips as he pulls back slightly before pushing in again, groaning at the way you clamp down around him like you never want him to leave.

He’s shaking, his self-control hanging by a thread— but the second he hears you moan, the second he feels your hips pushing up to meet his, silently begging for more— Something inside him snaps. 

The moment you start urging him on—your sweet, breathless moans filling the air, your fingers tugging at his hair, your nails clawing at his back—Zayne loses it. His slow, careful thrusts become faster, deeper, the hesitancy melting away as instinct takes over.

Neither of you know exactly what you’re doing—how could you?—but it doesn’t matter. Your bodies find the rhythm naturally, moving together, chasing the pleasure neither of you have ever experienced before. It’s raw. It’s desperate. It’s everything.

Your legs tighten around his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, needing him to give you more. The sound of your moans, the way your body arches into his with every thrust—it’s driving him to the edge, making it so fucking hard to hold on. 

"Fuck," he groans, voice wrecked, his forehead pressing against yours as he tries—tries—to keep his composure, but you’re making it impossible. Then—he shifts.

The angle changes, his hips rolling just right—And suddenly, a blinding, white-hot pleasure erupts inside you. Your body seizes, your breath stutters, and a sharp cry rips from your throat as pure bliss crashes over you before you can even process what’s happening.

Zayne’s movements stutter, his grip tightening on you as he feels you clench around him, your release pulling him in, sending him spiraling.

“Holy shit, darling—” His voice is strained, broken, like he can barely handle it, barely process what just happened—but fuck, if it isn’t the hottest thing he’s ever felt in his life.

His thrusts become erratic, desperate, chasing his own release, because after feeling that, after watching you fall apart beneath him, he can’t last much longer.

Your mind is blank. No thoughts, no words—just pure, unfiltered pleasure crashing through your body, wave after wave of it rendering you completely, utterly speechless. You’re shaking, still pulsing around him, overstimulated but needing more, needing him.

And Zayne—fuck, Zayne—he’s losing it. You can feel it.

The way his thrusts turn desperate, shallow, his movements growing more erratic, his breath ragged and shaky as he chases something unfamiliar. His grip on your body tightens, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as broken groans spill from his lips, his muscles flexing under your fingertips as he fights to hold on.

But he can’t. He’s slipping.

So you urge him on—your voice soft, breathy, whispering sweet, filthy words into his ear, telling him how good he feels, how amazing this is, how much you need him to let go. 

Zayne shudders. A strangled moan rips from his throat, his hips snapping forward with a newfound intensity as his control starts to unravel completely.

Then, he falters. For the first time since this started, he hesitates, his breath stalling, his voice wrecked and strained as he pants—

“Where—” He groans, his body trembling with restraint. “Where should I—fuck—where do you want me?”

The question alone sends a rush of heat through you, your body igniting at the thought of it. Your lips part, your breath catches— And you blush.

Your heart pounds, but you don’t say a word. Instead—your legs tighten around his waist, locking him in place, a silent answer. 

Zayne stiffens. His whole body shakes, his arms nearly buckling as the realization hits him.

“Oh, fuck—” 

And then—he snaps. 

A deep, wrecked groan tears from his throat as he slams into you one last time, his body jerking as he finally lets go, spilling deep inside you as his head falls against your shoulder, his entire body shuddering from the force of it.

For a moment, neither of you move, both panting, both completely wrecked—bodies tangled, hearts pounding, skin slick with sweat.

And then, finally—Zayne lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, his expression still dazed, his breath still uneven.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

And honestly? You couldn’t have said it better yourself.

The air is thick with the remnants of pleasure, bodies still tangled together, breaths slowly evening out. Neither of you move, still lost in the aftershocks of what just happened, of what this means.

And then— The smiles start. Small at first, lingering at the corners of your lips, then growing, impossible to hold back any longer.

Zayne lets out a quiet chuckle, his forehead pressing against yours as he shakes his head slightly, his fingers brushing lazy, absentminded circles into your hip. You can feel it—everything settling over you both, the weight of years of unspoken words, misunderstandings, and wanting to finally make sense. 

Thirteen years of friendship. Five years of pushing and pulling and misunderstandings. And now, finally, you’re here—where you always should have been. Your heart swells, warmth spreading through you, and it’s only then that you realize— You never answered him. His confession. The words he’s been waiting to hear for so long.

Your fingers trace up his back, your touch soft, reverent, as your lips part—

And then, the words slip out, as easy and natural as breathing.

“I love you too, Zayne.” 

His entire body freezes. For a split second, he stops breathing. His muscles tense against you, his arms tightening just slightly, as if he’s making sure he really heard you.

Then— A shaky exhale.

His lips part, but no words come out—not at first. Instead, his hands slide up your sides, slow and deliberate, as he lets out a breathless, almost disbelieving laugh.

“You—” His voice is raw, like he can’t believe this is real. “You mean that?”  

You smile—wide, full, true—as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him flush against you, still feeling him inside you, still keeping him there, exactly where he belongs. 

His breath stutters at the closeness, at the way you hold onto him so tightly, as if he’s something precious. 

“I mean it,” you murmur, tilting your head slightly, your nose brushing against his. “I love you, Zayne.” 

And this—this is what destroys him.

His hands tremble as they cup your face, his lips crashing against yours in a kiss so deep, so consuming, that it makes your head spin all over again. Because finally, finally, he has you.

And this time, he’s never letting you go.

The warmth lingers between you, bodies still tangled, hearts still hammering in sync as you both try to catch your breath. The reality of what just happened is sinking in, but neither of you move just yet. 

Zayne shifts first, just slightly, his lips pressing one last lingering kiss against your forehead before he finally, reluctantly, pulls away. The loss of him inside you makes you whimper softly, but then—his hands are on you again, gentle this time, soothing. 

His gaze softens as he brushes the damp hair from your face, taking you in like he still can’t believe this is real. Then, with a sigh, he pushes himself up, stretching slightly before muttering, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

You hum in response, watching with heavy-lidded eyes as he disappears into the bathroom. A moment later, he’s back, a warm, damp cloth in hand as he kneels beside you, carefully parting your legs. 

His touch is so gentle now—so different from just moments ago, yet equally intimate. He moves slowly, cleaning you up with deliberate care, his fingers brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing every inch of you all over again. 

When he’s done, he tosses the cloth aside, then leans down, pressing a soft kiss against your inner thigh before pulling you into his arms and shifting under the covers.

The sheets are soft, cool against your heated skin, and the second you’re enveloped in them—in him—a warmth spreads through you that has nothing to do with lust.

Zayne exhales deeply as he pulls you close, tucking you against his chest, his arms strong and secure around you.

For a while, neither of you speak. 

You just exist like this—tangled together, skin on skin, completely bare in every possible way.

Eventually, you tilt your head up, meeting his gaze, and a lazy smile tugs at your lips.

“You know,” you murmur, running your fingers lightly along his collarbone, “we could’ve had our first kiss a long time ago.” 

Zayne huffs out a quiet laugh, shifting so that his chin rests atop your head. “Oh? And whose fault is that?”

You pretend to think, tapping your chin before grinning. “Yours.” 

He snorts. “Bullshit.”

“Not bullshit,” you insist, poking his side. “Remember that day in the treehouse? When I asked you if you ever kissed anyone?”

His chest vibrates with laughter. “You asked me that. And I clearly remember you looking disappointed when I said no.”

“I was not disappointed.”

“You literally sighed like I just failed an exam.”

You groan, burying your face in his chest as he chuckles, clearly enjoying himself. But then—his voice softens, turning almost nostalgic.

“…You never said why you asked.”  

You pause for a moment, tracing absentminded patterns against his skin, before admitting, “I don’t know. I guess I was just… wondering if you ever thought about it.”

His grip on you tightens, just slightly. “Did you?”

You hesitate—then nod. “Yeah.”

Zayne is quiet for a moment, then—

“What about that night?” His voice drops slightly, something unreadable in it. “When all three of us kissed?”

Your lips twitch at the memory. “You mean the most awkward kiss in existence?”

He groans. “God, don’t remind me.” 

You laugh, remembering how the three of you had sat there, overthinking the entire thing before ultimately deciding, screw it—you’d all kiss each other just so none of you would go to college without having kissed someone.

It was stupid, really. A quick peck, nothing more.

And yet—

“I was happy when you agreed,” you admit softly.

Zayne tilts his head slightly, gazing down at you, intrigued. “Yeah?”

You nod, voice quieter now. “It wasn’t much, but… I guess a part of me just wanted to know what it felt like to kiss you. Even if it wasn’t real at the time.”

His breath stirs your hair, his grip on you tightening slightly, before he murmurs—

“It was real for me.” 

Your heart skips a beat.

You glance up at him, lips parting slightly, but before you can say anything, he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against your forehead.

“I think I’ve always wanted to kiss you,” he admits, barely above a whisper. “I just… never let myself think about it too much.” 

A warmth spreads through your chest, your throat tightening slightly at his words.

So you don’t respond with more words. Instead, you shift up, pressing a soft, sweet kiss against his lips. No urgency. No heat. Just you and him.

And this time, finally, you both know exactly what it means. 

⟢ a/n: here is chapter 3! hehe I was so excited writing this and had so much fun, I really hope I kept to their in-game personalities as much as possible. hope you guys enjoyed it! <3

taglist: @vyntheria@ixloom819@syluslittlecrows

© zaynessbeloved 2025

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

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[bitchinbarzal]

Happy Birthday | T Meier

You never expected Timo to be the one who remembered your birthday.

It’s not that he doesn’t care—it’s just… he’s a little oblivious. Big-hearted, yes. Loyal, sweet, dependable in ways that matter. But birthdays? Not exactly in his top five love languages.

Which is why, when you unlock your apartment door after a long dinner with friends and find Timo sitting on your couch with a small cake, two forks, and a crooked smile—your brain takes a second to catch up.

“You’re home earlier than I thought,” he says, standing like he might suddenly second-guess the whole thing. “I, uh… didn’t wanna crash your plans, but I figured I could maybe still see you tonight?”

You blink at him. Then at the cake. Then back at him.

“You baked that?”

He gives you an offended look. “Okay, no. I bought it. But I picked your favorite. And I made the icing look messy on purpose, so you’d think I tried.”

You laugh, stepping inside and closing the door behind you. Your heart is doing this weird fluttery thing—somewhere between this is the nicest thing anyone’s done all day and I need to stop falling in love with him like this.

He holds up the cake. “You wanna do the candle thing?”

You bite your lip. “Only if you sing.”

He groans. “You’re cruel.”

“C’mon, Meier. Commit.”

So he sings. Badly. With a stupid grin on his face, dragging your name out like he’s drunk on the sound of it. And when he finishes and gestures dramatically, you close your eyes, make a wish, and blow out the candle.

(It’s him. Of course it is.)

The cake is rich and sweet and slightly melted from sitting out too long, but you eat it anyway, passing the forks back and forth and leaning into each other on the couch.

Somewhere between the second bite and the second beer, his fingers brush yours. You don’t pull away. Neither does he.

“You looked good tonight,” he says, suddenly too quiet.

You glance at him, heart thudding. “You mean that?”

He nods. “I always think you look good. I just… never say it out loud.”

The air shifts.

It’s no longer birthday cake and comfortable silences—it’s charged. Like the air before a summer storm.

You whisper, “Why not?”

He exhales like that question breaks something open in him.

“Because if I say it out loud, I’ll start saying everything else I feel. And I didn’t know if you were ready for that.”

You blink. “Try me.”

He leans in.

Kisses you.

Soft at first—like a question. Then deeper, like an answer. His hand cradles your cheek, thumb brushing your jaw. Your body melts into him like you were always meant to end the day right here—in his arms, breath tangled, mouths meeting in long-overdue heat.

Later—hours later—you’ll remember the way he carried you to bed like you were something precious. The way he touched you like a gift he never thought he’d get to unwrap. The way he murmured “Happy birthday, baby” against your skin, right before he made you come for the first time that night.

But for now, it’s just him. And you. And the quiet realization that your birthday wish came true.

His mouth is hot against yours—urgent but controlled, like he’s been waiting for this moment forever and doesn’t want to mess it up. His hands slide up under your shirt, fingers spreading across your back as you arch into him.

“Timo,” you whisper, breathless, and the way your voice breaks on his name makes him groan.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmurs, lips grazing your jaw.

You don’t. God, you don’t.

You shake your head. “Don’t stop.”

He kisses you again, deeper this time, and you feel him shift, gently guiding you backward toward your bedroom. He moves like he’s afraid to break you, like every step is a prayer. But the look in his eyes—dark, hungry, reverent—makes your knees go weak.

Once you’re in your room, he pauses.

“Can I take this off you?” he asks, fingers curling under the hem of your shirt.

You nod, and he helps you out of it with infuriating slowness. His hands trace the new skin like it’s sacred. And when you reach for his shirt, he lets you tug it over his head, revealing tan skin and muscle and a soft trail of hair that disappears below his waistband.

You stare for a second too long, and he grins.

“Enjoying your birthday so far?”

You laugh—then moan as his mouth closes around your neck, sucking gently until your laugh dissolves into heat. He lays you back on the bed and kisses down your body like he’s unwrapping the best gift he’s ever been given.

He takes his time with you. Worships you.

Fingers first—gentle and teasing, curling inside you until your hips lift off the bed. Then his mouth, devastatingly slow, until you’re shaking, clutching at his hair, begging with every breath.

“Timo—please—”

He comes up with a slick smile, licking his lips. “Happy birthday, baby.”

You’re so far gone you could cry.

And when he finally pushes inside you—slow, deep, unhurried—you feel everything. The years of tension, the longing, the missed moments that brought you here. He holds your hand as he moves, whispering filthy praise and soft confessions in your ear:

“You’re so perfect like this.”

“I’ve wanted you for so long.”

“Happy Birthday, baby”

[neigepomme]

HIII!!! CONGRATS ON YOUR 500 FOLLOWERS!! I have a request!! CAN YOU PLEASEEE MAKE A XAVIER X NON MC READER BUT MAKE IT A COLLEGE OR UNI AU!! In this au Xavier, Y/N and MC are like close friends but Xavier has a big fat crush on MC but MC doesn't know (She's oblivious) , and Xavier always talks about how much he likes MC to reader. But Y/N has a crush on Xavier too and she knows she can't be with Xavier because he already likes MC!!

The song inspo is 'Let you break my heart again' the quote I like most is "Until then, I'll drink my coffee, eat my pie

Pretend that we are more than friends

Then, of course, I'll let you break my heart again"! If you decide to make it then thank youu!!

✩°˖ 💫 let you break my heart again / xavier x reader

synopsis: unrequited love hurts. it hurts a lot more when you have no one to blame for it, and when xavier still cares for you, unaware of your heartache.

🍎 pomme's notes - i literally forgot how devastating this song was i cried but THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING IT!! i hope i got the unrequited love vibe well.. eating my pie and sobbing softly...

⋆ 700 words / angst / reader is gender neutral / college au (no evol!) & reader isn't MC / 2nd person

"hey, i have a question. not related to studying if you don't mind?"

your ears perked up when xavier spoke, always excited to hear what he had to say. these moments together, sat comfortably and surrounded by each other's warmth brought you joy, and maybe, just maybe, they'd eventually bring you courage to let him know how you feel.

maybe one day you'll let him know that you like him, and you hope he'll confess that he likes you too. perhaps you'll get over this awkward phase, where you're more than friends, and less than lovers.

"yeah?"

"emcee, is she.. seeing anyone? i feel like a jerk asking you while we're studying, but i can't get her out of my head."

it took an absurd amount of control for you to keep your expression from dropping. right. it wasn't like you guys were dating, and xavier just didn't see you that way. it was fine, so you just nodded, unable to properly speak.

“mmh. she's not dating anyone.”

when you spot the faint blush on his cheeks and the way his eyes widened in adoration, it's as if your heart broke a million times over. you never saw xavier blushing like that before, and you desperately wanted to find him cute, but all you could feel were the tears in your eyes, because he wasn't blushing because of you.

he blushed because of her, and you couldn't find it in you to be upset just sad and defeated. she was your friend, and she was the brightest person you had met. a brilliant sunflower amidst a field of common wildflowers, and you were just a fleeting dandelion compared to her. it made sense for him to focus his gaze on her, but was hoping that he'd look at you a foolish wish?

how you wished that xavier knew how much you liked him. 

how you wished he knew that you'd wait for his usual texts before going to bed, or how you actually didn't like to study for this class — but you did it in hopes he'd ask for your help when it came to understanding some concepts. you wished xavier knew that you had skipped several of your friends' invitations to hang out, instead choosing to listen to him practicing the piano. 

you couldn't tell him, though, not now, not ever. you loved him so much, that you'd rather keep these feelings to yourself and instead watch him pursue your best friend. 

instead, you look at your notes and bite your cheek, in a poor attempt to stop the tears from falling.

the slice of pie you ordered was growing cold next to your notes. maybe a sip of coffee would help, dull the ache in your chest.

but it tasted too bitter, and no matter how much sugar you added to it, this was the kind of bitterness you couldn't get rid of.

xavier was in front of you, gushing over your friend — completely unaware of your feelings for him. you couldn't blame him, and you couldn't resent her. she was kind, and she was your friend, and she was unaware of your crush on him or his crush on her. it was an innocent conversation, but that didn't make it hurt any less.

attempting to take a bite of your pie, you meet his gaze and force a smile. it was doughy, the filling too difficult to chew, too hard to swallow — just like the lump in your throat. he notices the tears threatening to fall from your eyes, and concerned, he asks if you're okay.

“you're tearing up. is the pie bad? i can buy you another slice if it is.”

even in your heartbreak, you couldn't help yourself from falling deeper in love with him. how sweet he was, how he treated you so kindly.

"yeah, sorry didn't mean to cry. the pie reminded me of something."

she was the sun, you were a falling star.

and xavier couldn't help being drawn to her brightness, yet wishing upon you for a chance to reach her. maybe one day, you'll be able to bring an end to your fall.

until that day comes, you'll just keep on drinking this bitter coffee, and pretending everything's fine.

until that day comes, you'll let him break your heart again.

🍎 pomme's final notes — i don't write for xavier often but he's so kind i feel like feeling unrequited love for him would hurt way more just because he still cares. sniffles...

[mymeloreo]

★ The winner takes it all, the loser has to fall.

Synopsis: After going through a break up, some move on, and some don't. The winner moves on and goes to live their dream while the loser, is still stuck in the remnants of what was once a relationship.

Characters: Isagi Yoichi, Itoshi Rin, Mikage Reo

Isagi Yoichi

Yoichi never thought heartbreak would hurt this much. Yes, he has experienced loss, the bitter sting of not being enough. Surely, nothing would hurt more than that, right? Oh boy was he wrong. Very, very, wrong.

When you broke up with him for being too focused on soccer, claiming that he is prioritizing the sport over you, he thought you were ridiculous. He would never, ever, put something else over you, would he? But your feelings and experiences say otherwise. He barely goes home, and he doesn't treat you with the same warmth as he did before. And when you point it out, he promises to "change" and shower you with love and affection for a few weeks before coming back to his cold behavior.

After being fed up, you finally broke up with him. And although he doesn't understand why, he loved you more than anything! How could you think the way you did? But as he was given time to cool off, he did realize how cold he was towards you these past few months. And there is nothing he regrets more than that.

Now, as he was taking a walk at the park a year after your separation, he suddenly recognized a familiar face. It's you, his girlfriend... no, ex-girlfriend, with another man walking by your side.

You look like you've moved on and are happy with your current relationship, therefore he didn't bother you anymore. Who is he kidding? After all, your reason for breaking up was valid. You deserve to be happy.

But what was this feeling? Anger? Jealousy? Disappointment? Regret?

Because even now, even after you clearly moved on, he couldn't. And despite trying to run away from these feelings, he knows inside that it will eat him up alive for as long as he lives. And there is nothing he could do about that.

Itoshi Rin

You were nothing but a distraction. A barrier stopping him from achieving his full potential as a soccer player. If you ask him, he didn't even know why he chose to accept your feelings and have a relationship with you in the first place. Whether it's because he felt bad or wanted to play with your feelings, it didn't matter now. Because all you can feel was betrayal as he broke your heart with his words.

"You're nothing but a pain. Your lukewarm self is doing nothing to help me grow. Now, go away."

I mean, who were you to argue any further? Despite being completely in love with him, you at least had a little self respect that allowed you to leave him and not beg to save something that is beyond repair.

He's an asshole, you think. You'd be able to move on from him quickly, get yourself together and who knows? You might even find a new "love of my life". But nothing is a bigger lie than the things mentioned above, as even after 2 years of your break up, you never seem to move on from him.

Now, looking at the TV and seeing him win the World Cup for Japan, suddenly comes a tight feeling in your chest. You still loved him, and God did it hurt.

Mikage Reo

Reo never cared for the girls who paid attention to him. They are probably after his looks or money anyways. So, somebody tell his poor soul, why did he fall in love with someone who is exactly the type of person he dislikes?

Now, you only agreed to be in a relationship with him for his money and reputation. And although he knew that, he thought that he could make you fall in love with him for real. C'mon now! He did everything. He always complimented you, and never fails to spoil you with his love and money. And you only stayed because goodness, did you love the luxurious things that comes with being in a relationship with Reo.

So it isn't surprising when you suddenly broke up with him one day and cut all contact the very moment you set your eyes on another rich, billionaire son of a CEO.

Now, what was he expecting? It was bound to happen anyways. He always tells himself he will move on with a little bit of time. And as much as he tries dismissing it, he still loves you. Painfully bad.

Now, 2 years after your break up and seeing your engagement post with the other man, he felt his chest tighten and tears starting to form in his eyes. Why is love a curse as much as it is a blessing?

Hello!! Second post, and let me know if there's any grammatical errors or such, I'd love to fix it! Also a little bit ooc because I overthink things lmao.

[shuaasumii]

“Teddy Bear”

“I would get you all the teddy bears in the world if I could”

pairing: dad!dk x mom!reader

genre: flufff, some angst

warnings: reader + dk’s toddler is quite mischievous

tags: dk is the cutest dad ever, dokyeom also down BAD for his wife and baby

summary: you and your husband finally decide that getting your daughter a teddy bear of her own would be a good idea.

a/n: tysm @issysh3ll for the adorable dividers !

After a long, exhausting day at work, you are overjoyed to be coming home to your husband and four year old, Sol. That joy is quickly washed away when you are welcomed home by sounds of distress, that you assume are coming from Sol. Concerned, you walk into the living room to find your crying daughter and a frustrated Dokyeom.

“What happened Solie?” You ask bringing her into your arms.

She looks up at you with tears still falling down her cheeks, the sight alone made your heart break, “Papa yelled at me.”

This confuses you, you know that your ball of sunshine of a husband could never do such a thing to his baby. It’s usually you in the relationship who tends to be disciplining Sol.

“That’s not true. I was telling her that what she did today at preschool was wrong,” Seokmin tries to justify himself.

“What did you do baby?” You ask sternly.

Sol was too afraid to answer your question, so your husband does for her, “she stole one of her classmate’s teddy bear.”

Shocked, you look down at your daughter, who’s too focused on playing with the buttons of your shirt to look back at you. “Baby why would you do that? You know stealing is wrong.”

“I ju-just wanted mama and papa to give me a teddy bear t-too,” she confesses in between sniffles.

This makes your heart break, you look at Dokyeom to see if he has the same reaction. You see him staring down at his baby in your lap with a look of sadness in his eyes. You and your husband never had to buy Sol toys, not because you thought she didn’t deserve them. But because she had 12 other uncles who spoiled her to bits. Though, maybe it was time to gift her toys of your own.

“Oh Solie, I would get you all the teddy bears in the world if I could,” Dokyeom leaned over to wipe the tears from her tiny face.

That night you tucked Sol into bed promising her that the next day, you would buy her as much teddy bears as her little heart desired.

The next morning, you and Seokmin woke up extra early so that you both could have enough time to get ready to go to the nearest toy store. Staying true to the promise you initiated with Sol the previous night, today you and your family of three were heading to the mall to get your daughter teddy bears of her own.

“Alright Solie, where are we going today?” Dokyeom asked, making eye contact with Sol in the rear view mirror.

“The toy store!” She giggled as she kicked her feet in excitement.

“That’s right baby, and what are we going to do there?” He said, backing out of the driveway.

“Buy a teddy!”

Tring, the little bell rang as Dokyeom pushed open the door, keeping it open so you and Sol could walk through. Such a gentleman, you thought. The store was the definition of cutesy, filled to the brim with kawaii stationary items and soft plushies. Sol immediately fell in love, she ran around like— well a kid in a toy store.

“Baby, don’t forget why we came here,” you told your daughter, who was still distracted by the amount of stuff on the shelves.

You and DK followed behind her as she found the plushie isle. There was dozens of teddy bears, one of every color in the rainbow. Despite the amount of colorful bears, Sol’s eyes fell on a simple one. It had the classic beige color and a pink bow wrapped around its neck.

She picked the the stuffed animal up, giving it a quick test hug, “I want this one daddy.”

A smile formed on your lover’s face. “Then that’s the one you’ll get,” he scooped up Sol, walking in the direction of the cash register.

You watched as your husband and daughter skipped hand in hand down the parking lot to your car. Though the skipping was quite awkward because of the obvious height difference.

Just as you both finished buckling the four year old into her car seat, she stopped you from leaving, “thank you mommy and daddy.” Sol smiled that big smile that mirrored her father’s exactly.

You felt like your heart was overfilling with love at the sight of your daughter happy. Seokmin as well stared at her with that look in his eyes that screamed she’s growing up too fast.

“You’re welcome Solie, you’re so welcome.”

[delulu4anime]

Maniac

Ch 17 ➧Spontaneous Lunch

Parings ➧ᴇɴᴇᴍʏ ᴛᴏ ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ!ꜱᴀᴛᴏʀᴜ ɢᴏᴊᴏ x ᴄʜᴜʙʙʏ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary ➧ᴀꜰᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʀʏɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴀᴠᴏɪᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇꜱ ɪᴛ ᴜɴᴀᴠᴏɪᴅᴀʙʟᴇ. ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴀɴɪᴀᴄ ɪꜰ ʜᴇ ᴛʜɪɴᴋꜱ ʏᴏᴜ'ʟʟ ᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ.

Trigger Warnings ➧ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ.

Word Count ➧1.2ᴋ+

Taglist ➧@lady-of-blossoms @dekusdante @fortunatelyfurrygiver @birbwithhat @whippedbyikemen @sleepykittyenergy @i-love-ateez @choppersworlds-blog @emochosoluvr @linaaeatsfamilies @sexys-archives @stxrlingpearl @swoozleee @lanii-i (ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴛᴀɢɢᴇᴅ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʟᴍᴋ❣︎)

Suguru drove you to a little quaint restaurant by the water with the waves calmer than they had been earlier and you felt the weather was defiantly matching your mood. The restaurant looked busy getting ready for the dinner rush as customers filtered in and out of the establishment. You had never been to this place before and you were looking forward to trying out what they had. Once you both exited the car you made your way up to the host as she smiled and said there was seating outside or the wait would be around ten minutes. You both agreed to the outdoor seating because despite it being a little chilly the awning kept you safe from the clouds above that threatened to let rain fall.

"So you and Satoru seemed to be distant now." You say as you take a sip of your iced water through your straw and he shrugged.

"He use to be my best friend. We did everything together. That is until Hina entered the picture. I'm not saying that I wasn't at fault for ruining our friendship but her being in our lives certainly didn't help." He said as he looked down at the menu the waiter had left.

"What happened?" You asked as scanning the menu.

"I got drunk at a party and she came onto me. I decided to make a move to prove to Gojo that she wasn't what she claimed to be. The perfect faithful girlfriend that everyone made her out to be. I heard he had broken up with her which seemed like a victory until I realized that meant cutting me out of his life too. Somehow she wormed her way back in and until a few years ago they were inseparable." He huffed out as he placed his menu down on the table. He placed his arm on the table and leaned his head against his hand.

"You can imagine how shocked I was they had gotten back together because I remember him mentioning you a few more too many times. At least for it to just be casually. Saying he was going to break up with Hina for good because he was interested in someone else." He said which caused you to shoot your eyes up from the menu.

His lips curling into a smirk at the way it seemed to peak your interest and he soon wondered how complicated it could possibly be between you two. You cleared your throat and looked back down at your menu trying to be nonchalant about the whole thing but knowing Suguru knew better.

"Why is that so shocking?" You say as you spot what you wanted and placing your menu down knowing you couldn't hide behind it forever,

"Because he's been stuck up Hina's ass for as long as I can remember. So it was interesting to hear him talk about someone else for a change. That and how pissed Hina got anytime you were brought up or you came around. It's the only reason I agreed to go to the wedding with her honestly. The way Hina wouldn't stop bitching about the fact that Gojo rejected her after finding out he already had a date to the wedding intrigued me."

For a moment you wondered if you Satoru was telling the truth when he said that you weren't a rebound.

"She pointed you out at the wedding saying you were the one that had tried to steal Gojo away again. It was then I realized that you were the one Gojo was interested in back in high school."

"Then you must realize I'm the one that they both humiliated back then too." You say flatly as you play with your straw.

"Gojo might be a lot of things but a shitty person isn't one of them. Despite everything that has happened between us I still believe he's a good person."

"It's hard to feel like he isn't a shitty person after all that has happened. I just don't know if I can trust him." You said as you stared at the ice cubes bumping against one another in your cup.

"I'm not going to sit here and try and convince you whether you should or shouldn't be with him. Honestly when I heard what happened back in high school I thought he was an idiot for letting you go," He said which caused your whole body to run hot. "However, at the wedding I saw how he treated you. There was something different about the way he carried himself. He looked at you differently, touched you differently, and even talked to you differently than I ever had seen him do with Hina. Almost like being with you was brought out a side of him no one had seen before."

You couldn't wrap your head around what exactly was coming out of his mouth; you felt like your head was spinning with all the information being thrown at you. Before you could ask anymore questions the waiter came back ready to take your order so you both gave him what you wanted along with your menus as he retreated to the kitchen to place the orders. You both sat there in silence for a moment as the sound of the waves crashed against the rocks and the sea gulls calling out to one another filled the space.

"I meant it when I said I think Gojo's an idiot for letting you go. You're too pretty for that." He rasped out and took a sip of his drink.

"What?" You breathed out.

"You heard me pretty. If things get anymore complicated between you and Gojo let me know. I wouldn't mind helping you take your mind off things." He teased and after a few moments you smiled at him.

"I'll keep that in mind."

Over the next hour, although his confession surprised you, the conversation flowed naturally between you two. You found out that he worked as a designer and was constantly traveling for work but when he had down times between seasons he came back home. No wonder he looked so good the last few times you had seen him. You swore he was a model but he was the artist behind the clothes. Soon dusk fell and you looked down at your phone and realized it was a little after six.

"Shit, I didn't realize how late it was." You say as the waiter comes back with the check. Before you could get your card out Suguru handed him his card.

"I could've paid for mine." You said and he smiled at you.

"My treat. You kept me company."

"Then next time you stop in anything you want will be on me."

"I'll hold you to it then."

Suguru dropped you off at your car and before he left he gave you his number. You promised to send him a text and with that you said your goodbyes. Your drive back home was in silence as you thought over your day not expecting to see either Satoru or Suguru. Once you got into your apartment you changed into a plain t-shirt and some shorts. You laid your head against the pillow and stared up at your celling wondering what the hell you were going to do.

©ᴅᴇʟᴜʟᴜ4ᴀɴɪᴍᴇ 2025 ᴀʟʟ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜱ ʀᴇꜱᴇʀᴠᴇᴅ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀɴɪᴀᴄ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ʀᴇᴛᴜʀɴ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴜꜱʜʀᴏᴏᴍ ᴊᴇʟʟʏꜰɪꜱʜ ᴇxʜɪʙɪᴛ

[nevarrhoe]

mea culpa - 6 (m.m)

SUMMARY: "mea culpa" (exclamation - noun/legal term)

used as an acknowledgement of one's fault or error.

↪ in which matt murdock accidentally falls in love with the district attorney's daughter.

warnings: smut !! p in v, she/her pronouns used for reader

series master list

any minors caught interacting will be blocked and reported

It only took a few days to fall back into a routine with Matt.

This one was newer; fresher and lighter. A combination of what you had originally got into this fling for but also something…more. Now that you had admitted to one another that this meant something to you both, there was a weight off your shoulders. Having that established direction was all the confidence you needed to move forward with your whole head and heart in it. Matt’s promise to you had been important as well: you don’t have to decide what this is just yet. When you know, you just say, okay? 

It was funny to hear it coming from him. He was a man that moved at a thousand miles an hour - taking on cases left right and centre, constantly chasing his next victory or the next landmark for social justice in Hell’s Kitchen. The fact he was stopping to slow down, even for a minute, was a reflection of your position in his life. Matt didn’t want to rush this. He wanted to take his time and enjoy it. 

It was a warm Wednesday afternoon that you made your first public appearance together. Nothing serious - you were just strolling through Central Park on your shared lunch break. It had taken a lot of convincing on your part to get Matt to do it; he was filled with ten million panicked questions. What if someone sees us? What if they think it’s a conflict of interest?  

Your argument that you could just be two colleagues grabbing lunch together was the thing that won him over. Maybe you were just taking advantage of the nice weather and walking through the park instead of having a meeting in a dinghy office, or maybe he’d bumped into you out and about and had questions about a case. They were all very plausible things, but it wasn’t until you grabbed his hand and said Matthew, I just want to spend time with you that he finally cracked. 

“The weather is too nice. I don’t wanna go back to work,” Matt commented, aimlessly wandering down one of the quieter paths. 

“Mmm,” you hummed. “Me too. I have a meeting this afternoon with a client and then I have some stupid dinner with some of the girls from college. I really don’t want to go.”

“You should cancel and come and see me instead,” he said. “I get off early tonight.”

“I don’t know how they would react to me ditching them to spend time with my boyfriend,” you shot back. “Pretty sure that’s breaking rule one of the girl code.”

Matt raised his eyebrows. “Who’s this boyfriend of yours? Should I be concerned?”

You stopped in your tracks, eyes widening. Shit. Neither of you had brought up the whole conversation about labels: you’d never had to before because there was never even a context where you would bring Matt up. The both of you had just sort of been cruising along on the understanding that you didn’t have to define something that you didn’t have to explain to anyone. 

“Fuck, Matt, I -” you stumbled on your words, pausing for a minute. “I didn’t mean to say that. It just slipped out and-”

“- no, I like it,” he gave you a shit-eating grin. 

This would have been the perfect moment to kiss. Alas, you were in public, surrounded by the prying eyes of hundreds of people who may or may not know your father. It was too risky to even share a hug, so instead, you gave Matt a huge smile and a curt nod. 

“Good,” you said. “Me too.”

–

It was gone 10PM by the time you got back home after dinner. 

Your family resided in a penthouse high-rise, just south of the World Trade Center. It overlooked the Hudson and had a beautiful view of the skyline; it was just a shame that you felt so trapped here as of late. Getting your own apartment had been on your to-do list for a while but up until Matt, you’d never had that much of a reason too. You loved sharing his space with him, but there was a massive part of you that wanted your own place. Moreover, it would be a place where you and Matt could just be, the same way you were at his. It would just be nice to have two places where your relationship could exist. 

Throwing your jacket aside, you kicked off your heels and headed further into the apartment. The kitchen lights were on; you turned the corner to see your father. He wasn’t normally up past this hour, but tonight he was standing by the marble island, a glass of neat whiskey in front of him. Any other day you would have avoided him, but you’d been texting Matt all afternoon and his sacrilegious messages had you in a good mood.

“Rough day?” you asked.

Your father looked up from his glass, eyebrows raised. “No, I’ve had a fine day. We won another case this afternoon. I went out for drinks with your mother to celebrate and when we got back, I got a call from Harrison. You know Harrison, don’t you? He works by the park.”

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded. “Is everything okay?”

“He was just dropping me a message to tell me that he spotted you and Matthew Murdock out for a nice afternoon stroll,” he continued, voice ice cold. “Do you want to explain to me why you’re gallivanting about with the enemy?”

Your eyes went wide and you forced yourself to swallow. “Matt just had some questions about the Thomspon case.”

“The Thompson case closed a week ago,” your dad shot back. “And as far as I know, him asking you questions doesn’t involve a romantic walk through Central Park with ice cream-”

“- I wasn’t doing anything wrong!” you snapped. “You can’t spy on me my whole fucking life!”

“Language!” he barked. “What is going on between you and Murdock?”

“Nothing!” you insisted. “Besides, I’m not a teenager anymore. I don’t have to explain everything to you.”

“You do when it’s a conflict of interest!” he continued. “Do you know how bad it looks on my part that one of my employees is running around town with a low-level pro-bono lawyer like him?”

“I am not your employee, I am your daughter!” you yelled. “I don’t have to take this. I’m going out.”

Storming away, you exited the kitchen. Your shoes and jacket were back on in a flash. You hadn’t expected your father to find out so soon - even though he hadn’t really found out anything. It was easy to argue that your outing with Matt had been completely innocent, though your reaction to his accusations might not have helped the situation. 

You had an Uber to Matt’s place booked by the time the elevator got down to the lobby. You shot him a text as well - I’m on my way over. We have a situation. He never minded when you turned up unannounced; if anything, he enjoyed it. 

It was only a twenty-minute or so drive - New York was never quiet, but the roads were a little emptier now that rush hour had passed. It gave you a chance to think: about what you were going to say to Matt, about what you were going to say to your father. This felt like a sign from the universe that you really should move out soon. Hell, you were ready to completely cut your family off at that moment. That just meant finding a job and finding your own place, and when your surname was so clearly linked back to your father, it would be hard for anyone to take you seriously. 

Matt still hadn’t replied to your text by the time you got to his. You didn’t think too much of it - he was normally busy at this time with paperwork or files, and his phone wasn’t always on loud. You were practically the only person he ever texted anyways. 

Hopping up the stairs, you frowned to yourself when you saw that the door to his apartment wasn’t closed. It wasn’t wide open, just slightly ajar, but that was weird for him. This was the same man who triple-checked that it was locked every night. There was no way in hell that he would just casually leave it open.

You gently pushed it, making your way inside the apartment. 

“Matt?” you called. “It’s me.”

There was a strewn red boot on the floor and another one beside it. Your concern only grew deeper as you headed inside the apartment, following the trail of discarded red clothes. 

It wasn’t until you saw a horned helmet tossed outside the bathroom and Matt cleaning up a giant wound on his stomach that you finally put two and two together. 

“Holy shit,” you murmured, “you’re Daredevil.”

[melliehart]

wip wednesday

shoutout @marviless for tagging me (and torturing me with her mcd fic ow), going to tag @littlefreakbuckley and @sonofatoasterwaffle if they have anything they want to share:) i am trying something new and writing a set of interactions between eddie and buck's significant others over the years. this is ali's

Death & Co, Arts District, 2019

Eddie is like, totally gorgeous, don't get her wrong, but he's not her type. He's closed off, always put together, and that one time she tried to break the ice by making a joke that he’s actually the one who saved her during the earthquake, Eddie barely cracked a smile. It did, fortunately, get Buck to cackle and loudly protest, but Eddie’s expression only ever turned genuine when Buck knocked his shoulder against Eddie’s and said, “Shoulda dropped her!” with a wink. He'd thrown his arm around Ali, after, and damn does Buck have some great arms. It’s amazing, getting to be with a guy who makes her feel small. Like, she can wear heels around him. And don’t even get her started on what else he can do with all that strength.

Anyway, they’re out at this cocktail bar that Ali picked out–she’s been loving a dirty martini lately–and it’s a good time. She and Buck aren’t particularly serious, but they could be, if they give it a while. They mostly spend time at her apartment when she’s in the city, but she’s broached the subject of getting him a place downtown, (anything would be more mature than living with his older sister), and she might be able to convince him to swap out the Jeep for something classier next.

The guy’s a little raw, but he definitely has potential. Room to grow.

They’d invited Eddie, although when Ali had suggested it to Buck she’d sort of been expecting it would be a double date, but Buck brushed that off. She knows something wild was going on between Eddie and his wife (ex-wife?) but Buck was shockingly tight-lipped about it, wouldn’t tell her any details. Like, she’s just curious! Can’t a girl want to gossip with her boyfriend? Whatever. He did say they were back together for real now, which is why she’d been expecting the wife to come, but it’s fine.

Like she said, Eddie’s always perfectly polite, and they’ve had a good time together the few times they’ve all gone out. The three of them even made a pretty good team during the earthquake, if she does say so herself, even if she stopped to chug a few mini liquor bottles on the way down. She’d challenge anyone to watch their misogynistic pig of a boss fall to his for real, actual death and not want a drink.

She’s two drinks in when Buck leaves them to go get another round–thanks, babe–leaving just her and Eddie at the table. Eddie takes a long pull of his beer, draining it before setting the empty bottle on the table with a clink. He’s not looking at her, his dark eyes focused on the wall behind them as he starts picking at the label. The silence is just this side of unsettling, and Ali’s never really been great at being quiet, so she decides to do the safe thing and ask about his son–Christian?

“Christopher”, he corrects, pulling out his phone. “I’ll show you a picture.” She’s not huge into kids herself–maybe in a few years, when she makes director and can afford to settle down a bit–but that’s not the kind of thing you say to a not-single dad. He swipes for a moment, then shows Ali a photo of not just his son but the three of them, Christopher, Eddie and Buck, in front of the fountain at the mall. They look–honestly, they look like a family, framed like this. There’s something heavy about the way he’s watching her, judging her reaction. She smiles at him brightly, cooing a little because that’s what you do at a cute photo, and he tilts the phone back. 

She’s not really sure what he’s getting out of this interaction–is he trying to scare her off? Stake a claim? Or is he just–like that? His face is unreadable as always, unlike Buck who is, thank god, sliding back into the booth. He gently places her martini–Hendrick’s, two blue cheese olives, extra dry and porn star dirty–in front of her, smacking a kiss to her cheek before roughly sliding a beer across the table. Eddie snags it without blinking, tipping it towards the two of them–Buck, really–in thanks. 

Now that Buck’s back, the tension in the atmosphere has dissipated; Eddie perked right back up the second Buck's attention landed on him. She doubts Buck even noticed the switch-up, and she's sure as hell not gonna piss Eddie off by calling it out.

They slide back into joking around, but Ali can’t quite take her mind off of it. She absolutely needs to get the ex-wife (wife?) here next time to figure out what to make of these two.